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Title: A Woman's Life-Work
       Labors and Experiences

Author: Laura S. Haviland

Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7295]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on April 8, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WOMAN'S LIFE-WORK ***




Produced by Skip Doughty, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland,
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A WOMAN'S LIFE-WORK:

LABORS AND EXPERIENCES

OF

LAURA S. HAVILAND.




DEDICATION

to

My two sons, and four daughters, and families;

also to the

Home and Foreign Missionary Society,

are these pages dedicated.

                     The Author




PREFACE.


In presenting the following pages to the public, without the trace of
an excellent scholar or eloquent orator, I fully realize my inability
to compete with writers of the nineteenth century. With this
incompetency in view, I have hesitated and delayed until three-score
and thirteen years are closing over me. Yet as I am still spared to
toil on a little longer in the great field so white to harvest,
praying the Lord of the harvest to arm and send forth more laborers,
because they are too few, I ask an indulgent public to allow my deep
and abiding sympathies for the oppressed and sorrowing of every
nation, class, or color, to plead my excuse for sending forth simple,
unvarnished facts and experiences, hoping they may increase an
aspiration for the active doing, instead of saying what ought to be
done, with excusing self for want of ability, when it is to be found
in Him who is saying, "My grace is sufficient for thee, for my
strength is perfect in weakness."

LAURA S. HAVILAND.

OCTOBER, 1881.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I.

EARLY LIFE.

Parentage--Early Impressions--Childhood Skepticism--Religious
Experience--The Great Leveler--Marriage--Removal to Michigan--The
Semi-Christian--The Despairing Backslider Restored--Proscription--
Withdrawal from the Society of Friends--Founded "Raisin Institute,"


CHAPTER II.

BEREAVEMENTS.

Dream--Bereavements--Early Widowhood--Trials--Dreamy--Victory by
Faith--A Fugitive Slave Escapes--Marriage of two Older Children,


CHAPTER III.

ANTI-SLAVERY EXPERIENCES.

Baptist Deacon Convicted of the Sin of Slavery by his Slave--Willis
Hamilton's Escape with his Slave-wife, Elsie, to Canada--Removal to
Michigan--Whereabouts Discovered by Elsie's Master--Deeply Laid Scheme
to Capture the Hamilton Family--Threats of Violence--Second Attempt
and Defeat--Death of the two Slave-holders,


CHAPTER IV.

AN OHIO SCHOOL-TEACHER.

A Traveling Agent--Slave Claimant--John White--Threats--Visit to Jane
White--Interview with William Allen--Escape of Slaves--In Suspense--
Death of First-born--Comforting Dream--John White a Prisoner--His
Release and Subsequent History,


CHAPTER V.

THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY.

Two Slave Families Escape--Story of George and James--A Mother and
Daughter Leave a Boat bound for the Lower Market--Sarah and two Young
Men join our Party--Seven are Conducted to Canada--Raisin Institute
Suspended for an Academic Year--Return to Cincinnati--Maria--Threats
of her Master--The Escape of two Young Men


CHAPTER VI.

FUGITIVE SLAVES ASSISTED.

Clara and Three Children Rescued--Jack Betrayed and Returned to
Bondage--A Little Nurse Girl taken from her Owners in Cincinnati--How
Zack was Saved--Calvin Fairbanks Visited in Prison--Fugitive Slaves
Forwarded


CHAPTER VII.

CHRISTIAN AND EDUCATIONAL WORK.

Visiting and Nursing the Sick--Nine Slaves Arrive from Kentucky--
Richard Dillingham Dies in Tennessee Penitentiary--Seven Slaves
Conducted to Freedom--Teach Six Months in Toledo


CHAPTER VIII.

FUGITIVES IN CANADA.

Mission Among the Fugitives in Canada--Religious Revival--
Organization of a Christian Union Church--Efforts of Missourians to
Retake the Fugitive Slave, William Anderson, from Canada--The Kentucky
Slave-owner Whipped in the Old Barracks in Windsor in his Effort to
Decoy Three Young Men back to Slavery--Reopening School


CHAPTER IX.

RESCUE OF SLAVES.

Escape of a Slave Family of Six--A Slave Man Travels for a White Man
and Succeeds--Trip to Arkansas--The Story of George Wilson--The Slave-
daughter under Mortgage Released by her Mother--Mintie Berry Purchases
her Husband--John Brown Hanged--The War Opens and takes Seventeen
Students of Raisin Institute--First Trip to the Front with Supplies


CHAPTER X.

HOSPITAL WORK.

Cairo--Incidents Preparatory to Removing Freedmen's Camp to Island No.
10--Death of a Child--Disbursing Supplies and other Mission Work on
the Island--Story of Uncle Stephen--Hospital Visiting in Memphis,
Tennessee--Surgeon Powers Reported--Forty Slaves come into Camp
Shiloh--Seven Slaves come from a Plantation seven miles below Memphis
--First Enlistment of Colored Soldiers--Mission Work in Columbus,
Kentucky--Young Colored Man Shot by his Young Master--Turning of
Tables--Return Home--Our Principal, E. A. Haight, Enlisted


CHAPTER XI.

SANITARY WORK.

Organized Freedmen's Relief Association--Solicit Supplies--Academic
Year Opened for 1863-4--Sister Backus and Self leave for Fields of
Suffering--Incidents on the Way--Mission Work in Natchez, Mississippi
--Four Hundred Slaves Hanged and otherwise Tortured--Visit to the
Calaboose--Mission Work in Baton Rouge--Arrival at New Orleans--Sketch
of Persecutions


CHAPTER XII.

MISSION WORK IN NEW ORLEANS.


Mission Work in New Orleans--Soldiers and Prisoners Visited on Ship
Island--Petition of Seventy Soldier Prisoners in behalf of Three
Thousand of their Fellow Prisoners--Appeal in behalf of Ship Island
and Tortugas Prisoners--Mission Work at Plaquemine--Natchez--Capture
of a Rebel steamer--Arrival at Home--Release of the Three Thousand
Banished Union Soldiers


CHAPTER XIII.

FREEDMEN'S AID COMMISSION.

Refugees in Kansas--Children of Want--Afflicted Family--Scenes of
Distress--Agnes Everett--Quantrell's Raid--Poor White Trash--
Hospitals--Supplies Distributed--Refugee Buildings--Orphan Children--
Haviland Home--Thomas Dean a Prisoner--Petition for Pardon--Pardon
Granted--A Southern Clergyman--Mission School--At Harper's Ferry and
Washington.


CHAPTER XIV.

HOME MISSION WORK.

Mission Work and Incidents in Washington--Murders--Alexandria--
Richmond, Virginia--Williamsburg--Fort Magruder--Yorktown--
Suicide--Gloucester Court-house--Fortress Monroe--Norfolk--
Return to Washington--White Woman Whipped.


CHAPTER XV.

EXPERIENCES AMONG FREEDMEN.

A Soldier Prisoner--Interesting Statistics--Schools--Plantations--
Incidents--Return to Washington--Return Home with Fifteen Orphans
and Fifty Laborers--Change in Orphan Asylum--Mission Work in
Covington and Newport, Kentucky--Mission Work in Memphis, Tennessee--
Uncle Philip a Remarkable Man--Return Home.


CHAPTER XVI.

STATE PUBLIC SCHOOL.

Board of Directors Arrange for Closing the Home--Discouragements--
Relief Comes by Sleigh-loads--Encouragements--Petitions to the State
Legislature to make the Home a State Institution--Petitions Granted,
and the Orphan's Home becomes the "State Public School," located at
Coldwater--Work in State Public School.


CHAPTER XVII.

CHRISTIAN LABOR AND RESULTS.

Work for the Asylum--Again in Washington--Mission Work--Trial of
Henry Wirtz--Inspecting Soup-houses--Incidents connected with Kendal
Green Camp--Peremptory Order of J. R. Shipherd Closing Asylum--
Children Scattered--Returned Home with Authority from American
Missionary Association to Reopen Asylum--Dangerous Fall--Restored to
Asylum Work--Overtaken with Convulsions--Answer to Prayer in being
Restored.


CHAPTER XVIII.

PRESENT CONDITION OF THE FREEDMEN.

Kansas Freedmen's Relief Association--Testimony of Perry Bradley--
Incidents--Persecutions--Prof. Greener--Colored Republicans--Further
Testimony--Negro Woman Killed--Letter from the South--Atrocities--
Refugees in Kansas--Bull-dosing--Kansas Overfull--Protection Needed--
Michael Walsh--Silver Linings.


CHAPTER XIX.

PROSPECTS OF THE FREEDMEN.

Supplies Furnished--Relief Association at Work--Northern Outrages--
Prudence Crandall--Colored Schools--Freedmen's Aid Schools--Industrial
and Agricultural Institute.




ILLUSTRATIONS.


  STEEL PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR
  THE SLAVEHOLDERS' THREATS.
  SLAVE IRONS.
  CLARK UNIVERSITY FOR FREEDMEN (CHRISMAN HALL).
  MEHARRY MEDICAL COLLEGE.




CHAPTER I.

EARLY LIFE.


At the earnest solicitation of many dear friends I have consented to
leave on record some of the incidents that have fallen under my
personal observation during three-score and ten years.

My father, Daniel Smith, was a native of Eastern New York, and for
many years an approved minister in the Society of Friends. He was a
man of ability and influence, of clear perceptions, and strong
reasoning powers.

My mother, Sene Blancher, was from Vermont; was of a gentler turn, and
of a quiet spirit, benevolent and kind to all, and much beloved by all
who knew her, and was for many years an elder in the same Society.

It is due to my parents to say, if I have been instrumental, through
the grace of God, to bless his poor and lowly of earth, by adapting
means to ends in relieving suffering humanity, it is largely owing to
their influence.

Soon after their marriage, they removed to Kitley Township, county of
Leeds, Canada West (now known as Ontario), where I was born, December
20, 1808. I well remember the perplexities and doubts that troubled my
young mind in trying to find the whys and wherefores of existing
facts; yet I was naturally a happy and playful child. Some remarks
made by my parents over a portion of Scripture father was reading, in
which was the sentence, "and they are no more twain, but one flesh"--
"that is a close relationship; twain is two, no more two but one
flesh"--struck me with wonder and amazement. "Yes," replied mother,
"that is a oneness that is not to be separated, a near relation
between husband and wife; 'no more twain, but one flesh.' 'What God
has joined together let not man put asunder.'" It seemed as if every
word fastened upon my mind a feeling of awe at the new thought, that
father and mother were one person. "Then they think just alike, and
know all about the other, if true; father and mother believe it, and
they found it in the Bible, and that," I thought, "must be true. Now
for the test--If father and mother are one, they must know each
other's thoughts and whereabouts." After father had been out a few
minutes I asked mother where he was. "Not far off; may be he's gone to
the barn." But he was not there. At my report she said, "Perhaps he's
gone to David Coleman's, or some of the neighbors." This settled the
matter in my mind, that they were not one. But I gave the same test to
try father, which also proved a failure. But not quite satisfied
without further investigation, I asked mother for permission to go to
David Coleman's to play an hour with his little girls. Little did she
know that the object of her little five-year-old skeptic was to
present the test to their father and mother, to see whether they were
one, and found the same result each time.

This settled the question in my mind that one thing in the Bible was
untrue. Father and mother were mistaken in that part of the Bible that
said husband and wife were no more two, but one. For a long time after
this, whenever the Bible was referred to as authority, I would think,
"It may be true, and may not, because I tried one thing it said that
was not true."

Another mystery was hard for me to solve. In asking mother where we
should go if we should jump off the edge of the world, she replied,
"There is no jumping off place, because our world is round, like a
ball, and takes one day and night to roll around, and that makes day
and night." After the little child of six years had studied over this
mysterious problem a short time, she returned with the query, "Why
don't we drop off while underside? and why don't the water spill out
off Bates's creek and our well?" She replied, "Water, as well as every
thing else, is always kept in place by a great law, called
gravitation, that our Heavenly Father made when he made the world,"
and she said I would understand more about it when older. But this did
not satisfy me; I wanted to know all about it _then_. As soon as
father came in queries were repeated, but he closed as mother did,
that I must wait until I was older, which made me almost impatient to
be old enough to know how these things could be.

Another subject occupied my childish mind a long time, and was
investigated to the extent of the miniature ability I possessed. And
that was the interesting fact that I discovered one bright evening
while looking at the stars, that our house was just in the middle of
the world; and when we went to grandfather's (a distance of seven
miles), as soon as it was night, I was out in the yard measuring the
distance by stars, but to my surprise, grandfather's house was just in
the middle. For I tried it all around the house, and went to the barn
with my uncles, and could discover no variation. Consequently I must
have been mistaken at home. But on our return I could not find by the
stars but that we were just in the center of creation. Whenever I went
with my parents to a neighbor's for an evening's visit, my first and
foremost thought was to see how far to one side they were. But I
always found myself just in the center of this great world; just as
grown-up children are prone to think their own nation is ahead in arts
and sciences, of all other nations--their own State ahead of all other
States in moral and intellectual improvements--their own town or city,
like Boston, the "hub of the universe." In fact, _we_ are about
the center; our pets more knowing, and our children smarter, than can
be found elsewhere. But as the study of astronomy gives ability to
look upon the vast universe of thousands of worlds much larger than
our own, revolving in their orbits, it develops our intellectual
faculties, and enables us to view the concave appearance of the
ethereal blue from a standpoint widely differing from the occupancy of
the center. And when supreme self is melted away by faith in the blood
of the covenant, our spiritual vision becomes clearer and our
miniature minds are expanding, and we learn to make due allowances for
the acts and opinions of others, that we have called peculiar, because
they do not quite accord with our own usages and tastes.

In 1815 my father removed with his family to Cambria, Niagara County,
Western New York, then a wilderness. Soon after we were settled in our
new home, we lost my baby brother Joseph, which made a deep impression
upon my young heart, and gave me great uneasiness in regard to my own
future happiness, should I be taken away. I found great relief, one
day, while listening to a conversation between father and grandfather,
as to what age children were responsible to their Creator. Father gave
his opinion that ten years, in the generality of children, is the age
that God would call them to an account for sin. Grandfather said that
was about the age he thought children were accountable, and all
children that die previous to that age are happily saved in heaven.
"Yes," said father; "where there is no law there is no transgression."
At this great relief to my troubled heart, I ran out to play with my
brother Harvey, to tell him how long we would be safe, if we should
die, for father and grandfather said children that died before they
were ten years old would go to heaven, and I would be safe almost two
years, and he would be safe a good while longer (as he was two years
and a half younger than myself). "Oh, yes," said he; "and Ira will be
safe a great many years, 'cause he's little, if he should die as
little Josie did." This earliest conviction of sin vanished like the
morning cloud. This idea was so deeply embedded in my young mind, that
whenever I heard of a child's death, my first inquiry was for its age.

If under ten, I was at ease over its safety; but if over ten years, I
was distressed unless I could hear of some words from the one taken
away, that would indicate a preparation for the change of worlds. The
vividness of those early childhood impressions are frequent reminders
of the importance of giving clear explanations to children, in regard
to important religious truths, as their young hearts are much more
impressible than is generally conceded.


EARLY IMPRESSIONS OF SLAVERY AND RELIGION.

During the first six years in our new home, there was no school within
three miles of us, and all the privilege we enjoyed of this kind was a
spelling lesson given daily to three of us, the two little girls of
our nearest neighbor and myself. Our mothers pronounced the words for
us alternately, at their house and ours. In this way we spelled our
book through a number of times. This privilege, with four months in
school previous to leaving Canada, proved a great blessing. As I
possessed an insatiable thirst for knowledge, I borrowed all the easy
readers I could find in the neighborhood. I was especially interested
in memoirs of children and youth, which increased my frequent desire
to become a Christian. I wished to read every book that came within my
reach. I read a few of father's books, designed for more mature minds.
I became deeply interested in John Woolman's history of the slave-
trade, of the capture and cruel middle passage of negroes, and of the
thousands who died on their voyage and were thrown into the sea to be
devoured by sharks, that followed the slave-ship day after day. The
pictures of these crowded slave-ships, with the cruelties of the slave
system after they were brought to our country, often affected me to
tears; and I often read until the midnight hour, and could not rest
until I had read it twice through. My sympathies became too deeply
enlisted for the poor negroes who were thus enslaved for time to
efface.

The third or fourth I had ever seen of that race was an old man
called Uncle Jeff. He seemed to serve any one who called upon him for
chores, in our little village of Lockport, that grew up as by magic
upon the Erie Canal. Uncle Jeff was frequently employed by merchants
to cry off their stale articles on the street. At one time the old
man, whose head was almost as white as wool, was crying, "Gentlemen
and ladies' black silk stockin's of all colors for sale," holding
them up to view as he passed along the street, followed by a group of
boys crying out, "Nigger, nigger," and throwing grass and clay at
him. At length he turned to these half-grown boys, looking very sad,
as he said, "Boys, I am just as God made me, an' so is a toad." At
this the boys slunk away; and I felt very indignant in seeing the men
who were standing near only laugh, instead of sharply reproving those
ill-behaved children.

Another colored man, named Ben, came to our town with a family who
opened an inn. He was employed mostly in the kitchen, and while Ben
was asleep on the kitchen floor, some rude boys put a quantity of
powder in the back of his pants, and placing a slow match to it left
the room, but watched the process of their diabolical sport through a
window, and soon saw their victim blown up, it was said, nearly to
the ceiling. His hips and body were so badly burned that he was never
able to sit or stoop after this wicked act. He always had to walk
with a cane, and whenever too weary to stand, was compelled to lie
down, as his right hip and lower limb were stiffened. Yet little
notice was taken of this reckless act, but to feed and poorly clothe
this life-long cripple, as he went from house to house, because he was
of that crushed and neglected race.


RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS AND EXPERIENCE.

In the Autumn of my thirteenth year, with our parents' permission,
brother Harvey and I attended a little prayer-meeting at our Uncle Ira
Smith's house, near by. Here was singing, experiences given, with
prayer and exhortations, in which young people, as well as those more
advanced in years, took part. All this was new to me, having never
attended any other meeting than of Friends, usually called Quakers. My
father being a minister and mother an elder in that denomination, they
were very conscientious in training their children in all the usages,
as well as principles, of that sect. At this Methodist prayer-meeting
a young girl, but little older than myself, related her experience,
and prayed so earnestly for her young associates, that it took a deep
hold on my mind; and on my way home, on that beautiful evening, I
resolved to seek the Lord until I could know for myself that my sins
were forgiven. Oh, how I wished I was a Christian, as was Hannah
Bosworth. She was so young, and yet she told us how earnestly she
sought the Lord, and found Jesus so precious in the forgiveness of her
sins. It was said in that meeting that God was no respecter of
persons, and that I had read in the Bible; and then Jesus had said,
"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not;" "and
now, this very night, I _will_ begin to seek the Lord, and I _never_
will give up trying, if it takes as long as I live, until I receive an
evidence that I am the Lord's child. I want to realize that peace and
joy those men and women expressed in that meeting." As all had
retired, I placed a candle in my brother's hand, and hurried him to
bed, that I might know positively that no human ear could listen to my
first attempt to address my Heavenly Father.

I knelt for the first time in my life, in the rear of our corn crib,
but no words could I find for prayer, and a feeling of fear came over
me, and I arose to my feet. I looked all around me, but no one was in
sight; naught but trees and shrubs of the garden below, and the
ethereal blue, bedecked with the beautiful moon and sparkling stars,
above. Is it possible that He who created this beautiful world can
notice a little girl like me? And the thought occurred that I had
better wait until I was older. But the remarks to which I had just
listened came vividly before me, and I renewed my resolve to pray to
Him who had said, "Suffer little children to come unto me," and again
knelt for prayer; but that feeling of fear increased, until it seemed
as if some one was about to place a hand upon my shoulder, and I again
found myself on my feet. But as no one was in sight, I queried whether
this was not the enemy of my soul, to keep me from prayer, and fell
upon my knees a third time, determined to remain in the position of
prayer until my first petition to my Heavenly Father was presented.
And the prayer of the publican was repeated over and over again, "God
be merciful to me a sinner." These words above all others seemed just
for me. I was a sinner, and mercy was what I wanted. I returned to the
house with a still more fixed resolve to continue asking, with a
firmer purpose never to give over until the evidence of pardoning love
was mine. As I retired, I knelt by my bedside, and repeated the same
prayer, with a few additional words, imploring the aid of the Holy
Spirit to teach me the way of life, and penitential tears began to
flow. Before I slept my pillow was wet with tears, and was turned for
a dry place. As I was reading the Bible through by course, it became
more of a companion than ever before.

The next prayer-meeting was attended, and as they knelt during the
season of prayer I felt an impression to kneel with them. But the
cross was very great and I did not yield. I thought if I did so it
would be reported to my parents, and they would probably forbid my
coming to these little meetings, which I so highly prized. But this
was unprofitable reasoning, increasing the burden instead of bringing
the relief sought. I wept on my way home, and in my evening
supplication renewed my promise to be more faithful, let others do or
say what they would, if the like impression was ever again
experienced. With permission I attended the next prayer-meeting at my
uncle's, and, as if to test my faithfulness, two young women of my
intimate associates came in, and sat one on each side of me. At the
first season of prayer, as I did not have that impression, I felt
quite at ease, and thankful to my Father in heaven for excusing me.
But the next united supplication, I felt that I must unite with them
in kneeling, and while one tried to pull me up by the arm, with saying
"I'd be a little dunce if I was in thy place," the other sister
pinched the other arm, "Now, Laura Smith, be a little Methodist, will
thee? I'd be ashamed if I was thee; every body will make fun of thee."
But I kept my position and made no reply, but secretly prayed for
strength in my great weakness. But my fears were fully realized. It
was at once reported that Laura Smith would be a Methodist if allowed
by her parents. And for a long time no permission was given to attend
those little prayer-meetings, my parents assigning this reason: "This
Methodist excitement is unprofitable, especially for children. They
have an overheated zeal, that is not according to knowledge, and we do
not think it best for thee to attend; we want our children at a
suitable age to be actuated by settled principle, not mere
excitement." This reasoning by my dear father strongly tempted me to
give up my resolutions altogether. Until I was eighteen I felt no
liberty whatever in unburdening my troubled heart to my dear parents.
They were unacquainted with the longings of my poor soul. Like the
lone sparrow upon the house-top, I mourned many weeks, sought the
solitary place for reading my Bible, and prayer; often watered my
pillow with tears, and longed for the day, and during the day longed
for the night, in which I might pour out my sorrows to my Heavenly
Father out of sight of human eye. I was conscious that my sadness was
troubling my dear parents. Oh! how I prayed for light to dispel this
darkness and doubt--sometimes ready to conclude that, as it was my
duty to obey my parents, the Lord would excuse me in waiting until I
was of age. Yet in reading the many precious promises of the Lord
Jesus, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest;" "Seek, and ye shall find," I found fresh courage.
But why do I not find this rest for this weary heart? Why do I not
find the way to seek for the hidden treasure I so much longed for?
These queries were continually revolving in my mind, without a
satisfactory solution. Sometimes I almost concluded that God was too
good to send the beings he created for his own glory to perdition to
all eternity, and all would ultimately be saved; at other times, I
could not reconcile universal salvation with the parable of Lazarus
and the rich man, and was ready to conclude that salvation was for the
elected few, and there were those who could not be saved, and I was
among the lost. In one of these seasons, of almost despair, I
ventured to attend a Methodist meeting held in a private house, in
company with my uncle. Being at his house, I did not go home for
permission. The minister was a plainly dressed man; the opening hymn
was new to me, but every line seemed especially for me:

  "God moves in a mysterious way,
     His wonders to perform"

It was read and sung in an impressive manner. The fourth stanza seemed
specially suited to my case:

  "Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
     But trust him for his grace;
   Behind a frowning providence
     He bides a smiling face."

This gave new light, new courage, and fresh hope sprang up, like
streaks of the morning sunbeam in the Eastern sky, preluding the full
blaze of the orb of day. The prayer and the text upon which he based
his remarks were all flowing in the same channel. The exhortation was
to the discouraged and despairing soul to remember that the darkest
time of night was just before the break of day, a remark I had never
before heard. I returned home stronger than ever before, and ventured
to tell mother of the good sermon preached by Isaac Puffer. But she
was again troubled, and reminded me of those we read of in Scripture,
who would compass sea and land to gain one proselyte, that when
gained, "were twofold more the child of hell than themselves." She
also said that my uncles would be well pleased to have me go with
them. I assured her that neither of my four Methodist uncles had ever
intimated a word to me on the subject. "But," said she, "actions
sometimes speak louder than words." This was not designed to
discourage me, but darker than ever was the cloud of unbelief that
filled my heart. Was Isaac Puffer a child of hell? then there is
nothing in religion, with any body. It was all a farce--all mere
"overheated zeal, not according to knowledge." All mere "religious
excitement." I well-nigh distrusted all religion, and father's and
mother's religion was the same as others, of no value. I had groped my
way in midnight darkness, trying to find the true way, when there was
none. In this despairing state, while on my way to my grandfather's on
an errand, I halted to listen to the mournful notes of the forest
birds at my left; I looked upon the field of waving grain at my right,
and burst into a flood of tears as I exclaimed, Oh, what a sin-
stricken world is this! Every head of wheat is bowed in mourning with
poor me! Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there to
heal this sin-stricken world, this sin-sick soul of mine? Like a flash
the answer came, Yes, Jesus is that balm; he shed his own precious
blood for me on Calvary, that I might live now, and for evermore! Yes,
the healing balm is applied, and I _am saved!_ Oh, what a
fountain is opened for cleansing! My peace was like an overflowing
river. It seemed as if I could almost live without breathing--my tears
were brushed away by the breath of heaven. I stood a monument of
amazing mercy, praising God with every breath. All nature praising,
instead of mourning as it did a few moments before. O, how changed the
scene! The birds now sent forth their notes of praise! The leaves of
the forest clapped their hands for joy, and the branches waved with
praise! Every head of wheat was now bowed in sweet submission. O, what
a leveling of all nations of the earth was this baptism. I had been
prejudiced against the Irish people, as I never had seen one of that
nation until they came to our town, Lockport (as it was then called),
by hundreds, to work on the Erie canal, that ran through a part of
father's farm; and as they were frequently passing our house drunk, I
was afraid of them. But now every soul seemed so precious, I thought I
could toil all my life long if I could become instrumental in bringing
one soul to the Savior who died to save sinners, though they might be
the greatest drunkards in that or any other nation. Jesus shed his
blood to redeem all who would by faith accept salvation so freely
offered. The African and Indian races were alike objects of redeeming
love. That was a fathomless fountain. After spending a little time in
this reverie, I went from this hallowed place to accomplish my errand,
and met a neighbor, who looked at me earnestly and said, "Laura,
what's the matter? are you sick?" "O, no; I'm not sick," and hurried
on. And the first greeting I received from grandfather was the same
query, who received the same reply. I left for home as soon as the
errand was accomplished, but as I was passing out of the door I met my
Uncle Americus with the same query, who also received the same answer.
Oh, how I wished father and mother could understand me, and the
overwhelming sorrow I had waded through in search of this satisfying
portion.

If any little differences arose among my younger brothers and sister,
all melted away with a word from me. This unalloyed peace remained
with me a number of days, and when the time arrived for the appointed
prayer-meeting at Uncle Ira's, I had a great desire to attend it, and
I hoped, by asking for permission to go, mother might ask for my
reason. In this I was disappointed with a denial. However, I continued
to pray to Him who owned me as his child, to prepare the way in his
own time. My anxiety increased to do something for my dear Savior, who
indeed was chief among ten thousand. I could drop a few words here and
there, but with great timidity, but nothing of my experience in this
new life; that was hid with Christ in God. I was anxious to attend
that little prayer-meeting, where my mind first was arrested on the
subject of my soul's best interests. I often dreamed of earnestly
praying or exhorting in that prayer-meeting, and would awaken myself
in the exercise. I had a longing desire to invite to this gospel
feast others, especially my young associates.

As Isaac Puffer had an appointed meeting at a brother Crane's, half a
mile distant, on Sabbath at four o'clock P. M., I asked father for
permission to attend, hoping thereby to find liberty to open my pent-
up feelings to my dear parents, who so little understood me. But my
hopes were vain. Father said, in reply, "Laura, I want thee never to
ask me to go to a Methodist meeting again."

O, what a blow was this for my trembling frame! The door closed more
tightly than ever before. Not one word could I utter. I left the room,
to find my old resort in the grove, to weep bitter tears of
disappointment. But widely different was this burden, now resting upon
my heart, from that mountain weight of sin and transgression borne a
few weeks previously. I read a few days before of the baptism of the
Lord Jesus, our perfect pattern. But he came to fulfill. Then I read
of Philip and the apostles who baptized after his ascension; and to my
young and limited understanding I accepted the water baptism as an
outward acknowledgment of the saving baptism of the Holy Ghost. I
fully believed I had received the spiritual baptism, but I greatly
desired to follow the Lord Jesus wherever he might lead. I read
"Barclay's Apology" on that subject; yet my childhood mind dwelt much
on what I read in these Bible examples. But to no human being did I
present these impressions. And I also found the example of singing,
that I believed was _vocal_, as I read, "And they sang a hymn and
went out." And it seemed right, for the present, for me to unite with
the Methodists, were it not for the opposition of my parents, that I
felt sure would not exist could they but understand me. It also seemed
clearly impressed upon my mind that, if my mind should become clear to
unite with that branch of the Christian Church, it would be for
eighteen or twenty years at longest. But why not always be my place,
if it is my duty now? was a query that I much dwelt upon. I earnestly
prayed that God would send Caleb McComber to us, an intimate friend of
my parents, and a noted minister among Friends.

Within a week my heart leaped for joy at the announcement by my father
that Caleb McComber was in the neighborhood.

"What has brought him here at this time? His brother (Dr. Smith) is
all right; he has made no trouble of late in drinking," responded
mother.

"I do not know, I am sure, what has induced him to come here at this
time, as there is no meeting of business on hand, for him to take this
journey of nearly a hundred miles to attend," rejoined father.

Ah, the Lord has heard and answered prayer! He has heard the cry of
this poor child "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his
benefits." I could, with David, praise him with a full heart, and
sought a lone place to return thanksgiving and praise to him who had
so signally answered my petition, and was confident that the same All-
seeing Eye and Directing Hand would prepare the way for the desired
interview.

The following day being the Sabbath, we listened to a sermon by Caleb
McComber that was thought very singular at that day for a Friend. His
text was 1 Corinthians xii, 6 and 7; "And there are diversities of
operations, but it is the same God which worketh all in all." He
referred to the diversities of denominations, that were as families
composing the one true Church. And in this diversity of operations
there were those whose impressions of duty were clearly given in
regard to complying with outward ordinances, water baptism and the
Lord's-supper; and if these impressions were not complied with, a loss
would be sustained in spiritual life. And he exhorted to faithfulness
in obeying our Lord and Master. This discourse appeared as directly
addressed to this trembling child as did that of Isaac Puffer.

At the close of the meeting, said one of the elders to another, "Did
thou ever hear just such a sermon from a Friend? I thought it sounded
like a Presbyterian discourse." Said another: "What ails Caleb to-day.
I thought he preached like a Methodist." While these remarks were made
I felt confident we had listened to a message from the Great Head of
the true Church by his servant.

As he dined with our nearest neighbor, in company with his half-
brother, Dr. Isaac Smith, and wife, we all walked in company nearly to
our home, and the two young women invited me to call. I accepted, with
the excuse, for a drink of water (hoping for an opportunity of telling
that good man that I desired to have a talk with him, and for that
purpose would call after dinner).

But while waiting for the glass of water, said Caleb McComber, "Child,
how old art thou?"

The reply was, "Thirteen."

"I want thee to tell thy father and mother to come I here at three
o'clock this afternoon, and I want thee to come with them."

I gladly performed my errand, and at three P. M. we were there. After
a little space of silence he addressed the heads of families present,
then directed his remarks to us (the two young women and myself), at
first rather general. Then he said: "I want to say to one of you that
thou hast passed through an experience far beyond thy years; thou hast
known what it was to ask for deliverance from sorrow and darkness, and
thou hast also known what it was to receive the answer of peace from
thy Heavenly Father that the world knows not of. Hold fast that thou
hast received, that no man take thy crown. Be faithful in the little,
and more will be given. Bear in mind that little things are little
things, but to be faithful in little things is something great."

With exhortations to faithfulness and encouragement, this was to me an
undoubted evidence that He whose ear is ever open to the cry of his
children had most signally answered prayer in this clear and definite
searching of my heart. Very near and dear was that faithful nursing-
father brought to this little child's heart. With all freedom, I could
have related to him the obstacles that appeared in the way of duty
with me. But at that hour my feelings were too deep for utterance.
Instead of remaining longer, as was my impression, I returned home
with my parents, with the view of returning for a more private
interview when I could better command my feelings.

When about to return, I began to reason over the propriety of going
back. Certainly that good man had said all I could ask, both in his
sermon and in the religious opportunity in the family. And now there
might be danger of going too far. And there are those two young women,
who made sport of me in that prayer-meeting, where I knelt while
others led in prayer. Now they would make more sport than ever, as
there are so many there I could not speak to him without their knowing
it, and I shrank from going. I feared John Bunyan's "lions in the
way;" but if I had been faithful I would have found them chained, as
were his. For it was hard for me to give up the more private
interview, as I was very anxious to secure an interview between that
minister and my dear parents, as I was sure he understood me much
better than they. But I neglected my duty in this. O, how weak was
human nature!

I had previously thought I would never again offend my loving Savior,
but would follow him through evil as well as good report. O, how
precious his cleansing blood appeared to me! It seemed as if the drops
that fell in his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane possessed power to
cleanse a world of sin and pollution. Yet I was not faithful in the
little. Although my parents never after forbade my going to a
Methodist or any other meeting, yet I saw it grieved them as I
frequently attended those prayer-meetings, but never to the neglect of
our own, and was often impressed to speak or offer prayer, but did not
yield. I found, to my sorrow, that these omissions produced poverty of
soul, and often cried, "O, my leanness! my leanness!" In secret many
tears were shed over the loss of that joy that had been my experience.

Little by little the candle of the Lord that shone so brightly became
dim, and at the close of one year I sought the society of the gay and
mirthful, more effectually to drown my bitter regrets for having
turned aside from the path so clearly marked out for me. I fully
realized that the dark cloud overshadowing me was the result of
disobedience.

In company with a few of my companions, I attended the funeral of an
infant in our town. The service was conducted by a Baptist minister,
who had just come into the place. There was nothing in his remarks
that attracted my special attention. After the meeting closed, and
people were leaving, the minister passed on a little distance, and
turned back, as if something had been forgotten. Pressing through the
crowd, he ascended the porch, and came directly to me, looking
earnestly at me, as he reached his hand for mine, saying:

"I felt as if I could not leave this place without asking this young
woman a few questions. Have you ever experienced religion?"

This came upon me like a clap of thunder, he, being an entire
stranger, asking a question I never had occasion to answer. I
hesitated, as I had never intimated a word of my experience to any
human being. My first thought was to deny, but like a flash came the
words of Jesus, "He that denieth me before men, him will I also deny
before my Father and his holy angels. No; I can not--I will not,
though I die. With this thought I frankly replied:

"I think I have."

"Do you now enjoy it?"

"I do not"

This relieved me from the dilemma of being a disgrace to the cause of
Christ, as a number of my gay companions were with me, also those
Christian young people to whom I had listened with interest in prayer
and exhortations. But searching remarks from him followed. Still
holding my hand, he said:

"You have known of earnest pleading for the pardon of sin; and you
have known what it was to rejoice, as your prayers were answered. You
have known your duty, and did it not, and have brought yourself into
darkness. Do not occupy this dangerous ground longer. Return to jour
first love. Do your first work over; and He who is abundant in mercy
will again accept you. May God grant his blessing upon you! Good bye."

And he left me bathed in tears.

These earnest words reopened the many wounds that many neglected
duties had made. I could not doubt but Elder Winchell was as truly
sent from God to deliver this message as was Caleb McComber, for whom
I prayed in my distress. But now the Holy Spirit had sought me out,
unasked for, to warn me of the danger in the effort to occupy neutral
ground, as I had concluded to do until I was of age. I saw more
clearly that I was responsible to my Savior, who had done great things
for me, whereof I did rejoice with exceeding great joy.

Again my Bible became my daily companion, with prayer for my Savior's
directing hand. But my parents were again troubled, as those first
impressions returned in full force. I intimated my condition of mind
to my parents, but, with my natural timidity, not as freely as I
ought. They still attributed these impressions to the influence of my
Methodist uncles, and considered their duty was to place these
restraints upon their child. Father and mother had requested to become
members of the Friends' Society while three of their children were
under seven years, and requested for us, making us equivalent to
birthright members, according to the usage of our Society. From the
time of my Christian experience, I was never in sympathy with the
system of birthright membership. I believed it to be a source of
weakness, instead of spiritual life in this or any other Christian
body, and that all members of the Church militant should become united
by a heart-felt experience. I fully realized the loss I was warned to
shun by yielding to the earnest desires of my dear parents, who were
conscientious in their restraint. They said, in after years, that they
were laboring under a mistake, as was their timid child, in not more
faithfully following those early impressions of duty. I was not
faithful in the little, consequently more was withheld. My great
mistake was the lack of faith, in not fully returning to my Father's
house, where the little wandering prodigal would have been received,
and the new best robe again granted, and the rough way would have been
made smooth, and the impassable mountain that seemed to rise so high
would have melted away before the life-giving beams of the Sun of
righteousness. But I yielded to my timidity, and the conclusion was
reached to live a quiet Christian life, with my Bible and secret
communing with my dear Lord and Savior in secret prayer, as I could
not give up a strictly religious life. But dimly did die lamp of life
burn, compared with its former brightness.

The greatest source of retrograding in the divine life is
unfaithfulness in the performance of known duty. Many of the clouds
that overshadow us we bring by withholding more than is meet, and it
tends to poverty of soul. The talent committed to our charge is to be
occupied, and is always doubled when occupied by its possessor; but,
as I saw many, in whom I had confidence as living a quiet Christian
life--and this was more congenial to my natural feeling--I reached the
conclusion to make my Bible and secret prayer my companions as long as
I lived, and a Christian life in the Society of my parents' choice.

At the early age of sixteen I became acquainted with Charles Haviland,
Jr., a young man who was acquainted with the Savior's pardoning love,
whose father and mother were both acknowledged ministers in the
Society of Friends. From him I accepted a proposition of marriage, and
on the 3d of 11th month, 1825, our marriage was consummated at
Friends' Meeting, in Lockport, Niagara County, New York, according to
the usage of Friends. The following Spring we commenced housekeeping
in our own home, in Boyalton Township, nine miles east of Lockport,
and my dear parents and family removed to Michigan Territory. Although
parting from them was severe, yet with my young and devoted husband I
was contented and happy as was possible to be, with so many reminders
of the cloud that rested over me in my spiritual horizon, with all my
constant striving for its removal. Phoebe Field, an eminent minister
among Friends, appointed a meeting in our neighborhood, in which she
dwelt upon the necessity of receiving daily nourishment from the true
and living Vine to become fruit-bearing branches, and remarked that
there were those whose religious experience seemed divergent from the
manner in which they were brought up, and through unfaithfulness had
well-nigh lost sight of the highway of holiness, in the mistaken view
of neutrality, when there was not an inch of such ground all the way
from years of responsibility to the grave. We are gathering with
Christ or scattering abroad. This earnest discourse so clearly defined
my own condition, that I renewed my many broken vows, and was almost
persuaded to yield the unsubdued will, and hope was indulged that the
Father of unbounded mercy, in his illimitable love, would again reveal
himself in breaking the bread of life.

September, 1829, we removed to Michigan Territory, and settled in
Raisin, Lenawee County, within three miles of my parents, brothers,
and sister, with our two little sons, to share with others the
privations of a new country, as well as advantages of cheap land. As
there were a number of our Society in this vicinity, a Friends'
Meeting was organized, in which we all had an interest, and endeavored
to maintain it in the usual order of our Society. But no true peace
was mine, I was still a wanderer from the true Church militant. I once
knew the good Shepherd's voice, but was now too far away to recognize
it. In these sad remembrances I sought a subterfuge behind which to
hide in a false rest. Eagerly I read a book on that subject, and drank
its plausible arguments without stint. It was a panacea, a temporary
opiate to quiet the vacillating condition of a restless mind; yet my
Bible was not laid aside, and many portions of Scripture were
vigilantly brought to prove this specious error to be a radical truth;
and two years in this dead faith I lived a dying life. But I found my
investigations were not for the whole truth, but was dwelling upon the
love and benevolence of God to the exclusion of justice as an
attribute of the Lord, as well as mercy, and decided to accept the
whole truth, and abide its searchings; and sought for it in the
written Word diligently, as for hidden treasures In reading Paul's
epistle to the Hebrews, chapter vi, I found, "It is impossible for
those who were once enlightened and have tasted of the heavenly gift,
and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have tasted of the good
Word of God, and the powers of the world to come, if they shall fall
away, to renew them again to repentance, seeing they crucify to
themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame." Oh,
how these words thrilled my whole being! Again and again they were
reviewed. No Hope! no hope for a lost soul like mine! were like
burning coals upon my poor heart. I was once enlightened and tasted of
the heavenly gift; but how dark have been these years. Oh! how soon
did the lamp of life become dim through disobedience. I can never
again drink of that fountain of love that once filled my soul to
overflowing. But I had fallen away, and could never again be renewed,
having crucified to myself the Son of God afresh, and put him to an
open shame, by not honoring such a glorious Redeemer, as was my own
personal Savior. O, what delusion to have indulged in the vain hope
that I was serving him in a silent, quiet life, and then cover over
all this unrest with the idea that God was too abundant in mercy to
cast off any for whom he died to save. Day and night this terrible
thought followed me for months, "I am a lost soul! irretrievably lost.
No hope! Eternally lost!"

As I had never intimated to my dear companion the vacillating
condition of mind, and the effort in finding rest, neither should he
be troubled with the knowledge that his wife was a lost soul; neither
should our little ones on arriving to years of religious understanding
ever know that their mother was a lost soul. The midnight hour often
witnessed many bitter tears of regret over the awful thought. So near
perfect despair, I looked upon beast, bird, or even the most loathsome
reptile, and grudged their happiness of living and dying without
responsibility. These sad forebodings seriously affected my health,
and my anxious husband and parents feared some serious disease was
preying upon me. I sometimes thought the sooner I sank into the grave
the better, as my doom must be met. O, that I could but claim the
privilege of the prodigal, in returning to the Father's house, and of
being accepted, though a great way off. O that I never had been born!
O that I had followed that loving Savior's voice, so often clearly
heard. It is now too late, too late! O that I had returned to my first
love when within my reach. But I rejected the teaching of the Holy
Spirit, and justly am I now rejected. In this distressing despair I
opened a little book--the Christian experience of one whose exercises
of the mind traced through my own experience, even to my present
despairing state, as nearly as I could have related it in my own
words. Through the instrumentality of a similar experience in
another, who was restored and was long a useful Christian, I was
encouraged to return, and found the healing balm. Never can I forget
the thrill of joy that ran through my whole being as I laid aside that
little book. I saw that I had misapprehended the meaning of the
passages of Scripture that seemed to describe my condition, and that
served to confirm my despair. I saw that those referred to, had so far
fallen, and so often rejected the Holy Spirit's teachings, as not to
realize their condition, and therefore lost sight of the necessity of
a Redeemer. This was not, nor ever had been, my condition. Then I read
Esau's seeking the blessing, "carefully with tears," that I had also
long dwelt upon as my condition. Here, too, was a vivid thought, that
he sought the lost blessing to subserve self, instead of glorifying
God. Here the bright star of hope pierced through the cloud. Is it
possible that I can go with confidence to that Father who has so long
borne with this unbelieving, doubting, rebellious child? Why has he
not cut off this cumberer of the ground long ago? His long-suffering
and unbounded mercy, O how free! how unfathomable! With many tears of
gratitude, mingled with new hope, new aspirations, the bright beam of
day radiating from every promise, I could now fully accept the Lord
Jesus as my mediator and restorer. By faith, I could fully trust the
poor prodigal in his hand. O, what losses we sustain through unbelief.
I have felt most easy in leaving my experience on record, as a warning
to young Christians to shun the depth of despair into which I tank
through unfaithfulness and unbelief. "By grace ye are saved, through
faith." Increasing faith, strength, and peace, with restored health,
was my rich experience.


ANTI-SLAVERY WORK.

Our family, with others, united with Elizabeth Margaret Chandler, who
organized in our neighborhood the first anti-slavery society in our
State. This was unsatisfactory to the ruling portion of our Society,
as it had cleared its skirts many years ago by emancipating all slaves
within its pale. Elizabeth M. Chandler was of the Hicksite division of
Friends, and as Presbyterians and other religious denominations came
into our anti-slavery society, meetings were frequently opened with
prayer, and that was thought to be "letting down the principles of
ancient Friends." And the subject of slavery was considered too
exciting for Friends to engage in, by many Friends of that day. I
began to query whether it would not be a relief to me, and also to my
friends, to become disconnected with that body, as I saw clearly my
path of duty would not be in accordance with the generality of our
Society. After making it a subject of earnest prayer, I became settled
as to the course to pursue, and concluded to unburden my heavy heart
to my parents as I had done, to my beloved companion, which I did
after our Sabbath meeting. We mingled our tears together. Father
referred, to the same proscribing spirit they exercised over me in my
early experience, that was now exercised over them. Father and mother
wished me to defer sending in my request to become disconnected with
our Society, as they, too, might think best to pursue the same course.
This was a severe trial for each of us. Father had been an
acknowledged minister of the Gospel nearly thirty years, and mother
occupied the station of an elder nearly the same time. We, too, had
become active members in this branch of the Christian Church. But the
conclusion was fully reached within two months after our little
conference over this important step, and the following letter of
resignation was sent to our business meeting:

"We, the undersigned, do say there is a diversity of sentiment
existing in the Society on the divine authority of the Holy
Scriptures, the resurrection of the dead, and day of judgment,
justification by faith, the effect of Adam's fall upon his posterity,
and the abolition of slavery, which has caused a disunity amongst us;
and there being no hope of a reconciliation by investigation,
ministers being told by ruling members that there is to be no other
test of the soundness of their ministry but something in their own
breasts, thus virtually denying the Holy Scriptures to be the test of
doctrine;--we, therefore, do wish quietly to withdraw from the Monthly
Meeting, and thus resign our right of membership with the Society of
Friends."

This resignation was signed by Daniel Smith, Sene Smith, Charles
Haviland, Jun., Laura S. Haviland, Ezekiel Webb, Sala Smith, and
fourteen others. A few returned, but the greater united with other
Christian bodies, A few months after this there was a division in the
Methodist Episcopal Church, on account of slavery. They were called
Wesleyan Methodists. As this branch of our Father's family was the
nearest our own views, we were soon united with them. Our
testifications from Friends were said by other denominations to he
sufficient to be accepted as Church letters, as our offenses named
therein were "non-attendance of meetings for discipline, and attending
meetings not in accordance with the order of our Society." This was
the import of nearly or quite all who were disowned of our company. At
that day, all were dealt with as offenders, and were regularly
disowned, as our discipline at that time made no provisions for
withdrawals. About a year after this, the yearly meeting of Friends in
Indiana divided on the subject of slavery. No slavery existed in the
society; yet its discussion was deemed improper, and created disunity
sufficient for severing that body for a number of years, when they
were invited to return, without the necessity of acknowledgments.

About this time we opened a manual labor school on our premises,
designed for indigent children. With that object in view, we took nine
children from our county house (Lenawee), and I taught them, with our
four children of school age, four hours each day. The balance of the
day was divided for work and play. The girls I taught house-work,
sewing, and knitting. The boys were taken into the farm work by my
husband and brother Harvey Smith. As our county superintendents of the
poor gave us no aid, we found our means insufficient to continue our
work on this plane. After one year of this work we secured homes for
the nine children, except two invalids, who were returned to the
county house. We then placed our school on a higher plane, on the
Oberlin plan of opening the school for all of good moral character,
regardless of sex or color. At that day (1837) there was not a school
in our young State that would open its door to a colored person. And
as my brother, Harvey Smith, had attended the Oberlin Institute, he
united with us in this enterprise, and sold his new farm of one
hundred and sixty acres, and expended what he had in erecting
temporary buildings to accommodate about fifty students. The class of
students was mostly of those designing to teach. Our principals were
from Oberlin during the first twelve years of the "Raisin Institute."
The first three years it was conducted by P. P. Roots and his wife,
Anna B., who were excellent Christians. When they left, to open a
similar institution at West Point, Lee County, Iowa, John Patchin
became their successor, and conducted the school with equal ability
three years. After uniting in marriage with a teacher in Oberlin, he
was assisted by his wife. These thorough teachers earned for our
institute the name of being one of the best in our State. Students
were sought for teachers in our own and adjoining counties. Although
our abolition principles were very unpopular at that day, as we
generally had from one to three colored students in our school, yet
the thorough discipline given in the studies drew the young people of
the best intellect from the surrounding country. There were those who
came from fifty to one hundred miles to prepare for teaching or for a
collegiate course. Hundreds of young people who enjoyed the privileges
our school afforded came to us with their prejudices against colored
people and our position in regard to them; but they soon melted away,
and went they knew not where. It was frequently said if we would give
up the vexed abolition question, and let the negroes alone, Raisin
Institute would become the most popular school in the State.

As a sample of many others, I will notice a young lady from Jackson
County, who was brought to us by her father to become qualified for
teaching. But her sensibilities were so shocked at meeting in her
grammar-class a colored man that she returned to her room weeping over
her disgrace, and resolved to write her father to come and take her
home immediately. But the other young women persuaded her to attend
the recitations assigned her, when to her surprise the same young
colored man was in the advanced arithmetic class. And while
impatiently waiting for her father to come and take her from this
"nigger school" (as she and many others called it), a letter came from
him advising her to remain, as he had expended so much in fitting her
for two or three terms there; although if he had known that a negro
would have been allowed to attend her class he would not have taken
her there. She soon became reconciled, and before a half-term closed,
when she threatened to leave at all events (as she read her father's
letter), she came to that colored man to assist her in intricate
parsing lessons. Before the close of the first term she as frequently
applied to James Martin, her colored classmate, for assistance in
solving difficult problems in mathematics as to any of the others. She
was one of our best students; but this deep-rooted prejudice went, she
knew not how, as with very many others.

As to religious privileges in our school, our prayer-meetings were
held bi-weekly, Sabbath and Wednesday evenings, and ministers of
various denominations frequently appointed meetings in our school on
the Sabbath. While the Rev. John Patchin had charge of the institution
he generally preached Sabbath evening, instead of the prayer-meeting.

In the third year of our school our two older sons made a profession
of religion, with a number of other students, which was cause of great
rejoicing. Surely, we were blessed above measure. Within two years
after we were blessed with another shower of divine favor in the
conversion of our two older daughters. Not unfrequently were these
four children's voices uplifted in vocal supplication at the family
altar. We were surely repaid more than a hundred-fold for all our
toiling, and heavy burdens borne in founding Raisin Institute. As the
fleeing fugitive ever found a resting-place and cheer in our home, we
richly earned the cognomen of "nigger den;" yet Heaven smiled and
blessed our work. We had many sympathizing friends in the Society from
which we were disconnected as members, even with those who had deemed
us too radical. There was unity with us in our work that brought us
together in after years.




CHAPTER II.

BEREAVEMENTS.


