The kidnapped and the ransomed : being the personal recollections of Peter Still and his wife "Vina," after forty years of slavery.

Front matter

Mr. Clay' r Overseer outwitted.

See Pflgc 62.

THE KIDNAPPED

Contents

CHAPTER V.

THE SEPARATION.

Excitement at Master Nattle's— Preparations for Heaioral—Masler Nattie's Good Bye— Levin's Departure— Peter enters the Serrice of Mj'. John D. Young— Evenings at Mr. Clay's— Aaron, the Coachman - - -66

Introduction

Within the last four years, many hundreds, probably thousands, of persons in our nominally j&ee States, have seen Peter Still, a neat, staid black man, going from city to city, town to town, house to house, asking assistance to enable him to purchase the freedom of his wife and children. He has always been grateful for the smallest favors, and never morose when utterly denied. He has not obtruded himself or his story; but those who have shown curiosity enough to make any inquiries, have been soon led to suspect that he was no common man ; that the events of his life had been thriUingly interesting— -some of them even more wonderfiil than we often meet with in works of fiction. Kidnapped, in his early childhood, from the door-step

XVlii INTRODUCTION.

of liis home in New Jersey ; more than forty yeaa'S a slave in Kentucky and Alabama ; his unsuccessful appeal to the great Henry Clay ; his liberation through the generosity of a Jew ; his restoration to his mother by the guidance of the slightest threads of memory ; the yearning of his heart for his loved ones'; the heroic but disastrous attempt of Concldin to bring his wife and children to him-r-wherever these incidents of his life were detailed, they seldom failed to draw from the hand of the listener some contribution towards the exorbitant sum demanded for the liberation of his family.

Words of discouragement, even from his warmest friends, fell without weight on the heart of Peter Still. Arguments, sometimes urged against the propriety of paying, especially an exorbitant price, for liberty, were parried by him with a skill not to be acquired in "The Schools." His soul was intent upon a great purpose. He could not be withheld ; he could not be turned aside. His perseverance, his patience, his exactness, his tact, everywhere attracted attention, and often commanded respect. In less than three yeai's, his wife and children were restored to him ; and, after a few weeks spent in seeing and being seen by friends and relatives, they all settled themselves in employ-

INTRODUCTION. xix

ments, by which they are earning comfortable livelihoods, and laying the foundation of future independence.

It was thought, by most of those who had heard the histories of Peter Still and Seth Concklin, that such histories ought not to remain unwritten or unpublished. It was believed that good narratives of both of tliese remarkable men, would give to the people of the Northern States some new illustrations of the horrors of that "peculiar institution," which has well-nigh subjugated to itself our entire Eepublic.

It so happened that a lady was at hand, singularly qualified for the former and larger part of the task, not only by her ability as a vmter, but by her personal acquaintance with Peter Still, while he was in bondage. Mrs. Pickard had lived several years in the very town, or neighborhood, where most of the events transpired that would come into the narrative. She knew personally many of the individuals, who had acted conspicuous parts in the tragedy she was called upon to write. Moreover, she had conceived a very just appreciation of the character of this man and woman, who, imder the laws of our country, had been subjected to all that domestic servitude can do to imbrute human beings, and yet retained so much that

XX INTRODUCTION.

is distinctive of tlie best specimens of o\ir raee. She was therefore persuaded to undertake the work, which is now given to the public.

The writer of this narrative was a highly esteemed teacher in the Female Seminary of Tuscumbia, Alabama. There Peter Still was employed in several menial offices, and was subject to her observation every day for many months. She often admired his untiring diligence, his cheerful patience, his eagerness to get work rather than to avoid it, and his earnest gratefulness for the perquisites that were frequently bestowed upon him by tlie many, whom he served in various ways, and served so well. Little did she suspect what was the mainspring of the intense life that she wit- - nessed in the poor slave-man, who seemed to her to have so little to live for. She did not know that (as he has since told her) Jie was" hungering and thirsting after liberty," which had been promised him by a compassionate Jew, who then owned him, for a sum that it seemed possible for him to accumulate. It was that hunger and thirst which filled " Uncle Peter" with all the graces, and brought him all the gifts, that he needed to attain the object of his heart's desire. He had long been known, and univejsally respected and loved, in the town where he lived. Everybody believed that what

