ch4,5,6

Chapter 4:

As the winter season came, the Hopkins gave us our single outfit of winter clothing. It seemed meager to some, but was quite an upgrade from the Scott plantation. It was also around this time that Mr. Hopkins began bringing in a preacher to “educate” us on the importance of Jesus’ birth, and thus the need for a Christmas celebration; however, this man who would be preaching to us did little spiritual reviving and educating and instead, preached about the righteousness of slavery and how slaves would not be able to live on their own without their white masters. This man was vicious too, demanding our complete and utter attention, in threat of being whipped by our overseer. He took joy too in the ensuing whippings that caused the pain and unrelenting agony for near a half dozen slaves. How could such a “devoted Christian” man be so devoutly religious, repenting on his sins almost daily, yet also be such a harsh, snide, hypocrite, forgetting the very teaching of the Golden Rule of Jesus himself: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” The abuses went on for several months, all the while we continued to work our lives away, with body aches and sickness being always-present factors in the whippings that we might or might not receive that day; however, Mr. Hopkins eventually fired the pastor in the beginning of December for stealing potatoes from one of the barrels of foodstuffs. How ironic, a pious man going to Hell.

This was not even an isolated incident in the Christian community. Many so-called “Christians” would beat slaves, such as one time when the overseer of our plantation thought one of the slaves looked at him funny, so he whipped the poor soul almost to death. When two slaves were seen eyeing each other and talking instead of working, Mr. Hopkins and the overseer forced them into “hotboxes”, which were metallic boxes that the person would sit in, barely clad, with no food or water, for a given amount of time, or until death. Another time, Mr. Hopkins was especially angry one morning, so when his breakfast was a mere two minutes later than expected, he tossed the hot coffee into the man’s face, scalding his skin, and then punched him in the gut, while also verbally abusing him. This also happened at Mr. Scott’s plantation, several years ago. The list went on and on, with violations of human rights being flagrant reminders of our social status as human beings. This cemented our doubts about the sermons which we were being taught.

Our new minister came for the first time on December 15. He taught the same principles as our previous pastor, but treated us even more as desperate souls in dire need of conversion, and as wretched, cursed beings in need of a sermon to drain our spirits. He was even more brutal than our previous pastor, with whippings occurring almost daily. There was little we could do, since resisting a whipping would incur an even more abusive beating. Mr. Hopkins began giving fewer and fewer warnings before he brought down his wrath upon misbehaving slaves, showing the pastor’s heavy influence on him. This was blatantly portrayed when a young girl stood up to stretch her back. Mr. Hopkins saw this and screamed at her, whipping her five times, just for stopping work for a few measly seconds. We were not even allowed to sing our spirituals, as Mr. Hopkins and our preacher saw them as “giving us too much freedom”. They must have thought that if they gave us that much freedom, we would become curious and yearn for more, so we continued our bleak, desolate lives with little hope of bettering them.

Chapter 5:

While the days of December barreled past, the weather got colder and colder, reaching a surprisingly low temperature given the normal mildness of a regular South Carolinian winter. With this dreary, rainy weather came similar feelings among the slaves of the Hopkins plantation, for we knew that come New Years, many of us would never see each other again. This holiday was little of an enjoyment to slaves, unlike the white folk who would roast entire animals in great feasts upon which the Negroes could not partake. Even more, the well-off whites of the region would set off these infernal contraptions that would shoot off into the sky and explode, giving off an immense concussion and emitting cinders, ash, and smoke that would rain from the heavens as if the Lord had come down from heaven with volcanoes erupting in his wake! The biggest upset that we incurred was when our new preacher, whom many of us had come to somewhat enjoy, needed to leave to go visit with his family.

These trifling events would not allow us slaves to enjoy even the slightest hint of a Christmas miracle, much less the holiday itself. No presents were exchanged, unlike the Hopkins’ home, warm and scrumptious smelling, full to the brim with a Christmas tree and waves upon waves of presents. Mr. Hopkins did, however, uphold a form of the Christmas spirit of “giving” by letting us have a single piece of bread to sum with our monthly rations of food.

Christmas day came, and we gave ourselves a brief, dull sermon in order to try to bring out spirits up, but this quickly failed and descended into a yelling fest with many weary beings angry at others. This really tested our unity among the group, but we prevailed after I and another slave quelled the unrest with a song. Soon the entire group was singing along to the tune.