Our last chapter left us rejoicing in success, but how soon did
deepest sorrow take its place. A dream seemed sent to prepare me for
the severe ordeal so near at hand. I thought I was standing in our
front yard looking eastward and an angel sitting on a bay horse
appeared in the place of the sun's rising, coming to earth on some
mission, gliding over the tree tops toward our house, where were
father, mother, my sister Phoebe, and my husband, who held in his
arms our little babe. I started to inform them that an angel was
coming to earth on some errand, when his advance was so rapid I was
likely to lose sight of him, and halted to watch his flight. He seemed
to alight in our yard near me, and smiled as he said, "Follow thou
me." "I will," I responded, as soon as I bid Charles and our folks
farewell. The beautiful personage assumed a firmer tone, as he said,
"Let the dead bury their dead, but follow thou me." At this command I
responded, "I will," and followed him to the graveyard, where he left
me. And I awoke with that angelic figure, with that sweet, yet solemn,
voice ringing in my ear.

I related the dream, with its clear impression in my mind, to my
husband, who replied, "That is a significant dream, and I think
indicates death. I think we shall be called to part with our infant
daughter Lavina; and it is quite evident that consumption is fast
hastening our sister Phoebe to her long home." She was my own sister,
who married my husband's brother, Daniel Haviland. He continued his
remarks, by making suggestions as to the course we would feel it best
to pursue about a burying-place for our little daughter, in case of a
refusal of Friends to allow a plain marble slab, with her name and
date of birth and death in their burying-ground; and suggested the
corner of our orchard as a pleasant place, to which I assented. After
spending half an hour in this conversation, he went out to his work. I
prayed for my Savior's hand to lead me in whatever trial it was
necessary for me to pass through.

Little did I think of the heavier stroke which was first to fall. A
few days after this dream I was charging myself with being visionary;
yet a few of these most impressive dreams, I believe, have been
designed for our instruction. My husband was seized with a heavy
cold, accompanied by a severe cough, that was increasing; yet he was
able to be about the house and barn, giving directions, as to outdoor
work, but nothing appeared alarming, when I was aroused by a startling
dream of a coffin being brought into our front room by four men, of
whom I inquired who was dead. The answer was, "A connection of yours."
"I want to see him, for that coffin appears to be for a small man,"
was my reply. "He is a small man," was the rejoinder, "and you shall
see him." Upon this, the closed coffin was brought to me, and I arose
and followed the pall-bearers to the graveyard. As the people were
standing around the open grave to see the coffin lowered, I saw a
little child standing on the very edge of the grave opposite to me. I
exclaimed, "Do take that child away, for it will cave into the grave
after its father!" At that instant the light sand under its feet gave
way, and, as it struck the coffin, the loud, hollow sound awoke me,
trembling as with a fit of ague, and with the strong impression that I
was soon to part with my beloved companion and infant daughter,
although both were sweetly sleeping by my side. With this thrill
through my whole being, I resorted to prayer for their restoration to
health, if consistent with the divine will.

Although my husband had enjoyed good health a number of years, and had
not for seven years previously called upon a physician, yet I now
resolved to persuade him to call for one at once. As the clock struck
four, and as I was leaving the bed to light the fire, my husband
awoke, and said he had enjoyed the most refreshing sleep he had had
since taking this cold, and felt so well he thought he soon should be
rid of it. Whenever I spoke the chattering of my teeth revealed my
agitation, and he expressed fear lest I should be ill from the hard
chill. But little did he understand the upheavings of my troubled
heart. Soon a severe paroxysm of coughing gave the opportunity to
suggest the idea of sending for a physician. At length he consented,
as he said, to please me, as he thought this cough would soon give
way. But while I went to our boy's study room to awaken our son Harvey
to go for the doctor, a severe pain in the region of the lungs was
cutting every breath.

The doctor was soon with us, but he thought there were no discouraging
symptoms apparent. I seat for Father Haviland, who also thought, as
did the doctor, that I was unreasonably troubled; but during the
following night he expressed doubts of recovery himself, and requested
his will to be written, which was done. As his fever increased, great
effort was made to control our feelings in his presence. At one time,
as he awoke, he discovered fast-falling tears, and said: "Do not weep
for me, my dear wife; remember those beautiful lines:

  'God moves in mysterious way,
     His wonders to perform.'

We are not to

  'Judge the Lord by feeble sense,
     But trust him for his grace;
   Behind a frowning providence
     He hides a smiling face'

Our separation will be short at longest. Then we shall be reunited
where there is no sorrow--no more dying--in that glorious home. Two
days ago there seemed a little cloud; but prayer was answered, and the
cloud was all removed. The overshadowing now is that of peace and
love." He called for the children. Looking upon us all, he said, "O,
how dear you all are to me!" Calling each by name, he gave advice and
exhortations as none but a departing husband and father could leave
with his family--a legacy more precious than all the golden treasures
of earth. Then he added: "I want you, my dear children, to promise me
that you will meet your father in heaven. Will you meet me there?"
Taking our little babe in his hands, he kissed it and said, "Dear
little Lavina will soon be with her father," and closed with the
prayer: "O Lord, I commit my dear wife and children into thy bands.
Thou art the widow's God, and a loving Father to fatherless children."

The words of the dying Christian, beginning

  "What's that steals, that steals upon my frame?
       Is it death-is it death?"

were sung by his bedside, and as the last line,

       "All is well-all is well,"

was reached, he raised his hands, and repeated, "O, hallelujah to the
Lamb!" Then, turning to me, be added, "My dear, I want these lines
sung at my funeral." His last words were, "Come, Lord Jesus, thy
servant is ready," and with a sweet smile his happy spirit was wafted
home, March 13, 1845.

His disease was inflammatory erysipelas, at that time entirely new,
and not understood by our physicians. It passed through our portion of
the State, a sweeping epidemic, in the Spring of 1845, and proved
fatal in most cases. My dear mother, who was with us during this week
of sorrow, was taken home with the same disease, and in one week her
happy spirit took its flight to God who gave it. She, too, left us hi
the triumphs of faith. She had not left us an hour before brother
Daniel came for me to go to his dying wife, as she was calling for
mother, and he did not dare inform her that mother was dangerously
ill. I took my little emaciated babe upon a pillow, and went to my
dear sister, who was so soon to leave us. Her first query was, "How is
our dear mother?"

"Mother is a happy spirit in heaven," was the reply, "and sister
Phoebe will soon meet her there."

Her reply was: "It is well; but I had hoped to meet her once more in
this world--yet we'll soon meet, to part no more forever. She soon
followed brother Charles; but I trust we will all meet one day, an
unbroken band. O how I wish I could see brother Ira!" an absent
brother for whom she had often expressed great anxiety in regard to
his spiritual and everlasting welfare.

The same burden of soul for the same brother had also rested on the
heart of our sainted mother, whose funeral took place two days later.
Within one week sister Phoebe died in peace. Here was the third wave
of sorrow rolling over us.

From this house of mourning I was removed to my home with the same
disease that had taken my husband and mother; and a number of our
neighbors Were going the same way. My father and father-in-law thought
me dangerously ill-chills and fever, with stricture of the lungs, that
made respiration painful. They were very anxious to have the best help
that could be obtained at once; "for," said father, "what is done for
thee must be done quickly" I told him that every one who had been
taken with this disease had died, as physicians of each school did not
understand it. But I would return to my home, as they suggested; but
felt most easy to trust myself with water treatment, and would like to
take a shower-bath every two hours, and try that treatment twelve
hours. This was done, and every bath brought relief to respiration,
and my lungs became entirely free, though my neck and throat were
still badly swollen and inflamed. Cold applications, frequently
applied, soon overcame that difficulty, and in three days the disease
seemed entirely conquered.

A relapse from taking cold, however, threw me into a stupor; but I was
aroused by an expression of a neighbor, as he said: "She is not
conscious, and never will be, unless something is done; and if she
were a sister of mine a doctor would be here as soon as I could bring
him."

"I will see if I can get an expression from her," said my brother
Harvey.

"If we can only learn mother's wish it shall be granted," said my
anxious son Harvey.

As I heard their remarks a strong impression came over me that if I
were placed in charge of a physician I should not live two days, but
if I could tell them to shower my head and neck often I would recover.
As I looked upon my anxious fatherless children around my bed I made
an effort to speak, but my parched and swollen tongue could not for
some time utter a word. The answer to earnest prayer came from Him who
numbers even the very hairs of our head. As my brother took my hand,
saying, "If you wish a physician press my hand, or if you wish water
treatment move your head on the pillow," I could not move my head in
the least, and my only hope was to say no. When asked if I wished a
doctor sent for, I prayed that my tongue might utter words of
direction for the sake of my fatherless children, and said, "No."

"Do you want cold compresses, or shall we gently shower over a thin
cloth on the swollen and inflamed portion of your neck and head?"

"Shower."

"Cold or tepid?"

"Well."

"If you mean well-water, how much?"

"Big pitcher."

"How often?"

"Twenty minutes."

Said my son Harvey, "It shall be done, if I sit by her every minute
to-night"

I felt a positive impression that my Heavenly Father had answered my
prayer directly, and granted an assurance, in the token of recovery,
and I praised the Lord for his "loving kindness, O, how free." With
this assurance I fell back in a stupor, except a dreamy consciousness
of their showering, which was faithfully done, with the assistance of
my brother. At twelve o'clock I awoke, and inquired where all the
people were that filled the room a little while before, and was
surprised to learn the hour of night. They said, as my breathing
became more natural, the neighbors had left and the children retired.

I could speak easily, and the purple appearance of the skin had
disappeared. In the morning the pain was entirely gone, but the
soreness was still severe. But with frequent changes of compresses
during the day, the swelling very much subsided. I wondered why father
did not come, as he had not been to see me since sister Phoebe's
funeral. My brother informed me that he had a chill during the
funeral, and had not been able to leave. As he had a few fits of the
ague some weeks previously, I supposed it was a return of that
disease. The day following brother Sala came, and in reply to my
inquiry after my father, said he was no better, but sent me a request
to be very careful of myself, and hoped I would soon recover, and left
in seeming haste to see brother Patchin. But I sent for him to come
and tell me more about father. He soon came with brother Patchin and
brother Dolbeare. He then told me that father had the same disease
that had taken my husband and our mother, and he also said that it was
father's request that for the sake of my large family of children, who
were recently bereft of their father, that I would give up the idea of
coming to see him.

But I could not be satisfied without going to see my dear father once
more, and yet, the pleading of my dear children was almost too much to
forego. "We have just lost our father; now what should we do if our
mother should be taken from us?" "But if I am rolled in quilts and
laid on a bed in the wagon, I am confident I can be taken to father's
house safely"--distant nearly three miles. In this way I was taken to
my dying father, though unable to walk across the room without
assistance. As soon as he learned of my coming, he directed them to
lay me on the bed until I was rested. In a few minutes he sent them to
bring me to him. As my son and brother led me to his bedside, he
placed the cold purple fingers over my pulse, and said, "I am so glad
to see thee, but I feared it would be too much for thee to bear. There
is a little feverish excitement about thee yet. I am more concerned
for thee than for the rest of my children, on account of thy large
family, that will so much need their mother's counsel and care. I want
to say to thee, Look up to the widow's God for guidance, for wisdom
from him is so much needed, with the heavy responsibilities now
resting upon thee. Do not allow these bereavements to crush thy feeble
frame. I have feared they had already seriously affected thy health. I
know thy anxiety to bring up thy children in the nurture and
admonition of the Lord. And he will grant ability to lead them to the
Lamb of God, who shed his precious blood for us all." With other
advice, he became weary, and said, "Now take her back to the other
room, and lay her on the bed until rested." And during the few hours
he lived he frequently sent for me to talk a few minutes at a time,
watching my pulse each time, until within a few moments of the last
farewell to earth.

There were six of his children present, to whom he gave his farewell
blessing, leaving a bright evidence that all was well with him. "In me
there is no merit. I am fully trusting in the merit of my crucified
Savior, who shed his own precious blood for my redemption. I can say
with Job, 'I know that my Redeemer lives,' and because he lives I
shall live also." His last words, almost with his last breath, were,
"Here she comes," and left this tabernacle for the building not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens. Father and mother were lovely in
their lives, and in their death were only two weeks divided. It seemed
that my last earthly prop was gone. Three weeks later my youngest
child followed her father and grandparents to the spirit home. Within
six weeks, five of my nearest and dearest ones were taken from me.

There was hardly a family within two miles of us but was bereft of one
or two loved ones by this epidemic. Five widows (myself included) at
one time were standing around the death-bed of a near neighbor. Our
female principal at that time, Emily Galpin, was taken with this
epidemic, and died after three days' illness. A few hours previous to
her death she requested a season of prayer, in which her husband, Rev.
Charles Galpin, led. Her prospect was bright, and, clearly foreseeing
the ransomed throng she was soon to join, said she, "Oh! how vain, how
transitory, does all earthly treasure appear at this hour--a mere
bubble upon the water." About a half an hour before she left us, she
said, "Hark! don't you hear that beautiful music? Oh! what music; I
never heard anything like it! Don't you hear it?" "No, we do not hear
it." Being in an ecstasy, she exclaimed, "Look at that heavenly choir.
Don't you see them? Don't you hear that sweetest of all music?" "We do
not see them nor hear them." "There--they have left." A few minutes
before her happy spirit took its flight, she again looked up very
earnestly. "There they are again. Oh, how sweet! how beautiful!" And
taking leave of her husband and two children, sister and brother-in-
law, and of all present, committing her dear ones to the keeping of
the Lord Jesus, with the request that the two lines,

  "Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
   Let me hide myself in thee,"

be placed upon the marble slab to mark her resting place, she fell
asleep in Jesus.

Such fatality never before, nor since, visited Raisin as is 1845. In
those days of sorrow commingled with the rest of faith, that brought
peace and joy even in affliction, my only reliance was the widow's
God, for wisdom I so much needed in the double responsibilities now
resting upon me.

After the death of my sweet babe, twenty-two months of age, and my
restoration to health, I looked over amounts of indebtedness with
dates when due. I made an estimate of costs of harvesting and
marketing the twenty acres of wheat and other grains, and what must be
retained for family use; and found I would be able to reach only about
half the amount due the following Autumn. I called on all our
creditors within reach to inform them of probabilities, unless I could
find sale for a portion of the stock. But none of the creditors wanted
any of it. Said one, to whom the largest amount was due, "You do not
think of taking your husband's business and carrying it forward, do
you?" I replied, "I thought of trying to do the best I could with it."
With a look of surprise, he said firmly, "You are very much mistaken,
Mrs. Haviland; you can not do any such thing; you had much better
appoint some man in whom you have confidence to transact your business
for you." I informed him I had seven minor children left me, and I
found seven hundred dollars of indebtedness, and it would cost money
to hire an agent Then, I ought to know just where I stand, to enable
me to look closely to expenditures. "Well, you can try it, but you'll
find your mistake before six months have passed, and you'll see you
had better have taken my advice." I knew I was not accustomed to
business of this sort. All the other creditors whom I had seen spoke
very kindly. Although these words were not unkindly spoken, yet they
were saddening to my already sad heart.

I was too timid to go to the probate judge with any sort of ease for
instruction. In looking around me for some female friend to accompany
me, I could find but very few who were not undergoing like trials with
myself, consequently I must submit to these new experiences, as
whatever was right for me to do was proper. I depended upon an all
wise guiding Hand, who is ever ready to reach it forth to the trusting
child. I wrote to one, a few miles distant, to whom was due eighty
dollars the ensuing Fall, that forty dollars would be all I should be
able to meet. He called in a few days, and introduced himself saying
that he had received a statement from me that I could only pay him the
coming Fall fifty per cent on the eighty-dollar note he held against
my husband. Said he, in a hurried manner, "I called to let you know
that I _must have it all_ when it is due, as I have a payment to
make on my farm at that time, and I have depended on that" I told him
I would gladly pay him every penny of it the coming Fall, but it would
be impossible, as there were other demands equally pressing. "Very
well, that is all I have to say, madam; I can not accept any such
arrangement; I shall put in a way to bring it. Good-by."

He left in haste for me to ponder all these things over, in doubts as
to my ability to meet all these rough places of outside life. Perhaps
I had better leave this business with some man to deal with men. But
prayer to the widow's God and comforting promises were my companions.
Here was my only refuge and shelter in these storms. As I retired with
a burdened heart, that I was endeavoring to cast at the feet of my
Savior, the widow's burden-bearer, I had a sweet dream of an angelic
host, that filled my room with a halo of glory, settled on every face,
and those nearest my bed appeared in the form of persons dressed in
beautiful attire; others were sweet faces that looked upon me with
smiles of peace. As one took my hand, a familiar feeling sprang up,
that gave me confidence to ask for the name. "My name is Supporter."
And looking at the one standing near, "And what is his name?" "That is
a woman, and her name is Influencer-of-hearts." Pointing to another
still more glorious in appearance, "And who is that one?" "That is
Searcher-of-hearts." "Then you all bear the name of your missions to
earth, do you?" "We do," replied Supporter. As I looked over this host
that filled my room I burst into a flood of tears for joy. I
exclaimed, "Oh! what missions are yours! so many wayward hearts to
influence, so much of sin and wickedness that reigns in this world to
search out." At this said Searcher of hearts, "Support her, for she
needs it" "I do," and he reached for my other hand, and as both of my
hands were held by Supporter, I realized a wave of strength to pass
over me, filling my soul. I awoke in an ecstacy. Yea, I will cast my
care on Jesus and not forget to pray. Calm and sweet was this
confidence in being cared for, and supported by an almighty arm.

A few days after I saw the exacting man coming through my gate, which,
for a moment, caused a dread; but the second thought was, _all,_
all is with my Savior. I met him with the usual greeting, and said,
"You have called to see about that claim you have against me." "Yes, I
have called to inform you that I shall not want any thing from you
next Fall, and perhaps shall not want more than half next year, as I
have received one hundred dollars that I had supposed was lost, and as
I was coming within two miles I thought I would call and let you know
of my conclusion." While I thanked him for the favor, secret praise
ascended to Him who melts away the mountain that seems impassable,
making a way where there seemed no way.

This may seem a small matter, but for me at that time it was a reason
for rejoicing at this unexpected turn of affairs. It was but one of
many similar cases, and none can more fully realize the blessing of
these reliefs than the widow of nearly two-score years, who never
previous to widowhood knew the burden of outside work in providing for
a large family, which was now added to continued care of the Raisin
Institute. Many night plans, for day execution, were made. I soon
found sale for forty acres of the one hundred and sixty, which
relieved me of the most pressing demands.

At times responsibilities were so great, and burdens so crushing, that
I was almost ready to falter. My greatest anxiety was to guide my dear
children aright. The four older ones had resolved to follow the dear
Redeemer, but the slippery paths of youth were theirs to walk in. The
consideration of these multiform cares at one time seemed of crushing
weight. I questioned whether the burden I had so often left at the
foot of the cross I had not taken up again, and whether I had as fully
consecrated self, with my dear children, to the Lord as he required. I
was endeavoring fully to yield _all_ into my Redeemer's hands for
safe-keeping. This was my constant prayer, yet this heavy burden
during a few days seemed unfitting me for the every-day duties
devolving upon me. In family devotion I opened to the fifty-fourth
chapter of Isaiah, where I found precious promises that I accepted for
my own, and the heavy burden for my children was uplifted. Never did I
experience greater liberty in prayer, or exercise a stronger faith.
Surely the silver lining to this cloud appears. "All thy children
shall be taught of the Lord" were precious words. I was afflicted and
tossed with tempest, but a sweet promise followed. All the way through
that chapter the Comforter appeared with rich promises. With these
before me I could freely leave all my burden with the Lord. I saw by
the eye of faith all my seven children made acquainted with their
Creator in the days of their youth. Although I never ceased asking,
yet there has seemed an accompanying assurance. When from ten to
sixteen years of age, my seven children yielded by living experience
to the Savior's loving invitation, "Come unto me," that hour and day
was victorious through faith. That weight of burden never again
returned! The entire yielding all into the care and keeping power of
Him who doeth all things well, at that hour was complete. I could say,
"He leadeth me," without a, shadow of doubt.

As fugitive-slaves were still making their resting-place with us, I
hired one of them, named George Taylor, a few months through hay-
making and harvest. He had made his escape from a Southern master who
was about to sell him farther south. Once before he had made an
unsuccessful attempt at freedom, but was captured and placed in irons,
until they made deep sores around his ankles. As he appeared very
submissive, the sorest ankle was relieved. Being so badly crippled, he
was thought safe. But supplying himself with asafetida, which he
occasionally rubbed over the soles of his shoes, to elude the scent of
bloodhounds, he again followed the north star, and finally reached our
home. His ankles were still unhealed. He had succeeded in breaking the
iron with a stone, during the first and second days of his hiding in
the woods. He was an honest Christian man of the Baptist persuasion.


MARRIAGE OF TWO CHILDREN.

On June 6, 1846, my oldest son, Harvey S., was married to Huldah West,
of Adrian, and my oldest daughter, Esther M., was at the same hour
married to Almon Camburn, of Franklin, both of our own county. The
mother's earnest prayer was, that these children might prove each
other's burden-sharers, thereby doubling the joys, as well as dividing
the sorrows, of life. My daughter's husband was one of our students,
and in some of her studies a classmate.

We were fortunate in again securing brother Patchin to finish the
academic year in our institution. Though the cloud looked dark that
overhung our institution, by the sudden deaths of my husband, and
sister Emily Galpin, which caused her bereaved husband to leave as
soon as his place could be filled by a successor, we had the
consciousness that our school was taking a deep hold on the minds of
the community at large, as well as exercising a marked influence upon
the young people who were enjoying its privileges. We found an
increasing interest in abolition principles throughout our community.
In this we praised God and took courage.




CHAPTER III.

ANTI-SLAVERY EXPERIENCES.


This chapter introduces the reader to representatives of a large
proportion of slave-owners of the Southern States, who were perverted
by a system well-named "the sum of all villainies."

Willis Hamilton, an emancipated slave, the hero of this narrative, who
fled to Canada with his slave wife, Elsie, to seek for her the
protection of the British lion from the merciless talons of the
freedom-shrieking American eagle, was emancipated three years previous
to the date of this chapter, together with nineteen others (the
reputed goods and chattels of John Bayliss, a Baptist deacon, near
Jonesborough, Tennessee). Slaveholder though he was, John Bayliss
evidently thought his black people had souls as well as those of white
skins, for he allowed his house servants to remain in the dining-room
during evening family worship, thus giving them instruction which, as
the sequel will show, made the slave the teacher of the master; for
one morning, as "Aunt Lucy," an old and privileged servant, was
passing through his room, she said:

"Massa John, I's bin thinkin' a heap o' dat ar what you read in the
Bible t' other night."

"Ah, what's that, Aunt Lucy?" said the deacon.

"It's to do oder folks as you'd want 'em to do to you, or somehow dat
fashion. I tell you, Massa John, 't would he mighty hard for you white
folks to work great many years and get noffin'. Den, if you dies,
whar'd we go to? I specks we'd go down de riber, like Jones's poor
people did las' week."

"Well, well, Aunt Lucy, that was too bad; but Jones was in debt, and I
suppose they had to be sold"

"O yes, I s'pose so; but dat you read in de Bible sort o' sticks to
me--I can't help it," said this faithful old mother in Israel, as she
went out to her work.

In a moment or two Mrs. Bayliss entered the room, and the deacon said:

"Wife, what kind of a text do you think Aunt Lucy has just given me?"

"Text?"

"Yes, text."

"What's got into her head now?"

"She says she's been thinking about what I read in prayer-time the
other evening, referring to the golden rule, and that it sort o'
sticks to her. She spoke, of the excitement over Jones's black people
who were sent down the river the other day; and I tell you, the way
she applied her text, it 'sort o' sticks' to me."

"O hush!" indignantly exclaimed Mrs. Bayliss. "Aunt Lucy's mighty
religious, and has so many notions of her own she's not worth minding,
any how."

"But she asked me what would become of my black people if I should
die, and if I thought they would ever be torn apart as Jones's were. I
tell you, wife, I have witnessed such scenes too often to feel right
in risking a contingency of that kind," said the deacon, gravely.

"Don't be a fool, now, John Baybss," angrily exclaimed his wife,
"about Aunt Lucy's fuss over Jones's niggers."

"Well," said the deacon, "I don't wonder at her feeling grieved; they
belonged to her Church, and many of them were her relatives."

Here, for the time being, the conversation ended; but the soul of John
Bayliss, awakened by the simple, straight-forward speech of his bond-
woman, refused to be quieted, and he made this the subject of earnest
prayer until the path of duty became so clear before him that he could
not do otherwise than manumit his twenty slaves, although bitterly
opposed by his wife (who refused to free the three held in her own
right).

Elsie, the wife of Willis Hamilton, belonged to a neighboring planter.
She was sold to a drover for the Southern market, and was being torn
from her husband and two little daughters. Willis, in his agony, went
from house to house, imploring some one to buy her, so that she might
remain near her family. Finally one Dr. John P. Chester, who was about
opening a hotel, agreed to purchase Elsie for $800, if Willis would
pay $300 in work in the house, and fare the same as the other servants
in board and clothing. With these conditions Willis gladly complied;
but after they had spent a few months in their new home Deacon Bayliss
examined their article of agreement and found it to be illegal. He
told Willis that Dr. Chester could sell Elsie at any time, and he
could establish no claim to her, even had he paid the $300, which, at
the wages he was receiving, would take him nearly nine years to earn,
with the interest, and advised him to leave Dr. Chester and work for
wages, as he had done since his manumission. This advice was
immediately acted upon, Willis being permitted to spend his nights
with his wife. Every thing passed off pleasantly for a few weeks,
until one of the house-servants told Elsie that she overheard Master
John sell both her and Willis to a slave-trader, who would the
following night convey them to the river with a drove ready for New
Orleans. Frantic as the poor woman was with terror and grief at this
information, she managed to perform her duties as usual until supper-
time; and when all were seated at the table she slipped out
unobserved, ran through a corn-field into the woods, sending word to
Willis by a fellow-servant to meet her at a certain log. The moment
Willis received the message he hastened to her with flying feet; and
here the wretched husband and wife, but a few days before so full of
plans for a pleasant future, held their council in tears.

Willis, in his sudden fright and excitement, could only exclaim: "What
shall we do? Where shall we go?" Elsie, cooler and more composed,
suggested going to Deacon Bayliss for advice. This Willis quickly did,
and soon returned, it having been arranged that he should bring Elsie
there and secrete her in the attic until the excitement of the hunt
was over. After this they assumed the names of Bill and Jane, a
brother and sister who answered to their own description of color and
size on Willia's free papers--the whole list of the twenty slaves
emancipated by Deacon Bayliss being recorded on each paper.

After five weeks hiding at the southern terminus of the "Underground
Railroad," they took up their line of march for Canada. In a Quaker
settlement in Indiana they found friends to whom they revealed their
true relationship, and here they spent a year with a Quaker family
named Shugart. But the slight protection afforded by the laws of
Indiana did not tend to give them a feeling of security, and so they
started again for the promised land with their infant daughter Louisa.
On this journey they were assisted on their way, and made easy and
comfortable compared with their hasty flight from Tennessee, from
whence they walked with swollen and blistered feet, and every nerve
strung to its utmost tension from the fear of pursuit by their
Southern persecutors.

As times were hard in Canada, Elsie consented to come to Michigan with
her husband if be could find a Quaker neighborhood. In their search
they found our house, and my husband, Charles Haviland, Jr., after
learning their condition, leased Willis twenty acres of ground, mostly
openings, for ten years, for the improvements he would make thereon.
Here they lived for three years, when one day Elsie saw a strange man
peering through the fence.

Her first thought was "a Southerner," and snatching her two Little
ones she ran for our house, only a few rods distant. The man pursued
her, and she called for help to a neighbor in sight, at which the
skulking sneak took himself off to the woods. This incident so
thoroughly aroused their fears that they took another farm, a few
miles distant, for three years; then a farm near Ypsilanti for a few
years; from whence they removed to Monroe, where they induced a friend
to write to Willis's old friend and master, Deacon Bayliss, making
inquiries after their two daughters, who were left behind in slavery.
They received a prompt reply, purporting to come from Bayliss,
informing them that their daughters were still living where they left
them. He would see them, he said, by the time he received their next
letter, which he hoped would be soon, that he might be the happy
bearer of glad news to the children from their father and mother. He
professed great joy at hearing from them, wished them to write all the
particulars about themselves, but cautioned them to write to no one
but him, and all would be safe. He requested them to inform him in
what town they were living, as he noticed their letter was dated in
one town, mailed in another, and he was directed to address them in a
third. Their friend, however, strictly cautioned them not to reveal
their definite whereabouts, but to answer all other queries. Willis
wrote that as his farm lease had expired there, he would have to seek
another farm, and did not know where he would be, but to address a
letter as before and it would be forwarded to him.

Their next move was to return to their first Michigan home on my
premises, a few months after the death of my husband, taking up their
abode in the little log-house built for them a few years before, and
working my land on shares. Another letter was soon received from their
friend Deacon Bayliss, as they supposed, and they urged me to reply;
but I firmly refused to write to any one in the land of the
slaveholder, lest the message should fall into the hands of enemies,
and advised them to leave their daughters in the hands of the Lord,
who would yet provide a way of deliverance for them as he had for
their parents. In their great anxiety, however, to hear from their
children, from whom they had been separated so many years, their plea
was strong and persistent: but I remained immovable to all their
entreaties, and told them of a slave family, who, after living twenty
years in Indiana, had but recently been captured and returned to
hopeless bondage. Upon this they yielded to me for the time being, but
in a few weeks came again with pleadings made eloquent by suffering.
As they had felt the vice-like grip of the peculiar system on their
own hearts and lives, they realized too keenly the fate that might any
time overtake their daughters. But I still resisted all their
entreaties, and in a few days after they applied to J. F. Dolbeare,
one of the trustees of Raisin Institute, who, thinking there was no
danger, wrote all they desired, telling the supposed Deacon Bayliss
all their past life in the free States and all their plans for the
future. This they kept from me for a time, but Elsie's heart refused
to be quieted, and she finally told me about it, first telling her
husband she believed it their duty "For," she says, "I have thought
more about it since Aunt Laura told me she dreamed of three poisonous
green vipers which she poked so near the fire that their sacks were
burned to a crisp and the poison all ran out, so that she thought them
powerless for harm, but they still kept their threatening attitude;
and who knows but these vipers may be slaveholders?" Willis said he
had felt like telling me all the while, and both came to me with their
story.

I much regretted this unwise step, but forbore all criticism, and told
them we would hope for the best. A few days after a stranger appeared
at our gate and inquired for a stray horse, which he said left him at
Tecumseh. None having been seen he made similar inquiries at
Hamilton's.

He also asked for a glass of water, and while receiving it, says to
Elsie: "Auntie, where does this road lead to, that crosses the river
east?" "To Palmyra," she replied, and frightened at being addressed as
"Auntie," in the Southern style, hastened into her house.

The second night after this, at eleven o'clock, a carriage drove up to
a log-house on one of the cross roads, and three men appeared
simultaneously, two at the front and one at the rear window, but
quickly disappeared. They had evidently mistaken their place, as it
was a white family up with a sick child. It was a dark night, and
there was a dug way ten feet deep perpendicular, near the fence to
which their team was hitched, which the valiant and mysterious trio
did not discover, and when they re-entered their carriage and
attempted to turn around they tumbled into it, horses, carriage, and
all. This little incident so disarranged their plans that they were
until daylight returning to Adrian (only six miles distant), with
their broken trappings and bruised horses. They told the liveryman,
Mr. Hurlburt, that their horses took fright and ran off a steep bank,
and begged him to fix the damages as low as possible, as they were
from home, belated, etc. Mr. Hurlburt assessed them thirty dollars;
but he afterwards said, had he known their business he would have
doubled it.

Three days after this fortunate mishap Willis Hamilton received a
letter inclosing three dollars, purporting to be from John Bayliss,
who had come up into Ohio on business, and was on his way to visit
them when he was suddenly taken very Ill, and was pronounced by the
physicians in a critical condition--in fact, they gave him but little
encouragement for recovery, and he desired Willis to come and visit
him, and bring his wife and children, as he might want him for two
weeks. He closed by saying:

"Whether I get better or die, I am resigned, and can say the Lord's
will be done. I shall have every train watched until you come. God
bless you
      "Respectfully yours, JOHN BAYLISS"

Of course I was given this letter to read, and I suggested the utmost
caution in obeying this request, for, as the old rat in the fable
said, there might be "concealed mischief in this heap of meal" I
called for the other two letters, and found they were written by the
same hand Willis says: "Oh! I know the old boss too well, he's true
as steel; he won't have anything to do with trap business. Besides,
I've got my free papers, and I'm not afraid to go, but I wont take my
wife and children" I proposed that Mr. Dolbeare or some neighbor go
with him That pleased him, but Mr. Dolbeare could not go. As my son
Daniel and I were going to Adrian, I proposed to get either Mr. Backus
or Mr. Peters, both strong anti-slavery friends in the city, to
accompany him to Toledo. As we were about starting, Joseph Gibbons, a
neighbor, came with the suggestion that Willis remain at home, and
James Martin, who was about his color and size, go in his stead; as
Gibbons agreed with me in believing there was a deep laid plot. To
this all parties agreed, and Willis gave me the letter and the three
dollars towards the fare of whoever should go with James, who was an
intelligent young colored man in our institution. Everything being
in readiness we now started for Adrian, where we arrived just in time
to jump on board the train, and consequently had no leisure to seek
out and make the proposed arrangements with our above mentioned
friends, but sent word back to Willis that we would return the
following morning.

Once fairly settled on our journey the responsibility so suddenly
thrust upon me made me cry out in my heart for wisdom beyond my own,
and I prayed for a guiding hand to direct our actions in case we
should find ourselves in the camp of the enemy, face to face with
traffickers in human souls and bodies, who considered no scheme too
vile or desperate for them to undertake, the success of which would in
any way subserve their own interests.

We arrived at Toledo at 7 P. M., and as we left the cars James was,
addressed by a man with the question: "Is your name Willis Hamilton?"
(and without waiting for a reply), "Is your wife with you?"

"No, sir," said James.

"Perhaps I am mistaken," said the questioner, who was the porter of
the Toledo hotel.

"Who do you wish to see?" said James.

"Willis Hamilton is the man I am sent for, by his old friend John
Bayliss, who is at the Toledo hotel, so ill that he is not expected
to live."

"Where is this Mr. Bayliss from?" said James.

"Tennessee, I believe."

"Very well, if there is such a man here I want to see him."

"Come with me, and I'll take you to his room," said the porter.

While this conversation was passing between the porter and James we
were following in the rear, but apparently paying no attention to
them. Our plan was for Daniel to keep James in sight if possible, and
whatever he heard of the sick man to report to me in the parlor. We
entered the hotel nearly together. I was shown into the parlor and
James was taken up a flight of stairs from the bar-room. Daniel was
following, when the porter told him the bar-room for gentlemen was
below. He said, "I am taking this man to see a friend of his who is
very sick, and no strangers are allowed to enter the room." Of course,
my son could do nothing but return, so no further observations could
be taken by us until the reappearance of James. For two long hours we
neither saw nor heard anything of him, and becoming very anxious and
restless I told Daniel to ask for James Martin, as he had business
with him. Twice he made this request, but the porter only said, "Yes,
yes, you shall see him in a minute," and dodged from room to room to
keep out of sight.

Growing desperate, I finally told my son to tell the porter "if that
young colored man is not forthcoming at once, a writ of _habeas
corpus_ will be served on him in fifteen minutes, as we must see
him immediately. Also tell Mr. Woodward, the proprietor, that your
mother is here with a message for Mr. John Bayliss, who we understand
is very ill at this house." Mr. Woodward instantly summoned the
porter, and we heard him say in an excited undertone: "There's trouble
ahead unless that young black fellow comes down immediately; tell them
to send him down at once." In a moment the porter, three gentlemen,
and James made their appearance, evidently to the surprise of twenty
half drunken Irishmen who had been chattering all the evening, but
were now so still you could have heard a pin drop, to see Hamilton (as
the sequel shows they supposed) brought down so publicly and without
fetters. It afterwards transpired that Willis Hamilton, upon coming
down stairs, was to have been put into a close carriage, sent away,
and his family then sent for under the plea that he was detained with
his sick friend, and this was the intelligent crowd who were to aid in
the success of the plan.

I had seen a carriage stand fifteen or twenty minutes at the bar-room
door and finally leave without a passenger, and Daniel saw the same
carriage at the rear door equally long, which also left there empty.
Upon coming down James Martin evidently took in the situation at a
glance, for, giving my son a pinch, he said: "Mr. Haviland, let us go
into the dining-room and call for supper." This was to give the
drunken rabble time to leave so that he could relate his adventures
with the Southerners after supper. But by this time the porter came to
me to inquire if I wished to see Mr. Bayliss, the sick man. I replied
in the affirmative, upon which he said: "He is very low; no stranger
has been allowed to enter his room for three days, but his doctor is
here. Would you like to see him?" "I would," I replied. A tall
gentleman now entered the room and addressed me: "Madam, are you the
lady who wished to see me?" "I am, if you are the physician who has
charge of John Bayliss of Tennessee, who we learn is very ill, by a
letter which Willis Hamilton received yesterday."

"I am Dr. Taylor of this city, and have the case of Mr. Bayliss in my
care. His son-in-law is here taking care of him, and they are all
greatly disappointed at not seeing Hamilton this evening, as Mr.
Bayliss has sent for him and his family, and they can not imagine why
he does not come."

"Well, I can tell you why. We feared a trap, as Willis's wife was
formerly a slave."

"I don't see," said the doctor, "how you could suspect any thing wrong
in that letter, as I understand they have written them before, and you
should have compared the letters to see if they were written by the
same person."

"We did so, and found they were written by the same person. But there
are other points to consider: 1st, John Bayliss stands somewhat in the
relation of a slaveholder, as in a former letter he spoke of three
aged slaves living with him, and wished Hamilton and wife to stay with
him two weeks if he lived, which was doubtful, and wished them to be
sure and bring their children, though we all know that four little
noisy children are not agreeable companions in a sick-room."

Here my learned doctor gave his head a vigorous scratch, and said:
"Well, madam, Mr. Bayliss is probably childish from age, and his
severe illness makes him more so. A nervous temperament like his,
affected by disease, often enfeebles the mind, as body and mind are in
close relationship philosophically. Now, he is just childish enough to
want to see those children playing around his room, and he says he
would make them handsome presents; and as money seems to be plenty
with him and apparently no object, I judge they would be well paid for
coming."

I did not appear to question this view of the case, but inquired how
long Deacon Bayliss had been ill.

"About seven days, madam," replied the doctor.

"What seems to be the nature of the disease?"

"It was at first a violent attack of bilious fever, but for the last
three days it has assumed a fearful form of typhus."

I told him that Hamilton and his wife were both very anxious about
their old friend, and wished me to see him personally, and give him
their reasons for not coming.

"I should be glad," said the doctor, "to allow you to see him, were it
not for his extreme nervousness, but I dare not risk it. It seems hard
to think the dying request of this poor old man can not be granted. He
seems to consider this family almost next to his own."

"Yes," I said, "it is also hard and humiliating to humane and
patriotic Americans that a system of human bondage exists in this
country which causes these horrible fears and suspicions to loom up
like specters before the mental vision of this persecuted and down-
trodden race."

"That is very true," said Dr. Taylor; "slavery is the darkest spot on
our national escutcheon. But in this case there is no cause for
suspicion; for I am sure there is no plot with regard to the Hamilton
family, and I call God to witness that every word I tell you is truth.
As to the three slaves you spoke of, he told me during the first of
his sickness that he emancipated all his slaves, twenty in number, but
that his wife had three in her right, which she refused to free, and
these have always remained in the family. He manumitted his slaves
from purely conscientious scruples; and I believe that if there is a
Christian that walks God's earth he is one, for he has manifested such
patience and resignation during his severe illness that he has
entirely won my affections. Now, don't you think you can induce
Hamilton to bring his family here? I do not believe he will live three
days."

"I will be honest with you," I replied. "Although you have talked like
a candid man, I do not believe I could transfer sufficient confidence
to the family to induce them to come unless I should see him, as they
charged me over and again."

At this my tender-hearted Aesculapius sighed deeply, and said: "I am
sorry that they or their friends should entertain any distrust, as I
fear he may not be conscious two days longer. A council of physicians
was called this afternoon, and three out of the four gave it as their
opinion that he could not survive, at the longest, beyond three days;
and I believe him liable to drop away within twenty-four hours,
although it is barely possible he may live a week."

"Well," I replied, "one cause of suspicion, both with my neighbors and
myself was that, although the letters from John Bayliss were all
written by the same hand, the last one was equally well written as the
others, although he was represented as so very low, with little hope
of recovery."

Here my ready-tongued doctor very thoughtfully placed his hand to his
forehead, but in a moment replied: "I will tell you how that was. His
fever was off at the time, which enabled him to carry a steady hand."

"Well, of course," I replied, "we do not know that any plan exists to
remand these people back to slavery, but we only judged of the
possibilities. And for my part I do not believe in regarding the
wicked enactments of men which contravene the laws of eternal right
given by God, who made of one blood all nations who dwell upon the
face of the earth, and of Christ, who left the realms of glory to
bring blessings to mankind, and a part of whose mission was to unloose
the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free. And in view of the
golden rule given by the great Lawgiver, I would not for my right hand
become instrumental in returning one escaped slave to bondage. I
firmly, believe in our Declaration of Independence, that all men are
created free and equal, and that no human being has a right to make
merchandise of others born in humbler stations, and place them on a
level with horses, cattle, and sheep, knocking them off the auction-
block to the highest bidder, sundering family ties, and outraging the
purest and tenderest feelings of human nature."

"That is all right," said the doctor, "and I understand your feelings.
Slavery is the greatest curse upon our otherwise happy country. But in
this case there need be no fear of any conspiracy to injure your
colored friends; and I did hope, for the sake of Mr. Bayliss, they
would come and visit him, and gratify his dying request."

He then gave me some of the alarming symptoms of his patient, enlarged
on the sympathy he felt for him, and finally proposed to go up and
consult with his son-in law on the propriety of allowing me to see him
in his present exceedingly nervous state. He said if he was not spoken
to perhaps I might be allowed to look at him, as he was kept under the
influence of opiates, and was to-night in a heavy stupor, and not
disposed to talk to any one.

"Would such an arrangement be any satisfaction to you?"

I replied that, while it was immaterial to me, it would probably
satisfy the Hamilton family; and, after a few minutes' consultation in
the sick-room, be returned with the conclusion that I might enter the
room, but that no loud word must be spoken, nor the sound of a
footfall permitted.

"But you can not see his face, as it is covered with cloths wet in
vinegar to draw the fever out, and he is now in a doze, and I do not
wish to disturb him."

He then described the terrible paroxysms, bordering on spasms,
suffered by his patient, in which it took four men to hold him, and
was eulogizing his wonderful fortitude and Christian patience, when
the son-in-law suddenly came rushing into the room in his shirt-
sleeves and stocking-feet, and exclaimed:

"Doctor, doctor, do come quick; father's got another spasm, and I
don't know what to do."

"Yes, yes," said the doctor, "I'll come; don't leave your father a
moment;" and jumped up, apparently in great excitement. But at the
door he halted to tell me that these spasms indicated mortification,
when the son-in-law again opened the door with a bang and the
exclamation:

"Doctor, why don't you hurry? Father is vomiting again, and I'm afraid
he is dying."

At this they both rushed frantically up-stairs. In about fifteen
minutes the doctor returned, saying he had given his patient a double
dose of an opiate, and would let him rest awhile. He then launched out
into a description of his treatment of Mr. Bayliss; how he had
blistered him, and performed a surgical operation on him which had
given him great pain; said he was attending him to the neglect of his
other patients, and after exhausting a large amount of eloquence on
the subject returned to the sick chamber. In a few moments be came
back with the information that I could now be admitted, and conducted
me to the room.

As soon as we stepped within the door the doctor halted, but I stepped
to the center of the room, as if I had forgotten that I was only just
to enter, and gazed at the bed and then at the lounge opposite. The
doctor stepped to my side and said, "That is he on the bed yonder." I
stood a moment and took a mental inventory of the sick man, who
appeared full six feet tall and very slender, not at all answering to
the description of the short, heavily built John Bayliss, of two
hundred pounds avoirdupois. Of course, a fit of sickness might reduce
a man's flesh, but it did not appear to me as especially likely to
increase his height. As his face was covered with wet cloths I could
not see the round physiognomy of John Bayliss, but passing my hand
over the face I found it long and thin featured. I whispered to the
doctor that I would like to notice his pulse. He said I could do so on
the jugular vein. I did so, and found the skin of this fever-stricken
man to be the natural temperature, but I whispered to the doctor that
I was not so accustomed to noticing the pulse in that locality as at
the wrist. After some resistance by the sick man, who finally yielded
with a long undertone groan, I found his wrist, and the full, strong,
regular pulse of a well man. There was now no doubt in my mind that I
was alone at this midnight hour, far from home, in a room with three
slaveholders.

As I stepped from the bed the doctor asked me if I was satisfied. The
thought flashed through my mind that I had always contended that
deception was lying, and that no circumstances could justify it But
other thoughts also came, and I replied that I was satisfied.

At this the son-in-law, who had apparently been sleeping on the
lounge, roused himself and commenced rubbing his eyes, and looking at
the doctor, said, "Oh, doctor, do you think father is any better?"

"I can not conscientiously give you any hope," replied the doctor.

"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed, "what shall I do? I am almost sick myself,
taking care of him day and night. If I had only known that they were
near Tecumseh, where I lost my horse, I would have seen them; but I
hoped to have found him better when I returned, instead of which he
was much worse,"

At this I stepped towards him, and said: "If you are the gentleman who
was inquiring for a horse in our neighborhood a few days ago, you
called at Hamilton's house and asked for a drink of water."

"What, that place where a black woman brought me a glass of water?"

"Yes; that was Hamilton's wife."

"Is it possible! that little log house where there was a pile of
pumpkins in the yard?"

"Yes," I said.

"Oh! if I had only known it," he exclaimed, "we would have had them
here to help us. What trouble we have had. I reckon father will die,
and I shall have to go home alone. God knows we have had a bad trip of
it."

The careful doctor now began to fear we would disturb the patient, and
we were about leaving the room when he suddenly exclaimed, "I want you
to see what black bilious matter Mr. Bayliss vomited a while ago;"
and, stepping back, be brought me a white bowl two-thirds full of what
might have been the contents of a coffee-pot, with a bottle of black
ink thrown in, and a few spittles floating on top. This, he told me,
indicated mortification. We now passed into the parlor, where we could
talk without disturbing the patient. "Now, madam," as you are fully
satisfied with regard to Mr. Bayliss's illness, can't you do something
to get the Hamiltons here?"

"I am willing," I replied, "to do all in my power, but see no better
way than to inform them of the state of affairs upon my return, and
the train will leave for Adrian at eight o'clock to-morrow morning."
The doctor went up stairs to see what word they wished to send, and
soon returned with the request that I should write to Hamilton to come
immediately, and the porter would go with the letter for ten dollars,
and his father would send another ten dollars to Willis. I still
insisted that my original plan was the best, as the road through the
cottonwood swamp was almost impassable.

The son-in-law now entered, and after walking across the floor a few
times, with sighs and groans and bemoaning his dire calamities, said
his father wished the letter written.

He returned to his father and the doctor went for writing material.
They closed the door behind them for a consultation, I supposed.

The reader will remember that during all this time I knew nothing of
the experience of James Martin with this afflicted trio, but had been
compelled to grope my way blindly. As the doctor and son-in-law went
out my son came in. He had overheard something about the writing, and
said, excitedly: "Don't write, mother; there is no sick man here. That
tall man is Elsie's master, and they threatened James's life when
they" had him up stairs."

"Daniel, I know there is no sick man here," I said; "but they do not
think I dream of any plot. It is now midnight, and it is not wise to
let them know that we distrust them. Sit down and let us talk
naturally."

The doctor now returned with writing material, and I sat down to write
while he conversed with my son on the weather and kindred topics. Now
my intention in writing to Hamilton was to serve these slaveholders by
defeating them. I knew, too, that disguising my hand-writing was not
enough to reveal to the Hamilton's that the letter was a sham, and
whatever I wrote would be subjected to the perusal of my employers
before it was sent. At this hour, too, a messenger could not probably
be secured, even for twenty dollars. But as I seated myself at the
table and took my pen in the manner in which I could appear to serve
the slaveholders, but in reality defeat them, it came to me like a
flash, and I cheerfully wrote all they dictated, not omitting the fact
(?) that a council of physicians had decided that John Bayliss could
not live to exceed three days; and after handing it to the doctor and
son-in-law to read, I requested permission to add a few lines on my
own responsibility, which was readily granted, as I explained to them
that Elsie would not be prepared with regard to clothing, either for
herself or children, to be away so long, and I could easily loan her
sufficient garments.

This, of course, was as happy a thought for them as for myself, and
was so received. "Indeed, madam," said the son-in-law, "that will be
very kind in you. They can get ready so much quicker." So I added to
my letter to Willis as follows: "Tell Elsie to take for herself the
black alpaca dress in the south bed-room, and the two pink gingham
aprons and striped flannel dresses in the bureau in the west room for
the little girls. To come to Adrian, take the double team and farm
wagon." I signed my name and handed the letter to the delighted
stranger. He then gave my son a lighted sperm candle to light us over
to the Indiana House, at that time the best hotel in Toledo, and kept
by Salter Cleveland and wife, anti-slavery friends of ours. This
light, however, served them to follow us, as well as guide us to our
haven of safety.

After settling ourselves with our friends to tell our adventures I had
a chance to hear James Martin's story. After the failure of my son to
follow James and the porter/ up stairs, James was of course entirely
in the hands of the enemy. At the head of the stairs they were met by
an elderly gentleman with a lamp, who offered to conduct James to the
sick room, and he was told to enter the first right hand door. On
opening the door he found no one inside. "Oh," said his guide, "they
have moved him to the next room, as was suggested by the council of
physicians this afternoon; we will find him there; and opening the
door the stranger assumed an attitude of command and told him to go
in." James, however, replied: "I shall not go in, sir; you can see as
well as I that the room is empty." The stranger gave a surprised look
at the interior of the room and said: "Oh, I guess they moved him to
the farther room, as some one suggested, after all. As there is no
other room he can be in, you will certainly find him there."

By this time, of course, James began thoroughly to distrust his
conductor, and hesitated about going farther; but desiring to make all
the discoveries possible, and thinking if violence was attempted he
could run down stairs to us, he passed on to the third door, and
throwing it wide open found this room also empty.

He was about turning back when two other men suddenly appeared through
a door at the left, and the three surrounded him, one leveling a
revolver at his head, another at his breast, and the third pointing a
dirk at his side, all indulging in an indiscriminate volley of oaths
and threats. Said his grey-haired guide (who afterwards proved to be
John P. Chester, Elsie's master, the same who had enacted to me the
role of the sympathetic physician), "If you stir or speak one word
we'll kill you. Go into that room, or you're a dead mail." In this
position they entered the room and locked the door. "Now, Hamilton,
we've got you, damn you."

"My name is not Hamilton, but James Martin," was James' reply.

"Damn you," rejoined Chester, "I know you; you were once a slave in
Tennessee."

"No, sir, I never was a slave, nor was I ever in a slave state. I was
born and brought up in the State of New York."

"Then you're a d----d spy, and I've a great mind to shoot you this
minute," said Chester.

"If you call me a spy because I came here to see Mr. John Bayliss for
Mr. Hamilton, then you can do so, for this is why I am here, and I
came here with no intention of harm to any one, I am entirely unarmed,
I have not so much as a penknife with which to defend myself, but I
tell you, gentlemen, I have friends here in this house."

At this they dropped their weapons as by an electric shock, and
Chester exclaimed, "You shan't be hurt! you shan't be hurt!" Then
turning to his son: "Tom, put up your pistol."

"But," says Tom, "I propose to search him and see whether he's clear
of arms."

"No! you shan't do it. I reckon it's as he says."

