Simeon Dewitt Ferry

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Anyone passing by the door could see me. I was in the open, though no one walking by stopped to question me or my purpose like I was accustomed to in the south. I didn’t feel right being so visible. I was standing near the captain, Mr. Buckbee, which must have made people at ease.

I said to myself, “They must think I am part of the crew.”

I did not know Mr. Buckbee very well. We’d only met a few hours before at the suggestion of Mr. Johnson. He was a good man, feeding and clothing me. He’d even cut my hair! The feeling of cool air on the back of my neck feels good even two days later. I’ve heard of free black men in the north working for themselves, but I’d never met one in Virginia.

In Virginia, all the white men on Massa’s plantation said that northern black folks, especially runaways, lived in the most horrid conditions. His descriptions of poverty, starvation, and death prevented many of my friends…and my family…from leaving. For many, the fear of the unknown, marred by my Massa and his friend’s stories, made us live with the evil we could see. I was not satisfied with these rumors. My mother named me Prince. She told me to be brave – that life as a slave would be unbearable at times – that you may want death over life, but that the good lord will protect me. Her words never left my heart even after she left this world. I see her reflection sometimes when I look into the water.

A deep, guttural and airy horn bellowed from above the roof. It was the signal for our departure. As a slave, my time on the plantation meant that I never saw boats. I’d heard once about boats that moved by themselves as if they were alive. The wind was not their concern like with some boats. I saw something move near the back of the ship.

“What’s that moving over there?”, I asked Mr. Buckbee.

He said, “Those are the paddles. The steam engine makes ‘em turn which makes the boat move. As captain, I can make ‘em move faster to make the boat go faster.”

I thought to myself, “Please make them move faster. I want to be as far north as fast as possible. I want to be away from this place.”

It was not that Mr. Buckbee or the any of the others on the boat were mean like my Massa was to me. I could never feel at ease until I was farther north.

Weeks ago, I was almost caught. I’d stopped to sleep one day in some bushes near a pond. I don’t know where I was or when it was, but I knew I was too close to Virginia to be safe. I could trust no one there. I suddenly woke to the sounds of exited dogs in the distance and knew trouble was near. I never saw the men and they never saw me though. I quickly covered myself in mud and rubbed some smelly cabbage all over. I’d heard to do that once because it will distract the dogs. I then fled, running as hard as I could. After a few hours of not hearing the dogs and with the sun near gone, I stopped again to rest. I still thank the lord they never saw me.

“Would you go below the deck and keep an eye on the cargo?”, asked Mr. Buckbee.

I’d been looking at the shoreline and my mind had drifted to the past, so his question snapped me back to the present.

I said, “Yes sir. Which cargo are you wanting me to look after?”

Mr. Buckbee said there are a few barrels of cider below decks that he feared might roll around and break.

He said, “It is best you go and keep an eye on them. We don’t want to lose the cider. Mr. Stephen will show you the way and give you something to eat and drink while you’re there.”

I did not question him, though I wondered why he did not want me near him. I followed Mr. Stephen out of the room and to the next door over from where we were. It was a small stairwell that led to a large, loud, hot, and humid room lit by a single dim lantern. Near the stairwell, several metal objects were moving. They were so fast, I dared not go near them. They also smelled like hot oil.

Mr. Stephen grabbed the lantern and said, “This is the engine room. The cargo hold is down further. Follow me.”

As we walked deeper into the dark room, I could hear the slapping of water against the outside of the boat. It was strange being here. I was not accustomed to being in dark, in loud rooms, and being nearly beneath water, but this place felt safer than being in the open. We walked through a doorway to another room where the barrels were stacked.

Stephen turned to me and said, “Stay here Prince. If you hear someone come, go behind the barrels and wait quietly. Only come out if you hear my voice or Mr. Buckbee’s.”

I nodded and sat down. Stephen left with the lantern and the door behind him. I could hear his footsteps fade quickly, overtaken by the sounds of the metal moving in the room next door and the water splashing against the boat. It was strange being here. I’d hid in one of Mr. Johnson’s rooms when we first arrived but that was different – it was in a private house. It was so tight and uncomfortable. Now, I was in a storage room where someone could walk in and easily find me and then my whole journey would be foiled. I prayed that this would not happen and that the lord, as my mother told me, would look after me.

I heard a noise. It wasn’t walking. It was a knock. I looked around but the darkness prevented me from seeing what made the noise. I remembered to hide behind the barrels if someone came so I looked behind them. Out of the darkness, I saw the silhouette of a person.