The day went on smoothly until around noon, when Mr. Hopkins came out and said that we still needed to tend the fields, even on Christmas. He said that he was sorry, but he needed our labor to start the beginning of the next harvesting season. We all went out, few even with the basic commodities of shoes, and tilled rows for what would be cotton bushels. Luckily for us, the work load was generously small, so we were back to our huts for the rest of the day within two hours.

After Mr. Hopkins and the overseer had been gone for an hour or so, all of the slaves gathered in the central clearing between the huts and started a small fire hidden from the house, upon which we cooked a rabbit caught by one of the resourceful full African slaves. We also made a sort of berry mix from the surrounding bushes. Everything was just starting to come together when Mrs. Hopkins sighted us. While she was usually quite kind to us slaves in the fields, her puritanical attitude toward how her slaves would conduct themselves compelled her to run inside to warn Mr. Hopkins. He bolted outside, and, with a bucket of water, he doused the fire and destroyed our get together in only a few blinks of an eye. His faced turned an inglorious crimson red, uttering the scream, “How dare you disrespect the time which I have granted you incompetent Negroes by burning up my property! Do any of you know how dangerous that is? That could easily have set off a brush fire and killed all the crops! Whoever started this had better step forward, or there will be repercussions upon all of you!” No one had really started the whole “feast”; it just happened out of necessity, so no one stepped up. We all got our rations reduced by 3 ounces of our pork, and a single whipping, but it truly seemed like more.

Chapter 6:

After our calamitous Christmas Feast, things sort of died down for a while. The work load remained at its relative standstill status, with only the occasional hour or two per day to maintain the sprouting crops. It was during this lull in the activity that I began pondering how my life would be different if I educated myself, like the famous Frederick Douglass; where would I be? What could I accomplish? These questions puzzled my brain for hours every day as I tried to teach myself a basic education from one of the “Noah Webster’s Grammar Books” which I found in the garbage. I did, however, try to hide this from the Hopkins; they did not want their slaves to be educated, for that could possibly plant the seeds of insurrection. It was then that I had an epiphany. My good friend Martha, one of the slaves who served as a motherly figure to all of us slaves, especially me, was a very learned woman. She had been with me almost my entire life, being sold from the Scott Plantation in the same auction as I, to the same destination. She even helped me understand my past at the Scott Plantation, and all the information from the time before I could consciously remember. Thus, I ventured into her hut with my book and an open mind.

When Martha saw me, her entire face was illuminated with a massive grin. I came in and sat down on the mat and I dropped the question of whether or not she would teach me. As soon as the word “teach” came out of my mouth, the kind look on her face morphed into a sternly furrowed frown. She calmly said, “Don’t you know that that stuff is illegal? How you expect me to teach you anything when there’s all them laws and people out there to stop ya?” After all, slave education was against the law, but I was determined to not let that stop me. I begged and pleaded, and finally, that friendliness hatched in her once again. She accepted, but made a list of ground rules for the teaching sessions: they would have to be at night; they would have to be no more than forty-five minutes or less, so as not to arouse any suspicion and shorten the possibility of us getting caught; and I could not tell anyone else of the prospect.

Our first sessions began in earnest the first day afterwards, and I never looked back. Not only could that exemplary woman teach me more than I needed to know on the subject of English and Grammar, but she was also extremely well versed on her basic Mathematics, History, and a dash of Sciences. Before I knew it, I could read, minimally write, do basic arithmetic, and knew multitudes of information about the sun and the heavens, the people of the world, and the soil upon which I trod. It all came so easily to me, and I soaked it all up with pleasure. Then it happened.

One day, the overseer was passing through our slave shanty when he saw the corner of a book protruding from my hut door. He immediately burst inside, grabbed the book and screamed in my face, “Is this here book yours? Huh?! You better fess up you stupid wench or I’ll have you shot!” At this last threat, I quickly announced that I had found the book in the trash, and picked it up because I enjoyed looking at the pictures. Unknown to him, there actually were no pictures in the book, so I saw through his tough exterior to see the uneducated man whom he truly was. He asked me to read a passage from it, and I pretended to be ignorant of the trick, so I baffled and mumbled to myself for a moment before telling him that I could not understand the markings. He ripped up the book and threw it into the fire. Little did he know that all of the knowledge that I had not already known was not in that miniscule book; it was deep within the depths of Martha’s mind, and it would continue to leak out for a long time to come; I just had to be more careful.

