Part 10

Reading the law did not satisfy him. He said he would consult a lawyer, and call again. When he returned, he found Daniel waiting to see him; and he immediately began to upbraid him for being so ungrateful. Daniel replied, "Master Perry, it was not justice that made me your slave. It was the law; and you took advantage of it. Now, the law makes me free; and ought you to blame me for taking the advantage which it offers me? But suppose I were not free, what would you be willing to take to manumit me?"

His master, somewhat softened, said, "Why, Dan, I always intended to set you free some time or other."

"I am nearly forty years old," rejoined his bondsman, "and if I am ever to be free, I think it is high time now. What would you be willing to take for a deed of manumission?"

Mr. Boots answered, "Why I think you ought to give me a hundred dollars."

"Would that satisfy you, master Perry? Well, I can pay you a hundred dollars," said Daniel.

Here Friend Hopper interfered, and observed there was nothing rightfully due to the master; that if justice were done in the case, he ought to pay Daniel for his labor ever since he was twenty-one years old.

The colored man replied, "I was a slave to master Perry's father; and he was kind to me. Master Perry and I are about the same age. We were brought up more like two brothers, than like master and slave. I can better afford to give him a hundred dollars, than he can afford to do without it. I will go home and get the money, if you will make out the necessary papers while I am gone."

Surprised and gratified by the nobility of soul manifested in these words, Friend Hopper said no more to dissuade him from his generous purpose. He brought one hundred silver dollars, and Perry Boots signed a receipt for it, accompanied by a deed of manumission. He wished to have it inserted in the deed that he was not to be responsible for the support of the old woman. But Daniel objected; saying, "Such an agreement would imply that I would not voluntarily support my poor old mother."

When the business was concluded, he invited his former master and Friend Hopper to dine with him; saying, "We are going to have a pretty good dinner, in honor of the day." Mr. Boots accepted the invitation; but Friend Hopper excused himself, on account of an engagement that would detain him till after dinner. When he called, he found they had not yet risen from the table, on which were the remains of a roasted turkey, a variety of vegetables, and a decanter of wine. Friend Hopper smiled when Daniel remarked, "I know master Perry loves a little brandy; but I did not like to get brandy; so I bought a quart of Mr. Morris' best wine, and thought perhaps that would do instead. I never drink anything but water myself."

Soon after Daniel Benson became a free man, he gave up sawing wood, and opened a shop for the sale of second-hand clothing. He was successful in business, brought up his family very reputably, and supported his mother comfortably to the end of her days. For many years, he was class-leader in a Methodist church for colored people, and his correct deportment gained the respect of all who knew him.

If slavery were ever justifiable, under any circumstances, which of these two characters ought to have been the master, and which the slave?

THE QUICK-WITTED SLAVE.

About the year 1805, a colored man, who belonged to Colonel Hopper, of Maryland, escaped with his wife and children, who were also slaves. He went to Philadelphia and hired a small house in Green's Court, where he lived several months before his master discovered his retreat. As soon as he obtained tidings of him, he went to Philadelphia, and applied to Richard Hunt, a constable who was much employed as a slave hunter. Having procured a warrant, they went together, in search of the fugitives. It was about dusk, and the poor man just returned from daily toil, was sitting peacefully with his wife and children, when in rushed his old master, accompanied by the constable.

With extraordinary presence of mind, the colored man sprang up, and throwing his arms round his master's neck, exclaimed, "O, my dear master, how glad I am to see you! I thought I should like to be free; but I had a great deal rather be a slave. I can't get work, and we have almost starved. I would have returned home, but I was afraid you would sell me to the Georgia men. I beg your pardon a thousand times. If you will only forgive me, I will go back with you, and never leave you again."

The master was very agreeably surprised by this reception, and readily promised forgiveness. He was about to dismiss the constable, but the slave urged him to stay a few minutes. "I have earned a little money to-day, for a rarity," said he; "and I want to go out and buy something to drink; for I suppose old master must be tired." He stepped out, and soon returned with a quantity of gin, with which he liberally supplied his guests. He knew full well that they were both men of intemperate habits; so he talked gaily about affairs in Maryland, making various inquiries concerning what had happened since he left; and ever and anon he replenished their glasses with gin. It was not long before they were completely insensible to all that was going on around them. The colored man and his family then made speedy preparations for departure. While Colonel Hopper and the constable lay in the profound stupor of intoxication, they were on the way to New Jersey, with all their household goods, where they found a safe place of refuge before the rising of the sun.