James, seeing that they were thoroughly intimidated, now felt at his
ease. The Southerners, of course, did not know but a posse of armed
men awaited their actions instead of one little woman and a lad of
seventeen. Chester now addressed James in a subdued tone and manner,
asking him to sit down, "and I'll tell you all about it Mr. John
Bayliss is here and he is very sick; he is not expected to live. But I
am Elsie's master; my name is John P. Chester, and I bought her out of
pure benevolence to save her from going down the river with a drove.
Willis was going from house to house begging for some one to buy his
wife, crying and taking on like he was nearly crazy, and I felt sorry
for him, and told him if he would help me buy her by paying three
hundred dollars in work for me, I could do it, and he entered into a
written agreement with me that I was to feed and clothe him the same
as my other servants, and give him a good price for his work; but
before he had been with me a year he took my property and ran away
with it, and now I want to get it back."

"Why don't you go and get it then?" said James.

"Oh, there's such a set of d----d abolitionists there I can't do it,"
said Chester. "Hamilton wrote to me that he had put in ten acres of
wheat this fall on shares on a widow lady's farm, and that he had a
yoke of oxen, two cows, pigs and chickens,"

"Yes," said James, "that is all true."

"Well," said Chester, "you can have all he has there, besides any
amount of money you please to name, if you will assist me in getting
him and his family here. Will you do it?"

James replied, very carelessly, "Well, I don't know but I will for
enough."

"You see," said Chester, "if I can get them here, I can get help from
one place to another in Ohio, and when I strike Kentucky I'd be all
right." In laying plans and making arrangements they consumed two
hours' time, and, as the reader will remember, I became nervous and
sent for James, after which I had my experience with the doctor and
the sick man.

After finding ourselves quietly seated with our friends in their
private parlor, before we had fairly finished relating our adventures,
the night watch came in with the report that three men were pacing
around the house at about equal distances, whom he suspected to be
burglars. Orders were given to keep the outside rooms lighted, and if
any attempt was made to enter to ring the alarm bell and assistance
would be forthcoming. Morning light, however, revealed to the watchmen
that their suspected burglars were the three Southerners, who had
stopped at the Indiana House a few days, but not finding co-operation
probable in their slave-hunting business, had changed their quarters
to the Toledo Hotel. I recognized my doctor and the son-in-law; and
the other, a tall, slender young man, of twenty-two, was my sick and
suffering deacon, who an hour previous had been so near death's door.
Their object, of course, in guarding the house, was to see that we
sent no messenger to defeat the letter I bad so kindly written for
them. But on this matter I gave myself no concern, as Elsie was as
well acquainted with my wardrobe as I was, and would know at once that
it contained no such articles as I mentioned; also, that the house had
no south bedroom, and no bureau in the west room, neither was there a
double team nor a farm wagon on the place. Consequently I had no fears
that the letter was not faithfully fulfilling its mission.

A few minutes before we left the hotel for the 8 o'clock train to
return home a colored man came to James, evidently quite excited, and
said: "We have just heard there is a colored man here having trouble
with slave-holders; if this is true, there are enough of us here to do
whatever is necessary." James did not reply, but looked inquiringly at
me. I replied, "There is trouble," and taking him into a back room,
gave him a brief sketch of James's experience. I told him I did not
think it probable that violence would be offered in daylight, but as
Mr. Cleveland and son were both ill, we would like to know who our
friends were at the depot. He assured me we should have all the aid we
needed. "While at the depot," said he, "we shall watch both you and
the slave-holders, and whatever you desire us to do, madam, say the
word, and it shall be done." I thanked him, but did not think there
would be any difficulty.

The three Southerners were at the depot as soon as we were. In the
ticket office James gave up going, as he thought they intended going
with us. But this I did not care for, and told James he must go now,
as there was no other train until night, and there was no telling what
they might do under cover of darkness. When we got to the cars the
doctor and son-in-law jumped aboard, but the sick man was determined
to take his seat with me, and followed my son and myself from coach to
coach, and whenever we showed any signs of seating ourselves prepared
to seat himself opposite. I looked at his snakish eyes, and concluded
to leave my sick deacon to see James, who still lingered in the ticket
office.

I again urged him to go with me, as I should take another coach when I
returned and get rid of the Southerners. When I returned I ran past
the coach I had left, and Daniel beckoned to me, saying, "Here,
mother, this is the car we took." "Yes," I said, "but I see a lady
ahead that I wish, to sit with." At this the sick man jumped up and
exclaimed, "I'll be d----d if I don't take that seat then." But Daniel
pressed his way past him, and noticed his heavily-laden overcoat
pocket. By the time my son reached me there was no room near us for
the sick deacon, so he returned to his first seat.

During all this time about a dozen men, black and white, were watching
us closely. I beckoned the one who called on us at the hotel to come
to our apartments, and told him to tell James to come immediately to
my door. He came, and I opened the door and told him to enter, as the
train was about moving. When he was inside he says: "I am afraid we
will have trouble." Just then the conductor passed, and I said to him:
"I suppose we will be perfectly safe here, should we have trouble on
our way to Adrian." "Most certainly," he said (raising his voice to
the highest pitch). "I vouch for the perfect safety and protection of
every individual on board this train."

Near Sylvania, a small town ten miles from Toledo, the train halted to
sand the track, and our chivalrous friends got off. Chester and his
son Thomas, the sick deacon, stationed themselves about three feet
from us; and Chester, pointing to James, said in a low, grim voice:
"We'll see you alone some time;" and, turning to my son, "You, too,
young man." Then directing his volley of wrath to me, he roared out:
"But that lady there--you nigger stealer--you that's got my property
and the avails of it--I'll show you, you nigger thief;" and drawing a
revolver from his pocket, his son doing the same, they pointed them
towards my face, Chester again bawling out, "You see these tools, do
you? We have more of 'em here" (holding up a traveling bag), "and we
know haw to use them. We shall stay about here three weeks, and we
will have that property you have in your possession yet, you d----d
nigger stealer. We understand ourselves. We know what we are about."

"Man, I fear neither your weapons nor your threats; they are
powerless. You are not at home--you are not in Tennessee. And as for
your property, I have none of it about me or on my premises. We also
know what we are about; we also understand, not only ourselves, but
you."

Pale and trembling with rage they still shook their pistols in my
face, and Chester, in a choked voice, exclaimed: "I'll--I'll--I won't
say much more to you--you're a woman--but that young man of yours;
I'll give five hundred dollars if he'll go to Kentucky with me."

Just then the conductor appeared and cried out: "What are you doing
here, you villainous scoundrels? We'll have you arrested in five
minutes." At this they fled precipitately to the woods, and the last
we saw of these tall and valiant representatives of the land of
chivalry were their heels feat receding in the thicket.

Of course, this brave exhibition of rhetoric and valor called out
innumerable questions from the passengers; and from there on to
Adrian, though already terribly fatigued, we had to be continually
framing replies and making explanations.

Among the people of Sylvania the news spread like wildfire, and it was
reported that over forty men were at the depot with hand-spikes and
iron bars, ready to tear up the track in case the Hamilton family had
been found on the train bound for Toledo.

When we arrived at Adrian my oldest son, Harvey, and Willis were there
to meet us; and when we told Willis that Elsie's old master and his
son had but an hour previously pointed pistols at our heads and
threatened our lives, he could hardly speak from astonishment. Harvey
said my letter arrived before sunrise, but that no one believed I had
any thing to do with it. However, as the porter swore he saw me write
it, Professor Patchin and J. F. Dolbeare were sent for; but they also
distrusted its validity and the truthfulness of the bearer.

Elsie had no faith in it at all. "If," said she, "the old man is so
very sick, as he hasn't seen us for years, they could bring him any
black man and woman, and call them Willis and Elsie, and he'd never
know the difference; and as for that letter, Mrs. Haviland never saw
it. I believe the slave-holders wrote it themselves. They thought, as
she was a widow, she'd have a black dress, and you know she hasn't got
one in the house. And where's the pink aprons and green striped
dresses? And there's no south bed-room in this house. It's all humbug;
and I sha'n't stir a step until I see Mrs. Haviland."

Said another: "These things look queer. There's no bureau in the west
room."

The porter, seeing he could not get the family, offered Willis ten
dollars if he would go to Palmyra with him, but he refused. He then
offered it to my son Harvey if he would take Wills to Palmyra.

"No, sir; I shall take him nowhere but to Adrian, to meet mother," was
Harvey's reply.

After their arrival in Adrian the porter again offered the ten
dollars, and Lawyer Perkins and others advised Harvey to take it and
give it to Willis, as they would protect him from all harm. But when I
came I told him not to touch it; and the porter, drawing near, heard
my explanation of the letter, and the threatening remarks of the
people, who declared that if slave-holders should attempt to take the
Hamilton family or any other escaped slave from our city or county
they would see trouble. He soon gave us the benefit of his absence,
and we went home with thankful hearts that public sentiment had made a
law too strong to allow avaricious and unprincipled men to cast our
persecuted neighbors back into the seething cauldron of American
slavery.

All that day our house was thronged with visitors, eager to hear the
story which was agitating the whole community, but about midnight I
told my friends that rest was a necessity, for never in my life was I
so thoroughly exhausted from talking; but, as the next day wan-the
Sabbath, I would in the evening meet all who chose to come in the
Valley School-house (at that day the largest in the county) and tell
them the whole story, and save repeating it so many times.

When the evening came we met a larger crowd than could find standing-
room in the school-house, and report said there was a spy for the
slave-holders under a window outside.

I related the whole story, omitting nothing, and was followed by
Elijah Brownell, one of our ablest anti-slavery lecturers, with a few
spirited remarks. He suggested that a collection should be taken up to
defray our expenses to Toledo and return, and fourteen dollars was
soon placed in my hands.

From a friend of our letter-carrier, the porter of the Toledo Hotel,
we learned that the plans of the slave-holders accorded with those
given James Martin in the sick-room. After getting the Hamilton family
in their clutches they intended to gag and bind--them, and, traveling
nights, convey them from one point to another until they reached
Kentucky. This was precisely on the plan of our underground railroad,
but happily for the cause of freedom, in this case at least, not as
successful.

The citizens of Adrian appointed a meeting at the court-house, and
sent for me to again tell the story of the slaveholder who had so
deeply laid his plans to capture, not only his fugitive slave Elsie
and her four children, but also her husband, who was a free man. Other
meetings were called to take measures for securing the safety of the
hunted family from the iron grasp of the oppressor, whose arm is ever
strong and powerful in the cause of evil; and so great was public
excitement that the chivalrous sons of the South found our Northern
climate too warm for their constitutions, and betook themselves to the
milder climate of Tennessee with as great speed as their hunted slave,
with her husband, hastened away from there fifteen years before.

It may be asked how the Chesters discovered that Hamilton and his wife
were in Michigan. We learned afterward that John P. Chester was the
postmaster at Jonesborough, and receiving a letter at his office
directed to John Bayliss, he suspected it to be from friends of his
former slaves, and opened it. His suspicions being confirmed, he
detained the letter, and both corresponded and came North in the
assumed character of Bayliss. His schemes miscarried, as we have above
narrated, and Bayliss probably never knew of the desperate game played
in his name.

About two weeks after the departure of this noble trio I received a
threatening letter from John P. Chester, to which I replied; and this
was followed by a correspondence with his son, Thomas K. Chester (the
sick deacon). From these letters we shall give a few extracts.

In a letter received under the date of December 3; 1846, John P.
Chester writes: "I presume you do not want something for nothing; and
inasmuch as you have my property in your possession, and are so great
a philanthropist, you Hill feel bound to remunerate me for that
property.... If there is any law of the land to compel you to pay for
them I intend to have it."

In my reply, December 20, 1846, I wrote:

"First, convince me that you have property in my possession, and you
shall have the utmost farthing. But if Willis Hamilton and family are
property in my possession, then are Rev. John Patchin and wife,
principals of Raisin Institute, and other neighbors, property in my
possession, as I have dealing with each family, precisely in the same
manner that I have with Willis Hamilton and family, and I do as truly
recognize property in my other neighbors as in the Hamilton family.
Prove my position fallacious, and not predicated on principles of
eternal right, and they may be blown to the four winds of heaven.
If carnal weapons can be brought to bear upon the spiritual you shall
have the liberty to do it with the six-shooters you flourished toward
my face in Sylvania, Ohio....

"As for my being compelled to pay you for this alleged property, to
this I have but little to say, as it is the least of all my troubles
in this lower world. I will say, However, I stand ready to meet
whatever you may think proper to do in the case. Should you think best
to make us another call, I could not vouch for your safety. The
circumstances connected with this case have been such that great
excitement has prevailed. A. number of my neighbors have kept arms
since our return from Toledo. I can say with the Psalmist, 'I am for
peace, but they are for war.'

"At a public meeting called the next evening after our return from the
Toledo trip, fourteen dollars was placed in my hands as a remuneration
for the assistance I rendered in examining your very sick patient. I
found the disease truly alarming, far beyond the reach of human aid,
much deeper than bilious fever, although it might have assumed a
typhoid grade. The blister that you were immediately to apply on the
back of the patient could not extract that dark, deep plague-spot of
slavery, too apparent to be misunderstood,"

I received a long list of epithets in a letter, bearing date,
Jonesboro, Tennessee, February 7, 1847, from Thomas K. Chester, the
sick deacon:

"I have thought it my duty to answer your pack of balderdash, ... that
you presumed to reply to my father, as I was with him on his tour to
Michigan, and a participant in all his transactions, even to the
acting the sick man's part in Toledo ..., True it is, by your cunning
villainies you have deprived us of our just rights, of our own
property.... Thanks be to an all wise and provident God that, my father
has more of that sable kind of busy fellows, greasy, slick, and fat;
and they are not cheated to death out of their hard earnings by
villainous and infernal abolitionists, whose philanthropy is interest,
and whose only desire is to swindle the slave-holder out of his own
property, and convert its labor to their own infernal aggrandizement.

"It is exceedingly unpleasant for me to indulge in abuse, particularly
to a _woman_, and I would not now do it, did I not feel a perfect
consciousness of right and duty.... Who do you think would parley with
a thief, a robber of man's just rights, recognized by the glorious
Constitution of our Union! Such a condescension would damn an honest
man, would put modesty to the blush. What! to engage in a contest with
you? a rogue, a damnable thief, a negro thief, an outbreaker, a
criminal in the sight of all honest men; ... the mother, too, of a
pusillanimous son, who permitted me to curse and damn you in Sylvania!
I would rather be caught with another man's sheep on my back than to
engage in such a subject, and with such an individual as old Laura
Haviland, a damned nigger-stealer....

"You can tell Elsie that since our return my father bought her eldest
daughter; that she is now his property, and the mother of a likely
boy, that I call Daniel Haviland after your pretty son. She has plenty
to eat, and has shoes in the Winter, an article Willis's children had
not when I was there, although it was cold enough to freeze the horns
off the cows.... What do you think your portion will be at the great
day of judgment? I think it will be the inner temple of hell."

In my reply, dated Raisin, March 16, 1847, I informed the sick deacon
that my letter to his father "had served as a moral emetic, by the
mass of black, bilious, and putrid matter it bad sent forth. You must
have been exercised with as great distress, as extreme pain, that was
producing paroxysms and vomiting, that you had in your sick-room in the
Toledo hotel, when your physician was so hastily called to your relief
by your son-in-law, as the matter that lies before me in letter form
is as 'black', and much more 'bilious,' and nearer 'mortification'
than that I saw there."

"We thank you for the name's sake. May he possess the wisdom of a
Daniel of old, although his lot be cast in the lions' den; and, like
Moses, may he become instrumental in leading his people away from a
worse bondage than that of Egypt.

"According to your logic, we are not only robbing the slaveholder, but
the poor slave of his valuable home, where he can enjoy the elevating
and soul-ennobling privilege of looking 'greasy, slick, and fat'--can
have the privilege of being forbidden the laborious task of
cultivating his intellect--is forbidden to claim his wife and children
as his own instead of the property of John P. Chester."

I pitied the young man, whose bitterness of hate seemed incorrigible,
and gave advice which I deemed wholesome, although I yielded to the
temptation of dealing somewhat in irony and sarcasm.

But the next letter from the sick deacon was filled and running over
with vulgar blackguardism, that I would neither answer nor give to the
public eye. It was directed to "Laura S. Haviland, Esq., or Dan." As
it arrived in my absence, my son Daniel handed it to Rev. John
Patchin, who became so indignant in reading the list of epithets that
he proposed to reply.

The first sentence of his letter was:

"Sir,--As John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay were seated in Congress,
they saw passing on the street a drove of jackasses. Said Henry Clay,
'There, Sir, Adams, is a company of your constituents as they come
from the North.' 'All right; they are going South to teach yours,' was
the quick reply. And I think one of those long-eared animals has
strayed down your way, and your ma might have sent you to his school--
I think, however, but a few weeks, or your epistolary correspondence
with Mrs. Haviland would have been vastly improved."

From the report my son gave me of the short epistle, it was filled
with sentenced couched in the same spirit throughout; "for," said he,
"that rabid fire-eater has been treated in a manner too mild. He needs
something more nearly like his own coin."

I shortly after received a few lines from Thomas K. Chester, informing
me that he had my last letter struck off in hand-bills, and circulated
in a number of the Southern States, "over its true signature, Laura S.
Haviland, as you dictated and your daughter wrote it; for, as strange
as it may appear, I have the handwriting of every one of your family,
and also of Willis Hamilton. I distribute these hand-bills for the
purpose of letting the South see what sort of sisters they have in the
North." We learned from a number of sources that to this circular or
hand-bill was attached a reward of $3,000 for my head.

As for the letter that Chester had richly earned, neither my daughter
nor myself had the privilege of perusing it, as it was mailed before
my return home. But I presume the indignant writer designed to close
the unpleasant correspondence.


SECOND EFFORT TO RETAKE THE HAMILTON FAMILY.

After the passage of the famous Fugitive-slave Bill of 1850, turning
the whole population of the North into slave-hunters, Thomas K.
Chester, with renewed assurance, came to Lawyer Beacher's office, in
Adrian, and solicited his services in capturing the Hamiltons, as he
was now prepared to take legal steps in recovering his property. Said
he:

"I ask no favors of Adrian or Raisin, as I have my posse of thirty men
within a stone's throw of this city. All I ask is legal authority from
you, Mr. Beacher, and I can easily get them in my possession."

"I can not aid you," said Mr. Beacher; "it would ruin my practice as a
lawyer."

"I will give you $100, besides your fee," rejoined Chester.

"You have not enough money in your State of Tennessee to induce me to
assist you in any way whatever."

"Will you direct me to a lawyer who will aid me?"

"I can not; I know of none in our State who could be hired to assist
you. And I advise you to return to your home; for you will lose a
hundred dollars where you will gain one, if you pursue it."

At this advice he became enraged, and swore he would have them this
time, at any cost. "And if old Laura Haviland interferes I'll put her
in prison. I acknowledge she outwitted us before; but let her dare
prevent my taking them this time, and I'll be avenged on her before I
leave this State."

"All the advice I have to give you is to abandon this scheme, for you
will find no jail in this State that will hold that woman. And I
request you not to enter my office again on this business, for if it
were known to the public it would injure my practice; and I shall not
recognize you on the street."

In a lower tone Chester continued, "I request you, Mr. Beacher, as a
gentleman, to keep my name and business a secret." With a few
imprecations he left the office.

My friend R. Beacher sent a dispatch to me at once by Sheriff
Spafford, to secure the safety of the Hamilton family at once, if
still on my premises, as my Tennessee correspondents were probably in
or near Adrian. I informed him they were safe in Canada within six
months after the visit from the Chesters. Mr. Beacher also advised me
to make my property safe without delay, but this had been done two
years previously. On receiving this information my friend Beacher
replied, "Had I known this I would have sent for her, for I'd give ten
dollars to see them meet." Mr. Chester heard that the Hamilton family
had gone to Canada, but he did not believe it, as he also heard they
had gone to Ypsilanti, in this State, where he said he should follow
them.

We learned in the sequel that he went to Ypsilanti, and took rooms and
board in a hotel, while calling on every colored family in town and
for two or three miles around it, sometimes as a drover, at other
times an agent to make arrangements for purchasing wood and charcoal.
During four weeks he found a family that answered the description of
the Hamilton family in color and number. He wrote to his father that
he had found them under an assumed name, and requested him to send a
man who could recognize them, as they had been away over eighteen
years. The man was sent, and two weeks more were spent in
reconnoitering. At length both were agreed to arrest David Gordon and
wife, with their four children, as the Hamilton family, and applied
for a warrant to take the family as escaped slaves. The United States
Judge, Hon. Ross Wilkins, who issued the warrant, informed one of the
most active underground railroad men, George De Baptist, of this
claimant's business. He immediately telegraphed to a vigorous worker
in Ypsilanti, who sent runners in every direction, inquiring for a
Hamilton family. None could be found; and the conclusion was reached
that they were newcomers and were closely concealed, and the only safe
way was to set a watch at the depot for officers and their posse, and
follow whithersoever they went, keeping in sight. This was done, and
the place they found aimed for was David Gordon's. On entering the
house the officer placed hand-cuffs on David Gordon, who in surprise
asked, "What does this mean?"

Said the officer, "I understand your name is Willis Hamilton, once a
slave in Tennessee."

Gordon replied, "No, sir, you are mistaken; I never was in that State;
neither is my name Hamilton, but Gordon, and I have free papers from
Virginia."

"Where are your papers? If they are good they shall save you."

Pointing to a trunk, "There they are; take that key and you'll find
them."

While the officer was getting the papers, Chester went to the bed of
the sick wife, placed a six-shooter at her head, and swore he'd blow
her brains out in a moment if she did not say their name was Hamilton.
"No, sir, our name is Gordon." Their little girl, standing by, cried
out with fear. He turned to her, with pistol pointing toward her face,
and swore he'd kill her that instant if she did not say her father's
name was Willis Hamilton.

At this juncture, the officer's attention was arrested. "What are you
about, you villain? You'll be arrested before you know it, if you are
not careful. Put up that pistol instantly, and if these papers are
good, I shall release this man, and return the warrant unserved."

He examined them and said, "These papers I find genuine." He then
removed the handcuffs from David Gordon, and with the discomfited
Thomas K. Chester and Tennessee companion returned to the depot for
the Detroit train.

While on their way they met a colored man that Chester swore was
Willis Hamilton. Said the officer, "You know not what you are about; I
shall arrest no man at your command."

On returning the unserved warrant to Judge Wilkins, Chester charged
him with being allied with the "d----d abolitionist, old Laura Haviland,
in running off that family to Malden, to keep me out of my property."

"I knew nothing of the family, or of your business, until you came
into this office yesterday," replied the judge.

In a rage and with an oath, he replied, "I know, sir, your complicity
in keeping slave-holders out of their property, and can prove it." He
threw his hat on the floor and gave a stamp, as if to strengthen his
oath.

The judge simply ordered him out of his office, instead of committing
him to prison for contempt of court; and with his companion he went
back to his Tennessee home, again defeated.

Thomas K. Chester wrote and had published scurrilous articles in
Tennessee, and in a number of other Southern States. They were
vigorously circulated until the following Congress, in which the grave
charge was brought against the judge, "of being allied with Mrs.
Haviland, of the interior of the State of Michigan, a rabid
abolitionist, in keeping slaveholders out of their slave property." A
vigorous effort was made by Southern members to impeach him, while his
friends were petitioning Congress to raise his salary, Judge Wilkins
was sent for to answer to these false charges. Although they failed to
impeach him, yet on account of these charges the addition to his
salary was lost.

When these false accusations were brought into Congress, and the judge
was informed of the necessity of his presence to answer thereto, he
inquired of Henry Bibb and others where I was. They informed him that
I was absent from home. On my return from Cincinnati with a few
underground railroad passengers, I learned of the trouble Judge
Wilkins met, and I called on him. He told me of the pile of Southern
papers he had received, with scurrilous articles, designed to
prejudice Southern members of Congress against him. Said he, "Although
they failed in the impeachment, they said they would come against me
with double force next Congress, and should effect their object." Said
the judge, "I want your address, for if they do repeat their effort,
with the explanation you have now given, I think I can save another
journey to Washington. The judge was never again called upon to defend
himself on this subject, as their effort was not repeated; neither did
their oft-repeated threat to imprison me disturb us."


DEATH OF THE CHESTERS

In the third year of the Rebellion, while in Memphis, Tennessee, on a
mission to the perishing, I found myself in the city where my
Tennessee correspondents lived a few years previous to their deaths.
From a minister who had long been a resident of that city, and had
also lived near Jonesboro, where they resided during the
correspondence, I learned the following facts: A few years prior to
the war John P. Chester removed with his family to Memphis, where he
became a patroller. His son Thomas transacted business as a lawyer. I
was shown his residence, and the office where John P. Chester was shot
through the heart by a mulatto man, whose free papers he demanded,
doubting their validity. Said the man, "I am as free as you are; and
to live a slave I never shall." He then drew a six-shooter from its
hiding-place and shot him through the heart. He fell, exclaiming, "O
God, I'm a dead man." The man threw down the fatal weapon, saying to
the bystanders, "Here I am, gentlemen, shoot me, or hang me, just as
you please, but to live a slave to any man I never shall." He was
taken by the indignant crowd, and hung on the limb of a tree near by,
pierced with many bullets. I can not describe the feeling that crept
over me, as I gazed upon the pavement where John P. Chester met his
fate, and which I had walked over in going to officers' head-quarters
from the steamer. Oh! what a life, to close with such a tragedy!

Thomas K. Chester being a few rods distant ran to assist his dying
father, but his life was gone ere he reached him. A few months later
he was brought from a boat sick with yellow fever, and died in one
week from the attack in terrible paroxysms and ravings, frequently
requiring six men to hold him on his bed. He was ill the same length
of time that they falsely represented a few years before in the Toledo
hotel. Said the narrator, "Thomas K. Chester's death was the most
awful I ever witnessed. He cursed and swore to his last breath, saying
he saw his father standing by his bed, with damned spirits waiting to
take him away to eternal burnings."

After a long walk one day, I called at the former residence of the
Chester family, and was seated in the front parlor. It is hard to
imagine my feelings as I sat in the room where those two men had lain
in death's cold embrace--men who had flourished toward my face the
six-shooter. It was by this kind of deadly weapon the life of one was
taken; and as nearly as words can describe the feigned sickness, the
last week of the life of the other was spent. No wonder the blood
seemed to curdle in my veins in contemplating the lives of these men,
and their end. It is beyond the power of pen to describe the panorama
that passed before me in these moments. The proprietor of the Toledo
hotel lost custom by his complicity in their efforts to retake their
alleged slave property. A few months after the hotel was burned to
ashes.




CHAPTER IV.

AN OHIO SCHOOL-TEACHER.


In the Autumn of 1847 a gentleman of evident culture called for early
breakfast, though he had passed a public house about two miles
distant. I mistrusted my stranger caller to be a counterfeit; and told
him, as I had the care of an infant for a sick friend, he would find
better fare at the boarding hall a few rods away. But introducing
himself as an Ohio school-teacher, and accustomed to boarding around,
he had not enjoyed his favorite bread and milk for a long while, and
if I would be so kind as to allow him a bowl of bread and milk he
would accept it as a favor. He said he had heard of our excellent
school, and wished to visit it. He was also acting as agent of the
_National Era_, published at Cincinnati, in which he was much
interested, and solicited my subscription. I told him I knew it to be
a valuable periodical, but, as I was taking three, abolition papers he
must excuse me.

He was also very much interested in the underground railroad projects,
and referred to names of agents and stations, in Indiana and Ohio, in
a way that I concluded he had been on the trail and found me, as well
as others, and perhaps taken the assumed agency of the _Era_ for
a covering. He said it was found necessary in some places in Ohio and
Indiana to change the routes, as slave-holders had traced and followed
them so closely that they had made trouble in many places, and
suggested a change in Michigan, as there were five slave-holders in
Toledo, Ohio, when he came through, in search of escaped slaves. I
replied that it might be a good idea, but I had not considered it
sufficiently to decide.

Continuing his arguments, he referred to a slave who was captured by
Mr. B. Stevens, of Boone County, Kentucky. He saw him tied on a horse
standing at the door of an inn where he was teaching. In surprise, I
inquired:

"Did that community allow that to be done in their midst without
making an effort to rescue the self-made freeman?"

"O yes, because Stevens came with witnesses and papers, proving that
he legally owned him; so that nothing could be done to hinder him"

"That could never be done in this community; and I doubt whether it
could be done in this State."

"But what could you do in a case like that?"

"Let a slave-holder come and try us, as they did six months ago in
their effort to retake the Hamilton family, who are still living here
on my premises, and you see how they succeeded;" and I gave him their
plans and defeat. "Let them or any other slave-holders disturb an
escaped slave, at any time of night or day, and the sound of a tin
horn would be heard, with a dozen more answering it in different
directions, and men enough would gather around the trembling fugitive
for his rescue. For _women_ can blow horns, and _men_ can
run. Bells are used in our school and neighborhood; but if the sound
of a tin horn is heard it is understood, a few miles each way from
Raisin Institute, just what it means."

Looking surprised, he answered: "Well, I reckon you do understand
yourselves here. But I don't see how you could retain one
_legally_ if papers and witnesses were on hand."

"Hon. Ross Wilkins, United States judge, residing in Detroit, can
legally require any fugitive so claimed to be brought before him, and
not allow any thing to be done until the decision is reached. And
there are many active workers to assist escaping slaves in that city,
who would rush to their aid, and in ten minutes see them safe in
Canada. I presume if the slave claimant should come with a score of
witnesses and a half-bushel of papers, to prove his legal right, it
would avail him nothing, as we claim a higher law than wicked
enactments of men who claim the misnomer of law by which bodies and
souls of men, women, and children are claimed as chattels." The
proprietor of the boarding hall desired me to allow him to inform the
stranger of our suspicions, and invite him to leave. But I declined,
as I had reached the conclusion that my visitor was from Kentucky, and
probably in search of John White, whose master had sworn that he would
send him as far as wind and water would carry him if he ever got him
again. Professor Patchin and J. F. Dolbeare called to see him, and
conversed with him about his agency for the _Era_, etc.; and brother
Patchin invited him to attend the recitations of the classes in Latin
and geometry. The second was accepted, as mathematics, he said, was
his favorite study.

By four o'clock P.M., the hour of his leaving, the tide of excitement
was fast rising, and one of the students offered to go and inform John
White of the danger we suspected, and advise him to take refuge in
Canada until these Kentuckians should leave our State.

We surmised that the five slave-holders he reported in Toledo were his
own company, which was soon found to be true. One of my horses was
brought into requisition at once for the dispatch-bearer; but he had
not been on his journey an hour before we learned that our Ohio
teacher inquired of a boy on the road if there had been a mulatto man
by the name of White attending school at Raisin Institute the past
Winter.

"Yes, sir."

"Where is he now?"

"He hired for the season to Mr. Watkins, near Brooklyn, in Jackson
County."

This report brought another offer to become dispatch-bearer to the
hunted man. The following day found John White in Canada.

Two days after George W. Brazier, who claimed John White as his
property, and the man who had lost the woman and five children, with
their two witnesses, and their lawyer, J. L. Smith, who recently made
me an all-day visit, entered the lowest type of a saloon in the town
near by, and inquired for two of the most besotted and wickedest men
in town. Being directed according to their novel inquiry, the men were
found and hired, making their number seven, to capture John White. The
field in which he had been at work was surrounded by the seven men at
equal distances. But, as they neared the supposed object of their
pursuit, lo! a poor white man was there instead of the prize they were
so sure of capturing. They repaired to the house of Mr. Watkins, and
inquired of him for the whereabouts of John White. The frank reply
was:

"I suppose he is in Canada, as I took him, with his trunk, to the
depot, yesterday, for that country."

At this Brazier poured forth a volley of oaths about me, and said he
knew I had been there.

"Hold on, sir, you are laboring under a mistake. We have none of us
seen her; and I want you to understand that there are others, myself
included, who are ready to do as much to save a self-freed slave from
being taken back to Southern bondage as Mrs. Haviland. Mr. White is
highly esteemed wherever he is known; and we would not see him go back
from whence he came without making great effort to prevent it."

At this Brazier flew into a rage, and furiously swore he would yet be
avenged on me before he left the State."

"I advise you to be more sparing of your threats. We have a law here
to arrest and take care of men who make such threats as you have
here," said Mr. Watkins.

With this quietus they left for Tecumseh, four miles distant from us.

While at Snell's Hotel they displayed on the bar-room table pistols,
dirks, and bowie-knives, and pointing to them, said Brazier, "Here is
what we use, and we'll have the life of that d--d abolitionist, Mrs.
Haviland, before we leave this State, or be avenged on her in some
way." The five men then in haste jumped aboard the stage for Adrian.
As the authorities were informed of these threats, and Judge Stacy was
going to Adrian on business, he proposed to leave with a friend he was
to pass the import of these threats, fearing they might quit the stage
while passing through our neighborhood, and under cover of night
commit their deeds of darkness. I received the note, and told the
bearer I accepted this as the outburst of passion over their defeat,
and did not believe they designed to carry out these threats, and
requested the excited family to keep this as near a secret as
possible, during a day or two at least, to save my children and the
school this exciting anxiety. But I could not appear altogether
stoical, and consulted judicious friends, who advised me to leave my
home a night or two at least. This was the saddest moment I had seen.
I felt that I could not conscientiously leave my home. "If
slaveholders wish to call on me they will find me here, unless I have
business away." They insisted that I should keep my windows closed
after dark, and they would send four young men students, to whom they
would tell the secret, with the charge to keep it unless disturbance
should require them to reveal it. We received information the
following day that the five Kentuckians took the cars for Toledo on
their arrival at Adrian. Their threats increased the excitement
already kindled, and neighbors advised me not to remain in my house of
nights, as there might be hired emissaries to execute their will. Some
even advised me to go to Canada for safety. But rest was mine in
Divine Providence.

The following week I accompanied an insane friend with her brother to
Toledo. The brother wished me to go to Monroe on business for them. He
soon informed me that the five Kentuckians were in the same hotel with
us, and he overheard one say that I had no doubts followed them to see
whether they had found any of their runaways, and that one of their
party was going wherever I did to watch my movements. This friend also
saw them consulting with the barkeeper, who sat opposite at breakfast
table, and introduced the defeated stratagem of the Tennessee slave-
holders at the Toledo hotel a few months previously. Said he, "I
believe you are the lady who met them there. Some of us heard of it
soon after, and we should have rushed there in a hurry if there had
been an attempt to take a fugitive from our city. They might as well
attempt to eat through an iron wall as to get one from us. I am an
abolitionist of the Garrison stamp, and there are others here of the
same stripe." And in this familiar style he continued, quite to my
annoyance, at the table. He came to me a number of times after
breakfast to find what he could do to assist me in having the hack
take me to whatever point I wished to go.

"Are you going east, madam?"

"Not today."

"Or are you designing to go south, or to return on the Adrian train?"

"I shall not go in either direction today."

Leaving me a few moments, he returned with inquiring whether I was
going to Monroe, and giving as the reason for his inquiries the wish
to assist me. I informed him I was going to take the ten o'clock boat
for Monroe. I learned in the sequel that they charged me with
secreting the woman and five children, and aiding their flight to
Canada; but of them I knew nothing, until my Ohio teacher informed me
of their flight, and while I was suspected and watched by their
pursuers, we had reason to believe they were placed on a boat at
Cleveland, and were safe in Canada.

We learned that their lawyer made inquiries while in my neighborhood
whether my farm and Raisin Institute were entirely in my hands. When
they became satisfied of the fact they left orders for my arrest upon
a United States warrant, to be served the following Autumn, if they
failed to recover their human property. About the expiration of the
time set George W. Brazier went with a gang of slaves for sale to
Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and died suddenly of cholera. There his
projects ended, and John White soon returned to his work in Michigan.

These circumstances delayed my prospect of going to Cincinnati and
Rising Sun to learn the condition of his family, but as money had been
raised by the anxious husband and father and his friends, I went to
Cincinnati, where I found my friends, Levi Coffin and family. The
vigilant committee was called to his private parlor, to consult as to
the most prudent measure to adopt in securing an interview with Jane
White, John's wife, whose master, Benjamin Stevens, was her father,
and the vain hope was indulged that he would not make an effort to
retake the family should they make a start for freedom. The committee
proposed that I should go to Rising Sun, and, through Joseph Edgerton
and Samuel Barkshire and families, obtain an interview with Jane
White, as they were intelligent and well-to-do colored friends of John
White's in Rising Sun.

Accordingly I went, and called on Joseph Edgerton's eating-house. On
making my errand known, there was great rejoicing over good news from
their esteemed friend Felix White, as John was formerly called. In
conferring with these friends and Samuel Barkshire, they thought the
errand could be taken to Jane, through Stevens's foreman slave,
Solomon, who was frequently allowed to cross the river on business for
his master, and was looked for the following Saturday. But as we were
disappointed, Joseph's wife, Mary Edgerton, proposed to go with me to
Benjamin Stevens's, ostensibly to buy plums. As there was no trace of
African blood perceivable in her, and the Stevens family, both white
and colored, had seen her mother, who was my size, with blue eyes,
straight brown hair, and skin as fair as mine, there was no question
as to relationship when Mary introduced me to Jane and her sister Nan
as Aunt Smith (my maiden name). It was also known to the Stevens
family that Mary was expecting her aunt from Georgia to spend a few
weeks with her. When we entered the basement, which was the kitchen of
the Stevens house, twelve men and women slaves just came in from the
harvest-field for their dinner, which consisted of "corn dodgers"
placed in piles at convenient distances on the bare table, made of two
long rough boards on crossed legs. A large pitcher filled as full as
its broken top would allow of sour milk, and a saucer of greens, with
a small piece of pork cut in thin slices, were divided among the
hands, who were seated on the edge of their table, except a few who
occupied stools and broken chairs. Not a whole earthen dish or plate
was on that table. A broken knife or fork was placed by each plate,
and they used each other's knife or fork, and ate their humble repast
with apparent zest. I have given this harvest dinner in detail, as
Benjamin Stevens was called a remarkably kind master. It was
frequently remarked by surrounding planters "that the Stevens niggers
thought they were white."

As we were informed they had no plums for sale, Mary proposed filling
our "buckets" with blackberries, as there were an abundance within a
short distance, and asked Jane if she or Nan could not go and show us
the way. "I'll go an' ask Missus Agnes," replied Nan, who soon returned
with the word that Jane might go, as she wanted to make another batch
of jam. "But she says we must get dinner for Mary and her aunt first."
A small tablecloth was placed over one end of the table, and wheat
bread, butter, honey, and a cream-pitcher of sweet milk was brought
down for us. Not a child of the nine little ones playing in the
kitchen asked for a taste of anything during or after our meal. All
that was left was taken up stairs, and we were invited to call on Mrs.
Agnes, who received us cordially. She was teaching Jane's oldest
daughter, of seven years, to sew. After a few minutes chat with the
mistress, we left for blackberries.

When out of sight, I told Jane I was the one who wrote a letter for
her husband, Felix White, to her, and directed it to Samuel Barkshire,
who told me he read it to her, but did not dare take it from his
house, but took the braid of his hair tied with blue ribbon, sent in
the letter. She looked at me in amazement for a moment, when she burst
into a flood of tears. As soon as she could command her feelings she
said her master had told her that he had heard from Felix, and that he
was married again, and was riding around with his new wife mighty
happy. When I gave her the errand from her husband she was again
convulsed with weeping. Said she, "I would gladly work day and night,
until my fingers and toes are without a nail, and willingly see my
children work in the same way, could we only be with Felix." Poor
heartbroken woman, she sighed like a sobbing child. But two of her
children were out a few miles with one of the Stevens married
children, to be gone two months, and she sent a request to her husband
to come on the sly to assist in bringing their children away after the
return of the absent ones, so that all might go together. I assisted
her in picking berries, as she had spent so much of her time in
talking and weeping her mistress might complain. I gave her a little
memento from her husband, and left the poor heartstricken, crushed
spirit.

The daughter and grandchildren of the master withheld them from going
to their natural protector, yet he was called one of the best of
slave-holders. Here was a woman and sister whose widowhood was more
desolate than even death had made my own. And her poor children were
worse than fatherless. I returned to my home and anxious children and
friends.

But the grieved husband felt confident his intimate friend William
Allen, who would have left for freedom long ago but for his wife and
child, would assist Jane and the children could he know from him how
many warm friends there were in the North to assist them. His
friends, as well as himself, were anxious to make another trial
without the risk of his going into the lion's den. Means being
provided, three mouths later found me again in Rising Sun. After a
little waiting to see William Allen, I took a boat and went four miles
below on the Kentucky side, and called at the house of his master to
wait for a boat going up the river within a few hours.

As they were having a great excitement over counterfeiters, and were
making great efforts to find the rogues, and looking upon every
stranger with suspicion, I was believed by my host to be one of them
in disguise. Within an hour after my arrival the sheriff and a deputy
were brought into an adjoining room. The lady of the house appeared
excited. Her little girl inquired who those strange gentlemen were;
she replied the sheriff and his deputy. I looked up from the paper I
was busily reading, and entered into conversation with the lady of the
house, when I overhead one man say, "I don't think there is anything
wrong about that woman." This remark led me to suppose I might be the
object of the undertone conversation among the gentlemen in the
adjoining room. Soon after the three gentlemen came into the room,
with whom I passed the usual "good afternoon." One, whom I took to be
the sheriff, made a few remarks over fine weather, etc., and all three
returned to their room. Said one, in a low voice, "I tell you that
woman is all right; she's no counterfeiter." My excited hostess became
calm, and quite social, and made excuses for having to look after the
cooking of her turkey, as she allowed her cook to spend this Sabbath
with her husband in visiting one of their friends. "And I always burn
and blister my hands whenever I make an attempt at cooking. But my
cook is so faithful I thought I would let her go today."

As I gave up the idea of seeing William Allen, I was about to go to
the wharf-boat and wait there for the five o'clock boat. But she urged
me to take dinner with them, as I would have plenty of time. After
dinner they directed me across a pasture-field that would shorten the
half-mile. Just out of sight of the house I met William Allen, with
his wife and little girl of ten years. As they were so well described
by John--or Felix, as he was here known--I recognized them, and gave
the message from their friend, from whom they rejoiced to hear. He
said he longed to be free, and thought two weeks from that day he
could go over to Samuel Barkshire's to see me. During this time he
would deliver the message to Jane. At present, he said, it would be
very difficult crossing, as there was great excitement over men that
passed a lot of counterfeit money in that neighborhood, and they were
watching for them. I told him it was not safe for us to talk longer
there, as they were slaves, and I was not free to be seen talking with
them, and gave them the parting hand, informing them that many prayers
of Christian people of the North were daily ascending for the
deliverance of the slave. "May God grant the answer!" was the
heartfelt reply.

During the two weeks Mary Scott was introduced, who had recently
bought herself, with her free husband's aid. She related to me the sad
condition of her sister, Rachel Beach, who was the slave of Mr. Ray,
the brother of Wright Ray, of Madison, Indiana, the noted negro
catcher. She was the kept mistress of her master, who held her and her
five children, who were his own flesh and blood, as his property.
After her sister Rachel's religious experience, she was much
distressed over the life she was compelled to lead with her master.
She had often wept with her weeping sister. When she thought of
escaping, she could not leave her five little children to her own sad
fate. As I was informed that Mary Scott was a reliable Christian
woman, I gave her a plan, and names of persons and places of safety,
with a charge not to stop over the second night--if possible, to
avoid it--at the first place named; for it was too near her master's
brother, Wright Ray, as he would make great efforts to retake them.

This plan was adopted. But they were kept two days at Luther Donald's
station, which brought them into great difficulty. He was so well
known as the slave's friend it was unsafe to secrete fugitives on his
own premises; and he placed them in an out-house of one of his
friends. On the second night of their flight, when they were to be
taken to the next station, Wright Ray was on their track, and entered
the neighborhood at dark twilight, filling it with excitement on the
part of both friends and foes. The cry of a child brought a neighbor
to their hiding-place, who told her she was unsafe; but he would take
her and the children to his barn, where they would be perfectly
secure. Soon after her new friend left her she felt in great danger,
and when her children were asleep in their bed of stalls she ventured
to place herself by the road-side. Here she heard horses coming, and
listened to hear the voice of their riders, to see if she could
recognize her first friends, as they had told her they were going to
take them to another place of safety that night; but, to her grief,
she heard the voice of Wright Ray, with his posse. Filled with fear of
capture, she groped her way still farther back in the dark. After her
pursuers passed she heard two men coming, in low conversation. She
prayed for direction, and felt impressed, as she said, to tell these
men her trouble. They proved to be her friends, who missed them as
they went to take their suppers. As Ray and his company were known to
be in town, they knew not but they were captured. Runners were sent to
the usual resorts of slave-hunters, to see if any clew could be
learned of the fate of the missing family.

"O, how I prayed God to deliver me in this my great distress!" she
said, in relating her flight in my interview with her in Canada. She
led her two friends to the barn, from whence her sleeping children
were removed; but by the time they reached the road they saw the
lantern, and heard rustling of stalks by her pursuers. As her new
friend was a well-known friend to slave-hunters, she and her children
were still in great danger. She was dressed in men's clothing, and her
girls dressed like boys, and they were taken out in different
directions. Rachel and the youngest child her guide took to a Quaker
neighborhood, while two men took each two girls on their horses and
took different roads to other places of safety; but no two of the
three parties knew of the others' destination. Two days of distressing
anxiety were passed before a word reached the mother from her
children. Not knowing but they were back to their old Kentucky home,
she could neither eat nor sleep for weeping and praying over the
probable loss of her children. But her joy could not find expression
when two of them were brought to her. At first sight of her darlings,
she cried out, "Glory to God! he has sent me two more. But where, O,
where are the other two?" The two men who brought these in their close
carriage could give no tidings, as they had heard nothing from them
since leaving Donald Station. Rachel continued weeping for her
children because they were not. On the following day they were heard
from, and that they would be brought on the following day, P. M.

A number of the neighbors were invited to witness the meeting. Among
them was a strong pro-slavery man and his family, who had often said
the abolitionists might as well come to his barn and steal his horse
or wheat as to keep slave-holders out of their slave property; yet he
was naturally a sympathetic man. This Quaker abolitionist knew it
would do him good to witness the anticipated scene. The knowledge of
the prospective arrival of the children was carefully kept from the
mother until she saw them, coming through the gate, when she cried
aloud, as she sank on the floor, "Glory; hallelujah to the Lamb! You
sent me all." She sobbed as she clasped them to her bosom, continuing,
in an ecstasy, "Bless the Lord forever! He is so good to poor me." The
little girls threw their arms around their mother's neck, and burst
into a loud cry for joy. "But the weeping was not confined to them,"
said our Quaker sister, who was present. "There was not a dry eye in
that house; and our pro-slavery neighbor cried as hard as any of us."

After the excitement died away a little, said one, "Now, we must adopt
a plan to take this family on to Canada."

The pro-slavery man was the first to say, "I'll take my team, and take
them where they'll be safe, if I have to take them all the way."

Another said, "It is cold weather, and we see these children have bare
feet; and we must see about getting them stockings and shoes and warm
clothing."

And the little daughter of him who had so generously offered his
services in aiding this family beyond the reach, of danger sat down on
the carpet and commenced taking off hers, saying, "She can have mine."

"But, Lotty, what will you do?" said the mother.

"O, papa can get me some more."

"Yes, papa will get you some more," said her father, wiping his eyes;
"and your shoes and stockings will just fit that little girl." And the
mother could hardly keep her from leaving them. But she told her to
wear them home and put others on, then bring them back.

Said our informant, "I will warrant that man will hereafter become a
stockholder."

But the rescue of the Beach family cost Luther Donald his farm. He was
sued and found guilty of harboring runaway slaves and assisting them
to escape. But not one sentence of truthful evidence was brought
against him in court; although he did aid the Beach family when a stay
of three minutes longer in their dangerous hiding-place would have
secured their return to a life of degradation. Friends of the fugitive
made up the loss in part, and the God of the oppressed blessed him
still more abundantly. He was diligent in business, serving the Lord.

While rejoicing over the safe arrival of the Beach family in Canada,
heavy tidings reached me from home. In a letter I was informed of the
illness of my eldest son. Before the boat arrived that was to bear me
homeward a second letter came with the sad intelligence of the death
of my first-born. Oh, how my poor heart was wrung with anxiety to
learn the state of his mind as he left the shores of time. Why did not
the writer relieve me by giving the information I most needed? And yet
I was advised to remain until the weather became more mild. I had a
severe cough that followed an attack of pneumonia, and physicians had
advised me to spend the Winter in a milder climate. But this
bereavement seemed impelling me to return to my afflicted children.
But more than all other considerations was to learn the state of that
dear child's mind as he was about leaving the land of the dying for
the spirit world of the living. He had been a living Christian, but
during the year past had become more inactive, and in a conversation
on the subject a few days previous to my leaving, he expressed regrets
in not being more faithful. He urged me to take this trip, yet I could
not but regret leaving home. "Oh my son, my son Harvey would to God I
had died for thee!" In this distress, bordering upon agony of soul, I
walked my room to and fro, praying for an evidence of his condition.
In the conversation above alluded to he expressed a sincere desire to
return.

Said he, "I am too much like the prodigal, too far away from my
Savior." How vividly did his words come before me! Oh, how these words
ran through my mind in this hour of sore trial. Is this the Isaac, I
dwelt upon as I was leaving my home, that I may be called to
sacrifice? I had in mind my son Daniel, who was fearful I would meet
trouble from slave-holders, as he remarked to his brother Harvey,
"Mother is a stranger to fear, though she might be in great danger."

"That fact, seems to me, secures her safety," replied Harvey.

As I overheard this conversation I shrank from the trial of leaving my
home circle, in which death had made such inroads, and for the time
being doubted whether I was called upon to make the sacrifice. But
prayer was now constant for an evidence of my son's condition, whether
prepared for exchange of worlds. He who spake peace to the troubled
sea granted the answer of peace, with an assurance that my prayer was
answered, and that in his own good time he would make it manifest.

I took the boat for Cincinnati, and on the morning after my arrival at
the home of my valued friends, Levi Coffin and wife, I awoke with a
comforting dream, which but for the circumstances I would not record.
I find in the written Word of divine truth that God, at sundry times,
made himself known to his faithful servants in dreams. And he is the
same in all ages, in answering their petitions and meeting their
wants. In the dream I thought I was living in the basement of a
beautiful mansion. Being rather dark, damp, and cool, I looked for
some means of warming my apartments, when I discovered the windows
conveyed beautiful rays of sunlight sufficient to dry and warm
apartments designed for only a temporary residence, as my future home
was to be in the splendid apartments above, which I was not to be
permitted to enter until the work assigned me in the basement was
done. While busily engaged in sweeping my room, and arranging my work,
I saw my son Harvey, descending from the upper portion of this
limitless mansion, which I thought was now his home. I hastened to the
door to meet him. As the thought struck me that he had been a slave, I
cried out, "My son Harvey, art thou free?"

"Oh yes, mother, I am _free_; and I knew your anxiety, and I came
on purpose to tell you that I went to my Master and asked if he would
grant my pardon? And he looked upon me and saw me in my blood as I
plowed in the field, and he said I should be free and live."

"Oh, what a relief is this glad news," I replied.

"I knew you desired me to go for my freedom long ago, but I did not
know that my liberty would be so easily granted--just for asking. I am
now free, indeed."

This message delivered, he ascended to his glorious home above. I
awoke with the words of this message as clearly impressed upon my mind
as if vocally spoken. I opened the Bible at the head of my bed, and
the first words that met my eye were these: "I saw Ephraim cast out in
the open field; I saw him in his blood, and I said live; and he shall
live." With promises given by him with whom there is no variableness
or shadow of turning, my heart was filled with praise and thanksgiving
for the Comforter who grants peace such as the world knows not of.
Very soon a letter came with the detailed account of the last hours of
my son Harvey, in which he left a bright evidence of his preparation
for the future life. He sent for Rev. John Patchin, of Raisin
Institute, of whom he requested prayer; at the close of which he
followed in fervent prayer for himself and loved ones. Then brother
Patchin inquired if perfect peace was his at this hour? "It is," he
answered; "I am ready to go," and he soon fell asleep in Jesus.