Chapters 7-9

Chapter 7:

As the dreary days passed, I found myself becoming very close with my fellow slave worker Abraham. As a pure African, he still kept up with many aspects of traditional African culture, and he would share stories with me while we worked. He would share stories of African ghost folklore with such expression, I would find myself fascinated. Often times I would realized I had stopped working because I’d become completely engrossed with what Abraham was saying, and I’d have to hurry and get back to working so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Whenever we talked, he listened fully and made me feel completely at ease. For the first time in my entire life as a slave I had something to look forward to every day. I know longer dreaded the coming of the next day when I thought about how I would get to spend time with Abraham. He was a ray of sunshine peaking though the clouds of this never-ending gloomy storm in my life.

Not only was Abraham a kind and charming soul who brought happiness into our tragic lives, but he was also very inspiring and admirable as a worker. He worked very hard and did as he was told, taking orders with the utmost politeness, so long as the orders didn’t go against what he believed was right. However, if Master Hopkins gave an order that didn’t sit well with him, or if he tried to give a form of punishment that was cruel and unnecessary, Abraham would resist and rebel.

Since Abraham was so hardworking, Mr. Hopkins had never had a problem with him before, and had yet to encounter his rebellious nature. Mr. Hopkins tended to be reasonable so long as the slaves did their work. But one day he caught us together chatting and laughing, and it seemed as if we weren’t working. Mr. Hopkins became very cross with us, and told us we had better stop and get back to work. Abraham saw no reason for us to stop, we were doing nothing wrong and we were still working diligently. “I’m sorry sir, but I since we are doing nothing wrong and our work is still getting done, I won’t stop,” he said. Mr. Hopkins was angry at this; he saw the truth in what Abraham was saying, and yet it seemed like Abraham was trying to make a fool of him. Mr. Hopkins tried to whip him, and Abraham resisted at first. He told Mr. Hopkins, “I refuse to be punished when I did nothing wrong.” However Abraham was unable to succeed in resisting, and received his whipping in the end. As soon as Mr. Hopkins left I ran to Abraham’s side and did everything I could to heal and comfort him.

Similar incidents to this began to occur and become frequent. Each time, I stayed by his side and tried to comfort him. He would always thank me and tell me not to worry. It wasn’t long before we fell in love. I grew more discontent than ever with this life as I witnessed the cruel and unfair treatment given to Abraham. However there wasn’t much I could do about it, so I begged Abraham to throw away his pride and be obedient so he didn’t have to suffer anymore.

One day after a particularly bad whipping, he grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes and said, “let’s run away together. We can make it to the North and get married, as free people.” The idea appealed to me very much, but the consequences if we were to be caught were terrifying. I still had to save my family, and I couldn’t bear to lose Abraham, so I couldn’t bring myself to take the risk. Abraham continued to beg me everyday and I would refuse. But the days just became more and more miserable, and I could no longer bear watching Abraham be punished. About a week after he proposed the idea, I couldn’t take it anymore and let my emotions take over. I didn’t care about the risk anymore; I just wanted to get out of here. When Abraham begged this time, I agreed.

Chapter 8:

Abraham and I discussed plans for running away and gathered a few things we would need in order to survive, a few extra pairs of clothes and some food. We would get some sleep and wake up very early to sneak out. They would travel by the guide of the North Star, going through woods and other covered areas so as not to be discovered. Abraham had a friend we could meet up with after about two days of travel, and they would figure out the rest of the escape from there.

As I went to bed that night, I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I blamed it on nervousness though and sung myself quietly to sleep. It was a restless night full of unsettling dreams and when I felt the light shake of my shoulder in the morning, I was half-convinced not to go through the plan. But when I saw the tired look on Abraham’s face, I knew we couldn’t stay here any longer. We grabbed our things and quietly made our way out of the house, being careful to avoid the hounds and not wake anyone in the house. We made it across the field and away from the plantation without a hitch and I had a very bad feeling. Things were way too quiet and this was going to way too smoothly. I grew more and more uneasy as we made our way to the woods.

