Freedom

This a narrative of a slave escaping and traveling north on the Underground Railroad.

Freedom

My name is Maitland Holt. Years ago I was called Maitland

Rutledge, but I haven’t used that name for a long time; for you

see, Maitland Rutledge was my slave name.

I was born in Norfolk, Virginia to Robert and Rosa Rutledge on June 15, 1806. They were both slaves, second and third generation respectively. We were all owned by a man, named William Rutledge, he was an old man with a long scraggly beard. He was quite nice to us; despite the fact that we were slaves. He would put us to work, yes, but nothing too hard and he never hurt me, nor my family. William was a very rich man, so he could afford great schooling for his only blood relation, his son, named John Rutledge.

William got a great teacher for John, and I was tasked with helping John. So I would have to sit in the back of the class waiting for the lesson to finish, and as I waited I picked up on how to read, write, and do many other basic things. Things that almost no slave knew.

When I turned seventeen, everything went downhill. Seventeen was the start of my best working years, and my master, knowing how much I was worth, sold me for a great sum of money. It was heart-breaking to leave my family, the people I had loved for my entire life, but I was forced away from them and sold away.

For a year I was kept in a camp of slaves, every so often we would be put up for an auction, but I wasn’t bought. At the camp I was worked extremely hard; I was given almost no food; and we were forced to sleep  in a small shed, resting against and on top of each other. In the moment I had thought this was as bad as it could get. But I was wrong, oh boy was I wrong.

Three months after I turned eighteen, I was bought by a rich landowner. I didn’t know his name, he hadn’t thought it was necessary. I was led into a horse carriage. No one spoke the whole half hour ride. There were ten other slaves, all crammed into the carriage, they, of course, couldn’t sit next to their new master so we were all forced into one side of the vehicle. As we continued down the road, I had been acutely aware of my arm pushing against the slave next to me. I had wished that the journey would’ve ended soon, so that I could escape this unbearable ride. But I was wrong to hope that… dead wrong.

We had arrived at a large manor. It was gigantic, easily dominating the rolling hills behind it. As soon as we had stopped we were pulled out of the carriage and into a small shed. We were all handed new clothes to wear, and then we were left alone to change.

It was hours until they came again, and by that time we had all fallen asleep. Needless to say, it was a rude awakening as they yelled at us to get up and start working. In a few seconds, we were up and outside picking cotton.

It was about midday, and the sun beat down on us. But we were not allowed to stop, we had been instructed to work till the whole field was bare, and it needed to be finished by nightfall.

This was how it went for years, we’d wake up, work the fields until we were close to death, and then they would chain us to the wall of the shed to rest. Then in the morning it would start again. It was like this every day until I was around twenty-six years of age, that’s when everything changed.

* * *

It had been a normal day, we went out and worked the fields, but on that day I noticed something new. I had tripped and dropped my bag of cotton. As I leaped to the ground to collect the escaping balls of fluff I noticed something. Stuck in the dirt beneath a cotton plant was a small knife. I snatched it up and quickly stuck it in the drawstring of my pants.

That night before I was chained I slipped the knife into my hand. When they came around I placed my wrists into the shackles, lied against the wall, and closed my eyes.

A few minutes later, I heard the door shut, but I stayed still for at least an hour until I was sure everyone was asleep. That’s when I started my work, meticulously I stood and turned to face the wall I was chained to, and I buried the knife deep into the wall.

Bit by bit, I chipped away at the wood, it took hours, but I finally cut the brace that was holding me, free from the wall. With my work half completed I started on the second. This time it went significantly better as the wood had started to rot, and after two hours of hard work I had freed myself.

Being very quiet, I had nudged the door open, there was no one around, so I sprinted out across the dirt path, across the cotton fields, and into the forest. I continued to run, following the north star to the freedom states I had heard some other slaves talking about. I had ran until the sun peeked over the horizon, at that moment, tired and fatigued, I collapsed beside a rotting log and fell asleep. The first time I had slept in a long time away from that wretched manor.

I had woken up to the patter of rain, the drops dampening my face and clothes. My throat dry from my lack of water, I lied there with my mouth wide to quench my thirst.

After what seemed like days, I had gotten up and had started to run, the setting sun, peeking from behind the clouds, leading me to my destination, though at the time I wasn’t sure where that was. I  ran for hours until I reached a small town, malnourished and tired, I collapsed behind a gardening shed.

