Van Houten House

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I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. My mind was fixed on one thing alone: survival. I had run away from my master after he had attempted to come at me with a cowskin. I had seen how the other slaves were left nearly dead after he had gave them a licking, and I wanted no part in it. When he called for me, I ran as fast as I could off the plantation. Not long after I escaped my master’s sight, I met another colored man who stared at me with wide shocked eyes. He seemed to immediately recognize my situation, or, at the very least he knew I was in trouble. He took me to an old house, secluded and a decent distance away from my master’s plantation. I hesitated going inside not knowing who he was nor why he was helping me but then realized the truth of my circumstance. My mind was rattled, my body was exhausted, and I knew that if I were to stay outside, I would surely be caught. He let me rest in his attic, and in the morning took me to a group of eight colored folks, five men and three women. I could tell from their ragged clothing, whip scars, and brands that they were all escaped slaves just like me. We traveled for days on foot, and then we took a boat to finish the final part of our journey to New York. I hoped that I had finally found asylum, that I finally found freedom.

But disaster struck. As we approached the shore, our leader yelled at us: “Jump! Run! Run as far as you can!” We threw ourselves over the edge of the boat towards the far right of the slave catchers, giving us a head start on them. We were forced to separate and each take a different path to avoid being caught. I swore I could hear the shouts of some of my fellow travelers being dragged away.

I managed to make it to a small settlement of houses before the slave catchers caught up to me. I tripped just as a loud boom roared behind me and something small tore into the door of one of the houses ahead.

I could hear one of the men shouting at his partner “You fool!” He shouted with malic laced in his voice. “We need to take him alive if we’re gonna get that bounty!” I sprinted faster towards the houses praying for any means of salvation. I noticed one house that had its door cracked open slightly, and I sprinted as fast as I could toward it through an overgrown garden. A woman opened the door further and looked at me wide-eyed with surprise.

“What are you doing?” she asked, closing the door slightly so I could not look in. I stared at her, fear and desperation swelling in my heart.

“Please ma’am,” I begged.

She studied my face for a moment and then opened the door further to let me in.

“Wait here,” she said before disappearing into what must have been a pantry.

She came back a minute later, a loaf of bread in her hand, and I asked her for her name. She told me her name was Van Houten and that she was a God-fearing Methodist. I stared at her in amazement for a moment before managing a smile. She must have thought that I had just as much a right to a true life in freedom as anyone else. She looked hard on the outside, but she clearly meant what she said.

I felt fear grip my heart. She seemed to know what I was thinking and guided me to her back door and gave me very clear instructions.

“Leave through here. When you get out, rattle the back fence, alright?”

I nodded at her fearfully, knowing full well that if the men caught me, they would take me back to my master, who would surely punish me for escaping. I ran to the back of the yard and turned to see her. I saw her leading the two men who were just a moment ago shooting at me up the stairs. Seeing my opportunity, I ran past the gate, making sure to rattle it so she knew I made it out safely. I sprinted from the house looking for somewhere to hide and continue on my escape.

After hiding in the loft of a barn for a while, I made a move. I knew that I wanted to go north, as far north as I could go. I looked behind me constantly, expecting to see the same slave catchers from the Methodist house giving chase. I felt fear gripping my heart and whispering thoughts into my ears. “Run, run before they catch you.” I shook my head to rid myself of these thoughts. I knew that once I made it further to the northern states, I would be as safe as a runaway could be in these times. Yet, I felt no pleasure in knowing how far I was from the free states. I knew that even in those states, a free negro was just as much in danger as a slave. Slave catchers gave little heed to the voices and statements of free negroes and rounded them up alongside fugitives without a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m free!” they would testify, hoping that this phrase would dissuade their pursuers from bringing them back to the south. But it did little to stop bounty hunters. As far as slave catchers are concerned, all of us colored folks are property, whether or not we were born that way. I knew that even if I made it to the north, I would never truly be safe from slave catchers. Master would say that the northern states compromised their beliefs, all to appease the plantation owners at the expense of the lives of free men and fugitive slaves alike. The North, he said, had chosen us to shield them from the outcry and accusations that the North needed the South and that any attempt to change our arrangements could only be met with righteous hostility.

Without much warning, the sky opened up, and it began to rain. I felt my legs begin to shake as my vision of the world became clearer. I was a runaway now. I could never go back. I could never rest without the fear of being dragged back to a cruel master and whatever malicious punishment he may have in mind. The scars on my feet and that fear feeding my mind have forever branded me a fugitive. I let my head hang down. I felt the water pelt my skin and it begin to soak into my clothes. I walked forward, hoping that even if what I experience isn’t all they say freedom can be, it will still be a truer freedom than one that I have never known.