Escapes!

by Laura Scandiffio

  The sound of anyone coming — an opening gate, the trample of hooves — made Riley jump. He couldn’t wait for his master to return, and at the same time he dreaded it. It would be the moment that either set him free, or ended his life.

  A voice from nowhere made Riley and his men leap to their feet.

  “How de-do Cap-e-tan.”

  English! Riley couldn’t remember the last time anyone but his crew had spoken to him in his own language. A man was walking toward them. Speaking in a mixture of English and Spanish, he explained that an Englishman had sent him from Mogadore. He handed Riley a letter.

  Riley’s heart was in his mouth as he took it. His shipmates stared at the letter with wide eyes, knowing it spelled out their fate. With shaking hands, Riley unfolded the paper and began to read.

  My dear and afflicted sir,

  I have this moment received your note...

  Riley’s eyes scanned down the page to the only words that mattered.

  I have agreed to pay the sum of nine hundred and twenty dollars to Sidi Hamet on your safe arrival in this town with your fellow sufferers. He remains here as a kind of hostage for your safe appearance...

  …with the hope of a happy end to all your sufferings, I subscribe myself, my dear Sir,

  Your friend,

  William Willshire

  Riley stared for a moment at the name he’d never heard before. The name of a stranger. A stranger who had saved him. Joy and wonder began to swell inside him. He raised a hand to his gaunt face, and felt that his cheeks were wet with tears.

  When Captain Riley returned home to the United States he wrote a book about his adventures. Riley’s Narrative was read by over a million people, including a young boy named Abraham Lincoln. Some historians suggest that two events helped set the future American president’s mind against slavery. One was his visit to a slave market in New Orleans when he was 19. And the other, earlier experience may have been reading Captain Riley’s tale of slavery and escape.

  Tickets to Freedom

  Macon, Georgia, 1848

  THERE WERE ONLY A FEW DAYS LEFT before Christmas, as a young black slave named William Craft hurried home through the dusk to the cottage he shared with his wife, Ellen. In the pocket of his coat he felt the pair of dark eyeglasses he’d bought moments before. Slaves weren’t supposed to buy such things without their master’s permission, but some storekeepers were ready to take a slave’s money and not ask too many questions.

  For weeks now, William had been buying pieces of clothing one at a time — a shirt here, a hat there, all at different stores so as not to attract too much attention. The green glasses were the finishing touch on a plan, a bold and dangerous scheme William and Ellen had worked out together: their bid for freedom.

  William and Ellen had always known they were luckier than many slaves. Ellen worked in her mistress’ house as a lady’s maid. William’s master had paid to train him as a carpenter and then hired him out, taking most of William’s pay but letting him keep a little for himself. Life was better for them than for the slaves on a cotton plantation — theirs was hard, back-breaking work, never far from an overseer’s watchful eye and sharp whip.

  Still, they had longed for freedom. William was tired of working hard only to hand over his wages to someone else. And Ellen could never shake the fear that all they had could be snatched away. If either of their masters needed money, she or William could be sold and they would never see each other again. Worst of all, any children they might have could be taken from them. William had watched helplessly while his parents were sold at an auction to the highest bidder — and he felt the same anger and sadness whenever he remembered. Ellen had been taken from her mother when she was 11, and now she couldn’t bear the thought of raising a child to be someone’s slave. At first they had put off getting married, hoping to escape and marry once they were free.

  Other slaves had done it. They’d followed the Underground Railroad — which wasn’t a railroad at all, but a long line of hiding places and secret helpers that ran from the southern slave states through the free north, all the way to Canada. Some slaves had even made a desperate run for it, following the North Star at night, hiding in woods and swamps during the day. With luck, they stumbled upon a friendly person who could tell them the way to the next safe house, or “station” along the railroad.

  But Ellen and William wanted to come up with a plan before they made their move. Whenever they were alone they whispered together about all kinds of schemes, yet every one had its problems.

