I have one child who is buried in Kentucky, and that grave is pleasant to think of. I’ve got another that is sold nobody knows where, and that I never can bear to think of. LEWIS HAYDEN.
The next history is a long one, and part of it transpired in a most public manner, in the face of our whole community.
The history includes in it the whole account of that memorable capture of the Pearl, which produced such a sensation in Washington in the year 1848. The author, however, will preface it with a short history of a slave-woman who had six children embarked in that ill-fated enterprise.
CHAPTER VI.
MILLY EDMONDSON is an aged woman, now upwards of seventy. She has received the slave’s inheritance of entire ignorance. She cannot read a letter of a book, nor write her own name; but the writer must say that she was never so impressed with any representation of the Christian religion as that which was made to her in the language and appearance of this woman during the few interviews that she had with her. The circumstances of the interviews will be detailed at length in the course of the story.
Milly is above the middle height, of a large, full figure. She dresses with the greatest attention to neatness. A plain Methodist cap shades her face, and the plain white Methodist handkerchief is folded across the bosom. A well-preserved stuff gown, and clean white apron, with a white pocket-handkerchief pinned to her side, completes the inventory of the costume in which the writer usually saw her. She is a mulatto, and must once have been a very handsome one. Her eyes and smile are still uncommonly beautiful, but there are deep-wrought lines of patient sorrow and weary endurance on her face, which tell that this lovely and noble-hearted woman has been all her life a slave.
Milly Edmondson was kept by her owners and allowed to live with her husband, with the express understanding and agreement that her service and value was to consist in bringing up her own children to be sold in the slave-market. Her legal owner was a maiden lady of feeble capacity, who was set aside by the decision of Court as incompetent to manage her affairs.
The estate — that is to say, Milly Edmondson and her children — was placed in the care of a guardian. It appears that Milly’s poor, infirm mistress was fond of her, and that Milly exercised over her much of that ascendancy which a strong mind holds over a weak one. Milly’s husband, Paul Edmondson, was a free man. A little of her history, as she related it to the writer, will now be given in her own words:
“Her mistress,” she said, “was always kind to her, ‘poor thing!’ but then she hadn’t speret ever to speak for herself, and her friends wouldn’t let her have her own way. It always laid on my mind,” she said, “that I was a slave. When I wan’t more than fourteen years old, Missis was doing some work one day that she thought she couldn’t trust me with, and she says to me, ‘Milly, now you see it’s I that am the slave, and not you.’ I says to her, ‘Ah, Missis, I am a poor slave for all that.’ I’s sorry afterwards I said it, for I thought it seemed to hurt her feelings.
“Well, after a while, when I got engaged to Paul, I loved Paul very much; but I thought it wan’t right to bring children into the world to be slaves, and I told our folks that I was never going to marry, though I did love Paul. But that wan’t to be allowed,” she said, with a mysterious air.
“What do you mean?” said I.
“Well, they told me I must marry, or I should be turned out of the church — so it was,” she added, with a significant nod.
“Well, Paul and me, we was married, and we was happy enough, if it hadn’t been for that; but when our first child was born, I says to him, ‘There ’tis, now, Paul, our troubles is begun; this child isn’t ours.’ And every child I had, it grew worse and worse. ‘Oh, Paul,’ says I, ‘what a thing it is to have children that isn’t ours!’ Paul he says to me, ‘Milly, my dear, if they be God’s children, it an’t so much matter whether they be ours or no; they may be heirs of the kingdom, Milly, for all that.’ Well, when Paul’s mistress died, she set him free, and he got him a little place out about fourteen miles from Washington; and they let me live out there with him, and take home my tasks; for they had that confidence in me that they always know’d that what I said I’d do was as good done as if they’d seen it done. I had mostly sewing; sometimes a shirt to make in a day — it was coarse like, you know — or a pair of sheets, or some such; but, whatever ’twas, I always got it done. Then I had all my house-work and babies to take care of; and many’s the time, after ten o’clock, I’ve took my children’s clothes and washed ’em all out and ironed ’em late in the night, ‘cause I couldn’t never bear to see my children dirty — always wanted to see ’em sweet and clean, and I brought ’em up and taught ’em the very best ways I was able. But nobody knows what I suffered. I never see a white man come on to the place that I didn’t think, ‘There, now, he’s coming to look at my children;’ and when I saw any white man going by, I’ve called in my children and hid ‘em, for fear he’d see ’em and want to buy ‘em.
