Jump Ship to Freedom (15 page)

But one way or another I had to start moving, so I began walking along downstream as fast as I could through the treeline. It was slow work. There were roots and stumps sticking up in the dark ground where I couldn't see them, and the bank was muddy and slippery. If I traveled only at night it'd take me two or three days to reach Philadelphia. But there wasn't anything to do but keep on plugging away.

By the time the sky began to lighten in the east, I figured I'd covered maybe five miles. The dark turned to gray, and then I saw through the trees the pinkish glow of the sun working its way toward the horizon. And just about the same time I spotted the cabin on the riverbank with the little rowboat tied up to a tree in front of it.

I knew I had to steal it. Going along the way I was would take too long to get into Philadelphia. Besides, I was tired and sore from stumbling along the bank I was scared to steal the boat. But there wasn't any way around it.

Then something came to me: why was I going to Philadelphia at all? Did I really want to carry a message to the convention that would put through the fugitive-slave law? For there I was, a fugitive slave myself, with posters up about me and people on my track. What difference would it make for the government to pay off the soldiers' notes if I was sold off to the West Indies first? Captain Ivers was on my trail. Big Tom had seen me going off with Mr. Fatherscreft in the coach. Probably Captain Ivers asked a few questions around Fraunces' Tavern, and he'd be able to find out where Mr. Fatherscreft was headed. Then he'd come after me. On the road to Philadelphia an old Quaker traveling with a black boy wouldn't be hard to track.

There was a good chance that by the time I got to Philadelphia, those handbills would be up all around. The first time I showed my nose anywhere, I'd be nabbed quick as you could say it.

That made another good reason for not going to Philadelphia. When I looked around all sides of it, the only thing that made sense for me was to strike out west to the new lands that was opening up in Pennsylvania across the Allegheny Mountains. I knew how to get there, too, for Mr. Fatherscreft had told me that the Delaware flowed out of the new lands through a deep cut in the mountains on its way to Philadelphia. All I had to do was follow it upstream, and in a few days I'd be out on the frontier where nobody was likely to ask a lot of questions. If I could get anything at all for my soldiers' notes, maybe I could buy myself a little homestead, and if I had any luck, in a few years save up enough to buy Mum her freedom.

There was only one thing wrong with that idea, which was that I'd promised Mr. Fatherscreft I'd carry the message to Mr. Samuel Johnson. How could I go back on a promise to a dying man? Mr. Fatherscreft had been good to me, and he was trying to do the best he could for black people. Oh, it was a terrible problem. Stealing the boat and going on into Philadelphia was a sure-fire way to get myself in a mess—put back in slavery and get a beating and maybe put in jail, too. But how could I go back on a promise like that? I stood there thinking about it. The minutes went by and I went on thinking about it. And then finally I told myself not to bother thinking about it anymore, there wasn't any way I could get around a promise to a dying man—a man who knew my father.

I slipped across to the cabin and had a look in the window. There was a man in there lying on a little cornhusk mattress, sound asleep. I ducked back and slid down the bank to the rowboat. The oars were in it. Quickly I untied the rope from the tree. Then I eased out into the water, climbed in, and lay flat on the bottom, letting it drift downstream. I stayed that way with my head down for ten minutes. Then I figured I was far enough downstream to be out of sight of the cabin, and I sat up and began rowing.

What was going to happen to me now? It would be a sad thing for Mum to have me sold off to the West Indies. Then she'd be all alone, no husband, no son, no friends: just her working away for the rest of her life for the Iverses.

I wondered what she was doing just then. Was she thinking about me, the same as I was thinking about her? By this time she'd have learned about the shipwreck and Birdsey and all. Some Connecticut captain who'd been in New York was bound to have brought home the news. Did she know that Captain Ivers was planning to sell me off to the West Indies? Would Mrs. Ivers have told her that? I didn't know; but I knew she'd be worried about me, worried that I'd drowned or got hurt.

What would happen to her if I got caught? The only hope we had was in the soldiers' notes. And I didn't even know if they'd ever be worth anything. So I decided to stop thinking about it, and I sat in the boat, drifting along and looking at the sights.