  “A train or boat would get us out of Georgia the quickest. We could save for the fare,” Ellen ventured.

  William shook his head. “Not without permission from our masters. We can’t even walk the roads without that. Any white person could stop us and ask for our passes, to show we had a right to be there. And then what?” He paused and added, “They’d send slave catchers after us, that’s what.”

  Ellen was silent. They both knew about professional slave hunters. The way they tracked down runaways — on horseback with guns and dogs — reminded William of a fox hunt. He shuddered as he imagined himself and Ellen being dragged back to slavery. And not to their old jobs, either. They’d be punished as a lesson to other slaves — separated and sold “down the river” to a much harder life on a plantation.

  The more they talked, the more impossible it seemed to make it across the slave states to freedom — a journey of nearly a thousand miles. Ellen and William asked for their masters’ permission to marry, and they tried to make the best of it. But they never forgot their dream, and kept their eyes open for the smallest hope of escape.

  Mending a drawer in his workshop one December afternoon, William puzzled over the problems that stood in their way. Slaves couldn’t get on a train or boat without permission. As he sanded, he pictured Ellen. She was so fair-skinned; she had a white father, after all. A bold plan began to form in William’s mind. What if Ellen pretended to be white, while William traveled as her slave?

  But no, he knew a southern lady would never travel alone with a male servant. Then a sudden idea made his hand pause on the wood. Ellen could disguise herself as a white man. They could escape in daylight, under the noses of the slaveholders themselves! They’d travel first-class to Philadelphia — in the free state of Pennsylvania — and from there through the northern states to Canada.

  It was risky, he thought, but so unexpected that it might have a chance. He knew that some slaveholders gave their favorite slaves a few days’ holiday around Christmas. If he and Ellen could get time off, it would give them a head start before they were missed.

  That night William described his plan to Ellen. She was too shocked to speak at first. How could she keep up a disguise like that for hundreds of miles across the slave states? No, thought Ellen, it was too crazy. Then she pictured the life that lay before her if she did nothing — years of work without anything to call their own, not even their own bodies. And always the fear of losing her husband, her future children to the auction block. She looked at William and nodded — she would take the risk.

  William began to buy as many pieces of her disguise as he could, a little at a time. Ellen was extra careful to please her mistress before she asked for a pass to be away for a few days, and the cabinetmaker gave William a pass without too much fuss. They hurried home to show each other their passes, but neither could read them — it was illegal to teach slaves to read. They’d have to trust that the passes said what they hoped.

  So far all the pieces were falling into place. But as the day of escape drew closer, Ellen began to notice flaws in their plan. “William, any traveling gentleman would sign his name to register at a hotel — and I can’t write!”

  William slumped in his chair — he hadn’t thought of that. Ellen paced the cottage floor anxiously. Then her face lit up. “I think I have it — I’ll bind up my right hand in a sling, and ask the innkeeper to sign for me.”

  Then, glimpsing herself in a mirror, she f
rowned — her face was too smooth to convince anyone that she was a man! She pulled some cloth out of her sewing box and wound it into a bundle. Wrapping it around her chin with a handkerchief, she tied the ends over her head.

  “As if I had a bad toothache,” she explained, turning to show William. He agreed it could work. And it would give her an excuse to avoid chatting with other travelers — the less she had to talk, the better.

  Four more nights passed as they stayed up late, talking over their plan in the darkness. The sling and handkerchief gave William more ideas. If Ellen acted sick and lost in her thoughts, people wouldn’t bother her. Like many slave owners, she’d count on her slave to fetch and carry for her — and answer questions from any nosy fellow travelers. And in only a few days, they could be free!

  The moment they had so eagerly awaited was almost at hand. Ellen’s costume was nearly finished. Whatever William hadn’t been able to buy, Ellen had sewn herself in her moments alone. The evening before their escape, William brought home the pair of glasses that would complete the picture. The dark lenses would hide any fear in Ellen’s eyes. They both knew she would have to sit surrounded by white men — and slave owners — wherever they traveled.

