Authors: Patricia Hagan
“That would seem better left to the menfolk to worry about,” the woman advised.
Mr. Tallmadge reached to pat Erin’s hand patronizingly. “It’s refreshing to realize women do concern themselves with our nation’s problems, Mrs. Youngblood, but I agree. You leave the worrying to us old codgers and concentrate on what you do best—looking beautiful.”
Erin bristled but said no more. She couldn’t help it if other women were content to merely adorn life, instead of wanting to be a part of it.
In the ladies’ parlor after dinner, Erin found herself somewhat ostracized and left out of the usual conversation. She didn’t care. She only wanted to leave Washington before she got in more trouble by her inability to keep her opinions to herself.
Ryan didn’t mention what had happened, but the next morning they continued on their way. Erin suspected it was a bit sooner than he’d planned but didn’t dare ask.
By carriage they journeyed east into the state of Maryland and on to the seaport town of Annapolis. There, Ryan had made arrangements for his carriage driver to stay at the estate of yet another friend, to work while awaiting their return. The small steamboat he had leased was waiting with full crew.
“I hope you won’t get sick,” he offered as they set out on their journey up the Chesapeake Bay. “I’ve seen a lot of ladies spend their time on a voyage with green faces, clinging to the rail.”
But Erin was entranced with the sea, reveling in the smell of the air, the caress of the breeze. They had opulent accommodations in a small cabin below deck, but she enjoyed being outside. Ryan busied himself with going over financial reports that had been sent to him by the shipping company in Philadelphia and was glad Erin seemed content to entertain herself by walking around on deck. Unknown to him, however, she cajoled the vessel’s captain into allowing her to watch him as he coursed and charted, steering the boat through channels and canals. By the time they moved on to the Delaware Bay, she had even the crew in awe over how quickly she had learned nearly every aspect of operations and navigation.
In Philadelphia, their first days were spent sightseeing. Built to a checkerboard town plan, the grid of tree-lined avenues ran between two rivers. Erin enjoyed the shops and stores, as well as poring through historical volumes in America’s first library. Ryan was impressed that she was such an avid reader, seeming to commit to memory every single line she read.
She laughed over the etiquette books that seemed to be so popular. Quickly she learned that wealthy and fashionable families in Philadelphia barricaded themselves behind a system of exclusion even more so than those in Richmond.
Social life, she learned, consisted of homes being opened in the evenings for dinner parties, dances, and formal balls. There were even “morning calls,” and she learned about calling cards, insisting Ryan have some made before they left town.
But it was not the shopping or social or cultural life in Philadelphia that Erin sought to explore. The very first day Ryan left her to attend a business meeting, she set out on her own. Here, she excitedly realized, she could almost feel the heartbeat of freedom. Every time she saw an obviously free Negro walking on the street, she was struck with the desire to run up to him, or her, and ask where she could contact someone who might know something about a runaway slave girl named Letty. With tears stinging her eyes, she knew that was not possible. All she could do was wander the paved and cobblestone avenues and wonder and wish.
She found herself standing in front of the Arch Street Meeting House where the Society of Friends, the Quakers, met. She had seen them around the city, dressed sedately, but the women, with fine figures and tiny feet, always wore frocks of rich fabrics. They were, she knew, a contact point, but she did not dare make any inquiries. When she saw a man dressed in Quaker attire step out the door and glance at her curiously, as though about to ask if she was looking for someone, she turned and hurried away.
One evening, the owner of one of the shipping firms Ryan had an interest in asked them to his home. Charles Grudinger was a widower, and Erin dared hope, since there would be just the three of them for dinner, she might be included in conversation afterward. Instead, Mr. Grudinger’s housekeeper, a free black woman he affectionately called Nanny Bess, showed her into the library.
“Your husband told Master Charles that you enjoy reading. You should be comfortable here.”