A faint female voice said, “Don’t worry, I’m a friend. My name is Sarah. Who are you?”

“I’m Prince,” I said, “Mr. Buckbee had Mr. Stephen bring me here for passage to the north end of the lake. I don’t think they wanted us to be seen together so they brought us here at different times.”

While I couldn’t see Sarah’s face, her friendly voice eased my nerves some.

“We’ll be very near Canada after we land. It’s hard to believe how close we’ll be. I’ve been traveling for three weeks – running each night, hiding and resting each day, and praying to god that I make it,” said Sarah.

“I’m tired of running. I’ve yearned for rest, to find work, to work hard for myself and get my own land, and to live without the shadow of my Massa creeping behind me. If we’re so close, then why does it feel so far?” I asked Sarah.

She responded, “Were getting close. I can feel it, but God doesn’t want us to think we are. He’s clever like the that, but his cleverness is out of goodness and love. He wants us to think Canada is far so we keep running as if we just fled our Massa’s place so that before we know it, we will be in Canada.”

I thought about what Sarah said for a few minutes. The water continued to splash against the side of the boat. I couldn’t tell how long we’d been down here. It might’ve been minutes or an hour now. Truthfully, I’d hope for hours but expected it to be only minutes.

“Where ya from?” asked Sarah.

“I’m from a big plantation in Virginia,” I said.

Sarah responded, “I lived with a small family in Baltimore. I worked in their home. My mistress was cruel – she threatened me daily…She’d kill me if I ever returned.”

I felt bad for her. While working in the field is endless toil and pain, at least there was occasional freedom from my Massa’s eyes. A house slave is never alone. Just then, we heard some footsteps. The faint glow of a light appeared in the crack beneath the door. I held my breath. It sounded like Sarah held hers too. We listened for Mr. Stephen’s or Mr. Buckbee’s voice but never heard it. We heard some clanging and cussing. We soon realized that whoever this person was outside the room had no interest in coming to the cargo hold. Maybe they were working on the engine or looking to oil for the engine. Either way, they never came in and we soon heard them leave.

Breathing a sigh of relief, we gave in and rested. Mr. Buckbee told me the journey up the lake would only be a few hours. We might as well save our energy now because we did not know what would come of us when we arrived at the end of the lake. Would we get off with the passengers? Would we get off together or separately? Would we remain together or go separate ways? I liked Sarah’s company. Not knowing what will happen is horrible and tiresome.

The water kept slapping the side of the boat. I thought back to being upstairs with Mr. Buckbee and looking at the shoreline. I wasn’t accustomed to lakes like this one. It looked more like a river than a lake. I thought about Mr. Johnson and if I should have stayed in his town. His success seemed like a dream, but he urged me to continue north, saying it was far safer farther north. The people were nice there too. I thought of Mama. She would’ve been so worried about me, so scared, but so happy if I make it farther north. I swear I could feel her with me on my journey. She is the reason I’ve gotten this far.

A loud horn bellowed from above and echoed in the room next door. I knew we were getting close.

I told Sarah, “Were close. The boat will slow soon. Mr. Stephen will come for us.”
She nodded. A few minutes later we heard the moving metal parts in the other room quiet down. We felt the boat jerk. Even the barrels moved a bit.

“I think we’ve stopped,” said Sarah.

We could hear some of the passengers above us begin to shuffle. After a few minutes, we began hearing footsteps come towards the door to the cargo hold.

The door slowly opened, and we heard Mr. Stephen’s voice say, “We’ve landed. Time to get up and continue on. The Simeon is going to stay here for a few hours before heading south. Mr. Buckbee will guide you to a friend while I inspect the ship.”

We crawled out from behind the barrels, nodded at Mr. Stephen and then followed back upstairs.

Mr. Buckbee met with us outside. He told us that a proslavery person he recognized from the south end of the lake was aboard the ship and for that reason, he wanted us below deck. He said this person left the boat several minutes ago for Auburn and that we should be safe for now.

“You see the man with that wagon near the tree at the shore?” said Mr. Buckbee, “That’s Mr. James. He will take you to a town not too far west of here, where he will care for you until the next stop.”

Sarah and I thanked him and quickly headed towards the wagon. I did not look back. Sarah’s words from early came returned to my mind. God wanted us to feel like we were far from Canada, so we would keep moving. I knew we were closer, though, it still felt far. After riding on Mr. James’s wagon for a bit we heard the ship’s horn, fainter now than earlier when we landed. It felt good to be away from the ship. I knew it was only a few days more until we’d be in Canada, but I was prepared to fly like in the beginning.