  Just before dawn, William cut off Ellen’s long hair. With trembling hands she slipped on her dark suit, cloak, and hat, then the high-heeled boots that would make her look taller. As she stood leaning on a cane, with one arm in a sling and bandages on her face, William took a long look at her. He smiled and shook his head in disbelief — she looked so much like a sickly white gentleman he was almost convinced himself!

  It was time to go. They blew out the candles, and a sudden noise made them jump — was someone outside? Holding hands, they peeked out the cottage door. Everything was still. Silently they tiptoed outside and stood breathless, looking at each other. From now on they would be traveling apart most of the time — blacks did not sit next to whites on trains and in boats. Without speaking they clasped hands, and then left in different directions for the rail station. William headed for the railcar reserved for blacks, and Ellen, leaning on her cane, limped to the first-class carriage. In her new identity as a young planter called Mr. Johnson, she bought a ticket for herself and one slave for Savannah — their first stop. There was no going back now.

  Inside the carriage, Ellen took a window seat and stared outside. Sit still, she told herself. Don’t attract attention. As the train slowly chugged away from the station, she glanced around the carriage — and froze. Mr. Cray, an old friend of her master who had known her since she was a child, had sat next to her while she was looking the other way. Ellen fought the urge to bolt, and turned slowly back toward the window. Why had he said nothing? Maybe he hadn’t recognized her yet. If he strikes up a conversation, thought Ellen, he’ll be sure to know my voice. Desperate, she decided to pretend to be deaf.

  Mr. Cray soon turned to her and said politely, “It is a very fine morning, sir.”

  Ellen kept staring out the window. Mr. Cray repeated his greeting, but Ellen did not move. A passenger nearby laughed. Annoyed, Mr. Cray said, “I will make him hear,” then, very loudly, “IT IS A VERY FINE MORNING, SIR.”

  Ellen turned her head as if she had only just heard him, bowed politely and said, “Yes.” Then she turned back to the window.

  “It is a great hardship to be deaf,” another passenger remarked.

  Mr. Cray nodded. “I will not trouble the gentleman anymore.”

  Ellen began to breathe more easily — he hadn’t recognized her! Her disguise had passed a difficult test, but she realized more than ever how wary she must be.

  The train pulled into Savannah early in the evening. William was waiting for Ellen outside her carriage, and they headed next for a steamboat bound for Charleston. Once on board, Ellen slipped into her room and shut the door. What a relief to be alone! But some of the passengers grumbled to William that this was strange. Why wasn’t his young master staying up and being friendly?

  William hurried to Ellen’s room and told her about the reaction. They couldn’t afford to do anything suspicious. But she couldn’t very well play cards and smoke cigars without giving herself away! Ellen thought quickly: William could go heat up the bundle of medicine for her face on the stove in the gentlemen’s saloon, to make it look as if his master was ill and going to bed early. The men in the saloon complained loudly about the smell the hot herbs made and sent William away. But they seemed convinced that his master must be pretty sick!

  Once Ellen had turned in, William went on deck and asked the steward where he could sleep. The steward shook his head — no beds for black passengers, slave or free. William’s heart sank, but he said nothing. As expected, his journey was turning out to be very different from Ellen’s! Weary, he paced the deck for a while, then found some cotton bags in a warm spot near the smokestack and sat there until morning.

  At breakfast, the ship’s captain invited Ellen to sit at his table, and he asked politely about her health. William stood nearby to cut Ellen’s food, since her arm was in a sling. When he stepped out for a moment, the captain gave Ellen some friendly advice: “You have a very attentive boy, sir; but you had better watch him like a hawk when you get on to the North.”

  A slave dealer sitting nearby agreed that William would probably make a run for it, and offered to buy him then and there. “No,” Ellen answered carefully. “I cannot get on well without him.”

