FORTUNATELY FOR ME, I was not strong enough to move my bale of cotton or I would have been caught as I lay on top of my bale [of] cotton dead to the world. It seemed like a dream when I felt fresh air and the sunshine streaming down into the hold. Sitting up, I saw it all coming to my rescue, as there was a ladder going straight up through the hatch to the deck.
You may call it crazy luck, but when I dragged myself up on deck there was not a soul in sight except the deckhands, who were eating their evening meal. One of the men, catching sight of me, never said a word but took the plate of food of the man next to him, emptied it into his own, gave me his cup of coffee, and motioned me to go back into the hold. I shook my head. Pouring out most of the coffee, he handed me what was left. This I gulped down ravenously. Now that I felt somewhat stronger, I felt differently about giving myself up. As I had not been seen by any of the officers of the steamer, I decided to trust myself to the recesses of the black hole. As I went down the ladder, the deckhand who had befriended me handed me another cup of coffee.
My fascination for this shaft of fresh air and sunshine proved to be my undoing. I had hardly seated myself at the foot of the ladder when a shadow was thrown across my plate. Looking up, I stared into the glaring face of an angry white mate, who commanded me to come on deck. If I had given my situation a second thought, I would have answered his command. Instead, I cast my plate aside and disappeared in[to] the darkness of the hold, holding tightly to my cup of coffee. The mate hurried down the ladder, shouting as he came. The louder he swore, the faster I ran, until I reached my bales of cotton. Fortunately for me, most of my coffee was gone. What was left I drank with great relish. My situation was serious, but what could I do about it, until the hunt started?
My wait was all too short. For the search for me began as soon as the mate could get his men into the hold. He was afraid to trust his men with a lighted lantern for fear they would accidentally set the steamer afire. All he could do was to make his men catch hold of [their] hands and feel their way along in their drive. I lay down flat on my face on the floor. By the time the chain of hunters, stretching from one side of the hull to the other, advanced slowly but surely to where I was stretched out. I could hear the men breathing heavily in the darkness but could not place them until one stepped on my leg. The man never faltered, but calmly [went] on with his comrades. I knew my escape from the trap was only temporary, for when the men had gone from stem to stern in their fruitless search, the mate accused them of letting me slip through their line. Ordering the men to stand still, he called for another mate to bring down two lighted lanterns.
A second line was formed with the two officers with lighted lanterns following close behind. Then I knew my case was hopeless. I crawled as close as I could to the bales of cotton and stood in their shadow. As the lights closed in about me, I saw the lone coffee tin cup. Reaching down, I picked it up as the nearest lantern came close to me. I hurled the tin cup at the light but missed it.
In another moment, two strong arms were around me, and the manhunt was at an end. As soon as I was captured, I collapsed and was carried on deck in this helpless condition. My cries for food and drink attracted the attention of a woman passenger, who, forcing her way through the crowd surrounding me, took possession of me. She had me taken to her own cabin, where she … gave me food and water until I was out of danger.
By the second day I had so far recovered, the captain of the steamer began to question me, endeavoring to make me tell where I came from. He knew I was a runaway, [and] his duty was to take me back to my master. But I refused to give him any information. Failing in his inquiry, he informed me he would leave me with the sheriff at the next landing, picking me up on his way back to New Orleans. I learned I was somewhere between Vicksburg and Memphis. Sure enough, the captain at the next stop placed me in custody of the sheriff for safekeeping.
As we were going through the little town, the proprietor of a grocery store asked about me, but the sheriff explained I was a runaway and he was taking me to jail for safekeeping. The grocery [man] suggested that instead of locking me up, the thing for the sheriff to do was to [use me as] help in clearing off the officer’s farm. This advice, much to my surprise, was accepted. So instead of going to jail, I was sent out into the country to work in the open air. Though the work was hard, I was a willing worker, for I was already casting about to find some way to escape.
Gaining my freedom by hook or crook was never out of my mind. Knowing the steamer was expected back shortly, I began my calculations as to the time of her arrival. The sheriff proved to be a better index than I was. For one afternoon seeing him in close conference with his overseer, and noticing they glanced at me slyly from time to time, I made up my mind that it was high time for me to go on my way.
When the sheriff left, the overseer kept close tabs on every movement I made. I knew I had to outwit him or be an unwilling passenger on the steamer to New Orleans. Keeping a close watch on the foreman, I began to be very busy in a fence corner filled with stubborn brush. Bending low over my work, I managed to loosen a lower rail in the fence. When the overseer turned his back, I was down on all fours clearing and digging my way under and through that loose rail.
Once out on the other side, bending low, I ran towards a swamp which was in plain view. Soon the ground was soft and underbrush so thick I was afraid I would be captured before I could get into the refuge of the swamp. I plunged ahead, the ground getting softer and the underbrush thinner and thinner until I came to [a] sluggish pool, sour and soft. My feet sunk into the slime and mud so deep it looked for a time as though I would be swallowed up.