Oh, ma’am, mine’s been a long sorrow, a long sorrow! I’ve borne this heavy cross a great many years!”
“But,” said I, “the Lord has been with you.”
She answered, with very strong emphasis, “Ma’am, if the Lord hadn’t held me up, I shouldn’t have been alive this day. Oh, sometimes my heart’s been so heavy, it seemed as if I must die; and then I’ve been to the throne of grace, and when I’d poured out all my sorrows there, I came away light, and felt that I could live a little longer!”
This language is exactly her own. She had often a forcible and peculiarly beautiful manner of expressing herself, which impressed what she said strongly.
Paul and Milly Edmondson were both devout communicants in the Methodist Episcopal Church at Washington, and the testimony to their blamelessness of life and the consistence of their piety is unanimous from all who know them. In their simple cottage, made respectable by neatness and order, and hallowed by morning and evening prayer, they trained up their children, to the best of their poor ability, in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, to be sold in the slave-market. They thought themselves only too happy, as one after another arrived at the age when they were to be sold, that they were hired to families in their vicinity, and not thrown into the trader’s pen to be drafted for the dreaded Southern market!
The mother, feeling with a constant but repressed anguish the weary burden of slavery which lay upon her, was accustomed, as she told the writer, thus to warn her daughters: —
“Now, girls, don’t you never come to the sorrows that I have. Don’t you never marry till you get your liberty. Don’t you marry to be mothers to children that an’t your own.”
As a result of this education, some of her older daughters, in connexion with the young men to whom they were engaged, raised the sum necessary to pay for their freedom before they were married. One of these young women, at the time that she paid for her freedom, was in such feeble health that the physician told her that she could not live many months, and advised her to keep the money, and apply it to making herself as comfortable as she could.
She answered, “If I had only two hours to live, I would pay down that money to die free.”
If this was setting an extravagant value on liberty, it is not for an American to say so.
All the sons and daughters of this family were distinguished both for their physical and mental developments, and therefore were priced exceedingly high in the market. The whole family, rated by the market prices which have been paid for certain members of it, might be estimated as an estate of 15,000 dollars. They were distinguished for intelligence, honesty, and faithfulness, but, above all, for the most devoted attachment to each other. These children, thus intelligent, were all held as slaves in the city of Washington, the very capital where our national government is conducted. Of course, the high estimate which their own mother taught them to place upon liberty was in the way of being constantly strengthened and reinforced by such addresses, celebrations, and speeches, on the subject of liberty, as ever
y one knows are constantly being made, on one occasion or another, in our national capital.
On the 13th day of April, the little schooner “Pearl,” commanded by Daniel Drayton, came to anchor in the Potomac River, at Washington.
The news had just arrived of a revolution in France, and the establishment of a democratic Government, and all Washington was turning out to celebrate the triumph of Liberty.
The trees in the avenue were fancifully hung with many-coloured lanterns — drums beat, bands of music played, the houses of the President and other high officials were illuminated, and men, women, and children were all turned out to see the procession, and to join in the shouts of liberty that rent the air. Of course, all the slaves of the city, lively, fanciful, and sympathetic, most excitable as they are by music and by dazzling spectacles, were everywhere listening, seeing, and rejoicing, in ignorant joy. All the heads of departments, senators, representatives, and dignitaries of all kinds, marched in procession to an open space on Pennsylvania Avenue, and there delivered congratulatory addresses on the progress of universal freedom. With unheard-of imprudence, the most earnest defenders of slave-holding institutions poured down on the listening crowd both of black and white, bond and free, the most inflammatory and incendiary sentiments. Such, for example, as the following language of Hon. Frederick P. Stanton, of Tennessee: —
We do not, indeed, propagate our principles with the sword of power; but there is one sense in which we are propagandists. We cannot help being so. Our example is contagious. In the section of this great country where I live, on the banks of the mighty Mississippi river, we have the true emblem of the tree of liberty. There you may see the giant cotton-wood spreading his branches widely to the winds of heaven. Sometimes the current lays bare his roots, and you behold them extending far around, and penetrating to an immense depth in the soil.
