the fugitive blacksmith; or, events in the history of james w.c. pennington, pastor of a presbyterian church, new york, formerly a slave in the state of maryland, united states. "let mine outcasts dwell with thee, moab; be thou a covert to them from the face of the spoiler."--isaiah xvi. . second edition. london: charles gilpin, , bishopsgate without. [_transcriber's note: this project was transcribed from a contemporary printing of the work, not from the edition. certain spellings may have been modernized and typographic and printer's errors changed from the original._] mr. charles gilpin, my dear sir, the information just communicated to me by you, that another edition of my little book, "the fugitive blacksmith," is called for, has agreeably surprised me. the british public has laid me under renewed obligations by this mark of liberality, which i hasten to acknowledge. i would avail myself of this moment also, to acknowledge the kindness of the gentlemen of the newspaper press for the many favourable reviews which my little book has received. it is to them i am indebted, in no small degree, for the success with which i have been favoured in getting the book before the notice of the public. yours truly, j.w.c. pennington. _hoxton, oct. th, ._ preface. the brief narrative i here introduce to the public, consists of outline notes originally thrown together to guide my memory when lecturing on this part of the subject of slavery. this will account for its style, and will also show that the work is not full. the question may be asked, why i have published anything so long after my escape from slavery? i answer i have been induced to do so on account of the increasing disposition to overlook the fact, that the sin of slavery lies in the chattel principle, or relation. especially have i felt anxious to save professing christians, and my brethren in the ministry, from falling into a great mistake. my feelings are always outraged when i hear them speak of "kind masters,"--"christian masters,"--"the mildest form of slavery,"--"well fed and clothed slaves," as extenuations of slavery; i am satisfied they either mean to pervert the truth, or they do not know what they say. the being of slavery, its soul and body, lives and moves in the chattel principle, the property principle, the bill of sale principle; the cart-whip, starvation, and nakedness, are its inevitable consequences to a greater or less extent, warring with the dispositions of men. there lies a skein of silk upon a lady's work-table. how smooth and handsome are the threads. but while that lady goes out to make a call, a party of children enter the apartment, and in amusing themselves, tangle the skein of silk, and now who can untangle it? the relation between master and slave is even as delicate as a skein of silk: it is liable to be entangled at any moment. the mildest form of slavery, if there be such a form, looking at the chattel principle as the definition of slavery, is comparatively the worst form. for it not only keeps the slave in the most unpleasant apprehension, like a prisoner in chains awaiting his trial; but it actually, in a great majority of cases, where kind masters do exist, trains him under the most favourable circumstances the system admits of, and then plunges him into the worst of which it is capable. it is under the mildest form of slavery, as it exists in maryland, virginia, and kentucky, that the finest specimens of coloured females are reared. there are no mothers who rear, and educate in the natural graces, finer daughters than the ethiopian women, who have the least chance to give scope to their maternal affections. but what is generally the fate of such female slaves? when they are not raised for the express purpose of supplying the market of a class of economical louisian and mississippi gentlemen, who do not wish to incur the expense of rearing legitimate families, they are, nevertheless, on account of their attractions, exposed to the most shameful degradation, by the young masters in the families where it is claimed they are so well off. my master once owned a beautiful girl about twenty-four. she had been raised in a family where her mother was a great favourite. she was her mother's darling child. her master was a lawyer of eminent abilities and great fame, but owing to habits of intemperance, he failed in business, and my master purchased this girl for a nurse. after he had owned her about a year, one of his sons became attached to her, for no honourable purposes; a fact which was not only well-known among all of the slaves, but which became a source of unhappiness to his mother and sisters. the result was, that poor rachel had to be sold to "georgia." never shall i forget the heart-rending scene, when one day one of the men was ordered to get "the one-horse cart ready to go into town;" rachel, with her few articles of clothing, was placed in it, and taken into the very town where her parents lived, and there sold to the traders before their weeping eyes. that same son who had degraded her, and who was the cause of her being sold, acted as salesman, and bill of saleman. while this cruel business was being transacted, my master stood aside, and the girl's father, a pious member and exhorter in the methodist church, a venerable grey-headed man, with his hat off, besought that he might be allowed to get some one in the place to purchase his child. but no; my master was invincible. his reply was, "she has offended in my family, and i can only restore confidence by sending her out of hearing." after lying in prison a short time, her new owner took her with others to the far south, where her parents heard no more of her. here was a girl born and reared under the mildest form of slavery. her original master was reputed to be even indulgent. he lived in a town, and was a high-bred gentleman, and a lawyer. he had but a few slaves, and had no occasion for an overseer, those negro leeches, to watch and drive them; but when he became embarrassed by his own folly, the chattel principle doomed this girl to be sold at the same sale with his books, house, and horses. with my master she found herself under far more stringent discipline than she had been accustomed to, and finally degraded, and sold where her condition could not be worse, and where she had not the least hope of ever bettering it. this case presents the legitimate working of the great chattel principle. it is no accidental result--it is the fruit of the tree. you cannot constitute slavery without the chattel principle--and with the chattel principle you cannot save it from these results. talk not then about kind and christian masters. they are not masters of the system. the system is master of them; and the slaves are their vassals. these storms rise on the bosom of the calmed waters of the system. you are a slave, a being in whom another owns property. then you may rise with his pride, but remember the day is at hand when you must also fall with his folly. to-day you may be pampered by his meekness; but to-morrow you will suffer in the storm of his passions. in the month of september, , there appeared in my study, one morning, in new york city, an aged coloured man of tall and slender form. i saw depicted on his countenance anxiety bordering on despair, still i was confident that he was a man whose mind was accustomed to faith. when i learned that he was a native of my own state, maryland, having been born in the county of montgomery, i at once became much interested in him. he had been sent to me by my friend, william harned, esq., of the anti-slavery office, , john street. he put into my hand the following bill of distress:-- "alexander, virginia, _september th, ._ "the bearer, paul edmondson, is the father of two girls, mary jane and emily catherine edmondson. these girls have been purchased by us, and once sent to the south; and upon the positive assurance that the money for them would be raised if they were brought back, they were returned. nothing, it appears, has as yet been done in this respect by those who promised, and we are on the very eve of sending them south a second time; and we are candid in saying, that if they go again, we will not regard any promises made in relation to them. "the father wishes to raise money to pay for them, and intends to appeal to the liberality of the humane and the good to aid him, and has requested us to state in writing the _conditions upon which we will sell his daughters_. "we expect to start our servants to the south in a few days; if the sum of twelve hundred dollars be raised and paid us in fifteen days, or we be assured of that sum, then we will retain them for twenty-five days more, to give an opportunity for raising the other thousand and fifty dollars, otherwise we shall be compelled to send them along with our other servants. (signed) "bruin and hill." the old man also showed me letters from other individuals, and one from the rev. matthew a. turner, pastor of asbury chapel, where himself and his daughters were members. he was himself free, but his wife was a slave. those two daughters were two out of fifteen children he had raised for the owner of his wife. these two girls had been sold, along with four brothers, to the traders, for an attempt to escape to the north, and gain their freedom. on the next sabbath evening, i threw the case before my people, and the first fifty dollars of the sum was raised to restore the old man his daughters. subsequently the case was taken up under the management of a committee of ministers of the methodist episcopal church, consisting of the rev. gr. peck, d.d., rev. e.e. griswold, and rev. d. curry, and the entire sum of , dollars, (£ .) was raised for two girls, fourteen and sixteen years of age! but why this enormous sum for two mere children? ah, reader, they were reared under the mildest form of slavery known to the laws of maryland! the mother is an invalid, and allowed to live with her free husband; but she is a woman of excellent mind, and has bestowed great pains upon her daughters. if you would know, then, why these girls were held at such a price, even to their own father, read the following extract of a letter from one who was actively engaged in behalf of them, and who had several interviews with the traders to induce them to reduce the price, but without success. writing from washington, d.c., september th, , this gentleman says to william harned, "the truth is, _and is confessed to be, that their destination is prostitution_; of this you would be satisfied on seeing them: they are of elegant form, and fine faces." and such, dear reader, is the sad fate of hundreds of my young countrywomen, natives of my native state. such is the fate of many who are not only reared under the mildest form of slavery, but of those who have been made acquainted with the milder system of the prince of peace. when christians, and christian ministers, then, talk about the "mildest form of slavery,"--"christian masters," &c., i say my feelings are outraged. it is a great mistake to offer these as an extenuation of the system. it is calculated to mislead the public mind. the opinion seems to prevail, that the negro, after having toiled as a slave for centuries to enrich his white brother, to lay the foundation of his proud institutions, after having been sunk as low as slavery can sink him, needs now only a second-rate civilization, a lower standard of civil and religious privileges than the whites claim for themselves. during the last year or two, we have heard of nothing but revolutions, and the enlargements of the eras of freedom, on both sides of the atlantic. our white brethren everywhere are reaching out their hands to grasp more freedom. in the place of absolute monarchies they have limited monarchies, and in the place of limited monarchies they have republics: so tenacious are they of their own liberties. but when we speak of slavery, and complain of the wrong it is doing us, and ask to have the yoke removed, we are told, "o, you must not be impatient, you must not create undue excitement. you are not so badly off, for many of your masters are kind christian masters." yes, sirs, many of our masters are professed christians; and what advantage is that to us? the grey heads of our fathers are brought down by scores to the grave in sorrow, on account of their young and tender sons, who are sold to the far south, where they have to toil without requite to supply the world's market with _cotton, sugar, rice, tobacco, &c_. our venerable mothers are borne down with poignant grief at the fate of their children. our sisters, if not by the law, are by common consent made the prey of vile men, who can bid the highest. in all the bright achievements we have obtained in the great work of emancipation, if we have not settled the fact that the chattel principle is wrong, and cannot be maintained upon christian ground, then we have wrought and triumphed to little purpose, and we shall have to do our first work over again. it is this that has done all the mischief connected with slavery; it is this that threatens still further mischief. whatever may be the ill or favoured condition of the slave in the matter of mere personal treatment, it is the chattel relation that robs him of his manhood, and transfers his ownership in himself to another. it is this that transfers the proprietorship of his wife and children to another. it is this that throws his family history into utter confusion, and leaves him without a single record to which he may appeal in vindication of his character, or honour. and has a man no sense of honour because he was born a slave? has he no need of character? suppose insult, reproach, or slander, should render it necessary for him to appeal to the history of his family in vindication of his character, where will he find that history? he goes to his native state, to his native county, to his native town; but no where does he find any record of himself _as a man_. on looking at the family record of his old, kind, christian, master, there he finds his name on a catalogue with the horses, cows, hogs and dogs. however humiliating and degrading it may be to his feelings to find his name written down among the beasts of the field, _that_ is just the place, and the _only_ place assigned to it by the chattel relation. i beg our anglo-saxon brethren to accustom themselves to think that we need something more than mere kindness. we ask for justice, truth and honour as other men do. my coloured brethren are now widely awake to the degradation which they suffer in having property vested in their persons, and they are also conscious of the deep and corrupting disgrace of having our wives and children owned by other men--men, who have shown to the world that their own virtue is not infallible, and who have given us no flattering encouragement to entrust that of our wives and daughters to them. i have great pleasure in stating that my dear friend w.w., spoken of in this narrative, to whom i am so deeply indebted, is still living. i have been twice to see him within four years, and have regular correspondence with him. in one of the last letters i had from him, he authorises me to use his name in connection with this narrative in these words,--"as for using my name, by reference or otherwise, in thy narrative, it is at thy service. i know thee so well james, that i am not afraid of thy making a bad use of it, nor am i afraid or ashamed to have it known that i took thee in and gave thee aid, when i found thee travelling alone and in want.--w.w." on the second page of the same sheet i have a few lines from his excellent lady, in which she says, "james, i hope thee will not attribute my long silence in writing to indifference. no such feeling can ever exist towards thee in our family. thy name is mentioned almost every day. each of the children claims the next letter from thee. it will be for thee to decide which shall have it.--p.w." in a postscript following this, w.w. says again:--"understand me, james, that thee is at full liberty to use my name in any way thee wishes in thy narrative. we have a man here from the eastern shore of thy state. he is trying to learn as fast as thee did when here.--w.w." i hope the reader will pardon me for introducing these extracts. my only apology is, the high gratification i feel in knowing that this family has not only been greatly prospered in health and happiness, but that i am upon the most intimate and pleasant terms with all its members, and that they all still feel a deep and cordial interest in my welfare. there is another distinguished individual whose sympathy has proved very gratifying to me in my situation--i mean that true friend of the negro, _gerrit smith, esq._ i was well acquainted with the family in which mr. smith married in maryland. my attention has been fixed upon him for the last ten years, for i have felt confident that god had set him apart for some great good to the negro. in a letter dated peterborough, november th, , he says:-- "j.w.c. pennington, "slight as is my _personal_ acquaintance with you, i nevertheless am well acquainted with you. i am familiar with many passages in your history--all that part of your history extending from the time when, a sturdy blacksmith, you were running away from maryland oppression, down to the present, when you are the successor of my lamented friend, theodore s. wright. let me add that my acquaintance with you has inspired me with a high regard for your wisdom and integrity." give us a few more such men in america, and slavery will soon be numbered among the things that were. a few men who will not only have the moral courage to aim the severing blow at the chattel relation between master and slave, without parley, palliation or compromise; but who have also the christian fidelity to brave public scorn and contumely, to seize a coloured man by the hand, and elevate him to the position from whence the avarice and oppression of the whites have degraded him. these men have the right view of the subject. they see that in every case where the relation between master and slave is broken, slavery is weakened, and that every coloured man elevated, becomes a step in the ladder upon which his whole people are to ascend. they would not have us accept of some modified form of liberty, while the old mischief working chattel relation remains unbroken, untouched and unabrogated. j.w.c. pennington. _ , princes square, london, august th_, . contents. chapter i. my birth and parentage--the treatment of slaves generally in maryland chapter ii. the flight chapter iii. a dreary night in the woods--critical situation the next day chapter iv. the good woman of the toll-gate directs me to w.w.--my cordial reception by him chapter v. seven months' residence in the family of j.k., a member of the society of friends in chester county, pennsylvania--removal to new york--becomes a convert to religion--becomes a teacher chapter vi. some account of the family i left in slavery--proposal to purchase myself and parents--how met by my old master chapter vii. the feeding, clothing, and religious instruction of the slaves in the part of maryland where i lived appendix the fugitive blacksmith. chapter i. my birth and parentage.--the treatment of slaves generally in maryland. i was born in the state of maryland, which is one of the smallest and most northern of the slave-holding states; the products of this state are wheat, rye, indian corn, tobacco, with some hemp, flax, &c. by looking at the map, it will be seen that maryland, like virginia her neighbour, is divided by the chesapeake bay into eastern and western shores. my birthplace was on the eastern shore, where there are seven or eight small counties; the farms are small, and tobacco is mostly raised. at an early period in the history of maryland, her lands began to be exhausted by the bad cultivation peculiar to slave states; and hence she soon commenced the business of breeding slaves for the more southern states. this has given an enormity to slavery, in maryland, differing from that which attaches to the system in louisiana, and equalled by none of the kind, except virginia and kentucky, and not by either of these in extent. my parents did not both belong to the same owner: my father belonged to a man named ----; my mother belonged to a man named ----. this not only made me a slave, but made me the slave of him to whom my mother belonged; as the primary law of slavery is, that the child shall follow the condition of the mother. when i was about four years of age, my mother, an older brother and myself, were given to a son of my master, who had studied for the medical profession, but who had now married wealthy, and was about to settle as a wheat planter in washington county, on the western shore. this began the first of our family troubles that i knew anything about, as it occasioned a separation between my mother and the only two children she then had, and my father, to a distance of about two hundred miles. but this separation did not continue long; my father being a valuable slave, my master was glad to purchase him. about this time, i began to feel another evil of slavery--i mean the want of parental care and attention. my parents were not able to give any attention to their children during the day. i often suffered much from _hunger_ and other similar causes. to estimate the sad state of a slave child, you must look at it as a helpless human being thrown upon the world without the benefit of its natural guardians. it is thrown into the world without a social circle to flee to for hope, shelter, comfort, or instruction. the social circle, with all its heaven-ordained blessings, is of the utmost importance to the _tender child_; but of this, the slave child, however tender and delicate, is robbed. there is another source of evil to slave children, which i cannot forbear to mention here, as one which early embittered my life,--i mean the tyranny of the master's children. my master had two sons, about the ages and sizes of my older brother and myself. we were not only required to recognise these young sirs as our young masters, but _they_ felt themselves to be such; and, in consequence of this feeling, they sought to treat us with the same air of authority that their father did the older slaves. another evil of slavery that i felt severely about this time, was the tyranny and abuse of the overseers. these men seem to look with an evil eye upon children. i was once visiting a menagerie, and being struck with the fact, that the lion was comparatively indifferent to every one around his cage, while he eyed with peculiar keenness a little boy i had; the keeper informed me that such was always the case. such is true of those human beings in the slave states, called overseers. they seem to take pleasure in torturing the children of slaves, long before they are large enough to be put at the hoe, and consequently under the whip. we had an overseer, named blackstone; he was an extremely cruel man to the working hands. he always carried a long hickory whip, a kind of pole. he kept three or four of these in order, that he might not at any time be without one. i once found one of these hickories lying in the yard, and supposing that he had thrown it away, i picked it up, and boy-like, was using it for a horse; he came along from the field, and seeing me with it, fell upon me with the one he then had in his hand, and flogged me most cruelly. from that, i lived in constant dread of that man; and he would show how much he delighted in cruelty by chasing me from my play with threats and imprecations. i have lain for hours in a wood, or behind a fence, to hide from his eye. at this time my days were extremely dreary. when i was nine years of age, myself and my brother were hired out from home; my brother was placed with a pump-maker, and i was placed with a stonemason. we were both in a town some six miles from home. as the men with whom we lived were not slaveholders, we enjoyed some relief from the peculiar evils of slavery. each of us lived in a family where there was no other negro. the slaveholders in that state often hire the children of their slaves out to non-slaveholders, not only because they save themselves the expense of taking care of them, but in this way they get among their slaves useful trades. they put a bright slave-boy with a tradesman, until he gets such a knowledge of the trade as to be able to do his own work, and then he takes him home. i remained with the stonemason until i was eleven years of age: at this time i was taken home. this was another serious period in my childhood; i was separated from my older brother, to whom i was much attached; he continued at his place, and not only learned the trade to great perfection, but finally became the property of the man with whom he lived, so that our separation was permanent, as we never lived nearer after, than six miles. my master owned an excellent blacksmith, who had obtained his trade in the way i have mentioned above. when i returned home at the age of eleven, i was set about assisting to do the mason-work of a new smith's shop. this being done, i was placed at the business, which i soon learned, so as to be called a "first-rate blacksmith." i continued to work at this business for nine years, or until i was twenty-one, with the exception of the last seven months. in the spring of , my master sold me to a methodist man, named ----, for the sum of seven hundred dollars. it soon proved that he had not work enough to keep me employed as a smith, and he offered me for sale again. on hearing of this, my old master re-purchased me, and proposed to me to undertake the carpentering business. i had been working at this trade six months with a white workman, who was building a large barn when i left. i will now relate the abuses which occasioned me to fly. three or four of our farm hands had their wives and families on other plantations. in such cases, it is the custom in maryland to allow the men to go on saturday evening to see their families, stay over the sabbath, and return on monday morning, not later than "half-an-hour by sun." to overstay their time is a grave fault, for which, especially at busy seasons, they are punished. one monday morning, two of these men had not been so fortunate as to get home at the required time: one of them was an uncle of mine. besides these, two young men who had no families, and for whom no such provision of time was made, having gone somewhere to spend the sabbath, were absent. my master was greatly irritated, and had resolved to have, as he said, "a general whipping-match among them." preparatory to this, he had a rope in his pocket, and a cowhide in his hand, walking about the premises, and speaking to every one he met in a very insolent manner, and finding fault with some without just cause. my father, among other numerous and responsible duties, discharged that of shepherd to a large and valuable flock of merino sheep. this morning he was engaged in the tenderest of a shepherd's duties;--a little lamb, not able to go alone, lost its mother; he was feeding it by hand. he had been keeping it in the house for several days. as he stooped over it in the yard, with a vessel of new milk he had obtained, with which to feed it, my master came along, and without the least provocation, began by asking, "bazil, have you fed the flock?" "yes, sir." "were you away yesterday?" "no, sir." "do you know why these boys have not got home this morning yet?" "no, sir, i have not seen any of them since saturday night." "by the eternal, i'll make them know their hour. the fact is, i have too many of you; my people are getting to be the most careless, lazy, and worthless in the country." "master," said my father, "i am always at my post; monday morning never finds me off the plantation." "hush, bazil! i shall have to sell some of you; and then the rest will have enough to do; i have not work enough to keep you all tightly employed; i have too many of you." all this was said in an angry, threatening, and exceedingly insulting tone. my father was a high-spirited man, and feeling deeply the insult, replied to the last expression,--"if i am one too many, sir, give me a chance to get a purchaser, and i am willing to be sold when it may suit you." "bazil, i told you to hush!" and suiting the action to the word, he drew forth the "cowhide" from under his arm, fell upon him with most savage cruelty, and inflicted fifteen or twenty severe stripes with all his strength, over his shoulders and the small of his back. as he raised himself upon his toes, and gave the last stripe, he said, "by the * * * i will make you know that i am master of your tongue as well as of your time!" being a tradesman, and just at that time getting my breakfast, i was near enough to hear the insolent words that were spoken to my father, and to hear, see, and even count the savage stripes inflicted upon him. let me ask any one of anglo-saxon blood and spirit, how would you expect a _son_ to feel at such a sight? this act created an open rupture with our family--each member felt the deep insult that had been inflicted upon our head; the spirit of the whole family was roused; we talked of it in our nightly gatherings, and showed it in our daily melancholy aspect. the oppressor saw this, and with the heartlessness that was in perfect keeping with the first insult, commenced a series of tauntings, threatenings, and insinuations, with a view to crush the spirit of the whole family. although it was sometime after this event before i took the decisive step, yet in my mind and spirit, i never was a _slave_ after it. whenever i thought of the great contrast between my father's employment on that memorable monday morning, (feeding the little lamb,) and the barbarous conduct of my master, i could not help cordially despising the proud abuser of my sire; and i believe he discovered it, for he seemed to have diligently sought an occasion against me. many incidents occurred to convince me of this, too tedious to mention; but there is one i will mention, because it will serve to show the state of feeling that existed between us, and how it served to widen the already open breach. i was one day shoeing a horse in the shop yard. i had been stooping for some time under the weight of the horse, which was large, and was very tired; meanwhile, my master had taken his position on a little hill just in front of me, and stood leaning back on his cane, with his hat drawn ever his eyes. i put down the horse's foot, and straightened myself up to rest a moment, and without knowing that he was there, my eye caught his. this threw him into a panic of rage; he would have it that i was watching him. "what are you rolling your white eyes at me for, you lazy rascal?" he came down upon me with his cane, and laid on over my shoulders, arms, and legs, about a dozen severe blows, so that my limbs and flesh were sore for several weeks; and then after several other offensive epithets, left me. this affair my mother saw from her cottage, which was near; i being one of the oldest sons of my parents, our family was now mortified to the lowest degree. i had always aimed to be trustworthy; and feeling a high degree of mechanical pride, i had aimed to do my work with dispatch and skill, my blacksmith's pride and taste was one thing that had reconciled me so long to remain a slave. i sought to distinguish myself in the finer branches of the business by invention and finish; i frequently tried my hand at making guns and pistols, putting blades in penknives, making fancy hammers, hatchets, sword-canes, &c., &c. besides i used to assist my father at night in making straw-hats and willow-baskets, by which means we supplied our family with little articles of food, clothing and luxury, which slaves in the mildest form of the system never get from the master; but after this, i found that my mechanic's pleasure and pride were gone. i thought of nothing but the family disgrace under which we were smarting, and how to get out of it. perhaps i may as well extend this note a little. the reader will observe that i have not said much about my master's cruel treatment; i have aimed rather to shew the cruelties incident to the system. i have no disposition to attempt to convict him of having been one of the most cruel masters--that would not be true--his prevailing temper was kind, but he was a perpetualist. he was opposed to emancipation; thought free negroes a great nuisance, and was, as respects discipline, a thorough slaveholder. he would not tolerate a look or a word from a slave like insubordination. he would suppress it at once, and at any risk. when he thought it necessary to secure unqualified obedience, he would strike a slave with any weapon, flog him on the bare back, and sell. and this was the kind of discipline he also empowered his overseers and sons to use. i have seen children go from our plantations to join the chained-gang on its way from washington to louisiana; and i have seen men and women flogged--i have seen the overseers strike a man with a hay-fork--nay more, men have been maimed by shooting! some dispute arose one morning between the overseer and one of the farm hands, when the former made at the slave with a hickory club; the slave taking to his heels, started for the woods; as he was crossing the yard, the overseer turned, snatched his gun which was near, and fired at the flying slave, lodging several shots in the calf of one leg. the poor fellow continued his flight, and got into the woods; but he was in so much pain that he was compelled to come out in the evening, and give himself up to his master, thinking he would not allow him to be punished as he had been shot. he was locked up that night; the next morning the overseer was allowed to tie him up and flog him; his master then took his instruments and picked the shot out of his leg, and told him, it served him just right. my master had a deeply pious and exemplary slave, an elderly man, who one day had a misunderstanding with the overseer, when the latter attempted to flog him. he fled to the woods; it was noon; at evening he came home orderly. the next morning, my master, taking one of his sons with him, a rope and cowhide in his hand, led the poor old man away into the stable; tied him up, and ordered the son to lay on thirty-nine lashes, which he did, making the keen end of the cowhide lap around and strike him in the tenderest part of his side, till the blood sped out, as if a lance had been used. while my master's son was thus engaged, the sufferer's little daughter, a child six years of age, stood at the door, weeping in agony for the fate of her father. i heard the old man articulating in a low tone of voice; i listened at the intervals between the stripes, and lo! he was praying! when the last lash was laid on, he was let down; and leaving him to put on his clothes, they passed out of the door, and drove the man's weeping child away! i was mending a hinge to one of the barn doors; i saw and heard what i have stated. six months after, this same man's eldest daughter, a girl fifteen years old, was sold to slave-traders, where he never saw her more. this poor slave and his wife were both methodists, so was the wife of the young master who flogged him. my old master was an episcopalian. these are only a few of the instances which came under my own notice during my childhood and youth on our plantations; as to those which occurred on other plantations in the neighbourhood, i could state any number. i have stated that my master was watching the movements of our family very closely. sometime after the difficulties began, we found that he also had a confidential slave assisting him in the business. this wretched fellow, who was nearly white, and of irish descent, informed our master of the movements of each member of the family by day and by night, and on sundays. this stirred the spirit of my mother, who spoke to our fellow-slave, and told him he ought to be ashamed to be engaged in such low business. master hearing of this, called my father, mother, and myself before him, and accused us of an attempt to resist and intimidate his "confidential servant." finding that only my mother had spoken to him, he swore that if she ever spoke another word to him, he would flog her. i knew my mother's spirit and my master's temper as well. our social state was now perfectly intolerable. we were on the eve of a general fracas. this last scene occurred on tuesday; and on saturday evening following, without counsel or advice from any one, i determined to fly. chapter ii. the flight. it was the sabbath: the holy day which god in his infinite wisdom gave for the rest of both man and beast. in the state of maryland, the slaves generally have the sabbath, except in those districts where the evil weed, tobacco, is cultivated; and then, when it is the season for setting the plant, they are liable to be robbed of this only rest. it was in the month of november, somewhat past the middle of the month. it was a bright day, and all was quiet. most of the slaves were resting about their quarters; others had leave to visit their friends on other plantations, and were absent. the evening previous i had arranged my little bundle of clothing, and had secreted it at some distance from the house. i had spent most of the forenoon in my workshop, engaged in deep and solemn thought. it is impossible for me now to recollect all the perplexing thoughts that passed through my mind during that forenoon; it was a day of heartaching to me. but i distinctly remember the two great difficulties that stood in the way of my flight: i had a father and mother whom i dearly loved,--i had also six sisters and four brothers on the plantation. the question was, shall i hide my purpose from them? moreover, how will my flight affect them when i am gone? will they not be suspected? will not the whole family be sold off as a disaffected family, as is generally the case when one of its members flies? but a still more trying question was, how can i expect to succeed, i have no knowledge of distance or direction. i know that pennsylvania is a free state, but i know not where its soil begins, or where that of maryland ends? indeed, at this time there was no safety in pennsylvania, new jersey, or new york, for a fugitive, except in lurking-places, or under the care of judicious friends, who could be entrusted not only with liberty, but also with life itself. with such difficulties before my mind, the day had rapidly worn away; and it was just past noon. one of my perplexing questions i had settled--i had resolved to let no one into my secret; but the other difficulty was now to be met. it was to be met without the least knowledge of its magnitude, except by imagination. yet of one thing there could be no mistake, that the consequences of a failure would be most serious. within my recollection no one had attempted to escape from my master; but i had many cases in my mind's eye, of slaves of other planters who had failed, and who had been made examples of the most cruel treatment, by flogging and selling to the far south, where they were never to see their friends more. i was not without serious apprehension that such would be my fate. the bare possibility was impressively solemn; but the hour was now come, and the man must act and be free, or remain a slave for ever. how the impression came to be upon my mind i cannot tell; but there was a strange and horrifying belief, that if i did not meet the crisis that day, i should be self-doomed--that my ear would be nailed to the door-post for ever. the emotions of that moment i cannot fully depict. hope, fear, dread, terror, love, sorrow, and deep melancholy were mingled in my mind together; my mental state was one of most painful distraction. when i looked at my numerous family--a beloved father and mother, eleven brothers and sisters, &c.; but when i looked at slavery as such; when i looked at it in its mildest form, with all its annoyances; and above all, when i remembered that one of the chief annoyances of slavery, in the most mild form, is the liability of being at any moment sold into the worst form; it seemed that no consideration, not even that of life itself, could tempt me to give up the thought of flight. and then when i considered the difficulties of the way--the reward that would be offered--the human blood-hounds that would be set upon my track--the weariness--the hunger--the gloomy thought, of not only losing all one's friends in one day, but of having to seek and to make new friends in a strange world. but, as i have said, the hour was come, and the man must act, or for ever be a slave. it was now two o'clock. i stepped into the quarter; there was a strange and melancholy silence mingled with the destitution that was apparent in every part of the house. the only morsel i could see in the shape of food, was a piece of indian flour bread, it might be half-a-pound in weight. this i placed in my pocket, and giving a last look at the aspect of the house, and at a few small children who were playing at the door, i sallied forth thoughtfully and melancholy, and after crossing the barn-yard, a few moments' walk brought me to a small cave, near the mouth of which lay a pile of stones, and into which i had deposited my clothes. from this, my course lay through thick and heavy woods and back lands to ---- town, where my brother lived. this town was six miles distance. it was now near three o'clock, but my object was neither to be seen on the road, or to approach the town by daylight, as i was well-known there, and as any intelligence of my having been seen there would at once put the pursuers on my track. this first six miles of my flight, i not only travelled very slowly, therefore, so as to avoid carrying any daylight to this town; but during this walk another very perplexing question was agitating my mind. shall i call on my brother as i pass through, and shew him what i am about? my brother was older than i, we were much attached; i had been in the habit of looking to him for counsel. i entered the town about dark, resolved, all things in view, _not_ to shew myself to my brother. having passed through the town without being recognised, i now found myself under cover of night, a solitary wanderer from home and friends; my only guide was the _north star_, by this i knew my general course northward, but at what point i should strike penn, or when and where i should find a friend, i knew not. another feeling now occupied my mind,--i felt like a mariner who has gotten his ship outside of the harbour and has spread his sails to the breeze. the cargo is on board--the ship is cleared--and the voyage i must make; besides, this being my first night, almost every thing will depend upon my clearing the coast before the day dawns. in order to do this my flight must be rapid. i therefore set forth in sorrowful earnest, only now and then i was cheered by the _wild_ hope, that i should somewhere and at sometime be free. the night was fine for the season, and passed on with little interruption for want of strength, until, about three o'clock in the morning, i began to feel the chilling effects of the dew. at this moment, gloom and melancholy again spread through my whole soul. the prospect of utter destitution which threatened me was more than i could bear, and my heart began to melt. what substance is there in a piece of dry indian bread; what nourishment is there in it to warm the nerves of one already chilled to the heart? will this afford a sufficient sustenance after the toil of the night? but while these thoughts were agitating my mind, the day dawned upon me, in the midst of an open extent of country, where the only shelter i could find, without risking my travel by daylight, was a corn shock, but a few hundred yards from the road, and here i must pass my first day out. the day was an unhappy one; my hiding-place was extremely precarious. i had to sit in a squatting position the whole day, without the least chance to rest. but, besides this, my scanty pittance did not afford me that nourishment which my hard night's travel needed. night came again to my relief, and i sallied forth to pursue my journey. by this time, not a crumb of my crust remained, and i was hungry and began to feel the desperation of distress. as i travelled i felt my strength failing and my spirits wavered; my mind was in a deep and melancholy dream. it was cloudy; i could not see my star, and had serious misgivings about my course. in this way the night passed away, and just at the dawn of day i found a few sour apples, and took my shelter under the arch of a small bridge that crossed the road. here i passed the second day in ambush. this day would have been more pleasant than the previous, but the sour apples, and a draught of cold water, had produced anything but a favourable effect; indeed, i suffered most of the day with severe symptoms of cramp. the day passed away again without any further incident, and as i set out at nightfall, i felt quite satisfied that i could not pass another twenty-four hours without nourishment. i made but little progress during the night, and often sat down, and slept frequently fifteen or twenty minutes. at the dawn of the third day i continued my travel. as i had found my way to a public turnpike road during the night, i came very early in the morning to a toll-gate, where the only person i saw, was a lad about twelve years of age. i inquired of him where the road led to. he informed me it led to baltimore. i asked him the distance, he said it was eighteen miles. this intelligence was perfectly astounding to me. my master lived eighty miles from baltimore. i was now sixty-two miles from home. that distance in the right direction, would have placed me several miles across mason and dixon's line, but i was evidently yet in the state of maryland. i ventured to ask the lad at the gate another question--which is the best way to philadelphia? said he, you can take a road which turns off about half-a-mile below this, and goes to getsburgh, or you can go on to baltimore and take the packet. i made no reply, but my thought was, that i was as near baltimore and baltimore-packets as would answer my purpose. in a few moments i came to the road to which the lad had referred, and felt some relief when i had gotten out of that great public highway, "the national turnpike," which i found it to be. when i had walked a mile on this road, and when it had now gotten to be about nine o'clock, i met a young man with a load of hay. he drew up his horses, and addressed me in a very kind tone, when the following dialogue took place between us. "are you travelling any distance, my friend?" "i am on my way to philadelphia." "are you free?" "yes, sir." "i suppose, then, you are provided with free papers?" "no, sir. i have no papers." "well, my friend, you should not travel on this road: you will be taken up before you have gone three miles. there are men living on this road who are constantly on the look-out for your people; and it is seldom that one escapes them who attempts to pass by day." he then very kindly gave me advice where to turn off the road at a certain point, and how to find my way to a certain house, where i would meet with an old gentleman who would further advise me whether i had better remain till night, or go on. i left this interesting young man; and such was my surprise and chagrin at the thought of having so widely missed my way, and my alarm at being in such a dangerous position, that in ten minutes i had so far forgotten his directions as to deem it unwise to attempt to follow them, lest i should miss my way, and get into evil hands. i, however, left the road, and went into a small piece of wood, but not finding a sufficient hiding-place, and it being a busy part of the day, when persons were at work about the fields, i thought i should excite less suspicion by keeping in the road, so i returned to the road; but the events of the next few moments proved that i committed a serious mistake. i went about a mile, making in all two miles from the spot where i met my young friend, and about five miles from the toll-gate to which i have referred, and i found myself at the twenty-four miles' stone from baltimore. it was now about ten o'clock in the forenoon; my strength was greatly exhausted by reason of the want of suitable food; but the excitement that was then going on in my mind, left me little time to think of my _need_ of food. under ordinary circumstances as a traveller, i should have been glad to see the "tavern," which was near the mile-stone; but as the case stood with me, i deemed it a dangerous place to pass, much less to stop at. i was therefore passing it as quietly and as rapidly as possible, when from the lot just opposite the house, or sign-post, i heard a coarse stern voice cry, "halloo!" i turned my face to the left, the direction from which the voice came, and observed that it proceeded from a man who was digging potatoes. i answered him politely; when the following occurred:-- "who do _you_ belong to?" "i am free, sir." "have you got papers?" "no, sir." "well, you must stop here." by this time he had got astride the fence, making his way into the road. i said, "my business is onward, sir, and i do not wish to stop." "i will see then if you don't stop, you black rascal." he was now in the middle of the road, making after me in a brisk walk. i saw that a crisis was at hand; i had no weapons of any kind, not even a pocket-knife; but i asked myself, shall i surrender without a struggle. the instinctive answer was "no." what will you do? continue to walk; if he runs after you, run; get him as far from the house as you can, then turn suddenly and smite him on the knee with a stone; that will render him, at least, unable to pursue you. this was a desperate scheme, but i could think of no other, and my habits as a blacksmith had given my eye and hand such mechanical skill, that i felt quite sure that if i could only get a stone in my hand, and have time to wield it, i should not miss his knee-pan. he began to breathe short. he was evidently vexed because i did not halt, and i felt more and more provoked at the idea of being thus pursued by a man to whom i had not done the least injury. i had just began to glance my eye about for a stone to grasp, when he made a tiger-like leap at me. this of course brought us to running. at this moment he yelled out "jake shouster!" and at the next moment the door of a small house standing to the left was opened, and out jumped a shoemaker girded up in his leather apron, with his knife in hand. he sprang forward and seized me by the collar, while the other seized my arms behind. i was now in the grasp of two men, either of whom were larger bodied than myself, and one of whom was armed with a dangerous weapon. standing in the door of the shoemaker's shop, was a third man; and in the potatoe lot i had passed, was still a fourth man. thus surrounded by superior physical force, the fortune of the day it seemed to me was gone. my heart melted away, i sunk resistlessly into the hands of my captors, who dragged me immediately into the tavern which was near. i ask my reader to go in with me, and see how the case goes. * * * * * great moral dilemma. a few moments after i was taken into the bar-room, the news having gone as by electricity, the house and yard were crowded with gossippers, who had left their business to come and see "the runaway nigger." this hastily assembled congregation consisted of men, women, and children, each one had a look to give at, and a word to say about, the "nigger." but among the whole, there stood one whose name i have never known, but who evidently wore the garb of a man whose profession bound him to speak for the dumb, but he, standing head and shoulders above all that were round about, spoke the first hard sentence against me. said he, "that fellow is a runaway i know; put him in jail a few days, and you will soon hear where he came from." and then fixing a fiend-like gaze upon me, he continued, "if i lived on this road, _you_ fellows would not find such clear running as you do, i'd trap more of you." but now comes the pinch of the case, the case of conscience to me even at this moment. emboldened by the cruel speech just recited, my captors enclosed me, and said, "come now, this matter may easily be settled without you going to jail; who do you belong to, and where did you come from?" the facts here demanded were in my breast. i knew according to the law of slavery, who i belonged to and where i came from, and i must now do one of three things--i must refuse to speak at all, or i must communicate the fact, or i must tell an untruth. how would an untutored slave, who had never heard of such a writer as archdeacon paley, be likely to act in such a dilemma? the first point decided, was, the facts in this case are my private property. these men have no more right to them than a highway robber has to my purse. what will be the consequence if i put them in possession of the facts. in forty-eight hours, i shall have received perhaps one hundred lashes, and be on my way to the louisiana cotton fields. of what service will it be to them. they will get a paltry sum of two hundred dollars. is not my liberty worth more to me than two hundred dollars are to them? i resolved therefore, to insist that i was free. this not being satisfactory without other evidence, they tied my hands and set out, and went to a magistrate who lived about half a mile distant. it so happened, that when we arrived at his house he was not at home. this was to them a disappointment, but to me it was a relief; but i soon learned by their conversation, that there was still another magistrate in the neighbourhood, and that they would go to him. in about twenty minutes, and after climbing fences and jumping ditches, we, captors and captive, stood before his door, but it was after the same manner as before--he was not at home. by this time the day had worn away to one or two o'clock, and my captors evidently began to feel somewhat impatient of the loss of time. we were about a mile and a quarter from the tavern. as we set out on our return, they began to parley. finding it was difficult for me to get over fences with, my hands tied, they untied me, and said, "now john," that being the name they had given me, "if you have run away from any one, it would be much better for you to tell us!" but i continued to affirm that i was free. i knew, however, that my situation was very critical, owing to the shortness of the distance i must be from home: my advertisement might overtake me at any moment. on our way back to the tavern, we passed through a small skirt of wood, where i resolved to make an effort to escape again. one of my captors was walking on either side of me; i made a sudden turn, with my left arm sweeping the legs of one of my captors from under him; i left him nearly standing on his head, and took to my heels. as soon as they could recover they both took after me. we had to mount a fence. this i did most successfully, and making across an open field towards another wood; one of my captors being a long-legged man, was in advance of the other, and consequently nearing me. we had a hill to rise, and during the ascent he gained on me. once more i thought of self-defence. i am trying to escape peaceably, but this man is determined that i shall not. my case was now desperate; and i took this desperate thought: "i will run him a little farther from his coadjutor; i will then suddenly catch a stone, and wound him in the breast." this was my fixed purpose, and i had arrived near the point on the top of the hill, where i expected to do the act, when to my surprise and dismay, i saw the other side of the hill was not only all ploughed up, but we came suddenly upon a man ploughing, who as suddenly left his plough and cut off my flight, by seizing me by the collar, when at the same moment my pursuer seized my arms behind. here i was again in a sad fix. by this time the other pursuer had come up; i was most savagely thrown down on the ploughed ground with my face downward, the ploughman placed his knee upon my shoulders, one of my captors put his upon my legs, while the other tied my arms behind me. i was then dragged up, and marched off with kicks, punches and imprecations. we got to the tavern at three o'clock. here they again cooled down, and made an appeal to me to make a disclosure. i saw that my attempt to escape strengthened their belief that i was a fugitive. i said to them, "if you will not put me in jail, i will now tell you where i am from." they promised. "well," said i, "a few weeks ago, i was sold from the eastern shore to a slave-trader, who had a large gang, and set out for georgia, but when he got to a town in virginia, he was taken sick, and died with the small-pox. several of his gang also died with, it, so that the people in the town became alarmed, and did not wish the gang to remain among them. no one claimed us, or wished to have anything to do with us; i left the rest, and thought i would go somewhere and get work." when i said this, it was evidently believed by those who were present, and notwithstanding the unkind feeling that had existed, there was a murmur of approbation. at the same time i perceived that a panic began to seize some, at the idea that i was one of a small-pox gang. several who had clustered near me, moved off to a respectful distance. one or two left the bar-room, and murmured, "better let the small-pox nigger go." i was then asked what was the name of the slave-trader. without premeditation, i said, "john henderson." "john henderson!" said one of my captors, "i knew him; i took up a yaller boy for him about two years ago, and got fifty dollars. he passed out with a gang about that time, and the boy ran away from him at frederickstown. what kind of a man was he?" at a venture, i gave a description of him. "yes," said he, "that is the man." by this time, all the gossippers had cleared the coast; our friend, "jake shouster," had also gone back to his bench to finish his custom work, after having "lost nearly the whole day, trotting about with a nigger tied," as i heard his wife say as she called him home to his dinner. i was now left alone with the man who first called to me in the morning. in a sober manner, he made this proposal to me: "john, i have a brother living in risterstown, four miles off, who keeps a tavern; i think you had better go and live with him, till we see what will turn up. he wants an ostler." i at once assented to this. "well," said he, "take something to eat, and i will go with you." although i had so completely frustrated their designs for the moment, i knew that it would by no means answer for me to go into that town, where there were prisons, handbills, newspapers, and travellers. my intention was, to start with him, but not to enter the town alive. i sat down to eat; it was wednesday, four o'clock, and this was the first regular meal i had since sunday morning. this over, we set out, and to my surprise, he proposed to walk. we had gone about a mile and a-half, and were approaching a wood through which the road passed with a bend. i fixed upon that as the spot where i would either free myself from this man, or die in his arms. i had resolved upon a plan of operation--it was this: to stop short, face about, and commence action; and neither ask or give quarters, until i was free or dead! we had got within six rods of the spot, when a gentleman turned the corner, meeting us on horseback. he came up, and entered into conversation with my captor, both of them speaking in dutch, so that i knew not what they said. after a few moments, this gentleman addressed himself to me in english, and i then learned that he was one of the magistrates on whom we had called in the morning; i felt that another crisis was at hand. using his saddle as his bench, he put on an extremely stern and magisterial-like face, holding up his horse not unlike a field-marshal in the act of reviewing troops, and carried me through a most rigid examination in reference to the statement i had made. i repeated carefully all i had said; at the close, he said, "well, you had better stay among us a few months, until we see what is to be done with you." it was then agreed that we should go back to the tavern, and there settle upon some further plan. when we arrived at the tavern, the magistrate alighted from his horse, and went into the bar-room. he took another close glance at me, and went over some points of the former examination. he seemed quite satisfied of the correctness of my statement, and made the following proposition: that i should go and live with him for a short time, stating that he had a few acres of corn and potatoes to get in, and that he would give me twenty-five cents per day. i most cheerfully assented to this proposal. it was also agreed that i should remain at the tavern with my captor that night, and that he would accompany me in the morning. this part of the arrangement i did not like, but of course i could not say so. things being thus arranged, the magistrate mounted his horse, and went on his way home. it had been cloudy and rainy during the afternoon, but the western sky having partially cleared at this moment, i perceived that it was near the setting of the sun. my captor had left his hired man most of the day to dig potatoes alone; but the waggon being now loaded, it being time to convey the potatoes into the barn, and the horses being all ready for that purpose, he was obliged to go into the potatoe field and give assistance. i should say here, that his wife had been driven away by the small-pox panic about three o'clock, and had not yet returned; this left no one in the house, but a boy, about nine years of age. as he went out, he spoke to the boy in dutch, which i supposed, from the little fellow's conduct, to be instructions to watch me closely, which he certainly did. the potatoe lot was across the public road, directly in front of the house; at the back of the house, and about yards distant, there was a thick wood. the circumstances of the case would not allow me to think for one moment of remaining there for the night--the time had come for another effort--but there were two serious difficulties. one was, that i must either deceive or dispatch this boy who is watching me with intense vigilance. i am glad to say, that the latter did not for a moment seriously enter my mind. to deceive him effectually, i left my coat and went to the back door, from which my course would be direct to the wood. when i got to the door, i found that the barn, to which the waggon, must soon come, lay just to the right, and overlooking the path i must take to the wood. in front of me lay a garden surrounded by a picket fence, to the left of me was a small gate, and that by passing through that gate would throw me into an open field, and give me clear running to the wood; but on looking through the gate, i saw that my captor, being with the team, would see me if i attempted to start before he moved from the position he then occupied. to add to my difficulty the horses had baulked; while waiting for the decisive moment, the boy came to the door and asked me why i did not come in. i told him i felt unwell, and wished him to be so kind as to hand me a glass of water; expecting while he was gone to get it, the team would clear, so that i could start. while he was gone, another attempt was made to start the team but failed; he came with the water and i quickly used it up by gargling my throat and by drinking a part. i asked him to serve me by giving me another glass: he gave me a look of close scrutiny, but went in for the water. i heard him fill the glass, and start to return with it; when the hind end of the waggon cleared the corner of the house, which stood in a range with the fence along which i was to pass in getting to the wood. as i passed out the gate, i "squared my main yard," and laid my course up the line of fence, i cast a last glance over my right shoulder, and saw the boy just perch his head above the garden picket to look after me; i heard at the same time great confusion with the team, the rain having made the ground slippery, and the horses having to cross the road with a slant and rise to get into the barn, it required great effort after they started to prevent their baulking. i felt some assurance that although the boy might give the alarm, my captor could not leave the team until it was in the barn. i heard the horses' feet on the barn-floor, just as i leaped the fence, and darted into the wood. the sun was now quite down behind the western horizon, and just at this time a heavy dark curtain of clouds was let down, which seemed to usher in haste the night shade. i have never before or since seen anything which seemed to me to compare in sublimity with the spreading of the night shades at the close of that day. my reflections upon the events of that day, and upon the close of it, since i became acquainted with the bible, have frequently brought to my mind that beautiful passage in the book of job, "he holdeth back the face of his throne, and spreadeth a cloud before it." before i proceed to the critical events and final deliverance of the next chapter, i cannot forbear to pause a moment here for reflection. the reader may well imagine how the events of the past day affected my mind. you have seen what was done to me; you have heard what was said to me--you have also seen what i have done, and heard what i have said. if you ask me whether i had expected before i left home, to gain my liberty by shedding men's blood, or breaking their limbs? i answer, no! and as evidence of this, i had provided no weapon whatever; not so much as a penknife--it never once entered my mind. i cannot say that i expected to have the ill fortune of meeting with any human being who would attempt to impede my flight. if you ask me if i expected when i left home to gain my liberty by fabrications and untruths? i answer, no! my parents, slaves as they were, had always taught me, when they could, that "truth may be blamed but cannot be shamed;" so far as their example was concerned, i had no habits of untruth. i was arrested, and the demand made upon me, "who do you belong to?" knowing the fatal use these men would make of _my_ truth, i at once concluded that they had no more right to it than a highwayman has to a traveller's purse. if you ask me whether i now really believe that i gained my liberty by those lies? i answer, no! i now believe that i should be free, had i told the truth; but, at that moment, i could not see any other way to baffle my enemies, and escape their clutches. the history of that day has never ceased to inspire me with a deeper hatred of slavery; i never recur to it but with the most intense horror at a system which can put a man not only in peril of liberty, limb, and life itself, but which may even send him in haste to the bar of god with a lie upon his lips. whatever my readers may think, therefore, of the history of events of the day, do not admire in it the fabrications; but _see_ in it the impediments that often fall into the pathway of the flying bondman. _see_ how human bloodhounds gratuitously chase, catch, and tempt him to shed blood and lie; how, when he would do good, evil is thrust upon him. chapter iii. a dreary night in the woods--critical situation the next day. almost immediately on entering the wood, i not only found myself embosomed in the darkness of the night, but i also found myself entangled in a thick forest of undergrowth, which had been quite thoroughly wetted by the afternoon rain. i penetrated through the wood, thick and thin, and more or less wet, to the distance i should think of three miles. by this time my clothes were all thoroughly soaked through, and i felt once more a gloom and wretchedness; the recollection of which makes me shudder at this distant day. my young friends in this highly favoured christian country, surrounded with all the comforts of home and parental care, visited by pastors and sabbath-school teachers, think of the dreary condition of the blacksmith boy in the dark wood that night; and then consider that thousands of his brethren have had to undergo much greater hardships in their flight from slavery. i was now out of the hands of those who had so cruelly teased me during the day; but a number of fearful thoughts rushed into my mind to alarm me. it was dark and cloudy, so that i could not see the _north star_. how do i know what ravenous beasts are in this wood? how do i know what precipices may be within its bounds? i cannot rest in this wood to-morrow, for it will be searched by those men from whom i have escaped; but how shall i regain the road? how shall i know when i am on the right road again? these are some of the thoughts that filled my mind with gloom and alarm. at a venture i struck an angle northward in search of the road. after several hours of zigzag and laborious travel, dragging through briars, thorns and running vines, i emerged from the wood and found myself wading marshy ground and over ditches. i can form no correct idea of the distance i travelled, but i came to a road, i should think about three o'clock in the morning. it so happened that i came out near where there was a fork in the road of three prongs. now arose a serious query--which is the right prong for me? i was reminded by the circumstance of a superstitious proverb among the slaves, that "the left-hand turning was unlucky," but as i had never been in the habit of placing faith in this or any similar superstition, i am not aware that it had the least weight upon my mind, as i had the same difficulty with reference to the right-hand turning. after a few moments parley with myself, i took the central prong of the road and pushed on with all my speed. it had not cleared off, but a fresh wind had sprung up; it was chilly and searching. this with my wet clothing made me very uncomfortable; my nerves began to quiver before the searching wind. the barking of mastiffs, the crowing of fowls, and the distant rattling of market waggons, warned me that the day was approaching. my british reader must remember that in the region where i was, we know nothing of the long hours of twilight you enjoy here. with us the day is measured more by the immediate presence of the sun, and the night by the prevalence of actual darkness. the day dawned upon me when i was near a small house and barn, situate close to the road side. the barn was too near the road, and too small to afford secure shelter for the day; but as i cast my eye around by the dim light, i could see no wood, and no larger barn. it seemed to be an open country to a wide extent. the sun was travelling so rapidly from his eastern chamber, that ten or fifteen minutes would spread broad daylight over my track. whether _my_ deed was evil, _you_ may judge, but i freely confess that i did _then_ prefer darkness rather than light; i therefore took to the mow of the little barn at a great risk, as the events of the day will show. it so happened that the barn was filled with corn fodder, newly cured and lately gotten in. you are aware that however quietly one may crawl into such a bed, he is compelled to make much more noise than if it were a feather-bed; and also considerably more than if it were hay or straw. besides inflicting upon my own excited imagination the belief that i made noise enough to be heard by the inmates of the house who were likely to be rising at the time, i had the misfortune to attract the notice of a little house-dog, such as we call in that part of the world a "fice," on account of its being not only the smallest species of the canine race, but also, because it is the most saucy, noisy, and teasing of all dogs. this little creature commenced a fierce barking. i had at once great fears that the mischievous little thing would betray me; i fully apprehended that as soon as the man of the house arose, he would come and make search in the barn. it now being entirely daylight, it was too late to retreat from this shelter, even if i could have found another; i, therefore, bedded myself down into the fodder as best i could, and entered upon the annoyances of the day, with the frail hope to sustain my mind. it was thursday morning; the clouds that had veiled the sky during the latter part of the previous day and the previous night were gone. it was not until about an hour after the sun rose that i heard any out-door movements about the house. as soon as i heard those movements, i was satisfied there was but one man about the house, and that he was preparing to go some distance to work for the day. this was fortunate for me; the busy movements about the yard, and especially the active preparations in the house for breakfast, silenced my unwelcome little annoyer, the fice, until after the man had gone, when he commenced afresh, and continued with occasional intermissions through the day. he made regular sallies from the house to the barn, and after smelling about, would fly back to the house, barking furiously; thus he strove most skilfully throughout the entire day to raise an alarm. there seemed to be no one about the house but one or two small children and the mother, after the man was gone. about ten o'clock my attention was gravely directed to another trial: how i could pass the day without food. the reader will remember it is thursday, and the only regular meal i have taken since sunday, was yesterday, in the midst of great agitation, about four o'clock; that since that i have performed my arduous night's travel. at one moment, i had nearly concluded to go and present myself at the door, and ask the woman of the house to have compassion and give me food; but then i feared the consequences might be fatal, and i resolved to suffer the day out. the wind sprang up fresh and cool; the barn being small and the crevices large, my wet clothes were dried by it, and chilled me through and through. i cannot now, with pen or tongue, give a correct idea of the feeling of wretchedness i experienced; every nerve in my system quivered, so that not a particle of my flesh was at rest. in this way i passed the day till about the middle of the afternoon, when there seemed to be an unusual stir about the public road, which passed close by the barn. men seemed to be passing in parties on horseback, and talking anxiously. from a word which i now and then overheard, i had not a shadow of doubt that they were in search of me. one i heard say, "i ought to catch such a fellow, the only liberty he should have for one fortnight, would be ten feet of rope." another i heard say, "i reckon he is in that wood now." another said, "who would have thought that rascal was so 'cute?" all this while the little fice was mingling his voice with those of the horsemen, and the noise of the horses' feet. i listened and trembled. just before the setting of the sun, the labouring man of the house returned, and commenced his evening duties about the house and barn; chopping wood, getting up his cow, feeding his pigs, &c, attended by the little brute, who continued barking at short intervals. he came several times into the barn below. while matters were passing thus, i heard the approach of horses again, and as they came up nearer, i was led to believe that all i had heard pass, were returning in one party. they passed the barn and halted at the house, when i recognised the voice of my old captor; addressing the labourer, he asked, "have you seen a runaway nigger pass here to-day?" labourer.--"no; i have not been at home since early this morning. where did he come from?" captor.--"i caught him down below here yesterday morning. i had him all day, and just at night he fooled me and got away. a party of us have been after him all day; we have been up to the line, but can't hear or see anything of him. i heard this morning where he came from. he is a blacksmith, and a stiff reward is out for him, two hundred dollars." lab.--"he is worth looking for." cap.--"i reckon so. if i get my clutches on him again, i'll mosey[a] him down to ---- before i eat or sleep." [footnote a: an expression which signifies to drive in a hurry.] reader, you may if you can, imagine what the state of my mind was at this moment. i shall make no attempt to describe it to you; to my great relief, however, the party rode off, and the labourer after finishing his work went into the house. hope seemed now to dawn for me once more; darkness was rapidly approaching, but the moments of twilight seemed much longer than they did the evening before. at length the sable covering had spread itself over the earth. about eight o'clock, i ventured to descend from the mow of the barn into the road. the little dog the while began a furious fit of barking, so much so, that i was sure that with what his master had learned about me, he could not fail to believe i was about his premises. i quickly crossed the road, and got into an open field opposite. after stepping lightly about two hundred yards, i halted, and on listening, i heard the door open. feeling about on the ground, i picked up two stones, and one in each hand i made off as fast as i could, but i heard nothing more that indicated pursuit, and after going some distance i discharged my encumbrance, as from the reduced state of my bodily strength, i could not afford to carry ballast. this incident had the effect to start me under great disadvantage to make a good night's journey, as it threw me at once off the road, and compelled me to encounter at once the tedious and laborious task of beating my way across marshy fields, and to drag through woods and thickets where there were no paths. after several hours i found my way back to the road, but the hope of making anything like clever speed was out of the question. all i could do was to keep my legs in motion, and this i continued to do with the utmost difficulty. the latter part of the night i suffered extremely from cold. there came a heavy frost; i expected at every moment to fall on the road and perish. i came to a corn-field covered with heavy shocks of indian corn that had been cut; i went into this and got an ear, and then crept into one of the shocks; eat as much of it as i could, and thought i would rest a little and start again, but weary nature could not sustain the operation of grinding hard corn for its own nourishment, and i sunk to sleep. when i awoke, the sun was shining around; i started with alarm, but it was too late to think of seeking any other shelter; i therefore nestled myself down, and concealed myself as best i could from the light of day. after recovering a little from my fright, i commenced again eating my whole corn. grain by grain i worked away at it; when my jaws grew tired, as they often did, i would rest, and then begin afresh. thus, although i began an early breakfast, i was nearly the whole of the forenoon before i had done. nothing of importance occurred during the day, until about the middle of the afternoon, when i was thrown into a panic by the appearance of a party of gunners, who passed near me with their dogs. after shooting one or two birds, however, and passing within a few rods of my frail covering, they went on, and left me once more in hope. friday night came without any other incident worth naming. as i sallied out, i felt evident benefit from the ear of corn i had nibbled away. my strength was considerably renewed; though i was far from being nourished, i felt that my life was at least safe from death by hunger. thus encouraged, i set out with better speed than i had made since sunday and monday night. i had a presentiment, too, that i must be near free soil. i had not yet the least idea where i should find a home or a friend, still my spirits were so highly elated, that i took the whole of the road to myself; i ran, hopped, skipped, jumped, clapped my hands, and talked to myself. but to the old slaveholder i had left, i said, "ah! ha! old fellow, i told you i'd fix you." after an hour or two of such freaks of joy, a gloom would come over me in connexion with these questions, "but where are you going? what are you going to do? what will you do with freedom without father, mother, sisters, and brothers? what will you say when you are asked where you were born? you know nothing of the world; how will you explain the fact of your ignorance?" these questions made me feel deeply the magnitude of the difficulties yet before me. saturday morning dawned upon me; and although my strength seemed yet considerably fresh, i began to feel a hunger somewhat more destructive and pinching, if possible, than i had before. i resolved, at all risk, to continue my travel by day-light, and to ask information of the first person i met. the events of the next chapter will shew what fortune followed this resolve. chapter iv. the good woman of the toll-gate directs me to w.w.--my reception by him. the resolution of which i informed the reader at the close of the last chapter, being put into practice, i continued my flight on the public road; and a little after the sun rose, i came in sight of a toll-gate again. for a moment all the events which followed my passing a toll-gate on wednesday morning, came fresh to my recollection, and produced some hesitation; but at all events, said i, i will try again. on arriving at the gate, i found it attended by an elderly woman, whom i afterwards learned was a widow, and an excellent christian woman. i asked her if i was in pennsylvania. on being informed that i was, i asked her if she knew where i could get employ? she said she did not; but advised me to go to w.w., a quaker, who lived about three miles from her, whom i would find to take an interest in me. she gave me directions which way to take; i thanked her, and bade her good morning, and was very careful to follow her directions. in about half an hour i stood trembling at the door of w.w. after knocking, the door opened upon a comfortably spread table; the sight of which seemed at once to increase my hunger sevenfold. not daring to enter, i said i had been sent to him in search of employ. "well," said he, "come in and take thy breakfast, and get warm, and we will talk about it; thee must be cold without any coat." "_come in and take thy breakfast, and get warm!_" these words spoken by a stranger, but with such an air of simple sincerity and fatherly kindness, made an overwhelming impression upon my mind. they made me feel, spite of all my fear and timidity, that i had, in the providence of god, found a friend and a home. he at once gained my confidence; and i felt that i might confide to him a fact which i had, as yet, confided to no one. from that day to this, whenever i discover the least disposition in my heart to disregard the wretched condition of any poor or distressed persons with whom i meet, i call to mind these words--"_come in and take thy breakfast, and get warm_." they invariably remind me of what i was at that time; my condition was as wretched as that of any human being can possibly be, with the exception of the loss of health or reason. i had but four pieces of clothing about my person, having left all the rest in the hands of my captors. i was a starving fugitive, without home or friends--a reward offered for my person in the public papers--pursued by cruel manhunters, and no claim upon him to whose door i went. had he turned me away, i must have perished. nay, he took me in, and gave me of his food, and shared with me his own garments. such treatment i had never before received at the hands of any white man. a few such men in slaveholding america, have stood, and even now stand, like abrahams and lots, to stay its forthcoming and well-earned and just judgment. the limits of this work compel me to pass over many interesting incidents which occurred during my six months' concealment in that family. i must confine myself only to those which will show the striking providence of god, in directing my steps to the door of w.w., and how great an influence the incidents of that six months has had upon all my subsequent history. my friend kindly gave me employ to saw and split a number of cords of wood, then lying in his yard, for which he agreed with me for liberal pay and board. this inspired me with great encouragement. the idea of beginning to earn something was very pleasant. next; we confidentially agreed upon the way and means of avoiding surprise, in case any one should come to the house as a spy, or with intention to arrest me. this afforded still further relief, as it convinced me that the whole family would now be on the look out for such persons. the next theme of conversation was with reference to my education. "can thee read or write any, james?" was the question put to me the morning after my arrival, by w.w. "no, sir, i cannot; my duties as a blacksmith have made me acquainted with the figures on the common mechanics' square. there was a day-book kept in the shop, in which the overseer usually charged the smithwork we did for the neighbours. i have spent entire sabbaths looking over the pages of that book; knowing the names of persons to whom certain pieces of work were charged, together with their prices, i strove anxiously to learn to write in this way. i got paper, and picked up feathers about the yard, and made ink of ---- berries. my quills being too soft, and my skill in making a pen so poor, that i undertook some years ago to make a steel pen.[a] in this way i have learnt to make a few of the letters, but i cannot write my own name, nor do i know the letters of the alphabet." [footnote a: this attempt was as early as .] _w.w., (handing a slate and pencil.)_--"let me see how thee makes letters; try such as thou hast been able to make easily." a.b.c.l.g. _p.w., (wife of w.w.)_--"why, those are better than i can make." _w.w._--"oh, we can soon get thee in the way, james." arithmetic and astronomy became my favourite studies. w.w. was an accomplished scholar; he had been a teacher for some years, and was cultivating a small farm on account of ill-health, which had compelled him to leave teaching. he is one of the most far-sighted and practical men i ever met with. he taught me by familiar conversations, illustrating his themes by diagrams on the slate, so that i caught his ideas with ease and rapidity. i now began to see, for the first time, the extent of the mischief slavery had done to me. twenty-one years of my life were gone, never again to return, and i was as profoundly ignorant, comparatively, as a child five years old. this was painful, annoying, and humiliating in the extreme. up to this time, i recollected to have seen one copy of the new testament, but the entire bible i had never seen, and had never heard of the patriarchs, or of the lord jesus christ. i recollected to have heard two sermons, but had heard no mention in them of christ, or the way of life by him. it is quite easy to imagine, then, what was the state of my mind, having been reared in total moral midnight; it was a sad picture of mental and spiritual darkness. as my friend poured light into my mind, i saw the darkness; it amazed and grieved me beyond description. sometimes i sank down under the load, and became discouraged, and dared not hope that i could ever succeed in acquiring knowledge enough, to make me happy, or useful to my fellow-beings. my dear friend, w.w., however, had a happy tact to inspire me with confidence; and he, perceiving my state of mind, exerted himself, not without success, to encourage me. he cited to me various instances of coloured persons, of whom i had not heard before, and who had distinguished themselves for learning, such as bannicker, wheatley, and francis williams. how often have i regretted that the six months i spent in the family of w.w., could not have been six years. the danger of recapture, however, rendered it utterly imprudent that i should remain longer; and early in the month of march, while the ground was covered with the winter's snow, i left the bosom of this excellent family, and went forth once more to try my fortune among strangers. my dear reader, if i could describe to you the emotions i felt when i left the threshold of w.w.'s door, you could not fail to see how deplorable is the condition of the fugitive slave, often for months and years after he has escaped the immediate grasp of the tyrant. when i left my parents, the trial was great, but i had now to leave a friend who had done more for me than parents could have done as slaves; and hence i felt an endearment to that friend which was heightened by a sense of the important relief he had afforded me in the greatest need, and hours of pleasant and highly profitable intercourse. about a month previous to leaving the house of w.w., a small circumstance occurred one evening, which i only name to shew the harassing fears and dread in which i lived during most of the time i was there. he had a brother-in-law living some ten miles distant--he was a friend to the slave; he often came unexpectedly and spent a few hours--sometimes a day and a night. i had not, however, ever known him to come at night. one night about nine o'clock, after i had gone to bed, (my lodging being just over the room in which w.w. and his wife were sitting,) i heard the door open and a voice ask, "where is the boy?" the voice sounded to me like the voice of my master; i was sure it must be his. i sprang and listened for a moment--it seemed to be silent; i heard nothing, and then it seemed to me there was a confusion. there was a window at the head of my bed, which i could reach without getting upon the floor: it was a single sash and opened upon hinges. i quickly opened this window and waited in a perfect tremour of dread for further development. there was a door at the foot of the stairs; as i heard that door open, i sprang for the window, and my head was just out, when the gentle voice of my friend w.w. said, "james?"[a] "here," said i, "---- has come, and he would like to have thee put up his horse." i drew a breath of relief, but my strength and presence of mind did not return for some hours, i slept none that night; for a moment i could doze away, but the voice would sound in my ears, "where is that boy?" and it would seem to me it must be the tyrant in quest of his weary prey, and would find myself starting again. [footnote a: if w.w. had ascended the stairs without calling, i should certainly have jumped out of the window.] from that time the agitation of my mind became so great that i could not feel myself safe. every day seemed to increase my fear, till i was unfit for work, study or rest. my friend endeavoured, but in vain, to get me to stay a week longer. the events of the spring proved that i had not left too soon. as soon as the season for travelling fairly opened, active search was made, and my master was seen in a town, twenty miles in advance of where i had spent my six months. the following curious fact also came out. that same brother-in-law who frightened me, was putting up one evening at a hotel some miles off, and while sitting quietly by himself in one part of the room, he overheard a conversation between a travelling pedler and several gossippers of the neighbourhood, who were lounging away the evening at the hotel. pedler.--"do you know one w.w. somewhere about here?" gossiper.--"yes, he lives ---- miles off." ped.--"i understand he had a black boy with him last winter, i wonder if he is there yet?" gos.--"i don't know, he most always has a runaway nigger with him." ped.--"i should like to find out whether that fellow is there yet." brother-in-law, (turning about.)--"what does thee know about that boy?" ped.--"well he is a runaway." brother-in-law.--"who did he run away from?" ped.--"from col ---- in ----." brother-in-law.--"how did thee find out that fact?" ped.--"well, i have been over there peddling." brother-in-law.--"where art thou from?" ped.--"i belong in conn." brother-in-law.--"did thee see the boy's master?" ped.--"yes." brother-in-law.--"what did he offer thee to find the boy?" ped.--"i agreed to find out where he was, and let him know, and if he got him, i was to receive ----." brother-in-law.--"how didst thou hear the boy had been with w.w." ped.--"oh, he is known to be a notorious rascal for enticing away, and concealing slaves; he'll get himself into trouble yet, the slaveholders are on the look out for him." brother-in-law.--"w.w. is my brother-in-law; the boy of whom thou speakest is not with him, and to save thee the trouble of abusing him, i can moreover say, he is no rascal." ped.--"he may not be there now, but it is because he has sent him off. his master heard of him, and from the description, he is sure it must have been his boy. he could tell me pretty nigh where he was; he said he was a fine healthy boy, twenty-one, a first-rate blacksmith; he would not have taken a thousand dollars for him." brother-in-law.--"i know not where the boy is, but i have no doubt he is worth more to himself than he ever was to his master, high as he fixes the price on him; and i have no doubt thee will do better to pursue thy peddling honestly, than to neglect it for the sake of serving negro-hunters at a venture." all this happened within a month or two after i left my friend. one fact which makes this part of the story deeply interesting to my own mind, is, that some years elapsed before it came to my knowledge. chapter v. seven months' residence in the family of j.k. a member of the society of friends, in chester county, pennsylvania.--removal to new york--becomes a convert to religion--becomes a teacher. on leaving w.w., i wended my way in deep sorrow and melancholy, onward towards philadelphia, and after travelling two days and a night, i found shelter and employ in the family of j.k., another member of the society of friends, a farmer. the religious atmosphere in this family was excellent. mrs. k. gave me the first copy of the holy scriptures i ever possessed, she also gave me much excellent counsel. she was a preacher in the society of friends; this occasioned her with her husband to be much of their time from home. this left the charge of the farm upon me, and besides put it out of their power to render me that aid in my studies which my former friend had. i, however, kept myself closely concealed, by confining myself to the limits of the farm, and using all my leisure time in study. this place was more secluded, and i felt less of dread and fear of discovery than i had before, and although seriously embarrassed for want of an instructor, i realized some pleasure and profit in my studies. i often employed myself in drawing rude maps of the solar system, and diagrams illustrating the theory of solar eclipses. i felt also a fondness for reading the bible, and committing chapters, and verses of hymns to memory. often on the sabbath when alone in the barn, i would break the monotony of the hours by endeavouring to speak, as if i was addressing an audience. my mind was constantly struggling for thoughts, and i was still more grieved and alarmed at its barrenness; i found it gradually freed from the darkness entailed by slavery, but i was deeply and anxiously concerned how i should fill it with useful knowledge. i had a few books, and no tutor. in this way i spent seven months with j.k., and should have continued longer, agreeably to his urgent solicitation, but i felt that life was fast wearing, and that as i was now free, i must adventure in search of knowledge. on leaving j.k., he kindly gave me the following certificate,-- "east nautmeal, chester county, pennsylvania, _tenth month th, ._ "i hereby certify, that the bearer, j.w.c. pennington, has been in my employ seven months, during most of which time i have been from home, leaving my entire business in his trust, and that he has proved a highly trustworthy and industrious young man. he leaves with the sincere regret of myself and family; but as he feels it to be his duty to go where he can obtain education, so as to fit him to be more useful, i cordially commend him to the warm sympathy of the friends of humanity wherever a wise providence may appoint him a home. signed, "j.k." passing through philadelphia, i went to new york, and in a short time found employ on long island, near the city. at this time, the state of things was extremely critical in new york. it was just two years after the general emancipation in that state. in the city it was a daily occurrence for slaveholders from the southern states to catch their slaves, and by certificate from recorder riker take them back. i often felt serious apprehensions of danger, and yet i felt also that i must begin the world somewhere. i was earning respectable wages, and by means of evening schools and private tuition, was making encouraging progress in my studies. up to this time, it had never occurred to me that i was a slave in another and a more serious sense. all my serious impressions of mind had been with reference to the slavery from which i had escaped. slavery had been my theme of thought day and night. in the spring of , i found my mind unusually perplexed about the state of the slave. i was enjoying rare privileges in attending a sabbath school; the great value of christian knowledge began to be impressed upon my mind to an extent i had not been conscious of before. i began to contrast my condition with that of ten brothers and sisters i had left in slavery, and the condition of children i saw sitting around me on the sabbath, with their pious teachers, with that of , , now , slave children, who had no means of christian instruction. the theme was more powerful than any my mind had ever encountered before. it entered into the deep chambers of my soul, and stirred the most agitating emotions i had ever felt. the question was, what can i do for that vast body of suffering brotherhood i have left behind. to add to the weight and magnitude of the theme, i learnt for the first time, how many slaves there were. the question completely staggered my mind; and finding myself more and more borne down with it, until i was in an agony; i thought i would make it a subject of prayer to god, although prayer had not been my habit, having never attempted it but once. i not only prayed, but also fasted. it was while engaged thus, that my attention was seriously drawn to the fact that i was a lost sinner, and a slave to satan; and soon i saw that i must make another escape from another tyrant. i did not by any means forget my fellow-bondmen, of whom i had been sorrowing so deeply, and travailing in spirit so earnestly; but i now saw that while man had been injuring me, i had been offending god; and that unless i ceased to offend him, i could not expect to have his sympathy in my wrongs; and moreover, that i could not be instrumental in eliciting his powerful aid in behalf of those for whom i mourned so deeply. this may provoke a smile from some who profess to be the friends of the slave, but who have a lower estimate of experimental christianity than i believe is due to it; but i am not the less confident that sincere prayer to god, proceeding from a few hearts deeply imbued with experimental christianity about _that time_, has had much to do with subsequent happy results. at that time the , bondmen in the british isles had not seen the beginning of the end of their sufferings--at that time, , who are now free in canada, were in bonds--at that time, there was no vigilance committee to aid the flying slave--at that time, the two powerful anti-slavery societies of america had no being. i distinctly remember that i felt the need of enlisting the sympathy of god, in behalf of my enslaved brethren; but when i attempted it day after day, and night after night, i was made to feel, that whatever else i might do, i was not qualified to do that, as i was myself alienated from him by wicked works. in short, i felt that i needed the powerful aid of some in my behalf with god, just as much as i did that of my dear friend in pennsylvania, when flying from man. "if one man sin against another, the judge shall judge him, but if a man sin against god, who shall entreat for him?" day after day, for about two weeks, i found myself more deeply convicted of personal guilt before god. my heart, soul and body were in the greatest distress; i thought of neither food, drink or rest, for days and nights together. burning with a recollection of the wrongs man had done me--mourning for the injuries my brethren were still enduring, and deeply convicted of the guilt of my own sins against god. one evening, in the third week of the struggle, while alone in my chamber, and after solemn reflection for several hours, i concluded that i could never be happy or useful in that state of mind, and resolved that i would try to become reconciled to god. i was then living in the family of an elder of the presbyterian church. i had not made known my feelings to any one, either in the family or out of it; and i did not suppose that any one had discovered my feelings. to my surprise, however, i found that the family had not only been aware of my state for several days, but were deeply anxious on my behalf. the following sabbath, dr. cox was on a visit in brooklyn to preach, and was a guest in the family; hearing of my case, he expressed a wish to converse with me, and without knowing the plan, i was invited into a room and left alone with him. he entered skilfully and kindly into my feelings, and after considerable conversation he invited me to attend his service that afternoon. i did so, and was deeply interested. without detaining the reader with too many particulars, i will only state that i heard the doctor once or twice after this, at his own place of worship in new york city, and had several personal interviews with him, as the result of which, i hope, i was brought to a saving acquaintance with him, of whom moses in the law and the prophets did write; and soon connected myself with the church under his pastoral care. i now returned with all my renewed powers to the great theme--slavery. it seemed now as i looked at it, to be more hideous than ever. i saw it now as an evil under the moral government of god--as a sin not only against man, but also against god. the great and engrossing thought with me was, how shall i now employ my time and my talents so as to tell most effectually upon this system of wrong! as i have stated, there was no anti-slavery society then--there was no vigilance committee. i had, therefore, to select a course of action, without counsel or advice from any one who professed to sympathize with the slave. many, many lonely hours of deep meditation have i passed during the years and , before the great anti-slavery movement. on the questions, what shall i do for the slave? how shall i act so that he will reap the benefit of my time and talents? at one time i had resolved to go to africa, and to react from there; but without bias or advice from any mortal, i soon gave up that, as looking too much like feeding a hungry man with a long spoon. at length, finding that the misery, ignorance, and wretchedness of the free coloured people was by the whites tortured into an argument for slavery; finding myself now among the free people of colour in new york, where slavery was so recently abolished; and finding much to do for their elevation, i resolved to give my strength in that direction. and well do i remember the great movement which commenced among us about this time, for the holding of general conventions, to devise ways and means for their elevation, which continued with happy influence up to , when we gave way to anti-slavery friends, who had then taken up the labouring oar. and well do i remember that the first time i ever saw those tried friends, garrison, jocelyn, and tappan, was in one of those conventions, where they came to make our acquaintance, and to secure our confidence in some of their preliminary labours. my particular mode of labour was still a subject of deep reflection; and from time to time i carried it to the throne of grace. eventually my mind fixed upon the ministry as the desire of my whole heart. i had mastered the preliminary branches of english education, and was engaged in studying logic, rhetoric, and the greek testament, without a master. while thus struggling in my laudable work, an opening presented itself which was not less surprising than gratifying. walking on the street one day, i met a friend, who said to me, "i have just had an application to supply a teacher for a school, and i have recommended you." i said, "my dear friend, i am obliged to you for the kindness; but i fear i cannot sustain an examination for that station." "oh," said he, "try." i said, "i will," and we separated. two weeks afterwards, i met the trustees of the school, was examined, accepted, and agreed with them for a salary of two hundred dollars per annum; commenced my school, and succeeded. this was five years, three months, and thirteen days after i came from the south. as the events of my life since that have been of a public professional nature, i will say no more about it. my object in writing this tract is now completed. it has been to shew the reader the hand of god with a slave; and to elicit your sympathy in behalf of the fugitive slave, by shewing some of the untold dangers and hardships through which he has to pass to gain liberty, and how much he needs friends on free soil; and that men who have felt the yoke of slavery, even in its mildest form, cannot be expected to speak of the system otherwise than in terms of the most unqualified condemnation. there is one sin that slavery committed against me, which i never can forgive. it robbed me of my education; the injury is irreparable; i feel the embarrassment more seriously now than i ever did before. it cost me two years' hard labour, after i fled, to unshackle my mind; it was three years before i had purged my language of slavery's idioms; it was four years before i had thrown off the crouching aspect of slavery; and now the evil that besets me is a great lack of that general information, the foundation of which is most effectually laid in that part of life which i served as a slave. when i consider how much now, more than ever, depends upon sound and thorough education among coloured men, i am grievously overwhelmed with a sense of my deficiency, and more especially as i can never hope now to make it up. if i know my own heart, i have no ambition but to serve the cause of suffering humanity; all that i have desired or sought, has been to make me more efficient for good. so far i have some consciousness that i have done my utmost; and should my future days be few or many, i am reconciled to meet the last account, hoping to be acquitted of any wilful neglect of duty; but i shall have to go to my last account with this charge against the system of slavery, "_vile monster! thou hast hindered my usefulness, by robbing me of my early education._" oh! what might i have been now, but for this robbery perpetrated upon me as soon as i saw the light. when the monster heard that a man child was born, he laughed, and said, "it is mine." when i was laid in the cradle, he came and looked on my face, and wrote down my name upon his barbarous list of chattels personal, on the same list where he registered his horses, hogs, cows, sheep, and even his _dogs!_ gracious heaven, is there no repentance for the misguided men who do these things! the only harm i wish to slaveholders is, that they may be speedily delivered from the guilt of a sin, which, if not repented of, must bring down the judgment of almighty god upon their devoted heads. the least i desire for the slave is, that he may be speedily released from the pain of drinking a cup whose bitterness i have sufficiently tasted, to know that it is insufferable. chapter vi. some account of the family i left in slavery--proposal to purchase myself and parents--how met by my old master. it is but natural that the reader should wish to hear a word about the family i left behind. there are frequently large slave families with whom god seems to deal in a remarkable manner. i believe my family is an instance. i have already stated that when i fled, i left a father, mother, and eleven brothers and sisters. these were all, except my oldest brother, owned by the man from whom i fled. it will be seen at once then how the fear of implicating them embarrassed me in the outset. they suffered nothing, however, but a strong suspicion, until about six months after i had left; when the following circumstance took place:-- when i left my friend w.w. in pennsylvania to go on north, i ventured to write a letter back to one of my brothers, informing him how i was; and this letter was directed to the care of a white man who was hired on the plantation, who worked in the garden with my father, and who professed a warm friendship to our family; but instead of acting in good faith, he handed the letter to my master. i am sorry that truth compels me to say that that man was an englishman. from that day the family were handled most strangely. the history begins thus: they were all sold into virginia, the adjoining state. this was done lest i should have some plan to get them off; but god so ordered that they fell into kinder hands. after a few years, however, their master became much embarrassed, so that he was obliged to pass them into other hands, at least for a term of years. by this change the family was divided, and my parents, with the greater part of their children, were taken to new orleans. after remaining there several years at hard labour,--my father being in a situation of considerable trust, they were again taken back to virginia; and by this means became entitled by the laws of that state to their freedom. before justice, however, could take its course, their old master in maryland, as if intent to doom them for ever to bondage, repurchased them; and in order to defeat a similar law in maryland, by which they would have been entitled to liberty, he obtained from the general assembly of that state the following special act. this will show not only something of his character as a slaveholder, but also his political influence in the state. it is often urged in the behalf of slaveholders, that the law interposes an obstacle in the way of emancipating their slaves when they wish to do so, but here is an instance which lays open the real philosophy of the whole case. they make the law themselves, and when they find the laws operate more in favour of the slaves than themselves, they can easily evade or change it. maryland being a slave-exporting state, you will see why they need a law to prohibit the importation of slaves; it is a protection to that sort of trade. this law he wished to evade. "_an act for the relief of ---- of ---- county. passed january th, ._ "whereas it is represented to this general assembly that ---- of ---- county, brought into this state from the state of virginia, sometime in the month of march last, two negro slaves, to wit, ---- and ---- his wife, who are slaves for life, and who were acquired by the said ---- by purchase, and whereas, the said ---- is desirous of retaining said slaves in this state. therefore, be it enacted, _by the general assembly_ of maryland, that the said ---- be, and he is hereby authorized to retain said negroes as slaves for life within this state, provided that the said ---- shall within thirty days after the passage of this act, file with the clerk of the ---- county court, a list of said slaves so brought into this state, stating their ages, with an affidavit thereto attached, that the same is a true and faithful list of the slaves so removed, and that they were not brought into this state for the purpose of sale, and that they are slaves for life. and _provided also_, that the sum of fifteen dollars for each slave, between the ages of twelve and forty-five years, and the sum of five dollars for each slave above the age of forty-five years and under twelve years of age, so brought into this state, shall be paid to the said clerk of ---- county court: to be paid over by him to the treasurer of the western shore, for the use and benefit of the colonization society of this state. _state of connecticut. office of secretary of state_. "i hereby certify, that the foregoing is a true copy of an act passed by the general assembly of maryland, january th, , as it appears in the printed acts of the said maryland, in the library of the state. in testimony whereof, i have hereunto set my hand and seal of said state, at hartford, this th day of august, . charles w. beadley, (seal.) secretary of state." thus, the whole family after being twice fairly entitled to their liberty, even by the laws of two slave states, had the mortification of finding themselves again, not only recorded as slaves for life, but also a premium paid upon them, professedly to aid in establishing others of their fellow-beings in a free republic on the coast of africa; but the hand of god seems to have been heavy upon the man who could plan such a stratagem to wrong his fellows. the immense fortune he possessed when i left him, (bating one thousand dollars i brought with me in my own body,) and which he seems to have retained till that time, began to fly, and in a few years he was insolvent, so that he was unable to hold the family, and was compelled to think of selling them again. about this time i heard of their state by an underground railroad passenger, who came from that neighbourhood, and resolved to make an effort to obtain the freedom of my parents, and to relieve myself from liability. for this purpose, after arranging for the means to purchase, i employed counsel to make a definite offer for my parents and myself. to his proposal, the following evasive and offensive answer was returned. _january th_, . j. h----, esq. "sir,--your letter is before me. the ungrateful servant in whose behalf you write, merits no clemency from me. he was guilty of theft when he departed, for which i hope he has made due amends. i have heard he was a respectable man, and calculated to do some good to his fellow-beings. servants are selling from five hundred and fifty to seven hundred dollars. i will take five hundred and fifty dollars, and liberate him. if my proposition is acceded to, and the money lodged in baltimore, i will execute the necessary instrument, and deliver it in baltimore, to be given up on payment being made. "yours, &c, "----." "jim was a first-rate mechanic, (blacksmith) and was worth to me one thousand dollars." here he not only refuses to account for my parents, by including them in his return and proposition, but he at the same time attempts to intimidate me by mooting the charge of theft. i confess i was not only surprised, but mortified, at this result. the hope of being once more united to parents whom i had not seen for sixteen years, and whom i still loved dearly, had so excited my mind, that i disarranged my business relations, disposed of a valuable library of four hundred volumes, and by additional aid obtained among the liberal people of jamaica, i was prepared to give the extravagant sum of five hundred dollars each for myself, and my father and mother. this i was willing to do, not because i approve of the principle involved as a general rule. but supposing that, as my former master was now an old man not far from his grave, (about which i was not mistaken) and as he knew, by his own shewing, that i was able to do some good, he would be inclined, whatever might have been our former relations and misunderstandings, to meet my reasonable desire to see my parents, and to part this world in reconciliation with each other, as well as with god. i should have rejoiced had his temper permitted him to accede to any offer. but i thought it too bad, a free man of jesus christ, living on "free soil," to give a man five hundred dollars for the privilege of being let alone, and to be branded as a thief into the bargain, and that too after i had served him twenty prime years, without the benefit of being taught so much as the alphabet. i wrote him with my own hand, sometime after this, stating that no proposition would be acceded to by me, which did not include my parents; and likewise fix the sum for myself more reasonable, and also retract the offensive charge; to this he maintained a dignified silence. the means i had acquired by the contributions of kind friends to redeem myself, i laid by, in case the worst should come; and that designed for the purchase of my parents, i used in another kind of operation, as the result of which, my father and two brothers are now in canada. my mother was sold a second time, south, but she was eventually found. several of my sisters married free men, who purchased their liberty; and three brothers are owned, by what may be called conscience slaveholders, who hold slaves only for a term of years. my old master has since died; my mother and he are now in the other world together, she is at rest from him. sometime after his death, i received information from a gentleman, intimate with his heirs, (who are principally females) that the reduced state of the family, afforded not only a good opportunity to obtain a release upon reasonable terms, but also to render the children of my oppressor some pecuniary aid; and much as i had suffered, i must confess this latter was the stronger motive with me, for acceding to their offer made by him. i have many other deeply interesting particulars touching our family history, but i have detailed as many as prudence will permit, on account of those members who are yet south of mason and dixon's line. i have faith in the hand that has dealt with us so strangely, that all our remaining members will in time be brought together; and then the case may merit a reviewed and enlarged edition of this tract, when other important matter will be inserted. chapter vii. the feeding and clothing of the slaves in the part of maryland where i lived, &c. the slaves are generally fed upon salt pork, herrings and indian corn. the manner of dealing it out to them is as follows:--each working man, on monday morning, goes to the cellar of the master where the provisions are kept, and where the overseer takes his stand with some one to assist him, when he, with a pair of steel-yards, weighs out to every man the amount of three-and-a-half pounds, to last him till the ensuing monday--allowing him just half-a-pound per day. once in a few weeks there is a change made, by which, instead of the three-and-a-half pounds of pork, each man receives twelve herrings, allowing two a-day. the only bread kind the slaves have is that made of indian meal. in some of the lower counties, the masters usually give their slaves the corn in the ear; and they have to grind it for themselves by night at hand-mills. but my master had a quantity sent to the grist mill at a time, to be ground into coarse meal, and kept it in a large chest in his cellar, where the woman who cooked for the boys could get it daily. this was baked in large loaves, called "steel poun bread." sometimes as a change it was made into "johnny cake," and then at others into mush. the slaves had no butter, coffee, tea, or sugar; occasionally they were allowed milk, but not statedly; the only exception to this statement was the "harvest provisions." in harvest, when cutting the grain, which lasted from two to three weeks in the heat of summer, they were allowed some fresh meat, rice, sugar, and coffee; and also their allowance of whiskey. at the beginning of winter, each slave had one pair of coarse shoes and stockings, one pair of pantaloons, and a jacket. at the beginning of summer, he had two pair of coarse linen pantaloons and two shirts. once in a number of years, each slave, or each man and his wife, had one coarse blanket and enough coarse linen for a "bed-tick." he never had any bedstead or other furniture kind. the men had no hats, waistcoats or handkerchiefs given them, or the women any bonnets. these they had to contrive for themselves. each labouring man had a small "patch" of ground allowed him; from this he was expected to furnish himself and his boys hats, &c. these patches they had to work by night; from these, also, they had to raise their own provisions, as no potatoes, cabbage, &c., were allowed them from the plantation. years ago the slaves were in the habit of raising broom-corn, and making brooms to supply the market in the towns; but now of later years great quantities of these and other articles, such as scrubbing-brushes, wooden trays, mats, baskets, and straw hats which the slaves made, are furnished by the shakers and other small manufacturers, from the free states of the north. neither my master or any other master, within my acquaintance, made any provisions for the religious instruction of his slaves. they were not worked on the sabbath. one of the "boys" was required to stay at home and "feed," that is, take care of the stock, every sabbath; the rest went to see their friends. those men whose families were on other plantations usually spent the sabbath with them; some would lie about at home and rest themselves. when it was pleasant weather my master would ride "into town" to church, but i never knew him to say a word to one of us about going to church, or about our obligations to god, or a future state. but there were a number of pious slaves in our neighbourhood, and several of these my master owned; one of these was an exhorter. he was not connected with a religious body, but used to speak every sabbath in some part of the neighbourhood. when slaves died, their remains were usually consigned to the grave without any ceremony; but this old gentleman, wherever he heard of a slave having been buried in that way, would send notice from plantation to plantation, calling the slaves together at the grave on the sabbath, where he'd sing, pray, and exhort. i have known him to go ten or fifteen miles voluntarily to attend these services. he could not read, and i never heard him refer to any scripture, and state and discourse upon any fundamental doctrine of the gospel; but he knew a number of "spiritual songs by heart," of these he would give two lines at a time very exact, set and lead the tune himself; he would pray with great fervour, and his exhortations were amongst the most impressive i have heard. the methodists at one time attempted to evangelize the slaves in our neighbourhod, but the effort was sternly resisted by the masters. they held a camp meeting in the neighbourhood, where many of the slaves attended. but one of their preachers for addressing words of comfort to the slaves, was arrested and tried for his life. my master was very active in this disgraceful affair, but the excellent man, rev. mr. g., was acquitted and escaped out of their hands. still, it was deemed by his brethren to be imprudent for him to preach any more in the place, as some of the more reckless masters swore violence against him. this good man's name is remembered dearly, till this day, by slaves in that county. i met with a fugitive about a year ago, who remembered distinctly the words spoken by mr. g., and by which his own mind was awakened to a sense of the value of his soul. he said, in the course of his preaching, addressing himself to the slaves, "you have precious immortal souls, that are worth far more to you than your bodies are to your masters;" or words to that effect. but while these words interested many slaves, they also made many masters exceedingly angry, and they tortured his words into an attempt to excite the slaves to rebellion. some of my master's slaves who had families, were regularly married, and others were not; the law makes no provision for such marriages, and the only provision made by the master was, that they should obtain his leave. in some cases, after obtaining leave to take his wife, the slave would ask further leave to go to a minister and be married. i never knew him to deny such a request, and yet, in those cases where the slave did not ask it, he never required him to be married by a minister. of course, no bibles, tracts, or religious books of any kind, were ever given to the slaves; and no ministers or religious instructors were ever known to visit our plantation at any time, either in sickness or in health. when a slave was sick, my master being himself a physician, sometimes attended, and sometimes he called other physicians. slaves frequently sickened and died, but i never knew any provision made to administer to them the comforts, or to offer to them the hopes of the gospel, or to their friends after their death. * * * * * _there is no one feature of slavery to which the mind recurs with more gloomy impressions, than to its disastrous influence upon the families of the masters, physically, pecuniarily, and mentally._ it seems to destroy families as by a powerful blight, large and opulent slave-holding families, often vanish like a group of shadows at the third or fourth generation. this fact arrested my attention some years before i escaped from slavery, and of course before i had any enlightened views of the moral character of the system. as far back as i can recollect, indeed, it was a remark among slaves, that every generation of slaveholders are more and more inferior. there were several large and powerful families in our county, including that of my master, which affords to my mind a melancholy illustration of this remark. one of the wealthiest slaveholders in the county, was general r., a brother-in-law to my master. this man owned a large and highly valuable tract of land, called r.'s manor. i do not know how many slaves he owned, but the number was large. he lived in a splendid mansion, and drove his coach and four. he was for some years a member of congress. he had a numerous family of children. the family showed no particular signs of decay until he had married a second time, and had considerably increased his number of children. it then became evident that his older children were not educated for active business, and were only destined to be a charge. of sons, (seven or eight,) not one of them reached the eminence once occupied by the father. the only one that approached to it, was the eldest, who became an officer in the navy, and obtained the doubtful glory of being killed in the mexican war. general r. himself ran through his vast estate, died intemperate, and left a widow and large number of daughters, some minors, destitute, and none of his sons fitted for any employment but in the army and navy. slaves have a superstitious dread of passing the dilapidated dwelling of a man who has been guilty of great cruelties to his slaves, and who is dead, or moved away. i never felt this dread deeply but once, and that was one sabbath about sunset, as i crossed the yard of general r.'s residence, which was about two miles from us, after he had been compelled to leave it. to see the once fine smooth gravel walks, overgrown with grass--the redundances of the shrubbery neglected--the once finely painted pricket fences, rusted and fallen down--a fine garden in splendid ruins--the lofty ceiling of the mansion thickly curtained with cobwebs--the spacious apartments abandoned, while the only music heard within as a substitute for the voices of family glee that once filled it, was the crying cricket and cockroaches! ignorant slave as i was at that time, i could but pause for a moment, and recur in silent horror to the fact that, a strange reverse of fortune, had lately driven from that proud mansion, a large and once opulent family. what advantage was it now to the members of that family, that the father and head had for near half a century stood high in the counsels of the state, and had the benefit of the unrequited toil of hundreds of his fellowmen, when they were already grappling with the annoyances of that poverty, which he had entailed upon others. my master's family, in wealth and influence, was not inferior to general r.'s originally. his father was a member of the convention that framed the present constitution of the state; he was, also, for some years chief justice of the state. my master was never equal to his father, although he stood high at one time. he once lacked but a few votes of being elected governor of the state: he once sat in the assembly, and was generally a leading man in his own county. his influence was found to be greatest when exerted in favour of any measure in regard to the control of slaves. he was the first mover in several cruel and rigid municipal regulations in the county, which prohibited slaves from going over a certain number of miles from their master's places on the sabbath, and from being seen about the town. he once instigated the authorities of the town where he attended service, to break up a sabbath-school some humane members of the methodist and lutheran denominations had set up to teach the free negroes, lest the slaves should get some benefit of it. but there was a still wider contrast between my master and his own children, eight in number, when i left him. his eldest daughter, the flower of the family, married a miserable and reckless gambler. his eldest son was kind-hearted, and rather a favourite with the slaves on that account; but he had no strength of mind or weight of character. his education was limited, and he had no disposition or tact for business of any kind. he died at thirty-six, intestate; leaving his second-wife (a sister to his father's second wife) with several orphan children, a widow with a small estate deeply embarrassed. the second son was once sent to west point to fit for an officer. after being there a short time, however, he became unsteady, and commenced the study of medicine, but he soon gave that up and preferred to live at home and flog the slaves; and by them was cordially dreaded and disliked, and among themselves he was vulgarly nicknamed on account of his cruel and filthy habits. these two families will afford a fair illustration of the gloomy history of many others that i could name. this decline of slaveholding families is a subject of observation and daily remark among slaves; they are led to observe every change in the pecuniary, moral, and social state of the families they belong to, from the fact, that as the old master declines, or as his children are married off, they are expecting to fall into their hands, or in case of insolvency on the part of the old master, they expect to be sold; in either case, it involves a change of master--a subject to which they cannot be indifferent. and it is very rarely the case that a slave's condition is benefited by passing from the old master into the hands of one of his children. owing to the causes i have mentioned, the decline is so rapid and marked, in almost every point of view, that the children of slaveholders are universally inferior to themselves, mentally, morally, physically, as well as pecuniarily, especially so in the latter point of view; and this is a matter of most vital concern to the slaves. the young master not being able to own as many slaves as his father, usually works what he has more severely, and being more liable to embarrassment, the slaves' liability to be sold at an early day is much greater. for the same reason, slaves have a deep interest, generally, in the marriage of a young mistress. very generally the daughters of slaveholders marry inferior men; men who seek to better their own condition by a wealthy connection. the slaves who pass into the hands of the young master has had some chance to become acquainted with his character, bad as it may be; but the young mistress brings her slaves a new, and sometimes an unknown master. sometimes these are the sons of already broken down slaveholders. in other cases they are adventurers from the north who remove to the south, and who readily become the most cruel masters. appendix. these two letters are simply introduced to show what the state of my feelings was with reference to slavery at the time they were written. i had just heard several facts with regard to my parents, which had awakened my mind to great excitement. to my father, mother, brothers, and sisters. _the following was written in :_ dearly beloved in bonds, about seventeen long years have now rolled away, since in the providence of almighty god, i left your embraces, and set out upon a daring adventure in search of freedom. since that time, i have felt most severely the loss of the sun and moon and eleven stars from my social sky. many, many a thick cloud of anguish has pressed my brow and sent deep down into my soul the bitter waters of sorrow in consequence. and you have doubtless had your troubles and anxious seasons also about your fugitive star. i have learned that some of you have been sold, and again taken back by colonel ----. how many of you are living and together, i cannot tell. my great grief is, lest you should have suffered this or some additional punishment on account of my _exodus_. i indulge the hope that it will afford you some consolation to know that your son and brother is yet alive. that god has dealt wonderfully and kindly with me in all my way. he has made me a christian, and a christian minister, and thus i have drawn my support and comfort from that blessed saviour, who came _to preach good tidings unto the meek, to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them, that are bound. to proclaim the acceptable year of the lord and the day of vengeance of our god; to comfort all that mourn. to appoint unto them that mourn in zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the lord that he might be glorified._ if the course i took in leaving a condition which had become intolerable to me, has been made the occasion of making that condition worse to you in any way, i do most heartily regret such a change for the worse on your part. as i have no means, however, of knowing if such be the fact, so i have no means of making atonement, but by sincere prayer to almighty god in your behalf, and also by taking this method of offering to you these consolations of the gospel to which i have just referred, and which i have found to be pre-eminently my own stay and support. my dear father and mother; i have very often wished, while administering the holy ordinance of baptism to some scores of children brought forward by doting parents, that i could see you with yours among the number. and you, my brothers and sisters, while teaching hundreds of children and youths in schools over which i have been placed, what unspeakable delight i should have had in having you among the number; you may all judge of my feeling for these past years, when while preaching from sabbath to sabbath to congregations, i have not been so fortunate as even to see father, mother, brother, sister, uncle, aunt, nephew, niece, or cousin in my congregations. while visiting the sick, going to the house of mourning, and burying the dead, i have been a constant mourner for you. my sorrow has been that i know you are not in possession of those hallowed means of grace. i am thankful to you for those mild and gentle traits of character which you took such care to enforce upon me in my youthful days. as an evidence that i prize both you and them, i may say that at the age of thirty-seven, i find them as valuable as any lessons i have learned, nor am i ashamed to let it be known to the world, that i am the son of a bond man and a bond woman. let me urge upon you the fundamental truths of the gospel of the son of god. let repentance towards god and faith in our lord jesus christ have their perfect work in you, i beseech you. do not be prejudiced against the gospel because it may be seemingly twisted into a support of slavery. the gospel rightly understood, taught, received, felt and practised, is anti-slavery as it is anti-sin. just so far and so fast as the true spirit of the gospel obtains in the land, and especially in the lives of the oppressed, will the spirit of slavery sicken and become powerless like the serpent with his head pressed beneath the fresh leaves of the prickly ash of the forest. there is not a solitary decree of the immaculate god that has been concerned in the ordination of slavery, nor does any possible development of his holy will sanctify it. he has permitted us to be enslaved according to the invention of wicked men, instigated by the devil, with intention to bring good out of the evil, but he does not, he cannot approve of it. he has no need to approve of it, even on account of the good which he will bring out of it, for he could have brought about that very good in some other way. god is never straitened; he is never at a loss for means to work. could he not have made this a great and wealthy nation without making its riches to consist in our blood, bones, and souls? and could he not also have given the gospel to us without making us slaves? my friends, let us then, in our afflictions, embrace and hold fast the gospel. the gospel is the fulness of god. we have the glorious and total weight of god's moral character in our side of the scale. the wonderful purple stream which flowed for the healing of the nations, has a branch for us. nay, is christ divided? "the grace of god that bringeth salvation hath appeared to (for) all men, teaching us that denying ungodliness and worldly lust, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world, looking for that blessed hope and glorious appearing of the great god and our saviour jesus christ, who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works."--titus ii. - . but you say you have not the privilege of hearing of this gospel of which i speak. i know it; and this is my great grief. but you shall have it; i will send it to you by my humble prayer; i can do it; i will beg our heavenly father, and he will preach this gospel to you in his holy providence. you, dear father and mother cannot have much longer to live in this troublesome and oppressive world; you cannot bear the yoke much longer. and as you approach another world, how desirable it is that you should have the prospect of a different destiny from what you have been called to endure in this world during a long life. but it is the gospel that sets before you the hope of such a blessed rest as is spoken of in the word of god, job iii. , . "there the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest; there the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressors. the small and great are there; and the servant is free from his master." father, i know thy eyes are dim with age and weary with weeping, but look, dear father, yet a little while toward that haven. look unto jesus, "the author and finisher of thy faith," for the moment of thy happy deliverance is at hand. mother, dear mother, i know, i feel, mother, the pangs of thy bleeding heart, that thou hast endured, during so many years of vexation. thy agonies are by a genuine son-like sympathy mine; i will, i must, i do share daily in those agonies of thine. but i sincerely hope that with me you bear your agonies to christ who carries our sorrows. o come then with me, my beloved family, of weary heart-broken and care-worn ones, to jesus christ, "casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you."-- peter v. . with these words of earnest exhortation, joined with fervent prayer to god that he may smooth your rugged way, lighten your burden, and give a happy issue out of all your troubles, i must bid you adieu. your son and brother, jas. p. _alias_ j.w.c. pennington. to colonel f---- t----, of h----, washington county, md. . dear sir, it is now, as you are aware, about seventeen years since i left your house and service, at the age of twenty. up to that time, i was, according to your rule and claim, your slave. till the age of seven years, i was, of course, of little or no service to you. at that age, however, you hired me out, and for three years i earned my support; at the age of ten years, you took me to your place again, and in a short time after you put me to work at the blacksmith's trade, at which, together with the carpentering trade, &c, i served you peaceably until the day i left you, with exception of the short time you had sold me to s---- h----, esq., for seven hundred dollars. it is important for me to say to you, that i have no consciousness of having done you any wrong. i called you master when i was with you from the mere force of circumstances; but i never regarded you as my master. the nature which god gave me did not allow me to believe that you had any more right to me than i had to you, and that was just none at all. and from an early age, i had intentions to free myself from your claim. i never consulted any one about it; i had no advisers or instigators; i kept my own counsel entirely concealed in my own bosom. i never meditated any evil to your person or property, but i regarded you as my oppressor, and i deemed it my duty to get out of your hands by peaceable means. i was always obedient to your commands. i laboured for you diligently at all times. i acted with fidelity in any matter which you entrusted me. as you sometimes saw fit to entrust me with considerable money, to buy tools or materials, not a cent was ever coveted or kept. during the time i served you in the capacity of blacksmith, your materials were used economically, your work was done expeditiously, and in the very best style, a style second to no smith in your neighbourhood. in short, sir, you well know that my habits from early life were advantageous to you. drinking, gambling, fighting, &c., were not my habits. on sabbaths, holidays, &c., i was frequently at your service, when not even your body-servant was at home. times and times again, i have gone on sunday afternoon to h----, six miles, after your letters and papers, when it was as much my privilege to be _"out of the way,"_ as it was c----. but what treatment did you see fit to return me for all this? you, in the most unfeeling manner, abused my father for no cause but speaking a word to you, as a man would speak to his fellow-man, for the sake simply of a better understanding. you vexed my mother, and because she, as a tender mother would do, showed solicitude for the virtue of her daughters, you threatened her in an insulting brutal manner. you abused my brother and sister without cause, and in like manner you did to myself; you surmised evil against me. you struck me with your walking-cane, called me insulting names, threatened me, swore at me, and became more and more wrathy in your conduct, and at the time i quitted your place, i had good reason to believe that you were meditating serious evil against me. since i have been out of your hands, i have been signally favoured of god, whence i infer that in leaving you, i acted strictly in accordance with his holy will. i have a conscience void of offence towards god and towards all men, yourself not excepted. and i verily believe that i have performed a sacred duty to god and myself, and a kindness to you, in taking the blood of my soul peaceably off your soul. and now, dear sir, having spoken somewhat pointedly, i would, to convince you of my perfect good will towards you, in the most kind and respectful terms, remind you of your coming destiny. you are now over seventy years of age, pressing on to eternity with the weight of these seventy years upon you. is not this enough without the blood of some half-score of souls? you are aware that your right to property in man is now disputed by the civilized world. you are fully aware, also, that the question, whether the bible sanctions slavery, has distinctly divided this nation in sentiment. on the side of biblical anti-slavery, we have many of the most learned, wise and holy men in the land. if the bible affords no sanction to slavery, (and i claim that it cannot,) then it must be a sin of the deepest dye; and can you, sir, think to go to god in hope with a sin of such magnitude upon your soul? but admitting that the question is yet doubtful, (which i do only for the sake of argument,) still, sir, you will have the critical hazard of this doubt pressing, in no very doubtful way, upon your declining years, as you descend the long and tedious hill of life. would it not seem to be exceedingly undesirable to close an eventful probation of seventy or eighty years, and leave your reputation among posterity suspended upon so doubtful an issue? but what, my dear sir, is a reputation among posterity, who are but worms, compared with a destiny in the world of spirits? and it is in light of that destiny that i would now have you look at this subject. you and i, and all that you claim as your slaves, are in a state of probation; our great business is to serve god under his righteous moral government. master and slave are the subjects of that government, bound by its immutable requirements, and liable to its sanctions in the next world, though enjoying its forbearance in this. you will pardon me then for pressing this point in earnest good faith. you should, at this stage, review your life without political bias, or adherence to long cherished prejudices, and remember that you are soon to meet those whom you have held, and do hold in slavery, at the awful bar of the impartial judge of all who doeth right. then what will become of your own doubtful claims? what will be done with those doubts that agitated your mind years ago; will you answer for threatening, swearing, and using the cowhide among your slaves? what will become of those long groans and unsatisfied complaints of your slaves, for vexing them with insulting words, placing them in the power of dogish and abusive overseers, or under your stripling, misguided, hot-headed son, to drive and whip at pleasure, and for selling parts or whole families to georgia? they will all meet you at that bar. uncle james true, charles cooper, aunt jenny, and the native africans; jeremiah, london, and donmore, have already gone a-head, and only wait your arrival--sir, i shall meet you there. the account between us for the first twenty years of my life, will have a definite character upon which one or the other will be able to make out a case. upon such a review as this, sir, you will, i am quite sure, see the need of seriousness. i assure you that the thought of meeting you in eternity, and before the dread tribunal of god, with a complaint in my mouth against you, is to me of most weighty and solemn character. and you will see that the circumstances from which this thought arises are of equal moment to yourself. can the pride of leaving your children possessed of long slave states, or the policy of sustaining in the state the institution of slavery, justify you in overlooking a point of moment to your future happiness? what excuse could you offer at the bar of god, favoured as you have been with the benefits of a refined education, and through a long life with the gospel of love, should you, when arraigned there, find that you have, all your life long, laboured under a great mistake in regard to slavery, and that in this mistake you had died, and only lifted up your eyes in the light of eternity to be corrected, when it was too late to be corrected in any other way. _i could wish to address you_ (being bred, born, and raised in your family) _as a father in israel, or as an elder brother in christ, but i cannot; mockery is a sin._ i can only say then, dear sir, farewell, till i meet you at the bar of god, where jesus, who died for us, will judge between us. now his blood can wash out our stain, break down the middle wall of partition, and reconcile us not only to god but to each other, then the word of his mouth, the sentence will set us at one. as for myself, i am quite ready to meet you face to face at the bar of god. i have done you no wrong; i have nothing to fear when we both fall into the hands of the just god. i beseech you, dear sir, to look well and consider this matter soundly. in yonder world you can have no slaves--you can be no man's master--you can neither sell, buy, or whip, or drive. are you then, by sustaining the relation of a slaveholder, forming a character to dwell with god in peace? with kind regards, i am, sir, yours respectfully, j.w.c. pennington. liberty's champion. by a friend of the author's. on the wings of the wind he comes, he comes! with the rolling billow's speed; on his breast are the signs of peace and love, and his soul is nerved with strength from above: while his eyes flash fire, he burns with desire to achieve the noble deed. to the shores of the free he goes, he goes! and smiles as he passes on; he hears the glad notes of liberty's song, and bids the brave sons of freedom be strong. while his heart bounds high to his crown in the sky, he triumphs o'er conquests won. to the homes of the slave he flies, he flies! where manacled mourners cry; the bursting groan of the mind's o'erflow, transfixed on the dark and speaking brow: with a murmuring sound, ascends from the ground, to the god that reigns on high. to his loved father's throne he hastes, he hastes! and pours forth his soul in grief: uprising he finds his strength renewed, and his heart with fervent love is imbued; while the heaving sigh, and the deep-toned cry, appeal for instant relief. to the hard oppressor he cries, he cries, and points to the bleeding slave; he tells of the rights of the human soul, and his eyes with full indignation roll: while his heart is moved, and the truth is proved, he seeks the captive to save. again to the foeman he speaks, he speaks, but utters his cry in vain; he breathes no curse, no vengeance seeks,-- for the broken hearts or the anguished shrieks, for the mother's pains, or the father's gains,-- upon the oppressor's name. to nations of freemen once more he comes, to raise liberty's banner high; he tells of the wrongs of the bonded slave, and cries aloud, 'mid throngs of the brave, "o freemen, arise! be faithful and wise, and answer the mourner's cry. in melting strains of love he calls, he calls, to the great and good from afar; till sympathy wakes to the truthful tale, and the prayer of the faith, which cannot fail, ascends to heaven, and grace is given, to nerve for the bloodless war. the truth with a magic power prevails: all hearts are moved to the strife; in a holy phalanx, and with deathless aim, they seek a peaceful triumph to gain o'er the tyrant's sway, in his onward way, to raise the fallen to life. at the mighty voice of the glorious free the chain of the oppressor breaks; the slave from his bondage springs forth to love, and, standing erect, his eye fixed above, he honours his race, and in the world's face, the language of liberty speaks. the oppressor no longer owns a right, or property claims in the slave, but the world, in the glory of freedom's light, beams out from the darkness of wide-spread night; throughout its length, in greatness and strength, the honour of the free and brave. * * * * * printed for charles gilpin, , bishopgate street without. the fugitive blacksmith, or events in the history of james w.c. pennington, pastor of a presbyterian church, new york. foolscap vo., sewed, price s. "this entrancing narrative * * * we trust that thousands of our readers will procure the volume, which is published by mr. gilpin at a mere trifle--much too cheap to accomplish the purpose for which, in part or mainly, it has been published--the raising a fund to remove the pecuniary burdens which press on the author's flock. nothing short of the sale of fifty thousand or sixty thousand copies could be at all availing for this object. * * * we very cordially recommend him and his narrative to the kind consideration of our readers. let them load him with english hospitality, fill his purse, and send him back as fast as possible to the land of his early bondage, of his matured freedom, and to the people to whose character and capabilities he does so much honour."--_christian witness_, october, . "the principal portion of the 'tract,' as mr. pennington modestly styles his book, consists of an autobiography of his early life as a slave, and of his escape from bondage, and final settlement in new york as a presbyterian minister. his adventures and hair-breadth escapes invest the narrative with startling interest, and excite the deepest sympathies of the reader."--_nonconformist_, september, th, . "believing that by the purchase of this little book our readers will confer a benefit on the writer, at the same time that they become possessed of a narrative of deep interest, we give it our most cordial recommendation."--_teetotal times_, october, . * * * * * london: charles gilpin, , bishopsgate street without. narrative of the life of j.d. green, a runaway slave, from kentucky, containing an account of his three escapes, in , , and . eighth thousand. huddersfield: printed by henry fielding, pack horse yard. [_transcriber's note: this project was transcribed from a contemporary printing of the work, not from the edition. certain spellings may have been modernized and typographic and printer's errors changed from the original._] testimonials. jacob green, a coloured man and an escaped slave, has lectured in my hearing, on american slavery, in springfield school-room, and i was much pleased with the propriety with which he was able to express himself, and with the capabilities which he seemed to possess to interest an audience. gilbert mc.callum. minister of springfield independent chapel, dewsbury. sept , . * * * * * hopton house, sept. , . i have much pleasure in bearing my testimony in favour of mr. jacob green, as a lecturer on the subject of american slavery, having been present when he gave an able and efficient lecture here about a month ago. having himself witnessed and experienced the fearful effects of that accursed "institution," he is well fitted to describe its horrors, and i have no doubt that amongst certain classes, his labours in the anti-slavery cause may be more telling and efficient than those of more highly educated lecturers who do not profess his peculiar advantages. i shall be well pleased to hear of him being employed by any anti-slavery society. james cameron, minister of hopton chapel. * * * * * eccleshill, sept. , . mr. jacob green gave a lecture on slavery, in our school-room here, about two months ago, which i considered a very able one; and it was so considered by my people. john aston. * * * * * i certify that mr. jacob green has delivered two lectures in the foresters' hall, denholm, to a very numerous audience; and on each occasion has given great satisfaction. the subjects were, first--slavery,--second, the american war. he lectures remarkably well, and has a powerful voice; and i have not the least doubt would give satisfaction in lecturing elsewhere. the chair on each occasion was taken--first, by myself as incumbent--second, by the rev. t. roberts, independent minister. j.f.n. eyre. incumbent of denholm. oct. th, . * * * * * i can thoroughly endorse the sentiments of the rev. j.f.n. eyre, herein recorded. t. roberts. * * * * * mr. j.d. green has lectured four times in our schoolrooms, and each time he has given very great satisfaction to a large assembly. from what i have seen of him, i believe him to be worthy of public sympathy and support. william inman, minister. ovenden, nov. , . narrative, &c. my father and mother were owned by judge charles earle, of queen anne's county, maryland, and i was born on the th of august, . from eight to eleven years of age i was employed as an errand boy, carrying water principally for domestic purposes, for slaves and the family. as i grew older, in the mornings i was employed looking after the cows, and waiting in the house, and at twelve years i remember being in great danger of losing my life in a singular way. i had seen the relish with which master and friends took drink from a bottle, and seeing a similar bottle in the closet, i thought what was good for them would be good for me, and i laid hold of the bottle and took a good draught of (oh, horror of horrors) oxalic acid, and the doctor said my safety was occasioned by a habit i had of putting my head in the milk pail and drinking milk, as by doing so the milk caused me to vomit and saved my life. about this time my mother was sold to a trader named woodfork, and where she was conveyed i have not heard up to the present time. this circumstance caused serious reflections in my mind, as to the situation of slaves, and caused me to contrast the condition of a white boy with mine, which the following occurrence will more vividly pourtray. one morning after my mother was sold, a white boy was stealing corn out of my master's barn, and i said for this act we black boys will be whipped until one of us confesses to have done that we are all innocent of, as such is the case in every instance; and i thought, oh, that master was here, or the overseer, i would then let them see what becomes of the corn. but, i saw he was off with the corn to the extent of half a bushel, and i will say nothing about it until they miss it, and if i tell them they wont believe me if he denies it, because he is white and i am black. oh! how dreadful it is to be black! why was i born black? it would have been better had i not been born at all. only yesterday, my mother was sold to go to, not one of us knows were, and i am left alone, and i have no hope of seeing her again. at this moment a raven alighted on a tree over my head, and i cried, "oh, raven! if i had wings like you, i would soon find my mother and be happy again." before parting she advised me to be a good boy, and she would pray for me, and i must pray for her, and hoped we might meet again in heaven, and i at once commenced to pray, to the best of my knowledge, "our father art in heaven, be thy name, kingdom come.--amen." but, at this time, words of my master obtruded into my mind that god did not care for black folks, as he did not make them, but the d---l did. then i thought of the old saying amongst us, as stated by our master, that, when god was making man, he made white man out of the best clay, as potters make china, and the d---l was watching, and he immediately took up some black mud and made a black man, and called him a nigger. my master was continually impressing upon me the necessity of being a good boy, and used to say, that if i was good, and behaved as well to him as my mother had done, i should go to heaven without a question being asked. my mother having often said the same, i determined from that day to be a good boy, and constantly frequented the meeting-house attended by the blacks where i learned from the minister, mr. cobb, how much the lord had done for the blacks and for their salvation; and he was in the habit of reminding us what advantages he had given us for our benefit, for when we were in our native country, africa, we were destitute of bible light, worshipping idols of sticks and stones, and barbarously murdering one another, god put it into the hearts of these good slaveholders to venture across the bosom of the hazardous atlantic to africa, and snatch us poor negroes as brands from the eternal burning, and bring us where we might sit under the droppings of his sanctuary, and learn the ways of industry and the way to god. "oh, niggers! how happy are your eyes which see this heavenly light; many millions of niggers desired it long, but died without the sight. i frequently envy your situations, because god's special blessing seems to be ever over you, as though you were a select people, for how much happier is your position than that of a free man, who, if sick, must pay his doctor's bill; if hungry, must supply his wants by his own exertions; if thirsty, must refresh himself by his own aid. and yet you, oh, niggers! your master has all this care for you. he supplies your daily wants; your meat and your drink he provides; and when you are sick he finds the best skill to bring you to health as soon as possible, for your sickness is his loss, and your health his gain; and, above all when you die (if you are obedient to your masters, and good niggers), your black faces will shine like black jugs around the throne of god." such was the religious instruction i was in the habit of receiving until i was about seventeen years old; and told that when at any time i happened to be offended, or struck by a white boy i was not to offend or strike in return, unless it was another black, then i might fight as hard as i chose in my own defence. it happened about this time there was a white boy who was continually stealing my tops and marbles, and one morning when doing so i caught him, and we had a battle, and i had him down on the ground when mr. burmey came up. he kicked me away from the white boy, saying if i belonged to him he would cut off my hands for _daring_ to strike a white boy; this without asking the cause of the quarrel, or of ascertaining who was to blame. the kick was so severe that i was sometime before i forgot it, and created such a feeling of revenge in my bosom that i was determined when i became a man i would pay him back in his own coin. i went out one day, and measured myself by a tree in the wood, and cut a notch in the tree to ascertain how fast i grew. i went at different times for the space of two months and found i was no taller, and i began to fear he would die before i should have grown to man's estate, and i resolved if he did i would make his children suffer by punishing them instead of their father. at this time my master's wife had two lovers, this same burmey and one rogers, and they despised each other from feelings of jealousy. master's wife seemed to favour burmey most, who was a great smoker, and she provided him with a large pipe with a german silver bowl, which screwed on the top; this pipe she usually kept on the mantel piece, ready filled with tobacco. one morning i was dusting and sweeping out the dining-room, and saw the pipe on the mantel-piece. i took it down, and went to my young master william's powder closet and took out his powder horn, and after taking half of the tobacco out of the pipe filled it nearly full with powder, and covered it over with tobacco to make it appear as usual when filled with tobacco, replaced it, and left. rogers, came in about eight o'clock in the morning, and remained until eleven, when mr. burmey came, and in about an hour i saw a great number running about from all parts of the plantation. i left the barn where i was thrashing buck-wheat, and followed the rest to the house, where i saw mr. burmey lying back in the arm chair in a state of insensibility, his mouth bleeding profusely and from particulars given it appeared he took the pipe as usual and lighted it, and had just got it to his mouth when the powder exploded, and the party suspected was rogers, who had been there immediately preceding; and burmey's son went to rogers and they fought about the matter. law ensued, which cost rogers dollars, burmey dollars and his face disfigured; and my master's wife came in for a deal of scandal, which caused further proceedings at law, costing the master hundred dollars, and i was never once suspected or charged with the deed. at this time two or three negroes had escaped, and i heard so much about the free states of the north that i was determined to be free. so i began to study what we call the north star, or astronomy, to guide me to the free states. i was in the habit of driving the master; and on one occasion i had to drive him to baltimore where two of his sons were studying law; and while there, i stole some sweet potatoes to roast when i got home; and how master got to know i had them i never knew; but when i got home he gave me a note to mr. cobb, the overseer, and told me to tell dick, (another slave on the plantation) to come to baltimore to him on the following evening, and as soon as i took the note in my hand i was certain there was a flogging in it for me, though he said nothing to me. i held the note that night and following day, afraid to give it to mr. cobb, so confident was i of what would be the result. towards evening i began to reason thus--if i give cobb the note i shall be whipped; if i withhold the note from him i shall be whipped, so a whipping appears plain in either case. now dick having arranged to meet his sweetheart this night assumed sickness, so that he could have an excuse for not meeting master at baltimore, and he wanted me to go instead of him. i agreed to go, providing he would take the note i had to mr. cobb, as i had forgot to give it him, to which he consented, and off i went; and i heard that when he delivered the note to mr. cobb, he ordered him to go to the whipping-post, and when he asked what he had done he was knocked down, and afterwards put to the post and thirty-nine lashes were administered, and failed seeing his sweetheart as well. when i arrived at baltimore my master and young master took their seats and i drove away without any question until we had gone three miles, when he asked what i was doing there that night. i very politely said dick was not well, and i had come in his place. he then asked me if mr. cobb got his note, i answered, yes, sir. he then asked me how i felt, and i said first rate, sir. "the d---l you do," said he. i said, yes sir. he said "nigger, did mr. cobb flog you?" no sir. i have done nothing wrong. "you never do," he answered; and said no more until he got home. being a man who could not bear to have any order of his disobeyed or unfulfilled, he immediately called for mr. cobb, and was told he was in bed; and when he appeared, the master asked if he got the note sent by the nigger. mr. cobb said "yes." "then why," said master, "did you not perform my orders in the note?" "i did, sir," replied cobb; when the master said, "i told you to give that nigger thirty-nine lashes," mr. cobb says, "so i did, sir;" when master replied, "he says you never licked him at all." upon which cobb said, "he is a liar;" when my master called for me (who had been hearing the whole dialogue at the door), i turned on my toes and went a short distance, and i shouted with a loud voice that i was coming, (to prevent them knowing that i had been listening) and appeared before them and said "here i am master, do you want me?" he said "yes. did you not tell me that mr. cobb had not flogged you," and i said "yes i did; he has not flogged me to-day, sir." mr. cobb answered, "i did not flog him. you did not tell me to flog him. you told me to flog that other nigger." "what other nigger," enquired master. cobb said, "dick." master then said, "i did not. i told you to flog this nigger here." cobb then produced the letter, and read it as follows: "mr. cobb will give the bearer lashes on delivery." r.t. earle. i then left the room and explanations took place. when i was again called in. "how came dick to have had the letter," and i then said i had forgot to deliver it until dick wanted me to go to baltimore in his place, and i agreed providing he would take the letter. master then said "you lie, you infernal villain," and laid hold of a pair of tongs and said he would dash my brains out if i did not tell him the truth. i then said i thought there was something in the note that boded no good to me, and i did not intend to give it to him. he said, "you black vagabond, stay on this plantation three months longer, and you will be master and i the slave; no wonder you said you felt first rate when i asked you, but i will sell you to go to georgia the first chance i get." then laying the tongs down he opened the door and ordered me out. i knew he had on heavy cow-hide boots, and i knew he would try to assist me in my outward progress, and though expecting it and went as quick as i could, i was materially assisted by a heavy kick from my master's foot. this did not end the matter, for when dick found out i had caused his being flogged, we had continual fightings for several months. when i was fourteen years old my master gave me a flogging, the marks of which will go with me to my grave, and this was for a crime of which i was completely innocent. my master's son had taken one of his pistols out, and by some accident it burst. when enquiry was made about the damaged pistol william told his father that he had seen me have it; this, of course, i denied, when master tied me up by my thumbs and gave me lashes, and also made me confess the crime before he would release me. from this flogging my back was raw and sore for three months; the shirt that i wore was made of rough tow linen, and when at work in the fields it would so chafe the sores that they would break and run, and the hot sun over me would bake the shirt fast to my back, and for four weeks i wore that shirt, unable to pull it off, and when i did pull it off it brought with it much of my flesh, leaving my back perfectly raw. some time after this my master found out the truth about the pistol, and when i saw that he did not offer me any apology for the beating he had given me, and the lie he had made me confess, i went to him and said--now, master, you see that you beat me unjustly about that pistol, and made me confess to a lie--but all the consolation i got was--clear out, you black rascal; i never struck a blow amiss in my life, except when i struck at you and happened to miss you; there are plenty of other crimes you have committed and did not let me catch you at them, so that flogging will do for the lot. master had an old negro in the family called uncle reuben. this good old man and his wife were very good friends of my mother's, and before she was sold they often met and sung and prayed, and talked about religion together. uncle reuben fell sick in the middle of the harvest, and his sickness was very severe; but master having a grudge against uncle reuben, and his old wife aunt dinah, respecting a complaint that aunt dinah had made to mistress about his having outraged and violated her youngest daughter, his spite was carried out by mr. cobb, the overseer, who forced uncle reuben into the field amongst the rest of us, and i was ordered to cradle behind him to make him keep up with the rest of the gang. the poor old man worked until he fell, just ahead of me, upon the cradle. mr. cobb came over and told him to get up, and that he was only playing the old soldier, and when the old man did not move to get up mr. cobb gave him a few kicks with his heavy boots and told reuben, sick as he was, that he would cure him. he ordered us to take off his shirt, and the poor old man was stripped, when mr. cobb, with his hickory cane, laid on him till his back bled freely; but still the old man seemed to take no notice of what mr. cobb was doing. mr. cobb then told us to put on his shirt and carry him in, for he appeared convinced that reuben could not walk. the next morning i went to see him but he did not seem to know anybody. master came in along with the doctor, and master swore at reuben, telling him that as soon as he was well enough he should have a good flogging for having, by his own folly, caught his sickness. the doctor here checked his master's rage by telling him, as he felt at reuben by the wrist, he could not live many minutes longer; at this master was silent, and a few minutes reuben was dead. poor aunt dinah came in out of the kitchen and wept fit to break her poor heart. she had four sons and three daughters, and they all joined in mournful lamentation. when i was sixteen i was very fond of dancing, and was invited privately to a negro shindy or dance, about twelve miles from home, and for this purpose i got aunt dinah to starch the collars for my two linen shirts, which were the first standing collars i had ever worn in my life; i had a good pair of trousers, and a jacket, but no necktie, nor no pocket handkerchief, so i stole aunt dinah's checked apron, and tore it in two--one part for a necktie, the other for a pocket handkerchief. i had twenty-four cents, or pennies which i divided equally with fifty large brass buttons in my right and left pockets. now, thought i to myself, when i get on the floor and begin to dance--oh! how the niggers will stare to hear the money jingle. i was combing my hair to get the knots out of it: i then went and looked in an old piece of broken looking-glass, and i thought, without joking, that i was the best looking negro that i had ever seen in my life. about ten o'clock i stole out to the stable when all was still; and while i was getting on one of my master's horses i said to myself--master was in here at six o'clock and saw all these horses clean, so i must look out and be back time enough to have you clean when he gets up in the morning. i thought what a dash i should cut among the pretty yellow and sambo gals, and i felt quite confident, of course, that i should have my pick among the best looking ones, for my good clothes, and my abundance of money, and my own good looks--in fact, i thought no mean things of my self. when i arrived at the place where the dance was, it was at an old house in the woods, which had many years before been a negro meeting-house; there was a large crowd there, and about one hundred horses tied round the fence--for some of them were far from home, and, like myself, they were all runaways, and their horses, like mine, had to be home and cleaned before their masters were up in the morning. in getting my horse close up to the fence a nail caught my trousers at the thigh, and split them clean up to the seat; of course my shirt tail fell out behind, like a woman's apron before. this dreadful misfortune almost unmanned me, and curtailed both my pride and pleasure for the night. i cried until i could cry no more. however, i was determined i would not be done out of my sport after being at the expense of coming, so i went round and borrowed some pins, and pinned up my shirt tail as well as i could. i then went into the dance, and told the fiddler to play me a jig. che, che, che, went the fiddle, when the banjo responded with a thrum, thrum, thrum, with the loud cracking of the bone player. i seized a little sambo gal, and round and round the room we went, my money and my buttons going jingle, jingle, jingle, seemed to take a lively part with the music, and to my great satisfaction every eye seemed to be upon me, and i could not help thinking about what an impression i should leave behind upon those pretty yellow and sambo gals, who were gazing at me, thinking i was the richest and handsomest nigger they had ever seen: but unfortunately the pins in my breeches gave way, and to my great confusion my shirt tail fell out; and what made my situation still more disgraceful was the mischievous conduct of my partner, the gal that i was dancing with, who instead of trying to conceal my shame caught my shirt tail behind and held it up. the roar of laughter that came from both men and gals almost deafened me, and i would at this moment have sunk through the floor, so i endeavoured to creep out as slily as i could; but even this i was not permitted to do until i had undergone a hauling around the room by my unfortunate shirt tail: and this part of the programme was performed by the gals, set on by the boys--every nigger who could not stand up and laugh, because laughing made them weak, fell down on the floor and rolled round and round. when the gals saw their own turn they let me go and i hurried outside and stood behind the house, beneath a beautiful bright moon, which saw me that night the most wretched of all negroes in the land of dixie; and what made me feel, in my own opinion, that my humiliation was just as complete as the triumph of the negroes inside was glorious, was that the gals had turned my pockets out, and found that the hundreds of dollars they had thought my pockets contained, consisted of cents or pennies, and brass buttons. everything was alive and happy inside the room, but no one knew or cared how miserable i was--the joy and life of the dance that night seemed entirely at my expense, all through my unfortunate shirt tail. the first thing i thought of now was revenge. take your comfort, niggers now, said i to myself, for sorrow shall be yours in the morning, so i took out my knife and went round the fence and cut every horse loose, and they all ran away. i then got on my horse and set off home. as i rode on i thought to myself--i only wish i could be somewhere close enough to see how those negroes will act when they come out and find all their horses gone. and then i laughed right out when i thought of the sport they had had out of my misfortune, and that some were ten to twelve, and some fifteen miles away from home. well, thought i, your masters will have to reckon with you to-morrow; you have had glad hearts to-night at my expense, but you will have sore backs to-morrow at your own. now, when i got home, the stable was in a very bad situation, and i was afraid to bring my horse in until i could strike a light. when this was done, i took the saddle and bridle off outside. no sooner had i done this than my horse reared over the bars and ran away into the meadow. i chased him till daylight, and for my life i could not catch him. my feelings now may be better imagined than described. when the reader remembers that this horse, with all the rest, master had seen clean at six o'clock the night before, and all safe in the stable, and now to see him in the meadow, with all the marks of having been driven somewhere and by somebody, what excuse could i make, or what story could i invent in order to save my poor back from that awful flogging which i knew must be the result of the revelation of the truth. i studied and tried, but could think of no lie that would stand muster. at last i went into the stable and turned all the rest out, and left the stable door open, and creeping into the house, took off my fine clothes and put on those which i had been wearing all the week, and laid myself down on my straw. i had not lain long before i heard master shouting for me, for all those horses, eight in number, were under my care; and although he shouted for me at the top of his voice, i lay still and pretended not to hear him; but soon after i heard a light step coming up stairs, and a rap at my door--then i commenced to snore as loud as possible, still the knocking continued. at last i pretended to awake, and called out, who's there--that you, lizzy? oh my! what's up, what time is it, and so on. lizzy said master wanted me immediately; yes, lizzy, said i, tell master i'm coming. i bothered about the room long enough to give colour to the impression that i had just finished dressing myself; i then came and said, here i am, master, when he demanded of me, what were my horses doing in the meadow? here i put on an expression of such wonder and surprise--looking first into the meadow and then at the stable door, and to master's satisfaction, i seemed so completely confounded that my deception took upon him the desired effect. then i affected to roar right out, crying, now master, you saw my horses all clean last night before i went to bed, and now some of those negroes have turned them out so that i should have them to clean over again: well, i declare! it's too bad, and i roared and cried as i went towards the meadow to drive them up; but master believing what i said, called me back and told me to call mr. cobb, and when mr. cobb came master told him to blow the horn; when the horn was blown, the negroes were to be seen coming from all parts of the plantation, and forming around in front of the balcony. master then came out and said, now i saw this boy's horses clean last night and in the stable, so now tell me which of you turned them out? of course they all denied it, then master ordered them all to go down into the meadow and drive up the horses and clean them, me excepted; so they went and drove them up and set to work and cleaned them. on monday morning we all turned out to work until breakfast, when the horn was blown, and we all repaired to the house. here master again demanded to know who turned the horses loose, and when they all denied it, he tied them all up and gave them each lashes. not yet satisfied, but determined to have a confession, as was always his custom on such occasions, he came to me and asked me which one i had reason to suspect. my poor guilty heart already bleeding for the suffering i had caused my fellow slaves, was now almost driven to confession. what must i do, select another victim for further punishment, or confess the truth and bear the consequence? my conscience now rebuked me, like an armed man; but i happened to be one of those boys who, among all even of my mother's children loved myself best, and therefore had no disposition to satisfy my conscience at the expense of a very sore back, so i very soon thought of dick, a negro who, like ishmael, had his hand out against every man, and all our hands were out against him; this negro was a lickspittle or tell-tale, as little boys call them--we could not steal a bit of tea or sugar, or any other kind of nourishment for our sick, or do anything else we did not want to be known, but if he got to know it he would run and tell master or mistress, or the overseer, so we all wanted him dead; and now i thought of him--he was just the proper sacrifice for me to lay upon the altar of confession, so i told master i believed that it was dick: moreover, i told him that i had seen him in and out of the stable on saturday night, so master tied dick up and gave him lashes more, and washed his back down with salt and water, and told him that at night if he did not confess, he would give him as much more; so at night, when master went out to dick again, he asked if he had made up his mind to tell him the truth, dick said, yes, master;--well, said master, let me hear it. well master, said dick, i did turn the horses out; but will never do so again. so master, satisfied with this confession, struck dick no more, and ordered him to be untied; but dick had a sore back for many weeks. and now to return to the negroes i had left at the dance, when they discovered that their horses were gone there was the greatest consternation amongst them, the forebodings of the awful consequences if they dared to go home induced many that night to seek salvation in the direction and guidance of the north star. several who started off on that memorable night i have since shook hands with in canada. they told me there were sixteen of them went off together, four of them were shot or killed by the bloodhounds, and one was captured while asleep in a barn; the rest of those who were at the dance either went home and took their floggings, or strayed into the woods until starved out, and then surrendered. one of those i saw in toronto, is dan patterson; he has a house of his own, with a fine horse and cart, and he has a beautiful sambo woman for his wife, and four fine healthy-looking children. but, like myself, he had left a wife and six children in slavery. when i was about seventeen, i was deeply smitten in love with a yellow girl belonging to doctor tillotson. this girl's name was mary, of whose lovliness i dreamt every night. i certainly thought she was the prettiest girl i had ever seen in my life. her colour was very fair, approaching almost to white; her countenance was frank and open, and very inviting; her voice was as sweet as the dulcimer, her smiles to me were like the may morning sunbeams in the spring, one glance of her large dark eyes broke my heart in pieces, with a stroke like that of an earthquake. o, i thought, this girl would make me a paradise, and to enjoy her love i thought would be heaven. in spite of either patrols or dogs, who stood in my way, every night nearly i was in mary's company. i learned from her that she had already had a child to her master in mobile, and that her mistress had sold her down here for revenge; and she told me also of the sufferings that she had undergone from her mistress on account of jealousy--her baby she said her mistress sold out of her arms, only eleven months old, to a lady in marysville, kentucky. having never before felt a passion like this, or of the gentle power, so peculiar to women, that, hard as i worked all day, i could not sleep at night for thinking of this almost angel in human shape. we kept company about six weeks, during which time i was at sometimes as wretched as i was happy at others. much to my annoyance mary was adored by every negro in the neighbourhood, and this excited my jealousy and made me miserable. i was almost crazy when i saw another negro talking to her. again and again i tried my best to get her to give up speaking to them, but she refused to comply. there was one negro who was in the habit of calling on mary whom i dreaded more than all the rest of them put together, this negro was dan, he belonged to rogers; and notwithstanding i believed myself to be the best looking negro to be found anywhere in the neighbourhood, still i was aware that i was not the best of talkers. dan was a sweet and easy talker, and a good bone and banjo player. i was led to fear that he would displace me in mary's affections, and in this i was not mistaken. one night i went over to see mary, and in looking through the window, saw mary--my sweet and beloved mary--sitting upon dan's knee; and here it is impossible to describe the feeling that came over me at this unwelcome sight. my teeth clenched and bit my tongue--my head grew dizzy, and began to swim round and round, and at last i found myself getting up from the ground, having stumbled from the effects of what i had seen. i wandered towards home, and arriving there threw myself on the straw and cried all night. my first determination was to kill dan; but then i thought they would hang me and the devil would have us both, and some other negro will get mary, then the thought of killing dan passed away. next morning, when the horn blew for breakfast, i continued my work, my appetite having left me; at dinner time it was the same. at sun-down i went to the barn and got a rope and put it under my jacket, and started off to see mary, whom i found sitting in the kitchen, smoking her pipe, for smoking was as common among the girls as among the men. mary, said i, i was over here last night and saw you through the window sitting on dan's knee. now, mary, i want you to tell me at once whose you mean to be--mine or dan's? dan's, she replied, with an important toss of her head, which went through my very soul, like the shock from a galvanic battery. i rested for a minute or so on an old oak table that stood by. mary's answer had unstrung every nerve in me, and left me so weak that i could scarcely keep from falling. now i was not at that time, and don't think i ever shall be one of those fools who would cut off his nose to spite his face, much less kill myself because a girl refused to love me. life to me was always preferable, under any circumstances; but in this case i played the most dexterous card i had. mary, said i sternly, if you don't give dan up and sware to be mine, i will hang myself this night. to this she replied, hang on if you are fool enough, and continued smoking her pipe as though not the least alarmed. i took out the rope from under my jacket, and got upon a three-legged stool, and putting the rope first over the beam in the ceiling, then made a slip-knot, and brought it down round my neck, taking good care to have it short enough that it would not choke me, and in this way i stood upon the stool for some considerable time, groaning and struggling, and making every kind of noise that might make her believe that i was choking or strangling; but still mary sat deliberately smoking her pipe with the utmost coolness, and seemed to take no notice of me or what i was doing. i thought my situation worse now than if i had not commenced this job at all. my object in pretending to hang myself was to frighten mary into compliance with my demand, and her conduct turned out to be everything but what i had expected. i had thought that the moment i ascended the stool she would have clung to me and tried to dissuade me from committing suicide, and in this case my plan was to persist in carrying it out, unless she would consent to give dan up; but instead of this she sat smoking her pipe apparently at ease and unmoved. now i found i had been mistaken--what was i to do, to hang or kill myself was the last thing i meant to do--in fact i had not the courage to do it for five hundred marys. but now, after mounting the stool and adjusting the rope round my neck, i was positively ashamed to come down without hanging myself, and then i stood like a fool. at this moment in came the dog carlow, racing after the cat, right across the kitchen floor, and the dog coming in contact with the stool, knocked it right away from under my feet, and brought my neck suddenly to the full length of the rope, which barely allowed my toes to touch the floor. here i seized the rope with both hands to keep the weight of my whole body off my neck, and in this situation i soon found i must hang, and that dead enough, unless i had some assistance, for the stool had rolled entirely out of the reach of my feet, and the knot i had tied behind the beam i could not reach for my life. my arms began to tremble with holding on to the rope, and still my mortification and pride for some time refused to let me call on mary for assistance. such a moment of terror and suspense! heaven forbid that i should ever see or experience again. thoughts rushed into my mind of every bad deed that i had done in my life; and i thought that old cloven foot, as we called the devil, was waiting to nab me. the stretch upon my arms exhausted me, with holding on by the rope, nothing was left me but despair; my pride and courage gave up the ghost, and i roared out, mary! for god's sake cut the rope! no, answered mary, you went up there to hang yourself, so now hang on. oh! mary, mary! i did not mean to hang! i was only doing so to see what you would say. well, then, said mary; you hear what i have to say--hang on. oh, mary! for heaven's sake cut this rope, or i shall strangle to death!--oh, dear, good mary, save me this time: and i roared out like a jackass, and must too have fainted, for when i came round doctor tillotson and his wife and mary stood over me as i lay on the floor. how i got upon the floor, or who cut the rope i never knew. doctor tillotson had hold of my wrist, feeling my pulse; while mistress held a camphor bottle in one hand and a bottle of hartshorn in the other. the doctor helped me up from the floor and set me in a chair, when i discovered that i was bleeding very freely from the nose and mouth. he called for a basin and bled me in my left arm, and then sent me over home by two of his men. next day my neck was dreadfully swollen, and my throat was so sore that it was with difficulty that i could swallow meat for more than a week. at the end of a fortnight, master having learnt all the particulars respecting my sickness, called me to account, and gave me seventy-eight lashes, and this was the end of my crazy love and courtship with mary. shortly after this, mary was one sunday down in her master's barn, where she had been sent by her mistress to look for new nests where a number of the hens were supposed to have been laying, as the eggs had not been found elsewhere. while in the barn, mary was surprised by william tillotson, her master's son, who ordered her to take her bed among the hay and submit to his lustful passion. this she strenuously refused to do, telling him of the punishment she had already suffered from her former mistress for a similar act of conduct, and reminding him at the same time of his wife, whose vengeance she would have to dread; but william was not to be put off, nor his base passion to go unsatisfied, by any excuse that mary could make, so he at once resorted to force. mary screamed at the top of her voice. now the negro dan was just in the act of passing the barn at the time, when he heard mary's voice he rushed into the barn, and demanded in a loud voice what was the matter? when, to his horror, he beheld william upon the barn floor, and mary struggling but in vain to rise. william, instead of desisting from his brutal purpose, with a dreadful oath ordered dan to clear out; but the sight of the outrage on her whom, i now firmly believe he loved better than his own soul, made poor dan completely forget himself--and made him forget too, in that fatal moment what he afterwards wished he had remembered. dan seized a pitchfork and plunged it into young tillotson's back; the prongs went in between his shoulders, and one of them had penetrated the left lung. young tillotson expired almost immediately, and dan seeing what he had done, ran off at once to the woods and swamps, and was seen no more for about two months. mrs. tillotson, who had heard mary scream, was on the balcony, and called out to dan to know the cause, dan made no reply but took to his heels. mrs. tillotson alarmed at this, and suspecting at once that something was wrong, hastened to the barn, followed by william's wife who happened to be there, and when they saw poor william's corpse, and mary standing by, they both fainted. poor mary, frightened to death, turned into the house and informed her young mistress, susannah, of what had happened. miss susannah spread the alarm, and called some of the slaves to her assistance. she went to the barn and found her mother and sister-in-law lying in a state of insensibility, and her brother william dead. with the assistance of old aunt hannah and several of the female servants, the two ladies were somewhat restored to consciousness; and william was carried into the house by the servants. the doctor himself was away from home attending one of his patients, who was very sick. when mrs. tillotson had somewhat recovered, she sent for mary and enquired as to how william came by his death in the barn. mary told the whole story as previously related in the presence of about sixty or seventy of the neighbours, who had collected together on hearing of the murder. of course mary's story met with no credit from her mistress, and poor mary stood in the eyes of all as an accomplice in the conspiracy to murder young tillotson. when the doctor arrived it was dark, and after seeing the corpse and hearing from his wife the story that she had made up for him, he called for mary, but she was nowhere to be found. the house and plantation were searched in all directions, but no mary was discovered. at last, when they had all given over looking for her, towards midnight, a cart drove up to the door. doctor, said the driver, i have a dead negro here, and i'm told she belongs to you. the doctor came out with a lantern, and as i stood by my master's carriage, waiting for him to come out and go home, the doctor ordered me to mount the cart and look at the corpse; i did so, and looked full in that face by the light of the lantern, and saw and knew, notwithstanding the horrible change that had been effected by the work of death, upon those once beautiful features, it was mary. poor mary, driven to distraction by what had happened, she had sought salvation in the depths of the chesapeake bay that night. next day the neighbourhood was searched throughout, and the country was placarded for dan; and doctor tillotson and mr. burmey, young william's father-in-law, offered one thousand dollars for him alive, and five hundred for him dead; and although every blackleg in the neighbourhood was on the alert, it was full two months before he was captured. at length poor dan was caught and brought by the captors to mr. burmey's, where he was tried principally by burmey's two sons, peter and john, and that night was kept in irons in burmey's cellar. the next day dan was led into the field in the presence of about three thousand of us. a staple was driven into the stump of a tree, with a chain attached to it, and one of his handcuffs was taken off and brought through the chain, and then fastened on his hand again. a pile of pine wood was built around him. at eight o'clock the wood was set on fire, and when the flames blazed round upon the wretched man, he began to scream and struggle in a most awful manner. many of our women fainted, but not one of us was allowed to leave until the body of poor dan was consumed. the unearthly sounds that came from the blazing pile, as poor dan writhed in the agonies of death, it is beyond the power of my pen to describe. after a while all was silent, except the cracking of the pine wood as the fire gradually devoured it with the prize that it contained. poor dan had ceased to struggle--he was at rest. mr. burmey's two sons, peter and john, were the ringleaders in this execution, and the pair of them hardly ever saw a sober day from one month to another; and at the execution of dan, peter was so drunk that he came nigh sharing the same fate. it was not a year after the roasting of dan that the two brothers were thrashing wheat in the barn, which stood about a quarter of a mile from the house, and being in march, and an uncommon windy day, they had taken their demijohn full of brandy in order to keep the cold out of their bones, as it was their belief that a dram or two had that effect; so they were drinking and thrashing and drinking again until they reeled over dead drunk upon the floor. that same night the barn took fire over them. the first thing that excited the alarm of my master's negroes on tillotson's plantation was a black smoke issuing from the barn. suddenly there was a rush from all parts of the plantation, but it was all to no purpose, for scarcely had we got half way before we saw the flames bursting out on every side of the barn, still we continued to run as fast as we could. when we arrived we found the barn door shut and fastened inside. this mr. peter and mr. john had done to keep out the wind which was very high. when old mr. burmey arrived with his daughter-in-law, peter's wife, the first thing demanded was, where is your masters?--oh, my children! my children! while mrs. peter screamed, my husband! my husband! oh, pa! oh, pa! the strength of the flames inside at length burst open the barn door, when we beheld through the red flames the figures of the two wretched brothers lying side by side dead drunk and helpless upon the floor. the fire rapidly seized upon everything around. at this moment mrs. peter burmey rushed into the flames to save her husband, but just as she attempted to enter, the beam over the door fell in upon her head, and struck her back senseless and suffocated to the ground; but, notwithstanding the most intense hatred to burmey and his family, we negroes rushed forward to rescue them--but all in vain. after getting miserably scorched we were compelled to retreat and give them over, and with bleeding hearts to behold the fire consume their bodies. the barn was rapidly consigned to ashes, which being speedily swept away by the violence of the wind, left the victims side by side crisped skeletons on the ground. this was the dreadful end of the two chief actors in the roasting of poor dan. when i arrived at the age of , my master told me i must marry jane, one of the slaves. we had been about five months married when she gave birth to a child, i then asked who was the father of the child, and she said the master, and i had every reason to believe her, as the child was nearly white, had blue eyes and veins, yet notwithstanding this we lived happily together, and i felt happy and comfortable, and i should never have thought of running away if she had not been sold. we lived together six years and had two children. shortly after my marriage my master's wife died, and when he fixed upon tillotson's daughter as his future wife, she made a condition that all female slaves whom he had at any time been intimate with must be sold, and my wife being one was sold with the children as well as any other female slaves. my wife was sold while i was away on an errand at centreville, and any one situated as i was may imagine my feelings when i say that i left them in the morning all well and happy, in entire ignorance of any evil, and returned to find them all sold and gone away, and from then until now i have never seen any of them. i went to my master and complained to him, when he told me he knew nothing about it, as it was all done by his wife. i then went to her and she said she knew nothing about, as it was all done by my master, and i could obtain no other satisfaction; i then went to my master to beg him to sell me to the same master as he had sold my wife, but he said he could not do that, as she was sold to a trader. from to i was considered one of the most devout christians among the whole black population, and under this impression i firmly believed to run away from my master would be to sin against the holy ghost--for such we are taught to believe--but from the time of my wife's being sent away, i firmly made up my mind to take the first opportunity to run away. i had learned that if a black man wished to escape he will have no chance to do so unless he be well supplied with money; to attain this i arranged with a dutchman to steal small pigs, chickens, and any poultry that was possible to lay my hands on, and thus i proceeded for nine or ten months, when i found my accumulation to be dollars. among the plantations i visited was mr. rogers', and he had three large bloodhounds let loose about nine at night, but i had made them acquainted with me by feeding them at intervals quietly, unknown to him or his people, and this enabled me to carry on my depredations on his plantation quietly and unmolested. rogers having suspected these depredations, and not being able to find the thief, set a patrol to watch, who, armed with a double-barreled gun, fixed himself under a fence about seven feet high, surrounded with bushes; but this happened to be my usual way of going to his plantation, and as i made my usual spring to go over, i fell right on the top of his head, and he shouted lustily, and i shouted also, neither of us knowing what really had occurred, and our fears imagining the worst and causing him to run one way and me another. after travelling about a quarter of a mile i thought of my bag, which had been dropped during my fright, and knowing that my master's initials were on the bag, and the consequences of the bag being found would be fearful, i determined to return for the bag and recover it, or die in the attempt. i searched for and found a club, then i returned to the spot and found the bag there, and by the side of it lay the gun of the patrol, and i picked the bag up and went home, and this narrow escape caused me to determine to give up my thieving expeditions for the obtaining of money from that time. about one week after the occurrence with the patrol, i took one of my master's horses to go to a negro dance, and on my return the patrols were so numerous on the road that i was unable to return home without observation, and it being past the usual hour for being at home, i was so afraid that when two of them observed me i left the horse and took to my feet, and made my way to the woods, where i remained all day, afraid to go home for fear of the consequences. but at night i returned to the barn, where my money was hid in the hay, and having recovered it, i started for dr. tillotson's (my master's father-in-law), and told him my master had sent for a horse which he had lent him a few weeks before. after enquiring of the overseer if the horse had not gone home, and finding it had not, he ordered it to be given up to me. i mounted the horse and rode off for baltimore, a distance of miles, where i arrived early in the morning, when i abandoned the horse and took to the woods, and remained there all day. at night i ventured to a farm-house, and having a club with me, i knocked over two barn fowl, and took them to my place in the woods; i struck a light with the tinder, made a fire of brushwood, roasted them before the fire, and enjoyed a hearty meal without seasoning or bread. the following night i went to the city, and meeting with some blacks i entered into conversation with them, and i asked if they had heard of any runaways at baltimore, they said they had heard of one jake having run from eastern shore, and showed me the bill at the corner which had been put up that evening. i knew it was no other than me, so i bid them good evening, and left them saying i was going to church. i took a back road for milford, in delaware, and travelled all night; towards morning i met four men, who demanded to know to whom i belonged, my answer was taking to my heels, and the chase was hot on my part for about half-an-hour, when i got into a swamp surrounded by young saplings, where i remained about two hours, and as soon as it was sufficiently dark to venture out, i made my way to a barn where i secreted myself all day, and in the morning i watched the house to prevent a surprise. at night i again commenced travelling, and at one o'clock in the morning arrived at milford, where finding no means of crossing the bridge into the town, without being seen by the patrol, i was forced to swim across the river. i passed through milford, and was ten miles on my road to wilmington before daybreak, where i again made for the woods, and got into a marshy part and was swamped. i was struggling the whole night to liberate myself, but in vain, until the light appeared, when i saw some willows, and by laying hold of them i succeeded in extricating myself about seven o'clock in the morning. i then made my way to a pond of water, and pulled my clothes off, and washed the mud from them, and hung them up to dry; and as soon as they were dry and night arrived, i put them on, and continued my journey that night in the woods, as the moon was so bright; though i did not progress much on my way, it was more safe. towards morning i saw a farm-house, and being hungry i resolved to venture to ask for something to eat. waiting my opportunity, i saw three men leave the house, and judging there then only remained women, i went up and asked if they would please to give me something to eat. they invited me in, and gave me some bread and milk, pitying my condition greatly, one of them telling me that her husband was an abolitionist, and if i would wait until his return he would place me out of the reach of my pursuers. i did not then understand what was an abolitionist, and said i would rather not stay. she then saw my feet, which were awful from what i had undergone, and asked me if i should not like to have a pair of shoes, and i said i should. they went in search of a pair up the stairs, and i heard one say to the other, "he answers the description of a slave for which dollars are offered." when they returned i was sitting still in the position i was in before they went up stairs. she said to the other, "i will go and see after the cows;" and the other answered, "dont be long." but my suspicion was confirmed that going after the cows was only a pretence; and when i thought the other had got far enough away, i laid hold of the remaining one and tied her to the bedstead; went into the closet and took a leg of mutton, and other articles, such as bread and butter, and made my way out as quick as possible; and when i got outside i rubbed my feet in some cow dung to prevent the scent of the bloodhounds, and took to the woods, where i found a sand hole, in which i remained all day. the night was dark, with a drizzling rain; being very fit for travelling, i started again on my journey, but being very cautious, i only managed about miles that night. towards morning i met with a black, who told me that to chester, in pennsylvania, was only twenty-six miles. during the day i again remained in the woods, where i met a black man of the name of geordie, whom i knew, belonging to rogers, and who had left two months before me, and he said he had been in those woods five weeks. his appearance was shocking, and from his long suffering and hardships he was difficult to know; and, as he was hungry, i divided with him my leg of mutton and bread and butter, and i was telling him how unwise it was to remain so long in one place, when we were suddenly aroused by the well-known sounds of the hounds. in my fear and surprise i was attempting for a tree, but was unable to mount before they were upon me. in this emergency i called out the name of one of the dogs, who was more familiar with me than the others, called fly, and hit my knee to attract her attention and it had the desired effect. she came fondling towards me, accompanied by another called jovial. i pulled out my knife and cut the throat of fly, upon which jovial made an attempt to lay hold of me and i caught him by the throat, which caused me to lose my knife, but i held him fast by the windpipe, forcing my thumbs with as much force as possible, and anxiously wishing for my knife to be in hands. i made a powerful effort to fling him as far away as possible, and regained my knife; but when i had thrown him there he lay, throttled to death. not so, fly, who weltered in blood, and rolled about howling terribly, but not killed. the other two hounds caught geordie, and killed him. after this terrible escape i went to a barn, and was looking through a hole and saw two men come to where geordie's body lay, when a knot of people gathered round, and about ten or eleven o'clock he was buried. i shortly went to sleep among the hay, and slept so soundly that it was the morning after before i was awoke by a boy coming to get hay for the horses, and the prong of the fork caught me by the thigh, which caused me to jump up and stare at the boy, and he at me, when he dropped the fork and ran away. as soon as i recovered, i slipped down the hay-rack, and met six men and the boy, who demanded who i was and what i was doing there. not knowing what to say, i stood speechless for a long time, and thought my hopes of freedom were now at an end. they again repeated their question, but i made no reply. i was then taken before a magistrate, when i was accused of being in the barn for some unlawful purpose; and as i made no answer to any questions put to me, they concluded i was dumb. when i remembered i had not given evidence of speech, i determined to act as if i was dumb; and when the magistrate called to me, i also thought deafness was often united with dumbness, and i made my mind up to act both deaf and dumb, and when he called "boy, come here," i took no notice, and did not appear to hear, until one of the officers led me from the box nearer to the magistrate, who demanded my name, where from, and to whom i belonged, and what i was doing in the barn, which i still appeared not to hear, and merely looked at him, and at last acted as if i was deaf and dumb, and so effectually that he discharged me, convinced i was a valueless deaf and dumb nigger; and when told by the officer to go, i dared not move for fear of being found out in my acting, and would not move until i was forced out of the door, and for some time (for fear of detection) i acted deaf and dumb in the streets, to the fear of women and children, until it was dark, when i made for the woods, where i remained until eleven o'clock at night, when i again resumed my journey to chester (pennsylvania), which i had been told was only twenty-six miles. shortly after resuming my journey, i saw four horses in the field, and i determined, if possible to possess one of them, and i chased them two hours, but did not succeed in catching one; so i was obliged to go on walking again, but shortly met with a gentleman's horse on the road which i mounted, and rode into chester, and let the horse go where he liked. in chester i met with a quaker, named sharpies, who took me to his house, gave me the best accommodation, and called his friends to see me, never seemed weary of asking questions of negro life in the different plantations. i let them see the money i had, which was in notes, and much damaged by my swimming across the river, but they kindly passed it for me, and i got other money for it; and i was presented with two suits of clothes. he sent in a waggon to philadelphia and recommended me to a gentleman (who being alive, i wish not to reveal), where i remained in his employ about five weeks. this kind friend persuaded me to make for canada; and it was with much reluctance i at last complied. my reluctance was in consequence of understanding that canada was a very cold place, and i did not relish the idea of going on that account; and as a gentleman said he could find employment for me at derby, near philadelphia, i went and worked there three years, during which time i was a regular attendant at the methodist free church, consisting entirely of colored people; at which place i heard the scriptures expounded in a different way by colored ministers--as i found that god had made colored as well as white people: as he had made of one blood all the families of the earth, and that all men were free and equal in his sight; and that he was no respecter of persons whatever the color: but whoever worked righteousness was accepted of him. being satisfied that i had not sinned against the holy ghost by obtaining my freedom, i enlisted in the church, and became one of the members thereof. about this time, mr. roberts, for whom i worked, failed in business, and his property was seized for debt and sold, thereby throwing me out of employment. i was arrested and taken back to maryland, where i was placed in prison, with a collar round my neck for eleven days. on the twelfth day my master came to see me, and of course i begged of him to take me home and let me go to work. no, nigger, said master--i have no employment for a vagabond of your stamp; but i'm going to order that collar off your neck, not because i think that you are sufficiently punished, but because there are some gentlemen coming through the jail to-morrow, and they want to purchase some negroes, so you had better do your best to get a master amongst them--and mind you don't tell them that ever you ran away, for if you do none of them will buy you. now i will give you a good character, notwithstanding you have done your best to injure me, a good master, and you have even tried to rob me by running away--still i'll do my best to get you a good master, for my bible teaches me to do good for evil. the next day i was called out with forty other slaves, belonging to different owners in the county, and we were marched into the doctor's vestry for examination; here the doctor made us all strip--men and women together naked, in the presence of each other while the examination went on. when it was concluded, thirty-eight of us were pronounced sound, and three unsound; certificates were made out and given to the auctioneer to that effect. after dressing ourselves we were all driven into the slave sty directly under the auction block, when the jail warder came and gave to every slave a number, my number was twenty. here, let me explain, for the better information of the reader, that in the inventory of the slaves to be sold all go by number--one, two, three, and so on; and if a man and his family are to be sold in one lot, then one number covers them all; but if separate, then they have all different numbers. an old friend of mine, belonging to william steel, was also with his wife and six children in the same sty, all to be sold. the youngest was a babe in arms, the other five were large enough to walk; his number was twenty-one, but his wife's number was thirty-three, and notwithstanding the mournful idea of parting with relations and friends on the plantation, up to this moment they had indulged a hope of being sold as a family, together; but the numbers revealed the awful disappointment. even in this hoped for consolation, the painful distress into which this poor woman was thrown, it is beyond my ability to describe. the anguish of her soul, evinced by the mournful gaze first at her children and then at her husband, made me forget for the time being, my own sufferings and sorrows. her looks seemed to say to her husband--these are your children, i am their mother--there is no other being in this world that i have to look to for love and protection; cant you help me? i am very much mistaken if these were not the thoughts running through that poor broken-hearted mother's mind. reuben, for that was his name, called his wife and children into one corner of the sty, and repeated a verse of a hymn which may be found in watts' hymn book:-- "ah, whither shall i go, burthened, or sick, or faint; to whom shall i my troubles show, and pour out my complaint." not daring to sing it for fear of disturbing the sale, they both knelt down with the children, and reuben offered up a long and fervent prayer. in the interval of his prayer nineteen of the slaves were sold, and he had not concluded when my number being twenty was called, and my master handed me out under the hammer; when, after a few preliminary remarks on the part of the auctioneer, my master mounted the auction block and recommended me as a good field hand, a good cook, waiter, hostler, a coachman, gentle and willing, and above all, free from the disease of running away. so after a short and spirited bidding i went at , dollars. here the sale policeman, whose business it was to take charge of the negroes sold until bills were settled and papers made out, led me from the block outside the crowd, and placing me by a cart, put on a pair of iron handcuffs; but being well acquainted with me as a troublesome tricky negro, he put the handcuff on my right wrist--took the other cuff through the cart wheel and round the spoke, and then locked it on my left hand, so that if i did start to run, i should carry the cart and all with me. number twenty-one was now called, and out came poor reuben, and was placed under the hammer; his weight was said to be two hundred pounds, his age thirty two. poor sally, his wife, unable any longer to control her feelings, made her way out of the slave pen, with her babe in her arms, followed by her five small children, and she threw one of her arms around reuben's neck; and now commenced a scene that beggars all description. her countenance, though mild and beautiful, was by the keenest pain and sorrow distorted and disfigured: her voice soft and gentle, accompanied with heart rending gestures, appealed to the slave buyer in tones so very mournful, that i thought it might have even melted cruelty itself to some pity--coming as it did from a woman:--oh! master, master! buy me and my children with my husband--do, pray; and this was the only crime the poor woman committed for which she suffered death on the spot. her master stepped up from behind her, and with the butt end of his carriage whip loaded with lead, struck her a blow on the side of the head or temples, and she fell her full length to the ground. poor reuben stooped to raise her up, but was prevented by the jail policeman, who seized him by the neck and led him over close to where i stood: and whilst he was in the act of selecting a pair of handcuffs for reuben, voice after voice was heard in the crowd--she is dead! she is dead! but what was the effect of these words upon reuben--one of the most easy, good-tempered, innocent, inoffensive, and, in his way, religious slaves that i ever knew--satisfied apparently that sally's death was a fact--he tore himself loose from the policeman and made his way through the crowd to where poor sally lay, and exclaimed, oh! sally! o lord! by this time the policeman, who had followed him, undertook to drag him back out of the crowd, but reuben, with one blow of his fist, stretched the policeman on the ground. reuben's pain and sorrow, mingled with his religious hope, seemed now to terminate in despair, and transformed the inoffensive man into a raging demon. he rushed to a cart which supported a great number of spectators, just opposite the auction block, and tore out a heavy cart stave, made of red oak, and before the panic-stricken crowd could arrest his arm, he struck his master to the ground, and beat his brains literally out. the crowd then tried to close upon him, but reuben, mounted with both feet upon the dead body of his master, and with his back against the cart wheel--with the cart stave kept the whole crowd at bay for the space of two or three minutes, when a gentleman behind the cart climbed upon the outside wheel and fired the pistol at him, and shot poor reuben through the head. he fell dead about six yards from where the dead body of his beloved sally lay, and where his children were screaming terribly. an indescribable thrill of horror crept through my whole soul, as i gazed from the cart wheel to which i was ironed, upon the dead bodies first of reuben and then his wife, who but a few moments before i had seen kneeling in solemn prayer, before what they considered the throne of grace--and their master, whom i heard that very morning calling on god not only to damn his negroes, but to damn himself, now, in less than thirty minutes, all three standing before the awful judgment seat. after witnessing this dreadful scene i was led into hagerstown jail, where i remained until my new master was ready, when i went with him to memphis, tennessee; but the remembrance of this awful tragedy haunted my mind, and even my dreams, for many months. reuben was the son of old uncle reuben and aunt dinah, and had been swopped away when about twelve years old to william steele, for a pair of horses and a splendid carriage. like his father and mother he was very religious, and i had often been to his prayer meetings, where poor reuben would exhort and preach. mr. cobb had made him a class-leader long before he died; and, in fact, we all reverenced reuben after the death of his father as the most moderate and gifted man amongst us. i had always loved reuben, but never knew how much until that fatal day. after i went to memphis i composed some verses on the life and death of reuben, which run as follows:-- poor reuben he fell at his post, he's gone; like stephen, full of the holy ghost, poor reuben's gone away. he's gone where pleasure never dies, he's gone, in the golden chariot to the skies, poor reuben's gone away. for many years he faced the storm, he's gone; and the cruel lash he suffered long; poor reuben's gone away. but now he's left the land of death, he's gone; and entered heaven's happiness; poor reuben's gone away. his friends he bid a long adieu, he's gone; when heaven opened to his view, poor reuben's gone away; his pain and sorrow of heart are passed, he's gone; he arrived in heaven just safe at last; poor reuben's gone away. poor sally, his wife, lays by his side, he's gone; for whom poor reuben so nobly died; poor reuben's gone away; a mournful look on her he cast, he's gone, five minutes before he breathed his last, poor reuben's gone away. in jordan the angel heard him cry, he's gone; elijah's chariot was passing by, poor reuben's gone away; his body lays in the earth quite cold, he's gone, but now he walks in the streets of gold, poor reuben's gone away. after working in tennessee three years and seven months, my master hired me to mr. steele. this gentleman was going to new orleans, and i was to act as his servant, but i contrived to get away from him, and went to the house of a free black, named gibson, and after working four days on the levy (or wharf) i succeeded in secreting myself in a ship, well supplied by mr. gibson and friends with provisions, and in the middle hold under the cotton i remained until the ship arrived at new york; my being there was only known to two persons on board, the steward and the cook, both colored persons. when the vessel was docked in the pier thirty-eight, north river, i managed to make my way through the booby hatch on to the deck, and was not seen by the watchman on board who supposed i was a stranger, or what they call a "river thief." i made a jump to escape over the bow and fell into the river; but before he could raise an alarm, i had reached the next dock, got out and made my way off as fast as possible. i wandered about the streets until morning, not knowing where to go, during which time my clothes had dried on my body. about ten o'clock in the forenoon i met with a colored man named grundy, who took me to his house, and gave me something to eat, and enquired where i came from and where i belonged; i hesitated about telling my true situation, but after considerable conversation with him, i ventured to confide in him, and when i had given him, all the particulars, he took me to the underground railway office and introduced me to the officials, who having heard my story determined to send me to canada, forty dollars being raised to find me clothes, and pay my fare to toronto, but i was only taken to utica, in the state of new york, where i agreed to stop with mr. cleveland and coachman. in november i was sent to post-street on an errand, where i saw my master, who laid hold of me, and called to his aid a dozen more, when i was taken before a magistrate, and that night i was placed in prison, and next day brought before a court, and ordered to be given up to my master. i was taken back to prison that afternoon, and irons placed on my ancles, and hand-cuffed; but, previous to leaving, mr. cleveland and family came to take a kind leave of me, and gave me religious advice and encouragement, telling me to put my trust in the lord, and i was much affected at his little girl, who, when i was placed in the waggon screamed and cried as if she would fall into fits, telling her father to have me brought back, for these men intended to murder me. the waggon drove to the railway depot, and i was placed in the cars, and at three o'clock we started for buffalo, where i was placed on the steam boat "milwaukie," for chicago, illinois, on lake erie. the next night i arrived in cleveland, and was taken from the boat, and placed in prison, until my master was ready to proceed. while in prison a complaint was made that a fugitive slave was placed in irons, contrary to the law of the state of ohio, and after investigation, my irons were ordered to be taken off. on the monday following i was taken on board the steam boat "sultana" bound for sandusky, ohio, and on my way there, the black people, in large numbers, made an attempt to rescue me, and so desperate was the attack, that several officers were wounded, and the attempt failed. i was placed in the cabin, and at dinner time the steam boat started, and had about half a mile to go before she got into the lake, and, on the way, the captain came down to me, and cautiously asked me if i could swim--i answered i could, when he told me to stand close by a window, which he pointed out, and when the paddle wheels ceased i must jump out. i stood ready, and as soon as the wheels ceased i made a spring and jumped into the water, and after going a short distance, i looked up and saw the captain standing on the promenade deck, who, when he saw i was clear of the wheels, waved a signal for the engineer to start the vessel. i had much difficulty in preventing myself from being drawn back by the suction of the wheels, and before i had gone far i saw my master and heard him shout, "here, here, stop captain; yonder goes my nigger," which was echoed by shouts from the passengers; but the boat continued her course, while i made my way as fast as possible to cleveland lighthouse, where i arrived in safety, and received by an innumerable company of both blacks and whites. i was then sent to a place called oberlin, where i remained a week, and from there i went to zanesville, ohio, where i stopped for four months, when i was taken up on suspicion of breaking the windows of a store, and while in prison i was seen by a mr. donelson, who declared to the keeper that i belonged to him. i knew him well as the father-in-law of mr. steel, with whom i travelled to new orleans. he was also a methodist minister. he had me discharged by paying the damage, and making affidavit that i was his slave, i was placed in prison, and kept in two weeks, when i was brought before the court for trial; and mr. donelson procured papers showing that he had purchased me as a runaway. i therefore saw it was of no use prolonging the matter, and i acknowledged myself. i was then taken and put into the stage and taken to cincinnati, ohio, where i was placed upon the steam boat, _pike_, no. , to be taken to louisville, kentucky, and there placed in prison a week, and on thursday brought out to auction and sold to mr. silas wheelbanks for , dollars, with whom i remained about twelve months, and acted as coachman and waiting in the house. upon a saturday evening, my master came and told me to make my carriage and horses so that he could see his face in them, and be ready to take my young mistress, mary, down to centreville, to see her grandmother. so i prepared my horses and carriage, and on monday was ready. the lady got in, and when about seven miles i drove into a blind road, distant about two miles from any house, where i made the horses stand still, and i ordered miss mary to get out: and when she asked me why, i thundered out at the top of my voice, "get out, and ask no questions." she commenced crying, and asked if i was going to kill her. i said "no, if she made no noise," i helped her out, and having no rope, i took her shawl and fastened her to a tree by the roadside; and for fear she should untie the knot and spread the alarm, i took off her veil, and with it tied her hands behind her. i then mounted the box, and drove off in the direction of lexington, and at a place called elton i stripped the horses of their harness and let them go. i made my way to louisville and arrived about o'clock in the evening. i walked about the dock until _pike_ no. , the same vessel before spoken of, was nearly ready for starting and i got a gentleman's trunk on my shoulder and went on board, and when i had been paid six cents for carrying the trunk i watched a chance, and jumped down the cotton hold and stowed myself away among the cotton bags and the next day was in cincinnati, ohio, where i arrived about daylight in the morning. i waited until the passangers had left the boat and saw neither officer nor engineer about when i ventured to go on shore. on starting up the hill i met my master's nephew, who at once seized hold of me, and a sharp struggle ensued. he called for help but i threw him and caught a stone and struck him on the head, which caused him to let go, when i ran away as fast my legs could carry me, pursued by a numerous crowd, crying "stop thief." i mounted a fence in the street, and ran though an alley into an irishman's yard, and through his house, knocking over the irishman's wife and child, and the chair on which she sat, the husband at the time sat eating at the table, jumped into a cellar on the opposite side of the street without being seen by any one, i made my way into the back cellar and went up the chimney, where i sat till dark, and at night came down and slept in the cellar. in the morning the servant girl came down into the cellar, and when i saw she was black i thought it would be best to make myself known to her, which i did, and she told me i had better remain where i was and keep quiet, and she would go and tell mr. nickins, one of the agents of the underground railway. she brought me down a bowl of coffee and some bread and meat, which i relished very much, and that night she opened the cellar door gently, and called to me to come out, and introduced me to mr. nickins and two others, who took me to a house in sixth street, where i remained until the next night, when they dressed me in female's clothes, and i was taken to the railway depot in a carriage--was put in the car, and sent to cleveland, ohio where i was placed on board a steam boat called the _indiana_, and carried down lake erie to the city of buffalo, new york, and the next day placed on the car for the niagara falls, and received by a gentleman named jones, who took me in his carriage to a place called lewiston, where i was placed on board a steamboat called _chief justice robinson_. i was furnished with a ticket and twelve dollars. three hours after starting i was in toronto, upper canada, where i lived for three years and sang my song of deliverance,-- * * * * * what the "times" said of the secession in (from the _liverpool daily post_, feb. , .) the following article appeared as a "leader" in the _times_ on the th of january, :-- "the state of south carolina has seceded from the union by a unanimous vote of her legislature, and it now remains to be seen whether any of the other southern states will follow her example, and what course the federal authorities will pursue under the circumstances. while we wait for further information on these points, it may be well to consider once again the cause of quarrel which has thus begun to rend asunder the mightiest confederation which the world has yet beheld. one of the prevalent delusions of the age in which we live is to regard democracy as equivalent to liberty, and the attribution of power to the poorest and worst educated citizens of the state as a certain way to promote the purest liberality of thought and the most beneficial course of action. let those who hold this opinion examine the quarrel at present raging in the united states, and they will be aware that democracy, like other forms of government, may co-exist with any course of action or any set of principles. between north and south there is at this moment raging a controversy which goes as deep as any controversy can into the elementary principles of human nature and the sympathies and antipathies which in so many men supply the place of reason and reflection. the north is for freedom, the south is for slavery. the north is for freedom of discussion, the south represses freedom of discussion with the tar-brush and the pine fagot. yet the north and south are both democracies--nay, possess almost exactly similar institutions, with this enormous divergence in theory and practice. it is not democracy that has made the north the advocate of freedom, or the south the advocate of slavery. democracy is a quality which appears on both sides, and may therefore be rejected, as having no influence over the result. from the sketch of the history of slavery which was furnished us by our correspondent in new york last week, we learn that at the time of the american revolution slavery existed in every state in the union except massachusetts; but we also learn that the great men who directed that revolution--washington, jefferson, madison, patrick henry, and hamilton--were unanimous in execrating the practice of slavery, and looked forward to the time when it would cease to contaminate the soil of free america. the abolition of the slave trade, which subsequently followed, was regarded by its warmest advocates as not only beneficial in itself, but as a long step towards the extinction of slavery altogether, it was not foreseen that certain free and democratic communities would arise which would apply themselves to the honourable office of breeding slaves, to be consumed on the free and democratic plantations of the south, and of thus replacing the african slave trade by an internal traffic in human flesh, carried on under circumstances of almost equal atrocity through the heart of a free and democratic nation. democracy has verily a strong digestion, and one not to be interfered with by trifles. "but the most melancholy part of the matter is, that during the seventy years for which the american confederacy has existed, the whole tone of sentiment with regard to slavery has, in the southern states at least, undergone a remarkable change. slavery used to be treated as a thoroughly exceptional institution--as an evil legacy of evil times--as a disgrace to a constitution founded on the natural freedom and independence of mankind. there was hardly a political leader of any note who had not some plan for its abolition. jefferson himself, the greatest chief of the democracy, had in the early part of this century speculated deeply on the subject; but the united states became possessed of louisiana and florida, they have conquered texas, they have made arkansas and missouri into states; and these successive acquisitions have altered entirely the view with which slavery is regarded. perhaps as much as anything, from the long license enjoyed by the editors of the south of writing what they pleased in favour of slavery, with the absolute certainty that no one would be found bold enough to write anything on the other side, and thus make himself a mark for popular vengeance, the subject has come to be written on in a tone of ferocious and cynical extravagance, which is to an european eye absolutely appalling. the south has become enamoured of her shame. free labour is denounced as degrading and disgraceful; the honest triumphs of the poor man who works his way to independence are treated with scorn and contempt. it is asserted that what we are in the habit of regarding as the honorable pursuits of industry incapacitate a nation for civilisation and refinement, and that no institutions can be really free and democratic which do not rest, like those of athens and of rome, on a broad substratum of slavery. so far from treating slavery as an exceptional institution, it is regarded by these democratic philosophers as the natural state of a great portion of the human race; and, so far from admitting that america ought to look forward to its extinction, it is contended that the property in human creatures ought to be as universal as the property in land or in tame animals. "nor have these principles been merely inert or speculative. for the last ten or twelve years slavery has altered her tactics, and from a defensive she has become an aggressive power. every compromise which the moderation of former times had erected to stem the course of this monster evil has been swept away, and that not by the encroachments of the north, but by the aggressive ambition of the south. with a majority in congress and in the supreme court of the united states, the advocates of slavery have entered on a career the object of which would seem to be to make their favourite institution conterminous with the limits of the republic. they have swept away the missouri compromise, which limited slavery to the tract south of degrees of north latitude. they have forced upon the north, in the fugitive slave bill, a measure which compels them to lend their assistance to the south in the recovery of their bondmen. in the case of kansas they have sought by force of arms to assert the right of bringing slaves into a free territory, and in the dred scott case they obtained an extrajudicial opinion from the supreme court, which would have placed all the territories at their disposal. all this while the north has been resisting, feebly and ineffectually, this succession of southern aggressions. all that was desired was peace, and that peace could not be obtained. "while these things were done the south continued violently to upbraid the abolitionists of the north as the cause of all their troubles, and the ladies of south carolina showered presents and caresses on the brutal assailant of mr. sumner. in the north endeavoured to elect a president who though fully recognising the right of the south to its slave property, was opposed to its extension in the territories. the north were defeated, and submitted almost without a murmur to the result. on the present occasion the south has submitted to the same ordeal, but not with the same success. they have taken their chance of electing a president of their own views, but they have failed. mr. lincoln, like colonel freemont, fully recognises the right of the south to the institution of slavery, but, like him, he is opposed to its extension. this cannot be endured. with a majority in both houses of congress and in the supreme court of the united states, the south cannot submit to a president who is not their devoted servant. unless every power in the constitution is to be strained in order to promote the progress of slavery, they will not remain in the union; they will not wait to see whether they are injured, but resent the first check to their onward progress as an intolerable injury. this, then, is the result of the history of slavery. it began as a tolerated, it has ended as an aggressive institution, and if it now threatens to dissolve the union, it is not because it has anything to fear for that which it possesses already, but because it has received a check to its hopes of future acquisition." * * * * * secession condemned in a southern convention. speech of the hon. a.h. stephens, made at the georgia state convention, held january, , for the purpose of determining whether the state of georgia was to secede. notwithstanding this remarkable speech of an extraordinary man, the convention decided on secession. mr. stephens was afterwards elected vice president of the so-called confederacy. this distinction shows the estimate of his powers, and adds force to the deliverance, the prophetic declarations of which are now being fulfilled to the letter. this step (of secession) once taken, can never be recalled; and all the baleful and withering consequences that must follow, will rest on the convention for all coming time. when we and our posterity shall see our lovely south desolated by the demon of war, which this act of yours will inevitably invite and call forth; when our green fields of waving harvests shall be trodden down by the murderous soldiery and fiery car of war sweeping over our land; our temples of justice laid in ashes; all the horrors and desolations of war upon us; who, but this convention will be held responsible for it? and but him who shall have given his vote for this unwise and ill-timed measure, as i honestly think and believe, shall be held to strict account for this suicidal act by the present generation, and probably cursed and execrated by posterity for all coming time, for the wide and desolating ruin that will inevitably follow this act you now propose to perpetrate? pause, i entreat you, and consider for a moment what reason you can give that will even satisfy yourselves in calmer moments--what reasons you can give to your fellow-sufferers in this calamity that it will bring upon us. what reasons can you give to the nations of the earth to justify it? they will be the calm and deliberate judges in the case? and what cause or one overt act can you name or point, on which to rest the plea of justification? what right has the north assailed? what interest of the south has been invaded? what justice has been denied? and what claim founded in justice and right has been withheld? can either of you to-day name one governmental act of wrong deliberately and purposely done by the government of washington, of which the south has a right to complain? i challenge the answer. while, on the other hand, let me show the facts (and believe me, gentlemen, i am not here the advocate of the north; but i am here the friend, the firm friend and lover of the south and her institutions; and for this reason i speak thus plainly and faithfully--for yours, mine, and every other man's interest--the words of truth and soberness), of which i wish you to judge; and i will only state facts which are clear and undeniable, and which now stand as records authentic in the history of our country. when we of the south demanded the slave trade or importation of africans for the cultivation of our lands, did they not yield the right for twenty years? when we asked a three-fifths representation in congress for our slaves was it not granted? when we asked and demanded the return of any fugitive from justice, or the recovery of those persons owing labor and allegiance, was it not incorporated in the constitution, and again ratified and strengthened in the fugitive slave law of . but do you reply that in many instances they have violated this compact and have not been faithful to their engagements? as individual and local communities they may have done so; but not by the sanction of government for that has always been true to southern interest. again, gentleman, look at another fact, when we have asked that more territory should be added, that we might spread the institution of slavery, have they not yielded to our demands in giving us louisiana, florida, and texas out of which four states have been carved and ample territory for four more to be added in due time, if you by this unwise and impolitic act do not destroy this hope and perhaps, by it lose all, and have your last slave wrenched from you by stern military rule, as south america and mexico were; or by the vindictive decree of a universal emancipation, which may reasonably be expected to follow. but, again, gentlemen, what have we to gain by this proposed change of our relation to the general government? we have always had the control of it, and can yet, if we remain in it and are as united as we have been. we have had a majority of the presidents chosen from the south, as well as the control and management of most of those chosen from the north. we have had sixty years of southern presidents to their twenty-four, thus controlling the executive department. so of the judges of the supreme court, we have had eighteen from the south, and but eleven from the north; although nearly four-fifths of the judicial business has arisen in the free states, yet a majority of the court has always been from the south. this we have required so as to guard against any interpretation of the constitution unfavourable to us. in like manner we have been equally watchful to guard our interests in the legislative branch of government. in choosing the presiding president (_pro. tem._) of the senate, we have had twenty-four to their eleven. speakers of the house we have had twenty-three, and they twelve. while the majority of the representatives, from their greater population, have always been from the north, yet we have so generally secured the speaker, because he, to a greater extent, shapes and controls the legislation of the country. nor have we had less control in every other department of the general government. attorney-generals we have had fourteen, while the north have had but five. foreign ministers we have had eighty-six and they but fifty-four. while three-fourths of the business which demands diplomatic agents abroard is clearly from the free states, from their greater commercial interests, yet we have had the principal embassies, so as to secure the world's markets for our cotton, tobacco, and sugar on the best possible terms. we have had a vast majority of the higher offices of both army and navy, while a larger proportion of the soldiers and sailors were drawn from the north. equally so of clerks, auditors, and comptrollers filling the executive department, the records show for the last fifty years that of the three thousand thus employed, we have had more than two-thirds of the same, while we have but one-third of the white population of the republic. again, look at another item, and one, be assured, in which we have a great and vital interest; it is that of revenue, or means of supporting government. from official documents we learn that a fraction over three-fourths of the revenue collected for the support of government has uniformly been raised from the north. pause now while you can, gentlemen, and contemplate carefully and candidly these important items. leaving out of view, for the present, the countless millions of dollars you must expend in a war with the north; with tens of thousands of your sons and brothers slain in battle, and offered up as sacrifices upon the altar of your ambition--and for what? we ask again. is it for the overthrow of the american government, established by our common ancestry, cemented and built up by their sweat and blood, and founded on the broad principles of right, justice, and humanity? and, as such, i must declare here, as i have often done before, and which has been repeated by the greatest and wisest of statesmen and patriots in this and other lands, that it is the best and freest government--the most equal in its rights, the most just in its decisions, the most lenient in its measures, and the most inspiring in its principles to elevate the race of men, that the sun of heaven ever shone upon. now, for you to attempt to overthrow such a government as this, under which we have lived for more than three-quarters of a century--in which we have gained our wealth, our standing as a nation, our domestic safety while the elements of peril are around us, with peace and tranquility accompanied with unbounded prosperity and rights unassailed--is the height of _madness_, _folly_, and _wickedness_, to which i can neither lend my sanction nor my vote. * * * * * the confederate and the scottish clergy on slavery. some three months ago, we published an "address to christians throughout the world," by "the clergy of the confederate states of america;" and yesterday we published a reply to that address, signed by nearly a thousand ministers of the various churches in scotland. the confederate address begins with a solemn declaration that its scope is not political but purely religious--that it is sent forth "in the name of our holy christianity," and in the interests of "the cause of our most blessed master." immediately after making this declaration, however, the confederate divines commence a long series of arguments designed to prove that the war cannot restore the union; that the southern states had a right to secede; that having seceded, their separation from the north is final; that the proclamation of president lincoln, seeking to free the slaves is a most horrible and wicked measure, calling for "solemn protest on the part of the people of god throughout the world;" that the war against the confederacy has made no progress; and there seems no likelihood of the united states accomplishing any good by its continuance. this may be esteemed good gospel teaching in the confederate states, but in this country it would be thought to have very little connection with "the cause of our most blessed master." but the southern clergymen reserve for the close of their address the defence of the grand dogma of their religion--the doctrine that negro slavery as carried out in the southern states of america "is not incompatible with our holy christianity." stupendous as this proposition may appear to the british mind, it offers no difficulty to these learned and pious men. nay, they are not only convinced that slavery is "not incompatible" with christianity, but they boldly affirm that it is a divinely established institution, designed to promote the temporal happiness and eternal salvation of the negro race, and that all efforts to bring about the abolition of slavery are sacrilegious attempts to interfere with the "plans of divine providence." "we testify in the sight of god," say the clergy of the confederate states, "that the relation of master and slave among us, however we may deplore abuses in this, as in any other relations of mankind, is not incompatible with our holy christianity, and that the presence of the africans in our land is an occasion of gratitude on their behalf before _god_; seeing that thereby divine providence has brought them where missionaries of the cross may freely proclaim to them the word of salvation, and the work is not interrupted by agitating fanaticism. * * * we regard abolitionism as an interference with the plans of divine providence. it has not the signs of the lord's blessing. it is a fanaticism which puts forth no good fruit; instead of blessing, it has brought forth cursing; instead of love, hatred, instead of life, death--bitterness and sorrow, and pain; and infidelity and moral degeneracy follow its labours." there is no shirking of the question here. slavery is proclaimed to be the god-appointed means for the regeneration of the african race, and those who seek to bring about the emancipation of the slaves are branded as apostles of infidelity. upon these grounds, the confederate clergy appeal to christians throughout the world to aid them in creating a sentiment against this war--"against persecution for conscience' sake, against the ravaging of the church of god by fanatical invasion." in their reply to this appeal, the scottish ministers do what the confederate ministers professed their intention of doing--they avoid every thing in the shape of political discussion. among those gentlemen there is no doubt considerable difference of opinion respecting the two parties in the civil war; but they say nothing of that, and address themselves exclusively to the question of slavery. happily, there is no difference of opinion upon that point among men who take upon themselves the high office of preaching god's word in this country. the scottish ministers, in powerful and manly language, express the "deep grief, alarm, and indignation" with which they have seen men who profess to be servants of the lord jesus christ defend slavery as a christian institution, worthy of being perpetuated and extended, not only without regret, but with entire satisfaction and approval. "against all this," say they, "in the name of that holy faith and that thrice holy name which they venture to invoke on the side of a system which treats immortal and redeemed men as goods and chattels, denies them the rights of marriage and of home, consigns them to ignorance of the first rudiments of education, and exposes them to the outrages of lust and passion--we must earnestly and emphatically protest." we believe that this is the answer of the whole british community to the appeal of the confederate clergy. however much the public sentiment may have been misled respecting the rights and the wrongs of the two parties in the war, it cannot but be sound at the core on the subject of slavery. there are many thousands of people who have not the slightest sympathy with slavery, and who yet sympathise with the slave-owners because they have a vague impression that the southerners are brave gentlemen and the northerners base mechanics. they have managed by some strange process to separate the cause of slavery from the cause of the slaveowner, and while they rejoice at every success which tends towards the establishment of a confederacy which is to have slavery as the "head stone of the corner," they continue to pray as fervently as ever that the fetters of the slaves may be broken. all such people--and they constitute the mass of the southern sympathisers in this country--must be ready to repudiate with the sternest indignation this attempt to connect the holy religion of christ with the most horrible oppression which the cruelty and cupidity of man ever created. but it is not enough that the confederate defence of slavery should be rejected. it was proper that the scottish ministers of religion should deal only with the religious aspect of the question, but it is the duty of every man who feels that he has any influence in the world--and there is no man who has not some--to study the political lessons which the address affords. there can be no doubt that the appeal expresses the genuine sentiment of the southern states, softened down by whatever softening influence there may be in their peculiar kind of christianity, and shaped to offend as little as possible the prejudices of british readers. and what does it show us? does it show us that emancipation is more likely to follow from the success of the southern society which assumes to be at the helm of all schemes of religion and philanthropy, not only has no desire to put an end to slavery, but regards it in such a light that it will be its duty _to extend it as much as possible_. the southern clergy say that the relation of master and slave is "not incompatible with our holy christianity;" why, therefore, should they seek to get rid of it? from a thousand pulpits this language will be sent forth week after week, and it is clear that the religion of the confederate states will be employed only to convince the slaveowner that he is doing perfectly right in perpetuating a system which enables him to buy men and women as chattels, and to obtain command of human bodies and minds at the prices current of the market. then, the southern clergy think it a cause for gratitude to god on behalf of the negroes "that he has brought them where missionaries of the cross might freely proclaim to them the word of salvation." will it not, therefore, be the duty of the southern clergy to extend those blessings to new millions of africans, and thus carry out the "plans of divine providence?" is the whole tendency of this argument not to elevate the horrible trade of the slave-catcher to the same high level with the noble office of the missionary? proclaiming as they do that the capture of africans and their removal into slavery in the southern states is god's own missionary plan, the confederate clergy and people will consider it as much their duty to equip slave-ships with cargoes of manacles and send them forth accompanied by the prayers of the churches, as it is now our duty to send forth missionary-ships laden with bibles and preachers of the gospel. then the heathen world will know what missionary christianity really is. thousand of africans, caught on the west coast, will be torn from their families and taken chained on board ship; should they survive the horrors of the passage, they will be set to hard work under laws which permit of almost any degree of corporeal punishment and which deprive them of all the rights of men; and they will be told to thank god who has brought them into the blessed light of the gospel! let not the man who cannot reconcile his sympathies in the american struggle with his convictions on the question of slavery pooh-pooh this as an extravagant fancy picture of something that never can occur. it is exactly the missionary scheme which the confederate clergy call "the plan of divine providence;" and supposing a powerful southern confederacy to be established, what is to prevent its being accomplished? not the religious and philanthropic feelings of the confederates; for the religious and philanthropic feelings of the confederates are all for a revival of the slave trade. not treaties concluded with foreign nations; for a people holding such sentiments could never make a treaty shutting themselves out from the most promising field of missionary labour; or if forced by circumstances to conclude it, their religious convictions would urge them to break it at any moment. in fact, were a powerful nationality once established, with interests and religious convictions all pointing in the way of reviving the slave trade, it would be utterly impossible to prevent a resumption of that abominable traffic. we have dealt with the professed convictions of the southern ministers as sincere convictions. we should be sorry to accuse any body of men professing to be teachers of the christian religion of intentional insincerity, and although we can hardly conceive the possibility of men who base their religion upon the same bible upon which we rest ours, attempting sincerely to justify slavery upon religious grounds, we would rather attribute the extraordinary moral obliquity which the attempt exhibits to the demoralising influence of the slave system than to actual hypocrisy. the spectacle of a crowd of learned and no doubt pious men standing forth as the avowed apologists of a system which deprives their fellow-men of all the rights of humanity is, perhaps, the most distressing evidence of its blighting and blinding influence which has yet been exhibited to the world. it ought to have its effect. as we have said, it is the duty of every man to study the lessons which this address of the confederate clergy has for him. if his sympathy and influence be given to the confederates, let him understand the nature of the cause he is aiding. let him learn from the statement of the confederates themselves that their cause is the cause of slavery, and that they look forward to the perpetuation and extension of slavery as the prize of success. * * * * * slavery and liberty. i'm on my way to canada, that dark and dreary land; oh! the dread effects of slavery i can no longer stand. my soul is vexed within me so to think i am a slave, resolved i am to strike the blow, for freedom or the grave. chorus oh, righteous father! wilt thou not pity me, and help me on to canada, where coloured men are free. i've served my master all my days, without one dimes' reward, and now i'm forced to run away, to flee the lash and rod. the hounds are baying on my track, and master just behind, resolved that he will bring me back before i cross the line. old master went to preach one day, next day he looked for me; i greased my heels and ran away, for the land of liberty. i dreamt i saw the british queen majestic on the shore; if e'er i reach old canada, i will come back no more. i heard that queen victoria said, if we would all forsake our native land of slavery, and come across the lake: that she was standing on the shore with arms extended wide, to give us all a peaceful home beyond the swelling tide. i heard old master pray one night, that night he prayed for me, that god would come with all his might, from satan set me free. so i from satan would escape and flee the wrath to come, if there's a fiend in human shape, old master must be one. narrative of william w. brown, a fugitive slave. written by himself. --is there not some chosen curse, some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man who gains his fortune from the blood of souls? cowper. boston: published at the anti-slavery office, no. cornhill. . [illustration: william w. brown.] to wells brown, of ohio. thirteen years ago, i came to your door, a weary fugitive from chains and stripes. i was a stranger, and you took me in. i was hungry, and you fed me. naked was i, and you clothed me. even a name by which to be known among men, slavery had denied me. you bestowed upon me your own. base indeed should i be, if i ever forget what i owe to you, or do anything to disgrace that honored name! as a slight testimony of my gratitude to my earliest benefactor, i take the liberty to inscribe to you this little narrative of the sufferings from which i was fleeing when you had compassion upon me. in the multitude that you have succored, it is very possible that you may not remember me; but until i forget god and myself, i can never forget you. your grateful friend, william wells brown. letter from edmund quincy, esq. dedham, july , . to william w. brown. my dear friend:--i heartily thank you for the privilege of reading the manuscript of your narrative. i have read it with deep interest and strong emotion. i am much mistaken if it be not greatly successful and eminently useful. it presents a different phase of the infernal slave-system from that portrayed in the admirable story of mr. douglass, and gives us a glimpse of its hideous cruelties in other portions of its domain. your opportunities of observing the workings of this accursed system have been singularly great. your experiences in the field, in the house, and especially on the river in the service of the slave-trader, walker, have been such as few individuals have had;--no one, certainly, who has been competent to describe them. what i have admired, and marvelled at, in your narrative, is the simplicity and calmness with which you describe scenes and actions which might well "move the very stones to rise and mutiny" against the national institution which makes them possible. you will perceive that i have made very sparing use of your flattering permission to alter what you had written. to correct a few errors, which appeared to be merely clerical ones, committed in the hurry of composition, under unfavorable circumstances, and to suggest a few curtailments, is all that i have ventured to do. i should be a bold man, as well as a vain one, if i should attempt to improve your descriptions of what you have seen and suffered. some of the scenes are not unworthy of de foe himself. i trust and believe that your narrative will have a wide circulation. i am sure it deserves it. at least, a man must be differently constituted from me, who can rise from the perusal of your narrative without feeling that he understands slavery better, and hates it worse, than he ever did before. i am, very faithfully and respectfully, your friend, edmund quincy. preface. the friends of freedom may well congratulate each other on the appearance of the following narrative. it adds another volume to the rapidly increasing anti-slavery literature of the age. it has been remarked by a close observer of human nature, "let me make the songs of a nation, and i care not who makes its laws;" and it may with equal truth be said, that, among a reading people like our own, their books will at least give character to their laws. it is an influence which goes forth noiselessly upon its mission, but fails not to find its way to many a warm heart, to kindle on the altar thereof the fires of freedom, which will one day break forth in a living flame to consume oppression. this little book is a voice from the prison-house, unfolding the deeds of darkness which are there perpetrated. our cause has received efficient aid from this source. the names of those who have come from thence, and battled manfully for the right, need not to be recorded here. the works of some of them are an enduring monument of praise, and their perpetual record shall be found in the grateful hearts of the redeemed bondman. few persons have had greater facilities for becoming acquainted with slavery, in all its horrible aspects, than william w. brown. he has been behind the curtain. he has visited its secret chambers. its iron has entered his own soul. the dearest ties of nature have been riven in his own person. a mother has been cruelly scourged before his own eyes. a father,--alas! slaves have no father. a brother has been made the subject of its tender mercies. a sister has been given up to the irresponsible control of the pale-faced oppressor. this nation looks on approvingly. the american union sanctions the deed. the constitution shields the criminals. american religion sanctifies the crime. but the tide is turning. already, a mighty under-current is sweeping onward. the voice of warning, of remonstrance, of rebuke, of entreaty, has gone forth. hand is linked in hand, and heart mingles with heart, in this great work of the slave's deliverance. the convulsive throes of the monster, even now, give evidence of deep wounds. the writer of this narrative was hired by his master to a "_soul-driver_," and has witnessed all the horrors of the traffic, from the buying up of human cattle in the slave-breeding states, which produced a constant scene of separating the victims from all those whom they loved, to their final sale in the southern market, to be worked up in seven years, or given over to minister to the lust of southern _christians_. many harrowing scenes are graphically portrayed; and yet with that simplicity and ingenuousness which carries with it a conviction of the truthfulness of the picture. this book will do much to unmask those who have "clothed themselves in the livery of the court of heaven" to cover up the enormity of their deeds. during the past three years, the author has devoted his entire energies to the anti-slavery cause. laboring under all the disabilities and disadvantages growing out of his education in slavery--subjected, as he had been from his birth, to all the wrongs and deprivations incident to his condition--he yet went forth, impelled to the work by a love of liberty--stimulated by the remembrance of his own sufferings--urged on by the consideration that a mother, brothers, and sister, were still grinding in the prison-house of bondage, in common with three millions of our father's children--sustained by an unfaltering faith in the omnipotence of truth and the final triumph of justice--to plead the cause of the slave, and by the eloquence of earnestness carried conviction to many minds, and enlisted the sympathy and secured the co-operation of many to the cause. his labors have been chiefly confined to western new york, where he has secured many warm friends, by his untiring zeal, persevering energy, continued fidelity, and universal kindness. reader, are you an abolitionist? what have you done for the slave? what are you doing in his behalf? what do you purpose to do? there is a great work before us! who will be an idler now? this is the great humanitary movement of the age, swallowing up, for the time being, all other questions, comparatively speaking. the course of human events, in obedience to the unchangeable laws of our being, is fast hastening the final crisis, and "have ye chosen, o my people, on whose party ye shall stand, ere the doom from its worn sandal shakes the dust against our land?" are you a christian? this is the carrying out of practical christianity; and there is no other. christianity is _practical_ in its very nature and essence. it is a life, springing out of a soul imbued with its spirit. are you a friend of the missionary cause? this is the greatest missionary enterprize of the day. three millions of _christian_, law-manufactured heathen are longing for the glad tidings of the gospel of freedom. are you a friend of the bible? come, then, and help us to restore to these millions, whose eyes have been bored out by slavery, their sight, that they may see to read the bible. do you love god whom you have not seen? then manifest that love, by restoring to your brother whom you have seen, his rightful inheritance, of which he has been so long and so cruelly deprived. it is not for a single generation alone, numbering three millions--sublime as would be that effort--that we are working. it is for humanity, the wide world over, not only now, but for all coming time, and all future generations:-- "for he who settles freedom's principles, writes the death-warrant of all tyranny." it is a vast work--a glorious enterprize--worthy the unswerving devotion of the entire life-time of the great and the good. slaveholding and slaveholders must be rendered disreputable and odious. they must be stripped of their respectability and christian reputation. they must be treated as "men-stealers--guilty of the highest kind of theft, and sinners of the first rank." their more guilty accomplices in the persons of _northern apologists_, both in church and state, must be placed in the same category. honest men must be made to look upon their crimes with the same abhorrence and loathing, with which they regard the less guilty robber and assassin, until "the common damned shun their society, and look upon themselves as fiends less foul." when a just estimate is placed upon the crime of slave-holding, the work will have been accomplished, and the glorious day ushered in-- "when man nor woman in all our wide domain, shall buy, or sell, or hold, or be a slave." j.c. hathaway. --farmington, n.y., . narrative. chapter i. i was born in lexington, ky. the man who stole me as soon as i was born, recorded the births of all the infants which he claimed to be born his property, in a book which he kept for that purpose. my mother's name was elizabeth. she had seven children, viz: solomon, leander, benjamin, joseph, millford, elizabeth, and myself. no two of us were children of the same father. my father's name, as i learned from my mother, was george higgins. he was a white man, a relative of my master, and connected with some of the first families in kentucky. my master owned about forty slaves, twenty-five of whom were field hands. he removed from kentucky to missouri, when i was quite young, and settled thirty or forty miles above st. charles, on the missouri, where, in addition to his practice as a physician, he carried on milling, merchandizing and farming. he had a large farm, the principal productions of which were tobacco and hemp. the slave cabins were situated on the back part of the farm, with the house of the overseer, whose name was grove cook, in their midst. he had the entire charge of the farm, and having no family, was allowed a woman to keep house for him, whose business it was to deal out the provisions for the hands. a woman was also kept at the quarters to do the cooking for the field hands, who were summoned to their unrequited toil every morning at four o'clock, by the ringing of a bell, hung on a post near the house of the overseer. they were allowed half an hour to eat their breakfast, and get to the field. at half past four, a horn was blown by the overseer, which was the signal to commence work; and every one that was not on the spot at the time, had to receive ten lashes from the negro-whip, with which the overseer always went armed. the handle was about three feet long, with the butt-end filled with lead, and the lash six or seven feet in length, made of cowhide, with platted wire on the end of it. this whip was put in requisition very frequently and freely, and a small offence on the part of a slave furnished an occasion for its use. during the time that mr. cook was overseer, i was a house servant--a situation preferable to that of a field hand, as i was better fed, better clothed, and not obliged to rise at the ringing of the bell, but about half an hour after. i have often laid and heard the crack of the whip, and the screams of the slave. my mother was a field hand, and one morning was ten or fifteen minutes behind the others in getting into the field. as soon as she reached the spot where they were at work, the overseer commenced whipping her. she cried, "oh! pray--oh! pray--oh! pray"--these are generally the words of slaves, when imploring mercy at the hands of their oppressors. i heard her voice, and knew it, and jumped out of my bunk, and went to the door. though the field was some distance from the house, i could hear every crack of the whip, and every groan and cry of my poor mother. i remained at the door, not daring to venture any farther. the cold chills ran over me, and i wept aloud. after giving her ten lashes, the sound of the whip ceased, and i returned to my bed, and found no consolation but in my tears. it was not yet daylight. chapter ii. my master being a political demagogue, soon found those who were ready to put him into office, for the favors he could render them; and a few years after his arrival in missouri, he was elected to a seat in the legislature. in his absence from home, everything was left in charge of mr. cook, the overseer, and he soon became more tyrannical and cruel. among the slaves on the plantation, was one by the name of randall. he was a man about six feet high, and well-proportioned, and known as a man of great strength and power. he was considered the most valuable and able-bodied slave on the plantation; but no matter how good or useful a slave may be, he seldom escapes the lash. but it was not so with randall. he had been on the plantation since my earliest recollection, and i had never known of his being flogged. no thanks were due to the master or overseer for this. i have often heard him declare, that no white man should ever whip him--that he would die first. cook, from the time that he came upon the plantation, had frequently declared, that he could and would flog any nigger that was put into the field to work under him. my master had repeatedly told him not to attempt to whip randall, but he was determined to try it. as soon as he was left sole dictator, he thought the time had come to put his threats into execution. he soon began to find fault with randall, and threatened to whip him, if he did not do better. one day he gave him a very hard task,--more than he could possibly do; and at night, the task not being performed, he told randall that he should remember him the next morning. on the following morning, after the hands had taken breakfast, cook called out to randall, and told him that he intended to whip him, and ordered him to cross his hands and be tied. randall asked why he wished to whip him. he answered, because he had not finished his task the day before. randall said that the task was too great, or he should have done it. cook said it made no difference,--he should whip him. randall stood silent for a moment, and then said, "mr. cook, i have always tried to please you since you have been on the plantation, and i find you are determined not to be satisfied with my work, let me do as well as i may. no man has laid hands on me, to whip me, for the last ten years, and i have long since come to the conclusion not to be whipped by any man living." cook, finding by randall's determined look and gestures, that he would resist, called three of the hands from their work, and commanded them to seize randall, and tie him. the hands stood still;--they knew randall--and they also knew him to be a powerful man, and were afraid to grapple with him. as soon as cook had ordered the men to seize him, randall turned to them, and said--"boys, you all know me; you know that i can handle any three of you, and the man that lays hands on me shall die. this white man can't whip me himself, and therefore he has called you to help him." the overseer was unable to prevail upon them to seize and secure randall, and finally ordered them all to go to their work together. nothing was said to randall by the overseer, for more than a week. one morning, however, while the hands were at work in the field, he came into it, accompanied by three friends of his, thompson, woodbridge and jones. they came up to where randall was at work, and cook ordered him to leave his work, and go with them to the barn. he refused to go; whereupon he was attacked by the overseer and his companions, when he turned upon them, and laid them, one after another, prostrate on the ground. woodbridge drew out his pistol, and fired at him, and brought him to the ground by a pistol ball. the others rushed upon him with their clubs, and beat him over the head and face, until they succeeded in tying him. he was then taken to the barn, and tied to a beam. cook gave him over one hundred lashes with a heavy cowhide, had him washed with salt and water, and left him tied during the day. the next day he was untied, and taken to a blacksmith's shop, and had a ball and chain attached to his leg. he was compelled to labor in the field, and perform the same amount of work that the other hands did. when his master returned home, he was much pleased to find that randall had been subdued in his absence. chapter iii. soon afterwards, my master removed to the city of st. louis, and purchased a farm four miles from there, which he placed under the charge of an overseer by the name of friend haskell. he was a regular yankee from new england. the yankees are noted for making the most cruel overseers. my mother was hired out in the city, and i was also hired out there to major freeland, who kept a public house. he was formerly from virginia, and was a horse-racer, cock-fighter, gambler, and withal an inveterate drunkard. there were ten or twelve servants in the house, and when he was present, it was cut and slash--knock down and drag out. in his fits of anger, he would take up a chair, and throw it at a servant; and in his more rational moments, when he wished to chastise one, he would tie them up in the smoke-house, and whip them; after which, he would cause a fire to be made of tobacco stems, and smoke them. this he called "_virginia play_." i complained to my master of the treatment which i received from major freeland; but it made no difference. he cared nothing about it, so long as he received the money for my labor. after living with major freeland five or six months, i ran away, and went into the woods back of the city; and when night came on, i made my way to my master's farm, but was afraid to be seen, knowing that if mr. haskell, the overseer, should discover me, i should be again carried back to major freeland; so i kept in the woods. one day, while in the woods, i heard the barking and howling of dogs, and in a short time they came so near, that i knew them to be the blood-hounds of major benjamin o'fallon. he kept five or six, to hunt runaway slaves with. as soon as i was convinced that it was them, i knew there was no chance of escape. i took refuge in the top of a tree, and the hounds were soon at its base, and there remained until the hunters came up in a half or three quarters of an hour afterwards. there were two men with the dogs, who, as soon as they came up, ordered me to descend. i came down, was tied, and taken to st. louis jail. major freeland soon made his appearance, and took me out, and ordered me to follow him, which i did. after we returned home, i was tied up in the smoke-house, and was very severely whipped. after the major had flogged me to his satisfaction, he sent out his son robert, a young man eighteen or twenty years of age, to see that i was well smoked. he made a fire of tobacco stems, which soon set me to coughing and sneezing. this, robert told me, was the way his father used to do to his slaves in virginia. after giving me what they conceived to be a decent smoking, i was untied and again set to work. robert freeland was a "chip of the old block." though quite young, it was not unfrequently that he came home in a state of intoxication. he is now, i believe, a popular commander of a steamboat on the mississippi river. major freeland soon after failed in business, and i was put on board the steamboat missouri, which plied between st. louis and galena. the commander of the boat was william b. culver. i remained on her during the sailing season, which was the most pleasant time for me that i had ever experienced. at the close of navigation, i was hired to mr. john colburn, keeper of the missouri hotel. he was from one of the free states; but a more inveterate hater of the negro, i do not believe ever walked on god's green earth. this hotel was at that time one of the largest in the city, and there were employed in it twenty or thirty servants, mostly slaves. mr. colburn was very abusive, not only to the servants, but to his wife also, who was an excellent woman, and one from whom i never knew a servant to receive a harsh word; but never did i know a kind one to a servant from her husband. among the slaves employed in the hotel, was one by the name of aaron, who belonged to mr. john f. darby, a lawyer. aaron was the knife-cleaner. one day, one of the knives was put on the table, not as clean as it might have been. mr. colburn, for this offence, tied aaron up in the wood-house, and gave him over fifty lashes on the bare back with a cowhide, after which, he made me wash him down with rum. this seemed to put him into more agony than the whipping. after being untied, he went home to his master, and complained of the treatment which he had received. mr. darby would give no heed to anything he had to say, but sent him directly back. colburn, learning that he had been to his master with complaints, tied him up again, and gave him a more severe whipping than before. the poor fellow's back was literally cut to pieces; so much so, that he was not able to work for ten or twelve days. there was also, among the servants, a girl whose master resided in the country. her name was patsey. mr. colburn tied her up one evening, and whipped her until several of the boarders came out and begged him to desist. the reason for whipping her was this. she was engaged to be married to a man belonging to major william christy, who resided four or five miles north of the city. mr. colburn had forbid her to see john christy. the reason of this was said to be the regard which he himself had for patsey. she went to meeting that evening, and john returned home with her. mr. colburn had intended to flog john, if he came within the inclosure; but john knew too well the temper of his rival, and kept at a safe distance;--so he took vengeance on the poor girl. if all the slave-drivers had been called together, i do not think a more cruel man than john colburn,--and he too a northern man,--could have been found among them. while living at the missouri hotel, a circumstance occurred which caused me great unhappiness. my master sold my mother, and all her children, except myself. they were sold to different persons in the city of st. louis. chapter iv. i was soon after taken from mr. colburn's, and hired to elijah p. lovejoy, who was at that time publisher and editor of the "st. louis times." my work, while with him, was mainly in the printing office, waiting on the hands, working the press, &c. mr. lovejoy was a very good man, and decidedly the best master that i had ever had. i am chiefly indebted to him, and to my employment in the printing office, for what little learning i obtained while in slavery. though slavery is thought, by some, to be mild in missouri, when compared with the cotton, sugar and rice growing states, yet no part of our slave-holding country, is more noted for the barbarity of its inhabitants, than st. louis. it was here that col. harney, a united states officer, whipped a slave woman to death. it was here that francis mcintosh, a free colored man from pittsburgh, was taken from the steamboat flora, and burned at the stake. during a residence of eight years in this city, numerous cases of extreme cruelty came under my own observation;--to record them all, would occupy more space than could possibly be allowed in this little volume. i shall, therefore, give but a few more, in addition to what i have already related. capt. j.b. brunt, who resided near my master, had a slave named john. he was his body servant, carriage driver, &c. on one occasion, while driving his master through the city,--the streets being very muddy, and the horses going at a rapid rate,--some mud spattered upon a gentleman by the name of robert more. more was determined to be revenged. some three or four months after this occurrence, he purchased john, for the express purpose, as he said, "to tame the d----d nigger." after the purchase, he took him to a blacksmith's shop, and had a ball and chain fastened to his leg, and then put him to driving a yoke of oxen, and kept him at hard labor, until the iron around his leg was so worn into the flesh, that it was thought mortification would ensue. in addition to this, john told me that his master whipped him regularly three times a week for the first two months:--and all this to "_tame him_." a more noble looking man than he, was not to be found in all st. louis, before he fell into the hands of more; and a more degraded and spirit-crushed looking being was never seen on a southern plantation, after he had been subjected to this "_taming_" process for three months. the last time that i saw him, he had nearly lost the entire use of his limbs. while living with mr. lovejoy, i was often sent on errands to the office of the "missouri republican," published by mr. edward charles. once, while returning to the office with type, i was attacked by several large boys, sons of slave-holders, who pelted me with snow-balls. having the heavy form of type in my hands, i could not make my escape by running; so i laid down the type and gave them battle. they gathered around me, pelting me with stones and sticks, until they overpowered me, and would have captured me, if i had not resorted to my heels. upon my retreat, they took possession of the type; and what to do to regain it i could not devise. knowing mr. lovejoy to be a very humane man, i went to the office, and laid the case before him. he told me to remain in the office. he took one of the apprentices with him, and went after the type, and soon returned with it; but on his return informed me that samuel mckinney had told him that he would whip me, because i had hurt his boy. soon after, mckinney was seen making his way to the office by one of the printers, who informed me of the fact, and i made my escape through the back door. mckinney not being able to find me on his arrival, left the office in a great rage, swearing that he would whip me to death. a few days after, as i was walking along main street, he seized me by the collar, and struck me over the head five or six times with a large cane, which caused the blood to gush from my nose and ears in such a manner that my clothes were completely saturated with blood. after beating me to his satisfaction, he let me go, and i returned to the office so weak from the loss of blood, that mr. lovejoy sent me home to my master. it was five weeks before i was able to walk again. during this time, it was necessary to have some one to supply my place at the office, and i lost the situation. after my recovery, i was hired to capt. otis reynolds, as a waiter on board the steamboat enterprize, owned by messrs. john and edward walsh, commission merchants at st. louis. this boat was then running on the upper mississippi. my employment on board was to wait on gentlemen, and the captain being a good man, the situation was a pleasant one to me;--but in passing from place to place, and seeing new faces every day, and knowing that they could go where they pleased, i soon became unhappy, and several times thought of leaving the boat at some landing place, and trying to make my escape to canada, which i had heard much about as a place where the slave might live, be free, and be protected. but whenever such thoughts would come into my mind, my resolution would soon be shaken by the remembrance that my dear mother was a slave in st. louis, and i could not bear the idea of leaving her in that condition. she had often taken me upon her knee, and told me how she had carried me upon her back to the field when i was an infant--how often she had been whipped for leaving her work to nurse me--and how happy i would appear when she would take me into her arms. when these thoughts came over me, i would resolve never to leave the land of slavery without my mother. i thought that to leave her in slavery, after she had undergone and suffered so much for me, would be proving recreant to the duty which i owed to her. besides this, i had three brothers and a sister there,--two of my brothers having died. my mother, my brothers joseph and millford, and my sister elizabeth, belonged to mr. isaac mansfield, formerly from one of the free states, (massachusetts, i believe.) he was a tinner by trade, and carried on a large manufacturing establishment. of all my relatives, mother was first, and sister next. one evening, while visiting them, i made some allusion to a proposed journey to canada, and sister took her seat by my side, and taking my hand in hers, said, with tears in her eyes,-- "brother, you are not going to leave mother and your dear sister here without a friend, are you?" i looked into her face, as the tears coursed swiftly down her cheeks, and bursting into tears myself, said-- "no, i will never desert you and mother." she clasped my hand in hers, and said-- "brother, you have often declared that you would not end your days in slavery. i see no possible way in which you can escape with us; and now, brother, you are on a steamboat where there is some chance for you to escape to a land of liberty. i beseech you not to let us hinder you. if we cannot get our liberty, we do not wish to be the means of keeping you from a land of freedom." i could restrain my feelings no longer, and an outburst of my own feelings, caused her to cease speaking upon that subject. in opposition to their wishes, i pledged myself not to leave them in the hand of the oppressor. i took leave of them, and returned to the boat, and laid down in my bunk; but "sleep departed from my eyes, and slumber from my eyelids." a few weeks after, on our downward passage, the boat took on board, at hannibal, a drove of slaves, bound for the new orleans market. they numbered from fifty to sixty, consisting of men and women from eighteen to forty years of age. a drove of slaves on a southern steamboat, bound for the cotton or sugar regions, is an occurrence so common, that no one, not even the passengers, appear to notice it, though they clank their chains at every step. there was, however, one in this gang that attracted the attention of the passengers and crew. it was a beautiful girl, apparently about twenty years of age, perfectly white, with straight light hair and blue eyes. but it was not the whiteness of her skin that created such a sensation among those who gazed upon her--it was her almost unparalleled beauty. she had been on the boat but a short time, before the attention of all the passengers, including the ladies, had been called to her, and the common topic of conversation was about the beautiful slave-girl. she was not in chains. the man who claimed this article of human merchandize was a mr. walker,--a well known slave-trader, residing in st. louis. there was a general anxiety among the passengers and crew to learn the history of the girl. her master kept close by her side, and it would have been considered impudent for any of the passengers to have spoken to her, and the crew were not allowed to have any conversation with them. when we reached st. louis, the slaves were removed to a boat bound for new orleans, and the history of the beautiful slave-girl remained a mystery. i remained on the boat during the season, and it was not an unfrequent occurrence to have on board gangs of slaves on their way to the cotton, sugar and rice plantations of the south. toward the latter part of the summer, captain reynolds left the boat, and i was sent home. i was then placed on the farm under mr. haskell, the overseer. as i had been some time out of the field, and not accustomed to work in the burning sun, it was very hard; but i was compelled to keep up with the best of the hands. i found a great difference between the work in a steamboat cabin and that in a corn-field. my master, who was then living in the city, soon after removed to the farm, when i was taken out of the field to work in the house as a waiter. though his wife was very peevish, and hard to please, i much preferred to be under her control than the overseer's. they brought with them mr. sloane, a presbyterian minister; miss martha tulley, a neice of theirs from kentucky; and their nephew william. the latter had been in the family a number of years, but the others were all new-comers. mr. sloane was a young minister, who had been at the south but a short time, and it seemed as if his whole aim was to please the slaveholders, especially my master and mistress. he was intending to make a visit during the winter, and he not only tried to please them, but i think he succeeded admirably. when they wanted singing, he sung; when they wanted praying, he prayed; when they wanted a story told, he told a story. instead of his teaching my master theology, my master taught theology to him. while i was with captain reynolds, my master "got religion," and new laws were made on the plantation. formerly, we had the privilege of hunting, fishing, making splint brooms, baskets, &c. on sunday; but this was all stopped. every sunday, we were all compelled to attend meeting. master was so religious, that he induced some others to join him in hiring a preacher to preach to the slaves. chapter v. my master had family worship, night and morning. at night, the slaves were called in to attend; but in the mornings, they had to be at their work, and master did all the praying. my master and mistress were great lovers of mint julep, and every morning, a pitcher-full was made, of which they all partook freely, not excepting little master william. after drinking freely all round, they would have family worship, and then breakfast. i cannot say but i loved the julep as well as any of them, and during prayer was always careful to seat myself close to the table where it stood, so as to help myself when they were all busily engaged in their devotions. by the time prayer was over, i was about as happy as any of them. a sad accident happened one morning. in helping myself, and at the same time keeping an eye on my old mistress, i accidentally let the pitcher fall upon the floor, breaking it in pieces, and spilling the contents. this was a bad affair for me; for as soon as prayer was over, i was taken and severely chastised. my master's family consisted of himself, his wife, and their nephew, william moore. he was taken into the family, when only a few weeks of age. his name being that of my own, mine was changed, for the purpose of giving precedence to his, though i was his senior by ten or twelve years. the plantation being four miles from the city, i had to drive the family to church. i always dreaded the approach of the sabbath; for, during service, i was obliged to stand by the horses in the hot broiling sun, or in the rain, just as it happened. one sabbath, as we were driving past the house of d.d. page, a gentleman who owned a large baking establishment, as i was sitting upon the box of the carriage, which was very much elevated, i saw mr. page pursuing a slave around the yard, with a long whip, cutting him at every jump. the man soon escaped from the yard, and was followed by mr. page. they came running past us, and the slave perceiving that he would be overtaken, stopped suddenly, and page stumbled over him, and falling on the stone pavement, fractured one of his legs, which crippled him for life. the same gentleman, but a short time previous, tied up a woman of his, by the name of delphia, and whipped her nearly to death; yet he was a deacon in the baptist church, in good and regular standing. poor delphia! i was well acquainted with her, and called to see her while upon her sick bed; and i shall never forget her appearance. she was a member of the same church with her master. soon after this, i was hired out to mr. walker; the same man whom i have mentioned as having carried a gang of slaves down the river, on the steamboat enterprize. seeing me in the capacity of steward on the boat, and thinking that i would make a good hand to take care of slaves, he determined to have me for that purpose; and finding that my master would not sell me, he hired me for the term of one year. when i learned the fact of my having been hired to a negro speculator, or a "soul-driver" as they are generally called among slaves, no one can tell my emotions. mr. walker had offered a high price for me, as i afterwards learned, but i suppose my master was restrained from selling me by the fact that i was a near relative of his. on entering the service of mr. walker, i found that my opportunity of getting to a land of liberty was gone, at least for the time being. he had a gang of slaves in readiness to start for new orleans, and in a few days we were on our journey. i am at a loss for language to express my feelings on that occasion. although my master had told me that he had not sold me, and mr. walker had told me that he had not purchased me, i did not believe them; and not until i had been to new orleans, and was on my return, did i believe that i was not sold. there was on the boat a large room on the lower deck, in which the slaves were kept, men and women, promiscuously--all chained two and two, and a strict watch kept that they did not get loose; for cases have occurred in which slaves have got off their chains, and made their escape at landing-places, while the boats were taking in wood;--and with all our care, we lost one woman who had been taken from her husband and children, and having no desire to live without them, in the agony of her soul jumped overboard, and drowned herself. she was not chained. it was almost impossible to keep that part of the boat clean. on landing at natchez, the slaves were all carried to the slave-pen, and there kept one week, during which time, several of them were sold. mr. walker fed his slaves well. we took on board, at st. louis, several hundred pounds of bacon (smoked meat) and corn-meal, and his slaves were better fed than slaves generally were in natchez, so far as my observation extended. at the end of a week, we left for new orleans, the place of our final destination, which we reached in two days. here the slaves were placed in a negro-pen, where those who wished to purchase could call and examine them. the negro-pen is a small yard, surrounded by buildings, from fifteen to twenty feet wide, with the exception of a large gate with iron bars. the slaves are kept in the buildings during the night, and turned out into the yard during the day. after the best of the stock was sold at private sale at the pen, the balance were taken to the exchange coffee house auction rooms, kept by isaac l. mccoy, and sold at public auction. after the sale of this lot of slaves, we left new orleans for st. louis. chapter vi. on our arrival at st. louis, i went to dr. young, and told him that i did not wish to live with mr. walker any longer. i was heart-sick at seeing my fellow-creatures bought and sold. but the dr. had hired me for the year, and stay i must. mr. walker again commenced purchasing another gang of slaves. he bought a man of colonel john o'fallon, who resided in the suburbs of the city. this man had a wife and three children. as soon as the purchase was made, he was put in jail for safe keeping, until we should be ready to start for new orleans. his wife visited him while there, several times, and several times when she went for that purpose was refused admittance. in the course of eight or nine weeks mr. walker had his cargo of human flesh made up. there was in this lot a number of old men and women, some of them with gray locks. we left st. louis in the steamboat carlton, captain swan, bound for new orleans. on our way down, and before we reached rodney, the place where we made our first stop, i had to prepare the old slaves for market. i was ordered to have the old men's whiskers shaved off, and the grey hairs plucked out, where they were not too numerous, in which case he had a preparation of blacking to color it, and with a blacking-brush we would put it on. this was new business to me, and was performed in a room where the passengers could not see us. these slaves were also taught how old they were by mr. walker, and after going through the blacking process, they looked ten or fifteen years younger; and i am sure that some of those who purchased slaves of mr. walker, were dreadfully cheated, especially in the ages of the slaves which they bought. we landed at rodney, and the slaves were driven to the pen in the back part of the village. several were sold at this place, during our stay of four or five days, when we proceeded to natchez. there we landed at night, and the gang were put in the warehouse until morning, when they were driven to the pen. as soon as the slaves are put in these pens, swarms of planters may be seen in and about them. they knew when walker was expected, as he always had the time advertised beforehand when he would be in rodney, natchez, and new orleans. these were the principal places where he offered his slaves for sale. when at natchez the second time, i saw a slave very cruelly whipped. he belonged to a mr. broadwell, a merchant who kept a store on the wharf. the slave's name was lewis. i had known him several years, as he was formerly from st. louis. we were expecting a steamboat down the river, in which we were to take passage for new orleans. mr. walker sent me to the landing to watch for the boat, ordering me to inform him on its arrival. while there, i went into the store to see lewis. i saw a slave in the store, and asked him where lewis was. said he, "they have got lewis hanging between the heavens and the earth." i asked him what he meant by that. he told me to go into the warehouse and see. i went in, and found lewis there. he was tied up to a beam, with his toes just touching the floor. as there was no one in the warehouse but himself, i inquired the reason of his being in that situation. he said mr. broadwell had sold his wife to a planter six miles from the city, and that he had been to visit her,--that he went in the night, expecting to return before daylight, and went without his master's permission. the patrol had taken him up before he reached his wife. he was put in jail, and his master had to pay for his catching and keeping, and that was what he was tied up for. just as he finished his story, mr. broadwell came in, and inquired what i was doing there. i knew not what to say, and while i was thinking what reply to make, he struck me over the head with the cowhide, the end of which struck me over my right eye, sinking deep into the flesh, leaving a scar which i carry to this day. before i visited lewis, he had received fifty lashes. mr. broadwell gave him fifty lashes more after i came out, as i was afterwards informed by lewis himself. the next day we proceeded to new orleans, and put the gang in the same negro-pen which we occupied before. in a short time, the planters came flocking to the pen to purchase slaves. before the slaves were exhibited for sale, they were dressed and driven out into the yard. some were set to dancing, some to jumping, some to singing, and some to playing cards. this was done to make them appear cheerful and happy. my business was to see that they were placed in those situations before the arrival of the purchasers, and i have often set them to dancing when their cheeks were wet with tears. as slaves were in good demand at that time, they were all soon disposed of, and we again set out for st. louis. on our arrival, mr. walker purchased a farm five or six miles from the city. he had no family, but made a housekeeper of one of his female slaves. poor cynthia! i knew her well. she was a quadroon, and one of the most beautiful women i ever saw. she was a native of st. louis, and bore an irreproachable character for virtue and propriety of conduct. mr. walker bought her for the new orleans market, and took her down with him on one of the trips that i made with him. never shall i forget the circumstances of that voyage! on the first night that we were on board the steamboat, he directed me to put her into a state-room he had provided for her, apart from the other slaves. i had seen too much of the workings of slavery, not to know what this meant. i accordingly watched him into the state-room, and listened to hear what passed between them. i heard him make his base offers, and her reject them. he told her that if she would accept his vile proposals, he would take her back with him to st. louis, and establish her as his housekeeper at his farm. but if she persisted in rejecting them, he would sell her as a field hand on the worst plantation on the river. neither threats nor bribes prevailed, however, and he retired, disappointed of his prey. the next morning, poor cynthia told me what had past, and bewailed her sad fate with floods of tears. i comforted and encouraged her all i could; but i foresaw but too well what the result must be. without entering into any farther particulars, suffice it to say that walker performed his part of the contract, at that time. he took her back to st. louis, established her as his mistress and housekeeper at his farm, and before i left, he had two children by her. but, mark the end! since i have been at the north, i have been credibly informed that walker has been married, and, as a previous measure, sold poor cynthia and her four children (she having had two more since i came away) into hopeless bondage! he soon commenced purchasing to make up the third gang. we took steamboat, and went to jefferson city, a town on the missouri river. here we landed, and took stage for the interior of the state. he bought a number of slaves as he passed the different farms and villages. after getting twenty-two or twenty-three men and women, we arrived at st. charles, a village on the banks of the missouri. here he purchased a woman who had a child in her arms, appearing to be four or five weeks old. we had been travelling by land for some days, and were in hopes to have found a boat at this place for st. louis, but were disappointed. as no boat was expected for some days, we started for st. louis by land. mr. walker had purchased two horses. he rode one, and i the other. the slaves were chained together, and we took up our line of march, mr. walker taking the lead, and i bringing up the rear. though the distance was not more than twenty miles, we did not reach it the first day. the road was worse than any that i have ever travelled. soon after we left st. charles, the young child grew very cross, and kept up a noise during the greater part of the day. mr. walker complained of its crying several times, and told the mother to stop the child's d----d noise, or he would. the woman tried to keep the child from crying, but could not. we put up at night with an acquaintance of mr. walker, and in the morning, just as we were about to start, the child again commenced crying. walker stepped up to her, and told her to give the child to him. the mother tremblingly obeyed. he took the child by one arm, as you would a cat by the leg, walked into the house, and said to the lady, "madam, i will make you a present of this little nigger; it keeps such a noise that i can't bear it." "thank you, sir," said the lady. the mother, as soon as she saw that her child was to be left, ran up to mr. walker, and falling upon her knees begged him to let her have her child; she clung around his legs, and cried, "oh, my child! my child! master, do let me have my child! oh, do, do, do. i will stop its crying, if you will only let me have it again." when i saw this woman crying for her child so piteously, a shudder,--a feeling akin to horror, shot through my frame. i have often since in imagination heard her crying for her child:-- "o, master, let me stay to catch my baby's sobbing breath, his little glassy eye to watch, and smooth his limbs in death, and cover him with grass and leaf, beneath the large oak tree: it is not sullenness, but grief,-- o, master, pity me! the morn was chill--i spoke no word, but feared my babe might die, and heard all day, or thought i heard, my little baby cry. at noon, oh, how i ran and took my baby to my breast! i lingered--and the long lash broke my sleeping infant's rest. i worked till night--till darkest night, in torture and disgrace; went home and watched till morning light, to see my baby's face. then give me but one little hour-- o! do not lash me so! one little hour--one little hour-- and gratefully i'll go." mr. walker commanded her to return into the ranks with the other slaves. women who had children were not chained, but those that had none were. as soon as her child was disposed of, she was chained in the gang. the following song i have often heard the slaves sing, when about to be carried to the far south. it is said to have been composed by a slave. "see these poor souls from africa transported to america; we are stolen, and sold to georgia, will you go along with me? we are stolen, and sold to georgia, come sound the jubilee! see wives and husbands sold apart, their children's screams will break my heart;-- there's a better day a coming, will you go along with me? there's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee! o, gracious lord! when shall it be, that we poor souls shall all be free; lord, break them slavery powers-- will you go along with me? lord break them slavery powers, go sound the jubilee! dear lord, dear lord, when slavery'll cease, then we poor souls will have our peace;-- there's a better day a coming, will you go along with me? there's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee!" we finally arrived at mr. walker's farm. he had a house built during our absence to put slaves in. it was a kind of domestic jail. the slaves were put in the jail at night, and worked on the farm during the day. they were kept here until the gang was completed, when we again started for new orleans, on board the steamboat north america, capt. alexander scott. we had a large number of slaves in this gang. one, by the name of joe, mr. walker was training up to take my place, as my time was nearly out, and glad was i. we made our first stop at vicksburg, where we remained one week and sold several slaves. mr. walker, though not a good master, had not flogged a slave since i had been with him, though he had threatened me. the slaves were kept in the pen, and he always put up at the best hotel, and kept his wines in his room, for the accommodation of those who called to negotiate with him for the purchase of slaves. one day while we were at vicksburg, several gentlemen came to see him for this purpose, and as usual the wine was called for. i took the tray and started around with it, and having accidentally filled some of the glasses too full, the gentlemen spilled the wine on their clothes as they went to drink. mr. walker apologized to them for my carelessness, but looked at me as though he would see me again on this subject. after the gentlemen had left the room, he asked me what i meant by my carelessness, and said that he would attend to me. the next morning, he gave me a note to carry to the jailer, and a dollar in money to give to him. i suspected that all was not right, so i went down near the landing where i met with a sailor, and walking up to him, asked him if he would be so kind as to read the note for me. he read it over, and then looked at me. i asked him to tell me what was in it. said he, "they are going to give you hell." "why?" said i. he said, "this is a note to have you whipped, and says that you have a dollar to pay for it." he handed me back the note, and off i started. i knew not what to do, but was determined not to be whipped. i went up to the jail--took a look at it, and walked off again. as mr. walker was acquainted with the jailer, i feared that i should be found out if i did not go, and be treated in consequence of it still worse. while i was meditating on the subject, i saw a colored man about my size walk up, and the thought struck me in a moment to send him with my note. i walked up to him, and asked him who he belonged to. he said he was a free man, and had been in the city but a short time. i told him i had a note to go into the jail, and get a trunk to carry to one of the steamboats; but was so busily engaged that i could not do it, although i had a dollar to pay for it. he asked me if i would not give him the job. i handed him the note and the dollar, and off he started for the jail. i watched to see that he went in, and as soon as i saw the door close behind him, i walked around the corner, and took my station, intending to see how my friend looked when he came out. i had been there but a short time, when a colored man came around the corner, and said to another colored man with whom he was acquainted-- "they are giving a nigger scissors in the jail." "what for?" said the other. the man continued, "a nigger came into the jail, and asked for the jailer. the jailer came out, and he handed him a note, and said he wanted to get a trunk. the jailer told him to go with him, and he would give him the trunk. so he took him into the room, and told the nigger to give up the dollar. he said a man had given him the dollar to pay for getting the trunk. but that lie would not answer. so they made him strip himself, and then they tied him down, and are now whipping him." i stood by all the while listening to their talk, and soon found out that the person alluded to was my customer. i went into the street opposite the jail, and concealed myself in such a manner that i could not be seen by any one coming out. i had been there but a short time, when the young man made his appearance, and looked around for me. i, unobserved, came forth from my hiding-place, behind a pile of brick, and he pretty soon saw me and came up to me complaining bitterly, saying that i had played a trick upon him. i denied any knowledge of what the note contained, and asked him what they had done to him. he told me in substance what i heard the man tell who had come out of the jail. "yes," said he, "they whipped me and took my dollar, and gave me this note." he showed me the note which the jailer had given him, telling him to give it to his master. i told him i would give him fifty cents for it,--that being all the money i had. he gave it to me, and took his money. he had received twenty lashes on his bare back, with the negro-whip. i took the note and started for the hotel where i had left mr. walker. upon reaching the hotel, i handed it to a stranger whom i had not seen before, and requested him to read it to me. as near as i can recollect, it was as follows:-- "dear sir:--by your direction, i have given your boy twenty lashes. he is a very saucy boy, and tried to make me believe that he did not belong to you, and i put it on to him well for lying to me. i remain, your obedient servant." it is true that in most of the slave-holding cities, when a gentleman wishes his servants whipped, he can send him to the jail and have it done. before i went in where mr. walker was, i wet my cheeks a little, as though i had been crying. he looked at me, and inquired what was the matter. i told him that i had never had such a whipping in my life, and handed him the note. he looked at it and laughed;--"and so you told him that you did not belong to me." "yes, sir," said i. "i did not know that there was any harm in that." he told me i must behave myself, if i did not want to be whipped again. this incident shows how it is that slavery makes its victims lying and mean; for which vices it afterwards reproaches them, and uses them as arguments to prove that they deserve no better fate. i have often, since my escape, deeply regretted the deception i practised upon this poor fellow; and i heartily desire that it may be, at some time or other, in my power to make him amends for his vicarious sufferings in my behalf. chapter vii. in a few days we reached new orleans, and arriving there in the night, remained on board until morning. while at new orleans this time, i saw a slave killed; an account of which has been published by theodore d. weld, in his book entitled, "slavery as it is." the circumstances were as follows. in the evening, between seven and eight o'clock, a slave came running down the levee, followed by several men and boys. the whites were crying out, "stop that nigger; stop that nigger;" while the poor panting slave, in almost breathless accents, was repeating, "i did not steal the meat--i did not steal the meat." the poor man at last took refuge in the river. the whites who were in pursuit of him, run on board of one of the boats to see if they could discover him. they finally espied him under the bow of the steamboat trenton. they got a pike-pole, and tried to drive him from his hiding place. when they would strike at him, he would dive under the water. the water was so cold, that it soon became evident that he must come out or be drowned. while they were trying to drive him from under the bow of the boat or drown him, he would in broken and imploring accents say, "i did not steal the meat; i did not steal the meat. my master lives up the river. i want to see my master. i did not steal the meat. do let me go home to master." after punching him, and striking him over the head for some time, he at last sunk in the water, to rise no more alive. on the end of the pike-pole with which they were striking him was a hook which caught in his clothing, and they hauled him up on the bow of the boat. some said he was dead, others said he was "_playing possum_" while others kicked him to make him get up, but it was of no use--he was dead. as soon as they became satisfied of this, they commenced leaving, one after another. one of the hands on the boat informed the captain that they had killed the man, and that the dead body was lying on the deck. the captain came on deck, and said to those who were remaining, "you have killed this nigger; now take him off of my boat." the captain's name was hart. the dead body was dragged on shore and left there. i went on board of the boat where our gang of slaves were, and during the whole night my mind was occupied with what i had seen. early in the morning, i went on shore to see if the dead body remained there. i found it in the same position that it was left the night before. i watched to see what they would do with it. it was left there until between eight and nine o'clock, when a cart, which takes up the trash out of the streets, came along, and the body was thrown in, and in a few minutes more was covered over with dirt which they were removing from the streets. during the whole time, i did not see more than six or seven persons around it, who, from their manner, evidently regarded it as no uncommon occurrence. during our stay in the city, i met with a young white man with whom i was well acquainted in st. louis. he had been sold into slavery, under the following circumstances. his father was a drunkard, and very poor, with a family of five or six children. the father died, and left the mother to take care of and provide for the children as best she might. the eldest was a boy, named burrill, about thirteen years of age, who did chores in a store kept by mr. riley, to assist his mother in procuring a living for the family. after working with him two years, mr. riley took him to new orleans to wait on him while in that city on a visit, and when he returned to st. louis, he told the mother of the boy that he had died with the yellow fever. nothing more was heard from him, no one supposing him to be alive. i was much astonished when burrill told me his story. though i sympathized with him, i could not assist him. we were both slaves. he was poor, uneducated, and without friends; and if living, is, i presume, still held as a slave. after selling out this cargo of human flesh, we returned to st. louis, and my time was up with mr. walker. i had served him one year, and it was the longest year i ever lived. chapter viii. i was sent home, and was glad enough to leave the service of one who was tearing the husband from the wife, the child from the mother, and the sister from the brother,--but a trial more severe and heart-rending than any which i had yet met with awaited me. my dear sister had been sold to a man who was going to natchez, and was lying in jail awaiting the hour of his departure. she had expressed her determination to die, rather than go to the far south, and she was put in jail for safe keeping. i went to the jail the same day that i arrived, but as the jailor was not in, i could not see her. i went home to my master, in the country, and the first day after my return, he came where i was at work, and spoke to me very politely. i knew from his appearance that something was the matter. after talking about my several journeys to new orleans with mr. walker, he told me that he was hard pressed for money, and as he had sold my mother and all her children except me, he thought it would be better to sell me than any other one, and that as i had been used to living in the city, he thought it probable that i would prefer it to a country life. i raised up my head, and looked him full in the face. when my eyes caught his, he immediately looked to the ground. after a short pause, i said, "master, mother has often told me that you are a near relative of mine, and i have often heard you admit the fact; and after you have hired me out, and received, as i once heard you say, nine hundred dollars for my services,--after receiving this large sum, will you sell me to be carried to new orleans or some other place?" "no," said he, "i do not intend to sell you to a negro trader. if i had wished to have done that, i might have sold you to mr. walker for a large sum, but i would not sell you to a negro trader. you may go to the city, and find you a good master." "but," said i, "i cannot find a good master in the whole city of st. louis." "why?" said he. "because there are no good masters in the state." "do you not call me a good master?" "if you were, you would not sell me." "now i will give you one week to find a master in, and surely you can do it in that time." the price set by my evangelical master upon my soul and body was the trifling sum of five hundred dollars. i tried to enter into some arrangement by which i might purchase my freedom; but he would enter into no such arrangement. i set out for the city with the understanding that i was to return in a week with some one to become my new master. soon after reaching the city, i went to the jail, to learn if i could once more see my sister; but could not gain admission. i then went to mother, and learned from her that the owner of my sister intended to start for natchez in a few days. i went to the jail again the next day, and mr. simonds, the keeper, allowed me to see my sister for the last time. i cannot give a just description of the scene at that parting interview. never, never can be erased from my heart the occurrences of that day! when i entered the room where she was, she was seated in one corner, alone. there were four other women in the same room, belonging to the same man. he had purchased them, he said, for his own use. she was seated with her face towards the door where i entered, yet she did not look up until i walked up to her. as soon as she observed me, she sprung up, threw her arms around my neck, leaned her head upon my breast, and, without uttering a word, burst into tears. as soon as she recovered herself sufficiently to speak, she advised me to take mother, and try to get out of slavery. she said there was no hope for herself,--that she must live and die a slave. after giving her some advice, and taking from my finger a ring and placing it upon hers, i bade her farewell forever, and returned to my mother, and then and there made up my mind to leave for canada as soon as possible. i had been in the city nearly two days, and as i was to be absent only a week, i thought best to get on my journey as soon as possible. in conversing with mother, i found her unwilling to make the attempt to reach a land of liberty, but she counselled me to get my liberty if i could. she said, as all her children were in slavery, she did not wish to leave them. i could not bear the idea of leaving her among those pirates, when there was a prospect of being able to get away from them. after much persuasion, i succeeded in inducing her to make the attempt to get away. the time fixed for our departure was the next night. i had with me a little money that i had received, from time to time, from gentlemen for whom i had done errands. i took my scanty means and purchased some dried beef, crackers and cheese, which i carried to mother, who had provided herself with a bag to carry it in. i occasionally thought of my old master, and of my mission to the city to find a new one. i waited with the most intense anxiety for the appointed time to leave the land of slavery, in search of a land of liberty. the time at length arrived, and we left the city just as the clock struck nine. we proceeded to the upper part of the city, where i had been two or three times during the day, and selected a skiff to carry us across the river. the boat was not mine, nor did i know to whom it did belong; neither did i care. the boat was fastened with a small pole, which, with the aid of a rail, i soon loosened from its moorings. after hunting round and finding a board to use as an oar, i turned to the city, and bidding it a long farewell, pushed off my boat. the current running very swift, we had not reached the middle of the stream before we were directly opposite the city. we were soon upon the illinois shore, and, leaping from the boat, turned it adrift, and the last i saw of it, it was going down the river at good speed. we took the main road to alton, and passed through just at daylight, when we made for the woods, where we remained during the day. our reason for going into the woods was, that we expected that mr. mansfield (the man who owned my mother) would start in pursuit of her as soon as he discovered that she was missing. he also knew that i had been in the city looking for a new master, and we thought probably he would go out to my master's to see if he could find my mother, and in so doing, dr. young might be led to suspect that i had gone to canada to find a purchaser. we remained in the woods during the day, and as soon as darkness overshadowed the earth, we started again on our gloomy way, having no guide but the north star. we continued to travel by night, and secrete ourselves in woods by day; and every night, before emerging from our hiding-place, we would anxiously look for our friend and leader,--the north star. chapter ix. as we travelled towards a land of liberty, my heart would at times leap for joy. at other times, being, as i was, almost constantly on my feet, i felt as though i could travel no further. but when i thought of slavery with its democratic whips--its republican chains--its evangelical blood-hounds, and its religious slave-holders--when i thought of all this paraphernalia of american democracy and religion behind me, and the prospect of liberty before me, i was encouraged to press forward, my heart was strengthened, and i forgot that i was tired or hungry. on the eighth day of our journey, we had a very heavy rain, and in a few hours after it commenced, we had not a dry thread upon our bodies. this made our journey still more unpleasant. on the tenth day, we found ourselves entirely destitute of provisions, and how to obtain any we could not tell. we finally resolved to stop at some farmhouse, and try to get something to eat. we had no sooner determined to do this, than we went to a house, and asked them for some food. we were treated with great kindness, and they not only gave us something to eat, but gave us provisions to carry with us. they advised us to travel by day, and lye by at night. finding ourselves about one hundred and fifty miles from st. louis, we concluded that it would be safe to travel by daylight, and did not leave the house until the next morning. we travelled on that day through a thickly settled country, and through one small village. though we were fleeing from a land of oppression, our hearts were still there. my dear sister and two beloved brothers were behind us, and the idea of giving them up, and leaving them forever, made us feel sad. but with all this depression of heart, the thought that i should one day be free, and call my body my own, buoyed me up, and made my heart leap for joy. i had just been telling mother how i should try to get employment as soon as we reached canada, and how i intended to purchase us a little farm, and how i would earn money enough to buy sister and brothers, and how happy we would be in our own free home,--when three men came up on horseback, and ordered us to stop. i turned to the one who appeared to be the principal man, and asked him what he wanted. he said he had a warrant to take us up. the three immediately dismounted, and one took from his pocket a handbill, advertising us as runaways, and offering a reward of two hundred dollars for our apprehension, and delivery in the city of st. louis. the advertisement had been put out by isaac mansfield and john young. while they were reading the advertisement, mother looked me in the face, and burst into tears. a cold chill ran over me, and such a sensation i never experienced before, and i hope never to again. they took out a rope and tied me, and we were taken back about six miles, to the house of the individual who appeared to be the leader. we reached there about seven o'clock in the evening, had supper, and were separated for the night. two men remained in the room during the night. before the family retired to rest, they were all called together to attend prayers. the man who but a few hours before had bound my hands together with a strong cord, read a chapter from the bible, and then offered up prayer, just as though god sanctioned the act he had just committed upon a poor panting, fugitive slave. the next morning, a blacksmith came in, and put a pair of handcuffs on me, and we started on our journey back to the land of whips, chains and bibles. mother was not tied, but was closely watched at night. we were carried back in a wagon, and after four days travel, we came in sight of st. louis. i cannot describe my feelings upon approaching the city. as we were crossing the ferry, mr. wiggins, the owner of the ferry, came up to me, and inquired what i had been doing that i was in chains. he had not heard that i had run away. in a few minutes, we were on the missouri side, and were taken directly to the jail. on the way thither, i saw several of my friends, who gave me a nod of recognition as i passed them. after reaching the jail, we were locked up in different apartments. chapter x. i had been in jail but a short time when i heard that my master was sick, and nothing brought more joy to my heart than that intelligence. i prayed fervently for him--not for his recovery, but for his death. i knew he would be exasperated at having to pay for my apprehension, and knowing his cruelty, i feared him. while in jail, i learned that my sister elizabeth, who was in prison when we left the city, had been carried off four days before our arrival. i had been in jail but a few hours when three negro-traders, learning that i was secured thus for running away, came to my prison-house and looked at me, expecting that i would be offered for sale. mr. mansfield, the man who owned mother, came into the jail as soon as mr. jones, the man who arrested us, informed him that he had brought her back. he told her that he would not whip her, but would sell her to a negro-trader, or take her to new orleans himself. after being in jail about one week, master sent a man to take me out of jail, and send me home. i was taken out and carried home, and the old man was well enough to sit up. he had me brought into the room where he was, and as i entered, he asked me where i had been? i told i had acted according to his orders. he had told me to look for a master, and i had been to look for one. he answered that he did not tell me to go to canada to look for a master. i told him that as i had served him faithfully, and had been the means of putting a number of hundreds of dollars into his pocket, i thought i had a right to my liberty. he said he had promised my father that i should not be sold to supply the new orleans market, or he would sell me to a negro-trader. i was ordered to go into the field to work, and was closely watched by the overseer during the day, and locked up at night. the overseer gave me a severe whipping on the second day that i was in the field. i had been at home but a short time, when master was able to ride to the city; and on his return, he informed me that he had sold me to samuel willi, a merchant tailor. i knew mr. willi. i had lived with him three or four months some years before, when he hired me of my master. mr. willi was not considered by his servants as a very bad man, nor was he the best of masters. i went to my new home, and found my new mistress very glad to see me. mr. willi owned two servants before he purchased me,--robert and charlotte. robert was an excellent white-washer, and hired his time from his master, paying him one dollar per day, besides taking care of himself. he was known in the city by the name of bob music. charlotte was an old woman, who attended to the cooking, washing, &c. mr. willi was not a wealthy man, and did not feel able to keep many servants around his house; so he soon decided to hire me out, and as i had been accustomed to service in steamboats, he gave me the privilege of finding such employment. i soon secured a situation on board the steamer otto, capt. j.b. hill, which sailed from st. louis to independence, missouri. my former master, dr. young, did not let mr. willi know that i had run away, or he would not have permitted me to go on board a steamboat. the boat was not quite ready to commence running, and therefore i had to remain with mr. willi. but during this time, i had to undergo a trial, for which i was entirely unprepared. my mother, who had been in jail since her return until the present time, was now about being carried to new orleans, to die on a cotton, sugar, or rice plantation! i had been several times to the jail, but could obtain no interview with her. i ascertained, however, the time the boat in which she was to embark would sail, and as i had not seen mother since her being thrown into prison, i felt anxious for the hour of sailing to come. at last, the day arrived when i was to see her for the first time after our painful separation, and, for aught that i knew, for the last time in this world! at about ten o'clock in the morning i went on board of the boat, and found her there in company with fifty or sixty other slaves. she was chained to another woman. on seeing me, she immediately dropped her head upon her heaving bosom. she moved not, neither did she weep. her emotions were too deep for tears. i approached, threw my arms around her neck, kissed her, and fell upon my knees, begging her forgiveness, for i thought myself to blame for her sad condition; for if i had not persuaded her to accompany me, she would not then have been in chains. she finally raised her head, looked me in the face, (and such a look none but an angel can give!) and said, "_my dear son, you are not to blame for my being here. you have done nothing more nor less than your duty. do not, i pray you, weep for me. i cannot last long upon a cotton plantation. i feel that my heavenly master will soon call me home, and then i shall be out of the hands of the slave-holders!_" i could bear no more--my heart struggled to free itself from the human form. in a moment she saw mr. mansfield coming toward that part of the boat, and she whispered into my ear, "_my child, we must soon part to meet no more this side of the grave. you have ever said that you would not die a slave; that you would be a freeman. now try to get your liberty! you will soon have no one to look after but yourself!_" and just as she whispered the last sentence into my ear, mansfield came up to me, and with an oath, said, "leave here this instant; you have been the means of my losing one hundred dollars to get this wench back,"--at the same time kicking me with a heavy pair of boots. as i left her, she gave one shriek, saying, "god be with you!" it was the last time that i saw her, and the last word i heard her utter. i walked on shore. the bell was tolling. the boat was about to start. i stood with a heavy heart, waiting to see her leave the wharf. as i thought of my mother, i could but feel that i had lost "--the glory of my life, my blessing and my pride! i half forgot the name of slave, when she was by my side." chapter xi. the love of liberty that had been burning in my bosom, had well nigh gone out. i felt as though i was ready to die. the boat moved gently from the wharf, and while she glided down the river, i realized that my mother was indeed "gone,--gone,--sold and gone, to the rice swamp dank and lone!" after the boat was out of sight, i returned home; but my thoughts were so absorbed in what i had witnessed, that i knew not what i was about half of the time. night came, but it brought no sleep to my eyes. in a few days, the boat upon which i was to work being ready, i went on board to commence. this employment suited me better than living in the city, and i remained until the close of navigation; though it proved anything but pleasant. the captain was a drunken, profligate, hard-hearted creature, not knowing how to treat himself, or any other person. the boat, on its second trip, brought down mr. walker, the man of whom i have spoken in a previous chapter, as hiring my time. he had between one and two hundred slaves, chained and manacled. among them was a man that formerly belonged to my old master's brother, aaron young. his name was solomon. he was a preacher, and belonged to the same church with his master. i was glad to see the old man. he wept like a child when he told me how he had been sold from his wife and children. the boat carried down, while i remained on board, four or five gangs of slaves. missouri, though a comparatively new state, is very much engaged in raising slaves to supply the southern market. in a former chapter, i have mentioned that i was once in the employ of a slave-trader, or driver, as he is called at the south. for fear that some may think that i have misrepresented a slave-driver, i will here give an extract from a paper published in a slaveholding state, tennessee, called the "millennial trumpeter." "droves of negroes, chained together in dozens and scores, and hand-cuffed, have been driven through our country in numbers far surpassing any previous year, and these vile slave-drivers and dealers are swarming like buzzards around a carrion. through this county, you cannot pass a few miles in the great roads without having every feeling of humanity insulted and lacerated by this spectacle, nor can you go into any county or any neighborhood, scarcely, without seeing or hearing of some of these despicable creatures, called negro-drivers. "who is a negro-driver? one whose eyes dwell with delight on lacerated bodies of helpless men, women and children; whose soul feels diabolical raptures at the chains, and handcuffs, and cart-whips, for inflicting tortures on weeping mothers torn from helpless babes, and on husbands and wives torn asunder forever!" dark and revolting as is the picture here drawn, it is from the pen of one living in the midst of slavery. but though these men may cant about negro-drivers, and tell what despicable creatures they are, who is it, i ask, that supplies them with the human beings that they are tearing asunder? i answer, as far as i have any knowledge of the state where i came from, that those who raise slaves for the market are to be found among all classes, from thomas h. benton down to the lowest political demagogue, who may be able to purchase a woman for the purpose of raising stock, and from the doctor of divinity down to the most humble lay member in the church. it was not uncommon in st. louis to pass by an auction-stand, and behold a woman upon the auction-block, and hear the seller crying out, "_how much is offered for this woman? she is a good cook, good washer, a good obedient servant. she has got religion!_" why should this man tell the purchasers that she has religion? i answer, because in missouri, and as far as i have any knowledge of slavery in the other states, the religious teaching consists in teaching the slave that he must never strike a white man; that god made him for a slave; and that, when whipped, he must not find fault,--for the bible says, "he that knoweth his master's will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes!" and slaveholders find such religion very profitable to them. after leaving the steamer otto, i resided at home, in mr. willi's family, and again began to lay my plans for making my escape from slavery. the anxiety to be a freeman would not let me rest day or night. i would think of the northern cities that i had heard so much about;--of canada, where so many of my acquaintances had found refuge. i would dream at night that i was in canada, a freeman, and on waking in the morning, weep to find myself so sadly mistaken. "i would think of victoria's domain, and in a moment i seemed to be there! but the fear of being taken again, soon hurried me back to despair." mr. willi treated me better than dr. young ever had; but instead of making me contented and happy, it only rendered me the more miserable, for it enabled me better to appreciate liberty. mr. willi was a man who loved money as most men do, and without looking for an opportunity to sell me, he found one in the offer of captain enoch price, a steamboat owner and commission merchant, living in the city of st. louis. captain price tendered seven hundred dollars, which was two hundred more than mr. willi had paid. he therefore thought best to accept the offer. i was wanted for a carriage driver, and mrs. price was very much pleased with the captain's bargain. his family consisted besides of one child. he had three servants besides myself--one man and two women. mrs. price was very proud of her servants, always keeping them well dressed, and as soon as i had been purchased, she resolved to have a new carriage. and soon one was procured, and all preparations were made for a turn-out in grand style, i being the driver. one of the female servants was a girl some eighteen or twenty years of age, named maria. mrs. price was very soon determined to have us united, if she could so arrange matters. she would often urge upon me the necessity of having a wife, saying that it would be so pleasant for me to take one in the same family! but getting married, while in slavery, was the last of my thoughts; and had i been ever so inclined, i should not have married maria, as my love had already gone in another quarter. mrs. price soon found out that her efforts at this match-making between maria and myself would not prove successful. she also discovered (or thought she had) that i was rather partial to a girl named eliza, who was owned by dr. mills. this induced her at once to endeavor the purchase of eliza, so great was her desire to get me a wife! before making the attempt, however, she deemed it best to talk to me a little upon the subject of love, courtship, and marriage. accordingly one afternoon she called me into her room--telling me to take a chair and sit down. i did so, thinking it rather strange, for servants are not very often asked thus to sit down in the same room with the master or mistress. she said that she had found out that i did not care enough about maria to marry her. i told her that was true. she then asked me if there was not a girl in the city that i loved. well, now, this was coming into too close quarters with me! people, generally, don't like to tell their love stories to everybody that may think fit to ask about them, and it was so with me. but, after blushing awhile and recovering myself, i told her that i did not want a wife. she then asked me, if i did not think something of eliza. i told her that i did. she then said that if i wished to marry eliza, she would purchase her if she could. i gave but little encouragement to this proposition, as i was determined to make another trial to get my liberty, and i knew that if i should have a wife, i should not be willing to leave her behind; and if i should attempt to bring her with me, the chances would be difficult for success. however, eliza was purchased, and brought into the family. chapter xii. but the more i thought of the trap laid by mrs. price to make me satisfied with my new home, by getting me a wife, the more i determined never to marry any woman on earth until i should get my liberty. but this secret i was compelled to keep to myself, which placed me in a very critical position. i must keep upon good terms with mrs. price and eliza. i therefore promised mrs. price that i would marry eliza; but said that i was not then ready. and i had to keep upon good terms with eliza, for fear that mrs. price would find out that i did not intend to get married. i have here spoken of marriage, and it is very common among slaves themselves to talk of it. and it is common for slaves to be married; or at least have the marriage ceremony performed. but there is no such thing as slaves being lawfully married. there has never yet a case occurred where a slave has been tried for bigamy. the man may have as many women as he wishes, and the women as many men; and the law takes no cognizance of such acts among slaves. and in fact some masters, when they have sold the husband from the wife, compel her to take another. there lived opposite captain price's, doctor farrar, well known in st. louis. he sold a man named ben, to one of the traders. he also owned ben's wife, and in a few days he compelled sally (that was her name) to marry peter, another man belonging to him. i asked sally "why she married peter so soon after ben was sold." she said, "because master made her do it." mr. john calvert, who resided near our place, had a woman named lavinia. she was quite young, and a man to whom she was about to be married was sold, and carried into the country near st. charles, about twenty miles from st. louis. mr. calvert wanted her to get a husband; but she had resolved not to marry any other man, and she refused. mr. calvert whipped her in such a manner that it was thought she would die. some of the citizens had him arrested, but it was soon hushed up. and that was the last of it. the woman did not die, but it would have been the same if she had. captain price purchased me in the month of october, and i remained with him until december, when the family made a voyage to new orleans, in a boat owned by himself, and named the "chester." i served on board, as one of the stewards. on arriving at new orleans, about the middle of the month, the boat took in freight for cincinnati; and it was decided that the family should go up the river in her, and what was of more interest to me, i was to accompany them. the long looked for opportunity to make my escape from slavery was near at hand. captain price had some fears as to the propriety of taking me near a free state, or a place where it was likely i could run away, with a prospect of liberty. he asked me if i had ever been in a free state. "oh yes," said i, "i have been in ohio; my master carried me into that state once, but i never liked a free state." it was soon decided that it would be safe to take me with them, and what made it more safe, eliza was on the boat with us, and mrs. price, to try me, asked if i thought as much as ever of eliza. i told her that eliza was very dear to me indeed, and that nothing but death should part us. it was the same as if we were married. this had the desired effect. the boat left new orleans, and proceeded up the river. i had at different times obtained little sums of money, which i had reserved for a "rainy day." i procured some cotton cloth, and made me a bag to carry provisions in. the trials of the past were all lost in hopes for the future. the love of liberty, that had been burning in my bosom for years, and had been well nigh extinguished, was now resuscitated. at night, when all around was peaceful, i would walk the decks, meditating upon my happy prospects. i should have stated, that before leaving st. louis, i went to an old man named frank, a slave, owned by a mr. sarpee. this old man was very distinguished (not only among the slave population, but also the whites) as a fortune-teller. he was about seventy years of age, something over six feet high, and very slender. indeed, he was so small around his body that it looked as though it was not strong enough to hold up his head. uncle frank was a very great favorite with the young ladies, who would go to him in great numbers to get their fortunes told. and it was generally believed that he could really penetrate into the mysteries of futurity. whether true or not, he had the name, and that is about half of what one needs in this gullible age. i found uncle frank seated in the chimney corner, about ten o'clock at night. as soon as i entered, the old man left his seat. i watched his movement as well as i could by the dim light of the fire. he soon lit a lamp, and coming up, looked me full in the face, saying, "well, my son, you have come to get uncle to tell your fortune, have you?" "yes," said i. but how the old man should know what i had come for, i could not tell. however, i paid the fee of twenty-five cents, and he commenced by looking into a gourd, filled with water. whether the old man was a prophet, or the son of a prophet, i cannot say; but there is one thing certain, many of his predictions were verified. i am no believer in soothsaying; yet i am sometimes at a loss to know how uncle frank could tell so accurately what would occur in the future. among the many things he told was one which was enough to pay me for all the trouble of hunting him up. it was that i should be free! he further said, that in trying to get my liberty, i would meet with many severe trials. i thought to myself, any fool could tell me that! the first place in which we landed in a free state was cairo, a small village at the mouth of the ohio river. we remained here but a few hours, when we proceeded to louisville. after unloading some of the cargo, the boat started on her upward trip. the next day was the first of january. i had looked forward to new year's day as the commencement of a new era in the history of my life. i had decided upon leaving the peculiar institution that day. during the last night that i served in slavery, i did not close my eyes a single moment. when not thinking of the future, my mind dwelt on the past. the love of a dear mother, a dear sister, and three dear brothers, yet living, caused me to shed many tears. if i could only have been assured of their being dead, i should have felt satisfied; but i imagined i saw my dear mother in the cotton-field, followed by a merciless taskmaster, and no one to speak a consoling word to her! i beheld my dear sister in the hands of a slave-driver, and compelled to submit to his cruelty! none but one placed in such a situation can for a moment imagine the intense agony to which these reflections subjected me. chapter xiii. at the time for action arrived. the boat landed at a point which appeared to me the place of all others to start from. i found that it would be impossible to carry anything with me, but what was upon my person. i had some provisions, and a single suit of clothes, about half worn. when the boat was discharging her cargo, and the passengers engaged carrying their baggage on and off shore, i improved the opportunity to convey myself with my little effects on land. taking up a trunk, i went up the wharf, and was soon out of the crowd. i made directly for the woods, where i remained until night knowing well that i could not travel, even in the state of ohio, during the day, without danger of being arrested. i had long since made up my mind that i would not trust myself in the hands of any man, white or colored. the slave is brought up to look upon every white man as an enemy to him and his race; and twenty-one years in slavery had taught me that there were traitors, even among colored people. after dark, i emerged from the woods into a narrow path, which led me into the main travelled road. but i knew not which way to go. i did not know north from south, east from west. i looked in vain for the north star; a heavy cloud hid it from my view. i walked up and down the road until near midnight, when the clouds disappeared, and i welcomed the sight of my friend,--truly the slave's friend,--the north star! as soon as i saw it, i knew my course, and before daylight i travelled twenty or twenty-five miles. it being in the winter, i suffered intensely from the cold; being without an overcoat, and my other clothes rather thin for the season. i was provided with a tinder-box, so that i could make up a fire when necessary. and but for this, i should certainly have frozen to death; for i was determined not to go to any house for shelter. i knew of a man belonging to gen. ashly, of st. louis, who had run away near cincinnati, on the way to washington, but had been caught and carried back into slavery; and i felt that a similar fate awaited me, should i be seen by any one. i travelled at night, and lay by during the day. on the fourth day, my provisions gave out, and then what to do i could not tell. have something to eat, i must; but how to get it was the question! on the first night after my food was gone, i went to a barn on the road-side, and there found some ears of corn. i took ten or twelve of them, and kept on my journey. during the next day, while in the woods, i roasted my corn and feasted upon it, thanking god that i was so well provided for. my escape to a land of freedom now appeared certain, and the prospects of the future occupied a great part of my thoughts. what should be my occupation, was a subject of much anxiety to me; and the next thing what should be my name? i have before stated that my old master, dr. young, had no children of his own, but had with him a nephew, the son of his brother, benjamin young. when this boy was brought to doctor young, his name being william, the same as mine, my mother was ordered to change mine to something else. this, at the time, i thought to be one of the most cruel acts that could be committed upon my rights; and i received several very severe whippings for telling people that my name was william, after orders were given to change it. though young, i was old enough to place a high appreciation upon my name. it was decided, however, to call me "sandford," and this name i was known by, not only upon my master's plantation, but up to the time that i made my escape. i was sold under the name of sandford. but as soon as the subject came to my mind, i resolved on adopting my old name of william, and let sandford go by the board, for i always hated it. not because there was anything peculiar in the name; but because it had been forced upon me. it is sometimes common at the south, for slaves to take the name of their masters. some have a legitimate right to do so. but i always detested the idea of being called by the name of either of my masters. and as for my father, i would rather have adopted the name of "friday," and been known as the servant of some robinson crusoe, than to have taken his name. so i was not only hunting for my liberty, but also hunting for a name; though i regarded the latter as of little consequence, if i could but gain the former. travelling along the road, i would sometimes speak to myself, sounding my name over, by way of getting used to it, before i should arrive among civilized human beings. on the fifth or sixth day, it rained very fast, and it froze about as fast as it fell, so that my clothes were one glare of ice. i travelled on at night until i became so chilled and benumbed--the wind blowing into my face--that i found it impossible to go any further, and accordingly took shelter in a barn, where i was obliged to walk about to keep from freezing. i have ever looked upon that night as the most eventful part of my escape from slavery. nothing but the providence of god, and that old barn, saved me from freezing to death. i received a very severe cold, which settled upon my lungs, and from time to time my feet had been frost-bitten, so that it was with difficulty i could walk. in this situation i travelled two days, when i found that i must seek shelter somewhere, or die. the thought of death was nothing frightful to me, compared with that of being caught, and again carried back into slavery. nothing but the prospect of enjoying liberty could have induced me to undergo such trials, for "behind i left the whips and chains, before me were sweet freedom's plains!" this, and this alone, cheered me onward. but i at last resolved to seek protection from the inclemency of the weather, and therefore i secured myself behind some logs and brush, intending to wait there until some one should pass by; for i thought it probable that i might see some colored person, or, if not, some one who was not a slaveholder; for i had an idea that i should know a slaveholder as far as i could see him. chapter xiv. the first person that passed was a man in a buggy-wagon. he looked too genteel for me to hail him. very soon, another passed by on horseback. i attempted speaking to him, but fear made my voice fail me. as he passed, i left my hiding-place, and was approaching the road, when i observed an old man walking towards me, leading a white horse. he had on a broad-brimmed hat and a very long coat, and was evidently walking for exercise. as soon as i saw him, and observed his dress, i thought to myself, "you are the man that i have been looking for!" nor was i mistaken. he was the very man! on approaching me, he asked me, "if i was not a slave." i looked at him some time, and then asked him "if he knew of any one who would help me, as i was sick." he answered that he would; but again asked, if i was not a slave. i told him i was. he then said that i was in a very pro-slavery neighborhood, and if i would wait until he went home, he would get a covered wagon for me. i promised to remain. he mounted his horse, and was soon out of sight. after he was gone, i meditated whether to wait or not; being apprehensive that he had gone for some one to arrest me. but i finally concluded to remain until he should return; removing some few rods to watch his movements. after a suspense of an hour and a half or more, he returned with a two horse covered-wagon, such as are usually seen under the shed of a quaker meeting-house on sundays and thursdays; for the old man proved to be a quaker of the george fox stamp. he took me to his house, but it was some time before i could be induced to enter it; not until the old lady came out, did i venture into the house. i thought i saw something in the old lady's cap that told me i was not only safe, but welcome, in her house. i was not, however, prepared to receive their hospitalities. the only fault i found with them was their being too kind. i had never had a white man to treat me as an equal, and the idea of a white lady waiting on me at the table was still worse! though the table was loaded with the good things of this life, i could not eat. i thought if i could only be allowed the privilege of eating in the kitchen, i should be more than satisfied! finding that i could not eat, the old lady, who was a "thompsonian," made me a cup of "composition," or "number six;" but it was so strong and hot, that i called it "_number seven_!" however, i soon found myself at home in this family. on different occasions, when telling these facts, i have been asked how i felt upon finding myself regarded as a man by a white family; especially just having run away from one. i cannot say that i have ever answered the question yet. the fact that i was in all probability a freeman, sounded in my ears like a charm. i am satisfied that none but a slave could place such an appreciation upon liberty as i did at that time. i wanted to see mother and sister, that i might tell them "i was free!" i wanted to see my fellow slaves in st. louis, and let them know that the chains were no longer upon my limbs. i wanted to see captain price, and let him learn from my own lips that i was no more a chattel, but a man! i was anxious, too, thus to inform mrs. price that she must get another coachman. and i wanted to see eliza more than i did either mr. or mrs. price! the fact that i was a freeman--could walk, talk, eat and sleep as a man, and no one to stand over me with the blood-clotted cowhide--all this made me feel that i was not myself. the kind friend that had taken me in was named wells brown. he was a devoted friend of the slave; but was very old, and not in the enjoyment of good health. after being by the fire awhile, i found that my feet had been very much frozen. i was seized with a fever which threatened to confine me to my bed. but my thompsonian friends soon raised me, treating me as kindly as if i had been one of their own children. i remained with them twelve or fifteen days, during which time they made me some clothing, and the old gentleman purchased me a pair of boots. i found that i was about fifty or sixty miles from dayton, in the state of ohio, and between one and two hundred miles from cleaveland, on lake erie, a place i was desirous of reaching on my way to canada. this i know will sound strangely to the ears of people in foreign lands, but it is nevertheless true. an american citizen was fleeing from a democratic, republican, christian government, to receive protection under the monarchy of great britain. while the people of the united states boast of their freedom, they at the same time keep three millions of their own citizens in chains; and while i am seated here in sight of bunker hill monument, writing this narrative, i am a slave, and no law, not even in massachusetts, can protect me from the hands of the slaveholder! before leaving this good quaker friend, he inquired what my name was besides william. i told him that i had no other name. "well," said he, "thee must have another name. since thee has got out of slavery, thee has become a man, and men always have two names." i told him that he was the first man to extend the hand of friendship to me, and i would give him the privilege of naming me. "if i name thee," said he, "i shall call thee wells brown, after myself." "but," said i, "i am not willing to lose my name of william. as it was taken from me once against my will, i am not willing to part with it again upon any terms." "then," said he, "i will call thee william wells brown." "so be it," said i; and i have been known by that name ever since i left the house of my first white friend, wells brown. after giving me some little change, i again started for canada. in four days i reached a public house, and went in to warm myself. i there learned that some fugitive slaves had just passed through the place. the men in the bar-room were talking about it, and i thought that it must have been myself they referred to, and i was therefore afraid to start, fearing they would seize me; but i finally mustered courage enough, and took my leave. as soon as i was out of sight, i went into the woods, and remained there until night, when i again regained the road, and travelled on until the next day. not having had any food for nearly two days, i was faint with hunger, and was in a dilemma what to do, as the little cash supplied me by my adopted father, and which had contributed to my comfort, was now all gone. i however concluded to go to a farm-house, and ask for something to eat. on approaching the door of the first one presenting itself, i knocked, and was soon met by a man who asked me what i wanted. i told him that i would like something to eat. he asked where i was from, and where i was going. i replied that i had come some way, and was going to cleaveland. after hesitating a moment or two, he told me that he could give me nothing to eat, adding, "that if i would work, i could get something to eat." i felt bad, being thus refused something to sustain nature, but did not dare tell him that i was a slave. just as i was leaving the door, with a heavy heart, a woman, who proved to be the wife of this gentleman, came to the door, and asked her husband what i wanted? he did not seem inclined to inform her. she therefore asked me herself. i told her that i had asked for something to eat. after a few other questions, she told me to come in, and that she would give me something to eat. i walked up to the door, but the husband remained in the passage, as if unwilling to let me enter. she asked him two or three times to get out of the way, and let me in. but as he did not move, she pushed him on one side, bidding me walk in! i was never before so glad to see a woman push a man aside! ever since that act, i have been in favor of "woman's rights!" after giving me as much food as i could eat, she presented me with ten cents, all the money then at her disposal, accompanied with a note to a friend, a few miles further on the road. thanking this angel of mercy from an overflowing heart, i pushed on my way, and in three days arrived at cleaveland, ohio. being an entire stranger in this place, it was difficult for me to find where to stop. i had no money, and the lake being frozen, i saw that i must remain until the opening of navigation, or go to canada by way of buffalo. but believing myself to be somewhat out of danger, i secured an engagement at the mansion house, as a table waiter, in payment for my board. the proprietor, however, whose name was e.m. segur, in a short time, hired me for twelve dollars per month; on which terms i remained until spring, when i found good employment on board a lake steamboat. i purchased some books, and at leisure moments perused them with considerable advantage to myself. while at cleaveland, i saw, for the first time, an anti-slavery newspaper. it was the "genius of universal emancipation" published by benjamin lundy, and though i had no home, i subscribed for the paper. it was my great desire, being out of slavery myself, to do what i could for the emancipation of my brethren yet in chains, and while on lake erie, i found many opportunities of "helping their cause along." it is well known, that a great number of fugitives make their escape to canada, by way of cleaveland; and while on the lake, i always made arrangement to carry them on the boat to buffalo or detroit, and thus effect their escape to the "promised land." the friends of the slave, knowing that i would transport them without charge, never failed to have a delegation when the boat arrived at cleaveland. i have sometimes had four or five on board, at one time. in the year , i conveyed, from the first of may to the first of december, sixty-nine fugitives over lake erie to canada. in , i visited maiden, in upper canada, and counted seventeen, in that small village, who owed their escape to my humble efforts. soon after coming north, i subscribed for the liberator, edited by that champion of freedom, william lloyd garrison. i labored a season to promote the temperance cause among the colored people, but for the last three years, have been pleading for the victims of american slavery. william wells brown. boston, mass., june, . the underground rail road. a record of facts, authentic narratives, letters, &c., narrating the hardships hair-breadth escapes and death struggles of the slaves in their efforts for freedom, as related by themselves and others, or witnessed by the author together with sketches of some of the largest stockholders, and most liberal aiders and advisers, of the road. by william still for many years connected with the anti-slavery office in philadelphia, and chairman of the acting vigilant committee of the philadelphia branch of the underground rail road. philadelphia: porter & coates, thou shall not deliver unto his master the servant that has escaped from his master unto thee.