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The Witch of Salem; or, Credulity Run Mad
Chapter 3. The Indented Slave
John R.Musick
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       _ CHAPTER III. THE INDENTED SLAVE
       Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate,
       All but the page prescribed, their present state:
       From brutes what men, from men what spirits know;
       Or who could suffer being here below?
       The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
       Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
       Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food,
       And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
       --Pope.
        
       That which was most dreaded in New England and all the American colonies
       came to pass. Charles II. died, and his brother James, Duke of York, was
       crowned King of England. On ascending the throne, the very first act of
       James II. was one of honest but imprudent bigotry. Incapable of reading
       the signs of the times, or fully prepared to dare the worst that those
       signs could portend, James immediately sent his agent Caryl to Rome, to
       apologize to the pope for the long and flagrant heresy of England, and
       to endeavor to procure the re-admission of the English people into the
       communion of the Catholic Church. The pope was more politic than the
       king and returned him a very cool answer, implying that before he
       ventured upon so arduous an enterprise as that of changing the professed
       faith of nearly his entire people, he would do well to sit down and
       calculate the cost.
       The foolish king, who stopped at nothing, not even the mild rebuke of
       the holy father, would not open his eyes, and as a natural result he was
       soon cordially hated by nearly all his subjects. His brother had left an
       illegitimate son called the Duke of Monmouth, who was encouraged to
       attempt to seize the throne of his uncle. At first the cause of the duke
       seemed prosperous. His army swelled from hundreds to thousands; but,
       owing to his lack of energy and fondness for pleasure, he delayed and
       gave the royal armies time to recruit. He was attacked at Sedgemore,
       near Bridgewater, and, owing to the perfidity or cowardice of Gray, his
       cavalry general, the rebels were defeated. Monmouth was captured, and
       his uncle ordered him beheaded, which was done.
       Then commenced the most barbarous punishment of rebels ever known. An
       officer named Kirk was sent by the king to hunt down the Monmouth
       rebels, or those sympathizing with them. His atrocious deeds would fill
       a volume, and are so revolting as to seem incredible. Another brutal
       ruffian of the time was Judge Jeffries. The judicial ermine has often
       been disgraced by prejudiced judges; but Jeffries was the worst monster
       that ever sat on the bench. He hung men with as much relish as did
       Berkeley of Virginia. His term was called the "bloody assizes," and to
       this day the name of Judge Jeffries is applied in reproach to the
       scandalous ruling of a partial judiciary.
       The accession of James II. made fewer changes in the American colonies
       than was anticipated. Perhaps, had his reign been longer, the changes
       would have been greater. The suppression of Monmouth's rebellion gave to
       the colonies many useful citizens. Men connect themselves, in the eyes
       of posterity, with the objects in which they take delight. James II. was
       inexorable toward his brother's favorites. Monmouth was beheaded, and
       the triumph of legitimacy was commemorated by a medal, representing the
       heads of Monmouth and Argyle on an altar, their bleeding bodies beneath,
       with the following: "Sic aras et sceptra tuemur." ("Thus we defend our
       altars and our throne.")
       "Lord chief justice is making his campaign in the west," wrote James II.
       to one in Europe, referring to Jeffries' circuit for punishing the
       insurgents. "He has already condemned several hundreds, some of whom we
       are already executed, more are to be, and the others sent to the
       plantations." The prisoners condemned to transportation were a salable
       commodity. Such was the demand for labor in America that convicts and
       laborers were regularly purchased and shipped to the colonies where they
       were sold as indented servants. The courtiers round James II. exulted in
       the rich harvest which the rebellion promised, and begged of the monarch
       frequent gifts of their condemned countrymen. Jeffries heard of the
       scramble, and indignantly addressed the king:
       "I beseech your majesty, that I inform you, that each prisoner will be
       worth ten pound, if not fifteen pound, apiece, and, sir, if your majesty
       orders these as you have already designed, persons that have not
       suffered in the service will run away with the booty." Under this appeal
       of the lord chief justice the spoils were divided and his honor was in
       part gratified. Many of the convicts were persons of family and
       education, and were accustomed to ease and elegance.
       "Take all care," wrote the monarch, under the countersign of Sunderland,
       to the government in Virginia, "take all care that they continue to
       serve for ten years at least, and that they be not permitted in any
       manner to redeem themselves by money or otherwise, until that term be
       fully expired. Prepare a bill for the assembly of our colony, with such
       clauses as shall be requisite for this purpose."