* * *

I had awoken to the sweet aroma of baking bread, It was a smell I hadn’t smelled in years. It drew me from the bed I had found myself in. As I walked I had realized two things: one, that my shackles, that I had been dragging around for at least two days, had strangely gone missing, leaving only slight reddish welts on my skin.  And two, that I was in a house I had never seen before. Nevertheless, I continued towards the smell and found myself in a small dining room, a plate was sitting on the table next to a solitary chair, the plate had been filled to its edges with food. My hunger getting the better of me, I  ran to the meal and ate it without a second thought.

“So you’ve found my food.” A voice had sounded from behind me.

I had spun around, revealing to myself an old man, hunched over an oak cane. He had a tan, withered face, and a large, white, scraggly beard; but the strangest thing about him were his eyes, they were piercingly blue, and they looked strangely alive and alert.

I had stumbled away from the table, “I’m sorry, I was just so hungry. I couldn’t…”

He had waved away my apologies, “It’s fine, I’m glad you got some food before I send you off.”

“Wait, are you going to send me back to the manor?” I had asked, terrified.

He had laughed, “I have no idea what that is, but of course, I’m not sending you back. I’m going to bring you to a friend in New York.”

“Why?”

He had sighed, clearly exasperated, “Because he’ll get you to Canada.”

“What do you mean, why are you sending me there?”

“Son, you’ve found yourself in the house of a conductor of the underground railroad.”

I, had of course heard of the Underground Railroad, the line of people who were taking slaves to Canada and freeing them, but I had never thought that they actually existed, much less that they would ever find me. But there I was in the house of a stranger who had chosen me for freedom.

* * *

The next few days were spent preparing for the journey, we were taking a series of trains. Since I couldn’t go alone, the old man, who was known as John Pellington, would go with me, pretending to be my master to avoid any suspicion. He had gathered a bag of supplies for me, it was filled with good clothes and plenty of food and water. He also gave me directions to his friend's house from the train. The whole time I was amazed that someone would be this kind, but despite that I had still been convinced that he would turn against me, but I couldn’t do anything so I went along with it.

On March 23, 1831, we set out. When we boarded our first train many people gave us strange looks, it had seemed as though they had known exactly who I was and what we were doing. It wasn’t uncommon to have a member of the Underground Railroad to bring someone north pretending to be their master. John realized this too, so he came up with a plan.

He had leaned over to me, “They’re suspicious of us, do you see it?” He had whispered.

“Yeah, I’ve been noticing that. They don’t think I’m a slave.” I had whispered back.

“We’re going to have to convince them.”

“Well, how are we going to do that?”

“I have a plan.” He had leaned in closer and told me every detail.

* * *

A few minutes later I had stood up, I had been completely ready. I had walked to the front of the car and asked to see a route map. The train hand gladly gave it to me and I returned to John. I had been about to hand him the map when my shoe caught on the bench. I had fallen to the ground, knocking a bag to the ground, and dropping the map.

John rose above me a fire flickering in his eyes, “You’ve messed up again, this will not go unpunished!” He had screamed.

“I’m so sorry, it was an accident, it’ll never happen again, I promise you. Please don’t!”

He brought his hand down towards my face. The sound had echoed through the car, everyone had been staring at us. John and I both sat back down, everyone had turned away.

I had rubbed my cheek, and whispered to him, “Did you really have to be that rough, that really hurt.”

“Sorry, but everyone’s convinced now.” He had gestured around the train car.

He was right, everyone there had been completely convinced that I was his slave.

* * *

It had taken us a few days and a few more trains to get us to New York, but we got there unhindered. And it was at the doorstep of John’s friend’s house where I said goodbye to Mr. Pellington. It was a quick, formal farewell, and that was the last time I ever saw that man, the man who saved my life.

I had turned to the door and let my hands rap against the wooden door. A man had opened the door, he was tiny, almost under four feet. He had a large mustache and a   disinterested look on his face. I explained who I was and what happened. He agreed to bring me to  Canada.

The trip itself took about a day, and I finally stepped foot in free land. It was an amazing feeling, my whole life I had been a slave and at that moment I was a free man, just like that. I almost couldn’t believe it!

---

I wrote the final word in my journal, I smile as I remember that wonderful feeling.

I heard that the United States is on the brink of a civil war, it’s been that way ever since the new President was elected. I’m glad I got out of there back then, I won’t want to get could up in that.

But I’m sixty-five now and I am a free man, now and forever more.