--_deut._ xxiii. . illustrated with fine engravings by bensell, schell and others, and portraits from photographs from life. sold only by subscription. , chestnut street. entered according to act of congress, in the year , by w.m. still, in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. [illustration: w. still] preface to revised edition. * * * * * like millions of my race, my mother and father were born slaves, but were not contented to live and die so. my father purchased himself in early manhood by hard toil. mother saw no way for herself and children to escape the horrors of bondage but by flight. bravely, with her four little ones, with firm faith in god and an ardent desire to be free, she forsook the prison-house, and succeeded, through the aid of my father, to reach a free state. here life had to be begun anew. the old familiar slave names had to be changed, and others, for prudential reasons, had to be found. this was not hard work. however, hardly months had passed ere the keen scent of the slave-hunters had trailed them to where they had fancied themselves secure. in those days all power was in the hands of the oppressor, and the capture of a slave mother and her children was attended with no great difficulty other than the crushing of freedom in the breast of the victims. without judge or jury, all were hurried back to wear the yoke again. but back this mother was resolved never to stay. she only wanted another opportunity to again strike for freedom. in a few months after being carried back, with only two of her little ones, she took her heart in her hand and her babes in her arms, and this trial was a success. freedom was gained, although not without the sad loss of her two older children, whom she had to leave behind. mother and father were again reunited in freedom, while two of their little boys were in slavery. what to do for them other than weep and pray, were questions unanswerable. for over forty years the mother's heart never knew what it was to be free from anxiety about her lost boys. but no tidings came in answer to her many prayers, until one of them, to the great astonishment of his relatives, turned up in philadelphia, nearly fifty years of age, seeking his long-lost parents. being directed to the anti-slavery office for instructions as to the best plan to adopt to find out the whereabouts of his parents, fortunately he fell into the hands of his own brother, the writer, whom he had never heard of before, much less seen or known. and here began revelations connected with this marvellous coincidence, which influenced me, for years previous to emancipation, to preserve the matter found in the pages of this humble volume. and in looking back now over these strange and eventful providences, in the light of the wonderful changes wrought by emancipation, i am more and more constrained to believe that the reasons, which years ago led me to aid the bondman and preserve the records of his sufferings, are to-day quite as potent in convincing me that the necessity of the times requires this testimony. and since the first advent of my book, wherever reviewed or read by leading friends of freedom, the press, or the race more deeply represented by it, the expressions of approval and encouragement have been hearty and unanimous, and the thousands of volumes which have been sold by me, on the subscription plan, with hardly any facilities for the work, makes it obvious that it would, in the hands of a competent publisher, have a wide circulation. and here i may frankly state, that but for the hope i have always cherished that this work would encourage the race in efforts for self-elevation, its publication never would have been undertaken by me. i believe no more strongly at this moment than i have believed ever since the proclamation of emancipation was made by abraham lincoln, that as a class, in this country, no small exertion will have to be put forth before the blessings of freedom and knowledge can be fairly enjoyed by this people; and until colored men manage by dint of hard acquisition to enter the ranks of skilled industry, very little substantial respect will be shown them, even with the ballot-box and musket in their hands. well-conducted shops and stores; lands acquired and good farms managed in a manner to compete with any other; valuable books produced and published on interesting and important subjects--these are some of the fruits which the race are expected to exhibit from their newly gained privileges. if it is asked "how?" i answer, "through extraordinary determination and endeavor," such as are demonstrated in hundreds of cases in the pages of this book, in the struggles of men and women to obtain their freedom, education and property. these facts must never be lost sight of. the race must not forget the rock from whence they were hewn, nor the pit from whence, they were digged. like other races, this newly emancipated people will need all the knowledge of their past condition which they can get. the bondage and deliverance of the children of israel will never be allowed to sink into oblivion while the world stands. those scenes of suffering and martyrdom millions of christians were called upon to pass through in the days of the inquisition are still subjects of study, and have unabated interest for all enlightened minds. the same is true of the history of this country. the struggles of the pioneer fathers are preserved, produced and re-produced, and cherished with undying interest by all americans, and the day will not arrive while the republic exists, when these histories will not be found in every library. while the grand little army of abolitionists was waging its untiring warfare for freedom, prior to the rebellion, no agency encouraged them like the heroism of fugitives. the pulse of the four millions of slaves and their desire for freedom, were better felt through "the underground railroad," than through any other channel. frederick douglass, henry bibb, wm. wells brown, rev. j.w. logan, and others, gave unmistakable evidence that the race had no more eloquent advocates than its own self-emancipated champions. every step they took to rid themselves of their fetters, or to gain education, or in pleading the cause of their fellow-bondmen in the lecture-room, or with their pens, met with applause on every hand, and the very argument needed was thus furnished in large measure. in those dark days previous to emancipation, such testimony was indispensable. the free colored men are as imperatively required now to furnish the same manly testimony in support of the ability of the race to surmount the remaining obstacles growing out of oppression, ignorance, and poverty. in the political struggles, the hopes of the race have been sadly disappointed. from this direction no great advantage is likely to arise very soon. only as desert can be proved by the acquisition of knowledge and the exhibition of high moral character, in examples of economy and a disposition to encourage industrial enterprises, conducted by men of their own ranks, will it be possible to make political progress in the face of the present public sentiment. here, therefore, in my judgment is the best possible reason for vigorously pushing the circulation of this humble volume--that it may testify for thousands and tens of thousands, as no other work can do. william still, author. september, . philadelphia, pa. illustrations. the author peter still--"the kidnapped and the ransomed" charity still twice escaped from slavery desperate conflict in a barn death of romulus hall resurrection of henry box brown rescue of jane johnson and her children passmore williamson jane johnson escaping from portsmouth, va twenty-eight fugitives escaping from eastern shore of maryland escaping from alabama on top of a car crossing the river on horseback in the night a bold stroke for freedom--contest with fire-arms abram galloway the mayor and police of norfolk searching captain fountain's schooner maria weems escaping as jo wright john henry hill dry-goods merchant searching the cars escape with a lady, as her coachman, with master's horse and carriage six on two horses up a tree samuel green sentenced to the penitentiary for ten years for having a copy of "uncle tom's cabin" in his house lear green escaping in a chest escape of eleven passengers from maryland in two carriages the christiana tragedy william and ellen craft members of the acting committee: n.w. depee jacob c. white charles wise edwin h. coates knifing his victim living in a hollow tree in a cave a narrow escape suspended by the hands with block and tackle crossing the bay breaking him in mother escaping with seven children fight in chesapeake bay john w. dungee mary milburn (secreted in a box) heavy weights--arrival of a party at league island sketches and portraits of station-masters, prominent anti-slavery men, and supporters of the u.g.r.r.: abigail goodwin thomas garrett daniel gibbons lucretia mott j. miller m'kim william h. furness william lloyd garrison lewis tappan elijah f. pennypacker william wright dr. bartholomew fussell robert purvis john hunn samuel rhoads william whipper samuel d. burris charles d. cleveland grace anna lewis mrs. frances e.w. harper john needles contents. seth concklin underground railroad letters. from thomas garrett--g.a. lewis--e.l. stevens--sydney howard gay--john henry hill--j. bigelowe--ham and eggs--rev. h. wilson--sheridan ford--e.f. pennypacker--j.c. bustill--slave secreted in richmond--g.s. nelson--john thompson--wm. penn william box peel jones came boxed up _viâ_ erricson line of steamers. wesley harris alias robert jackson, craven matterson and two brothers. clarissa davis arrived in male attire. anthony blow alias henry levison secreted ten months--eight days on the steamship city of richmond bound for philadelphia. perry johnson, of elkton, maryland. eye knocked out. isaac forman, william davis and willis redick. hearts full of joy for freedom--very anxious for wives in slavery. joseph henry camp sold, the day he escaped, for fourteen hundred dollars--slave trader loses his bargain. sheridan ford secreted in the woods--escapes in a steamer. joseph kneeland alias joseph hulson young master had a "malignant spirit". ex-president tyler's household loses an aristocratic article. edward morgan, henry johnson, james and stephen butler. "two thousand dollars reward" offered. henry predo daniel hughes, thomas elliott, and five others betrayed into dover jail. mary epps alias emma brown, joseph and robert robinson. a slave mother loses her speech at the sale of her child ... bob escapes from his master, a trader, with fifteen hundred dollars in north carolina money. george solomon, daniel neall, benjamin r. fletcher and maria dorsey. henry box brown arrived by adams express. trial of the emancipators of col. j.h. wheeler's slaves, jane johnson and her two little boys. the arrivals of a single month. sixty passengers came in one month--twenty-eight in one arrival--great panic and indignation meeting--interesting correspondence from masters and fugitives. a slave girl's narrative. cordelia loney, slave of mrs. joseph cahell, (widow of the late hon. joseph cahell, of virginia)--cordelia's escape from her mistress in philadelphia. arrival of jackson, isaac and edmondson turner from petersburg. touching scene on meeting their old blind father at the u.g.r.r. depot. robert brown alias thomas jones. crossing the river on horseback in the night. anthony loney alias william armstead and cornelius scott. samuel williams alias john williams. barnaby grigby alias john boyer, and mary elizabeth his wife, frank wanzer alias robert scott, emily foster alias ann wood. william jordan alias william price. joseph grant and john speaks. two passengers _viâ_ liverpool. william n. taylor. "one hundred dollars reward". louisa brown, jacob waters, and alfred goulden. arrival from baltimore. jefferson pipkins alias david jones, louisa pipkins, elizabeth brit, harriet brown, alias jane wooton, gracy murry alias sophia sims, edward williams _alias_ henry johnson, charles lee alias thomas bushier. several arrivals from different places. henry anderson, charles and margaret congo, chaskey brown, william henry washington, james alfred frisley, charles henry salter, stephen taylor, charles brown, charles h. hollis, luther dorsey. arrival from richmond. jeremiah w. smith and wife julia. eight arrivals. james massey, perry henry trusty, george rhoads, james rhoads, george washington, sarah elizabeth rhoads, and child, mary elizabeth stephenson. charles thompson. carrier of "the national american". blood flowed freely. abram galloway and richard eden--secreted in a vessel loaded with spirits of turpentine--shrouds prepared to prevent being smoked to death--abram a soldier under father abraham--senator of north carolina. john pettifoot. "one hundred dollars reward" offered--mchenry and mcculloch anxious about john. emanuel t. white. "would rather fight than eat". the escape of a child fourteen months old. letter from "j.b."--letters from e.l. stevens ... great anxiety and care. escape of a young slave mother. baby, little girl and husband left behind--three hundred dollars reward offered. samuel w. johnson. arrival from the richmond daily dispatch office--"uncle tom's cabin" turned sam's brain--affecting letters. family from baltimore. stephen amos _alias_ henry johnson, harriet _alias_ mary jane johnson, and their four children, ann rebecca, william h., elizabeth and mary ellen. elijah hilton. from richmond--"five hundred dollars reward" offered by r.j. christian.... grateful letter from canada. solomon brown. arrived per city of richmond--letter from canada containing expressions of gratitude. william hogg alias john smith. traveler from maryland--william was much troubled about his wife left behind--letter from canada. two female passengers from maryland. ann johnson and lavina woolfley sold--out of the frying pan into the fire. captain f. and the mayor of norfolk. twenty-one passengers secreted in captain fountain's boat--mayor and posse of officers on the boat searching for u.g.r.r. passengers. arrivals from different places. matilda mahoney--dr. j.w. pennington's brother and sons--great adventure to deliver a lover. fleeing girl of fifteen in male attire. ann maria weems alias joe wright--great triumph--arrival on thanksgiving day--interesting letters from j. bigelow. five years and one month secreted. john henry, hezekiah and james hill. from virginia, maryland and delaware. archer barlow, alias emet robins--samuel bush _alias_ william oblebee--john spencer and his son william and james albert--robert fisher--nathan harris--hansel waples--rosanna tonnell, _alias_ maria hyde--mary ennis _alias_ licia hemmit and two children--lydia and louisa caroline. sam, isaac, perry, charles and green. "one thousand dollars reward". from richmond and norfolk, va. william b. white, susan brooks, and wm. henry atkinson. four arrivals. charlotte and harriet escape in deep mourning--white lady and child with a colored coachman--three likely young men from baltimore--four large and two small hams--u.g.r.r. passengers travelling with their master's horses and carriage--six passengers on two horses, &c. from virginia, maryland, delaware, north carolina, washington, d.c. and south carolina. charles gilbert, fleeing from davis, a negro trader--secreted under a hotel--up a tree--under a floor--in a thicket--on a steamer. liberty or death. jim bowlegs alias bill paul. salt-water fugitive. samuel green alias wesley kinnard. ten years in the penitentiary for having a copy of uncle tom's cabin in his house. an irish girl's devotion to freedom. in love with a slave--gets him off to canada--follows him--marriage, &c. "sam" nixon alias dr. thomas bayne. the escape of a dentist on the u.g.r.r. &c. sundry arrivals. from loudoun county, va., norfolk, baltimore, md., petersburg, va., &c. heavy reward. "two thousand six hundred dollars reward" offered. slave-trader hall is foiled. robert mccoy alias william donar, and elizabeth sanders, arrived per steamer. the protection of slave property in virginia. a bill providing additional protection for the slave property of citizens of this commonwealth. escaping in a chest. "one hundred and fifty dollars reward"--lear green. isaac williams, henry banks and kit nickless. arrival of five prom the eastern shore of maryland. cyrus mitchell alias john steel, joshua handy alias hambleton hamby, charles button alias william robinson, ephraim hudson alias john spry, francis molock alias thomas jackson. sundry arrivals about august st, . francis hilliard and others. deep furrows on the back. thomas madden. peter mathews alias samuel sparrows. "i might as well be in the penitentiary as in slavery." "moses" arrives with six passengers. escaped from "a worthless sot." john atkinson. william butcher alias wm. t. mtchell. "he was abuseful". "white enough to pass". escaping with master's carriages and horses. harriet shephard, and her five children with five other passengers. eight and a half months secreted. washington somlor alias james moore. arthur fowler alias benjamin johnson. sundry arrivals. about the st of june, --emory roberts and others. sundry arrivals about january st, . verenea mercer and others. slave-holder in maryland with three colored wives. james griffin alias thomas brown. captain f. arrives with nine passengers. names of passengers. owen and otho taylor's flight with horses, &c. heavy reward. three hundred dollars reward--"tom" gone. capt. f. arrives with fourteen "prime articles" on board. sundry arrivals, latter part of december, , and beginning of january, . joseph cornish and others. part of the arrivals in december, . thomas j. gooseberry and others. the fugitive slave bill of . "an act respecting fugitives from justice, and persons escaping from the services of their masters." the slave hunting tragedy in lancaster county, in september, . "treason at christiana". william and ellen craft. female slave in male attire, fleeing as a planter, with her husband as her body servant. arrivals from richmond. lewis cobb and nancy brister. passengers from north carolina, [by schooner.] major latham, william wilson, henry goram, wiley madison, and andrew shepherd. thomas clinton, sauney pry and benjamin ducket. passed over the u.g.r.r. in the fall of . arrivals in april, . charles hall and others. five from georgetown cross-roads. mother and child from norfolk, va., &c. passengers from maryland. william henry moody, belinda bivans, &c. arrival from maryland. arrival from washington, d.c., &c., . george carroll, randolph branson, john clagart and william royan. arrival from unionville, . israel todd and bazil aldridge. arrival from maryland, . ordee lee and richard j. booce. arrival from cambridge, . silas long and solomon light--"the mother of twelve children"--old jane davis. benjamin ross and his wife harriet fled from caroline county, eastern shore of maryland, june, . arrival from virginia, . arrival from delaware, . arrival from alexandria, in . arrival from unionville, . from new orleans, . arrival from washington, d.c. arrival from virginia, . arrival from maryland. arrival from georgetown cross roads and alexandria. arrival from maryland. arrival from norfolk, va. arrival from washington, d.c. four able bodied "articles" in one arrival, . arrival from arlington, md., . five passengers, . arrival from howard county, md., . arrival from prince george's county, md. arrival from rappahannock county, . arrival from north carolina, . alfred hollon, george and charles n. rodgers. arrival from kent county, . arrival from baltimore county, . mary cooper and moses armstead, . arrival from near washington, d.c. hon. l. mclane's property, soon after his death, travels via the underground rail road--william knight, esq. loses a superior "article." arrival from harford county, . arrival from maryland, . arrival from norfolk, va., . arrival from hooperville, md., . arrival from maryland, . arrival from queen anne county, . arrival from baltimore. arrived from dunwoody county, . arrived from alexandria, va., . arrival from maryland, . arrival from petersburg, . arrival from maryland. arrival of a party of six, . arrival from richmond, . arrival from baltimore, . arrival from hightstown, . arrival from virginia, . arrival from bellair. arrival from maryland, . arrival from virginia, . arrival from richmond, . arrival from norfolk, va., . arrival from near baltimore, . arrival from virginia, . arrival from washington, . arrival from virginia, . arrival from the old dominion. arrival from delaware, . arrival from delaware, . arrival from maryland, . arrival from north carolina and delaware. arrival from maryland. arrival from maryland. arrival from the district of columbia, . arrival from honey brook township, . arrival from alexandria, va., . arrival from the seat of government. crossing the bay in a skiff. arrival from kent county, md., . arrival from washington, . arrival from cecil county, . arrival from georgetown, d.c., . arrival from sussex county, . sundry arrivals in . arrival from richmond, . arrival from delaware, . arrival from richmond, . arrival from maryland, . sundry arrivals, . arrival from maryland, . arrival from delaware, . arrival from virginia, . sundry arrivals from maryland, . arrival from richmond, . arrival from maryland. arrival from maryland, virginia, and the district of columbia. sundry arrivals from maryland and virginia. arrival from seaford, . arrival from taps' neck, md., . arrival from maryland, . sundry arrivals from virginia, maryland and delaware. arrival from different points. sundry arrivals from maryland, . arrival from virginia, . arrival from baltimore, . arrival from maryland. arrival from fredericksburg, . sundry arrivals from maryland, . crossing the bay in a batteau. arrival from dorchester county, . arrival from maryland, . twelve months in the woods, . arrival from maryland. a slave catcher caught in his own trap. to whom it might concern. arrival from richmond, . arrival from richmond, . arrival from richmond. "aunt hannah moore." kidnapping of rachel and elizabeth parker--murder of joseph c. miller, in and . arrival from virginia, . arrival from norfolk. arrival of fifteen from norfolk, virginia. the case of euphemia williams. helpers and sympathizers at home and abroad--interesting letters. pamphlet and letters. letters to the writer. woman escaping in a box, . organization of the vigilance committee. portraits and sketches. esther moore. abigail goodwin. thomas garrett. daniel gibbons. lucretia mott. james miller mckim. william h. furness, d.d. william lloyd garrison. lewis tappan. elijah f. pennypacker. william wright. dr. bartholomew fussell. thomas shipley. robert purvis. john hunn. samuel rhoads. george corson. charles d. cleveland. william whipper. isaac t. hopper. samuel d. burris. mariann, grace anna, and elizabeth r. lewis. cunningham's rache. frances ellen watkins harper. the underground railroad * * * * * seth concklin. in the long list of names who have suffered and died in the cause of freedom, not one, perhaps, could be found whose efforts to redeem a poor family of slaves were more christlike than seth concklin's, whose noble and daring spirit has been so long completely shrouded in mystery. except john brown, it is a question, whether his rival could be found with respect to boldness, disinterestedness and willingness to be sacrificed for the deliverance of the oppressed. by chance one day he came across a copy of the pennsylvania freeman, containing the story of peter still, "the kidnapped and the ransomed,"--how he had been torn away from his mother, when a little boy six years old; how, for forty years and more, he had been compelled to serve under the yoke, totally destitute as to any knowledge of his parents' whereabouts; how the intense love of liberty and desire to get back to his mother had unceasingly absorbed his mind through all these years of bondage; how, amid the most appalling discouragements, prompted alone by his undying determination to be free and be reunited with those from whom he had been sold away, he contrived to buy himself; how, by extreme economy, from doing over-work, he saved up five hundred dollars, the amount of money required for his ransom, which, with his freedom, he, from necessity, placed unreservedly in the confidential keeping of a jew, named joseph friedman, whom he had known for a long time and could venture to trust,--how he had further toiled to save up money to defray his expenses on an expedition in search of his mother and kindred; how, when this end was accomplished, with an earnest purpose he took his carpet-bag in his hand, and his heart throbbing for his old home and people, he turned his mind very privately towards philadelphia, where he hoped, by having notices read in the colored churches to the effect that "forty-one or forty-two years before two little boys[a] were kidnapped and carried south"--that the memory of some of the older members might recall the circumstances, and in this way he would be aided in his ardent efforts to become restored to them. [footnote a: sons of levin and sidney--the last names of his parents he was too young to remember.] and, furthermore, seth concklin had read how, on arriving in philadelphia, after traveling sixteen hundred miles, that almost the first man whom peter still sought advice from was his own unknown brother (whom he had never seen or heard of), who made the discovery that he was the long-lost boy, whose history and fate had been enveloped in sadness so long, and for whom his mother had shed so many tears and offered so many prayers, during the long years of their separation; and, finally, how this self-ransomed and restored captive, notwithstanding his great success, was destined to suffer the keenest pangs of sorrow for his wife and children, whom he had left in alabama bondage. seth concklin was naturally too singularly sympathetic and humane not to feel now for peter, and especially for his wife and children left in bonds as bound with them. hence, as seth was a man who seemed wholly insensible to fear, and to know no other law of humanity and right, than whenever the claims of the suffering and the wronged appealed to him, to respond unreservedly, whether those thus injured were amongst his nearest kin or the greatest strangers,--it mattered not to what race or clime they might belong,--he, in the spirit of the good samaritan, owning all such as his neighbors, volunteered his services, without pay or reward, to go and rescue the wife and three children of peter still. the magnitude of this offer can hardly be appreciated. it was literally laying his life on the altar of freedom for the despised and oppressed whom he had never seen, whose kins-folk even he was not acquainted with. at this juncture even peter was not prepared to accept this proposal. he wanted to secure the freedom of his wife and children as earnestly as he had ever desired to see his mother, yet he could not, at first, hearken to the idea of having them rescued in the way suggested by concklin, fearing a failure. to j.m. mckim and the writer, the bold scheme for the deliverance of peter's family was alone confided. it was never submitted to the vigilance committee, for the reason, that it was not considered a matter belonging thereto. on first reflection, the very idea of such an undertaking seemed perfectly appalling. frankly was he told of the great dangers and difficulties to be encountered through hundreds of miles of slave territory. seth was told of those who, in attempting to aid slaves to escape had fallen victims to the relentless slave power, and had either lost their lives, or been incarcerated for long years in penitentiaries, where no friendly aid could be afforded them; in short, he was plainly told, that without a very great chance, the undertaking would cost him his life. the occasion of this interview and conversation, the seriousness of concklin and the utter failure in presenting the various obstacles to his plan, to create the slightest apparent misgiving in his mind, or to produce the slightest sense of fear or hesitancy, can never be effaced from the memory of the writer. the plan was, however, allowed to rest for a time. in the meanwhile, peter's mind was continually vacillating between alabama, with his wife and children, and his new-found relatives in the north. said a brother, "if you cannot get your family, what will you do? will you come north and live with your relatives?" "i would as soon go out of the world, as not to go back and do all i can for them," was the prompt reply of peter. the problem of buying them was seriously considered, but here obstacles quite formidable lay in the way. alabama laws utterly denied the right of a slave to buy himself, much less his wife and children. the right of slave masters to free their slaves, either by sale or emancipation, was positively prohibited by law. with these reflections weighing upon his mind, having stayed away from his wife as long as he could content himself to do, he took his carpet-bag in his hand, and turned his face toward alabama, to embrace his family in the prison-house of bondage. his approach home could only be made stealthily, not daring to breathe to a living soul, save his own family, his nominal jew master, and one other friend--a slave--where he had been, the prize he had found, or anything in relation to his travels. to his wife and children his return was unspeakably joyous. the situation of his family concerned him with tenfold more weight than ever before, as the time drew near to make the offer to his wife's master to purchase her with his children, his heart failed him through fear of awakening the ire of slaveholders against him, as he knew that the law and public sentiment were alike deadly opposed to the spirit of freedom in the slave. indeed, as innocent as a step in this direction might appear, in those days a man would have stood about as good a chance for his life in entering a lair of hungry hyenas, as a slave or free colored man would, in talking about freedom. he concluded, therefore, to say nothing about buying. the plan proposed by seth concklin was told to vina, his wife; also what he had heard from his brother about the underground rail road,--how, that many who could not get their freedom in any other way, by being aided a little, were daily escaping to canada. although the wife and children had never tasted the pleasures of freedom for a single hour in their lives, they hated slavery heartily, and being about to be far separated from husband and father, they were ready to assent to any proposition that looked like deliverance. so peter proposed to vina, that she should give him certain small articles, consisting of a cape, etc., which he would carry with him as memorials, and, in case concklin or any one else should ever come for her from him, as an unmistakable sign that all was right, he would send back, by whoever was to befriend them, the cape, so that she and the children might not doubt but have faith in the man, when he gave her the sign, (cape). again peter returned to philadelphia, and was now willing to accept the offer of concklin. ere long, the opportunity of an interview was had, and peter gave seth a very full description of the country and of his family, and made known to him, that he had very carefully gone over with his wife and children the matter of their freedom. this interview interested concklin most deeply. if his own wife and children had been in bondage, scarcely could he have manifested greater sympathy for them. for the hazardous work before him he was at once prepared to make a start. true he had two sisters in philadelphia for whom he had always cherished the warmest affection, but he conferred not with them on this momentous mission. for full well did he know that it was not in human nature for them to acquiesce in this perilous undertaking, though one of these sisters, mrs. supplee, was a most faithful abolitionist. having once laid his hand to the plough he was not the man to look back,--not even to bid his sisters good-bye, but he actually left them as though he expected to be home to his dinner as usual. what had become of him during those many weeks of his perilous labors in alabama to rescue this family was to none a greater mystery than to his sisters. on leaving home he simply took two or three small articles in the way of apparel with one hundred dollars to defray his expenses for a time; this sum he considered ample to start with. of course he had very safely concealed about him vina's cape and one or two other articles which he was to use for his identification in meeting her and the children on the plantation. his first thought was, on reaching his destination, after becoming acquainted with the family, being familiar with southern manners, to have them all prepared at a given hour for the starting of the steamboat for cincinnati, and to join him at the wharf, when he would boldly assume the part of a slaveholder, and the family naturally that of slaves, and in this way he hoped to reach cincinnati direct, before their owner had fairly discovered their escape. but alas for southern irregularity, two or three days' delay after being advertised to start, was no uncommon circumstance with steamers; hence this plan was abandoned. what this heroic man endured from severe struggles and unyielding exertions, in traveling thousands of miles on water and on foot, hungry and fatigued, rowing his living freight for seven days and seven nights in a skiff, is hardly to be paralleled in the annals of the underground rail road. the following interesting letters penned by the hand of concklin convey minutely his last struggles and characteristically represent the singleness of heart which impelled him to sacrifice his life for the slave-- eastport, miss., feb. , . to wm. still:--our friends in cincinnati have failed finding anybody to assist me on my return. searching the country opposite paducah, i find that the whole country fifty miles round is inhabited only by christian wolves. it is customary, when a strange negro is seen, for any white man to seize the negro and convey such negro through and out of the state of illinois to paducah, ky., and lodge such stranger in paducah jail, and there claim such reward as may be offered by the master. there is no regularity by the steamboats on the tennessee river. i was four days getting to florence from paducah. sometimes they are four days starting, from the time appointed, which alone puts to rest the plan for returning by steamboat. the distance from the mouth of the river to florence, is from between three hundred and five to three hundred and forty-five miles by the river; by land, two hundred and fifty, or more. i arrived at the shoe shop on the plantation, one o'clock, tuesday, th. william and two boys were making shoes. i immediately gave the first signal, anxiously waiting thirty minutes for an opportunity to give the second and main signal, during which time i was very sociable. it was rainy and muddy--my pants were rolled up to the knees. i was in the character of a man seeking employment in this country. end of thirty minutes gave the second signal. william appeared unmoved; soon sent out the boys; instantly sociable; peter and levin at the island; one of the young masters with them; not safe to undertake to see them till saturday night, when they would be at home; appointed a place to see vina, in an open field, that night; they to bring me something to eat; our interview only four minutes; i left; appeared by night; dark and cloudy; at ten o'clock appeared william; exchanged signals; led me a few rods to where stood vina; gave her the signal sent by peter; our interview ten minutes; she did not call me "master," nor did she say "sir," by which i knew she had confidence in me. our situation being dangerous, we decided that i meet peter and levin on the bank of the river early dawn of day, sunday, to establish the laws. during our interview, william prostrated on his knees, and face to the ground; arms sprawling; head cocked back, watching for wolves, by which position a man can see better in the dark. no house to go to safely, traveled round till morning, eating hoe cake which william had given me for supper; next day going around to get employment. i thought of william, who is a christian preacher, and of the christian preachers in pennsylvania. one watching for wolves by night, to rescue vina and her three children from christian licentiousness; the other standing erect in open day, seeking the praise of men. during the four days waiting for the important sunday morning, i thoroughly surveyed the rocks and shoals of the river from florence seven miles up, where will be my place of departure. general notice was taken of me as being a stranger, lurking around. fortunately there are several small grist mills within ten miles around. no taverns here, as in the north; any planter's house entertains travelers occasionally. one night i stayed at a medical gentleman's, who is not a large planter; another night at an ex-magistrate's house in south florence--a virginian by birth--one of the late census takers; told me that many more persons cannot read and write than is reported; one fact, amongst many others, that many persons who do not know the letters of the alphabet, have learned to write their own names; such are generally reported readers and writers. it being customary for a stranger not to leave the house early in the morning where he has lodged, i was under the necessity of staying out all night saturday, to be able to meet peter and levin, which was accomplished in due time. when we approached, i gave my signal first; immediately they gave theirs. i talked freely. levin's voice, at first, evidently trembled. no wonder, for my presence universally attracted attention by the lords of the land. our interview was less than one hour; the laws were written. i to go to cincinnati to get a rowing boat and provisions; a first class clipper boat to go with speed. to depart from the place where the laws were written, on saturday night of the first of march. i to meet one of them at the same place thursday night, previous to the fourth saturday from the night previous to the sunday when the laws were written. we to go down the tennessee river to some place up the ohio, not yet decided on, in our row boat. peter and levin are good oarsmen. so am i. telegraph station at tuscumbia, twelve miles from the plantation, also at paducah. came from florence to here sunday night by steamboat. eastport is in mississippi. waiting here for a steamboat to go down; paying one dollar a day for board. like other taverns here, the wretchedness is indescribable; no pen, ink, paper or newspaper to be had; only one room for everybody, except the gambling rooms. it is difficult for me to write. vina intends to get a pass for catharine and herself for the first sunday in march. the bank of the river where i met peter and levin is two miles from the plantation. i have avoided saying i am from philadelphia. also avoided talking about negroes. i never talked so much about milling before. i consider most of the trouble over, till i arrive in a free state with my crew, the first week in march; then will i have to be wiser than christian serpents, and more cautious than doves. i do not consider it safe to keep this letter in my possession, yet i dare not put it in the post-office here; there is so little business in these post-offices that notice might be taken. i am evidently watched; everybody knows me to be a miller. i may write again when i get to cincinnati, if i should have time. the ex-magistrate, with whom i stayed in south florence, held three hours' talk with me, exclusive of our morning talk. is a man of good general information; he was exceedingly inquisitive. "i am from cincinnati, formerly from the _state of new york_." i had no opportunity to get anything to eat from seven o'clock tuesday morning till six o'clock wednesday evening, except the hoe cake, and no sleep. florence is the head of navigation for small steamboats. seven miles, all the way up to my place of departure, is swift water, and rocky. eight hundred miles to cincinnati. i found all things here as peter told me, except the distance of the river. south florence contains twenty white families, three warehouses of considerable business, a post-office, but no school. mckiernon is here waiting for a steamboat to go to new orleans, so we are in company. princeton, gibson county, indiana, feb. , . to wm. still:--the plan is to go to canada, on the wabash, opposite detroit. there are four routes to canada. one through illinois, commencing above and below alton; one through to north indiana, and the cincinnati route, being the largest route in the united states. i intended to have gone through pennsylvania, but the risk going up the ohio river has caused me to go to canada. steamboat traveling is universally condemned, though many go in boats, consequently many get lost. going in a skiff is new, and is approved of in my case. after i arrive at the mouth of the tennessee river, i will go up the ohio seventy-five miles, to the mouth of the wabash, then up the wabash, forty-four miles to new harmony, where i shall go ashore by night, and go thirteen miles east, to charles grier, a farmer, (colored man), who will entertain us, and next night convey us sixteen miles to david stormon, near princeton, who will take the command, and i be released. david stormon estimates the expenses from his house to canada, at forty dollars, without which, no sure protection will be given. they might be instructed concerning the course, and beg their way through without money. if you wish to do what should be done, you will send me fifty dollars, in a letter, to princeton, gibson county, inda., so as to arrive there by the th of march. eight days should be estimated for a letter to arrive from philadelphia. the money to be state bank of ohio, or state bank, or northern bank of kentucky, or any other eastern bank. send no notes larger than twenty dollars. levi coffin had no money for me. i paid twenty dollars for the skiff. no money to get back to philadelphia. it was not understood that i would have to be at any expense seeking aid. one half of my time has been used in trying to find persons to assist, when i may arrive on the ohio river, in which i have failed, except stormon. having no letter of introduction to stormon from any source, on which i could fully rely, i traveled two hundred miles around, to find out his stability. i have found many abolitionists, nearly all who have made propositions, which themselves would not comply with, and nobody else would. already i have traveled over three thousand miles. two thousand and four hundred by steamboat, two hundred by railroad, one hundred by stage, four hundred on foot, forty-eight in a skiff. i have yet five hundred miles to go to the plantation, to commence operations. i have been two weeks on the decks of steamboats, three nights out, two of which i got perfectly wet. if i had had paper money, as mckim desired, it would have been destroyed. i have not been entertained gratis at any place except stormon's. i had one hundred and twenty-six dollars when i left philadelphia, one hundred from you, twenty-six mine. telegraphed to station at evansville, thirty-three miles from stormon's, and at vinclure's, twenty-five miles from stormon's. the wabash route is considered the safest route. no one has ever been lost from stormon's to canada. some have been lost between stormon's and the ohio. the wolves have never suspected stormon. your asking aid in money for a case properly belonging east of ohio, is detested. if you have sent money to cincinnati, you should recall it. i will have no opportunity to use it. seth concklin, princeton, gibson county, ind. p.s. first of april, will be about the time peter's family will arrive opposite detroit. you should inform yourself how to find them there. i may have no opportunity. i will look promptly for your letter at princeton, till the th of march, and longer if there should have been any delay by the mails. in march, as contemplated, concklin arrived in indiana, at the place designated, with peter's wife and three children, and sent a thrilling letter to the writer, portraying in the most vivid light his adventurous flight from the hour they left alabama until their arrival in indiana. in this report he stated, that instead of starting early in the morning, owing to some unforeseen delay on the part of the family, they did not reach the designated place till towards day, which greatly exposed them in passing a certain town which he had hoped to avoid. but as his brave heart was bent on prosecuting his journey without further delay, he concluded to start at all hazards, notwithstanding the dangers he apprehended from passing said town by daylight. for safety he endeavored to hide his freight by having them all lie flat down on the bottom of the skiff; covered them with blankets, concealing them from the effulgent beams of the early morning sun, or rather from the "christian wolves" who might perchance espy him from the shore in passing the town. the wind blew fearfully. concklin was rowing heroically when loud voices from the shore hailed him, but he was utterly deaf to the sound. immediately one or two guns were fired in the direction of the skiff, but he heeded not this significant call; consequently here ended this difficulty. he supposed, as the wind was blowing so hard, those on shore who hailed him must have concluded that he did not hear them and that he meant no disrespect in treating them with seeming indifference. whilst many straits and great dangers had to be passed, this was the greatest before reaching their destination. but suffice it to say that the glad tidings which this letter contained filled the breast of peter with unutterable delight and his friends and relations with wonder beyond degree.[a] no fond wife had ever waited with more longing desire for the return of her husband than peter had for this blessed news. all doubts had disappeared, and a well grounded hope was cherished that within a few short days peter and his fond wife and children would be reunited in freedom on the canada side, and that concklin and the friends would be rejoicing with joy unspeakable over this great triumph. but alas, before the few days had expired the subjoined brief paragraph of news was discovered in the morning ledger. [footnote a: in some unaccountable manner this the last letter concklin ever penned, perhaps, has been unfortunately lost.] runaway negroes caught.--at vincennes, indiana, on saturday last, a white man and four negroes were arrested. the negroes belong to b. mckiernon, of south florence, alabama, and the man who was running them off calls himself john h. miller. the prisoners were taken charge of by the marshall of evansville.--_april th_. how suddenly these sad tidings turned into mourning and gloom the hope and joy of peter and his relatives no pen could possibly describe; at least the writer will not attempt it here, but will at once introduce a witness who met the noble concklin and the panting fugitives in indiana and proffered them sympathy and advice. and it may safely be said from a truer and more devoted friend of the slave they could not have received counsel. evansville, indiana, march st, . wm. still: _dear sir_ ,--on last tuesday i mailed a letter to you, written by seth concklin. i presume you have received that letter. it gave an account of his rescue of the family of your brother. if that is the last news you have had from them, i have very painful intelligence for you. they passed on from near princeton, where i saw them and had a lengthy interview with them, up north, i think twenty-three miles above vincennes, ind., where they were seized by a party of men, and lodged in jail. telegraphic dispatches were sent all through the south. i have since learned that the marshall of evansville received a dispatch from tuscumbia, to look out for them. by some means, he and the master, so says report, went to vincennes and claimed the fugitives, chained mr. concklin and hurried all off. mr. concklin wrote to mr. david stormon, princeton, as soon as he was cast into prison, to find bail. so soon as we got the letter and could get off, two of us were about setting off to render all possible aid, when we were told they all had passed, a few hours before, through princeton, mr. concklin in chains. what kind of process was had, if any, i know not. i immediately came down to this place, and learned that they had been put on a boat at p.m. i did not arrive until . now all hopes of their recovery are gone. no case ever so enlisted my sympathies. i had seen mr. concklin in cincinnati. i had given him aid and counsel. i happened to see them after they landed in indiana. i heard peter and levin tell their tale of suffering, shed tears of sorrow for them all; but now, since they have fallen a prey to the unmerciful blood-hounds of this state, and have again been dragged back to unrelenting bondage, i am entirely unmanned. and poor concklin! i fear for him. when he is dragged back to alabama, i fear they will go far beyond the utmost rigor of the law, and vent their savage cruelty upon him. it is with pain i have to communicate these things. but you may not hear them from him. i could not get to see him or them, as vincennes is about thirty miles from princeton, where i was when i heard of the capture. i take pleasure in stating that, according to the letter he (concklin) wrote to mr. d. stewart, mr. concklin did not abandon them, but risked his own liberty to save them. he was not with them when they were taken; but went afterwards to take them out of jail upon a writ of habeas corpus, when they seized him too and lodged him in prison. i write in much haste. if i can learn any more facts of importance, i may write you. if you desire to hear from me again, or if you should learn any thing specific from mr. concklin, be pleased to write me at cincinnati, where i expect to be in a short time. if curious to know your correspondent, i may say i was formerly editor of the "new concord free press," ohio. i only add that every case of this kind only tends to make me abhor my (no!) _this_ country more and more. it is the devil's government, and god will destroy it. yours for the slave, n.r. johnston. p.s. i broke open this letter to write you some more. the foregoing pages were written at night. i expected to mail it next morning before leaving evansville; but the boat for which i was waiting came down about three in the morning; so i had to hurry on board, bringing the letter along. as it now is i am not sorry, for coming down, on my way to st. louis, as far as paducah, there i learned from a colored man at the wharf that, that same day, in the morning, the master and the family of fugitives arrived off the boat, and had then gone on their journey to tuscumbia, but that the "white man" (mr. concklin) had "got away from them," about twelve miles up the river. it seems he got off the boat some way, near or at smithland, ky., a town at the mouth of the cumberland river. i presume the report is true, and hope he will finally escape, though i was also told that they were in pursuit of him. would that the others had also escaped. peter and levin could have done so, i think, if they had had resolution. one of them rode a horse, he not tied either, behind the coach in which the others were. he followed apparently "contented and happy." from report, they told their master, and even their pursuers, before the master came, that concklin had decoyed them away, they coming unwillingly. i write on a very unsteady boat. yours, n.r. johnston. a report found its way into the papers to the effect that "miller," the white man arrested in connection with the capture of the family, was found drowned, with his hands and feet in chains and his skull fractured. it proved, as his friends feared, to be seth concklin. and in irons, upon the river bank, there is no doubt he was buried. in this dreadful hour one sad duty still remained to be performed. up to this moment the two sisters were totally ignorant of their brother's whereabouts. not the first whisper of his death had reached them. but they must now be made acquainted with all the facts in the case. accordingly an interview was arranged for a meeting, and the duty of conveying this painful intelligence to one of the sisters, mrs. supplee, devolved upon mr. mckim. and most tenderly and considerately did he perform his mournful task. although a woman of nerve, and a true friend to the slave, an earnest worker and a liberal giver in the female anti-slavery society, for a time she was overwhelmed by the intelligence of her brother's death. as soon as possible, however, through very great effort, she controlled her emotions, and calmly expressed herself as being fully resigned to the awful event. not a word of complaint had she to make because she had not been apprised of his movements; but said repeatedly, that, had she known ever so much of his intentions, she would have been totally powerless in opposing him if she had felt so disposed, and as an illustration of the true character of the man, from his boyhood up to the day he died for his fellow-man, she related his eventful career, and recalled a number of instances of his heroic and daring deeds for others, sacrificing his time and often periling his life in the cause of those who he considered were suffering gross wrongs and oppression. hence, she concluded, that it was only natural for him in this case to have taken the steps he did. now and then overflowing tears would obstruct this deeply thrilling and most remarkable story she was telling of her brother, but her memory seemed quickened by the sadness of the occasion, and she was enabled to recall vividly the chief events connected with his past history. thus his agency in this movement, which cost him his life, could readily enough be accounted for, and the individuals who listened attentively to the story were prepared to fully appreciate his character, for, prior to offering his services in this mission, he had been a stranger to them. the following extract, taken from a letter of a subsequent date, in addition to the above letter, throws still further light upon the heart-rending affair, and shows mr. johnston's deep sympathy with the sufferers and the oppressed generally-- extract of a letter from rev. n.r. johnston. my heart bleeds when i think of those poor, hunted and heart-broken fugitives, though a most interesting family, taken back to bondage ten-fold worse than egyptian. and then poor concklin! how my heart expanded in love to him, as he told me his adventures, his trials, his toils, his fears and his hopes! after hearing all, and then seeing and communing with the family, now joyful in hopes of soon seeing their husband and father in the land of freedom; now in terror lest the human blood-hounds should be at their heels, i felt as though i could lay down my life in the cause of the oppressed. in that hour or two of intercourse with peter's family, my heart warmed with love to them. i never saw more interesting young men. they would make remonds or douglasses, if they had the same opportunities. while i was with them, i was elated with joy at their escape, and yet, when i heard their tale of woe, especially that of the mother, i could not suppress tears of deepest emotion. my joy was short-lived. soon i heard of their capture. the telegraph had been the means of their being claimed. i could have torn down all the telegraph wires in the land. it was a strange dispensation of providence. on saturday the sad news of their capture came to my ears. we had resolved to go to their aid on monday, as the trial was set for thursday. on sabbath, i spoke from psalm xii. . "for the oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy, now will i arise," saith the lord: "i will set him in safety from him that puffeth at (from them that would enslave) him." when on monday morning i learned that the fugitives had passed through the place on sabbath, and concklin in chains, probably at the very time i was speaking on the subject referred to, my heart sank within me. and even yet, i cannot but exclaim, when i think of it--o, father! how long ere thou wilt arise to avenge the wrongs of the poor slave! indeed, my dear brother, his ways are very mysterious. we have the consolation, however, to know that all is for the best. our redeemer does all things well. when he hung upon the cross, his poor broken hearted disciples could not understand the providence; it was a dark time to them; and yet that was an event that was fraught with more joy to the world than any that has occurred or could occur. let us stand at our post and wait god's time. let us have on the whole armor of god, and fight for the right, knowing, that though we may fall in battle, the victory will be ours, sooner or later. * * * * * may god lead you into all truth, and sustain you in your labors, and fulfill your prayers and hopes. adieu. n.r. johnston. letters from levi coffin. the following letters on the subject were received from the untiring and devoted friend of the slave, levi coffin, who for many years had occupied in cincinnati a similar position to that of thomas garrett in delaware, a sentinel and watchman commissioned of god to succor the fleeing bondman-- cincinnati, th mo., th, . friend wm. still:--we have sorrowful news from our friend concklin, through the papers and otherwise. i received a letter a few days ago from a friend near princeton, ind., stating that concklin and the four slaves are in prison in vincennes, and that their trial would come on in a few days. he states that they rowed seven days and nights in the skiff, and got safe to harmony, ind., on the wabash river, thence to princeton, and were conveyed to vincennes by friends, where they were taken. the papers state, that they were all given up to the marshal of evansville, indiana. we have telegraphed to different points, to try to get some information concerning them, but failed. the last information is published in the _times_ of yesterday, though quite incorrect in the particulars of the case. inclosed is the slip containing it. i fear all is over in regard to the freedom of the slaves. if the last account be true, we have some hope that concklin will escape from those bloody tyrants. i cannot describe my feelings on hearing this sad intelligence. i feel ashamed to own my country. oh! what shall i say. surely a god of justice will avenge the wrongs of the oppressed. thine for the poor slave, levi coffin. n.b.--if thou hast any information, please write me forthwith. cincinnati, th mo., th, . wm. still:--_dear friend_--thy letter of st inst., came duly to hand, but not being able to give any further information concerning our friend, concklin, i thought best to wait a little before i wrote, still hoping to learn something more definite concerning him. we that became acquainted with seth concklin and his hazardous enterprises (here at cincinnati), who were very few, have felt intense and inexpressible anxiety about them. and particularly about poor seth, since we heard of his falling into the hands of the tyrants. i fear that he has fallen a victim to their inhuman thirst for blood. i seriously doubt the rumor, that he had made his escape. i fear that he was sacrificed. language would fail to express my feelings; the intense and deep anxiety i felt about them for weeks before i heard of their capture in indiana, and then it seemed too much to bear. o! my heart almost bleeds when i think of it. the hopes of the dear family all blasted by the wretched blood-hounds in human shape. and poor seth, after all his toil, and dangerous, shrewd and wise management, and almost unheard of adventures, the many narrow and almost miraculous escapes. then to be given up to indianians, to these fiendish tyrants, to be sacrificed. o! shame, shame!! my heart aches, my eyes fill with tears, i cannot write more. i cannot dwell longer on this painful subject now. if you get any intelligence, please inform me. friend n.r. johnston, who took so much interest in them, and saw them just before they were taken, has just returned to the city. he is a minister of the covenanter order. he is truly a lovely man, and his heart is full of the milk of humanity; one of our best anti-slavery spirits. i spent last evening with him. he related the whole story to me as he had it from friend concklin and the mother and children, and then the story of their capture. we wept together. he found thy letter when he got here. he said he would write the whole history to thee in a few days, as far as he could. he can tell it much better than i can. concklin left his carpet sack and clothes here with me, except a shirt or two he took with him. what shall i do with them? for if we do not hear from him soon, we must conclude that he is lost, and the report of his escape all a hoax. truly thy friend, levi coffin. stunning and discouraging as this horrible ending was to all concerned, and serious as the matter looked in the eyes of peter's friends with regard to peter's family, he could not for a moment abandon the idea of rescuing them from the jaws of the destroyer. but most formidable difficulties stood in the way of opening correspondence with reliable persons in alabama. indeed it seemed impossible to find a merchant, lawyer, doctor, planter or minister, who was not too completely interlinked with slavery to be relied upon to manage a negotiation of this nature. whilst waiting and hoping for something favorable to turn up, the subjoined letter from the owner of peter's family was received and is here inserted precisely as it was written, spelled and punctuated-- mckiernon's letter. south florence ala augest mr william still _no north fifth street philadelphia_ sir a few days sinc mr lewis tharenton of tuscumbia ala shewed me a letter dated june from cincinnati signd samuel lewis in behalf of a negro man by the name of peter gist who informed the writer of the letter that you ware his brother and wished an answer to be directed to you as he peter would be in philadelphi. the object of the letter was to purchis from me negros that is peters wife & children sons & girl the name of said negres are the woman viney the (mother) eldest son peter or years old second son leven or years girl about or years old. the husband & father of these people once belonged to a relation of mine by the name of gist now decest & some few years since he peter was sold to a man by the name of freedman who removed to cincinnati ohio & tuck peter with him of course peter became free by the volentary act of the master some time last march a white man by the name of miller apperd in the nabourhood & abducted the bove negroes was caut at vincanes indi with said negroes & was thare convicted of steling & remanded back to ala to abide the penalty of the law & on his return met his just reward by getting drownded at the mouth of cumberland river on the ohio in attempting to make his escape i recovered & braught back said negroes or as you would say coulard people under the belief that peter the husband was accessory to the offence thareby putting me to much expense & truble to the amt $ which if he gets them he or his friends must refund these negroes are worth in the market about for thea are extraordinary fine & likely & but for the fact of elopement i would not take dollars for them but as the thing now stands you can say to peter & his new discovered relations in philadelphia i will take for the culerd people & if this will suite him & he can raise the money i will delever to him or his agent at paduca at mouth of tennessee river said negroes but the money must be deposeted in the hands of some respectabl person at paduca before i remove the property it wold not be safe for peter to come to this countery write me a line on recpt of this & let me know peters views on the above i am yours &c b. mckiernon n b say to peter to write & let me know his viewes amediately as i am determined to act in a way if he don't take this offer he will never have an other oppertunity b mckiernon wm. still's answer. philadelphia, aug. th, . to b. mckiernon, esq.: _sir_--i have received your letter from south florence, ala., under date of the th inst. to say that it took me by surprise, as well as afforded me pleasure, for which i feel to be very much indebted to you, is no more than true. in regard to your informants of myself--mr. thornton, of ala., and mr. samuel lewis, of cincinnati--to them both i am a stranger. however, i am the brother of peter, referred to, and with the fact of his having a wife and three children in your service i am also familiar. this brother, peter, i have only had the pleasure of knowing for the brief space of one year and thirteen days, although he is now past forty and i twenty-nine years of age. time will not allow me at present, or i should give you a detailed account of how peter became a slave, the forty long years which intervened between the time he was kidnapped, when a boy, being only six years of age, and his arrival in this city, from alabama, one year and fourteen days ago, when he was re-united to his mother, five brothers and three sisters. none but a father's heart can fathom the anguish and sorrows felt by peter during the many vicissitudes through which he has passed. he looked back to his boyhood and saw himself snatched from the tender embraces of his parents and home to be made a slave for life. during all his prime days he was in the faithful and constant service of those who had no just claim upon him. in the meanwhile he married a wife, who bore him eleven children, the greater part of whom were emancipated from the troubles of life by death, and three only survived. to them and his wife he was devoted. indeed i have never seen attachment between parents and children, or husband and wife, more entire than was manifested in the case of peter. through these many years of servitude, peter was sold and resold, from one state to another, from one owner to another, till he reached the forty-ninth year of his age, when, in a good providence, through the kindness of a friend and the sweat of his brow, he regained the god-given blessings of liberty. he eagerly sought his parents and home with all possible speed and pains, when, to his heart's joy, he found his relatives. your present humble correspondent is the youngest of peter's brothers, and the first one of the family he saw after arriving in this part of the country. i think you could not fail to be interested in hearing how we became known to each other, and the proof of our being brothers, etc., all of which i should be most glad to relate, but time will not permit me to do so. the news of this wonderful occurrence, of peter finding his kindred, was published quite extensively, shortly afterwards, in various newspapers, in this quarter, which may account for the fact of "miller's" knowledge of the whereabouts of the "fugitives." let me say, it is my firm conviction that no one had any hand in persuading "miller" to go down from cincinnati, or any other place, after the family. as glad as i should be, and as much as i would do for the liberation of peter's family (now no longer young), and his three "likely" children, in whom he prides himself--how much, if you are a father, you can imagine; yet i would not, and could not, think of persuading any friend to peril his life, as would be the case, in an errand of that kind. as regards the price fixed upon by you for the family, i must say i do not think it possible to raise half that amount, though peter authorized me to say he would give you twenty-five hundred for them. probably he is not as well aware as i am, how difficult it is to raise so large a sum of money from the public. the applications for such objects are so frequent among us in the north, and have always been so liberally met, that it is no wonder if many get tired of being called upon. to be sure some of us brothers own some property, but no great amount; certainly not enough to enable us to bear so great a burden. mother owns a small farm in new jersey, on which she has lived for nearly forty years, from which she derives her support in her old age. this small farm contains between forty and fifty acres, and is the fruit of my father's toil. two of my brothers own small places also, but they have young families, and consequently consume nearly as much as they make, with the exception of adding some improvements to their places. for my own part, i am employed as a clerk for a living, but my salary is quite too limited to enable me to contribute any great amount towards so large a sum as is demanded. thus you see how we are situated financially. we have plenty of friends, but little money. now, sir, allow me to make an appeal to your humanity, although we are aware of your power to hold as property those poor slaves, mother, daughter and two sons,--that in no part of the united states could they escape and be secure from your claim--nevertheless, would your understanding, your heart, or your conscience reprove you, should you restore to them, without price, that dear freedom, which is theirs by right of nature, or would you not feel a satisfaction in so doing which all the wealth of the world could not equal? at all events, could you not so reduce the price as to place it in the power of peter's relatives and friends to raise the means for their purchase? at first, i doubt not, but that you will think my appeal very unreasonable; but, sir, serious reflection will decide, whether the money demanded by you, after all, will be of as great a benefit to you, as the satisfaction you would find in bestowing so great a favor upon those whose entire happiness in this life depends mainly upon your decision in the matter. if the entire family cannot be purchased or freed, what can vina and her daughter be purchased for? hoping, sir, to hear from you, at your earliest convenience, i subscribe myself, your obedient servant, wm. still. to b. mckiernon, esq. no reply to this letter was ever received from mckiernon. the cause of his reticence can be as well conjectured by the reader as the writer. time will not admit of further details kindred to this narrative. the life, struggles, and success of peter and his family were ably brought before the public in the "kidnapped and the ransomed," being the personal recollections of peter still and his wife "vina," after forty years of slavery, by mrs. kate e.r. pickard; with an introduction by rev. samuel j. may, and an appendix by william h. furness, d.d., in . but, of course it was not prudent or safe, in the days of slavery, to publish such facts as are now brought to light; all such had to be kept concealed in the breasts of the fugitives and their friends. [illustration: peter still ] [illustration: charity still ] the following brief sketch, touching the separation of peter and his mother, will fitly illustrate this point, and at the same time explain certain mysteries which have been hitherto kept hidden-- the separation. with regard to peter's separation from his mother, when a little boy, in few words, the facts were these: his parents, levin and sidney, were both slaves on the eastern shore of maryland. "i will die before i submit to the yoke," was the declaration of his father to his young master before either was twenty-one years of age. consequently he was allowed to buy himself at a very low figure, and he paid the required sum and obtained his "free papers" when quite a young man--the young wife and mother remaining in slavery under saunders griffin, as also her children, the latter having increased to the number of four, two little boys and two little girls. but to escape from chains, stripes, and bondage, she took her four little children and fled to a place near greenwich, new jersey. not a great while, however, did she remain there in a state of freedom before the slave-hunters pursued her, and one night they pounced upon the whole family, and, without judge or jury, hurried them all back to slavery. whether this was kidnapping or not is for the reader to decide for himself. safe back in the hands of her owner, to prevent her from escaping a second time, every night for about three months she was cautiously "kept locked up in the garret," until, as they supposed, she was fully "cured of the desire to do so again." but she was incurable. she had been a witness to the fact that her own father's brains had been blown out by the discharge of a heavily loaded gun, deliberately aimed at his head by his drunken master. she only needed half a chance to make still greater struggles than ever for freedom. she had great faith in god, and found much solace in singing some of the good old methodist tunes, by day and night. her owner, observing this apparently tranquil state of mind, indicating that she "seemed better contented than ever," concluded that it was safe to let the garret door remain unlocked at night. not many weeks were allowed to pass before she resolved to again make a bold strike for freedom. this time she had to leave the two little boys, levin and peter, behind. on the night she started she went to the bed where they were sleeping, kissed them, and, consigning them into the hands of god, bade her mother good-bye, and with her two little girls wended her way again to burlington county, new jersey, but to a different neighborhood from that where she had been seized. she changed her name to charity, and succeeded in again joining her husband, but, alas, with the heart-breaking thought that she had been compelled to leave her two little boys in slavery and one of the little girls on the road for the father to go back after. thus she began life in freedom anew. levin and peter, eight and six years of age respectively, were now left at the mercy of the enraged owner, and were soon hurried off to a southern market and sold, while their mother, for whom they were daily weeping, was they knew not where. they were too young to know that they were slaves, or to understand the nature of the afflicting separation. sixteen years before peter's return, his older brother (levin) died a slave in the state of alabama, and was buried by his surviving brother, peter. no idea other than that they had been "kidnapped" from their mother ever entered their minds; nor had they any knowledge of the state from whence they supposed they had been taken, the last names of their mother and father, or where they were born. on the other hand, the mother was aware that the safety of herself and her rescued children depended on keeping the whole transaction a strict family secret. during the forty years of separation, except two or three quaker friends, including the devoted friend of the slave, benjamin lundy, it is doubtful whether any other individuals were let into the secret of her slave life. and when the account given of peter's return, etc., was published in , it led some of the family to apprehend serious danger from the partial revelation of the early condition of the mother, especially as it was about the time that the fugitive slave law was passed. hence, the author of "the kidnapped and the ransomed" was compelled to omit these dangerous facts, and had to confine herself strictly to the "personal recollections of peter still" with regard to his being "kidnapped." likewise, in the sketch of seth concklin's eventful life, written by dr. w.h. furness, for similar reasons he felt obliged to make but bare reference to his wonderful agency in relation to peter's family, although he was fully aware of all the facts in the case. underground rail road letters. here are introduced a few out of a very large number of interesting letters, designed for other parts of the book as occasion may require. all letters will be given precisely as they were written by their respective authors, so that there may be no apparent room for charging the writer with partial colorings in any instance. indeed, the originals, however ungrammatically written or erroneously spelt, in their native simplicity possess such beauty and force as corrections and additions could not possibly enhance-- letter from thomas garrett (u.g.r.r. depot). wilmington, mo. d, . dear friend, william still:--since i wrote thee this morning informing thee of the safe arrival of the eight from norfolk, harry craige has informed me, that he has a man from delaware that he proposes to take along, who arrived since noon. he will take the man, woman and two children from here with him, and the four men will get in at marcus hook. thee may take harry craige by the hand as a brother, true to the cause; he is one of our most efficient aids on the rail road, and worthy of full confidence. may they all be favored to get on safe. the woman and three children are no common stock. i assure thee finer specimens of humanity are seldom met with. i hope herself and children may be enabled to find her husband, who has been absent some years, and the rest of their days be happy together. i am, as ever, thy friend, thos. garrett. letter from miss g.a. lewis (u.g.r.r. depot). kimberton, october th, . esteemed friend;--this evening a company of eleven friends reached here, having left their homes on the night of the th inst. they came into wilmington, about ten o'clock on the morning of the th, and left there, in the town, their two carriages, drawn by two horses. they went to thomas garrett's by open day-light and from thence were sent hastily onward for fear of pursuit. they reached longwood meeting-house in the evening, at which place a fair circle had convened, and stayed a while in the meeting, then, after remaining all night with one of the kennet friends, they were brought to downingtown early in the morning, and from thence, by daylight, to within a short distance of this place. they come from new chestertown, within five miles of the place from which the nine lately forwarded came, and left behind them a colored woman who knew of their intended flight and of their intention of passing through wilmington and leaving their horses and carriages there. i have been thus particular in my statement, because the case seems to us one of unusual danger. we have separated the company for the present, sending a mother and five children, two of them quite small, in one direction, and a husband and wife and three lads in another, until i could write to you and get advice if you have any to give, as to the best method of forwarding them, and assistance pecuniarily, in getting them to canada. the mother and children we have sent off of the usual route, and to a place where i do not think they can remain many days. we shall await hearing from you. h. kimber will be in the city on third day, the th, and any thing left at green street directed to his care, will meet with prompt attention. please give me again the direction of hiram wilson and the friend in elmira, mr. jones, i think. if you have heard from any of the nine since their safe arrival, please let us know when you write. very respectfully, g.a. lewis. _ d day morning, th_.--the person who took the husband and wife and three lads to e.f. pennypecker, and peart, has returned and reports that l. peart sent three on to norristown. we fear that there they will fall into the hands of an ignorant colored man daniel ross, and that he may not understand the necessity of caution. will you please write to some careful person there? the woman and children detained in this neighborhood are a very helpless set. our plan was to assist them as much as possible, and when we get things into the proper train for sending them on, to get the assistance of the husband and wife, who have no children, but are uncle and aunt to the woman with five, in taking with them one of the younger children, leaving fewer for the mother. of the lads, or young men, there is also one whom we thought capable of accompanying one of the older girls--one to whom he is paying attention, they told us. would it not be the best way to get those in norristown under your own care? it seems to me their being sent on could then be better arranged. this, however, is only a suggestion, hastily yours, g.a. lewis. letter from e.l. stevens, esq. _(the reader will interpret for himself_.) washington, d.c., july th, . my dear sir:--susan bell left here yesterday with the child of her relative, and since leaving i have thought, perhaps, you had not the address of the gentleman in syracuse where the child is to be taken for medical treatment, etc. his name is dr. h.b. wilbur. a woman living with him is a most excellent nurse and will take a deep interest in the child, which, no doubt, will under providence be the means of its complete restoration to health. be kind enough to inform me whether susan is with you, and if she is give her the proper direction. _ten packages_ were sent to your address last evening, one of them belongs to susan, and she had better remain with you till she gets it, as it may not have come to hand. susan thought she would go to harrisburg when she left here and stay over sunday, if so, she would not get to philadelphia till monday or tuesday. please acknowledge the receipt of this, and inform me of her arrival, also when the packages came safe to hand, inform me especially if susan's came safely. truly yours, e.l. stevens. letter from s.h. gay, esq., ex-editor of the anti-slavery standard and new york tribune. friend still:--the two women, laura and lizzy, arrived this morning. i shall forward them to syracuse this afternoon. the two men came safely yesterday, but went to gibbs'. he has friends on board the boat who are on the lookout for fugitives, and send them, when found, to his house. those whom you wish to be particularly under my charge, must have careful directions to this office. there is now no other sure place, but the office, or gibbs', that i could advise you to send such persons. those to me, therefore, must come in office hours. in a few days, however, napoleon will have a room down town, and at odd times they can be sent there. i am not willing to put any more with the family where i have hitherto sometimes sent them. when it is possible i wish you would advise me two days before a shipment of your intention, as napoleon is not always on hand to look out for them at short notice. in special cases you might advise me by telegraph, thus: "one m. (or one f.) this morning. w.s." by which i shall understand that one male, or one female, as the case may be, has left phila. by the _o'clock train_--one or more, also, as the case may be. aug. th, . truly yours, s.h. gay. letter from john h. hill, a fugitive, appealing in behalf of a poor slave in petersburg, va. hamilton, sept. th, . dear friend still:--i write to inform you that miss mary wever arrived safe in this city. you may imagine the happiness manifested on the part of the two lovers, mr. h. and miss w. i think they will be married as soon as they can get ready. i presume mrs. hill will commence to make up the articles to-morrow. kind sir, as all of us is concerned about the welfare of our enslaved brethren at the south, particularly our friends, we appeal to your sympathy to do whatever is in your power to save poor willis johnson from the hands of his cruel master. it is not for me to tell you of his case, because miss wever has related the matter fully to you. all i wish to say is this, i wish you to write to my uncle, at petersburg, by our friend, the capt. tell my uncle to go to richmond and ask my mother whereabouts this man is. the best for him is to make his way to petersburg; that is, if you can get the capt. to bring him. he have not much money. but i hope the friends of humanity will not withhold their aid on the account of money. however we will raise all the money that is wanting to pay for his safe delivery. you will please communicate this to the friends as soon as possible. yours truly, john h. hill. letter from j. bigelow, esq. washington, d.c., june d, . mr. william still:--_sir_--i have just received a letter from my friend, wm. wright, of york sulphur springs, pa., in which he says, that by writing to you, i may get some information about the transportation of some _property_ from this neighborhood to your city or vicinity. a person who signs himself wm. penn, lately wrote to mr. wright, saying he would pay $ to have this service performed. it is for the conveyance of _only one_ small package; but it has been discovered since, that the removal cannot be so safely effected without taking _two larger_ packages with it. i understand that the _three_ are to be brought to this city and stored in safety, as soon as the forwarding merchant in philadelphia shall say he is ready to send on. the storage, etc., here, will cost a trifle, but the $ will be promptly paid for the whole service. i think mr. wright's daughter, hannah, has also seen you. i am also known to prof. c.d. cleveland, of your city. if you answer this promptly, you will soon hear from wm. penn himself. very truly yours, j. bigelow. letter from ham & eggs, slave (u.g.r.r. ag't). petersburg, va., oct. th, . mr. w. still:--_dear sir_--i am happy to think, that the time has come when we no doubt can open our correspondence with one another again. also i am in hopes, that these few lines may find you and family well and in the enjoyment of good health, as it leaves me and family the same. i want you to know, that i feel as much determined to work in this glorious cause, as ever i did in all of my life, and i have some very good hams on hand that i would like very much for you to have. i have nothing of interest to write about just now, only that the politics of the day is in a high rage, and i don't know of the result, therefore, i want you to be one of those wide-a-wakes as is mentioned from your section of country now-a-days, &c. also, if you wish to write to me, mr. j. brown will inform you how to direct a letter to me. no more at present, until i hear from you; but i want you to be a wide-a-wake. yours in haste, ham & eggs. letter from rev h. wilson (u.g.r.r. ag't). st. catharine, c.w., july d, . my dear friend, wm. still:--mr. elias jasper and miss lucy bell having arrived here safely on saturday last, and found their "companions in tribulation," who had arrived before them, i am induced to write and let you know the fact. they are a cheerful, happy company, and very grateful for their freedom. i have done the best i could for their comfort, but they are about to proceed across the lake to toronto, thinking they can do better there than here, which is not unlikely. they all remember you as their friend and benefactor, and return to you their sincere thanks. my means of support are so scanty, that i am obliged to write without paying postage, or not write at all. i hope you are not moneyless, as i am. in attending to the wants of numerous strangers, i am much of the time perplexed from lack of means; but send on as many as you can and i will divide with them to the last crumb. yours truly, hiram wilson. letter from sheridan ford, in distress. boston, mass., feb. th, . no. , change avenue. my dear friend:--allow me to take the liberty of addressing you and at the same time appearing troublesomes you all friend, but subject is so very important that i can not but ask not in my name but in the name of the lord and humanity to do something for my poor wife and children who lays in norfolk jail and have been there for three month i would open myself in that frank and hones manner. which should convince you of my cencerity of purpoest don't shut your ears to the cry's of the widow and the orphant & i can but ask in the name of humanity and god for he knows the heart of all men. please ask the friends humanity to do something for her and her two lettle ones i cant do any thing place as i am for i have to lay low please lay this before the churches of philadelphaise beg them in name of the lord to do something for him i love my freedom and if it would do her and her two children any good i mean to change with her but cant be done for she is jail and you most no she suffer for the jail in the south are not like yours for any thing is good enough for negros the slave hunters says & may god interpose in behalf of the demonstrative race of africa whom i claim desendent i am sorry to say that friendship is only a name here but i truss it is not so in philada i would not have taken this liberty had i not considered you a friend for you treaty as such please do all you can and please ask the anti slavery friends to do all they can and god will reward them for it i am shure for the earth is the lords and the fullness there of as this note leaves me not very well but hope when it comes to hand it may find you and family enjoying all the pleasure life please answer this and pardon me if the necessary sum can be required i will find out from my brotherinlaw i am with respectful consideration. sheridan w. ford. yesterday is the fust time i have heard from home sence i left and i have not got any thing yet i have a tear yet for my fellow man and it is in my eyes now for god knows it is tha truth i sue for your pity and all and may god open their hearts to pity a poor woman and two children. the sum is i believe hundred dollars please write to day for me and see if the cant do something for humanity. letter from e.f. pennypacker (u.g.r.r. depot). schuylkill, th mo., th day, . wm. still:--_respected friend_--there are three colored friends at my house now, who will reach the city by the phil. & reading train this evening. please meet them. thine, &c., e.f. pennypacker. we have within the past mos. passed through our hands, transported most of them to norristown in our own conveyance. e.f.p. letter from jos. c. bustill (u.g.r.r. depot). harrisburg, march , ' . friend still:--i suppose ere this you have seen those five large and three small packages i sent by way of reading, consisting of three men and women and children. they arrived here this morning at - / o'clock and left twenty minutes past three. you will please send me any information likely to prove interesting in relation to them. lately we have formed a society here, called the fugitive aid society. this is our first case, and i hope it will prove entirely successful. when you write, please inform me what signs or symbols you make use of in your despatches, and any other information in relation to operations of the underground rail road. our reason for sending by the reading road, was to gain time; it is expected the owners will be in town this afternoon, and by this road we gained five hours' time, which is a matter of much importance, and we may have occasion to use it sometimes in future. in great haste, yours with great respect, jos. c. bustill, letter from a slave secreted in richmond. richmond, va, oct. th, . to mr. william still:--_dear sir_--please do me the favor as to write to my uncle a few lines in regard to the bundle that is for john h. hill, who lives in hamilton, c.w. sir, if this should reach you, be assured that it comes from the same poor individual that you have heard of before; the person who was so unlucky, and deceived also. if you write, address your letter john m. hill, care of box no. . i am speaking of a person who lives in p.va. i hope, sir, you will understand this is from a poor individual. letter from g.s. nelson (u.g.r.r. depot). mr. still:--_my dear sir_--i suppose you are somewhat uneasy because the goods did not come safe to hand on monday evening, as you expected--consigned from harrisburg to you. the train only was from harrisburg to reading, and as it happened, the goods had to stay all night with us, and as some excitement exists here about goods of the kind, we thought it expedient and wise to detain them until we could hear from you. there are two small boxes and two large ones; we have them all secure; what had better be done? let us know. also, as we can learn, there are three more boxes still in harrisburg. answer your communication at harrisburg. also, fail not to answer this by the return of mail, as things are rather critical, and you will oblige us. g.s. nelson. _reading, may , ' _. we knew not that these goods were to come, consequently we were all taken by surprise. when you answer, use the word, goods. the reason of the excitement, is: some three weeks ago a big box was consigned to us by j. bustill, of harrisburg. we received it, and forwarded it on to j. jones, elmira, and the next day they were on the fresh hunt of said box; it got safe to elmira, as i have had a letter from jones, and all is safe. yours, g.s.n. letter from john thompson. mr. still:--you will oblige me much iff you will direct this letter to vergenia for me to my mother & iff it well sute you beg her in my letter to direct hers to you & you can send it to me iff it sute your convenience. i am one of your chattle. john thompson, syracuse, jeny th. direction--matilda tate care of dudley m pattee worrenton farkiear county verginia. letter from john thompson, a fugitive, to his mother. my dear mother:--i have imbrace an opportunity of writing you these few lines (hoping) that they may fine you as they leave me quite well i will now inform you how i am geting i am now a free man living by the sweet of my own brow not serving a nother man & giving him all i earn but what i make is mine and iff one plase do not sute me i am at liberty to leave and go some where elce & can ashore you i think highly of freedom and would not exchange it for nothing that is offered me for it i am waiting in a hotel i supose you remember when i was in jail i told you the time would be better and you see that the time has come when i leave you my heart was so full & yours but i new their was a better day a head, & i have live to see it. i hird when i was on the underground r. road that the hounds was on my track but it was no go i new i was too far out of their reach where they would never smell my track when i leave you i was carred to richmond & sold & from their i was taken to north carolina & sold & i ran a way & went back to virginna between richmond & home & their i was caught & put in jail & their i remain till the oner come for me then i was taken & carred back to richmond then i was sold to the man who i now leave he is nothing but a but of a feller remember me to your husband & all in quirin friends & say to miss rosa that i am as free as she is & more happier i no i am getting $ per month for what little work i am doing i hope to here from you a gain i your son & ever by john thompson. letter from "wm. penn" (of the bar). washington, d.c., dec. th, . dear sir:--i was unavoidably prevented yesterday, from replying to yours of th instant, and although i have made inquiries, i am unable _to-day_, to answer your questions satisfactorily. although i know some of the residents of loudon county, and have often visited there, still i have not practiced much in the courts of that county. there are several of my acquaintances here, who have lived in that county, and _possibly_, through my assistance, your commissions might be executed. if a better way shall not suggest itself to you, and you see fit to give me the _facts_ in the case, i can better judge of my ability to help you; _but i know not the man resident there, whom i would trust with an important suit_. i think it is now some four or five weeks since, that some packages left this vicinity, said to be from fifteen to twenty in number, and as i suppose, went through your hands. it was at a time of uncommon vigilance here, and to me it was a matter of extreme wonder, _how and through whom_, such a work was accomplished. can you tell me? it is _needful_ that i should know! not for curiosity merely, but for the good of others. an enclosed slip contains the _marks_ of one of the packages, which you will read and then _immediately burn_. if you can give me any light that will _benefit others_, i am sure you will do so. a traveler here, _very reliable_, and who knows his business, has determined not to leave home again till spring, at least not without extraordinary temptations. i think, however, he or others, might be tempted to travel in virginia. yours, wm. p. letter from miss theodocia gilbert. skaneateles (glen haven) chuy., . william still:--_dear friend and brother_--a thousand thanks for your good, generous letter! it was so kind of you to have in mind my intense interest and anxiety in the success and fate of poor concklin! that he desired and intended to hazard an attempt of the kind, i well understood; but what particular one, or that he had actually embarked in the enterprise, i had not been able to learn. his memory will ever be among the sacredly cherished with me. he certainly displayed more real disinterestedness, more earnest, unassuming devotedness, than those who _claim_ to be the sincerest friends of the slave can often boast. what more _saviour_-like than the _willing_ sacrifice he has rendered! never shall i forget that night of our extremest peril (as we supposed), when he came and so heartily proffered his services at the hazard of his liberty, of life even, in behalf of william l. chaplin. _such_ generosity! at _such_ a moment! the emotions it awakened no words can bespeak! they are to be sought but in the inner chambers of one's own soul! he as earnestly devised the means, as calmly counted the cost, and as unshrinkingly turned him to the task, as if it were his own freedom he would have won. through his homely features, and humble garb, the intrepidity of soul came out in all its lustre! heroism, in its native majesty, _commanded_ one's admiration and love! most truly can i enter into your sorrows, and painfully appreciate the pang of disappointment which must have followed this sad intelligence. but so inadequate are words to the consoling of such griefs, it were almost cruel to attempt to syllable one's sympathies. i cannot bear to believe, that concklin has been actually murdered, and yet i hardly dare hope it is otherwise. and the poor slaves, for whom he periled so much, into what depths of hopelessness and woe are they again plunged! but the deeper and blacker for the loss of their dearly sought and new-found freedom. how long must wrongs like these go unredressed? "_how long, o god, how long_?" very truly yours, theodocia gilbert. william peel, alias william box peel jones. arrived per erricson line of steamers, wrapped in straw and boxed up, april, . william is twenty-five years of age, unmistakably colored, good-looking, rather under the medium size, and of pleasing manners. william had himself boxed up by a near relative and forwarded by the erricson line of steamers. he gave the slip to robert h. carr, his owner (a grocer and commission merchant), after this wise, and for the following reasons: for some time previous his master had been selling off his slaves every now and then, the same as other groceries, and this admonished william that he was liable to be in the market any day; consequently, he preferred the box to the auction-block. he did not complain of having been treated very badly by carr, but felt that no man was safe while owned by another. in fact, he "hated the very name of slaveholder." the limit of the box not admitting of straightening himself out he was taken with the cramp on the road, suffered indescribable misery, and had his faith taxed to the utmost,--indeed was brought to the very verge of "screaming aloud" ere relief came. however, he controlled himself, though only for a short season, for before a great while an excessive faintness came over him. here nature became quite exhausted. he thought he must "die;" but his time had not yet come. after a severe struggle he revived, but only to encounter a third ordeal no less painful than the one through which he had just passed. next a very "cold chill" came over him, which seemed almost to freeze the very blood in his veins and gave him intense agony, from which he only found relief on awaking, having actually fallen asleep in that condition. finally, however, he arrived at philadelphia, on a steamer, sabbath morning. a devoted friend of his, expecting him, engaged a carriage and repaired to the wharf for the box. the bill of lading and the receipt he had with him, and likewise knew where the box was located on the boat. although he well knew freight was not usually delivered on sunday, yet his deep solicitude for the safety of his friend determined him to do all that lay in his power to rescue him from his perilous situation. handing his bill of lading to the proper officer of the boat, he asked if he could get the freight that it called for. the officer looked at the bill and said, "no, we do not deliver freight on sunday;" but, noticing the anxiety of the man, he asked him if he would know it if he were to see it. slowly--fearing that too much interest manifested might excite suspicion--he replied: "i think i should." deliberately looking around amongst all the "freight," he discovered the box, and said, "i think that is it there." said officer stepped to it, looked at the directions on it, then at the bill of lading, and said, "that is right, take it along." here the interest in these two bosoms was thrilling in the highest degree. but the size of the box was too large for the carriage, and the driver refused to take it. nearly an hour and a half was spent in looking for a furniture car. finally one was procured, and again the box was laid hold of by the occupant's particular friend, when, to his dread alarm, the poor fellow within gave a sudden cough. at this startling circumstance he dropped the box; equally as quick, although dreadfully frightened, and, as if helped by some invisible agency, he commenced singing, "hush, my babe, lie still and slumber," with the most apparent indifference, at the same time slowly making his way from the box. soon his fears subsided, and it was presumed that no one was any the wiser on account of the accident, or coughing. thus, after summoning courage, he laid hold of the box a third time, and the rubicon was passed. the car driver, totally ignorant of the contents of the box, drove to the number to which he was directed to take it--left it and went about his business. now is a moment of intense interest--now of inexpressible delight. the box is opened, the straw removed, and the poor fellow is loosed; and is rejoicing, i will venture to say, as mortal never did rejoice, who had not been in similar peril. this particular friend was scarcely less overjoyed, however, and their joy did not abate for several hours; nor was it confined to themselves, for two invited members of the vigilance committee also partook of a full share. this box man was named wm. jones. he was boxed up in baltimore by the friend who received him at the wharf, who did not come in the boat with him, but came in the cars and met him at the wharf. the trial in the box lasted just seventeen hours before victory was achieved. jones was well cared for by the vigilance committee and sent on his way rejoicing, feeling that resolution, underground rail road, and liberty were invaluable. on his way to canada, he stopped at albany, and the subjoined letter gives his view of things from that stand-point-- mr. still:--i take this opportunity of writing a few lines to you hoping that tha may find you in good health and femaly. i am well at present and doing well at present i am now in a store and getting sixteen dollars a month at the present. i feel very much o blige to you and your family for your kindnes to me while i was with you i have got a long without any trub le a tal. i am now in albany city. give my lov to mrs and mr miller and tel them i am very much a blige to them for there kind ns. give my lov to my brother nore jones tel him i should like to here from him very much and he must write. tel him to give my love to all of my perticnlar frends and tel them i should like to see them very much. tel him that he must come to see me for i want to see him for sum thing very perticler. please ansure this letter as soon as posabul and excuse me for not writting sooner as i don't write myself. no more at the present. william jones. derect to one hundred lydus. stt his good friend returned to baltimore the same day the box man started for the north, and immediately dispatched through the post the following brief letter, worded in underground rail road parables: baltimo april , . w. still:--dear brother i have taken the opportunity of writing you these few lines to inform you that i am well an hoping these few lines may find you enjoying the same good blessing please to write me word at what time was it when isreal went to jerico i am very anxious to hear for thare is a mighty host will pass over and you and i my brother will sing hally luja i shall notify you when the great catastrophe shal take place no more at the present but remain your brother n.l.j. * * * * * wesley harris,[a] alias robert jackson, and the matterson brothers. [footnote a: shot by slave-hunters.] in setting out for freedom, wesley was the leader of this party. after two nights of fatiguing travel at a distance of about sixty miles from home, the young aspirants for liberty were betrayed, and in an attempt made to capture them a most bloody conflict ensued. both fugitives and pursuers were the recipients of severe wounds from gun shots, and other weapons used in the contest. wesley bravely used his fire arms until almost fatally wounded by one of the pursuers, who with a heavily loaded gun discharged the contents with deadly aim in his left arm, which raked the flesh from the bone for a space of about six inches in length. one of wesley's companions also fought heroically and only yielded when badly wounded and quite overpowered. the two younger (brothers of c. matterson) it seemed made no resistance. in order to recall the adventures of this struggle, and the success of wesley harris, it is only necessary to copy the report as then penned from the lips of this young hero, while on the underground rail road, even then in a very critical state. most fearful indeed was his condition when he was brought to the vigilance committee in this city. underground rail road record. _november d_, .--arrived: robert jackson (shot man), _alias_ wesley harris; age twenty-two years; dark color; medium height, and of slender stature. robert was born in martinsburg, va., and was owned by philip pendleton. from a boy he had always been hired out. at the first of this year he commenced services with mrs. carroll, proprietress of the united states hotel at harper's ferry. of mrs. carroll he speaks in very grateful terms, saying that she was kind to him and all the servants, and promised them their freedom at her death. she excused herself for not giving them their freedom on the ground that her husband died insolvent, leaving her the responsibility of settling his debts. but while mrs. carroll was very kind to her servants, her manager was equally as cruel. about a month before wesley left, the overseer, for some trifling cause, attempted to flog him, but was resisted, and himself flogged. this resistance of the slave was regarded by the overseer as an unpardonable offence; consequently he communicated the intelligence to his owner, which had the desired effect on his mind as appeared from his answer to the overseer, which was nothing less than instructions that if he should again attempt to correct wesley and he should repel the wholesome treatment, the overseer was to put him in prison and sell him. whether he offended again or not, the following christmas he was to be sold without fail. wesley's mistress was kind enough to apprise him of the intention of his owner and the overseer, and told him that if he could help himself he had better do so. so from that time wesley began to contemplate how he should escape the doom which had been planned for him. "a friend," says he, "by the name of c. matterson, told me that he was going off. then i told him of my master's writing to mrs. carroll concerning selling, etc., and that i was going off too. we then concluded to go together. there were two others--brothers of matterson--who were told of our plan to escape, and readily joined with us in the undertaking. so one saturday night, at twelve o'clock, we set out for the north. after traveling upwards of two days and over sixty miles, we found ourselves unexpectedly in terrytown, md. there we were informed by a friendly colored man of the danger we were in and of the bad character of the place towards colored people, especially those who were escaping to freedom; and he advised us to hide as quickly as we could. we at once went to the woods and hid. soon after we had secreted ourselves a man came near by and commenced splitting wood, or rails, which alarmed us. we then moved to another hiding-place in a thicket near a farmer's barn, where we were soon startled again by a dog approaching and barking at us. the attention of the owner of the dog was drawn to his barking and to where we were. the owner of the dog was a farmer. he asked us where we were going. we replied to gettysburg--to visit some relatives, etc. he told us that we were running off. he then offered friendly advice, talked like a quaker, and urged us to go with him to his barn for protection. after much persuasion, we consented to go with him. "soon after putting us in his barn, himself and daughter prepared us a nice breakfast, which cheered our spirits, as we were hungry. for this kindness we paid him one dollar. he next told us to hide on the mow till eve, when he would safely direct us on our road to gettysburg. all, very much fatigued from traveling, fell asleep, excepting myself; i could not sleep; i felt as if all was not right. "about noon men were heard talking around the barn. i woke my companions up and told them that that man had betrayed us. at first they did not believe me. in a moment afterwards the barn door was opened, and in came the men, eight in number. one of the men asked the owner of the barn if he had any long straw. 'yes,' was the answer. so up on the mow came three of the men, when, to their great surprise, as they pretended, we were discovered. the question was then asked the owner of the barn by one of the men, if he harbored runaway negroes in his barn? he answered, 'no,' and pretended to be entirely ignorant of their being in his barn. one of the men replied that four negroes were on the mow, and he knew of it. the men then asked us where we were, going. we told them to gettysburg, that we had aunts and a mother there. also we spoke of a mr. houghman, a gentleman we happened to have some knowledge of, having seen him in virginia. we were next asked for our passes. we told them that we hadn't any, that we had not been required to carry them where we came from. they then said that we would have to go before a magistrate, and if he allowed us to go on, well and good. the men all being armed and furnished with ropes, we were ordered to be tied. i told them if they took me they would have to take me dead or crippled. at that instant one of my friends cried out--'where is the man that betrayed us?' spying him at the same moment, he shot him (badly wounding him). then the conflict fairly began. the constable seized me by the collar, or rather behind my shoulder. i at once shot him with my pistol, but in consequence of his throwing up his arm, which hit mine as i fired, the effect of the load of my pistol was much turned aside; his face, however, was badly burned, besides his shoulder being wounded. i again fired on the pursuers, but do not know whether i hit anybody or not. i then drew a sword, i had brought with me, and was about cutting my way to the door, when i was shot by one of the men, receiving the entire contents of one load of a double barreled gun in my left arm, that being the arm with which i was defending myself. the load brought me to the ground, and i was unable to make further struggle for myself. i was then badly beaten with guns, &c. in the meantime, my friend craven, who was defending himself, was shot badly in the face, and most violently beaten until he was conquered and tied. the two young brothers of craven stood still, without making the least resistance. after we were fairly captured, we were taken to terrytown, which was in sight of where we were betrayed. by this time i had lost so much blood from my wounds, that they concluded my situation was too dangerous to admit of being taken further; so i was made a prisoner at a tavern, kept by a man named fisher. there my wounds were dressed, and thirty-two shot were taken from my arm. for three days i was crazy, and they thought i would die. during the first two weeks, while i was a prisoner at the tavern, i raised a great deal of blood, and was considered in a very dangerous condition--so much so that persons desiring to see me were not permitted. afterwards i began to get better, and was then kept privately--was strictly watched day and night. occasionally, however, the cook, a colored woman (mrs. smith), would manage to get to see me. also james matthews succeeded in getting to see me; consequently, as my wounds healed, and my senses came to me, i began to plan how to make another effort to escape. i asked one of the friends, alluded to above, to get me a rope. he got it. i kept it about me four days in my pocket; in the meantime i procured three nails. on friday night, october th, i fastened my nails in under the window sill; tied my rope to the nails, threw my shoes out of the window, put the rope in my mouth, then took hold of it with my well hand, clambered into the window, very weak, but i managed to let myself down to the ground. i was so weak, that i could scarcely walk, but i managed to hobble off to a place three quarters of a mile from the tavern, where a friend had fixed upon for me to go, if i succeeded in making my escape. there i was found by my friend, who kept me secure till saturday eve, when a swift horse was furnished by james rogers, and a colored man found to conduct me to gettysburg. instead of going direct to gettysburg, we took a different road, in order to shun our pursuers, as the news of my escape had created general excitement. my three other companions, who were captured, were sent to westminster jail, where they were kept three weeks, and afterwards sent to baltimore and sold for twelve hundred dollars a piece, as i was informed while at the tavern in terrytown." [illustration: desperate conflict in a barn.] the vigilance committee procured good medical attention and afforded the fugitive time for recuperation, furnished him with clothing and a free ticket, and sent him on his way greatly improved in health, and strong in the faith that, "he who would be free, himself must strike the blow." his safe arrival in canada, with his thanks, were duly announced. and some time after becoming naturalized, in one of his letters, he wrote that he was a brakesman on the great western r.r., (in canada--promoted from the u.g.r.r.,) the result of being under the protection of the british lion. * * * * * death of romulus hall--new name george weems. in march, , abram harris fled from john henry suthern, who lived near benedict, charles county, md., where he was engaged in the farming business, and was the owner of about seventy head of slaves. he kept an overseer, and usually had flogging administered daily, on males and females, old and young. abram becoming very sick of this treatment, resolved, about the first of march, to seek out the underground rail road. but for his strong attachment to his wife (who was owned by samuel adams, but was "pretty well treated"), he never would have consented to suffer as he did. here no hope of comfort for the future seemed to remain. so abram consulted with a fellow-servant, by the name of romulus hall, alias george weems, and being very warm friends, concluded to start together. both had wives to "tear themselves from," and each was equally ignorant of the distance they had to travel, and the dangers and sufferings to be endured. but they "trusted in god" and kept the north star in view. for nine days and nights, without a guide, they traveled at a very exhausting rate, especially as they had to go fasting for three days, and to endure very cold weather. abram's companion, being about fifty years of age, felt obliged to succumb, both from hunger and cold, and had to be left on the way. abram was a man of medium size, tall, dark chestnut color, and could read and write a little and was quite intelligent; "was a member of the mount zion church," and occasionally officiated as an "exhorter," and really appeared to be a man of genuine faith in the almighty, and equally as much in freedom. in substance, abram gave the following information concerning his knowledge of affairs on the farm under his master-- "master and mistress very frequently visited the protestant church, but were not members. mistress was very bad. about three weeks before i left, the overseer, in a violent fit of bad temper, shot and badly wounded a young slave man by the name of henry waters, but no sooner than he got well enough he escaped, and had not been heard of up to the time abram left. about three years before this happened, an overseer of my master was found shot dead on the road. at once some of the slaves were suspected, and were all taken to the court house, at serentown, st. mary's county; but all came off clear. after this occurrence a new overseer, by the name of john decket, was employed. although his predecessor had been dead three years, decket, nevertheless, concluded that it was not 'too late' to flog the secret out of some of the slaves. accordingly, he selected a young slave man for his victim, and flogged him so cruelly that he could scarcely walk or stand, and to keep from being actually killed, the boy told an untruth, and confessed that he and his uncle henry killed webster, the overseer; whereupon the poor fellow was sent to jail to be tried for his life." but abram did not wait to hear the verdict. he reached the committee safely in this city, in advance of his companion, and was furnished with a free ticket and other needed assistance, and was sent on his way rejoicing. after reaching his destination, he wrote back to know how his friend and companion (george) was getting along; but in less than three weeks after he had passed, the following brief story reveals the sad fate of poor _romulus hall_, who had journeyed with him till exhausted from hunger and badly frost-bitten. a few days after his younger companion had passed on north, romulus was brought by a pitying stranger to the vigilance committee, in a most shocking condition. the frost had made sad havoc with his feet and legs, so much so that all sense of feeling had departed therefrom. [illustration: death of romulus hall.] how he ever reached this city is a marvel. on his arrival medical attention and other necessary comforts were provided by the committee, who hoped with himself, that he would be restored with the loss of his toes alone. for one week he seemed to be improving; at the expiration of this time, however, his symptoms changed, indicating not only the end of slavery, but also the end of all his earthly troubles. lockjaw and mortification set in in the most malignant form, and for nearly thirty-six hours the unfortunate victim suffered in extreme agony, though not a murmur escaped him for having brought upon himself in seeking his liberty this painful infliction and death. it was wonderful to see how resignedly he endured his fate. being anxious to get his testimony relative to his escape, etc., the chairman of the committee took his pencil and expressed to him his wishes in the matter. amongst other questions, he was asked: "do you regret having attempted to escape from slavery?" after a severe spasm he said, as his friend was about to turn to leave the room, hopeless of being gratified in his purpose: "don't go; i have not answered your question. i am glad i escaped from slavery!" he then gave his name, and tried to tell the name of his master, but was so weak he could not be understood. at his bedside, day and night, slavery looked more heinous than it had ever done before. only think how this poor man, in an enlightened christian land, for the bare hope of freedom, in a strange land amongst strangers, was obliged not only to bear the sacrifice of his wife and kindred, but also of his own life. nothing ever appeared more sad than seeing him in a dying posture, and instead of reaching his much coveted destination in canada, going to that "bourne whence no traveler returns." of course it was expedient, even after his death, that only a few friends should follow him to his grave. nevertheless, he was decently buried in the beautiful lebanon cemetery. in his purse was found one single five cent piece, his whole pecuniary dependence. this was the first instance of death on the underground rail road in this region. the committee were indebted to the medical services of the well-known friends of the fugitive, drs. j.l. griscom and h.t. childs, whose faithful services were freely given; and likewise to mrs. h.s. duterte and mrs. williams, who generously performed the offices of charity and friendship at his burial. from his companion, who passed on canada-ward without delay, we received a letter, from which, as an item of interest, we make the following extract: "i am enjoying good health, and hope when this reaches you, you may be enjoying the same blessing. give my love to mr. ----, and family, and tell them i am in a land of liberty! i am a man among men!" (the above was addressed to the deceased.) the subjoined letter, from rev. l.d. mansfield, expressed on behalf of romulus' companion, his sad feelings on hearing of his friend's death. and here it may not be inappropriate to add, that clearly enough is it to be seen, that rev. mansfield was one of the rare order of ministers, who believed it right "to do unto others as one would be done by" in practice, not in theory merely, and who felt that they could no more be excused for "falling down," in obedience to the fugitive slave law under president fillmore, than could daniel for worshiping the "golden image" under nebuchadnezzar. auburn, new york, may th, . dear br. still:--henry lemmon wishes me to write to you in reply to your kind letter, conveying the intelligence of the death of your fugitive guest, geo. weems. he was deeply affected at the intelligence, for he was most devotedly attached to him and had been for many years. mr. lemmon now expects his sister to come on, and wishes you to aid her in any way in your power--as he knows you will. he wishes you to send the coat and cap of weems by his sister when she comes. and when you write out the history of weems' escape, and it is published, that you would send him a copy of the papers. he has not been very successful in getting work yet. mr. and mrs. harris left for canada last week. the friends made them a purse of $ or $ , and we hope they will do well. mr. lemmon sends his respects to you and mrs. still. give my kind regards to her and accept also yourself, yours very truly, l.d. mansfield. * * * * * james mercer, wm. h. gilliam, and john clayton. stowed away in a hot berth. this arrival came by steamer. but they neither came in state-room nor as cabin, steerage, or deck passengers. a certain space, not far from the boiler, where the heat and coal dust were almost intolerable,--the colored steward on the boat in answer to an appeal from these unhappy bondmen, could point to no other place for concealment but this. nor was he at all certain that they could endure the intense heat of that place. it admitted of no other posture than lying flat down, wholly shut out from the light, and nearly in the same predicament in regard to the air. here, however, was a chance of throwing off the yoke, even if it cost them their lives. they considered and resolved to try it at all hazards. henry box brown's sufferings were nothing, compared to what these men submitted to during the entire journey. they reached the house of one of the committee about three o'clock, a.m. all the way from the wharf the cold rain poured down in torrents and they got completely drenched, but their hearts were swelling with joy and gladness unutterable. from the thick coating of coal dust, and the effect of the rain added thereto, all traces of natural appearance were entirely obliterated, and they looked frightful in the extreme. but they had placed their lives in mortal peril for freedom. every step of their critical journey was reviewed and commented on, with matchless natural eloquence,--how, when almost on the eve of suffocating in their warm berths, in order to catch a breath of air, they were compelled to crawl, one at a time, to a small aperture; but scarcely would one poor fellow pass three minutes being thus refreshed, ere the others would insist that he should "go back to his hole." air was precious, but for the time being they valued their liberty at still greater price. after they had talked to their hearts' content, and after they had been thoroughly cleansed and changed in apparel, their physical appearance could be easily discerned, which made it less a wonder whence such outbursts of eloquence had emanated. they bore every mark of determined manhood. the date of this arrival was february , , and the following description was then recorded-- arrived, by steamer pennsylvania, james mercer, william h. gilliam and john clayton, from richmond. james was owned by the widow, mrs. t.e. white. he is thirty-two years of age, of dark complexion, well made, good-looking, reads and writes, is very fluent in speech, and remarkably intelligent. from a boy, he had been hired out. the last place he had the honor to fill before escaping, was with messrs. williams and brother, wholesale commission merchants. for his services in this store the widow had been drawing one hundred and twenty-five dollars per annum, clear of all expenses. he did not complain of bad treatment from his mistress, indeed, he spoke rather favorably of her. but he could not close his eyes to the fact, that at one time mrs. white had been in possession of thirty head of slaves, although at the time he was counting the cost of escaping, two only remained--himself and william, (save a little boy) and on himself a mortgage for seven hundred and fifty dollars was then resting. he could, therefore, with his remarkably quick intellect, calculate about how long it would be before he reached the auction block. he had a wife but no child. she was owned by mr. henry w. quarles. so out of that sodom he felt he would have to escape, even at the cost of leaving his wife behind. of course he felt hopeful that the way would open by which she could escape at a future time, and so it did, as will appear by and by. his aged mother he had to leave also. wm. henry gilliam likewise belonged to the widow white, and he had been hired to messrs. white and brother to drive their bread wagon. william was a baker by trade. for his services his mistress had received one hundred and thirty-five dollars per year. he thought his mistress quite as good, if not a little better than most slave-holders. but he had never felt persuaded to believe that she was good enough for him to remain a slave for her support. indeed, he had made several unsuccessful attempts before this time to escape from slavery and its horrors. he was fully posted from a to z, but in his own person he had been smart enough to escape most of the more brutal outrages. he knew how to read and write, and in readiness of speech and general natural ability was far above the average of slaves. he was twenty-five years of age, well made, of light complexion, and might be put down as a valuable piece of property. this loss fell with crushing weight upon the kind-hearted mistress, as will be seen in a letter subjoined which she wrote to the unfaithful william, some time after he had fled. letter from mrs. l.e. white. richmond, th, . dear henry:--your mother and myself received your letter; she is much distressed at your conduct; she is remaining just as you left her, she says, and she will never be reconciled to your conduct. i think henry, you have acted most dishonorably; had you have made a confidant of me i would have been better off; and you as you are. i am badly situated, living with mrs. palmer, and having to put up with everything--your mother is also dissatisfied--i am miserably poor, do not get a cent of your hire or james', besides losing you both, but if you can _reconcile_ so do. by renting a cheap house, i might have lived, now it seems starvation is before me. martha and the doctor are living in portsmouth, it is not in her power to do much for me. i know you will repent it. i heard six weeks before you went, that you were trying to persuade him off--but we all liked you, and i was unwilling to believe it--however, i leave it in god's hands he will know what to do. your mother says that i must tell you servant jones is _dead_ and old _mrs. galt_. kit is well, but we are very uneasy, losing your and _james' hire_, i fear poor little fellow, that he will be obliged to go, as i am compelled to live, and it will be your fault. i am quite unwell, but of course, you don't care. yours, l.e. white. if you choose to come back you could. i would do a very good part by you, toler and cooke has none. this touching epistle was given by the disobedient william to a member of the vigilant committee, when on a visit to canada, in , and it was thought to be of too much value to be lost. it was put away with other valuable u.g.r.r. documents for future reference. touching the "rascality" of william and james and the unfortunate predicament in which it placed the kind-hearted widow, mrs. louisa white, the following editorial clipped from the wide-awake richmond despatch, was also highly appreciated, and preserved as conclusive testimony to the successful working of the u.g.r.r. in the old dominion. it reads thus-- "rascality somewhere.--we called attention yesterday to the advertisement of two negroes belonging to mrs. louisa white, by toler & cook, and in the call we expressed the opinion that they were still lurking about the city, preparatory to going off. mr. toler, we find, is of a different opinion. he believes that they have already cleared themselves--have escaped to a free state, and we think it extremely probable that he is in the right. they were both of them uncommonly intelligent negroes. one of them, the one hired to mr. white, was a tip-top baker. he had been all about the country, and had been in the habit of supplying the u.s. pennsylvania with bread; mr. w. having the contract. in his visits for this purpose, of course, he formed acquaintances with all sorts of sea-faring characters; and there is every reason to believe that he has been assisted to get off in that way, along with the other boy, hired to the messrs. williams. that the two acted in concert, can admit of no doubt. the question is now to find out how they got off. they must undoubtedly have had white men in the secret. have we then a nest of abolition scoundrels among us? there ought to be a law to put a police officer on board every vessel as soon as she lands at the wharf. there is one, we believe for inspecting vessels before they leave. if there is not there ought to be one. "these negroes belong to a widow lady and constitute all the property she has on earth. they have both been raised with the greatest indulgence. had it been otherwise, they would never have had an opportunity to escape, as they have done. their flight has left her penniless. either of them would readily have sold for $ ; and mr. toler advised their owner to sell them at the commencement of the year, probably anticipating the very thing that has happened. she refused to do so, because she felt too much attachment to them. they have made a fine return, truly." no comment is necessary on the above editorial except simply to express the hope that the editor and his friends who seemed to be utterly befogged as to how these "uncommonly intelligent negroes" made their escape, will find the problem satisfactorily solved in this book. however, in order to do even-handed justice to all concerned, it seems but proper that william and james should be heard from, and hence a letter from each is here appended for what they are worth. true they were intended only for private use, but since the "true light" (freedom) has come, all things may be made manifest. letter from william henry gilliam. st. catharines, c.w., may th, . my dear friend:--i receaved yours, dated the th and the papers on the th, i also saw the pice that was in miss shadd's paper about me. i think tolar is right about my being in a free state, i am and think a great del of it. also i have no compassion on the penniless widow lady, i have served her yers months, i think that is long enough for me to live a slave. dear sir, i am very sorry to hear of the accadent that happened to our friend mr. meakins, i have read the letter to all that lives in st. catharines, that came from old virginia, and then i sented to toronto to mercer & clayton to see, and to farman to read fur themselves. sir, you must write to me soon and let me know how meakins gets on with his tryal, and you must pray for him, i have told all here to do the same for him. may god bless and protect him from prison, i have heard a great del of old richmond and norfolk. dear sir, if you see mr. or mrs. gilbert give my love to them and tell them to write to me, also give my respect to your family and a part for yourself, love from the friends to you soloman brown, h. atkins, was. johnson, mrs. brooks, mr. dykes. mr. smith is better at presant. and do not forget to write the news of meakin's tryal. i cannot say any more at this time; but remain yours and a true friend ontell death. w.h. gilliam, the widow's mite. "our friend minkins," in whose behalf william asks the united prayers of his friends, was one of the "scoundrels" who assisted him and his two companions to escape on the steamer. being suspected of "rascality" in this direction, he was arrested and put in jail, but as no evidence could be found against him he was soon released. james mercer's letter. toronto, march th, . my dear friend still:--i take this method of informing you that i am well, and when this comes to hand it may find you and your family enjoying good health. sir, my particular for writing is that i wish to hear from you, and to hear all the news from down south. i wish to know if all things are working right for the rest of my brotheran whom in bondage. i will also say that i am very much please with toronto, so also the friends that came over with. it is true that we have not been employed as yet; but we are in hopes of be'en so in a few days. we happen here in good time jest about time the people in this country are going work. i am in good health and good spirits, and feeles rejoiced in the lord for my liberty. i received cople of paper from you to-day. i wish you see james morris whom or abram george the first and second on the ship penn., give my respects to them, and ask james if he will call at henry w. quarles on may street oppisit the jews synagogue and call for marena mercer, give my love to her ask her of all the times about richmond, tell her to send me all the news. tell mr. morris that there will be no danger in going to that place. you will also tell m. to make himself known to her as she may know who sent him. and i wish to get a letter from you. james m. mercer. john h. hill's letter. my friend, i would like to hear from you, i have been looking for a letter from you for several days as the last was very interesting to me, please to write right away. yours most respectfully, john h. hill. instead of weeping over the sad situation of his "penniless" mistress and showing any signs of contrition for having wronged the man who held the mortgage of seven hundred and fifty dollars on him, james actually "feels rejoiced in the lord for his liberty," and is "very much pleased with toronto;" but is not satisfied yet, he is even concocting a plan by which his wife might be run off from richmond, which would be the cause of her owner (henry w. quarles, esq.) losing at least one thousand dollars, st. catharine, canada, june th, . mr. still, dear friend:--i received a letter from the poor old widow, mrs. l.e. white, and she says i may come back if i choose and she will do a good part by me. yes, yes i am choosing the western side of the south for my home. she is smart, but cannot bung my eye, so she shall have to die in the poor house at last, so she says, and mercer and myself will be the cause of it. that is all right. i am getting even with her now for i was in the poor house for twenty-five years and have just got out. and she said she knew i was coming away six weeks before i started, so you may know my chance was slim. but mr. john wright said i came off like a gentleman and he did not blame me for coming for i was a great boy. yes i here him enough he is all gas. i am in canada, and they cannot help themselves. about that subject i will not say anything more. you must write to me as soon as you can and let me here the news and how the family is and yourself. let me know how the times is with the u.g.r.r. co. is it doing good business? mr. dykes sends his respects to you. give mine to your family. your true friend, w.h. gilliam. john clayton, the companion in tribulation of william and james, must not be lost sight of any longer. he was owned by the widow clayton, and was white enough to have been nearly related to her, being a mulatto. he was about thirty-five years of age, a man of fine appearance, and quite intelligent. several years previous he had made an attempt to escape, but failed. prior to escaping in this instance, he had been laboring in a tobacco factory at $ a year. it is needless to say that he did not approve of the "peculiar institution." he left a wife and one child behind to mourn after him. of his views of canada and freedom, the following frank and sensible letter, penned shortly after his arrival, speaks for itself-- toronto, march th, . dear mr. still:--i take this method of informing you that i am well both in health and mind. you may rest assured that i fells myself a free man and do not fell as i did when i was in virginia thanks be to god i have no master into canada but i am my own man. i arrived safe into canada on friday last. i must request of you to write a few lines to my wife and jest state to her that her friend arrived safe into this glorious land of liberty and i am well and she will make very short her time in virginia. tell her that i likes here very well and hopes to like it better when i gets to work i don't meane for you to write the same words that are written above but i wish you give her a clear understanding where i am and shall remain here untel she comes or i hears from her. nothing more at present but remain yours most respectfully, john clayton. you will please to direct the to petersburg luenena johns or clayton john is best. clarissa davis. arrived dressed in male attire. clarissa fled from portsmouth, va., in may, , with two of her brothers. two months and a half before she succeeded in getting off, clarissa had made a desperate effort, but failed. the brothers succeeded, but she was left. she had not given up all hope of escape, however, and therefore sought "a safe hiding-place until an opportunity might offer," by which she could follow her brothers on the u.g.r.r. clarissa was owned by mrs. brown and mrs. burkley, of portsmouth, under whom she had always served. of them she spoke favorably, saying that she "had not been used as hard as many others were." at this period, clarissa was about twenty-two years of age, of a bright brown complexion, with handsome features, exceedingly respectful and modest, and possessed all the characteristics of a well-bred young lady. for one so little acquainted with books as she was, the correctness of her speech was perfectly astonishing. for clarissa and her two brothers a "reward of one thousand dollars" was kept standing in the papers for a length of time, as these (articles) were considered very rare and valuable; the best that could be produced in virginia. in the meanwhile the brothers had passed safely on to new bedford, but clarissa remained secluded, "waiting for the storm to subside." keeping up courage day by day, for seventy-five days, with the fear of being detected and severely punished, and then sold, after all her hopes and struggles, required the faith of a martyr. time after time, when she hoped to succeed in making her escape, ill luck seemed to disappoint her, and nothing but intense suffering appeared to be in store. like many others, under the crushing weight of oppression, she thought she "should have to die" ere she tasted liberty. in this state of mind, one day, word was conveyed to her that the steamship, city of richmond, had arrived from philadelphia, and that the steward on board (with whom she was acquainted), had consented to secrete her this trip, if she could manage to reach the ship safely, which was to start the next day. this news to clarissa was both cheering and painful. she had been "praying all the time while waiting," but now she felt "that if it would only rain right hard the next morning about three o'clock, to drive the police officers off the street, then she could safely make her way to the boat." therefore she prayed anxiously all that day that it would rain, "but no sign of rain appeared till towards midnight." the prospect looked horribly discouraging; but she prayed on, and at the appointed hour (three o'clock--before day), the rain descended in torrents. dressed in male attire, clarissa left the miserable coop where she had been almost without light or air for two and a half months, and unmolested, reached the boat safely, and was secreted in a box by wm. bagnal, a clever young man who sincerely sympathized with the slave, having a wife in slavery himself; and by him she was safely delivered into the hands of the vigilance committee. clarissa davis here, by advice of the committee, dropped her old name, and was straightway christened "mary d. armstead." desiring to join her brothers and sister in new bedford, she was duly furnished with her u.g.r.r. passport and directed thitherward. her father, who was left behind when she got off, soon after made his way on north, and joined his children. he was too old and infirm probably to be worth anything, and had been allowed to go free, or to purchase himself for a mere nominal sum. slaveholders would, on some such occasions, show wonderful liberality in letting their old slaves go free, when they could work no more. after reaching new bedford, clarissa manifested her gratitude in writing to her friends in philadelphia repeatedly, and evinced a very lively interest in the u.g.r.r. the appended letter indicates her sincere feelings of gratitude and deep interest in the cause-- new bedford, august , . mr. still:--i avail my self to write you thes few lines hopeing they may find you and your family well as they leaves me very well and all the family well except my father he seams to be improveing with his shoulder he has been able to work a little i received the papers i was highly delighted to receive them i was very glad to hear from you in the wheler case i was very glad to hear that the persons ware safe i was very sory to hear that mr williamson was put in prison but i know if the praying part of the people will pray for him and if he will put his trust in the lord he will bring him out more than conquer please remember my dear old farther and sisters and brothers to your family kiss the children for me i hear that the yellow fever is very bad down south now if the underground railroad could have free course the emergrant would cross the river of gordan rapidly i hope it may continue to run and i hope the wheels of the car may be greesed with more substantial greese so they may run over swiftly i would have wrote before but circumstances would not permit me miss sanders and all the friends desired to be remembered to you and your family i shall be pleased to hear from the underground rail road often. yours respectfully, mary d. armstead. * * * * * anthony blow, alias henry levison. secreted ten months before starting--eight days stowed away on a steamer bound for philadelphia. arrived from norfolk, about the st of november, . ten months before starting, anthony had been closely concealed. he belonged to the estate of mrs. peters, a widow, who had been dead about one year before his concealment. on the settlement of his old mistress' estate, which was to take place one year after her death, anthony was to be transferred to mrs. lewis, a daughter of mrs. peters (the wife of james lewis, esq.). anthony felt well satisfied that he was not the slave to please the "tyrannical whims" of his anticipated master, young lewis, and of course he hated the idea of having to come under his yoke. and what made it still more unpleasant for anthony was that mr. lewis would frequently remind him that it was his intention to "sell him as soon as he got possession--the first day of january." "i can get fifteen hundred dollars for you easily, and i will do it." this contemptuous threat had caused anthony's blood to boil time and again. but anthony had to take the matter as calmly as possible, which, however, he was not always able to do. at any rate, anthony concluded that his "young master had counted the chickens before they were hatched." indeed here anthony began to be a deep thinker. he thought, for instance, that he had already been shot three times, at the instance of slave-holders. the first time he was shot was for refusing a flogging when only eighteen years of age. the second time, he was shot in the head with squirrel shot by the sheriff, who was attempting to arrest him for having resisted three "young white ruffians," who wished to have the pleasure of beating him, but got beaten themselves. and in addition to being shot this time, anthony was still further "broke in" by a terrible flogging from the sheriff. the third time anthony was shot he was about twenty-one years of age. in this instance he was punished for his old offence--he "would not be whipped." this time his injury from being shot was light, compared with the two preceding attacks. also in connection with these murderous conflicts, he could not forget that he had been sold on the auction block. but he had still deeper thinking to do yet. he determined that his young master should never get "fifteen hundred dollars for him on the st of january," unless he got them while he (anthony) was running. for anthony had fully made up his mind that when the last day of december ended, his bondage should end also, even if he should have to accept death as a substitute. he then began to think of the underground rail road and of canada; but who the agents were, or how to find the depot, was a serious puzzle to him. but his time was getting so short he was convinced that whatever he did would have to be done quickly. in this frame of mind he found a man who professed to know something about the underground rail road, and for "thirty dollars" promised to aid him in the matter. the thirty dollars were raised by the hardest effort and passed over to the pretended friend, with the expectation that it would avail greatly in the emergency. but anthony found himself sold for thirty dollars, as nothing was done for him. however, the st day of january arrived, but anthony was not to be found to answer to his name at roll call. he had "took out" very early in the morning. daily he prayed in his place of concealment how to find the u.g.r.r. ten months passed away, during which time he suffered almost death, but persuaded himself to believe that even that was better than slavery. with anthony, as it has been with thousands of others similarly situated, just as everything was looking the most hopeless, word came to him in his place of concealment that a friend named minkins, employed on the steamship city of richmond, would undertake to conceal him on the boat, if he could be crowded in a certain place, which was about the only spot that would be perfectly safe. this was glorious news to anthony; but it was well for him that he was ignorant of the situation that awaited him on the boat, or his heart might have failed him. he was willing, however, to risk his life for freedom, and, therefore, went joyfully. the hiding-place was small and he was large. a sitting attitude was the only way he could possibly occupy it. he was contented. this place was "near the range, directly over the boiler," and of course, was very warm. nevertheless, anthony felt that he would not murmur, as he knew what suffering was pretty well, and especially as he took it for granted that he would be free in about a day and a half--the usual time it took the steamer to make her trip. at the appointed hour the steamer left norfolk for philadelphia, with anthony sitting flat down in his u.g.r.r. berth, thoughtful and hopeful. but before the steamer had made half her distance the storm was tossing the ship hither and thither fearfully. head winds blew terribly, and for a number of days the elements seemed perfectly mad. in addition to the extraordinary state of the weather, when the storm subsided the fog took its place and held the mastery of the ship with equal despotism until the end of over seven days, when finally the storm, wind, and fog all disappeared, and on the eighth day of her boisterous passage the steamship city of richmond landed at the wharf of philadelphia, with this giant and hero on board who had suffered for ten months in his concealment on land and for eight days on the ship. anthony was of very powerful physical proportions, being six feet three inches in height, quite black, very intelligent, and of a temperament that would not submit to slavery. for some years his master, col. cunnagan, had hired him out in washington, where he was accused of being in the schooner pearl, with capt. drayton's memorable "seventy fugitives on board, bound for canada." at this time he was stoker in a machine shop, and was at work on an anchor weighing "ten thousand pounds." in the excitement over the attempt to escape in the pearl, many were arrested, and the officers with irons visited anthony at the machine shop to arrest him, but he declined to let them put the hand-cuffs on him, but consented to go with them, if permitted to do so without being ironed. the officers yielded, and anthony went willingly to the jail. passing unnoticed other interesting conflicts in his hard life, suffice it to say, he left his wife, ann, and three children, benjamin, john and alfred, all owned by col. cunnagan. in this brave-hearted man, the committee felt a deep interest, and accorded him their usual hospitalities. perry johnson, of elkton, maryland. eye knocked out, etc. perry's exit was in november, . he was owned by charles johnson, who lived at elkton. the infliction of a severe "flogging" from the hand of his master awakened perry to consider the importance of the u.g.r.r. perry had the misfortune to let a "load of fodder upset," about which his master became exasperated, and in his agitated state of mind he succeeded in affixing a number of very ugly stationary marks on perry's back. however, this was no new thing. indeed he had suffered at the hands of his mistress even far more keenly than from these "ugly marks." he had but one eye; the other he had been deprived of by a terrible stroke with a cowhide in the "hand of his mistress." this lady he pronounced to be a "perfect savage," and added that "she was in the habit of cowhiding any of her slaves whenever she felt like it, which was quite often." perry was about twenty-eight years of age and a man of promise. the committee attended to his wants and forwarded him on north. * * * * * isaac forman, william davis, and willis redick. hearts full of joy for freedom--very anxious for wives in slavery. these passengers all arrived together, concealed, per steamship city of richmond, december, . isaac forman, the youngest of the party--twenty-three years of age and a dark mulatto--would be considered by a southerner capable of judging as "very likely." he fled from a widow by the name of mrs. sanders, who had been in the habit of hiring him out for "one hundred and twenty dollars a year." she belonged in norfolk, va.; so did isaac. for four years isaac had served in the capacity of steward on the steamship augusta. he stated that he had a wife living in richmond, and that she was confined the morning he took the u.g.r.r. of course he could not see her. the privilege of living in richmond with his wife "had been denied him." thus, fearing to render her unhappy, he was obliged to conceal from her his intention to escape. "once or twice in the year was all the privilege allowed" him to visit her. this only added "insult to injury," in isaac's opinion; wherefore he concluded that he would make one less to have to suffer thus, and common sense said he was wise in the matter. no particular charges are found recorded on the u.g.r.r. books against the mistress. he went to canada. in the subjoined letters (about his wife) is clearly revealed the sincere gratitude he felt towards those who aided him: at the same time it may be seen how the thought of his wife being in bondage grieved his heart. it would have required men with stone hearts to have turned deaf ears to such appeals. extract from letter soon after reaching canada--hopeful and happy-- extract of letter from isaac forman. toronto, feb. th, . mr. william still:--_sir_--your kind letter arrived safe at hand on the th, and i was very happy to receive it. i now feel that i should return you some thanks for your kindness. dear sir i do pray from the bottom of my heart, that the high heavens may bless you for your kindness; give my love to mr. bagnel and mr. minkins, ask them if they have heard anything from my brother, tell mr. bagnel to give my love to my sister-in-law and mother and all the family. i am now living at russell's hotel; it is the first situation i have had since i have been here and i like it very well. sir you would oblige me by letting me know if mr. minkins has seen my wife; you will please let me know as soon as possible. i wonder if mr. minkins has thought of any way that he can get my wife away. i should like to know in a few days. your well wisher, isaac forman. another letter from isaac. he is very gloomy and his heart is almost breaking about his wife. second letter. toronto, may , . mr. w. still:--_dear sir_--i take this opportunity of writing you these few lines and hope when they reach you they will find you well. i would have written you before, but i was waiting to hear from my friend, mr. brown. i judge his business has been of importance as the occasion why he has not written before. dear sir, nothing would have prevented me from writing, in a case of this kind, except death. my soul is vexed, my troubles are inexpressible. i often feel as if i were willing to die. i must see my wife in short, if not, i will die. what would i not give no tongue can utter. just to gaze on her sweet lips one moment i would be willing to die the next. i am determined to see her some time or other. the thought of being a slave again is miserable. i hope heaven will smile upon me again, before i am one again. i will leave canada again shortly, but i don't name the place that i go, it may be in the bottom of the ocean. if i had known as much before i left, as i do now, i would never have left until i could have found means to have brought her with me. you have never suffered from being absent from a wife, as i have. i consider that to be nearly superior to death, and hope you will do all you can for me, and inquire from your friends if nothing can be done for me. please write to me immediately on receipt of this, and say something that will cheer up my drooping spirits. you will oblige me by seeing mr. brown and ask him if he would oblige me by going to richmond and see my wife, and see what arrangements he could make with her, and i would be willing to pay all his expenses there and back. please to see both mr. bagnel and mr. minkins, and ask them if they have seen my wife. i am determined to see her, if i die the next moment. i can say i was once happy, but never will be again, until i see her; because what is freedom to me, when i know that my wife is in slavery? those persons that you shipped a few weeks ago, remained at st. catherine, instead of coming over to toronto. i sent you two letters last week and i hope you will please attend to them. the post-office is shut, so i enclose the money to pay the post, and please write me in haste. i remain evermore your obedient servant, i. forman. willis redick. he was owned by s.j. wilson, a merchant, living in portsmouth, va. willis was of a very dark hue, thick set, thirty-two years of age, and possessed of a fair share of mind. the owner had been accustomed to hire willis out for "one hundred dollars a year." willis thought his lot "pretty hard," and his master rather increased this notion by his severity, and especially by "threatening" to sell him. he had enjoyed, as far as it was expected for a slave to do, "five months of married life," but he loved slavery no less on this account. in fact he had just begun to consider what it was to have a wife and children that he "could not own or protect," and who were claimed as another's property. consequently he became quite restive under these reflections and his master's ill-usage, and concluded to "look out," without consulting either the master or the young wife. this step looked exceedingly hard, but what else could the poor fellow do? slavery existed expressly for the purpose of crushing souls and breaking tender hearts. * * * * * william davis. william might be described as a good-looking mulatto, thirty-one years of age, and capable of thinking for himself. he made no grave complaints of ill-usage under his master, "joseph reynolds," who lived at newton, portsmouth, va. however, his owner had occasionally "threatened to sell him." as this was too much for william's sensitive feelings, he took umbrage at it and made a hasty and hazardous move, which resulted in finding himself on the u.g.r.r. the most serious regret william had to report to the committee was, that he was compelled to "leave" his "wife," catharine, and his little daughter, louisa, two years and one month, and an infant son seven months old. he evidently loved them very tenderly, but saw no way by which he could aid them, as long as he was daily liable to be put on the auction block and sold far south. this argument was regarded by the committee as logical and unanswerable; consequently they readily endorsed his course, while they deeply sympathized with his poor wife and little ones. "before escaping," he "dared not" even apprise his wife and child, whom he had to leave behind in the prison house. * * * * * joseph henry camp. the auction block is defeated and a slave trader loses fourteen hundred dollars. in november, , in the twentieth year of his age, camp was held to "service or labor" in the city of richmond, va., by dr. k. clark. being uncommonly smart and quite good-looking at the same time, he was a saleable piece of merchandise. without consulting his view of the matter or making the least intimation of any change, the master one day struck up a bargain with a trader for joseph, and received _fourteen hundred dollars cash_ in consideration thereof. mr. robert parrett, of parson & king's express office, happened to have a knowledge of what had transpired, and thinking pretty well of joseph, confidentially put him in full possession of all the facts in the case. for reflection he hardly had five minutes. but he at once resolved to strike that day for freedom--not to go home that evening to be delivered into the hands of his new master. in putting into execution his bold resolve, he secreted himself, and so remained for three weeks. in the meantime his mother, who was a slave, resolved to escape also, but after one week's gloomy foreboding, she became "faint-hearted and gave the struggle over." but joseph did not know what surrender meant. his sole thought was to procure a ticket on the u.g.r.r. for canada, which by persistent effort he succeeded in doing. he hid himself in a steamer, and by this way reached philadelphia, where he received every accommodation at the usual depot, was provided with a free ticket, and sent off rejoicing for canada. the unfortunate mother was "detected and sold south." * * * * * sheridan ford. secreted in the woods--escapes in a steamer. about the twenty-ninth of january, , sheridan arrived from the old dominion and a life of bondage, and was welcomed cordially by the vigilance committee. miss elizabeth brown of portsmouth, va. claimed sheridan as her property. he spoke rather kindly of her, and felt that he "had not been used very hard" as a general thing, although, he wisely added, "the best usage was bad enough." sheridan had nearly reached his twenty-eighth year, was tall and well made, and possessed of a considerable share of intelligence. not a great while before making up his mind to escape, for some trifling offence he had been "stretched up with a rope by his hands," and "whipped unmercifully." in addition to this he had "got wind of the fact," that he was to be auctioneered off; soon these things brought serious reflections to sheridan's mind, and among other questions, he began to ponder how he could get a ticket on the u.g.r.r., and get out of this "place of torment," to where he might have the benefit of his own labor. in this state of mind, about the fourteenth day of november, he took his first and daring step. he went not, however, to learned lawyers or able ministers of the gospel in his distress and trouble, but wended his way "directly to the woods," where he felt that he would be safer with the wild animals and reptiles, in solitude, than with the barbarous civilization that existed in portsmouth. the first day in the woods he passed in prayer incessantly, all alone. in this particular place of seclusion he remained "four days and nights," "two days suffered severely from hunger, cold and thirst." however, one who was a "friend" to him, and knew of his whereabouts, managed to get some food to him and consoling words; but at the end of the four days this friend got into some difficulty and thus sheridan was left to "wade through deep waters and head winds" in an almost hopeless state. there he could not consent to stay and starve to death. accordingly he left and found another place of seclusion--with a friend in the town--for a pecuniary consideration. a secret passage was procured for him on one of the steamers running between philadelphia and richmond, va. when he left his poor wife, julia, she was then "lying in prison to be sold," on the simple charge of having been suspected of conniving at her husband's escape. as a woman she had known something of the "barbarism of slavery", from every-day experience, which the large scars about her head indicated--according to sheridan's testimony. she was the mother of two children, but had never been allowed to have the care of either of them. the husband, utterly powerless to offer her the least sympathy in word or deed, left this dark habitation of cruelty, as above referred to, with no hope of ever seeing wife or child again in this world. the committee afforded him the usual aid and comfort, and passed him on to the next station, with his face set towards boston. he had heard the slaveholders "curse" boston so much, that he concluded it must be a pretty safe place for the fugitive. * * * * * joseph kneeland, alias joseph hulson. joseph kneeland arrived november , . he was a prepossessing man of twenty-six, dark complexion, and intelligent. at the time of joseph's escape, he was owned by jacob kneeland, who had fallen heir to him as a part of his father's estate. joseph spoke of his old master as having treated him "pretty well," but he had an idea that his young master had a very "malignant spirit;" for even before the death of his old master, the heir wanted him, "joe," sold, and after the old man died, matters appeared to be coming to a crisis very fast. even as early as november, the young despot had distinctly given "joe" to understand, that he was not to be hired out another year, intimating that he was to "go somewhere," but as to particulars, it was time enough for joe to know them. of course "joe" looked at his master "right good" and saw right through him, and at the same time, saw the u.g.r.r., "darkly." daily slavery grew awfully mean, but on the other hand, canada was looked upon as a very desirable country to emigrate to, and he concluded to make his way there, as speedily as the u.g.r.r. could safely convey him. accordingly he soon carried his design into practice, and on his arrival, the committee regarded him as a very good subject for her british majesty's possessions in canada. * * * * * ex-president tyler's household loses an aristocratic "article." james hambleton christian is a remarkable specimen of the "well fed, &c." in talking with him relative to his life as a slave, he said very promptly, "i have always been treated well; if i only have half as good times in the north as i have had in the south, i shall be perfectly satisfied. any time i desired spending money, five or ten dollars were no object." at times, james had borrowed of his master, one, two, and three hundred dollars, to loan out to some of his friends. with regard to apparel and jewelry, he had worn the best, as an every-day adornment. with regard to food also, he had fared as well as heart could wish, with abundance of leisure time at his command. his deportment was certainly very refined and gentlemanly. about fifty per cent. of anglo-saxon blood was visible in his features and his hair, which gave him no inconsiderable claim to sympathy and care. he had been to william and mary's college in his younger days, to wait on young master james b.c., where, through the kindness of some of the students he had picked up a trifling amount of book learning. to be brief, this man was born the slave of old major christian, on the glen plantation, charles city county, va. the christians were wealthy and owned many slaves, and belonged in reality to the f.f.v's. on the death of the old major, james fell into the hands of his son, judge christian, who was executor to his father's estate. subsequently he fell into the hands of one of the judge's sisters, mrs. john tyler (wife of ex-president tyler), and then he became a member of the president's domestic household, was at the white house, under the president, from to . though but very young at that time, james was only fit for training in the arts, science, and mystery of waiting, in which profession, much pains were taken to qualify him completely for his calling. after a lapse of time; his mistress died. according to her request, after this event, james and his old mother were handed over to her nephew, william h. christian, esq., a merchant of richmond. from this gentleman, james had the folly to flee. passing hurriedly over interesting details, received from him respecting his remarkable history, two or three more incidents too good to omit must suffice. "how did you like mr. tyler?" said an inquisitive member of the vigilance committee. "i didn't like mr. tyler much," was the reply. "why?" again inquired the member of the committee. "because mr. tyler was a poor man. i never did like poor people. i didn't like his marrying into our family, who were considered very far tyler's superiors." "on the plantation," he said, "tyler was a very cross man, and treated the servants very cruelly; but the house servants were treated much better, owing to their having belonged to his wife, who protected them from persecution, as they had been favorite servants in her father's family." james estimated that "tyler got about thirty-five thousand dollars and twenty-nine slaves, young and old, by his wife." what prompted james to leave such pleasant quarters? it was this: he had become enamored of a young and respectable free girl in richmond, with whom he could not be united in marriage solely because he was a slave, and did not own himself. the frequent sad separations of such married couples (where one or the other was a slave) could not be overlooked; consequently, the poor fellow concluded that he would stand a better chance of gaining his object in canada than by remaining in virginia. so he began to feel that he might himself be sold some day, and thus the resolution came home to him very forcibly to make tracks for canada. in speaking of the good treatment he had always met with, a member of the committee remarked, "you must be akin to some one of your master's family?" to which he replied, "i am christian's son." unquestionably this passenger was one of that happy class so commonly referred to by apologists for the "patriarchal institution." the committee, feeling a deep interest in his story, and desiring great success to him in his underground efforts to get rid of slavery, and at the same time possess himself of his affianced, made him heartily welcome, feeling assured that the struggles and hardships he had submitted to in escaping, as well as the luxuries he was leaving behind, were nothing to be compared with the blessings of liberty and a free wife in canada. * * * * * edward morgan, henry johnson, james and stephen butler. "two thousand dollars reward.--the above reward will be paid for the apprehension of two blacks, who escaped on sunday last. it is supposed they have made their way to pennsylvania. $ will be paid for the apprehension of either, so that we can get them again. the oldest is named edward morgan, about five feet six or seven inches, heavily made--is a dark black, has rather a down look when spoken to, and is about years of age. "henry johnson is a colored negro, about five feet seven or eight inches, heavily made, aged nineteen years, has a pleasant countenance, and has a mark on his neck below the ear. "stephen butler is a dark-complexioned negro, about five feet seven inches; has a pleasant countenance, with a scar above his eye; plays on the violin; about twenty-two years old. "jim butler is a dark-complexioned negro, five feet eight or nine inches; is rather sullen when spoken to; face rough; aged about twenty-one years. the clothing not recollected. they had black frock coats and slouch hats with them. any information of them address elizabeth brown, sandy hook p.o., or of thomas johnson, abingdon p.o., harford county, md. "elizabeth brown. "thomas johnson." from the underground rail road records. the following memorandum is made, which, if not too late, may afford some light to "elizabeth brown and thomas johnson," if they have not already gone the way of the "lost cause"-- _june_ , .--edward is a hardy and firm-looking young man of twenty-four years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and "likely,"--would doubtless bring $ , in the market. he had been held as the property of the widow, "betsy brown," who resided near mill green p.o., in harford county, md. "she was a very bad woman; would go to church every sunday, come home and go to fighting amongst the colored people; was never satisfied; she treated my mother very hard, (said ed.); would beat her with a walking-stick, &c. she was an old woman and belonged to the catholic church. over her slaves she kept an overseer, who was a very wicked man; very bad on colored people; his name was 'bill eddy;' elizabeth brown owned twelve head." henry is of a brown skin, a good-looking young man, only nineteen years of age, whose prepossessing appearance would insure a high price for him in the market--perhaps $ , . with edward, he testifies to the meanness of mrs. betsy brown, as well as to his own longing desire for freedom. being a fellow-servant with edward, henry was a party to the plan of escape. in slavery he left his mother and three sisters, owned by the "old woman" from whom he escaped. james is about twenty-one years of age, full black, and medium size. as he had been worked hard on poor fare, he concluded to leave, in company with his brother and two cousins, leaving his parents in slavery, owned by the "widow pyle," who was also the owner of himself. "she was upwards of eighty, very passionate and ill-natured, although a member of the presbyterian church." james may be worth $ , . stephen is a brother of james', and is about the same size, though a year older. his experience differed in no material respect from his brother's; was owned by the same woman, whom he "hated for her bad treatment" of him. would bring $ , , perhaps. in substance, and to a considerable extent in the exact words, these facts are given as they came from the lips of the passengers, who, though having been kept in ignorance and bondage, seemed to have their eyes fully open to the wrongs that had been heaped upon them, and were singularly determined to reach free soil at all hazards. the committee willingly attended to their financial and other wants, and cheered them on with encouraging advice. they were indebted to "the baltimore sun" for the advertisement information. and here it may be further added, that the "sun" was quite famous for this kind of u.g.r.r. literature, and on that account alone the committee subscribed for it daily, and never failed to scan closely certain columns, illustrated with a black man running away with a bundle on his back. many of these popular illustrations and advertisements were preserved, many others were sent away to friends at a distance, who took a special interest in the u.g.r.r. matters. friends and stockholders in england used to take a great interest in seeing how the fine arts, in these particulars, were encouraged in the south ("the land of chivalry"). * * * * * henry predo. broke jail, jumped out of the window and made his escape. henry fled from buckstown, dorchester co., md., march, . physically he is a giant. about years of age, stout and well-made, quite black, and no fool, as will appear presently. only a short time before he escaped, his master threatened to sell him south. to avoid that fate, therefore, he concluded to try his luck on the underground rail road, and, in company with seven others--two of them females--he started for canada. for two or three days and nights they managed to outgeneral all their adversaries, and succeeded bravely in making the best of their way to a free state. in the meantime, however, a reward of $ , was offered for their arrest. this temptation was too great to be resisted, even by the man who had been intrusted with the care of them, and who had faithfully promised to pilot them to a safe place. one night, through the treachery of their pretended conductor, they were all taken into dover jail, where the sheriff and several others, who had been notified beforehand by the betrayer, were in readiness to receive them. up stairs they were taken, the betrayer remarking as they were going up, that they were "cold, but would soon have a good warming." on a light being lit they discovered the iron bars and the fact that they had been betrayed. their liberty-loving spirits and purposes, however, did not quail. though resisted brutally by the sheriff with revolver in hand, they made their way down one flight of stairs, and in the moment of excitement, as good luck would have it, plunged into the sheriff's private apartment, where his wife and children were sleeping. the wife cried murder lustily. a shovel full of fire, to the great danger of burning the premises, was scattered over the room; out of the window jumped two of the female fugitives. our hero henry, seizing a heavy andiron, smashed out the window entire, through which the others leaped a distance of twelve feet. the railing or wall around the jail, though at first it looked forbidding, was soon surmounted by a desperate effort. at this stage of the proceedings, henry found himself without the walls, and also lost sight of his comrades at the same time. the last enemy he spied was the sheriff in his stockings without his shoes. he snapped his pistol at him, but it did not go off. six of the others, however, marvellously got off safely together; where the eighth went, or how he got off, was not known. * * * * * daniel hughes. daniel fled from buckstown, dorchester co., also. his owner's name was richard meredith, a farmer. daniel is one of the eight alluded to above. in features he is well made, dark chestnut color, and intelligent, possessing an ardent thirst for liberty. the cause of his escape was: "worked hard in all sorts of weather--in rain and snow," so he thought he would "go where colored men are free." his master was considered the hardest man around. his mistress was "eighty-three years of age," "drank hard," was "very stormy," and a "member of the methodist church" (airy's meeting-house). he left brothers and sisters, and uncles and aunts behind. in the combat at the prison he played his part manfully. * * * * * thomas elliott. thomas is also one of the brave eight who broke out of dover jail. he was about twenty-three years of age, well made, wide awake, and of a superb black complexion. he too had been owned by richard meredith. against the betrayer, who was a black man, he had vengeance in store if the opportunity should ever offer. thomas left only one brother living; his "father and mother were dead." the excitement over the escape spread very rapidly next morning, and desperate efforts were made to recapture the fugitives, but a few friends there were who had sympathy and immediately rendered them the needed assistance. the appended note from the faithful garrett to samuel rhoads, may throw light upon the occurrence to some extent. wilmington, d mo. th, . dear cousin, samuel rhoads:--i have a letter this day from an agent of the underground rail road, near dover, in this state, saying i must be on the look out for six brothers and two sisters, they were decoyed and betrayed, he says by a colored man named thomas otwell, who pretended to be their friend, and sent a _white scamp_ ahead to wait for them at dover till they arrived; they were arrested and put in jail there, with tom's assistance, and some officers. on third day morning about four o'clock, they broke jail; six of them are secreted in the neighborhood, and the writer has not known what became of the other two. the six were to start last night for this place. i hear that their owners have persons stationed at several places on the road watching. i fear they will be taken. if they could lay quiet for ten days or two weeks, they might then get up safe. i shall have two men sent this evening some four or five miles below to keep them away from this town, and send them (if found to chester county). thee may show this to still and mckim, and oblige thy cousin, thomas garrett. further light about this exciting contest, may be gathered from a colored conductor on the road, in delaware, who wrote as follows to a member of the vigilance committee at philadelphia. camden, del., march d, . dear sir;--i tak my pen in hand to write to you, to inform you what we have had to go throw for the last two weaks. thir wir six men and two woman was betraid on the tenth of this month, thea had them in prison but thea got out was conveyed by a black man, he told them he wood bring them to my hows, as he wos told, he had ben ther befor, he has com with harrett, a woman that stops at my hous when she pases tow and throw yau. you don't no me i supos, the rev. thomas h. kennard dos, or peter lowis. he road camden circuit, this man led them in dover prisin and left them with a whit man; but tha tour out the winders and jump out, so cum back to camden. we put them throug, we hav to carry them mils and cum back the sam night wich maks mils. it is tou much for our littel horses. we must do the bes we can, ther is much bisness dun on this road. we hay to go throw dover and smerny, the two wors places this sid of mary land lin. if you have herd or sean them ples let me no. i will com to phila be for long and then i will call and se you. there is much to do her. ples to wright, i remain your frend, william brinkly. remember me to thom. kennard. the balance of these brave fugitives, although not named in this connection, succeeded in getting off safely. but how the betrayer, sheriff and hunters got out of their dilemma, the committee was never fully posted. the committee found great pleasure in assisting these passengers, for they had the true grit. such were always doubly welcome. * * * * * mary epps, alias emma brown--joseph and robert robinson. a slave mother loses her speech at the sale of her child--bob escapes from his master, a trader, with $ in north carolina money. mary fled from petersburg and the robinsons from richmond. a fugitive slave law-breaking captain by the name of b., who owned a schooner, and would bring any kind of freight that would pay the most, was the conductor in this instance. quite a number of passengers at different times availed themselves of his accommodations and thus succeeded in reaching canada. his risk was very great. on this account he claimed, as did certain others, that it was no more than fair to charge for his services--indeed he did not profess to bring persons for nothing, except in rare instances. in this matter the committee did not feel disposed to interfere directly in any way, further than to suggest that whatever understanding was agreed upon by the parties themselves should be faithfully adhered to. many slaves in cities could raise, "by hook or by crook," fifty or one hundred dollars to pay for a passage, providing they could find one who was willing to risk aiding them. thus, while the vigilance committee of philadelphia especially neither charged nor accepted anything for their services, it was not to be expected that any of the southern agents could afford to do likewise. the husband of mary had for a long time wanted his own freedom, but did not feel that he could go without his wife; in fact, he resolved to get her off first, then to try and escape himself, if possible. the first essential step towards success, he considered, was to save his money and make it an object to the captain to help him. so when he had managed to lay by one hundred dollars, he willingly offered this sum to captain b., if he would engage to deliver his wife into the hands of the vigilance committee of philadelphia. the captain agreed to the terms and fulfilled his engagement to the letter. about the st of march, , mary was presented to the vigilance committee. she was of agreeable manners, about forty-five years of age, dark complexion, round built, and intelligent. she had been the mother of fifteen children, four of whom had been sold away from her; one was still held in slavery in petersburg; the others were all dead. at the sale of one of her children she was so affected with grief that she was thrown into violent convulsions, which caused the loss of her speech for one entire month. but this little episode was not a matter to excite sympathy in the breasts of the highly refined and tender-hearted christian mothers of petersburg. in the mercy of providence, however, her reason and strength returned. she had formerly belonged to the late littleton reeves, whom she represented as having been "kind" to her, much more so than her mistress (mrs. reeves). said mary, "she being of a jealous disposition, caused me to be hired out with a hard family, where i was much abused, frequently flogged, and stinted for food," etc. but the sweets of freedom in the care of the vigilance committee now delighted her mind, and the hope that her husband would soon follow her to canada, inspired her with expectations that she would one day "sit under her own vine and fig tree where none dared to molest or make her afraid." the committee rendered her the usual assistance, and in due time, forwarded her on to queen victoria's free land in canada. on her arrival she wrote back as follows-- toronto, march th, . dear mr. still:--i take this opportunity of addressing you with these few lines to inform you that i arrived here to-day, and hope that this may find yourself and mrs. still well, as this leaves me at the present. i will also say to you, that i had no difficulty in getting along. the two young men that was with me left me at suspension bridge. they went another way. i cannot say much about the place as i have ben here but a short time but so far as i have seen i like very well. you will give my respect to your lady, & mr & mrs brown. if you have not written to petersburg you will please to write as soon as can i have nothing more to write at present but yours respectfully emma brown (old name mary epps). now, joseph and robert (mary's associate passengers from richmond) must here be noticed. joseph was of a dark orange color, medium size, very active and intelligent, and doubtless, well understood the art of behaving himself. he was well acquainted with the auction block--having been sold three times, and had had the misfortune to fall into the hands of a cruel master each time. under these circumstances he had had but few privileges. sundays and week days alike he was kept pretty severely bent down to duty. he had been beaten and knocked around shamefully. he had a wife, and spoke of her in most endearing language, although, on leaving, he did not feel at liberty to apprise her of his movements, "fearing that it would not be safe so to do." his four little children, to whom he appeared warmly attached, he left as he did his wife--in slavery. he declared that he "stuck to them as long as he could." george e. sadler, the keeper of an oyster house, held the deed for "joe," and a most heartless wretch he was in joe's estimation. the truth was, joe could not stand the burdens and abuses which sadler was inclined to heap upon him. so he concluded to join his brother and go off on the u.g.r.r. robert, his younger brother, was owned by robert slater, esq., a regular negro trader. eight years this slave's duties had been at the slave prison, and among other daily offices he had to attend to, was to lock up the prison, prepare the slaves for sale, etc. robert was a very intelligent young man, and from long and daily experience with the customs and usages of the slave prison, he was as familiar with the business as a pennsylvania farmer with his barn-yard stock. his account of things was too harrowing for detail here, except in the briefest manner, and that only with reference to a few particulars. in order to prepare slaves for the market, it was usual to have them greased and rubbed to make them look bright and shining. and he went on further to state, that "females as well as males were not uncommonly stripped naked, lashed flat to a bench, and then held by two men, sometimes four, while the brutal trader would strap them with a broad leather strap." the strap being preferred to the cow-hide, as it would not break the skin, and damage the sale. "one hundred lashes would only be a common flogging." the separation of families was thought nothing of. "often i have been flogged for refusing to flog others." while not yet twenty-three years of age, robert expressed himself as having become so daily sick of the brutality and suffering he could not help witnessing, that he felt he could not possibly stand it any longer, let the cost be what it might. in this state of mind he met with captain b. only one obstacle stood in his way--material aid. it occurred to robert that he had frequent access to the money drawer, and often it contained the proceeds of fresh sales of flesh and blood; and he reasoned that if some of that would help him and his brother to freedom, there could be no harm in helping himself the first opportunity. the captain was all ready, and provided he could get three passengers at $ each he would set sail without much other freight. of course he was too shrewd to get out papers for philadelphia. that would betray him at once. washington or baltimore, or even wilmington, del., were names which stood fair in the eyes of virginia. consequently, being able to pack the fugitives away in a very private hole of his boat, and being only bound for a southern port, the captain was willing to risk his share of the danger. "very well," said robert, "to-day i will please my master so well, that i will catch him at an unguarded moment, and will ask him for a pass to go to a ball to-night (slave-holders love to see their slaves fiddling and dancing of nights), and as i shall be leaving in a hurry, i will take a grab from the day's sale, and when slater hears of me again, i will be in canada." so after having attended to all his disagreeable duties, he made his "grab," and got a hand full. he did not know, however, how it would hold out. that evening, instead of participating with the gay dancers, he was just one degree lower down than the regular bottom of captain b's. deck, with several hundred dollars in his pocket, after paying the worthy captain one hundred each for himself and his brother, besides making the captain an additional present of nearly one hundred. wind and tide were now what they prayed for to speed on the u.g.r.r. schooner, until they might reach the depot at philadelphia. the richmond _dispatch_, an enterprising paper in the interest of slaveholders, which came daily to the committee, was received in advance of the passengers, when lo! and behold, in turning to the interesting column containing the elegant illustrations of "runaway negroes," it was seen that the unfortunate slater had "lost $ in north carolina money, and also his dark orange-colored, intelligent, and good-looking turnkey, bob." "served him right, it is no stealing for one piece of property to go off with another piece," reasoned a member of the committee. in a couple of days after the dispatch brought the news, the three u.g.r.r. passengers were safely landed at the usual place, and so accurate were the descriptions in the paper, that, on first seeing them, the committee recognized them instantly, and, without any previous ceremonies, read to them the advertisement relative to the "$ in n.c. money, &c.," and put the question to them direct: "are you the ones?" "we are," they owned up without hesitation. the committee did not see a dollar of their money, but understood they had about $ , after paying the captain; while bob considered he made a "very good grab," he did not admit that the amount advertised was correct. after a reasonable time for recruiting, having been so long in the hole of the vessel, they took their departure for canada. from joseph, the elder brother, is appended a short letter, announcing their arrival and condition under the british lion-- saint catharine, april , . mr. william still, dear sir:--your letter of date april th i have just got, it had been opened before it came to me. i have not received any other letter from you and can get no account of them in the post office in this place, i am well and have got a good situation in this city and intend staying here. i should be very glad to hear from you as soon as convenient and also from all of my friends near you. my brother is also at work with me and doing well. there is nothing here that would interest you in the way of news. there is a masonic lodge of our people and two churches and societys here and some other institutions for our benefit. be kind enough to send a few lines to the lady spoken of for that mocking bird and much oblige me. write me soon and believe me your obedient serv't love & respects to lady and daughter joseph robinson. as well as writing to a member of the committee, joe and bob had the assurance to write back to the trader and oyster-house keeper. in their letter they stated that they had arrived safely in canada, and were having good times,--in the eating line had an abundance of the best,--also had very choice wines and brandies, which they supposed that they (trader and oyster-house keeper) would give a great deal to have a "smack at." and then they gave them a very cordial invitation to make them a visit, and suggested that the quickest way they could come, would be by telegraph, which they admitted was slightly dangerous, and without first greasing themselves, and then hanging on very fast, the journey might not prove altogether advantageous to them. this was wormwood and gall to the trader and oyster-house man. a most remarkable coincidence was that, about the time this letter was received in richmond, the captain who brought away the three passengers, made it his business for some reason or other, to call at the oyster-house kept by the owner of joe, and while there, this letter was read and commented on in torrents of billingsgate phrases; and the trader told the captain that he would give him "two thousand dollars if he would get them;" finally he told him he would "give every cent they would bring, which would be much over $ ," as they were "so very likely." how far the captain talked approvingly, he did not exactly tell the committee, but they guessed he talked strong democratic doctrine to them under the frightful circumstances. but he was good at concealing his feelings, and obviously managed to avoid suspicion. * * * * * george solomon, daniel neall, benjamin r. fletcher and maria dorsey. the above representatives of the unrequited laborers of the south fled directly from washington, d.c. nothing remarkable was discovered in their stories of slave life; their narratives will therefore be brief. george solomon was owned by daniel minor, of moss grove, va. george was about thirty-three years of age; mulatto, intelligent, and of prepossessing appearance. his old master valued george's services very highly, and had often declared to others, as well as to george himself, that without him he should hardly know how to manage. and frequently george was told by the old master that at his "death he was not to be a slave any longer, as he would have provision made in his will for his freedom." for a long time this old story was clung to pretty faithfully by george, but his "old master hung on too long," consequently george's patience became exhausted. and as he had heard a good deal about canada, u.g.r.r., and the abolitionists, he concluded that it would do no harm to hint to a reliable friend or two the names of these hard places and bad people, to see what impression would be made on their minds; in short, to see if they were ready to second a motion to get rid of bondage. in thus opening his mind to his friends, he soon found a willing accord in each of their hearts, and they put their heads together to count up the cost and to fix a time for leaving egypt and the host of pharaoh to do their own "hewing of wood and drawing of water." accordingly george, daniel, benjamin and maria, all of one heart and mind, one "saturday night" resolved that the next sunday should find them on the u.g.r.r., with their faces towards canada. daniel was young, only twenty-three, good looking, and half white, with a fair share of intelligence. as regards his slave life, he acknowledged that he had not had it very rough as a general thing; nevertheless, he was fully persuaded that he had "as good a right to his freedom" as his "master had to his," and that it was his duty to contend for it. benjamin was twenty-seven years of age, small of stature, dark complexion, of a pleasant countenance, and quite smart. he testified, that "ill-treatment from his master," henry martin, who would give him "no chance at all," was the cause of his leaving. he left a brother and sister, belonging to martin, besides he left two other sisters in bondage, louisa and letty, but his father and mother were both dead. therefore, the land of slave-whips and auction-blocks had no charms for him. he loved his sisters, but he knew if he could not protect himself, much less could he protect them. so he concluded to bid them adieu forever in this world. turning from the three male companions for the purpose of finding a brief space for maria, it will be well to state here that females in attempting to escape from a life of bondage undertook three times the risk of failure that males were liable to, not to mention the additional trials and struggles they had to contend with. in justice, therefore, to the heroic female who was willing to endure the most extreme suffering and hardship for freedom, double honors were due. maria, the heroine of the party, was about forty years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and possessed of a good share of common sense. she was owned by george parker. as was a common thing with slave-holders, maria had found her owners hard to please, and quite often, without the slightest reason, they would threaten to "sell or make a change." these threats only made matters worse, or rather it only served to nerve maria for the conflict. the party walked almost the entire distance from washington to harrisburg, pennsylvania. in the meantime george parker, the so-called owner of daniel and maria, hurriedly rushed their good names into the "baltimore sun," after the following manner-- "four hundred dollars reward.--ranaway from my house on saturday night, august , my negro man 'daniel,' twenty-five years of age, bright yellow mulatto, thick set and stout made. also, my negro woman, 'maria,' forty years of age, bright mulatto. the above reward will be paid if delivered in washington city. george parker." while this advertisement was in the baltimore papers, doubtless these noble passengers were enjoying the hospitalities of the vigilance committee, and finally a warm reception in canada, by which they were greatly pleased. of benjamin and daniel, the subjoined letter from rev. h. wilson is of importance in the way of throwing light upon their whereabouts in canada: st. catharine, c.w., sept. th, . mr. william still:--_dear sir_--two young men arrived here on friday evening last from washington, viz: benjamin r. fletcher and daniel neall. mr. neall (or neale) desires to have his box of clothing forwarded on to him. it is at washington in the care of john dade, a colored man, who lives at doct. w.h. gilman's, who keeps an apothecary store on the corner of - / and pennsylvania avenue. mr. dade is a slave, but a free dealer. you will please write to john dade, in the care of doct. w.h. gilman, on behalf of daniel neale, but make use of the name of george harrison, instead of neale, and dade will understand it. please have john dade direct the box by express to you in philadelphia; he has the means of paying the charges on it in advance, as far as philadelphia; and as soon as it comes, you will please forward it on to my care at st. catherine. say to john dade, that george harrison sends his love to his sister and uncle allen sims, and all inquiring friends. mr. fletcher and mr. neale both send their respects to you, and i may add mine. yours truly, hiram wilson. p.s.--mr. benjamin r. fletcher wishes to have mr. dade call on his brother james, and communicate to him his affectionate regards, and make known to him that he is safe, and cheerful and happy. he desires his friends to know, through dade, that he found mrs. starke here, his brother alfred's wife's sister; that she is well, and living in st. catharine, c.w., near niagara palls. h.w. * * * * * henry box brown. arrived by adams' express. although the name of henry box brown has been echoed over the land for a number of years, and the simple facts connected with his marvelous escape from slavery in a box published widely through the medium of anti-slavery papers, nevertheless it is not unreasonable to suppose that very little is generally known in relation to this case. briefly, the facts are these, which doubtless have never before been fully published-- brown was a man of invention as well as a hero. in point of interest, however, his case is no more remarkable than many others. indeed, neither before nor after escaping did he suffer one-half what many others have experienced. he was decidedly an unhappy piece of property in the city of richmond, va. in the condition of a slave he felt that it would be impossible for him to remain. full well did he know, however, that it was no holiday task to escape the vigilance of virginia slave-hunters, or the wrath of an enraged master for committing the unpardonable sin of attempting to escape to a land of liberty. so brown counted well the cost before venturing upon this hazardous undertaking. ordinary modes of travel he concluded might prove disastrous to his hopes; he, therefore, hit upon a new invention altogether, which was to have himself boxed up and forwarded to philadelphia direct by express. the size of the box and how it was to be made to fit him most comfortably, was of his own ordering. two feet eight inches deep, two feet wide, and three feet long were the exact dimensions of the box, lined with baize. his resources with regard to food and water consisted of the following: one bladder of water and a few small biscuits. his mechanical implement to meet the death-struggle for fresh air, all told, was one large gimlet. satisfied that it would be far better to peril his life for freedom in this way than to remain under the galling yoke of slavery, he entered his box, which was safely nailed up and hooped with five hickory hoops, and was then addressed by his next friend, james a. smith, a shoe dealer, to wm. h. johnson, arch street, philadelphia, marked, "this side up with care." in this condition he was sent to adams' express office in a dray, and thence by overland express to philadelphia. it was twenty-six hours from the time he left richmond until his arrival in the city of brotherly love. the notice, "this side up, &c.," did not avail with the different expressmen, who hesitated not to handle the box in the usual rough manner common to this class of men. for a while they actually had the box upside down, and had him on his head for miles. a few days before he was expected, certain intimation was conveyed to a member of the vigilance committee that a box might be expected by the three o'clock morning train from the south, which might contain a man. one of the most serious walks he ever took--and they had not been a few--to meet and accompany passengers, he took at half past two o'clock that morning to the depot. not once, but for more than a score of times, he fancied the slave would be dead. he anxiously looked while the freight was being unloaded from the cars, to see if he could recognize a box that might contain a man; one alone had that appearance, and he confessed it really seemed as if there was the scent of death about it. but on inquiry, he soon learned that it was not the one he was looking after, and he was free to say he experienced a marked sense of relief. that same afternoon, however, he received from richmond a telegram, which read thus, "your case of goods is shipped and will arrive to-morrow morning." at this exciting juncture of affairs, mr. mckim, who had been engineering this important undertaking, deemed it expedient to change the programme slightly in one particular at least to insure greater safety. instead of having a member of the committee go again to the depot for the box, which might excite suspicion, it was decided that it would be safest to have the express bring it direct to the anti-slavery office. but all apprehension of danger did not now disappear, for there was no room to suppose that adams' express office had any sympathy with the abolitionist or the fugitive, consequently for mr. mckim to appear personally at the express office to give directions with reference to the coming of a box from richmond which would be directed to arch street, and yet not intended for that street, but for the anti-slavery office at north fifth street, it needed of course no great discernment to foresee that a step of this kind was wholly impracticable and that a more indirect and covert method would have to be adopted. in this dreadful crisis mr. mckim, with his usual good judgment and remarkably quick, strategical mind, especially in matters pertaining to the u.g.r.r., hit upon the following plan, namely, to go to his friend, e.m. davis,[a] who was then extensively engaged in mercantile business, and relate the circumstances. having daily intercourse with said adams' express office, and being well acquainted with the firm and some of the drivers, mr. davis could, as mr. mckim thought, talk about "boxes, freight, etc.," from any part of the country without risk. mr. davis heard mr. mckim's plan and instantly approved of it, and was heartily at his service. [footnote a: e.m. davis was a member of the executive committee of the pennsylvania anti-slavery society and a long-tried abolitionist, son-in-law of james and lucretia mott.] [illustration: resurrection of henry box brown.] "dan, an irishman, one of adams' express drivers, is just the fellow to go to the depot after the box," said davis. "he drinks a little too much whiskey sometimes, but he will do anything i ask him to do, promptly and obligingly. i'll trust dan, for i believe he is the very man." the difficulty which mr. mckim had been so anxious to overcome was thus pretty well settled. it was agreed that dan should go after the box next morning before daylight and bring it to the anti-slavery office direct, and to make it all the more agreeable for dan to get up out of his warm bed and go on this errand before day, it was decided that he should have a five dollar gold piece for himself. thus these preliminaries having been satisfactorily arranged, it only remained for mr. davis to see dan and give him instructions accordingly, etc. next morning, according to arrangement, the box was at the anti-slavery office in due time. the witnesses present to behold the resurrection were j.m. mckim, professor c.d. cleveland, lewis thompson, and the writer. mr. mckim was deeply interested; but having been long identified with the anti-slavery cause as one of its oldest and ablest advocates in the darkest days of slavery and mobs, and always found by the side of the fugitive to counsel and succor, he was on this occasion perfectly composed. professor cleveland, however, was greatly moved. his zeal and earnestness in the cause of freedom, especially in rendering aid to passengers, knew no limit. ordinarily he could not too often visit these travelers, shake them too warmly by the hand, or impart to them too freely of his substance to aid them on their journey. but now his emotion was overpowering. mr. thompson, of the firm of merrihew & thompson--about the only printers in the city who for many years dared to print such incendiary documents as anti-slavery papers and pamphlets--one of the truest friends of the slave, was composed and prepared to witness the scene. all was quiet. the door had been safely locked. the proceedings commenced. mr. mckim rapped quietly on the lid of the box and called out, "all right!" instantly came the answer from within, "all right, sir!" the witnesses will never forget that moment. saw and hatchet quickly had the five hickory hoops cut and the lid off, and the marvellous resurrection of brown ensued. rising up in his box, he reached out his hand, saying, "how do you do, gentlemen?" the little assemblage hardly knew what to think or do at the moment. he was about as wet as if he had come up out of the delaware. very soon he remarked that, before leaving richmond he had selected for his arrival-hymn (if he lived) the psalm beginning with these words: "_i waited patiently for the lord, and he heard my prayer_." and most touchingly did he sing the psalm, much to his own relief, as well as to the delight of his small audience. he was then christened henry box brown, and soon afterwards was sent to the hospitable residence of james mott and e.m. davis, on ninth street, where, it is needless to say, he met a most cordial reception from mrs. lucretia mott and her household. clothing and creature comforts were furnished in abundance, and delight and joy filled all hearts in that stronghold of philanthropy. as he had been so long doubled up in the box he needed to promenade considerably in the fresh air, so james mott put one of his broad-brim hats on his head and tendered him the hospitalities of his yard as well as his house, and while brown promenaded the yard flushed with victory, great was the joy of his friends. after his visit at mr. mott's, he spent two days with the writer, and then took his departure for boston, evidently feeling quite conscious of the wonderful feat he had performed, and at the same time it may be safely said that those who witnessed this strange resurrection were not only elated at his success, but were made to sympathize more deeply than ever before with the slave. also the noble-hearted smith who boxed him up was made to rejoice over brown's victory, and was thereby encouraged to render similar service to two other young bondmen, who appealed to him for deliverance. but, unfortunately, in this attempt the undertaking proved a failure. two boxes containing the young men alluded to above, after having been duly expressed and some distance on the road, were, through the agency of the telegraph, betrayed, and the heroic young fugitives were captured in their boxes and dragged back to hopeless bondage. consequently, through this deplorable failure, samuel a. smith was arrested, imprisoned, and was called upon to suffer severely, as may be seen from the subjoined correspondence, taken from the new york tribune soon after his release from the penitentiary. the deliverer of box brown--meeting of the colored citizens of philadelphia. [correspondence of the n.y. tribune.] philadelphia, saturday, july , . samuel a. smith, who boxed up henry box brown in richmond, va., and forwarded him by overland express to philadelphia, and who was arrested and convicted, eight years ago, for boxing up two other slaves, also directed to philadelphia, having served out his imprisonment in the penitentiary, was released on the th ultimo, and arrived in this city on the st. though he lost all his property; though he was refused witnesses on his trial (no officer could be found, who would serve a summons on a witness); though for five long months, in hot weather, he was kept heavily chained in a cell four by eight feet in dimensions; though he received five dreadful stabs, aimed at his heart, by a bribed assassin, nevertheless he still rejoices in the motives which prompted him to "undo the heavy burdens, and let the oppressed go free." having resided nearly all his life in the south, where he had traveled and seen much of the "peculiar institution," and had witnessed the most horrid enormities inflicted upon the slave, whose cries were ever ringing in his ears, and for whom he had the warmest sympathy, mr. smith could not refrain from believing that the black man, as well as the white, had god-given rights. consequently, he was not accustomed to shed tears when a poor creature escaped ftom his "kind master;" nor was he willing to turn a deaf ear to his appeals and groans, when he knew he was thirsting for freedom. from up to the day he was incarcerated, many had sought his aid and counsel, nor had they sought in vain. in various places he operated with success. in richmond, however, it seemed expedient to invent a new plan for certain emergencies, hence the box and express plan was devised, at the instance of a few heroic slaves, who had manifested their willingness to die in a box, on the road to liberty, rather than continue longer under the yoke. but these heroes fell into the power of their enemies. mr. smith had not been long in the penitentiary before he had fully gained the esteem and confidence of the superintendent and other officers. finding him to be humane and generous-hearted--showing kindness toward all, especially in buying bread, &c., for the starving prisoners, and by a timely note of warning, which had saved the life of one of the keepers, for whose destruction a bold plot had been arranged--the officers felt disposed to show him such favors as the law would allow. but their good intentions were soon frustrated. the inquisition (commonly called the legislature), being in session in richmond, hearing that the superintendent had been speaking well of smith, and circulating a petition for his pardon, indignantly demanded to know if the rumor was well founded. two weeks were spent by the inquisition, and many witnesses were placed upon oath, to solemnly testify in the matter. one of the keepers swore that his life had been saved by smith. col. morgan, the superintendent, frequently testified in writing and verbally to smith's good deportment; acknowledging that he had circulated petitions, &c.; and took the position, that he sincerely believed, that it would be to the interest of the institution to pardon him; calling the attention of the inquisition, at the same time, to the fact, that not unfrequently pardons had been granted to criminals, under sentence of death, for the most cold-blooded murder, to say nothing of other gross crimes. the effort for pardon was soon abandoned, for the following reason given by the governor: "i can't, and i won't pardon him!" in view of the unparalleled injustice which mr. s. had suffered, as well as on account of the aid he had rendered to the slaves, on his arrival in this city the colored citizens of philadelphia felt that he was entitled to sympathy and aid, and straightway invited him to remain a few days, until arrangements could be made for a mass meeting to receive him. accordingly, on last monday evening, a mass meeting convened in the israel church, and the rev. wm. t. catto was called to the chair, and wm. still was appointed secretary. the chairman briefly stated the object of the meeting. having lived in the south, he claimed to know something of the workings of the oppressive system of slavery generally, and declared that, notwithstanding the many exposures of the evil which came under his own observation, the most vivid descriptions fell far short of the realities his own eyes had witnessed. he then introduced mr. smith, who arose and in a plain manner briefly told his story, assuring the audience that he had always hated slavery, and had taken great pleasure in helping many out of it, and though he had suffered much physically and pecuniarily for the cause' sake, yet he murmured not, but rejoiced in what he had done. after taking his seat, addresses were made by the rev. s. smith, messrs. kinnard, brunner, bradway, and others. the following preamble and resolutions were adopted-- whereas, we, the colored citizens of philadelphia, have among us samuel a. smith, who was incarcerated over seven years in the richmond penitentiary, for doing an act that was honorable to his feelings and his sense of justice and humanity, therefore, _resolved_, that we welcome him to this city as a martyr to the cause of freedom. _resolved_, that we heartily tender him our gratitude for the good he has done to our suffering race. _resolved_, that we sympathize with him in his losses and sufferings in the cause of the poor, down-trodden slave. w.s. during his stay in philadelphia, on this occasion, he stopped for about a fortnight with the writer, and it was most gratifying to learn from him that he was no new worker on the u.g.r.r. but that he had long hated slavery thoroughly, and although surrounded with perils on every side, he had not failed to help a poor slave whenever the opportunity was presented. pecuniary aid, to some extent, was rendered him in this city, for which he was grateful, and after being united in marriage, by wm. h. furness, d.d., to a lady who had remained faithful to him through all his sore trials and sufferings, he took his departure for western new york, with a good conscience and an unshaken faith in the belief that in aiding his fellow-man to freedom he had but simply obeyed the word of him who taught man to do unto others as he would be done by. * * * * * trial of the emancipators of col. j.h. wheeler's slaves, jane johnson and her two little boys. among other duties devolving on the vigilance committee when hearing of slaves brought into the state by their owners, was immediately to inform such persons that as they were not fugitives, but were brought into the state by their masters, they were entitled to their freedom without another moment's service, and that they could have the assistance of the committee and the advice of counsel without charge, by simply availing themselves of these proffered favors. many slave-holders fully understood the law in this particular, and were also equally posted with regard to the vigilance of abolitionists. consequently they avoided bringing slaves beyond mason and dixon's line in traveling north. but some slave-holders were not thus mindful of the laws, or were too arrogant to take heed, as may be seen in the case of colonel john h. wheeler, of north carolina, the united states minister to nicaragua. in passing through philadelphia from washington, one very warm july day in , accompanied by three of his slaves, his high official equilibrium, as well as his assumed rights under the constitution, received a terrible shock at the hands of the committee. therefore, for the readers of these pages, and in order to completely illustrate the various phases of the work of the committee in the days of slavery, this case, selected from many others, is a fitting one. however, for more than a brief recital of some of the more prominent incidents, it will not be possible to find room in this volume. and, indeed, the necessity of so doing is precluded by the fact that mr. williamson in justice to himself and the cause of freedom, with great pains and singular ability, gathered the most important facts bearing on his memorable trial and imprisonment, and published them in a neat volume for historical reference. in order to bring fully before the reader the beginning of this interesting and exciting case, it seems only necessary to publish the subjoined letter, written by one of the actors in the drama, and addressed to the new york tribune, and an additional paragraph which may be requisite to throw light on a special point, which judge kane decided was concealed in the "obstinate" breast of passmore williamson, as said williamson persistently refused before the said judge's court, to own that he had a knowledge of the mystery in question. after which, a brief glance at some of the more important points of the case must suffice. letter copied from the new york tribune. [correspondence of the n.y. tribune.] philadelphia, monday, july , . as the public have not been made acquainted with the facts and particulars respecting the agency of mr. passmore williamson and others, in relation to the slave case now agitating this city, and especially as the poor slave mother and her two sons have been so grossly misrepresented, i deem it my duty to lay the facts before you, for publication or otherwise, as you may think proper. on wednesday afternoon, week, at - / o'clock, the following note was placed in my hands by a colored boy whom i had never before seen, to my recollection: "mr. still--_sir_: will you come down to bloodgood's hotel as soon as possible--as there are three fugitive slaves here and they want liberty. their master is here with them, on his way to new york." the note was without date, and the signature so indistinctly written as not to be understood by me, having evidently been penned in a moment of haste. without delay i ran with the note to mr. p. williamson's office, seventh and arch, found him at his desk, and gave it to him, and after reading it, he remarked that he could not go down, as he had to go to harrisburg that night on business--but he advised me to go, and to get the names of the slave-holder and the slaves, in order to telegraph to new york to have them arrested there, as no time remained to procure a writ of habeas corpus here. i could not have been two minutes in mr. w.'s office before starting in haste for the wharf. to my surprise, however, when i reached the wharf, there i found mr. w., his mind having undergone a sudden change; he was soon on the spot. i saw three or four colored persons in the hall at bloodgood's, none of whom i recognized except the boy who brought me the note. before having time for making inquiry some one said they had gone on board the boat. "get their description," said mr. w. i instantly inquired of one of the colored persons for the desired description, and was told that she was "a tall, dark woman, with two little boys." mr. w. and myself ran on board of the boat, looked among the passengers on the first deck, but saw them not. "they are up on the second deck," an unknown voice uttered. in a second we were in their presence. we approached the anxious-looking slave-mother with her two boys on her left-hand; close on her right sat an ill-favored white man having a cane in his hand which i took to be a sword-cane. (as to its being a sword-cane, however, i might have been mistaken.) the first words to the mother were: "are you traveling?" "yes," was the prompt answer. "with whom?" she nodded her head toward the ill-favored man, signifying with him. fidgeting on his seat, he said something, exactly what i do not now recollect. in reply i remarked: "do they belong to you, sir?" "yes, they are in my charge," was his answer. turning from him to the mother and her sons, in substance, and word for word, as near as i can remember, the following remarks were earnestly though calmly addressed by the individuals who rejoiced to meet them on free soil, and who felt unmistakably assured that they were justified by the laws of pennsylvania as well as the law of god, in informing them of their rights: "you are entitled to your freedom according to the laws of pennsylvania, having been brought into the state by your owner. if you prefer freedom to slavery, as we suppose everybody does, you have the chance to accept it now. act calmly--don't be frightened by your master--you are as much entitled to your freedom as we are, or as he is--be determined and you need have no fears but that you will be protected by the law. judges have time and again decided cases in this city and state similar to yours in favor of freedom! of course, if you want to remain a slave with your master, we cannot force you to leave; we only want to make you sensible of your rights. _remember, if you lose this chance you may never get such another," etc_. [illustration: rescue of jane johnson and her children.] this advice to the woman was made in the hearing of a number of persons present, white and colored; and one elderly white gentleman of genteel address, who seemed to take much interest in what was going on, remarked that they would have the same chance for their freedom in new jersey and new york as they then had--seeming to sympathize with the woman, etc. during the few moments in which the above remarks were made, the slaveholder frequently interrupted--said she understood all about the laws making her free, and her right to leave if she wanted to; but contended that she did not want to leave--that she was on a visit to new york to see her friends--afterward _wished to return to her three children whom she left in virginia, from whom it would be_ hard _to separate her_. furthermore, he diligently tried to constrain her to say that she did not want to be interfered with--that she wanted to go with him--that she was on a visit to new york--had children in the south, etc.; but the woman's desire to be free was altogether too strong to allow her to make a single acknowledgment favorable to his wishes in the matter. on the contrary, she repeatedly said, distinctly and firmly, "_i am not free, but i want my freedom_--always _wanted to be free!! but he holds me_." while the slaveholder claimed that she belonged to him, he said _that she was free_! again he said that he was _going to give her her freedom_, etc. when his eyes would be off of hers, such eagerness as her looks expressed, indicative of her entreaty that we would not forsake her and her little ones in their weakness, it had never been my lot to witness before, under any circumstances. the last bell tolled! the last moment for further delay passed! the arm of the woman being slightly touched, accompanied with the word, "come!" she instantly arose. "go along--go along!" said some, who sympathized, to the boys, at the same time taking hold of their arms. by this time the parties were fairly moving toward the stairway leading to the deck below. instantly on their starting, the slave-holder rushed at the woman and her children, to prevent their leaving; and, if i am not mistaken, he simultaneously took hold of the woman and mr. williamson, which resistance on his part caused mr. w. to take hold of him and set him aside quickly. the passengers were looking on all around, but none interfered in behalf of the slaveholder except one man, whom i took to be another slaveholder. he said harshly, "let them alone; they are his _property_!'" the youngest boy, about years of age--too young to know what these things meant--cried "massa john! massa john!" the elder boy, years of age, took the matter more dispassionately, and the mother _quite calmly_. the mother and her sympathizers all moved down the stairs together in the presence of quite a number of spectators on the first deck and on the wharf, all of whom, as far as i was able to discern, seemed to look upon the whole affair with the greatest indifference. the woman and children were assisted, but not forced to leave. nor were there any violence or threatenings as i saw or heard. the only words that i heard from any one of an objectionable character, were: "knock him down; knock him down!" but who uttered it or who was meant i knew not, nor have i since been informed. however, if it was uttered by a colored man, i regret it, as there was not the slightest cause for such language, especially as the sympathies of the spectators and citizens seemed to justify the course pursued. while passing off of the wharf and down delaware-avenue to dock st., and up dock to front, where a carriage was procured, the slaveholder and one police officer were of the party, if no more. the youngest boy on being put in the carriage was told that he was "a fool for crying so after 'massa john,' who would sell him if he ever caught him." not another whine was heard on the subject. the carriage drove down town slowly, the horses being fatigued and the weather intensely hot; the inmates were put out on tenth street--not at any house--after which they soon found hospitable friends and quietude. the excitement of the moment having passed by, the mother _seemed very cheerful, and rejoiced greatly that herself and boys had been, as she thought, so "providentially delivered from the house of bondage_!" for the first time in her life she could look upon herself and children and feel free! having felt the iron in her heart for the best half of her days--having been sold with her children on the auction block--having had one of her children sold far away from her without hope of her seeing him again--she very naturally and wisely concluded to go to canada, fearing if she remained in this city--as some assured her she could do with entire safety--that she might again find herself in the clutches of the tyrant from whom she had fled. a few items of what she related concerning the character of her master may be interesting to the reader-- within the last two years he had sold all his slaves--between thirty and forty in number--having purchased the present ones in that space of time. she said that before leaving washington, coming on the cars, and at his father-in-law's in this city, a number of persons had told him that in bringing his slaves into pennsylvania they would be free. when told at his father-in-law's, as she overheard it, that he "could not have done a worse thing," &c., he replied that "jane would not leave him." as much, however, as he affected to have such implicit confidence in jane, he scarcely allowed her to be out of his presence a moment while in this city. to use jane's own language, he was "on her heels every minute," fearing that some one might get to her ears the sweet music of freedom. by the way, jane had it deep in her heart before leaving the south, and was bent on succeeding in new york, if disappointed in philadelphia. at bloodgood's, after having been belated and left by the o'clock train, while waiting for the o'clock line, his appetite tempted her "master" to take a hasty dinner. so after placing jane where he thought she would be pretty secure from "evil communications" from the colored waiters, and after giving her a double counselling, he made his way to the table; remained but a little while, however, before leaving to look after jane; finding her composed, looking over a bannister near where he left her, he returned to the table again and finished his meal. but, alas, for the slave-holder! jane had her "top eye open," and in that brief space had appealed to the sympathies of a person whom she ventured to trust, saying, "i and my children are slaves, and we want liberty!" i am not certain, but suppose that person, in the goodness of his heart, was the cause of the note being sent to the anti-slavery office, and hence the result. as to her going on to new york to see her friends, and wishing to return to her three children in the south, and his going to free her, &c., jane declared repeatedly and very positively, that there was not a particle of truth in what her master said on these points. the truth is she had not the slightest hope of freedom through any act of his. she had only left one boy in the south, who had been sold far away, where she scarcely ever heard from him, indeed never expected to see him any more. in appearance jane is tall and well formed, high and large forehead, of genteel manners, chestnut color, and seems to possess, naturally, uncommon good sense, though of course she has never been allowed to read. thus i have given as truthful a report as i am capable of doing, of jane and the circumstances connected with her deliverance. w. still. p.s.--of the five colored porters who promptly appeared, with warm hearts throbbing in sympathy with the mother and her children, too much cannot be said in commendation. in the present case they acted nobly, whatever may be said of their general character, of which i know nothing. how human beings, who have ever tasted oppression, could have acted differently under the circumstances i cannot conceive. the mystery alluded to, which the above letter did not contain, and which the court failed to make mr. williamson reveal, might have been truthfully explained in these words. the carriage was procured at the wharf, while col. wheeler and mr. williamson were debating the question relative to the action of the committee, and at that instant, jane and her two boys were invited into it and accompanied by the writer, who procured it, were driven down town, and on tenth street, below lombard, the inmates were invited out of it, and the said conductor paid the driver and discharged him. for prudential reasons he took them to a temporary resting-place, where they could tarry until after dark; then they were invited to his own residence, where they were made welcome, and in due time forwarded east. now, what disposition was made of them after they had left the wharf, while williamson and wheeler were discussing matters--(as was clearly sworn to by passmore, in his answer to the writ of habeas corpus)--he williamson did not know. that evening, before seeing the member of the committee, with whom he acted in concert on the boat, and who had entire charge of jane and her boys, he left for harrisburg, to fulfill business engagements. the next morning his father (thomas williamson) brought the writ of habeas corpus (which had been served at passmore's office after he left) to the anti-slavery office. in his calm manner he handed it to the writer, at the same time remarking that "passmore had gone to harrisburg," and added, "thee had better attend to it" (the writ). edward hopper, esq., was applied to with the writ, and in the absence of mr. williamson, appeared before the court, and stated "that the writ had not been served, as mr. w. was out of town," etc. after this statement, the judge postponed further action until the next day. in the meanwhile, mr. williamson returned and found the writ awaiting him, and an agitated state of feeling throughout the city besides. now it is very certain, that he did not seek to know from those in the secret, where jane johnson and her boys were taken after they left the wharf, or as to what disposition had been made of them, in any way; except to ask simply, "are they safe?" (and when told "yes," he smiled) consequently, he might have been examined for a week, by the most skillful lawyer, at the philadelphia bar, but he could not have answered other than he did in making his return to the writ, before judge kane, namely: "_that the persons named in the writ, nor either of them, are now nor was at the time of issuing of the writ, or the original writ, or at any other time in the custody, power, or possession of the respondent, nor by him confined or restrained; wherefore he cannot have the bodies," etc._. thus, while mr. w. was subjected to the severest trial of his devotion to freedom, his noble bearing throughout, won for him the admiration and sympathy of the friends of humanity and liberty throughout the entire land, and in proof of his fidelity, he most cheerfully submitted to imprisonment rather than desert his principles. but the truth was not wanted in this instance by the enemies of freedom; obedience to slavery was demanded to satisfy the south. the opportunity seemed favorable for teaching abolitionists and negroes, that they had no right to interfere with a "chivalrous southern gentleman," while passing through philadelphia with his slaves. thus, to make an effective blow, all the pro-slavery elements of philadelphia were brought into action, and matters looked for a time as though slavery in this instance would have everything its own way. passmore was locked up in prison on the flimsy pretext of contempt of court, and true bills were found against him and half a dozen colored men, charging them with "riot," "forcible abduction," and "assault and battery," and there was no lack of hard swearing on the part of col. wheeler and his pro-slavery sympathizers in substantiation of these grave charges. but the pro-slaveryites had counted without their host--passmore would not yield an inch, but stood as firmly by his principles in prison, as he did on the boat. indeed, it was soon evident, that his resolute course was bringing floods of sympathy from the ablest and best minds throughout the north. on the other hand, the occasion was rapidly awakening thousands daily, who had hitherto manifested little or no interest at all on the subject, to the wrongs of the slave. it was soon discovered by the "chivalry" that keeping mr. williamson in prison would indirectly greatly aid the cause of freedom--that every day he remained would make numerous converts to the cause of liberty; that mr. williamson was doing ten-fold more in prison for the cause of universal liberty than he could possibly do while pursuing his ordinary vocation. with regard to the colored men under bonds, col. wheeler and his satellites felt very confident that there was no room for them to escape. they must have had reason so to think, judging from the hard swearing they did, before the committing magistrate. consequently, in the order of events, while passmore was still in prison, receiving visits from hosts of friends, and letters of sympathy from all parts of the north, william still, william curtis, james p. braddock, john ballard, james martin and isaiah moore, were brought into court for trial. the first name on the list in the proceedings of the court was called up first. against this individual, it was pretty well understood by the friends of the slave, that no lack of pains and false swearing would be resorted to on the part of wheeler and his witnesses, to gain a verdict. mr. mckim and other noted abolitionists managing the defense, were equally alive to the importance of overwhelming the enemy in this particular issue. the hon. charles gibbons, was engaged to defend william still, and william s. pierce, esq., and william b. birney, esq., the other five colored defendants. in order to make the victory complete, the anti-slavery friends deemed it of the highest importance to have jane johnson in court, to face her master, and under oath to sweep away his "refuge of lies," with regard to her being "abducted," and her unwillingness to "leave her master," etc. so mr. mckim and the friends very privately arranged to have jane johnson on hand at the opening of the defense. mrs. lucretia mott, mrs. mckim, miss sarah pugh and mrs. plumly, volunteered to accompany this poor slave mother to the court-house and to occupy seats by her side, while she should face her master, and boldly, on oath, contradict all his hard swearing. a better subject for the occasion than jane, could not have been desired. she entered the court room veiled, and of course was not known by the crowd, as pains had been taken to keep the public in ignorance of the fact, that she was to be brought on to bear witness. so that, at the conclusion of the second witness on the part of the defense, "jane johnson" was called for, in a shrill voice. deliberately, jane arose and answered, in a lady-like manner to her name, and was then the observed of all observers. never before had such a scene been witnessed in philadelphia. it was indescribable. substantially, her testimony on this occasion, was in keeping with the subjoined affidavit, which was as follows-- "_state of new york, city and county of new york_. "jane johnson being sworn, makes oath and says-- "my name is jane--jane johnson; i was the slave of mr. wheeler of washington; he bought me and my two children, about two years ago, of mr. cornelius crew, of richmond, va.; my youngest child is between six and seven years old, the other between ten and eleven; i have one other child only, and he is in richmond; i have not seen him for about two years; never expect to see him again; mr. wheeler brought me and my two children to philadelphia, on the way to nicaragua, to wait on his wife; i didn't want to go without my two children, and he consented to take them; we came to philadelphia by the cars; stopped at mr. sully's, mr. wheeler's father-in-law, a few moments; then went to the steamboat for new york at o'clock, but were too late; we went into bloodgood's hotel; mr. wheeler went to dinner; mr. wheeler had told me in washington to have nothing to say to colored persons, and if any of them spoke to me, to say i was a free woman traveling with a minister; we staid at bloodgood's till o'clock; mr. wheeler kept his eye on me all the time except when he was at dinner; he left his dinner to come and see if i was safe, and then went back again; while he was at dinner, i saw a colored woman and told her i was a slave woman, that my master had told me not to speak to colored people, and that if any of them spoke to me to say that i was free; but i am not free; but i want to be free; she said: 'poor thing, i pity you;' after that i saw a colored man and said the same thing to him, he said he would telegraph to new york, and two men would meet me at o'clock and take me with them; after that we went on board the boat, mr. wheeler sat beside me on the deck; i saw a colored gentleman come on board, he beckoned to me; i nodded my head, and could not go; mr. wheeler was beside me and i was afraid; a white gentleman then came and said to mr. wheeler, 'i want to speak to your servant, and tell her of her rights;' mr. wheeler rose and said, 'if you have anything to say, say it to me--she knows her rights;' the white gentleman asked me if i wanted to be free; i said 'i do, but i belong to this gentleman and i can't have it;' he replied, 'yes, you can, come with us, you are as free as your master, if you want your freedom come now; if you go back to washington you may never get it;' i rose to go, mr. wheeler spoke, and said, 'i will give you your freedom,' but he had never promised it before, and i knew he would never give it to me; the white gentleman held out his hand and i went toward him; i was ready for the word before it was given me; i took the children by the hands, who both cried, for they were frightened, but both stopped when they got on shore; a colored man carried the little one, i led the other by the hand. we walked down the street till we got to a hack; nobody forced me away; nobody pulled me, and nobody led me; i went away of my own free will; i always wished to be free and meant to be free when i came north; i hardly expected it in philadelphia, but i thought i should get free in new york; i have been comfortable and happy since i left mr. wheeler, and so are the children; i don't want to go back; i could have gone in philadelphia if i had wanted to; i could go now; but i had rather die than go back. i wish to make this statement before a magistrate, because i understand that mr. williamson is in prison on my account, and i hope the truth may be of benefit to him." [illustration: jane johnson] [illustration: passmore williamson.] jane [her x mark.] johnson. it might have been supposed that her honest and straightforward testimony would have been sufficient to cause even the most relentless slaveholder to abandon at once a pursuit so monstrous and utterly hopeless as wheeler's was. but although he was sadly confused and put to shame, he hung on to the "lost cause" tenaciously. and his counsel, david webster, esq., and the united states district attorney, vandyke, completely imbued with the pro-slavery spirit, were equally as unyielding. and thus, with a zeal befitting the most worthy object imaginable, they labored with untiring effort to convict the colored men. by this policy, however, the counsel for the defense was doubly aroused. mr. gibbons, in the most eloquent and indignant strains, perfectly annihilated the "distinguished colonel john h. wheeler, united states minister plenipotentiary near the island of nicaragua," taking special pains to ring the changes repeatedly on his long appellations. mr. gibbons appeared to be precisely in the right mood to make himself surpassingly forcible and eloquent, on whatever point of law he chose to touch bearing on the case; or in whatever direction he chose to glance at the injustice and cruelty of the south. most vividly did he draw the contrast between the states of "georgia" and "pennsylvania," with regard to the atrocious laws of georgia. scarcely less vivid is the impression after a lapse of sixteen years, than when this eloquent speech was made. with the district attorney, wm. b. mann, esq., and his honor, judge kelley, the defendants had no cause to complain. throughout the entire proceedings, they had reason to feel, that neither of these officials sympathized in the least with wheeler or slavery. indeed in the judge's charge and also in the district attorney's closing speech the ring of freedom could be distinctly heard--much more so than was agreeable to wheeler and his pro-slavery sympathizers. the case of wm. still ended in his acquittal; the other five colored men were taken up in order. and it is scarcely necessary to say that messrs. peirce and birney did full justice to all concerned. mr. peirce, especially, was one of the oldest, ablest and most faithful lawyers to the slave of the philadelphia bar. he never was known, it may safely be said, to hesitate in the darkest days of slavery to give his time and talents to the fugitive, even in the most hopeless cases, and when, from the unpopularity of such a course, serious sacrifices would be likely to result. consequently he was but at home in this case, and most nobly did he defend his clients, with the same earnestness that a man would defend his fireside against the approach of burglars. at the conclusion of the trial, the jury returned a verdict of "not guilty," as to all the persons in the first count, charging them with riot. in the second count, charging them with "assault and battery" (on col. wheeler) ballard and curtis were found "guilty," the rest "not guilty." the guilty were given about a week in jail. thus ended this act in the wheeler drama. the following extract is taken from the correspondence of the new york tribune touching jane johnson's presence in the court, and will be interesting on that account: "but it was a bold and perilous move on the part of her friends, and the deepest apprehensions were felt for a while, for the result. the united states marshal was there with his warrant and an extra force to execute it. the officers of the court and other state officers were there to protect the witness and vindicate the laws of the state. vandyke, the united states district attorney, swore he would take her. the state officers swore he should not, and for a while it seemed that nothing could avert a bloody scene. it was expected that the conflict would take place at the door, when she should leave the room, so that when she and her friends went out, and for some time after, the most intense suspense pervaded the court-room. she was, however, allowed to enter the carriage that awaited her without disturbance. she was accompanied by mr. mckim, secretary of the pennsylvania anti-slavery society, lucretia mott and george corson, one of our most manly and intrepid police officers. the carriage was followed by another filled with officers as a guard; and thus escorted she was taken back in safety to the house from which she had been brought. her title to freedom under the laws of the state will hardly again be brought into question." mr. williamson was committed to prison by judge kane for contempt of court, on the th day of july, , and was released on the d day of november the same year, having gained, in the estimation of the friends of freedom every where, a triumph and a fame which but few men in the great moral battle for freedom could claim. * * * * * the arrivals of a single month. sixty passengers came in one month--twenty-eight in one arrival--great panic and indignation meeting--interesting correspondence from masters and fugitives. the great number of cases to be here noticed forbids more than a brief reference to each passenger. as they arrived in parties, their narratives will be given in due order as found on the book of records: william griffen, henry moor, james camper, noah ennells and levin parker. this party came from cambridge, md. william is thirty-four years of age, of medium size and substantial appearance. he fled from james waters, esq., a lawyer, living in cambridge. he was "wealthy, close, and stingy," and owned nine head of slaves and a farm, on which william served. he was used very hard, which was the cause of his escape, though the idea that he was entitled to his freedom had been entertained for the previous twelve years. on preparing to take the underground, he armed himself with a big butcher-knife, and resolved, if attacked, to make his enemies stand back. his master was a member of the methodist church. henry is tall, copper-colored, and about thirty years of age. he complained not so much of bad usage as of the utter distaste he had to working all the time for the "white people for nothing." he was also decidedly of the opinion that every man should have his liberty. four years ago his wife was "sold away to georgia" by her young master; since which time not a word had he heard of her. she left three children, and he, in escaping, also had to leave them in the same hands that sold their mother. he was owned by levin dale, a farmer near cambridge. henry was armed with a six-barreled revolver, a large knife, and a determined mind. james is twenty-four years of age, quite black, small size, keen look, and full of hope for the "best part of canada." he fled from henry hooper, "a dashing young man and a member of the episcopal church." left because he "did not enjoy privileges" as he wished to do. he was armed with two pistols and a dirk to defend himself. noah is only nineteen, quite dark, well-proportioned, and possessed of a fair average of common sense. he was owned by "black-head bill lecount," who "followed drinking, chewing tobacco, catching 'runaways,' and hanging around the court-house." however, he owned six head of slaves, and had a "rough wife," who belonged to the methodist church. left because he "expected every day to be sold"--his master being largely in "debt." brought with him a butcher-knife. levin is twenty-two, rather short built, medium size and well colored. he fled from lawrence g. colson, "a very bad man, fond of drinking, great to fight and swear, and hard to please." his mistress was "real rough; very bad, worse than he was as 'fur' as she could be." having been stinted with food and clothing and worked hard, was the apology offered by levin for running off. stebney swan, john stinger, robert emerson, anthony pugh and isabella ----. this company came from portsmouth, va. stebney is thirty-four years of age, medium size, mulatto, and quite wide awake. he was owned by an oysterman by the name of jos. carter, who lived near portsmouth. naturally enough his master "drank hard, gambled" extensively, and in every other respect was a very ordinary man. nevertheless, he "owned twenty-five head," and had a wife and six children. stebney testified that he had not been used hard, though he had been on the "auction-block three times." left because he was "tired of being a servant." armed with a broad-axe and hatchet, he started, joined by the above-named companions, and came in a skiff, by sea. robert lee was the brave captain engaged to pilot this slavery-sick party from the prison-house of bondage. and although every rod of rowing was attended with inconceivable peril, the desired haven was safely reached, and the overjoyed voyagers conducted to the vigilance committee. john is about forty years of age, and so near white that a microscope would be required to discern his colored origin. his father was white, and his mother nearly so. he also had been owned by the oysterman alluded to above; had been captain of one of his oyster-boats, until recently. and but for his attempt some months back to make his escape, he might have been this day in the care of his kind-hearted master. but, because of this wayward step on the part of john, his master felt called upon to humble him. accordingly, the captaincy was taken from him, and he was compelled to struggle on in a less honorable position. occasionally john's mind would be refreshed by his master relating the hard times in the north, the great starvation among the blacks, etc. he would also tell john how much better off he was as a "slave with a kind master to provide for all his wants," etc. notwithstanding all this counsel, john did not rest contented until he was on the underground rail road. robert was only nineteen, with an intelligent face and prepossessing manners; reads, writes and ciphers; and is about half anglo-saxon. he fled from wm. h. wilson, esq., cashier of the virginia bank. until within the four years previous to robert's escape, the cashier was spoken of as a "very good man;" but in consequence of speculations in a large hotel in portsmouth, and the then financial embarrassments, "he had become seriously involved," and decidedly changed in his manners. robert noticed this, and concluded he had "better get out of danger as soon as possible." anthony and isabella were an engaged couple, and desired to cast their lot where husband and wife could not be separated on the auction-block. the following are of the cambridge party, above alluded to. all left together, but for prudential reasons separated before reaching philadelphia. the company that left cambridge on the th of october may be thus recognized: aaron cornish and wife, with their six children; solomon, george anthony, joseph, edward james, perry lake, and a nameless babe, all very likely; kit anthony and wife leah, and three children, adam, mary, and murray; joseph hill and wife alice, and their son henry; also joseph's sister. add to the above, marshall button and george light, both single young men, and we have twenty-eight in one arrival, as hearty-looking, brave and interesting specimens of slavery as could well be produced from maryland. before setting out they counted well the cost. being aware that fifteen had left their neighborhood only a few days ahead of them, and that every slave-holder and slave-catcher throughout the community, were on the alert, and raging furiously against the inroads of the underground rail road, they provided themselves with the following weapons of defense: three revolvers, three double-barreled pistols, three single-barreled pistols, three sword-canes, four butcher knives, one bowie-knife, and one paw.[a] thus, fully resolved upon freedom or death, with scarcely provisions enough for a single day, while the rain and storm was piteously descending, fathers and mothers with children in their arms (aaron cornish had two)--the entire party started. of course, their provisions gave out before they were fairly on the way, but not so with the storm. it continued to pour upon them for nearly three days. with nothing to appease the gnawings of hunger but parched corn and a few dry crackers, wet and cold, with several of the children sick, some of their feet bare and worn, and one of the mothers with an infant in her arms, incapable of partaking of the diet,--it is impossible to imagine the ordeal they were passing. it was enough to cause the bravest hearts to falter. but not for a moment did they allow themselves to look back. it was exceedingly agreeable to hear even the little children testify that in the most trying hour on the road, not for a moment did they want to go back. the following advertisement, taken from _the cambridge democrat_ of november , shows how the rev. levi traverse felt about aaron-- [footnote a: a paw is a weapon with iron prongs, four inches long, to be grasped with the hand and used in close encounter.] $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, from the neighborhood of town point, on saturday night, the th inst., my negro man, aaron cornish, about years old. he is about five feet ten inches high, black, good-looking, rather pleasant countenance, and carries himself with a confident manner. he went off with his wife, daffney, a negro woman belonging to reuben e. phillips. i will give the above reward if taken out of the county, and $ if taken in the county; in either case to be lodged in cambridge jail. [illustration: runaway] october , . levi d. traverse. to fully understand the rev. mr. traverse's authority for taking the liberty he did with aaron's good name, it may not be amiss to give briefly a paragraph of private information from aaron, relative to his master. the rev. mr. traverse belonged to the methodist church, and was described by aaron as a "bad young man; rattle-brained; with the appearance of not having good sense,--not enough to manage the great amount of property (he had been left wealthy) in his possession." aaron's servitude commenced under this spiritual protector in may prior to the escape, immediately after the death of his old master. his deceased master, william d. traverse, by the way, was the father-in-law, and at the same time own uncle of aaron's reverend owner. though the young master, for marrying his own cousin and uncle's daughter, had been for years the subject of the old gentleman's wrath, and was not allowed to come near his house, or to entertain any reasonable hope of getting any of his father-in-law's estate, nevertheless, scarcely had the old man breathed his last, ere the young preacher seized upon the inheritance, slaves and all; at least he claimed two-thirds, allowing for the widow one-third. unhesitatingly he had taken possession of all the slaves (some thirty head), and was making them feel his power to the fullest extent. to aaron this increased oppression was exceedingly crushing, as he had been hoping at the death of his old master to be free. indeed, it was understood that the old man had his will made, and freedom provided for the slaves. but, strangely enough, at his death no will could be found. aaron was firmly of the conviction that the rev. mr. traverse knew what became of it. between the widow and the son-in-law, in consequence of his aggressive steps, existed much hostility, which strongly indicated the approach of a law-suit; therefore, except by escaping, aaron could not see the faintest hope of freedom. under his old master, the favor of hiring his time had been granted him. he had also been allowed by his wife's mistress (miss jane carter, of baltimore), to have his wife and children home with him--that is, until his children would grow to the age of eight and ten years, then they would be taken away and hired out at twelve or fifteen dollars a year at first. her oldest boy, sixteen, hired the year he left for forty dollars. they had had ten children; two had died, two they were compelled to leave in chains; the rest they brought away. not one dollar's expense had they been to their mistress. the industrious aaron not only had to pay his own hire, but was obliged to do enough over-work to support his large family. though he said he had no special complaint to make against his old master, through whom he, with the rest of the slaves, hoped to obtain freedom, aaron, nevertheless, spoke of him as a man of violent temper, severe on his slaves, drinking hard, etc., though he was a man of wealth and stood high in the community. one of aaron's brothers, and others, had been sold south by him. it was on account of his inveterate hatred of his son-in-law, who, he declared, should never have his property (having no other heir but his niece, except his widow), that the slaves relied on his promise to free them. thus, in view of the facts referred to, aaron was led to commit the unpardonable sin of running away with his wife daffney, who, by the way, looked like a woman fully capable of taking care of herself and children, instead of having them stolen away from her, as though they were pigs. joseph viney and family--joseph was "held to service or labor," by charles bryant, of alexandria, va. joseph had very nearly finished paying for himself. his wife and children were held by samuel pattison, esq., a member of the methodist church, "a great big man," "with red eyes, bald head, drank pretty freely," and in the language of joseph, "wouldn't bear nothing." two of joseph's brothers-in-law had been sold by his master. against mrs. pattison his complaint was, that "she was mean, sneaking, and did not want to give half enough to eat." for the enlightenment of all christendom, and coming posterity especially, the following advertisement and letter are recorded, with the hope that they will have an important historical value. the writer was at great pains to obtain these interesting documents, directly after the arrival of the memorable twenty-eight; and shortly afterwards furnished to the new york _tribune_, in a prudential manner, a brief sketch of these very passengers, including the advertisements, but not the letter. it was safely laid away for history-- $ , reward.--ran away from the subscriber on saturday night, the th inst, fourteen head of negroes, viz: four men, two women, one boy and seven children. kit is about years of age, five feet six or seven inches high, dark chestnut color, and has a scar on one of his thumbs. joe is about years old, very black, his teeth are very white, and is about five feet eight inches high. henry is about years old, five feet ten inches high, of dark chestnut color and large front teeth. joe is about years old, about five feet six inches high, heavy built and black. tom is about years old, about five feet high, light chestnut color. susan is about years old, dark chestnut color, and rather stout built; speaks rather slow, and has with her four children, varying from one to seven years of age. leah is about years old, about five feet high, dark chestnut color, with three children, two boys and one girl, from one to eight years old. [illustration: runaway] i will give $ , if taken in the county, $ , if taken out of the county and in the state, and $ , if taken out of the state; in either case to be lodged in cambridge (md.) jail, so that i can get them again; or i will give a fair proportion of the above reward if any part be secured. samuel pattison, october , . near cambridge, md. p.s.--since writing the above, i have discovered that my negro woman, sarah jane, years old, stout built and chestnut color, has also run off. [illustration: ] s.p. samuel pattison's letter. cambridge, nov. th, . l.w. thompson:--sir, this morning i received your letter wishing an accurate description of my negroes which ran away on the th of last month and the amt of reward offered &c &c. the description is as follows. _kit_ is about years old, five feet, six or seven inches high, dark chestnut color and has a scar on one of his thumbs, he has a very quick step and walks very straight, and can read and write. _joe_, is about years old, very black and about five feet eight inches high, has a very pleasing appearance, he has a free wife who left with him she is a light molatoo, she has a child not over one year old. _henry_ is about years old, five feet, ten inches high, of dark chestnut coller and large front teeth, he stoops a little in his walk and has a downward look. _joe_ is about years old, about five feet six inches high, heavy built, and has a grum look and voice dull, and black. _tom_ is about years old about five feet high light chestnut coller, smart active boy, and swagers in his walk. susan is about years old, dark chesnut coller and stout built, speaks rather slow and has with her _four children, three boys_ and one _girl_--the girl has a thumb or finger on her left hand (part of it) cut off, the children are from months to years old. (the youngest a boy months and the oldest whose name is lloyd is about years old) the husband of susan (joe viney) started off with her, he is a slave, belonging to a gentleman in alexandria d.c. he is about years old and dark chesnut coller rather slender built and about five feet seven or eight inches high, he is also the father of henry, joe and tom. a _reward_ of $ . will be given for his apprehension. _leah_ is about years old about five feet high dark chesnut coller, with three children. boys and girl, they are from one to eight years old, the oldest boy is called adam, leah is the wife of kit, the first named man in the list. _sarah jane_ is about years old, stout built and chesnut coller, quick and active in her walk. making in all head, men, women and children belonging to me, or head including joe viney, the husband of my woman susan. _a reward_ of $ . will be given for my negroes if taken out of the state of maryland and lodged in cambridge or baltimore jail, so that i can get them or a fair proportion for any part of them. and including joe viney's reward $ . . at the same time eight other negroes belonging to a neighbor of mine ran off, for which a reward of $ . has been offered for them. if you should want any information, witnesses to prove or indentify the negroes, write immediately on to me. or if you should need any information with regard to proving the negroes, before i could reach philadelphia, you can call on mr. burroughs at martin & smith's store, market street, no . phila and he can refer you to a gentleman who knows the negroes. yours &c saml. pattison. this letter was in answer to one written in philadelphia and signed, "l.w. thompson." it is not improbable that mr. pattison's loss had produced such a high state of mental excitement that he was hardly in a condition for cool reflection, or he would have weighed the matter a little more carefully before exposing himself to the u.g.r.r. agents. but the letter possesses two commendable features, nevertheless. it was tolerably well written and prompt. here is a wonderful exhibition of affection for his contented and happy negroes. whether mr. pattison suspended on suddenly learning that he was minus fifteen head, the writer cannot say. but that there was a great slave hunt in every direction there is no room to doubt. though much more might be said about the parties concerned, it must suffice to add that they came to the vigilance committee in a very sad plight--in tattered garments, hungry, sick, and penniless; but they were kindly clothed, fed, doctored, and sent on their way rejoicing. daniel stanly, nat amby, john scott, hannah peters, henrietta dobson, elizabeth amby, josiah stanly, caroline stanly, daniel stanly, jr., john stanly and miller stanly (arrival from cambridge.) daniel is about , well-made and wide-awake. fortunately, in emancipating himself, he also, through great perseverance, secured the freedom of his wife and six children; one child he was compelled to leave behind. daniel belonged to robert calender, a farmer, and, "except when in a passion," said to be "pretty clever." however, considering as a father, that it was his "duty to do all he could" for his children, and that all work and no play makes jack a dull boy, daniel felt bound to seek refuge in canada. his wife and children were owned by "samuel count, an old, bald-headed, bad man," who "had of late years been selling and buying slaves as a business," though he stood high and was a "big bug in cambridge." the children were truly likely-looking. nat is no ordinary man. like a certain other nat known to history, his honest and independent bearing in every respect was that of a natural hero. he was full black, and about six feet high; of powerful physical proportions, and of more than ordinary intellectual capacities. with the strongest desire to make the port of canada safely, he had resolved to be "carried back," if attacked by the slave hunters, "only as a dead man." he was held to service by john muir, a wealthy farmer, and the owner of or slaves. "muir would drink and was generally devilish." two of nat's sisters and one of his brothers had been "sold away to georgia by him." therefore, admonished by threats and fears of having to pass through the same fiery furnace, nat was led to consider the u.g.r.r. scheme. it was through the marriage of nat's mistress to his present owner that he came into muir's hands. "up to the time of her death," he had been encouraged to "hope" that he would be "free;" indeed, he was assured by her "dying testimony that the slaves were not to be sold." but regardless of the promises and will of his departed wife, muir soon extinguished all hopes of freedom from that quarter. but not believing that god had put one man here to "be the servant of another--to work," and get none of the benefit of his labor, nat armed himself with a good pistol and a big knife, and taking his wife with him, bade adieu forever to bondage. observing that lizzie (nat's wife) looked pretty decided and resolute, a member of the committee remarked, "would your wife fight for freedom?" "i have heard her say she would wade through blood and tears for her freedom," said nat, in the most serious mood. the following advertisement from _the cambridge democrat_ of nov. , speaks for itself-- $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, on saturday night last, th inst., my negro woman lizzie, about years old. she is medium sized, dark complexion, good-looking, with rather a down look. when spoken to, replies quickly. she was well dressed, wearing a red and green blanket shawl, and carried with her a variety of clothing. she ran off in company with her husband, nat amby (belonging to john muir, esq.), who is about feet in height, with slight impediment in his speech, dark chestnut color, and a large scar on the side of his neck. [illustration: ] i will give the above reward if taken in this county, or one-half of what she sells for if taken out of the county or state. in either ease to be lodged in cambridge jail. cambridge, oct. , . alexander h. bayly. p.s.--for the apprehension of the above-named negro man nat, and delivery in cambridge jail, i will give $ reward. john muir. now since nat's master has been introduced in the above order, it seems but appropriate that nat should be heard too; consequently the following letter is inserted for what it is worth: auburn, june th, . mr. william still:--sir, will you be so kind as to write a letter to affey white in straw berry alley in baltimore city on the point. say to her at nat ambey that i wish to know from her the last letar that joseph ambie and henry ambie two brothers and ann warfield a couisin of them two boys i state above. i would like to hear from my mother sichy ambie you will please write to my mother and tell her that i am well and doing well and state to her that i perform my relissius dutys and i would like to hear from her and want to know if she is performing her relissius dutys yet and send me word from all her children i left behind say to affey white that i wish her to write me a letter in hast my wife is well and doing well and my nephew is doing well. please tell affey white when she writes to me to let me know where joseph and henry ambie is. mr. still please look on your book and you will find my name on your book. they was eleven of us children and all when we came through and i feal interrested about my brothers. i have never heard from them since i left home you will please be kind annough to attend to this letter. when you send the answer to this letter you will please send it to p.r. freeman auburn city cayuga county new york. yours truly nat ambie. william is , complexion brown, intellect naturally good, with no favorable notions of the peculiar institution. he was armed with a formidable dirk-knife, and declared he would use it if attacked, rather than be dragged back to bondage. hannah is a hearty-looking young woman of or , with a countenance that indicated that liberty was what she wanted and was contending for, and that she could not willingly submit to the yoke. though she came with the cambridge party, she did not come from cambridge, but from marshall hope, caroline county, where she had been owned by charles peters, a man who had distinguished himself by getting "drunk, scratching and fighting, etc.," not unfrequently in his own family even. she had no parents that she knew of. left because they used her "so bad, beat and knocked" her about. "jack scott." jack is about thirty-six years of age, substantially built, dark color, and of quiet and prepossessing manners. he was owned by david b. turner, esq., a dry goods merchant of new york. by birth, turner was a virginian, and a regular slave-holder. his slaves were kept hired out by the year. as jack had had but slight acquaintance with his new york owner, he says but very little about him. he was moved to leave simply because he had got tired of working for the "white people for nothing." fled from richmond, va. jack went to canada direct. the following letter furnishes a clew to his whereabouts, plans, etc. montreal, september st . dear sir:--it is with extreme pleasure that i set down to inclose you a few lines to let you know that i am well & i hope when these few lines come to hand they may find you & your family in good health and prosperity i left your house nov. d, , for canada i received a letter here from james carter in peters burg, saying that my wife would leave there about the th or the first september and that he would send her on by way of philadelphia to you to send on to montreal if she come on you be please to send her on and as there is so many boats coming here all times a day i may not know what time she will. so you be please to give her this direction, she can get a cab and go to the donegana hotel and edmund turner is there he will take you where i lives and if he is not there cabman take you to mr taylors on durham st. nearly opposite to the methodist church. nothing more at present but remain your well wisher john scott. c. hitchens.--this individual took his departure from milford, del., where he was owned by wm. hill, a farmer, who took special delight in having "fighting done on the place." this passenger was one of our least intelligent travelers. he was about . major ross.--major fled from john jay, a farmer residing in the neighborhood of havre de grace, md. but for the mean treatment received from mr. jay, major might have been foolish enough to have remained all his days in chains. "it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good." henry oberne.--henry was to be free at , but preferred having it at , especially as he was not certain that would ever come. he is of chestnut color, well made, &c., and came from seaford, md. perry burton.--perry is about twenty-seven years of age, decidedly colored, medium size, and only of ordinary intellect. he acknowledged john r. burton, a farmer on indian river, as his master, and escaped because he wanted "some day for himself." alfred hubert, israel whitney and john thompson. alfred is of powerful muscular appearance and naturally of a good intellect. he is full dark chestnut color, and would doubtless fetch a high price. he was owned by mrs. matilda niles, from whom he had hired his time, paying $ yearly. he had no fault to find with his mistress, except he observed she had a young family growing up, into whose hands he feared he might unluckily fall some day, and saw no way of avoiding it but by flight. being only twenty-eight, he may yet make his mark. israel was owned by elijah money. all that he could say in favor of his master was, that he treated him "respectfully," though he "drank hard." israel was about thirty-six, and another excellent specimen of an able-bodied and wide-awake man. he hired his time at the rate of $ a year, and had to find his wife and child in the bargain. he came from alexandria, va. interesting letter from israel. hamilton, oct. , . william still--_my dear friend_:--i saw carter and his friend a few days ago, and they told me, that you was well. on the seventh of october my wife came to hamilton. mr. a. hurberd, who came from virginia with me, is going to get married the th of november, next. i wish you would write to me how many of my friends you have seen since october, . montgomery green keeps a barber shop in cayuga, in the state of new york. i have not heard of oscar ball but once since i came here, and then he was well and doing well. george carroll is in hamilton. the times are very dull at present, and have been ever since i came here. please write soon. nothing more at present, only i still remain in hamilton, c.w. israel whitney. john is nineteen years of age, mulatto, spare made, but not lacking in courage, mother wit or perseverance. he was born in fauquier county, va., and, after experiencing slavery for a number of years there--being sold two or three times to the "highest bidder"--he was finally purchased by a cotton planter named hezekiah thompson, residing at huntsville, alabama. immediately after the sale hezekiah bundled his new "purchase" off to alabama, where he succeeded in keeping him only about two years, for at the end of that time john determined to strike a blow for liberty. the incentive to this step was the inhuman treatment he was subjected to. cruel indeed did he find it there. his master was a young man, "fond of drinking and carousing, and always ready for a fight or a knock-down." a short time before john left his master whipped him so severely with the "bull whip" that he could not use his arm for three or four days. seeing but one way of escape (and that more perilous than the way william and ellen craft, or henry box brown traveled), he resolved to try it. it was to get on the top of the car, instead of inside of it, and thus ride of nights, till nearly daylight, when, at a stopping-place on the road, he would slip off the car, and conceal himself in the woods until under cover of the next night he could manage to get on the top of another car. by this most hazardous mode of travel he reached virginia. it may be best not to attempt to describe how he suffered at the hands of his owners in alabama; or how severely he was pinched with hunger in traveling; or how, when he reached his old neighborhood in virginia, he could not venture to inquire for his mother, brothers or sisters, to receive from them an affectionate word, an encouraging smile, a crust of bread, or a drink of water. success attended his efforts for more than two weeks; but alas, after having got back north of richmond, on his way home to alexandria, he was captured and put in prison; his master being informed of the fact, came on and took possession of him again. at first he refused to sell him; said he "had money enough and owned about thirty slaves;" therefore wished to "take him back to make an example of him." however, through the persuasion of an uncle of his, he consented to sell. accordingly, john was put on the auction-block and bought for $ , by green mcmurray, a regular trader in richmond. mcmurray again offered him for sale, but in consequence of hard times and the high price demanded, john did not go off, at least not in the way the trader desired to dispose of him, but did, nevertheless, succeed in going off on the underground rail road. thus once more he reached his old home, alexandria. his mother was in one place, and his six brothers and sisters evidently scattered, where he knew not. since he was five years of age, not one of them had he seen. if such sufferings and trials were not entitled to claim for the sufferer the honor of a hero, where in all christendom could one be found who could prove a better title to that appellation? it is needless to say that the committee extended to him brotherly kindness, sympathized with him deeply, and sent him on his way rejoicing. of his subsequent career the following extract from a letter written at london shows that he found no rest for the soles of his feet under the stars and stripes in new york: i hope that you will remember john thompson, who passed through your hands, i think, in october, , at the same time that mr. cooper, from charleston, south carolina, came on. i was engaged at new york, in the barber business, with a friend, and was doing very well, when i was betrayed and obliged to sail for england very suddenly, my master being in the city to arrest me. (london, december st, .) [illustration: escaping from alabama on top of a car.] jeremiah colburn.--jeremiah is a bright mulatto, of prepossessing appearance, reads and writes, and is quite intelligent. he fled from charleston, where he had been owned by mrs. e. williamson, an old lady about seventy-five, a member of the episcopal church, and opposed to freedom. as far as he was concerned, however, he said, she had treated him well; but, knowing that the old lady would not be long here, he judged it was best to look out in time. consequently, he availed himself of an underground rail road ticket, and bade adieu to that hot-bed of secession, south carolina. indeed, he was fair enough to pass for white, and actually came the entire journey from charleston to this city under the garb of a white gentleman. with regard to gentlemanly bearing, however, he was all right in this particular. nevertheless, as he had been a slave all his days, he found that it required no small amount of nerve to succeed in running the gauntlet with slave-holders and slave-catchers for so long a journey. the following pointed epistle, from jeremiah colburn alias william cooper, beautifully illustrates the effects of freedom on many a passenger who received hospitalities at the philadelphia depot-- syracuse, june th, . mr. still:--_dear sir_:--one of your underground r.r. passenger drop you these few lines to let you see that he have not forgoten you one who have done so much for him well sir i am still in syracuse, well in regard to what i am doing for a living i no you would like to hear, i am in the painting business, and have as much at that as i can do, and enough to last me all the summer, i had a knolledge of painting before i left the south, the hotell where i was working last winter the proprietor fail & shot up in the spring and i loose evry thing that i was working for all last winter. i have ritten a letter to my friend p. christianson some time a goo & have never received an answer, i hope this wont be the case with this one, i have an idea sir, next winter iff i can this summer make enough to pay expenses, to goo to that school at mcgrowville & spend my winter their. i am going sir to try to prepair myself for a lectuer, i am going sir by the help of god to try and do something for the caus to help my poor breathern that are suffering under the yoke. do give my respect to mrs stills & perticular to miss julia kelly, i supose she is still with you yet, i am in great hast you must excuse my short letter. i hope these few lines may fine you as they leave me quite well. it will afford me much pleasure to hear from you. yours truly, william cooper. john thompson is still here and doing well. it will be seen that this young charlestonian had rather exalted notions in his head. he was contemplating going to mcgrawville college, for the purpose of preparing himself for the lecturing field. was it not rather strange that he did not want to return to his "kind-hearted old mistress?" thomas henry, nathan collins and his wife mary ellen.--thomas is about twenty-six, quite dark, rather of a raw-boned make, indicating that times with him had been other than smooth. a certain josiah wilson owned thomas. he was a cross, rugged man, allowing not half enough to eat, and worked his slaves late and early. especially within the last two or three months previous to the escape, he had been intensely savage, in consequence of having lost, not long before, two of his servants. ever since that misfortune, he had frequently talked of "putting the rest in his pocket." this distressing threat made the rest love him none the more; but, to make assurances doubly sure, after giving them their supper every evening, which consisted of delicious "skimmed milk, corn cake and a herring each," he would very carefully send them up in the loft over the kitchen, and there "lock them up," to remain until called the next morning at three or four o'clock to go to work again. destitute of money, clothing, and a knowledge of the way, situated as they were they concluded to make an effort for canada. nathan was also a fellow-servant with thomas, and of course owned by wilson. nathan's wife, however, was owned by wilson's son, abram. nathan was about twenty-five years of age, not very dark. he had a remarkably large head on his shoulders and was the picture of determination, and apparently was exactly the kind of a subject that might be desirable in the british possessions, in the forest or on the farm. his wife, mary ellen, is a brown-skinned, country-looking young woman, about twenty years of age. in escaping, they had to break jail, in the dead of night, while all were asleep in the big house; and thus they succeeded. what mr. wilson did, said or thought about these "shiftless" creatures we are not prepared to say; we may, notwithstanding, reasonably infer that the underground has come in for a liberal share of his indignation and wrath. the above travelers came from near new market, md. the few rags they were clad in were not really worth the price that a woman would ask for washing them, yet they brought with them about all they had. thus they had to be newly rigged at the expense of the vigilance committee. _the cambridge democrat_, of nov. , , from which the advertisements were cut, said-- "at a meeting of the people of this county, held in cambridge, on the d of november, to take into consideration the better protection of the interests of the slave-owners; among other things that were done, it was resolved to enforce the various acts of assembly * * * * relating to servants and slaves. "the act of , chap. , sec. , provides 'that from and after the publication thereof no servant or servants whatsoever, within this province, whether by indenture or by the custom of the counties, or hired for wages shall travel by land or water ten miles from the house of his, her or their master, mistress or dame, without a note under their hands, or under the hands of his, her or their overseer, if any be, under the penalty of being taken for a runaway, and to suffer such penalties as hereafter provided against runaways.' the act of , chap. , sec. , provides, 'that any person taking up such runaway, shall have and receive $ ,' to be paid by the master or owner. it was also determined to have put in force the act of , chap. , and the act of , chap. , relative to idle, vagabond, free negroes, providing for their sale or banishment from the state. all persons interested, are hereby notified that the aforesaid laws, in particular, will be enforced, and all officers failing to enforce them will be presented to the grand jury, and those who desire to avoid the penalties of the aforesaid statutes are requested to conform to these provisions." as to the modus operandi by which so many men, women and children were delivered and safely forwarded to canada, despite slave-hunters and the fugitive slave law, the subjoined letters, from different agents and depots, will throw important light on the question. men and women aided in this cause who were influenced by no oath of secresy, who received not a farthing for their labors, who believed that god had put it into the hearts of all mankind to love liberty, and had commanded men to "feel for those in bonds as bound with them," "to break every yoke and let the oppressed go free." but here are the letters, bearing at least on some of the travelers: wilmington, th mo. st, . esteemed friend william still:--i write to inform thee that we have either or , i am not certain which, of that large gang of god's poor, and i hope they are safe. the man who has them in charge informed me there were safe and one boy lost during last night, about years of age, without shoes; we have felt some anxiety about him, for fear he may be taken up and betray the rest. i have since been informed there are but so that i cannot at present tell which is correct. i have several looking out for the lad; they will be kept from phila. for the present. my principal object in writing thee at this time is to inform thee of what one of our constables told me this morning; he told me that a colored man in phila. who professed to be a great friend of the colored people was a traitor; that he had been written to by an abolitionist in baltimore, to keep a look out for those slaves that left cambridge this night week, told him they would be likely to pass through wilmington on th day or th day night, and the colored man in phila. had written to the master of part of them telling him the above, and the master arrived here yesterday in consequence of the information, and told one of our constables the above; the man told the name of the baltimore writer, which he had forgotten, but declined telling the name of the colored man in phila. i hope you will be able to find out who he is, and should i be able to learn the name of the baltimore friend, i will put him on his guard, respecting his phila. correspondents. as ever thy friend, and the friend of humanity, without regard to color or clime. thos. garrett. how much truth there was in the "constable's" story to the effect, "that a colored man in philadelphia, who professed to be a great friend of the colored people, was a traitor, etc.," the committee never learned. as a general thing, colored people were true to the fugitive slave; but now and then some unprincipled individuals, under various pretenses, would cause us great anxiety. letter from john augusta. norristown oct th o'clock pm dear sir:--there is six men and women and five children making eleven persons. if you are willing to receve them write to me imediately and i will bring them to your to morrow evening i would not have wrote this but the times are so much worse financialy that i thought it best to hear from you before i brought such a crowd down pleas answer this and oblige john augusta. this document has somewhat of a military appearance about it. it is short and to the point. friend augusta was well known in norristown as a first-rate hair-dresser and a prompt and trustworthy underground rail road agent. of course a speedy answer was returned to his note, and he was instructed to bring the eleven passengers on to the committee in brotherly love. letter from miss g. lewis about a portion of the same "memorable twenty-eight." sunnyside, nov. th, . dear friend:--eight more of the large company reached our place last night, direct from ercildown. the eight constitute one family of them, the husband and wife with four children under eight years of age, wish tickets for elmira. three sons, nearly grown, will be forwarded to phila., probably by the train which passes phoenixville at seven o'clock of to-morrow evening the seventh. it would be safest to meet them there. we shall send them to elijah with the request for them to be sent there. and i presume they will be. if they should not arrive you may suppose it did not suit elijah to send them. we will send the money for the tickets by c.c. burleigh, who will be in phila. on second day morning. if you please, you will forward the tickets by to-morrow's mail as we do not have a mail again till third day. yours hastily, q. lewis. please give directions for forwarding to elmira and name the price of tickets. at first miss lewis thought of forwarding only a part of her fugitive guests to the committee in philadelphia, but on further consideration, all were safely sent along in due time, and the committee took great pains to have them made as comfortable as possible, as the cases of these mothers and children especially called forth the deepest sympathy. in this connection it seems but fitting to allude to captain lee's sufferings on account of his having brought away in a skiff, by sea, a party of four, alluded to in the beginning of this single month's report. unfortunately he was suspected, arrested, tried, convicted, and torn from his wife and two little children, and sent to the richmond penitentiary for twenty-five years. before being sent away from portsmouth, va., where he was tried, for ten days in succession in the prison five lashes a day were laid heavily on his bare back. the further sufferings of poor lee and his heart-broken wife, and his little daughter and son, are too painful for minute recital. in this city the friends of freedom did all in their power to comfort mrs. lee, and administered aid to her and her children; but she broke down under her mournful fate, and went to that bourne from whence no traveler ever returns. captain lee suffered untold misery in prison, until he, also, not a great while before the union forces took possession of richmond, sank beneath the severity of his treatment, and went likewise to the grave. the two children for a long time were under the care of mr. wm. ingram of philadelphia, who voluntarily, from pure benevolence, proved himself to be a father and a friend to them. to their poor mother also he had been a true friend. the way in which captain lee came to be convicted, if the committee were correctly informed and they think they were, was substantially in this wise: in the darkness of the night, four men, two of them constables, one of the other two, the owner of one of the slaves who had been aided away by lee, seized the wife of one of the fugitives and took her to the woods, where the fiends stripped every particle of clothing from her person, tied her to a tree, and armed with knives, cowhides and a shovel, swore vengeance against her, declaring they would kill her if she did not testify against lee. at first she refused to reveal the secret; indeed she knew but little to reveal; but her savage tormentors beat her almost to death. under this barbarous infliction she was constrained to implicate captain lee, which was about all the evidence the prosecution had against him. and in reality her evidence, for two reasons, should not have weighed a straw, as it was contrary to the laws of the state of virginia, to admit the testimony of colored persons against white; then again for the reason that this testimony was obtained wholly by brute force. but in this instance, this woman on whom the murderous attack had been made, was brought into court on lee's trial and was bid to simply make her statement with regard to lee's connection with the escape of her husband. this she did of course. and in the eyes of this chivalric court, this procedure "was all right." but thank god the events since those dark and dreadful days, afford abundant proof that the all-seeing eye was not asleep to the daily sufferings of the poor bondman. * * * * * a slave girl's narrative. cordelia loney, slave of mrs. joseph cahell (widow of the late hon. joseph cahell, of va.), of fredericksburg, va.--cordelia's escape from her mistress in philadelphia. rarely did the peculiar institution present the relations of mistress and maid-servant in a light so apparently favorable as in the case of mrs. joseph cahell (widow of the late hon. jos cahell, of va.), and her slave, cordelia. the vigilance committee's first knowledge of either of these memorable personages was brought about in the following manner. about the th of march, in the year , a member of the vigilance committee was notified by a colored servant, living at a fashionable boarding-house on chestnut street that a lady with a slave woman from fredericksburg, va., was boarding at said house, and, that said slave woman desired to receive counsel and aid from the committee, as she was anxious to secure her freedom, before her mistress returned to the south. on further consultation about the matter, a suitable hour was named for the meeting of the committee and the slave at the above named boarding-house. finding that the woman was thoroughly reliable, the committee told her "that two modes of deliverance were open before her. one was to take her trunk and all her clothing and quietly retire." the other was to "sue out a writ of habeas corpus; and bring the mistress before the court, where she would be required, under the laws of pennsylvania, to show cause why she restrained this woman of her freedom." cordelia concluded to adopt the former expedient, provided the committee would protect her. without hesitation the committee answered her, that to the extent of their ability, she should have their aid with pleasure, without delay. consequently a member of the committee was directed to be on hand at a given hour that evening, as cordelia would certainly be ready to leave her mistress to take care of herself. thus, at the appointed hour, cordelia, very deliberately, accompanied the committee away from her "kind hearted old mistress." in the quiet and security of the vigilance committee room, cordelia related substantially the following brief story touching her relationship as a slave to mrs. joseph cahell. in this case, as with thousands and tens of thousands of others, as the old adage fitly expresses it, "all is not gold that glitters." under this apparently pious and noble-minded lady, it will be seen, that cordelia had known naught but misery and sorrow. mrs. cahell, having engaged board for a month at a fashionable private boarding-house on chestnut street, took an early opportunity to caution cordelia against going into the streets, and against having anything to say or do with "free niggers in particular"; withal, she appeared unusually kind, so much so, that before retiring to bed in the evening, she would call cordelia to her chamber, and by her side would take her prayer-book and bible, and go through the forms of devotional service. she stood very high both as a church communicant and a lady in society. for a fortnight it seemed as though her prayers were to be answered, for cordelia apparently bore herself as submissively as ever, and madame received calls and accepted invitations from some of the _elite_ of the city, without suspecting any intention on the part of cordelia to escape. but cordelia could not forget how her children had all been sold by her mistress! cordelia was about fifty-seven years of age, with about an equal proportion of colored and white blood in her veins; very neat, respectful and prepossessing in manner. from her birth to the hour of her escape she had worn the yoke under mrs. c., as her most efficient and reliable maid-servant. she had been at her mistress' beck and call as seamstress, dressing-maid, nurse in the sickroom, etc., etc., under circumstances that might appear to the casual observer uncommonly favorable for a slave. indeed, on his first interview with her, the committee man was so forcibly impressed with the belief, that her condition in virginia had been favorable, that he hesitated to ask her if she did not desire her liberty. a few moments' conversation with her, however, convinced him of her good sense and decision of purpose with regard to this matter. for, in answer to the first question he put to her, she answered, that, "as many creature comforts and religious privileges as she had been the recipient of under her 'kind mistress,' still she 'wanted to be free,' and 'was bound to leave,' that she had been 'treated very cruelly,' that her children had 'all been sold away' from her; that she had been threatened with sale herself 'on the first insult,'" etc. she was willing to take the entire responsibility of taking care of herself. on the suggestion of a friend, before leaving her mistress, she was disposed to sue for her freedom, but, upon a reconsideration of the matter, she chose rather to accept the hospitality of the underground rail road, and leave in a quiet way and go to canada, where she would be free indeed. accordingly she left her mistress and was soon a free woman. the following sad experience she related calmly, in the presence of several friends, an evening or two after she left her mistress: two sons and two daughters had been sold from her by her mistress, within the last three years, since the death of her master. three of her children had been sold to the richmond market and the other in nelson county. paulina was the first sold, two years ago last may. nat was the next; he was sold to abram warrick, of richmond. paulina was sold before it was named to her mother that it had entered her mistress's mind to dispose of her. nancy, from infancy, had been in poor health. nevertheless, she had been obliged to take her place in the field with the rest of the slaves, of more rugged constitution, until she had passed her twentieth year, and had become a mother. under these circumstances, the overseer and his wife complained to the mistress that her health was really too bad for a field hand and begged that she might be taken where her duties would be less oppressive. accordingly, she was withdrawn from the field, and was set to spinning and weaving. when too sick to work her mistress invariably took the ground, that "nothing was the matter," notwithstanding the fact, that her family physician, dr. ellsom, had pronounced her "quite weakly and sick." in an angry mood one day, mrs. cahell declared she would cure her; and again sent her to the field, "with orders to the overseer, to whip her every day, and make her work or kill her." again the overseer said it was "no use to try, for her health would not stand it," and she was forthwith returned. the mistress then concluded to sell her. one sabbath evening a nephew of hers, who resided in new orleans, happened to be on a visit to his aunt, when it occurred to her, that she had "better get nancy off if possible." accordingly, nancy was called in for examination. being dressed in her "sunday best" and "before a poor candle-light," she appeared to good advantage; and the nephew concluded to start with her on the following tuesday morning. however, the next morning, he happened to see her by the light of the sun, and in her working garments, which satisfied him that he had been grossly deceived; that she would barely live to reach new orleans; he positively refused to carry out the previous evening's contract, thus leaving her in the hands of her mistress, with the advice, that she should "doctor her up." the mistress, not disposed to be defeated, obviated the difficulty by selecting a little boy, made a lot of the two, and thus made it an inducement to a purchaser to buy the sick woman; the boy and the woman brought $ . in the sale of her children, cordelia was as little regarded as if she had been a cow. "i felt wretched," she said, with emphasis, "when i heard that nancy had been sold," which was not until after she had been removed. "but," she continued, "i was not at liberty to make my grief known to a single white soul. i wept and couldn't help it." but remembering that she was liable, "on the first insult," to be sold herself, she sought no sympathy from her mistress, whom she describes as "a woman who shows as little kindness towards her servants as any woman in the states of america. she neither likes to feed nor clothe well." with regard to flogging, however, in days past, she had been up to the mark. "a many a slap and blow" had cordelia received since she arrived at womanhood, directly from the madam's own hand. one day smarting under cruel treatment, she appealed to her mistress in the following strain: "i stood by your mother in all her sickness and nursed her till she died!" "i waited on your niece, night and day for months, till she died." "i waited upon your husband all my life--in his sickness especially, and shrouded him in death, etc., yet i am treated cruelly." it was of no avail. her mistress, at one time, was the owner of about five hundred slaves, but within the last few years she had greatly lessened the number by sales. she stood very high as a lady, and was a member of the episcopal church. to punish cordelia, on several occasions, she had been sent to one of the plantations to work as a field hand. fortunately, however, she found the overseers more compassionate than her mistress, though she received no particular favors from any of them. asking her to name the overseers, etc., she did so. the first was "marks, a thin-visaged, poor-looking man, great for swearing." the second was "gilbert brower, a very rash, portly man." the third was "buck young, a stout man, and very sharp." the fourth was "lynn powell, a tall man with red whiskers, very contrary and spiteful." there was also a fifth one, but his name was lost. thus cordelia's experience, though chiefly confined to the "great house," extended occasionally over the corn and tobacco fields, among the overseers and field hands generally. but under no circumstances could she find it in her heart to be thankful for the privileges of slavery. after leaving her mistress she learned, with no little degree of pleasure, that a perplexed state of things existed at the boarding-house; that her mistress was seriously puzzled to imagine how she would get her shoes and stockings on and off; how she would get her head combed, get dressed, be attended to in sickness, etc., as she (cordelia), had been compelled to discharge these offices all her life. most of the boarders, being slave-holders, naturally sympathized in her affliction; and some of them went so far as to offer a reward to some of the colored servants to gain a knowledge of her whereabouts. some charged the servants with having a hand in her leaving, but all agreed that "she had left a very kind and indulgent mistress," and had acted very foolishly in running out of slavery into freedom. a certain doctor of divinity, the pastor of an episcopal church in this city and a friend of the mistress, hearing of her distress, by request or voluntarily, undertook to find out cordelia's place of seclusion. hailing on the street a certain colored man with a familiar face, who he thought knew nearly all the colored people about town, he related to him the predicament of his lady friend from the south, remarked how kindly she had always treated her servants, signified that cordelia would rue the change, and be left to suffer among the "miserable blacks down town," that she would not be able to take care of herself; quoted scripture justifying slavery, and finally suggested that he (the colored man) would be doing a duty and a kindness to the fugitive by using his influence to "find her and prevail upon her to return." it so happened that the colored man thus addressed, was thomas dorsey, the well-known fashionable caterer of philadelphia, who had had the experience of quite a number of years as a slave at the south,--had himself once been pursued as a fugitive, and having, by his industry in the condition of freedom, acquired a handsome estate, he felt entirely qualified to reply to the reverend gentleman, which he did, though in not very respectful phrases, telling him that cordelia had as good a right to her liberty as he had, or her mistress either; that god had never intended one man to be the slave of another; that it was all false about the slaves being better off than the free colored people; that he would find as many "poor, miserably degraded," of his own color "down-town," as among the "degraded blacks"; and concluded by telling him that he would "rather give her a hundred dollars to help her off, than to do aught to make known her whereabouts, if he knew ever so much about her." what further steps were taken by the discomfited divine, the mistress, or her boarding-house sympathizers, the committee was not informed. but with regard to cordelia: she took her departure for canada, in the midst of the daniel webster (fugitive) trial, with the hope of being permitted to enjoy the remainder of her life in freedom and peace. being a member of the baptist church, and professing to be a christian, she was persuaded that, by industry and assistance of the lord, a way would be opened to the seeker of freedom even in a strange land and among strangers. this story appeared in part in the _n.y. evening post_, having been furnished by the writer, without his name to it. it is certainly none the less interesting now, as it may be read in the light of universal emancipation. * * * * * arrival of jackson, isaac and edmondson turner from petersburg. touching scene on meeting their old blind father at the u.g.r.r. depot. letters and warning to slaveholders. about the latter part of december, , isaac and edmondson, brothers, succeeded in making their escape together from petersburg, va. they barely escaped the auction block, as their mistress, mrs. ann colley, a widow, had just completed arrangements for their sale on the coming first day of january. in this kind of property, however, mrs. colley had not largely invested. in the days of her prosperity, while all was happy and contented, she could only boast of "four head:" these brothers, jackson, isaac and edmondson and one other. in may, , jackson had fled and was received by the vigilance committee, who placed him upon their books briefly in the following light: "runaway--_fifty dollars reward_,--ran away some time in may last, my _servant-man_, who calls himself _jackson turner_. he is about years of age, and has one of his front teeth out. he is quite black, with thick lips, a little bow-legged, and looks down when spoken to. i will give a reward of fifty dollars if taken out of the city, and twenty five dollars if taken within the city. i forewarn all masters of vessels from harboring or employing the said slave; all persons who disregard this notice will be punished as the law directs. ann colley. petersburg, june th, ." jackson is quite dark, medium size, and well informed for one in his condition. in slavery, he had been "pressed hard." his hire, "ten dollars per month" he was obliged to produce at the end of each month, no matter how much he had been called upon to expend for "doctor bills, &c." the woman he called mistress went by the name of ann colley, a widow, living near petersburg. "she was very quarrelsome," although a "member of the methodist church." jackson seeing that his mistress was yearly growing "harder and harder," concluded to try and better his condition "if possible." having a free wife in the north, who was in the habit of communicating with him, he was kept fully awake to the love of freedom. the underground rail road expense the committee gladly bore. no further record of jackson was made. jackson found his poor old father here, where he had resided for a number of years in a state of almost total blindness, and of course in much parental anxiety about his boys in chains. on the arrival of jackson, his heart overflowed with joy and gratitude not easily described, as the old man had hardly been able to muster faith enough to believe that he should ever look with his dim eyes upon one of his sons in freedom. after a day or two's tarrying, jackson took his departure for safer and more healthful localities,--her "british majesty's possessions." the old man remained only to feel more keenly than ever, the pang of having sons still toiling in hopeless servitude. in less than seven months after jackson had shaken off the yoke, to the unspeakable joy of the father, isaac and edmondson succeeded in following their brother's example, and were made happy partakers of the benefits and blessings of the vigilance committee of philadelphia. on first meeting his two boys, at the underground rail road depot, the old man took each one in his arms, and as looking through a glass darkly, straining every nerve of his almost lost sight, exclaiming, whilst hugging them closer and closer to his bosom for some minutes, in tears of joy and wonder, "my son isaac, is this you? my son isaac, is this you, &c.?" the scene was calculated to awaken the deepest emotion and to bring tears to eyes not accustomed to weep. little had the old man dreamed in his days of sadness, that he should share such a feast of joy over the deliverance of his sons. but it is in vain to attempt to picture the affecting scene at this reunion, for that would be impossible. of their slave life, the records contain but a short notice, simply as follows: "isaac is twenty-eight years of age, hearty-looking, well made, dark color and intelligent. he was owned by mrs. ann colley, a widow, residing near petersburg, va. isaac and edmondson were to have been sold, on new year's day; a few days hence. how sad her disappointment must have been on finding them gone, may be more easily imagined than described." edmondson is about twenty-five, a brother of isaac, and a smart, good-looking young man, was owned by mrs. colley also. "this is just the class of fugitives to make good subjects for john bull," thought the committee, feeling pretty well assured that they would make good reports after having enjoyed free air in canada for a short time. of course, the committee enjoined upon them very earnestly "not to forget their brethren left behind groaning in fetters; but to prove by their industry, uprightness, economy, sobriety and thrift, by the remembrance of their former days of oppression and their obligations to their god, that they were worthy of the country to which they were going, and so to help break the bands of the oppressors, and undo the heavy burdens of the oppressed." similar advice was impressed upon the minds of all travelers passing over this branch of the underground rail road. from hundreds thus admonished, letters came affording the most gratifying evidence that the counsel of the committee was not in vain. the appended letter from the youngest brother, written with his own hand, will indicate his feelings and views in canada: hamilton, canada west mar. , . mr. still, dear sir:--i have taken the oppertunity to enform you yur letter came to hand th i ware glad to hear from you and yer famly i hope this letter may fine you and the famly well i am well my self my brother join me in love to you and all the frend. i ware sorry to hear of the death of mrs freaman. we all must die sune or late this a date we all must pay we must perpar for the time she ware a nise lady dear sir the all is well and san thar love to you emerline have ben sick but is better at this time. i saw the hills the war well and san thar love to you. i war sory to hear that my brother war sol i am glad that i did come away when i did god works all the things for the best he is young he may get a long in the wole may god bless hem ef you have any news from petersburg va plas rite me a word when you anser this letter and ef any person came form home letter me know. please sen me one of your paper that had the under grands r wrod give my love to mr careter and his family i am seving with a barber at this time he have promust to give me the trad ef i can lane it he is much of a gentman. mr still sir i have writing a letter to mr brown of petersburg va pleas reed it and ef you think it right plas sen it by the mail or by hand you wall see how i have writen it the will know how sent it by the way this writing ef the ancer it you can sen it to me i have tol them direc to yor care for ed. t. smith philadelphia i hope it may be right i promorst to rite to hear please rite to me sune and let me know ef you do sen it on write wit you did with that ma a bught the cappet bage do not fergit to rite tal john he mite rite to me. i am doing as well is i can at this time but i get no wagges but my bord but is satfid at that thes hard time and glad that i am hear and in good helth. northing more at this time yor truly edmund turner. the same writer sent to the corresponding secretary the following "warning to slave-holders." at the time these documents were received, slaveholders were never more defiant. the right to trample on the weak in oppression was indisputable. "cinnamon and odors, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fine flour and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men," slave-holders believed doubtless were theirs by divine right. little dreaming that in less than three short years--"therefore shall her plagues come in one day, death, and mourning, and famine." in view of the marvelous changes which have been wrought by the hand of the almighty, this warning to slave-holders from one who felt the sting of slavery, as evincing a particular phase of simple faith and christian charity is entitled to a place in these records. a warning to slave-holders. well may the southern slaveholder say, that holding their fellow men in bondage is no sin, because it is their delight as the egyptians, so do they; but nevertheless god in his own good time will bring them out by a mighty hand, as it is recorded in the sacred oracles of truth, that ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands to god, speaking in the positive (shall). and my prayer is to you, oh, slaveholder, in the name of that god who in the beginning said, let there be light, and there was light. let my people go that they may serve me; thereby good may come unto thee and to thy children's children. slave-holder have you seriously thought upon the condition yourselves, family and slaves; have you read where christ has enjoined upon all his creatures to read his word, thereby that they may have no excuse when coming before his judgment seat? but you say he shall not read his word, consequently his sin will be upon your head. i think every man has as much as he can do to answer for his own sins. and now my dear-slave-holder, who with you are bound and fast hastening to judgment? as one that loves your soul repent ye, therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out when the time of refreshing shall come from the presence of the lord. in the language of the poet: stop, poor sinner, stop and think, before you further go; think upon the brink of death of everlasting woe. say, have you an arm like god, that you his will oppose? fear you not that iron rod with which he breaks his foes? is the prayer of one that loves your souls. edmund turner. n.b. the signature bears the name of one who knows and felt the sting of slavery; but now, thanks be to god, i am now where the poisonous breath taints not our air, but every one is sitting under his own vine and fig tree, where none dare to make him ashamed or afraid. edmund turner, formerly of petersburg, va. hamilton, june d, , c.w. to mr. wm. still, dear sir:--a favorable opportunity affords the pleasure of acknowledging the receipt of letters and papers; certainly in this region they were highly appreciated, and i hope the time may come that your kindness will be reciprocated we are al well at present, but times continue dull. i also deeply regret the excitement recently on the account of those slaves, you will favor me by keeping me posted upon the subject. those words written to slaveholder is the thought of one who had sufferd, and now i thought it a duty incumbent upon me to cry aloud and spare not, &c., by sending these few lines where the slaveholder may hear. you will still further oblige your humble servant also, to correct any inaccuracy. my respects to you and your family and all inquiring friends. your friend and well wisher, edmund turner. the then impending judgments seen by an eye of faith as set forth in this "warning," soon fell with crushing weight upon the oppressor, and slavery died. but the old blind father of jackson, isaac and edmondson, still lives and may be seen daily on the streets of philadelphia; and though "halt, and lame, and blind, and poor," doubtless resulting from his early oppression, he can thank god and rejoice that he has lived to see slavery abolished. robert brown, alias thomas jones. crossing the river on horseback in the night. in very desperate straits many new inventions were sought after by deep-thinking and resolute slaves, determined to be free at any cost. but it must here be admitted, that, in looking carefully over the more perilous methods resorted to, robert brown, alias thomas jones, stands second to none, with regard to deeds of bold daring. this hero escaped from martinsburg, va., in . he was a man of medium size, mulatto, about thirty-eight years of age, could read and write, and was naturally sharp-witted. he had formerly been owned by col. john f. franie, whom robert charged with various offences of a serious domestic character. furthermore, he also alleged, that his "mistress was cruel to all the slaves," declaring that "they (the slaves), could not live with her," that "she had to hire servants," etc. in order to effect his escape, robert was obliged to swim the potomac river on horseback, on christmas night, while the cold, wind, storm, and darkness were indescribably dismal. this daring bondman, rather than submit to his oppressor any longer, perilled his life as above stated. where he crossed the river was about a half a mile wide. where could be found in history a more noble and daring struggle for freedom? the wife of his bosom and his four children, only five days before he fled, were sold to a trader in richmond, va., for no other offence than simply "because she had resisted" the lustful designs of her master, being "true to her own companion." after this poor slave mother and her children were cast into prison for sale, the husband and some of his friends tried hard to find a purchaser in the neighborhood; but the malicious and brutal master refused to sell her--wishing to gratify his malice to the utmost, and to punish his victims all that lay in his power, he sent them to the place above named. in this trying hour, the severed and bleeding heart of the husband resolved to escape at all hazards, taking with him a daguerreotype likeness of his wife which he happened to have on hand, and a lock of hair from her head, and from each of the children, as mementoes of his unbounded (though sundered) affection for them. after crossing the river, his wet clothing freezing to him, he rode all night, a distance of about forty miles. in the morning he left his faithful horse tied to a fence, quite broken down. he then commenced his dreary journey on foot--cold and hungry--in a strange place, where it was quite unsafe to make known his condition and wants. thus for a day or two, without food or shelter, he traveled until his feet were literally worn out, and in this condition he arrived at harrisburg, where he found friends. passing over many of the interesting incidents on the road, suffice it to say, he arrived safely in this city, on new year's night, , about two hours before day break (the telegraph having announced his coming from harrisburg), having been a week on the way. the night he arrived was very cold; besides, the underground train, that morning, was about three hours behind time; in waiting for it, entirely out in the cold, a member of the vigilance committee thought he was frosted. but when he came to listen to the story of the fugitive's sufferings, his mind changed. scarcely had robert entered the house of one of the committee, where he was kindly received, when he took from his pocket his wife's likeness, speaking very touchingly while gazing upon it and showing it. subsequently, in speaking of his family, he showed the locks of hair referred to, which he had carefully rolled up in paper separately. unrolling them, he said, "this is my wife's;" "this is from my oldest daughter, eleven years old;" "and this is from my next oldest;" "and this from the next," "and this from my infant, only eight weeks old." these mementoes he cherished with the utmost care as the last remains of his affectionate family. at the sight of these locks of hair so tenderly preserved, the member of the committee could fully appreciate the resolution of the fugitive in plunging into the potomac, on the back of a dumb beast, in order to flee from a place and people who had made such barbarous havoc in his household. his wife, as represented by the likeness, was of fair complexion, prepossessing, and good looking--perhaps not over thirty-three years of age. * * * * * anthony loney, alias william armstead. anthony had been serving under the yoke of warring talvert, of richmond, va. anthony was of a rich black complexion, medium size, about twenty-five years of age. he was intelligent, and a member of the baptist church. his master was a member of the presbyterian church and held family prayers with the servants. but anthony believed seriously, that his master was no more than a "whitened sepulchre," one who was fond of saying, "lord, lord," but did not do what the lord bade him, consequently anthony felt, that before the great judge his "master's many prayers" would not benefit him, as long as he continued to hold his fellow-men in bondage. he left a father, samuel loney, and mother, rebecca also, one sister and four brothers. his old father had bought himself and was free; likewise his mother, being very old, had been allowed to go free. anthony escaped in may, . * * * * * cornelius scott. cornelius took passage _per_ the underground rail road, in march, , from the neighborhood of salvington, stafford county, va. he stated that he had been claimed by henry l. brooke, whom he declared to be a "hard drinker and a hard swearer." cornelius had been very much bleached by the patriarchal institution, and he was shrewd enough to take advantage of this circumstance. in regions of country where men were less critical and less experienced than southerners, as to how the bleaching process was brought about, cornelius scott would have had no difficulty whatever in passing for a white man of the most improved anglo-saxon type. although a young man only twenty-three years of age, and quite stout, his fair complexion was decidedly against him. he concluded, that for this very reason, he would not have been valued at more than five hundred dollars in the market. he left his mother (ann stubbs, and half brother, isaiah), and traveled as a white man. * * * * * samuel williams, alias john williams. this candidate for canada had the good fortune to escape the clutches of his mistress, mrs. elvina duncans, widow of the late rev. james duncans, who lived near cumberland, md. he had very serious complaints to allege against his mistress, "who was a member of the presbyterian church." to use his own language, "the servants in the house were treated worse than dogs." john was thirty-two years of age, dark chestnut color, well made, prepossessing in appearance, and he "fled to keep from being sold." with the underground rail road he was "highly delighted." nor was he less pleased with the thought, that he had caused his mistress, who was "one of the worst women who ever lived," to lose twelve hundred dollars by him. he escaped in march, . he did not admit that he loved slavery any the better for the reason that his master was a preacher, or that his mistress was the wife of a preacher. although a common farm hand, samuel had common sense, and for a long time previous had been watching closely the conduct of his mistress, and at the same time had been laying his plans for escaping on the underground rail road the first chance. $ reward!--my negro man richard has been missing since sunday night, march d. i will give $ to any one who will secure him or deliver him to me. richard is thirty years old, but looks older; very short legs, dark, but rather bright color, broad cheek bones, a respectful and serious manner, generally looks away when spoken to, small moustache and beard (but he may have them off). he is a remarkably intelligent man, and can turn his hand to anything. he took with him a bag made of brussels carpet, with my name written in large, rough letters on the bottom, and a good stock of coarse and fine clothes, among them a navy cap and a low-crowned hat. he has been seen about new kent c.h., and on the pamunky river, and is no doubt trying to get off in some vessel bound north. [illustration: ] april th, . j.w. randolph, richmond, va. even at this late date, it may perhaps afford mr. r. a degree of satisfaction to know what became of richard; but if this should not be the case, richard's children, or mother, or father, if they are living, may possibly see these pages, and thereby be made glad by learning of richard's wisdom as a traveler, in the terrible days of slave-hunting. consequently here is what was recorded of him, april d, , at the underground rail road station, just before a free ticket was tendered him for canada. "richard is thirty-three years of age, small of stature, dark color, smart and resolute. he was owned by captain tucker, of the united states navy, from whom he fled." he was "tired of serving, and wanted to marry," was the cause of his escape. he had no complaint of bad treatment to make against his owner; indeed he said, that he had been "used well all his life." nevertheless, richard felt that this underground rail road was the "greatest road he ever saw." when the war broke out, richard girded on his knapsack and went to help uncle sam humble richmond and break the yoke. * * * * * barnaby grigby, alias john boyer, and mary elizabeth, his wife; frank wanzer, alias robert scott; emily foster, alias ann wood. (two others who started with them were captured.) all these persons journeyed together from loudon co., va. on horseback and in a carriage for more than one hundred miles. availing themselves of a holiday and their master's horses and carriage, they as deliberately started for canada, as though they had never been taught that it was their duty, as servants, to "obey their masters." in this particular showing a most utter disregard of the interest of their "kind-hearted and indulgent owners." they left home on monday, christmas eve, , under the leadership of frank wanzer, and arrived in columbia the following wednesday at one o'clock. as willfully as they had thus made their way along, they had not found it smooth sailing by any means. the biting frost and snow rendered their travel anything but agreeable. nor did they escape the gnawings of hunger, traveling day and night. and whilst these "articles" were in the very act of running away with themselves and their kind master's best horses and carriage--when about one hundred miles from home, in the neighborhood of cheat river, maryland, they were attacked by "six white men, and a boy," who, doubtless, supposing that their intentions were of a "wicked and unlawful character" felt it to be their duty in kindness to their masters, if not to the travelers to demand of them an account of themselves. in other words, the assailants positively commanded the fugitives to "show what right" they possessed, to be found in a condition apparently so unwarranted. the _spokesman_ amongst the fugitives, affecting no ordinary amount of dignity, told their assailants plainly, that "no gentleman would interfere with persons riding along civilly"--not allowing it to be supposed that they were slaves, of course. these "gentlemen," however, were not willing to accept this account of the travelers, as their very decided steps indicated. having the law on their side, they were for compelling the fugitives to surrender without further parley. at this juncture, the fugitives verily believing that the time had arrived for the practical use of their pistols and dirks, pulled them out of their concealment--the young women as well as the young men--and declared they would not be "taken!" one of the white men raised his gun, pointing the muzzle directly towards one of the young women, with the threat that he would "shoot," etc. "shoot! shoot!! shoot!!!" she exclaimed, with a double barrelled pistol in one hand and a long dirk knife in the other, utterly unterrified and fully ready for a death struggle. the male _leader_ of the fugitives by this time had "pulled back the hammers" of his "pistols," and was about to fire! their adversaries seeing the weapons, and the unflinching determination on the part of the _runaways_ to stand their ground, "spill blood, kill, or die," rather than be "taken," very prudently "sidled over to the other side of the road," leaving at least four of the victors to travel on their way. at this moment the four in the carriage lost sight of the two on horseback. soon after the separation they heard firing, but what the result was, they knew not. they were fearful, however, that their companions had been captured. the following paragraph, which was shortly afterwards taken from a southern paper, leaves no room to doubt, as to the fate of the two. six fugitive slaves from virginia were arrested at the maryland line, near hood's mill, on christmas day, but, after a severe fight, four of them escaped and have not since been heard of. they came from loudoun and fauquier counties. [illustration: ] though the four who were successful, saw no "severe fight," it is not unreasonable to suppose, that there was a fight, nevertheless; but not till after the number of the fugitives had been reduced to two, instead of six. as chivalrous as slave-holders and slave-catchers were, they knew the value of their precious lives and the fearful risk of attempting a capture, when the numbers were equal. the party in the carriage, after the conflict, went on their way rejoicing. the young men, one cold night, when they were compelled to take rest in the woods and snow, in vain strove to keep the feet of their female companions from freezing by lying on them; but the frost was merciless and bit them severely, as their feet very plainly showed. the following disjointed report was cut from the _frederick (md.) examiner_, soon after the occurrence took place: "six slaves, four men and two women, fugitives from virginia, having with them two spring wagons and four horses, came to hood's mill, on the baltimore and ohio railroad, near the dividing line between frederick and carroll counties, on christmas day. after feeding their animals, one of them told a mr. dixon whence they came; believing them to be fugitives, he spread the alarm, and some eight or ten persons gathered round to arrest them; but the negroes drawing revolvers and bowie-knives, kept their assailants at bay, until five of the party succeeded in escaping in one of the wagons, and as the last one jumped on a horse to flee, he was fired at, the load taking effect in the small of the back. the prisoner says he belongs to charles w. simpson, esq., of fauquier county, va., and ran away with the others on the preceding evening." this report from the _examiner_, while it is not wholly correct, evidently relates to the fugitives above described. why the reporter made such glaring mistakes, may be accounted for on the ground that the bold stand made by the fugitives was so bewildering and alarming, that the "assailants" were not in a proper condition to make correct statements. nevertheless the _examiner's_ report was preserved with other records, and is here given for what it is worth. these victors were individually noted on the record thus: barnaby was owned by william rogers, a farmer, who was considered a "moderate slaveholder," although of late "addicted to intemperance." he was the owner of about one "dozen head of slaves," and had besides a wife and two children. barnaby's chances for making extra "change" for himself were never favorable; sometimes of "nights" he would manage to earn a "trifle." he was prompted to escape because he "wanted to live by the sweat of his own brow," believing that all men ought so to live. this was the only reason he gave for fleeing. mary elizabeth had been owned by townsend mcvee (likewise a farmer), and in mary's judgment, he was "severe," but she added, "his wife made him so." mcvee owned about twenty-five slaves; "he hardly allowed them to talk--would not allow them to raise chickens," and "only allowed mary three dresses a year;" the rest she had to get as she could. sometimes mcvee would sell slaves--last year he sold two. mary said that she could not say anything good of her mistress. on the contrary, she declared that her mistress "knew no mercy nor showed any favor." it was on account of this "domineering spirit," that mary was induced to escape. frank was owned by luther sullivan, "the meanest man in virginia," he said; he treated his people just as bad as he could in every respect. "sullivan," added frank, "would 'lowance the slaves and stint them to save food and get rich," and "would sell and whip," etc. to frank's knowledge, he had sold some twenty-five head. "he sold my mother and her two children to georgia some four years previous." but the motive which hurried frank to make his flight was his laboring under the apprehension that his master had some "pretty heavy creditors who might come on him at any time." frank, therefore, wanted to be from home in canada when these gentry should make their visit. my poor mother has been often flogged by master, said frank. as to his mistress, he said she was "tolerably good." ann wood was owned by mcvee also, and was own sister to elizabeth. ann very fully sustained her sister elizabeth's statement respecting the character of her master. the above-mentioned four, were all young and likely. barnaby was twenty-six years of age, mulatto, medium size, and intelligent--his wife was about twenty-four years of age, quite dark, good-looking, and of pleasant appearance. frank was twenty-five years of age, mulatto, and very smart; ann was twenty-two, good-looking, and smart. after their pressing wants had been met by the vigilance committee, and after partial recuperation from their hard travel, etc., they were forwarded on to the vigilance committee in new york. in syracuse, frank (the leader), who was engaged to emily, concluded that the knot might as well be tied on the u.g.r.r., although penniless, as to delay the matter a single day longer. doubtless, the bravery, struggles, and trials of emily throughout the journey, had, in his estimation, added not a little to her charms. thus after consulting with her on the matter, her approval was soon obtained, she being too prudent and wise to refuse the hand of one who had proved himself so true a friend to freedom, as well as so devoted to her. the twain were accordingly made one at the u.g.r.r. station, in syracuse, by superintendent--rev. j.w. loguen. after this joyful event, they proceeded to toronto, and were there gladly received by the ladies' society for aiding colored refugees. the following letter from mrs. agnes willis, wife of the distinguished rev. dr. willis, brought the gratifying intelligence that these brave young adventurers, fell into the hands of distinguished characters and warm friends of freedom: toronto, th january, monday evening, . mr. still, dear sir:--i have very great pleasure in making you aware that the following respectable persons have arrived here in safety without being annoyed in any way after you saw them. the women, two of them, viz: mrs. greegsby and mrs. graham, have been rather ailing, but we hope they will very soon be well. they have been attended to by the ladies' society, and are most grateful for any attention they have received. the solitary person, mrs. graves, has also been attended to; also her box will be looked after. she is pretty well, but rather dull; however, she will get friends and feel more at home by and bye. mrs. wanzer is quite well; and also young william henry sanderson. they are all of them in pretty good spirits, and i have no doubt they will succeed in whatever business they take up. in the mean time the men are chopping wood, and the ladies are getting plenty sewing. we are always glad to see our colored refugees safe here. i remain, dear sir, yours respectfully, agnes willis, treasurer to the ladies' society to aid colored refugees. for a time frank enjoyed his newly won freedom and happy bride with bright prospects all around; but the thought of having left sisters and other relatives in bondage was a source of sadness in the midst of his joy. he was not long, however, in making up his mind that he would deliver them or "die in the attempt." deliberately forming his plans to go south, he resolved to take upon himself the entire responsibility of all the risks to be encountered. not a word did he reveal to a living soul of what he was about to undertake. with "twenty-two dollars" in cash and "three pistols" in his pockets, he started in the lightning train from toronto for virginia. on reaching columbia in this state, he deemed it not safe to go any further by public conveyance, consequently he commenced his long journey on foot, and as he neared the slave territory he traveled by night altogether. for two weeks, night and day, he avoided trusting himself in any house, consequently was compelled to lodge in the woods. nevertheless, during that space of time he succeeded in delivering one of his sisters and her husband, and another friend in the bargain. you can scarcely imagine the committee's amazement on his return, as they looked upon him and listened to his "noble deeds of daring" and his triumph. a more brave and self-possessed man they had never seen. he knew what slavery was and the dangers surrounding him on his mission, but possessing true courage unlike most men, he pictured no alarming difficulties in a distance of nearly one thousand miles by the mail route, through the enemy's country, where he might have in truth said, "i could not pass without running the gauntlet of mobs and assassins, prisons and penitentiaries, bailiffs and constables, &c." if this hero had dwelt upon and magnified the obstacles in his way he would most assuredly have kept off the enemy's country, and his sister and friends would have remained in chains. the following were the persons delivered by frank wanzer. they were his trophies, and this noble act of frank's should ever be held as a memorial and honor. the committee's brief record made on their arrival runs thus: "august , . frank wanzer, robert stewart, alias gasberry robison, vincent smith, alias john jackson, betsey smith, wife of vincent smith, alias fanny jackson. they all came from alder, loudon county, virginia." robert is about thirty years of age, medium size, dark chestnut color, intelligent and resolute. he was held by the widow hutchinson, who was also the owner of about one hundred others. robert regarded her as a "very hard mistress" until the death of her husband, which took place the fall previous to his escape. that sad affliction, he thought, was the cause of a considerable change in her treatment of her slaves. but yet "nothing was said about freedom," on her part. this reticence robert understood to mean, that she was still unconverted on this great cardinal principle at least. as he could see no prospect of freedom through her agency, when frank approached him with a good report from canada and his friends there, he could scarcely wait to listen to the glorious news; he was so willing and anxious to get out of slavery. his dear old mother, sarah davis, and four brothers and two sisters, william, thomas, frederick and samuel, violet and ellen, were all owned by mrs. hutchinson. dear as they were to him, he saw no way to take them with him, nor was he prepared to remain a day longer under the yoke; so he decided to accompany frank, let the cost be what it might. vincent is about twenty-three years of age, very "likely-looking," dark color, and more than ordinarily intelligent for one having only the common chances of slaves. he was owned by the estate of nathan skinner, who was "looked upon," by those who knew him, "as a good slave-holder." in slave property, however, he was only interested to the number of twelve head. skinner "neither sold nor emancipated." a year and a half before vincent escaped, his master was called to give an account of his stewardship, and there in the spirit land vincent was willing to let him remain, without much more to add about him. vincent left his mother, judah smith, and brothers and sisters, edwin, angeline, sina ann, adaline susan, george, john and lewis, all belonging to the estate of skinner. vincent was fortunate enough to bring his wife along with him. she was about twenty-seven years of age, of a brown color, and smart, and was owned by the daughter of the widow hutchinson. this mistress was said to be a "clever woman." * * * * * william jordon, alias william price under governor badger, of north carolina, william had experienced slavery in its most hateful form. true, he had only been twelve months under the yoke of this high functionary. but william's experience in this short space of time, was of a nature very painful. previous to coming into the governor's hands, william was held as the property of mrs. mary jordon, who owned large numbers of slaves. whether the governor was moved by this consideration, or by the fascinating charms of mrs. jordon, or both, william was not able to decide. but the governor offered her his hand, and they became united in wedlock. by this circumstance, william was brought into his unhappy relations with the chief magistrate of the state of north carolina. this was the third time the governor had been married. thus it may be seen, that the governor was a firm believer in wives as well as slaves. commonly he was regarded as a man of wealth. william being an intelligent piece of property, his knowledge of the governor's rules and customs was quite complete, as he readily answered such questions as were propounded to him. in this way a great amount of interesting information was learned from william respecting the governor, slaves, on the plantation, in the swamps, etc. the governor owned large plantations, and was interested in raising cotton, corn, and peas, and was also a practical planter. he was willing to trust neither overseers nor slaves any further than he could help. the governor and his wife were both equally severe towards them; would stint them shamefully in clothing and food, though they did not get flogged quite as often as some others on neighboring plantations. frequently, the governor would be out on the plantation from early in the morning till noon, inspecting the operations of the overseers and slaves. in order to serve the governor, william had been separated from his wife by sale, which was the cause of his escape. he parted not with his companion willingly. at the time, however, he was promised that he should have some favors shown him;--could make over-work, and earn a little money, and once or twice in the year, have the opportunity of making visits to her. two hundred miles was the distance between them. he had not been long on the governor's plantation before his honor gave him distinctly to understand that the idea of his going two hundred miles to see his wife was all nonsense, and entirely out of the question. "if i said so, i did not mean it," said his honor, when the slave, on a certain occasion, alluded to the conditions on which he consented to leave home, etc. against this cruel decision of the governor, william's heart revolted, for he was warmly attached to his wife, and so he made up his mind, if he could not see her "once or twice a year even," as he had been promised, he had rather "die," or live in a "cave in the wood," than to remain all his life under the governor's yoke. obeying the dictates of his feelings, he went to the woods. for ten months before he was successful in finding the underground road, this brave-hearted young fugitive abode in the swamps--three months in a cave--surrounded with bears, wild cats, rattle-snakes and the like. while in the swamps and cave, he was not troubled, however, about ferocious animals and venomous reptiles. he feared only man! from his own story there was no escaping the conclusion, that if the choice had been left to him, he would have preferred at any time to have encountered at the mouth of his cave a ferocious bear than his master, the governor of north carolina. how he managed to subsist, and ultimately effected his escape, was listened to with the deepest interest, though the recital of these incidents must here be very brief. after night he would come out of his cave, and, in some instances, would succeed in making his way to a plantation, and if he could get nothing else, he would help himself to a "pig," or anything else he could conveniently convert into food. also, as opportunity would offer, a friend of his would favor him with some meal, etc. with this mode of living he labored to content himself until he could do better. during these ten months he suffered indescribable hardships, but he felt that his condition in the cave was far preferable to that on the plantation, under the control of his excellency, the governor. all this time, however, william had a true friend, with whom he could communicate; one who was wide awake, and was on the alert to find a reliable captain from the north, who would consent to take this "property," or "freight," for a consideration. he heard at last of a certain captain, who was then doing quite a successful business in an underground way. this good news was conveyed to william, and afforded him a ray of hope in the wilderness. as providence would have it, his hope did not meet with disappointment; nor did his ten months' trial, warring against the barbarism of slavery, seem too great to endure for freedom. he was about to leave his cave and his animal and reptile neighbors,--his heart swelling with gladness,--but the thought of soon being beyond the reach of his mistress and master thrilled him with inexpressible delight. he was brought away by captain f., and turned over to the committee, who were made to rejoice with him over the signal victory he had gained in his martyr-like endeavors to throw off the yoke, and of course they took much pleasure in aiding him. william was of a dark color, stout made physically, and well knew the value of freedom, and how to hate and combat slavery. it will be seen by the appended letter of thomas garrett, that william had the good luck to fall into the hands of this tried friend, by whom he was aided to philadelphia: wilmington, th mo., th, . dear friend, william still:--the bearer of this is one of the twenty-one that i thought had all gone north; he left home on christmas day, one year since, wandered about the forests of north carolina for about ten months, and then came here with those forwarded to new bedford, where he is anxious to go. i have furnished him with a pretty good pair of boots, and gave him money to pay his passage to philadelphia. he has been at work in the country near here for some three weeks, till taken sick; he is, by no means, well, but thinks he had better try to get farther north, which i hope his friends in philadelphia will aid him to do. i handed this morning captain lambson's[a] wife twenty dollars to help fee a lawyer to defend him. she leaves this morning, with her child, for norfolk, to be at the trial before the commissioner on the th instant. passmore williamson agreed to raise fifty dollars for him. as none came to hand, and a good chance to send it by his wife, i thought best to advance that much. [footnote a: captain lambson had been suspected of having aided in the escape of slaves from the neighborhood of norfolk, and was in prison awaiting his trial.] thy friend, thos. garrett. joseph grant and john speaks. two passengers on the underground rail road, via liverpool. it is to be regretted that, owing to circumstances, the account of these persons has not been fully preserved. could justice be done them, probably their narratives would not be surpassed in interest by any other in the history of fugitives. in , when these remarkable travelers came under the notice of the vigilance committee, as slavery seemed likely to last for generations, and there was but little expectation that these records would ever have the historical value which they now possess, care was not always taken to prepare and preserve them. besides, the cases coming under the notice of the committee, were so numerous and so interesting, that it seemed almost impossible to do them anything like justice. in many instances the rapt attention paid by friends, when listening to the sad recitals of such passengers, would unavoidably consume so much time that but little opportunity was afforded to make any record of them. particularly was this the case with regard to the above-mentioned individuals. the story of each was so long and sad, that a member of the committee in attempting to write it out, found that the two narratives would take volumes. that all traces, of these heroes might not be lost, a mere fragment is all that was preserved. the original names of these adventurers, were joseph grant and john speaks. between two and three years before escaping, they were sold from maryland to john b. campbell a negro trader, living in baltimore, and thence to campbell's brother, another trader in new orleans, and subsequently to daniel mcbeans and mr. henry, of harrison county, mississippi. though both had to pass through nearly the same trial, and belonged to the same masters, this recital must be confined chiefly to the incidents in the career of joseph. he was about twenty-seven years of age, well made, quite black, intelligent and self-possessed in his manner. he was owned in maryland by mrs. mary gibson, who resided at st. michael's on the eastern shore. she was a _nice woman_ he said, but her property was under mortgage and had to be sold, and he was in danger of sharing the same fate. joseph was a married man, and spoke tenderly of his wife. she "promised" him when he was sold that she would "never marry," and earnestly entreated him, if he "ever met with the luck, to come and see her." she was unaware perhaps at that time of the great distance that was to divide them; his feelings on being thus sundered need not be stated. however, he had scarcely been in mississippi three weeks, ere his desire to return to his wife, and the place of his nativity constrained him to attempt to return; accordingly he set off, crossing a lake eighty miles wide in a small boat, he reached kent island. there he was captured by the watchman on the island, who with _pistols, dirk and cutlass_ in hand, threatened if he resisted that death would be his instant doom. of course he was returned to his master. he remained there a few months, but could content himself no longer to endure the ills of his condition. so he again started for home, walked to mobile, and thence he succeeded in stowing himself away in a steamboat and was thus conveyed to montgomery, a distance of five hundred and fifty miles through solid slave territory. again he was captured and returned to his owners; one of whom always went for immediate punishment, the other being mild thought persuasion the better plan in such cases. on the whole, joseph thus far had been pretty fortunate, considering the magnitude of his offence. a third time he summoned courage and steered his course homewards towards maryland, but as in the preceding attempts, he was again unsuccessful. in this instance mr. henry, the harsh owner, was exasperated, and the mild one's patience so exhausted that they concluded that nothing short of stern measures would cause joe to reform. said mr. henry; "_i had rather lose my right arm than for him to get off without being punished, after having put us to so much trouble_." _joseph_ will now speak for himself. "he (master) sent the overseer to tie me. i told him i would not be tied. i ran and stayed away four days, which made mr. henry very anxious. mr. beans told the servants if they saw me, to tell me to come back and i should not be hurt. thinking that mr. beans had always stood to his word, i was over persuaded and came back. he sent for me in his parlor, talked the matter over, sent me to the steamboat (perhaps the one he tried to escape on.) after getting cleverly on board the captain told me, i am sorry to tell you, you have to be tied. i was tied and mr. henry was sent for. he came; 'well, i have got you at last, beg my pardon and promise you will never run away again and i will not be so hard on you.' i could not do it. he then gave me three hundred lashes well laid on. i was stripped entirely naked, and my flesh was as raw as a piece of beef. he made john (the companion who escaped with him) hold one of my feet which i broke loose while being whipped, and when done made him bathe me in salt and water. "then i resolved to 'go or die' in the attempt. before starting, one week, i could not work. on getting better we went to ship island; the sailors, who were englishmen, were very sorry to hear of the treatment we had received, and counselled us how we might get free." the counsel was heeded, and in due time they found themselves in liverpool. there their stay was brief. utterly destitute of money, education, and in a strange land, they very naturally turned their eyes again in the direction of their native land. accordingly their host, the keeper of a sailor's boarding-house, shipped them to philadelphia. but to go back, joseph saw many things in new orleans and mississippi of a nature too horrible to relate, among which were the following: i have seen mr. beans whip one of his slaves to death, at the tree to which he was tied. mr. henry would make them lie down across a log, stripped naked, and with every stroke would lay the flesh open. being used to it, some would lie on the log without being tied. in new orleans, i have seen women stretched out just as naked as my hand, on boxes, and given one hundred and fifty lashes, four men holding them. i have helped hold them myself: when released they could hardly sit or walk. this whipping was at the "_fancy house_." the "chain-gangs" he also saw in constant operation. four and five slaves chained together and at work on the streets, cleaning, &c., was a common sight. he could hardly tell sunday from monday in new orleans, the slaves were kept so constantly going. * * * * * william n. taylor. one hundred dollars reward.--ran away from richmond city on tuesday, the d of june, a negro man named wm. n. taylor, belonging to mrs. margaret tyler of hanover county. [illustration: ] said negro was hired to fitzhugh mayo, tobacconist; is quite black, of genteel and easy manners, about five feet ten or eleven inches high, has one front tooth broken, and is about years old. he is supposed either to have made his escape north, or attempted to do so. the above reward will be paid for his delivery to messrs. hill and rawlings, in richmond, or secured in jail, so that i get him again. jas. g. tyler, trustee for margaret tyler. june th &c t-- _richmond enquirer, june , _. william unquestionably possessed a fair share of common sense, and just enough distaste to slavery to arouse him most resolutely to seek his freedom. the advertisement of james g. tyler was not altogether accurate with regard to his description of william; but notwithstanding, in handing william down to posterity, the description of tyler has been adopted instead of the one engrossed in the records by the committee. but as a simple matter of fair play, it seems fitting, that the description given by william, while on the underground rail road, of his master, &c., should come in just here. william acknowledged that he was the property of walter h. tyler, brother of ex-president tyler, who was described as follows: "he (master) was about sixty-five years of age; was a barbarous man, very intemperate, horse racer, chicken-cock fighter and gambler. he had owned as high as forty head of slaves, but he had gambled them all away. he was a doctor, circulated high amongst southerners, though he never lived agreeably with his wife, would curse her and call her all kinds of names that he should not call a lady. from a boy of nine up to the time i was fifteen or sixteen, i don't reckon he whipped me less than a hundred times. he shot at me once with a double-barrelled gun. "what made me leave was because i worked for him all my life-time and he never gave me but two dollars and fifteen cents in all his life. i was hired out this year for two hundred dollars, but when i would go to him to make complaints of hard treatment from the man i was hired to, he would say: "g----d d----n it, don't come to me, all i want is my money." "mr. tyler was a thin raw-boned man, with a long nose, the picture of the president. his wife was a tolerably well-disposed woman in some instances--she was a tall, thin-visaged woman, and stood high in the community. through her i fell into the hands of tyler. at present she owns about fifty slaves. his own slaves, spoken of as having been gambled away, came by his father--he has been married the second time." twice william had been sold and bought in, on account of his master's creditors, and for many months had been expecting to be sold again, to meet pressing claims in the hands of the sheriff against tyler. he, by the way, "now lives in hanover county, about eighteen miles from richmond, and for fear of the sheriff, makes himself very scarce in that city." at fourteen years of age, william was sold for eight hundred dollars; he would have brought in , probably twelve hundred and fifty dollars; he was a member of the baptist church in good and regular standing. * * * * * louisa brown. louisa is a good-looking, well-grown, intelligent mulatto girl of sixteen years of age, and was owned by a widow woman of baltimore, md. to keep from being sold, she was prompted to try her fortune on the u.g.r.r., for freedom in canada, under the protection of the british lion. * * * * * jacob waters and alfred goulden. jacob is twenty-one years of age, dark chestnut color, medium size, and of prepossessing manners. fled from near frederick, md., from the clutches of a farmer by the name of william dorsey, who was described as a severe master, and had sold two of jacob's sisters, south, only three years prior to his escape. jacob left three brothers in chains. alfred is twenty-three years of age, in stature quite small, full black, and bears the marks of ill usage. though a member of the methodist church, his master, fletcher jackson, "thought nothing of taking the shovel to alfred's head; or of knocking him, and stamping his head with the heels of his boots." repeatedly, of late, he had been shockingly beaten. to escape those terrible visitations, therefore, he made up his mind to seek a refuge in canada. * * * * * arrival from baltimore. jefferson pipkins, alias david jones, louisa pipkins, elizabeth brit, harriet brown, alias jane wooton, gracy murry, alias sophia sims, edward williams, alias henry johnson, chas. lee, alias thomas bushier. six very clever-looking passengers, all in one party from baltimore, md., the first sunday in april, . baltimore used to be in the days of slavery one of the most difficult places in the south for even free colored people to get away from, much more for slaves. the rule forbade any colored person leaving there by rail road or steamboat, without such applicant had been weighed, measured, and then given a bond signed by unquestionable signatures, well known. baltimore was rigid in the extreme, and was a never-failing source of annoyance, trouble and expense to colored people generally, and not unfrequently to slave-holders too, when they were traveling north with "colored servants." just as they were ready to start, the "rules" would forbid colored servants until the law was complied with. parties hurrying on would on account of this obstruction "have to wait until their hurry was over." as this was all done in the interest of slavery, the matter was not very loudly condemned. but, notwithstanding all this weighing, measuring and requiring of bonds, many travelers by the underground rail road took passage from baltimore. the enterprising individual, whose name stands at the head of this narrative, came directly from this stronghold of slavery. the widow pipkins held the title deed for jefferson. she was unfortunate in losing him, as she was living in ease and luxury off of jefferson's sweat and labor. louisa, harriet and grace owed service to geo. stewart of baltimore; edward was owned by chas. moondo, and chas. lee by the above stewart. those who would have taken this party for stupid, or for know-nothings, would have found themselves very much mistaken. indeed they were far from being dull or sleepy on the subject of slavery at any rate. they had considered pretty thoroughly how wrongfully they, with all others in similar circumstances, had been year in and year out subjected to unrequited toil so resolved to leave masters and mistresses to shift for themselves, while they would try their fortunes in canada. four of the party ranged in age from twenty to twenty-eight years of age, and the other two from thirty-seven to forty. the committee on whom they called, rendered them due aid and advice, and forwarded them to the committee in new york. the following letter from jefferson, appealing for assistance on behalf of his children in slavery, was peculiarly touching, as were all similar letters. but the mournful thought that these appeals, sighs, tears and prayers would continue in most cases to be made till death, that nothing could be done directly for the deliverance of such sufferers was often as painful as the escape from the auction block was gratifying. letter from jefferson pipkins. sept. , . to wm. still. sir:--i take the liberty of writing to you a few lines concerning my children, for i am very anxious to get them and i wish you to please try what you can do for me. their names are charles and patrick and are living with mrs. joseph g. wray murphysborough hartford county, north carolina; emma lives with a lawyer baker in gatesville north carolina and susan lives in portsmouth virginia and is stopping with dr. collins sister a mrs. nash you can find her out by enquiring for dr. collins at the ferry boat at portsmouth, and rose a coloured woman at the crawford house can tell where she is. and i trust you will try what you think will be the best way. and you will do me a great favour. yours respectfully, jefferson pipkins. p.s. i am living at yorkville near toronto canada west. my wife sends her best respects to mrs. still. * * * * * several arrivals from different places. in order to economize time and space, with a view to giving an account of as many of the travelers as possible, it seems expedient, where a number of arrivals come in close proximity to each other, to report them briefly, under one head. henry anderson, _alias_ william anderson. in outward appearance henry was uninteresting. as he asserted, and as his appearance indicated, he had experienced a large share of "rugged" usage. being far in the south, and in the hands of a brutal "captain of a small boat," chances of freedom or of moderate treatment, had rarely ever presented themselves in any aspect. on the d of the preceding march he was sold to a negro trader--the thought of having to live under a trader was so terrible, he was moved to escape, leaving his wife, to whom he had only been married three months. henry was twenty-five years of age, quite black and a little below the medium size. he fled from beaufort, north carolina. the system of slavery in all the region of country whence henry came, exhibited generally great brutality and cruelty. charles congo and wife, margaret. charles and his wife were fortunate in managing to flee together. their attachment to each other was evidently true. they were both owned by a farmer, who went by the name of david stewart, and resided in maryland. as charles' owner did not require their services at home, as he had more of that kind of stock than he had use for--he hired them out to another farmer--charles for $ per annum; how much for the wife they could not tell. she, however, was not blessed with good health, though she was not favored any more on that account. charles' affection for his wife, on seeing how hard she had to labor when not well, aroused him to seek their freedom by flight. he resolved to spare no pains, to give himself no rest until they were both free. accordingly the underground rail road was sought and found. charles was twenty-eight, with a good head and striking face, as well as otherwise well made; chestnut color and intelligent, though unable to read. left two sisters in bondage. margaret was about the same age as her husband, a nice-looking brown-skinned woman; worth $ . charles was valued at $ . the atmosphere throughout the neighborhood where charles and margaret had lived and breathed, and had their existence, was heavily oppressed with slavery. no education for the freeman of color, much less for the slave. the order of the day was literally, as far as colored men were concerned: "no rights which white men were bound to respect." chaskey brown, wm. henry washington, james alfred frisley, and charles henry salter. chaskey is about twenty-four years of age, quite black, medium size, sound body and intelligent appearance, nevertheless he resembled a "farm hand" in every particular. his master was known by the name of major james h. gales, and he was the owner of a farm with eighteen men, women and children, slaves to toil for him. the major in disposition was very abusive and profane, though old and grey-headed. his wife was pretty much the same kind of a woman as he was a man; one who delighted in making the slaves tremble at her bidding. chaskey was a member of the "still pond church," of kent county, md. often chaskey was made to feel the lash on his back, notwithstanding his good standing in the church. he had a wife and one child. in escaping, he was obliged to leave them both. chaskey was valued at $ . william henry was about years of age, and belonged to doctor b. grain, of baltimore, who hired him out to a farmer. not relishing the idea of having to work all his life in bondage, destitute of all privileges, he resolved to seek a refuge in canada. he left his mother, four sisters and two brothers. james is twenty-four years of age, well made, quite black and pretty shrewd. he too was unable to see how it was that he should be worked, and flogged, and sold, at the pleasure of his master and "getting nothing;" he "had rather work for himself." his master was a "_speckled-faced--pretty large stomach man_, but was not very abuseful." he only owned one other. charles henry is about thirty years of age, of good proportion, nice-looking and intelligent; but to rough usage he was no stranger. to select his own master was a privilege not allowed; privileges of all kinds were rare with him. so he resolved to flee. left his mother, three sisters and five brothers in slavery. he was a member of "albany chapel," at massey's cross roads, and a slave of dr. b. crain. charles left his wife anna, living near the head of sassafras, md. the separation was painful, as was everything belonging to the system of slavery. these were all gladly received by the vigilance committee, and the hand of friendship warmly extended to them; and the best of counsel and encouragement was offered; material aid, food and clothing were also furnished as they had need, and they were sent on their way rejoicing to canada. stephen taylor, charles brown, charles henry hollis, and luther dorsey. stephen was a fine young man, of twenty years of age; he fled to keep from being sold. he "supposed his master wanted money." his master was a "tall, spare-faced man, with long whiskers, very wicked and very quick-tempered," and was known by the name of james smithen, of sandy hook, harford county, md. his wife was also a very "close woman." they had four children growing up to occupy their places as oppressors. stephen was not satisfied to serve either old or young masters any longer, and made up his mind to leave the first opportunity. before this watchful and resolute purpose the way opened, and he soon found it comparatively easy to find his way from maryland to pennsylvania, and likewise into the hands of the vigilance committee, to whom he made known fully the character of the place and people whence he had fled, the dangers he was exposed to from slave-hunters, and the strong hope he cherished of reaching free land soon. being a young man of promise, stephen was advised earnestly to apply his mind to seek an education, and to use every possible endeavor to raise himself in the scale of manhood, morally, religiously and intellectually; and he seemed to drink in the admonitions thus given with a relish. after recruiting, and all necessary arrangements had been made for his comfort and passage to canada, he was duly forwarded. "one more slave-holder is minus another slave worth at least $ , which is something to rejoice over," said committee. stephen's parents were dead; one brother was the only near relative he left in chains. charles brown was about twenty-five years of age, quite black, and bore the marks of having been used hard, though his stout and hearty appearance would have rendered him very desirable to a trader. he fled from william wheeling, of sandy hook, md. he spoke of his master as a "pretty bad man," who was "always quarreling," and "would drink, swear and lie." left simply because he "never got anything for his labor." on taking his departure for canada, he was called upon to bid adieu to his mother and three brothers, all under the yoke. his master he describes thus-- "his face was long, cheek-bones high, middling tall, and about twenty-six years of age." with this specimen of humanity, charles was very much dissatisfied, and he made up his mind not to stand the burdens of slavery a day longer than he could safely make his way to the north. and in making an effort to reach canada, he was quite willing to suffer many things. so the first chance charles got, he started, and providence smiled upon his resolution; he found himself a joyful passenger on the underground rail road, being entertained free, and receiving attentions from the company all along the line through to her british majesty's boundlessly free territory in the canadas. true, the thought of his mother and brothers, left in the prison house, largely marred his joy, as it did also the committee's, still the committee felt that charles had gained his freedom honorably, and at the same time, had left his master a poorer, if not a wiser man, by at least $ . charles henry was a good-looking young man, only twenty years of age, and appeared to possess double as much natural sense as he would require to take care of himself. john webster of sandy hook, claimed charles' time, body and mind, and this was what made charles unhappy. uneducated as he was, he was too sensible to believe that webster had any god-given right to his manhood. consequently, he left because his master "did not treat him right." webster was a tall man, with large black whiskers, about forty years of age, and owned charles' two sisters. charles was sorry for the fate of his sisters, but he could not help them if he remained. staying to wear the yoke, he felt would rather make it worse instead of better for all concerned. luther dorsey is about nineteen years of age, rather smart, black, well made and well calculated for a canadian. he was prompted to escape purely from the desire to be "_free_." he fled from a "very insulting man," by the name of edward schriner, from the neighborhood of sairsville mills, frederick co., md. this schriner was described as a "low chunky man, with grum look, big mouth, etc.," and was a member of the german reformed church. "don't swear, though might as well; he was so bad other ways." luther was a member of the methodist church at jones hill. left his father in chains; his mother had wisely escaped to canada years back, when he was but a boy. where she was then, he could not tell, but hoped to meet her in canada. * * * * * arrival from richmond. jeremiah w. smith and wife julia. richmond was a city noted for its activity and enterprise in slave trade. several slave pens and prisons were constantly kept up to accommodate the trade. and slave auctions were as common in richmond as dress goods auctions in philadelphia; notwithstanding this fact, strange as it may seem, the underground rail road brought away large numbers of passengers from richmond, petersburg and norfolk, and not a few of them lived comparatively within a hair's breadth of the auction block. many of those from these localities were amongst the most intelligent and respectable slaves in the south, and except at times when disheartened by some grave disaster which had befallen the road, as, for instance, when some friendly captain or conductor was discovered in aiding fugitives, many of the thinking bondmen were daily manoeuvering and watching for opportunities to escape or aid their friends so to do. this state of things of course made the naturally hot blood of virginians fairly boil. they had preached long and loudly about the contented and happy condition of the slaves,--that the chief end of the black man was to worship and serve the white man, with joy and delight, with more willingness and obedience indeed than he would be expected to serve his maker. so the slave-holders were utterly at a loss to account for the unnatural desire on the part of the slaves to escape to the north where they affirmed they would be far less happy in freedom than in the hands of those so "kind and indulgent towards them." despite all this, daily the disposition increased, with the more intelligent slaves, to distrust the statements of their masters especially when they spoke against the north. for instance if the master was heard to curse boston the slave was then satisfied that boston was just the place he would like to go to; or if the master told the slave that the blacks in canada were freezing and starving to death by hundreds, his hope of trying to reach canada was made tenfold stronger; he was willing to risk all the starving and freezing that the country could afford; his eagerness to find a conductor then would become almost painful. the situations of jeremiah and julia smith, however, were not considered very hard, indeed they had fared rather better than most slaves in virginia, nevertheless it will be seen that they desired to better their condition, to keep off of the auction-block at least. jeremiah could claim to have no mixture in his blood, as his color was of such a pure black; but with the way of the world, in respect to shrewdness and intelligence, he had evidently been actively conversant. he was about twenty-six years of age, and in stature only medium, with poor health. the name of james kinnard, whom he was obliged to call master and serve, was disgusting to him. kinnard, he said, was a "close and severe man." at the same time he was not considered by the community "a hard man." from the age of fifteen years jeremiah had been hired out, for which his owner had received from $ to $ per annum. in consequence of his master's custom of thus letting out jeremiah, the master had avoided doctors' bills, &c. for the last two years prior to his escape, however, jeremiah's health had been very treacherous, in consequence of which the master had been compelled to receive only $ a year, sick or well. about one month before jeremiah left, he was to have been taken on his master's farm, with the hope that he could be made more profitable there than he was in being hired out. his owner had thought once of selling him, perhaps fearing that jeremiah might unluckily die on his hands. so he put him in prison and advertised; but as he had the asthma pretty badly at that time, he was not saleable, the traders even declined to buy him. while these troubles were presenting themselves to jeremiah, julia, his wife, was still more seriously involved, which added to jeremiah's perplexities, of course. julia was of a dark brown color, of medium size, and thirty years of age. fourteen years she had been the slave of a. judson crane, and under him she had performed the duties of nurse, chamber-maid, etc., "faithfully and satisfactorily," as the certificate furnished her by this owner witnessed. she actually possessing a certificate, which he, crane, gave her to enable her to find a new master, as she was then about to be sold. her master had experienced a failure in business. this was the reason why she was to be sold. mrs. crane, her mistress, had always promised julia that she should be free at her death. but, unexpectedly, as mrs. crane was on her journey home from cape may, where she had been for her health the summer before julia escaped, she died suddenly in philadelphia. julia, however, had been sold twice before her mistress' death; once to the trader, reed, and afterwards to john freeland, and again was on the eve of being sold. freeland, her last owner, thought she was unhappy because she was denied the privilege of going home of nights to her husband, instead of being on hand at the beck and call of her master and mistress day and night. so the very day julia and her husband escaped, arrangements had been made to put her up at auction a third time. but both julia and her husband had seen enough of slavery to leave no room to hope that they could ever find peace or rest so long as they remained. so there and then, they resolved to strike for canada, via the underground rail road. by a little good management, berths were procured for them on one of the richmond steamers (berths not known to the officers of the boat), and they were safely landed in the hands of the vigilance committee, and a most agreeable interview was had. the committee extended to them the usual hospitalities, in the way of board, accommodations, and free tickets canadaward, and wished them a safe and speedy passage. the passengers departed, exceedingly light-hearted, feb. , . * * * * * eight arrivals: james massey, perry henry trusty, george rhoads, james rhoads, george washington, sarah elizabeth rhoads and child, mary elizabeth stevenson. doubtless there was a sensation in "the camp," when this gang was found missing. james was a likely-looking young man of twenty years of age, dark, tall, and sensible; and worth, if we may judge, about $ , . he was owned by a farmer named james pittman, a "crabid kind of a man," grey-headed, with a broken leg; drank very hard, at which times he would swear that he would "sell them all to georgia;" this threat was always unpleasant to the ears of james, but it seemed to be a satisfaction to the master. fearing that it would be put into execution, james thought he had better let no time be lost in getting on towards canada, though he was entitled to his freedom at the age of twenty-five. left his father, four brothers and two sisters. also left his wife, to whom he had been married the previous christmas. his master's further stock of slaves consisted of two women, a young man and a child. the name of his old mistress was amelia. she was "right nice," james admitted. one of james' brothers had been sold to georgia by pittman, although he was also entitled to his freedom at the age of twenty-five. his near relatives left in bondage lived near level square, queen ann's county, maryland. his wife's name was henrietta. "she was free." interesting letter from james massey to his wife. it was forwarded to the corresponding secretary, to be sent to her, but no opportunity was afforded so to do, safely. st. catharines, c.w., april , . dear wife--i take this opertunity to inform you that i have arive in st catharines this eving. after jorney of too weeks, and now find mysilf on free ground and wish that you was here with me but you are not here, when we parted i did not know that i should come away so soon as i did. but for that of causin you pain i left as i did, i hope that you will try to come. but if you cannot, write to me as soon as you can and tell me all that you can but don't be desscuredged i was sory to leave you, and i could not help it for you know that i promest see you to sister, but i was persuaded by another man go part with it grived mutch, you must not think that i did not care for you. i cannot tell how i come, for i was some times on the earth and some times under the earth do not bee afraid to come but start and keep trying, if you are afrid fitch your tow sister with you for compeny and i will take care of you and treat you like a lady so long as you live. the talk of cold in this place is all a humbug, it is wormer here than it was there when i left, your father and mother has allways treated me like their own child i have no fault to find in them. i send my respects to them both and i hope that they will remember me in prayer, if you make a start come to philidelpa tell father and mother that i am safe and hope that they will not morn after me i shall ever remember them. no more at present but yours in body and mind, and if we no meet on earth i hope that we shall meet in heven. your husbern. good night. jame masey. perry was about thirty-one years of age, round-made, of dark complexion, and looked quite gratified with his expedition, and the prospect of becoming a british subject instead of a maryland slave. he was not free, however, from the sad thought of having left his wife and three children in the "_prison house_," nor of the fact that his own dear mother was brutally stabbed to the heart with a butcher knife by her young master, while he (perry) was a babe; nor of a more recent tragedy by which a fellow-servant, only a short while before he fled, was also murdered by a stab in the groin from another young master. "powerful bad" treatment, and "no pay," was the only reward poor perry had ever received for his life services. perry could only remember his having received from his master, in all, eleven cents. left a brother and sister in slavery. perry was worth $ perhaps. perry was compelled to leave his wife and three children--namely, hannah (wife), perry henry, william thomas and alexander, who were owned by john mcguire, of caroline county, maryland. perry was a fellow-servant of james massey, and was held by the same owner who held james. it is but just, to say, that it was not in the pittman family that his mother and his fellow-servant had been so barbarously murdered. these occurrences took place before they came into the hands of pittman. the provocation for which his fellow-servant was killed, was said to be very trifling. in a moment of rage, his young master, john piper, plunged the blade of a small knife into perry's groin, which resulted in his death twenty-six hours afterwards. for one day only the young master kept himself concealed, then he came forward and said he "did it in self-defense," and there the matter ended. the half will never be told of the barbarism of slavery. perry's letter subjoined, explains where he went, and how his mind was occupied with thoughts of his wife, children and friends. st. catharines, c.w. june , . dear sir.