I managed to get loose, and clinging to a log that almost reached the other side of the pool, I determined to risk a leap into the muck on the other side. I lighted fairly in the midst of the quagmire and if I had not thrown myself forward on my face and dragged myself across the hole like an alligator, I would be there yet.
As it was, I was completely exhausted when I sunk down on a clump of bushes that held me aloft until I caught my breath. Making my way along half-buried logs and bushes, I kept getting deeper and deeper into the swamp, until I came to a clump of four trees with intertwining roots, making a small elevation rising above the soggy ground. As it was almost dark, I made up my mind I would stay here for the night.
These four forest friends rose straight out of the swamp, with matted branches stretching overhead like a huge umbrella. Knowing the forest was full of wolves and catamounts, in dim twilight I broke down a branch, making a club for my defense. I climbed up into the forks of one of the trees just like Robinson Crusoe, the first night he was ashore on his island, but I was afraid I would go to sleep and fall. Wet, tired, and hungry, I sat down with my back against the trunk of the tree, determined to spend the night on guard. But I was soon sound asleep. Being awakened by a hoot owl—that gave me a great scare.
When I was shivering and staring fearfully about me, I heard the yelping of hounds, the despair of fugitive slaves. The sound grew louder and louder, closer and closer, until the pack went howling by me. Then I knew it was wolves chasing a deer. Then I saw in my imagination a catamount crouching overhead ready to spring down on me, which I soon saw was only a gnarled knot. Relieved of this terror, I refused to believe my eyes or ears and went sound asleep, leaving the forest and the swamp to take care of themselves.
In the morning I slid off my tree island in the opposite direction from which I had come on it the night before. For a time, the going was bad, very bad. Then it got better. In the middle of the morning, I found a patch of blueberries. They satisfied my hunger and quenched my thirst, so I was quite ready to go on. The strange part of this dreary swamp was the absence of life. Of course there were plenty of ugly and dreaded water moccasins. There was not a bird to be seen, or even a rabbit. Everything decent seemed to pass by this bit of forsaken land.
About noon, I struck a road which led me to a broad green savannah, where the ground was firm and luscious grass [was] up to my knees. What was best of all, overhead the sun was still shining. As I was gathering blueberries close to a fallen log, I happened to look up and saw a large body of water.
Then I knew I was back on the banks of the Mississippi. There was a large steamer coming downstream. To make my story dramatic it should have been the Magnolia, but unfortunately it was some other steamer whose name meant nothing to me. I stood on the bank and watched the steamer sail majestically by, for I want to say right now, there was something proud and majestic the way a large river steamer swam the waters. They were a sight never to be forgotten.
While I was silently watching the steamer go by, my meditations were brought to an abrupt end, by seeing a colored woman bending over her washtub. At the same time I saw a skiff pulled up on shore a short distance below her. At the sight of the skiff I forgot the presence of the washer woman, and made straight past her for the skiff. It was only the work of a moment to push the skiff out into the stream. Every moment I expect the colored woman to let forth a disturbing yell, but she went about her work as though nothing had happened. Having bathed my face and eaten a lunch which I found in the skiff, I felt ready for new adventures.
My liberty threatened to be short-lived, for as I was rowing along, a white man with a shotgun sprang out of the bushes, ordering me to come ashore. As I paid no attention to him, he rushed down to the water’s edge, pointing his gun at me, threatening to shoot. I knew that a dead fugitive slave was of no value to him.11 I rowed along shore just out of his reach, until I had the man worked up into such a crazy frenzy I was afraid he might shoot me. Turning the bow of my boat to the middle of the river, I went on down the river.
Events moved rapidly after this adventure with the man and his shotgun. I had barely gone downstream a couple of miles until I saw a skiff with two men coming out from shore ahead of me. Then I knew I was in for trouble. I could not turn around and go upstream. My only chance was to beat them to the other shore. The race was on with all the advantage to my opponents. Though I rowed at top speed, the men gained on me rapidly. Though they caught up with me and called on me to give up, I had no intention of doing so until I was overpowered. Seeing my game, they spurted ahead, drove their boat across my bow.
I smashed right into them on a theory as long as I was free something might happen to give me a last chance. But my theory went wrong, for I had hardly struck them when my boat was grabbed, and before I could strike them with my oar, they were on me, [and] my game for the present was lost. Before I had realized what had happened, I was lying in the bottom of my captors’ boat with my arms tied tightly behind me. I expected no favors from these men, as to them I was only a beast of labor in revolt—which was perfectly true.
The two men pushed and hauled me up the bank to their log cabin, all the while plying me with questions, which I refused to answer. They then informed me they would take me to town the next day, which I knew meant my old friend the sheriff, from whom I had just escaped, would clap me into jail. In the meantime, I was to make myself comfortable in the back room of their cabin.