When consciousness returned to the sleepers, they were astonished to find themselves alone in the house; and as soon as they could rally their wits, they set off in search of the fugitives. After spending several days without finding any track of them, the master called upon Isaac T. Hopper. He complained bitterly of his servant's ingratitude in absconding from him, and of the trick he had played to deceive him. He said he and his family had always been extremely comfortable in Maryland, and it was a great piece of folly in them to have quitted such a happy condition. He concluded by asking for assistance in tracing them; promising to treat them as kindly as if they were his own children, if they would return to him.

Friend Hopper replied, "If the man were as happy with thee as thou hast represented, he will doubtless return voluntarily, and my assistance will be quite unnecessary. I do not justify falsehood and deception; but I am by no means surprised at them in one who has always been a slave, and had before him the example of slaveholders. Why thou shouldst accuse him of ingratitude, is more than I can comprehend. It seems to me that he owes thee nothing. On the contrary, I should suppose that thou wert indebted to him; for I understand that he has served thee more than thirty years without wages. So far from helping thee to hunt the poor fugitives, I will, with all my heart, do my utmost to keep them out of thy grasp."

"Have you seen my man?" inquired the slaveholder.

"He came to me when he left his own house in Green's Court," replied Friend Hopper; "and I gave him such advice on that occasion, as I thought proper. Thou art the first slaveholder I ever met with bearing my name. Perhaps thou hast assumed it, as a means of gaining the confidence of colored people, to aid thee in recapturing the objects of thy avarice."

The Colonel replied that it was really his name, and departed without having gained much satisfaction from the interview. He remained in Philadelphia a week or ten days, where he was seized with mania a potu. He was carried home in a straight jacket, where he soon after died.

A few months after these transactions, the slave called to see Friend Hopper. He laughed till he could hardly stand, while he described the method he had taken to elude his old master, and the comical scene that followed with him and the constable. "I knew his weak side," said he. "I knew where to touch him."

Friend Hopper inquired whether he was not aware that it was wrong to tell falsehoods, and to get men drunk.

"I suppose it was wrong," he replied. "But liberty is sweet; and none of us know what we would do to secure it, till we are tried."

He afterward returned to Philadelphia, where he supported his family comfortably, and remained unmolested.

JAMES DAVIS.

In 1795, James escaped from bondage in Maryland, and went to Philadelphia, where he soon after married. He remained undisturbed for ten years, during which time he supported himself and family comfortably by sawing wood. But one day, in the year 1805, his master called to see him, accompanied by two other men, who were city constables. He appeared to be very friendly, asked James how he was getting along, and said he was glad to see him doing so well. At last, he remarked, "As you left my service without leave, I think you ought to make me some compensation for your time. Autumn is now coming on, and as that is always a busy season for wood-sawyers, perhaps you can make me a small payment at that time."

This insidious conversation threw James completely off his guard, and he promised to make an effort to raise some money for his master. As soon as he had said enough to prove that he was his bondsman, the slaveholder threw off the mask of kindness, and ordered the constables to seize and hand-cuff him. His wife and children shrieked aloud, and Isaac T. Hopper, who happened to be walking through the street at the time, hastened to ascertain the cause of such alarming sounds. Entering the house, he found the colored man hand-cuffed, and his wife and children making the loud lamentations, which had arrested his attention. The poor woman told how her husband had been duped by friendly words, and now he was to be torn from his family and carried off into slavery. Friend Hopper's feelings were deeply affected at witnessing such a heartrending scene, and he exerted his utmost eloquence to turn the master from his cruel purpose. The wife and children wept and entreated also; but it was all in vain. He replied to their expostulations by ridicule, and proceeded to hurry his victim off to prison. The children clung round Friend Hopper's knees, crying and sobbing, and begging that he would not let those men take away their father. But the fact that the poor fellow had acknowledged himself a slave rendered resistance hopeless. He was taken before a magistrate, and thence to prison.

Friend Hopper was with him when his master came the next day to carry him away. With a countenance expressive of deepest anguish, the unhappy creature begged to speak a word in private, before his master entered. When Friend Hopper took him into an adjoining room, he exclaimed in an imploring tone, "Can't you give me some advice?" Agitated by most painful sympathy, the Friend knew not what to answer. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "Don't try to run away till thou art sure thou hast a good chance." This was all he could do for the poor fellow. He was obliged to submit to seeing him bound with cords, put into a carriage, and driven off like a sheep to the slaughter-house.