--i take this opportunity to inform you that i am well at present, and hope that these few lines may find you injoying the same blessing, i have been for some time now, but have not written to you before, but you must excuse me. i want you to give my respects to all my inquiring friends and to my wife, i should have let you know but i was afraid and all three of my little children too, p.h. trusty if he was mine wm. t. trusty and to alexander i have been a man agge but was assurd nuthin, h. trusty, a hard grand citt. i should lie know how times is, henry turner if you get this keep it and read it to yourself and not let any one else but yourself, tell ann henry, samuel henry, jacob bryant, wm claton, mr james at almira receved at mr jones house the best i could i have been healthy since i arrived here. my best respect to all and my thanks for past favours. no more at present but remain youre obedented servent &c. henry trusty. please send me an answer as son as you get this, and, oblige yours, mr trusty. george rhoads is a young man of twenty-five years of age, chestnut color, face round, and hating slavery heartily. he had come from under the control of john p. dellum a farmer, and a crabbed master, who "would swear very much when crossed, and would drink moderately every day," except sometimes he would "take a _spree_," and would then get pretty high. withal he was a member of the presbyterian church at perryville, maryland; he was a single man and followed farming. within the last two or three years, he had sold a man and woman; hence, george thought it was time to take warning. accordingly he felt it to be his duty to try for canada, via underground rail road. as his master had always declared that if one run off, he would sell the rest to georgia, george very wisely concluded that as an effort would have to be made, they had better leave their master with as "few as possible to be troubled with selling." consequently, a consultation was had between the brothers, which resulted in the exit of a party of eight. the market price for george would be about $ . a horrid example professed christians set before the world, while holding slaves and upholding slavery. james rhoads, brother of george, was twenty-three years of age, medium size, dark color, intelligent and manly, and would doubtless have brought, in the richmond market, $ . fortunately he brought his wife and child with him. james was also held by the same task-master who held george. often had he been visited with severe stripes, and had borne his full share of suffering from his master. george washington, one of the same party, was only about fifteen years of age; he was tall enough, however, to pass for a young man of twenty. george was of an excellent, fast, dark color. of course, mentally he was undeveloped, nevertheless, possessed of enough mother-wit to make good his escape. in the slave market he might have been valued at $ . george was claimed as the lawful property of benjamin sylves--a presbyterian, who owned besides, two men, three girls, and a boy. he was "tolerable good" sometimes, and sometimes "bad." some of the slaves supposed themselves to be on the eve of being emancipated about the time george left; but of this there was no certainty. george, however, was not among this hopeful number, consequently, he thought that he would start in time, and would be ready to shout for freedom quite as soon as any other of his fellow-bondmen. george left a father and three sisters. sarah elizabeth rhoads, wife of james rhoads, was seventeen years of age, a tall, dark, young woman, who had had no chances for mental improvement, except such as were usual on a farm, stocked with slaves, where learning to read the bible was against the "rules." sarah was a young slave mother with a babe (of course a slave) only eight months old. she was regarded as having been exceedingly fortunate in having rescued herself and child from the horrid fate of slaves. mary elizabeth stephenson is a promising-looking young woman, of twenty years of age, chestnut color, and well made. hard treatment had been her lot. left her mother, two sisters and four brothers in bondage. worth $ . although these travelers were of the "field hand" class, who had never been permitted to see much off of the farm, and had been deprived of hearing intelligent people talk, yet the spirit of freedom, so natural to man, was quite uppermost with all of them. the members of the committee who saw them, were abundantly satisfied that these candidates for canada would prove that they were able to "take care of themselves." their wants were attended to in the usual manner, and they were sent on their way rejoicing, the committee feeling quite a deep interest in them. it looked like business to see so many passing over the road. * * * * * charles thompson, carrier of "the national american," off for canada. the subjoined "pass" was brought to the underground rail road station in philadelphia by charles, and while it was interesting as throwing light upon his escape, it is important also as a specimen of the way the "pass" system was carried on in the dark days of slavery in virginia: "nat. american office, richmond, july th, . permit charles to pass and repass from this office to the residence of rev b. manly's on clay st., near th, at any hour of the night for one month. wm. w. hardwick." it is a very short document, but it used to be very unsafe for a slave in richmond, or any other southern city, to be found out in the evening without a legal paper of this description. the penalties for being found unprepared to face the police were fines, imprisonment and floggings. the satisfaction it seemed always to afford these guardians of the city to find either males or females trespassing in this particular, was unmistakable. it gave them (the police) the opportunity to prove to those they served (slaveholders), that they were the right men in the right place, guarding their interests. then again they got the fine for pocket money, and likewise the still greater pleasure of administering the flogging. who would want an office, if no opportunity should turn up whereby proof could be adduced of adequate qualifications to meet emergencies? but charles was too wide awake to be caught without his pass day or night. consequently he hung on to it, even after starting on his voyage to canada. he, however, willingly surrendered it to a member of the committee at his special request. but in every way charles was quite a remarkable man. it afforded the committee great pleasure to make his acquaintance, and much practical and useful information was gathered from his story, which was felt to be truthful. the committee feeling assured that this "chattel" must have been the subject of much inquiry and anxiety from the nature of his former position, as a prominent piece of property, as a member of the baptist church, as taking "first premiums" in making tobacco, and as a paper carrier in the national american office, felt called upon to note fully his movements before and after leaving richmond. in stature he was medium size, color quite dark, hair long and bushy--rather of a raw-boned and rugged appearance, modest and self-possessed; with much more intelligence than would be supposed from first observation. on his arrival, ere he had "shaken hands with the (british) lion's paw," (which he was desirous of doing), or changed the habiliments in which he escaped, having listened to the recital of his thrilling tale, and wishing to get it word for word as it flowed naturally from his brave lips, at a late hour of the night a member of the committee remarked to him, with pencil in hand, that he wanted to take down some account of his life. "now," said he, "we shall have to be brief. please answer as correctly as you can the following questions:" "how old are you?" "thirty-two years old the st day of last june." "were you born a slave?" "yes." "how have you been treated?" "badly all the time for the last twelve years." "what do you mean by being treated badly?" "have been whipped, and they never give me anything; some people give their servants at christmas a dollar and a half and two dollars, and some five, but my master would never give me anything." "what was the name of your master?" "fleming bibbs." "where did he live?" "in caroline county, fifty miles above richmond." "what did he do?" "he was a farmer." "did you ever live with him?" "never did; always hired me out, and then i couldn't please him." "what kind of a man was he?" "a man with a very severe temper; would drink at all times, though would do it slyly." "was he a member of any church?" "baptist church--would curse at his servants as if he wern't in any church." "were his family members of church, too?" "yes." "what kind of family had he?" "his wife was a tolerable fair woman, but his sons were dissipated, all of them _rowdies_ and _gamblers. his sons has had children by the servants. one of his daughters had a child by his grandson last april_. they are traders, buy and sell." "how many slaves did he own?" "sam, richmond, henry, dennis, jesse, addison, hilliard, jenny, lucius, julia, charlotte, easte, joe, taylor, louisa, two more small children and jim." did any of them know that you were going to leave? "no, i saw my brother tuesday, but never told him a word about it." "what put it into your head to leave?" "it was bad treatment; for being put in jail for sale the th of last january; was whipped in jail and after i came out the only thing they told me was that i had been selling newspapers about the streets, and was half free." "where did you live then?" "in richmond, va.; for twenty-two years i have been living out." "how much did your master receive a year for your hire?" "from sixty-five to one hundred and fifty dollars." "did you have to find yourself?" "the people who hired me found me. the general rule is in richmond, for a week's board, seventy-five cents is allowed; if he gets any more than that he has got to find it himself." "how about sunday clothing?" "find them yourself?" "how about a house to live in?" "have that to find yourself." "suppose you have a wife and family." "it makes no difference, they don't allow you anything for that at all." "suppose you are sick who pays your doctor's bill?" "he (master) pays that." "how do you manage to make a little extra money?" "by getting up before day and carrying out papers and doing other jobs, cleaning up single men's rooms and the like of that." "what have you been employed at in richmond?" "been working in tobacco factory in general; this year i was hired at a printing-office. the national american. i carried papers." "had you a wife?" "i did, but her master was a very bad man and was opposed to me, and was against my coming to his place to see my wife, and he persuaded her to take another husband in preference to me; being in his hands she took his advice." "how long ago was that?" "very near twelve months; she got married last fall." "had you any children?" "yes." "how many?" "five." "where are they?" "three are with joel luck, her master, one with his sister eliza, and the other belongs to judge hudgins, of bowling green court house." "do you ever expect to see them again?" "no, not till the day of the great i am!" "did you ever have any chance of schooling?" "not a day in my life." "can you read?" "no, sir, nor write my own name." "what do you think of slavery any how?" "i think it's a great curse, and i think the _baptists_ in _richmond_ will go to the deepest hell, if there is any, for they are so wicked they will work you all day and part of the night, and _wear cloaks and long faces_, and try to get all the work out of you they can by telling you about jesus christ. all the extra money you make they think you will give to hear talk about jesus christ. out of their extra money they have to pay a white man _five hundred dollars a year for preaching_." "what kind of preaching does he give them?" "he tells them if they die in their sins they will go to hell; don't tell them any thing about their elevation; he would tell them obey their masters and mistresses, for good servants make good masters." "did you belong to the baptist church?" "yes, second baptist church." "did you feel that the preaching you heard was the true gospel?" "one part of it, and one part burnt me as bad as ever insult did. they would tell us that we must take money out of our pockets to send it to africa, to enlighten the african race. i think that we were about as blind in richmond as the african race is in africa. all they want you to know, is to have sense enough to say master and mistress, and _run_ like lightning, when they speak to you, to do exactly what they want you to do," "when you made up your mind to escape, where did you think you would go to?" "i made up my mind not to stop short of the british protection; to shake hands with the _lion's_ paw." "were you not afraid of being captured on the way, of being devoured by the abolitionists, or of freezing and starving in canada?" "well, i had often thought that i would be in a bad condition to come here, without money and clothes, but i made up my mind to come, live or die." "what are your impressions from what little you have seen of freedom?" "i think it is intended for all men, and all men ought to have it." "suppose your master was to appear before you, and offer you the privilege of returning to slavery or death on the spot, which would be your choice?" "_die right there_. i made up my mind before i started." "do you think that many of the slaves are anxious about their freedom?" "the third part of them ain't anxious about it, because the white people have _blinded_ them, telling about the north,--they _can't live here_; telling them that the people are worse off than they are there; they say that the 'niggers' in the north have no houses to live in, stand about freezing, dirty, no clothes to wear. they all would be very glad to get their time, but want to stay where they are." just at this point of the interview, the hour of midnight admonished us that it was time to retire. accordingly, said mr. thompson, "i guess we had better close," adding, if he "could only write, he could give seven volumes!" also, said he, "give my best respects to mr. w.w. hardwicke, and mr. perry in the national american office, and tell them _i wish they will pay the two boys who carry the papers for me, for they are as ignorant of this matter as you are_." charles was duly forwarded to canada to shake hands with the lion's paw, and from the accounts which came from him to the committee, he was highly delighted. the following letter from him afforded gratifying evidence, that he neither forgot his god nor his friends in freedom: detroit, sept. , . dear brother in christ--it affords me the greatest pleasure imaginable in the time i shall occupy in penning these few lines to you and your dear loving wife, not because i can write them to you myself, but for the love and regard i have for you, for i never can forget a man who will show kindness to his neighbor when in distress. i remember when i was in distress and out of doors, you took me in; i was hungry, and you fed me; for these things god will reward you, dear brother. i am getting along as well as i can expect. since i have been out here, i have endeavored to make every day tell for itself, and i can say, no doubt, what a great many men cannot say, that i have made good use of all the time that god has given me, and not one week has been spent in idleness. brother william, i expect to visit you some time next summer to sit and have a talk with you and mrs. still. i hope to see that time, if it is god's will. you will remember me, with my wife, to mrs. still. give my best respects to all inquiring friends, and believe me to be yours forever. well wishes both soul and body. please write to me sometimes. c.w. thompson. * * * * * blood flowed freely. abram galloway and richard eden, two passengers secreted in a vessel loaded with spirits of turpentine. shrouds prepared to prevent being smoked to death. the philadelphia branch of the underground rail road was not fortunate in having very frequent arrivals from north carolina. of course such of her slave population as managed to become initiated in the mysteries of traveling north by the underground rail road were sensible enough to find out nearer and safer routes than through pennsylvania. nevertheless the vigilance committee of philadelphia occasionally had the pleasure of receiving some heroes who were worthy to be classed among the bravest of the brave, no matter who they may be who have claims to this distinction. in proof of this bold assertion the two individuals whose names stand at the beginning of this chapter are presented. abram was only twenty-one years of age, mulatto, five feet six inches high, intelligent and the picture of good health. "what was your master's name?" inquired a member of the committee. "milton hawkins," answered abram. "what business did milton hawkins follow?" again queried said member. "he was chief engineer on the wilmington and manchester rail road" (not a branch of the underground rail road), responded richard. "describe him," said the member. "he was a slim built, tall man with whiskers. he was a man of very good disposition. i always belonged to him; he owned three. he always said he would sell before he would use a whip. his wife was a very mean woman; she would whip contrary to his orders." "who was your father?" was further inquired. "john wesley galloway," was the prompt response. "describe your father?" "he was captain of a government vessel; he recognized me as his son, and protected me as far as he was allowed so to do; he lived at smithfield, north carolina. abram's master, milton hawkins, lived at wilmington, n.c." "what prompted you to escape?" was next asked. "because times were hard and i could not come up with my wages as i was required to do, so i thought i would try and do better." at this juncture abram explained substantially in what sense times were hard, &c. in the first place he was not allowed to own himself; he, however, preferred hiring his time to serving in the usual way. this favor was granted abram; but he was compelled to pay $ per month for his time, besides finding himself in clothing, food, paying doctor bills, and a head tax of $ a year. [illustration: hon. abram galloway] even under this master, who was a man of very good disposition, abram was not contented. in the second place, he "always thought slavery was wrong," although he had "never suffered any personal abuse." toiling month after month the year round to support his master and not himself, was the one intolerable thought. abram and richard were intimate friends, and lived near each other. being similarly situated, they could venture to communicate the secret feelings of their hearts to each other. richard was four years older than abram, with not quite so much anglo-saxon blood in his veins, but was equally as intelligent, and was by trade, a "fashionable barber," well-known to the ladies and gentlemen of wilmington. richard owed service to mrs. mary loren, a widow. "she was very kind and tender to all her slaves." "if i was sick," said richard, "she would treat me the same as a mother would." she was the owner of twenty, men, women and children, who were all hired out, except the children too young for hire. besides having his food, clothing and doctor's expenses to meet, he had to pay the "very kind and tender-hearted widow" $ . per month, and head tax to the state, amounting to twenty-five cents per month. it so happened, that richard at this time, was involved in a matrimonial difficulty. contrary to the laws of north carolina, he had lately married a free girl, which was an indictable offence, and for which the penalty was then in soak for him--said penalty to consist of thirty-nine lashes, and imprisonment at the discretion of the judge. so abram and richard put their heads together, and resolved to try the underground rail road. they concluded that liberty was worth dying for, and that it was their duty to strike for freedom even if it should cost them their lives. the next thing needed, was information about the underground rail road. before a great while the captain of a schooner turned up, from wilmington, delaware. learning that his voyage extended to philadelphia, they sought to find out whether this captain was true to freedom. to ascertain this fact required no little address. it had to be done in such a way, that even the captain would not really understand what they were up to, should he be found untrue. in this instance, however, he was the right man in the right place, and very well understood his business. abram and richard made arrangements with him to bring them away; they learned when the vessel would start, and that she was loaded with tar, rosin, and spirits of turpentine, amongst which the captain was to secrete them. but here came the difficulty. in order that slaves might not be secreted in vessels, the slave-holders of north carolina had procured the enactment of a law requiring all vessels coming north to be smoked. to escape this dilemma, the inventive genius of abram and richard soon devised a safe-guard against the smoke. this safe-guard consisted in silk oil cloth shrouds, made large, with drawing strings, which, when pulled over their heads, might be drawn very tightly around their waists, whilst the process of smoking might be in operation. a bladder of water and towels were provided, the latter to be wet and held to their nostrils, should there be need. in this manner they had determined to struggle against death for liberty. the hour approached for being at the wharf. at the appointed time they were on hand ready to go on the boat; the captain secreted them, according to agreement. they were ready to run the risk of being smoked to death; but as good luck would have it, the law was not carried into effect in this instance, so that the "smell of smoke was not upon them." the effect of the turpentine, however, of the nature of which they were totally ignorant, was worse, if possible, than the smoke would have been. the blood was literally drawn from them at every pore in frightful quantities. but as heroes of the bravest type they resolved to continue steadfast as long as a pulse continued to beat, and thus they finally conquered. the invigorating northern air and the kind treatment of the vigilance committee acted like a charm upon them, and they improved very rapidly from their exhaustive and heavy loss of blood. desiring to retain some memorial of them, a member of the committee begged one of their silk shrouds, and likewise procured an artist to take the photograph of one of them; which keepsakes have been valued very highly. in the regular order of arrangements the wants of abram and richard were duly met by the committee, financially and otherwise, and they were forwarded to canada. after their safe arrival in canada, richard addressed a member of the committee thus: kingston, july , . mr. william still--_dear friend_:--i take the opertunity of wrighting a few lines to let you no that we air all in good health hoping thos few lines may find you and your family engoying the same blessing. we arived in king all saft canada west abram galway gos to work this morning at $ . per day and john pediford is at work for mr george mink and i will opne a shop for my self in a few days my wif will send a daugretipe to your cair whitch you will pleas to send on to me richard edons to the cair of george mink kingston c w yours with respect, richard edons. abram, his comrade, allied himself faithfully to john bull until uncle sam became involved in the contest with the rebels. in this hour of need abram hastened back to north carolina to help fight the battles of freedom. how well he acted his part, we are not informed. we only know that, after the war was over, in the reconstruction of north carolina, abram was promoted to a seat in its senate. he died in office only a few months since. the portrait is almost a "fac-simile." * * * * * john pettifoot. anglo-african and anglo-saxon were about equally mixed in the organization of mr. pettifoot. his education, with regard to books, was quite limited. he had, however, managed to steal the art of reading and writing, to a certain extent. notwithstanding the patriarchal institution of the south, he was to all intents and purposes a rebel at heart, consequently he resolved to take a trip on the underground rail road to canada. so, greatly to the surprise of those whom he was serving, he was one morning inquired for in vain. no one could tell what had become of jack no more than if he had vanished like a ghost. doubtless messrs. mchenry and mcculloch were under the impression that newspapers and money possessed great power and could, under the circumstances, be used with entire effect. the following advertisement is evidence, that jack was much needed at the tobacco factory. $ reward--for the apprehension and delivery to us of a mulatto man, named john massenberg, or john henry pettifoot, who has been passing as free, under the name of sydney. he is about feet or inches high, spare made, bright, with a bushy head of hair, curled under and a small moustache. absconded a few days ago from our tobacco factory. [illustration: ] mchenry & mcculloch. ju t. jack was aware that a trap of this kind would most likely be set for him, and that the large quantity of anglo-saxon blood in his veins would not save him. he was aware, too, that he was the reputed son of a white gentleman, who was a professional dentist, by the name of dr. peter cards. the doctor, however, had been called away by death, so jack could see no hope or virtue in having a white father, although a "chivalric gentleman," while living, and a man of high standing amongst slave-holders. jack was a member of the baptist church, too, and hoped he was a good christian; but he could look for no favors from the church, or sympathy on the score of his being a christian. he knew very well were it known, that he had the love of freedom in his heart, or the idea of the underground rail road in his head, he would be regarded as having committed the "unpardonable sin." so jack looked to none of these "broken reeds" in richmond in the hour of his trial, but to him above, whom he had not seen, and to the underground rail road. he felt pretty well satisfied, that if providence would aid him, and he could get a conductor to put him on the right road to canada, he would be all right. accordingly, he acted up to his best light, and thus he succeeded admirably, as the sequel shows. john henry pettifoot. john is a likely young man, quite bright in color and in intellect also. he was the son of peter cards, a dentist by profession, and a white man by complexion. as a general thing, he had been used 'very well;' had no fault to find, except this year, being hired to mchenry & mcculloch, tobacconists, of petersburg, va., whom he found rather more oppressive than he agreed for, and supposing that he had 'no right' to work for any body for nothing, he 'picked up his bed and walked.' his mistress had told him that he was '_willed_ free,' at her death, but john was not willing to wait her "motions to die." he had a wife in richmond, but was not allowed to visit her. he left one sister and a step-father in bondage. mr. pettifoot reached philadelphia by the richmond line of steamers, stowed away among the pots and cooking utensils. on reaching the city, he at once surrendered himself into the hands of the committee, and was duly looked after by the regular acting members. * * * * * emanuel t. white. emanuel was about twenty-five years of age, with seven-eighths of white blood in his veins, medium size, and a very smart and likely-looking piece of property generally. he had the good fortune to escape from edward h. hubbert, a ship timber merchant of norfolk, va. under hubbert's yoke he had served only five years, having been bought by him from a certain aldridge mandrey, who was described as a "very cruel man," and would "rather fight than eat." "i have licks that will carry me to my grave, and will be there till the flesh rots off my bones," said emanuel, adding that his master was a "_devil_," though a member of the reformed methodist church. but his mistress, he said, was a "right nice little woman, and kept many licks off me." "if you said you were sick, he would whip it out of you." from mandrey he once fled, and was gone two months, but was captured at williamsburg, va., and received a severe flogging, and carried home. hubbert finally sold emanuel to a mr. grigway of norfolk; with emanuel mr. g. was pretty well suited, but his wife was not--he had "too much white blood in him" for her. grigway and his wife were members of the episcopal church. in this unhappy condition emanuel found a conductor of the underground rail road. a secret passage was secured for him on one of the richmond steamers, and thus he escaped from his servitude. the committee attended to his wants, and forwarded him on as usual. from syracuse, where he was breathing quite freely under the protection of the rev. j.w. loguen, he wrote the following letter: syracuse, july , . my dear friend, mr. still:--i got safe through to syracuse, and found the house of our friend, mr. j.w. loguen. many thanks to you for your kindness to me. i wish to say to you, dear sir, that i expect my clothes will be sent to dr. landa, and i wish, if you please, get them and send them to the care of mr. loguen, at syracuse, for me he will be in possession of my whereabouts and will send them to me. remember me to mr. landa and miss millen jespan, and much to you and your family. truly yours, manual t. white. the escape of a child fourteen months old. there is found the following brief memorandum on the records of the underground rail road book, dated july, : "a little child of fourteen months old was conveyed to its mother, who had been compelled to flee without it nearly nine months ago." while the circumstances connected with the coming of this slave child were deeply interesting, no further particulars than the simple notice above were at that time recorded. fortunately, however, letters from the good friends, who plucked this infant from the jaws of slavery, have been preserved to throw light on this little one, and to show how true-hearted sympathizers with the slave labored amid dangers and difficulties to save the helpless bondman from oppression. it will be observed, that both these friends wrote from washington, d.c., the seat of government, where, if slavery was not seen in its worst aspects, the government in its support of slavery appeared in a most revolting light. letter from "j.b." washington, d.c., july , . dear sir:--some of our citizens, i am told, lately left here for philadelphia, three of whom were arrested and brought back. i beg you will inform me whether two others--(i., whose wife is in philadelphia, was one of them), ever reached your city. to-morrow morning mrs. weems, _with her baby_, will start for philadelphia and see you probably over night. yours truly, j.b. "j.b." was not only a trusty and capable conductor of the underground rail road in washington, but was also a practical lawyer, at the same time. his lawyer-like letter, in view of the critical nature of the case, contained but few words, and those few naturally enough were susceptible of more than one construction. doubtless those styled "our citizens,"--"three of whom were arrested and brought back,"--were causing great anxiety to this correspondent, not knowing how soon he might find himself implicated in the "running off," etc. so, while he felt it to be his duty, to still aid the child, he was determined, if the enemy intercepted his letter, he should not find much comfort or information. the cause was safe in such careful hands. the following letters, bearing on the same case, are also from another good conductor, who was then living in washington. letters from e.l. stevens. washington, d.c., july , . my dear sir:--i write you now to let you know that the children of e. are yet well, and that mrs. arrah weems will start with one of them for philadelphia to-morrow or next day. she will be with you probably in the day train. she goes for the purpose of making an effort to redeem her last child, now in slavery. the whole amount necessary is raised, except about $ . she will take her credentials with her, and you can place the most implicit reliance on her statements. the story in regard to the weems' family was published in frederick douglass' paper two years ago. since then the two middle boys have been redeemed and there is only one left in slavery, and he is in alabama. the master has agreed to take for him just what he gave, $ . mr. lewis tappan has his letter and the money, except the amount specified. there were about $ raised in england to redeem this family, and they are now all free except this one. and there never was a more excellent and worthy family than the weems' family. i do hope, that mrs. w. will find friends who can advance the amount required. truly yours, e.l. stevens. washington, d.c., july th, . my friend:--your kind letter in reply to mine about arrah was duly received. as she is doubtless with you before this, she will explain all. i propose that a second journey be made by her or some one else, in order to take the other. they have been a great burden to the good folks here and should have been _at home_ long ere this. arrah will explain everything. i want, however, to say a word in her behalf. if there is a person in the world, that deserves the hearty co-operation of every friend of humanity, that person is arrah weems, who now, after a long series of self-sacrificing labor to aid others in their struggle for their god-given rights, solicits a small amount to redeem the last one of her own children in slavery. never have i had my sympathies so aroused in behalf of any object as in behalf of this most worthy family. she can tell you what i have done. and i do hope, that our friends in philadelphia and new york will assist her to make up the full amount required for the purchase of the boy. after she does what she can in p., will you give her the proper direction about getting to new york and to mr. tappan's? inform him of what she has done, &c. please write me as soon as you can as to whether she arrived safely, &c. give me your opinion, also, as to the proposal about the other. had you not better keep the little one in p. till the other is taken there? inform me also where e. is, how she is getting along, &c., who living with, &c. yours truly, e.l.s. in this instance, also, as in the case of "j.b.," the care and anxiety of other souls, besides this child, crying for deliverance, weighed heavily on the mind of mr. stevens, as may be inferred from certain references in his letters. mr. stevens' love of humanity, and impartial freedom, even in those dark days of slavery, when it was both unpopular and unsafe to allow the cries of the bondman to awaken the feeling of humanity to assist the suffering, was constantly leading him to take sides with the oppressed, and as he appears in this correspondence, so it was his wont daily to aid the helpless, who were all around him. arrah weems, who had the care of the child, alluded to so touchingly by mr. stevens, had known, to her heart's sorrow, how intensely painful it was to a mother's feelings to have her children torn from her by a cruel master and sold. for arrah had had a number of children sold, and was at that very time striving diligently to raise money to redeem the last one of them. and through such kind-hearted friends as mr. stevens, the peculiar hardships of this interesting family of weems' were brought to the knowledge of thousands of philanthropists in this country and england, and liberal contributions had already been made by friends of the slave on both sides of the ocean. it may now be seen, that while this child had not been a conscious sufferer from the wicked system of slavery, it had been the object of very great anxiety and suffering to several persons, who had individually perilled their own freedom for its redemption. this child, however, was safely brought to the vigilance committee, in philadelphia, and was duly forwarded, _viâ_ friends in new york, to its mother, in syracuse, where she had stopped to work and wait for her little one, left behind at the time she escaped. * * * * * escape of a young slave mother. left her little baby-boy, little girl and husband behind. she anxiously waits their coming in syracuse, n.y. not until after the foregoing story headed, the "escape of a child," etc., had been put into the hands of the printer and was in type, was the story of the mother discovered, although it was among the records preserved. under changed names, in many instances, it has been found to be no easy matter to cull from a great variety of letters, records and advertisements, just when wanted, all the particulars essential to complete many of these narratives. the case of the child, alluded to above, is a case in point. thus, however, while it is impossible to introduce the mother's story in its proper place, yet, since it has been found, it is too important and interesting to be left out. it is here given as follows: $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber on saturday, the th of august, , my servant woman, named emeline chapman, about years of age; quite dark, slender built, speaks short, and stammers some; with two children, one a female about two and a half years old; the other a male, seven or eight months old, bright color. i will give the above reward if they are delivered to me in washington. [illustration: ] mrs. emily thompson, s -tu, th&st& capitol hill, washington, d.c. emeline chapman, so particularly described in the "baltimore sun" of the d of september, , arrived by the regular underground rail road train from washington. in order to escape the responsibility attached to her original name, she adopted the name of susan bell. thus for freedom she was willing to forego her name, her husband, and even her little children. it was a serious sacrifice; but she had been threatened with the auction block, and she well understood what that meant. with regard to usage, having lived away from her owner, emeline did not complain of any very hard times. true, she had been kept at work very constantly, and her owner had very faithfully received all her hire. emeline had not even been allowed enough of her hire to find herself in clothing, or anything for the support of her two children--for these non-essentials, her kind mistress allowed her to seek elsewhere, as best she could. emeline's husband was named john henry; her little girl she called margaret ann, and her babe she had named after its father, all with the brand of slavery upon them. the love of freedom, in the breast of this spirited young slave-wife and mother, did not extinguish the love she bore to her husband and children, however otherwise her course, in leaving them, as she did, might appear. for it was just this kind of heroic and self-sacrificing struggle, that appealed to the hearts of men and compelled attention. the letters of biglow and stevens, relative to the little child, prove this fact, and additional testimony found in the appended letter from rev. j.w. loguen conclusively confirms the same. indeed, who could close his eyes and ears to the plaintive cries of such a mother? who could refrain from aiding on to freedom children honored in such a heroic parent? syracuse, oct. , . dear friend still:--i write to you for mrs. susan bell, who was at your city some time in september last. she is from washington city. she left her dear little children behind (two children). she is stopping in our city, and wants to hear from her children very much indeed. she wishes to know if you have heard from mr. biglow, of washington city. she will remain here until she can hear from you. she feels very anxious about her children, i will assure you. i should have written before this, but i have been from home much of the time since she came to our city. she wants to know if mr. biglow has heard anything about her husband. if you have not written to mr. biglow, she wishes you would. she sends her love to you and your dear family. she says that you were all kind to her, and she does not forget it. you will direct your letter to me, dear brother, and i will see that she gets it. miss f.e. watkins left our house yesterday for ithaca, and other places in that part of the state. frederick douglass, wm. j. watkins and others were with us last week; gerritt smith with others. miss watkins is doing great good in our part of the state. we think much indeed of her. she is such a good and glorious speaker, that we are all charmed with her. we have had thirty-one fugitives in the last twenty-seven days; but you, no doubt, have had many more than that. i hope the good lord may bless you and spare you long to do good to the hunted and outraged among our brethren. yours truly, j.w. loguen, agent of the underground rail road. * * * * * samuel w. johnson. arrival from the "daily dispatch" office. "sam" was doing slave labor at the office of the richmond "daily dispatch," as a carrier of that thoroughly pro-slavery sheet. "sam" had possessed himself somehow of a knowledge of reading and writing a little, and for the news of the day he had quite an itching ear. also with regard to his freedom he was quite solicitous. being of an ambitious turn of mind, he hired his time, for which he paid his master $ per annum in regular quarterly payments. besides paying this amount, he had to find himself in board, clothing, and pay doctor's expenses. he had had more than one owner in his life. the last one, however, he spoke of thus: "his name is james b. foster, of richmond, a very hard man. he owns three more slaves besides myself." in escaping, "sam" was obliged to leave his wife, who was owned by christian bourdon. his attachment to her, judging from his frequent warm expressions of affection, was very strong. but, as strong as it was, he felt that he could not consent to remain in slavery any longer. "sam" had luckily come across a copy of uncle tom's cabin, and in perusing it, all his notions with regard to "masters and servants," soon underwent an entire change, and he began to cast his eyes around him to see how he might get his freedom. one who was thoroughly awake as he was to the idea of being free, with a fair share of courage, could now and then meet with the opportunity to escape by the steamers or schooners coming north. thus samuel found the way open and on one of the steamers came to philadelphia. on arriving, he was put at once in the charge of the committee. while in their hands he seemed filled with astonishment at his own achievements, and such spontaneous expressions as naturally flowed from his heart thrilled and amazed his new found friends, and abundant satisfaction was afforded, that samuel washington johnson would do no discredit to his fugitive comrades in canada. so the committee gladly aided him on his journey. after arriving in canada, samuel wrote frequently and intelligently. the subjoined letter to his wife shows how deeply he was attached to her, and, at the same time, what his views were of slavery. the member of the committee to whom it was sent with the request, that it should be forwarded to her, did not meet with the opportunity of doing so. a copy of it was preserved with other underground rail road documents. letter from samuel w. johnson to his wife. my dear wife i now embrace this golden opportunity of writing a few lines to inform you that i am well at present engoying good health and hope that these few lines may find you well also. my dearest wife i have left you and now i am in a foreign land about fourteen hundred miles from you but though my wife my thoughts are upon you all the time. my dearest frances i hope you will remember me now gust as same as you did when i were there with you because my mind are with you night and day the love that i bear for you in my breast is greater than i thought it was if i had thought i had so much love for you i dont think i ever could left being i have escape i and has fled into a land of freedom. i can but stop and look over my past life and say what a fool i was for staying in bondage as long. my dear wife i dont want you to get married before you send me some letters because i never shall get married until i see you again. my mind dont deceive and it appears to me as if i shall see you again at my time of writing this letter i am desitute of money i have not got in no business yet but when i do get into business i shall write you and also remember you. tell my mother and brother and all enquiring friends that i am now safe in free state. i cant tell where i am at present but direct your letters to mr. william still in philadelphia and i will get them. answer this as soon as you can if you please for if you write the same day you receive it it will take a fortnight to reach me. no more to relate at present but still remain your affectionate husband. mr. still please defore this piece out if you please samuel washington johnson. whether samuel ever met with the opportunity of communicating with his wife, the writer cannot say. but of all the trials which slaves had to endure, the separations of husbands and wives were the most difficult to bear up under. although feeling keenly the loss of his wife, samuel's breast swelled with the thought of freedom, as will be seen from the letter which he wrote immediately after landing in canada: st. catharine, upper canada west. mr. william still:--i am now in safety. i arrived at home safe on the th inst at o'clock m. so i hope that you will now take it upon yourself to inform me something of that letter i left at your house that night when i left there and write me word how you are and how is your wife. i wish you may excuse this letter for i am so full that i cannot express my mind at all. i am only got $ . and i feel as if i had an independent fortune but i don't want you to think that i am going to be idle because i am on free ground and i shall always work though i am not got nothing to do at present. direct your letter to the post office as soon as possible. samuel w. johnson. * * * * * family from baltimore. stephen amos, _alias_ henry johnson, harriet, _alias_ mary jane johnson (man and wife), and their four children, ann rebecca, wm. h., elizabeth and mary ellen. doubtless, in the eyes of a slaveholder, a more "likely-looking" family could not readily be found in baltimore, than the one to be now briefly noticed. the mother and her children were owned by a young slave-holder, who went by the name of william giddings, and resided in prince george's county, md. harriet acknowledged, that she had been treated "tolerably well in earlier days" for one in her condition; but, as in so many instances in the experience of slaves, latterly, times had changed with her and she was compelled to serve under a new master who oft-times treated her "very severely." on one occasion, seven years previously, a brother of her owner for a trifling offence struck and kicked her so brutally, that she was immediately thrown into a fit of sickness, which lasted "all one summer"--from this she finally recovered. on another occasion, about one year previous to her escape, she was seized by her owner and thrust into prison to be sold. in this instance the interference of the uncle of harriet's master saved her from the auction block. the young master, was under age, and at the same time under the guardianship of his uncle. the young master had early acquired an ardent taste for fast horses, gambling, etc. harriet felt, that her chances for the future in the hands of such a brutal master could not be other than miserable. her husband had formerly been owned by john s. giddings, who was said to have been a "mild man." he had allowed stephen (her husband) to buy himself, and for eighteen months prior to the flight, he had been what was called a free man. it should also be further stated in justice to stephen's master, that he was so disgusted with the manner in which stephen's wife was treated, that he went so far as to counsel stephen to escape with his wife and children. here at least is one instance where a maryland slave-holder lends his influence to the underground rail road cause. the counsel was accepted, and the family started on their perilous flight. and although they necessarily had manifest trials and difficulties to discourage and beset them, they battled bravely with all these odds and reached the vigilance committee safely. harriet was a bright mulatto, with marked features of character, and well made, with good address and quite intelligent. she was about twenty-six years of age. the children also were remarkably fine-looking little creatures, but too young to know the horrors of slavery. the committee at once relieved them of their heavy load of anxiety by cheering words and administering to their necessities with regard to food, money, etc. after the family had somewhat recovered from the fatigue and travel-worn condition in which they arrived, and were prepared to resume their journey, the committee gave them the strictest caution with regard to avoiding slave-hunters, and also in reference to such points on the road where they would be most in danger of going astray from a lack of knowledge of the way. then, with indescribable feelings of sympathy, free tickets were tendered them, and they having been conducted to the depot, were sent on their way rejoicing. * * * * * elijah hilton. from richmond. after many years of hard toiling for the support of others, the yoke pressed so heavily upon elijah's shoulders, that he could not endure slave life any longer. in the hope of getting rid of his bondage, by dexterous management and a resolute mind, which most determined and thoughtful men exercise when undertaking to accomplish great objects, he set about contriving to gain his freedom. in proof of elijah's truthfulness, the advertisement of mr. r.j. christians is here offered, as taken from a richmond paper, about the time that elijah passed through philadelphia on the underground rail road, in . ran away--$ reward.--left the tobacco factory of the subscriber on the th inst., on the pretence of being sick, a mulatto man, named elijah, the property of maj. edward johnson, of chesterfield county. he is about feet or inches high, spare made, bushy hair, and very genteel appearance; he is supposed to be making his way north. the above reward will be paid if delivered at my factory. [illustration: ] ro. j. christians. jy --ts. from his infancy up to the hour of his escape, not a breath of free air had he ever been permitted to breathe. he was first owned by mrs. caroline johnson, "a stingy widow, the owner of about fifty slaves, and a member of dr. plummer's church." elijah, at her death, was willed to her son, major johnson, who was in the united states service. elijah spoke of him as a "favorable man," but added, "i'd rather be free. i believe i can treat myself better than he can or anybody else." for the last nineteen years he had been hired out, sometimes as waiter, sometimes in a tobacco factory, and for five years in the _coal mines_. at the mines he was treated very brutally, but at cornelius hall's tobacco factory, the suffering he had to endure seems almost incredible. the poor fellow, with the scars upon his person and the unmistakable earnestness of his manner, only needed to be seen and heard to satisfy the most incredulous of the truth of his story. for refusing to be flogged, one time at hall's factory, the overseer, in a rage, "took up a hickory club" and laid his head "open on each side." overpowered and wounded, he was stripped naked and compelled to receive three hundred lashes, by which he was literally excoriated from head to foot. for six months afterwards he was "laid up." last year he was hired out for "one hundred and eighty dollars," out of which he "received but five dollars." this year he brought "one hundred and ninety dollars." up to the time he escaped, he had received "two dollars," and the promise of "more at christmas." left brothers and sisters, all ignorant of his way of escape. the following pass brought away by elijah speaks for itself, and will doubtless be interesting to some of our readers who are ignorant of what used to be republican usages in the "land of the free." richmond, july d, . permit the bearer _elijah_ to pass to and from my factory, to _frederick williams, in the vallie_, for one month, untill o'clock at night. by _a.b. wells_, r.j. christian. [pine apple factory.] as usual, the vigilance committee tendered aid to elijah, and forwarded him on to canada, whence he wrote back as follows: toronto, canada west, july . dear friend in due respect to your humanity and nobility i now take my pen in hand to inform you of my health. i am enjoying a reasonable proportion of health at this time and hope when these few lines come to hand they may find you and family the same dear sir i am in toronto and are working at my ole branch of business with meny of my friends. i want you to send those to toronto to mr tueharts on edward st what i have been talking about is my clothes i came from richmond va and expect my things to come to you. so when they come to you then you will send them to jesse tuehart edward st no . i must close by saying i have no more at present. i still remain your brother, elijah hilton. * * * * * solomon brown. arrived per city of richmond. this candidate for canada managed to secure a private berth on the steamship city of richmond. he was thus enabled to leave his old mistress, mary a. ely, in norfolk, the place of her abode, and the field of his servitude. solomon was only twenty-two years of age, rather under the medium size, dark color, and of much natural ability. he viewed slavery as a great hardship, and for a length of time had been watching for an opportunity to free himself. he had been in the habit of hiring his time of his mistress, for which he paid ten dollars per month. this amount failed to satisfy the mistress, as she was inclined to sell him to north carolina, where slave stock, at that time, was commanding high prices. the idea of north carolina and a new master made solomon rather nervous, and he was thereby prompted to escape. on reaching the committee he manifested very high appreciation of the attention paid him, and after duly resting for a day, he was sent on his way rejoicing. seven days after leaving philadelphia, he wrote back from canada as follows: st. catharines, feb. th, . mr. still--dear sir:--it is with great pleasure that i have to inform you, that i have arrived safe in a land of freedom. thanks to kind friends that helped me here. thank god that i am treading on free soil. i expect to go to work to-morrow in a steam factory. i would like to have you, if it is not too much trouble, see mr. minhett, the steward on the boat that i came out on, when he gets to norfolk, to go to the place where my clothes are, and bring them to you, and you direct them to the care of rev. hiram wilson, st. catharines, niagara district, canada west, by rail-road via suspension bridge. you mentioned if i saw mr. foreman. i was to deliver a message--he is not here. i saw two yesterday in church, from norfolk, that i had known there. you will send my name, james henry, as you knew me by that name; direct my things to james henry. my love to your wife and children. yours respectfully, solomon brown. * * * * * william hogg, alias john smith. traveler from maryland. william fled from lewis roberts, who followed farming in baltimore county, md. in speaking of him, william gave him the character of being a "fierce and rough man," who owned nine head of slaves. two of william's sisters were held by roberts, when he left. his excuse for running away was, "ill-treatment." in traveling north, he walked to columbia (in pennsylvania), and there took the cars for philadelphia. the committee took charge of him, and having given him the usual aid, sent him hopefully on his way. after safely reaching canada, the thought of his wife in a land of bondage, pressed so deeply upon his mind, that he was prompted to make an effort to rescue her. the following letter, written on his behalf by the rev. h. wilson, indicates his feelings and wishes with regard to her: st. catharines, canada west, th july, . dear friend, william still:--your encouraging letter, to john smith, was duly received by him, and i am requested to write again on his behalf. his colored friend in baltimore county, who would favor his designs, is thomas cook, whom he wishes you to address, baltimore post-office, care of mr. thomas spicer. he has received a letter from thomas cook, dated the th of june, but it was a long time reaching him. he wishes you to say to cook, that he got his letter, and that he would like to have him call on his wife and make known to her, that he is in good health, doing well here, and would like to have her come on as soon as she can. as she is a free woman, there will, doubtless, be no difficulty in her coming right through. he is working in the neighborhood of st. catharines, but twelve miles from niagara falls. you will please recollect to address thomas cook, in the care of thomas spicer, baltimore post-office. smith's wife is at, or near the place he came from, and, doubtless, thomas cook knows all about her condition and circumstances. please write again to john smith, in my care, if you please, and request thomas cook to do the same. very respectfully yours in the cause of philanthropy. hiram wilson. * * * * * two female passengers feom maryland. as the way of travel, _viâ_ the underground rail road, under the most favorable circumstances, even for the sterner sex, was hard enough to test the strongest nerves, and to try the faith of the bravest of the brave, every woman, who won her freedom, by this perilous undertaking, deserves commemoration. it is, therefore, a pleasure to thus transfer from the old record book the names of ann johnson and lavina woolfley, who fled from maryland in . their lives, however, had not been in any way very remarkable. ann was tall, and of a dark chestnut color, with an intelligent countenance, and about twenty-four years of age. she had filled various situations as a slave. sometimes she was required to serve in the kitchen, at other times she was required to toil in the field, with the plow, hoe, and the like. samuel harrington, of cambridge district, maryland, was the name of the man for whose benefit ann labored during her younger days. she had no hesitation in saying, that he was a very "ill-natured man;" he however, was a member of the "old time methodist church." in slave property he had invested only to the extent of some five or six head. about three years previous to ann's escape, one of her brothers fled and went to canada. this circumstance so enraged the owner, that he declared he would "sell all" he owned. accordingly ann was soon put on the auction block, and was bought by a man who went by the name of william moore. moore was a married man, who, with his wife, was addicted to intemperance and carousing. ann found that she had simply got "out of the fire into the frying-pan." she was really at a loss to tell when her lot was the harder, whether under the "rum drinker," or the old time methodist. in this state of mind she decided to leave all and go to canada, the refuge for the fleeing bondman. lavina, ann's companion, was the wife of james woolfley. she and her husband set out together, with six others, and were of the party of eight who were betrayed into dover jail, as has already been described in these pages. after fighting their way out of the jail, they separated (for prudential reasons). the husband of lavina, immediately after the conflict at the jail, passed on to canada, leaving his wife under the protection of friends. since that time several months had elapsed, but of each other nothing had been known, before she received information on her arrival at philadelphia. the committee was glad to inform her, that her husband had safely passed on to canada, and that she would be aided on also, where they could enjoy freedom in a free country. * * * * * captain f. and the mayor of norfolk. twenty-one passengers secreted in a boat. november, . captain f. was certainly no ordinary man. although he had been living a sea-faring life for many years, and the marks of this calling were plainly enough visible in his manners and speech, he was, nevertheless, unlike the great mass of this class of men, not addicted to intemperance and profanity. on the contrary, he was a man of thought, and possessed, in a large measure, those humane traits of character which lead men to sympathize with suffering humanity wherever met with. it must be admitted, however, that the first impressions gathered from a hasty survey of his rough and rugged appearance, his large head, large mouth, large eyes, and heavy eye-brows, with a natural gift at keeping concealed the inner-workings of his mind and feelings, were not calculated to inspire the belief, that he was fitted to be entrusted with the lives of unprotected females, and helpless children; that he could take pleasure in risking his own life to rescue them from the hell of slavery; that he could deliberately enter the enemy's domain, and with the faith of a martyr, face the dread slave-holder, with his bowie-knives and revolvers--slave-hunters, and blood-hounds, lynchings, and penitentiaries, for humanity's sake. but his deeds proved him to be a true friend of the slave; whilst his skill, bravery, and success stamped him as one of the most daring and heroic captains ever connected with the underground rail road cause. at the time he was doing most for humanity in rescuing bondsmen from slavery, slave-laws were actually being the most rigidly executed. to show mercy, in any sense, to man or woman, who might be caught assisting a poor slave to flee from the prison-house, was a matter not to be thought of in virginia. this was perfectly well understood by captain f.; indeed he did not hesitate to say, that his hazardous operations might any day result in the "sacrifice" of his life. but on this point he seemed to give himself no more concern than he would have done to know which way the wind would blow the next day. he had his own convictions about dying and the future, and he declared, that he had "no fear of death," however it might come. still, he was not disposed to be reckless or needlessly to imperil his life, or the lives of those he undertook to aid. nor was he averse to receiving compensation for his services. in richmond, norfolk, petersburg, and other places where he traded, many slaves were fully awake to their condition. the great slave sales were the agencies that served to awaken a large number. then the various mechanical trades were necessarily given to the slaves, for the master had no taste for "greasy, northern mechanics." then, again, the stores had to be supplied with porters, draymen, etc., from the slave population. in the hearts of many of the more intelligent amongst the slaves, the men, as mechanics, etc., the women, as dress-makers, chamber-maids, etc., notwithstanding all the opposition and hard laws, the spirit of freedom was steadily burning. many of the slaves were half brothers, and sisters, cousins, nephews, and nieces to their owners, and of course "blood would tell." it was only necessary for the fact to be made known to a single reliable and intelligent slave, that a man with a boat running north had the love of freedom for all mankind in his bosom to make that man an object of the greatest interest. if an angel had appeared amongst them doubtless his presence would not have inspired greater anxiety and hope than did the presence of captain f. the class most anxious to obtain freedom could generally manage to acquire some means which they would willingly offer to captains or conductors in the south for such assistance as was indispensable to their escape. many of the slaves learned if they could manage to cross mason and dixon's line, even though they might be utterly destitute and penniless, that they would then receive aid and protection from the vigilance committee. here it may be well to state that, whilst the committee gladly received and aided all who might come or be brought to them, they never employed agents or captains to go into the south with a view of enticing or running off slaves. so when captains operated, they did so with the full understanding that they alone were responsible for any failures attending their movements. the way is now clear to present captain f. with his schooner lying at the wharf in norfolk, loading with wheat, and at the same time with twenty-one fugitives secreted therein. while the boat was thus lying at her mooring, the rumor was flying all over town that a number of slaves had escaped, which created a general excitement a degree less, perhaps, than if the citizens had been visited by an earthquake. the mayor of the city with a posse of officers with axes and long spears repaired to captain f.'s boat. the fearless commander received his honor very coolly, and as gracefully as the circumstances would admit. the mayor gave him to understand who he was, and by what authority he appeared on the boat, and what he meant to do. "very well," replied captain f., "here i am and this is my boat, go ahead and search." his honor with his deputies looked quickly around, and then an order went forth from the mayor to "spear the wheat thoroughly." the deputies obeyed the command with alacrity. but the spears brought neither blood nor groans, and the sagacious mayor obviously concluded that he was "barking up the wrong tree." but the mayor was not there for nothing. "take the axes and go to work," was the next order; and the axe was used with terrible effect by one of the deputies. the deck and other parts of the boat were chopped and split; no greater judgment being exercised when using the axe than when spearing the wheat; captain f. all the while wearing an air of utter indifference or rather of entire composure. indeed every step they took proved conclusively that they were wholly ignorant with regard to boat searching. at this point, with remarkable shrewdness, captain f. saw wherein he could still further confuse them by a bold strategical move. as though about out of patience with the mayor's blunders, the captain instantly reminded his honor that he had "stood still long enough" while his boat was being "damaged, chopped up," &c. "now if you want to search," continued he, "give me the axe, and then point out the spot you want opened and i will open it for you very quick." while uttering these words he presented, as he was capable of doing, an indignant and defiant countenance, and intimated that it mattered not where or when a man died provided he was in the right, and as though he wished to give particularly strong emphasis to what he was saying, he raised the axe, and brought it down edge foremost on the deck with startling effect, at the same time causing the splinters to fly from the boards. the mayor and his posse seemed, if not dreadfully frightened, completely confounded, and by the time captain f. had again brought down his axe with increased power, demanding where they would have him open, they looked as though it was time for them to retire, and in a few minutes after they actually gave up the search and left the boat without finding a soul. daniel in the lions' den was not safer than were the twenty-one passengers secreted on captain f.'s boat. the law had been carried out with a vengeance, but did not avail with this skilled captain. the "five dollars" were paid for being searched, the amount which was lawfully required of every captain sailing from virginia. and the captain steered direct for the city of brotherly love. the wind of heaven favoring the good cause, he arrived safely in due time, and delivered his precious freight in the vicinity of philadelphia within the reach of the vigilance committee. the names of the passengers were as follows: [illustration: mayor and police of norfolk on capt. fountain's schooner.] alan tatum, daniel carr, michael vaughn, thomas nixon, frederick nixon, peter petty, nathaniel gardener, john brown, thomas freeman, james foster, godfrey scott, willis wilson, nancy little, john smith, francis haines, david johnson, phillis gault, alice jones, ned wilson, and sarah c. wilson, and one other, who subsequently passed on, having been detained on account of sickness. these passengers were most "likely-looking articles;" a number of them, doubtless, would have commanded the very highest prices in the richmond market. among them were some good mechanics--one excellent dress-maker, some "prime" waiters and chambermaids;--men and women with brains, some of them evincing remarkable intelligence and decided bravery, just the kind of passengers that gave the greatest satisfaction to the vigilance committee. the interview with these passengers was extremely interesting. each one gave his or her experience of slavery, the escape, etc., in his or her own way, deeply impressing those who had the privilege of seeing and hearing them, with the fact of the growing spirit of liberty, and the wonderful perception and intelligence possessed by some of the sons of toil in the south. while all the names of these passengers were duly entered on the underground rail road records, the number was too large, and the time they spent with the attempts to escape were made by daniel, after being sold to north carolina; for this offence, he was on one occasion stripped naked, and flogged severely. this did not cure him. prior to his joining captain f.'s party, he had fled to the swamps, and dwelt there for three months, surrounded with wild animals and reptiles, and it was this state of solitude that he left directly before finding captain f. daniel had a wife in portsmouth, to whom he succeeded in paying a private visit, when, to his unspeakable joy, he made the acquaintance of the noble captain f., whose big heart was delighted to give him a passage north. daniel, after being sold, had been allowed, within the two years, only one opportunity of visiting his wife; being thus debarred he resolved to escape. his wife, whose name was hannah, had three children--slaves--their names were sam, dan, and "baby." the name of the latter was unknown to him. michael vaughn. michael was about thirty-one years of age, with superior physical proportions, and no lack of common sense. his color was without paleness--dark and unfading, and his manly appearance was quite striking. michael belonged to a lady, whom he described as a "very disagreeable woman." "for all my life i have belonged to her, but for the last eight years i have hired my time. i paid my mistress $ a year; a part of the time i had to find my board and all my clothing." this was the direct, and unequivocal testimony that michael gave of his slave life, which was the foundation for alleging that his mistress was a "very disagreeable woman." michael left a wife and one child in slavery; but they were not owned by his mistress. before escaping, he felt afraid to lead his companion into the secret of his contemplated movements, as he felt, that there was no possible way for him to do anything for her deliverance; on the other hand, any revelation of the matter might prove too exciting for the poor soul;--her name was esther. that he did not lose his affection for her whom he was obliged to leave so unceremoniously, is shown by the appended letter: new bedford, august d, . dear sir:--i send you this to inform you that i expect my wife to come that way. if she should, you will direct her to me. when i came through your city last fall, you took my name in your office, which was then given you, michael vaughn; since then my name is william brown, no. kempton street. please give my wife and child's name to dr. lundy, and tell him to attend to it for me. her name is esther, and the child's name louisa. truly yours, william brown. michael worked in a foundry. in church fellowship he was connected with the methodists--his mistress with the baptists. thomas nixon was about nineteen years of age, of a dark hue, and quite intelligent. he had not much excuse to make for leaving, except, that he was "tired of staying" with his "owner," as he "feared he might be sold some day," so he "thought" that he might as well save him the trouble. thomas belonged to a mr. bockover, a wholesale grocer, no. brewer street. thomas left behind him his mother and three brothers. his father was sold away when he was an infant, consequently he never saw him. thomas was a member of the methodist church; his master was of the same persuasion. frederick nixon was about thirty-three years of age, and belonged truly to the wide-awake class of slaves, as his marked physical and mental appearance indicated. he had a more urgent excuse for escaping than thomas; he declared that he fled because, his owner wanted "to work him hard without allowing him any chance, and had treated him rough." frederick was also one of mr. bockover's chattels; he left his wife, elizabeth, with four children in bondage. they were living in eatontown, north carolina. it had been almost one year since he had seen them. had he remained in norfolk he had not the slightest prospect of being reunited to his wife and children, as he had been already separated from them for about three years. this painful state of affairs only increased his desire to leave those who were brutal enough to make such havoc in his domestic relations. peter petty was about twenty-four years of age, and wore a happy countenance; he was a person of agreeable manners, and withal pretty smart. he acknowledged, that he had been owned by joseph boukley, hair inspector. peter did not give mr. boukley a very good character, however; he said, that mr. b. was "rowdyish in his habits, was deceitful and sly, and would sell his slaves any time. hard bondage--something like the children of israel," was his simple excuse for fleeing. he hired his time of his master, for which he was compelled to pay $ a year. when he lost time by sickness or rainy weather, he was required to make up the deficiency, also find his clothing. he left a wife--lavinia--and one child, eliza, both slaves. peter communicated to his wife his secret intention to leave, and she acquiesced in his going. he left his parents also. all his sisters and brothers had been sold. peter would have been sold too, but his owner was under the impression, that he was "too good a christian" to violate the laws by running away. peter's master was quite a devoted methodist, and was attached to the same church with peter. while on the subject of religion, peter was asked about the kind and character of preaching that he had been accustomed to hear; whereupon he gave the following graphic specimen: "servants obey your masters; good servants make good masters; when your mistress speaks to you don't pout out your mouths; when you want to go to church ask your mistress and master," etc., etc. peter declared, that he had never heard but one preacher speak against slavery, and that "one was obliged to leave suddenly for the north." he said, that a quaker lady spoke in meeting against slavery one day, which resulted in an outbreak, and final breaking up of the meeting. phillis gault. phillis was a widow, about thirty years of age; the blood of two races flowed in about equal proportions through her veins. such was her personal appearance, refinement, manners, and intelligence, that had the facts of her slave life been unknown, she would have readily passed for one who had possessed superior advantages. but the facts in her history proved, that she had been made to feel very keenly the horrifying effects of slavery; not in the field, for she had never worked there; nor as a common drudge, for she had always been required to fill higher spheres; she was a dress-maker--but not without fear of the auction block. this dreaded destiny was the motive which constrained her to escape with the twenty others; secreted in the hold of a vessel expressly arranged for bringing away slaves. death had robbed her of her husband at the time that the fever raged so fearfully in norfolk. this sad event deprived her of the hope she had of being purchased by her husband, as he had intended. she was haunted by the constant thought of again being sold, as she had once been, and as she had witnessed the sale of her sister's four children after the death of their mother. phillis was, to use her own striking expression in a state of "great horror;" she felt, that nothing would relieve her but freedom. after having fully pondered the prospect of her freedom and the only mode offered by which she could escape, she consented to endure bravely whatever of suffering and trial might fall to her lot in the undertaking--and as was the case with thousands of others, she succeeded. she remained several days in the family of a member of the committee in philadelphia, favorably impressing all who saw her. as she had formed a very high opinion of boston, from having heard it so thoroughly reviled in norfolk, she desired to go there. the committee made no objections, gave her a free ticket, etc. from that time to the present, she has ever sustained a good christian character, and as an industrious, upright, and intelligent woman, she has been and is highly respected by all who know her. the following letter is characteristic of her: boston, march , . my dear sir--i received your photograph by mr cooper and it afforded me much pleasure to do so i hope that these few lines may find you and your family well as it leaves me and little dicky at present i have no interesting news to tell you more than there is a great revival of religion through the land i all most forgoten to thank you for your kindness and our little dick he is very wild and goes to school and it is my desire and prayer for him to grow up a useful man i wish you would try to gain some information from norfolk and write me word how the times are there for i am afraid to write. i wish yoo would see the doctor for me and ask him if he could carefully find out any way that we could steal little johny for i think to raise nine or ten hundred dollars for such a child is outraigust. just at this time i feel as if i would rather steal him than to buy him. give my kinde regards to the dr and his family tell miss margret and mrs landy that i would like to see them out here this summer again to have a nice time in cambridge miss walker that spent the evening with me in cambridge sens much love to yoo and mrs. landy give my kindes regards to mrs still and children and receive a portion for yoo self. i have no more to say at present but remain yoor respectfully. flarece p. gault. when you write direct yoo letters mrs. flarece p. gault, no pinkney st. * * * * * arrivals from different places. matilda mahoney,--dr. j.w. pennington's brother and sons captured and carried back. while many sympathized with the slave in his chains, and freely wept over his destiny, or gave money to help buy his freedom, but few could be found who were willing to take the risk of going into the south, and standing face to face with slavery, in order to conduct a panting slave to freedom. the undertaking was too fearful to think of in most cases. but there were instances when men and women too, moved by the love of freedom, would take their lives in their hands, beard the lion in his den, and nobly rescue the oppressed. such an instance is found in the case of matilda mahoney, in baltimore. the story of matilda must be very brief, although it is full of thrilling interest. she was twenty-one years of age in , when she escaped and came to philadelphia, a handsome young woman, of a light complexion, quite refined in her manners, and in short, possessing great personal attractions. but her situation as a slave was critical, as will be seen. her claimant was wm. rigard, of frederick, md., who hired her to a mr. reese, in baltimore; in this situation her duties were general housework and nursing. with these labors, she was not, however, so much dissatisfied as she was with other circumstances of a more alarming nature: her old master was tottering on the verge of the grave, and his son, a trader in new orleans. these facts kept matilda in extreme anxiety. for two years prior to her escape, the young trader had been trying to influence his father to let him have her for the southern market; but the old man had not consented. of course the trader knew quite well, that an "article" of her appearance would command readily a very high price in the new orleans market. but matilda's attractions had won the heart of a young man in the north, one who had known her in baltimore in earlier days, and this lover was willing to make desperate efforts to rescue her from her perilous situation. whether or not he had nerve enough to venture down to baltimore to accompany his intended away on the underground rail road, his presence would not have aided in the case. he had, however, a friend who consented to go to baltimore on this desperate mission. the friend was james jefferson, of providence, r.i. with the strategy of a skilled soldier, mr. jefferson hurried to the monumental city, and almost under the eyes of the slave-holders, and slave-catchers, despite of pro slavery breastworks, seized his prize and speeded her away on the underground railway, before her owner was made acquainted with the fact of her intended escape. on matilda's arrival at the station in philadelphia, several other passengers from different points, happened to come to hand just at that time, and gave great solicitude and anxiety to the committee. among these were a man and his wife and their four children, (noticed elsewhere), from maryland. likewise an interesting and intelligent young girl who had been almost miraculously rescued from the prison-house at norfolk, and in addition to these, the brother of j.w. pennington, d.d., with his two sons. while it was a great gratification to have travelers coming along so fast, and especially to observe in every countenance, determination, rare manly and womanly bearing, with remarkable intelligence, it must be admitted, that the acting committee felt at the same time, a very lively dread of the slave-hunters, and were on their guard. arrangements were made to send the fugitives on by different trains, and in various directions. matilda and all the others with the exception of the father and two sons (relatives of dr. pennington) successfully escaped and reached their longed-for haven in a free land. the penningtons, however, although pains had been taken to apprize the doctor of the good news of the coming of his kin, whom he had not seen for many, many years, were captured after being in new york some twenty-four hours. in answer to an advisory letter from the secretary of the committee the following from the doctor is explicit, relative to his wishes and feelings with regard to their being sent on to new york. th avenue, new york, may th, . my dear mr. still:--your kind letter of the d inst has come to hand and i have to thank you for your offices of benevolence to my bone and my flesh, i have had the pleasure of doing a little for your brother peter, but i do not think it an offset. my burden has been great about these brethren. i hope they have started on to me. many thanks, my good friend. yours truly. j.w.c. pennington. this letter only served to intensify the deep interest which had already been awakened for the safety of all concerned. at the same time also it made the duty of the committee clear with regard to forwarding them to n.y. immediately, therefore, the doctor's brother and sons were furnished with free tickets and were as carefully cautioned as possible with regard to slave-hunters, if encountered on the road. in company with several other underground rail road passengers, under the care of an intelligent guide, all were sent off in due order, looking quite as well as the most respectable of their race from any part of the country. the committee in new york, with the doctor, were on the look out of course; thus without difficulty all arrived safely in the empire city. it would seem that the coming of his brother and sons so overpowered the doctor that he forgot how imminent their danger was. the meeting and interview was doubtless very joyous. few perhaps could realize, even in imagination, the feelings that filled their hearts, as the doctor and his brother reverted to their boyhood, when they were both slaves together in maryland; the separation--the escape of the former many years previous--the contrast, one elevated to the dignity of a doctor of divinity, a scholar and noted clergyman, and as such well known in the united states, and great britain, whilst, at the same time, his brother and kin were held in chains, compelled to do unrequited labor, to come and go at the bidding of another. were not these reflections enough to incapacitate the doctor for the time being, for cool thought as to how he should best guard against the enemy? indeed, in view of slavery and its horrid features, the wonder is, not that more was not done, but that any thing was done, that the victims were not driven almost out of their senses. but time rolled on until nearly twenty-four hours had passed, and while reposing their fatigued and weary limbs in bed, just before day-break, hyena-like the slave-hunters pounced upon all three of them, and soon had them hand-cuffed and hurried off to a united states' commissioner's office. armed with the fugitive law, and a strong guard of officers to carry it out, resistance would have been simply useless. ere the morning sun arose the sad news was borne by the telegraph wires to all parts of the country of this awful calamity on the underground rail road. scarcely less painful to the committee was the news of this accident, than the news of a disaster, resulting in the loss of several lives, on the camden and amboy road, would have been to its managers. this was the first accident that had ever taken place on the road after passengers had reached the philadelphia committee, although, in various instances, slave-hunters had been within a hair's breadth of their prey. all that was reported respecting the arrest and return of the doctor's kin, so disgraceful to christianity and civilization, is taken from the liberator, as follows: three fugitive slaves arrested in new york, and given up to their owners. new york, may th. about three o'clock this morning, three colored men, father and two sons, known as jake, bob, and stephen pennington, were arrested at the instance of david smith and jacob grove, of washington co., md., who claimed them as their slaves. they were taken before commissioner morton, of the united states court, and it was understood that they would be examined at o'clock; instead of that, however, the case was heard at once, no persons being present, when the claimnants testified that they were the owners of said slaves and that they escaped from their service at baltimore, on sunday last. from what we can gather of the proceedings, the fugitives acknowledged themselves to be slaves of smith and grove. the commissioner considering the testimony sufficient, ordered their surrender, and they were accordingly given up to their claimants, who hurried them off at once, and they are now on their way to baltimore. a telegraph despatch has been sent to philadelphia, as it is understood an attempt will be made to rescue the parties, when the cars arrive. there was no excitement around the commissioner's office, owing to a misunderstanding as to the time of examination. the men were traced to this city by the claimants, who made application to the united states court, when officers horton and de angeles were deputied by the marshal to effect their arrest, and those officers, with deputy marshal thompson scoured the city, and finally found them secreted in a house in broome st. they were brought before commissioner morton this morning. no counsel appeared for the fugitives. the case being made out, the usual affidavits of fear of rescue were made, and the warrants thereupon issued, and the three fugitives were delivered over to the u.s. marshal, and hurried off to maryland. they were a father and his two sons, father about forty-five and sons eighteen or nineteen. the evidence shows them to have recently escaped. the father is the brother of the rev. dr. pennington, a highly respected colored preacher of this city. new york, may . last evening the church at the corner of prince and marion streets was filled with an intelligent audience of white and colored people, to hear dr. pennington relate the circumstance connected with the arrest of his brother and nephews. he showed, that he attempted to afford his brother the assistance of counsel, but was unable to do so, the officers at the marshal's office having deceived him in relation to the time the trial was to take place before the commissioners. hon. e.f. culver next addressed the audience, showing, that a great injustice had been done to the brother of dr. pennington, and though he, up to that time, had advocated peace, he now had the spirit to tear down the building over the marshal's head. intense interest was manifested during the proceedings, and much sympathy in behalf of dr. pennington. the fugitive slaves in baltimore. the u.s. marshal, a.t. hillyer, esq., received a dispatch this morning from officers horton and dellugelis, at baltimore, stating, that they had arrived there with the three slaves, arrested here yesterday (the penningtons), the owners accompanying them. the officers will return to new york, this evening.--_n.y. express_, _th_. new york, may . the rev. dr. pennington has received a letter from mr. grove, the claimant of his brother, who was recently taken back from this city, offering to sell him to dr. pennington, should he wish to buy him, and stating, that he would await a reply, before "selling him to the slave-drivers." mr. groce, who accompanied his "sweet heart," matilda, in the same train which conveyed the penningtons to new york, had reason to apprehend danger to all the underground rail road passengers, as will appear from his subjoined letter: elmira, may th. dear luke:--i arrived home safe with my precious charge, and found all well. i have just learned, that the penningtons are taken. had he done as i wished him he would never have been taken. last night our tall friend from baltimore came, and caused great excitement here by his information. the lady is perfectly safe now in canada. i will write you and mr. still as soon as i get over the excitement. this letter was first intended for mr. gains, but i now send it to you. please let me hear their movements. yours truly, c.l. groce. but sadly as this blow was felt by the vigilance committee, it did not cause them to relax their efforts in the least. indeed it only served to stir them up to renewed diligence and watchfulness, although for a length of time afterwards the committee felt disposed, when sending, to avoid new york as much as possible, and in lieu thereof, to send _viâ_ elmira, where there was a depot under the agency of john w. jones. mr. jones was a true and prompt friend of the fugitive, and wide-awake with regard to slavery and slave-holders, and slave hunters, for he had known from sad experience in virginia every trait of character belonging to these classes. in the midst of the doctor's grief, friends of the slave soon raised money to purchase his brother, about $ , ; but the unfortunate sons were doomed to the auction block and the far south, where, the writer has never exactly learned. "fleeing girl of fifteen," in male attire. professors h. and t. offer their services--captains b. also are enlisted--slave-trader grasping tightly his prey, but she is rescued--long conflict, but great triumph--arrival on thanksgiving day, nov. , . it was the business of the vigilance committee, as it was clearly understood by the friends of the slave, to assist all needy fugitives, who might in any way manage to reach philadelphia, but, for various reasons, not to send agents south to incite slaves to run away, or to assist them in so doing. sometimes, however, this rule could not altogether be conformed to. cases, in some instances, would appeal so loudly and forcibly to humanity, civilization, and christianity, that it would really seem as if the very stones would cry out, unless something was done. as an illustration of this point, the story of the young girl, which is now to be related, will afford the most striking proof. at the same time it may be seen how much anxiety, care, hazard, delay and material aid, were required in order to effect the deliverance of some who were in close places, and difficult of access. it will be necessary to present a considerable amount of correspondence in this case, to bring to light the hidden mysteries of this narrative. the first letter, in explanation, is the following: letter from j. bigelow, esq. washington, d.c., june , . mr. wm. still--_dear sir_:--i have to thank you for the prompt answer you had the kindness to give to my note of d inst. having found a correspondence so quick and easy, and withal so very flattering, i address you again more fully. the liberal appropriation for _transportation_ has been made chiefly on account of a female child of ten or eleven years old, for whose purchase i have been authorized to offer $ (refused), and for whose sister i have paid $ , , and some $ , for their mother, &c. this child sleeps in the same apartment with its master and mistress, which adds to the difficulty of removal. she is some ten or twelve miles from the city, so that really the chief hazard will be in bringing her safely to town, and in secreting her until a few days of _storm_ shall have abated. all this, i think, is now provided for with entire safety. the child has two cousins in the immediate vicinity; a young man of some twenty-two years of age, and his sister, of perhaps seventeen--_both slaves_, but bright and clear-headed as anybody. the young man i have seen often--the services of _both_ seem indispensable to the main object suggested; but having once rendered the service, they cannot, and ought not return to slavery. they look for _freedom_ as the reward of what they shall now do. out of the $ , cheerfully offered for the whole enterprise, i must pay some reasonable sum for transportation to the city and sustenance while here. it cannot be much; for the balance, i shall give a draft, which will be _promptly paid_ on their arrival in new york. if i have been understood to offer the whole $ , _it shall be paid_, though i have meant as above stated. among the various ways that have been suggested, has been that of taking _all of them_ into the cars here; that, i think, will be found impracticable. i find so much vigilance at the depot, that i would not deem it safe, though, in any kind of carriage they might leave in safety at any time. all the rest i leave to the experience and sagacity of the gentleman who maps out the enterprise. now i will thank you to reply to this and let me know that it reaches you in safety, and is not put in a careless place, whereby i may be endangered; and state also, whether all my propositions are understood and acceptable, and whether, (pretty quickly after i shall inform you that _all things are ready_), the gentleman will make his appearance? i live alone. my office and bed-room, &c., are at the corner of e. and th streets, opposite the east end of the general post office, where any one may call upon me. it would, of course, be imprudent, that this letter, or any other _written_ particulars, be in his pockets for fear of accident. yours very respectfully, j. bigelow. while this letter clearly brought to light the situation of things, its author, however, had scarcely begun to conceive of the numberless difficulties which stood in the way of success before the work could be accomplished. the information which mr. bigelow's letter contained of the painful situation of this young girl was submitted to different parties who could be trusted, with a view of finding a person who might possess sufficient courage to undertake to bring her away. amongst those consulted were two or three captains who had on former occasions done good service in the cause. one of these captains was known in underground rail-road circles as the "powder boy."[a] he was willing to undertake the work, and immediately concluded to make a visit to washington, to see how the "land lay." accordingly in company with another underground rail road captain, he reported himself one day to mr. bigelow with as much assurance as if he were on an errand for an office under the government. the impression made on mr. bigelow's mind may be seen from the following letter; it may also be seen that he was fully alive to the necessity of precautionary measures. [footnote a: he had been engaged at different times in carrying powder in his boat from a powder magazine, and from this circumstance, was familiarly called the "powder boy."] second letter from lawyer bigelow. washington, d.c., september th, . mr. wm. still, dear sir:--i strongly hope the little matter of business so long pending and about which i have written you so many times, will take a move now. i have the promise that the merchandize shall be delivered in this city to-night. like so many other promises, this also may prove a failure, though i have reason to believe that it will not. i shall, however, know before i mail this note. in case the goods arrive here i shall hope to see your long-talked of "professional gentleman" in washington, as soon as possible. he will find me by the enclosed card, which shall be a satisfactory introduction for him. you have never given me his name, nor am i anxious to know it. but on a pleasant visit made last fall to friend wm. wright, in adams co., i suppose i accidentally learned it to be a certain dr. h----. well, let him come. i had an interesting call a week ago from two gentlemen, masters of vessels, and brothers, one of whom, i understand, you know as the "powder boy." i had a little light freight for them; but not finding enough other freight to ballast their craft, they went down the river looking for wheat, and promising to return soon. i hope to see them often. i hope this may find you returned from your northern trip,[a] as your time proposed was out two or three days ago. [footnote a: mr. bigelow's correspondent had been on a visit to the fugitives to canada.] i hope if the whole particulars of jane johnson's case[b] are printed, you will send me the copy as proposed. [footnote b: jane johnson of the passmore williamson slave case.] i forwarded some of her things to boston a few days ago, and had i known its importance in court, i could have sent you one or two witnesses who would prove that her freedom was intended by her before she left washington, and that a man was _engaged_ here to go on to philadelphia the same day with her to give notice there of her case, though i think he failed to do so. it was beyond all question her purpose, _before leaving washington and provable too_, that if wheeler should make her a free woman by taking her to a free state "_to use it rather_." tuesday, th september. the attempt was made on sunday to forward the merchandize, but failed through no fault of any of the parties that i now know of. it will be repeated soon, and you shall know the result. "whorra for judge kane." i feel so indignant at the man, that it is not easy to write the foregoing sentence, and yet who is helping our cause like kane and douglas, not forgetting stringfellow. i hope soon to know that this reaches you in safety. it often happens that light freight would be offered to captain b., but the owners cannot by possibility _advance_ the amount of freight. i wish it were possible in some such extreme cases, that after advancing _all they have_, some public fund should be found to pay the balance or at least lend it. [i wish here to caution you against the supposition that i would do any act, or say a word towards helping servants to escape. although i hate slavery so much, i keep my hands clear of any such wicked or illegal act.] yours, very truly, j.b. will you recollect, hereafter, that in any of my future letters, in which i may use [] whatever words may be within the brackets are intended to have no signification whatever to you, only to blind the eyes of the uninitiated. you will find an example at the close of my letter. up to this time the chances seemed favorable of procuring the ready services of either of the above mentioned captains who visited lawyer bigelow for the removal of the merchandize to philadelphia, providing the shipping master could have it in readiness to suit their convenience. but as these captains had a number of engagements at richmond, petersburg, &c., it was not deemed altogether safe to rely upon either of them, consequently in order to be prepared in case of an emergency, the matter was laid before two professional gentlemen who were each occupying chairs in one of the medical colleges of philadelphia. they were known to be true friends of the slave, and had possessed withal some experience in underground rail road matters. either of these professors was willing to undertake the operation, provided arrangements could be completed in time to be carried out during the vacation. in this hopeful, although painfully indefinite position the matter remained for more than a year; but the correspondence and anxiety increased, and with them disappointments and difficulties multiplied. the hope of freedom, however, buoyed up the heart of the young slave girl during the long months of anxious waiting and daily expectation for the hour of deliverance to come. equally true and faithful also did mr. bigelow prove to the last; but at times he had some painfully dark seasons to encounter, as may be seen from the subjoined letter: washington, d.c., october th, . mr. still, dear sir:--i regret exceedingly to learn by your favor of th instant, that all things are not ready. although i cannot speak of any immediate and positive danger. [_yet it is well known that the city is full of incendiaries_.] perhaps you are aware that any colored citizen is liable at any hour of day or night without any show of authority to have his house ransacked by constables, and if others do it and commit the most outrageous depredations none but white witnesses can convict them. such outrages are always common here, and no kind of property exposed to colored protection only, can be considered safe. [i don't say that _much liberty_ should not be given to constables on account of numerous runaways, but it don't always work for good.] before advertising they go round and offer rewards to sharp colored men of perhaps _one or two hundred dollars_, to betray runaways, and having discovered their hiding-place, seize them and then cheat their informers out of the money. [_although a law-abiding man_,] i am anxious in this case of _innocence_ to raise no conflict or suspicion. [_be sure that the manumission is full and legal_.] and as i am _powerless_ without your aid, _i pray you_ don't lose a moment in giving me relief. the idea of waiting yet for weeks seems dreadful; do reduce it to days if possible, and give me notice of the _earliest possible time_. the property is not yet advertised, but will be, [and if we delay too long, may be sold and lost.] it was a great misunderstanding, though not your fault, that so much delay would be necessary. [i repeat again that i must have the thing done legally, therefore, please get a good lawyer to draw up the deed of manumission.] yours truly, j. bigelow. great was the anxiety felt in washington. it is certainly not too much to say, that an equal amount of anxiety existed in philadelphia respecting the safety of the merchandise. at this juncture mr. bigelow had come to the conclusion that it was no longer safe to write over his own name, but that he would do well to henceforth adopt the name of the renowned quaker, wm. penn, (he was worthy of it) as in the case of the following letter. washington, d.c., november th, . dear sir:--doctor t. presented my card last night about half past eight which i instantly recognized. i, however, soon became suspicious, and afterwards confounded, to find the doctor using your name and the well known names of mr. mck. and mr. w. and yet, neither he nor i, could conjecture the object of his visit. the doctor is agreeable and sensible, and doubtless a true-hearted man. he seemed to see the whole matter as i did, and was embarrassed. he had nothing to propose, no information to give of the "p. boy," or of any substitute, and seemed to want no particular information from me concerning my anxieties and perils, though i stated them to him, but found him as powerless as myself to give me relief. i had an agreeable interview with the doctor till after ten, when he left, intending to take the cars at six, as i suppose he did do, this morning. this morning after eight, i got your letter of the th, but it gives me but little enlightenment or satisfaction. you simply say that the doctor is a _true man_, which i cannot doubt, that you thought it best we should have an interview, and that you supposed i would meet the expenses. you informed me also that the "p. boy" left for richmond, on friday, the d, to be gone _the length of time named in your last_, i must infer that to be _ten days_ though in your last _you assured me_ that the "p. boy" would certainly start for _this place_ (not richmond) in two or three days, though the difficulty about freight might cause delay, and the whole enterprise might not be accomplished under ten days, &c., &c. that time having elapsed and i having agreed to an extra fifty dollars to ensure promptness. i have scarcely left my office since, except for my hasty meals, awaiting his arrival. you now inform me he has gone to richmond, to be gone ten days, which will expire tomorrow, but you do not say he will return here or to phila, or where, at the expiration of that time, and dr. t. could tell me nothing whatever about him. had he been able to tell me that this _best plan_, which i have so long rested upon, would fail, or was abandoned, i could then understand it, but he says no such thing, and you say, as you have twice before said, "ten days more." now, my dear sir, after this recapitulation, can you not see that i have reason for great embarrassment? i have given assurances, both here and in new york, founded on your assurances to me, and caused my friends in the latter place great anxiety, so much that i have had no way to explain my own letters but by sending your last two to mr. tappan. i cannot doubt, i do not, but that you wish to help me, and the cause too, for which both of us have made many and large sacrifices with no hope of reward in this world. if in this case i have been very urgent since september dr. t. can give you some of my reasons, they have not been selfish. the whole matter is in a nutshell. can i, in your opinion, depend on the "p. boy," and when? if he promises to come here next trip, will he come, or go to richmond? this i think is the best way. can i depend on it? dr. t. promised to write me some explanation and give some advice, and at first i thought to await his letter, but on second thought concluded to tell you how i feel, as i have done. will you answer my questions with some explicitness, and without delay? i forgot to inquire of dr. t. who is the head of your vigilance committee, whom i may address concerning other and further operations? yours very truly, wm. penn. p.s. i ought to say, that i have no doubt but there were good reasons for the p. boy's going to richmond instead of w.; _but what can they be_? whilst there are a score of other interesting letters, bearing on this case, the above must suffice, to give at least, an idea of the perplexities and dangers attending its early history. having accomplished this end, a more encouraging and pleasant phase of the transaction may now be introduced. here the difficulties, at least very many of them, vanish, yet in one respect, the danger became most imminent. the following letter shows that the girl had been successfully rescued from her master, and that a reward of five hundred dollars had been offered for her. washington, d.c., october , . mr. wm. still:--as you pick up all the news that is stirring, i contribute a few scraps to your stock, going to show that the poor slave-holders have their troubles as well as other people. four heavy losses on one small scrap cut from a single number of the "sun!" how vexatious! how provoking! on the other hand, think of the poor, timid, breathless, flying child of fifteen! five hundred dollars reward! oh, for succor! to whom in all this wide land of freedom shall she flee and find safety? alas!--alas!--the law points to no one! is she still running with bleeding feet?[a] or hides she in some cold cave, to rest and starve? "$ reward." yours, for the weak and the poor. perish the reward. [footnote a: at the time this letter was written, she was then under mr. b.'s protection in washington, and had to be so kept for six weeks. his question, therefore, "is she still running with bleeding feet," etc., was simply a precautionary step to blind any who might perchance investigate the matter.] j.b. having thus succeeded in getting possession of, and secreting this fleeing child of fifteen, as best they could, in washington, all concerned were compelled to "possess their souls in patience," until the storm had passed. meanwhile, the "child of fifteen" was christened "joe wright," and dressed in male attire to prepare for traveling as a lad. as no opportunity had hitherto presented itself, whereby to prepare the "package" for shipment, from washington, neither the "powder boy" nor dr. t.[b] was prepared to attend to the removal, at this critical moment. the emergency of the case, however, cried loudly for aid. the other professional gentleman (dr. h.), was now appealed to, but his engagements in the college forbade his absence before about thanksgiving day, which was then six weeks off. this fact was communicated to washington, and it being the only resource left, the time named was necessarily acquiesced in. in the interim, "joe" was to perfect herself in the art of wearing pantaloons, and all other male rig. soon the days and weeks slid by, although at first the time for waiting seemed long, when, according to promise, dr. h. was in washington, with his horse and buggy prepared for duty. the impressions made by dr. h., on william penn's mind, at his first interview, will doubtless be interesting to all concerned, as may be seen in the following letter: [footnote b: dr. t. was one of the professional gentlemen alluded to above, who had expressed a willingness to act as an agent in the matter.] washington, d.c., november , . my dear sir:--a recent letter from my friend, probably has led you to expect this from me. he was delighted to receive yours of the d, stating that the boy was _all right_. he found the "prof. gentleman" a _perfect gentleman_; cool, quiet, thoughtful, and _perfectly competent to execute his undertaking_. at the first three minutes of their interview, he felt assured that all would be right. he, and all concerned, give you and that gentleman sincere thanks for what you have done. may the blessings of him, who cares for the poor, be on your heads. the especial object of this, is to inform you that there is a half dozen or so of packages here, _pressing for transportation_; twice or thrice that number are also pressing, but less so than the others. their aggregate means will average, say, $ each; besides these, we know of a few, say three or four, _able and smart_, but utterly destitute, and kept so purposely by their oppressors. for all these, we feel deeply interested; $ each would not be enough for the "powder boy." is there any fund from which a pittance could be spared to help these poor creatures? i don't doubt but that they would honestly repay a small loan as soon as they could earn it. i know full well, that if you begin with such cases, there is no boundary at which you can stop. for years, one half at least, of my friend's time here has been gratuitously given to cases of distress among this class. he never expects or desires to do less; he literally has the _poor always with him_. he knows that it is so with you also, therefore, he only states the case, being especially anxious for at least those to whom i have referred. [illustration: maria weems escaping in male attire] i think a small lot of hard coal might always be sold here _from the vessel_ at a profit. would not a like lot of cumberland coal always sell in philadelphia? my friend would be very glad to see the powder boy here again, and if he brings coal, there are those here, who would try to help him sell. reply to your regular correspondent as usual. wm. penn. by the presence of the dr., confidence having been reassured that all would be right, as well as by the "inner light," william penn experienced a great sense of relief. everything having been duly arranged, the doctor's horse and carriage stood waiting before the white house (william penn preferred this place as a starting point, rather than before his own office door). it being understood that "joe" was to act as coachman in passing out of washington, at this moment he was called for, and in the most polite and natural manner, with the fleetness of a young deer, he jumped into the carriage, took the reins and whip, whilst the doctor and william penn were cordially shaking hands and bidding adieu. this done, the order was given to joe, "drive on." joe bravely obeyed. the faithful horse trotted off willingly, and the doctor sat in his carriage as composed as though he had succeeded in procuring an honorable and lucrative office from the white house, and was returning home to tell his wife the good news. the doctor had some knowledge of the roads, also some acquaintances in maryland, through which state he had to travel; therefore, after leaving the suburbs of washington, the doctor took the reins in his own hands, as he felt that he was more experienced as a driver than his young coachman. he was also mindful of the fact, that, before reaching pennsylvania, his faithful beast would need feeding several times, and that they consequently would be obliged to pass one or two nights at least in maryland, either at a tavern or farm-house. in reflecting upon the matter, it occurred to the doctor, that in earlier days, he had been quite intimately acquainted with a farmer and his family (who were slave-holders), in maryland, and that he would about reach their house at the end of the first day's journey. he concluded that he could do no better than to renew his acquaintance with his old friends on this occasion. after a very successful day's travel, night came on, and the doctor was safely at the farmer's door with his carriage and waiter boy; the doctor was readily recognized by the farmer and his family, who seemed glad to see him; indeed, they made quite a "fuss" over him. as a matter of strategy, the doctor made quite a "fuss" over them in return; nevertheless, he did not fail to assume airs of importance, which were calculated to lead them to think that he had grown older and wiser than when they knew him in his younger days. in casually referring to the manner of his traveling, he alluded to the fact, that he was not very well, and as it had been a considerable length of time since he had been through that part of the country, he thought that the drive would do him good, and especially the sight of old familiar places and people. the farmer and his family felt themselves exceedingly honored by the visit from the distinguished doctor, and manifested a marked willingness to spare no pains to render his night's lodging in every way comfortable. the dr. being an educated and intelligent gentleman, well posted on other questions besides medicine, could freely talk about farming in all its branches, and "niggers" too, in an emergency, so the evening passed off pleasantly with the dr. in the parlor, and "joe" in the kitchen. the dr., however, had given "joe" precept upon precept, "here a little, and there a little," as to how he should act in the presence of master white people, or slave colored people, and thus he was prepared to act his part with due exactness. before the evening grew late, the dr., fearing some accident, intimated, that he was feeling a "little languid," and therefore thought that he had better "retire." furthermore he added, that he was "liable to vertigo," when not quite well, and for this reason he must have his boy "joe" sleep in the room with him. "simply give him a bed quilt and he will fare well enough in one corner of the room," said the dr. the proposal was readily acceded to, and carried into effect by the accommodating host. the dr. was soon in bed, sleeping soundly, and "joe," in his new coat and pants, wrapped up in the bed quilt, in a corner of the room quite comfortably. the next morning the dr. arose at as early an hour as was prudent for a gentleman of his position, and feeling refreshed, partook of a good breakfast, and was ready, with his boy, "joe," to prosecute their journey. face, eyes, hope, and steps, were set as flint, pennsylvania-ward. what time the following day or night they crossed mason and dixon's line is not recorded on the underground rail road books, but at four o'clock on thanksgiving day, the dr. safely landed the "fleeing girl of fifteen" at the residence of the writer in philadelphia. on delivering up his charge, the dr. simply remarked to the writer's wife, "i wish to leave this young lad with you a short while, and i will call and see further about him." without further explanation, he stepped into his carriage and hurried away, evidently anxious to report himself to his wife, in order to relieve her mind of a great weight of anxiety on his account. the writer, who happened to be absent from home when the dr. called, returned soon afterwards. "the dr. has been here" (he was the family physician), "and left this 'young lad,' and said, that he would call again and see about him," said mrs. s. the "young lad" was sitting quite composedly in the dining-room, with his cap on. the writer turned to him and inquired, "i suppose you are the person that the dr. went to washington after, are you not?" "no," said "joe." "where are you from then?" was the next question. "from york, sir." "from york? why then did the dr. bring you here?" was the next query, "the dr. went expressly to washington after a young girl, who was to be brought away dressed up as a boy, and i took you to be the person." without replying "the lad" arose and walked out of the house. the querist, somewhat mystified, followed him, and then when the two were alone, "the lad" said, "i am the one the dr. went after." after congratulating her, the writer asked why she had said, that she was not from washington, but from york. she explained, that the dr. had strictly charged her not to own to any person, except the writer, that she was from washington, but from york. as there were persons present (wife, hired girl, and a fugitive woman), when the questions were put to her, she felt that it would be a violation of her pledge to answer in the affirmative. before this examination, neither of the individuals present for a moment entertained the slightest doubt but that she was a "lad," so well had she acted her part in every particular. she was dressed in a new suit, which fitted her quite nicely, and with her unusual amount of common sense, she appeared to be in no respect lacking. to send off a prize so rare and remarkable, as she was, without affording some of the stockholders and managers of the road the pleasure of seeing her, was not to be thought of. in addition to the vigilance committee, quite a number of persons were invited to see her, and were greatly astonished. indeed it was difficult to realize, that she was not a boy, even after becoming acquainted with the facts in the case. the following is an exact account of this case, as taken from the underground rail road records: "thanksgiving day, nov., . arrived, ann maria weems, _alias_ 'joe wright,' _alias_ 'ellen capron,' from washington, through the aid of dr. h. she is about fifteen years of age, bright mulatto, well grown, smart and good-looking. for the last three years, or about that length of time, she has been owned by charles m. price, a negro trader, of rockville, maryland. mr. p. was given to 'intemperance,' to a very great extent, and gross 'profanity.' he buys and sells many slaves in the course of the year. 'his wife is cross and peevish.' she used to take great pleasure in 'torturing' one 'little slave boy.' he was the son of his master (and was owned by him); this was the chief cause of the mistress' spite." ann maria had always desired her freedom from childhood, and although not thirteen, when first advised to escape, she received the suggestion without hesitation, and ever after that time waited almost daily, for more than two years, the chance to flee. her friends were, of course, to aid her, and make arrangements for her escape. her owner, fearing that she might escape, for a long time compelled her to sleep in the chamber with "her master and mistress;" indeed she was so kept until about three weeks before she fled. she left her parents living in washington. three of her brothers had been sold south from their parents. her mother had been purchased for $ , , and one of her sisters for $ , for freedom. before ann maria was thirteen years of age $ was offered for her by a friend, who desired to procure her freedom, but the offer was promptly refused, as were succeeding ones repeatedly made. the only chance of procuring her freedom, depended upon getting her away on the underground rail road. she was neatly attired in male habiliments, and in that manner came all the way from washington. after passing two or three days with her new friends in philadelphia, she was sent on (in male attire) to lewis tappan, of new york, who had likewise been deeply interested in her case from the beginning, and who held himself ready, as was understood, to cash a draft for three hundred dollars to compensate the man who might risk his own liberty in bringing her on from washington. after having arrived safely in new york, she found a home and kind friends in the family of the rev. a.n. freeman, and received quite an ovation characteristic of an underground rail road. after having received many tokens of esteem and kindness from the friends of the slave in new york and brooklyn, she was carefully forwarded on to canada, to be educated at the "buxton settlement." an interesting letter, however, from the mother of ann maria, conveying the intelligence of her late great struggle and anxiety in laboring to free her last child from slavery is too important to be omitted, and hence is inserted in connection with this narrative. letter from the mother. washington, d.c., september th, . wm. still, esq., philadelphia, pa. sir:--i have just sent for my son augustus, in alabama. i have sent eleven hundred dollars which pays for his body and some thirty dollars to pay his fare to washington. i borrowed one hundred and eighty dollars to make out the eleven hundred dollars. i was not very successful in syracuse. i collected only twelve dollars, and in rochester only two dollars. i did not know that the season was so unpropitious. the wealthy had all gone to the springs. they must have returned by this time. i hope you will exert yourself and help me get a part of the money i owe, at least. i am obliged to pay it by the th of next month. i was unwell when i returned through philadelphia, or i should have called. i had been from home five weeks. my son augustus is the last of the family in slavery. i feel rejoiced that he is soon to be free and with me, and of course feel the greatest solicitude about raising the one hundred and eighty dollars i have borrowed of a kind friend, or who has borrowed it for me at bank. i hope and pray you will help me as far as possible. tell mr. douglass to remember me, and if he can, to interest his friends for me. you will recollect that five hundred dollars of our money was taken to buy the sister of henry h. garnett's wife. had i been able to command this i should not be necessitated to ask the favors and indulgences i do. i am expecting daily the return of augustus, and may heaven grant him a safe deliverance and smile propitiously upon you and all kind friends who have aided in his return to me. be pleased to remember me to friends, and accept yourself the blessing and prayers of your dear friend, earro weems. p.s. direct your letter to e.l. stevens, in duff green's row, capitol hill, washington, d.c. e.w. that william penn who worked so faithfully for two years for the deliverance of ann maria may not appear to have been devoting all his time and sympathy towards this single object it seems expedient that two or three additional letters, proposing certain grand underground rail road plans, should have a place here. for this purpose, therefore, the following letters are subjoined. letters from william penn. washington, d.c., oct. , dear sir:--i address you to-day chiefly at the suggestion of the lady who will hand you my letter, and who is a resident of your city. after stating to you, that the case about which i have previously written, remains just as it was when i wrote last--full of difficulty--i thought i would call your attention to another enterprise; it is this: to find a man with a large heart for doing good to the oppressed, who will come to washington to live, and who will _walk out to penn'a., or a part of the way there, once or twice a week_. he will find parties who will _pay him for doing so_. parties of say, two, three, five or so, who will pay him _at least_ $ each, for the privilege of following him, but _will never speak to him_; but will keep just in sight of him and obey any sign he may give; say, he takes off his hat and scratches his head as a sign for them to go to some barn or wood to rest, &c. no living being shall be found to say he ever spoke to them. a white man would be best, and then even parties led out by him could not, if they would, testify to any _understanding_ or anything else against a white man. i think he might make a good living at it. can it not be done? if one or two safe stopping-places could be found on the way--such as a barn or shed, they could walk quite safely all night and then sleep all day--about two, or _easily_ three nights would convey them to a place of safety. the traveler might be a peddler or huckster, with an old horse and cart, and bring us in eggs and butter if he pleases. let him once plan out his route, and he might then take ten or a dozen at a time, and they are often able and willing to pay $ a piece. i have a hard case now on hand; a brother and sister to years old, whose mother lives in your city. they are cruelly treated; they want to go, they _ought_ to go; but they are utterly destitute. can nothing be done for such cases? if you can think of anything let me know it. i suppose you know me? washington, d.c., april , . dear sir:--i sent you the recent law of virginia, under which all vessels are to be searched for fugitives within the waters of that state. it was long ago suggested by a sagacious friend, that the "powder boy" might find a better port in the chesapeake bay, or in the patuxent river to communicate with this vicinity, than by entering the potomac river, even were there no such law. suppose he opens a trade with some place south-west of annapolis, or miles from here, or less. he might carry wood, oysters, &c., and all his customers from this vicinity might travel in _that direction_ without any of the suspicions that might attend their journeyings _towards this city_. in this way, doubtless, a good business might be carried on without interruption or competition, and provided the plan was conducted without affecting the inhabitants along that shore, no suspicion would arise as to the manner or magnitude of his business operations. how does this strike you? what does the "powder boy" think of it? i heretofore intimated a _pressing necessity_ on the part of several females--they are variously situated--two have children, say a couple each; some have none--of the latter, one can raise $ , another, say or dollars--another who was gazetted last august (a copy sent you), can raise, through her friends, or dollars, &c., &c. none of these can walk so far or so fast as scores of _men_ that are constantly leaving. i cannot shake off my anxiety for these poor creatures. can you think of anything for any of these? address your other correspondent in answer to this at your leisure. yours, wm. penn. p.s.--april d. since writing the above, i have received yours of st. i am rejoiced to hear that business is so successful and prosperous--may it continue till _the article_ shall cease to be merchandize. i spoke in my last letter of the departure of a "few friends." i have since heard of their good health in penn'a. probably you may have seen them. in reference to the expedition of which you think you can "hold out some little encouragement," i will barely remark, that i shall be glad, if it is undertaken, to have all the notice of the _time and manner_ that is possible, so as to make ready. a friend of mine says, anthracite coal will always pay here from philadelphia, and thinks a small vessel might run often--that she never would be searched in the potomac, unless she went outside. you advise caution towards mr. p. i am precisely of your opinion about him, that he is a "queer stick," and while i advised him carefully in reference to his own undertakings, i took no counsel of him concerning mine. yours, w.p. washington, d.c., april d, . dear sir:--i have to thank you for your last two encouraging letters of st of march and th april. i have seen nothing in the papers to interest you, and having bad health and a press of other engagements, i have neglected to write you. enclosed is a list of persons referred to in my last letter, all most anxious to travel--all meritorious. in some of these i feel an especial interest for what they have done to help others in distress. i suggest for yours and the "powder boy's" consideration the following plan: that he shall take in coal for washington and come directly here--sell his coal and go to georgetown for freight, and _wait_ for it. if any fancy articles are sent on board, _i understand he has a place_ to put them in, and _if he has_ i suggest that he lies still, still waiting for freight till the first anxiety is over. vessels that have _just left_ are the ones that will be inquired after, and perhaps chased. if he lays still a day or two all suspicion will be prevented. if there shall be occasion to refer to any of them hereafter, it may be by their numbers in the list. the family-- to --will be missed and inquired after soon and urgently; and will also be soon missed, but _none of the others_. if all this can be done, some little time or notice must be had to get them all ready. they tell me they can pay the sums marked to their names. the aggregate is small, but as i told you, they are poor. let me hear from you when convenient. [illustration: john henry hill] truly yours, wm. penn. . a woman, may be years old, $ . . a woman, may be years old, with children, say , , and [a] . . a sister of the above, younger . . a very genteel mulatto girl about . . a woman, say , these are all one . a daughter, , family, either of . a son, , them leaving . a son, , alone, they think, . . a daughter, , would cause the . a son, say , balance to be sold. . a man, the uncle, , . a very genteel mulatto girl, say . . a very genteel mulatto girl, say . * * * * * five years and one month secreted. john henry, hezekiah, and james hill.--john makes a desperate resistance at the slave auction and escapes after being secreted nine months. hezekiah escaped from a trader and was seceeted thirteen months before his final deliverance.--james was secreted three years in a place of great suffering, and escaped. in all five years and one month. many letters from john henry show how incessantly his mind ran out towards the oppressed, and the remarkable intelligence and ability he displayed with the pen, considering that he had no chance to acquire book knowledge. after having fled for refuge to canada and having become a partaker of impartial freedom under the government of great britain, to many it seemed that the fugitive should be perfectly satisfied. many appeared to think that the fugitive, having secured freedom, had but little occasion for anxiety or care, even for his nearest kin. "change your name." "never tell any one how you escaped." "never let any one know where you came from." "never think of writing back, not even to your wife; you can do your kin no good, but may do them harm by writing." "take care of yourself." "you are free, well, be satisfied then." "it will do you no good to fret about your wife and children; that will not get them out of slavery." such was the advice often given to the fugitive. men who had been slaves themselves, and some who had aided in the escape of individuals, sometimes urged these sentiments on men and women whose hearts were almost breaking over the thought that their dearest and best friends were in chains in the prison-house. perhaps it was thoughtlessness on the part of some, and a wish to inspire due cautiousness on the part of others, that prompted this advice. doubtless some did soon forget their friends. they saw no way by which they could readily communicate with them. perhaps slavery had dealt with them so cruelly, that little hope or aspiration was left in them. it was, however, one of the most gratifying facts connected with the fugitives, the strong love and attachment that they constantly expressed for their relatives left in the south; the undying faith they had in god as evinced by their touching appeals on behalf of their fellow-slaves. but few probably are aware how deeply these feelings were cherished in the breasts of this people. forty, fifty, or sixty years, in some instances elapsed, but this ardent sympathy and love continued warm and unwavering as ever. children left to the cruel mercy of slave-holders, could never be forgotten. brothers and sisters could not refrain from weeping over the remembrance of their separation on the auction block: of having seen innocent children, feeble and defenceless women in the grasp of a merciless tyrant, pleading, groaning, and crying in vain for pity. not to remember those thus bruised and mangled, it would seem alike unnatural, and impossible. therefore it is a source of great satisfaction to be able, in relating these heroic escapes, to present the evidences of the strong affections of this greatly oppressed race. john henry never forgot those with whom he had been a fellow-sufferer in slavery; he was always fully awake to their wrongs, and longed to be doing something to aid and encourage such as were striving to get their freedom. he wrote many letters in behalf of others, as well as for himself, the tone of which, was always marked by the most zealous devotion to the slave, a high sense of the value of freedom, and unshaken confidence that god was on the side of the oppressed, and a strong hope, that the day was not far distant, when the slave power would be "suddenly broken and that without remedy." notwithstanding the literary imperfections of these letters, they are deemed well suited to these pages. of course, slaves were not allowed book learning. virginia even imprisoned white women for teaching free colored children the alphabet. who has forgotten the imprisonment of mrs. douglass for this offense? in view of these facts, no apology is needed on account of hill's grammar and spelling. in these letters, may be seen, how much liberty was valued, how the taste of freedom moved the pen of the slave; how the thought of fellow-bondmen, under the heel of the slave-holder, aroused the spirit of indignation and wrath; how importunately appeals were made for help from man and from god; how much joy was felt at the arrival of a fugitive, and the intense sadness experienced over the news of a failure or capture of a slave. not only are the feelings of john henry hill represented in these epistles, but the feelings of very many others amongst the intelligent fugitives all over the country are also represented to the letter. it is more with a view of doing justice to a brave, intelligent class, whom the public are ignorant of, than merely to give special prominence to john and his relatives as individuals, that these letters are given. escape of john henry hill from the slave auction in richmond, on the first day of january, . john henry at that time, was a little turned of twenty-five years of age, full six feet high, and remarkably well proportioned in every respect. he was rather of a brown color, with marked intellectual features. john was by trade, a carpenter, and was considered a competent workman. the year previous to his escape, he hired his time, for which he paid his owner $ . this amount john had fully settled up the last day of the year. as he was a young man of steady habits, a husband and father, and withal an ardent lover of liberty; his owner, john mitchell, evidently observed these traits in his character, and concluded that he was a dangerous piece of property to keep; that his worth in money could be more easily managed than the man. consequently, his master unceremoniously, without intimating in any way to john, that he was to be sold, took him to richmond, on the first day of january (the great annual sale day), and directly to the slave-auction. just as john was being taken into the building, he was invited to submit to hand-cuffs. as the thought flashed upon his mind that he was about to be sold on the auction-block, he grew terribly desperate. "liberty or death" was the watchword of that awful moment. in the twinkling of an eye, he turned on his enemies, with his fist, knife, and feet, so tiger-like, that he actually put four or five men to flight, his master among the number. his enemies thus suddenly baffled, john wheeled, and, as if assisted by an angel, strange as it may appear, was soon out of sight of his pursuers, and securely hid away. this was the last hour of john henry's slave life, but not, however, of his struggles and sufferings for freedom, for before a final chance to escape presented itself, nine months elapsed. the mystery as to where, and how he fared, the following account, in his own words, must explain-- nine months i was trying to get away. i was secreted for a long time in a kitchen of a merchant near the corner of franklyn and th streets, at richmond, where i was well taken care of, by a lady friend of my mother. when i got tired of staying in that place, i wrote myself a pass to pass myself to petersburg, here i stopped with a very prominent colored person, who was a friend to freedom stayed here until two white friends told other friends if i was in the city to tell me to go at once, and stand not upon the order of going, because they had hard a plot. i wrot a pass, started for richmond, reached manchester, got off the cars walked into richmond, once more got back into the same old den, stayed here from the th of aug. to th sept. on the th of sept. o'clock p.m. a message came to me that there had been a state room taken on the steamer city of richmond for my benefit, and i assured the party that it would be occupied if god be willing. before o'clock the next morning, on the th, a beautiful sept. day, i arose early, wrote my pass for norfolk left my old den with a many a good bye, turned out the back way to th st., thence to main, down main behind night waich to old rockett's and after about minutes of delay i succeed in reaching the state room. my conductor was very much excited, but i felt as composed as i do at this moment, for i had started from my den that morning for liberty or for death providing myself with a brace of pistels. yours truly j.h. hill. a private berth was procured for him on the steamship city of richmond, for the amount of $ , and thus he was brought on safely to philadelphia. while in the city, he enjoyed the hospitalities of the vigilance committee, and the greetings of a number of friends, during the several days of his sojourn. the thought of his wife, and two children, left in petersburg, however, naturally caused him much anxiety. fortunately, they were free, therefore, he was not without hope of getting them; moreover, his wife's father (jack mccraey), was a free man, well known, and very well to do in the world, and would not be likely to see his daughter and grandchildren suffer. in this particular, hill's lot was of a favorable character, compared with that of most slaves leaving their wives and children. first letter on arriving in canada. toronto, october th, . dear sir:--i take this method of informing you that i am well, and that i got to this city all safe and sound, though i did not get here as soon as i expect. i left your city on saterday and i was on the way untel the friday following. i got to new york the same day that i left philadelphia, but i had to stay there untel monday evening. i left that place at six o'clock. i got to albany next morning in time to take the half past six o'clock train for rochester, here i stay untel wensday night. the reason i stay there so long mr. gibbs given me a letter to mr morris at rochester. i left that place wensday, but i only got five miles from that city that night. i got to lewiston on thurday afternoon, but too late for the boat to this city. i left lewiston on friday at one o'clock, got to this city at five. sir i found this to be a very handsome city. i like it better than any city i ever saw. it are not as large as the city that you live in, but it is very large place much more so than i expect to find it. i seen the gentleman that you given me letter to. i think him much of a gentleman. i got into work on monday. the man whom i am working for is name myers; but i expect to go to work for another man by name of tinsly, who is a master workman in this city. he says that he will give me work next week and everybody advises me to work for mr. tinsly as there more surity in him. mr. still, i have been looking and looking for my friends for several days, but have not seen nor heard of them. i hope and trust in the lord almighty that all things are well with them. my dear sir i could feel so much better sattisfied if i could hear from my wife. since i reached this city i have talagraphed to friend brown to send my thing to me, but i cannot hear a word from no one at all. i have written to mr. brown two or three times since i left the city. i trust that he has gotten my wife's letters, that is if she has written. please direct your letters to me, near the corner sarah and edward street, until i give you further notice. you will tell friend b. how to direct his letters, as i forgotten it when i writt to him, and ask him if he has heard anything from virginia. please to let me hear from him without delay for my very soul is trubled about my friends whom i expected to of seen here before this hour. whatever you do please to write. i shall look for you paper shortly. believe me sir to be your well wisher. john h. hill. second letter. _expressions of gratitude_--_the custom house refuses to charge him duty_--_he is greatly concerned for his wife_ toronto, october th, . my dear friend:--i now write to inform you that i have received my things all safe and sound, and also have shuck hand with the friend that you send on to this place one of them is stopping with me. his name is chas. stuert, he seemes to be a tolerable smart fellow. i rec'd my letters. i have taken this friend to see mr. smith. however will give him a place to board untell he can get to work. i shall do every thing i can for them all that i see the gentleman wish you to see his wife and let her know that he arrived safe, and present his love to her and to all the friend. mr. still, i am under ten thousand obligation to you for your kindness when shall i ever repay? s. speek very highly of you. i will state to you what custom house master said to me. he ask me when he presented my efects are these your efects. i answered yes. he then ask me was i going to settle in canada. i told him i was. he then ask me of my case. i told all about it. he said i am happy to see you and all that will come. he ask me how much i had to pay for my paper. i told him half dollar. he then told me that i should have my money again. he a rose from his seat and got my money. so my friend you can see the people and tell them all this is a land of liberty and believe they will find friends here. my best love to all. my friend i must call upon you once more to do more kindness for me that is to write to my wife as soon as you get this, and tell her when she gets ready to come she will pack and consign her things to you. you will give her some instruction, but not to your expenses but to her own. when you write direct your letter to phillip ubank, petersburg, va. my box arrived here the th. my dear sir i am in a hurry to take this friend to church, so i must close by saying i am your humble servant in the cause of liberty and humanity. john h. hill. third letter. _canada is highly praised_--_the vigilance committee is implored to send all the fugitives there_--"_farmers and mechanics wanted_"--"_no living in canada for negroes," as argued by_ "_masters," flatly denied, &c., &c., &c._ so i ask you to send the fugitives to canada. i don't know much of this province but i beleaves that there is rome enough for the colored and whites of the united states. we wants farmers mechanic men of all qualification &c., if they are not made we will make them, if we cannot make the old, we will make our children. now concerning the city toronto this city is beautiful and prosperous levele city. great many wooden codages more than what should be but i am in hopes there will be more of the brick and stonn. but i am not done about your republicanism. our masters have told us that there was no living in canada for a negro but if it may please your gentlemanship to publish these facts that we are here able to earn our bread and money enough to make us comftable. but i say give me freedom, and the united states may have all her money and her luxtures, yeas give liberty or death. i'm in america, but not under such a government that i cannot express myself, speak, think or write so as i am able, and if my master had allowed me to have an education i would make them american slave-holders feel me, yeas i would make them tremble when i spoke, and when i take my pen in hand their knees smote together. my dear sir suppose i was an educated man. i could write you something worth reading, but you know we poor fugitives whom has just come over from the south are not able to write much on no subject whatever, but i hope by the aid of my god i will try to use my midnight lamp, untel i can have some influence upon the american slavery. if some one would say to me, that they would give my wife bread untel i could be educated i would stoop my trade this day and take up my books. but a crisis is approaching when assential requisite to the american slaveholders when blood death or liberty will be required at their hands. i think our people have depened too long and too much on false legislator let us now look for ourselves. it is true that england however the englishman is our best friend but we as men ought not to depened upon her remonstrace with the americans because she loves her commercial trade as any nations do. but i must say, while we look up and acknowledge the power greatness and honor of old england, and believe that while we sit beneath the silken folds of her flag of perfect liberty, we are secure, beyond the reach of the aggressions of the blood hounds and free from the despotism that would wrap around our limbs by the damable slaveholder. yet we would not like spoiled childeren depend upon her, but upon ourselves and as one means of strengthening ourselves, we should agitate the emigration to canada. i here send you a paragraph which i clipted from the weekly glob. i hope you will publish so that mr. williamson may know that men are not chattel here but reather they are men and if he wants his chattle let him come here after it or his thing. i wants you to let the whole united states know we are satisfied here because i have seen more pleasure since i came here then i saw in the u.s. the years that i served my master. come poor distress men women and come to canada where colored men are free. oh how sweet the word do sound to me yeas when i contemplate of these things, my very flesh creaps my heart thrub when i think of my beloved friends whom i left in that cursid hole. oh my god what can i do for them or shall i do for them. lord help them. suffer them to be no longer depressed beneath the bruat creation but may they be looked upon as men made of the bone and blood as the anglo-americans. may god in his mercy give liberty to all this world. i must close as it am late hour at night. i remain your friend in the cause of liberty and humanity, john h. hill, a fugitive. if you know any one who would give me an education write and let me know for i am in want of it very much. your with respect, j.h.h. if the sentiments in the above letter do not indicate an uncommon degree of natural intelligence, a clear perception of the wrongs of slavery, and a just appreciation of freedom, where shall we look for the signs of intellect and manhood? fourth letter. _longs for his wife--in hearing of the return of a fugitive from philadelphia is made sorrowful--his love of freedom increases, &c., &c._ toronto, november th, . my dear still:--your letter of the th came to hand thursday and also three copes all of which i was glad to received they have taken my attention all together every time i got them. i also rec'd. a letter from my friend brown. mr. brown stated to me that he had heard from my wife but he did not say what way he heard. i am looking for my wife every day. yes i want her to come then i will be better satisfied. my friend i am a free man and feeles alright about that matter. i am doing tolrable well in my line of business, and think i will do better after little. i hope you all will never stop any of our brotheran that makes their escep from the south but send them on to this place where they can be free man and woman. we want them here and not in your state where they can be taken away at any hour. nay but let him come here where he can enjoy the rights of a human being and not to be trodden under the feet of men like themselves. all the people that comes here does well. thanks be to god that i came to this place. i would like very well to see you all but never do i expect to see you in the united states. i want you all to come to this land of liberty where the bondman can be free. come one come all come to this place, and i hope my dear friend you will send on here. i shall do for them as you all done for me when i came on here however i will do the best i can for them if they can they shall do if they will do, but some comes here that can't do well because they make no efford. i hope my friend you will teach them such lessons as mrs. moore give me before i left your city. i hope she may live a hundred years longer and enjoy good health. may god bless her for the good cause which she are working in. mr. still you ask me to remember you to nelson. i will do so when i see him, he are on the lake so is stewart. i received a letter to-day for stewart from your city which letter i will take to him when he comes to the city. he are not stoping with us at this time. i was very sorry a few days ago when i heard that a man was taken from your city. send them over here, then let him come here and take them away and i will try to have a finger in the pie myself. you said that you had written to my wife ten thousand thanks for what you have done and what you are willing to do. my friend whenever you hear from my wife please write to me. whenever she come to your city please give instruction how to travel. i wants her to come the faster way. i wish she was here now. i wish she could get a ticket through to this place. i have mail a paper for you to day. we have had snow but not to last long. let me hear from you. my respect friend brown. i will write more when i have the opportunity. yours with respect, john h. hill. p.s. my dear sir. last night after i had written the above, and had gone to bed, i heard a strange voice in the house, saying to mr. myers to come quickly to one of our colod brotheran out of the street. we went and found a man a carpenter laying on the side walk woltun in his blood. done by some unknown person as yet but if they stay on the earth the law will deteck them. it is said that party of colord people done it, which party was seen to come out an infame house. mr. myers have been down to see him and brought the sad news that the poor fellow was dead. mr. scott for henry scott was the name, he was a fugitive from virginia he came here from pittsburg pa. oh, when i went where he laid what a shock, it taken my sleep altogether night. when i got to sopt his body was surrounded by the policeman. the law has taken the woman in cusidy. i write and also send you a paper of the case when it comes out. j.h. hill. fifth letter. _he rejoices over the arrival of his wife_--_but at the same time, his heart is bleeding over a dear friend whom he had promised to help before he left slavery_. toronto, december th, . my dear friend:--it affords me a good deel of pleasure to say that my wife and the children have arrived safe in this city. but my wife had very bad luck. she lost her money and the money that was belonging to the children, the whole amount was dollars. she had to go to the niagara falls and telegraph to me come after her. she got to the falls on sat'dy and i went after her on monday. we saw each other once again after so long an abstance, you may know what sort of metting it was, joyful times of corst. my wife are well satisfied here, and she was well pleased during her stay in your city. my trip to the falls cost ten eighty seven and half. the things that friend brown shiped to me by the express costed $ - / . so you can see fiting out a house niagara falls and the cost for bringing my things to this place, have got me out of money, but for all i am a free man. the weather are very cold at present, the snow continue to fall though not as deep here as it is in boston. the people haves their own amousements, the weather as it is now, they don't care for the snow nor ice, but they are going from ten a.m. until twelve p.m., the hous that we have open don't take well because we don't sell spirits, which we are trying to avoid if we can. mr. still, i hold in my hand a letter from a friend of south, who calls me to promise that i made to him before i left. my dear sir, this letter have made my heart bleed, since i received it, he also desires of me to remember him to his beloved brethren and then to pray for him and his dear friends who are in slavery. i shall present his letter to the churches of this city. i forward to your care for mrs. moore, a few weeks ago. mrs. hill sends her love to your wife and yourself. please to write, i sincerely hope that our friends from petersburg have reached your city before this letter is dated. i must close by saying, that i sir, remain humble and obedient servant, j.h.h. sixth letter. _he is now earnestly appealing in behalf of a friend in slavery, with a view to procuring aid and assistance from certain parties, by which this particular friend in bondage might be rescued_. toranto, march th, . my dear friend still:--we will once more truble you opon this great cause of freedom, as we know that you are a man, that are never fatuged in such a glorious cause. sir, what i wish to say is this. mr. forman has received a letter from his wife dated the th ult. she states to him that she was ready at any time, and that everything was right with her, and she hoped that he would lose no time in sending for her for she was ready and awaiting for him. well friend still, we learnt that mr. minkens could not bring her the account of her child. we are very sorry to hear such news, however, you will please to read this letter with care, as we have learnt that minkens cannot do what we wishes to be done; we perpose another way. there is a white man that sale from richmond to boston, that man are very safe, he will bring f's wife with her child. so you will do us a favour will take it upon yourself to transcribe from this letter what we shall write. i.e. this there is a colored gen. that workes on the basin in r---- this man's name is esue poster, he can tell mrs. forman all about this saleor. so you can place the letter in the hands of m. to take to forman's wife, she can read it for herself. she will find foster at ladlum's warehouse on the basin, and when you write call my name to him and he will trust it. this foster are a member of the old baptist church. when you have done all you can do let us know what you have done, if you hears anything of my uncle let me know. seventh letter. _he laments over his uncle's fate, who was suffering in a dungeon-like place of concealment daily waiting for the opportunity to escape_. toronto, march th, . my dear still:--yours of the th reached on the th, found myself and family very well, and not to delay no time in replying to you, as there was an article in your letter which article roused me very much when i read it; that was you praying to me to be cautious how i write down south. be so kind as to tell me in your next letter whether you have at any time apprehended any danger in my letters however, in those bond southward; if there have been, allow me to beg ten thousand pardon before god and man, for i am not design to throw any obstacle in the way of those whom i left in south, but to aide them in every possible way. i have done as you requested, that to warn the friends of the dager of writing south. i have told all you said in yours that mr. minkins would be in your city very soon, and you would see what you could do for me, do you mean or do speak in reference to my dear uncle. i am hopes that you will use every ifford to get him from the position in which he now stand. i know how he feels at this time, for i have felt the same when i was a runway. i was bereft of all participation with my family for nearly nine months, and now that poor fellow are place in same position. oh god help i pray, what a pitty it is that i cannot do him no good, but i sincerely hope that you will not get fatigued at doing good in such cases, nay, i think other wises of you, however, i say no more on this subject at present, but leave it for you to judge. on the th inst. you made some remarks concerning friend forman's wife, i am satisfied that you will do all you can for her release from slavery, but as you said you feels for them, so do i, and mr. foreman comes to me very often to know if i have heard anything from you concerning his wife, they all comes to for the same. god save the queen. all my letters southward have passed through your hands with an exception of one. john h. hill. eighth letter. _death has snatched away one of his children and he has cause to mourn. in his grief he recounts his struggles for freedom, and his having to leave his wife and children. he acknowledges that he had to "work very hard for comforts," but he declares that he would not "exchange with the comforts of ten thousand slaves_." toronto sept th my dear friend still:--this are the first oppertunity that i have had to write you since i reed your letter of the th july, there have been sickness and death in my family since your letter was reed, our dear little child have been taken from us one whom we loved so very dear, but the almighty god knows what are best for us all. louis henry hill, was born in petersburg va may th . and died toronto august th at five o'clock p.m. dear still i could say much about the times and insidince that have taken place since the coming of that dear little angle jest spoken of. it was months and days from the time that i took departure of my wife and child to proceed to richmond to awaite a conveyance up to the day of his death. it was thursday the th that i lift richmond, it was saturday the th that i land to my great joy in the city of phila. then i put out for canada. i arrived in this city on friday the th and to my great satisfaction. i found myself upon briton's free land, not only free for the white man bot for all. this day months i was not out of the reach the slaveholders, but this th day of sept. i am as free as your president pearce. only i have not been free so long however the th of the month i will have been free only months. it is true that i have to work very hard for comfort but i would not exchange with ten thousand slave that are equel with their masters. i am happy, happy. give love to mrs. still. my wife laments her child's death too much, wil you be so kind as to see mr. brown and ask him to write to me, and if he have heard from petersburg va. yours truely j.h. hill. ninth letter. _he is anxiously waiting for the arrival of friends from the south. hints that slaveholders would be very unsafe in canada, should they be foolish enough to visit that country for the purpose of enticing slaves back_. toronto, jan. th . my dear still:--your letter of the th came to hand just in time for my perpose i perceivs by your statement that the money have not been to petersburg at all done just what was right and i would of sent the money to you at first, but my dear friend i have called upon you for so many times that i have been ashamed of myself to call any more so you may perceive by the above written my obligations to you, you said that you had written on to petersburg, you have done right which i believes is your general way of doing your business, the money are all right i only had to pay a d on the ten dollars. this money was given to by a friend in the city n. york, the friend was from richmond virginia (a white man) the amount was fifteen dollars, i forward a letter to you yesterday which letter i forgot to date. my friend i wants to hear from virginia the worst of all things. you know that we expect some freneds on and we cannot hear any thing from them which makes us uneasy for fear that they have attempt to come away and been detected. i have ears open at all times, listen at all hours expecting to hear from them please to see friend brown and know from him if he has heard anything from our friends, if he have not. tell him write and inquiare into the matter why it is that they have not come over, then let me hear from you all. we are going to have a grand concert &c i mean the abolisnous socity. i will attend myself and also my wife if the lord be willing you will perceive in previous letter that i mension something concerning mr forman's wife if there be any chance whatever please to proceed, mr foreman sends his love to you requested you to do all you can to get his wife away from slavery. our best respects to your wife. you promisted me that you would write somthing concerning our arrival in canada but i suppose you have not had the time as yet, i would be very glad to read your opinion on that matter i have notice several articles in the freeman one of the canada weaklys concerning the christiana prisoners respecting castnor hanway and also mr. rauffman. if i had one hundred dollars to day i would give them five each, however i hope that i may be able to subscribe something for their relefe. in regards to the letters have been written from canada to the south the letters was not what they thought them to be and if the slave-holders know when they are doing well they had better keep their side for if they comes over this side of the lake i am under the impression they will not go back with somethin that their mother boned them with whether thiar slaves written for them or not. i know some one here that have written his master to come after him, but not because he expect to go with him home but because he wants to retaleate upon his persecutor, but i would be sorry for man that have written for his master expecting to return with him because the people here would kill them. sir i cannot write enough to express myself so i must close by saying i remain yours. john h. hill. tenth letter. _great joy over an arrival--twelve months praying for the deliverance of an uncle groaning in a hiding-place, while the slave-hunters are daily expected--strong appeals for aid, &c., &c._ toronto, january th, . my dear friend:--it is with much pleasure that i take this opportunity of addressing you with these few lines hoping when they reeches you they may find yourself and family enjoying good health as they leaves us at present. and it is with much happiness that i can say to you that mrs. mercer arrived in this city on yesterday. mr. mercer was at my house late in the evening, and i told him that when he went home if hear anything from virginia, that he must let me know as soon as possible. he told me that if he went home and found any news there he would come right back and inform me thereof. but little did he expect to find his dearest there. you may judge what a meeting there was with them, and may god grant that there may be some more meetings with our wives and friends. i had been looking for some one from the old sod for several days, but i was in good hopes that it would be my poor uncle. but poor fellow he are yet groaning under the sufferings of a horrid sytam, expecting every day to receive his doom. oh, god, what shall i do, or what can i do for him? i have prayed for him more than months, yet he is in that horrid condition. i can never hear anything directly from him or any of my people. once more i appeal to your humanity. will you act for him, as if you was in slavery yourself, and i sincerely believe that he will come out of that condition? mrs. m. have told me that she given some directions how he could be goten at, but friend still, if this conductor should not be successfull this time, will you mind him of the poor slave again. i hope you will as mrs. mercer have told the friend what to do i cannot do more, therefore i must leve it to the mercy of god and your exertion. the weather have been very mile ever since the rd of dec. i have thought considerable about our condition in this country seeing that the weather was so very faverable to us. i was thinking a few days ago, that nature had giving us a country & adopted all things sutable. you will do me the kindness of telling me in your next whether or not the ten slaves have been brought out from n.c. i have not hard from brown for nine month he have done some very bad letting me alone, for what cause i cannot tell. give my best respect to mr. b. when you see him. i wish very much to hear from himself and family. you will please to let me hear from you. my wife joines me in love to yourself and family. yours most respectfully, john h. hill. p.s. every fugitive regreated to hear of the death of mrs. moore. i myself think that there are no other to take her place. yours j.h.h. eleventh letter. [extract.] _rejoices at hearing of the success of the underground rail road--inquires particularly after the "fellow" who "cut off the patrol's head in maryland_." hamilton, august th, . dear friend:--i am very glad to hear that the underground rail road is doing such good business, but tell me in your next letter if you have seen the heroic fellow that cut off the head of the patrol in maryland. we wants that fellow here, as john bull has a great deal of fighting to do, and as there is a colored captain in this city, i would seek to have that fellow promoted, provided he became a soldier. great respect, john h. hill. p.s.--please forward the enclosed to mr. mccray. twelfth letter. [extract.] _believes in praying for the slave--but thinks "fire and sword" would be more effective with slave-holders_. hamilton, jan. th, . mr. still:--our pappers contains long details of insurrectionary movements among the slaves at the south and one paper adds that a great nomber of generals, captains with other officers had being arrested. at this day four years ago i left petersburg for richmond to meet the man whom called himself my master, but he wanted money worser that day than i do this day, he took me to sell me, he could not have done a better thing for me for i intended to leave any how by the first convaiance. i hard some good prayers put up for the suffers on last sunday evening in the baptist church. now friend still i beleve that prayers affects great good, but i beleve that the fire and sword would affect more good in this case. perhaps this is not your thoughts, but i must acknowledge this to be my polacy. the world are being turned upside down, and i think we might as well take an active part in it as not. we must have something to do as other people, and i hope this moment among the slaves are the beginning. i wants to see something go on while i live. yours truly, john h. hill. thirteenth letter. _sad tidings from richmond--of the arrest of a captain with slaves on board as underground rail road passengers_. hamilton, june th, . dear friend still:--i have just heard that our friend capt. b. have being taken prisoner in virginia with slaves on board of his vessel. i hard this about an hour ago. the person told me of this said he read it in the newspaper, if this be so it is awfull. you will be so kind as to send me some information. send me one of the virginia papers. poor fellow if they have got him, i am sorry, sorry to my heart. i have not heard from my uncle for a long time if have heard or do hear anything from him at any time you will oblige me by writing. i wish you to inquire of mr. anderson's friends (if you know any of them), if they have heard anything from him since he was in your city. i have written to him twice since he was here according to his own directions, but never received an answer. i wants to hear from my mother very much, but cannot hear one word. you will present my best regards to the friend. mrs. hill is quite sick. yours truly, j.h. hill. p.s.--i have not received the anti-slavery standard for several weeks. please forward any news relative to the capt. j.h.h. * * * * * the escape of hezekiah hill. (uncle of john henry hill.) impelled by the love of freedom hezekiah resolved that he would work no longer for nothing; that he would never be sold on the auction block: that he no longer would obey the bidding of a master, and that he would die rather than be a slave. this decision, however, had only been entertained by him a short time prior to his escape. for a number of years hezekiah had been laboring under the pleasing thought that he should succeed in obtaining freedom through purchase, having had an understanding with his owner with this object in view. at different times he had paid on account for himself nineteen hundred dollars, six hundred dollars more than he was to have paid according to the first agreement. although so shamefully defrauded in the first instance, he concluded to bear the disappointment as patiently as possible and get out of the lion's mouth as best he could. he continued to work on and save his money until he had actually come within one hundred dollars of paying two thousand. at this point instead of getting his free papers, as he firmly believed that he should, to his surprise one day he saw a notorious trader approaching the shop where he was at work. the errand of the trader was soon made known. hezekiah simply requested time to go back to the other end of the shop to get his coat, which he seized and ran. he was pursued but not captured. this occurrence took place in petersburg, va., about the first of december, . on the night of the same day of his escape from the trader, hezekiah walked to richmond and was there secreted under a floor by a friend. he was a tall man, of powerful muscular strength, about thirty years of age just in the prime of his manhood with enough pluck for two men. a heavy reward was offered for him, but the hunters failed to find him in this hiding-place under the floor. he strongly hoped to get away soon; on several occasions he made efforts, but only to be disappointed. at different times at least two captains had consented to afford him a private passage to philadelphia, but like the impotent man at the pool, some one always got ahead of him. two or three times he even managed to reach the boat upon the river, but had to return to his horrible place under the floor. some were under the impression that he was an exceedingly unlucky man, and for a time captains feared to bring him. but his courage sustained him unwaveringly. finally at the expiration of thirteen months, a private passage was procured for him on the steamship pennsylvania, and with a little slave boy, seven years of age, (the son of the man who had secreted him) though placed in a very hard berth, he came safely to philadelphia, greatly to the astonishment of the vigilance committee, who had waited for him so long that they had despaired of his ever coming. the joy that filled hezekiah's bosom may be imagined but never described. none but one who had been in similar straits could enter into his feelings. he had left his wife louisa, and two little boys, henry and manuel. his passage cost one hundred dollars. hezekiah being a noted character, a number of the true friends were invited to take him by the hand and to rejoice with him over his noble struggles and his triumph; needing rest and recruiting, he was made welcome to stay, at the expense of the committee, as long as he might feel disposed so to do. he remained several days, and then went on to canada rejoicing. after arriving there he returned his acknowledgment for favors received, &c., in the following letter: toronto jan th . mr. still:--this is to inform you that myself and little boy, arrived safely in this city this day the th, at ten o'clock after a very long and pleasant trip. i had a great deal of attention paid to me while on the way. i owes a great deel of thanks to yourself and friends. i will just say hare that when i arrived at new york, i found mr. gibbs sick and could not be attended to there. however, i have arrived alright. you will please to give my respects to your friend that writes in the office with you, and to mr smith, also mr brown, and the friends, mrs still in particular. friend still you will please to send the enclosed to john hill petersburg i want him to send some things to me you will be so kind as to send your direction to them, so that the things to your care. if you do not see a convenient way to send it by hands, you will please direct your letter to phillip ubank petersburg. yours respectfully h hill. * * * * * james--(brother of john henry hill). for three years james suffered in a place of concealment, before he found the way opened to escape. when he resolved on having his freedom he was much under twenty-one years of age, a brave young man, for three years, with unfailing spirit, making resistance in the city of richmond to the slave power! such heroes in the days of slavery, did much to make the infernal system insecure, and to keep alive the spirit of freedom in liberty-loving hearts the world over, wherever such deeds of noble daring were made known. but of his heroism, but little can be reported here, from the fact, that such accounts as were in the possession of the committee, were never transferred from the loose slips of paper on which they were first written, to the regular record book. but an important letter from the friend with whom he was secreted, written a short while before he escaped (on a boat), gives some idea of his condition: richmond, va., february th, . dear brother still:--i received a message from brother julius anderson, asking me to send the bundle on but i has no way to send it, i have been waiting and truly hopeing that you would make some arrangement with some person, and send for the parcel. i have no way to send it, and i cannot communicate the subject to a stranger there is a way by the n.y. line, but they are all strangers to me, and of course i could not approach them with this subject for i would be indangered myself greatly. this business is left to you and to you alone to attend to in providing the way for me to send on the parcel, if you only make an arrangement with some person and let me know the said person and the article which they is to be sent on then i can send the parcel. unless you do make an arrangement with some person, and assure them that they will receive the funs for delivering the parcel this business cannot be accomplished. it is in your power to try to make some provision for the article to be sent but it is not in my power to do so, the bundle has been on my hands now going on years, and i have suffered a great deal of danger, and is still suffering the same. i have understood sir that there were no difficul about the mone that you had it in your possession ready for the bundle whenever it is delivered. but sir as i have said i can do nothing now. sir i ask you please through sympathy and feelings on my part & his try to provide a way for the bundle to be sent and relieve me of the danger in which i am in. you might succeed in making an arrangement with those on the new york steamers for they dose such things but please let me know the man that the arrangement is made with--please give me an answer by the bearer. yours truly friend c.a. at last, the long, dark night passed away, and this young slave safely made his way to freedom, and proceeded to boston, where he now resides. while the committee was looked to for aid in the deliverance of this poor fellow, it was painful to feel that it was not in their power to answer his prayers--not until after his escape, was it possible so to do. but his escape to freedom gave them a satisfaction which no words can well express. at present, john henry hill is a justice of the peace in petersburg. hezekiah resides at west point, and james in boston, rejoicing that all men are free in the united states, at last. * * * * * from virginia, maryland and delaware. archer barlow, alias emit robins. this passenger arrived from norfolk, va. in . for the last four years previous to escaping, he had been under the yoke of dr. george wilson. archer declared that he had been "very badly treated" by the doctor, which he urged as his reason for leaving. true, the doctor had been good enough to allow him to hire his time, for which he required archer to pay the moderate sum of $ per annum. as archer had been "sickly" most of the time, during the last year, he complained that there was "no reduction" in his hire on this account. upon reflection, therefore, archer thought, if he had justice done him, he would be in possession of this "one hundred and twenty" himself, and all his other rights, instead of having to toil for another without pay; so he looked seriously into the matter of master and slave, and pretty soon resolved, that if others chose to make no effort to get away, for himself he would never be contented, until he was free. when a slave reached this decision, he was in a very hopeful state. he was near the underground rail road, and was sure to find it, sooner or later. at this thoughtful period, archer was thirty-one years of age, a man of medium size, and belonged to the two leading branches of southern humanity, _i.e._, he _was_ half white and half colored--a dark mulatto. his arrival in philadelphia, per one of the richmond steamers, was greeted with joy by the vigilance committee, who extended to him the usual aid and care, and forwarded him on to freedom. for a number of years, he has been a citizen of boston. * * * * * samuel bush, alias william oblebee. this "piece of property" fled in the fall of . as a specimen of this article of commerce, he evinced considerable intelligence. he was a man of dark color, although not totally free from the admixture of the "superior" southern blood in his veins; in stature, he was only ordinary. for leaving, he gave the following reasons: "i found that i was working for my master, for his advantage, and when i was sick, i had to pay just as much as if i were well--$ a month. but my master was cross, and said that he intended to sell me--to do better by me another year. times grew worse and worse, constantly. i thought, as i had heard, that if i could raise thirty dollars i could come away." he at once saw the value of money. to his mind it meant liberty from that moment. thenceforth he decided to treasure up every dollar he could get hold of until he could accumulate at least enough to get out of "old virginia." he was a married man, and thought he had a wife and one child, but on reflection, he found out that they did not actually belong to him, but to a carpenter, by the name of bailey. the man whom samuel was compelled to call master was named hoyle. the committee's interview with samuel was quite satisfactory, and they cheerfully accorded to him brotherly kindness and material aid at the same time. * * * * * john spencer and his son william, and james albert. these individuals escaped from the eastern shore of maryland, in the spring of , but were led to conclude that they could enjoy the freedom they had aimed to find, in new jersey. they procured employment in the neighborhood of haddonfield, some six or eight miles from camden, new jersey, and were succeeding, as they thought, very well. things went on favorably for about three months, when to their alarm "slave-hunters were discovered in the neighborhood," and sufficient evidence was obtained to make it quite plain that, john, william and james were the identical persons, for whom the hunters were in "hot pursuit." when brought to the committee, they were pretty thoroughly alarmed and felt very anxious to be safely off to canada. while the committee always rendered in such cases immediate protection and aid, they nevertheless, felt, in view of the imminent dangers existing under the fugitive slave law, that persons disposed to thus stop by the way, should be very plainly given to understand, that if they were captured they would have themselves the most to blame. but the dread of slavery was strong in the minds of these fugitives, and they very fully realized their folly in stopping in new jersey. the committee procured their tickets, helped them to disguise themselves as much as possible, and admonished them not to stop short of canada. * * * * * hetty scott alias margaret duncans and daughter priscilla. this mother and daughter had been the "chattels personal" of daniel coolby of harvard, md. their lot had been that of ordinary slaves in the country, on farms, &c. the motive which prompted them to escape was the fact that their master had "threatened to sell" them. he had a right to do so; but hetty was a little squeamish on this point and took great umbrage at her "kind master." in this "disobedient" state of mind, she determined, if hard struggling would enable her, to defeat the threats of mr. daniel coolby, that he should not much longer have the satisfaction of enjoying the fruit of the toil of herself and offspring. she at once began to prepare for her journey. she had three children of her own to bring, besides she was intimately acquainted with a young man and a young woman, both slaves, to whom she felt that it would be safe to confide her plans with a view of inviting them to accompany her. the young couple were ready converts to the eloquent speech delivered to them by hetty on freedom, and were quite willing to accept her as their leader in the emergency. up to the hour of setting out on their lonely and fatiguing journey, arrangements were being carefully completed, so that there should be no delay of any kind. at the appointed hour they were all moving northward in good order. arriving at quakertown, pa., they found friends of the slave, who welcomed them to their homes and sympathy, gladdening the hearts of all concerned. for prudential reasons it was deemed desirable to separate the party, to send some one way and some another. thus safely, through the kind offices and aid of the friends at quakertown, they were duly forwarded on to the committee in philadelphia. here similar acts of charity were extended to them, and they were directed on to canada. * * * * * robert fisher. this passenger avails himself of holiday week, between christmas and new year's, to make his northern trip. robert was about thirty years of age, dark color, quite tall, and in talking with him a little while, it was soon discovered that slavery had not crushed all the brains out of his head by a good deal. nor was he so much attached to his "kind-hearted master," john edward jackson, of anne arundel, md., or his old fiddle, that he was contented and happy while in bondage. far from it. the fact was, that he hated slavery so decidedly and had such a clear common sense-like view of the evils and misery of the system, that he declared he had as a matter of principle refrained from marrying, in order that he might have no reason to grieve over having added to the woes of slaves. nor did he wish to be encumbered, if the opportunity offered to escape. according to law he was entitled to his freedom at the age of twenty-five. but what right had a negro, which white slave-holders were "bound to respect?" many who had been willed free, were held just as firmly in slavery, as if no will had ever been made. robert had too much sense to suppose that he could gain anything by seeking legal redress. this method, therefore, was considered out of the question. but in the meantime he was growing very naturally in favor of the underground rail road. from his experience robert did not hesitate to say that his master was "mean," "a very hard man," who would work his servants early and late, without allowing them food and clothing sufficient to shield them from the cold and hunger. robert certainly had unmistakable marks about him, of having been used roughly. he thought very well of nathan harris, a fellow-servant belonging to the same owner, and he made up his mind, if nathan would join him, neither the length of the journey, the loneliness of night travel, the coldness of the weather, the fear of the slave-hunter, nor the scantiness of their means should deter him from making his way to freedom. nathan listened to the proposal, and was suddenly converted to freedom, and the two united during christmas week, , and set out on the underground rail road. it is needless to say that they had trying difficulties to encounter. these they expected, but all were overcome, and they reached the vigilance committee, in philadelphia safely, and were cordially welcomed. during the interview, a full interchange of thought resulted, the fugitives were well cared for, and in due time both were forwarded on, free of cost. * * * * * hansel waples. this traveler arrived from millsboro, indian river, delaware, where he was owned by wm. e. burton. while hansel did not really own himself, he had the reputation of having a wife and six children. in june, some six months prior to her husband's arrival, hansel's wife had been allowed by her mistress to go out on a begging expedition, to raise money to buy herself; but contrary to the expectation of her mistress she never returned. doubtless the mistress looked upon this course as a piece of the most highhanded stealing. hansel did not speak of his owner as being a hard man, but on the contrary he thought that he was about as "good" as the best that he was acquainted with. while this was true, however, hansel had quite good ground for believing that his master was about to sell him. dreading this fate he made up his mind to go in pursuit of his wife to a free state. exactly where to look or how to find her he could not tell. the committee advised him to "search in canada." and in order to enable him to get on quickly and safely, the committee aided him with money, &c., in . * * * * * rose anna tonnell alias maria hyde. she fled from isaac tonnell of georgetown, delaware, in christmas week, . a young woman with a little boy of seven years of age accompanied rose anna. further than the simple fact of their having thus safely arrived, except the expense incurred by the committee, no other particulars appear on the records. * * * * * mary ennis alias licia hemmin. mary arrived with her two children in the early spring of . the mother was a woman of about thirty-three years of age, quite tall, with a countenance and general appearance well fitted to awaken sympathy at first sight. her oldest child was a little girl seven years of age, named lydia; the other was named louisa caroline, three years of age, both promising in appearance. they were the so called property of john ennis, of georgetown, delaware. for their flight they chose the dead of winter. after leaving they made their way to west chester, and there found friends and security for several weeks, up to the time they reached philadelphia. probably the friends with whom they stopped thought the weather too inclement for a woman with children dependent on her support to travel. long before this mother escaped, thoughts of liberty filled her heart. she was ever watching for an opportunity, that would encourage her to hope for safety, when once the attempt should be made. until, however, she was convinced that her two children were to be sold, she could not quite muster courage to set out on the journey. this threat to sell proved in multitudes of instances, "the last straw on the camel's back." when nothing else would start them this would. mary and her children were the only slaves owned by this ennis, consequently her duties were that of "jack of all trades;" sometimes in the field and sometimes in the barn, as well as in the kitchen, by which, it is needless to say, that her life was rendered servile to the last degree. to bind up the broken heart of such a poor slave mother, and to aid such tender plants as were these little girls, from such a wretched state of barbarism as existed in poor little delaware, was doubly gratifying to the committee. * * * * * "sam," "isaac," "perry," "charles," and "green." one thousand dollars reward.--ran away on saturday night, the th september, , from the subscriber, living in the ninth district of carroll county, maryland, two negro men, sam and isaac. sam calls himself samuel sims; he is very black; shows his teeth very much when he laughs; no perceptible marks; he is feet inches high, and about thirty years of age, but has the appearance of being much older. [illustration: ] isaac calls himself isaac dotson he is about nineteen years of age, stout made, but rather chunky; broad across his shoulders, he is about five feet five or six inches high, always appears to be in a good humor; laughs a good deal, and runs on with a good deal of foolishness; he is of very light color, almost yellow, might be called a yellow boy; has no perceptible marks. they have such a variety of clothing that it is almost useless to say anything about them. no doubt they will change their names. i will give the above reward for them, of one thousand dollars, or five hundred dollars for either of them, if taken and lodged in any jail in maryland, so that i get them again. also two of mr. dade's, living in the neighborhood, went the same time; no doubt they are all in company together. thomas b. owings. s - twit*|| these passengers reached the philadelphia station, about the th of september, , five days after they escaped from carroll county. they were in fine spirits, and had borne the fatigue and privation of travel bravely. a free and interesting interview took place, between these passengers and the committee, eliciting much information, especially with regard to the workings of the system on the farms, from which they had the good luck to flee. each of the party was thoroughly questioned, about how time had passed with them at home, or rather in the prison house, what kind of men their masters were, how they fed and clothed, if they whipped, bought or sold, whether they were members of church, or not, and many more questions needless to enumerate bearing on the domestic relation which had existed between themselves and their masters. these queries they answered in their own way, with intelligence. upon the whole, their lot in slavery had been rather more favorable than the average run of slaves. no record was made of any very severe treatment. in fact, the notices made of them were very brief, and, but for the elaborate way in which they were described in the "baltimore sun," by their owners, their narratives would hardly be considered of sufficient interest to record. the heavy rewards, beautiful descriptions, and elegant illustrations in the "sun," were very attractive reading. the vigilance committee took the "sun," for nothing else under the sun but for this special literature, and for this purpose they always considered the "sun" a cheap and reliable paper. a slave man or woman, running for life, he with a bundle on his back or she with a babe in her arms, was always a very interesting sight, and should always be held in remembrance. likewise the descriptions given by slave-holders, as a general rule, showed considerable artistic powers and a most thorough knowledge of the physical outlines of this peculiar property. indeed, the art must have been studied attentively for practical purposes. when the advertisements were received in advance of arrivals, which was always the case, the descriptions generally were found so lifelike, that the committee preferred to take them in preference to putting themselves to the labor of writing out new ones, for future reference. this we think, ought not to be complained of by any who were so unfortunate as to lose wayward servants, as it is but fair to give credit to all concerned. true, sometimes some of these beautiful advertisements were open to gentle criticism. the one at the head of this report, is clearly of this character. for instance, in describing isaac, mr. thomas b. owings, represents him as being of a "very light color," "almost yellow," "might be called a yellow boy." in the next breath he has no perceptible marks. now, if he is "very light," that is a well-known southern mark, admitted everywhere. a hint to the wise is sufficient. however, judging from what was seen of isaac in philadelphia, there was more cunning than "foolishness" about him. slaves sometimes, when wanting to get away, would make their owners believe that they were very happy and contented. and, in using this kind of foolishness, would keep up appearances until an opportunity offered for an escape. so isaac might have possessed this sagacity, which appeared like nonsense to his master. that slave-holders, above all others, were in the habit of taking special pains to encourage foolishness, loud laughing, banjo playing, low dancing, etc., in the place of education, virtue, self-respect and manly carriage, slave-holders themselves are witnesses. as mr. robert dade was also a loser, equally with mr. thomas b. owings, and as his advertisement was of the same liberality and high tone, it seems but fitting that it should come in just here, to give weight and completeness to the story. both owings and dade showed a considerable degree of southern chivalry in the liberality of their rewards. doubtless, the large sums thus offered awakened a lively feeling in the breasts of old slave-hunters. but it is to be supposed that the artful fugitives safely reached philadelphia before the hunters got even the first scent on their track. up to the present hour, with the owners all may be profound mystery; if so, it is to be hoped, that they may feel some interest in the solution of these wonders. the articles so accurately described must now be permitted to testify in their own words, as taken from the records. green modock acknowledges that he was owned by william dorsey, perry by robert dade, sam and isaac by thomas owings, all farmers, and all "tough" and "pretty mean men." sam and isaac had other names with them, but not such a variety of clothing as their master might have supposed. sam said he left because his master threatened to sell him to georgia, and he believed that he meant so to do, as he had sold all his brothers and sisters to georgia some time before he escaped. but this was not all. sam declared his master had threatened to shoot him a short while before he left. this was the last straw on the camel's back. sam's heart was in canada ever after that. in traveling he resolved that nothing should stop him. charles offered the same excuse as did sam. he had been threatened with the auction-block. he left his mother free, but four sisters he left in chains. as these men spoke of their tough owners and bad treatment in slavery, they expressed their indignation at the idea that owings, dade and dorsey had dared to rob them of their god-given rights. they were only ignorant farm hands. as they drank in the free air, the thought of their wrongs aroused all their manhood. they were all young men, hale and stout, with strong resolutions to make canada their future home. the committee encouraged them in this, and aided them for humanity's sake.--mr. robert dade's advertisement speaks for itself as follows: ran away--on saturday night, th inst., from the subscriber, living near mount airy p.o., carroll county, two negro men, perry and charles. perry is quite dark, full face; is about feet or inches high; has a scar on one of his hands, and one on his legs, caused by a cut from a scythe; years old. charles is of a copper color, about feet or inches high; round shouldered, with small whiskers; has one crooked finger that he cannot straighten, and a scar on his right leg, caused by the cut of a scythe; years old. i will give two hundred and fifty dollars each, if taken in the state and returned to me, or secured in some jail so that i can get them again, or a $ , for the two, or $ each, if taken out of the state, and secured in some jail in this state so that i can get them again. robert dade. [illustration: ] s - f. from richmond and norfolk, va. william b. white, susan brooks and william henry atkins.--stowed away in the steamship city of richmond. but for their hope of liberty, their uncomfortable position could hardly have been endured by these fugitives. william had been compelled to dig and delve, to earn bread and butter, clothing and luxuries, houses and land, education and ease for h.b. dickinson, of richmond. william smarted frequently; but what could he do? complaint from a slave was a crime of the deepest dye. so william dug away mutely, but continued to think, nevertheless. he was a man of about thirty-six years of age, of dark chestnut color, medium size, and of pleasant manners to say the least. his owner was a tobacco manufacturer, who held some thirty slaves in his own right, besides hiring a great many others. william was regularly employed by day in his master's tobacco factory. he was likewise employed, as one of the carriers of the richmond dispatch; the time allotted to fill the duties of this office, was however, before sunrise in the morning. it is but just to state, in favor of his master, that william was himself the receiver of a part of the pay for this night work. it was by this means william procured clothing and certain other necessaries. from william's report of his master, he was by no means among the worst of slave-holders in richmond; he did not himself flog, but the overseer was allowed to conduct this business, when it was considered necessary. for a long time william had cherished a strong desire to be free, and had gone so far on several occasions as to make unsuccessful attempts to accomplish this end. at last he was only apprised of his opportunity to carry his wishes into practice a few moments before the hour for the starting of the underground rail road train. being on the watch, he hailed the privilege, and left without looking back. true he left his wife and two children, who were free, and a son also who was owned by warner toliver, of gloucester county, va. we leave the reader to decide for himself, whether william did right or wrong, and who was responsible for the sorrow of both husband and wife caused by the husband's course. the committee received him as a true and honest friend of freedom, and as such aided him. * * * * * susan brooks. susan was also a passenger on the same ship that brought wm. b. white. she was from norfolk. her toil, body and strength were claimed by thomas eckels, esq., a man of wealth and likewise a man of intemperance. with those who regarded slavery as a "divine institution," intemperance was scarcely a mote, in the eyes of such. for sixteen years, susan had been in the habit of hiring her time, for which she was required to pay five dollars per month. as she had the reputation of being a good cook and chambermaid, she was employed steadily, sometimes on boats. this sum may therefore be considered reasonable. owing to the death of her husband, about a year previous to her escape, she had suffered greatly, so much so, that on two or three occasions, she had fallen into alarming fits,--a fact by no means agreeable to her owner, as he feared that the traders on learning her failing health would underrate her on this account. but susan was rather thankful for these signs of weakness, as she was thereby enabled to mature her plans and thus to elude detection. her son having gone on ahead to canada about six months in advance of her, she felt that she had strong ties in the goodly land. every day she remained in bondage, the cords bound her more tightly, and "weeks seemed like months, and months like years," so abhorrent had the peculiar institution become to her in every particular. in this state of mind, she saw no other way, than by submitting to be secreted, until an opportunity should offer, via the underground rail road. so for four months, like a true and earnest woman, she endured a great "fight of affliction," in this horrible place. but the thought of freedom enabled her to keep her courage up, until the glad news was conveyed to her that all things were ready, providing that she could get safely to the boat, on which she was to be secreted. how she succeeded in so doing the record book fails to explain. one of the methods, which used to succeed very well, in skillful and brave hands, was this: in order to avoid suspicion, the woman intending to be secreted, approached the boat with a clean ironed shirt on her arm, bare headed and in her usual working dress, looking good-natured of course, and as if she were simply conveying the shirt to one of the men on the boat. the attention of the officer on the watch would not for a moment be attracted by a custom so common as this. thus safely on the boat, the man whose business it was to put this piece of property in the most safe underground rail road place, if he saw that every thing looked favorable, would quickly arrange matters without being missed from his duties. in numerous instances, officers were outwitted in this way. as to what susan had seen in the way of hardships, whether in relation to herself or others, her story was most interesting; but it may here be passed in order to make room for others. she left one sister, named mary ann tharagood, who was wanting to come away very much. susan was a woman of dark color, round built, medium height, and about forty years of age when she escaped in . * * * * * william henry atkins. william henry was also a fellow-passenger on the same boat with william b. white and susan cooke. these might be set down, as first-class underground rail road travelers. henry was a very likely-looking article. he was quite smart, about six feet high, a dark mulatto, and was owned by a baptist minister. for some cause not stated on the books, not long before leaving, henry had received a notice from his owner, (the baptist minister) that he might hunt himself a new master as soon as possible. this was a business that henry had no relish for. the owner he already had, he concluded bad enough in all conscience, and it did not occur to him that hunting another would mend the matter much. so in thinking over the situation, he was "taken sick." he felt the need of a little time to reflect upon matters of very weighty moment involving his freedom. so when he was called upon one day to go to his regular toil, the answer was, "i am sick, i am not able to budge hardly." the excuse took and henry attended faithfully to his "sick business," for the time being, while on the other hand, the baptist minister waited patiently all the while for william to get well enough for hunting a new master. what had to be done, needed to be done quickly, before his master's patience was exhausted. william soon had matters arranged for traveling north. he had a wife, eliza, for whom he felt the greatest affection; but as he viewed matters at that time, he concluded that he could really do more for her in canada than he could in norfolk. he saw no chance, either under the baptist minister, or under a new master. his wife was owned by susan langely. when the hour arrived to start, as brave men usually do, henry, having counted all the cost, was in his place on the boat with his face towards canada. how he looked at matters on john bull's side of the house, letters from henry will abundantly reveal as follows: st. catharines, august , . my dear sir:--it is with plesure that i now take my pen to inform you that i am well at present and i hope that these few lines may find you injoying good health, and will you plese to be so kind as to send a leter down home for me if you plese to my wife, the reason that i beg the favor of you i have written to you several times and never recieve no answer, she don't no whar i am at i would like her to no, if it is posible elizeran actkins, and when you write will you plese to send me all the news, give my respect to all the fambley and allso to mr lundey and his fambley and tell him plese to send me those books if you plese the first chance you can git. mrs. wood sends her love to mr. still answer this as soon as on hand, the boys all send their love to all, the reason why i sends for a answer write away i expect to live this and go up west nex mounth not to stay to git some land, i have no more at present, i remain your friend. w.h. actkins. st. catharines, c.w., october th, . mr. william still:--_dear friend_:--i take the liberty to address to you a few lines in behalf of my wife, who is still at norfolk, va. i have heard by my friend richmond bohm, who arrived lately, that she was in the hands of my friend henry lovey (the same who had me in hand at the time i started). i understood that she was about to make her start this month, and that she was only waiting for me to send her some means. i would like for you to communicate the substance of this letter to my wife, through my friend henry lovey, and for her to come on as soon as she can. i would like to have my wife write to me a few lines by the first opportunity. she could write to you in philadelphia, north fifth street. i wish to send my love to you & your family & would like for you to answer this letter with the least possible delay in the care of hiram wilson. very respectfully yours, w.h. atkins. p.s. i would like for my friend henry lovey to send my wife right on to philadelphia; not to stop for want of means, for i will forward means on to my friend wm still. my love to my father & mother, my friend lovey & to all my inquiring friends. if you cannot find it convenient to write, please forward this by the boat. h.w.a. * * * * * four arrivals. charlotte and harriet escape in deep mourning--master in the same car hunting for them, sees them, but does not know them--white lady and child with a colored coachman, traveling--at chambersbueg at a hotel, the proprietor detects them as u.g.r.r. passengers--three "likely" young men from baltimore--"four large and two small hams"--police offices imparting information at the anti-slavery office--u.g.r.r. passengers traveling with their masters' horses and carriages--"break down"--conflict with white men--six passengers riding two horses, &c. about the st of may, , an exceedingly anxious state of feeling existed with the active committee in philadelphia. in the course of twenty-four hours four arrivals had come to hand from different localities. the circumstances connected with the escape of each party, being so unusual, there was scarcely ground for any other conclusion than that disaster was imminent, if not impossible to be averted. it was a day long to be remembered. aside from the danger, however, a more encouraging hour had never presented itself in the history of the road. the courage, which had so often been shown in the face of great danger, satisfied the committee that there were heroes and heroines among these passengers, fully entitled to the applause of the liberty-loving citizens of brotherly love. the very idea of having to walk for days and nights in succession, over strange roads, through by-ways, and valleys, over mountains, and marshes, was fitted to appal the bravest hearts, especially where women and children were concerned. being familiar with such cases, the committee was delighted beyond measure to observe how wisely and successfully each of these parties had managed to overcome these difficulties. [illustration: ] party no. consisted of charlotte giles and harriet eglin, owned by capt. wm. applegarth and john delahay. neither of these girls had any great complaint to make on the score of ill-treatment endured. so they contrived each to get a suit of mourning, with heavy black veils, and thus dressed, apparently absorbed with grief, with a friend to pass them to the baltimore depot (hard place to pass, except aided by an individual well known to the r.r. company), they took a direct course for philadelphia. while seated in the car, before leaving baltimore (where slaves and masters both belonged), who should enter but the master of one of the girls! in a very excited manner, he hurriedly approached charlotte and harriet, who were apparently weeping. peeping under their veils, "what is your name," exclaimed the excited gentleman. "mary, sir," sobbed charlotte. "what is your name?" (to the other mourner) "lizzie, sir," was the faint reply. on rushed the excited gentleman as if moved by steam--through the cars, looking for his property; not finding it, he passed out of the cars, and to the delight of charlotte and harriet soon disappeared. fair business men would be likely to look at this conduct on the part of the two girls in the light of a "sharp practice." in military parlance it might be regarded as excellent strategy. be this as it may, the underground rail road passengers arrived safely at the philadelphia station and were gladly received. a brief stay in the city was thought prudent lest the hunters might be on the pursuit. they were, therefore, retained in safe quarters. in the meantime, arrival no. reached the committee. it consisted of a colored man, a white woman and a child, ten years old. this case created no little surprise. not that quite a number of passengers, fair enough to pass for white, with just a slight tinge of colored blood in their veins, even sons and daughters of some of the f.f.v., had not on various occasions come over the u.g.r.r. but this party was peculiar. an explanation was sought, which resulted in ascertaining that the party was from leesburg, virginia; that david, the colored man, was about twenty-seven years of age, intelligent, and was owned, or claimed by joshua pusey. david had no taste for slavery, indeed, felt that it would be impossible for him to adapt himself to a life of servitude for the special benefit of others; he had, already, as he thought, been dealt with very wrongfully by pusey, who had deprived him of many years of the best part of his life, and would continue thus to wrong him, if he did not make a resolute effort to get away. so after thinking of various plans, he determined not to run off as a slave with his "budget on his back," but to "travel as a coachman," under the "protection of a white lady." in planning this pleasant scheme, david was not blind to the fact that neither himself nor the "white lady," with whom he proposed to travel, possessed either horse or carriage. but his master happened to have a vehicle that would answer for the occasion. david reasoned that as joshua, his so called master, had deprived him of his just dues for so many years, he had a right to borrow, or take without borrowing, one of joshua's horses for the expedition. the plan was submitted to the lady, and was approved, and a mutual understanding here entered into, that she should hire a carriage, and take also her little girl with them. the lady was to assume the proprietorship of the horse, carriage and coachman. in so doing all dangers would be, in their judgment, averted. the scheme being all ready for execution, the time for departure was fixed, the carriage hired, david having secured his master joshua's horse, and off they started in the direction of pennsylvania. white people being so accustomed to riding, and colored people to driving, the party looked all right. no one suspected them, that they were aware of, while passing through virginia. [illustration: ] on reaching chambersburg, pa., in the evening, they drove to a hotel, the lady alighted, holding by the hand her well dressed and nice-looking little daughter, bearing herself with as independent an air as if she had owned twenty such boys as accompanied her as coachman. she did not hesitate to enter and request accommodations for the night, for herself, daughter, coachman, and horse. being politely told that they could be accommodated, all that was necessary was, that the lady should show off to the best advantage possible. the same duty also rested with weight upon the mind of david. the night passed safely and the morning was ushered in with bright hopes which were overcast but only for a moment, however. breakfast having been ordered and partaken of, to the lady's surprise, just as she was in the act of paying the bill, the proprietor of the hotel intimated that he thought that matters "looked a little suspicious," in other words, he said plainly, that he "believed that it was an underground rail road movement;" but being an obliging hotel-keeper, he assured her at the same time, that he "would not betray them." just here it was with them as it would have been on any other rail road when things threaten to come to a stand; they could do nothing more than make their way out of the peril as best they could. one thing they decided to do immediately, namely, to "leave the horse and carriage," and try other modes of travel. they concluded to take the regular passenger cars. in this way they reached philadelphia. in harrisburg, they had sought and received instructions how to find the committee in philadelphia. what relations had previously existed between david and this lady in virginia, the committee knew not. it looked more like the time spoken of in isaiah, where it is said, "and a little child shall lead them," than any thing that had ever been previously witnessed on the underground rail road. the underground rail road never practised the proscription governing other roads, on account of race, color, or previous condition. all were welcome to its immunities, white or colored, when the object to be gained favored freedom, or weakened slavery. as the sole aim apparent in this case was freedom for the slave the committee received these travellers as underground rail road passengers. arrival no. . charles h. ringold, robert smith, and john henry richards, all from baltimore. their ages ranged from twenty to twenty-four years. they were in appearance of the class most inviting to men who were in the business of buying and selling slaves. charles and john were owned by james hodges, and robert by wm. h. normis, living in baltimore. this is all that the records contain of them. the exciting and hurrying times when they were in charge of the committee probably forbade the writing out of a more detailed account of them, as was often the case. with the above three arrivals on hand, it may be seen how great was the danger to which all concerned were exposed on account of the bold and open manner in which these parties had escaped from the land of the peculiar institution. notwithstanding, a feeling of very great gratification existed in view of the success attending the new and adventurous modes of traveling. indulging in reflections of this sort, the writer on going from his dinner that day to the anti-slavery office, to his surprise found an officer awaiting his coming. said officer was of the mayor's police force. before many moments had been allowed to pass, in which to conjecture his errand, the officer, evidently burdened with the importance of his mission, began to state his business substantially as follows: "i have just received a telegraphic despatch from a slave-holder living in maryland, informing me that six slaves had escaped from him, and that he had reason to believe that they were on their way to philadelphia, and would come in the regular train direct from harrisburg; furthermore i am requested to be at the depot on the arrival of the train to arrest the whole party, for whom a reward of $ is offered. now i am not the man for this business. i would have nothing to do with the contemptible work of arresting fugitives. i'd rather help them off. what i am telling you is confidential. my object in coming to the office is simply to notify the vigilance committee so that they may be on the look-out for them at the depot this evening and get them out of danger as soon as possible. this is the way i feel about them; but i shall telegraph back that i will be on the look-out." while the officer was giving this information he was listened to most attentively, and every word he uttered was carefully weighed. an air of truthfulness, however, was apparent; nevertheless he was a stranger and there was cause for great cautiousness. during the interview an unopened telegraphic despatch which had come to hand during the writer's absence, lay on the desk. impressed with the belief that it might shed light on the officer's story, the first opportunity that offered, it was seized, opened, and it read as follows: (copied from the original.) harrisburg, may st, . wm. still, n. th st.:--i have sent via at two o'clock four large and two small hams. jos. c. bustill. here there was no room for further doubt, but much need for vigilance. although the despatch was not read to the officer, not that his story was doubted, but purely for prudential reasons, he was nevertheless given to understand, that it was about the same party, and that they would be duly looked after. it would hardly have been understood by the officer, had he been permitted to read it so guardedly was it worded, it was indeed dead language to all save the initiated. in one particular especially, relative to the depot where they were expected to arrive, the officer was in the dark, as his despatch pointed to the regular train, and of course to the depot at eleventh and market streets. the underground rail road despatch on the contrary pointed to broad and callowhill streets "via," _i.e._ reading. as notified, that evening the "four large and two small hams" arrived, and turned out to be of the very finest quality, just such as any trader would have paid the highest market price for. being mindful of the great danger of the hour, there was felt to be more occasion just then for anxiety and watchfulness, than for cheering and hurrahing over the brave passengers. to provide for them in the usual manner, in view of the threatening aspect of affairs, could not be thought of. in this critical hour it devolved upon a member of the committee, for the safety of all parties, to find new and separate places of accommodation, especially for the six known to be pursued. to be stored in other than private families would not answer. three or four such were visited at once; after learning of the danger much sympathy was expressed, but one after another made excuses and refused. this was painful, for the parties had plenty of house room, were identified with the oppressed race, and on public meeting occasions made loud professions of devotion to the cause of the fugitive, &c. the memory of the hour and circumstances is still fresh. accommodations were finally procured for a number of the fugitives with a widow woman, (ann laws) whose opportunities for succor were far less than at the places where refusals had been met with. but mrs. l. was kind-hearted, and nobly manifested a willingness to do all that she could for their safety. of course the committee felt bound to bear whatever expense might necessarily be incurred. here some of the passengers were kept for several days, strictly private, long enough to give the slave-hunters full opportunity to tire themselves, and give up the chase in despair. some belonging to the former arrivals had also to be similarly kept for the same reasons. through careful management all were succored and cared for. whilst much interesting information was obtained from these several arrivals: the incidents connected with their lives in slavery, and when escaping were but briefly written out. of this fourth arrival, however, the following intelligence will doubtless be highly gratifying to the friends of freedom, wherever the labors of the underground rail road may be appreciated. the people round about hagerstown, maryland, may like to know how these "articles" got off so successfully, the circumstances of their escape having doubtless created some excitement in that region of the country. arrival no. . charles bird, george dorsey, angeline brown, albert brown, charles brown and jane scott. charles was twenty-four years of age, quite dark, of quick motion, and ready speech, and in every way appearing as though he could take care of himself. he had occupied the condition of a farm laborer. this calling he concluded to forsake, not because he disliked farming, but simply to get rid of david clargart, who professed to own him, and compelled him to work without pay, "for nothing." while charles spoke favorably of clargart as a man, to the extent, at all events, of testifying that he was not what was called a hard man, nevertheless charles was so decidedly opposed to slavery that he felt compelled to look out for himself. serving another man on the no pay principle, at the same time liable to be flogged, and sold at the pleasure of another, charles felt was worse than heathenish viewed in any light whatsoever. he was prepared therefore, to leave without delay. he had four sisters in the hands of clargart, but what could he do for them but leave them to providence. the next on the list was george dorsey, a comrade of charles. he was a young man, of medium size, mixed blood, intelligent, and a brave fellow as will appear presently. this party in order to get over the road as expeditiously as possible, availed themselves of their master's horses and wagon and moved off civilly and respectably. about nine miles from home on the road, a couple of white men, finding their carriage broken down approached them, unceremoniously seized the horses by the reins and were evidently about to assume authority, supposing that the boys would surrender at once. but instead of so doing, the boys struck away at them with all their might, with their large clubs, not even waiting to hear what these superior individuals wanted. the effect of the clubs brought them prostrate in the road, in an attitude resembling two men dreaming, (it was in the night.) the victorious passengers, seeing that the smashed up carriage could be of no further use to them, quickly conceived the idea of unhitching and attempting further pursuit on horseback. each horse was required to carry three passengers. so up they mounted and off they galloped with the horses' heads turned directly towards pennsylvania. no further difficulty presented itself until after they had traveled some forty miles. here the poor horses broke down, and had to be abandoned. the fugitives were hopeful, but of the difficulties ahead they wot not; surely no flowery beds of ease awaited them. for one whole week they were obliged to fare as they could, out in the woods, over the mountains, &c. how they overcame the trials in this situation we cannot undertake to describe. suffice it to say, at the end of the time above mentioned they managed to reach harrisburg and found assistance as already intimated. [illustration: ] george and angeline, (who was his sister) with her two boys had a considerable amount of white blood in their veins, and belonged to a wealthy man by the name of george schaeffer, who was in the milling business. they were of one mind in representing him as a hard man. "he would often threaten to sell, and was very hard to please." george and angeline left their mother and ten brothers and sisters. jane was a well-grown girl, smart, and not bad-looking, with a fine brown skin, and was also owned by schaeffer. letters from the enterprising charlotte and harriet (arrival no. ), brought the gratifying intelligence, that they had found good homes in western new york, and valued their freedom highly. three out of quite a number of letters received from them from time to time are subjoined. sennett, june, . mr. william still:--_dear sir_:--i am happy to tell you that charlotte gildes and myself have got along thus far safely. we have had no trouble and found friends all the way along, for which we feel very thankful to you and to all our friends on the road since we left. we reached mr. loguen's in syracuse, on last tuesday evening & on wednesday two gentlemen from this community called and we went with them to work in their families. what i wish you would do is to be so kind as to send our clothes to this place if they should fall into your hands. we hope our uncle in baltimore will get the letter charlotte wrote to him last sabbath, while we were at your house, concerning the clothes. perhaps the best would be to send them to syracuse to the _care of mr. loguen_ and he will send them to us. this will more certainly ensure our getting them. if you hear anything that would be interesting to charlotte or me from baltimore, please direct a letter to us to this place, to the care of revd. chas. anderson, sennett, cayuga co., n.y. please give my love and charlotte's to mrs. still and thank her for her kindness to us while at your house. your affectionate friend, harriet eglin. second letter. sennett, july st, . mr. wm. still:--_my dear friend_:--i have just received your note of th inst. and allow me dear sir, to assure you that the only letter i have written, is the one you received, an answer to which you sent me. i never wrote to baltimore, nor did any person write for me there, and it is with _indescribable grief_, that i hear what your letter communicates to me, of those who you say have gotten into difficulty on my account. my cousin charlotte who came with me, got into a good place in this vicinity, but she could not content herself to stay here but just _one week_--she then went to canada--and she is the one who by writing (if any one), has brought this trouble upon those to whom you refer in baltimore. she has written me two letters from canada, and by neither of them can i ascertain _where she lives_--her letters are mailed at suspension bridge, but she does not live there as her letters show. in the first she does not even sign her name. she has evidently employed some person to write, who is nearly as ignorant as herself. if i knew where to find her i would find out _what_ she has written. i don't know but she has told where i live, and may yet get me and my friends here, in trouble too, as she has some in other places. i don't wish to have you trouble yourself about my clothes, i am in a place where i can get all the clothes i want or need. will you please write me when convenient and tell me what you hear about those who i fear are suffering as the result of their kindness to me? may god, in some way, grant them deliverance. oh the misery, the sorrow, which this cursed system of slavery is constantly bringing upon millions in this land of boasted freedom! can you tell me where sarah king is, who was at your house when i was there? she was going to canada to meet her husband. give my love to mrs. still & accept the same yourself. your much indebted & obliged friend, harriet eglin. the "difficulty" about which harriet expressed so much regret in the above letter, had reference to a letter supposed to have been written by her friend charlotte to baltimore, about her clothing. it had been intercepted, and in this way, a clue was obtained by one of the owners as to how they escaped, who aided them, etc. on the strength of the information thus obtained, a well-known colored man, named adams, was straightway arrested and put in prison at the instance of one of the owners, and also a suit was at the same time instituted against the rail road company for damages--by which steps quite a huge excitement was created in baltimore. as to the colored man adams, the prospect looked simply hopeless. many hearts were sad in view of the doom which they feared would fall upon him for obeying a humane impulse (he had put the girls on the cars). but with the rail road company it was a different matter; they had money, power, friends, etc., and could defy the courts. in the course of a few months, when the suit against adams and the rail road company came up, the rail road company proved in court, in defense, that the prosecutor entered the cars in search of his runaway, and went and spoke to the two young women in "mourning" the day they escaped, looking expressly for the identical parties, for which he was seeking damages before the court, and that he declared to the conductor, on leaving the cars, that the said "two girls in mourning, were not the ones he was looking after," or in other words, that "neither" belonged to him. this positive testimony satisfied the jury, and the rail road company and poor james adams escaped by the verdict not guilty. the owner of the lost property had the costs to pay of course, but whether he was made a wiser or better man by the operation was never ascertained. third letter. sennett, october th, . dear mr. still:--i am happy to tell you that i am well and happy. i still live with rev. mr. anderson in this place, i am learning to read and write. i do not like to trouble you too much, but i would like to know if you have heard anything more about my friends in baltimore who got into trouble on our account. do be pleased to write me if you can give me any information about them. i feel bad that they should suffer for me. i wish all my brethren and sisters in bondage, were as well off as i am. the girl that came with me is in canada, near the suspension bridge. i was glad to see green murdock, a colored young man, who stopped at your house about six weeks ago, he knew my folks at the south. he has got into a good place to work in this neighborhood. give my love to mrs still, and believe me your obliged friend, harriet eglin. p.s. i would like to know what became of johnson,[a] the man whose foot was smashed by jumping off the cars, he was at your house when i was there. [footnote a: johnson was an unfortunate young fugitive, who, while escaping, beheld his master or pursuer in the cars, and jumped therefrom, crushing his feet shockingly by the bold act.] h.e. from virginia, maryland, delaware, north carolina, washington, d.c., and south carolina. james burrell, daniel wiggins, wm. robinson, edward peaden, and wife, alex boggs, samuel stater, harrison bell and daughter, harriet ann,daniel davis, _alias_ david smith, james stewart, _alias_ william jackson, harriet haley, _alias_ ann richardson, benj. duncans, _alias_ george scott, moses wines, sarah smith, _alias_ mildreth page, lucy garrett, _alias_ julia wood, ellen forman, _alias_ elizabeth young, wm. wooden, _alias_ wm. nelson, james edward handy, _alias_ dennis cannon, james henry delany _alias_ smart stanley, james henry blackson, george freeland, miles white, louisa clayton, lewis snowden, _alias_ lewis williams, wm. johnson, john hall _alias_ john simpson. in order to keep this volume within due limits, in the cases to be noticed in this chapter, it will be impossible to state more than a few of the interesting particulars that make up these narratives. while some of these passengers might not have been made in the prison house to drink of the bitter cup as often as others, and in their flight might not have been called upon to pass through as severe perils as fell to the lot of others, nevertheless justice seems to require, that, as far as possible, all the passengers passing over the philadelphia underground rail road shall be noticed. james burrell. james was certainly justifiable in making his escape, if for no other reason than on the score of being nearly related to the chivalry of the south. he was a mulatto (the son of a white man evidently), about thirty-two years of age, medium size, and of an agreeable appearance. he was owned by a maiden lady, who lived at williamsburg, but not requiring his services in her own family, she hired him out by the year to a mr. john walker, a manufacturer of tobacco, for which she received $ annually. this arrangement was not satisfactory to james. he could not see why he should be compelled to wear the yoke like an ox. the more he thought over his condition, the more unhappy was his lot, until at last he concluded, that he could not stand slavery any longer. he had witnessed a great deal of the hardships of the system of slavery, and he had quite enough intelligence to portray the horrors thereof in very vivid colors. it was the auction-block horror that first prompted him to seek freedom. while thinking how he would manage to get away safely, his wife and children were ever present in his mind. he felt as a husband should towards his "wife betsy," and likewise loved his "children, walter and mary;" but these belonged to another man, who lived some distance in the country, where he had permission to see them only once a week. this had its pleasure, it also had its painful influence. the weekly partings were a never-failing source of unhappiness. so when james' mind was fully made up to escape from slavery, he decided that it would not be best to break the secret to his poor wife and children, but to get off to canada, and afterwards to try and see what he could do for their deliverance. the hour fixed to leave virginia arrived, and he started and succeeded in reaching philadelphia, and the committee. on arriving he needed medicine, clothing, food, and a carriage for his accommodation, all which were furnished freely by the committee, and he was duly forwarded to canada. from canada, with his name changed, he wrote as follows: toronto, march th, . sir, mr. still--it does me pleasure to forward you this letter hopeing when this comes to hand it may find your family well, as they leaves me at present. i will also say that the friends are well. allow me to say to you that i arrived in this place on friday last safe and sound, and feeles well under my safe arrival. its true that i have not been employed as yet but i lives hopes to be at work very shortly. i likes this city very well, and i am in hopes that there a living here for me as much so as there for any one else. you will be please to write. i am bording at mr. phillip's centre street. i have nothing more at present. yours most respectfull. w. boural. daniel wiggins, _alias_ daniel robinson. daniel fled from norfolk, va., where he had been owned by the late richard scott. only a few days before daniel escaped, his so-called owner was summoned to his last account. while ill, just before the close of his career, he often promised d. his freedom and also promised, if restored, that he would make amends for the past, by changing his ways of living. his son, who was very reckless, he would frequently allude to and declared, "that he," the son, "should not have his 'property.'" these dying sentiments filled daniel with great hopes that the day of his enslavement was nearly at an end. unfortunately, however, death visited the old master, ere he had made provision for his slaves. at all events, no will was found. that he might not fall a prey to the reckless son, he felt, that he must nerve himself for a desperate struggle to obtain his freedom in some other way, by traveling on the underground rail road. while he had always been debarred from book learning, he was, nevertheless, a man of some intelligence, and by trade was a practical corker. he was called upon in this trying hour to leave his wife with three children, but they were, fortunately, free. coming to the committee in want, they cheerfully aided him, and forwarded him on to canada. thence, immediately on his arrival, he returned the following grateful letter: new bedford, mass., march d, . dear sir:--i am happy to inform you that i arrived in this place this morning well and cheerful. i am, sir, to you and others under more obligations for your kindly protection of me than i can in any way express at present. may the lord preserve you unto eternal life. remember my respects to mr. lundy and family. should the boat lay up please let me know. yours respectfully, david robinson. please forward to dr. h. lundy, after you have gotten through. with respects, &c. d.r. wm. robinson, _alias_ thos. harred. william gave satisfactory evidence, at first sight, that he was opposed to the unrequited labor system _in toto_, and even hated still more the flogging practices of the chivalry. although he had reached his twenty-eighth year, and was a truly fair specimen of his race, considering his opportunities, a few days before william left, the overseer on the plantation attempted to flog him, but did not succeed. william's manhood was aroused, and he flogged the overseer soundly, if what he averred was true. the name of william's owner was john g. beale, esq., of fauquier county, va. beale was considered to be a man of wealth, and had invested in slave stock to the number of seventy head. according to william's account of beale, he was a "hard man and thought no more of his black people than he did of dogs." when william entered upon the undertaking of freeing himself from beale's barbarism, he had but one dollar and twenty-five cents in his possession; but he had physical strength and a determined mind, and being heartily sick of slavery, he was willing to make the trial, even at the cost of life. thus hopeful, he prosecuted his journey with success through strange regions of country, with but little aid or encouragement before reaching philadelphia. this feat, however, was not performed without getting lost by the way. on arriving, his shoes were gone, and his feet were severely travel-worn. the committee rendered needed aid, etc., and sent william on to canada to work for himself, and to be recognized as a subject of great britain. edward peaden and wife harriet, and sister celia. this man and his wife and wife's sister were a nice-looking trio, but they brought quite a sad story with them: the sale of their children, six in number. the auction block had made such sad havoc among them, that no room was left to hope, that their situation would ever be improved by remaining. indeed they had been under a very gloomy cloud for some time previous to leaving, fearing that the auction block was shortly to be their doom. to escape this fate, they were constrained to "secrete themselves for one month," until an opportunity offered them to secure a passage on a boat coming to philadelphia. edward (the husband), was about forty-four years of age, of a dark color, well made, full face, pleasant countenance, and talked fluently. dr. price claimed him as his personal property, and exacted all his hire and labor. for twelve years he had been hired out for $ per annum. harriet, the wife of edward, belonged to david baines, of norfolk. her general appearance indicated, that nature had favored her physically and mentally, although being subjected to the drudgery of slave life, with no advantages for development, she was simply a living testimony to the crushing influence of slavery--with a heart never free from the saddened recollection of the auction block, on which all of her children had been sacrificed, "one by one." celia, the sister, also belonged to d. baines, and was kept hired out--was last in the service of the mayor of norfolk. of her story nothing of any moment was recorded. on their arrival in philadelphia, as usual they were handed over to the committee, and their wants were met. william davis. all that the records contain of william is as follows: he left emmitsburg, md., the previous friday night, where he had been held by dr. james shoul. william is thirty-two years of age, dark color, rather below medium stature. with regard to his slave life, he declared that he had been "roughly used." besides, for some time before escaping, he felt that his owner was in the "notion of trading" him off. the fear that this apprehended notion would be carried into execution, was what prompted him to leave his master. alexander boggs, alias johnson henson. this subject was under the ownership of a certain john ernie, who lived about three miles from baltimore. mr. ernie had only been in possession of the wayward alexander three weeks, having purchased him of a trader named dennit, for $ . this was not the first time, however, that he had experienced the trouble of changing masters, in consequence of having been sold. previously to his being disposed of by the trader dennit, he had been owned by senator merrick, who had the misfortune to fail in business, in consequence whereof, his slaves had all to be sold and alexander with the rest, away from his wife, caroline, and two children, james and eliezer. this was a case that appealed for sympathy and aid, which were cheerfully rendered by the committee. alexander was about fifty years of age, of dark color. on the records no account of cruel treatment is found, other than being sold, &c. john brown, alias jacob williams, arrived from fredericktown, md., where he had been working under the yoke of joseph postly. john was a young man of twenty-nine years of age. up to the hour of his escape, his lot had been that of an ordinary slave. indeed, he had much less to complain of with reference to usage than most slaves; the only thing in this respect the records contain, is simply a charge, that his master threatened to sell him. but this did not seem to have been the motive which prompted john to take leave of his master. although untutored, he had mind enough to comprehend that postly had no right to oppress him, and wrong him out of his hire. john concluded that he would not stand such treatment any longer, and made up his mind to leave for canada. after due examination the committee, finding his story reasonable, gave him the usual assistance, advice and instruction, and sent him on canada-ward. samuel slater, alias patterson smith, came from a place called power bridge, md. he gave a satisfactory account of himself, and was commended for having wisely left his master, william martin, to earn his bread by the sweat of his own brow. martin had held up the vision of the auction-block before sam; this was enough. sam saw that it was time for him to be getting out of danger's way without delay, so he presumed, if others could manage to escape, he could too. and he succeeded. he was a stout man, about twenty-nine years of age, of dark complexion. no particular mention of ill treatment is found on the records. after arriving in canada, his heart turned with deep interest and affection to those left in the prison-house, as the following letter indicates. st. cathrines oct th. my dear friend:--yours of the th came to hand and i was glad to hea from you and your dear family were well and the reason that i did not write sooner i expected get a letter from my brother in pennsylvania but i have not received any as yet when i wrote last i directed my letter to philip scott minister of the asbury church baltimore and that was the reason that i thought it strange i did not get an answer but i did not put my brother name to it i made arrangements before i left home with a family of smiths that i was to write to and the letter that i enclose in this i want you to direct it to d philip scott in his care for mrs cassey jackson duke jacksons wife and she will give to priana smith or sarah jane smith those are the persons i wish to write to i wish you to write on as quick as you can and let them know that there is a lady coming on by the name of mrs holonsworth and she will call and see you and you will find her a very interesting and inteligent person one worthy of respect and esteem and a high reputation i must now bring my letter to a close no more at present but remain your humble servant patterson smith in my letters i did not write to my friends how they shall write to me but in the letter that you write you will please to tell them how they shall write to me. harrison bell and daughter harriet ann. father and daughter were fortunate enough to escape together from norfolk, va. harrison was just in the prime of life, forty years of age, stout made, good features, but in height was rather below medium, was a man of more than ordinary shrewdness, by trade he was a chandler. he alleged that he had been used hard. harriet ann was a well-grown girl of pleasant appearance, fourteen years of age. father and daughter had each different owners, one belonged to james snyder, the other to john g. hodgson. harrison had been informed that his children were to be sold; to prevent this shocking fate, he was prompted to escape. several months previous to finding a chance to make a safe flight, he secreted himself with his children in norfolk, and so remained up to the day he left, a passage having been secured for them on one of the boats coming to philadelphia. while the records contain no definite account of other children, it is evident that there were others, but what became of them is not known. if at the time of their arrival, it had been imagined that the glorious day of universal freedom was only about eight years off, doubtless much fuller records would have been made of these struggling underground rail road passengers. if harrison's relatives and friends, who suddenly missed him and his daughter harriet ann, in the spring of , are still ignorant of his whereabouts, this very brief account of their arrival in philadelphia, may be of some satisfaction to all concerned, not excepting his old master, whom he had served so faithfully. the committee finding them in need, had the pleasure of furnishing them with food, material aid and a carriage, with cheering words and letters of introduction to friends on the road to canada. daniel davis, alias david smith, adam nicholson, alias john wynkoop, reuben bowles, alias cunnigan, arrived from hedgeville, va. daniel was only about twenty, just at a capital age to make a bold strike for freedom. the appearance and air of this young aspirant for liberty indicated that he was not of the material to be held in chains. he was a man of medium size, well-built, dark color, and intelligent. hon. charles j. fortner, m.c. was the reputed owner of this young fugitive, but the honorable gentleman having no use for his services, or because he may have profited more by hiring him out, daniel was placed in the employ of a farmer, by the name of adam quigley. it was at this time he resolved that he would not be a slave any longer. he declared that quigley was a "very mean man," one for whom he had no respect whatever. indeed he felt that the system of slavery was an abomination in any form it might be viewed. while he was yet so young, he had pretty clear views with regard to slavery, and remembered with feelings of deep indignation, how his father had been sold when he himself was a boy, just as a horse might have been sold; and how his mother was dragging her chains in slavery, up to the hour he fled. thus in company with his two companions he was prepared for any sacrifice. adam's tale is soon told; all that is on the old record in addition to his full name, is in the following words: "adam is dark, rugged and sensible, and was owned by alexander hill, a drunkard, gambler, &c." reuben had been hired out to john sabbard near hedgeville. startled at hearing that he was to be sold, he was led to consider the propriety of seeking flight via the underground rail road. these three young men were all fine specimens of farm hands, and possessed more than average common sense, considering the oppression they had to labor under. they walked the entire distance from hedgeville, va., to greenville, pa. there they took the cars and walked no more. they appeared travel-worn, garments dirty, and forlorn; but the committee had them cleanly washed, hair cut and shaved, change of clothing furnished, &c., which at once made them look like very different men. means were appropriated to send them on free of cost. james stewart, _alias_ wm. jackson. james had been made acquainted with the peculiar institution in fauquier county, va. being of sound judgment and firm resolution, he became an enemy to slavery at a very early age; so much so, that by the time he was twenty-one he was willing to put into practice his views of the system by leaving it and going where all men are free. very different indeed were these notions, from those held by his owner, wm. rose, who believed in slavery for the black man. so as james could neither enjoy his freedom nor express his opinion in virginia, he determined, that he had better get a passage on the underground rail road, and leave the land of slavery and the obnoxious sentiments of his master. he, of course, saw formidable difficulties to be encountered all the way along in escaping, but these, he considered, would be more easy for him to overcome than it would be for him to learn the lesson--"servants, obey your masters." the very idea made james sick. this, therefore, was the secret of his escape. harriet haley, _alias_ ann richardson, and elizabeth haley, _alias_ sarah richardson. these travelers succeeded in escaping from geo. c. davis, of harford county, md. in order to carry out their plans, they took advantage of whitsuntide, a holiday, and with marked ingenuity and perseverance, they managed to escape and reach quakertown underground rail road station without obstruction, where protection and assistance were rendered by the friends of the cause. after abiding there for a short time, they were forwarded to the committee in philadelphia. their ages ranged from nineteen to twenty-one, and they were apparently "servants" of a very superior order. the pleasure it afforded to aid such young women in escaping from a condition so loathsome as that of slavery in maryland, was unalloyed. benjamin duncans, _alias_ george scott. this individual was in bonds under thomas jeffries, who was a firm believer in the doctrine: "servants, obey your masters," and, furthermore, while laboring "pretty hard" to make benjamin a convert to this idea, he had made benjamin's lot anything else than smooth. this treatment on the part of the master made a wise and resolute man of the slave. for as he looked earnestly into the fact, that he was only regarded by his owner in the light of an ox, or an ass, his manhood rebelled straightway, and the true light of freedom told him, that he must be willing to labor, and endure suffering for the great prize, liberty. so, in company with five others, at an appointed time, he set out for freedom, and succeeded. the others, alluded to, passed on to canada direct. benjamin was induced to stop a few months in pennsylvania, during which time he occupied himself in farming. he looked as if he was well able to do a full day's work at this occupation. he was about twenty-five years of age, of unmixed blood, and wore a pleasant countenance. moses wines. portsmouth, va., lost one of her most substantial laborers in the person of moses, and madam abigail wheeler, a very "likely article" of merchandise. "no complaint" as to "ill treatment" was made by moses against "miss abigail." the truth was, he admitted, that he had been used in a "mild way." with some degree of pride, he stated that he "had never been flogged." but, for the "last fifteen years, he had been favored with the exalted privilege of 'hiring' his time at the 'reasonable' sum of $ per month." as he stood pledged to have this amount always ready, "whether sick or well," at the end of the month, his mistress "never neglected to be in readiness to receive it" to the last cent. in this way moses was taught to be exceedingly punctual. who would not commend such a mistress for the punctuality, if nothing more? but as smoothly as matters seemed to be going along, the mischievous idea crept into moses' head, that he ought to have some of the money claimed by his "kind" mistress, and at the same time, the thought would often forcibly press upon his mind that he might any day be sold. in addition to this unpleasant prospect, virginia had just about that time passed a law "prohibiting slaves from hiring their time"--also, a number of "new police rules with reference to slaves and free colored people," all of which, the "humane slave-holders" of that "liberal state," regarded as highly essential both for the "protection and safety of master and slave." but the stupid-headed moses was not pleased with these arrangements. in common with many of the slaves, he smarted severely under his heavy oppression, and felt that it was similar to an old rule, which had been once tried under pharaoh--namely, when the children of israel were required to "make bricks without straw." but moses was not a fit subject to submit to be ruled so inhumanly. despite the beautiful sermons he had often listened to in favor of slavery, and the many wise laws, above alluded to, he could not reconcile himself to his condition. the laws and preaching were alike as "sounding brass, and tinkling cymbals" to him. he made up his mind, therefore, that he must try a free country; that his manhood required him to make the effort at once, even at the risk of life. father and husband, as he was, and loving his wife, grace, and son, alphonso, tenderly as he did, he nevertheless felt himself to be in chains, and that he could do but little for them by remaining. he conceived that, if he could succeed in gaining his freedom, he might possibly aid them away also. with this hope in him, he contrived to secure a private passage on the steamship city of richmond, and in this way reached philadelphia, but not without suffering fearfully the entire journey through, owing to the narrowness of the space into which he was obliged to be stowed in order to get away. moses was a man of medium size, quite dark, and gave promise of being capable of taking care of himself in freedom. he had seen much of the cruelties of slavery inflicted upon others in various forms, which he related in a way to make one shudder; but these incidents were not recorded in the book at the time. sarah smith, alias mildreth page, and her daughter, nine years of age. sarah and her child were held to service by the rev. a.d. pollock, a resident of wilmington, del. until about nine months before she escaped from the reverend gentleman, she was owned by mrs. elizabeth lee of fauquier co., va., who had moved with sarah to wilmington. how mr. pollock came by sarah is not stated on the records; perhaps by marriage; be that as it may, it was owing to ill treatment from her mistress that sarah "took out" with her child. sarah was a woman of becoming manners, of a dark brown complexion, and looked as though she might do a fair share of housework, if treated well. as it required no great effort to escape from wilmington, where the watchful garrett lived, she reached the committee in philadelphia without much difficulty, received assistance and was sent on her way rejoicing. lucy garrett, alias julia wood. john williams, who was said to be a "very cruel man," residing on the western shore of va., claimed lucy as his chattel personal. julia, having a lively sense of his meanness stood much in fear of being sold; having seen her father, three sisters, and two brothers, disposed of at auction, she was daily on the look-out for her turn to come next. the good spirit of freedom made the way plain to her by which an escape could be effected. being about nineteen years of age, she felt that she had served in slavery long enough. she resolved to start immediately, and did so, and succeeded in reaching pennsylvania. her appearance recommended her so well, that she was prevailed upon to remain and accept a situation in the family of joseph a. dugdale, so well known in reformatory circles, as an ardent friend of humanity. while in his family she gave great satisfaction, and was much esteemed for uprightness and industry. but this place was not canada, so, when it was deemed best, she was sent on. ellen forman, alias elizabeth young. ellen had formerly been owned by dr. thomas, of the eastern shore of maryland, but about one year before escaping, she was bought by a lady living in baltimore known by the name of mrs. johnson. ellen was about thirty years of age, of slender stature, and of a dark brown complexion. the record makes no mention of cruel treatment or very hard usage, as a slave. from traveling, probably, she had contracted a very heavy cold, which threatened her with consumption. the committee cheerfully rendered her assistance. william wooden, alias william nelson. while delaware was not far from freedom, and while slavery was considered to exist there comparatively in a mild form, nevertheless, what with the impenetrable ignorance in which it was the wont of pro-slavery whites to keep the slaves, and the unwillingness on the part of slave-holders generally to conform to the spirit of progress going on in the adjacent state of pennsylvania, it was wonderful how the slaves saw through the thick darkness thus prevailing, and how wide-awake they were to escape. it was from this state, that william wooden fled. true, william was said to belong to judge wooden, of georgetown, del., but, according to the story of his "chattel," the judge was not of the class who judged righteously. he had not only treated william badly, but he had threatened to sell him. this was the bitter pill which constrained william to "take out." the threat seemed hard at first, but its effect was excellent for this young man; it was the cause of his obtaining his freedom at the age of twenty-three. william was a tall, well-built man, of dark complexion and promising. no further particulars concerning him are on the records. james edward handy, _alias_ daniel canon. at seaford, delaware, james was held in bonds under a slave-holder called samuel lewis, who followed farming. lewis was not satisfied with working james hard and keeping all his earnings, but would insolently talk occasionally of handing him "over to the trader." this "stirred james' blood" and aroused his courage to the "sticking point." nothing could induce him to remain. he had the name of having a wife and four children, but according to the laws of delaware, he only had a nominal right in them. they were "legally the property of capt. martin." therefore they were all left in the hands of capt. martin. the wife's name was harriet delaney, _alias_ smart stanley. james henry delaney came as a fellow-traveler with james edward. he had experienced oppression under capt. martin, and as a witness, was prepared to testify, that martin "ill-treated his slaves, especially with regard to the diet, which was very poor." nevertheless james was a stout, heavy-built young man of twenty-six years of age, and looked as if he might have a great deal of valuable work in him. he was a single man. james henry blackson. james henry had only reached twenty-five, when he came to the "conclusion, that he had served long enough under bondage for the benefit of charles wright." this was about all of the excuse he seemed to have for escaping. he was a fine specimen of a man, so far as physical strength and muscular power were concerned. very little was recorded of him. george freeland. it was only by the most indomitable resolution and perseverance, that freeland threw off the yoke. capt. john pollard of petersburg, va., held george to service. as a slave-holder, pollard belonged to that class, who did not believe in granting favors to slaves. on the contrary, he was practically in favor of wringing every drop of blood from their bodies. george was a spare-built man, about twenty-five years of age, quite dark, but had considerable intelligence. he could read and write very well, but how he acquired these arts is not known. in testifying against his master, george used very strong language. he declared that pollard "thought no more of his servants than if they had been dogs. he was very mean. he gave nothing to his servants. he has given me only one pair of shoes the last ten years." after careful inquiry, george learned that he could get a private passage on the city of richmond, if he could raise the passage money. this he could do cheerfully. he raised "sixty dollars" for the individual who was to "secrete him on the boat." in leaving the land of slave auctions, whips and chains, he was obliged to leave his mother and father and two brothers in petersburg. pollard had been offered $ , for george. doubtless he found, when he discovered george had gone, that he had "overstood the market." this was what produced action prompt and decisive on the part of george. so the old adage, in this case, was verified--"it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good." on arriving in canada, george did not forget to express gratitude to those who aided him on his road there, as the following note will show: sincathans, canada west. brother still:--i im brace this opportunity of pening you a few lines to in form you that i am well at present & in hopes to find you & family well also i hope that god will bless you & and your family & if i never should meet you in this world i hope to meet you in glory remember my love to brother brown & tell him that i am well & hearty tell him to writ thomas word that i am well at present you must excuse me i will rite when i return from the west. george w. freeland send your letters in the name of john anderson. miles white. this passenger owed service to albert kern, of elizabeth city, n.c. at least kern, through the oppressive laws of that state, claimed miles as his personal property. miles, however, thought differently, but he was not at liberty to argue the case with kern; for on the "side of the oppressor there was strength." so he resolved, that he would adopt the underground rail road plan. as he was only about twenty-one years of age, he found it much easier to close his affairs with north carolina, than it would have been had he been encumbered with a family. in fact, the only serious difficulty he had to surmount was to find a captain with whom he could secure a safe passage north. to his gratification it was not long before his efforts in this direction were crowned with success. a vessel was being loaded with shingles, the captain of which was kind enough to allow miles to occupy a very secure hiding-place thereon. in course of time, having suffered to the extent usual when so closely conveyed, he arrived in philadelphia, and being aided, was duly forwarded by the committee. john hall, _alias_ john simpson. john fled from south carolina. in this hot-bed of slavery he labored and suffered up to the age of thirty-two. for a length of time before he escaped, his burdens were intolerable; but he could see no way to rid himself of them, except by flight. nor was he by any means certain that an effort in this direction would prove successful. in planning the route which he should take to travel north he decided, that if success was for him, his best chance would be to wend his way through north carolina and virginia. not that he hoped to find friends or helpers in these states. he had heard enough of the cruelties of slavery in these regions to convince him, that if he should be caught, there would be no sympathy or mercy shown. nevertheless the irons were piercing him so severely, that he felt constrained to try his luck, let the consequences be what they might, and so he set out for freedom or death. mountains of difficulties, and months of suffering and privations by land and water, in the woods, and swamps of north carolina and virginia, were before him, as his experience in traveling proved. but the hope of final victory and his daily sufferings before he started, kept him from faltering, even when starvation and death seemed to be staring him in the face. for several months he was living in dens and caves of the earth. ultimately, however, the morning of his ardent hopes dawned. how he succeeded in finding a captain who was kind enough to afford him a secret hiding-place on his boat, was not noted on the records. indeed the incidents of his story were but briefly written out. similar cases of thrilling interest seemed almost incredible, and the committee were constrained to doubt the story altogether until other testimony could be obtained to verify the statement. in this instance, before the committee were fully satisfied, they felt it necessary to make inquiry of trustworthy charlestonians to ascertain if john were really from charleston, and if he were actually owned by the man that he represented as having owned him, dr. philip mazyck, by name; and furthermore, to learn if the master was really of the brutal character given him. the testimony of thoroughly reliable persons, who were acquainted with master and slave, so far as this man's bondage in charleston was concerned, fully corroborated his statement, and the committee could not but credit his story; indeed they were convinced, that he had been one of the greatest of sufferers and the chief of heroes. nevertheless his story was not written out, and can only be hinted at. perhaps more time was consumed in its investigation and in listening to a recital of his sufferings than could well be spared; perhaps it was thought, as was often the case, unless full justice could be given him, the story would be spoiled; or perhaps the appalling nature of his sufferings rendered the pen powerless, and made the heart too sick for the task. whether it was so or not in this case, it was not unfrequently so in other instances, as is well remembered. it will be necessary, in the subsequent pages of this work, to omit the narratives of a great many who, unfortunately, were but briefly noted on the books at the time of their arrival. in the eyes of some, this may prove disappointing, especially in instances where these pages are turned to with the hope of gaining a clue to certain lost ones. as all, however, cannot be mentioned, and as the general reader will look for incidents and facts which will most fittingly bring out the chief characteristics in the career and escape of bondmen, the reasonableness of this course must be obvious to all. * * * * * charles gilbert. fleeing from davis a negro trader, secreted under a hotel, up a tree, under a floor, in a thicket, on a steamer. in charles was owned in the city of richmond by benjamin davis, a notorious negro trader. charles was quite a "likely-looking article," not too black or too white, but rather of a nice "ginger-bread color." davis was of opinion that this "article" must bring him a tip-top price. for two or three months the trader advertised charles for sale in the papers, but for some reason or other charles did not command the high price demanded. while davis was thus daily trying to sell charles, charles was contemplating how he might escape. being uncommonly shrewd he learned something about a captain of a schooner from boston, and determined to approach him with regard to securing a passage. the captain manifested a disposition to accommodate him for the sum of ten dollars, provided charles could manage to get to old point comfort, there to embark. the point was about one hundred and sixty miles distant from richmond. a man of ordinary nerve would have declined this condition unhesitatingly. on the other hand it was not charles' intention to let any offer slide; indeed he felt that he must make an effort, if he failed. he could not see how his lot could be made more miserable by attempting to flee. in full view of all the consequences he ventured to take the hazardous step, and to his great satisfaction he reached old point comfort safely. in that locality he was well known, unfortunately too well known, for he had been raised partly there, and, at the same time, many of his relatives and acquaintances were still living there. these facts were evidently well known to the trader, who unquestionably had snares set in order to entrap charles should he seek shelter among his relatives, a reasonable supposition. charles had scarcely reached his old home before he was apprised of the fact that the hunters and watch dogs of slavery were eagerly watching for him. even his nearest relatives, through fear of consequences had to hide their faces as it were from him. none dare offer him a night's lodging, scarcely a cup of water, lest such an act might be discovered by the hunters, whose fiendish hearts would have found pleasure in meting out the most dire punishments to those guilty of thus violating the laws of slavery. the prospect, if not utterly hopeless, was decidedly discouraging. the way to boston was entirely closed. a "reward of $ " was advertised for his capture. for the first week after arriving at old point he entrusted himself to a young friend by the name of e.s. the fear of the pursuers drove him from his hiding-place at the expiration of the week. thence he sought shelter neither with kinfolks, christians, nor infidels, but in this hour of his calamity he made up his mind that he would try living under a large hotel for a while. having watched his opportunity, he managed to reach higee hotel, a very large house without a cellar, erected on pillars three or four feet above the ground. one place alone, near the cistern, presented some chance for a hiding-place, sufficient to satisfy him quite well under the circumstances. this dark and gloomy spot he at once willingly occupied rather than return to slavery. in this refuge he remained four weeks. of course he could not live without food; but to communicate with man or woman would inevitably subject him to danger. charles' experience in the neighborhood of his old home left no ground for him to hope that he would be likely to find friendly aid anywhere under the shadow of slavery. in consequence of these fears he received his food from the "slop tub," securing this diet in the darkness of night after all was still and quiet around the hotel. to use his own language, the meals thus obtained were often "sweet" to his taste. one evening, however, he was not a little alarmed by the approach of an irish boy who came under the hotel to hunt chickens. while prowling around in the darkness he appeared to be making his way unconsciously to the very spot where charles was reposing. how to meet the danger was to charles' mind at first very puzzling, there was no time now to plan. as quick as thought he feigned the bark of a savage dog accompanied with a furious growl and snarl which he was confident would frighten the boy half out of his senses, and cause him to depart quickly from his private apartment. the trick succeeded admirably, and the emergency was satisfactorily met, so far as the boy was concerned, but the boy's father hearing the attack of the dog, swore that he would kill him. charles was a silent listener to the threat, and he saw that he could no longer remain in safety in his present quarter. so that night he took his departure for bay shore; here he decided to pass a day in the woods, but the privacy of this place was not altogether satisfactory to charles' mind; but where to find a more secure retreat he could not,--dared not venture to ascertain that day. it occurred to him, however, that he would be much safer up a tree than hid in the bushes and undergrowth. he therefore climbed up a large acorn tree and there passed an entire day in deep meditation. no gleam of hope appeared, yet he would not suffer himself to think of returning to bondage. in this dilemma he remembered a poor washer-woman named isabella, a slave who had charge of a wash-house. with her he resolved to seek succor. leaving the woods he proceeded to the wash-house and was kindly received by isabella, but what to do with him or how to afford him any protection she could see no way whatever. the schooling which charles had been receiving a number of weeks in connection with the most fearful looking-for of the threatened wrath of the trader made it much easier for him than for her to see how he could be provided for. a room and comforts he was not accustomed to. of course he could not expect such comforts now. like many another escaping from the relentless tyrant, charles could contrive methods which to his venturesome mind would afford hope, however desperate they might appear to others. he thought that he might be safe under the floor. to isabella the idea was new, but her sympathies were strongly with charles, and she readily consented to accommodate him under the floor of the wash-house. isabella and a friend of charles, by the name of john thomas, were the only persons who were cognizant of this arrangement. the kindness of these friends, manifested by their willingness to do anything in their power to add to the comfort of charles, was proof to him that his efforts and sufferings had not been altogether in vain. he remained under the floor two weeks, accessible to kind voices and friendly ministrations. at the end of this time his repose was again sorely disturbed by reports from without that suspicion had been awakened towards the wash-house. how this happened neither charles nor his friends could conjecture. but the arrival of six officers whom he could hear talking very plainly in the house, whose errand was actually to search for him, convinced him that he had never for a single moment been in greater danger. the officers not only searched the house, but they offered his friend john thomas $ if he would only put them on charles' track. john professed to know nothing; isabella was equally ignorant. discouraged with their efforts on this occasion, the officers gave up the hunt and left the house. charles, however, had had enough of the floor accommodations. he left that night and returned to his old quarters under the hotel. here he stayed one week, at the expiration of which time the need of fresh air was so imperative, that he resolved to go out at night to allen's cottage and spend a day in the woods. he had knowledge of a place where the undergrowth and bushes were almost impenetrable. to rest and refresh himself in this thicket he felt would be a great comfort to him. without serious difficulty he reached the thicket, and while pondering over the all-absorbing matter as to how he should ever manage to make his escape, an old man approached. now while charles had no reason to think that he was sought by the old intruder, his very near approach admonished him that it would neither be safe nor agreeable to allow him to come nearer. charles remembering that his trick of playing the dog, when previously in danger under the hotel, had served a good end, thought that it would work well in the thicket. so he again tried his power at growling and barking hideously for a moment or two, which at once caused the man to turn his course. charles could hear him distinctly retreating, and at the same time cursing the dog. the owner of the place had the reputation of keeping "bad dogs," so the old man poured out a dreadful threat against "stephens' dogs," and was soon out of the reach of the one in the thicket. [illustration: ] notwithstanding his success in frightening off the old man, charles felt that the thicket was by no means a safe place for him. he concluded to make another change. this time he sought a marsh; two hours' stay there was sufficient to satisfy him, that that too was no place to tarry in, even for a single night. he, therefore, left immediately. a third time, he returned to the hotel, where he remained only two days. his appeals had at last reached the heart of his mother--she could no longer bear to see him struggling, and suffering, and not render him aid, whatever the consequences might be. if she at first feared to lend him a helping hand, she now resolutely worked with a view of saving money to succor him. here the prospect began to brighten. a passage was secured for him on a steamer bound for philadelphia. one more day, and night must elapse, ere he could be received on board. the joyful anticipations which now filled his breast left no room for fear; indeed, he could scarcely contain himself; he was drunk with joy. in this state of mind he concluded that nothing would afford him more pleasure before leaving, than to spend his last hours at the wash house, "under the floor." to this place he went with no fear of hunters before his eyes. charles had scarcely been three hours in this place, however, before three officers came in search of him. two of them talked with isabella, asked her about her "boarders," etc.; in the meanwhile, one of them uninvited, made his way up stairs. it so happened, that charles was in this very portion of the house. his case now seemed more hopeless than ever. the officer up stairs was separated from him simply by a thin curtain. women's garments hung all around. instead of fainting or surrendering, in the twinkling of an eye, charles' inventive intellect, led him to enrobe himself in female attire. here, to use his own language, a "thousand thoughts" rushed into his mind in a minute. the next instant he was going down stairs in the presence of the officers, his old calico dress, bonnet and rig, attracting no further attention than simply to elicit the following simple questions: "whose gal are you?" "mr. cockling's, sir." "what is your name?" "delie, sir." "go on then!" said one of the officers, and on charles went to avail himself of the passage on the steamer which his mother had procured for him for the sum of thirty dollars. in due time, he succeeded in getting on the steamer, but he soon learned, that her course was not direct to philadelphia, but that some stay would be made in norfolk, va. although disappointed, yet this being a step in the right direction, he made up his mind to be patient. he was delayed in norfolk four weeks. from the time charles first escaped, his owner (davis the negro trader), had kept a standing reward of $ advertised for his recovery. this showed that davis was willing to risk heavy expenses for charles as well as gave evidence that he believed him still secreted either about richmond, petersburg, or old point comfort. in this belief he was not far from being correct, for charles spent most of his time in either of these three places, from the day of his escape until the day that he finally embarked. at last, the long looked-for hour arrived to start for philadelphia. he was to leave his mother, with no hope of ever seeing her again, but she had purchased herself and was called free. her name was margaret johnson. three brothers likewise were ever in his thoughts, (in chains), "henry," "bill," and "sam," (half brothers). but after all the hope of freedom outweighed every other consideration, and he was prepared to give up all for liberty. to die rather than remain a slave was his resolve. charles arrived per steamer, from norfolk, on the th day of november, . the richmond papers bear witness to the fact, that benjamin davis advertised charles gilbert, for mouths prior to this date, as has been stated in this narrative. as to the correctness of the story, all that the writer has to say is, that he took it down from the lips of charles, hurriedly, directly after his arrival, with no thought of magnifying a single incident. on the contrary, much that was of interest in the story had to be omitted. instead of being overdrawn, not half of the particulars were recorded. had the idea then been entertained, that the narrative of this young slave-warrior was to be brought to light in the manner and time that it now is, a far more thrilling account of his adventures might have been written. other colored men who knew both davis and charles, as well as one man ordinarily knows another, rejoiced at seeing charles in philadelphia, and they listened with perfect faith to his story. so marvellous were the incidents of his escape, that his sufferings in slavery, previous to his heroic struggles to throw off the yoke, were among the facts omitted from the records. while this may be regretted it is, nevertheless, gratifying on the whole to have so good an account of him as was preserved. it is needless to say, that the committee took especial pleasure in aiding him, and listening to so remarkable a story narrated so intelligently by one who had been a slave. * * * * * liberty or death. jim bow-legs, _alias_ bill paul. in a traveler arrived with the above name, who, on examination, was found to possess very extraordinary characteristics. as a hero and adventurer some passages of his history were most remarkable. his schooling had been such as could only be gathered on plantations under brutal overseers;--or while fleeing,--or in swamps,--in prisons,--or on the auction-block, etc.; in which condition he was often found. nevertheless in these circumstances his mind got well stored with vigorous thoughts--neither books nor friendly advisers being at his command. yet his native intelligence as it regarded human nature, was extraordinary. his resolution and perseverance never faltered. in all respects he was a remarkable man. he was a young man, weighing about one hundred and eighty pounds, of uncommon muscular strength. he was born in the state of georgia, oglethorpe county, and was owned by dr. thomas stephens, of lexington. on reaching the vigilance committee in philadelphia, his story was told many times over to one and another. hour after hour was occupied by friends in listening to the simple narrative of his struggles for freedom. a very full account of "jim," was forwarded in a letter to m.a. shadd, the then editress of the "provincial freeman." said account has been carefully preserved, and is here annexed as it appeared in the columns of the above named paper: "i must now pass to a third adventurer. the one to whom i allude, is a young man of twenty-six years of age, by the name of 'jim,' who fled from near charleston, s.c. taking all the facts and circumstances into consideration respecting the courageous career of this successful adventurer for freedom, his case is by far more interesting than any i have yet referred to. indeed, for the good of the cause, and the honor of one who gained his liberty by periling his life so frequently:--shot several times,--making six unsuccessful attempts to escape from the far south,--numberless times chased by bloodhounds,--captured, imprisoned and sold repeatedly,--living for months in the woods, swamps and caves, subsisting mainly on parched corn and berries, &c., &c., his narrative ought, by all means, to be published, though i doubt very much whether many could be found who could persuade themselves to believe one-tenth part of this marvellous story. though this poor fugitive was utterly ignorant of letters, his natural good sense and keen perception qualified him to arrest the attention and interest the heart in a most remarkable degree. his master finding him not available, on account of his absconding propensities, would gladly have offered him for sale. he was once taken to florida, for that purpose; but, generally, traders being wide awake, on inspecting him, would almost invariably pronounce him a 'd----n rascal,' because he would never fail to eye them sternly, as they inspected him. the obedient and submissive slave is always recognized by hanging his head and looking on the ground, when looked at by a slave-holder. this lesson jim had never learned, hence he was not to be trusted. his head and chest, and indeed his entire structure, as solid as a rock, indicated that he was physically no ordinary man; and not being under the influence of the spirit of "non-resistance," he had occasionally been found to be a rather formidable customer. his father was a full-blooded indian, brother to the noted indian chief, billy bowlegs; his mother was quite black and of unmixed blood. for five or six years, the greater part of jim's time was occupied in trying to escape, and in being in prison for sale, to punish him for running away. his mechanical genius was excellent, so were his geographical abilities. he could make shoes or do carpenter's work very handily, though he had never had the chance to learn. as to traveling by night or day, he was always road-ready and having an uncommon memory, could give exceedingly good accounts of what he saw, etc. when he entered a swamp, and had occasion to take a nap he took care first to decide upon the posture he must take, so that if come upon unexpectedly by the hounds and slave-hunters, he might know in an instant which way to steer to defeat them. he always carried a liquid, which he had prepared, to prevent hounds from scenting him, which he said had never failed. as soon as the hounds came to the place where he had rubbed his legs and feet with said liquid, they could follow him no further, but howled and turned immediately. quite a large number of the friends of the slave saw this noble-hearted fugitive, and would sit long and listen with the most undivided attention to his narrative--none doubting for a moment, i think, the entire truthfulness of his story. strange as his story was, there was so much natural simplicity in his manner and countenance, one could not refrain from believing him." * * * * * salt-water fugitive. this was an exceptional case, as this passenger did not reach the vigilance committee of philadelphia, yet to exclude him on this account, would be doing an injustice to history. the facts in his case were incontestably established in the philadelphia register in april, , from which the following thrilling account is taken: the steamship, keystone state, which arrived at this port on saturday morning, had just entered delaware bay, when a man was discovered secreted outside of the vessel and under the guards. when brought from his hiding-place, he was found to be a fugitive slave, who had secreted himself there before the vessel left savannah on wednesday, and had remained in that place from the time of starting! his position was such, that the water swept over and around him almost constantly. he had some bread in his pocket, which he had intended for subsistence until he could reach a land of liberty. it was saturated with sea-water and dissolved to a pulp. when our readers remember the high winds of friday, and the sudden change to cold during that night, and the fact that the fugitive had remained in that situation for three days and nights, we think it will be conceded that he fully earned his liberty, and that the "institution," which was so intolerable that he was willing to run the risk of almost certain death to escape from it had no very great attractions for him. but the poor man was doomed to disappointment. the captain ordered the vessel to put into newcastle, where, the fugitive, hardly able to stand, was taken on shore and incarcerated, and where he now awaits the order of his owner in savannah. the following additional particulars are from the same paper of the st. the keystone state case.--our article yesterday morning brought us several letters of inquiry and offers of contributions to aid in the purchase from his master of the unfortunate inmate of newcastle jail. in answer to the former, we would say, that the steamer keystone state, left savannah, at a.m., last wednesday. it was about the same hour next morning that the men engaged in heaving lead, heard a voice from under the guards imploring help. a rope was procured, and the man relieved from his dangerous and suffering situation. he was well cared for immediately; a suit of dry clothes was furnished him, and he was given his share of the contents of the boat pantry. on arriving at newcastle, the captain had him placed in jail, for the purpose, as we are informed, of taking him back to savannah. to those who have offered contributions so liberally, we answer, that the prospect is, that only a small amount will be needed--enough to fee a lawyer to sue out a writ of habeas corpus. the salt water fugitive claims to be a free man, and a native of philadelphia. he gives his name as edward davis, and says that he formerly lived at no. steel's court, that he was a pupil in bird's school, on sixth st. above lombard, and that he has a sister living at mr. diamond's, a distiller, on south st. we are not informed why he was in georgia, from which he took such an extraordinary means to effect his escape. if the above assertion be true, we apprehend little trouble in restoring the man to his former home. the claim of the captain to take him back to savannah, will not be listened to for a moment by any court. the only claim the owners of the "keystone state" or the captain can have on salt water davis, is for half passenger fare; he came half the way as a fish. a gentleman who came from wilmington yesterday, assures us that the case is in good hands at newcastle. full particulars of the abduction, enslaving and escape of davis. attempt to seduce him to slavery again. the case of the colored man davis, who made such a bold stroke to regain his liberty, by periling his life on board the steamer keystone state, has excited very general attention. he has given a detailed account of his abduction and sale as a slave in the state of maryland and georgia, and some of his adventures up to the time of reaching delaware. his own story is substantially as follows: he left philadelphia on the th of september, , and went to harrisburg, intending to go to hollidaysburg; took a canal boat for havre de grace, where he arrived next day. there he hired on board the schooner thomas and edward (oyster boat), of baltimore. went from havre de grace to st. michael's, for oysters, thence to baltimore, and thence to havre de grace again. he then hired to a mr. sullivan, who kept a grocery store, to do jobs. while there, a constable, named smith, took him before a magistrate named graham, who fined him fifteen or twenty dollars for violating the law in relation to free negroes coming into the state. this fine he was not able to pay, and smith took him to bell air prison. sheriff gaw wrote to mr. maitland in philadelphia, to whom he referred, and received an answer that mr. maitland was dead and none of the family knew him. he remained in that prison nearly two months. he then had a trial in court before a judge grier (most unfortunate name), who sentenced him to be sold to pay his fine and expenses, amounting to fifty dollars. after a few days and _without being offered at public sale_, he was taken out of jail at two o'clock in the morning and carried to campbell's slave pen, in baltimore, where he remained several months. while there, he was employed to cook for some fifty or sixty slaves, being told that he was working out his fine and jail fees. after being there about six months, he was taken out of prison, handcuffed by one winters, who took him and two or three others to washington and thence to charleston, s.c. here winters left them, and they were taken by steamboat to savannah. while on board the boat, he learned that himself and the other two had been sold to mr. william dean, of macon, where he stayed two days, and was taken from that place to the east valley railroad. subsequently he was sent to work on the possum tail railroad. here he was worked so hard, that in one month he lost his health. the other two men taken on with him, failed before he did. he was then sent to macon, and thence to the cotton plantation again. during the time he worked on the railroad he had allowed him for food, one peck of corn meal, four pounds of bacon, and one quart of molasses per week. he cooked it himself at night, for the next day's use. he worked at packing cotton for four or five months, and in the middle of november, , was sent back to the railroad, where he was again set to wheeling. he worked at "task work" two months, being obliged to wheel _sixteen_ square yards per day. at the end of two months he broke down again, and was sick. they tried one month to cure him, but did not succeed. in july, , he was taken to an infirmary in macon. dr. nottinghan and dr. harris, of that institution, both stated that his was the worst case of the kind they ever had. he remained at the infirmary two months and partially recovered. he told the story of his wrongs to these physicians, who tried to buy him. one of his legs was drawn up so that he could not walk well, and they offered four hundred dollars for him, which his master refused. the doctors wanted him to attend their patients, (mostly slaves). while in georgia he was frequently asked where he came from, being found more intelligent than the common run of slaves. on the th of march he ran away from macon and went to savannah. there he hid in a stable until tuesday afternoon at six o'clock, when he secreted himself on board the keystone state. at o'clock the next morning the keystone state left with davis secreted, as we have before stated. with his imprisonment in newcastle, after being pronounced free, our readers are already familiar. we subjoin the documents on which he was discharged from his imprisonment in newcastle, and his subsequent re-committal on the oath of capt. hardie. copy of first order of commitment. new castle county, ss., state of delaware.--to wm. r. lynam, sheriff of said county. ---- davis (negro) is delivered to your custody for further examination and hearing for traveling without a pass, and supposed to be held a slave to some person in the state of georgia. [seal]. witness the hand and seal of john bradford, one of the justices of the peace for the county of newcastle, the th day of march, . john bradford, j.p. copy of discharge. to wm. r. lynam, sheriff of newcastle county: you will discharge ---- davis from your custody, satisfactory proof having been made before me that he is a free man. john bradford, j.p. witnesses--joanna diamond, john h. brady, martha c. maguire. copy of order of re-commitment. new castle county, ss., the state of delaware to wm. r. lynam, and to the sheriff or keeper of the common jail of said county, whereas ---- davis hath this day been brought before me, the subscriber, one of the justices of the peace, in and for the said county, charged upon the oath of robert hardie with being a runaway slave, and also as a suspicious person, traveling without a pass, these are therefore to command you, the said wm. r. lynam, forthwith to convey and deliver into the custody of the said sheriff, or keeper of the said jail, the body of the said davis, and you the said sheriff or receiver of the body of the said davis into your custody in the said jail, and him there safely keep until he be thence delivered by due course of the law. given under my hand and seal at new castle this st day of march, a.d., . john bradford, j.p. on the fourth of april, the marshal of macon called at the jail in newcastle, and demanded him as a fugitive slave, but the sheriff refused to give him up until a fair hearing could be had according to the laws of the state of delaware. the marshal has returned to georgia, and will probably bring the claimant on the next trip of the keystone state. the authorities of delaware manifest no disposition to deliver up a man whose freedom has been so clearly proved; but every effort will be made to reduce him again to slavery by the man who claims him, in which, it seems, he has the hearty co-operation of capt. hardie. a trial will be had before u.s. commissioner guthrie, and we have every reason to suppose it will be a fair one. the friends of right and justice should remember that such a trial will be attended with considerable expense, and that the imprisoned man has been too long deprived of his liberty to have money to pay for his own defence. * * * * * samuel green alias wesley kinnard, august th, . ten years in the penitentiary for having a copy of uncle tom's cabin. the passenger answering to the above name, left indian creek, chester co., md., where he had been held to service or labor, by dr. james muse. one week had elapsed from the time he set out until his arrival in philadelphia. although he had never enjoyed school privileges of any kind, yet he was not devoid of intelligence. he had profited by his daily experience as a slave, and withal, had managed to learn to read and write a little, despite law and usage to the contrary. sam was about twenty-five years of age and by trade, a blacksmith. before running away, his general character for sobriety, industry, and religion, had evidently been considered good, but in coveting his freedom and running away to obtain it, he had sunk far below the utmost limit of forgiveness or mercy in the estimation of the slave-holders of indian creek. during his intercourse with the vigilance committee, while rejoicing over his triumphant flight, he gave, with no appearance of excitement, but calmly, and in a common-sense like manner, a brief description of his master, which was entered on the record book substantially as follows: "dr. james muse is thought by the servants to be the worst man in maryland, inflicting whipping and all manner of cruelties upon the servants." while sam gave reasons for this sweeping charge, which left no room for doubt, on the part of the committee, of his sincerity and good judgment, it was not deemed necessary to make a note of more of the doctor's character than seemed actually needed, in order to show why "sam" had taken passage on the underground rail road. for several years, "sam" was hired out by the doctor at blacksmithing; in this situation, daily wearing the yoke of unrequited labor, through the kindness of harriet tubman (sometimes called "moses"), the light of the underground rail road and canada suddenly illuminated his mind. it was new to him, but he was quite too intelligent and liberty-loving, not to heed the valuable information which this sister of humanity imparted. thenceforth he was in love with canada, and likewise a decided admirer of the u.r. road. harriet was herself, a shrewd and fearless agent, and well understood the entire route from that part of the country to canada. the spring previous, she had paid a visit to the very neighborhood in which "sam" lived, expressly to lead her own brothers out of "egypt." she succeeded. to "sam" this was cheering and glorious news, and he made up his mind, that before a great while, indian creek should have one less slave and that canada should have one more citizen. faithfully did he watch an opportunity to carry out his resolution. in due time a good providence opened the way, and to "sam's" satisfaction he reached philadelphia, having encountered no peculiar difficulties. the committee, perceiving that he was smart, active, and promising, encouraged his undertaking, and having given him friendly advice, aided him in the usual manner. letters of introduction were given him, and he was duly forwarded on his way. he had left his father, mother, and one sister behind. samuel and catharine were the names of his parents. thus far, his escape would seem not to affect his parents, nor was it apparent that there was any other cause why the owner should revenge himself upon them. the father was an old local preacher in the methodist church--much esteemed as an inoffensive, industrious man; earning his bread by the sweat of his brow, and contriving to move along in the narrow road allotted colored people bond or free, without exciting a spirit of ill will in the pro-slavery power of his community. but the rancor awakened in the breast of slave-holders in consequence of the high-handed step the son had taken, brought the father under suspicion and hate. under the circumstances, the eye of slavery could do nothing more than watch for an occasion to pounce upon him. it was not long before the desired opportunity presented itself. moved by parental affection, the old man concluded to pay a visit to his boy, to see how he was faring in a distant land, and among strangers. this resolution he quietly carried into effect. he found his son in canada, doing well; industrious; a man of sobriety, and following his father's footsteps religiously. that the old man's heart was delighted with what his eyes saw and his ears heard in canada, none can doubt. but in the simplicity of his imagination, he never dreamed that this visit was to be made the means of his destruction. during the best portion of his days he had faithfully worn the badge of slavery, had afterwards purchased his freedom, and thus become a free man. he innocently conceived the idea that he was doing no harm in availing himself not only of his god-given rights, but of the rights that he had also purchased by the hard toil of his own hands. but the enemy was lurking in ambush for him--thirsting for his blood. to his utter consternation, not long after his return from his visit to his son "a party of gentlemen from the new market district, went at night to green's house and made search, whereupon was found a copy of uncle tom's cabin, etc." this was enough--the hour had come, wherein to wreak vengeance upon poor green. the course pursued and the result, may be seen in the following statement taken from the cambridge (md.), "democrat," of april th, , and communicated by the writer to the "provincial freeman." sam green. the case of the state against sam green (free negro) indicted for having in his possession, papers, pamphlets and pictorial representations, having a tendency to create discontent, etc., among the people of color in the state, was tried before the court on friday last. this case was of the utmost importance, and has created in the public mind a great deal of interest--it being the first case of the kind ever having occurred in our country. it appeared, in evidence, that this green has a son in canada, to whom green made a visit last summer. since his return to this county, suspicion has fastened upon him, as giving aid and assisting slaves who have since absconded and reached canada, and several weeks ago, a party of gentlemen from new market district, went at night, to green's house and made search, whereupon was found a volume of "uncle tom's cabin," a map of canada, several schedules of routes to the north, and a letter from his son in canada, detailing the pleasant trip he had, the number of friends he met with on the way, with plenty to eat, drink, etc., and concludes with a request to his father, that he shall tell certain other slaves, naming them, to come on, which slaves, it is well known, did leave shortly afterwards, and have reached canada. the case was argued with great ability, the counsel on both sides displaying a great deal of ingenuity, learning and eloquence. the first indictment was for the having in possession the letter, map and route schedules. notwithstanding the mass of evidence given, to show the prisoner's guilt, in unlawfully having in his possession these documents, and the nine-tenths of the community in which he lived, believed that he had a hand in the running away of slaves, it was the opinion of the court, that the law under which he was indicted, was not applicable to the case, and that he must, accordingly, render a verdict of not guilty. he was immediately arraigned upon another indictment, for having in possession "uncle tom's cabin," and tried; in this case the court has not yet rendered a verdict, but holds it under _curia_ till after the somerset county court. it is to be hoped, the court will find the evidence in this case sufficient to bring it within the scope of the law under which the prisoner is indicted (that of , chap. ), and that the prisoner may meet his due reward--be that what it may. that there is something required to be done by our legislators, for the protection of slave property, is evident from the variety of constructions put upon the statute in this case, and we trust, that at the next meeting of the legislature there will be such amendments, as to make the law on this subject, perfectly clear and comprehensible to the understanding of every one. in the language of the assistant counsel for the state, "slavery must be protected or it must be abolished." from the same sheet, of may th, the terrible doom of samuel green, is announced in the following words: in the case of the state against sam green, (free negro) who was tried at the april term of the circuit court of this county, for having in his possession abolition pamphlets, among which was "uncle tom's cabin," has been found guilty by the court, and sentenced to the penitentiary for the term of ten years--until the th of may, . the son, a refugee in canada, hearing the distressing news of his father's sad fate in the hands of the relentless "gentlemen," often wrote to know if there was any prospect of his deliverance. the subjoined letter is a fair sample of his correspondence: salford, , . dear sir i take my pen in hand to request a faver of you if you can by any means without duin injestus to your self or your bisness to grant it as i bleve you to be a man that would sympathize in such a ones condition as my self i reseved a letter that stats to me that my fater has ben betraed in the act of helping sum frend to canada and the law has convicted and sentanced him to the stats prison for yeares his white frands ofered thousen dollers to redem him but they would not short three thousen. i am in canada and it is a dificult thing to get a letter to any of my frands in maryland so as to get prop per infermation abot it--if you can by any means get any in telligence from baltimore city a bot this event plese do so and rit word and all so all the inform mation that you think prop per as regards the evant and the best mathod to redeme him and so plese rite soon as you can you will oblige your sir frand and drect your letter to salford p. office c.w. samuel green. in this dark hour the friends of the slave could do but little more than sympathize with this heart-stricken son and grey-headed father. the aged follower of the rejected and crucified had like him to bear the "reproach of many," and make his bed with the wicked in the penitentiary. doubtless there were a few friends in his neighborhood who sympathized with him, but they were powerless to aid the old man. but thanks to a kind providence, the great deliverance brought about during the rebellion by which so many captives were freed, also unlocked samuel green's prison-doors and he was allowed to go free. after his liberation from the penitentiary, we had from his own lips narrations of his years of suffering--of the bitter cup, that he was compelled to drink, and of his being sustained by the almighty arm--but no notes were taken at the time, consequently we have nothing more to add concerning him, save quite a faithful likeness. [illustration: ] * * * * * an irish girl's devotion to freedom. in love with a slave--gets him off to canada--follows him--marriage, &c. having dwelt on the sad narratives of samuel green and his son in the preceding chapter, it is quite a relief to be able to introduce a traveler whose story contains incidents less painful to contemplate. from the record book the following brief account is taken: "april , . john hall arrived safely from richmond, va., per schooner, (captain b). one hundred dollars were paid for his passage." in richmond he was owned by james dunlap, a merchant. john had been sold several times, in consequence of which, he had possessed very good opportunities of experiencing the effect of change of owners. then, too, the personal examination made before sale, and the gratification afforded his master when he (john), brought a good price--left no very pleasing impressions on his mind. by one of his owners, named burke, john alleged that he had been "cruelly used." when quite young, both he and his sister, together with their mother, were sold by burke. from that time he had seen neither mother nor sister--they were sold separately. for three or four years the desire to seek liberty had been fondly cherished, and nothing but the want of a favorable opportunity had deterred him from carrying out his designs. he considered himself much "imposed upon" by his master, particularly as he was allowed "no choice about living" as he "desired." this was indeed ill-treatment as john viewed the matter. john may have wanted too much. he was about thirty-five years of age, light complexion--tall--rather handsome-looking, intelligent, and of good manners. but notwithstanding these prepossessing features, john's owner valued him at only $ , . if he had been a few shades darker and only about half as intelligent as he was, he would have been worth at least $ more. the idea of having had a white father, in many instances, depreciated the pecuniary value of male slaves, if not of the other sex. john emphatically was one of this injured class; he evidently had blood in his veins which decidedly warred against submitting to the yoke. in addition to the influence which such rebellious blood exerted over him, together with a considerable amount of intelligence, he was also under the influence and advice of a daughter of old ireland. she was heart and soul with john in all his plans which looked canada-ward. this it was that "sent him away." it is very certain, that this irish girl was not annoyed by the kinks in john's hair. nor was she overly fastidious about the small percentage of colored blood visible in john's complexion. it was, however, a strange occurrence and very hard to understand. not a stone was left unturned until john was safely on the underground rail road. doubtless she helped to earn the money which was paid for his passage. and when he was safe off, it is not too much to say, that john was not a whit more delighted than was his intended irish lassie, mary weaver. john had no sooner reached canada than mary's heart was there too. circumstances, however, required that she should remain in richmond a number of months for the purpose of winding up some of her affairs. as soon as the way opened for her, she followed him. it was quite manifest, that she had not let a single opportunity slide, but seized the first chance and arrived partly by means of the underground rail road and partly by the regular train. many difficulties were surmounted before and after leaving richmond, by which they earned their merited success. from canada, where they anticipated entering upon the matrimonial career with mutual satisfaction, it seemed to afford them great pleasure to write back frequently, expressing their heartfelt gratitude for assistance, and their happiness in the prospect of being united under the favorable auspices of freedom! at least two or three of these letters, bearing on particular phases of their escape, etc., are too valuable not to be published in this connection: first letter. hamilton, march th, . mr. still:--sir and friend--i take the liberty of addressing you with these few lines hoping that you will attend to what i shall request of you. i have written to virginia and have not received an answer yet. i want to know if you can get any one of your city to go to richmond for me. if you can, i will pay the expense of the whole. the person that i want the messenger to see is a white girl. i expect you know who i allude to, it is the girl that sent me away. if you can get any one to go, you will please write right away and tell me the cost, &c. i will forward the money and a letter. please use your endeavors. yours respectfuliy, john hall. direct yours to mr. hill. second letter. hamilton, sept. th, . to mr. still, dear sir:--i take this opportunity of addressing these few lines to you hoping to find you in good health i am happy to inform you that miss weaver arrived here on tuesday last, and i can assure you it was indeed a happy day. as for your part that you done i will not attempt to tell you how thankful i am, but i hope that you can imagine what my feelings are to you. i cannot find words sufficient to express my gratitude to you, i think the wedding will take place on tuesday next, i have seen some of the bread from your house, and she says it is the best bread she has had since she has been in america. sometimes she has impudence enough to tell me she would rather be where you are in philadelphia than to be here with me. i hope this will be no admiration to you for no honest hearted person ever saw you that would not desire to be where you are, no flattery, but candidly speaking, you are worthy all the praise of any person who has ever been with you, i am now like a deserted christian, but yet i have asked so much, and all has been done yet i must ask again, my love to mrs. still. dear mr. still i now ask you please to exercise all your influence to get this young man willis johnson from richmond for me it is the young man that miss weaver told you about, he is in richmond i think he is at the corner of fushien street, & grace in a house of one mr. rutherford, there is several rutherford in the neighborhood, there is a church call'd the third baptist church, on the r.h. side going up grace street, directly opposite the baptist church at the corner, is mrs. meads old school at one corner, and mr. rutherfords is at the other corner. he can be found out by seeing fountain tombs who belongs to mr. rutherford and if you should not see him, there is james turner who lives at the governors, please to see captain bayliss and tell him to take these directions and go to john hill, in petersburgh, and he may find him. tell captain bayliss that if he ever did me a friendly thing in his life which he did do one friendly act, if he will take this on himself, and if money should be lacking i will forward any money that he may require, i hope you will sympathize with the poor young fellow, and tell the captain to do all in his power to get him and the costs shall be paid. he lies now between death or victory, for i know the man he belongs to would just as soon kill him as not, if he catches him, i here enclose to you a letter for mr. wm. c. mayo, and please to send it as directed. in this letter i have asked him to send a box to you for me, which you will please pay the fare of the express upon it, when you get it please to let me know, and i will send you the money to pay the expenses of the carriage clear through. please to let mr. mayo know how to direct a box to you, and the best way to send it from richmond to philadelphia. you will greatly oblige me by so doing. in this letter i have enclosed a trifle for postage which you will please to keep on account of my letters i hope you wont think hard of me but i simply send it because i know you have done enough, and are now doing more, without imposing in the matter i have done it a great many more of our people who you have done so much fore. no more from your humble and oldest servant. john hall, norton's hotel, hamilton. third letter. monday, sept. , . sir:--i take this opportunity of informing you that we are in excellent health, and hope you are the same, i wrote a letter to you about weeks ago and have not yet had an answer to it i wish to inform you that the wedding took place on tuesday last, and mrs. hall now sends her best love to you, i enclose a letter which i wish you to forward to mr. mayo, you will see in his letter what i have said to him and i wish you would furnish him with such directions as it requires for him to send them things to you. i have told him not to pay for them but to send them to you so when you get them write me word what the cost of them are, and i will send you the money for them. mary desires you to give her love to mrs. still. if any letters come for me please to send to me at nortons hotel, please to let me know if you had a letter from me about days ago. you will please direct the enclosed to mr. w.c. mayo, richmond, va. let me know if you have heard anything of willis johnson mr. & mrs. hill send their kind love to you, they are all well, no more at present from your affect., john hall nortons hotel. fourth letter. hamilton, december d, . dear sir:--i am happy to inform you that we are both enjoying good health and hope you are the same. i have been expecting a letter from you for some time but i suppose your business has prevented you from writing. i suppose you have not heard from any of my friends at richmond. i have been longing to hear some news from that part, you may think "out of sight and out of mind," but i can assure you, no matter how far i may be, or in what distant land, i shall never forget you, if i can never reach you by letters you may be sure i shall always think of you. i have found a great many friends in my life, but i must say you are the best one i ever met with, except one, you must know who that is, 'tis one who if i did not consider a friend, i could not consider any other person a friend, and that is mrs. hall. please to let me know if the navigation between new york & richmond is closed. please to let me know whether it would be convenient to you to go to new york if it is please let me know what is the expense. tell mrs still that my wife would be very happy to receive a letter from her at some moment when she is at leisure, for i know from what little i have seen of domestic affairs it keeps her pretty well employed, and i know she has not much time to write but if it were but two lines, she would be happy to receive it from her, my reason for wanting you to go to new york, there is a young man named richard myers and i should like for you to see him. he goes on board the orono to richmond and is a particular friend of mine and by seeing him i could get my clothes from richmond, i expect to be out of employ in a few days, as the hotel is about to close on the st january and i hope you will write to me soon i want you to send me word how you and all the family are and all the news you can, you must excuse my short letter, as it is now near one o'clock and i must attend to business, but i have not written half what i intended to, as time is short, hoping to hear from you soon i remain yours sincerely, john hall. mr. and mrs. hill desire their best respects to you and mrs. still. it cannot be denied that this is a most extraordinary occurrence. in some respects it is without a parallel. it was, however, no uncommon thing for white men (slave-holders) in the south to have colored wives and children whom, they did not hesitate to live with and acknowledge by their actions, with their means, and in their wills as the rightful heirs of their substance. probably there is not a state in the union where such relations have not existed. seeing such usages, mary might have reasoned that she had as good a right to marry the one she loved most as anybody else, particularly as she was in a "free country." * * * * * "sam" nixon alias dr. thomas bayne. the escape of a dentist on the u.g.r.r.