Martha and the Slave Catchers

by Harriet Hyman Alonso

  Martha stiffened and tried to pull her body deeper down into the wagon. The prongs of a pitchfork came through several of the openings, once so close to her chest that she could see the hickory wood tines in the dim light. Thank goodness Jake was sound asleep. After several unbearable minutes, the prongs disappeared.

  “Drat. Nothing there,” Will complained. “C’mon, Tom, we’re wasting time again.”

  Martha sighed in relief at the creaking of their leather saddles as they mounted their horses and galloped off. Soon, the wagon bounced as bales of hay were returned to their place. A whispering voice asked, “You all right?”

  She forced out a “yes” as her body relaxed and her nerves and muscles buzzed.

  Hours later, the hay wagon arrived in Wilmington, Delaware. After Daniel removed the hay and the false cover, Martha jumped to her freedom, wincing as her ankle gave an angry twinge. She immediately reached for Jake, who was still groggy from the laudanum, and then looked around for their next conveyance. All she saw was a wagon with a pile of bricks next to it. Surely, this could not be it. But it was.

  “We’re traveling again tonight, Jake, so you can sleep more, and then tomorrow, we’ll be in the North,” she said.

  For a moment, his eyes lit up. “Will Mama and Papa be there?”

  Martha’s eyes teared up. “Not yet, but in a couple of days.”

  Martha was more fearful of being under a wagon full of bricks than of any of the other loads. What if the fake bottom gave out and the rocks fell on top of them? But there was no choice. Jake quickly nodded off while Martha dozed, feeling no joy in the sound of the slow-moving wagon.

  Toward daybreak, Martha felt the team make a sharp turn and pull off the road. She heard brick after brick being unloaded, and then a bright female voice said, “Welcome to Chester County, Pennsylvania. Thee has reached freedom.”

  What a great relief to be in the North and also to hear the familiar Quaker plain speech. Yet, Martha also felt a flash of anger at people assuming they were runaways.

  “But we are free already,” she blurted out. “Always have been.”

  “Ah,” said the woman as she brushed dirt from Martha’s dress, “so thee is the famous Martha. I was told thee is outspoken.”

  Martha blushed and helped the woman brush down Jake, who looked a bit more awake than he had yesterday.

  “I’m Thelma. My husband, Nathaniel, will soon carry thee to Philadelphia in our milk wagon. Thee can sit in the back hidden from view.”

  Thelma took Martha and Jake inside her simple but comfortable home for some real food. After almost two days of a bite here and there, they were famished and gobbled up eggs, biscuits, ham, and sweet rolls—made with honey, of course. Like her own mama, she was sure that Thelma would not use slave-grown sugar to bake her pastries.

  “Thelma,” Martha began, “what will happen to us next?”

  “The Philadelphia Anti-Slavery Society members are awaiting thee. They’ll prepare thee for thy next stop. But we must hurry. We’re all aware that there’re several slave catchers looking everywhere for thee.”

  “Several?” Martha asked. “I thought there were only two.”

  “I’m afraid not. The reward is substantial, you know. Four or five have already been to Philadelphia, but, of course, they didn’t find thee. It’s good they’re one step ahead of thee, although they do often backtrack. That’s why we move quickly and use back roads and private conveyances.”

  Martha’s heart began the now-familiar pounding it did every time she thought of Will and Tom. And now there were others as well. “Can we go around Philadelphia? Directly to Connecticut?”

  Thelma’s lips puckered. “I can’t discuss plans, Martha. In fact, I really don’t know them. Now, let’s hurry.”

  In a short while, Martha and Jake found themselves in an empty space in the back of the milk wagon behind two huge tin vats of milk and under some smelly rounds of cheese. As the wagon took off at a steady clip-clop, Jake entertained himself with his horse and by examining his top. Martha felt in her pocket for her Indian doll and her embroidered handkerchief, but she did not take them out for fear of losing them.

  Philadelphia was just as Martha remembered it. The smoke and dirt and smells from her last trip seemed even stronger. Jake was both alarmed and fascinated by the place. It took all her energy to keep him from trying to climb into the front of the wagon to gaze out at the sights.