I remained a few weeks longer; but the close search for counterfeiters
made it difficult for William Allen to cross.

The request was repeated by John White's wife for him to come for
them. I returned home with the consciousness of having done all that I
could in delivering the messages as requested. The husband and father
could not feel reconciled to give up his family to a life of slavery,
and went for them, and brought them a few miles on the Indiana side,
above Rising Sun. They secreted themselves during the day in the
woods, and with the aid of his friend and Solomon Stevens's slave,
previously alluded to, who was also attempting to escape with the
family, he made a raft upon which they were about to cross a creek to
reach the team on the opposite side. Suddenly six armed men pounced
upon them, and captured the family, with Solomon. To save John from
the hazardous attempt to defend his family, his friend held him back
in the thicket, knowing the effort must fail. As he was not allowed to
move he sank back in despair in the arms of his friend. He had risked
his own life and liberty in his attempt to rescue them. He learned
that George W. Brazier swore he would chop him into inches if he ever
got possession of him again. After his unsuccessful effort in Michigan
he offered six hundred dollars for his head, dead or alive. Benjamin
Stevens also offered six hundred dollars reward for his daughter and
his five grandchildren, with Solomon. He afterwards sold them all for
the very low price of one thousand dollars, with the proviso that they
were not to be sold apart.

But poor Jane was not left long to grieve over her disappointed hopes.
She died of cholera. We heard she went rejoicing in that hope that
reaches beyond the vale. They were taken to Lexington, Kentucky, but
the grieved husband and father again made his way northward. He was
two weeks in reaching a settlement that was said to be friendly to
fugitive slaves. Forty miles distant from his old Kentucky home he
assumed the name of James Armstrong. The family upon whom he ventured
to call appeared very kind, and the man told him he would take him the
next day to a Quaker settlement, but he suspected he was reported to
Wright Ray and posse, who came into the house and bound him. Placing
him on one of their horses, they took him through fields and back
roads until they crossed the Ohio river, and lodged him in the
Woodford jail, a short distance from the river, nearly opposite
Madison, Indiana. Wright Ray had no idea of having in his possession
John White, who had so recently eluded his grasp in his unsuccessful
trip with Brazier in Michigan. He found among his papers in which were
advertisements of escaped slaves, Henry Armstrong advertised as
belonging to the widow Armstrong, of Maysville, Kentucky. With her
Wright Ray had an interview, hoping to arrange for the reward, which
she refused to give, for he had been away so long, he would be of
little use, as Henry was willed free at her death. But she told him if
he could get enough from him to pay him for his trouble, he might do
so. Consequently he made him an offer to release him for four hundred
dollars, and encouraged him to write to his friends in Michigan to aid
him to that amount. He wrote to a son-in-law of Mr. Watkins, so as not
to mention a name of persons the men had to do with in Michigan, and
the letter was brought to us. We all understood the writer to be our
friend John White.

A few friends were consulted as to the measures to be adopted. It was
proposed that I should go to Cincinnati, and there make such
arrangements as the friends might think proper. As they proposed to
bear my expenses, I said, "If you send me, I shall go to-morrow
morning."

"But," replied the bearer of the letter, "as it is the Sabbath, I
suppose I should hesitate."

"It was lawful on the Sabbath to lift a sheep out of the ditch in the
days of Moses, and is not a man better than a sheep?"

"I can not answer you. All I have to say is, follow the dictates of
your own conscience."

I took the stage at Toledo, and in three days I was consulting the
vigilance committee in Levi Coffin's council chamber. As it would not
do for me to transact business with Wright Ray, Micajah White, nephew
of Catherine Coffin, offered to go as soon as the money was obtained.
Levi Coffin introduced me to Dr. Judkins, of whom I hired the money,
but hoped to lessen the amount if possible, in the arrangement with
Wright Ray. I urged on the nephew the necessity of taking the first
boat for Madison, as every hour endangered the safety of John White.
Whatever was done for him must be done quickly. Wright Ray was found
very willing to accept three hundred and fifty dollars, which was
placed in the hands of the clerk of the boat until his prisoner was
delivered to his friends in Cincinnati, when Micajah White agreed to
see the money paid to Wright Ray. This was done, and within three
weeks from the time I left home I returned with John White. The day
after John's release Brazier appeared at the jail, having heard that
he was there. But he was too late.

A few months after John White's release from Woodford jail George W.
Brazier went to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, with a gang of slaves for
sale, and suddenly died of cholera, just before the time fixed for his
return. It was said he intended to make a second effort to capture
John White, or to arrest me with United States warrant. Time rolled
on, and John F. White married a young woman in Canada, his home a
number of years. After the late war he removed to Ann Arbor, Michigan,
to educate his children. When we last heard of his first children, his
oldest daughter was married to Solomon, the ex-slave of Benjamin
Stevens. We rejoice that brighter days are dawning. Ethiopia is
stretching out her hands to God.




CHAPTER V.

THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY.


As my married children had charge of the farm, and the younger ones
were in school, and well provided for, I spent a few months in mission
work and nursing the sick. My dear friends, Levi and Catherine Coffin,
had given me a very cordial invitation to make their house my home
whenever I was in Cincinnati. Soon after my arrival, at early dawn,
nine slaves crossed the river, and were conducted to one of our
friends on Walnut Hills for safety, until arrangements could be made
to forward them to Victoria's domain. I called on them to see what was
needed for their Northern march, and found them filled with fear lest
they should be overtaken. As there was a prospect before them of being
taken down the river, they concluded to "paddle their own canoe." They
had with them their five little folks, that seemed as full of fear as
were their trembling parents. A little girl of five years raised the
window-shade to look out. When her mother discovered her she
exclaimed, in a half-smothered voice, "Why, Em! you'll have us all
kotched, if you don't mind;" and the little thing dropped behind a
chair like a frightened young partridge hiding under a leaf at the
mother's alarm of danger. While making our plans, we were greatly
relieved, to find that the well known Quaker conductor, William Beard,
was in the city, with a load of produce from his farm. This covered
market-wagon was a safe car, that had borne many hundreds to his own
depot, and was now ready for more valuable freight before the city
should be filled with slave-hunters. But few weeks elapsed before we
learned of the safe arrival of these two families that we fitted for
their journey to Canada.

One of our vigilance committee came early one morning to inform us
that there were two young men just arrived, who were secreted in the
basement of Zion Baptist Church (colored). As their home was only
twenty-five miles from the river, it was necessary to make all
possible speed in removing them before Kentucky slave-hunters should
block our track. I took their measures, to procure for each a Summer
suit, and went to our store of new and second-hand clothing, at Levi
Coffin's, where anti-slavery women met tri-monthly, to spend a day in
making and repairing clothing for fugitive slaves. In early evening I
took a large market-basket, with a suit for each, and had them
conducted to a safer hiding-place, until a way opened for them to go
to a Friends' settlement, about eighty miles distant, where George
chose to remain and work a few months. But James would not risk his
liberty by tarrying, and censured George for running such a risk. "You
needn't think your new name's gwine to save you when ole massa comes"

But little did James understand the deep-hidden reason that kept his
friend George behind. He worked faithfully nearly a year, kept the
suit I gave him for his Sunday suit, and used his old Kentucky suit
for his work, patching them himself, until patch upon patch nearly
covered the old brown jeans of his plantation wear. When warm weather
again returned, without revealing his design of going back to his
master in Kentucky, for he knew his abolition friends would discourage
his project, he took the eighty dollars he had earned since he left
his master, and wore the suit of clothes he brought away, and in the
darkness of night went to his wife's cabin. Here he gave a full
history of the kind friends who had paid good wages for his work, and
said he was going to take all to his master, and tell him he was sick
of freedom; "and you mus' be mighty mad," he went on, "'case I come
back; and say, 'If he's a mind to make sich a fool of his self, as to
be so jubus, 'case I talked leetle while wid Jake, long time ago, as
to run off an' leave me, he may go. He needn't think I'll take 'im
back; I won't have nothin' to say to 'im, never!' Ad' I'll quarrel
'bout you too; an' when all ov 'em is done fussin' 'bout me comin'
back, I'll steal to you in a dark night, an' lay a plan to meet on
Lickin' River; an' we'll take a skiff an' muffle oars till we get to
the Ohio; an' I knows jus' whar to go in any dark night, an' we 'll be
free together. I didn't tell Jim I's gwine to make massa b'leve all my
lies to get you; for I tell you, Liz, I ain't got whole freedom
without you."

Before eight o'clock A. M. George stood before his master, with his
old name and old plantation suit, presenting him with the eighty
dollars he had earned for his master since he had left his home, that
he never wanted to leave again. For he had found "abolitioners the
greates' rascals I ever seen. I wants no more ov' em. They tried hard
to git me to Canada; but I got all I wants of Canada, An' I tell you,
Massa Carpenter, all I wants is one good stiddy home. I don't want
this money; it's yourn."

His master was well pleased, and told all his neighbors how happy his
Tom was to get back again, and gave all the money he had earned since
he had been gone. It was a long time before neighboring planters had
the confidence in Tom that his master had, and they told him that Tom
should never step his foot on their plantations; but he told them all
that he had perfect confidence in Tom's honesty. "He came back
perfectly disgusted with abolitionists; he said they will work a
fellow half to death for low wages. And he even patched his old suit,
himself, that he wore off. And I have found the reason why he left. He
and Liz had a quarrel, and now he don't care a fig about her; and I
heard yesterday that her master says he'll shoot him if he dares to
come on his plantation. But he needn't worry; for you couldn't hire
Tom to go near Liz."

Tom's master told him all the planters were afraid of him, and said he
would play a trick on him yet.

"I'll stay at home, then, and won't even go out to meetin's, till all
ov 'em will see I means what I says."

"That's right, Tom; they don't know you like I do. Bat I told them
't would do all the niggers good just to hear your story about the
meanness of abolitionists. You know, Tom, that was just what I told
you, that they pretended to be your friends, but they were your worst
enemies."

"Yes, massa, I al'us bleved you; and if Liz hadn't cut up the way she
did I never'd tried 'em."

All things went on smoothly with Tom. He was never more trusty,
diligent, and faithful in all that pertained to his master's interest.
Three months still found him contented and happy, and the constant
praise he received from his master to his neighbors began to inspire
them with sufficient confidence to permit him to attend their meetings
occasionally, though he did not appear anxious to enjoy that privilege
until his master proposed his going, and then he was careful to attend
only day meetings. Neighboring white people often talked with him
about his Northern trip, and all got the story he had told his master,
until Tom became quite a pet missionary, as his reports went far and
near, among both whites and blacks. After Lizzie's master became quite
satisfied with her hatred toward Tom, he allowed the hound, which he
kept over two months to watch for Tom, to go back to the keeper.
Though Tom and Lizzie lived eight miles apart, they had a secret
dispatch-bearer, by whom they reported to each other; but visits were
very few and far between.

One day, in her "clarin-up time," Lizzie came across a bundle
containing a Sunday suit, placed in her cabin when Tom left for the
North, which she took occasion to have a good quarrel over. Taking
them into her mistress, the master being present, she said, "Missus,
that'll I do wid dese ole close Tom lef, when he get mad an' run'd off
to spite me; now I'll burn 'em up or giv' 'em to de pigs for nes', I
ain't gwine to hav' 'em in my way any longer."

"Oh, don't burn 'em up, can't you send 'im word to come and get 'em?"

"I sends 'im no word, if he never gets 'em; I'd heap better giv' 'em
to de hogs."

Turning to another house servant, her mistress said, "Dil, you tell
Page's Jim when he goes to that big meeting your people are going to
have next week, to tell Tom to come and take his truck away, or Liz
will pitch 'em in the fire for 'im."

But there was no hurry manifest, after he got the word. Tom's master
told him he had better go and get his clothes or Liz might destroy
them. Said our George, "One Saturday evenin' I went to have my las'
quarrel with Lizzie. I called her bad names, an' she flung back mean
names, an' twitted me with runnin' away to make her feel bad, when she
didn't care a picayune for me; an' I tole her I never wanted to see
her face agin, an' we almos' cum to blows."

A few months after this there was a holiday, and Tom was so faithful,
his master gave him permission to visit his aunt, six miles distant in
an opposite direction from Lizzie's home, and she too got permission
to visit her friends five miles away, but not towards Tom's master.
The plan laid in his midnight visit was to start after sundown, and go
until dark in the direction of the place each had their permission to
go, and then go for Licking River; and she was to go up the river,
while he was to go down, until they met. He was to secure the first
skiff with oars he could find to aid them down the river with all
possible speed to the Ohio. They succeeded in making good time after
they met, until day dawn overtook them, when they hid the skiff under
a clump of bushes, and the oars they took the precaution to hide some
distance away in case the skiff was discovered and taken away. They
secreted themselves still further in the woods, but not so far but
they could watch their tiny craft through the thicket. Much to their
discomfiture a number of boys found their skiff, and had a long hunt
for the oars, but not succeeding, furnished themselves with poles and
pushed out of sight to the great relief of the temporary owners, so
near being discovered during the hunt for the oars. At ten o'clock,
when all was still, they crept out of their hiding-place, took their
oars, and hunted two hours before they found another skiff. Though
smaller and harder to manage than the one they lost, yet they reached
the Ohio just at sunrise. Two men on the opposite side of Licking
River hallooed, "Where are you going?"

"To market, sir."

"What have you got?"

"Butter an' eggs, sir."

As he saw them in the skiff and pushing toward them, he expected every
moment to be overhauled, but he pulled with all his might for the
opposite shore, and did not dare look back until they had reached the
middle of the river, when, to their great relief, the two men had
given up the chase and turned back, and had almost reached the place
of their starting. He said Lizzie trembled so hard that the coat over
her shook, so great was her fear. Said Lizzie, "I reckon the owner of
the coat shook as hard as I did when you was pullin' for life. I specs
you sent fear clare down into them paddles you's sweattin' over;" and
they had a good laugh over fright and success.

With George there was no fear after entering the basement of Zion
Baptist Church, his old hiding-place. As soon as the report came to us
that a man and his wife had just arrived, I called to learn their
condition and needs, and asked the woman who had charge of the
basement to tell them a friend would call to see them, as new-comers
were always so timid. A voice from the adjoining room was heard to
say, "Come right in, Mrs. Haviland, we are not afraid of you;" and as
the fugitive clasped my hand in both of his, I exclaimed, "Where have
you seen me?"

"Don't you mind Jim and George you giv' a basket full of close to las'
Summer? You giv' me the linen pants an' blue checked gingham coat and
straw hat, an' you giv' Jim thin pants and coat and palm-leaf hat; and
don't you mind we went out in a market-wagon to a Quaker settlement?"

"Yes, but how came you here again?"

"It was for this little woman I went back." Then he went over his
managing process, as above related.

As I was soon to go to my home in Michigan, it was proposed by our
vigilance committee that this couple, with Sarah, who made her escape
over a year previously, should go with me. Sarah was to be sold away
from her little boy of three years for a fancy girl, as she was a
beautiful octoroon and attractive in person. She knew full well the
fate that awaited her, and succeeded in escaping. She was an excellent
house servant, and highly respected by all who made her acquaintance
for her sterling Christian character and general intelligence. She had
lived in a quiet Christian family, who gave her good wages, but she
did not dare to risk her liberty within one hundred miles of her
former home.

A few days after the arrival of George and wife a mulatto woman and
her daughter of sixteen, bound South from Virginia, left a steamer and
joined our company. While waiting for a certain canal-boat, the owner
and captain being friendly to our work, another young man joined us.
These we received at different points to avoid suspicion. Before we
reached the third bridge we were overtaken by Levi Coffin with
another young man, whom he had instructed implicitly to regard all the
lessons I might give him. I gave them all a charge to say nothing of
going farther than Toledo, Ohio, and talk of no farther back than
Cincinnati.

While on our way George pointed at a wire, and told his wife it was a
telegraph-wire, at which she dodged back, and for a moment seemed as
badly frightened as though her master had been in sight. It was a
lucky thing for us that no stranger happened to be in sight, as her
fright would have betrayed them. Even an assurance from George that
the wires could do no harm, could hardly satisfy her, until he appealed
to me to confirm his statement, that it was the operators at each end
of the wires that gave information.

The day before we reached Toledo one of the drivers left, and the
steersman employed our boy William, with the consent of the captain. I
told George to tell William I wanted to see him at the expiration of
the time set for him to drive. He came into the cabin, while the other
passengers were on deck, and told me all the hands seemed very clever,
and the steersman told him he would find a good place for him to work
in Toledo, and that he would see that he had good wages. He asked him
various questions, that led him to disclose his starting point,
Vicksburg, Mississippi. As he was so very friendly he answered all his
queries, even to his master's name. This I had charged him not to
give. As George and the other colored man saw the steersman and
another man employed on the boat so very intimate, and careful to keep
William with them, they began to fear for their own safety. There came
up a sudden shower during William's time to drive, and he got
thoroughly drenched; and as he had no change of garments, the steersman
and the other boys of the boat furnished him out of their own
wardrobe. It had now become difficult for me to secure an interview
with William, on account of his close friends, and I became as fearful
of the telegraph wires as was Mary, over whom we had a little sport.

But William began to fear all was not right, and regretted having told
this man of his condition, and made an errand on deck, as he saw me
sitting alone. He told me all he had said to the steersman. I told him
to appear very careless, and say nothing, but to appear as if he was
going with the steersman, as he had suggested. As we should be in
Toledo in three hours, I would go into the city, and the women and
George would follow me to a place of safety. Then I would return for
my shawl, that I should leave on the boat. By that time, the
passengers would all have left, and he and the other young man must
remain about the boat. Then I would watch the opportunity, and when I
went out, I should turn short corners, but give them time to keep me
in sight. Accordingly, I returned for my shawl, but made no haste to
leave until those close friends entered a saloon; then was our time; I
gave them the wink and left for a place of safety.

After I had put one and two in a place, my next work was to solicit
money to pay our fare to Canada, on a boat that was to leave at 9 A.
M. the next day. Here were six fares to pay to Detroit, as Sarah had
sufficient to pay her own. The friends in Cincinnati had paid their
fare to Toledo. It was now nearly night, and I had but little time;
but I succeeded by nine o'clock the next morning, leaving a colored
man to conduct them to the boat; with hardly five minutes to spare I
reached the boat, with my living freight.

Once out in the lake we felt quite secure. Yet there was a possibility
of a telegram being sent to William's master, and danger of being
overtaken by officers in Detroit. Knowing of their anxiety to see
Canada, I waited until we were near enough to see carriages and
persons on the road on the other side. When I said to George's wife
"There is Canada." "It ain't, is it?" "It is, certainly. It is where
no slave-owner can claim his slave." She ran to her husband to tell
the good news. But neither he nor the balance of them believed her,
and all came running to me. "That ain't Canada, is it?" Being assured
that the land of freedom was in full view, with tears of joy they
gazed upon their "House of Refuge," and within forty minutes we were
there. And to see them leap for joy was rich pay for all my care in
their behalf. George and Jake had both armed themselves with deadly
weapons, in case of an attempt to capture them, resolving on liberty
or death. I left each with fifty cents and returned to my own sweet
home.

I found the large building unfinished. As the first buildings were
temporary, they were unsuitable for students to occupy another Winter,
which would be the eleventh Winter our school had been in successful
operation. Brother Patchin, our principal, was called to another field
as pastor and teacher, and would go if the new building was not ready
for use by the following academic year. While these probabilities were
under consideration, brother J. F. Dolbeare was taken from us, after a
short illness. As he was an important trustee, and an active Christian
worker, his loss was severely felt. We had a few months previously met
with a similar loss in the death of another trustee, our valued friend
and brother, Elijah Brownell, a minister of the Society of Friends.
Surely dark clouds again overhung our favorite institution, in which
many of our students were taught in the school of Christ, before they
came to us, and many out of the hundreds who had enjoyed the
privileges of our school, we had good reasons for believing, yielded
their young hearts to the loving Savior's invitation while with us.
With the undying interests of the youth so near my heart, it was a
trial to have our school suspended a year; but what could I do? I must
keep up the ten per cent interest on three hundred dollars of my
indebtedness, and could not contract five hundred dollars more to
finish the institution building erected on the acre of ground I had
given for that object. It was enclosed, and a portion of the floors
laid, and doors and windows cased. This had cost over one thousand
dollars for a building thirty by fifty-six feet.

As the farm was still carried on by my married children, I concluded
to return to Cincinnati and engage in nursing the sick during the cold
season, as the cough to which I was subject was returning. All things
considered, the conclusion was reached to suspend Raisin Institute one
year at least. An Oberlin scholarship was presented me for my daughter
Laura Jane, who decided to take a gentleman's collegiate course. Not
only my financial pressure seemed to direct toward that more southern
field, but the cause of those who were thirsting for liberty, and were
almost daily leaving boats or crossing the river, was also a strong
incentive to occupy a post near the Southern end of the road whose
Northern terminus was in Queen Victoria's dominions.

Many of my friends thought me presuming to venture so near those who
had threatened my life repeatedly, and in the hand-bills of the
Tennesseans (report said) there was offered $3,000 reward for my head.
Thomas K. Chester stated in a letter that he had sent them to a number
of the Southern States, to let them know what sort of sisters they had
in the North. But J. F. Dolbeare, on the night before his death,
called me to his bedside, and, taking my hand in his, said, "Sister
Haviland, you have passed through close and trying places in your
work, and your anti-slavery mission is not yet finished. Your trials
are not over. Greater dangers are for you to pass through--I see it.
O, may the Lord prepare you for the work he has for you to accomplish!
He has sustained you thus far. He will grant you his protecting arm. I
know it." I have often had occasion to remember the words I listened
to in that solemn hour, during thirty years that have since passed.

A slave-owner from New Orleans, with his wife, three children, and
their nurse, Maria, were bound for Cincinnati. When at Louisville, he
was told if he was going to spend the Summer in Cincinnati he'd be
sure to lose his servant-girl, "as that city is cursed with free
negroes and abolitionists." At this unpleasant information, Champlin
and his wife concluded to make their temporary home in Covington,
instead of Cincinnati, to the great disappointment of Maria, as she
and her husband had been over two years in saving all their little
silver pieces, until the amount was one hundred dollars, which was to
be used in taking her to Canada.

As this "Northern trip" had been calculated two or three years before,
and as they went to no place without their faithful nurse, the slave
couple also made their plans. Her husband told her, as she would have
a good opportunity to secure her freedom, he would manage to secrete
himself on some through boat, and meet her in Canada; and he could go
with less money than she could, and insisted upon her taking all they
had saved. But after Maria found they were going to hire rooms and
board in a hotel in Covington, she went to the trunk that contained
her clothes and the children's, and to her great disappointment her
hundred dollars, that she had so securely tied in a little rag and
rolled in her garments, was taken out by her mistress, who never
pretended to go to her trunk for any thing, having no care whatever of
her children's wardrobe. But she must hide her feelings by putting on
a cheerful face, though she felt as though all her hopes of freedom,
of which she had so fondly dreamed, were blasted forever.

She found her task, as usual, was to keep the wardrobe of her mistress
and the children in order, and care for the children day and night. A
few days elapsed, and she asked her mistress if she would please give
her money to purchase herself a pair of shoes, as she heard they were
cheaper here than at home. She said she would either get her shoes or
give her the money in a few days; but neither shoes nor money came.
Two and three weeks passed, and Maria ventured to repeat her request;
but the reply was, "Your shoes are good enough for a while yet."

While her master and mistress were over the river, she frequently took
the children to the river, to amuse them in looking at boats and in
picking up pebbles on the bank, when her longing look was noticed by a
white man, who ventured to ask her if she would like to go across the
river. She told him, if she did, she had no money to give to any one
who would take her. After learning that her master's residence was in
New Orleans, he told her, if she would never let any one know that he
had ever said or done any thing about helping her, let what would
happen, he would take her over without any thing, in the night,
whenever she could get away; but if it was ever known there it would
ruin him. She promised; and as no one was near, and the three children
playing at a little distance, he pointed her to a large root on the
bank, under which she could hide, and there wait until she heard a low
whistle near the root, when she could come out and step into a skiff
without saying a word, and he would muffle the oars so as not to be
heard, and take her to a colored family he knew over the river, where
she would be safe until they would send her on to Canada.

"But how can I go on, when I's got no money?"

"They know of a way to send such people as you without money. You'll
get with those over there who will see you safe; never fear."

"I never can tell you," she said, in relating her story, "how strange
I felt about sich good news as this, and wondered if it could be true.
I jus' trimbled like a popple leaf all the evenin'. Master and missus
was over in the city to a lecture on Fernology, and didn't get back
till twelve o'clock. I kep' the chillen awake later'n common, so
they'd sleep sounder. Then I tied my clothes up in a tight bundle, an'
had my shoes an' hat whar I'd lay han's on 'em, an' put out the light.
I was snorin', when missus looked in an' said, 'All's asleep--all
right;' an' I waited till the clock struck one, an' all still. I crep'
sof'ly out on the street, and down to the root, an' waited for a
whistle. The clock struck two. O, how long! Will that man come?
Chillen may cry, an' missus fin' me gone. Had I better wait till it's
three o'clock? May be he can't come. He said, if any thing happen he
couldn't come to-night, I mus' go back, an' try another night. An'
'bout as I began to think I better go back come the whistle. I stepped
in, an' we went over; but the clock struck three before we got half
across, an' he was mighty fear'd he couldn't get back afore daybreak."

News reached us during the day that a woman crossed the river early,
and was so near it as to be dangerous for a hiding-place; and it fell
to my lot to see her in a safe place as soon as the darkness of night
would shield us from being detected by Champlin and his aids, who were
already seen at street corners. I took a black Quaker bonnet and a
drab shawl and a plain dress-skirt in a market-basket, with which to
disguise our fugitive.

I found her in a dark room, where I fixed her up for a walk; and she
told me of her loss of the hundred dollars, but I told her all would
be well without it. I instructed her to take my arm as we went, and
take good care to limp all the way, for we should pass plenty of
Kentuckians. Thickly veiled, we walked half a mile, turning short
corners to elude watchers, if any, from our starting-point. As we went
up Central Avenue to Longworth, we passed through a crowd, one of whom
said:

"I'm going to line my pockets to-night. Thar's five hundred dollars
reward out."

Said another, in a low tone, "When did she cross?"

"Last night some time, they say."

My Quaker sister, limping at my side, was trembling, I sensibly felt,
as she hung upon my arm, as we listened to these remarks from her
pursuers. I took her to a very intelligent colored family on Longworth
Street, who were well known to us as true friends.

Although I had passed her pursuers without fear, yet when Levi Coffin
informed me that Ruffin, the greatest slave-hunter in the city, had
just moved next door to Burgess, where I left Maria, my fears were
almost equal to Maria's. "Laura, thou hast left thy fugitive with a
good family, but in a poor place," said our venerable friend. "But
wait until to-morrow evening, when thou hadst better give her another
move, as I know they will use all possible care." The following evening
Levi and friend Hughes were to be on Central Avenue near Longworth
Street, and as I came out with my Quaker woman, they were to walk half
a block ahead and turn on Ninth Street to his house, and if sister
Catherine's sign appeared on the balcony of the second story, we were
to ascend the outside flight of steps, and take her up to the attic in
the fourth story.

Champlin had doubled the reward, and was raving with rage over the
loss of their nurse. He said he would have her if he had to "set one
foot in hell after her," cursing and swearing in a perfect foam; and
said a thousand dollars should be doubled but what he would have her.
As the streets were too well lighted, to give her the appearance of a
white person through the veil, I called for a saucer of flour, with
which I thoroughly powdered her face. Before her veil was adjusted she
happened to look up and saw herself in the large mirror before her,
and burst into a laugh over her white face and Quaker bonnet. I gave
her a shake as I placed my hands over her shoulders: "Don't laugh
loud, for your liberty's sake. Remember the next door neighbor would
get his thousand dollars reward from Champlin, if he could know you
are here." "I won't look at that glass ag'in, I looks so quare."

I took her on the front walk, and following our previous plans, at the
invitation of the white cloth on the balustrade, we soon found
ourselves in the attic. She remained here two weeks, not daring to
move in any direction, as the wealthy New Orleans planter's biped
bloodhounds were seen and heard from in almost every direction through
the city.

As there was in this case an unusual excitement, the editor of the
Cincinnati _Commercial_ inserted a little note in his paper, of the
escape of the New Orleans nurse from her owners, who were boarding at
White Hall Hotel in Covington; and that the mistress had taken one
hundred dollars from the nurse previous to their arrival at their
destination. The day following this notice Champlin came to the
_Commercial_ office and demanded the authority the editor had for
charging his wife with stealing from their servant. For whether it was
he or any one else, it would prove a dear job to vilify his wife like
this, for he'd have their life or $3,000; and swore nothing short
would settle it. He told the editor he would give him till ten o'clock
the next morning, when he should come prepared for the settlement
(referring to his pistols, which he knew how to use). At once Levi
Coffin received a call from the editor for advice, as he was his
informant. During this interview, Catherine came into our room, saying,
"Laura, they are in a tangle with that New Orleans slave-holder, and
they want thee to help straighten it." Going in, I was introduced to
the editor, and main proprietor of the _Commercial_, and they related
the difficulty.

"Now," said Levi, "this young man has invested in this firm all he is
worth, and Champlin will probably ruin his business if he fails to
give his authority for stating Maria's loss of her hundred dollars;
and as I gave him these facts, in case he gives my name as authority,
he will then come upon me, and make trouble, as Champlin seemed
determined upon vengeance."

After a little reflection over these statements and threats I told
them I did not see but I came next, as I told Levi these facts, which
I took from Maria and the family where she was first secreted. And as
I had no property in Ohio, and the little I owned in Michigan I had
arranged to keep from slave-holders, I would stand in the gap and our
young friend might refer to me as authority, if compelled to give it,
rather than lose his life, or property even.

Said Levi, "This is liable to terminate in a serious affair. It would
lay thee liable to imprisonment if he is so disposed, and thy children
in Michigan would feel very sad over such an event."

I replied that I did not fear of remaining long in prison, neither did
I believe he was going to be permitted to put me there, but at all
events I was fully prepared to allow my name to be given. With this
conclusion our young friend left us, saying that if he could manage
that exasperated man without naming me, he would do so. We were all
anxiously waiting to see the result of the fearful meeting at the hour
of ten the following day. Champlin was there at the hour, with the
stern query, "Are you ready, sir, to give me your authority, or abide
the consequences?"

"I am, sir. The colored family where she first stopped informed us."

"Do you take a nigger's testimony?"

"Certainly I do. They are respectable and honest, though poor."

After pouring forth a volley of oaths, and saying he wouldn't stoop so
low as to notice what a nigger would say, for they were all a pack of
liars, he left the office, to the great relief both of the editor and
ourselves. Very soon he came to us with the pleasing report, how those
pistols, so full of powder, flashed in the pan.

But the slave-hunters were still so numerous, it was thought best to
dress her up for another walk, and I took her to a family near
Fourteenth Street, and wrote a letter in Maria's name to her master,
dated it ahead, and from Windsor, Canada West, and sent it enclosed in
a letter to a friend at that place, with directions to mail it to the
master at the date I had given. Maria informed her master Champlin
that Canada was not the cold barren country he had always told her it
was, for they raised great fields of corn, and potatoes, peas and
beans, and everything she saw in Kentucky; and that she had found the
best of friends ever since she left home, and signed her name.

In less than two weeks Kitty Darun's niece came in great haste to
inform us that "Champlin had got poor Maria, and Aunt Kitty is nearly
crying her eyes out over the sad news that a colored man brought over
last night."

"That is all a mistake."

"Oh, no, it's no mistake, for that colored man worked near White Hall
yesterday, and he said the report was just flying."

I hushed her loud words, and whispered, "I can take you to Maria in
ten minutes, I know just where she is."

"Are you _sure_, and may I go tell Aunt Kitty?"

"Go and whisper it, for there are but few friends who know she is
still in the city, because of the close search made for her, that is
still kept up."

The next day she came to us with another story, "That he didn't get
Maria, but got a letter from her in Canada. And that was the current
report."

I told her, "I understood that too, and would tell her all within a
few weeks."

The result of this letter was a withdrawal of all the hired hunters
within twenty-four hours, and during three days' quiet two young men
came from a few miles distant across the river, who got the privilege
of a holiday, and of spending it nearly ten miles farther from the
river than was their home. As they left the night before, they would
have until the next morning before being missed.

As Cazy (one of our vigilance committee) came before sunrise to inform
us of the new arrival, Catharine Coffin came to my bed-room and gave
me a call: "Come, Laura, here are more runaways; Cazy is here and they
want thee." In less than five minutes there were four of us to decide
on the plan of securing the newcomers and the one on our hands. "What
shall we do? Our funds are out, we haven't a dime in our treasury,"
said Cozy.

"We must get enough to take then; two young men and Maria out as far
as the Stubbs settlement to-night," I replied; "for you see all is
quiet now over Maria, and by to-morrow the city will fill up again
with slave-hunters."

"That is what I told Cazy before thou came in; but he says he has a
job on his hands he can not leave," said Levi.

"Where Is Hughes?"

"I don't believe I could get him to leave his work to see to it; but
may be he'll go for you," wild Cazy.

"I'll try." And throwing on my shawl and bonnet, called on Hughes, and
told him he must go and take Maria and two young men who had just
arrived this morning.

"But what can we do without money?"

"I'll get it to-day. What amount is wanting?"

"It will take eight dollars to hire a close carriage and team to go
thirty miles to-night, and I must be back to my work by eight o'clock
tomorrow morning."

"I'll have that ready before night."

"Then I'll call at Uncle Levis's at noon, and see whether you are sure
of success in getting the money; then I will call at the livery on my
return to my work and engage the carriage and team, to be ready by
seven and a half o'clock this evening."

When he called at noon I had four dollars in money and a traveling
suit for Maria, and knew just where I could get the balance. Now for
the plan of starting. I told him he must manage the two men and I
would manage for Maria. "But there are two toll-gates that are closely
watched for colored people, and I want you to go with us past those
gates, as two white persons in front would pass the load; not seeing
any colored people, they would make no inquiries. As Catherine's
health was poor, and cholera was raging in the city, she was not
willing I should remain away over night, and Levi secured William
Beckley to follow us a little distance behind until we had passed
those gates, when I was to return with him. The carriage, with our
company, was to be driven up Central Avenue as far as the orphan
asylum, and halt for Maria and myself; and as he passed the street she
was on, Hughes was to take out his white pocket handkerchief and wipe
his face, while William Fuller, at whose house Maria was secreted, was
to walk on the street at the time appointed to watch for the signal;
when discovered, as he turned toward the house, we were to step out on
the street, and walk the half block where our carriage was in
waiting."

But in this we found it necessary to adopt my old rule of being
carelessly careful, as there were Kentuckians in their rented houses
each side of William Fuller's, and they were overheard to say three
days before, that they believed they had "niggers hid at Fuller's, for
the blinds in the second story hadn't been opened in two weeks." The
weather being warm, and the rising of the full moon, and their next
door neighbors sitting on their front porches, all combined to bring
us into full view. As we were watching for the moment to start Maria
took up her bundle of clothes; but I told her the least appearance,
aside from common callers, would create suspicion, and we must send
them after her. "But they's all I got, an' I will never see 'em
ag'in," said Maria, sorrowfully.

"But your liberty is of more value than a cart load of clothes."

"Oh, yes, I knows it; but I can't even change."

"Hand them to me," and they were opened and tightly rolled into the
shape of a six months' baby in a trice; and, as I rolled it in a
shawl, I said, "I'll carry the baby myself." The watchful wife says,
"William is turning back, and I will walk to the corner with you." As
we reached the gate, the neighbors in full view, sister Fuller's
little girl called, "Mamma, I want to see the baby; I didn't know that
woman had a baby." The frightened mother tried to hush her in a
smothered voice, that I feared would betray her excitement. "Let her
go with us, mother," said I. "But auntie hasn't time now to let little
sis see the baby; wait till next time we call, because we are late,
and our folks will be waiting for us." And as we leisurely walked
along, sister Fuller invited us to come another time to make a longer
call.

After turning the corner, our sister and little girl left us, and we
quickened our pace to the carriage we saw in waiting. Friend Hughes
stood by the hitching-post, but looked wild with excitement when he
saw me turn to the carriage, as he knew there was no baby aboard; and
as he had hitched in a darker place than near the entrance, he did not
recognize us. But as I gave my baby a toss in the carriage, saying,
"This is part of our company; take care of my baby," he recognized my
voice. "O, yes; this is one of your tricks." Soon we were seated, and
on our way. We passed the two fearful gates with a sharp look by each
keeper, and half a mile beyond I proposed to return; but friend Hughes
said there was a short piece of woods ahead to pass through, then the
coast would be clear the balance of the way, and he would rather I
would go through the woods with them. Just before entering the grove
we heard the loud talking, singing, and laughing of ten or a dozen men
we were going to meet.

As this boisterous company appeared before us, Hughes turned to the
two men behind us, and said, "Are your pistols ready?"

"Yes, sah;" and each took from his own pocket a six-shooter.

"Boys, if those men attempt to take our horses by the bits, and I say,
_Fire!_ will you do it?"

"Yes, sah."

Said I, "Hughes, be careful, be careful. Your excitement will betray
us if you are not _very careful_."

"We don't know what rabble we are going to meet, and I propose to be
ready fur 'em."

"There is nothing known of this company, and I know we are safe."

"I don't know it; and if they make the first move to stop us, be
ready, boys."

"All ready."

There were two six-shooters behind me, and one in the hand of Hughes,
that I feared much more than all the slave-holders in Kentucky.

But we were soon relieved by the remark of one, as we were passing,
"It was well we stopped that bent from falling, or't would have killed
Smith as dead as a hammer." We found by this that they had been to the
raising of a building, and a number of them were more than half drunk.

After going a mile or two farther, and our excitement was over, I took
leave of our company, with a charge to keep quiet and all would be
well, and returned to Levi Coffin's by twelve o'clock. The following
morning we received a good report from our conductor, Hughes, of the
safe delivery of this valuable freight in the Quaker settlement depot,
where they were forwarded to Canada.




CHAPTER VI.

FUGITIVE SLAVES ASSISTED.


The exciting intelligence reached us that Clara and her three little
ones were about to be captured by slave-holders in the city, on Pearl
Street. I called on her at once, and found the house was surrounded
the night before by strangers, who were followed to a hotel, and on
the record the name of her master's son was found. Poor woman! She had
passed through great suffering in making her escape with her two
children; a third was born in Cincinnati--yet it too must share the
anticipated fate of its mother. She had always been a house-servant,
but found the death of her master was about to make great changes, he
being deeply in debt. By the aid of a chambermaid she was secreted on
a boat, and kept the two children drugged with opiates until she
feared they would never come to life. But after her arrival, under the
care of a skillful physician, they survived. She had found good
friends among her own people and Church two years. I found her
weeping, with the two youngest in her arms, the oldest sitting on a
stool at her feet. With fast-falling tears she kissed her babes. "O
ma's precious darlings, how can I spare you!" I told her if her master
did not come for her until it was dark enough to conceal her,
arrangements were made to come for her with a close carriage, to take
them out of the city to a place of safety.

"I reckon you can't save us," she sobbed.

I told her we would pray the Lord, who knew all her deep sorrow, to
open the way for us.

"Yes, I cried mightily to him to help me out o' that dark land back
yonder, and it 'peared like he did bring me out; but if I had stuck
closer to him I reckon he'd kep' me from this hard trial;" and fresh
tears freely flowed.

With my hands on her shoulders, my tears mingled with hers. In broken
sentences, she referred to the separation of her husband when he was
sold and taken down the river.

I left her, with a heavy heart, yet strong hope that her young master
(as she called him) would be defeated.

At twilight, I called to assist in getting them ready to jump into the
carriage that our friend William Fuller would drive to the door within
fifteen minutes; and being ready, we were in the carriage turning the
first corner within a minute, and left them in charge of an
underground railway agent, who took them on his train as soon as their
clothing and pocket-money were forwarded to them, to the great relief
of many anxious hearts.

A little past nine o'clock, her master and his posse surrounded the
house, and lay in wait until the stillness of the midnight hour was
thought most favorable to pounce upon their prey and hurry them to the
river, where they had a boat in waiting for them. Then their force was
increased, and an entrance demanded. The owner of the house (a colored
man) refused admittance without legal authority, although threats of
breaking down the door or windows were made; but they were resisted
with returning threats of shooting the first man that dared to enter
without proper authority. As they were expecting an attack, the women
had left their home for the night. The watch was kept around the house
until morning approached, when the marshal, with his official papers,
was brought to claim Clara and three children. But to their great
disappointment, in searching the house, no Clara or children were
there. In great rage her master left, swearing vengeance upon him who
had kept them in suspense all night when he had spirited them away,
for he knew he had harbored his property in his house; but all the
reply he received was, "Prove it, if you wish." They got no track of
them until they heard from them in Canada.

A fugitive by the name of Jack secreted himself on a large steamer
from the lower Mississippi, and left it on landing in Cincinnati.
Being so far from his old home, he hired himself as a barber, in which
business he was very successful about two years, when his master
learned of his whereabouts. He made the acquaintance of a free colored
man by the name of Robert Russel, who was an idle, loafish mulatto,
sometimes working at little jobs in Cincinnati, and also in Covington.
In the latter place he fell in with the slave-holder, who was watching
for an opportunity to secure the aid of some one who would induce Jack
to come to the river, where he would hurry him onto the ferry, and get
him on the Kentucky side, when he could easily return him to the far
South. As he found Robert Russel a man of no principle, he gave him
ten dollars if he would decoy Jack to the wharf of Walnut Street
landing about noon, when men were generally at dinner. He succeeded,
when the master with his Kentucky friends slipped hand-cuffs on poor
Jack, and took him on the ferry for a thief. The more Jack protested,
denying the charge, the louder they cried thief! thief! Some of his
colored friends consulted their favorite lawyer, John Jolliffe, about
arresting Jack's master for kidnapping, as he had taken him illegally,
but they were told they could do nothing with him in Kentucky. They
were compelled to leave their friend to his fate.

But the Judas who betrayed Jack ought to be brought to justice; but
how could they do it? As I was at that time teaching a school of
colored girls, in the basement of Zion Baptist Church, a number of
colored men came to consult with me. I told them as Robert Russel was
a renegade he was as liable to serve one side of the river as the
other, and would as readily bring a slave to the Ohio side for ten
dollars, as to decoy him back into the hands of his master for that
money. They said Robert did not dare come into Cincinnati, fearing
that justice would be dealt out in tar and feathers by the colored
people. They learned soon after be came to the city that he ran away
from Ripley to avoid being arrested for stealing. I advised them not
to take the law of tar and feathers, as they had indicated, in their
own hands; but to spoil the petting he was getting from the slave-
holders across the river, by warning them against Robert Russel, for
he would as readily play the rogue one side as the other; and this
they could do in a little printed card that might be dropped on the
sidewalk through a few streets in Covington, and they would run him
out of their town in a hurry. This idea pleased them, and they wished
me to draft the card, and they would print and circulate it. I told
them I would take my noon recess to prepare it, and at 4 o'clock my
school would be out, and they might come for it. I gave it as follows:

       Slave-Holders of Kentucky!
     BEWARE OF THE ROGUE, ROBERT RUSSEL!

  Who absconded from Ripley, Ohio, to evade the strong arm of the law
  he richly deserved for misdemeanors in that town. This man is a
  light mulatto, and betrayed one of his race for ten dollars, in
  Cincinnati, bringing him into life-long trouble. He will as readily
  take ten dollars from any of your slaves to bring them to
  Cincinnati, and again take ten dollars to return them to you, as he
  has no higher purpose to serve than paltry self. A LOVER OF RIGHT.

This was printed on a placard of ten by twelve inches. They procured
two hundred for distribution, but found it more difficult to get a
distributor than they anticipated. I told one of them to go to Levi
Coffin's and inform him and his wife where I was going after my school
was dismissed, and that I would distribute them through Covington, but
to let no one else know of it, except their committee who secured the
printing, as it would produce increased excitement. I went a mile from
the river before commencing my work, and left one or two in every
yard, when no eye seemed directed toward me, I dropped them by the
street side until I reached the ferry that returned me to my anxious
friends in Cincinnati, just as the sun dropped behind the Western
hills.

The following day report gave an account of the evening's excitement
in Covington. A company of slave-holders met to consult over this
placard, and the conclusion was reached to give Bob Russel until nine
o'clock the following morning to leave the State or take the
consequences. Two slaves had left them within a couple of months, and
they charged him with taking them over the river. Some of the more
excitable were for hauling him out of bed at the close of their
meeting (ten o'clock), and dealing summary vengeance for their recent
losses, but as he pledged himself to leave their State the next
morning never to return, they left him to his own uncomfortable
reflections.

A party consisting of four, from New Orleans, came to Cincinnati to
spend the Summer, and made their home at a hotel. It was soon
ascertained by the colored people that their little nurse girl of
about nine years of age, was a slave, and as the master and mistress
had brought her there, she was by the laws of Ohio free. They took the
opportunity to coax her away and place her among their white friends,
who they knew would take good care of her. Very soon there was great
inquiry for Lavina. They said she was just a little pet they brought
with them to play with and mind the baby, and they knew she was stolen
from them against her will; but that if they could get sight at her,
she would run to them, unless she was forcibly held back by some mean
person. Diligent search was made among the colored people whom they
suspected, but no clew could be found of her whereabouts. They were
then advised to visit some prominent abolitionists, where they were
satisfied she had been taken. So close to Elizabeth Coleman's were
they watching, that she felt unsafe, fearing they might come in and
find her alone with her little pet fugitive, so she took her to Samuel
Reynold's by night.

The search continued. Samuel met the master on the street in front of
his house, but had left orders to dress Lavina in his little boy's
suit; and holding the master in conversation awhile, he said he would
call for Jim, to bring them a glass and pitcher of water, having
already told his wife to give Jim a few necessary instructions hew to
appear very smart and active. As she came out to give them drink,
Samuel gave the master and his two friends a few lessons in Ohio law,
informing him that all slaves brought into the State by their owners
were _free_. The master contended that it would be very cruel to
keep Lavina from her mother (who belonged to him), and he knew if he
could be allowed to see her it would be sufficient to convince them of
her attachment to him, and promised to leave the child to her own
choice. "But," said Samuel, "Lavina is on our underground railroad."
This was as new to the New Orleans slave-holder as were the Ohio laws
he had been explaining. After discussing the right and wrong of his
claim, Samuel called to his wife to send Jim with a pitcher of water;
and out came the little fellow. "Pour a glass of water for this
gentleman, Jim;" and their heated discussion continued. The master
took the glass from Jim, who looked him full in the face, with one
hand in his pocket, while Samuel was serving the other two gentlemen
with a glass of water. The women in the house were filled with fear,
as they deemed Samuel rather imprudent. But Jim returned with pitcher
and glass, and the master and his friends went back to the hotel none
the wiser, either of Lavina's whereabouts or of the operation of this
new kind of railroad. Lavina was well cared for, and her master and
mistress returned to New Orleans with a new experience, _minus_ a
nurse girl.

Another fugitive, by the name of Zack, came across the river from
Virginia into Ohio. He had lain in the woods by day, and traveled by
the North Star at night, when it was clear, but in rainy or cloudy
weather he found he was as liable to go South as North. There had been
much rain to impede his progress, and he suffered much from hunger. He
had advanced only a few miles from the river, when he found a family
of true friends, who replenished his clothing, and was preparing food
for his journey, when his master, with eight other men, found out
where he was, and came with officers to search the house and take
their prey. They came in the night and demanded entrance. "Wife, what
shall we do? There are men under every window."

"Let them search the two lower rooms first, and while you go with them
you tell Zack to slip into my room while you are with them, and I'll
see to him."

"But I tell you he can't be got out of this house without being
caught."

"Go on; I know that." And he left her and gave the frightened man his
orders. But before he reached her room she rolled up the feather-bed
and drew the straw mattress to the front side of the bedstead, and
told Zack to jump in. Her oder obeyed, she threw back the feather-bed,
and before the master and officer entered her room she was occupying
the front side of the bed. The clothes-press, wardrobe, and under the
bed were all closely scrutinized. The husband, pale with excitement,
was expecting, in every place they searched, that poor Zack would be
found. But they all left satisfied that he was not in that house,
though so very sure they had found the right place. The noble woman
said he shook with fear, so as to make the bed tremble during the
search, knowing but too well his sad fate if he should again fall into
the hands of his master. Every necessary measure was taken to hasten
his progress to Canada.

In December, 1852, Calvin Fairbanks, who had served a term of three
years in the Kentucky penitentiary for aiding slaves to escape, called
at Levi Coffin's and informed me of a letter he had received, giving
information that an interesting slave woman in Louisville, Kentucky,
could cross the river, if a friend would meet her at Jeffersonville,
Indiana, and take her to a place of safety; and he proposed to be the
conductor. I advised him, by all means, not to go so near Kentucky, as
he was so well known through that State. He said he expected we would
oppose him. I advised him to consult with Dr. Brisbane, as Levi was
absent. But he chose to keep the matter quiet, and went on his
dangerous expedition. I was called away to College Hill as nurse, and
in three weeks, when I returned to Levi's, he called me into the
store, saying, "We have a letter for thee to read; somebody is in
trouble, and Samuel Lewis, Dr. Brisbane and myself have been trying to
find out who it is, but can make out nothing by the letter. The
signature is of stars, that he says is the number of letters in the
name, but we can make nothing of it;" and he handed me the letter,
dated from Louisville jail.

As soon as I counted the six stars in the first name, I said, "Levi,
it is Calvin Fairbanks! Read out the last line of stars, and we'll
find Fairbanks."

At this point Dr. Brisbane entered the store.

"Doctor," said Levi, "Laura has found our riddle; she says it is
Calvin Fairbanks."

Both were astonished, not knowing he was down the river. I told them
of his call in Levi's absence, and of his errand.

"Poor man, how he will suffer, for they will soon find him out, and
they are so very bitter against him, I fear he will die in their
penitentiary, for they will have no mercy on him," said the doctor.

"He sends us an appeal for help, but I see no way we can render him
assistance," responded Levi.

A few weeks later a colored man, who had been mistaken for a slave,
was released from that jail. He came to us telling of the suffering
the prisoners endured, having no bed but a pile of filthy straw in
their cells; and that Calvin requested him to see his friends, and
tell us he must perish unless a quilt and flannel underclothing were
furnished him; and he also needed a little pocket money. No one dared
to take these articles to him, for only two weeks previously a man by
the name of Conklin had brought the wife and four children of an
escaped slave into Indiana, and was captured in the night. All were
taken to the river, and the poor woman and her children returned to
their owner, without her meeting the husband and father, who had sent
for them. Conklin was bound with ropes and thrown into the river,
where he was found a few days after. Four weeks before Williams, from
Massachusetts, followed two little mulatto girls who were stolen from
their free-born parents by a peddler, and found them near Baltimore,
Maryland. As soon as his errand was made known a baud of ruffians
lynched him.

These two cases of murder, without the semblance of law, had produced
much excitement in the North, and now the Fairbanks case was
increasing the exasperation of the South. But here was a suffering
brother in prison. A few days of earnest prayer determined me to go to
Louisville jail with a trunk of bed clothes and under flannels. I
looked for strong opposition from my friends, but to my surprise when
I proposed the plan to my friends Levi and Catherine Coffin, they
favored my project. Catherine did her full share in furnishing a
trunk, a thick comfortable and pillow; others soon brought a change of
flannels; and as Levi met friends and made known my project of going
to Louisville, the mites were brought to the amount of fourteen
dollars for Calvin, and enough to bear my expenses. Levi saw Captain
Barker, who possessed an interest in the line of packets running to
Louisville, and he offered half fare, and promised to send for me in
time for the Ben Franklin, No. 2, to leave for Louisville the next day
at 2 P. M.