--he is taken for an impostor--elected a member of city council in new bedford--studying medicine, etc. but few could be found among the underground rail road passengers who had a stronger repugnance to the unrequited labor system, or the recognized terms of "master and slave," than dr. thomas bayne. nor were many to be found who were more fearless and independent in uttering their sentiments. his place of bondage was in the city of norfolk, va., where he was held to service by dr. c.f. martin, a dentist of some celebrity. while with dr. martin, "sam" learned dentistry in all its branches, and was often required by his master, the doctor, to fulfil professional engagements, both at home and at a distance, when it did not suit his pleasure or convenience to appear in person. in the mechanical department, especially, "sam" was called upon to execute the most difficult tasks. this was not the testimony of "sam" alone; various individuals who were with him in norfolk, but had moved to philadelphia, and were living there at the time of his arrival, being invited to see this distinguished professional piece of property, gave evidence which fully corroborated his. the master's professional practice, according to "sam's" calculation, was worth $ , per annum. full $ , of this amount in the opinion of "sam" was the result of his own fettered hands. not only was "sam" serviceable to the doctor in the mechanical and practical branches of his profession, but as a sort of ready reckoner and an apt penman, he was obviously considered by the doctor, a valuable "article." he would frequently have "sam" at his books instead of a book-keeper. of course, "sam" had never received, from dr. m., an hour's schooling in his life, but having perceptive faculties naturally very large, combined with much self-esteem, he could hardly help learning readily. had his master's design to keep him in ignorance been ever so great, he would have found it a labor beyond his power. but there is no reason to suppose that dr. martin was opposed to sam's learning to read and write. we are pleased to note that no charges of ill-treatment are found recorded against dr. m. in the narrative of "sam." true, it appears that he had been sold several times in his younger days, and had consequently been made to feel keenly, the smarts of slavery, but nothing of this kind was charged against dr. m., so that he may be set down as a pretty fair man, for aught that is known to the contrary, with the exception of depriving "sam" of the just reward of his labor, which, according to st. james, is pronounced a "fraud." the doctor did not keep "sam" so closely confined to dentistry and book-keeping that he had no time to attend occasionally to outside duties. it appears that he was quite active and successful as an underground rail road agent, and rendered important aid in various directions. indeed, sam had good reason to suspect that the slave-holders were watching him, and that if he remained, he would most likely find himself in "hot water up to his eyes." wisdom dictated that he should "pull up stakes" and depart while the way was open. he knew the captains who were then in the habit of taking similar passengers, but he had some fears that they might not be able to pursue the business much longer. in contemplating the change which he was about to make, "sam" felt it necessary to keep his movements strictly private. not even was he at liberty to break his mind to his wife and child, fearing that it would do them no good, and might prove his utter failure. his wife's name was edna and his daughter was called elizabeth; both were slaves and owned by e.p. tabb, esq., a hardware merchant of norfolk. no mention is made on the books, of ill-treatment, in connection with his wife's servitude; it may therefore be inferred, that her situation was not remarkably hard. it must not be supposed that "sam" was not truly attached to his wife. he gave abundant proof of true matrimonial devotion, notwithstanding the secrecy of his arrangements for flight. being naturally hopeful, he concluded that he could better succeed in securing his wife after obtaining freedom himself, than in undertaking the task beforehand. the captain had two or three other underground rail road male passengers to bring with him, besides "sam," for whom, arrangements had been previously made--no more could be brought that trip. at the appointed time, the passengers were at the disposal of the captain of the schooner which was to bring them out of slavery into freedom. fully aware of the dangerous consequences should he be detected, the captain, faithful to his promise, secreted them in the usual manner, and set sail northward. instead of landing his passengers in philadelphia, as was his intention, for some reason or other (the schooner may have been disabled), he landed them on the new jersey coast, not a great distance from cape island. he directed them how to reach philadelphia. sam knew of friends in the city, and straightway used his ready pen to make known the distress of himself and partners in tribulation. in making their way in the direction of their destined haven, they reached salem, new jersey, where they were discovered to be strangers and fugitives, and were directed to abigail goodwin, a quaker lady, an abolitionist, long noted for her devotion to the cause of freedom, and one of the most liberal and faithful friends of the vigilance committee of philadelphia. this friend's opportunities of witnessing fresh arrivals had been rare, and perhaps she had never before come in contact with a "chattel" so smart as "sam." consequently she was much embarrassed when she heard his story, especially when he talked of his experience as a "dentist." she was inclined to suspect that he was a "shrewd impostor" that needed "watching" instead of aiding. but her humanity forbade a hasty decision on this point. she was soon persuaded to render him some assistance, notwithstanding her apprehensions. while tarrying a day or two in salem, "sam's" letter was received in philadelphia. friend goodwin was written to in the meantime, by a member of the committee, directly with a view of making inquires concerning the stray fugitives, and at the same time to inform her as to how they happened to be coming in the direction found by her. while the mind of the friend was much relieved by the letter she received, she was still in some doubt, as will be seen by the appended extract from a letter on the subject: letter from a. goodwin. salem, mo., , ' . dear friend:--thine of the d came to hand yesterday noon. i do not believe that any of them are the ones thee wrote about, who wanted dr. lundy to come for them, and promised they would pay his expenses. they had no money, the minister said, but were pretty well off for clothes. i gave him all i had and more, but it seemed very little for four travelers--only a dollar for each--but they will meet with friends and helpers on the way. he said they expected to go away to-morrow. i am afraid, it's so cold, and one of them had a sore foot, they will not get away--it's dangerous staying here. there has been a slave-hunter here lately, i was told yesterday, in search of a woman; he tracked her to our alms-house--she had lately been confined and was not able to go--he will come back for her and his infant--and will not wait long i expect. i want much to get her away first--and if one had a c.c. torney here no doubt it would be done; but she will be well guarded. how much i wish the poor thing could be secreted in some safe place till she is able to travel northward; but where that could be it's not easy to see. i presume the carolina freed people have arrived ere now. i hope they will meet many friends, and be well provided for. mary davis will be then paid--her cousins have sent her twenty-four dollars, as it was not wanted for the purchase money--it was to be kept for them when they arrive. i am glad thee did keep the ten for the fugitives. samuel nixon is now here, just come--a smart young man--they will be after him soon. i advise him to hurry on to canada; he will leave here to-morrow, but don't say that he will go straight to the city. i would send this by him if he did. i am afraid he will loiter about and be taken--do make them go on fast--he has left. i could not hear much he said--some who did don't like him at all--think him an impostor--a great brag--said he was a dentist ten years. he was asked where he came from, but would not tell till he looked at the letter that lay on the table and that he had just brought back. i don't feel much confidence in him--don't believe he is the one thee alluded to. he was asked his name--he looked at the letter to find it out. says nobody can make a better set of teeth than he can. he said they will go on to-morrow in the stage--he took down the number and street of the anti-slavery office--you will be on your guard against imposition--he kept the letter thee sent from norfolk. i had then no doubt of him, and had no objection to it. i now rather regret it. i would send it to thee if i had it, but perhaps it is of no importance. he wanted the names taken down of nine more who expected to get off soon and might come here. he told us to send them to him, but did not seem to know where he was going to. he was well dressed in fine broad-cloth coat and overcoat, and has a very active tongue in his head. but i have said enough--don't want to prejudice thee against him, but only be on thy guard, and do not let him deceive thee, as i fear he has some of us here. with kind regards, a. goodwin. in due time samuel and his companions reached philadelphia, where a cordial welcome awaited them. the confusion and difficulties into which they had fallen, by having to travel an indirect route, were fully explained, and to the hearty merriment of the committee and strangers, the dilemma of their good quaker friend goodwin at salem was alluded to. after a sojourn of a day or two in philadelphia, samuel and his companions left for new bedford. canada was named to them as the safest place for all refugees; but it was in vain to attempt to convince "sam" that canada or any other place on this continent, was quite equal to new bedford. his heart was there, and there he was resolved to go--and there he did go too, bearing with him his resolute mind, determined, if possible, to work his way up to an honorable position at his old trade, dentistry, and that too for his own benefit. aided by the committee, the journey was made safely to the desired haven, where many old friends from norfolk were found. here our hero was known by the name of dr. thomas bayne--he was no longer "sam." in a short time the dr. commenced his profession in an humble way, while, at the same time, he deeply interested himself in his own improvement, as well as the improvement of others, especially those who had escaped from slavery as he himself had. then, too, as colored men were voters and, therefore, eligible to office in new bedford, the doctor's naturally ambitious and intelligent, turn of mind led him to take an interest in politics, and before he was a citizen of new bedford four years, he was duly elected a member of the city council. he was also an outspoken advocate of the cause of temperance, and was likewise a ready speaker at anti-slavery meetings held by his race. some idea of his abilities, and the interest he took in the underground rail road, education, etc., may be gathered from the appended letters: new bedford, june d, . w. still:--sir--i write you this to inform you that i has received my things and that you need not say any thing to bagnul about them--i see by the paper that the under ground rail road is in operation. since weeks a go when saless party was betrayed by that capt whom we in mass. are so anxious to learn his name--there was others started last saturday night--they are all my old friends and we are waiting their arrival, we hope you will look out for them they may come by way of salem, n.j. if they be not overtaken. they are from norfolk--times are very hard in canada of our old friends has left canada and come to bedford for a living. every thing are so high and wages so low they cannot make a living (owing to the war) others are expected shortly--let me hear from sales and his party. get the name of the capt. that betrayed him let me know if mrs. goodwin of salem are at the same place yet--john austin are with us. c. lightfoot is well and remembers you and family. my business increases more since i has got an office. send me a norfolk paper or any other to read when convenient. let me hear from those people as soon as possible. they consist of woman and child or men belonging to marsh bottimore, l. slosser and herman & co--and turner--all of norfolk, va. truly yours, thos. bayne. direct to box no. , new bedford, mass. don't direct my letters to my office. direct them to my box . my office is - / william st. the same street the post office is near the city market. the doctor, feeling his educational deficiency in the enlightened city of new bedford, did just what every uncultivated man should, devoted himself assiduously to study, and even applied himself to abstruse and hard subjects, medicine, etc., as the following letters will show: new bedford, jan., . no. , cheapside, opposite city hall. my dear friend:--yours of the d inst. reached me safely in the midst of my misfortune. i suppose you have learned that my office and other buildings burned down during the recent fire. my loss is $ , insured $ . i would have written you before, but i have been to r.i. for some time and soon after i returned before i examined the books, the fire took place, and this accounts for my delay. in regard to the books i am under many obligations to you and all others for so great a piece of kindness, and shall ever feel indebted to you for the same. i shall esteem them very highly for two reasons, first, the way in which they come, that is through and by your vigilance as a colored man helping a colored man to get such knowledge as will give the lie to our enemies. secondly--their contents being just the thing i needed at this time. my indebtedness to you and all concerned for me in this direction is inexpressible. there are some books the doctor says i must have, such as the medical dictionary, physician's dictionary, and a work on anatomy. these i will have to get, but any work that may be of use to a student of anatomy or medicine will be thankfully received. you shall hear from me again soon. truly yours, thos. bayne. new bedford, march th, . mr. wm. still:--dear sir--dr. powell called to see me and informed me that you had a medical lexicon (dictionary) for me. if you have such a book for me, it will be very thankfully received, and any other book that pertains to the medical or dental profession. i am quite limited in means as yet and in want of books to prosecute my studies. the books i need most at present is such as treat on midwifery, anatomy, &c. but any book or books in either of the above mentioned cases will be of use to me. you can send them by express, or by any friend that may chance to come this way, but by express will be the safest way to send them. times are quite dull. this leaves me well and hope it may find you and family the same. my regards to your wife and all others. yours, &c., thomas bayne, cheapside, opposite city hall. thus the doctor continued to labor and improve his mind until the war removed the hideous institution of slavery from the nation; but as soon as the way opened for his return to his old home, new bedford no longer had sufficient attractions to retain him. with all her faults he conceived that "old virginia" offered decided inducements for his return. accordingly he went directly to norfolk, whence he escaped. of course every thing was in the utmost confusion and disorder when he returned, save where the military held sway. so as soon as the time drew near for reorganizing, elections, &c., the doctor was found to be an aspirant for a seat in congress, and in "running" for it, was found to be a very difficult candidate to beat. indeed in the first reports of the election his name was amongst the elected; but subsequent counts proved him to be among the defeated by only a very slight majority. at the time of the doctor's escape, in , he was thirty-one years of age, a man of medium size, and about as purely colored, as could readily be found, with a full share of self-esteem and pluck. * * * * * sundry arrivals from loudon co., va., norfolk, baltimore, md., petersburg, va., &c., about the month of june, . arrival st. david bennett and family. arrival d. henry washington, alias anthony hanly, and henry stewart. arrival d. william nelson and wife, william thomas, louisa bell, and elias jasper. arrival th. maria joiner. arrival th. richard green and his brother george. arrival th. henry cromwell. arrival th. henry bohm. arrival th. ralph whiting, james h. forman, anthony atkinson, arthur jones, isaiah nixon, joseph harris, john morris, henry hodges. arrival th. robert jones and wife. the first arrival to be here noticed consisted of david bennett, and his wife martha, with their two children, a little boy named george, and a nameless babe one month old. this family journeyed from loudon county, va. david, the husband, had been in bonds under captain james taylor. martha, the wife, and her two children were owned by george carter. martha's master was represented as a very barbarous and cruel man to the slaves. he made a common practice of flogging females when stripped naked. this was the emphatic testimony of martha. martha declared that she had been so stripped, and flogged by him after her marriage. the story of this interesting young mother, who was about twenty-seven years of age, was painful to the ear, particularly as the earnestness and intelligence of this poor, bruised, and mangled soul bore such strong evidence to the truthfulness of her statements. during the painful interview the mind would involuntarily picture this demon, only as the representative of thousands in the south using the same relentless sway over men and women; and this fleeing victim and her little ones, before escaping, only as sharers of a common lot with many other mothers and children, whose backs were daily subjected to the lash. if on such an occasion it was hard to find fitting words of sympathy, or adequate expressions of indignation, the pleasure of being permitted to give aid and comfort to such was in part a compensation and a relief. david, the husband of this woman, was about thirty-two years of age. no further notice was made of him. arrival no. consisted of henry washington, alias anthony hanly, and henry stewart. henry left norfolk and a "very mild master," known by the name of "seth march," out of sheer disgust for the patriarchal institution. directly after speaking of his master in such flattering terms he qualified the "mild," &c. by adding that he was excessively close in money matters. in proof of this assertion, henry declared, that out of his hire he was only allowed $ . per week to pay his board, clothe himself, and defray all other expenses; leaving no room whatever for him to provide for his wife. it was, therefore, a never-failing source of unhappiness to be thus debarred, and it was wholly on this account that he "took out," as he did, and at the time that he did. his wife's name was "sally." she too was a slave, but "had not been treated roughly." for fifty long years henry had been in the grasp of this merciless system--constrained to toil for the happiness of others, to make them comfortable, rich, indolent, and tyrannical. to say that he was like a bird out of a cage, conveys in no sense whatever the slightest idea of his delight in escaping from the prison house. and yet, his pleasure was sadly marred by the reflection that his bosom companion was still in bondage in the gloomy prison-house. henry was a man of dark color, well made, and of a reflective turn of mind. on arriving in canada, he manifested his gratitude through rev. h. wilson, as follows-- st. catharines, aug. th, . dear br. still:--i am requested by henry washington to inform you that he got through safe, and is here in good business. he returns to you his sincere thanks for your attention to him on his way. i had the pleasure of receiving seven fugitives last week. send them on, and may god speed them in the flight. i would like to have a miracle-working power, that i could give wings to them all so that they could come faster than by railroads either underground or above. yours truly, hiram wilson. while he was thus hopefully succeeding in canada, separated from his companion by many hundreds of miles, death came and liberated her from the yoke, as the subjoined letter indicates-- st. catharines, c.w. nov. , . mr. william still:--_dear sir_:--i have received a letter from joseph g. selden a friend in norfolk, va., informing me of the death of my wife, who deceased since i saw you here; he also informs me that my clothing will be forwarded to you by jupiter white, who now has it in his charge. you will therefore do me a great favor, if you will be so good as to forward them to me at this place st. catharines, c.w. the accompanying letter is the one received from mr. selden which i send you, that you may see that it is all right. you will please give my respects to mrs. still and family. most respectfully yours, henry washington. henry stewart, who accompanied the above mentioned traveler to canada, had fled a short while before from plymouth, north carolina. james monroe woodhouse, a farmer, claimed stewart as his property, and "hired him out" for $ per annum. as a master, woodhouse was considered to be of the "moderate" type, according to stewart's judgment. but respecting money matters (when his slaves wanted a trifle), "he was very hard. he did not flog, but would not give a slave a cent of money upon any consideration." it was by procuring a pass to norfolk, that henry managed to escape. although a father and a husband, having a wife (martha) and two children (mary ann and susan jane), he felt that his lot as a slave utterly debarred him from discharging his duty to them; that he could exercise no rights or privileges whatever, save as he might obtain permission from his master. in the matter of separation, even although the ties of husband and wife, parents and children were most closely knit, his reason dictated that he would be justified in freeing himself if possible; indeed, he could not endure the pressure of slavery any longer. although only twenty-three years of age, the burdens that he had been called upon to bear, made his naturally intelligent mind chafe to an unusual degree, especially when reflecting upon a continued life of slavery. when the time decided upon for his flight arrived, he said nothing to his wife on the subject, but secured his pass and took his departure for norfolk. on arriving there, he sought out an underground rail road captain, and arranged with him to bring him to philadelphia. whether the sorrow-stricken wife ever afterwards heard of her husband, or the father of his two little children, the writer is unable to say. it is possible that this narrative may reveal to the mother and her offspring (if they are still living), the first ray of light concerning the missing one. indeed it is not unreasonable to suppose, that thousands of anxious wives, husbands and children, who have been scattered in every direction by slavery, will never be able to learn as much of their lost ones as is contained in this brief account of henry stewart. arrival no. , brought william nelson, his wife, susan, and son, william thomas, together with louisa bell, and elias jasper. these travelers availed themselves of the schooner of captain b. who allowed them to embark at norfolk, despite the search laws of virginia. it hardly need be said, however, that it was no trifling matter in those days, to evade the law. captains and captives, in order to succeed, found that it required more than ordinary intelligence and courage, shrewdness and determination, and at the same time, a very ardent appreciation of liberty, without which, there could be no success. the simple announcement then, that a party of this number had arrived from norfolk, or richmond, or petersburg, gave the committee unusual satisfaction. it made them quite sure that there was pluck and brain somewhere. these individuals, in a particularly marked degree, possessed the qualities that greatly encouraged the efforts of the committee. william nelson, was a man of a dark chestnut color, medium size, with more than an ordinary degree of what might be termed "mother wit." apparently, william possessed well settled convictions, touching the questions of morals and religion, despite the overflowing tide of corruption and spurious religious teachings consequent on the existing pro-slavery usages all around him. he was a member of the methodist church, under the charge of the rev. mr. jones. for twenty years, william had served in the capacity of a "packer" under messrs. turner and white, who held a deed for william as their legal property. while he declared that he had been very "tightly worked" he nevertheless admitted that he had been dealt with in a mild manner in some respects. for his board and clothing, william had been allowed $ . per week. truly a small sum for a hard-working man with a family--yet this was far more than many slaves received from their masters. in view of receiving this small pittance, he had toiled hard--doing over-work in order to make "buckle and strap meet." once he had been sold on the auction-block. a sister of his had also shared the same fate. while seriously contemplating his life as a slave, he was soon led to the conclusion that it was his duty to bend his entire energies towards freeing himself and his family if possible. the idea of not being able to properly provide for his family rendered him quite unhappy; he therefore resolved to seek a passage north, via the underground rail road. to any captain who would aid him in the matter, he resolved to offer a large reward, and determined that the amount should only be limited by his inability to increase it. finally, after much anxious preparation, agreement was entered into with captain b., on behalf of himself, wife, child, and louisa bell, which was mutually satisfactory to all concerned, and afforded great hope to william. in due time the agreement was carried into effect, and all arrived safely and were delivered into the hands of the committee in philadelphia. the fare of the four cost $ , and william was only too grateful to think, that a captain could be found who would risk his own liberty in thus aiding a slave to freedom. the committee gladly gave them aid and succor, and agreed with william that the captain deserved all that he received for their deliverance. the arrival of william, wife, and child in canada was duly announced by the agent at st. catharines, rev. h. wilson, as follows: st. catharines, c.w., june th, . mr. wm. still:--_my dear friend_:--i am happy to announce the safe arrival of thomas russell with his wife and child. they have just arrived. i am much pleased with their appearance. i shall do what i can for their comfort and encouragement. they stopt at elmira from monday night till this morning, hoping that lucy bell would come up and join them at that place. they are very anxious to hear from her, as they have failed of meeting with her on the way or finding her here in advance of them. they wish to hear from you as soon as you can write, and would like to know if you have forwarded lucy on, and if so, what route you sent her. they send their kind respects to you and your family and many thanks for your kindness to them. they wish you to inquire after lucy if any harm has befallen her after her leaving philadelphia. please write promptly in my care. yours truly in the love of freedom, hiram wilson. the man who came to us as wm. nelson, is now known only as "thomas russell." it may here be remarked, that, owing to the general custom of changing names, as here instanced, it is found difficult to tell to whom the letters severally refer. where the old and new names were both carefully entered on the book there is no difficulty, of course, but it was not always thus. susan bell, the wife of william, was about thirty years of age, of a dark color, rather above medium size, well-made, good-looking, and intelligent--quite equal to her husband, and appeared to have his affections undividedly. she was owned by thomas baltimore, with whom she had lived for the last seven years. she stated that during a part of her life she had been treated in a "mild manner." she had no complaint to make until after the marriage of her master. under the new wife and mistress, susan found a very marked change for the worse. she fared badly enough then. the mistress, on every trifling occasion for complaint, was disposed to hold the auction-block up to susan, and would likewise influence her husband to do the same. from the fact, that four of susan's sisters had been sold away to "parts unknown," she was not prepared to relish these almost daily threats from her irritable mistress, so she became as anxious for a trip on the underground rail road as was her husband. about one hundred miles away in the country, her father, mother, three brothers, and one sister were living; but she felt that she could not remain a slave on their account. susan's owner had already fixed a price on her and her child, twenty-two months old, which was one thousand dollars. from this fate she was saved only by her firm resolution to seek her freedom. louisa bell was also of wm. nelson's party, and a fair specimen of a nice-looking, wide awake woman; of a chestnut color, twenty-eight years of age. she was the wife of a free man, but the slave of l. stasson, a confectioner. the almost constant ringing in her ears of the auction-block, made her most miserable, especially as she had once suffered terribly by being sold, and had likewise seen her mother, and five sisters placed in the same unhappy situation, the thought of which never ceased to be most painful. in reflecting upon the course which she was about to pursue in order to free herself from the prison-house, she felt more keenly than ever for her little children, and readily imagined how sadly she would mourn while thinking of them hundreds of miles distant, growing up only to be slaves. and particularly would her thoughts dwell upon her boy, six years of age; full old enough to feel deeply the loss of his mother, but without hope of ever seeing her again. heart-breaking as were these reflections, she resolved to leave robert and mary in the hands of god, and escape, if possible from her terrible thraldom. her plan was submitted to her husband; he acquiesced fully and promised to follow her as soon as an opportunity might present itself. although the ordeal that she was called upon to pass through was of the most trying nature she bravely endured the journey through to canada. on her arrival there the rev. h. wilson wrote on behalf of herself, and the cause as follows: st. catherines, c.w. july th, . dear br. still:--i have just received your letters touching u.g.r.r. operations. all is right. jasper and mrs. bell got here on saturday last, and i think i dropt you a line announcing the fact. i write again thus soon because two more by name of smith, john and wm., have arrived the present week and were anxious to have me inform you that they are safely landed and free in this refuge land. they wish me to communicate their kind regards to you and others who have aided them. they have found employment and are likely to do well. the of last week have gone over to toronto. i gave them letters to a friend there after furnishing them as well as i could with such clothing as they required. i am afraid that i am burdening you too much with postage, but can't help doing so unless i fail to write at all, as my means are not half equal to the expenses to which i am subject. faithfully and truly yours, hiram wilson. elias jasper, who was also a fellow-passenger with wm. nelson and co., was noticed thus on the underground rail road: age thirty-two years, color dark, features good, and gifted both with his tongue and hands. he had worked more or less at the following trades: rope-making, carpentering, engineering, and photographing. it was in this latter calling that he was engaged when the underground rail road movement first arrested his attention, and so continued until his departure. for several years he had been accustomed to hire his time, for which he had been required to pay $ per month. in acquiring the above trades he had been at no expense to his master, as he had learned them solely by his own perseverance, endowed as he was with a considerable share of genius. occasionally he paid for lessons, the money being earned by his over-work. his master, bayham, was a "retired gentleman." elias had been sold once, and had suffered in various other ways, particularly from being flogged. he left his wife, mary, but no child. of his intention to leave elias saw not how to impart to his wife, lest she should in some way let the "cat out of the bag." she was owned by a miss portlock, and had been treated "tolerably well," having had the privilege of hiring her time. she had $ to pay for this favor, which amount she raised by washing, etc. elias was a member of the methodist church, as were all of his comrades, and well did they remember the oft-repeated lesson, "servants obey your masters," etc. they soon understood this kind of preaching after breathing free air. the market value of elias was placed at $ . arrival, no. . maria joiner. captain f. arrived, from norfolk, with the above named passenger, the way not being open to risk any other on that occasion. this seemed rather slow business with this voyager, for he was usually accustomed to bringing more than one. however, as this arrival was only one day later than the preceding one noticed, and came from the same place, the committee concluded, that they had much reason for rejoicing nevertheless. as in the case of a great number among the oppressed of the south, when simply looking at maria, no visible marks of ill usage in any way were discernible. indeed, as she then appeared at the age of thirty-three, a fine, fresh, and healthy-looking mulatto woman, nine out of every ten would have been impressed with the idea, that she had never been subjected to hard treatment; in other words, that she had derived her full share of advantages from the "patriarchal institution." the appearance of just such persons in southern cities had often led northerners, when traveling in those parts, to regard the lot of slaves as quite comfortable. but the story of maria, told in an earnest and intelligent manner, was at once calculated to dissipate the idea of a "comfortable" existence in a state of bondage. she frankly admitted, however, that prior to the death of her old master, she was favorably treated, compared with many others; but, unfortunately, after his death, she had fallen into the hands of one of the old man's daughters, from whom, she declared, that she had received continued abuse, especially when said daughter was under the influence of liquor. at such times she was very violent. being spirited, maria could not consent to suffer on as a slave in this manner. consequently she began to cogitate how she might escape from her mistress (catharine gordon), and reach a free state. none other than the usual trying and hazardous ways could be devised--which was either to be stowed away in the hold of a schooner, or concealed amongst the rubbish of a steamer, where, for the time being, the extreme suffering was sure to tax every nerve even of the most valiant-hearted men. the daily darkening prospects constrained her to decide, that she was willing to suffer, not only in adopting this mode of travel, but on the other hand, that she had better be dead than remain under so cruel a woman as her mistress. maria's husband and sister (no other relatives are noticed), were naturally formidable barriers in the way of her escape. notwithstanding her attachment to them, she fully made up her mind to be free. immediately she took the first prerequisite step, which was to repair to a place of concealment with a friend in the city, and there, like the man at the pool, wait until her turn came to be conveyed thence to a free state. in this place she was obliged to wait eight long months, enduring daily suffering in various ways, especially during the winter season. but, with martyr-like faith, she endured to the end, and was eventually saved from the hell of slavery. maria was appraised at $ . arrival no. . richard green, alias wm. smith, and his brother george. these young brothers fled from george chambers of baltimore. the elder brother was twenty-five, the younger twenty-three. both were tall and well made and of a chestnut color, and possessed a good degree of natural ability. when desiring to visit their parents, their request was positively refused by their owner. taking offence at this step, both mutually resolved to run away at the earliest opportunity. thus in accordance with well premeditated plans, they set out and unobstructedly arrived in philadelphia. at first it was simply very pleasant to take them by the hand and welcome them; then to listen for a few moments to their intelligent narration of how they escaped, the motives that prompted them, etc. but further inquiries soon brought out incidents of the most thrilling and touching nature--not with regard to hardships which they had personally experienced, but in relation to outrages which had been perpetrated upon their mother. such simple facts as were then written are substantially as follows: nearly thirty years prior to the escape of richard and his brother their mother was in very bad health, so much so that physicians regarded her incurable. her owner was evidently fully impressed with the belief that instead of being profitable to him, she might be an expense, which he could not possibly obviate, while he retained her as a slave. now there was a way to get out of this dilemma. he could emancipate her and throw the responsibility of her support upon, herself. accordingly he drew up papers, called for his wife's mother to witness them, then formally put them into the hands of the invalid slave woman (dinah), assuring her at the same time, that she was free--being fully released as set forth in her papers. "take notice i have no more claim on you nor you on me from this time." marvellous liberality! after working the life out of a woman, in order that he should not have her to bury, he becomes hastily in favor of freedom. he is, however, justified by the laws of maryland. complaint, therefore, would simply amount to nothing. in the nature of the case dinah was now free, but she was not wholly alone in the world. she had a husband, named jacob green, who was owned by nathan childs for a term of years only, at the expiration of which time he was to be free. all lived then in talbot county, md. at the appointed time jacob's bondage ended, and he concluded that he might succeed better by moving to baltimore. indeed the health of his wife was so miserable that nothing in his old home seemed to offer any inducement in the way of a livelihood. so off they moved to baltimore. after a time, under careful and kind treatment, the faithful jacob was greatly encouraged by perceiving that the health of his companion was gradually improving--signs indicated, that she might yet become a well woman. the hopes of husband and wife, in this particular, were, in the lapse of time, fully realized. dinah was as well as ever, and became the mother of another child--a little boy. everything seemed to be going on happily, and they had no apparent reason to suspect any troubles other than such as might naturally have to be encountered in a state of poverty and toil. the unfettered boy was healthy, and made rapid advance in a few years. that any one should ever claim him was never for a moment feared. the old master, however, becoming tired of country life, had also moved to baltimore. how, they knew not, but he had heard of the existence of this boy. that he might satisfy himself on this point, he one day very slyly approached the house with george. no sooner was the old man within the enclosures than he asked dinah, "whose child is that?" pointing to the boy. "ask jacob," was the reply of the mother. the question was then put to jacob, the father of the boy. "i did not think that you would ask such a question, or that you would request anything like that," jacob remarked, naturally somewhat nervous, but he added, "i have the privilege of having any one i please in my house." "where is he from?" again demanded the master. the father repeated, "i have a right to have," etc., "i am my own man," etc. "i have found out whose he is," the hunter said. "i am going presently to take him home with me." at this juncture he seized the little fellow, at the same time calling out, "dinah, put his clothes on." by this time the father too had seized hold of the child. mustering courage, the father said, "take notice that you are not in the country, pulling and hauling people about." "i will have him or i will leave my heart's blood in the house," was the savage declaration of the master. in his rage he threatened to shoot the father. in the midst of the excitement george called in two officers to settle the trouble. "what are you doing here?" said the officers to the slave-holder. "i am after my property--this boy," he exclaimed. "have you ever seen it before?" they inquired. "no," said the slave-holder. "then how do you know that he belongs to you?" inquired the officers. "i believe he is mine," replied the slave-holder. all the parties concerned were then taken by the officers before an alderman. the father owned the child but the mother denied it. the alderman then decided that the child should be given to the father. the slave-holder having thus failed, was unwilling, nevertheless, to relinquish his grasp. whereupon he at once claimed the mother. of course he was under the necessity of resorting to the courts in order to establish his claim. fortunately the mother had securely preserved the paper given her by her master so many years before, releasing her. notwithstanding this the suit was pending nearly a year before the case was decided. everything was so clear the mother finally gained the suit. this decision was rendered only about two months prior to the escape of richard and george. arrival no. . henry cromwell. this passenger fled from baltimore county, md. the man that he escaped from was a farmer by the name of william roberts, who also owned seven other young slaves. of his treatment of his slaves nothing was recorded. henry was about six feet high, quite black, visage thin, age twenty-five. he left neither wife, parents, brothers nor sisters to grieve after him. in making his way north he walked of nights from his home to harrisburg, pa., and there availed himself of a passage on a freight car coming to philadelphia. arrival no. . henry bohm. henry came from near norfolk, va. he was about twenty-five years of age, and a fair specimen of a stout man, possessed of more than ordinary physical strength. as to whom he fled from, how he had been treated, or how he reached philadelphia, the record book is silent. why this is the case cannot now be accounted for, unless the hurry of getting him off forbade sufficient delay to note down more of the particulars. arrival no. . ralph whiting, james h. forman, anthony atkinson, arthur jones, isaiah nixon, joseph harris, john morris, and henry hodges. a numerous party like this had the appearance of business. they were all young and hopeful, and belonged to the more intelligent and promising of their race. they were capable of giving the best of reasons for the endeavors they were making to escape to a free country. they imparted to the committee much information respecting their several situations, together with the characters of their masters in relation to domestic matters, and the customs and usages under which they had been severally held to service--all of which was listened to with deep interest. but it was not an easy matter, after having been thus entertained, to write out the narratives of eight such persons. hundreds of pages would hardly have contained a brief account of the most interesting portion of their histories. it was deemed sufficient to enter their names and their forsaken homes, etc., as follows: "ralph was twenty-six years of age, five feet ten inches high, dark, well made, intelligent, and a member of the methodist church. he was claimed by geo. w. kemp, esq., cashier of the exchange bank of norfolk, va. ralph gave mr. kemp the credit of being a 'moderate man' to his slaves. ralph was compelled to leave his wife, lydia, and two children, anna eliza, and cornelius." "james was twenty-three years of age, dark mulatto, nearly six feet high, and of prepossessing appearance. he fled from james saunders, esq. nothing, save the desire to be free, prompted james to leave his old situation and master. his parents and two sisters he was obliged to leave in norfolk." two brief letters from james, one concerning his "sweet-heart," whom he left in norfolk, the other giving an account of her arrival in canada and marriage thereafter will, doubtless, be read with interest. they are here given as follows: niagara falls, june th, . mr. still:--sir--i take my pen in hand to write you theas few lines to let you know that i am well at present and hope theas few lines may find you the same. sir my object in writing to you is that i expect a young lady by the name of miss mariah moore, from norfolk, virginia. she will leave norfolk on the th of this month in the steamship virginia for philadelphia you will oblige me very much by seeing her safely on the train of cars that leaves philadelphia for the suspension bridge niagara falls pleas to tell the lady to telegraph to me what time she will leave philadelphia so i may know what time to meet her at the suspension bridge my brother isaac porman send his love also his family to you and your family they are all well at present pleas to give my respects to mr. harry londay, also miss margaret cunigan, no more at present. i remain your friend, james h. forman. when you telegraph to me direct to the international hotel, niagara falls, n.y. niagara falls, july th, . dear sir:--i take this opportunity of writing these few lines to you hoping that they may find you enjoying good health as these few lines leave me at present. i thank you for your kindness. miss moore arrived here on the th of june and i was down to the cars to receive her. i thought i would have written to you before, but i thought i would wait till i got married. i got married on the d of july in the english church canada about o'clock my wife sends all her love to you and your wife and all enquiring friends please to kiss your two children for her and she says she is done crying and i am glad to hear she enjoyed herself so well in philadelphia give my respects to miss margaret cuningham and i am glad to hear her sister arrived my father sends his respects to you no more at present but remain your friend, james h. forman. direct your letter to the international hotel, niagara falls. anthony was thirty-six years of age, and by blood, was quite as nearly related to the anglo-saxon as the anglo-african. he was nevertheless, physically a fine specimen of a man. he was about six feet high, and bore evidence of having picked up a considerable amount of intelligence considering his opportunities. he had been sold three times. anthony was decidedly opposed to having to pass through this ordeal a fourth time, therefore, the more he meditated over his condition, the more determined he became to seek out an underground rail road agent, and make his way to canada. concluding that josiah wells, who claimed him, had received a thousand times too much of his labor already, anthony was in a fit state of mind to make a resolute effort to gain his freedom. he had a wife, but no children. his father, one sister, and two brothers were all dear to him, but all being slaves "one could not help the other," anthony reasoned, and wisely too. so, at the command of the captain, he was ready to bear his part of the suffering consequent upon being concealed in the hold of a vessel, where but little air could penetrate. arthur was forty-one years of age, six feet high--chestnut color, well made, and possessed good native faculties needing cultivation. he escaped from a farmer, by the name of john jones, who was classed, as to natural temperament, amongst "moderate slave-holders." "i wanted my liberty," said arthur promptly and emphatically, and he declared that was the cause of his escape. he left his mother, two sisters, and three brothers in slavery. isaiah was about twenty-two, small of stature, but smart, and of a substantially black complexion. he had been subjected to very hard treatment under samuel simmons who claimed him, and on this account he was first prompted to leave. his mother and three brothers he left in bondage. joseph was twenty-three years of age, and was, in every way, "likely-looking." according to the laws of slavery, he was the property of david morris, who was entitled to be ranked amongst the more compassionate slave-holders of the south. yet, joseph was not satisfied, deprived of his freedom. he had not known hardships as many had, but it was not in him notwithstanding, to be contented as a slave. in leaving, he had to "tear himself away" from his parents, three brothers, and two sisters. henry escaped from s. simmons of plymouth, north carolina, and was a fellow-servant with isaiah. simmons was particularly distinguished for his tyrannical rule and treatment of his slaves--so henry and isaiah had the good sense to withdraw from under his yoke, very young in life; henry being twenty-three. john was about twenty-one years of age, five feet eight inches high, dark color, and well-grown for his years. before embarking, he had endured seven months of hard suffering from being secreted, waiting for an opportunity to escape. it was to keep his master from selling him, that he was thus induced to secrete himself. after he had remained away some months, he resolved to suffer on until his friends could manage to procure him a passage on the underground rail road. with this determined spirit he did not wait in vain. arrival no. . robert jones and wife:--in the majority of cases, in order to effect the escape of either, sad separations between husbands and wives were unavoidable. fortunately, it was not so in this case. in journeying from the house of bondage, robert and his wife were united both in sympathies and in struggles. robert had experienced "hard times" just in what way, however, was not recorded; his wife had been differently treated, not being under the same taskmaster as her husband. at the time of their arrival all that was recorded of their bondage is as follows-- august d, , robert jones and wife, arrived from petersburg, va. robert is about thirty-five, chestnut color, medium size, of good manners, intelligent, had been owned by thomas n. lee, "a very hard man." robert left because he "wanted his liberty--always had from a boy." eliza, his wife, is about forty years of age, chestnut color, nice-looking, and well-dressed. she belonged to eliza h. richie, who was called a "moderate woman" towards her slaves. notwithstanding the limited space occupied in noting them on the record book, the committee regarded them as being among the most worthy and brave travelers passing over the underground rail road, and felt well satisfied that such specimens of humanity would do credit in canada, not only to themselves, but to their race. robert had succeeded in learning to read and write tolerably well, and had thought much over the condition and wrongs of the race, and seemed to be eager to be where he could do something to lift his fellow-sufferers up to a higher plane of liberty and manhood. after an interview with robert and his wife, in every way so agreeable, they were forwarded on in the usual manner, to canada. while enjoying the sweets of freedom in canada, he was not the man to keep his light under a bushel. he seemed to have a high appreciation of the potency of the pen, and a decidedly clear idea that colored men needed to lay hold of many enterprises with resolution, in order to prove themselves qualified to rise equally with other branches of the human family. some of his letters, embracing his views, plans and suggestions, were so encouraging and sensible, that the committee was in the habit of showing them to friendly persons, and indeed, extracts of some of his letters were deemed of sufficient importance to publish. one alone, taken from many letters received from him, must here suffice to illustrate his intelligence and efforts as a fugitive and citizen in canada. hamilton, c.w., august th, . mr. wm. still;--_dear friend_:--i take this opportunity of writing you these few lines to inform you of my health, which is good at present, &c. * * * * i was talking to you about going to liberia, when i saw you last, and did intend to start this fall, but i since looked at the condition of the colored people in canada. i thought i would try to do something for their elevation as a nation, to place them in the proper position to stand where they ought to stand. in order to do this, i have undertaken to get up a military company amongst them. they laughed at me to undertake such a thing; but i did not relax my energies. i went and had an interview with major j.t. gilepon, told him what my object was, he encouraged me to go on, saying that he would do all he could for the accomplishment of my object. he referred to _sir allan mcnab, &c._ * * * * i took with me mr. j.h. hill to see him--he told me that it should be done, and required us to write a petition to the _governor general_, which has been done. * * * * the company is already organized. mr. howard was elected captain; j.h. hill, st lieutenant; hezekiah hill, ensign; robert jones, st sergeant. the company's name is, queen victoria's rifle guards. you may, by this, see what i have been doing since i have been in canada. when we receive our appointments by the government. i will send by express, my daguerreotype in uniform. my respects, &c. &c., robert jones. * * * * * heavy reward. two thousand six hundred dollars reward--ran away from the subscriber, on saturday night, november th, , josiah and william bailey, and peter pennington. joe is about feet inches in height, of a chestnut color, bald head, with a remarkable scar on one of his cheeks, not positive on which it is, but think it is on the left, under the eye, has intelligent countenance, active, and well-made. he is about years old. bill is of a darker color, about feet inches in height, stammers a little when confused, well-made, and older than joe, well dressed, but may have pulled kearsey on over their other clothes. peter is smaller than either the others, about years of age, dark chestnut color, feet or inches high. [illustration: ] a reward of fifteen hundred dollars will be given to any person who will apprehend the said joe bailey, and lodge him safely in the jail at easton, talbot co., md., and $ for bill and $ for peter. w.r. hughlett john c. henry, t. wright. when this arrival made its appearance, it was at first sight quite evident that one of the company was a man of more than ordinary parts, both physically and mentally. likewise, taking them individually, their appearance and bearing tended largely to strengthen the idea that the spirit of freedom was rapidly gaining ground in the minds of the slaves, despite the efforts of the slave-holders to keep them in darkness. in company with the three men, for whom the above large reward was offered, came a woman by the name of eliza nokey. as soon as the opportunity presented itself, the active committee feeling an unusual desire to hear their story, began the investigation by inquiring as to the cause of their escape, etc., which brought simple and homely but earnest answers from each. these answers afforded the best possible means of seeing slavery in its natural, practical workings--of obtaining such testimony and representations of the vile system, as the most eloquent orator or able pen might labor in vain to make clear and convincing, although this arrival had obviously been owned by men of high standing. the fugitives themselves innocently stated that one of the masters, who was in the habit of flogging adult females, was a "moderate man." josiah bailey was the leader of this party, and he appeared well-qualified for this position. he was about twenty-nine years of age, and in no particular physically, did he seem to be deficient. he was likewise civil and polite in his manners, and a man of good common sense. he was held and oppressed by william h. hughlett, a farmer and dealer in ship timber, who had besides invested in slaves to the number of forty head. in his habits he was generally taken for a "moderate" and "fair" man, "though he was in the habit of flogging the slaves--females as well as males," after they had arrived at the age of maturity. this was not considered strange or cruel in maryland. josiah was the "foreman" on the place, and was entrusted with the management of hauling the ship-timber, and through harvesting and busy seasons was required to lead in the fields. he was regarded as one of the most valuable hands in that part of the country, being valued at $ , . three weeks before he escaped, joe was "stripped naked," and "flogged" very cruelly by his master, simply because he had a dispute with one of the fellow-servants, who had stolen, as joe alleged, seven dollars of his hard earnings. this flogging, produced in joe's mind, an unswerving determination to leave slavery or die: to try his luck on the underground rail road at all hazards. the very name of slavery, made the fire fairly burn in his bones. although a married man, having a wife and three children (owned by hughlett), he was not prepared to let his affection for them keep him in chains--so anna maria, his wife, and his children ellen, anna maria, and isabella, were shortly widowed and orphaned by the slave lash. william bailey was owned by john c. henry, a large slave-holder, and a very "hard" one, if what william alleged of him was true. his story certainly had every appearance of truthfulness. a recent brutal flogging had "stiffened his back-bone," and furnished him with his excuse for not being willing to continue in maryland, working his strength away to enrich his master, or the man who claimed to be such. the memorable flogging, however, which caused him to seek flight on the underground rail road, was not administered by his master or on his master's plantation. he was hired out, and it was in this situation that he was so barbarously treated. yet he considered his master more in fault than the man to whom he was hired, but redress there was none, save to escape. the hour for forwarding the party by the committee, came too soon to allow time for the writing of any account of peter pennington and eliza nokey. suffice it to say, that in struggling through their journey, their spirits never flagged; they had determined not to stop short of canada. they truly had a very high appreciation of freedom, but a very poor opinion of maryland. * * * * * slave trader hall is foiled. robert mccoy _alias_ william donar. in october, , the committee received per steamer, directly from norfolk, va., robert mccoy and elizabeth saunders. robert had constantly been in the clutches of the negro-trader hall, for the last sixteen years, previous to his leaving, being owned by him. he had, therefore, possessed very favorable opportunities for varied observation and experience relative to the trader's conduct in his nefarious business, as well as for witnessing the effects of the auction-block upon all ages--rending asunder the dearest ties, despite the piteous wails of childhood or womanhood, parental or conjugal relations. but no attempt will be made to chronicle the deeds of this dealer in human flesh. those stories fresh from the lips of one who had just escaped, were painful in the extreme, but in the very nature of things some of the statements are too revolting to be published. in lieu of this fact, except the above allusions to the trader's business, this sketch will only refer to robert's condition as a slave, and finally as a traveler on the underground rail road. robert was a man of medium size, dark mulatto, of more than ordinary intelligence. his duties had been confined to the house, and not to the slave pen. as a general thing, he had managed, doubtless through much shrewdness, to avoid very severe outrages from the trader. on the whole, he had fared "about as well" as the generality of slaves. yet, in order to free himself from his "miserable" life, he was willing, as he declared, to suffer almost any sacrifice. indeed, his conduct proved the sincerity of this declaration, as he had actually been concealed five months in a place in the city, where he could not possibly avoid daily suffering of the most trying kind. his resolve to be free was all this while maturing. the trader had threatened to sell robert, and to prevent it robert (thus) "took out." successfully did he elude the keen scent and grasp of the hunters, who made diligent efforts to recapture him. although a young man--only about twenty-eight years of age, his health was by no means good. his system had evidently been considerably shattered by slavery, and symptoms of consumption, together with chronic rheumatism, were making rapid headway against the physical man. under his various ills, he declared, as did many others from the land of bondage, that his faith in god afforded him comfort and hope. he was obliged to leave his wife, eliza, in bonds, not knowing whether they should ever meet again on earth, but he was somewhat hopeful that the way would open for her escape also. after reaching philadelphia, where his arrival had long been anticipated by the vigilance committee, his immediate wants were met, and in due order he was forwarded to new bedford, where, he was led to feel, he would be happy in freedom. scarcely had he been in new bedford one month, before his prayers and hopes were realized with regard to the deliverance of his wife. on hearing of the good news of her coming he wrote as follows-- new bedford, nov. , . dear sir:--i embrace this opertunity to inform you that i received your letter with pleasure, i am enjoying good health and hope that these few lines will find you enjoying the same blessing. i rejoise to hear from you i feel very much indetted to you for not writing before but i have been so bissy that is the cause, i rejoise to heare of the arrival of my wife, and hope she is not sick from the roling of the sea and if she is not, pleas to send her on here monday with a six baral warlian and a rifall to gard her up to my residance i thank you kindly for the good that you have don for me. give my respects to mrs. still, tell her i want to see her very bad and you also i would come but i am afraid yet to venture, i received your letter the second, but about the first of spring i hope to pay you a visit or next summer. i am getting something to do every day. i will write on her arrivall and tell you more. mr. r. white sends his love to you and your famerly and says that he is very much indetted to you for his not writing and all so he desires to know wheather his cloths has arived yet or not, and if they are please to express them on to him or if at preasant by mrs. donar. not any more at preasent. i remain your affectionate brother, william donar. by the same arrival, and similarly secreted, elizabeth frances, alias ellen saunders, had the good luck to reach philadelphia. she was a single young woman, about twenty-two, with as pleasant a countenance as one would wish to see. her manners were equally agreeable. perhaps her joy over her achieved victory added somewhat to her personal appearance. she had, however, belonged to the more favored class of slaves. she had neither been over-worked nor badly abused. elizabeth was the property of a lady a few shades lighter than herself, (elizabeth was a mulatto) by the name of sarah shephard, of norfolk. in order the more effectually to profit by elizabeth's labor, the mistress resorted to the plan of hiring her out for a given sum per month. against this usage elizabeth urged no complaint. indeed the only very serious charge she brought was to the effect, that her mistress sold her mother away from her far south, when she was a child only ten years old. she had also sold a brother and sister to a foreign southern market. the reflections consequent upon the course that her mistress had thus pursued, awakened elizabeth to much study relative to freedom, and by the time that she had reached womanhood she had very decided convictions touching her duty with regard to escaping. thus growing to hate slavery in every way and manner, she was prepared to make a desperate effort to be free. having saved thirty-five dollars by rigid economy, she was willing to give every cent of it (although it was all she possessed), to be aided from norfolk to philadelphia. after reaching the city, having suffered severely while coming, she was invited to remain until somewhat recruited. in the healthy air of freedom she was soon fully restored, and ready to take her departure for new bedford, which place she reached without difficulty and was cordially welcomed. the following letter, expressive of her obligations for aid received, was forwarded soon after her arrival in new bedford: new bedford, mass., october th, . mr. still:--dear sir--i now take my pen in my hand to inform you of my health which is good at present all except a cold i have got but i hope when these few lines reach you you may be enjoying good health. i arrived in new bedford thursday morning safely and what little i have seen of the city i like it very much my friends were very glad to see me. i found my sister very well. give my love to mrs. still and also your dear little children. i am now out at service. i do not think of going to canada now. i think i shall remain in this city this winter. please tell mrs. still i have not met any person who has treated me any kinder than she did since i left. i consider you both to have been true friends to me. i hope you will think me the same to you. i feel very thankful to you indeed. it might been supposed, out of sight out of mind, but it is not so. i never forget my friends. give my love to florence. if you come to this city i would be very happy to see you. kiss your dear little children for me. please to answer this as soon as possible, so that i may know you received this. no more at present. i still remain your friend, ellen saunders. eliza mccoy--the wife of robert mccoy, whose narrative has just been given--and who was left to wait in hope when her husband escaped--soon followed him to freedom. it is a source of great satisfaction to be able to present her narrative in so close proximity to her husband's. he arrived about the first of october--she about the first of november, following. from her lips testimony of much weight and interest was listened to by several friends relative to her sufferings as a slave--on the auction-block, and in a place of concealment seven months, waiting and praying for an opportunity to escape. but it was thought sufficient to record merely a very brief outline of her active slave life, which consisted of the following noticeable features. eliza had been owned by andrew sigany, of norfolk--age about thirty-eight--mulatto, and a woman whose appearance would readily command attention and respect anywhere outside of the barbarism of slavery. she stated that her experience as a sufferer in cruel hands had been very trying, and that in fretting under hardships, she had "always wanted to be free." her language was unmistakable on this point. neither mistress nor servant was satisfied with each other; the mistress was so "queer" and "hard to please," that eliza became heartily sick of trying to please her--an angel would have failed with such a woman. so, while matters were getting no better, but, on the contrary, were growing worse and worse, eliza thought she would seek a more pleasant atmosphere in the north. in fact she felt that it would afford her no little relief to allow her place to be occupied by another. when she went into close quarters of concealment, she fully understood what was meant and all the liabilities thereto. she had pluck enough to endure unto the end without murmuring. the martyrs in olden times who dwelt in "dens and caves of the earth," could hardly have fared worse than some of these way-worn travelers. after the rest, needed by one who had suffered so severely until her arrival in philadelphia, she was forwarded to her anxiously waiting husband in new bedford, where she was gladly received. from the frequent arrivals from virginia, especially in steamers, it may be thought that no very stringent laws or regulations existed by which offenders, who might aid the underground rail road, could be severely punished--that the slave-holders were lenient, indifferent and unguarded as to how this property took wings and escaped. in order to enlighten the reader with regard to this subject, it seems necessary, in this connection, to publish at least one of the many statutes from the slave laws of the south bearing directly on the aid and escape of slaves by vessels. the following enactment is given as passed by the legislature of virginia in : the protection of slave property in virginia. a bill providing additional protection for the slave property of citizens of this commonwealth. ( .) be it enacted, by the general assembly, that it shall not be lawful for any vessel, of any size or description, whatever, owned in whole, or in part, by any citizen or resident of another state, and about to sail or steam for any port or place in this state, for any port or place north of and beyond the capes of virginia, to depart from the waters of this commonwealth, until said vessel has undergone the inspection hereinafter provided for in this act, and received a certificate to that effect. if any such vessel shall depart from the state without such certificate of inspection, the captain or owner thereof, shall forfeit and pay the sum of five hundred dollars, to be recovered by any person who will sue for the same, in any court of record in this state, in the name of the governor of the commonwealth. pending said suit, the vessel of said captain or owner shall not leave the state until bond be given by the captain or owner, or other person for him, payable to the governor, with two or three sureties satisfactory to the court, in the penalty of one thousand dollars, for the payment of the forfeit or fine, together with the cost and expenses incurred in enforcing the same; and in default of such bond, the vessel shall be held liable. provided that nothing contained in this section, shall apply to vessels belonging to the united states government, or vessels, american or foreign, bound direct to any foreign country other than the british american provinces. ( .) the pilots licensed under the laws of virginia, and while attached to a vessel regularly employed as a pilot boat, are hereby constituted inspectors to execute this act, so far as the same may be applicable to the chesapeake bay, and the waters tributary thereto, within the jurisdiction of this state, together with such other inspectors as may be appointed by virtue of this act. ( .) the branch or license issued to a pilot according to the provisions of the d chapter of code, shall be sufficient evidence that he is authorized and empowered to act as inspector as aforesaid. ( .) it shall be the duty of the inspector, or other person authorized to act under this law, to examine and search all vessels hereinbefore described, to see that no slave or person held to service or labor in this state, or person charged with the commission of any crime within the state, shall be concealed on board said vessel. such inspection shall be made within twelve hours of the time of departure of such vessel from the waters of virginia, and may be made in any bay, river, creek, or other water-course of the state, provided, however, that steamers plying as regular packets, between ports in virginia and those north of, and outside of the capes of virginia, shall be inspected at the port of departure nearest old point comfort. ( .) a vessel so inspected and getting under way, with intent to leave the waters of the state, if she returns to an anchorage above back river point, or within old point comfort, shall be again inspected and charged as if an original case. if such vessel be driven back by stress of weather to seek a harbor, she shall be exempt from payment of a second fee, unless she holds intercourse with the shore. ( .) if, after searching the vessel, the inspector see no just cause to detain her, he shall give to the captain a certificate to that effect. if, however, upon such inspection, or in any other manner, any slave or person held to service or labor, or any person charged with any crime, be found on board of any vessel whatever, for the purpose aforesaid, or said vessel be detected in the act of leaving this commonwealth with any such slave or person on board, or otherwise violating the provisions of this act, he shall attach said vessel, and arrest all persons on board, to be delivered up to the sergeant or sheriff of the nearest port in this commonwealth, to be dealt with according to law. ( .) if any inspector or other officer be opposed, or shall have reason to suspect that he will be opposed or obstructed in the discharge of any duty required of him under this act, he shall have power to summon and command the force of any county or corporation to aid him in the discharge of such duty, and every person who shall resist, obstruct, or refuse to aid any inspector or other officer in the discharge of such duty, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and, upon conviction thereof, shall be fined and imprisoned as in other cases of misdemeanor. ( .) for every inspection of a vessel under this law, the inspector, or other officer shall be entitled to demand and receive the sum of five dollars; for the payment of which such vessel shall be liable, and the inspector or other officer may seize and hold her until the same is paid, together with all charges incurred in taking care of the vessel, as well as in enforcing the payment of the same. provided, that steam packets trading regularly between the waters of virginia and ports north of and beyond the capes of virginia, shall pay not more than five dollars for each inspection under the provisions of this act; provided, however, that for every inspection of a vessel engaged in the coal trade, the inspector shall not receive a greater sum than two dollars. ( .) any inspector or other person apprehending a slave in the act of escaping from the state, on board a vessel trading to or belonging to a non-slave-holding state, or who shall give information that will lead to the recovery of any slave, as aforesaid, shall be entitled to a reward of one hundred dollars, to be paid by the owner of such slave, or by the fiduciary having charge of the estate to which such slave belongs; and if the vessel be forfeited under the provisions of this act, he shall be entitled to one-half of the proceeds arising from the sale of the vessel; and if the same amounts to one hundred dollars, he shall not receive from the owner the above reward of one hundred dollars. ( .) an inspector permitting a slave to escape for the want of proper exertion, or by neglect in the discharge of his duty, shall be fined one hundred dollars; or if for like causes he permit a vessel, which the law requires him to inspect, to leave the state without inspection, he shall be fined not less than twenty, nor more than fifty dollars, to be recovered by warrant by any person who will proceed against him. ( .) no pilot acting under the authority of the laws of the state, shall pilot out of the jurisdiction of this state any such vessel as is described in this act, which has not obtained and exhibited to him the certificate of inspection hereby required; and if any pilot shall so offend, he shall forfeit and pay not less than twenty, or more than fifty dollars, to be recovered in the mode prescribed in the next preceding section of this act. ( .) the courts of the several counties or corporations situated on the chesapeake bay, or its tributaries, by an order entered on record, may appoint one or more inspectors, at such place or places within their respective districts as they may deem necessary, to prevent the escape or for the recapture of slaves attempting to escape beyond the limits of the state, and to search or otherwise examine all vessels trading to such counties or corporations. the expenses in such cases to be provided for by a levy on negroes now taxed by law; but no inspection by county or corporation officers thus appointed, shall supersede the inspection of such vessels by pilots and other inspectors, as specially provided for in this act. ( .) it shall be lawful for the county court of any county, upon the application of five or more slave-holders, residents of the counties where the application is made, by an order of record, to designate one or more police stations in their respective counties, and a captain and three or more other persons as a police patrol on each station, for the recapture of fugitive slaves; which patrol shall be in service at such times, and such stations as the court shall direct by their order aforesaid; and the said court shall allow a reasonable compensation, to be paid to the members of such patrol; and for that purpose, the said court may from time to time direct a levy on negroes now taxed by law, at such rate per capita as the court may think sufficient, to be collected and accounted for by the sheriff as other county levies, and to be called, "the fugitive slave tax." the owner of each fugitive slave in the act of escaping beyond the limits of the commonwealth, to a non-slave-holding state, and captured by the patrol aforesaid, shall pay for each slave over fifteen, and under forty-five years old, a reward of one hundred dollars; for each slave over five, and under fifteen years old, the sum of sixty dollars; and for all others, the sum of forty dollars. which reward shall be divided equally among the members of the patrol retaking the slave and actually on duty at the time; and to secure the payment of said reward, the said patrol may retain possession and use of the slave until the reward is paid or secured to them. ( .) the executive of this state may appoint one or more inspectors for the rappahannock and potomac rivers, if he shall deem it expedient, for the due execution of this act. the inspectors so appointed to perform the same duties, and to be invested with the same powers in their respective districts, and receive the same fees, as pilots acting as inspectors in other parts of the state. a vessel subject to inspection under this law, departing from any of the above-named counties or rivers on her voyage to sea, shall be exempted from the payment of a fee for a second inspection by another officer, if provided with a certificate from the proper inspecting officer of that district; but if, after proceeding on her voyage, she returns to the port or place of departure, or enters any other port, river, or roadstead in the state, the said vessel shall be again inspected, and pay a fee of five dollars, as if she had undergone no previous examination and received no previous certificate. if driven by stress of weather to seek a harbor, and she has no intercourse with the shore, then, and in that case, no second fee shall be paid by said vessel. ( .) for the better execution of the provisions of this act, in regard to the inspection, of vessels, the executive is hereby authorized and directed to appoint a chief inspector, to reside at norfolk, whose duty it shall be, to direct and superintend the police, agents, or inspectors above referred to. he shall keep a record of all vessels engaged in the piloting business, together with a list of such persons as may be employed as pilots and inspectors under this law. the owner or owners of each boat shall make a monthly report to him, of all vessels inspected by persons attached to said pilot boats, the names of such vessels, the owner or owners thereof, and the places where owned or licensed, and where trading to or from, and the business in which they are engaged, together with a list of their crews. any inspector failing to make his report to the chief inspector, shall pay a fine of twenty dollars for each such failure, which fine shall be recovered by warrant, before a justice of the county or corporation. the chief inspector may direct the time and station for the cruise of each pilot boat, and perform such other duty as the governor may designate, not inconsistent with the other provisions of this act. he shall make a quarterly return to the executive of all the transactions of his department, reporting to him any failure or refusal on the part of inspectors to discharge the duty assigned to them, and the governor, for sufficient cause, may suspend or remove from office any delinquent inspector. the chief inspector shall receive as his compensation, ten per cent, on all the fees and fines received by the inspectors acting under his authority, and may be removed at the pleasure of the executive. ( .) all fees and forfeitures imposed by this act, and not otherwise specially provided for, shall go one half to the informer, and the other be paid into the treasury of the state, to constitute a fund, to be called the "fugitive slave fund," and to be used for the payment of rewards awarded by the governor, for the apprehension of runaway slaves, and to pay other expenses incident to the execution of this law, together with such other purposes as may hereafter be determined on by the general assembly. ( .) this act shall be in force from its passage. * * * * * escaping in a chest. $ reward. ran away from the subscriber, on sunday night, th inst., my negro girl, lear green, about years of age, black complexion, round-featured, good-looking and ordinary size; she had on and with her when she left, a tan-colored silk bonnet, a dark plaid silk dress, a light mouslin delaine, also one watered silk cape and one tan colored cape. i have reason to be confident that she was persuaded off by a negro man named wm. adams, black, quick spoken, feet inches high, a large scar on one side of his face, running down in a ridge by the corner of his mouth, about inches long, barber by trade, but works mostly about taverns, opening oysters, &c. he has been missing about a week; he had been heard to say he was going to marry the above girl and ship to new york, where it is said his mother resides. the above reward will be paid if said girl is taken out of the state of maryland and delivered to me; or fifty dollars if taken in the state of maryland. [illustration: ] james noble, m - t. no. broadway, baltimore. lear green, so particularly advertised in the "baltimore sun" by "james noble," won for herself a strong claim to a high place among the heroic women of the nineteenth century. in regard to description and age the advertisement is tolerably accurate, although her master might have added, that her countenance was one of peculiar modesty and grace. instead of being "black," she was of a "dark-brown color." of her bondage she made the following statement: she was owned by "james noble, a butter dealer" of baltimore. he fell heir to lear by the will of his wife's mother, mrs. rachel howard, by whom she had previously been owned. lear was but a mere child when she came into the hands of noble's family. she, therefore, remembered but little of her old mistress. her young mistress, however, had made a lasting impression upon her mind; for she was very exacting and oppressive in regard to the tasks she was daily in the habit of laying upon lear's shoulders, with no disposition whatever to allow her any liberties. at least lear was never indulged in this respect. in this situation a young man by the name of william adams proposed marriage to her. this offer she was inclined to accept, but disliked the idea of being encumbered with the chains of slavery and the duties of a family at the same time. after a full consultation with her mother and also her intended upon the matter, she decided that she must be free in order to fill the station of a wife and mother. for a time dangers and difficulties in the way of escape seemed utterly to set at defiance all hope of success. whilst every pulse was beating strong for liberty, only one chance seemed to be left, the trial of which required as much courage as it would to endure the cutting off the right arm or plucking out the right eye. an old chest of substantial make, such as sailors commonly use, was procured. a quilt, a pillow, and a few articles of raiment, with a small quantity of food and a bottle of water were put in it, and lear placed therein; strong ropes were fastened around the chest and she was safely stowed amongst the ordinary freight on one of the erricson line of steamers. her intended's mother, who was a free woman, agreed to come as a passenger on the same boat. how could she refuse? the prescribed rules of the company assigned colored passengers to the deck. in this instance it was exactly where this guardian and mother desired to be--as near the chest as possible. once or twice, during the silent watches of the night, she was drawn irresistibly to the chest, and could not refrain from venturing to untie the rope and raise the lid a little, to see if the poor child still lived, and at the same time to give her a breath of fresh air. without uttering a whisper, that frightful moment, this office was successfully performed. that the silent prayers of this oppressed young woman, together with her faithful protector's, were momentarily ascending to the ear of the good god above, there can be no question. nor is it to be doubted for a moment but that some ministering angel aided the mother to unfasten the rope, and at the same time nerved the heart of poor lear to endure the trying ordeal of her perilous situation. she declared that she had no fear. after she had passed eighteen hours in the chest, the steamer arrived at the wharf in philadelphia, and in due time the living freight was brought off the boat, and at first was delivered at a house in barley street, occupied by particular friends of the mother. subsequently chest and freight were removed to the residence of the writer, in whose family she remained several days under the protection and care of the vigilance committee. [illustration: ] such hungering and thirsting for liberty, as was evinced by lear green, made the efforts of the most ardent friends, who were in the habit of aiding fugitives, seem feeble in the extreme. of all the heroes in canada, or out of it, who have purchased their liberty by downright bravery, through perils the most hazardous, none deserve more praise than lear green. she remained for a time in this family, and was then forwarded to elmira. in this place she was married to william adams, who has been previously alluded to. they never went to canada, but took up their permanent abode in elmira. the brief space of about three years only was allotted her in which to enjoy freedom, as death came and terminated her career. about the time of this sad occurrence, her mother-in-law died in this city. the impressions made by both mother and daughter can never be effaced. the chest in which lear escaped has been preserved by the writer as a rare trophy, and her photograph taken, while in the chest, is an excellent likeness of her and, at the same time, a fitting memorial. * * * * * isaac williams, henry banks, and kit nickless. months in a cave,--shot by slave-hunters. rarely were three travelers from the house of bondage received at the philadelphia station whose narratives were more interesting than those of the above-named individuals. before escaping they had encountered difficulties of the most trying nature. no better material for dramatic effect could be found than might have been gathered from the incidents of their lives and travels. but all that we can venture to introduce here is the brief account recorded at the time of their sojourn at the philadelphia station when on their way to canada in . the three journeyed together. they had been slaves together in the same neighborhood. two of them had shared the same den and cave in the woods, and had been shot, captured, and confined in the same prison; had broken out of prison and again escaped; consequently their hearts were thoroughly cemented in the hope of reaching freedom together. isaac was a stout-made young man, about twenty-six years of age, possessing a good degree of physical and mental ability. indeed his intelligence forbade his submission to the requirements of slavery, rendered him unhappy and led him to seek his freedom. he owed services to d. fitchhugh up to within a short time before he escaped. against fitchhugh he made grave charges, said that he was a "hard, bad man." it is but fair to add that isaac was similarly regarded by his master, so both were dissatisfied with each other. but the master had the advantage of isaac, he could sell him. isaac, however, could turn the table on his master, by running off. but the master moved quickly and sold isaac to dr. james, a negro trader. the trader designed making a good speculation out of his investment: isaac determined that he should be disappointed; indeed that he should lose every dollar that he paid for him. so while the doctor was planning where and how he could get the best price for him, isaac was planning how and where he might safely get beyond his reach. the time for planning and acting with isaac was, however, exceedingly short. he was daily expecting to be called upon to take his departure for the south. in this situation he made known his condition to a friend of his who was in a precisely similar situation; had lately been sold just as isaac had to the same trader james. so no argument was needed to convince his friend and fellow-servant that if they meant to be free they would have to set off immediately. that night henry banks and isaac williams started for the woods together, preferring to live among reptiles and wild animals, rather than be any longer at the disposal of dr. james. for two weeks they successfully escaped their pursuers. the woods, however, were being hunted in every direction, and one day the pursuers came upon them, shot them both, and carried them to king george's co. jail. the jail being an old building had weak places in it; but the prisoners concluded to make no attempt to break out while suffering badly from their wounds. so they remained one month in confinement. all the while their brave spirits under suffering grew more and more daring. again they decided to strike for freedom, but where to go, save to the woods, they had not the slightest idea. of course they had heard, as most slaves had, of cave life, and pretty well understood all the measures which had to be resorted to for security when entering upon so hazardous an undertaking. they concluded, however, that they could not make their condition any worse, let circumstances be what they might in this respect. having discovered how they could break jail, they were not long in accomplishing their purpose, and were out and off to the woods again. this time they went far into the forest, and there they dug a cave, and with great pains had every thing so completely arranged as to conceal the spot entirely. in this den they stayed three months. now and then they would manage to secure a pig. a friend also would occasionally serve them with a meal. their sufferings at best were fearful; but great as they were, the thought of returning to slavery never occurred to them, and the longer they stayed in the woods, the greater was their determination to be free. in the belief that their owner had about given them up they resolved to take the north star for a pilot, and try in this way to reach free land. kit, an old friend in time of need, having proved true to them in their cave, was consulted. he fully appreciated their heroism, and determined that he would join them in the undertaking, as he was badly treated by his master, who was called general washington, a common farmer, hard drinker, and brutal fighter, which kit's poor back fully evinced by the marks it bore. of course isaac and henry were only too willing to have him accompany them. in leaving their respective homes they broke kindred ties of the tenderest nature. isaac had a wife, eliza, and three children, isaac, estella, and ellen, all owned by fitchhugh. henry was only nineteen, single, but left parents, brothers, and sisters, all owned by different slave-holders. kit had a wife, matilda, and three children, sarah ann, jane frances, and ellen, slaves. * * * * * september , . arrival of five from the eastern shore of maryland. cyrus mitchell, _alias_ john steel; joshua handy, _alias_ hambleton hamby; charles dulton, _alias_ william robinson; ephraim hudson, _alias_ john spry; francis molock, _alias_ thomas jackson; all in "good order" and full of hope. the following letter from the fearless friend of the slave, thomas garrett, is a specimen of his manner of dispatching underground rail road business. he used uncle sam's mail, and his own name, with as much freedom as though he had been president of the pennsylvania central rail road, instead of only a conductor and stock-holder on the underground rail road. mo. th, . respected friend:--william still, i send on to thy care this evening by rail road, able-bodied men, on their way north; receive them as the good samaritan of old and oblige thy friend, thomas garrett. the "able-bodied men" duly arrived, and were thus recorded on the underground rail road books as trophies of the success of the friends of humanity. cyrus is twenty-six years of age, stout, and unmistakably dark, and was owned by james k. lewis, a store-keeper, and a "hard master." he kept slaves for the express purpose of hiring them out, and it seemed to afford him as much pleasure to receive the hard-earned dollars of his bondmen as if he had labored for them with his own hands. "it mattered not, how mean a man might be," if he would pay the largest price, he was the man whom the store-keeper preferred to hire to. this always caused cyrus to dislike him. latterly he had been talking of moving into the state of virginia. cyrus disliked this talk exceedingly, but he "said nothing to the white people" touching the matter. however, he was not long in deciding that such a move would be of no advantage to him; indeed, he had an idea if all was true that he had heard about that place, he would be still more miserable there, than he had ever been under his present owner. at once, he decided that he would move towards canada, and that he would be fixed in his new home before his master got off to virginia, unless he moved sooner than cyrus expected him to do. those nearest of kin, to whom he felt most tenderly allied, and from whom he felt that it would be hard to part, were his father and mother. he, however, decided that he should have to leave them. freedom, he felt, was even worth the giving up of parents. believing that company was desirable, he took occasion to submit his plan to certain friends, who were at once pleased with the idea of a trip on the underground rail road, to canada, etc; and all agreed to join him. at first, they traveled on foot; of their subsequent travel, mention has already been made in friend garrett's epistle. joshua is about twenty-seven years of age, quite stout, brown color, and would pass for an intelligent farm hand. he was satisfied never to wear the yoke again that some one else might reap the benefit of his toil. his master, isaac harris, he denounced as a "drunkard." his chief excuse for escaping, was because harris had "sold" his "only brother." he was obliged to leave his father and mother in the hands of his master. charles is twenty-two years of age, also stout, and well-made, and apparently possessed all the qualifications for doing a good day's work on a farm. he was held to service by mrs. mary hurley. charles gave no glowing account of happiness and comfort under the rule of the female sex, indeed, he was positive in saying that he had "been used rough." during the present year, he was sold for $ . ephraim is twenty-two years of age, stout and athletic, one who appears in every way fitted for manual labor or anything else that he might be privileged to learn. john campbell henry, was the name of the man whom he had been taught to address as master, and for whose benefit he had been compelled to labor up to the day he "took out." in considering what he had been in maryland and how he had been treated all his life, he alleged that john campbell henry was a "bad man." not only had ephraim been treated badly by his master but he had been hired out to a man no better than his master, if as good. ephraim left his mother and six brothers and sisters. francis is twenty-one, an able-bodied "article," of dark color, and was owned by james a. waddell. all that he could say of his owner, was, that he was a "hard master," from whom he was very glad to escape. * * * * * sundry arrivals, about august st, . arrival st. frances hilliard. arrival d. louisa harding, alias rebecca hall. arrival d. john mackintosh. arrival th. maria jane houston. arrival th. miles hoopes. arrival th. samuel miles, alias robert king. arrival th. james henson, alias david caldwell. arrival th. laura lewis. arrival th. elizabeth banks. arrival th. simon hill. arrival th. anthony and albert brown. arrival th. george williams and charles holladay. arrival th. william govan. while none in this catalogue belonged to the class whose daring adventures rendered their narratives marvellous, nevertheless they represented a very large number of those who were continually on the alert to get rid of their captivity. and in all their efforts in this direction they manifested a marked willingness to encounter perils either by land or water, by day or by night, to obtain their god-given rights. doubtless, even among these names, will be found those who have been supposed to be lost, and mysteries will be disclosed which have puzzled scores of relatives longing and looking many years in vain to ascertain the whereabouts of this or that companion, brother, sister, or friend. so, if impelled by no other consideration than the hope of consoling this class of anxious inquirers, this is a sufficient justification for not omitting them entirely, notwithstanding the risk of seeming to render these pages monotonous. arrival no. . first on this record was a young mulatto woman, twenty-nine years of age--orange color, who could read and write very well, and was unusually intelligent and withal quite handsome. she was known by the name of frances hilliard, and escaped from richmond, va., where she was owned by beverly blair. the owner hired her out to a man by the name of green, from whom he received seventy dollars per annum. green allowed her to hire herself for the same amount, with the understanding that frances should find all her own clothes, board herself and find her own house to live in. her husband, who was also a slave, had fled nearly one year previous, leaving her widowed, of course. notwithstanding the above mentioned conditions, under which she had the privilege of living, frances said that she "had been used well." she had been sold four times in her life. in the first instance the failure of her master was given as the reason of her sale. subsequently she was purchased and sold by different traders, who designed to speculate upon her as a "fancy article." they would dress her very elegantly, in order to show her off to the best advantage possible, but it appears that she had too much regard for her husband and her honor, to consent to fill the positions which had been basely assigned her by her owners. frances assisted her husband to escape from his owner--taits--and was never contented until she succeeded in following him to canada. in escaping, she left her mother, sarah corbin, and her sister, maria. on reaching the vigilance committee she learned all about her husband. she was conveyed from richmond secreted on a steamer under the care of one of the colored hands on the boat. from here she was forwarded to canada at the expense of the committee. arriving in toronto, and not finding her hopes fully realized, with regard to meeting her husband, she wrote back the following letter: toronto, canada, u.c., october th, . my dear mr. still:--sir--i take the opportunity of writing you a few lines to inform you of my health. i am very well at present, and hope that when these few lines reach you they may find you enjoying the same blessing. give my love to mrs. still and all the children, and also to mr. swan, and tell him that he must give you the money that he has, and you will please send it to me, as i have received a letter from my husband saying that i must come on to him as soon as i get the money from him. i cannot go to him until i get the money that mr. swan has in hand. please tell mr. caustle that the clothes he spoke of my mother did not know anything about them. i left them with hinson brown and he promised to give them to mr. smith. tell him to ask mr. smith to get them from mr. brown for me, and when i get settled i will send him word and he can send them to me. the letters that were sent to me i received them all. i wish you would send me word if mr. smith is on the boat yet--if he is please write me word in your next letter. please send me the money as soon as you possibly can, for i am very anxious to see my husband. i send to you for i think you will do what you can for me. no more at present, but remain yours truly, frances hilliard. send me word if mr. caustle had given mr. smith the money that he promised to give him. for one who had to steal the art of reading and writing, her letter bears studying. arrival no. . louisa harding, alias rebecca hall. louisa was a mulatto girl, seventeen years of age. she reported herself from baltimore, where she had been owned by lawyer magill. it might be said that she also possessed great personal attractions as an "article" of much value in the eye of a trader. all the near kin whom she named as having left behind, consisted of a mother and a brother. arrival no. . john mackintosh. john's history is short. he represented himself as having arrived from darien, georgia, where he had seen "hard times." age, forty-four. this is all that was recorded of john, except the expenses met by the committee. arrival no. . maria jane houston. the little state of delaware lost in the person of maria, one of her nicest-looking bond-maids. she had just arrived at the age of twenty-one, and felt that she had already been sufficiently wronged. she was a tall, dark, young woman, from the neighborhood of cantwell's bridge. although she had no horrible tales of suffering to relate, the committee regarded her as well worthy of aid. arrival no. . miles hooper. this subject came from north carolina; he was owned by george montigue, who lived at federal mills, was a decided opponent to the no-pay system, to flogging, and selling likewise. in fact nothing that was auxiliary to slavery was relished by him. consequently he concluded to leave the place altogether. at the time that miles took this stand he was twenty-three years of age, a dark-complexioned man, rather under the medium height, physically, but a full-grown man mentally. "my owner was a hard man," said miles, in speaking of his characteristics. his parents, brothers, and sisters were living, at least he had reason to believe so, although they were widely scattered. arrival no. . samuel miles, alias robert king. samuel was a representative of revel's neck, somerset co., md. his master he regarded as a "very fractious man, hard to please." the cause of the trouble or unpleasantness, which resulted in samuel's underground adventure, was traceable to his master's refusal to allow him to visit his wife. not only was samuel denied this privilege, but he was equally denied all privileges. his master probably thought that sam had no mind, nor any need of a wife. whether this was really so or not, sam was shrewd enough to "leave his old master with the bag to hold," which was sensible. thirty-one years of samuel's life were passed in slavery, ere he escaped. the remainder of his days he felt bound to have the benefit of himself. in leaving home he had to part with his wife and one child, sarah and little henry, who were fortunately free. on arriving in canada samuel wrote back for his wife, &c., as follows: st. catharines, c.w., aug. th, . to mr. wm. still, dear friend:--it gives me pleasure to inform you that i have had the good fortune to reach this northern canaan. i got here yesterday and am in good health and happy in the enjoyment of freedom, but am very anxious to have my wife and child here with me. i wish you to write to her immediately on receiving this and let her know where i am you will recollect her name sarah miles at baltimore on the corner of hamburg and eutaw streets. please encourage her in making a start and give her the necessary directions how to come. she will please to make the time as short as possible in getting through to canada. say to my wife that i wish her to write immediately to the friends that i told her to address as soon as she hears from me. inform her that i now stop in st. catharines near the niagara falls that i am not yet in business but expect to get into business very soon--that i am in the enjoyment of good health and hoping that this communication may find my affectionate wife the same. that i have been highly favored with friends throughout my journey i wish my wife to write to me as soon as she can and let me know how soon i may expect to see her on this side of the niagara river. my wife had better call on dr. perkins and perhaps he will let her have the money he had in charge for me but that i failed of receiving when i left baltimore. please direct the letter for my wife to mr. george lister, in hill street between howard and sharp. my compliments to all enquiring friends. very respectfully yours, samuel miles. p.s. please send the thread along as a token and my wife will understand that all is right. s.m. arrival no. . james henson, alias david caldwell. james fled from cecil co., md. he claimed that he was entitled to his freedom according to law at the age of twenty-eight, but had been unjustly deprived of it. having waited in vain for his free papers for four years, he suspected that he was to be dealt with in a manner similar to many others, who had been willed free or who had bought their time, and had been shamefully cheated out of their freedom. so in his judgment he felt that his only hope lay in making his escape on the underground rail road. he had no faith whatever in the man who held him in bondage, jacob johnson, but no other charges of ill treatment, &c., have been found against said johnson on the books, save those alluded to above. james was thirty-two years of age, stout and well proportioned, with more than average intelligence and resolution. he left a wife and child, both free. arrival no. . laura lewis. laura arrived from louisville, kentucky. she had been owned by a widow woman named lewis, but as lately as the previous march her mistress died, leaving her slaves and other property to be divided among her heirs. as this would necessitate a sale of the slaves, laura determined not to be on hand when the selling day came, so she took time by the forelock and left. her appearance indicated that she had been among the more favored class of slaves. she was about twenty-five years of age, quite stout, of mixed blood, and intelligent, having traveled considerably with her mistress. she had been north in this capacity. she left her mother, one brother, and one sister in louisville. arrival no. . elizabeth banks, from near easton, maryland. her lot had been that of an ordinary slave. of her slave-life nothing of interest was recorded. she had escaped from her owner two and a half years prior to coming into the hands of the committee, and had been living in pennsylvania pretty securely as she had supposed, but she had been awakened to a sense of her danger by well grounded reports that she was pursued by her claimant, and would be likely to be captured if she tarried short of canada. with such facts staring her in the face she was sent to the committee for counsel and protection, and by them she was forwarded on in the usual way. she was about twenty-five years of age, of a dark, and spare structure. arrival no. . simon hill. this fugitive had escaped from virginia. the usual examination was made, and needed help given him by the committee who felt satisfied that he was a poor brother who had been shamefully wronged, and that he richly deserved sympathy. he was aided and directed canada-ward. he was a very humble-looking specimen of the peculiar institution, about twenty-five years of age, medium size, and of a dark hue. arrival no. . anthony and albert brown (brothers), jones anderson and isaiah. this party escaped from tanner's creek, norfolk, virginia, where they had been owned by john and henry holland, oystermen. as slaves they alleged that they had been subjected to very brutal treatment from their profane and ill-natured owners. not relishing this treatment, albert and anthony came to the conclusion that they understood boating well enough to escape by water. they accordingly selected one of their master's small oyster-boats, which was pretty-well rigged with sails, and off they started for a northern shore. they proceeded on a part of their voyage merely by guess work, but landed safely, however, about twenty-five miles north of baltimore, though, by no means, on free soil. they had no knowledge of the danger that they were then in, but they were persevering, and still determined to make their way north, and thus, at last, success attended their efforts. their struggles and exertions having been attended with more of the romantic and tragical elements than had characterized the undertakings of any of the other late passengers, the committee felt inclined to make a fuller notice of them on the book, yet failed to do them justice in this respect. the elder brother was twenty-nine, the younger twenty-seven. both were mentally above the average run of slaves. they left wives in norfolk, named alexenia and ellen. while anthony and albert, in seeking their freedom, were forced to sever their connections with their companions, they did not forget them in canada. how great was their delight in freedom, and tender their regard for their wives, and the deep interest they felt for their brethren and friends generally, may be seen from a perusal of the following letters from them: hamelton, march th . mr. wm. still--_sir_--i now take the opportunity of writing you a few lins hoping to find yourself and famly well as thes lines leves me at present, myself and brother, anthony & albert brown's respects. we have spent quite agreeable winter, we ware emploied in the new hotel, name anglo american, wheare we wintered and don very well, we also met with our too frends ho came from home with us, jonas anderson and izeas, now we are all safe in hamilton, i wish to cale you to youre prommos, if convenient to write to norfolk, va, for me, and let my wife mary elen brown, no where i am, and my brothers wife elickzener brown, as we have never heard a word from them since we left, tel them that we found our homes and situation in canady much better than we expected, tel them not to think hard of us, we was boun to flee from the rath to come, tel them we live in the hopes of meting them once more this side of the grave, tel them if we never more see them, we hope to meet them in the kingdom of heaven in pece, tel them to remember my love to my cherch and brethren, tel them i find there is the same prayer-hearing god heare as there is in old va; tel them to remember our love to all the enquiring frends, i have written sevrel times but have never reseived no answer, i find a gret meny of my old accuiantens from va, heare we are no ways lonesom, mr. still, i have written to you once before, but reseve no answer. pleas let us hear from you by any means. nothing more at present, but remane youre frends, anthony & albert brown. hamilton june th, , mr. wm. still:--_kine sir_:--i am happy to say to you that i have jus reseved my letter dated of the present month, but previeously had bin in form las night by mr. j.h. hall, he had jus reseved a letter from you stating that my wife was with you, oh my i was so glad it case me to shed tears. mr. still, i cannot return you the thanks for the care of my wife, for i am so glad that i don't now what to say, you will pleas start her for canaday. i am yet in hamilton, c.w., at the city hotel, my brother and joseph anderson is at the angle american hotel, they send there respects to you and family my self also, and a greater part to my wife. i came by the way of syracruse remember me to mrs. logins, tel her to writ back to my brothers wife if she is living and tel her to com on tel her to send joseph andersons love to his mother. i now send her dollers and would send more but being out of employment some of winter it pulls me back, you will be so kine as to forward her on to me, and if life las i will satisfie you at some time, before long. give my respects and brothers to mr. john dennes, tel him mr. hills famly is wel and send there love to them, i now bring my letter to a close, and am youre most humble servant, anthony brown. p.s. i had given out the notion of ever seeing my wife again, so i have not been attending the office, but am truly sorry i did not, you mention in yours of mr. henry lewey, he has left this city for boston about weeks ago, we have not herd from him yet. a. brown. arrival no. . george williams and charles holladay. these two travelers were about the same age. they were not, however, from the same neighborhood--they happened to meet each other as they were traveling the road. george fled from st. louis, charles from baltimore. george "owed service" to isaac hill, a planter; he found no special fault with his master's treatment of him; but with mrs. hill, touching this point, he was thoroughly dissatisfied. she had treated him "cruelly," and it was for this reason that he was moved to seek his freedom. charles, being a baltimorean, had not far to travel, but had pretty sharp hunters to elude. his claimant, f. smith, however, had only a term of years claim upon him, which was within about two years of being out. this contract for the term of years, charles felt was made without consulting him, therefore he resolved to break it without consulting his master. he also declined to have anything to do with the baltimore and wilmington r.r. co., considering it a prescriptive institution, not worthy of his confidence. he started on a fast walk, keeping his eyes wide open, looking out for slave-hunters on his right and left. in this way, like many others, he reached the committee safely and was freely aided, thenceforth traveling in a first class underground rail road car, till he reached his journey's end. arrival no. . william govan. availing himself of a passage on the schooner of captain b., william left petersburg, where he had been owned by "mark davis, esq., a retired gentleman," rather, a retired negro trader. william was about thirty-three years of age, and was of a bright orange color. nothing but an ardent love of liberty prompted him to escape. he was quite smart, and a clever-looking man, worth at least $ , . * * * * * deep furrows on the back. thomas madden. of all the passengers who had hitherto arrived with bruised and mangled bodies received at the hands of slave-holders, none brought a back so shamefully lacerated by the lash as thomas madden. not a single spot had been exempted from the excoriating cow-hide. a most bloody picture did the broad back and shoulders of thomas present to the eye as he bared his wounds for inspection. while it was sad to think, that millions of men, women, and children throughout the south were liable to just such brutal outrages as thomas had received, it was a satisfaction to think, that this outrage had made a freeman of him. he was only twenty-two years of age, but that punishment convinced him that he was fully old enough to leave such a master as e. ray, who had almost murdered him. but for this treatment, thomas might have remained in some degree contented in slavery. he was expected to look after the fires in the house on sunday mornings. in a single instance desiring to be absent, perhaps for his own pleasure, two boys offered to be his substitute. the services of the boys were accepted, and this gave offence to the master. this thomas declared was the head and front of his offending. his simple narration of the circumstances of his slave life was listened to by the committee with deep interest and a painful sense of the situation of slaves under the despotism of such men as ray. after being cared for by the committee he was sent on to canada. when there he wrote back to let the committee know how he was faring, the narrow escape he had on the way, and likewise to convey the fact, that one named "rachel," left behind, shared a large place in his affections. the subjoined letter is the only correspondence of his preserved: stanford, june st, , niagara districk. dear sir:--i set down to inform you that i take the liberty to rite for a frend to inform you that he is injoying good health and hopes that this will finde you the same he got to this cuntry very well except that in albany he was vary neig taking back to his oald home but escaped and when he came to the suspention bridg he was so glad that he run for freadums shore and when he arived it was the last of october and must look for sum wourk for the winter he choped wood until feruary times are good but money is scarce he thinks a great deal of the girl he left behind him he thinks that there is non like her here non so hansom as his rachel right and let him hear from you as soon as convaniant no more at presant but remain yours, albert metter. "pete matthews," alias samuel sparrows. "i might as well be in the penitentiary, &c." up to the age of thirty-five "pete" had worn the yoke steadily, if not patiently under william s. matthews, of oak hall, near temperanceville, in the state of virginia. pete said that his "master was not a hard man," but the man to whom he "was hired, george matthews, was a very cruel man." "i might as well be in the penitentiary as in his hands," was his declaration. one day, a short while before pete "took out," an ox broke into the truck patch, and helped himself to choice delicacies, to the full extent of his capacious stomach, making sad havoc with the vegetables generally. peter's attention being directed to the ox, he turned him out, and gave him what he considered proper chastisement, according to the mischief he had done. at this liberty taken by pete, the master became furious. "he got his gun and threatened to shoot him," "open your mouth if you dare, and i will pat the whole load into you," said the enraged master. "he took out a large dirk-knife, and attempted to stab me, but i kept out of his way," said pete. nevertheless the violence of the master did not abate until he had beaten pete over the head and body till he was weary, inflicting severe injuries. a great change was at once wrought in pete's mind. he was now ready to adopt any plan that might hold out the least encouragement to escape. having capital to the amount of four dollars only, he felt that he could not do much towards employing a conductor, but he had a good pair of legs, and a heart stout enough to whip two or three slave-catchers, with the help of a pistol. happening to know a man who had a pistol for sale, he went to him and told him that he wished to purchase it. for one dollar the pistol became pete's property. he had but three dollars left, but he was determined to make that amount answer his purposes under the circumstances. the last cruel beating maddened him almost to desperation, especially when he remembered how he had been compelled to work hard night and day, under matthews. then, too, peter had a wife, whom his master prevented him from visiting; this was not among the least offences with which pete charged his master. fully bent on leaving, the following sunday was fixed by him on which to commence his journey. the time arrived and pete bade farewell to slavery, resolved to follow the north star, with his pistol in hand ready for action. after traveling about two hundred miles from home he unexpectedly had an opportunity of using his pistol. to his astonishment he suddenly came face to face with a former master, whom he had not seen for a long time. pete desired no friendly intercourse with him whatever; but he perceived that his old master recognized him and was bent upon stopping him. pete held on to his pistol, but moved as fast as his wearied limbs would allow him, in an opposite direction. as he was running, pete cautiously, cast his eye over his shoulder, to see what had become of his old master, when to his amazement, he found that a regular chase was being made after him. need of redoubling his pace was quite obvious. in this hour of peril, pete's legs saved him. after this signal leg-victory, pete had more confidence in his "understandings," than he had in his old pistol, although he held on to it until he reached philadelphia, where he left it in the possession of the secretary of the committee. considering it worth saving simply as a relic of the underground rail road, it was carefully laid aside. pete was now christened samuel sparrows. mr. sparrows had the rust of slavery washed off as clean as possible and the committee furnishing him with clean clothes, a ticket, and letters of introduction, started him on canada-ward, looking quite respectable. and doubtless he felt even more so than he looked; free air had a powerful effect on such passengers as samuel sparrows. the unpleasantness which grew out of the mischief done by the ox on george matthews' farm took place the first of october, . pete may be described as a man of unmixed blood, well-made, and intelligent. * * * * * "moses" arrives with six passengers. "not allowed to seek a master;"--"very devilish;"--father "leaves two little sons;"--"used hard;"--"feared falling into the hands of young heirs," etc. john chase, alias daniel floyd; benjamin ross, alias james stewart; henry ross, alias levin stewart; peter jackson, alias staunch tilghman; jane kane, alias catharine kane, and robert ross. the coming of these passengers was heralded by thomas garrett as follows: thomas garrett's letter. wilmington, mo. th, . esteemed friend, j. miller mckim:--we made arrangements last night, and sent away harriet tubman, with six men and one woman to allen agnew's, to be forwarded across the country to the city. harriet, and one of the men had worn their shoes off their feet, and i gave them two dollars to help fit them out, and directed a carriage to be hired at my expense, to take them out, but do not yet know the expense. i now have two more from the lowest county in maryland, on the peninsula, upwards of one hundred miles. i will try to get one of our trusty colored men to take them to-morrow morning to the anti-slavery office. you can then pass them on. thomas garrett. harriet tubman had been their "moses," but not in the sense that andrew johnson was the "moses of the colored people." she had faithfully gone down into egypt, and had delivered these six bondmen by her own heroism. harriet was a woman of no pretensions, indeed, a more ordinary specimen of humanity could hardly be found among the most unfortunate-looking farm hands of the south. yet, in point of courage, shrewdness and disinterested exertions to rescue her fellow-men, by making personal visits to maryland among the slaves, she was without her equal. her success was wonderful. time and again she made successful visits to maryland on the underground rail road, and would be absent for weeks, at a time, running daily risks while making preparations for herself and passengers. great fears were entertained for her safety, but she seemed wholly devoid of personal fear. the idea of being captured by slave-hunters or slave-holders, seemed never to enter her mind. she was apparently proof against all adversaries. while she thus manifested such utter personal indifference, she was much more watchful with regard to those she was piloting. half of her time, she had the appearance of one asleep, and would actually sit down by the road-side and go fast asleep when on her errands of mercy through the south, yet, she would not suffer one of her party to whimper once, about "giving out and going back," however wearied they might be from hard travel day and night. she had a very short and pointed rule or law of her own, which implied death to any who talked of giving out and going back. thus, in an emergency she would give all to understand that "times were very critical and therefore no foolishness would be indulged in on the road." that several who were rather weak-kneed and faint-hearted were greatly invigorated by harriet's blunt and positive manner and threat of extreme measures, there could be no doubt. after having once enlisted, "they had to go through or die." of course harriet was supreme, and her followers generally had full faith in her, and would back up any word she might utter. so when she said to them that "a live runaway could do great harm by going back, but that a dead one could tell no secrets," she was sure to have obedience. therefore, none had to die as traitors on the "middle passage." it is obvious enough, however, that her success in going into maryland as she did, was attributable to her adventurous spirit and utter disregard of consequences. her like it is probable was never known before or since. on examining the six passengers who came by this arrival they were thus recorded: december th, --john is twenty years of age, chestnut color, of spare build and smart. he fled from a farmer, by the name of john campbell henry, who resided at cambridge, dorchester co., maryland. on being interrogated relative to the character of his master, john gave no very amiable account of him. he testified that he was a "hard man" and that he "owned about one hundred and forty slaves and sometimes he would sell," etc. john was one of the slaves who were "hired out." he "desired to have the privilege of hunting his own master." his desire was not granted. instead of meekly submitting, john felt wronged, and made this his reason for running away. this looked pretty spirited on the part of one so young as john. the committee's respect for him was not a little increased, when they heard him express himself. benjamin was twenty-eight years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and shrewd. he was the so-called property of eliza ann brodins, who lived near buckstown, in maryland. ben did not hesitate to say, in unqualified terms, that his mistress was "very devilish." he considered his charges, proved by the fact that three slaves (himself one of them) were required to work hard and fare meagerly, to support his mistress' family in idleness and luxury. the committee paid due attention to his ex parte statement, and was obliged to conclude that his argument, clothed in common and homely language, was forcible, if not eloquent, and that he was well worthy of aid. benjamin left his parents besides one sister, mary ann williamson, who wanted to come away on the underground rail road. henry left his wife, harriet ann, to be known in future by the name of "sophia brown." he was a fellow-servant of ben's, and one of the supports of eliza a. brodins. henry was only twenty-two, but had quite an insight into matters and things going on among slaves and slave-holders generally, in country life. he was the father of two small children, whom he had to leave behind. peter was owned by george wenthrop, a farmer, living near cambridge, md. in answer to the question, how he had been used, he said "hard." not a pleasant thought did he entertain respecting his master, save that he was no longer to demand the sweat of peter's brow. peter left parents, who were free; he was born before they were emancipated, consequently, he was retained in bondage. jane, aged twenty-two, instead of regretting that she had unadvisedly left a kind mistress and indulgent master, who had afforded her necessary comforts, affirmed that her master, "rash jones, was the worst man in the country." the committee were at first disposed to doubt her sweeping statement, but when they heard particularly how she had been treated, they thought catharine had good ground for all that she said. personal abuse and hard usage, were the common lot of poor slave girls. robert was thirty-five years of age, of a chestnut color, and well made. his report was similar to that of many others. he had been provided with plenty of hard drudgery--hewing of wood and drawing of water, and had hardly been treated as well as a gentleman would treat a dumb brute. his feelings, therefore, on leaving his old master and home, were those of an individual who had been unjustly in prison for a dozen years and had at last regained his liberty. the civilization, religion, and customs under which robert and his companions had been raised, were, he thought, "very wicked." although these travelers were all of the field-hand order, they were, nevertheless, very promising, and they anticipated better days in canada. good advice was proffered them on the subject of temperance, industry, education, etc. clothing, food and money were also given them to meet their wants, and they were sent on their way rejoicing. escaped from "a worthless sot." john atkinson. john was a prisoner of hope under james ray, of portsmouth, va., whom he declared to be "a worthless sot." this character was fully set forth, but the description is too disgusting for record. john was a dark mulatto, thirty-one years of age, well-formed and intelligent. for some years before escaping he had been in the habit of hiring his time for $ per annum. daily toiling to support his drunken and brutal master, was a hardship that john felt keenly, but was compelled to submit to up to the day of his escape. a part of john's life he had suffered many abuses from his oppressor, and only a short while before freeing himself, the auction-block was held up before his troubled mind. this caused him to take the first daring step towards canada,--to leave his wife, mary, without bidding her good-bye, or saying a word to her as to his intention of fleeing. john came as a private passenger on one of the richmond steamers, and was indebted to the steward of the boat for his accommodations. having been received by the committee, he was cared for and sent on his journey canada-ward. there he was happy, found employment and wanted for nothing but his wife and clothing left in virginia. on these two points he wrote several times with considerable feeling. some slaves who hired their time in addition to the payment of their monthly hire, purchased nice clothes for themselves, which they usually valued highly, so much so, that after escaping they would not be contented until they had tried every possible scheme to secure them. they would write back continually, either to their friends in the north or south, hoping thus to procure them. not unfrequently the persons who rendered them assistance in the south, would be entrusted with all their effects, with the understanding, that such valuables would be forwarded to a friend or to the committee at the earliest opportunity. the committee strongly protested against fugitives writing back to the south (through the mails) on account of the liability of getting parties into danger, as all such letters were liable to be intercepted in order to the discovery of the names of such as aided the underground rail road. to render needless this writing to the south the committee often submitted to be taxed with demands to rescue clothing as well as wives, etc., belonging to such as had been already aided. the following letters are fair samples of a large number which came to the committee touching the matter of clothing, etc.: st. catharines, sept. th. dear sir:--i now embrace this favorable opportunity of writing you a few lines to inform you that i am quite well and arrived here safe, and i hope that these few lines may find you and your family the same. i hope you will intercede for my clothes and as soon as they come please to send them to me, and if you have not time, get dr. lundy to look out for them, and when they come be very careful in sending them. i wish you would copy off this letter and give it to the steward, and tell him to give it to henry lewy and tell him to give it to my wife. brother sends his love to you and all the family and he is overjoyed at seeing me arrive safe, he can hardly contain himself; also he wants to see his wife very much, and says when she comes he hopes you will send her on as soon as possible. jerry williams' love, together with all of us. i had a message for mr. lundy, but i forgot it when i was there. no more at present, but remain your ever grateful and sincere friend, john atkinson. st. catharines, c.w., oct. th, . mr. wm. still:--dear sir--i have learned of my friend, richmond bohm, that my clothes were in philadelphia. will you have the kindness to see dr. lundy and if he has my clothes in charge, or knows about them, for him to send them on to me immediately, as i am in great need of them. i would like to have them put in a small box, and the overcoat i left at your house to be put in the box with them, to be sent to the care of my friend, hiram wilson. on receipt of this letter, i desire you to write a few lines to my wife, mary atkins, in the care of my friend, henry lowey, stating that i am well and hearty and hoping that she is the same. please tell her to remember my love to her mother and her cousin, emelin, and her husband, and thomas hunter; also to my father and mother. please request her to write to me immediately, for her to be of good courage, that i love her better than ever. i would like her to come on as soon as she can, but for her to write and let me know when she is going to start. affectionately yours, john atkins. w.h. atkinson, fugitive, oct., . * * * * * william butcher, alias william t. mitchell. "he was abuseful." this passenger reported himself from massey's cross-roads, near georgetown, maryland. william gave as his reason for being found destitute, and under the necessity of asking aid, that a man by the name of william boyer, who followed farming, had deprived him of his hard earnings, and also claimed him as his property; and withal that he had abused him for years, and recently had "threatened to sell" him. this threat made his yoke too intolerable to be borne. he here began to think and plan for the future as he had never done before. fortunately he was possessed with more than an average amount of mother wit, and he soon comprehended the requirements of the underground rail road. he saw exactly that he must have resolution and self-dependence, very decided, in order to gain the victory over boyer. in his hour of trial his wife, phillis, and child, john wesley, who were free, caused him much anxiety; but his reason taught him that it was his duty to throw off the yoke at all hazards, and he acted accordingly. of course he left behind his wife and child. the interview which the committee held with william was quite satisfactory, and he was duly aided and regularly despatched by the name of william t. mitchell. he was about twenty-eight years of age, of medium size, and of quite a dark hue. "white enough to pass." john wesley gibson represented himself to be not only the slave, but also the son of william y. day, of taylor's mount, maryland. the faintest shade of colored blood was hardly discernible in this passenger. he relied wholly on his father's white blood to secure him freedom. having resolved to serve no longer as a slave, he concluded to "hold up his head and put on airs." he reached baltimore safely without being discovered or suspected of being on the underground rail road, as far as he was aware of. here he tried for the first time to pass for white; the attempt proved a success beyond his expectation. indeed he could but wonder how it was that he had never before hit upon such an expedient to rid himself of his unhappy lot. although a man of only twenty-eight years of age, he was foreman of his master's farm, but he was not particularly favored in any way on this account. his master and father endeavored to hold the reins very tightly upon him. not even allowing him the privilege of visiting around on neighboring plantations. perhaps the master thought the family likeness was rather too discernible. john believed that on this account all privileges were denied him, and he resolved to escape. his mother, harriet, and sister, frances, were named as near kin whom he had left behind. john was quite smart, and looked none the worse for having so much of his master's blood in his veins. the master was alone to blame for john's escape, as he passed on his (the master's) color. [illustration: ] escaping with master's carriages and horses. harriet shephard, and her five children, with five other passengers. one morning about the first of november, in , the sleepy, slave-holding neighborhood of chestertown, maryland, was doubtless deeply excited on learning that eleven head of slaves, four head of horses, and two carriages were missing. it is but reasonable to suppose that the first report must have produced a shock, scarcely less stunning than an earthquake. abolitionists, emissaries, and incendiaries were farther below par than ever. it may be supposed that cursings and threatenings were breathed out by a deeply agitated community for days in succession. harriet shephard, the mother of five children, for whom she felt of course a mother's love, could not bear the thought of having her offspring compelled to wear the miserable yoke of slavery, as she had been compelled to do. by her own personal experience, harriet could very well judge what their fate would be when reaching man and womanhood. she declared that she had never received "kind treatment." it was not on this account, however, that she was prompted to escape. she was actuated by a more disinterested motive than this. she was chiefly induced to make the bold effort to save her children from having to drag the chains of slavery as she herself had done. anna maria, edwin, eliza jane, mary ann, and john henry were the names of the children for whom she was willing to make any sacrifice. they were young; and unable to walk, and she was penniless, and unable to hire a conveyance, even if she had known any one who would have been willing to risk the law in taking them a night's journey. so there was no hope in these directions. her rude intellect being considered, she was entitled to a great deal of credit for seizing the horses and carriages belonging to her master, as she did it for the liberation of her children. knowing others at the same time, who were wanting to visit canada, she consulted with five of this class, males and females, and they mutually decided to travel together. it is not likely that they knew much about the roads, nevertheless they reached wilmington, delaware, pretty direct, and ventured up into the heart of the town in carriages, looking as innocent as if they were going to meeting to hear an old-fashioned southern sermon--"servants, obey your masters." of course, the distinguished travelers were immediately reported to the noted thomas garrett, who was accustomed to transact the affairs of the underground rail road in a cool masterly way. but, on this occasion, there was but little time for deliberation, but much need of haste to meet the emergency. he at once decided, that they must immediately be separated from the horses and carriages, and got out of wilmington as quickly as possible. with the courage and skill, so characteristic of garrett, the fugitives, under escort, were soon on their way to kennett square (a hot-bed of abolitionists and stock-holders of the underground rail road), which place they reached safely. it so happened, that they reached long wood meeting-house in the evening, at which place a fair circle had convened. being invited, they stayed awhile in the meeting, then, after remaining all night with one of the kennett friends, they were brought to downingtown early in the morning and thence, by daylight, within a short distance of kimberton, and found succor with friend lewis, at the old headquarters of the fugitives. [a letter may be found from miss g.a. lewis, on page thirty-nine, throwing much light on this arrival]. after receiving friendly aid and advice while there, they were forwarded to the committee in philadelphia. here further aid was afforded them, and as danger was quite obvious, they were completely divided and disguised, so that the committee felt that they might safely be sent on to canada in one of the regular trains considered most private. considering the condition of the slave mother and her children and friends, all concerned rejoiced, that they had had the courage to use their master's horses and vehicles as they did. eight and a half months secreted. washington somlor, alias james moore. but few could tell of having been eye-witnesses to outrages more revolting and disgraceful than washington somlor. he arrived per steamer pennsylvania (secreted), directly from norfolk, virginia, in . he was thirty-two years of age--a man of medium size and quite intelligent. a merchant by the name of smith owned washington. eight and a half months before escaping, washington had been secreted in order to shun both master and auction-block. smith believed in selling, flogging, cobbing, paddling, and all other kinds of torture, by which he could inflict punishment in order to make the slaves feel his power. he thus tyrannized over about twenty-five head. being naturally passionate, when in a brutal mood, he made his slaves suffer unmercifully. said washington, "on one occasion, about two months before i was secreted, he had five of the slaves (some of them women) tied across a barrel, lashed with the cow-hide and then cobbed--this was a common practice." such treatment was so inhuman and so incredible, that the committee hesitated at first to give credence to the statement, and only yielded when facts and evidences were given which seemed incontestible. the first effort to come away was made on the steamship city of richmond. within sixty miles of philadelphia, in consequence of the ice obstruction in the river, the steamer had to go back. how sad washington felt at thus having his hopes broken to pieces may be imagined but cannot be described. great as was his danger, when the steamer returned to norfolk, he was safely gotten off the boat and under the eye of officers walked away. again he was secreted in his old doleful quarters, where he waited patiently for the spring. it came. again the opportunity for another trial was presented, and it was seized unhesitatingly. this time, his tried faith was rewarded with success. he came through safely to the committee's satisfaction as well as his own. the recital of his sufferings and experience had a very inspiring effect on those who had the pleasure of seeing wash. in philadelphia. although closely secreted in norfolk, he had, through friends, some little communication with the outside world. among other items of information which came to his ears, was a report that his master was being pressed by his creditors, and had all his slaves advertised for sale. an item still more sad also reached his ear, to the effect that his wife had been sold away to north carolina, and thus separated from her child, two years old. the child was given as a present to a niece of the master. while this is only a meagre portion of his interesting story, it was considered at the time sufficient to identify him should the occasion ever require it. we content ourselves, therefore, simply with giving what was recorded on the book. wash. spent a short while in philadelphia in order to recruit, after which, he went on north, where colored men were free. * * * * * arthur fowler, alias benjamin johnson. arthur came from spring hill, maryland. edward fowler held arthur in fetters and usurped authority over him as his lord and master. arthur saw certain signs connected with his master's family which presaged to him that the day was not far distant, when somebody would have to be sold to raise money to pamper the appetites of some of the superior members of the patriarchal institution. among these provocations were indulgence in a great deal of extravagance, and the growing up of a number of young masters and mistresses. arthur would often look at the heirs, and the very thought of their coming into possession, would make him tremble. nothing so affected arthur's mind so much in moving him to make a bold stroke for freedom as these heirs. under his old master, the usage had been bad enough, but he feared that it would be a great deal worse under the sons and daughters. he therefore wisely concluded to avoid the impending danger by availing himself of the underground rail road. after completing such arrangements as he deemed necessary, he started, making his way along pretty successfully, with the exception of a severe encounter with jack frost, by which his feet were badly bitten. he was not discouraged, however, but was joyful over his victory and hopeful in view of his prospects in canada. arthur was about thirty years of age, medium size, and of a dark color. the committee afforded him needed assistance, and sent him off. * * * * * sundry arrivals. about the st of june, , the following arrivals were noted in the record book: emory roberts, _alias_ william kemp, talbot co., maryland; daniel payne, richmond, virginia; harriet mayo, john judah, and richard bradley, petersburg and richmond; james crummill, samuel jones, tolbert jones, and henry howard, haverford co., maryland; lewis childs, richmond, daniel bennett, _alias_ henry washington, and wife (martha,) and two children (george and a nameless babe). the road at this time, was doing a fair business, in a quiet way. passengers were managing to come, without having to suffer in any very violent manner, as many had been called upon to do in making similar efforts. the success attending some of these passengers was partly attributable to the intelligence of individuals, who, for years, had been planning and making preparations to effect the end in view. besides, the favorableness of the weather tended also to make travel more pleasant than in colder seasons of the year. while matters were thus favorable, the long stories of individual suffering and of practices and customs among young and old masters and mistresses, were listened to attentively, although the short summer nights hardly afforded sufficient opportunity for writing out details. emory arrived safely from talbot county. as a slave, he had served edward lloyd. he gave his master the character of treating his slaves with great severity. the "lash" was freely used "on women as well as men, old and young." in this kind of property lloyd had invested to the extent of "about five hundred head," so emory thought. food and clothing for this large number were dealt out very stintedly, and daily suffering was the common lot of slaves under lloyd. emory was induced to leave, to avoid a terrible flogging, which had been promised him for the coming monday. he was a married man, but exercised no greater control over his wife than over himself. she was hired on a neighboring plantation; the way did not seem open for her to accompany him, so he had to leave her behind. his mother, brothers, and sisters had to be left also. the ties of kindred usually strong in the breasts of slaves, were hard for emory to break, but, by a firm resolution, that he would not stay on lloyd's plantation to endure the impending flogging, he was nerved to surmount every obstacle in the way of carrying his intention into execution. he came to the committee hungry and in want of clothing, and was aided in the usual way. daniel payne. this traveler was a man who might be said to be full of years, infirm, and well-nigh used up under a virginia task-master. but within the old man's breast a spark was burning for freedom, and he was desirous of reaching free land, on which to lay his body when life's toil ended. so the committee sympathized with him, aided him and sent him on to canada. he was owned by a man named m.w. morris, of richmond, whence he fled. harriet mayo, john judah, and richard bradley were the next who brought joy and victory with them. harriet was a tall, well-made, intelligent young woman, twenty-two years of age. she spoke with feelings of much bitterness against her master, james cuthbert, saying that he was a "very hard man," at the same time, adding that his "wife was still worse." harriet "had been sold once." she admitted however, having been treated kindly a part of her life. in escaping, she had to leave her "poor old mother" with no hope of ever seeing her again; likewise she regretted having to leave three brothers, who kindly aided her to escape. but having her heart bent on freedom, she resolved that nothing should deter her from putting forth efforts to get out of slavery. john was a mulatto, of genteel address, well clothed, and looked as if he had been "well fed." miss eliza lambert had the honor of owning john, and was gracious enough to allow him to hire his time for one hundred and ten dollars per annum. after this sum was punctually paid, john could do what he pleased with any surplus earnings. now, as he was fond of nice clothing, he was careful to earn a balance sufficient to gratify this love. by similar means, many slaves were seen in southern cities elegantly dressed, and, strangers and travelers from the north gave all the credit to "indulgent masters," not knowing the facts in the case. john accused his mistress of being hard in money matters, not caring how the servants fared, so she got "plenty of money out of them." for himself, however, he admitted that he had never experienced as great abuses as many had. he was fortunate in being wedded to a free wife, who was privy to all his plans and schemes looking forth to freedom, and fully acquiesced in the arrangement of matters, promising to come on after he should reach canada. this promise was carried out in due time, and they were joyfully re-united under the protection of the british lion. richard was about twenty-seven. for years the hope of freedom had occupied his thoughts, and many had been the longing desires to see the way open by which he could safely get rid of oppression. he was sufficiently intelligent to look at slavery in all its bearings, and to smart keenly under even ordinarily mild treatment. therefore, he was very happy in the realization of his hopes. in the recital of matters touching his slave life, he alluded to his master, samuel ball, as a "very hard man," utterly unwilling to allow his servants any chance whatever. for reasons which he considered judicious, he kept the matter of his contemplated escape wholly private, not even revealing it to his wife. probably he felt that she would not be willing to give him up, not even for freedom, as long as she could not go too. her name was emily, and she belonged to william bolden. how she felt when she learned of her husband's escape is for the imagination to picture. these three interesting passengers were brought away snugly secreted in captain b's. schooner. james crummill, samual and tolbert jones and henry howard. this party united to throw off the yoke in haverford county, md. james, samuel and tolbert had been owned by william hutchins. they agreed in giving hutchins the character of being a notorious "frolicker," and a "very hard master." under him, matters were growing "worse and worse." before the old master's death times were much better. henry did not live under the same authority that his three companions were subjected to, but belonged to philip garrison. the continual threat to sell harassed henry so much, that he saw no chance of peace or happiness in the future. so one day the master laid the "last straw on the camel's back," and not another day would henry stay. many times it required a pretty heavy pressure to start off a number of young men, but in this instance they seemed unwilling to wait to be worn out under the yoke and violent treatment, or to become encumbered with wives and children before leaving. all were single, with the exception of james, whose wife was free, and named charlotte; she understood about his going to canada, and, of course, was true to him. these young men had of course been reared under circumstances altogether unfavorable to mental development. nevertheless they had fervent aspirations to strike for freedom. lewis giles belonged, in the prison-house of bondage, in the city of richmond, and owed service to a mr. lewis hill, who made it a business to keep slaves expressly to hire out, just as a man keeps a livery stable. lewis was not satisfied with this arrangement; he could see no fair play in it. in fact, he was utterly at variance with the entire system of slavery, and, a long time before he left, had plans laid with a view of escaping. through one of the underground rail road agents the glad tidings were borne to him that a passage might be procured on a schooner for twenty-five dollars. lewis at once availed himself of this offer, and made his arrangements accordingly. he, however, made no mention of this contemplated movement to his wife, louisa; and, to her astonishment, he was soon among the missing. lewis was a fine-looking "article," six feet high, well proportioned, and of a dark chestnut color, worth probably $ , in the richmond market. touching his slave life, he said that he had been treated "pretty well," except that he "had been sold several times." intellectually he was above the average run of slaves. he left on the twenty-third of april, and arrived about the second of june, having, in the meantime, encountered difficulties and discouragements of various kinds. his safe arrival, therefore, was attended with unusual rejoicing. daniel bennett and his wife and children were the next in order. a woman poorly clad with a babe just one month old in her arms, and a little boy at her side, who could scarcely toddle, together with a husband who had never dared under penalty of the laws to protect her or her little ones, presented a most painfully touching picture. it was easy enough to see, that they had been crushed. the husband had been owned by captain james taylor--the wife and children by george carter. the young mother gave carter a very bad character, affirming, that it was a "common practice with him to flog the slaves, stripped entirely naked"--that she had herself been so flogged, since she had been a married woman. how the husband was treated, the record book is silent. he was about thirty-two--the wife about twenty-seven. especial pains were taken to provide aid and sympathy to this family in their destitution, fleeing under such peculiarly trying circumstances and from such loathsome brutality. they were from aldie p.o., london county, virginia, and passed through the hands of the committee about the th of june. what has been their fate since is not known. * * * * * sundry arrivals about january first, . verenea mercer. the steamship pennsylvania, on one of her regular trips from richmond, brought one passenger, of whom the captain had no knowledge; no permission had been asked of any officer of the boat. nevertheless, verenea mercer managed, by the most extraordinary strategy, to secrete herself on the steamer, and thus succeeded in reaching philadelphia. she was following her husband, who escaped about nine months before her. verenea was about forty-one years of age, of a dark chestnut color, prepossessing in manners, intelligent and refined. she belonged to the slave population of richmond, and was owned by thomas w. quales. according to her testimony, she had not received severe treatment during the eight and a half years that she had been in his hands. previous to his becoming the owner of verenea, it might have been otherwise, although nothing is recorded in proof of this inference, except that she had the misfortune to lose her first husband by a sale. of course she was left a widow, in which state she remained nine years, at the expiration of which period, she married a man by the name of james mercer, whose narrative may be found on p. . how james got off, and where he went, verenea knew quite well; consequently, in planning to reach him, she resorted to the same means by which he achieved success. the committee rendered her the usual aid, and sent her on direct to her husband in canada. without difficulty of any kind she reached there safely, and found james with arms wide open to embrace her. frequent tidings reached the committee, that they were getting along quite well in toronto. on the same day (january st), peter derrickson and charles purnell arrived from berlin, worcester county, maryland. both were able-bodied young men, twenty-four and twenty-six years of age, just the kind that a trader, or an experienced slave-holder in the farming business, would be most likely to select for doing full days' work in the field, or for bringing high prices in the market. peter toiled and toiled, with twenty others, on john derrickson's farm. and although derrickson was said to be a "mild master," peter decidedly objected to working for him for nothing. he thought over his situation a great deal, and finally came to the conclusion, that he must get from under the yoke, if possible, before entering another new year. his friend charles he felt could be confided in, therefore he made up his mind, that he would broach the question of canada and the underground rail road to him. charles was equally ready and willing to enter into any practical arrangements by which he could get rid of his no-pay task-master, and be landed safely in canada. after taking into account the dangers likely to attend such a struggle, they concluded that they would risk all and try their luck, as many had done before them. "what made you leave, charles?" said a member of the committee. "i left because i wanted my time and money for myself." no one could gainsay such a plain common-sense answer as that. the fact, that he had to leave his parents, three brothers, and five sisters, all in slavery, brought sad reflections. lloyd hacket, alias perry watkins and william henry johnson, alias john wesley. no weather was too cold for travel, nor way too rough, when the slave was made to feel by his heartless master, that he was going to sell him or starve him to death. lloyd had toiled on until he had reached fifty-five, before he came to the conclusion, that he could endure the treatment of his master, john griffin, no longer, simply because "he was not good to feed and clothe," and was a "great fighter." moreover, he would "never suffer his slaves to stop work on account of bad weather." not only was his master cruel in these particulars, but he was equally cruel with regard to selling. georgia was continually held up to the slaves with a view of producing a wholesome fear, but in this instance, as in many similar ones, it only awakened desires to seek flight via the underground rail road. lloyd, convinced by experience, that matters with him would be no better, but worse and worse, resolved that he would start with the opening of the new year to see if he could not find a better country than the one that he was then in. he consulted william, who, although a young man of only twenty-four years of age, had the hate of slavery exceedingly strong in his heart, and was at once willing to accompany lloyd--ready to face cold weather and start on a long walk if freedom could be thus purchased, and his master, john hall, thus defeated. so lloyd took a heroic leave of his wife, mary ann, and their little boy, one brother, one sister, and two nieces, and at once set out with william, like pilgrims and strangers seeking a better country--where they would not have to go "hungry" and be "worked hard in all weather," threatened with the auction-block, and brutally flogged if they merely seemed unwilling to endure a yoke too grievous to be borne. both these travelers were mulattoes, and but for the crushing influences that they had lived under would have made smart men--as it was they showed plainly, that they were men of shrewd sense. inadvertently at the time of their arrival, the names of the state and place whence they fled were not entered on the book. in traveling they suffered severely from hunger and the long distance they had to walk, but having succeeded victoriously they were prepared to rejoice all the more. david edwards. john j. slater, coachmaker of petersburg, virginia, if he is still living, and should see these items, may solve what may have been for years a great mystery to him--namely, that david, his man-servant, was enjoying himself in philadelphia about the first week in january, , receiving free accommodations and obtaining letters of introduction to friends in canada. furthermore, that david alleged that he was induced to escape because he (the coachmaker) was a very hard man, who took every dollar of his earnings, from which he would dole out to him only one dollar a week for board, etc., a sum less than david could manage to get along with. david was thirty years of age, black, weighed one hundred and forty-five pounds, and was worth one thousand dollars. he left his wife behind. beverly good and george walker, alias austin valentine. these passengers came from petersburg, per steamship pennsylvania. richard perry was lording it over beverly, who was a young man of twenty-four years of age, dark, medium size, and possessed of a quick intellect--just the man that an underground rail road agent in the south could approach with assurance with questions such as these--"what do you think of slavery?" "did you ever hear of the underground rail road?" "how would you like to be free?" "would you be willing to go to canada if you could get off safely," etc., etc. such questions at once kindled into a flame the sparks of freedom lying dormant in the heart. although uttered in a whisper, they had a wondrous ring about them, and a wide-awake bondman instantly grasped their meaning. beverly was of this class; he needed no arguments to prove that he was daily robbed of his rights--that slavery was merciless and freedom the god-given right of all mankind. of him, therefore, there was no fear that he would betray his trust or flinch too soon when cramped up in his hiding-place on the steamer. his comrade, george, was likewise of the same mettle, and was aided in the same way. george, however, had more age on his side, being about forty-three. he was about six feet high, with marked physical and mental abilities, but slavery had had its heel upon his neck. and who could then have risen? eliza jones held the deed for george, and by her he was hired as foreman in a tobacco factory, in which position his duties were onerous--especially to one with a heavy, bleeding heart, throbbing daily for freedom, while, at the same time, mournfully brooding over past wrongs. of these wrongs one incident must suffice. he had been married twice, and had been the father of six children by his first wife; at the command of his owner the wedded relations were abruptly broken, and he was obliged to seek another wife. in entering this story on the book at the time of the arrival, the concluding words were written thus: "this story is thrilling, but time will not allow its being penned." although safely under the protection of the british lion, george's heart was in virginia, where his wife was retained. as he could not return for her deliverance, he was wise enough to resort to the pen, hoping in this way to effect his grand object, as the following letter will show: toronto, january th, . dear friend still:--george walker, of petersburg, va., is now in my office, and requests me to write a letter to you, and request you to write to his wife, after or according to the instructions he gave to his friend, john brown, in your city, with whom he says you are acquainted. you will understand, of course, his reason for wanting the letter wrote and posted at philadelphia. you will please attend to it and address a letter to him (walker) in my care. he and beverly good, his comrade, tender much love to you. send them on; we are prepared for them. yours in great haste, j.b. smith. p.s.--be sure and follow the directions given to brown. adam brooks, alias william smith. hardtown, montgomery county, maryland, lost a rather promising "article of merchandise," in the person of adam. the particulars of his going are on this wise: john phillips, his so-called master, believed in selling, and practiced accordinglv, to the extent at least of selling adam's mother, brother, and sister only two years before his escape. if adam had known nothing else against phillips, this was enough in all conscience to have awakened his deadly hate; but, added to this, phillips was imprudent in his habit of threatening to "sell," etc. this kept the old wound in adam's heart continually bleeding and forced him to the conclusion, that his master was not only a hard man, as a driver on the farm, but that at heart he was actually a bad man. furthermore, that it was his duty to break his fetters and seek his freedom in canada. in thus looking at his situation, his mind was worked up to fever heat, and he resolved that, let the consequences be what they might, go he must. in this promising state of mind he started, at an appointed time, for pennsylvania, and, sure enough, he succeeded. having the appearance of a desirable working-hand, a pennsylvania farmer prevailed on him to stop for a time. it was not long before the folly of this halt was plainly discernible, as his master had evidently got wind of his whereabouts, and was pretty hot in pursuit. word reached adam, however, barely in time for him to make his escape through the aid of friends. in coming into the hands of the committee he needed no persuading to go to canada; he was occupied with two interesting problems, to go back or to go forward. but he set his face hopefully towards canada, and had no thought of stopping short thereof. in stature, he was small; color, black; countenance, pleasant, and intellect, medium. as to his fitness for making a good citizen in canada the committee had no doubt. sarah a. dunagan. having no one to care for her, and, having been threatened with the auction-block, sarah mustered pluck and started out in search of a new home among strangers beyond the borders of slave territory. according to her story, she "was born free" in the state of delaware, but had been "bound out" to a man by the name of george churchman, living in wilmington. here she averred, that she "had been flogged repeatedly," and had been otherwise ill-treated, while no one interfered to take her part. consequently she concluded, that although she was born free, she would not be likely to be benefited thereby unless she made her escape on the underground rail road. this idea of freedom continued to agitate sarah's mind until she decided to leave forthwith. she was a young mulatto woman, single, and told her story of hardships and of the dread of being sold, in a manner to elicit much sympathy. she had a mother living in new castle, named ann eliza kingslow. it was no uncommon thing for free-born persons in slave states to lose their birth-right in a manner similar to that by which sarah feared that she had lost hers. "arrived joseph hall, jr., son of joseph hall, of norfolk, virginia." this is all that is recorded of this passenger, yet it is possible that this item of news may lead to the recognition of joseph, should he still happen to be of the large multitude of fugitives scattered over the land amongst the living. isaac d. davis. in fleeing from bondage, in maryland, davis was induced to stop, as many others were, in pennsylvania. not comprehending the fugitive slave law he fancied that he would be safe so long as he kept matters private concerning his origin. but in this particular he labored under a complete delusion--when he least dreamed of danger the slave-catchers were scenting him close. of their approach, however, he was fortunate enough to be notified in time to place himself in the hands of the committee, who soon held out canada to him, as the only sure refuge for him, and all others similarly situated. his fears of being carried back opened his eyes, and understanding, so that he could readily see the force of this argument, and accepting the proffered aid of the committee was sent on his way rejoicing. he had been away from his master eighteen months, and in the meanwhile had married a wife in pennsylvania. what became of them after this flight the book contains no record. jacob matthias boyer left at about the age of twenty. he had no idea of working in the condition of a slave, but if he had not been threatened with the auction-block, he might have remained much longer than he did. he had been owned by richard carman, cashier of one of the annapolis banks, and who had recently died. jacob fled from annapolis. very little record was made of either master or slave. probably no incidents were related of sufficient importance, still the committee felt pleased to receive one so young. indeed, it always afforded the committee especial satisfaction to see children, young people, and females escaping from the prison-house. jacob was of a dark hue, a little below medium stature. zechariah mead, alias john williams. this traveler had been in the house of bondage in maryland, doing service for charles c. owens, to whom he belonged. according to zechariah's statement, his mistress had been very unfortunate with her slave property, having lost fifteen head out of twenty in a similar manner to that by which she lost zechariah. thus she had been considerably reduced in circumstances. but zechariah had no compassion on her whatever, but insisted that she was a hard mistress. doubtless zechariah was prompted to flee by the "bad" example of others who had succeeded in making good their escape, before he had made up his mind to leave. he was not yet quite twenty-one, but was wide-awake, and it appeared from his conversation, that he had done some close thinking before he started for freedom. he left his father, mother, and three brothers, all slaves except his father. * * * * * slave-holder in maryland with three colored wives. james griffin alias thomas brown. james was a tiller of the soil under the yoke of joshua hitch, who lived on a farm about seventeen miles from baltimore. james spoke rather favorably of him; indeed, it was through a direct act of kindness on the part of his master that he procured the opportunity to make good his escape. it appeared from his story, that his master's affairs had become particularly embarrassed, and the sheriff was making frequent visits to his house. this sign was interpreted to mean that james, if not others, would have to be sold before long. the master was much puzzled to decide which way to turn. he owned but three other adult slaves besides james, and they were females. one of them was his chief housekeeper, and with them all his social relations were of such a nature as to lead james and others to think and say that they "were all his wives." or to use james's own language, "he had three slave women; two were sisters, and he lived with them all as his wives; two of them he was very fond of," and desired to keep them from being sold if possible. the third, he concluded he could not save, she would have to be sold. in this dilemma, he was good enough to allow james a few days' holiday, for the purpose of finding him a good master. expressing his satisfaction and gratification, james, armed with full authority from his master to select a choice specimen, started for baltimore. on reaching baltimore, however, james carefully steered clear of all slave-holders, and shrewdly turned his attention to the matter of getting an underground rail road ticket for canada. after making as much inquiry as he felt was safe, he came to the conclusion to walk of nights for a long distance. he examined his feet and legs, found that they were in good order, and his faith and hope strong enough to remove a mountain. besides several days still remained in which he was permitted to look for a new master, and these he decided could be profitably spent in making his way towards canada. so off he started, at no doubt a very diligent pace, for at the end of the first night's journey, he had made much headway, but at the expense of his feet. his faith was stronger than ever. so he rested next day in the woods, concealed, of course, and the next evening started with fresh courage and renewed perseverance. finally, he reached columbia, pennsylvania, and there he had the happiness to learn, that the mountain which at first had tried his faith so severely, was removed, and friendly hands were reached out and a more speedy and comfortable mode of travel advised. he was directed to the vigilance committee in philadelphia, from whom he received friendly aid, and all necessary information respecting canada and how to get there. james was thirty-one years of age, rather a fine-looking man, of a chestnut color, and quite intelligent. he had been a married man, but for two years before his escape, he had been a widower--that is, his wife had been sold away from him to north carolina, and in that space of time he had received only three letters from her; he had given up all hope of ever seeing her again. he had two little boys living in baltimore, whom he was obliged to leave. their names were edward and william. what became of them afterwards was never known at the philadelphia station. james's master was a man of about fifty years of age--who had never been lawfully married, yet had a number of children on his place who were of great concern to him in the midst of other pressing embarrassments. of course, the committee never learned how matters were settled after james left, but, in all probability, his wives, nancy and mary (sisters), and lizzie, with all the children, had to be sold. * * * * * captain f. arrives with nine passengers. names of passengers. peter heines, eatontown, north carolina; matthew bodams, plymouth, north carolina; james morris, south end, north carolina; charles thompson, charity thompson, nathaniel bowser, and thomas cooper, portsmouth, virginia; george anderson, elkton, maryland. their arrival was announced by thomas garrett as follows: wilmington, th mo., th, . respected friend, william still:--i now have the pleasure of consigning to thy care four able-bodied human beings from north carolina, and five from virginia, one of which is a girl twelve or thirteen years of age, the rest all men. after thee has seen and conversed with them, thee can determine what is best to be done with them. i am assured they are such as can take good care of themselves. elijah pennypacker, some time since, informed me he could find employment in his neighborhood for two or three good hands. i should think that those from carolina would be about as safe in that neighborhood as any place this side of canada. wishing our friends a safe trip, i remain thy sincere friend, thos. garrett. after conferring with harry craige, we have concluded to send five or six of them tonight in the cars, and the balance, if those go safe, to-morrow night, or in the steam-boat on second day morning, directed to the anti-slavery office. there was much rejoicing over these select passengers, and very much interesting information was elicited from them. peter was only twenty-one years of age, composed of equal parts of anglo-saxon and anglo-african blood--rather a model-looking "article," with a fair share of intelligence. as a slave, he had fared pretty well--he had neither been abused nor stinted of food or clothing, as many others had been. his duties had been to attend upon his master (and reputed father), elias heines, esq., a lawyer by profession in north carolina. no charges whatever appear to have been made against mr. heines, according to the record book; but peter seemed filled with great delight at the prospects ahead, as well as with the success that had attended his efforts thus far in striking for freedom. james was twenty-seven years of age. his experience had been quite different from that of peter's. the heel of a woman, by the name of mrs. ann mccourt, had been on james's neck, and she had caused him to suffer severely. as james recounted his grievances, while under the rule, he by no means gave her a very flattering character, but, on the contrary, he plainly stated, that she was a "desperate woman"--that he had "never known any good of her," and that he was moved to escape to get rid of her. in other words she had threatened to sell him; this well nigh produced frenzy in james's mind, for too well did he remember, that he had already been sold three times, and in different stages of his bondage had been treated quite cruelly. in the change of masters he was positive in saying, that he had not found a good one, and, besides, he entertained the belief that such personages were very rare. those of the committee who listened to james were not a little amazed at his fluency, intelligence and earnestness, and acknowledged that he dealt unusually telling blows against the patriarchal institution. matthew was twenty-three years of age, very stout--no fool--a man of decided resolution, and of the very best black complexion produced in the south. matthew had a very serious bill of complaints against samuel simmons, who professed to own him (matthew), both body and mind, while in this world at least. among these complaints was the charge of ill-treatment. nevertheless matthew's joy and pleasure were matchless over his underground rail road triumph, and the prospect of being so soon out of the land and reach of slavery, and in a land where he could enjoy his freedom as others enjoyed theirs. indeed the entire band evinced similar feelings. matthew left a brother in martin county. further sketches of this interesting company were not entered on the book at the time, perhaps on account of the great press of underground rail road business which engaged the attention of the acting committee. however, they were all duly cared for, and counselled to go to canada, where their rights would be protected by a strong and powerful government, and they could enjoy all the rights of citizenship in common with "all the world and the rest of mankind." and especially were they advised to get education; to act as men, and remember those still in bonds as bound with them, and that they must not forget to write back, after their arrival in canada, to inform their friends in philadelphia of their prospects, and what they thought of the "goodly land." thus, with the usual underground rail road passports, they were again started canada-ward. without difficulty of any kind they duly reached canada, and a portion of them wrote back as follows: "toronto, c.w., aug. th, . mr, still:--dear sir--these few lines may find you as they leave us, we are well at present and arrived safe in toronto. give our respects to mrs. s.---- and daughter. toronto is a very extensive place. we have plenty of pork, beef and mutton. there are five market houses and many churches. female wages is - / cents per day, men's wages is $ and york shilling. we are now boarding at mr. george blunt's, on centre street, two doors from elm, back of lawyer's hall, and when you write to us, direct your letter to the care of mr. george blunt, &c. (signed), james monroe, peter heines, henry james morris, and matthew bodame." this intelligence was very gratifying, and most assuredly added to the pleasurable contemplation of having the privilege of holding out a helping hand to the fleeing bondman. from james morris, one of this company, however, letters of a painful nature were received, touching his wife in bonds, setting forth her "awful" situation and appealing to the committee to use their best endeavors to rescue her, with her child, from slavery. one of these letters, so full of touching sentiments of affection and appeal on behalf of his wife, is as follows: toronto, canada west, upper, th day of the th mo., . mr. william still:--dear sir--i hope these lines may find you and your family as they leave me give my respects to little caroline and her mother. dear sir, i have received two letters from my wife since i saw you, and the second was awful. i am sorry to say she says she has been treated awful since i left, and she told the lady she thought she was left free and she told her she was as much slave as ever she was that the state was not to be settled until her death and it would be a meracle if she and her child got it then and that her master left a great many relations and she diden no what they would do. mr. still dear sir i am very sorry to hear my wife and child are slaves if you please dear sir inform me what to do for my dear wife and child. she said she has been threatened to be put in jail three times since i left also she tells me that she is washing for the captain of a vesel that use to run to petersburg but now he runs to baltimore and he has promas to take her to delaware or new york for dollars and she had not the money, she sent to me and i sent her all i had which was dollars dear sir can you inform me what to do with a case of this kind the captains name is thomas. my wife is name lucy an morris my child is name lot, if you please dear sir answer me as soon as you can posable. henry james morris, toronto c.w. henry james morris in care of wm. george blunt, centre st., doors from elam. this sad letter made a mournful impression, as it was not easy to see how her deliverance was to be effected. one feature, however, about this epistle afforded much satisfaction, namely, to know, that james did not forget his poor wife and child, who were in the prison-house. many months after this first letter came to hand, mrs. dr. willis, one of the first ladies in toronto, wrote on his behalf as follows: toronto, th june, monday morning, . to mr. still, dear sir:--i write you this letter for a respectable young man (his name is james morris), he passed through your hands july of last year ( ), and has just had a letter from his wife, whom he left behind in virginia, that she and her child are likely to be sold. he is very anxious about this and wishful that she could get away by some vessel or otherwise. his wife's name is lucy morris; the child's name is lot morris; the lady's name she lives with is a mrs. hine (i hope i spell her name right, hine), at the corner of duke street and washington street, in norfolk city, virginia. she is hired out to this rich old widow lady. james morris wishes me to write you--he has saved forty dollars, and will send it to you whenever it is required, to bring her on to toronto, canada west. it is in the bank ready upon call. will you please, sir, direct your letter in reply to this, to a mrs. ringgold, centre street, two doors from elam street, toronto, canada west, as i will be out of town. i write this instead of mr. thomas henning, who is just about leaving for england. hoping you will reply soon, i remain, sir, respectfully yours, agnes willis. whether james ever succeeded in recovering his wife and child, is not known to the writer. many similarly situated were wont to appeal again and again, until growing entirely hopeless, they would conclude to marry. here it may be remarked, with reference to marrying, that of the great number of fugitives in canada, the male sex was largely in preponderance over the female, and many of them were single young men. this class found themselves very acceptable to irish girls, and frequently legal alliances were the result. and it is more than likely, that there are white women in canada to-day, who are married to some poor slave woman's fugitive husband. verily, the romantic and tragic phases of the underground rail road are without number, if not past finding out. scarcely had the above-mentioned nine left the philadelphia depot, ere the following way-worn travelers came to hand: perry shephard, and isaac reed, eastern shore, maryland; george sperryman, _alias_ thomas johnson, richmond; valentine spires, near petersburg; daniel green, _alias_ george taylor, leesburg, virginia; james johnson, _alias_ william gilbert and wife harriet, prince george's county, maryland; henry cooper, and william israel smith, middletown, delaware; anna dorsey, maryland. although starting from widely separated localities without the slightest communication with each other in the south, each separate passenger earnestly bent on freedom, had endured suffering, hunger, and perils, by land and water, sustained by the hope of ultimate freedom. perry shephard and isaac reed reported themselves as having fled from the eastern shore of maryland; that they had there been held to service or slavery by sarah ann burgess, and benjamin franklin houston, from whom they fled. no incidents of slave life or travel were recorded, save that perry left his wife milky ann, and two children, nancy and rebecca (free). also isaac left his wife, hester ann louisa, and the following named children: philip henry, harriet ann and jane elizabeth. george sperryman's lot was cast amongst the oppressed in the city of richmond, va. of the common ills of slave life, george could speak from experience; but little of his story, however, was recorded at the time. he had reached the committee through the regular channel--was adjudged worthy of aid and encouragement, and they gave it to him freely. nickless templeman was the loser in this instance; how he bore the misfortune the committee was not apprised. without question, the property was delighted with getting rid of the owner. valentine spires came a fellow-passenger with george, having "took out" the previous christmas, from a place called dunwoody, near petersburg. he was held to service in that place by dr. jesse squires. under his oppressive rules and demands, valentine had been convinced that there could be no peace, consequently he turned his attention to one idea--freedom and the underground rail road, and with this faith, worked his way through to the committee, and was received, and aided of course. david green, fled from warrington, near leesburg. elliott curlett so alarmed david by threatening to sell him, that the idea of liberty immediately took possession in david's mind. david had suffered many hardships at the hands of his master, but when the auction-block was held up to him, that was the worst cut of all. he became a thinker right away. although he had a wife and one child in slavery, he decided to flee for his freedom at all hazards, and accordingly he carried out his firm resolution. james johnson. this "article" was doing unrequited labor as the slave of thomas wallace, in prince george county, maryland. he was a stout and rugged-looking man, of thirty-five years of age. on escaping, he was fortunate enough to bring his wife, harriet with him. she was ten years younger than himself, and had been owned by william t. wood, by whom she said that she had "been well treated." but of late, this wood had taken to liquor, and she felt in danger of being sold. she knew that rum ruined the best of slave-holders, so she was admonished to get out of danger as soon as possible. charles henry cooper and william israel smith. these passengers were representatives of the peculiar institution of middletown, delaware. charles was owned by catharine mendine, and william by john p. cather. according to their confession, charles and william it seemed had been thinking a good deal over the idea of "working for nothing," of being daily driven to support others, while they were rendered miserable thereby. so they made up their minds to try the underground rail road, "hit or miss." this resolution was made and carried into effect (on the part of charles at least), at the cost of leaving a mother, three brothers, and three sisters in slavery, without hope of ever seeing them again. the ages of charles and william were respectively twenty-two and twenty-one. both stout and well-made young men, with intellects well qualified to make the wilderness of canada bud and blossom as the rose, and thitherward they were dispatched. anna dorset became tired of slavery in maryland, where she reported that she had been held to service by a slave-holder, known by the name of eli molesworth. the record is silent as to how she was treated. as a slave, she had been brought up a seamstress, and was quite intelligent. age twenty-two, mulatto. * * * * * owen and otho taylor's flight with horses, etc. three brothers, two of them with wives and children. about the latter part of march, , owen taylor and his wife, mary ann, and their little son, edward, together with a brother and his wife and two children, and a third brother, benjamin, arrived from near clear springs, nine miles from hagerstown, maryland. they all left their home, or rather escaped from the prison-house, on easter sunday, and came _viâ_ harrisburg, where they were assisted and directed to the vigilance committee in philadelphia. a more interesting party had not reached the committee for a long time. the three brothers were intelligent, and heroic, and, in the resolve to obtain freedom, not only for themselves, but for their wives and children desperately in earnest. they had counted well the cost of this struggle for liberty, and had fully made up their minds that if interfered with by slave-catchers, somebody would have to bite the dust. that they had pledged themselves never to surrender alive, was obvious. their travel-worn appearance, their attachment for each other, the joy that the tokens of friendship afforded them, the description they gave of incidents on the road, made an impression not soon to be effaced. in the presence of a group like this sumner's great and eloquent speech on the barbarism of slavery, seemed almost cold and dead,--the mute appeals of these little ones in their mother's arms--the unlettered language of these young mothers, striving to save their offspring from the doom of slavery--the resolute and manly bearing of these brothers expressed in words full of love of liberty, and of the determination to resist slavery to the death, in defence of their wives and children--this was sumner's speech enacted before our eyes. owen was about thirty-one years of age, but had experienced a deal of trouble. he had been married twice, and both wives were believed to be living. the first one, with their little child, had been sold in the baltimore market, about three years before, the mother was sent to louisiana, the child to south carolina. father, mother, and child, parted with no hope of ever seeing each other again in this world. after owen's wife was sent south, he sent her his likeness and a dress; the latter was received, and she was greatly delighted with it, but he never heard of her having received his likeness. he likewise wrote to her, but he was not sure that she received his letters. finally, he came to the conclusion that as she was forever dead to him, he would do well to marry again. accordingly he took to himself another partner, the one who now accompanied him on the underground rail road. omitting other interesting incidents, a reference to his handiwork will suffice to show the ability of owen. owen was a born mechanic, and his master practically tested his skill in various ways; sometimes in the blacksmith shop--at other times as a wheelwright--again at making brushes and brooms, and at leisure times he would try his hand in all these crafts. this jack-of-all-trades was, of course, very valuable to his master. indeed his place was hard to fill. henry fiery, a farmer, "about sixty-four years of age, a stout, crusty old fellow," was the owner of owen and his two brothers. besides slaves, the old man was in possession of a wife, whose name was martha, and seven children, who were pretty well grown up. one of the sons owned owen's wife and two children. owen declared, that they had been worked hard, while few privileges had been allowed them. clothing of the poorest texture was only sparingly furnished. nothing like sunday raiment was ever given them; for these comforts they were compelled to do over-work of nights. for a long time the idea of escape had been uppermost in the minds of this party. the first of january, past, was the time "solemnly" fixed upon to "took out," but for some reason or other (not found on the record book), their strategical minds did not see the way altogether clear, and they deferred starting until easter sunday. on that memorable evening, the men boldly harnessed two of mr. fiery's steeds and placing their wives and children in the carriage, started off _viâ_ hagerstown, in a direct line for chambersburg, pennsylvania, at a rate that allowed no grass to grow under the horses' feet. in this manner they made good time, reached chambersburg safely, and ventured up to a hotel where they put up their horses. here they bade their faithful beasts good-bye and "took out" for harrisburg by another mode of travel, the cars. on their arrival they naturally fell into the hands of the committee, who hurried them off to philadelphia, apprising the committee there of their approach by a dispatch sent ahead. probably they had scarcely reached philadelphia ere the fierys were in hot haste after them, as far as harrisburg, if not farther. it hardly need be hinted, that the community in which the fierys lived was deeply agitated for days after, as indeed it was along the entire route to chambersburg, in consequence of this bold and successful movement. the horses were easily captured at the hotel, where they were left, but, of course, they were mute as to what had become of their drivers. the furious fierys probably got wind of the fact, that they had made their way to harrisburg. at any rate they made very diligent search at this point. while here prosecuting his hunting operations, fiery managed to open communication with at least one member of the harrisburg committee, to whom his grievances were made known, but derived little satisfaction. after the experience of a few weeks, the pursuers came to the conclusion, that there was no likelihood of recovering them through these agencies, or through the fugitive slave law. in their despair, therefore, they resorted to another "dodge." all at once they became "sort-o'-friendly"--indeed more than half disposed to emancipate. the member of the committee in harrisburg had, it is probable, frequently left room for their great delusion, if he did not even go so far as to feed their hopes with plausible suggestions, that some assistance might be afforded by which an amicable settlement might be made between masters and slaves. the following extract, from the committee's letter, relative to this matter, is open to this inference, and may serve to throw some light on the subject: harrisburg, april , ' . friend still:--your last came to hand in due season, and i am happy to hear of the safe arrival of those gents. i have before me the power of attorney of mr. john s. fiery, son of mr. henry fiery, of washington county, md., the owner of those three men, two women and three children, who arrived in your town on the th or th of march. he graciously condescends to liberate the oldest in a year, and the remainder in proportional time, if they will come back; or to sell them their time for $ . he is sick of the job, and is ready to make any conditions. now, if you personally can get word to them and get them to send him a letter, in my charge, informing him of their whereabouts and prospects, i think it will be the best answer i can make him. he will return here in a week or two, to know what can be done. he offers $ to see them. or if you can send me word where they are, i will endeavor to write to them for his special satisfaction; or if you cannot do either, send me your latest information, for i intend to make him spend a few more dollars, and if possible get a little sicker of this bad job. do try and send him a few bitter pills for his weak nerves and disturbed mind. yours in great haste, jos. c. bustill. a subsequent letter from mr. bustill contains, besides other interesting underground rail road matter, an item relative to the feeling of disappointment experienced by mr. fiery on learning that his property was in canada. harrisburg, may , ' . friend still:--i embrace the opportunity presented by the visit of our friend, john f. williams, to drop you a few lines in relation to our future operations. the lightning train was put on the road on last monday, and as the traveling season has commenced and this is the southern route for niagara falls, i have concluded not to send by way of auburn, except in cases of great danger; but hereafter we will use the lightning train, which leaves here at - / and arrives in your city at o'clock in the morning, and i will telegraph about - / o'clock in the afternoon, so it may reach you before you close. these four are the only ones that have come since my last. the woman has been here some time waiting for her child and her beau, which she expects here about the first of june. if possible, please keep a knowledge of her whereabouts, to enable me to inform him if he comes. _i have nothing more to send you, except that john fiery has visited us again and much to his chagrin received the information of their being in canada_. yours as ever, jos. c. bustill. whilst the fierys were working like beavers to re-enslave these brave fugitives, the latter were daily drinking in more and more of the spirit of freedom and were busy with schemes for the deliverance of other near kin left behind under the galling yoke. several very interesting letters were received from otho taylor, relative to a raid he designed making expressly to effect the escape of his family. the two subjoined must suffice, (others, much longer, cannot now be produced, they have probably been loaned and not returned.) april th, . sir--we arrived here safely. mr. syrus and his lady is well situated. they have a place for the year round dollars per month. we are all well and hope that you are all the same. now i wish to know whether you would please to send me some money to go after those people. send it here if you please. yours truly, otho taylor. william still. st. catharines, jan. , . mr. wm. still:--dear sir--i write at this time in behalf of otho taylor. he is very anxious to go and get his family at clear spring, washington county, md. he would like to know if the society there would furnish him the means to go after them from philadelphia, that you will be running no risk in doing this. if the society can do this, he would not be absent from p. more than three days. he is so anxious to get his family from slavery that he is willing to do almost anything to get them to canada. you may possibly recollect him--he was at your place last august. i think he can be trusted. if you can do something for him, he has the means to take him to your place. please let me know immediately if you can do this. respectfully yours, m.a.h. wilson. such appeals came very frequently from canada, causing much sadness, as but little encouragement could be held out to such projects. in the first place, the danger attendant upon such expeditions was so fearful, and in the second place, our funds were so inadequate for this kind of work, that, in most cases, such appeals had to be refused. of course, there were those whose continual coming, like the poor widow in the gospel, could not be denied. * * * * * heavy reward. three hundred dollars reward.--ran away from the subscriber, residing near bladensburg, prince george's county, maryland, on saturday night, the d of march, , my negro man, tom matthews, aged about years, about feet or inches high, dark copper color, full suit of bushy hair, broad face, with high cheek bones, broad and square shoulders, stands and walks very erect, though quite a sluggard in action, except in a dance, at which he is hard to beat. he wore away a black coat and brown pantaloons. i will give the above reward if taken and brought home, or secured in jail, so that i get him. [illustration: ] e.a. jones, near bladensburg, md. as mr. jones may be unaware which way his man tom traveled, this item may inform him that his name was entered on the underground rail road book april th, , at which date he appeared to be in good health and full of hope for a safe sojourn in canada. he was destitute, of course, just as anybody else would have been, if robbers had stripped him of every dollar of his earnings; but he felt pretty sure, that he could take care of himself in her majesty's dominion. the committee, encouraged by his efforts, reached him a helping hand and sent him on to swell the goodly number in the promised land--canada. on the same day that tom arrived, the committee had the pleasure of taking james jones by the hand. he was owned by dr. william stewart, of king george's court house, maryland. he was not, however, in the service of his master at the time of his escape but was hired out in alexandria. for some reason, not noticed in the book, james became dissatisfied, changed his name to henry rider, got an underground rail road pass and left the dr. and his other associations in maryland. he was one of the well-cared for "articles," and was of very near kin to the white people, at least a half-brother (mulatto, of course). he was thirty-two years of age, medium size, hard-featured and raw-boned, but "no marks about him." james looked as if he had had pretty good health, still the committee thought that he would have much better in canada. after hearing a full description of that country and of the great number of fugitives there from maryland and other parts of the south, "jim" felt that that was just the place he wanted to find, and was soon off with a free ticket, a letter of introduction, etc. * * * * * captain f. arrives with fourteen "prime articles" on board. thomas garrett announced this in the following letter: wilmington, d mo., d, . dear friend, william still:--captain fountain has arrived all safe, with the human cargo thee was inquiring for, a few days since. i had men waiting till o'clock till the captain arrived at his berth, ready to receive them; last night they then learned, that he had landed them at the rocks, near the old swedes church, in the care of our efficient pilot, who is in the employ of my friend, john hillis, and he has them now in charge. as soon as my breakfast is over, i will see hillis and determine what is best to be done in their case. my own opinion is, we had better send them to hook and there put them in the cars to-night and send a pilot to take them to thy house. as marcus hook is in pennsylvania, the agent of the cars runs no risk of the fine of five hundred dollars our state imposes for assisting one of god's poor out of the state by steamboat or cars. as ever thy friend, thos. gareett. names of the "articles." rebecca jones, and her three daughters, sarah frances, mary, and rebecca; isaiah robinson, arthur spence, caroline taylor, and her two daughters, nancy, and mary; daniel robinson; thomas page; benjamin dickinson; david cole and wife. from the tenor of thomas garrett's letter, the committee was prepared for a joyful reception, knowing that captain f. was not in the habit of doing things by the halves--that he was not in the habit of bringing numbskulls; indeed he brought none but the bravest and most intelligent. yet notwithstanding our knowledge of his practice in this respect, when he arrived we were surprised beyond measure. the women outnumbered the men. the two young mothers, with their interesting, hearty and fine-looking children representing in blood the two races about equally--presented a very impressive spectacle. the men had the appearance of being active, smart, and well disposed, much above the generality of slaves; but, compared with those of the opposite sex, their claims for sympathy were very faint indeed. no one could possibly avoid the conclusion, that these mothers, with their handsome daughters, were valued on the ledger of their owners at enormously high prices; that lustful traders and sensualists had already gloated over the thought of buying them in a few short years. probably not one of those beautiful girls would have brought less than fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars at the age of fifteen. it was therefore a great satisfaction to think, that their mothers, who knew full well to what a fate such slave girls were destined, had labored so heroically to snatch them out of this danger ere the critical hour arrived. rebecca jones was about twenty-eight years of age; mulatto, good-looking, considerably above medium size, very intelligent, and a true-born heroine. the following reward, offered by the notorious negro-trader, hall, proved that rebecca and her children were not to be allowed to go free, if slave-hunters could be induced by a heavy pecuniary consideration to recapture them: $ reward is offered for the apprehension of negro woman, rebecca jones and her three children, and man isaiah, belonging to w.w. davidson, who have disappeared since the th inst. the above reward will be paid for the apprehension and delivery of the said negroes to my jail, by the attorney in fact of the owner, or the sum of $ for the man alone, or $ for the woman and three children alone. [illustration: ] wm. w. hall, for the attorney, feb. . years before her escape, her mistress died in england; and as rebecca had always understood, long before this event, that all the slaves were to be freed at the death of her mistress, she was not prepared to believe any other report. it turned out, however, as in thousands of other instances, that no will could be found, and, of course, the administrators retained the slave property, regardless of any verbal expressions respecting freeing, etc. rebecca closely watched the course of the administrators, and in the meanwhile firmly resolved, that neither she nor her children should ever serve another master. rather than submit, she declared that she would take the lives of her children and then her own. notwithstanding her bold and decided stand, the report went out that she was to be sold, and that all the slaves were still to be held in bondage. rebecca's sympathizers and friends advised her, as they thought for the best, to get a friend or gentleman to purchase her for herself. to this she replied: "not three cents would i give, nor do i want any of my friends to buy me, not if they could get me for three cents. it would be of no use," she contended, "as she was fully bent on dying, rather than remain a slave." the slave-holders evidently understood her, and were in no hurry about bringing her case to an issue--they rather gave her time to become calm. but rebecca was inflexible. six years before her arrival, her husband had escaped, in company with the noted fugitive, "shadrach." for a time after he fled, she frequently received letters from him, but for a long while he had ceased to write, and of late she had heard nothing from him. in escaping stowed away in the boat, she suffered terribly, but faithfully endured to the end, and was only too happy when the agony was over. after resting and getting thoroughly refreshed in philadelphia, she, with others, was forwarded to boston, for her heart was there. several letters were received from her, respecting her prospects, etc., from which it appears that she had gained some knowledge of her husband, although not of a satisfactory nature. at any rate she decided that she could not receive him back again. the following letter has reference to her prospects, going to california, her husband, etc.: parker house, school street, boston, oct. th, ' . my dear sir:--i can hardly express the pleasure i feel at the receipt of your kind letter; but allow me to thank you for the same. and now i will tell you my reasons for going to california. mrs. tarrol, a cousin of my husband, has sent for me. she says i can do much better there than in boston. and as i have my children's welfare to look to, i have concluded to go. of course i shall be just as likely to hear from home _there_ as _here_. please tell mr. bagnale i shall expect one letter from him before i leave here. i should like to hear from my brothers and sisters once more, and let me hear every particular. you never can know how anxious i am to hear from them; do please impress this upon their minds. i have written two letters to dr. lundy and never received an answer. i heard mrs. lundy was dead, and thought that might possibly be the reason he had not replied to me. please tell the doctor i should take it as a great favor if he would write me a few lines. i suppose you think i am going to live with my husband again. let me assure you 'tis no such thing. my mind is as firm as ever. and believe me, in going away from boston, i am going away from him, for i have heard he is living somewhere near. he has been making inquiries about me, but that can make no difference in my feelings to him. i hope that yourself, wife and family are all quite well. please remember me to them all. do me the favor to give my love to all inquiring friends. i should be most happy to have any letters of introduction you may think me worthy of, and i trust i shall ever remain yours faithfully, rebecca jones. p.s.--i do not know if i shall go this fall, or in the spring. it will depend upon the letter i receive from california, but whichever it may be, i shall be happy to hear from you very soon. isaiah, who was a fellow-servant with rebecca, and was included in the reward offered by hall for rebecca, etc., was a young man about twenty-three years of age, a mulatto, intelligent and of prepossessing manners. a purely ardent thirst for liberty prompted him to flee; although he declared that he had been treated very badly, and had even suffered severely from being shamefully "beaten." he had, however, been permitted to hire his time by the year, for which one hundred and twenty dollars were regularly demanded by his owner. young as he was, he was a married man, with a wife and two children, to whom he was devoted. he had besides two brothers and two sisters for whom he felt a warm degree of brotherly affection; yet when the hour arrived for him to accept a chance for freedom at the apparent sacrifice of these dearest ties of kindred, he was found heroic enough for this painful ordeal, and to give up all for freedom. caroline taylor, and her two little children, were also from norfolk, and came by boat. upon the whole, they were not less interesting than rebecca jones and her three little girls. although caroline was not in her person half so stately, nor gave such promise of heroism as rebecca--for caroline was rather small of stature--yet she was more refined, and quite as intelligent as rebecca, and represented considerably more of the anglo-saxon blood. she was a mulatto, and her children were almost fair enough to pass for white--probably they were quadroons, hardly any one would have suspected that they had only one quarter of colored blood in their veins. for ten years caroline had been in the habit of hiring her time at the rate of seventy-five dollars per year, with the exception of the last year, when her hire was raised to eighty-four dollars. so anxious was she to have her older girl (eleven years old) at home with her, that she also hired her time by the year, for which she was compelled to pay twenty-four dollars. as her younger child was not sufficiently grown to hire out for pay, she was permitted to have it at home with her on the conditions that she would feed, clothe and take good care of it, permitting no expense whatever to fall upon the master. judging from the appearance and manners of the children, their mother had, doubtless, been most faithful to them, for more handsome, well-behaved, intelligent and pleasing children could not easily be selected from either race or any station of life. the younger, mary by name, nine years of age, attracted very great attention, by the deep interest she manifested in a poor fugitive (whom she had never seen before), at the philadelphia station, confined to the bed and suffering excruciating pain from wounds he had received whilst escaping. hours and hours together, during the two or three days of their sojourn, she spent of her own accord, by his bed-side, manifesting almost womanly sympathy in the most devoted and tender manner. she thus, doubtless, unconsciously imparted to the sufferer a great deal of comfort. very many affecting incidents had come under the observation of the acting committee, under various circumstances, but never before had they witnessed a sight more interesting, a scene more touching. caroline and her children were owned by peter march, esq., late of norfolk, but at that time, he was living in new york, and was carrying on the iron business. he came into possession of them through his wife, who was the daughter of caroline's former master, and almost the only heir left, in consequence of the terrible fever of the previous summer. caroline was living under the daily fear of being sold; this, together with the task of supporting herself and two children, made her burden very grievous. not a great while before her escape, her new york master had been on to norfolk, expressly with a view of selling her, and asked two thousand dollars for her. this, however, he failed to get, and was still awaiting an offer. these ill omens aroused caroline to think more seriously over the condition of herself and children than she had ever done before, and in this state of mind she came to the conclusion, that she would strive to save herself and children by flight on the underground rail road. she knew full well, that it was no faint-hearted struggle that was required of her, so she had nerved herself with the old martyr spirit to risk her all on her faith in god and freedom, and was ready to take the consequences if she fell back into the hands of the enemy. this noble decision was the crowning act in the undertakings of thousands similarly situated. through this faith she gained the liberty of herself and her children. quite a number of the friends of the slave saw these interesting fugitives, and wept, and rejoiced with them. col. a. cammings, in those days publisher of the "evening bulletin," for the first time, witnessed an underground rail road arrival. some time previous, in conversation with mr. j.m. mckim, the colonel had expressed views not altogether favorable to the underground rail road; indeed he was rather inclined to apologize for slavery, if not to defend the fugitive slave law. while endeavoring somewhat tenaciously to maintain his ground, mr. mckim opposed to him not only the now well established anti-slavery doctrines, but also offered as testimony underground rail road facts--the results of personal knowledge from daily proofs of the heroic struggles, marvellous faith, and intense earnestness of the fugitives. in all probability the colonel did not feel prepared to deny wholly mr. mckim's statement, yet, he desired to see "some" for himself. "well," said mr. mck., "you shall see some." so when this arrival came to hand, true to his promise, mr. mck. called on the colonel and invited him to accompany him to the underground rail road station. he assured the colonel that he did not want any money from him, but simply wanted to convince him of his error in the recent argument that they had held on the subject. accordingly the colonel accompanied him, and found that twenty-two passengers had been on hand within the past twenty-four hours, and at least sixteen or seventeen were then in his presence. it is needless to say, that such a sight admitted of no contradiction--no argument--no doubt. the facts were too self-evident. the colonel could say but little, so complete was his amazement; but he voluntarily attested the thoroughness of his conversion by pulling out of his pocket and handing to mr. mck. a twenty dollar gold piece to aid the passengers on to freedom. in these hours of rest and joyful anticipation the necessities of both large and small were administered to according to their needs, before forwarding them still further. the time and attention required for so many left but little opportunity, however, for the secretary to write their narratives. he had only evening leisure for the work. ten or twelve of that party had to be sent off without having their stories recorded. daniel robertson was one of this number; his name is simply entered on the roll, and, but for letters received from him, after he passed on north, no further knowledge would have been obtained. in petersburg, whence he escaped, he left his wife, for whose deliverance he felt bound to do everything that lay in his power, as the subjoined letters will attest: havana, august , , schuylkill co., n.y. mr. wm. still--dear sir:--i came from virginia in march, and was at your office the last of march. my object in writing you, is to inquire what i can do, or what can be done to help my wife to escape from the same bondage that i was in. you will know by your books that i was from petersburg, va., and that is where my wife now is. i have received two or three letters from a lady in that place, and the last one says, that my wife's mistress is dead, and that she expects to be sold. i am very anxious to do what i can for her before it is too late, and beg of you to devise some means to get her away. capt. the man that brought me away, knows the colored agent at petersburg, and knows he will do all he can to forward my wife. the capt. promised, that when i could raise one hundred dollars for him that he would deliver her in philadelphia. tell him that i can now raise the money, and will forward it to you at any day that he thinks that he can bring her. please see the captain and find when he will undertake it, and then let me know when to forward the money to you. i am at work for the hon. charles cook, and can send the money any day. my wife's name is harriet robertson, and the agent at petersburg knows her. please direct your answer, with all necessary directions, to n. coryell, of this village, and he will see that all is right. very respectfully, daniel robertson. havana, aug. , . mr. wm. still--dear sir:--yours of the th, for d. robertson, was duly received. in behalf of daniel, i thank you kindly for the interest you manifest in him. the letters that have gone from him to his friends in virginia, have been written by me, and sent in such a manner as we thought would best ensure safety. yet i am well aware of the risk of writing, and have restrained him as far as possible, and the last one i wrote was to be the last, till an effort was made to reclaim his wife. daniel is a faithful, likely man, and is well liked by all who know him. he is industrious and prudent, and is bending his whole energies toward the reclaiming his wife. he can forward to you the one hundred dollars at any day that it may be wanted, and if you can do anything to forward his interests it will be very gratefully received as an additional favor on your part. he asks for no money, but your kindly efforts, which he regards more highly than money. very respectfully, n. coryell. the letters that have been written for him were dated "niagara falls, canada west," and his friends think he is there--none of them know to the contrary--it is important that they never do know. n.c. havana, sept. , . mr. wm. still--dear sir:--i enclose herewith a draft on new york, payable to your order, for $ , to be paid on the delivery at philadelphia of daniel robertson's wife. you can readily see that it has been necessary for daniel to work almost night and day to have laid up so large an amount of money, since the first of april, as this one hundred dollars. daniel is industrious and prudent, and saves all of his earnings, above his most absolute wants. if the captain is not successful in getting daniel's wife, you, of course, will return the draft, without charge, as you said. i hope success will attend him, for daniel deserves to be rewarded, if ever man did. yours, &c. n. coryell. havana, jan. , . dear sir:--your favor containing draft on n. york, for daniel robertson, came to hand on the st ult. daniel begs to tender his acknowledgments for your kind interest manifested in his behalf, and says he hopes you will leave no measure untried which has any appearance of success, and that the money shall be forthcoming at a moment's notice. daniel thinks that since christmas, the chances for his wife's deliverance are fewer than before, for at that time he fears she was disposed of and possibly went south. the paper sent me, with your well-written article, was received, and on reading it to daniel, he knew some of the parties mentioned in it--he was much pleased to hear it read. daniel spent new year's in elmira, about miles from this place, and there he met two whom he was well acquainted with. yours, &c., n. coryell. wm. still, esq., phila. such devotion to freedom, such untiring labor, such appeals as these letters contained awakened deep interest in the breasts of daniel's new friends, which spoke volumes in favor of the slave and against slave-holders. but, alas, nothing could be done to relieve the sorrowing mind of poor daniel for the deliverance of his wife in chains. the committee sympathized deeply with him, but could do no more. what other events followed, in daniel's life as a fugitive, were never made known to the committee. arthur spence also deserves a notice. he was from north carolina, about twenty-four years of age, and of pleasing appearance, and was heart and soul in sympathy with the cause of the underground rail road. in north carolina he declared that he had been heavily oppressed by being compelled to pay $ per annum for his hire. in order to get rid of this heavy load, by shrewd management he gained access to the kind-hearted captain and procured an underground rail road ticket. in leaving bondage, he was obliged to leave his mother, two brothers and one sister. he appeared to be composed of just the kind of material for making a good british subject. ben dickinson. ben was also a slave in north carolina--located at eatontown, being the property of "miss ann blunt, who was very hard." in slave property miss blunt was interested to the number of about "ninety head." she was much in the habit of hiring out servants, and in thus disposing of her slaves ben thought she was a great deal more concerned in getting good prices for herself than good places for them. indeed he declared that "she did not care how mean the place was, if she could only get her price." for three years ben had canada and the underground rail road in view, having been "badly treated." at last the long-looked for time arrived, and he conferred neither with master nor mistress, but "picked himself up" and "took out." age twenty-eight, medium size, quite dark, a good carpenter, and generally intelligent. left two sisters, etc. of this heroic and promising party we can only mention, in conclusion, one more passenger, namely: tom page. at the time of his arrival, his name only was enrolled on the book. yet he was not a passenger soon to be forgotten--he was but a mere boy, probably eighteen years of age; but a more apt, ready-witted, active, intelligent and self-reliant fellow is not often seen. judging from his smartness, under slavery, with no chances, it was easy to imagine how creditably he might with a white boy's chances have climbed the hill of art and science. obviously he had intellect enough, if properly cultivated, to fill any station within the ordinary reach of intelligent american citizens. he could read and write remarkably well for a slave, and well did he understand his advantages in this particular; indeed if slave-holders had only been aware of the growing tendency of tom's mind, they would have rejoiced at hearing of his departure for canada; he was a most dangerous piece of property to be growing up amongst slaves. after leaving the committee and going north his uncaged mind felt the need of more education, and at the same time he was eager to make money, and do something in life. as he had no one to depend on, parents and relatives being left behind in norfolk, he felt that he must rely upon himself, young as he was. he first took up his abode in boston, or new bedford, where most of the party with whom he escaped went, and where he had an aunt, and perhaps some other distant kin. there he worked and was a live young man indeed--among the foremost in ideas and notions about freedom, etc., as many letters from him bore evidence. after spending a year or more in massachusetts, he had a desire to see how the fugitives were doing in upper and lower canada, and if any better chances existed in these parts for men of his stamp. some of his letters, from different places, gave proof of real thought and close observation, but they were not generally saved, probably were loaned to be read by friendly eyes. nevertheless the two subjoined will, in a measure, suffice to give some idea of his intelligence, etc. boston, mass., feb. th, . william still, esq.:--dear sir--i have not heard from you for some time. i take this opportunity of writing you a few lines to let you and all know that i am well at present and thank god for it. dear sir, i hear that the under ground railroad was in operation. i am glad to hear that. give my best respects to your family and also to dr. l., mr. warrick, mr. camp and familys, to mr. fisher, mr. taylor to all friends names too numerous to mention. please to let me know when the road arrived with another cargo. i want to come to see you all before long, if nothing happens and life lasts. mrs. gault requested me to learn of you if you ask mr. bagnal if he will see father and what he says about the children. please to answer as soon as possible. no more at present from a friend, thomas f. page. niagara falls, n.y., oct. th, ' . dear sir:--i received your kind letter and i was very glad to hear from you and your family. this leaves me well, and i hope when this comes to hand it may find you the same. i have seen a large number of your u.g.r.r. friends in my travels through the eastern as well as the western states. well there are a good many from my own city who i know--some i talk to on private matters and some i wont. well around here there are so many--tom, dick and harry--that you do not know who your friend is. so it don't hurt any one to be careful. well, somehow or another, i do not like canada, or the provinces. i have been to st. john, n.b., lower province, or lower canada, also st. catharines, c.w., and all around the canada side, and i do not like it at all. the people seem to be so queer--though i suppose if i had of went to canada when i first came north to live, i might like it by this time. i was home when aunt had her ambro-type taken for you. she often speaks of your kindness to her. there are a number of your friends wishes you well. my little brother is going to school in boston. the lady, mrs. hillard, that my aunt lives with, thinks a good deal of him. he is very smart and i think, if he lives, he may be of some account. do you ever see my old friend, capt. fountain? please to give my love to him, and tell him to come to boston, as there are a number of his friends that would like to see him. my best respects to all friends. i must now bring my short epistle to a close, by saying i remain your friend truly, thomas f. page. while a portion of the party, on hand with him, came as passengers with capt. p., another portion was brought by capt. b., both parties arriving within twelve hours of each other; and both had likewise been frozen up on the route for weeks with their respective live freight on board. the sufferings for food, which they were called upon to endure, were beyond description. they happened to have plenty of salt fat pork, and perhaps beans, indian meal and some potatoes for standing dishes; the more delicate necessaries did not probably last longer than the first or second week of their ice-bondage. without a doubt, one of these captains left norfolk about the twentieth of january, but did not reach philadelphia till about the twentieth of march, having been frozen up, of course, during the greater part of that time. men, women and children were alike sharers in the common struggle for freedom--were alike an hungered, in prison, naked, and sick, but it was a fearful thing in those days for even women and children to whisper their sad lamentations in the city of philadelphia, except to those friendly to the underground rail road. doubtless, if these mothers, with their children and partners in tribulation, could have been seen as they arrived direct from the boats, many hearts would have melted, and many tears would have found their way down many cheeks. but at that time cotton was acknowledged to be king--the fugitive slave law was supreme, and the notorious decision of judge taney, that "black men had no rights which white men were bound to respect," echoed the prejudices of the masses too clearly to have made it safe to reveal the fact of their arrival, or even the heart-rending condition of these fugitives. nevertheless, they were not turned away empty, though at a peril they were fed, aided, and comforted, and sent away well clothed. indeed, so bountifully were the women and children supplied, that as they were being conveyed to the camden and amboy station, they looked more like a pleasuring party than like fugitives. some of the good friends of the slave sent clothing, and likewise cheered them with their presence. [before the close of this volume, such friends and sympathizers will be more particularly noticed in an appropriate place.] * * * * * sundry arrivals--latter part of december, , and beginning of january, . joseph cornish, dorchester co., md.; lewis francis, _alias_ lewis johnson, harford co., md.; alexander munson, chestertown, md.; samuel and ann scott, cecil cross-roads, md.; wm. henry laminson, del.; isaac stout, _alias_ george washington, caroline graves, md.; henry and eliza washington, alexandria, va.; henry chambers, john chambers, samuel fall, and thomas anderson, md. joseph cornish was about forty years of age when he escaped. the heavy bonds of slavery made him miserable. he was a man of much natural ability, quite dark, well-made, and said that he had been "worked very hard." according to his statement, he had been an "acceptable preacher in the african methodist church," and was also "respected by the respectable white and colored people in his neighborhood." he would not have escaped but for fear of being sold, as he had a wife and five children to whom he was very much attached, but had to leave them behind. fortunately they were free. of his ministry and connection with the church, he spoke with feelings of apparent solemnity, evidently under the impression that the little flock he left would be without a shepherd. of his master, captain samuel le count, of the u.s. navy, he had not one good word to speak; at least nothing of the kind is found on the record book; but, on the contrary, he declared that "he was very hard on his servants, allowing them no chance whatever to make a little ready money for themselves." so in turning his face towards the underground rail road, and his back against slavery, he felt that he was doing god service. the committee regarded him as a remarkable man, and was much impressed with his story, and felt it to be a privilege and a pleasure to aid him. lewis francis was a man of medium size, twenty-seven years of age, good-looking and intelligent. he stated that he belonged to mrs. delinas, of abingdon, harford co., md., but that he had been hired out from a boy to a barber in baltimore. for his hire his mistress received eight dollars per month. to encourage lewis, his kind-hearted mistress allowed him out of his own wages the sum of two dollars and fifty cents per annum! his clothing he got as best he could, but nothing did she allow him for that purpose. even with this arrangement she had been dissatisfied of late years, and thought she was not getting enough out of lewis; she, therefore, talked strongly of selling him. this threat was very annoying to lewis, so much so, that he made up his mind that he would one day let her see, that so far as he was concerned, it was easier to talk of selling than it would be to carry out her threat. with this growing desire for freedom he gained what little light he could on the subject of traveling, canada, etc., and at a given time off he started on his journey and found his way to the committee, who imparted substantial aid as usual. alexander munson, alias samuel garrett. this candidate for canada was only eighteen years of age; a well-grown lad, however, and had the one idea that "all men were born free" pretty deeply rooted in his mind. he was quite smart, and of a chestnut color. by the will of his original owner, the slaves were all entitled to their freedom, but it appeared, from alexander's story, that the executor of the estate did not regard this freedom clause in the will. he had already sold some of the slaves, and others--he among them--were expecting to be sold before coming into possession of their freedom. two of them had been sold to alabama, therefore, with these evil warnings, young alexander resolved to strike out at once for canada, despite maryland slave-holders. with this bold and manly spirit he succeeded, of course. anna scott and husband, samuel scott. this couple escaped from cecil cross-roads, md. the wife, in this instance, evidently took the lead, and acted the more manly part in striking for freedom; therefore, our notice of this arrival will chiefly relate to her.. anna was owned by a widow, named mrs. ann elizabeth lushy, who resided on a farm of her own. fifteen slaves, with other stock, were kept on the place. she was accustomed to rule with severity, being governed by a "high temper," and in nowise disposed to allow her slaves to enjoy even ordinary privileges, and besides, would occasionally sell to the southern market. she was calculated to render slave life very unhappy. anna portrayed her mistress's treatment of the slaves with much earnestness, especially when referring to the sale of her own brother and sister. upon the whole, the mistress was so hateful to anna, that she resolved not to live in the house with her. during several years prior to her escape, anna had been hired out, where she had been treated a little more decently than her mistress was wont to do; on this account she was less willing to put up with any subsequent abuse from her mistress. to escape was the only remedy, so she made up her mind, that she would leave at all hazards. she gave her husband to understand, that she had resolved to seek a home in canada. fortunately, he was free, but slavery had many ways of putting the yoke on the colored man, even though he might be free; it was bound to keep him in ignorance, and at the same time miserably abject, so that he would scarcely dare to look up in the presence of white people. sam, apparently, was one of the number who had been greatly wronged in this particular. he had less spirit than his wife, who had been directly goaded to desperation. he agreed, however, to stand by her in her struggles while fleeing, and did so, for which he deserves credit. it must be admitted, that it required some considerable nerve for a free man even to join his wife in an effort of this character. in setting out, anna had to leave her father (jacob trusty), seven sisters and two brothers. the names of the sisters were as follows: emeline, susan ann, delilah, mary eliza, rosetta, effie ellender and elizabeth; the brothers--emson and perry. for the commencement of their journey they availed themselves of the christmas holidays, but had to suffer from the cold weather they encountered. yet they got along tolerably well, and were much cheered by the attention and aid they received from the committee. william henry laminson came from near newcastle, delaware. he was smart enough to take advantage of the opportunity to escape at the age of twenty-one. as he had given the matter his fullest attention for a long time, he was prepared to make rapid progress when he did start, and as he had no great distance to travel it is not unlikely, that while his master was one night sleeping soundly, this young piece of property (worth at least $ , in the market), was crossing mason and dixon's line, and steering directly for canada. francis harkins was the name of the master. william did not give him a very bad character. george washington gooseberry, alias isaac stout, also took advantage of the holidays to separate from his old master, anthony rybold, a farmer living near newcastle, delaware. nothing but the desire to be free moved george to escape. he was a young man about twenty-three years of age, of a pure black color, in stature, medium size, and well-made. nothing remarkable is noted in the book in any way connected with his life or escape. caroline graves. caroline was of the bond class belonging to the state of maryland. having reached the age of forty without being content, and seeing no bright prospect in the future, she made up her mind to break away from the bonds of slavery and seek a more congenial atmosphere among strangers in canada. she had had the privilege of trying two masters in her life-time; the first she admitted was "kind" to her, but the latter was "cruel." after arriving in canada, she wrote back as follows: toronto, jan. , . dear sir:--william still--i have found my company they arrived here on monday eving i found them on tusday evening. please to be so kind as to send them boxes we are here without close to ware we have some white frendes is goin to pay for them at this end of the road. the reason that we send this note we are afraid the outher one woudent go strait because it wasent derected wright. please to send them by the express then thay wont be lost. please to derect these boxes for carline graives in the car of mrs. brittion. please to send the bil of the boxes on with them. mrs. brittion, lousig street near young street. george graham and wife, jane, alias henry washington and eliza. the cold weather of january was preferred, in this instance, for traveling. indeed matters were so disagreeable with them that they could not tarry in their then quarters any longer. george was twenty-four years of age, quite smart, pleasant countenance, and of dark complexion. he had experienced "rough usage" all the way along through life, not unfrequently from severe floggings. twice, within the last year, he had been sold. in order to prevent a renewal of these inflictions he resorted to the underground rail road with his wife, to whom he had only been married six months. in one sense, they appeared to be in a sad condition, it being the dead of winter, but their condition in alexandria, under a brutal master and mistress which both had the misfortune to have, was much sadder. to give all their due, however, george's wife acknowledged, that she had been "well treated under her old mistress," but through a change, she had fallen into the hands of a "new one," by whom her life had been rendered most "miserable;" so much so, that she was willing to do almost anything to get rid of her, and was, therefore, driven to join her husband in running away. henry chambers, john chambers, samuel fall, and jonathan fisher. this party represented the more promising-looking field-hand slave population of maryland. henry and john were brothers, twenty-four and twenty-six years of age, stout made, chestnut color, good-looking, but in height not quite medium. henry "owed service or labor," to a fellow-man by the name of william rybold, a farmer living near sassafras neck, md. henry evidently felt, that he did master rybold no injustice in testifying that he knew no good of him, although he had labored under him like a beast of burden all his days. he had been "clothed meanly," and "poorly fed." he also alleged, that his mistress was worse than his master, as she would "think nothing of knocking and beating the slave women for nothing." john was owned by thomas murphy. from that day to this, thomas may have been troubling his brain to know why his man john treated him so shabbily as to leave him in the manner that he did. jack had a good reason for his course, nevertheless. in his corn field-phrase he declared, that his master murphy would not give you half clothes, and besides he was a "hard man," who kept jack working out on hire. therefore, feeling his wrongs keenly, jack decided, with his other friends, to run off and be free. sam, another comrade, was also owned by william rybold. sam had just arrived at his maturity (twenty-one), when he was invited to join in the plot to escape. at first, it might be thought strange, why one so young should seek to escape. a few brief words from sam soon explained the mystery. it was this: his master, as he said, had been in the habit of tying him up by the hands and flogging him unmercifully; besides, in the allowance of food and clothing, he always "stinted the slaves yet worked them very hard." sam's chances for education had been very unfavorable, but he had mind enough to know that liberty was worth struggling for. he was willing to make the trial with the other boys. he was of a dark chestnut color, and of medium size. jonathan belonged to a. rybold, and was only nineteen years of age. all that need be said in relation to his testimony, is, that it agreed with his colleague's and fellow-servant's, samuel. before starting on their journey, they felt the need of new names, and in putting their wits together, they soon fixed this matter by deciding to pass in future by the following names: james and david green, john henry, and jonathan fisher. in the brief sketches given in this chapter, some lost ones, seeking information of relatives, may find comfort, even if the general reader should fail to be interested. part of the arrivals in december, . thomas jervis gooseberry and william thomas freeman, _alias_ ezekiel chambers; henry hooper; jacob hall, _alias_ henry thomas, and wife, henrietta and child; two men from near chestertown, md.; fenton jones; mary curtis; william brown; charles henry brown; oliver purnell and isaac fidget. thomas jervis gooseberry and william thomas freeman. the coming of this party was announced in the subjoined letter: schuylkill, th mo., th, . william still: dear friend:--those boys will be along by the last norristown train to-morrow evening. i think the train leaves norristown at o'clock, but of this inform thyself. the boys will be sent to a friend at norristown, with instructions to assist them in getting seats in the last train that leaves norristown to-morrow evening. they are two of the eleven who left some time since, and took with them some of their master's horses; i have told them to remain in the cars at green street until somebody meets them. e.f. pennypacker. having arrived safely, by the way and manner indicated in e.f. pennypacker's note, as they were found to be only sixteen and seventeen years of age, considerable interest was felt by the acting committee to hear their story. they were closely questioned in the usual manner. they proved to be quite intelligent, considering how young they were, and how the harrow of slavery had been upon them from infancy. they escaped from chestertown, md., in company with nine others (they being a portion of the eleven who arrived in wilmington, with two carriages, etc., noticed on page ), but, for prudential reasons they were separated while traveling. some were sent on, but the boys had to be retained with friends in the country. many such separations were inevitable. in this respect a great deal of care and trouble had to be endured for the sake of the cause. thomas jervis, the elder boy, was quite dark, and stammered somewhat, yet he was active and smart. he stated that sarah maria perkins was his mistress in maryland. he was disposed to speak rather favorably of her, at least he said that she was "tolerably kind" to her servants. she, however, was in the habit of hiring out, to reap a greater revenue for them, and did not always get them places where they were treated as well as she herself treated them. tom left his father, thomas gooseberry, and three sisters, julia ann, mary ellen, and katie bright, all slaves. ezekiel, the younger boy, was of a chestnut color, clever-looking, smart, and well-grown, just such an one as a father enjoying the blessings of education and citizenship, might have felt a considerable degree of pride in. he was owned by a man called john dwa, who followed "farming and drinking," and when under the influence of liquor, was disposed to ill-treat the slaves. ezekiel had not seen his mother for many years, although she was living in baltimore, and was known by the name of "dorcas denby." he left no brothers nor sisters. the idea of boys, so young and inexperienced as they were, being thrown on the world, gave occasion for serious reflection. still the committee were rejoiced that they were thus early in life, getting away from the "sum of all villanies." in talking with them, the committee endeavored to impress them with right ideas as to how they should walk in life, aided them, of course, and sent them off with a double share of advice. what has been their destiny since, is not known. henry hooper, a young man of nineteen years of age, came from maryland, in december, in a subsequent underground rail road arrival. that he came in good order, and was aided and sent off, was fully enough stated on the book, but nothing else; space, however was left for the writing out of his narrative, but it was never filled up. probably the loose sheet on which the items were jotted down, was lost. jacob hall, alias henry thomas, wife henrietta, and child, were also among the december passengers. on the subject of freedom they were thoroughly converted. although jacob was only about twenty years of age, he had seen enough of slavery under his master, "major william hutchins," whom he described as a "farmer, commissioner, drunkard, and hard master," to know that no hope could be expected from him, but if he remained, he would daily have to be under the "harrow." the desire to work for himself was so strong, that he could not reconcile his mind to the demands of slavery. while meditating upon freedom, he concluded to make an effort with his wife and child to go to canada. his wife, henrietta, who was then owned by a woman named sarah ann mcgough, was as unhappily situated as himself. indeed henrietta had come to the conclusion, that it was out of the question for a servant to please her mistress, it mattered not how hard she might try; she also said, that her mistress drank, and that made her "wus." besides, she had sold henrietta's brother and sister, and was then taking steps to sell her,--had just had her appraised with this view. it was quite easy, therefore, looking at their condition in the light of these plain facts, for both husband and wife to agree, that they could not make their condition any worse, even if they should be captured in attempting to escape. henrietta also remembered, that years before her mother had escaped, and got off to canada, which was an additional encouragement. thus, as her own faith was strengthened, she could strengthen that of her husband. their little child they resolved to cling to through thick and thin; so, in order that they might not have so far to carry him, father and mother each bridled a horse and "took out" in the direction of the first underground rail road station. their faithful animals proved of incalculable service, but they were obliged to turn them loose on the road without even having the opportunity or pleasure of rewarding them with a bountiful feed of oats. although they had strange roads, woods and night scenes to pass through, yet they faltered not. they found friends and advisers on the road, however, and reached the committee in safety, who was made to rejoice that such promising-looking "property" could come out of ladies' manor, maryland. the committee felt that they had acted wisely in taking the horses to assist them the first night. the next arrival is recorded thus: "dec. , , arrived, two men from near chestertown, md. they came to wilmington in a one horse wagon, and through aid of t.g. they were sent on." (further account at the time, written on a loose piece of paper, is among the missing). fenton jones escaped from frederick, md. after arriving in the neighborhood of ereildoun, pa., he was induced to tarry awhile for the purpose of earning means to carry him still farther. but he was soon led to apprehend danger, and was advised and directed to apply to the vigilance committee of philadelphia for the needed aid, which he did, and was dispatched forthwith to canada. about the same time a young woman arrived, calling herself mary curtis. she was from baltimore, and was prompted to escape to keep from being sold. she was nineteen years of age, small size, dark complexion. no special incidents in her life were noted. william brown came next. if others had managed to make their way out of the prison-house without great difficulties, it was far from william to meet with such good luck, as he had suffered excessively for five weeks while traveling. it was an easy matter for a traveler to get lost, not knowing the roads, nor was it safe to apply to a stranger for information or direction--therefore, in many instances, the journey would either have to be given up, or be prosecuted, suffering almost to the death. in the trying circumstances in which william found himself, dark as everything looked, he could not consent to return to his master, as he felt persuaded, that if he did, there would be no rest on earth for him. he well remembered, that, because he had resisted being flogged (being high spirited), his master had declined to sell him for the express purpose of making an example of him--as a warning to the other slaves on the place. william was as much opposed to being thus made use of as he was to being flogged. his reflections and his stout heart enabled him to endure five weeks of severe suffering while fleeing from oppression. of course, when he did succeed, the triumph was unspeakably joyous. doubtless, he had thought a great deal during this time, and being an intelligent fugitive, he interested the committee greatly. the man that he escaped from was called william elliott, a farmer, living in prince george's county, md. william elliott claimed the right to flog and used it too. william, however, gave him the character of being among the moderate slave-holders of that part of the country. this was certainly a charitable view. william was of a chestnut color, well made, and would have commanded, under the "hammer," a high price, if his apparent intelligence had not damaged him. he left his father, grand-mother, four sisters and two brothers, all living where he fled from. charles henry brown. this "chattel" was owned by dr. richard dorsey, of cambridge, maryland. up to twenty-seven years of age, he had experienced and observed how slaves were treated in his neighborhood, and he made up his mind that he was not in favor of the institution in any form whatever. indeed he felt, that for a man to put his hand in his neighbor's pocket and rob him, was nothing compared to the taking of a man's hard earnings from year to year. really charles reasoned the case so well, in his uncultured country phrases, that the committee was rather surprised, and admired his spirit in escaping. he was a man of not quite medium size, with marked features of mind and character. oliver purnell and isaac fidget arrived from berlin, md. each had different owners. oliver stated that mose purnell had owned him, and that he was a tolerably moderate kind of a slave-holder, although he was occasionally subject to fractious turns. oliver simply gave as his reason for leaving in the manner that he did, that he wanted his "own earnings." he felt that he had as good a right to the fruit of his labor as anybody else. despite all the pro-slavery teachings he had listened to all his life, he was far from siding with the pro-slavery doctrines. he was about twenty-six years of age, chestnut color, wide awake and a man of promise; yet it was sadly obvious that he had been blighted and cursed by slavery even in its mildest forms. he left his parents, two brothers and three sisters all slaves in the hands of purnell, the master whom he deserted. isaac, his companion, was about thirty years of age, dark, and in intellect about equal to the average passengers on the underground rail road. he had a very lively hope of finding his wife in freedom, she having escaped the previous spring; but of her whereabouts he was ignorant, as he had had no tidings of her since her departure. a lady by the name of mrs. fidget held the deed for isaac. he spoke kindly of her, as he thought she treated her slaves quite as well at least as the best of slave-holders in his neighborhood. his view was a superficial one, it meant only that they had not been beaten and starved half to death. as the heroic adventures and sufferings of slaves struggling for freedom, shall be read by coming generations, were it not for unquestioned statutes upholding slavery in its dreadful heinousness, people will hardly be able to believe that such atrocities were enacted in the nineteenth century, under a highly enlightened, christianized, and civilized government. having already copied a statute enacted by the state of virginia, as a sample of southern state laws, it seems fitting that the fugitive slave bill, enacted by the congress of the united states, shall be also copied, in order to commemorate that most infamous deed, by which, it may be seen, how great were the bulwarks of oppression to be surmounted by all who sought to obtain freedom by flight. the fugitive slave bill of . "an act respecting fugitives from justice, and persons escaping from the service of their masters." be it enacted by the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america in congress assembled: that the persons who have been, or may hereafter be appointed commissioners, in virtue of any act of congress, by the circuit courts of the united states, and who, in consequence of such appointment, are authorized to exercise the powers that any justice of the peace or other magistrate of any of the united states, may exercise in respect to offenders for any crime or offence against the united states, by arresting, imprisoning, or bailing the same under and by virtue of the thirty-third section of the act of the twenty-fourth of september, seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, entitled, "an act to establish the judicial courts of the united states," shall be, and are hereby authorized and required to exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act. sec. . and be it further enacted: that the superior court of each organized territory of the united states, shall have the same power to appoint commissioners to take acknowledgments of bail and affidavit, and to take depositions of witnesses in civil causes, which is now possessed by the circuit courts of the united states, and all commissioners, who shall hereafter be appointed for such purposes, by the superior court of any organized territory of the united states, shall possess all the powers, and exercise all the duties conferred by law, upon the commissioners appointed by the circuit courts of the united states for similar purposes, and shall, moreover, exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act. sec. . and be it further enacted: that the circuit courts of the united states, and the superior courts of each organized territory of the united states, shall, from time to time, enlarge the number of commissioners, with a view to afford reasonable facilities to reclaim fugitives from labor, and to the prompt discharge of the duties imposed by this act. sec. . and be it further enacted, that the commissioners above named, shall have concurrent jurisdiction with the judges of the circuit and district courts of the united states, in their respective circuits and districts within the several states, and the judges of the superior courts of the territories severally and collectively, in term time and vacation; and shall grant certificates to such claimants, upon satisfactory proof being made, with authority to take and remove such fugitives from service or labor, under the restrictions herein contained, to the state or territory from which such persons may have escaped or fled. sec. . and be it further enacted: that it shall be the duty of all marshals and deputy marshals, to obey and execute all warrants and precepts issued under the provisions of this act, when to them directed; and should any marshal or deputy marshal refuse to receive such warrant or other process when tendered, or to use all proper means diligently to execute the same, he shall, on conviction thereof, be fined in the sum of one thousand dollars to the use of such claimant, on the motion of such claimant by the circuit or district court for the district of such marshal; and after arrest of such fugitive by the marshal, or his deputy, or whilst at any time in his custody, under the provisions of this act, should such fugitive escape, whether with or without the assent of such marshal or his deputy, such marshal shall be liable, on his official bond, to be prosecuted, for the benefit of such claimant, for the full value of the service or labor of said fugitive in the state, territory or district whence he escaped; and the better to enable the said commissioners, when thus appointed, to execute their duties faithfully and efficiently, in conformity with the requirements of the constitution of the united states, and of this act, they are hereby authorized and empowered, within their counties respectively, to appoint in writing under their hands, any one or more suitable persons, from time to time, to execute all such warrants and other process as may be issued by them in the lawful performance of their respective duties, with an authority to such commissioners, or the persons to be appointed by them, to execute process as aforesaid, to summon and call to their aid the bystanders or posse comitatus, of the proper county, when necessary to insure a faithful observance of the clause of the constitution referred to, in conformity with the provisions of this act; and all good citizens are hereby commanded to aid and assist in the prompt and efficient execution of this law, whenever their services may be required, as aforesaid, for that purpose; and said warrants shall run and be executed by said officers anywhere in the state within which they are issued. sec. . and be it further enacted, that when a person held to service or labor in any state or territory of the united states, has heretofore, or shall hereafter escape into another state or territory of the united states, the person or persons to whom such service or labor may be due, or his, her or their agent or attorney, duly authorized, by power of attorney, in writing, acknowledged and certified under the seal of some legal office or court of the state or territory, in which the same may be executed, may pursue and reclaim such fugitive person, either by procuring a warrant from some one of the courts, judges, or commissioners aforesaid, of the proper circuit, district or county, for the apprehension of such fugitive from service or labor, or by seizing and arresting such fugitive, where the same can be done without process, and by taking, or causing such person to be taken, forthwith, before such court, judge or commissioner, whose duty it shall be to hear and determine the case of such claimant in a summary manner, and upon satisfactory proof being made, by deposition or affidavit, in writing, to be taken and certified by such court, judge or commissioner, or by other satisfactory testimony, duly taken and certified by some court, magistrate, justice of the peace, or other legal officer authorized to administer an oath and take depositions under the laws of the state or territory from which such person owing service or labor may have escaped, with a certificate of such magistrate, or other authority, as aforesaid, with the seal of the proper court or officer thereto attached, which seal shall be sufficient to establish the competency of the proof, and with proof also, by affidavit, of the identity of the person whose service or labor is claimed to be due, as aforesaid, that the person so arrested does in fact owe service or labor to the person or persons claiming him or her, in the state or territory from which such fugitive may have escaped, as aforesaid, and that said person escaped, to make out and deliver to such claimant, his or her agent or attorney, a certificate setting forth the substantial facts as to the service or labor due from such fugitive to the claimant, and of his or her escape from the state or territory in which such service or labor was due, to the state or territory, in which he or she was arrested, with authority to such claimant, or his or her agent or attorney, to use such reasonable force and restraint as may be necessary, under the circumstances of the case, to take and remove such fugitive person back to the state or territory from whence he or she may have escaped, as aforesaid. in no trial or hearing, under this act, shall the testimony of such alleged fugitives be admitted in evidence, and the certificates in this and the first section mentioned, shall be conclusive of the right of the person or persons in whose favor granted to remove such fugitives to the state or territory from which they escaped, and shall prevent all molestation of said person or persons by any process issued by any court, judge, magistrate, or other person whomsoever. sec. . and be it further enacted, that any person who shall knowingly and willfully obstruct, hinder, or prevent such claimant, his agent, or attorney, or any person or persons lawfully assisting him, her or them from arresting such a fugitive from service or labor, either with or without process, as aforesaid, or shall rescue, or attempt to rescue, such fugitive from service or labor, or from the custody of such claimant, his or her agent, or attorney, or other person or persons lawfully assisting, as aforesaid, when so arrested, pursuant to the authority herein given and declared, or shall aid, abet, or assist such person, so owing service or labor, as aforesaid, directly or indirectly, to escape from such claimant, his agent or attorney, or other person or persons legally authorized, as aforesaid, or shall harbor or conceal such fugitive, so as to prevent the discovery and arrest of such person, after notice or knowledge of the fact that such person was a fugitive from service or labor, as aforesaid, shall, for either of said offences, be subject to a fine not exceeding one thousand dollars, and imprisonment not exceeding six months, by indictment and conviction before the district court of the united states, for the district in which such offence may have been committed, or before the proper court of criminal jurisdiction, if committed within any one of the organized territories of the united states; and shall, moreover, forfeit and pay, by way of civil damages, to the party injured by such illegal conduct, the sum of one thousand dollars for each fugitive so lost, as aforesaid, to be recovered by action of debt in any of the district or territorial courts aforesaid, within whose jurisdiction the said offence may have been committed. sec. . and be it further enacted, that the marshals, their deputies, and the clerks of the said districts and territorial courts, shall be paid for their services the like fees as may be allowed to them for similar services in other cases; and where such services are rendered exclusively in the arrest, custody, and delivery of the fugitives to the claimant, his or her agent, or attorney, or where such supposed fugitive may be discharged out of custody from the want of sufficient proof, as aforesaid, then such fees are to be paid in the whole by such complainant, his agent or attorney, and in all cases where the proceedings are before a commissioner, he shall be entitled to a fee of ten dollars in full for his services in each case, upon the delivery of the said certificate to the claimant, his or her agent or attorney; or a fee of five dollars in cases where proof shall not, in the opinion of said commissioner, warrant such certificate and delivery, inclusive of all services incident to such arrest and examination, to be paid in either case, by the claimant, his or her agent or attorney. the person or persons authorized to execute the process to be issued by such commissioners for the arrest and detention of fugitives from service or labor, as aforesaid, shall also be entitled to a fee of five dollars each for each person he or they may arrest and take before any such commissioners, as aforesaid, at the instance and request of such claimant, with such other fees as may be deemed reasonable by such commissioner for such other additional services as may be necessarily performed by him or them; such as attending to the examination, keeping the fugitive in custody, and providing him with food and lodgings during his detention, and until the final determination of such commissioner; and in general for performing such other duties as may be required by such claimant, his or her attorney or agent or commissioner in the premises; such fees to be made up in conformity with the fees usually charged by the officers of the courts of justice within the proper district or county as far as may be practicable, and paid by such claimants, their agents or attorneys, whether such supposed fugitive from service or labor be ordered to be delivered to such claimants by the final determination of such commissioners or not. sec. . and be it further enacted, that upon affidavit made by the claimant of such fugitive, his agent or attorney, after such certificate has been issued, that he has reason to apprehend that such fugitive will be rescued by force from his or their possession before he can be taken beyond the limits of the state in which the arrest is made, it shall be the duty of the officer making the arrest to retain such fugitive in his custody, and to remove him to the state whence he fled, and there to deliver him to said claimant, his agent or attorney. and to this end the officer aforesaid is hereby authorized and required to employ so many persons as he may deem necessary, to overcome such force, and to retain them in his service so long as circumstances may require; the said officer and his assistants, while so employed, to receive the same compensation, and to be allowed the same expenses as are now allowed by law for the transportation of criminals, to be certified by the judge of the district within which the arrest is made, and paid out of the treasury of the united states. sec. . and be it further enacted, that when any person held to service or labor in any state or territory, or in the district of columbia, shall escape therefrom, the party to whom such service or labor shall be due, his, her, or their agent, or attorney may apply to any court of record therein, or judge thereof in vacation, and make such satisfactory proof to such court or judge in vacation, of the escape aforesaid, and that the person escaping owed service or labor to such party. thereupon the court shall cause a record to be made of the matters so proved, and also a personal description of the person so escaping, with such convenient certainty as may be; and a transcript of such record, authenticated by the attestation of the clerk, and of the seal of said court being produced in any other state, territory or district in which the person so escaping may be found, and being exhibited to any judge, commissioner, or other officer authorized by the law of the united states to cause persons escaping from, service or labor to be delivered up, shall be held and taken to be full and conclusive evidence of the fact of escape, and that the service or labor of the person escaping is due to the party in such record mentioned. and upon the production, by the said party, of other and further evidence, if necessary, either oral or by affidavit, in addition to what is contained in said record of the identity of the person escaping, he or she shall be delivered up to the claimant. and said court, commissioners, judge, or other persons authorized by this act to grant certificates to claimants of fugitives, shall, upon the production of the record and other evidence aforesaid, grant to such claimant a certificate of his right to take any such person, identified and proved to be owing service or labor as aforesaid, which certificate shall authorize such claimant to seize, or arrest, and transport such person to the state or territory from which he escaped: provided, that nothing herein contained shall be construed as requiring the production of a transcript of such record as evidence as aforesaid, but in its absence, the claim shall be heard and determined upon other satisfactory proofs competent in law. * * * * * the slave-hunting tragedy in lancaster county, in september, . "treason at christiana." having inserted the fugitive slave bill in these records of the underground rail road, one or two slave cases will doubtless suffice to illustrate the effect of its passage on the public mind, and the colored people in particular. the deepest feelings of loathing, contempt and opposition were manifested by the opponents of slavery on every hand. anti-slavery papers, lecturers, preachers, etc., arrayed themselves boldly against it on the ground of its inhumanity and violation of the laws of god. on the other hand, the slave-holders south, and their pro-slavery adherents in the north demanded the most abject obedience from all parties, regardless of conscience or obligation to god. in order to compel such obedience, as well as to prove the practicability of the law, unbounded zeal daily marked the attempt on the part of slave-holders and slave-catchers to refasten the fetters on the limbs of fugitives in different parts of the north, whither they had escaped. in this dark hour, when colored men's rights were so insecure, as a matter of self-defence, they felt called upon to arm themselves and resist all kidnapping intruders, although clothed with the authority of wicked law. among the most exciting cases tending to justify this course, the following may be named: james hamlet was the first slave case who was summarily arrested under the fugitive slave law, and sent back to bondage from new york. william and ellen craft were hotly pursued to boston by hunters from georgia. adam gibson, a free colored man, residing in philadelphia, was arrested, delivered into the hands of his alleged claimants, by commissioner edward d. ingraham, and hurried into slavery. euphemia williams (the mother of six living children),--her case excited much interest and sympathy. shadrach was arrested and rescued in boston. hannah dellum and her child were returned to slavery from philadelphia. thomas hall and his wife were pounced upon at midnight in chester county, beaten and dragged off to slavery, etc. and, as if gloating over their repeated successes, and utterly regardless of all caution, about one year after the passage of this nefarious bill, a party of slave-hunters arranged for a grand capture at christiana. one year from the passage of the law, at a time when alarm and excitement were running high, the most decided stand was taken at christiana, in the state of pennsylvania, to defeat the law, and defend freedom. fortunately for the fugitives the plans of the slave-hunters and officials leaked out while arrangements were making in philadelphia for the capture, and, information being sent to the anti-slavery office, a messenger was at once dispatched to christiana to put all persons supposed to be in danger on their guard. among those thus notified, were brave hearts, who did not believe in running away from slave-catchers. they resolved to stand up for the right of self-defence. they loved liberty and hated slavery, and when the slave-catchers arrived, they were prepared for them. of the contest, on that bloody morning, we have copied a report, carefully written at the time, by c.m. burleigh, editor of the "pennsylvania freeman," who visited the scene of battle, immediately after it was over, and doubtless obtained as faithful an account of all the facts in the case, as could then be had. "last thursday morning, (the th inst,), a peaceful neighborhood in the borders of lancaster county, was made the scene of a bloody battle, resulting from an attempt to capture seven colored men as fugitive slaves. as the reports of the affray which came to us were contradictory, and having good reason to believe that those of the daily press were grossly one-sided and unfair, we repaired to the scene of the tragedy, and, by patient inquiry and careful examination, endeavored to learn the real facts. to do this, from the varying and conflicting statements which we encountered, scarcely two of which agreed in every point, was not easy; but we believe the account we give below, as the result of these inquiries, is substantially correct. very early on the th inst. a party of slave-hunters went into a neighborhood about two miles west of christiana, near the eastern border of lancaster county, in pursuit of fugitive slaves. the party consisted of edward gorsuch, his son, dickerson gorsuch, his nephew, dr. pearce, nicholas hutchins, and others, all from baltimore county, md., and one henry h. kline, a notorious slave-catching constable from philadelphia, who had been deputized by commissioner ingraham for this business. at about day-dawn they were discovered lying in an ambush near the house of one william parker, a colored man, by an inmate of the house, who had started for his work. he fled back to the house, pursued by the slave-hunters, who entered the lower part of the house, but were unable to force their way into the upper part, to which the family had retired. a horn was blown from an upper window; two shots were fired, both, as we believe, though we are not certain, by the assailants, one at the colored man who fled into the house, and the other at the inmates, through the window. no one was wounded by either. a parley ensued. the slave-holder demanded his slaves, who he said were concealed in the house. the colored men presented themselves successively at the window, and asked if they were the slaves claimed; gorsuch said, that neither of them was his slave. they told him that they were the only colored men in the house, and were determined never to be taken alive as slaves. soon the colored people of the neighborhood, alarmed by the horn, began to gather, armed with guns, axes, corn-cutters, or clubs. mutual threatenings were uttered by the two parties. the slave-holders told the blacks that resistance would be useless, as they had a party of thirty men in the woods near by. the blacks warned them again to leave, as they would die before they would go into slavery. from an hour to an hour and a half passed in these parleyings, angry conversations, and threats; the blacks increasing by new arrivals, until they probably numbered from thirty to fifty, most of them armed in some way. about this time, castner hanaway, a white man, and a friend, who resided in the neighborhood, rode up, and was soon followed by elijah lewis, another friend, a merchant, in cooperville, both gentlemen highly esteemed as worthy and peaceable citizens. as they came up, kline, the deputy marshal, ordered them to aid him, as a united states officer, to capture the fugitive slaves. they refused of course, as would any man not utterly destitute of honor, humanity, and moral principle, and warned the assailants that it was madness for them to attempt to capture fugitive slaves there, or even to remain, and begged them if they wished to save their own lives, to leave the ground. kline replied, "do you really think so?" "yes," was the answer, "the sooner you leave, the better, if you would prevent bloodshed." kline then left the ground, retiring into a very safe distance into a cornfield, and toward the woods. the blacks were so exasperated by his threats, that, but for the interposition of the two white friends, it is very doubtful whether he would have escaped without injury. messrs. hanaway and lewis both exerted their influence to dissuade the colored people from violence, and would probably have succeeded in restraining them, had not the assailing party fired upon them. young gorsuch asked his father to leave, but the old man refused, declaring, as it is said and believed, that he would "go to hell, or have his slaves." finding they could do nothing further, hanaway and lewis both started to leave, again counselling the slave-hunters to go away, and the colored people to peace, but had gone but a few rods, when one of the inmates of the house attempted to come out at the door. gorsuch presented his revolver, ordering him back. the colored man replied, "you had better go away, if you don't want to get hurt," and at the same time pushed him aside and passed out. maddened at this, and stimulated by the question of his nephew, whether he would "take such an insult from a d----d nigger," gorsuch fired at the colored man, and was followed by his son and nephew, who both fired their revolvers. the fire was returned by the blacks, who made a rush upon them at the same time. gorsuch and his son fell, the one dead the other wounded. the rest of the party after firing their revolvers, fled precipitately through the corn and to the woods, pursued by some of the blacks. one was wounded, the rest escaped unhurt. kline, the deputy marshal, who now boasts of his miraculous escape from a volley of musket-balls, had kept at a safe distance, though urged by young gorsuch to stand by his father and protect him, when he refused to leave the ground. he of course came off unscathed. several colored men were wounded, but none severely. some had their hats or their clothes perforated with bullets; others had flesh wounds. they said that the lord protected them, and they shook the bullets from their clothes. one man found several shot in his boot, which seemed to have spent their force before reaching him, and did not even break the skin. the slave-holders having fled, several neighbors, mostly friends and anti-slavery men, gathered to succor the wounded and take charge of the dead. we are told that parker himself protected the wounded man from his excited comrades, and brought water and a bed from his own house for the invalid, thus showing that he was as magnanimous to his fallen enemy as he was brave in the defence of his own liberty. the young man was then removed to a neighboring house, where the family received him with the tenderest kindness and paid him every attention, though they told him in quaker phrase, that "they had no unity with his cruel business," and were very sorry to see him engaged in it. he was much affected by their kindness, and we are told, expressed his regret that he had been thus engaged, and his determination, if his life was spared, never again to make a similar attempt. his wounds are very severe, and it is feared mortal. all attempts to procure assistance to capture the fugitive slaves failed, the people in the neighborhood either not relishing the business of slave-catching, or at least, not choosing to risk their lives in it. there was a very great reluctance felt to going even to remove the body and the wounded man, until several abolitionists and friends had collected for that object, when others found courage to follow on. the excitement caused by this most melancholy affair is very great among all classes. the abolitionists, of course, mourn the occurrence, while they see in it a legitimate fruit of the fugitive slave law, just such a harvest of blood as they had long feared that the law would produce, and which they had earnestly labored to prevent. we believe that they alone, of all classes of the nation, are free from responsibility for its occurrence, having wisely foreseen the danger, and faithfully labored to avert it by removing its causes, and preventing the inhuman policy which has hurried on the bloody convulsion. the enemies of the colored people, are making this the occasion of fresh injuries, and a more bitter ferocity toward that defenceless people, and of new misrepresentation and calumnies against the abolitionists. the colored people, though the great body of them had no connection with this affair, are hunted like partridges upon the mountains, by the relentless horde which has been poured forth upon them, under the pretense of arresting the parties concerned in the fight. when we reached christiana, on friday afternoon, we found that the deputy-attorney thompson, of lancaster, was there, and had issued warrants, upon the depositions of kline and others, for the arrest of all suspected persons. a company of police were scouring the neighborhood in search of colored people, several of whom were seized while at their work near by, and brought in. castner hanaway and elijah lewis, hearing that warrants were issued against them, came to christiana, and voluntarily gave themselves up, calm and strong in the confidence of their innocence. they, together with the arrested colored men, were sent to lancaster jail that night. the next morning we visited the ground of the battle, and the family where young gorsuch now lives, and while there, we saw a deposition which he had just made, that he believed no white persons were engaged in the affray, beside his own party. as he was on the ground during the whole controversy, and deputy marshall kline had discreetly run off into the corn-field, before the fighting began, the hireling slave-catcher's eager and confident testimony against our white friends, will, we think, weigh lightly with impartial men. on returning to christiana, we found that the united states marshal from the city, had arrived at that place, accompanied by commissioner ingraham, mr. jones, a special commissioner of the united states, from washington, the u.s. district attorney ashmead, with forty-five u.s. marines from the navy yard, and a posse of about forty of the city marshal's police, together with a large body of special constables, eager for such a manhunt, from columbia and lancaster and other places. this crowd divided into parties, of from ten to twenty-five, and scoured the country, in every direction, for miles around, ransacking the houses of the colored people, and captured every colored man they could find, with several colored women, and two other white men. never did our heart bleed with deeper pity for the peeled and persecuted colored people, than when we saw this troop let loose upon them, and witnessed the terror and distress which its approach excited in families, wholly innocent of the charges laid against them." on the other hand, a few extracts from the editorials of some of the leading papers, will suffice to show the state of public feeling at that time, and the dreadful opposition abolitionists and fugitives had to contend with. from one of the leading daily journals of philadelphia, we copy as follows: "there can be no difference of opinion concerning the shocking affair which occurred at christiana, on thursday, the resisting of a law of congress by a band of armed negroes, whereby the majesty of the government was defied and life taken in one and the same act. there is something more than a mere ordinary, something more than even a murderous, riot in all this. it is an act of insurrection, we might, considering the peculiar class and condition of the guilty parties, almost call it a servile insurrection--if not also one of treason. fifty, eighty, or a hundred persons, whether white or black, who are deliberately in arms for the purpose of resisting the law, even the law for the recovery of fugitive slaves, are in the attitude of levying war against the united states; and doubly heavy becomes the crime of murder in such a case, and doubly serious the accountability of all who have any connection with the act as advisers, suggesters, countenancers, or accessories in any way whatever." in those days, the paper from which this extract is taken, represented the whig party and the more moderate and respectable class of citizens. the following is an extract from a leading democratic organ of philadelphia: "we will not, however, insult the reader by arguing that which has not been heretofore doubted, and which is not doubted now, by ten honest men in the state, and that is that the abolitionists are implicated in the christiana murder. all the ascertained facts go to show that they were the real, if not the chief instigators. white men are known to harbor fugitives, in the neighborhood of christiana, and these white men are known to be abolitionists, known to be opposed to the fugitive slave law, and _known_ to be the warm friends of william f. johnston, (governor of the state of pennsylvania). and, as if to clinch the argument, no less than three white men are now in the lancaster prison, and were arrested as accomplices in the dreadful affair on the morning of the eleventh. and one of these white men was committed on a charge of high treason, on saturday last, by united states commissioner ingraham." another daily paper of opposite politics thus spake: "the unwarrantable outrage committed last week, at christiana, lancaster county, is a foul stain upon the fair name and fame of our state. we are pleased to see that the officers of the federal and state governments are upon the tracks of those who were engaged in the riot, and that several arrests have been made. we do not wish to see the poor misled blacks who participated in the affair, suffer to any great extent, for they were but tools. the men who are really chargeable with treason against the united states government, and with the death of mr. gorsuch, an estimable citizen of maryland, are unquestionably _white_, with hearts black enough to incite them to the commission of any crime equal in atrocity to that committed in lancaster county. pennsylvania has now but one course to pursue, and that is to aid, and warmly aid, the united states in bringing to condign punishment, every man engaged in the riot. she owes it to herself and to the union. let her in this resolve, be just and fearless." from a leading neutral daily paper the following is taken: "one would suppose from the advice of forcible resistance, so familiarly given by the abolitionists, that they are quite unaware that there is any such crime as treason recognized by the constitution, or punished with death by the laws of the united states. we would remind them, that not only is there such a crime, but that there is a solemn decision of the supreme court, that all who are concerned in a conspiracy which ripens into treason, whether present or absent from the scene of actual violence, are involved in the same liabilities as the immediate actors. if they engage in the conspiracy and stimulate the treason, they may keep their bodies from the affray without saving their necks from a halter. it would be very much to the advantage of society, if an example could be made of some of these persistent agitators, who excite the ignorant and reckless to treasonable violence, from which they themselves shrink, but who are, not only in morals, but in law, equally guilty and equally amenable to punishment with the victims of their inflammatory counsels." a number of the most influential citizens represented the occurrence to the governor as follows: "to the governor of pennsylvania: the undersigned, citizens of pennsylvania, respectfully represent: that citizens of a neighboring state have been cruelly assassinated by a band of armed outlaws at a place not more than three hours' journey distant from the seat of government and from the commercial metropolis of the state: that this insurrectionary movement in one of the most populous parts of the state has been so far successful as to overawe the local ministers of justice and paralyze the power of the law: that your memorialists are not aware that 'any military force' has been sent to the seat of insurrection, or that the civil authority has been strengthened by the adoption of any measures suited to the momentous crisis. they, therefore, respectfully request the chief executive magistrate of pennsylvania to take into consideration the necessity of vindicating the outraged laws, and sustaining the dignity of the commonwealth on this important and melancholy occasion." under this high pressure of public excitement, threatening and alarm breathed so freely on every hand, that fugitive slaves and their friends in this region of pennsylvania at least, were compelled to pass through an hour of dreadful darkness--an ordeal extremely trying. the authorities of the united states, as well as the authorities of the state of pennsylvania and maryland, were diligently making arrests wherever a suspected party could be found, who happened to belong in the neighborhood of christiana. in a very short time the following persons were in custody: j. castner hanaway, elijah lewis, joseph scarlett, samuel kendig, henry spins, george williams, charles hunter, wilson jones, francis harkins, benjamin thomson, william brown (no. ), william brown (no. ), john halliday, elizabeth mosey, john morgan, joseph berry, john norton, denis smith, harvey scott, susan clark, tansy brown, eliza brown, eliza parker, hannah pinckney, robert johnson, miller thompson, isaiah clark, and jonathan black. these were not all, but sufficed for a beginning; at least it made an interesting entertainment for the first day's examination; and although there were two or three non-resistant quakers, and a number of poor defenceless colored women among those thus taken as prisoners, still it seemed utterly impossible for the exasperated defenders of slavery to divest themselves of the idea, that this heroic deed, in self-defence, on the part of men who felt that their liberties were in danger, was anything less than actually levying war against the united states. accordingly, therefore, the hearing gravely took place at lancaster. on the side of the commonwealth, the following distinguished counsel appeared on examination: hon. john l. thompson, district attorney; wm. b. faulney, esq.; thos. e. franklin, esq., attorney-general of lancaster county; george l. ashmead, esq., of philadelphia, representative of the united states authorities; and hon. robert brent, attorney-general of maryland. for the defence--hon. thaddeus stevens, reah frazer, messrs. ford, cline, and dickey, esquires. from a report of the first day's hearing we copy a short extract, as follows: "the excitement at christiana, during yesterday, was very great. several hundred persons were present, and the deepest feeling was manifested against the perpetrators of the outrage. at two o'clock yesterday afternoon, the united states marshal, mr. roberts, united states district attorney, j.h. ashmead, esq., mr. commissioner ingraham, and recorder lee, accompanied by the united states marines, returned to the city. lieut. johnson, and officers lewis s. brest, samuel mitchell, charles mccully, samuel neff, jacob albright, robert mcewen, and ---- perkenpine, by direction of the united states marshal, had charge of the following named prisoners, who were safely lodged in moyamensing prison, accompanied by the marines:--joseph scarlett, (white), william brown, ezekiel thompson, isaiah clarkson, daniel caulsberry, benjamin pendergrass, elijah clark, george w.h. scott, miller thompson, and samuel hanson, all colored. the last three were placed in the debtors' apartment, and the others in the criminal apartment of the moyamensing prison to await their trial for treason, &c." in alluding to the second day's doings, the philadelphia ledger thus represented matters at the field of battle: "the intelligence received last evening, represents the country for miles around, to be in as much excitement as at any time since the horrible deed was committed. the officers sent there at the instance of the proper authorities are making diligent search in every direction, and securing every person against whom the least suspicion is attached. the police force from this city, amounting to about sixty men, are under the marshalship of lieut. ellis. just as the cars started east, in the afternoon, five more prisoners who were secured at a place called the welsh mountains, twelve miles distant, were brought into christiana. they were placed in custody until such time as a hearing will take place." although the government had summoned its ablest legal talent and the popular sentiment was as a hundred to one against william parker and his brave comrades who had made the slave-hunter "bite the dust," most nobly did thaddeus stevens prove that he was not to be cowed, that he believed in the stirring sentiment so much applauded by the american people, "give me liberty, or give me death," not only for the white man but for all men. thus standing upon such great and invulnerable principles, it was soon discovered that one could chase a thousand, and two put ten thousand to flight in latter as well as in former times. at first even the friends of freedom thought that the killing of gorsuch was not only wrong, but unfortunate for the cause. scarcely a week passed, however, before the matter was looked upon in a far different light, and it was pretty generally thought that, if the lord had not a direct hand in it, the cause of freedom at least would be greatly benefited thereby. and just in proportion as the masses cried, treason! treason! the hosts of freedom from one end of the land to the other were awakened to sympathize with the slave. thousands were soon aroused to show sympathy who had hitherto been dormant. hundreds visited the prisoners in their cells to greet, cheer, and offer them aid and counsel in their hour of sore trial. the friends of freedom remained calm even while the pro-slavery party were fiercely raging and gloating over the prospect, as they evidently thought of the satisfaction to be derived from teaching the abolitionists a lesson from the scaffold, which would in future prevent underground rail road passengers from killing their masters when in pursuit of them. through the efforts of the authorities three white men, and twenty-seven colored had been safely lodged in moyamensing prison, under the charge of treason. the authorities, however, had utterly failed to catch the hero, william parker, as he had been sent to canada, _viâ_ the underground rail road, and was thus "sitting under his own vine and fig tree, where none dared to molest, or make him afraid." as an act of simple justice it may here be stated that the abolitionists and prisoners found a true friend and ally at least in one united states official, who, by the way, figured prominently in making arrests, etc., namely: the united states marshal, a.e. roberts. in all his intercourse with the prisoners and their friends, he plainly showed that all his sympathies were on the side of freedom, and not with the popular pro-slavery sentiment which clamored so loudly against traitors and abolitionists. two of his prisoners had been identified in the jail as fugitive slaves by their owners. when the trial came on these two individuals were among the missing. how they escaped was unknown; the marshal, however, was strongly suspected of being a friend of the underground rail road, and to add now, that those suspicions were founded on fact, will, doubtless, do him no damage. in order to draw the contrast between freedom and slavery, simply with a view of showing how the powers that were acted and judged in the days of the reign of the fugitive slave law, unquestionably nothing better could be found to meet the requirements of this issue than the charge of judge kane, coupled with the indictment of the grand jury. in the light of the emancipation and the fifteenth amendment, they are too transparent to need a single word of comment. judge and jury having found the accused chargeable with treason, nothing remained, so far as the men were concerned, but to bide their time as best they could in prison. most of them were married, and had wives and children clinging to them in this hour of fearful looking for of judgment. the law of treason, as laid down by judge kane. the following charge to the grand jury of the united states district court, in reference to the slave-hunting affray in lancaster county, and preparatory to their finding bills of indictment against the prisoners, was delivered on monday, september , by judge kane: "gentlemen of the grand jury:--it has been represented to me, that since we met last, circumstances have occurred in one of the neighboring counties in our district, which should call for your prompt scrutiny, and perhaps for the energetic action of the court. it is said, that a citizen of the state of maryland, who had come into pennsylvania to reclaim a fugitive from labor, was forcibly obstructed in the attempt by a body of armed men, assaulted, beaten and murdered; that some members of his family, who had accompanied him in the pursuit, were at the same time, and by the same party maltreated and grievously wounded; and that an officer of justice, constituted under the authority of this court, who sought to arrest the fugitive, was impeded and repelled by menaces and violence, while proclaiming his character, and exhibiting his warrant. it is said, too, that the time and manner of these outrages, their asserted object, the denunciations by which they were preceded, and the simultaneous action of most of the guilty parties, evinced a combined purpose forcibly to resist and make nugatory a constitutional provision, and the statutes enacted in pursuance of it: and it is added, in confirmation of this, that for some months back, gatherings of people, strangers, as well as citizens, have been held from time to time in the vicinity of the place of the recent outbreaks, at which exhortations were made and pledges interchanged to hold the law for the recovery of fugitive slaves as of no validity, and to defy its execution. such are some of the representations that have been made in my hearing, and in regard to which, it has become your duty, as the grand inquest of the district, to make legal inquiry. personally, i know nothing of the facts, or the evidence relating to them. as a member of the court, before which the accused persons may hereafter be arraigned and tried, i have sought to keep my mind altogether free from any impressions of their guilt or innocence, and even from an extra-judicial knowledge of the circumstances which must determine the legal character of the offence that has thus been perpetrated. it is due to the great interests of public justice, no less than to the parties implicated in a criminal charge, that their cause should be in no wise and in no degree prejudged. and in referring, therefore, to the representations which have been made to me, i have no other object than to point you to the reasons for my addressing you at this advanced period of our sessions, and to enable you to apply with more facility and certainty the principles and rules of law, which i shall proceed to lay before you. if the circumstances, to which i have adverted, have in fact taken place, they involve the highest crime known to our laws. treason against the united states is defined by the constitution, art. , sec. , cl. , to consist in "levying war against them, or adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort." this definition is borrowed from the ancient law of england, stat. , edw. , stat. , chap. , and its terms must be understood, of course, in the sense which they bore in that law, and which obtained here when the constitution was adopted. the expression, "levying war," so regarded, embraces not merely the act of formal or declared war, but any combination forcibly to prevent or oppose the execution or enforcement of a provision of the constitution, or of a public statute, if accompanied or followed by an act of forcible opposition in pursuance of such combination. this, in substance, has been the interpretation given to these words by the english judges, and it has been uniformly and fully recognized and adopted in the courts of the united states. (see foster, hale, and hawkins, and the opinions of iredell, patterson, chase, marshall, and washington, j.j., of the supreme court, and of peters, d.j., in u.s. vs. vijol, u.s. vs. mitchell, u.s. vs. fries, u.s. vs. bollman and swartwout, and u.s. vs. burr). the definition, as you will observe, includes two particulars, both of them indispensable elements of the offence. there must have been a combination or conspiring together to oppose the law by force, and some actual force must have been exerted, or the crime of treason is not consummated. the highest, or at least the direct proof of the combination may be found in the declared purposes of the individual party before the actual outbreak; or it may be derived from the proceedings of meetings, in which he took part openly; or which he either prompted, or made effective by his countenance or sanction,--commending, counselling and instigating forcible resistance to the law. i speak, of course, of a conspiring to resist a law, not the more limited purpose to violate it, or to prevent its application and enforcement in a particular case, or against a particular individual. the combination must be directed against the law itself. but such direct proof of this element of the offence is not legally necessary to establish its existence. the concert of purpose may be deduced from the concerted action itself, or it may be inferred from facts occurring at the time, or afterwards, as well as before. besides this, there must be some act of violence, as the result or consequence of the combining. but here again, it is not necessary to prove that the individual accused was a direct, personal actor in the violence. if he was present, directing, aiding, abetting, counselling, or countenancing it, he is in law guilty of the forcible act. nor is even his personal presence indispensable. though he be absent at the time of its actual perpetration, yet, if he directed the act, devised, or knowingly furnished the means for carrying it into effect, instigated others to perform it, he shares their guilt. in treason there are no accessories. there has been, i fear, an erroneous impression on this subject, among a portion of our people. if it has been thought safe, to counsel and instigate others to acts of forcible oppugnation to the provisions of a statute, to inflame the minds of the ignorant by appeals to passion, and denunciations of the law as oppressive, unjust, revolting to the conscience, and not binding on the actions of men, to represent the constitution of the land as a compact of iniquity, which it were meritorious to violate or subvert, the mistake has been a grievous one; and they who have fallen into it may rejoice, if peradventure their appeals and their counsels have been hitherto without effect. the supremacy of the constitution, in all its provisions, is at the very basis of our existence as a nation. he, whose conscience, or whose theories of political or individual right, forbid him to support and maintain it in its fullest integrity, may relieve himself from the duties of citizenship, by divesting himself of its rights. but while he remains within our borders, he is to remember, that successfully to instigate treason, is to commit it. i shall not be supposed to imply in these remarks, that i have doubts of the law-abiding character of our people. no one can know them well, without the most entire reliance on their fidelity to the constitution. some of them may differ from the mass, as to the rightfulness or the wisdom of this or the other provision that is found in the federal compact, they may be divided in sentiment as to the policy of a particular statute, or of some provision in a statute; but it is their honest purpose to stand by the engagements, all the engagements, which bind them to their brethren of the other states. they have but one country; they recognize no law of higher social obligation than its constitution and the laws made in pursuance of it; they recognize no higher appeal than to the tribunals it has appointed; they cherish no patriotism that looks beyond the union of the states. that there are men here, as elsewhere, whom a misguided zeal impels to violations of law; that there are others who are controlled by false sympathies, and some who yield too readily and too fully to sympathies not always false, or if false, yet pardonable, and become criminal by yielding, that we have, not only in our jails and almshouses, but segregated here and there in detached portions of the state, ignorant men, many of them without political rights, degraded in social position, and instinctive of revolt, all this is true. it is proved by the daily record of our police courts, and by the ineffective labors of those good men among us, who seek to detach want from temptation, passion from violence, and ignorance from crime. but it should not be supposed that any of these represent the sentiment of pennsylvania, and it would be to wrong our people sorely, to include them in the same category of personal, social, or political morals. it is declared in the article of the constitution, which i have already cited, that 'no person shall be convicted of treason, unless on the testimony of two witnesses to the same overt act, or on confession in open court.' this and the corresponding language in the act of congress of the th of april, , seem to refer to the proofs on the trial, and not to the preliminary hearing before the committing magistrate, or the proceeding before the grand inquest. there can be no conviction until after arraignment on bill found. the previous action in the case is not a trial, and cannot convict, whatever be the evidence or the number of witnesses. i understand this to have been the opinion entertained by chief justice marshall, burr's trial, , and though it differs from that expressed by judge iredell on the indictment of fries, ( whart. am. st. tr. ), i feel authorized to recommend it to you, as within the terms of the constitution, and involving no injustice to the accused. i have only to add that treason against the united states, may be committed by any one resident or sojourning within its territory, and under the protection of its laws, whether he be a citizen or an alien. (fost. c.l. , .-- hale , , . hawk. ch. , § , kel. ). besides the crime of treason, which i have thus noticed, there are offences of minor grades, against the constitution and the state, some or other of which may be apparently established by the evidence that will come before you. these are embraced in the act of congress, on the th of sept., , ch. , sec. , on the subject of obstructing or resisting the service of legal process,--the act of the d of march, , chap. , sec. , which secures the jurors, witnesses, and officers of our courts in the fearless, free, and impartial administration of their respective functions,--and the act of the th of september, , ch. , which relates more particularly to the rescue, or attempted rescue of a fugitive from labor. these acts were made the subject of a charge to the grand jury of this court in november last, of which i shall direct a copy to be laid before you; and i do not deem it necessary to repeat their provisions at this time. gentlemen of the grand jury: you are about to enter upon a most grave and momentous duty. you will be careful in performing it, not to permit your indignation against crime, or your just appreciation of its perilous consequences, to influence your judgment of the guilt of those who may be charged before you with its commission. but you will be careful, also, that no misguided charity shall persuade you to withhold the guilty from the retributions of justice. you will inquire whether an offence has been committed, what was its legal character, and who were the offenders,--and this done, and this only, you will make your presentments according to the evidence and the law. your inquiries will not be restricted to the conduct of the people belonging to our own state. if in the progress of them, you shall find, that men have been among us, who, under whatever mask of conscience or of peace, have labored to incite others to treasonable violence, and who, after arranging the elements of the mischief, have withdrawn themselves to await the explosion they had contrived, you will feel yourselves bound to present the fact to the court,--and however distant may be the place in which the offenders may have sought refuge, we give you the pledge of the law, that its far-reaching energies shall be exerted to bring them up for trial,--if guilty, to punishment. the offence of treason is not triable in this court; but by an act of congress, passed on the th of august, , chap. , it is made lawful for the grand jury, empanelled and sworn in the district court, to take cognizance of all the indictments for crimes against the united states within the jurisdiction of either of the federal courts of the district. there being no grand jury in attendance at this time in the circuit court, to pass upon the accusations i have referred to in the first instance, it has fallen to my lot to assume the responsible office of expounding to you the law in regard to them. i have the satisfaction of knowing, that if the views i have expressed are in any respect erroneous, they must undergo the revision of my learned brother of the supreme court, who presides in this circuit, before they can operate to the serious prejudice of any one; and that if they are doubtful even, provision exists for their re-examination in the highest tribunal of the country." on the strength of judge kane's carefully-drawn up charge the grand jury found true bills of indictment against forty of the christiana offenders, charged with treason. james jackson, an aged member of the society of friends (a quaker), and a well-known non-resistant abolitionist, was of this number. with his name the blanks were filled up; the same form (with regard to these bills) was employed in the case of each one of the accused. the following is a copy of the indictment. eastern district of pennsylvania, ss.: the grand inquest of the united states of america, inquiring for the eastern district of pennsylvania, on their oaths and affirmations, respectfully do present, that james jackson, yeoman of the district aforesaid, owing allegiance to the united states of america, wickedly devising and intending the peace and tranquility of said united states, to disturb, and prevent the execution of the laws thereof within the same, to wit, a law of the united states, entitled "an act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters," approved february twelfth, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three, and also a law of the united states, entitled "an act to amend, and supplementary to, the act entitled, an act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters, approved february the twelfth, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three," which latter supplementary act was approved september eighteenth, one thousand eight hundred and fifty, on the eleventh day of september, in the year of our lord, one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one, in the county of lancaster, in the state of pennsylvania and district aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this court, wickedly and traitorously did intend to levy war against the united states within the same. and to fulfill and bring to effect the said traitorous intention of him, the said james jackson, he, the said james jackson afterward, to wit, on the day and year aforesaid, in the state, district and county aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this court, with a great multitude of persons, whose names, to this inquest are as yet unknown, to a great number, to wit, to the number of one hundred persons and upwards, armed and arrayed in a warlike manner, that is to say, with guns, swords, and other warlike weapons, as well offensive as defensive, being then and there unlawfully and traitorously assembled, did traitorously assemble and combine against the said united states, and then and there, with force and arms, wickedly and traitorously, and with the wicked and traitorous intention to oppose and prevent, by means of intimidation and violence, the execution of the said laws of the united states within the same, did array and dispose themselves in a warlike and hostile manner against the said united states, and then and there, with force and arms, in pursuance of such their traitorous intention, he, the said james jackson, with the said persons so as aforesaid, wickedly and traitorously did levy war against the united states. and further, to fulfill and bring to effect the said traitorous intention of him, the said james jackson, and in pursuance and in execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination to oppose, resist and prevent the said laws of the united states from being carried into execution, he, the said james jackson, afterwards, to wit, on the day and year first aforesaid, in the state, district and county aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction aforesaid, with the said persons whose names to this inquest are as yet unknown, did, wickedly and traitorously assemble against the said united states, with the avowed intention by force of arms and intimidation to prevent the execution of the said laws of the united states within the same; and in pursuance and execution of such their wicked and traitorous combination, he, the said james jackson, then and there with force and arms, with the said persons to a great number, to wit, the number of one hundred persons and upwards, armed and arrayed in a warlike manner, that is to say, with guns, swords, and other warlike weapons, as well offensive as defensive, being then and there, unlawfully and traitorously assembled, did wickedly, knowingly, and traitorously resist and oppose one henry h. kline, an officer, duly appointed by edward d. ingraham, esq., a commissioner, duly appointed by the circuit court of the united states, for the said district, in the execution of the duty of the office of the said kline, he, the said kline, being appointed by the said edward ingraham, esq., by writing under his hand, to execute warrants and other process issued by him, the said ingraham, in the performance of his duties as commissioner, under the said laws of the united states, and then and there, with force and arms, with the said great multitude of persons, so as, aforesaid, unlawfully and traitorously assembled, and armed and arrayed in manner as aforesaid, he, the said, james jackson, wickedly and traitorously did oppose and resist, and prevent the said kline, from executing the lawful process to him directed and delivered by the said commissioner against sundry persons, then residents of said county, who had been legally charged before the said commissioner as being persons held to service or labor in the state of maryland, and owing such service or labor to a certain edward gorsuch, under the laws of the said state of maryland, had escaped therefrom, into the said eastern district of pennsylvania; which process, duly issued by the said commissioner, the said kline then and there had in his possession, and was then and there proceeding to execute, as by law he was bound to do; and so the grand inquest, upon their respective oaths and affirmations aforesaid, do say, that the said james jackson, in manner aforesaid, as much as in him lay, wickedly and traitorously did prevent, by means of force and intimidation, the execution of the said laws of the united states, in the said state and district. and further, to fulfill and bring to effect, the said traitorous intention of him, the said james jackson, and in further pursuance, and in the execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination to expose, resist, and prevent the execution of the said laws of the said united states, in the state and district aforesaid, he, the said james jackson, afterwards, to wit, on the day and year first aforesaid, in the state, county, and district aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this court, with the said persons whose names to the grand inquest aforesaid, are as yet unknown, did, wickedly and traitorously assemble against the said united states with the avowed intention, by means of force and intimidation, to prevent the execution of the said laws of the united states in the state and district aforesaid, and in pursuance and execution of such, their wicked and traitorous combination and intention, then and there to the state, district, and county aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this court, with force and arms, with a great multitude of persons, to wit, the number of one hundred persons and upwards, armed and arrayed in a warlike manner, that is to say, with guns, swords, and other warlike weapons, as well offensive as defensive, being then and there unlawfully and traitorously assembled, he, the said james jackson, did, knowingly, and unlawfully assault the said henry h. kline, he, the said kline, being an officer appointed by writing, under the hand of the said edward d. ingraham, esq., a commissioner under said laws, to execute warrants and other process, issued by the said commissioner in the performance of his duties as such; and he, the said james jackson, did, then and there, traitorously, with force and arms, against the will of the said kline, liberate and take out of his custody, persons by him before that time arrested, and in his lawful custody, then and there being, by virtue of lawful process against them issued by the said commissioner, they being legally charged with being persons held to service or labor in the state of maryland, and owing such service or labor to a certain edward gorsuch, under the laws of the said state of maryland, who had escaped therefrom into the said district; and so the grand inquest aforesaid, upon their oaths and affirmations, aforesaid, do say, that he, the said james jackson, as much as in him lay, did, then and there, in pursuance and in execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination and intention, wickedly and traitorously, by means of force and intimidation, prevent the execution of the said laws of the united states, in the said state and district. and further to fulfill and bring to effect, the said traitorous intention of him, the said james jackson, and in pursuance and in execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination to oppose, resist and prevent the said laws of the united states from being carried into execution, he, the said james jackson, afterwards, to wit, on the day and year first aforesaid, and on divers other days, both before and afterwards in the state and district aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this court, with the said persons to this inquest as yet unknown, maliciously and traitorously did meet, conspire, consult, and agree among themselves, further to oppose, resist, and prevent, by means of force and intimidation, the execution of the said laws herein before specified. and further to fulfill, perfect, and bring to effect the said traitorous intention of him the said james jackson, and in pursuance and execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination to oppose and resist the said laws of the united states from being carried into execution, in the state and district aforesaid, he, the said james jackson, together with the other persons whose names are to this inquest as yet unknown, on the day and year first aforesaid, and on divers other days and times, as well before and after, at the district aforesaid, within the jurisdiction of said court, with force and arms, maliciously and traitorously did prepare and compose, and did then and there maliciously and traitorously cause and procure to be prepared and composed, divers books, pamphlets, letters, declarations, resolutions, addresses, papers and writings, and did then and there maliciously and traitorously publish and disperse and cause to be published and dispersed, divers other books and pamphlets, letters, declarations, resolutions, addresses, papers and writings; the said books, pamphlets, letters, declarations, resolutions, addresses, papers and writings, so respectively prepared, composed, published and dispersed, as last aforesaid, containing therein, amongst other things, incitements, encouragements, and exhortations, to move, induce and persuade persons held to service in any of the united states, by the laws thereof, who had escaped into the said district, as well as other persons, citizens of said district, to resist, oppose, and prevent, by violence and intimidation, the execution of the said laws, and also containing therein, instructions and directions how and upon what occasion, the traitorous purposes last aforesaid, should and might be carried into effect, contrary to the form of the act of congress in such case made and provided, and against the peace and dignity of the united states. john w. ashmead, attorney of the u.s. for the eastern district of pennsylvania. the abolitionists were leaving no stone unturned in order to triumphantly meet the case in court. during the interim many tokens of kindness and marks of christian benevolence were extended to the prisoners by their friends and sympathizers; among these none deserve more honorable mention than the noble act of thomas l. kane (son of judge kane, and now general), in tendering all the prisoners a sumptuous thanksgiving dinner, consisting of turkey, etc., pound cake, etc., etc. the dinner for the white prisoners, messrs. hanaway, davis, and scarlett, was served in appropriate style in the room of mr. morrison, one of the keepers. the u.s. marshal, a.e. roberts, esq., several of the keepers, and mr. hanes, one of the prison officers, dined with the prisoners as their guests. mayor charles gilpin was also present and accepted an invitation to test the quality of the luxuries, thus significantly indicating that he was not the enemy of freedom. mrs. martha hanaway, the wife of the "traitor" of that name, and who had spent most of her time with her husband since his incarceration, served each of the twenty-seven colored "traitors" with a plate of the delicacies, and the supply being greater than the demand, the balance was served to outsiders in other cells on the same corridor. the pro-slavery party were very indignant over the matter, and the hon. mr. brent thought it incumbent upon him to bring this high-handed procedure to the notice of the court, where he received a few crumbs of sympathy, from the pro-slavery side, of course. but the dinner had been so handsomely arranged, and coming from the source that it did, it had a very telling effect. long before this, however, mr. t.l. kane had given abundant evidence that he approved of the underground rail road, and was a decided opponent of the fugitive slave law; in short, that he believed in freedom for all men, irrespective of race or color. castnor hanaway was first to be tried; over him, therefore, the great contest was to be made. for the defence of this particular case, the abolitionists selected j.m. read, thaddeus stevens, joseph s. lewis and theodore cuyler, esqs. on the side of the fugitive slave law, and against the "traitors," were u.s. district attorney, john w. ashmead, hon. james cooper, james r. ludlow, esq., and robert g. brent, attorney general of maryland. mr. brent was allowed to act as "overseer" in conducting matters on the side of the fugitive slave law. on this infamous enactment, combined with a corrupted popular sentiment, the pro-slavery side depended for success. the abolitionists viewed matters in the light of freedom and humanity, and hopefully relied upon the justice of their cause and the power of truth to overcome and swallow up all the pharaoh's rods of serpents as fast as they might be thrown down. the prisoners having lain in their cells nearly three months, the time for their trial arrived. monday morning, november th, the contest began. the first three days were occupied in procuring jurors. the pro-slavery side desired none but such as believed in the fugitive slave law and in "treason" as expounded in the judge's charge and the finding of the grand jury. the counsel for the "traitors" carefully weighed the jurors, and when found wanting challenged them; in so doing, they managed to get rid of most all of that special class upon whom the prosecution depended for a conviction. the jury having been sworn in, the battle commenced in good earnest, and continued unabated for nearly two weeks. it is needless to say, that the examinations and arguments would fill volumes, and were of the most deeply interesting nature. no attempt can here be made to recite the particulars of the trial other than by a mere reference. it was, doubtless, the most important trial that ever took place in this country relative to the underground rail road passengers, and in its results more good was brought out of evil than can easily be estimated. the pro-slavery theories of treason were utterly demolished, and not a particle of room was left the advocates of the peculiar institution to hope, that slave-hunters in future, in quest of fugitives, would be any more safe than gorsuch. the tide of public sentiment changed--hanaway, and the other "traitors," began to be looked upon as having been greatly injured, and justly entitled to public sympathy and honor, while confusion of face, disappointment and chagrin were plainly visible throughout the demoralized ranks of the enemy. hanaway was victorious. an effort was next made to convict thompson, one of the colored "traitors." to defend the colored prisoners, the old abolition society had retained thaddeus stevens, david paul brown, william s. pierce, and robert p. kane, esqs., (son of judge kane). stevens, brown and pierce were well-known veterans, defenders of the slave wherever and whenever called upon so to do. in the present case, they were prepared for a gallant stand and a long siege against opposing forces. likewise, r.p. kane, esq., although a young volunteer in the anti-slavery war, brought to the work great zeal, high attainments, large sympathy and true pluck, while, in view of all the circumstances, the committee of arrangements felt very much gratified to have him in their ranks. by this time, however, the sandy foundations of "overseer" brent and co., (on the part of slavery), had been so completely swept away by the hon. j.m. read and co., on the side of freedom, that there was but little chance left to deal heavy blows upon the defeated advocates of the fugitive slave law. thompson was pronounced "not guilty." the other prisoners, of course, shared the same good luck. the victory was then complete, equally as much so as at christiana. underground rail road stock arose rapidly and a feeling of universal rejoicing pervaded the friends of freedom from one end of the country to the other. especially were slave-holders taught the wholesome lesson, that the fugitive slave law was no guarantee against "red hot shot," nor the charges of u.s. judges and the findings of grand juries, together with the superior learning of counsel from slave-holding maryland, any guarantee that "traitors" would be hung. in every respect, the underground rail road made capital by the treason. slave-holders from maryland especially were far less disposed to hunt their runaway property than they had hitherto been. the deputy marshal likewise considered the business of catching slaves very unsafe. * * * * * william and ellen craft. female slave in male attire, fleeing as a planter, with her husband as her body servant. a quarter of a century ago, william and ellen craft were slaves in the state of georgia. with them, as with thousands of others, the desire to be free was very strong. for this jewel they were willing to make any sacrifice, or to endure any amount of suffering. in this state of mind they commenced planning. after thinking of various ways that might be tried, it occurred to william and ellen, that one might act the part of master and the other the part of servant. ellen being fair enough to pass for white, of necessity would have to be transformed into a young planter for the time being. all that was needed, however, to make this important change was that she should be dressed elegantly in a fashionable suit of male attire, and have her hair cut in the style usually worn by young planters. her profusion of dark hair offered a fine opportunity for the change. so far this plan looked very tempting. but it occurred to them that ellen was beardless. after some mature reflection, they came to the conclusion that this difficulty could be very readily obviated by having the face muffled up as though the young planter was suffering badly with the face or toothache; thus they got rid of this trouble. straightway, upon further reflection, several other very serious difficulties stared them in the face. for instance, in traveling, they knew that they would be under the necessity of stopping repeatedly at hotels, and that the custom of registering would have to be conformed to, unless some very good excuse could be given for not doing so. [illustration: william craft] [illustration: ellen craft.] here they again, thought much over matters, and wisely concluded that the young man had better assume the attitude of a gentleman very much indisposed. he must have his right arm placed carefully in a sling; that would be a sufficient excuse for not registering, etc. then he must be a little lame, with a nice cane in the left hand; he must have large green spectacles over his eyes, and withal he must be very hard of hearing and dependent on his faithful servant (as was no uncommon thing with slave-holders), to look after all his wants. william was just the man to act this part. to begin with, he was very "likely-looking;" smart, active and exceedingly attentive to his young master--indeed he was almost eyes, ears, hands and feet for him. william knew that this would please the slave-holders. the young planter would have nothing to do but hold himself subject to his ailments and put on a bold air of superiority; he was not to deign to notice anybody. if, while traveling, gentlemen, either politely or rudely, should venture to scrape acquaintance with the young planter, in his deafness he was to remain mute; the servant was to explain. in every instance when this occurred, as it actually did, the servant was fully equal to the emergency--none dreaming of the disguises in which the underground rail road passengers were traveling. they stopped at a first-class hotel in charleston, where the young planter and his body servant were treated, as the house was wont to treat the chivalry. they stopped also at a similar hotel in richmond, and with like results. they knew that they must pass through baltimore, but they did not know the obstacles that they would have to surmount in the monumental city. they proceeded to the depot in the usual manner, and the servant asked for tickets for his master and self. of course the master could have a ticket, but "bonds will have to be entered before you can get a ticket," said the ticket master. "it is the rule of this office to require bonds for all negroes applying for tickets to go north, and none but gentlemen of well-known responsibility will be taken," further explained the ticket master. the servant replied, that he knew "nothing about that"--that he was "simply traveling with his young master to take care of him--he being in a very delicate state of health, so much so, that fears were entertained that he might not be able to hold out to reach philadelphia, where he was hastening for medical treatment," and ended his reply by saying, "my master can't be detained." without further parley, the ticket master very obligingly waived the old "rule," and furnished the requisite tickets. the mountain being thus removed, the young planter and his faithful servant were safely in the cars for the city of brotherly love. scarcely had they arrived on free soil when the rheumatism departed--the right arm was unslung--the toothache was gone--the beardless face was unmuffled--the deaf heard and spoke--the blind saw--and the lame leaped as an hart, and in the presence of a few astonished friends of the slave, the facts of this unparalleled underground rail road feat were fully established by the most unquestionable evidence. the constant strain and pressure on ellen's nerves, however, had tried her severely, so much so, that for days afterwards, she was physically very much prostrated, although joy and gladness beamed from her eyes, which bespoke inexpressible delight within. never can the writer forget the impression made by their arrival. even now, after a lapse of nearly a quarter of a century, it is easy to picture them in a private room, surrounded by a few friends--ellen in her fine suit of black, with her cloak and high-heeled boots, looking, in every respect, like a young gentleman; in an hour after having dropped her male attire, and assumed the habiliments of her sex the feminine only was visible in every line and feature of her structure. her husband, william, was thoroughly colored, but was a man of marked natural abilities, of good manners, and full of pluck, and possessed of perceptive faculties very large. it was necessary, however, in those days, that they should seek a permanent residence, where their freedom would be more secure than in philadelphia; therefore they were advised to go to headquarters, directly to boston. there they would be safe, it was supposed, as it had then been about a generation since a fugitive had been taken back from the old bay state, and through the incessant labors of william lloyd garrison, the great pioneer, and his faithful coadjutors, it was conceded that another fugitive slave case could never be tolerated on the free soil of massachusetts. so to boston they went. on arriving, the warm hearts of abolitionists welcomed them heartily, and greeted and cheered them without let or hindrance. they did not pretend to keep their coming a secret, or hide it under a bushel; the story of their escape was heralded broadcast over the country--north and south, and indeed over the civilized world. for two years or more, not the slightest fear was entertained that they were not just as safe in boston as if they had gone to canada. but the day the fugitive bill passed, even the bravest abolitionist began to fear that a fugitive slave was no longer safe anywhere under the stars and stripes, north or south, and that william and ellen craft were liable to be captured at any moment by georgia slave hunters. many abolitionists counselled resistance to the death at all hazards. instead of running to canada, fugitives generally armed themselves and thus said, "give me liberty or give me death." william and ellen craft believed that it was their duty, as citizens of massachusetts, to observe a more legal and civilized mode of conforming to the marriage rite than had been permitted them in slavery, and as theodore parker had shown himself a very warm friend of their's, they agreed to have their wedding over again according to the laws of a free state. after performing the ceremony, the renowned and fearless advocate of equal rights (theodore parker), presented william with a revolver and a dirk-knife, counselling him to use them manfully in defence of his wife and himself, if ever an attempt should be made by his owners or anybody else to re-enslave them. but, notwithstanding all the published declarations made by abolitionists and fugitives, to the effect, that slave-holders and slave-catchers in visiting massachusetts in pursuit of their runaway property, would be met by just such weapons as theodore parker presented william with, to the surprise of all boston, the owners of william and ellen actually had the effrontery to attempt their recapture under the fugitive slave law. how it was done, and the results, taken from the _old liberator_, (william lloyd garrison's organ), we copy as follows: from the "liberator," nov. , . slave-hunters in boston. our city, for a week past, has been thrown into a state of intense excitement by the appearance of two prowling villains, named hughes and knight, from macon, georgia, for the purpose of seizing william and ellen craft, under the infernal fugitive slave bill, and carrying them back to the hell of slavery. since the day of ' , there has not been such a popular demonstration on the side of human freedom in this region. the humane and patriotic contagion has infected all classes. scarcely any other subject has been talked about in the streets, or in the social circle. on thursday, of last week, warrants for the arrest of william and ellen were issued by judge levi woodbury, but no officer has yet been found ready or bold enough to serve them. in the meantime, the vigilance committee, appointed at the faneuil hall meeting, has not been idle. their number has been increased to upwards of a hundred "good men and true," including some thirty or forty members of the bar; and they have been in constant session, devising every legal method to baffle the pursuing bloodhounds, and relieve the city of their hateful presence. on saturday placards were posted up in all directions, announcing the arrival of these slave-hunters, and describing their persons. on the same day, hughes and knight were arrested on the charge of slander against william craft. the chronotype says, the damages being laid at $ , ; bail was demanded in the same sum, and was promptly furnished. by whom? is the question. an immense crowd was assembled in front of the sheriff's office, while the bail matter was being arranged. the reporters were not admitted. it was only known that watson freeman, esq., who once declared his readiness to hang any number of negroes remarkably cheap, came in, saying that the arrest was a shame, all a humbug, the trick of the damned abolitionists, and proclaimed his readiness to stand bail. john h. pearson was also sent for, and came--the same john h. pearson, merchant and southern packet agent, who immortalized himself by sending back, on the th of september, , in the bark niagara, a poor fugitive slave, who came secreted in the brig ottoman, from new orleans--being himself judge, jury and executioner, to consign a fellow-being to a life of bondage--in obedience to the law of a slave state, and in violation of the law of his own. this same john h. pearson, not contented with his previous infamy, was on hand. there is a story that the slave-hunters have been his table-guests also, and whether he bailed them or not, we don't know. what we know is, that soon after pearson came out from the back room, where he and knight and the sheriff had been closeted, the sheriff said that knight was bailed--he would not say by whom. knight being looked after, was not to be found. he had slipped out through a back door, and thus cheated the crowd of the pleasure of greeting him--possibly with that rough and ready affection which barclay's brewers bestowed upon haynau. the escape was very fortunate every way. hughes and knight have since been twice arrested and put under bonds of $ , (making $ , in all), charged with a conspiracy to kidnap and abduct william craft, a peaceable citizen of massachusetts, etc. bail was entered by hamilton willis, of willis & co., state street, and patrick riley, u.s. deputy marshal. the following (says the chronotype), is a _verbatim et literatim_ copy of the letter sent by knight to craft, to entice him to the u.s. hotel, in order to kidnap him. it shows, that the school-master owes knight more "service and labor" than it is possible for craft to: boston, oct. , , oclk p.m. wm. craft--sir--i have to leave so eirley in the moring that i cold not call according to promis, so if you want me to carry a letter home with me, you must bring it to the united states hotel to morrow and leave it in box , or come your self to morro eavening after tea and bring it. let me no if you come your self by sending a note to box u.s. hotel so that i may know whether to wate after tea or not by the bearer. if your wife wants to see me you cold bring her with you if you come your self. john knight. p.s. i shall leave for home eirley a thursday moring. j.k. at a meeting of colored people, held in belknap street church, on friday evening, the following resolutions were unanimously adopted: _resolved_, that god willed us free; man willed us slaves. we will as god wills; god's will be done. _resolved_, that our oft repeated determination to resist oppression is the same now as ever, and we pledge ourselves, at all hazards, to resist unto death any attempt upon our liberties. _resolved_, that as south carolina seizes and imprisons colored seamen from the north, under the plea that it is to prevent insurrection and rebellion among her colored population, the authorities of this state, and city in particular, be requested to lay hold of, and put in prison, immediately, any and all fugitive slave-hunters who may be found among us, upon the same ground, and for similar reasons. spirited addresses, of a most emphatic type, were made by messrs. remond, of salem, roberts, nell, and allen, of boston, and davis, of plymouth. individuals and highly respectable committees of gentlemen have repeatedly waited upon these georgia miscreants, to persuade them to make a speedy departure from the city. after promising to do so, and repeatedly falsifying their word, it is said that they left on wednesday afternoon, in the express train for new york, and thus (says the chronotype), they have "gone off with their ears full of fleas, to fire the solemn word for the dissolution of the union!" telegraphic intelligence is received, that president fillmore has announced his determination to sustain the fugitive slave bill, at all hazards. let him try! the fugitives, as well as the colored people generally, seem determined to carry out the spirit of the resolutions to their fullest extent. ellen first received information that the slave-hunters from georgia were after her through mrs. geo. s. hilliard, of boston, who had been a good friend to her from the day of her arrival from slavery. how mrs. hilliard obtained the information, the impression it made on ellen, and where she was secreted, the following extract of a letter written by mrs. hilliard, touching the memorable event, will be found deeply interesting: "in regard to william and ellen craft, it is true that we received her at our house when the first warrant under the act of eighteen hundred and fifty was issued. dr. bowditch called upon us to say, that the warrant must be for william and ellen, as they were the only fugitives here known to have come from georgia, and the dr. asked what we could do. i went to the house of the rev. f.t. gray, on mt. vernon street, where ellen was working with miss dean, an upholsteress, a friend of ours, who had told us she would teach ellen her trade. i proposed to ellen to come and do some work for me, intending not to alarm her. my manner, which i supposed to be indifferent and calm, _betrayed_ me, and she threw herself into my arms, sobbing and weeping. she, however, recovered her composure as soon as we reached the street, and was _very firm_ ever after. my husband wished her, by all means, to be brought to our house, and to remain under his protection, saying 'i am perfectly willing to meet the penalty, should she be found here, but will never give her up.' the penalty, you remember, was six months' imprisonment and a thousand dollars fine. william craft went, after a time, to lewis hayden. he was at first, as dr. bowditch told us, 'barricaded in his shop on cambridge street.' i saw him there, and he said, 'ellen must not be left at your house.' 'why? william,' said i, 'do you think we would give her up?' 'never,' said he, 'but mr. hilliard is not only our friend, but he is a u.s. commissioner, and should ellen be found in his house, he must resign his office, as well as incur the penalty of the law, and i will not subject a friend to such a punishment for the sake of our safety.' was not this noble, when you think how small was the penalty that any one could receive for aiding slaves to escape, compared to the fate which threatened them in case they were captured? william c. made the same objection to having his wife taken to mr. ellis gray loring's, he also being a friend and a commissioner." this deed of humanity and christian charity is worthy to be commemorated and classed with the act of the good samaritan, as the same spirit is shown in both cases. often was mrs. hilliard's house an asylum for fugitive slaves. after the hunters had left the city in dismay, and the storm of excitement had partially subsided, the friends of william and ellen concluded that they had better seek a country where they would not be in daily fear of slave-catchers, backed by the government of the united states. they were, therefore, advised to go to great britain. outfits were liberally provided for them, passages procured, and they took their departure for a habitation in a foreign land. much might be told concerning the warm reception they met with from the friends of humanity on every hand, during a stay in england of nearly a score of years, but we feel obliged to make the following extract suffice: extract of a letter from wm. farmer, esq., of london, to wm. lloyd garrison, june , --"fugitive slaves at the great exhibition." fortunately, we have, at the present moment, in the british metropolis, some specimens of what were once american "chattels personal," in the persons of william and ellen craft, and william w. brown, and their friends resolved that they should be exhibited under the world's huge glass case, in order that the world might form its opinion of the alleged mental inferiority of the african race, and their fitness or unfitness for freedom. a small party of anti-slavery friends was accordingly formed to accompany the fugitives through the exhibition. mr. and mrs. estlin, of bristol, and a lady friend, mr. and mrs. richard webb, of dublin, and a son and daughter, mr. mcdonnell, (a most influential member of the executive committee of the national reform association--one of our unostentatious, but highly efficient workers for reform in this country, and whose public and private acts, if you were acquainted with, you would feel the same esteem and affection for him as is felt towards him by mr. thompson, myself and many others)--these ladies and gentlemen, together with myself, met at mr. thompson's house, and, in company with mrs. thompson, and miss amelia thompson, the crafts and brown, proceeded from thence to the exhibition. saturday was selected, as a day upon which the largest number of the aristocracy and wealthy classes attend the crystal palace, and the company was, on this occasion, the most distinguished that had been gathered together within its walls since its opening day. some fifteen thousand, mostly of the upper classes, were there congregated, including the queen, prince albert, and the royal children, the anti-slavery duchess of sutherland, (by whom the fugitives were evidently favorably regarded), the duke of wellington, the bishops of winchester and st. asaph, a large number of peers, peeresses, members of parliament, merchants and bankers, and distinguished men from almost all parts of the world, surpassing, in variety of tongue, character and costume, the description of the population of jerusalem on the day of pentecost--a season of which it is hoped the great exhibition will prove a type, in the copious outpouring of the holy spirit of brotherly union, and the consequent diffusion, throughout the world, of the anti-slavery gospel of good will to all men. in addition to the american exhibitors, it so happened that the american visitors were particularly numerous, among whom the experienced eyes of brown and the crafts enabled them to detect slave-holders by dozens. mr. mcdonnell escorted mrs. craft, and mrs. thompson; miss thompson, at her own request, took the arm of wm. wells brown, whose companion she elected to be for the day; wm. craft walked with miss amelia thompson and myself. this arrangement was purposely made in order that there might be no appearance of patronizing the fugitives, but that it might be shown that we regarded them as our equals, and honored them for their heroic escape from slavery. quite contrary to the feeling of ordinary visitors, the american department was our chief attraction. upon arriving at powers' greek slave, our glorious anti-slavery friend, punch's 'virginia slave' was produced. i hope you have seen this production of our great humorous moralist. it is an admirably-drawn figure of a female slave in chains, with the inscription beneath, 'the virginia slave, a companion for powers' greek slave.' the comparison of the two soon drew a small crowd, including several americans, around and near us. although they refrained from any audible expression of feeling, the object of the comparison was evidently understood and keenly felt. it would not have been prudent in us to have challenged, in words, an anti-slavery discussion in the world's convention; but everything that we could with propriety do was done to induce them to break silence upon the subject. we had no intention, verbally, of taking the initiative in such a discussion; we confined ourselves to speaking at them, in order that they might be led to speak to us; but our efforts were of no avail. the gauntlet, which was unmistakably thrown down by our party, the americans were too wary to take up. we spoke among each other of the wrongs of slavery; it was in vain. we discoursed freely upon the iniquity of a professedly christian republic holding three millions of its population in cruel and degrading bondage; you might as well have preached to the winds. wm. wells brown took 'punch's virginia slave' and deposited it within the enclosure by the 'greek slave,' saying audibly, 'as an american fugitive slave, i place this 'virginia slave' by the side of the 'greek slave,' as its most fitting companion.' not a word, or reply, or remonstrance from yankee or southerner. we had not, however, proceeded many steps from the place before the 'virginia slave' was removed. we returned to the statue, and stood near the american by whom it had been taken up, to give him an opportunity of making any remarks he chose upon the matter. whatever were his feelings, his policy was to keep his lips closed. if he had felt that the act was wrongful, would he not have appealed to the sense of justice of the british bystanders, who are always ready to resist an insult offered to a foreigner in this country? if it was an insult, why not resent it, as became high-spirited americans? but no; the chivalry of the south tamely allowed itself to be plucked by the beard; the garrulity of the north permitted itself to be silenced by three fugitive slaves.... we promenaded the exhibition between six and seven hours, and visited nearly every portion of the vast edifice. among the thousands whom we met in our perambulations, who dreamed of any impropriety in a gentleman of character and standing, like mr. mcdonnell, walking arm-in-arm with a colored woman; or an elegant and accomplished young lady, like miss thompson, (daughter of the hon. george thompson, m.c.), becoming the promenading companion of a colored man? did the english peers or peeresses? not the most aristocratic among them. did the representatives of any other country have their notions of propriety shocked by the matter? none but americans. to see the arm of a beautiful english young lady passed through that of 'a nigger,' taking ices and other refreshments with him, upon terms of the most perfect equality, certainly was enough to 'rile,' and evidently did 'rile' the slave-holders who beheld it; but there was no help for it. even the new york broadway bullies would not have dared to utter a word of insult, much less lift a finger against wm. wells brown, when walking with his fair companion in the world's exhibition. it was a circumstance not to be forgotten by these southern bloodhounds. probably, for the first time in their lives, they felt themselves thoroughly muzzled; they dared not even to bark, much less bite. like the meanest curs, they had to sneak through the crystal palace, unnoticed and uncared for; while the victims who had been rescued from their jaws, were warmly greeted by visitors from all parts of the country. * * * * * brown and the crafts have paid several other visits to the great exhibition, in one of which, wm. craft succeeded in getting some southerners "out" upon the fugitive slave bill, respecting which a discussion was held between them in the american department. finding themselves worsted at every point, they were compelled to have recourse to lying, and unblushingly denied that the bill contained the provisions which craft alleged it did. craft took care to inform them who and what he was. he told them that there had been too much information upon that measure diffused in england for lying to conceal them. he has subsequently met the same parties, who, with contemptible hypocrisy, treated "the nigger" with great respect. in england the crafts were highly respected. while under her british majesty's protection, ellen became the mother of several children, (having had none under the stars and stripes). these they spared no pains in educating for usefulness in the world. some two years since william and ellen returned with two of their children to the united states, and after visiting boston and other places, william concluded to visit georgia, his old home, with a view of seeing what inducement war had opened up to enterprise, as he had felt a desire to remove his family thither, if encouraged. indeed he was prepared to purchase a plantation, if he found matters satisfactory. this visit evidently furnished the needed encouragement, judging from the fact that he did purchase a plantation somewhere in the neighborhood of savannah, and is at present living there with his family. the portraits of william and ellen represent them at the present stage of life, (as citizens of the u.s.)--of course they have greatly changed in appearance from what they were when they first fled from georgia. obviously the fugitive slave law in its crusade against william and ellen craft, reaped no advantages, but on the contrary, liberty was greatly the gainer. * * * * * arrivals from richmond. lewis cobb and nancy brister. no one southern city furnished a larger number of brave, wide-awake and likely-looking underground rail road passengers than the city of richmond. lewis and nancy were fair specimens of the class of travelers coming from that city. lewis was described as a light yellow man, medium size, good-looking, and intelligent. in referring to bondage, he spoke with great earnestness, and in language very easily understood; especially when speaking of samuel myers, from whom he escaped, he did not hesitate to give him the character of being a very hard man, who was never satisfied, no matter how hard the slaves might try to please him. myers was engaged in the commission and forwarding business, and was a man of some standing in richmond. from him lewis had received very severe floggings, the remembrance of which he would not only carry with him to canada, but to the grave. it was owing to abuse of this kind that he was awakened to look for a residence under the protection of the british lion. for eight months he longed to get away, and had no rest until he found himself on the underground rail road. his master was a member of the century methodist church, as was also his wife and family; but lewis thought that they were strangers to practical christianity, judging from the manner that the slaves were treated by both master and mistress. lewis was a baptist, and belonged to the second church. twelve hundred dollars had been offered for him. he left his father (judville), and his brother, john harris, both slaves. in view of his prospects in canada, lewis' soul overflowed with pleasing anticipations of freedom, and the committee felt great satisfaction in assisting him. nancy was also from richmond, and came in the same boat with lewis. she represented the most "likely-looking female bond servants." indeed her appearance recommended her at once. she was neat, modest, and well-behaved--with a good figure and the picture of health, with a countenance beaming with joy and gladness, notwithstanding the late struggles and sufferings through which she had passed. young as she was, she had seen much of slavery, and had, doubtless, profited by the lessons thereof. at all events, it was through cruel treatment, having been frequently beaten after she had passed her eighteenth year, that she was prompted to seek freedom. it was so common for her mistress to give way to unbridled passions that nancy never felt safe. under the severest infliction of punishment she was not allowed to complain. neither from mistress nor master had she any reason to expect mercy or leniency--indeed she saw no way of escape but by the underground rail road. it was true that the master, mr. william bears, was a yankee from connecticut, and his wife a member of the episcopal church, but nancy's yoke seemed none the lighter for all that. fully persuaded that she would never find her lot any better while remaining in their hands, she accepted the advice and aid of a young man to whom she was engaged; he was shrewd enough to find an agent in richmond, with whom he entered into a covenant to have nancy brought away. with a cheerful heart the journey was undertaken in the manner aforesaid, and she safely reached the committee. her mother, one brother and a sister she had to leave in richmond. one thousand dollars were lost in the departure of nancy. having been accommodated and aided by the committee, they were forwarded to canada. lewis wrote back repeatedly and expressed himself very gratefully for favors received, as will be seen by the appended letters from him: toronto, april , . to mr. wm. still--dear sir:--i take this opportunity of addressing these few lines to inform you that i am well and hope that they may find you and your family enjoying the same good health. please to give my love to you and your family. i had a very pleasant trip from your house that morning. dear sir, you would oblige me much, if you have not sent that box to mr. robinson, to open it and take out the little yellow box that i tied up in the large one and send it on by express to me in toronto. lift up a few of the things and you will find it near the top. all the clothes that i have are in that box and i stand in need of them. you would oblige me much by so doing. i stopped at mr. jones' in elmira, and was very well treated by him while there. i am now in toronto and doing very well at present. i am very thankful to you and your family for the attention you paid to me while at your house. i wish you would see mr. ormsted and ask him if he has not some things for mr. anthony loney, and if he has, please send them on with my things, as we are both living together at this time. give my love to mr. anthony, also to mr. ormsted and family. dear sir, we both would be very glad for you to attend to this, as we both do stand very much in need of them at this time. dear sir, you will oblige me by giving my love to miss frances watkins, and as she said she hoped to be out in the summer, i should like to see her. i have met with a gentleman here by the name of mr. truehart, and he sends his best love to you and your family. mr. truehart desires to know whether you received the letter he sent to you, and if so, answer it as soon as possible. please answer this letter as soon as possible. i must now come to a close by saying that i remain your beloved friend, lewis cobb. the young man who was there that morning, mr. robinson, got married to that young lady. toronto, june d, . to mr. wm. still--dear sir:--i received yours dated may th, and was extremely happy to hear from you. you may be surprised that i have not answered you before this, but it was on account of not knowing anything concerning the letter being in the post-office until i was told so by a friend. the box, of which i had been inquiring, i have received, and am infinitely obliged to you for sending it. mr. and mrs. renson are living in hamilton, c.w. they send their best love to you and your family. i am at present residing in toronto, c.w. mr. anthony loney has gone on to boston, and is desirous of my coming on to him; and as i have many acquaintances there, i should like to know from you whether it would be advisable or not. give, if you please, my best love to your family and accept the same for yourself, and also to mr. james ormsted and family. tell james ormsted i would be glad if he would send me a pair of thick, heavy boots, for it rains and hails as often out here in the summer, as it does there in the winter. tell him to send no. , and anything he thinks will do me good in this cold country. please to give to mr. james ormsted to give to mr. robert seldon, and tell him to give it to my father. mr. and mrs. truehart send their love to you and your family. if the gentleman, mr. r.s., is not running on the boat now, you can give directions to ludwill cobb, in care of mr. r. seldon, richmond, va. tell mr. ormsted not to forget my boots and send them by express. no more at present, but remain yours very truly, please write soon. lewis cobb. * * * * * passengers from north carolina. [by schooner.] major latham, william wilson, henry gorham, wiley maddison, and andrew shepherd. the above named passengers were delivered into the hands of thomas garrett by the captain who brought them, and were aided and forwarded to the committee in philadelphia, as indicated by the subjoined letter: wilmington, th mo., th, . respected friend:--william still:--thine of yesterday, came to hand this morning, advising me to forward those four men to thee, which i propose to send from here in the steam boat, at two o'clock, p.m. to day to thy care; one of them thinks he has a brother and cousin in new bedford, and is anxious to get to them, the others thee can do what thee thinks best with, after consulting with them, we have rigged them up pretty comfortably with clothes, and i have paid for their passage to philadelphia, and also for the passage of their pilot there and back; he proposed to ask thee for three dollars, for the three days time he lost with them, but that we will raise here for him, as one of them expects to have some money brought from carolina soon, that belongs to him, and wants thee when they are fixed, to let me know so that i may forward it to them. i will give each of them a card of our firm. hoping they may get along safe, i remain as ever, thy sincere friend, thos. garrett. the passengers by this arrival were above the ordinary plantation or farm hand slave, as will appear from a glance at their condition under the yoke. major latham was forty-four years of age, mulatto, very resolute, with good natural abilities, and a decided hater of slavery. john latham was the man whom he addressed as "master," which was a very bitter pill for him to swallow. he had been married twice, and at the time of his escape he was the husband of two wives. the first one, with their three children, in consequence of changes incident to slave life, was sold a long distance from her old home and husband, thereby ending the privilege of living together; he could think of them, but that was all; he was compelled to give them up altogether. after a time he took to himself another wife, with whom he lived several years. three more children owned him as father--the result of this marriage. during his entire manhood major had been brutally treated by his master, which caused him a great deal of anguish and trouble of mind. only a few weeks before he escaped, his master, in one of his fits of passion, flogged him most cruelly. from that time the resolution was permanently grounded in his mind to find the way to freedom, if possible, before many more weeks had passed. day and night he studied, worked and planned, with freedom uppermost in his mind. the hour of hope arrived and with it captain f. william, a fellow-passenger with major, was forty-two years of age, just in the prime of life, and represented the mechanics in chains, being a blacksmith by trade. dr. thomas warren, who followed farming in the neighborhood of eatontown, was the owner of william. in speaking of his slave life william said: "i was sold four times; twice i was separated from my wives. i was separated from one of my wives when living in portsmouth, virginia," etc. in his simple manner of describing the trials he had been called upon to endure, it was not to be wondered at that he was willing to forsake all and run fearful risks in order to rid himself not only of the "load on his back," but the load on his heart. by the very positive character of william's testimony against slavery, the committee felt more than ever justified in encouraging the underground rail road. henry gorham was thirty-four years of age, a "prime," heavy, dark, smart, "article," and a good carpenter. he admitted that he had never felt the lash on his back, but, nevertheless, he had felt deeply on the subject of slavery. for years the chief concern with him was as to how he could safely reach a free state. slavery he hated with a perfect hatred. to die in the woods, live in a cave, or sacrifice himself in some way, he was bound to do, rather than remain a slave. the more he reflected over his condition the more determined he grew to seek his freedom. accordingly he left and went to the woods; there he prepared himself a cave and resolved to live and die in it rather than return to bondage. before he found his way out of the prison-house eleven months elapsed. his strong impulse for freedom, and intense aversion to slavery, sustained him until he found an opportunity to escape by the underground rail road. one of the tried agents of the underground rail road was alone cognizant of his dwelling in the cave, and regarding him as a tolerably safe passenger (having been so long secreted), secured him a passage on the schooner, and thus he was fortunately relieved from his eleven months' residence in his den. no rhetoric or fine scholarship was needed in his case to make his story interesting. none but hearts of stone could have listened without emotion. andrew, another fellow-passenger, was twenty-six years of age, and a decidedly inviting-looking specimen of the peculiar institution. he filled the situation of an engineer. he, with his wife and one child, belonged to a small orphan girl, who lived at south end, camden county, n.c. his wife and child had to be left behind. while it seemed very hard for a husband thus to leave his wife, every one that did so weakened slavery and encouraged and strengthened anti-slavery. numbered with these four north carolina passengers is found the name of wiley maddison, a young man nineteen years of age, who escaped from petersburg on the cars as a white man. he was of promising appearance, and found no difficulty whatever on the road. with the rest, however, he concluded himself hardly safe this side of canada, and it afforded the committee special pleasure to help them all. thomas clinton, sauney pry and benjamin ducket. passed over the u.g.r.r., in the fall of . thomas escaped from baltimore. he described the man from whom he fled as a "rum drinker" of some note, by the name of benjamin walmsly, and he testified that under him he was neither "half fed nor clothed," in consequence of which he was dissatisfied, and fled to better his condition. luckily thomas succeeded in making his escape when about twenty-one years of age. his appearance and smartness indicated resolution and gave promise of future success. he was well made and of a chestnut color. sauney pry came from loudon co., va. he had been one of the "well-cared for," on the farm of nathan clapton, who owned some sixty or seventy slaves. upon inquiry as to the treatment and character of his master, sauney unhesitatingly described him as a "very mean, swearing, blustering man, as hard as any that could be started." it was on this account that he was prompted to turn his face against virginia and to venture on the underground rail road. sauney was twenty-seven years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and in intellect was at least up to the average. benjamin ducket came from bell mountain, prince george's co., maryland. he stated to the committee that he escaped from one sicke perry, a farmer. of his particular master he spoke thus: "he was one of the baddest men about prince george; he would both fight and kill up." these characteristics of the master developed in ben very strong desires to get beyond his reach. in fact, his master's conduct was the sole cause of his seeking the underground rail road. at the time that he came to philadelphia, he was recorded as twenty-three years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and wide awake. he left his father, mother, two brothers, and three sisters, owned by marcus devoe. about the same time that the passengers just described received succor, elizabeth lambert, with three children, reached the committee. the names of the children were, mary, horace, and william henry, quite marketable-looking articles. they fled from middletown, delaware, where they had been owned by andrew peterson. the poor mother's excuse for leaving her "comfortable home, free board, and kind-hearted master and mistress," was simply because she was tired of such "kindness," and was, therefore, willing to suffer in order to get away from it. hill jones, a lad of eighteen, accompanied elizabeth with her children from middletown. he had seen enough of slavery to satisfy him that he could never relish it. his owner was known by the name of john cochran, and followed farming. he was of a chestnut color, and well-grown. arrivals in april, . charles hall, james johnson, charles carter, george, and john logan, james henry watson, zebulon green, lewis, and peter burrell, william williams, and his wife--harriet tubman, with four passengers. charles hall. this individual was from maryland, baltimore co., where "black men had no rights which white men were bound to respect," according to the decision of the late chief justice taney of the supreme court of the united states. charles was owned by atwood a. blunt, a farmer, much of whose time was devoted to card playing, rum-drinking and fox-hunting, so charles stated. charles gave him the credit of being as mild a specimen of a slaveholder as that region of country could claim when in a sober mood, but when drunk every thing went wrong with him, nothing could satisfy him. charles testified, however, that the despotism of his mistress was much worse than that of his master, for she was all the time hard on the slaves. latterly he had heard much talk about selling, and, believing that matters would soon have to come to that, he concluded to seek a place where colored men had rights, in canada. james johnson. james fled from deer creek, harford co., md., where he was owned by william rautty. "jim's" hour had come. within one day of the time fixed for his sale, he was handcuffed, and it was evidently supposed that he was secure. trembling at his impending doom he resolved to escape if possible. he could not rid himself of the handcuffs. could he have done so, he was persuaded that he might manage to make his way along safely. he resolved to make an effort with the handcuffs on. with resolution his freedom was secured. what master rautty said when he found his property gone with the handcuffs, we know not. the next day after jim arrived, charles carter, george and john logan came to hand. charles had been under the yoke in the city of richmond, held to service by daniel delaplain, a flour inspector. charles was hired out by the flour inspector for as much as he could command for him, for being a devoted lover of money, ordinary wages hardly ever satisfied him. in other respects charles spoke of his master rather favorably in comparison with slaveholders generally. a thirty years' apprenticeship as a slave had not, however, won him over to the love of the system; he had long since been convinced that it was nonsense to suppose that such a thing as happiness could be found even under the best of masters. he claimed to have a wife and four little children living in alexandria va.; the name of the wife was lucinda. in the estimation of slave-holders, the fact of charles having a family might have offered no cause for unhappiness, but charles felt differently in relation to the matter. again, for reasons best known to the owner, he talked of selling charles. on this point charles also felt quite nervous, so he began to think that he had better make an attempt to get beyond the reach of buyers and sellers. he knew that many others similarly situated had got out of bondage simply by hard struggling, and he felt that he could do likewise. when he had thus determined the object was half accomplished. true, every step that he should take was liable to bring trouble upon himself, yet with the hope of freedom buoying him up he resolved to run the risk. charles was about thirty years of age, likely-looking, well made, intelligent, and a mulatto. george was twenty-three years of age, quite dark, medium size, and bore the marks of a man of considerable pluck. he was the slave of mrs. jane coultson. no special complaint of her is recorded on the book. she might have been a very good mistress, but george was not a very happy and contented piece of property, as was proved by his course in escaping. the cold north had many more charms for him than the sunny south. john has been already described in the person of his brother george. he was not, however, the property of mrs. coultson, but was owned by miss cox, near little georgetown, berkeley co., va. these three individuals were held as slaves by that class of slave-holders, known in the south as the most kind-hearted and indulgent, yet they seemed just as much delighted with the prospects of freedom as any other passengers. the next day following the arrival of the party just noticed james henry watson reached the committee. he was in good condition, the spring weather having been favorable, and the journey made without any serious difficulty. he was from snowhill, worcester county, md., and had escaped from james purnell, a farmer of whom he did not speak very favorably. yet james admitted that his master was not as hard on his slaves as some others. for the benefit of james' kinsfolk, who may still perchance be making searches for him, not having yet learned whither he went or what became of him, we copy the following paragraph as entered on our book april th, : james henry is twenty years of age, dark, well-made, modest, and seems fearful of apprehension; was moved to escape in order to obtain his freedom. he had heard of others who had run away and thus secured their freedom; he thought he could do the same. he left his father, mother, three brothers and five sisters owned by purnell. his father's name was ephraim, his mother's name mahala. the names of his sisters and brothers were as follows: hetty, betsy, dinah, catharine and harriet; homer, william and james. zebulon green was the next traveler. he arrived from duck creek, md. john appleton, a farmer, was chargeable with having deprived zeb of his rights. but, as zeb was only about eighteen years of age when he made his exit, mr. appleton did not get much the start of him. in answer to the question as to the cause of his escape, he replied "bad usage." he was smart, and quite dark. in traveling, he changed his name to samuel hill. the committee endeavored to impress him thoroughly, with the idea that he could do much good in the world for himself and fellow-men, by using his best endeavors to acquire education, etc., and forwarded him on to canada. lewis burrell and his brother peter arrived safely from alexandria, virginia, april , . lewis had been owned by edward m. clark, peter by benjamin johnson hall. these passengers seemed to be well posted in regard to slavery, and understood full well their responsibilities in fleeing from "kind-hearted" masters. all they feared was that they might not reach canada safely, although they were pretty hopeful and quite resolute. lewis left a wife, winna ann, and two children, joseph and mary, who were owned by pembroke thomas, at culpepper, va., nearly a hundred miles distant from him. once or twice in the year, was the privilege allowed him to visit his wife and little ones at this long distance. this separation constituted his daily grief and was the cause of his escape. lewis and peter left their father and mother in bondage, also one brother (reuben), and three sisters, two of whom had been sold far south. after a sojourn in freedom of nearly three years, lewis wrote on behalf of his wife as follows: toronto, c.w., feb. , . mr. wm. still: dear sir:--it have bin two years since i war at your house, at that time i war on my way to cannadia, and i tould you that i had a wife and had to leave her behind, and you promiest me that you would healp me to gait hir if i ever heaird from hir, and i think my dear frend, that the time is come for me to strick the blow, will you healp me, according to your promis. i recived a letter from a frend in washington last night and he says that my wife is in the city of baltimore, and she will come away if she can find a frend to healp hir, so i thought i would writ to you as you are acquanted with foulks theare to howm you can trust with such matthas. i could write to mr noah davis in baltimore, who is well acquanted with my wife, but i do not think that he is a trew frend, and i could writ to mr samual maden in the same city, but i am afread that a letter coming from cannada might be dedteced, but if you will writ to soume one that you know, and gait them to see mr samual maden he will give all the information that you want, as he is acquanted with my wife, he is a preacher and belongs to the baptis church. my wifes name is winne ann berrell, and she is oned by one dr. tarns who is on a viset to baltimore, now mr still will you attend to this thing for me, fourthwith, if you will i will pay you four your truble, if we can dow any thing it must be don now, as she will leave theare in the spring, and if you will take the matter in hand, you mous writ me on to reseption of this letter, whether you will or not. yours truly, lewis burrell. no. victoria st., toronto, c.w. as in the case of many others, the way was so completely blocked that nothing could be done for the wife's deliverance. until the day when the millions of fetters were broken, nothing gave so much pain to husbands and wives as these heart-breaking separations. william williams and his wife were the next who arrived. they came from haven manor, md. they had been owned by john peak, by whom, according to their report, they had been badly treated, and the committee had no reason to doubt their testimony. the next arrival numbered four passengers, and came under the guidance of "moses" (harriet tubman), from maryland. they were adults, looking as though they could take care of themselves very easily, although they had the marks of slavery on them. it was no easy matter for men and women who had been ground down all their lives, to appear as though they had been enjoying freedom. indeed, the only wonder was that so many appeared to as good advantage as they did, after having been crushed down so long. the paucity of the narratives in the month of april, is quite noticeable. why fuller reports were not written out, cannot now be accounted for; probably the feeling existed that it was useless to write out narratives, except in cases of very special interest. * * * * * five from georgetown cross roads. mother and child from norfolk, va., etc. abe fineer, sam davis, henry saunders, wm. henry thompson and thomas parker arrived safely from the above named place. upon inquiry, the following information was gleaned from them. abe spoke with feelings of some bitterness of a farmer known by the name of george spencer, who had deprived him of the hard earnings of his hands. furthermore, he had worked him hard, stinted him for food and clothing and had been in the habit of flogging him whenever he felt like it. in addition to the above charges, abe did not hesitate to say that his master meddled too much with the bottle, in consequence of which, he was often in a "top-heavy" state. abe said, however, that he was rich and stood pretty high in the neighborhood--stinting, flogging and drinking were no great disadvantages to a man in georgetown, maryland. abe was twenty-three years of age, pure black, ordinary size, and spirited, a thorough convert to the doctrine that all men are born free, and although he had been held in bondage up to the hour of his escape, he gave much reason for believing that he would not be an easy subject to manage under the yoke, if ever captured and carried back. sam was about thirty years of age, genuine black, common size, and a hater of slavery; he was prepared to show, by the scars he bore about his person, why he talked as he did. forever will he remember james hurst, his so-called master, who was a very blustering man oft-times, and in the habit of abusing his slaves. sam was led to seek the underground rail road, in order to get rid of his master and, at the same time, to do better for himself than he could possibly do in slavery. he had to leave his wife, phillis, and one child. william henry was about twenty-four years of age, and of a chestnut color. he too talked of slave-holders, and his master in particular, just as any man would talk who had been shamefully robbed and wronged all his life. tom, likewise, told the same story, and although they used the corn-field vernacular, they were in earnest and possessed an abundance of mother-wit, so that their testimony was not to be made light of. the following letter from thomas garrett speaks for itself: wilmington, mo. th, . esteemed friends--mckim and still:--i purpose sending to-morrow morning by the steamboat a woman and child, whose husband, i think, went some nine months previous to new bedford. she was furnished with a free passage by the same line her husband came in. she has been away from the person claiming to be her master some five months; we, therefore, think there cannot be much risk at present. those four i wrote thee about arrived safe up in the neighborhood of longwood, and harriet tubman followed after in the stage yesterday. i shall expect five more from the same neighborhood next trip. captain lambdin is desirous of having sent him a book, or books, with the strongest arguments of the noted men of the south against the institution of slavery, as he wishes to prepare to defend himself, as he has little confidence in his attorney. cannot you send to me something that will be of benefit to him, or send it direct to him? would not w. goodell's book be of use? his friends here think there is no chance for him but to go to the penitentiary. they now refuse to let any one but his attorney see him. as ever your friend, thos. garrett. the woman and child alluded to were received and noted on the record book as follows: winnie patty, and her daughter, elizabeth, arrived safely from norfolk, va. the mother is about twenty-two years of age, good-looking and of chestnut color, smart and brave. from the latter part of october, , to the latter part of march, , this young slave mother, with her child, was secreted under the floor of a house. the house was occupied by a slave family, friends of winnie. during the cold winter weather she suffered severely from wet and cold, getting considerably frosted, but her faith failed not, even in the hour of greatest extremity. she chose rather to suffer thus than endure slavery any longer, especially as she was aware that the auction-block awaited her. she had already been sold three times; she knew therefore what it was to be sold. jacob shuster was the name of the man whom she spoke of as her tormentor and master, and from whom she fled. he had been engaged in the farming business, and had owned quite a large number of slaves, but from time to time he had been selling off, until he had reduced his stock considerably. captain lambdin, spoken of in thomas garrett's letter, had, in the kindness of his heart, brought away in his schooner some underground rail road passengers, but unfortunately he was arrested and thrust into prison in norfolk, va., to await trial. having no confidence in his attorney there he found that he would have to defend himself as best he could, consequently he wanted books, etc. he was in the attitude of a drowning man catching at a straw. the committee was powerless to aid him, except with some money; as the books that he desired had but little effect in the lions' den, in which he was. he had his trial, and was sent to the penitentiary, of course. one hundred dollars reward.--ran away from the subscriber, living in rockville. montgomery county, md., on saturday, st of may last, negro man, alfred, about twenty-two years of age; five feet seven inches high; dark copper color, and rather good looking. [illustration: ] he had on when he left a dark blue and green plaid frock coat, of cloth, and lighter colored plaid pantaloons. i will give the above reward if taken out of the county, and in any of the states, or fifty dollars if taken in the county or the district of columbia, and secured so that i get him again. john w. anderson. j - ww . a man calling himself alfred homer, answering to the above description, came to the vigilance committee in june, . as a memorial we transferred the advertisement of john w. anderson to our record book, and concluded to let that suffice. alfred, however, gave a full description of his master's character, and the motives which impelled him to seek his freedom. he was listened to attentively, but his story was not entered on the book. * * * * * passengers from maryland, . william henry moody, belinda bivans, etc. william was about twenty years of age, black, usual size, and a lover of liberty. he had heard of canada, had formed a very favorable opinion of the country and was very desirous of seeing it. the man who had habitually robbed him of his hire, was a "stout-built, ill-natured man," a farmer, by the name of william hyson. to meet the expenses of an extensive building enterprise which he had undertaken, it was apparent that hyson would have to sell some of his property. william and some six others of the servants got wind of the fact that they would stand a chance of being in the market soon. not relishing the idea of going further south they unanimously resolved to emigrate to canada. accordingly they borrowed a horse from dr. wise, and another from h.k. tice, and a carriage from f.j. posey, and joseph p. mong's buggy (so it was stated in the baltimore sun, of may th), and off they started for the promised land. the horses and carriages were all captured at chambersburg, a day or two after they set out, but the rest of the property hurried on to the committee. how mr. hyson raised the money to carry out his enterprise, william and his "ungrateful" fellow-servants seemed not to be concerned. belinda bivans. belinda was a large woman, thirty years of age, wholly black, and fled from mr. hyson, in company with william, and those above referred to, with the idea of reaching canada, whither her father had fled eight years before. she was evidently pleased with the idea of getting away from her ill-natured mistress, from poor fare and hard work without pay. she had experienced much hardship, and had become weary of her trial in bondage. she had been married, but her husband had died, leaving her with two little girls to care for, both of whom she succeeded in bringing away with her. in reference to the church relations of her master and mistress, she represented the former as a backslider, and added that money was his church; of the latter she said, "she would go and take the sacrament, come back and the old boy would be in her as big as a horse." belinda could see but little difference between her master and mistress. joseph winston. in the richmond dispatch, of june th, the following advertisement was found: one hundred dollars reward.--ran away from the subscriber, runaway.--$ reward will be given if taken in the state, and $ if taken out of the state. [illustration: ] run away, my negro boy joe, sometimes called joe winston; about years old, a little over feet high, rather stout-built, dark ginger-bread color, small moustache, stammers badly when confused or spoken to, took along two or three suits of clothes, one a blue dress coat with brass buttons, black pants, and patent leather shoes, white hat, silver watch with gold chain; was last seen in this city on tuesday last, had a pass to hanover county, and supposed to be making his way towards york river, for the purpose of getting on board some coasting vessel. samuel ellis. the passenger above described reached the underground rail road station, june th, . "why did you leave your master?" said a member of the committee to joe. "i left because there was no enjoyment in slavery for colored people." after stating how the slaves were treated he added, "i was working all the time for master and he was receiving all my money for my daily labor." "what business did your master follow?" inquired the committee. "he was a carpenter by trade." "what kind of a looking man was he?" again inquired the committee. "he was a large, stout man, don't swear, but lies and cheats." joe admitted that he had been treated very well all his life, with the exception of being deprived of his freedom. for eight years prior to his escape he had been hired out, a part of the time as porter in a grocery store, the remainder as bar-tender in a saloon. at the time of his escape he was worth twenty-two dollars per month to his master. joe had to do overwork and thus procure clothing for himself. when a small boy he resolved, that he never would work all his days as a slave for the white people. as he advanced in years his desire for freedom increased. an offer of fifteen hundred dollars was made for joe, so he was informed a short time before he escaped; this caused him to move promptly in the matter of carrying out his designs touching liberty. his parents and three brothers, slaves, were to be left; but when the decisive hour came he was equal to the emergency. in company with william naylor secreted in a vessel, he was brought away and delivered to the committee for aid and counsel, which he received, and thus ended his bondage. the reward offered by his master, samuel ellis, proved of no avail. * * * * * arrival from maryland. william scott. william was about twenty-four years of age, well made, though not very heavy--stammered considerably when speaking--wide awake and sensible nevertheless. for two years the fear of being sold had not been out of his mind. to meet a security agreement, which had been contracted by his mistress--about which a law-suit had been pending for two years--was what he feared he should be sold for. about the first of may he found himself in the hands of the sheriff. on being taken to stafford court-house jail, however, the sheriff permitted him to walk a "little ways." it occurred to william that then was his only chance to strike for freedom and canada, at all hazards. he soon decided the matter, and the sheriff saw no more of him. susan fox was the name of the person he was compelled to call mistress. she was described as a "large, portly woman, very gross, with a tolerably severe temper, at times." william's mother and one of his brothers had been sold by this woman--an outrage to be forever remembered. his grandmother, one sister, with two children, and a cousin with five children, all attached by the sheriff, for sale, were left in the hands of his mistress. he was married the previous christmas, but in the trying hour could do nothing for his wife, but leave her to the mercy of slave-holders. the name of the sheriff that he outgeneralled was walter cox. william was valued at $ , . perhaps, after all, but few appreciated the sorrow that must have filled the hearts of most of those who escaped. though they succeeded in gaining their own liberty--they were not insensible to the oppression of their friends and relatives left in bondage. on reaching canada and tasting the sweets of freedom, the thought of dear friends in bondage must have been acutely painful. william had many perils to encounter. on one occasion he was hotly chased, but proved too fleet-footed for his pursuers. at another time, when straitened, he attempted to swim a river, but failed. his faith remained strong, nevertheless, and he succeeded in reaching the committee. * * * * * arrival from washington, d.c., etc., . george carroll, randolph branson, john clagart, and william royan. these four journeyed from "egypt" together--but did not leave the same "kind protector." george was a full black, ordinary size, twenty-four years of age, and a convert to the doctrine that he had a right to himself. for years the idea of escape had been daily cherished. five times he had proposed to buy himself, but failed to get the consent of his "master," who was a merchant, c.c. hirara, a man about sixty years of age, and a member of the methodist church. his property in slaves consisted of two men, two women, two girls and a boy. three of george's brothers escaped to canada many years prior to his leaving--there he hoped on his arrival to find them in the possession of good farms. $ , walked off in the person of george. randolph, physically, was a superior man. he was thirty-one years of age and of a dark chestnut color. weary with bondage he came to the conclusion that he had served a master long enough "without privileges." against his master, richard reed, he had no hard things to say, however. he was not a "crabbed, cross man"--had but "little to say," but "didn't believe in freedom." three of his brothers had been sold south. left his father, two sisters and one brother. randolph was worth probably $ , . john was a well-made yellow man, twenty-two years of age, who had counted the cost of slavery thoroughly, besides having experienced the effects of it. accordingly he resolved to "be free or die," "to kill or be killed, in trying to reach free land somewhere!" having "always been hired out amongst very hard white people," he was "unhappy." his owner, george coleman, lived near fairfax, va., and was a member of the methodist church, but in his ways was "very sly," and "deadly against anything like freedom." he held fifteen of his fellow-men in chains. for john's hire he received one hundred and fifty dollars a year. he was, therefore, ranked with first-class "stock," valued at $ , . william was about thirty-five years of age, neat, and pleasing in his manners. he would be the first selected in a crowd by a gentleman or a lady, who might want a very neat-looking man to attend to household affairs. though he considered captain cunningham, his master, a "tolerable fair man," he was not content to be robbed of his liberty and earnings. as he felt that he "could take care of himself," he decided to let the captain have the same chance--and so he steered his course straight for canada. * * * * * arrival from unionville, . israel todd, and bazil aldridge. israel was twenty-three years of age, yellow, tall, well made and intelligent. he fled from frederick county, md. through the sweat of his brow, dr. greenberry sappington and his family had been living at ease. the doctor was a catholic, owning only one other, and was said to be a man of "right disposition." his wife, however, was "so mean that nobody could stay with her." israel was prompted to escape to save his wife, (had lately been married) and her brother from being sold south. his detestation of slavery in every shape was very decided. he was a valuable man, worth to a trader fifteen hundred dollars, perhaps. bazil was only seventeen years of age. about as near a kin to the "white folks" as to the colored people, and about as strong an opponent of slavery as any "saxon" going of his age. he was a brother-in-law of israel, and accompanied him on the underground rail road. bazil was held to service or labor by thornton pool, a store-keeper, and also farmer, and at the same time an ardent lover of the "cretur," so much so that "he kept about half-drunk all the time." so bazil affirmed. the good spirit moved two of bazil's brothers to escape the spring before. a few months afterwards a brother and sister were sold south. to manage the matter smoothly, previous to selling them, the master pretended that he was "only going to hire them out a short distance from home." but instead of doing so he sold them south. bazil might be put down at nine hundred dollars. * * * * * arrival from maryland, . ordee lee, and richard j. booce. both of these passengers came from maryland. ordee was about thirty-five years of age, gingerbread color, well made, and intelligent. being allowed no chances to make anything for himself, was the excuse offered for his escape. though, as will appear presently, other causes also helped to make him hate his oppression. the man who had daily robbed him, and compelled him to call him master, was a notorious "gambler," by the name of elijah thompson, residing in maryland. "by his bad habits he had run through with his property, though in society he stood pretty tolerably high amongst some people; then again some didn't like him, he was a mean man, all for himself. he was a man that didn't care anything about his servants, except to get work out of them. when he came where the servants were working, he would snap and bite at them and if he said anything at all, it was to hurry the work on." "he never gave me," said ordee, "a half a dollar in his life. didn't more than half feed, said that meat and fish was too high to eat. as for clothing, he never gave me a new hat for every day, nor a sunday rag in his life." of his mistress, he said, "she was stingy and close,--made him (his master) worse than what he would have been." two of his brothers were sold to georgia, and his uncle was cheated out of his freedom. left three brothers and two sisters in chains. elijah thompson had at least fifteen hundred dollars less to sport upon by this bold step on the part of ordee. richard was about twenty-two years of age, well grown, and a very likely-looking article, of a chestnut color, with more than common intelligence for a slave. his complaints were that he had been treated "bad," allowed "no privileges" to make anything, allowed "no sunday clothing," &c. so he left the portly-looking dr. hughes, with no feeling of indebtedness or regret. and as to his "cross and ill-natured" mistress, with her four children, they might whistle for his services and support. his master had, however, some eighteen or twenty others to rob for the support of himself and family, so they were in no great danger of starving. "would your owner be apt to pursue you?" said a member of the committee. "i don't think he will. he was after two uncles of mine, one time, saw them, and talked with them, but was made to run." richard left behind his mother, step-father, two sisters, and one brother. as a slave, he would have been considered cheap at sixteen hundred dollars. he was a fine specimen. * * * * * arrival from cambridge, . silas long and solomon light. silas and solomon both left together from cambridge, md. silas was quite black, spare-built and about twenty-seven years of age. he was owned by sheriff robert bell, a man about "sixty years of age, and had his name up to be the hardest man in the county." "the sheriff's wife was about pretty much such a woman as he was a man--there was not a pin's point of difference between them." the fear of having to be sold caused this silas to seek the underground rail road. leaving his mother, one brother and one cousin, and providing himself with a bowie-knife and a few dollars in money, he resolved to reach canada, "or die on the way." of course, when slaves reached this desperate point, the way to canada was generally found. solomon was about twenty-three years of age, a good-natured-looking "article," who also left cambridge, and the protection of a certain willis branick, described as an "unaccountable mean man." "he never gave me any money in his life," said sol., "but spent it pretty freely for liquor." "he would not allow enough to eat, or clothing sufficient." and he sold sol.'s brother the year before he fled, "because he could not whip him." the fear of being sold prompted sol. to flee. the very day he escaped he had a serious combat with two of his master's sons. the thumb of one of them being "badly bit," and the other used roughly--the ire of the master and sons was raised to a very high degree--and the verdict went forth that "sol. should be sold to-morrow." unhesitatingly, he started for the underground rail road and canada--and his efforts were not in vain. damages, $ , . * * * * * "the mother of twelve children." old jane davis--fled to escape the auction-block. the appended letter, from thomas garrett, will serve to introduce one of the most remarkable cases that it was our privilege to report or assist: wilmington, mo., th, . esteemed friend--william still:--we have here in this place, at comegys munson's an old colored woman, the mother of twelve children, one half of which has been sold south. she has been so ill used, that she was compelled to leave husband and children behind, and is desirous of getting to a brother who lives at buffalo. she was nearly naked. she called at my house on th day night, but being from home, did not see her till last evening. i have procured her two under garments, one new; two skirts, one new; a good frock with cape; one of my wife's bonnets and stockings, and gave her five dollars in gold, which, if properly used, will put her pretty well on the way. i also gave her a letter to thee. since i gave them to her she has concluded to stay where she is till th day night, when comegys munson says he can leave his work and will go with her to thy house. i write this so that thee may be prepared for them; they ought to arrive between and o'clock. perhaps thee may find some fugitive that will be willing to accompany her. with desire for thy welfare and the cause of the oppressed, i remain thy friend, thos. garrett. jane did not know how old she was. she was probably sixty or seventy. she fled to keep from being sold. she had been "whipt right smart," poorly fed and poorly clothed, by a certain roger mczant, of the new market district, eastern shore of maryland. his wife was a "bad woman too." just before escaping, jane got a whisper that her "master" was about to sell her; on asking him if the rumor was true, he was silent. he had been asking "one hundred dollars" for her. remembering that four of her children had been snatched away from her and sold south, and she herself was threatened with the same fate, she was willing to suffer hunger, sleep in the woods for nights and days, wandering towards canada, rather than trust herself any longer under the protection of her "kind" owner. before reaching a place of repose she was _three weeks in the woods_, almost wholly without nourishment. jane, doubtless, represented thousands of old slave mothers, who, after having been worn out under the yoke, were frequently either offered for sale for a trifle, turned off to die, or compelled to eke out their existence on the most stinted allowance. * * * * * benjamin ross, and his wife harriet. fled from caroline county, eastern shore of maryland, june, . this party stated that dr. anthony thompson had claimed them as his property. they gave the committee a pretty full report of how they had been treated in slavery, especially under the doctor. a few of the interesting points were noted as follows: the doctor owned about twenty head of slaves when they left; formerly he had owned a much larger number, but circumstances had led him to make frequent sales during the few years previous to their escape, by which the stock had been reduced. as well as having been largely interested in slaves, he had at the same time been largely interested in real estate, to the extent of a dozen farms at least. but in consequence of having reached out too far, several of his farms had slipped out of his hands. upon the whole, benjamin pronounced him a rough man towards his slaves, and declared, that he had not given him a dollar since the death of his (the master's) father, which had been at least twenty years prior to benjamin's escape. but ben. did not stop here, he went on to speak of the religious character of his master, and also to describe him physically; he was a methodist preacher, and had been "pretending to preach for twenty years." then the fact that a portion of their children had been sold to georgia by this master was referred to with much feeling by ben and his wife; likewise the fact that he had stinted them for food and clothing, and led them a rough life generally, which left them no room to believe that he was anything else than "a wolf in sheep's clothing." they described him as a "spare-built man, bald head, wearing a wig." these two travelers had nearly reached their three score years and ten under the yoke. nevertheless they seemed delighted at the idea of going to a free country to enjoy freedom, if only for a short time. moreover some of their children had escaped in days past, and these they hoped to find. not many of those thus advanced in years ever succeeded in getting to canada. * * * * * arrival from virginia, . william jackson. william was about fifty years of age, of usual size, of good address, and intelligent. he was born the property of a slaveholder, by the name of daniel minne, residing in alexandria in virginia. his master was about eighty-four years of age, and was regarded as kind, though he had sold some of his slaves and was in favor of slavery. he had two sons, robert and albert, "both dissipated, would layabout the tippling taverns, and keep low company, so much so that they were not calculated to do any business for their father." william had to be a kind of a right hand man to his master. the sons seeing that the "property" was trusted instead of themselves, very naturally hated it, so the young men resolved that at the death of their father, william should be sent as far south as possible. knowing that the old man could not stand it much longer, william saw that it was his policy to get away as fast as he could. he was the husband of a free wife, who had come on in advance of him. for thirty years william had been foreman on his old master's plantation, and but for the apprehension caused by the ill-will of his prospective young masters, he would doubtless have remained in servitude at least until the death of the old man. but when william reflected, and saw what he had been deprived of all his life by being held in bondage, and when he began to breathe free air, with the prospect of ending his days on free land, he rejoiced that his eyes had been opened to see his danger, and that he had been moved to make a start for liberty. * * * * * arrival from delaware, . john wright and wife, elizabeth ann, and charles connor. this party arrived from sussex county. john was about thirty years of age, ordinary size, full black and clear-headed. in physical appearance he would have readily passed for a superior laborer. the keenness of his eyes and quickness of his perception, however, would doubtless have rendered him an object of suspicion in some parts of the south. the truth was that the love of liberty was clearly indicated in his expressive countenance. william s. phillips, a farmer, had been "sucking" john's blood, and keeping him poor and ignorant for the last eight years at least; before that, phillips' father had defrauded him of his hire. under the father and son john had found plenty of hard work and bad usage, severe and repeated floggings not excepted. old master and mistress and young master and mistress, including the entire family, belonged to what was known as the "farmer church," at portsville. outwardly they were good christians. "occasionally," john said, "the old man would have family prayers," and to use john's own words, "in company he would try to moralize, but out of company was as great a rowdy as ever was." in further describing his old master, he said that he was a large man, with a red face and blunt nose, and was very quick and fiery in his temper; would drink and swear--and even his wife, with all hands, would have to run when he was "raised." of his young master he said: "he was quite a long-bodied, thin-faced man, weighing over one hundred and fifty pounds. in temper just like his father, though he did not drink--that is all the good quality that i can recommend in him." john said also that his master, on one occasion, in a most terribly angry mood, threatened that he would "wade up to his knees in his (john's) blood." it so happened that john's blood was up pretty high just at that time; he gave his master to understand that he would rather go south (be sold) than submit to the scourging which was imminent. john's pluck probably had the effect of allaying the master's fire; at any rate the storm subsided after awhile, and until the day that he took the underground rail road car the servant managed to put up with his master. as john's wife was on the eve of being sold he was prompted to leave some time sooner than he otherwise would have done. the wife's statement she was thirty-two years of age, of good physical proportions, and a promising-looking person, above the ordinary class of slaves belonging to delaware. she was owned by jane cooper, who lived near laurel, in sussex county. she had been more accustomed to field labor than house-work; ploughing, fencing, driving team, grubbing, cutting wood, etc., were well understood by her. during "feeding times" she had to assist in the house. in this respect, she had harder times than the men. her mistress was also in the habit of hiring elizabeth out by the day to wash. on these occasions she was required to rise early enough to milk the cows, get breakfast, and feed the hogs before sunrise, so that she might be at her day's washing in good time. it is plainly to be seen, that elizabeth had not met with the "ease" and kindness which many claimed for the slave. elizabeth was sensible of the wrongs inflicted by her delaware mistress, and painted her in very vivid colors. her mistress was a widow, "quite old," but "very frisky," and "wore a wig to hide her gray hairs." at the death of her husband, the slaves believed, from what they had heard their master say, that they would be freed, each at the age of thirty. but no will was found, which caused elizabeth, as well as the rest of the slaves, to distrust the mistress more than ever, as they suspected that she knew something of its disappearance. her mistress belonged to the presbyterian church, but would have "family prayers only when the minister would stop;" elizabeth thought that she took greater pains to please the minister than her maker. elizabeth had no faith in such religion. both elizabeth and her husband were members of the methodist church. neither had ever been permitted to learn to read or write, but they were naturally very smart. john left his mother and one sister in bondage. one of his brothers fled to canada fifteen years before their escape. his name was abraham. charles connor, the third person in the party, was twenty-seven years of age--fast color, and a tough-looking "article," who would have brought twelve hundred dollars or more in the hands of a baltimore trader. the man from whom charles fled was known by the name of john chipman, and was described as "a fleshy man, with rank beard and quick temper, very hard--commonly kept full of liquor, though he would not get so drunk that he could not go about." for a long time charles had been the main dependence on his master's place, as he only owned two other slaves. charles particularly remarked, that no weather was too bad for them to be kept at work in the field. charles was a fair specimen of the "corn-field hand," but thought that he could take care of himself in canada. * * * * * arrival from alexandria, . oscar d. ball, and montgomery graham. four hundred dollars reward.