  “I’ll take you on a trip to Philadelphia when I’m eighteen and you’re twelve. How about that?”

  “Will we have to hide to get there?”

  “Absolutely not. We’ll take a train and a boat. Maybe by then, we’ll be able to take a train the whole way. Would you like that?”

  “I saw a picture of a train once, Mattie. I’d like to ride in one. That’d be fun.”

  “Silence, please,” came a stern voice from the front.

  Martha merely smiled. She could see Liberty Falls in her mind and imagine her mama and papa and Caleb and Becky and Adam Burke waiting for her. They would throw her a big celebration for bringing Jake safely home.

  Sooner than she expected, members of the Anti-Slavery Society greeted her and Jake warmly in the home of one of its members. A smiling young black woman took Jake by the hand and led him off to the kitchen. He trusted her immediately, barely taking a moment to look back at Martha.

  “We were hoping to keep you here for a while so you could rest and clean up,” said one woman, whose name Martha did not even have time to learn, “but it’s urgent that we move you on to New York.”

  Martha grinned. “And from there it’s just two days from our home in Connecticut, isn’t it?”

  The woman looked at Martha sadly. “You won’t be going home, I’m afraid. It’s too dangerous. Robert Dawes is determined to find you and Jake and so we’re sending you on to Canada.”

  Martha was startled, confused, heartbroken. “Canada?”

  “Yes, it’s all arranged. You leave in just a few minutes in a private carriage for New Jersey, then a ferry to New York. Just outside the city, you’ll need to change into these clothes I have for you. You’ll dress in boys’ clothes and Jake in girls’. You’ll then take a train with a group of white abolitionists heading for a meeting in Buffalo. Then our Canadian friends will guide you over to a place where you’ll be safe. We believe it’s most prudent that for this part of your trip you both be considered white.”

  Once again, Martha was puzzled by the confusing race issue. Did this woman believe she was colored? Was she? “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Well, your coloring allows you to look white when you need to. It’ll be more difficult for the slave catchers to identify you if you’re surrounded by whites. They usually aren’t too clever, and we’ve been able to fool them in any number of ways. Everything’ll happen very quickly, so you must be ready.”

  She handed Martha a small satchel. “The clothes are inside. Dress, bonnet, slippers, stockings for Jake. Pants, shirt, jacket, boots for you.”

  “But Jake’ll never allow me to dress him in girls’ clothes.”

  “He must. And, Martha, to prepare, you’ll have to cut your hair to look like a boy’s.”

  Of all the things she had been asked to do during her journey, this was the most difficult. Martha’s mother had snipped the ends off her hair every now and then so as to make them look neat, but otherwise, she had never cut her hair. She ran her hand through it with great love and sorrow, being sure to give her plaits a few affectionate twists.

  “Now is not the time for self-pride,” ordered the woman. “Here, let me cut it.” Within a moment, Martha felt the scissors hack off each of her braids. The woman then snipped here and there to even the ends. Tears streamed down Martha’s face.

  “Would you send the plaits to my mama and papa as a keepsake?” she asked.

  The woman glanced away as tears filled her own eyes. “Yes, of course.”

  When Jake rejoined Martha, he simply stared at her. �
��Why did you cut off your hair, Mattie?”

  “I’ll explain later, Jake.” How was she ever going to convince him to dress as a girl?

  The carriage from Philadelphia moved quickly even though it was night. Two lanterns and a nearly full moon helpfully lit the way. When they came near the ferry that connected New Jersey to New York, the carriage pulled off the road so Martha and Jake could prepare themselves for the final leg of their journey. Martha put an arm around Jake, looked into his face, and presented her proposal.

  “Jake, we’re gonna have to play a game to make this last part of our journey.”

  “I like games, Mattie.”

  “Good. In this one, I’m gonna pretend I’m a boy, and you’re gonna pretend you’re a girl.”

  Jake grimaced. “I don’t like that idea, Mattie.”