We made it to the woods and found a nice covered spot to sit ourselves down. Abraham assumed we were safe and told me to eat some of the food so I’d have enough strength to travel. As I ate we were startled by a howl from far away. Frightened, I looked to Abraham for instructions. He told me not to worry and we set off at a hurried pace. I was very worried but I trusted Abraham and followed his lead. We heard a rustling behind us and Abraham grabbed my hand and we started running. It was then we heard the barking. I wanted to cry because I felt there was no hope at this point. We stopped by a tree and Abraham lifted me up and told me to climb up as far as I could where I couldn’t be seen. He grabbed rosemary and rubbed it along the tree and laid it around to cover up my smell and he ran. I perched myself high up in one of the top branches, shivering both from the cold draft and from fear. I cried silently and prayed fervently that Abraham would get away. I watched as the bloodhounds bounded after him, gaining ground. What I saw next would traumatize me for the rest of my life. One of the bloodhounds caught up to Abraham and grabbed on to his leg with its teeth, bringing him down to the ground. I shuddered and shut my eyes tight, trying to block out the gruesome sounds that followed. As I cried silently my heart felt like it would shatter right there. I was tempted to jump down and scream at the world for all the pain it has brought me, and let myself be killed too. Only and fleeting thought of Peter kept me there, kept me from doing something stupid.

I probably stayed up in that tree for about two days, half-tempted to starve myself. Finally, the thought of at least trying to save Peter brought me down. I ate a little bit of food: I had no appetite but knew I’d starve if I didn’t I let my feet drag me forward, not really paying much attention to anything, just walking. It was times like this that my faith would falter, I loved God but I began to question whether he loved us. How could these things keep happening, what was the reason? Would it ever be better? Questions like these ran through my mind as I carried on. I thought about the little happiness I had found with Abraham, and now that was gone too. Had I done something wrong to deserve this punishment? I just couldn’t understand. I began to cry again, this time aloud, wailing with little concern about whether I would be caught or not.. After what seemed like days of travel I found myself at the place I’d never wanted to see again, the Scott Plantation.

Chapter 9: *Note: I’m a little confused, from the plot it seems like Peter is on the Scott Plantation, but I thought he was at the other plantation. I’ll write it as if he’s on the Scott plantation but I thought I’d point it out. Maybe I just missed out on something*

The realization of where I was first brought terror, but I vaguely remembered there was an abandoned outhouse here that I could hide out in, and had to stop anyway if I wanted to go on. I found the outhouse and trying as best as I could to disregard the lingering smell, I found a corner to curl up in and went to sleep. Sleep took over pretty quickly, for I was very tired. I half hoped I would never wake up again, but again thoughts of Peter gave me a tiny will to live. That would become my sole mission in life, getting Peter to freedom, and I wouldn’t concern myself with anything else until the task was done. When I awoke in the morning, I immediately snuck around the plantation in hopes of finding Peter. I had a difficult time as I was almost caught several times. I actually was spotted by a few of the slaves, but they kept quiet. Finally I found Peter working the fields, but trying to get his attention would be too risky. I waited out behind the shed until he was closer and there was no one else around. “Peter!” I called very softly. He didn’t hear me so I kicked a pebble in his direction. He turned around, startled at first, and his face brightened when he saw me. But quickly his face fell and her hurried over to me, looking around frantically hoping no one was watching. “Well it’s certainly good to see you again,” he said, “but you know we’re dead if you’re found.”

“I know,” I replied, “but I couldn’t leave you alone anymore. Listen Peter, we gotta get out of here. Look at your face, you’ve gotten so thin, I’m afraid you’re just going to disappear. We can’t keep living like this, it’s not right. This is not what god wanted for us. I’m going to run away to the North, and I want you to come with me.”

He hesitated, and I could see he was very conflicted. Finally he answered, “you know I want that as much as any of us do, but you know what will happened if we get caught. The risk is too great.”

“But I think it’s worth it,” I told him. “If we succeed, we can finally be happy. But if we never try, then we’ll continue to live in misery for the rest of our lives. We have to tr-- ” I couldn’t finish my sentence as I saw William Scott approaching behind my brother. My heart filled with dread and horror at seeing a face I hoped I’d never have to see again.