--ran away from the owner in alexandria, va., on the night of the th inst., two young negro men, from twenty to twenty-five years of age. montgomery is a very bright mulatto, about five feet, six inches in height, of polite manners, and smiles much when speaking or spoken to. oscar is of a tawny complexion, about six feet high, sluggish in his appearance and movements, and of awkward manners. one hundred dollars each will be paid for the delivery of the above slaves if taken in a slave state, or two hundred dollars each if taken in a free state. one or more slaves belonging to other owners, it is supposed, went in their company. address: john t. gordon, alexandria, va. [illustration: ] although the name of john t. gordon appears signed to the above advertisement, he was not the owner of montgomery and oscar. according to their own testimony they belonged to a maiden lady, by the name of miss elizabeth gordon, who probably thought that the business of advertising for runaway negroes was rather beneath her. while both these passengers manifested great satisfaction in leaving their mistress they did not give her a bad name. on the contrary they gave her just such a character as the lady might have been pleased with in the main. they described her thus: "mistress was a spare woman, tolerably tall, and very kind, except when sick, she would not pay much attention then. she was a member of the southern methodist church, and was strict in her religion." having a good degree of faith in his mistress, oscar made bold one day to ask her how much she would take for him. she agreed to take eight hundred dollars. oscar wishing to drive a pretty close bargain offered her seven hundred dollars, hoping that she would view the matter in a religious light, and would come down one hundred dollars. after reflection instead of making a reduction, she raised the amount to one thousand dollars, which oscar concluded was too much for himself. it was not, however, as much as he was worth according to his mistress' estimate, for she declared that she had often been offered fifteen hundred dollars for him. miss gordon raised oscar from a child and had treated him as a pet. when he was a little "shaver" seven or eight years of age, she made it a practice to have him sleep with her, showing that she had no prejudice. being rather of a rare type of slave-holders she is entitled to special credit. montgomery the companion of oscar could scarcely be distinguished from the white folks. in speaking of his mistress, however, he did not express himself in terms quite so complimentary as oscar. with regard to giving "passes," he considered her narrow, to say the least. but he was in such perfectly good humor with everybody, owing to the fact that he had succeeded in getting his neck out of the yoke, that he evidently had no desire to say hard things about her. judging from his story he had been for a long time desiring his freedom and looking diligently for the underground rail road, but he had had many things to contend with when looking the matter of escape in the face. arriving in philadelphia, and finding himself breathing free air, receiving aid and encouragement in a manner that he had never known before, he was one of the happiest of creatures. oscar left his wife and one child, one brother and two sisters. montgomery left one sister, but no other near kin. instead of going to canada, oscar and his comrade pitched their tents in oswego, n.y., where they changed their names, and instead of returning themselves to their kind mistress they were wicked enough to be plotting as to how some of their friends might get off on the underground rail road, as may be seen from the appended letters from oscar, who was thought to be sluggish, etc. oswego, oct th, . dear sir:--i take this opportunity of writing you these few lines to inform you that i am well and hope these few lines will find you the same (and your family you must excuse me for not writing to you before. i would have written to you before this but i put away the card you gave me and could not find it until a few days sins). i did not go to canada for i got work in oswego, but times are very dull here at present. i have been out of employ about five weeks i would like to go to australia. do you know of any gentleman that is going there or any other place, except south that wants a servant to go there with him to wait on him or do any other work, i have a brother that wants to come north. i received a letter from him a few days ago. can you tell me of any plan that i can fix to get him give my respects to mrs. still and all you family. please let me know if you hear of any berth of that kind. nothing more at present i remain your obedient servant, oscar d. ball but my name is now john delaney. direct your letter to john delaney oswego n.y. care of r. oliphant. oswego, nov. st, . mr. william still, esq. dear sir:--your letter of the th came duly to hand i am glad to hear that the underground rail road is doing so well i know those three well that you said come from alex i broke the ice and it seems as if they are going to keep the track open, but i had to stand and beg of those two that started with me to come and even give one of them money and then he did not want to come. i had a letter from my brother a few days ago, and he says if he lives and nothing happens to him he will make a start for the north and there is many others there that would start now but they are afraid of getting frost bitten. there was two left alex about five or six weeks ago. ther names are as follows lawrence thornton and townsend derrit. have they been to philadelphia from what i can learn they will leave alex in mourning next spring in the last letter i got from my brother he named a good many that wanted to come when he did and the are all sound men and can be trusted. he reads and writes his own letters. william triplet and thomas harper passed through hear last summer from my old home which way did those three that you spoke of go times are very dull here at present and i can get nothing to do. but thank god have a good boarding house and will be sheltered from the weather this winter give my respects to your family montgomery sends his also nothing more at presant yours truly john delaney. the acting committee [illustration: n.w. depee.] [illustration: jacob c. white.] [illustration: charles wise,] [illustration: edwin h. coates] * * * * * arrival from unionville, . caroline aldridge and john wood. caroline was a stout, light-complexioned, healthy-looking young woman of twenty-three years of age. she fled from thornton poole, of unionville, md. she gave her master the character of being a "very mean man; with a wife meaner still," "i consider them mean in every respect," said caroline. no great while before she escaped, one of her brothers and a sister had been sent to the southern market. recently she had been apprized that herself and a younger brother would have to go the same dreadful road. she therefore consulted with the brother and a particular young friend, to whom she was "engaged," which resulted in the departure of all three of them. though the ordinary steps relative to marriage, as far as slaves were allowed, had been complied with, nevertheless on the road to canada, they availed themselves of the more perfect way of having the ceremony performed, and went on their way rejoicing. since the sale of caroline's brother and sister, just referred to, her mother and three children had made good their exit to canada, having been evidently prompted by said sale. long before that time, however, three other brothers fled on the underground rail road. they were encouraged to hope to meet each other in canada. john wood. john was about twenty-eight years of age, of agreeable manners, intelligent, and gave evidence of a strong appreciation of liberty. times with john had "not been very rough," until within the last year of his bondage. by the removal of his old master by death, a change for the worse followed. the executors of the estate--one of whom owed him an old grudge--made him acquainted with the fact, that amongst certain others, he would have to be sold. judge birch (one of the executors), "itching" to see him "broke in," "took particular pains" to speak to a notorious tyrant by the name of boldin, to buy him. accordingly on the day of sale, boldin was on hand and the successful bidder for john. being familiar with, the customs of this terrible boldin,--of the starving fare and cruel flogging usual on his farm, john mustered courage to declare at the sale, that he "_would not serve him_." in the hearing of his new master, he said, "_before i will serve him i will_ cut _my throat_!" the master smiled, and simply asked for a rope; "had me tied and delivered into the hands of a constable," to be sent over to the farm. before reaching his destination, john managed to untie his hands and feet and flee to the woods. for three days he remained secreted. once or twice he secretly managed to get an interview with his mother and one of his sisters, by whom he was persuaded to return to his master. taking their advice, he commenced service under circumstances, compared with which, the diet, labor and comforts of an ordinary penitentiary would have been luxurious. the chief food allowed the slaves on the plantation consisted of the pot liquor in which the pork was boiled, with indian-meal bread. the merest glance at what he experienced during his brief stay on the plantation must suffice. in the field where john, with a number of others was working, stood a hill, up which they were repeatedly obliged to ascend, with loads on their backs, and the overseer at their heels, with lash in hand, occasionally slashing at first one and then another; to keep up, the utmost physical endurance was taxed. john, though a stout young man, and having never known any other condition than that of servitude, nevertheless found himself quite unequal to the present occasion. "i was surprised," said he, "to see the expertness with which all flew up the hill." "_one woman, quite_ lusty, _unfit to be out of the house, on_ running up the hill, fell; in a moment she was up again with her brush on her back, and an hour afterwards the overseer was whipping her." "my turn came." "what is the reason you can't get up the hill faster?" exclaimed the overseer, at the same time he struck me with a cowhide. "i told him i would not stand it." "old uncle george washington never failed to get a whipping every day." so after serving at this only a few days, john made his last solemn vow to be free or die; and off he started for canada. though he had to contend with countless difficulties he at last made the desired haven. he hailed from one of the lower counties of maryland. john was not contented to enjoy the boon alone, but like a true lover of freedom he remembered those in bonds as bound with them, and so was scheming to make a hazardous "adventure" south, on the express errand of delivering his "family," as the subjoined letter will show: glandford, august th, . dear sir:--i received your letter and was glad to hear that your wife and family was all well and i hope it will continue so. i am glad to inform you that this leaves me well. also, mr. wm. still, i want for you to send me your opinion respecting my circumstances. i have made up my mind to make an adventure after my family and i want to get an answer from you and then i shall know how to act and then i will send to you all particulars respecting my starting to come to your house. mr. still i should be glad to know whare abraham harris is, as i should be as glad to see him as well as any of my own brothers. his wife and my wife's mother is sisters. my wife belongs to elson burdel's estate. abraham's wife belongs to sam adams. mr. still you must not think hard of me for writing you these few lines as i cannot rest until i release my dear family. i have not the least doubt but i can get through without the least trouble. so no more at present from your humble servant, john b. woods. * * * * * arrival from new orleans, . james conner, shot in different parts of the body. james stated to the committee that he was about forty-three years of age, that he was born a slave in nelson county, ky., and that he was first owned by a widow lady by the name of ruth head. "she (mistress) was like a mother to me," said jim. "i was about sixteen years old when she died; the estate was settled and i was sold south to a man named vincent turner, a planter, and about the worst man, i expect, that ever the sun shined on. his slaves he fairly murdered; two hundred lashes were merely a promise for him. he owned about three hundred slaves. i lived with turner until he died. after his death i still lived on the plantation with his widow, mrs. virginia turner." about twelve years ago (prior to jim's escape) she was married to a mr. charles parlange, "a poor man, though a very smart man, bad-hearted, and very barbarous." before her second marriage cotton had always been cultivated, but a few years later sugar had taken the place of cotton, and had become the principal thing raised in that part of the country. under the change sugar was raised and the slaves were made to experience harder times than ever; they were allowed to have only from three to three and a half pounds of pork a week, with a peck of meal; nothing else was allowed. they commenced work in the morning, just when they could barely see; they quit work in the evening when they could not see to work longer. mistress was a large, portly woman, good-looking, and pretty well liked by her slaves. the place where the plantation was located was at point copee, on falls river, about one hundred and fifty miles from new orleans. she also owned property and about twenty slaves in the city of new orleans. "i lived there and hired my time for awhile. i saw some hard times on the plantation. many a time i have seen slaves whipped almost to death--well, i tell you i have seen them whipped to death. a slave named sam was whipped to death tied to the ground. joe, another slave, was whipped to death by the overseer: running away was the crime. "four times i was shot. once, before i would be taken, all hands, young and old on the plantation were on the chase after me. i was strongly armed with an axe, tomahawk, and butcher knife. i expected to be killed on the spot, but i got to the woods and stayed two days. at night i went back to the plantation and got something to eat. while going back to the woods i was shot in the thigh, legs, back and head, was badly wounded, my mind was to die rather than be taken. i ran a half mile after i was shot, but was taken. i have shot in me now. feel here on my head, feel my back, feel buck shot in my thigh. i shall carry shot in me to my grave. i have been shot four different times. i was shot twice by a fellow servant; it was my master's orders. another time by the overseer. shooting was no uncommon thing in louisiana. at one time i was allowed to raise hogs. i had twenty-five taken from me without being allowed the first copper. "my mistress promised me at another time forty dollars for gathering honey, but when i went to her, she said, by and by, but the by and by never came. in my freedom was promised; for five years before this time i had been overseer; during four years of this time a visit was made to france by my owners, but on their return my freedom was not given me. my mistress thought i had made enough money to buy myself. they asked eleven hundred and fifty dollars for me. i told them that i hadn't the money. then they said if i would go with them to virginia after a number of slaves they wished to purchase, and would be a good boy, they would give me my freedom on the return of the trip. we started on the th of june, . i made fair promises wishing to travel, and they placed all confidence in me. i was to carry the slaves back from virginia. "they came as far as baltimore, and they began to talk of coming farther north, to philadelphia. they talked very good to me, and told me that if they brought me with them to a free state that i must not leave them; talked a good deal about giving me my freedom, as had been promised before starting, etc. i let on to them that i had no wish to go north; that baltimore was as far north as i wished to see, and that i had rather be going home than going north. i told them that i was tired of this country. in speaking of coming north, they made mention of the alleghany mountains. i told them that i would like to see that, but nothing more. they hated the north, and i made believe that i did too. mistress said, that if i behaved myself i could go with them to france, when they went again, after they returned home--as they intended to go again. "so they decided to take me with them to philadelphia, for a short visit, before going into virginia to buy up their drove of slaves for louisiana. my heart leaped for joy when i found we were going to a free state; but i did not let my owners know my feelings. "we reached philadelphia and went to the girard hotel, and there i made up my mind that they should go back without me. i saw a colored man who talked with me, and told me about the committee. he brought me to the anti-slavery office," etc., etc., etc. the committee told jim that he could go free immediately, without saying a word to anybody, as the simple fact of his master's bringing him into the state was sufficient to establish his freedom before the courts. at the same time the committee assured him if he were willing to have his master arrested and brought before one of the judges of the city to show cause why he held him a slave in pennsylvania, contrary to the laws of the state, that he should lack neither friends nor money to aid him in the matter; and, moreover, his freedom would be publicly proclaimed. jim thought well of both ways, but preferred not to meet his "kind-hearted" master and mistress in court, as he was not quite sure that he would have the courage to face them and stand by his charges. this was not strange. indeed not only slaves cowed before the eye of slave-holders. did not even northern men, superior in education and wealth, fear to say their souls were their own in the same presence? jim, therefore, concluded to throw himself upon the protection of the committee and take an underground rail road ticket, and thereby spare himself and his master and mistress the disagreeableness of meeting under such strange circumstances. the committee arranged matters for him to the satisfaction of all concerned, and gave him a passport for her british majesty's possession, canada. the unvarnished facts, as they were then recorded substantially from the lips of jim, and as they are here reproduced, comprise only a very meagre part of his sadly interesting story. at the time jim left his master and mistress so unceremoniously in philadelphia, some excitement existed at the attempt of his master to recover him through the police of philadelphia, under the charge that he (jim) had been stealing, as may be seen from the following letter which appeared in the "national anti-slavery standard:" another slave hunt in philadelphia. _philadelphia, monday, july_ , . yesterday afternoon a rumor was afloat that a negro man named jim, who had accompanied his master (mr. charles parlange), from new orleans to this city, had left his master for the purpose of tasting the sweets of freedom. it was alleged by mr. parlange that the said "jim" had taken with him two tin boxes, one of which contained money. mr. parlange went, on his way to new york, _viâ_ the camden and amboy railroad, and upon his arrival at the walnut street wharf, with two ladies, "jim" was missing. mr. parlange immediately made application to a mr. wallace, who is a police officer stationed at the walnut street depot. mr. wallace got into a carriage with mr. parlange and the two ladies, and, as mr. wallace stated, drove back to the girard house, where "jim" had not been heard of since he had left for the walnut street wharf. a story was then set afloat to the effect, that a negro of certain, but very particular description (such as a louisiana nigger-driver only can give), had stolen two boxes as stated above. a notice signed "clarke," was received at the police telegraph office by the operator (david wunderly) containing a full description of jim, also offering a reward of $ for his capture. this notice was telegraphed to all the wards in every section. this morning mr. wunderly found fault with the reporters using the information, and, in presence of some four or five persons, said the notice signed "clarke," was a private paper, and no reporter had a right to look at it; at the same time asserting, that if he knew where the nigger was he would give him up, as $ did not come along every day. the policeman, wallace, expressed the utmost fear lest the name of mr. parlange should transpire, and stated, that he was an intimate friend of his. it does not seem that the matter was communicated to the wards by any official authority whatever, and who the "clarke" is, whose name was signed to the notice, has not yet transpired. some of the papers noticed it briefly this morning, which has set several of the officers on their tips. there is little doubt, that "jim" has merely exercised his own judgment about remaining with his master any longer, and took this opportunity to betake himself to freedom. it is assumed, that he was to precede his master to walnut street wharf with the baggage; but, singular enough to say, no complaint has been made about the baggage being missed, simply the two tin boxes, and particularly the one containing money. this is, doubtless, a ruse to engage the services of the philadelphia police in the interesting game of nigger hunting. mr. parlange, if he is sojourning in your city, will doubtless be glad to learn that the matter of his man "jim" and the two tin boxes has received ample publicity. w.h. rev. hiram wilson, the underground rail road agent at st. catharines, c.w., duly announced his safe arrival as follows: buffalo, aug. th, . my dear friend--wm. still:--i take the liberty to inform you, that i had the pleasure of seeing a man of sable brand at my house in st. c. yesterday, by name of james connor, lately from new orleans, more recently from the city of brotherly love, where he took french leave of his french master. he desired me to inform you of his safe arrival in the glorious land of freedom, and to send his kind regards to you and to mr. williamson; also to another person, (the name i have forgotten). poor malinda smith, with her two little girls and young babe is with us doing well. affectionately yours, hiram wilson. * * * * * arrival from washington, d.c. harrison cary. the passenger bearing this name who applied to the committee for assistance, was a mulatto of medium size, with a prepossessing countenance, and a very smart talker. with only a moderate education he might have raised himself to the "top round of the ladder," as a representative of the down-trodden slave. seeking, as usual, to learn his history, the subjoined questions and answers were the result of the interview: q. "how old are you?" a. "twenty-eight years of age this coming march." q. "to whom did you belong?" a. "mrs. jane e. ashley." q. "what kind of a woman was she?" a. "she was a very clever woman; never said anything out of the way." q. "how many servants had she?" a. "she had no other servants." q. "did you live with her?" a. "no. i hired my time for twenty-two dollars a month." q. "how could you make so much money?" a. "i was a bricklayer by trade, and ranked among the first in the city." as harrison talked so intelligently, the member of the committee who was examining him, was anxious to know how he came to be so knowing, the fact that he could read being very evident. harrison proceeded to explain how he was led to acquire the art both of reading and writing: "slaves caught out of an evening without passes from their master or mistress, were invariably arrested, and if they were unable to raise money to buy themselves off, they were taken and locked up in a place known as the 'cage,' and in the morning the owner was notified, and after paying the fine the unfortunate prisoner had to go to meet his fate at the hands of his owner." often he or she found himself or herself sentenced to take thirty-nine or more lashes before atonement could be made for the violated law, and the fine sustained by the enraged owner. harrison having strong aversion to both of the "wholesome regulations" of the peculiar institution above alluded to, saw that the only remedy that he could avail himself of was to learn to write his own passes. in possessing himself of this prize he knew that the law against slaves being taught, would have to be broken, nevertheless he was so anxious to succeed, that he was determined to run the risk. consequently he grasped the boon with but very little difficulty or assistance. valuing his prize highly, he improved more and more until he could write his own passes satisfactorily. the "cage" he denounced as a perfect "hog hole," and added, "it was more than i could bear." he also spoke with equal warmth on the pass custom, "the idea of working hard all day and then being obliged to have a pass," etc.,--his feelings sternly revolted against. yet he uttered not a disrespectful word against the individual to whom he belonged. once he had been sold, but for what was not noted on the record book. his mother had been sold several times. his brother, william henry gary, escaped from washington, d.c., when quite a youth. what became of him it was not for harrison to tell, but he supposed that he had made his way to a free state, or canada, and he hoped to find him. he had no knowledge of any other relatives. in further conversation with him, relative to his being a single man, he said, that he had resolved not to entangle himself with a family until he had obtained his freedom. he had found it pretty hard to meet his monthly hire, consequently he was on the look-out to better his condition as soon as a favorable opportunity might offer. harrison's mistress had a son named john james ashley, who was then a minor. on arriving at majority, according to the will of this lad's father, he was to have possession of harrison as his portion. harrison had no idea of having to work for his support--he thought that, if john could not take care of himself when he grew up to be a man, there was a place for all such in the poor-house. harrison was also moved by another consideration. his mistress' sister had been trying to influence the mistress to sell him; thus considering himself in danger, he made up his mind that the time had come for him to change his habitation, so he resolved to try his fortune on the underground rail road. * * * * * arrival from virginia, . joe ellis. the subject of this sketch was one of two hundred slaves, owned by bolling ellis, who possessed large plantations at cabin point, surrey co., va. joe pictured his master, overseers, and general treatment of slaves in no favorable light. the practice of punishing slaves by putting them in the stocks and by flogging, was dwelt upon in a manner that left no room to doubt but that joe had been a very great sufferer under his master's iron rule. as he described the brutal conduct of overseers in resorting to their habitual modes of torturing men, women, and children, it was too painful to listen to with composure, much more to write down. joe was about twenty-three years of age, full black, slender, and of average intellect, considering the class which he represented. on four occasions previous to the final one he had made fruitless efforts to escape from his tormentors in consequence of brutal treatment. although he at last succeeded, the severe trials through which he had to pass in escaping, came very near costing him his life. the effects he will always feel; prostration and sickness had already taken hold upon him in a serious degree. during joe's sojourn under the care of the committee, time would not admit of the writing out of further details concerning him. * * * * * arrival from maryland. christopher green and wife, ann maria, and son nathan. christopher had a heavy debt charged against clayton wright, a commission merchant, of baltimore, who claimed him as his property, and was in the habit of hiring him out to farmers in the country, and of taking all his hire except a single dollar, which was allotted him every holiday. the last item in his charge against wright, suggested certain questions: "how have you been used?" was the first query. "sometimes right smart, and then again bad enough for it," said christopher. again he was asked, "what kind of a man was your master?" "he was only tolerable, i can't say much good for him. i got tired of working and they getting my labor and i getting nothing for my labor." at the time of his escape, he was employed in the service of a man by the name of cook. christopher described him as "a dissatisfied man, who couldn't be pleased at nothing and his wife was like him." this passenger was quite black, medium size, and in point of intellect, about on a par with ordinary field hands. his wife, ann, in point of go-ahead-ativeness, seemed in advance of him. indeed, she first prompted her husband to escape. ann bore witness against one james pipper, a farmer, whom she had served as a slave, and from whom she fled, saying that "he was as mean a man as ever walked--a dark-complected old man, with gray hair." with great emphasis she thus continued her testimony: "he tried to work me to death, and treated me as mean as he could, without killing me; he done so much i couldn't tell to save my life. i wish i had as many dollars as he has whipped me with sticks and other things. his wife will do tolerable." "i left because he was going to sell me and my son to georgia; for years he had been threatening; since the boys ran away, last spring, he was harder than ever. one was my brother, perry, and the other was a young man by the name of jim." "david, my master, drank all he could get, poured it down, and when drunk, would cuss, and tear, and rip, and beat. he lives near the nine bridges, in queen ann county." ann was certainly a forcible narrator, and was in every way a wideawake woman, about thirty-seven years of age. among other questions they were asked if they could read, etc. "read," said ann. "i would like to see anybody (slave) that could read our way; to see you with a book in your hand they would almost cut your throat." ann had one child only, a son, twenty years of age, who came in company with his parents. this son belonged to the said pipper already described. when they started from the land of bondage they had large hopes, but not much knowledge of the way; however, they managed to get safely on the underground rail road track, and by perseverance they reached the committee and were aided in the usual manner. * * * * * arrival from georgetown cross-roads, . leeds wright and abram tilison. for three years leeds had been thirsting for his liberty; his heart was fixed on that one object. he got plenty to eat, drink, and wear, but was nevertheless dissatisfied. the name of his master was rev. john wesley pearson, who was engaged in school teaching and preaching, and belonged to the more moderate class of slave-holders. once when a boy leeds had been sold, but being very young, he did not think much about the matter. for the last eight or ten years previous to his escape he had not seen his relatives, his father (george wright) having fled to canada, and the remainder of the family lived some fifty miles distant, beyond the possibility of intercourse; therefore, as he had no strong ties to break, he could look to the time of leaving the land of bondage without regret. abram, the companion of leeds, had been less comfortably situated. his lot in slavery had been cast under samuel jarman, by whom he had been badly treated. abram described him as a "big, tall, old man, who drank and was a real wicked man; he followed farming; had thirteen children. his wife was different; she was a pretty fine woman, but the children were all bad; the young masters followed playing cards." no chance at all had been allowed them to learn to read, although abram and leeds both coveted this knowledge. as they felt that they would never be able to do anything for their improvement by remaining, they decided to follow the example of abram's father and others and go to canada. * * * * * arrival from alexandria. william triplett and thomas harper. ran away from the subscriber, on saturday night, d instant, william triplett, a dark mulatto, with whiskers and mustache, to years of age; lately had a burn on the instep of his right foot, but perhaps well enough to wear a boot or shoe. he took with him very excellent clothing, both summer and winter, consisting of a brown suit in cloth, summer coats striped, check cap, silk hat, &c. $ reward will be paid if taken within thirty miles of alexandria or in the state of virginia, and $ and necessary expenses if taken out of the state and secured so that i get him again. he is the property of mrs. a.b. fairfax, of alexandria, and is likely to make his way to cincinnati, where he has friends, named hamilton and hopes, now living. robt. w. wheat. [illustration: ] william, answering to the above description, arrived safely in company with thomas harper, about six days after the date of their departure from the house of bondage. mrs. a.b. fairfax was the loser of this "article." william spoke rather favorably of her. he said he did not leave because he was treated badly, but simply because he wanted to own himself--to be free. he also said that he wanted to be able to take care of his family if he should see fit to marry. as to slavery, he could see no justice in the system; he therefore made up his mind no longer to yield submission thereto. being a smart "chattel," he reasoned well on the question of slavery, and showed very conclusively that even under the kindest mistress it had no charms for him--that at best, it was robbery and an outrage. thomas harper, his comrade, fled from john cowling, who also lived near alexandria. his great trouble was, that he had a wife and family, but could do nothing for them. he thought that it was hard to see them in want and abused when he was not at liberty to aid or protect them. he grew very unhappy, but could see no remedy except in flight. cowling, his master, was an englishman by birth, and followed black-smithing for a living. he was a man in humble circumstances, trying to increase his small fortune by slave-labor. he allowed thomas to hire himself for one hundred dollars a year, which amount he was required to raise, sick or well. he did not complain, however, of having received any personal abuse from his blacksmith master. it was the system which was daily grinding the life out of him, that caused him to suffer, and likewise escape. by trade thomas was also a blacksmith. he left a wife and three children. * * * * * arrival from maryland. harry wise. $ reward.--ran away, on the th inst., negro man, harry wise. he is about years of age, and feet inches high; muscular, with broad shoulders, and black or deep copper color; roundish, smooth face, and rather lively expression. he came from harford county, and is acquainted about belair market, baltimore. i will pay $ reward for him, if taken in this or prince george's county, or $ if arrested elsewhere. [illustration: ] elliott burwell, a -eo t* west river, anne arundel county. harry reached the station in philadelphia, the latter part of august, . his excuse for leaving and seeking a habitation in canada, was as follows: "i was treated monstrous bad; my master was a very cross, crabbed man, and his wife was as cross as he was. the day i left they had to tie me to beat me, what about i could not tell; this is what made me leave. i escaped right out of his hands the day he had me; he was going with me to the barn to tie me across a hogshead, but i broke loose from him and ran. he ran and got the gun to shoot me, but i soon got out of his reach, and i have not seen him since." harry might never have found the underground rail road, but for this deadly onslaught upon him by his master. his mind was wrought up to a very high state of earnestness, and he was deemed a very fitting subject for canada. * * * * * arrival from norfolk, va. abram wooders. although slave-holders had spared no pains to keep abram in the dark and to make him love his yoke, he proved by his actions, that he had no faith in their doctrines. nor did he want for language in which to state the reasons for his actions. he was just in the prime of life, thirty-five years of age, chestnut color, common size, with a scar over the left eye, and another on the upper lip. like many others, he talked in a simple, earnest manner, and in answer to queries as to how he had fared, the following is his statement: "i was held as the property of the late taylor sewell, but when i escaped i was in the service of w.c. williams, a commission merchant. my old master was a very severe man, but he was always very kind to me. he had a great many more colored folks, was very severe amongst them, would get mad and sell right away. he was a drinking man, dissipated and a gambler, a real sportsman. he lived on newell creek, about twelve miles from norfolk. for the last eight years i was hired to w.c. williams, for $ a year--if i had all that money, it might do me some good. i left because i wanted to enjoy myself some. i felt if i staid and got old no one would care for me, i wouldn't be of no account to nobody." "but are not the old slaves well cared for by their masters?" a member of the committee here remarked. "take care of them! no!" abram replied with much earnestness, and then went on to explain how such property was left to perish. said abram, "there was an old man named ike, who belonged to the same estate that i did, he was treated like a dog; after they could get no more work out of him, they said, 'let him die, he is of no service; there is no use of getting a doctor for him.' accordingly there could be no other fate for the old man but to suffer and die with creepers in his legs." it was sickening to hear him narrate instances of similar suffering in the case of old slaves. abram left two sisters and one brother in bondage. * * * * * arrival from washington, d.c. george johnson, thomas and adam smith. $ reward.--ran away from kalorama, near washington city, d.c., on saturday night, the d of august, , negro man, george johnson, aged about years. height about six feet; of dark copper color; bushy hair; erect in stature and polite in his address. [illustration: ] i will give the above reward if taken in a free state; $ if taken within the district of columbia, or $ if taken in maryland. in either case he must be secured so that i get him. miss eleanor j. conway, baltimore, md., or oliver dufour, washington city, d.c. sl-eod w. "polite in his address" as george was, he left his mistress, eleanor j. conway, without bidding her good-bye, or asking for a pass. but he did not leave his young mistress in this way without good reasons for so doing. in his interview with the committee about five days after his departure from his old home, he stated his grievances as follows: "i was born the slave of a mr. conway, of washington, d.c." under this personage george admitted that he had experienced slavery in rather a mild form until death took the old man off, which event occurred when george was quite young. he afterwards served the widow conway until her death, and lastly he fell into the hands of miss eleanor j. conway, who resided in baltimore, and derived her support from the labor of slaves whom she kept hired out as was george. of the dead, george did not utter very hard things, but he spoke of his young mistress as having a "very mean principle." said george, "she has sold one of my brothers and one of my cousins since last april, and she was very much opposed to freedom." judging from the company that she kept she might before a great while change her relations in life. george thought, however agreeable to her, it might not be to him. so he made up his mind that his chances for freedom would not be likely to grow any better by remaining. in the neighborhood from which he fled he left his father, mother and two sisters, each having different owners. two brothers had been sold south. whether they ever heard what had become of the runaway george is not known. thomas, the companion of george, was of a truly remarkable structure; physically and mentally he belonged to the highest order of the bond class. his place of chains was in the city of washington, and the name of the man for whom he had been compelled to do unrequited labor was william rowe, a bricklayer, and a "pretty clever fellow,--always used me well," said thomas. "why did you leave then?" asked a member of the committee. he replied, "i made a proposition to my master to buy myself for eight hundred dollars, but he refused, and wanted a thousand. then i made up my mind that i would make less do." thomas had been hired out at the national hotel for thirty dollars a month. adam was well described in the following advertisement taken from the _baltimore sun_: $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, near beltsville, prince george's county, md., on saturday night, the d of august, , negro man, adam smith, aged about . height feet or inches; black bushy hair, and well dressed. he has a mother living at mr. hamilton's, on capitol hill, washington, d.c. [illustration: ] i will give the above reward if taken in a free state; $ if taken in the district of columbia or counties of montgomery and prince george's, or $ if taken elsewhere and secured so that i get him. isaac scaggs. a - t* with his fellow-passengers, george and thomas, he greatly enjoyed the hospitalities of the underground rail road in the city of brotherly love, and had a very high idea of canada, as he anticipated becoming a british subject at an early day. the story which adam related concerning his master and his reasons for escaping ran thus: "my master was a very easy man, but would work you hard and never allow you any chance night or day; he was a farmer, about fifty, stout, full face, a real country ruffian; member of no church, a great drinker and gambler; will sell a slave as quick as any other slave-holder. he had a great deal of cash, but did not rank high in society. his wife was very severe; hated a colored man to have any comfort in the world. they had eight adult and nine young slaves." adam left because he "didn't like the treatment." twice he had been placed on the auction-block. he was a married man and left a wife and one child. * * * * * four able-bodied "articles" in one arrival, . edward, and joseph haines, thomas harris, and james sheldon. "this certainly is a likely-looking party," are the first words which greet the eye, on turning to the record, under which their brief narratives were entered at the philadelphia station, september th, . edward was about forty-four years of age, of unmixed blood, and in point of natural ability he would rank among the most intelligent of the oppressed class. without owing thanks to any body he could read and write pretty well, having learned by his own exertions. tabby and eliza fortlock, sisters, and single women, had been deriving years of leisure, comfort, and money from the sweat of edward's brow. the maiden ladies owned about eighteen head of this kind of property, far more than they understood how to treat justly or civilly. they bore the name of being very hard to satisfy. they were proverbially "stingy." they were members of the christ episcopal church. edward, however, remembered very sensibly that his own brother had been sold south by these ladies; and not only he, but others also, had been sent to the auction-block, and there made merchandise of. edward, therefore, had no faith in these lambs of the flock, and left them because he thought there was reason in all things. "yearly my task had been increased and made heavier and heavier, until i was pressed beyond what i could bear." under this pressure no hope, present, or future, could be discerned, except by escaping on the underground rail road. joseph was also one of the chattels belonging to the misses portlock. a more active and wide-awake young man of twenty years of age, could not easily be found among the enslaved; he seemed to comprehend slavery in all its bearings. from a small boy he had been hired out, making money for the "pious ladies" who owned him. his experience under these protectors had been similar to that of edward given above. joseph was of a light brown color, (some of his friends may be able to decide by this simple fact whether he is a relative, etc.). tom, a full-faced, good-natured-looking young man, was also of this party. he was about twenty-seven years of age, and was said to be the slave of john hatten, esq., cashier of the virginia bank of portsmouth. tom admitted that he was treated very well by mr. hatten and his family, except that he was not allowed his freedom; besides he felt a little tired of having to pay twelve dollars a month for his hire, as he hired his time of his master. of course he was not insensible to the fact also that he was liable to be sold any day. in pondering over these slight drawbacks, tom concluded that slavery was no place for a man who valued his freedom, it mattered not how kind masters or mistresses might be. under these considerations he made up his mind that he would have to let the cashier look out for himself, and he would do the same. in this state of mind he joined the party for canada. james was another associate passenger, and the best-looking "article" in the party; few slaves showed a greater degree of intelligence and shrewdness. he had acquired the art of reading and writing very well, and was also a very ready talker. he was owned by mrs. maria hansford of new york. when he was quite small he remembered seeing his mistress, but not since. he was raised with her sister, who resided in norfolk, the place of james' servitude. james confessed that he had been treated very kindly, and had been taught to read by members of the family. this was an exceptional case, worthy of especial note. notwithstanding all the kindness that james had received, he hated slavery, and took a deep interest in the underground rail road, and used his intelligence and shrewdness to good purpose in acting as an underground rail road agent for a time. james was a young man, about twenty-five years of age, well made, and of a yellow complexion. although none of this party experienced brutal treatment personally, they had seen the "elephant" quite to their satisfaction in norfolk and vicinity. * * * * * arrival from arlington, md. . john alexander butler, william henry hipkins, john henry moore and george hill. this party made, at first sight, a favorable impression; they represented the bone and sinew of the slave class of arlington, and upon investigation the committee felt assured that they would carry with them to canada industry and determination such as would tell well for the race. john alexander butler was about twenty-nine years of age, well made, dark color, and intelligent. he assured the committee that he had been hampered by slavery from his birth, and that in consequence thereof he had suffered serious hardships. he said that a man by the name of wm. ford, belonging to the methodist church at arlington, had defrauded him of his just rights, and had compelled him to work on his farm for nothing; also had deprived him of an education, and had kept him in poverty and ignorance all his life. in going over the manner in which he had been treated, he added that not only was his master a hard man, but that his wife and children partook of the same evil spirit; "they were all hard." true, they had but three slaves to oppress, but these they spared not. john was a married man, and spoke affectionately of his wife and children, whom he had to leave behind at cross-roads. william henry, who was heart and soul in earnest with regard to reaching canada, and was one of this party, was twenty-three years of age, and was a stout, yellow man with a remarkably large head, and looked as if he was capable of enjoying canada and caring for himself. in speaking of the fettered condition from which he had escaped, the name of ephraim swart, "a gambler and spree'r" was mentioned as the individual who had wronged him of his liberty most grievously. against swart he expressed himself with much manly feeling, and judging from his manner he appeared to be a dangerous customer for master swart to encounter north of mason and dixon's line. william complained that swart "would come home late at night drunk, and if he did not find us awake he would not attempt to wake us, but would begin cutting and slashing with a cowhide. he treated his wife very bad too; sometimes when she would stand up for the servants he would knock her down. many times at midnight she would have to leave the house and go to her mother's for safety; she was a very nice woman, but he was the very old satan himself." while william henry was debarred from learning letters under his brutal overseer, he nevertheless learned how to plan ways and means by which to escape his bondage. he left his old mother and two brothers wholly ignorant of his movements. john henry moore, another one of the arlington party, was about twenty-four years of age, a dark, spare-built man. he named david mitchell, of havre-de-grace, as the individual above all others who had kept his foot on his neck. without undertaking to give john henry's description of mitchell in full, suffice it to give the following facts: "mitchell would go off and get drunk, and come home, and if the slaves had not as much work done as he had tasked them with, he would go to beating them with clubs or anything he could get in his hand. he was a tall, spare-built man, with sandy hair. he had a wife and family, but his wife was no better than he was." when charges or statements were made by fugitives against those from whom they escaped, particular pains were taken to find out if such statements could be verified; if the explanation appeared valid, the facts as given were entered on the books. john henry could not read, but greatly desired to learn, and he looked as though he had a good head for so doing. before he left there had been some talk of selling him south. this rumor had a marked effect upon john henry's nervous system; it also expanded his idea touching traveling, the underground rail road, etc. as he had brothers and sisters who had been sold to georgia he made up his mind that his master was not to be trusted for a single day; he was therefore one of the most willing-hearted passengers in the party. george hill, also a fellow-passenger, was about twenty-four years of age, quite black, medium size, and of fair, natural mother wit. in looking back upon his days of bondage, his mind reverted to dr. savington, of harford county, as the person who owed him for years of hard and unrequited toil, and at the same time was his so-called owner. the doctor, it seemed, had failed to treat george well, for he declared that he had never received enough to eat the whole time that he was with him. "the clothes i have on i got by overwork of nights. when i started i hadn't a shoe on my foot, these were given to me. he was an old man, but a very wicked man, and drank very hard." george had been taught field work pretty thoroughly, but nothing in the way of reading and writing. george explained why he left as follows: "i left because i had got along with him as well as i could. last saturday a week he was in a great rage and drunk. he shot at me. he never went away but what he would come home drunk, and if any body made him angry out from home, he would come home and take his spite out of his people." he owned three grown men, two women and six children. thus hating slavery heartily, george was enthusiastically in favor of canada. * * * * * five passengers, . eliza jane johnson, harriet stewart, and her daughter mary eliza, william cole, and hanson hall. eliza jane was a tall, dark, young woman, about twenty-three years of age, and had been held to service by a widow woman, named sally spiser, who was "anything but a good woman." the place of her habitation was in delaware, between concord and georgetown. eliza jane's excuse for leaving was this: she charged her mistress with trying to work her to death, and with unkind treatment generally. when times became so hard that she could not stand her old mistress "sally" any longer, she "took out." harriet did not come in company with eliza jane, but by accident they met at the station in philadelphia. harriet and daughter came from washington, d.c. harriet had treasured up a heavy account against a white man known by the name of william a. linton, whom she described as a large, red-faced man, who had in former years largely invested in slave property, but latterly he had been in the habit of selling off, until only seven remained, and among them she and her child were numbered; therefore, she regarded him as one who had robbed her of her rights, and daily threatened her with sale. harriet was a very likely-looking woman, twenty-nine years of age, medium size, and of a brown color, and far from being a stupid person. her daughter also was a smart, and interesting little girl of eight years of age, and seemed much pleased to be getting out of the reach of slave-holders. the mother and daughter, however, had not won their freedom thus far, without great suffering, from the long and fatiguing distance which they were obliged to walk. sometimes the hardness of the road made them feel as though they would be compelled to give up the journey, whether or not; but they added to their faith, patience, and thus finally succeeded. heavy rewards were offered through advertisements in the baltimore sun, but they availed naught. the vigilance committee received them safely, fully cared for them, and safely sent them through to the land of refuge. harriet's daring undertaking obliged her to leave her husband, john stewart, behind; also one sister, a slave in georgetown. one brother had been sold south. her mother she had laid away in a slave's grave: but her father she hoped to find in canada, he having escaped thither when she was a small girl; at least it was supposed that he had gone there. * * * * * arrival from howard co., md., . bill cole and hanson. $ reward.--ran away on saturday night, september th, bill cole, aged about years, of copper complexion, stout built, ordinary height, walks very erect, earnest but squint look when spoken to. [illustration: ] also, hanson, copper complexion, well made, sickly look, medium height, stoops when walking, quick when spoken to; aged about years. three hundred dollars will be paid for the apprehension and delivery of bill, if caught out of the state, and two hundred if in the state. two hundred dollars for hanson if out of the state, and one hundred dollars if in the state. w. baker dorsey, hammond dorsey, savage p.o., howard county, md. such notoriety as was given them by the above advertisement, did not in the least damage bill and hanson in the estimation of the committee. it was rather pleasing to know that they were of so much account as to call forth such a public expression from the messrs. dorsey. besides it saved the committee the necessity of writing out a description of them, the only fault found with the advertisement being in reference to their ages. bill, for instance, was put down ten years younger than he claimed to be. which was correct, bill or his master? the committee were inclined to believe bill in preference to his master, for the simple reason that he seemed to account satisfactorily for his master's making him so young: he (the master) could sell him for much more at thirty-seven than at forty-seven. unscrupulous horse-jockies and traders in their fellow-men were about on a par as to that kind of sharp practice. hanson, instead of being only thirty, declared that he was thirty-seven the fifteenth of february. these errors are noticed and corrected because it is barely possible that bill and hanson may still be lost to their relatives, who may be inquiring and hunting in every direction for them, and as many others may turn to these records with hope, it is, therefore, doubly important that these descriptions shall be as far as possible, correct, especially as regards ages. hanson laughed heartily over the idea that he looked "sickly." while on the underground rail road, he looked very far from sickly; on the contrary, a more healthy, fat, and stout-looking piece of property no one need wish to behold, than was this same hanson. he confessed, however, that for some time previous to his departure, he had feigned sickness,--told his master that he was "sick all over." "ten times a day hanson said they would ask him how he was, but was not willing to make his task much lighter." the following description was given of his master, and his reason for leaving him: "my master was a red-faced farmer, severe temper, would curse, and swear, and drink, and sell his slaves whenever he felt like it. my mistress was a pretty cross, curious kind of a woman too, though she was a member of the protestant church. they were rich, and had big farms and a good many slaves. they didn't allow me any provisions hardly; i had a wife, but they did not allow me to go see her, only once in a great while." bill providentially escaped from a well-known cripple, whom he undertook to describe as a "very sneaking-looking man, medium size, smooth face; a wealthy farmer, who owned eighteen or twenty head of slaves, and was judge of the orphans' court." "he sells slaves occasionally." "my mistress was a very large, rough, irish-looking woman, with a very bad disposition; it appeared like as if she hated to see a 'nigger,' and she was always wanting her husband to have some one whipped, and she was a member of the methodist church. my master was a trustee in the episcopal church." in consequence of the tribulation bill had experienced under his christian master and mistress, he had been led to disbelieve in the protestant faith altogether, and declared that he felt persuaded that it was all a "pretense," and added that he "never went to church; no place was provided in church for 'niggers' except a little pen for the coachmen and waiters." bill had been honored with the post of "head man on the place," but of this office he was not proud. * * * * * arrival from prince george's county, md. "jim belle." $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber on saturday night, negro man jim belle. jim is about five feet ten inches high, black color, about years of age has a down look; speaks slow when spoken to; he has large, thick lips, and a mustache. he was formerly owned by edward stansbury, late of baltimore county, and purchased by edward worthington, near reisterstown, in baltimore county, at the late stansbury's sale, who sold him to b.m. and w.l. campbell, of baltimore city, of whom i purchased jim on the th of june last. his wife lives with her mother, ann robertson, in corn alley, between lee and hill streets, baltimore city, where he has other relations, and where he is making his way. i will give the above reward, no matter where taken, so he is brought home or secured in jail so i get him again. [illustration: ] zachariah berry, of w., near upper marlboro', prince george's county, md. mr. zachariah berry, who manifested so much interest in jim, may be until this hour in ignorance of the cause of his running off without asking leave, etc. jim stated, that he was once sold and flogged unmercifully simply for calling his master "mr.," instead of master, and he alleged that this was the secret of his eyes being opened and his mind nerved to take advantage of the underground rail road. while it may not now do zachariah berry much good to learn this secret, it may, nevertheless, be of some interest to those who were of near kin to jim to glean even so small a ray of light. * * * * * arrival from rappahannock county, . pascal quantence. pascal fled from virginia, and accused bannon and brady of doing violence to his liberty. he had, however, been in their clutches only a short while before escaping, but that short while seemed almost an age, as he was treated so meanly by them compared with the treatment which he had experienced under his former master. according to pascal's story, which was evidently true, his previous master was his own father (john quantence), who had always acknowledged pascal as his child, whom he did not scruple to tell people he should set free; that he did not intend that he should serve anybody else. but, while out riding one day, he was thrown from his horse and instantly killed. naturally enough, no will being found, his effects were all administered upon and pascal was sold with the farm. bannon and brady were the purchasers, at least of pascal. in their power, immediately the time of trouble began with pascal, and so continued until he could no longer endure it. "hoggishness," according to pascal's phraseology, was the most predominant trait in the character of his new masters. in his mournful situation and grief he looked toward canada and started with courage and hope, and thus succeeded. such deliverances always afforded very great joy to the committee. * * * * * arrival from north carolina, . harry grimes, george upsher, and edward lewis. feet slit for running away, flogged, stabbed, stayed in the hollow of a big poplar tree, visited by a snake, abode in a cave. the coming of the passengers here noticed was announced in the subjoined letter from thomas garrett: wilmington, th mo. th, . respected friend, william still:--i write to inform thee, that captain fountain has arrived this evening from the south with three men, one of which is nearly naked, and very lousy. he has been in the swamps of carolina for eighteen months past. one of the others has been some time out. i would send them on to-night, but will have to provide two of them with some clothes before they can be sent by rail road. i have forgotten the number of thy house. as most likely all are more or less lousy, having been compelled to sleep together, i thought best to write thee so that thee may get a suitable place to take them to, and meet them at broad and prime streets on the arrival of the cars, about o'clock to-morrow evening. i have engaged one of our men to take them to his house, and go to philadelphia with them to-morrow evening. johnson who will accompany them is a man in whom we can confide. please send me the number of thy house when thee writes. thomas garrett. this epistle from the old friend of the fugitive, thomas garrett, excited unusual interest. preparation was immediately made to give the fugitives a kind reception, and at the same time to destroy their plagues, root and branch, without mercy. they arrived according to appointment. the cleansing process was carried into effect most thoroughly, and no vermin were left to tell the tale of suffering they had caused. straightway the passengers were made comfortable in every way, and the spirit of freedom seemed to be burning like "fire shut up in the bones." the appearance alone of these men indicated their manhood, and wonderful natural ability. the examining committee were very desirous of hearing their story without a moment's delay. as harry, from having suffered most, was the hero of this party, and withal was an intelligent man, he was first called upon to make his statement as to how times had been with him in the prison house, from his youth up. he was about forty-six years of age, according to his reckoning, full six feet high, and in muscular appearance was very rugged, and in his countenance were evident marks of firmness. he said that he was born a slave in north carolina, and had been sold three times. he was first sold when a child three years of age, the second time when he was thirteen years old, and the third and last time he was sold to jesse moore, from whom he fled. prior to his coming into the hands of moore he had not experienced any very hard usage, at least nothing more severe than fell to the common lot of slave-boys, therefore the period of his early youth was deemed of too little interest to record in detail. in fact time only could be afforded for noticing very briefly some of the more remarkable events of his bondage. the examining committee confined their interrogations to his last taskmaster. "how did moore come by you?" was one of the inquiries. "he bought me," said harry, "of a man by the name of taylor, nine or ten years ago; he was as bad as he could be, couldn't be any worse to be alive. he was about fifty years of age, when i left him, a right red-looking man, big bellied old fellow, weighs about two hundred and forty pounds. he drinks hard, he is just like a rattlesnake, just as cross and crabbed when he speaks, seems like he could go through you. he flogged richmond for not ploughing the corn good, that was what he pretended to whip him for. richmond ran away, was away four months, as nigh as i can guess, then they cotched him, then struck him a hundred lashes, and then they split both feet to the bone, and split both his insteps, and then master took his knife and stuck it into him in many places; after he done him that way, he put him into the barn to shucking corn. for a long time he was not able to work; when he did partly recover, he was set to work again." we ceased to record anything further concerning richmond, although not a fourth part of what harry narrated was put upon paper. the account was too sickening and the desire to hear harry's account of himself too great to admit of further delay; so harry confined himself to the sufferings and adventures which had marked his own life. briefly he gave the following facts: "i have been treated bad. one day we were grubbing and master said we didn't do work enough. 'how came there was no more work done that day?' said master to me. i told him i did work. in a more stormy manner he 'peated the question. i then spoke up and said: 'massa, i don't know what to say.' at once massa plunged his knife into my neck causing me to stagger. massa was drunk. he then drove me down to the black folk's houses (cabins of the slaves). he then got his gun, called the overseer, and told him to get some ropes. while he was gone i said, 'massa, now you are going to tie me up and cut me all to pieces for nothing. i would just as leave you would take your gun and shoot me down as to tie me up and cut me all to pieces for nothing.' in a great rage he said 'go.' i jumped, and he put up his gun and snapped both barrels at me. he then set his dogs on me, but as i had been in the habit of making much of them, feeding them, &c. they would not follow me, and i kept on straight to the woods. my master and the overseer cotched the horses and tried to run me down, but as the dogs would not follow me they couldn't make nothing of it. it was the last of august a year ago. the devil was into him, and he flogged and beat four of the slaves, one man and three of the women, and said if he could only get hold of me he wouldn't strike me, 'nary-a-lick,' but would tie me to a tree and empty both barrels into me. [illustration: ] in the woods i lived on nothing, you may say, and something too. i had bread, and roasting ears, and 'taters. i stayed in the hollow of a big poplar tree for seven months; the other part of the time i stayed in a cave. i suffered mighty bad with the cold and for something to eat. once i got me some charcoal and made me a fire in my tree to warm me, and it liked to killed me, so i had to take the fire out. one time a snake come to the tree, poked its head in the hollow and was coming in, and i took my axe and chopped him in two. it was a poplar leaf moccasin, the poisonest kind of a snake we have. while in the woods all my thoughts was how to get away to a free country." [illustration: ] subsequently, in going back over his past history, he referred to the fact, that on an occasion long before the cave and tree existence, already noticed, when suffering under this brutal master, he sought protection in the woods and abode twenty-seven months in a cave, before he surrendered himself, or was captured. his offence, in this instance, was simply because he desired to see his wife, and "stole" away from his master's plantation and went a distance of five miles, to where she lived, to see her. for this grave crime his master threatened to give him a hundred lashes, and to shoot him; in order to avoid this punishment, he escaped to the woods, etc. the lapse of a dozen years and recent struggles for an existence, made him think lightly of his former troubles and he would, doubtless, have failed to recall his earlier conflicts but for the desire manifested by the committee to get all the information out of him they could. he was next asked, "had you a wife and family?" "yes, sir,". he answered, "i had a wife and eight children, belonged to the widow slade." harry gave the names of his wife and children as follows: wife, susan, and children, oliver, sabey, washington, daniel, jonas, harriet, moses and rosetta, the last named he had never seen. "between my mistress and my master there was not much difference." [illustration: ] of his comrades time admitted of writing out only very brief sketches, as follows: edward lewis. $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, on the th of november, negro slave, edgar. he is years old, feet high, of dark brown complexion, very high forehead, is a little bald, and is inclined to stoop in the shoulders. edgar says he was raised in norfolk county, has worked about norfolk several years. i bought him at the auction house of messrs. pulham & davis, the th of july, . the bill of sale was signed by w.y. milmer for jas. a. bilisoly, administrator of g.w. chambers, dec'd. he told one of my negroes he was going to norfolk to sell some plunder he had there, then go to richmond, steal his wife, get on board a boat about norfolk, and go to a free state. he can read and write well, and i have no doubt he has provided himself with papers of some kind. he may have purchased the papers of some free negro. i will give the above reward of one hundred dollars to any person who will arrest and confine him, so i can get him. [illustration: ] c.h. gay. my post office is laurel, n.c. no. . the above advertisement, which was cut from a southern paper, brought light in regard to one of the passengers at least. it was not often that a slave was so fortunate as to get such a long sketch of himself in a newspaper. the description is so highly complimentary, that we simply endorse it as it stands. the sketch as taken for the record book is here transcribed as follows: "edward reported himself from franklin county, n.c., where, according to statement, a common farmer by the name of carter gay owned him, under whose oppression his life was rendered most unhappy, who stinted him daily for food and barely allowed him clothing enough to cover his nakedness, who neither showed justice nor mercy to any under his control, the 'weaker vessels' not excepted; therefore edward was convinced that it was in vain to hope for comfort under such a master. moreover, his appetite for liquor, combined with a high temper, rendered him a being hard to please, but easy to excite to a terrible degree. scarcely had edward lived two years with this man (gay) when he felt that he had lived with him long enough. two years previous to his coming into the hands of gay, he and his wife were both sold; the wife one day and he the next. she brought eleven hundred and twenty-five dollars, and he eight hundred and thirty-five dollars; thus they were sold and resold as a matter of speculation, and husband and wife were parted." after the fugitives had been well cared for by the committee, they were forwarded on north; but for some reason they were led to stop short of canada, readily finding employment and going to work to take care of themselves. how they were received and in what way they were situated, the subjoined letter from edward will explain: skaneateles, dec. , . dear sir:--as i promised to let you hear from me as soon as i found a home, i will now fulfill my promise to you and say that i am alive and well and have found a stopping place for the winter. when we arrived at syracuse we found mr. loguen ready to receive us, and as times are rather hard in canada he thought best for us not to go there, so he sent us about twenty miles west of syracuse to skaneateles, where george upshur and myself soon found work. henry grimes is at work in garden about eight miles from this place. if you should chance to hear any of my friends inquiring for me, please direct them to skaneateles, onondaga county, n.y. if you can inform me of the whereabouts of miss alice jones i shall be very much obliged to you, until i can pay you better. i forgot to ask you about her when i was at your house. she escaped about two years ago. please not to forget to inquire of my wife, rachel land, and if you should hear of her, let me know immediately, george upshur and myself send our best respects to you and your family. remember us to mrs. jackson and miss julia. i hope to meet you all again, if not on earth may we so live that we shall meet in that happy land where tears and partings are not known. let me hear from you soon. this from your friend and well wisher, edward lewis, formerly, but now william brady. george upsher.--the third in this arrival was also a full man. slavery had robbed him shamefully it is true; nevertheless he was a man of superior natural parts, physically and intellectually. despite the efforts of slave-holders to keep him in the dark, he could read and write a little. his escape in the manner that he did, implied a direct protest against the conduct of dr. thomas w. upsher, of richmond, va., whom, he alleged, deprived him of his hire, and threatened him with immediate sale. he had lived in north carolina with the doctor about two years. as a slave, his general treatment had been favorable, except for a few months prior to his flight, which change on the part of his master led him to fear that a day of sale was nigh at hand. in fact the seventh of july had been agreed upon when he was to be in richmond, to take his place with others in the market on sale day; his hasty and resolute move for freedom originated from this circumstance. he was well-known in norfolk, and had served almost all his days in that city. these passengers averaged about six feet, and were of uncommonly well-developed physical structure. the pleasure of aiding such men from the horrors of carolina slavery was great. * * * * * alfred hollon, george and charles n. rodgers. the loss of this party likewise falls on maryland. with all the efforts exerted by slave-holders, they could not prevent the underground rail road from bringing away passengers. alfred was twenty-eight years of age, with sharp features, dark color, and of medium size. he charged one elijah j. johnson, a commissioner of baltimore co., with having deprived him of the fruits of his labor. he had looked fully into his master's treatment of him, and had come to the conclusion that it was wrong in every respect, for one man to make another work and then take all his wages from him; thus decided, alfred, desiring liberty, whereby he could do better for himself felt that he must "took out" and make his way to canada. nevertheless, he admitted that he had been "treated pretty well" compared with others. true, he had "not been fed very well;" elijah, his master, was an old man with a white head, tall and stout, and the owner of fifteen head of slaves. at the same time, a member of st. john's church. alfred had treasured up the sad remembrance against him of the sale of his mother from him when a little boy, only three years old. while he was then too young to have retained her features in his memory, the fact had always been a painful one to reflect upon. george was twenty-six years of age, stout, long-faced, and of dark complexion. he looked as though he might have eagerly grasped education if the opportunity had been allowed him. he too belonged to elijah j. johnson, against whom he entertained much more serious objections than alfred. indeed, george did not hesitate to say with emphasis, that he neither liked his old master, mistress, nor any of the family. without recording his grievances in detail, a single instance will suffice of the kind of treatment to which he objected, and which afforded the pretext for his becoming a patron of the underground rail road. it was this, said george: "i went into the corn-field and got some corn. this made my master and mistress very mad, and about it dr. franklin rodgers, my young mistress' husband, struck me some pretty heavy blows, and knocked me with his fist, etc." thus, george's blood was raised, and he at once felt that it was high time to be getting away from such patriarchs. it was only necessary to form a strong resolution and to start without delay. there were two others who, he believed, could be trusted, so he made known his intentions to them, and finding them sound on the question of freedom he was glad of their company. for an emergency, he provided himself with a pair of pistols and a formidable-looking knife, and started, bent on reaching canada; determined at least, not to be taken back to bondage alive. charles was twenty-four years of age, a very dark-colored individual, and also belonged to said johnson. charles was well acquainted with his old master and mistress, and made very quick work of giving his experience. after hearing him, from the manner in which he expressed himself, no one could doubt his earnestness and veracity. his testimony ran substantially thus: "for the last three years i have been treated very hard. in the presence of the servants, old johnson had me tied, stripped, and with his own hands, flogged me on the naked back shamefully. the old mistress was cross too." it was some time before the smarting ceased, but it was not long ere the suffering produced very decided aspirations to get over to john bull's dominions. he resolved to go, at all hazards. in order that he might not be surprised on the underground rail road without any weapons of defense, determined as he was to fight rather than be dragged back, he provided himself with a heavy, leaden ball and a razor. they met, however, with no serious difficulty, save from hard walking and extreme hunger. in appearance, courage, and mother-wit, this party was of much promise. * * * * * arrival from kent county, . samuel benton, john alexander, james henry, and samuel turner. these passengers journeyed together from the land of whips and chains. sam benton was about twenty-six years of age, medium size, pretty dark color, and possessed a fair share of intelligence. he understood very well how sadly slavery had wronged him by keeping him in ignorance and poverty. he stated as the cause of his flight that william campbell had oppressed him and kept him closely at hard labor without paying him, and at the same time "did not give him half enough to eat, and no clothing." john alexander was about forty-four years of age, a man of ordinary size, quite black, and a good specimen of a regular corn-field hand. "why did you leave, john?" said a member of the committee. he coolly replied that "handy (his master was named george handy) got hold of me twice, and i promised my lord that he should never get hold of me another time." of course it was the severity of these two visitations that made john a thinker and an actor at the same time. the evil practices of the master produced the fruits of liberty in john's breast. james henry, the third passenger, was about thirty-two years of age, and quite a spirited-looking "article." a few months before he fled he had been sold, at which time his age was given as "only twenty." he had suffered considerably from various abuses; the hope of canada however tended to make him joyful. the system of oppression from which these travelers fled had afforded them no privileges in the way of learning to read. all that they had ever known of civilization was what they perchance picked up in the ordinary routine of the field. notice of the fourth passenger unfortunately is missing. * * * * * arrival from baltimore county, . elizabeth williams. elizabeth fled in company with her brother the winter previous to her arrival at the philadelphia station. although she reached free land the severe struggle cost her the loss of all her toes. four days and nights out in the bitter cold weather without the chance of a fire left them a prey to the frost, which made sad havoc with their feet especially--particularly elizabeth's. she was obliged to stop on the way, and for seven months she was unable to walk. elizabeth was about twenty years of age, chestnut color, and of considerable natural intellect. although she suffered so severely as the result of her resolution to throw off the yoke, she had no regrets at leaving the prison-house; she seemed to appreciate freedom all the more in consequence of what it cost her to obtain the prize. in speaking of the life she had lived, she stated that her mistress was "good enough," but her "master was a very bad man." his name was samuel ward; he lived in baltimore county, near wrightstown. elizabeth left her mother, four brothers and one sister under the yoke. * * * * * mary cooper and moses armstead, . mary arrived from delaware, moses from norfolk, virginia, and happened to meet at the station in philadelphia. mary was twenty years of age, of a chestnut color, usual size, and well disposed. she fled from nathaniel herne, an alderman. mary did not find fault with the alderman, but she could not possibly get along with his wife; this was the sole cause of her escape. moses was twenty-four years of age, of a chestnut color, a bright-looking young man. he fled from norfolk, virginia, having been owned by the estate of john halters. nothing but the prevailing love of liberty in the breast of moses moved him to seek his freedom. he did not make one complaint of bad treatment. * * * * * arrival from near washington, d.c. john johnson and lawrence thornton. john escaped from near washington. he stated that he was owned by an engraver, known by the name of william stone, and added that himself and seven others were kept working on the farm of said stone for nothing. john did not, however, complain of having a hard master in this hard-named personage, (stone); for, as a slave, he confessed that he had seen good times. yet he was not satisfied; he felt that he had a right to his freedom, and that he could not possibly be contented while deprived of it, for this reason, therefore, he dissolved his relationship with his kind master. john was about twenty-seven years of age, smart, possessed good manners, and a mulatto. lawrence was about twenty-three years of age, tall and slender, of dark complexion, but bright intellectually. with lawrence times had been pretty rough. dr. isaac winslow of alexandria was accused of defrauding lawrence of his hire. "he was anything else but a gentleman," said lawrence. "he was not a fair man no way, and his wife was worse than he was, and she had a daughter worse than herself." "last sunday a week my master collared me, for my insolence he said, and told me that he would sell me right off. i was tied and put up stairs for safe keeping. i was tied for about eight hours. i then untied myself, broke out of prison, and made for the underground rail road immediately." lawrence gave a most interesting account of his life of bondage, and of the doctor and his family. he was overjoyed at the manner in which he had defeated the doctor, and so was the committee. * * * * * hon. l. mclane's property, soon after his death, travels _viâ_ the underground rail road.--william knight, esq., loses a superior "article." jim scott, tom pennington, sam scott, bill scott, abe bacon, and jack wells. an unusual degree of pleasure was felt in welcoming this party of young men, not because they were any better than others, or because they had suffered more, but simply because they were found to possess certain knowledge and experience of slave life, as it existed under the government of the chivalry; such information could not always be obtained from those whose lot had been cast among ordinary slave-holders. consequently the committee interviewed them closely, and in point of intellect found them to be above the average run of slaves. as they were then entered on the record, so in like manner are the notes made of them transferred to these pages. jim was about nineteen years of age, well grown, black, and of prepossessing appearance. the organ of hope seemed very strong in him. jim had been numbered with the live stock of the late hon. l. mclane, who had been called to give an account of his stewardship about two months before jim and his companions "took out." as to general usage, he made no particular charge against his distinguished master; he had, however, not been living under his immediate patriarchal government, but had been hired out to a farmer by the name of james dodson, with whom he experienced life "sometimes hard and sometimes smooth," to use his own words. the reason of his leaguing with his fellow-servants to abandon the old prison-house, was traceable to the rumor, that he and some others were to appear on the stage, or rather the auction-block, in baltimore, the coming spring. tom, another member of the mclane institution, was about twenty-five years of age, of unmixed blood, and a fair specimen of a well-trained field-hand. he conceived that he had just ground to bring damages against the hon. l. mclane for a number of years of hard service, and for being deprived of education. he had been compelled to toil for the honorable gentleman, not only on his own place, but on the farms of others. at the time that tom escaped, he was hired for one hundred dollars per annum (and his clothes found him), which hire mclane had withheld from him contrary to all justice and fair dealing; but as tom was satisfied, that he could get no justice through the maryland courts, and knew that an old and intimate friend of his master had already proclaimed, that "negroes had no rights which white men are bound to respect;" also, as his experience tended to confirm him in the belief, that the idea was practically carried out in the courts of maryland; he thought, that it would be useless to put in a plea for justice in maryland. he was not, however, without a feeling of some satisfaction, that his old master, in giving an account of his stewardship at the bar of the just one, would be made to understand the amount of his indebtedness to those whom he had oppressed. with this impression, and the prospects of equal rights and canada, under her british majesty's possessions, he manifested as much delight as if he was traveling with a half million of dollars in his pocket. sam, another likely-looking member of this party, was twenty-two years of age, and a very promising-looking young fugitive, having the appearance of being able to take education without difficulty. he had fully made up his mind, that slavery was never intended for man, and that he would never wear himself out working for the "white people for nothing." he wanted to work for himself and enjoy the benefits of education, etc. bill scott, another member of the mclane party, was twenty-one years of age, "fat and slick," and fully satisfied, that canada would agree with him in every particular. not a word did he utter in favor of maryland, but said much against the manner in which slaves were treated, how he had felt about the matter, etc. abe was also from the mclane estate. he possessed apparently more general intelligence than either of his companions. he was quite bright-witted, a ready talker, and with his prospects he was much satisfied. he was twenty-two years of age, black, good-looking, and possessed very good manners. he represented, that his distinguished master died, leaving thirteen head of slaves. his (abe's) father, tom's mother and the mother of the scotts were freed by mclane. strong hopes were entertained that before the old man's death he would make provision in his will for the freedom of all the other slaves; when he died, the contrary was found to be the fact; they were still left in chains. the immediate heirs consisted of six sons and five daughters, who moved in the first circle, were "very wealthy and aristocratic." abe was conversant with the fact, that his master, the "hon. l. mclane, was once secretary under president jackson;" that he had been "sent to england on a mission for the government," and that he had "served two terms in congress." some of the servants, abe said, were "treated pretty well, but some others could not say anything in the master's favor." upon the whole, however, it was manifest that the mclane slaves had not been among the number who had seen severe hardships. they came from his plantation in cecil county, maryland, where they had been reared. in order to defend themselves on the underground rail road, they were strongly armed. sam had a large horse pistol and a butcher knife; jack had a revolver; abe had a double-barrelled pistol and a large knife; jim had a single-barrelled pistol and counted on "blowing a man down if any one touched" him. bill also had a single-barrelled pistol, and when he started resolved to "come through or die." although this party was of the class said to be well fed, well clothed, and not over-worked, yet to those who heard them declare their utter detestation of slavery and their determination to use their instruments of death, even to the taking of life, rather than again be subjected to the yoke, it was evident that even the mildest form of slavery was abhorrent. they left neither old nor young masters, whom they desired to serve any longer or look up to for care and support. jack, who was not of the mclane party, but who came with them, had been kept in ignorance with regard to his age. he was apparently middle-aged, medium size, dark color, and of average intelligence. he accused william knight, a farmer, of having enslaved him contrary to his will or wishes, and averred that he fled from him because he used him badly and kept mean overseers. jack said that his master owned six farms and kept three overseers to manage them. the slaves numbered twenty-one head. the names of the overseers were given in the following order: "alfred king, jimmy allen, and thomas brockston." in speaking of their habits, jack said, that they were "very smart when the master was about, but as soon as he was gone they would instantly drop back." "they were all mean, but the old boss was meaner than them all," and "the overseers were 'fraider' of him than what i was," said jack. his master (mr. knight), had a wife and seven children, and was a member of the episcopal church, in "good and regular standing." he was rich, and, with his family, moved in good society. "his wife was too stingy to live, and if she was to die, she would die holding on to something," said jack. jack had once had a wife and three children, but as they belonged to a slave-holder ("jim price") jack's rights were wholly ignored, and he lost them. * * * * * arrival from harford co., . john myers. john fled from under the yoke of dr. joshua r. nelson. until within two years of "jack's" flight, the doctor "had been a very fine man," with whom jack found no fault. but suddenly his mode of treatment changed; he became very severe. nothing that jack could do, met the approval of the doctor. jack was constantly looked upon with suspicion. the very day that jack fled, four men approached him (the doctor one of them), with line in hand; that sign was well understood, and jack resolved that they should not get within tying distance of him. "i dodged them," said jack. never afterwards was jack seen in that part of the country, at least as long as a fetter remained. the day that he "dodged" he also took the underground rail road, and although ignorant of letters, he battled his way out of maryland, and succeeded in reaching pennsylvania and the committee. he was obliged to leave four children behind--john, abraham, jane and ellen. jack's wife had been freed and had come to philadelphia two years in advance of him. his master evidently supposed that jack would be mean enough to wish to see his wife, even in a free state, and that no slave, with such an unnatural desire, could be tolerated or trusted, that the sooner such "articles" were turned into cash the better. this in substance, was the way jack accounted for the sudden change which had come over his master. in defense of his course, jack referred to the treatment which he had received while in servitude under his old master, in something like the following words: "i served under my young master's father, thirty-five years, and from him received kind treatment. i was his head man on the place, and had everything to look after." * * * * * arrival from maryland, . william lee, susan jane boile and amarian lucretia rister. although these three passengers arrived in philadelphia at the same time, they did not come from maryland together. william lee found himself under the yoke on a farm in the possession of zechariah merica, who, wm. said, was a "low ignorant man, not above a common wood-chopper, and owned no other slave property than william." against him, however, william brought no accusation of any very severe treatment; on the contrary, his master talked sometimes "as though he wanted to be good and get religion, but said he could not while he was trying to be rich." everything looked hopeless in william's eyes, so far as the master's riches and his own freedom were concerned. he concluded that he would leave him the "bag to hold alone." william therefore laid down "the shovel and the hoe," and, without saying a word to his master, he took his departure, under the privacy of the night, for canada. william represented the white and colored races about equally; he was about twenty-seven years of age, and looked well fitted for a full day's work on a farm. susan jane came from new market, near georgetown cross-roads, where she had been held to unrequited labor by hezekiah masten, a farmer. although he was a man of fair pretensions, and a member of the methodist church, he knew how to draw the cords very tightly, with regard to his slaves, keeping his feet on their necks, to their sore grievance. susan endured his bad treatment as long as she could, then left, destitute and alone. her mother and father were at the time living in elkton, md. whether they ever heard what became of their daughter is not known. amarian was twenty-one years of age, a person of light color, medium size, with a prepossessing countenance and smart; she could read, write, and play on the piano. from a child, amarian had been owned by mrs. elizabeth key scott, who resided near braceville, but at the time of her flight she was living at westminster, in the family of a man named "boile," said to be the clerk of the court. in reference to treatment, amarian said: "i have always been used very well; have had it good all my life, etc." this was a remarkable case, and, at first, somewhat staggered the faith of the committee, but they could not dispute her testimony, consequently they gave her the benefit of the doubt. she spoke of having a mother living in hagerstown, by the name of amarian ballad, also three sisters who were slaves, and two who were free; she also had a brother in chains in mississippi. * * * * * arrival from norfolk, va. . william carney and andrew allen. william was about fifty-one years of age, a man of unmixed blood. physically he was a superior man, and his mental abilities were quite above the average of his class. he belonged to the estate of the late mrs. sarah twyne, who bore the reputation of being a lady of wealth, and owned one hundred and twelve slaves. most of her slave property was kept on her plantation not far from old point comfort. according to william's testimony "of times mrs. twyne would meddle too freely with the cup, and when under its influence she was very desperate, and acted as though she wanted to kill some of the slaves." after the evil spirit left her and she had regained her wonted composure, she would pretend that she loved her "negroes," and would make a great fuss over them. not infrequently she would have very serious difficulty with her overseers. having license to do as they pleased, they would of course carry their cruelties to the most extreme verge of punishment. if a slave was maimed or killed under their correction, it was no loss of theirs. "one of the overseers by the name of bill anderson once shot a young slave man called luke and wounded him so seriously that he was not expected to live." "at another time one of the overseers beat and kicked a slave to death." this barbarity caused the mistress to be very much "stirred up," and she declared that she would not have any more white overseers; condemned them for everything, and decided to change her policy in future and to appoint her overseers from her own slaves, setting the property to watch the property. this system was organized and times were somewhat better. william had been hired out almost his entire life. for the last twelve or fifteen years he had been accustomed to hire his time for one hundred and thirty dollars per annum. in order to meet this demand he commonly resorted to oystering. by the hardest toil he managed to maintain himself and family in a humble way. for the last twenty years (prior to his escape) the slaves had constantly been encouraged by their mistress' promises to believe that at her death all would be free, and transported to liberia, where they would enjoy their liberty and be happy the remainder of their days. with full faith in her promises year by year the slaves awaited her demise with as much patience as possible, and often prayed that her time might be shortened for the general good of the oppressed. fortunately, as the slaves thought, she had no children or near relatives to deprive them of their just and promised rights. in november, previous to william's escape, her long looked-for dissolution took place. every bondman who was old enough to realize the nature and import of the change felt a great anxiety to learn what the will of their old mistress said, whether she had actually freed them or not. alas! when the secret was disclosed, it was ascertained that not a fetter was broken, not a bond unloosed, and that no provision whatever had been made looking towards freedom. in this sad case, the slaves could imagine no other fate than soon to be torn asunder and scattered. the fact was soon made known that the high sheriff had administered on the estate of the late mistress; it was therefore obvious enough to william and the more intelligent slaves that the auction block was near at hand. the trader, the slave-pen, the auction-block, the coffle gang, the rice swamp, the cotton plantation, bloodhounds, and cruel overseers loomed up before him, as they had never done before. without stopping to consider the danger, he immediately made up his mind that he would make a struggle, cost what it might. he knew of no other way of escape than the underground rail road. he was shrewd enough to find an agent, who gave him private instructions, and to whom he indicated a desire to travel north on said road. on examination he was deemed reliable, and a mutual understanding was entered into between. william and one of the accommodating captains running on the richmond and philadelphia line, to the effect that he, william, should have a first class underground rail road berth, so perfectly private that even the law-officers could not find him. the first ties to be severed were those which bound him to his wife and children, and next to the baptist church, to which he belonged. his family were slaves, and bore the following names: his wife, nancy, and children, simon henry, william, sarah, mary ann, elizabeth, louis, and cornelius. it was no light matter to bid them farewell forever. the separation from them was a trial such as rarely falls to the lot of mortals; but he nerved himself for the undertaking, and when the hour arrived his strength was sufficient for the occasion. thus in company with andrew they embarked for an unknown shore, their entire interests entrusted to a stranger who was to bring them through difficulties and dangers seen and unseen. andrew was about twenty-four years of age, very tall, quite black, and bore himself manfully. he too was of the same estate that william belonged to. he had served on the farm as a common farm laborer. he had had it "sometimes rough and sometimes smooth," to use his own language. the fear of what awaited the slaves prompted andrew to escape. he too was entangled with a wife and one child, with whom he parted only as a friend parts with a companion when death separates them. catharine was the name of andrew's wife; and anna clarissa the name of his child left in chains. * * * * * arrival from hoopesville, md., . james cain, "general andrew jackson," and anna perry. these passengers came from the field where as slaves very few privileges had been afforded them. jim was about thirty-five years of age, a dark brown skin with average intellect for one in his condition. he had toiled under john burnham, in dorchester county, from whom he had received hard treatment, but harder still from his mistress. he averred that she was the cause of matters being so hard with the slaves on the place. jim contented himself under his lot as well as be could until within a short time of his escape when he learned that measures were on foot to sell him. the fear of this change brought him directly to meditate upon a trip to canada. being a married man he found it hard to leave his wife, mary, but as she was also a slave, and kept in the employment of her owners at some distance from where he lived, he decided to say nothing to her of his plans, but to start when ready and do the best he could to save himself, as he saw no chance of saving her. "general andrew jackson." when the above "article" gave the committee his name they were amused and thought that he was simply jesting, having done a smart thing in conquering his master by escaping; but on a fuller investigation they found that he really bore the name, and meant to retain it in canada. it had been given him when a child, and in slavery he had been familiarly called "andy," but since he had achieved his freedom he felt bound to be called by his proper name. general andrew was about twenty-seven years of age, a full black, and a man of extraordinary muscular powers, with coarse hard features, such as showed signs that it would not be safe for his master to meddle with him when the general's blood was up. he spoke freely of the man who claimed him as a slave, saying that his name was shepherd houston, of lewistown, delaware, and that he owned seven head of "god's poor," whom he compelled to labor on his farm without a cent of pay, a day's schooling, or an hour's freedom; furthermore, that he was a member of the ebenezer methodist church, a class-leader, and an exhorter, and in outward show passed for a good christian. but in speaking of his practical dealings with his slaves, general said that he worked them hard, stinted them shamefully for food, and kept them all the time digging. also when testifying with regard to the "weaker vessel," under whose treatment he had suffered much, the general said that his master's wife had a meaner disposition than he had; she pretended to belong to church too, said general, but it was nothing but deceit. this severe critic could not read, but he had very clear views on the ethics of his master and mistress, agreeing with scripture concerning whited sepulchres, etc. the question of christian slave-holders, for a great while, seriously puzzled the wise and learned, but for the slave it was one of the easiest of solution. all the slaves came to the same conclusion, notwithstanding the teaching of slave-holders on the one idea, that "servants should obey their masters," etc. general had a brother in baltimore, known by the name of josephus, also two sisters anna and annie; his father was living at cannon's ferry. anna perry was the intended of general. she was about nineteen years of age, of a dark brown color, and came from the same neighborhood. according to law anna was entitled to her freedom, but up to the time of her escape she had not been permitted to enjoy the favor. she found that if she would be free she would have to run for it. john smith. a better specimen of one who had been ill treated, and in every way uncared for, could not be easily found. in speech, manners, and whole appearance he was extremely rude. he was about twenty years of age, and in color was of a very dark hue. that john had received only the poorest kind of "corn-field fare" was clearly evidenced both by body and mind. master george h. morgan was greatly blamed for john's deficiencies; it was on his farms, under mean overseers that john had been crushed and kept under the harrow. his mother, mary smith, he stated, his master had sold away to new orleans, some two years before his escape. the sad effect that this cruel separation had upon him could only be appreciated by hearing him talk of it in his own untutored tongue. being himself threatened with the auction-block, he was awakened to inquire how he could escape the danger, and very soon learned that by following the old methods which had been used by many before him, resolution and perseverance, he might gain the victory over master and overseers. as green as he seemed he had succeeded admirably in his undertaking. * * * * * arrival from maryland, . george russell and james henry thompson. james, for convenience' sake, was supplied with two other names (milton brown and john johnson), not knowing exactly how many he would need in freedom or which would be the best adapted to keep his whereabouts the most completely veiled from his master. george reported that he fled from henry harris, who lived near baltimore on the peach orchard road, and that he had lived with said harris all his life. he spoke of him as being a "blustering man, who never liked the slaves to make anything for themselves." george bore witness that the usage which he had received had been hard; evidently his intellect had been seriously injured by what he had suffered under his task-master. george was of a very dark hue, but not quite up to medium size. james henry thompson did not accompany george, but met him at the station in philadelphia. he contrasted favorably with george, being about twenty-eight years of age, with a countenance indicative of intelligence and spirit. he was of a chestnut color and of average size. he charged one dennis mannard, of johnsonville, with being his personal enemy as an oppressor, and added that he could "say nothing good of him." he could say, however, that mannard was bitterly opposed to a slave's learning how to read, would not listen to the idea of giving them any privileges, and tried to impress them with the idea that they needed to know nothing but simply how to work hard for the benefit of their masters and mistresses; in fulfilling these conditions faithfully the end for which they had been designed would be accomplished according to his doctrine. notwithstanding so much pains had been resorted to throughout the south to impress these ideas upon the slaves, no converts were made. james thought that the doctrine was infamous, and that it was dangerous to live with such a man as his master; that freedom was as much his right as it was his master's; and so he resolved to leave for canada as soon as he could see any chance for escape. * * * * * arrival from queen ann county, . catharine jones and son henry, etna elizabeth dauphus, and george nelson washington. these passengers, although interesting, and manifesting a strong desire to be free, had no remarkable tales of personal suffering to relate; their lot had evidently been cast among the more humane class of slave-holders, who had acted towards their slaves with some moderation. catharine was twenty-four years of age, of a dark chestnut color, possessed a fair share of mother wit, and was fitted to make a favorable impression. in no degree whatever did she think well of slavery; she had had, as she thought, sufficient experience under joshua duvall (who professed to own her) to judge as to the good or evil of the system. while he was by no means considered a hard man, he would now and then buy and sell a slave. she had no fault to find with her mistress. etna was about twenty years of age, of a "ginger-bread" color, modest in demeanor, and appeared to have a natural capacity for learning. she was also from under the duvall yoke. in setting forth her reasons for escaping she asserted that she was tired of slavery and an unbeliever in the doctrine that god made colored people simply to be slaves for white people; besides, she had a strong desire to "see her friends in canada." george also escaped from duvall; happily he was only about nineteen years of age, not too old to acquire some education and do well by himself. he was greatly elated at the prospect of freedom in canada. william henry was a plump little fellow only two years of age. at the old price (five dollars per pound) he was worth something, fat as he was. being in the hands of his mother, the committee considered him a lucky child. * * * * * arrival from baltimore. elijah bishop and william williamson. elijah represented to the committee that he had been held under the enthrallment of a common "gambler and drunkard," who called himself by the name of campbell, and carried on his sporting operations in baltimore. under this gambler elijah had been wronged up to the age of twenty-eight years, when he resolved to escape. having had several opportunities of traveling through the united states and south america with his sporting master, he managed to pick up quite an amount of information. for the benefit of elijah's relatives, if any should have occasion to look for particulars concerning this lost individual, we add, that he was a spare-built man of a dark color. william williamson fled from mrs. rebecca davidge, of perrymanville. he declared that he had been used badly--had been worked hard and had been fed and clothed but poorly. under such treatment he had reached his twenty-fourth year. being of a resolute and determined mind, and feeling considerably galled by the burdens heaped upon him, he resolved that he would take his chances on the underground rail road. the only complaint that he had to make against his mistress was, that she hired him to a man named smith, a farmer, and a slave-holder of the meanest type, in william's opinion. for many a day william will hold her responsible for abuses he received from him. * * * * * arrival from dunwoody county, . darius harris. one of the most encouraging signs connected with the travel _viâ_ the underground rail road was, that passengers traveling thereon were, as a general thing, young and of determined minds. darius, the subject of this sketch, was only about twenty-one when he arrived. it could be seen in his looks that he could not be kept in the prison-house unless constantly behind bars. his large head and its formation indicated a large brain. he stated that "thomas h. hamlin, a hard case, living near dunwoody," had professed to own him. darius alleged that this same hamlin, who had thus stripped him of every cent of his earnings was doing the same thing by sixty others, whom he held in his grasp. with regard to "feeding and clothing" darius set hamlin down as "very hoggish;" he also stated that he would sell slaves whenever he could. he (darius), had been hired out in petersburg from the age of ten; for the last three years previous to his escape he had been bringing one hundred and fifty dollars a year into the coffers of his owners. darius had not been ignorant of the cruelties of the slave system up to the time of his escape, for the fetters had been galling his young limbs for several years; especially had the stringent slave laws given him the horrors. loathing the system of slavery with his whole heart, he determined to peril his all in escaping therefrom; seeking diligently, he had found means by which he could carry his designs into execution. in the way of general treatment, however, darius said that bodily he had escaped "abuses tolerably well." he left in slavery his father and mother, four brothers and one sister. he arrived by one of the richmond boats. * * * * * arrived from alexandria, va., . townsend derrix. the above-named escaped from a "dutchman" by the name of gallipappick, who was in the confectionery business. for the credit of our german citizens, it may be said, that slave-holders within their ranks were very few. this was a rare case. the committee were a little curious to know how the german branch of civilization conducted when given unlimited control over human beings. in answering the requisite questions, and in making his statement, townsend gave entire satisfaction. his german master he spoke of as being a tolerably fair man, "considering his origin." at least he (townsend), had not suffered much from him; but he spoke of a woman, about sixty, who had been used very badly under this dutchman. he not only worked her very hard, but, at the same time, he would beat her over the head, and that in the most savage manner. his mistress was also "dutch," a "great swabby, fat woman," with a very ill disposition. master and mistress were both members of the episcopal church. "mistress drank, that was the reason she was so disagreeable." townsend had been a married man for about seven months only. in his effort to obtain his own freedom he sought diligently to deliver his young wife. they were united heart and hand in the one great purpose to reach free land, but unfortunately the pursuers were on their track; the wife was captured and carried back, but the husband escaped. it was particularly with a view of saving his poor wife that townsend was induced to peril his life, for she (the wife) was not owned by the same party who owned townsend, and was on the eve of being taken by her owners some fifty miles distant into the country, where the chances for intercourse between husband and wife would no longer be favorable. rather than submit to such an outrage, townsend and his wife made the attempt aforementioned. * * * * * arrival from maryland, . edward carroll. edward, a youthful passenger about twenty-one years of age, slow of speech, with a stammering utterance, and apparently crushed in spirits, claimed succor and aid of the committee. at first the committee felt a little puzzled to understand, how one, apparently so deficient, could succeed in surmounting the usual difficulties consequent upon traveling, via the underground rail road; but in conversing with him, they found him possessed of more intelligence than they had supposed; indeed, they perceived that he could read and write a little, and that what he lacked in aptness of speech, he supplied as a thinker, and although he was slow he was sure. he was owned by a man named john lewis, who also owned about seventy head of slaves, whom he kept on farms near the mouth of the sassafras river, in sussex county. lewis had not only held edward in bondage, but had actually sold him, with two of his brothers, only the saturday before his escape, to a georgia trader, named durant, who was to start south with them on the subsequent monday. moved almost to desperation at their master's course in thus selling them, the three brothers, after reflection, determined to save themselves if possible, and without any definite knowledge of the journey, they turned their eyes towards the north star, and under the cover of night they started for pennsylvania, not knowing whether they would ever see the goodly land of freedom. after wandering for about two weeks, having been lost often and compelled to lie out in all weathers, a party of pursuers suddenly came upon them. both parties were armed; the fugitives therefore resolved to give their enemies battle, before surrendering. edward felt certain that one of the pursuers received a cut from his knife, but the extent of the injury was unknown to him. for a time the struggle was of a very serious character; by using his weapons skillfully, however, edward managed to keep the hand-cuff off of himself, but was at this point separated from his two brothers. no further knowledge of them did he possess; nevertheless, he trusted that they succeeded in fighting their way through to freedom. how any were successful in making their escape under such discouraging circumstances is a marvel. edward took occasion to review his master's conduct, and said that he "could not recommend him," as he would "drink and gamble," both of which, were enough to condemn him, in edward's estimation, even though he were passable in other respects. but he held him doubly guilty for the way that he acted in selling him and his brothers. so privately had his master transacted business with the trader, that they were within a hair's breadth of being hand-cuffed, ere they knew that they were sold. probably no outrage will be remembered with feelings of greater bitterness, than this proceeding on the part of the master; yet, when he reflected that he was thereby prompted to strike for freedom, edward was disposed to rejoice at the good which had come out of the evil. * * * * * arrival from petersburg, . james mason. this passenger brought rare intelligence respecting the manner in which he had been treated in slavery. he had been owned by a lady named judith burton, who resided in petersburg, and was a member of the baptist church. she was the owner of five other slaves. james said that she had been "the same as a mother" to him; and on the score of how he came to escape, he said: "i left for no other cause than simply to get my liberty." this was an exceptional case, yet he had too much sense to continue in such a life in preference to freedom. when he fled he was only twenty-four years of age. had he remained, therefore, he might have seen hard times before he reached old age; this fact he had well considered, as he was an intelligent young man. * * * * * arrival from maryland. robert carr. $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, on the th december, , negro man robert carr. he had on when last seen on west river, a close-bodied blue cloth coat with brass buttons, drab pantaloons, and a low crown and very narrow brim beaver hat; he wore a small goatee, is pleasant when spoken to, and very polite; about five feet ten inches high; copper-colored. i will give $ if taken in anne arundel, prince george's, calvert or montgomery county, $ if taken in the city of baltimore; or $ if taken out of the state and secured so that i get him again. [illustration: ] thos. j. richardson, west river, anne arundel county, maryland. j -w&s w robert was too shrewd to be entrapped by the above reward. he sat down and counted the cost before starting; then with his knowledge of slaveholders when traveling he was cautious enough not to expose himself by day or night where he was liable to danger. he had reached the age of thirty, and despite the opposition he had had to encounter, unaided he had learned to read, which with his good share of native intelligence, he found of service. whilst robert did not publish his mistress, he gave a plain statement of where he was from, and why he was found in the city of brotherly love in the dead of winter in a state of destitution. he charged the blame upon a woman, whose name was richardson, who, he said, was quite a "fighter, and was never satisfied, except when quarreling and fighting with some of the slaves." he also spoke of a certain t.j. richardson, a farmer and a "very driving man" who was in the habit of oppressing poor men and women by compelling them to work in his tobacco, corn, and wheat fields without requiting them for their labor. robert felt if he could get justice out of said richardson he would be the gainer to the amount of more than a thousand dollars in money besides heavy damages for having cheated him out of his education. in this connection, he recalled the fact of richardson's being a member of the church, and in a sarcastic manner added that his "religious pretensions might pass among slave-holders, but that it would do him no good when meeting the judge above." being satisfied that he would there meet his deserts robert took a degree of comfort therefrom. * * * * * arrival of a party of six, . plymouth cannon, horatio wilkinson, lemuel mitchell, josiah mitchell, george henry ballard, and john mitchell. thomas garrett announced the coming of this party in the subjoined letter: wilmington, mo. th, . esteemed friend:--william still:--i have information of able-bodied men that are expected here to-morrow morning; they may, to-morrow afternoon or evening, take the cars at chester, and most likely reach the city between and at night; they will be accompanied by a colored man that has lived in philadelphia and is free; they may think it safer to walk to the city than to go in the cars, but for fear of accident it may be best to have some one at the cars to look out for them. i have not seen them yet, and cannot certainly judge what will be best. i gave a man dollars to bring those men miles to-night, and i have been two miles in the country this afternoon, and gave a colored man dollars to get provisions to feed them. hoping all will be right, i remain thy friend, humanitas. arriving as usual in due time these fugitives were examined, and all found to be extra field hands. plymouth was forty-two years of age, of a light chestnut color, with keen eyes, and a good countenance, and withal possessed of shrewdness enough to lead double the number that accompanied him. he had a strong desire to learn to read, but there was no possible way of his gaining the light; this he felt to be a great drawback. the name of the man who had made merchandise of plymouth was nat horsey, of horsey's cross roads. the most striking characteristic in horsey's character, according to plymouth's idea was, that he was very "hard to please, did not know when a slave did enough, had no idea that they could get tired or that they needed any privileges." he was the owner of six slaves, was engaged in farming and mercantile pursuits, and the postmaster of the borough in which he lived. when plymouth parted with his wife with a "full heart," he bade her good-night, without intimating to her that he never expected to see her again in this world; she evidently supposed that he was going home to his master's place as usual, but instead he was leaving his companion and three children to wear the yoke as hitherto. he sympathized with them deeply, but felt that he could render them no real good by remaining; he could neither live with his wife nor could he have any command over one of his children. slavery demanded all, but allowed nothing. notwithstanding, plymouth admitted that he had been treated even more favorably than most slaves. the family thus bound consisted of his wife jane, and four children, as follows: dorsey, william francis, mary ellen, and baby. horatio was a little in advance of plymouth in years, being forty-four years of age. his physical outlines gave him a commanding appearance for one who had worn the yoke as he had for so many years. he was of a yellow complexion, and very tall. as a slave laborer he had been sweating and toiling to enrich a man by the name of thomas j. hodgson, a farmer on a large scale, and owning about a dozen slaves. horatio gave him the character of being "a man of a hidden temper," and after the election of buchanan he considered him a great deal worse than ever. horatio told of a visit which his master made to canada, and which, on his return, he had taken much pains to report to the slaves to the effect that he had been there the previous summer, and saw the country for himself, adding in words somewhat as follows: "canada is the meanest part of the globe that i ever found or heard of;--did not see but one black or colored person in canada,--inquired at the custom-house to know what became of all the blacks from the south, and was told that they shipped them off occasionally and sent them round cape horn and sold them." in addition to this report he said that "the suffering from deep snows and starvation was fearful," all of which horatio believed "to be a lie." of course he concealed this opinion from his master. many such stories were sounded in the ears of slaves but without much effect. lemuel, john and josiah were brothers. lemuel was thirty-five, and might be called a jet-black. he was uncommonly stout, with a head indicative of determination of purpose, just suited to an underground rail road passenger. he fled from james r. lewis, "a tall, stout man, very wealthy and close." lemuel said that he fed and clothed the slaves pretty well. he had invested to the extent of twelve head. no money or privileges were allowed, and for a small offence the threat to sell was made. it was lemuel's opinion that his master's wife made him worse than he otherwise would have been. john was twenty-four years of age, of unmixed blood, and of a quiet demeanour. he belonged to miss catharine cornwell, of viana. john described her as "tolerable good-looking, but real bad." his sister and one other slave besides himself comprised her entire stock (of slaves). according to john's story, his mistress was in the habit of telling her slaves that she did not "intend that any of them should be free if she could help it;" this sentiment was uttered so "scornfully" that it "insulted" jack very much. indeed, it was this that put the idea of canada into his mind. the more she kept the idea of perpetual slavery before the slaves, the more jack resolved to make her arrogance cost her one slave at least. miss cornwell was not only a warm advocate of slavery, but was likewise a member of the methodist church, under the pastoral charge of the rev. j.c. gregg. on one occasion, when the minister was visiting miss c., the subject of slavery was introduced in john's hearing. the reverend gentleman took the ground that it was not right to hold slaves,--said there were none in pennsylvania, etc. the young mistress showed little or no sign of thinking otherwise while he remained, "but, after he was gone, she raved and went on in a great way, and told her brother if he (the minister), ever married her, he would have to come out of his notions about freedom." it was john's opinion that the subject of matrimony was then under consideration between them. for himself, he was highly delighted with the minister's "notions of freedom," as he had heard so many high notions of slavery. in reference to the labor usage under the young mistress, john said that they had been "worked very hard, and especially last, and the present year." "last year," he stated, "they had hardly any meat, but were fed chiefly on herring. seeing that it was going to be the same thing this year too, i thought that if i could make my escape to canada, i would do it." he had strong parental and kindred ties to break, but resolved to break them rather than remain under miss cornwell. josiah was twenty-three. a more promising-looking subject to represent the fugitives in canada, was not readily to be found. his appearance indicated that he was a young man of extra physical powers, at least, one not likely to turn his face again towards egypt. josiah's gain was the loss of thomas j. hodgson (above alluded to). for full three years this desire and determination to be free had been in josiah's heart. the denial of his manhood nerved him to seek for refuge in a foreign clime. george, the last named in this party, gave his age as twenty-six. in appearance he was not behind any of his comrades. he fled from a farmer, (the late william jackson), who owned, it was said, "sixteen head." he had recently died, leaving all his slaves in bondage. seeing that the settlement of the estate might necessitate the sale of some of the slaves, george thought that he had better not wait for the division of the property or anything else, but push ahead with the first train for canada. slavery, as he viewed it, was nothing more nor less than downright robbery. he left his mother, one sister, and other near kin. after george went to canada, his heart yearned tenderly after his mother and sister, and, as the following letter will show, he was prepared to make commendable exertions in their behalf: st. catharines, july th, . dear sir:--with pleasure i now inform you that i am well, and hope this may find you and yours the same also. i hope kind sir you will please to see mr. paul hammon, to know when he will try to get my mother and sister i wish him to send me word when he will go so i may meet him in philadelphia. and i will endevor to meet him there with some money to assist him in getting them. let me know when you start for them so i may be able to meet you there, please after this letter passes from you sir, give it to john camper tell him to give it to his mother, so that my mother can get it, be careful and not let no white man get hold of it. i am now living with my cousin leven parker, near saint catharines, $ a month. no more at present, from your friend, george ballard. the inquiry may arise, as to how such passengers managed to get through maryland and delaware. but it cannot be expected that the manner in which each arrival traveled should be particularly described. it might not be prudent even now, to give the names of persons still living in the south, who assisted their fellow-men in the dark days of slavery. in order, however, that some idea may be gathered as to the workings of one branch of the road in delaware (with names suppressed) we insert the following original letter for what it may be worth. camden, june , . mr. still:--i writ to inform you that we stand in need of help if ever we wonted help it is in theas day, we have bin trying to rais money to by a hors but there is so few here that we can trust our selves with for fear that they may serve us as tom otwell served them when he got them in dover jail. but he is dun for ever, i wont to no if your friends can help us, we have a road that more than past over in . it is one we made for them, in march after the lions had them there is no better in the state, we are miles from delaware bay. you may understand what i mean. i wrote last december to the anti slavery society for james mot and others concerning of purchasing a horse for this bisnes if your friends can help us the work must stil go on for ther is much frait pases over this road, but ther has ben but conductors for sum time, you may no that there is but few men, sum talks all dos nothing, there is horses owned by collard peopel but not for this purpose. we wont one for to go when called for, one of our best men was nigh cut by keeping of them too long, by not having means to convay them tha must be convad if they pass over this road safe tha go through in nights to wilmington, for i went there with in one gang last november, tha had to ride for when thea com to us we go miles, it is hard road to travel i had sum conversation with mr. evens and wos down here on a visit, pleas try what you can do for us this is the place we need help, mile i live from mason and dixson line. i wod have come but cant have time, as yet there has been some fuss about a boy ho lived near camden, he has gone away, he ses me and my brother nose about it but he don't. there is but slaves near us, never spoke to one of them but wonce she never gos out pleas to tri and help, you can do much if you will it will be the means of saving ourselves and others. ancer this letter. pleas to writ let me no if you can do anything for us. i still remain your friend. * * * * * arrival from richmond, . ebenezer allison. "eb" was a bright mulatto, handsome, well-made, and barely twenty years of age. he reported that he fled from mr. john tilghman foster, a farmer, living in the vicinity of richmond. his master, ebenezer unhesitatingly declared, was a first-rate man. "i had no right to leave him in the world, but i loved freedom better than slavery." after fully setting forth the kind treatment he had been accustomed to receive under his master, a member of the committee desired to know of him if he could read, to which he answered that he could, but he admitted that what knowledge he had obtained in this direction was the result of efforts made stealthily, not through any license afforded by his master. john tilghman foster held deeds for about one hundred and fifty head of slaves, and was a man of influence. ebenezer had served his time in the barber's shop. on escaping he forsook his parents, and eight brothers and sisters. as he was so intelligent, the committee believed he would make his mark in life some time. * * * * * arrival from richmond, . john thompson carr, ann mountain and child, and william bowler. john was a sturdy-looking chattel, but possessed far less intelligence than the generality of passengers. he was not too old, however, to improve. the fact that he had spirit enough to resent the harsh treatment of one albert lewis, a small farmer, who claimed to own him, showed that he was by no means a hopeless case. with all his apparent stupidity he knew enough to give his master the name of a "free whiskey drinker," likewise of "beating and fighting the slaves." it was on this account that john was compelled to escape. ann mountain arrived from delaware with her child about the same time that john did, but not in company with him; they met at the station in philadelphia. that slavery had crippled her in every respect was very discernible; this poor woman had suffered from cuffing, etc., until she could no longer endure her oppression. taking her child in her arms, she sought refuge beyond the borders of slave territory. ann was about twenty-two years of age, her child not quite a year old. they were considered entitled to much pity. william was forty-one years of age, dark, ordinary size, and intelligent. he fled from richmond, where he had been held by alexander royster, the owner of fifteen slaves, and a tobacco merchant. william said that his master was a man of very savage temper, short, and crabbed. as to his social relations, william said that he was "a member of nothing now but a liquor barrel." knowing that his master and mistress labored under the delusion that he was silly enough to look up to them as kind-hearted slave-holders, to whom he should feel himself indebted for everything, william thought that they would be sadly puzzled to conjecture what had become of him. he was sure that they would be slow to believe that he had gone to canada. until within the last five years he had enjoyed many privileges as a slave, but he had since found it not so easy to submit to the requirements of slavery. he left his wife, nancy, and two children. * * * * * arrival from baltimore, . roberta taylor. the subject of this sketch was a young mulatto woman, twenty-three years of age, who fled from the city of baltimore. both before and after her escape roberta appeared to appreciate her situation most fully. her language concerning freedom had in it the ring of common sense, as had her remarks touching her slave life. in making her grievances known to the committee she charged mr. and mrs. mccoy with having done great violence to her freedom and degrading her womanhood by holding her in bonds contrary to her wishes. of mr. mccoy, however, she spoke less severely than she did of his "better half." indeed she spoke of some kind traits in his character, but said that his wife was one of "the torn down, devilish dispositions, all the time quarreling and fighting, and would swear like an old sailor." it was in consequence of these evil propensities that her ladyship was intolerable to roberta. without being indebted to her owners for any privileges, she had managed to learn to read a little, which knowledge she valued highly and meant to improve in canada. roberta professed to be a christian, and was a member of the bethel methodist church. her servitude, until within four years of her escape, had been passed in virginia, under mrs. mccoy's father, when to accommodate the daughter she was transferred to baltimore. of her parentage or relatives no note was made on the book. it was sad to see such persons destitute and homeless, compelled to seek refuge among strangers, not daring to ask the slightest favor, sympathy or prayer to aid her, christian as she was, from any christian of baltimore, wearing a fair skin. * * * * * arrival from hightstown, . robert thompson (a preacher). slavery exempted from the yoke no man with a colored skin no matter what his faith, talent, genius, or worth might be. the person of christ in a black skin would scarcely have caused it to relinquish its tyrannical grasp; neither god nor man was regarded by men who dealt in the bodies and souls of their fellow-men. robert stated to the committee that he fled from "john r. laten, a very harsh kind of a farmer, who drank right smart," that on the morning he "took out," while innocent of having committed any crime, suddenly in a desperate fit of passion, his master took him "by the collar," at the same time calling loudly to "john" for "ropes." this alarming assault on the part of his master made the preacher feel as though his satanic majesty had possession of him. in such a crisis he evidently felt that preaching would do no good; he was, however, constrained to make an effort. to use his own words, he said: "i gave a sudden jerk and started off on a trot, leaving my master calling, 'stop! stop!' but i kept on running, and was soon out of sight." the more he thought over the brutal conduct of his master the more decided he became never to serve him more, and straightway he resolved to try to reach canada. being in the prime of his life (thirty-nine years of age) and having the essential qualifications for traveling over the underground rail road, he was just the man to endure the trials consequent upon such an undertaking. said robert: "i always thought slavery hard, a very dissipated life to live. i always thought we colored people ought to work for ourselves and wives and children like other people." the committee saw that robert's views were in every word sound doctrine, and for further light asked him some questions respecting the treatment he had received at the hands of his mistress, not knowing but that he had received kindness from the "weaker vessel;" while enduring suffering under his master; but robert assured them in answer to this inquiry that his mistress was a very "ill, dissipated woman," and "was not calculated to sympathize with a poor slave." robert was next interviewed with regard to religious matters, when it was ascertained that he bore the name of being a "local preacher of the gospel of the bethel methodist denomination." thus in leaving slavery he had to forsake his wife and three children, kinfolks and church, which arduous task but for the brutal conduct of the master he might have labored in vain for strength to perform. as he looked calmly back upon the past, and saw how he and the rest of the slaves had been deprived of their just rights he could hardly realize how providence could suffer slave-holders to do as they had been doing in trampling upon the poor and helpless slaves. yet he had strong faith that the almighty would punish slave-holders severely for their wickedness. * * * * * arrival from virginia, . alfred s. thornton. the subject of this sketch was a young man about twenty-two years of age, of dark color, but bright intellectually. alfred found no fault with the ordinary treatment received at the hands of his master; he had evidently been on unusually intimate terms with him. nor was any fault found with his mistress, so far as her treatment of him was concerned; thus, comparatively, he was "happy and contented," little dreaming of trader or a change of owners. one day, to his utter surprise, he saw a trader with a constable approaching him. as they drew nearer and nearer he began to grow nervous. what further took place will be given, as nearly as possible, in alfred's own words as follows: "william noland (a constable), and the trader was making right up to me almost on my heels, and grabbed at me, they were so near. i flew, i took off-my hat and run, took off my jacket and run harder, took off my vest and doubled my pace, the constable and the trader both on the chase hot foot. the trader fired two barrels of his revolver after me, and cried out as loud as he could call, g----d d----n, etc., but i never stopped running, but run for my master. coming up to him, i cried out, lord, master, have you sold me? 'yes,' was his answer. 'to the trader,' i said. 'yes,' he answered. 'why couldn't you sold me to some of the neighbors?' i said. 'i don't know,' he said, in a dry way. with my arms around my master's neck, i begged and prayed him to tell me why he had sold me. the trader and constable was again pretty near. i let go my master and took to my heels to save me. i run about a mile off and run into a mill dam up to my head in water. i kept my head just above and hid the rest part of my body for more than two hours. i had not made up my mind to escape until i had got into the water. i run only to have little more time to breathe before going to georgia or new orleans; but i pretty soon made up my mind in the water to try and get to a free state, and go to canada and make the trial anyhow, but i didn't know which way to travel." such great changes in alfred's prospects having been wrought in so short a while, together with such a fearful looking-for of a fate in the far south more horrid than death, suddenly, as by a miracle, he turns his face in the direction of the north. but the north star, as it were, hid its face from him. for a week he was trying to reach free soil, the rain scarcely ceasing for an hour. the entire journey was extremely discouraging, and many steps had to be taken in vain, hungry and weary. but having the faith of those spoken of in the scriptures, who wandered about in dens and caves of the earth, being destitute, afflicted and tormented, he endured to the end and arrived safely to the committee. [illustration: ] he left his father and mother, both slaves, living near middleburg, in virginia, not far from where he said his master lived, who went by the name of c.e. shinn, and followed farming. his master and mistress were said to be members of the "south baptist church," and both had borne good characters until within a year or so previous to alfred's departure. since then a very serious disagreement had taken place between them, resulting in their separation, a heavy lawsuit, and consequently large outlays. it was this domestic trouble, in alfred's opinion, that rendered his sale indispensable. of the merits of the grave charges made by his master against his mistress, alfred professed to have formed no opinion; he knew, however, that his master blamed a school-master, by the name of conway, for the sad state of things in his household. time would fail to tell of the abundant joy alfred derived from the fact, that his "heels" had saved him from a southern market. equally difficult would it be to express the interest felt by the committee in this passenger and his wonderful hair-breadth escape. * * * * * arrival from belleair. julius smith, wife mary, and boy james, henry and edward smith, and jack christy. while this party was very respectable in regard to numbers and enlisted much sympathy, still they had no wounds or bruises to exhibit, or very hard reports to make relative to their bondage. the treatment that had been meted out to them was about as tolerant as slavery could well afford; and the physical condition of the passengers bore evidence that they had been used to something better than herring and corn cake for a diet. julius, who was successful enough to bring his wife and boy with him, was a wonderful specimen of muscular proportions. although a young man, of but twenty-five, he weighed two hundred and twenty-five pounds; he was tall and well-formed from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. nor was he all muscle by a great deal; he was well balanced as to mother wit and shrewdness. in looking back into the pit from whence he had been delivered he could tell a very interesting story of what he had experienced, from which it was evident that he had not been an idle observer of what had passed relative to the peculiar institution; especially was it very certain that he had never seen anything lovely or of good report belonging to the system. so far as his personal relations were concerned, he acknowledged that a man named mr. robert hollan, had assumed to impose himself upon him as master, and that this same man had also wrongfully claimed all his time, denied him all common and special privileges; besides he had deprived him of an education, etc., which looked badly enough before he left maryland, but in the light of freedom, and from a free state stand-point, the idea that "man's inhumanity to man" should assume such gigantic proportions as to cause him to seize his fellow-man and hold him in perpetual bondage, was marvellous in the extreme. julius had been kept in the dark in maryland, but on free soil, the light rushed in upon his astonished vision to a degree almost bewildering. that his master was a man of "means and pretty high standing"--julius thought was not much to his credit since they were obtained from unpaid labor. in his review allusion was made not only to his master, but also to his mistress, in which he said that she was "a quarrelsome and crabbed woman, middling stout." in order to show a reason why he left as he did, he stated that "there had been a fuss two or three times" previous to the escape, and it had been rumored "that somebody would have to be sold soon." this was what did the mischief so far as the "running away" was concerned. julius' color was nearly jet black, and his speech was very good considering his lack of book learning; his bearing was entirely self-possessed and commendable. his wife and boy shared fully in his affections, and seemed well pleased to have their faces turned canada-ward. it is hardly necessary to say more of them here. henry was about twenty-three years of age, of an active turn, brown skin, and had given the question of freedom his most serious attention, as his actions proved. while he could neither read nor write, he could think. from the manner in which he expressed himself, with regard to robert hollan, no man in the whole range of his recollections will be longer remembered than he; his enthralment while under hollan will hardly ever be forgotten. any being who had been thus deprived of his rights, could hardly fail to command sympathy; in cases like this, however, the sight and language of such an one was extremely impressive. of this party, edward, a boy of seventeen, called forth much sympathy; he too was claimed by hollan. he was of a good physical make-up, and seemed to value highly the great end he had in view, namely, a residence in canada. * * * * * arrival from maryland, . john wesley combash, jacob taylor, and thomas edward skinner. the revelations made by these passengers were painful to listen to, and would not have been credited if any room had existed for doubt. john wesley was thirty-two years of age, of a lively turn, pleasant countenance, dark color, and ordinary size. in unburdening his mind to the committee the all-absorbing theme related to the manner in which he had been treated as a slave, and the character of those who had oppressed him. he stated that he had been the victim of a man or party, named johnson, in whose family john had been a witness to some of the most high-handed phases of barbarism; said he, "these johnsons were notorious for abusing their servants. a few years back one of their slaves, a coachman, was kept on the coach box one cold night when they were out at a ball until he became almost frozen to death, in fact he did die in the infirmary from the effects of the frost about one week afterwards." "another case was that of a slave woman in a very delicate state, who was one day knocked down stairs by mrs. johnson herself, and in a few weeks after, the poor woman died from the effects of the injury thus received. the doctor who attended the injured creature in this case was simply told that she slipped and fell down stairs as she was coming down. colored witnesses had no right to testify, and the doctor was mute, consequently the guilty escaped wholly unpunished." "another case," said john wesley, "was a little girl, half-grown, who was washing windows up stairs one day, and unluckily fell asleep in the window, and in this position was found by her mistress; in a rage the mistress hit her a heavy slap, knocked her out of the window, and she fell to the pavement, and died in a few hours from the effects thereof. the mistress professed to know nothing about it, simply said, 'she went to sleep and fell out herself.' as usual nothing was done in the way of punishment." these were specimens of the inner workings of the peculiar institution. john, however, had not only observed slavery from a domestic stand-point, he had also watched master and mistress abroad as visitors and guests in other people's houses, noticed not only how they treated white people, but also how they treated black people. "these johnsons thought that they were first-rate to their servants. when visiting among their friends they were usually very polite, would bow and scrape more than a little, even to colored people, knowing that their names were in bad odor, on account of their cruelty, for they had been in the papers twice about how they abused their colored people." as to advertising him, john gave it as his opinion that they would be ashamed to do it from the fact that they had already rendered themselves more notorious than they had bargained for, on account of their cruelty towards their slaves; they were wealthy, and courted the good opinion of society. besides they were members of the presbyterian church, and john thought that they were very willing that people should believe that they were great saints. on the score of feeding and clothing john gave them credit, saying that "the clothing was good enough, they liked to see the house servants dressed;" he spoke too of the eating as being all right, but added, that "very often time was not allowed them to finish their meals." respecting work, john bore witness that they were very sharp. with john's intelligence, large observation, good memory, and excellent natural abilities, with the amount of detail that he possessed, nothing more would have been needed for a thrilling book than the facts and incidents of slave life, as he had been conversant with it under the johnsons in maryland. as the other two companions of john wesley were advertised in the _baltimore sun_, we avail ourselves of the light thus publicly afforded: $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, living on the york turnpike, eight miles from baltimore city, on sunday, april th, my negro man, jacob, aged years: feet inches high; chestnut color; spare made; good features. i will give $ reward if taken in baltimore city or county, and $ if taken out of the state and secured in jail so that i get him again. [illustration: ] wm. j.b. parlett. a - t*|| "jacob," answering to the description in mr. wm. j.b. parlett's advertisement, gave his views of the man who had enslaved him. his statement is here transferred from the record book: "my master," said jacob, "was a farmer, a very rough man, hard to satisfy. i never knew of but one man who could ever please him. he worked me very hard; he wanted to be beating me all the time." this was a luxury which jacob had no appetite for, consequently he could not resist signifying his unwillingness to yield, although resistance had to be made at some personal risk, as his master had "no more regard for a colored man than he had for a stone under his feet." with him the following expression was common: "the niggers are not worth a d----n." nor was his wife any better, in jacob's opinion. "she was a cross woman, and as much of a boss as he was." "she would take a club and with both hands would whack away as long as you would stand it." "she was a large, homely woman; they were common white people, with no reputation in the community." substantially this was jacob's unvarnished description of his master and mistress. as to his age, and also the name of his master, jacob's statement varied somewhat from the advertisement. for instance, jacob taylor was noticed on the record book as being twenty-three years of age, and the name of his master was entered as "william pollit;" but as jacob had never been allowed to learn to read, he might have failed in giving a correct pronunciation of the name. when asked what first prompted him to seek his freedom, he replied, "oh my senses! i always had it in my mind to leave, but i was 'jubus', (dubious?) of starting. i didn't know the way to come. i was afraid of being overtaken on the way." he fled from near baltimore, where he left brothers and other relatives in chains. $ reward.--ran way at the same time and in company with the above negro man, a bright mulatto boy named thomas skinner, about years old, feet inches high and tolerable stout made; he only has a term of years to serve. i will pay $ reward if delivered to me or lodged in jail so i can get him again. [illustration: ] geo. h. carman, towsontown, baltimore county, md. a - t*||. about the same time that this advertisement came to hand a certain young aspirant for canada was entered on the underground rail road book thus: "thomas edward skinner, a bright mulatto, age eighteen years, well formed, good-looking, and wide awake; says, that he fled from one g.h. carman, esq., head clerk of the county court." he bore voluntary testimony to carman in the following words: "he was a very good man; he fed and clothed well and gave some money too occasionally." yet thomas had no idea of remaining in slavery under any circumstances. he hated everything like slavery, and as young as he was, he had already made five attempts to escape. on this occasion, with older and wiser heads, he succeeded. * * * * * arrival from new market, . elijah shaw. this "article" reported himself as having been deprived of his liberty by dr. ephraim bell, of baltimore county, maryland. he had no fault to find with the doctor, however; on the contrary, he spoke of him as a "very clever and nice man, as much so as anybody need to live with;" but of his wife he could not speak so favorably; indeed, he described her as a most tyrannical woman. said elijah, "she would make a practice of rapping the broomstick around the heads of either men, women, or children when she got raised, which was pretty often. but she never rapped me, for i wouldn't stand it; i shouldn't fared any better than the rest if i hadn't been resolute. i declared over and over again to her that i would scald her with the tea kettle if she ever took the broomstick to me, and i meant it. she took good care to keep the broomstick from about my head. she was as mischievous and stingy as she could live; wouldn't give enough to eat or wear." these facts and many more were elicited from elijah, when in a calm state of mind and when feeling much elated with the idea that his efforts in casting off the yoke were met with favor by the committee, and that the accommodations and privileges on the road were so much greater than he had ever dreamed of. such luck on the road was indeed a matter of wonder and delight to passengers generally. they were delighted to find that the committee received them and forwarded them on "without money and without price." elijah was capable of realizing the worth of such friendship. he was a young man twenty-three years of age, spare made, yellow complexion, of quick motion and decidedly collected in his bearing. in short, he was a man well adapted to make a good british subject. arrival from virginia, . mary frances melvin, eliza henderson, and nancy grantham. mary frances hailed from norfolk; she had been in servitude under mrs. chapman, a widow lady, against whom she had no complaint to make; indeed, she testified that her mistress was very kind, although fully allied to slavery. she said that she left, not on account of bad treatment, but simply because she wanted her freedom. her calling as a slave had been that of a dress-maker and house servant. mary frances was about twenty-three years of age, of mixed blood, refined in her manners and somewhat cultivated. eliza henderson, who happened at the station at the same time that frances was on hand, escaped from richmond. she was twenty-eight years of age, medium size, quite dark color, and of pleasant countenance. eliza alleged that one william waverton had been wronging her by keeping her down-trodden and withholding her hire. also, that this same waverton had, on a late occasion, brought his heavy fist violently against her "jaws," which visitation, however "kindly" intended by her chivalrous master, produced such an unfavorable impression on the mind of eliza that she at once determined not to yield submission to him a day longer than she could find an underground rail road conductor who would take her north. the blow that she had thus received made her almost frantic; she had however thought seriously on the question of her rights before this outrage. in waverton's household eliza had become a fixture as it were, especially with regard to his children; she had won their affections completely, and she was under the impression that in some instances their influence had saved her from severe punishment; and for them she manifested kindly feelings. in speaking of her mistress she said that she was "only tolerable." it would be useless to attempt a description of the great satisfaction and delight evinced by eliza on reaching the committee in philadelphia. nancy grantham also fled from near richmond, and was fortunate in that she escaped from the prison-house at the age of nineteen. she possessed a countenance peculiarly mild, and was good-looking and interesting, and although evidently a slave her father belonged strictly to the white man's party, for she was fully half white. she was moved to escape simply to shun her master's evil designs; his brutal purposes were only frustrated by the utmost resolution. this chivalric gentleman was a husband, the father of nine children, and the owner of three hundred slaves. he belonged to a family bearing the name of christian, and was said to be an m.d. "he was an old man, but very cruel to all his slaves." it was said that nancy's sister was the object of his lust, but she resisted, and the result was that she was sold to new orleans. the auction-block was not the only punishment she was called upon to endure for her fidelity to her womanhood, for resistance to her master, but before being sold she was cruelly scourged. nancy's sorrows first commenced in alabama. five years previous to her escape she was brought from a cotton plantation in alabama, where she had been accustomed to toil in the cotton-field. in comparing and contrasting the usages of slave-holders in the two states in which she had served, she said she had "seen more flogging under old christian" than she had been accustomed to see in alabama; yet she concluded, that she could hardly tell which state was the worst; her cup had been full and very bitter in both states. nancy said, "the very day before i escaped, i was required to go to his (her master's) bed-chamber to keep the flies off of him as he lay sick, or pretended to be so. notwithstanding, in talking with me, he said that he was coming to my pallet that night, and with an oath he declared if i made a noise he would cut my throat. i told him i would not be there. accordingly he did go to my room, but i had gone for shelter to another room. at this his wrath waxed terrible. next morning i was called to account for getting out of his way, and i was beaten awfully." this outrage moved nancy to a death-struggle for her freedom, and she succeeded by dressing herself in male attire. after her harrowing story was told with so much earnestness and intelligence, she was asked as to the treatment she had received at the hand of mrs. christian (her mistress). in relation to her, nancy said, "mrs. christian was afraid of him (master); if it hadn't been for that i think she would have been clever; but i was often threatened by her, and once she undertook to beat me, but i could not stand it. i had to resist, and she got the worst of it that time." all that may now be added, is, that the number of young slave girls shamefully exposed to the base lusts of their masters, as nancy was--truly was legion. nancy was but one of the number who resisted influences apparently overpowering. all honor is due her name and memory! she was brought away secreted on a boat, but the record is silent as to which one of the two or three underground rail road captains (who at that time occasionally brought passengers), helped her to escape. it was hard to be definite concerning minor matters while absorbed in the painful reflections that her tale of suffering had naturally awakened. if one had arisen from the dead the horrors of slavery could scarcely have been more vividly pictured! but in the multitude of travelers coming under the notice of the committee, nancy's story was soon forgotten, and new and marvellous narratives were told of others who had shared the same bitter cup, who had escaped from the same hell of slavery, who had panted for the same freedom and won the same prize. arrival from richmond, . orlando j. hunt. when orlando escaped from richmond the underground rail road business was not very brisk. a disaster on the road, resulting in the capture of one or two captains, tended to damp the ardor of some who wanted to come, as well as that of sympathizers. the road was not idle, however. orlando's coming was hailed with great satisfaction. he was twenty-nine years of age, full black, possessed considerable intelligence, and was fluent in speech; fully qualified to give clear statements as to the condition of slavery in richmond, etc. while the committee listened to his narrations with much interest, they only took note of how he had fared, and the character of the master he was compelled to serve. on these points the substance of his narrations may be found annexed: "i was owned by high holser, a hide sorter, a man said to be rich, a good catholic, though very disagreeable; he was not cruel, but was very driving and abusive in his language towards colored people. i have been held in bondage about eighteen years by holser, but have failed, so far, to find any good traits in his character. i purchased my mother for one hundred dollars, when she was old and past labor, too old to earn her hire and find herself; but she was taken away by death, before i had finished paying for her; twenty-five dollars only remained to be paid to finish the agreement. owing to her unexpected death, i got rid of that much, which was of some consequence, as i was a slave myself, and had hard work to raise the money to purchase her." thus, finding the usages of slavery so cruel and outlandish, he resolved to leave "old virginny" and "took out," via the underground rail road. he appeared to be of a religious turn of mind and felt that he had "a call to preach." after his arrival in canada, the following letter was received from him: st. catharines, c.w., may th, . my dear friend:--wm. still:--mr. orlando j. hunt, who has just arrived here from richmond, va., desires me to address to you a line in his behalf. mr. hunt is expecting his clothing to come from richmond to your care, and if you have received them, he desires you to forward them immediately to st. catharines, in my care, in the safest and most expeditious way in your power. mr. hunt is much pleased with this land of freedom, and i hope he may do well for himself and much good to others. he preached here in the baptist church, last evening. he sends his kind regards and sincere thanks to you and your family, and such friends as have favored him on his way. very respectfully yours, hiram wilson, for orlando hunt. * * * * * arrival from norfolk, va., . william mackey. william made no complaint against his master of a serious nature touching himself. true, he said his "master was a frolicker, and fond of drink," but he was not particularly unkind to him. his name was tunis; he was a military man, and young; consequently william had not been in his hands long. prior to his being owned by the young master, he had lived with old mistress tunis. concerning her the following is one of william's statements: "my sister about the first of this month, three weeks after her confinement, had word sent to her by her mistress, mrs. tunis, that she thought it was time for her to come out and go to work, as she had been laying by long enough." in reply to this message, william said that "his sister sent word to her mistress, that she was not well enough, and begged that her mistress would please send her some tea and sugar, until she got well enough to go to work. the mistress' answer was to the effect that she did not intend to give her anything until she went to work, and at the same time she sent word to her, that she had better take her baby down to the back of the garden and throw it away, adding 'i will sell her, etc.'" it was owing to the cruelty of mrs. tunis that william was moved to flee. according to his statement, which looked reasonable and appeared truthful, he had been willed free by his master, who died at the time that the plague was raging in norfolk. at the same time his mistress also had the fever, and was dreadfully frightened, but recovered. not long after this event it was william's belief that the will was made away with through the agency of a lawyer, and in consequence thereof the slaves were retained in bondage. * * * * * arrival from near baltimore, . henry tucker. henry fled from baltimore county; disagreement between him and his so-called master was the cause of his flight. elias sneveley, a farmer, known on the arabella creek place as a "hard swearer," an "old bachelor," and a common tormentor of all around him, was the name of the man that harry said he fled from. not willing to be run over at the pleasure of sneveley, on two occasions just before his escape serious encounters had arisen between master and slave. henry being spirited and hungering for freedom, while his master was old and hardened in his habits, very grave results had well nigh happened; it was evident, therefore, in harry's opinion that the sooner he took his departure for canada the better. his father's example was ever present to encourage him, for he had escaped when henry was a little boy; (his name was benjamin tucker). a still greater incentive, however, moved him, which was that his mother had been sold south five years prior to his escape, since which time he had heard of her but once, and that vaguely. although education was denied him, henry had too much natural ability to content himself under the heel of slavery. he saw and understood the extent of the wrongs under which he suffered, and resolved not to abide in such a condition, if, by struggling and perseverance, he could avoid it. in his resolute attempt he succeeded without any very severe suffering. he was not large, rather below the ordinary size, of a brown color, and very plucky. * * * * * arrival from virginia, . peter nelson. (resembled an irishman.) the coming of this strange-looking individual caused much surprise, representing, as he did, if not a full-blooded irishman, a man of irish descent. he was sufficiently fair to pass for white anywhere, with his hat on--with it off, his hair would have betrayed him; it was light, but quite woolly. nor was he likely to be called handsome; he was interesting, nevertheless. it was evident, that the "white man's party" had damaged him seriously. he represented that he had been in the bonds of one james ford, of stafford county, virginia, and that this "ford was a right tough old fellow, who owned about two dozen head." "how does he treat them?" he was asked. "he don't treat them well no way," replied the passenger. "why did you leave?" was the next question. "because of his fighting, knocking and carrying on so," was the prompt answer. the committee fully interviewed him, and perceived that he had really worn the fetters of slavery, and that he was justified in breaking his bonds and fleeing for refuge to canada, and was entitled to aid and sympathy. peter was about twenty-four years of age. he left nine brothers and sisters in bondage. * * * * * arrival from washington, . mary jones and susan bell. these "weaker vessels" came from the seat of government. mary confessed that she had been held to service as the property of mrs. henry harding, who resided at rockville, some miles out of washington. both mr. and mrs harding she considered "bad enough," but added, "if it had not been for the young set i could get along with them; they can't be pleased." yet mary had not fared half so hard under the hardings as many slaves had under their claimants. intellectually, she was quite above the average; she was tall, and her appearance was such as to awaken sympathy. through the permission of her claimant she had been in the habit of hiring her time for three dollars per month and find herself; she was also allowed to live in washington. such privileges, with wages at so low a rate, were thought to be extra, and could only be obtained in exceptional cases. "in nine years," said mary, "i have not even as much as received an apron from them," (her owners). the meanness of the system under which she had been required to live, hourly appeared clearer and clearer to her, as she was brought into contact with sympathizing spirits such as she had never known before. susan, who was in mary's charge, was an invalid child of four years of age, who never walked, and whose mother had escaped to canada about three years before under circumstances which obliged her to leave this child, then only a year old. susan had been a great sufferer, and so had her mother, who had been a long time anxiously looking and praying for her coming, as she had left her in charge of friends who were to take care of her until the way might open for her safe delivery to her mother. many letters, fitted to awaken very deep feelings came from the mother about this child. it was a satisfaction to the committee to feel that they could be the medium in aiding in the reunion of mother and child. * * * * * arrival from virginia, . william carpenter. escaped from the father of the fugitive slave law--senator mason. it was highly pleasing to have a visit from a "chattel" belonging to the leading advocate of the infamous fugitive slave bill. he was hurriedly interviewed for the sake of reliable information. that william possessed a fair knowledge of slave life under the senator there was no room to doubt, although incidents of extreme cruelty might not have been so common on mason's place as on some others. while the verbal interchange of views was quite full, the hour for the starting of the underground rail road train arrived too soon to admit of a full report for the record book. from the original record, however, the following statement is taken as made by william, and believed to be strictly true. we give it as it stands on the old underground rail road book: "i belonged to senator mason. the senator was down on colored people. he owned about eighty head--was very rich and a big man, rich enough to lose all of them. he kept terrible overseers; they would beat you with a stick the same as a dog. the overseers were poor white trash; he would give them about sixty dollars a year." the fugitive slave law and its father are both numbered with the "lost cause," and the "year of jubilee has come." * * * * * arrival from the old dominion. nine very fine "articles." lew jones, oscar payne, mose wood, dave diggs, jack, hen, and bill dade, and joe ball. the coming of this interesting party was as gratifying, as their departure must have been disagreeable to those who had been enjoying the fruits of their unpaid labor. stockholders of the underground rail road, conductors, etc., about this time were well pleased with the wonderful success of the road, especially as business was daily increasing. upon inquiry of these passengers individually, the following results were obtained: lewis was about fifty-two years of age, a man of superior stature, six feet high, with prominent features, and about one third of anglo-saxon blood in his veins. the apparent solidity of the man both with respect to body and mind was calculated to inspire the idea that he would be a first-rate man to manage a farm in canada. of his bondage and escape the following statement was obtained from him: "i was owned by a man named thomas sydan, a catholic, and a farmer. he was not a very hard man, but was very much opposed to black folks having their liberty. he owned six young slaves not grown up. it was owing to sydan's mother's estate that i came into his hands; before her death i had hoped to be free for a long time as soon as she died. my old mistress' name was nancy sydan; she was lame for twenty years, and couldn't walk a step without crutches, and i was her main support. i was foreman on the farm; sometimes no body but me would work, and i was looked up to for support. a good deal of the time i would have to attend to her. if she was going to ride, i would have to pick her up in my arms and put her in the carriage, and many times i would have to lift her in her sick room. no body couldn't wait upon her but me. she had a husband, and he had a master, and that was rum; he drank very hard, he killed himself drinking. he was poor support. when he died, fifteen years ago, he left three sons, thomas, james, and stephen, they were all together then, only common livers. after his death about six years mistress died. i felt sure then i would be free, but was very badly disappointed. i went to my young masters and asked them about my freedom; they laughed at me and said, no such thought had entered their heads, that i was to be free. the neighbors said it was a shame that they should keep me out of my freedom, after i had been the making of the family, and had behaved myself so faithful. one gentleman asked master john what he would take for me, and offered a thousand dollars; that was three months before i ran away, and massa john said a thousand dollars wouldn't buy one leg. i hadn't anything to hope for from them. i served them all my life, and they didn't thank me for it. a short time before i come away my aunt died, all the kin i had, and they wouldn't let me go to the funeral. they said 'the time couldn't be spared.'" this was the last straw on the camel's back. in lewis' grief and disappointment he decided that he would run away the first chance that he could get, and seek a home in canada. he held counsel with others in whom he could confide, and they fixed on a time to start, and resolved that they would suffer anything else but slavery. lewis was delighted that he had managed so cunningly to leave master tom and mistress margaret, and their six children to work for their own living. he had an idea that they would want lew for many things; the only regret he felt was that he had served them so long, that they had received his substance and strength for half a century. fortunately lewis' wife escaped three days in advance of him, in accordance with a mutual understanding. they had no children. the suffering on the road cost lewis a little less than death, but the joy of success came soon to chase away the effects of the pain and hardship which had been endured. oscar, the next passenger, was advertised as follows: $ reward.--ran away from the service of the rev. j.p. mcguire, episcopal high school, fairfax county, va., on saturday, th inst, negro man, oscar payne aged years, feet inches in height, square built, mulatto color, thick, bushy suit of hair, round, full face, and when spoken to has a pleasant manner--clothes not recollected. [illustration: ] i will give $ for his recovery if taken out of the state, or $ if taken in the state, and secured that i can get him. t.d. fendall. jyl - t. such announcements never frightened the underground rail road committee; indeed, the committee rather preferred seeing the names of their passengers in the papers, as, in that case, they could all the more cautiously provide against messrs. slave-hunters. oscar was a "prime, first-class article," worth $ . the above description of him is endorsed. his story ran thus: "i have served under miss mary dade, of alexandria--miss dade was a very clever mistress, she hired me out. when i left i was hired at the school--high school of virginia. with me times had been very well. no privilege was allowed me to study books. i cannot say that i left for any other cause than to get my freedom, as i believe i have been used as well as any slave in the district. i left no relatives but two cousins; my two brothers ran away, brooks and lawrence, but where they went i can't tell, but would be pleased to know. three brothers and one sister have been sold south, can't tell where they are." such was oscar's brief narrative; that he was truthful there was no room to doubt. the next passenger was moses or "mose," who looked as though he had been exceedingly well-cared for, being plump, fat, and extra-smart. he declared that general briscoe, of georgetown, d.c., had been defrauding him out of thirteen dollars per month, this being the amount for which he was hired, and, instead of being allowed to draw it for himself, the general pocketed it. for this "kind treatment" he summed up what seemed to be a true bill for ten years against the general. but he made another charge of a still graver character: he said that the general professed to own him. but as he (moses) was thoroughly tired, and believed that slavery was no more justifiable than murder, he made up his mind to leave and join the union party for canada. he stated that the general owned a large number of slaves, which he hired out principally. moses had no special fault to find with his master, except such as have been alluded to, but as to mistress briscoe, he said, that she was pretty rough. moses left four sisters in bondage. david, the next member of this freedom-loving band, was an intelligent man; his manners and movements were decidedly prepossessing. he was about thirty-seven years of age, dark, tall, and rather of a slender stature, possessing very large hopes. he charged dr. josiah harding of rockville, montgomery county, with having enslaved him contrary to his wish or will. as a slave, david had been required at one time to work on a farm, and at another time to drive carriage, of course, without pay. again he had been bound as a waiter on the no pay system, and again he had been called into the kitchen to cook, all for the benefit of the doctor--the hire going into the dr.'s pocket. this business david protested against in secret, but when on the underground rail road his protestations were "over and above board." of the doctor, david said, that "he was clever, but a catholic;" he also said, that he thought his wife was "tolerable clever," although he had never been placed under her where he would have had an opportunity of learning her bad traits if she had any. the doctor had generously bargained with david, that he could have himself by paying $ ; he had likewise figured up how the money might be paid, and intimated what a nice thing it would be for "dave" to wake up some morning and find himself his own man. this was how it was to be accomplished: dave was to pay eighty-five dollars annually, and in about twelve years he would have the thousand, and a little over, all made up. on this principle and suggestion dave had been digging faithfully and hard, and with the aid of friends he had nearly succeeded. just when he was within sight of the grand prize, and just as the last payment was about to be made, to dave's utter surprise the doctor got very angry one day about some trifling matter (all pretension) and in his pretended rage he said there were too many "free niggers" going about, and he thought that dave would do better as a slave, etc. after that, all the satisfaction that he was able to get out of the doctor, was simply to the effect, that he had hired him to mr. morrison for one hundred and fifty dollars a year. after his "lying and cheating" in this way, david resolved that he would take his chances on the underground rail road. not a spark of faith did he have in the doctor. for a time, however, before the opportunity to escape offered, he went to mr. morrison as a waiter, where it was his province to wait on six of the judges of the supreme court of the united states. in the meantime his party matured arrangements for their trip, so dave "took out" and left the judges without a waiter. the more he reflected over the nature of the wrongs he had suffered under, the less he thought of the doctor. joe, who also came with this band, was half anglo-saxon; an able-bodied man, thirty-four years of age. he said, that "miss elizabeth gordon, a white woman living in alexandria," claimed him. he did not find much fault with her. she permitted him to hire his time, find his own clothing, etc., by which regulation joe got along smoothly. nevertheless he declared, that he was tired of wearing the yoke, and felt constrained to throw it off as soon as possible. miss gordon was getting old, and joe noticed that the young tribe of nephews and nieces was multiplying in large numbers. this he regarded as a very bad sign; he therefore, gave the matter of the underground rail road his serious attention, and it was not long ere he was fully persuaded that it would be wisdom for him to tarry no longer in the prison-house. joe had a wife and four children, which were as heavy weights to hold him in virginia, but the spirit of liberty prevailed. joe, also, left two sisters, one free, the other a slave. his wife belonged to the widow irwin. she had assured her slaves, that she had "provided for them in her will," and that at her death all would be freed. they were daily living on the faith thus created, and obviously thought the sooner the lord relieved the old mistress of her earthly troubles the better. although joe left his wife and children, he did not forget them, but had strong faith they would be reunited. after going to canada, he addressed several letters to the secretary of the committee concerning his family, and as will be seen by the following, he looked with ardent hopes for their arrival: toronto, nov. th, . dear mr. still:--as i must again send you a letter fealing myself oblidge to you for all you have done and your kindness. dear sir my wife will be on to philadelphia on the th th, and i would you to look out for her and get her an ticket and send her to me toronto. her name are may ball with five children. please send her as soon as you can. yours very truly, joseph ball. will you please to telegrape to me, no. dummer st. jake, another member of the company of nine, was twenty-two years of age, of dark hue, round-made, keen eyes, and apparently a man of superior intelligence. unfortunately his lot had been of such a nature that no helping opportunity had been afforded for the cultivation of his mind. he condemned in very strong terms a man by the name of benjamin b. chambers, who lived near elkton, but did not there require the services of jake, hiring jake out just as he would have hired a horse, and likewise keeping his pay. jake thought that if justice could have been awarded him, chambers would either have had to restore that of which he had wronged him, or expiate the wrong in prison. jake, however, stood more in awe of a young master, who was soon likely to come into power, than he did of the old master. this son had already given jake to understand that once in his hands it "wouldn't be long before he would have him jingling in his pocket," signifying, that he would sell him as soon as his father was gone. the manner of the son stirred jake's very blood to boiling heat it seemed. his suffering, and the suffering of his fellow-bondsmen had never before appeared so hard. the idea that he must work, and be sold at the pleasure of another, made him decide to "pull up stakes," and seek refuge elsewhere. such a spirit as he possessed could not rest in servitude. mary ann, the wife of jake, who accompanied him, was a pleasant-looking bride. she said that she was owned by "elias rhoads, a farmer, and a pretty fair kind of a man." she had been treated very well. john and henry dade, ages twenty and twenty-five years, were from washington. they belonged to the class of well-cared for slaves; at least they said that their mistress had not dealt severely with them, and they never would have consented to pass through the severe sufferings encountered on their journey, but for the strong desire they had to be free. from canada john wrote back as follows: st. catharines, canada. mr. still, sir:--i ar rivd on friday evenen bot i had rite smart troble for my mony gave out at the bridge and i had to fot et to st. catherin tho i went rite to worke at the willard house for dolor month bargend for to stae all the wentor bot i havent eny clouse nor money please send my tronke if et has come. derate et to st. catharines to the willard house to john dade and if et ant come plice rite for et soon as posable deract your letter to rosenen dade washington send your deraction please tend to this rite a way for i haf made a good start i think that i can gate a longe en this plase. if my brother as well send him on for i haf a plase for him ef he ant well please don't send him for this as no plase for a sik possan. the way i got this plase i went to see a fran of myen from washington. dan al well and he gave me werke. pleas ancer this as soon as you gat et you must excues this bad riting for my chance wars bot small to line this mouch, john h. dade. if yon haf to send for my tronke to washington send the name of john trowharte. sir please rite as soon as you gat this for et as enporten. john h. dade. * * * * * arrival from delaware, . george laws and comrade--tied and hoisted with block and tackle, to be cowhided. george represented the ordinary young slave men of delaware. he was of unmixed blood, medium size and of humble appearance. he was destitute of the knowledge of spelling, to say nothing of reading. slavery had stamped him unmistakably for life. to be scantily fed and clothed, and compelled to work without hire, george did not admire, but had to submit without murmuring; indeed, he knew that his so-called master, whose name was denny, would not be likely to hear complaints from a slave; he therefore dragged his chain and yielded to his daily task. one day, while hauling dirt with a fractious horse, the animal manifested an unwillingness to perform his duty satisfactorily. at this procedure the master charged george with provoking the beast to do wickedly, and in a rage he collared george and bade him accompany him "up stairs" (of the soap house). not daring to resist, george went along with him. ropes being tied around both his wrists, the block and tackle were fastened thereto, and george soon found himself hoisted on tip-toe with his feet almost clear of the floor. [illustration: ] the "kind-hearted master" then tore all the poor fellow's old shirt off his back, and addressed him thus: "you son of a b----h, i will give you pouting around me; stay there till i go up town for my cowhide." george begged piteously, but in vain. the fracas caused some excitement, and it so happened that a show was to be exhibited that day in the town, which, as is usual in the country, brought a great many people from a distance; so, to his surprise, when the master returned with his cowhide, he found that a large number of curiosity-seekers had been attracted to the soap house to see mr. denny perform with his cowhide on george's back, as he was stretched up by his hands. many had evidently made up their minds that it would be more amusing to see the cowhiding than the circus. the spectators numbered about three hundred. this was a larger number than mr. denny had been accustomed to perform before, consequently he was seized with embarrassment; looking confused he left the soap house and went to his office, to await the dispersion of the crowd. the throng finally retired, and left george hanging in mortal agony. human nature here made a death-struggle; the cords which bound his wrists were unloosed, and george was then prepared to strike for freedom at the mouth of the cannon or point of the bayonet. how denny regarded the matter when he found that george had not only cheated him out of the anticipated delight of cowhiding him, but had also cheated him out of himself is left for the imagination to picture. george fled from kent; he was accompanied by a comrade whose name inadvertently was not recorded; he, however, was described as a dark, round, and full-faced, stout-built man, with bow legs, and bore the appearance of having been used hard and kept down, and in ignorance, &c. hard usage constrained him to flee from his sore oppression. * * * * * arrival from delaware, . john weems, alias jack herring. although jack was but twenty-three years of age, he had tasted the bitter cup of slavery pretty thoroughly under kendall b. herring, who was a member of the methodist church, and in jack's opinion a "mere pretender, and a man of a very bad disposition." jack thought that he had worked full long enough for this herring for nothing. when a boy twelve years of age, his mother was sold south; from that day, until the hour that he fled he had not heard a word from her. in making up his mind to leave slavery, the outrage inflicted upon his mother only tended to increase his resolution. in speaking of his mistress, he said that "she was a right fine woman." notwithstanding all his sufferings in the kendall family, he seemed willing to do justice to his master and mistress individually. he left one sister free and one brother in the hands of herring. jack was described as a man of dark color, stout, and well-made. * * * * * arrival from maryland, . ruth harper, george robinson, priscilla gardener, and joshua john anderson. ruthie's course in seeking her freedom left john mcpherson a woman less to work for him, and to whip, sell, or degrade at his pleasure. it is due to candor, however, to say that she admitted that she had not been used very roughly by mr. mcpherson. ruth was rather a nice-looking young woman, tall, and polite in her manners. she came from frederick, maryland. george robinson stated that he came from a place about one and a half miles from the chesapeake bay, one mile from old town, and five miles from elkton, and was owned by samuel smith, a farmer, who was "pretty cross and an ill man." george's excuse for withdrawing his valuable services from mr. smith at the time that he did, was attributable to the fact, that he entertained fears that they were about to sell him. having cautiousness largely developed he determined to reach canada and keep out of danger. george was only twenty-one, passable-looking in appearance, and of a brown color, and when speaking, stammered considerably. priscilla gardener fled from the widow hilliard. her master departed to his long home not a great while before she left. priscilla was a young woman of about thirty years of age, ordinary size, and of a ginger-bread color; modest in demeanor. she first commenced her bondage in richmond, under the late benjamin hilliard, of whom she said that he was "a very bad man, who could never be pleased by a servant," and was constantly addicted to fighting not only with others, but also with herself. so cruelly had priscilla been treated, that when he died she did not hesitate to say that she was glad. soon after this event, sick of slavery and unwilling to serve the widow any longer, she determined to escape, and succeeded. joshua john anderson fled from a farmer who was said to be a poor man, by the name of skelton price, residing in baltimore county, near a little village called alexandria, on the harford county turn-pike road. price, not able to own a farm and slaves too, rented one, and was trying to "get up in the world." price had a wife and family, but in the way of treatment, joshua did not say anything very hard against him. as his excuse for leaving them, he said, coolly, that he had made up his mind that he could get along better in freedom than he could in slavery, and that no man had a right to his labor without paying him for it. he left his mother and also three brothers and two sisters owned by price. joshua was about twenty-two years of age, of a coarse make, and a dark hue; he had evidently held but little intercourse with any class, save such as he found in the corn-field and barn-yard. * * * * * arrival from north carolina and delaware. "dick beesly",murray young and charles andrew bolden. physically, dick was hardly up to the ordinary stature of slaves, but mentally he had the advantage of the masses; he was too sharp to be kept in slavery. his hue was perfect, no sign of white about him, if that were any advantage. from dick's story, it appeared that he had seen hard times in north carolina, under a man he designated by the name of richard smallwood. he was a farmer, living near wheldon. one of the faults that he found with smallwood was, that he was a "tough, drinking man"--he also charged him with holding "two hundred and sixty slaves in bonds," the most of whom he came in possession of through his wife. "she," dick thought "was pretty fair." he said that no slave had any reason to look for any other than hard times under his master, according to what he had seen and known since he had been in the "institution," and he fancied that his chances for observation had been equally as good as the great majority of slaves. young as he was, dick had been sold three times already, and didn't know how much oftener he might have to submit to the same fate if he remained; so, in order to avoid further trouble, he applied his entire skill to the grand idea of making his way to canada. manfully did he wrestle with difficulty after difficulty, until he finally happily triumphed and reached philadelphia in a good condition--that is, he was not sick, but he was without money--home--education or friends, except as he found them among strangers. he was hopeful, nevertheless. murray young was also of the unmixed-blood class, and only twenty-one years of age. the spirit of liberty in him was pretty largely developed. he entertained naught against dr. lober, of newcastle, but rather against the doctor's wife. he said that he could get along pretty well with the doctor, but, he could not get along with mrs. lober. but the very idea of slavery was enough for him. he did not mean to work for any body for nothing. andrew bolden was still younger than charles murray, being only eighteen years of age, but he was very well grown, and on the auction-block he would, doubtless, have brought a large price. he fled from newark. his story contained nothing of marked importance. arrival from maryland. john janney, talbot johnson, sam gross, peter gross, james henry jackson, and sam smith. $ . reward.--ran away from the subscriber, august th, two negro men, viz: [illustration: ] bill hutton, aged or years, dark brown, round face, feet or inches high, rather stout, has a waddling walk, and small bald spot on the top of his head. talbot johnson, aged about , is black, spare, and lean-visaged, about feet inches high, has lost some of his front teeth, leans forward as he walks. if taken in a slave state i will give $ each for their recovery. for their recovery from a free state i will give one-half their value. b.d. bond, port republic, md. ran away at the same time and in company, negro man sam gross, aged about , is feet or inches high, black color, rather bad teeth. for his recovery, if taken in a slave state, i will give $ . for his recovery from a free state, i will give half his value. geo. ireland, port republic, md. ran away at the same time and in company, two negro men, viz:> peter gross, aged , is light-brown color, feet or inches high, has a small scar over his right eyebrow, usually wears a goatee, has a pleasant countenance. john janney, aged , light-brown color, feet or seven inches high, broad across the shoulders, has one of his front upper teeth broken, has a scar upon one of his great toes from the cut of an axe. for their recovery, if taken in a slave state, i will give $ each. for their recovery from a free state i will give half their value. jos. griffiss, st. leonards, calvert county, md. refer to n.e. berry, no. pratt street, baltimore. so far as messrs. bond, ireland, and griffiss may be concerned (if they are still living), they may not care to have the reward kept in view, or to hear anything about the "ungrateful" fellows. it may be different, however, with other parties concerned. this company, some of whom bore names agreeing with those in the above advertisement, are found described in the record book as follows: sept. th, . john janney is a fine specimen of the peculiar institution; color brown, well-formed, self-possessed and intelligent. he says that he fled from master joseph griffiss of culbert county, maryland; that he has been used to "tight work," "allowed no chances," and but "half fed." his reason for leaving was partly "hard treatment," and partly because he could "get along better in freedom than in slavery." he found fault with his master for not permitting him to "learn to read," etc. he referred to his master as a man of "fifty years of age, with a wife and three children." john said that "she was a large, portly woman, with an evil disposition, always wanted to be quarreling and fighting, and was stingy." he said, however, that his "master's children, ann rebecca, dorcas, and joe were not allowed to meddle with the slaves on the farm." thirty head of slaves belonged on the place. peter gross says that he too was owned by joseph griffiss. peter is, he thinks, thirty-nine years of age,--tall, of a dark chestnut color, and in intellect mediocre. he left his wife and five children behind. he could not bring them with him, therefore he did not tell them that he was about to leave. he was much dissatisfied with slavery and felt that he had been badly dealt with, and that he could do better for himself in canada. talbot johnson, is thirty-five years of age, quite dark, and substantially built. he says that he has been treated very badly, and that duke bond was the name of the "tyrant" who held him. he pictured his master as "a lean-faced man--not stout--of thirty-eight or thirty-nine years of age, a member of the episcopal church." "he had a wife and two children; his last wife was right pleasant--he was a farmer, and was rich, had sold slaves, and was severe when he flogged." talbot had been promised a terrible beating on the return of his master from the springs, whither he had gone to recruit his health, "as he was poorly." this was the sole cause of talbot's flight. sam gross is about forty, a man of apparent vigor physically, and wide awake mentally. he confesses that he fled from george island, near port republic, md. he thought that times with him had been bad enough all his life, and he would try to get away where he could do better. in referring to his master and mistress, he says that "they are both episcopalians, hard to please, and had as bad dispositions as could be,--would try to knock the slaves in the head sometimes." this spirit sam condemned in strong terms, and averred that it was on account of such treatment that he was moved to seek out the underground rail road. sam left his wife, mary ann, and four children, all under bonds. his children, he said, were treated horribly. they were owned by joseph griffiss spoken of above. james henry jackson is seventeen years of age; he testifies that he fled from frederica, delaware, where he had been owned by joseph brown. jim does not make any serious complaint against his master, except that he had him in the market for sale. to avert this fate, jim was moved to flee. his mother, ann jackson, lived nine miles from milford, and was owned by jim loflin, and lived on his place. of the going of her son she had no knowledge. these narratives have been copied from the book as they were hastily recorded at the time. during their sojourn at the station, the subjoined letter came to hand from thomas garrett, which may have caused anxiety and haste: wilmington, th mo. th, . esteemed friends, j.m. mckim and wm. still:--i have a mixture of good and bad news for you. good in having passed five of god's poor safely to jersey, and chester county, last week; and this day sent on four more, that have caused me much anxiety. they were within twenty miles of here on sixth day last, and by agreement i had a man out all seventh day night watching for them, to pilot them safely, as , dollars reward was offered for four of the five; and i went several miles yesterday in the country to try to learn what had become of them, but could not hear of them. a man of tried integrity just called to say that they arrived at his house last night, about midnight, and i employed him to pilot them to a place of safety in pennsylvania, to-night, after which i trust they will be out of reach of their pursuers. now for the bad news. that old scoundrel, who applied to me some three weeks since, pretending that he wished me to assist him in getting his seven slaves into a free state, to avoid the sheriff, and which i agreed to do, if he would bring them here; but positively refused to send for them. ten days since i received another letter from him, saying that the sheriff had been there, and taken away two of the children, which he wished me to raise money to purchase and set free, and then closed by saying that his other slaves, a man, his wife, and three children had left the same evening and he had no doubt i would find them at a colored man's house, he named, here, and wished me to ascertain at once and let him know. i at once was convinced he wished to know so as to have them arrested and taken back. i found the man had arrived; but the woman and children had given out, and he left them with a colored family in cecil. i wrote him word the family had not got here, but said nothing of the man being here. on seventh day evening i saw a colored woman from the neighborhood; she told me that the owner and sheriff were out hunting five days for them before they found them, and says there is not a greater hypocrite in that part of the world. i wrote him a letter yesterday letting him know just what i thought of him. your friend, thos. garrett. * * * * * arrival from maryland. birth-day present from thomas garrett. wilmington, th mo. st, . esteemed friend:--william still:--this is my th birth-day, and i do not know any better way to celebrate it in a way to accord with my feelings, than to send to thee two fugitives, man and wife; the man has been here a week waiting for his wife, who is expected in time to leave at this evening in the cars for thy house with a pilot, who knows where thee lives, but i cannot help but feel some anxiety about the woman, as there is great commotion just now in the neighborhood where she resides. there were slaves betrayed near the maryland line by a colored man named jesse perry a few nights since. one of them made a confidant of him, and he agreed to pilot them on their way, and had several white men secreted to take them as soon as they got in his house; he is the scoundrel that was to have charge of the i wrote you about two weeks since; their master was to take or send them there, and he wanted me to send for them. i have since been confirmed it was a trap set to catch one of our colored men and me likewise, but it was no go. i suspected him from the first, but afterwards was fully confirmed in my suspicions. we have found the two rust boys, john and elsey bradley, who the villain of a bust took out of jail and sold to a trader of the name of morris, who sold them to a trader who took them to richmond, virginia, where they were sold at public sale two days before we found them, for $ , but fortunately the man had not paid for them; our attorney had them by habeas corpus before a judge, who detained them till we can prove their identity and freedom; they are to have a hearing on d day next, when we hope to have a person on there to prove them. in haste, thine, thos. garrett. unfortunately all the notice that the record contains of the two passengers referred to, is in the following words: "two cases not written out for want of time." the "boys" alluded to as having been "found" &c., were free-born, but had been kidnapped and carried south and sold. three days after the above letter, the watchful garrett furnished further light touching the hair-breadth escape of the two that he had written about, and at the same time gave an interesting account of the efforts which were made to save the poor kidnapped boys, &c. second letter from thomas garrett. wilmington, th mo. th, . esteemed friend:--william still:--thine was received yesterday. those two i wrote about to be with thee last th day evening, i presume thee has seen before this. a. allen had charge of them; he had them kept out of sight at the depot here till the cars should be ready to start, in charge of a friend, while he kept a lookout and got a ticket. when the delaware cars arrived, who should step out but the master of both man and woman, (as they had belonged to different persons); they knew him, and he knew them. he left in a different direction from where they were secreted, and got round to them and hurried them off to a place of safety, as he was afraid to take them home for fear they would search the house. on st day morning the boat ran to chester to take our colored people to the camp at media; he had them disguised, and got them in the crowd and went with them; when he got to media, he placed them in care of a colored man, who promised to hand them over to thee on d day last; we expect more next th day night, but how we shall dispose of them we have not yet determined; it will depend on circumstances. judge layton has been on with a friend to richmond, virginia, and fully identified the two bradley boys that were kidnapped by clem rust. he has the assurance of the judge there that they will be tried and their case decided by delaware laws, by which they must be declared free and returned here. we hope to be able to bring such proof against both rust and the man he sold them to, who took them out of the state, to teach them a lesson they will remember. thy friend, thos. garrett. * * * * * arrival from the district of columbia, . rebecca jackson and daughter, and robert shorter. the road to washington was doing about this time a marvellously large business. "william penn" and other friends in washington were most vigilant, and knew where to find passengers who were daily thirsting for deliverance. rebecca jackson was a woman of about thirty-seven years of age, of a yellow color, and of bright intellect, prepossessing in her manners. she had pined in bondage in georgetown under mrs. margaret dick, a lady of wealth and far advanced in life, a firm believer in slavery and the presbyterian church, of which she was a member. rebecca had been her chief attendant, knew all her whims and ways to perfection. according to rebecca's idea, "she was a peevish, fretful, ill-natured, but kind-hearted creature." being very tired of her old mistress and heartily sick of bondage, and withal desiring to save her daughter, she ascertained the doings of the underground rail road,--was told about canada, &c. she therefore resolved to make a bold adventure. mrs. dick had resided a long time in georgetown, but owned three large plantations in the country, over which she kept three overseers to look after the slaves. rebecca had a free husband, but she was not free to serve him, as she had to be digging day and night for the "white people." robert, a son of the mistress lived with his mother. while rebecca regarded him as "a man with a very evil disposition," she nevertheless believed that he had "sense enough to see that the present generation of slaves would not bear so much as slaves had been made to bear the generation past." * * * * * arrival from honey brook township, . frank campbell. frank was a man of blunt features, rather stout, almost jet black, and about medium height and weight. he was not certain about his age, rather thought that he was between thirty and forty years. he had been deprived of learning to read or write, but with hard treatment he had been made fully acquainted under a man named henry campbell, who called himself frank's master, and without his consent managed to profit by his daily sweat and toil. this campbell was a farmer, and was said to be the owner of about one hundred head of slaves, besides having large investments in other directions. he did not hesitate to sell slaves if he could get his price. every now and then one and another would find it his turn to be sold. frank resolved to try and get out of danger before times were worse. so he struck out resolutely for freedom and succeeded. * * * * * arrival from alexandria, va., . richard bayne, carter dowling and benjamin taylor. richard stated that a man named "rudolph massey, a merchant tailor, hard rum-drinker, card player, etc." claimed to own him, and had held him, up to the time of his escape, as with bands of brass. richard said, "i was hired out for ten dollars a month, but i never suffered like many--didn't leave because i have been abused, but simply to keep from falling into the hands of some heirs that i had been willed to." in case of a division, richard did not see how he could be divided without being converted into money. now, as he could have no fore-knowledge as to the place or person into whose hands he might be consigned by the auctioneer, he concluded that he could not venture to risk himself in the hands of the young heirs. richard began to consider what slavery was, and his eyes beheld chains, whips, hand-cuffs, auction-blocks, separations and countless sufferings that had partially been overlooked before; he felt the injustice of having to toil hard to support a drunkard and gambler. at the age of twenty-three richard concluded to "lay down the shovel and the hoe," and look out for himself. his mother was owned by massey, but his father belonged to the "superior race" or claimed so to do, and if anything could be proved by appearances it was evident that he was the son of a white man. richard was endowed with a good share of intelligence. he not only left his mother but also one sister to clank their chains together. carter, who accompanied richard, had just reached his majority. he stated that he escaped from a "maiden lady" living in alexandria, known by the name of miss maria fitchhugh, the owner of twenty-five slaves. opposed to slavery as he was, he nevertheless found no fault with his mistress, but on the contrary, said that she was a very respectable lady, and a member of the episcopal church. she often spoke of freeing her servants when she died; such talk was too uncertain for carter, to pin his faith to, and he resolved not to wait. such slave-holders generally lived a great while, and when they did die, they many times failed to keep their promises. he concluded to heed the voice of reason, and at once leave the house of bondage. his mother, father, five brothers and six sisters all owned by miss fitchhugh, formed a strong tie to keep him from going; he "conferred not with flesh and blood," but made a determined stroke for freedom. benjamin, the third in this company, was only twenty years of age, but a better-looking specimen for the auction-block could hardly be found. he fled from the meed estate; his mistress had recently died leaving her affairs, including the disposal of the slaves, to be settled at an early date. he spoke of his mistress as "a very clever lady to her servants," but since her death he had realized the danger that he was in of being run off south with a coffle gang. he explained the course frequently resorted to by slave-holders under similar circumstances thus: "frequently slaves would be snatched up, hand cuffed and hurried off south on the night train without an hour's notice." fearing that this might be his fate, he deemed it prudent to take a northern train via the underground rail road without giving any notice. he left no parents living, but six brothers and four sisters, all slaves with the exception of one brother who had bought himself. in order to defend themselves if molested on the road, the boys had provided themselves with pistols and dirks, and declared that they were fully bent on using them rather than be carried back to slavery. * * * * * arrival from the seat of government. hanson williams, nace shaw, gusta young, and daniel m'norton smith. $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, (levi pumphrey,) two negro men--one, named "hanson," about forty years old, with one eye out, about feet inches in height, full, bushy hair and whiskers and copper color. "gusta" is about years or years of age, smooth face and thick lips, and stoops in his walk; black color, about feet or inches in height; took away sundry articles of clothing. [illustration: ] i will give one hundred dollars for each of them, if secured in jail so that i can get them. levi pumphrey, washington city, d.c. s - t. these four fugitives were full of enthusiasm for canada, although by no means among the worst abused of their class. hanson was about forty years of age, with apparently a good degree of intellect, and of staid principles. in the above advertisement clipped from the baltimore sun, he is more fully described by mr. levi pumphrey; it can now be taken for what it is worth. but, as hanson left home suddenly without apprising his owner, or any of his owner's intimate white friends, of the circumstances which led him to thus leave, his testimony and explanation, although late, may not be wholly uninteresting to mr. levi pumphrey and others who took an interest in the missing "hanson." "how have you had it in slavery?" he was asked. "i have had it pretty rough," answered hanson. "who held you in bondage, and how have you been treated?" "i was owned by levi pumphrey, an old man with one eye, a perfect savage; he allowed no privileges of any kind, sunday or monday." gusta, who was also described in pumphrey's advertisement, was a rugged-looking specimen, and his statement tended to strengthen hanson's in every particular. it was owing to the bad treatment of pumphrey, that gusta left in the manner that he did. after deciding to take his departure for canada, he provided himself with a colt's revolver, and resolved that if any man should attempt to put his hand on him while he was on the "king's highway," he would shoot him down, not excepting his old master. $ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, living near upper marlboro', prince george's county, md., on the th day of september, , a negro man, "nace," who calls himself "nace shaw;" is forty-five years of age, about five feet or inches high, of a copper color, full suit of hair, except a bald place upon the top of his head. he has a mother living in washington city, on south b street, no. island. [illustration: ] i will pay the above reward no matter where taken, if secured in jail so that i get him again. sarah ann talburtt. sl -eotf. nace, advertised by miss sarah ann talburtt, was a remarkably good-natured looking piece of merchandise. he gave a very interesting account of his so called mistress, how he came to leave her, etc. said nace: "my mistress was an old maid, and lived on a farm. i was her foreman on the farm. she lived near marlborough forest, in prince george's county, md., about twelve miles from washington; she was a member of the episcopal church. she fed well, and quarrelled a caution, from monday morning till saturday night, not only with the slaves, but among the inmates of the big house. my mistress had three sisters, all old maids living with her, and a niece besides; their names were rebecca, rachel, caroline, and sarah ann, and a more disagreeable family of old maids could not be found in a year's time. to arise in the morning before my mistress, sarah ann, was impossible." then, without making it appear that he or other of the slaves had been badly treated under miss talburtt, he entered upon the cause of escape, and said; "i left simply because i wanted a chance for my life; i wanted to die a free man if it pleased god to have it so." his wife and a grown-up son he was obliged to leave, as no opportunity offered to bring them away with him. dan was also of this party. he was well tinctured with anglo-saxon blood. his bondage had been in alexandria, with a mill-wright, known by the name of james garnett. dan had not been in garnett's hands a great while. mr. garnett's ways and manners were not altogether pleasing to him; besides, dan stated that he was trying to sell him, and he made up his mind that at an early opportunity, he would avail himself of a ticket for canada, via the underground rail road. he left his mother and brothers all scattered. * * * * * crossing the bay in a skiff. william thomas cope, john boice grey, henry boice and isaac white. these young bondmen, whilst writhing under the tortures heaped upon them, resolved, at the cost of life, to make a desperate trial for free land; to rid themselves of their fetters, at whatever peril they might have to encounter. the land route presented less encouragement than by water; they knew but little, however, concerning either way. after much anxious reflection, they finally decided to make their underground rail road exit by water. having lived all their lives not far from the bay, they had some knowledge of small boats, skiffs in particular, but of course they were not the possessors of one. feeling that there was no time to lose, they concluded to borrow a skiff, though they should never return it. so one saturday evening, toward the latter part of january, the four young slaves stood on the beach near lewes, delaware, and cast their longing eyes in the direction of the jersey shore. a fierce gale was blowing, and the waves were running fearfully high; not daunted, however, but as one man they resolved to take their lives in their hands and make the bold adventure. with simple faith they entered the skiff; two of them took the oars, manfully to face uncertain dangers from the waves. but they remained steadfast, oft as they felt that they were making the last stroke with their oars, on the verge of being overwhelmed with the waves. at every new stage of danger they summoned courage by remembering that they were escaping for their lives. [illustration: ] late on sunday afternoon, the following day, they reached their much desired haven, the jersey shore. the relief and joy were unspeakably great, yet they were strangers in a strange land. they knew not which way to steer. true, they knew that new jersey bore the name of being a free state; but they had reason to fear that they were in danger. in this dilemma they were discovered by the captain of an oyster boat whose sense of humanity was so strongly appealed to by their appearance that he engaged to pilot them to philadelphia. the following account of them was recorded: william thomas was a yellow man, twenty-four years of age, and possessing a vigorous constitution. he accused shepherd p. houston of having restrained him of his liberty, and testified that said houston was a very bad man. his vocation was that of a farmer, on a small scale; as a slave-holder he was numbered with the "small fry." both master and mistress were members of the methodist church. according to william thomas' testimony his mistress as well as his master was very hard on the slaves in various ways, especially in the matter of food and clothing. it would require a great deal of hard preaching to convince him that such christianity was other than spurious. john stated that david henry houston, a farmer, took it upon himself to exercise authority over him. said john, "if you didn't do the work right, he got contrary, and wouldn't give you anything to eat for a whole day at a time; he said a 'nigger and a mule hadn't any feeling.'" he described his stature and circumstances somewhat thus: "houston is a very small man; for some time his affairs had been in a bad way; he had been broke, some say he had bad luck for killing my brother. my brother was sick, but master said he wasn't sick, and he took a chunk, and beat on him, and he died a few days after." john firmly believed that his brother had been the victim of a monstrous outrage, and that he too was liable to the same treatment. john was only nineteen years of age, spare built, chestnut color, and represented the rising mind of the slaves of the south. henry was what might be termed a very smart young man, considering that he had been deprived of a knowledge of reading. he was a brother of john, and said that he also had been wrongfully enslaved by david houston, alluded to above. he fully corroborated the statement of his brother, and declared, moreover, that his sister had not long since been sold south, and that he had heard enough to fully convince him that he and his brother were to be put up for sale soon. of their mistress john said that she was a "pretty easy kind of a woman, only she didn't want to allow enough to eat, and wouldn't mend any clothes for us." isaac was twenty-two, quite black, and belonged to the "rising" young slaves of delaware. he stated that he had been owned by a "blacksmith, a very hard man, by the name of thomas carper." isaac was disgusted with his master's ignorance, and criticised him, in his crude way, to a considerable extent. isaac had learned blacksmithing under carper. both master and mistress were methodists. isaac said that he "could not recommend his mistress, as she was given to bad practices," so much so that he could hardly endure her. he also charged the blacksmith with being addicted to bad habits. sometimes isaac would be called upon to receive correction from his master, which would generally be dealt out with a "chunk of wood" over his "no feeling" head. on a late occasion, when isaac was being _chunked_ beyond measure, he resisted, but the persistent blacksmith did not yield until he had so far disabled isaac that he was rendered helpless for the next two weeks. while in this state he pledged himself to freedom and canada, and resolved to win the prize by crossing the bay. while these young passengers possessed brains and bravery of a rare order, at the same time they brought with them an unusual amount of the soil of delaware; their persons and old worn-out clothing being full of it. their appearance called loudly for immediate cleansing. a room--free water--free soap, and such other assistance as was necessary was tendered them in order to render the work as thorough as possible. this healthy process over, clean and comfortable clothing were furnished, and the change in their appearance was so marked, that they might have passed as strangers, if not in the immediate corn-fields of their masters, certainly among many of their old acquaintances, unless subjected to the most careful inspection. raised in the country and on farms, their masters and mistresses had never dreamed of encouraging them to conform to habits of cleanliness; washing their persons and changing their garments were not common occurrences. the coarse garment once on would be clung to without change as long as it would hold together. the filthy cabins allotted for their habitations were in themselves incentives to personal uncleanliness. in some districts this was more apparent than in others. from some portions of maryland and delaware, in particular, passengers brought lamentable evidence of a want of knowledge and improvement in this direction. but the master, not the slave, was blameworthy. the master, as has been intimated, found but one suit for working (and sometimes none for sunday), consequently if tom was set to ditching one day and became muddy and dirty, and the next day he was required to haul manure, his ditching suit had to be used, and if the next day he was called into the harvest-field, he was still obliged to wear his barn-yard suit, and so on to the end. frequently have such passengers been thoroughly cleansed for the first time in their lives at the philadelphia station. some needed practical lessons before they understood the thoroughness necessary to cleansing. before undertaking the operation, therefore, in order that they might be made to feel the benefit to be derived therefrom, they would need to have the matter brought home to them in a very gentle way, lest they might feign to fear taking cold, not having been used to it, etc. it was customary to say to them: "we want to give you some clean clothing, but you need washing before putting them on. it will make you feel like a new man to have the dirt of slavery all washed off. nothing that could be done for you would make you feel better after the fatigue of travel than a thorough bath. probably you have not been allowed the opportunity of taking a good bath, and so have not enjoyed one since your mother bathed you. don't be afraid of the water or soap--the harder you rub yourself the better you will feel. shall we not wash your back and neck for you? we want you to look well while traveling on the underground rail road, and not forget from this time forth to try to take care of yourself," &c., &c. by this course the reluctance where it existed would be overcome and the proposition would be readily acceded to, if the water was not too cool; on the other hand, if cool, a slight shudder might be visible, sufficient to raise a hearty laugh. yet, when through, the candidate always expressed a hearty sense of satisfaction, and was truly thankful for this attention. * * * * * arrival from kent county, md., . asbury irwin, ephraim ennis, and lydia ann johns. the party whose narratives are here given brought grave charges against a backsliding member of the society of friends--a renegade quaker. doubtless rare instances may be found where men of the quaker persuasion, emigrating from free and settling in slave states and among slaveholders, have deserted their freedom-loving principle and led captive by the force of bad examples, have linked hands with the oppressor against the oppressed. it is probable, however, that this is the only case that may turn up in these records to the disgrace of this body of christians in whom dwelt in such a signal degree large sympathy for the slave and the fleeing bondman. many fugitives were indebted to friends who aided them in a quiet way, not allowing their left hand to know what their right hand did, and the result was that underground rail road operations were always pretty safe and prosperous where the line of travel led through "quaker settlements." we can speak with great confidence on this point especially with regard to pennsylvania, where a goodly number might be named, if necessary, whose hearts, houses, horses, and money were always found ready and willing to assist the fugitive from the prison-house. it is with no little regret that we feel that truth requires us to connect the so-called owner of asbury, ephraim, and lydia with the quakers. asbury was first examined, and his story ran substantially thus: "i run away because i was used bad; three years ago i was knocked dead with an axe by my master; the blood run out of my head as if it had been poured out of a tumbler; you can see the mark plain enough--look here," (with his finger on the spot). "i left millington, at the head of chester in kent county, maryland, where i had been held by a farmer who called himself michael newbold. he was originally from mount holly, new jersey, but had been living in maryland over twenty years. he was called a hickory quaker, and he had a real quaker for a wife. before he was in maryland five years he bought slaves, became a regular slave-holder, got to drinking and racing horses, and was very bad--treated all hands bad, his wife too, so that she had to leave him and go to philadelphia to her kinsfolks. it was because he was so bad we all had to leave," &c. while asbury's story appeared truthful and simple, a portion of it was too shocking to morality and damaging to humanity to be inserted in these pages. asbury was about forty years of age, a man of dark hue, size and height about mediocrity, and mental ability quite above the average. ephraim was a fellow-servant and companion of asbury. he was a man of superior physical strength, and from all outward appearance, he possessed qualities susceptible of ready improvement. he not only spoke of newbold in terms of strong condemnation but of slave-holders and slavery everywhere. the lessons he had learned gave him ample opportunity to speak from experience and from what he had observed in the daily practices of slave-holders; consequently, with his ordinary gifts, it was impossible for him to utter his earnest feelings without making a deep impression. lydia also fled from michael newbold. she was a young married woman, only twenty-two years of age, of a chestnut color and a pleasant countenance. her flight for liberty cost her her husband, as she was obliged to leave him behind. what understanding was entered into between them prior to her departure we failed to note at the time. it was very clear that she had decided never to wear the yoke again. * * * * * arrival from washington, . josephine robinson. many reasons were given by josephine for leaving the sunny south. she had a mistress, but was not satisfied with her--hadn't a particle of love for her; "she was all the time fussing and scolding, and never could be satisfied." she was very well off, and owned thirteen or fourteen head of slaves. she was a member of the methodist church, was stingy and very mean towards her slaves. josephine having lived with her all her life, professed to have a thorough knowledge of her ways and manners, and seemed disposed to speak truthfully of her. the name of her mistress was eliza hambleton, and she lived in washington. josephine had fully thought over the matter of her rights, so much so, that she was prompted to escape. so hard did she feel her lot to be, that she was compelled to resign her children, uncle and aunt to the cruel mercy of slavery. what became of the little ones, david, ogden and isaiah, is a mystery. arrival from cecil county, . robert johns and his wife "sue ann." fortunately, in this instance, man and wife succeeded in making their way out of slavery together. robert was a man of small stature, and the farthest shade from white. in appearance and intellect he represented the ordinary maryland slave, raised on a farm, surrounded with no refining influences or sympathy. he stated that a man by the name of william cassey had claimed the right to his labor, and that he had been kept in bondage on his farm. for a year or more before setting out for freedom, robert had watched his master pretty closely, and came to the conclusion, that he was "a monstrous blustery kind of a man; one of the old time fellows, very hard and rash--not fit to own a dog." he owned twelve slaves; robert resolved that he would make one less in a short while. he laid the matter before his wife, "sue," who was said to be the property of susan flinthrew, wife of john flinthrew, of cecil county, maryland. "sue" having suffered severely, first from one and then another, sometimes from floggings, and at other times from hunger, and again from not being half clothed in cold weather, was prepared to consider any scheme that looked in the direction of speedy deliverance. the way that they were to travel, and the various points of danger to be passed on the road were fully considered; but robert and sue were united and agreed that they could not fare much worse than they had fared, should they be captured and carried back. in this state of mind, as in the case of thousands of others, they set out for a free state, and in due time reached pennsylvania and the vigilance committee, to whom they made known the facts here recorded, and received aid and comfort in return. sue was a young woman of twenty-three, of a brown color, and somewhat under medium size. arrival from georgetown, d.c., . perry clexton, jim banks and charles nole. this party found no very serious obstacles in their travels, as their plans were well arranged, and as they had at least natural ability sufficient for ordinary emergencies. perry reported that he left "a man by the name of john m. williams, of georgetown, d.c., who was in the wood business, and kept a wharf." as to treatment, he said that he had not been used very hard, but had been worked hard and allowed but few privileges. the paltry sum of twenty-five cents a week, was all that was allowed him out of his hire. with a wife and one child this might seem a small sum, but in reality it was a liberal outlay compared with what many slaves were allowed. perry being a ready-witted article, thought that it was hardly fair that mr. williams should live by the sweat of his brow instead of his own; he was a large, portly man, and able to work for himself in perry's opinion. for a length of time, the notion of leaving and going to canada was uppermost in his heart; probably he would have acted with more promptness but for the fact that his wife and child rested with great weight on his mind. finally the pressure became so great that he felt that he must leave at all hazards, forsaking wife and child, master and chains. he was a young man, of about twenty-five years of age, of a dark shade, ordinary build, and full of grit. his wife was named amelia; whether she ever afterwards heard from her husband is a question. jim, who accompanied perry, brought the shoe-making art with him. he had been held a slave under john j. richards, although he was quite as much a white man as he was black. he was a mulatto, twenty-nine years of age, well-made, and bore a grum countenance, but a brave and manly will to keep up his courage on the way. he said that he had been used very well, had no fault to find with john j. richards, who was possibly a near relative of his. he forsook his mother, four brothers and three sisters with no hope of ever seeing them again. charles bore strong testimony in favor of his master, blooker w. hansborough, a farmer, a first-rate man to his servants, said charles. "i was used very well, can't complain." "why did you not remain then?" asked a member of the committee. "i left," answered c., "because i was not allowed to live with my wife. she with our six children, lived a long distance from my master's place, and he would not hire me out where i could live near my wife, so i made up my mind that i would try and do better. i could see no enjoyment that way." as the secret of his master's treatment is here brought to light, it is very evident that charles, in speaking so highly in his favor, failed to take a just view of him, as no man could really be first-rate to his servants, who would not allow a man to live with his wife and children, and who would persist in taking from another what he had no right to take. nevertheless, as charles thought his master "first-rate," he shall have the benefit of the opinion, but it was suspected that charles was not disposed to find fault with his kin, as it was very likely that the old master claimed some of the white blood in his veins. arrival from sussex county, . jacob blockson, george alligood, jim alligood, and george lewis. the coming of jacob and his companions was welcomed in the usual way. the marks of slavery upon them were evident; however they were subjected to the usual critical examination, which they bore with composure, and without the least damage. the following notes in the main were recorded from their statements: jacob was a stout and healthy-looking man, about twenty-seven years of age, with a countenance indicative of having no sympathy with slavery. being invited to tell his own story, describe his master, etc., he unhesitatingly relieved himself somewhat after this manner; "i escaped from a man by the name of jesse w. paten; he was a man of no business, except drinking whiskey, and farming. he was a light complected man, tall large, and full-faced, with a large nose. he was a widower. he belonged to no society of any kind. he lived near seaford, in sussex county, delaware." "i left because i didn't want to stay with him any longer. my master was about to be sold out this fall, and i made up my mind that i did not want to be sold like a horse, the way they generally sold darkies then; so when i started i resolved to die sooner than i would be taken back; this was my intention all the while. "i left my wife, and one child; the wife's name was lear, and the child was called alexander. i want to get them on soon too. i made some arrangements for their coming if i got off safe to canada." george was next called upon to give his statement concerning where he was from, etc. i "scaped" from sussex too, from a man by the name of george m. davis, a large man, dark-complected, and about fifty years of age; he belonged to the old side methodist church, was a man with a family, and followed farming, or had farming done by me and others. besides he was a justice of the peace. i always believed that the master above had no wish for me to be held in bondage all my days; but i thought if i made up my mind to stay in slavery, and not to make a desperate trial for my freedom, i would never have any better times. i had heard that my old mistress had willed me to her children, and children's children. i thought at this rate there was no use of holding on any longer for the good time to come, so here i said, i am going, if i die a trying. i got me a dagger, and made up my mind if they attempted to take me on the road, i would have one man. as for my part, i have not had it so slavish as many, but i have never had any privileges to learn to read, or to go about anywhere. now and then they let me go to church. my master belonged to church, and so did i. for a young man, being only twenty-two years of age, who had been kept from the light of freedom, as much as he had, his story was thought to be exceedingly well told throughout. james, a brother of george, said: "i came from horse's cross-roads, not far from where my brother george came from. william gray, rail road ticket agent at bridgewater, professed to own me. he was a tolerable sized man, with very large whiskers, and dark hair; he was rather a steady kind of a man, he had a wife, but no child. the reason i left, i thought i had served slavery long enough, as i had been treated none the best. i did not believe in working my life out just to support some body else. my master had as many hands and feet as i have, and is as able to work for his bread as i am; and i made up my mind that i wouldn't stay to be a slave under him any longer, but that i would go to canada, and be my own master." james left his poor wife, and three children, slaves perhaps for life. the wife's name was esther ann, the children were called mary, henry, and harriet. all belonged to jesse laten. george lewis had more years than any of his companions, being about forty years of age. he had been kept in as low a state of ignorance as the ingenuity of a slave-holder of delaware could keep one possessed of as much mother-wit as he was, for he was not quite so ignorant as the interests of the system required. his physical make and mental capacity were good. he was decidedly averse to the peculiar institution in every particular. he stated, that a man named samuel laws had held him in bondage--that this "laws was a man of no business--just sat about the house and went about from store to store and sat; that he was an old man, pretty grey, very long hair. he was a member of a church in the neighborhood, which was called radical." of this church and its members he could give but little account, either of their peculiarities or creed; he said, however, that they worshipped a good deal like the methodists, and allowed their members to swear heartily for slavery. "something told" george that he had worked long enough as a slave, and that he should be man enough to take the underground rail road and go off to a free country. accordingly george set out. when he arrived at the station he was so highly delighted with his success and the prospect before him, that he felt very sorry that he hadn't started ten years sooner. he said that he would have done so, but he was afraid, as slave-holders were always making the slaves believe that if they should ever escape they would catch them and bring them back and sell them down south, certain; that they always did catch every one who ran off, but never brought them home, but sold them right off where they could never run away any more, or get to see their relatives again. this threat, george said, was continually rung in the ears of the slaves, and with the more timid it was very effective. jacob blockson, after reaching canada, true to the pledge that he made to his bosom companion, wrote back as follows: saint catharines. cannda west, dec. th, . dear wife:--i now infom you i am in canada and am well and hope you are the same, and would wish you to be here next august, you come to suspension bridge and from there to st. catharines, write and let me know. i am doing well working for a butcher this winter, and will get good wages in the spring i now get $ , a week. i jacob blockson, george lewis, george alligood and james alligood are all in st. catharines, and met george ross from lewis wright's, jim blockson is in canada west, and jim delany, plunnoth connon. i expect you my wife lea ann blockson, my son alexander & lewis and ames will all be here and isabella also, if you cant bring all bring alexander surely, write when you will come and i will meet you in albany. love to you all, from your loving husband, jacob blockson. fare through $ , to here. mr. still: sir:--you will please envelope this and send it to john sheppard bridgeville p office in sussex county delaware, seal it in black and oblige me, write to her to come to you. sundry arrivals in . sarah ann mills, boonsborough; caroline gassway, mt. airy; levin holden, laurel; william james conner, with his wife, child, and four brothers; james lazarus, delaware; richard williams, richmond, virginia; sydney hopkins and henry wheeler, havre de grace. sarah mills set out for freedom long before she reached womanhood; being about sixteen years of age. she stated that she had been very cruelly treated, that she was owned by a man named joseph o'neil, "a tax collector and a very bad man." under said o'neil she had been required to chop wood, curry horses, work in the field like a man, and all one winter she had been compelled to go barefooted. three weeks before sarah fled, her mistress was called away by death; nevertheless sarah could not forget how badly she had been treated by her while living. according to sarah's testimony the mistress was no better than her husband. sarah came from boonsborough, near hagerstown, md., leaving her mother and other relatives in that neighborhood. it was gratifying to know that such bond-women so early got beyond the control of slave-holders; yet girls of her age from having had no pains taken for their improvement, appealed loudly for more than common sympathy and humanity, but rarely ever found it; on the contrary, their paths were beset with great danger. caroline gassway, after being held to service by summersett walters, until she had reached her twenty-seventh year, was forced, by hard treatment and the love of freedom, to make an effort for deliverance. her appearance at once indicated, although she was just out of the prison-house, that she possessed more than an ordinary share of courage, and that she had had a keen insight into the system under which she had been oppressed. she was of a dark chestnut color, well-formed, with a large and high forehead, indicative of intellect. she had much to say of the ways and practices of slave-holders; of the wrongs of the system. she dwelt especially upon her own situation as a slave, and the character of her master; she told not only of his ill treatment of her, but described his physical appearance as well. "he was a spare-made man, with a red head and quick temper: he would go off in a flurry like a flash of powder, and would behave shamefully towards the slaves when in these fits of passion." his wife, however, caroline confessed was of a different temper, and was a pretty good kind of a woman. if he had been anything like his wife in disposition, most likely caroline would have remained in bondage. fortunately, caroline was a single woman. she left her mother. levin holden, having been sold only a few weeks prior to his escape, was so affected by the change which awaited him, that he was irresistibly led to seek the underground rail road. previous to being sold he was under a master by the name of jonathan bailey, who followed farming in the neighborhood of laurel, delaware, and, as a master, was considered a moderate man--was also well to do in the world; but the new master he could not endure, as he had already let the secret out that levin was to be sent south. levin had a perfect horror of a more southern latitude; he made up his mind that he would try his luck for canada. levin was a man of twenty-seven years of age, smart, dark color, and of a good size for all sorts of work. william james conner, his wife, child, and four brothers came next. the brothers were hale-looking fellows, and would have commanded high prices in any market south of mason and dixon's line. it was said, that they were the property of kendall major lewis, who lived near laurel, delaware. it was known, however, that he never had any deed from the almighty, but oppressed them without any just right so to do; they were perfectly justifiable in leaving kendall major lewis, and all his sympathizers, to take care of themselves as best they could. no very serious charges were made against lewis, but on the contrary they said, that he had been looked upon as a "moderate slave-holder;" they also said, that "he had been a member of the methodist episcopal church for fifty years, and stood high in that body." furthermore they stated, that he sold slaves occasionally. eight had been sold by him some time before this party escaped (two of them to georgia); besides william james had been sold and barely found opportunity to escape. wm. james, major lewis, dennis betts, peter, and lazarus, with the wife and child of the former, not only found themselves stripped from day to day of their hard earnings, but fearful forebodings of the auction-block were ever uppermost in their minds. while they spoke of lewis as "moderate," etc., they all said that he allowed no privileges to his slaves. richard williams gave a full account of himself, but only a meagre report was recorded. he said that he came from richmond, and left because he was on the point of being sold by john a. smith, who owned him. he gave smith credit for being a tolerable fair kind of a slave-holder, but added, that "his wife was a notoriously hard woman;" she had made a very deep impression on richard's mind by her treatment of him. in finding himself on free ground, however, with cheering prospects ahead, he did not stop to brood over the ills that he had suffered, but rejoiced heartily. he left his wife, julia, who was free. sydney hopkins and henry wheeler. these young men made their way out of slavery together. while sydney lives he will forever regard jacob hoag, of havre-de-grace, as the person who cheated him out of himself, and prevented him from becoming enlightened and educated. henry, his companion, was also from havre de grace. he had had trouble with a man by the name of amos barnes, or in other words barnes claimed to own him, just as he owned a horse or a mule, and daily controlled him in about the same manner that he would manage the animals above alluded to. henry could find no justification for such treatment. he suffered greatly under the said barnes, and finally his eyes were open to see that there was an underground rail road for the benefit of all such slavery-sick souls as himself. so he got a ticket as soon as possible, and came through without accident, leaving amos barnes to do the best he could for a living. this candidate for canada was twenty-one years of age, and a likely-looking boy. joseph henry hill. the spirit of freedom in this passenger was truly the "one idea" notion. at the age of twenty-eight his purpose to free himself by escaping on the underground rail road was successfully carried into effect, although not without difficulty. joseph was a fair specimen of a man physically and mentally, could read and write, and thereby keep the run of matters of interest on the slavery question. james thomas, jr., a tobacco merchant, in richmond, had joe down in his ledger as a marketable piece of property, or a handy machine to save labor, and make money. to joe's great joy he heard the sound of the underground rail road bell in richmond,--had a satisfactory interview with the conductor,--received a favorable response, and was soon a traveler on his way to canada. he left his mother, a free woman, and two sisters in chains. he had been sold twice, but he never meant to be sold again. * * * * * arrival from richmond, . cornelius henry johnson. face canada-ward for years. quite an agreeable interview took place between cornelius and the committee. he gave his experience of slavery pretty fully, and the committee enlightened him as to the workings of the underground rail road, the value of freedom, and the safety of canada as a refuge. cornelius was a single man, thirty-six years of age, full black, medium size, and intelligent. he stated that he had had his face set toward canada for a long while. three times he had made an effort to get out of the prison-house. "within the last four or five years, times have gone pretty hard with me. my mistress, mrs. mary f. price, had lately put me in charge of her brother, samuel m. bailey, a tobacco merchant of richmond. both believed in nothing as they did in slavery; they would sooner see a black man dead than free. they were about second class in society. he and his sister own well on to one hundred head, though within the last few years he has been thinning off the number by sale. i was allowed one dollar a week for my board; one dollar is the usual allowance for slaves in my situation. on christmas week he allowed me no board money, but made me a present of seventy-five cents; my mistress added twenty-five cents, which was the extent of their liberality. i was well cared for. when the slaves got sick he doctored them himself, he was too stingy to employ a physician. if they did not get well as soon as he thought they should, he would order them to their work, and if they did not go he would beat them. my cousin was badly beat last year in the presence of his wife, and he was right sick. mr. bailey was a member of st. james' church, on fifth street, and my mistress was a communicant of the first baptist church on broad street. she let on to be very good." "i am one of a family of sixteen; my mother and eleven sisters and brothers are now living; some have been sold to alabama, and some to tennessee, the rest are held in richmond. my mother is now old, but is still in the service of bailey. he promised to take care of her in her old age, and not compel her to labor, so she is only required to cook and wash for a dozen slaves. this they consider a great favor to the old 'grandmother.' it was only a year ago he cursed her and threatened her with a flogging. i left for nothing else but because i was dissatisfied with slavery. the threats of my master caused me to reflect on the north and south. i had an idea that i was not to die in slavery. i believed that god would assist me if i would try. i then made up my mind to put my case in the hands of god, and start for the underground rail road. i bade good-bye to the old tobacco factory on seventh street, and the first african baptist church on broad street (where he belonged), where i had so often heard the minister preach 'servants obey your masters;' also to the slave pens, chain-gangs, and a cruel master and mistress, all of which i hoped to leave forever. but to bid good-bye to my old mother in chains, was no easy job, and if my desire for freedom had not been as strong as my desire for life itself, i could never have stood it; but i felt that i could do her no good; could not help her if i staid. as i was often threatened by my master, with the auction-block, i felt i must give up all and escape for my life." such was substantially the story of cornelius henry johnson. he talked for an hour as one inspired, and as none but fugitive slaves could talk. * * * * * arrival from delaware, . theophilus collins, andrew jackson boyce, handy burton and robert jackson. a desperate, bloody struggle--gun, knife and fire shovel, used by an infuriated master. judged from their outward appearance, as well as from the fact that they were from the neighboring state of delaware, no extraordinary revelations were looked for from the above-named party. it was found, however, that one of their number, at least, had a sad tale of outrage and cruelty to relate. the facts stated are as follows: theophilus is twenty-four years of age, dark, height and stature hardly medium, with faculties only about average compared with ordinary fugitives from delaware and maryland. his appearance is in no way remarkable. his bearing is subdued and modest; yet he is not lacking in earnestness. says theophilus, "i was in servitude under a man named houston, near lewes, delaware; he was a very mean man, he didn't allow you enough to eat, nor enough clothes to wear. he never allowed a drop of tea, or coffee, or sugar, and if you didn't eat your breakfast before day he wouldn't allow you any, but would drive you out without any. he had a wife; she was mean, too, meaner than he was. four years ago last fall my master cut my entrails out for going to meeting at daniel wesley's church one sabbath night. before day, monday morning, he called me up to whip me; called me into his dining-room, locked the doors, then ordered me to pull off my shirt. i told him no, sir, i wouldn't; right away he went and got the cowhide, and gave me about twenty over my head with the butt. he tore my shirt off, after i would not pull it off; he ordered me to cross my hands. i didn't do that. after i wouldn't do that he went and got his gun. and broke the breech of that over my head. he then seized up the fire-tongs and struck me over the head ever so often. the next thing he took was the parlor shovel and he beat on me with that till he broke the handle; then he took the blade and stove it at my head with all his might. i told him that i was bound to come out of that room. he run up to the door and drawed his knife and told me if i ventured to the door he would stab me. i never made it any better or worse, but aimed straight for the door; but before i reached it he stabbed me, drawing the knife (a common pocket knife) as hard as he could rip across my stomach; right away he began stabbing me about my head," (marks were plainly to be seen). after a desperate struggle, theophilus succeeded in getting out of the building. [illustration: ] "i started," said he, "at once for georgetown, carrying a part of my entrails in my hands for the whole journey, sixteen miles. i went to my young masters, and they took me to an old colored woman, called judah smith, and for five days and nights i was under treatment of dr. henry moore, dr. charles henry richards, and dr. william newall; all these attended me. i was not expected to live for a long time, but the doctors cured me at last." andrew reported that he fled from dr. david houston. "i left because of my master's meanness to me; he was a very mean man to his servants," said andrew, "and i got so tired of him i couldn't stand him any longer." andrew was about twenty-six years of age, ordinary size; color, brown, and was entitled to his freedom, but knew not how to secure it by law, so resorted to the underground rail road method. handy, another of this party, said that he left because the man who claimed to be his master "was so hard." the man by whom he had been wronged was known where he came from by the name of shepherd burton, and was in the farming business. "he was a churchman," said handy, "but he never allowed me to go to church a half dozen times in my life." robert belonged to mrs. mary hickman, at least she had him in her possession and reaped the benefit of his hire and enjoyed the leisure and ease thereof while he toiled. for some time prior to his leaving, this had been a thorn in his side, hard to bear; so when an opening presented itself by which he thought he could better his condition, he was ready to try the experiment. he, however, felt that, while she would not have him to look to for support, she would not be without sympathy, as she was a member of the episcopal church; besides she was an old-looking woman and might not need his help a great while longer. * * * * * arrival from richmond, . stepney brown. stepney was an extraordinary man, his countenance indicating great goodness of heart, and his gratitude to his heavenly father for his deliverance proved that he was fully aware of the source whence his help had come. being a man of excellent natural gifts, as well as of religious fervor and devotion to a remarkable degree, he seemed admirably fitted to represent the slave in chains, looking up to god with an eye of faith, and again the fugitive in canada triumphant and rejoicing with joy unspeakable over his deliverance, yet not forgetting those in bonds, as bound with them. the beauty of an unshaken faith in the good father above could scarcely have shone with a brighter lustre than was seen in this simple-hearted believer. stepney was thirty-four years of age, tall, slender, and of a dark hue. he readily confessed that he fled from mrs. julia a. mitchell, of richmond; and testified that she was decidedly stingy and unkind, although a member of st. paul's church. still he was wholly free from acrimony, and even in recounting his sufferings was filled with charity towards his oppressors. he said, "i was moved to leave because i believed that i had a right to be a free man." he was a member of the second baptist church, and entertained strong faith that certain infirmities, which had followed him through life up to within seven years of the time of his escape, had all been removed through the spirit of the lord. he had been an eye-witness to many outrages inflicted on his fellow-men. but he spoke more of the sufferings of others than his own. his stay was brief, but interesting. after his arrival in canada he turned his attention to industrial pursuits, and cherished his loved idea that the lord was very good to him. occasionally he would write to express his gratitude to god and man, and to inquire about friends in different localities, especially those in bonds. the following letters are specimens, and speak for themselves: clifton house, niagara falls, august the . dear brother:--it is with pleasure i take my pen in hand to write a few lines to inform you that i am well hopeping these few lines may fine you the same i am longing to hear from you and your family i wish you would say to julis anderson that he must realy excuse me for not writing but i am in hopes that he is doing well. i have not heard no news from virgina. plese to send me all the news say to mrs. hunt an you also forever pray for me knowing that god is so good to us. i have not seen brother john dungy for months, but we have corresponded together but he is doing well in brandford. i am now at the falls an have been on here some time an i shall with the help of the lord locate myself somewhere this winter an go to school excuse me for not annser your letter sooner knowing that i cannot write well you please to send me one of the earliest papers send me word if any of our friends have been passing through i know that you are very busy but ask your little daughter if she will annser this letter for you i often feel that i cannot turn god thanks enough for his blessings that he has bestoueth upon me. say to brother suel that he must not forget what god has consighn to his hand, to do that he must pray in his closet that god might teach him. say to mr. anderson that i hope he have retrad an has seeked the lord an found him precious to his own soul for he must do it in this world for he cannot do it in the world to come, i often think about the morning that i left your house it was such a sad feeling but still i have a hope in crist do you think it is safe in boston my love to all i remain your brother, stepney brown. brantford, march d, . mr. william still, dear sir:--i now take the pleasure of writing to you a few lines write soon hoping to find you enjoying perfect health, as i am the same. my joy within is so great that i cannot find words to express it. when i met with my friend brother dungy who stopped at your house on his way to canada after having a long chase after me from toronto to hamilton he at last found me in the town of brantford canada west and ought we not to return almighty god thanks for delivering us from the many dangers and trials that beset our path in this wicked world we live in. i have long been wanting to write to you but i entirely forgot the number of your house mr. dungy luckily happened to have your directions with him. religion is good when we live right may god help you to pray often to him that he might receive you at the hour of your final departure. yours most respectfully. stepney brown, per jas. a. walk. p.s. write as soon as possible for i wish very much to hear from you. i understand that mrs. hunt has been to richmond, va. be so kind as to ask her if she heard anything about that money. give my love to all inquiring friends and to your family especially. i now thank god that i have not lost a day in sickness since i came to canada. kiss the baby for me. i know you are busy but i hope you will have time to write a few lines to me to let me know how you and your family are getting on. no more at present, but i am yours very truly, stepney brown, per jas. a. walkinshaw. brantford, oct. , ' dear sir:--i take the pleasure of dropping you a few lines, i am yet residing in brantford and i have been to work all this summer at the falls and i have got along remarkably well, surely god is good to those that put their trust in him i suppose you have been wondering what has become of me but i am in the lands of living and long to hear from you and your family. i would have wrote sooner, but the times has been such in the states i have not but little news to send you and i'm going to school again this winter and will you be pleased to send me word what has become of julius anderson and the rest of my friends and tell him i would write to him if i knew where to direct the letter, please send me word whether any body has been along lately that knows me. i know that you are busy but you must take time and answer this letter as i am anxious to hear from you, but nevertheless we must not forget our maker, so we cannot pray too much to our lord so i hope that mr. anderson has found peace with god for me myself really appreciate that hope that i have in christ, for i often find myself in my slumber with you and i hope we will meet some day. mr. dungy sends his love to you i suppose you are aware that he is married, he is luckier than i am or i must get a little foothold before i do marry if i ever do. i am in a very comfortable room all fixed for the winter and we have had one snow. may the lord be with you and all you and all your household. i remain forever your brother in christ, stepney brown. arrival from maryland, . jim kell, charles heath, william carlisle, charles ringgold, thomas maxwell, and samuel smith. on the evening of the fourth of july, while all was hilarity and rejoicing the above named very interesting fugitives arrived from the troubled district, the eastern shore, of maryland, where so many conventions had been held the previous year to prevent escapes; where the rev. samuel green had been convicted and sent to the penitentiary for ten years for having a copy of uncle tom's cabin in his humble home; where so many parties, on escaping, had the good sense and courage to secure their flight by bringing their masters' horses and carriages a good way on their perilous journey. sam had been tied up and beat many times severely. william had been stripped naked, and frequently and cruelly cowhided. thomas had been clubbed over his head more times than a few. jim had been whipped with clubs and switches times without number. charles had had five men on him at one time, with cowhides, his master in the lead. charles heath had had his head cut shockingly, with a club, in the hands of his master; this well cared-for individual in referring to his kind master, said: "i can give his character right along, he was a perfect devil. the night we left, he had a woman tied up--god knows what he done. he was always blustering, you could never do enough for him no how. first thing in the morning and last thing at night, you would hear him cussing--he would cuss in bed. he was a large farmer, all the time drunk. he had a good deal of money but not much character. he was a savage, bluff, red face-looking concern." thus, in the most earnest, as well as in an intelligent manner, charles described the man (aquila cain), who had hitherto held him under the yoke. james left his mother, nancy kell, two brothers, robert and henry, and two sisters, mary and annie; all living in the neighborhood whence he fled. besides these, he had eight brothers and sisters living in baltimore and elsewhere, under the yoke. he was twenty-four years of age, of a jet color, but of a manly turn. he fled from thomas murphy, a farmer, and regular slave-holder. charles heath was twenty-five years of age, medium size, full black, a very keen-looking individual. william was also of unmixed blood, shrewd and wide-awake for his years,--had been ground down under the heel of aquila cain. he left his mother and two sisters. charles ringgold was eighteen years of age; no white blood showed itself in the least in this individual. he fled from dr. jacob preston, a member of the episcopal church, and a practical farmer with twenty head of slaves. "he was not so bad, but his wife was said to be a 'stinger.'" charles left his mother and father behind, also four sisters. thomas was of pure blood, with a very cheerful, healthy-looking countenance,--twenty-one years of age, and was to "come free" at twenty-five, but he had too much good sense to rely upon the promises of slave-holders in matters of this kind. he too belonged to cain who, he said, was constantly talking about selling, etc. he left his father and mother. after being furnished with food, clothing, and free tickets, they were forwarded on in triumph and full of hope. * * * * * sundry arrivals, . john edward lee, john hillis, charles ross, james ryan, william johnston, edward wood, cornelius fuller and his wife harriet, john pinket, ansal cannon, and james brown. john came from maryland, and brought with him a good degree of pluck. he satisfied the committee that he fully believed in freedom, and had proved his faith by his works, as he came in contact with pursuers, whom he put to flight by the use of an ugly-looking knife, which he plunged into one of them, producing quite a panic; the result was that he was left to pursue his underground rail road journey without further molestation. there was nothing in john's appearance which would lead one to suppose that he was a blood-thirsty or bad man, although a man of uncommon muscular powers; six feet high, and quite black, with resolution stamped on his countenance. but when he explained how he was enslaved by a man named john b. slade, of harford co., and how, in some way or other, he became entitled to his freedom, and just as the time arrived for the consummation of his long prayed-for boon, said slade was about to sell him,--after this provocation, it was clear enough to perceive how john came to use his knife. john hillis was a tiller of the ground under a widow lady (mrs. louisa le count), of the new market district, maryland. he signified to the mistress, that he loved to follow the water, and that he would be just as safe on water as on land, and that he was discontented. the widow heard john's plausible story, and saw nothing amiss in it, so she consented that he should work on a schooner. the name of the craft was "majestic." the hopeful john endeavored to do his utmost to please, and was doubly happy when he learned that the "majestic" was to make a trip to philadelphia. on arriving john's eyes were opened to see that he owed mrs. le count nothing, but that she was largely indebted to him for years of unrequited toil; he could not, therefore, consent to go back to her. he was troubled to think of his poor wife and children, whom he had left in the hands of mrs. harriet dean, three quarters of a mile from new market; but it was easier for him to imagine plans by which he could get them off than to incur the hazard of going back to maryland; therefore he remained in freedom. charles ross was clearly of the opinion that he was free-born, but that he had been illegally held in slavery, as were all his brothers and sisters, by a man named rodgers, a farmer, living near greensborough, in caroline county, md. very good reasons were given by charles for the charge which he made against rodgers, and it went far towards establishing the fact, that "colored men had no rights which white men were bound to respect," in maryland. although he was only twenty-three years of age, he had fully weighed the matter of his freedom, and appeared firmly set against slavery. william johnson was owned by a man named john bosley, a farmer, living near gun powder neck, maryland. one morning he, unexpectedly to william, gave him a terrible cowhiding, which, contrary to the master's designs, made him a firm believer in the doctrine of immediate abolition, and he thought, that from that hour he must do something against the system--if nothing more than to go to canada. this determination was so strong, that in a few weeks afterwards he found himself on the underground rail road. he left one brother and one sister; his mother was dead, and of his father's whereabouts he knew nothing. william was nineteen years of age, brown color, smart and good-looking. edward wood was a "chattel" from drummerstown, accomac county, virginia, where he had been owned by a farmer, calling himself james white; a man who "drank hard and was very crabbed," and before edward left owned eleven head of slaves. edward left a wife and three children, but the strong desire to be free, which had been a ruling passion of his being from early boyhood, rendered it impossible for him to stay, although the ties were very hard to break. slavery was crushing him hourly, and he felt that he could not submit any longer. cornelius fuller, and his wife, harriet, escaped together from kent county, maryland. they belonged to separate masters; cornelius, it was said, belonged to the diden estate; his wife to judge chambers, whose honor lived in chestertown. "he is no man for freedom, bless you," said harriet. "he owned more slaves than any other man in that part of the country; he sells sometimes, and he hired out a great many; would hire them to any kind of a master, if he half killed you." cornelius and harriet were obliged to leave their daughter kitty, who was thirteen years of age. john pinket and ansal cannon took the underground rail road cars at new market, dorchester county, maryland. john was a tall young man, of twenty-seven years of age, of an active turn of mind and of a fine black color. he was the property of mary brown, a widow, firmly grounded in the love of slavery; believing that a slave had no business to get tired or desire his freedom. she sold one of john's sisters to georgia, and before john fled, had still in her possession nine head of slaves. she was a member of the methodist church at east new market. from certain movements which looked very suspicious in john's eyes, he had been allotted to the southern market, he therefore resolved to look out for a habitation in canada. he had a first-rate corn-field education, but no book learning. up to the time of his escape, john had shunned entangling himself with a wife. ansal was twenty-five years of age, well-colored, and seemed like a good-natured and well-behaved article. he escaped from kitty cannon, another widow, who owned nine chattels. "sometimes she treated her slaves pretty well," was the testimony of ansal. he ran away because he did not get pay for his services. in thus being deprived of his hire, he concluded that he had no business to stay if he could get away. * * * * * arrival from maryland, . james brown. a more giant-like looking passenger than the above named individual had rarely ever passed over the road. he was six feet three inches high, and in every respect, a man of bone, sinew and muscle. for one who had enjoyed only a field hand's privileges for improvement, he was not to be despised. jim owed service to henry jones; at least he admitted that said jones claimed him, and had hired him out to himself for seven dollars per month. while this amount seemed light, it was much heavier than jim felt willing to meet solely for his master's benefit. after giving some heed to the voice of freedom within, he considered that it behooved him to try and make his way to some place where men were not guilty of wronging their neighbors out of their just hire. having heard of the underground rail road running to canada, he concluded to take a trip and see the country, for himself; so he arranged his affairs with this end in view, and left henry jones with one less to work for him for nothing. the place that he fled from was called north point, baltimore county. the number of fellow-slaves left in the hands of his old master, was fifteen. * * * * * arrival from delaware, . edward, john, and charles hall. the above named individuals were brothers from delaware. they were young; the eldest being about twenty, the youngest not far from seventeen years of age. edward was serving on a farm, under a man named booth. perceiving that booth was "running through his property" very fast by hard drinking, edward's better judgment admonished him that his so-called master would one day have need of more rum money, and that he might not be too good to offer him in the market for what he would bring. charles resolved that when his brothers crossed the line dividing delaware and pennsylvania, he would not be far behind. the mother of these boys was freed at the age of twenty-eight, and lived in wilmington, delaware. it was owing to the fact that their mother had been freed that they entertained the vague notion that they too might be freed; but it was a well established fact that thousands lived and died in such a hope without ever realizing their expectations. the boys, more shrewd and wide awake than many others, did not hearken to such "stuff." the two younger heard the views of the elder brother, and expressed a willingness to follow him. edward, becoming satisfied that what they meant to do must be done quickly, took the lead, and off they started for a free state. john was owned by one james b. rodgers, a farmer, and "a most every kind of man," as john expressed himself; in fact john thought that his owner was such a strange, wicked, and cross character that he couldn't tell himself what he was. seeing that slaves were treated no better than dogs and hogs, john thought that he was none too young to be taking steps to get away. charles was held by james rodgers, sr., under whom he said that he had served nine years with faint prospects of some time becoming free, but when, was doubtful. * * * * * arrival from virginia, . james taylor, albert gross, and john grinage. to see mere lads, not twenty-one years of age, smart enough to outwit the very shrewdest and wisest slave-holders of virginia was very gratifying. the young men composing this arrival were of this keen-sighted order. james was only a little turned of twenty, of a yellow complexion, and intelligent. a trader, by the name of george ailer, professed to own james. he said that he had been used tolerable well, not so bad as many had been used. james was learning the carpenter trade; but he was anxious to obtain his freedom, and finding his two companions true on the main question, in conjunction with them he contrived a plan of escape, and 'took out.' his father and mother, harrison and jane taylor, were left at fredericksburg to mourn the absence of their son. albert was in his twentieth year, the picture of good health, not homely by any means, although not of a fashionable color. he was under the patriarchal protection of a man by the name of william price, who carried on farming in cecil county, maryland. albert testified that he was a bad man. john grinage was only twenty, a sprightly, active young man, of a brown color. he came from middle neck, cecil county, where he had served under william flintham, a farmer. * * * * * sundry arrivals from maryland ( ) and other places. james andy wilkins, and wife lucinda, with their little boy, charles, charles henry gross, a woman with her two children--one in her arms--john brown, john roach, and wife lamby, and henry smallwood. the above-named passengers did not all come from the same place, or exactly at the same time; but for the sake of convenience they are thus embraced under a general head. james andy wilkins "gave the slip" to a farmer, by the name of george biddle, who lived one mile from cecil, cecil county, maryland. while he hated slavery, he took a favorable view of his master in some respects at least, as he said that he was a "moderate man in talk;" but "sly in action." his master provided him with two pairs of pantaloons in the summer, and one in the winter, also a winter jacket, no vest, no cap, or hat. james thought the sum total for the entire year's clothing would not amount to more than ten dollars. sunday clothing he was compelled to procure for himself by working of nights; he made axe handles, mats, etc., of evenings, and caught musk rats on sunday, and availed himself of their hides to procure means for his most pressing wants. besides these liberal privileges his master was in the habit of allowing him two whole days every harvest, and at christmas from twenty-five cents to as high as three dollars and fifty cents, were lavished upon him. his master was a bachelor, a man of considerable means, and "kept tolerable good company," and only owned two other slaves, rachel ann dumbson and john price. lucinda, the companion of james, was twenty-one years of age, good-looking, well-formed and of a brown color. she spoke of a man named george ford as her owner. he, however, was said to be of the "moderate class" of slave-holders; lucinda being the only slave property he possessed, and she came to him through his wife (who was a methodist). the master was an outsider, so far as the church was concerned. once in a great while lucinda was allowed to go to church, when she could be spared from her daily routine of cooking, washing, etc. twice a week she was permitted the special favor of seeing her husband. these simple privations not being of a grave character, no serious fault was found with them; yet lucinda was not without a strong ground of complaint. not long before escaping, she had been threatened with the auction-block; this fate she felt bound to avert, if possible, and the way she aimed to do it was by escaping on the underground rail road. charley, a bright little fellow only three years of age, was "contented and happy" enough. lucinda left her father, moses edgar wright, and two brothers, both slaves. one belonged to "francis crookshanks," and the other to capt. jim mitchell. her mother, who was known by the name of betsy wright, escaped when she (lucinda) was seven years of age. of her whereabouts nothing further had ever been heard. lucinda entertained strong hopes that she might find her in canada. charles henry gross began life in maryland, and was made to bear the heat and burden of the day in baltimore, under henry slaughter, proprietor of the ariel steamer. owing to hard treatment, charles was induced to fly to canada for refuge. a woman with two children, one in her arms, and the other two years of age (names, etc., not recorded), came from the district of columbia. mother and children, appealed loudly for sympathy. john brown, being at the beck of a man filling the situation of a common clerk (in the shoe store of mcgrunders), became dissatisfied. asking himself what right benjamin thorn (his professed master) had to his hire, he was led to see the injustice of his master, and made up his mind, that he would leave by the first train, if he could get a genuine ticket _viâ_ the underground rail road. he found an agent and soon had matters all fixed. he left his father, mother and seven sisters and one brother, all slaves. john was a man small of stature, dark, with homely features, but he was very determined to get away from oppression. john and lamby roach had been eating bitter bread under bondage near seaford. john was the so-called property of joshua o'bear, "a fractious, hard-swearing man, and when mad would hit one of his slaves with anything he could get in his hands." john and his companion made the long journey on foot. the former had been trained to farm labor and the common drudgery of slave life. being a man of thirty-three years of age, with more than ordinary abilities, he had given the matter of his bondage considerable thought, and seeing that his master "got worse the older he got," together with the fact, that his wife had recently been sold, he was strongly stirred to make an effort for canada. while it was a fact, that his wife had already been sold, as above stated, the change of ownership was not to take place for some months, consequently john "took out in a hurry." his wife was the property of dr. shipley, of seaford, who had occasion to raise some money for which he gave security in the shape of this wife and mother. horsey was the name of the gentleman from whom it was said that he obtained the favor; so when the time was up for the payment to be made, the dr. was not prepared. horsey, therefore, claimed the collateral (the wife) and thus she had to meet the issue, or make a timely escape to canada with her husband. no way but walking was open to them. deciding to come this way, they prosecuted their journey with uncommon perseverance and success. both were comforted by strong faith in god, and believed that he would enable them to hold out on the road until they should reach friends. henry smallwood saw that he was working every day for nothing, and thought that he would do better. he described his master (washington bonafont) as a sort of a rowdy, who drank pretty hard, leaving a very unfavorable impression on henry's mind, as he felt almost sure such conduct would lead to a sale at no distant day. so he was cautious enough to "take the hint in time." henry left in company with nine others; but after being two days on the journey they were routed and separated by their pursuers. at this point henry lost all trace of the rest. he heard afterwards that two of them had been captured, but received no further tidings of the others. henry was a fine representative for canada; a tall, dark, and manly-looking individual, thirty-six years of age. he left his father and mother behind. * * * * * arrival from richmond, . henry jones and turner foster. henry was left free by the will of his mistress (elizabeth mann), but the heirs were making desperate efforts to overturn this instrument. of this, there was so much danger with a richmond court, that henry feared that the chances were against him; that the court was not honest enough to do him justice. being a man of marked native foresight, he concluded that the less he talked about freedom and the more he acted the sooner he would be out of his difficulties. he was called upon, however, to settle certain minor matters, before he could see his way clear to move in the direction of canada; for instance, he had a wife on his mind to dispose of in some way, but how he could not tell. again, he was not in the secret of the underground rail road movement; he knew that many got off, but how they managed it he was ignorant. if he could settle these two points satisfactorily, he thought that he would be willing to endure any sacrifice for the sake of his freedom. he found an agent of the underground rail road, and after surmounting various difficulties, this point was settled. as good luck would have it, his wife, who was a free woman, although she heard the secret with great sorrow, had the good sense to regard his step for the best, and thus he was free to contend with all other dangers on the way. he encountered the usual suffering, and on his arrival experienced the wonted pleasure. he was a man of forty-one years of age, spare made, with straight hair, and indian complexion, with the indian's aversion to slavery. turner, who was a fellow-passenger with henry, arrived also from richmond. he was about twenty-one, a bright, smart, prepossessing young man. he fled from a.a. mosen, a lawyer, represented to be one of the first in the city, and a firm believer in slavery. turner differed widely with his master with reference to this question, although, for prudential reasons, he chose not to give his opinion to said mosen. * * * * * arrival from maryland. two young mothers, each with babes in their arms--anna elizabeth young and sarah jane bell--whipped till the blood flowed. the appearance of these young mothers at first produced a sudden degree of pleasure, but their story of suffering quite as suddenly caused the most painful reflections. it was hardly possible to listen to their tales of outrage and wrong with composure. both came from kent county, maryland, and reported that they fled from a man by the name of massey; a man of low stature, light-complexioned, with dark hair, dark eyes, and very quick temper; given to hard swearing as a common practice; also, that the said massey had a wife, who was a very tall woman, with blue eyes, chestnut-colored hair, and a very bad temper; that, conjointly, massey and his wife were in the habit of meting out cruel punishment to their slaves, without regard to age or sex, and that they themselves, (anna elizabeth and sarah jane), had received repeated scourgings at the hands of their master. anna and sarah were respectively twenty-four and twenty-five years of age; anna was of a dark chestnut color, while sarah was two shades lighter; both had good manners, and a fair share of intelligence, which afforded a hopeful future for them in freedom. each had a babe in her arms. sarah had been a married woman for three years; her child, a boy, was eight months old, and was named garrett bell. elizabeth's child was a girl, nineteen months old, and named sarah catharine young. elizabeth had never been married. they had lived with massey five years up to the last march prior to their escape, having been bought out of the baltimore slave-pen, with the understanding that they were to be free at the expiration of five years' service under him. the five years had more than expired, but no hope or sign of freedom appeared. on the other hand, massey was talking loudly of selling them again. threats and fears were so horrifying to them, that they could not stand it; this was what prompted them to flee. "as often as six or seven times," said elizabeth, "i have been whipped by master, once with the carriage whip, and at other times with a raw hide trace. the last flogging i received from him, was about four weeks before last christmas; he then tied me up to a locust tree standing before the door, and whipped me to his satisfaction." sarah had fared no better than elizabeth, according to her testimony. "three times," said she, "i have been tied up; the last time was in planting corn-time, this year. my clothing was all stripped off above my waist, and then he whipped me till the blood ran down to my heels." her back was lacerated all over. she had been ploughing with two horses, and unfortunately had lost a hook out of her plough; this, she declared was the head and front of her offending, nothing more. thus, after all their suffering, utterly penniless, they reached the committee, and were in every respect, in a situation to call for the deepest commiseration. they were helped and were thankful. * * * * * arrival from maryland, virginia, and the district of columbia. john wesley smith, robert murray, susan stewart, and josephine smith. daniel hubert was fattening on john wesley's earnings contrary to his, john's, idea of right. for a long time john failed to see the remedy, but as he grew older and wiser the scales fell from his eyes and he perceived that the underground rail road ran near his master's place, cambridge, md., and by a very little effort and a large degree of courage and perseverance he might manage to get out of maryland and on to canada, where slave-holders had no more rights than other people. these reflections came seriously into john's mind at about the age of twenty-six; being about this time threatened with the auction-block he bade slavery good-night, jumped into the underground rail road car and off he hurried for pennsylvania. his mother, betsy, one brother, and one sister were left in the hands of hubert. john wesley could pray for them and wish them well, but nothing more. robert murray became troubled in mind about his freedom while living in london county, virginia, under the heel of eliza brooks, a widow woman, who used him bad, according to his testimony. he had been "knocked about a good deal." a short while before he fled, he stated that he had been beat brutally, so much so that the idea of escape was beat into him. he had never before felt as if he dared hope to try to get out of bondage, but since then his mind had undergone such a sudden and powerful change, he began to feel that nothing could hold him in virginia; the place became hateful to him. he looked upon a slave-holder as a kind of a living, walking, talking "satan, going about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may destroy." he left his wife, with one child; her name was nancy jane, and the name of the offspring was elizabeth. as robert had possessed but rare privileges to visit his wife, he felt it less a trial to leave than if it had been otherwise. william seedam owned the wife and child. susan stewart and josephine smith fled together from the district of columbia. running away had been for a long time a favorite idea with susan, as she had suffered much at the hands of different masters. the main cause of her flight was to keep from being sold again; for she had been recently threatened by henry harley, who "followed droving," and not being rich, at any time when he might be in want of money she felt that she might have to go. when a girl only twelve years of age, her young mind strongly revolted against being a slave, and at that youthful period she tried her fortune at running away. while she was never caught by her owners, she had the misfortune to fall into the hands of another slaveholder no better than her old master, indeed she thought that she found it even worse under him, so far as severe floggings were concerned. susan was of a bright brown color, medium size, quick and active intellectually and physically, and although she had suffered much from slavery, as she was not far advanced in years, she might still do something for herself. she left no near kin that she was aware of. josephine fled from miss anna maria warren, who had previously been deranged from the effects of paralysis. josephine regarded this period of her mistress' sickness as her opportunity for planning to get away before her mistress came to her senses. * * * * * sundry arrivals from maryland and virginia. henry fields, charles ringgold, william ringgold, isaac newton and joseph thomas. ["five other cases were attended to by dillwyn parish and j.c. white"--other than this no note was made of them.] henry fields took the benefit of the underground rail road at the age of eighteen. he fled from the neighborhood of port deposit while being "broke in" by a man named washington glasby, who was wicked enough to claim him as his property, and was also about to sell him. this chattel was of a light yellow complexion, hearty-looking and wide awake. charles ringgold took offence at being whipped like a dog, and the prospect of being sold further south; consequently in a high state of mental dread of the peculiar institution, he concluded that freedom was worth suffering for, and although he was as yet under twenty years of age, he determined not to remain in perrymanville, maryland, to wear the chains of slavery for the especial benefit of his slave-holding master (whose name was inadvertently omitted). william ringgold fled from henry wallace, of baltimore. a part of the time william said he "had had it pretty rough, and a part of the time kinder smooth," but never had had matters to his satisfaction. just before deciding to make an adventure on the underground rail road his owner had been talking of selling him. under the apprehension that this threat would prove no joke, henry began to study what he had better do to be saved from the jaws of hungry negro traders. it was not long before he came to the conclusion that he had best strike out upon a venture in a northern direction, and do the best he could to get as far away as possible from the impending danger threatened by mr. wallace. after a long and weary travel on foot by night, he found himself at columbia, where friends of the underground rail road assisted him on to philadelphia. here his necessary wants were met, and directions given him how to reach the land of refuge, where he would be out of the way of all slave-holders and slave-traders. six of his brothers had been sold; his mother was still in bondage in baltimore. isaac newton hailed from richmond, virginia. he professed to be only thirty years of age, but he seemed to be much older. while he had had an easy time in slavery, he preferred that his master should work for himself, as he felt that it was his bounden duty to look after number one; so he did not hesitate about leaving his situation vacant for any one who might desire it, whether white or black, but made a successful "took out." joseph thomas was doing the work of a so-called master in prince george's county, maryland. for some cause or other the alarm of the auction-block was sounded in his ears, which at first distracted him greatly; upon sober reflection it worked greatly to his advantage. it set him to thinking seriously on the subject of immediate emancipation, and what a miserable hard lot of it he should have through life if he did not "pick up" courage and resolution to get beyond the terror of slave-holders; so under these reflections he found his nerves gathering strength, his fears leaving him, and he was ready to venture on the underground rail road. he came through without any serious difficulty. he left his father and mother, shadrach and lucinda thomas. * * * * * arrival from seaford, . robert bell and two others. robert came from seaford, where he had served under charles wright, a farmer, of considerable means, and the owner of a number of slaves, over whom he was accustomed to rule with much rigor. although robert's master had a wife and five children, the love which robert bore them was too weak to hold him; and well adapted as the system of slavery might be to render him happy in the service of young and old masters, it was insufficient for him. robert found no rest under mr. wright; no privileges, scantily clad, poor food, and a heavy yoke, was the policy of this "superior." robert testified, that for the last five years, matters had been growing worse and worse; that times had never been so bad before. of nights, under the new regime, the slaves were locked up and not allowed to go anywhere; flogging, selling, etc., were of every-day occurrence throughout the neighborhood. finally, robert became sick of such treatment, and he found that the spirit of canada and freedom was uppermost in his heart. slavery grew blacker and blacker, until he resolved to "pull up stakes" upon a venture. the motion was right, and succeeded. two other passengers were at the station at the same time, but they had to be forwarded without being otherwise noticed on the book. * * * * * arrival from tapps' neck, md., . lewis wilson, john waters, alfred edwards and william quinn. lewis' grey hairs signified that he had been for many years plodding under the yoke. he was about fifty years of age, well set, not tall, but he had about him the marks of a substantial laborer. he had been brought up on a farm under h. lynch, whom lewis described as "a mean man when drunk, and very severe on his slaves." the number that he ruled over as his property, was about twenty. said lewis, about two years ago, he shot a free man, and the man died about two hours afterwards; for this offence he was not even imprisoned. lynch also tried to cut the throat of john waters, and succeeded in making a frightful gash on his left shoulder (mark shown), which mark he will carry with him to the grave; for this he was not even sued. lewis left five children in bondage, horace, john, georgiana, louisa and louis, jr., owned by bazil and john benson. john was forty years of age, dark, medium size, and another of lynch's "articles." he left his wife anna, but no children; it was hard to leave her, but he felt that it would be still harder to live and die under the usage that he had experienced on lynch's farm. alfred was twenty-two years of age; he was of a full dark color, and quite smart. he fled from john bryant, a farmer. whether he deserved it or not, alfred gave him a bad character, at least, with regard to the treatment of his slaves. he left his father and mother, six brothers and sisters. traveling under doubts and fears with the thought of leaving a large family of his nearest and dearest friends, was far from being a pleasant undertaking with alfred, yet he bore up under the trial and arrived in peace. "william is twenty-two, black, tall, intelligent, and active," are the words of the record. * * * * * arrival from maryland, . ann maria jackson and her seven children--mary ann, william henry, frances sabrina, wilhelmina, john edwin, ebenezer thomas, and william albert. the coming of the above named was duly announced by thomas garrett: [illustration: ] wilmington, th mo., st, . dear friends--mckim and still:--i write to inform you that on the th of this month, we passed on four able bodied men to pennsylvania, and they were followed last night by a woman and her six children, from three or four years of age, up to sixteen years, i believe the whole belonged to the same estate, and they were to have been sold at public sale, i was informed yesterday, but preferred seeking their own master; we had some trouble in getting those last safe along, as they could not travel far on foot, and could not safely cross any of the bridges on the canal, either on foot or in carriage. a man left here two days since, with carriage, to meet them this side of the canal, but owing to spies they did not reach him till o'clock last night; this morning he returned, having seen them about one or two o'clock this morning in a second carriage, on the border of chester county, where i think they are all safe, if they can be kept from philadelphia. if you see them they can tell their own tales, as i have seen one of them. may he, who feeds the ravens, care for them. yours, thos. garrett. the fire of freedom obviously burned with no ordinary fervor in the breast of this slave mother, or she never would have ventured with the burden of seven children, to escape from the hell of slavery. ann maria was about forty years of age, good-looking, pleasant countenance, and of a chestnut color, height medium, and intellect above the average. her bearing was humble, as might have been expected, from the fact that she emerged from the lowest depths of delaware slavery. during the fall prior to her escape, she lost her husband under most trying circumstances: he died in the poor-house, a raving maniac. two of his children had been taken from their mother by her owner, as was usual with slave-holders, which preyed so severely on the poor father's mind that it drove him into a state of hopeless insanity. he was a "free man" in the eye of delaware laws, yet he was not allowed to exercise the least authority over his children. prior to the time that the two children were taken from their mother, she had been allowed to live with her husband and children, independently of her master, by supporting herself and them with the white-wash brush, wash-tub, etc. for this privilege the mother doubtless worked with double energy, and the master, in all probability, was largely the gainer, as the children were no expense to him in their infancy; but when they began to be old enough to hire out, or bring high prices in the market, he snatched away two of the finest articles, and the powerless father was immediately rendered a fit subject for the mad-house; but the brave hearted mother looked up to god, resolved to wait patiently until in a good providence the way might open to escape with her remaining children to canada. year in and year out she had suffered to provide food and raiment for her little ones. many times in going out to do days' work she would be compelled to leave her children, not knowing whether during her absence they would fall victims to fire, or be carried off by the master. but she possessed a well tried faith, which in her flight kept her from despondency. under her former lot she scarcely murmured, but declared that she had never been at ease in slavery a day after the birth of her first-born. the desire to go to some part of the world where she could have the control and comfort of her children, had always been a prevailing idea with her. "it almost broke my heart," she said, "when he came and took my children away as soon as they were big enough to hand me a drink of water. my husband was always very kind to me, and i had often wanted him to run away with me and the children, but i could not get him in the notion; he did not feel that he could, and so he stayed, and died broken-hearted, crazy. i was owned by a man named joseph brown; he owned property in milford, and he had a place in vicksburg, and some of his time he spends there, and some of the time he lives in milford. this fall he said he was going to take four of my oldest children and two other servants to vicksburg. i just happened to hear of this news in time. my master was wanting to keep me in the dark about taking them, for fear that something might happen. my master is very sly; he is a tall, slim man, with a smooth face, bald head, light hair, long and sharp nose, swears very hard, and drinks. he is a widower, and is rich." on the road the poor mother, with her travel-worn children became desperately alarmed, fearing that they were betrayed. but god had provided better things for her; her strength and hope were soon fully restored, and she was lucky enough to fall into the right hands. it was a special pleasure to aid such a mother. her arrival in canada was announced by rev. h. wilson as follows: niagara city, nov. th, . dear bro. still:--i am happy to inform you that mrs. jackson and her interesting family of seven children arrived safe and in good health and spirits at my house in st. catharines, on saturday evening last. with sincere pleasure i provided for them comfort quarters till this morning, when they left for toronto. i got them conveyed there at half fare, and gave them letters of introduction to thomas henning, esq., and mrs. dr. willis, trusting that they will be better cared for in toronto than they could be at st. catharines. we have so many coming to us we think it best for some of them to pass on to other places. my wife gave them all a good supply of clothing before they left us. james henry, an older son is, i think, not far from st. catharine, but has not as yet reunited with the family. faithfully and truly yours, hiram wilson. * * * * * sundry arrivals from virginia, maryland and delaware. lewis lee, enoch davis, john brown, thomas edward dixon, and william oliver. slavery brought about many radical changes, some in one way and some in another. lewis lee was entirely too white for practical purposes. they tried to get him to content himself under the yoke, but he could not see the point. a man by the name of william watkins, living near fairfax, virginia, claimed lewis, having come by his title through marriage. title or no title, lewis thought that he would not serve him for nothing, and that he had been hoodwinked already a great while longer than he should have allowed himself to be. watkins had managed to keep him in the dark and doing hard work on the no-pay system up to the age of twenty-five. in lewis' opinion, it was now time to "strike out on his own hook;" he took his last look of watkins (he was a tall, slim fellow, a farmer, and a hard drinker), and made the first step in the direction of the north. he was sure that he was about as white as anybody else, and that he had as good a right to pass for white as the white folks, so he decided to do so with a high head and a fearless front. instead of skulking in the woods, in thickets and swamps, under cover of the darkness, he would boldly approach a hotel and call for accommodations, as any other southern gentleman. he had a little money, and he soon discovered that his color was perfectly orthodox. he said that he was "treated first-rate in washington and baltimore;" he could recommend both of these cities. but destitute of education, and coming among strangers, he was conscious that the shreds of slavery were still to be seen upon him. he had, moreover, no intention of disowning his origin when once he could feel safe in assuming his true status. so as he was in need of friends and material aid, he sought out the vigilance committee, and on close examination they had every reason to believe his story throughout, and gave him the usual benefit. enoch davis came from within five miles of baltimore, having been held by one james armstrong, "an old grey-headed man," and a farmer, living on huxtown road. judged from davis' stand-point, the old master could never be recommended, unless some one wanted a very hard place and a severe master. upon inquiry, it was ascertained that enoch was moved to leave on account of the "riot," (john brown's harper's ferry raid), which he feared would result in the sale of a good many slaves, himself among the number; he, therefore, "laid down the shovel and the hoe," and quit the place. john brown (this was an adopted name, the original one not being preserved), left to get rid of his connection with thomas stevens, a grocer, living in baltimore. john, however, did not live in the city with said stevens, but on the farm near frederick's mills, montgomery county, maryland. this place was known by the name of "white hall farm;" and was under the supervision of james edward stevens, a son of the above-named stevens. john's reasons for leaving were not noted on the book, but his eagerness to reach canada spoke louder than words, signifying that the greater the distance that separated him from the old "white hall farm" the better. thomas edward dixon arrived from near the trap, in delaware. he was only about eighteen years of age, but as tall as a man of ordinary height;--dark, with a pleasant countenance. he reported that he had had trouble with a man known by the name of thomas w.m. mccracken, who had treated him "bad;" as thomas thought that such trouble and bad treatment might be of frequent occurrence, he concluded that he had better go away and let mccracken get somebody else to fill his place, if he did not choose to fill it himself. so off thomas started, and as if by instinct, he came direct to the committee. he passed a good examination and was aided. william oliver, a dark, well-made, young man with the best of country manners, fled from mrs. marshall, a lady living in prince george's county, maryland. william had recently been in the habit of hiring his time at the rate of ten dollars per month, and find himself everything. the privilege of living in georgetown had been vouchsafed him, and he preferred this locality to his country situation. upon the whole he said he had been treated pretty well. he was, nevertheless, afraid that times were growing "very critical," and as he had a pretty good chance, he thought he had better make use of it, and his arrangements were wisely made. he had reached his twenty-sixth year, and was apparently well settled. he left one child, jane oliver, owned by mrs. marshall. * * * * * arrival from different points. jacob brown, james harris, benjamin piney, john smith, andrew jackson, william hughes, wesley williams, rosanna johnson, john smallwood, and henry townsend. jacob brown was eating the bread of slavery in north carolina. a name-sake of his by the name of lewis brown, living in washington, according to the slave code of that city had jacob in fetters, and was exercising about the same control over him that he exercised over cattle and horses. while this might have been a pleasure for the master, it was painful for the slave. the usage which jacob had ordinarily received made him anything but contented. at the age of twenty, he resolved that he would run away if it cost him his life. this purpose was made known to a captain, who was in the habit of bringing passengers from the south to philadelphia. with an unwavering faith he took his appointed place in a private part of the vessel, and as fast as wind and tide would bring the boat he was wafted on his way canada-ward. jacob was a dark man, and about full size, with hope large. james harris escaped from delaware. a white woman, catharine odine by name, living near middletown, claimed james as her man; but james did not care to work for her on the unrequited labor system. he resolved to take the first train on the underground rail road that might pass that way. it was not a great while ere he was accommodated, and was brought safely to philadelphia. the regular examination was made and he passed creditably. he was described in the book as a man of yellow complexion, good-looking, and intelligent. after due assistance, he was regularly forwarded on to canada. this was in the month of november, . afterwards nothing more was heard of him, until the receipt of the following letter from prof. l.d. mansfield, showing that he had been reunited to his wife, under amusing, as well as touching circumstances: auburn, dec. th, ' . dear bro. still:--a very pleasant circumstance has brought you to mind, and i am always happy to be reminded of you, and of the very agreeable, though brief acquaintance which we made at philadelphia two years since. last thursday evening, while at my weekly prayer meeting, our exercises were interrupted by the appearance of bro. loguen, of syracuse, who had come on with mrs. harris in search of her husband, whom he had sent to my care three weeks before. i told bro. l. that no such man had been at my house, and i knew nothing of him. but i dismissed the meeting, and went with him immediately to the african church, where the colored brethren were holding a meeting. bro. l. looked through the door, and the first person whom he saw was harris. he was called out, when loguen said, in a rather reproving and excited tone, "what are you doing here; didn't i tell you to be off to canada? don't you know they are after you? come get your hat, and come with us, we'll take care of you." the poor fellow was by this time thoroughly frightened, and really thought he had been pursued. we conducted him nearly a mile, to the hotel where his wife was waiting for him, leaving him still under the impression that he was pursued and that we were conducting him to a place of safety, or were going to box him up to send him to canada. bro. l. opened the door of the parlor, and introduced him; but he was so frightened that he did not know his wife at first, until she called him james, when they had a very joyful meeting. she is now a servant in my family, and he has work, and doing well, and boards with her. we shall do all we can for them, and teach them to read and write, and endeavor to place them in a condition to take care of themselves. loguen had a fine meeting in my tabernacle last night, and made a good collection for the cause of the fugitives. i should be happy to hear from you and your kind family, to whom remember me very cordially. believe me ever truly yours, l.d. mansfield. mr. and mrs. harris wish to be gratefully remembered to you and yours. benjamin piney reported that he came from baltimore county, maryland, where he had been held in subjection to mary hawkins. he alleged that he had very serious cause for grievance; that she had ill-treated him for a long time, and had of late, threatened to sell him to georgia. his brothers and sisters had all been sold, but he meant not to be if he could help himself. the sufferings that he had been called upon to endure had opened his eyes, and he stood still to wait for the underground rail road car, as he anxiously wished to travel north, with all possible speed. he waited but a little while, ere he was on the road, under difficulties it is true, but he arrived safely and was joyfully received. he imagined his mistress in a fit of perplexity, such as he might enjoy, could he peep at her from canada, or some safe place. he however did not wish her any evil, but he was very decided that he did not want any more to do with her. benjamin was twenty years of age, dark complexion, size ordinary, mental capacity, good considering opportunities. john smith was a yellow boy, nineteen years of age, stout build, with, marked intelligence. he held dr. abraham street responsible for treating him as a slave. the doctor lived at marshall district, harford county, maryland. john frankly confessed, to the credit of the doctor, that he got "a plenty to eat, drink and wear," yet he declared that he was not willing to remain a slave, he had higher aims; he wanted to be above that condition. "i left," said he, "because i wanted to see the country. if he had kept me in a hogshead of sugar, i wouldn't stayed," said the bright-minded slave youth. "they told me anything--told me to obey my master, but i didn't mind that. i am going off to see the scriptures," said john. andrew jackson "took out" from near cecil, delaware, where he had been owned by a man calling himself thomas palmer, who owned seven or eight others. his manners were by no means agreeable to andrew; he was quite too "blustery," and was dangerous when in one of his fits. although andrew was but twenty-three years of age, he thought that palmer had already had much more of his valuable services than he was entitled to, and he determined, that if he (the master), ever attempted to capture him, he would make him remember him the longest day he lived. william hughes was an eastern shore "piece of property" belonging to daniel cox. william had seen much of the dark doings of slavery, and his mind had been thoroughly set against the system. true, he had been but twenty-two years under the heel of his master, but that was sufficient. wesley williams, on his arrival from warrick, maryland, testified that he had been in the hands of a man known by the name of jack jones, from whom he had received almost daily floggings and scanty food. jones was his so-called owner. these continual scourgings stirred the spirit of freedom in wesley to that degree, that he was compelled to escape for his life. he left his mother (a free woman), and one sister in slavery. rosanna johnson, alias catharine beige. the spot that rosanna looked upon with most dread and where she had suffered as a slave, under a man called doctor street, was near the rock of deer creek, in harford county, maryland. in the darkness in which slavery ordinarily kept the fettered and "free niggers," it was a considerable length of time ere rosanna saw how barbarously she and her race were being wronged and ground down--driven to do unrequited labor--deprived of an education, obliged to receive the cuffs, kicks, and curses of old or young, who might happen to claim a title to them. but when she did see her true condition, she was not content until she found herself on the underground rail road. rosanna was about thirty years of age, of a dark color, medium stature, and intelligent. she left two brothers and her father behind. the committee forwarded her on north. from albany rose wrote back to inquire after particular friends, and to thank those who had aided her--as follows: albany, jan. the , . mrs. william still:--i sit don to rite you a fue lines in saying hav you herd of john smith or bengernin pina i have cent letters to them but i hav know word from them john smith was oned by doker abe street bengermin oned by mary hawkings i wish to kno if you kno am if you will let me know as swon as you get this. my lov to mis still i am much oblige for those articales. my love to mrs george and verry thankful to her rosean johnson oned by docter street when you cend the letter rite it cend it gran st in the car of andrue conningham rite swon dela it not write my name cathrin brice. let me know swon as you can. smallwood reported that he came from ellicott's mills, maryland; that he had been restrained of his liberty all his life, by one samuel simons, who had treated him "bad" all the time that he had held him in his possession. he had, therefore, persuaded himself that ellicott's mills was a poor neighborhood for a colored man who wanted his freedom, and that all maryland was no better. he had heard but little of canada, but what he had heard pleased him. as to how he should get there, he knew not; a whisper pointed him to the underground rail road, and told him to be fearless and take the first train. sam considered the matter carefully and concluded that that would be the only way to get off. unfortunately his mother and two brothers were left behind in the hands of simons. henry townsend ran away from caroline county, near purnell p.o., maryland. the name of his reputed owner, according to his statement, was e. townsend, a farmer. against him henry harbored a very heavy grudge, and will long hold said townsend in remembrance for the injury he had received at his hands on his naked back. the back was shown, and a most frightful picture was presented; it had been thoroughly cut in all directions. henry was about twenty-one years of age, dark chesnut color, build substantial. he left behind two brothers and one sister in slavery. the committee comforted him with the usual hospitality. these passengers arrived the latter part of and the beginning of . * * * * * sundry arrivals from maryland, . william chion and his wife, emma, evan graff, and four others. william and emma came from dorchester county, maryland. the cords of slavery had been tightly drawn around them. william was about twenty-seven years of age, of a dark hue, and of a courageous bearing. on the score of treatment he spake thus: "i have been treated as bad as a man could be." emma, his wife, had seen about the same number of years that he had, and her lot had been similar to his. emma said, "my master never give me the second dress, never attempted such a thing." the master was called bushong blake. william was owned by a mr. tubman. after leaving slavery, william changed his last name to williams, and if he and his wife are now living, they are known only by their adopted names. evan graff was of square solid build, dark, and smart, age twenty-five. he fled in company with four others (whose narratives were not written), from frederick county, maryland. henry heart, residing at sam's creek, exercised authority over evan. with this master, said evan, i have known hard times. i have been treated as bad as a man could be. i have been married three years and have not received five dollars in money since, towards supporting my family. "how have you lived then?" inquired one who sympathized. "my wife has kept house for a colored gentleman, and got her board for her services," said evan. "in what other particulars have you been treated hard?" was next asked. "sometimes i hadn't half clothes enough to keep me warm, through all weathers," answered evan. "what put it into your head to leave?" was the third query. "well, sir," said evan, "i thought to try and do better." how did you make up your mind to leave your wife and child in slavery? "well, sir, i was very loth to leave my wife and child, but i just thought in this way: i had a brother who was entitled to his freedom, but he fell out with one of his young masters, and was just taken up and sold south, and i thought i might be taken off too, so i thought i would stand as good a chance in leaving, as if i stayed." had you a mother and father, brothers and sisters? inquired a member of the committee. "yes, sir," was the prompt reply. evan then gave their names thus: "my father's name was sam graff, my mother's name was becky." ruth ann dorsey, isaac hanson (and two brothers of evan), grafton and allen accompanied him in his flight. james, harriet, charles albert, thomas ephraim, adeline matilda, john israel and daniel buchanan (brothers and sisters of evan), were all left in slavery. polly pool was their mistress, rather had owned them up to within a short time before the flight of evan and his comrades, but she had lately been unfortunate in business, which resulted in a thorough scattering of the entire family. some fell into the hands of the mistress' children, and some into the hands of the grandchildren. in evan's opinion she was a tolerable good mistress; his opportunities of judging, however, had not been very favorable, as he had not been in her hands a great while. luke goines came from harper's ferry, where he was owned by mrs. carroll. luke first made his way to baltimore and afterwards to philadelphia. henson kelly was owned by reason hastell, of baltimore. slavery did not agree with him, and he left to better his condition. stafford smith fled from westmoreland county, virginia, where he was owned by harriet parker, a single woman, advanced in years, and the owner of many slaves "as a mistress, she was very hard. i have been hired to first one and then another, bad man all along. my mistress was a methodist, but she seemed to know nothing about goodness. she was not in the habit of allowing the slaves any chance at all." * * * * * arrival from virginia, . jenny buchanan. a kind master; jenny chastised one of his sons for an insult, and as a punishment she was sold--seized for debt--sold a second time. jenny was about forty-five years of age, a dark mulatto, stature medium, manners modest and graceful; she had served only in high life; thus she had acquired a great deal of information. she stated that she was born a slave, under john bower, of rockbridge, virginia, and that he was the owner of a large plantation, with a great number of slaves. he was considered to be a good man to his servants, and was generally beloved by them. suddenly, however, he was taken ill with paralysis, which confined him to his bed. during this illness one of the sons, a young gentleman, offered an insult to jenny, for which she felt justified in administering to him, a severe chastisement. for this grave offence she was condemned to be sold to a trader by the name of william watts, who owned a place in mississippi. the conditions of sale were that she was to be taken out of the state and never to be allowed to return. it so happened, however, before she was removed that watts, the trader, failed in order to cheat his creditors it was supposed. governor mcdowell, of virginia, was one of those to whom he was largely indebted for a number of slaves which he, the governor, had placed in his hands for disposal, some time before the trader took the benefit. therefore, as the governor was anxious to recover his loss as much as possible, he seized on jenny. it was through this interference that the condition relative to her being sent out of the state was broken. "the governor," said jenny, "was a very fine gentleman, as good as i could expect of virginia. he allowed his slaves to raise fowl and hogs, with many privileges of one kind and another; besides he kept them all together; but he took sick and died. there was a great change shortly after that. the slaves were soon scattered like the wind. the governor had nine sons and daughters. after his death mrs. mcdowell, alias mrs. sally thomas, took possession, and employed an overseer, by the name of henry morgan. he was a very good man in his looks, but a very rascally man; would get drunk, and sell her property to get whisky. mrs. mcdowell would let him do just as he pleased. for the slightest complaint the overseer might see fit to make against any of the slaves, she would tell him to sell them"--"sell, mr. morgan." "he would treat them worse than he would any dog; would beat them over the head with great hickory sticks, the same as he would beat an ox. he would pasture cows and horses on the plantation, and keep the money. we slaves all knew it, and we told her; but our words would not go in court against a white man, and until she was told by mr. white, and her cousin, dr. taylor, and mr. barclay, she would not believe how shamefully this overseer was cheating her. but at last she was convinced, and discharged him, and hired another by the name of john moore. the new one, if anything, was worse than the old one, for he could do the most unblushing acts of cruelty with pleasure. he was a demon." finally the estate had to be settled, and the property divided. at this time it was in the hands of the oldest daughter, mistress sally, who had been married to frank thomas, the governor of maryland. but the governor had discarded her for some reason or other, and according to his published account of her it might seem that he had good reason for doing so. it was understood that he gave her a divorce, so she was considered single for life. it was also understood that she was to buy in the homestead at a moderate price, with as many slaves as she might desire. said jenny, "i was sold at this settlement sale, and bought in by the 'grass widow' for four hundred dollars." the place and a number of slaves were bought in on terms equally as low. after this the widow became smitten with a reverend gentleman, by the name of john miller, who had formerly lived north; he had been a popular preacher. after a courtship, which did not last very long, they were married. this took place three years ago, prior to the writing of this narrative. after the marriage, rev. mr. miller took up his abode on the old homestead, and entered upon his duties as a slave-holder in good earnest. "how did you like him?" inquired a member of the committee. "i despised him," was jenny's prompt answer. "why did you despise him?" "because he had such mean ways with him," said jenny. she then went on to remark as follows:--"coming there, taking so much authority over other people's servants. he was so mean that he broke up all the privileges the servants had before he came. he stopped all hands from raising chickens, pigs, etc. he don't like to see them hold up their heads above their shoulders." didn't he preach? she was asked. "yes, but i never heard him preach; i have heard him pray though. on thursday nights, when he would not want the servants to go into town to meeting, he would keep up until it would be too late for them to go. he is now carrying on the farm, and follows butchering. he has not yet sold any of the slaves, but has threatened to sell all hands to the trader." jenny once had a husband, but he went to canada, and that was all she could tell about him, as she had never had a letter or any direct information from him since he left. that she was childless, she regarded as a matter of great satisfaction, considering all the circumstances. * * * * * arrival from baltimore, . william brown, and james henson considering themselves trampled upon by their fellow-men, unitedly resolved to seek a better country. william was pained with the idea that so much of his time had already been used up, as he was then thirty-six years of age. yet he thought that it would do no good to mourn over the past, but do what he intended to do quickly. the master whom he had served, he called, "master lynchum." he was a farmer, and knew full well how to use severity with the slaves; but had never practiced showing favors, or allowing privileges of any kind. true he did not flog, but he resorted to other means of punishment when he desired to make the slaves feel that he was master. william left his mother, harriet brown, three sisters, and one brother,--francis, mary, eliza, and robert. they were all free but eliza. seven weeks william and james were under the painful anxiety of trying to escape, but conscious of the snares and dangers on the road, and desirous of success, they did not feel at liberty to move, save as they saw their way clear. this well-exercised sagacity was strongly marked in the intellectual region of william's head. james henson was a man of rather slender build. from exposure in traveling he took a severe cold and was suffering with sore throat. he and mrs. maria thomas disagreed. she set herself up to be "jim's" mistress and owner. for some cause or other jim was unwilling to fill this station longer. he had been hired out by his mistress, who received one hundred dollars per annum; and, for aught jim knew, she was pretty well pleased with him and the money also. she coolly held eleven others in the same predicament. while jim found no fault with the treatment received at the hands of his mistress, he went so far as to say that "she was a right fine woman," yet, the longer he lived her slave, the more unhappy he became. therefore, he decided that he would try and do better, and accordingly, in company with william he started, success attending their efforts. james left three sisters and one brother, charlotte, susan, ellen and johnson, all slaves. * * * * * arrival from maryland. philip stanton, randolph nichols, and thomas douglass. philip had a master by the name of john smith, whom he was very anxious to get rid of, but hardly knew how. for a long time, philip was annoyed in various ways. being the only slave on the place, there was no rest for him. said smith was a bachelor, and his mother, who kept house for him, was quite aged; "she was worse than the old boy wanted her to be, a more contrary woman never was; she was bad in this way, she was quarrelsome, and then again she would not give you as much to eat as you ought to have, and it was pretty rough; nothing but corn bread and the fattest pork, that was about all. she was a catholic, and was known by the name of mary eliza smith." this was philip's testimony against his master and mistress. working on a farm, driving carriage, etc., had been philip's calling as a slave. his father and mother were free. his father had been emancipated, and afterwards had purchased his wife. one sister, however, was still in slavery. philip had scarcely reached his twenty-second year; he was nevertheless wide-awake and full of courage. randolph was still younger; he had only just reached his twentieth year; was nearly six feet high, athletic, and entertained quite favorable notions of freedom. he was owned by mrs. caroline brang, a widow; he had never lived with her, however. notwithstanding the fact that he had been held in such unpleasant relations, randolph held the opinion, that "she was a tolerable good woman." he had been hired out under isaac howard, a farmer, who was described by randolph as "a rough man to everybody around him; he was the owner of slaves, and a member of the methodist church, in the bargain." as if actuated by an evil spirit continually, he seemed to take delight in "knocking and beating the slaves," and would compel them to "be out in all weathers not fit to be out in." randolph declared that "he had never been allowed a day's schooling in his life. on the contrary, he had often been threatened with sale, and his mind had finally become so affected by this fearful looking-for of evil, that he thought he had better make tracks." he left his mother, louisa, three brothers and three sisters, namely: andrew, mary, charity, margaret, lewis and samuel, all slaves. his desire to escape brought the thought home to his mind with great emphasis, that he was parting with his kinsfolk, to see them perhaps, no more on earth; that however, happily he might be situated in freedom, he would have the painful reflection ever present with him, that those he most loved in this world, were slaves--"knocked and beat about--and made to work out in all weathers." it was this that made many falter and give up their purpose to gain their freedom by flight, but randolph was not one of this class. his young heart loved freedom too well to waver. true to his love of liberty, he left all, followed the north star, and was delivered. thomas, an older companion of philip and randolph, was twenty-five years of age, full black, and looked as if he could appreciate the schoolroom and books, and take care of himself in canada or any other free country. mary howard was the name of the individual that he was compelled to address as "mistress." he said, however, that "she was a very good woman to her servants," and she had a great many. she had sons, but they turned out to be drunkards, and followed no business; at one time, each of them had been set up in business, but as they would not attend to it, of course they failed. money was needed more than ever, through their intemperate course, consequently the mistress was induced to sell her large household, as well as her plantation slaves, to georgia. thomas had seen the most of them take up their sorrowful march for said state, and the only reason that he was not among them, was attributable to the fact, that he had once been owned and thought pretty well of by the brother of his mistress, who interceded in thomas' behalf. this interference had the desired effect, and thomas was not sold. still, his eyes were fairly opened to see his danger and to learn a valuable lesson at the same time; he, therefore, profited by it in escaping the first chance. he left his mother ann williams, and one brother, james douglass, both slaves. * * * * * arrival from fredericksburg, . henry tudle and wife, mary williams. henry affirmed, that for the last twenty years, his freedom had been promised him, and during all these long years, hardly a month had passed, that he had not fixed his hopes upon a definite time, when his bondage would end and his freedom commence. but he had been trusting the word of a slave-holder, who had probably adopted this plan simply with a view of drawing more willing toil out of him than he could have accomplished in any other way. mary complained that she had suffered severely for food, and likewise for privileges. ezra houpt was the name of henry's master, and the name of his mistress was catharine, she was hasty and passionate; slaves were shown no quarter under her. mary was owned by christian thomas. he was said to be not so hard, but his wife was very hard, so much so, that she would rule both master and slaves. her name was mary elizabeth. sundry arrivals from maryland, . sam archer, lewis peck, david edwards, edward casting, joe henry, george and albert white, joseph c. johnson, david snively, and henry dunmore. sam archer was to "become free at thirty-five years of age." he had already served thirty years of this time; five years longer seemed an age to him. the dangers from other sources presented also a frightful aspect. sam had seen too many who had stood exactly in the same relations to slavery and freedom, and not a few were held over their time, or cheated out of their freedom altogether. he stated that his own mother was "kept over her time," simply "that her master might get all her children." two boys and two girls were thus gained, and were slaves for life. these facts tended to increase sam's desire to get away before his time was out; he, therefore, decided to get off via the underground rail road. he grew very tired of bell air, harford county, maryland, and his so-called owner, thomas hayes. he said that hayes had used him "rough," and he was "tired of rough treatment." so when he got his plans arranged, one morning when he was expected to go forth to an unrequited day's labor, he could not be found. doubtless, his excited master thought sam a great thief, to take himself away in the manner that he did, but sam was not concerned on this point; all that concerned him was as to how he could get to canada the safest and the quickest. when he reached the philadelphia station, he felt that the day dawned, his joy was full, despite the fugitive slave law. lewis peck was a man six feet high, and of the darkest hue. he reported that he fled from joseph bryant, a farmer, who lived near patapsco river. bryant was in the habit of riding around to look after the slaves. lewis had become thoroughly disgusted with this manner of superintending. "i got tired of having bryant riding after me, working my life out of me," said lewis. he was also tired of bryant's wife; he said "she was always making mischief, and he didn't like a mischief maker." thus he complained of both master and mistress, seeming not to understand that he "had no rights which they were bound to respect." david edwards broke away from the above named bryant, at the age of twenty-four. his testimony fully corroborated that of his comrade, lewis peck. he was also a man of the darkest shade, tall, intellect good, and wore a pleasant countenance. the ordinary difficulties were experienced, but all were surmounted without serious harm. edward casting and joseph henry were each about seventeen years of age. boys, as they were, with no knowledge of the world, they had wisely resolved not to remain in that condition. edward fled from robert moore, who lived at duck creek. he gave his master the name of being a "bad man," and refused to recommend him for anything. being a likely-looking chattel, he would have doubtless brought seven hundred dollars in the market. joseph henry came from queen ann county, maryland. he was a well-grown lad, and showed traces of having been raised without proper care, or training. for deficiencies in this direction, he charged greenberry parker, his claimant, who he said had treated him "bad." friends had helped these boys along. george and albert white were brothers. they fled from cecil county, maryland. they escaped from william parker. "what kind of a man was william parker?" they were asked. "he was a big, bad man, no goodness in him," quickly replied one of the brothers. their lot in slavery had not been different from that of numbers coming from that section of the state. joseph g. johnson fled from william jones of baltimore. he said that his master kept a grocery store in pratt street, and owned six head of slaves; that he was a "good man, and always treated his servants very well," until about three weeks before he escaped. for some reason unknown to joseph, within the time just alluded to, he had sold all his slaves, with the exception of himself. joseph was far from being at ease, as he hourly felt oppressed with the fear that he was to be sold at an early day. summoning courage he started by the baltimore and wilmington rail road. in this way he reached wilmington where he unfortunately fell into the hands of his master's son, who resided in wilmington, and happened to discover joseph in the cars, (most likely he had been telegraphed to) and had him arrested and returned. but joseph did not allow a week to pass over him before he was ready to make even a still more daring adventure for his liberty. this time he concluded to try the water; by great economy he had saved up twenty-five dollars. this was a great deal to him, but he resolved to give it all willingly to any man who would secrete him, or procure him a passage to philadelphia. the right man was soon found, and joseph was off again. good luck attended him, and he reached the committee safely. he was in his twenty-third year, a man of medium size, copper-colored, and of a prepossessing countenance. david snively ran away from frederick, maryland. he was moved to escape solely by the love of freedom. his services had been required in the blacksmith shop, and on the farm under charles preston, who claimed to own him. he had been sold once and brought nine hundred dollars; he resolved that a similar fate should never overtake him, unless his owner moved very suddenly in that direction. while joseph was working daily in the blacksmith shop, he was planning how to make good his escape. no way was open but the old route, which led "hard by" many dangers, and was only accessible now and then through regions where friends were few and far between. howbeit he possessed the faith requisite, and was victorious. joseph was twenty-six years of age, of unmixed blood, ordinary size, and had a commendable share of courage and intellect. he could recommend no good traits as his master's. henry dunmore had served as a slave up to the age of thirty-five, and was then on the eve of being sold. as he had endured severe hardship under his old master john maldon he was unwilling to try another. while he gave maldon credit for being a member of the methodist church, he charged him with treating himself in a most unchristian-like manner. he testified that maldon did not allow him half enough to eat; and once he kept him out in the cold until his toes were frozen off. consequently it was not in the heart of henry to give his master any other than a bad name. he lived about sixteen miles from elkton, near charleston, maryland. he was of a dark chestnut color, well-made, and active. * * * * * crossing the bay in a batteau. sharp contest with pursuers on water. fugitives victorious. thomas sipple, and his wife, mary ann, henry burkett, and elizabeth, his wife, john purnell, and hale burton. this party were slaves, living near kunkletown, in worcester county, maryland, and had become restive in their fetters. although they did not know a letter of the alphabet, they were fully persuaded that they were entitled to their freedom. in considering what way would be safest for them to adopt, they concluded that the water would be less dangerous than any other route. as the matter of freedom had been in their minds for a long time, they had frequently counted the cost, and had been laying by trifling sums of money which had fallen perchance into their hands. among them all they had about thirty dollars. as they could not go by water without a boat, one of their number purchased an old batteau for the small sum of six dollars. the delaware bay lay between them and the jersey shore, which they desired to reach. they did not calculate, however, that before leaving the delaware shore they would have to contend with the enemy. that in crossing, they would lose sight of the land they well understood. they managed to find out the direction of the shore, and about the length of time that it might take them to reach it. undaunted by the perils before them the party repaired to the bay, and at ten o'clock, p.m. embarked direct for the other shore. [illustration: ] near kate's hammock, on the delaware shore, they were attacked by five white men in a small boat. one of them seized the chain of the fugitives' boat, and peremptorily claimed it. "this is not your boat, we bought this boat and paid for it," spake one of the brave fugitives. "i am an officer, and must have it," said the white man, holding on to the chain. being armed, the white men threatened to shoot. manfully did the black men stand up for their rights, and declare that they did not mean to give up their boat alive. the parties speedily came to blows. one of the white men dealt a heavy blow with his oar upon the head of one of the black men, which knocked him down, and broke the oar at the same time. the blow was immediately returned by thomas sipple, and one of the white men was laid flat on the bottom of the boat. the white men were instantly seized with a panic, and retreated; after getting some yards off they snapped their guns at the fugitives several times, and one load of small shot was fired into them. john received two shot in the forehead, but was not dangerously hurt. george received some in the arms, hale burton got one about his temple, and thomas got a few in one of his arms; but the shot being light, none of the fugitives were seriously damaged. some of the shot will remain in them as long as life lasts. the conflict lasted for several minutes, but the victorious bondmen were only made all the more courageous by seeing the foe retreat. they rowed with a greater will than ever, and landed on a small island. where they were, or what to do they could not tell. one whole night they passed in gloom on this sad spot. their hearts were greatly cast down; the next morning they set out on foot to see what they could see. the young women were very sick, and the men were tried to the last extremity; however, after walking about one mile, they came across the captain of an oyster boat. they perceived that he spoke in a friendly way, and they at once asked directions with regard to philadelphia. he gave them the desired information, and even offered to bring them to the city if they would pay him for his services. they had about twenty-five dollars in all. this they willingly gave him, and he brought them according to agreement. when they found the captain they were not far from cape may light-house. taking into account the fact that it was night when they started, that their little boat was weak, combined with their lack of knowledge in relation to the imminent danger surrounding them, any intelligent man would have been justified in predicting for them a watery grave, long before the bay was half crossed. but they crossed safely. they greatly needed food, clothing, rest, and money, which they freely received, and were afterwards forwarded to john w. jones, underground rail road agent, at elmira. the subjoined letter giving an account of their arrival was duly received: elmira, june th, . friend wm. still:--all six came safe to this place. the two men came last night, about twelve o'clock; the man and woman stopped at the depot, and went east on the next train, about eighteen miles, and did not get back till to-night, so that the two men went this morning, and the four went this evening. o, old master don't cry for me, for i am going to canada where colored men are free. p.s. what is the news in the city? will you tell me how many you have sent over to canada? i would like to know. they all send their love to you. i have nothing new to tell you. we are all in good health. i see there is a law passed in maryland not to set any slaves free. they had better get the consent of the underground rail road before they passed such a thing. good night from your friend, john w. jones. * * * * * arrival from dorchester co., . harriet tubman's last "trip" to maryland. stephen ennets and wife, maria, with three children, whose names were as follows: harriet, aged six years; amanda, four years, and a babe (in the arms of its mother), three months old. the following letter from thomas garrett throws light upon this arrival: wilmington, th mo., st, . respected friend:--william still:--i write to let thee know that harriet tubman is again in these parts. she arrived last evening from one of her trips of mercy to god's poor, bringing two men with her as far as new castle. i agreed to pay a man last evening, to pilot them on their way to chester county; the wife of one of the men, with two or three children, was left some thirty miles below, and i gave harriet ten dollars, to hire a man with carriage, to take them to chester county. she said a man had offered for that sum, to bring them on. i shall be very uneasy about them, till i hear they are safe. there is now much more risk on the road, till they arrive here, than there has been for several months past, as we find that some poor, worthless wretches are constantly on the look out on two roads, that they cannot well avoid more especially with carriage, yet, as it is harriet who seems to have had a special angel to guard her on her journey of mercy, i have hope. thy friend, thomas garrett. n.b. we hope all will be in chester county to-morrow. these slaves from maryland, were the last that harriet tubman piloted out of the prison-house of bondage, and these "came through great tribulation." stephen, the husband, had been a slave of john kaiger, who would not allow him to live with his wife (if there was such a thing as a slave's owning a wife.) she lived eight miles distant, hired her time, maintained herself, and took care of her children (until they became of service to their owner), and paid ten dollars a year for her hire. she was owned by algier pearcy. both mother and father desired to deliver their children from his grasp. they had too much intelligence to bear the heavy burdens thus imposed without feeling the pressure a grievous one. harriet tubman being well acquainted in their neighborhood, and knowing of their situation, and having confidence that they would prove true, as passengers on the underground rail road, engaged to pilot them within reach of wilmington, at least to thomas garrett's. thus the father and mother, with their children and a young man named john, found aid and comfort on their way, with harriet for their "moses." a poor woman escaping from baltimore in a delicate state, happened to meet harriet's party at the station, and was forwarded on with them. they were cheered with clothing, food, and material aid, and sped on to canada. notes taken at that time were very brief; it was evidently deemed prudent in those days, not to keep as full reports as had been the wont of the secretary, prior to . the capture of john brown's papers and letters, with names and plans in full, admonished us that such papers and correspondence as had been preserved concerning the underground rail road, might perchance be captured by a pro-slavery mob. for a year or more after the harper's ferry battle, as many will remember, the mob spirit of the times was very violent in all the principal northern cities, as well as southern ("to save the union.") even in boston, abolition meetings were fiercely assailed by the mob. during this period, the writer omitted some of the most important particulars in the escapes and narratives of fugitives. books and papers were sent away for a long time, and during this time the records were kept simply on loose slips of paper. * * * * * arrival from maryland, . jerry mills, and wife, diana, son, cornelius, and two daughters, margaret, and susan. the father of this family was sixty-five years of age, and his working days were apparently well nigh completed. the mother was fifty-seven years of age; son twenty-seven; daughters seventeen and fifteen years of age. the old man was smart for his years, but bore evidence that much hard labor had been wrung out of him by slavery. diana said that she had been the mother of twelve children; five had escaped to canada, three were in their graves, and three accompanied her; one was left in maryland. they had seen hard times, according to the testimony of the old man and his companion, especially under david snively, who, however, had been "removed by the lord" a number of years prior to their escape; but the change proved no advantage to them, as they found slavery no better under their mistress, the widow, than under their master. mistress snively was said to be close and stingy, and always unfriendly to the slave. "she never thought you were doing enough." for her hardness of heart they were sure she would repent some time, but not while she could hold slaves. the belief was pretty generally entertained with the slaves that the slaveholder would have to answer for his evil doings in another world. * * * * * twelve months in the woods, . henry cotton. as a slave, subjected to the whims and passions of his master, henry made up his mind that he could not stand it longer. the man who mastered it over him was called nathaniel dixon, and lived in somerset co., near newtown. this dixon was not content with his right to flog and abuse henry as he saw fit, but he threatened to sell him, as he would sell a hog. at this time henry was about twenty-four years of age, but a man of more substantial parts physically was rarely to be seen. courage was one of his prominent traits. this threat only served to arouse him completely. he had no friends save such as were in the same condition with himself, nevertheless he determined not to be sold. how he should escape this fate did not at first present itself. every thing looked very gloomy; slavery he considered as death to him; and since his master had threatened him, he looked upon him as his greatest enemy, and rather than continue a slave he preferred living in the swamps with wild animals. just one year prior to the time that he made his way north, determined not to be a slave any longer, he fled to a swamp and made his way to the most secluded spot that he could find,--to places that were almost impenetrable so dense were the trees and undergrowth. this was all the better for henry, he wanted to get safety; he did not wish company. he made known his plans to a dear brother, who engaged to furnish him occasionally with food. henry passed twelve months in this way, beholding no human soul save his brother. his brother faithfully took him food from time to time. the winter weather of was very hard, but it was not so hard to bear as his master nathaniel dixon. the will of henry's old master entitled him to his freedom, but the heirs had rendered said will null and void; this act in addition to the talk of selling had its effect in driving him to the woods. for a time he hid in the hollow of a tree, which went very hard with him, yet he was willing to suffer anything rather than go back to his so-called master. he managed finally to make good his escape and came to the committee for aid and sympathy, which he received. * * * * * arrival from maryland. william pierce. but few passengers expressed themselves in stronger terms in regard to their so-called masters, than william pierce, from long green. "i fled," said he, "from john hickol, a farmer, about fifty years old, grey-headed and drinks whiskey very hard--was always a big devil--ill-grained. he owned fifteen head; he owns three of my brothers. he has a wife, a big devil, red head; her servants, she wouldn't feed 'em none, except on corn bread; she would fight and swear too, when she got ready. she and her husband would quarrel too. a slave man, a deceitful fellow, who had been put up to watch on one occasion, when the rest of the slaves had helped themselves to a chicken, and cooked and ate it about midnight, though he was allowed to share a portion of the feast, was ready enough to betray them by times next morning. this made master and mistress 'cuss' all hands at a great rate, and master beat all hands except the one that told. i was caned so badly that it laid me up for several weeks. i am a little lame yet from the beating." such was william's story. he was twenty-three years of age, of a light brown color, well-made. judging from his expressions and apparent feelings against his master and mistress, he would be willing to endure many years of suffering in canada snows, before he would apply to them for care and protection. * * * * * a slave catcher caught in his own trap. george f. alberti personated by a member of the vigilance committee--a lady frightened by a placard. one afternoon, the quiet of the anti-slavery office was suddenly agitated by the contents of a letter, privately placed in the hands of j. miller mckim by one of the clerks of the philadelphia ledger office. said letter it would seem, had been dropped into the box of the ledger office, instead of the u.s. box (one of which, was also in the ledger office), through a mistake, and seeing that it bore the name of a well-known slave-catcher, alberti, the clerk had a great desire to know its import. whether it was or was not sealed, the writer cannot say, it certainly was not sealed when it reached the anti-slavery office. it stated that a lady from maryland was then in philadelphia, stopping at a boarding-house on arch street, and that she was very desirous of seeing the above-mentioned alberti, with a view of obtaining his services to help catch an underground rail road sojourner, whom she claimed as her property. that she wrote the letter could not be proved, but that it was sent by her consent, there was no doubt. in order to save the poor fellow from his impending doom, it seemed that nothing would avail but a bold strategical movement. mr. mckim proposed to find some one who would be willing to answer for alberti. cyrus whitson, a member of the committee, in mr. mckim's judgment, could manage the matter successfully. at that time, c. whitson was engaged in the free labor store, at the corner of fifth and cherry streets, near the anti-slavery office. on being sent for, he immediately answered the summons, and mr. mckim at once made known to him his plan, which was to save a fellow-man from being dragged back to bondage, by visiting the lady, and ascertaining from her in conversation the whereabouts of the fugitives, the names of the witnesses, and all the particulars. nothing could have delighted the shrewd whitson better; he saw just how he could effect the matter, without the slightest probable failure. so off he started for the boarding-house. arriving, he rang the bell, and when the servant appeared, he asked if miss wilson, from maryland, was stopping there. "she is," was the answer. "i wish to see her." "walk in the parlor, sir." in went mr. w., with his big whiskers. soon miss wilson entered the parlor, a tall, and rather fine-looking well dressed lady. mr. whitson bowing, politely addressed her, substantially thus: "i have come to see you instead of mr. geo. f. alberti, to whom you addressed a note, this morning. circumstances, over which mr. a. had no control, prevented his coming, so i have come, madam, to look after your business in his place. now, madam, i wish it to be distinctly understood in the outset, that whatever transpires between us, so far as this business is concerned, must be kept strictly confidential, by no means, must this matter be allowed to leak out; if it does, the darned abolitionists (excuse me), may ruin me; at any rate we should not be able to succeed in getting your slave. i am particular on this point, remember." "you are perfectly right, sir, indeed i am very glad that your plan is to conduct this matter in this manner, for i do not want my name mixed up with it in any way." "very well, madam, i think we understand each other pretty well; now please give me the name of the fugitive, his age, size, and color, and where he may be found, how long he has been away, and the witness who can be relied on to identify him after he is arrested." miss wilson carefully communicated these important particulars, while mr. whitson faithfully penciled down every word. at the close of the interview he gave her to understand that the matter should be attended to immediately, and that he thought there would be no difficulty in securing the fugitive. "you shall hear from me soon, madam, good afternoon." in five minutes after this interview whitson was back to the anti-slavery office with all miss wilson's secrets. the first thing to be attended was to send a messenger to the place where the fugitive was at work, with a view of securing his safety; this was a success. the man was found, and, frightened almost out of his wits, he dropped all and followed the messenger, who bore him the warning. in the meanwhile mr. mckim was preparing, with great dispatch, the subjoined document for the enlightenment and warning of all. to whom it may conceen: beware of slave-catchers. miss wilson, of georgetown cross roads, kent county, md., is now in the city in pursuit of her alleged slave man, butler. j.m. cummings and john wilson, of the same place, are understood to be here on a similar errand. this is to caution butler and his friends to be on their guard. let them keep clear of the above-named individuals. also, let them have an eye on all persons known to be friends of dr. high, of georgetown cross roads, and mr. d.b. cummings, who is not of georgetown cross roads. it is requested that all parties to whom a copy of this may be sent will post it in a public place, and that the friends of freedom and humanity will have the facts herein contained openly read in their respective churches. "hide the outcast; bewray not him that wandereth." isaiah xvi. . "thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant that has escaped from his master unto thee." deut. xxiii. . this document printed as a large poster, about three feet square, and displayed in large numbers over the city, attracted much attention and comment, which facts were quickly conveyed to miss wilson, at her boarding-house. at first, as it was understood, she was greatly shocked to find herself in everybody's mouth. she unhesitatingly took her baggage and started for "my maryland." thus ended one of the most pleasant interviews that ever took place between a slave-hunter and the vigilance committee of philadelphia. * * * * * arrival from richmond, . henry langhorn _alias_ wm. scott. this "chattel" from richmond, virginia, was of a yellow complexion, with some knowledge of the arts of reading and writing; he was about twenty-three years of age and considered himself in great danger of being subjected to the auction-block by one charles l. hobson. hobson and henry had grown up from boyhood together; for years they had even occupied the same room,--henry as a servant-boy and protector of his prospective young master. under these relations quite strong affinities were cemented between them, and henry succeeded in gaining a knowledge of the alphabet with an occasional lesson in spelling. both reached their majority. william was hired out at the american hotel, and being a "smart, likely-looking boy," commanded good wages for his young master's benefit, who had commenced business as a tobacco merchant, with about seven head of slaves in his possession. a year or two's experiment proved that the young master was not succeeding as a merchant, and before the expiration of three years he had sold all his slaves except henry. from such indications, henry was fully persuaded that his time was well nigh at hand, and great was his anxiety as he meditated over the auction-block. "in his heart" he resolved time and again that he would never be sold. it behooved him, therefore, to avert that ill fate. he at first resolved to buy himself, but in counting the cost he found that he would by no means be able to accumulate as much money as his master would be likely to demand for him; he, therefore, abandoned this idea and turned his attention straightway to the underground rail road, by which route he had often heard of slaves escaping. he felt the need of money and that he must make and save an extra quarter whenever he could; he soon learned to be a very rigid economist, and being exceedingly accommodating in waiting upon gentlemen at the hotel and at the springs, he found his little "pile" increasing weekly. his object was to have enough to pay for a private berth on one of the richmond steamers and also to have a little left to fall back on after landing in a strange land and among strangers. he saved about two hundred dollars in cash; he was then ready to make a forward move, and he arranged all his plans with an agent in richmond to leave by one of the steamers during the christmas holidays. "you must come down to the steamer about dark," said the agent "and if all is right you will see the underground rail road agent come out with some ashes as a signal, and by this you may know that all is ready." "i will be there certain," said henry. christmas week he was confident would be granted as usual as a holiday week; a few days before christmas he went to his master and asked permission to spend said holiday with his mother, in cumberland county, adding that he would need some spending money, enough at least to pay his fare, etc. young master freely granted his request, wrote him a pass, and doled him out enough money to pay his fare thence, but concluded that henry could pay his way back out of his extra change. henry expressed his obligations, etc., and returned to the american hotel. the evening before the time appointed for starting on his underground rail road voyage, he had occasion to go out to see the underground rail road agent, and asked the clerk to give him a pass. this favor was peremptorily refused. henry, "not willing to give it up so," sat down to write a pass for himself; he found it all that was necessary, and was thus enabled to accomplish his business satisfactorily. next day his christmas holiday commenced, but instead of his enjoying the sight of his mother, he felt that he had seen her for the last time in the flesh. it was a sad reflection. that evening at dark, he was at the wharf, according to promise. the man with the ashes immediately appeared and signalled him. in his three suits of clothing (all on his back), he walked on the boat, and was conducted to the coal covering, where egyptian darkness prevailed. the appointed hour for the starting of the steamer, was ten o'clock the following morning. by the aid of prayer, he endured the suffering that night. no sooner had the steamer got under way, than a heavy gale was encountered; for between three and four days the gale and fog combined, threatened the steamer with a total loss. all the freight on deck, consisting of tobacco and cotton, had to be thrown overboard, to save the passengers. henry, in his state of darkness, saw nothing, nor could he know the imminent peril that his life was in. fortunately he was not sea-sick, but slept well and long on the voyage. the steamer was five days coming. on landing at philadelphia, henry could scarcely see or walk; the spirit of freedom, however, was burning brightly in the hidden man, and the free gales of fresh air and a few hours on free soil soon enabled him to overcome the difficulties which first presented themselves, and he was soon one of the most joyful mortals living. he tarried two days with his friends in philadelphia, and then hastened on to boston. after being in boston two months, he was passing through the market one day, when, to his surprise, he espied his young master, charles l. hobson. henry was sure, however, that he was not recognized, but suspected that he was hunted. instantly, henry pulled up his coat collar, and drew his hat over his face to disguise himself as much as possible; but he could not wholly recover from the shock he had thus sustained. he turned aside from the market and soon met a friend formerly from richmond, who had been in servitude in the tobacco factory owned by his master. henry tried to prevail on him to spot out said hobson, in the market, and see if there possibly could be any mistake. not a step would his friend take in that direction. he had been away for several years, still he was a fugitive, and didn't like the idea of renewing his acquaintance with old or new friends with a white skin from virginia. henry, however, could not content himself until he had taken another good look at mr. hobson. disguising himself he again took a stroll through the market, looking on the right and left as he passed along; presently he saw him seated at a butcher's stall. he examined him to his satisfaction, and then went speedily to headquarters (the anti-slavery office), made known the fact of his discovery, and stated that he believed his master had no other errand to boston than to capture him. measures were at once taken to ascertain if such a man as charles l. hobson was booked at any of the hotels in boston. on finding that this was really a fact, henry was offered and accepted private quarters with the well-known philanthropist and friend of the fugitive, francis jackson. his house as well as his purse was always open to the slave. while under the roof of mr. jackson, as hobson advertised and described henry so accurately, and offered a reward of two hundred and fifty dollars for him, henry's friends thought that they would return him the compliment by publishing him in the boston papers quite as accurately if not with as high a reward for him; they advertised him after this manner: "charles l. hobson, twenty-two years of age, six feet high, with a slouched hat on, mixed coat, black pants, with a goatee, is stopping at the tremont hotel," &c., &c. this was as a bomb-shell to mr. hobson, and he immediately took the hint, and with his trunks steered for the sunny south. in a day or two afterwards henry deemed it advisable to visit canada. after arriving there he wrote back to his young master, to let him know where he was, and why he left, and what he was doing. how his letter was received henry was never informed. for five years he lived in boston and ran on a boat trading to canada east. he saved up his money and took care of himself creditably. he was soon prepared to go into some business that would pay him better than running on the boat. two of his young friends agreed with him that they could do better in philadelphia than in boston, so they came to the city of brotherly love and opened a first-class dining-saloon near third and chestnut streets. for a time they carried on the business with enterprise and commendable credit, but one of the partners, disgusted with the prejudices of the city passenger railway cars, felt that he could no longer live here. henry, known after leaving slavery only by the name of wm. scott, quitted the restaurant business and found employment as a messenger under thomas a. scott, esq., vice-president of the pennsylvania central rail road, where he has faithfully served for the last four years, and has the prospect of filling the office for many years to come. he is an industrious, sober, steady, upright, and intelligent young man, and takes care of his wife and child in a comfortable three story brick house of his own. * * * * * arrival from richmond, . miles robinson was the slave of mrs. roberts, a widow lady living in york county, virginia. he did not live with her, however, but was hired out in the city of richmond. he had been fortunate in falling into hands that had not treated him harshly. he was not contented, however. much of the leisure falling incidentally to his lot from hours of duty, he devoted to the banjo. as a player on this instrument he had become quite gifted, but music in richmond was not liberty. the latter he craved, and in thought was often far beyond mason and dixon's line, enjoying that which was denied him in virginia. although but twenty-two years of age, miles was manly, and determination and intelligence were traits strongly marked in his unusually well-shaped visage. hearing that he was to be sold, he conferred not with his mother, brothers, or sisters, (for such he had living as slaves in richmond) but resolved to escape by the first convenience. turning his attention to the underground rail road, he soon found an agent who communicated his wishes to one of the colored women running as cook or chambermaid on one of the philadelphia and richmond steamers, and she was bold enough to take charge of him, and found him a safe berth in one of the closets where the pots and other cooking utensils belonged. it was rather rough and trying, but miles felt that it was for liberty, and he must pass through the ordeal without murmuring, which he did, until success was achieved and he found himself in philadelphia. boston being the haven on which his hopes were fixed, after recruiting a short while in the city he steered for said place. finding liberty there as sweet as he had fondly hoped to find it, he applied himself unceasingly to industrial pursuits, economy, the improvement of his mind and the elevation of his race. four years he passed thus, under the shadow of bunker hill, at the end of which time he invested the earnings, which he had saved, in a business with two young friends in philadelphia. all being first-class waiters and understanding catering, they decided to open a large dining-saloon. miles was one of the two friends mentioned in wm. scott's narrative, and as his success and consequent fortunes have been already referred to, it will suffice here to mention him simply in connection with two contests that he sustained with the prejudice that sought to drive colored people from the passenger cars. at the corner of fourth and walnut streets miles, in company with two other young men, wallace and marshall, one evening in a most orderly manner, entered the cars and took their seats. the conductor ordered them on the front platform; they did not budge. he stopped the car and ordered them out; this did no good. he read rules, and was not a little embarrassed by these polite and well-dressed young men. finally he called for the police, who arrested all three. miles did not yield his seat without a struggle. in being pulled out his resistance was such that several window lights were broken in the car. the police being in strong force, however, succeeded in marching their prisoners to the mayor's police station at the corner of fifth and chestnut streets where they were locked up to await further investigation. the prisoners thought they were back in "old virginny" again. miles gritted his teeth and felt very indignant, but what could he do? the infamous prejudice against which they had borne testimony was controlling all the lines of city passenger railways in philadelphia. while miles and his friends were willing to suffer for a principle, the dirt, filth, cold, and disagreeableness of the quarters that they most likely would be compelled to occupy all night and the following day (sunday) forbade submission. added to this miles felt that his young wife would hardly be able to contain herself while he was locked up. they sent for the writer to intercede for them. at a late hour of the night, after going from the alderman's boardinghouse to a fire engine house and other places, where it was supposed that he might probably be found, on going a third time to his hotel, a little before midnight, he was discovered to be in bed, and it was then ascertained that he had not been out all the evening. the night was very stormy. we could not tell whether or not the fruitless chase on which we had been sent in search of the alderman, was in keeping with the spirit that had locked the men up, designed to mislead us; he condescended at last to appear, and accepted our offer to go bail for all of them, and finally issued a discharge. this was hastily delivered at the station, and the prisoners were released. but miles was not satisfied; he had breathed free air in massachusetts for four years, and being a man of high spirit he felt that he must further test the prejudices of the cars. consequently one very cold night, when a deep snow covered the pavements, he was out with his wife, and thought that he would ride; his wife being fair, he put her on the car at the corner of third and pine streets, and walked to the corner of fourth and pine streets, where he stepped into the car and took his seat. the conductor straightway ordered him out, on the plea of color. god had shaded him a little too much. "how is this, my wife is in this car," spake miles. all eyes gazed around to see who his wife was. by this time the car had been stopped, and the wrath of the conductor was kindled prodigiously. he did not, however, lay violent hands upon miles. a late decision in court had taught the police that they had no right to interfere, except in cases where the peace was actually being broken; so in order to get rid of this troublesome customer, the car was run off the track, the shivering passengers all leaving it, as though flying from a plague, with the exception of miles, his wife, and another colored gentleman, who got on with miles. the conductor then hoisted all the windows, took out the cushions, and unhitched the horses. but miles and his party stood it bravely; miles burning all the time with indignation at this exhibition of prejudice in the city of brotherly love. the war was then raging fiercely, and as miles then felt, he was almost prepared to say, he didn't care which beat, as the woman said, when she saw her husband and the bear wrestling. he was compelled to admit that this prejudice was akin to slavery, and gave to slavery its chief support. the occupants of the horseless car, which was being aired so thoroughly, remained in it for a length of time, until they had sufficiently borne their testimony, and they too quietly forsook it. prior to this event, by his industry and hard-earned savings, miles had become the owner of a comfortable brick house, and had made up his mind to remain a citizen of philadelphia, but the spirit which prompted the aforesaid treatment called up within him reflections somewhat similar to those aroused by slavery, and it was not a great while before he offered his property for sale, including his business stand, resolving to return to boston. he received an offer for his property, accepted it, pulled up stakes, and again hopefully turned his face thitherward. the ambitious miles commenced business in chelsea, near boston, where he purchased himself a comfortable home; and he has ever since been successfully engaged in the sale of kerosene oil. instead of seeking pleasure in the banjo, as he was wont to do in virginia, he now finds delight in the baptist church, rev. mr. grimes', of which he is a prominent member, and in other fields of usefulness tending to elevate and better the condition of society generally. * * * * * arrival from richmond. john william dungy.