INTR0DUC5TI0N. xxi

Uncle Peter said -was true ; and that every duty imposed upon him would be faithfully discharged. But the amount of labor that he was then accustomed to perform had come to be a matter of frequent remark and admiration. Some attributed his severe toil to the requirements of his Jew master. They had yet to learn, that there is a harder driver than any Jev/ish or Christian slaveholder, even the man's own spirit, when the priceless boon of liberty is set before him, as an incitement to exertion.

We can promise the lovers of exciting adventure very much in the ensuing volume to gratify their taste ; and all those who really desire to fathom the heights and depths of that Iniquity which is threatening the destruction of our Eepublic, may turn to these pages, in the assurance that they will find in them a great amount and variety of information, derived from the most authentic sources, and given with the strictest regard to truth.

In this narrative -will also be foujid, incidentally, but very clearly given, intimations of many excellences that are latent, as well as lively sketches of some that are patent, in the negro variety of our race — ^indeed, all the qualities of our common, and of our uncommon humanity — ^persistence in the pursuit of a

XX ESTTRODUCTION".

is distinctive of tiie best specimens of our raee. She was therefore persuaded to undertake the work, which is now given to the public.

The writer of this narrative was a highly esteemed teacher in the Female Seminary of Tuscumbia, Alabama. There Peter Still was employed in several menial offices, and was subject to her observation every day for many months. She often admired his untiring diligence, his cheerful patience, his eagerness to get work rather than to avoid it, and his earnest gratefulness for the perquisites that were frequently bestowed upon him by the many, whom he served in various ways, and served so well. Little did she suspect what was the mainspring of the intense life that she wit- - nessed in the poor slave-man, who seemed to her to have so little to live for. She did not know that {as he has since told her) Jie was" hungering and thirsting after liberty," which had been promised him by a compassionate Jew, who then owned him, for a sum that it seemed possible for him to accumulate. It was that hunger and thirst which filled " Uncle Pet«r" with all the graces, and brought him aU the gifts, that he needed to attain the object of his heart's desire. He had long been known, and imivejsally respected and loved, in the town where he lived. Everybody believed that what

INTRODUCTION. xd

Uncle Peter said was true ; and that every duty imposed upon him would be faithfully discharged. But the amount of labor that he was then accustomed to perform had come to be a matter of frequent remark and admiration. Some attributed his severe toil to the requirements of his Jew master. They had yet to learn, that there is a harder driver than any Jewish or Christian slaveholder, even the man's own spirit, when the priceless boon of liberty is set before him, as an incitement to exertion.

"We can promise the lovers of exciting adventure very much in the ensuing volume to gratify their taste ; and all those who really desire to Mhom the heights and depths of that Iniquity which is threatening the destruction of our Eepublic, may turn to these pages, in the assurance that they wUl find in them a great amount and variety of information, derived from the most authentic sources, and given with the strictest regard to truth.

In this narrative will also be found, incidentally, but very clearly given, intimations of many excellences that are latent, as well as lively sketches of some that are patent, in the negro variety of our race — ^indeed, all the qualities of our common, and of our uncommon humanity— persistence in the pursuit of a

Xxii INTRODUCTION,

desired object ; ingenuity in the device of plans for its attainment ; self-possession and self-command tKat can long keep a cherished purpose unrevealed; a deep, instinctive faith in God; a patience under hardship and hope deferred, which never dies ; and, withal, a joyousness which, like a life-preserver, bears one above the dark waves of unparalleled trouble