Erin guessed the woman to be in her late fifties. Gray-haired, she was stoutly built, short, with a round, pleasant face. She had turned to leave, but Erin could not resist inquiring, “May I ask how it is that you speak with no dialect?”
Nanny Bess did not hesitate to tell her. “I’m one of the lucky ones, Mrs. Youngblood. When I was only ten years old, my master died, and his widow set all the slaves free. The only problem was I’d been brought over from Africa on a slave ship, and my parents died en route. I had nowhere to go. My mistress kept me as a companion for her daughter. She taught me how to read and write and speak properly. She grew up to become Mrs. Charles Grudinger, and took me with her. We were together till her death, and then Mr. Grudinger was kind enough to keep me on.”
Erin nodded, silently agreeing she was truly lucky. Not many slaves were given such opportunities. Then she saw the way Nanny Bess was staring at her, as though in resentment, and asked, “Is something wrong?”
The woman hesitated a moment, then said, “It isn’t proper for me to ask this, I know, but I always wonder, whenever I meet someone from the South, just how many slaves they have.”
Instinctively, Erin stiffened, and the words were out of her mouth before she realized it. “I have no slaves. I don’t know how many my husband has.”
Nanny Bess nodded thoughtfully, eyes narrowed.
For a moment, Erin thought she was about to ask her another question she deemed improper, but she abruptly walked out without another word.
Erin wandered around the library but was not really interested in settling down to read a book. Ryan had hinted they might be leaving for home soon, and though she was terribly anxious to return, there was still an empty feeling inside. If she could only have an idea of where Letty might have gone, then she would dare leave a message for her, maybe even some of the money she’d hidden.
She was leafing through a copy of Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan”
when she realized she could hear Ryan’s voice, clear and distinct, coming from the other side of the bookshelf. Quickly moving aside other volumes, she realized not only that the wood was quite thin, but there were hinges on one side. This section was obviously a concealed door into the study.
With a ripple of mischief, Erin pressed as close as she could get, delighted to be able to make out everything the two were saying. Ryan, she noticed, sounded somewhat irate.
“As much as I’d like to get involved in shipping, Mr. Grudinger, I can’t afford to get involved in colonization efforts. There’s just no way my position as a slave owner, with a large plantation to run, would permit me such a venture. I want to be able to bring valuable horses from Europe to breed with my stock in Virginia, not transport runaway slaves back to Africa.
“And,” he seemed regretful to have to say, “there’s the question of violating laws concerning runaways. The Constitution contains the genesis, when it states a fine is to be placed on anyone rescuing, harboring, or hindering the arrest of a fugitive.”
Mr. Grudinger hastened to point out, “They aren’t all runaways, Mr. Youngblood. Some of them are freed blacks with nowhere else to go. The fact is, the census of 1810 counted a total of two hundred thousand of them, and the question now is what to do with them. They’re a shadow zone in our society. They’re denied citizenship. They aren’t considered capable of functioning as part of our white society. They become a candidate for rebellion, and sadly our country regards the freed slave as a public nuisance. The American Colonization Society feels the humane thing to do is transport them back to where they came from, and they’re seeking to do just that with government and private funds. I was frankly hoping you’d want to be a part of it. Surely, you can understand the compassionate and humanitarian aspects of such a venture.”
“Compassion and humanitarianism don’t go hand in hand with owning over three hundred slaves of my own, Mr. Grudinger. I’m sympathetic to the plight of those mistreated by their masters, but I’m afraid I have little choice but to commit to slavery if I’m to continue running my plantation successfully. And to buy into your company, when you tell me your chief cargo across the Atlantic will be slaves, whether freed or fugitives, would make me feel like a hypocrite, especially when we’re having a problem with runaways in our area, anyway.”
Erin heard Mr. Grudinger give a disgusted snort before he scornfully said, “Yes, I’ve heard. Several belonging to one Mr. Zachary Tremayne, I understand. Even as far north as Philadelphia, we’ve heard rumors of his mistreatment of his people, as well as his despicable involvement in the illegal slave trade.”