--brought a pass from ex. gov. gregory. "he ought to be put in a cage and kept for a show," said anna brown, daughter of the hero, john brown, at the house of the writer, where she happened to meet the above named underground rail road passenger. he had then just returned from canada, after being a refugee four years. in the mean time through the war and the proclamation of father abraham the fetters had been torn from the limbs of the slave, and the way to richmond was open to all. john william on this occasion was on his way thither to see how his brethren together with their old oppressors looked facing each other as freemen. miss anna brown was _en route_ to norfolk, where she designed to teach a school of the unfettered bondmen. the return of the refugee was as unexpected as it was gratifying. scarcely had the cordial greetings of the writer and his family ended and the daughter of brown been introduced before the writer was plying his refugee guest with a multiplicity of questions relative to his sojourn in canada, etc. "how have you been getting along in canada? do you like the country?" "first-rate," said john william. "you look as though you had neither been starved, nor frozen. have you had plenty of work, made some money, and taken care of yourself?" "yes." "when you were on the underground rail road on your way to canada you promised that you were going to keep from all bad habits; how about the 'crittur?' do you take a little sometimes?" "no, i have not drank a drop since i left the south" replied john william with emphasis. "good!" "i suppose you smoke and chew at any rate?" "no, neither. i never think of such a thing." "now don't you keep late hours at night and swear occasionally?" "no, sir. all the leisure that i have of evenings is spent over my books as a general thing; i have not fallen into the fashionable customs of young men." miss brown, who had been an attentive listener, remarked: "he ought to be put in a cage, etc." [illustration: ] he was twenty-seven years of age when he first landed in philadelphia, in the month of february, , per steamer pennsylvania, in which he had been stowed away in a store-room containing a lot of rubbish and furniture; in this way he reached city point; here a family of irish emigrants, very dirty, were taken on board, and orders were given that accommodations should be made for them in the room occupied by j.w. here was trouble, but only for a moment. those into whose charge he had been consigned on the boat knew that the kettle and pot-closet had often been used for underground rail road purposes, and he was safely conducted to quarters among the pots. the room was exceedingly limited, but he stood it bravely. on landing he was not able to stand. it required not only his personal efforts but the help of friends to get him in a condition to walk. no sooner had he stepped on shore, however, than he began to cry aloud for joy. "thank god!" rang out sonorously from his overflowing soul. alarmed at this indication of gratitude his friends immediately told him that that would never do; that all hands would be betrayed; that he was far from being safe in philadelphia. he suppressed his emotion. after being delivered into the hands of the acting committee, where he was in more private quarters, he gave full vent to the joy he experienced on reaching this city. he said that he had been trying earnestly for five years to obtain his freedom. for this special object he had saved up sixty-eight dollars and fifteen cents, all of which but the fifteen cents he willingly paid for his passage on the boat. fifteen cents, the balance of his entire capital, was all that he had when he landed in philadelphia. before leaving the south he was hired in the family of ex-governor gregory. of the governor and his wife he spoke very highly,--said that they were kind to him and would readily favor him whenever he solicited them to do so. he stated that after making his arrangements to start, in order that he might be away several days before being missed, he told mrs. gregory that he would be glad to spend a week with his mother, (she lived some distance in the country). as he was not feeling very well she kindly acceded to his request, and told him to ask the governor for a pass and some money. the governor was busy writing, but he at once granted the prayer, wrote him a pass, gave john five dollars, adding that he was sorry that he had no more in his pocket, &c. john bowed and thanked the governor, and soon got ready for his visit; but his route lay in a far different direction than that contemplated by the governor and his lady. he was aiming for the underground rail road. as has already been intimated, he was not owned by the governor, but by the ferrell heirs--five children who had moved from virginia to alabama years back. "every ferrell that lives is down on slaves; they are very severe," said john. yet he had not suffered as many others had who belonged to them, as he had been a dining-room servant. at one time they had owned large numbers of slaves, but latterly they had been selling them off. contrary to john's wishes his alabama owners had notified him as well as the governor, that in a short while he was to be taken to alabama. this induced john to act with great promptness in leaving at the time that he did. after passing several years in canada as has been already noticed, he returned to richmond and paid a visit to his old home. he found that the governor and his wife had both departed, but two of the daughters (young ladies), still lived. they were both glad to see him; the younger especially; she told him that she was glad that he escaped, and that she "prayed for him." the elder remarked that she had always thought that he was too "good a christian to run away." another thing which she referred to, apparently with much feeling, was this: on his way to canada, he wrote to the governor, from rochester, "that he need put himself to no trouble in hunting him up, as he had made up his mind to visit canada." she thought that john was rather "naughty," to write thus to her "papa," nevertheless, she was disposed to forgive him, after she had frankly spoken her mind. john found richmond, which so long had held him in chains, fully humbled, and her slave power utterly cast down. his wondering eyes gazed until he was perfectly satisfied that it was the lord's doings, and it was marvellous in his eyes. he was more than ever resolved to get an education, and go back to virginia, to help teach his brethren who had been so long denied the privilege. it was not long before he was at oberlin college, a faithful student, commanding the highest respect from all the faculty for his good deportment and studious habits. after advancing rapidly there, the way opened more fully to pursue his studies with greater facilities and less expense at a college in one of the eastern states. he accepted the favors of friends who offered him assistance, with a view of preparing him for a mission among the freedmen, believing that he possessed in a high degree, the elements for a useful worker, preacher, organizer and teacher. as the friends alluded to, were about taking measures to start a college at harper's ferry, especially for the benefit of the freedmen, they anticipated making this latitude the field of his future endeavors, at least for a time. ere he graduated in view of the fact that the harvest in the south so urgently called for laborers, he was solicited to be an agent for the storer college,[a] and subsequently to enter upon a mission under the auspices of the free-will baptists, in martinsburg, virginia. for three or four years he labored in this field with commendable zeal and acceptably, gathering young and old in day and sunday-schools, and also organizing churches. by his constant labors his health became impaired; receiving a call from a church in providence, he accepted, not without knowing, however, that his mission was to be left in faithful hands, to carry on the good work. [footnote a: the appended extract from an official circular, issued by the board of instruction of storer college, will throw light upon this institution: storer college, harper's ferry, west virginia. this institution, deriving its name from john storer, esq., late of sanford, me., who gave ten thousand dollars to aid in its establishment, is located at harper's ferry, west va., and has been chartered with full powers by a special act of the legislature. the corporation has been regularly organized, about thirty thousand dollars in money has been obtained, a large tract of land has been purchased, ample buildings have been secured, and a normal school has been in successful operation during the last eighteen months. the u.s. authorities have repeatedly expressed their confidence in and sympathy with this undertaking, by liberal grants of money and buildings, and the agent for the distribution of the peabody fund, has pledged pecuniary aid to the best of the pupils in attendance, who may be in need of such assistance. rev. j. calder, d.d., _pres._, harrisburg, penna. harper's ferry, west va., march , . rev. n.c. brackett, _act. sec'y.,_ harper's ferry, west va. ] there is still need of efficient laborers in the shenandoah valley. according to the testimony of mr. dungy, scores of places may still be found where the children have no school privileges, and where many, both old and young, have never had the opportunity of entering a meeting-house or church since the war, as the spirit of the white christians in these regions is greatly embittered against the colored people, owing to the abolition of slavery; and they do not invite them to either church or school. indeed, the churches are closed against them. at different times, mr. dungy has eloquently represented the condition of the colored churches of the south, in the city of philadelphia. as a speaker, mr. dungy is able and interesting, of good address, remarkably graceful in his manners, and possessing much general information. the subjoined letters received from him, while a fugitive in canada, are characteristic of the man, and will repay a perusal. brantford, march d, . mr. wm. still, dear sir:--i have seated myself this evening to write you a few lines to inform you that i have got through my journey, and landed safely in brantford, where i found my friend, stepney brown, and we expressed great joy at meeting each other, and had a great shaking of hands, and have not got done talking yet of the old times we had in virginia. i thank god i am enjoying vigorous health, and hope you all are well, as it is written in the first psalm, "blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful." i wish you may think of me often and pray for me that i may grow a man, one of the followers of our meek and lowly saviour. give my love to mrs. still, and family, and the rev. mr. gibbs, that was residing with you when i was there. i must now inform you a little about canada, at least as much of it as i have seen and heard. i arrived in the city of hamilton, on the th february, , at nine o'clock in the evening, and the weather was dreary and cold, and the cars laid over there until ten o'clock next day, and i went up into the city and saw a portion of it. i then started for toronto, arrived there same day at o'clock. there i met friends from richmond, remained there several days; during the time we had a very extensive snow storm, and i took the opportunity of walking around the city looking at the elephants, and other great sights. i liked it very much; but upon hearing that my friend and brother stepney brown was in brantford, i became disatisfied and left for brantford on the st february, . i have found it a very pleasant, and have been told it is the prettiest place in canada. it is built upon the grand river, which is two hundred miles long, and empties into lake erie. it rises to a great height every spring, and great masses of ice come down, bringing bridges, saw-logs, trees, and fairly sweeps everything before it. the people who live upon the flats are in great danger of being drowned in their houses. i got a situation immediately at the kerby house, by the influence of my friend and brother, stepney brown, who i must say has been very kind to me, as also have the people of brantford. the kerbey house is the largest hotel in the town about rooms, and a stable at the back, with a gas-house of its own. no more at present, but remain, yours very respectfully, john william dungy. p.s. write at your earliest convenience, and oblige your friend, j.w.d. brantford, april th. mr. still, dear sir:--i feel myself quite lonesome this evening, and not hearing from you lately i take this opportunity to drop you a few lines. i have not much to say, brother brown has left for the falls, and expects to return next winter. the weather is mild and warm at this time; the grass is putting up and begins to look like spring. i thank the lord i am enjoying good health at this time. i hope this letter will find you and your family well, give my compliments to them all and mr. gibbs and the young lady that was at your house when i was there. times has been hard this winter, but they are increasing for the better. i wrote to you a few days ago, i don't know whether you got my letter. i asked in my letter if mr. williams was on the pennsylvania, that runs from their to richmond, va. i should have written to him, but i did not know his number, i also named a friend of mine, mr plumer if he arrives their pleas to tell him to come to brantford, where i am for there are good chances for business i think a great deal about my colored brethren in the south but i hope to be a benefit to them one of these days. we have quite a melancholy affair about one of our colored brothers who made his escape from the south those who took him up have gone back to obtain witness to convict him for murder. these witness is to be here on monday inst but the defendence of the law says they shant take him back unless they bring good witness and men of truth i will write you more about it after the trial comes of. i must say a little about myself. i want to devote myself to study if i can for the next twelve months. i expect to leave the kirby house on the th of may. i have taken a barber shop which is a very good situation and one hand employed with me. i would be much oblige to you if you would give me some advice what to do. i sent you the morning herald yesterday which contained a accident which occurd on the g. trunk r.w. you will see in it that we don't have much politics here. the late destructive fire we had i thought it would have kept brantford back this summer but it is increasing slowly i have nothing more to say at this time. i hope the lord may bless you all and take care of you in this world, and after time receive you in his everlasting kingdom through jesus christ our lord. answer this as soon as convenient. good bye. yours respectfully j.w. dungy. brantford, c.w., january th, . mr. wm. still, dear sir:--i take this opportunity to drop you a few lines to let you hear from me. i am well at this time, hoping this will find you the same. i acknowledge my great neglectness of you with great regret that i have not answered your letter before this, i hope you will excuse me as i have succeeded in getting me a wife since i wrote to you last. my mind has been much taken up in so doing for several months past. give my compliments to your wife and your family, and mr. gibbs, also hoping they are all well. tell mrs. still to pray for me that i may grow in grace and the knowledge of the truth as it is in jesus. i often think of you all. i pray that the time may come when we will all be men in the united states. we have read here of the great disturbance in the south. my prayer is that this may be a deathblow to slavery. do you ever have any underground rail road passengers now? times have been very prosperous in canada this year. the commercial trade and traffic on the railways has been very dull for these few months back. business on the buffalo and lake huron railway has been so dull that a great number of the hands have been discharged on account of the panic in the south. canada yet cries, freedom! freedom! freedom! i must now say a little about my friend and brother stepney brown, he lived about six months at the niagara falls and is now going to school here in brantford, he sends his best respects to you all. he and i often sit together at night after the labor of the day is over talking about our absent friends wishing we could see them once more. mr. brown and myself have been wishing for one or two of your slavery standards and would be much obliged to you if you would send some of the latest. please let me hear from you as soon as possible. i must now bring my letter to a close and remain your affectionate friend, j.w. dungy. p.s. may the lord be with you. j.w. dungy. address your letter to john w. dungy, brantford, c.w. "aunt hannah moore." in in company with her so-called mistress (mary moore) aunt hannah arrived in philadelphia, from missouri, being _en route_ to california, where she with her mistress was to join her master, who had gone there years before to seek his fortune. the mistress having relatives in this city tarried here a short time, not doubting that she had sufficient control over aunt hannah to keep her from contact with either abolitionists or those of her own color, and that she would have no difficulty in taking her with her to her journey's end. if such were her calculations she was greatly mistaken. for although aunt hannah was destitute of book-learning she was nevertheless a woman of thought and natural ability, and while she wisely kept her counsel from her mistress she took care to make her wants known to an abolitionist. she had passed many years under the yoke, under different owners, and now seeing a ray of hope she availed herself of the opportunity to secure her freedom. she had occasion to go to a store in the neighborhood where she was stopping, and to her unspeakable joy she found the proprietor an abolitionist and a friend who inquired into her condition and proffered her assistance. the store-keeper quickly made known her condition at the anti-slavery office, and in double-quick time j.m. mckim and charles wise as abolitionists and members of the vigilance committee repaired to the stopping-place of the mistress and her slave to demand in the name of humanity and the laws of pennsylvania that aunt hannah should be no longer held in fetters but that she should be immediately proclaimed free. in the eyes of the mistress this procedure was so extraordinary that she became very much excited and for a moment threatened them with the "broomstick," but her raving had no effect on messrs. mckim and wise, who did not rest contented until aunt hannah was safely in their hands. she had lived a slave in moore's family in the state of missouri about ten years and said she was treated very well, had plenty to eat, plenty to wear, and a plenty of work. it was prior to her coming into the possession of moore that aunt hannah had been made to drink the bitter waters of oppression. from this point, therefore, we shall present some of the incidents of her life, from infancy, and very nearly word for word as she related them: "moore bought me from a man named mccaully, who owned me about a year. i fared dreadful bad under mccaully. one day in a rage he undertook to beat me with the limb of a cherry-tree; he began at me and tried in the first place to snatch my clothes off, but he did not succeed. after that he beat the cherry-tree limb all to pieces over me. the first blow struck me on the back of my neck and knocked me down; his wife was looking on, sitting on the side of the bed crying to him to lay on. after the limb was worn out he then went out to the yard and got a lath, and he come at me again and beat me with that until he broke it all to pieces. he was not satisfied then; he next went to the fence and tore off a paling, and with that he took both hands, 'cursing' me all the time as hard as he could. with an oath he would say, 'now don't you love me?' 'oh master, i will pray for you, i would cry, then he would 'cuss' harder than ever.' he beat me until he was tired and quit. i crept out of doors and throwed up blood; some days i was hardly able to creep. with this beating i was laid up several weeks. another time mistress mccaully got very angry. one day she beat me as bad as he did. she was a woman who would get very mad in a minute. one day she began scolding and said the kitchen wasn't kept clean. i told her the kitchen was kept as clean as any kitchen in the place; she spoke very angry, and said she didn't go by other folks but she had rules of her own. she soon ordered me to come in to her. i went in as she ordered me; she met me with a mule-rope, and ordered me to cross my hands. i crossed my hands and she tied me to the bedstead. here her husband said, 'my dear, now let me do the fighting.' in her mad fit she said he shouldn't do it, and told him to stand back and keep out of the way or i will give you the cowhide she said to him. he then 'sot' down in a 'cheer' and looked like a man condemned to be hung; then she whipped me with the cowhide until i sunk to the floor. he then begged her to quit. he said to his wife she has begged and begged and you have whipped her enough. she only raged 'wus;' she turned the butt end of the cowhide and struck me five or six blows over my head as hard as she could; she then throwed the cowhide down and told a little girl to untie me. the little girl was not able to do it; mr. mccaully then untied me himself. both times that i was beat the blood run down from my head to my feet. "they wouldn't give you anything to eat hardly. mccaully bore the name of coming by free colored children without buying them, and selling them afterwards. one boy on the place always said that he was free but had been kidnapped from arkansas. he could tell all about how he was kidnapped, but could not find anybody to do anything for him, so he had to content himself. "mccaully bought me from a man by the name of landers. while in landers' hands i had the rheumatism and was not able to work. he was afraid i was going to die, or he would lose me, and i would not be of any service to him, so he took and traded me off for a wagon. i was something better when he traded me off; well enough to be about. my health remained bad for about four years, and i never got my health until moore bought me. moore took me for a debt. mccaully owed moore for wagons. i was not born in missouri but was born in virginia. from my earliest memory i was owned by conrad hackler; he lived in grason county. he was a very poor man, and had no other slave but me. he bought me before i was quite four years old, for one hundred dollars. hackler bought me from a man named william scott. i must go back by good rights to the beginning and tell all: scott bought me first from a young man he met one day in the road, with a bundle in his arms. scott, wishing to know of the young man what he had in his bundle, was told that he had a baby. 'what are you going to do with it?' said scott. the young man said that he was going to take it to his sister; that its mother was dead, and it had nobody to take care of it. scott offered the young man a horse for it, and the young man took him up. this is the way i was told that scott came by me. i never knowed anything about my mother or father, but i have always believed that my mother was a white woman, and that i was put away to save her character; i have always thought this. under hackler i was treated more like a brute than a human being. i was fed like the dogs; had a trough dug out of a piece of wood for a plate. after i growed up to ten years old they made me sleep out in an old house standing off some distance from the main house where my master and mistress lived. a bed of straw and old rags was made for me in a big trough called the tan trough (a trough having been used for tanning purposes). the cats about the place came and slept with me, and was all the company i had. i had to work with the hoe in the field and help do everything in doors and out in all weathers. the place was so poor that some seasons he would not raise twenty bushels of corn and hardly three bushels of wheat. as for shoes i never knowed what it was to have a pair of shoes until i was grown up. after i growed up to be a woman my master thought nothing of taking my clothes off, and would whip me until the blood would run down to the ground. after i was twenty-five years old they did not treat me so bad; they both professed to get religion about that time; and my master said he would never lay the weight of his finger on me again. once after that mistress wanted him to whip me, but he didn't do it, nor never whipped me any more. after awhile my master died; if they had gone according to law i would have been hired out or sold, but my mistress wanted to keep me to carry on the place for her support. so i was kept for seven or eight years after his death. it was understood between my mistress, and her children, and her friends, who all met after master died, that i was to take care of mistress, and after mistress died i should not serve anybody else. i done my best to keep my mistress from suffering. after a few years they all became dissatisfied, and moved to missouri. they scattered, and took up government land. without means they lived as poor people commonly live, on small farms in the woods. i still lived with my mistress. some of the heirs got dissatisfied, and sued for their rights or a settlement; then i was sold with my child, a boy." thus aunt hannah reviewed her slave-life, showing that she had been in the hands of six different owners, and had seen great tribulation under each of them, except the last; that she had never known a mother's or a father's care; that slavery had given her one child, but no husband as a protector or a father. the half of what she passed through in the way of suffering has scarcely been hinted at in this sketch. fifty-seven years were passed in bondage before she reached philadelphia. under the good providence through which she came in possession of her freedom, she found a kind home with a family of abolitionists, (mrs. gillingham's), whose hearts had been in deep sympathy with the slave for many years. in this situation aunt hannah remained several years, honest, faithful, and obliging, taking care of her earnings, which were put out at interest for her by her friends. her mind was deeply imbued with religious feeling, and an unshaken confidence in god as her only trust; she connected herself with the a.m.e. bethel church, of philadelphia, where she has walked, blameless and exemplary up to this day. probably there is not a member in that large congregation whose simple faith and whose walk and conversation are more commendable than aunt hannah's. although she has passed through so many hardships she is a woman of good judgment and more than average intellect; enjoys good health, vigor, and peace of mind in her old days, with a small income just sufficient to meet her humble wants without having to live at service. after living in philadelphia for several years, she was married to a man of about her own age, possessing all her good qualities; had served a life-time in a highly respectable quaker family of this city, and had so won the esteem of his kind employer that at his death he left him a comfortable house for life, so that he was not under the necessity of serving another. the name of the recipient of the good quaker friend's bounty and aunt hannah's companion, was thomas todd. after a few years of wedded life, aunt hannah was called upon to be left alone again in the world by the death of her husband, whose loss was mourned by many friends, both colored and white, who knew and respected him. kidnapping of rachel and elizabeth parker--murder of joseph c. miller in and . those who were interested in the anti-slavery cause, and who kept posted with reference to the frequent cases of kidnapping occurring in different free states, especially in pennsylvania, during the twenty years previous to emancipation, cannot fail to remember the kidnapping of rachel and elizabeth parker, and the murder of joseph c. miller, who resided in west nottingham township, chester county, pennsylvania, in the latter part of , and the beginning of . both the kidnapping and the murder at the time of the occurrence shocked and excited the better thinking and humane classes largely, not only in pennsylvania, but to a considerable extent over the northern states. it may be said, without contradiction, that chester county, at least, was never more aroused by any one single outrage that had taken place within her borders, than by these occurrences. for a long while the interest was kept alive, and even as lately as the past year ( ), we find the case still agitating the citizens of chester county. judge benjamin i. passmore, of said county, in defence of truth in an exhaustive article published in the "village record," west chester, oct. th, , gives a reliable version of the matter, from beginning to end, which we feel constrained to give in full, as possessing great historical value, bearing on kidnapping in general, especially in pennsylvania. tom m'creary. friend evans:--i noticed in the "village record," a short time since, an article taken from the delaware "transcript," an obituary notice of the death of the noted character, whose name heads this article, in which false statements were made, relative to the outrage he committed in kidnapping rachel and elizabeth parker, two colored girls who were then, , residing in the southern portion of chester county. in your paper of the th ult., i also read an answer to the charges and insinuations made in the "transcript," against joseph c. miller, (whose life was basely destroyed), and other citizens of chester county; as the occurrence took place in my immediate neighborhood, and i was familiar with all the facts and circumstances, i propose to give a truthful history of that vile and wicked transaction. in the winter of , the said mccreary in some unexplained way, took elizabeth parker, one of the said colored girls, from the house of one donally (not mcdonald), in the township of east nottingham, where she was living; but little was said about it by donally, or any one else. soon after, mccreary with two or three others of like proclivities, called at the house of joseph c. miller, in west nottingham, where rachel was living, and seized her, gagged her, and placed her in a carriage and drove off. the screams of mrs. miller and her children, soon brought the husband and father to the rescue; he pursued them on foot, and at a short distance overtook them in a narrow private road, disputing with james pollock, the owner of the land, whose wagon prevented them from passing. they turned and took another road, and came out at stubb's mill, making for the maryland line with all possible speed; they arrived at perryville before the train for baltimore. eli haines and a young man named wiley, who lived near rising sun, maryland, about two miles from joseph c. miller's, arrived at the same place soon after, intending to go to philadelphia. mr. haines knew rachel, and seeing mccreary there, and her so overwhelmed in sorrow, at once guessed the situation of affairs, and he and wiley changed their intentions of going to philadelphia, and went in the same car with mccreary and his victim, to baltimore, and quietly watched what disposition would be made of her, as they felt certain pursuit would be made. as soon as possible, after mccreary had escaped from west nottingham, joseph c. miller, william morris, abner richardson, jesse b. kirk, and h.g. coates, started in pursuit on horseback; when they arrived at perryville, the train had gone, with the kidnapper and the girl; they followed in the next train. soon after they arrived in baltimore, they were met by haines and wiley, who had been on the lookout for a pursuing party, and they gave the information that rachel was deposited in campbell's slave-pen. they were directed by an acquaintance of one of the party, to francis s. cochran, a prominent member of the society of friends. francis informed them he was well acquainted with campbell, and he at once accompained them. campbell assured friend cochran that whilst he approved of slavery and catching runaway slaves, he despised kidnapping and kidnappers; and on the arrival of mccreary, he ordered him to remove rachel forthwith, which he proceeded to do. friend cochran insisted on going with them, and saw the girl deposited in jail to await a legal investigation. by this time it was evening, and the chester county men all went home with cochran, where they had their suppers; the excitement being great, friend cochran did not consider it safe for them to go to the depot direct; he procured their tickets and had them driven by a circuitous route to the depot, charging them to keep together, and take their seats in the cars at once. soon after they were seated and before the cars started, miller stepped out on the platform to smoke, against the expostulations of his friends. jesse b. kirk, his brother-in-law and abner richardson followed immediately, and although they were right at his heels, he was gone; they called him by name, and stepped down into the crowd, but soon became alarmed for their own safety, and returned to their seats. a consultation was held, and it was agreed that wiley, who was least known, and not directly identified with the affair, should pass through the train when it started, and see if miller had not mistakenly got into another car. at stemen's run station, wiley returned to the party with the sad tidings that joseph c. miller was not in that train. on consultation, it was agreed that jesse b. kirk and abner richardson should return from perryville in the next train, and prosecute further search for miller. they did so return, and mccreary also returned to baltimore in the same car, he having left baltimore in the car in the evening with the chester county men; they arrived late in the night, and locked themselves up in a room in the first hotel they came to. their search was fruitless, and they were forced to return home with the sad tidings that miller could not be found. this intelligence aroused the whole neighborhood; public meetings were held to consult about what was best to be done. the writer presided at one of those meetings, which was largely attended, and it was with difficulty that the people could be restrained from organizing an armed force to kidnap and lynch mccreary. better counsels, however, finally prevailed and it was resolved to send a party to baltimore to prosecute further the search for miller. about twenty men volunteered for the service; i went to the house of joseph c. miller, the morning they were to start, but they had met at lewis mellrath's, a brother-in-law of miller. i was there endeavoring to console the aged mother and distracted wife and children of joseph c. miller, when word came that he had been found hanging to a limb in the bushes near stemen's run station, and such a scene of distress i hope may never again be my lot to witness; it was heart-rending in the extreme. the party went to baltimore, and such was the excitement that it was considered unsafe for the party to go out in a body in day-time. levi k. brown, who then resided in baltimore, went with them by moonlight, and they disinterred the body, which they found about two feet under ground, in a rough box, with a narrow lid that freely admitted the dirt to surround his body in the box. no undertaker in baltimore could be found that would allow the body left at his place of business whilst a coffin was prepared, and it was deposited in "friends'" vault; a coffin was finally procured and william morris and abner richardson started with it for his home. when they arrived at perryville no one would render them any assistance, and they were compelled to leave the corpse in an old saw mill, and walk up to port deposit, a distance of five miles, in the night, the weather being extremely cold, and a deep snow on the ground. there they procured horses and a sled and started with the body, but when within a short distance of the pennsylvania line they were overtaken by a messenger with a requisition from the governor of maryland to return the body to baltimore county, in order that an inquisition and post-mortem examination might be held in legal form. with sorrowful hearts they turned back; (one of these young men told me that at no place south of port deposit could they get any one to assist them in handling the corpse). by this time the affair had created a great excitement, both in chester county and the city of baltimore. rev. john m. dickey, hon. henry s. evans, then a member of the senate. brinton darlington, then sheriff of chester county, and very many of the leading men took a deep interest in the matter; we all did our part. the society of friends in baltimore took the matter in hand, and many other worthy citizens belonging to the presbyterian church and others lent their aid and influence. hon. henry s. evans, who was then in the senate of pennsylvania, brought the matter before the legislature, and the result was that the governor appointed judges campbell and bell, the latter of our county, to defend these two poor colored girls thus foully kidnapped. the body of miller underwent a post-mortem examination in baltimore county, at which a great number of rowdies attended, who occupied their time drinking whisky and cursing the pennsylvania abolitionists; the body finally reached its distressed home for interment. drs. hutchinson and dickey were called upon to make an examination, at which i was present, and all were clearly of opinion that he had been foully murdered. his wrists and ankles bore the unmistakable marks of manacles; across the abdomen was a black mark as if made by a rope or cord; the end of his nose bore marks as if held by some instrument of torture. his funeral took place, and his remains were followed to the grave by an immense concourse of sympathizing friends and neighbors. such, however, was the excitement, that the public demanded a further examination; he was disinterred again, and the same two eminent physicians made a thorough post-mortem examination, and one of them told the writer that there were not two ounces of contents in his stomach and bowels, and that there was abundant evidence of the presence of arsenic. his remains were again interred and suffered to remain undisturbed. the theory of his friends was that he had been suddenly snatched from the platform of the car in the baltimore depot, gagged, stripped, and lashed down by the ankles and wrists, and a rope across his abdomen, that his nose had been held by some instrument, and that he was in this situation drenched with arsenic, and puked and purged to death, and that mccreary, or some one for him, had heard wiley repeat at stemen's run station, that he was not on the train, conceived the idea of taking his body there and hanging it to a tree to convey the idea that he had committed suicide at that place, and such was the statement published by some of the maryland newspapers. his companions said he eat a very hearty supper that evening at francis s. cochran's, which with the other facts that his clothing were not soiled, and his stomach and bowels were empty, goes strongly to substantiate the theory that he had been stripped and foully murdered, as above indicated. never was there a more false assertion than that the "broad brimmed quakers in pennsylvania were accomplices of mccreary," as it is well known that opposition to slavery has been a cardinal principle of the society of friends for a century. and that joseph c. miller committed suicide because of his being implicated in the kidnapping is a base fabrication. i knew joseph c. miller from boyhood intimately, and i here take pleasure in saying that he was an honest, unassuming man, of good moral character and stern integrity, and would have spurned the idea of any complication, directly or indirectly, with slavery or kidnapping. it appears his foul murder was not sufficient to satisfy the friends of slavery and kidnapping, but an attempt is now made, after the victim has slumbered near twenty years in the grave, to blast his good name by insinuating that he was a party, or implicated in the vile transactions here narrated. rachel remained in jail; elizabeth, who had been sold to parties in new orleans, was sent for by campbell, ample security having been given that she should be returned if proved to be a slave. their trial finally came on, and after a long and tedious investigation they were both proven, by hosts of respectable witnesses to be free. they returned to their mother, in chester county, who was still living. the grand jury of chester county found a true bill against mccreary for kidnapping, a requisition was obtained, and b. darlington, esq., then high sheriff, proceeded with it to annapolis; but the governor of maryland refused to allow mccreary to be arrested in that state. thus terminated this terrible affair, which cost the state of pennsylvania nearly $ , as well as a heavy expense to many citizens of baltimore, and those of this county who took an active part, and whilst it is to be hoped that the principal actor in this sad transaction fully atoned for his evil deeds, whilst living, and his friends may have had a right to eulogize him after death, they should not have gone out of their way to traduce other parties, dead and alive, whose reputations were known by living witnesses, to be beyond reproach. justice. * * * * * arrival from virginia, . tucker white. tucker reported that he fled from major isaac roney, of dinwiddie court-house, virginia, in the christmas week prior to his arrival; that he reached petersburg and then encountered difficulties of the most trying nature; he next stopped at city point, and was equally unfortunate there. from exposure in the cold he was severely frost-bitten. while suffering from the frost he was kept in the poor-house. after partial recovery he made his way to baltimore and thence to philadelphia. once or twice he was captured and carried back. the committee suspected that he was a cunning impostor who had learned how to tell a tale of suffering simply to excite the sympathies of the benevolent; yet, with the map of virginia before them, he proved himself familiar with localities adjacent to the neighborhood in which he was raised. although not satisfied with his statement, the committee decided to aid him. passmore williamson, who had taken a deep interest in the examination of his case, in order to ascertain the facts, addressed the following note to major roney, using as his signature the name of his friend, wm. j. canby: philadelphia, june , . major isaac roney: dear sir:--within a few days past a colored man has been traversing the streets of this city, exciting the sympathies of the benevolent by the recital of a tale of the hardships he has lately passed through. he represents himself to be tucker white, your slave, a carpenter by trade, and that he escaped from your service last christmas. he is quite dark in complexion, rather over the medium size, and a little lame; the latter, probably, from the effects of frost on his feet, from which, he alleges, he suffered severely. he seems to be well acquainted with the adjoining localities, but altogether his narrative is almost incredible, and i am therefore induced to make the inquiry whether such a man has escaped from your service or lately left your neighborhood. we are perfectly flooded with such vagrants. it would be a great relief if some measures could be resorted to to keep them under legal restraint. an answer addressed to no. south th street, above walnut, will reach me, and oblige, yours, &c. wm. j. canby. weeks passed, but no answer came from the major. all hope was abandoned of obtaining a more satisfactory clue to the history of tucker white. about three months, however, after mr. williamson had written, the appended note came as an answer: mr. canby: major roney received a letter from you relative to his boy, tucker white, and has sent me here to inquire of you his whereabouts now. if you know anything concerning him and will give me such information so i can get him, you will be rewarded for your trouble. you will please address, no. american hotel. the major would have sent on sooner but he has been sick, and the letter laid in office several days. mr. canby was at the time ill, and no attention was paid to the communication. after a day's delay the following note came to hand, but, as in the former instance, no answer was returned. mr. canby: you will confer a great favor on me by writing me whether you were really the author of a letter to major isaac roney, of dinwiddie court house, va., relative to his boy tucker white, and if you were the author, please let me know when you last saw him, and where. i called at your office yesterday to see you, but your cousin (i think he said he was) told me you had the cholera, and if you felt well enough you were going to the country to-morrow. i hope you will excuse my writing to you to-day, on that account. i would not know where to direct a letter if i were to wait until to-morrow. if you know anything concerning him and will let me know it, so that i can find and arrest him, you will very much oblige yours, &c., i.m. tucker. no. american hotel. please write me an answer to-day, so i may know how to proceed to-morrow. if i find him i will be very happy to see you before i leave in behalf of major roney, in whose business i am now engaged. i.m.t. some one, however, who had a hand in the first letter, referred the major to passmore williamson, seventh and arch streets. to mr. williamson's surprise the individual who had addressed mr. c. appeared at his office with the identical letter in his hand that had been addressed him by mr. w. (with w.j.c.'s signature.) on addressing mr. w. he held out the letter and inquired: "are you the author of this letter, sir?" mr. w. looked at it and remarked that it appeared to have been written by a man named canby. "my name is williamson, but if you will walk in and take a seat i will attend to you in a few moments." accordingly, after occupying a little time in adjusting some papers, he signified to the stranger that he was ready to answer any of his questions. said mr. w., "i say frankly that i am the author of that letter." he then paused for a reply. the stranger then said, "i have come from virginia in behalf of major roney, in search of his boy, tucker white; the major was very anxious to recover him, and he would gladly reward mr. w. or anybody else who would aid him in the matter." he then asked mr. w. if he knew anything of his whereabouts. mr. w. replied: "i do not at present; for a long time i have heard nothing of him. i must tell you that i am very sorry that major roney gave himself the trouble to send all the way to philadelphia to re-capture his 'boy tucker white,' and with regard to giving information or assistance, i know of but one or two men in this city who would be mean enough to stoop to do such dirty work. geo. f. alberti, a notorious kidnapper, and e.d. ingraham, equally as notorious as a counsel of slave-hunters whom everybody here despises, might have served you in this matter. i know no others to recommend; if anybody can find the 'boy,' they can. but should they find him they will be obliged to take legal steps in arresting him before they can proceed. in such a case, instead of assisting major roney, i should feel bound to assist tucker white by throwing every obstacle that i possibly could in the way of his being carried back to virginia; and to close the matter i wish it to be understood that i do not desire to hold any further correspondence with major roney, of dinwiddie, virginia, about his 'boy,' tucker white." arrival from norfolk. mary millburn, _alias_ louisa f. jones, escaped in male attire. neither in personal appearance, manners, nor language, were any traces of the peculiar institution visible in mary millburn. on the contrary, she represented a young lady, with a passable education, and very refined in her deportment. she had eaten the white bread of slavery, under the misses chapman, and they had been singularly kind to her, taking special pains with her in regard to the company she should keep, a point important to young girls, so liable to exposure as were the unprotected young females of the south. she being naturally of a happy disposition, obliging, competent, there was but little room for any jars in the household, so far as mary was concerned. notwithstanding all this, she was not satisfied; slavery in its most dreaded aspect, was all around her, continually causing the heart to bleed and eyes to weep of both young and old. the auction-block and slave-pen were daily in view. young girls as promising as herself, she well knew, had to be exposed, examined, and sold to the vilest slave-holders living. [illustration: ] with her knowledge of the practical wickedness of the system, how could she be satisfied? it was impossible! she determined to escape. she could be accommodated, but with no favored mode of travel. no flowery beds of ease could be provided in her case, any more than in the case of others. mary took the underground rail road enterprise into consideration. the opportunity of a passage on a steamer was before her to accept or refuse. the spirit of freedom dictated that she should accept the offer and leave by the first boat. admonished that she could reach the boat and also travel more safely in male attire she at once said, "any way so i succeed." it is not to be supposed for a moment, that the effort could be made without encountering a great "fight of affliction." when the hour arrived for the boat to start, mary was nicely secreted in a box (place), where she was not discovered when the officers made their usual search. on arriving in philadelphia, she mingled her rejoicings with the committee in testifying to the great advantage of the underground rail road, and to the carefulness of its agents in guarding against accidents. after remaining a short time in philadelphia, she made choice of boston as her future residence, and with a letter of introduction to william lloyd garrison, she proceeded thitherward. how she was received, and what she thought of the place and people, may be gleaned from this letter (written by herself.) boston, may th, . dear friend:--i have selected this oppotunity to write you a few lines, hopeing thay may find you and yours enjoying helth and happiness. i arrived hear on thirsday last, and had a lettor of intoduction giving to me by one of the gentlemen at the antoslavery office in new york, to mr. garrison in boston, i found him and his lady both to bee very clever. i stopped with them the first day of my arrivel hear, since that time i have been living with mrs. hilliard i have met with so menny of my acquaintances hear, that i all most immagion my self to bee in the old country. i have not been to canaday yet, as you expected. i had the pleasure of seeing the lettor that you wrote to them on the subject. i suffered much on the road with head ake but since that time i have no reason to complain, please do not for git to send the degarritips in the shaimpain basket with dr. lundys, mr. lesley said he will send them by express, tell julia kelly, that through mistake, i took one of her pocket handkerchift, that was laying on the table, but i shall keep it in remembranc of the onner. i must bring my lettor to a close as i have nothing more to say, and believe me to be your faithfull friend. louisa p. jones. p.s. remember me to each, and every member of your familly and all enquiring friends. being of an industrious turn she found a situation immediately, and from that day to the present, she has sustained an excellent character in every respect, and as a fashionable dressmaker does a good business. * * * * * arrival of fifteen from norfolk, virginia. per schooner--twice searched--landed at league island. isaac forman, henry williams, william seymour, harriet taylor, mary bird, mrs. lewey, sarah saunders, sophia gray, henry gray, mary gray, winfield scott, and three children. about the th of july, , a message reached the secretary that a schooner containing fifteen underground rail road passengers, from norfolk, virginia, would be landed near league island, directly at the foot of broad street, that evening at a late hour, and a request accompanied the message, to the effect that the committee would be on hand to receive them. accordingly the secretary procured three carriages, with trustworthy drivers, and between ten and eleven o'clock at night arrived on the banks of the schuylkill, where all was quiet as a "country grave-yard." the moon was shining and soon the mast of a schooner was discovered. no sign of any other vessel was then in sight. on approaching the bank, in the direction of the discovered mast, the schooner was also discovered. the hearts of those on board were swelling with unutterable joy; yet even at that dead hour of night, far away from all appearance of foes, no one felt at liberty to give vent to his feelings other than in a whisper. the name of the captain and schooner being at once recognized, the first impulse was to jump down on the deck. upon second view it was seen that the descent was too great to admit of such a feat. in a moment we concluded that we could pull them up the embankment from the deck by taking hold of their hands as they stood on tip toe. one after another was pulled up, and warmly greeted, until it came the turn of a large object, weighing about two hundred and sixty pounds, full large enough to make two ordinary women. the captain, who had experienced much inconvenience with her on the voyage, owing to the space she required chuckled over the fact that the committee would have their hands full for once. poor mrs. walker, however, stretched out her large arms, we seized her hands vigorously; the captain laughing heartily as did the other passengers at the tug now being made. we pulled with a will, but mrs. walker remained on the deck. a one horse power was needed. the pullers took breath, and again took hold, this time calling upon the captain to lay-to a helping hand; the captain prepared to do so, and as she was being raised, he having a good foot-hold, placed himself in a position for pushing to the full extent of his powers, and thus she was safely landed. all being placed in the carriages, they were driven to the station and comfortably provided for. on the voyage they had encountered more than the usual dangers. indeed troubles began with them before they had set sail from norfolk. the first indication of danger manifested itself as they stood on the bank of the river awaiting the arrival of a small boat which had been engaged to row them to the schooner. although they had sought as they supposed a safe place, sufficiently far from the bounds usually traversed by the police; still, in the darkness, they imagined they heard watchmen coming. just on the edge of the river, opposite where they were waiting, a boat under repairs was in the stocks. in order to evade the advancing foe, they all marched into the river, the water being shallow, and with the vessel for a breastwork hiding them from the shore, there they remained for an hour and a half. they were thoroughly soaked if nothing more. however, about ten o'clock a small oyster boat came to their relief, and all were soon placed aboard the schooner, which was loaded with corn, etc. all, with the exception of the large woman above referred to, and one other female, were required to enter a hole apparently leading through the bottom of the boat, but in reality only a department which had been expressly constructed for the underground rail road business, at the expense of the captain, and in accordance with his own plan. the entrance was not sufficiently large to admit mrs. walker, so she with another female who was thought "too fat" to endure the close confinement, was secreted behind some corn back of the cabin, a place so secluded that none save well-experienced searchers would be likely to find it. in this way the captain put out to sea. after some fifteen hours he deemed it safe to bring his passengers up on deck where they could inhale pure air which was greatly needed, as they had been next-door to suffocation and death. the change of air had such an effect on one of the passengers (scott) that, in his excitement, he refused to conform to the orders required; for prudential reasons the captain, threatened to throw him over-board. whereupon scott lowered his tone. before reaching the lock the captain supposing that they might be in danger from contact with boats, men, etc., again called upon them "to go into their hole" under the deck. not even the big woman was excused now. she pleaded that she could not get through, her fellow-sufferers said that she must be got through urging the matter on the ground that they would have great danger to face. the big woman again tried to effect an entrance, but in vain. said one of the more resolute sisters "she must take off her clothes then, it will never do to have her staying up on deck to betray all the rest;" thus this resolute stand being unanimous, the poor woman had to comply, and except a single garment she was as destitute of raiment as was mother eve before she induced adam to eat of the forbidden fruit in the garden of eden. with the help of passengers below, she was squeezed through, but not without bruising and breaking the skin considerably where the rub was severest. all were now beneath the deck, the well-fitting oil-cloth was put over the hole covering the cabin-floor snugly, and a heavy table was set over the hole. they are within sight of the lock, but no human beings are visible about the schooner save the captain, the mate and a small boy, the son of the captain. at the lock not unexpectedly three officers came on board of the boat and stopped her. the captain was told that they had received a telegraphic dispatch from norfolk to the effect that his boat was suspected of having slaves secreted thereon. they talked with the captain and mate separately for a considerable while, and more closely did they examine the boy, but gained no information except that "the yellow-fever had been raging very bad in norfolk." at this fever-news the officers were not a little alarmed, and they now lost no time in attending to their official errand. they searched the cabin where the two fat women were first secreted, and other parts of the boat pretty thoroughly. they then commenced taking up the hatchways, but the place seemed so shockingly perfumed with foul air that the men started back and declared that nobody could live in such a place, and swore that it smelt like the yellow-fever; the captain laughed at them, and signified that they were perfectly welcome to search to their hearts' content. the officers concluded that there were no slaves on that boat, that nobody could live there, etc., etc., asked for their charges ($ ), and discharged the captain. the children had been put under the influence of liquor to keep them still, so they made no noise; the others endured their hour of agony patiently until the lock was safely passed, and the river reached. fresh air was then allowed them, and the great danger was considered overcome. the captain, however, far from deeming it advisable to land his live cargo at the wharves of philadelphia, delivered them at league island. the passengers testified that captain b. was very kind. they were noticed thus: isaac, was about fifty years of age, dark, tall, well-made, intelligent, and was owned by george brown, who resided at deep creek. isaac testified that said brown had invariably treated him cruelly. for thirty years isaac had hired his time, found himself in food, clothing, and everything, yet as he advanced in years, neither his task, nor his hire was diminished, but on the contrary his hire of late years had been increased. he winced under the pressure, and gave himself up to the study of the underground rail road. while arrangements for fleeing were pending, he broke the secret to his wife, polly, in whom he trusted; she being true to freedom, although sorrowing to part with him, threw no obstacle in his way. besides his wife, he had also two daughters, amanda a. and mary jane, both slaves. nevertheless, having made up his mind not to die a slave, he resolved to escape at all hazards. henderson belonged to the estate of a. briggs, which was about to be settled, and knowing that he was accounted on the inventory as personal property, he saw that he too would be sold with the rest of the movables, if he was not found among the missing. he began to consider what he had endured as a slave, and came to the conclusion that he had had a "rugged road to hoe all the way along" and that he might have it much worse if he waited to be sold. the voice of reason admonished him to escape for his life. in obeying this call he suffered the loss of his wife, julia, and two children, who were fortunately free. henderson was about thirty-one years of age, stout, and of healthy appearance, worth in cash perhaps $ . william was thirty-four years of age, of a chestnut color, substantial physical structure, and of good faculties. the man who professed to own him he called william taylor, and "he was a very hard man, one of the kind which could not be pleased, nor give a slave a pleasant answer one time in fifty." being thoroughly sick of william taylor, he fell in love with the underground rail road and canada. mrs. walker, the big fat woman, was thirty-eight years of age, and a pleasant-looking person, of a very dark hue. besides the struggles already alluded to, she was obliged to leave her husband. of her master she declared that she could "say nothing good." his name was arthur cooper, of georgetown; she had never lived with him, however; for twenty years she had hired her time, paying five dollars per month. when young she scarcely thought of the gross wrongs that were heaped upon her; but as she grew older, and thought more about her condition, she scouted the idea that god had designed her to be a slave, and decided that she would be one to leave dixey in the first underground rail road train that might afford her the chance. she determined not to remain even for the sake of her husband, who was a slave. with such a will, therefore, she started. upon leaving philadelphia, she went with the most of her company to boston, and thence to new bedford, where she was living when last heard from. rebecca lewey was the wife of a man, who was familiarly known by the name of "blue beard," his proper name being henry lewey. for a long time, although a slave himself, he was one of the most dexterous managers in the underground rail road agency in norfolk. no single chapter in this work could be more interesting than a chapter of his exploits in this respect. the appearing of mrs. lewey, was a matter of unusual interest. although she had worn the yoke, she was gentle in her manners, and healthy-looking, so much so that no life insurance agent would have had need to subject her to medical examination before insuring her. she was twenty-eight years of age, but had never known personal abuse as a slave; she was none the less anxious, however, to secure her freedom. her husband, blue beard, judging from certain signs, that he was suspected by slave-holders, and might at any time be caged, (indeed he had recently been in the lions' den, but got out); in order to save his wife, sent her on in advance as he had decided to follow her soon in a similar manner. rebecca was not without hope of again meeting her husband. this desire was gratified before many months had passed, as he was fortunate enough to make his way to canada. mary knight was a single woman, twenty-six years of age, dark, stout, and of pleasing manners; she complained of having been used hard. sarah saunders had been claimed as the property of richard gatewood, a clerk in the naval service. according to sarah he was a very clever slave-holder, and had never abused her. nor was she aware that he had ever treated any of his servants cruelly. sarah, however, had not lived in gatewood's immediate family, but had been allowed to remain with her grandmother, rather as a privileged character. she was young, fair, and prepossessing. having a sister living in philadelphia, who was known to the agent in norfolk, sarah was asked one day if she would not like to see her sister. she at once answered "yes." after further conversation the agent told her that if she would keep the matter entirely private, he would arrange for her to go by the underground rail road. being willing and anxious to go, she promised due obedience to the rules; she was not told, however, how much she would have to pass through on the way, else, according to her own admission, she never would have come as she did; her heart would have failed her. but when the goal was gained, like all others, she soon forgot her sufferings, and rejoiced heartily at getting out of slavery, even though her condition had not been so bad as that of many others. sophia gray, with her son and daughter, henry and mary, was from portsmouth. the mother was a tall, yellow woman, with well cut features, about thirty-three years of age, with manners indicative of more than ordinary intelligence. the son and daughter were between twelve and fourteen years of age; well-developed for their age, modest, and finely-formed mulattoes. all the material necessary for a story of great interest, might have readily been found in the story of the mother and her children. they were sent with others to new bedford, massachusetts. it was not long after being in new bedford, before the boy was put to a trade, and the daughter was sent to boston, where she had an aunt (a fugitive), living in the family of the hon. george s. hilliard. mr. and mrs. hilliard were so impressed by mary's intelligent countenance and her appearance generally, that they decided that she must have a chance for an education, and opened their hearts and home to her. on a visit to boston, in , the writer found mary at mr. hilliard's, and in an article written for the "anti-slavery standard," upon the condition of fugitive slaves in boston and new bedford, allusion was made particularly to her and several others, under this hospitable roof, in the following paragraph: "on arriving in boston, the first persons i had the pleasure to converse with, were four or five uncommonly interesting underground rail road passengers, who had only been out of bondage between three and five years. their intelligent appearance contradicted the idea that they had ever been an hour in slavery, or a mile on an underground rail road. two of them were filling trustworthy posts, where they were respected and well paid for their services. two others were young people (one two, and the other three years out of slavery), a girl of fifteen, and a boy of twelve, whose interesting appearance induced a noble-hearted anti-slavery lady to receive them into her own family, expressly to educate them; and thus, almost ever since their arrival, they have been enjoying this lady's kindness, as well as the excellent equal free school privileges of boston. the girl, in the grammar school (chiefly composed of whites), has already distinguished herself, having received a diploma, with an excellent certificate of character; and the boy, naturally very apt, has made astonishing progress." the "boy of twelve," alluded to, was not mary's brother. he was quite a genius of his age, who had escaped from norfolk, stowed away in a schooner and was known by the name of "dick page." on arriving in philadelphia, dick was delivered, as usual, into the hands of the committee. the extraordinary smartness of the little fellow (only ten years old), astonished all who saw him. the sympathies of a kind-hearted gentleman and his wife, living in philadelphia, had been deeply awakened in his behalf, through their relative and friend, mrs. hilliard, in whose family, as has been already stated, the boy's aunt lived. so much were these friends interested to secure dick's freedom, that they often contemplated buying him, although they did not like the idea of buying, as the money would go into the pocket of the master, who they considered had no just right to deprive any individual of his freedom. so when dick arrived the committee felt that it was as little as they could do, to give these friends the pleasure of seeing the little underground rail road passenger. he was therefore conveyed to the residence of prof. j.p. lesley. he could not have been sent to a house in the great city of brotherly love, where he would have found a more cordial and sincere reception. after passing an hour or so with them, dick was brought away, but he had been so touched by their kindness, that he felt that he must see them again, before leaving the city; so just before sundown, one evening, he was missed; search was made for him, but in vain. great anxiety was felt for him, fearing that he was lost. during the early part of the evening, the writer, with a bell in hand, passed up one street and down another, in quest of the stranger, but no one could give any information of him. finally about ten o'clock, the mayor's office was visited with a view of having the police stations telegraphed. soon the mystery was solved; one of the policemen stated that he had noticed a strange colored boy with professor lesley's children. hastening to the residence of the professor, sure enough, dick was there, happy in bed and asleep. from that time to this, it has been a mystery to know how a boy, a perfect stranger, could make his way alone, (having passed over the route but once), without getting lost, so circuitous was the road that he had to travel, in order to reach professor lesley's house. having said this much, the way is now open to refer to him again, in boston at school. he was generously assisted through his education and trade, and was prepared to commence life at his majority, an intelligent mechanic, and a man of promise. the case of euphemia williams, claimed as a fugitive slave under the fugitive slave-law after having lived in pennsylvania for more than twenty years. scarcely had the infamous statute been in existence six months, ere the worst predictions of the friends of the slave were fulfilled in different northern states. it is hardly too much to say, that pennsylvania was considered wholly unsafe to nine-tenths of her colored population. the kidnapper is fully shown in the case of rachel and elizabeth parker as he appeared on the soil of pennsylvania, doing his vile work in the dead of night, entering the homes of unprotected females and children, therefore: the case of euphemia williams will serve to represent the milder form of kidnapping in open day, in the name of the law, by professed christians in the city of brotherly love, and the home of william penn. february , , euphemia williams, the mother of six children, the youngest at the breast, was arrested in the upper part of the city (philadelphia), and hurried before edward d. ingraham, a united states commissioner, upon the charge of being a fugitive from labor. she was claimed by william t.j. purnell, of worcester county, maryland, who admitted that she had been away from him for twenty-two years, or since . her offspring were born on the soil of pennsylvania, and the eldest daughter was seventeen years of age. euphemia was living in her own house, and had been a member of church, in good and regular standing, for about seventeen years, and was about forty years of age. when the arrest was made, euphemia had just risen from her bed, and was only partly dressed, when a little after daylight, several persons entered her room, and arrested her. murder! murder! was cried lustily, and awakened the house. her children screamed lamentably, and her eldest daughter cried "they've got my mother! they've got my mother!" "for god's sake, save me," cried euphemia, to a woman in the second story, who was an eye-witness to this monstrous outrage. but despite the piteous appeals of the mother and children, the poor woman was hastened into a cab, and borne to the marshall's office. through the vigilance of j.m. mckim and passmore williamson, a writ of habeas corpus returnable forthwith was obtained at about one o'clock. the heart-broken mother was surrounded by five of her children, three of whom were infants. it was a dark and dreadful hour. when her children were brought into the room where she was detained, great drops of sweat standing on her face plainly indicated her agony. by mutual arrangement between the claimants and the prisoner's counsel the hearing was fixed for the next day, at the hour of three o'clock. according to said arrangement, at three o'clock euphemia was brought face to face with her claimant, william t.j. purnell. the news had already gone out that the trial would come off at the time fixed; hence a multitude were on hand to witness the proceedings in the case. the sympathy of anti-slavery ladies was excited, and many were present in the court-room to manifest their feelings in behalf of the stricken woman. the eloquent david paul brown (the terror of slave-hunters) and william s. pierce, esqrs., appeared for euphemia, r.c. mcmurtrie, esq., for the claimant. mr. mcmurtrie in the outset, arose and said, that it was with extreme regret that he saw an attempt to influence the decision of this case by tumult and agitation. the sympathy shown by so many friendly ladies, was not a favorable sign for the slave-holder. notwithstanding, mr. mcmurtrie said that he would "prove that mahala, sometimes called mahala purnell, was born and bred a slave of dr. george w. purnell, of worcester county, maryland, who was in the habit of hiring her to the neighbors, and while under a contract of hiring, she escaped with a boy, with whom she had taken up, belonging to the person who hired her." the present claimant claimed her as the administrator of dr. george w. purnell. in order to sustain this claim many witnesses and much positive swearing were called forth. robert f. bowen, the first witness, swore that he knew both mahala and her master perfectly well, that he had worked as a carpenter in helping to build a house for the latter, and also had hired the former directly from her owner. definite time and circumstances were all harmoniously fixed by this leading witness. one of the important circumstances which afforded him ground for being positive was, as he testified on cross-examination, that he was from home at a camp-meeting (when she run away); "our camp-meetings," said the witness, "are held in the last of august or the first of september; the year i fix by founding it upon knowledge; the year before she ran away, i professed religion; i have something at home to fix the year; she was with me a part of a year. i hired her for the year as a house servant; i hired her directly from dr. george w. purnell. when she ran away i proceeded after her. i advertised, in delaware in written advertisements, in georgetown, milford and millsborough, and described her and the boy; her general features. i have not the advertisement and can't tell how she was described; dr. george purnell united with me in the advertisement. i followed her to delaware city; that's all i have done since, about inquiring after them. i came, after twenty-two years' absence, to seek my own rights, and as an evidence for my friend. i have not seen her more than once since she ran away, until she was arrested; i saw her two or three times in court. i saw her first in a wretched-looking room, at fifth and germantown road; it was yesterday morning; it was the evening before at congress hall; i arrived here last tuesday a week; a man told me where she was"--"i beg the court,"--here mr. mcmurtrie interposed an objection to his mentioning the person. the court, however, said the question could be put. _witness_.--i was pledged not to tell the name; the person signed her name louisa truit; the information was got by letter; the reason i did not tell, because i thought she might be murdered; i have not the letters, and can't tell the contents; the letter that i received required a pledge that i would not tell: i was directed to send my letter to the post-office without any definite place; the representative of louisa truit was a man; i saw him in market street between third and fourth, at taylor and paulding's store, in the course of last week; i was brought into contact with the representative of louisa by appointment in the letter, to get the information; i never heard him tell his name; he was neither colored nor white; we call them with us mixed blood; (i should take you to be colored, said the witness to mr. brown.) i suppose he lives somewhere up there; i saw him at my room the next morning; i did not learn from him who wrote the letter; he did not describe the person of the woman in the letter written to me, only her general appearance; purnell said he burnt the letter. mr. brown demanded the letter, or the proof of its destruction. i never wrote myself, but my friend, mr. henry did; he said so; i never received a letter; it was written to robert j. henry; part of the letter was written to me, but not directed to me; the louisa truit, who wrote, stated, that for the information he wanted $ for one of the fugitives; he was referred to the store of taylor & paulding, and mr. henry would meet him there; when i got to the store, some of the concern let mr. henry know that a man wanted to see him; i heard this at the store; the man was there; he was a mulatto man, middle-aged, and middling tall; he is not here, that i know of; can't tell when i last saw him. his name i understood to be gloucester. under the severe cross-examination that the witness had been subjected to under d.p. brown, he became very faint, and called for water. large drops of sweat stood upon his forehead, and he was obliged to sit down, lest he should fall down. "take a seat," said mr. brown tauntingly, "and enjoy yourself, while i proceed with my interrogations." but the witness was completely used up, and was allowed to withdraw to another room, where fresh air was more plentiful. the cause of the poor slave woman was greatly strengthened by this failure. another witness, named zachariah bowen, for the claimants, swore positively that he knew the prisoner well, that she had been hired to his brother for three years by dr. purnell, whose slave she was; also he swore that he knew her parents, who were slaves to the said doctor p.; that he last saw her in , etc. on cross-examination he swore thus: "i last saw her in , she was about sixteen or seventeen; she was about an ordinary size, not the smallest size, nor the largest; she was neither thick nor thin; there was nothing remarkable in her more than is common; nothing in her speech; she was about the same color as the woman here; i never saw a great deal of change in a nigger, from sixteen to thirty-five or forty, sometimes they grow fatter, and sometimes leaner. as to recognizing her in philadelphia, he had not the slightest difficulty. he went on to swear, that he first saw her in a cab, in the city; i knew her yesterday; if you could see the rest of the family you could pick her out yourself in thirty: i knew her by her general favor, and have no particular mark; i would not attempt to describe features; her favor is familiar to me; i never saw any marks upon her." here mr. brown said he would not examine this witness further until he had concluded the examination of the witness, who had become sick. the court then adjourned till nine o'clock the next morning. the avenues to the court were filled with anxious persons, and in the front and rear of the state house the crowd was very great. the next morning, at an early hour, the court-room, and all the avenues to it were densely crowded by people interested in behalf of the woman whose case was under trial. a large number of respectable ladies formed a part of the large gathering. robert f. bowen, the witness, who became sick, was recalled. _witness_.--"i saw the colored person, who gave the information, the next evening; after i saw him in market street, at congress hall, in our room; the gentleman who keeps the hotel we did not wish to place under any responsibility, as he might be accused of carrying on the business. (of kidnapping, suggested mr. brown.) no, said witness, that is what you call it; the woman would have run away if it had gone out; i heard his name was gloucester, that gave the information; i saw him three times; once on the street; i have never been in his house; i have been to a house where i heard he lived; i gave a pledge not to disclose the matter; i made a personal pledge to gloucester in our room last week at congress hall; he said he was afraid of being abused by the population of his own color for telling that this girl run away from dr. purnell; i understood that louisa truit was gloucester's wife." under this searching cross-examination, mr. brown constrained him not only to tell all and more than he knew in favor of his friend, the claimant, but wrung from him the secrets which he stood pledged never to disclose. _witness_.--"i know no marks; she was in the condition of a married woman when she left me; it was the particular favor of her father and mother that made me recognize her; nothing else; she was pretty well built for her size." while this witness remembered every thing so accurately occurring in relation to the life and escape of the girl of sixteen, and was prepared to swear to her identity simply "by her favor," as he termed it, he was found sadly deficient in memory touching the owner, whom he had known much longer, and more intimately than he had the girl, as will be seen from the following facts in this witness' testimony: _witness_.--"i don't know when dr. p. died; i can't tell the year; i should suppose about fourteen years ago; i was at the funeral, and helped to make his coffin; it was in the fall, i think; it was after the camp-meeting i spoke of; at that time i went regularly, but not of late; i have no certain recollection of the year he died; i kept a record of the event of my conversion, and have referred to it often. it has been a reference every year, and perhaps a thousand times a year; it was in the bible, and i was in the habit of looking into it; i was in the habit of turning over the leaves of this precious book; i think it was eighteen years ago; can't say i'm certain; can't say it was more than twelve years; dr. p. left six children; two remain in our country, and one in louisiana, and the one, who is here, making four; i have no interest in the fugitive; i made no contract in regard to this case; there was an offer; are you waiting for an answer? the offer was this, that i was to come on after my fugitive, and if i did not get him they were to pay my expenses; i hesitated about coming; it was a long time before i made up my mind; they said they would pay my expenses if i didn't succeed in getting mine out of prison." in this way the above witness completely darkened counsel, and added to the weakness of his cause in a marked degree. the overseer is now examined. _zachariah bowen_ recalled.--"i didn't come here on any terms; i hardly understand what you mean by terms; i made no contract; i came upon my own book; there was no contract; i have no expectations; i don't know that dr. p. ever manumitted any female slaves; i never knew that she was in the family way when she ran away; i heard of it about that time; she ran off in the fall of . dr. p. told me so; in the fall of ; in , ' , ' , she lived with my brother; in i lived there; in and ' i lived with dr. p. i moved there and was overseer for him; i was overseer for fifteen years for him; two years at his house; i ceased to be his overseer in , i think; he was living in ; i am certain of that year, i think; dr. purnell died in , i feel certain; i said to mr. purnell that i did not know what ailed the other mr. bowen, for the doctor died in ; he died in the latter part of the spring of ; mr. bowen made a mistake in saying it was eighteen years ago; if you recall him he will rectify the mistake, i think; several slaves escaped from dr. purnell; a boy, that lived with my brother, ran away in ; the others were not hired to my brother; i don't know that i could tell the exact time, nor the year; the doctor used to say to us, there is another of my niggers ran away; the reason that i can tell when mahala ran away, is because she took a husband and ran away; i was married that year; the reason i cannot tell about the others is, because they went at different times in five years; the first who ran away before mahala, was named grace; she went in ; i don't know when the last went, or who it was." * * * * * gloucester said they had raised a mob on him, on account of this case, and he would have to leave the city; the case of this woman or these proceedings was not spoken of there; he staid but a short time; he said one of the witnesses had betrayed him in court, yesterday, and they attacked him last night; i asked him how he escaped from so many; he said very few were in the city who could outrun him; i asked him where he was going, he replied he had a notion to put for canada; some of the gentlemen proposed his going to baltimore; he said that would not do, as the laws of maryland would catch him; he was going to get a boat and go to new jersey, and then to new york; mr. purnell gave him just thirty-five dollars last night; he paused a while, and mr. p. told him to hand it back; he then took out his money and put some more to it, and said: "here is fifty dollars." mr. p. said that if he got the slave he would leave fifty dollars more with a person in the city. * * * * * question by the judge.--"you have spoken of a conversation in which mr. p. told you of certain letters or correspondence, and that they had reference to this alleged fugitive. i want you to give me, to the best of your recollection, everything he said the letters contained." _witness_.--mr. p. told me when he first mentioned it to me, he said that he was going to mention something to me, that he did not want anything said, in regard to some negroes that had run away from his father; he said he wanted me to come on here, and he did not want me to tell any person before we left our county; that if the negroes heard of it, they could get information to the parties before he could get here; i told him i would not tell any person except my wife; he then said he had correspondence with a person here, for a month or two, and he had no doubt but that several of his negroes were here, from what he had heard from his correspondent; he asked me if i could recognize the favor of this mahala? i told him i didn't know; he then said if anybody would know her, i would, as she had lived with my brother three years; he then said that he would want to start the next week, but he would see me again at that time; that was all he said at that time, only we turned into a hotel, and he said don't breathe this to anybody; on saturday before we left home, he came to my house, and said: well, i shall want you to start for philadelphia, on monday morning; i suppose you will go? i told him i would rather not, if he could do without out me; but as i told him before, i would go, if he still requested it. i would go; that's all, sir, except that i said i would be along in the stage. * * * * * j.t. hammond was then called, a young man who admitted he had never seen the respondent till he came to the court-house, but was ready to swear that he would have known her by her resemblance to dr. purnell's set of negroes. "his whole set?" said mr. brown. "yes, sir." (derisive laughter). * * * * * mr. mcmurtrie offered to prove, by persons who had known the two witnesses who had testified in this case, from their youth, that they were respectable and worthy men. d.p. brown, said that if the gentleman found it necessary to sustain his witnesses' reputation, in consequence of the peculiar dilemma they had got into, he would object, and if he supposed that he was about to contradict them in some point in the defence, he certainly was right, but as the case could not be concluded to-day, he would like to have the matter adjourned over until tuesday next. mr. mcmurtrie objected, by saying, that his client was anxious to have the matter disposed of as soon as possible, as he had been subjected to numerous insults since the matter had been before the court. judge kane intimated that no weight was to be attached to this consideration, as the full power of the court was at his disposal for the purpose of protecting his client from insult. mr. mcmurtrie replied that he did not know whether words spoken came within the meaning of the act of congress, in such matters. the court took a recess until a quarter to three o'clock. the court met again at a quarter to three o'clock. mr. mcmurtrie asked that the witnesses for the defence be excluded from the court room, except the one upon the stand. this was objected to by mr. brown, as the witnesses for the prosecution had not been required so to do; but he afterwards withdrew his objections, and notified mr. mcmurtrie that he would require any witnesses he might have in addition, should retire also; as he would object to any of them being heard if they remained. _the defence_.--mr. pierce opened the case by saying that the testimony for the defence would be clear and conclusive; that the witnesses for the prosecution are mistaken in the identity of the alleged fugitive. that at the time they allege her to have been in maryland, on the plantation of dr. purnell, she was in chester county, and in the year lafayette visited this country, she was in this city. he would confine the testimony exclusively to these two counties, and show that she is not the alleged slave. henry c. cornish, sworn. i live in this city, and am a shoemaker; i came here in the year ; before that i lived in chester county, east whiteland township, with wm. latta; my father lived with mr. latta six or eight years; i lived there three years before that time, and was familiar with the place for more than six years before ; i saw the alleged fugitive some five years before , at george amos', in uwchland township, some eight or ten miles from our house; i fix the time from a meeting being held on the valley hill by a minister, named nathan d. tierney; that must have been in ; i am positive it was before the beginning of the year ; i have not the least doubt; i joined church about that time; it was the first of my uniting with the church; it was in ; i joined the methodist episcopal church; before they built a church they held meetings alternately at people's houses; i met her at amos' house, i recollect my father going to dig the foundation of the church: i saw her there before the church was built; i knew her before she was married; and since i left there i have met her at the annual meetings of the church; i have kept up the acquaintance ever since; i knew that she had two children, that were buried as long as twenty-one or twenty-two years ago; if the boy had lived he would have been twenty-three or twenty-four years old; he was the oldest; she was not married when i first saw her in ; she did not appear to be anything but a girl, and was not married, and she of course could not be in the condition of a married woman; i was not at her wedding; if i had not continued to know her, i would not now know her; she was then a small person; age and flesh would change her a little; her complexion has not changed; i think she worked for mrs. amos; a church record is now kept very correct; but when i first went into the church, colored men could not read and write; i acted as the clerk of the church; i united with the church after i first saw her; i have seen her very often since i left chester; five hundred times to speak safely; i worship down town and she up in brown street; to the best of my recollection they moved over schuylkill about twelve years ago; she has lived here about nine years; she has six children, i have heard; i have seen five; the oldest is eighteen or nineteen; the youngest a sucking babe; i have visited her house since i have been here; i was not sent for by my uncle, who was employed by joseph smith & co., next to the girard bank; i was with edward biddle for four years, until he was elected president of the morris canal and banking company, and then i went to learn shoemaking under instructions, since which time i have been in business for myself; my father burnt limestone for mr. latta; he and his wife are dead; i was there a day or two ago for witnesses to testify in this case. _cross-examined._--i was born in , and am thirty-seven years of age; when i first knew her i suppose she was fifteen years old; she was married about three years afterwards; her husband's name is micajah williams; i heard he was in prison for stealing; her name before marriage was phamie coates; i didn't know her husband before they were married; don't know whether they came from maryland; i never knew of mahala richardson before last evening in court; the difference in her appearance is a natural one, that every body is acquainted with; i mean that a little boy is not a man, and a growing girl is not a woman; age and flesh and size make a difference; if i had not conversed with her during the twenty-one years, i would not have known her; i never changed a word with her about the case, except to say i was sorry to see her here; i knew her the moment i saw her; her arrest could not have been in the newspapers of the morning as she was not arrested until seven o'clock that day; i went to chester to look for witnesses; i came to the court because i am a vigilant man, and my principle is to save any person whose liberty is in danger; i had heard that a woman was arrested; her business is to get work wherever she can. deborah ann boyer, sworn. i was thirty-three last january; i live within one mile of west chester; i am a married woman; i have lived there since . i went there with my mother; i can read; i have seen the alleged fugitive before this; i first knew her at downingtown, when she came to my mother's house; that was before i had gone to west chester with my mother; you can tell how long it was, for it was in ; my brother was born in that year; i was quite small then; don't know how she came there; she was with my mother during her confinement; my brother is dead; it is written down in our testament; and i took an epitaph from it to put on the tombstone; the last time i saw it was when the fellow killed the school-mistress. i looked because about , a man killed a woman, and was hung, and i wanted to see how long ago it was. i have seen her more or less ever since, until within two years. i don't remember when she went from mother, but i saw her at mr. latta's afterwards. i have no doubt she is the woman; she was then a slim, tall girl, larger than myself; she is not darker now, but heavier set every way. * * * * * sarah gayly affirmed.--i am between forty-seven and forty-eight years of age. i live in the city at this time. i was raised in chester county, in , and have been here about five years. i lived in downingtown nine or ten years. i lived awhile in west chester, and lived in chester county until about five years ago. i know the alleged fugitive. i first saw her in the neighborhood of downingtown, at a place they call downing's old stage office; she worked in the house with me; it was somewhere near , just before lafayette came about; she worked off and on days' work, to wash dishes; she was a small girl then, very thin, and younger than me. i met with her, as near as i can tell you, down in the valley, at a place called the valley inn. i used to see her off and on at church, in . i visited her at mr. latta's, after she lived at the valley inn. i don't know when she left that county. i know the alleged fugitive is the same person; she belonged to the same church, ebenezer. i know the brothers cornish, and have whipped them many a time. i lived with latta myself, and the cornish, who is now a minister, lived there; he lived there before i did, and so did the alleged fugitive. i was then between twenty-three and twenty-five years old; she was a strip of a girl; she was not in the family way when she came there. cross-examined.--i have not seen her since , until i saw her here in the court-room; i recognized her when i first saw her here without anybody pointing her out, and she recognized me; i have reason to know her, because she has the same sort of a scar on her forehead that i have; we used to make fun of each other about the marks; she went by the name of fanny coates. i know nothing about her husband; she did not do the work of a woman in ; she washed dishes, scrubbed, etc. i heard her say her father and mother were dead, and that they lived somewhere in that neighborhood; she at that time made her home with a family named amos. the judge asked to see the scar on the witness' forehead and that on the forehead of the respondent. they were brought near the bench, and the marks inspected, which were plainly seen on both. during this time the infant of the respondent was entrusted to another colored woman. the child, who, up to this time, had been quiet, raised a piteous cry and would not be pacified. the whole scene excited a great sensation. * * * * * mr. brown then rose in reply to the plaintiff's counsel, and said: if i consulted my own views, i should not say one syllable, in answer to the arguments of the learned counsel upon the other side, and relying as i do upon the evidence, and out of respect to the convenience of your honor, i shall say very little as it is. the views of the counsel it appears to me, are most extraordinary indeed. he seems to take it for granted that everything that is said on the part of the witnesses for the claimant is gospel, and that what is said on the part of the witnesses for the respondent, is to be considered matter of suspicion. now i rate no man by his size, color, or position, but i appeal to you in looking at the testimony that has been produced here, on the different sides of the question, and judging it by its intrinsic worth, whether there is the slightest possible comparison between the witnesses on the part of the plaintiff, and those of the defendant, either in intelligence, memory, language, thought, or anything else. this is a fine commentary upon the disparagement of color! looking at the men as they are, as you will, i say that the testimony exhibited on the part of the respondent would outweigh a whole theatre of such men as are exhibited on the part of the complainant. i say nothing here about their respectability. it would have been proper for the learned counsel on the part of the plaintiff, if he thought the witnesses on the part of the respondent unworthy of belief, to have proved them so; but instead of that, he attempts to bolster up men, who, whether respectable or otherwise, from their inconsistency, involutions and tergiversations in regard to this case, produce no possible effect upon the judicial mind, but that which is unfavorable to themselves. impartial men, are they? how do they appear before you? they appear under cover from first to last; standing upon their right to resist inquiries legitimately propounded to them; burning up letters since they have arrived, calculated to shed light upon this subject; and before they come here, corresponding with and deriving information from a man, an evident kidnapper, who dare not sign his name and gets his wife to sign hers. this is the character these men exhibit here before you; clandestinely meeting together at the tavern, and that to consult in regard to the identity of a person about whom they know nothing. can they refer to any marks by which to identify this person? nothing at all of the kind. do they, with the exception of the first witness examined, state even the time when she left? have they produced the letter written by this kidnapper, showing how he described her? why, let me ask, is not the full light allowed to shine on this case? but even with the light they have shed upon it, i would have been perfectly content to have rested it, relying upon their testimony alone, for a just decision. * * * * * now, what man among them, professes to have seen this woman for twenty-one years? not one. the learned gentleman attempts to sustain his case, because one of our witnesses, certainly not more than one, has not seen this woman for about the same length of time: but don't you perceive, that in this case they all lived in the same state, if not in the same county--they had intercourse with persons mutually acquainted with her, and three out of four of them, met her for several months at the same church; and one witness, who had long been in her society, and in close association with her, knew she had a mark upon her forehead corresponding to the one she bore on her own. and by dint of all these matters, this long continued acquaintance only reviving the impressions received in early life, they had no doubt of the identity of the person. was there ever a more perfect train of evidence exhibited to prove the identity of a person, than on the present occasion? * * * * * we have called witnesses on this point alone, and have more than counterpoised the evidence produced upon the opposite side. and we have not only made it manifest that she was a free woman, but we have confirmed her charter by separate proof. what does the gentleman say further? do i understand him to say we have no right to determine this matter judicially? now what is all this about? why is it before you, taking your time day after day? according to this argument, you have nothing to do but to give the master the flesh he claims. but you are to be satisfied that you have sufficient reason to believe that these claims are well founded. and if you leave that matter in a state of doubt, it does not require a single witness to be called on the part of the respondent, to prove on the opposite side of the question. but we have come in with a weight of evidence demolishing the structure he has raised, restoring the woman to her original position in the estimation of the law. "well," says the gentleman, "it is like the case of a fugitive from justice." but it is not, and if it were, it would not benefit his case. the case of a fugitive from justice is one in which the prisoner is remanded to the custody of the law, handed over for legal purposes. the case of a fugitive from labor is a case in which the individual is handed over sometimes to a merciless master, and very rarely to a charitable one. does the counsel mean to say that in the case of a fugitive from justice he is not bound to satisfy the judge before whom, the question is heard? he should prove our witnesses unworthy of belief. as judge grier said, upon a former occasion, "you can choose your own time; you have full and abundant opportunities on every side to prepare against any contingency." why don't they do so? he is not to come here and force on a case, and say, i suppose you take every thing for granted. he is to come prepared to prove the justice of his claim before the tribunal who is to decide upon it. that he has not done successfully, and i would, therefore, ask your honor, after the elaborate argument on the part of the plaintiff, to discharge this woman: for after such an abundance of testimony unbroken and incontestable as that we have exhibited here, it would be a monstrous perversion of reason to suppose that anything more could be required. mr. mcmurtrie replied by reasserting his positions. it was a grave question for the court to consider what evidence was required. he thought that this decision might be the turning case to show whether the act of congress would be carried out or whether we were to return in fact to the state of affairs under the old laws. judge kane said, in reference to the remarks at the close of mr. mcmurtrie's speech: so long as i retain my seat on this bench, i shall endeavor to enforce this law without reference to my own sympathies, or the sympathies and opinions of others. i do not think, in the cases under this act of congress, or a treaty, or constitutional, or legal provision for the extradition of fugitives from justice, that it is possible to imagine that conclusive proof of identity could be established by depositions. from the nature of the case and the facts to be proved, proof cannot be made in anticipation of the identity of the party. that being established, it is the office of the judge, to determine whether a _prima facie_ case indicates the identity of the party charged, with the party before him. * * * * * on the other hand, the evidence of the claimant has been met, and regarding the bearing of the witnesses for the respondent, met by witnesses who testified, with apparent candor and great intelligence. if they are believed, then the witnesses for the claimant are mistaken. the question is, whether two witnesses for the claimant, who have not seen the respondent for twenty-three, one for twenty-four years, are to be believed in preference to four witnesses on the other side, three of whom have seen her frequently since , and known her as euphemia williams, and the fourth, who has not seen her for a quarter of a century, but testifies that when they were children, they used to jest each other about scars, which they still bear upon their persons; i am bound to say that the proof by the four witnesses has not been overthrown by the contrary evidence of the two who only recognized her when they called on her with the marshall. one says he called her mahala purnell as soon as he saw her. he might be mistaken. he inferred he would find her at the place to which he went. there were three persons in the room, one was mahala richardson, whom he knew, a young girl, and the prisoner. if she had been alone, his recognition would have been of no avail. the fact is obvious to this court, that the respondent has no peculiar physiognomy or gait. it has been shown she has no peculiarity of voice; i cannot but feel that the fact alleged by the claimant is very doubtful, when the witnesses, without mark or peculiarity, testify that they can readily recognize the girl of fifteen in the woman of forty. the prisoner is therefore discharged. a slight attempt at applause in the court room was promptly suppressed. the intelligence of the discharge of the woman, was quickly spread to those without, who raised shouts of joy. the woman, with her children, were hurried into a carriage, which was driven first to the anti-slavery office and then to the philadelphia institute, in lombard street above seventh. here she was introduced to a large audience of colored people, who hailed her appearance with lively joy; several excited speeches were made, and great enthusiasm was manifested in and outside of the building and the adjacent streets. when euphemia came out, the horses were taken out of the carriage, and a long rope was attached, which was taken by as many colored people as could get hold of it, and the woman and her children thus conveyed to her home. the procession was accompanied by several hundreds of men, women and boys. they dragged the carriage past the residence of the counsel for the respondent, cheering them by huzzas of the wildest kind, and then took the vehicle and its contents to the residence of the woman, germantown road near fifth street, beguiling the way with songs and shouts. the whole scene was one of wild, ungovernable excitement, produced by exuberance of joy. the masterly management of abolitionists in connection with the counsel, saved poor euphemia from being dragged from her children into hopeless bondage. while the victory was a source of great momentary rejoicing on the part of the friends of the slave it was nevertheless quite manifest that she was only released by the "skin of her teeth." "a scar on her forehead" saved her. relative to this important mark, a few of euphemia's friends enjoyed a very pleasing anecdote, which, at the time, they were obliged to withhold from the public; it is too good to be kept any longer. for a time, euphemia was kept in durance vile, up in the dome of independence hall, partly in the custody of lieutenant gouldy of the mayor's police, (who was the right man in the right place), whose sympathies were secretly on the side of the slave. while his pitying eyes gazed on euphemia's sad face, he observed a very large scar on her forehead, and was immediately struck with the idea that that old scar might be used with damaging effect by the witnesses and counsel against her. at once he decided that the scar must be concealed, at least, until after the examination of the claimant's witnesses. accordingly a large turban was procured and placed on euphemia's head in such a manner as to hide the scar completely, without exciting the least suspicion in the minds of any. so when the witnesses against her swore that she had no particular mark, david paul brown made them clinch this part of their testimony irrevocably. now, when sarah gayly affirmed (on the part of the prisoner) that "i have reason to know her because she has the same sort of a scar on her forehead that i have, we used to make fun of each other about the marks," etc., if it was not evident to all, it was to some, that she had "stolen their thunder," as the "chop-fallen" countenances of the slave-holder's witnesses indicated in a moment. despair was depicted on all faces sympathizing with the pursuers. with heavy pecuniary losses, sad damage of character, and comfortless, the unhappy claimant and his witnesses were compelled to return to maryland, wiser if not better men. the account of this interesting trial, we have condensed from a very careful and elaborate report of it published in the "pennsylvania freeman," january th, . apparently, the vigilance of slave-hunters was not slackened by this defeat, as the records show that many exciting cases took place in philadelphia and pennsylvania, and if the records of the old abolitionist society could be published, as they should be, it would appear that many hard-fought battles have taken place between freedom and slavery on this soil. here in conclusion touching the fugitive slave law, arrests under it, etc., as a fitting sequel we copy two extracts from high authority. the first is from the able and graphic pen of james miller mckim, who was well known to stand in the front ranks of both the anti-slavery society and the underground rail road cause through all the long and trying contest, during which the country was agitated by the question of immediate emancipation, and shared the full confidence and respect of abolitionists of all classes throughout the united states and great britain. the letter from which we have made this extract was written to hon. george thompson, the distinguished abolitionist of england, and speaks for itself. the other quotation is from the pen of a highly respectable and intelligent lady, belonging to the society of friends, or quakers, and a most devoted friend of the slave, whose statement obviously is literally true. from mr. mckim to george thompson, . the accompanying parcel of extracts will give you a full account of the different slave cases tried in this city, under the new fugitive slave law up to this time. full and accurate as these reports are, they will afford you but a faint idea of the anguish and confusion that have been produced in this part of the country by this infamous statute. it has turned southeastern pennsylvania into another guinea coast, and caused a large portion of the inhabitants to feel as insecure from the brutal violence and diabolical acts of the kidnapper, as are the unhappy creatures who people the shores of africa. ruffians from the other side of the slave-line, aided by professional kidnappers on our own soil, a class of men whose 'occupation' until lately, had been 'gone,' are continually prowling through the community, and every now and then seizing and carrying away their prey. as a specimen of the boldness, though fortunately, not of the success always with which these wretches prosecute their nefarious trade, read the enclosed article, which i cut from the _freeman_, of january d, and bear in mind that in no respect are the facts here mentioned over-stated. this affair occurred in chester county, one of the most orderly and intelligent counties in the state, a county settled principally by quakers. a week or two after this occurrence, and not far from the same place, a farmhouse was entered by a band of armed ruffians, in the evening, and at a time when all the able-bodied occupants, save one, were known to be absent. this was a colored man, who was seated by the kitchen fire, and in the act of taking off his shoes. he was instantly knocked down and gagged; but, still resisting, he was beaten most unmercifully. there was a woman, and also a feeble old man, in the house, who were attracted to the spot by the scuffle; but they could neither render any assistance, nor (the light being put out), could they recognize the parties engaged in it. the unhappy victim being fairly overcome, was dragged like a slain beast to a wagon, which was about a hundred yards distant, waiting to receive him. in this he was placed, and conveyed across the line, which was about twenty miles further south; and that was the last, so far as i know, that has ever been heard of him. the alarm was given, of course, as soon as possible, and the neighbors were quickly in pursuit; but the kidnappers had got the start of them. the next morning the trail between the house, and the place where the wagon stood, was distinctly visible, and deeply marked with blood. about a fortnight since, a letter was brought to our office, from a well-known friend, the contents of which were in substance as follows: a case of kidnapping had occurred in the vicinity of west cain township, chester county, at about half past one on sunday morning, the th march. a black man, by the name of thomas hall, an honest, sober, and industrious individual, living in the midst of a settlement of farmers, had been stolen by persons who knocked at his door, and told him that his nearest neighbor wanted him to come to his house, one of his children being sick. hall, not immediately opening his door, it was burst in, and three men rushed into his house; hall was felled by the bludgeons of the men. his wife received several severe blows, and on making for the door was told, that if she attempted to go out or halloo, she would have her brains blown out. she, however, escaped through a back window, and gave the alarm; but before any person arrived upon the ground, they had fled with their victim. he was taken without any clothing, except his night clothes. a six-barrelled revolver, heavily loaded, was dropped in the scuffle, and left; also a silk handkerchief, and some old advertisement of a bear bait, that was to take place in emmittsburg, maryland. in how many cases the persons stolen are legally liable to capture, it is impossible to state. the law, you know, authorizes arrests to be made, with or without process, and nothing is easier under such circumstances than to kidnap persons who are free born. the very same day that i received the above mentioned letter, and while our hearts were still aching over its contents, another was brought us from thomas garrett, of wilmington, delaware, announcing the abduction, a night or two before, of a free colored man of that city. the outrage was committed by an ex-policeman, who, pretending to be acting under the commission which he had been known to hold, entered, near the hour of midnight, the house of the victim, and alleging against him some petty act of disorder, seized him, handcuffed him in the presence of his dismayed family, and carried him off to maryland. the cheat that had been practised was not discovered by the family until next evening; but it was too late, the man was gone. at the time mr. garrett's letter was handed to me, narrating the foregoing case of man stealing, i was listening to the sad tales of two colored women, who had come to the office for advice and assistance. one of them was an elderly person, whose son had been pursued by the marshal's deputies, and who had just escaped with 'the skin of his teeth.' she did not come on her own account, however; her heart was too full of joy for that. she came to accompany the young woman who was with her. this young woman was a remarkably intelligent, lady-like person, and her story made a strong appeal to my feelings. she is a resident of washington, and her errand here was, to procure the liberation of a sister-in-law, who is confined in that city, under very peculiar circumstances. the sister-in-law had absconded from her mistress about nine months since, and was secreted in the room of an acquaintance, who was cook in a distinguished slave-holding family in washington; her intention being, there to wait until all search should be over, and an opportunity offer of escape to the north. but, as yet, no such opportunity had presented itself; at least none that was available, and for nine long months had that poor girl been confined in the narrow limits of the cook's chamber, watched over day and night by that faithful friend with a vigilance as sleepless as it was disinterested. the time had now come, however, when something must be done. the family in whose house she is hid is about to be broken up, and the house to be vacated, and the girl must either be rescued from her peril, or she, and all her accomplices must be exposed. what to do under these circumstances was the question which brought this woman to philadelphia. i advised her to the best of my ability, and sent her away hopeful, if not rejoicing. but in many of these cases we can render no aid whatever. all we can do is to commend them to the god of the oppressed, and labor on for the day of general deliverance. but, oh! the horrors of this hell-born system, and the havoc made by this; its last foul offspring, the fugitive slave law. the anguish, the terror, the agony inflicted by this infamous statute, must be witnessed to be fully appreciated. you must hear the tale of the broken-hearted mother, who has just received tidings that her son is in the hands of man-thieves. you must listen to the impassioned appeal of the wife, whose husband's retreat has been discovered, and whose footsteps are dogged by the blood-hounds of slavery. you must hear the husband, as i did, a few weeks ago, himself bound and helpless, beg you for god's sake to save his wife. you must see such a woman as hannah dellam, with her noble-looking boy at her side, pleading in vain before a pro-slavery judge, that she is of right free; that her son is entitled to his freedom; and above all, that her babe, about to be born, should be permitted to open its eyes upon the light of liberty. you must hear the judge's decision, remorselessly giving up the woman with her children born and unborn, into the hands of their claimants--by them to be carried to the slave prison, and thence to be sold to a returnless distance from the remaining but scattered fragments of her once happy family. these things you must see and hear for yourself before you can form any adequate idea of the bitterness of this cup which the unhappy children of oppression along this southern border are called upon to drink. manifestations like these have we been obliged either to witness ourselves, or hear the recital of from others, almost daily, for weeks together. our aching hearts of late, have known but little respite. a shadow has been cast over our home circles, and a check been given to the wonted cheerfulness of our families. one night, the night that the woman and the boy and the unborn babe received their doom, my wife, long after midnight, literally wept herself to sleep. for the last fortnight we have had no new cases; but even now, when i go home in the evening, if i happen to look more serious than usual, my wife notices it, and asks: "is there another slave case?" and my little girls look up anxiously for my reply. * * * * * from miss mary b. thomas. daring outrage! burglary and kidnapping! the following letter tells its own startling and most painful story. every manly and generous heart must burn with indignation at the villainy it describes, and bleed with sympathy for the almost broken-hearted sufferers. downingtown, th, th mo., . "my dear friend:--this morning our family was aroused by the screams of a young colored girl, who has been living with us nearly a year past; but we were awakened only in time to see her borne off by three white men, ruffians indeed, to a carriage at our door, and in an instant she was on her way to the south. i feel so much excited by the attendant circumstances of this daring and atrocious deed, as scarcely to be able to give you a coherent account of it, but i know that it is a duty to make it known, and, i therefore write this immediately. "as soon as the house was opened in the morning, these men who were lurking without, having a carriage in waiting in the street, entered on their horrid errand. they encountered no one in their entrance, except a colored boy, who was making the fire; and who, being frightened at their approach, ran and hid himself; taking a lighted candle from the kitchen, and carrying it up stairs, they went directly to the chamber in which the poor girl lay in a sound sleep. they lifted her from her bed and carried her down stairs. in the entry of the second floor they met one of my sisters, who, hearing an unusual noise, had sprung from her bed. her screams, and those of the poor girl, who was now thoroughly awakened to the dreadful truth, aroused my father, who hurried undressed from his chamber, on the ground floor. my father's efforts were powerless against the three; they threw him off, and with frightful imprecations hurried the girl to the carriage. quickly as possible my father started in pursuit, and reached west chester only to learn that the carriage had driven through the borough at full speed, about half an hour before. they had two horses to their vehicle, and there were three men besides those in the house. these particulars we gather from the colored boy ned, who, from his hiding-place, was watching them in the road. "can anything be done for the rescue of this girl from the kidnappers? we are surprised and alarmed! this deliberate invasion of our house, is a thing unimagined. there must be some informer, who is acquainted with our house and its arrangements, or they never would have come so boldly through. truly, there is no need to preach about slavery in the abstract, this individual case combines every wickedness by which human nature can be degraded. truly, thy friend, mary b. thomas." in a subsequent letter, our friend says: "as to detail, the whole transaction was like a flash to those who saw the miserable ending. i was impelled to write without delay, by the thought that it would be in time for the 'freeman,' and that any procrastination on my part, might jeopard others of these suffering people, who are living, as was this poor girl, in fancied security. our consternation was inexpressible; our sorrow and indignation deepen daily, as the thought returns of the awful announcement with which we were awakened: they have carried martha to the south. to do what will be of most service to the cause--not their cause--ours--that of our race, is our burning desire." * * * * * helpers and sympathizers at home and abroad--interesting letters. the necessities of the committee for the relief of the destitute and way-worn travelers bound freedom-ward, were met mainly by friends of the cause in philadelphia. generous-hearted abolitionists nobly gave their gold in this work. they gave not only material, but likewise whole-souled aid and sympathy in times of need, to a degree well worthy of commemoration while the name of slave is remembered. the shipleys, hoppers, parrishes, motts, whites, copes, wistars, pennocks, sellers, davis, prices, hallowells, sharpless, williams, coates, morris, browns, townsends, taylors, jones, grews, wises, lindseys, barkers, earles, pughs, rogers, whartons, barnes, willsons, wrights, peirces, justices, smiths, cavenders, stackhouses, nealls, dawsons, evans, lees, childs, clothiers, harveys, laings, middletons, etc., are among the names well-known in the days which tried men's souls, as being most true to the bondman, whether on the underground rail road, before a fugitive slave-law court, or on a rice or cotton plantation in the south. nor would we pass over the indefatigable labors of the ladies' anti-slavery societies and sewing circles of philadelphia, whose surpassing fidelity to the slave in the face of prejudice, calumny and reproach, year in and year out, should be held in lasting remembrance. in the hours of darkness they cheered the cause. while we thus honor the home-guards and coadjutors in our immediate neighborhood, we cannot forget other earnest and faithful friends of the slave, in distant parts of the country and the world, who volunteered timely aid and sympathy to the vigilance committee of philadelphia. not to mention any of this class would be to fail to bestow honor where honor is due. we have only to allow the friends to whom we allude, to speak for themselves through their correspondence when their hearts were stirred in the interest of the escaping slave, and they were practically doing unto others as they would have others do unto them. here, truly, is pure philanthropy, that vital christianity, that true and undefiled religion before god and the father, which is to visit the fatherless and widow in their affliction, and to undo the heavy burden, and let the oppressed go free. the posterity of the oppressed at least, will need such evidences of tender regard and love as here evinced. in those days, such expressions of christian benevolence were cheering in the extreme. from his able contribution to anti-slavery papers, and his fearless and eloquent advocacy of the cause of the down-trodden slave in the pulpit, on the platform, and in the social circle, the name of rev. n.r. johnston, reformed presbyterian (of the old covenanter faith), will be familiar to many. but we think it safe to say that his fidelity and devotion to the slave are nowhere more fully portrayed than in the appended underground rail road letters. topsham, vt., september st, . wm. still, my dear friend:--i have the heart, but not the time, to write you a long letter. it is saturday evening, and i am preparing to preach to-morrow afternoon from heb. xiii. , "remember them that are in bonds as bound with them." this will be my second sermon from this text. sabbath before last i preached from it, arguing and illustrating the proposition, deduced from it, that "the great work to which we are now called is the abolition of slavery, or the emancipation of the slave," showing our duty as _philanthropists_. to-morrow i intend to point out our duty as _citizens_. some to whom i minister, i know, will call it a political speech; but i have long since determined to speak for the dumb what is in my heart and in my bible, let men hear or forbear. i am accountable to the god of the oppressed, not to man. if i have his favor, why need i regard man's disfavor. many besides the members of my own church come out regularly to hear me. some of them are pro-slavery politicians. the consequence is, i preach much on the subject of slavery. and while i have a tongue to speak, and lips to pray, they shall never be sealed or silent so long as millions of dumb have so few to speak for them. but poor passmore williamson is in bonds. let us also remember him, as bound with him. he has many sympathizers. i am glad you did not share the same fate. for some reasons i am sorry you have fallen into the hands of thieves. for some others i am glad. it will make you more devoted to your good work. persecution always brightens the christian, and gives more zeal to the true philanthropist. i hope you will come off victorious. i pray for you and your co-laborers and co-sufferers. my good brother, i am greatly indebted to you for your continued kindness. the lord reward you. i have a scholarship in an ohio college, geneva hall, which will entitle me--any one i may send--to six years tuition. it is an anti-slavery institution, and wholly under anti-slavery control and influence. they want colored students to prepare them for the great field of labor open to men of talent and piety of that class. when i last saw you i purposed talking to you about this matter, but was disappointed very much in not getting to take tea with you, as i partly promised. have you a son ready for college? or for the grammar school? do you know any promising young man who would accept my scholarship? or would your brother's son, peter or levin, like to have the benefit of it? if so, you are at liberty to promise it to any one whom you think i would be willing to educate. write me at your earliest convenience, about this matter. * * * * * i presume the standard will contain full accounts of the norristown meeting, the williamson case, and your own and those connected. if it does not, i will thank you to write me fully. * * * * * what causes the delay of that book, the history of peter still's family, etc.? i long to see it. the lord bless you in your labors for the slave. yours, etc., n.r. johnston. topsham, vt., december th, . wm. still, my dear friend:--i wrote to you some two or three weeks ago, enclosing the letter to the care of a friend in philadelphia, whom i wished to introduce to you. i have had no answer to that letter, and i am afraid you have not received it, or that you have written me, and i have not received yours. in that letter i wished to receive information respecting the best way to expend money for the aid of fugitives. lest you may not have received it, i write you again, though briefly. a few of the anti-slavery friends, mostly ladies, in our village have formed an anti-slavery society and sewing circle, the proceeds of which are to go to aid needy or destitute fugitive slaves. they have appointed me corresponding secretary. in obedience to my instructions, and that i may fulfill my promises, i want to find out from you the desired information. we want to give the little money raised, in such a way that fugitives who are really needy will be benefited by it. write me as soon as possible, where and to whom we should send the funds when raised. i have thought that you of the vigilance committee, in philadelphia had need of it. or, if not, you can tell us where money is needed. probably you know of some one in canada who acts for the needy there. so many impositions have been palmed off upon charitable abolitionists, i am afraid to act in such a case without the directions of one who knows all about these things. is money needed to help those escaping? if so, should we send to new york, philadelphia, or where else? when i was in new york last, a young man from richmond, va., assuming the name of robert johnston, who had come by steamboat to philadelphia, and whom you had directed to the anti-slavery office in new york, had only one dollar in money. his fare had to be paid by a friend there, the treasurer of the fund being absent. i know that they nearly all need money, or clothing. we want to send our money wherever it is most needed, to help the destitute, or those in danger, and where it will be faithfully applied. write me fully, giving specific directions; and i will read your letter to the society. and as i have been waiting anxiously, for some two weeks or more, for an answer to my previous letter, but am disappointed unless you have written very recently, i will be much obliged if you will write on the reception of this. any information you may communicate, respecting the doing of your section of the underground railway will be read before the society with much interest. if you know the address of any one in canada, who would be a good correspondent respecting this matter, please give me his name. * * * * * my dear brother, go on in your good work; and the god of the oppressed sustain and reward you, is my earnest prayer. yours, fraternally, in our common cause, n.r. johnston. topsham, vt., december th, . wm. still, very dear friend:--i will be much pleased to hear from you and our common cause in pennsylvania. i am so far removed, away here in yankeedom, that i hear nothing from that quarter but by the public prints. and as for the underground railway, of course, i hear nothing, except now and then, i would be greatly pleased if you would write me the state of its funds and progress. whatever you write will be interesting. the topsham sewing circle has begun its feeble operations again. owing to much opposition, a very few attend, consequently little is made. the ladies, however, have some articles on hand unsold, which will bring some money ere long. i wish you would write me another long letter in detail of interesting fugitives, etc., such as you wrote last winter, and i will have it read before the circle. your letter last winter was heard by the ladies with great interest. you are probably not aware that fugitives are never seen here. indeed the one half of the people have never seen more than a half-dozen of colored people. there are none in all this region. i am lending peter still--the book--to my neighbors. it is devoured with great interest. it does good. i think, however, if i had been writing such a book, i would have wedged in much more testimony against slavery and its horrid accompaniments and consequences. i would be glad to hear how peter and his family are prospering. do you see my friends, mr. orr and rev. willson, now-a-days? do they help in the good cause? if the ladies here should make up fine shirts for men, or children's clothes of various kinds, would they be of use at philadelphia, or new york, to fugitives? or would it not be advisable to send them there? the ladies here complain that they cannot sell what they make. my dear brother, be not discouraged in your work, your labor of love. the prospect before the poor slave is indeed dark, dark! but the power shall not always be on the side of the oppressor. god reigns. a day of vengeance will come, and that soon. mrs. stowe makes dred utter many a truth. would that god would write it indelibly on the heart of the nation. but the people will not hear, and the cup of iniquity will soon fill to overflowing; and whose ears will not be made to tingle when the god of sabaoth awakes to plead the cause of the dumb? yours, very sincerely, n.r. johnston. p.s. when i was in new york last fall, october, i was in the anti-slavery office one day, when a friend in the office showed me a dispatch just received from philadelphia, signed w.s., which gave notice of "six parcels" coming by the train, etc. and before i left the office the "parcels" came in, each on two legs. strange parcels, that would run away on legs. my heart leaped for joy at seeing these rescued ones. o that god would arise and break the yoke of oppression! let us labor on and ever, until our work is done, until all are free. since the late republican farce has closed i hope to get some more subscribers for the standard. honest men's eyes will be opened after a while, and the standard of right and expediency be elevated. let us "hope on and ever." yours, for the right, n.r.j. topsham, vt., april d, . dear friend still:--i entreat you not to infer from my tardiness or neglect, that i am forgetful of my dear friend in philadelphia. for some time past i have done injustice to many of my friends, in not paying my debts in epistolary correspondence. some of my dearest friends have cause to censure me. but you must pardon me. i have two letters of yours on hand, unanswered. one of them i read to the sewing circle; and part of the other. for them i most heartily thank you. you are far kinder to me than i deserve. may god reward you. i long to see you. my head and heart is full of the cause of the slave. i fear i give the subject too much relative importance. is this possible? i preach, lecture, and write for the slave continually. and yet i don't do enough. still i fear i neglect the great concerns of religion at home, in my own heart, in my congregation, and in the community. i wish we were located near to each other. we are far separated. i am almost isolated. you are surrounded by many friends of the cause. still we are laboring on the same wall, though far apart. are we not near in spirit? you see by the papers that we have been trying to do something in our green mountain state. the campaign has fairly begun. we will carry the battle to the gate. i see our friend, miss watkins, is still pleading for the dumb. noble girl! i love her for her devotedness to a good cause. oh, that her voice could be heard by the millions! i hope that we can have her again in vermont. give my kind regards to our mutual friend, miller mckim. will i not see him and you at the anniversary in new york? do you ever see rev. willson? is he doing anything for the cause? i wish i could peep into your house to-night, and see if there are any "packages" on hand. god bless you in your labors of love. yours, truly, for the slave, n.r. johnston. while it was not in the power of mr. johnston and his coadjutors, to render any great amount of material aid to the committee, as they had not been largely blessed with this world's goods, nevertheless, the sympathy shown was as highly valued, as if they had given thousands of dollars. not unfrequently has the image of this singularly faithful minister entered the writer's mind as he once appeared when visiting the synod of his church in philadelphia. having the underground rail road cause at heart, he brought with him--all the way from vermont--his trunk well filled with new shirts and under-clothing for the passengers on that road. it was characteristic of the man, and has ever since been remembered with pleasure. from another quarter, hundreds of miles from philadelphia, similar tokens of interest in the cause of the fleeing bondmen were manifested by a ladies' anti-slavery society, in western new york, which we must here record. as the proffered aid was wholly unsolicited, and as the committee had no previous knowledge whatever of the existence of the society, or any of its members, and withal, as the favors conferred, came at times when the cause was peculiarly in need (the committee oft-times being destitute of clothing or money), the idea that the underground rail road was providentially favored, in this respect, was irresistible. we therefore take great pleasure in commemorating the good deeds of the society, by copying the following letters from its president, mrs. dr. brooks: ellington, nov. st, . mr. william still:--dear sir:--in the above-named place, some five years since there was formed a ladies' anti-slavery society, which has put forth its feeble endeavors to aid the cause of "breaking every yoke and letting the oppressed go free," and we trust, through our means, others have been made glad of heart. every year we have sent a box of clothing, bedding, etc., to the aid of the fugitive, and wishing to send it where it would be of the most service, we have it suggested to us, to send to you the box we have at present. you would confer a favor upon the members of our society, by writing us, giving a detail of that which would be the most service to you, and whether or no it would be more advantageous to you than some nearer station, and we will send or endeavor to, that which would benefit you most. william wells brown visited our place a short time since, recommending us to send to you in preference to syracuse, where we sent our last box. please write, letting me know what most is needed to aid you in your glorious work, a work which will surely meet its reward. direct, ellington, chautauqua county, n.y. your sister, in the cause, mrs. m. brooks. ellington, chautauqua co., n.y., dec. th, . mr. still:--dear sir:--yours of the th, was duly and gratefully received, although the greater portion of your epistle, of a necessity, portrayed the darker side of the picture, yet we have great reason to be thankful for the growing interest there is for the cause throughout the free states, for it certainly is on the increase, even in our own locality. there are those who, five years since, were (ashamed, must i say it!) to bear the appellation of "_anti-slavery_," who can now manfully bear the one then still more repellant of _abolitionist_. all this we wish to feel thankful for, and wish their number may never grow less. the excitement relative to the heroic john brown, now in his grave, has affected the whole north, or at least every one who has a heart in his breast, particularly this portion of the state, which is so decidedly anti-slavery. at a meeting of our society, to-day, at which your letter was read, it was thought best that i should reply to it, a request with which i cheerfully comply. we would like to hear from you, and learn the directions to be given to our box, which will be ready to send as soon as we can hear from you. please give us all necessary information, and oblige our society. you have the kind wishes and prayers of all the members, that you may be the instrument of doing much good to those in bonds, and may god speed the time when every yoke shall be broken, and let the oppressed go free. yours, truly, mrs. dr. brooks. p.s. i have just learned that john brown's body passed through dunkirk, a few miles from this place, yesterday. a funeral sermon is to be preached in this place one week from next sabbath, for the good old man. mrs. dr. b. ellington, jan. d, . william still:--dear sir:--enclosed are $ , , to pay freightage on the box of bedding, wearing apparel, etc., that has been sent to your address. it has been thought best to send you a schedule of the contents of said box. trusting it will be acceptable, and be the means of assisting the poor fugitive on his perilous way, you have the prayers of our society, that you may be prospered in your work of mercy, and you surely will meet with your reward according to your merciful acts. two bed quilts, , $ , ; five bed quilts, , $ , ; one bed quilt, , $ , ; two pairs cotton socks, , cents; three pairs cotton stockings, , $ , ; one pair woolen stockings, , cents; one pair woolen stockings, , cents; three pair woolen socks, , cents; five pair woolen socks, , $ , ; eight chemise, , $ , ; thirteen men's shirts, cents, $ , ; one pair pants, , $ , ; six pair overall pants, cents, $ , ; three pair pillow cases, $ , ; three calico aprons, , cents; three sun-bonnets, , cents; two small aprons, , cents; one alpaca cape, , $ , ; two capes, , cents; one black shawl, , cents. total, $ , . the foregoing is a correct list of the articles and the appraisal of the same. please acknowledge the receipt of the letter and box, and oblige the anti-slavery society of ellington. mrs. dr. brooks. the road was doing a flourishing business during the short time that this station received aid and sympathy from the ladies' anti-slavery society of ellington, and little did we dream that its existence would so soon be rendered null and void by the utter overthrow of slavery. we have great pleasure in stating that beyond our borders also, across the ocean, there came help to a laudable degree in the hour of need. the numbers of those who aided in this special work, however, were very few and far between, a hundred per cent. less (so far as the receipts of the philadelphia committee were concerned), than was supposed by slave-holders and their sympathizers, judging from their oft repeated allegations on this subject. it is true, that the american anti-slavery society and kindred associations, received liberal contributions from a few warm-hearted and staunch abolitionists abroad, to aid the great work of abolishing slavery. in reference to the philadelphia vigilance committee, we are safe in saying, that, except from a few sources, no direct aid came. how true this was of other stations, we do not pretend to know or speak, but in the directions above alluded to, we feel that the cause was placed under lasting obligations. the webbs of dublin, and the misses wighams, of scotland, representatives of the edinburgh ladies' emancipation society, were constantly in correspondence with leading abolitionists in different parts of the country, manifesting a deep interest in the general cause, and were likewise special stockholders of the underground rail road of philadelphia. in common with stockholders at home, these trans-atlantic investors were willing to receive their shares of dividends in the answer of a good conscience, or, in other words, from the satisfaction and pleasure derivable from a consciousness of having done what they could to alleviate the sufferings of the oppressed struggling to be free. having thus shown their faith by their works it would be unjust not to make honorable mention of them. last, though not least, at the risk of wounding the feelings of one who preferred not to let the left hand know what the right hand doeth, we may contemplate the philanthropic labors of one, whose generosity and benevolence knew no bounds; whose friendship devotion and liberality, were felt in all the principal stations of the underground rail road; whose heart went out after the millions in fetters, the fleeing fugitive, the free, proscribed, the ignorant deprived of education; whose house was the home of the advocate of the slave from the united states, especially if he wore a colored skin or had been a slave. we would not venture to say how many of the enslaved this kind hand helped to purchase (frederick douglass and many others, being of the number.) how many were assisted in procuring an education, how many who pined in slave prisons were aided, how many fleeing over the perilous underground rail road were benefited, the all-seeing eye alone knoweth; nevertheless, we are happy to be able to give our readers some idea of the unwearied labors of the friend to whom we allude. here again we are compelled to resort to private correspondence which took place when cotton was king, and the slave-power of the south could boastingly say, in the language of the apocalyptic woman, "i sit as a queen, and shall see no sorrow," when that power was maddened to desperation, by the heroism of the martyr, john brown, and the fettered bondmen were ever and anon traveling over the underground rail road. in this "darkest hour, just before the break of day," the heart of the friend of whom we speak, was greatly moved to consider the wants of the oppressed in various directions. how worthily and successfully her labors gave evidence of an earnest devotion to freedom, the mode and measures adopted by her, to awaken sympathy in the breast of the benevolent of her own countrymen, and how noble her example, may be learned from a small pamphlet and explanatory letters which, when written, were intended especially for private use, but which we now feel constrained to copy from a sense of justice to disinterested philanthropy. pamphlet, and letters from mrs. anna h. richardson, of newcastle, england. to the friends of the slave. dear friends--for some months past my dear husband and i have wished very gratefully to thank you for having so kindly assisted us in various anti-slavery efforts, and we now think it quite time to give an account of our stewardship, and also to lay before you several items of interesting intelligence received from different parts of the united states. we will thank you to look upon this intelligence as private, and must request you to guard against any portion of it being reprinted. william s. bailey.--we have had great pleasure in forwarding £ to our valued correspondent, william s. bailey, of newport, kentucky; £ of this sum in response to a circular issued at newcastle in the summer of last year, and received by our friend, david oliver, who acted as treasurer, and the remainder chiefly collected by our dear young friends in england and ireland, after reading the account of his little daughter, "laura." this money has been very thankfully acknowledged, with the exception of the last remittance just now on the road. most of our readers will be aware that w.s. bailey's printing-office and premises were again ruthlessly attacked after the harper's ferry outbreak, on the unfounded assumption that he was meditating a similar proceeding, and that it was unsafe for a free press to be any longer tolerated in kentucky. his forms and type were accordingly dragged through the streets of newport, and a considerable portion of them flung by a mob (of "gentlemen") into the ohio river. a few extracts from his own letters will pretty fully explain both his past and present position. the subscription list on his behalf is still open, and any further assistance for this heroic man and his noble-hearted family will be very gratefully received and forwarded. "newport, kentucky, nov. th, . "from my letter of the th inst. you will have learned the sad intelligence that my printing-office has been destroyed by a brutal mob of pro-slavery men. through the money i received from you and other friends in this country i was moving the cause of freedom in all parts of kentucky. the people seemed to grasp our platform with eagerness, and the slaveholders became alarmed to see their wish to read and discuss its simple truths. hence they plotted together to devise a stratagem by which they could destroy _the free south_, and in the meantime the harper's ferry difficulty, by mr. brown, was seized upon to excite the people against me, and the most extravagant lies were told about me, as trying to excite slaves to rebellion; intending to seize the united states barracks at this place, arm the negroes, and commence war upon slave-holders. all these lies were told as profound secrets to the people by the tools of the slave-power. but these lies have already exploded, and the people are resuming their common sense again. "i tried your plan of non-resistance with all my power. i pleaded with all the earnestness of my soul, and so did my wife and daughters, but though i am certain many were moved in conscience against the savage outrage, and did their work with a stinging heart, yet they felt that they must stick to their party, and complete the destruction. slavery, indeed, makes the most hardened savages the world ever knew. the savage war-whoop of the indian never equalled their dastardly cry of 'shoot him,' 'cut his throat,' 'stab him,' and such like words most maliciously spoken." * * "slavery is the cause of this devilish spirit in men; but this outrage has gained me many friends, and will do much towards putting down slavery in the state. it will also add many thousand votes to the republican presidential candidate in . god grant it may work out a great good!" * * * * "i want to get started again as soon as i possibly can. as soon as i can raise , dollars, i can make a beginning, and soon after you will see _the free south_ again, and i trust a much handsomer sheet than it was before." newport, january th, . "yours of mo. th, , is received, containing a draft for £ , and another of the 'little laura' books, which, thank god, is doing some good in newport and covington, in the hands of two christian friends. the renewed obligations under which the good people of england, through your instrumentality, place me and my abused people, call for expressions of gratitude from both me and them beyond my ability to pen. but you can imagine how we ought to feel in our trials and wants to such kind friends as you. neither i nor my anti-slavery friends here can express our thankfulness in the elegant language your better educated countrymen may feel we should use, but, by the omnipotent judge of all hearts, i trust our feeble effort will be accepted, and you and yours be blessed and protected now and for ever. such encouragement strengthens me in the belief that the spirit of god is abroad in the hearts of the people, moving them to sympathize with the poor, subjected slave." * * * * "i have the promise of abler pens to aid me when i get started again; and i am glad to see that a poor working-man and his family have been the means of calling the attention of men of letters to assist in raising from the dust a crushed race of men; and although the red clouds of war hover thick around us, and vengeance lurks in secret places, i trust, through the guidance of an all-wise director, to steer safely through the angry tide that now so often ebbs and flows around me; but should i fall, i trust, dear lady, that my dear wife and family may be remembered by the good and true." "newport, may th, . "i am glad to tell you that we feel it a great victory over the slave power to be able to rise again from our ruins, and in the face of slave-owning despots denounce their inhumanity and their sins. i trust that almighty god will continue to be with me and my dear family in this good work." * * * "you cannot but see, i think, by the southern press, that slave-holders begin to fear and tremble for the safety of their 'peculiar institution.' the death of john brown is yet to be atoned for, by the slave-holding oligarchy. his undying spirit haunts them by day and by night, and in the midst of their voluptuous enjoyments, the very thought of john brown chills their souls and poisons their pleasures. their tarring and feathering of good citizens; their riding them upon rails, and ducking them, in dirty ponds; their destruction of liberty presses, and the hanging of john brown and his friends, to intimidate men from the advocacy of freedom, will all come tumbling upon their own heads as a just retribution for their outrageous brutality. only let us persevere, and oppressed humanity, bent in timid silence throughout the south, will rise and throw off the yoke of slavery and rejoice in beholding itself _free_!" "newport, august . "i send you three copies of my paper. since receiving your letter, i and my family have done all in our power to get it out, but we had to get old type from the foundry and sort it, to make the sheet the size you now see it. we hate to be put down by the influence of tyranny, and you cannot imagine our sorrow, anxiety, necessity and determination." * * * "i have received, since the press was destroyed, dollars in all, which has been spent in repairing and roofing our dwelling-house, and repairing the breaches made upon the office, together with mending the presses and procuring job type and some little for the paper, but nearly all the latter is old type. our kindest thanks to the liberty-loving people of your country, scotland, and ireland, and tell them i shall never surrender the cause of freedom. a little money from all my friends, would soon reinstate me, and when they see my paper i trust it will cheer their hopes, and cause a new fire for liberty in kentucky. "i cannot but sometimes ask in my closet meditations: o god of mercy and love, why permittest thou these things? but still i hope for a change of mind in my enemies, and shall press onward to accomplish the great task seemingly allotted to me upon kentucky soil." the persecuted bereans.--there is another call connected with kentucky, which we wish to bring before our friends. at a village in that state, called berea, (situated in madison county), a little band of christian men and women, had been pursuing their useful labors for some years past. they avowedly held anti-slavery sentiments, but this was the beginning and end of their offending. they possessed a farm and saw-mill, etc., and had established a flourishing school. these good people were quietly following their usual employments, when, in the early part of last winter, sixty-two armed kentuckians rode upon horseback to their cottage doors, and summarily informed them that they must leave the state in ten days' time, or would be expelled from it forcibly. all pleading was hopeless, and any attempt at self-defence out of the question. they bowed before the storm, and hastily gathering up their garments, in three days' time were on their road to ohio. their three christian pastors took the same course. one of the latter has since returned to kentucky, to bury his youngest little boy, in a grave-yard attached to one of the churches there. he was enabled to preach to the people who assembled on the occasion, but was not allowed to remain in his native state. another of the exiles ventured to go back to berea, but this immediately led to an outbreak of popular feeling, for his saw-mill was set on fire by the mob, and presently destroyed. the exiles are consequently still in ohio, or wandering about in search of employment. we have been privileged in receiving two letters respecting them, from one of their excellent pastors, john g. fee. this gentleman is himself, the son of a slave-holder, but gave up his earthly patrimony many years since for conscience' sake, and has since made it the business of his life to proclaim the gospel in its purity, and to use every available means for directing all to christ. when speaking of berea, mr. fee remarks: "the land was poor, but the situation beautiful, with good water, and a favorable location, in some respects. we could have had locations more fertile and more easy of access, but more exposed to the slave-power. it was five miles from a turnpike road, with quite a population around it for a slave state." in one of mr. fee's letters he introduces a subject which we wish especially to bring before our friends, feeling almost sure that many of them will respond to its importance: "you ask, he says, if there are not noble-hearted young people in slave-holding families? there is one whom i desire to commend to your special prayer and regard, elizabeth rawlings, daughter of john h. rawlings, of madison county, kentucky. he was once a slave-holder, but has twice been a delegate to our free-soil national conventions, and is a strong friend of freedom. his daughter has had small opportunities for acquiring knowledge, but was in our school at berea, and making rapid progress. our school was not only anti-slavery, but avowedly anti-caste. this made it the more odious. when mr. rogers and others were about to be driven away, she announced that she would continue the school on the same principles. accordingly she went into the school-room after a few days, with a little band of small scholars, and has perseveringly kept it up. this noble and brave-hearted young woman is about twenty-two years of age; has a very vigorous mind; acquires knowledge very rapidly; is very modest; and is, i trust, a true believer in christ. i desire to see her fitted for the post of teacher. one year's study would greatly benefit her. she has not gone beyond grammar and arithmetic. i have not means or would at once give her those advantages she needs. i once had a small patrimony, but expended it in freedom's cause, and now live on the small salary of a [home] missionary. i have a daughter of fifteen, as far advanced as miss rawlings. i want to train and educate them both for teaching, and had thought to educate the latter, and suggest to some one to educate the other. i do not urge, but simply suggest. this might be another cord binding the two continents. lewis tappan, of new york, would receive to transmit, and i would report." now if we may lay before you, dear friends, our hearts' inquiry, it is this: "cannot we in england, raise £ or £ for one year's schooling for these two dear girls, elizabeth rawlings and j.g. fee's daughter?" it seems to us, that the one deserves it from her noble daring, the other as a little tribute to her father's virtues. how delightful it would be if these two young people could become able teachers of our own rearing, and in days to come, be looked to as maintaining schools of an elevated character upon their native soil! we have laid the case before a few kind friends, and already had the pleasure of forwarding £ to mr. fee's care, on behalf of his valued young friend, elizabeth rawlings. cornelia williams.--the next person to be referred to is cornelia williams, a bright young niece of our friend, henry h. garnet's, whom many of our friends kindly assisted to redeem from slavery, in north carolina, about three years since. we rejoice to say this dear girl is going on very satisfactorily. she has been diligently pursuing her studies in a school at nantucket, and appears to be much esteemed by all who know her. she kindly sends us a little letter now and then, again returning her glowing thanks to all who assisted in procuring her freedom. her mother, dinah williams (also a slave a few years since, and redeemed in part by the surplus of 'the weims ransom fund'), has married an estimable baptist minister within the last year, and cornelia resides under their roof. frederick douglass.--it is known that our much-valued friend, frederick douglass, left this country suddenly for america last spring, chiefly on account of the decease of a most beloved little girl. till quite recently he was intending to return to england very soon, but this is for the present delayed, on account of increasing and pressing engagements in the united states. we take the liberty of quoting an extract from one of his letters: "rochester, july d, . "you hold up before me the glorious promises contained in the sacred scriptures. these are needed by none more than by those who have presumed to put themselves to the work of accomplishing the abolition of slavery in this country. there is scarcely one single interest, social, moral, religious, or physical, which is not in some way connected with this stupendous evil. on the side of the oppressor there is power, now as in the earlier days of the world. i find much comfort in the thought that i am but a passenger on board of this ship of life. i have not the management committed to me. i am to obey orders, and leave the rest to the great captain whose wisdom is able to direct. i have only to go on in his fear and in his spirit, uttering with pen and tongue the whole truth against slavery, leaving to him the honor and the glory of destroying this mighty work of the devil. i long for the end of my people's bondage, and would give all i possess to witness the great jubilee; but god can wait, and surely i may. if he, whose pure eyes cannot look upon sin with allowance, can permit the day of freedom to be deferred, i certainly can work and wait. the times are just now a little brighter; but i will walk by faith, not by sight, for all grounds of hope founded on external appearance, have thus far signally failed and broken down under me. twenty years ago, slavery did really _seem_ to be rapidly hastening to its fall, but ten years ago, the fugitive slave bill, and the efforts to enforce it, changed the whole appearance of the struggle. anti-slavery in an abolition sense, has been ever since battling against heavy odds, both in church and state. nevertheless, god reigns, and we need not despair, and i for one do not. i know, at any rate, no better work for me during the brief period i am to stay on the earth, than is found in pleading the cause of the down-trodden and the dumb. "since i reached home i have had the satisfaction of passing nearly a score on to canada, only two women among them all. the constant meeting with these whip-scarred brothers will not allow me to become forgetful of the four millions still in bonds." our friends may, perhaps, remember that the cost of _frederick douglass' paper_ is but five shillings per annum (with the exception of a penny per month at the door for postage.) it is a very interesting publication, and amply repays the trifling outlay. f.d. would be glad to increase the number of his british readers. he also continues gratefully to receive any aid from this country for the assistance of the fugitives who are so often taking refuge under his roof. another letter of his remarks, when speaking of them: "they usually tarry with us only during the night, and are forwarded to canada by the morning train. we give them supper, lodging, and breakfast; pay their expenses, and give them a half dollar over." fugitive slaves.--we next turn to the communication of another warm friend to the fugitives in the state of ----. the following is an extract from a recent letter of his: "we have had within the last week just nineteen underground passengers. fifteen came last saturday, between the hours of six in the morning and eleven at night. three only were females, wives of men in the parties, the rest were all able-bodied young men. that they were all likely-looking it needed no southern eye to decide, and that their hearts burned within them for freedom was apparent in every look of their countenances. but it is only of one arrival that my time will allow me to speak on the present occasion. this consisted of two married couples, and two single young men. they had been a week on the way. to accomplish the desired object they could see no way so feasible as to cross the ---- bay. by inquiry they gained instructions as to the direction they should steer to strike for the lighthouse on the opposite shore. consequently they invested six dollars in a little boat, and at once prepared themselves for this most fearful adventure. to the water and their little bark they stealthily repaired, and off they started. for some distance they rowed not far from the shore. being in sight of land, they were spied by the ever-watchful slave-holder or some one not favorable to their escape. hence a small boat, containing four white men, soon put out after the fugitives. on overhauling them, stern orders were given to surrender. the boat the runaways were in was claimed, if not the party themselves. with determined words the fugitives declared that the boat was their own property, and that they would not give it up; they said they would die before they would do so. at this sign of resistance one of the white men, with an oar, struck the head of one of the fugitives, which knocked him down. at the same moment another white man seized the chain of their boat, and the struggle became fearful in the extreme for a few moments. however, the same spirit that prompted the effort to be free, moved one of the heroic black bondmen to apply the oar to the head of one of their pursuers, which straightway laid him prostrate. the whites, like old apollyon in the pilgrim's progress, at this decided indication that their precious lives might not be spared if they did not avail themselves of an immediate retreat, suddenly parted from their antagonists. not being contented, however, thus to give up the struggle, after getting some yards off, they fired a loaded gun in the midst of the fugitives, peppering two of them considerably about the head and face, and one about the arms. as the shot was light they were not much damaged, however, at any rate not discouraged. not forgetting which way to steer across the bay, in the direction of the lighthouse, they rowed for that point with all possible speed, but their bark being light, and the wind and rough water by no means manageable, ere they reached the desired shore they were carried a considerable distance off their course, in the immediate vicinity of a small island. leaving their boat they went upon the island, the women sick, and there reposed without food, utterly ignorant of where they were for one whole day and night, without being able to conjecture when or where they should find free land for which they had so long and fervently prayed. however, after thus resting, feeling compelled to start on again, they set off on foot. they had not walked a mile ere, providentially, they fell in with an oyster man and a little boy waiting for the tide. with him they ventured to converse, and soon felt that he might be trusted with, at least, a hint of their condition. accordingly they made him acquainted in part with their piteous story, and he agreed to bring them within fifteen miles of ---- for twenty-five dollars, all the capital they had. being as good as his word, he did not leave them fifteen miles off the city, but brought them directly to it." * * * * "how happy they were at finding themselves in the hands of friends, and surrounded with flattering prospects of soon reaching canada you may imagine, but i could not describe."[a] [footnote a: in those days the writer in giving information enjoined the utmost secresy, considering that the cause might be sadly damaged simply by being inadvertently exposed even by friends, thousands of miles away. the pro-slavery-mob spirit at that time was also very rampant in philadelphia and other northern cities, threatening abolitionists and all concerned in the work of aiding the slave.] thanks to the benevolent bounty of several kind donors, we had lately the pleasure of sending a few pounds to the writer of the foregoing letter. we omit his name and residence. he belongs, like douglass, to the proscribed race. who would not help these generous-hearted men, who are devoting their whole energies to the well-being of the crushed and downtrodden? we are the more encouraged to send out this little sheet, made up of thanks and requisitions, because occasional inquiries are reaching us of "what can we do for the slave? we are hearing but little about him, and do not know how to work on his behalf." allow us to say to one and all, who may be thus circumstanced, that we do not look for great things, but that if they can levy a shilling a year from all who feel for the injured bondman, these little sums would soon mount up and prove of incalculable service to those who are struggling for freedom. as to the special destiny of these shillings or half-crowns, let the subscribers choose for themselves, and their kind aid will be sure to be truly welcome to the party receiving it. we do not ask for such contributions to be forwarded through newcastle unless this be a matter of convenience to those concerned. if there be other modes of sending to the united states within the reach of the friends, who receive this paper, let them by all means be used. we are always happy to receive aid for the fugitives or for any other anti-slavery cause, and consider it no trouble at all to send it on, but do not wish to be monopolizing. as far as kentucky is concerned, that state being distant, and mob-law rampant there, we shall continue gratefully to receive assistance on its behalf, and to avail ourselves of the accustomed mode of reaching it, this having been proved to be both safe and easy. free labor produce.--and lastly, as to the long-prized principle, to our minds the very alphabet of anti-slavery action, the importance of encouraging the growth and consumption of free produce rather than that raised by the sweat and blood of the bondman. our convictions of the righteousness of this course are as strong as they ever were; but perhaps we hoped too much, relied too fondly on the conscientiousness of the british anti-slavery public, in supposing that a sufficient number of individuals could be found prepared to make a slight sacrifice for humanity's sake, and to keep the oppressed continually in mind by a little untiring pains-taking. we hardly supposed that the most strenuous efforts in this direction would be enough to affect the british market; but we did believe, and believe still, that not only is there a consistency in a preference for free produce, but that this preference is encouraging to the free laborer, and that humanly speaking nothing is more calculated to nerve his hand and heart for vigorous effort. the principle of abstinence from slave produce may be smiled at, but we are quite sure it is an honest one, and, as a good old proverb observes, "it takes a great many bushels full of earth to bury a truth." but while this self-denying protest has been going on in a few limited circles, how great is the advance that free labor has been making within the last two years! who is to say whether some of those quiet testimonies may not have contributed to erect that mighty machinery that is now adding to its wheels and springs from day to day, and which bids fair at no distant period to supersede slave labor and its long train of sorrow and oppression? earnest lectures have just been delivered in newcastle by our colored friend, dr. m.r. delany, lately engaged in a tour of observation in west africa, where he longs to establish a nourishing colony of his people, whose express object shall be to put down the abominable slave-trade and to cultivate free cotton and other tropical produce. we wish this brave man every encouragement in his noble enterprise. he has secured the confidence of "the african aid society," in london, one of whose earliest measures has been to assist him with funds. the present secretary of the society is frederick w. fitzgerald, adam street, strand, london. and who need speak of the zambesi and dr. livingston, or of central or eastern africa; of india, or australia, or of the prolific west india islands? as we prepare this little sheet, a kind letter has come in from stephen bourne, for many years a stipendiary magistrate in jamaica, and now the ardent promoter of a cotton-growing company of that island. he says to us, when writing from london, on the th inst., "our scheme embraces more than meets the eye, and to illustrate this, i send a map (with prospectus) of the proposed estate, by which you will see that we reckon on obtaining cotton by free labor and by mechanical agency from jamaica, at a price so far below that at which it can be produced by slave labor, that if we succeed, we shall put an end to the whole system, as no one will be able to afford to carry it on in competition with free labor." * * * "jamaica is much nearer and easier of access for fugitives from cuba and porto rico, than canada is to georgia, virginia, or louisiana. if, therefore, we can offer them an asylum and profitable employment on the estate, we shall open up a new underground rail road, or rather enable the slaves to escape from cuba by getting into a boat, and in one night finding their way to freedom." * * * "there is no doubt they could do this at much less risk than slaves now incur, in order to obtain liberty in america." the proposed estate in jamaica consists of about one thousand acres, and the shares in this company are £ each, £ only to be called up immediately, the rest by instalments. the liability is limited. full information may be obtained by addressing stephen bourne, esq., charing cross, london, or the secretary of the "jamaica cotton-growing company," c. w. streatfield, esq. we rejoice to see that this new company is being supported not only by benevolent philanthropists and capitalists in london, but by experienced manchester manufacturers; among the rest by the excellent thomas clegg, so well known for his persevering efforts in west africa, and by thomas bazley, m.p. for manchester, and a most extensive cotton spinner. their mills would alone, consume the cotton grown on three such estates as that which it is proposed to cultivate. there is abundant room, therefore, for cultivation of cotton by the emancipated freeholders. communications have also reached us from demerara. charles rattray, a valuable scotch missionary in that colony, was in england last spring, and went back to his adopted country with his mind full fraught with the importance of cotton growing within its borders. he happened to have small samples of demerara cotton with him. these were shown to cotton-brokers and manufacturers in liverpool and manchester, and were pronounced to be most excellent--so much so, that specimen gins and a supply of cotton-seed were kindly presented to him at the latter place, before he left england. mr. rattray is now bringing the subject before his people, and is also intending to plant with cotton some ground belonging to the mission station. but we will not further enlarge. commending our cause to him, who has promised never to forget the poor and needy, and that in his own good time he will arise for their deliverance and "break every yoke." i remain, sincerely and respectfully, your friend, anna h. richardson. _ westmoreland terrace_, _newcastle-on-tyne, mo., , ._ p.s. since writing the above, we have seen it stated in the _principia,_ a new york paper, that william s. bailey has been arrested on a charge of publishing an incendiary paper, and held to bail in the sum of $ , , to appear before the circuit court, in november next. it is further stated that one of the two magistrates by whom w.s. bailey was examined, and held to bail on this charge, was the chosen leader of the mob that destroyed his type and printing press. we have yet to see what will be the end of this cruel conflict. let us not desert our suffering friend and his noble-hearted family. letters to the writer. westmoreland terrace, december , . my esteemed friend:--i received thy touching letter of the th inst. a few days since, and hasten to assure thee of our heart-felt sympathy, and most lively interest in the present tremendous state of things around you. at the same time, i cannot tell thee how glad and thankful we feel, that with god's help thou art determined to persevere and not in any way flinch in this day of sore trial. "be thou faithful unto death, and i will give thee a crown of life." "be strong, fear not." "in the fear of the lord is strong confidence; and his children shall have a place of refuge." one thing, too, is sure, "that all things will work together for the good" of those who love their lord, that he will never, never forsake them whatever their outward trials may be. i think, dear friend, thou shouldst be careful not to be about alone, particularly in the evening. we heard from w.s. bailey the other day, and he spoke of the advantage of several kind friends sticking close to him under recent circumstances at alexandria, when he was exposed to the spite and rage of slave-holding bullies. would it not be well to make a habit, in the evening in particular, of you, who are marked men, going about in little companies? wicked men are generally cowards; and i think would hesitate more to do a bad act in the presence of observers. i think thou wouldst receive a little letter from me a day or two after thine was written, through our friend saml. rhoads, enclosing £ for the fugitives, £ for thy own use, and £ for the vigilance committee. this letter of mine was sent off about the th ult., but i conclude was not delivered till just after thine was written. it is well to keep us fully informed of your circumstances, whether favorable or more appalling. i do not intend to put anything of a private character into print; but private confidence is the creed in england, and thou needst not fear my abusing it. i enclose the only paper that we have printed that thou mayest see there was nothing to fear. thou wilt observe there is no reference either to thy own name or to philadelphia, and people here are not very familiar with american topography. i am sending w.s. bailey one of the same papers by to-day's mail. we have merely a limited number of them printed. i cannot very well obtain money from my friends, (with numerous home claims constantly pressing on them), without having something to show. some fugitives are now beginning to reach england. a gentleman in london wrote to me, a day or two ago, to know if we could find a berth for a fine fellow, who had just applied to him. he had arrived by steamer from new york, after residing there for three years. a policeman, in the street, good-naturedly whispered to him his own name, and then that of his masters. he was sure that peril was at hand, and that, having been branded for escaping before, he should be whipped to death if taken again, so he packed up his little wardrobe and embarked for england immediately. another poor fellow is in this town, recently from charleston, whence he escaped, among some cotton bales to greenock. he is getting fair wages in a saw-yard, and likes england very well, if it were not for the thought of his poor wife and children still in slavery. we invited him, the other day to a working-men's tea party, where i had been asked to make tea for them; and he gave us quite an able account of his travels. the men kindly invited him to join their "benefit club," and told him they would like to have "a colored brother" amongst them. art thou not thinking, dear friend, of asking your people to emigrate to the african coast, or the west india islands? two gentlemen in london are writing most warmly about this. i wrote mr. fitzgerald's address on the enclosed paper. instead of being colonizationists, in the objectionable sense, he and mrs. bowen are burning with love to your people, and are fervently desirous of doing them all the good they can. i cannot see why little united parties should not promptly emigrate under the wing of these gentlemen. assure those who think and feel with thee, dear friend, and are nobly determined to suffer rather than to sin, that according to our very small ability we will not desert them in their hour of trial and danger. we commend them to him who can do for them a thousand times more, and better than we can either ask or think. with our united kindest remembrance, sincerely, anna h. richardson. westmoreland terrace, newcastle-on-tyne, march , . we have lately read the life of thy brother and sister (peter and vina still), dear friend, with the deepest interest. it is a most touching and beautiful book, and we think should be either reprinted in england or sent over here very largely. my husband and i are hardly acquainted with a volume more calculated to stir up the british mind on the subject of slavery. great britain is just now getting really warm on the anti-slavery subject, and is longing to shake herself from being so dependent as hitherto, on slave produce. why, oh! why should not the expatriated blacks go to free countries and grow produce for themselves and for everybody who requires it? why not, in time, become "merchants and princes," in those countries? i am told (as a secret) that this subject is likely, ere long, to be taken up in high quarters in england. we are feeling hopeful, dear friends, about thy crushed and persecuted people, for surely god is working for them by ways and means that we know not. i have been careful to keep it to private circles, but thy valuable letter of last july, has been read by many with the deepest interest. a dear young lady from dublin is by my side, and has but this minute returned it to me. it is but a little, but i have gathered £ by its perusal here and there. i am not able to forward so small a sum in this letter, but some way wish to send £ of this amount for thy own use, and the other £ to your vigilance committee. it so happens that we have not anything for the better from our own anti-slavery association this year. very sincerely thy friend, my dear husband uniting in kind regards, anna h. richardson. wood house, near newcastle, may , . [an occasional rural residence of ours, five miles from home.] to william still:--i have again to thank thee, dear friend, for a kind letter and for the perusal of three letters from thy fugitive friends. it must be truly cheering to receive such, and their warm and affectionate gratitude must be as rich reward for many anxieties. i conclude that it is not necessary for those letters to be returned, but should it be so, let me know, and i will be on the lookout for some private opportunity of returning them to philadelphia. such occur now and then. we like to see such letters. they assist us to realize the condition of these poor wanderers. i am sorry for not having explained myself distinctly in my last. the promised £ were _for the fugitives_, being gathered from various christian friends, who gave it me for their particular use. but we wished half of that sum to be laid out (as on a previous occasion), at thy own discretion, irrespective of the vigilance committee. i have now another £ to add to the latter half, and would gladly have enclosed a £ note in this envelope, but we are rather afraid of sending the actual money in letters, and our london bankers do not like to remit small sums. i shall continue to watch for the first opportunity of forwarding the above. our valued friend, samuel rhoads, has been lately in heavy sorrow. i send this through his medium, but fear to add more lest i should make his letter too heavy. with our united kind regards, very truly, thy friend, anna h. richardson. , westmoreland terrace, june , . dear friend:--william still:--it is a good plan to send me these interesting communications. the letter to your coadjutor at elmira, reached us a few days since. that depot must not be allowed to go down if it be possible for this to be prevented. perhaps j.w. jones might be encouraged by a gift from england, that is, by a little aid from this country, expressly for the fugitives, being put into his hands. if you think so, i am sure my friends would approve of this, and you can use your own discretion in giving him our gifts in one sum or by detached remittances. the greatest part of the money on hand, has come in from the private perusal of thy interesting letters, and my friends simply gave my husband and me their money for the fugitives, leaving the exact disposal of it to our own discretion. it has struck me of late, that if i may be allowed to print occasional extracts from thy letters (with other anti-slavery information), it would greatly facilitate the obtaining of pecuniary aid. as it is, i can lend a private letter to a trustworthy friend, but if by any chance, this letter got lost, it would be awkward, and it is also impossible, of course, to lend the original in two quarters at once. then, again, the mechanical trouble of making copies of letters, is not convenient; much sedentary employment does not suit my health, and i cannot manage it. i have been thinking of late, that if my friends in various parts of the country, could be supplied with a small quarto, an occasional printed paper, for private circulation, it would save a great deal of trouble, and probably bring in considerable aid. my husband and i have long been accustomed to preparing tracts and small periodicals for the press, so that i think we know exactly what ought to be made public and what not. if thou likest to give me this discretionary power, do so, and i will endeavor to exercise it wisely, and in a way that i feel almost certain would be in accordance with thy wishes. the sum now remitted through our friend, samuel rhoads, is £ (eight pounds). of this, we should like £ to be placed at thy own discretion, for the benefit of the fugitives, £ (if you approve it) in a similar way, to be handed to j.w. jones, and £ as formerly, to be handed to the philadelphia vigilance committee. the latter is not, however, as in past times, from the newcastle anti-slavery society, for, i am sorry to say, it is not a sufficiently pains-taking and executive little body, but more apt to work by fits and starts, but from our private friends, who kindly place their money in our hands as their anti-slavery stewards. my friend s.r. will therefore kindly hand for us: £ for william still, for fugitives; £ for j.w. jones, for fugitives; £ for philadelphia vigilance committee, for fugitives. total £ . we are very sorry for thee to have to incur so much persecution. be of good cheer, the right will eventually triumph, if not in this world, in that day, when all shall be eventually righted on our lord's right hand. oh, for ability in the meantime, to love him, trust him, confide in him implicitly! many thanks for the "anti-slavery standards." no one in this town, takes them in, consequently we only see them occasionally. do any tidings reach you of our friend, frederick douglass? we heard from him from portland, but are anxiously looking for another letter. he always spoke of thee, my friend, very kindly, and one day, when some money had been given to him for fugitives, said: "you shall have part of this if you like, for william still," but i said, "no, i will try and get some elsewhere for him." douglass left us in april, after losing his little annie, but wished his visit to be kept private, and hoped to be able to return to england in august. my husband and i agree with f.d. in political matters. we are not disunionists, but want to mend your corrupted government. with kind regards, sincerely thy friend, a.h.r. we are well acquainted with william and ellen craft. they have just sent us their little book. newcastle, th mo., , . w. still:--dear friend:--that poor fellow, who was so long secreted, had been often in my thoughts, when laying this case of the fugitives before our friends. i should like thee to feel at liberty to replace the remainder of the twenty-five dollars from the accompanying ten pounds, which i have much pleasure in forwarding, but think it better to mention, that it may perhaps be the last remittance for some little time from this quarter, as i do not at present see any immediate opening for getting more. our worthy friend, w.s. bailey, has lately been here, and dr. cheever and w.h. day, are expected in a week or two. from london too, there are very earnest appeals to assist the "african anti-slavery society." thank thee for the newspapers and thy last kind note. i think thou rather overrates my little services. what a crisis is coming! o, what will the end be? with our united best wishes, thy sincere friend, anna h. richardson. £ of this money is from some personally unknown friend at lancaster; £ from two nice little children of my acquaintance. westmoreland terrace, newcastle-on-tyne, oct. , . i have pleasure, dear friend, in sending you £ for your "contrabands," in response to your last letter of the th ult. it is not much, but may be a little help. it will be forwarded by our valued and mutual friend, h.h. garnet, to whom i am sending a remittance for his "contrabands," by the same mail. we shall be interested in any particulars you may like to send us, of these poor creatures, but at the same time, i dare not hold out any hopes of considerable assistance from england, for our own manufacturing districts are in a starving state, from the absence of the accustomed supply of cotton, and till this has been grown in other quarters, they will continue to have a strong claim on every thoughtful mind. some of us would rather work with your colored people _in your own cause_, than with any one else, for we _do not like the war_, and do not at all approve of "the american churches" committing themselves to it so fearfully. if your president had but taken the step at first, he is taking now, what rivers of blood might have been stayed! it is remarkable, how you, as a people, have been preserved to each other, without having your own hands stained with blood. but as to expatriation, the very thought of it is foolish. you have been brought to america, not emigrated to it, and who on earth has any possible right to send you away? some of us are almost as much displeased with the north, for talking of this, as with the south for holding you in slavery. what can we say to you, but "watch and pray," "hope and wait," and surely, in his own good time, the most high will make you a pathway out of trouble. we are delighted to hear of the good behaviour of your people, wherever they have a fair chance of acting (on the borders), as upright men and christians. very sincerely, your friend, to william still. anna h. richardson. woman escaping in a box, . she was speechless. in the winter of a young woman, who had just turned her majority, was boxed up in baltimore by one who stood to her in the relation of a companion, a young man, who had the box conveyed as freight to the depot in baltimore, consigned to philadelphia. nearly all one night it remained at the depot with the living agony in it, and after being turned upside down more than once, the next day about ten o'clock it reached philadelphia. her companion coming on in advance of the box, arranged with a hackman, george custus, to attend to having it brought from the depot to a designated house, mrs. myers', s. th street, where the resurrection was to take place. custus, without knowing exactly what the box contained, but suspecting from the apparent anxiety and instructions of the young man who engaged him to go after it, that it was of great importance, while the freight car still remained on the street, demanded it of the freight agent, not willing to wait the usual time for the delivery of freight. at first the freight agent declined delivering under such circumstances. the hackman insisted by saying that he wished to despatch it in great haste, said it is all right, you know me, i have been coming here for many years every day, and will be responsible for it. the freight-master told him to "take it and go ahead with it." no sooner said than done. it was placed in a one horse wagon at the instance of custus, and driven to seventh and minster streets. the secret had been intrusted to mrs. m. by the young companion of the woman. a feeling of horror came over the aged woman, who had been thus suddenly entrusted with such responsibility. a few doors from her lived an old friend of the same religious faith with herself, well known as a brave woman, and a friend of the slave, mrs. ash, the undertaker or shrouder, whom every body knew among the colored people. mrs. myers felt that it would not be wise to move in the matter of this resurrection without the presence of the undertaker. accordingly, she called mrs. ash in. even her own family was excluded from witnessing the scene. the two aged women chose to be alone in that fearful moment, shuddering at the thought that a corpse might meet their gaze instead of a living creature. however, they mustered courage and pried off the lid. a woman was discovered in the straw but no sign of life was perceptible. their fears seemed fulfilled. "surely she is dead," thought the witnesses. "get up, my child," spake one of the women. with scarcely life enough to move the straw covering, she, nevertheless, did now show signs of life, but to a very faint degree. she could not speak, but being assisted arose. she was straightway aided up stairs, not yet uttering a word. after a short while she said, "i feel so deadly weak." she was then asked if she would not have some water or nourishment, which she declined. before a great while, however, she was prevailed upon to take a cup of tea. she then went to bed, and there remained all day, speaking but a very little during that time. the second day she gained strength and was able to talk much better, but not with ease. the third day she began to come to herself and talk quite freely. she tried to describe her sufferings and fears while in the box, but in vain. in the midst of her severest agonies her chief fear was, that she would be discovered and carried back to slavery. she had a pair of scissors with her, and in order to procure fresh air she had made a hole in the box, but it was very slight. how she ever managed to breathe and maintain her existence, being in the condition of becoming a mother, it was hard to comprehend. in this instance the utmost endurance was put to the test. she was obviously nearer death than henry box brown, or any of the other box or chest cases that ever came under the notice of the committee. in baltimore she belonged to a wealthy and fashionable family, and had been a seamstress and ladies' servant generally. on one occasion when sent of an errand for certain articles in order to complete arrangements for the grand opening ball at the academy of music, she took occasion not to return, but was among the missing. great search was made, and a large reward offered, but all to no purpose. a free colored woman, who washed for the family, was suspected of knowing something of her going, but they failing to get aught out of her, she was discharged. soon after the arrival of this traveler at mrs. myers' the committee was sent for and learned the facts as above stated. after spending some three or four days in mrs. myers' family she remained in the writer's family about the same length of time, and was then forwarded to canada. mrs. myers was originally from baltimore, and had frequently been in the habit of receiving underground rail road passengers; she had always found thomas shipley, the faithful philanthropist, a present help in time of need. the young man well knew mrs. myers would act with prudence in taking his companion to her house. george custus, the hackman, a colored man, was cool, sensible, and reliable in the discharge of his duty, as were the other parties, therefore every thing was well managed. with this interesting case our narratives end, except such facts of a like kind as may be connected with some of the sketches of stockholders. a large number on the record book must be omitted. this is partly owing to the fact that during the first few years of our connection with the underground rail road, so little was written out in the way of narratives, that would hardly be of sufficient interest to publish; and partly from the fact that, although there are exceptional cases even among those so omitted, that would be equally as interesting as many which have been inserted, time and space will not admit of further encroachment. if in any way we have erred in the task of furnishing facts and important information touching the underground rail road, it has not been in overstating the sufferings, trials, perils, and marvellous escapes of those described, but on the contrary. in many instances after hearing the most painful narratives we had neither time nor inclination to write them out, except in the briefest manner, simply sufficient to identify parties, which we did, not dreaming that the dark cloud of slavery was so soon to give way to the bright sunlight of freedom. organization of the vigilance committee. meeting to form a vigilance committee. as has already been intimated, others besides the committee were deeply interested in the road; indeed, the little aid actually rendered by the committee, was comparatively insignificant, compared with the aid rendered by some who were not nominally members. to this latter class of friends, it seems meet that we should particularly allude. before doing so, however, simple justice to all concerned, dictates that we should here copy the official proceedings of the first meeting and organization of the philadelphia vigilance committee as it existed until the very day that the ever to be remembered emancipation proclamation of abraham lincoln, rendered the services of the organization and road no longer necessary. it reads as follows: "pennsylvania freeman," december , . pursuant to the motion published in last week's "freeman," a meeting was held in the anti-slavery rooms, on the evening of the d inst., for the purpose of organizing a vigilance committee. on motion samuel nickless was appointed chairman, and william still secretary. j.m. mckim then stated at some length, the object of the meeting. he said, that the friends of the fugitive slave had been for some years past, embarrassed, for the want of a properly constructed active, vigilance committee; that the old committee, which used to render effective service in this field of anti-slavery labor, had become disorganized and scattered, and that for the last two or three years, the duties of this department had been performed by individuals on their own responsibility, and sometimes in a very irregular manner; that this had been the cause of much dissatisfaction and complaint, and that the necessity for a remedy of this state of things was generally felt. hence, the call for this meeting. it was intended now to organize a committee, which should be composed of persons of known responsibility, and who could be relied upon to act systematically and promptly, and with the least possible expenditure of money in all cases that might require their attention. james mott and samuel nickless, expressed their hearty concurrence in what had been said, as did also b.n. goines and n.w. depee. the opinion was also expressed by one or more of these gentlemen, that the organization to be formed should be of the simplest possible character; with no more machinery or officers than might be necessary to hold it together and keep it in proper working order. after some discussion, it was agreed first to form a general committee, with a chairman, whose business it should be to call meetings when necessity should seem to require it, and to preside at the same; and a treasurer to take charge of the funds; and second, to appoint out of this general committee, an acting committee of four persons, who should have the responsibility of attending to every case that might require their aid, as well as the exclusive authority to raise the funds necessary for their purpose. it was further agreed that it should be the duty of the chairman of the acting committee to keep a record of all their doings, and especially of the money received and expended on behalf of every case claiming their interposition. the following persons were appointed on the general vigilance committee: general vigilance committee. robert purvis, william still, charles h. bustill, p. williamson, samuel nickless, b.n. goines, morris hall, j.m. m'kim, nathaniel depee, isaiah o. wears, charles wise, john d. oliver, jacob c. white, prof. c.l. reason, cyrus whitson, henry gordon, j. asher, w.h. riley, j.p. burr, robert purvis was understood to be chairman of the general committee, having been nominated at the head of the list, and charles wise was appointed treasurer. the acting committee was thus constituted: william still, chairman, n.w. depee, passmore williamson, j.c. white. this committee was appointed for the term of one year. on motion, the proceedings of this meeting were ordered to be published in the "pennsylvania freeman." (adjourned.) william still, secretary. samuel nickless, chairman. the committee having been thus organized, j.m. mckim, corresponding secretary and general agent of the pennsylvania anti-slavery society, issued the subjoined notice, which was published shortly afterwards in the "pennsylvania freeman," and the colored churches throughout the city: "we are pleased to see that we have at last, what has for some time been felt to be a desideratum in philadelphia, a responsible and duly authorized vigilance committee. the duties of this department of anti-slavery labor, have, for want of such an organization, been performed in a very loose and unsystematic manner. the names of the persons constituting the acting committee, are a guarantee that this will not be the case hereafter. they are-- william still (chairman), north fifth street, nathaniel w. depee, south street, jacob c. white, old york road, and passmore williamson, southwest cor. seventh and arch streets. we respectfully commend these gentlemen, and the cause in which they are engaged, to the confidence and co-operation of all the friends of the hunted fugitive. any funds contributed to either of them, or placed in the hands of their treasurer, charles wise, corner of fifth and market streets, will be sure of a faithful and judicious appropriation." portraits and sketches. esther moore. for many years no-woman living in philadelphia was better known to the colored people of the city generally, than esther moore. no woman, white or colored, living in philadelphia for the same number of years, left her home oftener, especially to seek out and aid the weary travelers escaping from bondage, than did this philanthropist. it is hardly too much to say that with her own hand she administered to hundreds. she begged of the committee, as a special favor, that she might be duly notified of every fugitive reaching philadelphia, and actually felt hurt if from any cause whatever this request was not complied with. for it was her delight to see the fugitives individually, take them by the hand and warmly welcome them to freedom. she literally wept with those who wept, while in tones of peculiar love, sincerity, and firmness, she lauded them for their noble daring, and freely expressed her entire sympathy with them, and likewise with all in the prison-house. she condemned slavery in all its phases, as a "monster to be loathed as the enemy of god and man." often after listening attentively for hours together to recitals of a very harrowing nature, especially from females, her mind would seem to be filled with the sufferings of the slave and it was hard for her to withdraw from them even when they were on the eve of taking up their march for a more distant station; and she never thought of parting with them without showing her faith by her works putting a "gold dollar" in the hand of each passenger, as she knew that it was not in the power of the committee to do much more than defray their expenses to the next station, to new york sometimes, to elmira at other times, and now and then clear through to canada. she desired that they should have at least one dollar to fall back upon, independent of the committee's aid. this magnanimous rule of giving the gold dollar was adopted by her shortly after the passage of the fugitive slave law, which daily vexed her righteous soul, and was kept up as long as she was able to leave her house, which was within a short time of her death. not only did esther moore manifest such marked interest in the fugitive but she likewise took an abiding interest in visiting the colored people in their religious meetings, schools, and societies, and whenever the way opened and the spirit moved her she would take occasion to address them in the most affectionate manner, in regard to their present and future welfare, choosing for her theme the subjects of temperance, education, and slavery. nor did she mean that her labors in the interest of the oppressed should cease with her earthly existence, as the following extracts from her last will and testament will prove: d item. i give and bequeath to my executors, hereinafter named, the sum of twelve hundred dollars, in trust to invest in ground rent, or city of philadelphia loans at their disposal or discretion to pay the interest or income arising therefrom annually. to be applied, the interest of the twelve hundred dollars above mentioned, for educational purposes alone, for children of both sexes of color, in canada, apart from all sectarian or traditional dogmas, which is the only hope for the rising generation. the application of this money is intended to remain perpetual. th item. i give and bequeath to my executors the sum of one hundred dollars, to be expended by them in educating and assisting to clothe phaeton and pliny j. lock, the sons of ishmael lock, deceased, and matilda lock (his wife). my will is that it shall be given out discretionally by my executors for the purpose above mentioned. th item. i give and bequeath to oliver johnson, editor of the pennsylvania freeman, one hundred dollars, if he be living at my death; if not living, to go with the remainder of my estate. my will is that if oliver johnson be not living at my death his bequest go with my estate. th item. i give and bequeath to cyrus burleigh, lecturer and agent for the pennsylvania anti-slavery society, one hundred dollars, if cyrus be living at my death. if not living at my death, his bequest, cyrus burleigh's, i wish to go with the residue of my estate. the untiring vigilance of these two young men, in devoting the best of their days to the rescue and emancipation of the poor and down-trodden fugitives has obtained for them a warm place in my heart. and may heaven's richest blessings reward them. they have ministered more than "the cup of water." item th. i give and bequeath unto the association for the care of colored orphans of philadelphia, called the shelter for the use and benefit of colored orphans of both sexes, to be paid into the hands of the treasurer for the time being, for the use of said society all the rest and remainder of my estate. i wish my executors or trustees _to carry out_ my views in regard to the education of colored children in canada, by paying over the interest arising annually from the twelve hundred dollars mentioned in the second item to such school or schools as in their judgment they may deem best. my desire being the benefit of such children who may be in the same neighborhood with them. the interest arising from the twelve hundred dollars mentioned in second item for the purpose of educating colored children in canada is intended to remain perpetual. * * * * * i give and bequeath to william still, of philadelphia, now employed in the anti-slavery office, in fifth st., philadelphia, february , the sum of one hundred dollars; and request my executors and trustees to pay over that amount out of my estate. esther moore was not rich in this world's goods, but was purely benevolent and rich in good works towards her fellow-men, hating every form of oppression and injustice, and an uncompromising witness against prejudice on account of color. such a friend as was esther moore during these many dark years of kidnapping, slave-catching, mob violence, and bitter prejudice which the colored people were wont to encounter, should never be forgotten. the legacy devised for educational purposes was applied in due time, after one of the executors in company with his wife, dr. j. wilson and rachel barker moore, visited the various settlements of fugitives in canada, expressly with a view of finding out where the fund would do the most good, in accordance with the testator's wishes. and although the testator has been dead seventeen years, her legacy is still doing its mission in her name, in a school, near chatham, canada west. in order to complete this sketch, it is only necessary that we should copy the beautiful and just tribute to her memory, written by oliver johnson, editor of the "national anti-slavery standard," and published in the columns thereof, as follows: death of a noble woman. [from the "national anti-slavery standard."] just as our paper is going to press, there comes to us intelligence of the death of our beloved and revered friend, esther moore, widow of the late dr. robert moore, of philadelphia. she expired on tuesday morning, november st, , of gout of the heart, after a short, but painful illness, in the eightieth year of her age. the writer of this first became acquainted with her in , and, at various times since then, has met her at anti-slavery meetings, or in familiar intercourse at her own house. her most remarkable traits of character were an intense hatred of oppression in all its forms, a corresponding love for the oppressed, an untiring devotion to their welfare, and a courage that never quailed before any obstacles, however formidable. her zeal in behalf of the anti-slavery cause, and especially in behalf of the fugitive, a zeal that absorbed all the powers of her noble nature, was a perpetual rebuke to the comparative coldness and indifference of those around her. we well remember how her soul was fired with a righteous indignation when upwards of thirty innocent persons, most of them colored people, were thrown into prison at philadelphia, upon a charge of treason, for their alleged participation in the tragedy at christiana. day after day did she visit the prisoners in their cells, to minister to their wants, and cheer them in their sorrow; and during the progress of hanway's trial, her constant presence in the court-room, and her frequent interviews with the district attorney, attested her deep anxiety as to the result of the impending struggle. when we last saw her, about a month since, she was engaged in collecting a large sum of money to ransom a family of slaves, whose peculiar condition had enlisted her deepest sympathy. notwithstanding her age and infirmities, she had enlisted in this work with a zeal which, even in a younger person, would have been remarkable. for many days, perhaps for many weeks, she went from door to door, asking for the means whereby to secure the freedom and the happiness of an enslaved and plundered household. as a member of the society of friends, she lamented the guilty supineness of that body, in regard to the question of slavery, and often, in its meetings, as well as in private intercourse, felt herself constrained to utter the language of expostulation and rebuke. in this, as in other relations of life, she was obedient to the revelation of god in her own soul, and a worthy example of fidelity to her convictions of duty. her step-son, j. wilson moore, in a letter to us announcing her decease, says: among the last injunctions she gave, was, "write to oliver johnson, and tell him i die firm in the faith! mind the slave!" she had enjoyed excellent health the last few years, and continued actively engaged in works of benevolence. during the last few weeks, she had devoted much time and labor to the collection of funds for the liberation of ten slaves in north carolina, who had been promised their freedom at a comparatively small amount. notwithstanding her great bodily suffering, her mind was clear to the last, expressing her full assurance of divine approbation in the course she had taken. this is all that we can now say of the life of our revered and never-to-be-forgotten friend. perhaps some one who knew her more intimately than we did, and who is better acquainted with the history of her life and labors, will furnish us with a more complete sketch. if so, we shall publish it with great satisfaction. happy! ay, happy! let her ashes rest; her heart was honest, and she did her best; in storm and darkness, evil and dismay, the star of duty was her guiding ray. her injunction to "mind the slave," comes to us as the dying admonition of one, whose life was a beautiful exemplification of the duty and the privilege thus enjoined. it imposes, indeed, no new obligation; but coming from such a source, it will linger in our memory while life and its scenes shall last, inspiring in us, we hope, a purer and a more ardent devotion to the cause of freedom and humanity. and may we not hope that others also, will catch a new inspiration from the dying message of our departed friend: "mind the slave!" abigail goodwin. contemporary with esther moore, and likewise an intimate personal friend of hers, abigail goodwin, of salem, n.j., was one of the rare, true friends to the underground rail road, whose labors entitle her name to be mentioned in terms of very high praise. a.w.m. a most worthy lady, in a letter to a friend, refers to her in the following language: "from my long residence under the same roof, i learned to know well her uncommon self-sacrifice of character, and to be willing and glad, whenever in my power, to honor her memory. but, yet i should not know what further to say about her than to give a very few words of testimony to her life of ceaseless and active benevolence, especially toward the colored people. "her life outwardly was wholly uneventful; as she lived out her whole life of seventy-three years in the neighborhood of her birth-place." with regard to her portrait, which was solicited for this volume, the same lady thus writes: "no friend of hers would for a moment think of permitting that miserable caricature, the only picture existing meant to represent her, to be given to the public. i cannot even bear to give a place in my little album to so mournful and ridiculous a misrepresentation of her in face." * * * * * "you wonder why her sister, e., my loved and faithful friend, seems to be so much less known among anti-slavery people than abbie? one reason is, that although dear betsy's interest in the subject was quite equal in _earnestness_, it was not quite so absorbingly _exclusive_. betsy economized greatly in order to give to the cause, but abby denied herself even _necessary apparel_, and betsy has often said that few beggars came to our doors whose garments were so worn, forlorn, and patched-up as abby's. giving to the colored people was a perfect _passion_ with her; consequently she was known as a larger giver than betsy. "another and greater reason why she was more known abroad than her sister e., was that she wrote with facility, and corresponded at intervals with many on these matters, mr. mckim and others, and for many years." * * * * * abigail was emphatically of the type of the poor widow, who cast in all her living. she worked for the slave as a mother would work for her children. her highest happiness aad pleasure in life seemed to be derived from rendering acts of kindness to the oppressed. letters of sympathy accompanied with bags of stockings, clothing, and donations of money were not unfrequent from her. new jersey contained a few well-tried friends, both within and without the society of friends, to which miss goodwin belonged; but among them all none was found to manifest, at least in the underground rail road of philadelphia, such an abiding interest as a co-worker in the cause, as did abigail goodwin. the sympathy which characterized her actions is clearly evinced in her own words, as contained in the appended extracts from her letter, as follows: "dear friend:--i sent e.m. (esther moore) forty-one dollars more by half than i expected to when i set about it. i expect that abolitionists there are all opposed to buying slaves, and will not give anything. i don't like buying them, or giving money to slave-holders either; but this seems to be a peculiar case, can be had so cheap, and so many young ones that would be separated from their parents; slavery is peculiarly hard for children, that cannot do anything to protect themselves, nor can their parents, and the old too, it is hard for them; but it is a terrible thing altogether. the case of the fugitive thee mentioned was indeed truly affecting; it makes one ashamed as well as sad to read such things, that human beings, or any other beings should be so treated. i cannot but hope and believe that slavery will ere long cease. i have a strong impression that the colored people and the women are to have a day of prosperity and triumph over their oppressors. we must patiently wait and quietly hope; but not keep too much 'in the quiet.' shall have to work our deliverance from bondage. 'who would be free, themselves must strike the blow.' "i regret very much that i have not more clothing to send than the stockings. i have not had time since i thought of it, to make anything; am ashamed that i was so inconsiderate of the poor runaways. i will go to work as soon as i have earned money to buy materials; have managed so as to spend my little annual allowance in nine months, and shall not be able to give you any money for some months, but if more stockings are wanted let me know, our benevolent society have plenty on hand; and i have some credit if not money; they will trust me till i have; they furnish work for poor women and sell it. i get them for fifty cents a pair. "my sister says lucretia (mott) told her that there was not much clothing in the trunk, only a few old things. i think she told me there was nothing in it, she meant, i suppose, of any consequence. * * * "i should like to know if the fugitives are mostly large. i have an idea they are generally small in stature; that slavery stunts the body as well as mind. i want to know in regard to the clothes that i intend making; it's best to have them fit as well as can be. i shall work pretty much for women. i hope and expect there are many friends of the cause who furnish clothing in the city. they ought to be fitted out for canada with strong, warm clothing in cold weather, and their sad fate alleviated as much as can be." * * * * * the forty-one dollars, referred to in the above letter, and sent to "e.m." was to go especially towards buying an interesting family of ten slaves, who were owned in north carolina by a slave-holder, whose rare liberality was signalized by offering to take $ , for the lot, young and old. in this exceptional case, while opposed to buying slaves, in common with abolitionists generally, she was too tender-hearted to resist the temptation so long as "they could be bought so cheap." to rid men of their yoke was her chief desire. such was her habit of making the sad lot of a slave a personal matter; that let her view him, in any light whatever, whether in relation to young ones that would be separated from their parents, or with regard to the old, the life of a slave was "peculiarly hard," "a terrible thing" in her judgment. the longer she lived, and the more faithfully she labored for the slave's deliverance, the more firmly she became rooted in the soul-encouraging idea, that "slavery will ere long cease." whilst the great masses were either blind, or indifferent, she was nerved by this faith to bear cheerfully all the sacrifices she was called on to make. from another letter we copy as follows: january th, . dear friend:--the enclosed ten dollars i have made, earned in two weeks, and of course it belongs to the slave. it may go for the fugitives, or carolina slaves, whichever needs it most. i am sorry the fugitives' treasury is not better supplied, if money could flow into it as it does into the tract fund; but that is not to be expected. thy answer in regard to impostors is quite satisfactory. no doubt you take great pains to arrive at the truth, but cannot at all times avoid being imposed on. will that little boy of seven years have to travel on foot to canada? there will be no safety for him here. i hope his father will get off. john hill writes very well, considering his few advantages. if plenty of good schools could be established in canada for the benefit of fugitives, many bright scholars and useful citizens would be added to society. i hope these will be in process of time. it takes the most energetic and intelligent to make their way out of bondage from the most southern states. it is rather a wonder to me that so many can escape, the masters are so continually watching them. the poor man that secreted himself so long, must, indeed, have suffered dreadfully, and been exceedingly resolute to brave dangers so long. it was so characteristic of her to take an interest in everything that pertained to the underground rail road, that even the deliverance of a little nameless boy was not beneath her notice. to her mind, his freedom was just as dear to him as if he had been the son of the president of the united states. how they got on in canada, and the question of education, were matters that concerned her deeply; hence, occasional letters received from canada, evincing marked progress, such as the hero john h. hill was in the habit of writing, always gave her much pleasure to peruse. in the wheeler slave-case, in which passmore williamson and others were engaged, her interest was very great. from a letter dated salem, september , , we quote the subjoined extract: dear friend:--i am truly rejoiced and thankful that the right has triumphed. but stranger had it been otherwise, in your intelligent community, where it must be apparent to all who inquire into it, that you had done nothing but what was deserving of high commendation, instead of blame and punishment; and shame on the jury who would bring in the two men guilty of assault and battery. they ought to have another trial; perhaps another jury would be more just. it is well for the credit of philadelphia, that there is one upright judge, as kelley seems to be, and his sentence will be a light one it is presumed, showing he considered the charge a mere pretence. i hope and trust, that neither thyself nor the other men will have much if any of the expense to bear; your lawyers will not charge anything i suppose, and the good citizens will pay all else. it seems there are hopes entertained that passmore williamson will soon be set at liberty. it must be a great comfort to him and wife, in their trials, that it will conduce to the furtherance of the good cause. if philadelphians are not aroused now after this great stretch of power, to consider their safety, they must be a stupid set of people, but it must certainly do good. * * * you will take good care of jane johnson, i hope, and not let her get kidnapped back to slavery. is it safe for her to remain in your city or anywhere else in our "free land?" i have some doubts and fears for her; do try to impress her with the necessity of being very cautious and careful against deceivers, pretended friends. she had better be off to canada pretty soon. thy wife must not sit up washing and ironing all night again. she ought to have help in her sympathy and labors for the poor fugitives, and, i should think there are many there who would willingly assist her. i intended to be careful of trespassing upon thy time, as thee must have enough to do; the fugitives are still coming i expect. with kind regards, also to thy wife, your friend, a. goodwin. in another letter, she suggests the idea of getting up a committee of women to provide clothing for fugitive females; on this point she wrote thus: "salem, th mo., st. "would it not be well to get up a committee of women, to provide clothes for fugitive females--a dozen women sewing a day, or even half a day of each week, might keep a supply always ready, they might, i should think, get the merchants or some of them, to give cheap materials--mention it to thy wife, and see if she cannot get up a society. i will do what i can here for it. i enclose five dollars for the use of fugitives. it was a good while that i heard nothing of your rail road concerns; i expected thee had gone to canada, or has the journey not been made, or is it yet to be accomplished, or given up? i was in hopes thee would go and see with thy own eyes, how things go on in that region of fugitives, and if it's a goodly land to live in. "this is the first of august, and i suppose you are celebrating it in philadelphia, or some of you are, though i believe you are not quite as zealous as the bostonians are in doing it. when will our first of august come? oh, that it might be soon, very soon! ... it's high time the 'reign of oppression was over.'" ever alive to the work, she would appeal to such as were able among her friends, to take stock in the underground rail road, and would sometimes succeed. in a letter dated july , , she thus alludes to her efforts: "i have tried to beg something for them, but have not got much; one of our neighbors, s.w. acton, gave me three dollars for them; i added enough to make ten, which thee will find inside. i shall owe three more, to make my ten. i presume they are still coming every day almost, and i fear it comes rather hard on thee and wife to do for so many; but you no doubt feel it a satisfaction to do all you can for the poor sufferers." february , , she forwarded her willing contribution, with the following interesting remarks: salem, february , . dear friend:--thee will find enclosed, five dollars for the fugitives, a little for so many to share it, but better than nothing; oh, that people, rich people, would remember them instead of spending so much on themselves; and those too, who are not called rich, might, if there was only a willing mind, give too of their abundance; how can they forbear to sympathize with those poor destitute ones--but so it is--there is not half the feeling for them there ought to be, indeed scarcely anybody seems to think about them. "inasmuch as ye have _not_ done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have not done it unto me." thy friend, a. goodwin. when the long looked-for day of emancipation arrived, which she had never expected to witness, the unbounded thankfulness of her heart found expression in the appended letter: salem, september , . dear friend:--thy letter dated th, was not received till last night. i cannot tell where it has been detained so long. on the d, yesterday, amy reckless came here, after i began writing, and wished me to defer sending for a day or two, thinking she could get a few more dollars, and she has just brought some, and will try for more, and clothing. a thousand thanks to president hamlin for his kindness to the contrabands; poor people! how deplorable their situation; where will they go to, when cold weather comes? so many of them to find homes for, but they must and will, i trust be taken care of, not by their former care-takers though. i have read the president's proclamation of emancipation, with thankfulness and rejoicing; but upon a little reflection, i did not feel quite satisfied with it; three months seems a long time to be in the power of their angry and cruel masters, who, no doubt, will wreak all their fury and vengeance upon them, killing and abusing them in every way they can--and sell them to cuba if they can. it makes me sad to think of it. slavery, i fear, will be a long time in dying, after receiving the fatal stroke. what do abolitionists think of it? and what is thy opinion? i feel quite anxious to know something more about it. the "daily press" says, it will end the war and its cause. how can we be thankful enough if it should, and soon too. "oh, praise and tanks," what a blessing for our country. i never expected to see the happy day. if thee answers this, thee will please tell me all about it, and what is thought of it by the wise ones; but i ought not to intrude on thy time, thee has so much on thy hands, nor ask thee to write. i shall know in time, if i can be patient to wait. enclosed are seventeen dollars; from amy reckless, $ , ; j. bassett, $ ; jesse bond, $ ; martha reeve, $ ; s. woodnutt, $ ; hannah wheeler, $ ; a colored man, cents; cents thrown in, to make even; a.g., $ . amy is very good in helping, and is collecting clothing, which she thinks, cannot be sent till next week. i will attend to sending it, as soon as can be, by stage driver. may every success attend thy labors for the poor sufferers. * * * with kind regards, thy friend, a. goodwin. thus, until the last fetter was broken, with singular persistency, zeal, faith and labor, she did what she could to aid the slave, without hope of reward in this world. not only did she contribute to aid the fugitives, but was, for years, a regular and liberal contributor to the pennsylvania anti-slavery society, as well as a subscriber to the anti-slavery papers, the "liberator," "national anti-slavery standard," "pennsylvania freeman," etc. having seen with joy, the desire of her heart, in the final emancipation of every bondman in the united states, she departed in peace, november , , in the th year of her age. faithful workers in the cause. [illustration: abigail goodwin] [illustration: thomas garrett,] [illustration: daniel gibbons, ] [illustration: lucretia mott] thomas garrett. the recent death of thomas garrett, called forth from the press, as well as from abolitionists and personal friends, such universal expressions of respect for his labors as a philanthropist, and especially as an unswerving friend of the underground rail road, that we need only reproduce selections therefrom, in order to commemorate his noble deeds in these pages. from the "wilmington daily commercial," published by jenkins and atkinson (men fully inspired with the spirit of impartial freedom), we copy the following notice, which is regarded by his relatives and intimate anti-slavery friends as a faithful portraiture of his character and labors: thomas garrett, who died full of years and honor, this morning, at the ripe age of eighty-one, was a man of no common character. he was an abolitionist from his youth up, and though the grand old cause numbered amongst its supporters, poets, sages, and statesmen, it had no more faithful worker in its ranks than thomas garrett. he has been suffering for several years, from a disease of the bladder, which frequently caused him most acute anguish, and several times threatened his life. the severe pain attending the disease, and the frequent surgical operations it rendered necessary, undermined his naturally strong constitution, so that when he was prostrated by his last illness, grave fears were entertained of a fatal result. he continued in the possession of his faculties to the last, and frequently expressed his entire willingness to die. yesterday he was found to be sinking very rapidly. just before midnight, last night, he commenced to speak, and some of those in attendance, went close to his bed-side. he was evidently in some pain, and said: "it is all peace, peace, peace, but no rest this side of the river." he then breathed calmly on for some time. about half an hour later, one of those in attendance ceased to hear his breathing, and bending over him, found that his soul had fled. he retained a good deal of his strength through his illness, and was able to get up from his bed, every day, with the assistance of one person. he will be buried in the friends' grave-yard, corner of fourth and west streets, on saturday next, at three o'clock, p.m., and in accordance with a written memorandum of an agreement made by him a year ago with them, the colored people will bear him to his grave, they having solicited of him that honor. he was born of quaker parents, in upper darby, delaware county, pa., on the st of august, , on a farm still in the possession of the family. his father, though a farmer, had been a scythe and edge-tool maker, and thomas learned of him the trade, and his knowledge of it afterwards proved of the utmost advantage to him. he grew up and married at darby, his wife being sarah sharpless, and in they came to wilmington to live, bringing with them several children, most of whom still live here. some years after his arrival here, his wife died, and in course of time, he again married, his second wife being rachel mendenhall, who died in april, , beloved and regretted by all who knew her. his business career was one of vicissitude, but generally and ultimately successful, for he made the whole of the comfortable competence of which he died possessed, after he was sixty years of age. while in the beginning of his business career, as an iron merchant in this city, a wealthy rival house attempted to crush him, by reducing prices of iron to cost, but mr. garrett, nothing dismayed, employed another person to attend his store, put on his leather apron, took to his anvil, and in the prosecution of his trade, as an edge-tool maker, prepared to support himself as long as this ruinous rivalry was kept up. thus in the sweat of the brow of one of the heroes and philanthropists of this age, was laid the foundation of one of the most extensive business houses that our city now boasts. his competitor saw that no amount of rivalry could crush a man thus self-supporting and gave up the effort. of course, thomas garrett is best known for his labors in behalf of the abolition of slavery, and as a practical and effective worker for emancipation long before the nation commenced the work of liberation and justice. born a quaker, he held with simple trust, the faith of the society that god moves and inspires men to do the work he requires of their hands, and throughout his life he never wavered in his conviction, that his father had called him to work in the cause to which he devoted himself. his attention was first directed to the iniquity of slavery, while he was a young man of twenty-four or twenty five. he returned one day to his father's house, after a brief absence, and found the family dismayed and indignant at the kidnapping of a colored woman in their employ. thomas immediately resolved to follow the kidnappers, and so started in pursuit. some peculiarity about the track made by their wagon, enabled him to trace them with ease, and he followed them by a devious course, from darby, to a place near the navy yard, in philadelphia, and then by inquiries, etc., tracked them to kensington, where he found them, and, we believe, secured the woman's release. during this ride, he afterwards assured his friends, he felt the iniquity and abomination of the whole system of slavery borne in upon his mind so strongly, as to fairly appal him, and he seemed to hear a voice within him, assuring him that his work in life must be to help and defend this persecuted race. from this time forward, he never failed to assist any fugitive from slavery on the way to freedom, and, of course, after his removal to this city, his opportunities for this were greatly increased, and in course of time, his house became known as one of the refuges for fugitives. the sentiment of this community was, at that time, bitterly averse to any word or effort against slavery, and mr. garrett had but half a dozen friends who stood by him. nearly all others looked at him with suspicion, or positive aversion, and his house was constantly under the surveillance of the police, who then, sad to say, were always on the watch for any fugitives from bondage. thomas was not disheartened or dismayed by the lack of popular sympathy or approval. he believed the lord was on his side, and cared nothing for the adverse opinion of men. many and interesting stories are told of the men and women he helped away, some of them full of pathos, and some decidedly amusing. he told the latter which related to his ingenious contrivances for assisting fugitives to escape the police with much pleasure, in his later years. we would repeat many of them, but this is not the time or place. the necessity of avoiding the police was the only thing, however, which ever forced him into any secrecy in his operations, and in all other respects he was "without concealment and without compromise" in his opposition to slavery. he was a man of unusual personal bravery, and of powerful physique, and did not present an encouraging object for the bullying intimidation by which the pro-slavery men of that day generally overawed their opponents. he seems to have scarcely known what fear was, and though irate slave-holders often called on him to learn the whereabouts of their slaves, he met them placidly, never denied having helped the fugitives on their way, positively refused to give them any information, and when they flourished pistols, or bowie-knives to enforce their demands, he calmly pushed the weapons aside, and told them that none but cowards resorted to such means to carry their ends. he continued his labors, thus, for years, helping all who came to him, and making no concealment of his readiness to do so. his firmness and courage slowly won others, first to admire, and then to assist him, and the little band of faithful workers, of which he was chief, gradually enlarged and included in its number, men of all ranks, and differing creeds, and, singular as it may seem, even numbering some ardent democrats in its ranks. he has, in conversation with the present writer and others, frequently acknowledged the valuable services of two roman catholics, of irish birth, still living in this city, who were ever faithful to him, and will now be amongst those who most earnestly mourn his decease. his efforts, of course, brought him much persecution and annoyance, but never culminated in anything really serious, until about the year or ' . he then met, at new castle, a man, woman, and six children, from down on the eastern shore of maryland. the man was free, the woman had, been a slave, and while in slavery had had by her husband, two children. she was then set free, and afterwards had four children. the whole party ran away. they traveled several days, and finally reached middletown, late at night, where they were taken in, fed and cared for, by john hunn, a wealthy quaker, there. they were watched, however, by some persons in that section, who followed them, arrested them, and sent them to new castle to jail. the sheriff and his daughter were anti-slavery people, and wrote to mr. garrett to come over. he went over, had an interview, found from their statement, that four of the party were undoubtedly free, and returned to this city. on the following day, he and u.s. senator wales, went over and had the party taken before judge booth, on a writ of _habeas corpus_. judge booth decided that there was no evidence on which to hold them, that in the absence of evidence the _presumption was always in favor of freedom_ and discharged them. mr. garrett then said, here is this woman with a babe at her breast, the child suffering from a white swelling on its leg, is there any impropriety in my getting a carriage and helping them over to wilmington? judge booth responded certainly not. mr. garrett then hired the carriage, but gave the driver distinctly to understand that he only paid for the woman and the young children; the rest might walk. they all got in, however, and finally escaped, of course the two children born in slavery amongst the rest. six weeks afterwards the slave-holders followed them, and incited, it is said, by the cochrans and james a. bayard, commenced a suit against mr. garrett, claiming all the fugitives as slaves. mr. garrett's friends claim that the jury was packed to secure an adverse verdict. the trial came on before chief justice taney and judge hall, in the may term ( ) of the u.s. court, sitting at new castle, bayard representing the prosecutors, and wales the defendant. there were four trials in all, lasting three days. we have not room here for the details of the trial, but the juries awarded even heavier damages than the plaintiffs claimed, and the judgments swept away every dollar of his property. when the trials were concluded, mr. garrett arose, the court being adjourned, made a speech of an hour to the large crowd in the court-room, in the course of which he declared his intention to redouble his exertions, so help him god. his bold assertion was greeted with mingled cheers and hisses, and at the conclusion of his speech one of the jurors who had convicted him strode across the benches, grasped his hand, and begged his forgivenness. mr. garrett kept his pledge and redoubled his exertions. the trial advertised him, and such was the demand on him for shelter, that he was compelled to put another story on his back buildings. his friends helped him to start again in business, and commencing anew in his sixtieth year with nothing, he again amassed a handsome competence, generously contributing all the while to every work in behalf of the down-trodden blacks or his suffering fellow-men of any color. in time the war came, and as he remarked, the nation went into the business by the wholesale, so he quit his retail operations, having, after he commenced to keep a record, helped off over twenty-one hundred slaves, and no inconsiderable number before that time. in time, too, he came to be honored instead of execrated for his noble efforts. wilmington became an abolition city, and for once, at least, a prophet was not without honor in his own city. mr. garrett continued his interest in every reform up to his last illness, and probably his last appearance in any public capacity, was as president of a woman suffrage meeting, in the city hall, a few months ago, which was addressed by julia ward howe, lucy stone, and henry b. blackwell. he lived to see the realization of his hopes for universal freedom, and in april last on the occasion of the great parade of the colored people in this city, he was carried through our streets in an open barouche, surrounded by the men in whose behalf he had labored so faithfully, and the guards around his carriage carrying banners, with the inscription, "our moses." a moses he was to their race; but unto him it was given to enter into the promised land toward which he had set his face persistently and almost alone for more than half a century. he was beloved almost to adoration by his dusky-hued friends, and in the dark days of the beginning of the war, which every wilmingtonian will remember with a shudder, in those days of doubt, confusion, and suspicion, without his knowledge or consent, thomas garrett's house was constantly surrounded and watched by faithful black men, resolved that, come weal come woe to them, no harm should come to the benefactor of their race. he was a hero in a life-time fight, an upright, honest man in his dealings with men, a tender husband, a loving father, and above all, a man who loved his neighbor as himself, and righteousness and truth better than ease, safety, or worldly goods, and who never let any fear of harm to person or property sway him from doing his whole duty to the uttermost. he was faithful among the faithless, upright and just in the midst of a wicked and perverse generation, and lived to see his labors rewarded and approved in his own life-time, and then with joy that the right had triumphed by mightier means than his own; with thankfulness for the past, and with calm trust for the future, he passed to the reward of the just. he has fought a good fight, he has finished his course, he has kept the faith. from the same paper, of january th, , we extract an account of the funeral obsequies which took place on saturday, january th. funeral service on saturday. the funeral of thomas garrett, which took place on saturday, partook almost of the character of a popular ovation to the memory of the deceased, though it was conducted with the plainness of form which characterizes the society of which he was a member. there was no display, no organization, nothing whatever to distinguish this from ordinary funerals, except the outpouring of people of every creed, condition, and color, to follow the remains to their last resting-place. there was for an hour or two before the procession started, a constant living stream of humanity passing into the house, around the coffin, and out at another door, to take a last look at the face of the deceased, the features of which displayed a sweetness and serenity which occasioned general remark. a smile seemed to play upon the dead lips. shortly after three o'clock the funeral procession started, the plain coffin, containing the remains, being carried by the stalwart arms of a delegation of colored men, and the family and friends of the deceased following in carriages with a large procession on foot, while the sidewalks along the line, from the house to the meeting-house, more than six squares, were densely crowded with spectators. the friends' meeting house was already crowded, except the place reserved for the relatives of the deceased, and, though probably fifteen hundred people crowded into the capacious building, a greater number still were unable to gain admission. the crowd inside was composed of all kinds and conditions of men, white and black, all uniting to do honor to the character and works of the deceased. the coffin was laid in the open space in front of the gallery of ministers and elders, and the lid removed from it, after which there was a period of silence. presently the venerable lucretia mott arose and said that, seeing the gathering of the multitude there and thronging along the streets, as she had passed on her way to the meeting-house, she had thought of the multitude which gathered after the death of jesus, and of the remark of the centurion, who, seeing the people, said: "certainly this was a righteous man." looking at this multitude she would say surely this also was a righteous man. she was not one of those who thought it best always on occasions like this, to speak in eulogy of the dead, but this was not an ordinary case, and seeing the crowd that had gathered, and amongst it the large numbers of a once despised and persecuted race, for which the deceased had done so much, she felt that it was fit and proper that the good deeds of this man's life should be remembered, for the encouragement of others. she spoke of her long acquaintance with him, of his cheerful and sunny disposition, and his firm devotion to the truth as he saw it. aaron m. powell, of new york, was the next speaker, and he spoke at length with great earnestness of the life-long labor of his departed friend in the abolition cause, of his cheerfulness, his courage, and his perfect consecration to his work. he alluded to the fact, that deceased was a member of the society of friends, and held firmly to its faith that god leads and inspires men to do the work he requires of them, that he speaks within the soul of every man, and that all men are equally his children, subject to his guidance, and that all should be free to follow wherever the spirit might lead. it was thomas garrett's recognition of this sentiment that made him an abolitionist, and inspired him with the courage to pursue his great work. he cared little for the minor details of quakerism, but he was a true quaker in his devotion to this great central idea which is the basis on which it rests. he urged the society to take a lesson from the deceased, and recognizing the responsibility of their position, to labor with earnestness, and to consecrate their whole beings to the cause of right and reform. it is impossible for us to give any fair abstract of mr. powell's earnest and eloquent tribute to his friend, on whom he had looked, he said, as "a father in israel" from his boyhood. william howard day, then came forward, saying, he understood that it would not be considered inappropriate for one of his race to say a few words on this occasion, and make some attempt to pay a fitting tribute to one to whom they owed so much. he did not feel to-day like paying such a tribute, his grief was too fresh upon him, his heart too bowed down, and he could do no more, than in behalf of his race, not only those here, but the host the deceased has befriended, and of the whole four millions to whom he had been so true a friend, cast a tribute of praise and thanks upon his grave. rev. alfred cookman, of grace m.e. church, next arose, and said that he came there intending to say nothing, but the scene moved him to a few words. he remembered once standing in front of st. paul's cathedral, in london, and seeing therein the name of the architect, sir christopher wren, inscribed, and under it this inscription: "stranger, if you would see his monument look about you." and the thought came to him that if you would see the monument of him who lies there, look about you and see it built in stones of living hearts. he thanked god for the works of this man; he thanked him especially for his noble character. he said that he felt that that body had been the temple of a noble spirit, aye the temple of god himself, and some day they would meet the spirit in the heavenly land beyond the grave. lucretia mott arose, and said she feared the claim might appear to be made that quakerism alone held the great central principle which dominated this man's life; but she wished it understood that they recognized this "voice within" as leading and guiding all men, and they probably meant by it much the same as those differing from them meant by the third person in their trinity. she did not wish, even in appearance, to claim a belief in this voice for her own sect alone. t. clarkson taylor then said, that the time for closing the services had arrived, and in a very few words commended the lesson of his life to those present, after which the meeting dissolved, and the body was carried to the grave-yard in the rear of the meeting-house, and deposited in its last resting-place. the trial of the cases, . to the editor of the commercial: your admirable and interesting sketch of the career of the late thomas garrett contains one or two statements, which, according to my recollection of the facts, are not entirely accurate, and are perhaps of sufficient importance to be corrected. the proceedings in the u.s. circuit court were not public prosecutions or indictments, but civil suits instituted by the owners of the runaway slaves, who employed and paid counsel to conduct them. an act of congress, then in force, imposed a penalty of five hundred dollars on any person who should knowingly harbor or conceal a fugitive from labor, to be recovered by and for the benefit of the claimant of such fugitive, in any court proper to try the same; saving, moreover, to the claimant his right of action for or on account of loss, etc.; thus giving to the slave-owner two cases for action for each fugitive, one of debt for the penalty, and one of trespass for damages. there were in all seven slaves, only the husband and father of the family being free, who escaped under the friendly help and guidance of mr. garrett, five of whom were claimed by e.n. turner, and the remaining two by c.t. glanding, both claimants being residents of maryland. in the suits for the penalties, turner obtained judgment for twenty-five hundred dollars, and glanding, one for one thousand dollars. in these cases the jury could give neither less nor more than the amount of the penalties, on the proper proof being made. nor in the trespass case did the jury give "larger damages than were claimed." a jury sometimes does queer things, but it cannot make a verdict for a greater sum than the plaintiff demands; in the trespass cases, glanding had a verdict for one thousand dollars damages, but in turner's case only nine hundred dollars were allowed, though the plaintiff sued for twenty-five hundred. it is hardly true to say that any one of the juries was _packed_, indeed, it would have been a difficult matter in that day for the marshal to summon thirty sober, honest, and judicious men, fairly and impartially chosen from the three counties of delaware, who would have found verdicts different from those which were rendered. the jury must have been fixed for the defendant to have secured any other result, on the supposition that the testimony admitted of any doubt or question, the anti-slavery men in the state being like virgil's ship-wrecked mariners, very few in number and scattered over a vast space. what most redounds to the honor and praise of mr. garrett, in this transaction, as a noble and disinterested philanthropist is, that after the fugitives had been discharged from custody under the writ of _habeas corpus_, and when he had been advised by his lawyer, who was also his personal friend, to keep his hands off and let the party work their own passage to a haven of freedom, not then far distant, or he might be involved in serious trouble, he deliberately refused to abandon them to the danger of pursuit and capture. the welfare and happiness of too many human beings were at stake to permit him to think of personal consequences, and he was ready and dared to encounter any risk for himself, so that he could insure the safety of those fleeing from bondage. it was this heroic purpose to protect the weak and helpless at any cost, this fearless unselfish action, not stopping to weigh the contingencies of individual gain or loss, that constitutes his best title to the gratitude of those he served, and to the admiration and respect of all who can appreciate independent conduct springing from pure and lofty motives. he did what he thought and believed to be right, and let the consequences take care of themselves. he never would directly or otherwise, entice a slave to leave his master; but he never would refuse his aid to the hunted, panting wretch that in the pursuit of happiness was seeking after liberty. and who among us is now bold enough to say, that in all this he did not see clearly, act bravely, do justly, and live up to the spirit of the sacred text:--"whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them?" w. in a letter addressed to one of the sons, william lloyd garrison pays the following beautiful and just tribute to his faithfulness in the cause of freedom. boston, january th, . my dear friend:--i have received the intelligence of the death of your honored and revered father, with profound emotions. if it were not for the inclemency of the weather, and the delicate state of my health, i would hasten to be at the funeral, long as the distance is; not indeed as a mourner, for, in view of his ripe old age, and singularly beneficent life, there is no cause for sorrow, but to express the estimation in which i held him, as one of the best men who ever walked the earth, and one of the most beloved among my numerous friends and co-workers in the cause of an oppressed and down-trodden race, now happily rejoicing in their heavenly-wrought deliverance. for to no one was the language of job more strictly applicable than to himself:--"when the ear heard me, then it blessed me, and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me; because i delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. the blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me; and i caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. i put on righteousness, and it clothed me; my judgment was as a robe and a diadem. i was eyes to the blind, and feet was i to the lame. i was a father to the poor; and the cause which i knew not i searched out. and i brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth." this is an exact portraiture of your father, a most comprehensive delineation of his character as a philanthropist and reformer. it was his meat and drink. "the poor to feed, the lost to seek, to proffer life to death, hope to the erring, to the weak the strength of his own faith. "to plead the captive's right; remove the sting of hate from law; and soften in the fire of love the hardened steel of war. "he walked the dark world in the mild, still guidance of the light; in tearful tenderness a child, a strong man in the right." did there ever live one who had less of that "fear of man which bringeth a snare," than himself? or who combined more moral courage with exceeding tenderness of spirit? or who adhered more heroically to his convictions of duty in the face of deadly peril and certain suffering? or who gave himself more unreservedly, or with greater disinterestedness, to the service of bleeding humanity? or who took more joyfully the spoiling of his goods as the penalty of his sympathy for the hunted fugitive? or who more untiringly kept pace with all the progressive movements of the age, as though in the very freshness of adult life, while venerable with years? or who, as a husband, father, friend, citizen, or neighbor, more nobly performed all the duties, or more generally distributed all the charities of life? he will leave a great void in the community. such a stalwart soul appears only at rare intervals. delaware, enslaved, treated him like a felon; delaware, redeemed, will be proud of his memory. "only the actions of the just smell sweet and blossom in the dust." his rightful place is conspicuously among the benefactors, saviours, martyrs of the human race. his career was full of dramatic interest from beginning to end, and crowded with the experiences and vicissitudes of a most eventful nature. what he promised he fulfilled; what he attempted, he seldom, or never failed to accomplish; what he believed, he dared to proclaim upon the housetop; what he ardently desired, and incessantly labored for, was the reign of universal freedom, peace, and righteousness. he was among the manliest of men, and the gentlest of spirits. there was no form of human suffering that did not touch his heart; but his abounding sympathy was especially drawn out towards the poor, imbruted slaves of the plantation, and such of their number as sought their freedom by flight. the thousands that passed safely through his hands, on their way to canada and the north, will never forget his fatherly solicitude for their welfare, or the dangers he unflinchingly encountered in their behalf. stripped of all his property under the fugitive slave law, for giving them food, shelter, and assistance to continue their flight, he knew not what it was to be intimidated or disheartened, but gave himself to the same blessed work as though conscious of no loss. great-hearted philanthropist, what heroism could exceed thy own? "for, while the jurist sitting with the slave-whip o'er him swung, from the tortured truths of freedom the lie of slavery wrung, and the solemn priest to moloch, on each god-deserted shrine, broke the bondman's heart for bread, poured the bondman's blood for wine-- while the multitude in blindness to a far-off saviour knelt, and spurned, the while, the temple where a present saviour dwelt; thou beheld'st him in the task-field, in the prison shadow dim, and thy mercy to the bondman, it was mercy unto him!" i trust some one, well qualified to execute the pleasing task, will write his biography for the grand lessons his life inculcated. yours, in full sympathy and trust, wm. lloyd garrison. a contemporary who had known him long and intimately--who had appreciated his devotion to freedom, who had shared with him some of the perils consequent upon aiding the fleeing fugitives, and who belonged to the race with whom garrett sympathized, and for whose elevation and freedom he labored so assiduously with an overflowing heart of tender regard and sympathy--penned the following words, touching the sad event: chatham, c.w., january , . to mr. henry garrett:--dear sir:--i have just heard, through the kindness of my friend, mrs. graves, of the death of your dear father; the intelligence makes me feel sad and sorrowful; i sincerely sympathize with you and all your brothers and sisters, in your mournful bereavement; but you do not mourn without hope, for you have an assurance in his death that your loss is his infinite gain. for he was a good christian, a good husband, a good father, a good citizen, and a truly good samaritan, for his heart, his hand and his purse, were ever open to the wants of suffering humanity, wherever he found it; irrespective of the country, religion, or complexion of the sufferer. hence there are many more who mourn his loss, as well as yourselves; and i know, verily, that many a silent tear was shed by his fellow-citizens, both white and colored, when he took his departure; especially the colored ones; for he loved them with a brother's love, not because they were colored, but because they were oppressed, and, like john brown, he loved them to the last; that was manifest by his request that they should be his bearers. i can better feel than i have language to express the mournful and sorrowing pride that must have stirred the inmost souls of those men of color, who had the honor conferred on them of bearing his mortal remains to their last resting-place, when they thought of what a sacred trust was committed to their hands. we are told to mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace; and such was the end of your dear father, and he has gone to join the innumerable company of the spirits of the just, made perfect on the other side of the river, where there is a rest remaining for all the children of god. my brother, abraham d. shadd, and my sister amelia, join their love and condolence with mine to you all, hoping that the virtues of your father may be a guiding star to you all, until you meet him again in that happy place, where parting will be no more, forever. your humble friend, elizabeth j. williams. from the learned and the unlearned, from those in high places and from those in humble stations, many testimonials reached the family, respecting this great friend of the slave, but it is doubtful, whether a single epistle from any one, was more affectingly appreciated by the bereaved family, than the epistle just quoted from elizabeth j. williams. the slave's most eloquent advocate, wendell phillips, in the "national standard," of february , , in honor of the departed, bore the following pertinent testimony to his great worth in the cause of liberty. "i should not dare to trust my memory for the number of fugitive slaves this brave old friend has helped to safety and freedom--nearly three thousand, i believe. what a rich life to look back on! how skilful and adroit he was, in eluding the hunters! how patient in waiting days and weeks, keeping the poor fugitives hidden meanwhile, till it was safe to venture on the highway! what whole-hearted devotion, what unselfish giving of time, means, and everything else to this work of brotherly love! what house in delaware, so honorable in history, as that where hunted men fled, and were sure to find refuge. it was the north star to many a fainting heart. this century has grand scenes to show and boast of among its fellows. but few transcend that auction-block where the sheriff was selling all garrett's goods for the crime (!) of giving a breakfast to a family of fugitive slaves. as the sale closed, the officer turns to garrett, saying: 'thomas, i hope you'll never be caught at this again.' "'friend,' was the reply, 'i haven't a dollar in the world, but if thee knows a fugitive who needs a breakfast, send him to me.' "over such a scene, luther and howard and clarkson clapped their hands. "such a speech redeems the long infamy of the state. it is endurable, the having of such a blot as delaware in our history, when it has once been the home of such a man. i remember well the just pride with which he told me, that after that sale, pro-slavery as wilmington was, he could have a discount at the bank as readily as any man in the city. though the laws robbed him, his fellow-citizens could not but respect and trust him, love and honor him. "the city has never had, we believe, a man die in it worthy of a statue. we advise it to seize this opportunity to honor itself and perpetuate the good name of its worthiest citizen, by immortalizing some street, spot, shaft or building with his name. "brave, generous, high-souled, sturdy, outspoken friend of all that needed aid or sympathy, farewell for these scenes! in times to come, when friendless men and hated ideas need champions, god grant them as gallant and successful ones as you have been, and may the state you honored grow worthy of you. wendell phillips." likewise in the "national standard," the editor, aaron m. powell, who attended the funeral, paid the following glowing tribute to the moral, religious, and anti-slavery character of the slave's friend: on the th inst., thomas garrett, in his eighty-second year, passed on to the higher life. a week previous we had visited him in his sick chamber, and, on leaving him felt that he must go hence ere long. he was the same strong, resolute man in spirit to the last. he looked forward to the welcome change with perfect serenity and peace of mind. and well he might, for he had indeed fought the good fight and been faithful unto the end. he was most widely known for his services to fugitive slaves. twenty-five hundred and forty-five he had preserved a record of; and he had assisted somewhat more than two hundred prior to the commencement of the record. picture to the mind's eye this remarkable procession of nearly three thousand men, women and children fleeing from slavery, and finding in this brave, large-hearted man, a friend equal to their needs in so critical an emergency! no wonder he was feared by the slave-holders, not alone of his own state, but of the whole south. if their human chattels once reached his outpost, there was indeed little hope of their reclamation. the friend and helper of fugitives from slavery, truly their moses, he was more than this, he was the discriminating, outspoken, uncompromising opponent of slavery itself. he was one of the strongest pillars and one of the most efficient working-members of the american anti-slavery society. he was an abolitionist of the most radical and pronounced character, though a resident of a slave state, and through all the period wherein to be an abolitionist was to put in jeopardy, not only reputation and property, but life itself. though he rarely addressed public meetings, his presence imparted much strength to others, was "weighty" in the best quaker sense. he was of the rare type of character, represented by francis jackson and james mott. thomas garrett was a member of the society of friends, and as such, served by the striking contrast of his own life and character, with the average of the society, to exemplify to the world the real, genuine quakerism. it is not at all to the credit of his fellow-members, that it must be said of them, that when he was bearing the cross and doing the work for which he is now so universally honored, they, many of them, were not only not in sympathy with him, but would undoubtedly, if they had had the requisite vitality and courage, have cut him off from their denominational fellowship. he was a sincere, earnest believer in the cardinal point of quakerism, the divine presence in the human soul--this furnishes the key to his action through life. this divine attribute he regarded not as the birth-right of friends alone, not of one race, sex or class, but of all mankind. therefore was he an abolitionist; therefore was he interested in the cause of the indians; therefore was he enlisted in the cause of equal rights for women; therefore was he a friend of temperance, of oppressed and needy working-men and women, world-wide in the scope of his philanthropic sympathy, and broadly catholic, and comprehensive in his views of religious life and duty. he was the soul of honor in business. his experience, when deprived at sixty, of every dollar of his property for having obeyed god rather than man, in assisting fugitives from slavery, and the promptness with which his friends came forward with proffered co-operation, furnishes a lesson which all should ponder well. he had little respect for, or patience with shams of any kind, in religious, political or social life. as we looked upon thomas garrett's calm, serene face, mature in a ripe old age, still shadowing forth kindliness of heart, firmness of purpose, discriminating intelligence, conscientious, manly uprightness, death never seemed more beautiful: "why, what is death but life in other forms of being? life without the coarser attributes of men, the dull and momently decaying frame which holds the ethereal spirit in, and binds it down to brotherhood with brutes! there's no such thing as death; what's so-called is but the beginning of a new existence, a fresh segment of the eternal round of change." a.m.p. another warm admirer of this great lover of humanity, in a letter to george w. stone thus alludes to his life and death: taunton, mass., june th, . dear stone:--your telegram announcing the death of that old soldier and saint, and my good friend, thos. garrett, reached me last evening at ten o'clock. my first impulse was to start for wilmington, and be present at his funeral; but when i considered my work here, and my engagements for the next four days, i found it impossible to go. i will be there in spirit, and bow my inmost soul before the all loving one, his father and ours, in humble thankfulness, that i ever knew him, and had the privilege of enjoying his friendship and witnessing his devotion, to the interest of every good cause of benevolence and reform. i could write you many things of interest which i heard from him, and which i have noted on my memory and heart; but i cannot now. i think he was one of the remarkable men of the times, in faith, in holy boldness, in fearless devotion to the right, in uncompromising integrity, in unselfish benevolence, in love to god and man, and in unceasing, life-long efforts to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with god. we shall not soon look upon his like again. if i was present at his funeral, i should take it as a privilege to pronounce his name, and say, as i never said before, "blessed are the dead that die in the lord; even so saith the spirit; for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them." do, at once, see his children and clarkson taylor, and give them my condolence, no, my _congratulation_, and assure them that they have a rich legacy in his noble life, and he has a glorious reward in the bosom of god. peace to his memory! noble old man, so pure and peaceful, and yet so strong, firm, and fearless, so gentle, tender, and truthful, afraid and ashamed of nothing but sin, and in love and labor with every good work. i could write on and fill many pages. but he desired no eulogy, and needs none. he lives, and will live for ever in many hearts and in the heaven of heavens above. t. israel. if it were necessary we might continue to introduce scores of editorials, communications, epistles, etc., all breathing a similar spirit of respect for the rare worth of this wonderful man, but space forbids. in conclusion, therefore, with a view of presenting him in the light of his own interesting letters, written when absorbed in his peculiar work, from a large number on file the following are submitted: wilmington, th mo. st, . esteemed friend, wm. still:--thine of this date, inquiring for the twenty-one, and how they have been disposed of, has just been received. i can only answer by saying, when i parted with them yesterday forenoon, i gave the wife of the person, in whose house they were, money to pay her expenses to philadelphia and back in the cars to pilot the four women to thy place. i gave her husband money to pay a pilot to start yesterday with the ten men, divided in two gangs; also a letter for thee. i hope they have arrived safe ere this. i had to leave town soon after noon yesterday to attend a brother ill with an attack of apoplexy, and to-day i have been very much engaged. the place they stayed here is a considerable distance off. i will make inquiry to-morrow morning, and in case any other disposition has been made of them than the above i will write thee. i should think they have stopped to-day, in consequence of the rain, and most likely will arrive safe to-morrow. in haste, thy friend, thos. garrett. although having "to attend a brother, ill with an attack of apoplexy," garrett took time to attend to the interest of the "twenty-one," as the above letter indicates. how many other men in the united states, under similar circumstances, would have been thus faithful? on another occasion deeply concerned for a forwarder of slaves, he wrote thus: wilmington, th mo. th, . esteemed friend, wm. still:--the bearer of this, george wilmer, is a slave, whose residence is in maryland. he is a true man, and a forwarder of slaves. has passed some twenty-five within four months. he is desirous of finding some of his relations, wm. mann and thomas carmichael, they passed here about a month since. if thee can give him any information where they can be found thee will much oblige him, and run no risk of their safety in so doing. i remain, as ever, thy sincere friend, thos. garrett. "four able-bodied men," form the subject of the subjoined correspondence: wilmington, th mo., th, . esteemed friends, j. miller mckim and william still:--captain f., has arrived here this day, with four able-bodied men. one is an engineer, and has been engaged in sawing lumber, a second, a good house-carpenter, a third a blacksmith, and the fourth a farm hand. they are now five hundred miles from their home in carolina, and would be glad to get situations, without going far from here. i will keep them till to-morrow. please inform me whether thee knows of a suitable place in the country where the mechanics can find employment at their trades for the winter; let me hear to-morrow, and oblige your friend, thomas garrett. "what has become of harriet tubman?" (agent of the underground rail road), is made a subject of special inquiry in the following note: wilmington, d mo., th, . esteemed friend, william still:--i have been very anxious for some time past, to hear what has become of harriet tubman. the last i heard of her, she was in the state of new york, on her way to canada with some friends, last fall. has thee seen, or heard anything of her lately? it would be a sorrowful fact, if such a hero as she, should be lost from the underground rail road. i have just received a letter from ireland, making inquiry respecting her. if thee gets this in time, and knows anything respecting her, please drop me a line by mail to-morrow, and i will get it next morning if not sooner, and oblige thy friend. i have heard nothing from the eighth man from dover, but trust he is safe. thomas garrett. on being informed that harriet was "all right," the following extract from a subsequent letter, expresses his satisfaction over the good news, and at the same time, indicates his sympathy for a "poor traveler," who had fallen a victim to the cold weather, and being severely frost-bitten, had died of lock-jaw, as related on page . "i was truly glad to learn that harriet tubman was still in good health and ready for action, but i think there will be more danger at present than heretofore, there is so much excitement below in consequence of the escape of those eight slaves. i was truly sorry to hear of the fate of that poor fellow who had periled so much for liberty. i was in hopes from what thee told me, that he would recover with the loss perhaps of some of his toes. thomas garrett." in the next letter, an interesting anecdote is related of an encounter on the underground rail road, between the fugitives and several irishmen, and how one of the old countrymen was shot in the forehead, etc., which g. thought would make such opponents to the road "more cautious." wilmington, th mo., th, . esteemed friend, william still:--i have just written a note for the bearer to william murphy chester, who will direct him on to thy care; he left his home about a week since. i hear in the lower part of this state, he met with a friend to pilot him some twenty-five miles last night. we learn that one party of those last week were attacked with clubs by several irish and that one of them was shot in the forehead, the ball entering to the skull bone, and passing under the skin partly round the head. my informant says he is likely to recover, but it will leave an ugly mark it is thought, as long as he lives. we have not been able to learn, whether the party was on the look out for them, or whether they were rowdies out on a hallow-eve frolic; but be it which it may, i presume they will be more cautious here how they trifle with such. desiring thee prosperity and happiness, i remain thy friend, thomas garrett. four of god's poor. the following letter shows the fearless manner in which he attended to the duties of his station: wilmington, th mo. th, . respected friend, wm. still:--this evening i send to thy care four of god's poor. severn johnson, a true man, will go with them to-night by rail road to thy house. i have given johnson five dollars, which will pay all expenses, and leave each twenty-five cents. we are indebted to captain f----t----n for those. may success attend them in their efforts to maintain themselves. please send word by johnson whether or no, those seven arrived safe i wrote thee of ten days since. my wife and self were at longwood to-day, had a pleasant ride and good meeting. we are, as ever, thy friend, thos. garrett. quite a satisfactory account is given, in the letter below of the "irishman who was shot in the forehead;" also of one of the same kin, who in meddling with underground rail road passengers, got his arm broken in two places, etc. wilmington, th mo. th, . esteemed friend, wm. still:--thy favor of a few days since came to hand, giving quite a satisfactory account of the large company. i find in the melee near this town, one of the irishmen got his arm broken in two places. the one shot in the forehead is badly marked, but not dangerously injured. i learn to-day, that the carriage in that company, owing to fast driving with such a heavy load, is badly broken, and the poor horse was badly injured; it has not been able to do anything since. please say to my friend, rebecca hart, that i have heretofore kept clear of persuading, or even advising slaves to leave their masters till they had fully made up their minds to leave, knowing as i do there is great risk in so doing, and if betrayed once would be a serious injury to the cause hereafter. i had spoken to one colored man to try to see him, but he was not willing to risk it. if he has any desire to get away, he can, during one night, before they miss him, get out of the reach of danger. booth has moved into new castle, and left the two boys on the farm. if rebecca hart will write to me, and give me the name of the boy, and the name of his mother, i will make another effort. the man i spoke to lives in new castle, and thinks the mother of the boy alluded to lives between here and new castle. the young men's association here wants wendell phillips to deliver a lecture on the lost arts, and some of the rest of us wish him to deliver a lecture on slavery. where will a letter reach him soonest, as i wish to write him on the subject. i thought he could perhaps deliver two lectures, two nights in succession. if thee can give the above information, thee will much oblige-- garrett & son. in his business-like transactions, without concealment, he places matters in such a light that the wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err, as may here be seen. wilmington, th mo. th, . esteemed friend, wm. still:--i now send johnson, one of our colored men, up with the three men i wrote thee about. johnson has undertook to have them well washed and cleaned during the day. and i have provided them with some second-hand clothes, to make them comfortable, a new pair of shoes and stockings, and shall pay johnson for taking care of them. i mention this so that thee may know. thee need not advance him any funds. in the present case i shall furnish them with money to pay their fare to philadelphia, and johnson home again. hoping they will get on safe, i remain thy friend, thos. garrett. four females on board. the fearless garrett communicated through the mail, as usual, the following intelligence: wilmington, th mo. th, . esteemed friend, wm. still:--the brig alvena, of lewistown, is in the delaware opposite here, with four females on board. the colored man, who has them in charge, was employed by the husband of one of them to bring his wife up. when he arrived here, he found the man had left. as the vessel is bound to red bank, i have advised him to take them there in the vessel, and to-morrow take them in the steamboat to the city, and to the anti-slavery office. he says they owe the captain one dollar and fifty cents for board, and i gave him three dollars, to pay the captain and take them to your office. i have a man here, to go on to-night, that was nearly naked; shall rig him out pretty comfortably. poor fellow, he has lost his left hand, but he says he can take care of himself. in haste, thy friend, thos. garrett. while father abraham was using his utmost powers to put down the rebellion, in , a young man who had "been most unrighteously sold for seven years," desirous of enlisting, sought advice from the wise and faithful underground rail road manager, who gave him the following letter, which may be looked upon in the light of a rare anecdote, as there is no doubt but that the "professed non-resistant" in this instance, hoped to see the poor fellow "_snugly fixed in his regimentals_" doing service for "father abraham." wilmington, st mo. d, . respected friend, william still:--the bearer of this, winlock clark, has lately been most unrighteously sold for seven years, and is desirous of enlisting, and becoming one of uncle sam's boys; i have advised him to call on thee so that no land sharks shall get any bounty for enlisting him; he has a wife and several children, and whatever bounty the government or the state allows him, will be of use to his family. please write me when he is snugly fixed in his regimentals, so that i may send word to his wife. by so doing, thee will much oblige thy friend, and the friend of humanity, thomas garrett. n.b. am i naughty, being a professed non-resistant, to advise this poor fellow to serve father abraham? t.g. we have given so many of these inimitable underground rail road letters from the pen of the sturdy old laborer, not only because they will be new to the readers of this work, but because they so fittingly illustrate his practical devotion to the slave, and his cheerfulness--in the face of danger and difficulty--in a manner that other pens might labor in vain to describe. daniel gibbons. a life as uneventful as the one whose story we are about to tell, affords little scope for the genius of the biographer or the historian, but being carefully studied, it cannot fail to teach a lesson of devotion and self-sacrifice, which should be learned and remembered by every succeeding age. daniel gibbons, son of james and deborah (hoopes) gibbons, was born on the banks of mill creek, in lancaster county, pennsylvania, on the st day of the th month (december), . he was descended on his father's side from an english ancestor, whose name appears on the colonial records, as far back as . john gibbons evidently came with or before william penn to this "goodly heritage of freedom." his earthly remains lie at concord friends' burying-ground, delaware county, near where the family lived for a generation or two. the grandfather of daniel gibbons, who lived near where west town boarding-school now is, in chester county, bought for seventy pounds, "one thousand acres of land and allowances," in what is now lancaster county, intending, as he ultimately did, to settle his three sons upon it. this purchase was made about the year . in process of time, the eldest son, desiring to marry deborah hoopes, the daughter of daniel hoopes, of a neighboring township in chester county, the young people obtained the consent of parents and friends, but it was a time of grief and mourning among young and old. the young friends assured the intended bride, that they would not marry the best man in the province and do what she was about to do; and the elder dames, so far relaxed the puritanic rigidity of their rules, as to allow the invitation of an uncommonly large company of guests to the wedding, in order that a long and perhaps last farewell, might be said to the beloved daughter, who, with her husband, was about to emigrate to the "far west." loud and long were the lamentations, and warm the embraces of these simple-minded christian rustics, companions of toil and deprivation, as they parted from two of their number who were to leave their circle for the west; the west being then thirty-six miles distant. this was on the sixth day of the fifth month, . more than a century has passed away; all the good people, eighty-nine in number, who signed the wedding certificate as witnesses, have passed away, and how vast is the change wrought in our midst since that day! joseph gibbons was so much pleased with the daring enterprise of his son and daughter-in-law, that he gave them one hundred acres of land in his western possessions more than he reserved for his other and younger sons, and to it they immediately emigrated, and building first a cabin and the next year a store-house, began life for themselves in earnest. it is interesting, in view of the long and consistent anti-slavery course which daniel gibbons pursued, to trace the influence that wrought upon him while his character was maturing, and the causes which led him to see the wickedness of the system which he opposed. the society of friends in that day bore in mind the advice of their great founder, fox, whose last words were: "friends, mind the light." and following that guide which leads out of all evil and into all good, they viewed every custom of society with eyes undimmed by prejudice, and were influenced in every action of life by a belief in the common brotherhood of man, and a resolve to obey the command of jesus, to love one another. this being the case, slavery and oppression of all kinds were unpopular, and indeed almost unknown amongst them. james gibbons was a republican, and an enthusiastic advocate of american liberty. being a man of commanding presence, and great energy and determination, efforts were made during the revolution to induce him to enlist as a cavalry soldier. he was prevented from so doing by the entreaties of his wife, and his own conscientious scruples as a friend. about the time of the revolution, or immediately after, he removed to the borough of wilmington, delaware, where, being surrounded by slavery, he became more than ever alive to its iniquities. he was interested during his whole life in getting slaves off. and being elected second burgess of wilmington during his residence there, his official position gave him great opportunities to assist in this noble work. it is related that during his magistracy a slave-holder brought a colored man before him, whom he claimed as his slave. there being no evidence of the alleged ownership, the colored man was set at liberty. the pretended owner was inclined to be impudent; but james gibbons told him promptly that nothing but silence and good behaviour on his part would prevent his commitment for contempt of court. about the year , james gibbons came back to lancaster county, where he spent twenty years in the practice of those deeds which will remain "in everlasting remembrance;" dying, full of years and honors, in . born in the first year of the revolution and growing up surrounded by such influences, daniel gibbons could not have been other than he was, the friend of the down-trodden and oppressed of every nationality and color. in his father took him to see general washington, then passing through wilmington. to the end of his life he retained a vivid recollection of this visit, and would recount its incidents to his family and friends. during his father's residence in wilmington, he spent his summers with kinsmen in lancaster county, learning to be a farmer, and his winters in wilmington going to school. at the age of fourteen years he was bound an apprentice, as was the good custom of the day, to a friend in lancaster county to learn the tanning business. at this he served about six years, or until his master ceased to follow the business. during this apprenticeship he became accustomed to severe labor, so severe indeed that he never recovered from the effects thereof, having a difficulty in walking during the remainder of his life, which prevented him from taking the active part in underground rail road business which he otherwise would have done. his father's estate being involved in litigation caused him to be put to this trade, farming being his favorite employment, and one which he followed during his whole life. in he took a pedestrian tour, by way of new york, albany, and niagara falls to the state of ohio, then the far west, coming home by way of pittsburg, and walking altogether one thousand three hundred and fifty miles. in this trip he increased the injury to his feet, so as to render himself virtually a cripple. upon the death of his father, he settled upon the farm, on which he died. about the year on going to visit some friends, who had removed to adams county, pennsylvania, he became acquainted with hannah wierman, whom he married on the fourth day of the fifth month, . at this time daniel gibbous was about forty years old, and his wife about twenty-eight, she having been born on the ninth of the seventh month, . a life of one after their union, would be incomplete without some notice of the other. during a married life of thirty-seven years, hannah gibbons was the assistant of her husband in every good and noble work. possessed of a warm heart, a powerful, though uncultivated intellect, an excellent judgment, and great sweetness of disposition, she was fitted both by nature and training to endure without murmuring the inconvenience and trouble incident to the reception and care of fugitives and to rejoice that to her was given the opportunity of assisting them in their efforts to be free. the true measure of greatness in a human soul, is its willingness to suffer for its own good, or the good of its fellows, its self-sacrificing spirit. granting the truth of this, one of the greatest souls was that of hannah w. gibbons. the following incident is a proof of this: in , when she was no longer a young woman, there came to her home, one of the poorest, most ignorant, and filthiest of mankind--a slave from the great valley of virginia. he was foot-sore and weary, and could not tell how he came, or who directed him. he seemed indeed, a missive directed and sent by the hand of the almighty. before he could be cleansed or recruited, he was taken sick, and before he could be removed (even if he could have been trusted at the county poor house), his case was pronounced to be small-pox. for six long weeks did this good angel in human form, attend upon this unfortunate object. reasons were found why no one else could do it, and with her own hands, she ministered to his wants, until he was restored to health. such was her life. this is merely one case. she was always ready to do her duty. her interest in good, never left her, for when almost dying, she aroused from her lethargy and asked if abraham lincoln was elected president of the united states, which he was a few days afterwards. she always predicted a civil war, in the settlement of the slavery question. during the last twenty-five years of her life she was an elder in the society of friends, of which she had always been an earnest, consistent, and devoted member. her patience, self-denial, and warm affection were manifested in every relation of life. as a daughter, wife, mother, friend, and mistress of a family she was beloved by all, and to her relatives and friends who are left behind, the remembrance of her good deeds comes wafted like a perfume from beyond the golden gates. she survived her husband about eight years, dying on the sixteenth of the tenth month, . three children, sons, were born to their marriage, two of whom died in infancy and one still ( ) survives. to give some idea of the course pursued by daniel and hannah gibbons, i insert the following letter, containing an account of events which took place in : "a short time since, i learned that my old friend, william still, was about to publish a history of the underground rail road. his own experience in the service of this road would make a large volume. i was brought up by daniel gibbons, and am asked to say what i know of him as an abolitionist. from my earliest recollection, he was a friend to the colored people, and often hired them and paid them liberal wages. his house was a depot for fugitives, and many hundreds has he helped on their way to freedom. many a dark night he has sent me to carry them victuals and change their places of refuge, and take them to other people's barns, when not safe for him to go. i have known him start in the night and go fifty miles with them, when they were very hotly pursued. one man and his wife lived with him for a long time. afterwards the man lived with thornton walton. the man was hauling lumber from columbia. he was taken from his team in lancaster, and lodged in baltimore jail. daniel gibbons went to baltimore, visited the jail and tried hard to get him released, but failed. i would add here, that daniel gibbons' faithful wife, one of the best women i ever knew, was always ready, day or night, to do all she possibly could, to help the poor fugitives on their way to freedom. many interesting incidents occurred at the home of my uncle. i will relate one. he had living with him at one time, two colored men, thomas colbert and john stewart. the latter was from maryland; john often said he would go back and get his wife. my uncle asked him if he was not afraid of his master's catching him. he said no, for his master knew if he undertook to take him, he would kill him. he did go and brought his wife to my uncle's. while these two large men, tom and john, were there, along came robert (other name unknown), in a bad plight, his feet bleeding. robert was put in the barn to thrash, until he could be fixed up to go again on his journey. but in a few days, behold, along came his master. he brought with him that notorious constable, haines, from lancaster, and one other man. they came suddenly upon robert; as soon as he saw them he ran and jumped out of the "overshoot," some ten feet down. in jumping, he put one knee out of joint. the men ran around the barn and seized him. by this time, the two colored men, tom and john, came, together with my uncle and aunt. poor robert owned his master, but john told them they should not take him away, and was going at them with a club. one of the men drew a pistol to shoot john, but uncle told him he had better not shoot him; this was not a slave state. inasmuch as robert had owned his master, uncle told john he must submit, so they put robert on a horse, and started with him. after they were gone john said: "mr. gibbons, just say the word, and i will bring robert back." aunt said: "go, john, go!" so john ran to joseph rakestraw's and got a gun (without any lock), and ran across the fields, with tom after him, and headed the party. the men all ran except haines, who kept robert between himself and john, so that john should not shoot him. but john called out to robert to drop off that horse, or he would shoot him. this robert did, and john and tom brought him back in triumph. my aunt said: "john, thee is a good fellow, thee has done well." robert was taken to jesse gilbert's barn, and dr. dingee fixed his knee. as soon as he was able to travel, he took a "bee-line" for the north star. my life with my uncle and aunt made me an abolitionist. i left them in the winter of , and came to salem, ohio, where i kept a small station on the underground rail road, until the united states government took my work away. i have helped over two hundred fugitives on their way to canada. respectfully, daniel bonsall, salem, columbiana county, ohio." one day, in the winter of , thomas johnson, a colored man, living with daniel gibbons, went out early in the morning, to set traps for muskrats. while he was gone, a slave-holder came to the house and inquired for his slave. daniel gibbons said: "there is no slave here of that name." the man replied: "i know he is here. the man we're after, is a miserable, worthless, thieving scoundrel." "oh! very well, then," said the good quaker, "if that's the kind of man thee's after, then i know he is not here. we have a colored man here, but he is not that kind of a man." the slaveholder waited awhile, the man not making his appearance, then said: "well, now, mr. gibbons, when you see that man next, tell him that we were here, and if he will come home, we will take good care of him, and be kind to him." "very well," said daniel, "i will tell him what thee says, but say to him at the same time, that he is a very great fool, if he does as thee requests." the colored man sought, having caught sight of the slaveholders, and knowing who they were, went off that night, under daniel gibbons' directions, and was never seen by his master again. afterward, daniel and his nephew, william gibbons, went with this man to adams county. with his master came the master of mary, a girl with straight hair, and nearly white, who lived with daniel gibbons and his wife. poor mary was unfortunate. her master caught her, and took her back with him into slavery. she and a little girl, who was taken away about the year , were the only ones ever taken back from the house of daniel gibbons. between the time of his marriage, when he began to keep a depot on the underground rail road, and the year , he passed more than one hundred slaves through to canada, and between the latter time and his death, eight hundred more, making, in all nine hundred aided by him. he was ever willing to sacrifice his own personal comfort and convenience, in order to assist fugitives. in , when on his way to the west, in a carriage, with his friend, thomas peart, also a most faithful friend of the colored man and interested in underground rail road affairs, he found a fugitive slave, a woman, in adams county, who was in immediate danger. he stopped his journey, and sent his horse and wagon back to his own home with the woman, that being the only safe way of getting her off. this was but a sample of his self-denial, in the cause of human freedom. his want of ability to guide in person runaway slaves, or to travel with them, prevented him from taking active part in the wonderful adventures and hair-breadth escapes which his brain and tact rendered possible and successful. it is believed that no slave was ever recaptured that followed his directions. sometimes the abolitionists were much annoyed by impostors, who pretended to be runaways, in order to discover their plans, and betray them to the slave-holders. daniel gibbons was possessed of much acuteness in detecting these people, but having detected them, he never treated them harshly or unkindly. almost from infancy, he was distinguished for the gravity of his deportment, and his utter heedlessness of small things. the writer has heard men preach the doctrine of the trifling value of the things of a present time, and of the tremendous importance of those of a never-ending eternity, but daniel gibbons is the only person she ever knew, who lived that doctrine. he believed in plainness of apparel as taught by friends, not as a form or a rule of society, but as a principle; often quoting from some one who said that "the adornment of a vain and foolish world, would feed a starving one." he opposed extravagant fashions and all luxury of habit and life, as calculated to produce effeminacy and degrading sensuality, and as a bestowal of idolatrous attention upon that body which he would often say "was here but for a short time." looking only upon that as religion, which made men love each other and do good to each other in this world, he was little of a stickler for points of belief, and even when he did look into theological matters or denounce a man's religious opinions, it was generally because they were calculated to darken the mind and be entertained as a substitute for good works. pursuing the even tenor of his way, he could as easily lead the flying fugitive slave by night out of the way of his powerful master, as one differently constituted could bestow his wealth upon the most popular charity in the land. his faith was of the simplest kind--the parable of the prodigal son, contains his creed. discarding what are commonly called "plans of salvation," he believed in the light "which lighteth every man that cometh into the world," and that if people would follow this light, they would thus seek "the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness and all other things needful would be added thereunto." he was a devoted member of the society of friends, in which he held the position of elder, during the last twenty-five years of his life. that peculiar doctrine of the society, which repudiates systematic divinity and with it a paid ministry, he held in special reverence, finding confirmation of its truth in the general advocacy of slavery, by the popular clergy of his day. when he was quite advanced in years, and the anti-slavery agitation grew warm, he was solicited to join an anti-slavery society, but on hearing the constitution read, and finding that it repudiated all use of physical force on the part of the oppressed in gaining their liberty, he said that he could not assent to that--that he had long been engaged in getting off slaves, and that he had always advised them to use force, although remonstrating against going to the extent of taking life, and that now he could not recede from that position, and he did not see how they could always be got off without the use of some force. his faith in an overruling providence was complete. he believed, even in the darkest days of freedom in our land, in the ultimate extinction of slavery, and at times, although advanced in years, thought he would live to witness that glorious consummation. it is only in a man's own family and by his wife and children, that he is really known, and it is by those who best knew, and indeed, who only knew this good man, that his biographer is most anxious that he should be judged. as a parent, he was not excessively indulgent, as a husband, one more nearly a model is rarely found. but his kindness in domestic life, his love for his wife, his son and his grandchildren, and their reciprocal love and affection for him, no words can express. it was in his father's household in his youth and in his own household in his mature years, that was fostered that wealth of love and affection, which, extending and widening, took in the whole race, and made him the friend of the oppressed everywhere, and especially of those whom it was a dangerous and unpopular task to befriend. the tenderness and thoughtfulness of his disposition are well shown in the following incident: upon one occasion, his son received a kick from a horse, which he was about to mount at the door. when he had recovered from the shock, and it was found that he was not seriously injured, the father still continued to look serious, and did not cease to shed tears. on being asked why he grieved, his answer was: "i was just thinking how it would have been with thee, had that stroke proved fatal." such thoughts were at once the notes of his own preparation and a warning to others to be also ready. a life consistent with his views, was a life of humility and universal benevolence, and such was his. it was a life, as it were in heaven, while yet on earth, for it soared above and beyond the corrupt and slavish influences of earthly passions. his interest in temperance never failed him. on his death-bed he would call persons to him, who needed such advice, and admonish them on the subject of using strong drinks, and his last expression of interest in any humanitarian movement, was an avowal of his belief in the great good to arise from a prohibitory liquor law. to a friend, who entered his sick room, a few days before his death, he said: "well, e., thee is preparing to go to the west." the friend replied: "yes, and daniel, i suppose thee is preparing to go to eternity." there was an affirmative reply, and e. inquired, "how does thee find it?" daniel said: "i don't find much to do, i find that i have not got a hard master to deal with. some few things which i have done, i find not entirely right." he quitted the earthly service of the master, on the th day of the eighth month, . a young physician, son of one of his old friends, after attending his funeral, wrote to a friend, as follows: "to quote the words of webster, 'we turned and paused, and joined our voices with the voices of the air, and bade him hail! and farewell!' farewell, kind and brave old man! the voices of the oppressed whom thou hast redeemed, welcome thee to the eternal city." lucretia mott. of all the women who served the anti-slavery cause in its darkest days, there is not one whose labors were more effective, whose character is nobler, and who is more universally respected and beloved, than lucretia mott. you cannot speak of the slave without remembering her, who did so much to make slavery impossible. you cannot speak of freedom, without recalling that enfranchised spirit, which, free from all control, save that of conscience and god, labored for absolute liberty for the whole human race. we cannot think of the partial triumph of freedom in this country, without rejoicing in the great part she took in the victory. lucretia mott is one of the noblest representatives of ideal womanhood. those who know her, need not be told this, but those who only love her in the spirit, may be sure that they can have no faith too great in the beauty of her pure and christian life. this book would be incomplete without giving some account, however brief, of lucretia mott's character and labors in the great work to which her life has been devoted. to write it fully would require a volume. she was born in , in the island of nantucket, and is descended from the coffins and macys, on the father's side, and from the folgers, on the mother's side, and through them is related to dr. benjamin franklin. her maiden name was lucretia coffin. during the absence of her father on a long voyage, her mother was engaged in mercantile business, purchasing goods in boston, in exchange for oil and candles, the staples of the island. mrs. mott says in reference to this employment: "the exercise of women's talent in this line, as well as the general care which devolved upon them in the absence of their husbands, tended to develop their intellectual powers, and strengthened them mentally and physically." the family removed to boston in . her parents belonged to the religious society of friends, and carefully cultivated in their children, the peculiarities as well as the principles of that sect. to this early training, we may ascribe the rigid adherence of mrs. mott, to the beautiful but sober costume of the society. when in london, in , she visited the zoological gardens, and a gentleman of the party, pointing out the splendid plumage of some tropical birds, remarked: "you see, mrs. mott, our heavenly father believes in bright colors. how much it would take from our pleasure, if all the birds were dressed in drab." "yes;" she replied, "but immortal beings do not depend upon feathers for their attractions. with the infinite variety of the human face and form, of thought, feeling and affection, we do not need gorgeous apparel to distinguish us. moreover, if it is fitting that woman should dress in every color of the rainbow, why not man also? clergymen, with their black clothes and white cravats, are quite as monotonous as the quakers." whatever may be the abstract merit of this argument, it is certain that the simplicity of lucretia mott's nature, is beautifully expressed by her habitual costume. in giving the principal events of lucretia mott's life, we prefer to use her own language whenever possible. in memoranda furnished by her to elizabeth cady stanton, she says: "my father had a desire to make his daughters useful. at fourteen years of age, i was placed, with a younger sister, at the friends' boarding school, in dutchess county, state of new york, and continued there for more than two years, without returning home. at fifteen, one of the teachers leaving the school, i was chosen as an assistant in her place. pleased with the promotion, i strove hard to give satisfaction, and was gratified, on leaving the school, to have an offer of a situation as teacher if i was disposed to remain; and informed that my services should entitle another sister to her education, without charge. my father was at that time, in successful business in boston, but with his views of the importance of training a woman to usefulness, he and my mother gave their consent to another year being devoted to that institution." here is another instance of the immeasurable value of wise parental influence. in lucretia joined her family in philadelphia, whither they had removed. "at the early age of eighteen," she says, "i married james mott, of new york--an attachment formed while at the boarding-school." mr. mott entered into business with her father. then followed commercial depressions, the war of , the death of her father, and the family became involved in difficulties. mrs. mott was again obliged to resume teaching. "these trials," she says, "in early life, were not without their good effect in disciplining the mind, and leading it to set a just estimate on worldly pleasures." to this early training, to the example of a noble father and excellent mother, to the trials which came so quickly in her life, the rapid development of mrs. mott's intellect is no doubt greatly due. thus the foundation was laid, which has enabled her, for more than fifty years, to be one of the great workers in the cause of suffering humanity. these are golden words which we quote from her own modest notes: "i, however, always loved the good, in childhood desired to do the right, and had no faith in the generally received idea of human depravity." yes, it was because she believed in human virtue, that she was enabled to accomplish such a wonderful work. she had the inspiration of faith, and entered her life-battle against slavery with a divine hope, and not with a gloomy despair. the next great step in lucretia mott's career, was taken at the age of twenty-five, when, "summoned by a little family and many cares, i felt called to a more public life of devotion to duty, and engaged in the ministry in our society." in when the society was divided mrs. mott's convictions led her "to adhere to the sufficiency of the light within us, resting on the truth as authority, rather than 'taking authority for truth.'" we may find no better place than this to refer to her relations to christianity. there are many people who do not believe in the progress of religion. they are right in one respect. god's truth cannot be progressive because it is absolute, immutable and eternal. but the human race is struggling up to a higher comprehension of its own destiny and of the mysterious purposes of god so far as they are revealed to our finite intelligence. it is in this sense that religion is progressive. the christianity of this age ought to be more intelligent than the christianity of calvin. "the popular doctrine of human depravity," says mrs. mott, "never commended itself to my reason or conscience. i searched the scriptures daily, finding a construction of the text wholly different from that which was pressed upon our acceptance. the highest evidence of a sound faith being the practical life of the christian, i have felt a far greater interest in the moral movements of our age than in any theological discussion." her life is a noble evidence of the sincerity of this belief. she has translated christian principles into daily deeds. that spirit of benevolence which mrs. mott possesses in a degree far above the average, of necessity had countless modes of expression. she was not so much a champion of any particular cause as of all reforms. it was said of charles lamb that he could not even hear the devil abused without trying to say something in his favor, and with all mrs. mott's intense hatred of slavery we do not think she ever had one unkind feeling toward the slave-holder. her longest, and probably her noblest work, was done in the anti-slavery cause. "the millions of down-trodden slaves in our land," she says, "being the greatest sufferers, the most oppressed class, i have felt bound to plead their cause, in season and out of season, to endeavor to put my soul in their soul's stead, and to aid, all in my power, in every right effort for their immediate emancipation." when in , wm. lloyd garrison took the ground of immediate emancipation and urged the duty of unconditional liberty without expatriation, mrs. mott took an active part in the movement. she was one of the founders of the philadelphia female anti-slavery society in . "being actively associated in the efforts for the slave's redemption," she says, "i have traveled thousands of miles in this country, holding meetings in some of the slave states, have been in the midst of mobs and violence, and have shared abundantly in the odium attached to the name of an uncompromising modern abolitionist, as well as partaken richly of the sweet return of peace attendant on those who would 'undo the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke.'" in she attended the world's anti-slavery convention in london. because she was a woman she was not admitted as a delegate. all the female delegates, however, were treated with courtesy, though not with justice. mrs. mott spoke frequently in the liberal churches of england, and her influence outside of the convention had great effect on the anti-slavery movement in great britain. but the value of mrs. mott's anti-slavery work is not limited to what she individually did, great as that labor was. her influence over others, and especially the young, was extraordinary. she made many converts, who went forth to spread the great ideas of freedom throughout the land. no one can of himself accomplish great good. he must labor through others, he must inspire them, convince the unbelieving, kindle the fires of faith in doubting souls, and in the unequal fight of right with wrong make hope take the place of despair. this lucretia mott has done. her example was an inspiration. in the temperance reform mrs. mott took an early interest, and for many years she has practiced total abstinence from intoxicating drinks. in the cause of peace she has been ever active, believing in the "ultra non-resistance ground, that no christian can consistently uphold and actively engage in and support a government based on the sword." yet this, we believe, did not prevent her from taking a profound interest in the great war for the union; though she deplored the means, her soul must have exulted in the result. through anguish and tears, blood and death america wrought out her salvation. do we not believe that the united states leads the cause of human freedom? it follows then that the abolition of the gigantic system of human slavery in this country is the grandest event in modern history. mrs. mott has also been earnestly engaged in aid of the working classes, and has labored effectively for "a radical change in the system which makes the rich richer, and the poor poorer." in the woman's rights question she was early interested, and with mrs. elizabeth cady stanton, she organized, in , a woman's rights' convention at seneca falls, new york. at the proceedings of this meeting, "the nation was convulsed with laughter." but who laughs now at this irresistible reform? the public career of lucretia mott is in perfect harmony with her private life. "my life in the domestic sphere," she says, "has passed much as that of other wives and mothers of this country. i have had six children. not accustomed to resigning them to the care of a nurse, i was much confined to them during their infancy and childhood." notwithstanding her devotion to public matters her private duties were never neglected. many of our readers will no doubt remember mrs. mott at anti-slavery meetings, her mind intently fixed upon the proceedings, while her hands were as busily engaged in useful sewing or knitting. it is not our place to inquire too closely into this social circle, but we may say that mrs. mott's history is a living proof that the highest public duties may be reconciled with perfect fidelity to private responsibilities. it is so with men, why should it be different with women? in her marriage, mrs. mott was fortunate. james mott was a worthy partner for such a woman. he was born in june, , in long island. he was an anti-slavery man, almost before such a thing as anti-slavery was known. in he refused to use any article which was produced by slave labor. the directors of that greatest of all railway corporations, the underground rail road, will never forget his services. he died, january , , having nearly completed his th year. "not only in regard to slavery," said the "philadelphia morning post," at the time, "but in all things was mr. mott a reformer, and a radical, and while his principles were absolute, and his opinions uncompromising, his nature was singularly generous and humane. charity was not to him a duty, but a delight; and the benevolence, which, in most good men, has some touch of vanity or selfishness, always seemed in him pure, unconscious and disinterested. his life was long and happy, and useful to his fellow-men. he had been married for fifty-seven years, and none of the many friends of james and lucretia mott, need be told how much that union meant, nor what sorrow comes with its end in this world." mary grew pronounced his fitting epitaph when she said: "he was ever calm, steadfast, and strong in the fore front of the conflict." in her seventy-ninth year, the energy of lucretia mott is undiminished, and her soul is as ardent in the cause to which her life has been devoted, as when in her youth she placed the will of a true woman against the impotence of prejudiced millions. with the abolition of slavery, and the passage of the fifteenth amendment, her greatest life-work ended. since then, she has given much of her time to the female suffrage movement, and so late as november, , she took an active part in the annual meeting of the pennsylvania peace society. since the great law was enacted, which made all men, black or white, equal in political rights--as they were always equal in the sight of god--mrs. mott has made it her business to visit every colored church in philadelphia. this we may regard as the formal closing of fifty years of work in behalf of a race which she has seen raised from a position of abject servitude, to one higher than that of a monarch's throne. but though she may have ended this anti-slavery work, which is but the foundation of the destiny of the colored race in america, her influence is not ended--_that_ cannot die; it must live and grow and deepen, and generations hence the world will be happier and better that lucretia mott lived and labored for the good of all mankind. james miller mckim. more vividly than it is possible for the pen to portray, the subject of this sketch recalls the struggles of the worst years of slavery, when the conflict was most exciting and interesting, when more minds were aroused, and more laborers were hard at work in the field; when more anti-slavery speeches were made, tracts, papers, and books, were written, printed and distributed; when more petitions were signed for the abolition of slavery; in a word, when the barbarism of slavery was more exposed and condemned than ever before, in the same length of time. abolitionists were then intensely in earnest, and determined never to hold their peace or cease their warfare, until _immediate_ and _unconditional_ emancipation was achieved. on the other hand, during this same period, it is not venturing too much to assert that the slave power was more oppressive than ever before; slave enactments more cruel; the spirit of slavery more intolerant; the fetters more tightly drawn; perilous escapes more frequent; slave captures and slave hunts more appalling; in short, the enslavers of the race had never before so defiantly assumed that negro slavery was sanctioned by the divine laws of god. thus, while these opposing agencies were hotly contesting the rights of man, james miller mckim, as one of the earliest, most faithful, and ablest abolitionists in pennsylvania, occupied a position of influence, labor and usefulness, scarcely second to mr. garrison. for at least fourteen of the eventful years referred to, it was the writer's privilege to occupy a position in the anti-slavery office with mr. mckim, and the best opportunity was thus afforded to observe him under all circumstances while battling for freedom. as a helper and friend of the fleeing bondman, in numberless instances the writer has marked well his kind and benevolent spirit, before and after the formation of the late vigilance committee. at all times when the funds were inadequate, his aid could be counted upon for sure relief. he never failed the fugitive in the hour of need. whether on the underground rail road bound for canada, or before a united states commissioner trying a fugitive case, the slave found no truer friend than mr. mckim. if the records of the pennsylvania society for promoting the abolition of slavery, and the pennsylvania anti-slavery society were examined and written out by a pen, as competent as mr. mckim's, two or three volumes of a most thrilling, interesting, and valuable character could be furnished to posterity. but as his labors have been portrayed for these pages, by a hand much more competent than the writer's, it only remains to present it as follows: the subject of this sketch was born in carlisle, pennsylvania, november , , the oldest but one of eight children. on his father's side, he was of scotch irish, on his mother's (miller) of german descent. he graduated at dickinson college in ; and entering upon the study of medicine, attended one or more courses of lectures in the university of pennsylvania. before he was ready to take his degree, his mind was powerfully turned towards religion, and he relinquished medicine for the study of divinity, entering the theological seminary at princeton, in the fall of , and a year later, being matriculated at andover. the death of his parents, however, and subsequently that of his oldest brother, made his connection with both these institutions a very brief one, and he was obliged, as the charge of the family now devolved upon him, to continue his studies privately at home, under the friendly direction of the late dr. duffield. an ardent and pronounced disciple of the "new school" of presbyterians, belonging to a strongly old school presbytery; he was able to secure license and ordination only by transfer to another; and, in october, , he accepted a pulpit in womelsdorf, berks county, pa., where he preached for one year, to a presbyterian congregation, to what purpose, and with what views, may be learned from the following passage taken from one of his letters, written more than twenty years afterwards, to the _national anti-slavery standard_. "the first settled pastor of this little flock was one sufficiently well-known to such of your readers as will be interested in this, to make mention of his name unnecessary. he had studied for the ministry with a strong desire, and a half formed purpose to become a missionary in foreign lands. before he had proceeded far in his studies, however, he became alive to the claims of the 'perishing heathen' here at home. when he received his licensure, his mind was divided between the still felt impulse of his first purpose and the pressure of his later convictions. while yet unsettled on this point, the case of the little church at womelsdorf was made known to him, followed by an urgent request from the people and from the home missionary society to take charge of it. he acceded to the request and remained there one year, zealously performing the duties of his office to the best of his knowledge and ability. the people, earnest and simple-hearted, desired the 'sincere milk of the word,' and receiving it 'grew thereby.' all the members of the church became avowed abolitionists. they showed their faith by their works, contributing liberally to the funds of the anti-slavery society. many a seasonable donation has our pennsylvania organization received from that quarter. for though their anti-slavery minister had left and had been followed by others of different sentiments and though he had withdrawn from the church with which they were in common connected, and that on grounds which subjected him to the imputation and penalties af heresy, these good people did not feel called upon to change their relations of personal friendship, nor did they make it a pretext, as others have done, for abandoning the cause." in october, , he accepted a lecturing agency under the american anti-slavery society, as one of the "seventy," gathered from all professions, whom theodore d. weld had by his eloquence inspired to spread the gospel of emancipation. mr. mckim had long before this had his attention drawn to the subject of slavery, in the summer of ; and the reading of garrison's "thoughts on colonization," at once made him an abolitionist. he was an appointed delegate to the convention which formed the american anti-slavery society, and enjoyed the distinction of being the youngest member of that body.[a] henceforth the object of the society, and of his ministry became inseparable in his mind. [footnote a: it may be a matter of some interest to state that the original draft of the declaration of sentiments adopted at this meeting, together with the autographs of the signers, is now in the keeping of the new york historical society.] in the following summer, , he delivered in carlisle two addresses in favor of immediate emancipation, which excited much discussion and bitter feeling in that border community, and gained him no little obloquy, which was of course increased when, as a lecturer, on the regular stipend of eight dollars a week and travelling expenses, ("pocket lined with british gold" was the current charge), he traversed his native state, among a people in the closest geographical, commercial, and social contact with the system of slavery. his fate was not different from that of his colleagues, in respect of interruptions of his meetings by mob violence, personal assaults with stale eggs and other more dangerous missiles, and a public sentiment which everywhere encouraged and protected the rioters. meantime, a radical change of opinion on theological questions, led mr. mckim formally to sever his connection with the presbyterian church, and ministry. being now free to act without sectarian constraint, he was, in the beginning of , made publishing agent of the pennsylvania anti-slavery society, which caused him to settle in philadelphia, where he was married, in october, to sarah a. speakman, of chester county. the chief duties of his office at first, were the publication and management of the _pennsylvania freeman_, including, for an interval after the retirement of john g. whittier, the editorial conduct of that paper. in course of time his functions were enlarged, and under the title of corresponding secretary, he performed the part of a factotum and general manager, with a share in all the anti-slavery work, local and national. after the consolidation of the _freeman_ with the _standard_, in , he became the official correspondent of the latter paper, his letters serving to some extent as a substitute for the discontinued _freeman_. the operations of the underground rail road came under his review and partial control, as has already appeared in these pages, and the slave cases which came before the courts claimed a large share of his attention. after the passage of the fugitive slave law, in , his duties in this respect were arduous and various, as may be inferred from one of his private letters to an english friend, which found its way into print abroad, and which will be found in another place. (see p. ). during the john brown excitement mr. mckim had the privilege of accompanying mrs. brown in her melancholy errand to harper's ferry, to take her last leave of her husband before his execution, and to bring away the body. his companions on that painful but memorable journey, were his wife, and hector tyndale, esq., afterwards honorably distinguished in the war as general tyndale. returning with the body of the hero and martyr, still in company with mrs. brown, mr. mckim proceeded to north elba, where he and wendell phillips, who had joined him in new york with a few other friends gathered from the neighborhood, assisted in the final obsequies. when the war broke out, mr. mckim was one of the first to welcome it as the harbinger of the slave's deliverance, and the country's redemption. "a righteous war," he said, "is better than a corrupt peace. * * * when war can only be averted by consenting to crime, then welcome war with all its calamities." in the winter of , after the capture of port royal, he procured the calling of a public meeting of the citizens of philadelphia to consider and provide for the wants of the ten thousand slaves who had been suddenly liberated. one of the results of this meeting was the organization of the philadelphia port royal relief committee. by request he visited the sea islands, accompanied by his daughter, and on his return made a report which served his associates as a basis of operations, and which was republished extensively in this country and abroad. after the proclamation of emancipation, he advocated an early dissolution of the anti-slavery organization, and at the may meeting of the american anti-slavery society, in , introduced a proposition looking to that result. it was favorably received by mr. garrison and others, but no action was taken upon it at that time. when the question came up the following year, the proposition to disband was earnestly supported by mr. garrison, mr. quincy, mr. may, mr. johnson, and others, but was strongly opposed by wendell phillips and his friends, among whom from philadelphia were mrs. mott, miss grew, and robert purvis, and was decided by a vote in the negative. mr. mckim was an early advocate of colored enlistments, as a means of lifting up the blacks and putting down the rebellion. in the spring of , he urged upon the philadelphia union league, of which he was a member, the duty of recruiting colored soldiers; as the result, on motion of thomas webster, esq., a movement was set on foot which led to the organization of the philadelphia supervisory committee, and the subsequent establishment of camp william penn, with the addition to the national army, of eleven colored regiments. when, in november, , the port royal relief committee was enlarged into the pennsylvania freedman's relief association, mr. mckim was made its corresponding secretary. he had previously resigned his place in the anti-slavery society, believing that that organization was near the end of its usefulness. eminent anti-slavery men [illustration: j. miller mckim] [illustration: rev. william h. furness] [illustration: william lloyd garrison] [illustration: lewis tappan] in the freedmen's work, he traveled extensively, and worked hard, establishing schools at the south and organizing public sentiment in the free states. in the spring of , he was made corresponding secretary of the american freedman's commission, which he had helped to establish, and took up his residence in the city of new york. this association was afterwards amplified, in name and scope, into the american freedman's union commission, and mr. mckim continued with it as corresponding secretary, laboring for reconstruction by means of freedman's schools, and impartial popular education. on the st of july, , the commission, by unanimous vote on his motion, disbanded, and handed over the funds in its treasury to its constituent state associations. mr. mckim retired from his labors with impaired health, and has since taken no open part in public affairs. he is one of the proprietors of the new york _nation_, in the establishment of which, he took an effective interest. mr. mckim's long and assiduous career in the anti-slavery cause, has given evidence of a peculiar fitness in him for the functions he successively discharged. his influence upon men and the times, has been less as a speaker, than as a writer, and perhaps still less as a writer than as an organizer, a contriver of ways and means; fertile in invention, prepared to take the initiative, and bringing to the conversion of others, an earnestness of purpose and a force of language that seldom failed of success. in an enterprise where theory and sentiment were fully represented, and business capacity, and what is called "practical sense," were comparatively rare, his talents were most usefully employed; while, in periods of excitement--and when were such wanting? his caution, sound judgment, and mental balance were qualities hardly less needed or less important. william h. furness, d.d. among the abolitionists of pennsylvania no man stands higher than dr. furness; and no anti-slavery minister enjoys more universal respect. for more than thirty years he bore faithful witness for the black man; in season and out of season contending for his rights. when others deserted the cause he stood firm; when associates in the ministry were silent he spoke out. they defined their position by declaring themselves "as much opposed to slavery as ever, but without sympathy for the abolitionists." he defined his by showing himself more opposed to slavery than ever, and fraternizing with the most hated and despised anti-slavery people. dr. furness came into the cause when it was in its infancy, and had few adherents. from that time till the day of its triumph he was one with it, sharing in all its trials and vicissitudes. in the operations of the vigilance committee he took the liveliest interest. though not in form a member he was one of its chief co-laborers. he brought it material aid continually, and was one of its main reliances for outside support. his quick sympathies were easily touched and when touched were sure to prompt him to corresponding action. he would listen with moistened eyes to a tale of outrage, and go away saying never a word. but the story of wrong would work upon him; and through him upon others. his own feelings were communicated to his friends, and his friends would send gifts to the committee's treasury. a wider spread sympathy would manifest itself in the community, and the general interests of the cause be visibly promoted. it was in the latter respect, that of moral co-operation, that dr. furness's services were most valuable. after hearing a harrowing recital, whether he would or not, it became the burden of his next sunday's sermon. abundant proof of this may be found in his printed discourses. take the following as an illustration. it is an extract from a sermon delivered on the th of may, , a period when the slave oligarchy was at the height of its power and was supported at the north by the most violent demonstrations of sympathy. the text was, "feed my lambs:" "and now brothers, sisters, children, give me your hearts, listen with a will to what i have to say. as heaven is my witness, i would not utter one word save for the dear love of christ and of god, and the salvation of your own souls. does it require any violent effort of the mind to suppose christ to address each one of us personally the same question that he put to peter, 'lovest thou me?' * * * and at the hearing of his brief command, 'feed my lambs,' so simple, so direct, so unqualified, are we prompted like the teacher of the law who, when christ bade him love his neighbor as himself, asked, 'and who is my neighbor?' and in the parable of the good samaritan, received an answer that the samaritans whom he despised, just as we despise the african, was his neighbor, are we prompted in like manner to ask, 'who are the lambs of christ?' who are his lambs? behold that great multitude, more than three millions of men and feeble women and children, wandering on our soil; no not wandering, but chained down, not allowed to stir a step at their own free will, crushed and hunted with all the power of one of the mightiest nations that the world has yet seen, wielded to keep them down in the depths of the deepest degradation into which human beings can be plunged. these, then that we despise, are our neighbors, the poor, stricken lambs of christ. to cast one thought towards them, may well cause us to bow down our heads in the very dust with shame. no wonder that professing to love christ and his religion, we do not like to hear them spoken of; for so far from feeding the lambs of christ, we are exciting the whole associated power of this land, to keep them from being fed. 'feed my lambs,' we might feed them with fraternal sympathy, with hope, with freedom, the imperishable bread of heaven. we might lead them into green pastures and still waters, into the glorious liberty wherewith christ died to make all men free, the liberty of the children of god. we might secure to them the exercise of every sacred affection and faculty, wherewith the creator has endowed them. but we do none of those things. we suffer this great flock of the lord jesus to be treated as chattels, bought and sold, like beasts of burden, hunted and lacerated by dogs and wolves. i say we, we of these free northern communities, because it is by our allowance, signified as effectually by silence, as by active co-operation, that such things are. they could continue so, scarcely an hour, were not the whole moral, religious and physical power of the north pledged to their support. are we not in closest league and union with those who claim and use the right to buy and sell human beings, god's poor, the lambs of christ, a union, which we imagine brings us in as much silver and gold as compensates for the sacrifice of our humanity and manhood? nay, are we not under a law to do the base work of bloodhounds, hunting the panting fugitives for freedom? i utter no word of denunciation. there is no need. for facts that have occurred only within the last week, transcend all denunciation. only a few hours ago, there was a man with his two sons, hurried back into the inhuman bondage, from which they had just escaped, and that man, the brother, and those two sons, the nephews of a colored clergyman of new york, of such eminence in the new school presbyterian church, that he has received the honors of a european university, and has acted as moderator in one of the presbyteries of the same church, when held in the city where he resides. almost at the very moment the poor fugitive with his children, were dragged through our city, the general assembly of that very branch of the presbyterian church, now in session here, after discussing for days the validity of roman catholic baptism, threw out as inexpedient to be discussed, the subject of that great wrong which was flinging back into the agony of slavery, a brother of one of their own ordained ministers, and could not so much as breathe a word of condemnation against the false and cruel deed which has just been consummated at the capitol of the nation. when such facts are occurring in the midst of us, we cannot be guiltless concerning the lambs of christ. it is we, we who make up the public opinion of the north, we who consent that these free states shall be the hunting-ground, where these, our poor brothers and sisters, are the game; it is we that withhold from them the bread of life, the inalienable rights of man. as we withhold these blessings, so is it in our power to bestow them. the sheep then that christ commands us, as we love him, to feed, are those who are famishing for the lack of the food which it is in our power to supply. and we can help to feed and relieve and liberate them, by giving our hearty sympathy to the blessed cause of their emancipation, to the abolition of the crying injustice with which they are treated, by uttering our earnest protest against the increasing and flagrant outrages of the oppressor, by withholding all aid and countenance from the work of oppression." to say that dr. furness, in his pleadings for the slave, was "instant in season and out of season," is not to exaggerate. so palpably was this true, that even some of his sympathizing friends intimated to him, that his zeal carried him beyond proper bounds, and that his discourses were needlessly reiterative. to these friends,--who, it is needless to say, did not fully comprehend the breadth and bearing of the question,--he would reply as he did in the following extract from a sermon delivered soon after the one above quoted: "again and again, i have had it said to me, with apparently the most perfect simplicity, 'why do you keep saying so much about the slaves? do you imagine that there is one among your hearers who does not agree with you? we all know that slavery is very wrong. what, is the use of harping upon this subject sunday after sunday? we all feel about it just as you do.' 'feel about it just as i do,' very likely, my friends. it is very possible that you all feel as much, and that many of you feel about it more than i do. god knows that my regret always has been not that i feel so much, but that i do not feel more. would to heaven that neither you nor i could eat or sleep for pity, pity for our poor down-trodden brothers and sisters. but the thing to which i implore your attention now, is, not what we know and feel, but the delusion which we are under, in confounding _knowing_ with _doing_, in fancying that we are working to abolish slavery because we know that it is wrong. this is what i would have you now to consider, the deception that we practise on ourselves, the dangerous error into which we fall, when we pass off the knowledge of our duty for the performance of it. these are two very distinct things. if you know what is right, happy are ye if ye do it. observe, my friends, what it is to which i am now entreating your consideration. it is not the wrongs nor the rights of the oppressed upon which i am now discoursing. it is our own personal exposure to a most serious mistake. it is a danger, which threatens our own souls, to which i would that our eyes should be open and on the watch. and here, by the way, let me say that one great reason why i refer as often as i do, to that great topic of the day, which, in one shape or another, is continually shaking the land and marking the age in which we live, is not merely the righting of the wronged, but the instruction, the moral enlightenment, the religious edification of our own hearts, which this momentous topic affords. to me this subject involves infinitely more than a mere question of humanity. its political bearing is the very least and most superficial part of it, scarcely worth noticing in comparison with its moral and religious relations. once, deterred by its outside, political aspect, i shunned it as many do still, but the more it has pressed itself on my attention, the more i have considered it--the more and more manifest has it become to me, that it is a subject full of light and of guidance, of warning and inspiration for the individual soul. it is the most powerful means of grace and salvation appointed in the providence of heaven, for the present day and generation, more religious than churches and sabbaths. it is full of sermons. it is a perfect gospel, a whole bible of mind-enlightening, heart-cleansing, soul-saving truth. how much light has it thrown for me on the page of the new testament! what a profound significance has it disclosed in the precepts and parables of jesus christ! how do his words burst out with a new meaning! how does it help us to appreciate his trials and the godlike spirit with which he bore them!" the dark winter of broke gloomily over all abolitionists; perhaps upon none did it press more heavily, than upon the small band in philadelphia. situated as that city is, upon the very edge of slavery, and socially bound as it was, by ties of blood or affinity with the slave-holders of the south, to all human foresight it would assuredly be the first theatre of bloodshed in the coming deadly struggle. as dr. furness said in his sermon on old john brown: "out of the grim cloud that hangs over the south, a bolt has darted, and blood has flowed, and the place where the lightning struck, is wild with fear." the return stroke we all felt must soon follow, and philadelphia, we feared, would be selected as the spot where slavery would make its first mortal onslaught, and the abolitionists there, the first victims. dr. furness had taken part in the public meeting held on the day of john brown's execution, to offer prayers for the heroic soul that was then passing away, and had gone with two or three others, to the rail-road station, to receive the martyr's body, when it was brought from the gallows by mr. (afterwards general) tyndale and mr. mckim, and it was generally feared that he and his church would receive the brunt of slavery's first blow. the air was thick with vague apprehension and rumor, so much so, that some of dr. furness's devoted parishioners, who followed his abolitionism but not his non-resistance, came armed to church, uncertain what an hour might bring forth, or in what shape of mob violence or assassination the blow would fall. few of dr. furness's hearers will forget his sermon of december , , so full was it of prophetic warning, and saddened by the thought of the fate which might be in store for him and his congregation. it was printed in the "evening bulletin," and made a deep impression on the public outside of his own church, and was reprinted in full, in the boston "atlas." "but the trouble cannot be escaped. it must come. but we can put it off. by annihilating free speech; by forbidding the utterance of a word in the pulpit and by the press, for the rights of man; by hurling back into the jaws of oppression, the fugitive gasping for his sacred liberty; by recognizing the right of one man to buy and sell other men; by spreading the blasting curse of despotism over the whole soil of the nation, you may allay the brutal frenzy of a handful of southern slave-masters; you may win back the cotton states to cease from threatening you with secession, and to plant their feet upon your necks, and so evade the trouble that now menaces us. then you may live on the few years that are left you, and perhaps--it is not certain--we may be permitted to make a little more money and die in our beds. but no, friends, i am mistaken. we cannot put the trouble off. or, we put it off in its present shape, only that it may take another and more terrible form. if, to get rid of the present alarm, we concede all that makes it worth while to live--and nothing less will avail--perhaps those who can deliberately make such a concession, will not feel the degradation, but, stripped of all honor and manhood, they may eat as heartily and sleep as soundly as ever. but the degradation is not the less, but the greater, for our unconsciousness of it. the trouble which we shall then bring upon ourselves, is a trouble in comparison with which the loss of all things but honor is a glorious gain, and a violent death for right's sake on the scaffold, or by the hands of a mob, peace and joy and victory. since we are thus placed, and there is no alternative for us of the free states, but to meet the trouble that is upon us, or by base concessions and compromises to bring upon ourselves a far greater trouble, in the name of god, let us let all things go, and cleave to the right. prepared to confront the crisis like men, let us with all possible calmness endeavor to take the measure of the calamity that we dread. god knows i have no desire to make light of it. but i affirm, that never since the world began, was there a grander cause for which to speak, to suffer and to die, than the cause of these free states, as against that of the states now rushing upon secession. the great grievance of which they complain, is nothing more nor less than this: that we endanger the right they claim to treat human beings as beasts of burden. and they maintain this monstrous claim by measures inhuman and barbarous, listening not to the voice of reason or humanity, but treating every man who goes amongst them, suspected of not favoring their cause, or of the remotest connection with others who do not favor it, with a most savage and fiendish cruelty. it is the conflict between barbarism and civilization, between liberty and the most horrible despotism that ever cursed this earth, in which we are called to take part. and all that is great and noble in the past, all the patriots and martyrs that have suffered in man's behalf, all the sacred instincts and hopes of the human soul are on our side, and the welfare of untold generations of men. oh, if god, in his infinite bounty, grants us the grace to appreciate the transcendent worth of the cause which is now at stake, there is no trouble that can befall us, no, not the loss of property, of idolized parents or children, or life itself, that we shall not count a blessed privilege. to serve this dear cause of peace and liberty and love, we have no need to grasp the sword or any instrument of violence and death. but we must be ready without flinching, to confront the utmost that men can do, and amidst all the uproar and violence of human passions, still calmly to assert and to exercise our sacred and inalienable liberties, let who will frown and forbid, assured that no just and law-of-god-abiding people, will ever do otherwise than give us their sympathy and their aid. death is the worst that can befall us, if so be that we are faithful to the right. it is a solemn and a fearful thing to die, and mortality shrinks from facing that last great mystery. but we must all die, my friends, and the dying hour is not far distant from the youngest of us. to most of us it is very near. to many, only a few brief years remain. and for the sake of these few and uncertain years, shall we push off this present trouble upon our children, who have to stay here a little longer? there is nothing that can so sweeten the bitter cup of mortality when we shall be called to drink it, nothing that can so cheer us in the prospect of parting from all we love, nothing that can send such a blessed light on before us into the dark valley which we must enter, as the consciousness of fidelity to man and to god. and now in these times of great trouble which have come upon us, we have a peculiar and special opportunity of testifying our fidelity, and of enjoying a full experience of its power to support us. we may gather from this trouble, a sweetness that shall take away from all suffering its bitterness. we may kindle that light in our bosoms, which shall make death come to us as a radiant angel." four months after the above was uttered, on the th of april, , after the attack on fort sumter, and the whole north had burst into a flame, people of all denominations flocked to dr. furness's church, as to that church which had shown that it was founded on a rock, and none can ever forget the long-drawn breath with which the sermon began: "the long agony is over!" it was the _"te deum_" of a life-time. dr. furness's words and counsels were not wanting throughout the war, and his sermons were constantly printed in the daily press and in separate pamphlet form. and since its close he has continued his absorbing study of the historical accounts of jesus. dr. furncss was born in boston, in april, , and was graduated at harvard, in , and five years later became the minister of the first congregational unitarian christians, in this city, and is consequently the senior clergyman, here, on the score of length of pastorate. happy is the man, and enviable the gospel minister, who, looking back upon his course in the great anti-slavery contest, can recall as the chief charge brought against him, that of being over-zealous! that he spoke too often and said too much in favor of the slave! there are but few men, and still fewer ministers, who have a right to take comfort from such recollections! and yet it is to this small class that the cause is most indebted under god, for its triumph, and the country for its deliverance from slavery. william lloyd garrison. the character and career of the leader of the movement for immediate emancipation in this country, are too well known to be dwelt on here; nor, in the space at our command, is it possible to give in full those facts of his life which have already appeared in print. his earliest biographer was mary howitt; and another even more famous authoress, mrs. h.b. stowe, in "men of our times," has stood in the same relation to him, while his life-long friend, oliver johnson, has writen the best concise account of him, in "appleton's new american cyclopædia." mr. garrison (the cyclopædia is, on this point, in error) was born december , , in newburyport, mass., his father, abijah garrison, being a ship-captain, trading with the west indies, and his mother, fanny lloyd, a woman of remarkable beauty, as well as piety and force of character. intemperate habits led the husband and father from home to a solitary and obscure end, leaving his family entirely dependent. william (or as he was always called, lloyd), was the youngest but one of five children, and had not done with his schooling before he began to contribute to his own support; at first in lynn, where he was set at shoemaking, at the age of eleven; afterwards in newburyport, and finally, in , at haverhill, where he was apprenticed to a cabinet maker. not finding these trades suited to his taste, the same year he was indentured to ephraim w. allen, editor of the "_newburyport herald_," and in the printing-office he completed his education, so far as he was to have any, with such early success, as soon to be an acceptable contributor to his employer's paper, while the authorship of his articles was still his own secret. as soon as his apprenticeship came to a close, in , he became proprietor of the "_free press_," in his native city, but the paper failed of support. seeking work as a journeyman, in boston, he was engaged in to edit, in the interest of "total abstinence," the "_national philanthropist,"_ the first paper of its kind ever published. on a change of proprietors in , he was induced to join a friend in bennington, vt., in publishing the "_journal of the times_," which advocated the election of john quincy adams for president, besides being devoted to peace, temperance, anti-slavery and other reforms. in this town, mr. garrison began his agitation of the subject of slavery, "in consequence of which there was transmitted to congress an anti-slavery memorial, more numerously signed than any similar paper previously submitted to that body." it was in bennington, too, that he received from benjamin lundy, who had met him the previous year at his boarding-house in boston, an invitation to go to baltimore, and aid him in editing the "_genius of universal emancipation_." baltimore was no strange city to mr. garrison. thither he had accompanied his mother, in , serving as a chore-boy, and he had visited her just before her death, in . he took leave of boston in the fall of , after having acted as the orator of the day, july th, in park street church, and surprised his hearers by the boldness of his utterances on the subject of slavery. the causes of his imprisonment at baltimore scarcely need to be repeated. for an alleged "gross and malicious libel" on a townsman (of newburyport) whose ship was engaged in the coastwise slave-trade, and whom he accordingly denounced in the "_genius_," he was tried and convicted, and sentenced to pay a fine of $ and costs. the cell in which he was confined for forty-nine days, and from which he was liberated only by the spontaneous liberality of arthur tappan, a perfect stranger to him, he had the satisfaction of reseeking, after the close of the war, in company with judge bond, but the prison had been removed. compelled to part company with lundy, to whom he has ever owned his moral indebtedness, mr. garrison at length started in boston, in january , his "_liberator_" with little else besides his "dauntless spirit and a press." the difficulties which beset the birth of this paper were never entirely overcome, and its publication was attended, through all the thirty-five years of its existence, with constant struggle and privation, and with personal labor, at the printer's case, and over the forms, which only an iron constitution could have endured. the "_liberator_" was the organ of the editor alone, and he gave room in it to the numerous reforms which were, in his mind, only subordinate to abolition. in the last volume was issued, mr. garrison having already, in may, withdrawn from the american anti-slavery society, which he had helped to found, in , and of which, as he drew up the declaration of sentiments, he may be supposed to have known something of the original aims and proper duration. in september, , mr. garrison was married to helen eliza, daughter of the venerable philanthropist, george benson, of providence, r.i., who had, even in the previous century, been an active member of a combined anti-slavery and freedmen's aid society in that city. in october, , occurred the boston riot, led by "gentlemen of property and standing," in which mr. garrison's life was imperilled, and which made him once more familiar with the interior of a jail--this time, a place of refuge. in , he went to england, as an agent of the new england anti-slavery society, to awaken english sympathy for the anti-slavery movement, and to undeceive clarkson and wilberforce and their distinguished associates as to the nature and object of the colonization society, as to which he had already had occasion to undeceive himself. his mission was eminently successful in both its aspects, and resulted in the subsequent visits of george thompson to this country, between whom and himself a strong personal attachment had arisen and has ever since continued. a second visit to england he made as a delegate to the world's anti-slavery convention, in which he refused to sit after his female colleagues had been rejected. a third visit, still in behalf of the cause, took place in . twenty years later--the war over and slavery abolished--he again went abroad, to repair his health and renew old friendships, and for the first time passed over to the continent. in england, he was greeted with cordial appreciation and hospitality by all classes. numerous public receptions of a most flattering character were given to him, but without the effect of causing him to magnify his own merits or to forget the honor due to his associates in the anti-slavery struggle. at the london breakfast, where john bright presided, and john stuart mill, the duke of argyll, and others spoke, he said, when called upon to reply: "i disclaim, with all the sincerity of my soul, any special praise for anything i have done. i have simply tried to maintain the integrity of my soul before god, and to do my duty." in edinburgh, the "freedom of the city" was conferred upon him with impressive ceremonies--he being the third american ever thus honored. in paris he was also received with distinction, his special mission to that city being to attend the international anti-slavery convention, in the capacity of a delegate from the american freedman's union commission, of which he was first vice-president. the justice of the war on the part of the north, and its effect on the fate of slavery at the south, were never subjects of doubt in the mind of mr. garrison, and he quickly recognized the force of events which had taken from the abolitionists the helm of direction, and reunited them with their countrymen in the irresistible flood which no man's hand guided, and no man's hand could stay. an agitator from conviction and not from choice, he was only too glad to lay down the heavy burden of a life-time, and retire to well-earned repose, after such a vision of faint hope realized as certainly no other reformer was ever blessed with. he had lived to see the disunion which he advocated on sacred principles, attempted by the south in the name of the sum of all villanies; the uprising of the north; the grand career of lincoln; the proclamation of emancipation; the arming of the blacks--his own son among their officers; the end of the rebellion; and the consummation of his prayers and labors for the salvation of his country. he had taken part in the ceremonies at the recovery of sumter, had walked the streets of charleston, and received floral tokens of the gratitude of the emancipated. to him it seemed as if his work was done, and that he might, without suspicion or accusation, cease to be conspicuous, or to occupy the public attention in any way relating to the past and recalling his part in the anti-slavery struggle. notoriety, no longer a necessity, was eagerly avoided; and the physical rest which was now enjoined upon him the liberality of his friends having enabled him to secure, he settled down into the quiet life of a private citizen, whose great duty had become to him merely one of the duties which every man owes his country and his race. his sweet temper, his modesty, his unfailing cheerfulness, his rarely mistaken judgment of men and measures; his blameless and happy domestic life, and his hospitality; his warm sympathy with all forms of human suffering--these and other qualities which cannot be enumerated here, will doubtless receive the just judgment of posterity. as a fitting adjunct to the foregoing sketch, extracts from some of the speeches made at the london breakfast so magnanimously extended to mr. garrison in , are here introduced. as presiding officer on the occasion, john bright, m.p. spoke as follows: speech of mr. bright, m.p. the position in which i am placed this morning is one very unusual for me, and one that i find somewhat difficult; but i consider it a signal distinction to be permitted to take a prominent part in the proceedings of this day, which are intended to commemorate one of the greatest of the great triumphs of freedom, and to do honor to a most eminent instrument in the achievement of that freedom. (hear, hear.) there may be, perhaps, those who ask what is this triumph of which i speak? to put it briefly, and, indeed, only to put one part of it, i may say that it is a triumph which has had the effect of raising , , of human beings from the very lowest depths of social and political degradation to that lofty height which men have attained when they possess equality of rights in the first country on the globe. (cheers.) more than this, it is a triumph which has pronounced the irreversible doom of slavery in all countries and for all time. (renewed cheers.) another question suggests itself--how has this great matter been accomplished? the answer suggests itself in another question. how is it that any great matter is accomplished? by love of justice, by constant devotion to a great cause, and by an unfaltering faith that that which is right will in the end succeed. (hear, hear.) when i look at this hall, filled with such an assembly; when i partake of the sympathy which runs from heart to heart at this moment in welcome to our guest of to-day, i cannot but contrast his present position with that which, not so far back but that many of us can remember, he occupied in his own country. it is not forty years ago, i believe about the year , when the guest whom we honor this morning was spending his solitary days in a prison in the slave-owning city of baltimore. i will not say that he was languishing in prison, for that i do not believe; he was sustained by a hope that did not yield to the persecution of those who thus maltreated him; and to show that the effect of that imprisonment was of no avail to suppress or extinguish his ardor, within two years after that he had the courage, the audacity--i dare say many of his countrymen used even a stronger phrase than that--he had the courage to commence the publication, in the city of boston, of a newspaper devoted mainly to the question of the abolition of slavery. the first number of that paper, issued on the st january, , contained an address to the public, one passage of which i have often read with the greatest interest, and it is a key to the future life of mr. garrison. he had been complained of for having used hard language, which is a very common complaint indeed, and he said in his first number: "i am aware that many object to the severity of my language, but is there not cause for such severity? i will be as harsh as truth, and as uncompromising as justice. i am in earnest, i will not equivocate, i will not excuse, i will not retract a single inch, and i will be heard". (cheers.) and that, after all, expresses to a great extent the future course of his life. but what was at that time the temper of the people amongst whom he lived, of the people who are glorying now, as they well may glory, in the abolition of slavery throughout their country? at that time it was very little better in the north than it was in the south. i think it was in the year that riots of the most serious character took place in some of the northern cities; during that time mr. garrison's life was in the most imminent peril; and he has never ascertained to this day how it was that he was left alive on the earth to carry on his great work. turning to the south, a state that has lately suffered from the ravages of armies, the state of georgia, by its legislature of house, senate, and governor, if my memory does not deceive me, passed a bill, offering ten thousand dollars reward, (mr. garrison here said five thousand) well, they seemed to think there were people who would do it cheap, (laughter) offered five thousand dollars, and zeal, doubtless, would make up the difference, for the capture of mr. garrison, or for adequate proof of his death. now, these were menaces and perils such as we have not in our time been accustomed to in this country in any of our political movements, (hear, hear) and we shall take a very poor measure indeed of the conduct of the leaders of the emancipation party in the united states if we estimate them by any of those who have been concerned in political movements amongst us. but, notwithstanding all drawbacks, the cause was gathering strength, and mr. garrison found himself by and by surrounded by a small but increasing band of men and women who were devoted to this cause, as he himself was. we have in this country a very noble woman, who taught the english people much upon this question, about thirty years ago; i allude to harriet martineau. (cheers.) i recollect well the impression with which i read a most powerful and touching paper which she had written, and which was published in the number of the _westminster review_ for december, . it was entitled "the martyr age of the united states." the paper introduced to the english public the great names which were appearing on the scene in connection with this cause in america. there was, of course i need not mention, our eminent guest of to-day; there was arthur tappan, and lewis tappan, and james g. birney of alabama, a planter and slave-owner, who liberated his slaves and came north, and became, as i think, the first presidential candidate upon abolition principles in the united states. (hear, hear.) there were besides them, dr. channing, john quincy adams, a statesman and president of the united states, and father of the eminent man who is now minister from that people amongst us. (cheers.) then there was wendell phillips, admitted to be by all who know him perhaps the most powerful orator who speaks the english language. (hear, hear.) i might refer to others, to charles sumner, the well-known statesman, and horace greeley, i think the first of journalists in the united states, if not the first of journalists in the world. (hear, hear.) but besides these, there were of noble women not a few. there was lydia maria child; there were the two sisters, sarah and angelina grimke, ladies who came from south carolina, who liberated their slaves, and devoted all they had to the service of this just cause; and maria weston chapman, of whom miss martineau speaks in terms which, though i do not exactly recollect them, yet i know described her as noble-minded, beautiful and good. it may be that there are some of her family who are now within the sound of my voice. if it be so, all i have to say is, that i hope they will feel, in addition to all they have felt heretofore as to the character of their mother, that we who are here can appreciate her services, and the services of all who were united with her as co-operators in this great and worthy cause. but there was another whose name must not be forgotten, a man whose name must live for ever in history, elijah p. lovejoy, who in the free state of illinois laid down his life for the cause. (hear, hear.) when i read that article by harriet martineau, and the description of those men and women there given, i was led, i know not how, to think of a very striking passage which i am sure must be familiar to most here, because it is to be found in the epistle to the hebrews. after the writer of that epistle has described the great men and fathers of the nation, he says: "time would fail me to tell of gideon, of barak, of samson, of jephtha, of david, of samuel, and the prophets, who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens." i ask if this grand passage of the inspired writer may not be applied to that heroic band who have made america the perpetual home of freedom? (enthusiastic cheering.) thus, in spite of all that persecution could do, opinion grew in the north in favor of freedom; but in the south, alas! in favor of that most devilish delusion that slavery was a divine institution. the moment that idea took possession of the south war was inevitable. neither fact nor argument, nor counsel, nor philosophy, nor religion, could by any possibility affect the discussion of the question when once the church leaders of the south had taught their people that slavery was a divine institution; for then they took their stand on other and different, and what they in their blindness thought higher grounds, and they said, "evil! be thou my good;" and so they exchanged light for darkness, and freedom for bondage, and good for evil, and, if you like, heaven for hell. * * * * there was a universal feeling in the north that every care should be taken of those who had so recently and marvellously been enfranchised. immediately we found that the privileges of independent labor were open to them, schools were established in which their sons might obtain an education that would raise them to an intellectual position never reached by their fathers; and at length full political rights were conferred upon those who a few short years, or rather months, before, had been called chattels, and things to be bought and sold in any market. (hear, hear.) and we may feel assured, that those persons in the northern states who befriended the negro in his bondage will not now fail to assist his struggles for a higher position. * * * * * * * to mr. garrison more than any other man this is due; his is the creation of that opinion which has made slavery hateful, and which has made freedom possible in america. (hear, hear.) his name is venerated in his own country, venerated where not long ago it was a name of obloquy and reproach. his name is venerated in this country and in europe wheresoever christianity softens the hearts and lessens the sorrows of men; and i venture to say that in time to come, near or remote i know not, his name will become the herald and the synonym of good to millions of men who will dwell on the now almost unknown continent of africa. (loud cheers.) * * * to mr. garrison, as is stated in one of the letters which has just been read, to william lloyd garrison it has been given, in a manner not often permitted to those who do great things of this kind, to see the ripe fruit of his vast labors. over a territory large enough to make many realms, he has seen hopeless toil supplanted by compensated industry; and where the bondman dragged his chain, there freedom is established for ever. (loud cheers.) we now welcome him amongst us as a friend whom some of us have known long; for i have watched his career with no common interest, even when i was too young to take much part in public affairs; and i have kept within my heart his name, and the names of those who have been associated with him in every step which he has taken; and in public debate in the halls of peace, and even on the blood-soiled fields of war, my heart has always been with those who were the friends of freedom. (renewed cheering.) we welcome him then with a cordiality which knows no stint and no limit for him and for his noble associates, both men and women. after this eloquent and able speech by the chairman, the honor of proposing an address to mr. garrison devolved upon the duke of argyll, who introduced the subject in the following glowing speech: speech of the duke of argyll. mr. chairman, ladies, and gentlemen:--it is hard to follow an address of such extraordinary beauty, simplicity and power; but it now becomes my duty at your command, sir, to move an address of hearty congratulation to our distinguished guest, william lloyd garrison. (cheers.) sir, this country is from time to time honored by the presence of many distinguished, and of a few illustrious men; but for the most part we are contented to receive them with that private cordiality and hospitality with which, i trust, we shall always receive strangers who visit our shores. the people of this country are not pre-eminently an emotional people; they are not naturally fond of public demonstrations; and it is only upon rare occasions that we give, or can give, such a reception as that we see here this day. there must be something peculiar in the cause which a man has served, in the service which he has rendered, and in our own relations with the people whom he represents, to justify or to account for such a reception. (hear, hear.) as regards the cause, it is not too much to say that the cause of negro emancipation in the united states of america has been the greatest cause which, in ancient or in modern times, has been pleaded at the bar of the moral judgment of mankind. (cheers.) i know that to some this will sound as the language of exaggerated feeling; but i can only say that i have expressed myself in language which i believe conveys the literal truth. (hear, hear.) i have, indeed, often heard it said in deprecation of the amount of interest which was bestowed in this country on the cause of negro emancipation in america, that we are apt to forget the forms of suffering which are immediately at our own doors, over which we have some control, and to express exaggerated feeling as to the forms of suffering with which we have nothing to do, and for which we are not responsible. i have never objected to that language in so far as it might tend to recall us to the duties which lie immediately around us, and in so far as it might tend to make us feel the forgetfulness of which we are sometimes guilty, of the misery and poverty in our own country; but, on the other hand, i will never admit, for i think it would be confounding great moral distinctions, that the miseries which arise by way of natural consequence out of the poverty and the vices of mankind, are to be compared with those miseries which are the direct result of positive law and of a positive institution, giving to man property in man. (loud cheers.) it is true, also, that there have been forms of servitude, meaning thereby compulsory labor, against which we do not entertain the same feelings of hostility and horror with which we have regarded slavery in america. * * * * * it was a system of which it may be truly said, that it was twice cursed. it cursed him who served, and it cursed him that owned the slave. (hear, hear.) when we recollect the insuperable temptations which that system held out to maintain in a state of degradation and ignorance a whole race of mankind; the horrors of the internal slave-trade, more widely demoralizing, in my opinion, than the foreign slave-trade itself; the violence which was done to the sanctities of domestic life; the corrupting effect which it was having upon the very churches of christianity, when we recollect all these things, we can fully estimate the evil from which my distinguished friend and his coadjutors have at last redeemed their country. (cheers.) it was not only the slave states which were concerned in the guilt of slavery; it had struck its roots deep in the free states of north america. * * * we honor mr. garrison, in the first place, for the immense pluck and courage he displayed. (cheers.) sir, you have truly said that there is no comparison between the contests in which he had to fight and the most bitter contests of our own public life. in looking back, no doubt, to the contest which was maintained in this country some thirty-five years ago against slavery in our colonies, we may recollect that clarkson and wilberforce were denounced as fanatics, and had to encounter much opprobrium; but it must not be forgotten that, so far as regards the entwining of the roots of slavery into the social system, in the opinions and interests of mankind, there was no comparison whatever between the circumstances of that contest here and those which attended it in america. (hear, hear.) the number of persons who in this country were enlisted on the side of slavery by personal interest was always comparatively few; whilst, in attacking slavery at its head-quarters in the united states, mr. garrison had to encounter the fiercest passions which could be roused. * * * * thank god, mr. garrison appears before us as the representative of the united states; freedom is now the policy of the government and the assured policy of the country, and we can to-day accept and welcome mr. garrison, not merely as the liberator of the slaves, but as the representative also of the american government. (cheers.) * * * * the address to william lloyd garrison, esq. "sir:--we heartily welcome you to england in the name of thousands of englishmen who have watched with admiring sympathy your labors for the redemption of the negro race from slavery, and for that which is a higher object than the redemption of any single race, the vindication of the universal principles of humanity and justice; and who, having sympathized with you in the struggle, now rejoice with you in the victory. "forty years ago, when you commenced your efforts, slavery appeared to be rapidly advancing to complete ascendency in america. not only was it dominant in the southern states, but even in the free states it had bowed the constituencies, society, and, in too many instances, even the churches to its will. commerce, linked to it by interest, lent it her support. a great party, compactly organized and vigorously wielded, placed in its hands the power of the state. it bestowed political offices and honors, and was thereby enabled to command the apostate homage of political ambition. other nations felt the prevalence in your national councils of its insolent and domineering spirit. there was a moment, most critical in the history of america and of the world, when it seemed as though that continent, with all its resources and all its hopes, was about to become the heritage of the slave power. "but providence interposes to prevent the permanent triumph of evil. it interposes, not visibly or by the thunderbolt, but by inspiring and sustaining high moral effort and heroic lives. "you commenced your crusade against slavery in isolation, in weakness, and in obscurity. the emissaries of authority with difficulty found the office of the _liberator_ in a mean room, where its editor was aided only by a negro boy, and supported by a few insignificant persons (so the officers termed them) of all colors. you were denounced, persecuted, and hunted down by mobs of wealthy men alarmed for the interests of their class. you were led out by one of these mobs, and saved from their violence and the imminent peril of death, almost by a miracle. you were not turned from your path of devotion to your cause, and to the highest interests of your country, by denunciation, persecution, or the fear of death. you have lived to stand victorious and honored in the very stronghold of slavery; to see the flag of the republic, now truly free, replace the flag of slavery on fort sumter; and to proclaim the doctrines of the _liberator_ in the city, and beside the grave of calhoun. "enemies of war, we most heartily wish, and doubt not that you wish as heartily as we do, that this deliverance could have been wrought out by peaceful means. but the fierce passions engendered by slavery in the slaveowner, determined it otherwise; and we feel at liberty to rejoice, since the struggle was inevitable, that its issue has been the preservation, not the extinction, of all that we hold most dear. we are, however, not more thankful for the victories of freedom in the field than for the moderation and mercy shown by the victors, which have exalted and hallowed their cause and ours in the eyes of all nations. "we shall now watch with anxious hope the development, amidst the difficulties which still beset the regeneration of the south, of a happier order of things in the states rescued from slavery, and the growth of free communities, in which your name, with the names of your fellow-workers in the same cause, will be held in grateful and lasting remembrance. "once more we welcome you to a country in which you will find many sincere admirers and warm friends." earl russell and john stuart mill, m.p., at the close of the address, followed with most eloquent speeches, conferring on the honored guest the highest praise for his life-long and successful labors in the cause of freedom. after these gentlemen had taken their seats, the chairman proposed that the address should be passed unanimously. the chairman's call was responded to by the whole assemblage lifting up their hands; and mr. garrison, presenting himself in front of the platform, was received with an enthusiastic burst of cheering, hats and handkerchiefs being waved by nearly all present. speech of mr. garrison. mr. garrison said:--mr. chairman, ladies and gentlemen,--for this marked expression of your personal respect, and appreciation of my labors in the cause of human freedom, and of your esteem and friendship for the land of my nativity, i offer you, one and all, my grateful acknowledgments. but i am so profoundly impressed by the formidable array of rank, genius, intellect, scholarship, and moral and religious worth which i see before me, that i fear i shall not be able to address you, except with a fluttering pulse and a stammering tongue. for me this is, indeed, an anomalous position. assuredly, this is treatment with which i have not been familiar. for more than thirty years, i had to look the fierce and unrelenting hostility of my countrymen in the face, with few to cheer me onward. in all the south i was an outlaw, and could not have gone there, though an american citizen guiltless of wrong, and though that flag (here the speaker pointed to the united states ensign) had been over my head, except at the peril of my life; nay, with the certainty of finding a bloody grave. (hear, hear.) in all the north i was looked upon with hatred and contempt. the whole nation, subjugated to the awful power of slavery, rose up in mobocratic tumult against any and every effort to liberate the millions held in bondage on its soil. and yet i demanded nothing that was not perfectly just and reasonable, in exact accordance with the declaration of american independence and the golden rule. i was not the enemy of any man living. i cherish no personal enmities; i know nothing of them in my heart. even whilst the southern slave-holders were seeking my destruction, i never for a moment entertained any other feeling toward them than an earnest desire, under god, to deliver them from a deadly curse and an awful sin. (hear, hear.) it was neither a sectional nor a personal matter at all. it had exclusive reference to the eternal law of justice between man and man, and the rights of human nature itself. sir, i always found in america that a shower of brickbats had a remarkably tonic effect, materially strengthening to the back-bone. (laughter.) but, sir, the shower of compliments and applause, which has greeted me on this occasion would assuredly cause my heart to fail me, were it not that this generous reception is only incidentally personal to myself. (hear, hear.) you, ladies and gentlemen, are here mainly to celebrate the triumph of humanity over its most brutal foes; to rejoice that universal emancipation has at last been proclaimed throughout the united states: and to express, as you have already done through the mouths of the eloquent speakers who have preceded me, sentiments of peace and of good-will toward the american republic. sure i am that these sentiments will be heartily reciprocated by my countrymen. (cheers.) i must here disclaim, with all sincerity of soul, any special praise for anything that i have done. i have simply tried to maintain the integrity of my soul before god, and to do my duty. (cheers.) i have refused to go with the multitude to do evil. i have endeavored to save my country from ruin. i have sought to liberate such as were held captive in the house of bondage. but all this i ought to have done. and now, rejoicing here with you at the marvellous change which has taken place across the atlantic, i am unable to express the satisfaction i feel in believing that, henceforth, my country will be a mighty power for good in the world. while she held a seventh portion of her vast population in a state of chattelism, it was in vain that she boasted of her democratic principles and her free institutions; ostentatiously holding her declaration of independence in one hand, and brutally wielding her slave-driving lash in the other. marvellous inconsistency and unparalleled assurance. but now, god be praised, she is free, free to advance the cause of liberty throughout the world. (loud cheers.) sir, this is not the first time i have been in england. i have been here three times before on anti-slavery missions; and wherever i traveled, i was always exultantly told, "slaves cannot breathe in england!" now, at last, i am at liberty to say, and i came over with the purpose to say it, "slaves cannot breathe in america!" (cheers.) and so england and america stand side by side in the cause of negro emancipation; and side by side may they stand in all that is just and noble and good, leading the way gloriously in the world's redemption. (loud cheers.) i came to this country for the first time in , to undeceive wilberforce, clarkson, and other eminent philanthropists, in regard to the real character, tendency, and object of the american colonization society. i am happy to say that i quickly succeeded in doing so. before leaving, i had the pleasure of receiving a protest against that society as an obstruction to the cause of freedom throughout the world, and, consequently, as undeserving of british confidence and patronage, signed by william wilberforce, thomas fowell buxton, zachary macaulay, and other illustrious philanthropists. on arriving in london i received a polite invitation by letter from mr. buxton to take breakfast with him. presenting myself at the appointed time, when my name was announced, instead of coming forward promptly to take me by the hand, he scrutinized me from head to foot, and then inquired, somewhat dubiously, "have i the pleasure of addressing mr. garrison, of boston, in the united states?" "yes, sir," i replied, "i am he; and i am here in accordance with your invitation." lifting up his hands he exclaimed, "why, my dear sir, i thought you were a black man. and i have consequently invited this company of ladies and gentlemen to be present to welcome mr. garrison, the black advocate of emancipation from the united states of america." (laughter.) i have often said, sir, that that is the only compliment i have ever had paid to me that i care to remember or tell of. for mr. buxton had somehow or other supposed that no white american could plead for those in bondage as i had done, and therefore i must be black. (laughter.) it is indeed true, sir, that i have had no other rule by which to be guided than this. i never cared to know precisely how many stripes were inflicted on the slaves. i never deemed it necessary to go down into the southern states, if i could have gone, for the purpose of taking the exact dimensions of the slave system. i made it from the start, and always, my own case, thus: did i want to be a slave? no. did god make me to be a slave? no. but i am only a man, only one of the human race; and if not created to be a slave, then no other human being was made for that purpose. my wife and children, dearer to me than my heart's blood, were they made for the auction-block? never! and so it was all very easily settled here (pointing to his breast). (great cheering.) i could not help being an uncompromising abolitionist. here allow me to pay a brief tribute to the american abolitionists. putting myself entirely out of the question, i believe that in no land, at any time, was there ever a more devoted, self-sacrificing, and uncompromising band of men and women. nothing can be said to their credit which they do not deserve. with apostolic zeal, they counted nothing dear to them for the sake of the slave, and him dehumanized. but whatever has been achieved through them is all of god, to whom alone is the glory due. thankful are we all that we have been permitted to live to see this day, for our country's sake, and for the sake of mankind. of course, we are glad that our reproach is at last taken away; for it is very desirable, if possible, to have the good opinions of our fellow-men; but if, to secure these, we must sell our manhood and sully our souls, then their bad opinions of us are to be coveted instead. sir, my special part in this grand struggle was in first unfurling the banner of immediate and unconditional emancipation, and attempting to make a common rally under it. this i did, not in a free state, but in the city of baltimore, in the slave-holding state of maryland. it was not long before i was arrested, tried, condemned by a packed jury, and incarcerated in prison for my anti-slavery sentiments. this was in . in i went to baltimore for the first time since my imprisonment. i do not think that i could have gone at an earlier period, except at the peril of my life; and then only because the american government was there in force, holding the rebel elements in subserviency. i was naturally curious to see the old prison again, and, if possible, to get into my old cell; but when i went to the spot, behold! the prison had vanished; and so i was greatly disappointed, (laughter.) on going to washington, i mentioned to president lincoln, the disappointment i had met with. with a smiling countenance and a ready wit, he replied, "so, mr. garrison, the difference between and appears to be this: in you could not get out, and in you could not get in!" (great laughter.) this was not only wittily said, but it truthfully indicated the wonderful revolution that had taken place in maryland; for she had adopted the very doctrine for which she imprisoned me, and given immediate and unconditional emancipation to her eighty thousand slaves. (cheers.) i commenced the publication of the "_liberator_" in boston, on the st of january, . at that time i was very little known, without allies, without means, without subscribers; yet no sooner did that little sheet make its appearance, than the south was thrown into convulsions, as if it had suddenly been invaded by an army with banners! notwithstanding, the whole country was on the side of the slave power--the church, the state, all parties, all denominations, ready to do its bidding! o the potency of truth, and the inherent weakness and conscious insecurity of great wrong! immediately a reward of five thousand dollars was offered for my apprehension, by the state of georgia. when general sherman was making his victorious march through that state, it occurred to me, but too late, that i ought to have accompanied him, and in person claimed the reward--(laughter)--but i remembered, that, had i done so, i should have had to take my pay in confederate currency, and therefore it would not have paid traveling expenses. (renewed laughter.) where is southern slavery now? (cheers.) henceforth, through all coming time, advocates of justice and friends of reform, be not discouraged; for you will, and you must succeed, if you have a righteous cause. no matter at the outset how few may be disposed to rally round the standard you have raised--if you battle unflinchingly and without compromise--if yours be a faith that cannot be shaken, because it is linked to the eternal throne--it is only a question of time when victory shall come to reward your toils. seemingly, no system of iniquity was ever more strongly intrenched, or more sure and absolute in its sway, than that of american slavery; yet it has perished. "in the earthquake god has spoken; he has smitten with his thunder the iron walls asunder, and the gates of brass are broken." so it has been, so it is, so it ever will be throughout the earth, in every conflict for the right. (great cheering.) * * * * * ladies and gentlemen, i began my advocacy of the anti-slavery cause at the north in the midst of brickbats and rotten eggs. i ended it on the soil of south carolina, almost literally buried beneath the wreaths and flowers which were heaped upon me by her liberal bondmen. (cheers.) lewis tappan was one of the warmest friends of the slave and of the colored man. he was very solicitous for their welfare, and that the colored people who were free should be enlightened and educated. he opened a sunday-school for colored adults, which was numerously attended, in west broadway, new york, and with a few others, devoted the most of the sabbath to their teaching. when he and his brother arthur, assembled the seventy anti-slavery agents, who were thereafter, like "firebrands," scattered all over the land, they held their meetings in this room. these agents were entertained by abolitionists in the city, and many of us had two or three of them in each of our families for a couple of weeks. they went out all over the land, and were instrumental in diffusing more truth, perhaps, about the dreadful system of american slavery, than was accomplished in any other way. he also aided in establishing several periodicals, brimful of anti-slavery truth; among which, were the "_anti-slavery record_," the "_emancipator_," the "_slave's friend;_" the latter, to indoctrinate the children in anti-slavery. the american missionary society, originally begun for the support of a mission in africa, on the occasion of the return of the amistad captors to their native land, and now doing so much for the freedmen of the south, was almost entirely established by his efforts. during the continuance of slavery, much was done by this society for the diffusion of an anti-slavery gospel. the "vigilance committee," for aiding and befriending fugitives, of which i was treasurer for many years, had no better or warmer friend than he. he was almost always at their meetings, which were known only to "the elect," for we dared not hold them too publicly, as we almost always had some of the travelers toward the "north star" present, whose masters or their agents were frequently in the city, in hot pursuit. at first, we sent them to canada, but after a while, sent them only to syracuse, and the centre of the state. in , i think, was the first rioting, the sacking of mr. tappan's house, in rose street. the mob brought all his furniture out, and piling it up in the street, set it on fire. the family were absent at the time. soon after, they stoned rev. mr. ludlow's, and dr. cox's church, and the house of the latter. they threatened arthur tappan & co's, store, in pearl street, but hearing that there were a few loaded muskets there, they _took it out in threats_. but their mercantile establishment was almost ostracised at this time, by the dry goods merchants; and country merchants in all parts of the country, north as well as south, did not dare to have it known that they bought goods of them; and when they did so, requested particularly, that the bundles or boxes, should not be marked "from a. tappan & co.," as was customary. southern merchants especially, avoided them, and when, two or three years later, there was a general insolvency among them, occasionally large losses to new york merchants, and in some cases failure; _the tappans were saved by having no southern debts_! through mr. tappan's influence and extensive correspondence abroad, many remittances came for the help of the "vigilance committee," from england and scotland, and at one time, an extensive invoice of useful and fancy articles, in several large boxes, was received from the glasgow ladies, sufficient to furnish a large bazaar or fair, which was held in brooklyn, for the benefit of the committee. although lately afflicted by disease, mr. tappan still lives in the enjoyment of all his faculties, and a good measure of health, and in his advanced years, sees now some of the great results of his life-long efforts for the restoration and maintenance of human rights. although still suffering under many of the evils which slavery has inflicted upon him, the _american slave_ no longer exists! instead stands up in all our southern states the _freedman_, knowing his rights, and, as a rule, enjoying them. original american abolitionists, who met the scorn and odium, the imputed shame and obloquy, the frowns and cold-shoulders which they bore through all the dark days of slavery, now see and feel their reward in some measure; to be completed only, when they shall hear the plaudit: "inasmuch as ye have done it to the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." anthony lane. new york, nov. , . mr. lane, mr. tappan's personal friend who labored with him in the anti-slavery cause, and especially in the vigilance committee for many years, from serious affection of his eyes was not prepared to furnish as full a sketch of his (mr. t.'s) labors as was desirable. mr. tappan was, therefore, requested to furnish a few reminiscences from his own store-house, which he kindly did as follows: william still, esq., my dear sir:--in answer to your request, that i would furnish, an article for your forthcoming book, giving incidents within my personal knowledge, relating to the underground rail road; i have already apprized you of my illness and my consequent inability to write such an article as would be worthy of your publication. however, feeling somewhat relieved to-day, from my paralysis, owing to the cheering sunshine and the favor of my almighty preserver, i will try to do what i can, in dictating a few anecdotes to my amanuensis, which may afford you and your readers some gratification. these facts i must give without reference to date, as i will not tax my memory with perhaps a vain attempt to narrate them in order. as mentioned in my "life of arthur tappan," some abolitionists (myself among the number), doubted the propriety of engaging in such measures as were contemplated by the conductors of the "underground rail road," fearing that they would not be justified in aiding slaves to escape from their masters; but reflection convinced them that it was not only right to assist men in efforts to obtain their liberty, when unjustly held in bondage, but a duty. abolitionists, white and colored, both in slave and free states, entered into extensive correspondence, set their wits at work to devise various expedients for the relief from bondage and transmission to the free states and to canada, of many of the most enterprising bondmen and bondwomen. they vied with each other in devising means for the accomplishment of this object. those who had money contributed it freely, and those who were destitute of money, gave their time, saying with the apostle: "silver and gold have i none; but such as i have, give i thee." . i recollect that one morning on reaching my office (that of the treasurer of the american missionary association), my assistant told me that in the inner room were eighteen fugitives, men, women and children, who had arrived that morning from the south in one company. on going into the room, i saw them lying about on the bales and boxes of clothing destined for our various missionary stations, fatigued, as they doubtless were, after their sleepless and protracted struggle for freedom. on inquiry, i learned that they had come from a southern city. after most extraordinary efforts, it seemed that they had while in slavery, secretly banded together, and put themselves under the guidance of an intrepid conductor, whom they had hired to conduct them without the limits of the city, in the evening, when the police force was changed. they came through pennsylvania and new jersey to my office. the agent of the underground rail road in new york, took charge of them, and forwarded them to albany, and by different agencies to canada. . i well remember that one morning as i entered the sabbath-school,[a] one of the scholars, a mrs. mercy smith, beckoned to me to come to her class, and there introduced to me a young girl of about fifteen, as a fugitive, who had arrived the day before. in answer to my inquiries, this girl told me the name of the southern city, and the names of the persons who had held her as a slave, and the mode of her escape, etc. "i was walking near the water," she said, "when a white sailor spoke to me, and after a few questions, offered to hide me on board his vessel and conduct me safely to new york, if i would come to him in the evening. i did so, and was hid and fed by him, and on landing at new york, he conducted me to mrs. smith's house, where i am now staying." [footnote a: for three years i superintended a sabbath-school mostly composed of colored children and adults. most of the teachers were warm-hearted abolitionists, and the whole number taught in this school during this period, was seven or eight hundred.] to my inquiry, have you parents living, and also brothers and sisters, she replied: "there is no child but myself." "were not your parents kind to you, and did you not love them?" "yes i love them very much." "how were you treated by your master and mistress?" "they treated me very well." "how then," said i, "could you put yourself in the care of that sailor, who was a stranger to you, and leave your parents?" i shall never forget her heart-felt reply: "_he told me i should be free_!" one sunday morning, i received a letter, informing me that an officer belonging to savannah, ga., had started for new york, in pursuit of two young men, of nineteen or twenty, who had been slaves of one of the principal physicians of the place, and who had escaped and were supposed to be in new york. the letter requested me to find them and give them warning. as there was no time to be lost, i concluded to go over to new york, notwithstanding the doubtfulness of attempting to find them in so large a city. i wrote notices to be read in the colored churches and colored sabbath-schools, which i delivered in person. i then went to the colored school, superintended by rev. c.b. bay. i stated my errand to him, with a description of the young men. "why," said he, "i must have one of them in my school." he took me to a class where i found one of the young men, to whom i gave the needful information. he told me that his father was dr. ---- of savannah, and that he had five children by the young man's mother, who was his slave. on his marriage to a white woman, he sent his five colored children and their mother to auction, to be sold for cash to the highest bidder. on being put upon the auction-block, this young man addressed the bystanders, and told them the circumstances of the case; that his mother had long lived in the family of the doctor, that it was cruel to sell her and her children, and he warned the people not to bid for him, for he would no longer be a slave to any man, and if any one bought him, he would lose his money. he added, "i thought it right to say this." i then spoke to the crowd. "my father," said i, "has long been one of your first doctors, and do you think it right for him to sell my mother and his children in this way?" "i was sold, and my brother also, and the rest, although my brother said to the crowd what i had said. we soon made our escape, and are now both in the city. i am a blacksmith, and have worked six months in one shop, in new york, with white journeymen, not one of whom believes, i suppose, that i am a colored man." it was not surprising, for so fair was his complexion, that with the aid of a brown wig, after he had cut off his hair, he was completely disguised. he soon notified his brother, who lived in another part of the city, and both put themselves out of harm's way. they were remarkably fine young men, and it seemed a special providence that i should find them in such a large city, and direct them to escape from their pursuer, within one hour after i left my house in brooklyn. i felt it to be an answer to prayer. . one day, when i lived in new york city, a colored man came running to my house, and in a hurried manner, said: "is this mr. tappan?" on replying in the affirmative, he said: "i have driven my master from baltimore. he has just arrived, and the servants are taking off the baggage at the astor house. i inquired of a person passing by, where you lived. he said, , white street, and i have run here, to tell you that you may give notice to a man who has escaped from my master, to this city, that the object of this journey is to find him and take him back to slavery." the man hurried back, so that he need not be missed by his master, who believed that this coachman, who had lived years with him, was his confidential servant, and would be true to his interest. i went immediately to the house of a colored friend, to describe the fugitive and see if we could not concert measures to protect him. "i think," said he, "that i know the man, by your description, and that he boards in this house. he will soon come in from south street, where he has worked to-day." while we were consulting together, sure enough, the man came in, and was most glad to have the opportunity thus afforded, of secreting himself. i have not strength to dictate much more, although many other instances occur to me of most remarkable providential occurrences, of the escape of fugitives within my knowledge. i used to say that i was the owner of _half-a-horse_ that was in active service, near the susquehanna river. this horse i owned jointly with another friend of the slave, dedicating the animal to the service of the underground rail road. it was customary for the agent at havre de grace, bringing a fugitive to the river, to kindle a fire (as it was generally in the night), to give notice to a person living on the opposite side of the river. this person well understood the signal, and would come across in his boat and receive the fugitive. an aged colored couple, residing in brooklyn, came over to my office, in new york city, and said that they had just heard from wilmington, n.c., that their two sons (about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age), who were slaves, were about to be sold, for one thousand dollars each; and they hoped i should be able and willing to assist them in raising the money. i told them that i had scruples about putting money into the hands of slave-holders, but i would give them something that might be of as much value. i then pointed out a way by which their sons might reach the city. in about three weeks, one of the young men came to my office. give me, said i, some particulars of your escape. "i am," said he, "a builder, and planned and erected the hotel at wilmington, and some other houses. i used to hire my time of my master, and was accustomed to ride about the country attending to my business. i borrowed a pass from a man about my size and complexion. i then went to the rail road office, and asked for a ticket for fredericksburg. from there i came on directly to washington. i had not been questioned before; but here, i was taken up and carried before a magistrate. he examined me by the description in my pass; complexion, height, etc., then read '_and a scar under his left knee_.' when i heard that, my heart sank within me; for i had no scar there that i knew. 