The latter and smaller portion of this volume — ^the Sketch of the- Life of Seth Concklin — was written by a gentleman who has long held so high a place among American authors, that we shall not presume to give him our commendation. That Dr. Wm. H. Furness, of Philadelphia, deemed the merits of Seth Concklin to be such as to deserve a tribute from his pen, must be a sufficient assurance that the subject of this sketch had evinced traits of character, and done deeds, or endured trials, wprthy of commemoration. Those who know that Dr. Furness never touches anjrthing that he does not adorn, will go to the perusal of his portion of this book, in the confident expectation of being delighted with the unaffected beauty of the sketch, and of having their sympathies and better feelings made to flow in unison with those of the true-hearted author. They will close the volume with gratitude to Dr. F., for having rescued from oblivion, and placed before

INTRODUCTION. Xxiii

his countrymen, another well-authenticated example of successful conflict with appalling difficulties in earlylife ; of unwavering fidelity to right principles, in the midst of great temptations ; and of heroic, disinterested self-sacrifice in the cause of suffering humanity.

SAMUEL J. MAY.

Syracuse, Feb. 14, 1856.

THE

KIDNAPPED AKD THE RANSOMED.

Chapter I. The Kidnapper

Late in the afteraoon of a pleasant summer dav, two little boys were playing before the door of tlieir motber's cottage. They were apparently about six or eight years old, and though their faces wore a dusky hue, their heart^s were gay, and their laugh rang out clear and free.

Their dress was coarse, and in no wise restrained the motions of their agile limbs, for it consisted merely of a cotton shirt, reaching no lower than the knee.

How they ran races down the road, and turned summersets on the green grass I How their eyes danced with merriment, and their white teeth glistened in the pleasant light !

But as the day wore on they grew weary, and with childhood's first impulse, sought their mother. She was not in the house. All there was still and lonely. In one corner stood her bed, covered with a clean blanket, and the baby's cradle was empty by its side. Grandmother's bed, in another comer of the room, was made up nicely, and every article of the simple furniture was in its accustomed place. Where could they all have gone ?

" I reckon," said Levin, " mammy's gone to church.

2 (35)

THE 'KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED.

The preacMn' must be miglity long ! O ! I's so hongry I

I's gwine to meetin' to see if she's thar."

The "church" stood in the woods, about a mile off.

It was an old white building that had formerly been

occupied by the family of S. Gr., who now lived in a

large brick house close by. The boys had often been

at the church with their father, who kept the key of

the building, and opened it for worship on Sundays,

and prayer-meeting nights.

" You better not go thar, I reckon," replied Peter, the younger of the two boys, " Mammy '11 whip you well if you goes to foller her to meetin', and all about."

*' Mammy ! O Mammy I"

Thus they called their mother, and cried because she did not answer, till their eyes were swollen,' and their pleasant play forgotten.

Soon the sound of wheels diverted them for a mo- , ment from their childish grief, and looking up the road, they saw a handsome gig approaching. Its only occupant was a tall dark man, Avith b3ack and glossy hair, which fell heavily below his white hat.

He looked earnestly at the little boys as he approached, and marking their evident ^i* he checked his horse, and kindly asked the cau ^ of their sorrow.

" Oh! Mammy's done gone off, and there's nobody to give us our supper, and we're so hongry." "Where is your mother?"*

"Don't know, sir," replied Levin, "but I reckon she's gone to churcli,"

"Well, don't you want to ride? Jump up here with me, and I'll take you to your mother. I'm just going to church. Come! quick! What! no clothes

THE KIDNAPPEE.

but a shirt? Go in and get a blanket. It will be night soon, and you will be cold."

Away they both ran for a blanket. Levin seized one from his mother's bed, and in his baste pushed the door against his brother, Avho was robbing his grandmother's couch of its covering.

The blanket was large, and little Peter, crying all the while, was repeatedly tripped by its falling under his feet while he was running to the gig.

The stranger lifted them up, and placing them between his feet, covered them carefully with the blankets, that they might not be cold. He spoke kindly to them, meanwliile, still assuring them that he would soon take them to their mother.

Away they went very swiftly, rejoicing in their childish hearts to think how their mother would wonder w^hen she should see them coming.