  “I know, but we have to do it because we don’t want the slave catchers to find us. But you know what’s the best part?”

  “What?”

  “We’re gonna take a train. And we’re gonna sit in real seats.”

  He grinned excitedly. “A train? Sitting in real seats? I like that. It’s way better than those wagons, right?”

  “Uh-huh. So will you play the game?”

  Martha tickled Jake under his arms to make him laugh. He had such a nice hopeful view of things, she thought. “Will you?”

  “Okay, Mattie. But just for a little while.”

  Martha helped Jake change into the girls’ clothes. The result was incredible. He certainly looked like a little girl even with the ugly frown on his face.

  “These clothes itch and scratch. And how will I walk in these skirts?” Martha laughed as he strode forward and promptly stumbled.

  “You won’t have to walk much. We’ll be on the train.”

  Martha then quickly changed her clothes. What freedom she felt! The pants were roomy and the jacket warm and comfortable, even if the shirt’s collar was a bit stiff. The boots felt much sturdier than her usual shoes and helped to support her still-sore ankle. The cap allowed her to see much better than a bonnet like the one Jake was pushing around his head that very moment.

  With their new identities, Martha and Jake climbed back into the carriage. Early in the evening, they reached a massive depot on New York’s Hudson River shore. There they were passed over to a group of white abolitionists, both men and women. The women scooped up Jake and led him to the steep steps into the train. He looked nervously back at Martha but she just smiled encouragingly at him. A family with three young daughters between Jake’s age and her own took him to be with them.

  Then the men led her up the same steps and seated her across the aisle a few rows behind Jake. He kept turning around to stare at her, but each time, she signaled him to turn around.

  The young man sitting next to her introduced himself as Fred Jenkins of Yonkers, New York. “And you are Matthew, I hear,” he said.

  Martha stalled for a brief second and answered in a deepened voice, “Yes. I’m Matthew from, um, Brooklyn.”

  Fred laughed kindly. “You can speak normally. No one will hear but us abolitionists. Anyway, we’ll be leaving soon. This train’ll take us to Albany.”

  Martha smiled, her face hot with embarrassment. “How long will it take?”

  “Maybe four hours. Then we’ll switch trains and travel through the night to Buffalo.”

  “I understand.”

  For Martha, the journey was full of tension and worry. From time to time, she saw Jake swaying back and forth or bobbing up and down or turning his head to make sure she was still there. Every time she saw him in distress, she also noticed that the family he was with diverted his attention. They gave him something to eat or pulled out a toy. At one point, the older girl, the one who seemed close in age to Martha herself, started to read to him from a large picture book version of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. From time to time, Jake nodded off, but Martha sat upright, alert to any problems that might come their way.

  All went smoothly, including the transfer from one train to another in Albany. Then, as they entered Buffalo, the train came to a halt. The conductor entered.

  “Folks,” he said in a disgusted voice, “before we disembark, some officials insist on going through the car reserved for coloreds, checking for freedmen’s papers.”

  A chill ran up Martha’s spine, and she shivered. Fred Jenkins moved an inch closer and patted her arm in a distinctly manly way. “Don’t fret, Matthew, we won’t miss our meeting.”

  Ten minutes passed. Nothing happened. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Martha peered out the window and saw two rough-looking men arguing with the conductor. Will and Tom. She would know them anywhere. Finally, the conductor threw up his arms and climbed up the steps to her car, the leering men following him.

  “Folks,” he announced, “these deputies have insisted on searching this car. They have reason to suspect that two runaways are pretending to be white.”

  Will pushed him aside and stood boldly at the front of the car. Jake immediately jumped up. “Mattie!”

  Will moved swiftly to grab hold of him, but not fast enough. As Jake crouched down behind the seat in front of him, Martha bent over to the sack Lucy had given her. For some reason, she had never left it behind. Now, she took out the knife and quickly unwrapped it. Will, meanwhile, succeeded in grabbing Jake. He shook him and shouted in his face, “You’re comin’ with me.”