'pull up the boy's trowsers,' said the justice to the constable. he did so. and said 'here's a scar!' 'all right,' said the justice, 'no mistake, let him go.' glad was i. i got a ticket for baltimore, and there for another town, and finally reached here." you asked me to give an account of the sums that i have expended for the underground rail road, etc. i must be excused from doing this, as if i could now ascertain, i should not think it worth while to mention. i must now conclude my narrative, by giving, with some additions, an account of an interesting escape from slavery, which was written by my wife, more than fifteen years ago, for frederic douglass' paper. [on page the narrative of "the fleeing girl of fifteen" is so fully written out, that it precludes the necessity of reproducing a large portion of this story.] in the evening a friend arrived, bringing with him a bright, handsome _boy_, whom he called joe. most heartily was "joe" welcomed, and deep was the thrill which we felt, as we looked upon him and thought of the perils he had escaped. the next day was thanksgiving-day, and my house was thronged with guests. in an upper room, with a comfortable fire, and the door locked, sat "joe," still in boy's clothes, to be able to escape at the first intimation of danger, but with a smile and look of touching gratitude, whenever any one of the family who was in the secret, left the festive group to look in upon the interesting stranger. not one of us can ever forget the deep abhorrence of slavery, and thanksgiving to almighty god, that we felt that day as we moved among the guests, who were wholly ignorant of the occupant of that upper room. some curiosity was indeed excited among the little grandchildren, who saw slices of turkey and plum pudding sent up stairs. it was "joe's" first thanksgiving dinner in a free state. as she brought nothing away with her, it was necessary, the next day, to procure a complete wardrobe for a girl, which was carefully packed for her to take with her. the second day after "joe's" arrival, the rev. mr. freeman, pastor of a colored church in brooklyn, agreed to accompany her to her uncle brown's in canada west, and we saw them depart, knowing the danger that would beset both on the way. the following is part of a letter from mr. f., giving an account of their journey. after stating that they left new york, in the cars at five o'clock, p.m., and through the providence of god, went on their way safely and speedily, with none to molest or to make them afraid, he says: "on reaching rochester, i began to ask myself 'how shall we get over niagara falls?' i was not sure that the cars ran across the suspension bridge; besides, i felt that we were in more danger here, than we had been at any other place. knowing that there was a large reward offered for joe's apprehension, i feared there might be some lurking spy ready to pounce upon us. but when we arrived at the bridge, the conductor said: 'sit still; this car goes across.' you may judge of my joy and relief of mind, when i looked out and was sure that we were over! thank god, i exclaimed, we are safe in canada! having now a few minutes before the cars would start again, i sat down and hastily wrote a few lines, to inform friends at home of our safe arrival. as soon as possible, i ran to the post-office with my letter, paid the postage, and while i was waiting for my change, the car bell rang. i quickly returned, and in a few minutes, we were on our way to chatham ( miles west). that place we reached between seven and eight o'clock, saturday evening. when we got out, we met a gentleman who asked me if i wanted a boarding-house. i said yes; and he invited me to go with him. i asked him if there was any way for us to get to dresden that night. he answered, 'no, it is a dark night, and a muddy road, and no conveyance can be got tonight.' i soon found that we must stay in chatham until monday morning. on our way to the boarding-house, the gentleman said to me: 'is this your son with you?' i answered, no; and then i asked him, if he knew a man living in d., by the name of bradley. he replied that he was very well acquainted with him, and then inquired if that young man was mr. bradley's brother. i said, no--not exactly a brother. he must have thought it strange that i did not give him a more definite answer to his question. when we reached the house, we found several boarders in the sitting-room and a few neighbors. i had already told him my name, but with regard to joe, i had not yet had a chance to explain. i, of course, was introduced to those who were in the room, but joe--well, joe took a seat, and did not seem to be troubled about an introduction. as the landlord was going out of the room, i asked permission to speak with him alone. he took me into another room, and i said to him: 'that young man, as you call him, is a young woman, and has come dressed in this manner, all the way from washington city. she would be very glad now to be able to change her clothes.' he was greatly surprised, and would hardly believe that it was so; but said, 'i will call my wife.' she came, and i guess all the women in the house came with her. they soon disappeared, and joe with them, who, after being absent a while, returned, and was introduced as miss ann maria weems. the whole company were on their feet, shook hands, laughed, and rejoiced, declaring that this beat all they had ever seen before. chatham contains, i was told, more than three thousand fugitives. the weather there, is not colder than in new york. the next morning was the sabbath, but this i must pass and hasten to d., the residence of mr. bradley. we started early monday morning. as a part of the road was very bad, we did not reach there till a late hour. as we were passing along, and getting near to the place, we met two colored men who were talking together--one on horseback, and the other on foot. i inquired of them, if they could tell me how far it was to mr. bradley's. the man on horseback said it was about a mile further, and then proceeded to give directions. after he had done this, he said: 'i reckon i am the one that you want to find, my name is bradley.' well, i replied, probably you are the man. just then ann maria turned her head around. as soon as he saw her face, he exclaimed: 'my lord! maria, is that you? is that you? my child, is it you? we never expected to see you again! we had given you up; o, what will your aunt say? it will kill her! she will die! it will kill her.' i told him, that as i was obliged to leave again soon, i must proceed. 'well,' said he, 'you go on; i am just going over to m., and will be back in a few minutes.' we started for his house, and he towards m., but we had only gone a short distance, when he overtook us, exclaiming: 'i can't go to m.,' and began talking to ann maria, asking her all about her friends and relatives, whom they had left behind, and about his old master, and his wife's master, from whom they had run away four years before. as we approached the house, he said: 'i will go and open the gate, and have a good fire to warm you.' when he came up to the gate, he met his wife, who was returning from a store or neighbor's house, and he said to her, 'that's ann maria coming yonder.' she stopped until we came to the gate; the tears were rolling from her eyes, and she exclaimed: 'ann maria, is it you?' the girl leaped from the wagon, and they fell on each other's necks, weeping and rejoicing. such a scene i never before witnessed. she, who had been given up as lost, was now found! she, who but a short time before, had been, as they supposed, a slave for life, was now free. we soon entered the house, and after the first gush of feeling had somewhat subsided, they both began a general inquiry about the friends they had left behind. every now and then, the aunt would break out: 'my child, you are here! thank god, you are free! we were talking about you today, and saying, we shall never see you again; and now here you are with us.' i remained about an hour and a half with them, took dinner, and then started for home, rejoicing that i had been to a land where colored men are free. this mr. bradley, who ran away with himself and wife about four years ago from the land of whips and chains, is the owner of two farms, and is said to be worth three thousand dollars. can slaves take care of themselves?" you may well suppose that the receipt of this letter gave us great pleasure, and called forth heartfelt thanksgiving to him, who had watched over this undertaking, and protected all concerned in it. a bright and promising girl had been rescued from the untold miseries of a slave woman's life, and found a good home, where she would have an opportunity to acquire an education and be trained for a useful and happy life. mr. bradley intended to send for her parents, and hoped to prevail on them to come and live with him. truly yours, lewis tappan elijah f. pennypacker, whose name belongs to the history of the underground rail road, owed his peculiarly fine nature to a mother of large physical proportions, and correspondingly liberal mental and spiritual endowments. she was a natural sovereign in the sphere in which she moved, and impressed her son with the qualities which made his anti-slavery life nothing but an expression of the rules of conduct which governed him in all other particulars. believing in his inmost soul in principles of rectitude, all men believed in him, his "yea," or "nay," passing current wherever he went. tall, dignified, and commanding, he had that in his face which inspired immediate confidence. said one who looked: "if that is not a good man, there is no use in the lord writing his signature on human countenances." even in early youth, honors which he never sought, were pressed upon him, as he gave assurance of ability commensurate with his worth. he was sent to the legislature of pennsylvania for five sessions, where he became the personal friend of the governor, joseph ritner, and also of thaddeus stevens. at the request of the latter, he consented to occupy the position of secretary to the board of canal commissioners, and two years after, by the wishes of mr. ritner, took a seat in the canal board, becoming a co-worker with thaddeus stevens. here ripened a friendship, which afterward became of national importance, for although a nature so positive as that of thaddeus stevens could scarcely be said to be under the influence of any other mind, still, if there were those who exercised a moral sway, sustaining this courageous republican leader, at a higher level than he might otherwise have attained, elijah f. pennypacker was surely amongst them. almost antipodal as they were in certain respects, each recognized the genuine ring of the other, and admired and respected that which was most true and noble. the purity, simplicity and high-minded honor which distinguished the younger, had its effect on the elder, even while he smiled at the inflexibility which would not swerve one hair's breadth from the line of right. the story is often told, how, when this young man's conscience stood bolt upright in the way of what was deemed a desirable arrangement, stevens one day exclaimed: "it don't do, pennypacker, to be so d----d honest." pennypacker stood his ground, and the life-long respect which stevens ever after awarded, proved that _he_ at least, thought it _did_ do. when it became clear to his mind, that a great battle was to be fought between liberty and slavery in america, mr. pennypacker felt it to be his duty to turn aside from the sunny paths of political preferment, into the shadows of obscure life, and ally himself with the misrepresented, despised and outcast abolitionists, ever after devoting himself assiduously to the promotion of the cause of freedom. notwithstanding his natural modesty, here as elsewhere, he took a conspicuous position. at home, in the local anti-slavery society of his neighborhood, he was for many years chosen president, as he was also of the chester county anti-slavery society, and of the pennsylvania state anti-slavery society. soon after his retirement from public life, he united himself with the society of friends, but was much too radical to be an acceptable addition. for a long time he was endured rather than endorsed, and it was only when such anti-slavery feelings as he cherished became generally diffused throughout the society, that he found the unity he desired and expected. whatever may have been his trials here or elsewhere, he found a rich reward for his faithfulness in the intellectual and moral growth which he attained by association with the most advanced minds of the time, and he has often been heard to say that no part of his life has been more fully and generously compensated than that devoted to the anti-slavery cause. his home, near phoenixville, chester county, pa., was an important station on the underground rail road, the majority of fugitives proceeding through the southern rural districts of eastern pennsylvania, passing through his hands. at all times he was deeply interested in their welfare, and in his hospitality towards them, had the entire sympathy and co-operation of his family, they, like himself, being earnest abolitionists, but his more important duty of influencing public sentiment in favor of freedom, overshadowed his labors in this department. in steadfastness and integrity he stood beside findley coates and thomas whitson, a trio who will long be remembered in their native state. so long as dr. b. fussell resided in the northern section of chester county, he and elijah f. pennypacker, were companions in anti-slavery and other reform labors, as well as in business on the underground rail road. differing widely in temperament and mental structure, these two men were harmonious in spirit, and a close bond of sympathy and affection existed between them. it was a mutual pleasure to work as brothers, and afterward to rejoice together in labor accomplished. one of the last visits which roused the flickering animation of the dying physician, was from this friend of more vigorous years, and the voice which gave fitting expression to the worth of the departed, at his funeral, was that of elijah f. pennypacker. like that of the highest grade of men everywhere, his appreciation of woman has ever been keen and true, and demanding the full rights of humanity, he makes no distinction, either on account of sex or color. in his own family, he has always encouraged the pursuit of any occupation congenial to the person choosing it; whether or not, it were a departure from the routine of custom, and in educational advantages he has ever demanded the widest possible culture for all. wherever known, he is estimated as a pillar in the temperance cause. gentle, modest, courteous and benignant, he combines, in a remarkable degree, strength and tenderness, courage and sympathy. at one time, holding at bay the powers of evil and baffling the most determined opponents by his manly adherence to right; at another he may be found yielding to impressions bidding him to seek the source of some hidden private sorrow, and with delicate touch, binding up a flowing wound, or offering himself as the defender and protector of such as may need his brotherly care. obedient to these impressions, he rarely errs in his ministrations, and whether his errand be to remonstrate with the evil doer, setting his sins clearly and vividly before him, or to strengthen and encourage suffering innocence, he is alike successful. men, whom he has warned in reproof when it cost the utmost bravery to do so, have become his confiding friends, and have been known afterward to entrust him with heavy pecuniary responsibilities, and to point him out to their children as an example worthy of imitation. those whose griefs he has frequently softened, have laid upon his head a crown of blessing whiter than the honors which come with his silver hairs, and all with whom he comes in contact in business, in duty, or in social intercourse, acknowledge the presence, the wide usefulness and influence of the upright man. the memories of the choice spirits he used to meet in the anti-slavery gatherings; their mutual and kindly greetings; the holy resolves which animated them and made the time hours of exaltation, now serve to brighten the pathway of his declining years, and to throw a halo around the restfulness of his home, as in peace of mind he looks abroad over his beloved country, to see millions of enfranchised men beginning to avail themselves of its pecuniary, educational and political advantages, and beholds them starting on a career of material and spiritual prosperity, with a rapidity commensurate with the expansive force of the repressed energies of a race. station masters on the road. [illustration: elijah f. pennypacker] [illustration: william wright] [illustration: dr. bartholomew fussell] [illustration: robert purvis] william wright. memorial. william wright, a distinguished abolitionist of adams county, pennsylvania, was born on the st of december, . various circumstances conspired to make this unassuming quaker an earnest abolitionist and champion of the oppressed in every land and of every nationality and color. his uncle, benjamin wright, and cousin, samuel b. wright, were active members of the old pennsylvania abolition society, and at the time of the emancipation of the slaves in this state were often engaged in lawsuits with slave-holders to compel them to release their bondmen, according to the requirements of the law. william wright grew up under the influence of the teachings of these relatives. joined to this, his location caused him to take an extraordinary interest in underground rail road affairs. he lived near the foot of the southern slope of the south mountain, a spur of the alleghenies which extends, under various names, to chattanooga, tennessee. this mountain was followed in its course by hundreds of fugitives until they got into pennsylvania, and were directed to william wright's house. in november, , william wright married phebe wierman, (born on the th of february, ,) daughter of a neighboring farmer, and sister of hannah w. gibbons, wife of daniel gibbons, a notice of whom appears elsewhere in this work. phebe wright was the assistant of her husband in every good work, and their married life of forty-eight years was a long period of united and efficient labor in the cause of humanity. she still ( ) survives him. william and phebe wright began their underground rail road labors about the year . hamilton moore, who ran away from baltimore county, maryland, was the first slave aided by them. his master came for him, but william wright and joel wierman, phebe wright's brother, who lived in the neighborhood, rescued him and sent him to canada. in the autumn of , as phebe wright, surrounded by her little children, came out upon her back porch in the performance of some household duty, she saw standing before her in the shade of the early november morning, a colored man without hat, shoes, or coat. he asked if mr. wright lived there, and upon receiving an affirmative reply, said that he wanted work. the good woman, comprehending the situation at a glance, told him to come into the house, get warm, and wait till her husband came home. he was shivering with cold and fright. when william wright came home the fugitive told his story. he came from hagerstown, maryland, having been taught the blacksmith's trade there. in this business it was his duty to keep an account of all the work done by him, which record he showed to his master at the end of the week. knowing no written character but the figure he kept this account by means of a curious system of hieroglyphics in which straight marks meant horse shoes put on, circles, cart-wheels fixed, etc. one day in happening to see his master's book he noticed that wherever five and one were added the figure was used. having practiced this till he could make it he ever after used it in his accounts. as his master was looking over these one day, he noticed the new figure and compelled the slave to tell how he had learned it. he flew into a rage, and said, "i'll teach you how to be learning new figures," and picking up a horse-shoe threw it at him, but fortunately for the audacious chattel, missed his aim. notwithstanding his ardent desire for liberty, the slave considered it his duty to remain in bondage until he was twenty-one years old in order to repay by his labor the trouble and expense which his master had had in rearing him. on the evening of his twenty-first anniversary he turned his face toward the north star, and started for a land of freedom. arriving at reisterstown, a village on the westminster turnpike about twenty-five miles from baltimore and thirty-five miles from mr. wright's house, he was arrested and placed in the bar-room of the country tavern in care of the landlady to wait until his captors, having finished some work in which they were engaged, could take him back to his master. the landlady, being engaged in getting supper, set him to watch the cakes that were baking. as she was passing back and forth he ostentatiously removed his hat, coat, and shoes, and placed them in the bar-room. having done this, he said to her, "i will step out a moment." this he did, she sending a boy to watch him. when the boy came out he appeared to be very sick and called hastily for water. the boy ran in to get it. now was his golden opportunity. jumping the fence he ran to a clump of trees which occupied low ground behind the house and concealing himself in it for a moment, ran and continued to run, he knew not whither, until he found himself at the toll gate near petersburg, in adams county. before this he had kept in the fields and forests, but now found himself compelled to come out upon the road. the toll-gate keeper, seeing at once that he was a fugitive, said to him, "i guess you don't know the road." "i guess i can find it myself," was the reply. "let me show you," said the man. "you may if you please," replied the fugitive. taking him out behind his dwelling, he pointed across the fields to a new brick farm-house, and said, "go there and inquire for mr. wright." the slave thanked him and did as he was directed. he remained with william wright until april, . during this short time he learned to read, write, and cipher as far as the single rule of three, as it was then called, or simple proportion. during his residence with william wright, nothing could exceed his kindness or gratitude to the whole family. he learned to graft trees, and thus rendered great assistance to william wright in his necessary business. when working in the kitchen during the winter he would never allow phebe wright to perform any hard labor, always scrubbing the floor and lifting heavy burdens for her. before he went away in the spring he assumed a name which his talents, perseverance, and genius have rendered famous in both hemispheres, that of james w.c. pennington. the initial w. was for his benefactor's family, and c. for the family of his former master. from william wright's he went to daniel gibbons', thence to delaware county, pennsylvania, and from there to new haven, conn., where, while performing the duties of janitor at yale college, he completed the studies of the college course. after a few years, he went to heidelberg, where the degree of d.d. was conferred upon him. he never forgot william wright and his family, and on his return from europe brought them each a present. the story of his escape and wonderful abilities was spread over england. an american acquaintance of the wright family was astonished, on visiting an anti-slavery fair in london many years ago, to see among the pictures for sale there, one entitled, "william and phebe wright receiving james w.c. pennington." the dr. died in florida, in , where he had gone to preach and assist in opening schools amongst the freemen. in a party of sixteen slaves came to york, pa., from baltimore county, md. here they were taken in charge by william wright, joel fisher, dr. lewis, and william yocum. the last named was a constable, and used to assist the underground rail road managers by pretending to hunt fugitives with the kidnappers. knowing where the fugitives were he was enabled to hunt them in the opposite direction from that in which they had gone, and thus give them time to escape. this constable and a colored man of york took this party one by one out into samuel willis' corn-field, near york, and hid them under the shocks. the following night dr. lewis piloted them to near his house, at lewisburg, york county, on the banks of the conewago. here they were concealed several days, dr. lewis carrying provisions to them in his saddle-bags. when the search for them had been given up in william wright's neighborhood, he went down to lewisburg and in company with dr. lewis took the whole sixteen across the conewago, they fording the river and carrying the fugitives across on their horses. it was a gloomy night in november. every few moments clouds floated across the moon, alternately lighting up and shading the river, which, swelled by autumn rains, ran a flood. william wright and dr. lewis mounted men or women behind and took children in their arms. when the last one got over, the doctor, who professed to be an atheist, exclaimed, "great god! is this a christian land, and are christians thus forced to flee for their liberty?" william wright guided this party to his house that night and concealed them in a neighboring forest until it was safe for them to proceed on their way to canada. just in the beginning of harvest of the year , four men came off from washington county, maryland. they were almost naked and seemed to have come through great difficulties, their clothing being almost entirely torn off. as soon as they came, william wright went to the store and got four pair of shoes. it was soon heard that their masters and the officers had gone to harrisburg to hunt them. two of them, fenton and tom, were concealed at william wright's, and the other two, sam and one whose name has been forgotten, at joel wierman's. in a day or two, as william wright, a number of carpenters, and other workmen, among whom were fenton and tom, were at work in the barn, a party of men rode up and recognized the colored men as slaves of one of their number. the colored men said they had left their coats at the house. william wright looked earnestly at them and told them to go to the house and get their coats. they went off, and one of them was observed by one of the family to take his coat hastily down from where it hung in one of the outhouses, a few moments afterward. after conversing a few moments at the barn, william wright brought the slave-holders down to the house, where he, his wife and daughters engaged them in a controversy on the subject of slavery which lasted about an hour. one of them seemed very much impressed, and labored hard to convince his host that he was a good master and would treat his men well. finally one of the party asked william wright to produce the men. he replied that he would not do that, that they might search his premises if they wished to, but they could not compel him to bring forth the fugitives. seeing that they had been duped, they became very angry and proceeded forthwith to search the house and all the outhouses immediately around it, without, however, finding those whom they sought. as they left the house and went toward the barn, william wright, waving his hand toward the former, said, "you see they are not anywhere there." they then went to the barn and gave it a thorough search. between it and the house, a little away from the path, but in plain sight, stood the carriage-house, _which they passed by without seeming to notice_. after they had gone, poor tom was found in this very house, curled up under the seats of the old-fashioned family carriage. he had never come to the house at all, but had heard the voices of his hunters from his hiding-place, during their whole search. about two o'clock in the morning, fenton was found by william wright out in the field. he had run along the bed of a small water course, dry at that time of year, until he came to a rye field amid whose high grain he hid himself until he thought the danger was past. from william wright's the slave-catchers went to joel wierman's, where, despite all that could be done, they got poor sam, took him off to maryland and sold him to the traders to be taken far south. in william wright was a delegate from adams county to the convention at philadelphia which nominated john c. fremont for president of the united states. as the counties were called in alphabetical order, he responded first among the pennsylvania delegation. it is thought that he helped away during his whole life, nearly one thousand slaves. during his latter years, he was aided in the good work by his children, who never hesitated to sacrifice their own pleasure in order to help away fugitives. his convictions on the subject of slavery seem to have been born with him, to have grown with his growth, and strengthened with his strength. he could not remember when he first became interested in the subject. william wright closed his long and useful life on the th of october, . more fortunate than his co-laborer, daniel gibbons, he lived to see the triumph of the cause in which he had labored all his life. his latter years were cheered by the remembrance of his good deeds in the cause of human freedom. modest and retiring, he would not desire, as he does not need, a eulogy. his labors speak for themselves, and are such as are recorded upon the lamb's book of life. dr. bartholomew fussell. dr. fussell, whose death occurred within the current year, was no ordinary man. he was born in chester county, pa., in , his ancestors being members of the society of friends, principally of english origin, who arrived in america during the early settlement of pennsylvania, some being of the number who, with william penn, built their homes on the unbroken soil, where philadelphia now stands. he inherited all the bravery of these early pioneers, who left their homes for the sake of religious freedom, the governing principle of his life being a direct antagonism to every form of oppression. removing in early manhood, to maryland, where negro slavery was legally protected, he became one of the most active opponents of the system, being a friend and co-laborer of elisha tyson, known and beloved as "father tyson," by all the slaves of the region, and to the community at large, as one of the most philanthropic of men. while teaching school during the week, as a means of self-education, and reading medicine at night, the young student expended his surplus energy in opening a sabbath-school for colored persons, teaching them the rudiments of knowledge, not for a few hours only, but for the whole day, and frequently finding as many as ninety pupils collected to receive the inestimable boon which gave them the power of reading the bible for themselves. to the deeply religious nature of these africans, this was the one blessing they prized above all others in his power to bestow, and the overflowing gratitude they gave in return, was a memory he cherished to the latest years of his life. after his graduation in medicine, being at one time called upon to deliver an address before the medical society of baltimore, in the midst of a pro-slavery audience, and before slave-holding professors and men of authority, dr. fussell, with a courage scarcely to be comprehended at this late day, denounced "the most preposterous and cruel practice of slavery, as replete with the causes of disease," and expressed the hope that the day would come "when slavery and cruelty should have no abiding place in the whole habitable earth; when the philosopher and the pious christian could use the salutation of 'brother,' and the physician and divine be as one man; when the rich and the poor should know no distinction; the great and the small be equal in dominion, and the _arrogant master_ and _his menial slave_ should make a truce of friendship with each other, all following the same law of reason, all guided by the same light of truth!" as a matter of course, a spirit so thoroughly awake to the welfare of humanity, would hail with joy and welcome as a brother, the appearance of such a devoted advocate of freedom, as benjamin lundy; and, with all the warmth of his nature, would give love, admiration, and reverence to the later apostle of immediate emancipation, william lloyd garrison. it was one of the pleasures of dr. fussell's life that he had been enabled to take the first number of the "_liberator_," and to continue a subscriber without intermission, until the battle being ended, the last number was announced. he was himself, one of the most earnest workers in the anti-slavery cause, never omitting in a fearless manner, to embrace an opportunity to protest against the encouragement of a pro-slavery spirit. returning to pennsylvania, to practice his profession, his home became one of the havens where the hunted fugitive from slavery found food, shelter and rest. laboring in connection with the late thomas garrett, of wilmington, del., and with many others, at available points, about two thousand fugitives passed through his hands, on their way to freedom, and amongst these, he frequently had the delight of welcoming some of his old sabbath-school pupils. the mutual recognition was sometimes touching in the extreme. in later life, his anecdotes and reminiscences, told in the vivid style, resulting from a remarkably retentive memory, which could recall word, tone, and gesture, brought to life, some of the most interesting of his experiences with these fleeing bondmen, whose histories no romance could ever equal. being one of the signers of the "declaration of sentiments," issued by the american anti-slavery society in , he had also the gratification of attending the last meeting of the pennsylvania anti-slavery society, called to celebrate the downfall of slavery in america, and the dissolution of an organization whose purpose was effected. there are those, who may remember how at that time, in perfect forgetfulness of self, the relation of the heroism of his friend, elisha tyson, seemed to recall for a moment, the vigor of youth to render the decrepitude of age almost majestic. but it was not slavery alone, which occupied the thoughts and attention of this large-hearted man. he was well known as an advocate of common school education, of temperance, and of every other interest, which, in his view, pertained to the welfare of man. unfortunately, he was addicted to the use of tobacco from his youth. having become convinced that it was an evil, he, for the sake of consistency and as an example to others, resolutely abandoned the habit, at the age of seventy. he was fond of accrediting his resolve to a very aged relative, who, in remonstrating with him upon the subject, replied to his remark, that a sudden cessation from a practice so long indulged in, might result in his death: "well, die, then, and go to heaven decently." as a practitioner of medicine, he was eminently successful, his intense sympathy with suffering, seeming to elevate his faculties and give them unwonted vigor in tracing the hidden causes of disease, and in suggesting to his mind alleviating agencies. his patients felt an unspeakable comfort in his presence, well knowing that the best possible remedy which his knowledge, his judgment or his experience suggested, would be selected, let the difficulty and inconvenience to himself be what it would. in cases where life hung trembling in the balance, he would watch night after night, feeding the flickering flame until he perceived it brighten, and this in the abode of misery just as freely as in the home of wealth. the life-long affection of those whom he recalled, was his reward where often none was sought or expected. he believed in woman as only a thoroughly good man can, and from early youth, he had been impressed with her peculiar fitness for the practice of medicine. the experience of a physician confirmed him in his sentiments, and it became one of his most earnest aspirations to open to her all the avenues to the study of medicine. in the year , he gave regular instruction to a class of ladies, and it was through one of these pupils, that the first female graduate in america was interested in the study of medicine. in he communicated to a few liberal-minded professional men, a plan for the establishment of a college of the highest grade for the medical education of women. this long-cherished plan, hallowed to him by the approbation of a beloved wife, was well received. others, with indomitable zeal, took up the work, and finally, after a succession of disappointments and discouragements from causes within and without, the woman's college, on north college avenue, philadelphia, starting from the germ of his thought, entered on the career of prosperity it is so well entitled to receive. though never at any time connected with the college, he regarded its success with the most affectionate interest, considering its proposition as one of the most important results of his life. happy in having lived to see slavery abolished, and believing in the speedy elevation of woman to her true dignity as joint sovereign with man, and in the mitigation of the evils of war, intemperance, poverty, and crime, which might be expected to follow such a result, he rested from his labors, and died in peace. thomas shipley.[a] thomas shipley, one of the foremost in the early generation of philanthropists who devoted their lives to the extinction of human slavery, was born in philadelphia on the second of fourth month, . he was the youngest of five children of william and margaret shipley, his father having emigrated from uttoxeter, in staffordshire, england, about the year . from a very early period in the history of the society of friends his ancestors had been members of that body, and he inherited from them the strong sense of personal independence, and the love of toleration and respect for the rights of others which have ever characterized that body of people. soon after his birth, his mother died, and he was thus early deprived of the fostering care of a pious and devoted parent, whose counsels are so important in forming the youthful mind, and in giving a direction to future life. a few years after the death of his mother, his father was removed, and thomas was left an orphan before he had attained his sixth year. after this affecting event he was taken into the family of isaac bartram, who had married his eldest sister. here he remained for several years, acquiring the common rudiments of education, and at a suitable age was sent to westtown school; after remaining there for a little more than a year, he met with an accident, which rendered it necessary for him to return home; and the effects of which prevented him from proceeding with his education. he fell from the top of a high flight of steps to the ground, and received an injury of the head, followed by convulsions, which continued at intervals for a considerable time, and rendered him incapable of any effort of mind or body. he was, during childhood, remarkably fond of reading, and was distinguished among his friends and associates for uncommon perseverance in accomplishing anything he undertook, a trait which peculiarly marked him through life; his disposition is said to have been unusually amiable and docile, so as to endear him very strongly to his relatives and friends. after his removal from westtown, he was again taken into the family of his brother-in-law, and remained under the care of his sister, who was very much attached to him, until he was placed as an apprentice to the hardware business. while here, he was entirely relieved of the affliction caused by the fall, and was restored to sound health. about the age of twenty-one, he entered upon the pursuits of the business he had selected. the exact time at which his attention was turned to the subject of slavery cannot be ascertained, but it is probable that a testimony against it was among his earliest impressions as a member of the religious society of friends. he joined the "pennsylvania society for the promoting the abolition of slavery," etc., in , and the ardent interest which he took in its objects, was evinced on many occasions within the recollection of many now living. he was for many years an active member of its board of education, and took a prominent part in extending the benefits of learning to colored children and youth. the career of thomas shipley, as it was connected with the interests of the colored community, abounds in incidents which have rarely occurred in the life of any individual. being universally regarded as their adviser and protector, he was constantly solicited for his advice on questions touching their welfare. this led him to investigate the laws relating to this class of persons, in all their extended ramifications. the knowledge he thus acquired, together with his practical acquaintance with the business and decisions of our courts, rendered his opinion peculiarly serviceable on all matters affecting their rights. never did a merchant study more closely the varied relations of business, and their influence on his interests, than did thomas shipley all those questions which concerned the well-being of those for whom he was so warmly interested. he had volunteered his services as their advocate, and they could not have been more faithfully served had they poured out the wealth of croesus at the feet of the most learned counsel. on every occasion of popular commotion where the safety of the colored people was threatened, he was found at his post, fearlessly defending their rights, and exerting his influence with those in authority to throw around them the protection of the laws. in the tumultuous scenes which disgraced philadelphia, in the summer of , in which the fury of the mob was directed against the persons and property of the colored inhabitants, he acted with an energy and prudence rarely found combined in the same individual. the mob had collected and organized to the number of several hundred, and were marching through the lower part of the city, dealing destruction in their course; the houses of respectable and worthy colored citizens were broken in upon, the furniture scattered to the winds, all they possessed destroyed or plundered, and they themselves subjected to the most brutal and savage treatment. defenceless infancy and decrepid age were alike disregarded in the general devastation which these ruffians had decreed should attend their course. the color of the skin was the mark by which their vengeance was directed, and the cries and entreaties of their innocent and defenceless victims were alike disregarded in the accomplishment of their ends. already had several victims fallen before the fury of the ruthless band. law and order were laid waste, and the officers of justice looked on, some perhaps with dismay, and others with indifference, while the rights of citizens were prostrated, and their peaceful and quiet homes invaded by the hand of violence. at such a time the voice of remonstrance or entreaty, would have been useless, and had the avowed friends of the colored man interfered in any public manner, the effect would probably have been to increase the fury of the storm, and to have directed the violence of the mob upon themselves. under these perilous circumstances, thomas shipley was determined to attempt an effort for their relief. he could not look on and see those for whom he was so deeply interested threatened almost with extermination without an effort for their preservation, and yet he was aware that his presence amongst the mob might subject him to assassination, without adding to the security of the objects of his solicitude. he, therefore, determined to disguise himself in such a manner as not to be recognized, and to mingle amongst the rioters in order to ascertain their objects, and if possible to convey such information to the proper authorities as might lead to the arrest of those most active in fomenting disorder. accordingly he left his house late in the evening, attired so as to be completely disguised, and repaired to the scene of tumult. by this time much mischief had been done, and to add fresh fury to the multitude, and to incite them to new deeds of blood, nothing was wanting but some act of resistance on the part of their victims, who, during the whole period, had conducted themselves with a forbearance and patience highly creditable to them as good citizens and upright christians. such an occasion was about to occur, and was prevented by the admirable coolness and forethought of thomas shipley. a number of colored men who had been driven to desperation by the acts of the mob, and who had relinquished the idea of protection from the civil authorities, determined to resort to arms, to defend themselves and their families from the further aggressions of their persecutors. they accordingly repaired to benezet hall, one of their public buildings in south seventh street, with a supply of fire arms and ammunition, determined to fire upon the assailants, and maintain their post or die in the attempt. this fact became known to the leaders of the mob, and the cry was raised to march for the hall, and make the attack. thomas shipley who had mingled amongst the rioters, and apparently identified himself with them, was now perfectly aware of all their designs; he knew their numbers, he had seen the implements of destruction which they were brandishing about them, and he was aware that the occurrence of such a conflict would be attended with the most disastrous results, and might be the beginning of hostilities which would terminate in the destruction of the weaker party, or at least in a dreadful effusion of human blood. seeing the position in which the parties were now placed, he left the ranks of the rioters, and ran at the top of his speed to the house in which the colored people were collected, awaiting the approach of their enemy. as he drew near, they were about coming out to meet their assailants, highly excited by continued outrages, and determined to defend themselves or die. at this unexpected moment, their protector drew nigh; he raised his voice aloud, and addressed the multitude. he deprecated the idea of a resort to physical force, as being calculated to increase their difficulties, and to plunge them into general distress, and entreated them to retire from the hall. his voice was immediately recognized; the effect was electric; the whole throng knew him as their friend; their fierce passions were calmed by the voice of reason and admonition. they could not disregard his counsels; he had come among them, at the dead hour of night, in the midst of danger and trial, to raise his warning voice against a course of measures they were about to pursue. they listened to his remonstrances, and retreated before the mob had reached the building. at this juncture the mayor and his officers assembled in front of the hall, and by prompt and energetic action succeeded in dispersing the mob, and through the information received from thomas shipley, the ringleaders were secured and lodged in prison. the part which thomas shipley acted in the trying scenes so often presented in our courts, during this unhappy period, has invested his character with a remarkable degree of interest. it is probable that his connection with the pennsylvania abolition society was the means of enlisting his talents and exertions in this important service. the energy and zeal of our friend in his efforts for the relief of those about to be deprived of their dearest rights, soon distinguished him as the most efficient member of the society, in this department of its duties. so intense was his interest in all cases where the liberty of his fellow-man was at issue, that, during a period of many years, he was scarcely ever absent from the side of the unhappy victim, as he sat before our judicial tribunals, trembling for his fate. the promptings of interest, the pleasures and allurements of the world, the quiet enjoyment of a peaceful home, were all cheerfully sacrificed, when his services were demanded in these distressing cases. often has he left the business, in which his pecuniary interests were materially involved, to stand by the unhappy fugitive in the hour of his extremity, with an alacrity and a spirit which could only be displayed by one animated by the loftiest principles and the purest philanthropy. who, that has ever witnessed one of these trying scenes, can forget his manly and honest bearing, as he stood before the unrelenting and arrogant claimant, watching with an eagle eye, every step of the process by which he hoped to gain his victim? who has not been struck with his expressive glances toward the judge, when a doubtful point arose in the investigation of the case? who has not caught the lively expression of delight which beamed from his countenance, when a fact was disclosed which had a favorable bearing on the liberty of the captive? who has not admired the sagacity with which his inquiries were dictated, and the tact and acumen with which he managed every part of his cause? his principle was unhesitatingly to submit to existing laws, however unjust their decrees might be, but to scan well the bearing of the facts and principles involved in each case, and to see that nothing was wanting in the chain of evidence, or in the legal points in question, fully to satisfy the requisitions of law. if a doubtful point arose, he was unwearied in investigating it, and devoted hours, days, and even weeks, in the collection of testimony which he thought would have a favorable influence on the prisoner. through his untiring vigilance, many victims have escaped from the hand of the oppressor, whose title to freedom, according to the laws of this commonwealth, was undoubted, and many others, whose enslavement was at least questionable. the time and labor expended by thomas shipley in protecting the interests of his colored clients, would be almost incredible to those who were not aware of his extraordinary devotion to the cause. the only notice which can be found among his papers, of the various slave cases in which he was engaged, is contained in a memorandum book, which he commenced in the summer of . in this book he has noted, in the order of their occurrence, such instances of difficulty or distress as demanded his interference, almost without a comment. i find from this book, that his advice and assistance were bestowed in twenty-five cases, from seventh mo. th, to eighth mo. th, , a period of little more than a month. a number of these cases required the writing of letters to distant places; in some it was necessary for him to visit the parties interested; and others demanded his personal attendance at court. this perhaps, may be considered as a fair average of the amount of labor which he constantly expended in this department of his benevolent efforts; and when we consider the time occupied in the necessary duties of his ordinary avocations, it must be evident that he possessed not only extraordinary humanity, but uncommon activity and energy, to have accomplished so much. in the memorandum book referred to, under date of twelfth mo., , i find the following note: "spent eighteen days in the trial of a. hemsley, and his wife nancy, and her three children, arrested at mount holly, the husband claimed by goldsborough price, executor of isaac boggs, of queen ann's county, maryland, and the wife and children by richard d. cooper, of the same county. john willoughby, agent for both claimants. b.r. brown and b. clarke, attorneys for the claimant, and d.p. brown, j.r. slack, e.b. cannon, and g.w. camblos, for defendants. after a full argument, in which a manumission was produced for nancy, from r.d. cooper's father, she and her children were discharged, but her husband was remanded; on which a certiorari was served on the judge, and a habeas corpus placed in the sheriff's hands." "alexander was discharged by the supreme court, at trenton, third mo. th. the circumstances of the case, were briefly the following: the woman and children had been regularly manumitted in delaware by the father of the claimant, while the title of the father to freedom was less positive, though sufficiently clear to warrant a vigorous effort on his behalf." the first object of the counsel on the part of the alleged fugitive, was to prove the manumission of the mother and children, and, as it was thought, the necessary documents for that purpose were collected and arranged. after the trial had proceeded, however, for a short time, the attorney for the defendants discovered a defect in the testimony on this point; the necessary papers, duly authenticated by the governor or chief justice of delaware, were missing, and without them it was impossible to make out the case. the fact was immediately communicated to thomas shipley--he saw that the papers must be had, and that they could not be procured without a visit to dover, in delaware. he at once determined to repair thither in person, and obtain them. without the knowledge of the claimant's counsel, who might have taken advantage of the omission, and hurried the case to a decision; he started on the evening of the sixth day, and traveled as fast as possible to dover, in the midst of a season unusually cold and inclement. on the next morning inquiries were made in all directions for friend shipley; it was thought strange that he should desert his post in the midst of so exciting and momentous a trial, and at a time when his presence seemed to be particularly required. the counsel for the prisoners, who were aware of his movements, proceeded with the examination of witnesses as slowly as possible, in order to allow time for procuring this important link in the chain of testimony, and thus to procrastinate the period when they should be called upon to sum up the case. fortunately, on the evening of the day on which thomas shipley set out upon his journey, it was proposed to adjourn, and farther proceedings were postponed until second day morning. at the meeting of the court, in the morning, the expected messenger was not there, and the ingenuity of the counsel was taxed still farther to procrastinate the important period. after three hours had been consumed in debate upon legal points, he, who was so anxiously looked for, came hurrying through the crowd, making his way toward the bench. his countenance and his movements soon convinced the wondering spectators that he was the bearer of gratifying news, and in a few minutes, the mystery of his absence was revealed, by the production of a document which was the fruit of his effort. the papers completely established the legal title of the mother and children to their freedom, and placed them out of the reach of further persecution. an attack of illness was the result of the extreme exertion and fatigue endured by this devoted man, in his earnest advocacy of the rights of these friendless beings. the freedom of the husband and father, was, however, still in jeopardy. if the decision of the court should be against him, he would be torn from the bosom of his now joyful and emancipated family, and consigned to a life of bondage. to avert this calamity, the counsel for the prisoner suggested an expedient as humane as it was ingenious. he proposed that a writ of certiorari which would oblige the judge to remove the case to the supreme court and a habeas corpus from the chief justice of the state, should both be in readiness when the decision of the judge should be pronounced, in case that if it should be unfavorable, the writs might be at once served, and the prisoner remanded to the sheriff of the county, to be brought up before the supreme court at trenton for another trial. to procure these writs, it was necessary to obtain the signature of the chief justice of new jersey, who resided at newark, and again thomas shipley was ready to enter with alacrity into the service. he saw the importance of the measure, and that it would require prompt action, inasmuch as the decision of the judge would probably be pronounced on the following day. it fortunately happened that a friend was just about leaving for newark, in his own conveyance, and feeling an interest in the case, he kindly invited friend shipley to accompany him. they left in the afternoon, traveled all night, and arrived at newark by daylight the following morning. the weary traveler was unwilling, however, to retire to bed, although the night was exceedingly cold and tempestuous, but he proceeded at once to the house of the chief justice. he called the worthy judge from his bed, offering the importance of his business, and the necessity of speedy action, as an apology for so unseasonable a visit. chief justice hornblower, on being informed of the circumstances of the case, expressed his pleasure at having it in his power to accede to his wishes and treated him with a respect and kindness which the disinterested benevolence of his mission was calculated to inspire. having obtained the necessary papers, he left at once for mount holly, where he arrived on the following day, in time to place the writs in the hands of the sheriff, just before the decision of judge h. was pronounced. had he consulted his ease or convenience, and deferred his visit to newark a few hours, or had he, as most men, under similar circumstances would have done, reposed his weary limbs, after a cold and dreary ride of eighty miles, in order to enable him to return with renewed strength, he would have arrived too late to render this meritorious effort effectual. as it was, he was there in time. the judge, according to the expectation of the friends of the colored man, gave his decision in favor of the slave-holders, and ordered poor alexander to be given up to the tender mercies of the exasperated claimant. the decision sent a thrill of indignation through the anxious and excited multitude, which perhaps, was never equalled amongst the inhabitants of that quiet town. the friends of humanity had assembled from all parts of the country to witness the proceedings in the case. many of them were personally acquainted with the prisoner; they knew him to be a man of intelligence and integrity; he was an industrious and orderly citizen, and was universally respected in the neighborhood. he was now about to be made a slave, and was declared to be the property of another. the father was about to be torn from his helpless children; the husband in defiance of the divine command, was to be wrested from the fond embrace of his sorrowing wife, to spend his days in misery and toil. and this was to be done before the eyes of those who had a just regard for human rights, a hearty hatred of oppression. is it wonderful, that under such circumstances, there should have been a deep abhorrence for the perpetrators of this outrage upon humanity, and a general sympathy for the innocent captive? but it was decreed that those feelings of honest indignation should be speedily supplanted by the warm outpouring of public gratitude and joy. while the feeling of the spectators was in this state of intense interest and excitement, the judge, stern and inflexible in his purposes, and the clan of greedy claimants ready to seize upon their prey, the sheriff produced his writ of certiorari and handed it to the court. it was instantly returned, and the judge who sat unmoved, by a scene to which he was not unaccustomed, and conceiving, perhaps, that his official dignity was impugned, persisted in his determination that the prisoner should be handed over to the claimant. the prudence and foresight of thomas shipley and his friends had provided, however, for this anticipated difficulty. happily for the prisoner, he was yet embraced under the provision of that constitution, which secured to him the protection of a habeas corpus, and this threw around him a shield which his enemies could not penetrate. a writ of habeas corpus, signed by the chief justice of the state and demanding the body of the prisoner, before the supreme court at its next term, was now produced! the astonished judge found himself completely foiled. he had exercised his authority to its utmost limit, in support of the claims of his slave-holding friends, and had given the influence of his station and character, to bolster up the "patriarchal institution;" but it was all in vain. just as they supposed they had achieved a victory, they were obliged with fallen crests, to succumb to the dictates of a higher tribunal, and to see their victim conveyed beyond their reach in the safe keeping of the sheriff. in the third month, (march,) the case was brought up before the supreme court for final adjudication. in the meantime, thomas shipley adopted vigorous measures to have the facts collected and arranged. he procured the aid of an intelligent and humane friend of the cause, who resided near trenton, to attend, personally to the case, and secured the legal services of theodore frelinghuysen, well known as one of the most gifted and virtuous statesmen of the age, and as a warm and zealous friend of the oppressed. under these happy auspices, the case came before the supreme court, and gave rise to a highly interesting and important argument; in which the distinguished frelinghuysen appeared as the disinterested advocate of the prisoner, and urged upon the court his claim to liberty, under the laws of new jersey, in a speech which was one of his most brilliant and eloquent efforts, and added another to the many laurels which his genius and philanthropy have achieved. the opinion of chief justice hornblower was given at length, and is said to have displayed a soundness and extent of legal knowledge, with a spirit of mildness and humanity, well worthy of the highest judicial tribunal of new jersey. by this decision, alexander helmsley was declared to be a freeman, and returned with rejoicing into the bosom of his family, and to the enjoyment of the rights and privileges of a free citizen. thus terminated this interesting case, which for several months agitated the public mind of burlington county, to an extent almost unequalled. such disinterested devotion to the defence of the rights of the oppressed, had it been displayed only in the instance recited, would be sufficient to enroll the name of thomas shipley on the list of the benefactors of his race; but when we consider that, for a period of twenty years, his history abounds in similar incidents, and that he uniformly stood forth as the unflinching advocate of the oppressed, regardless of the sacrifices which he was obliged to make on their behalf, we are disposed to view him as one of that noble band whose lives have been consecrated to deeds of charity and benevolence, and whose names will illumine the moral firmament, so long as virtue and truth shall command the homage of mankind. thomas shipley was one of the founders of the american anti-slavery society, and was an active agent in those stirring movements which soon aroused the nation to a full consideration of the enormities of slavery. he was a prominent member of the anti-slavery convention, which assembled in this city in , and a signer of their declaration of sentiments. during the last few years of his life, he was more devotedly engaged in his abolition labors than at any previous period. it was his constant desire to diffuse the principles which had been so fearlessly proclaimed by the convention, and to encourage the formation of anti-slavery societies throughout the sphere of his influence. he was one of the most prominent members of the philadelphia anti-slavery society, which was formed through much opposition, in , and he steadily adhered to its meetings, notwithstanding the threats which were so loudly made by the enemies of public order. in the midst of the popular commotions and tumults, which marked the progress of anti-slavery principles, he stood calm and unmoved. having been long known as a firm friend of the rights of the colored man, and being amongst the most efficient public advocates of his cause, he was of course subjected to the revilings which were so liberally heaped upon the abolitionists at that time. his name was associated with that of tappan, birney, green, jay, garrison, and other leading abolitionists, who were singled out by slave-holders and their abettors as fit subjects for the merciless attacks of excited mobs. in several attempts which were made in this city to stir up the passions of the ignorant against the advocates of human rights, his person and property were openly threatened with assault. such menaces failed, however, to deter him from the steady performance of what he believed to be a solemn duty. being fully satisfied of the truth of the principles which he had espoused, he relied with unwavering confidence upon divine power for their ultimate triumph, and for the protection of those who advocated them. when his friends expressed their anxiety for his safety, he always allayed their apprehensions, and evinced by the firmness and benignity of his manner that he was divested of the fear of man, and acted under the influence of that spirit which is from above. the active part which thomas shipley took in anti-slavery movements, did not diminish his interest in the prosperity and usefulness of the old pennsylvania society. he was a steady attendant on its meetings, and exercised his wonted care on all subjects connected with its interests. a short time previous to his death, his services were acknowledged by his fellow-members, by his election to the office of president. the incessant and fatiguing labors in which he was engaged, had sensibly affected the vigor of a constitution naturally delicate, and rendered him peculiarly liable to the inroads of disease. he was seized in the autumn of , with an attack of intermittent fever, which confined him to the house for ten or twelve days, and very much reduced his strength; while recovering from this attack, he experienced an accession of disease which terminated his life in less than twenty-four hours. but a few hours before his death, he inquired of his physicians as to the probable issue of his case; when informed of his critical condition, he received the intelligence with composure, and immediately requested dr. atlee, who was by his side, to take down some directions in regard to his affairs, on paper. in a few minutes after this, he quietly lapsed into the sleep of death, in the morning, on the th of ninth month, . his last words were, "i die at peace with all mankind, and hope that my trespasses may be as freely forgiven, as i forgive those who have trespassed against me." to all who knew him well, of whatever class in the community, the tidings of this unexpected event brought a personal sorrow. it was felt that a man of rare probity and virtue had gone to his reward. but to the colored people the intelligence of his death was at once startling and confounding. their whole community was bowed down in public lamentation, for their warmest and most steadfast friend was gone. they repaired in large numbers to the house of their benefactor to obtain a last glance at his lifeless body. parents brought their little ones to the house of mourning, and as they gazed upon the features of the departed, now inanimate in death, they taught their infant minds the impressive lesson, that before them were the mortal remains of one who had devoted his energies to the disenthralment of their race, and whose memory they should ever cherish with gratitude and reverence. when the day arrived for committing his remains to the grave the evidence of deep and pervading sorrow among these wronged and outraged people was strikingly apparent. thousands, whose serious deportment and dejected countenances evinced that they were fully sensible of their loss, collected in the vicinity of his dwelling, anxious to testify their respect for his memory. theirs was not the gaze of the indifferent crowd, which clusters around the abodes of fashion and splendor, to witness the pomp and circumstance attendant on the interment of the haughty or the rich. it was a solemn gathering, brought together by the impulse of feeling, to mingle their tears and lamentations at the grave of one whom they had loved and revered as a protector and a friend. when the hearse arrived at the quiet burial place in arch street, where the friends for many generations have buried their dead, six colored men carried the body to its last resting-place, and the silent tear of the son of africa over the grave of his zealous friend, was more expressive of real affection than all the parade which is sometimes brought so ostentatiously before the public eye. in the expressive words of the leading newspaper of the day, "aaron burr was lately buried with the honors of war. thomas shipley was buried with the honors of peace. let the reflecting mind pause in the honorable contrast." as a public speaker thomas shipley was clear, cogent, sometimes eloquent, and always impressive. he never attempted oratorical effect, or studied harangues. he generally spoke extemporaneously, on the spur of the occasion, and what he said came warm from the heart. it was the simple and unadorned expression of his sentiments and feelings. he was, however, argumentative and even logical, when the occasion required it. when intensely interested, his eye was full of deep and piercing expression. although his education had been limited, and his pursuits afforded him but little leisure time, yet he indulged his fondness for reading, and exhibited a refined literary taste in his selections. he has left amongst his books and papers eight manuscript volumes of about one hundred and fifty pages each, filled with selections, copied in his own handwriting, and culled from the writings of many of the most gifted authors, both in poetry and prose. these extracts are generally of a moral and religious caste, and include scraps from young, milton, addison, burns, cowper, watts, akenside, pope, byron, hemans, and many others. in the domestic and social circle, his conversation was animated and instructive, and always tempered by that kindness and amenity of manners which endeared him to his family and friends. he was no bigot in religion. while a firm believer in the doctrines of the gospel as maintained by the orthodox society of friends, he yet held that religion was an operative principle producing the fruits of righteousness and peace, in all of whatever name, who are sincere followers of our lord jesus christ. in conclusion we may add, that more than most men he bore about with him the sentiment of that old roman, "nihil humanum alienum a me puto," while he added to it the higher thought of the christian, that he who loveth god loveth his brother also. we need not dwell upon the life of such a man. to-day, after the lapse of more than a generation, his memory is fresh and green in the hearts of those who knew him, and who still survive to hand down to their children the story of the trials of that eventful period in our history. _to the memory of_ thomas shipley, president of the pennsylvania abolition society, who died on the th of ninth mo., , a devoted christian and philanthropist. by john g. whittier. gone to thy heavenly father's rest-- the flowers of eden round thee blowing! and, on thine ear, the murmurs blest of shiloah's waters softly flowing! beneath that tree of life which gives to all the earth its healing leaves-- in the white robe of angels clad, and wandering by that sacred river, whose streams of holiness make glad the city of our god forever! gentlest of spirits!--not for thee our tears are shed, our sighs are given: why mourn to know thou art a free partaker of the joys of heaven? finished thy work, and kept thy faith in christian firmness unto death-- and beautiful as sky and earth, when autumn's sun is downward going, the blessed memory of thy worth around thy place of slumber glowing! but, wo for us i--who linger still with feebler strength and hearts less lowly, and minds less steadfast to the will of him, whose every work is holy! for not like thine, is crucified the spirit of our human pride: and at the bondman's tale of woe, and for the outcast and forsaken, not warm like thine, but cold and slow, our weaker sympathies awaken! darkly upon our struggling way the storm of human hate is sweeping; hunted and branded, and a prey, our watch amidst the darkness keeping! oh! for that hidden strength which can nerve unto death the inner man! oh--for thy spirit tried and true and constant in the hour of trial-- prepared to suffer or to do in meekness and in self-denial. oh, for that spirit meek and mild, derided, spurned, yet uncomplaining-- by man deserted and reviled, yet faithful to its trust remaining. still prompt and resolute to save from scourge and chain the hunted slave! unwavering in the truth's defence e'en where the fires of hate are burning, the unquailing eye of innocence alone upon the oppressor turning! oh, loved of thousands! to thy grave, sorrowing of heart, thy brethren bore thee! the poor man and the rescued slave wept as the broken earth closed o'er thee-- and grateful tears, like summer rain, quickened its dying grass again!-- and there, as to some pilgrim shrine, shall come the outcast and the lowly, of gentle deeds and words of thine recalling memories sweet and holy! oh, for the death the righteous die! an end, like autumn's day declining, on human hearts, as on the sky, with holier, tenderer beauty shining! as to the parting soul were given the radiance of an opening heaven! as if that pure and blessed light from off the eternal altar flowing, were bathing in its upward flight the spirit to its worship going! robert purvis was born in charleston, s.c. on the th day of august, . his father, william purvis, was a native of ross county, in northumberland, england. his mother was a free-born woman, of charleston. his maternal grandmother was a moor; and her father was an israelite, named baron judah. robert purvis and his two brothers were brought to the north by their parents in . in pennsylvania and new england he received his scholastic education, finishing it at amherst college. since that time his home has been in philadelphia, or in the vicinity of that city. his interest in the anti-slavery cause began in his childhood, inspired by such books as "sandford and merton," and dr. toney's "portraiture of slavery," which his father put into his hands. his father, though resident in a slave state, was never a slaveholder; but was heartily an abolitionist in principle. it was robert purvis' good fortune, before he attained his majority, to make the acquaintance of that earnest and self-sacrificing pioneer of freedom, benjamin lundy; and in conjunction with him, was an early laborer in the anti-slavery field. he was a member of the convention held in philadelphia in , which formed the american anti-slavery society; and among the signatures to its declaration of sentiments, the name of robert purvis is to be seen; a record of which his posterity to the latest generation may be justly proud. during the whole period of that society's existence he was a member of it; and was also an active member and officer of the pennsylvania anti-slavery society. to the cause of the slave's freedom he gave with all his heart his money, his time, his talents. fervent in soul, eloquent in speech, most gracious in manner, he was a favorite on the platform of anti-slavery meetings. high-toned in moral nature, keenly sensitive in all matters pertaining to justice and integrity, he was a most valuable coadjutor with the leaders of an unpopular reform; and throughout the anti-slavery conflict, he always received, as he always deserved, the highest confidence and warm personal regard of his fellow-laborers. his faithful labors in aiding fugitive slaves cannot be recorded within the limits of this sketch. throughout that long period of peril to all who dared to "remember those in bonds as bound with them," his house was a well-known station on the underground rail road; his horses and carriages, and his personal attendance, were ever at the service of the travelers upon that road. in those perilous duties his family heartily sympathized with him, and cheerfully performed their share. he has lived to witness the triumph of the great cause to which he devoted his youth and his manhood; to join in the jubilee song of the american slave; and the thanksgiving of the abolitionists; and to testify that the work of his life has been one "whose reward is in itself." john hunn. almost within the lions' den, in daily sight of the enemy, in the little slave-holding state of delaware, lived and labored the freedom-loving, earnest and whole-souled quaker abolitionist, john hunn. his headquarters were at cantwell's bridge, but, as an engineer of the underground rail road, his duties, like those of his fellow-laborer thomas garrett, were not confined to that section, but embraced other places, and were attended with great peril, constant care and expense. he was well-known to the colored people far and near, and was especially sought with regard to business pertaining to the underground rail road, as a friend who would never fail to assist as far as possible in every time of need. through his agency many found their way to freedom, both by land and water. the slave-holders regarding him with much suspicion, watched him closely, and were in the habit of "breathing out threatenings and slaughter" very fiercely at times. but hunn was too plucky to be frightened by their threats and menaces, and as one, commissioned by a higher power to remember those in bonds as bound with them he remained faithful to the slave. men, women or children seeking to be unloosed from the fetters of slavery, could not make their grievances known to john hunn without calling forth his warmest sympathies. his house and heart were always open to all such. the slave-holders evidently concluded that hunn could not longer be tolerated, consequently devised a plan to capture him, on the charge of aiding off a woman with her children. [john hunn and thomas garrett were conjointly prosecuted in this case, and in the sketch of the latter, the trial, conviction, etc., are so fully referred to, that it is unnecessary to do more than allude to it here]. these noted underground rail road offenders being duly brought before the united states district court, in may, , judge taney, presiding, backed by a thoroughly pro-slavery sentiment, obviously found it a very easy matter to convict them, and a still easier matter to fine them to the extent of every dollar they possessed in the world. thousands of dollars were swept from hunn in an instant, and his family left utterly destitute; but he was by no means conquered, as he deliberately gave the court to understand in a manly speech, delivered while standing to receive his sentence. there and then he avowed his entire sympathy with the slave, and declared that in the future, as in the past, by the help of god, he would never withhold a helping hand from the down-trodden in the hour of distress. that this pledge was faithfully kept by hunn, there can be no question, as he continued steadfast at his post until the last fetter was broken by the great proclamation of abraham lincoln. he was not without friends, however, for even near by, dwelt a few well-tried abolitionists. ezekiel jenkins, mifflin warner, and one or two others, whole-souled workers in the same cause with hunn; he was therefore not forgotten in the hour of his extremity. wishing to produce a sketch worthy of this veteran, we addressed him on the subject, but failed to obtain all the desired material. his reasons, however, for withholding the information which we desired were furnished, and, in connection therewith, a few anecdotes touching underground rail road matters coming under his immediate notice, which we here take great pleasure in transcribing. beaufort, s.c. th mo. th, . wm. still, dear friend:--in thy first letter thee asked for my photograph as well as for an opinion of the book about to be edited by thyself. i returned a favorable answer and sent likeness, as requested. i incidentally mentioned that, probably some of my papers might be of service to thee. the papers alluded to had no reference to myself; but consisted of anecdotes and short histories of some of the fugitives from the hell of american slavery, who gave me a call, as engineer of the underground rail road in the state of delaware, and received the benefit of my advice and assistance. i was twenty-seven years-old when i engaged in the underground rail road business, and i continued therein diligently until the breaking up of that business by the great rebellion. i then came to south carolina to witness the uprising of a nation of slaves into the dignity and privileges of mankind. nothing can possibly have the same interest to me. therefore, i propose to remain where this great problem is in the process of solution; and to give my best efforts to its successful accomplishment. in this matter the course that i have pursued thus far through life has given me solid satisfaction. i ask no other reward for any efforts made by me in the cause, than to feel that i have been of use to my fellow-men. no other course would have brought peace to my mind; then why should any credit be awarded to me; or how can i count any circumstance that may have occurred to me, in the light of a sacrifice? if a man pursues the only course that will bring peace to his own mind, is he deserving of any credit therefor? is not the reward worth striving for at any cost? indeed it is, as i well know. would it be well for me, entertaining such sentiments, to sit down and write an account of my sacrifices? i think not. therefore please hold me excused. i am anxious to see thy book, and will forward the price of one as soon as i can ascertain what it is. please accept my thanks for thy kind remembrance of me. i am now fifty-three years old, but i well remember thy face in the anti-slavery office in fifth street, when i called on business of the underground rail road. our mutual friend, s.d. burris, was the cause of much uneasiness to us in those times. it required much trouble, as well as expense to save him from the slave-traders. i stood by him on the auction-block; and when i stepped down, they thought they had him sure. indeed he thought so himself for a little while. but we outwitted them at last, to their great chagrin. those were stirring times, and the people of dover, delaware, will long remember the time when s.d. burris was sold at public sale for aiding slaves to escape from their masters, and was bought by the pennsylvania anti-slavery society. i remain very truly thy friend, john hunn. * * * * * the case of molly, a slave, belonging to r---- b----, of smyrna, delaware. by john hunn, engineer of the underground rail road. molly escaped from her master's farm, in cecil county, maryland, and found a place of refuge in the house of my cousin, john alston, near middletown, delaware. the man-hunters, headed by a constable with a search warrant, took her thence and lodged her in new castle jail. this fact was duly published in the county papers, and her master went after his chattel, and having paid the expenses of her capture took immediate possession thereof. she was hand-cuffed, and, her feet being tied together, she was placed in the wagon. before she left the jail, the wife of the sheriff gave her a piece of bread and butter, which her master kicked out of her hand, and swore that bread and butter was too good for her. after this act her master took a drink of brandy and drove off. he stopped at a tavern about four miles from new castle and took another drink of brandy. he then proceeded to odessa, then called cantwell's bridge, and got his dinner and more brandy, for the day was a cold one. he had his horse fed, but gave no food to his human chattel, who remained in the wagon cold and hungry. after sufficient rest for himself and horse he started again. he was now twelve miles from home, on a good road, his horse was gentle, and he himself in a genial mood at the recovery of his bond-woman. he yielded to the influence of the liquor he had imbibed and fell into a sound sleep. molly now determined to make another effort for her freedom. she accordingly worked herself gradually over the tail board of the wagon, and fell heavily upon the frozen ground. the horse and wagon passed on, and she rolled into the bushes, and waited for deliverance from her bonds. this came from a colored man who was passing that way. as he was neither a priest nor a levite, he took the rope from her feet and guided her to a cabin near at hand, where she was kindly received. her deliverer could not take the hand-cuffs off, but promised to bring a person, during the evening, who could perform that operation. he fulfilled his promise, and brought her that night to my house, which was in sight of the one whence she had been taken to new castle jail. i had no fear for her safety, as i believed that her master would not think of looking for her so near to the place where she had been arrested. molly remained with us nearly a month; but, seeing fugitives coming and going continually, she finally concluded to go further north. i wrote to my friend, thomas garrett, desiring him to get a good home for molly. this he succeeded in doing, and a friend from chester county, pennsylvania, came to my house and took molly with him. she remained in his family more than six months. in the mean time the fugitive slave law was passed by congress, and several fugitives were arrested in philadelphia and sent back to their masters. molly, hearing of these doings, became uneasy, and finally determined to go to canada. she arrived safely in the queen's dominions, and felt at last that she had escaped from the hell of american slavery. molly described her master as an indulgent one when sober, but when he was on a "spree" he seemed to take great delight in tormenting her. he would have her beaten unmercifully without cause, and then have her stripes washed in salt water, then he would have her dragged through the horse pond until she was nearly dead. this last operation seemed to afford him much pleasure. when he became sober he would express regret at having treated her so cruelly. i frequently saw this master of molly's, and was always treated respectfully by him. he would have his "sprees" after molly left him. * * * * * an account of the escape from slavery of samuel hawkins and family, of queen anne's county, maryland, on the underground rail road, in the state of delaware. by john hunn. on the morning of the th of th month (december), , as i was washing my hands at the yard pump of my residence, near middletown, new castle county, delaware, i looked down the lane, and saw a covered wagon slowly approaching my house. the sun had just risen, and was shining brightly (after a stormy night) on the snow which covered the ground to the depth of six inches. my house was situated three quarters of a mile from the road leading from middletown to odessa, (then called cantwell's bridge.) on a closer inspection i noticed several men walking beside the wagon. this seemed rather an early hour for visitors, and i could not account for the circumstance. when they reached the yard fence i met them, and a colored man handed me a letter addressed to daniel corbit, john alston or john hunn; i asked the man if he had presented the letter to either of the others to whom it was addressed; he said, no, that he had not been able to see either of them. the letter was from my cousin, ezekiel jenkins, of camden, delaware, and stated that the travelers were fugitive slaves, under the direction of samuel d. burris (who handed me the note). the party consisted of a man and his wife, with their six children, and four fine-looking colored men, without counting the pilot, s.d. burris, who was a free man, from kent county, delaware. this was the first time that i ever saw burris, and also the first time that i had ever been called upon to assist fugitives from the hell of american slavery. the wanderers were gladly welcomed, and made as comfortable as possible until breakfast was ready for them. one man, in trying to pull his boots off, found they were frozen to his feet; he went to the pump and filled them with water, thus he was able to get them off in a few minutes. this increase of thirteen in the family was a little embarrassing, but after breakfast they all retired to the barn to sleep on the hay, except the woman and four children, who remained in the house. they were all very weary, as they had traveled from camden (twenty-seven miles), through a snowstorm; the woman and four children in the wagon with the driver, the others walking all the way. most of them were badly frost-bitten, before they arrived at my house. in camden, they were sheltered in the houses of their colored friends. although this was my first acquaintance with s.d. burris, it was not my last, as he afterwards piloted them himself, or was instrumental in directing hundreds of fugitives to me for shelter. about two o'clock of the day on which these fugitives arrived at my house, a neighbor drove up with his daughter in a sleigh, apparently on a friendly visit. i noticed his restlessness and frequent looking out of the window fronting the road; but did not suppose, that he had come "to spy out the land." the wagon and the persons walking with it, had been observed from his house, and he had reported the fact in middletown. accordingly, in half an hour, another sleigh came up, containing a constable of middletown, william hardcastle, of queen ann's county, maryland, and william chesnut, of the same neighborhood. i met them at the gate, and the constable handed me an advertisement, wherein one thousand dollars reward was offered for the recovery of three runaway slaves, therein described. the constable asked me if they were in my house? i said they were not! he then asked me if he might search the house? i declined to allow him this privilege, unless he had a warrant for that purpose. while we stood thus conversing, the husband of the woman with the six children, came out of a house near the barn, and ran into the woods. the constable and his two companions immediately gave chase, with many halloos! after running more than a mile through the snow, the fugitive came toward the house; i went to meet him, and found him with his back against the barn-yard fence, with a butcher's knife in his hand. the man hunters soon came up, and the constable asked me to get the knife from the fugitive. this i declined, unless the constable should first give me his pistol, with which he was threatening to shoot the man. he complied with my request, and the fugitive handed me the knife. then he produced a pass, properly authenticated, and signed by a magistrate of queen ann's county, maryland, certifying that this man was free! and that his name was samuel hawkins. william hardcastle now advanced, and said that he knew the man to be free; but that he was accused of running away with his wife and children who were slaves. he also said, that this man had two boys with him, who belonged to a neighbor of his, named charles wesley glanding, and that the four other children and mother belonged to catharine turner, of queen ann's county, maryland. hardcastle further expressed his belief, that this man knew where his wife and children were at that time, and insisted that he should go before a magistrate in middletown, and be examined in regard thereto. he also expressed doubts as to the genuineness of this pass, and wished the man to go to middletown on that account also. as there was no other course to pursue under the circumstances, i had my sleigh brought out, and we all went to middletown, before my friend, william streets, who was then in commission as a magistrate. it was now after dark of this short winter's day. soon after our arrival at the office of william streets, hardcastle put his arm very lovingly around the neck of the colored man, samuel hawkins, and drew him into another room. in a short time, samuel came out, and told me that hardcastle had agreed, that if he, hawkins, would give up his two older boys, who belonged to charles wesley glanding; then he might pursue his journey with his wife and four children. i asked him if he believed hardcastle would keep his promise? he replied: "yes! i do not think master william would cheat me." i assured him that he would cheat him, and that the offer was made for the purpose of not only getting the two older boys (fourteen and sixteen years of age), but his wife and other children to the office, when all of them would be taken together to the jail, in new castle. samuel thought differently, and at his request, i wrote to my wife for the delivery of the family of samuel hawkins to the constable. they were soon forthcoming, and on their arrival at the office, a commitment was made out for the whole party. samuel and his two older sons were hand-cuffed, amidst many tears and lamentations, and they all went off under charge of the man-hunters, to new castle jail, a distance of eighteen miles. william streets committed the whole party as fugitives from slavery, while the husband (samuel), was a free man. this was done on account of the detestation of the wicked business, as much as on account of his friendship for me. on their arrival at the jail, about midnight, the sheriff was aroused, and the commitment shown to him; after reading it, he asked samuel if he was a slave? he said no, and showed his pass (which had been pronounced genuine by the magistrate). the sheriff hereupon told them, that the commitment was not legal, and would not hold them lawfully. it was now first day (sunday), and the man-hunters were in a quandary. the constable finally agreed to go back and get another commitment, if the sheriff would take the party into the jail until his return; hardcastle also urged the sheriff to adopt this plan. accordingly they were taken into the jail. the sheriff's daughter had heard her father's conversation with the constable, accordingly she sent word on first-day morning, to my revered friend, thomas garrett, of wilmington, five miles distant, in regard to the matter, inviting him to see the fugitives. early on second day morning (monday), thomas went over with john wales, attorney at law. the latter soon obtained a writ of habeas corpus from judge booth of new castle, which was served upon the sheriff; who, therefore, brought the whole party before judge booth, who discharged them at once, as being illegally detained by the sheriff. thomas garrett, with the consent of the judge, then hired a carriage to take the woman and four children over to wilmington, samuel and the two older boys walked, so they all escaped from the man-hunters. they went from wilmington to byberry, and settled near the farm of robert purvis. samuel hawkins and wife have since died, but their descendants still live in that neighborhood, under the name of hackett. soon after the departure of the fugitives from new castle jail, the constable arrived with new commitments from william streets, and presented them in due form to the sheriff; who informed him that they had been liberated by order of judge booth! a few hours after, william hardcastle arrived from philadelphia, expecting to take samuel hawkins and his family to queen ann's county, maryland. judge of his disappointment at finding they were beyond his control--absolutely gone! they returned to middletown in great anger, and threatened to prosecute william streets for his participation in the affair. after the departure of the hawkins family from middletown, i returned home to see what had become of s.d. burris and his four men. i found them taking some solid refreshment, preparatory to taking a long walk in the snow. they left about nine p.m., for wilmington. i sent by s.d. burris a letter to thomas garrett, detailing the arrest and commitment of s. hawkins and family to new castle jail. they all arrived safely in wilmington before daylight next morning. burris waited to hear the result of the expedition to new castle; and actually had the pleasure of seeing s. hawkins and family arrive in wilmington. samuel burris returned to my house early on third day morning, with a letter from thomas garrett, giving me a description of the whole transaction. my joy on this occasion was great! and i returned thanks to god for this wonderful escape of so many human beings from the charnel-house of slavery. officers of the road. [illustration: john hunn] [illustration: samuel rhoads] [illustration: william whipper] [illustration: samuel d. burris] of course this circumstance excited the ire of many pro-slavery editors in maryland. i had copies of several papers sent me, wherein i was described as a man unfit to live in a civilized community, and calling upon the inhabitants of middletown to expel such a dangerous person from that neighborhood! they also told exactly where i lived, which enabled many a poor fugitive escaping from the house of bondage, to find a hearty welcome and a resting-place on the road to liberty. thanks be to god! for his goodness to me in this respect. the trial which ensued from the above, came off before chief justice taney, at new castle. my revered friend, thomas garrett, and myself, were there convicted of harboring fugitive slaves, and were fined accordingly, to the extent of the law; judge taney delivering the sentence. a detailed account of said trial, will fully appear in the memoirs of our deceased friend, thomas garrett. * * * * * samuel rhoads was born in philadelphia, in , and was through life a consistent member of the society of friends. his parents were persons of great respectability and integrity. the son early showed an ardent desire for improvement, and was distinguished among his young companions for warm affections, amiable disposition, and genial manners, rare purity and refinement of feeling, and a taste for literary pursuits. preferring as his associates those to whom he looked for instruction and example, and aiming at a high standard, he won a position, both mentally and socially, superior to his early surroundings. with a keen sense of justice and humanity, he could not fail to share in the traditional opposition of his religious society to slavery, and to be quickened to more intense feeling as the evils of the system were more fully revealed in the anti-slavery agitation which in his early manhood began to stir the nation. a visit to england, in , brought him into connection and friendship with many leading friends in that country, who were actively engaged in the anti-slavery movement, and probably had much to do with directing his attention specially to the subject. once enlisted, he never wavered, but as long as slavery existed by law in our country his influence, both publicly and privately, was exerted against it. he was strengthened in his course by a warm friendship and frequent intercourse with the late abraham l. pennock, a man whose unbending integrity and firm allegiance to duty were equalled only by his active benevolence, broad charity, and rare clearness of judgment. samuel rhoads, like him, while sympathizing with other phases of the anti-slavery movement, took especial interest in the subject of abstaining from the use of articles produced by slave labor. believing that the purchase of such articles, by furnishing to the master the only possibility of pecuniary profit from the labor of his slaves, supplied one motive for holding them in bondage, and that the purchaser thus became, however unwittingly, a partaker in the guilt, he felt conscientiously bound to withhold his individual support as far as practicable, and to recommend the same course to others. his practical action upon these views began about the year , and was persevered in, at no small expense and inconvenience, till slavery ceased in this country to have a legal existence. about this time he united with the american free produce association, which had been formed in , and in took an active part in the formation of the free produce association of friends of philadelphia, y.m.; both associations having the object of promoting the production by free labor of articles usually grown by slaves, particularly of cotton. agents were sent into the cotton states, to make arrangements with small planters, who were growing cotton by the labor of themselves and their families without the help of slaves, to obtain their crops, which otherwise went into the general market, and could not be distinguished. a manufactory was established for working this cotton, and a limited variety of goods were thus furnished. in all these operations samuel rhoads aided efficiently by counsel and money. in , "the non-slave-holder," a monthly periodical, devoted mainly to the advocacy of the free produce cause, was established in philadelphia, edited by a.l. pennock, s. rhoads, and george w. taylor. it was continued five years, for the last two of which samuel rhoads conducted it alone. he wrote also a pamphlet on the free labor question. from july, to january, he was editor of the "friends' review," a weekly paper, religious and literary, conducted in the interest of his own religious society, and in this position he gave frequent proofs of interest in the slave, keeping his readers well advised of events and movements bearing upon the subject. while thus awake to all forms of anti-slavery effort, his heart and hand were ever open to the fugitive from bondage, who appealed to him, and none such were ever sent away empty. though not a member of the vigilance committee, he rendered it frequent and most efficient aid, especially during the dark ten years after the passage of the fugitive slave law. a second visit to england, in , had enlarged his connection and correspondence with anti-slavery friends there, and in addition to his own contributions, very considerable sums of money were transmitted to him, especially through a.h. richardson, for the benefit of the fugitives. often when the treasury of the committee ran low, he came opportunely to their relief with funds sent by his english friends, while his sympathy and encouragement never failed. the extent of his assistance in this direction was known to but few, but by them its value was gratefully acknowledged. none rejoiced more than he in the overthrow of american slavery, though its end came in convulsion and bloodshed, at which his spirit revolted, not by the peaceful means through which he with others had labored to bring it about. he had some years before been active in preparing a memorial to congress, asking that body to make an effort to put an end to slavery in the states, by offering from the national treasury, to any state or states which would emancipate the slaves therein, and engage not to renew the system, compensation for losses thus sustained. this proposition was made, not as admitting any _right_ of the masters to compensation; but on the ground that the whole nation, having shared in the guilt of maintaining slavery, might justly share also in whatever pecuniary loss might follow its abandonment. this memorial was sent to congress, but elicited no response; and in the fulness of time, the nation paid even in money many times any possible price that could have been demanded under this plan. samuel rhoads died in . george corson was born in plymouth township, montgomery county, pennsylvania, january th, . he was the son of joseph and hannah corson. he was married january th, , to martha, daughter of samuel and susanna maulsby. there were perhaps few more devoted men than george corson to the interests of the oppressed everywhere. the slave, fleeting from his master, ever found a home with him, and felt while there that no slave-hunter would get him away until every means of protection should fail. he was ever ready to send his horse and carriage to convey them on the road to canada, or elsewhere towards freedom. his home was always open to entertain the anti-slavery advocates, and being warmly supported in the cause by his excellent wife, everything which they could do to make their guests comfortable was done. the burleighs, j. miller mckim, miss mary grew, f. douglass, and others will not soon forget that hospitable home. it is to be regretted that he died before the emancipation of the slaves, which he had so long labored for, arrived. in this connection it may not be improper to state that simultaneously with his labors in the anti-slavery cause, he was also laboring with zeal in the cause of temperance. of his efforts in that direction through nearly thirty years, our space will not allow us to speak. his life and labors were a daily protest against the traffic of rum. there is also another phase of his character which should be mentioned. whenever he saw animals abused, horses beaten, he instantly interfered, often at great risk of personal harm from the brutal drivers about the lime quarries and iron ore diggings. so firm, so determined was he, that the cruellest ruffian felt that he must yield or confront the law. take him all for all, there will rarely be found in one man more universal benevolence and justice than was possessed by the subject of this notice. hiram corson, brother of the subject of this sketch, and a faithful co-laborer in the cause, in response to a request that he would furnish a reminiscence touching his brother's agency in assisting fugitives, wrote as follows: _november st_, . dear robert:--wm. still wishes some account of the case of the negro slave taken from our neighborhood some years ago, after an attempt by my brother george to release him. (about thirty years ago.) george had been on a visit to our brother charles, living at the fork of the skippack and perkiomen creeks, in this county, and on his return, late in the afternoon, while coming along an obscure road, not the main direct road, he came up to a man on horseback, who was followed at a distance of a few feet by a colored man with a rope tied around his neck, and the other end held by the person on horseback. george had had experience with those slave-drivers before, as in the case of john and james lewis, and withal had become deeply interested in the anti-slavery cause. he, therefore, inquired of the mounted man, what the other had done that he was to be thus treated. he quietly remarked that he was his slave and had run away. he then asked by what authority he held him. he said by warrant from esquire vanderslice. indignant at this great outrage, my brother hurried on to norristown, and waited his arrival with a process to arrest him. the slave-master, confident in his rights, bold in the country of those pretended freemen, who were ever ready to kiss the rod of slavery, came slowly riding into norristown, just before sunset, with the rope still fast to the slave's neck. he was immediately taken before a justice of the peace, whose name i do not now remember. the people gathered around; anxious inquiries were made as to the person who had the audacity to question the right of this quiet, peaceable man to do with his slave as he pleased. great scorn was expressed for the busy abolitionists. much sympathy given to the abused slave owner. it was soon decided, by the aid of a volunteer lawyer, whose sons have since fought the battle for freedom, that the slave-owner had a right to take his slave whereever, and in whatever way he pleased, through the country, and not only that, but at his call for help it was the bounden duty of every man, called upon, to aid him; and the person who had the audacity to stop him was threatened with punishment. but george's blood was up, so pained was he at the sight of a man, a poor man, a helpless man, being dragged through from pennsylvania with a halter around his neck, that, amidst the jeers and insults of the debased crowd, he denounced slavery, its aiders and abettors, in tones of scorn and loathing. but the man thief was left with his prey. through the advice of those who stood by the slave laws and who knelt before the slave power, as personified by that hunter of slaves, the rope was taken from the neck, and the man guarded while the master regaled himself. that night he disappeared with his man. i can also give a few particulars of the escape of the gorsuch murderers, from norristown on their way to canada. there should be a portrait of daniel ross, and a history of his labors during twenty or more years. hundreds were entertained in his humble home, and it was in his home that the gorsuch murderer was secreted. he must not be left out. i can also get the whole history, escape, capture, trial, conviction and redemption of james and john lewis, and one other. they were captured here within sight of our house. george corson, esq., published it all, about ten years ago. respectfully, robert r. corson. hiram corson. charles d. cleveland. mr. still has asked me to record the part that my father bore in the anti-slavery enterprise, as it began and grew in this city. i comply, because the history of that struggle would be very incomplete, if from it were omitted the peculiar work which my father's position here shaped for him. yet i can only indicate his work, not portray it; tell some of its elements, and then leave them to the moral sympathies of the reader to upbuild. for, first, his labor for the love of man was evenly distributed through the mould and movements of his entire life; and from a perpetual current of nourishing blood, one cannot name those particular atoms that are busiest or richest to sustain vitality. and, further, if i could hear his voice, it would forbid any detailed account of what he accomplished and endured. it was all done unobtrusively in his life; bravely, defiantly, in regard of the evil to be met and mastered, but as unconsciously in regard of himself as every conviction works, when it is as broad as the entire spiritual life of a man and has his entire spiritual force to give it expression. i know, therefore, that while i should be permitted to mention so much of his service as the history of the conflict might demand, i should be forbidden all tale of sacrifice and labor that mere personal narrative would include; and i ask now only this: what peculiar influence did he exert for the furtherance of the cause which so largely absorbed his labor and life? did he contribute anything to it stamped with the signature of so clear an individuality that no other man could have contributed quite the same? to this i maintain an affirmative answer; and in witness of its truth, i sketch the general course of his life, that through it we may find those elements of his character which intuitively ranged him on the side of the slave. when my father came to philadelphia in , his sentiments in regard to slavery were those held generally in the north--an easy-going wish to avoid direct issue with the south on a question supposed to be peculiarly theirs. but the winds of heaven owned to no decorous limit in mason and dixon's line; and there were larger winds blowing than these--winds rising in the vast laboratories of the general human heart, and destined to sweep into all the vast spaces of human want and woe. the south was finding, through her blacks' perpetual defiance of torture and death for freedom, that there was perhaps something, even in a negro, which most vexatiously refused to be counted in with the figures of the auctioneer's bill of sale; and now the north's lesson was coming to her--that the soul of a century's civilization was still less purchasable than the soul of a slave. a growing feeling of humanity was stirring through the northern states. it was not the work, i think, of any man or body of men; it was rather itself a creative force, and made men and bodies of men the results of its awakening influence. to such a power, my father's nature was quickly responsive. both his head and his heart recognized the terrible wrongs of the enslaved, and the urgency with which they pressed for remedy; but where was the means? from the first, he felt that the movement which brought freedom and slavery fairly into the field and squarely against each other, threw unnecessary obstacles in its own way by the violence with which it was begun and prosecuted. if he were to work at all in the cause, he determined to work within the limits of recognized law. the colonization society held out a good hope; at least, he could see no other as close to the true but closer to the feasible; and, after connecting himself with it, he seems to have been content for a while on the score of political matters, and to have devoted himself to what he had adopted as his chief purpose in life. this was, enlarging the sphere of female education, and giving it a more vigorous tone. to this he tasked all his abilities. his convictions on the subject were very earnest; his strength of character sufficient to bear them out; so that, in a short time, he was able to establish his school so firmly in the respect of this community, that, for twenty-five years, all the odium that his activity in the anti-slavery cause drew upon him did not for a moment abate the public confidence accorded to his professional power. it was in , in one of his vacations, that his mind was violently turned inwards to re-examine his status upon the anti-slavery question. he happened to be visiting his old college-friend, salmon p. chase, at cincinnati, and, fortunately for the spiritual life of both men, it was at the time of the terrible riots that broke up the press of john g. birney. both being known as already favoring the cause of the slave, they stood in much peril for several days; but when the dark time was passed, the clearness that defined their sentiments was seen to be worth all the personal danger that had bought it. self-delusion on the subject was no longer possible. the deductions from the facts were as plain as the facts themselves. the two friends took counsel together, and adopted the policy from which thenceforward neither ever swerved. a great cloud was rolled from their eyes. in all this turmoil of riot, they saw on the one side, indeed, a love of man great in its devotion; but on the other, a moral deadness in the north so profound and determined that it threatened thus brutally any voice that would disturb it. their duty, then, was evident: to fling all the forces of their lives, and by all social and political means, right against this inertness, and shatter it if they could. to mr. chase, the course of things gave the larger political work; to my father, the larger social. his diary records how amazed he was, when he returned to philadelphia, at his former blindness, and how thankful to the spirit of love that had touched and cleansed his eyes that he might see god's image erect. he knew now that his lot had been cast in the very stronghold of apathy, the home of a lukewarm spirit, which, not containing anything positive to keep it close to the right, let its sullen negativeness gravitate towards the wrong. it will be difficult to make coming generations understand, not the flaming antagonism to humanity, but the more brutal avoidance of it that ruled the political tone in this latitude, from to . i have thought of the word _bitterness_, as expressing it; but though that might convey somewhat of its recoil when disturbed, it pictures nothing of its inhuman solicitude against all disturbance. conservatism, it was called; and certainly it did conserve the devil admirably. at the south, one race of men were so basely wielding a greater physical power over another race of men, as to crush from them the attributes of self-responsible creatures; philadelphia, the city of the north nearest the wrong, made no plea for humanity's claims. it went on, this monstrous abrogation of everything that lends sanctity to man's relations on earth, till slaves were beasts, with instincts annihilated, and masters demons, with instincts reversed; philadelphia made no plea for the violated rhythm of life on either side. even the church betrayed its mission, and practically aided in stamping out from millions the spirit that related them to the divine; still philadelphia made no plea for god's love in his humanity. utterly insensible to the most piercing appeals that man can make to man, she loved her hardness, clung to it; and if, now and then, a voice from the north blew down, warningly as a trumpet, the great city turned sluggishly in her bed of spiritual and political torpor, and cried: let be, let be! a little more slumber! a little more folding of the hands to my moral death-sleep! this souring of faith, this half-paralysis of the heart's beating, this blurring of the intuitions that make manhood possible, were what my father found here in that year of our lord's grace, . it will be worth while to watch him move into the fight and bear his part in its thickest, just to learn how largely history lays her humanitarian advances on a few willing souls. the means which lay readiest to his use for rousing the dormant spirit of the city was his social position. and yet how hard, one would think, it must have been to make this sacrifice. he came accredited by all the claims of finished culture, a man consecrated to the scholar's life.[a] then, with the sensitiveness that springs from intellectual breeding, one will look to see him shrink from conflict with the callous condition of feeling around him. the glamour of book-lore will spread over it, and hide it from his sight. he has a noble enough mission, at all events: to raise the standard of educational culture in a city that hardly knows the meaning of the term; and if any glimpse should come to him of the lethargic inhumanity around him, he can afford to let it pass as a glimpse--his look being fixed on the sacred heights which the scholar's feet must tread. [footnote a: all that i here write of my father, i write equally of his co-laborer in the same sphere of work--rev. w.h. furness; and if it is true of others whom i did not know, then to their memory also i bear this record of the two whose labors and characters it has been the deepest privilege of my life to know so well.] ah, how his course, so different, proves to us that the true scholar is always a scholar of truth. no matter what element of the public sentiment he met--the listlessness of pampered wealth; the brutal prejudice of some voting savage; the refined sneer of lettered dilettanteism; the purposed aversion of trade or pulpit fearing disturbed markets or pews;--he beat lustily and incessantly at all the parts of the iron image of wrong sitting stolidly here with close-shut eyes. no matter when it was, on holiday or working-day or sabbath; at home and abroad; in the parlor, the street, the counting-room; in his school and in the church;--he bore down on this apathy and its brood of scorns like a west wind that sweeps through a city dying under weight of miasma. and the wind might as well cease blowing yet not cease to be wind, as my father's influence stop and himself live. it scattered the good seed everywhere. how often have i heard him say, "i know nothing of what the harvest will be; i am responsible only for the sowing." and bravely went the sowing on, with the broadcast largesse of love. there was no breeze of talk that did not carry the seeds;--to the wayside, for from those that even chance upon the truth the fowls of the air cannot take it all; to thin soil and among thorns, for no heart so feeble or choked that will not find in a single day's growth of truth germination for eternity; to stony places, for no cranny in the rocks that can hold a seed but can be a home for riving roots;--"and other fell on good ground and did bring forth fruit." thus it was primarily to rouse those of his own class that he labored, to gall them into seeing (though they should turn again and rend him) that moral supineness is moral decay, that the soul shrivels into nothingness when wrong is acquiesced in, as surely as it is torn and scattered by the furies let loose within it, when wrong is done. but just there lay the difficulty and pain of his mission: that, from his acknowledged standing in the literary world, and as a leader in the interests of higher education, his path brought him into contact mainly with the cultured, and it was among these that the pro-slavery spirit ruled with its bitterest stringency. not cultured: let us unsay the word; rather, with the gloss and hard polish which reading and wealth and the finer appointments of living can throw over spiritual arrest or decay. culture is a holy word, and dare be used of intellectual advance only when the moral sympathies have kept equal step. it includes something beyond an amateur sentiment; in favor of what we favor. if it does not open the ear to every cry of humanity, struggling up or slipping back, it is no culture properly so called, but a sham, a mask of wax, a varnish with cruel glitter; and what a double wrath will be poured on him who cracks the wax and the varnish, not only because of the rude awakening, but because the crack shows the sham. it is impossible for us now to realize what revenge this class dealt to my father for twenty-five years. consider their power of revenge. they could not force a loss of property or of life, it is true; they made no open assault in the street; their 'delicacy' held itself above common vituperation. but they wielded a greater power than all these over a man whose every accomplishment made him their equal, and they used it without stint. they doomed him to the slow martyrdom of social scorn. they shut their doors against him. they elbowed him from every position to which he had a wish or a right, except public respect, and they could not elbow him from that unless they pushed his character from its poise. they cut him off from every friendly regard which would else have been devotedly his, on that level of educated life, and limited him to 'solitary confinement' within himself. they compelled him to walk as if under a ban or an anathema. had he been a leper in syrian deserts, or a disciple of jesus among pharisees, he could not have been more utterly banished from the region of homes and self-constituted piety. they showered ineffable contempt upon him in every way consistent with their littleness and--refinement. slight, sneer, insult, all the myriad indignities that only 'good society' can devise, these were what my father received in return for his love and his work in love. how little personal relation all this obloquy bore to him, let this stand as evidence: that he not only continued his work, but daily gave it more caustic energy and wider scope. as i have hinted, he did not, in political matters, give in his adherence to that class of abolitionists who, as he thought, threw away their best chances of success in refusing to work within constitutional provisions. he was prouder that this single community should call him "abolitionist," though it spat the word at him, than if the whole earth should hail him with the kingliest title; but he loved the name too well not to make it stand for some practical fact, some feasible and organized effort. he believed that our national constitution did, indeed, hold many compromises with slavery, but was framed, in the majority of its provisions and certainly in the totality of its spirit, in the interests of freedom; and that it only needed enforcement by the choice of the ballot-box to bring the south either to an amicable or a hostile settlement of the question. which, he did not ask or care. the duty of the present could not be mis-read; it was written in _the vote_. with these views, he gave much time and work to organizing in this state, "the national liberty party," in , and to securing from pennsylvania some of the seven thousand votes that were cast for john g. birney in that year throughout the union. by the time another election came, the party had swelled its numbers to seventy thousand. to contribute his share towards this success, tract after tract, address after address, were written and sent broadcast; meetings were convened, committees formed, resolutions framed, speeches made, petitions and remonstrances sent, public action fearlessly sifted and criticised; in short, because he held a steady faith in men's humane promptings when ultimately reached, he 'cried aloud' to them by every access, and 'spared not' to call them from their timidity and time-serving to manly utterance through the ballot-box. of such appeals, his address of the "liberty party of pennsylvania, to the people of the state," issued in , may stand as a sample. it is a vivid portrayal of the slave power's insidious encroachments, and of its monopolized guidance of the government. it gathers up the national statistics into groups, shows how new meaning is reflected from them thus related, that all unite to illustrate the single fact of the south's steady increase of power, her tightening grasp about the throat of government, and her buffets of threat to the north when a weedling palm failed to palsy fast enough. it warns northern voters of the undertow that is drawing them, and adjures them, by every consideration of political common sense, not to cast their ballots for either of the pro-slavery candidates presented. the conclusion of this address is as follows: our object. "and now, fellow-citizens, you may ask, what is our object in thus exhibiting to you the alarming influence of the slave power? do we wish to excite in your bosoms feelings of hatred against citizens of a common country? do we wish to array the free states against the slave states in hostile strife? no, fellow-citizens. but we wish to show you that, while the slave states are inferior to us in free population, having not even one half of ours; inferior in morals, being the region of bowie knives and duels, of assassinations and lynch law; inferior in mental attainments, having not one-fourth of the number that can read and write; inferior in intelligence, having not one-fifth of the number of literary and scientific periodicals; inferior in the products of agriculture and manufactures, of mines, of fisheries, and of the forest; inferior, in short, in everything that constitutes the wealth, the honor, the dignity, the stability, the happiness, the true greatness of a nation,--it is wrong, it is unjust, it is absurd, that they should have an influence in all the departments of government so entirely disproportionate to our own. we would arouse you to your own true interests. we would have you, like men, firmly resolved to maintain your own rights. we would have you say to the south,--if you choose to hug to your bosom that system which is continually injuring and impoverishing you; that system which reduces two millions and a half of native americans in your midst to the most abject condition of ignorance and vice, withholding from them the very key of knowledge; that system which is at war with every principle of justice, every feeling of humanity; that system which makes man the property of man, and perpetuates that relation from one generation to another; that system which tramples, continually, upon a majority of the commandments of the decalogue; that system which could not live a day if it did not give one party supreme control over the persons, the health, the liberty, the happiness, the marriage relations, the parental authority and filial obligations of the other;--if you choose to cling to such a system, cling to it; but you shall not cross our line; you shall not bring that foul thing here. we know, and we here repeat it for the thousandth time to meet, for the thousandth time, the calumnies of our enemies, that while we may present to you every consideration of duty, we have no right, as well as no power, to alter your state laws. but remember, that slavery is the mere creature of local or statute law, and cannot exist out of the region where such law has force. 'it is so odious,' says lord mansfield, 'that nothing can be suffered to support it but _positive_ law.' "we would, therefore, say to you again, in the strength of that constitution under which we live, and which no where countenances slavery, you shall not bring that foul thing here. you shall not force the corrupted and corrupting blood of that system into every vein and artery of our body politic. you shall not have the controlling power in all the departments of our government at home and abroad. you shall not so negotiate with foreign powers, as to open markets for the products of slave labor alone. you shall not so manage things at home, as every few years to bring bankruptcy upon our country. you shall not, in the apportionment of public moneys, have what you call your 'property' represented, and thus get that which, by no right, belongs to you. you shall not have the power to bring your slaves upon our free soil, and take them away at pleasure; nor to reclaim them, when they, panting for liberty, have been able to escape your grasp; for we would have it said of us, as the eloquent curran said of britain, the moment the slave touches our soil, 'the ground on which he stands is holy, and consecrated to the genius of universal emancipation.' "thus, fellow-citizens, we come to _the great object of the liberty party_: absolute and unqualified divorce of the general government from all connection with slavery. we would employ every _constitutional_ means to eradicate it from our entire country, because it would be for the highest welfare of our entire country. we would have liberty established in the district, and in all the territories. * * we would have liberty of speech and of the press, which the constitution guarantees to us. we would have the right of petition most sacredly regarded. we would secure to every man what the constitution secures, 'the right of trial by jury.' we would do what we can for the encouragement and improvement of the colored race, and restore to them that inestimable right of which they have been so meanly, as well as unjustly, deprived, the right of suffrage. we would look to the best interests of the country, and the _whole_ country, and not legislate for the good of an oligarchy, the most arrogant that ever lorded it over an insulted people. we would have our commercial treaties with foreign nations regard the interests of the free states. we would provide safe, adequate, and permanent markets for the produce of free labor. and, when reproached with slavery, we would be able to say to the world, with an open front and a clear conscience, our general government has nothing to do with it, either to promote, to sustain, to defend, to sanction, or to approve. "thus, fellow-citizens, you see our objects. you may now ask, by what means we hope to attain them. we answer, by political action. what is political action? it is _acting in a manner appropriate to those objects which we wish to secure through the agency of the different departments of government_. * * the only way in which we can act _constitutionally_, is to go to the ballot-box, and there, silently and unostentatiously, deposit a vote for such men as will do what they can to carry out those principles which we have so much at heart. * * * * * "come, then, men of pennsylvania, come and join us in this good work. join us, to use such moral means as to correct public sentiment throughout the region where slavery exists, and to impress upon the people of the free states a manly sense of their own rights. join us, to place "just men" in all our public offices; men whose example a whole people may safely imitate. join us to free our general government from the ignominious reproach of slavery; to restore to our country those principles which our fathers so labored to establish; and to hand these principles down afresh to successive generations. it is the cause of truth, of humanity, and of god, to which we invite your aid. it is a cause of which you never need be ashamed. living, you may be thankful, and dying, you may be thankful, for having labored in it. we have, as co-laborers with us, the noblest allies that man can wish. within, we have the deepest convictions of conscience, the clearest deductions of reason; and, all over the world, wherever man is found, the first, the most ardent longings of the human soul. without, we have the happiness of nearly three millions of the human race; the honor, as well as the best interests of our whole country; and the universal consent of all good men whose moral vision is not obscured by the mist of a low, misguided selfishness: while we seem to hear, as it were, the voices of the great and the good, the patriot and the philanthropist, of a past generation, calling to us and cheering us on. but, above all these, and beyond all these, we have with us the highest attributes of god, justice and mercy. with such allies, and in such a cause, who can doubt on which side the victory will ultimately rest. "may he who guides the destinies of nations, and without whose aid 'they labor in vain that build,' so incline your hearts to exert your whole influence to place in all our public offices just and good men, that our country may be preserved, her best interests advanced, and her institutions, free in reality as in name, handed down to the latest posterity." is not the love of god and man ingrained in every line of this writing? yet let us see how it was received by the most christian (?) body in this city. i need hardly say that my father's mind had been largely impressed, from earliest manhood, with the highest subject human thought can touch. his library records his wide religious reading; but he could not see an honest path towards the profession of any definite views till . the change wrought in him then, can best be gathered from his own simple words (under date, ) written in a fly-leaf of "the unitarian miscellany:" "though i humbly trust that god made my trials in the means of bringing me to true repentance, yet i have kept these books as monuments of what i once was, and to remind me how grateful i should be to him for having snatched me as a 'brand from the burning,'" such a faith as this, born of the spiritual travail of years, what a life it always has for the heart that forms it! it tells not of a persuasion, but of a conviction; a disproof of skepticism through the gathered forces of the soul; a struggle, through epochs of doubt and dismay, into an attitude of positive vital faith. its process is the only one that gives real right to ultimate peace. in comparison with the method and measure of such a conviction, what matters its specific form? self-truth is the point,--the fact for starting, the line for guiding; and as for result, this lonely and solemn rally on the deepest within us, as it is continuously unfolded, must lead to a glad and solemn union with the highest without us. who can know unfailing inward energy except through this new birth? it proved an ever-fresh spring of vigor to my father, and because of it he was chosen, in , president of "the philadelphia bible society." what changes were wrought in the policy of the society, what numerous plans were devised and executed for multiplying its operations, how it was made a cordial alliance of all denominations, will presently appear. this is now to be said: that, after filling his office for five years, he found that his anti-slavery testimony had engendered in the managers a bitterness that would seize the address of for pretext, and make retaliation in his sacrifice. thankful, for the thousandth time, to be a sacrifice for the cause he loved, he sent in his resignation in a letter full of christian kindness and sorrow. a short extract will show its tone: "one whose great heart wishes the best for humanity calls to us from the west: 'when your society propose to put a bible into every family, and yet omit all reference to the slaves; and when, giving an account of the destitution of the land, they make no mention of two and a half millions of people perishing in our midst without the scriptures, can we help feeling that something is dreadfully wrong?' this, brethren, is a most solemn question. it is a question which i verily believe the american bible society, so far as they may have yielded, directly or indirectly, openly or silently, to a corrupt public sentiment on this subject, will have to answer at the bar of him who has declared, that, 'if ye have respect to persons, ye commit sin,' and that 'inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.' the spirit of christianity is a spirit of universal love and philanthropy. she looks down with pity, and, if she could, she would look with scorn upon all the petty distinctions that exist among men. she casts her benignant eye abroad over the earth, and, wherever she sees man, she sees him _as man,_ as a being made in the image of god, whether an indian, an african, or a caucasian sun may shine upon him. she stoops from heaven to raise the fallen, to bind up the broken-hearted, to release the oppressed, to give liberty to the captive, and to break the fetters of those that are bound. she is marching onward with accelerated step, and, wherever she leaves the true impress of her heavenly influence, the moral wilderness is changed into the garden of the lord. may it never be ours to do what may seem to be even the slightest obstacle to her universal sway. "but i have already written more than i intended. in bringing this communication to a close, allow me to express to you individually, and as a board, my most sincere christian attachment. whatever course any members may have taken in relation to this matter, i must believe that they have acted from what has seemed to them a sense of duty. far be it from me to impeach their motives. time, the great test of truth, may show them their course in a very different light from that in which they now view it. i may, as a christian, lament that their views of duty are not more in unison with my own. i may, as a man, feel heart-sickened at the diseased, the deplorably diseased state of the public mind, in relation to two and a half millions of my fellow-men in bondage. i may, as a citizen of a free state, blush at the humiliating fact, that not only the tyranny, but the ubiquity of the slave power is everywhere so manifest; that it has insinuated itself into our free domain to such a degree that there seems to be as much mental slavery in the free states, as there is personal in the slave states. i may feel all this, but i must not impeach the motives by which others have been governed." there were twenty-one managers present at the reading of this letter, and, at its conclusion, a noble friend of the slave moved that the resignation be not accepted; the motion was lost by a vote of fourteen against seven. it was then moved that it be accepted 'with regret:' this was carried by the same vote! but 'with regret' was not an empty form for easing this action to its recipient; how much it meant is seen in the resolution that was added by unanimous acceptance: "_resolved_,--that this board are mainly indebted to professor c.d. cleveland for the prominent and influential position it has attained in the regards of this christian community, and that they bear an earnest testimony to the sound judgment and unwearied zeal which have ever characterized the discharge of his duties in his responsible office." let this tribute, coming from the bitterest personal opposition that ever man encountered, measure the work that extorted it. looking at it, it will be difficult for the reader to believe that a sacrifice was made of the man to whom it refers by a representative christian body, and merely to sate for a time the inhuman slave-greed; yet it is only one fact out of many that might be adduced, and i have brought it forward because it is, in my father's words, "a fair exponent of the position of the christian church at that time upon the subject of slavery." henceforward, he ceased not to rain blows, not only at his own (the presbyterian) denomination, but at all the organized expressions of christian purpose,--the sunday-school union, the tract society, etc. while working thus by voice and pen, he was incessantly busy in personal rescue of the slave. especially was this the case when it became the duty of every lover of his kind to defy the fugitive slave law. how eagerly he then sprang to aid the escape of those against whom a law of the land impotently tried to bar the law of our common humanity! during the years that followed the passage of this infamous bill, the position he had attained here was of particular service. recognized as one, who, being a sort of standing sacrifice, might as well continue to battle in the front; trusted implicitly even by his bitterest foes; with such a broad philanthropy to back his appeals; pushing straight into every breach where work was needed; blind to everything but his one light of moral instinct;--he became an organ for the charities of those whose softer natures longingly whispered the cry, but could not do the cut and thrust work, of deliverance. dr. furness held the same position, and others who, like him, refused to be enrolled in the 'underground committee,' or in any definite anti-slavery organization. these men knew that they were of greater service to the cause by being its body-guard, by standing between it and the public, by making the appeals and taking the blows, and by affording access, pecuniary and other, of each to each. thus the times moved on--growing hotter, more difficult and dangerous, but always working these two results: redoubling the labors of this noble band, and shaking the city from lethargy into ferment. men were compelled to take sides, and but one result could follow, (the result which always follows when human nature is stung and quickened to find its highest instincts,) the party of right steadily moved to triumph. * * * * * for a lesson to us in courage, it is worth while to ask, how these apostles of freedom stood the terrible strain put upon them for so many years. i can answer for the two of whom i write, and do not doubt that the answer is true of the rest: this self-forgetfulness was made easy by a love that filled and overfilled all their moral energies--the simple love of man, as god's highest creation, and of his natural rights, as god's best gift. their work was not a mere result of will, not an outcome of faculty, not an unsupported impulse of heart. it was character living itself out, an utterance of its entire unity, something drawn from the solemn depths of those life-convictions which all the personal and impersonal powers of a man, aglow and welded, unite in producing. hence, their work was not apart from them, even so far as to be called ahead of them; nor parallel with them; it was _one_ with them by a necessary spiritual inclusion. will and duty ceased to be separate powers; they were transfused through the whole breadth of their human sympathies, adding to their warmth a fixity of purpose that bore them without a falter, through thirty years of such bitter obloquy, as, in these latter days, only the early anti-slavery disciples have had to endure. these men never said, in reference to the anti-slavery cause, _i ought_ or _i will_, because they never needed to say them. the sun shines without them, and life expands without them; and here were souls as unconsciously beneficent as the one, as spontaneous in growth and shaping as the other. theirs was not a force that moved mechanically in right lines, with limited objects before it. it did, indeed, sweep with arrowy swiftness of assail on every point that offered; but when i remember that it more often pleaded than stormed, that it penetrated into every secret recess that mercy casually opened, and gently stirred into fuller life those roots of human feeling that can be numbed by apathy but not killed even by hate, i know that it was persuasive, diffusive, inbreathing force, an influence vital in others because an effluence vitalized from themselves. so they stood, self-consecrated, enveloped by the love of god, permeated by the love of man,--twin perfect loves that cast out all dream of fear. and so they walked, calm as if a thousand stabs of personal insult never brought them one of personal pain, passing through all as if nothing but the serenest skies were above them. and, as i have said, right there is one explanation of the anomaly; there _were_ the serenest skies above them--heaven's love perpetually shining. why should it not shine? all the powers of the men were dedicated to rescuing the image of god on this earth,--not man as he suffered physically, but the moral instinct threatened with annihilation. it was sacred to them, this soul so sacred to redeeming love, but too brutalized to find its way to it. nor merely the slave. their love embraced, with yet more pitying fervor, the master compelling his spiritual nature into death, and the northern apologist letting his die; and this overmastering love of saving spiritual integrity, was one power that made them and heart-ease hold unfailing friends through the obloquy of those days; the other must be found in the fact mentioned,--that neither resolve nor impulse was their spur, but personal character moving from its depths. from such a motive-power as this can come no parade of results. the nature that works, proceeds from the necessary laws and forces of its being, and is as simple and unconscious as any other natural law or force. hence there are no startling epochs to record in my father's history, no supreme efforts; in filling the measure of daily opportunity lay his chief work. i cannot measure it by our ten fingers' counting. i can only show a life unfolding, and, by the essential laws of its growth, embracing the noblest cause of its time. but if action means vivifying public sentiment decaying under insidious poison; if it includes the doing of this amid a storm of odium that would quickly have shattered any soul irresolute for an instant; if it means incessant toil quietly performed, vast sums collected and disbursed, time sacrificed, strength spent; if it means holding up a great iniquity to loathing by a powerful pen, and nailing moral cowardice where-ever it showed; if it be risking livelihood by introducing the cause of the slave into every literary work, and by mingling the school-culture of fifty future mothers, year by year, with hatred of the sin; if it means one's life in one's hand, friendships yielded, society defied, and position in it cheerfully renounced; above all, if action means a wealth of goodness overliving all scorns, compelling respect from a community rebuked, fellowship from a church charged with ungodliness, and acknowledgment of unstained repute from a public eager to blacken with scandal; if to do thus, and bear thus, and live thus, is action, then my father did act to the full purpose of life in the struggle that freed the slave. s.m.c. william whipper. the locality of columbia, where mr. whipper resided for many years, was, as is well-known, a place of much note as a station on the underground rail road. the firm of smith and whipper (lumber merchants), was likewise well-known throughout a wide range of country. who, indeed, amongst those familiar with the history of public matters connected with the colored people of this country, has not heard of william whipper? for the last thirty years, as an able business man, it has been very generally admitted, that he hardly had a superior. although an unassuming man, deeply engrossed with business--anti-slavery papers, conventions, and public movements having for their aim the elevation of the colored man, have always commanded mr. whipper's interest and patronage. in the more important conventions which have been held amongst the colored people for the last thirty years, perhaps no other colored man has been so often called on to draft resolutions and prepare addresses, as the modest and earnest william whipper. he has worked effectively in a quiet way, although not as a public speaker. he is self-made, and well read on the subject of the reforms of the day. having been highly successful in his business, he is now at the age of seventy, in possession of a handsome fortune; the reward of long years of assiduous labor. he is also cashier of the freedman's bank, in philadelphia. for the last few years he has resided at new brunswick, new jersey, although his property and business confine him mainly to his native state, pennsylvania. owing to a late affliction in his family, compelling him to devote the most of his time thereto, it has been impossible to obtain from him the material for completing such a sketch as was desired. prior to this affliction, in answer to our request, he furnished some reminiscences of his labors as conductor of the underground rail road, and at the same time, promised other facts relative to his life, but for the reason assigned, they were not worked up, which is to be regretted. new brunswick, n.j., december , . mr. william still, dear sir:--i sincerely regret the absence of statistics that would enable me to furnish you with many events, that would assist you in describing the operations of the underground rail road. i never kept any record of those persons passing through my hands, nor did i ever anticipate that the history of that perilous period would ever be written. i can only refer to the part i took in it from memory, and if i could delineate the actual facts as they occurred they would savor so much of egotism that i should feel ashamed to make them public. i willingly refer to a few incidents which you may select and use as you may think proper. you are perfectly cognizant of the fact, that after the decision in york, pa., of the celebrated prigg case, pennsylvania was regarded as free territory, which canada afterwards proved to be, and that the susquehanna river was the recognized northern boundary of the slave-holding empire. the borough of columbia, situated on its eastern bank, in the county of lancaster, was the great depot where the fugitives from virginia and maryland first landed. the long bridge connecting wrightsville with columbia, was the only safe outlet by which they could successfully escape their pursuers. when they had crossed this bridge they could look back over its broad silvery stream on its western shore, and say to the slave power: "thus far shalt thou come, and no farther." previous to that period, the line of fugitive travel was from baltimore, by the way of havre de grace to philadelphia; but the difficulty of a safe passage across the river, at that place caused the route to be changed to york, pa., a distance of fifty-eight miles, the fare being forty dollars, and thence to columbia, in the dead hour of the night. my house was at the end of the bridge, and as i kept the station, i was frequently called up in the night to take charge of the passengers. on their arrival they were generally hungry and penniless. i have received hundreds in this condition; fed and sheltered from one to seventeen at a time in a single night. at this point the road forked; some i sent west by boats, to pittsburgh, and others to you in our cars to philadelphia, and the incidents of their trials form a portion of the history you have compiled. in a period of three years from to , i passed hundreds to the land of freedom, while others, induced by high wages, and the feeling that they were safe in columbia, worked in the lumber and coal yards of that place. i always persuaded them to go to canada, as i had no faith in their being able to elude the grasp of the slave-hunters. indeed, the merchants had the confidence of their security and desired them to remain; several of my friends told me that i was injuring the trade of the place by persuading the laborers to leave. indeed, many of the fugitives themselves looked upon me with jealousy, and expressed their indignation at my efforts to have them removed from peace and plenty to a land that was cold and barren, to starve to death. it was a period of great prosperity in our borough, and everything passed on favorably and successfully until the passage of the fugitive slave bill in . at first the law was derided and condemned by our liberty-loving citizens, and the fugitives did not fear its operations because they asserted that they could protect themselves. this fatal dream was of short duration. a prominent man, by the name of baker, was arrested and taken to philadelphia, and given up by the commissioner, and afterwards purchased by our citizens; another, by the name of smith, was shot dead in one of our lumber yards, because he refused to surrender, and his pursuer permitted to escape without arrest or trial. this produced not only a shock, but a crisis in the affairs of our little borough. it made the stoutest hearts quail before the unjust sovereignty of the law. the white citizens fearing the danger of a successful resistance to the majesty of the law, began to talk of the insecurity of these exiles. the fugitives themselves, whose faith and hope had been buoyed up by the promises held up to them of protection, began to be apprehensive of danger, and talked of leaving, while others, more bold, were ready to set the dangers that surrounded them at defiance, and if necessary, die in the defence of their freedom and the homes they had acquired. at this juncture private meetings were held by the colored people, and the discussions and resolves bore a peculiar resemblance in sentiment and expression to the patriotic outbursts of the american revolution. some were in favor, if again attacked, of killing and slaying all within their reach; of setting their own houses on fire, and then going and burning the town. it was the old spirit which animated the russians at moscow, and the blacks of hayti. at this point my self-interest mingled with my sense of humanity, and i felt that i occupied a more responsible position than i shall ever attain to again. i, therefore, determined to make the most of it. i exhorted them to peace and patience under their present difficulties, and for their own sakes as well as the innocent sufferers, besought them to leave as early as they could. if i had advocated a different course i could have caused the burning of the town. the result of our meeting produced a calm, that lasted only for a few days, when it was announced, one evening, that the claimants of a methodist preacher, by the name of dorsey, were in the borough, and that it was expected that they would attempt to take him that night. it was about nine o'clock in the evening when i went to his house, but was refused admittance, until those inside ascertained who i was. there were several men in the house all armed with deadly weapons, awaiting the approach of the intruders. had they come the whole party would have been massacred. i advised dorsey to leave, but he very pointedly refused, saying he had been taken up once before alive, but never would be again. the men told him to stand his ground, and they would stand by him and defend him, they had lived together, and would die together. i told them that they knew the strength of the pro-slavery feeling that surrounded them, and that they would be overpowered, and perhaps many lives lost, which might be saved by his changing his place of residence. he said, he had no money, and would rather die with his family, than be killed on the road. i said, how much money do you want to start with, and we will send you more if you need it. here is one hundred dollars in gold. "that is not enough." "will two hundred dollars do?" "yes." i shall bring it to you to-morrow. i got the money the next morning, and when i came with it, he said, he could not leave unless his family was taken care of. i told him i would furnish his family with provisions for the next six months. then he said he had two small houses, worth four hundred and seventy-five dollars. my reply was that i will sell them for you, and give the money to your family. he then gave me a power of attorney to do so, and attended to all his affairs. he left the next day, being the sabbath, and has never returned since, although he has lived in the city of boston ever since, except about six months in canada. i wish to notice this case a little further, as the only one out of many to which i will refer. about the year or , mr. joseph purvis, a younger brother of robert purvis, about nineteen or twenty years of age, was visiting mr. stephen smith, of columbia, and while there the claimants of dorsey came and secured him, and had proceeded about two miles with him on the way to lancaster. young purvis heard of it, and his natural and instinctive love of freedom fired up his warm southern blood at the very recital. he was one of nature's noblemen. fierce, fiery, and impulsive, he was as quick to decide as to perform. he demanded an immediate rescue. though he was advised of the danger of such an attempt, his spirit and determination made him invincible. he proceeded to a place where some colored men were working. with a firm and determined look, and a herculean shout, he called out to them, "to arms, to arms! boys, we must rescue this man; i shall lead if you will follow." "we will," was the immediate response. and they went and overtook them, and dispersed his claimants. they brought dorsey back in triumph to columbia. he then gave dorsey his pistol, with the injunction that he should use it and die in defence of his liberty rather than again be taken into bondage. he promised he would. i found him with this pistol on his table, the night i called on him, and i have every reason to believe that the promise gave to mr. purvis was one of the chief causes of his obstinacy. the lesson he had taught him had not only become incorporated in his nature, but had become a part of his religion. the history of this brave and noble effort of young purvis, in rescuing a fellow-being from the jaws of slavery has been handed down, in columbia, to a generation that was born since that event has transpired. he always exhibited the same devotion and manly daring in the cause of the flying bondman that inspired his youthful ardor in behalf of freedom. the youngest of a family distinguished for their devotion to freedom, he was without superiors in the trying hour of battle. like john brown, he often discarded theories, but was eminently practical. he has passed to another sphere. peace to his ashes! i honor his name as a hero, and friend of man. i loved him for the noble characteristics of his nature, and above all for his noble daring in defense of the right. as a friend i admired him, and owe his memory this tribute to departed worth. at this point a conscientious regard for truth dictates that i should state that my disposition to make a sacrifice for the removal of dorsey and some other leading spirits was aided by my own desire for _self-preservation._ i knew that it had been asserted, far down in the slave region, that smith & whipper, the negro lumber merchants, were engaged in secreting fugitive slaves. and on two occasions attempts had been made to set fire to their yard for the purpose of punishing them for such illegal acts. and i felt that if a collision took place, we should not only be made to suffer the penalty, but the most valuable property in the village be destroyed, besides a prodigal waste of human life be the consequence. in such an event i felt that i should not only lose all i had ever earned, but peril the hopes and property of others, so that i would have freely given one thousand dollars to have been insured against the consequences of such a riot. i then borrowed fourteen hundred dollars on my own individual account, and assisted many others to go to a land where the virgin soil was not polluted by the foot-prints of a slave. the colored population of the borough of columbia, in , was nine hundred and forty-three, about one-fifth the whole population, and in five years they were reduced to four hundred and eighty-seven by emigration to canada. in the summer of , i visited canada for the purpose of ascertaining the actual condition of many of those i had assisted in reaching a land of freedom; and i was much gratified to find them contented, prosperous, and happy. i was induced by the prospects of the new emigrants to purchase lands on the sydenham river, with the intention of making it my future home. in the spring of , when i was preparing to leave, the war broke out, and with its progress i began to realize the prospect of a new civilization, and, therefore, concluded to remain and share the fortunes of my hitherto ill-fated country. i will say in conclusion that it would have been fortunate for us if columbia, being a port of entry for flying fugitives, had been also the seat of great capitalists and freedom-loving inhabitants; but such was not the case. there was but little anti-slavery sentiment among the whites, yet there were many strong and valiant friends among them who contributed freely; the colored population were too poor to render much aid, except in feeding and secreting strangers. i was doing a prosperous business at that time and felt it my duty to contribute liberally out of my earnings. much as i loved anti-slavery meetings i did not feel that i could afford to attend them, as my immediate duty was to the flying fugitive. now, my friend, i have extended this letter far beyond the limits intended, not with the expectation that it will be published, but for your own private use to select any matter that you might desire to use in your history. i have to regret that i am compelled to refer so often to my own exertions. i know that i speak within bounds when i say that directly and indirectly from to , i have contributed from my earnings one thousand dollars annually, and for the five years during the war a like amount to put down the rebellion. now the slaves are emancipated, and we are all enfranchised, after struggling for existence, freedom and manhood--i feel thankful for having had the glorious privilege of laboring with others for the redemption of my race from oppression and thraldom; and i would prefer to-day to be penniless in the streets, rather than to have withheld a single hour's labor or a dollar from the sacred cause of liberty, justice, and humanity. i remain yours in the sacred cause of liberty and equality, wm. whipper. isaac t. hopper. the distinctive characteristics of this individual were so admirably portrayed in the newspapers and other periodicals published at the time of his death, that we shall make free use of them without hesitation. he was distinguished from his early life by his devotion to the relief of the oppressed colored race. he was an active member of the old pennsylvania abolition society, and labored zealously with dr. benjamin rush, dr. rogers, dr. wistar, and other distinguished philanthropists of the time. no man at that day, not even eminent judges and advocates, was better acquainted with the intricacies of law questions connected with slavery. his accurate legal knowledge, his natural acuteness, his ready tact in avoiding dangerous corners and slipping through unseen loop-holes, often gave him the victory in cases that seemed hopeless to other minds. in many of these cases, physical courage was needed as much as moral firmness; and he possessed these qualities in a very unusual degree. being for many years an inspector of the public prisons, his practical sagacity and benevolence were used with marked results. his enlarged sympathies had always embraced the criminal and the imprisoned, as well as the oppressed; and the last years of his life were especially devoted to the improvement of prisons and prisoners. in this department of benevolence he manifested the same zealous kindness and untiring diligence that had so long been exerted for the colored people, for whose welfare he labored to the end of his days. he possessed a wonderful wisdom in furnishing relief to all who were in difficulty and embarrassment. this caused a very extensive demand upon his time and talents, which were rarely withheld when honestly sought, and seldom applied in vain. mrs. kirkland prepared, under the title of "the helping hand," a small volume, for the benefit of "the home" for discharged female convicts, containing a brief description of the institution, and a detail of facts illustrating the happy results of its operation. its closing chapter is appropriately devoted to the following well-deserved tribute to the veteran philanthropist, to whose zeal and discretion that and so many other similar institutions owe their existence, or to a large degree their prosperity. "not to inform the public what it knows very well already, nor to forestall the volume now preparing by mrs. child, a kindred spirit, but to gratify my own feelings, and to give grace and sanctity to this little book, i wish to say a few words of mr. hopper, the devoted friend of the prisoner as of the slave; one whose long life, and whose last thoughts, were given to the care and succor of human weakness, error, and suffering. to make even the most unpretending book for the benefit of 'the home,' without bringing forward the name of isaac t. hopper, and recognizing the part he took in its affairs, from the earliest moment of its existence until the close of his life, would be an unpardonable omission. a few words must be said where a volume would scarcely suffice. "'the rich and the poor meet together, and the lord is the father of them all,' might stand for the motto of mr. hopper's life. that the most remote of these two classes stood on the same level of benevolent interest in his mind, his whole career made obvious; he was the last man to represent as naturally opposite those whom god has always, even to the end of the world, made mutually dependent. he told the simple truth to each with equal frankness; helped both with equal readiness. the palace owed him no more than the hovel suggested thoughts of superiority. nothing human, however grand, or however degraded, was a stranger to him. in the light that came to him from heaven, all stood alike children of the great father; earthly distinction disappearing the moment the sinking soul or the suffering body was in question. no amount of depravity could extinguish his hope of reform; no recurrence of ingratitude could paralyze his efforts. early and late, supported or unsupported, praised or ridiculed, he went forward in the great work of relief, looking neither to the right hand, nor to the left; and when the object was accomplished, he shrank back into modest obscurity, only to wait till a new necessity called for his reappearance. who can number the poor, aching, conscious, despairing hearts that have felt new life come to them from his kind words, his benignant smile, his helping hand. if the record of his long life could be fully written, which it can never be, since every day and all day, in company, in the family circle, with children, with prisoners, with the insane, 'virtue went out of him' that no human observation could measure or describe, what touching interest would be added to the history of our poor and vicious population for more than half a century past; what new honor and blessing would surround the venerated name of our departed friend and leader! "but he desired nothing of this. without claiming for him a position above humanity, which alone would account for a willingness to be wholly unrecognized as a friend of the afflicted, it is not too much to say that no man was ever less desirous of public praise or outward honor. he was even unwilling that any care should be taken to preserve the remembrance of his features, sweet and beautiful as they were, though he was brought reluctantly to yield to the anxious wish of his children and friends that the countenance on which every eye loved to dwell, should not be wholly lost when the grave should close above it. he loved to talk of interesting cases of reform and recovery, both because those things occupied his mind, and because every one loved to hear him; but the hearer who made these disclosures the occasion for unmeaning compliment, as if he fancied a craving vanity to have prompted them, soon found himself rebuked by the straightforward and plain-spoken patriarch. precious indeed were those seasons of outpouring, when one interesting recital suggested another, till the listener seemed to see the whole mystery of prison-life and obscure wretchedness laid open before him with the distinctness of a picture. for, strange as it may seem, our friend had under his plain garb--unchanged in form since the days of franklin, to go no further back--a fine dramatic talent, and could not relate the humblest incident without giving it a picturesque or dramatic turn, speaking now for one character, now for another, with a variety and discrimination very remarkable. this made his company greatly sought, and as his strongly social nature readily responded, his acquaintance was very large. to every one that knew him personally, i can appeal for the truth and moderation of these views of his character and manners. "a few biographical items will close what i venture to offer here. "isaac t. hopper was born december , , in the township of deptford, gloucester county, new jersey, but spent a large portion of his life in philadelphia, where he served his apprenticeship to the humble calling of a tailor. but neither the necessity for constant occupation nor the temptations of youthful gaiety, prevented his commencing, even then, the devotion of a portion of his time, to the care of the poor and needy. he had scarcely reached man's estate when we find him an active member of a benevolent association, and his volume, of notes of cases, plans and efforts, date back to that early period. to that time also, we are to refer the beginning of his warm anti-slavery sentiment, a feeling so prominent and effective throughout his life, and the source of some of his noblest efforts and sacrifices. for many years he served as inspector of prisons in philadelphia, and thus, by long and constant practical observation, was accumulated that knowledge of the human heart in its darkest windings, that often astonished the objects of his care, when they thought they had been able cunningly to blind his eyes to their real character and intentions. after his removal to new york, and when the occasion for his personal labors in the cause of the slave had in some measure, ceased or slackened, he threw his whole heart into the prison association, whose aims and plans of action were entirely in accordance with his views, and indeed, in a great degree, based on his experience and advice. the intent of the prison association is threefold: first to protect and defend those who are arrested, and who, as is well known, often suffer greatly from want of honest and intelligent counsel; secondly, to attend to the treatment and instruction of convicts while in prison; and thirdly, on their discharge to render them such practical aid as shall enable the repentant to return to society by means of the pursuit of some honest calling. the latter branch occupied mr. hopper's time and attention, and he devoted himself to it with an affectionate and religious earnestness that ceased only with his life. no disposition was too perverse for his efforts at reform; no heart was so black that he did not at least try the balm of healing upon it; no relapses could tire out his patience, which, without weak waste of means still apostolically went on 'hoping all things,' while even a dying spark of good feeling remained. up to february last did this venerable saint continue his abundant labors; when a severe cold, co-operating with the decay of nature, brought him his sentence of dismissal. he felt that it was on the way, and with the serious grace that marked everything he did, he began at once to gather his earthly robes about him and prepare for the great change which no one could dread less. it was hard for those who saw his ruddy cheek and sparkling eye, his soft brown hair, and sprightly movements to feel that the time of his departure was drawing nigh: but he knew and felt it, with more composure than his friends could summon. it might well be said of this our beloved patriarch, that his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated. to the last of his daily journeyings through the city, for which he generally used the rail road, he would never allow the drivers to stop for him to get on or off the car, feeling, as he used smilingly to observe, 'very jealous on that point.' few ever passed him in the street without asking who he was; for not only did his primitive dress, his broad-brimmed hat, and his antique shoe buckles attract attention, but the beauty and benevolence of his face was sure to fix the eye of ordinary discernment. he was a living temperance lecture, and those who desire to preserve good looks could not ask a more infallible receipt, than that sweet temper and out-flowing benevolence which made his countenance please every eye. gay and cheerful as a boy, he had ever some pleasant anecdote or amusing turn to relate, and in all perhaps not one without a moral bearing, not thrust forward, but left to be picked out by the hearer at his leisure. he seemed born to show how great strictness in essentials could exist without the least asceticism in trifles. anything but a simeon stylites in his sainthood, he could go among 'publicans and sinners' without the least fear of being mistaken by them for one of themselves. an influence radiated from him that made itself felt in every company, though he would very likely be the most modest man present. more gentlemanly manners and address no court in christendom need require; his resolute simplicity and candor, always under the guidance of a delicate taste, never for a moment degenerated into coarseness or disregard even of the prejudices of others. his life, even in these minute particulars, showed how the whole man is harmonized by the sense of being 'ever in the great taskmaster's eye.' "he died on the th of may, , in his eighty-first year, and a public funeral in the tabernacle brought together thousands desirous of showing respect to his memory." mrs. child has written a full, and in many respects, an exceedingly interesting biography of the subject of this memoir, towards the close of which she says: "from the numerous notices in papers of all parties and sects, i will merely quote the following. 'the new york observer' thus announces his death: "'the venerable isaac t. hopper, whose placid, benevolent face has so long irradiated almost every public meeting for doing good, and whose name, influence, and labors, have been devoted with an apostolic simplicity and constancy to humanity, died on friday last, at an advanced age. he was a quaker of that early sort illustrated by such philanthropists as anthony benezet, thomas clarkson, mrs. fry, and the like. "'he was a most self-denying, patient, loving friend of the poor, and the suffering of every kind; and his life was an unbroken history of beneficence. thousands of hearts will feel a touch of grief at the news of his death; for few men have so large a wealth in the blessings of the poor, and the grateful remembrance of kindness and benevolence, as he.' "'the new york times' contained the following: "'most of our readers will call to mind, in connection with the name of isaac t. hopper, the compact, well-knit figure of a quaker gentleman, apparently about sixty years of age, dressed in drab or brown clothes of the plainest cut, and bearing on his handsome, manly face the impress of that benevolence with which his whole heart was filled. "'he was twenty years older than he seemed. the fountain of benevolence within freshened his old age with its continuous flow. the step of the octogenarian was elastic as that of a boy, his form erect as a mountain pine. "'his whole physique was a splendid sample of nature's handiwork. we see him now with our mind's eye, but with the eye of flesh we shall see him no more. void of intentional offence to god or man, his spirit has joined its happy kindred in a world where there is neither sorrow nor perplexity.' "i sent the following communication to 'the new york tribune': "in this world of shadows, few things strengthen the soul like seeing the calm and cheerful exit of a truly good man; and this has been my privilege by the bedside of isaac t. hopper. "he was a man of remarkable endowments, both of head and heart. his clear discrimination, his unconquerable will, his total unconsciousness of fear, his extraordinary tact in circumventing plans he wished to frustrate, would have made him illustrious as the general of an army; and these qualities might have become faults, if they had not been balanced by an unusual degree of conscientiousness and benevolence. he battled courageously, not from ambition, but from an inborn love of truth. he circumvented as adroitly as the most practiced politician; but it was always to defeat the plans of those who oppressed god's poor; never to advance his own self-interest. "'few men have been more strongly attached to any religious society than he was to the society of friends, which he joined in the days of its purity, impelled by his own religious convictions. but when the time came that he must either be faithless to duty in the cause of his enslaved brethren, or part company with the society to which he was bound by the strong and sacred ties of early religious feeling, this sacrifice he also calmly laid on the altar of humanity. "'during nine years that i lived in his household, my respect and affection for him continually increased. never have i seen a man who so completely fulfilled the scripture injunction, to forgive an erring brother, 'not only seven times, but seventy times seven.' i have witnessed relapse after relapse into vice, under circumstances which seemed like the most heartless ingratitude to him; but he joyfully hailed the first symptom of repentance, and was always ready to grant a new probation. "'farewell, thou brave and kind old friend! the prayers of ransomed ones ascended to heaven for thee, and a glorious company have welcomed thee to the eternal city.'" samuel d. burris, referred to by john hunn, was also a brave conductor on the underground rail road leading down into maryland (via hunn's place). mr. burris was a native of delaware, but being a free man and possessing more than usual intelligence, and withal an ardent love of liberty, he left "slave-dom" and moved with his family to philadelphia. here his abhorrence of slavery was greatly increased, especially after becoming acquainted with the anti-slavery office and the abolition doctrine. under whose auspices or by what influence he was first induced to visit the south with a view of aiding slaves to escape, the writer does not recollect; nevertheless, from personal knowledge, prior to , he well knew that burris was an accredited agent on the road above alluded to, and that he had been considered a safe, wise, and useful man in his day and calling. probably the simple conviction that he would not otherwise be doing as he would be done by actuated him in going down south occasionally to assist some of his suffering friends to get the yokes off their necks, and with him escape to freedom. a number were thus aided by burris. but finally he found himself within the fatal snare; the slave-holders caught him at last, and burris was made a prisoner in dover jail. his wife and children were thereby left without their protector and head. the friends of the slave in philadelphia and elsewhere deeply sympathized with him in this dreadful hour. being able to use the pen, although he could not write without having his letters inspected, he kept up a constant correspondence with his friends both in delaware and philadelphia. john hunn and thomas garrett were as faithful to him as brothers. after lying in prison for many months, his trial came on and slavery gained the victory. the court decided that he must be sold in or out of the state to serve for seven years. no change, pardon or relief, could be expected from the spirit and power that held sway over delaware at that time. the case was one of great interest to mr. mckim, as indeed to the entire executive committee of the pennsylvania anti-slavery society, who felt constrained to do all they could to save the poor man from his threatened fate, although they had not advised or encouraged him in the act for which he was condemned and about to suffer. in viewing his condition, but a faint ray of hope was entertained from one single direction. it was this: to raise money privately and have a man at the auction on the day of sale to purchase him. john hunn and thomas garrett were too well known as abolitionists to undertake this mission. a friend indeed, was desirable, but none other would do than such an one as would not be suspected. mr. mckim thought that a man who might be taken for a negro trader would be the right kind of a man to send on this errand. garrett and hunn being consulted heartily acquiesced in this plan, and after much reflection and inquiry, isaac s. flint, an uncompromising abolitionist, living in wilmington, delaware, was elected to buy burris at the sale, providing that he was not run up to a figure exceeding the amount in hand. flint's abhorrence of slavery combined with his fearlessness, cool bearing, and perfect knowledge from what he had read of the usages of traders at slave sales, without question admirably fitted him to play the part of a trader for the time being. when the hour arrived, the doomed man was placed on the auction-block. two traders from baltimore were known to be present; how many others the friends of burris knew not. the usual opportunity was given to traders and speculators to thoroughly examine the property on the block, and most skillfully was burris examined from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head; legs, arms and body, being handled as horse-jockies treat horses. flint watched the ways of the traders and followed for effect their example. the auctioneer began and soon had a bid of five hundred dollars. a baltimore trader was now in the lead, when flint, if we mistake not, bought off the trader for one hundred dollars. the bids were thus suddenly checked, and burris was knocked down to isaac s. flint (a strange trader). of course he had left his abolition name at home and had adopted one suited to the occasion. when the crier's hammer indicated the last bid, although burris had borne up heroically throughout the trying ordeal, he was not by any means aware of the fact that he had fallen into the hands of friends, but, on the contrary, evidently labored under the impression that his freedom was gone. but a few moments were allowed to pass ere flint had the bill of sale for his property, and the joyful news was whispered in the ear of burris that all was right; that he had been bought with abolition gold to save him from going south. once more burris found himself in philadelphia with his wife and children and friends, a stronger opponent than ever of slavery. having thus escaped by the skin of his teeth, he never again ventured south. after remaining a year or two in philadelphia, about the year he went to california to seek more lucrative employment than he had hitherto found. becoming somewhat satisfactorily situated he sent for his family, who joined him. in the meanwhile, his interest in the cause of freedom did not falter; he always kept posted on the subject of the underground rail road and anti-slavery questions; and after the war, when appeals were made on behalf of contrabands who flocked into washington daily in a state of utter destitution, burris was among the first to present the matter to the colored churches of san francisco, with a view of raising means to aid in this good work, and as the result, a handsome collection was taken up and forwarded to the proper committee in washington. about three years ago, samuel d. burris died, in the city of san francisco, at about the age of sixty years. to the slave he had been a true friend, and had labored faithfully for the improvement of his own mind as well as the general elevation of his race. mariann, grace anna, and elizabeth r. lewis. near kimberton, in chester county, pa., was the birth-place, and, till within a few years, the home of three sisters, mariann, grace anna and elizabeth r. lewis, who were among the most faithful, devoted, and quietly efficient workers in the anti-slavery cause, including that department of it which is the subject of this volume. birth-right members of the society of friends, they were born into more than the traditional anti-slavery faith and feeling of that society. a deep abhorrence of slavery, and an earnest will to put that feeling into act, as opportunity should serve, were in the very life-blood which they drew from father and mother both. left fatherless at an early age, they were taught by their mother to remember that their father, on his visits to their maternal grandfather, living then in maryland, was wont, as he expressed it, to feel the black shadow of slavery over his spirit, from the time he entered, till he left, the state; and that, on his death-bed, he had regretted having let ill-health prevent his meeting with, and joining one of the anti-slavery societies of that day. of the mother's share in the transmission of their hereditary feeling, it is enough, to all acquainted with the history of anti-slavery work in pennsylvania, to say that she was sister, not by blood alone, but in heart and soul, to that early, active, untiring abolitionist, dr. bartholomew fussell. it is easy to see that the children of such parents, growing up under the influence of such a mother, needed no conversion, no sacrifices of prejudice or hostile opinions, to make them anti-slavery; but were ready, simply as a matter of course, to work for the good cause whenever any way appeared in which their work could serve it. what was called "modern abolitionism," as distinguished from the less aggressive form of opposition to slavery, which preceded the movement pioneered by garrison, they at once accepted, as soon as it was set before them, through the agents of the american anti-slavery society, in the campaign in pennsylvania, begun in . regarding it but as the next step forward in the way they had already entered, they instinctively fell into line with the new movement, assisted in forming a society auxiliary to it, in their own neighborhood, and were constant to the end in working for its advancement. earnest in the cause. [illustration: grace anne lewis] [illustration: mrs. francis e. w. harper] [illustration: john needles.] auxiliary to the influences already mentioned, was a very early recollection of seeing a colored man, henry, bound with ropes and carried off to slavery. grace anna, not more than four or five years old at the time, declared that the man's face of agony is before her now; nor is it likely that her sisters were impressed less deeply. of natures keenly sensitive, they hated slavery, from that hour, as only children of such natures can; and--as yet too young and immature for that charity to have been developed in them, which can see a brother even in the evil-doer, and pity while condemning him,--they even more intensely hated, while they feared, the actors in the outrage, and despised the girl who had betrayed the victim. ever after, any one of them could be trusted to be faithful to the hunted fugitive, though an army of kidnappers might surround her. another of their early recollections was of a white handkerchief which was to be waved from a back window, as a signal of danger, to a colored man at work in a wood near by. and, all the while, the feelings aroused by such events were kept alive by little anti-slavery poems, which they were wont to learn by heart and recite in the evenings. grace anna, on her first visit to philadelphia, when nine years old, bought a copy of one of these, entitled "zambo's story," pleased to recognize in it a favorite of her still earlier childhood. by means like these they were unconsciously preparing themselves for the predestined tasks of their after-life; and if there were danger that such a strain upon their sympathies, as they often underwent, might prove unhealthful, it was fully counteracted by ball-playing, and all kinds of active out-door amusements of childhood, so that it was never known to result in harm. as time passed on, their home, always open to fugitives, became an important centre of underground rail road operations for the region extending from wilmington, del., into adams county, pa.; and they, grown to womanhood, had glided into the management of its very considerable business. they received passengers from thomas garrett, and sometimes others, perhaps, of wilmington, when it was thought unsafe to send them thence directly through philadelphia; from wm. and phebe wright, in adams county, and from friends, more than we have room to name, in york, columbia, and the southern parts of lancaster and chester counties; the several lines, from adams county to wilmington, converging upon the house of john vickers, of lionville, whose wagon, laden apparently with innocent-looking earthen ware from his pottery, sometimes conveyed, unseen beneath the visible load, a precious burden of southern chattels, on their way to manhood. [at a later period, the trains from adams county generally took another course, going to harrisburg, and on to canada, by way of the susquehanna valley; though still, when pursuit that way was apprehended, the former course was taken.] these passengers, the lewises forwarded in diverse ways; usually, in the earlier times, by wagon or carriage, to richard moore, of quakertown, in bucks county, about thirty miles distant; but later, when abolitionists were more numerous, and easier stages could be safely made, either directly to the writer, or to one or other of ten or twelve stations which had become established at places less remote, in the counties of chester and montgomery. during portions of the time, their married sister rebecca, and her husband, edwin fussell, and their uncle, dr. b. fussell, and, after him, his brother william, lived on farms adjoining theirs, and were their active helpers in this work. the receiving and passing on of fugitives, was not all they had to do. often it was necessary to fit out whole families with clothing suitable for the journey. in cases of emergency they would sometimes gather a sewing-circle from such neighboring families as could be trusted; and, with its help, accomplish rapidly the needed work. one instance is remembered, of a woman, with her little boy, whom they put into girls' attire; and, changing also the woman's dress, sent both, by cars, to canada, accompanied by a friend. in this kind of work, too, they had generous aid from friends at neighboring stations. from lawrenceville and limerick, and pottstown and pughtown, came contributions of clothing; at one time a supply which filled compactly three three-bushel bags, and of which a small remainder, still on hand when slavery was abolished, was sent south to the freedmen. the prudence, skill, and watchful care with which the business was conducted, are well attested by the fact that, so far as can be remembered, during all the many years of their connection with the underground rail road, not a plan miscarried, and not a slave that reached their station was retaken; although among their neighbors there were bitter adversaries of the anti-slavery cause, eager to find occasion for hostile acts against any abolitionist; and, at times, especially vindictive against the noble sisters, because of their effective co-operation with other friends of temperance, in preventing the licensing of a liquor-selling tavern in the neighborhood. on one occasion, when, within a week, they had passed on to freedom no less than forty fugitives, eleven of whom had been in the house at once, they were amused at hearing a remark by some of their pro-slavery neighbors, to the effect that "there used to be a pretty brisk trade of running off niggers, but there was not much of it done now." though parties of four, five or six sometimes arrived in open day, they seldom sent any away till about nightfall or later, and, whenever the danger was greater than usual, the coming was also at night. the fugitives, in attempting to capture whom, gorsuch was killed, near christiana, were brought to them at midnight, by dr. fussell; and in this case such caution was observed, that not even the hired girl knew of the presence of persons not of the family. for one reason or another,--perhaps to let a hot pursuit go by; perhaps to allow opportunity for recovering from fatigue and recruiting exhausted strength, or for earning means to pursue the journey by the common railroads,--it was often thought advisable that passengers should remain with them for a considerable period; and numbers of these were, at different times, employed as laborers in some capacity. grace anna testifies that some of the best assistants they ever had in the house or on the farm, were these escaped slaves; that in general they were thrifty and economical, one man, for instance, who spent several years with them, having accumulated five hundred dollars before he went on to canada; and another, enough to furnish an old coat with a full set of buttons, each of which was a golden half-eagle, covered with cloth, and firmly sewed on, besides an ample supply of good clothing for himself and his wife; and that, almost without exception, they were honest and loyal to their benefactors, and only too happy to find opportunities of showing their gratitude. one man sent back to the sisters a letter of thanks, through a gentleman in england, whither he had gone. and once, when grace anna was passing an elegant mansion in philadelphia, a colored woman rushed out upon her with such an impetuous demonstration of affection, joy, and thankfulness--all thought of fitness of time and place swept away by the swell of strong emotion--as might well have amused, or slightly astonished, the passers in the street, who knew not that in her arms the woman's child had died. but it is no marvel that to her the memory of that poor runaway slave-woman's true affection is more than could have been the warmest welcome from her educated and refined mistress. one case, of which the sisters for a time had charge, seems worthy of a somewhat more extended mention. in the fall of a slave named johnson, who, in fleeing from bondage, had come as far as wilmington, thinking he saw his master on the train by which he was journeying northward, sprang from the car and hurt his foot severely. the kennett abolitionists having taken him in hand, and fearing that suspicious eyes were on him in their region, felt it necessary to send him onward without waiting for his wound to heal. he was therefore taken to the lewises, suffering very much in his removal, and arriving in a condition which required the most assiduous care. for more than four months he remained with them, patient and gentle in his helplessness and suffering, and very thankful for the ministrations of kindness he received. he was nursed as tenderly as if his own sisters had attended him, instead of strangers, and was so carefully concealed that the nearest neighbors knew not of his being with them. their cousin, morris fussell, who lived near, being a physician, they had not to depend for even medical advice upon the outside world. as the sufferer's wound, in natural course, became offensive, the care of it could not but have been disagreeable as well as toilsome; and the feeble health of one of the sisters at that time must have made heavier the burden to be borne. but it was borne with a cheerful constancy. in a letter which grace anna wrote after she had attended for some time in person to the patient, with the care and sympathy which his condition demanded, and begun to feel her strength unequal to the task, in addition to her household duties, she asked a friend in philadelphia to procure for her a trusty colored woman fit to be a helper in the work, offering higher wages than were common in that region for the services required, and adding that, indeed, they could not stand upon the amount of pay, but must have help, if it could be obtained, though not in a condition to bear undue expenditure. but, she said, the man "is unable to be removed; and if he were not, i know of no place where the charge would not be equally severe." so, in perfect keeping with her character, she just quietly regarded it as a matter of course that it should still continue where it was. and there it did continue until spring, when the man, now able to bear removal, was conveyed to the writer, and, after a time, went thence to boston. there his foot, pronounced incurable, was amputated, and the abolitionists supplied him with a wooden limb. he then returned and spent another winter with the lewises, assisting in the household work, and rendering services invaluable at a time when it was almost impossible to obtain female help. the next spring, hoping vainly to recover in a warmer climate from the disease induced by the drain his wounded foot had made upon his system, he went to hayti, and there died; happy, we may well believe, to have escaped from slavery, though only to have won scarely two years of freedom as an invalid and a cripple. the sisters were so thoroughly united in their work, as well as in all the experiences of life, that this brief sketch has not attempted what indeed it could not have achieved--a separation of their spheres of beneficent activity. yet they had each her individual traits and adaptations to their common task; "diversities of gifts, but the same spirit." elizabeth, although for many years shut out by feeble health from any part requiring much bodily exertion, was ever a wise counsellor, as well as ready with such help as her state of health would warrant. though weak in body, in spirit she was strong and calm and self-reliant, with a clear, discriminating intellect, a keen sense of right, and a certain solidity and balanced symmetry of the spiritual nature which made her an appreciable power wherever she was known. of mariann, grace anna says, that if a flash of inspiration was required, it usually came from her. taught by her love for others, and by a sensitiveness almost preternaturally quick, "she always knew exactly the right thing to do," and put all the poetry of a nature exquisitely fine into her efforts to diffuse around her purity and peace and happiness. her constant, utterly unselfish endeavors to this end contributed in ample measure to the blessedness of a delightful home, rich in the virtues, charities and graces which make home blessed. veiled by her modest and retiring disposition, to few beyond the circle of her home were known the beauty and beneficence of her noiseless life; but those who did look in upon it testified her worth in terms so strong as showed how deeply it impressed them. "just the best woman i ever knew," said a young man for whom she had long cared like a mother. "i cannot remember," said another, "ever hearing from her one ungentle word;" and it may be safely doubted whether she was ever heard to utter such. and one who "knew her every mood" cannot recall an instance of selfishness in her, even when a child. "the most womanly woman i ever knew," declared a friend long closely intimate with her, "and such as would have been adored, if found by any man worthy of her." the ideal element in her was chastened by sound sense and blended with a quick sagacity; but her shrinking sensitiveness, too keen to be quite healthy, and an extreme of self-forgetfulness, amounting possibly to a defect in one sojourning amid this world's diverse dispositions and experiences, rendered her, on the whole, less balanced and complete than her younger sisters, and not well fitted for rough encounter with life's trials. so it became grace anna's province, especially after their mother's death, to stand a shelter between her and whatever would unpleasantly affect her by its contact; to be in some sort as a brother to her, seeing there was no brother in the house. but from this it must not be inferred that grace anna is less gifted with the distinctive qualities of her sex. for the native fineness of her spiritual texture, her gentle dignity and feminine delicacy and grace, mark her as "every inch" a true and noble woman. in her combine in happy union the calm strength of soul and self-reliance of her younger, with the poetic ideality and a just degree of the quick sensibility of her elder sister, with better health than either, making her foremost of the three in that executive efficiency which did so much to give their plans the uniform success already mentioned. kindness and warm affection, clearness of moral vision, and purity of heart, with a lively relish for quiet intellectual pleasures, for society and books adapted to refine, improve and elevate, were among the characteristics common to them all. mariann and elizabeth, having lived to see the triumph of the right, in the presidential proclamation of freedom to the slaves, have gone from their earthly labors to their heavenly rest; which, we may well believe, is that whereof the poet speaks: "rest in harmonious action like the stars, doing the deeds which make heaven musical, the earth a heaven, and brothers of us all." grace anna still continues here, working for human welfare in such fields as still demand the laborer's toil; and finding mental profit and delight in the pursuit of natural science. cunningham's rache. by miss grace a. lewis. among the many fugitives whose stories were full of interest, was that of a woman named rachel. she was tall, muscular, slight, with an extremely sensitive nervous organization, a brain of large size, and an expression of remarkable sagacity and quickness. she was living in west chester, chester county, pa., when attempts were made to retake her to slavery. with wonderful swiftness and adroitness she eluded pursuit, and was soon hurried away. speedily reaching our house, she hid herself away during the day, and in the evening, as a place of greater safety, she was transferred to the house of our uncle, dr. fussell, then residing on an adjoining farm. as was his wont, this kind-hearted man soon entered into a conversation with her, and in a few minutes discovered that she had once been a pupil of his during his residence in maryland many years before. at the moment of recognition she sprang up, overwhelming him with her manifestations of delight, crying: "you dr. fussell? you dr. fussell? don't you remember me? i'm rache--cunningham's rache, down at bush river neck." then receding to view him better, "lord bless de child! how he is grown!" her tongue once loosened, she poured forth her whole history, expressing in every lineament her concentrated abhorrence of her libertine master, "mort cunningham." over that story, it is needful to pass lightly, simply saying, she endured all outraged nature could endure and survive. for the sake of humanity we may trust there were few such fiends even among southern masters as this monster in human shape. cunningham finally sold her to go further south, with a master whose name cannot now be recalled. this man was in ill health, and after a time he and his wife started northward, bringing rache with them. on the voyage the master grew worse, and one night when he was about to die, a fearful storm arose, which rache devoutly believed was sent from heaven. in describing this scene, she impersonated her surroundings with wonderful vividness and marvellous power. at one moment she was the howling wind; at another the tumultuous sea--then the lurching ship--the bellowing cow frightened by the storm--the devil, who came to carry away her master's soul, and finally the weak, dying man, as he passed to eternity. they proceeded on their voyage and landed at their place of destination. rache sees the cow snuffing the land breeze and darting off through the crowd. the captain of the vessel points to the cow and motions her to follow its example. she needs nothing more. again she is acting--she is now the cow; but human caution, shrewdness, purpose, are lent to animal instinct. she looks around her with wary eye--scents the air--a flash, and she is hidden from the crowd which you see around her--she is free! making her way northward, she finally arrived at the house of emmer kimber, kimberton, chester county, pa., and proving a remarkably capable woman, she remained a considerable time in his family, as a cook. she finally married, and settled in west chester, where the pair prospered and were soon surrounded by the comforts of a neat home. after several years of peaceful life there, she was one day alarmed, not by the heirs of her dead master, but by the loathed "mort cunningham," who, without the shadow of legal right, had come to carry her back to slavery. fear lent her wings. she darted into a hatter's shop and out through the back buildings, springing over a dye kettle in her way, and cleared a board fence at a bound. on her way to a place of safety she looked back to see, with keen enjoyment, "mort cunningham" falling backward from the fence she had leaped. secure in a garret, she looked down into the streets below, to see his vacant, dazed look as he sought, unable to find her. her rendering of the expression of his face at this time, was irresistibly ludicrous, as was that of his whole bearing while searching for her. "mort cunningham" did not get her, but whether or not she ever returned to the enjoyment of her happy home, in west chester, we never knew, as this sudden flight was the last we ever heard of her. she was one of the most wide-awake of human beings, and the world certainly lost in the uneducated slave, an actor of great dramatic power. frances ellen watkins harper. the narratives and labors of eminent colored men such as banneker, douglass, brown, garnet, and others, have been written and sketched very fully for the public, and doubtless with advantage to the cause of freedom. but there is not to be found in any written work portraying the anti-slavery struggle, (except in the form of narratives,) as we are aware of, a sketch of the labors of any eminent colored woman. we feel, therefore, not only glad of the opportunity to present a sketch not merely of the leading colored poet in the united states, but also of one of the most liberal contributors, as well as one of the ablest advocates of the underground rail road and of the slave. no extravagant praise of any kind,--only simple facts are needed to portray the noble deeds of this faithful worker. the want of space forbids more than a brief reference to her early life. frances ellen watkins harper (watkins being her maiden name) was born in the city of baltimore in , not of slave parentage, but subjected of course to the oppressive influence which bond and free alike endured under slave laws. since reaching her majority, in looking back, the following sentences from her own pen express the loneliness of her childhood days. "have i yearned for a mother's love? the grave was my robber. before three years had scattered their blight around my path, death had won my mother from me. would the strong arm of a brother have been welcome? i was my mother's only child." thus she fell into the hands of an aunt, who watched over her during these early helpless years. rev. william watkins, an uncle, taught a school in baltimore for free colored children, to which she was sent until she was about thirteen years of age. after this period, she was put out to work to earn her own living. she had many trials to endure which she would fain forget; but in the midst of them all she had an ardent thirst for knowledge and a remarkable talent for composition, as she evinced at the age of fourteen in an article which attracted the attention of the lady in whose family she was employed, and others. in this situation she was taught sewing, took care of the children, &c.; and at the same time, through the kindness of her employer, her greed for books was satisfied so far as was possible from occasional half-hours of leisure. she was noted for her industry, rarely trifling away time as most girls are wont to do in similar circumstances. scarcely had she reached her majority ere she had written a number of prose and poetic pieces which were deemed of sufficient merit to publish in a small volume called "forest leaves." some of her productions found their way into newspapers and attracted attention. the ability exhibited in some of her productions was so remarkable that some doubted and others denied their originality. of this character we here copy an extract from one of her early prose productions: christianity. "christianity is a system claiming god for its author, and the welfare of man for its object. it is a system so uniform, exalted and pure, that the loftiest intellects have acknowledged its influence, and acquiesced in the justness of its claims. genius has bent from his erratic course to gather fire from her altars, and pathos from the agony of gethsemane and the sufferings of calvary. philosophy and science have paused amid their speculative researches and wondrous revelations to gain wisdom from her teachings and knowledge from her precepts. poetry has culled her fairest flowers and wreathed her softest to bind her author's 'bleeding brow.' music has strung her sweetest lyres and breathed her noblest strains to celebrate his fame; whilst learning has bent from her lofty heights to bow at the lowly cross. the constant friend of man, she has stood by him in his hour of greatest need. she has cheered the prisoner in his cell, and strengthened the martyr at the stake. she has nerved the frail and shrinking heart of woman for high and holy deeds. the worn and weary have rested their fainting heads upon her bosom, and gathered strength from her words and courage from her counsels. she has been the staff of decrepit age and the joy of manhood in its strength. she has bent over the form of lovely childhood, and suffered it to have a place in the redeemer's arms. she has stood by the bed of the dying, and unveiled the glories of eternal life, gilding the darkness of the tomb with the glory of the resurrection." her mind being of a strictly religious caste, the effusions from her pen all savor of a highly moral and elevating tone. about the year she left baltimore to seek a home in a free state, and for a short time resided in ohio, where she was engaged in teaching. contrary to her expectations, her adopted home and calling not proving satisfactory, she left that state and came to pennsylvania as a last resort, and again engaged in teaching at little york. here she not only had to encounter the trouble of dealing with unruly children, she was sorely oppressed with the thought of the condition of her people in maryland. not unfrequently she gave utterance to such expressions as the following: "not that we have not a right to breathe the air as freely as anybody else here (in baltimore), but we are treated worse than aliens among a people whose language we speak, whose religion we profess, and whose blood flows and mingles in our veins.... homeless in the land of our birth and worse off than strangers in the home of our nativity." during her stay in york she had frequent opportunities of seeing passengers on the underground rail road. in one of her letters she thus alluded to a traveler: "i saw a passenger _per_ the underground rail road yesterday; did he arrive safely? notwithstanding that abomination of the nineteenth century--the fugitive slave law--men still determine to be free. notwithstanding all the darkness in which they keep the slaves, it seems that somehow light is dawning upon their minds.... these poor fugitives are a property that can walk. just to think that from the rainbow-crowned niagara to the swollen waters of the mexican gulf, from the restless murmur of the atlantic to the ceaseless roar of the pacific, the poor, half-starved, flying fugitive has no resting-place for the sole of his foot!" whilst hesitating whether or not it would be best to continue teaching, she wrote to a friend for advice as follows: "what would you do if you were in my place? would you give up and go back and work at your trade (dress-making)? there are no people that need all the benefits resulting from a well-directed education more than we do. the condition of our people, the wants of our children, and the welfare of our race demand the aid of every helping hand, the god-speed of every christian heart. it is a work of time, a labor of patience, to become an effective school teacher; and it should be a work of love in which they who engage should not abate heart or hope until it is done. and after all, it is one of woman's most sacred rights to have the privilege of forming the symmetry and rightly adjusting the mental balance of an immortal mind." "i have written a lecture on education, and i am also writing a small book." thus, whilst filling her vocation as a teacher in little york, was she deeply engrossed in thought as to how she could best promote the welfare of her race. but as she was devoted to the work in hand, she soon found that fifty-three untrained little urchins overtaxed her naturally delicate physical powers; it also happened just about this time that she was further moved to enter the anti-slavery field as a lecturer substantially by the following circumstance: about the year , maryland, her native state, had enacted a law forbidding free people of color from the north from coming into the state on pain of being imprisoned and sold into slavery. a free man, who had unwittingly violated this infamous statute, had recently been sold to georgia, and had escaped thence by secreting himself behind the wheel-house of a boat bound northward; but before he reached the desired haven, he was discovered and remanded to slavery. it was reported that he died soon after from the effects of exposure and suffering. in a letter to a friend referring to this outrage, mrs. harper thus wrote: "upon that grave i pledged myself to the anti-slavery cause." having thus decided, she wrote in a subsequent letter, "it may be that god himself has written upon both my heart and brain a commission to use time, talent and energy in the cause of freedom." in this abiding faith she came to philadelphia, hoping that the way would open for usefulness, and to publish her little book (above referred to). she visited the anti-slavery office and read anti-slavery documents with great avidity; in the mean time making her home at the station of the underground rail road, where she frequently saw passengers and heard their melting tales of suffering and wrong, which intensely increased her sympathy in their behalf. although anxious to enter the anti-slavery field as a worker, her modesty prevented her from pressing her claims; consequently as she was but little known, being a young and homeless maiden (an exile by law), no especial encouragement was tendered her by anti-slavery friends in philadelphia. during her stay in philadelphia she published some verses entitled, "eliza harris crossing the river on the ice." it was deemed best to delay the issuing of the book. after spending some weeks in philadelphia, she concluded to visit boston. here she was treated with the kindness characteristic of the friends in the anti-slavery office whom she visited, but only made a brief stay, after which she proceeded to new bedford, the "hot-bed of the fugitives" in massachusetts, where by invitation she addressed a public meeting on the subject of education and the elevation of the colored race. the occasion and result of the commencement of her public career was thus given by her own pen in a letter dated august, : "well, i am out lecturing. i have lectured every night this week; besides addressed a sunday-school, and i shall speak, if nothing prevent, to-night. my lectures have met with success. last night i lectured in a white church in providence. mr. gardener was present, and made the estimate of about six hundred persons. never, perhaps, was a speaker, old or young, favored with a more attentive audience.... my voice is not wanting in strength, as i am aware of, to reach pretty well over the house. the church was the roger williams; the pastor, a mr. furnell, who appeared to be a kind and christian man.... my maiden lecture was monday night in new bedford on the elevation and education of our people. perhaps as intellectual a place as any i was ever at of its size." having thus won her way to a favorable position as a lecturer, the following month she was engaged by the state anti-slavery society of maine, with what success appears from one of her letters bearing date--buckstown centre, sept. , : "the agent of the state anti-slavery society of maine travels with me, and she is a pleasant, dear, sweet lady. i do like her so. we travel together, eat together, and sleep together. (she is a white woman.) in fact i have not been in one colored person's house since i left massachusetts; but i have a pleasant time. my life reminds me of a beautiful dream. what a difference between this and york!... i have met with some of the kindest treatment up here that i have ever received.... i have lectured three times this week. after i went from limerick, i went to springvale; there i spoke on sunday night at an anti-slavery meeting. some of the people are anti-slavery, anti-rum and anti-catholic; and if you could see our maine ladies,--some of them among the noblest types of womanhood you have ever seen! they are for putting men of anti-slavery principles in office, ... to cleanse the corrupt fountains of our government by sending men to congress who will plead for our down-trodden and oppressed brethren, our crushed and helpless sisters, whose tears and blood bedew our soil, whose chains are clanking 'neath our proudest banners, whose cries and groans amid our loudest paeans rise." everywhere in this latitude doors opened before her, and her gifts were universally recognized as a valuable acquisition to the cause. in the letter above referred to she said: "i spoke in boston on monday night.... well, i am but one, but can do something, and, god helping me, i will try. mr. brister from lowell addressed the meeting; also rev. ---- howe. we had a good demonstration." having read the narrative of solomon northrup ( years a slave), she was led to embrace the free labor doctrine most thoroughly; and in a letter dated at temple, maine, oct. , , after expressing the interest she took in the annual meeting of the anti-slavery society of that state, she remarked: "i spoke on free produce, and now by the way i believe in that kind of abolition. oh, it does seem to strike at one of the principal roots of the matter. i have commenced since i read solomon northrup. oh, if mrs. stowe has clothed american slavery in the graceful garb of fiction, solomon northrup comes up from the dark habitation of southern cruelty where slavery fattens and feasts on human blood with such mournful revelations that one might almost wish for the sake of humanity that the tales of horror which he reveals were not so. oh, how can we pamper our appetites upon luxuries drawn from reluctant fingers? oh, could slavery exist long if it did not sit on a commercial throne? i have read somewhere, if i remember aright, of a hindoo being loth to cut a tree because being a believer in the transmigration of souls, he thought the soul of his father had passed into it ... oh, friend, beneath the most delicate preparations of the cane can you not see the stinging lash and clotted whip? i have reason to be thankful that i am able to give a little more for a free labor dress, if it is coarser. i can thank god that upon its warp and woof i see no stain of blood and tears; that to procure a little finer muslin for my limbs no crushed and broken heart went out in sighs, and that from the field where it was raised went up no wild and startling cry unto the throne of god to witness there in language deep and strong, that in demanding that cotton i was nerving oppression's hand for deeds of guilt and crime. if the liberation of the slave demanded it, i could consent to part with a portion of the blood from my own veins if that would do him any good." after having thus alluded to free labor, she gave a short journal of the different places where she had recently lectured from the th of september to the th of october, which we mention here simply to show the perseverance which characterized her as an advocate of her enslaved race, and at the same time show how doors everywhere opened to her: portland, monmouth centre, north berwick, limerick (two meetings), springvale, portsmouth, elliott, waterborough (spoke four times), lyman, saccarappo, moderation, steep falls (twice), north buxton, goram, gardner, litchfield, twice, monmouth ridge twice, monmouth centre three times, litchfield second time, west waterville twice, livermore temple. her ability and labors were everywhere appreciated, and her meetings largely attended. in a subsequent letter referring to the manner that she was received, she wrote, "a short while ago when i was down this way i took breakfast with the then governor of maine." for a year and a half she continued in the eastern states, speaking in most or all of them with marked success; the papers meting out to her full commendation for her efforts. the following extract clipped from the portland daily press, respecting a lecture that she was invited to deliver after the war by the mayor (mr. washburne) and others, is a fair sample of notices from this source: "she spoke for nearly an hour and a half, her subject being 'the mission of the war, and the demands of the colored race in the work of reconstruction;' and we have seldom seen an audience more attentive, better pleased, or more enthusiastic. mrs. harper has a splendid articulation, uses chaste, pure language, has a pleasant voice, and allows no one to tire of hearing her. we shall attempt no abstract of her address; none that we could make would do her justice. it was one of which any lecturer might feel proud, and her reception by a portland audience was all that could be desired. we have seen no praises of her that were overdrawn. we have heard miss dickinson, and do not hesitate to award the palm to her darker colored sister." in , desiring to see the fugitives in canada, she visited the upper province, and in a letter dated at niagara falls, sept. th, she unfolded her mind in the following language: "well, i have gazed for the first time upon free land, and, would you believe it, tears sprang to my eyes, and i wept. oh, it was a glorious sight to gaze for the first time on a land where a poor slave flying from our glorious land of liberty would in a moment find his fetters broken, his shackles loosed, and whatever he was in the land of washington, beneath the shadow of bunker hill monument or even plymouth rock, here he becomes a man and a brother. i have gazed on harper's ferry, or rather the rock at the ferry; i have seen it towering up in simple grandeur, with the gentle potomac gliding peacefully at its feet, and felt that that was god's masonry, and my soul had expanded in gazing on its sublimity. i have seen the ocean singing its wild chorus of sounding waves, and ecstacy has thrilled upon the living chords of my heart. i have since then seen the rainbow-crowned niagara chanting the choral hymn of omnipotence, girdled with grandeur, and robed with glory; but none of these things have melted me as the first sight of free land. towering mountains lifting their hoary summits to catch the first faint flush of day when the sunbeams kiss the shadows from morning's drowsy face may expand and exalt your soul. the first view of the ocean may fill you with strange delight. niagara--the great, the glorious niagara--may hush your spirit with its ceaseless thunder; it may charm you with its robe of crested spray and rainbow crown; but the land of freedom was a lesson of deeper significance than foaming waves or towering mounts." while in toronto she lectured, and was listened to with great interest; but she made only a brief visit, thence returning to philadelphia, her adopted home. with her newly acquired reputation as a lecturer, from to she continued her labors in pennsylvania, new jersey, new york, ohio, &c. in the meantime she often came in contact with underground rail road passengers, especially in philadelphia. none sympathized with them more sincerely or showed a greater willingness to render them material aid. she contributed apparently with the same liberality as though they were her own near kin. even when at a distance, so deep was her interest in the success of the road, she frequently made it her business to forward donations, and carefully inquire into the state of the treasury. the chairman of the committee might publish a volume of interesting letters from her pen relating to the underground rail road and kindred topics; but a few extracts must suffice. we here copy from a letter dated at rushsylvania, ohio, dec. th: "i send you to-day two dollars for the underground rail road. it is only a part of what i subscribed at your meeting. may god speed the flight of the slave as he speeds through our republic to gain his liberty in a monarchical land. i am still in the lecturing field, though not very strong physically.... send me word what i can do for the fugitive." from tiffin, ohio, march st, touching the news of a rescue in philadelphia, she thus wrote: "i see by the cincinnati papers that you have had an attempted rescue and a failure. that is sad! can you not give me the particulars? and if there is anything that i can do for them in money or words, call upon me. this is a common cause; and if there is any burden to be borne in the anti-slavery-cause--anything to be done to weaken our hateful chains or assert our manhood and womanhood, i have a right to do my share of the work. the humblest and feeblest of us can do something; and though i may be deficient in many of the conventionalisms of city life, and be considered as a person of good impulses, but unfinished, yet if there is common rough work to be done, call on me." mrs. harper was not content to make speeches and receive plaudits, but was ever willing to do the rough work and to give material aid wherever needed. from another letter dated lewis centre, ohio, we copy the following characteristic extract: "yesterday i sent you thirty dollars. take five of it for the rescuers (who were in prison), and the rest pay away on the books. my offering is not large; but if you need more, send me word. also how comes on the underground rail road? do you need anything for that? you have probably heard of the shameful outrage of a colored man or boy named wagner, who was kidnapped in ohio and carried across the river and sold for a slave.... ohio has become a kind of a negro hunting ground, a new congo's coast and guinea's shore. a man was kidnapped almost under the shadow of our capital. oh, was it not dreadful?... oh, may the living god prepare me for an earnest and faithful advocacy of the cause of justice and right!" in those days the blows struck by the hero, john brown, were agitating the nation. scarcely was it possible for a living soul to be more deeply affected than this female advocate. nor did her sympathies end in mere words. she tendered material aid as well as heartfelt commiseration. to john brown's wife[a] she sent through the writer the following letter: [footnote a: mrs. harper passed two weeks with mrs. brown at the house of the writer while she was awaiting the execution of her husband, and sympathized with her most deeply.] letter to john brown's wife. farmer centre, ohio, nov. th. my dear madam:--in an hour like this the common words of sympathy may seem like idle words, and yet i want to say something to you, the noble wife of the hero of the nineteenth century. belonging to the race your dear husband reached forth his hand to assist, i need not tell you that my sympathies are with you. i thank you for the brave words you have spoken. a republic that produces such a wife and mother may hope for better days. our heart may grow more hopeful for humanity when it sees the sublime sacrifice it is about to receive from his hands. not in vain has your dear husband periled all, if the martyrdom of one hero is worth more than the life of a million cowards. from the prison comes forth a shout of triumph over that power whose ethics are robbery of the feeble and oppression of the weak, the trophies of whose chivalry are a plundered cradle and a scourged and bleeding woman. dear sister, i thank you for the brave and noble words that you have spoken. enclosed i send you a few dollars as a token of my gratitude, reverence and love. yours respectfully, frances ellen watkins. post office address: care of william still, fifth st., philadelphia, penn. may god, our own god, sustain you in the hour of trial. if there is one thing on earth i can do for you or yours, let me be apprized. i am at your service. not forgetting brown's comrades, who were then lying in prison under sentence of death, true to the best impulses of her generous heart, she thus wrote relative to these ill-fated prisoners, from montpelier, dec. th: "i thank you for complying with my request. (she had previously ordered a box of things to be forwarded to them.) and also that you wrote to them. you see brown towered up so bravely that these doomed and fated men may have been almost overlooked, and just think that i am able to send one ray through the night around them. and as their letters came too late to answer in time, i am better satisfied that you wrote. i hope the things will reach them. poor doomed and fated men! why did you not send them more things? please send me the bill of expense.... send me word what i can do for the fugitives. do you need any money? do i not owe you on the old bill (pledge)? look carefully and see if i have paid all. along with this letter i send you one for mr. stephens (one of brown's men), and would ask you to send him a box of nice things every week till he dies or is acquitted. i understand the balls have not been extracted from him. has not this suffering been overshadowed by the glory that gathered around the brave old man?... spare no expense to make the last hours of his (stephens') life as bright as possible with sympathy.... now, my friend, fulfil this to the letter. oh, is it not a privilege, if you are sisterless and lonely, to be a sister to the human race, and to place your heart where it may throb close to down-trodden humanity?" on another occasion in writing from the lecturing field hundreds of miles away from philadelphia, the sympathy she felt for the fugitives found expression in the following language: "how fared the girl who came robed in male attire? do write me every time you write how many come to your house; and, my dear friend, if you have that much in hand of mine from my books, will you please pay the vigilance committee two or three dollars for me to help carry on the glorious enterprise. now, please do not write back that you are not going to do any such thing. let me explain a few matters to you. in the first place, i am able to give something. in the second place, i am willing to do so.... oh, life is fading away, and we have but an hour of time! should we not, therefore, endeavor to let its history gladden the earth? the nearer we ally ourselves to the wants and woes of humanity in the spirit of christ, the closer we get to the great heart of god; the nearer we stand by the beating of the pulse of universal love." doubtless it has not often been found necessary for persons desirous of contributing to benevolent causes to first have to remove anticipated objections. nevertheless in some cases it would seem necessary to admonish her not to be quite so liberal; to husband with a little more care her hard-earned income for a "rainy day," as her health was not strong. "my health," she wrote at that time, "is not very strong, and i may have to give up before long. i may have to yield on account of my voice, which i think, has become somewhat affected. i might be so glad if it was only so that i could go home among my own kindred and people, but slavery comes up like a dark shadow between me and the home of my childhood. well, perhaps it is my lot to die from home and be buried among strangers; and yet i do not regret that i have espoused this cause; perhaps i have been of some service to the cause of human rights, and i hope the consciousness that i have not lived in vain, will be a halo of peace around my dying bed; a heavenly sunshine lighting up the dark valley and shadow of death." notwithstanding this yearning for home, she was far from desiring at her death, a burial in a slave state, as the following clearly expressed views show: "i have lived in the midst of oppression and wrong, and i am saddened by every captured fugitive in the north; a blow has been struck at my freedom, in every hunted and down-trodden slave in the south; north and south have both been guilty, and they that sin must suffer." also, in harmony with the above sentiments, came a number of verses appropriate to her desires in this respect, one of which we here give as a sample: "make me a grave where'er you will, in a lowly plain, or a lofty hill, make it among earth's humblest graves, but not in a land where men are slaves." in the state of maine the papers brought to her notice the capture of margaret garner, and the tragic and bloody deed connected therewith. and she writes: "rome had her altars where the trembling criminal, and the worn and weary slave might fly for an asylum--judea her cities of refuge; but ohio, with her bibles and churches, her baptisms and prayers, had not one temple so dedicated to human rights, one altar so consecrated to human liberty, that trampled upon and down-trodden innocence knew that it could find protection for a night, or shelter for a day." in the fall of , in the city of cincinnati, mrs. harper was married to fenton harper, a widower, and resident of ohio. it seemed obvious that this change would necessarily take her from the sphere of her former usefulness. the means she had saved from the sale of her books and from her lectures, she invested in a small farm near columbus, and in a short time after her marriage she entered upon house-keeping. notwithstanding her family cares, consequent upon married life, she only ceased from her literary and anti-slavery labors, when compelled to do so by other duties. on the d of may, , death deprived her of her husband. whilst she could not give so much attention to writing as she could have desired in her household days, she, nevertheless, did then produce some of her best productions. take the following for a sample, on the return from cleveland, ohio, of a poor, ill-fated slave-girl, (under the fugitive slave law): to the union savers of cleveland. men of cleveland, had a vulture sought a timid dove for prey, would you not, with human pity, drive the gory bird away? had you seen a feeble lambkin, shrinking from a wolf so bold, would ye not to shield the trembler, in your arms have made its fold? but when she, a hunted sister, stretched her hands that ye might save, colder far than zembla's regions was the answer that ye gave. on the union's bloody altar, was your hapless victim laid; mercy, truth and justice shuddered, but your hands would give no aid. and ye sent her back to torture, robbed of freedom and of right. thrust the wretched, captive stranger. back to slavery's gloomy night. back where brutal men may trample, on her honor and her fame; and unto her lips so dusky, press the cup of woe and shame. there is blood upon your city, dark and dismal is the stain; and your hands would fail to cleanse it, though lake erie ye should drain. there's a curse upon your union, fearful sounds are in the air; as if thunderbolts were framing, answers to the bondsman's prayer. ye may offer human victims, like the heathen priests of old; and may barter manly honor for the union and for gold. but ye can not stay the whirlwind, when the storm begins to break; and our god doth rise in judgment, for the poor and needy's sake. and, your sin-cursed, guilty union, shall be shaken to its base, till ye learn that simple justice, is the right of every race. mrs. harper took the deepest interest in the war, and looked with extreme anxiety for the results; and she never lost an opportunity to write, speak, or serve the cause in any way that she thought would best promote the freedom of the slave. on the proclamation of general fremont, the passages from her pen are worthy to be long remembered: "well, what think you of the war? to me one of the most interesting features is fremont's proclamation freeing the slaves of the rebels. is there no ray of hope in that? i should not wonder if edward m. davis breathed that into his ear. his proclamation looks like real earnestness; no mincing the matter with the rebels. death to the traitors and confiscation of their slaves is no child's play. i hope that the boldness of his stand will inspire others to look the real cause of the war in the face and inspire the government with uncompromising earnestness to remove the festering curse. and yet i am not uneasy about the result of this war. we may look upon it as god's controversy with the nation; his arising to plead by fire and blood the cause of his poor and needy people. some time since breckinridge, in writing to sumner, asks, if i rightly remember, what is the fate of a few negroes to me or mine? bound up in one great bundle of humanity our fates seem linked together, our destiny entwined with theirs, and our rights are interwoven together." finally when the long-looked-for emancipation proclamation came, although mrs. harper was not at that time very well, she accepted an invitation to address a public meeting in columbus, ohio, an allusion to which we find in a letter dated at grove city, o., which we copy with the feeling that many who may read this volume will sympathize with every word uttered relative to the proclamation: "i spoke in columbus on the president's proclamation.... but was not such an event worthy the awakening of every power--the congratulation of every faculty? what hath god wrought! we may well exclaim how event after event has paved the way for freedom. in the crucible of disaster and defeat god has stirred the nation, and permitted no permanent victory to crown her banners while she kept her hand upon the trembling slave and held him back from freedom. and even now the scale may still seem to oscillate between the contending parties, and some may say, why does not god give us full and quick victory? my friend, do not despair if even deeper shadows gather around the fate of the nation, that truth will not ultimately triumph, and the right be established and vindicated; but the deadly gangrene has taken such deep and almost fatal hold upon the nation that the very centres of its life seem to be involved in its eradication. just look, after all the trials deep and fiery through which the nation has waded, how mournfully suggestive was the response the proclamation received from the democratic triumphs which followed so close upon its footsteps. well, thank god that the president did not fail us, that the fierce rumbling of democratic thunder did not shake from his hand the bolt he leveled against slavery. oh, it would have been so sad if, after all the desolation and carnage that have dyed our plains with blood and crimsoned our borders with warfare, the pale young corpses trodden down by the hoofs of war, the dim eyes that have looked their last upon the loved and lost, had the arm of executive power failed us in the nation's fearful crisis! for how mournful it is when the unrighted wrongs and fearful agonies of ages reach their culminating point, and events solemn, terrible and sublime marshal themselves in dread array to mould the destiny of nations, the hands appointed to hold the helm of affairs, instead of grasping the mighty occasions and stamping them with the great seals of duty and right, permit them to float along the current of circumstances without comprehending the hour of visitation or the momentous day of opportunity. yes, we may thank god that in the hour when the nation's life was convulsed, and fearful gloom had shed its shadows over the land, the president reached out his hand through the darkness to break the chains on which the rust of centuries had gathered. well, did you ever expect to see this day? i know that all is not accomplished; but we may rejoice in what has been already wrought,--the wondrous change in so short a time. just a little while since the american flag to the flying bondman was an ensign of bondage; now it has become a symbol of protection and freedom. once the slave was a despised and trampled on pariah; now he has become a useful ally to the american government. from the crimson sods of war springs the white flower of freedom, and songs of deliverance mingle with the crash and roar of war. the shadow of the american army becomes a covert for the slave, and beneath the american eagle he grasps the key of knowledge and is lifted to a higher destiny." this letter we had intended should complete the sketch of mrs. harper's anti-slavery labors; but in turning to another epistle dated boston, april th, on the assassination of the president, we feel that a part of it is too interesting to omit: "sorrow treads on the footsteps of the nation's joy. a few days since the telegraph thrilled and throbbed with a nation's joy. to-day a nation sits down beneath the shadow of its mournful grief. oh, what a terrible lesson does this event read to us! a few years since slavery tortured, burned, hung and outraged us, and the nation passed by and said, they had nothing to do with slavery where it was, slavery would have something to do with them where they were. oh, how fearfully the judgments of ichabod have pressed upon the nation's life! well, it may be in the providence of god this blow was needed to intensify the nation's hatred of slavery, to show the utter fallacy of basing national reconstruction upon the votes of returned rebels, and rejecting loyal black men; making (after all the blood poured out like water, and wealth scattered like chaff) a return to the old idea that a white rebel is better or of more account in the body politic than a loyal black man.... moses, the meekest man on earth, led the children of israel over the red sea, but was not permitted to see them settled in canaan. mr. lincoln has led up through another red sea to the table land of triumphant victory, and god has seen fit to summon for the new era another man. it is ours then to bow to the chastener and let our honored and loved chieftain go. surely the everlasting arms that have hushed him so strangely to sleep are able to guide the nation through its untrod future; but in vain should be this fearful baptism of blood if from the dark bosom of slavery springs such terrible crimes. let the whole nation resolve that the whole virus shall be eliminated from its body; that in the future slavery shall only be remembered as a thing of the past that shall never have the faintest hope of a resurrection." up to this point, we have spoken of mrs. harper as a laborer, battling for freedom under slavery and the war. she is equally earnest in laboring for equality before the law--education, and a higher manhood, especially in the south, among the freedmen. for the best part of several years, since the war, she has traveled very extensively through the southern states, going on the plantations and amongst the lowly, as well as to the cities and towns, addressing schools, churches, meetings in court houses, legislative halls, &c., and, sometimes, under the most trying and hazardous circumstances; influenced in her labor of love, wholly by the noble impulses of her own heart, working her way along unsustained by any society. in this mission, she has come in contact with all classes--the original slaveholders and the freedmen, before and since the fifteenth amendment bill was enacted. excepting two of the southern states (texas and arkansas), she has traveled largely over all the others, and in no instance has she permitted herself, through fear, to disappoint an audience, when engagements had been made for her to speak, although frequently admonished that it would be dangerous to venture in so doing. we first quote from a letter dated darlington, s.c., may , : "you will see by this that i am in the sunny south.... i here read and see human nature under new lights and phases. i meet with a people eager to hear, ready to listen, as if they felt that the slumber of the ages had been broken, and that they were to sleep no more.... i am glad that the colored man gets his freedom and suffrage together; that he is not forced to go through the same condition of things here, that has inclined him so much to apathy, isolation, and indifference, in the north. you, perhaps, wonder why i have been so slow in writing to you, but if you knew how busy i am, just working up to or past the limit of my strength. traveling, conversing, addressing day and sunday-schools (picking up scraps of information, takes up a large portion of my time), besides what i give to reading. for my audiences i have both white and colored. on the cars, some find out that i am a lecturer, and then, again, i am drawn into conversation. 'what are you lecturing about?' the question comes up, and if i say, among other topics politics, then i may look for an onset. there is a sensitiveness on this subject, a dread, it may be, that some one will 'put the devil in the nigger's head,' or exert some influence inimical to them; still, i get along somewhat pleasantly. last week i had a small congregation of listeners in the cars, where i sat. i got in conversation with a former slave dealer, and we had rather an exciting time. i was traveling alone, but it is not worth while to show any signs of fear. * * *last saturday i spoke in sumter; a number of white persons were present, and i had been invited to speak there by the mayor and editor of the paper. there had been some violence in the district, and some of my friends did not wish me to go, but i had promised, and, of course, i went. * * * * i am in darlington, and spoke yesterday, but my congregation was so large, that i stood near the door of the church, so that i might be heard both inside and out, for a large portion, perhaps nearly half my congregation were on the outside; and this, in darlington, where, about two years ago, a girl was hung for making a childish and indiscreet speech. victory was perched on our banners. our army had been through, and this poor, ill-fated girl, almost a child in years, about seventeen years of age, rejoiced over the event, and said that she was going to marry a yankee and set up housekeeping. she was reported as having made an incendiary speech and arrested, cruelly scourged, and then brutally hung. poor child! she had been a faithful servant--her master tried to save her, but the tide of fury swept away his efforts. * * * oh, friend, perhaps, sometimes your heart would ache, if you were only here and heard of the wrongs and abuses to which these people have been subjected. * * * things, i believe, are a little more hopeful; at least, i believe, some of the colored people are getting better contracts, and, i understand, that there's less murdering. while i am writing, a colored man stands here, with a tale of wrong--he has worked a whole year, year before last, and now he has been put off with fifteen bushels of corn and his food; yesterday he went to see about getting his money, and the person to whom he went, threatened to kick him off, and accused him of stealing. i don't know how the colored man will vote, but perhaps many of them will be intimidated at the polls." from a letter dated cheraw, june th, , the following remarks are taken: "well, carolina is an interesting place. there is not a state in the union i prefer to carolina. kinder, more hospitable, warmer-hearted people perhaps you will not find anywhere. i have been to georgia; but carolina is my preference. * * the south is to be a great theatre for the colored man's development and progress. there is brain-power here. if any doubt it, let him come into our schools, or even converse with some of our freedmen either in their homes or by the way-side." a few days later she gave an account of a visit she had just made in florence, where our poor soldiers had been prisoners; saw some of the huts where they were exposed to rain and heat and cold with only the temporary shelter they made for themselves, which was a sad sight. then she visited the grave-yards of some thousands of union soldiers. here in "eastern south carolina" she was in "one of the worst parts of the state" in the days of slavery; but under the new order of things, instead of the lash, she saw school books, and over the ruins of slavery, education and free speech springing up, at which she was moved to exclaim, "thank god for the wonderful change! i have lectured several nights this week, and the weather is quite warm; but i do like south carolina. no state in the union as far as colored people are concerned, do i like better--the land of warm welcomes and friendly hearts. god bless her and give her great peace!" at a later period she visited charleston and columbia, and was well received in both places. she spoke a number of times in the different freedmen schools and the colored churches in charleston, once in the legislative hall, and also in one of the colored churches in columbia. she received special encouragement and kindness from hon. h. cadoza, secretary of state, and his family, and regarded him as a wise and upright leader of his race in that state. the following are some stirring lines which she wrote upon the fifteenth amendment: fifteenth amendment. beneath the burden of our joy tremble, o wires, from east to west! fashion with words your tongues of fire, to tell the nation's high behest. outstrip the winds, and leave behind the murmur of the restless waves; nor tarry with your glorious news, amid the ocean's coral caves. ring out! ring out! your sweetest chimes, ye bells, that call to praise; let every heart with gladness thrill, and songs of joyful triumph raise. shake off the dust, o rising race! crowned as a brother and a man; justice to-day asserts her claim, and from thy brow fades out the ban. with freedom's chrism upon thy head, her precious ensign in thy hand, go place thy once despised name amid the noblest of the land. o ransomed race! give god the praise, who led thee through a crimson sea, and 'mid the storm of fire and blood, turned out the war-cloud's light to thee. mrs. harper, in writing from kingstree, s.c., july th, , in midsummer (laboring almost without any pecuniary reward), gave an account of a fearful catastrophe which had just occurred there in the burning of the jail with a number of colored prisoners in it. "it was a very sad affair. there was only one white prisoner and he got out. i believe there was some effort made to release some of the prisoners; but the smoke was such that the effort proved ineffectual. well, for the credit of our common human nature we may hope that it was so. * * * last night i had some of the 'rebs' to hear me (part of the time some of the white folks come out). our meetings are just as quiet and as orderly on the whole in carolina as one might desire. * * i like general sickles as a military governor. 'massa daniel, he king of the carolinas.' i like his mastership. under him we ride in the city cars, and get first-class passage on the railroad." at this place a colored man was in prison under sentence of death for "participating in a riot;" and the next day (after the date of her letter) was fixed for his execution. with some others, mrs. harper called at general sickles' head quarters, hoping to elicit his sympathies whereby the poor fellow's life might be saved; but he was not in. hence they were not able to do anything. "next week," continued mrs. harper, "i am to speak in a place where one of our teachers was struck and a colored man shot, who, i believe, gave offence by some words spoken at a public meeting. i do not feel any particular fear." her philadelphia correspondent had jestingly suggested to her in one of his letters, that she should be careful not to allow herself to be "bought by the rebels." to which she replied: "now, in reference to being bought by rebels and becoming a johnsonite i hold that between the white people and the colored there is a community of interests, and the sooner they find it out, the better it will be for both parties; but that community of interests does not consist in increasing the privileges of one class and curtailing the rights of the other, but in getting every citizen interested in the welfare, progress and durability of the state. i do not in lecturing confine myself to the political side of the question. while i am in favor of universal suffrage, yet i know that the colored man needs something more than a vote in his hand: he needs to know the value of a home life; to rightly appreciate and value the marriage relation; to know how and to be incited to leave behind him the old shards and shells of slavery and to rise in the scale of character, wealth and influence. like the nautilus outgrowing his home to build for himself more 'stately temples' of social condition. a man landless, ignorant and poor may use the vote against his interests; but with intelligence and land he holds in his hand the basis of power and elements of strength." while contemplating the great demand for laborers, in a letter from athens, february st, , after referring to some who had been "discouraged from the field," she wisely added that it was "no time to be discouraged." * * * "if those who can benefit our people will hang around places where they are not needed, they may expect to be discouraged. * * * here is ignorance to be instructed; a race who needs to be helped up to higher planes of thought and action; and whether we are hindered or helped, we should try to be true to the commission god has written upon our souls. as far as the colored people are concerned, they are beginning to get homes for themselves and depositing money in bank. they have hundreds of homes in kentucky. there is progress in tennessee, and even in this state while a number have been leaving, some who stay seem to be getting along prosperously. in augusta colored persons are in the revenue office and post office. i have just been having some good meetings there. some of my meetings pay me poorly; but i have a chance to instruct and visit among the people and talk to their sunday-schools and day-schools also. of course i do not pretend that all are saving money or getting homes. i rather think from what i hear that the interest of the grown-up people in getting education has somewhat subsided, owing, perhaps, in a measure, to the novelty having worn off and the absorption or rather direction of the mind to other matters. still i don't think that i have visited scarcely a place since last august where there was no desire for a teacher; and mr. fidler, who is a captain or colonel, thought some time since that there were more colored than white who were learning or had learned to read. there has been quite an amount of violence and trouble in the state; but we have the military here, and if they can keep georgia out of the union about a year or two longer, and the colored people continue to live as they have been doing, from what i hear, perhaps these rebels will learn a little more sense. i have been in atlanta for some time, but did not stay until the legislature was organized; but i was there when colored members returned and took their seats. it was rather a stormy time in the house; but no blood was shed. since then there has been some 'sticking;' but i don't think any of the colored ones were in it." in the neighborhood of eufaula, ala., in december, , mrs. harper did a good work, as may be seen from the following extract taken from a letter, dated december th: "last evening i visited one of the plantations, and had an interesting time. oh, how warm was the welcome! i went out near dark, and between that time and attending my lecture, i was out to supper in two homes. the people are living in the old cabins of slavery; some of them have no windows, at all, that i see; in fact, i don't remember of having seen a pane of window-glass in the settlement. but, humble as their homes were, i was kindly treated, and well received; and what a chance one has for observation among these people, if one takes with her a manner that unlocks other hearts. i had quite a little gathering, after less, perhaps, than a day's notice; the minister did not know that i was coming, till he met me in the afternoon. there was no fire in the church, and so they lit fires outside, and we gathered, or at least a number of us, around the fire. to-night i am going over to georgia to lecture. in consequence of the low price of cotton, the people may not be able to pay much, and i am giving all my lectures free. you speak of things looking dark in the south; there is no trouble here that i know of--cotton is low, but the people do not seem to be particularly depressed about it; this emigration question has been on the carpet, and i do not wonder if some of them, with their limited knowledge, lose hope in seeing full justice done to them, among their life-long oppressors; congress has been agitating the st. domingo question; a legitimate theme for discussion, and one that comes nearer home, is how they can give more security and strength to the government which we have established in the south--for there has been a miserable weakness in the security to human life. the man with whom i stopped, had a son who married a white woman, or girl, and was shot down, and there was, as i understand, no investigation by the jury; and a number of cases have occurred of murders, for which the punishment has been very lax, or not at all, and, it may be, never will be; however, i rather think things are somewhat quieter. a few days ago a shameful outrage occurred at this place--some men had been out fox hunting, and came to the door of a colored woman and demanded entrance, making out they wanted fire; she replied that she had none, and refused to open the door; the miserable cowards broke open the door, and shamefully beat her. i am going to see her this afternoon. it is remarkable, however, in spite of circumstances, how some of these people are getting along. here is a woman who, with her husband, at the surrender, had a single dollar; and now they have a home of their own, and several acres attached--five altogether; but, as that was rather small, her husband has contracted for two hundred and forty acres more, and has now gone out and commenced operations." from columbiana, february th, she wrote concerning her work, and presented the "lights and shades" of affairs as they came under her notice. "i am almost constantly either traveling or speaking. i do not think that i have missed more than one sunday that i have not addressed some sunday-school, and i have not missed many day-schools either. and as i am giving all my lectures free the proceeds of the collections are not often very large; still as ignorant as part of the people are perhaps a number of them would not hear at all, and may be prejudice others if i charged even ten cents, and so perhaps in the long run, even if my work is wearing, i may be of some real benefit to my race. * * i don't know but that you would laugh if you were to hear some of the remarks which my lectures call forth: 'she is a man,' again 'she is not colored, she is painted.' both white and colored come out to hear me, and i have very fine meetings; and then part of the time i am talking in between times, and how tired i am some of the time. still i am standing with my race on the threshold of a new era, and though some be far past me in the learning of the schools, yet to-day, with my limited and fragmentary knowledge, i may help the race forward a little. some of our people remind me of sheep without a shepherd." * * * * * private lectures to freedwomen. desiring to speak to women who have been the objects of so much wrong and abuse under slavery, and even since emancipation, in a state of ignorance, not accessible always to those who would or could urge the proper kind of education respecting their morals and general improvement, mrs. harper has made it her business not to overlook this all important duty to her poor sisters. the following extract taken from a letter dated "greenville, georgia, march th," will show what she was doing in this direction: "but really my hands are almost constantly full of work; sometimes i speak twice a day. part of my lectures are given privately to women, and for them i never make any charge, or take up any collection. but this part of the country reminds me of heathen ground, and though my work may not be recognized as part of it used to be in the north, yet never perhaps were my services more needed; and according to their intelligence and means perhaps never better appreciated than here among these lowly people. i am now going to have a private meeting with the women of this place if they will come out. i am going to talk with them about their daughters, and about things connected with the welfare of the race. now is the time for our women to begin to try to lift up their heads and plant the roots of progress under the hearthstone. last night i spoke in a school-house, where there was not, to my knowledge, a single window glass; to-day i write to you in a lowly cabin, where the windows in the room are formed by two apertures in the wall. there is a wide-spread and almost universal appearance of poverty in this state where i have been, but thus far i have seen no, or scarcely any, pauperism. i am not sure that i have seen any. the climate is so fine, so little cold that poor people can live off of less than they can in the north. last night my table was adorned with roses, although i did not get one cent for my lecture." * * * "the political heavens are getting somewhat overcast. some of this old rebel element, i think, are in favor of taking away the colored man's vote, and if he loses it now it may be generations before he gets it again. well, after all perhaps the colored man generally is not really developed enough to value his vote and equality with other races, so he gets enough to eat and drink, and be comfortable, perhaps the loss of his vote would not be a serious grievance to many; but his children differently educated and trained by circumstances might feel political inferiority rather a bitter cup." "after all whether they encourage or discourage me, i belong to this race, and when it is down i belong to a down race; when it is up i belong to a risen race." she writes thus from montgomery, december th, : "did you ever read a little poem commencing, i think, with these words: a mother cried, oh, give me joy, for i have born a darling boy! a darling boy! why the world is full of the men who play at push and pull. well, as full as the room was of beds and tenants, on the morning of the twenty-second, there arose a wail upon the air, and this mundane sphere had another inhabitant, and my room another occupant. i left after that, and when i came back the house was fuller than it was before, and my hostess gave me to understand that she would rather i should be somewhere else, and i left again. how did i fare? well, i had been stopping with one of our teachers and went back; but the room in which i stopped was one of those southern shells through which both light and cold enter at the same time; it had one window and perhaps more than half or one half the panes gone. i don't know that i was ever more conquered by the cold than i had been at that house, and i have lived parts of winter after winter amid the snows of new england; but if it was cold out of doors, there was warmth and light within doors; but here, if you opened the door for light, the cold would also enter, and so part of the time i sat by the fire, and that and the crevices in the house supplied me with light in one room, and we had the deficient window-sash, or perhaps it never had had any lights in it. you could put your finger through some of the apertures in the house; at least i could mine, and the water froze down to the bottom of the tumbler. from another such domicile may kind fate save me. and then the man asked me four dollars and a half a week board. one of the nights there was no fire in the stove, and the next time we had fires, one stove might have been a second-hand chamber stove. now perhaps you think these people very poor, but the man with whom i stopped has no family that i saw, but himself and wife, and he would make two dollars and a half a day, and she worked out and kept a boarder. and yet, except the beds and bed clothing, i wouldn't have given fifteen dollars for all their house furniture. i should think that this has been one of the lowest down states in the south, as far as civilization has been concerned. in the future, until these people are educated, look out for democratic victories, for here are two materials with which democracy can work, ignorance and poverty. men talk about missionary work among the heathen, but if any lover of christ wants a field for civilizing work, here is a field. part of the time i am preaching against men ill-treating their wives. i have heard though, that often during the war men hired out their wives and drew their pay." * * * * * "and then there is another trouble, some of our northern men have been down this way and by some means they have not made the best impression on every mind here. one woman here has been expressing her mind very freely to me about some of our northerners, and we are not all considered here as saints and angels, and of course in their minds i get associated with some or all the humbugs that have been before me. but i am not discouraged, my race needs me, if i will only be faithful, and in spite of suspicion and distrust, i will work on; the deeper our degradation, the louder our call for redemption. if they have little or no faith in goodness and earnestness, that is only one reason why we should be more faithful and earnest, and so i shall probably stay here in the south all winter. i am not making much money, and perhaps will hardly clear expenses this winter; but after all what matters it when i am in my grave whether i have been rich or poor, loved or hated, despised or respected, if christ will only own me to his father, and i be permitted a place in one of the mansions of rest." col. j.w. forney, editor of "the press," published july , , with the brief editorial heading by his own hand, the document appended: the following letter, written by mrs. f.e.w. harper, the well-known colored orator, to a friend, mr. wm. still, of philadelphia, will be read with surprise and pleasure by all classes; especially supplemented as it is by an article from the mobile (alabama) _register,_ referring to one of her addresses in that city. the _register_ is the organ of the fire-eaters of the south, conducted by john forsyth, heretofore one of the most intolerant of that school. mrs. harper describes the manner in which the old plantation of jefferson davis in mississippi was cultivated by his brother's former slave, having been a guest in the davis mansion, now occupied by mr. montgomery, the aforesaid slave. she also draws a graphic picture of her own marvellous advancement from utter obscurity to the platform of a public lecturer, honored by her own race and applauded by their oppressors. while we regret, as she says, that her experience and that of mr. montgomery is exceptional, it is easy to anticipate the harvest of such a sowing. the same culture--the same courage on the part of the men and women who undertake to advocate republican doctrines in the south--the same perseverance and intelligence on the part of those who are earning their bread by the cultivation of the soil, will be crowned with the same success. violence, bloodshed, and murder cannot rule long in communities where these resistless elements are allowed to work. no scene in the unparalleled tragedy of the rebellion, or in the drama which succeeded that tragedy, can be compared to the picture outlined by mrs. harper herself, and filled in by the ready pen of the rebel editor of the mobile _register_: mobile, july , . my dear friend:--it is said that truth is stranger than fiction; and if ten years since some one had entered my humble log house and seen me kneading bread and making butter, and said that in less than ten years you will be in the lecture field, you will be a welcome guest under the roof of the president of the confederacy, though not by special invitation from him, that you will see his brother's former slave a man of business and influence, that hundreds of colored men will congregate on the old baronial possessions, that a school will spring up there like a well in the desert dust, that this former slave will be a magistrate upon that plantation, that labor will be organized upon a new basis, and that under the sole auspices and moulding hands of this man and his sons will be developed a business whose transactions will be numbered in hundreds of thousands of dollars, would you not have smiled incredulously? and i have lived to see the day when the plantation has passed into new hands, and these hands once wore the fetters of slavery. mr. montgomery, the present proprietor by contract of between five and six thousand acres of land, has one of the most interesting families that i have ever seen in the south. they are building up a future which if exceptional now i hope will become more general hereafter. every hand of his family is adding its quota to the success of this experiment of a colored man both trading and farming on an extensive scale. last year his wife took on her hands about acres of land, and with her force she raised about bales of cotton. she has a number of orphan children employed, and not only does she supervise their labor, but she works herself. one daughter, an intelligent young lady, is postmistress and i believe assistant book-keeper. one son attends to the planting interest, and another daughter attends to one of the stores. the business of this firm of montgomery & sons has amounted, i understand, to between three and four hundred thousand dollars in a year. i stayed on the place several days and was hospitably entertained and kindly treated. when i come, if nothing prevents, i will tell you more about them. now for the next strange truth. enclosed i send you a notice from one of the leading and representative papers of rebeldom. the editor has been, or is considered, one of the representative men of the south. i have given a lecture since this notice, which brought out some of the most noted rebels, among whom was admiral semmes. in my speech i referred to the alabama sweeping away our commerce, and his son sat near him and seemed to receive it with much good humor. i don't know what the papers will say to-day; perhaps they will think that i dwelt upon the past too much. oh, if you had seen the rebs i had out last night, perhaps you would have felt a little nervous for me. however, i lived through it, and gave them more gospel truth than perhaps some of them have heard for some time. a lecture. we received a polite invitation from the trustees of the state-street african methodist episcopal zion church to attend a lecture in that edifice on thursday evening. being told that the discourse would be delivered by a female colored lecturer from maryland, curiosity, as well as an interest to see how the colored citizens were managing their own institutions, led us at once to accept the invitation. we found a very spacious church, gas-light, and the balustrades of the galleries copiously hung with wreaths and festoons of flowers, and a large audience of both sexes, which, both in appearance and behaviour, was respectable and decorously observant of the proprieties of the place. the services were opened, as usual, with prayer and a hymn, the latter inspired by powerful lungs, and in which the musical ear at once caught the negro talent for melody. the lecturer was then introduced as mrs. f.e.w. harper, from maryland. without a moment's hesitation she started off in the flow of her discourse, which rolled smoothly and uninterruptedly on for nearly two hours. it was very apparent that it was not a cut and dried speech, for she was as fluent and as felicitous in her allusions to circumstances immediately around her as she was when she rose to a more exalted pitch of laudation of the "union," or of execration of the old slavery system. her voice was remarkable--as sweet as any woman's voice we ever heard, and so clear and distinct as to pass every syllable to the most distant ear in the house. without any effort at attentive listening we followed the speaker to the end, not discerning a single grammatical inaccuracy of speech, or the slightest violation of good taste in manner or matter. at times the current of thoughts flowed in eloquent and poetic expression, and often her quaint humor would expose the ivory in half a thousand mouths. we confess that we began to wonder, and we asked a fine-looking man before us, "what is her color? is she dark or light?" he answered, "she is mulatto; what they call a red mulatto." the 'red' was new to us. our neighbor asked, "how do you like her?" we replied, "she is giving your people the best kind and the very wisest of advice." he rejoined, "i wish i had her education." to which we added, "that's just what she tells you is your great duty and your need, and if you are too old to get it yourselves, you must give it to your children." the speaker left the impression on our mind that she was not only intelligent and educated, but--the great end of education--she was enlightened. she comprehends perfectly the situation of her people, to whose interests she seems ardently devoted. the main theme of her discourse, the one string to the harmony of which all the others were attuned, was the grand opportunity that emancipation had afforded to the black race to lift itself to the level of the duties and responsibilities enjoined by it. "you have muscle power and brain power," she said; "you must utilize them, or be content to remain forever the inferior race. get land, every one that can, and as fast as you ean. a landless people must be dependent upon the landed people. a few acres to till for food and a roof, however bumble, over your head, are the castle of your independence, and when you have it you are fortified to act and vote independently whenever your interests are at stake." that part of her lecture (and there was much of it) that dwelt on the moral duties and domestic relations of the colored people was pitched on the highest key of sound morality. she urged the cultivation of the "home life," the sanctity of the marriage state (a happy contrast to her strong-minded, free-love, white sisters of the north), and the duties of mothers to their daughters. "why," said she in a voice of much surprise, "i have actually heard since i have been south that sometimes colored husbands positively beat their wives! i do not mean to insinuate for a moment that such things can possibly happen in mobile. the very appearance of this congregation forbids it; but i did hear of one terrible husband defending himself for the unmanly practice with 'well, i have got to whip her or leave her.'" there were parts of the lecturer's discourse that grated a little on a white southern ear, but it was lost and forgiven in the genuine earnestness and profound good sense with which the woman spoke to her kind in words of sound advice. on the whole, we are very glad we accepted the zion's invitation. it gave us much food for new thought. it reminded us, perhaps, of neglected duties to these people, and it impressed strongly on our minds that these people are getting along, getting onward, and progress was a star becoming familiar to their gaze and their desires. whatever the negroes have done in the path of advancement, they have done largely without white aid. but politics and white pride have kept the white people aloof from offering that earnest and moral assistance which would be so useful to a people just starting from infancy into a life of self-dependence. in writing from columbiana and demopolis, alabama, about the first of march, , mrs. harper painted the state of affairs in her usually graphic manner, and diligently was she endeavoring to inspire the people with hope and encouragement. "oh, what a field there is here in this region! let me give you a short account of this week's work. sunday i addressed a sunday-school in taladega; on monday afternoon a day-school. on monday i rode several miles to a meeting; addressed it, and came back the same night. got back about or after twelve o'clock. the next day i had a meeting of women and addressed them, and then lectured in the evening in the court-house to both colored and white. last night i spoke again, about ten miles from where i am now stopping, and returned the same night, and to-morrow evening probably i shall speak again. i grow quite tired part of the time. * * * and now let me give you an anecdote or two of some of our new citizens. while in taladega i was entertained and well entertained, at the house of one of our new citizens. he is living in the house of his former master. he is a brick-maker by trade, and i rather think mason also. he was worth to his owner, it was reckoned, fifteen hundred or about that a year. he worked with him seven years; and in that seven years he remembers receiving from him fifty cents. now mark the contrast! that man is now free, owns the home of his former master, has i think more than sixty acres of land, and his master is in the poor-house. i heard of another such case not long since: a woman was cruelly treated once, or more than once. she escaped and ran naked into town. the villain in whose clutch she found herself was trying to drag her downward to his own low level of impurity, and at last she fell. she was poorly fed, so that she was tempted to sell her person. even scraps thrown to the dog she was hunger-bitten enough to aim for. poor thing, was there anything in the future for her? had not hunger and cruelty and prostitution done their work, and left her an entire wreck for life? it seems not. freedom came, and with it dawned a new era upon that poor, overshadowed, and sin-darkened life. freedom brought opportunity for work and wages combined. she went to work, and got ten dollars a month. she has contrived to get some education, and has since been teaching school. while her former mistress has been to her for help. "do not the mills of god grind exceedingly fine? and she has helped that mistress, and so has the colored man given money, from what i heard, to his former master. after all, friend, do we not belong to one of the best branches of the human race? and yet, how have our people been murdered in the south, and their bones scattered at the grave's mouth! oh, when will we have a government strong enough to make human life safe? only yesterday i heard of a murder committed on a man for an old grudge of several years' standing. i had visited the place, but had just got away. last summer a mr. luke was hung, and several other men also, i heard." while surrounded with this state of affairs, an appeal reached her through the columns of the national standard, setting forth a state of very great suffering and want, especially on the part of the old, blind and decrepit freedmen of the district of columbia. after expressing deep pity for these unfortunates, she added: "please send ten dollars to josephine griffing for me for the suffering poor of the district of columbia. just send it by mail, and charge to my account." many more letters written by mrs. harper are before us, containing highly interesting information from louisiana, mississippi, florida, north carolina, virginia, kentucky, tennessee, missouri, maryland, and even poor little delaware. through all these states she has traveled and labored extensively, as has been already stated; but our space in this volume will admit of only one more letter: "i have been traveling the best part of the day. * * * can you spare a little time from your book to just take a peep at some of our alabama people? if you would see some instances of apparent poverty and ignorance that i have seen perhaps you would not wonder very much at the conservative voting in the state. a few days since i was about to pay a woman a dollar and a quarter for some washing in ten cent (currency) notes, when she informed me that she could not count it; she must trust to my honesty--she could count forty cents. since i left eufaula i have seen something of plantation life. the first plantation i visited was about five or six miles from eufaula, and i should think that the improvement in some of the cabins was not very much in advance of what it was in slavery. the cabins are made with doors, but not, to my recollection, a single window pane or speck of plastering; and yet even in some of those lowly homes i met with hospitality. a room to myself is a luxury that i do not always enjoy. still i live through it, and find life rather interesting. the people have much to learn. the condition of the women is not very enviable in some cases. they have had some of them a terribly hard time in slavery, and their subjection has not ceased in freedom. * * * one man said of some women, that a man must leave them or whip them. * * * let me introduce you to another scene: here is a gathering; a large fire is burning out of doors, and here are one or two boys with hats on. here is a little girl with her bonnet on, and there a little boy moves off and commences to climb a tree. do you know what the gathering means? it is a school, and the teacher, i believe, is paid from the school fund. he says he is from new hampshire. that may be. but to look at him and to hear him teach, you would perhaps think him not very lately from the north; at least i do not think he is a model teacher. they have a church; but somehow they have burnt a hole, i understand, in the top, and so i lectured inside, and they gathered around the fire outside. here is another--what shall i call it?--meeting-place. it is a brush arbor. and what pray is that? shall i call it an edifice or an improvised meeting-house? well, it is called a brush arbor. it is a kind of brush house with seats, and a kind of covering made partly, i rather think, of branches of trees, and an humble place for pulpit. i lectured in a place where they seemed to have no other church; but i spoke at a house. in glenville, a little out-of-the-way place, i spent part of a week. there they have two unfinished churches. one has not a single pane of glass, and the same aperture that admits the light also gives ingress to the air; and the other one, i rather think, is less finished than that. i spoke in one, and then the white people gave me a hall, and quite a number attended.... i am now at union springs, where i shall probably room with three women. but amid all this roughing it in the bush, i find a field of work where kindness and hospitality have thrown their sunshine around my way. and oh what a field of work is here! how much one needs the spirit of our dear master to make one's life a living, loving force to help men to higher planes of thought and action. i am giving all my lectures with free admission; but still i get along, and the way has been opening for me almost ever since i have been south. oh, if some more of our young women would only consecrate their lives to the work of upbuilding the race! oh, if i could only see our young men and women aiming to build up a future for themselves which would grandly contrast with the past--with its pain, ignorance and low social condition." it may be well to add that mrs. harper's letters from which we have copied were simply private, never intended for publication; and while they bear obvious marks of truthfulness, discrimination and impartiality, it becomes us to say that a more strictly conscientious woman we have never known. returning to philadelphia after many months of hard labor in the south, mrs. harper, instead of seeking needed rest and recreation, scarcely allows a day to pass without seeking to aid in the reformation of the outcast and degraded. the earnest advice which she gives on the subject of temperance and moral reforms generally causes some to reflect, even among adults, and induces a number of poor children to attend day and sabbath-schools. the condition of this class, she feels, appeals loudly for a remedy to respectable and intelligent colored citizens; and whilst not discouraged, she is often quite saddened at the supineness of the better class. during the past summer when it was too warm to labor in the south she spent several months in this field without a farthing's reward. she assisted in organizing a sabbath-school, and accepted the office of assistant superintendent under the auspices of the young men's christian association. mrs. harper reads the best magazines and ablest weeklies, as well as more elaborate works, not excepting such authors as de tocqueville, mill, ruskin, buckle, guizot, &c. in espousing the cause of the oppressed as a poet and lecturer, had she neglected to fortify her mind in the manner she did, she would have been weighed and found wanting long since. before friends and foes, the learned and the unlearned, north and south, mrs. harper has pleaded the cause of her race in a manner that has commanded the greatest respect; indeed, it is hardly too much to say, that during seventeen years of public labor she has made thousands of speeches without doing herself or people discredit in a single instance, but has accomplished a great deal in the way of removing prejudice. may we not hope that the rising generation at least will take encouragement by her example and find an argument of rare force in favor of mental and moral equality, and above all be awakened to see how prejudices and difficulties may be surmounted by continual struggles, intelligence and a virtuous character? fifty thousand copies at least of her four small books have been sold to those who have listened to her eloquent lectures. one of those productions entitled "moses" has been used to entertain audiences with evening readings in various parts of the country. with what effect may be seen from the two brief notices as follows: "mrs. f.e.w. harper delivered a poem upon 'moses' in wilbraham to a large and delighted audience. she is a woman of high moral tone, with superior native powers highly cultivated, and a captivating eloquence that hold her audience in rapt attention from the beginning to the close. she will delight any intelligent audience, and those who wish first-class lecturers cannot do better than to secure her services."--_zion's herald, boston._ "mrs. frances e.w. harper read her poem of 'moses' last evening at rev. mr. harrison's church to a good audience. it deals with the story of the hebrew moses from his finding in the wicker basket on the nile to his death on mount nebo and his burial in an unknown grave; following closely the scripture account. it contains about lines, beginning with blank verse of the common measure, and changing to other measures, but always without rhyme; and is a pathetic and well-sustained piece. mrs. harper recited it with good effect, and it was well received. she is a lady of much talent, and always speaks well, particularly when her subject relates to the condition of her own people, in whose welfare, before and since the war, she has taken the deepest interest. as a lecturer mrs. harper is more effective than most of those who come before our lyceums; with a natural eloquence that is very moving."--_galesburgh register, ill._ grace greenwood, in the independent in noticing a course of lectures in which mrs. harper spoke (in philadelphia) pays this tribute to her: "next on the course was mrs harper, a colored woman; about as colored as some of the cuban belles i have met with at saratoga. she has a noble head, this bronze muse; a strong face, with a shadowed glow upon it, indicative of thoughtful fervor, and of a nature most femininely sensitive, but not in the least morbid. her form is delicate, her hands daintily small. she stands quietly beside her desk, and speaks without notes, with gestures few and fitting. her manner is marked by dignity and composure. she is never assuming, never theatrical. in the first part of her lecture she was most impressive in her pleading for the race with whom her lot is cast. there was something touching in her attitude as their representative. the woe of two hundred years sighed through her tones. every glance of her sad eyes was a mournful remonstrance against injustice and wrong. feeling on her soul, as she must have felt it, the chilling weight of caste, she seemed to say: 'i lift my heavy heart up solemnly, as once eleotra her sepulchral urn.' ... as i listened to her, there swept over me, in a chill wave of horror, the realization that this noble woman had she not been rescued from her mother's condition, might have been sold on the auction-block, to the highest bidder--her intellect, fancy, eloquence, the flashing wit, that might make the delight of a parisian saloon, and her pure, christian character all thrown in--the recollection that women like her could be dragged out of public conveyances in our own city, or frowned out of fashionable churches by anglo-saxon saints." the end. index. * * * * * preface, - . illustrations, , . contents, - . anthony, kit, and wife leah, and three children, adam, mary, and murry, . amby, nat, . amby, elizabeth, . augusta, john, (letter.) . anderson, henry, alias wm. anderson, . amos, stephen, alias henry johnson, . atkins, wm. henry, . atkinson, anthony, . atkinson, john, . anderson, geo., . anderson, thos., . ashmead, john w., attorney of u.s., for e. dist., pa., . aldridge, bazil, . aldridge, caroline, . alexander, john, . armstead, moses, . allen, andrew, . allison, ebenezer, . anderson, joshua john, . alligood, geo., . alligood, jim, . "a woman with two children," . archer, sam, . alberti, geo. f., . blow, anthony, (alias henry levison,) . butler, james, and stephen, . brinkley, wm., . brown, henry box, . burton, perry, . boyer, mary elizabeth, . brown, louisa, . brit, elizabeth, . brown, harriet, alias jane wooton, . brown, chaskey, . brown, chas., . brown, solomon, . brown, john, . bigelow, j., . barlow, archer, alias emit robins, . bush, sam'l, alias wm. oblebee, . brooks, susan, . bird, chas., . brown, angeline, . brown, albert, . brown, chas., . burrell, james, . boggs, alex., . bell, harrison, and daughter harriet ann, . blackson, jas. henry, . bowlegs, jim, alias bill paul, . bennett, david, and wife martha, with their two children, . bell, louisa, . bohm, henry, . bailey, josiah, . bailey, wm., . banks, henry, . banks, elizabeth, . brown, anthony, and albert, . butcher, wm., alias wm. t. mitchell, . bradley, richard, . bennett, dan'l, alias henry washington, and wife martha, and two children, . brooks, adam, alias wm. smith, . boyer, jacob mathias, . bodams, matthew, . bowser, nathaniel, . brown, wm., . brown, chas. henry, . brister, nancy, . burrell, lewis, . burrell, peter, . bivans, belinda, . branson, randolph, . booze, richard j., . ball, oscar, d., . butler, john alex., . belle, jim, . benton, sam'l, . bacon, abe, . boile, susan jane, . bishop, elizah, . ballard, geo. henry, . bowler, wm., . bell, susan, . beesly, dick, . boldan, chas. andrew, . bayne, richard, . bowling, carter, . boize, henry, . banks, jim, . blockson, jacob, . boyce, andrew jackson, . burton, handy, . brown, stepney, . brown, james, . brown, john, . bell, sarah jane, (with babe in arms,) . bell, robt., (and two others,) . brown, john, . brown, jacob, . buchanan, jenny, . brown, wm., . burkett. henry, . burkett, elizabeth, . burton, hale, . bird, mary, . brooks, mrs. dr., . burris, sam'l d., - . conklin, seth, . coffin, levi, . clayton, john, . camp, jos. henry, . christian, jas. hamilton, . camper, jas., . cornish, aaron, and wife, with six children, solomon, geo., anthony, jos., ed. jas., perry lake, and a nameless babe, . colburn. jeremiah, . cooper, wm., . collins, nathan, and wife mary ellen, . "cambridge democrat," . congo, charles, and wife margaret, . "child," ( months old,) . chapman, emeline, . carr, dan'l, . "charles," . clayton, louisa, . cromwell, henry, . chase, john, alias dan'l floyd, . crummill, jas., . childs, lewis, . cooper, thos., . cooper, henry, . cole, david, and wife, . cornish, joseph, . chambers, henry, . chambers, john, . curtis, mary, . craft. wm., and ellen, . cobb, lewis, . clinton, thos., . carroll, geo., . clagart, john, . connor, chas., . connor, chas., . connor, jas., . cary, harrison, . cole, wm., . cole, bill, . cooper, mary, . carney, wm., . cain, james, . carroll, edward, . carr, robt, . cannon, plymouth, . carr, john thompson, . christy, jack, . combash, john wesley, . carpenter, wm., . campbell, frank, . cope, wm. thos., . clexton, perry, . connor, wm. jas., wife and child, and four brothers, . collins, theophilus, . carlisle, wm., . cannon, ansal, . chiou, wm., and wife emma, . casting, edward, . cotton, henry, . canby, wm. j., . corson, geo., - . cleveland, prof. chas. d., - . davis, clarissa, . davis, wm., . dorsey, maria, . dutton, marshall, . dobson, henrietta, . dorsey, luther, . dotson, isaac, . "david," . dorsey, geo., . davis, dan'l, alias david smith, . duncans, benj., alias geo. scott, . delaney, jas. henry, atias stuart stanley, . dutton, chas., alias wm. rohinson, . derrickson, peter, . dunagan, sarah a., . davis, isaac d., . dorsey, anna, . dickinson, benj., . ducket, benj., . davis, sam, . davis, "old jane," . dauphus, etna elizabeth, . derrix, townsend, . diggs, dave, . dade, john, and henry, . davis, enoch, . dickson, thos. edward, . douglass, thos., . dunmore, henry, . dungy, john wm., . douglass, frederick, - . elliott, thomas, . epps, mary, (alias emma brown,) . ennells, noah, . emerson, robt., . eden, bichard, . ennis, mary, alias licia hemmin, with two children, lydia and louisa caroline, . eglin, harriet, . eglin, charlotte, . edwards, david, . ellis, joe, . ennis, ephraim, . edwards, alfred, . edwards, david, . ennets, stephen, and wife maria, with three children, harriet, amanda and babe, . forman, isaac, . ford, sheridan, . fletcher, benj. r. . foster, emily, alias ann wood, . frisley, alfred jas., . f., capt and mayor of norfolk, . freeman, thos., . foster, jas., . fleeing girl of years, in male attire, . fisher, robt., . foreman, ellen, alias eliz. young, . freeland, geo., . foreman. jas. h., . frances, eliz., alias ellen saunders, . fowler, arthur, alias benj. johnson, . francis, lewis, alias lewis johnson, . fall, sam'l, . fisher, jonathan, . freeman, wm. thos., alias ezekiel chambers, . fidget, isaac, . fugitive slave bill of , . farmer, wm. . fineer, abe, . fuller, cornelius, and wife harriet, . foster, turner, . field, henry, . foreman, isaac, . furness, wm. h., d.d., - . gilliam, wm. h., . garrett, thomas, . griffin, wm., . grigby, barnaby, alias john boyer*, . grant, joseph, . goulden, alfred, . galloway, abram, . gardner, nathaniel, . gault, phillis, . "green," . garrett, lucy, alias julia wood, . gilbert, chas., . green, sam'l, alias wesley kennard, . green, richard, . green, geo., . green, lear, . govan, wm., . gibson, john wesley, . giles, lewis, . good, beverly, . griffin, jas., alias thos. brown, . green, dan'l, alias geo. taylor, . graves, caroline, . graham, geo., and wife jane, . gooseberry, thos. jervis, . gibson, adam, . gorsuch, edward, . gorham, henry, . green, zebulon, . graham, montgomery, . green, christopher, and wife ann maria, and son nathan, . grimes, harry, . grantham, nancy, . gardner, priscilla, . gross, sam, . gross, peter, . gray, john boize, . gassway, caroline, . gross, albert, . grinage*, john, . gross, chas. henry, . graff, evan, . goines, luke, . gray, henry, . gray, mary, . goodwin, abigail, - . garrett, thos., - . gibbons, dan'l, - . garrison, wm. lloyd, - . harris, wesley, alias robert jackson, . hall, romulus, . harris, abram, . hughes, daniel, . hill, jos., and wife alice, and son henry, . "hannah," . hitchens, c., . hubert, alfred, . henry, thos., . hollis, henry chas., . hilton, elijah, . hogg, wm., alias, john smith, . haines, francis, . hill, john henry, . hill, hezekiah, . hill, jas., . harris, nathan, . haley, harriet, alias ann richardson, . handy, jas. edward, alias dennis cannon, . hall, john, alias john simpson, . hall, john, . harris, joseph, . hodges, henry, . handy, joshua, alias hamilton hamby, . hudson, ephraim, alias john spry, . hilliard, frances, . harding, louisa, alias rebecca hall, . houston, maria jane, . hoopes, miles, . hinson, jas., alias david caldwell, . hill, simon, . holladay, chas., . howard, henry, . hacket, lloyd, alias perry watkins, . hall, jos., jr., . heines, peter, . hooper, henry, . hall, jacob, alias henry thomas, wife henrietta, and child, . hamlet, jas., . hanaway, castner, . hilliard, mrs. geo. s., . hill, jones, . hall, charles, . homer, alfred, . harper, thos., . haines, edward, . haines, jos., . harris, thos., . hipkins, wm. henry, . hill, geo., . hall, hanson, . "hanson," . hollon, alfred, . henry, james, . harris, darius, . henderson, eliza, . hunt, orlando j., . herring, elias jack, . harper, ruth, . hutton, bill, . holden, levin, . hopkins, sidney, . hill, jos. henry, . heath, chas., . hillis, john, . hall, edward, . hall, john, . hall, chas., . harris, james, . hughes, wm., . henson, james, . henry, joe, . helpers and sympathizers at home and abroad, . hunn, john, - . hopper, isaac t., - . harper, frances ellen watkins, - . "isabella," . irwin, asbury, . johnston, rev. n.r., . jones, wm. box peel, . johnson, perry, . johnson, henry, . johnson, jane, and her two little boys, . jones, thos., alias robt. brown, . jordan. wm., alias wm. price, . johnson, w. sam'l, . johnson, jane mary, alias harriet, . johnson, ann rebecca, . johnson, wm. h., . johnson, eliz., . johnson, mary ellen, . johnson, ann, . johnson, david, . jones, alice, . johnson, wm., . jasper, elias, . joiner, maria, . jones, arthur, . jones, robt. and wife eliza, . jackson, peter, alias staunch tilghman, . judah, john, . jones, samuel, . jones, tolbert, . johnson, wm. henry, alias john wesley, . johnson, james, alias wm. gilbert, and wife harriet, . jones, james, . jones, rebecca, . jones, sarah frances, . jones, mary, . jones, rebecca, jr., . jones, fenton, . johnson, jas., . jackson, wm., . johnson, geo., . johnson, eliza jane, . johnson, john, . jackson, "general andrew," . jones, catharine, and son henry, . jones, mary, . jones, lew, . jake, and mary ann, his wife, . janney, john, . johnson, talbot, . jackson, jas. henry, . jackson, rebecca, and daughter, . johns, lydia ann, . johns, robt., and wife "sueann," . johnson, cornelius henry, . jackson, robt., . johnston, wm., . jones, henry, . jackson, ann maria, . jackson, mary ann, . jackson, wm. henry, . jackson, frances sabina, . jackson, wilhelmina, . jackson, john edwin, . jackson, ebenezer thos., . jackson, wm. albert, . jackson, andrew, . johnson, rosanna, . johnson, jos. c., . kneeland, joseph, (alias joseph hulson,) . kane, jane, alias catharine kane, . kline, henry h., . kane, judge, . kane, col. t.l., . kell, jim, . kelly, henson, . knight, mary, . letters, u.g.r.r., - . light, george, . lewis, g., , (letter.) lee, capt., . loney, cordelia, . loney, anthony, alias wm. armstead, . lee, chas., alias thos. bushier, . logan, w.j., (letter,) . little, nancy, . lewis, laura, . laminson, wm. henry, . lewis, eliza, . latham, major, . lambert, elizabeth, and three children, mary, horace, and wm. henry, . logan, geo., . logan, john, . lee, ordee, . long, silas, . light, solomon, . lewis, edward, . lee, wm., . laws, george, . lewis, geo., . lazarus jas., . lee, john edward, . lee, lewis, . langhorn, henry, alias wm. scott, . lewey, mrs., . lewis, mariann, grace anna, and elizabeth r., - . mckiernon, b., . matterson bros., . mansfield, rev. l.d. . mercer, jas, . morgan, edward, . moore, henry, . murry, oracy, alias sophia sims, . massey, james, . mahoney, matilda, . morris, john, . mccoy, robt., alias wm. donor, . mitchell, cyros, alias john steel, . molock, francis, alias thos. jackson, . mclntosh, john, . miles, sam'l, alias robert king, . madden, thos., . matthews, pete, alias sam'l sparrows, . mayo, harriet, . mercer, verenea, . mead, zechariah, alias john williams, . morris, james, . matthews, tom, . munson, alex., . maddison, wylie, . moody, wm. henry, . moore, john henry, . myers, john, . mason, james, . mitchell, lemuel, . mitchell, josiah, . mitchell, john, . mountain, ann, and child, . melvin, mary frances, . mackey, wm., . mills, sarah ann, . maxwell, thos, . murray, robt., . mills, jerry, . mills, diana, . mills, cornelius, . mills, margaret, . mills, susan, . moore, aunt hannah, . miller, joseph c., . millburn, mary, alias louisa f. jones, . mr. mckim to geo. thompson, . moore, esther, - . mott, lucretia, - . mckim, jas. miller, - . neall, daniel, . nixon, thos., . nixon, fred., . nixon, sam, alias dr. thos. bayne, . nelson, wm., and wife susan and son, . nixon, isaiah, . nickless, kit, . nelson, peter, . nole, chas, . newton, isaac, . nichols, randolph, . oberne, henry, . oliver, william, . organization, vigilance committee, - . predo, henry, . parker, levin, . pugh, anthony, . peters, hannah, . pipkins, jefferson, alias david jones, . pipkins, louisa, . petty, peter, . pennington, dr. j.w., brother and two sons, . "perry," . peaden, edward, and wife, . pennington, peter, . payne, dan'l, . purnell, chas., . page, thos., . purnell, oliver, . parker, wm., . pry, sauney, . parker, thos., . pattie, winnie, and her daughter elizabeth, . pennington, tom, . perry, anna, . payne, oscar, . pinket, john, . piney, benjamin, . peck, lewis, . purnell, john, . pierce, wm., . parker, rachel, and elizabeth, . pennypacker, elijah f., - . purvis, robt., . quantence, pascal, . quinn, edward, . redick, willis, . robinson, jos., and robt., . ross, major, . rhoads, geo., . rhoads, jas., . rhoads, eliz. sarah, and child, . ringold, chas. h., . richards, john henry, . robinson, wm., . ross, benj., alias jas. stewart, . ross, henry, alias levin stewart, . ross, robert, . roberts, emory, alias wm. kemp, . reed, isaac, . robinson, isaiah, . robinson, dan'l, . royan, wm., . ross, benj., and wife harriet, . rodgers, geo., . rodgers, chas. n., . rister, amarian lucretia, . russell, geo., . robinson, josephine, . ringgold, chas., . ross, chas., . ryan, james, . roach, john, and wife lamby, . ringgold, chas, . ringgold, wm., . robinson, miles, . roney, major isaac, . richardson, mrs. anne h, , - - - - . russell, dr. bartholomew, - . rhoades, sam'l, - . solomon, geo., . swan, stebney, . stinger, john, . stanley, daniel, . scott, john, . stanly, josiah, . stanly, caroline, . stanly, dan'l, jr., . stanly, john, . stanly, miller, . scott, jack. . scott, cornelius, . stewart, robt., alias gasberry robinson, . smith, vincent, alias john jackson, . smith, betsy, alias fanny jackson, . speaks, john, . salter, henry chas., . smith, w. jeremiah, and wife julia, . stephenson, eliz. mary, . stephens, l.e. (letter,) . scott, godfrey, . smith, john, . spencer, john, . spencer, wm., . spencer, jas. albert, . scott, hettie, alias margaret duncans, and daughter priscilla, . sims, samuel, . smith, robt., . scott, jane, . stater, sam'l, . stuart, james, alias wm. jackson, . smith, sarah, alias mildreth page, . snowden, lewis, alias lewis williams, . "salt water fugitive," . stewart, henry, . shepherd, harriet, with five children, anna maria, edwin, eliz. jane, mary ann and john henry, . somler, washington, alias james moore, . shephard, perry, . sperryman, geo., alias thos. johnson, . spires, valentine, . smith, wm. israel, . spence, arthur, . scott, sam'l, . stout, isaac, alias geo. washington, . slave hunting tragedy in lancaster co., pa., . shepherd, andrew, . saunders, henry, . scott, wm., . smith, thos., . smith, adam, . sheldon, james, . stewart, harriet, and daughter mary eliza, . scott, jim, . scott, sam, . scott, bill, . smith, john, . smith, julius, . smith, mary, . smith, james, . smith, henry edward, . skinner, thos. edward, . shaw, elijah, . smith, sam, . shaw, nace, . smith, dan'l mcnorton, . smith, sam'l, . smallwood, henry, . smith, john wesley, . stewart, susan, . smith, josephine, . smith, john, . smallwood, john, . smith, stafford, . stanton, phillip, . snively, david, . sipple, thos., . sipple, mary ann, . seymour, wm., . saunders, sarah, . scott, winfield, and three children, . shipley, thos., - . thompson, john, - . turner, jackson, . turner, isaac, . turner, edmondson, . taylor, wm. n., . taylor, stephen, . trusty, henry perry, . thompson, chas., . tatum, allen, . tonnel, rosanna, alias maria hyde, . tubman, harriet, . the protection of slave property in va., . tubman, harriet, ("moses") . thompson, charles, . thompson, charity, . taylor, owen, . taylor, otho. . taylor, mary ann, . taylor, benj., . taylor, edward, with a brother and his wife and two children, . taylor, caroline, . taylor, nancy, . taylor, mary, . tubman, harriet, . thompson, wm. henry, . todd, israel, . tilison, abram, . triplet, wm., . turner, samuel, . thornton, lawrence, . thompson, jas. henry, . taylor, roberta, . thompson, robert, . thornton, alfred s., . taylor, jacob, . tucker, henry, . taylor, benj., . taylor, james, . townsend, henry, . tudle, henry and wife, . thomas, miss mary b. . thomas, joseph, . tubman, harriet, . taylor, harriet, . tappan, lewis, - . upsher, geo., . viney, joseph and family, . vaughn, michael, . white, mrs. l.e., . wilson, hiram, (ag't u.g.r.r.,) . williamson, passmore, . "william," . whitney, israel, . williams, samuel, alias john williams, . wanzer, frank, alias robt. scott, . waters, jacob, . williams, ed., alias henry johnson, . washington, wm. henry, . washington, geo., . white, emanuel t., . woolfley, levina, . wilson, willis, . wilson, ned, . wilson, sarah c., . weems, maria, alias joe wright, . weems, arrow, (letter,) . waples, hansel, . white, wm. b., . wiggins, dan'l, . wines, moses, . wooden, wm., alias wm. nelson, . white, miles, . weaver, mary, (irish girl's devotion to freedom,) . washington, henry, alias anthony hardy, . whiting, ralph, . williams, isaac, . williams, geo., . walker, geo., alias austin valentine, . washington, henry, . washington, eliza, . wilson, wm., . watson, jas. henry, . williams, wm., and his wife, . winston, jos., . wright, john, and wife eliz. ann, . wood, john, . wright, leeds, . wise, harry, . wooders, abram, . williams, elizabeth, . wells, jack, . washington. geo. nelson, . williamson, wm., . wilkinson, horatio, . wood, mose, . weems, john, . williams, hansom, . white, isaac, . williams, richard, . wheeler, henry, . wood, edward, . wilkins, jas. andy, and wife lucinda, and son chas., . wilson, lewis, . waters, john, . williams, wesley, . white, geo., . white, albert, . white, tucker, . williams, henry, . williams, euphemia, . wright, wm., - . whipper, wm., - . young, murray, . yonng, gusta, . young, anna elizabeth, (with babe in arms,) . what has been said about it * * * * * at the closing meeting of the pennsylvania anti-slavery society, held in philadelphia, may , , the following was unanimously passed: whereas, the position of william still in the vigilance committee connected with the "underground railroad," as its corresponding secretary, and chairman of its active sub-committee, gave him peculiar facilities for collecting interesting facts pertaining to this branch of the anti-slavery service; therefore, _resolved_, that the pennsylvania anti-slavery society requests him to compile and publish his personal reminiscences and experiences relating to the "underground railroad." * * * * * hon. john w. forney, in a letter to the washington _sunday chronicle_, said: "slavery and its mysterious inner life has never yet been described. when it is, reality will surpass fiction. uncle tom's cabin will be rebuilt and newly garnitured. a book, detailing the operations of the 'underground railroad,' is soon to be published in philadelphia, by wm. still, esq., an intelligent colored gentleman, which, composed entirely of facts, will supply material for indefinite dramas and romances. it will disclose a record of unparalleled courage and suffering for the right." * * * * * and again, in a letter to the same paper, mr. forney says: * * * * "a coincidence even more romantic is soon to be revealed in the pages of the _remarkable book_ of wm. still, of philadelphia, entitled 'the underground railroad,' referred to in my last. mr. still kept a careful memorandum of the sufferings and trials of his race during the existence of the 'fugitive slave law,' in the belief that they would be instructive to his posterity, rather than from any hope of the overthrow of the revolting system of human servitude * * * he resolved to spread before the world this _unprecedented_ experience. when his book appears, it will accomplish more than one object. interesting to the literary world, it will undoubtedly facilitate the reunion of other colored families long divided, long sought for, and perhaps to this day strangers to each other. * * * * the volume containing this and other equally romantic yet truthful stories will soon be out, and, _my word for it, no book of the times will be more eagerly read or more profitably remembered._" * * * * * the san francisco _elevator_ says: * * * * "mr. still is one of the pioneers of 'the underground railroad' in philadelphia, where he still resides. he has aided more slaves to escape than any other man, bishop lougan, of syracuse, _perhaps_ excepted. * * * * we hope his book will have a wide circulation, as it will be a valuable addition to the history of the anti-slavery struggle _such as no other man can write._" * * * * * having been, during many years, associated with william still, in laboring for the abolition of american slavery, we heartily bear our testimony to his abundant opportunities for acquiring information relative to the subject of this book; and to his vigilance and fidelity in all the departments of anti-slavery work in which he was engaged, and especially in that department usually called "the underground railroad." we gladly avail ourselves of this opportunity to express our confidence in his ability to present to the public an authentic and interesting history of this enterprise. _prominent members of the anti-slavery society._ lucretia mott, j. miller mckim, robert purvis, mary grew, e.m. davis, sarah pugh, dillwyn parrish, joshua l. hallowell, henry m. laing, margaret j. burleigh, edward hopper, charles wise, john longstreth, j.k. wildman, james a. wright. certainly no volume ever met with higher or more extensive endorsement. from the time the author announced his intention to prepare a book from his notes and records until it was given to the public, it was the subject of favorable comment by leading minds of the country, without reference to race. since its publication it has received the endorsement of the press generally, and of statesmen, preachers, lawyers, doctors, students, in fact men of all ranks. brief extracts from letters to the author by prominent men. _from hon. henry wilson, late vice president of united states_. i have glanced over a few pages of your history of the underground railroad, _and i most earnestly commend it_. you have done a good work. this story of the heroic conduct of fugitives from oppression, and of the devotion of their friends, will be read with deep interest, especially by the old friends of the slave in the stern struggle through which we have passed. i hope your labors will be rewarded by a grateful public. * * * * * _from horace greeley_. _dear sir:_--for most of the years i have lived, the escape of fugitives from slavery, and their efforts to baffle the human and other bloodhounds who tracked them, formed the romance of american history. that romance is now ended, and our grandchildren will hardly believe its leading incidents except on _irresistible testimony_. i rejoice that you are collecting and presenting _that testimony_, and heartily wish you a great success. * * * * * _from hon. charles summer, late u.s. senator from mass._ the underground railroad has performed its part, but must always be remembered gratefully, as one of the peculiar institutions of our country. i cannot think of it without a throbbing heart. you do well to commemorate those associated with it by service or by benefit--the saviors and the saved. the army of the late war has had its "roll of honor." you will give us two other, rolls, worthy of equal honor--the roll of fugitives from slavery, helped on their way to freedom, and also the roll of their self-sacrificing benefactors. i always hesitated which to honor most, the fugitive slave or the citizen who helped him, in defiance of unjust laws. your book will teach us to honor both. * * * * * _from john g. whittier_. the story of the escaped fugitives--the perils, the terrors of pursuit and re-capture--the shrewdness which baffled the human blood-hounds--the untiring zeal and devotion of the friends of the slave in the free states, are well described. _the book is more interesting than any romance_. it will be of permanent value to the historian of the country, during the anti-slavery struggle. _i cheerfully commend it to the public favor_. * * * * * _from j. wheaton smith, d.d._ i am happy to find that material for this interesting work exists. i had feared that much which will be here recorded, would perish with the brave and worthy men who were personally interested. these verities of history contain the interest of romance, and our children's children will read them with wonder and admiration. * * * * * _from, hon. s.p. chase, late chief justice u.s. supreme court_. _your book will certainly be an interesting one. no one probably has had equal opportunities with yourself of listening to the narratives of fugitive slaves. no one will repeat them more truthfully, and no stories can be more fraught with interest than theirs_. let us rejoice, that, in our country, such narratives can never be heard again. * * * * * _from wm. lloyd garrison_. i congratulate you that, after much patient research, careful preparation, and untiring labor, you have completed your voluminous work on "the underground railroad." i am sure your work will be found to be _one of absorbing interest, worthy of the widest patronage, and historically valuable as pertaining to the tremendous struggle for the abolition of chattel slavery in our land. no phase of that struggle was so crowded wifh thrilling incidents, heroic adventures, and self-sacrificing efforts as the one you have undertaken to portray, and with which you were so closely connected, to wit:_ "the underground railroad." while it will be contemplated with shame, sadness, and astonishment, by posterity, it will serve vividly to illustrate the perils which everywhere confronted the fugitives from the southern "house of bondage," and to which those who dared to give them food and shelter were also subjected. * * * * * _from gen. o.o. howard_. you could not prepare a work that would afford more instruction and interest to me than a detailed history of the operations of the so-called "underground railroad." _i am delighted_ at the casual examination i have been permitted to give it. thousands will rise up to call you blessed for your faithful record of our "legalized crime," and its graphic terrible consequences set forth by you in _such true pictures and plain words_. * * * * * _hon. carl schurz, secretary of the interior_. i have no doubt you can make the narrative a very interesting contribution to the history of an important period of our national development. it will be calculated to strengthen in the whole american people a just sense of the beneficent results of the great social revolution we have achieved, and to inspire the people of your own race with a high appreciation of the blessings of liberty they now enjoy. * * * * * _from hon. w.d. kelley, congressman from pa._ the stories you tell with admirable simplicity and directness of the suffering heroically endured by such numbers of poor fugitives, will instruct and inspire many who have regarded the american slave as a member of an inferior race. _office_ "the press," _philadelphia, pa.__my dear sir:_--i have read most of the proof sheets of your forthcoming book, entitled "the underground railroad," and have just examined the letter-press preparatory to its publication, and the accompanying engravings, and i cannot refrain from stating, that i believe it to be a consummate work of its kind. its chief merit, of course, consists in its _extraordinary revelations_ of the injustice and cruelty of the dead system of slavery, but it is gratifying to notice that it will be printed and sent forth to the world in so complete and admirable a style, _i commend it most cheerfully as a book that every citizen should have in his library._ very truly, yours, jno. w. forney. wm. still, esq. * * * * * i join very cordially in the preceding statement and recommendation. hon. morton mcmichael, _ex-mayor of phila., editor of n.a. & u.s. gazette._ * * * * * i most cordially unite with col. forney and other gentlemen in recommending to the public mr. still's work, entitled "the underground railroad." the thrilling narratives cannot be read, even at this day, without exciting the deepest emotion. geo. h. stuart. * * * * * i fully and heartily concur in the opinion of col. forney respecting mr. still's work, entitled "the underground railroad." hon. chas. gibbons. * * * * * mr. still's work appears to me to be one of _great interest, and i most heartily unite in recommending it to the public attention._ hon. henry c. carey. * * * * * _from, j. miller mckim._ i have read your book with feelings of mingled pleasure and pride; pleasure at the valuable contribution which it furnishes to anti-slavery history and anti-slavery literature, and pride that you are the author of it. but the chief value of the book will be found in its main narratives, which illustrate to the life the character of slavery, the spirit and temper of the men engaged for its overthrow, and the difficulties which had to be overcome by these men in the accomplishment of their purpose. a book so unique in kind, so startling in interest, and so trustworthy in its statements, cannot fail to command a large reading now, and in generations yet to come. that you--my long tried friend and associate--are the author of this book, is to me a matter of great pride and delight. * * * * * _from hon. jno. a. bingham of ohio._ you will please accept my thanks for the opportunity given me to examine your record of the struggle for freedom by the slave and his friends. it will doubtless be a work of great interest to many of our citizens. _from the north american and u.s. gazette._ here is an authority that cannot be questioned, competent and correct by many endorsements, that shows without argument, after the true pattern of herodotus and the chroniclers, what slavery in america was in the decade immediately preceding its overthrow. * * * * * _from the "philadelphia inquirer."_ "never before has the working of the underground railroad been so thoroughly explained. here we have in complete detail the various methods adopted for circumventing the enemies of freedom, and told, as it is, with great simplicity and natural feeling, the narrative is one which cannot but make a deep impression. thrilling incidents, heroic adventures and noble deeds of self-sacrigce light up every page, and will enlist the heartiest sympathies of all generous souls. it was eminently just that such a record of one of the most remarkable phases of the struggle against slavery should be prepared, that the memory of the noble originators and supporters of the railroad might be kept green, and posterity enabled to form a true conception of the necessity that called it into existence, and of the difficulties under which its work was performed. the labor of compiling could not have fallen into more appropriate or better qualified hands." * * * * * _from the "baltimore american."_ mr. still was one of the most courageous managers on the underground ralroad, and is therefore well qualified to be its historian. he speaks of his own services with modesty, and, in fact, there is no attempt at exaggeration in any one of the most wonderful series of narratives which he relates. baltimore was one of the great depots from which the trembling fugitives set out on their trip to canada, and mr. still deals freely with the names of person, yet living, who, no doubt, would be very glad if this most extraordinary book had never been published. it was their misfortune to have furnished a number of passengers for the "underground railroad," and now they cannot escape being named in connection with the slaves, who dared, everything for liberty. * * * * * _from the san francisco bulletin._ we have often longed to know how the drab-coated philanthropists of philadelphia managed to furnish systematic assistance to the slave fugitives, and the desire is now gratified. william still, for many years connected with the anti-slavery office in philadelphia, and the chairman of the acting vigilance committee of the philadelphia branch of the underground railroad, has written a ponderous volume, entitled "the underground ralroad." ... he has performed his work well. the volume before us, though containing nearly pages, is not elaborated beyond necessity, and fairly teems with interesting sketches. _from bishop payne of the a.m.e. church, philadelphia._ my official engagements and private duties have prevented me from reading your work on the underground railroad, throughout. but such portions as i have had time to read, convince me that as a stimulus to noble effort it has much value. it is also a grand _monument_ of the past struggles of the angel spirit of liberty with the demon of american slavery. it serves also as a beacon light for our future progress in the upward movement. it deserves a wide circulation through the republic. * * * * * "i cheerfully endorse the above." s.m.d. ward. (bishop a.m.e. church.) * * * * * _from letter of hon. ebenezer d. bassett, u.s. minister to haiti._ the book must strike everyone who sees it as one of very commendable appearance; and to everyone who reads it, it must commend itself as one of remarkable interest. it is a work which cannot fail to reflect an unusual credit upon the care, industry and sterling ability of its author. all hail to you, my dear fellow, for your success. when nearly four years ago you spoke often to me about your project of writing this book, i always told you i thought it would prove a success; but i tell you now, candidly, that although i never for a moment doubted your peculiar fitness to prepare such a work, yet i feared that when you came to see the time, industry, care and patience, which it would require aside from your pressing everyday business cares and perplexities, you might stop at the foot of the mountain and abandon the tedious ascent. but you have actually made the ascent and stand now on the top of the mountain. hurrah for my old friend still! hurrah! hurrah!! hurrah!!! * * * * * _from. prof. w. howard day, in "our national progress."_ in his singularly and creditably brief preface, mr. still sincerely disclaims literary pretension; but creditable as is this to the author, we may say that the work is in style excellent reading, and that if it were not so, the narratives themselves are so thrilling, possess such a heart-reaching interest, that if these were literary crudities, they would be entirely placed in the background in the concentrated blaze of light which the author pours upon the bloody pathway of these victims of injustice, from , when the terrors of the fugitive slave law began, to the hour when slavery and rebellion were washed out in blood, together. we have not space for a reprint of one of these interesting histories, but we are personally acquainted with the "facts" as related by mr. still, and the persons involved, and can attest the truth of the statements made. some of these parties we have met in their flight, others in their temporary sojourn in the then so-called free states; others we knew (harriet tubman and moses among them) in their latest and safest refuge, (canada,) under the protection of the cross of st. george and st. andrew. it was due to such that this book should be written. their heroic deeds, in behalf of personal liberty of themselves and others, deserve commemorating. their deeds of daring, winning victory at last, in the face of wily and unscrupulous men devoted to their capture, and sustained by the voice, the law and the cannon of the government, ought to be written in unfading letters across the history of a people struggling upward to enfranchisement. it will teach the coming generations who were our fathers and our mothers; who there were in these years of agony who braved death to secure liberty and who upheld the noble banner of a dying race until their efforts, by god's blessing, made the race rise and live. all thanks to mr. still for thus placing this noble record of the free, and those struggling to be free, before the world. * * * * * _from, the boston journal, boston, mass._ the present volume is a narrative, or rather a collection of narratives, of the adventures of slaves on their way to freedom. the style is perfectly simple and unaffected, and it is well that it is so. the facts and incidents related are themselves so full of interest and dramatic intenseness as to need no coloring. the narratives throughout have the mark of truth upon them, and are based on authentic records. american history would not be complete without some such book as this, written by one within the circle of those devoted philanthropists who were so fearless and unremitting in their efforts for human freedom. * * * * * _from the providence press, providence, r.i._ this large volume is full of facts. to read its pages is to bring the past up with vividness. many of those who fought with the worse than ephesus' beasts encountered by paul, to wit, the man-hunters of the south, we knew personally, and their narratives as given in this volume we can vouch for, having received their accounts at the time, from their own lips. historically the book is valuable, because it is fact and not fiction, although fifty years from to-day it will read like fiction to the then living. * * * * * _from the newburyport herald, mass._ it is not a romance, but it is a storehouse of materials which will hereafter be used in literature, and be studied, not only by historians, dramatists and novelists, but also by those who will seek to comprehend and realize the fact, that there has been, in this country, a condition of society and law which made the underground railroad possible. the underground railroad, * * * * * by william still. * * * * * an authentic record of the wonderful hardships, hairbreadth escapes, and death struggles which mark the track from slavery to freedom in the united states. * * * * * this is one of the most remarkable volumes of the century. its publication has only been made possible by a combination of circumstances which seldom attend the birth of a book. before emancipation, and while the bane of slavery was on the country, the thrilling facts of this volume could not have been made public. peace and the blessing of freedom permit their publication, free circulation and unmolested reading. of all the thousands who favored freedom for the slaves, who gloried in the odium attached to anti-slaveryism, who witnessed the frequent efforts of the bondsmen to escape, who aided them in their quest for liberty, few dared to take notes of what they witnessed, and fewer still dared to preserve them, lest they should be turned into witnesses against them. but one man, and that the author of this book, is known to have succeeded in preserving anything like a full account of the workings of the underground railroad, as it was called before emancipation. these records grew on his hands during the years he acted as chairman of the philadelphia branch of that celebrated corporation, until they reached the extent of the present volume. they are made up of letters received, of interviews held, of narratives taken down at the time, of real reminiscence and authentic biography. nothing imaginative enters into the composition of the volume. it is simply succinct history, always startling, sometimes bloody. the annals of no time since the inquisition are so full of daring ventures for life and liberty or heroic endurance under most trying circumstances. as a history of the underground railroad, the work is most curious and valuable. it tells of an ingenuity and faithfulness on the part of the officials of the road which seems well-nigh marvellous. as its pages reveal the methods by which aid was given to the escaping slave, one is compelled to wonder almost as if he were facing a revelation. the secrets of masonry are not more mysterious than were the ways of these officials who clothed, fed and comforted the fugitive, while they apparently never knew his name or whereabouts. even those who never believed in the existence of an underground railway, or who, believing, cursed its existence, will read its history, at this time, with the relish of astonishment and the zest of discoverers. but the book has a higher meaning and use. it is curious and hitherto unprinted history to the white race. to the black race, and especially that part of it once slave, it is more than a history of a time of peril. it is for them what exodus was to the fugitives from egypt, a history and an inspiration as well. they may learn from it of their heroes and how deeply the love of liberty was implanted in their bosoms. the swiss never tire of the story of their tell, nor the welsh of that of their glendower. every nation has its exemplar, whose bravery and virtues are a perpetual lesson and source of admiration. the colored race may now read of its real heroes, its joshuas, spartacuses, tells and glendowers, among the list of those who silently broke their chains and dared everything in order to breathe the sweet air of liberty. they are not blazoned heroes, full of loud deeds and great names, but quiet examples of what fortitude can achieve where freedom is the goal. it is time now that the colored race should know something of the steps which led from egypt to canaan, something of their own contributions to the grand march of the tribes across and beyond the red sea. there are no slaves beneath the starry flag. all may read who will, and what they will. for the colored man no history can be more instructive and inspiring than this, of his own making, and written by one of his own race. the generations are growing in light. not to know of those who were stronger than shackles, who were pioneers in the grand advance toward freedom; not to know of what characters the race could produce when straightened by circumstances, nor of those small beginnings which ended in triumphant emancipation, will, in a short time, be a reproach. this history of the hardships and struggles of those of their own race is more for them than for mankind at large. it furnishes the world proof that, though slaves, they were nevertheless men. it furnishes them proof that the heroic abounds in their race as in others, and that achievement follows persistent effort, as well with them as with others. the volume will be not only their admiration but constant encouragement. in its pages one is not invited to hard, dry reading. it is narrative in style, simple in language, and possesses the thrill and pathos of a novel. in all its parts it is an evidence of the saying that "truth is stranger than fiction." the author scarcely needs an introduction to the public. he is a scholarly, successful business man of philadelphia, who has long been identified with churches, charities and every project for ameliorating the condition of his race. his word in all things is as good as his bond. an ardent member of the anti-slavery society, and an active officer of the underground railroad company, he made his book as a business man makes his ledger, viz.: by noting daily the transactions of the day. how he preserved them does not matter much now, but if a certain loft in the chapel of an old cemetery could speak, it might a tale unfold. the volume is quite large and commanding in appearance. it consists of about pages, clearly printed on beautiful white paper, making the largest book ever written by a colored person in this country. an attractive feature of the book, one which has added largely to its cost, and one which greatly enhances its value to the reader, is its illustrations. these are over seventy in number, and they are made to illustrate the most striking portions of the work. they represent night escapes and day encounters, on land and river, receptions on the soil of freedom, characters of note among the fugitives, and many of those among the anti-slavery people whose names have become historic. it is seldom a volume is seen which so abounds in apt and striking illustration. the field for the sale of this volume is immense. it will prove desirable as a curious contribution to the literature of the times, and will be bought in every home north and south, east and west, where reading is cherished. it is pre-eminently the book for the colored race. there is not a colored man or woman in the whole land who will not want to possess it. even if he cannot read, he will want it for his children. it will be their history and their story for generations. we have fixed the price at a very low figure, so as to completely answer all pleas of poverty or hard times. the whole book of _ super-royal octavo pages_ is filled with the thrilling history of the secret work of the u.g.r.r., giving an authentic account of the wonderful escapes and daring deeds, the endurance and sacrifice of men and women in their efforts for freedom. it is beautifully illustrated and substantially bound, and furnished at the following _very low prices:_ in fine english cloth, pannelled,............... $ . in beautiful embossed morocco, gilt centre, ... . every book corresponds with above description or the subscriber is not bound to take it. people's publishing co., so. th st., philadelphia, pa., cincinnati, o., chicago, ill., or, st. louis, mo. _from the "nation," n.y._ it is, nevertheless, a chapter in our history which connot be skipped or obliterated, inasmuch as it marks one stage of the disease of which the crisis was passed at gettysburg. it is one, too, for which we ought not to be dependent on tradition; and, all things considered, no one was so well qualified as mr. still to reproduce that phase of it with which he was so intimately concerned, as chairman of the acting committee of the vigilance committee of philadelphia. of all the border states, pennsylvania was the most accessible to fugitives from slavery; and as the organization just named was probably the most perfect and efficient of its kind, and served as a distributor to the branches in other states, its record doubtless covers the larger part of the field of operations of the underground railroad; or, in other words, of the systematic but secret efforts to promote the escape of slaves. * * * * * _from the christian union, n.y._ "the narratives themselves, told with the simplicity and directness of obvious truth, are full of terror, of pathos, the shame of human baseness and the glory of human virtue; and though the time is not yet sufficiently distant from the date of their occurrence to give to this record the universal acceptance it deserves, there are few, we think, even now, who can read it without amazement that such things could be in our very day, and be regarded with such general apathy. when the question, still so momentous and exciting, of the relations of the two races in this country, shall have passed from the vortex of political strife and social prejudice, and taken its place among the ethical axioms of a christian civilization, then this faithful account of some of the darkest and some of the brightest incidents in our history--this cyclopædia of all the virtues and all the vices of humanity--will be accepted as a most valuable contribution to the annals of one of the important eras of the world." * * * * * _from the "lutheran observer," philadelphia._ "it is a remarkable book in many respects. like the 'key to uncle tom's cabin,' by mrs. stowe, it reveals many of the most thrilling personal dramas and tragedies in the entire history of slavery. that 'truth is stranger than fiction' has hundreds of striking illustrations in this volume, which is a narrative of facts, the records of which were kept by mr. still, and are the only records in existence of the famous organization known as the underground railroad. it was established for the purpose of aiding slaves to escape from their masters in the south, but its operations were so mysterious and secret that, although everybody knew and spoke vaguely of its existence during the time of slavery, yet none but the initiated knew the secrets of its management and operations. these are now revealed for the first time in this work, and are as strange and wonderful as the most absorbing pictures of romance." * * * * * _from, the christian recorder, phila._ there has been no such work produced by any colored man in the country. "my bondage and my freedom," by douglass, was a remarkable book, and was justly appreciated by the liberty-loving people of the north and of england, but it was the story of a single hero. comparatively, the same may be said of the lives of jermain logan and others. but all these were but the exploits of individuals. the work of mr. still, however, takes a broader scope. it is the story of scores of heroes--heroes that equalled douglass in nerve, and logan in tact, and excelled either in thrilling adventure. * * * * * _from "zion's herald," boston._ "it is a big book in manner, matter, and spirit; the biggest book america has yet written. it is our 'book of martyrs,' and william still is our fox the chronicler. it is the 'thousand witnesses' of theodore weld, enlarged and intensified. it is more than uncle tom, wilson's 'history of the anti-slavery war,' or the hundred histories of the war itself.... "the book is well illustrated with portraits of the railroad managers, and with scenes taken from life, and is far the most entertaining and instructive story ever issued from the american press. everybody should buy, read, and transmit to his children these annals of our heroic age." * * * * * _from the "morning star," dover, new hampshire._ "the work is intensely interesting. many of the narratives thrill the reader through and through. some of them awaken an indignation, a horror, or a sense of humiliation and shame that makes the blood curdle or the cheek flush, or the breathing difficult. the best and the worst sides of human nature are successfully exhibited. here heroism and patience stand out transfigured; there selfishness and brutality hold carnival till it seems as though justice had been exiled and god had forgotten his own. the number of cases reported is very large, and the method in which the author has done his work is commendable. there is no rhetorical ambition. the narratives are embodied in plain language. the facts are left to make their own impression, without an attempt to embellish them by the aid of imagination. and the work is timely." * * * * * _from the "friends' review," philadelphia._ "we are glad to see this book. we anticipate for it a large circulation, and a permanent rank in a peculiar and painful department of history. the writer is one among very many who are entitled to the hearty support of philanthropists for their services rendered, often at considerable sacrifices and imminent peril, for the rescue and aid of those who were wickedly held in bondage.... the _underground railroad_ should have a place in every comprehensive library, private or public. [illustration: cyd has a bad fit. page .] woodville stories by oliver optic watch and wait. boston. lee & shepard. watch and wait; or, the young fugitives. a story for young people. by oliver optic, author of "the boat club," "all aboard," "now or never," "try again," "poor and proud," "little by little," "rich and humble," "in school and out," "the soldier boy," "the riverdale story books," etc. boston: lee and shepard, (successors to phillips, sampson & co.) . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by william t. adams, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts. electrotyped at the boston stereotype foundry, spring lane. to walter f. pope this book is affectionately dedicated by his uncle. the woodville stories. in six volumes. library for boys and girls. by oliver optic. . rich and humble. . in school and out. . watch and wait. . work and win. . hope and have. . haste and waste. preface. however much the author of "watch and wait" may sympathize with that portion of the population of our country to which the principal characters of the story belong, he is forced to acknowledge that his book was not written in the interests of the anti-slavery cause. his young friends require stirring incidents of him, and the inviting field of adventure presented by the topic he has chosen was the moving spring which brought the work into existence; and if the story shall kindle any new emotion of sympathy for the oppressed and enslaved, it will have more than answered the purpose for which it was intended, and the writer will be all the more thankful for this happy influence. as a story of exciting adventure, the writer hopes it will satisfy all his young readers; that they will love the gentle lily, respect the manly independence of dan, and smile at the oddities of cyd; and that the book will confirm and increase their love of liberty and their hatred of tyranny. if the young fugitives were resolute, even to shedding the blood of the slave-hunter, they had forgiving and christian hearts, in which there was neither malice nor revenge; and in this respect, if in no other, they are worthy exemplars for the young and the old. with this explanation, i give the third volume of the woodville stories into the hands of my young friends, bespeaking for it the same favor which has been bestowed upon its predecessors. william t. adams. dorchester, august , . contents. page chap. i.--the plantation of redlawn chap. ii.--the edith goes down to green point chap. iii.