“Well, well, well,” William laughed wickedly with a triumphant look on his face. “Look who decided to come back to us. Welcome back, I’ve got a present for you my dear,” he spat as he grabbed me by my hair and dragged me back to the house. Tears filled up my eyes and I felt every last ounce of hope leave my body. He dragged me up to his room and threw me onto his bed. “Oh how I’ve missed you my dear, haven’t you missed me?” He chided. I closed my eyes and kicked and screamed, hoping to throw him off. I had heard of such happenings by the master before, but I’d never imagined it would happen to me. My hands and feet were tied down and I was gagged. The tears were flowing freely now as I tried to keep my eyes squeezed shut. I heard him cackling the whole time and I was never more disgusted with this filthy man than I was now. I felt the tugging at my clothes and despite my struggles I could not stop it. “What’s wrong, aren’t you happy to be with me again,” he cackled wildly. I so angry and disgusted I wanted to throw up. It was unfortunate I didn’t have enough food in me to do that. Then I felt it, a most excruciating pain that far exceeded anything else I’d ever felt. After a few moments I could not longer take it and blacked out.

Chapters 10-12

Chapter 10

                I felt numb, and I couldn’t believe that that had just happened. I knew that my mother had been brutally raped, and so had many other female slaves, but I never expected it to happen to me –especially on that night. I couldn’t think clearly, my mind just kept running back to what happened. There was no way that I could go back to Master John, after running away again, I had no where I could go. The only place that I knew that I would have the slightest amount of safety would be back in the outhouse, even though it is near Master William Scott.

                I don’t know how many days it had been until Katherine found me. She was shocked once she heard what her father had done to me, and vowed to help me out in any way that she could. Katherine gathered a couple of trustworthy slaves, and I say trustworthy because some slaves would rat you out just to get a little more  food, or an extra blanket, and helped me stay alive. They would bring me some food and water, anything that was left over that they could snatch, and some blankets to keep me warm. Without their help I would not be here, detailing the accounts of my life.

                The life in the outhouse was not a pleasant one. While, I was safe from the wrath of the slave masters and the bloodhounds, there was barely enough room to stretch my legs. However, I don’t know what was worse, the lack of space or the solitude. I only got to speak to someone maybe once a week – when they would quickly drop off the food and water and then scamper off, leaving me with maybe 30 seconds of conversation. I don’t know if I have ever felt as alone as I did right then.

The days passed by so slowly, with each second feeling like a minute, and each minute feeling like an hour. I would awake to the sun rising, where the light would shine in through a hole that was maybe the size of a quarter. Then I would eat a small portion of my food for breakfast – I had to make sure to not eat too much or else I would go starving by the time my next portions were given to me. After that I would wait through the day, looking out at all of the slaves – some of whom I had formerly known – and just watch them work. That was one of the only things that I could do to keep me busy.

About two months of this had passed when I noticed that my stomach was growing bigger. “Could it be?” I mumbled to myself, not truly believing that I had been impregnated by Master William Scott.

I was carrying his child, a child tainted with the blood a brutal, ruthless man, who did not see any wrong in what he had done. I remembered that on the night that he raped me, he said, “God has sent me to punish you.” He was using his religion to prove that what he was doing was right – that God wanted it to be that way. Remembering that moment, coupled with the new news of me being pregnant, I began to cry. I cried for hours, curled up in a ball, until Katherine came to see me.

I couldn’t even speak the words out loud; all I could do was point to my stomach. “Food? Do you need more food?” she asked me, not quite understanding what I was doing. I just shook my head and pointed at my stomach once more. And then she realized it. “You’re pregnant?” She asked, seeming quite shocked. I regained my voice, and shakily said yes.

After this revelation, the already slow days seemed to pass at an even slower rate. My thoughts were no longer thinking about how I could escape, but they turned to what was I going to do with my child? My child would be born in to slavery; no mother would ever wish that upon anyone, especially their own child!

My thoughts then centered about what would happen if my baby were a boy. Oh the physical punishments he would receive. The slave masters seemed to be harsher with the males with their physical beatings, leaving many with open wounds that wouldn’t heal for weeks. They physical scars that the men had, it gave me chills just thinking about it. 

And heavens, if my baby were to be a girl…she would have to go through what I had gone through, or worse. She most likely wouldn’t get the physical punishments from her master, but the verbal abuse and harassment that she would get would be just as worse, if not more. She would be subjected to sexual harassments – and possibly be raped, just as my mother and I were. I couldn’t bear to think about it! All this hardship and she hasn’t even been born yet!