After riding for some time, — ^how- long they could not guess — they suddenly upset in the water with a great splash. The strange man had, in his haste, driven too near the bank of the river, and the shght vehicle had thus been overturned. He soon rescued the children from the water. They were much frightened, but nothing was injured by the accident, and in a few minutes they were once more covered with the blankets, and flying along the river bank faster even than before.

When the gig stopped again, the sun was just setting. They wero at the water side, and before them lay many boats, and vessels of diflferent kinds. They had never seen anything like these before, but they had short time to gratify their childish curiosity; for they were hurried on board a boat, which left the shore immediately.

With the assurance that they should now find their mother, they trusted imphcitly in their new-made friend ; who strengthened their confidence in himself by gentle words and timely gifts. Cakes of marvellous sweetness were ever ready for them, if they grew impatient of the length of the journey ; and their childish hearts' could know no distrust of one whose words and acts were kind.

How long they were on the boat they did not know ; nor by what other means they travelled could they afterwards remember, until they reached Versailles, Kentucky. Here their self-constituted guardian, whom they uov.'- heard addressed as Kincaid, placed them in a wagon with a colored woman and her child, and conveyed them to Lexington.

This was the first town they had ever seen, and as they were conducted up Main street, they were filled with wonder and admiration.

Kincaid took them to a plain brick house where dwelt one John Fisher, a mason by trade, and proprietor of a large brick yard.

After some conversation between the gentlemen, which of course the children did not understand, they were taken out to the kicohen, and presented to Aunt Betty, the cook. ,

"There, my boys," said Kincaid, "there is your mother— we've found her at last."

"No! no I" they shrieked, "that's not our mother! O, please, sir ! take us back !" "With tears and cries they clung to him who had abused their guileless trust, and begged Mm not to leave fchem there.

This scene was soon ended by John Fisher himself, who, with a hearty blow on each cheek, bade them

THE KIDNAPPER.

" hush !'■ " You belong to me now, jon little rascals, and I'll have no more of this. There's Aunt Betty, she's 3'^our mammy now; and if you behave yourselves, she'll be good to you."

Kincaid soon departed, and they never saw him again. They learned, however, from a white apprentice, who lived in the house, that he received from Mr. Fisher one hundred and fifty-five dollars for Levin, and one hundred and fifty for Peter.

Poor children I what a heavy cloud now shadowed their young lives 1

For the first few weeks they talked constantly of going back to their mother — except when their master was near. They soon learned that they must not mention the subject in his presence.

He was, in the main, a kind, indulgent man — but were they not his money? "Why should he allow them to prate about being stolen, when he had bought them, and paid a right good price ?

"Father," said John Fisher, junior, "isn't Philadelphia in a free State ?"

" Certainly — it is in Pennsylvania."

" Well, then, I reckon those two boys you bought were stolen, for they lived with their mother near the Delaware river ; and Aunt Betty says that is at Philadelphia. It was too bad, father, for that man to steal them and sell them here, where they can never hear from their mother !"

■ "Pooh, boy! don't talk like a fool! Most likely they were sold to Kincaid, and he told them he would take them to their mother, in order to get them away without any fuss. And even if he did steal them — so were all the negroes stolen at first. I bought these boys, and paid for tliem, and I'll stop tlieir talk about being free, or I'll break tbeir black necks. A pretty tale tbat, to go about the country — just to spoil the sale if I should happen to wish to get shut of them ! Free, indeed I And what is a free nigger ? They're better off here than if they were free, growing up in idleness, and with nobody to take care of them."

Before night the young offenders were thoroughly kicked and beaten, and received the assurance that they should be killed outright if they dared to tell such a tale again. So they grew cautious ; and spoke those sweet memories of home and mother only in whispers to each other, or to some fellow-slave that knew how to sympathize with their sorrows.

CHAPTEB II.

KARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY.

The long, hard lesson of slavery was now fairly open before our young students. In vain they shrank from its dreadfiil details. In vain they appealed for pity to their hard-handed master. Page after page of dark experiences shadowed their boyish eyes, and their young hearts, so merry hitherto, grew sad and anxious.