Dr. Brisbane, on returning from an absence of a few days, told Levi
not to allow so rash a move, and said that I must not go to Louisville
in this excitement, for it was dangerous in the extreme; and he
referred to Conklin's fate, that was just as likely to be mine. This
so discouraged Levi, that he said, "It may be we have been too fast in
giving thee words of encouragement." My reply was, "I find no
geographical lines drawn by our Savior in visiting the sick and in
prison."

Here was a suffering brother, who had fallen among thieves, and I felt
it my duty to go to his relief. There seemed also a clear answer to
prayer that I should be protected; and if time would allow me to call
on Dr. Brisbane before I left for the boat, I would do so, as I
desired to see him.

"If thou art going, I advise thee not to call on the doctor, as I know
how he feels about thy going, and all thy reasons will not satisfy him
in the least."

I told him if the doctor or any one else would go, I should feel easy
to give it up, but otherwise I could not.

During this conversation Melancthon Henry came in, as he said, "with
his mite" of three silver dollars for brother Fairbanks. He said, "You
are going into the lion's den, and my prayer is that you may be as
wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove. I know the venom of the
serpent is there in power, but God will give his children the wisdom
without the poison." Melancthon was a son of Patrick Henry, who had
emancipated him with his slave mother. He was a member of the Wesleyan
Methodist Church, to which I was at that time attached.

Soon after Captain Barker sent for me, and told me to refer Colonel
Buckner to him in presenting my note of introduction, as he was
favorably acquainted with the colonel and he should mention me as one
of his friends.

Arrived at Louisville about day-dawn, I took a hack, and ordered the
hackman to place the trunk on the porch of the front entrance of the
jailor's residence. As the colonel's wife answered the door-bell, I
inquired for Colonel Buckner. She stepped back to call him, when in an
undertone I heard, "Who is it?" "I don't know; she came in the hack
and is genteelly dressed, and I think came from the boat."

He "genteelly" met me, took Captain Barker's letter of introduction,
and then introduced me to his wife and daughter, and to his wife's
sister from Boston, who was there on a visit with her daughter, making
quite a lively social circle. My errand was immediately made known,
and the colonel excused himself for overhauling the trunk to take its
contents to Calvin at once, as it was in the line of his duty as
keeper of the prison to examine every thing brought in for prisoners;
not that he expected to find anything improper for Fairbanks to
receive. I told him I designed returning to Cincinnati on the same
boat I came on, and it was going out at 4 P. M.

"Why go so soon?" he asked.

I replied, "My errand here is accomplished, when I see that these
things are delivered to Calvin Fairbanks; and as I have a little
pocket change, sent by his friends in Cincinnati, I would like to see
Calvin, as I shall write his mother after my return."

"I will see if the sheriff thinks it best. There was a great
excitement in the city when Fairbanks was arrested and brought here,
and Shotwell, the injured man who lost his servant Tamor and her
child, is very much enraged, and being a man of wealth and influence
here, I dare not take you in to see Fairbanks on my own
responsibility; but I'll see the sheriff, and if he says you can see
him it is all right."

With a little note from me he took the trunk of things to Calvin, and
brought back a receipt. As he handed it to me he said, "I suppose you
will recognize his handwriting, so you'll know it's from him?"

I replied that I had seen a note of his writing, but was not
familiarly acquainted with it, but was perfectly satisfied with the
receipt.

He said he had been to see the sheriff, but he was absent, and would
not return for two or three days, "and I think you had better wait,"
he continued, "and see him, as you can remain with us; it shall not
cost you a cent."

I told him my friends in Cincinnati would be at the wharf to meet me
the following morning; and as I had nothing further to accomplish,
being satisfied that the things and money had been received by Calvin
Fairbanks, I felt free to return. But he urged still harder.

"It will be too bad for you to return without seeing him, as you are
the only friend that has called to see him since he has been here; and
I know he wants to see you, for he asked if you were not coming in to
see him, and I told him I was waiting to see the sheriff; and I think
you had better wait till the boat makes another trip, as your stay
here is as free as air, and we would like you to stop over; then you
can see the sheriff, and I reckon he will not object to your going in
to see Fairbanks, and yet I dare not take you in without his
approval."

I at length consented. They were all very polite, and I rested as
sweetly that night as if in my own room at Levi Coffin's, or in my own
Michigan home. The next day the colonel was very free to talk of the
false ideas of Northern people about slavery; spoke of Elizabeth
Margaret Chandler's work on slavery, that I took from their center
table; said his wife's Boston friends sent it her, but "it was nothing
but a pack of lies."

I told him that she lived and died neighbor to me, and I esteemed her
as a noble woman.

"But she never lived in the South, and had no right to judge of their
condition without the knowledge of it."

I was introduced to a young man who he said had been suffering a few
days' imprisonment under false charges, but on the examination, had
that day, was found not guilty. As the family withdrew from the
parlor, this young man seemed very anxious to deliver a secret message
from Fairbanks to me; he said he had made a confidant of him, and told
him to request me to see to forwarding Tamor's trunk of valuable
clothing to a place of safety. He then told me the mark on the trunk,
and the place in Louisville where it was waiting to be forwarded. I
said that I had told the colonel I had no idea of Tamor's whereabouts,
as I had supposed she was taken with Fairbanks until informed to the
contrary; and that I had no business here whatever, aside from
bringing a few articles for his present relief.

After being absent awhile, he returned with a note purporting to be
from Calvin, inquiring whether I had made the acquaintance of persons
therein named. I told the bearer I had not, and if he saw Calvin he
could tell him so. He urged me to send Fairbanks a note, as the
colonel or any one else should know nothing of it; but I refused,
becoming satisfied that he was more of a dispatch-bearer for the
colonel than for Calvin Fairbanks. I learned afterwards that this was
true, and that he was released for the purpose of getting hold of
additional evidence with which to convict him, and perhaps convict
myself also.

In the evening a gentleman of their city made a call on the family,
and to him I was introduced. He spent an hour or two in conversation
with myself and the others. The jailer, Colonel Buckner, told me just
before I left that their city papers--Louisville _Courier_ and
Louisville _Commercial_--inserted a notice to the effect that
"Delia Webster, from Cincinnati, is here, and is quartered for a few
days in the city." This little notice created much excitement; and as
the gentleman alluded to knew Delia Webster personally, the colonel
brought him in to make my acquaintance and report accordingly. As he
passed out of the parlor, he told the colonel he might rest assured
that lady was not Delia Webster, and they had nothing to fear from
this Cincinnati lady, and he should set the editors right. All this
excitement was carefully kept from me, as they wished to keep me as
long as they possibly could, hoping to glean some additional evidence
against Fairbanks, although the jailer told me they had sufficient
evidence to convict Fairbanks for a term of twenty-five or thirty
years at least, as this was the second offense, and he had no doubt
but that he had been guilty of many others. The papers next day came
out with a correction, "that it was not Delia Webster, but Mrs.
Haviland, from Cincinnati; and, as abolitionists generally went in
pairs, she had better keep a lookout, or she, too, would find an
apartment in Colonel Buckner's castle."

Delia Webster was arrested near the time of Calvin Fairbanks's first
arrest, and for the same offense, and sentenced to the same
penitentiary, but in six weeks was pardoned.

The colonel was disposed to spend much time in discussing the merits,
or rather demerits, of abolition principles, which seemed to be a new
theme for this Methodist class-leader and jailor. He said:

"I want to convince you that you abolitioners are all wrong, for you
go against colonization, and you can't deny it; and if there was ever
a heaven-born institution it is colonization."

"Do you claim that God has conferred the prerogative to a man or set
of men to draw a line, and say to you or me. 'You shall go the other
side of that line, never to return?'".

"O no, that is a different thing. We belong to a different race."

"Whatever privilege you claim for yourself or I claim for myself, I
claim for every other human being in the universe, of whatever nation
or color. If the colored people choose to go to Africa. I have no word
to say against their removal; it is their right and their privilege to
go. And if they wish to go to any other part of our world they have
the same right with me to go."

"O no, not to Canada; for you have no idea of the trouble it makes us.
We expend thousands of dollars in preventing our slaves from going
there."

"That is the defect in your policy. It is the existence of your system
of slavery that makes you all this trouble." "As I told you of Miss
Chandler, so it is with you, because you never lived in a slave State,
and know nothing of their contented and happy condition. They have no
care; if they are sick the doctor is sent for, and they are as
tenderly cared for as our own children, and their doctor's bills are
paid. I know if you would live here a few months you'd see these
things very differently. You would see our slaves marching out to
their work, singing their songs and hymns as merrily as if they'd
never had a troubled thought in their heads. Here's my wife, born and
raised in Massachusetts, and now she thinks as much of our institution
of slavery as any of us who are raised here."

"If your slaves are so happy and contented, why do they make you so
much trouble in their effort to reach Canada?"

"O, there's free niggers enough to be stirring up the devil in their
heads; for their notions are not fit to mingle with our servants. And
there's the good the colonization of these free negroes is doing. I
know of one man that manumitted two of his slaves on purpose to have
them go to Africa as missionaries; and there is the design of
Providence in bringing those heathen negroes here to learn the Gospel
plan by Christ, to save the dark and benighted heathen of their own
country. We have reports from the two missionaries that I told you were
set free for that object, and their master sent them off to school a
year or more to fit them for their work."

"But why not give them all an opportunity of educacation, to enable
them to read the Bible and books and papers. That would improve the
race at home; and instead of sending them off, as you say, they would
be preachers here among their people."

"I tell you that wouldn't amount to any thing, as there are but few
that can learn any thing but work, and that they are made for. Their
thick skulls show that they can't learn books; and if you knew as much
about them as I do you'd see it too, but you are such an abolitioner
you won't see it."

I told him I had seen colored people in the North who were well
educated and intelligent.

"O yes, there are a few who can learn, but I speak of the race. They
are different from us, you know. Not only their skin is black and hair
curled and noses flat, but they stink so."

"But here is your house-servant, Mary, preparing your meals, setting
in order your parlor and private rooms, and waiting on the persons of
your wife and daughter--and her hair is as short and skin as black and
nose as flat as any you'll find; and yet this disagreeable smell only
troubles you in connection with the principle of freedom and liberty."

"You are such an abolitioner there's no doing any thing with you," he
rejoined, and left the room.

He soon returned, and said:

"There's another thing I want to talk with you about, and that is
amalgamation. If you carry out your principles, your children would
intermarry with negroes; and how would you feel to see your daughter
marry a great black buck nigger?"

"That is the least of my troubles in this lower world," said I. "But
as far as amalgamation is concerned, you have twenty cases of
amalgamation in the South to one in the North. I say this fearless of
contradiction; it is a fruitful product of slavery. There are hundreds
of slaves held as property by their own fathers. You'll find it
wherever slavery exists. You find it here in your own city,
Louisville."

Giving a shrug of his shoulders, he replied, "I will acknowledge this
is a sorrowful fact that can not be denied."

This ended his talk on that subject.

After supper we were all enjoying a social chat before a blazing grate
in the dining-room, and I was sitting near the kitchen door, that was
ajar, where were their slaves in hearing. In their presence I had
avoided answering some of his questions, but now a question was put
within their hearing, which seemed to demand a square reply, and I
gave it.

"I would like to know, Mrs. Haviland, where you abolitioners get your
principles of equal rights. I'd like to know where you find them."

"We find them between the lids of the Bible. God created man in his
own image--in his own likeness. From a single pair sprang all the
inhabitants of the whole earth. God created of one blood all the
nations that dwell upon the whole earth; and when the Savior left his
abode with the Father, to dwell a season upon our earthly ball, to
suffer and die the ignominious death of the cross, he shed his
precious blood for the whole human family, irrespective of nation or
color. We believe all are alike objects of redeeming love. We believe
our Heavenly Father gave the power of choice to beings he created for
his own glory; and this power to choose or refuse good or evil is a
truth co-existent with man's creation. This, at least, is my firm
conviction."

No reply was made, but, at his suggestion, we repaired to the parlor,
where other conversation was introduced, but no reference made to
Bible arguments.

During the time of waiting to see the sheriff the jailer's wife
frequently spent an hour or two in social conversation. She said they
never bought or sold a slave but at the earnest solicitation of the
slave.

"Our black Mary was one of the most pitiable objects you ever saw. She
was treated shamefully, and was put here in jail, where she lay three
months, and was so sick and thin there wouldn't any body buy her. I
felt so sorry for her I used to take her something she could eat, and
I had her clothes changed and washed, or I reckon she would have died.
She begged me to buy her, and I told Mr. Buckner that if she was
treated half decent I believed she would get well. So I bought her and
paid only four hundred dollars; and now you see she looks hale and
hearty, and I wouldn't take double that for her. But there is poor
black Sally, just four weeks ago today she was sold to go down the
river in a gang, and I never saw any poor thing so near crazy as she
was. She was sold away from her seven children. As I heard her screams
I threw my bonnet and shawl on and followed her to the river, and she
threw herself down on her face and poured out her whole soul to God to
relieve her great distress, and save her poor children. Oh how she
cried and prayed. I tell you no heart, not made of stone, could
witness that scene and not melt. Many shed tears over poor Sally's
prayer. A man standing by went to the trader and bought her, and went
and told her that he lived only eight miles away, and had bought her,
and she should come and see her children occasionally. She thanked him
as he helped her to stand up, for she seemed weak. But in just two
weeks from that day she died, and the doctors examined her, and said
she died of a broken heart. They said there was no disease about her,
but that she seemed to sink from that day, growing weaker and weaker
until she died. That was just two weeks ago to-day."

Her eyes frequently filled with tears as she related this sad
incident, and yet she could cheerfully say, "Oh, Mrs. Haviland, go
with me into the kitchen to see my nigger baby." As we entered the
kitchen there stood the mother by her fat, laughing baby, bolstered up
in his rude cradle of rough boards. "There, isn't that a fine boy?
he's worth one hundred dollars. I could get that to-day for him, and
he's only eight months old; isn't be bright?"

"He is certainly a bright little fellow."

As I looked at the mother I saw the downcast look, and noticed the
sigh that escaped a heavy heart, as she listened to the claim and
price set upon her little darling. It's mother, Mary, was ebony black,
her child was a light mulatto, which was in keeping with the story of
abuse to which she was compelled to submit, or else lay in jail.

During the afternoon of Friday a Mr. Adams, from South Carolina, came
to recognize and take his slave Jack. Said the colonel: "He was
decoyed by an abolitioner, and now you can see what your principles
lead to. There's Jack in the yard" (pointing toward the man). "His
master has just been in jail with me and talked with Jack, and I let
him out, and he's going around town with him to see if he can get his
eye on the rogue that enticed him away. You see he's a great, stout,
smart-looking fellow, and the rascal got sight at him, and saw him
alone, and asked him if he wouldn't like to be free, and be his own
master. He said he would. 'Then meet me at eleven o'clock by that big
tree near the road yonder, and I'll take you with me to Canada, where
you'll be a free man.' Jack met him at the place appointed, and they
vent on till daylight, then hid till night, and traveled on. 'Now,'
said this abolitioner if you will let me sell you in this little town
ahead, I'll be around here till near night, then I'll go on to the
next tavern (or I'll tell them so), but I'll stop in a little wood
this side, and wait for you till eleven or twelve o'clock, and you can
meet me, and I'll give you half I get for you, then well travel all
night again, when we'll be out of reach of their hunting for you. Then
we can travel by day-time, as you can call me master, and I'll call
you my body-servant.' Jack was now fairly in his hands, and did as he
directed. As he had divided the money with Jack he had confidence in
this mean fellow, and thought he would take him on to Canada. He met
him according to the plan, and, after traveling all night again,
another proposition was made to sell him again, and he would again
divide and give him half, which now amounted to a large sum for Jack.
But this was not the end of sales; for he played the same game over
and ewer, until they reached this city, when Jack was caught and put
in jail. After he'd been here three days he told me all about it, and
I took the money and wrote to Mr. Adams to come and get him. By the
time that abolitioner got here he had sold Jack seven times, and
divided with him every time. So, you see, that is just the fruit of
your principles."

I patiently waited until he finished his story, with its charges, when
it was my time.

"Colonel Buckner, I do not acknowledge this to be the work of an
abolitionist, This was a selfish, unprincipled man; he was making
himself rich, and probably was taking Jack down the river, and would
have kept on selling him, and dividing, until he would have sold him
for the last time, and then have taken from Jack all the money he had
given him from these clandestine sales. I have no word of sanction to
give to work like this; I should say his place was here in jail
instead of Jack. If Jack had come to us hungry and naked, we should
have fed and clothed him; and if sick with fatigue and footsore, we
should have given him a ride toward Canada, if he wished to go there;
but as for this man, I will not own him as an abolitionist. I
repudiate his work altogether."

"Oh, yes, he told Jack he was an abolitioner."

"Then he was a hypocrite. I want to suppose a case for you to
consider. Perhaps a fine appearing man comes into your city, attends
your Methodist meetings, and calls himself a Methodist. He speaks well
in your class meetings, speaks, prays, and sings in your prayer-
meetings, and you became very favorably impressed with him as a
Christian. He engages, perhaps, as clerk or bookkeeper in one of your
large business houses across the street, and during three or six
months appears so candid and punctual in all business transactions,
that they confide to his care important business. But the opportunity
arrives when he takes advantage of this confidence, and forges a draft
of $3,000, and it is cashed, and he is off, never to be heard from
again. Now as you learn of this dark deed, you have no idea of
acknowledging that man as a Christian brother, have you?"

"Oh, no, certainly not; we expect and know there are hypocrites."

"So do we expect hypocrites in our abolition ranks; but because of
counterfeit money we would not reject the true coin."

In the evening I was introduced to Mr. Adams, of South Carolina, with
whom we all seemed to enjoy free and easy conversation. He was quite
pleased to find his servant Jack, and a secret thought stole over me
that he was also pleased to get with him two or three times his value
in gold.

Sabbath morning Ben Franklin No. 2 packet came in, and I prepared to
go to the boat, as the jailor said the sheriff had not yet returned
from the country. Said the jailor:

"I don't like to have you leave without seeing Fairbanks, as you are
the only friend who has called on him. I have a great mind to assume
the responsibility of just taking you into the jail a few minutes
before you go."

"I would thank you very kindly," I said, "if you think it prudent; but
if not, I shall not urge you in the least."

"I reckon there can be no harm done. Come on, we'll go," and I
followed him into the jail, and he called for Fairbanks.

I met him under circumstances that had caused such bitter prejudices
against him that there was no shadow of probability that any thing
like justice would be shown him. Besides, there were forty sad faces
before me, of persons who, the jailer told me, had committed no crime,
but were placed there for _safe keeping_, as they had been
purchased in different places for the lower market. A gang was being
prepared by a trader, and these were all shades, from the ebony black
to those with fair skin, straight hair, and blue eyes, with hardly a
vestige of African descent. With this scene before me, I could not
restrain tears, neither were Calvin's eyes dry. As he held my hand in
both of his, he said:

"Let us keep good courage. I think I shall be released after my trial.
I want you to see my lawyer, Mr. Thruston; he says he will take my
case through for six hundred dollars."

I told him I had no power to indemnify a lawyer. And after I received
his note urging me to see him, I sent a note back by the keeper to
that effect.

"But if you can see him, he may fall in his price two hundred or three
hundred dollars. Don't leave without seeing him."

I told him I would have seen him if he had been in town on receiving
his note, and yet I could see no important benefit in securing an
interview with the lawyer, as his figures, unless greatly reduced,
were beyond our reach in Cincinnati.

"Perhaps he may reduce them if you see him."

With these beseeching words, with tearful eyes that brought tears to
the eyes of the colonel as well, the colonel said at once:

"I think you ought to comply with Fairbanks's request, and stay over
one more trip. You can stop with us and be welcome. If you choose to
call on Dr. Field, as Fairbanks has suggested, you can do so; but I
reckon it's your duty to see his lawyer."

Dr. Field was a practical abolitionist. Like Dr. Brisbane and James G.
Birney, he emancipated his own slaves, and left Louisville on account
of slavery, and made a home in Jeffersonville, on the Indiana side of
the river.

As it was now ten minutes, double the time suggested by the jailer
while we were on our way to the jail, I turned to the keeper, and told
him as my interview was prolonged beyond its limit, I would go; and on
taking leave of Calvin he pointed to four men standing a few feet from
him, and said, "Do you know those men?"

I looked up and nodded to them a recognition. They were fugitives who
had been recaptured by virtue of the fugitive slave law passed in
1850, some of whom had made their escape from slavery many years
before. One, whose name was Baker, with whom I was well acquainted,
had hair straighter and skin fairer than very many of our Anglo-Saxon
race. These four answered to the nod, smiling through their tears.
They had enjoyed a taste of freedom, and now were to be hurled back to
a dark life of bondage more bitter to them than ever before. But not a
word could I utter to them. The slight bow, as I was turning away, was
all; and yet that was sufficient to set on fire a world of iniquity in
the four officers in front of the iron grates through which we
conversed with Calvin Fairbanks. These officers beckoned to the jailer
as we were passing through to the outer gate, and upon his opening
it, he said, "Will you please pass through the yard into our
apartments alone?"

"Certainly," I responded; and turning to me, he remarked, "Those
officers beckoned to see me a moment."

I drew my arm from his, that he had so politely tendered in going to
and from Calvin. In passing through the yard I met their slave man,
who said, in a low tone, "Did you see Fairbanks?"

I answered, in a like tone, "I did."

"Glory!" he cried, just loud enough for me to hear.

Near the door I was met by Mary, who said but little above a whisper,
"Did you see him?" As I gave a nod, she said, "Good, good!" clapping
her hands for joy.

I waited in the parlor for the return of the jailer, as he had said he
would go to the river with me. He soon came in, pale and trembling
with excitement.

"Mrs. Haviland, those officers are all boiling over with excitement.
They wanted to know if I didn't see how just the sight of you was like
an electric shock all over that crowd of slaves." "Didn't you see
those four runaways cry at the sight of her?" said one of the
officers. I told them my attention was all taken up with your
conversation with Fairbanks, and noticed nothing of others.

"They say it is very evident that you are a dangerous person, and
deserve to be here in this jail just as much as Fairbanks, and they
are for arresting you at once; and I don't know, Mrs. Haviland, that
it will be in my power to protect you. There have been threats in the
papers every day since you've been here; and Shotwell has had his
officers out hunting in every hotel for you; but we have kept it
carefully from the public that you were with me, until now these
officers are determined to arrest you."

Said I: "Colonel Buckner, should your officers come in this moment I
have nothing to fear. The God of Daniel is here at this hour. Should I
be arrested, you wouldn't keep me in your jail three days. I have no
more fear than if I were in my own room in Cincinnati."

His trembling voice became quiet; and more calmly he said:

"Well, it is a glorious thing to feel like you do; but I reckon you'd
better go over the river to Dr. Field's, and when Mr. Thruston comes
into the city I'll send him over to see you. I advise you not to set
foot on the Kentucky shore again, as I know it will not be safe.
There is this morning a great excitement jail over town about you. So
one of the officers told me. But I'll go to the river with you right
soon."

We started for the door, when he halted: "I don't think I had better
go with you now, as these officers may come out and make trouble, and
I reckon you'd be safer alone."

"Very well, I have no hesitancy whatever in going alone;" and I bode
him "good-bye."

As I was opening the door he reached his hand to return the "Good-bye
--God bless you!" and I left the jail and jailer.

I passed a large hotel, with perhaps fifteen or twenty men standing on
the sidewalk in front. All seemed in a perfect buzz of excitement,--
When I saw this company of men, the first thought was to pass over on
the other side. "But I will neither turn to the right nor the left,
but pass through their midst," was an impression that I followed; and
so busily engaged were they in their excited conversation that they
hardly looked to see the little passer-by, the subject of their
thoughts and words. Said one:

"Great excitement in town to-day."

"Yes, sir; you can see a group of men at every street corner."

I smiled to myself, as I thought, "Little do you think this is the
little old woman you are troubling yourselves over."

I soon was in Jeffersonville inquiring for Dr. Field's residence, and
was shown the house across the street, and upon its front porch stood
a little group--the doctor and family, with two ministers--watching
me; and as I opened the gate and inquired if this was Dr. Field's
residence:

"Yes, I am the Jason," said the doctor. "We're been looking for you,
Mrs. Haviland, every day since you've been in Louisville."

This was an unexpected salutation, and I felt at home again as I
clasped their warm hands of friendship.

"How is it that you have knowledge of me?"

"Just walk in, and I'll show you the papers; haven't you seen them?"

I told him I had not, and knew nothing of it until just as I was
leaving; the jailer told me there had been threats in the daily papers
to arrest me. When I read these little scurrilous articles, calculated
to inflame an already inflamed public, I wondered, as well as the
doctor, that they had not found my whereabouts and made trouble. I
hoped my Cincinnati friends had not seen this, as I had written them
the reason of my delay, and sent the letter by the same boat that
brought me to Louisville. I enjoyed sweet rest with these Christian
friends, and attended with them their afternoon meeting. The minister
who preached was as earnest an abolitionist as the doctor, and brother
Proctor preached as radical an abolition sermon as I ever listened to;
it seemed like an oasis in a desert.

The day following I sent a note to Lawyer Thruston's office, and
received in reply the statement that his illness had prevented his
leaving his room during two weeks past, and urged me to come and see
him without delay, and he would stand between me and all harm. The
doctor said, as he was a lawyer of influence in their city, he advised
me to go; and as it was snowing a little, he gave me an umbrella, with
which I might screen myself while passing the jail, as well as be
sheltered from the snow. I found the lawyer very affable in his
manners, and he said they would do the best they could for Fairbanks,
and we might pay what we could. I returned without difficulty to our
"Jason."

I wrote a little article under the caption of "Correction," and sent
it to both the _Commercial_ and Louisville _Courier_. It was
inserted, with the following editorial note:

"Notwithstanding the pretended laudability of her errand to our city,
we are still satisfied it was out of no good motive, as birds of a
feather will flock together."

Most assuredly I was thankful to see the return of "Ben Franklin, No.
2," which took me from that nest of unclean birds to those of more
congenial and harmless habits. My anxious friends in Cincinnati had
not received either of any letters, and had read only these
threatening cards in the Cincinnati _Commercial_, copied from
Louisville dailies, that caused great anxiety. I sent a letter by both
trips that this boat made during the week I was in Louisville, and
Colonel Buckner took both and said he would sec them delivered at the
boat.

While on the boat a gentleman and his wife among the passengers were
returning to their Eastern home, with whom I formed a pleasant
acquaintance. Among other topics of discussion was the value of
hygiene and hydropathy, in which a Louisville physician joined,
narrating his observations of the system during a practice of fifteen
years in Louisville. As be seemed to be an intelligent and social
gentleman, we all seemed to enjoy our new acquaintances. I remarked to
him that there seemed to exist quite an excitement in his city during
the week past, over an old lady who took a few articles of under-
clothes and a quilt or two to Fairbanks.

"O, yes; were you in the city?"

"I was, and was surprised at the excitement produced by her presence."

"Well, I suppose Shotwell did make a great stir over his loss of a
house-servant. I understand be spent three hundred dollars in his
effort to find that woman, as be thought she knew where his slave was.
I have forgotten her name."

"Mrs. Haviland, from Cincinnati, was the one threatened in your
dailies," I replied.

"Ob, yes, that was the name. I heard you say you are going to
Cincinnati; do you know any thing of that lady?"

"I do; I have been acquainted with her from childhood."

"You have! What sort of a lady is she?"

"Well, if you should see her, you wouldn't think it worth while to
raise all this breeze over her, or any thing she could do. She is a
little, insignificant looking woman, anyhow; and yet I think she is
conscientious in what she does."

"There wouldn't have been such a stir but for Mr. Shotwell, who felt
himself wronged in the loss of his house servant;"

"But he is considered one of your most influential citizens, I am
told."

"Yes, madam; I reckon we'll have to excuse him, for he is quite
nervous and angry over Fairbanks."

After quite a lengthy conversation on this subject, my new lady
friend, to whom I had related a portion of my Louisville experience,
was waiting for an opportunity to put a joke on the Louisville
doctor, and called me by name. At this the astonished doctor said:

"I reckon this is not Mrs. Haviland, is it?"

"That is the name by which I am called."

"Is this indeed the lady we've been talking about, and of whose
appearance you gave such a brilliant description?" And he laughed
heartily. "Well, well, Mrs. Haviland, don't judge our city by this
little flurry of excitement; for we have good, substantial people in
our town, and I hope you'll visit our city again sometime, and you'll
find it's true. I reckon if those excited men had arrested you, there
would have rallied to your aid a different class of men; for your
errand was perfectly proper, and you would have been borne out in it,
too, by the more sensible people of our city."

But my Cincinnati friends were not so confident of my safety. Said
Levi Coffin, as I met him, "Dr. Brisbane has said it was most likely
that we should find thee in prison; and our friend, James G. Birney,
is also very much discouraged, and said he was sorry thou went at this
time of excitement, of both North and South, over the lynching of
Williams near Baltimore, the binding of Conklin and throwing him into
the river, and now the illegal capture of Calvin Fairbanks in Indiana,
and taking him over into Kentucky and lodging him in jail there. But
they have no regard or respect for law. As we knew all this, we have
all been exceedingly anxious for thy safety."

It was a season of rejoicing with us all that our suffering brother in
prison had received present relief; and no threats were put in
execution in regard to myself. I realized an answer to prayer before I
left for that prison, and not a moment while in Louisville did I in
the least doubt the keeping power to be stronger than the power of
darkness. Our friend, James G. Birney, being feeble in health, sent
for me to spend a day in his family; and a rich feast I enjoyed in
listening to the experience of that noble Christian man. Worthy was he
to have presided over our nation.

Excitement does not cease, though the base is changed. Tidings came to
us that fourteen newly-arrived fugitives were housed in the basement
of Zion Baptist Church. I repaired at once to see what was needed for
their journey, and found a very sick babe, two months old. The mother
said it was very sick before they left, and she did not expect it to
live, but their arrangements were made to go for freedom, and she
would rather bury her child on the way than to stay behind till it
left her. It died that night, and they were provided with a
respectable coffin, and the company, with others, formed a funeral
procession to the burying-ground. After the burial the thirteen
fugitives were taken to the Quaker settlement, twenty-five miles
distant, and from thence were forwarded to Canada. The colored members
of our vigilance committee informed me that an infant died in that
basement once before, and they took up a part of the floor and buried
the child in the grave prepared for it, to avoid suspicion; for its
parents were the slaves of a wealthy Kentuckian, who was making great
efforts to capture the family.




CHAPTER VII.

CHRISTIAN AND EDUCATIONAL WORK.


Very many incidents of interest we must pass over; but, suffice to
say, there was seldom a week passed without a slave or slaves leaving
a boat or otherwise crossing the river in quest of freedom.

I met on the street a sister White, who was much distressed about her
son, who was almost gone with consumption, and yet was unwilling to
see any minister or religious person, to say any thing to him about a
preparation for the change. "Do, please, go with me now to see my
dying son Harvey. May he'll listen to you."

I went to her house, and found him too weak to talk much. The mother
introduced me as her friend who had called on her. I took his
emaciated hand, and said, "I see you are very low and weak, and I do
not wish to worry you with talking, but you have but little hope of
being restored to health I should judge from your appearance."

He turned his head on his pillow as he said, "I can never be any
better--I can't live."

"Then your mind has been turned toward the future, and may the
enlightening influence of the Holy Spirit lead you to the Great
Physician of souls, who knows every desire of the heart, and is able
to save to the uttermost, even at the eleventh hour." I saw the
starting tear as he looked earnestly at me, while I was still holding
his feverish hand in mine. "Will it be too much for you, in your weak
condition, if I should read to you a few of the words of our Lord and
Savior?"

"O no, I'd like to hear you."

I opened to John xiv; and upon reading a few verses I saw that the
impression made was deepening, and asked if it would worry him too
much if I should spend a few moments in prayer.

"O no, I'd like to hear you pray."

Placing my hand on his forehead, I implored divine aid in leading this
precious soul to the cleansing fountain, and that his faith might
increase, and in its exercise be enabled to secure the pearl of great
price.

As I arose from his bedside, he reached out both hands for mine, and
said, "I want you to come to-morrow." He wept freely; and I left with
the burden of that precious soul upon my heart.

The mother and sister, who were both professors of religion, stood
near the door weeping for joy over the consent of the dear son and
brother to listen to the few words of reading and prayer.

The day following I met the sick man again, and as soon as I entered
his mother's room she said, "O, how thankful we are to God for this
visit to my poor boy! He seems in almost constant prayer for mercy.
Early this morning he spoke of your coming to-day."

As I entered his room he threw up both hands, saying, "God will have
mercy on poor me, won't he?"

"Most certainly," I responded; "his word is nigh thee, even in thy
heart, and in thy mouth."

"Do pray for me," he requested.

I read a few words from the Bible, and followed with prayer, in which
be joined with a few ejaculations. I left him much more hopeful than
on the previous day.

The next morning his sister came for me in great haste, saying,
"Brother Harvey wants to see you, quick."

It was not yet sunrise; but I hastened to obey the message, as I
supposed he was dying. Not a word passed between us until we reached
her brother's room. Upon opening his door he exclaimed, "Glory, glory
to God, Mrs. Haviland! Come to me quick, I want to kiss you; for God
brought me out of darkness this morning about the break of day. O
hallelujah! Glory to Jesus! He shed his blood for poor me; and I
shouted louder than I could talk for a good many days. O, how I wish I
had strength to tell every body that I am happier in one minute than I
ever knew in all my life put together!"

He became quite exhausted in shouting and talking, and I advised him
to rest now in the arms of the beloved Savior.

"Yes, I am in his arms. Glory to his name for what he has done for me!
I want you to see my cousin George; he is sick, and not able to come
to see me to-day."

I told him I would within a few days, and left him, with his cup of
salvation overflowing.

About two hours before he died he looked at his mother, smiling, and
said, "There's Mary; don't you see her, standing at the foot of my
bed?"

"No, my son, mother don't see her."

"O, how beautiful she looks! It seems as if you _must_ see her,"
and he looked very earnestly at the object. "There, she's gone now."
Fifteen minutes before he breathed his last he said, "Here she is
again, and so beautiful! Mother, can't you see her?"

"No, son, I can't see her."

"Beautiful, beautiful she is. There, she's gone again." Just as the
soul took its flight, he upraised both hands, with a smile, and said,
"Here she is, with two angels with her. They've come for me;" and the
hands dropped as the breath left him, with the smile retained, on his
countenance.

The sister Mary, that died a number of years previously, was about
four years old; and his mother told me she had not heard her name
mentioned in the family for months before Harvey's death.

My time was fully occupied in caring for the sick and dying, as
cholera had become very prevalent and fatal. Among the many who died
with that disease were Levi and Catherine Coffin's daughter Anna,
about ten years of age, and a lady, the mother of three children,
whose dying request was that I should take charge of her children
until the return of their father, who was in California.

A few weeks passed, and my promise to Harvey White was forgotten,
until one morning it rushed upon me with such force that I trembled. I
hastened to see him, and, to my surprise, he too was very near to
death with consumption, and without hope. His mother was a widow, also
an earnest Christian; but her son George would not allow her or any of
the ministers of her acquaintance to talk with him on the subject of
religion. But he was glad to hear that his cousin Harvey had died so
happy; and she thought if I should tell him about Harvey he would
listen to me. He could speak but little above a whisper, I told him of
my reading to Harvey, and asked if he would like to hear me read the
same to him. He said he would; and I read the same words, and told him
how earnestly his cousin Harvey had prayed, and God, who hears and
answers prayer, answered him, and he died a happy Christian. His
feelings became tender, and I knelt by his bedside in supplication. As
I was about to leave, he said:

"There is a difficulty in my way, and I think you can remove it; but I
am more rested early in the morning, and if you can come to-morrow
morning I will tell you what it is."

I told him I would be there if life and health were spared.

The following morning I met him more rested. He said:

"I have tried to pray to God; then it seems as if Jesus Christ stands
there, and if I pray to Jesus it don't feel quite clear, because I
want to go to head-quarters, and I am confused, and don't know where
to go or what to do, and so I've given it all up; for it's all dark
before me, and I've concluded to die in the dark."

This sorrowful condition of unbelief brought secret prayer for divine
guidance in words to place the divinity of the Lord Jesus as clearly
as possible before him. I read a few passages where he manifested his
power by miracles, "that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on
earth to forgive sins." He heard me attentively, and suddenly
exclaimed:

"Now I see it; now I see it; now I've got a foothold. Now I can pray.
I want you to pray for me."

He followed in earnest prayer. At the close he raised his clasped
hands: "I've found him; I've got him. O, how I wish I could have voice
and strength to tell you how happy I am! I want to go to my Savior; he
is my all. But I can not tell it here; I will tell it in glory. It's
all light now; the darkness, is all gone."

He seemed much exhausted, and took leave of his mother and mister, and
sank into a stupor, and quietly passed away that afternoon.

I felt under renewed obligations to praise Him for his loving
kindness in reminding me, so vividly of the promise I made to that
dying young man, Harvey White. How careful we should be to attend, to
every little errand as we are passing through our life-work. I felt
to upbraid myself for being so inattentive to that request. Had that
precious soul left the shores of time without hope in Christ, I could
never have forgiven myself for my neglect. There are neglected duties
that dot my life here and there with regrets, that have been lessons
to teach the necessity of greater faithfulness in the Master's work.

The daughter of John Hatfield came to me with the word that there was
a woman at their house who wished to see me. Her father being a
member of the vigilance committee I went without delay, and found the
woman in great distress of mind. She said she was a slave, but had
the privilege of working in Cincinnati at house-cleaning, washing, or
any jobs she could get, by paying her mistress three dollars per week.
In this way she had managed to lay aside for herself over twenty
dollars during nearly two years. She had a husband and nine children,
"An' las' year," said she, "missus was gwine to sell my oldes' gal an'
her baby to get money to keep her two gals in school Norf somewhars,
an' she tuck her baby an' run off for Canada, an' now she says she's
got to sell my Mary;" and her tears came as from a fountain.

"Why don't she come away as your other daughter did?" I asked.

"Oh, she can't; missus won't let one o' my family come but me. She
let's me come an' do all her marketin' arter I gets all her work a-
goin', so my man an' chillen goes on wid it; she lets me come to de
city to work, an' I pays her three dollars every week. Now I'se full
o' trouble over my Mary;" and she wept so freely that it was some time
before she could give me this little sketch. I found they lived
fifteen miles from the river, and she had placed her money in the
hands of a colored man by the name of Bailey, to keep for her to use
at some future time in going to Canada with her family. He had told
her when the right time came he would have her money ready for her,
and would help her. I told her I would gladly relieve her were it in
my power; but all I could do was to advise her to bring her family in
the covered market wagon, and throw a quilt or blanket over them; then
the hay she always put in for her team over that, and a bag of apples,
and another of potatoes, or any thing she generally brought into
market, placed in front so as to present the appearance of a load of
marketing. As she had been over so often, she said, the ferryman
hardly ever asked her for her pass, for he knew her so well. "Don't
you see you are the very one to bring yourself and family here? You
could drive over and take your family to either of three places: to a
colored family on Macallister Street, by the name of Hall; or to Levi
Coffin's, on the corner of Ninth and Walnut Streets; or bring them
here to John Hatfield's. At either of these places you are as sure of
going through safe as if you were already in Canada." She listened
with great attention, and her tears dried away as she looked up, with
her face shining with hope, and said, "I do b'leve I can do it; I
never thought o' that. I'll go to Bailey for my money fus thing, an'
I'll go mighty soon." I charged her not to name to Bailey or any other
human being this side or the other, the plan I had given her, except
to her own family. She promised, and left with a much lighter heart.

A few days later I was requested to meet Mary French, who would be at
John Hatfield's house at twelve o'clock. Her friend said, "She is
nearly crazy, an' I coaxed her to see you. She's los' faith in every
body I reckon, for 't was a good bit afore I could get her to see you
agin. She said she did see you wonst, an' you couldn't do nothin' for
her. She's bin house-cleanin' wid me, an' it 'pears like she's 'cryin'
all the time, day an' night, an' me an' another woman got her to see
you, if I'd git you to come to Mr. Hatfield's at noon." I found her
wringing her hands and weeping bitterly. As I looked upon that poor,
despairing woman that I had left so hopeful a few days previously, I
felt that I could say or do nothing for her but to point her to the
God of Israel, who is able and willing to lead his oppressed children.
I said, "Were you ever a Christian?"

"I was three years ago, an' I lived a prayin' life a year; then the
white folks did so bad, it 'peared like I couldn't live 'ligion, an' I
giv' it all up. Missus sole my poor gal down de river, to sen' her two
gals to de Norf to school now she's gwine to sell my Mary, kase they's
runnin' short o' money; an' she missed sellin' my gal las' year. If I
hadn't lef de Lord maybe dis hard trouble wouldn't come 'pon me." And
again she began to wring her hands with convulsive weeping.

As I looked upon that poor, crushed spirit, the most frantic with
grief of any person I ever saw, a feeling of confidence sprang up in
me that she would become free. Said I, "You have known what it was to
ask God to give you freedom from sin, and make you free from the
bondage of Satan. Now go to him with full purpose of heart, and he
will restore the joys of his salvation and again will set you free in
soul. Then, I feel confident that the Captain of the soul's freedom
will open the way for freedom from this chain of slavery that now
binds you as a family. Now go to Jesus; he will do great things for
you. You lose confidence in your friends, you lose confidence in
yourself; but go to the Lord Jesus, and believe he will direct you,
and he will do it. Let prayer be thy constant work, then faith will
increase--that will not fail." At these few words she became calm, and
said, as she looked up, "Can you tell me where my daughter is?"

"Certainly," I said, "I heard from her yesterday; she is in
Carthaginia, Indiana. I had supposed she went directly to Canada, and
I was sorry she stopped so near to the line--not more than one hundred
miles off."

"I was tole she went through this city with her baby."

"It was true," I answered. I was astonished to see her wipe her tears
away and become calm so soon, and converse with so much composure.

"If we come soon can you go a piece wid us?"

"It will make no difference whether I am here or not, if you go to
either of the places I told you of. There are a great many safe places
here, but I gave those places you know so well, and can find day or
night I shall probably go to my home in Michigan next week, and it is
uncertain when I return; but don't forget to carry your burden to the
Lord by constant prayer for his directing hand; and whatever way he
opens, take it; if it should be any other way than the plan I
suggested, take it, regardless of what I have said, except to mind
closely the impressions you feel confident come from an All-wise
Director. Do this, and I have great faith in your success.

"Never have I had the strong faith that I have at this moment, that if
you go to the Savior for his help in this time of your great need, he
will lead you out of slavery. I advise you not to wait for Bailey. If
you come here you can all be taken to Canada without a dollar."

This seemed to surprise her. She said she could get a few dollars, as
she was earning good day wages.

"One thing more I would say," I went on, "and that is, wherever I may
be, whether in my Michigan home, or here in this city, I shall not
forget to implore divine aid in the deliverance of this family from
slavery."

With this solemn interview we parted, and the burden of prayer
followed me to my home. Hardly a day passed without presenting that
poor family at a throne of grace for their preservation.

Two months later found me again in the exciting scenes of Cincinnati.
My first inquiry was for Mary French. "Yes, I heard a few days ago
that her mistress had forbidden her ever to come to this city again,
and had threatened to sell the whole family down the river, and I
suppose they are all sold by this time," said John Hatfield. He said
she remained in the city three or four weeks after I saw her, to get
money to start with, but she was too late. Her Mary was sold just
before she returned home, and the poor woman grieved so for her poor
girl, that he heard her mistress abused her, and threatened to sell
them all. It seemed as if I could hardly endure the thought, when I
had indulged such strong hope of her success, but I could not yet give
her up, though I regretted exceedingly her delay, as I felt great
confidence that He who notes the falling sparrow, and hears the young
ravens cry, would have brought that family out of bondage.

While in charge of the sick, word was brought by a workman in a shop
that there was an exciting report in town that a market wagon brought
over a load of nine slaves early that morning, and that a reward of
five hundred dollars was offered for information of their whereabouts.
While my heart leaped for joy, hoping it might be Mary French and
family, yet as I was in a pro-slavery family, my feelings were kept to
myself. The man of the house said:

"What a pity to lose that amount of property! But according to your
principles, Mrs. Haviland, I suppose you are glad of it."

"Certainly. As I told you the other day, the negroes have the same
rights from their Creator that we have, and no man or class of men has
the right to take them away."

"Now can't you set aside these notions of yours? You can easily find
out where they are, and slyly report them, and here's your five
hundred dollars."

"I would not for ten times that amount. Would you do it?"

"Certainly I would, and should think it my duty."

"I am astonished to hear this from one who professes to be a follower
of the Lord Jesus, a part of whose mission was to unbind the heavy
burdens and let the oppressed go free. It is pain to me to hear you
advance the sentiments you do in the presence of your children; and a
class-leader in the Methodist Protestant Church. I can not
henceforward acknowledge you as a brother in Christ."

"Why, Mrs. Haviland! You are the most uncharitable person I ever met.
This hurts my feelings more than anything you have said in presenting
your radical position."

"I do hope and pray that the enlightening influences of the Holy
Spirit may lead to a far different view from your present one. I am
grieved to hear this from one who is looked upon as a leader to the
Lamb of God, who shed his blood for the whole universe of man,
regardless of color or nation."

His reply was, "I want to refer you to a few more Scripture arguments
that I have not mentioned. To-night, from seven o'clock till nine, I
want to talk with you on this subject."

I told him I would be ready, but I had one request, and that was to
make this a subject of prayer, as I should myself, during the day. He
said he would seriously look it over, and left for his business.

At nine o'clock my patient was comfortably cared for, and I had been
talking of going to Levi Coffin's on an errand for a number of days. I
asked permission of her to be absent an hour for that purpose, and her
consent for two hours was given. On my way I called on John Hatfield,
to know whether this company of slaves was not the Mary French family.

"Oh, no, that poor family has gone down the river. I heard some days
ago that they were sold to a trader."

"The market-wagon was the plan I gave Mary, and I hoped so much that
it was her family."

"Yes, but we should be just as glad for other slaves panting for
liberty, as for her," and I accepted the remark as almost a half
reproof for being more anxious for her than for other slaves.

As I entered Catherine Coffin's room I inquired whether she knew this
morning's company of the nine slaves to be Mary French and family. "I
know nothing of the name, but a woman and little child are up in our
attic; but nobody knows it about this house but Levi and I."

"Please go up and tell her a friend is going to call on her, so as not
to frighten her."

"Go on; she'll know we would let no one but a friend go up." I walked
slowly up to the fourth story, and lo! on a box in the corner sat Mary
French with her little grandchild sitting at her feet. "Is it possible
that is Mary French?" I exclaimed. She sprang to me with outstretched
arms, clasped me with tears of joy and leaning her head on my shoulder
sobbed.

"O, my God has saved me so far, but my pore Mary was sole down de
ribber, when I is here in de city to git a little money to start wid.
When I gets into missus' door, I sort o' felt somethin' wrong, an' axt
her, 'Whar's Mary?', She say, 'I sole her las' week,' an' I cried, 'O
my God! save my pore chile Mary!' an' she kotched up de tongs an' beat
me on my head 'til I loss my min', and when I come to I was layin' on
de floor bleedin'. You see here is a sore yit" (pointing to her head).
There was a gash that must have been three inches long by the
appearance of the scar and sore, yet unhealed. "Missus said I never,
the longes' day I live, should set foot in Cincinnati, 'case free
niggers ruin me, an' afore she have such a fuss as dis, she put de
hull of us in her pocket. I knowd what dis mean, and I tried mighty
hard to cheer up afore her. But my tears was my meat and drink a few
days. I 'membered your word to go to de Lord day an' night, 'case I
couldn't come to you no mo'e. In three days he answered my prayer, an'
jus' tole me I's gwine to be free, an' I tole my husban' so, but he
couldn't git faith in me. I tole 'im to put faith in God, as I did
now. But I did lose faith in my bes' frien' when Bailey tole me you
an' Hatfiel' betrayed my gal Mary, an' got a hundred dollars reward;
den I was mos' crazy. And when dat 'oman tole me to go to you, an' I
tole her I did talk to you, and tole her what Bailey said 'bout you
an' Hatfiel', she said he was a bad man, an' lied only to keep my
mouey. She begged me so hard I tole her if you'd tell me whar Mary is,
I'd have faith in you, an' when you tole me so quick, all my faith in
you come back. How I wish you could see my man, for he's so sure
they'll cotch us. I don't know whar he is, for we's scattered among
de good people. O, what a time I had wid 'im to git 'im started. I
loaded an' unloaded four times afore he'd come. At las' a pore white
man tole me he hear missus say she gwine to sell us all to de firs'
trader come along. I say, 'What shall I do?' He say, 'If I was you,
I'd run away.' I say 'Here's my man an' chillen, can't go widout 'em.'
He say 'All go, an' if dey cotch you 'twon't be no wuss dan to go to
de trader, and if I can do any way to help you I will, for I feels
sorry for you.' When I tole my man, he was so skeered he didn't know
hisself scarcely. He was ready to do anyhow I wants 'im, au' I went to
dis white man, an' ax 'im for his boy ten year ole, to go wid me to
market, an' take all my family, an' I'd cover 'em up in de market
wagon. 'An' I'll tell your boy I wants 'im to watch my team for me,
an' I'll gib 'im a dollar.' 'All right, only tell 'im what you'll do,
an' tell 'im to come an' ax me an' he musn't know I knows about it.'
An' I tuk missus' young hosses, an' put my man an' chillen in, cover
'em up, den put a bag o' taters an' apples an' a basket o' chickens in
front. An' I had dis little boy by de chickens, so if he cry or make a
noise I shake de basket an' de noise of de chickens kill de noise of
de boy. An' I drove de fifteen miles to de ribber by daylight, and
drove back of Covin'ton till de smoke of de ferry boat rise; den I
prayed God to keep de ferryman from axin' me for my pass. For I's
mighty feared he would, 'case I hadn't been here in so long. An' jus'
afore sun up my man crawled out de back of de wagon. I told de boy to
hol' de hosses till I fix somethin'. I whispered, 'Get back quick, for
Gods sake,' an' he whispered, 'Let's go back, I knows dey'll cotch
us.' 'Go back! Man, its death to go back; we'd be in jail in no time
waitin' for de trader.' An' he crawl back an' I tuck 'im up agin, an'
we trimble like a popple leaf. Den de smoke jus' rise on de ferry-
beat, an' I drove on wid de white boy by my side. I prayed dat de Lord
wouldn't let de ferryman ax me for my pass. If he did I's gwine to
say, 'Dis white boy my pass;' but he didn't say a word, an' I praise
God for answerin' my prayer." I told her she had nothing to fear from
the five hundred dollars reward; she was in good hands; all she had to
do was to go when they were ready to take them; but I would write a
few lines for her to take to the first stopping place after leaving
the city, advising to go by way of Carthaginia. "Write me from that
town, and tell your daughter to go on to Canada with you without
fail."

I left her with a lighter heart, rejoicing with that rejoicing family,
though yet trembling with fear. The time appointed for the two hours'
discussion on the subject of slavery arrived. My pro-slavery friend
was not disposed to open the conversation he desired in the morning.
After waiting until one hour had elapsed, I asked if he was prepared
to bring the Scripture arguments he had for my consideration at this
hour. He replied that he had thought of but little else during the
whole day; but on the whole doubted whether his reasons would stand
the test, and declined saying any thing farther in defense of the
position he had advanced. A few weeks later he died of cholera. I
called on his widow, who said he died a happy soul, and often spoke
of his confidence in me as an honest-hearted Christian, and she never
heard him speak disparagingly of the colored people after the long
conversation we had on that subject. I regretted the loss of an
opportunity of seeing him after Mary French and family were safe in
Canada. I wished to give him their history, as I felt sure it would
have been "like a nail driven in a sure place." He had lived in the
South, and the subject of slavery had never been placed before him in
this way.