  Later up on deck a young southern officer warned Ellen that she would spoil her slave by saying “thank you” to him. “The only way to keep him in his place,” he declared, “is to storm at him like thunder, and keep him trembling like a leaf.”

  I feel sorry for his slaves, thought Ellen. But from then on she remembered not to be so nice to William in front of people.

  By now the boat had reached the wharf at Charleston, but when Ellen saw the crowd waiting for the steamer she shrank back. All those people — someone might recognize William. Or what if their owners already knew they had escaped and had sent someone to arrest them? She led William back to her cabin, where they waited nervously until every other passenger had left. At the last minute they stepped onto the empty wharf, and William ordered a carriage to take them to the best hotel.

  When the innkeeper saw Ellen in her fine clothes and sling he pushed William aside and showed Ellen to one of the best rooms. Ellen would have loved to rest, but she knew the curious servants were expecting her downstairs for dinner. While she was led to the elegant dining room, William was handed a plate of food and sent to the kitchen to eat. Looking down, he saw that the plate was broken and that his knife and fork were rusty. William sighed but wasn’t much surprised. He ate quickly and returned to wait on his “master,” not wanting to leave Ellen alone for too long. As he entered the dining room he tried not to smile — three servants were already fussing over Ellen, each hoping for a tip from such a fine gentleman.

  Ellen and William had planned to take a steamboat from Charleston to Philadelphia — and freedom! But at the inn Ellen learned that the steamer didn’t run during winter. Their only choice now was the Overland Mail Route. They could take a steamer to Wilmington, North Carolina, and catch the mail train there. Ellen tried to hide her disappointment. This was a longer route — and the longer their journey, the more chances of being caught.

  There was no choice but to press on. The next day, William and Ellen headed for the crowded ticket office, where Ellen asked for two tickets to Philadelphia. The mean-looking man behind the counter looked up and stared at William suspiciously. Then he asked Ellen to register her name and the name of her slave in his book.

  Ellen ignored his glare. She pointed to the sling on her arm. “Would you kindly sign for me, please?” The man shook his head and stubbornly stuck his hands in his pockets. William glanced around and saw that people had stopped to stare at them. The last thing they wanted was more attention.

  Stay calm, Ellen told herself, and she was thankful for the dark glasses that hid her ey
es.

  She was about to speak again when she heard a voice call “Mr. Johnson!” Ellen spun around. The young officer she had met on the last steamer — the one who had told her not to be so polite to her slave — was pushing through the crowd. He patted her on the back and cheerfully told the ticket seller, “I know his kin like a book.”

  At this the captain of the Wilmington steamboat, who had been watching silently nearby, spoke up. “I’ll register the gentleman’s name,” he declared, no doubt realizing that he was about to lose a passenger, “and take the responsibility upon myself.”

  Once the steamer was on its way, the captain took Ellen aside to explain. They were always very strict at Charleston — you never knew when a sympathetic white person might try to help a slave run away by pretending to be his master.

  “I suppose so,” Ellen said casually.

  The next day they switched to a train for Baltimore. Once again, William rode in a separate car while Ellen sat in a first-class carriage, this time with a gentleman from Virginia and his two daughters.

  “What seems to be the matter with you, sir?” the man asked her in a kindly tone.

  “Rheumatism,” Ellen replied. He nodded and insisted that Ellen lie down.

  Good idea, thought Ellen, the less chatting the better. The daughters made a pillow for her with their shawls and covered her with a cloak. While Ellen pretended to sleep, she heard one of them sigh and whisper, “Papa, he seems to be a very nice young gentleman.” Her sister added, “I never felt so much for a gentleman in my life!” When Ellen told William about it he laughed. They had certainly fallen in love with the wrong man!

  Before leaving the train, the girls’ father handed Ellen a recipe — his “sure cure” for rheumatism. Ellen didn’t dare pretend to read it. What if she held it the wrong way? So she thanked him and tucked it in her pocket.