The necessity of concealing the true feelings is among the rudiments of slavery's lore. A servant should be merry. A gloomy face is a perpetual complaint, and why should it be tolerated ?

To this necessity the temperament of the African is most happily suited. Cheerful and warm-hearted, with an innate love of light and harmony, the slightest sympathy awakens his affection, and the faintest dawn of happiness provokes a smile.

Levin and Peter were not long in divining, with the tact of childhood, their exact position, domestic and social. .

Their master was a large, fine looking man, with a free, hearty manner, and much real Idndliness of disposition. He never allowed this latter quality, however, to interfere in business matters ; and as, in addition to" the business of brickmaking, he rented a large plantation about a mile out of town, he had no time to waste in unprofitable sentimentalities. How to get the most work done with the least expense he regarded as a problem worthy of his attention, and his success in business proved that he considered it well.

Mrs. Fisher Avas a stout, freckle-faced lady, plain and unpretending in her dress and manner, and perfectly devoted to her husband and children. She had, at the time of which we speak, two boys, John and Sydney; and for the first three years that he lived with them, Peter was their constant plajnmate. Levin was sent to the -brick-yard the second year after Fisher purchased them, he being at that time only nine years old.

At night the little slave boys rolled themselves up in their blankets, and slept on the floor in their mistress' room. They often waked in the morning under the bed, or the bureau, where Mrs. Fisher had shoved them with her foot, the night previous — that they might be out of the way. They were comfortably clothed, well fed, and — ^if they said nothing of their mother's house on the Delaware river — kindly treated. But if a word on that forbidden subject reached their master's ear, he became a monster. By stripes and kicks he taught them that they had no right to that blessed memory, that they were his property, and that he possessed the power to quiet their restless tongues.

The plantation which was rented by Mr. Fisher belonged to Mrs. Eussell, a widow lady, and lay about a mile from the city, across the road fix>m the residence of Henry Clay; Here, while Peter was too young to work in the brick-yard, he was sent daily for the cows, and for vegetables from the garden ; and as lie had plenty of leisure, he spent many happy hours in playing with the little colored children at Mr. Clay's.

EARLY EXPERIEx^CE IN SLAVERY.

Frequently the morrj group was joined hj young Masters Tiieodore and Thomas Ghj, and then the sport was liveliest.

The heart of the little new-made slave glowed with love for these noble boys, and he soon confided to them his sad history; and one day, when Mrs. Clay, as was her custom, spoke kindly to the dusky playmate of her sons, he simply recited to her the story of his sorrows, and asked her if she did not think some one would send him back to his mother.

She quieted him with cakes and other delicacies, to the palate of the child exceeding grateful, and then gently dismissed the children to their play.

But the brave-hearted boys were young enough to long io do something for their little favorite, and bade him tell his story to their father, who, they assured him, would send him back. There was true Kentuckv generosity in their breasts, and they felt sure their honored father could not fail to do his utmost to redress such a cruel wrong.

" O Levin I" whispered Peter, the first time he was alone with his brother. "I reckon we'll go back to-reckly 1"

"Go back 1 whar?"

"Why home, to see mother! IvTass' Theodore Clay say, his father so good to everybody, he know he'll send us back if we tell him how we got stole — ^says his fiither allers hope folks whar gits in trouble."

" Mass' Theodore say so ? Eeckon then we will, kase Mr. Clay mighty good to all his people. Hi! Mars John Fisher ! you's gwine lose these chOlems I"

And with comical grimaces, Levin cut a series of

2*

TUE KIDNAPPED AND THE IIANSOMED.

shuffles, indicating the confusion tliat awaited " Mars John."

Not long after this conversation, Peter saw Mr. Clay standing near the court-house with a letter in his hand. His little heart bounded with hope as he ran towards him.

" " 0 Mr. Clay !" he exclaimed, "I'm stole!"

" Stole ? Who stole you, and where were you stolen from?"

" I's stolen from my father and mother on Delaware river — ^folks say that's Philadelphia — ^but I don' know. Please, sir, won't you send me back to my mother?"

