But perhaps, some day, they might buy their freedom. They could work nights and Sundays, and earn the money, and then they would be safe. This was their favorite aerial abode, and here they enjoyed many bright antic.i.p.ations. But alas! they soon learned by the sad experience of others, that such a plan was all uncertain.

The history of one man of their acquaintance in Lexington, taught them a lesson of caution on that point, that chilled their ardent hopes, and deepened their distrust of seeming friends.

Spencer, a fine-looking intelligent mulatto, belonged to a Mr.

Williams, who kept a lottery office in Lexington. His master, having no need of his services, hired him out; usually to the keepers of hotels or livery stables, and sometimes to Spencer himself. He was a great favorite with the white people, and had excellent opportunities of making money; not only by extra services about the hotels or stables, but also by doctoring horses, in which he had much skill.

He sometimes speculated in lottery tickets, but here his success availed him little. He drew at one time a house and lot in Lexington, valued at $30,000, and although many white people declared that it would be a shame to deprive him of the benefit of his good fortune, yet it was on the whole deemed an unsafe precedent to allow a negro to acquire so much property. So the prize was finally awarded to a gentleman in Philadelphia, who stood second in the list of successful compet.i.tors.

Soon after this, Spencer conceived the idea of buying his freedom, and proposed the subject to his master. Mr. Williams received it favorably, and fixed the price at one thousand dollars.

Spencer, habitually industrious, had now a new animation in his labors; and so untiring was his diligence, that in a few years he had paid his master within twenty-five dollars of the whole sum. The goal of all his hopes was just in sight, when lo! the perfidious tyrant denied ever having promised him his liberty, and bade him never mention the subject more.

Spencer was sorely disappointed, but not discouraged, and when not long after a gentleman who had heard the history of this deception offered to purchase him, and to give him his freedom as soon as he could earn the price which he must pay to Williams, the hopeful slave eagerly accepted the offer.

The bargain was soon concluded, and with new zeal, the bondman commenced his labors. He took the precaution this time, to ask for a receipt whenever he made a payment. This was readily given, and Spencer deemed himself safe. But behold! when he had paid all but seventy dollars, his new master suddenly left town; and before the poor slave was aware of any approaching change, an agent to whose care he had been consigned, had sold him to another master. He was indignant at this outrageous fraud, and produced his receipts, which he had carefully preserved. But these availed nothing. They did not show to whom the money had been paid. And even if they had been properly written they would have profited nothing-- for does not a slave's money as well as his person and his labor, belong to his master?

Still hope died not in Spencer's breast. Again he tried a man who had been lavish of his sympathy, and loud in his denunciations of the baseness by which he had suffered. Into his hands--for the third time--he paid the hard-earned price of his redemption; and when he should have received his free papers, and a pa.s.s out of the State, he was chained in a gang, and sent to the cotton and sugar fields of the south.

To the ears of Peter and his brother came many tales like this, and in their inmost hearts were treasured the lessons of caution which they imparted. Surely there was none they could trust. It were far better, by apparent contentment, and by cheerful manners, to win the confidence of those in whose power they were placed, than to become objects of suspicion and dislike, by ill-timed efforts to be free. So they toiled on, their genial sunny natures, and the warm heart-love ever fresh within their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, preserving them from despair.

Half the year at Mr. Norton's had pa.s.sed away, and neither of the boys belonging to old Nattie Gist had fallen into any serious difficulty. They had witnessed many exhibitions of their employer's cruelty, and one which occurred about this time, filled their hearts with horror.

Mr. Norton's body-servant, a large black man, chanced one day to offend his haughty master. He was immediately put in a buck, and in the presence of all the men and boys, Norton inflicted on his naked back three hundred lashes with a cowhide. The blood gushed out, and ran in streams upon the brick floor of the shop.

When the stick was removed from under his knees, the poor victim was unable to rise. At this his tormentor was enraged. He seized a board that lay near, full of shingle nails, and with it struck him several violent blows, every one of which brought the blood in streams, as though he had been pierced with lancets.

The slaves who witnessed this horrid deed were paralyzed with fear, but the white men swore it was just right. The cursed n.i.g.g.e.rs--they must be conquered, or they would not be worth a d--n.