It took some pleading on my part to get them to loosen my hands, which they finally did. Left alone, I took notice of my surroundings. I was in a small log-house room with no opening in it except a rude door which opened into the front room. A bundle of dirty rags in a corner was to be my bed and a cracker box on end my chair; otherwise there was not another thing in that den.
As I passed through the front room, I saw a man evidently very ill lying helpless in his bunk. As I was shoved into my prison room, one of the men pointed to the pile of rags in the corner jestingly, told me a man had just died there, so I might be disturbed by ghosts.
When my evening meal of cornbread and fat meat swimming in grease was pushed through a crack in the door, I was informed that my escape was impossible, as boxes were going to be piled against the door. Furthermore, if I got by them, the big dog in the yard would finish me up in short order. This I believed, as I had noticed the vicious brute as I passed through the yard coming in. I heard the boxes piled up against the door, which seemed a good burglar alarm to me, and to be reckoned with when I made my effort to escape. I had no intention of staying put in that cabin overnight. Knowing of the barricade and of the dog only made me the more determined to get away.
From time to time during the evening I could hear my captors moving about, and I am sure [I] heard them … stand quietly at my door, listening to find out what I was doing. I sat in silence on the cracker box just as actively planning to get away as they were to hold me.
It was late when I took off my shoes, tied them together, and made ready to escape. I could hear the deep breathing of the two men. I had no fears of an outbreak from the sick man. Satisfied I could begin work, I put my weight gently against the door, but it held fast. Sure of my plan, I put more pressure on the door, but it would not move.
Perhaps they had put a bar across the door. That thought made me feel queer. Determined to test that fact, I put my whole weight against that door, care what would. To my relief, it gave a trifle. Then I knew I would surely get by that barrier. Patiently and slowly I pushed the pile of boxes inch by inch until I could squeeze through. The two men were sound asleep as I, with thieflike silence, stole into the front room.
The sick man on whom I had not counted now proved to be a disturbing menace. For he had heard me, [and] thinking it was one of his companions, he asked me for a drink. I had seen the water bucket on a bench at the side of the door. Holding my breath, I walked quietly to the door, stepped out into the moonlight, and jostled a gourd dipper against the bucket, thus indicating the bucket was empty.
Picking up the water bucket, I started toward the gate. That dog came from somewhere that I did not stop to see, as he stood squarely across my path, growling as though he meant business. I pushed that water bucket into his muzzle and walked on as though I was going to the spring. My boldness bluffed that dog into silence, while he was still suspicious and followed me. Having followed me to the last fence corner, he stood watching me as I disappeared still swinging that water bucket, all the time fearful that he would let out a yowl that would raise [the men and] put an end to my easy walkaway.
Now being left to myself, I threw the bucket away and ran across lots down to the river. Knowing that I would be followed by the lads, I waded up the river. Coming to a small creek, I followed that until I came to a ford. There I went ashore, as my footprints would be mingled with those of the people who had gone before me.
At daylight, I made my way to the riverbank and hid in a clump of willows. Sometime in the afternoon, I noticed three flatboats tied together being worked ashore by the men at the long sweeps, evidently making a landing. I had been watching them come down the river, wondering what they were trying to do, so my curiosity was aroused by one of the men leaping ashore just below where I was hiding, take a half turn around a tree, [and] paying out his rope until the boat swung quietly against the bank. Now what were they up to? As the three men threw out a slim plank, and came down it with their axes, I knew they were going to “wood up.” I watched them cut up the driftwood and carry it aboard for some time, before I saw a way out for me.
Stealing out of the willows, I made my way to the top of the bank coming out just above the boats. I stood watching the boatmen, as though I belonged to a neighboring plantation. Then I went down the bank offering my assistance. The men hesitated, but when I admitted I lived nearby, they gladly accepted my services. After the first trip or so, the men paid no further attention to me. But I was all eyes for my own opportunities. The wood was being piled against the three shanty houses. They were small affairs with no places of concealment.
But the cargo which consisted of hogsheads of tobacco were the very places I was looking for. The hogsheads were stacked upon end and not too close together. Though the boats were headed down the river, I knew I had to get out of the country and this was my one great chance.
As I took on a load of wood, I would leisurely go to the outside boat and stand looking idly up and down the river, making no haste to go back to shore. On shore I could loaf among the trees. The result was the men gave little heed to me, except to call me a “lazy nigger.” They were too busy to watch me. Keeping a close watch on the boatman, I took a load of wood to the shanty in the outside boat, then when no one was looking dropped down into the hold.
Like a rat I had disappeared into a hiding place of quick choosing, poor it was, but I had to take a chance. There I lay with quick ears to catch the alarm of my disappearance. Casting off I heard the boatmen walking back and forth as they lazily plied their long heavy sweeps, in order to get out into the current of the river, which was their motive power. It was dark when a watchman put up his red and green signal lanterns on the bow of the flatboat. I was lying immediately beneath him. It seemed to me, right out in the open, all he had to do was to glance down and I would be discovered. My good fortune again stood me in stead while he went whistling back to the shanty.