Twenty-Two Years a Slave, and Forty Years a Freeman: Embracing a Correspondence of Several Years, While President of Wilberforce Colony, London, Canada WestSteward, Austin
History
Twenty-Two Years a Slave, and Forty Years a Freeman: Embracing a Correspondence of Several Years, While President of Wilberforce Colony, London, Canada West
During my absence in New York city, Lewis and his confederates were
prophesying that I would never trouble them more, and shaking their heads
quite ominously at the happy riddance. One day, our hired man entered the
house and inquired of my wife, when I was expected home. She told him she
did not know, having received no intelligence from me. He assured her that
a letter had been received by some one in the colony; that he had seen it,
and had heard Mr. Lewis speak of conveying it to her,--but as it did not
come, she gave it up, supposing some mistake had been made. I had,
however, written, naming the time when she might expect me; but no letter
of mine reached her, during my long absence, for which she could not
account. A short time before that specified for my return, a woman, whose
husband was an associate of Mr. Lewis, came to my house, and urged my
wife "to leave word at the village of London, to have Mr. Steward detained
there, should he arrive toward evening, and by no means allow him to start
for the colony after dark." My family had so often been alarmed by such
warnings, and had so frequently been annoyed by the violent threatenings
of Lewis, that they ceased to regard them, and paid little attention, to
this one.
I arrived at London on the day I had appointed for my return, but was
detained there until a late hour; feeling anxious, however, to get home
that night, supposing that I was expected,--I therefore hired a horse to
ride the remaining fifteen miles to the settlement.
The road from London to Wilberforce led through a swamp, known as
"McConnell's Dismal Swamp," and it was indeed, one of the most dreary
places in all that section of country. I am certain that a hundred men
might conceal themselves within a rod of the highway, without being
discovered.
The horse I had engaged, was a high spirited animal, and to that fact, I
doubtless owe my life. The moon shone brightly, and nothing broke the
stillness of the night, as I rode onward, but the clatter of my horse's
hoofs, and an occasional "bow-wow" of some faithful watch-dog.
When I reached the swamp and entered its darkened recesses, the gloom and
stillness was indeed fearful; my horse started at every rustling leaf or
crackling brush, until I attempted to pass a dense thicket, when I was
started by the sharp crack of a rifle, and a bullet whizzed past me, close
to my ear! The frightened horse reared and plunged, and then springing as
if for life, he shot off like an arrow, amid the explosion of fire arms
discharged at me as I rode away. I lost my balance at first, and came near
falling, but recovering it I grasped the rein tightly, while my fiery
steed flew over the ground with lightning speed; nor did I succeed in
controlling him until he had run two miles, which brought me to my own
door.
I found my family well, and very grateful that I had arrived safely after
so fearful an encounter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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