  Martha saw Jake straining away, frightened and angry but not saying a word. Her own fury exploded as she rushed forward with the knife held outright in her hand.

  In a strong quiet voice, she pointed it directly at Will’s chest. “Let him go.”

  “Ah, Martha,” he replied. “I knew you were here. Now, you’d make everything very simple for Jake and all these folk if you’d just drop the knife. Mr. Dawes has no interest in you if we bring him the boy. I take him and then you can go home to your mama and papa. You refuse, and then Mr. Dawes will be very interested in a little bit of revenge.”

  Martha shivered with fright, but she did not move an inch. Everyone else in the car seemed frozen in place. Do something, Martha thought. Why don’t they do something?

  Will coaxed some more. “C’mon, Martha. Don’t you wanna go home? Canada’ll be a cold and lonely place for you without your mama and papa to take care of you.”

  Martha was boiling. Not shy. Not afraid. From somewhere deep inside, she felt a surge of strength. She lunged forward, but Will was the stronger. He grabbed her hand and struggled with her. The knife clattered to the floor.

  “Tom, help me with the boy, and let’s get outta here,” he called to his friend. But the passengers sitting in the very front of the car had gotten up and pushed Tom back out the door. They now turned their attention to Will.

  The young girl who had been reading to Jake took her large picture book and slammed it against Will’s arm. The smallest girl kicked him in the leg. The third jumped up and down, trying to knock him on the head with her purse. Although he winced with each blow, he did not let go of his two captives. Martha looked at Jake struggling to get away from Will, and with newfound determination she bent over and bit Will’s hand. Jake, following her lead, did the same.

  At that moment, the rest of the passengers rose as one. Fists started flying. People pushed and shoved. Many yelled at Will and the conductor.

  “You let those children go.”

  “Arrest this kidnapping abomination.”

  “Get the other one, too, before he gets away.”

  “Conductor, let us out of this here train.”

  In all the melee, Martha and Jake struggled with Will, kicking, biting, hitting, doing anything they could to get him away from them. Just as Martha felt Will’s grasp on them loosening, out of nowhere, a fist came flying at her face. She fell backward, hitting her head against the metal of the seat behind her, and the world turned black.

  CHAPTER 14

  HOURS LATER, Martha woke up disoriented and confused. At first, she thought she was home, but she soon
realized this was not the same parlor she grew up in. Besides that, something was wrong with her memory. She had no idea what had happened to her, where she was, or why her body ached so. The letter she found on the table from her papa and the thoughts that it triggered brought back her memory.

  Just as her panic to find out what had happened to Jake pushed her up onto her wobbling legs, the parlor door opened and a small black woman of about her mama’s age walked in, followed by a not-so-tall stout black man in a minister’s suit.

  The woman spoke in warm, soothing tones. “Good morning, Martha, dear. Are you feeling better?”

  “Where am I? And who are you?”

  The couple came closer, the woman gently encircling Martha’s waist with her right arm. She helped her to sit down, taking the seat next to her without letting go of her comforting embrace.

  “I’m Fanny Thompson and this is my husband, Abijah. Most folks around here call him Reverend. And you’re in Aramintaville, Canada.”

  “Canada.” Martha paused. She shivered involuntarily as thoughts of the slave catchers flashed through her mind. With growing alarm, she asked, “What about Jake? Did they take him?”

  “No, they didn’t. You put up such a good fight that you raised a rescue right there on the train. He’s fine.”

  “Oh, thank goodness! Where is he? I need to see him.”

  “In a few minutes, dear. He’s having something to eat. In fact, I’ll go now to see if he needs anything.” Releasing her hold on Martha, she quietly left the room. Her husband then sat down in the place she had vacated.

  Martha again ran her hand over her throbbing head and gingerly touched her aching eye. She longed to go to sleep, but refused to lie back down. She needed to know that Jake was truly here in this house with her and that he was unharmed. She longed to hold him in her arms and feel his wonderfully strong, sturdy, innocent presence.

  “Martha,” Reverend Thompson said, “are you all right?”