Katherine visited me more often once she learned about my pregnancy; she wanted to check up on me to make sure that my not-yet-born baby and I were doing okay. I revealed to her some of my worries about the baby’s life, and she tried to calm me down. After she heard of my worries, she would bring me some anti-slavery publishing’s by Elijah Lovejoy, which helped me be able to read better. Not only this, but I was beginning to feel something that I hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. Hope that maybe the Northerners would begin to truly see how bad and cruel slavery was down here in the South, and perhaps they would try to put an end to it. Through his publishing’s I became more aware of what was going on in this world that I lived in, already seeing that some popular political leaders were beginning to be against slavery.

More months passed, and I was able to feel the baby kick sometimes, which made the days a little better, too. Slowly the kicks came less often, however I was sure that that was normal. But then came a night that I won’t ever forget.

It was right after dusk and I was feeling quite tired. But then came a feeling of wetness that I had heard about before: my water had broken. I was so scared, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Thankfully it was a night that Katherine was coming to visit me, and she helped me through it all. She handed me my baby, but, my baby was dead. Born dead.

I don’t know if there are any words to describe how I felt at that moment. My baby, my flesh and blood, was taken from before it had even gotten a chance to live, a chance to feel my loving embrace. I would not wish this to happen to even the worse people in the world, to even the slave holder’s mistresses. The only good thing from this was that my child would never have to live the harsh life of being someone’s property.

Chapter 11

                After some time had passed, I began to regain my strength, both emotionally and physically. I had made up my mind that I would escape from this place, and go to the North. There had been some talk about an “Underground Railroad” which helped slaves escape to the North and become free.  I asked one of the slaves that would bring me some food about it one day, and she told me all about it – how it helped slaves go from one safe house to another, until they reached their destination.

                Later on Katherine came to visit me, and I asked her if she knew anything about it, since she really did try to help all of us slaves out. She told me that she knew of one of the “conductors” of the Underground Railroad that was pretending to be a slave for her father, and coincidentally enough, he was planning on leaving in a couple days, taking a couple slaves with him. She promised that she would ask him if I could join him. I began feeling more hope, and I was almost feeling a little giddy just thinking about being free, and not having to hide in a cramped place anymore.

                The nights later, a couple hours after dusk had passed, a young black man came to the outhouse and knocked on the door. “Clara? Are you there?” he asked in a hushed tone.

                “Yes! I’m here.” I replied, getting a little nervous now that it was actually happening. I still remembered the stories of the bloodhounds, of what happened to Abraham, and hoped that this would not be another failed escape of mine. I slowly exited the outhouse and met up with the young man, whose name turned out to be Joseph. He had a couple other slaves with him, a couple of whom I recognized from when I had watched them working on the plantation.

                “Okay, so we are going to head to a safe house. We’re just going to travel at night for now, for there will be less risk of someone spotting us. But we have to move quickly!” And with that we were off. We headed towards the woods, and headed north. For part of our route we followed a stream, and then we branched off into another direction. Joseph told us this was in order to make sure that if anyone was following us they would thin k that we followed the stream completely, and thus if would throw off our pursuers. The men that were in the small group seemed to be doing better than the women that were traveling – they were better physically prepared for the journey, and ended up helping out the women slaves that came with.

                Finally, we made it to our first safe house. It was a little cottage on the outskirts of another house, and when we got inside we met the station master, who didn’t give us his name. He had set up a couple beds for us to rest in, and had food and water for us to eat and drink throughout the day. Joseph told us to rest up, so that we would be prepared for our next night of travel.

                We all rested up that day, many of us slept and devoured the food that was left out. And soon night fell again and we left once more. Joseph talked to us on this nights travels, which were again in the woods. He pointed out the North Star, and told us how he used to help keep us on the right route. Soon we met up with another man, whose name was *William Still. William took over the leading the rest of the route, and told us that he was going to be our new conductor. He led us to another safe house.

                At this safe house there were beds and food, just like with the other one. After we all slept, William talked to each and every one of us, finding out our history and where we planned on going. Honestly, I hadn’t really thought of where I was going to go, I just wanted to get away from the horrible South. I ended up deciding that I was going to make my way to New York. So when William started talking to me, I told him almost everything. He comforted me and then revealed to me part of his life story.