The reward for the nine slaves was doubled on the second day of their
exodus. All the clew the hunters got of their whereabouts was from the
boy they met at the ferry. He could not read the names on the streets,
and could only point as near as he knew in the direction where they
all left. He told them he didn't know there were any in the wagon but
"black Mary," till they all got out; then she told him to go to
Walnut Street ferry, and he drove two or three blocks when he stopped
and cried, because he didn't know where to find Walnut Street. Then a
man came and told him to stop crying and he'd drive him to the ferry.
They went to Hall's, on Macallister Street, but not one was left there
five minutes. They were conducted to different hiding-places, and not
one was left within a half a mile to a mile from that part of the
city. Slave-hunters were paid from three dollars to seven dollars a
day for watching around those suspected streets and those leading
northward. The family were dressed in disguise and taken out in three
carriages, closed, and two white men in front, that gave an impression
at sight of a load of white people. At noon-day, in this manner, they
rounded the corners, where were standing some of their hunters who
were receiving their seven dollars a day, as was ascertained by a
scheme gotten up by the colored people.

The next evening after the nine fugitives were taken northward, they
drove a double carriage into an alley near North Street, and the same
number of colored people, so closely watched for, were hustled in with
haste, and driven off with speed. The call to "_Stop_, HALT," was
not heeded, until the police rushed at the increased cry, "_Stop
thief_, STOP THIEF," and slackened their pace. But while the
excited crowd gathered to see the police arrest the thieves, the
colored man beside the driver demanded the reason why he and his
ladies should receive this insult to hinder their pleasure ride. By
throwing a light from their dark lantern in the faces of their
pursuers, the hunters they had suspected were recognized, to their
great annoyance. There were those among them who would not have been
exposed, perhaps, for half the amount of the reward.

A few days subsequent to this little episode I received a letter from
Mary, after their arrival at Carthaginia, where she met her daughter,
who, with her child, made their party number eleven. They very soon
reached the "land of the free." Nothing further was heard from them
until I went with my two daughters to Windsor, Canada West, to attend
their first of August celebration, in commemoration of West India
emancipation. There were gathered a very large congregation in a
grove, of both colored and white people. While listening to an
eloquent oration delivered by Samuel J. May, of Boston, I was taken
from my seat and borne away a few rods, hardly touching the tops of
the bushes with my feet. I turned first one way and then the other,
until I discovered the sable face of Mary French, with big tears
rolling down her cheeks. Not a word was spoken until we were entirely
away from the congregation, and I said, "Mary, haven't we gone far
enough?" when she let me down, and caught bold of my bands and kissed
them, while tears of joy were still falling. "O, how happy we is to be
all free. Can't you go to Malden an' see all my family? I knows my man
would come all dis way afoot if he knowed you's here." I told her I
could not, as I must return the next day with my two daughters.

"Is dey heah?"

"They were sitting by my side," said I; "those two girls dressed in
white are my daughters."

"Sweet creturs! de little angels; I mus' go see 'em. I's got two gals
here, too, an' I'll bring 'em to see you." And soon her hands were
placed on the shoulder of each, still weeping for joy as she said:
"God bless you! You tinks it strange to see an old black 'oman come to
you like dis, but you wouldn't if you know'd what your mother has done
for me an' my family. If it hadn't been for her we should all been in
slavery to dis day. I wants you to go out dar whar you see your mother
standin' afore a great while. I'm gwine back to her now." She came
with her two girls, who were also very demonstrative in shaking and
kissing my hands; but they laughed instead of weeping as did their
overjoyed mother. By the time my daughters came to us we were served
with cake and ice cream. As she and her daughters had on the ground a
little stand from which they made sales, their favors in this line
were repeated.

Instead of one year's suspension, as we designed, we had deferred
finishing our institute building in Michigan from time to time, until
four years had elapsed. As the Ohio school law made provision to
support a colored school in any town or place where there were as many
as fifteen regular scholars, my daughter Anna and myself taught a
school for them of one hundred scholars one term, in the basement of
Zion Church, Toledo. The expenses were paid from the school fund.

With several fugitives, I started on my way to Toledo from Cincinnati,
and spent a day at our friend William Beard's. From thence we were
taken to Newport, Indiana, where was a meeting appointed in behalf of
Calvin Fairbanks, in which I gave a sketch of my visit to Louisville
jail in his behalf. I read the letter I had received from his lawyer
on leaving Cincinnati, containing a proposition to do the best he
could for him, and with that object in view he staved off the case to
the next session of their court. At the close of the meeting fifteen
dollars were raised, Bishop Quinn, of the African Methodist Episcopal
Church, giving one-third of it. As there was a fall of snow a foot
deep, the friends concluded to take us across a swamp, which would
save a number of miles; and as there were indications of a thaw, one
man offered his team and double sleigh if a certain colored man would
go that night and drive it. We were soon well protected from the
prospective inclement weather, with the buffalo-robe presented to me,
and quilts around the balance of our load.

The shifting wind brought quite a snow-storm, that covered us over
about three inches deep. My company being very cold, I advised to stop
at a house, the dim light of which was so tempting to the shivering
company. I went to the door and asked permission to enter, giving our
number, and our object in going through the swamp before a break-up.
The two old people granted the favor; but when the old lady saw the
color of my company she became rather suspicious. Said she, "If these
are slaves we don't want any trouble, because you know the Fugitive-
slave Law makes a deal of trouble in some places." I assured her they
would have none of that character on our account, for these young
people were going with me to attend my school. When we were warmed and
the horses fed, we left our kind friends to borrow no more trouble for
fear of being disturbed with slave-hunters.

About three o'clock we came to a large half-finished frame house,
brilliantly lighted, and the man seemed to be preparing his team for
leaving. I called with our driver to see if we could warm ourselves
and feed the team, giving our reason for crossing the swamp to save
distance, and as there were indications of a thaw in the afternoon, we
chose to come through that night. The man said that was his reason for
going for a load of lumber so early--he fearing a break-up. They were
very kind, and insisted on our resting till daylight, and taking a
warm breakfast. The invitation was accepted with gratitude. I spent my
time in conversing with our kind hostess, while my company slept an
hour.

At nine o'clock we reached Carthaginia. The first one we met was a
colored woman, of whom I inquired where we could find a place to tarry
for a night, and find provender for our horses. She took in our
situation at once, and pointed to a large frame house in sight, the
house of Samuel Jones, half a mile distant. While she was giving this
information, a man ahead of us, with his carriage, stopped and turned
back, saying, "There is Mr. Jones now, coming to see you, I reckon."
As he came to us, I told him of the inquiry I made for a resting-
place. "And that is my house for you and barn for your horses," he
said. After giving each of us a shake of the hand, he said, turning to
me, "I know you, though I never saw you before, and I will tell you of
a circumstance, after we get home, whereby you will recognize me." We
followed him to his very comfortable home. We were soon seated at a
luxurious table. Breakfast being over, he related a circumstance in
which I had taken a deep interest, and by corresponding, the release
from slavery of his relative was effected.

Brother Jones gave me ten dollars for brother Fairbanks, in the
Kentucky prison. Here we took leave of our conductor, Henry Marshal,
and a team and teamster were provided to take us on by way of
Bellefontaine. The anticipated warmer weather overtook us, and with a
wagon we left Carthaginia. Streams with floating ice made fording
difficult, especially Mosquito Creek; but our driver and Simon
measured the depth of water, and with rails pushed the floating ice
from the ford, to enable me to drive through. Working as they did with
all their might to keep the cakes of ice from running against the
horses and from impeding the wheels, when we reached the swift current
of the stream a cake blocked the wagon so as to stop the horses a few
moments. One horse became discouraged and began to lie down. At this
the three women jumped upon a large floating cake, from which they
reached the shore with the help of the men. Our teamster found his way
into the wagon; and by pushing and crowding this way and that he
loosened the wheel, and with continued urging and Simon's wading to
the horses' heads, they finally pulled through. We drove to a house,
where the men changed their socks, and rubbed their horses with straw,
they said, two hours, and then fed them. We pursued our journey
without further difficulties to our school in Toledo.

Often did my whilom slave scholars refer to the excitement at Mosquito
Creek ford. I found the prejudice here very bitter against a colored
school; but the colored people had combined their weak forces and
built a church, designed for school, as well as their occasional
meetings. My school averaged nearly twenty scholars during the term,
at the close of which we put in a petition for a support from the
school fund. But a majority of two ruled against us; for, although the
State law required them to support this school, they had already
complied with the requirement.

Although I had designed to return home and re-open Raisin Institute,
yet to press the board of education into its duty I reopened their
school for the second term; and every time that board met I met with
them with my petition, informing them, at their first refusal to adopt
the school, that this petition of the importunate widow would stand
before them until it was granted. They frequently inquired of the
colored people how long I was going to teach for them. The answer
every time was, as I told them, until the board of education took it.
In their discussions in the board I understood it was frequently
remarked by our opposers "that the end of that negro school would be
when Mrs. Haviland left, and that wouldn't be long, for the negroes
were too poor to pay her." But it was not for money that I taught
their school, but to see justice meted out to them.

There were fifteen families of the lower class of Irish who lived in
shanties near the canal that ran within a few rods of our school-
house, and as the most of our school passed them, or would have to go
half a mile farther, we got from one man in particular a systematic
cursing; beginning with cursing my feet, and cursing every toe on
them, and cursing every nail on every toe, and so on, to cursing my
head, and cursing every hair on it. This regular set of curses were
for me every time I passed when he was in his cabin, and frequently a
number of others standing by would join him. But as he or some of the
others were so often drunk, it was a long time before I could find the
suitable opportunity to go to their cabins and have a talk with them,
as I desired. As some of their company were so boisterously furious,
the children did not dare pass them unless I was with them, for in
addition to cursing they were stoned.

When the second term was two-thirds through I proposed a picnic for
the school and its friends, and had the scholars declaim a few pieces.
An eloquent speech delivered in the House of Lords, when immediate
emancipation was discussed in the English parliament, was well
committed and declaimed by one of the young men. A number of the
colored people feared a mob, but the majority were willing to risk any
measure I thought best to adopt. I trained them thoroughly in
speaking, and they trained themselves in singing, and the school
selected a little girl to be crowned as their queen of May, and on the
25th of May we marched through town to a grove, with two beautiful
banners. The one borne by the young woman who walked by my side bore
the motto, "God is love," and next to it all the girls followed in
couples. Then followed the young men and boys in the same manner,
headed by the banner, upon which was inscribed, "Knowledge is power."
I instructed the children and young people to walk straight forward,
and not even turn their heads to the right or left, and not to notice
by look or word any remark that might be made, not even to talk to
each other until we reached our little stand in the woods. Not a word
of disrespect was heard, and some of the white people who drove out
with their carriages told me they had not seen such order in marching
in any of the May picnics that the white schools had had that Spring.
They were highly delighted with our exercises. At the next session of
the board my school was recognized as a public one, and the chairman,
Rev. Dr. Smyth, was authorized to hire me to teach the next term. He
met me on the street and said, "Mrs. Havilland, the importunate widow's
prayer is answered; your petition is granted at last, and I am
instructed to hire you for the next term."

"Then my work is finished with this term," said I. "My object is
accomplished. I have business at home that I hoped to have entered
upon when I closed last term; but as your board refused to do its duty
I continued, although I have not averaged twenty-five cents a week
during the six months, as a large majority of the colored people here
are very poor."

"I know that, and I have contended from the first that they ought to
have a school; but I am surprised at your not remaining in the school,
as you shall have a fair compensation now."

I told him I would give him the name of a competent teacher, who was
now working himself through college at Oberlin--John Mitchel--a worthy
Christian young man of their own color, with whom they could
correspond and secure his services. His parents were living in Toledo,
and he would be pleased to accept the position. I thanked the board
through their chairman for the favor they had granted in behalf of the
colored people in Toledo.

It being the seventh day of the week, as I was passing my Irish
friends, and all quiet, and a company sitting on the grass in the
shade of their cabins, I accepted this as my long-sought opportunity
to talk with them. Addressing a group of half a dozen women, I said:
"I have long desired to talk with you, as I am confident you do not
understand me in teaching this colored school. I have felt it my duty
to aid the most neglected class of people. We are apt to indulge in
prejudices against certain classes or nations of people. Some people
are prejudiced against the German people. They'll say he's nobody but
a Dutchman, he's not worth noticing; and others are prejudiced against
the Irish, and will say, 'They are nobody but Irish people, they are
not worth noticing;' and others are prejudiced against black people:
'They are nobody but negroes, and they are not worth noticing. And
then there are some who are prejudiced against soldiers, or sailors,
as classes of men. People are too apt to despise other nations and
classes of men. All this is wrong; God made us all as it pleased him,
and it is not for us to find fault with our Heavenly Father, who loves
all the human family alike. As we acknowledge the fatherhood of God,
we should also acknowledge the brotherhood of man in all nations and
classes."

Said one man to his friend sitting by, "In faith, Pat, that's good
doctrine." "Yes, indade, that's the doctrine Father Mathew prached, ye
know." "Jamie, that's all right," said another. One of the women
concluded she would know the truth of the reports they had gotten up
among themselves.

"An' did ye not marry a nagur?"

"Why, no! my husband was a white man, who died a number of years ago."

"And was he a black man?"

"He was a white man, and he left me with eight children, all under
age, and the youngest and the oldest have followed their father."

"In fath, ye've seen a dale of trouble, I'm sure; and we heard that
black man we often saw comin' from schule with ye an' that yellow lass
an' boy was your chilther."

"That mulatto girl and boy live near my boarding-place, and they
generally come and go with me to school and return; and that black man
is a young man who has never had the privilege of going to school and
learning to read and write and the use of figures, until I opened this
school. Now he can read, write, and can use figures to good
advantage."

"But it's a pity we didn't know ye before. We've been hearin' all this
about ye, an' not a bit of it true. Our people was about to set fire
to your schule-house--in faith, they said they'd give ye a dressin' of
tar an' fithers, an' our praste forbid it."

"I knew nothing of that," said I; "but I wanted you to understand me
before I left, which will be in four weeks. Then they will have a fine
young colored man from Oberlin College to teach their school."

"But what a pity that is, for I'm sure they'll not get another such a
tacher as you. Indade, I'm sorry to hear you're to lave us; I'd like
to have my little gal go to your schule, if ye'll take 'er."

The man who was the systematic curser came to his door: "Indade,
missus, we didn't know ye; an' now we'll fight for ye, an' we are
sorry we didn't know ye for so long."

When I left them I shook hands with them all, for by the time our
conversation closed about all their little community had convened, and
I took occasion to speak highly of Father Mathew, the great temperance
reformer of Ireland; and my little congregation pronounced as strong
blessings upon me as they had curses. Even my systematic curser was
among my best friends after that, and my scholars, as well as myself,
were treated with the utmost respect ever after, and two of them sent
for me when very sick and not expected to live, one of whom died a few
days after. As she was in great distress of mind, I read to her some
of those precious promises of our Savior, from which she drew great
consolation. It would seem to many like casting pearls before swine to
turn aside to present the truth to such ignorant and disliking people,
but it is ours to obey these little impressions, and leave the result
with the All-wise Director.

During my work in Toledo I called on a colored woman to solicit a
little change for a very sick man who was very low with consumption,
and was being cared for by a very poor family, and as she gave me
twenty-five cents a beautiful white girl was sitting by, who gave
another quarter. After school I called again and inquired for that
young woman who gave for that sick man, without giving me time to ask
for her mite, and to my surprise, found she was an inmate of a house
of ill-fame, and tried to make Mrs. Buck promise not to tell me where
she was living; for if I knew it I would never speak to her. I sent
for her to meet me the following day after school, at her house. I
found her sitting in the parlor waiting for me. As I took her by the
hand, placing the other on her head, I said, "My dear girl, you are an
unhappy child." And she burst into a flood of tears, and as soon as
she could sufficiently command her feelings to relate her history I
found she was compelled by her stepfather to live away from home. She
had lived a year or more with a worthy woman, who kept a boarding-
house in Cleveland; and there came to board a few weeks a fine
appearing young man, who professed great affection for her, and
proposed marriage. He told her his father was a very wealthy merchant
in Toledo, and he was there on business for his father. After he had
won her affections he proposed to take her to Toledo, and place her in
a boarding-house until she could make up two rich silk dresses and
other clothing suitable for her, as he was not willing his folks
should know he was marrying a poor girl. He could easily take a dress
pattern from each bolt of silk and his father never know it, and any
other goods she needed. As his father was going to New York for a new
supply of goods, he would supply her with other goods to make up until
his father's new goods came, then he would hire a dressmaker to make
up her silk dresses. All this she fully believed, as from a true and
faithful lover, to whom she had given her heart's best and purest
affections. She said, "A number of days I hesitated, because I wanted
to tell my mother all about it, but he persisted in leaving Cleveland
secretly, and return on our bridal trip to surprise my mother and that
cruel stepfather. At last I foolishly consented, to my ruin and
sorrow, for I haven't seen one moment of peace since I was deserted by
that man;" and again bathed herself in tears. Recovering herself, she
continued, "I wouldn't have my mother know this for the world. She is
a good Christian woman. She's a Methodist, and has seen a sight of
trouble with my stepfather; and, if she knew this, it would break her
heart." On further inquiry I found he brought her to this house as an
excuse to keep her secluded until they were about to be married, when
he would pay her board a few days in the finest hotel in the city.
"The next day after our arrival he brought me a beautiful lawn dress-
pattern and a package of other material for me to make up while
waiting for his father's goods. And not till then had he offered in
word or act any thing amiss from a perfect gentleman. It was the next
day after our arrival in this city, and to this house, that he
proposed to live two weeks as if we were married, as it would be about
a week or two at longest when the goods would be here, and he would
get one of two dressmakers to prepare me for my wedding. I cried two
days over this proposition, and by this time I had learned the
character of this house. Here I was, a stranger to every body, but
still had confidence in my new friend; and again, to my bitter sorrow,
I yielded. But day after day of anxious waiting passed until two weeks
expired, and no new goods yet, but another lawn dress-pattern came for
me to make for myself, and another two weeks rolled away with only
hearing (he said) that the goods were on the way. But at the close of
the third two weeks he was missing. Daily I waited his coming. At
length I went on the street. I inquired for his name and the name of
his father's store, when, to my utter astonishment, no such store or
names were found in the city. Here in a strange place, deserted,
ruined, and filled with shame, I had no heart to go to my friends."
She had been here six months. I advised her not to remain in this
house another twenty-four hours.

"But what shall I do? Mrs. Cassaday will lock me up if she knows I am
going to leave her. She called me a fool for giving you that quarter;
she says these Christians are down on us; and if any of us should die,
there wouldn't one of them come to pray for us. I told her I believed
you would," I told her to pack her trunk, and if she was down town
near the time for the boat to leave for Cleveland, to call a drayman
to take her trunk to the boat and follow it, if possible, before Mrs.
Cassaday came in. I told her how to manage in going to her old
employer, and to tell her you were deceived by that young man, but you
found him untruthful. "As you say Mrs. Cassaday kept you sewing most
of the time, you can tell her you were employed most of time in
sewing; but do not, at present, tell her or your mother of the life
you have lived, and place of your residence while here." She promised
she would gladly take my advice, and leave for Cleveland the first
opportunity. As we parted she leaned her head upon my shoulder, with
fast dropping tears, and said, "I shall always thank you for acting
the part of a mother in helping me away from this horrible place."
The following morning she called to leave word with Mrs. Buck, that
fortunately for her Mrs. Cassaday was out just in time for her to call
a drayman, that had just gone with her trunk to the boat, and she was
now on her way to Cleveland, happier than she had been in six months,
and that she should do, in all respects, as I had advised. Here was a
beautiful girl decoyed and led from the paths of virtue by an artful,
designing, and licentious young man, who basely sought her ruin
by winning the affections of an innocent girl. Hundreds and thousands
of these girls are in like manner led astray, and might be saved if
mothers in Israel would take them by the hand of sympathy and lift
them from the mire of this moral pollution.

At another time a request was left with my hostess to go to see a very
sick woman, who was thought nigh unto death; but for a little girl
that heard the request I should not have received it. She said, these
poor white trash would curse me in health, and when they thought they
were going to die, they were ready then to send for me to pray for
them; and, as I was tired enough to rest after teaching all day, she
did not think I ought to go for their calls. I told her if she would
be so kind as to deliver all errands of that character I would be very
thankful, and hastened to the bedside of an old soldier of the cross,
who, with her aged companion, were visiting their children. She said
she did not expect to remain much longer in this world of checkered
scenes; but her son had been here a short time only, and had not
formed any acquaintances among Christian people, and their hired girl
said "she was passing your school-house one morning and heard you
opening your school with prayer, and I told her to find your boarding-
place, and leave word for you to come after your school closed, as I
wanted to hear the voice of prayer once more." I read a chapter and
offered prayer by her bedside. She and her weeping husband and
children thanked me for the call, and desired me to call the day
following, after school. I found her somewhat improved, and the next
door neighbor said Dutch Mary was in the adjoining room, and seemed
much affected, and said that was the first she heard read from the
Bible in seven years, and the first prayer she had heard in that time,
and she would be glad to see me, but she would not disgrace me by
coming to her house. Then the woman told her she would ask me to see
her in her room, and send for her when I came to see the sick woman.

I met her in great distress of mind. She told me of the wicked life
she had spent during the last seven years of her widowhood, and wanted
to know if I thought there was any hope whatever for her. "Do you
think God can forgive me? I have never so much as opened my Bible that
lies in the bottom of my chest all these seven years, until yesterday I
went home and took my Bible for the first time to read in these years;
and I felt so condemned after I read awhile that I laid it back, and
didn't know whether it was of any use; for I have lived such a
wretched life so long I doubt whether God can forgive me, for I feel
worse and worse. Do you believe he can?"

"Certainly he is able to save to the uttermost. It is the enlightening
influence of God's Holy Spirit that is showing you the exceeding
sinfulness of sin."

I read to her the readiness of the Lord Jesus to forgive sin. "How
ready to bless the humble and contrite heart! Only believe this with
all thy heart, and the blood of Jesus is sufficient to wash away every
stain that sin has made. Though they be as scarlet, he will make them
white as snow." We knelt together, and she too offered earnest prayer
for strength to live the new life, which she firmly resolved to do.

I saw her a week later, and she said she informed those men with whom
she had committed those darkest of sins of her firm resolution to live
a virtuous life, and she locked her door; but they persisted in
troubling her through the night, threatening to tear her house down or
burn it.

"Three nights I suffered from them. But by constant prayer, believing
God would take care of me, I was delivered from them. And I have
plenty of washing, ironing, and house-cleaning to do; and I get along
so much better than I expected I could. I do want to go to meeting;
but so many know of my wicked life I am afraid to go inside of a
church."

I told her to go to whichever Church she felt most at home, and the
Lord would open the way for her, and enable her to bring up her little
girl of eight years in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

At the close of my school I left this field, so white to the harvest,
to enter, as I supposed, upon a field of home missions. At the
expiration of a year I visited Toledo, and inquired of one who
occasionally employed Dutch Mary, but knew nothing of my experience
with her, how she was prospering. The cheering reply was, "Splendidly;
I haven't heard a disparaging word of her for months, and there used
to be hard stories about her." I heard she had united with the Baptist
Church, and I think she is trying to live a Christian. If she had not
left town on a visit to her friends I should have seen her, but the
report I heard of her was heart-cheering. May God bless her, and all
who are receiving life-giving power who were dead in trespasses and
sin.




CHAPTER VIII.

FUGITIVES IN CANADA.


While visiting friends in Detroit and Canada previous to reopening
Raisin Institute, as I designed, I was earnestly solicited by Henry
Bibb, Horace Hallack, and Rev. Chas. C. Foote, the committee
authorized to employ a teacher, to open a school in a new settlement
of fugitives, eight miles back of Windsor, where the Refugee
Association had purchased government land, on long and easy terms, for
fugitive slaves.

They had erected a frame house for school and meeting purposes. The
settlers had built for themselves small log-houses, and cleared from
one to five acres each on their heavily timbered land, and raised
corn, potatoes, and other garden vegetables. A few had put in two and
three acres of wheat, and were doing well for their first year.

After prayerful consideration, I reached the conclusion to defer for
another year my home work, and enter this new field.

In the Autumn of 1852 I opened school, and gave notice that at eleven
o'clock the following Sunday there would be a Sabbath-school for
parents and children, after which a little time would be spent in
other religious exercises, pursuing the same course I did in Toledo,
Ohio. This drew a number of callers who had no children to see if any
could come to my Sabbath-school; and when I told them it was for
every body of any age who desired to come, my school-house was filled
to its utmost capacity. Many frequently came five or six miles with
their ox-teams to attend these meetings, with their families. Every
man, woman, and child who could read a verse in the Testament, even
with assistance, took part in reading the lesson, and liberty was
given to ask questions. It was not strange to listen to many crude
ideas, but a more earnest, truth seeking congregation we seldom find.
An aged couple, past eighty, missed very few Sabbaths during the year
I spent there. The man was a fugitive slave, and his companion was an
Indian woman, converted under the preaching of a missionary among the
Indians. She had taken great pains to talk and understand the English
language, and was an interesting woman.

As there was an increasing interest both in day and Sabbath schools, I
give liberty for all who wished to enjoy a sort of class or inquiry
meeting, following half an hour's service for exhortation after
Sabbath school.

One couple desired a private interview with me, as they had been
married only after "slave fashion." They said "It is not right to
live this way in a free country. Now we wants you to marry us."

"I am not legally authorized," I said, "but I will send a note to
brother Foote, and he will come at once and marry you legally."

"We thought you preached, an' made notes for us, an' could help us out
in dis matter too."

Charles C. Foote came, and we called at their house at the appointed
time, with a few neighbors, to witness the solemnization of the
marriage that would have been accomplished three years before had they
looked at these things from the same stand point they now did.

A few days after another couple came on the same errand. Said this man
"We wants you an' Mr. Foote to marry us, case we's bin troubled 'bout
dis many days, case we wa'nt gwine to let nobody know it, but God
knows all 'bout us, an' now we's free indeed, we wants every thing
straight."

"But why do you put me with Mr. Foote," I asked, "to marry you?"

"Didn't you an' Mr. Foote marry dat brother an sister week afore
las'?"

"No; only brother Foote."

"Brother Foote repeated the questions," they answered; "then he
pronounced them husband and wife; then they were married according to
law. But he axt you to pray after he said dem words."

In all this ignorance they were like confiding grown-up children,
patiently listening to every explanation.

The unbounded confidence they placed in me was surprising; for they
often brought their business papers for me to examine, to see whether
they were right. One man brought me a note, as the employer could not
pay him for his work in money. He said it was a note for groceries;
but the grocer refused to take it, and said it was not good. I told
him there was neither date nor name to it. I wrote the man a letter,
asking him to rectify the mistake, which he did; but he gave his
employee credit for only half the days he had worked. They were so
often deceived and cheated in many ways, because of their extreme
ignorance, that I did not wonder at the conclusion one escaped
fugitive had reached. His master was a Presbyterian minister, but he
had known him to whip his sister, the cook, after coming home from
Church; and he said then he never would have faith in white folks'
religion. Since coming to this colony he watched me a long while
before he made up his mind that white people could have a pure
religion. But now he believed "that the Lord hid his Spirit in the
hearts of white people at the North; but it was a make-believe in
slaveholders."

I was surprised one day to meet the mother of three of my scholars,
who gave her thrilling experience in her escape from slavery; but she
had little more than commenced her story before I found her to be one
for whom I laid a plan with her sister, who had bought herself. As I
named a circumstance, she exclaimed in surprise, "Why honey! is dis
possible? God sent you here to larn my gals to read, an' we didn't
know you," and tears began to drop thicker and faster, as she
recounted the blessings that had multiplied since her arrival in
Canada. She had in the three years worked for a little home. Her two
older girls were at work, and they were all so happy in their freedom.

These fugitives often came five or six miles for me to write letters
to their friends in the South, with whom they left a secret
arrangement very frequently with white people who were their friends,
but secretly, for fear of the ruling power, as were the disciples of
Christ who feared the Jews. Their notes, or articles of agreement,
were generally brought to me to draft for them.

In six weeks of steady attendance fifteen young men and women could
read the second reader, and write a legible hand, and draft a
negotiable note. I took a specimen of a number of my scholars' hand-
writing to an anti-slavery convention in Cincinnati, Ohio, and left a
few with the Rev. John G. Fee, whose life had been threatened if he
did not desist from preaching a free gospel in his home State--
Kentucky. But the brave Cassius M. Clay told him to go on, and he
would go with him. He went to one place from whence he had received
repeated threats, and trouble was anticipated; but Cassius walked into
the church by his side, and placed the Constitution of the United
States on the Bible, and over both his brace of pistols, with which he
informed the audience he should protect free speech. At the same time
he cast a glance at the threatening group in a farther corner, who
left one by one, until the church was cleared of all but eager
listeners. Brother Fee said his object in requesting these specimens
of the fugitives writing was to exhibit to those who were constantly
asserting that negroes could not learn. He wished them to see the
legible hand-writing of those who had only six weeks' training from
their alphabet.

After spending a few days' vacation, I returned to the toiling day and
night in my school. As there were twelve heads of families anxious to
read the Bible and hymn-book, and this seemed to be the height of
their ambition, I opened an evening school for that class. It was
steadily attended four evenings in each week, and this, with one
evening devoted to prayer-meeting, filled the week, leaving only one
evening free; and frequently they came with their ox-teams to take me
three miles to lead a prayer-meeting for them in an adjoining
settlement.

The Winter was quite severe, and I frequently was awakened with the
snow sifting in my face, and not unfrequently found the snow half an
inch or more deep over my bed on rising in the morning; but my health
was firm, and I often thought I never enjoyed a year of toiling better
than the one I spent here.

There were in this colony a mixed religious element--Baptist,
Methodist, Presbyterian, and Free-will Baptist--deeply interested in
Sabbath schools and class-meetings, open to all who wished to enjoy
them. An organization was proposed. The proposition came from the
Methodist element, but I did not deem it wise to organize from any one
denomination, as divergent opinions would create controversy that
would bring harm to many tender minds. Consequently I proposed to
organize a Christian Union Church, without disturbing the Church
relationship of any one. I prepared an extract from Gerrit Smith's
concise plan of organizing, on a liberal-scale, a Christian Union
Church, with but little change, and read it to them; and, after a
little discussion and explanation it was readily adopted. I think the
number of new converts was thirteen, who expressed a desire to be
baptized by immersion. I exhorted them to attend to their own
religious impressions, as I was not there to present particular
religious tenets, but to present the crucified, risen, and glorified
Savior. Brother Foote came and complied with their wish.

I closed my evening school two weeks to hold a series of meetings, in
which a young Baptist brother assisted. We all continued to work
together for the highest good of all around us.

I noticed a settled sadness in the countenance of a young man of
twenty-five years, recently from Missouri. During recess he took but
little interest in any thing outside of his book or writing lesson.
After attending my school a few days he invited me to go to his
boarding-place to spend the night, as he wished me to write a letter
for him. I found his history was a sad one. He was sold from his wife
and four little children to satisfy a heavy debt. The master tried to
reason with him, and the man he owed would not take any of his slaves
but him. He called him aside to have further conversation concerning
the proposed sale; his wife presented herself also to plead that they
might not be separated. Both knelt before him, beseeching with tears
to allow them to remain together. Said he, "I tole 'im I'd serve 'im
faithfully all the days of my life, if he'd only let us live together;
and he seemed to give way a little, and said he did not want to sell
me, as I was his foreman, and he thought he would make other
arrangements. I watched him closely as I had but little confidence in
his words, and armed myself with a dirk. One day he called me to go to
the woods with him, to show me the trees he wanted chopped. As I was
going I saw the end of a rope under his coat-skirt. I kept at a
reasonable distance all the way, and when we came to the tree he
wanted I should chop, he attempted to come near me and I stood back;
then he told me plainly I must yield. I said I never would permit
myself to leave my family, and, if he was so determined, I should
never be of any use to any one, for life to me was of no value if I am
to be taken from my wife and four little children. At this he, with
the other man, who came out of the bushes, ran towards me, but I
outran them. About seven miles distant he overtook me with a number of
his slave men, and told me I had to give up. I flourished my dirk and
told them that I would kill the first man that touched me, or they
should kill me. At this they all stood back except the master himself.
He flourished his bowie-knife and I my dirk, for the space of a few
minutes, when he made a rush upon me, and he met my dirk before I met
his bowie-knife. As he fell back I ran for the woods. In the darkness
of the night I made my last visit to my wife and little children."

Here he became convulsed with weeping. When he could command his
feelings to pursue the sad story, he said:

"Oh, that was an awful parting! The moment I entered my wife's cabin
she threw her arms around my neck, exclaiming, 'Oh, my dear Bill,
don't stay a minute, for they say you've killed Master Riggs. They say
he was dyin' this evenin', and he's dead afore this time, I reckon,
an' they swear vengeance on you. Some said they'd chop you in pieces--
some said they'd burn you alive.' I told her if God would help me to
Canada I would write after awhile to her father (he was free, having
bought himself), and may be he could manage to send her and our
children to me; and I tore her arms from my neck."

Again he was overcome with grief. I advised him not to write at
present. I never saw a more grief-stricken man. He was boarding with
Henry Bibb's mother, who said she knew he was a man of deep trouble,
"for he looked so sad and groaned so much nights; but I couldn't bear
to ask him, because I thought it would be harder for him to forget
it." Having been a slave herself, she could easily anticipate the
cause of his sadness. Notwithstanding this, he made fair progress in
reading, writing, and arithmetic in one term. During this time
vigorous efforts were put forth for his capture.

While I enjoyed my work so much with these people in the woods, in
schools, in meetings, and in their improvements generally, I do not
say I found with them perfection. There were causes for reproof as
well as of encouragement. They made great effort to improve their
homes by taking trees from their woods to the saw mills to be cut up
into boards for better floors than split logs, and for partitions to
make their little houses more comfortable. Perhaps their improvements
could not find better expression than the report of one of our
neighbors, in reply to an inquiry of a friend in Detroit, as to how
they were prospering in their refugee colony, "Fine fine we've all
come to life, an' are in a state to see who'll make the bes' house."

Frequent arrivals of their friends from slavery often produced much
excitement. At one time a company of twenty seven arrived, brought by
John Fairfield, a Virginian. He often went into the heart of slave
holding States and brought companies away, passing himself as their
owner until they reached a free State. He telegraphed some friends in
Windsor, and a dinner of reception was provided in one of the colored
churches, and a great jubilee meeting was held. One very old woman,
between eighty and ninety years old, shouted as she jumped around
among the people, "I's young again. Glory! glory! Jesus is our Master
for evermore, honey," shaking hands with the new-comers. "Glory to
Jesus! I's sixteen," and she clapped her hands as she gave another
leap. Said John Fairfield, "This pays me for all dangers, I have faced
in bringing this company, just to see these old friends meet."

Our young brother Campbell, the literate Baptist minister who had
labored with us in our series of meetings a few months previously,
returned, and with the three Baptist families in that community
conceived the idea that as I was soon to leave, they could organize a
Baptist Church, and induce nearly all in that colony to unite, and
they went to work industriously to secure the individual consent of
our Christian Union members; but the plan was, with one accord,
rejected, except by our Baptist friends. As they said nothing to me
concerning it, each day brought some complaints about their organising
a Baptist Church "over our heads," as a number expressed themselves.
But I told them "not to feel hurt over their desire to organize a
Baptist Church. We will give way for them to occupy half the time."
Brother Maglothin, who had just come with his family from Virginia,
was an earnest Christian man and a licensed Wesleyan minister, and he
was ready to take my place in keeping up our Sabbath-schools and
meetings.

Rev. N. P. Colver, of Detroit, had appointed the Sabbath to meet the
friends in our school-house, for the purpose of organizing a Baptist
Church and of ordaining brother Campbell to take charge of it. I told
all of our people to be sure and attend it with me. As I retired on
the night previous to the proposed meeting, I read the sweet promise
of the loving Savior, "I will be with you to the end," with an
assurance of entire trust.

The hour arrived, and our house was well filled, but with many
saddened faces. Brother Colver gave a short discourse, and ordained
brother Campbell, who was left in charge of the Baptist branch of the
little flock. At the close of the exercises I remarked that I hoped
we would all manifest the same abiding interest in each other's
spiritual and temporal well-being as we had heretofore done; that
there was a fair understanding between the brethren and sisters that
every other Sabbath was to be occupied by brother Maglothin, thus
alternating with brother Campbell; and as the next Sabbath would be my
last for the present with them, it would be my duty to explain the
basis upon which our Christian Union Church was organized. My earnest
and constant prayer was and ever would be, whether present or absent,
that the love of the Lord Jesus Christ would ever dwell richly in each
heart of his followers in that community, with whom I had spent a year
that I could class with the most pleasant of my life.

The following-Sabbath found our house well filled. After singing an
appropriate hymn, and prayer, I read 1 Corinthians iii, with remarks;
after which I read the license from the Wesleyan Methodist Conference,
acknowledging a qualification to preach the Gospel of our Lord Jesus
Christ. In it was granted liberty to organize a company of believers
into a Church; and I presented our articles of agreement to build each
other up in the unity of the Spirit and in the bonds of peace,
regardless of name, in this "Christian Union Church." To this we all
assented without a jar, and some of our Baptist brethren present voted
in favor.

At this their minister, arose with an acknowledgment that he had not
understood the foundation of this organization before, and regretted
very much what he had said against it, and would ask pardon of all
these brethren and sisters and of myself. Before I had an opportunity
to reply their deacon and another followed, asking pardon for what
they had said, for now they saw the wrong. I replied that if feelings
had been hurt by whatever had seemed unkind, they were now healed by
the same love and unity that had so universally prevailed in our
little band, that had given courage and strength all through the year.
Here were sad faces brightened; and others followed me, manifesting
the healing power of love. The Lord was in our minds reconciling to
himself, and melting away every apparent root of bitterness.

I left them again united, but our little Baptist organization lived
only till their fourth meeting. From their own choice it was
discontinued; and, as the majority in that community were of Methodist
proclivities, it has never ceased to be of that family name, being a
few months after reorganized under the auspices of the Methodist
Episcopal Church.

I had, previous to leaving this field, written to William Anderson's
wife, Maria, directed to her father, and dated in Adrian, Michigan,
and I instructed letters from her to be sent to that city in my care.
Soon after my return a letter came from her father, as William had
directed. I opened it, and found the very plausible plan of bringing
William's wife and four children to him. Her father wrote of the loss
of his own wife; and as the size and color of Maria answered to the
description of his own wife, as recorded on his manumission papers, be
proposed to take Maria and the children a few miles away in the night,
where they would be kept secreted until the excitement of hunting for
them was over, when he proposed to take them a night's journey
northward. By that time he hoped that he could travel openly, with his
free papers. I replied as William requested, in his name, and
forwarded both the letter and a copy of my reply to him, with a
renewed caution for him not to cross the Detroit River, as it was
possible that all these plans were devised by his enemies, instead of
the father-in-law and his wife. They had desired him to meet them on
their way, and also inquired for names of places and persons who aided
him, for the purpose of passing through safely to some point where
they could meet to part no more until death itself should separate
them. I wrote him to wait patiently the result, and not allow himself
to become too much elated over this plausible plan, for I had written
"that there were many friends who assisted him, whose names he had
forgotten, neither could he call to mind the names of the many places
he passed through, for he was taken from place to place in haste.
They, too, would find no lack of friends; and if they brought his
family to Adrian, Michigan, and inquired for Mrs. Laura S. Haviland, a
widow, they would learn where he could be found."

Not many days elapsed before the answer came in the person of a
Southerner, accompanied by Mr. Warren, of Detroit, with my letter in
his hand and with the statement that I would know the where abouts of
William Anderson. He said his family had arrived in Detroit with his
wife's father and that they were in the family of a colored minister by
the name of Williams.

I told him I was acquainted with the Williams family, and was very
glad to hear of the arrival of William Anderson's family, over whom he
had been very anxious, and inquired when they came.

"Yesterday, about four o'clock," was the reply. "There seems to be
quite an interest in the family by the white people. Mr. Hallack gave
me five dollars to pay William's fare to Detroit to meet his family,
as I volunteered to come for him. And here's a letter he sent to his
father in law, you can read for yourself."

I took it, and as I opened it recognized the letter I wrote for him.
"Yes, this is all right, it is the letter I wrote for William."

Beginning to appear quite nervous, he said "You see in that there is a
statement that you would know where he's at work, and," taking out his
watch, "I see we'll have to hurry to get to Adrian by train time and
if you'll be so kind as to tell me where to find him as they are very
anxiously waiting for us, I shall be obliged to you. It would be a
great disappointment if we should fail to reach Detroit when the next
train goes in."

He walked to and fro across the room, first to the door, then to the
window, in a hurried, excited manner, while I was purposely detaining
him to see him tremble. I was quite satisfied that he was a bogus coin
by the index of his face. When I told him, at length, that he was
working in Chatham, Canada West, and that I wrote this direction to
avoid any possible scheme or plot to return him to hopeless bondage,
his face reddened and voice trembled as he replied "I don't know any
thing about it, only what Mr. Hallack told me. That is every thing
that I know in this matter."

I told him what Mr. Hallack had informed him was all right, and he
could tell him to send the family on the first train from Windsor to
Chatham, and they would meet William there. He bowed, "I thank you;"
but looked as if his words very much misrepresented him.

By the time he was out of sight I had my horse and buggy ready, to
follow him to Adrian, to telegraph Horace Hallack and George De
Baptist to forward a dispatch to William Anderson, Chatham, Canada
West, to leave that city without an hour's delay, as I was satisfied
his enemies from Missouri were after him, and probably would take him
as a murderer. The telegram was sent, and he obeyed its request.

Within two days my caller was there, inquiring for William, and was
told by a number that he had been at work in town some time, but left
a couple of days before, but knew not where he went. After a few days'
search and inquiries in that town, he returned to Detroit, and for the
first time called on Horace Hallack to inform him that he was in
search of a colored man by the name of William Anderson, who was a
free man, that had committed in the State of Missouri a cold-blooded
murder of a Baptist deacon, for the paltry sum of five dollars, and he
understood he had been quite recently in Chatham, Canada, but had left
that city. He, would like advice as to what course to pursue to
ascertain his whereabouts. Horace Hallack referred him to George De
Baptist, who was well acquainted with leading colored men in many
localities both in Canada and this side the river.

Our Missourian was now in good hands, as I followed my dispatch to
them with a long letter, giving William Anderson's experience in
detail. George De Baptist told him if he had been a slave, he would
have taken every measure within his reach to protect him in his
freedom.

But as he said he was always free, and such a high-handed murderer as
he represented, he would go just as far to bring him to justice. "I
will tell you what I will do; I will write to an intelligent colored
man in each of the largest settlements of colored people, Chatham,
Amhurstburg, and Sandwich, and will receive replies from each within
four days, and I will give you the result of their inquiries." At the
time appointed the Missourian returned for tidings.

Said George, "I have received answers from each letter, and from
Amhurstburg and Sandwich they write they have known or heard nothing
of a man by that name; but the man to whom I wrote in Chatham has
known all about him, being well acquainted with him, and he writes
that William Anderson had been talking of going to Sault St. Marys,
and that he left two weeks ago, rather mysteriously, without telling
him or any one else where he was going; but the greater
probability was he went there."

He gave the letters to him, to read for himself. Consequently he hired
Mr. Warren and another man, and took the trip to Sault St. Marys,
where he spent a week inquiring for William Anderson; but be failed to
get the least clew to his whereabouts, and returned to Detroit. He
left a power of attorney with his friend Warren to arrest him in case
be could be decoyed over the Detroit river; if that plan did not
succeed, he was to telegraph him if he found his whereabouts in
Canada. If these plans failed, he left directions to arrest me with a
United States warrant. But about the time I was to have been arrested
Mr. Warren, the man who was empowered to arrest me, died with cholera
--a singular coincidence. Mr. Warren's brother expressed deep sorrow
and regret to find the papers granting legal authority to transact
such business in his brother's possession at the time of his death. He
allowed George De Baptist to see them before they were destroyed. This
was the second time cholera defeated my arrest.

Pursuit was still continued for William Anderson. Three years after I
fell in company with D. L. Ward, attorney of New Orleans, in a stage
between Ypsilanti and Clinton, Michigan. He was making some complaints
about the North, which drew forth a few remarks from me. "Oh, I am
glad I've got hold of an abolitionist. It is just what I have wished
for ever since I left my home in New Orleans. Now I want to give you a
little advice, and, as it will cost you nothing, you may accept it
freely, and I hope you will profit by it; and that is, when you
abolitionists have another Sims case, call on Southern legal
gentlemen, and we will help you through. We would have cleared Sims,
for that Fugitive slave Law is defective, and we know it, and we know
just how to handle it."

"Why did you introduce a defective bill?"

"Because we made up our minds to bring you Northerners to our terms,
whether it was constitutional or not, and we have done it, because we
knew we could do it; not because we cared for a few niggers; for I
say, if a nigger cares enough for freedom to run for it, he ought to
have it. Now we knew that was an unconstitutional thing before we put
it before Congress; but we put it there to let you know we could drive
it down Northern throats, and we did it, too."

"I acknowledge," I replied, "that there is too much servility in our
North; there is too much crouching and cringing, but I am prepared to
say there are more than seven thousand that have never bowed the knee
to your Baal of slavery, and never will. We never shall do homage to
your Southern goddess, though you may cry loud and long in demanding
its worship. You say if we have another slave case, if we come to you
to help us through, you will do it, and that if a slave wants his
freedom bad enough to run for it, you think he ought to have it?"

"Yes, madam, we will aid you, for we know just how to handle that
thing."

"Supposing a man is about to be sold from his family, and he falls at
his master's feet, and pleads in tears to remain with his family, and
promises to serve him faithfully all the days of his life, if he will
only permit them to remain together; but the master persists in the
sale; the slave makes his escape; is overtaken by his master, yet,
severely wounding him, he succeeds in gaining his liberty. Now what do
you say in regard to this supposed case?"

Looking me full in the face, he asked my name, which was given. Said
he, "I think I am acquainted with that case. Is it not William
Anderson, a runaway from Missouri?"

"William Anderson's case is very similar to the one I have described."

"Oh yes, madam, and you are implicated in that affair, but as you are
a lady I will not disturb you; but you are liable to great difficulty
in that case, and I will tell you we are going to have Anderson by
hook or by crook; we will have him by fair means or foul; the South is
determined to have that man, and you'll find your House of Refuge will
not protect him either."

"This is the way I perceive you Southern legal gentlemen will help us.
But you will never get Anderson from Canada. Your determination will
fail."

"We shall not fail, but I will tell you after I return from our
filibustering tour, as we am going out next month. We are confident of
success in that, too, for our fleet is in good condition. We shall
then take Anderson, if not before, and let you see how much your House
of Refuge will do to hold that man from the South."

I never heard from D. L. Ward from that day. I had written previous to
this interview to the governor-general, Lord Elgin, of the first
effort to retake him as a murderer. He replied that, "in case of a
demand for William Anderson, he should require the case to be tried in
their British court; and if twelve freeholders should testify that he
had been a man of integrity since his arrival in their dominion, it
should clear him." This information, however, I did not reveal to our
Southern lawyer.

Three years later, in which time I had succeeded in finishing my
Raisin Institute building, and reopened the institution in charge of a
principal from Oberlin College, the sad tidings reached me that
William Anderson was lodged in jail in the city of Toronto, under
charge of murder committed in the State of Missouri. He was awaiting
his trial, and Gerrit Smith was one of his legal advisers. I wrote
immediately informing him of the previous efforts to search out his
whereabouts, and that his pursuers at that date (1853) alleged that he
was a free man, and had never been a slave. In reply, Gerrit Smith
wrote:

"I am glad you have given me so much of his history. Poor Anderson! I
visited him in jail. I will send you my speech in his behalf. I hope
the friends will purchase his family. I have volunteered to do all I
can for the poor man. Lord Elgin is removed; the present governor-
general is a stranger to this case. God bless you.

"I am truly your friend, GERRIT SMITH."

A few days later, I received the thrilling speech of Gerrit Smith,
like the man, full of pure and soul-inspiring thought; but I trembled
with fear when two of the three judges were in favor of returning
William Anderson to the State of Missouri, and that Riggs the claimant
was liable to succeed; but through the efforts of his friends, and the
opposing judge, the case was appealed to a higher court, and William
Anderson was sent to England, where he remained in safety until the
war opened, in which time the case was adjusted in his favor. The
Missouri agent, Riggs, failed, and the friends of liberty rejoiced.

Three young men fled from Daniel Payne, Kentucky, and succeeded in
reaching Canada, where they had proven themselves worthy of their
hard-earned freedom. A few months elapsed, and their master came for
them, and tried to hire them to go back with him, promising to make
over to them manumission papers as soon as they returned. But he
failed to inspire Alfred and his two brothers with confidence in his
promise of freedom and fair wages for their work. He then secured the
aid of a colored man to invite them to a dancing party in Detroit a
few days after, but the boys mistrusted that their old master had the
handling of this invitation, and did not accept it.

As they had been annoyed two weeks by the various plans of "Master Dan
Payne," they concluded the next time he gave them a call to appear
more social, and gave their plan to forty or fifty of their friends,
who were to lie in ambush near the old barracks, where one of the
brothers was to have a chill, and appear too sick to go over the
river. But two days passed before the opportunity arrived that enabled
them to carry out their plan. When Alfred informed the ex-master of
the illness of his brother, of course he must hasten to the sick boy
with a nice brandy-sling for the chills, and he purchased a good
quantity for them all. While he was handing a glass of sweetened
brandy to the sick man, a company of men rushed in and held him, while
Alfred and two brothers stripped him of his coat, vest, boots, socks,
and pants, and tied him with a rope in the same way the master had
tied their mother, when he compelled her to be stripped, and tied her
with his own hands, and whipped her until the blood ran to the ground.
Alfred and his brothers applied dexterously the slave-whip, which they
had provided for the occasion by borrowing a plantation slave-whip
kept by Henry Bibb as a reminder of his slave life. Daniel Payne
begged heartily for mercy. Alfred replied: "Yes, this is just the way
my mother begged for mercy; but you had no mercy for her, and this is
to show what she received at your cruel hands." They applied the lash
until the forty stripes their mother had received at his hands had
been given. Then they unbound him and gave him fifteen minutes to
dress and leave Canada, and gave him a quarter to go with, keeping his
watch and purse, which contained about forty dollars. He crossed the
river within the given time, and sent an agent to call on the
authorities, to whom he entered a complaint of being robbed of a gold
watch and one hundred dollars, but made no complaint of the whipping.
He affected to be too lame "with rheumatism" to return to his Kentucky
home for a number of days, in which time the boys returned his watch,
but kept the money. Alfred and his brothers said Mr. Payne was as
untruthful about the amount of money as he was in calling his old
silver watch gold. Suffice it to say, the young men were never after
troubled or annoyed by Daniel Payne, of Kentucky. Although it was a
course I would never have inaugurated, yet it was largely in human
nature to requite the cruelties heaped upon their mother when it was
beyond their power to protect her.

With very many pleasant remembrances, I left this laborious field of
labor for home work, where I spent nearly three years looking after
the best interests of my children, and making preparations to reopen
Raisin Institute, for the moral, intellectual, and spiritual
improvement of our youth.




CHAPTER IX.