Around the middle of the morning there began to be a road alongside the riverbank, and some houses and then people coming along the road on foot or horseback. I went drifting on, and a couple of hours later I came into Philadelphia harbor.

It was a pretty sight, with ships everywhere and a forest of masts and bowsprits sticking out over the harbor street. It was just as busy as New York harbor—men everywhere, loading ships from wagons and loading wagons from ships, or just lounging around; stacks of casks and boxes and piles of hay and barrels; small boats filled with fruit and vegetables tied to the wharves. There was a pretty good number of blacks around, too. One old fellow was sitting there smoking a pipe and playing queer tunes on a kind of fiddle made of gourds.

I didn't want to go drifting around the harbor in a stolen boat any longer than I had to, so I pulled up to the first dock I came to, tied up, and climbed out, trying not to look nervous. I walked along the wharves a good way so as to be away from the boat I'd stolen, in case somebody came along and recognized it. Then I leaned up against a wall and waited until a black person came along and asked him how to get to the State House. It wasn't hard to get to, he said, and told me the way. In about twenty minutes I was standing in front of it, feeling pretty nervous.

I tell you, it was a fine great place, all brick, with lots of big windows sparkling in the sun, and carvings and patterns in the moldings around the door. There were gravel walks along the front and some little elm trees they'd just planted. And that wasn't all of it, either. On each side there was stone and brick buildings near as large as the State House. One of them was a prison, I could see that right away. Some of the prisoners was standing by the bars hollering out into the street. A few of them had got long poles, which they tied their caps to and stuck through the bars into the street so people could put pennies in the caps if they were feeling kind and had a mind to do it. And if nobody put anything in a cap, why the man who owned it would set up the most terrible cursing you ever heard. As I stood there watching the prisoners, it came to me that if Captain Ivers caught me, I might end up there, too.

But it was too late to worry about that. There was stone arches on either side between the State House and the other buildings. The arches opened onto a mall which ran out to the back. I walked through one of the arches. Just past it there was a door. I walked up the steps and opened it. I was mighty scared to go into a place of such importance, me being low as dirt, and my hand shook on the knob. But I knew I had to do it, so I went on in.

I was in a big hall. There was people in fancy clothes walking around and talking to each other. Some of them was delegates to the convention, I reckoned, and was bound to be famous, but I couldn't tell which.

Just inside the door there stood a soldier in blue, with a sword on one side of his belt and a pistol on the other. He put his arm out. “Hold up there, you,” he said. “Deliveries around to the rear.”

My knees was shaking. “I have a message for somebody, sir.”

“All right. Give it to me.”

“It ain't written out, sir. It's in my head.”

He stared at me. “I don't believe it. Nobody'd give a nigger a message in his head. No nigger could ever get anything like that straight.”

It made me mad, him saying that after all the trouble I'd been through to get there. “It's important,” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “They always are.”

I was getting madder and madder. “It's for Mr. William Samuel Johnson.”

“Sure,” he said. “And I'm the Queen of May. Now run along before I lock you up.”

I could feel tears coming up behind my eyes, I was so mad. “I have to see him. I'm not lying, it's important.” Just then I realized that a very fancy dressed man no bigger than me was staring at me.

“Guard,” the man said, “please remove the nigger from the doorway so a gentleman can pass through.”

The guard grabbed me by the arm and jerked me away. “I'm sorry, Mr. Hamilton,” he said. “He's been trying to tell me that he has a message for Mr. William Samuel Johnson.”

“No doubt,” Mr. Hamilton said. I knew right away who it was: Mr. Alexander Hamilton, one of the most famous of all the men at the convention. He started to go for the door. I was scared to death, but I knew I had to do something. “Sir,” I said. “I ain't lying. It's important.”

Mr. Hamilton snapped his head around. “Guard, would you please keep this nigger away from me.”

The guard grabbed for my arm and jerked me back hard, away from Mr. Hamilton. “I ain't lying,” I cried out. “It's for Mr. Johnson from Mr. Fatherscreft.”