When the season of maturity comes, the air is filled with a cotton-like substance, which floats in every direction, bearing on its light wings the living seeds of the mighty tree. Thus the seeds of freedom have emanated from the tree of our liberties; they fill the air; they are wafted to every part of the habitable globe; and even in the barren sands of tyranny they are destined to take root. The tree of liberty will spring up everywhere, and nations shall recline in its shade.
Senator Foote, of Mississippi, also used this language: —
Such has been the extraordinary course of events in France and Europe, within the last two months, that the more deliberately we survey the scene which has been spread out before us, and the more rigidly we scrutinise the conduct of its actors, the more confident does our conviction become that the glorious work which has been so well begun cannot possibly fail of complete accomplishment; that the age of TYRANTS AND SLAVERY is rapidly drawing to a close; and that the happy period to be signalised by the universal emancipation of man from the fetters of civil oppression, and the recognition in all countries of the great principles of popular sovereignty, equality, and BROTHERHOOD, at this moment visibly commencing.
Will any one be surprised, after this, that seventy-seven of the most intelligent young slaves, male and female, in Washington city, honestly taking Mr. Foote and his brother senators at their word, and believing that the age of tyrants and slavery was drawing to a close, banded together, and made an effort to obtain their part in this reign of universal brotherhood?
The schooner “Pearl” was lying in the harbour, and Captain Drayton was found to have the heart of a man. Perhaps he, too, had listened to the addresses on Pennsylvania Avenue, and thought in the innocence of his heart, that a man who really did something to promote universal emancipation, was no worse than the men who only made speeches about it.
At any rate, Drayton was persuaded to allow these seventy-seven slaves to secrete themselves in the hold of his vessel, and among them were six children of Paul and Milly Edmondson. The incidents of the rest of the narrative will now be given as obtained from Mary and Emily Edmondson, by the lady in whose family they have been placed by the writer for an education.
Some few preliminaries may be necessary in order to understand the account.
A respectable coloured man, by the name of Daniel Bell, who had purchased his own freedom, resided in the city of Washington. His wife, with her eight children, were set free by her master, when on his death-bed. The heirs endeavoured to break the will, on the ground that he was not of sound mind at the time of its preparation. The magistrate, however, before whom it was executed, by his own personal knowledge of the competence of the man at the time, was enabled to defeat their purpose; the family, therefore, lived as free for some years. On the death of this magistrate, the heirs again brought the case into Court, and as it seemed likely to be decided against the family, they resolved to secure their legal rights by flight, and engaged passage on board the vessel of Captain Drayton. Many of their associates and friends, stirred up, perhaps, by the recent demonstrations in favour of liberty, begged leave to accompany them in their flight. The seeds of the cotton-wood were flying everywhere, and springing up in all hearts; so that, on the eventful evening of the 15th of April, 1848, not less than seventy-seven men, women, and children, with beating hearts and anxious secrecy, stowed themselves away in the hold of the little schooner, and Captain Drayton was so wicked that he could not, for the life of him, say “Nay” to one of them.
Richard Edmondson had long sought to buy his liberty; had toiled for it early and late; but the price set upon him was so high that he despaired of ever earning it. On this evening he and his three brothers thought, as the reign of universal brotherhood had begun, and the reign of tyrants and slavery come to an end, that they would take to themselves and their sisters that sacred gift of liberty, which all Washington had been informed, two evenings before, it was the peculiar province of America to give to all nations. Their two sisters, aged sixteen and fourteen, were hired out in families in the city. On this evening Samuel Edmondson called at the house where Emily lived, and told her of the projected plan.