" To whom do you belong?"

" I 'long to Mars John Fisher, on Main street, and I wants to go back to my mother."

" "Well, my boy, I have no time to talk to you now ; you carry this letter to Major Poj)e — you know where he lives — and then come back and I'll attend to you."

Away ran the child dancing with delight, and crying, "I's free! I's free! I's gwine to my mother!"

"What is that you say?" asked a gentleman who met him. " I's gwine to be free ! Mr. Clay gwine to send me back to my mother, kase I was stole away from her I"

" Now look hercj you Kttle negro," said the man, who knew the child, and understood the temper of his master, " you'd better not talk about that to Mr. Clay, for he will tell your master, and then old John Pisher will be sure to skin you."

The bright vision that Hope had held before the trusting boy faded away. With drooping head and tearful eye he returned to tell his brother of their dis-

EAKLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. So

appointment, and after tbat tliey both avoided Lfr. Clay.

Yet Hope did not desert them ; but whispered often in their eager ears — " You shall return ; your friends will come to seek you. You were born free, and slaves you shall not die 1"

When Peter was about nine years old, he too was employed in the brick-yard, as " q/f-ieaj-e?-." Three thousand brick a day was the task for two boys ; and if one of them chanced to be by any means disabled, his companion must " o^-&ear" the whole. The moulder must not be hindered.

These moulders — slaves themselves — ^were cruel tyrants. The boys, though seldom abused by the master himself, were subject to all their caprices and passions. If one of inferior station failed to perform his task, they knew no mercy ; and their master permitted any punishment they chose to inflict.

Their favorite mode of. chastisement was called standing in the wheelbarrow." The offender was placed with a foot on each side of the wheel, and compelled to reach over and grasp a handle in each hand ; and then the youngest boys — ^the " o^-iearers"— were compelled to whip him with cowhides. If he would lie still, and take twenty-four lashes without attempting to rise, that was deemed sufficient proof of his humility. But if he made an effort to change his position before that number was inflicted, the moulder who presided over the ceremony, and who counted off the strokes, commenced again at " one" and caused the twenty-four to be repeated.

One day a large man, named Charles, was put into the wheelbarrow, and received over three hundred

THE KIDls^APPED AND THE EAKSOMED.

blows before be was sufficiently subdued to lie still, and take twenty-four witliout moving. The boys tbat were selectod to inflict this borrible punishment (of whom Peter was one) were all trembliug with terror ; but if one of them, through pit}'-, failed to strike with his utmost strength, the moulder, who stood aside with a cowhide, punished his merciful folly by a violent blow upon his own back.

Amid such scenes passed the childhood of these hapless boys. Their natural cheerfulness and mildness of temper made them universal favorites. In their own person, therefore, they endured few such sufferings as they were forced to witness. A "Boston clergyman," carefully observing their every-day life, would have pronounced^ them happy, careless boys; so ardently attached to their young masters and their fellow servants, that it would be really unkind to set them free. They were well fed — their clothes were comfortable — all they needed was supplied without their thought or care.

Chapter III. Master Nattie

When Peter was about thirteen years old, Mr. Fisher planned a removal to Cincinnati, where his brother had recently gone. He disposed of his brickyard, and intended to sell all his servants, except Aunt Betty, the cook, with her daughter and grandchild. These he could not sjiare, as they were indispensable to the comfort of the family.

Levin and Peter were overwhelmed with grief at the news of the intended sale. There was degradation in the thought of being trafficked for hke horses ; for, with all their apparent humility, and their submissive, gentle manners, there was a principle deep in their hearts that claimed the birthright of humanity.

Besides, they had,, through all these years, cherished the hope that they should yet be sought by their parents ; and they knew that if they changed owners, the chances of their being discovered would be lessened.

But their destiny was fixed. Mr. Fisher found some difficulty in disposing of them, for their old story of being stolen was remembered, and men hesitated to buy where there was a shadow of imcertainty in the title. Their master, however, so confidently asserted that he had conquered them, and it was so many years