Hamilton was halfway out the door, but he stopped dead and spun around. “Fatherscreft? Where is he? He was due here yesterday.”

“He's dead, sir. He died of the cough last night at Trenton. He was mighty sick.”

“Dead? Fatherscreft is dead?” He was speaking in a loud voice, and I noticed that some of the other men in the hall had turned to look at us.

Yes sir.

“And he gave you a message for us?”

“For Mr. Johnson, sir.”

“All right. Give it to me.”

Two or three other men had walked over to us and were standing there, listening. “I can't tell it to anybody but Mr. Johnson.”

“What?” Mr. Hamilton shouted. “Why, I'll wring your neck, you impudent little wretch.” He snatched at my shirt front. “Now tell me.”

My mouth was bone dry and I could hardly talk, but scared as I was of Mr. Hamilton, I was more scared of going back on a promise to a dying man and being haunted all the rest of my life. “I can't, sir,” I said. “I promised Mr. Fatherscreft. I can't go back on my promise.”

He let go of my shirt. “What's your name, boy?”

“Daniel Arabus,” I said.

“Arabus?”

Now one of the other men who had been standing by pushed forward. “What's all the commotion, Hamilton?”

“This darky says he has a message from Fatherscreft, General.”

“What is your name, boy?”

I was scared before; now I was about ready to drop down onto the floor in a dead faint, for it was General Washington. I'd seen his picture hanging in Fraunces' Tavern. It was him, sure enough. “Arabus, sir,” I sort of gasped out. “My daddy fought with you.”

“He did, did he? Maybe I remember. Was it at Trenton? Where's he now?”

“He drowned, sir. He went out in the
Katey Lee
this spring and never came back. He helped you across a stream once. He held your horse.”

General Washington smiled, and some of the others laughed. “I don't remember that. I remember the fighting at Trenton.”

When he said that, the picture of my daddy came into my mind. I saw him standing there brave and strong, looking down at me, and I began to feel braver and stronger myself.

Mr. Hamilton turned to General Washington. “He has a message for Dr. Johnson. It's obviously word of the negotiations on the slavery issue. He says Fatherscreft is dead, and he won't tell anybody but Johnson. Well have to wring it out of him.”

“There's no need of that, Mr. Hamilton,” General Washington said. “I won't ask the boy to go back on a deathbed promise. Dr. Johnson is in the writing room with one of his constituents.” He took my arm. “We'll go see him, shall we, Arabus?”

We marched on with General Washington on one side of me and Mr. Hamilton on the other, and some of the other men coming along behind. Oh, I was scared half to death to be with such famous men. We crossed the hall and then turned into a little room filled with fancy furniture—big captain's chairs, a lot of tables, and two fireplaces. I looked around, and that's when I got the most awful shock. Dr. Johnson was sitting at one of the tables with some papers in front of him. Sitting opposite him was Captain Ivers.

The minute Captain Ivers saw me he jumped to his feet. “Arabus,” he shouted. Then he looked at General Washington, sort of confused.

Dr. Johnson stood up, too. “Your runaway slave seems to have run back to you, Captain,” he said.

“He has a message from Peter Fatherscreft,” General Washington said. “He won't give it to anybody but you, Johnson.”

“Fatherscreft? At last. Where is the old soul?”

“He's dead, sir. He died last night at Trenton.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “He was mighty sick all the way down. He shouldn't ought to have been traveling.”

“And he gave you a message?”

“Yes, sir. He said I wasn't to tell it to anybody but you.”

“Well, you have Dr. Johnson now, boy,” Mr. Hamilton said.

I looked up at him, and then at General Washington, and finally at Dr. Johnson. “I ain't supposed to tell it to anybody but Dr. Johnson,” I said, kind of low.

General Washington smiled. “All right, Arabus. Come, gentlemen, let us leave these two to their business.” Captain Ivers gave me a hard look, like he was warning me not to run off again, but he didn't dare go against General Washington. They all went out. Dr. Johnson sat down, and I stood in front of him and told him the whole message. Then he asked me a lot of questions about the message, just to make sure I'd got it right and wasn't lying about the whole thing.