       No legislature in any of the American colonies seconded such malice, for
       the colonies were never in full accord with James II. Tyranny and
       injustice peopled America with men nurtured to suffering and adversity.
       The history of our colonization is the history of the crimes of Europe,
       and some of the best families in America are descended from the indented
       servants of the Old World.
       In Bristol, kidnapping had become common, and not only felons, but young
       persons of birth and education were hurried across the Atlantic and sold
       for money.
       Never did a king prove a greater tyrant or more inhuman and cruel than
       James II. After the insurrection of Monmouth had been suppressed, all
       the sanguinary excesses of despotic revenge were revived. Gibbets were
       erected in villages to intimidate the people, and soldiers were
       intrusted with the execution of the laws. Scarce a Presbyterian family
       in Scotland, but was involved in proscription or penalties. The jails
       were overflowed, and their tenants were sent as slaves to the colonies.
       Maddened by the succession of murders; driven from their homes to caves,
       from caves to morasses and mountains; death brought to the inmates of a
       house that should shelter them; death to the benefactor that should
       throw them food; death to the friend that listened to their complaint;
       death to the wife or parent that still dared to solace husband or son;
       ferreted out by spies; hunted with dogs;--the fanatics turned upon their
       pursuers, and threatened to retaliate on the men who should still
       continue to imbrue their hands in blood. The council retorted by
       ordering a massacre. He that would not take the oath should be executed,
       though unarmed, and the recusants were shot on the roads, or as they
       labored in the field, or stood at prayer. To fly was admission of guilt;
       to excite suspicion was sentence of death; to own the covenant was
       treason.
       Sometimes the lot of an indented slave was a happy one. Hundreds and
       thousands of fugitives flying from persecution came to the New World,
       while thousands of others were sent as convicts.
       Virginia received her share of the latter.
       One bright spring morning a ship from England entered the James River
       with a number of these indented slaves to be sold to the planters.
       Notice had been given of the intended sale and many planters came to
       look at the poor wretches huddled together like so many beasts in an old
       shed, and guarded by soldiers. Mr. Thomas Hull, a planter of
       considerable means, and a man noted for his iron will, was among those
       who came to make purchases.
       "Well, Thomas, have you looked over the lot?" asked another planter.
       "No, Bradley, have you?"
       "Yes, though I am shortened in money, and unable to purchase to-day."
       "Well, Bradley, what have you seen among them?"
       "There are many fine, lusty fellows; but I was most interested and
       grieved in one."
       "Why?"
       "He is a man who has known refinement and ease, is perchance thirty-five
       and has with him a child."
       "A child?"
       "Yes, a maid not to exceed ten years, but very beautiful with her golden
       hair and soft blue eyes."
       "Is the child a slave?"
       "No."
       "Then wherefore is it here?" asked Hull.
       "His is truly a pathetic story as I have heard it. It seems he was a
       widower with his child wandering about the country, when he fell in with
       some of the Duke of Monmouth's people and enlisted. He was captured at
       Sedgemore, and condemned by Jeffries. The child was left to wander at
       will; but by some means she accompanied her father, managed to smuggle
       herself on shipboard, and was not discovered until the vessel was well
       out to sea. Then the captain, who was a humane man, permitted them to
       remain together to the end of the voyage. She is with her father now,
       and a prettier little maid I never saw."
       "By the mass! I will go and see her," cried Hull. "If she be all you
       say, I will buy them both."
       "But she is not for sale."
       "Wherefore not?"
       "She was not adjudged by the court."
       With the cold, heartless laugh of a natural tyrant, Hull answered:
       "It will be all the same. He who purchases the father will have the maid
       also."
       He went to the place where the slaves were confined and gazed on the
       lot, very much as a cattle dealer might look upon a herd he contemplated
       purchasing. His gaze soon fastened on a fine, manly person in whose
       proud eye the sullen fires were but half subdued. He stood with his arms
       folded across his broad chest and his eye fixed upon a beautiful girl at
       his side.
       The captive spoke not. A pair of handcuffs were on his wrists, and the
       chains came almost to the ground; but slavery and chains could not
       subdue the proud captive.
       Hull delighted in punishing those whom he disliked. He was a papist at
       heart and consequently in sympathy with James II., so for this indented
       slave he incurred from the very first a most bitter dislike. When the
       slave was brought forth to be sold, he bid twelve pounds for him. This
       was two pounds more than the required price, and he became the
       purchaser.
       "You are mine," cried Hull to the servant. "Come with me." The father
       turned his great brown eyes dim with moisture upon his child, and Hull,
       interpreting the look, added, "Hold, I will buy the maid also."