RESCUE OF SLAVES.


A family of six left their old Kentucky home in search of freedom. A
young wife who was sold had made her escape three years previously. I
noticed a stranger passing through my gate, and as he was a mulatto, I
went out to see where he had gone. I found him sitting in the porch,
waiting to see some one of whom to inquire whether he was at the right
place. He handed a paper directed to me by an under-ground railroad
ticket agent, who informed me there were six fugitives in his company.
"Then there are six of you?" I asked; "and where are the balance?" "My
two brothers are back a-ways," he replied, "'cause we's feared it
wasn't the right place."

Being assured all was right, he went back for them. They had left
their mother, with her two little grandchildren, in Carthaginia, until
the boys could find a safe home for them, but they knew not whether
they should go on to Canada or find the object of their search short
of that place. They heard in Carthaginia that Michigan was the last
place she had been heard from, and that was a short time after passing
through that town. They were directed to me as being most likely to
know the whereabouts of the young wife. They had been in my home a
number of hours before the elder brother dared make the inquiry. I
noticed the frequent heavy sigh and sad countenance, and I thought he
was probably very anxious over the safety of his mother, and I assured
him that she was in good hands, for I knew them to be true friends.
While he assented, yet all my words of encouragement did not seem to
cheer him, while the two younger brothers were happy. I went through
my usual course of giving them new names. As they left that entirely
with me, I gave as the family name Koss, and their given names
Benjamin, Richard, and Daniel. But I came to the conclusion that the
older brother was troubled over some friends he had left behind. At
length, in a half hesitating and trembling manner, he ventured to ask
if I knew any thing of a colored girl by the name of Mary Todd.

"Certainly I do," said I; "and did you know her?"

"Yes, ma'am," was his reply.

"Do you know whether her husband was sold? She worried a great deal
about him."

"No, they talked of selling him lately." Then, after a pause, "She
isn't married again, is she?"

"Why, no, she is a very steady, nice young woman. Every one in the
neighborhood where she lives takes a great interest in her. Perhaps
you are acquainted with her husband; why don't he come? He promised to
follow her as soon as he could."

While his countenance lit up with joy, I had no suspicion of who he
was until he said, "I am the man. I am her husband."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I was 'fraid of bad news if I got any."

"Afraid she was married?"

"Well, it's been mighty nigh three years, an' I couldn't go for a long
time off the plantation, after she left."

As she was twelve miles from our school, and by this time it was
nearly night, I hastened to inform brother Canfield, a Wesleyan
minister, that the older brother of these fugitives was Mary Todd's
husband. "Is it possible," he asked, "that Mary's husband has come at
last?"

Soon, quite an excitement was produced in our neighborhood over the
arrival of Mary Todd's husband. The next morning brother Canfield took
him in his buggy to meet his wife and little son he had never seen;
and a time of great rejoicing was in the whole neighborhood. As they
were married after slave style, brother Canfield solemnized the
marriage legally. The minister said we all forgot the black skin, when
we saw that couple fly to each other's arms. Surely,

  "Skins may differ, but affection
   Dwells in black and white the same."

Mary had lived most of the time in the family of Fitch Reed, of
Cambridge. They soon had a home for their mother, with her two little
granddaughters, and were all happy, industrious, and highly respected.

One of the common trials of life, to mar our happiness in our family-
like institution (February 23d) was the listless waywardness of some
of our dear students, in a determined purpose to attend a dancing
party under the guise of an oyster supper. How many delusive snares
are laid to entrap and turn aside the youth into divergent paths. We
found it necessary to suspend eight of our students for the remainder
of the term. It is a painful duty of the surgeon to amputate a limb,
yet it may be an imperative duty, in order to save the life of the
patient, and restore the body to health.

This evening a very remarkable fugitive slave came from Tennessee. He
had been five weeks on the way, in which time he had slept but one
night, having traveled at night and buried himself in hay and straw in
barns in the day-time to keep from perishing with cold, and to avoid
detection. He says six years ago his wife and child were sold from
him, which caused him days and nights of bitter tears. He then firmly
resolved to make an attempt to gain his freedom by flight. He was
captured in Illinois after a severe struggle. He showed us four
pistol-ball holes in the arm he was most dexterously using in his own
defense, and two large scars which he said were gashes made at the
same time with a Bowie-knife, which enabled his enemies to capture
him. After they secured him in jail he was advertised in papers, which
his master saw, and came and took him back, and caused him to be
whipped on the bare back until the flesh was so badly torn that he was
compelled to lie on his stomach four weeks. During this time he was
not able to turn himself. After recovering his master put him in the
iron works, of which he was proprietor. "If I hadn't been one of his
engineers he would have sold me instead of giving me that awful
whipping that he thought conquered me; but he was mightily mistaken;
for it only imbedded in my heart a more bitter hate than ever. I
appeared contented and performed my work well. After a few months, he
said one day, 'I've made you a good boy, Jim, and now I'll let you go
to the big city with me.' I was very obedient, but he little knew of
my determination to leave him as soon as I could make sure work of it.
That is the reason I would not make friends with white people till I
found Michigan, for we have heard that people in this State are
friendly to us, and that it is next to Canada."

As this man was above mediocrity as to intelligence, his two days stay
with us had a salutary influence over our school. He could not be
prevailed upon to rest longer, as he could not be easy until he
reached Victoria's dominions. His clothes were made comfortable, and
I called on a few friends for a little pocket change, and sent by him
a little note to the next station, where he was aided on to Canada.

Our Spring term opened with fair prospects. A number of our students
who were suspended last term returned to us, they said, to redeem
themselves, and they were as good as their word.

During our long vacation I attended an anti-slavery convention in
Cincinnati, where I met a white slave man from Little Rock, Arkansas,
who left his home in the night and by morning took public conveyance
as any other white man would. On reaching Cincinnati he found friends
of the slave to whom he revealed his condition. Levi Coffin advised
him to go with me to Michigan. As he was in greater haste than I was,
he proposed to go on at once. Consequently I wrote a letter of
introduction to my friends, requesting them to furnish him with work.
In two weeks I returned and found my young friend, Charles McClain,
(for that was the name I gave him in Cincinnati) at work with a
friend, who said it was a pity that I had introduced him as a fugitive
slave, for they would not have believed it if the statement had not
come from me.

He came to our school and improved very much upon what he had picked
up from the white children who were going to school, and by the aid of
a colored minister who could read and write, and by that means could
read in the second reader and write a little. He was often seen in
tears, and was very anxious to have his sister with him, who was as
white as himself and, like him, had straight auburn hair, blue eyes,
and perfect Caucasian features, without a vestige of African descent
that could be detected. A deep sympathy was enlisted in his behalf. He
was very anxious to convey intelligence to that sister of the ease
with which he effected his escape, and that she too could free herself
as easily. A number of the friends offered to aid, and one friend
placed thirty dollars in my hands to bring about this result. I wrote
to a colored minister in Little Rock, who replied, with a graphic
account of their rejoicing at his success, and of his sister Ann's
anxiety to come to him, but that she had no means. Charles wrote to
her that he would send means with instructions. As I had for many
years had a great desire to see more of the system of slavery in its
own territory, as so many people of the North were insisting upon our
exaggerations, and that we were judging the majority of slave-holders
by the few unprincipled men we had seen, I concluded to become the
bearer of this message.

With a well-defined plan of the streets and houses I left my home, in
confidence that the God of Daniel would return me unharmed. After a
little visit with my dear friends, Levi and Catharine Coffin, in
Cincinnati, I resumed my journey. I felt a little disappointed at the
leaving of a through boat an hour earlier than reported. Levi said,
"Perhaps thou'lt find it's all for the best," and so it was. For the
second day after leaving Cincinnati the vessel was burned and sunk,
with great loss of property, and many of the passengers were seriously
injured, and some fatally. As I soon after passed the wreck of
partially burned furniture floating near the shore, and some hauled
out lying on the bank, I was thankful for the disappointment.

At Napoleon I left the boat for another to go up the Arkansas river,
and waited at the best hotel in the place, kept by the widow Reeves.
She was probably a fair specimen of Southern women. The appearance of
the people made me feel as if I was out of these United States. There
was quite a company waiting to go up or down the river. Among them
were six or eight young people--Colonel Thompson with his son and
daughter, whom he was taking home from their school in Helena,
Arkansas, and a young Dr. Jackson, who was very talkative and filled
to over-flowing with affectation. With a twirl of his little cane, and
half-bent bow, in a simpering manner he addressed the four young
ladies sitting on the sofa before him:

"How did you rest last night, ladies?"

"Quite well, I thank you."

"Indeed, I am very happy to hear it, for I did not. I was dreaming all
night of shooting and stabbing, and I had an awful time. I suppose it
was owing to the awful time we had when I was here last over a nigger
fight, or rather a fight over a nigger. It seems he had started to run
away and they overtook him here, and he fought like a tiger. He had
armed himself with a six-shooter, and I tell you he made the bullets
fly lively, and they shot him before they could catch him. He shot one
man dead and wounded two or three others, and I was called upon to
extract a ball from the shoulder of one man."

During this conversation, and much more not recorded, I was writing a
letter home, directed to a friend in Covington, Kentucky. There was an
understanding, while in Cincinnati, that Levi Coffin was to take my
letters from our Covington friends, and mail them home.

To my great relief, the small boat, "Rough and Ready," came in, and
was to leave for Indian Territory, up the Arkansas River, in two
hours; but a large boat was going up the next day. I went on both to
see what they were, and I found the large boat looked more like an old
slaver than a civilized craft, and made my choice without making known
the reason. There was in the hotel an old lady going on the large
boat, and she urged me to accompany her, and a young woman was going
on the "Rough and Ready," who was anxious I should go with her, as she
was alone, and going to her mother in Little Rock. The old lady said
she was alone, and was going to her daughter, and asked Mrs. Reeves to
intercede in her behalf. "Now, Mrs. Smith, I'll make a bargain with
you. There is a rich widower on the big boat, and he's got lots of
niggers and money. I'll give him to you if you'll go on that boat;
and, I tell you, he's rich as Croesus." I had to enter somewhat into
these familiarities, and told her I would not think of being so
selfish as to take him from her.

I finished my letter-writing, and her Pomp was told to take my satchel
to the boat with the young woman. There were Colonel Thompson and son
and daughter, who made themselves quite too familiar to be
comfortable. I soon noticed the captain seemed quite disconcerted, and
made many excuses. His cabin help were set to cleaning and setting
things in order, and his cook sent ashore for nuts, candies, and
fruits. We hardly had started when Colonel Thompson charged me with
being a reporter for some periodical. I assured him of his mistake.

Said he, "I knew you were a reporter; and when Mrs. Reeves was urging
so persistently to have a dance, I whispered to my young folks not to
have any thing to do with it, for you'd have us all in some
newspaper."

I told him I was writing a letter to my folks.

Said he, "You need not think you are going to fool us in that way. I
saw you write a few minutes, then stop, and listen awhile to Dr.
Jackson and those young ladies, and then write again, then stop to
listen to Mrs. Reeves, and then write again. I told my children they
could see you had five or six pages for some paper; and you can never
make me believe that was all for a letter. Now, if you will answer one
question I'll release you. Haven't you written an article for a paper
some time?"

I hesitated, for the next query would be, "What paper? At length I
thought of the note of correction I wrote for the Louisville
_Courier_, while in that city, in behalf of Calvin Fairbanks,
while he was there in prison. I finally told him I would not say I had
never written any thing for a paper.

"Now, if you will pardon me, just one more question, and if you will
answer that I will be as good as my word, and trouble you no more on
that score. What paper have you written for? I would like to know
whether it was a Helena paper or any one in our State."

"No, not in this State," said I; "I did write a little card for the
Louisville _Courier_."

"Ah, yes, that's it; that is a good Democratic paper. I am acquainted
with the editor. I knew you were trying to cheat us all the while. I
wish you would write an article for the Little Rock _Democrat_,
If you will I will send the editor a letter of introduction; and I
know he will pay you well for it."

But I declined, and was very much relieved when the Thompson family
reached their home in Pine Bluff. Here I saw their slaves come to meet
them for their baggage. They urged me to stop with them and spend a
week or two, and they would take me out into the country to see some
beautiful plantations, as they had an excellent carriage driver. The
young woman said "Pa has owned him a number of years, and could always
risk us with him anywhere. Our plantation is not a very large one, as
pa has always had a store on his hands, but there are some very large
and beautiful ones beyond us."

A sense of relief came over me as I saw them leave the boat, and we
were the next day landed in Little Rock. Being after dark, I spent the
night at the Anthony House. Before sunrise I was at the house of our
friends, who were greatly rejoiced, and sent for the minister, with
whom we consulted. After making all necessary arrangements, with the
signs fixed upon whereby I might understand when the expected boat
would arrive, whether any unfavorable indications were noticed, etc I
inquired for a private and convenient boarding house where I could
remain a few days waiting for tidings from a through boat. The family
they named happened to be where the young woman who came on the same
boat with me was boarding, with her mother and brother in law, who was
keeping a tailor's shop. I inquired of this young woman and her mother
if they thought I could secure board there a few days, while waiting
for tidings from a brother. They thought Mrs. Shears might not have a
convenient room for me but they would be glad to have me in their
room. Soon the matter was settled. The son in law brought in sewing
for his mother and sister in law, and I made myself useful by
assisting them. The mother, Mrs. Springer, had a nice shally dress
for me to make, that she said she couldn't have got made to suit her
as well for eight dollars, and urged me quite hard to go in with
herself and daughter in opening a shop for dress-making. I also did
some sewing for Mrs. Shears, who also became quite social.

Mrs. Shears was very cruel to her slaves, and complained of the
indolence of Jack, a boy of twelve years. "But I haven't got him
fairly broke in yet. Don't you think, after I paid eight hundred
dollars in gold for that nigger, and set him to shell a barrel of
corn, he spent all that day in doing nothing? I was just ready to go
away, when a nigger-drover brought a few he had left, and said he'd
sell cheap, as it was the last he had on hand. He wanted nine hundred;
but I told him I'd give him eight hundred in gold, and at last he
concluded to take it. Well, as I told you, I set him to shelling on
that barrel of corn, and I don't s'pose he shelled a dozen ears after
I was gone. Don't you think, that nigger spent all that day in bawling
after his mother--a great booby, twelve years old! He might have some
sense in his head. I gave him one dressing, to begin with; for I found
he'd got to know who was master. I've had him six weeks, and he isn't
hardly broke in yet."

Poor motherless child! No doubt she too wept bitterly over the
separation; but no word of pity, or even a sigh of sympathy, must be
allowed here. I must listen to this, and a great deal more, with
stoical indifference.

As Mrs. Shears had more company than usual, she came to me one
evening, and asked if I would take her daughter's bed in her room,
shielded with curtains, for the night. This was satisfactory to me.
The following morning, at gray dawn, the two little boys, Jack and
Jim, came in with fire from the kitchen, with kindling. The mistress
rolled out of bed, and took her heavy-heeled shoe, dealing blows upon
their heads and shoulders, and said:

"How come you niggers till this time o' day in here to build fires?"

"Aunt Winnie didn't wake us."

"I'll wake you up; here almost daylight, and not a fire built yet,
when these four fires ought to have been built an hour ago. And didn't
wake up, ha? I'll teach you to wake up."

And so she kept up the heavy blows, chasing them round and round the
chairs, and the boys crying, "I will get up early, missus; I will get
up early," till it seemed to me an unreasonable punishment.

Just as the two fires were going, and the little fellows went to
light the other two, the son, Joe Shears, came in.

"What are these niggers about, that these fires are not all going
long ago?"

"O, they had to sleep this mornin'; they say Aunt Winnie didn't wake
'em."

"I'll wake the young devils; I'll see whether they'll sleep till
broad daylight. It's their business to have these fires going an hour
ago;" and out he went.

At breakfast, I noticed Jim, the waiter, was missing, and Jack was
not at his wood-chopping as usual. Soon after, as I passed through
the rear porch, I saw the two little boys hanging, as I supposed, by
their wrists, to a pole over the bay in the barn. The door was just
opened by Joe Shears, to commence his day's work of whipping, as I
soon heard the cries of one, then the other, alternating in stripes
heard with their cries, by spells, until noon. During this time Joe
Shears was sitting before the fire, playing cards and sipping his
brandy between the whippings. Whenever he was out the whipping and
cries were heard.

At noon little Jim was let down, very hoarse from crying, and his
eyes red and swollen. By his walk I knew the little fellow had
suffered intensely. But the little wood-chopper was not at his post.
Soon after dinner the lash was again heard, with the hoarse cry of
little Jack; and each time Joe Shears sat down to his card-table I
looked for Jack, but after a game or two of cards he was out again,
and the lash and cries resumed. I became so distressed that at four
o'clock I took a walk on the street, ostensibly to rest by exercise
after a day of sewing, but really to give vent to tears that had been
all day pent up, for all appearance of sympathy must here be
restrained. On my return I heard the battling of the paddle, with the
cries of poor Jack, so hoarse that I could hardly have recognized it
as a human voice had I not known what it was. I got no glimpse of the
poor child until the next morning.

As the tailor, Joseph Brink, came in, the sister-in-law said, "We
ought to have a lamp or candle lit before this time."

Said the mother, "We don't feel half thankful enough for this grate-
fire. Just think, Joe Shears has been whipping those two little boys
all this blessed day, and I should think they must be half dead to-
night."

"What have they done?" said Joseph.

"I don't know; do you, Mrs. Smith?"

"Yes; you know I slept in Mrs. Shears's room last night; and the boys
came in at nearly daylight with their pan of fire and kindling, and
the mistress wanted to know why their fires were not all built
before, and they said Aunt Winnie didn't wake them. And she whipped
them with her shoe quite a while; then Joe Shears came in, and swore
at them, and said he would wake them."

"And that was it? Only think," said Mrs. Springer; "you know Aunt
Winnie was sick yesterday. And just because they hadn't these fires
all built before daylight they've had them tied up in the barn all
day; that cowhide Mrs. Shears keeps hung on her door-knob her Joe has
swung over those two little niggers all day. I tell you, if the devil
don't catch such people there's no use of having a devil."

Her son-in-law, in an undertone, said, "Be careful; don't talk so
loud, or it will make a fuss here."

"Well, I don't care, I am mad. I tell you, Joe, hell is lined this
very minute with just such folks as these."

"Well, I think they are more cruel here than they are in Georgia."

"I've seen just such work in Georgia and in Alabama, and it's all
over. I tell you, there's more in hell to-night for treating niggers
this way than for all other sins put together, and I know it."

"Be careful; they'll hear you, and it will make trouble. It's their
property; it's none of ours."

"I don't care for that; they are human beings, and have feelings as
well as other folks. There's that little nigger, Bob, they've hired of
Dr. Webb, down street; they whip him and pound him about, and they'll
kill him some day. And I think somebody ought to report to Dr. Webb
how they are treating that young nigger. He is a mighty nice-looking
boy. He is almost white, and they've got him all scarred up."

"Well, what of that? The doctor himself is no better. About three
months ago his boy Tom was throwing wood in his cellar, and he did
something he didn't like, and he kicked him down the cellar, then
jumped down after him and took a billet of wood and was pounding Tom
over his head when two white men were passing by and saw the whole
affair; and as Tom fell the doctor came up out of the cellar and went
down town and reported his Tom had a fit. But the two men went into
the cellar after the doctor left and found him dead and his skull
broken in. They reported what they saw and had a coroner's inquest
over him, who found that Tom came to his death by too severe
punishment. They arrested the doctor and put him in jail a few days,
when his trial came off. The doctor was fined five hundred dollars,
and he paid it and went free."

"Yes, that is the doctor we've been sewing for, is it?"

"Certainly."

"I tell you, hell is heaped with just such people."

She went on in that strain that reminded me of St. Clair's "cursing up
hill and down" that almost frightened the New England old maid of
"Uncle Tom's Cabin." I trembled myself, expecting every moment that
some member of the family would hear her.

Two days later was washing-day, and the cook, Aunt Winnie, told her
mistress she was too sick to do the very large washing for three
boarders besides the family. I heard the mistress cursing her, and
telling her she could if she had a mind to, and charged her with being
lazy.

In came her son Joe. "What's all this fuss?"

"O, it's Winnie says she's sick and can't do the washing this week."

"Sick! I'll see how sick she is," and he took up a billet of stove wood
and commenced beating her over her head and shoulders, and swearing
that he would give her something to be sick for. Mrs. Springer called
my attention to the quarrel of Mrs. Shears with her cook before Joe
Shears came in. Then said she, "Poor Aunt Winnie will catch it now,
I'll warrant. There, just hear those blows; they sound like beating
the table; he'll kill her." And table, stools, and tin-pans or pails
made racket enough for the whole kitchen to be falling down. The
struggle with a volley of oaths lasted a few minutes.

Mrs. Springer, up to boiling rage again, "Hear that; what devils they
are; don't you believe Aunt Winnie will die? Why, I can't hold still."
In as careless a manner as I could command I said, "We can do no good
by saying any thing. You know what your son said the other night."

"I know it; but there isn't a particle of humanity about them. I feel
as if I want to pitch into the whole Shears family." Soon all was
quiet.

"I believe Aunt Winnie is dead, don't you?"

"I think not."

"I am going in there to see."

As she got up to go to the kitchen she took the pitcher for water.
While she was pumping the water near the kitchen-door, Aunt Winnie
staggered to the door trying to wind a cloth around her bleeding head,
and one eye was swollen shut. As she came in and reported how badly
she was bruised up, she wanted me to take the pitcher and go to the
pump for water; but I told her I would wait a little, for they might
think we went on purpose to see Winnie.

"Poor thing, I know she came to the door on purpose to let me see
her." And Mrs. Springer could not rest satisfied until I drew the next
pitcher of water, when the poor woman reeled to the door with her hand
on her head and the cloth around it saturated with blood. I could not
sleep a wink after the day of the unmerciful whipping of those two
little boys. Again the night after this unmerciful beating of this
poor woman was spent in weeping, and prayer to Him who hears the cries
of his oppressed children.

A few days after Aunt Winnie came to Mrs. Springer and asked her if
she would cut and make a green delaine sacque for her, and cut a
calico skirt, as she could make that in the night, and charged her not
to let her mistress see it or let her know she had it, because her
husband got it for her and gave her seventy-five cents to get Mrs.
Springer to cut it; "for he is going to take me away three weeks from
next Saturday night, 'cause the people are so hard here; he says I
shan't stay here any longer." "I am so sorry for her, I told her to
come in when her mistress and Joe Shears's wife are away making calls,
and I would take her measure and cut and baste it: then for her to
come in after they are all in bed and I would fit it and make it any
time, keeping it under a sheet I've got to make, and in that way I can
keep it out of sight; and I told her you and my daughter will say
nothing about it. Said Winnie, 'I knows that by her face.' Do you know
how quick these black people read faces?"

While she was sewing on Aunt Winnie's sacque, Joe Shears's wife came
into our room a little while, and the daughter looked out the back
window, where Jack was chopping, and said, "I don't think your Jack is
going to live long."

"Why? I'm sure he eats hearty."

"He looks so bad out of his eyes; I've noticed it a few days past, and
I've noticed he sort o' staggers sometimes, and he don't talk
natural."

She jumped up and looked at him and hastened to her mother in law's
room.

"Mother, Miss Springer says Jack is going to die."

"What makes her think Jack is going to die? I don't see any thing ails
Jack, he eats hearty."

Miss Springer (laughing): "I thought I'd scare her out. I wish I could
scare them to death, so they would treat their niggers like human
beings."

"Well, you've got her out of the way long enough to get Winnie's
sacque out of sight before our Joe comes in, for he's so mighty
careful for fear we'll get into trouble; I know he'd scold if he knew
it."

Strange position I was occupying, here among the most cruel of slave-
holders. And they were calling me a superintendent of the underground
railroad at home; and here was the starting-point on our underground
railway, but a silent listener, and in surprise, I said, "Where can
Aunt Winnie and her husband go? As you say, he is a slave." "I don't
know, but they do go somewhere out of the way of their owners, though
they keep up a mighty hunt for a long time; yet a good many of 'em are
never heard from; and I don't know where in creation they do go, and I
don't care, so they get away from these hyenas that have no more
feelings for their niggers than a wild animal, nor half as much. I
just wonder sometimes that the niggers don't turn upon 'em and kill
such devils. I know I would if I were in their places." "Yet there are
those who treat their servants kindly," I replied. I felt sometimes as
if I was compelled to be indifferent.

My friend passed the window at which I was engaged in sewing. After a
few moments I made an excuse to rest myself by taking a little walk,
as each of us frequently did. I soon overtook this friend who informed
me that Ann wished to see me after her tea was over, when she would be
released for a half hour to walk out on the back way with a free
mulatto girl, who was her intimate and confidential friend, and I was
to go in a large yard of shrubs and fruit trees where I was to meet
this friend who would call for Ann, with whom we were to take the
proposed walk. At the appointed time and place I met the friend, who
directed me to stand in a place out of sight of the street, or little
cabin, the home of her very aged and decrepit parents, who were worn-
out slaves, and as I understood were given their freedom. Their slave-
daughter was permitted to step in and do little chores for them after
her day's work was done.

While waiting in this lonely and solitary nook, three large
bloodhounds came in sight. I remembered of hearing about their being
let loose after sunset, to reconnoiter the premises, and I called to
mind what I had heard and read in history, that however ferocious an
animal is, a stern and steady gaze in the eye, by a human being, would
disarm it of ferocity, and cause it to leave. This course I resolved
to pursue with these three formidable enemies, that were already
assuming a threatening attitude, with a low growl, showing their
teeth, with hair on end--the leader as large as a yearling calf, the
two following him slightly smaller. I fixed my eyes upon the sparkling
eyes of the leader, that came within six feet and stopped; soon the
growl ceased, the lips dropped over the long tusks, the hair smoothed
back, and he quietly walked off with his companions. Soon came the
girl, all out of breath: "Did the hounds come to you?"

"They did."

"Oh, dear! what did you do?"

"I stood perfectly still," I answered, "and looked in the eyes of the
leader, and they soon became quiet and walked away."

"Oh, dear, that was the only thing that saved your life. If you had
stirred a particle they would have torn you in pieces. I was so
anxious to have Ann see you, I forgot the hounds until I started back,
and I liked to have fainted, for I know they were awful. I liked to
have screamed out 'God have mercy on that dear friend,' for I was
'most sure I'd find you killed."

"Oh, no, the Lord has preserved me, and I am not harmed." She was so
badly frightened that it was some time before her voice ceased
trembling; but He who is ever present with his trusting children was
there.

Arrangements were made for Ann to go North, but if a word of suspicion
was heard, I told her she must defer going to a future time; that she
must go as her brother went, perfectly independent of any one, which
she was confident of doing; but she wished to go on the same boat with
me, if no one else was going from their city. I learned through her
friend that she was overheard to ask a friend of hers for a shawl for
a journey. I sent her word to abandon the idea of going then at once;
that I should take the first boat for home.

She did not obtain her freedom until after her mother's death, two or
three years later. I did not regard the trip lost, painful as it was.
There was on the boat a sad couple, taken from a number of their
children by a young beardless boy, perhaps eighteen or twenty, small
and slender. I noticed them frequently in tears. They were noticed by
a few of the passengers, who made remarks about the sad faces of those
negroes. Said one heartless woman, "Look at that nigger cryin'. I
don't see what she's cryin' about; she's got her young one and man to
her heels." I carelessly watched for an opportunity to speak with one
or both of these children of sorrow. As they sat on a pile of cable on
the rear deck I caught the opportunity to inquire where they were
going.

"We don't know; our young massa got to frettin', an' ole massa gib us
to him and some money, an' tole him to go. We lef' three bigger
chillun behin'; never 'spects to see 'em ag'in; I wish he'd buy a
plantation somewhar, so we could go to work; 'pears like thar's no
comfort for us poor people, only when we's got work, an' stops
studyin' so much."

As the tears began to fall thick and fast, I took them by the hand and
told them Jesus was the friend of the poor, and he had many followers
who also remembered them in prayer. And he knew of their sorrow, and
as they went to him he would comfort their sorrowing hearts. Pointing
to his wife, he said, "She knows that, and I wish I did." I charged
them to make no mention of my having spoken to them. For while they
were slaves, I was not free. This young man with his heavy-hearted
couple left our boat at Pine Bluff.

Surely I had seen enough of slavery in its own household. Three weeks
was long enough to see and feel its virus. I met my old friends in
Cincinnati with a glad heart, where I could draw a free breath. I
could visit them but two days before I was on my way home, where were
many glad hearts to listen in private circles to my experience in a
slave State. More than ever they were convinced that the cannon and
sword would, at no very distant day, destroy the monster.

Our institution was now in its second academic year, in charge of
Joseph D. Millard, of Oberlin College. The stockholders had turned it
over into my hands, making me sole-proprietor of the institution, with
all its multiform cares and responsibilities. I had also frequent
calls from fugitives in flight for freedom, whose claims were second
to none other. But to see prejudice in our students melt away by an
acquaintance with our work, richly repaid me for all my day and night
toiling and cares, that seemed almost crushing at times. I purchased
for the young men's hall a building that was erected for a water
cure. That project failed, and the building that cost $2,000 to
erect, was offered for three hundred dollars for my institution. I
moved it one mile, and repaired it with fifteen rooms; and it was well
filled the first year. This academic year of our usual three terms our
students numbered over two hundred, mostly of those who had been
teaching, or preparing themselves for teachers, or for a collegiate
course. I served as preceptress, and was closely confined in school
work. Realizing in a great measure the importance of molding the mind
of youth for usefulness, these years of constant care passed
pleasantly with the hundreds of young people of our own and adjoining
counties.

A colored man, with a farmer's bag swung over his shoulder, approached
two men at work on the railroad between Palmyra and Adrian, and
inquired how far it was to Michigan.

"You are in Michigan, you fool you," was their reply.

"Then, will you please tell me how far it is to Canada?"

"You go to Adrian, about a mile ahead, and take the cars, and they'll
take you to Canada in two hours; or, if you haven't money to go that
way, you can go up that road till you come to the Quaker meeting-
house, and go direct east two miles to the Widow Haviland's school,
and she will tell you how to go to Canada, and it won't cost you any
thing.' She is a great friend to your people."

He soon found me. I got my supper out of the way, and my men folks out
again at their work. I then inquired who directed him to me, and he
told me "two men six miles from this school said you was a frien' to
my people; an' I thought if folks knew you six miles off I would be
safe to come to you, 'case I wants to go to Canada right soon. I
started once before, and traveled three nights by the North star; and
as Indiana was a free State I thought I would stop and buy me some
broad, an' the people was mighty kind, and said I could rest a week,
and they would pay me for the work I did, to help me on to Canada. But
firs' I knew my master come for me, an' I seed him pay them money--
s'pose 't was reward."

This time he was so cautious that he would make a friend of no one
until he reached Michigan. They had always heard people were friends
to colored people in this State. He was six weeks from Kentucky, and
had not dared to make his condition known to any one, white or black,
until he saw a colored man in the yard at Dr Bailey's, of whom he
inquired for my house. I told him that his coat and pants were too
ragged, and that I must repair them. As he had not a second shirt, I
took one of my son's, and gave him a couple of towels, soap, and a
pail of warm water, and told him to take off his coat for me to mend,
while he went up stairs to the room over the kitchen to change his
shirt. He hesitated about taking off his coat, until I told him he
must. "I am not your mistress," said I, "and yet you must mind me."
Tears started as he slowly drew it off, when the torn and bloody
shirtsleeves revealed the long sears, and a few unhealed sores on his
arms. Said I, "Are these the marks of the slave whip?"

He nodded assent, while tears were falling.

"When was this done?"

"Two nights afore I lef'."

"What was jour offence?"

"Dis was what I got for runnin' off, an' I fainted, an' master dragged
me in my cabin, and didn't lock me in, 'case I's so weak. I reckon he
thought I's safe. But I got an ing'on to rub over the bottoms of my
shoes so dogs couldn't foller me, an' I got four loaves o' bread and a
big piece o' boiled meat, an' crawled into de barn an' tuck dis bag
an' buffalo-robe for my bed, an' dragged it into de woods, and tuck my
bes' frien', de Norf star, an' follered clean to dis place."

"What did you do for something to eat?"

"I tuck corn in de fiel'. When I foun' log heaps an' brush burnin' I
roasted a heap to las' a few days; but I was weak an' trimbly to
start, an' kep' so all de way."

After this little history I made him take off his vest, which was also
very reluctantly done. But what a sight! The back of his shirt was
like one solid scab! I made him open his collar, and I drew the shirt
off from his shoulders and from the appearance of the shoulders and
back it must have been cut to one mass of raw flesh six weeks before,
as there were still large unhealed sores. I told him he must sit here
until I called in my son and son-in-law to see it. As they looked upon
that man's back and arms, and walked around him, said Levi Camburn, my
son-in-law:

"Mother, I would shoot the villain that did that as quick as I could
get sight at him."

"But, Levi," I replied, "he is not fit to die."

"No, and he never will be; and the quicker he goes to the place where
he belongs the better. Indeed, I would shoot him as quick as I would a
squirrel if I could see him."

Joseph, my son, responded:

"I think Levi is about right, mother; the quicker such a demon is out
of the world the better."

"I know this is a sad sight for us to look upon; but I did not call
you in to set you to fighting."

Many of my friends, and my son-in-law Levi, had thought me rather
severe in judging the mass of slaveholders by the few unprincipled men
who had fallen under my special notice; but I never heard of any
remark whatever from my son-in-law or neighbors, after this incident,
that charged me with being too severe in judging slaveholders. I
furnished the poor man with healing salve, and tried to persuade him
to rest a few days until he would be able to work; but no, he must see
Canada before he could feel safe. He was very loath to sleep in any
bed, and urged me to allow him to lie on the floor in the kitchen, but
I insisted on his occupying the bed over the kitchen. I gave him a
note of introduction to the next station agent, with a little change;
and a few weeks after I heard from my friend, whose name was George
Wilson. The reporter said: "The first two weeks he seemed to have no
energy for any thing. But then he went to work, and quite disappointed
us. He is getting to be one of the best hands to hire in Windsor."

This was the second fugitive from slavery who slept in my home--mine
being the first house they had dared to sleep in since leaving their
old home. A few days later another fugitive came from Louisiana. He
was a black-smith. I wrote to a wealthy farmer in Napoleon, Michigan,
to learn whether he could not furnish business for one or the other of
two new arrivals from slavery. To show the feelings of thousands of
our citizens at this date, I will extract a portion of his letter:

"There are constantly in our moral horizon threatenings of strife,
discontent, and outbreaks between liberty and slavery. The martyrdom
of John Brown only whets the appetite of the monster for greater
sacrifice of life. The continued imprisonment of Calvin Fairbanks and
others are not satisfying portions. I read your letter to our Arkansas
friend, and we are glad to learn that another has escaped from the
land of bondage, whips, and chains. In view of the wrongs and cruelty
of slavery, how truly may it be said:

  'There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart;
   It does not feel for man.'

"The natural bond of brotherhood is severed as flax that falls asunder
at the touch of fire. Let the lot of bitter poverty be mine, and the
hand of man blight every hope of earthly enjoyment, and I would prefer
it to the condition of any man who lives at ease, and shares in every
fancied pleasure, that the toil, the sweat, and blood of slaves can
procure. Alas for the tyrant slave-holder when God shall make his
award to his poor, oppressed, and despised children, and to those who
seek a transient and yet delusive means of present happiness by
trampling his fellow and brother in the dust, and appropriating the
soul and body of his own crushed victim to the gratification of his
depraved appetites and passions. I would rather enter the gloomy cell
of your friend Fairbanks, and spend every hour of this brief existence
in all the bitterness that the hand of tyrants can inflict, than live
in all pomp and splendor that the unpaid toil of slaves could lavish
upon man. Yours, etc.,

  "July 27th, 1860.                R.B. REXFORD."

Our blacksmith, whom we called Charles Williams, proved to be an
honest and industrious man.

We solicited over seventy dollars for a poor woman by the name of
Jackson, from Marseilles, Kentucky, who had bought herself by washing
and ironing of nights, after her mistress's work was done. During
seven long years she did not allow herself to undress except to
change. Her sleep was little naps over her ironing board. Seven years
of night work brought the money that procured her freedom. She had a
son and daughter nearly grow up, and to purchase their freedom she was
now bending her day and night energies. Her first object was to
purchase the son, as his wages would aid her to accumulate more
readily the amount required for the daughter, as she had the promise
of both of her children. But her economizing to purchase the son first
for the sake of his help failed, as the master's indebtness compelled
him to sell one of them, and market was found for the girl of sixteen.
Nine hundred dollars was offered, and the distressed mother had but
four hundred dollars to pay.

She had trusted in her Lord and Savior in all these years of toiling,
and now must she see that daughter sold down the river? In her
distress she went from house to house, to plead for a buyer who would
advance the five hundred dollars, and take a mortgage on her until she
could make it. At length she found a Baptist deacon who purchased her
daughter, and she paid him the four hundred dollars. He was to keep
her until the mortgage was redeemed by the mother, who was compelled
to abandon her first project, and bend her energies toward making the
five hundred dollars. After working very hard one year, she was able
to pay but one hundred and fifty dollars to ward the mortgage, when
her health began to fail. The deacon told her the money was coming too
slowly, and that he could not wait longer than another year, before he
would have to sell her to get his money back. "Weeping and prayer was
my meat and drink day and night. Oh! must I see my poor chile' go
after all my hope to save her?" A merchant in that town by whom she
had been employed, told her he would give her a little secret advice,
which was, to go to Louisville as she had done before, but not to stop
there, but to go on to Cincinnati, and he would give her a good
recommendation to his brother, Mr. Ketcham, who was a merchant and
knew the abolitionists. They would aid her in raising the three
hundred and fifty dollars; but she must not let it be known that he
had advised her, or that she was going North. Mr. Ketcham introduced
her to Levi Coffin and lawyer John Jolliffe, who gave her letters of
introduction to friends at Oberlin, and other places, and by the time
she was sent to me she had over two hundred dollars toward the release
of the mortgage on the daughter. As her health was poor from constant
overwork and troubles incident to slave life, to give her rest I took
her papers, and while calling on the friends of humanity, did not
slight some of my Democratic friends, some of whom had some years
previously told me if I would go to work and purchase the slaves they
would aid me.

Consequently I called on one who was living in splendor within his
massive pile of brick, and reminded him of the promise he made me on a
certain occasion. Now was his opportunity, as I was assisting a mother
to purchase her daughter. I gave him the line through which I had
received the best of endorsements as to her industrious and honest
Christian character, and what the friends had done for her upon whom I
had called, and but for her poor health would have brought her with
me. After listening attentively to all my statements, he arose from
his chair, walked nervously to and fro across his room, as if striving
to his utmost to brace against sympathy, and said, "Mrs. Haviland,
I'll not give a penny to any one who will steal slaves; for you might
just as well come to my barn and steal my horse or wheat as to help
slaves to Canada, out of the reach of their owners."

"Did I do right," I asked, "in rescuing that Hamilton family from the
grasp of those Tennessee slave-holders?"

"If I had taken a family under my wing, of course, I should calculate
to protect them."

"That is not the answer I call for. I want from you a direct reply;
did I do _right_, or wrong, in that case? You remember all the
circumstances."

"Oh, yes, I remember it well, and as I tell you, if I had undertaken
to protect a family I should do it."

"I shall accept no prevarication whatever," said I; "I demand a square
answer, and it is your duty to give it; did I do right or wrong in
that case?"

He drew out his pocket-book, and emptied it in my lap. "There is
hardly a dollar, and if I had more you should have it; of course you
are right, and every sane man or woman knows it; but my political
relations are such I wish you wouldn't say anything about it."

It is no new thing for politics to stand in the way of humanity. A few
weeks later the glad mother returned and redeemed her daughter. I saw
them together at Levi Coffin's, in Cincinnati, happy in their freedom.

Another woman was directed to me by William King, who, with Rev. C. C.
Foote, had founded a colony a few miles from Chatham, Ontario, for
fugitives from slavery. She managed to escape with seven children, and
her husband's master offered him to her for six hundred dollars, two
hundred dollars less than the market price. I went with her a few
days, and received from the friends one hundred and thirteen dollars.
Then the sight of one whom she recognized hastened her back to Canada,
a proceeding which probably saved us the fate of the Oberlin or
Wellington rescuers, who spent a few weeks in jail. A year after we
heard the husband and father was with his family in Canada.

A few weeks elapsed when another woman from Cincinnati learned that
her husband could be bought for a low figure because of a rheumatic
difficulty. She had been freed three years previously, and by industry
had accumulated three hundred dollars. She came well recommended by
Levi Coffin and others. While making calls in her behalf in a store
owned by a Democratic friend, upon presenting her claim to the
proprietor and a few bystanders, a gentleman stepped into the door
with, "I see you come to Democrats for aid."

"She knows her best friends," said our merchant.

"I slight no one," I answered. "I call upon my acquaintances
regardless of politics.

"I will give you _five_ dollars for every _one_ you'll get
from an abolitionist in this place," said the sparkling, black-eyed
stranger.

At this quite a shout arose in the store.

"That speaks well for your abolition friends," was the ironical retort
of another bystander.

"Who is that gentleman?" I inquired.

"Mr. Lyons, the banker on Main Street," was the reply.

"All right," I said, "I shall remember him." I stepped into Edwin
Comstock's and mentioned this proposition.

"Very well; I will give five dollars for the sake of twenty-five
dollars from Mr. Lyons," and I placed that in my book. I next met
Stephen Allen on the street and I told him Mr. Lyons's pledge.

"All right," he said; "I will give four dollars, and that takes all I
have in my purse to-day; but I am glad to give it for the twenty
dollars we are to get from Mr. Lyons."

I called upon Anson Backus with my report and he said: "Here is five
dollars for the twenty-five from Mr. Lyons." I then stepped into the
Lyons's bank. "This, I believe, is Mr. Lyons, the proprietor, who
pledged a few minutes ago five dollars for every one dollar I would
get from an abolitionist in this place." His face flushed in reading
the names with the fives and four dollar bills in the book I handed
him.

"There is no abolitionist's name here."

"Isn't Edwin Comstock an abolitionist?"

"No, he isn't."

"Isn't Stephen Allen an abolitionist?"

"No, he isn't?

"Isn't Anson Backus an abolitionist?"

"No, he isn't."

"Then I ask you to define an abolitionist, for I call these men as
radical abolitionists as we have in our country."

"Well, they are not."

"Please define them that I may know who they are."

"They are those who go down South and steal slaves away from their
owners and report that they whip men and women and sell husbands and
wives apart, and separate children from their mothers, and all that
sort of thing, when it's all an arrant black-hearted lie."

"Mr. Lyons, you know all these flat denials are substantial truths. As
you say you have lived in the South, you know in your own heart that
men and women are cruelly whipped, and that families are separated,
and these cases of cruelty are neither few nor far between. I will
tell you what I have done for a woman who was a slave in Kentucky when
she came to me for advice in Cincinnati, as she had a daughter to be
sold, and her mistress was going to sell the whole family down the
river. She was permitted to do her mistress's marketing in Cincinnati
because she had confidence that she would not leave her family. I
advised her to put her husband and children in that market-wagon and
cover them with hay and bring them to a certain place I designated,
and she would be aided in her flight to Canada. She took the plan I
suggested, and her whole remaining family, nine in number, found
themselves free in Canada. Was that the work of an abolitionist?"

"No, it isn't."

"Then I know not where to find one, for I see I too am out of the
catalogue."

While this conversation was in progress he took three dollars from his
desk and handed it to me; but as much as ever, I stopped to thank him,
and told him the worst wish I had for him was that he would repent of
his wicked position before the hour of death overtook him, and that he
might find peace and pardon for these Satanic assertions he had made.
He sat quietly listening while I gave out my indignation without
stint. "Hand me back that three dollars," and it was as freely
returned as I received it. He put it back in his drawer, took out five
dollars and handed it to me, and hardly took time to nod "I thank you"
for finishing my speech, which was not in the least interrupted, even
with the increased subscription.

Poor man, I pitied him, for it was more than a year before I could get
another opportunity to speak to him. His clerk left the bank as soon
as he commenced his tirade. Although it is unpleasant to meet with
such spirits, yet I never flee from them. If my cause is owned by the
author of the _Higher Law_, none of these things move me. A few
months after this we received a letter from Mintie Berry, the anxious
wife, for whom we succeeded in raising enough to reunite the long
separated couple, saying that their happy reunion was the result of
favors from their many friends, to whom they returned grateful thanks,
while they praised the Lord for the blessing.

I received a letter, July 4, 1859, from poor Calvin Fairbanks. Eight
long years of the fifteen he had suffered in a Kentucky penitentiary.
How sad are these lines, containing some of his prison reflections! He
says:

  "Speak kindly, ye muses, my spirit inspire,
   Breathe softly and sweetly, sweep gently my lyre;
   There's gloom in my harp-string's low murmuring tone,
   Speak kindly, speak gently, to me here alone.

   My spirit all broken--no soul-cheering ray
   To warm, and illumine my cold dreary way,
   No kind and beloved ones of days that are gone--
   There's no one to cheer me, I'm alone, all alone.

   From friends fondly cherished I'm severed away,
   From the hills where I laughed at the bright early day;
   And the morning of life like an arrow is gone,
   Like a shadow, a moment, and here I'm alone.

   The guardians of childhood, like the bright early flower.
   Have blossomed with fragrance, and are lost in an hour;
   And the cycle that brought them has eddied and gone,
   And left me behind them, alone, all alone.

   How solemn and dreary, how somber with gloom,
   Are my lonely reflections, of the cold silent tomb,
   The abode of a father once fearless and bold,
   Of a sister once lovely, now silent and cold;

   Of a mother lamenting her lost, lonely son,
   Awaiting awhile, but a day to be gone,
   And to mingle with spirits of blest early love,
   And to rest in the bosom of Jesus above.

   The thought of these loved ones, now silent for aye,
   Or lingering and trembling, and passing away.
   Breathes sadness on nature, most cheerful and gay,
   And traces these numbers--we're passing away.

   But cease my complaining, we'll soon be at peace,
   We'll rest from our labors, forever at ease;
   There's rest for the weary and joy for our gloom,
   For God is our refuge, in heaven our home.

   Yes, earth with her pleasures, and all that we love,
   We shall leave for the land of bright spirits above;
   No blasting nor mildew, nor soul-blighting care,
   No sorrow, no dying, no sin shall reign there."

The year 1861 opened full of excitement. Both North and South assumed
threatening attitudes. Raisin Institute was affected by it; yet the
work of the Lord prospered with us. Within three weeks fourteen of
our students experienced the new spiritual life. But soon our ranks
were broken. The seventy-five thousand men in arms called for at the
first by President Lincoln were not sufficient to suppress the slave-
holders' rebellion. Seventeen of our students enlisted for the bloody
conflicts of civil war.

Our principal, F. M. Olcott, had purchased my institution, and I
looked forward to a happy release of the $15,000 indebtedness that
was resting over Raisin Institute. The room-rent was not sufficient
to meet the interest and other incidental expenses, and the tuition
fees were required to pay the teachers. This indebtedness rested upon
my shoulders. But for the salutary influence it exerted in molding
the characters of our youth, I should have failed.

The declining health of our dear brother F. M. Olcott brought
increasing darkness over our future prospects, and the memorable
battle of Bull Run increased the shock that startled the liberty
lovers of our nation at the firing upon Fort Sumter. The cloud that
hung over our nation also overshadowed our beloved institution. We
closed this year with sad forebodings. Our beloved principal was fast
hastening to his reward. He suggested a friend of his to fill his
position the ensuing year, and died of consumption within six weeks
of our vacation. He was a noble Christian man, and had endeared
himself to all who enjoyed the privilege of his acquaintance. His loss
was severely felt by his students, who enjoyed his faithful teaching,
and especially by myself, as I had indulged the fond hope that he
would become the efficient permanent principal.

The following year the institute opened with as fair prospects as
could be expected, in charge of Edward A. Haight. Until the third year
of the war our school was continued in successful operation. But
during the last term of 1863-4, when the war had taken seventeen of
our noble young men into the field, and the condition of our soldiers,
daily reported as suffering and dying in camp and hospital, called for
tender nursing, I offered myself for that work.

Leaving an excellent young woman as preceptress in my stead, I
gathered from eighteen hundred to two thousand garments for freedmen,
and hospital supplies for soldiers, and with papers from Austin Blair,
governor of our State, from F. C. Beaman, member of Congress, and from
others, I left my sweet home and the loved ones who still clustered
around it. On my way to the depot I was met by Rev. P. Powell, who
inquired how much money I had. "Fifteen dollars," was my answer.

"Why, Mother Haviland," he exclaimed, "you can never go with only that.
Stop a day or two, and I'll get up eighty or a hundred dollars for
you."

"But I have arranged for all my supplies to go on today. There are
three or four boxes waiting for me at Hillsdale, and I wrote them I
would be there to-night. I have not asked for money, but for supplies.
I have a free pass to Chicago and return, and if I can get a pass free
to Cairo and return, I think I can get along, and perhaps lives may be
in peril in the twenty-four hours I might be waiting here for money."

"Will you telegraph me if you do not succeed in getting the passes in
Chicago?"

"I will," I said, and went forward.

As I was taking leave of my son Joseph, and was about to enter the
car, he held me by the hand, and said: "One promise I want you to make
me, and make it so strong that your conscience will come in for a
share; and that is, that you will stop, once in a while, to think
whether you are tired or not. You are going among the suffering and
dying, and I know you so well that you will go and go and do and do,
until you will drop before you will think of yourself. If you will
make me this promise I will feel a great deal better about you."

"Joseph," I said, "I will promise to do this," and we parted.

On visiting the sanitary rooms in Chicago I met Mrs. Hague, Mrs.
Livermore, and others, who thought it very doubtful whether I could
secure a fare free to Cairo, as President Arthur had shut down the
gate on free, or even half-fare, passes. He had told them that
associations might pay their agents enough to pay their fare. But I
was under the auspices of no association. I was only a self-
constituted agent, and I must try. Leaning on the arm of my guide, I
went to President Arthur, and introduced myself by handing him my
papers. On reading them he asked, rather sharply, "What do you want?"

"I am hoping to obtain a free pass to Cairo and return," I replied,
"and free transportation for the supplies referred to in those
papers."

"Are you alone, madam?"

"I am alone."

"Well, I think this is a heavy responsibility for a lady of your age.
Are you aware of the responsibility you assume in this?" holding the
paper up.

"I think I am aware of the responsibility. I do not know but the
experience of age, however, may somewhat make up for the strength of
youth."

"Well, I guess it will."

Settling himself back in his easy arm chair, he said again, "How long
a time do you want it for?"

"I can not answer intelligently," I said, "I may wish to return for
more supplies, within two or three months, and I can not say how long
it will take to disburse these supplies judiciously."

"Very well," and he took my papers to his chief clerk, and soon
brought me back passes, saying, "There are your passes, and they'll
bring you back any time this year." He gave me also an order for free
transportation. I left his office praising God for another victory.

I was met in the door of the sanitary rooms with "Did you succeed in
getting a half-fare pass?"

"A free pass to Cairo and return," I said, "and free transportation
for all my supplies from President Arthur."

The clerk clapped his hands, cheering: "You are a favored one; not one
of us would have got that favor."

Not till then did they know of my leaving home with only fifteen
dollars; yet it was sufficient.

A few hours more landed me in Cairo, where the wharf was lined with
cannon, and piles of shells and balls. My first work was to find a
soldiers' home, and visit hospitals. Oh, what scenes at once were
presented to my view! Here were the groans of the wounded and dying
soldiers. Some were praying--a few were swearing; and yet even these
would patiently listen to reading the promises of Jesus and his loving
invitations, and become calm.




CHAPTER X.

HOSPITAL WORK.