“But what will mother think?” said Emily.
“Don’t stop to think of her; she would rather we’d be free than to spend time to talk about her.”
“Well, then, if Mary will go, I will.”
The girls give as a reason for wishing to escape, that though they had never suffered hardships or been treated unkindly, yet they knew they were liable at any time to be sold into rigorous bondage, and separated far from all they loved.
They then all went on board the “Pearl,” which was lying a little way off from the place where vessels usually anchor. There they found a company of slaves, seventy-seven in number.
At twelve o’clock at night the silent wings of the little schooner were spread, and with her weight of fear and mystery she glided out into the stream. A fresh breeze sprang up, and by eleven o’clock next night they had sailed two hundred miles from Washington, and began to think that liberty was gained. They anchored in a place called Cornfield Harbour, intending to wait for daylight. All laid down to sleep in peaceful security, lulled by the gentle rock of the vessel and the rippling of the waters.
But at two o’clock at night they were roused by terrible noises on deck, scuffling, screaming, swearing, and groaning. A steamer had pursued and overtaken them, and the little schooner was boarded by an infuriated set of armed men. In a moment, the captain, mate, and all the crew, were seized and bound, amid oaths and dreadful threats. As they, swearing and yelling, tore open the hatches on the defenceless prisoners below, Richard Edmondson stepped forward, and in a calm voice said to them, “Gentlemen, do yourselves no harm, for we are all here.” With this exception, all was still among the slaves as despair could make it; not a word was spoken in the whole company. The men were all bound and placed on board the steamer; the woman were left on board the schooner, to be towed after.
The explanation of their capture was this: — In the morning after they had sailed, many families in Washington found their slaves missing, and the event
created as great an excitement as the emancipation of France had, two days before. At that time they had listened in the most complacent manner to the announcement that the reign of slavery was near its close, because they had not the slightest idea that the language meant anything; and they were utterly confounded by this practical application of it. More than a hundred men, mounted upon horses, determined to push out into the country, in pursuit of these new disciples of the doctrine of universal emancipation. Here a coloured man, by the name of Judson Diggs, betrayed the whole plot. He had been provoked, because, after having taken a poor woman, with her luggage, down to the boat, she was unable to pay the twenty-five cents that he demanded. So he told these admirers of universal brotherhood that they need not ride into the country, as their slaves had sailed down the river, and were far enough off by this time. A steamer was immediately manned by two hundred armed men, and away they went in pursuit.
When the cortege arrived with the captured slaves, there was a most furious excitement in the city. The men were driven through the streets bound with ropes, two and two. Showers of taunts and jeers rained upon them from all sides. One man asked one of the girls if she “didn’t feel pretty to be caught running away,” and another asked her “if she wasn’t sorry.” She answered, “No, if it was to do again to-morrow, she would do the same.” The man turned to a bystander and said—”Han’t she got good spunk?”
But the most vehement excitement was against Drayton and Sayres, the captain and mate of the vessel. Ruffians armed with dirk-knives and pistols crowded around them, with the most horrid threats. One of them struck so near Drayton as to cut his ear, which Emily noticed as bleeding. Meanwhile there mingled in the crowd multitudes of the relatives of the captives, who, looking on them as so many doomed victims, bewildered and lamented them. A brother-in-law of the Edmondsons was so overcome when he saw them that he fainted away and fell down in the street, and was carried home insensible. The sorrowful news spread to the cottage of Paul and Milly Edmondson; and knowing that all their children were now probably doomed to the Southern market, they gave themselves up to sorrow. “Oh, what a day that was!” said the old mother, when describing that scene to the writer. “Never a morsel of anything could I put into my mouth. Paul and me, we fasted and prayed before the Lord, night and day, for our poor children!”
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 701