       "She cannot be sold," the officer in charge of the slaves answered,
       "unless the master of the ship sees fit to sell her for passage money."
       The master of the ship was present and declared he would do nothing of
       the kind.
       "I will take her back to England, if she wishes to return," he added.
       The child was speechless, her great blue eyes fixed on her father.
       "What will you do with the maid?" asked Hull, who, having the father,
       felt sure the child would follow.
       "I will return her to England free of charge, if she wills it."
       "Who will care for her there?" asked Hull. "Do you know her relatives?"
       "No; all are strangers to me."
       The father, with his proud breast heaving with tumultuous emotion, stood
       silently gazing on the scene. He was a slave and he remembered that a
       slave must not speak unless permission be granted him by his master; but
       it was his child, the only link that bound him to earth, whose fate they
       were to decide, and, had he been unfettered, he might have clasped her
       to his bosom.
       "Speak with the maid," suggested a by-stander, "and see if she has a
       friend in England who will care for her."
       The master of the ship went to the bewildered child and, taking her
       little hand in his broad palm, said:
       "Sweet little maid, you are not afraid to trust me?"
       She turned her great blue eyes up to him and, in a whisper, answered:
       "I am not."
       "Have you a mother?"
       "No."
       "Have you any friends in England?"
       "None, since my father came away."
       "Where did you live before your father enlisted in the army of
       Monmouth?"
       "We travelled; we lived at no one place."
       "Have you no friends or relatives in England?"
       "None."
       The captain then asked permission to talk with the father. The
       permission was given by Hull, for he saw that his slave had the sympathy
       of all present, and it would not be safe to refuse him some privileges.
       The master of the vessel and the magistrate who had superintended the
       selling of the slaves for the crown found the slave a very intelligent
       gentleman. He said he had but one relative living so far as he knew. He
       had a brother who had come to America two or three years before; but he
       had not heard from him, and he might be dead.
       "Do you know any one in England to whom your child could be sent?"
       "I do not."
       "What were you doing before you entered the duke's army?"
       "I was a strolling player," the man answered, his fine tragic eyes fixed
       firmly on the officers. "My company had reached a town one day, in which
       we were to play at night, and just as I was getting ready to go to the
       theatre, the Duke of Monmouth entered. He was on his way to Sedgemore,
       and I was forced to join him. My child followed on foot and watched the
       battle as it raged. When it was over I could have escaped, had I not
       come upon Cora, who was seeking me. I took her up in my arms and was
       hurrying away, when the cavalry of the enemy overtook me and I was made
       a prisoner."
       The simple story made an impression on all who heard it save the
       obdurate master. The magistrate asked the slave what he would have done
       with his child.
       "Let her stay in the colony until my term of service is ended, then I
       will labor to remunerate any who would keep her."
       At this Hull said he would take the maid, and she might always be near
       the father. All who knew Hull looked with suspicion on the proposition.
       A new-comer had arrived on the scene. This was a young man of about the
       same age as the prisoner. He was a wealthy Virginian named Robert
       Stevens, noted for his kindness of heart and charity. He did not arrive
       on the scene until after the indented slave had been sold; but he soon
       heard the story of the captive from Sedgemore and his child. Robert
       Stevens' heart at once went out to these unfortunates, and he resolved
       on a scheme to make the father practically free.
       "Has the slave been sold?" he asked.
       "He has, and I am the purchaser," answered Hull.
       "How much did you give for him?"
       "Twelve pounds."
       "I will give fifty."
       "He is already sold," repeated Hull exultingly. He despised Robert
       Stevens for his wealth and popularity. To have purchased a slave whom
       Robert Stevens wanted, was great glory for Hull.
       "Fear not, good man," said Robert to the unfortunate slave. "I have
       money enough to purchase your freedom."
       Unfortunately those words fell on the ears of Thomas Hull, and he
       answered:
       "It is the order of the king that all serve their term out, and none be
       allowed to purchase their freedom."
       "I will give you one hundred pounds for the slave," cried Robert.
       "No."
       "A thousand!"
       "Robert Stevens, for some reason you want this slave restored to
       liberty."
       "No. Sell him to me, and he shall serve out his term."
       "I understand your plan. You would make his servitude a luxury. You
       cannot have the slave for a hundred times the sum you offer. By law, the
       convict is fairly mine until he hath fully served his term. I am not so
       heartless as you deem me. His child can go to my house, where she will
       be cared for."