                He told me about how his father was the first one of them to buy their freedom, and that when his mother tried to escape she got recaptured. She escaped once more, but with her two daughters. However his whole family was not freed. Two of his brothers, he heard, had been sold to plantations in the Deep South. William looked a little shaken up when he told me about that part, since there have been rumors about what happens in the Deep South, about how they are worse than other places in America that have slavery.

                Soon it was time to leave again, and he took us to our next safe house. Throughout my journey people came and left – some people had to stay an extra day or two at one safe house in order to get the conductor that was going to take them to where they were headed. This was because not everyone was headed to New York; some were heading to other places, like Canada or Massachusetts. The journey cycle just kept repeating: travel at night, reach a safe house, rest, repeat. Our conductors were switched out every couple days, in order to keep the route safe. Each conductor apparently only knew their part of the journey, which kept it safe from those that would try to infiltrate the Underground Railroad.

*William Still is a real person, who did help people travel throughout the underground railroad.

Chapter 12

                I continued along the Underground Railroad for quite some time, until I met up with the Parker’ in New York. This was my last stop, while some of the others were going to leave later on to head elsewhere. Mr. Parker, the father, let me stay in the guest bedroom, and soon they became like a second family to me.

                The Parkers were a family of four: Mr. and Mrs. Parker, and Sheila and Josh. Sheila and Josh were their children, which Sheila being the eldest. They were a sweet family, and helped me get on my feet and work as a free woman. Mr. Parker told me that I could stay as long as I wanted, and that if I needed anything, they would help.

                Whenever they would go out, they would take me with them. They told those in the society that I was their children’s nanny, which was partially true, for I did help watch them and take care of them. The people in the North were so much different than those in the South. While it was still very obvious that I wasn’t accepted due to the color of my skin, I didn’t feel the same terror that I had felt in the South. We black folk were slightly more respected, and it was nice.

                However, one day while we were out, everyone kept giving the family, mainly me, dirty looks. I didn’t understand why, until the Parkers showed me the local newspaper. The front page featured an article concerning the “Nat Turner Rebellion”. A man named Nat Turner had gathered some slaves in his area to rebel against the slave masters and other white folk – they killed so many white men, and it has made a lot of people mad.

                “You have to be prepared for events like this to happen, Clara,” said Mr. Parker, “if more events like this happen, you might get more than a couple of dirty looks. People might say things, cruel things. It’ll be tough. But remember, we’ll always be here for you.”

                The last part of what he said meant the world to me. The fact that someone cared for me just filled me with a happiness that I can’t describe. They had alright put their lives at risk by helping me find a living, and just to say that they were there for me, a former slave, I just can’t even put into words the emotions I was feeling.

                I stayed with the Parkers for a while more after this, and they introduced me to some of their other Quaker friends. These people were some of the nicest people that I have met – to them it didn’t matter that I was from African decent, we were all equal. I fully appreciated it, and I felt like I could speak my mind. I told them about parts from my life, and they were shocked. They told me that, if it was okay with me, that they would share some of my story at one of their meetings, in hopes that the other members of the Quaker society would spread it around and convince others to take a stand against slavery.

                One evening, after the children had gone to bed, Mr. and Mrs. Parker and I were talking. They were asking about family, seeing if I had any nice stories to tell. I told them all about my younger brother, Peter, and how nice he sang when we were kids.
                “You know, Clara, I just noticed that you never did tell us what your full name is. All this time, and we know you, but we don’t even know you’re full name! How silly is that?”

                “I... I don’t have a last name,” I said to her, “many slaves don’t have one, unless their parents have one. The slave masters really didn’t care about us enough to give us one.”

                “Oh my, dear, all this time and no last name? You should take ours! You’re already part of the family, anyway.” She said with a sweet smile.

                “Yeah, Clara, take our last name, please. Besides, you’ll be less suspicious of being a runaway slave if you have a last name.”

                “Are you guys sure?” I asked, a little nervous about taking their last name.

                “Of course we’re sure! Besides it’ll kick off your new life as being a completely free woman.  It’s like a fresh start.” Mr. Parker replied.

                And that’s how I became Clara Parker.