Erin winced; she knew Ryan was probably gritting his teeth right then to think how he was married to the stepdaughter of such a man. Well, she couldn’t help it, and longed to be able to burst right in on them and say so.
“Miss Erin, would you like some tea?”
She whirled around, felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment to be caught with head awkwardly inside the bookshelf, eavesdropping. She smiled and confessed, “I’m nosy.” With a touch of bitterness, she added, “I also resent the way men shut themselves away to talk in private, as though women are too ignorant to be involved in their business.”
Nanny Bess cocked her head to one side, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Quietly, slowly, she began, “I was just in there to ask if they wanted anything. They were talking about sending freed Negroes to Africa. Is that business you might be interested in hearing?”
Erin hesitated, then dared admit with a quick nod and nervous whisper, “Yes. Very much, I’m afraid.”
“We’re all afraid, Mrs. Youngblood. These are dangerous times for my people. May I ask just what your interest is, and rest assured you can speak freely to me. I have no reason to divulge anything and perhaps every reason to keep it secret.”
Erin, not sure just how far she dared to go, finally decided there was no risk in telling her about Letty, how they had been close friends, just as she and Mrs. Grudinger had been. “And since I’m here, in Philadelphia, the place I’m told that runaways head for, I can’t help wondering if there’s anywhere I could go to try and find out something about her, see if she really made it here.”
“You
say she escaped on the Virginia–North Carolina border?”
Erin nodded. “That’s all anybody knows.”
“That area is known as the Dismal Swamp, a terrible place, I hear. There’re poisonous snakes and yellow flies, ticks, mosquitoes, and redbugs.” She shuddered to think of it. “But the slaves head for there, if they can, like it’s a second home. Your friend just might have made it, Mrs. Youngblood. There’s plenty of her people living in there for that one purpose—to help the runaways.”
Erin’s heart was pounding excitedly. “Is there any way you can find out for me? Anyone you can contact?”
Nanny Bess said firmly, “No. I give information. I don’t ask for any. And I have to be very discreet about who I give it to, because I’m not about to risk bringing trouble to Mr. Grudinger.”
“Why would he be in trouble?” Erin could not understand the secrecy.
Nanny Bess had been standing inside the door, but she closed it then and walked over to sit down on the sofa, motioning Erin to take the place beside her. “Now you listen, child, and you listen good,” she began in a whispered rush. “Just because a runaway makes it here, it doesn’t mean he’s safe. Not by any means. Slave hunters and vigilantes follow after them, and, for information, they’re willing to give part of what they get for returning them to their masters. That’s the reason some of the runaways try to keep on going, all the way to Africa, but that’s not legal just yet. Not if the slave is a fugitive. He’s supposed to have papers proving he’s free before he can sign up for the colonization program.
“And there are other dangers, too,” she confided, moving closer to ensure she could not be overheard. “Freed slaves live in fear of being kidnapped by whites to be sold back into slavery. Negroes aren’t allowed to serve as witnesses against white people, so it’s very difficult to stop it. There are even white men, right here in this city, who marry mulatto women and then sell them as slaves when they get tired of them.
“So what I’m telling you, child,” she concluded, “is that even if your friend got this far, it doesn’t mean she’s safe, not unless she’s got the money to pay to be smuggled on a ship headed for Africa.”
Eagerly, fervently, Erin assured, “If I can find her, she’ll have it.”
Nanny Bess looked at her in that strange way again, as though trying to decide if she could truly be trusted. But just as she was about to speak, the door suddenly opened and Charles Grudinger looked in, surprised to witness the intimate little scene but not registering any disapproval as he announced, “I believe your husband is ready to leave now, Mrs. Youngblood. Nanny Bess, will you get Mrs. Youngblood’s cape for her, please?” He walked out but left the door open.
Nanny Bess moved to oblige but quickly, nervously, whispered, “Find Mother Bethel. That’s all I can tell you.”