       "No, no, no!" cried the captive, his eyes turned appealingly to Robert
       Stevens. "You take her; you take her. Go with him, Cora."
       The child sprang to the side of Robert Stevens, for already she had come
       to dread the man who was her father's master. Hull's face was black with
       rage. He bit his lips, but said nothing. With his slave, he hurried
       home.
       The name of the slave was George Waters, and he was soon to learn the
       weight of a master's hand.
       Thomas Hull was the owner of negro slaves, as well as white indented
       servants, and he made no distinction between them. George Waters, proud,
       noble as he was, was set to work with the filthy negroes in the tobacco
       fields. The half-savage barbarians, with their ignorance and naturally
       low instincts, were intended to humiliate the refined gentleman.
       "You is one of us," said a negro. "What am your name?"
       "George Waters."
       "George--George, dat am my name, too," said the negro, leaning on his
       hoe. "D'ye suppose we is brudders?"
       "No."
       "Well, why is we bofe called George?"
       "I don't know."
       The overseer came along at this moment and threatened them with the
       lash, if they did not cease talking and attend to their work. Again and
       again was the proud George Waters subjected to indignities, until he
       could scarcely restrain himself from knocking Martin, his overseer,
       down, and selling his life in the defence of his liberty; but he
       remembered Cora, and resolved to bear taunts and indignities for her
       sake, until his term of service was ended. His only comfort was that his
       child was well cared for.
       He had been a year and a half on the upper plantation of Thomas Hull,
       and though he had demeaned himself well, and had done the labor of two
       ordinary men--though he had never uttered a word of complaint, no matter
       what burdens were laid upon him, his natural pride and nobility of
       character won the hatred of the overseer. The fellow had a violent
       temper and hated George Waters.
       One day, from no provocation at all, he threatened to beat Waters. The
       servant snatched the whip from his hand and said:
       "I would do you no harm, sir. I have always performed my tasks to the
       best of my ability, and never have I complained; but if you so much as
       give me one stroke, I will kill you."
       There was fire in his eye and an earnestness in his voice, which awed
       the cowardly overseer; but at the same time they increased his hatred.
       He resolved to be revenged, and reported to Hull that the slave was
       rebellious. Hull permitted George Waters to be tied to a tree by four
       stout negroes, whose barbarous natures delighted in such work, and the
       overseer laid a whip a dozen times about his bare shoulders. No groan
       escaped his lips. For three days he lay about his miserable lodge
       waiting for his wounds to heal, and meanwhile made up his mind to fly
       from the colony.
       He had heard that a society of Friends, or Quakers, had formed a colony
       to the north, which was called Pennsylvania; and he knew that they would
       succor a slave. As soon as he was well enough, he stole from a cabin a
       gun, a knife and some ammunition, and set out in the night to find the
       plantation of Robert Stevens, where Cora was. His escape was discovered
       and the overseer, with Thomas Hull, set out in hot pursuit of the
       fugitive. At dawn of day they came in sight of him in the forest on the
       Lower James River and, being on horseback, gave chase.
       "Keep away! keep back!" cried the fugitive, "or I will not answer for
       the consequences," and he brandished his gun in the air. The overseer
       was armed with pistols and, drawing one, galloped up to within a hundred
       paces of the fugitive and fired, but missed. Quick as thought, George
       Waters raised his gun and, taking aim at the breast of his would-be
       slayer, shot him dead from the saddle.
       The body fell to the ground, and the frightened horse wheeled about and
       ran away. Thomas Hull, who was a coward, awed by the fate of his
       overseer, turned and fled as rapidly as his horse could go.
       Horrified at what he had done, and knowing that death, sure and swift,
       would follow his capture, George Waters turned and fled down the James
       River. Some guardian angel guided his footsteps, for he found himself
       one night, almost starved, faint and weak, at the plantation of Robert
       Stevens. George was driven to desperate straits when he accosted the
       wealthy planter and asked for food. Robert recognized him as the father
       of the little maid whom he had taken to his home as one of his family.
       "I have heard all; you must not be seen," said Robert. Then he conducted
       him to an apartment of his large manor house. "Are you hungry?"
       "I am starving."
       Robert brought him food with his own hands and, as he ate, asked:
       "Do you want to see Cora?"
       "May I?"
       "Yes."
       "I am a slave and a--a----"
       "I know what you would say. Do not say it, for you slew only in
       self-defence."
       "But I will be hanged if found."
       "You shall not be found. Heaven help me, if I shield a real criminal
       from justice; but he who strikes a blow for liberty is worthy of aid."