Our last chapter left us in hospital world at Cairo. A portion of the
freedmen's camp of three thousand the officers proposed to remove to
Island No. 10, and wished me to take most of my supplies to that
place. While waiting for their arrival I visited the United States
Hospital at Mound City, a few miles up the Ohio River. Here, too, were
dying soldiers, one of whom especially attracted my attention, as he
was perfectly sane and rather unusually intelligent. I immediately
addressed him: "My son, are you prepared to go hence?"

"Mother," he said, "that is a matter which I ought to have attended to
long ago, but I did not, and now it is too late! I am dying."

"Oh, do not say _too late_! Remember the condition is, '_Believe_ and
thou _shalt be saved_;' 'As thou hast _believed_, so shall it be unto
thee.' These are the sure promises of our merciful Redeemer. Remember
the thief on the cross looked at him with repenting spirit and living
faith, and said, 'Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy
kingdom;' and the quick reply was, 'This day thou shalt be with me in
Paradise.' Can you not trust such a Redeemer?--such a loving Father as
is our God, who saves to the uttermost all who ask with believing
hearts?" He firmly held my hand and said, "I will try."

Our prayers were mingled in asking for the enlightening of the Holy
Spirit, and while he was asking for the forgiveness of all his sins,
that he might receive an evidence of acceptance, he seemed encouraged
and gave me the names and address of his parents, for me to write them
of his hope, in departing, of a better future.

There was also great suffering in the camp of freedmen. The officers
wished me to aid them in persuading these people to go down to the
island, as they were afraid of being returned to slavery at the close
of the war, and desired to push as far into the free States as
possible, and very loath to go back "an inch," as one of the officers
expressed it. I took the names of these almost nude people, whom I
instructed to come to my tent; as the officers said I should have one
for the purpose of giving out clothing to the most needy among them.
They assured them that their freedom was a fixed fact; that they would
never see the day again when they would be separated by being sold
apart. This, I found, has a greater inducement for them to consent to
the request of the officers to go to the island than all the clothing
I could promise.

But one poor woman came to the captain weeping, saying, "My poor baby
is dying' an' I can't leave him. He is my only child left me." In the
great hurry and bustle of business the quick reply was, "Go back and
I'll see to it." As she left the office he turned to me and said, "I
don't know whether it is so or not; they get up all sorts of excuses."
As she was not yet out of sight, I followed her to the slab hut and
found it true. An hour later and the baby of eight years was in the
spirit world.

"Now, missus, I can't go an' leave my dead baby for de wharf-rats to
eat, an' de boat goes out at three o'clock."

I reported the death of the child and of the distress of the mother.
"Tell her," said the officer, "we will see that her child is buried
this afternoon, and I want her to go on this boat." I told the mother
of the captain's wish, and that I would see that her child was buried.

"Ob, missus, it 'pears like I can't leave him so; they'll leave him
here to-night, an' dese wharf-rats are awful. Da eat one dead chile's
face all one side off, an' one of its feet was all gnawed off. I don't
want to leave my chile on dis bare groun'."

The grief of this poor mother was distressing in the extreme. She knew
not whether her husband and three older children, sold away two years
previously, were still slaves or living, as she had never heard a word
from them since they were taken from her. Those sad separations, she
said, were much harder to bear than the death of this child. But she
consented to go, on my promise to see that her child was buried before
night. After she left for the boat I went to the captain to see his
promise performed. He seemed very indifferent.

"What is the difference if that child shouldn't be buried this
afternoon or whether wharf-rats eat it or not?"

"You promised to have it buried this afternoon," I said, "and I told
that poor woman I would see that it was done; and I see no other way
than to hold you to that promise, for I shall meet her on the island,
and I must report to her."

Said the captain, "You won't allow such things as these to break your
heart, after being in the army a little while and seeing our soldiers
buried in a ditch, with no other coffin or winding sheet than the
soldier's dress. For the time being we bury hundreds just in that way;
and when from five to fifteen die in one day, as sometimes is the case
in these large camps, we can not make coffins for them, but we roll
them up in whatever they have. If we can get a piece of board to lay
them on when we put them in their graves we do well." "But here you
have lumber and plenty of carpenters, and you can have a plain coffin
for the dead, and I do hope one will be made for this child. As I told
the mother I would see that a coffin was made for her child and have
it buried this afternoon, I will do it." He called the sergeant and
gave the order for a carpenter among the soldiers to make it, and I
saw the pine board coffin go to the burying ground with the child just
before sunset.

Colonel Thomas and the captain doubted whether I could secure
transportation from General Taliaferro, who was in charge of that
post. They said he was a cross old bachelor, and had said he would not
give another woman transportation to go into the army. "But," said
Colonel Thomas to the captain, "she will be more likely to succeed if
she goes herself without any word from us."

On the following day my car-load of supplies arrived, and I began to
regret that I had not waited a day or two longer at home for the one
hundred dollars that could have been placed in my hands, so that I
could use it in an emergency if I should be refused transportation.
With some misgivings I entered the general's office and requested an
interview. I introduced myself by handing him my papers, which he
looked over, and pleasantly asked what I wished.

"I am hoping," I said, "to secure transportation to Island No. 10, and
to Memphis, Tennessee, for myself and the supplies referred to in
those papers."

"Well, madam, I think your papers are worthy of attention, and I will
grant your request."

This was said in such a pleasant manner I almost concluded the general
had been misrepresented, but how changed his tone when he called his
adjutant, who in an instant stood before him. "Go tell my clerk to
come in." He hurried to obey his command, and returned with the
report, "He is gone."

"Gone! where has he gone?"

"He went a few minutes ago to Church."

"Gone to Church! He has no business to go to Church, or anywhere else,
without my permission; he has no right to leave his office without my
order."

This he said in such a stern, vociferous manner that I wished myself
out of his presence. But turning to me, in a mild tone, he said:

"Mrs. Haviland, you don't want transportation tonight. You come to-
morrow morning at nine o'clock, and you shall have the papers."

With heartfelt thanks I left his office. On my return I found Colonel
Thomas and the captain anxiously waiting to learn the result of my
call on the general. They met me at the door of their office, and
asked:

"What is the news?"

"The general grants transportation for myself and supplies to Island
No. 10 and to Memphis," I said.

By their clapping of hands one would have thought they had got
cheering news from the army. I found they too felt the weight of
responsibility in this, as they had solicited my aid in getting these
freed people to go to the island.

The following morning I found a boat was going to leave at half-past
eight o'clock, but too early for the promised transportation, I told
the captain of the boat of my wish to go with supplies to Island No.
10 and to Memphis, but had the promise from the general to have the
papers at nine o'clock. A captain in the army, standing by, told him
he could take me with supplies with all safety; for if General
Taliaferro had promised transportation he could rest assured the
general at Columbus, Kentucky, would be sure to give it.

"Very well," he said; "where are your supplies?"

They were pointed out, and he ordered them to be put on board at once.

On landing at Columbus I called on the general, and secured
transportation from Cairo to places of destination. Now I thought all
was straight; but as I handed my paper to the captain he said:

"This is an order for transportation. The captain-quartermaster is to
fill it out, to be good for any thing."

I confessed my ignorance of army red-tape, and took back the papers to
have them finished. He inquired for my pass from the provost-marshal.
That, too, I knew nothing about; but the army captain came to my
relief, taking my papers and getting the transportation filled, with a
pass from the provost-marshal. These lessons I found important in all
my after work.

We soon landed at Island No. 10, the area of which was two hundred and
fifty acres of available plow land, with an excellent orchard of three
hundred bearing apple and peach trees. Upon this island were seven
hundred freedmen, who were making good use of the rich donations of
twenty-five plows, with harrows, hoes, axes, rakes, and garden and
field seeds, from Indiana and Ohio. Their superintendent, Chaplain
Thomas, told me that he never saw a more willing and obedient people.
They mostly lived in tents. Government had furnished lumber to erect a
few temporary buildings. An old dilapidated farmhouse, and a few log-
huts formerly occupied by the overseer and slaves, were the homes of
Captain Gordon and Surgeon Ransom, with their families, who seemed to
enjoy camp life as well as any I had seen. They had in charge four
companies of soldiers. Their hospital assumed an air of neatness and
comfort.

We took a stroll over the battle-ground, and saw the deep furrows
plowed by the terrible shells, in which a horse might be buried. Here
and there were interspersed "rebel rat-holes," as they were called,
dug seven or eight feet deep, and nearly covered with planks and two
or three feet of earth, in which they dropped themselves, after
firing, to reload and be secure from flying shot and shell. I picked
up a couple of cannon-balls about the size of a small tea-cup, of
which a peck is used for a load. An officer told me that he saw
twenty-five rebels killed with one discharge of these balls. O, what
slaughter of human life!

Government provided a physician and dispensary for the freed people.
Their hospital was a tent, like the majority of the regimental
hospitals in the army. The first tent I visited was occupied by an
aged pair, with two grown children, who appeared quite intelligent.
Hard treatment and cruel separations had filled the greater portion of
their lives. As I was making remarks on the wickedness of slavery,
said the old man, with tearful eyes, "Please stop till I bring in my
daughter and family from the next tent." They soon entered. "Please
go on," said the father. While tears were coursing down the old man's
furrowed cheeks, in undertone he ejaculated, "O Lord, I did not expect
to live to see this day."

At the close of my remarks he arose to his feet, and in the most
pathetic manner addressed his family as follows:

"My wife and children, have you thought we should ever see this? I
fear we are not thankful enough to God. Do we prize this precious
privilege as we ought? That dear wife was sold from me nearly twenty
years ago; soon after my children were sold, and I thought my heart
was broke. They punished me because I grieved so much, and then sold
me to be taken another way. O, how I prayed for death to hide me from
my troubles, for I thought none could see as much as I did. Many
gloomy nights and days of sorrow I spent. I could hear no word from my
wife, and nothing from my children. My master told me I should never
hear from them again, because I made so much trouble over it; he would
send me as far as wind and water would carry me, so I would never hear
from them again. I remembered the words of my poor old father upon his
death-bed, when he gave me this Bible: 'My son, the same God that made
that Bible learned me to read it, and learned me to endure hard trials
patiently. Remember, my son, the same God will do the same for you if
you go to him for help;' and so he has. Praise be to the Lord
forever!" He took from a box a Bible, all spotted over with mold,
without and within: "This Bible has been manna to my soul for many
years. God has learned me to read, as he did my poor father. He has
been my support. I have prayed these many years for deliverance from
bondage, and my faith told me it would come; but I didn't know it
would come in my time. O, what a Savior is our Jesus! That dear wife
was compelled to marry another man in these long years of separation.
He was taken into the rebel army, and she came to the Union camp. A
few days ago we met at Fort Pillow; and there we met our two long lost
children; and here we found this daughter and family. O, how wonderful
are God's ways! O, my wife, my children! let us live nearer that
Almighty Deliverer than ever before, and praise his holy name
forever." And the tall figure sat down, amid sobs and tears. The
spirit of that family sermon I can never forget.

This noble man, Uncle Stephen, was but a few days before a slave; yet
with the dignity of a patriarch he assumed his new relation. He was
evidently a self-taught man, more intelligent, and using more correct
language, than any I had met on the island.

On leaving my tent, tickets were given with explanations of my
mission, which was both new and strange to them. In another tent I
found a young man who had attempted to escape to our lines more than a
year before, but was overtaken and shot by his master, shivering the
bones six inches above the ankle, making amputation necessary. He was
beginning to use his wooden leg. His master was taken prisoner by our
men a few days before, and he, with one hundred fellow-slaves, fell
into the hands of the Union army. He was fitted with a whole suit.
This was done in but few instances, the general destitution forbidding
it. It would have pleased the donors to see me with open boxes, taking
out garment after garment, measuring and delivering, upon presentation
of tickets previously given, to fifty or a hundred at a time; and to
listen to the many thanks and hearty "God bless you!" as each garment
was taken.

At breakfast the adjutant told me of five little boys belonging to
some of the Fort Pillow families that were almost naked, and that he
had given one little fellow a pair of his own pants. I told him to
bring them to the commissary tent any time from nine to twelve
o'clock, as I had arranged to meet the children to whom I had given
tickets; and if he brought them or gave them a slip of paper with his
name, it would serve the same purpose. Soon we were beside the boxes
in our commissary tent measuring, fitting, and handing out, when up
stepped the little fellow of eight summers with the tall man's pants,
rolled over and over at the bottom, with one suspender tied around
him, the other placed over his shoulder to hold them on. His eyes
sparkled as a new suit was thrown over his arm; calling out, "See
here, Johnnie, what I got!" "Yes, look at mine!" was the quick reply,
while on the other side stood a little girl who exclaimed, in
surprise, "Oh, Milla, my dress has a pocket, and see what I found," as
she drew out a rag doll two inches long. Then a dozen other little
girls instituted a search and found similar treasures, which I
recognized as coming from certain little girls in Hudson, Michigan.
All were on tip-toe with excitement, and these remarks were flying
through this crowd of little folks when the adjutant came to the tent
door. Laughing through tears, he said, "Have you ever thought of the
Savior's words, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the _least_ of
these, ye have done it unto me?'"

"That thought had come to my mind before engaging in this mission,
and it is that which drew me from my Michigan home."

"Doesn't this pay you," he continued, "for coming all this distance,
to see those sparkling eyes and light hearts dancing with joy?"

"Here is verified the declaration that it is more blessed to give
than to receive," was my reply.

A woman came one evening with the following queries:

"Missus, whar all dese clo'es come from? Does gov'ment send 'em to
us?"

On listening to my explanation, "An' don't gov'ment pay you for
bringin' 'em to us?"

After all her questions had been disposed of she sat for a moment in
a deep study; then said in surprise, "De Norf mus' be mighty, mighty
rich to send so much money down here to carry on de war and send so
much to eat, and den da send so many clo'es an' keep so many men
here too; indeed da mus' be mighty rich."

They were preparing to open a school for them. Henry Roundtree, a
missionary, was laboring among them, and would disburse clothing sent
to that point.

After spending over a week on this beautiful island, on my way to the
steamer, I was hailed by a female voice calling out, "Missus, missus,
don't pass by dis yere way." Turning in the direction of the call, I
saw a very old woman sitting on a log, clad in a man's coat, hat, and
shoes, with an old patched negro cotton skirt. On approaching her I
remarked, as I took the bony hand, "You are very old."

"Can't tell how ole I is, only I knows I's been here great while. You
see dat white house over de river dar? Dat's been my home great many
year, but massa drove me off, he say, 'case I's no 'count, gwine
round wheezin' like an ole hoss, an' snap a gun at me an' say he
shoot my brain out if I didn't go to de Yankees. An' missus come out
an' say she set fire to my cabin some night an' burn me up in it. 'Go
'long to de Yankees; da wants niggers, an' you ain't no 'count no
how.' An' I tole 'em, 'Wa'n't I 'count good many years ago?' But da
say, 'Clar out wid you.' An' I seed some boys fishing' on de bank,
an' da fetch me over."

Looking down at her stockingless feet she said, "Missus, I ain't had a
suit o' clo'es in seven years." I told her if there was a woman's
garment left she should have it. And I would tell the good people
about her, and they would send her a suit of clothes.

"Tank you, missus; God bless you!"

And I left the giant-like old woman, whose head was bleached by the
fronts of eighty or ninety Winters. While waiting on the gunboat for
the steamer, I referred to the old woman I had seen, when one of the
men turned to his comrade and said, "That's the same strange-appearing
old woman we brought over," and he repeated the same story she related
to me. Said one, "Such people ought to be made to bite the dust. Her
master took the oath of allegiance to save his property; but he has no
more principle than a hyena to turn out such an old white-headed woman
as that to die like a brute."

Such are some of the incidents that gradually changed the politics of
the army. They made our Butlers and Hunters by scores. They saw that
man's inhumanity to man was the outgrowth of slavery. They clearly
perceived that the iron rod of oppression must be broken, or the
unholy rebellion would succeed.

At four P. M. I embarked for another field. On board the steamer were
a number of officers and soldiers, and three women who were ex-slave
owners. They had quietly listened to the conversation of the officers
on establishing schools among the freed men, and taking them into the
army as soldiers. I, too, had been a silent listener. After the
officers had left the cabin, one of the women drew her chair near me,
and in a subdued tone said:

"Do you believe it is right to set up schools among niggers?"

"Certainly I do," was my reply, "as they have as good a right to
become intelligent as any other class of people."

"Do you think that it is right to make soldiers out of niggers?"

"Certainly, if it is right for any class of people."

After looking around to see whether any officer was in hearing, she
added:

"And do you think it right to rob us of our niggers, as the Yankees
are doing?"

"Certainly, if you call it robbery to allow the negroes to go where
they please."

My replies were in my common tone of voice, yet it seemed to frighten
her. She would take a look to see whether an officer was near. Then
would go on with her queries in an undertone.

"I tell you it is mighty hard, for my pa paid his own money for our
niggers; and that's not all they've robbed us of. They have taken our
horses and cattle and sheep _and every thing_."

As I had my little Bible in my hand, I turned to the predicted
destruction of Babylon in Revelation, and read, "Fine flour, and
wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves,
and souls of men." "You see here," I said, "are the very articles you
have named. And God is the same unchanging Lord to-day."

"But I tell you, madam, its mighty, mighty hard."

In all this conversation she closely watched the officers, and often
raised her handkerchief to her face while talking with me, as if to
check the sound of her already stifled voice. How widely different
were our positions, compared with six years before, when going down
this river on an errand for a white fugitive from slavery. Then my
thoughts could find no place even in a whisper, and slave-holders were
cursing and threatening abolitionists. What a turning of tables! Now I
could say all that was in my heart on the sin of slavery, and the
slave-holder was now hushed. The coal-barge "L. S. Haviland," that I
saw on my other trip tied up a little way above Memphis, was not now
to be seen. I had not yet learned the fate of those Tennessee slave-
holders who had so often threatened my life, and a number of my
friends had advised me to keep a proper distance from them, as this
might be the time for their opportunity. When I left my home I had no
idea of going as far as Tennessee, or my children and friends would
have feared for my safety; but, as for myself, I knew no fear.

In Memphis I found many hospitals filled with sick, wounded, and dying
soldiers; and in better condition than I had anticipated, except the
Jackson Hospital, which was one of the largest in the city. I asked
permission of the guards to enter, but was informed their orders were
very strict to allow no one to go in without permission.

"Very well," said I, "please inform me where I can find the clerk, and
I will secure a permit."

The surgeon in charge was just passing out of the main entrance, and
the guard introduced me. I informed him of my wish to visit his
hospital. In a very surly manner he inquired:

"Have you a son here?"

"I have not," I answered.

"Then what do you want to go in here for? It is no place for a lady to
step her foot over the threshold of a hospital."

"I perceive you and I differ widely in that; but if you doubt my
fitness to visit your patients, you can examine my papers from the
governor of my State and a member of Congress and others."

"If you have no son here, I don't see that you have any business
here."

"Every soldier is some mother's son, and I wish to visit them, and
here are my papers; you can read them if you wish."

Throwing out his hand angrily, he said:

"Go along, then; go along."

I went, but he took good care to bear me company.

As we entered each ward, every soldier who was able to bear his weight
sprang to his feet, and stood by his cot during our stay in the ward.
I saw at once that it was in pursuance of an order. I had made it a
point to shake hands with every soldier that was awake and conscious,
but the surgeon hurried through without giving an opportunity to speak
to a half-dozen in the whole hospital. One poor skeleton of a man sat
bolstered on his cot, eating his dinner, and had on his plate a
spoonful of cooked onion.

"Where did you get that onion?" cried the surgeon.

"I paid my own money for it, doctor."

"Who said you might have it?"'

"Dr. Spears."

"Very well, then;" and passed on.

Here my disgust filled up to the brim. I cared but little for his
attempt to browbeat me; but when he treated a helpless soldier like
this I could hardly keep my indignation from boiling over. The first
words spoken to me after entering the hospital were:

"Do you want to go into the kitchen?"

"I would like to pass through your kitchen," was my reply.

"Very unfavorable time, madam--very unfavorable; about dinner-time."

Very favorable, thought I, and went in. I could see at a glance that
the large caldron of potatoes was boiled half an hour too long. Their
bread looked well, and I suppose it was good. As we passed out, taking
memoranda and pencil, I said:

"You have a very large hospital. How many will it accommodate?"

"Fifteen hundred, madam. Very few, very few at present, only four
hundred and eighty-four."

"How many nurses have you?"

"Twenty-three."

"No female nurses?"

"No, madam. As I told you, a woman has no business to step inside of a
hospital."

"As I told you, we evidently differ in that respect. Where I have
found judicious female nurses it seems more home-like, and our
soldiers feel more contented."

"Very few, very few judicious female nurses."

"They exist, notwithstanding. How many surgeons have you?"

"Only four at present."

"You are the surgeon in charge; please give me your name."

"My name is Surgeon Powers, of the Seventh Missouri Regiment."

His name and figures were too plainly recorded to be effaced. Here he
turned a perfect somersault, if words could perform the feat. With an
affected politeness, bowing himself almost double:

"Madam, I hope you will call again some time; call in the middle of
the forenoon or afternoon--very unfavorable about meal-time."

"If I remain a week or ten days longer in the city," I replied, "I
shall do so."

"I would he very happy to have you call again, madam; very happy to
see you again."

I left with a heavy heart, and called at the sanitary rooms to
ascertain the location of five unvisited hospitals. I found the room
filled with officers and a few generals of high rank. I introduced
myself, as usual, by handing Dr. Warrener, sanitary agent, my papers.

"Then you are visiting the hospitals, with supplies, etc., are you? I
am glad to see you, as we have had no visitor from so far North. How
do you find them?"

"I have found them," I answered, "more satisfactorily conducted than I
anticipated, with but one exception."

"Have you visited the Jackson?"

"I have just come from there."

"To-day is not the visiting day. Did you see Surgeon Powers?"

"I did."

"Did you get into that hospital without trouble?"

"We had a parley."

"What did he say to you?"

I gave his objection and my reply in a low tone. To my annoyance, the
doctor repeated it in a loud voice, and continued:

"You certainly could have given no better reason than that every
soldier is some mother's son. What do you think of Surgeon Powers?"

I hesitated in view of all these officers; but my second thought was,
no matter whether the President himself were present; and I frankly
replied:

"I think he is a tyrant brandy-cask. Why do you allow such a man to
occupy the responsible position of surgeon in charge of hundreds of
the sick and wounded soldiers?"

"We tried once to get him out, and failed. You ought to see the
medical director, who is in the city."

He gave me the location of the hospitals I desired, and I left.
Remembering the promise I made my son Joseph, I returned to head-
quarters, and spent the balance of the day in writing for soldiers and
for myself.

The following morning I resumed hospital visiting. On the street I met
an officer, who reached his hand with a smile, saying, "You do not
recognize me, but I recognize you as being the lady in Dr. Warrener's
office yesterday, after visiting the Jackson Hospital."

"I do not know but you thought me severe in my remarks concerning
Surgeon Powers."

"Not at all--not by any means, for I had two sons under him six weeks,
and they both declared they would rather die in the open field than be
under the care of that drunken tyrant again."

"Why do you permit such a surgeon to have the care of the sick,
wounded, and dying soldiers?"

"Well, it is difficult for us to do much with each other, but there is
the medical director just ahead of us; you ought to see him; I'll
introduce you. He is very much of a gentleman."

The first query of the medical director, after reading my papers, was
"Have you visited the Jackson Hospital? And did you see Surgeon
Powers?"

"I undertook to visit it yesterday," I said, "but was hurried through
in such haste, by Surgeon Powers, that I could not speak to any of the
soldiers, or stop to write for them to their home friends, if they
desired."

"What do you think of Surgeon Powers?"

"I think he is an unfeeling tyrant. The white of his eyes had the
color of red flannel, and the unmistakable brandy breath made
standing near him very unpleasant. Besides, his ungentlemanly, morose
treatment of helpless soldiers indicates his entire unfitness for the
position he occupies. If the milk of human kindness is more loudly
called for in one position than another, it is in the surgeon in
charge of sick, wounded, and dying soldiers."

"We know, Mrs. Haviland, this is true, and we made an effort to
displace him once and failed, because the medical director over the
whole of us in this division, next in rank to Grant himself, is
determined to hold him here. But if you will make out your report,
with the recommendations from your governor and Congressman backing
it, we can make that efficient. You may make your report as strong as
you please."

I left him with cordial thanks, and soon the report was handed him. I
visited all the hospitals in that post, and on my second visit to the
Jackson found Surgeon Powers filled to overflowing with affected
politeness; but it did not brighten the bleared eye, or straighten the
zigzag gait of the surgeon.

A few weeks after I met a Memphis officer, who informed me that
Surgeon Powers was relieved of hospital work altogether very soon
after I left the city. A few months later he filled a drunkard's
grave.

In one hospital in Memphis I found in one corner a female soldier,
Charlie. She was in both Bull Run battles, and four others she named;
besides, she had endured long marches. Here she was taken violently
ill with typhoid fever, and for the first time her sex became known.
She was large and rather coarse-featured, and of indomitable will. She
said the cause of her enlistment did not now exist, and she wanted to
go home as soon as able. She intimated that her betrothed had recently
died, and she had no desire to remain in the army.

While in Memphis a telegram came from President Lincoln ordering four
hundred colored men to be enlisted, and no more, until further orders.
Colonel Eaton took this work for his breakfast spell. As he came in
rather late for his morning meal he said, "I have enlisted the
required number, and quite a company went away crying because they
could not enlist. I comforted them by telling them that I presumed
there would be another call soon." I had built a bed for myself in one
corner of the commissary building, and as we were occupying the
weakest point at the post, we were ordered to have no light in our
tents, but before dark to have every needed article at our bedside,
ready at a moment's warning to be conducted to Fort Pickering.
Soldiers were kept in readiness for action, as the enemy was
threatening to retake Memphis. At two, o'clock A. M. the loud
cry, "Halt!" at the corner where I was sleeping, aroused me. This was
quickly followed by a still louder "Halt! May be you don't know who I
is; I holds a gun, an' her's off."

"Well-well, I only want to come to you; I don't want to go farther."
The officer approached, saying, "That is right; if I had taken one
step after you cried halt the third time, you should have shot me
through, no matter who I am, if it was the President himself."

At the breakfast table Colonel Eaton remarked: "A number of our new
colored soldiers were put on picket guard last night on trial, and not
one sleepy head was found among them. Since we accept these men as
soldiers I am confident it will do away the necessity of drafting men,
as some think must soon be done."

I spent a few days in visiting hospitals, often reading portions of
Scripture, and kneeling by the cot of the suffering and dying
soldiers, imploring the Great Physician to heal the sin-sick soul. For
some I wrote letters to their home friends, which I found was often
very gratifying to poor homesick boys. One very sick with pneumonia
wished me to write to his folks in Kent County, Michigan, that he was
in the hospital from a little cold, but would soon be able to join his
regiment again. I dared not write according to his directions, and
told him I would finish his letter at head-quarters. When he asked my
name, he wanted to know if I was a relative of Rev. D. S. Haviland, in
Kent County, Michigan. When I told him he was my son, he held my hand
in both of his and burst into a flood of tears, and said he had heard
him preach many times, and thought he was such a good man. I saw his
feelings were deeply affected, and I feared it would increase the
fever, and I promised to come and see him again in a day or two. I sat
by him with my hand upon his head and consoled him as best I could.
When he became calm I left, and called on his physician for his
opinion concerning him. He said he was still in a critical condition,
but thought the disease was turning in his favor, and advised me not
to write to his friends until two days more had passed, as he would
then be able to judge better of his case. Two days later I called
again and found him much better, but the doctor thought the excitement
of my leaving him increased the fever during the afternoon. He was now
a little stronger, and he said I had better not let him know that I
designed leaving the city. I finished the letter with greater
encouragement than I could have done conscientiously on my first
visit.

As I was passing out one of the convalescents said, "Frank, here is
that woman you wanted to see;" and he came on a run.

"Are you from Michigan?" I asked.

"Not quite," he said; "but I've been in Michigan. I am from Ohio, and
that is its next neighbor;" and he seemed as glad as if he was meeting
his mother. "O, how much you remind me of my mother! Your advice to us
boys is almost in the same words my mother gave me when I left her;"
and tears spoke louder than words of his appreciation of visits from
his mother's representative.

I visited many camps of the freedmen, where there were two thousand,
with daily additions. Forty came into Bethel Camp one afternoon. I
went among them, and said to the man I met first:

"You concluded to use your freedom in coming into the Union camps?"

"Freedom!" looking up in surprise.

"Yes; you know President Lincoln has proclaimed all slaves free."

"Is dat so?"

"Certainly; you have heard about it, I suppose."

"No, missus, we never hear nothing like it. We's starvin', and we come
to get somfin' to eat. Dat's what we come for. Our people home tell us
Yankees want niggers to kill; an' da boils 'em up in great caldrons to
eat, 'case da's starvin'. But all de white men gone into de army, an'
lef' us all wid missus, an' da locks de bacon up for de sojers, an'
gib us little han'ful o' meal a day, an' we's got weak an' trimbly.
An' I tole my people we's gwine to die anyhow, an' we'd try de
Yankees."

They were all so surprised at the idea of freedom that they could
hardly credit the fact until their own people confirmed what I had
told them. Rations were given to that hungry company at once. I told
them this did not look like killing off colored people.

"No, missus, dis 'pears like makin' alive, instead of killin'. God
bless sich people as dese, if dis be Yankees."

A couple of young men followed me from tent to tent, as I was reading
portions of Scripture, and advising them how to live in their new
relation as a free people. I advised them to live soberly and honestly
in the sight of all men; that our Heavenly Father looks upon all his
children alike, and that our Lord and Savior died upon the cross for
all alike, because he is no respecter of persons. The young men, asked
to be excused for following me; "for," they said, "we never heard,
white folks talk like you talks in our life. Da never talks fur our
own good, an' dis is so new we wants to ax you please excuse us."

Our head-quarters were most of the time at Camp Bethel; but I spent a
portion of my time in Camp Shiloh, which was in sight. On the Sabbath
I attended a very large meeting in a grove of pecans, oaks, and
magnolias. The minister was a colored man of considerable
intelligence, could read quite well; and perhaps there were nearly or
quite one hundred of our soldiers in attendance. I spoke to one man
near the stand while they were singing, informing him that I would
like to make a few remarks if their minister was willing. The minister
said, before dismissing the congregation, he would give liberty for a
white lady present to speak. "I do not know who she is. She may be
here inquiring for some of her people; but we can tell better as to
her object when we hear her;" and he invited me forward.

I saw at once the minister took me to be one of those slave-holders
who were coming into their camp almost daily to persuade their slaves
back, though not one of them ever succeeded. I told them my object was
to inquire after the health of this people, body, soul, and spirit--
and my people were all who accept salvation through our Lord and
Savior Jesus Christ; that our Heavenly Father made all the nations of
the whole earth of one blood, and never designed that one race should
hold another in bondage. I had hardly finished my first sentence
before the minister and those near him were urging me to step to the
top of their platform, as I had only taken one or two steps forward.
"Come up here; our people all want to see you." I had to obey. Ten
minutes' talk did not satisfy. The minister and others in that large
congregation bade me go on; and ten or fifteen minutes more were
occupied.

At the close a few hundred of those whose families had been broken up
by cruel separations came to me, and many tears were coursing down the
sable cheeks of many gathered around me to shake my hands, which were
actually lame and swollen for three days after.

Said the disappointed minister, "It 'pears like an angel dropped down
'mongst us, in place of the slave-missus come for her people."

Said one woman: "My ole missus come las' week to get all fifty-five of
us back again, and she tried mighty hard to get us to go back wid her.
Den she went to General Grant, an' he say, 'If your people want to go
back they may.' Den she try us again; but not one would go, 'case we
knows her too well--she's mighty hard on us. Den she went back to the
general, an' begged an' cried, and held out her han's, and say,
'General, dese han's never was in dough--I never made a cake o' bread
in my life; please let me have my cook.' An' she tuck on so I jus'
trimble; I's feared he'd tell me to go wid her. But all her cryin'
didn't help her. General say, 'I can't help you, madam; if your cook
wants to go wid you she can; but she is free, an' can do as she likes
about it.' An' she went off cryin'; an' we could jus' kiss de groun'
General Grant walks on ever since."

Among the most affecting scenes were meetings of members of families
long separated. In passing out of this multitude my attention was
attracted to a group who were singing, shaking hands, shouting, and
reciting their afflictions and sore trials since they were parted. One
woman found her sister, who was sold from her fifteen years before.
They had not heard from each other till just here they met. "O sis'
Susie, you know my two nice boys was sole from me two year afore I was
sole off dat plantation down de river, an' it 'peared like my heart
was broke; an' missus had me hit fifty lashes 'case I cried so much.
An' de Lo'd has been my sun an shiel' all dis time. An' here I foun'
my two boys; da's heap bigger, but da's my own dear boys. I's prayed
long for freedom, an' God did come down and make us free.
_Glory_, GLORY be to his name!" And they embraced each other in
wild excitement during some minutes. Then they went to another part of
the camp to meet some of their friends Susie told her of.

I hastened back 'to Camp Bethel, to witness the marriage of twenty
couples that Colonel Eaton, who was a chaplain among them, was to
marry with one ceremony. Many of the men were of the newly-enlisted
soldiers, and the officers thought they had better be legally married,
although many of them had been married a number of years, but only
according to slave law, which recognized no legal marriage among
slaves. At the appointed hour the twenty couples stood in a row, each
couple with right hands clasped; and among them one young couple, that
being their first marriage. All gave affirmative answers at the same
time; first the men, then the women. After the ceremony Chaplain Eaton
offered an earnest prayer; all kneeling. Then he shook hands with them
to signify his congratulations, and I followed him in like manner. It
was a novel scene, and yet solemn.

On the morning I was to leave Memphis I saw an old woman wringing the
bottom of her cotton dress a few rods from the door. I inquired how
her dress came so wet half a yard deep. "I come up in a leaky skiff
las' night wid six boys dat do oberseer whip de Yankee out, he say;
an' da say da go to Yankees now any how, an' I begged 'em to let me
come, for da knows I has sich hard times. But da say, 'Aunt Peggy, de
skiff leak so bad.' But I tole 'em I's comin' wid a basin, an' I
reckon I dip fas' enough to keep us 'bove water. An' da let me come,
an' it tuck all night to come seven miles up de river. Dar was forty
of us on dis plantation. Massa is a big man in Secesh army, an' sent
more'n a hundred of our people 'way off to de big plantation: an',
missus, da all wants to come mighty bad, an' begged us to go see de
big man right soon, an' tell him da wants to do any thing he wants 'em
to do, if he will only let 'em come. For missus is mighty rich, an'
don't need us, 'case she's got barrels of meal, an' flour, an' plenty
bacon in de smoke-house, da keeps locked up, da say for de Secesh
sojers. An' missus had us put a tin trunk of gole an' silver money,
an' a big ches' of all her silver plate way up in de lof' few days
ago. Missus, do please go tell de big man how da all begged us so hard
to ax him, soon as we got here, if he 'll let 'em come."

I told her I would see the colonel, and inquired for the boys who came
with her. She pointed to the six young men standing outside our door.
I approached the young men, who were between twenty and thirty years
of age, and shook hands with them, saying, "It seems your overseer
didn't succeed in whipping the Yankee out of you night before last."

"No, indeed," said one; "he drove in the Yankee deeper every lick;"
and another said, "I reckon he'll find out this mornin' how much
Yankee he whipped out."

I informed Colonel Eaton of his new comers; and of the earnest appeal
of the old woman in behalf of the remaining thirty-three, and how she
backed her pleading, with enumerating the abundance of every thing her
mistress possessed. He said he would see General Veach, and he might
conclude to send a gun-boat for them.

On May 17, 1863, I called at Dr. Warrener's office on my way to
General Veach's office for transportation to Cairo, but designed
calling at Island No. 10 and Columbus, Kentucky. The doctor kindly
offered to take my papers and get transportation and pass from the
provost marshal for me, and allow me to rest the while. I was glad to
accept the favor; but he soon returned, rather discouraged, and said,
"I think the general rather cross today, and I don't know whether
you'll get transportation or not. After reading your papers he asked
where you were, and I told him you looked tired and were resting in my
office, and I offered to do this errand for her, as it would save her
a mile of walk. 'I'd like to see the lady,' he said, as he handed back
your papers; and you'll have to go and see him." Here was another
narrow place. I took my papers to General Veach in haste, as there was
a boat which I was anxious to take going up the river that afternoon.
I entered his office and handed him my papers, telling him I hoped to
receive the favor of an order for transportation to Cairo, with the
privilege of stopping at Island No. 10 and Columbus. He neither asked
me a question nor opened my papers, but threw them to his clerk, with
directions to give the order. Then he sent it to the quartermaster to
fill. On my return I called on the provost-marshal and secured my
pass. Said the doctor, "What did the general say?"

"Nothing," I answered; "he only looked at me when I gave him my
papers, and passed them over to his clerk to make the order."

"I think he might just as well have sent them by me; but the general
hadn't seen a Union woman for so long, he just wanted to take a look
at one."

I was soon on the steamer that took me from this city of many exciting
scenes. Here I learned the sequel of my Tennessee correspondents,
formerly mentioned, and was shown the house where they had both lain
dead men.

I found on the island many waiting for the remainder of my supplies.
The number in camp had now reached about 3,000. I also spent a little
time at Fort Pillow, where a company of ex-slaves, thirty-seven in
number, had just made their escape from their old home. They had
traveled all night to get to our lines. They took two mules and two
carts to bring their bundles and little folks. Men, women, and larger
children walked twenty-five miles, to get to Fort Pillow. "What time
did you start?" I asked one of the tired women. "Early moonrise," was
the reply. That was about 11 o'clock P. M., and they had made all
possible speed to get to our lines, and seemed very much pleased to
get clear of pursuers, as some in their neighborhood had been shot and
killed in their attempt to come. The officers took charge of the mules
and carts, and sent the people to Island No. 10. Here I took a steamer
for Columbus.

After landing I saw a funeral procession of colored people, and a
number of officers and soldiers. I joined the procession, and learned
it was the only son of a slave mother who, two days previously, had
left their plantation. He had heard that colored men were accepted as
soldiers, and was exceedingly anxious to enlist. When they were nearly
half across the river their young master reached the bank and bade
them return or he'd shoot them; but the son pulled for the opposite
shore, when a ball passed through his right arm, breaking the bone
above the elbow. The mother took the oars and pulled with all her
might, when a second ball entered the lungs of the son. They were met
by a few of our soldiers, who took him from the skiff to the hospital,
where he received the best surgical attendance, but without avail.
Much sympathy was manifested in behalf of the bereaved mother, who was
left with two little girls. Bereavement was no new trial for her. Her
husband had been sold from her a few years before. I asked her if
these three children were all her family. "O, no, honey; I had two
big boys sold jus' afore the war. Don't know whar they went. An' now
my poor boy is shot dead by that young massa I nussed with my own boy.
They was both babies together. Missus made me nuss her baby, an' set
her little girl to watch me, fur fear I'd give my baby too much, no
matter how hard he cried. Many times I wasn't allowed to take him
up, an' now that same boy has killed mine," and she buried her face
in her faded calico apron until it was wet with tears. A soldier told
me a large company of them were only waiting permission from their
commander to go to that plantation and strip it. He said she seemed
to be such a nice woman; that they all felt so indignant they hardly
knew how to wait for orders.

From this sad scene, walking to the Soldier's Home, my attention was
arrested on seeing a white man with a ball and chain attached to his
ankle, with brick and his ball in the wheelbarrow, wheeling toward
the soldier's camp, guarded by a black soldier. As I stood looking at
the black soldier walking leisurely beside the white man in irons,
an officer accosted me with, "Madam, that prisoner you see wheeling
brick to our camp is a strong secessionist, and was a hard master
over a large plantation with more than one hundred slaves, and he was
taken prisoner, and all his slaves came into our camp. The younger
men enlisted as soldiers, and that man made an attempt to escape and
we put him in irons and set a black soldier, who had been his own
slave, to guard him."

"What a turning of tables!" I said.

"Yes, you will find the same turning of tables within our lines all
over the South."

At the door of a tent I saw a large, square block of iron, weighing
sixty or eighty pounds, to which was attached a ring. I inquired of a
colored man what it was for.

"That belonged to our plantation, and when master had a mind to punish
us he ordered us locked to that block, and from one to a dozen of us
sometimes were locked to it with a long chain; and when we hoed corn
we'd hoe the chain's length, then the one next the block had it to
tote the length of the chain, and so on till we did our day's work.
Since we've been here we've seen nine of our masters chained to that
same block and made to shovel sand on that fortification yonder. There
were forty of us that belonged to our plantation standing in this yard
looking on."

"How did you feel to witness such a scene?"

"O, I can't tell you, madam; but I cried like a baby."

"Why did you cry?"

"O, to think what great things God is doing. Man could never, never do
it."

"Did the others feel as you did?"

"O no, some laughed, and one man said, 'Ah ha, you see now how sweet
'tis to tote the old block, don't you?'"

"Did he say that in his hearing?"

"O no, we's five rods off."

There were a number of houses burned down, May 28th, three miles
beyond our lines. Mrs. Samantha Plumer inquired of Curlie, one of our
boys of the home, if he would take us to that biggest house burning on
the Moss plantation. No sooner was the suggestion made than Curlie got
his ambulance ready for us, and we were soon in front of the
smoldering mansion. The proprietor was raking over the debris for gold
and silver or other imperishable treasure. Among the ashes; were hand-
cuffs, chains, shackles, and other slave-irons. He was occupying one
of his slave cabins, as the long row was vacated by seventy of his
former slaves. He was said to be one of the wealthiest planters in
Kentucky. One year previous to the war, report said he lost seven
valuable slaves, and one from each of three adjoining plantations
escaped at the same time. After a consultation over their loss they
placed the blame of their escape on a carpenter from Illinois, who
had been a few weeks working at his trade in their midst. To be
avenged on the poor carpenter, a band of men came upon him in the
night, took him out of bed, gave him a coat of tar and feathers, and
treated him to a ride on a rail-horse. Then they furnished him with
soap and lard with which to disrobe himself, and charged him to leave
the State within twelve hours, never to be seen there again, or a
calamity far exceeding this would be his portion. All his assertions
that he knew nothing whatever of their slaves were of no avail. He
left the State as requested, but wrote back to the chief leader,
Moss, that if an opportunity ever presented he would be avenged on
those who had heaped upon him these abuses. Mr. Moss said he saw
that same carpenter a few days previous to the house-burning, with
three other men, in soldier's dress, but he did not believe he was a
soldier, but only in borrowed clothes, as he did not think a Union
soldier would do so mean a thing. An officer remarked, however, that
he was a hard master and a firm secessionist, but was now very tame.
On our way back Curlie informed us that he had taken us three miles
beyond our lines, and we were very near being caught just opposite
the line at the firing of the sundown gun. But with Curlie's earnest
pleading the guards consented to allow us to cross the line.

In one cabin there were two quite intelligent mulatto women, better
clad than any I had met in the camp, one of whom was the mother of
three fine-looking children. I remarked to one of them that they had
a better chance for life than others I had seen, and inquired how
long they had been within our lines.

One of them answered, "Only ten days. Thar was thirty-three when we
left our plantation seven miles below Memphis, 'bout three weeks ago,
but some of our people stopped at Memphis when we came up the river."

As I was interested in her recital, she became more excited in giving
details, and said:

"Mistess got mighty feared of black smoke, an' watched boats mighty
close. One day as she was settin' on the sofa she say, Mill, I reckon
thar's a gunboat comin'; see de black smoke, an if they do come, I
reckon they won't fin' that trunk o' money, an' ches' of silver plate
you put up in the lof t'other day.' Lookin' out for the boat, 'Yes
that's a gunboat sure. Now, if the Yankees do stop, you all run and
hide, won't you?' I looked too, but didn't answer till I see the big
rope flung on the bank. An' mistess got wild-like. 'Yes, they are
stoppin'. Mill an' Jule run, tell all the niggers in the quarters to
run to the woods an' hide; quick, for they kills niggers. Mill, why
don't you go? I said, 'I ain't feared the Yankees.' 'Jule, you run and
tell all the niggers to run to the woods, quick. Yes, here they are
coming, right up to the house. Now, Mill, you won't go with them, will
you?' As the men had started for the house I felt safe, and said,
'I'll go if I have a chance.' 'Jule, you won't go, will you?' 'I shall
go if Mill goes.' She began to wring her hands and cry. 'Now, 'member
I brought you up. You won't take your children away from me, will you,
Mill?' 'Mistess, I shall take what childern I've got lef.' 'If they
fine that trunk o' money or silver plate you'll say it's your'n, won't
you?' 'Mistess, I can't lie over that; you bo't that silver plate when
you sole my three children.' 'Now, Jule, you'll say it's yourn, won't
you?' 'I can't lie over that either.' An' she was cryin' an' wringin'
her han's, an' weavin' to an' fro as she set thar. 'Yes, here they
come, an' they'll rob me of every thing. Now, 'member I brought you
up.' Here come in four sojers with swords hangin' to their sides, an'
never looked at mistess, but said to me, 'Auntie, you want to go with
us?' 'Yes, sir,' I said, an' they look to Jule an' say, 'You want to
go?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Well, you can all go; an' hurry, for we shall stay
but a little while.' An' Jule jus' flew to the quarters, an' they all
tied up beds an' every thing, an' tote 'em down, to the gunboats in a
hurry. An' two sojers went up-stairs an' wa'n't gone but a few
minutes, an' don't you think here they come, with that tin trunk o'
money an' ches' of silver plate, an' broke 'em open an' tuck out a big
platter an' water-pitcher an' a few other pieces an' say, 'See here,
Tom, haven't we foun' a prize of solid silver for gov'ment,' an' he
put it all back. An' another open the trunk,' O, see here, Jim; see
what a mine of money we foun' for General Veach,' as he tuck up a
han'ful of gole an' silver money an' sif it through his fingers,
droppin' in the trunk, sayin', 'Ain't we got a pile o' money for
gov'ment.' An' he han' it over to a sojer to tote to the gunboat. An'
two ov 'em went down cellar an' come back with stone jars of butter,
an' pezerves, an' opened 'em. 'Tom, see here, what a lot of goodies we
got; won't we live well?' An' he cover'd 'em up agin an' toted 'em to
the gunboat. Then they broke open the meal-room, an' rolled out
barrels of meal and flour, saved for secesh sojers, an' rolled 'em
down to the gunboat. An', last of all, they went to the smoke house,
an' broke it open an' got a lot of bacon. 'Now, auntie, you all
ready,' they say? 'Yes, sir,' I tell 'em. 'Here's a roll of linsey for
our cloze, shall we take it?' 'Certainly, an' any thing else you'r a
mine to.' As we started for the door mistess followed us cryin' an'
wringin' her han's. 'Now, Mill an' Jule, I know you'll suffer when
you leave me.' One o' the sojers turn to her and said, 'They won't
suffer again as they have done with you.' An' this was the firs' words
she spoke after they come in, an' the firs' they said to her. An' we
all got on the boat in a hurry; an' when we's fairly out in the
middle' of the river, we all give three times three cheers for the
gunboat boys, and three times three cheers for big Yankee sojers, an'
three times three cheers for gov'ment; an' I tell you every one of
us, big and little, cheered loud and long and strong, an' made the
old river just ring ag'in."

She became so excited she acted the part of her mistress admirably in
the half-bent, whining, crying, and wringing of hands, as she followed
them to the door.

"How did you feel about that silver plate that was bought with the
price of your three children? Didn't you think you ought to have it?"

"O'no, I couldn't touch it. It was part o' my poor dear childern; but
I didn't want mistess to keep it. I was glad to see it go to
gov'ment."

The tears coursed down her care-worn cheeks as she related the sale of
her three older children.

"I fell upon my knees afore master an' mistess, an' begged 'em not to
sell my poor childern down the river, whar I could never see or hear
from 'em any more. But master say it's none o' my business, an' I
should stop my noise, or he'd have me punished. An' mistess say she
won't have all this cryin' round her. 'Your childern belongs to us,
an' you know it; an' it's not for you to make all this fuss over it,
either.' I said, 'Mistess, wouldn't you grieve over your childern, if
somebody take 'em from you?' 'You hush your sauce, or I'll have you
punished. That's another thing; my childern's white.' An' then they
had me punished."

Her husband was sent, with many others, to what they called the "big
plantation," in the interior. She said her master was a "big man" in
the secesh army. I found they called all officers big men. After she
finished her story I told her I saw the seven she said went to
Memphis, a few days before they left, and how Aunt Peggy begged me so
hard to tell the big man that they all wanted to come. And to impress
me with the idea that the mistress could do without slaves, she told
me about the trunk of money and chest of silver plate; but I had no
more idea of its being confiscated than had Aunt Peggy in her appeal.

My attention from this episode was arrested by another scene of a
different character, but truly revolting--a young mother of only
fourteen years, with a very sick infant, pale and emaciated herself;
the grandmother of a very light complexion, and the great-grandmother
a mulatto. All these four generations were the children of their old
master, whose hair was white with age. He was the father of the great-
grandmother, and of each generation to the fourth, and master, all in
one. As revolting as this fact was, I was compelled to believe it, as
his former slaves told me of his licentious character from his early
youth to eighty years! He was never married, and was the owner of a
large plantation, and his many slaves sought the first opportunity to
make their escape. The condition of these women was truly appalling,
and the history of their base and degraded master and father too
revolting for the public eye or ear! I turned away with utter disgust
at their recitals. The child soon died, and I thought it seemed a pity
that its demented mother could not have gone with it; but I did what I
could to relieve their wants.

The hospitals at this post were tolerably well cared for, except one
regimental hospital, where were a number of sick and emaciated
soldiers, who had no pillows but their haversacks, and no covering but
their overcoats, and they piteously begged for milk. I went to their
surgeon, and inquired whether boiled milk would not be allowed for
those men who were so low with camp diarrhea, and whether I could not
bring them quilts and pillows. "Madam, you can bring them milk, or any
thing you've named; but I tell you, if you undertake to listen to all
these soldiers' teasing, you'll have your hands full. As like as not,
any way, they'll trade whatever you give them for whisky the first
chance they have." I could not sleep until I secured the aid of two
soldiers to go with me to carry milk, pillows, and quilts for those
sick men. Their tears of gratitude, as I handed each his bottle of
milk, and placed a pillow under their heads, and a quilt for those who
had only an overcoat for a covering, paid me well. I returned to the
Soldiers' Home quite relieved, but wearied and sick, with a severe
cough, that had followed me for more than a month. I found it
necessary to hasten home to rest.

I left this field of suffering and constant excitement May 30th, for
dear home and anxious children and friends. A few days' rest restored
health and strength, but we were not relieved from excitement. Our
principal, E A. Haight, enlisted soon after closing the Spring term of
our school. Preparation for another school-year was before me, beside
the necessity of calling on friends in various places for supplies. I
was informed by officers that I could now secure passes and
transportation for an assistant as readily as for myself alone. My
school vacation was fully occupied in preparing for the following
academic year, and in looking for a congenial companion to share with
me in this work,--one who was willing to sacrifice all upon our
country's altar.




CHAPTER XI.

SANITARY WORK.


We found a necessity for organized work, and formed a Freedmen's
Relief Association, in Detroit, with Captain E. B. Ward, president;
Rev. William Webb, vice-president; Benjamin C. Durfee, secretary; and
Francis Raymond, treasurer. These did what they could in gathering
supplies in that city for me to take South the coming Autumn. Brother
Aldrich was engaged to act as principal of Raisin Institute, and this
gave me leisure to hold meetings in towns and county school-houses for
soliciting help for my Southern work. During vacation our two halls
were made ready for opening the Academic Year, as usual, on the first
Wednesday in September, 1863-4. The school, though smaller than before
the war, opened with fair prospects, and I felt at liberty to leave.
The institution, being in compe