Here young Peter's caution for a moment failed. His eyes, usually so mild, flashed fiercely, and he declared in a low voice to his brother that George Norton should never strip him and put him in a buck to whip him--he would die first.

Poor boy! his rash speech was overheard, and reported to the tyrant, who from that day waited only an excuse to punish his presumption.

The next Sat.u.r.day evening, as the boys were sweeping the shop, an old woman came in and asked for some tobacco. Peter, being nearest the door, gathered up a handful of the sweepings, and gave them to her.

On the following morning, it was Peter's turn to make a fire in the sweat-room; and when he had performed this duty, he locked the door of the shop and went to his old master's where he usually spent his Sundays. Here he played marbles, and enjoyed such other sports as are proper for the Sabbath-rest of slave-boys, while their young masters are at the Sunday-school or in the billiard-room--according to their tastes.

Peter had been absent from the shop but a short time when Mr.

Norton himself took a fancy to go in and look at the tobacco. He tried the door, but it was locked, and the key was nowhere to be found. His anger rose. Ah! Peter, a heavy cloud is gathering, and there is no shelter for thy defenceless head!

Early Monday morning, Mr. Norton came into the shop. His eyes looked darker and brighter than usual, and the smoke from his cigar came in quick pa.s.sionate puffs. His cane, too, beat an ominous march upon the floor. Something was wrong.

The great man spoke. "Whose business was it to make a fire in the sweat-room yesterday?"

"Mine, sir," said Peter.

"Did you attend to it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You did! where were you when I came here?"

"Don't know, sir,--reckon I was up home."

"Where is your home, your rascal?"

"Up to Mars Nattie's, sir."

"I'll let you know, n.i.g.g.e.r, that this is your home, and that I am your master!" and with a furious thumping of his cane, the mighty man strode out of the shop. He was in a rage. It always made him angry for one of his hired servants to call his owner, "Master;"--it was his law that in his shop no one should receive that enn.o.bling t.i.tle except himself.

Before sunrise the next morning, just as the work of the day was commenced, Mr. Norton appeared at the door. He stood a few minutes perfectly still, and then taking out his knife, he commenced tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a switch--whistling meantime a beautiful march.

The sweet notes woke no answering melody in the hearts of those within, for well they knew the spirit of their master. Only when about to inflict some cruel punishment did George Norton utter sounds like these.

His march ended, he spoke--

"Peter!"

"Sir."

"Where were you, yesterday?"

"Here, sir, strippin' tobacco.["]

"Well, Sunday, where were you?"

"Home, to Mars Nattie's, sir."

The hot blood mounted to Mr. Norton's face. "I am your master, rascal, and I'll let you know you are to go to no other home than this! Who swept the shop on Sat.u.r.day?"

"We boys, sir, all of us."

"Who gave tobacco to an old woman?"

"I gave her a handful of sweepings, sir,--no 'count, no how, sir."

"Well, you'll find I am your master, and you are to obey me. Come here, and lie down across this box."

Peter obeyed, wondering at the same time that he had not been ordered to strip. It was not Mr. Norton's custom to whip his servants over their clothes, and the boy had on a new suit of blue linsey. But he had heard of the expression he had made a few days before, and perhaps thought best to avoid an unnecessary contest.

No sooner was the boy extended across the designated box, than Norton struck him a violent blow. Peter raised up. "Lie down you n.i.g.g.e.r!" and he renewed the blows with greater force. Peter raised up again. "Lie down!" cried the fury, with a curse. Peter obeyed the third tie, and them blows fell hard and fast.

Once more he raised up. "Lie down! I say, you cursed n.i.g.g.e.r--if you move again till I bid you, I will beat you till you cannot rise."

The boy stood upright, and looked his tormentor steadily in the face. "I have laid down three times for you to beat me, when I have done nothing wrong; I will not lie down again!"

Instantly Norton seized him, and attempted to force him across the box--but was unable. "Here, Mr. Kisich! Tadlock! all of you! help me conquer this n.i.g.g.e.r!

Quick to his aid came the overseer, and the three other white men that worked in the shop, and all fell upon him at once, while Peter screamed "Murder!" and fought with his utmost strength.