       After the fugitive had in a measure satisfied his hunger, Robert said:
       "You will need sleep and rest, after which you must prepare for a long
       journey."
       "Whither shall I go?"
       "To Massachusetts. I have relatives in Salem, where you will be safe."
       "Safe!"
       He repeated the word as if it were a glorious dream--a vision never to
       be realized.
       "Yes, you will be safe; but as you must make the journey through a vast
       forest, you will need to be refreshed by rest and food."
       The wild-eyed fugitive, with his face haggard as death, seized the arm
       of his benefactor and said:
       "They will come and slay me as I sleep."
       "Fear not, my unfortunate brother, for I will put you in a chamber where
       none save myself shall know of you."
       "And my child?"
       "She shall accompany you to Salem."
       The fugitive said no more. He entrusted everything to the man who had
       promised to save him. He was led up two flights of stairs, when they
       came to a ladder reaching to an attic, and they went up this attic
       ladder to a chamber, where there was a narrow bed, with soft, clean
       sheets and pillows, the first the prisoner had seen in the New World.
       "You can sleep here in perfect security," said Robert. "I will see that
       you are not molested by any one."
       The wayworn traveller threw himself on the bed and fell asleep.
       Stevens went below and told his wife of the fugitive. Ester Stevens was
       the daughter of General Goffe, the regicide, who had been hunted for
       years by Charles II. for signing the death warrant of the king's father
       and serving in the army of Oliver Cromwell, and Mrs. Stevens could
       sympathize with a political fugitive. They ran some risk in keeping him
       in their house; but as a majority of the colonists had been in sympathy
       with the Duke of Monmouth, for James II. had few friends in Virginia and
       Thomas Hull none, their risk was not as great as it might seem.
       The fugitive late next day awoke, and Robert carried his breakfast to
       him. The colony was wild with excitement over the escape of an indented
       slave and the killing of the overseer. Thomas Hull represented the
       crime to be as heinous as possible, to arouse a sympathy for himself and
       a hatred for the escaped slave. Some people were outspoken in the belief
       that the escaped slave should be killed; others were in sympathy with
       him. They reasoned that Hull had been a hard master, and that this poor
       fellow was no criminal, but a patriot, for which he had been adjudged to
       ten years' penal servitude.
       Many of the searchers came to the mansion house of Stevens; but he
       managed to put them off the track.
       For five days and nights George Waters remained in the attic. On the
       sixth night Robert Stevens came to him and said:
       "You must now set out on your journey."
       "But Cora--can I see her?"
       "She will accompany you. Here is a suit of clothes more befitting one of
       your rank and station, than the garb of an indented slave." He placed a
       riding suit with top boots and hat in the apartment. When he had attired
       himself, Robert next brought him some arms, a splendid gun and a brace
       of pistols of the best make.
       "You may have need of these," said the planter. "You will also find
       holsters in the saddle."
       "And does Cora know of this?"
       "I have told her all."
       The father shuddered. In the pride of his soul, he remembered that he
       was a slave, had felt the lash, and was humiliated.
       Under a wide-spreading chestnut near the planter's mansion, stood three
       horses ready saddled. A faithful negro slave was holding them, and the
       little maid, clothed for a long journey, awaited her father's arrival. A
       fourth horse was near on which were a pack of provisions and a small
       camping outfit.
       The father and child met and embraced in silence, and, had she not felt
       a tear on her face, she would hardly have known that he was so greatly
       agitated.
       "We will mount and be far on the journey before the day dawns," said
       Robert.
       "Do you go with us?" asked George Waters.
       "Certainly. I know the country and will guide you beyond danger."
       They mounted and travelled all night long. At early dawn, they halted
       only to refresh themselves with a cold breakfast, and pushed on.
       Three days Robert journeyed with them, and then, on the border of
       Maryland, he halted and told them of a land now within their reach,
       where the Quakers dwelt. There they might rest until they were able to
       go to Massachusetts. He gave a purse of gold to the father, saying:
       "Take it, and may God be as good to you as he has been to me."
       The fugitive murmured out some words of thanks; but his benefactor
       wheeled his steed about and galloped away, lest the words of gratitude
       might fall on his ears.
       "Let us go on, father," said Cora.
       For days, Cora Waters could never tell how long, they journeyed, until
       at last, on the banks of the Delaware, they came upon a small town where
       dwelt a people at peace with all the world--the Quakers, and the tired
       child and her father were taken in, given food and shelter, Christian
       sympathy, and assured of safety. _