--master archy receives an unlucky blow chap. iv.--dandy determines to "watch and wait." chap. v.--the tragedy at the "dead oak." chap. vi.--a vision of the promised land chap. vii.--the isabel is prepared for a cruise chap. viii.--the departure of the young fugitives chap. ix.--the fugitives reach lake chicot chap. x.--breakfast on board the isabel chap. xi.--the bay of the bloodhounds chap. xii.--quin, the runaway chap. xiii.--the night chase on the lake chap. xiv.--the battle for freedom chap. xv.--the fate of the slave-hunters chap. xvi.--in the swamp chap. xvii.--cyd has a bad fit chap. xviii.--the affray on the lake chap. xix.--lily on the watch chap. xx.--preparing for the voyage chap. xxi.--down the lake chap. xxii.--the isabel runs the gantlet chap. xxiii.--colonel raybone changes his tone chap. xxiv.--the young fugitives make a harbor watch and wait. watch and wait; or, the young fugitives. chapter i. the plantation of redlawn. one soft summer evening, when woodville was crowned with the glory and beauty of the joyous season, three strangers presented themselves before the grant family, and asked for counsel and assistance. the party consisted of two boys and a girl, and they belonged to that people which the traditions of the past have made the "despised race;" but the girl was whiter and fairer than many a proud belle who would have scorned her in any other capacity than that of a servant; and one of the boys was very nearly white, while the other was as black as ebony undefiled. they were fugitives and wanderers from the far south-west; and the story which they told to mr. grant and his happy family will form the substance of this volume. * * * * * the plantation of colonel baylie raybone was situated on one of the numerous bayous which form a complete network of water communications in the western part of the parish of iberville, in the state of louisiana. the "colonel," whose military title was only a courtesy accorded to his distinguished position, was a man of immense possessions, and consequently of large influence. his acres and his negroes were numbered by thousands, and he was largely engaged in growing sugar and rice. the estate on which he resided went by the name of redlawn. his mansion was palatial in its dimensions, and was furnished in a style of regal magnificence. the region in which redlawn was situated was a low country, subject to inundation in the season of high water. the sugar plantation was located on a belt of land not more than a mile in width, upon the border of the bayou, which, contrary to the usual law, was higher ground than portions farther from the river. the lower lands were used for the culture of rice, which, our young readers know, must be submerged during a part of the year. a short distance from the splendid mansion of the princely planter was a large village of negro huts, where the "people" of the estate resided. as colonel raybone was a liberal and progressive man, the houses of the negroes were far superior to those found upon many of the plantations of the south. they were well built, neatly white-washed, and no doubt the negroes who dwelt in them regarded it as a fortunate circumstance that they were the slaves of colonel raybone. along the front of the negro hamlet, and of the mansion house, ran the public highway, while in the rear of them, and at a distance of nearly half a mile, was the bayou, which was generally called the "crosscut," because it joined two larger rivers. at the foot of a gravel walk, leading from the mansion down to the bayou, was a pier, upon which was built a tasty summer house, after the style of a chinese pagoda, so that the planter and his family could enjoy the soft breezes that swept over the surface of the stream. there they spent many of their summer evenings; and truly it was a delightful place. fastened to the pier were several small boats, including a light wherry, and a four-oar race boat. moored in the middle of the stream lay a large sail boat, in which the planter often made long trips for pleasure; for, by the network of rivers with which the bayou was connected, he could explore a vast tract of country, and even reach the red river on the north, and the gulf of mexico on the south. the family that dwelt in the "great house," as the negroes called the mansion, were colonel raybone, his wife, and two children. the planter himself was a genial, pleasant man, when nothing disturbed him; but he was quick and impulsive, and exacted the homage due to his position from his inferiors. mrs. raybone was an easy, indolent woman, who would submit to injury rather than endure the effort required to redress it. master archibald raybone, his older child, was a youth of fifteen, and was as much like his father as miss edith, a young lady of fourteen, was like her mother. archy, as he was familiarly called by black and white, was fond of having his own way; and, as long as it did not conflict with that of his imperious father, he was indulged to the fullest extent. miss edith was fond of repose, and could not even speak french or play upon the piano, because it was too much trouble to obtain these accomplishments, though private tutors had labored sedulously for several years to meet the exigencies of the case. besides those who were properly members of the family, there was a small army of servants, ranging from the purest white to the blackest black; all slaves, of course. there were cooks, laundresses, waiters, valets, lackeys, coachmen, body-servants, and lady's-maids; every kind of servitor which ingenuity could devise or luxury demand. master archy had a body-servant, and miss edith had a lady's-maid. as these individuals are important personages in our story, we must give our young friends a better idea of who and what they were. the body-servant of the son and heir was a youth of sixteen. he was nearly white, his complexion being very slightly tinted with the yellow hue of the mulatto. he was tall of his age, and exceedingly well formed. as the servant and companion of master archy, of course it was necessary that he should make a good appearance; and he was always well dressed, and managed his apparel with singularly good taste and skill. his name was daniel; but his graceful form and excellent taste in dress had caused his name to be corrupted from "dan," by which short appellative he had formerly been called, into "dandy," and this was now the only name by which he was known on the plantation. dandy was a boy of good parts. he could read and write, and had a better understanding of the ordinary branches of knowledge than his young master, for archy was always attended by his body-servant when engaged in his studies. though no efforts had been wasted upon the "chattel," he had learned the lessons better than the son and heir, upon whose education a small fortune had been lavished. dandy was quick to see and comprehend what archy had to have explained to him over and over again. though the slave was prudent enough to conceal his attainments, he was wise enough to profit by the opportunities which were afforded to him. in the solitude of his chamber, while his young master slept, he diligently used the books he had privately secured for study. and the instructions of the tutor were not wasted upon him, though he often seemed to be asleep during the lessons. he listened and remembered; he pondered and reasoned. dandy's mother was dead. she had been a house servant of colonel raybone. it was said that she had become refractory, and had been sold in new orleans; but the son had only a faint remembrance of her. of his father he knew nothing. though he had often asked about him, he could obtain no information. if the people in the house knew any thing of him, they would not tell the inquisitive son. such was dandy, the body-servant of master archy. he led an easy life, having no other occupation than that of pleasing the lordly young heir of redlawn. miss edith's lady's-maid was whiter and fairer than her young mistress. the keenest observer could detect no negro characteristic in her looks or her manner. so fair and white was she, that her mistress had given her the name of "lily." and yet she was a slave, and that which made her fascinating to the eye had given her a value which could be estimated only in thousands of dollars. of her father and mother lily knew nothing. one of her companions in bondage told her that she had been bought, when a child, on board of a red river steamboat. that was all she knew, and all she ever was to know. those who are familiar with the slave system of the south can surmise who and what she was. miss edith was indolent, but she was sour and petulant, and poor lily's daily life was not a bed of roses. all day long she had to stand by her exacting young mistress, obey her slightest gesture, and humor all her whims. though she was highly valued as a piece of property by her owner, she had only one real friend in the wide world--a cold, desolate, and dreary world to her, though her lot was cast in the midst of the sweet flowers and bright skies of the sunny south--only one friend, and that was dandy. he knew how hard it was to indulge all the caprices of a wayward child; how hard it was to be spurned and insulted by one who was his inferior in mind and heart. dandy had another friend, though the richest treasures of his friendship were bestowed upon the fair and gentle lily. a wild, rollicking, careless piece of ebony, a pure negro, was his other friend. he was a stable boy, and one of the crew who pulled the four-oar race boat, when master archy chose to indulge in an excursion upon the water. his master, who in his early years had made the acquaintance of the classics, had facetiously named him thucydides--a long, hard word, which no negro would attempt to utter, and which the white folks were too indolent to manage. the name, therefore, had been suitably contracted, and this grinning essence of fun and frolic was called "cyd"--with no reference, however, to the distinguished character of spanish history. but cyd was a character himself, and had no need to borrow any of the lustre of spain or greece. he shone upon his own account. with this introduction to redlawn, and those who lived there, our readers are prepared to embark with us in the story of the young fugitives. chapter ii. the edith goes down to green point. "shove off!" said master archy, in the most dignified manner, as he sunk upon the velvet cushions in the stern sheets of the four-oar boat. "shove off!" repeated dandy, who, as coxswain of the boat, was charged with the execution of the orders delivered by his imperial master. cyd, who was the bow oarsman, opened his mouth from ear to ear, displaying a dual set of ivories which a dentist would have been proud to exhibit as specimens of his art, and with a vigorous thrust of the boat-hook, forced the light craft far out into the stream, thus disturbing the repose of a young alligator which was sunning himself upon a snag. cyd was fond of the water, and had no taste for the various labors that were required of him about the house and stable. he was delighted with the prospect of a sail on the river; and being a slave, and not permitted to express his views in the ordinary way, he did so by distending his mouth into a grin which might have intimidated the alligator on the log. "toss!" added dandy; and up went the four oars of the rowers. "let fall!" and with a precision which would have been creditable to the crew of a commodore's barge, the blades struck the water as one. "give way!" and the boat dashed down the stream, impelled by the vigorous strokes of the dusky oarsmen. the crew were boys of sixteen, or thereabouts, selected from the hands on the plantation with reference to their size and muscular development. they were clothed in white duck pants, blue cotton frocks, trimmed with white, and wore uniform straw hats, encircled by black bands, upon which was inscribed, in gilt letters, the name of the boat, "edith," in compliment to the young boatman's sister. the edith was a magnificent craft, built in new york, and fitted, furnished, and ornamented without regard to cost. colonel raybone had a nephew who was a passed-midshipman in the navy, who, while on a visit to redlawn, had instructed the crew in the elements of boating. the black boys did not regard their labors as work, and took so much pride in making themselves proficient in their duties, that they might well have challenged comparison with the best boat club in the country. master archy was very dignified and magnificent as he reclined in the stern of the beautiful craft. he said nothing, and of course the coxswain, who sat behind him, was not privileged to say any thing. it was his duty to speak when he was spoken to, and with a keen eye he watched the progress of the boat, as she cut her way through the sluggish waters of the bayou. dandy, as we have before remarked, was a youth of quick parts, and under the scientific instruction of mr. midshipman raybone, he had thoroughly mastered the art of boating, not only in its application to row boats, but also in reference to sailing craft; and there was no person on the place more skilful in the management of the schooner than the body-servant of master archy. the edith flew on her course, frightening from their repose the herons and the alligators that were enjoying the sunshine of the bright spring morning. master archy did speak sometimes, but this morning he was unusually taciturn. he seemed to be brooding over something: those who did not know him might have supposed that he was thinking; but the son and heir of redlawn did not often give himself up to meditation in its higher sense. it was more likely that he was wondering what he should do next, for time hung heavy on his hands. he had nothing to do but amuse himself, and he had completely exhausted his slender ingenuity in devising new amusements. "stop her," said he, languidly, after the boat had gone about two miles. dandy obeyed the order without a question, and the edith soon floated listlessly on the water, waiting the pleasure of her magnificent owner. "back to the pier," added archy; and under the orders of her skilful coxswain, she was put about, and darted up the river on her return. the shining ebony face of the great athenian philosopher's namesake looked glum and discontented. he was not satisfied with the order; but not being a free agent, he was cruelly deprived of the luxury of grumbling. roaming in the cane-brake, or sunning himself on a log like the juvenile alligators, while master archy took his walk, or even pulling the boat, was much more to his taste than rubbing down the horses and digging weeds out of the gravel walks in front of the mansion. the order to return, therefore, was a grievous disappointment to him; for the head gardener or the head groom would be sure to find a job for him that would last all day. master archy did not know his own mind; and he did not have the same mind for a great while at a time. cyd supposed he had thought of something that would please him better on the estate. no doubt if the surfeited young devotee of pleasure had permitted his dark companions to think for him, they might have invented a new pleasure; but he seldom spoke to them, and they were not allowed to speak to him, except in a case of emergency. the boat reached the pier, and was brought alongside the landing steps, in a style that was above criticism. poor cyd was disgusted and indignant at the idea of having his day spoiled in this capricious manner. if he had been born under the free skies of new england, he would, no doubt, have remonstrated; but his social position and the discipline of the boat did not permit him to utter even a word of disapprobation. but cyd was needlessly disturbed in the present instance, for his lordly master had no intention of abandoning the cruise, though if he had been so condescending as to say so when he ordered the edith to return, he would have saved her crew all the bitter pangs of disappointment which they had endured during the retrograde passage. "cyd!" said master archy, when the boat came up to the steps, and the rowers had tossed their oars. "sar!" replied cyd, exploding the word as though he had been a member of monsieur crapeau's class in french elementary sounds, and with a start which seemed to shake every fibre in his wiry frame. "do you know where my boxing gloves are?" "yes, massa archy; in de gym-shum," answered cyd, again exhibiting his ivories, for the case began to look slightly hopeful. "in the what?" demanded archy, a languid smile appearing upon his face. "in de gym-shum," said cyd, taking advantage of this faint smile, and exploding the two syllables with all the vigor of a pair of healthy lungs. "in the gymnasium, you black rascal!" "yes, massa archy, dem's um----in de gym----shum. dat's jes what i say, massa----in de gym-shum." "go up and get them; and mind you don't keep me waiting all day," continued archy, who was not equal to the effort of making the boy pronounce the word correctly. cyd darted off with a speed that promised the best results. "i feel stupid to-day, and i think a bout with the gloves will do me good," yawned archy, with a hideous gape, as he stretched himself at full length upon the velvet cushions, with his feet hanging out over the water. "perhaps it would, sir," replied dandy, to whom the remark was supposed to be addressed. "we will go down to green point," added he. "yes, sir." the conversation ended here, the young magnate of redlawn closing his eyes and gaping by turns for the next ten minutes, till cyd, puffing like a grampus, appeared on the steps. "here's de glubs, massa archy," said he, as he handed them to the attentive coxswain. "where's the other pair, you black rascal?" roared archy, springing up from his recumbent posture. "i only fotched ober de one pair, massa," replied cyd, with an exceedingly troubled expression. "cyd, you are a fool!" "yes, massa archy," answered the black boy, who seemed to be perfectly willing to grant the position. "what do you suppose i want of one pair of gloves!" continued archy, angrily, as he seized one of the oars, and aimed a blow at the head of the culprit, which, however, cyd was expert enough to dodge. "go and get the other pair; and if you are gone half as long as you were before, i'll have you flogged." the eye of dandy kindled for a moment,--for the same blood flowed in the veins of both,--as he listened to the brutal words of his young master. "that boy is a fool!" said archy, as he settled down into his reclining posture again. "he needs a whipping to sharpen his understanding." dandy wholly and entirely dissented from this view; but of course he was not so impolitic as to state his views. in ten minutes more, cyd reappeared with another pair of boxing gloves; but these were not the right ones. they were too large either for dandy or his master, and the poor boy was solemnly assured that he should be whipped when they returned from the excursion. the coxswain was then sent, and during his absence, archy amused himself in pointing out the enormity of cyd's conduct, first in bringing one pair, and then bringing the wrong pair of gloves. dandy returned in fifteen minutes, and after snarling at him for being so long, master archy gave the order for the boat to push off. all the forms were gone through with as before, and again the edith darted down the bayou. after a pull of five miles down the crosscut, they reached another and larger river. green point was the tongue of land between the two streams, and here master archy and his coxswain landed. chapter iii. master archy receives an unlucky blow. green point was a very pleasant place, to which the luxurious occupants of the mansion at redlawn occasionally resorted to spend a day. the land was studded with a growth of sturdy forest trees. formerly it had been covered with a thick undergrowth of canes; but these, near the point, had been cut away, and the place otherwise prepared for the visits of the grand people. the day was cool and pleasant for that locality, and perhaps the magnificent son and heir of the planter of redlawn felt that a little sharp exercise would be beneficial to him. he never performed any useful labor; never saddled his own pony, or polished his own boots; never hoed a hill of corn, or dug up a weed in the garden. he had been taught that labor was degrading, and only suited to the condition of the negro. master archy, therefore, never degraded himself. his indolence and his aristocratic principles were in accord with each other. though he actually suffered for the want of something to do, he was not permitted to demean himself by doing any thing that would develop the resources of the fruitful earth, and add to the comfort of his fellow-beings. i am quite sure, if the young seignior had been compelled to hoe corn, pick cotton, or cut cane for a few hours every day, or even been forced to learn his lessons in geography, grammar, and history, he would have been a better boy, and a happier one. idleness is not only the parent of mischief, but it is the fruitful source of human misery. master archy, with every thing that ingenuity could devise and wealth purchase to employ his time, was one of the most unhappy young men in the country. he never knew what to do with himself. he turned coldly from his boats to his pony; then from the pony to the gymnasium; then to the bowling alley; and each in turn was rejected, for it could not furnish the needed recreation. master archy landed at green point, and he was fully of the opinion that he could amuse himself for an hour with the boxing gloves. for the want of a white companion of his own age, he had been compelled to practise the manly art of self-defence with his body-servant. perhaps also there was some advantage in having dandy for his opponent, for, being a slave, he would not dare to give as good as he received. dandy had taken lessons in the art with his young master, and though he was physically and "scientifically" his superior, he was cunning enough to keep on the right side of master archy, by letting him have the set-to all his own way. it was no easy matter to play at fisticuffs with the young lord, even with gloves on, for his temper was not particularly mild when he was crossed. if he happened to get a light rap, it made him mad; and in one way or another he was sure to wreak ample vengeance upon the offender. dandy was therefore obliged to handle his master with extreme care. yet archy had a fantastic manliness in his composition, which enabled him to realize that there was no credit in beating an unresisting opponent. dandy must do some thing; he must bestow some blows upon his capricious companion, but he had learned that they must be given with the utmost care and discretion. in a word, if he did not hit at all, master archy did not like it; and if he hit too hard, or in a susceptible spot, he was mad. our readers who are fond of manly sport will readily perceive that dandy was in the position of the frogs,--that what was fun to archy was death to him, in a figurative sense. he did not have much fondness for the manly art. he had no moral views on the subject, but he hated the game for its own sake. with the two pairs of gloves in his hands, dandy followed his young lord till they came to a smooth piece of ground, under the spreading shade of a gigantic oak. master archy then divested himself of his white linen sack, which his attentive valet hung upon the trunk of a tree. he then rolled up his sleeves and put on the gloves. he was assisted in all these preparations by dandy. "come, dandy, you are not ready," said he, petulantly, when he was fully "mounted" for the occasion. "i am all ready, sir," replied dandy, as he slipped on the other pair of gloves. "no, you are not," snarled archy, who, for some reason or other, was in unusually bad humor. "do you think i will box with you while you have your jacket on?" "i can do very well with my jacket on," replied dandy, meekly. "no, you can't. i can whip you in your shirt sleeves. i don't want to take any advantage of you. off with your jacket, and put yourself in trim." dandy obeyed, and in a few moments he was the counterpart, so far as dress was concerned, of his master. "now stand up to it like a man, for i'm going to give you a hard one to-day," added archy, as he flourished with the gloves before his companion. there was a faint smile upon his countenance as he uttered these words, and dandy saw signs of unusual energy in his eyes. he evidently intended to do some "big thing," and the sport was therefore more distasteful than ever to the body-servant, whose hands were, in a measure, fettered by his position. dandy placed himself in the proper attitude, and went through all the forms incident to the science. at first master archy was cool and self-possessed, and his "plungers" and "left-handers" were adroitly parried by the other, who, if his master intended to win a decided triumph on the present occasion, was determined to make him earn his laurels. but dandy did little more than avoid the blows; he gave none, and received none. "come, stand up to it!" shouted archy, who soon began to be disgusted with these tame proceedings. "why don't you exert yourself?" "i do, sir; i have done my best to ward off your blows," replied dandy. "i will give you something more to do, then," added archy, and sprang to his game with redoubled vigor. as a matter of prudence, dandy permitted himself to be hit once on the side of the head. this encouragement was not lost upon archy, and he increased his efforts, but he could not hit his rival again for some time. after a few moments his "wind" gave out, and operations were suspended. when he had recovered breath enough to speak, he proceeded to declare that dandy had no spirit, and did not try to make the game exciting. "i have done my best, sir," replied dandy. "no, you haven't. you haven't hit me yet, and you haven't tried to do so." "yes, sir, i have." "don't contradict me. now we will try again." they commenced once more, and immediately dandy, in order to gratify his master, gave him a pretty smart blow upon the end of his nose. he hoped this would satisfy the grumbler, and bring the sport to a happy termination. as usual, the blow excited the pugnacity of master archy; and setting the rules of the art at defiance, he rushed upon his companion with all the impetuosity of his nature. dandy simply stood steady, and warded off the blows of his infuriate master; but in spite of his exertions he was hit several times in the breast and face, and even "below the belt," for he did not deem it prudent to give another blow. archy reared and plunged like an angry steed, till he had exhausted himself; but his temper had not yet spent itself. he sat down upon the ground, and rested himself for a moment, then, throwing away the gloves, proposed to finish the contest with the naked fists. "i would rather not, master archy," replied dandy, appalled at the idea. "throw away your gloves, and come on!" said archy, brandishing his fists. "i hope you will excuse me, master archy. i don't want to be pounded to a jelly." this was certainly complimentary, but there was still a burning sensation lingering about the nose of the young planter, where that member had been flattened by his fellow-pugilist. "no whining; come on!" repeated archy; and certain malicious thoughts which rankled in his heart were manifest in his eyes. "if you please, master archy, i will keep my gloves on, and you may play without any." "do you think i will do that?" sneered archy. "i am willing to take as good as i send. off with your gloves!" "but only consider, sir, if any thing should happen. if i should hit you by accident----" "hit, then!" cried archy, angrily, as he sprang forward, and planted a heavy blow upon the cheek of the body-servant before the latter had time to place himself in the attitude of defence, though he had thrown away his gloves in obedience to the mandate of his master. for a few moments, dandy defended himself from the impetuous assault of the young gentleman, who displayed a vigor and energy which he had never before exhibited. the consequences of any "accident" to his master were sufficiently apparent and he maintained his coolness until an unlucky blow on the nose caused that member to bleed, and at the same time produced a sharp and stinging pain. dandy had been politic and discreet up to this time, but the sharp pain roused a feeling of resentment in his nature. he had borne all he could, and no longer acting upon the defensive alone, he assumed the aggressive. both parties were angry now, and for a moment, each did his best, which shortly brought the combat to a disastrous conclusion. dandy's arm, which had before been prudentially soft and nerveless, suddenly hardened into solid muscle, and one of his heavy blows came full and square upon the region of archy's left eye. the young lord of the manor reeled as though a tornado had struck him, and fell heavily upon the ground. the blow was a hard one, and it fired his southern blood still more. he leaped up, and seizing a large stick which lay upon the ground, he rushed towards his unhappy servant, with the intention of annihilating him upon the spot. dandy's senses came to him when he saw archy fall, and he was appalled at the result of the conflict. he had struck the blow upon the impulse of a momentary rage, and he would have given any thing to recall it. "i didn't mean to do it, master archy! forgive me!" pleaded he, as he retreated to avoid the uplifted club. archy was so furious that he could not speak, and dandy was compelled to run for his life. chapter iv. dandy determines to watch and wait. fortunately for dandy, master archy was not as "long-winded" as some orators of whom we have read, and, unhappily, heard; and therefore we cannot say to what extent his passion would have led him on the present occasion. there was no fear of consequences to deter him from smiting his bondman, even unto death. if he had killed him, though the gentle-hearted might have frowned or trembled in his presence, there was no law that could reach him. there was no dread of prison and scaffold to stay his arm, and what his untamed fury prompted him to do, he might have done with impunity. even the statute made for the protection of the slave from his cruel master, would have been of no avail, for the want of a white witness to substantiate the facts. dandy ran away. it was all he could do, except defend himself, which might have resulted in further injury to his young master, and thus involved him deeper than before in the guilt of striking a blow in his own defence. with no particular purpose in his mind, except to avoid the blow of the club, he retreated in the direction which led him away from the point where they had landed. he ran at his utmost speed for a few moments, for the impetuosity of his master had wonderfully increased his fleetness. master archy's wind soon gave out, and he was no longer able to continue the chase. he abandoned the pursuit, and throwing himself upon the ground, vented his rage in a flood of tears. dandy did not deem it prudent to approach him while in this mood, and he seated himself on a stump at a point where he could observe his master's motions. master archy was not cruel or vindictive by nature, and dandy hoped that a few moments of rest would restore him to his equilibrium. archy's faults were those of his education; they were the offspring of his social position. he had been accustomed to have his own way, except when his will came in opposition to that of his father, which was very seldom, for colonel raybone was extremely and injudiciously indulgent to his children. it was evident to his body-servant that something had gone wrong that morning with master archy. he had never before carried his fury to such an extreme. though he was never reasonable, it was not often that he was so unreasonable as on this occasion. dandy watched him patiently till he thought it was time his passion had spent itself, and then walked towards him. archy discovered the movement before he had advanced many steps; but without making a demonstration of any kind, he rose from the ground, and moved off towards the scene of the late encounter. as he passed the spot, he took his coat upon his arm, and made his way to the point. the unhappy servant was troubled and mystified by this conduct; and he was still more bewildered when he saw archy step into the boat, and heard him, in sharp tones, order the boatmen to pull home. "dar's dandy. isn't he gwine to go home wid us?" said cyd, who was even more mystified than the body-servant. "no questions! obey my orders, and pull for home," replied archy, as he adjusted his shirt sleeves and put on his coat. when he had arranged his dress, he threw himself upon the velvet cushions, and took no further notice of dandy or the crew. his orders were, of course, obeyed. the bow oarsman pushed off the boat, and she was headed up the crosscut. by this time, poor dandy, who, notwithstanding the obliquities of his master's disposition, had a strong regard for him, reached the shore. "i am very sorry for what has happened, master archy, and i hope you will forgive me," said he, in humble tones. the imperious young lord made no reply to this supplicating petition. "please to forgive me!" pleaded dandy. "silence! don't speak to me again till i give you permission to do so," was the only reply he vouchsafed. dandy knew his master well enough to obey, literally, the injunction imposed upon him. seating himself upon the ground, he watched the receding boat, as the lusty oarsmen drove it rapidly through the water. the events of the morning were calculated to induce earnest and serious reflection. the consequences of the affair were yet to be developed, but dandy had no strong misgivings. archy, he hoped and expected, would recover his good nature in a few hours, at the most, and then he would be forgiven, as he had been before. it is true, he had never before given his master an angry blow; but he had been grievously provoked, and he hoped this would prove a sufficient excuse. archy had lost his temper, sprung at him with the fury of a tiger, and struck him several severe blows. his face was even now covered with blood, and his nose ached from the flattening it had received. he could not feel that he had done a very wicked deed. he had only defended himself, which is the inborn right of man or boy when unjustly assailed. he had been invited, nay, pressed, to strike the blow which had caused the trouble. then he thought of his condition, of the wrongs and insults which had been heaped upon him; and if the few drops of negro blood that flowed in his veins prompted him to patience and submission, the white blood, the anglo-saxon inspiration of his nature, which coursed through the same channels, counselled resistance, mad as it might seem. as he thought of his situation, the tears came into his eyes, and he wept bitterly. the future was dark and forbidding, as the past had been joyless and hopeless. they were tears of anger and resentment, rather than of sorrow. he almost envied the lot of the laborers, who toiled in the cane-fields. though they were meanly clad and coarsely fed, they were not subjected to the whims and caprices of a wayward boy. they had nothing to fear but the lash of the driver, and this might be avoided by diligence and care. and then, with the tears coursing down his pale cheeks, he realized that the field-hands who labored beneath the eye of the overseer and the driver were better off and happier than he was. "what can i do!" murmured he, as he rose from the ground, and walked back to the shade of the trees. "if i resist, i shall be whipped; and i cannot endure this life. it is killing me." "i will run away!" said he, as he sat down upon a stump at some distance from the point. "where shall i go?" he shuddered as he thought of the rifle of the overseer, and the bloodhounds that would follow upon his track. the free states were far, far away, and he might starve and die in the deep swamps which would be his only hiding place. it was too hopeless a remedy to be adopted, and he was obliged to abandon the thought in despair. "i will watch and wait," said he. "something will happen one of these days. if i ever go to new orleans again, i will hide myself in some ship bound to the north. perhaps master archy will travel some time. he may go to newport, cape may, or saratoga, with his father, this season or next, and i shall go with him. i will be patient and submissive--that is what the preacher said we must all do; and if we are in trouble, god will sooner or later take the burden from our weary spirits. i will be patient and submissive, but i will _watch and wait_." watch and wait! there was a world of hope and consolation in the idea which the words expressed. he wiped away the tears which had trickled down his blood-stained face. watch and wait was the only north star which blazed in the darkened firmament of his existence. he could watch and wait for months and years, but constant watching and patient waiting would one day reveal the opportunity which should break his bonds, and give him the body and spirit that god had bestowed upon him as his birthright. comforted by these reflections, and inspired by a new and powerful hope, he walked down to the river again. his step was elastic, and in his heart he had forgiven master archy. he determined to do all he could to please him; to be patient and submissive even under his wayward and petulant rule. he washed the blood from his face, and tried to wash away the rancor which his master's conduct had kindled in his soul. having made his peace with himself, his master, and all mankind, he sat down upon the stump, and took from his pocket a small testament, which a pedler had dared to sell him for the moderate sum of five dollars. he read, and the blessed words gave him new hope and new courage. he felt that he could bear any thing now; but he was mistaken, for there was an ordeal through which, in a few hours, he was doomed to pass--an ordeal to which his patience and submission could not reconcile him. while he was reading, he heard the dip of oars. restoring the volume to his pocket, he waited the arrival of the boat. it was the barge of archy; but the young gentleman was not a passenger. the crew had been sent down by colonel raybone to convey him back to the estate. the blank looks of the crew seemed ominous of disaster. even the brilliant ivories of the ever-mirthful cyd were veiled in darkness beneath his ebony cheek. he looked sad and terrified, and before any of the crew had spoken a word, dandy was fully assured that a storm was brewing. "massa raybone done send us down to fotch you up," said cyd, gloomily. "what's the matter, cyd?" demanded dandy, trying to be cheerful in the face of these portending clouds of darkness. "massa archy done git a black eye some how or oder, and massa kun'l frow 'imself into a horrid passion. den he roar and swear jes like an alligator wid a coal o' fire in 'is troat," replied cyd, aghast with horror. "well, what then?" asked dandy, with a long breath. "den he send for long tom." "for long tom!" gasped dandy, his cheek paling and his frame quivering with emotion. "dat's de truf," replied cyd, shaking his head. "long tom" was a tall, stout negro-driver, who did the whipping upon the plantation. he was to be whipped! it was a barbarism to which he had never been subjected, and he was appalled at the thought. at first, he decided not to return. even the bloodhounds and the perils of the swamp were less terrible than the whipping-post. but he was unwilling to believe that he was to be subjected to this trying ordeal, and impelled by the resolutions he had made, he at last determined to meet his master, and by a fair representation of the case, with an earnest appeal to archy, he hoped, and even expected, to escape the punishment. taking his place in the boat, he was soon gliding swiftly on his way to the plantation. chapter v. the tragedy at the "dead oak." when the boat touched at the pier, the slight shock of its contact with the steps seemed to shake the very soul of the culprit, who had already been tried and condemned. though he hoped to escape, the doubt was heavy enough to weigh down his spirits, and make him feel sadder than he had ever felt before in his life. it was not with him as it would have been with one of the crew--with cyd, for instance, who had been whipped half a dozen times without taking it very sorely to heart. the anglo-saxon blood in his veins boiled at the thought of such an indignity, and if he had not entertained a reasonable hope that he should escape the terrible shame and degradation which menaced him, he would certainly have taken to the swamp, and ended his days among the alligators and herons. there was no one on the pier when he landed; and leaving the crew to dispose of the boat, he walked with a heavy heart towards the mansion of the planter. he had accomplished but half the distance, when he was met by one of the house servants, who directed him to repair to the "dead oak" beyond the negro village. the boy who had delivered this order hastened back to the house, affording him no opportunity to ask any questions, even if he had been so disposed. "long tom" and the "dead oak" were ominous phrases at redlawn, for the former was the whipper-general of the plantation, and the latter the whipping-post. the trunk of the decaying tree had been adapted to the purpose for which it was now used, and though colonel raybone was considered a liberal and humane master, the "dead oak" had been the scene of many a terrible tragedy. because his master was a just and fair man, dandy hoped to escape the doom for which all the preparations had already been made; but the planter was only as humane, as just and fair, as the necessities of the iniquitous system upon which he had lived and thrived would permit him to be. if he had lived beyond the reach of the influence of this upas tree he might have been a true and noble man. dandy believed that a true statement of the facts in the case would move the heart of his master to mercy--would at least save him from the indignity of being whipped. with hope, and yet with some fearful misgivings, he went to the "dead oak," where the group who had been summoned to witness the punishment were already assembled. by the side of them stood long tom, with the whip in his hand. the strap by which he was to be fastened to the trunk was adjusted. dandy felt a cold chill creep through his frame, attended by a convulsive shudder, as he beheld these terrible preparations. the hope which had thus far animated him received a heavy shock, and he regretted that he had not improved the opportunity to run away before it was too late. "take off your coat!" said colonel raybone, sternly. dandy obeyed. his cheeks were white, and the color had deserted his lips. he was then directed, in the same cold and determined tones, to remove his shirt. his teeth chattered, and his knees smote each other; and he did not at once obey the order. "if you please, master, what am i to be whipped for?" said dandy, in trembling tones. "what for, you young villain? how dare you ask such a question?" replied colonel raybone, angrily. "you know what you are to be whipped for. look in archy's face!" he did look; it was, undoubtedly, a black eye which he had inflicted upon his young master. "if you please, sir, master archy will explain how it happened," added dandy, in soft and subdued tones, which contained a powerful appeal to the magnanimity of the young lord of the manor. "archy has explained how it happened. do you think i will let one of my niggers strike my son such a blow as that? off with your shirt!" "i didn't want to strike him at all. i didn't want to take off the gloves, sir. he made me do it." "did he make you give him a black eye?" roared the planter. "do you expect me to believe such a story as this?" "didn't you make me strike?" continued dandy, turning to his young master. "i didn't ask you to get mad, and fly at me like a madman," replied archy, coldly, as he placed his handkerchief upon the injured eye. "i didn't mean to strike him so hard, master. forgive me this time, and i never will strike him again." "i wanted you to strike, but not to get mad," added archy. "forgive me this time, master," pleaded dandy. "forgive you, you villain! i'll forgive you. i'll teach you to strike my son! tear off his shirt, tom!" long tom was a slave. he had groaned and bled beneath the lash himself; but the trifling favors he had received had debauched his soul, and he was a willing servant, ready, for a smile from his master, to perform with barbarous fidelity the diabolical duties of his office. seizing dandy by the arm, he pulled off his shirt, and led him to the tree. the last ray of hope had expired in the soul of dandy. his blood rebelled at the thought of being whipped. he was not stirred by the emotions which disturb a free child with a whipping in prospect. he cringed not at the pain, he rebelled not at proper and wholesome punishment. this whipping was the scourging of the slave; it was the emblem of his servitude. the blows were the stripes which the master inflicts upon his bondman. his soul was free, while his body was in chains; and it was his soul rather than his body that was to be scourged. the thought was madness. his blood boiled with indignation, with horror, and with loathing. the tide of despair surged in upon his spirit, and overwhelmed him. he resolved not to be whipped, and, when long tom turned away to adjust the strap, he sprang like an antelope through the group of spectators, and ran with all the speed he could command towards the river. perhaps it was a mistake on the part of dandy, but it was the noblest impulse of his nature which prompted him to resist the unjust sentence that had been passed upon him. he ran, and desperation gave him the wings of the wind; but he had miscalculated his chances, if he had considered them at all, for the swift horse of the planter was tied to a stake near the dead oak. he had been riding over the estate when archy returned from green point with the story of the blows which had been inflicted upon him. colonel raybone leaped upon his horse the instant he realized the purpose of the culprit, and, before dandy had accomplished half the distance to the river, the planter overtook him. he rode the horse directly upon him, and if the intelligent beast had not been kinder than his rider, the story of poor dandy might have ended here. as it was, he was simply thrown down, and before he could rise and recover himself the planter had dismounted and seized him by the arm. so deeply had the prejudices of his condition been implanted in his mind, that the thought of bestowing blows upon the sacred person of his master did not occur to him. if he had dared to fight, as he had the strength and the energy to fight, he might still have escaped. colonel raybone was an awful presence to him, and he yielded up his purpose without a struggle to carry it out. the planter swore at him with a fury which chilled his blood, and struck him several smart blows with his riding-whip as the foretaste of what he was still to undergo. "now, back to the tree," said colonel raybone, as he mounted his horse again. dandy had given up all hope now, and he marched to the whipping-post, as the condemned criminal walks to the scaffold. he had advanced but a short distance before he met the other spectators to his doom, and long tom seized him by the wrist, and held him with an iron gripe till they reached the dead oak. "tie him up quick, tom," said colonel raybone. "it has been more work to flog this young cub than a dozen full-grown niggers." long tom fastened the straps around dandy's wrists, and passed them through a band around the tree, about ten feet from the ground. he then pulled the victim up till his toes scarcely touched the earth. "now, lay them on well," said the planter, vindictively. "how many, massa raybone?" asked tom, as he unrolled the long lash of his whip. [illustration: the tragedy at the dead oak. page .] "lay on till i say stop." dandy's flesh quivered, but his spirit shrunk more than his body from the contamination of the slave-master's scourge. the lash fell across his back--his back, as white as that of any who read this page. the blood gushed from the wound which the cruel lash inflicted, but not a word or a groan escaped from the pallid lips of the sufferer. a dozen blows fell, and though the flesh was terribly mangled, the laceration of the soul was deeper and more severe. "stop!" said colonel raybone. long tom promptly obeyed the mandate. he evidently had no feeling about the brutal job, and there was no sign of joy or sorrow in his countenance from first to last. if he felt at all, his experience had effectually schooled him in the difficult art of concealing his emotions. "take him down," added the planter, who, as he gazed upon the torn and excoriated flesh of the victim, seemed to feel that the atonement had washed away the offence. during the punishment master archy had betrayed no small degree of emotion, and before the driver had struck the sixth blow he had asked his father, in a whisper, to stay the hand of the negro. he had several times repeated the request; but colonel raybone was inflexible till the crime had, in his opinion, been fully expiated. long tom unloosed the straps, and the body of the culprit dropped to the ground, as though the vital spark had for ever fled from its desecrated tabernacle. "de boy hab fainted, massa raybone," said the driver. "i see he has," replied the planter, with some evidence of emotion in his tones, as he bent over the prostrate form of the boy, to ascertain if more was not done than had been intended. he felt the pulse of dandy, and satisfied himself that he was not dead. we must do him the justice to say that he was sorry for what had happened--sorry as a kind parent is when compelled to punish a dear child. he did not believe that he had done wrong, even accepting as true the statement of the culprit; for the safety of the master and his family made it necessary for him to regard the striking even of a blow justifiable under other circumstances as a great enormity. it was the system, more than the man, that was at fault. dandy was not dead, and colonel raybone ordered two of the house servants, who were present, to do every thing that his condition required. he and archy then walked towards the house, gloomy and sad, both of them. chapter vi. a vision of the promised land. dandy, lacerated and bleeding, but still insensible, was conveyed to his chamber in the mansion house, by some of the servants. his physician was an old slave, skilled in the treatment of cases of this kind. when the patient recovered from the swoon into which he had fallen, his back was carefully washed, and the usual remedies were applied. though suffering terribly from the effects of his wounds, he did not permit a sigh nor a groan to escape him. the mangled flesh could be healed, but there was no balm at redlawn that could restore his mangled spirit. dandy felt that he had been crushed to earth. slavery, which had before been endurable with patience and submission, was now intolerable. he had been scourged with the lash. he had realized what it was to be a slave in the most bitter and terrible sense. "i will watch and wait," said he to himself, when the old slave had left him alone with his reflections, "but no longer with patience and submission. i will cease to be a slave, or i will die a freeman with the herons and the alligators in the swamp." the day wore slowly away, but it was filled up with earnest and energetic reflections,--in a word, with plans and suggestions of plans for escaping from the bondage whose fetters now galled him to the quick. and before the sun set upon the day of his greatest humiliation, he had matured a scheme by which he hoped and expected to win the priceless boon of freedom. it was a daring scheme, and its success must depend wholly upon the skill and energy with which its details were managed. when one resolves to do a thing, it is already half done; and dandy, stretched upon his couch of pain, was inspired by the hope and comfort which his plan afforded him. it might be weeks or months before the favorable opportunity for executing his purpose should arrive; but the time would come, sooner or later. "i will watch and wait," said he, while a smile of hope illuminated his pale face. watch and wait had now a new significance, more vital than before; and he kept repeating the words, for they were an epitome of the whole duty of the future. while he was pondering his great purpose, he was surprised to receive a visit from master archy. the imperious young gentleman displayed a languid smile upon his face as he entered the chamber. it was intended as a token of conciliation. if his pride had permitted him to speak to the suffering bondman, he would have said, "dandy, you see this smile upon my face. it is the olive-branch of peace. i freely forgive you for what you have done; and you see, by my coming, that i feel an interest in you. not every young master would bestow a visit of sympathy upon his slave, after he had been whipped; so you see how condescending i am. we will be friends, as we were before. it is true you have been whipped; but you deserved it, and i am willing to forgive you. it may have been my fault, but as you are a nigger, and in my power, it don't make much difference." this was what master archy's looks said, and the sufferer read them as well as though the words had been written upon his face. after dandy came to his senses, his first thought was, that he would be revenged upon archy for his mean and cowardly conduct; but the great scheme he had matured drove this purpose from his mind. success required that he should conceal his feelings, or he might lose the confidence of his master, and thus be deprived of the opportunity for which he intended to watch and wait. "how do you feel, dandy?" asked archy, in tones of sympathy, as he placed himself by the bedside of his body-servant. "not very well, master archy," replied dandy. "my father carried it farther than i intended, dandy. i tried to stop him before." "thank you, master archy," answered the patient, meekly. "though it was more than i meant you should have, i hope you will remember it a long time," added archy. "i shall, master." "my eye is not in very good condition," said he, wiping the injured organ with his handkerchief. "it was a hard blow you gave me." dandy wished he would leave him, and he did not care to argue the matter with him, even if he had been privileged to do so. "it won't do to let your servant go too far," said archy. "i am very sorry it happened," replied dandy. "well, i hope the lesson will last you as long as you live." "it will, master archy." the young tyrant, when he had fully satisfied himself that his minion was in a tractable state, took his leave, much to the satisfaction of the sufferer. the old negro who acted as his physician paid him another visit in the evening, and assured him that he would be well in a few days. he left him with the injunction to go to sleep, and forget all about it. dandy could not go to sleep, could not forget all about it. the wound in his soul was more painful than those upon his back, and hour after hour passed away, but his eyes were still set wide open. his great resolution filled the future with sublime visions, which he panted to realize. his path lay through trial and danger, was environed by death on every side; but paradise was at the end of it, and he was willing to encounter every hardship, and brave every danger, to win the glorious prize, or content to die if his struggles should be in vain. he was determined to leave redlawn at the first favorable opportunity; and while he pictured a glowing future beyond the chilly damps of the swamp, and out of the reach of the rifle-ball and the bloodhound, there were still some ties which bound him to the home of his childhood. home! no, it was only a mockery of that heaven upon earth! it had been the scene of his tribulation--that which riveted the bonds upon his limbs. but it was home so far as it was the abiding place of his friends,--not those who scourged him, whose caprices had tormented him; not his young master, not his old master. that delightful poetry which paints a loving slave clinging fondly to the master that scourges him had never glowed in his imagination. whatever of regard he had before cherished towards his master had been driven from his heart by the thongs of the slave whip. he had friends at redlawn,--the gentle, meek, and patient lily,--the wild, rollicking, mirthful cyd. they were his friends, indeed, and the thought of leaving them at all was sad; the thought of leaving them in bondage, to be sold and scourged, was intolerable. while he was thinking of them he heard a slight rap at the door. "may i come in?" it was lily, and the permission was promptly given. the clock in the great hall below had struck eleven, and the family had but just retired. she had been waiting all this time to pay a visit of sympathy to the sufferer. "how do you do, dandy?" asked she, as she sat down in a chair at the head of the bed. "i'm better, lily." "i'm very glad. i wanted to come and see you very much, but i was afraid to do so. it was terrible, dandy! to think that you should be whipped! i should as soon have thought of being whipped myself." "it is terrible, lily." "what did you do, dandy? it must have been some awful thing." the sufferer briefly related the particulars of the event at green point, which had procured him the whipping. lily expressed her horror at the meanness of master archy, and poured out her sympathy in unmeasured fulness upon her friend. "but i shall not be here long, lily," added dandy, in a whisper. "why, what do you mean?" asked she, amazed at the idea of resistance in any form. "will you keep my secret, lily?" "you know that i will, dandy." "i mean to run away." "run away!" gasped lily. "i will not stay here another month if i can help it." "but where will you go?" "i know where to go, and how to go; and, live or die, i shall make the attempt." "and you will be free?" "i will, or i will die. i will not be a slave!" said he, in an energetic whisper. "how grand it would be! i wish i could be free," sighed lily. "i don't know what will become of me one of these days." "none of us can know." "if i were a man i should not fear so much. master was offered two thousand dollars for me a year ago." "he will not sell you." "whether he does or not, i shall be miserable as long as i live. i often wish i was dead." "poor lily!" sighed dandy. "can't i go with you," asked she, bending over him, and whispering the words into his ear. "you, lily! i shall go to the swamps first. i may have to live with the alligators for months, perhaps for years." "i am not afraid of them. if you will let me, i will go with you," added she, eagerly. "i shall have to meet hardships and dangers,--more than you could bear." "i'll bear every thing, dandy. i will help you; i will die with you." "poor girl!" "i would bear any thing. i would rather live with the alligators than with miss edith. you don't know how much i have to bear, dandy." "the same that i have to bear from master archy. if i thought you could stand it, lily, i should be glad to take you with me." "i can stand it," replied she, with enthusiasm. "you shall go, lily." "heaven bless you, dandy!" "and i'm going to take cyd with me, too, if he will go; but he don't know any thing about it yet." "when shall we start?" "i don't know; not till master goes a hunting again. i will tell you all about it in a few days." lily was content to leave every thing with dandy, in whom she had more confidence than in any other person, for he was her only real friend. with her soul full of new emotions, she left the chamber of the sick boy just as the clock struck twelve. dandy's great purpose now assumed a new significance; and as lily was to share in the toils, privations, and dangers of the enterprise, a new responsibility was imposed upon him. it was two hours more before his exciting thoughts would permit him to sleep. his wounds had ceased to smart, and he had even forgotten his flogging in the glorious vision to which it had introduced him. and when he slept it was but to dream of the swamp and its perils, and of the promised land which his fancy pictured beyond it. chapter vii. the isabel is prepared for a cruise. at the end of a week the lacerated flesh of poor dandy was so far healed that he again discharged all the duties of his position near the person of his young master. the flesh was healed, but the spirit still smarted under the effects of the whipping. "watch and wait," was his motto; and though he possessed his soul in patience, he kept his eyes and his ears wide open, ready to seize upon the desired opportunity to carry out his great resolution. the season most favorable for shooting had arrived, and dandy was in expectation that colonel raybone would order the preparations to be made for his annual excursion, either to the rivers above, or the lakes below, in search of game. upon this event was based his hope of making his escape. the smiling month of may was ushered in with its pleasant days, and about a fortnight after his whipping dandy had the satisfaction of hearing the subject broached. the excursion was a matter of considerable importance, for the planter was generally absent two or three weeks, during which time he and his party lived on board of the large sail-boat. as there were no guests at redlawn, the people wondered who were to be the colonel's companions. "we will leave on wednesday," said the planter to his son. "are you going alone, father?" "certainly not; you may go with me for one, and you may take dandy with you. jake and cyd shall go to do the heavy work." "who else? there is room enough in the cabin for four." "there is no one else to go. so we shall have the more room ourselves," replied the planter, as he walked away. master archy announced to dandy and cyd that they were to attend the party, and both expressed their satisfaction at the privilege accorded to them. they were directed to put the isabel, which was the name of the boat, in good order for the trip. she had to be thoroughly washed and dried that she might be in readiness to receive her stores on the following day, which was tuesday, and they hastened off to perform their task. the isabel was about twenty-five feet long. she was very broad on the beam, and drew but very little water for a boat of her size. she was provided with a centre board, and worked admirably on the wind. she had been built expressly for the shallow waters of the lower lakes. she was schooner-rigged, and could carry a heavy press of sail, which the light winds of these inland lakes rendered necessary. the cabin was twelve feet long, and nine feet wide at the broadest part, and contained four berths. the "trunk," which was elevated about fifteen inches above the deck, afforded a height of about five feet beneath. the berths, which extended beneath the main deck, answered for beds by night, and sofas by day. the standing room, or open space abaft the cabin, was eight feet long, with cushioned seats on three sides. forward of the cabin there was a "stow-hold," four feet long, in which the fuel and furnaces used for cooking were kept. under the cabin table, and under the berths and seats in the standing room, were a plenty of lockers for the reception of provisions and other articles required on board. we are thus particular in describing the isabel, because dandy and his friends were destined to make their home on board of her for some time. they might have found many a worse dwelling place on shore, for the boat had ample accommodations for them. the cabin was elegantly fitted and furnished, and there was every thing on board which could be needed to make them comfortable. while dandy and cyd were cleaning the isabel, the former boldly announced his purpose to run away, and invited his friend to make one of the party. "golly! dis chile go for sure!" roared cyd, displaying his wealth of ivories, and dropping his scrubbing brush with amazement at the magnificence of the idea. "hush, cyd! you will tell every one on the place." "no, sar! i won't tell no one ob it. dat's de truf, dandy." "be careful then, and don't speak so loud." "but where you gwine?" demanded cyd. "i'm going into the swamp, and shall stay there till master thinks we are all dead. then i'm going to run down to the sea, and get on board of some vessel that will carry us to the free states." this prospect was rather too much for the simple comprehension of the unlettered negro boy, and he only rolled the whites of his eyes in mute astonishment. "i've studied it all out, cyd, and i know where to go, and how to get there." "yes, dandy, you knows ebery ting, and i'll foller you to de end ob de world--dat's de truf," added cyd. "and lily will go with us." "lily?" "yes; now keep your mouth shut, and don't look any different from what you always do." "golly--yes; when you gwine to go, dandy?" "to-morrow night. every thing will be put on board, ready for the colonel to start early the next morning. just as soon as all the people in the house have gone to bed, we will meet here, and go on board." "den i shall be a free nigger?" "yes, if we get off, and the plan works well. but you must be very careful." "you kin trust dis chile, dandy. you knows you kin." "i do, or i should not have made you my companion." dandy instructed his sable friend very minutely in the duties he was to discharge in connection with the enterprise. he had every confidence in cyd's discretion, and knew that he would rather die than betray him. the isabel was carefully cleaned, and left to dry in the bright sunshine of a clear day. the next morning, the steward of the plantation laid out the stores which were to go on board; and as their storage was a nice matter, dandy was charged with this duty. he was assisted by archy's boat crew, who conveyed the articles on board; and before sunset the boat was ready for her cruise. every locker was filled with meat, vegetables, crackers, wines, liquors, fruits, cakes, cordials--with every thing which could contribute to the comfort or luxury of the excursionists. there were two barrels of water in the standing room, and the choice fowling pieces of the planter and his son were in the cabin, with a supply of ammunition sufficient to destroy half the game of the parish. to the supplies laid out by the steward, dandy contrived to add a dozen hams, nicely sewed up in canvas bags, and several kegs of crackers, which he took from the store room. these articles were stowed in the forward cuddy, and concealed beneath the fuel and furnaces, so that the planter, when he inspected the boat, might not discover them. some other articles were placed in a convenient position on shore, that they might be taken on board in the night. at sunset, colonel raybone went off to the isabel, and carefully examined every part of her, to satisfy himself that there had been no omissions in her outfit. "you have done very well, dandy," said the planter, when he had completed his inspection. "how many hams have you put on board?" "six, sir," replied dandy. "we may be absent five or six weeks; you may put in six more," added colonel raybone. "yes, sir." he also ordered an additional supply of smoked beef and tongues, which, of course, the caterer was glad to convey on board. when these stores had been added to the stock, he was satisfied, and ordered dandy and cyd to be on board by six in the morning. the superintendent of these operations then locked up the cabin, and went on shore. though he was burning with excitement, he managed to demean himself with his ordinary coolness, and cyd looked as immovable as a statue. at the usual hour they retired to their several rooms, but not to sleep. dandy, as the conductor of the enterprise, was weighed down with the responsibilities of his position. though he had done every thing he could to insure the success of the venture, he was still burdened with a feverish anxiety lest something had been omitted, and with the dread that something might happen to interfere with the plan. there were many things which might intervene to thwart his purpose. if the night should prove to be calm, there would be scarcely a hope of success; for the isabel was so large that the two boys could not row her far enough, before daylight, to place them out of the reach of pursuit. there was quite a fresh breeze when he went to his room; but he trembled with fear lest it should subside before he could take advantage of it. while miss edith was at dinner that day, he had found an opportunity to whisper his purpose into the ear of lily, and to give her such instructions as the occasion required. he had no doubt that his companions would meet him on the pier at the appointed time. fortunately for the success of the plan, the family retired at an earlier hour than usual, and dandy waited with impatience till the stillness of the house assured him it was safe to leave his chamber. he then tied up a portion of his clothing, and crept softly down stairs. his heart beat with most tremendous pulsations. the opportunity for which he had been watching and waiting had come, and issues more terrible than those of life and death hung upon the success of the enterprise. if he failed, if he was captured, he might expect the auction block, for colonel raybone always sold a servant that attempted to run away. the destiny of poor lily was also in his keeping, and for her to be sold was to be consigned to a fate worse than death to a pure-minded girl--a fate which both of them were old enough to understand. "god be with me!" ejaculated dandy, half a dozen times before he left his chamber. it was all the prayer he ever uttered, but it was an earnest and sincere one. "god be with me," repeated he, in a whisper, as he closed the front door of the house behind him, and with stealthy step crept down to the pier. cyd was already there, for he did not sleep in the great house, and had not to wait the movements of the family. he trembled with excitement as dandy joined him, for he knew the fate of the runaway if he was caught. they immediately brought the articles which had been concealed down to the steps, and put them in the bateau, which was used as a tender for the isabel. "what's dis for?" asked cyd, as he deposited two pots of paint in the boat. "don't ask questions," whispered dandy, earnestly. "not another word, or i'll leave you. now, put these things on board, and mind you don't make a particle of noise." cyd obeyed the order to the letter, and paddled off to the sail-boat. every thing was now in readiness for their departure, but lily had not yet made her appearance. cyd returned to the shore, and they waited half an hour, but the lady's-maid did not come. there was a stiff breeze blowing, and dandy was impatient at the loss of a single moment of precious time. he walked up to the house, fearful lest something had happened to prevent her from keeping her appointment. there was a light in miss edith's chamber, which explained her non-appearance; but he could not think of going without her. when his patience was nearly exhausted, the light was extinguished. lily soon made her appearance on the lawn, and they hastened down to the pier. chapter viii. the departure of the young fugitives. "dear me!" exclaimed lily, when dandy joined her on the lawn; "i am frightened out of my senses." "there is nothing to fear yet, lily," said her conductor, as he took her by the hand to restore her confidence. "the wind is quite fresh, and long before we are missed we shall be out of the reach of pursuit." "i am frightened, and i can't help it." "you will feel better when you get on board of the boat. you shall have a nice cabin, and you can lie down and go to sleep just as you would in your own chamber." "i don't think i shall sleep much to-night. i was afraid i should not be able to join you, for miss edith had the headache, and made me stay with her till she could go to sleep." "we are all right now, lily. every thing is as favorable as it can be. we have nothing to fear as long as the wind blows." lily had very little practical knowledge of boating, and she did not comprehend the allusions of dandy; but she trusted him with all her soul, and when he said there was no danger, her fluttering heart was calmed down. before they reached the pier she had entirely recovered her self-possession, though she could not help being deeply impressed by the important step she was taking. cyd was seated on the landing steps, whistling the air of a negro melody, as cool as though he was about to engage in a lawful enterprise. he had been tremendously agitated at the announcement of the idea, and when he decided to form one of the party; but he was one of that class to whom exciting events soon become an old story. he already regarded his freedom as achieved, and he had even made himself familiar with his new social condition. dandy handed lily into the bateau which was to serve as the isabel's tender, and then seated himself in the bow. "come, bear a hand, cyd," said the leader, in a low but sharp tone. "what am i to bear a hand to?" demanded cyd. "jump in quick, and paddle off to the isabel." "golly! is dis chile got to row de boat? says i, 'cyd,' says i, 'you's a free nigger, and you got nuffin to do but----'" "take your paddle quick, or i will leave you here!" interposed dandy. cyd obeyed this time. his ideas of freedom were, no doubt, derived from his master and the other white people at redlawn, who had nothing to do but amuse themselves and order the negroes round the place. they were very crude ideas, and he was yet to learn that freedom did not mean idleness. he paddled the bateau off to the sail-boat, and lily was put on board. "now, haul the edith alongside," said the skipper, as he proceeded to unloose the sails. "de edif!" exclaimed cyd. "wha--wha--what you gwine to do wid de edif?" "haul her alongside!" replied dandy, sharply. "if you spend the night in talking, we shall not get off till morning." "hossifus!" ejaculated cyd, whose vocabulary being rather limited, he was under the necessity of coining a word occasionally, when he felt the need of a strong expression. "dis nigger tink he was free, but it's do dis, and do dat. hossifus; dis chile tink he's only got a new massa--dat's all, for sartin." "if you don't want to go, cyd, you needn't. i will put you on shore, and go without you." "gossifus! dis chile like to know what you gwine to do widout cyd." "i shall do very well without him. shall i put you on shore, or not?" "possifus! no, dandy; i'se gwine wid you, any how." "then you must mind me!" added the skipper, earnestly. "i done do dat." "haul the edith alongside, then." "sartin, dandy. i'se gwine to haul de edif alongside, but dis chile like to know what for?" "mind me, or i'll put you on shore!" cried dandy, angrily. "mossifus! i'se gwine, dandy," said cyd as he stepped into the tender, and paddled off to the edith, which was moored a short distance above. presently he returned, and the painter of the race boat was made fast to a cleat on the quarter of the isabel. cyd was much mystified by the operation, for he could not see why they should take the edith with them. he was very anxious to argue the point with dandy, who, it seemed to him, had never before in his life been so sharp and ill-natured. but the skipper was too much excited by the tremendous issues of the hour to be in a mood for argument. by this time dandy had cast loose the sails, and together they manned the halyards, and hoisted the mainsail. it was large, and the fresh breeze caused it to flap and beat with a fearful noise, which added not a little to the excitement of the skipper. "stand by the moorings, cyd, and have your jib halyards ready!" said dandy, as he took his place at the tiller. "hossifus! i'm dar, massa dandy." "you needn't 'massa' me, cyd. stop!" "which'll i do, massa dandy, stand by de moorings, or stop?" demanded cyd, whose ivories were now distinctly visible in the gloom of the night. "neither; jump into the bateau, and bring the wherry alongside," replied dandy. "gossifus! what you gwine to do wid de wherry?" "mind me, or go on shore!" said the skipper, sternly. "i'se gwine. golly! dat makes two boats apiece all round, for sartin." "go, quick!" "i'se gone; 'pears like i'se only swapped off massa archy for massa dandy." but cyd obeyed the order, and brought the wherry to the side of the isabel, to which she was secured, like the other boats. the bewildered boy was not in the habit of doing his own thinking, and his faculties were not, therefore, very fully developed, and an explanation would have relieved him of a world of doubts and conjectures. "now, have your jib halyards ready, and stand by the moorings," said dandy. "yes, sar!" replied cyd, putting a wicked emphasis on the complimentary part of the answer. "let go the moorings!" shouted dandy, as he hauled in the main sheet. "all gone, massa dandy," replied cyd, as the heavy rope by which the boat was secured splashed into the water. "hoist the jib!" added the skipper, in the same loud tones, that he might be heard above the noise of the flapping sail. "up she goes," responded cyd, joyously. the isabel, released from her moorings, caught the breeze, and the voyage of the young fugitives was commenced. she leaped like a race-horse before the fresh breeze. "we done gone!" exclaimed cyd, as he walked aft, when he had secured the jib sheet. "we are off!" replied dandy, as he cast an anxious glance in the direction of the planter's great house, to assure himself that none of its inmates witnessed their departure. the night was very dark, and there were indications of a storm. it required all the skill of the bold leader of the expedition to steer the boat in the thick gloom of the night. the navigation was difficult and dangerous. the bayou was filled with snags and stumps, and to strike one of them was to dash the boat in pieces, and wreck all the hopes which hung upon the success of the enterprise. but dandy was thoroughly acquainted with all the difficulties in his course, and was so familiar with the waters of the bayou, that he was as much at home upon them by night as by day. "hoist the foresail, cyd," said the skipper. "mossifus! dis chile tinks de boat's gwine fas enough," answered cyd, "but i'se gwine to do jus what you say, massa dandy." "do it then." cyd did do it then; but it was evident to the commander of the isabel that the "crew" of his vessel was in a lamentable state of insubordination. all his orders were questioned, and the boat was liable to go to the bottom in an emergency, because his commands were not promptly obeyed. he was not a little astonished at cyd's conduct, for in the boat of master archy he was in the habit of obeying all orders like a machine, never presuming to ask a question, or suggest a doubt. the foresail was set, and the isabel dashed on with increased speed. there was no more "working ship" to be done, and cyd again took his place on the cushioned seats in the standing-room, a luxury, by the way, in which he had never before attempted to indulge himself; but when it is considered that he had just emerged from slavery to freedom, his want of respect for the dignity of the "quarter deck" will be fully excused. "go forward, cyd, and keep a sharp lookout ahead," said dandy, as soon as the "crew" was comfortably seated on the cushion. "gossifus! i suppose i'se a nigger still," said he. "dis chile tinks he's jes as good's any body now." "you are, cyd." "den i mus squat on de hard deck, and you sets on de cushions." "take one of the cushions with you, if you wish to; but go forward and keep a sharp lookout." "i'se gwine." "go, then." "dis nigger don't zackly like dis kind ob freedom," growled cyd, as he moved forward. the wind was about south-west, which was fair for the course the isabel was then steering, and in three quarters of an hour she made green point. dandy could not but recall the events which had occurred there three weeks before, for they had stimulated him to the daring enterprise in which he was now engaged. it was there he had resolved to watch and wait in patience and submission for a less perilous opportunity to effect his escape than that which he had now embraced. the spot was full of interest, for his great resolution had been born there; but the moment was big with the destiny of the whole party, and he could not stop to indulge in sentimental reflections. "stand by the jib sheet, cyd!" said he, as the isabel swept past the point. "yes, sar--all ready!" replied cyd, who had so many times assisted in working the boat, that he was perfectly familiar with the routine of a foremast hand's duty. "hard--lee!" cried dandy, as he put the helm down, and brought the isabel up on the other tack. cyd tended the jib sheet without further instruction, and then took his place again on the forecastle to look out for danger ahead. the course for the next five miles was up the large bayou, of which the crosscut was a tributary. it was lined on both sides with large trees, which sheltered the water, to some extent, from the force of the wind, and her progress was less rapid than before. the navigation was less obstructed, and cyd was called aft to enjoy the luxury of the cushioned seats. lily, who had now become reconciled to her situation, also joined the skipper in the standing room. the hurry and excitement of the departure had passed off, and the load of anxiety was removed from the mind of dandy. it was midnight, dark and gloomy; but the young fugitives felt that they were passing from the gloom of slavery into the light of freedom. the first difficulties of the enterprise had been overcome, and though there were months of peril and hardship before them, it seemed as though the glorious sun of the new existence had already risen. chapter ix. the fugitives reach lake chicot. the isabel moved steadily through the waters of the wide bayou, bearing her precious freight farther and farther from the plantation. with every mile she advanced, the hopes of the fugitives grew stronger. though dandy alone knew the route by which they were to reach the land of freedom, they were conscious that any white man whom they might meet would arrest them as runaways. before they could pass out of the limits of the state, they must go in sight of many plantations, where they were liable to be seen, and even near two or three villages. in spite of the perils which the future had in store for them, the party were quite cheerful. even lily, gentle and timid as she was, soon became accustomed to the novel situation in which she was placed, and ceased to dread the pursuing footsteps of the slave-hunters. "do you think we shall escape, dandy?" asked she, as she seated herself by the side of her friend. "i expect we shall," replied he, unwilling to kindle too strong a hope in the mind of the girl. "if we manage well, we have a good chance." "i hope we shall, for master would certainly sell us all if we should be caught." "dat ud be wus as staying wid massa kun'l," added cyd. "but i s'pect we won't be caught, massa dandy." "why do you call me master, cyd?" "dis chile tink you cutting it rader fat." "what do you mean by that?" "you'se tell me do dis, and, cyd, do dat,--jes as dough dis nigger no account at all." "i am in command of the boat; and it was my duty to get her under way. when i told you to do any thing, you began to ask questions." "dis nigger's free now," replied cyd, with becoming dignity. "not yet, cyd. we may be caught at any moment." "gossifus! i tought i was free now." "what made you think so?" "we done runned away from massa kun'l." "he may catch you again." "de kun'l ain't here, no how, dandy; 'pose i neber see him any more, and he neber see me any more, who's my massa den?" "when you get into a free country, you will be free." "but who's my massa now? dat's what dis chile want to know for sartin." "you have no master." "den i'se free," exclaimed cyd, exhibiting his ivories, which the gloom of the night, increased by the deep shadows of the tall trees, was powerless to conceal. "i tell you, i'se a free nigger." cyd commenced a most violent demonstration of satisfaction as he contemplated his new social position. he laughed, kicked with his heels, sang and danced. he felt that he had got the best of the argument, and this was no small ground of rejoicing. "suppose you should be caught?" "den i be massa kun'l's boy again." "but why did you call me massa dandy?" "kase you order me round jes like massa kun'l, and de white folks. dis chile begin to tink he's your nigger." "you are just as good as i am." "yes, sar; cyd knows all about dat. you tell me to git de row boat; den to git de wherry; and when i ask what for, you tell me to mind my own business, and not ask queshuns." "it was because we had no time to spare," replied dandy, whose feelings were injured by the charge of his sable companion. "dat may be; but you speak to me jes like de white folks." "i didn't mean to do or say any thing that would make me seem like a master, for i hate the very sound of the word." "hossifus!" exclaimed cyd, gratified by this acknowledgment. "i done tink you meant to be my massa, jes like de kun'l. if dis chile jes as good you be, cyd can't see why you don't tell what you do dese tings for." "i am willing to tell you what i did these things for, now that i have time to do so. but, cyd, i will change places with you." "possifus! what fur?" "you shall command the boat, and i will obey all your orders without asking a single question." "what, cyd?" "yes, cyd," replied dandy, earnestly. "here, take the helm!" "gossifus! i dunno whar you're gwine." "very well; i will give you my map of the country, and you shall find the way for yourself, as i shall have to do." "what you gib me?" "the map." "what's dat?" "here it is," replied dandy, giving him a small pocket map of the state of louisiana, of which he had possessed himself a few days before the departure. cyd took the map, turned it over two or three times, and could not make out its use. lily and dandy both enjoyed his confusion, for it was a great puzzle to him to know how they were to find their way through the swamp by the aid of this little book, as he called it. a lantern was lighted, and lily unfolded the map, and spread it out upon one of the berths. "mossifus!" exclaimed cyd, when he had carefully examined the map, and the lantern was prudently extinguished. "i don't see what dis paper fur." "it's all i have to guide me to the ocean, after we have passed chicot. now, if you will take the map, and command the boat, i will obey you in all things." "golly! i don't see what good de paper's fur. i kin foller de norf star." "but we are going to the south." "i tink i will stay where i is, and you shall command de boat." "then you must mind me at once. our very lives may depend upon your prompt obedience." "i will, dandy." "free men have to obey, as well as slaves. on board a ship, every body obeys the captain." "what's use ob bein free, den?" "the captain of the ship can't sell the sailor, nor separate him from his wife and children. the man is paid for what he does, and when his voyage is up he may go where he pleases." "i knows all about it now, dandy." "i don't want to be called dandy any more. my name is daniel, but you may call me dan for short." "possifus! den's what's my name? i'se free too, and i wan't my name changed." "your name is thucydides." "tucydimes!" "no, thucydides," laughed dan--for we will adopt his suggestion, and call him no longer by his plantation name. "hossifus! hab to git up afore breakfast to speak dat word in season for dinner," chuckled cyd. "you are called cyd for short, as i am dan. there is nothing bad about the word." "it's a very good name, cyd," added lily. "goshus! if you say so, missy lily, it's all right. if it suits de fair seck, it suits me," said cyd, shaking his fat sides with satisfaction. "dis chile don't keer what you calls him, if you only calls him to supper." "now, cyd, i will answer the questions you asked when we were getting under way." "yes, what ye got all dem boats draggin arter us fur?" "don't you see the reason, cyd?" the boy scratched his head, but he could not see. as we have before observed, he had not been in the habit of doing his own thinking, and, consequently, he was not skilled in reasoning from effect to cause. "suppose we had left the boats, cyd," added dan. "den we shouldn't hab em wid us, keepin de boat back." "at six o'clock in the morning, colonel raybone will be ready to start on his trip. he will go down to the pier, and expect to find us all there." "gossifus! we shan't be dar!" exclaimed cyd, whose imagination was lively enough to enable him to picture the scene that would ensue. "what then, cyd?" "golly! massa kun'l up and rave like he neber did afore," replied cyd, who appeared to enjoy the idea. "well, what then?" "dunno. he can't help hisself," chuckled cyd. "suppose we had left the boats?" "mossifus! he tell four stout boys to git in de club-boat, and streak it down de riber like an alligator arter a possum. yah! ha, ha!" roared cyd, holding on to his sides. "do you see why i have taken all the boats?" "yes, dandy--dan; i sees into it jes like a millstone. you'se got a long head, dan. but what ye gwine to do wid de paint?" "we shall live in the swamp till the colonel has done looking for us. this boat is white now, and we will paint her green, so that she can't be seen so easily." "dat's good, dan; but de kun'l won't stop lookin fur us till he finds out something." "i mean that he shall find out something. he will suppose that we have gone to the north. he will never suspect that we have come this way. here we are," said dan, suddenly rising in the boat, as she came to a narrow opening on the southerly bank of the river. running the boat up to the bank of the bayou, he ordered cyd to make her fast to a tree on the shore. "what's gwine to be done now, dan?" asked cyd, when he had obeyed the order. "we shall follow the big river no farther. now, i want to make master raybone think we have gone up that way, which leads to the mississippi. i left some papers in my room, which will convince him that i intended to go that way. now, lily, we must leave you for a little while," added dan, as he drew the bateau alongside. "we will not be gone more than an hour." dan and cyd got into the bateau, and towed the other boats about two miles up the river, where they secured them in such a position that they seemed to be abandoned. when the search for them was made, these boats would be found two miles from the course the fugitives had actually taken. they then pulled back to the isabel, and got under way again. their course was now changed, and the boat passed down the narrow cut-off, which soon widened into a broad stream. the wind, which had been quite fresh when they started, had now subsided to a gentle breeze; but as the country was more open than on the big river, as it was called, they still moved along at the rate of three or four miles an hour. at five o'clock in the morning--dan had a silver watch which had been presented to him by master archy--they reached the entrance of lake chicot. it was about daylight, and as there was a plantation on the western bank, it was not deemed prudent to proceed any farther, for if the boat was seen, it would at once be recognized as that of colonel raybone. the westerly side of the lake was low, swampy ground, covered with a thick growth of trees and an undergrowth of cane. the skipper of the isabel ran along this shore till he found a stream flowing into the lake. hauling up the centre board, he ran his craft into this creek. as the sails would not draw, being sheltered by the trees and cane, the two boys worked the boat up the stream with their oars till she was completely concealed from the opposite shore, or from the lake, if any boat should happen to pass during the day. here the careful skipper intended to lie until the friendly shades of another night should permit them to proceed on the voyage to a more secure haven. chapter x. breakfast on board the isabel. "now, cyd, get up the furnace, and make a fire," said dan, as soon as the sails of the isabel had been furled, and the boat carefully secured to a tree on the shore. "sartin," replied cyd, as he took off the hatch of the stow-hold. "who's gwine to be de cook, dan?" "do you know how to cook, cyd?" "hossifus! i don't know nossin at all 'bout it." "neither do i; and i think lily does not. i will try my hand at the business first. we can make some coffee, boil the potatoes, and fry the bacon. i am sure i can do that." "so kin cyd." "just as soon as we get to the place where we are going, we will divide the work between us. you shall be cook one week, and i will the next week. now bring up the bacon, the potatoes, and the coffee." old jake, who was to do the cooking for the excursionists, had provided every thing that would be needed for the purpose. in a short time the fires were blazing in the two furnaces, the coffee and the potatoes were boiling upon one, and the other was in readiness for the frying-pan, when the other articles should be in a sufficiently forward state to require its use. though dan had never actually turned his hand to the business of cooking, he had so often seen the various operations performed, that he was competent to do it himself, after acquiring a little experience. he was a keen observer, and whenever he saw any thing done, he could generally do it himself. in the forward part of the cabin of the isabel, reaching from the foremast to the centre-board, was a fixed table; and while dan was cooking the bacon, cyd prepared it for the morning meal. they had every thing which could be found in any well-ordered house, and the table had more the appearance of that of a first-class hotel than one provided for the use of the runaway slaves. "possifus!" exclaimed cyd, when the table was ready, as he sat down upon the berth to observe the effect. "dat's bery fine! cyd, you'se gwine to set down to dat table. you'se a free nigger, now, cyd, and jes as good as de best ob dem. dar's de bread, dar's de pickles, dar's de butter, dar's de sugar, dar's de milk, dar's de salt, dar's de castor. gossifus! all dat's bery fine, and cyd's gwine to set down at de fus table." "here, cyd," called dan, through the sky-light, as he proceeded to pass down the breakfast. "put them on the table." "mossifus! do you think cyd don't know what to do wid dese yere tings? i knows what fried bacon's fur!" the potatoes, the bacon, and the coffee were handed down, and when they were placed upon the table, the effect called forth another rhapsody from cyd. while he was apostrophizing the bacon and the potatoes, he was joined by dan. "come, lily," said he; "breakfast is ready." "hossifus! we forgot one ting for sartin," exclaimed cyd, suddenly looking as sober as though he had not a friend in the world. "what, cyd." "de bell." "bell? what do we want of a bell?" "to call de folks to breakfas, to be sure," replied cyd, distending his mouth from ear to ear. "i think we can get along without a bell," replied dan, laughing at the folly of his companion. lily joined the boys in the forward cabin, as they called the space forward of the centre-board. she looked as pleased and happy as dan and cyd; and one would hardly have believed, from their appearance, that they were fugitives from slavery. all the talk about the chilly damps of the swamp, the perils and the hardships of the flight, appeared to have been forgotten. the planter and his son could hardly have been more jovial than the party which had taken possession of the yacht. cyd was not accustomed to the refinements of social life, as dan and lily had been, and he began to behave in a very indecorous and remarkable manner. as it was all in the family, dan ventured to suggest to him that, as he was now seated at a gentleman's table, he should behave in a gentlemanly manner, and not eat bacon from his fingers, when a knife and fork had been especially provided for this purpose. cyd accepted the rebuke, and thereafter imitated the manners of his companions, even carrying his ideas of gentility to extremes. the cooking was a decided success, with the exception of the coffee, which was very muddy and uninviting. this was not strange, inasmuch as none of the chemical conditions, upon which good coffee is produced, had been complied with. it was nothing but coffee and water stewed together. dan was mortified, and apologized for the failure. "how did you make it, dan?" asked lily, with a smile, which fully spoke the offender's pardon. "i put the coffee in, and then the water," replied the amateur cook, with a blush. "hot water?" "no, cold." lily laughed aloud at this blunder, and then gave him a receipt for making good coffee, which included the use of boiling water and fish-skin. "i saw that fish-skin in the locker, and i couldn't think what it was for?" laughed dan. but the breakfast was finished, and, in spite of the drawback of poor coffee, it was pronounced satisfactory, especially by cyd, whose plantation rations had not included coffee, butter, white bread, and other articles which graced the table of the isabel. "now, dan and cyd, you can go away and do what you please," said lily. "we will clear up the table and wash the dishes first," replied dan. "no; i am going to do that." "you, lily?" "i am going to do my share of the work. i can't manage a boat, but i think i can cook, and take care of the cabin, set the table, and do every thing that belongs to the women." "i didn't mean to have you work, lily," said dan. "you have been a lady's-maid all your life, and never did any work." "well, i know how; and i'm going to do my share. i should not feel right to live like a lady here. i mean to do all the work in the cabin, and the cooking too." "no, cyd and i will do that." "mossifus! do all dat, and all de rest too." "i must do something, or i should be very unhappy." "well, lily, you shall have your own way; and while you are clearing off the table, cyd and i will prepare the lady's cabin." "the what?" asked lily. "your cabin; you shall have a room all to yourself." dan left the cabin, followed by cyd. taking from one of the lockers, in the standing room, an awning which was used to spread over the forward deck, he unrolled it, and proceeded to make his calculations, while cyd stood by, scratching his head and wondering what was going to be done. the cabin of the isabel was entered by two doors, one on each side of the centre-board, which divided the after cabin into two apartments. dan, after measuring the cabin, cut the awning to the size required, and then nailed it up as a partition between the forward and the after cabin. the space thus enclosed formed a state room, six feet long and three feet wide, outside of the berth. this room could be entered only by the door from the standing room. it made a very neat and comfortable chamber, and lily was much pleased with it. by the time the dishes were washed and put away, there was considerable gaping among the party. cyd opened his mouth fearfully wide, and miss lily's eyelids drooped, like her fragrant namesake, when its mission on earth is nearly finished. the fugitives had come to the knowledge that they had slept none during the preceding night, and as the voyage was to be continued when darkness favored the movement, it was necessary that the hours should be appropriated to slumber. lily retired to her new state room, closed the door, and was soon asleep. "now, cyd, one of us must turn in," said dan. "can't we bof turn in?" "no; one of us must stand watch while the other sleeps. we have been getting along so finely, that we have almost forgot that we are in danger." "possifus!" gasped cyd. "wha--wha--what you want to keep watch fur?" "suppose any one should come upon us while we are asleep?" added dan. "'pose any one come 'pon us when we're awake: what den? who's a gwine to help hisself?" yawned cyd. "i am, for one. i shall not be taken, if i can help it." "gossifus! what you gwine to do? 'pose you see de nigger hunter, wid tree, four dozen bloodhounds: wha--wha--what you gwine to do den?" "i'm going to fight! and you must do the same!" replied dan, with energy, as he grasped one of the fowling-pieces that lay upon the bunk. "gwine to fight!" cried cyd, opening his eyes with astonishment. "gwine to kill de dogs and kill de men?" "that's what i mean. i will shoot man or dog that attempts to touch me." "wha--wha--wha--" stammered cyd, as he always did when excited; but the idea was too big for him just then, and he broke down altogether. "that's a settled point, and you must learn to use a gun." "woo--woo--woo--would you shoot massa kun'l, if he come for to take you?" demanded cyd. "i would, or any other man. i belong to myself now, and i will fight for my own freedom to the last." "i dunno 'bout dat, dan," mused cyd. "hossifus! shoot massa kun'l! dunno 'bout dat." "turn in, cyd, and go to sleep. you may have the first chance." the two boys drew lots for the choice of berths, and dan obtained the after one. cyd was soon snoring in one of the forward bunks, while dan took his place upon deck to guard against the approach of man or beast that might threaten their newly-acquired freedom. chapter xi. the bay of the bloodhounds. dan had his solitary watch for four hours, with nothing to disturb his meditations except the occasional visit of an alligator; but as the ugly reptiles did not offer to swallow the boat, or otherwise interfere with her, the lonely sentinel did not even challenge the intruders. he was very sleepy, for he had not closed his eyes during the preceding night, and his great purpose had sadly interfered with his slumbers since the time for its execution had been fixed. it was one o'clock when he called the "watch below." lily was still wrapped in slumber, worn out by her sleepless night, and by the excitement of her novel position. after charging cyd to keep awake, assuring him that "eternal vigilance was the price of liberty," dan went into the cabin to obtain the rest he so much needed. he slept soundly, and, no doubt, dreamed strange things; but when he awoke it was nearly dark. starting up with a spring, he bounded to the deck, where he found cyd fast asleep upon the cushions of the standing room. "cyd!" exclaimed he, seizing the faithless sentinel by the collar. "is this the way you keep watch?" "possifus!" ejaculated cyd, as he sprang to his feet. "i done been asleep." "been asleep! i should think you had! have you been snoring there all the afternoon?" "no, _sar_! dis chile hain't been asleep more'n two minutes--no, sar, nor more'n a minute and a half." "yes, you have; you have been asleep all the afternoon. you deserve to be a slave all the rest of your life!" added dan, indignantly. "gossifus! i tink not. wha--wha--wha--what does you mean by dat?" stuttered cyd. "how dared you go to sleep when you were on watch?" "i tell you, dan, i'se been wide awake all de arternoon. hadn't been asleep quite two minutes." "he hasn't slept long, dan," said lily, as she came out of the cabin; "for i was with him only a little while ago." "i'm glad of it, if he hasn't," added dan, more calmly. "you kin bet yer life dis chile don't go to sleep on de watch. no, _sar_!" "but you did go to sleep, cyd. you were asleep when i came on deck." "i jes close my eyes for a minute, but i was jes gwine to wake up when you comed on deck." "i can't keep awake all the time; i must sleep some." "bout six hours," chuckled cyd; and his companion had really slept about this time. "why didn't you call me then, as i did you?" "i told him not to do so, dan," interposed lily, whose sweet smile was sure to remove any objection which dan might have. "we ate our supper about an hour ago. cyd was going to call you, but i wouldn't let him. i knew how tired you were, and you will not have any chance to sleep to-night." "it was very kind of you, lily," said dan with a smile. "but i must teach cyd not to sleep when he is on watch. any carelessness of this kind might spoil every thing." "i never'll go to sleep on de watch agin, so help me possifus!" exclaimed cyd, now fully impressed by the magnitude of his criminal neglect. "i'll answer for him," said lily; "i'll stay on deck and keep him awake next time." "o, no, you needn't, lily." "but why can't i keep watch in the daytime, and let both of you sleep? if there was any danger i could call you." "i don't mean to ask you to keep watch, or do any such work. it is not a woman's place." "i mean to take my turn next time," said she, resolutely. "now, dan, i will get your supper. cyd and i ate bread and butter, and drank cold water; but if you are going to sail the boat all night, you will want some tea." "thank you, lily; you are very kind. i will get the tea myself." "no, you shall not. i am not going to be idle all the time. i mean to do my share of the labor. if it isn't a woman's work to keep watch, it is to get tea; and if you please, i will do it myself." my young readers will remember that lily, though a slave girl, was a gentle, delicate creature. she had never done any manual labor. she had simply stood by her young mistress, fanned her when she was warm, brushed away the flies, handed her a book, or other article, when she wanted it, picked up her handkerchief when she dropped it, and assisted at her toilet. if miss edith needed any greater exertion of bone and muscle, another person was called to render the service. but she had been about the kitchen and work rooms of the plantation, and having a taste for the various housekeeping operations, she had incidentally acquired some little skill in cooking, needle-work, and other branches of female industry. her form was agile and graceful, her organization delicate; and no person, even with a knowledge of her social condition, and rankly imbued with southern prejudices, could have denied that she was beautiful in form and feature. her complexion was fairer than that of a majority of anglo-saxon maidens. her eye was soft, and sweetly expressive. such was lily, the slave girl of redlawn; and when she talked of performing the drudgery of the isabel, dan, with that chivalrous consideration for the gentler sex which characterizes the true gentleman, resented the idea. he preferred to labor day and night, rather than permit her to soil her white hands with the soot of the furnaces. lily, as we have seen, had wiser and more sensible ideas on the subject. she had an instinctive contempt for that sort of chivalry, and in spite of the remonstrances of the knightly skipper of the isabel, she kindled a fire, and with the assistance of cyd, soon placed the tea and bread and butter upon the cabin table. she then took her place at the head of the board, and "did the honors" with an elegance and grace which would have adorned the breakfast parlor at redlawn. though cyd had been to supper, he accepted the invitation to repeat the operation. before the meal was commenced, it was necessary to light the cabin lantern, which swung over the table. whether there is any exhilaration in a cup of tea or not, the party soon became very cheerful; and cyd was as chipper as though he were in the midst of the christmas holidays. after supper dan took the bateau, and pulled out to the lake, to reconnoitre the position, and assure himself that there were no obstacles to the departure of the isabel. when he returned, lily had washed the dishes and put the cabin in order, thus carrying her point, and establishing herself as mistress in this department. dan did not deem it prudent to start so early in the evening; but the sails were hoisted, and every thing made ready for the departure. the wind was light, and the leader of the expedition had some doubts about starting at all that night. the isabel had made only about twenty miles during the preceding night, with a strong breeze to help her during a portion of the time. he had carefully studied the maps in his possession, and estimated the distances by the scale between the various points. he knew exactly where he intended to go, and a failure to reach the place before daylight would expose him to the risk of being seen from some of the plantations on the banks of the lake. the responsibility of deciding this important question rested upon him alone. the distance to be accomplished before they could reach another place of security was about twenty-five miles. an average of three miles an hour would enable him to complete the passage by sunrise, and he at last decided to attempt it. about nine o'clock the two boys got into the bateau, and towed the isabel out of the creek, and with gaff-topsails and staysail set, in addition to the jib, fore, and main sails, the voyage was renewed. keeping as near the western shore of the lake as it was prudent to go, the boat glided gently over the tranquil waters. in a couple of hours the isabel reached the narrow outlet of the lake. thus far, the south-westerly wind had enabled her to run with a free sheet; but at this point the course changed, and dan found that he should be compelled to beat dead to windward in order to reach his destination. then he wished he had not started; but up the creek he had been unable to determine from what direction the light breeze came, and had decided the question to the best of his ability. though he had no reason to reproach himself for his want of care, the situation was none the less difficult or trying on that account. but there was one compensating advantage: as he passed through the narrow outlet of the lake, the broad surface of the chetemache was before him. it was forty miles long by ten miles wide, and afforded him abundant space in which to work the boat. and in this open sea the wind came unobstructed to his sails. the course of the isabel, on her first tack, lay close to the eastern shore of the lake. the boat moved very slowly through the water, and lily and cyd sat by the side of the skipper, talking in low tones of the future, with its hopes and its trials, its joys and its dangers. suddenly they heard a crackling sound in the cane-brake near them; then came from a greater distance the bay of bloodhounds. there was no mistaking these sounds; and for an hour they listened in almost breathless anxiety to these appalling indications of a slave-hunt. the yelp of the dogs came nearer and nearer; but they had lost the sounds which indicated the presence of the hunted fugitive. "gossifus!" whispered cyd, for he had been forbidden to speak a loud word. "where you 'pose de nigger dem dogs is chasin' is?" "i don't know. i pray that he may escape," replied dan. "can't you help him?" asked lily, whose frame shook with terror, as her fancy pictured the terrible scene which she had so often heard described. a splash in the water a hundred yards astern of the isabel now attracted the attention of the party. "can't you help him?" repeated lily, in trembling tones. "it will not be safe for us to show ourselves, for the human bloodhounds are not far off." "do help him if you can. save him from those terrible dogs!" pleaded lily. "he will swim to that island," said dan. "perhaps the dogs will not catch him." "yes, they will." "yes, dey will. dey done leap in de water. dar dey go!" added cyd, as they listened to the splashes as the brutes sprang into the lake. "save him! save him, dan!" cried lily. "it may cost us our lives and our liberty," replied dan. "no matter. let us die if we can save the poor man from the fangs of the bloodhounds." "i will, lily," replied dan, as he put the isabel about, and headed towards the small island, about half a mile from the shore. "take the helm, cyd," continued he, as he left his post at the tiller, and rushed into the cabin. he returned in a moment with two fowling-pieces in his hands, and proceeded to load them. by this time the panting fugitive was distinctly seen, closely pursued by the dogs. chapter xii. quin, the runaway. dan had loaded the fowling-pieces with buckshot. though not a good marksman, he had some experience in the use of arms, and felt fully competent to cut off the bloodhounds before they could pounce upon their human prey. leaving cyd at the helm, he went forward and stationed himself at the heel of the bowsprit. the dogs were better swimmers than the fugitive, and were rapidly gaining upon him, for the poor creature's limbs seemed to be partially paralyzed by the appalling danger that menaced him. the isabel was approaching the scene of this exciting race with a rapidity which promised soon to terminate the affair. dan immediately obtained a correct idea of the relative positions of the dog and the man. his object was to run the boat between them, and thus cut off the savage beasts from their prey. "luff a little, cyd," said he. "luff 'em 'tis," replied the helmsman, who was boatman enough to understand the nautical phrase, and even to handle the craft under the direction of a more skilful skipper. "steady as she is." "see here, dan. is you gwine to shoot?" asked cyd. "certainly i am. what do you suppose i got the guns for?" "possifus! what you gwine to shoot?" "the dogs, of course. luff a little--luff! you are letting her fall off." "luff 'em 'tis. see here, dan. you be mighty keerful you don't hit de nigger." "silence, now, and mind your helm! you are steering wild." cyd had so far improved in the cultivation of the quality of obedience on shipboard, that he did not speak again, but he was fearfully excited by the stirring scene which was transpiring near him. dan was not less moved, though his cool determination produced a different manifestation of his feelings. he was conscious of the danger to which his interference in the hunt subjected him. there were probably several slave-hunters on the track of the fugitive. the isabel would be seen by them, and possibly be recognized, which would certainly bring pursuers upon her track. but it was not in his nature to permit his suffering fellow-creature, in this unequal strife, to be conquered by his human and brute antagonists. the appeal of the gentle lily had been addressed to a sympathizing heart, and he entered with all his soul upon the task of saving the slave from the fangs of his pursuers. the isabel had now come within a few yards of the dogs and their prey. the time for action had come. dan was fully sensible of the great crime, as the southern slave law regarded it, of shooting a "nigger dog;" but with a steady hand, though his heart bounded with exciting emotions, he raised the gun to his shoulder, and taking deliberate aim at the nearest hound, he fired. the brute gave a deep yell, and for some time continued to splash about in the water. "don't shoot me, massa! don't shoot me, and i'll gib myself up," cried the fugitive, who seemed to have heard the report of the gun, without observing the effect which the shot had produced. "i mean to save you," replied dan, as he levelled the gun at another of the dogs; but this time he missed his aim, and the hound continued to swim towards the negro. "luff a little more," said dan to cyd, as the boat came between the man and the dogs. "luff 'em 'tis." as the boat now divided the dogs from their prey, dan did not again load the guns; but seizing the boat-hook, he gave the foremost hound a knock on the head, which caused him to retreat, howling with pain. "swim this way," cried dan to the negro. "i will save you." "yes, sar," gasped the negro, whose breath was nearly exhausted by the hard struggle through which he had just passed. as the isabel luffed up, the fugitive came alongside, and dan assisted him to climb upon the deck. "o lord!" groaned he, as he threw himself at full length upon the forecastle. "poor fellow!" sighed lily, who ran forward to see the sufferer as soon as he was hauled on board. "what can we do for him?" "he needs rest. he is all worn out. he may have run for miles before he took to the water." "can't we give him something? there is some cold tea in the cabin." "i will get him something," added dan; and he ran aft and entered the cabin. he returned in a moment with a bottle and a tumbler. the fugitive still lay upon the deck, panting and groaning like a dying gladiator after the mortal struggle of the arena. freedom was worth the exertion he had made, though every fibre in his frame had been strained. he had manfully fought the battle, though without the interference of our party he would certainly have lost the day. dan poured out a tumblerful of the wine which the bottle contained, and placed it at the lips of the sufferer. he eagerly drank off the draught, and sank back upon the deck. "he will be better soon. he is all out of breath," said dan, as he brought one of the cushions from the standing room and put it under the poor man's head. "gossifus!" shouted cyd, who still retained his position at the helm, though his interest in the scene of the forward deck caused him to steer very badly. "hossifus!" added he, in gasping tones; "de dogs! de dogs!" "what's the matter, cyd?" demanded dan. "de dogs! dey done eat dis chile all up! dey won't leabe de ghost ob a grease-spot luff of dis nigger!" cried cyd, in mortal terror. "mind how you steer, then!" replied dan, hastening to the assistance of his terrified companion. "don't you see you have thrown her up into the wind, so that the sails don't draw a bit!" "mossifus! dis chile don't wan't to be food for de dogs." "you will be, if you don't mind what you are about," said dan, as he took the tiller; and putting it up, the boat gathered fresh headway, and soon shot out of reach of the bloodhounds. "why don't you shoot de wicked dogs?" "i don't want any more noise. i hate the dogs as bad as you do, but we must be careful," replied dan. "now, can you mind what you are about, and keep the sails full." "dis chile kin do dat, for sartin." "if you don't the dogs will have you. now, be careful, and i will go forward, and take care of the poor fellow, who is nearly dead. watch the sails; never mind the dogs; they can't catch you, if you sail the boat properly." "you kin trus dis chile for dat. cyd isn't afeerd ob notin, only he don't want to be eat up by de wicked dogs." dan went forward, where lily was bending over the panting runaway, rubbing his temples, and speaking sweet words of hope and comfort to him. in a short time he was in some measure recovered from the effects of his fearful struggle with the fate that beset him. "i was sure i was caught, when i saw de boat," said he, as he raised himself to a sitting posture, and gazed with astonishment at those who had so singularly proved to be friends, instead of foes. "are there any men on your track?" asked dan, who could not lose sight of the peril he had incurred by this samaritan act. "i speck dar is," replied he. "i hear dem off eber so far, but i don't see dem." "can they chase you on the lake?" "i speck dey can. dey'll get a boat and follor de dogs." "where are you from?" asked lily. "from major pembroke's plantation, 'bout ten mile from dese yere parts, i speck." "how long since you run away?" "i luff de place about tree days ago. i stay in de cane-brake till noon to-day, and git so hungry i could stan it no longer. den i goes out to find someting to eat. den somebody sees me, and dey follow me wid de dogs. i done kill two of dem dogs, and i kill de rest, but i hear de men coming, and i run for de lake. i speck, when i git in de water, to frow de dogs off de scent, but dey git so near dey see and hear me. dem's mighty fine nigger dogs, or dey never follor me into de water. i done gib it all up when i hear dem in de water arter me." "did you get any thing to eat when you went out of the cane-brake," asked lily. "no, missy; i got seen 'fore i find any ting." "poor fellow! then you haven't had any thing to eat for three days?" "noting but leabes an de bark ob trees." "i will give you some supper at once," said lily, as she hastened to the cabin. "lily!" called dan. "you mustn't light the lantern, or make a fire." "why not?" "the light would betray us. the slave-hunters will soon be out in their boat after this man." "i will not, then." while lily was engaged below, dan provided the runaway with a suit of his own clothes, which were not much too small for him, as he was a man of medium stature. he then conducted him to the standing room, for he was still too weak to walk without support. his supper was brought up, and he ate cold bacon and potatoes, bread and cheese, till the wondering lily thought he would devour their whole stock of provisions, and till dan kindly suggested that he would make himself sick if he ate any more. while he was eating, dan satisfied his curiosity in regard to the isabel and the party on board of her. the runaway, whose name was quin,--an abbreviation of quincy,--listened with astonishment to the story of these elegant fugitives, who ran away in a yacht, and lived in a style worthy of a planter's mansion. no doubt he thought their experience was poetical and pretty, compared with his own, for his flight had been a death struggle with famine and flood, with man and brute. in the mean time, the isabel had run the dogs out of sight, and the waters in the direction from which she had just come were as still as death. no doubt the lake would be scoured in search of the fugitive; but for the present the party seemed to be secure from pursuit. the boat was now approaching the northern shore of the lake, and it became necessary to tack. the wind held steady, but light; and dan had but small hopes of being able to reach his destination before daylight. when every thing was made snug on the other tack, and there seemed to be no present danger ahead or astern, cyd conducted quin to one of the forward berths, and he turned in for the night. the runaway was evidently a very pious slave, and the young fugitives listened with reverend interest to the long prayer he offered up before he retired. it was a pæan of thanksgiving for his escape from the fangs of the slave-hunters. it was homely speech, but it was earnest and sincere, and those who listened were deeply impressed by its fervid simplicity. dan and lily sat alone in the stern of the boat, for cyd had been permitted to turn in with the runaway. they talked of freedom and the future for an hour, and then they were started by the sound of oars in the distance. the slave-hunters were on their track. chapter xiii. the night chase on the lake. though the isabel carried all her extra sails, the wind was so light that she made very little progress through the water, and the sound of oars which indicated the approach of a boat was appalling to dan. there could be no doubt that it contained the slave-hunters in pursuit of quin; and the fate of the whole party seemed to be linked with that of the slave, who was sleeping in happy security in the cabin. the schooner was close-hauled, and sailing as near the wind as she could; but dan, as soon as he realized the peril of the situation, gave the boat a couple of points, which sensibly increased her speed. when he first heard the pursuer's boat, it was just abeam of the isabel. his present course, therefore, carried him nearer to the boat for a time, but it was not safe to permit her to get to the windward of the isabel, in that light breeze. dan was satisfied that, if he had been in the four-oar boat with his black crew, he could have overhauled the isabel in a short time, if the two craft had been in the positions occupied by the pursuer and the pursued. the race depended entirely upon the character of the boat in which the slave-hunters had embarked. whatever the result of the pursuit, dan was fully determined not to be taken himself, nor to permit his friends on board to be taken. with the arms in the cabin, he was confident that he could make a good defence. but the thought of taking the life, even of a slave-hunter, was terrible to him, though he had fully reasoned himself into the belief that such a course would be perfectly justifiable before god; and he cared little for the judgment of a slave-holding community. his maker had given him the right to be free--had endowed him with the right to use his own bone and sinew for his own benefit and happiness; and the man or the community that attempted to deprive him of this right committed a crime against god and him, and it was his duty to defend himself against this violation of his heaven-given right. he hoped, however, to be spared the pain of resorting to the use of arms. he prayed to god, with all the earnestness of an earnest nature, for more wind; for his creed, if he had any, was very simple, and included a belief in special providences. the boat of the slave-hunters was now not more than half a mile distant, and the chase had become intensely exciting to dan and lily, who alone were on deck. the trembling maiden could with difficulty maintain a reasonable self-possession. she was terrified as the panting hare when she feels the warm breath of the pursuing hound. "we shall certainly be taken, dan," said she, as she caught sight of the boat beneath the main boom of the schooner. "we are lost." "no, lily, not lost. you shall never be taken while i have a drop of blood left in my body," replied dan, in a low and earnest tone. "why, they are ever so much nearer than they were when we first saw them." "that is true; but it is only because i changed the course of the boat." "why did you change it, then?" "because, if i run her down into the corner of the lake, they can easily cut us off." "i suppose you have done the best you could." "there was no other way to do," answered dan, as he glanced under the boom at the pursuer. "we shall soon know which boat goes the fastest now." "i don't understand it at all," said lily, whose knowledge of seamanship was very limited. "you know the shape of the letter a?" "i do." "well, that boat has been running up one leg of the a, and i have been running up the other; so, you see, we must be coming nearer together. i had to run this way in order to use the wind to the best advantage." "but you will come together in this way in a few moments." "no; we are as near now as we can be, unless that boat sails faster than we do. i shall continue to sail in a straight line, but i shall get ahead of the other if she does not change her course. she cannot cut me out now, at any rate." probably lily was willing to talk of this subject to banish more painful thoughts from her mind, though it is not likely that she clearly comprehended the tactics of the skipper of the isabel. "don't you think i had better call cyd and quin?" asked she, after she had again glanced at the position of the pursuing boat. "no, let them sleep. we will not call them till it is necessary to do so," replied dan. "do you think we can escape them?" asked she, anxiously. "i cannot tell, lily. i hope so. it depends entirely upon the wind. if the breeze should die out, of course we could make no progress at all." "do you think the wind will die out?" said she, nervously. "i can't tell, lily. i hope not, i pray not." "suppose it should die out, dan?" added she, moving up nearer to the skipper. "if we lose the wind there is nothing to prevent the boat from overtaking us at once." "o, dear!" shuddered lily, moving up still nearer to him who was her only earthly protector. "why do you tremble so, lily?" asked dan, as he took her hand and pressed it in his own, perhaps thinking that he might thus impart to her some of his own steadiness. "because i am so terribly frightened," replied she, with quivering lips. "i would rather die than be taken; and i have been thinking that i would throw myself into the lake if the boat catches us." "you shall not be taken, lily," said dan, his lips compressed, and his teeth tightly closed, evincing the determination with which he had resolved to meet the slave-hunters, if they attempted to lay their polluting hands upon the gentle girl by his side. "what can you do against such men as those?" "i can fight, lily; i would do so to save myself, but more to save you." "o heaven! if i should be taken! what would become of me?" "no, no, lily: don't take on so," said dan, as he passed his arm around her waist--a familiarity in which he had never before indulged, but which was done only as a father clasps his child--to inspire her with more confidence, to assure her that she was in the care of one who was able and willing to save her from the dreadful fate that impended. "i wish i could be brave as you are, dan," said she, confidingly; for the expedient of her devoted friend seemed not to be without some effect. "you don't appear to be at all alarmed." "because i have firmly resolved not to be taken myself, and not to let you be taken." "i suppose they only want quin." "they cannot have him. he is a fugitive, like ourselves, and i don't believe god would permit us to escape if we should wickedly abandon him." "nor i; we won't do that. we will all be taken together," said lily, whose sympathy for the hunted runaway seemed, for the moment, to give her new courage. "do you suppose they know any thing about us?" asked she. "perhaps they do. i suppose colonel raybone has sent hunters in every direction for us, and has probably offered a reward." "then we shall certainly be taken," answered lily, with a shudder. "we will not be taken, lily, whoever pursues us." "hallo! in the boat there!" shouted a man of the pursuing party. the slave-hunters were now within less than a quarter of a mile of the isabel, for they had been gaining upon her by a vigorous use of their oars. the boat which contained them was now exactly astern of the schooner. "hallo!" replied dan, who, knowing that the men could not talk and row to the best advantage, was quite willing to converse with them. "what boat's that?" shouted the spokesman of the slave-hunters. "captain barrett's," replied dan, whose virtue was not sufficiently developed to induce him to tell the truth in his present perilous situation. "where from?" "down below brashear," answered dan, who had previously made up his mind what to say if any conversation with the pursuers should become necessary. "what ye doin up here?" "came up with a party." "seen ary runaway nigger in the water?" "no," shouted dan, promptly. the question filled him with hope, for it assured him the slave-hunters had not been near enough even to hear the report of the fowling-pieces when he fired them; or, at least, not near enough to discover who had fired them. "didn't ye see him?" asked the pursuers again. "no." "gossifus! wha--wha--wha--what's de matter?" demanded cyd, rushing up from the cabin with quin, both of them having been awakened from their slumbers by the voice of the skipper. "silence, cyd!" said dan, in a low, decided tone. "hush, cyd!" added lily, in a whisper. "don't speak a word." "wha--wha--wha----" "hush, cyd!" repeated lily, who seemed, in the moment of danger, to be endowed with a self-possession at variance with her former timidity. "where you bound now?" called the slave-hunter. "home," replied dan. they asked no further questions for a time, and dan saw, with a thrill of satisfaction, that they were lying upon their oars. he hoped that his answers had convinced them the runaway was not on board; but in this he was disappointed. he heard the men in the boat talking together, though he could not make out what they said. when the conference was ended, they renewed their efforts to overtake the isabel. "hallo, the schooner!" shouted the spokesman again. "hallo, the boat," replied dan. "heave to, and let us see you a minute." "what for?" "want to talk with you." "can't stop." "guess ye kin. heven't ye seen nary nigger?" "no." "well, stop--won't ye?" "can't stop; must get home by sunrise." "well, ye must stop!" yelled the speaker, angrily, and with an oath. "hossifus!" groaned cyd, in mortal terror. "shut up, cyd," added dan, sternly. "if you can't hold your tongue, i'll throw you overboard!" "possifus! ugh! wha--wha--wha----" "come, cyd," interposed quin, in a low tone, "don't make a noise. if you do, we shall all be lost." "dis chile's awful skeered. i done wish i hadn't come," replied cyd, in a gentler tone; but the words trembled on his lips. "quin," said dan. "sar," replied the fugitive, with a self-possession which thoroughly shamed the quaking cyd. "take hold of the painter of the bateau, and haul it alongside." "yes, sar." "cyd, take hold and help him. haul it up to the foremast, and take it on deck." the order was obeyed, though cyd, in his terror, was not able to render much assistance. the bateau was taken on deck to assist the sailing of the isabel, and also to prevent the pursuers from seizing it, if they should unfortunately come near enough to do so. "stop your boat, i say," yelled the slave-hunter, after they had pulled for a few moments with the most determined zeal. "can't stop!" replied dan. "stop her, or i'll fire into you!" "gossifus!" exclaimed cyd, whose teeth were still chattering with fear. dan made no reply, and concluded not to answer any more questions. "are ye go'n to stop her?" demanded the pursuer. "i b'lieve you've got that nigger on board; and if ye don't heave to, i'll fotch ye up with a bullet." "bring up the guns, cyd," said dan, with forced coolness. "wha--wha--wha----" "the guns!" said dan, fiercely, as he stamped his foot upon the flooring to emphasize his meaning. "gossifus! i done think--" but cyd disappeared in the cabin without giving those on deck the benefit of his thoughts. "now, lily, you must go into your cabin. lie down in your berth, for they may fire upon us," said dan. "don't be alarmed; there are only three men in that boat, and we can certainly beat them off." "i will not leave you, dan. i am not afraid of the bullets. i only fear----" at that moment the report of a gun startled them, and the ball whistled close by dan's head. chapter xiv. the battle for freedom. "take the helm, cyd, and mind how you steer!" said dan, with earnestness, as he rose from his seat, and seized one of the guns. "hossifus!" exclaimed cyd, aghast at the thought. "wha--wha--wha----" "take the helm!" repeated the resolute skipper, with a decision which left no alternative for the boy. "possifus! dis chile don't want to set dar, and be shooted." "there is no more danger there than there is any where else. take your place, and don't be a coward. if you want to be free, you must fight for it now." "golly! dis nigger ain't afeered, but cyd don't want to be shooted, kase you can't do widout cyd." but the trembling foremast hand took his place at the tiller. he continued to mutter to himself, as though he was repelling the charge of cowardice which had been fastened upon him. "come, lily, you must go into your cabin now," added dan, tenderly, as he turned to lily. "this is no place for you." "o, i'm not afraid of the guns, dan; only of the slave-hunters, and i cannot hide myself from them." "you may escape if you stay in the cabin, and you can do no good here. i shall feel better to know that you are in a place of safety." "i'm not afraid, dan; really, i am not," replied she, earnestly. "but you are in our way here, lily. do go into your cabin, and lie down in your berth." "i will if i am in the way." "if we have to fight, it will be right here, and i am determined to resist to the last." "i will go;" and dan led her to the door of her cabin. she entered, and threw herself upon the cushions of the berth, and dan, satisfied that she was in a place of comparative safety, turned his attention to the defence of his party. "can you handle a gun?" said he, turning to quin, who appeared to be as cool and resolute as the skipper. "well, i done shoot some," replied quin. "take a gun, then." "wha--wha--wha----" gasped cyd. "silence, cyd! keep both eyes on the sails, or i'll put a bullet through your head. i didn't expect you would be a coward at such a time as this." "dis chile ain't a coward," answered cyd, rising from his seat. "sit down, and mind your helm then!" "give me de gun, and i'll show you cyd ain't no coward, no how." "you never fired a gun in your life. you would be more likely to shoot yourself than any body else. mind your helm; that's all we want of you." "possifus! dis chile ain't no coward, no how," growled cyd, as he cast his eyes at the sails. "fire away dar, and show dese folks cyd's no coward!" "gwine to fire into dem folks in de boat?" asked quin. "i am, if occasion requires," replied dan, as he discharged the gun he held in his hand in the direction of the pursuers. "but i want to let them know that we are armed, and able to give as good as they send. i don't want to kill any of them if i can help it." "i don't mind killin ob 'em; dat's what dey done do to me if dey gits a chance." "stop your boat!" shouted one of the men again; and it was evident, from the tones of the speaker, that the report of the gun from the isabel was not altogether favorable to the views of the pursuers. dan made no reply, but loaded up his gun for further use. "stop your boat, or we'll fire into you again," shouted the speaker. "if you do you will get as good as you send," answered dan, as he put the cap upon his piece. the reply was followed by another shot from the slave-hunters; but the ball whistled far above the heads of the fugitives. dan took deliberate aim at the boat, and fired, ordering quin to do the same. so far as they could discover, neither of the shots took effect. from this time both parties kept up an occasional firing; but as the night was so dark, and the motion of the boats not favorable to a steady aim, no one in the isabel was hit, and dan and his companion were not aware of any different result to the other boat. cyd maintained his position at the helm with the steadiness of an old salt who had stood at the wheel in a hundred battles; and dan, witnessing his improved demeanor, began to think his singular conduct had been the result of excitement rather than of timidity. but one thing was painfully evident to all on board of the schooner--that the boat was gaining upon her, and that the wind was gradually dying out. there was no hope for them except in their own right arms. they must fight for liberty, fight for the rights which they had boldly reässumed. dan and quin were fully determined upon this course, and if they could bring cyd up to a sense of duty on this trying emergency, there would be some chance of success. as it was, the odds were against them. the pursuers were probably men accustomed to the use of arms, while all in the isabel were, to say the least, very indifferent marksmen. hitherto, they had fired at a dark mass on the water, for they could not distinguish the enemy in the gloom of the night, and the pursuers had been subject to the same disadvantage. a nearer approach to each other of the contending parties, would enable both to obtain a more accurate aim, and the work of death could not be much longer postponed. "de wind's clean gone," said cyd, as the heavy sails of the isabel began to flap idly in the brails. "cyd, you must fight!" added dan, earnestly. "possifus!" exclaimed cyd, rising and seizing a boat-hook that lay on the quarter. "dis chile will fight, for sartin." "good, cyd! you are a brave fellow! you deserve to be free, and you shall be." "hossifus! don't tell cyd he's a coward, kase he ain't no such ting, no how." "i didn't mean that, cyd; and i take it all back," added dan. "the boat has lost her headway now. they will be upon us in a moment or two. stand firm, cyd, and break the head of any man that attempts to get into the boat." "yes, sar! dat's jus what i'se gwine to do. i'll broke de head ob any nigger-hunter dat's gwine to come in dis boat, for sartin." "now, stoop down both of you, and let them fire over our heads as they come up." dan crouched down in the bottom of the isabel, with the gun ready for use when the decisive moment should arrive; quin and cyd did the same, and the intrepid skipper proceeded to give them such instructions for repelling the assault as the occasion required. all of them were to keep their places till the pursuers were close alongside, when the four guns, which were ready for use, were to be discharged. they hoped this would be sufficient to drive them off. if it should not, a fifty-six pound weight, taken from the ballast in the run, was to be pitched into the boat, as she came alongside, which would break out a hole in its bottom, and sink it before the enemy could get on board; cyd was then to do duty with his boat-hook, and the others with similar weapons. the slave-hunters showed some hesitation in boarding the schooner. the guns which had been fired from her had undoubtedly inspired them with a proper respect for those on board of her. the isabel lay with her sails hanging loosely from the gaffs for half an hour, and still the enemy did not come up to her. "we's gwine to hab a shower," said quin. "and a squall too, i'm afraid," added dan, as he cast his eyes anxiously over the rail, to observe a pile of dense black clouds, which had suddenly rolled up the midnight sky. "whar's de boat?" asked cyd. "she lies off here only a little way from us. if she will only keep still till we can get a breeze, we shall be all right." "let 'em come on; dis chile's all ready for 'em," replied cyd. "have you got over being scared?" "never was skeered." "you said you were." "cyd's only jokin den. i done feel so kinder stirred up. i done want to holler--make de nigger feel good." "hush! they are coming!" exclaimed dan, whose quick eye detected a stealthy movement on the part of the boat. "hallo! in the boat, thar," shouted the slave-hunter. "well. what do you want?" "we're go'n to come on board of yer." "no, you are not. you are all dead men if you attempt it." "what do you want to shoot us fur? we ain't a go'n to hurt yer." "you fired first, you infernal chicken thieves! we know what you are," replied dan, who thought it best to class them with these depredators--men who frequent the western and southern rivers, plundering boats or houses, as opportunity presents. "we ain't no chicken thieves." "keep off. we know you," repeated dan. this conversation was followed by another pause, during which the careful skipper had another opportunity to examine the weather indications. they were decidedly unfavorable. it was probable that a squall, if not a tornado, would soon burst upon them, and he deemed it prudent, even at the risk of being shot, to haul down the jib-topsail, the staysail, and the gaff-topsails. this he succeeded in doing; but he had scarcely finished the job, without giving himself time to stow the extra sails, before he saw the boat of the pursuers dashing rapidly towards the isabel. the slave-hunters had at last made up their minds what to do. they meant to risk the encounter. just then a sharp flash of lightning illumined the lake, followed by the muttering thunder. a few fitful flashes of lightning had before glared on the gloomy scene; but now it gleamed fiercely from the sombre clouds, and the heavy thunder rolled an almost incessant peal. "ready! ready, now!" said dan, earnestly, as he sighted his gun at the trio in the boat, which the lightning plainly revealed to him. "all ready," replied quin. "now give it to them," said dan, as he discharged his gun, and grasped another. quin did the same. the pursuers' boat was not more than ten rods from them, but, from the want of skill in the marksmen, the discharge proved harmless. "put in! put in!" yelled one of the slave-hunters. "never mind their firing. they can't hit nothing." dan and quin fired again. "i'm hit!" roared one of the enemy, with a horrible oath. "don't go no furder." "keep her a goin!" replied another. "we'll fix 'em in a minute now." the boat dashed up towards the isabel; but dan, as soon as he had fired, leaped from his place, and seizing the fifty-six pound weight, plumped it full into the bottom of the boat. the fugitives heard the pine boards crash, as the weight broke its way through, and went to the bottom of the lake. "stand by, now!" shouted dan, as he seized his club, and dealt a heavy blow upon the head of the slave-hunter who was in the act of leaping on board the schooner. "we're sinkin!" cried another of them; and the gunwale of the bateau in which they sailed was nearly submerged. [illustration: the battle for freedom. page .] they had no time to act upon the aggressive; it was all they could do to secure their own safety. just then, the expected squall struck the isabel, and though dan had before cast off all the sheets, she careened over till the water flowed into the standing room. her watchful skipper sprung to the helm, and in an instant she righted partially, and darted forward like a steed pricked with the spur. "we are safe!" exclaimed dan, as lily rushed from her cabin, startled by the exciting events which had just transpired. chapter xv. the fate of the slave-hunters. "haul down the foresail, cyd!" shouted dan, as the isabel gathered way, and forged ahead. "be quick, but be careful of yourself." with the assistance of quin, cyd got the foresail in, though it was not without a deal of hard tugging, for the wind now blew a fierce gale. as soon as sail was thus reduced, the sheets of the jib and mainsail were secured, and the schooner lay down to her work, dashing through the water at a furious rate. "we are all right now, lily," said dan. "go into your cabin again, or you will be blown away." "were any of you hurt in the fight?" asked she, as loud as she could scream, for the wind howled fearfully through the rigging of the schooner. "no, we are all well and hearty. go to the cabin, lily." she returned to her place of security, and seemed to be satisfied that the hour of peril had passed, for the thunder and the lightning, the dashing waves and the roaring wind, had no terrors compared with those produced by the presence of the slave-hunters. the isabel labored fearfully in the heavy squall, and it was only by the exercise of all his skill that dan could keep her right side up. he was obliged, as the gusts of wind struck her, to ease off the sheets, and to luff her up. by the glare of the blinding lightning he obtained the position of the boat in the lake, or he might have run her on shore, and, with the beautiful craft, wrecked all the hopes of his party. "here, cyd and quin, stand by to reef this mainsail! we can't stand this long," said dan, as he threw the isabel up into the wind. "possifus!" yelled cyd, above the howling of the tempest. "we all go to de bottom, for sartin." "no, we won't; stand by, and work lively. let go the peak halyards," replied he, as he cast off the throat halyards, on the other side. "haul down the sail as fast as you can, quin." with the jib still drawing full, the isabel continued steadily on her course, while dan and cyd put a double reef in the mainsail, quin standing at the helm in the mean time, and acting under the direction of the skipper. "now, up with it," added dan, when the reef-points were all taken up. the mainsail was hoisted, and again the isabel dashed madly on her course, for she had now all the sail she could carry in that fierce blow. dan stood at the helm, with his eyes measuring the distances, as the vivid lightning revealed the bearings of the shores. cyd was ordered to the forecastle to keep a sharp lookout ahead, while quin was directed to bale out the boat, for at least a hogshead of water had poured in over the side when the flaw struck her. the wind came in heavy gusts, each one of which threatened to "knock down" the isabel; and if her skipper had not been a thorough boatman, such must have been her fate. by skilfully meeting the flaws as they struck her, he prevented her from capsizing. under ordinary circumstances he would have deemed it highly imprudent to carry any sail, and would have anchored the boat with a long cable; but this was the battle of freedom, and success was worth any risk and any peril which it might require. the tempest, however, was of short duration. when the rain began to pour in torrents, the gale subsided. the reefs were shaken out, and, finally, the foresail was set again. the wind continued to blow pretty fresh, but all danger was at an end. "what you 'pose come ob dem men?" asked quin, as he finished his task of baling out the boat. "i don't know; but i feel confident that not all of them are able to tell what has happened to them." "one of them was hit wid de shot," added quin. "and i struck one over the head with a fender." "dem two mus be gone killed dead for sure," said quin, with solemn earnestness. "of course it was not possible for them to get ashore, for their boat was stove all to pieces. do you know them, quin?" "yes, sar; dey's all nigger-hunters." "could they swim?" "i dunno; but i s'peck dey could." "it would not make much difference whether they could or not. the wind blew a hurricane for a few moments." "quin tinks dey must be all dead," replied the man, shaking his head. "i'm afraid they are; but it was not our fault. if i thought they were, i would not go down the lake any farther," added dan, musing. "i feels almost sartin dey's gone to dar reward--'may de good lo'd hab mercy on dar sinful souls.'" dan considered the question for a time in silence, and finally determined to put the boat about, and head her for his destination at the north-westerly corner of the lake. the rain still came down in torrents; but as all on deck were provided with rubber coats, belonging to the boat, which had been provided for the use of the planter and his guests on board, they did not suffer, and were not even very uncomfortable. but if they had been, it would not have been regarded as a serious matter, amid the fierce excitements of that eventful night. the storm was nothing more than one of those sudden showers which come up so unexpectedly at the south. we once passed through a tornado in louisiana, which came in a shower that gathered upon a blue sky in less than half an hour. it tore up tall trees as though they had been cornstalks, and rolled up the mississippi so that it looked like a boiling caldron. in half an hour more the sun was shining gayly on the scene of devastation, as though nature had no terrors in her laboratory of forces. in an hour after the exciting scene on the lake, the isabel had a gentle breeze and fair weather. cyd still maintained his position on the forecastle, and lily once more ventured into the standing room. dan gave her a minute account of the affray with the slave-hunters, and concluded by stating his belief that all three of them had been drowned in the lake. lily shuddered at the thought; for the taking of a human life, even in defence of the freedom which she valued more highly than life itself, seemed a terrible thing to her gentle heart. "perhaps they are not dead," said she. "perhaps not; but it is hardly possible that they could have swum ashore. we were at least three miles from the land, and their boat was all stove to pieces." "dey might hab hold on to de boat," suggested quin. "but there was an awful sea for a few moments. why, the water dashed clean over our decks," added dan. "one of them may have saved himself, but i am confident the other two must have been lost." "hi, dan!" shouted cyd, from his position at the heel of the bowsprit. "what is it, cyd?" "dar's someting ober dar," added cyd, pointing over to leeward, as he walked aft. "what is it?" "cyd tinks it's de boat ob de slabe-hunters." "perhaps it is," said dan, musing. "and our wounded or dying enemies may be clinging to it. shall we save them?" "hossifus! dey kill us ef we does," exclaimed cyd. "'lub your enemies,'" said quin, piously. "let us sabe dem if we can. we kin tie dar hands and fotch 'em ober dar." "i don't think they are there." "we must save their lives," added the gentle lily. "and perhaps lose our own; but i will overhaul the boat, to satisfy myself whether the men were lost or not," said dan, as he let out the main sheet, and put up the helm. "stand by with the boat-hook, cyd." in a few moments the isabel had run up to the wreck of the boat, and cyd grappled it with the boat-hook. there were no men clinging to it, but in the bottom of the boat, covered over with water, lay the body of one of the slave-hunters. it was probably the one who had been shot. he had not been killed at once, for he had spoken after he was hit; it looked as though he had been drowned in the bottom of the boat where he lay. the fugitives were filled with horror at this discovery. poor lily had nearly fainted, and if cyd had been shot himself, he could hardly have made a stronger demonstration. quin uttered many pious ejaculations, showing that he had, from his heart, forgiven this man, who, an hour before, had thirsted for his blood. dan, though not less impressed than his companions, was calm and resolute. "this body may betray us," said he. "we must sink it in the lake." "ugh!" exclaimed cyd, with a thrill of horror. "we have no time to spare," added dan, briskly. "bring up another fifty-six, quin." the weight was brought up and tied to the corpse of the slave-hunter, as it lay in the boat. dan then ordered his companions to tip the boat over; but quin, asking for a moment's delay, threw himself upon his knees, and commenced an earnest prayer in behalf of the deceased, supplicating forgiveness for his bloodthirsty enemy. dan listened reverently to the prayer, while lily sobbed as though the departed slave-hunter had been her dearest friend, instead of the bitter foe of her race. the service was ended; the boat was careened till the body rolled out, and disappeared in the depths of the lake. "may de good lo'd hab mercy on his poor, sinful soul, for de lub of jesus' sake!" exclaimed quin, as the corpse sank to its resting-place. "make fast the boat to that cleat on the quarter, cyd," said dan, as he hauled aft the sheets, and put his helm down. cyd obeyed, and the isabel filled away upon her course again. lily was calmer now, but she was still much impressed by the solemn and awful scene of which she had just been a witness. "it's all over now, lily. don't think any more about it," said dan, in soothing tones. "it is terrible--isn't it, dan?" replied she, with a shudder. "it is, lily; but there was no help for it. all that we have done was in self-defence." "but it is awful to think of killing them." "it is better as it is than if we had let them take us." "did you really mean to kill them, dan?" "not if i could help it; but i would have killed a dozen of them rather than be carried back into slavery." "we didn't kill 'em, missy lily," interposed quin. "dey done drownded. de good lo'd strike 'em down jus like he did de 'gyptians in de red sea, in de midst ob dar wickedness. we didn't kill 'em, missy lily." "that's it, lily," added dan, indorsing the explanation, though the religious aspect of the case was not so strongly impressed upon his mind as upon that of his pious companion. "we might have saved them," continued the gentle-hearted girl, who derived but little consolation from the words of quin. "you might have taken them on board when the squall came." "why, lily, i had just smashed their boat with my own hands, and i wasn't going to put my head into the lion's mouth. it is best as it is, lily. the death of these men will remove all danger from our path, for no one has seen us except them." "but how awful!" sighed she. "i told you, lily, before we started, that terrible things might happen to us. you shall be free; let this thought comfort you." but it did not comfort her, and she continued to bewail the catastrophe that had befallen the slave-hunters till the attention of her companions was called to the position of the isabel. "dar's land on de bof sides of us," called cyd, who had again been stationed at the heel of the bowsprit to act as lookout man. "all right! i see it," responded dan. "quin, let go the foresail halyards. how does it look ahead, cyd?" "dark as de back of dis chile's hand." "look out sharp!" "do dat, for sartin." the isabel continued slowly on her course, for the woods on the shore now began to shelter the sails from the full force of the wind. the corner of the lake grew narrower with every moment she advanced, till the boat was not more than a couple of rods from either shore. she was running up one of the tributaries of the lake. presently the creek was less than thirty feet wide; and having passed round a bend so as to hide her from the open lake, dan ordered his companions to make fast to a tree, as he ran her up to the shore. chapter xvi. in the swamp. the place where the isabel had been moored was in the midst of a gloomy and extensive swamp. though dan had never been here before, he had heard of the region, and from the first had determined to conceal his party within its deep and almost impenetrable morasses. the swamp was about fifteen miles in extent from north to south, and ten from east to west. it was full of bayous and lagoons, and inhabited only by herons, alligators, and other wild animals of the south-west. it was impossible to penetrate the swamp without a boat, for the _terra firma_ of the region consisted only of islands covered with trees, most of them surrounded by shallow and muddy waters. it is doubtful whether any human being had ever fully explored this extensive swamp; and dan was confident that, if he could succeed in making his way with the isabel to a distance of two or three miles from the lake, his party would be free from intrusion, unless, indeed, the slave-hunters made a business of driving them from their covert. the information of the leader of the expedition in regard to the swamp was exceedingly limited. all he knew had been derived from colonel raybone, who, in conversation with some of his friends, had mentioned the region, and given a partial description of it. he had learned that the bayou, which was the outlet of the waters of the swamp, was obstructed by fallen timber a short distance from the lake. as runaway slaves could not live in this desolate place, there had been no occasion to pursue them into its deep recesses. the party on board the isabel were very much fatigued by the labor and excitement of the night; and when the schooner was safely moored, dan declared that nothing more should be done until the party had rested themselves. it was not yet daylight, and the boat was in a secure position. "but we must not all go to sleep," added dan. "i intend to keep a watch night and day while we stay in this place, if it should be for a year." "hossifus! what's de use of keepin de watch?" yawned cyd, as he stretched himself, and opened his mouth wide enough to take in a small alligator. "suppose half a dozen slave-hunters should come up here while we are all asleep!" replied dan, sharply. "'pose dey come when we're all awake--what den?" "we can beat them off, as we did those last night." "gossifus! some ob us git killed for shore, if dey keep shooten wid de guns." "better die than be taken, cyd. we must believe this before we can be sure of success." "dat's what i's gwine to do," added quin. "dis chile will fight till dey ain't notin lef ob him--ye kin be shore ob dat." "possifus! den, if you's all gwine to fight, cyd ain't gwine to be out ob de fashion, for sartin. i's don't know much about de guns, but cyd kin split a two-inch plank a buttin agin it. i's can't shoot, but i can butt," grinned cyd. "you kin bet your life dis chile ain't no coward, no how." "you did very well last night, cyd, and i hope you will stand up to your principles," said dan. "what's dem?" "what do you think, cyd?" "hossifus! cyd tinks he's sleepy," yawned he, opening his mouth in a fearful gape. "i's stand up to dat, for shore." "very well; but one of us shall stand watch while the others sleep. which shall it be?" "i'll be de fus. i done sleep some last night," said quin. "you didn't shet your eyes once." "whose turn next?" "cyd's, for sartin. you'm did a big ting last night, dan. we all done gwine to de bottom ob de lake, or de nigger-hunters hab us for shore, if 'twan't for you, dan. you kin sleep all day." "i'm very tired, and need rest, for we have hard work before us; but you must keep awake, whoever is on the watch. our lives depend upon the man on the watch." "you kin trust me, dan," replied quin. "so you kin me," added cyd. dan examined all the guns, to see that they were in condition for immediate use, and then turned in, to obtain the rest he so much needed. lily had already retired, and before the weary skipper could close his eyes, cyd was snoring like a sleepy alligator. quin was tired and sleepy, as well as his companions; but it was a matter of conscience with him to keep awake. he walked up and down the standing room in his bare feet, that the noise might not disturb the sleepers, to guard against the possibility of being unfaithful to the solemn duty which had been imposed upon him. the sun rose bright and clear, and the solitary sentinel still kept vigil over the sleeping party in the cabin. two hours, four hours, elapsed, and quin still paced the deck. it was full six hours before the sleepers showed any signs of life. lily was the first to wake and come on deck. in a whisper she told quin to go to his berth, and permit her to keep the watch. at first he objected; but her persistence finally overcame his scruples, and he crept softly to his bunk in the forward cabin. in a few moments he was sleeping as soundly as the rest. the two boys were physically incapable of going without their rest. they were growing, and to sit up all night, filled with anxiety and excitement, was more than they could bear without nature's strongest protest. they slept hour after hour, and lily faithfully performed her duty as sentinel over them. the swamp was as still as the house of death; not a sound was to be heard, for even the alligators were motionless, as they sunned themselves upon the dead logs of the lagoons. dan, having slept eight hours strong, was the first to appear on deck. as he looked at his watch he was surprised to find it so late, and surprised to find lily acting as watch on deck. his orders had been disregarded; but lily was too powerful an advocate with him to permit any blame to be cast upon his companions. she persuaded him that every thing which had been done was for the best. cyd soon after made his appearance, having slept all he could at one stretch, and the boys proceeded to get breakfast. ham and eggs, coffee and toast, constituted the repast, prepared by the skilful hand of lily, though she was assisted by her willing friends. quin did not wake till the meal was ready to be put upon the table; and the party all sat down to this princely banquet in the forward cabin, with the feeling that they were fortunate beyond all other fugitives that had ever escaped to the swamp. after breakfast--or rather dinner, if we designate the meal by the time of day--lily insisted upon her right to clear off the table and wash the dishes, which was yielded after some discussion, though with the proviso that cyd should assist in the heavy work. while they were thus engaged, dan and quin took the bateau, which had been put into the water before dinner, and rowed up the bayou to explore the region above them. finding an unobstructed passage for about two miles, they returned. by this time the work of the housekeepers was finished, and the labor of towing the isabel up the bayou was commenced. as the water was very shallow in some places, they had to follow the channel; and it was sundown when they had moored her to the point they had reached in the bateau. "that will do very well," said dan, as they made her fast to a tree. "de nigger-hunters neber find us here, for sartin," added cyd, as he dashed the sweat from his brow. "we are not in a safe place yet," continued dan. "but we are in no hurry, and we won't do any more to-day. let us have supper and go to bed." lily had already made the tea, and had every thing in a forward state of preparation. after supper, the important question of the watch came up again for consideration. "we may as well settle this matter once for all," said dan. "i suppose six hours' sleep is enough for any of us." "plenty," added quin. "dunno," said cyd, shaking his head, and gaping as though he had not slept any for a week. "dis chile allus goes to sleep at eight, and wakes up at five. how long's dat, dan?" "nine hours; that's enough for a hog." "nuff for a nigger too." "i have got a plan all ready, and if you agree to it we will adopt it," added dan. "you's de cap'n, and weder we 'gree to it or not, you mus hab your own way," continued cyd. "not at all. we'll have no captain here. we are not at sea, and we will all be equal. what we do will be for our own safety. i intend to keep my watch, and do my share of the work; so you needn't grumble, cyd." "possifus! cyd neber grubble in his life." "you seem to think that i want to make you do more than your share." "no, sar! i's tink you do more'n your share, dan. cyd ain't notin but a nigger, and you's almos' a gen'leman." "come, come, cyd. i shall be angry if you talk in that way. i am just the same as the rest of you." "hossifus! wha--wha--wha----" "that'll do, cyd." "you's got all de brains, and knows jes what to do and where to go. gossifus! wha--wha--what become ob us widout dan?" "dat's jus what i tinks," added quin. "you does de tinkin, and we does de wuck." "i shall do my part of the work. now listen to me, and i will tell you how i think the work ought to be divided. we'll go to bed at nine o'clock, and turn out at five." "dem's um," nodded cyd. "i will take the first watch to-night, till one o'clock, and cyd the second, till five in the morning." "but whar's my watch?" demanded quin. "at five o'clock you shall turn out and get breakfast. to-morrow night it shall be your first watch, and my second, and cyd shall get breakfast the next morning. then cyd shall have the first watch the third night, and quin the second, and i will get breakfast. that makes a fair division, i think." "dat's all right," added quin. "those who sleep but four hours in the night can sleep during the day, if they wish." "yes, when de wuck's done," said quin. "we shall not have much work to do after we get settled," replied dan. "all that's very fine," added lily, who had been listening to the arrangement; "but i shall not consent to it. i intend to get breakfast myself." "no, lily," remonstrated dan. "if you do all the cooking, you will have to work harder than any of the boys. one of us will do the heavy work on deck, and you shall attend to the table. i am willing you should do your share of the work, if you insist upon it, but not more than your share. we shall have nothing to do but eat and sleep when we get the boat in position." lily insisted for some time, but was forced to yield the point at last; for neither dan nor his companions would consent to her proposition. at nine o'clock lily went to her cabin, and quin and cyd were soon sound asleep in their bunks. at one o'clock cyd was called, and dan gave him his watch, that he might know when to call quin. it was a difficult task for the sentinel to keep awake; but i believe he was faithful this time in the discharge of his important duty. at five quin was called, and cyd immediately proceeded to make up for lost time. chapter xvii. cyd has a bad fit. cyd was roused from his slumbers at nine o'clock to assist in working the isabel farther into the swamp, and in the course of the day she was safely moored in her permanent position. the quick eye of dan had detected the admirable fitness of this place both for concealment and defence. it was not more than three miles from the lake. the isabel was secured between two islets, in the midst of a broad lagoon. the channel between the two portions of land was only wide enough to admit the boat, and the shore was covered with an impenetrable thicket of bushes and trees, so that the fugitives were obliged to "strip" the sail-boat, and take out her masts, before they could move her into the narrow bayou. the next day, when the morning work on board was done, they commenced the task of concealing the isabel more effectually from the view of any persons who might possibly penetrate the swamp. a half-decayed log was thrown across the channel, and green branches stuck in the ground, till the boat could not be seen. a coat of green paint was then put over the white one, and the party were satisfied that no one could discover their retreat, unless he happened to blunder upon it. in these preparations a great deal of hard work was done; but the feeling of security which they procured amply compensated for the labor. when it was done, the fugitives enjoyed a season of rest, and for a week they did nothing but eat and sleep, though a strict watch was kept all the time to guard against a surprise. but this was an idle and stupid life; and even cyd, who had formerly believed that idleness was bliss, began to grow weary of it. a few days more were employed in building a bridge from the deck of the boat to the island, in establishing a kitchen on shore, and in making such other improvements on board and on the land as their limited experience in the swamp suggested. after every change and addition which the ingenuity of the fugitives could devise had been completed, the time again began to hang heavily on their hands. it was a happy thought of lily that dan should open a school for the instruction of quin and cyd, and half the day was very pleasantly occupied in this manner. at the end of a month both of these pupils were able to read a little from dan's testament, and they continued to make good progress during the remainder of their residence in the swamp. at the end of a month dan saw with dismay the inroad which had been made upon the supply of provisions. the addition of one person to the party had deranged his calculations, for quin was blessed with a tremendous appetite. it was necessary that a sufficient quantity of the bacon and crackers should be reserved for the voyage that was yet before them, which might be a month in duration, or even longer. this supply had been carefully stowed away in the fore hold, and at the rate they consumed their provisions, the remainder would not last them two months. dan communicated his doubts and fears on this subject to quin and cyd, who immediately became very wise, and suggested a dozen expedients to meet the difficulty. cyd proposed to forage on a plantation, which was immediately condemned as involving too much risk. quin thought they might go to the nearest store and purchase food, as both dan and lily had considerable sums of money. this also was too dangerous. "what's de use stoppin here so long?" asked quin. "the search for us has not ended yet," replied dan. "but dey won't tink no more ob us in two monfs from dis yere time." "very true; but the water will be so low that we can't get out of the lake in less than one month from now. we must stay here till next spring," added dan, decidedly. "wha--wha--what ye gwine to stop here a whole year fur?" demanded cyd, with his usual impetuosity. "when would you leave?" "when de water gets high in de fall." "if we go to sea in the fall or winter, we shall meet with terrible storms in the gulf. we should perish with the cold, or founder in a gale. we may have to be at sea a month. we shall have to meet our greatest perils after we leave this place." "well, i s'pose you knows best, dan; and we's gwine to do jus what you say," replied quin, meekly. "dem's um, dan; you jus tell dis chile wot you wants done, and we's gwine to do notin but do it," said cyd. "but we must have something to eat while we remain here," added dan. "dat's so; niggers can't lib widout eatin." "we can do as the indians do--we can hunt and fish," suggested dan. "sartin--plenty ob ducks and geese, pigeons and partridges." "and we have fowling pieces, with plenty of powder and shot; but none of us are hunters, and i'm afraid we shall not have very good luck in shooting game." it was decided that dan and quin should try their luck on the following day; and having taken an early breakfast, they started in the bateau, rowing down the bayou in the direction of the lake. dan was provided with a fowling piece, while quin was to try his luck as a fisherman. the former was landed at a convenient place, while the latter pushed off into the deep waters of the lake, each to exercise his craft to the best of his ability. on the shore of the lake dan saw an abundance of wild ducks; but they were so very wild that he found a great deal of difficulty in getting near enough to risk the expenditure of any portion of the precious ammunition which was to last a year. he fired twice without injuring the game, and began to think that he was never intended for a sportsman. the third time he wounded a duck, but lost him. this was hopeful, and he determined to persevere. at the next shot he actually bagged a brant, and, what was better, he believed he had "got the hang" of the business, so that he could hunt with some success. we will not follow him through the trials and disappointments of a six hours' tramp; but the result of his day's shooting was five ducks and one goose, with which he was entirely satisfied. with the game in his bag, he hastened back to the place where quin had landed him in the morning. the other sportsman had been waiting two hours for him, and had been even more fortunate than his companion, having captured about a dozen good-sized catfish. the result of the expedition was very promising, and the food question appeared to be settled. with light hearts they pulled back to the camp, as dan had christened their dwelling-place in the swamp. "where is cyd?" asked dan, as he hauled the boat through the dense thicket which concealed the isabel from the gaze of any outsiders. "he is here on deck," replied lily, with a troubled expression. "something ails him." "what's the matter?" "i don't know; he is very sick, and i am so glad you have come!" added the poor girl, who appeared to have suffered an age of agony in the absence of the hunter. dan was alarmed, for he had not yet considered even the possibility of the serious illness of any member of the party; and lily's announcement conjured up in his vivid imagination visions of suffering and death. he was full of sympathy, too, for his companion, to whom he was strongly attached. with a heart full of painful and terrible forebodings, he leaped upon the deck of the isabel, and rushed to the standing room, where cyd lay upon the floor. the sufferer had evidently just rolled off the cushioned seat, and was disposed in the most awkward and uncomfortable position into which the human form could be distorted. dan and quin immediately raised him tenderly from the floor, and placed him upon the cushions. this movement seemed to disturb the sufferer, and he opened his eyes, muttering some incoherent words. at the same time he threw his arms and legs about in a frightful manner. dan was quite as much puzzled and alarmed as lily had been. he did not know what to do for him. his experience as a nurse had been very limited, and his knowledge of human infirmities was extremely deficient. "what ails him?" asked lily, whose anxiety for the patient completely beclouded her beautiful face. "i don't know," replied dan, hardly less solicitous for the fate of his friend. "how long has he been sick?" "after you went away i was busy in the cabin for two or three hours, taking care of the dishes and cleaning up the place. when i came on deck he seemed to act very strangely. i never heard him talk so fast before. he said he felt sick, and thought he should vomit. he was so weak he could not walk; when he tried to do so, he staggered and fell. i helped him upon the seat, and then he seemed to be asleep. i bathed his head with cold water. when he waked up he was stupid, and i was afraid he would die before you got back. i didn't know what to do; so i gave him some brandy." "how much did you give him?" asked dan. "only about half a tumbler full--as much as you gave quin when he was sick. poor fellow! you don't know how much i have suffered in your absence." during this conversation, quin, who had more skill as a physician and nurse than his companions, had been carefully examining the patient. "what do you think of him, quin?" asked dan, as he turned from lily to consult with him. "i tink dar's hope for cyd," replied he, a queer smile playing about his mouth as he glanced at the anxious leader of the party. "do you? then you understand the case--do you?" "yes, sar; i do, for sartin. my old massa used to hab jus such fits as dat," added quin, his countenance beaming with intelligence. "what did you do for him?" "notin, but put him to bed and let him sleep it off; i tink cold water good for him. dat's what missus used to do for old massa when he hab it bery bad." at the suggestion of quin, cyd was placed outside of the washboard, and half a dozen buckets of cold water were dashed upon him by the relentless hand of the negro nurse. "wha--wha--wha--" roared cyd, as the first bucket fell upon him. "see dar!" exclaimed quin, triumphantly. "he done git better so quick. gib him some more;" and he dashed another pailful upon him. "go away dar!" cried cyd, trying to rise; but dan held him fast. "dat do him heaps ob good," added quin; and he continued to apply the harsh remedy. "don't do it any more, quin," interposed lily, who seemed to think the remedy was as bad as the disorder. "do him power ob good. drive de fit right away from him," answered quin, as he remorselessly dashed another bucket of cold water upon the patient. "dat's wat dey call de water-cure." "go away dar!" screamed cyd. "luff dis chile lone." "don't, quin; he does not like it," said lily. "'pose he don't; nobody likes de medicine." "but you may kill him," added dan. "kill him! don't you see he's growin better all de time? dar; dat'll do," replied quin, as he carried the bucket to the forecastle. "wha--wha--what's the matter?" demanded cyd. "do you feel better, cyd?" asked dan, tenderly, as he permitted the patient to roll over into the standing room. "yes, sar! 'i's born way down 'pon de mississip; i's crossed de riber on a cotton-wood chip,'" roared cyd, trying to sing a familiar song. "why, he is crazy!" exclaimed lily. "yes, missy, he's crazy; but he soon git ober it," answered quin, laughing. "why do you laugh, quin? you don't seem to be at all concerned about him," added lily. "bad fit, missy!" "what ails him?" "bad fit, missy; my ole massa use to hab lots ob dem fits," chuckled quin. "but what kind of a fit is it, quin?" "notin, missy, only cyd done drink too much whiskey, and get drunk--dat's all." chapter xviii. the affray on the lake even lily laughed when she realized that her friend cyd was in no danger of dying in the bad fit which had attacked him; she laughed at his strange actions and his silly expressions; they all laughed for a time, but there was something very serious in the occasion. the patient was taken down into the cabin, and put to bed in his bunk. when he was asleep again, and the rest of the party had returned to the deck, the serious part of the affair came up for consideration; and the meeting was so solemn and momentous that even the good luck of the two sportsmen was forgotten, and the game and fish were allowed to remain unnoticed in the bateau. to dan and lily it was a terrible thing for a boy like cyd to get drunk. it was very funny, but it was awfully serious in view of future consequences. several bottles of wine and liquor had been deposited in the lockers under the seats in the standing room, and cyd had helped himself as he sat there alone. this was the key to his mysterious sickness; and while his companions congratulated themselves upon cyd's expected recovery, it was deemed prudent to place all the intoxicating beverages on board in a secure place. a locker in lily's cabin was selected for this purpose, and it was soon out of cyd's reach. dan wanted to throw all the liquor overboard, except a couple of bottles to be used as medicine; but quin thought that some use might be made of it at a future time. there was no one on board, except cyd, who would drink it; and he had imbibed rather as a frolic than because he had any taste for the fiery article. the patient slept all the rest of the day and all the following night. the next morning he was afflicted with a terrible headache, and was so stupid that he was good for nothing. he was severely reprimanded for his folly, and made a solemn promise never to partake again; and as the dangerous fluid was all locked up, and the key in lily's possession, it was believed that he would not violate his obligation. roast ducks and geese, and fried fish, were the food of the party for several days to come; and the change from salt provision was very agreeable. about once a week dan and quin repeated the excursion to the lake, and almost always returned with a plentiful supply of fish and game. the fugitives lived well, especially as pigeons, partridges, and an occasional wild turkey graced their table. a roast coon was not an unusual luxury; for by extending their hunting-grounds in various directions, they added very much to the variety of their larder. the small stores, such as butter, salt, sugar, coffee, and tea, were exhausted in the fall, though they had been very carefully expended. they had been so long accustomed to their luxurious living, that the want of these articles was felt as a very great hardship. their nice ducks and geese were absolutely loathsome without salt, and dan came to the conclusion that salt was a necessity, and that it must be procured at any risk. about twenty miles from the camp there was a village where groceries could be obtained; and after a great deal of consideration it was decided to undertake a journey for this purpose. they had been five months in the swamp without seeing any human being, though dan and quin, in one of their hunting trips, had heard voices on the lake. they felt entirely secure in the camp, and lily was not afraid to remain with cyd while dan and quin went after the needed supplies. it was resolved that dan should pass himself off as a white boy, who, with a party of hunters, had encamped in the woods. he therefore dressed himself for the part he was to play, and embarked in the bateau with quin, who was to act as his servant. with the utmost care they pursued their journey, and, without any incident or accident, came in sight of the village where they were to purchase the stores. but dan did not think it prudent to visit the place in broad daylight; so they concealed themselves in the swamp, and slept by turns till nearly daylight the next morning. this seemed to be the most favorable time to visit the store; and they entered the village, which was called so by courtesy, for it had only six houses. putting on the bold, swaggering air of a young southerner, dan entered the place, followed by his servant. with all the bluster necessary to keep up his character, he roused the shopkeeper, and ordered, rather than requested, him to open his store. fortunately trade was not so lively in the place as to render the merchant independent of his business, and he gladly opened his establishment even at that unseemly hour. he asked a great many questions, which dan answered very readily. the purchases were all made, and dan's funds, though they amounted to nearly thirty dollars, were almost exhausted. when the stores had been gathered together, a new and appalling difficulty presented itself. dan had not intended to purchase a quarter part of the supplies which were now piled in the middle of the store. it was five miles to the lake, and no two men in the universe could have carried them that distance. the matter was one of so much importance, and the articles obtained with so much greater facility than he expected, that he had been tempted to procure this large stock. but the pile was so large that he began to repent of the act, and to wish that half his money was in his pocket again. to remedy the difficulty he began to bluster, and told the storekeeper that he must get a team and tote the goods down to the lake for him. the man objected; but he at last consented to procure his neighbor's mule team and help them out. for this service dan paid him two dollars more, which entirely collapsed his exchequer. the stores were safely deposited in the bateau, and the man drove off, apparently as well satisfied with his morning's work as the other party to the transaction. as soon as he was out of sight and hearing, quin could contain himself no longer, and vented his satisfaction at the success of the enterprise in the most violent and extraordinary manner. he laughed till his eyes were filled with tears, and had nearly upset the overloaded boat by his extravagant demonstrations. "what's the matter, quin?" demanded dan, astonished at the conduct of his usually prudent and sedate companion. "bress de lo'd, we's got all de tings," exclaimed quin. "don't crow till you get out of the woods." "dar's de hard bread, and de salt, and de butter--golly, massa dan, you done do dat ting bery fine." "wait till we get back to the camp before you say any thing. we are not out of danger yet." "but we's got de tings, dan--de coffee, de sugar, and de salt." "take your oar now, and when we get back we'll have a jolly time." "bress de lo'd, yes, dan," said the delighted quin, as he grasped the oar. prosperity makes men careless and reckless. the bateau was so crowded with stores that the rowers had but little space to use the oars. their progress was necessarily very slow. they wanted to get back to the camp before night, and instead of keeping under the lee of the land, where the boat would not be likely to attract attention, they proceeded by the shortest route. when they reached the upper end of the lake, and were within five miles of the camp, they were startled to see a boat put out from one of the small islands, and pull towards them. "de lo'd sabe us!" exclaimed quin, as he discovered the boat, which contained two white men. "take no notice of them, and don't speak a word," said dan, in a low tone. "de lo'd hab us in his holy keeping!" ejaculated quin, reverently, as he raised his eyes towards heaven. "do you know them?" asked dan. "one of dem's massa longworth; don't know de oder," replied quin, his teeth chattering as though he had been suddenly seized with the ague. "who is he?" "de oberseer on de plantation next to ole massa's." the overloaded bateau rendered an escape by fast rowing impossible, and the fugitives continued to pull steadily, as before. dan had his gun in a position where he could use it when occasion required. the two men pulled up to within a short distance of the bateau, and rested on their oars. "where ye gwine with all that stuff?" demanded longworth. "we belong to a party of gunners up here," replied dan, boldly; for he was determined to make the most of the circumstances. "where be they?" "up to chicot--about ten miles from here." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed longworth, glancing at his companion. "that's a good story, but it won't go down." "you open your mouth wide enough to take any thing down," answered dan, smartly. "can't swallow that story, no how," said the overseer. "but who's that boy with you?" "none of your business. i don't make stories for you to laugh at." "yes, you do, my boy. but you needn't row any furder. we want ye both." "you can't have us." "we'll see about that," added the man, as he raised his fowling piece. "no use,--'tain't loaded," snarled the other man in the boat. "mine is," replied dan, elevating the piece. longworth cursed his companion for the revelation he had made, and proceeded to load the gun. in the mean time dan dropped his piece, and began to pull again. "stop, now. i don't want to destroy val'able property with this yere iron, but i must if you don't stop," continued the overseer, as he finished loading his gun. "perhaps i can destroy as much valuable property as you can," said dan, as he took his fowling piece again. "you must come with me. i know that nigger in the boat with you, and i reckon you belong to colonel raybone." "i, you villain! how dare you insult me? i am a free white man." "perhaps you be, but you've been advertised enough to let any man in these yere parts know you. that nigger belongs to my neighbor. if you've a mind to come in quietly, i'll see you let off without any whippin." "i have no mind to come in, either quietly or otherwise," replied dan. "then the wust's your own;" and longworth fired. the ball whistled within a few feet of dan's head; but, unterrified by the peril, he raised his gun and fired. "i'm hit!" groaned longworth, as he sank down into the boat. the other man in the boat with longworth took the gun, loaded it, and fired. at that moment dan had stooped down to pick up his shot-pouch, and quin being the more prominent party in the bateau, the other man fired at him. "de lo'd sabe me!" groaned quin, as he placed both hands on his chest. dan was ready to fire again; but, to his astonishment, he saw the man who had shot his companion seize the oars and pull away from the spot as fast as he could. it was evident that the fate of his companion had appalled him; and seeing dan nearly ready to discharge his gun again, he hastened to widen the distance between them. he rowed with the desperation of a doomed man. as the boat receded, longworth raised himself up, as if to assure the fugitives that he was not dead. dan pointed the gun at the retreating boat for some time, and then fired, but not with the intention of hitting his savage foes. they were slave-drivers, but he did not wish to kill them. the boat shortly disappeared, and dan turned his attention to his wounded companion. the ball had passed through his lungs, and had penetrated a vital organ. deeply affected by the event, he did what he could to stanch the blood; but poor quin was past the aid of any surgery, and breathed his last a few minutes later. fearful that other pursuers might soon appear, dan worked the boat up the bayou as rapidly as he could alone; but it was late at night when he reached the camp. then he wept; then the tears of lily mingled with his own over the corpse of the honest and faithful quin, whose spirit had soared aloft, where the black man is as free as his white oppressor. chapter xix. lily on the watch. the death of poor quin filled his companions with sorrow and dismay. there was weeping all night long on board of the isabel. he had been a true and faithful friend to each individual of the party, and they were all sincerely and devotedly attached to him. with this sad bereavement came the sense of personal peril, for those who had slain their associate would not be content till they had driven his companions from their covert, and shed their blood or again reduced them to slavery. lily was disposed to abandon all her hopes in despair, and cyd trembled with fear as he thought of what the next day or the next week might bring forth. but the energy and firmness of dan soon quieted their fears, and restored, in some measure, the confidence which had before prevailed in the camp. "we have defeated the slave-hunters twice, and we can do it again," said he, as he rose from his seat at the cabin table, around which, as dan ate his supper, the party had considered their sad and perilous condition. "it's terrible to think of poor quin," said lily. "he was so good and kind." "and we have one arm less to assist in our defence. don't cry any more, lily. i'm afraid we haven't seen the worst of it yet." "can't we do something? can't we get away from this place?" asked lily. "that is impossible. the water is too low to float the isabel down to the lake, even if she were ready to go. it will take several days to rig her, and put her in order for our voyage." "what will become of us?" "i don't know. i hope for the best. don't cry, lily. i am not afraid of any thing. if we are resolute, we can defend ourselves if the slave-hunters should find us, which i don't think they can." "it's awful to think of fighting and being shot," murmured lily, as she cast a tender glance at dan. "i thought of all these things before we started, and i will not shrink from them now. but come, cyd; we must go to work and unload the bateau." the stores, which had been procured at such a terrible sacrifice, were taken on board the isabel, while the body of poor quin was laid upon the trunk cabin, and covered up with a blanket. as they lifted the lifeless form from the bateau, dan could not but recall the extravagant joy of the deceased when the stores were safely embarked. the scene which followed was a sad commentary on the hopes which the honest fellow had cherished only a few hours before. it was necessary that the corpse should be buried that night, for the weather was warm, and none knew what were to be the events of the coming day. a suitable spot was selected on one of the adjacent islands, where cyd and dan dug a shallow grave. the remains of poor quin, wrapped in the blanket, were then conveyed in the bateau to the spot, and deposited in their final resting-place. by the dim light of the lantern, dan read a chapter from his testament, and then all of them knelt around the grave. no audible prayers were repeated, but the hearts of these sincere mourners were filled with the spirit of prayer; and he who wants no vain words to praise him, accepted the solemn but silent service. the grave was filled, and the fugitives used all their ingenuity to conceal the broken ground, that it might not betray them to the ruthless slave-hunters, who might soon visit the spot. with sad hearts they returned to the camp. dan was nearly exhausted by the fatigue and anxiety of the last two days; but he could not sleep while there was any thing to be done to prepare for the expected visit of the slave-hunters. his first care was to put all the arms and ammunition in readiness. he then showed lily how to load a gun, that she might assist them in the defence. on the islands they had collected a great quantity of logs, to serve them for fuel during the winter. these were carried upon the deck of the isabel, and so arranged as to form a kind of breastwork, to shield the boys from the bullets of the enemy. by noon on the following day, every thing that could be thought of to conceal or defend the camp had been done. they were ready for the slave-hunters then, and if quin had only been with them, they would have felt confident of the result of an attack. in the afternoon dan was so worn out that he could endure no more, and at lily's urgent request he went below, and was soon asleep. cyd was fully alive to the necessities of the occasion. he kept his eyes and ears wide open, but he neither saw nor heard any thing that indicated the approach of an enemy. lily, though very much alarmed, was as resolute as her companions; for she knew and felt what slavery would be if its shackles were again fastened upon her. she was a gentle, timid, shrinking girl; but she was determined to die rather than be restored to the tyranny of her capricious mistress, and the more terrible fate which would eventually overtake her. the long, gloomy night that followed passed away, the anxious watchers still keeping vigil by turns upon the deck of the isabel. the next day, while lily was keeping watch, both dan and cyd being asleep in the cabin, she heard the dip of oars in the bayou. her heart beat a furious tattoo against her ribs, and she almost sank with horror, as she listened to the sounds which indicated the approach of the dreaded enemy. it was her duty to call dan; but she seemed to be riveted to her seat. the sounds came nearer and nearer, and soon she could hear the voices of the slave-hunters. she could distinguish the curses that fell from their lips as they advanced, and she was faint and sick with apprehension. the isabel was moored at some distance from the bayou, which led to the lake; but through the dense foliage which shrouded the boat, she could discover the slave-hunters. they were now not forty rods distant, and the slightest sound might betray their hiding-place. with quivering lips and trembling limbs, she peered through the bushes to ascertain whether the boat turned up the channel which led to the camp. it was a moment of terrible suspense; a moment fraught with the issues of freedom or slavery--life or death. why did she not call her companions, who were sleeping peacefully in the cabin, while she was torn and distracted by these agonizing fears? she dared not do so, lest one of them should speak and betray them all. cyd was impetuous, and a word from him might render futile the labors and the perils of months. hardly daring to breathe lest it should undo them, she watched the progress of the boat. the slave-hunters paused at the mouth of the channel, consulted for a few moments, and then the bow of the boat was turned towards the camp. with a gasp of horror, lily crouched down upon the floor of the standing room, and crept towards the cabin door. a torrent of despair seemed to be turned loose upon her soul. she grasped the side of the cabin door, when suddenly all her strength forsook her, and she sank senseless upon the floor. the terrible agony of that tremendous moment was more than she could endure, and she fainted. the frail and delicate watcher had failed in the important duty she had assumed at the very instant when her warning notes were most needed, and the fugitives were then apparently at the mercy of the slave-hunters. dan slept, cyd slept; both wearied out with watching and hard work, all unconscious that their gentle, willing sentinel had failed them, and that the fiends they dreaded were within pistol shot of their retreat. they slept, and were silent. lily, senseless upon the floor of the standing room, pale and motionless as a marble statue chiselled in the form of angelic beauty, was silent as the grave. not a breath of air stirred the forest leaves, not a ripple agitated the waters. it was perfect stillness in the camp. there was no sound to disturb the solemn quiet of that temple of nature, save the ribald speech of the slave-hunters, mingled with fiendish curses. there was none to keep watch and ward in the camp of the fugitives--none but he who watches over the innocent when they sleep and when they wake. he was there keeping ceaseless vigil by the senseless maiden, and over the sleeping boys. "he doeth all things well;" and the very silence that reigned in the camp saved the fugitives from the keen scrutiny of the enemy. the hunters remained in the vicinity for a few moments, and finding no clew to the fugitives, turned their boat, and went back to the bayou. they proceeded up the stream a few miles farther, and then, abandoning the search in this direction, returned to the lake. still dan slept, and cyd slept, and lily still lay silent in marble stillness upon the floor at the door of the cabin. chapter xx. preparing for the voyage. the deep silence which pervaded the camp was first broken by dan. he woke slowly from his profound slumbers, looked about him for a moment, then glanced at cyd, who, contrary to his usual custom, did not snore. every thing was still; his ear was not saluted with the sharp crack of a slave-hunter's rifle, and no curses disturbed the solemn silence of the place. every thing seemed to be secure, and he wondered that the enemy had not yet appeared. he was tempted to turn over and go to sleep, for he still felt very weary, and his repose had not restored his wonted vigor. but he concluded to go on deck, as every prudent skipper should, before he finished his nap. rising leisurely from his bunk, he made his way to the standing room where he was almost paralyzed at the discovery of lily lying apparently dead upon the floor. dan was prompt and decided in action; and taking the insensible girl in his arms, he placed her upon the cushioned seat. tremulous with emotion, he bent over her to ascertain whether his worst fears were to be realized. her heart beat; there was life, and there was hope. "cyd! cyd!" shouted he, in tones which would have roused a sleepier boy than his fellow-fugitive, and which, had it been heard a quarter of an hour sooner, would have brought the slave-hunters upon them. cyd leaped from his couch as the imperative tones of dan reached his ears, fully believing that the enemy, for whom they had been so patiently preparing, was upon them. seizing a gun which lay upon the table, he rushed aft, ready to do his share in the impending battle. "wha--wha--whar's de nigger-hunters?" demanded he, furiously. "they are not here; there is no danger," replied dan, calmly, as he continued to rub the temples of lily. "possifus! wha--wha--what's de matter wid missy lily?" cried he, as soon as he saw the insensible form of the maiden. "bring me a pitcher of water, cyd." "is she dead?" gasped the poor fellow, as he obtained a better view of the pale face of lily. "no, no; bring me the water--quick." cyd obeyed the order, and dan sprinkled her face with the contents of the pitcher. he then left her for a moment to procure some lavender in her cabin. though not a very skilful nurse, he had seen a lady faint, and knew what to do upon such an emergency. he applied the lavender and the cold water so vigorously, and yet so tenderly, that lily soon began to show signs of returning consciousness. "what's de matter wid her?" demanded cyd for the tenth time, for dan was too busy to waste time in answering idle questions. "she is better," mused dan, as he pushed back the curls that had strayed forward upon the patient's face. "hossifus! dis chile knows what ails missy lily," continued cyd, opening his mouth to the utmost of its tension, and exhibiting all its wealth of ivory. "what's the matter with you, cyd? shut your mouth, and behave like a decent man," added dan, rebuking the levity of his companion. "gossifus! dis chile knows all about dat; been dar hisself," chuckled cyd. "dis chile neber tink missy lily drink too much whiskey." "silence! you rascal! how dare you think such a thing!" replied dan, sternly; for he was vexed enough to pitch cyd overboard for indulging in such a suspicion. "mossifus! dat's jus de way dis chile was." "silence! she has fainted. she is better now. see! she is opening her eyes." dan continued to bathe the temples of lily with lavender till her consciousness returned, and the terrible incident which had preceded her fainting was present to her mind. suddenly, as dan left her for a moment, she sprang upon her feet, and rushed to the place where she had stood gazing at the approaching boat. "where are they?" gasped she. "lie down again, lily. you are too weak to stand," interposed dan, as he put his arms around her waist to support her. "where are they? o, we are all lost!" exclaimed she. "what do you mean by _lost_?" "where are they?" "who, lily? what is the matter with you?" "haven't you seen them, dan?" "seen whom?" "the slave-hunters!" gasped lily. "i haven't seen any one," replied dan, calmly; for he began to fear that the mind of his fair charge was affected. "they are here--close by us, dan. we shall all be taken." "there is no danger, lily. we are perfectly safe. be calm, my dear. you have been dreaming." "no, i have not been dreaming. i haven't even been asleep. it was all real; but i have been a faithless sentinel." "now you are better, lily, tell me all about it," continued dan, seating her upon the cushions. lily related the incident which had transpired while her companions were asleep below; but dan could hardly believe so strange a story, and insisted that she must have dropped asleep and dreamed it. "i know i was not asleep." "why didn't you call me?" "i was afraid that some noise might attract the attention of the slave-hunters, and i deferred it till i was sure they would discover us. then i was creeping on the floor, so that they should not see me, to the cabin, when i fainted." "hossifus!" gasped cyd, appalled at the narrow escape of the party. "don't you believe me, dan? i am very sure i was not asleep," added lily, earnestly. dan was compelled to believe the story, and he shuddered as he thought of the peril that had menaced them while they were all so helpless. though he concluded that it was not safe to trust lily on the watch, he did not utter a word of reproof to her for not calling him sooner. "you think i did wrong, dan, not to call you. i know you do, though you will not blame me." "i can't help thinking what might have happened if the slave-hunters had found us while we were all asleep," replied dan, seriously. "but i will not blame you, lily." "the slave-hunters did not find us. i think it was all for the best, dan, that i fainted." "indeed?" "if i had waked you and cyd, you might have made a noise that would have exposed us," answered lily, very solemnly. "i think it was the good god that took my strength away in order to preserve us all." "it may be; but i had rather be awake when there is any danger." "if you had been awake, you might have been shot; and then what would have become of us?" lily was fully satisfied that her fainting was a special providence, which had saved them all from capture or death. dan was not so clear upon this point, and resolved never to sleep again when there was a possibility of an attack. for several weeks after these exciting incidents, all the fugitives confined themselves to the isabel and the islands on either side of her. indeed, between dan and cyd, it was about enough for them to do the necessary work, and keep "watch and watch" during the day and night. as nothing more was seen or heard of the slave-hunters, they concluded that the search had been abandoned, and they soon ceased to dread their approach. dan ventured to hunt again, and every thing went off as before, though all the party missed quin very much. the autumn passed away; the winter came, and then the spring. if our space would permit us to record the daily life of the young fugitives while they remained in the swamp, it would, no doubt, be interesting to our readers; and for their sake, no less than for our own, we regret that our limits do not admit of this lengthened narrative. they had many trials from cold and storms, from high water in the bayous and low water in the casks, from alligators and buzzards; but they lived through it all. lily was sick a fortnight, and dan a week; their fuel gave out in the coldest of the weather; and an alligator bit off the heel of cyd's boots; and a hundred other events occurred which would bear an extended recital; but we turn from them, with regret, to the closing events in the career of the young fugitives. with the high water in april, dan and cyd went to work, in the most vigorous manner, to prepare the isabel for the uncertain sea voyage which was before her. after a month of hard labor she was rigged, the sails bent, her water casks filled, a supply of fuel put in the fore hold, and the remaining stores conveniently stowed for the cruise. on the fifteenth of may every thing was in readiness; the obstructions in the channel were removed; and at sunset, with a smashing breeze, the isabel hauled out of the channel, and commenced her voyage. chapter xxi. down the lake. at the period of which we write, the railroad through the teche country had not been constructed, and the population was very sparsely scattered over this region. most of the available land, however, was occupied; but, of course, none of the little villages which spring up around railroad stations, and which, in the course of years, grow into large towns and cities, had yet appeared. with many doubts and fears in regard to the future, the young fugitives commenced the voyage to the gulf. it was seventy miles from the camp, and it was absolutely necessary that the trip should be performed by night, for the lake, at the season of high water, was navigable for small steamers, which, with other craft, occasionally passed over its turbid tide. in the passage down, they were liable to meet some of these boats; and though the search for the runaways had long since ceased, the isabel might be recognized, and the mystery of her singular disappearance explained. dan was determined to be very cautious, and to expose his party to no risks which could possibly be avoided. the voyage was perilous enough at best, and he was not disposed to trifle with the good fortune which had thus far attended the expedition. he knew nothing of the navigation of the lake, or of the atchafalaya river, through which he must pass to the gulf of mexico. he was therefore exposed to many perils. the boat might get aground at a perilous point, which might expose them to an examination from some inquisitive slaveholder. he might be stopped by a steamer, or overhauled by a boat, and the fugitives taken into custody because they could not give a good account of themselves. then, if he succeeded in reaching the gulf, he knew that a day's sail at the most would take him out of sight of land; and he had nothing but a small compass and a map of the coast of texas and louisiana to guide him. he had no expectation of being able to reach the free north in the isabel. he depended upon being picked up by some vessel bound to new york or philadelphia; and he had read the newspapers and listened to the conversation of his master and his guests enough to know that shipmasters were very cautious about carrying slaves to the north. but he had made his plans, and hoped he should be able to overcome even this most formidable difficulty. to contend against all these adverse circumstances, he had a good boat, though she was not fully adapted to a sea voyage. with her light draught she had but a slight hold on the water; yet dan was an excellent boatman, and trusted in his skill to overcome the deficiencies of his vessel. the isabel was well provisioned for at least a month; and if the weather was even tolerably favorable, he felt confident that he should be able to contend successfully against the elements. at any rate he feared the ocean, storm, and distance less than the insatiate slave-hunters of the south. with these difficulties before them, the young fugitives started upon their uncertain voyage. it was a bright, pleasant evening, with a lively breeze from the westward. the long confinement of the camp in the swamp made the changing prospect exceedingly exhilarating. they had encountered perils before, and the experience of the past prepared them for the trials of the future. they had a head wind down the bayou which led to the lake, and it required two hours of hard work for the two boys to work the isabel down to the open water; but when this labor was accomplished, the foresail, mainsail, and jib were hoisted, and they had a fair wind down the lake. "now, lily, our voyage is commenced," said dan, as he seated himself at the helm. "yes; and i am so glad to get out of that dismal swamp!" replied she, with a smile which spoke the joy of her heart. "perhaps you will wish yourself back again before many days, and perhaps before many hours." "do you think there is much danger, dan?" "we may not meet with a single difficulty, and we may be in danger all the time. i cannot tell. i hope for the best, but i am ready for the worst." "any thing is better than slavery, dan." "even death itself, lily," replied dan, solemnly. "but there will be no people out on the lake in the night--will there?" "there may be; but we may not find a good place to conceal ourselves during the day. we may be discovered, for there are more people at the lower end of the lake than in the part where we have been." "we will pray to god, dan, every day, and he will protect us, as he has before," added lily, confidingly. "and while we do that, we must be very careful. there is one thing i have been dreading ever since we began to prepare for this cruise." "what is that, dan?" "you know mr. lascelles?" "yes; he spends a week at redlawn every year, and master used to stay a week at his plantation." "he lives down this way somewhere--i don't exactly know where. the isabel, i think, came down here one year; if so, i am afraid they will know the boat." "possifus!" exclaimed cyd, who had been silently listening to this conversation. "dey'll ketch us, for shore." "i'm not afraid of being caught; but colonel raybone almost always visits mr. lascelles in the month of may. suppose he should be there, and we should happen to go near his plantation?" "hossifus!" groaned cyd. "massa raybone down dar! dis chile gubs it all up den." "don't give up yet, cyd," laughed dan. "mossifus! if dis nigger see ole massa, he done sink into de ground, like a catfish in de mud." "you haven't seen him yet, cyd; and what is more, i don't believe you will see him." "i hope not," added lily, with a shudder. "if we do, it will not alter any thing." "what would you do, dan?" "i will never become a slave again. we have guns and powder, bullets and shot." "would you kill him?" "no man shall stand between me and freedom. i would shoot him or any other man, if it were necessary to secure our safety." "gossifus! shoot massa raybone!" exclaimed cyd. "i hope we shall not be obliged to fire upon any man; but i shall do so, and you must do the same, cyd, if we are in danger of being captured." "do any ting you say, dan," replied cyd whose mind readily settled upon any policy adopted by his leader. "now, lily, you had better turn in, as midshipman raybone used to say. you must sleep while you can, for you may have no rest again for several days." "i'm not sleepy; but you are going to have a very hard time. when we get out to sea we shall have to run all the time--shall we not?" "yes--night and day." "then when will you sleep?" "cyd and i must sleep by turns. we shall get along very well if the weather is only good." about eleven o'clock both lily and cyd retired to their berths, leaving dan alone on deck. the wind held fair till about three o'clock in the morning, at which time the isabel was within ten miles of the outlet of the lake. it was too dark for the careful skipper to discover the nature of the shore, and he was waiting for a little daylight to enable him to find a suitable place to lie up during the next day. the boat was fully three miles from either shore, when the wind suddenly died out. directly ahead, there were several small islands, but they were farther off than the main shore. the first of the skipper's trials seemed to have overtaken him; but he did not permit himself to despair. he hoped, when the sun rose, a breeze would come, and enable him to find some hiding-place for the day. there was nothing to do but watch and wait, and dan reclined upon the cushioned seat to meditate upon the uncertainties before them. there was not a breath of air upon the lake, and the sails hung motionless in their places. lily and cyd still slept, and dan did not call them; for he was willing to spare them even an hour's useless anxiety. the moments hung heavily upon the impatient skipper; but at last the daylight came, and he had a chance to study the situation. on the shore at his left there was a sugar plantation, the mansion of which was built within a short distance of the water; for here, as in the vicinity of redlawn, the highest land was nearest to the streams. but the estate was three miles distant, and he hoped that the isabel would not attract the attention of the people on the place. the sun rose, but no wind came to gladden the heart of the impatient and anxious skipper. the active life of the plantation had commenced. he could see the smoke curling up from the chimneys of the cook-house near the mansion; and in different parts of the lake he counted three boats moving about near the shore. these signs produced an intense uneasiness in his mind, which was not lessened by the appearance of lily, who came upon deck about this time. while he was explaining to her the nature of their unpleasant position, the smoke of a little steamer was seen beyond the islands. she soon came in sight, and was headed directly towards the spot where the isabel lay becalmed. dan and his fair companion were appalled by this new danger; for a suspicion in the mind of any person on board the steamer could hardly fail of being fatal to them. but dan was soon prepared to make the best of the circumstances. "cyd, cyd!" called he, as he rushed into the cabin. "wha--wha--what's de matter?" stammered cyd, springing to his feet. "go on deck at once," replied dan, as he slung the powder-horn and shot-pouch over his shoulders, and took one of the fowling pieces. cyd was on deck before him, and discovered the nature of the danger which menaced them. the bateau, which had been placed upon deck, was launched, and cyd was directed to get into it with the oars, and pull off a few rods from the isabel. "now, lily, you must go to your cabin, close the door, and on no account show yourself while the steamer is in sight," said dan. "but what are you going to do, dan?" asked she, with an expression of the deepest concern. "are you going to shoot any one?" "no, dear," replied dan, with a smile at her fears; "i am going to pretend to be a sportsman. as we can't get out of the way of the steamer, i intend to be as bold and impudent as i can. there, go to your cabin now, and we will hope for the best." lily retired to the cabin, closed the door after her, and threw herself on her knees to pray for the safety of herself and her friends during the impending peril. in the mean time, dan walked up and down the deck, with the gun in his hand, apparently looking in all directions for game. just as the steamboat came within hailing distance of the isabel, a couple of brant fortunately flew over, and dan fired. his practice in the swamp had made him a very good marksman, and he was so lucky as to bring down one of the birds. cyd, as before instructed, pulled with all his might to the spot where the game had fallen. "possifus!" shouted he; "massa fotch dat bird down, for shore!" when he uttered this exclamation the bateau was within a few yards of the steamer, and the few passengers on board of her, anxious to see the sport, hastened to the boiler deck, and thus obtained a full view of the isabel, as she rounded in under her stern, on her way to the plantation, where she evidently intended to make a landing. "any news below?" shouted dan, hailing the steamer as she approached. "by heaven! that's my boat and my boy!" exclaimed a gentleman on the boiler deck, as the steamer glanced by the isabel. "stop the boat! stop her!" it was colonel raybone! chapter xxii. the isabel runs the gantlet. dan heard the words of the gentleman on the boiler deck of the terre bonne,--for that was the name of the steamer,--and at once recognized his master. the worst fear that he had entertained was fully realized. that unfortunate calm had betrayed him into the hands of his enemy. but he was fully determined to carry out his resolution, and fight for life and liberty, even if he had to contend against the whole force of the steamer. it appeared that the request, or rather the command, of colonel raybone to stop the boat was not immediately complied with; for she continued on her course for several minutes before her wheels ceased to revolve, and when she did stop she was fully a quarter of a mile from the isabel. by this time cyd returned with the bird which the sportsman had killed, and dan announced the appalling fact that colonel raybone was on board of the steamer, and had recognized him and the boat. "possifus!" exclaimed cyd, leaping upon the deck of the isabel. "wha--wha--what we gwine to do?" "take this gun, and do as i do," replied dan, as he went into the cabin after the rifle. "gwine to shoot him!" groaned cyd. "hossifus! gwine to shoot ole massa raybone!" "do you want to go back to redlawn with him, cyd?" demanded dan, with compressed lips. "don't want to go back, for shore. gossifus! dis chile's a free man now." "then use your gun when i tell you." "cyd do dat, for sartin," replied he, examining the lock of the fowling piece. "mossifus! dis nigger shoot de whole crowd if you says so, dan." "don't fire till i tell you, and take good aim," added the skipper, as he finished loading the rifle. "what's the matter, dan?" asked lily, opening the cabin door a little way, for she had heard the stirring words of her friends on deck. dan told her, in as few words as possible, what had happened, and the poor girl nearly fainted when she heard the name of her master. "then we are lost!" added she, in tones tremulous with emotion. "not yet, lily. be of good courage, and don't show yourself on deck." the affrighted maiden threw herself upon her knees by her cot, and prayed fervently that god would interpose his strong arm to save them from the fate which now seemed to be inevitable. while she prayed, dan and cyd worked, and made such preparations for the pending encounter as their limited means would allow. there was only a small number of passengers on board of the steamer, and the resolute captain of the isabel hoped that a few shots would intimidate them, and prevent colonel raybone from rushing upon certain death. but the planter of redlawn was as resolute as his runaway chattel, and a battery of artillery would not have deprived him of the satisfaction of pouncing upon the fugitives. though no fear could deter the master from attempting to recover what he regarded as his own by the law of god and man, it was otherwise with the captain of the terre bonne; for he declared that he was in a tremendous hurry to make his trip, having been detained over night at the foot of the lake. he sympathized with colonel raybone in his desire to recover his slaves; but he positively refused to put the boat about and capture the runaways. it is not improbable that the captain of the steamer saw the guns and the preparations made to receive a boarding party, and possibly he reasoned in his own mind that a chance shot was as likely to kill him as any other man on board; at any rate, he was as resolute in his refusal as any of the resolute parties we have already mentioned. dan could hardly believe his senses when he saw the terre bonne standing out towards the landing-place before the plantation. when her wheels started again, he nerved himself for the encounter; for he supposed she would come about, and bear down upon him. it was incredible that colonel raybone should give up the chase without an effort to capture them; and he knew his master too well to think, after more consideration, that he would abandon his slaves without an energetic effort to recover them. the steamer went in to the landing-place, leaving dan to wonder and rejoice at the happy turn which had taken place in the affairs of his party. he informed lily of the altered state of things on deck, and the devout girl was happy in the reflection that her prayers had been so promptly answered. "but we haven't seen the end of it yet, lily. o, no," added dan, "colonel raybone will never give us up. he would spend more money than we are all worth for the pleasure of flogging me for running away; but he shall never have that satisfaction. i had rather die here like a man than to be scourged to death at the dead oak." "can't we get away? is there no chance to escape?" asked lily, whose beating heart was full of mortal terrors. "gossifus! wha--wha--what's de reason we can't take de bateau and row ober to de shore, and take to de woods?" suggested cyd. "well, what then?" demanded dan, calmly. "why, den run like a possum up a gum tree." "with bloodhounds and slave-hunters on your track. no, cyd; we should certainly be taken if we did that." "what shall we do, dan?" murmured lily. "we shall certainly be taken if we stay here." "no; we have beaten off the slave-hunters twice, and we can do it again. they will come in small boats, and i will shoot them down, one at a time, if they persist," answered dan, bringing down the butt of the rifle upon the floor of the standing room to emphasize his words. "but you may be shot, yourself, dan," said lily, with a visible shudder. "no; i will conceal myself behind the bulwarks when they come within range of my rifle." "but can't we get away? can't we escape without shooting any of them?" pleaded the poor girl, with a natural horror of bloodshed. "we cannot unless we have wind." "gossifus! dar dey come!" exclaimed cyd, pointing to two boats pulling out from the landing-place of the plantation. "heaven protect and defend us!" cried lily. "i will pray for wind; i will pray with all my soul for a breeze, dan, and our father in heaven, who has so often heard my prayers will hear me again." "stop a minute, missy lily; stop a minute," interposed cyd, gazing earnestly down the lake; "needn't pray no more, missy lily; dare's a breeze coming up from de souf-east. hossifus! de breeze am comin like a possum down a cotton tree! possifus! hossifus! gossifus! de breeze am coming!" shouted cyd, as he danced round the deck like a madman. "needn't pray no more, missy lily. de breeze am come." "then i will thank god for sending it," replied the poor girl, a smile of joy playing radiantly upon her fair face. if dan was not so extravagant as his companion on deck, he was not less rejoiced, especially as the wind from this quarter promised to be a strong one. the bateau was hastily hoisted upon the deck of the isabel, and the sails trimmed to catch the first breath of the coming breeze. "mossifus! dat breeze wuth a hun'd tousand million dollars!" shouted cyd, as the first puff of the welcome wind swelled the sails of the isabel. "it may be worth more than that," replied dan calmly. "it may be life and liberty to us." the breeze had come, and plenty of it; but for the course the skipper wished to lay, it was dead ahead; yet it mattered little where it carried them, if it only enabled them to escape from the terrible man who was the impersonation of slavery to them. as the wind freshened, the lake was agitated, and the isabel dashed on as though she understood the issues which depended upon her speed. in half an hour the pursuing boats could not be seen; and no doubt they had abandoned the chase in despair. it was useless to seek a place for concealment, for the white sails of the isabel were doubtless watched by scores of eager eyes; so dan ran up under the lee of one of the small islands that dot the lake, and came to anchor there. he did not care to run up the lake any farther than was necessary, and he did not think it prudent to beat down the lake in the face of his pursuers. no more anxious skipper than he of the isabel ever paced a deck. colonel raybone was as energetic as he was remorseless, and would leave no means untried to capture the fugitives. dan was at first afraid that he would charter the steamer, and pursue them in her; but this fear was removed when he saw the terre bonne steaming on her way up the lake. the fugitives breakfasted on cold ham and hard bread while the boat remained at anchor; but not for a single instant did the watchful skipper intermit his gaze in the direction in which he had last seen the pursuing boats. it was a late breakfast, for it was ten in the forenoon when it was finished. but this meal, though it seemed to increase the vigor and resolution of the party, did not remove a particle of their anxiety for the future. dan, as we have before shown, was a master of strategy; and it is good generalship to penetrate the purposes of the enemy. our hero was all the time trying to do this, but, of course, without any encouragement of success. he only felt sure that colonel raybone would cover the lake with boats filled with slave-hunters, if he could find them, and that every hour of delay increased the peril of his situation. he intended to wait till night, and then, under cover of the darkness, run down to the outlet of the lake, and escape to the gulf. this purpose was encumbered by a terrible doubt; he feared that the south-east wind would die out when the sun went down, and that the fugitives would again be at the mercy of the slave-hunters. the thought was so appalling that dan, in the middle of the afternoon, determined to run the gantlet of the boats, and trust to providence for success. in a few moments after this decision was reached, the isabel was under way, and standing, close hauled, down the lake. the south-east wind, having free course, and blowing fresh, had kicked up a heavy sea, for an inland sheet of water; but this was highly favorable for the isabel, and very unfavorable for the flatboats in which the pursuers chased them. as dan had anticipated, the slave-hunters were on the alert; and as the isabel was standing through a narrow channel between two islands, the two boats, which had chased her in the morning, dashed out from under the lea of one of them. "take the helm, cyd, and keep her steady as she is!" said dan, as he grasped the rifle. "possifus!" exclaimed cyd; but he promptly obeyed without further speech. only one of the boats--that which contained colonel raybone--was near enough to board the isabel as she dashed through the passage. it was evidently the intention of the planter to spring on board as she passed through the channel; for he stood in the bow of his boat with the painter in his hand. one of the rowers in the other boat had "crabbed" his oar and lost it overboard, or the colonel's plan would have succeeded. "put down the helm, cyd! luff, luff!" shouted dan, as he fathomed the purpose of his master. "luff um 'tis!" replied the helmsman. the isabel was running tolerably free at the time the order was given, and when she luffed up, the planter's boat lay directly in her path. the next instant she struck the bateau full on the broadside. "possifus!" shouted cyd, at the top of his lungs, as he heard the crashing and snapping of the pine boards, that indicated the destruction of the planter's boat. chapter xxiii. colonel raybone changes his tone the isabel dashed furiously on her way, passing over the bateau of the slave-hunters, which presently reappeared astern of her. colonel raybone, who, in spite of his years and his habits, was an active man, seized the bowsprit of the sail-boat, as it bore his frail bark beneath the waves; and while dan and cyd were eagerly gazing into the water astern of them in search of their dreaded master, he climbed upon the forecastle of the isabel, thus saving himself from the wreck and the water. "hossifus!" groaned cyd, as he turned to observe the course of the boat, and discovered upon deck the stalwart form of colonel raybone--to him the most terrible man on the face of the earth. the exclamation attracted the attention of dan, and a glance forward revealed to him the desperate situation of his party. the slave-master, nearly exhausted by the shock of the collision, and his exertions in hauling himself up to the deck of the isabel, had failed to improve the first moment that ushered him into the presence of his astonished chattels; and the loss of that opportunity was the ruin of his expectations. dan instantly raised his rifle; but the old feeling of awe and reverence for the sacred person of his master prevented him from firing at once. "hah, you villains! i've got you at last!" said colonel raybone. without making any reply to this expression of rage and malice, dan fired, but not at the head or the heart of the colonel; for he did not wish to kill him. the rifle was aimed at one of his legs, and the ball passed through the fleshy part of his thigh. colonel raybone, with a volley of curses, sank upon the deck of the isabel, a stream of blood flowing from his wound. dan dropped the rifle, and took one of the fowling pieces, ready to complete his work if the occasion should require. his face was deadly pale, his lips quivered, and his frame trembled, as though the ball had passed through him, instead of his master. he had watched and waited too long for liberty and true life to sacrifice all his hopes, when they were on the point of being realized, to a sentimental horror of shedding the blood of a slave-master. lily, as soon as she heard the report of the rifle, opened her cabin door, and stepped out into the standing room. the pale face and quivering lip of dan first attracted her attention; and when he pointed to the forecastle, she saw the prostrate form of her master, and sank upon the seat, overcome with fear and horror. "don't be afraid, lily," said he. "he cannot harm us now." "have you killed him?" gasped she. "no; i did not intend to kill him. i would not have fired at him if i could have helped it. i only hit him in the leg." "but he will die." "he may; i cannot help it. we should have been slaves again in a moment more if i had not fired." "this is horrible!" moaned lily. "but it is better than slavery," replied dan, firmly, though he was scarcely less agitated than his gentle companion. "mind your helm, cyd, and go to windward of that little island ahead," he continued; for the helmsman's ideas had been considerably shaken up by the stirring events which had just transpired. the second boat, astern of the isabel, was engaged in picking up the oarsmen of the first, and with the fresh breeze there was no danger of pursuit from that direction. colonel raybone was evidently suffering severely from his wound, but his mental tortures seemed to be greater than his physical pain. his mouth was still filled with curses, and maledictions of rage and hatred were poured out upon the runaways. he was so violent in his agony, that none of the party dared to approach him, and dan stood with the fowling piece in his hand, ready to protect himself and his companions from any possible assault. there he lay, unable to rise; but still the isabel dashed on, as if reckless of the terrible scene which had just been enacted upon her deck. colonel raybone's wound bled freely, and the loss of blood soon moderated his fiery temper. gradually he calmed down, and became quite reasonable, at least so far as outward manifestations were concerned. then dan ventured to approach him, though he did not relax his hold upon the gun, and took every precaution to guard against any sudden movement on the part of the sufferer. "are you much hurt, sir?" asked dan. "you have killed your master, dandy," replied he, faintly, as he looked up at the redeemed chattel. "i did not mean to kill you, sir, and i am sorry you compelled me to fire upon you," added dan, in respectful and sympathizing tones. "i am wounded and in your power now; i can do nothing more, and you may finish me as soon as you please," groaned colonel raybone, completely subdued by weakness and the fear of death. "i do not wish to kill you, colonel raybone, and i am willing to do all i can for you. but if you attempt to make me a slave again, i will shoot you at once." "i can't harm you now if i would," said the sufferer, faintly. "then we will take you into the cabin out of the sun, and do what we can for you." "can't you land me at mr. lascelles' plantation?" asked he, lifting his eyes up with an expression so pitiful that dan could hardly resist the petition. "no, sir. i dare not do that," he replied. "but i will do all i can to save your life." dan then went aft, and explained to his companions the condition of colonel raybone. lily was placed at the helm, with instructions how to steer, and dan and cyd, with a great deal of difficulty, removed the wounded planter to the cabin. but he had lost so much blood that he fainted as soon as they had placed him upon the bunk. cyd then took his place at the helm; and while lily bathed the head of the patient with lavender, dan examined his wound. the ball had passed entirely through the fleshy part of the thigh, about half way between the hip and the knee. the blood flowed steadily from the two openings, but not in jets, which would indicate the severing of an artery. dan was no surgeon, but he had ingenuity and common sense, and he used these to the best advantage his limited means would permit. he tore up one of his shirts for bandages, and lily made lint of of his collars. when the sufferer had recovered from his faintness he drank a glass of brandy, which seemed to revive him. but he was still very weak, and breathed not a word of hatred or malice. "hallo! dan! where we gwine?" shouted cyd from the deck, who had come to a point in the lake where he required further sailing directions. the skipper took his map and went on deck. from the position of three islands laid down on his chart, and which he identified as those near him, he concluded that the isabel had reached the outlet of the lake, which is the atchafalaya river. its course gave him a fair wind, and he headed the boat down the stream. as the sailing of the boat was now a matter of the utmost importance, dan was compelled to remain on deck. he took the precaution to place all the fire-arms on board in a safe place, where colonel raybone, if his condition should so far improve as to encourage him to make an attempt to obtain possession of the boat, could not get them, and where he and cyd could get them. it was sunset when the isabel entered the great bayou; and as she dashed on her course, the anxious skipper saw many boats, and even some larger craft, but no one offered to molest them. colonel raybone remained as quiet as a lamb. he was feverish, and in much pain, and all night long lily sat by his bunk, and watched over him as tenderly as though he had been her dearest friend, instead of her most terrible enemy. she not only watched; she prayed for him--prayed that god would forgive him, heal his wounds, and soften his heart. and all night long the isabel sped on her course, and at midnight she entered the great bay. dan was worn out with anxiety and long watching, and as the waters of the bay were comparatively smooth, the wind having subsided to a gentle breeze, he gave the helm to cyd, and slept three hours upon the floor of the standing room, with a cushion under his head. at daybreak, point au fer light, which was marked on dan's map, lay directly ahead of them. the land to the westward was low and swampy, and with frequent indentations. in one of these dan came to anchor about sunrise. he was much perplexed to know what he should do with colonel raybone. he could not think of going to sea with him on board, and to send him back was to invite an immediate pursuit. the good care which had been bestowed upon the planter had very sensibly improved his condition. after breakfast he inquired of dan where he had been for a year, and the whole story of the residence in the swamp was narrated to him. in return he told the fugitives what had been done to recover them, and added that he was on his way from new orleans to mr. lascelles' plantation when he discovered the isabel. colonel raybone said not a word about reclaiming his property, and apparently only cherished the hope of saving himself. "now, dandy, what are you going to do with me?" asked he, when he had finished his narrative. "i don't know, sir. after the whipping i got, i determined to run away; and i say now i would rather die than go back," replied he. "didn't i use you well?" asked the colonel. "as well as any master can use a slave." "i was rather sorry afterwards that i whipped you; but you were treated as well as the members of my own family; and so was lily." "but i was a slave, and so was she. master archy tormented me, and miss edith tormented lily. i could have borne it, perhaps, if i hadn't been whipped." "you have your revenge now," added the planter, meekly. "i am in your power." "i don't seek revenge, and i wouldn't harm you for all the world," replied dan. the proud spirit of the planter was subdued by pain, weakness, and the fear of death, and he was in no condition to think of resistance. he offered to give the fugitives free papers if they would land him at any place where there was a surgeon, and from which he could be removed to redlawn; but dan dared not run any risks. the planter wanted to know where they were going, but the prudent skipper declined to answer this question. the isabel remained at anchor for three days, under the lea of the land, during which time colonel raybone was carefully nursed by dan and lily; but his wound was still very painful, and the patient, fearful of mortification, or some other unfavorable turn in his condition, declared himself willing to do any thing rather than remain any longer in this place. "i might put you on board of some vessel if i dared to do so," said dan. "what do you fear?" demanded the sufferer. "if you should tell the people of the vessel what we are, they would capture us." "do you think i would do that, dandy?" asked he, in reproachful tones. "i am afraid to run any risks, sir." "will you let me die here? my wound may mortify. i think it is growing worse instead of better," added he, with a groan of anguish. "i will give you my word, dandy, if you will put me on board of any vessel bound to any place where i can get home, i will give you all your freedom. if you are arrested, send to me, and you shall have free papers. you know i always keep my word, dandy." it was a terrible necessity which could extort such a declaration from the imperious planter, and dan decided to accept the proposition. the anchor was weighed, and the isabel stood out of the inlet where she had lain for three days. they cruised all day without meeting a vessel; but on the following morning they hailed a small schooner bound up the bay. "i will keep my promise, dandy, to the letter," said colonel raybone, as they bore him to the deck. "here is some money, which you may want before long;" and he handed dan a roll of bills. "thank you, sir," replied he. "i hope we part friends." "yes, dandy; and if you ever want a friend, come to me." the crew of the schooner asked a great many questions, all of which colonel raybone took it upon himself to answer. he was placed in the cabin of the vessel, and dan, bidding him good by, hastened back to the isabel. they parted in peace, and lily could not restrain her tears as the schooner bore away on her course. chapter xxiv. the young fugitives make a harbor. "colonel raybone is not a bad man, after all," said dan, as the isabel filled away. "he wouldn't be, if he wasn't a slaveholder," replied lily. "possifus! i feel 'tickler sorry for ole massa, when he lay dar and couldn't help hisself," added cyd. "if he could have helped himself, he wouldn't have lain there. i never saw such a change come over a man. he will be ashamed of himself, i know, when he gets well, and it will be lucky for us that we are out of his reach." "he would keep his word, dan; you know that," said lily, whose looks seemed to contain a mild rebuke of the sentiment just uttered. "he would; at least, he wouldn't wish to break his word; but he will want me as soon as he gets to be colonel raybone again." "why, he was always good to us," responded lily. "he was always liberal and generous, and treated all the people well, while they behaved to suit him." "they ought to behave well." "i had to fawn and cringe before him, and before archy. if i dared to say my soul was my own, i was punished for it. what did i get whipped for?" "for striking archy." "well, why did i strike him? didn't he insist upon my striking him? and when he came at me like a madman, because i happened to hit him rather harder than i intended, i was tied up to the dead oak, and whipped like a mule. i shall carry the marks of that day to my grave," continued dan, earnestly. "but he has changed." "he was afraid he was going to die, and he was in my power. he knew i could blow out his brains any moment when he attempted to lay his hands upon me; and he knew i would do it, too." "i never saw him so mild and gentle as he was while on board the boat." "i hope he will always continue so, and treat the people well when he gets back to redlawn. i have nothing against him now. i forgive him, and i did all i could for him when he was wounded." "i know you did. do you suppose he will get well, dan?" "i have no doubt he will." "shall you send for your free papers?" "i shouldn't dare to let him know where i am." "he gave us our freedom." "i should be afraid that he would alter his mind; and though he might keep his word, he might cause us to be taken up for killing the slave-hunters, or stealing the boat and provisions, or something of that kind. i shall keep out of his way. if we should be arrested, i would appeal to him then." "where are we going now, dan?" asked lily, as she glanced out upon the vast expanse of waters which rolled to the southward. "i hardly know, lily. we have got to the bottom of my map; i shall stand to the south-east till something happens. if we can fall in with a vessel which does not sail from or to a southern port, i should have some hopes, especially as we have money enough now to pay our passage." "how much have you, dan?" "two hundred dollars," replied dan, exhibiting the roll of bills which the planter had given him. "colonel raybone is generous, but this would not half pay us for the services we have rendered him." the pocket compass upon which the skipper had to depend for his course was now produced, and before dark that night the isabel was out of sight of land. the wind was light, the weather pleasant, and the sea not heavier than they had seen on the lake. it was arranged that each of the boys should steer four hours in his turn, night and day, and the voyage, which had been looked upon as involving many perils, was found to be very pleasant. for two days they were favored with good weather; but on the third it came on cloudy and blowy after dinner. the foresail was taken in, and every thing made snug about the isabel, in preparation for the worst. the storm increased in violence, and they soon had their first experience of a heavy sea. the waves tossed them about like a feather, dashing over the decks, and several times filling the standing room half full of water. "gossifus! dis big sea!" exclaimed cyd, as he shook the water from his woolly locks. "yes, and it is coming heavier yet," replied dan. "but the isabel stands it well." "plenty ob water on fora'd dar," said cyd, pointing to the forecastle, which was often submerged in the heavy billows. "perhaps we can remedy that. i don't think we shall want the bateau any more, and we may as well toss it overboard. it sinks her head down too much." "hossifus! frow de boat overboard?" "yes; over with it, if you can." cyd took a boat-hook, and pried up the bateau, and after much labor succeeded in getting it over the side, though he had nearly gone with it, when a big sea, swooping over the deck, finished his work. the effect of the step was instantly apparent in the working of the isabel. she no longer scooped up the seas, but rode over them. before night it began to rain, and the gale increased in violence. the bonnet had been taken off the jib, and a reef put in the mainsail; but she could not much longer carry this sail, and at dark she was put under a close-reefed foresail. poor lily was obliged to remain in the cabin, and she was very much alarmed at the roaring of the waves and the terrible pitching of the schooner; but dan often assured her that there was no danger; that the isabel was behaving splendidly. during that long, tempestuous night, there was no sleep for the fugitives. dan did not leave the helm, and cyd stood by to obey the orders of the skipper. at midnight the gale began to moderate, but the sea still ran high. the sun rose bright and clear on the following morning. the wind had subsided to a gentle breeze, and the isabel moved slowly along over the rolling waves. cyd and lily went to sleep after breakfast, and dan still maintained his position at the helm, which he had not left for fourteen hours. he was nearly exhausted; but so was cyd, and he was afraid the latter would drop asleep if he left the boat in his care. while he sat by the tiller, dreaming of the future, and struggling to keep awake, he discovered a sail far to the southward of him. the sight roused him from his lethargy, for he had not seen any thing that looked like a vessel since the day he parted with colonel raybone. he was wide awake; and laying his course so as to intercept the vessel, he waited patiently till the winds wafted her within hailing distance. it was two hours before he could clearly make her out, for the wind was very light. she was a bark, and dan could only hope that she was not bound to any port in the slave states. he had a very good knowledge of geography, and after calculating the position of the isabel, he concluded that the bark could not have come from any southern city. "sail ho!" shouted he, when he was within half a mile of the bark. "what's the matter?" called lily, roused from her slumbers by the shout. "come on deck. we are close by a vessel." "gossifus!" shouted cyd, as he rushed out of the cabin, and discovered the bark. "wha--wha--what vessel's dat?" "i don't know," answered dan; "but we shall soon know all about her." "what a monster she is!" added lily. dan hailed the bark, and ascertained that she was an english vessel, bound from vera cruz to new york. as this information was satisfactory, he asked to be taken on board, with his companions. the vessel backed her main topsail, and dan ran the isabel alongside. the captain and crew were astonished to find a small boat, with two boys and a girl in her, at this distance from land; but they were kindly taken on board. in as few words as possible dan told the substance of his story, and the captain consented to carry the fugitives to new york. "i can pay our passage, captain," added he; "and if you will take us you shall lose nothing by it." "i should be in duty bound to take you, any how," replied the captain; "but what shall we do with your boat?" "cut her adrift, if you can't do any better. we have done with her now." "i think we can save her," added the captain. as the wind was light, the isabel was lashed to the side, and the bark squared away upon her course. in a short time every thing on board of the sail-boat was passed on board, and she was stripped and her masts taken out. she was then hoisted on deck, and set up between the fore and main masts. dan and his companions were rejoiced to preserve her, for she had been their home for a year, and had borne them safely through many perils. they regarded her as a dear friend. captain oxnard gave lily a state-room, and the two boys were berthed in the steerage. it took all the rest of the day for dan to relate the experience of the young fugitives on board the isabel; and the officers of the bark were intensely interested in the narrative and in the runaways. the listeners were all englishmen, and had no sympathy with slave-holders. the passage was rather long, but it was pleasant, and on the twentieth of june the bark anchored in new york harbor. her consignees were informed of the incidents which had placed the three passengers on board, and they were not disposed to undo what captain oxnard had done. while the vessel lay at anchor, the isabel was hoisted into the water again, rigged, and every thing placed on board of her, just as she was when she left the camp in the swamp. it so happened that the junior member of the firm to which the bark was consigned, was a friend of mr. grant, and had dined at woodville the day before. it occurred to him that the young fugitives would be well cared for in the hands of his friends, and being a boatman himself, he resolved to proceed up the river in the isabel. it was a pleasant day and a happy occasion, and at an early hour in the afternoon, the party landed at the pier in front of the woodville mansion. i need not inform my readers that they were kindly received by the family; and the story of the young fugitives was again repeated to a group of partial listeners. * * * * * mr. grant and his friend presby immediately set their heads at work to determine what should be done with the party which had just arrived at woodville. bertha soon settled the question so far as lily was concerned, by declaring that she must live with her, and go to school at the village, for she had become strongly attached to the fair fugitive, and would not think of permitting her lot to be cast among those who might possibly be unkind to her. there was less difficulty in disposing of dan and cyd. boats and boatmen were in great demand at whitestone and other places on the river, and the isabel promised to bring in a fortune to her owners during the summer months. a few days later, she was employed in carrying parties out upon excursions, with dan as skipper, old ben as pilot, and cyd as foremast hand. in a short time dan learned the navigation of the river, and dispensed with the services of the pilot. they boarded with mr. grant's gardener; but cyd, very much to his disgust, was not permitted to sit down at the first table because he was black. dan and cyd made a great deal of money in the isabel during the remainder of the season, and when she was laid up for the winter, both of them went down to the city and worked in a hotel; but they much preferred a life on the water. in the spring they resumed their business as boatmen, and for several years continued to thrive at this occupation. "see here, possifus," said mr. presby, who never called cyd by any other name; "don't you want to own a boat yourself?" "i does own one, sar," replied he. "de isabel jus as much mine as dan's." "i was going to set you up in business for yourself, possifus." "no, sar, tank ye; can't leabe dan, no how; he fotched dis chile out of de swamp, and i don't run no popposition to him." "that's right, possifus; stick to your friends." but mr. presby continued to do a great many kind deeds for "possifus," which were duly appreciated. when dan was twenty-one, he and cyd had saved a considerable sum of money; and the isabel having become rather shaky from old age, they proposed to procure another boat, and establish themselves at the city. with the aid of mr. presby, they built a yacht of forty tons, which was called the "lily." it was a beautiful little vessel, and soon became very popular among people devoted to the sea. they were very fortunate in this new enterprise, and made money beyond their most sanguine expectations. dan lived in the city now. the name on the doorplate of his house was daniel preston, for he had chosen a family name to suit himself--a privilege allotted to only a few. mrs. preston--of course the reader will at once understand that this was the lily of our story--was as happy as liberty and prosperity could make her. cyd--who has improved upon his former cognomen, and now calls himself sidney davidson--lives on board the lily, a contented, happy man. he almost worships dan and his wife, at whose house he is an occasional visitor. they never heard anything from colonel raybone, or any of his family, perhaps because they made no inquiries. certainly no efforts were ever made to reclaim the chattels. they had proved that they could take care of themselves, and that freedom was their true sphere of life. and now, having seen the young fugitives safely through all their trials and perplexities, and securely established in the enjoyment of those rights and privileges with which the great creator had endowed them, we take leave of them, in the hope that the reign of freedom will soon be extended to every part of our beloved country, and that the sons of toil shall no longer watch and wait for deliverance from the bonds of the slave-master. the army and navy stories. in six volumes. a library for young and old. by oliver optic. i. the soldier boy; or, tom somers in the army. ii. the sailor boy; or, jack somers in the navy. iii. the young lieutenant; or, the adventures of an army officer. a sequel to "the soldier boy." iv. the yankee middy; or, the adventures of a naval officer. a sequel to "the sailor boy." v. fighting joe; or, the fortunes of a staff officer. a sequel to "the young lieutenant." vi. brave old salt; or, life on the quarter deck. a sequel to "the yankee middy." woodville stories. by oliver optic. i. rich and humble; or, the mission of bertha grant. ii. in school and out; or, the conquest of richard grant. iii. watch and wait; or, the young fugitives. iv. work and win; or, noddy newman on a cruise. v. hope and have; or, fanny grant among the indians. vi. haste and waste; or, the young pilot of lake champlain. lee & shepard, publishers. riverdale story books. by oliver optic. vols., in neat box. i. the little merchant. ii. the young voyagers. iii. the christmas gift. iv. dolly and i. v. uncle ben. vi. birth-day party. vii. proud and lazy. viii. careless kate. ix. robinson crusoe, jr. x. the picnic party. xi. the gold thimble. xii. the do-somethings. lee & shepard publishers. library for young people. by oliver optic. i. the boat club; or, the bunkers of rippleton. ii. all aboard; or, life on the lake. iii. little by little; or, the cruise of the flyaway. iv. try again; or, the trials and triumphs of harry west. v. now or never; or, the adventures of bobby bright. vi. poor and proud; or, the fortunes of katy redburn. six volumes, put up in a neat box. lee & shepard, publishers. +-----------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | page consquently changed to consequently | | page youv'e changed to you've | | page siently changed to silently | +-----------------------------------------------+ none the history of mary prince, a west indian slave. related by herself. with a supplement by the editor. to which is added, the narrative of asa-asa, a captured african. "by our sufferings, since ye brought us to the man-degrading mart,-- all sustain'd by patience, taught us only by a broken heart,-- deem our nation brutes no longer, till some reason ye shall find worthier of regard, and stronger than the colour of our kind." cowper. london: published by f. westley and a. h. davis, stationers' hall court; and by waugh & innes, edinburgh. . preface. the idea of writing mary prince's history was first suggested by herself. she wished it to be done, she said, that good people in england might hear from a slave what a slave had felt and suffered; and a letter of her late master's, which will be found in the supplement, induced me to accede to her wish without farther delay. the more immediate object of the publication will afterwards appear. the narrative was taken down from mary's own lips by a lady who happened to be at the time residing in my family as a visitor. it was written out fully, with all the narrator's repetitions and prolixities, and afterwards pruned into its present shape; retaining, as far as was practicable, mary's exact expressions and peculiar phraseology. no fact of importance has been omitted, and not a single circumstance or sentiment has been added. it is essentially her own, without any material alteration farther than was requisite to exclude redundancies and gross grammatical errors, so as to render it clearly intelligible. after it had been thus written out, i went over the whole, carefully examining her on every fact and circumstance detailed; and in all that relates to her residence in antigua i had the advantage of being assisted in this scrutiny by mr. joseph phillips, who was a resident in that colony during the same period, and had known her there. the names of all the persons mentioned by the narrator have been printed in full, except those of capt. i---- and his wife, and that of mr. d----, to whom conduct of peculiar atrocity is ascribed. these three individuals are now gone to answer at a far more awful tribunal than that of public opinion, for the deeds of which their former bondwoman accuses them; and to hold them up more openly to human reprobation could no longer affect themselves, while it might deeply lacerate the feelings of their surviving and perhaps innocent relatives, without any commensurate public advantage. without detaining the reader with remarks on other points which will be adverted to more conveniently in the supplement, i shall here merely notice farther, that the anti-slavery society have no concern whatever with this publication, nor are they in any degree responsible for the statements it contains. i have published the tract, not as their secretary, but in my private capacity; and any profits that may arise from the sale will be exclusively appropriated to the benefit of mary prince herself. tho. pringle. _ , solly terrace, claremont square_, _january , ._ p. s. since writing the above, i have been furnished by my friend mr. george stephen, with the interesting narrative of asa-asa, a captured african, now under his protection; and have printed it as a suitable appendix to this little history. t. p. the history of mary prince, a west indian slave. (related by herself.) i was born at brackish-pond, in bermuda, on a farm belonging to mr. charles myners. my mother was a household slave; and my father, whose name was prince, was a sawyer belonging to mr. trimmingham, a ship-builder at crow-lane. when i was an infant, old mr. myners died, and there was a division of the slaves and other property among the family. i was bought along with my mother by old captain darrel, and given to his grandchild, little miss betsey williams. captain williams, mr. darrel's son-in-law, was master of a vessel which traded to several places in america and the west indies, and he was seldom at home long together. mrs. williams was a kind-hearted good woman, and she treated all her slaves well. she had only one daughter, miss betsey, for whom i was purchased, and who was about my own age. i was made quite a pet of by miss betsey, and loved her very much. she used to lead me about by the hand, and call me her little nigger. this was the happiest period of my life; for i was too young to understand rightly my condition as a slave, and too thoughtless and full of spirits to look forward to the days of toil and sorrow. my mother was a household slave in the same family. i was under her own care, and my little brothers and sisters were my play-fellows and companions. my mother had several fine children after she came to mrs. williams,--three girls and two boys. the tasks given out to us children were light, and we used to play together with miss betsey, with as much freedom almost as if she had been our sister. my master, however, was a very harsh, selfish man; and we always dreaded his return from sea. his wife was herself much afraid of him; and, during his stay at home, seldom dared to shew her usual kindness to the slaves. he often left her, in the most distressed circumstances, to reside in other female society, at some place in the west indies of which i have forgot the name. my poor mistress bore his ill-treatment with great patience, and all her slaves loved and pitied her. i was truly attached to her, and, next to my own mother, loved her better than any creature in the world. my obedience to her commands was cheerfully given: it sprung solely from the affection i felt for her, and not from fear of the power which the white people's law had given her over me. i had scarcely reached my twelfth year when my mistress became too poor to keep so many of us at home; and she hired me out to mrs. pruden, a lady who lived about five miles off, in the adjoining parish, in a large house near the sea. i cried bitterly at parting with my dear mistress and miss betsey, and when i kissed my mother and brothers and sisters, i thought my young heart would break, it pained me so. but there was no help; i was forced to go. good mrs. williams comforted me by saying that i should still be near the home i was about to quit, and might come over and see her and my kindred whenever i could obtain leave of absence from mrs. pruden. a few hours after this i was taken to a strange house, and found myself among strange people. this separation seemed a sore trial to me then; but oh! 'twas light, light to the trials i have since endured!--'twas nothing--nothing to be mentioned with them; but i was a child then, and it was according to my strength. i knew that mrs. williams could no longer maintain me; that she was fain to part with me for my food and clothing; and i tried to submit myself to the change. my new mistress was a passionate woman; but yet she did not treat me very unkindly. i do not remember her striking me but once, and that was for going to see mrs. williams when i heard she was sick, and staying longer than she had given me leave to do. all my employment at this time was nursing a sweet baby, little master daniel; and i grew so fond of my nursling that it was my greatest delight to walk out with him by the sea-shore, accompanied by his brother and sister, miss fanny and master james.--dear miss fanny! she was a sweet, kind young lady, and so fond of me that she wished me to learn all that she knew herself; and her method of teaching me was as follows:--directly she had said her lessons to her grandmamma, she used to come running to me, and make me repeat them one by one after her; and in a few months i was able not only to say my letters but to spell many small words. but this happy state was not to last long. those days were too pleasant to last. my heart always softens when i think of them. at this time mrs. williams died. i was told suddenly of her death, and my grief was so great that, forgetting i had the baby in my arms, i ran away directly to my poor mistress's house; but reached it only in time to see the corpse carried out. oh, that was a day of sorrow,--a heavy day! all the slaves cried. my mother cried and lamented her sore; and i (foolish creature!) vainly entreated them to bring my dear mistress back to life. i knew nothing rightly about death then, and it seemed a hard thing to bear. when i thought about my mistress i felt as if the world was all gone wrong; and for many days and weeks i could think of nothing else. i returned to mrs. pruden's; but my sorrow was too great to be comforted, for my own dear mistress was always in my mind. whether in the house or abroad, my thoughts were always talking to me about her. i staid at mrs. pruden's about three months after this; i was then sent back to mr. williams to be sold. oh, that was a sad sad time! i recollect the day well. mrs. pruden came to me and said, "mary, you will have to go home directly; your master is going to be married, and he means to sell you and two of your sisters to raise money for the wedding." hearing this i burst out a crying,--though i was then far from being sensible of the full weight of my misfortune, or of the misery that waited for me. besides, i did not like to leave mrs. pruden, and the dear baby, who had grown very fond of me. for some time i could scarcely believe that mrs. pruden was in earnest, till i received orders for my immediate return.--dear miss fanny! how she cried at parting with me, whilst i kissed and hugged the baby, thinking i should never see him again. i left mrs. pruden's, and walked home with a heart full of sorrow. the idea of being sold away from my mother and miss betsey was so frightful, that i dared not trust myself to think about it. we had been bought of mr. myners, as i have mentioned, by miss betsey's grandfather, and given to her, so that we were by right _her_ property, and i never thought we should be separated or sold away from her. when i reached the house, i went in directly to miss betsey. i found her in great distress; and she cried out as soon as she saw me, "oh, mary! my father is going to sell you all to raise money to marry that wicked woman. you are _my_ slaves, and he has no right to sell you; but it is all to please her." she then told me that my mother was living with her father's sister at a house close by, and i went there to see her. it was a sorrowful meeting; and we lamented with a great and sore crying our unfortunate situation. "here comes one of my poor picaninnies!" she said, the moment i came in, "one of the poor slave-brood who are to be sold to-morrow." oh dear! i cannot bear to think of that day,--it is too much.--it recalls the great grief that filled my heart, and the woeful thoughts that passed to and fro through my mind, whilst listening to the pitiful words of my poor mother, weeping for the loss of her children. i wish i could find words to tell you all i then felt and suffered. the great god above alone knows the thoughts of the poor slave's heart, and the bitter pains which follow such separations as these. all that we love taken away from us--oh, it is sad, sad! and sore to be borne!--i got no sleep that night for thinking of the morrow; and dear miss betsey was scarcely less distressed. she could not bear to part with her old playmates, and she cried sore and would not be pacified. the black morning at length came; it came too soon for my poor mother and us. whilst she was putting on us the new osnaburgs in which we were to be sold, she said, in a sorrowful voice, (i shall never forget it!) "see, i am _shrouding_ my poor children; what a task for a mother!"--she then called miss betsey to take leave of us. "i am going to carry my little chickens to market," (these were her very words,) "take your last look of them; may be you will see them no more." "oh, my poor slaves! my own slaves!" said dear miss betsey, "you belong to me; and it grieves my heart to part with you."--miss betsey kissed us all, and, when she left us, my mother called the rest of the slaves to bid us good bye. one of them, a woman named moll, came with her infant in her arms. "ay!" said my mother, seeing her turn away and look at her child with the tears in her eyes, "your turn will come next." the slaves could say nothing to comfort us; they could only weep and lament with us. when i left my dear little brothers and the house in which i had been brought up, i thought my heart would burst. our mother, weeping as she went, called me away with the children hannah and dinah, and we took the road that led to hamble town, which we reached about four o'clock in the afternoon. we followed my mother to the market-place, where she placed us in a row against a large house, with our backs to the wall and our arms folded across our breasts. i, as the eldest, stood first, hannah next to me, then dinah; and our mother stood beside, crying over us. my heart throbbed with grief and terror so violently, that i pressed my hands quite tightly across my breast, but i could not keep it still, and it continued to leap as though it would burst out of my body. but who cared for that? did one of the many by-standers, who were looking at us so carelessly, think of the pain that wrung the hearts of the negro woman and her young ones? no, no! they were not all bad, i dare say; but slavery hardens white people's hearts towards the blacks; and many of them were not slow to make their remarks upon us aloud, without regard to our grief--though their light words fell like cayenne on the fresh wounds of our hearts. oh those white people have small hearts who can only feel for themselves. at length the vendue master, who was to offer us for sale like sheep or cattle, arrived, and asked my mother which was the eldest. she said nothing, but pointed to me. he took me by the hand, and led me out into the middle of the street, and, turning me slowly round, exposed me to the view of those who attended the vendue. i was soon surrounded by strange men, who examined and handled me in the same manner that a butcher would a calf or a lamb he was about to purchase, and who talked about my shape and size in like words--as if i could no more understand their meaning than the dumb beasts. i was then put up to sale. the bidding commenced at a few pounds, and gradually rose to fifty-seven,[ ] when i was knocked down to the highest bidder; and the people who stood by said that i had fetched a great sum for so young a slave. [footnote : bermuda currency; about £ sterling.] i then saw my sisters led forth, and sold to different owners; so that we had not the sad satisfaction of being partners in bondage. when the sale was over, my mother hugged and kissed us, and mourned over us, begging of us to keep up a good heart, and do our duty to our new masters. it was a sad parting; one went one way, one another, and our poor mammy went home with nothing.[ ] [footnote : let the reader compare the above affecting account, taken down from the mouth of this negro woman, with the following description of a vendue of slaves at the cape of good hope, published by me in , from the letter of a friend,--and mark their similarity in several characteristic circumstances. the resemblance is easily accounted for: slavery wherever it prevails produces similar effects.--"having heard that there was to be a sale of cattle, farm stock, &c. by auction, at a veld-cornet's in the vicinity, we halted our waggon one day for the purpose of procuring a fresh spann of oxen. among the stock of the farm sold, was a female slave and her three children. the two eldest children were girls, the one about thirteen years of age, and the other about eleven; the youngest was a boy. the whole family were exhibited together, but they were sold separately, and to different purchasers. the farmers examined them as if they had been so many head of cattle. while the sale was going on, the mother and her children were exhibited on a table, that they might be seen by the company, which was very large. there could not have been a finer subject for an able painter than this unhappy group. the tears, the anxiety, the anguish of the mother, while she met the gaze of the multitude, eyed the different countenances of the bidders, or cast a heart-rending look upon the children; and the simplicity and touching sorrow of the young ones, while they clung to their distracted parent, wiping their eyes, and half concealing their faces,--contrasted with the marked insensibility and jocular countenances of the spectators and purchasers,--furnished a striking commentary on the miseries of slavery, and its debasing effects upon the hearts of its abettors. while the woman was in this distressed situation she was asked, 'can you feed sheep?' her reply was so indistinct that it escaped me; but it was probably in the negative, for her purchaser rejoined, in a loud and harsh voice, 'then i will teach you with the sjamboc,' (a whip made of the rhinoceros' hide.) the mother and her three children were sold to three separate purchasers; and they were literally torn from each other."--_ed._] my new master was a captain i----, who lived at spanish point. after parting with my mother and sisters, i followed him to his store, and he gave me into the charge of his son, a lad about my own age, master benjy, who took me to my new home. i did not know where i was going, or what my new master would do with me. my heart was quite broken with grief, and my thoughts went back continually to those from whom i had been so suddenly parted. "oh, my mother! my mother!" i kept saying to myself, "oh, my mammy and my sisters and my brothers, shall i never see you again!" oh, the trials! the trials! they make the salt water come into my eyes when i think of the days in which i was afflicted--the times that are gone; when i mourned and grieved with a young heart for those whom i loved. it was night when i reached my new home. the house was large, and built at the bottom of a very high hill; but i could not see much of it that night. i saw too much of it afterwards. the stones and the timber were the best things in it; they were not so hard as the hearts of the owners.[ ] [footnote : these strong expressions, and all of a similar character in this little narrative, are given verbatim as uttered by mary prince.--_ed._] before i entered the house, two slave women, hired from another owner, who were at work in the yard, spoke to me, and asked who i belonged to? i replied, "i am come to live here." "poor child, poor child!" they both said; "you must keep a good heart, if you are to live here."--when i went in, i stood up crying in a corner. mrs. i---- came and took off my hat, a little black silk hat miss pruden made for me, and said in a rough voice, "you are not come here to stand up in corners and cry, you are come here to work." she then put a child into my arms, and, tired as i was, i was forced instantly to take up my old occupation of a nurse.--i could not bear to look at my mistress, her countenance was so stern. she was a stout tall woman with a very dark complexion, and her brows were always drawn together into a frown. i thought of the words of the two slave women when i saw mrs. i----, and heard the harsh sound of her voice. the person i took the most notice of that night was a french black called hetty, whom my master took in privateering from another vessel, and made his slave. she was the most active woman i ever saw, and she was tasked to her utmost. a few minutes after my arrival she came in from milking the cows, and put the sweet-potatoes on for supper. she then fetched home the sheep, and penned them in the fold; drove home the cattle, and staked them about the pond side;[ ] fed and rubbed down my master's horse, and gave the hog and the fed cow[ ] their suppers; prepared the beds, and undressed the children, and laid them to sleep. i liked to look at her and watch all her doings, for hers was the only friendly face i had as yet seen, and i felt glad that she was there. she gave me my supper of potatoes and milk, and a blanket to sleep upon, which she spread for me in the passage before the door of mrs. i----'s chamber. [footnote : the cattle on a small plantation in bermuda are, it seems, often thus staked or tethered, both night and day, in situations where grass abounds.] [footnote : a cow fed for slaughter.] i got a sad fright, that night. i was just going to sleep, when i heard a noise in my mistress's room; and she presently called out to inquire if some work was finished that she had ordered hetty to do. "no, ma'am, not yet," was hetty's answer from below. on hearing this, my master started up from his bed, and just as he was, in his shirt, ran down stairs with a long cow-skin[ ] in his hand. i heard immediately after, the cracking of the thong, and the house rang to the shrieks of poor hetty, who kept crying out, "oh, massa! massa! me dead. massa! have mercy upon me--don't kill me outright."--this was a sad beginning for me. i sat up upon my blanket, trembling with terror, like a frightened hound, and thinking that my turn would come next. at length the house became still, and i forgot for a little while all my sorrows by falling fast asleep. [footnote : a thong of hard twisted hide, known by this name in the west indies.] the next morning my mistress set about instructing me in my tasks. she taught me to do all sorts of household work; to wash and bake, pick cotton and wool, and wash floors, and cook. and she taught me (how can i ever forget it!) more things than these; she caused me to know the exact difference between the smart of the rope, the cart-whip, and the cow-skin, when applied to my naked body by her own cruel hand. and there was scarcely any punishment more dreadful than the blows i received on my face and head from her hard heavy fist. she was a fearful woman, and a savage mistress to her slaves. there were two little slave boys in the house, on whom she vented her bad temper in a special manner. one of these children was a mulatto, called cyrus, who had been bought while an infant in his mother's arms; the other, jack, was an african from the coast of guinea, whom a sailor had given or sold to my master. seldom a day passed without these boys receiving the most severe treatment, and often for no fault at all. both my master and mistress seemed to think that they had a right to ill-use them at their pleasure; and very often accompanied their commands with blows, whether the children were behaving well or ill. i have seen their flesh ragged and raw with licks.--lick--lick--they were never secure one moment from a blow, and their lives were passed in continual fear. my mistress was not contented with using the whip, but often pinched their cheeks and arms in the most cruel manner. my pity for these poor boys was soon transferred to myself; for i was licked, and flogged, and pinched by her pitiless fingers in the neck and arms, exactly as they were. to strip me naked--to hang me up by the wrists and lay my flesh open with the cow-skin, was an ordinary punishment for even a slight offence. my mistress often robbed me too of the hours that belong to sleep. she used to sit up very late, frequently even until morning; and i had then to stand at a bench and wash during the greater part of the night, or pick wool and cotton; and often i have dropped down overcome by sleep and fatigue, till roused from a state of stupor by the whip, and forced to start up to my tasks. poor hetty, my fellow slave, was very kind to me, and i used to call her my aunt; but she led a most miserable life, and her death was hastened (at least the slaves all believed and said so,) by the dreadful chastisement she received from my master during her pregnancy. it happened as follows. one of the cows had dragged the rope away from the stake to which hetty had fastened it, and got loose. my master flew into a terrible passion, and ordered the poor creature to be stripped quite naked, notwithstanding her pregnancy, and to be tied up to a tree in the yard. he then flogged her as hard as he could lick, both with the whip and cow-skin, till she was all over streaming with blood. he rested, and then beat her again and again. her shrieks were terrible. the consequence was that poor hetty was brought to bed before her time, and was delivered after severe labour of a dead child. she appeared to recover after her confinement, so far that she was repeatedly flogged by both master and mistress afterwards; but her former strength never returned to her. ere long her body and limbs swelled to a great size; and she lay on a mat in the kitchen, till the water burst out of her body and she died. all the slaves said that death was a good thing for poor hetty; but i cried very much for her death. the manner of it filled me with horror. i could not bear to think about it; yet it was always present to my mind for many a day. after hetty died all her labours fell upon me, in addition to my own. i had now to milk eleven cows every morning before sunrise, sitting among the damp weeds; to take care of the cattle as well as the children; and to do the work of the house. there was no end to my toils--no end to my blows. i lay down at night and rose up in the morning in fear and sorrow; and often wished that like poor hetty i could escape from this cruel bondage and be at rest in the grave. but the hand of that god whom then i knew not, was stretched over me; and i was mercifully preserved for better things. it was then, however, my heavy lot to weep, weep, weep, and that for years; to pass from one misery to another, and from one cruel master to a worse. but i must go on with the thread of my story. one day a heavy squall of wind and rain came on suddenly, and my mistress sent me round the corner of the house to empty a large earthen jar. the jar was already cracked with an old deep crack that divided it in the middle, and in turning it upside down to empty it, it parted in my hand. i could not help the accident, but i was dreadfully frightened, looking forward to a severe punishment. i ran crying to my mistress, "o mistress, the jar has come in two." "you have broken it, have you?" she replied; "come directly here to me." i came trembling; she stripped and flogged me long and severely with the cow-skin; as long as she had strength to use the lash, for she did not give over till she was quite tired.--when my master came home at night, she told him of my fault; and oh, frightful! how he fell a swearing. after abusing me with every ill name he could think of, (too, too bad to speak in england,) and giving me several heavy blows with his hand, he said, "i shall come home to-morrow morning at twelve, on purpose to give you a round hundred." he kept his word--oh sad for me! i cannot easily forget it. he tied me up upon a ladder, and gave me a hundred lashes with his own hand, and master benjy stood by to count them for him. when he had licked me for some time he sat down to take breath; then after resting, he beat me again and again, until he was quite wearied, and so hot (for the weather was very sultry), that he sank back in his chair, almost like to faint. while my mistress went to bring him drink, there was a dreadful earthquake. part of the roof fell down, and every thing in the house went--clatter, clatter, clatter. oh i thought the end of all things near at hand; and i was so sore with the flogging, that i scarcely cared whether i lived or died. the earth was groaning and shaking; every thing tumbling about; and my mistress and the slaves were shrieking and crying out, "the earthquake! the earthquake!" it was an awful day for us all. during the confusion i crawled away on my hands and knees, and laid myself down under the steps of the piazza, in front of the house. i was in a dreadful state--my body all blood and bruises, and i could not help moaning piteously. the other slaves, when they saw me, shook their heads and said, "poor child! poor child!"--i lay there till the morning, careless of what might happen, for life was very weak in me, and i wished more than ever to die. but when we are very young, death always seems a great way off, and it would not come that night to me. the next morning i was forced by my master to rise and go about my usual work, though my body and limbs were so stiff and sore, that i could not move without the greatest pain.--nevertheless, even after all this severe punishment, i never heard the last of that jar; my mistress was always throwing it in my face. some little time after this, one of the cows got loose from the stake, and eat one of the sweet-potatoe slips. i was milking when my master found it out. he came to me, and without any more ado, stooped down, and taking off his heavy boot, he struck me such a severe blow in the small of my back, that i shrieked with agony, and thought i was killed; and i feel a weakness in that part to this day. the cow was frightened at his violence, and kicked down the pail and spilt the milk all about. my master knew that this accident was his own fault, but he was so enraged that he seemed glad of an excuse to go on with his ill usage. i cannot remember how many licks he gave me then, but he beat me till i was unable to stand, and till he himself was weary. after this i ran away and went to my mother, who was living with mr. richard darrel. my poor mother was both grieved and glad to see me; grieved because i had been so ill used, and glad because she had not seen me for a long, long while. she dared not receive me into the house, but she hid me up in a hole in the rocks near, and brought me food at night, after every body was asleep. my father, who lived at crow-lane, over the salt-water channel, at last heard of my being hid up in the cavern, and he came and took me back to my master. oh i was loth, loth to go back; but as there was no remedy, i was obliged to submit. when we got home, my poor father said to capt. i----, "sir, i am sorry that my child should be forced to run away from her owner; but the treatment she has received is enough to break her heart. the sight of her wounds has nearly broke mine.--i entreat you, for the love of god, to forgive her for running away, and that you will be a kind master to her in future." capt. i---- said i was used as well as i deserved, and that i ought to be punished for running away. i then took courage and said that i could stand the floggings no longer; that i was weary of my life, and therefore i had run away to my mother; but mothers could only weep and mourn over their children, they could not save them from cruel masters--from the whip, the rope, and the cow-skin. he told me to hold my tongue and go about my work, or he would find a way to settle me. he did not, however, flog me that day. for five years after this i remained in his house, and almost daily received the same harsh treatment. at length he put me on board a sloop, and to my great joy sent me away to turk's island. i was not permitted to see my mother or father, or poor sisters and brothers, to say good bye, though going away to a strange land, and might never see them again. oh the buckra people who keep slaves think that black people are like cattle, without natural affection. but my heart tells me it is far otherwise. we were nearly four weeks on the voyage, which was unusually long. sometimes we had a light breeze, sometimes a great calm, and the ship made no way; so that our provisions and water ran very low, and we were put upon short allowance. i should almost have been starved had it not been for the kindness of a black man called anthony, and his wife, who had brought their own victuals, and shared them with me. when we went ashore at the grand quay, the captain sent me to the house of my new master, mr. d----, to whom captain i----had sold me. grand quay is a small town upon a sandbank; the houses low and built of wood. such was my new master's. the first person i saw, on my arrival, was mr. d----, a stout sulky looking man, who carried me through the hall to show me to his wife and children. next day i was put up by the vendue master to know how much i was worth, and i was valued at one hundred pounds currency. my new master was one of the owners or holders of the salt ponds, and he received a certain sum for every slave that worked upon his premises, whether they were young or old. this sum was allowed him out of the profits arising from the salt works. i was immediately sent to work in the salt water with the rest of the slaves. this work was perfectly new to me. i was given a half barrel and a shovel, and had to stand up to my knees in the water, from four o'clock in the morning till nine, when we were given some indian corn boiled in water, which we were obliged to swallow as fast as we could for fear the rain should come on and melt the salt. we were then called again to our tasks, and worked through the heat of the day; the sun flaming upon our heads like fire, and raising salt blisters in those parts which were not completely covered. our feet and legs, from standing in the salt water for so many hours, soon became full of dreadful boils, which eat down in some cases to the very bone, afflicting the sufferers with great torment. we came home at twelve; ate our corn soup, called _blawly_, as fast as we could, and went back to our employment till dark at night. we then shovelled up the salt in large heaps, and went down to the sea, where we washed the pickle from our limbs, and cleaned the barrows and shovels from the salt. when we returned to the house, our master gave us each our allowance of raw indian corn, which we pounded in a mortar and boiled in water for our suppers. we slept in a long shed, divided into narrow slips, like the stalls used for cattle. boards fixed upon stakes driven into the ground, without mat or covering, were our only beds. on sundays, after we had washed the salt bags, and done other work required of us, we went into the bush and cut the long soft grass, of which we made trusses for our legs and feet to rest upon, for they were so full of the salt boils that we could get no rest lying upon the bare boards. though we worked from morning till night, there was no satisfying mr. d----. i hoped, when i left capt. i----, that i should have been better off, but i found it was but going from one butcher to another. there was this difference between them: my former master used to beat me while raging and foaming with passion; mr. d---- was usually quite calm. he would stand by and give orders for a slave to be cruelly whipped, and assist in the punishment, without moving a muscle of his face; walking about and taking snuff with the greatest composure. nothing could touch his hard heart--neither sighs, nor tears, nor prayers, nor streaming blood; he was deaf to our cries, and careless of our sufferings. mr. d---- has often stripped me naked, hung me up by the wrists, and beat me with the cow-skin, with his own hand, till my body was raw with gashes. yet there was nothing very remarkable in this; for it might serve as a sample of the common usage of the slaves on that horrible island. owing to the boils in my feet, i was unable to wheel the barrow fast through the sand, which got into the sores, and made me stumble at every step; and my master, having no pity for my sufferings from this cause, rendered them far more intolerable, by chastising me for not being able to move so fast as he wished me. another of our employments was to row a little way off from the shore in a boat, and dive for large stones to build a wall round our master's house. this was very hard work; and the great waves breaking over us continually, made us often so giddy that we lost our footing, and were in danger of being drowned. ah, poor me!--my tasks were never ended. sick or well, it was work--work--work!--after the diving season was over, we were sent to the south creek, with large bills, to cut up mangoes to burn lime with. whilst one party of slaves were thus employed, another were sent to the other side of the island to break up coral out of the sea. when we were ill, let our complaint be what it might, the only medicine given to us was a great bowl of hot salt water, with salt mixed with it, which made us very sick. if we could not keep up with the rest of the gang of slaves, we were put in the stocks, and severely flogged the next morning. yet, not the less, our master expected, after we had thus been kept from our rest, and our limbs rendered stiff and sore with ill usage, that we should still go through the ordinary tasks of the day all the same.--sometimes we had to work all night, measuring salt to load a vessel; or turning a machine to draw water out of the sea for the salt-making. then we had no sleep--no rest--but were forced to work as fast as we could, and go on again all next day the same as usual. work--work--work--oh that turk's island was a horrible place! the people in england, i am sure, have never found out what is carried on there. cruel, horrible place! mr. d---- had a slave called old daniel, whom he used to treat in the most cruel manner. poor daniel was lame in the hip, and could not keep up with the rest of the slaves; and our master would order him to be stripped and laid down on the ground, and have him beaten with a rod of rough briar till his skin was quite red and raw. he would then call for a bucket of salt, and fling upon the raw flesh till the man writhed on the ground like a worm, and screamed aloud with agony. this poor man's wounds were never healed, and i have often seen them full of maggots, which increased his torments to an intolerable degree. he was an object of pity and terror to the whole gang of slaves, and in his wretched case we saw, each of us, our own lot, if we should live to be as old. oh the horrors of slavery!--how the thought of it pains my heart! but the truth ought to be told of it; and what my eyes have seen i think it is my duty to relate; for few people in england know what slavery is. i have been a slave--i have felt what a slave feels, and i know what a slave knows; and i would have all the good people in england to know it too, that they may break our chains, and set us free. mr. d---- had another slave called ben. he being very hungry, stole a little rice one night after he came in from work, and cooked it for his supper. but his master soon discovered the theft; locked him up all night; and kept him without food till one o'clock the next day. he then hung ben up by his hands, and beat him from time to time till the slaves came in at night. we found the poor creature hung up when we came home; with a pool of blood beneath him, and our master still licking him. but this was not the worst. my master's son was in the habit of stealing the rice and rum. ben had seen him do this, and thought he might do the same, and when master found out that ben had stolen the rice and swore to punish him, he tried to excuse himself by saying that master dickey did the same thing every night. the lad denied it to his father, and was so angry with ben for informing against him, that out of revenge he ran and got a bayonet, and whilst the poor wretch was suspended by his hands and writhing under his wounds, he run it quite through his foot. i was not by when he did it, but i saw the wound when i came home, and heard ben tell the manner in which it was done. i must say something more about this cruel son of a cruel father.--he had no heart--no fear of god; he had been brought up by a bad father in a bad path, and he delighted to follow in the same steps. there was a little old woman among the slaves called sarah, who was nearly past work; and, master dickey being the overseer of the slaves just then, this poor creature, who was subject to several bodily infirmities, and was not quite right in her head, did not wheel the barrow fast enough to please him. he threw her down on the ground, and after beating her severely, he took her up in his arms and flung her among the prickly-pear bushes, which are all covered over with sharp venomous prickles. by this her naked flesh was so grievously wounded, that her body swelled and festered all over, and she died a few days after. in telling my own sorrows, i cannot pass by those of my fellow-slaves--for when i think of my own griefs, i remember theirs. i think it was about ten years i had worked in the salt ponds at turk's island, when my master left off business, and retired to a house he had in bermuda, leaving his son to succeed him in the island. he took me with him to wait upon his daughters; and i was joyful, for i was sick, sick of turk's island, and my heart yearned to see my native place again, my mother, and my kindred. i had seen my poor mother during the time i was a slave in turk's island. one sunday morning i was on the beach with some of the slaves, and we saw a sloop come in loaded with slaves to work in the salt water. we got a boat and went aboard. when i came upon the deck i asked the black people, "is there any one here for me?" "yes," they said, "your mother." i thought they said this in jest--i could scarcely believe them for joy; but when i saw my poor mammy my joy was turned to sorrow, for she had gone from her senses. "mammy," i said, "is this you?" she did not know me. "mammy," i said, "what's the matter?" she began to talk foolishly, and said that she had been under the vessel's bottom. they had been overtaken by a violent storm at sea. my poor mother had never been on the sea before, and she was so ill, that she lost her senses, and it was long before she came quite to herself again. she had a sweet child with her--a little sister i had never seen, about four years of age, called rebecca. i took her on shore with me, for i felt i should love her directly; and i kept her with me a week. poor little thing! her's has been a sad life, and continues so to this day. my mother worked for some years on the island, but was taken back to bermuda some time before my master carried me again thither.[ ] [footnote : of the subsequent lot of her relatives she can tell but little. she says, her father died while she and her mother were at turk's island; and that he had been long dead and buried before any of his children in bermuda knew of it, they being slaves on other estates. her mother died after mary went to antigua. of the fate of the rest of her kindred, seven brothers and three sisters, she knows nothing further than this--that the eldest sister, who had several children to her master, was taken by him to trinidad; and that the youngest, rebecca, is still alive, and in slavery in bermuda. mary herself is now about forty-three years of age.--_ed._] after i left turk's island, i was told by some negroes that came over from it, that the poor slaves had built up a place with boughs and leaves, where they might meet for prayers, but the white people pulled it down twice, and would not allow them even a shed for prayers. a flood came down soon after and washed away many houses, filled the place with sand, and overflowed the ponds: and i do think that this was for their wickedness; for the buckra men[ ] there were very wicked. i saw and heard much that was very very bad at that place. [footnote : negro term for white people.] i was several years the slave of mr. d---- after i returned to my native place. here i worked in the grounds. my work was planting and hoeing sweet-potatoes, indian corn, plantains, bananas, cabbages, pumpkins, onions, &c. i did all the household work, and attended upon a horse and cow besides,--going also upon all errands. i had to curry the horse--to clean and feed him--and sometimes to ride him a little. i had more than enough to do--but still it was not so very bad as turk's island. my old master often got drunk, and then he would get in a fury with his daughter, and beat her till she was not fit to be seen. i remember on one occasion, i had gone to fetch water, and when i was coming up the hill i heard a great screaming; i ran as fast as i could to the house, put down the water, and went into the chamber, where i found my master beating miss d---- dreadfully. i strove with all my strength to get her away from him; for she was all black and blue with bruises. he had beat her with his fist, and almost killed her. the people gave me credit for getting her away. he turned round and began to lick me. then i said, "sir, this is not turk's island." i can't repeat his answer, the words were too wicked--too bad to say. he wanted to treat me the same in bermuda as he had done in turk's island. he had an ugly fashion of stripping himself quite naked, and ordering me then to wash him in a tub of water. this was worse to me than all the licks. sometimes when he called me to wash him i would not come, my eyes were so full of shame. he would then come to beat me. one time i had plates and knives in my hand, and i dropped both plates and knives, and some of the plates were broken. he struck me so severely for this, that at last i defended myself, for i thought it was high time to do so. i then told him i would not live longer with him, for he was a very indecent man--very spiteful, and too indecent; with no shame for his servants, no shame for his own flesh. so i went away to a neighbouring house and sat down and cried till the next morning, when i went home again, not knowing what else to do. after that i was hired to work at cedar hills, and every saturday night i paid the money to my master. i had plenty of work to do there--plenty of washing; but yet i made myself pretty comfortable. i earned two dollars and a quarter a week, which is twenty pence a day. during the time i worked there, i heard that mr. john wood was going to antigua. i felt a great wish to go there, and i went to mr. d----, and asked him to let me go in mr. wood's service. mr. wood did not then want to purchase me; it was my own fault that i came under him, i was so anxious to go. it was ordained to be, i suppose; god led me there. the truth is, i did not wish to be any longer the slave of my indecent master. mr. wood took me with him to antigua, to the town of st. john's, where he lived. this was about fifteen years ago. he did not then know whether i was to be sold; but mrs. wood found that i could work, and she wanted to buy me. her husband then wrote to my master to inquire whether i was to be sold? mr. d---- wrote in reply, "that i should not be sold to any one that would treat me ill." it was strange he should say this, when he had treated me so ill himself. so i was purchased by mr. wood for dollars, (or £ bermuda currency.)[ ] [footnote : about £ . s. sterling.] my work there was to attend the chambers and nurse the child, and to go down to the pond and wash clothes. but i soon fell ill of the rheumatism, and grew so very lame that i was forced to walk with a stick. i got the saint anthony's fire, also, in my left leg, and became quite a cripple. no one cared much to come near me, and i was ill a long long time; for several months i could not lift the limb. i had to lie in a little old out-house, that was swarming with bugs and other vermin, which tormented me greatly; but i had no other place to lie in. i got the rheumatism by catching cold at the pond side, from washing in the fresh water; in the salt water i never got cold. the person who lived in next yard, (a mrs. greene,) could not bear to hear my cries and groans. she was kind, and used to send an old slave woman to help me, who sometimes brought me a little soup. when the doctor found i was so ill, he said i must be put into a bath of hot water. the old slave got the bark of some bush that was good for the pains, which she boiled in the hot water, and every night she came and put me into the bath, and did what she could for me: i don't know what i should have done, or what would have become of me, had it not been for her.--my mistress, it is true, did send me a little food; but no one from our family came near me but the cook, who used to shove my food in at the door, and say, "molly, molly, there's your dinner." my mistress did not care to take any trouble about me; and if the lord had not put it into the hearts of the neighbours to be kind to me, i must, i really think, have lain and died. it was a long time before i got well enough to work in the house. mrs. wood, in the meanwhile, hired a mulatto woman to nurse the child; but she was such a fine lady she wanted to be mistress over me. i thought it very hard for a coloured woman to have rule over me because i was a slave and she was free. her name was martha wilcox; she was a saucy woman, very saucy; and she went and complained of me, without cause, to my mistress, and made her angry with me. mrs. wood told me that if i did not mind what i was about, she would get my master to strip me and give me fifty lashes: "you have been used to the whip," she said, "and you shall have it here." this was the first time she threatened to have me flogged; and she gave me the threatening so strong of what she would have done to me, that i thought i should have fallen down at her feet, i was so vexed and hurt by her words. the mulatto woman was rejoiced to have power to keep me down. she was constantly making mischief; there was no living for the slaves--no peace after she came. i was also sent by mrs. wood to be put in the cage one night, and was next morning flogged, by the magistrate's order, at her desire; and this all for a quarrel i had about a pig with another slave woman. i was flogged on my naked back on this occasion: although i was in no fault after all; for old justice dyett, when we came before him, said that i was in the right, and ordered the pig to be given to me. this was about two or three years after i came to antigua. when we moved from the middle of the town to the point, i used to be in the house and do all the work and mind the children, though still very ill with the rheumatism. every week i had to wash two large bundles of clothes, as much as a boy could help me to lift; but i could give no satisfaction. my mistress was always abusing and fretting after me. it is not possible to tell all her ill language.--one day she followed me foot after foot scolding and rating me. i bore in silence a great deal of ill words: at last my heart was quite full, and i told her that she ought not to use me so;--that when i was ill i might have lain and died for what she cared; and no one would then come near me to nurse me, because they were afraid of my mistress. this was a great affront. she called her husband and told him what i had said. he flew into a passion: but did not beat me then; he only abused and swore at me; and then gave me a note and bade me go and look for an owner. not that he meant to sell me; but he did this to please his wife and to frighten me. i went to adam white, a cooper, a free black, who had money, and asked him to buy me. he went directly to mr. wood, but was informed that i was not to be sold. the next day my master whipped me. another time (about five years ago) my mistress got vexed with me, because i fell sick and i could not keep on with my work. she complained to her husband, and he sent me off again to look for an owner. i went to a mr. burchell, showed him the note, and asked him to buy me for my own benefit; for i had saved about dollars, and hoped, with a little help, to purchase my freedom. he accordingly went to my master:--"mr. wood," he said, "molly has brought me a note that she wants an owner. if you intend to sell her, i may as well buy her as another." my master put him off and said that he did not mean to sell me. i was very sorry at this, for i had no comfort with mrs. wood, and i wished greatly to get my freedom. the way in which i made my money was this.--when my master and mistress went from home, as they sometimes did, and left me to take care of the house and premises, i had a good deal of time to myself, and made the most of it. i took in washing, and sold coffee and yams and other provisions to the captains of ships. i did not sit still idling during the absence of my owners; for i wanted, by all honest means, to earn money to buy my freedom. sometimes i bought a hog cheap on board ship, and sold it for double the money on shore; and i also earned a good deal by selling coffee. by this means i by degrees acquired a little cash. a gentleman also lent me some to help to buy my freedom--but when i could not get free he got it back again. his name was captain abbot. my master and mistress went on one occasion into the country, to date hill, for change of air, and carried me with them to take charge of the children, and to do the work of the house. while i was in the country, i saw how the field negroes are worked in antigua. they are worked very hard and fed but scantily. they are called out to work before daybreak, and come home after dark; and then each has to heave his bundle of grass for the cattle in the pen. then, on sunday morning, each slave has to go out and gather a large bundle of grass; and, when they bring it home, they have all to sit at the manager's door and wait till he come out: often have they to wait there till past eleven o'clock, without any breakfast. after that, those that have yams or potatoes, or fire-wood to sell, hasten to market to buy a dog's worth[ ] of salt fish, or pork, which is a great treat for them. some of them buy a little pickle out of the shad barrels, which they call sauce, to season their yams and indian corn. it is very wrong, i know, to work on sunday or go to market; but will not god call the buckra men to answer for this on the great day of judgment--since they will give the slaves no other day? [footnote : a dog is the nd part of a dollar.] while we were at date hill christmas came; and the slave woman who had the care of the place (which then belonged to mr. roberts the marshal), asked me to go with her to her husband's house, to a methodist meeting for prayer, at a plantation called winthorps. i went; and they were the first prayers i ever understood. one woman prayed; and then they all sung a hymn; then there was another prayer and another hymn; and then they all spoke by turns of their own griefs as sinners. the husband of the woman i went with was a black driver. his name was henry. he confessed that he had treated the slaves very cruelly; but said that he was compelled to obey the orders of his master. he prayed them all to forgive him, and he prayed that god would forgive him. he said it was a horrid thing for a ranger[ ] to have sometimes to beat his own wife or sister; but he must do so if ordered by his master. [footnote : the head negro of an estate--a person who has the chief superintendence under the manager.] i felt sorry for my sins also. i cried the whole night, but i was too much ashamed to speak. i prayed god to forgive me. this meeting had a great impression on my mind, and led my spirit to the moravian church; so that when i got back to town, i went and prayed to have my name put down in the missionaries' book; and i followed the church earnestly every opportunity. i did not then tell my mistress about it; for i knew that she would not give me leave to go. but i felt i _must_ go. whenever i carried the children their lunch at school, i ran round and went to hear the teachers. the moravian ladies (mrs. richter, mrs. olufsen, and mrs. sauter) taught me to read in the class; and i got on very fast. in this class there were all sorts of people, old and young, grey headed folks and children; but most of them were free people. after we had done spelling, we tried to read in the bible. after the reading was over, the missionary gave out a hymn for us to sing. i dearly loved to go to the church, it was so solemn. i never knew rightly that i had much sin till i went there. when i found out that i was a great sinner, i was very sorely grieved, and very much frightened. i used to pray god to pardon my sins for christ's sake, and forgive me for every thing i had done amiss; and when i went home to my work, i always thought about what i had heard from the missionaries, and wished to be good that i might go to heaven. after a while i was admitted a candidate for the holy communion.--i had been baptized long before this, in august , by the rev. mr. curtin, of the english church, after i had been taught to repeat the creed and the lord's prayer. i wished at that time to attend a sunday school taught by mr. curtin, but he would not receive me without a written note from my master, granting his permission. i did not ask my owner's permission, from the belief that it would be refused; so that i got no farther instruction at that time from the english church.[ ] [footnote : she possesses a copy of mrs. trimmer's "charity school spelling book," presented to her by the rev. mr. curtin, and dated august , . in this book her name is written "mary, princess of wales"--an appellation which, she says, was given her by her owners. it is a common practice with the colonists to give ridiculous names of this description to their slaves; being, in fact, one of the numberless modes of expressing the habitual contempt with which they regard the negro race.--in printing this narrative we have retained mary's paternal name of prince.--_ed._] some time after i began to attend the moravian church, i met with daniel james, afterwards my dear husband. he was a carpenter and cooper to his trade; an honest, hard-working, decent black man, and a widower. he had purchased his freedom of his mistress, old mrs. baker, with money he had earned whilst a slave. when he asked me to marry him, i took time to consider the matter over with myself, and would not say yes till he went to church with me and joined the moravians. he was very industrious after he bought his freedom; and he had hired a comfortable house, and had convenient things about him. we were joined in marriage, about christmas , in the moravian chapel at spring gardens, by the rev. mr. olufsen. we could not be married in the english church. english marriage is not allowed to slaves; and no free man can marry a slave woman. when mr. wood heard of my marriage, he flew into a great rage, and sent for daniel, who was helping to build a house for his old mistress. mr. wood asked him who gave him a right to marry a slave of his? my husband said, "sir, i am a free man, and thought i had a right to choose a wife; but if i had known molly was not allowed to have a husband, i should not have asked her to marry me." mrs. wood was more vexed about my marriage than her husband. she could not forgive me for getting married, but stirred up mr. wood to flog me dreadfully with the horsewhip. i thought it very hard to be whipped at my time of life for getting a husband--i told her so. she said that she would not have nigger men about the yards and premises, or allow a nigger man's clothes to be washed in the same tub where hers were washed. she was fearful, i think, that i should lose her time, in order to wash and do things for my husband: but i had then no time to wash for myself; i was obliged to put out my own clothes, though i was always at the wash-tub. i had not much happiness in my marriage, owing to my being a slave. it made my husband sad to see me so ill-treated. mrs. wood was always abusing me about him. she did not lick me herself, but she got her husband to do it for her, whilst she fretted the flesh off my bones. yet for all this she would not sell me. she sold five slaves whilst i was with her; but though she was always finding fault with me, she would not part with me. however, mr. wood afterwards allowed daniel to have a place to live in our yard, which we were very thankful for. after this, i fell ill again with the rheumatism, and was sick a long time; but whether sick or well, i had my work to do. about this time i asked my master and mistress to let me buy my own freedom. with the help of mr. burchell, i could have found the means to pay mr. wood; for it was agreed that i should afterwards, serve mr. burchell a while, for the cash he was to advance for me. i was earnest in the request to my owners; but their hearts were hard--too hard to consent. mrs. wood was very angry--she grew quite outrageous--she called me a black devil, and asked me who had put freedom into my head. "to be free is very sweet," i said: but she took good care to keep me a slave. i saw her change colour, and i left the room. about this time my master and mistress were going to england to put their son to school, and bring their daughters home; and they took me with them to take care of the child. i was willing to come to england: i thought that by going there i should probably get cured of my rheumatism, and should return with my master and mistress, quite well, to my husband. my husband was willing for me to come away, for he had heard that my master would free me,--and i also hoped this might prove true; but it was all a false report. the steward of the ship was very kind to me. he and my husband were in the same class in the moravian church. i was thankful that he was so friendly, for my mistress was not kind to me on the passage; and she told me, when she was angry, that she did not intend to treat me any better in england than in the west indies--that i need not expect it. and she was as good as her word. when we drew near to england, the rheumatism seized all my limbs worse than ever, and my body was dreadfully swelled. when we landed at the tower, i shewed my flesh to my mistress, but she took no great notice of it. we were obliged to stop at the tavern till my master got a house; and a day or two after, my mistress sent me down into the wash-house to learn to wash in the english way. in the west indies we wash with cold water--in england with hot. i told my mistress i was afraid that putting my hands first into the hot water and then into the cold, would increase the pain in my limbs. the doctor had told my mistress long before i came from the west indies, that i was a sickly body and the washing did not agree with me. but mrs. wood would not release me from the tub, so i was forced to do as i could. i grew worse, and could not stand to wash. i was then forced to sit down with the tub before me, and often through pain and weakness was reduced to kneel or to sit down on the floor, to finish my task. when i complained to my mistress of this, she only got into a passion as usual, and said washing in hot water could not hurt any one;--that i was lazy and insolent, and wanted to be free of my work; but that she would make me do it. i thought her very hard on me, and my heart rose up within me. however i kept still at that time, and went down again to wash the child's things; but the english washerwomen who were at work there, when they saw that i was so ill, had pity upon me and washed them for me. after that, when we came up to live in leigh street, mrs. wood sorted out five bags of clothes which we had used at sea, and also such as had been worn since we came on shore, for me and the cook to wash. elizabeth the cook told her, that she did not think that i was able to stand to the tub, and that she had better hire a woman. i also said myself, that i had come over to nurse the child, and that i was sorry i had come from antigua, since mistress would work me so hard, without compassion for my rheumatism. mr. and mrs. wood, when they heard this, rose up in a passion against me. they opened the door and bade me get out. but i was a stranger, and did not know one door in the street from another, and was unwilling to go away. they made a dreadful uproar, and from that day they constantly kept cursing and abusing me. i was obliged to wash, though i was very ill. mrs. wood, indeed once hired a washerwoman, but she was not well treated, and would come no more. my master quarrelled with me another time, about one of our great washings, his wife having stirred him up to do so. he said he would compel me to do the whole of the washing given out to me, or if i again refused, he would take a short course with me: he would either send me down to the brig in the river, to carry me back to antigua, or he would turn me at once out of doors, and let me provide for myself. i said i would willingly go back, if he would let me purchase my own freedom. but this enraged him more than all the rest: he cursed and swore at me dreadfully, and said he would never sell my freedom--if i wished to be free, i was free in england, and i might go and try what freedom would do for me, and be d----d. my heart was very sore with this treatment, but i had to go on. i continued to do my work, and did all i could to give satisfaction, but all would not do. shortly after, the cook left them, and then matters went on ten times worse. i always washed the child's clothes without being commanded to do it, and any thing else that was wanted in the family; though still i was very sick--very sick indeed. when the great washing came round, which was every two months, my mistress got together again a great many heavy things, such as bed-ticks, bed-coverlets, &c. for me to wash. i told her i was too ill to wash such heavy things that day. she said, she supposed i thought myself a free woman, but i was not; and if i did not do it directly i should be instantly turned out of doors. i stood a long time before i could answer, for i did not know well what to do. i knew that i was free in england, but i did not know where to go, or how to get my living; and therefore, i did not like to leave the house. but mr. wood said he would send for a constable to thrust me out; and at last i took courage and resolved that i would not be longer thus treated, but would go and trust to providence. this was the fourth time they had threatened turn me out, and, go where i might, i was determined now to take them at their word; though i thought it very hard, after i had lived with them for thirteen years, and worked for them like a horse, to be driven out in this way, like a beggar. my only fault was being sick, and therefore unable to please my mistress, who thought she never could get work enough out of her slaves; and i told them so: but they only abused me and drove me out. this took place from two to three months, i think, after we came to england. when i came away, i went to the man (one mash) who used to black the shoes of the family, and asked his wife to get somebody to go with me to hatton garden to the moravian missionaries: these were the only persons i knew in england. the woman sent a young girl with me to the mission house, and i saw there a gentleman called mr. moore. i told him my whole story, and how my owners had treated me, and asked him to take in my trunk with what few clothes i had. the missionaries were very kind to me--they were sorry for my destitute situation, and gave me leave to bring my things to be placed under their care. they were very good people, and they told me to come to the church. when i went back to mr. wood's to get my trunk, i saw a lady, mrs. pell, who was on a visit to my mistress. when mr. and mrs. wood heard me come in, they set this lady to stop me, finding that they had gone too far with me. mrs. pell came out to me, and said, "are you really going to leave, molly? don't leave, but come into the country with me." i believe she said this because she thought mrs. wood would easily get me back again. i replied to her, "ma'am, this is the fourth time my master and mistress have driven me out, or threatened to drive me--and i will give them no more occasion to bid me go. i was not willing to leave them, for i am a stranger in this country, but now i must go--i can stay no longer to be so used." mrs. pell then went up stairs to my mistress, and told that i would go, and that she could not stop me. mrs. wood was very much hurt and frightened when she found i was determined to go out that day. she said, "if she goes the people will rob her, and then turn her adrift." she did not say this to me, but she spoke it loud enough for me to hear; that it might induce me not to go, i suppose. mr. wood also asked me where i was going to. i told him where i had been, and that i should never have gone away had i not been driven out by my owners. he had given me a written paper some time before, which said that i had come with them to england by my own desire; and that was true. it said also that i left them of my own free will, because i was a free woman in england; and that i was idle and would not do my work--which was not true. i gave this paper afterwards to a gentleman who inquired into my case.[ ] [footnote : see page .] i went into the kitchen and got my clothes out. the nurse and the servant girl were there, and i said to the man who was going to take out my trunk, "stop, before you take up this trunk, and hear what i have to say before these people. i am going out of this house, as i was ordered; but i have done no wrong at all to my owners, neither here nor in the west indies. i always worked very hard to please them, both by night and day; but there was no giving satisfaction, for my mistress could never be satisfied with reasonable service. i told my mistress i was sick, and yet she has ordered me out of doors. this is the fourth time; and now i am going out." and so i came out, and went and carried my trunk to the moravians. i then returned back to mash the shoe-black's house, and begged his wife to take me in. i had a little west indian money in my trunk; and they got it changed for me. this helped to support me for a little while. the man's wife was very kind to me. i was very sick, and she boiled nourishing things up for me. she also sent for a doctor to see me, and he sent me medicine, which did me good, though i was ill for a long time with the rheumatic pains. i lived a good many months with these poor people, and they nursed me, and did all that lay in their power to serve me. the man was well acquainted with my situation, as he used to go to and fro to mr. wood's house to clean shoes and knives; and he and his wife were sorry for me. about this time, a woman of the name of hill told me of the anti-slavery society, and went with me to their office, to inquire if they could do any thing to get me my freedom, and send me back to the west indies. the gentlemen of the society took me to a lawyer, who examined very strictly into my case; but told me that the laws of england could do nothing to make me free in antigua[ ]. however they did all they could for me: they gave me a little money from time to time to keep me from want; and some of them went to mr. wood to try to persuade him to let me return a free woman to my husband; but though they offered him, as i have heard, a large sum for my freedom, he was sulky and obstinate, and would not consent to let me go free. [footnote : she came first to the anti-slavery office in aldermanbury, about the latter end of november ; and her case was referred to mr. george stephen to be investigated. more of this hereafter.--ed.] this was the first winter i spent in england, and i suffered much from the severe cold, and from the rheumatic pains, which still at times torment me. however, providence was very good to me, and i got many friends--especially some quaker ladies, who hearing of my case, came and sought me out, and gave me good warm clothing and money. thus i had great cause to bless god in my affliction. when i got better i was anxious to get some work to do, as i was unwilling to eat the bread of idleness. mrs. mash, who was a laundress, recommended me to a lady for a charwoman. she paid me very handsomely for what work i did, and i divided the money with mrs. mash; for though very poor, they gave me food when my own money was done, and never suffered me to want. in the spring, i got into service with a lady, who saw me at the house where i sometimes worked as a charwoman. this lady's name was mrs. forsyth. she had been in the west indies, and was accustomed to blacks, and liked them. i was with her six months, and went with her to margate. she treated me well, and gave me a good character when she left london.[ ] [footnote : she refers to a written certificate which will be inserted afterwards.] after mrs. forsyth went away, i was again out of place, and went to lodgings, for which i paid two shillings a week, and found coals and candle. after eleven weeks, the money i had saved in service was all gone, and i was forced to go back to the anti-slavery office to ask a supply, till i could get another situation. i did not like to go back--i did not like to be idle. i would rather work for my living than get it for nothing. they were very good to give me a supply, but i felt shame at being obliged to apply for relief whilst i had strength to work. at last i went into the service of mr. and mrs. pringle, where i have been ever since, and am as comfortable as i can be while separated from my dear husband, and away from my own country and all old friends and connections. my dear mistress teaches me daily to read the word of god, and takes great pains to make me understand it. i enjoy the great privilege of being enabled to attend church three times on the sunday; and i have met with many kind friends since i have been here, both clergymen and others. the rev. mr. young, who lives in the next house, has shown me much kindness, and taken much pains to instruct me, particularly while my master and mistress were absent in scotland. nor must i forget, among my friends, the rev. mr. mortimer, the good clergyman of the parish, under whose ministry i have now sat for upwards of twelve months. i trust in god i have profited by what i have heard from him. he never keeps back the truth, and i think he has been the means of opening my eyes and ears much better to understand the word of god. mr. mortimer tells me that he cannot open the eyes of my heart, but that i must pray to god to change my heart, and make me to know the truth, and the truth will make me free. i still live in the hope that god will find a way to give me my liberty, and give me back to my husband. i endeavour to keep down my fretting, and to leave all to him, for he knows what is good for me better than i know myself. yet, i must confess, i find it a hard and heavy task to do so. i am often much vexed, and i feel great sorrow when i hear some people in this country say, that the slaves do not need better usage, and do not want to be free.[ ] they believe the foreign people,[ ] who deceive them, and say slaves are happy. i say, not so. how can slaves be happy when they have the halter round their neck and the whip upon their back? and are disgraced and thought no more of than beasts?--and are separated from their mothers, and husbands, and children, and sisters, just as cattle are sold and separated? is it happiness for a driver in the field to take down his wife or sister or child, and strip them, and whip them in such a disgraceful manner?--women that have had children exposed in the open field to shame! there is no modesty or decency shown by the owner to his slaves; men, women, and children are exposed alike. since i have been here i have often wondered how english people can go out into the west indies and act in such a beastly manner. but when they go to the west indies, they forget god and all feeling of shame, i think, since they can see and do such things. they tie up slaves like hogs--moor[ ] them up like cattle, and they lick them, so as hogs, or cattle, or horses never were flogged;--and yet they come home and say, and make some good people believe, that slaves don't want to get out of slavery. but they put a cloak about the truth. it is not so. all slaves want to be free--to be free is very sweet. i will say the truth to english people who may read this history that my good friend, miss s----, is now writing down for me. i have been a slave myself--i know what slaves feel--i can tell by myself what other slaves feel, and by what they have told me. the man that says slaves be quite happy in slavery--that they don't want to be free--that man is either ignorant or a lying person. i never heard a slave say so. i never heard a buckra man say so, till i heard tell of it in england. such people ought to be ashamed of themselves. they can't do without slaves, they say. what's the reason they can't do without slaves as well as in england? no slaves here--no whips--no stocks--no punishment, except for wicked people. they hire servants in england; and if they don't like them, they send them away: they can't lick them. let them work ever so hard in england, they are far better off than slaves. if they get a bad master, they give warning and go hire to another. they have their liberty. that's just what we want. we don't mind hard work, if we had proper treatment, and proper wages like english servants, and proper time given in the week to keep us from breaking the sabbath. but they won't give it: they will have work--work--work, night and day, sick or well, till we are quite done up; and we must not speak up nor look amiss, however much we be abused. and then when we are quite done up, who cares for us, more than for a lame horse? this is slavery. i tell it, to let english people know the truth; and i hope they will never leave off to pray god, and call loud to the great king of england, till all the poor blacks be given free, and slavery done up for evermore. [footnote : the whole of this paragraph especially, is given as nearly as was possible in mary's precise words.] [footnote : she means west indians.] [footnote : a west indian phrase: to fasten or tie up.] supplement to the history of mary prince. by the editor. leaving mary's narrative, for the present, without comment to the reader's reflections, i proceed to state some circumstances connected with her case which have fallen more particularly under my own notice, and which i consider it incumbent now to lay fully before the public. about the latter end of november, , this poor woman found her way to the office of the anti-slavery society in aldermanbury, by the aid of a person who had become acquainted with her situation, and had advised her to apply there for advice and assistance. after some preliminary examination into the accuracy of the circumstances related by her, i went along with her to mr. george stephen, solicitor, and requested him to investigate and draw up a statement of her case, and have it submitted to counsel, in order to ascertain whether or not, under the circumstances, her freedom could be legally established on her return to antigua. on this occasion, in mr. stephen's presence and mine, she expressed, in very strong terms, her anxiety to return thither if she could go as a free person, and, at the same time, her extreme apprehensions of the fate that would probably await her if she returned as a slave. her words were, "i would rather go into my grave than go back a slave to antigua, though i wish to go back to my husband very much--very much--very much! i am much afraid my owners would separate me from my husband, and use me very hard, or perhaps sell me for a field negro;--and slavery is too too bad. i would rather go into my grave!" the paper which mr. wood had given her before she left his house, was placed by her in mr. stephen's hands. it was expressed in the following terms:-- "i have already told molly, and now give it her in writing, in order that there may be no misunderstanding on her part, that as i brought her from antigua at her own request and entreaty, and that she is consequently now free, she is of course at liberty to take her baggage and go where she pleases. and, in consequence of her late conduct, she must do one of two things--either quit the house, or return to antigua by the earliest opportunity, as she does not evince a disposition to make herself useful. as she is a stranger in london, i do not wish to turn her out, or would do so, as two female servants are sufficient for my establishment. if after this she does remain, it will be only during her good behaviour: but on no consideration will i allow her wages or any other remuneration for her services. "john a. wood." "london, august , ." this paper, though not devoid of inconsistencies, which will be apparent to any attentive reader, is craftily expressed; and was well devised to serve the purpose which the writer had obviously in view, namely, to frustrate any appeal which the friendless black woman might make to the sympathy of strangers, and thus prevent her from obtaining an asylum, if she left his house, from any respectable family. as she had no one to refer to for a character in this country except himself, he doubtless calculated securely on her being speedily driven back, as soon as the slender fund she had in her possession was expended, to throw herself unconditionally upon his tender mercies; and his disappointment in this expectation appears to have exasperated his feelings of resentment towards the poor woman, to a degree which few persons alive to the claims of common justice, not to speak of christianity or common humanity, could easily have anticipated. such, at least, seems the only intelligible inference that can be drawn from his subsequent conduct. the case having been submitted, by desire of the anti-slavery committee, to the consideration of dr. lushington and mr. sergeant stephen, it was found that there existed no legal means of compelling mary's master to grant her manumission; and that if she returned to antigua, she would inevitably fall again under his power, or that of his attorneys, as a slave. it was, however, resolved to try what could be effected for her by amicable negotiation; and with this view mr. ravenscroft, a solicitor, (mr. stephen's relative,) called upon mr. wood, in order to ascertain whether he would consent to mary's manumission on any reasonable terms, and to refer, if required, the amount of compensation for her value to arbitration. mr. ravenscroft with some difficulty obtained one or two interviews, but found mr. wood so full of animosity against the woman, and so firmly bent against any arrangement having her freedom for its object, that the negotiation was soon broken off as hopeless. the angry slave-owner declared "that he would not move a finger about her in this country, or grant her manumission on any terms whatever; and that if she went back to the west indies, she must take the consequences." this unreasonable conduct of mr. wood, induced the anti-slavery committee, after several other abortive attempts to effect a compromise, to think of bringing the case under the notice of parliament. the heads of mary's statement were accordingly engrossed in a petition, which dr. lushington offered to present, and to give notice at the same time of his intention to bring in a bill to provide for the entire emancipation of all slaves brought to england with the owner's consent. but before this step was taken, dr. lushington again had recourse to negotiation with the master; and, partly through the friendly intervention of mr. manning, partly by personal conference, used every persuasion in his power to induce mr. wood to relent and let the bondwoman go free. seeing the matter thus seriously taken up, mr. wood became at length alarmed,--not relishing, it appears, the idea of having the case publicly discussed in the house of commons; and to avert this result he submitted to temporize--assumed a demeanour of unwonted civility, and even hinted to mr. manning (as i was given to understand) that if he was not driven to utter hostility by the threatened exposure, he would probably meet our wishes "in his own time and way." having gained time by these manoeuvres, he adroitly endeavoured to cool the ardour of mary's new friends, in her cause, by representing her as an abandoned and worthless woman, ungrateful towards him, and undeserving of sympathy from others; allegations which he supported by the ready affirmation of some of his west india friends, and by one or two plausible letters procured from antigua. by these and like artifices he appears completely to have imposed on mr. manning, the respectable west india merchant whom dr. lushington had asked to negotiate with him; and he prevailed so far as to induce dr. lushington himself (actuated by the benevolent view of thereby best serving mary's cause,) to abstain from any remarks upon his conduct when the petition was at last presented in parliament. in this way he dextrously contrived to neutralize all our efforts, until the close of the session of ; soon after which he embarked with his family for the west indies. every exertion for mary's relief having thus failed; and being fully convinced from a twelvemonth's observation of her conduct, that she was really a well-disposed and respectable woman; i engaged her, in december , as a domestic servant in my own family. in this capacity she has remained ever since; and i am thus enabled to speak of her conduct and character with a degree of confidence i could not have otherwise done. the importance of this circumstance will appear in the sequel. from the time of mr. wood's departure to antigua, in , till june or july last, no farther effort was attempted for mary's relief. some faint hope was still cherished that this unconscionable man would at length relent, and "in his own time and way," grant the prayer of the exiled negro woman. after waiting, however, nearly twelve months longer, and seeing the poor woman's spirits daily sinking under the sickening influence of hope deferred, i resolved on a final attempt in her behalf, through the intervention of the moravian missionaries, and of the governor of antigua. at my request, mr. edward moore, agent of the moravian brethren in london, wrote to the rev. joseph newby, their missionary in that island, empowering him to negotiate in his own name with mr. wood for mary's manumission, and to procure his consent, if possible, upon terms of ample pecuniary compensation. at the same time the excellent and benevolent william allen, of the society of friends, wrote to sir patrick ross, the governor of the colony, with whom he was on terms of friendship, soliciting him to use his influence in persuading mr. wood to consent: and i confess i was sanguine enough to flatter myself that we should thus at length prevail. the result proved, however, that i had not yet fully appreciated the character of the man we had to deal with. mr. newby's answer arrived early in november last, mentioning that he had done all in his power to accomplish our purpose, but in vain; and that if mary's manumission could not be obtained without mr. wood's consent, he believed there was no prospect of its ever being effected. a few weeks afterwards i was informed by mr. allen, that he had received a letter from sir patrick ross, stating that he also had used his best endeavours in the affair, but equally without effect. sir patrick at the same time inclosed a letter, addressed by mr. wood to his secretary, mr. taylor, assigning his reasons for persisting in this extraordinary course. this letter requires our special attention. its tenor is as follows:-- "my dear sir, "in reply to your note relative to the woman molly, i beg you will have the kindness to oblige me by assuring his excellency that i regret exceedingly my inability to comply with his request, which under other circumstances would afford me very great pleasure. "there are many and powerful reasons for inducing me to refuse my sanction to her returning here in the way she seems to wish. it would be to reward the worst species of ingratitude, and subject myself to insult whenever she came in my way. her moral character is very bad, as the police records will shew; and she would be a very troublesome character should she come here without any restraint. she is not a native of this country, and i know of no relation she has here. i induced her to take a husband, a short time before she left this, by providing a comfortable house in my yard for them, and prohibiting her going out after to o'clock (our bed-time) without special leave. this she considered the greatest, and indeed the only, grievance she ever complained of, and all my efforts could not prevent it. in hopes of inducing her to be steady to her husband, who was a free man, i gave him the house to occupy during our absence; but it appears the attachment was too loose to bind her, and he has taken another wife: so on that score i do her no injury.--in england she made her election, and quitted my family. this i had no right to object to; and i should have thought no more of it, but not satisfied to leave quietly, she gave every trouble and annoyance in her power, and endeavoured to injure the character of my family by the most vile and infamous falsehoods, which was embodied in a petition to the house of commons, and would have been presented, had not my friends from this island, particularly the hon. mr. byam and dr. coull, come forward, and disproved what she had asserted. "it would be beyond the limits of an ordinary letter to detail her baseness, though i will do so should his excellency wish it; but you may judge of her depravity by one circumstance, which came out before mr. justice dyett, in a quarrel with another female. * * * * * "such a thing i could not have believed possible.[ ] [footnote : i omit the circumstance here mentioned, because it is too indecent to appear in a publication likely to be perused by females. it is, in all probability, a vile calumny; but even if it were perfectly true, it would not serve mr. wood's case one straw.--any reader who wishes it, may see the passage referred to, in the autograph letter in my possession. t. p.] "losing her value as a slave in a pecuniary point of view i consider of no consequence; for it was our intention, had she conducted herself properly and returned with us, to have given her freedom. she has taken her freedom; and all i wish is, that she would enjoy it without meddling with me. "let me again repeat, if his excellency wishes it, it will afford me great pleasure to state such particulars of her, and which will be incontestably proved by numbers here, that i am sure will acquit me in his opinion of acting unkind or ungenerous towards her. i'll say nothing of the liability i should incur, under the consolidated slave law, of dealing with a free person as a slave. "my only excuse for entering so much into detail must be that of my anxious wish to stand justified in his excellency's opinion. "i am, my dear sir, yours very truly, john a. wood. "_ th oct. _." "_charles taylor, esq._ _&c. &c. &c._ "i forgot to mention that it was at her own special request that she accompanied me to england--and also that she had a considerable sum of money with her, which she had saved in my service. i knew of £ to £ , at least, for i had some trouble to recover it from a white man, to whom she had lent it. "j. a. w." such is mr. wood's justification of his conduct in thus obstinately refusing manumission to the negro-woman who had escaped from his "house of bondage." let us now endeavour to estimate the validity of the excuses assigned, and the allegations advanced by him, for the information of governor sir patrick ross, in this deliberate statement of his case. . to allow the woman to return home free, would, he affirms "be to reward the worst species of ingratitude." he assumes, it seems, the sovereign power of pronouncing a virtual sentence of banishment, for the alleged crime of ingratitude. is this then a power which any man ought to possess over his fellow-mortal? or which any good man would ever wish to exercise? and, besides, there is no evidence whatever, beyond mr. wood's mere assertion, that mary prince owed him or his family the slightest mark of gratitude. her account of the treatment she received in his service, _may_ be incorrect; but her simple statement is at least supported by minute and feasible details, and, unless rebutted by positive facts, will certainly command credence from impartial minds more readily than his angry accusation, which has something absurd and improbable in its very front. moreover, is it not absurd to term the assertion of her _natural rights_ by a slave,--even supposing her to have been kindly dealt with by her "owners," and treated in every respect the reverse of what mary affirms to have been her treatment by mr. wood and his wife,--"the _worst_ species of ingratitude?" this may be west indian ethics, but it will scarcely be received as sound doctrine in europe. . to permit her return would be "to subject himself to insult whenever she came in his way." this is a most extraordinary assertion. are the laws of antigua then so favourable to the free blacks, or the colonial police so feebly administered, that there are no sufficient restraints to protect a rich colonist like mr. wood,--a man who counts among his familiar friends the honourable mr. byam, and mr. taylor the government secretary,--from being insulted by a poor negro-woman? it is preposterous. . her moral character is so bad, that she would prove very troublesome should she come to the colony "without any restraint." "any restraint?" are there no restraints (supposing them necessary) short of absolute slavery to keep "troublesome characters" in order? but this, i suppose, is the _argumentum ad gubernatorem_--to frighten the governor. she is such a termagant, it seems, that if she once gets back to the colony _free_, she will not only make it too hot for poor mr. wood, but the police and courts of justice will scarce be a match for her! sir patrick ross, no doubt, will take care how he intercedes farther for so formidable a virago! how can one treat such arguments seriously? . she is not a native of the colony, and he knows of no relation she has there. true: but was it not her home (so far as a slave can have a home) for thirteen or fourteen years? were not the connexions, friendships, and associations of her mature life formed there? was it not there she hoped to spend her latter years in domestic tranquillity with her husband, free from the lash of the taskmaster? these considerations may appear light to mr. wood, but they are every thing to this poor woman. . he induced her, he says, to take a husband, a short time before she left antigua, and gave them a comfortable house in his yard, &c. &c. this paragraph merits attention. he "_induced her to take a husband_?" if the fact were true, what brutality of mind and manners does it not indicate among these slave-holders? they refuse to legalize the marriages of their slaves, but _induce_ them to form such temporary connexions as may suit the owner's conveniency, just as they would pair the lower animals; and this man has the effrontery to tell us so! mary, however, tells a very different story, (see page ;) and her assertion, independently of other proof, is at least as credible as mr. wood's. the reader will judge for himself as to the preponderance of internal evidence in the conflicting statements. . he alleges that she was, before marriage, licentious, and even depraved in her conduct, and unfaithful to her husband afterwards. these are serious charges. but if true, or even partially true, how comes it that a person so correct in his family hours and arrangements as mr. wood professes to be, and who expresses so edifying a horror of licentiousness, could reconcile it to his conscience to keep in the bosom of his family so _depraved_, as well as so _troublesome_ a character for at least thirteen years, and confide to her for long periods too the charge of his house and the care of his children--for such i shall shew to have been the facts? how can he account for not having rid himself with all speed, of so disreputable an inmate--he who values her loss so little "in a pecuniary point of view?" how can he account for having sold _five other slaves_ in that period, and yet have retained this shocking woman--nay, even have refused to sell her, on more than one occasion, when offered her full value? it could not be from ignorance of her character, for the circumstance which he adduces as a proof of her shameless depravity, and which i have omitted on account of its indecency, occurred, it would appear, not less than _ten years ago_. yet, notwithstanding her alleged ill qualities and habits of gross immorality, he has not only constantly refused to part with her; but after thirteen long years, brings her to england as an attendant on his wife and children, with the avowed intention of carrying her back along with his maiden daughter, a young lady returning from school! such are the extraordinary facts; and until mr. wood shall reconcile these singular inconsistencies between his actions and his allegations, he must not be surprised if we in england prefer giving credit to the former rather than the latter; although at present it appears somewhat difficult to say which side of the alternative is the more creditable to his own character. . her husband, he says, has taken another wife; "so that on that score," he adds, "he does her no injury." supposing this fact be true, (which i doubt, as i doubt every mere assertion from so questionable a quarter,) i shall take leave to put a question or two to mr. wood's conscience. did he not write from england to his friend mr. darrel, soon after mary left his house, directing him to turn her husband, daniel james, off his premises, on account of her offence; telling him to inform james at the same time that his wife had _taken up_ with another man, who had robbed her of all she had--a calumny as groundless as it was cruel? i further ask if the person who invented this story (whoever he may be,) was not likely enough to impose similar fabrications on the poor negro man's credulity, until he may have been induced to prove false to his marriage vows, and to "take another wife," as mr. wood coolly expresses it? but withal, i strongly doubt the fact of daniel james' infidelity; for there is now before me a letter from himself to mary, dated in april , couched in strong terms of conjugal affection; expressing his anxiety for her speedy return, and stating that he had lately "received a grace" (a token of religious advancement) in the moravian church, a circumstance altogether incredible if the man were living in open adultery, as mr. wood's assertion implies. . mary, he says, endeavoured to injure the character of his family by infamous falsehoods, which were embodied in a petition to the house of commons, and would have been presented, had not his friends from antigua, the hon. mr. byam, and dr. coull, disproved her assertions. i can say something on this point from my own knowledge. mary's petition contained simply a brief statement of her case, and, among other things, mentioned the treatment she had received from mr. and mrs. wood. now the principal facts are corroborated by other evidence, and mr. wood must bring forward very different testimony from that of dr. coull before well-informed persons will give credit to his contradiction. the value of that person's evidence in such cases will be noticed presently. of the hon. mr. byam i know nothing, and shall only at present remark that it is not likely to redound greatly to his credit to appear in such company. furthermore, mary's petition _was_ presented, as mr. wood ought to know; though it was not discussed, nor his conduct exposed as it ought to have been. . he speaks of the liability he should incur, under the consolidated slave law, of dealing with a free person as a slave. is not this pretext hypocritical in the extreme? what liability could he possibly incur by voluntarily resigning the power, conferred on him by an iniquitous colonial law, of re-imposing the shackles of slavery on the bondwoman from whose limbs they had fallen when she touched the free soil of england?--there exists no liability from which he might not have been easily secured, or for which he would not have been fully compensated. he adds in a postscript that mary had a considerable sum of money with her,--from £ to £ at least, which she had saved in his service. the fact is, that she had at one time dollars in cash; but only a very small portion of that sum appears to have been brought by her to england, the rest having been partly advanced, as she states, to assist her husband, and partly lost by being lodged in unfaithful custody. finally, mr. wood repeats twice that it will afford him great pleasure to state for the governor's satisfaction, if required, such particulars of "the woman molly," upon incontestable evidence, as he is sure will acquit him in his excellency's opinion "of acting unkind or ungenerous towards her." this is well: and i now call upon mr. wood to redeem his pledge;--to bring forward facts and proofs fully to elucidate the subject;--to reconcile, if he can, the extraordinary discrepancies which i have pointed out between his assertions and the actual facts, and especially between his account of mary prince's character and his own conduct in regard to her. he has now to produce such a statement as will acquit him not only in the opinion of sir patrick ross, but of the british public. and in this position he has spontaneously placed himself, in attempting to destroy, by his deliberate criminatory letter, the poor woman's fair fame and reputation,--an attempt but for which the present publication would probably never have appeared. * * * * * here perhaps we might safely leave the case to the judgment of the public; but as this negro woman's character, not the less valuable to her because her condition is so humble, has been so unscrupulously blackened by her late master, a party so much interested and inclined to place her in the worst point of view,--it is incumbent on me, as her advocate with the public, to state such additional testimony in her behalf as i can fairly and conscientiously adduce. my first evidence is mr. joseph phillips, of antigua. having submitted to his inspection mr. wood's letter and mary prince's narrative, and requested his candid and deliberate sentiments in regard to the actual facts of the case, i have been favoured with the following letter from him on the subject:-- "london, january , . "dear sir, "in giving you my opinion of mary prince's narrative, and of mr. wood's letter respecting her, addressed to mr. taylor, i shall first mention my opportunities of forming a proper estimate of the conduct and character of both parties. "i have known mr. wood since his first arrival in antigua in . he was then a poor young man, who had been brought up as a ship carpenter in bermuda. he was afterwards raised to be a clerk in the commissariat department, and realised sufficient capital to commence business as a merchant. this last profession he has followed successfully for a good many years, and is understood to have accumulated very considerable wealth. after he entered into trade, i had constant intercourse with him in the way of business; and in and , i was regularly employed on his premises as his clerk; consequently, i had opportunities of seeing a good deal of his character both as a merchant, and as a master of slaves. the former topic i pass over as irrelevant to the present subject: in reference to the latter, i shall merely observe that he was not, in regard to ordinary matters, more severe than the ordinary run of slave owners; but, if seriously offended, he was not of a disposition to be easily appeased, and would spare no cost or sacrifice to gratify his vindictive feelings. as regards the exaction of work from domestic slaves, his wife was probably more severe than himself--it was almost impossible for the slaves ever to give her entire satisfaction. "of their slave molly (or mary) i know less than of mr. and mrs. wood; but i saw and heard enough of her, both while i was constantly employed on mr. wood's premises, and while i was there occasionally on business, to be quite certain that she was viewed by her owners as their most respectable and trustworthy female slave. it is within my personal knowledge that she had usually the charge of the house in their absence, was entrusted with the keys, &c.; and was always considered by the neighbours and visitors as their confidential household servant, and as a person in whose integrity they placed unlimited confidence,--although when mrs. wood was at home, she was no doubt kept pretty closely at washing and other hard work. a decided proof of the estimation in which she was held by her owners exists in the fact that mr. wood uniformly refused to part with her, whereas he sold five other slaves while she was with them. indeed, she always appeared to me to be a slave of superior intelligence and respectability; and i always understood such to be her general character in the place. "as to what mr. wood alleges about her being frequently before the police, &c. i can only say i never heard of the circumstance before; and as i lived for twenty years in the same small town, and in the vicinity of their residence, i think i could scarcely have failed to become acquainted with it, had such been the fact. she might, however, have been occasionally before the magistrate in consequence of little disputes among the slaves, without any serious imputation on her general respectability. she says she was twice summoned to appear as a witness on such occasions; and that she was once sent by her mistress to be confined in the cage, and was afterwards flogged by her desire. this cruel practice is very common in antigua; and, in my opinion, is but little creditable to the slave owners and magistrates by whom such arbitrary punishments are inflicted, frequently for very trifling faults. mr. james scotland is the only magistrate in the colony who invariably refuses to sanction this reprehensible practice. "of the immoral conduct ascribed to molly by mr. wood, i can say nothing further than this--that i have heard she had at a former period (previous to her marriage) a connexion with a white person, a capt. ----, which i have no doubt was broken off when she became seriously impressed with religion. but, at any rate, such connexions are so common, i might almost say universal, in our slave colonies, that except by the missionaries and a few serious persons, they are considered, if faults at all, so very venial as scarcely to deserve the name of immorality. mr. wood knows this colonial estimate of such connexions as well as i do; and, however false such an estimate must be allowed to be, especially when applied to their own conduct by persons of education, pretending to adhere to the pure christian rule of morals,--yet when he ascribes to a negro slave, to whom legal marriage was denied, such great criminality for laxity of this sort, and professes to be so exceedingly shocked and amazed at the tale he himself relates, he must, i am confident, have had a farther object in view than the information of mr. taylor or sir patrick ross. he must, it is evident, have been aware that his letter would be sent to mr. allen, and accordingly adapted it, as more important documents from the colonies are often adapted, _for effect in england_. the tale of the slave molly's immoralities, be assured, was not intended for antigua so much as for stoke newington, and peckham, and aldermanbury. "in regard to mary's narrative generally, although i cannot speak to the accuracy of the details, except in a few recent particulars, i can with safety declare that i see no reason to question the truth of a single fact stated by her, or even to suspect her in any instance of intentional exaggeration. it bears in my judgment the genuine stamp of truth and nature. such is my unhesitating opinion, after a residence of twenty-seven years in the west indies. "i remain, &c. "joseph phillips." _to t. pringle, esq._ "p.s. as mr. wood refers to the evidence of dr. t. coull in opposition to mary's assertions, it may be proper to enable you justly to estimate the worth of that person's evidence in cases connected with the condition and treatment of slaves. you are aware that in , mr. m'queen of glasgow, in noticing a report of the "ladies' society of birmingham for the relief of british negro slaves," asserted with his characteristic audacity, that the statement which it contained respecting distressed and deserted slaves in antigua was "an abominable falsehood." not contented with this, and with insinuating that i, as agent of the society in the distribution of their charity in antigua, had fraudulently duped them out of their money by a fabricated tale of distress, mr. m'queen proceeded to libel me in the most opprobrious terms, as "a man of the most worthless and abandoned character."[ ] now i know from good authority that it was _upon dr. coull's information_ that mr. m'queen founded this impudent contradiction of notorious facts, and this audacious libel of my personal character. from this single circumstance you may judge of the value of his evidence in the case of mary prince. i can furnish further information respecting dr. coull's colonial proceedings, both private and judicial, should circumstances require it." "j. p." [footnote : in elucidation of the circumstances above referred to, i subjoin the following extracts from the report of the birmingham ladies' society for :-- "as a portion of the funds of this association has been appropriated to assist the benevolent efforts of a society which has for fifteen years afforded relief to distressed and deserted slaves in antigua, it may not be uninteresting to our friends to learn the manner in which the agent of this society has been treated for simply obeying the command of our saviour, by ministering, like the good samaritan, to the distresses of the helpless and the desolate. the society's proceedings being adverted to by a friend of africa, at one of the public meetings held in this country, a west indian planter, who was present, wrote over to his friends in antigua, and represented the conduct of the distributors of this charity in such a light, that it was deemed worthy of the cognizance of the house of assembly. mr. joseph phillips, a resident of the island, who had most kindly and disinterestedly exerted himself in the distribution of the money from england among the poor deserted slaves, was brought before the assembly, and most severely interrogated: on his refusing to deliver up his private correspondence with his friends in england, he was thrown into a loathsome jail, where he was kept for nearly five months; while his loss of business, and the oppressive proceedings instituted against him, were involving him in poverty and ruin. on his discharge by the house of assembly, he was seized in their lobby for debt, and again imprisoned." "in our report for the year , we quoted a passage from the th report of the society for the relief of deserted slaves in the island of antigua, in reference to a case of great distress. this statement fell into the hands of mr. m'queen, the editor of the glasgow courier. of the consequences resulting from this circumstance we only gained information through the leicester chronicle, which had copied an article from the weekly register of antigua, dated st. john's, september , . we find from this that mr. m'queen affirms, that 'with the exception of the fact that the society is, as it deserves to be, duped out of its money, the whole tale' (of the distress above referred to) 'is an abominable falsehood.' this statement, which we are informed has appeared in many of the public papers, is completely refuted in our appendix, no. , to which we refer our readers. mr. m'queen's statements, we regret to say, would lead many to believe that there are no deserted negroes to assist; and that the case mentioned was a perfect fabrication. he also distinctly avers, that the disinterested and humane agent of the society, mr. joseph phillips, is 'a man of the most worthless and abandoned character.' in opposition to this statement, we learn the good character of mr. phillips from those who have long been acquainted with his laudable exertions in the cause of humanity, and from the editor of the weekly register of antigua, who speaks, on his own knowledge, of more than twenty years back; confidently appealing at the same time to the inhabitants of the colony in which he resides for the truth of his averments, and producing a testimonial to mr. phillips's good character signed by two members of the antigua house of assembly, and by mr. wyke, the collector of his majesty's customs, and by antigua merchants, as follows--'that they have been acquainted with him the last four years and upwards, and he has always conducted himself in an upright becoming manner--his character we know to be unimpeached, and his morals unexceptionable.' (signed) "thomas saunderson john d. taylor john a. wood george wyke samuel l. darrel giles s. musson robert grant." "st. john's, antigua, june , ." in addition to the above testimonies, mr. phillips has brought over to england with him others of a more recent date, from some of the most respectable persons in antigua--sufficient to cover with confusion all his unprincipled calumniators. see also his account of his own case in the anti-slavery reporter, no. , p. .] i leave the preceding letter to be candidly weighed by the reader in opposition to the inculpatory allegations of mr. wood--merely remarking that mr. wood will find it somewhat difficult to impugn the evidence of mr. phillips, whose "upright," "unimpeached," and "unexceptionable" character, he has himself vouched for in unqualified terms, by affixing his signature to the testimonial published in the weekly register of antigua in . (see note below.) the next testimony in mary's behalf is that of mrs. forsyth, a lady in whose service she spent the summer of .--(see page .) this lady, on leaving london to join her husband, voluntarily presented mary with a certificate, which, though it relates only to a recent and short period of her history, is a strong corroboration of the habitual respectability of her character. it is in the following terms:-- "mrs. forsyth states, that the bearer of this paper (mary james,) has been with her for the last six months; that she has found her an excellent character, being honest, industrious, and sober; and that she parts with her on no other account than this--that being obliged to travel with her husband, who has lately come from abroad in bad health, she has no farther need of a servant. any person wishing to engage her, can have her character in full from miss robson, , keppel street, russel square, whom mrs. forsyth has requested to furnish particulars to any one desiring them. " , keppel street, th sept. ." in the last place, i add my own testimony in behalf of this negro woman. independently of the scrutiny, which, as secretary of the anti-slavery society, i made into her case when she first applied for assistance, at , aldermanbury, and the watchful eye i kept upon her conduct for the ensuing twelvemonths, while she was the occasional pensioner of the society, i have now had the opportunity of closely observing her conduct for fourteen months, in the situation of a domestic servant in my own family; and the following is the deliberate opinion of mary's character, formed not only by myself, but also by my wife and sister-in-law, after this ample period of observation. we have found her perfectly honest and trustworthy in all respects; so that we have no hesitation in leaving every thing in the house at her disposal. she had the entire charge of the house during our absence in scotland for three months last autumn, and conducted herself in that charge with the utmost discretion and fidelity. she is not, it is true, a very expert housemaid, nor capable of much hard work, (for her constitution appears to be a good deal broken,) but she is careful, industrious, and anxious to do her duty and to give satisfaction. she is capable of strong attachments, and feels deep, though unobtrusive, gratitude for real kindness shown her. she possesses considerable natural sense, and has much quickness of observation and discrimination of character. she is remarkable for _decency_ and _propriety_ of conduct--and her _delicacy_, even in trifling minutiæ, has been a trait of special remark by the females of my family. this trait, which is obviously quite unaffected, would be a most inexplicable anomaly, if her former habits had been so indecent and depraved as mr. wood alleges. her chief faults, so far as we have discovered them, are, a somewhat violent and hasty temper, and a considerable share of natural pride and self-importance; but these defects have been but rarely and transiently manifested, and have scarcely occasioned an hour's uneasiness at any time in our household. her religious knowledge, notwithstanding the pious care of her moravian instructors in antigua, is still but very limited, and her views of christianity indistinct; but her profession, whatever it may have of imperfection, i am convinced, has nothing of insincerity. in short, we consider her on the whole as respectable and well-behaved a person in her station, as any domestic, white or black, (and we have had ample experience of both colours,) that we have ever had in our service. but after all, mary's character, important though its exculpation be to her, is not really the point of chief practical interest in this case. suppose all mr. wood's defamatory allegations to be true--suppose him to be able to rake up against her out of the records of the antigua police, or from the veracious testimony of his brother colonists, twenty stories as bad or worse than what he insinuates--suppose the whole of her own statement to be false, and even the whole of her conduct since she came under our observation here to be a tissue of hypocrisy;--suppose all this--and leave the negro woman as black in character as in complexion,[ ]--yet it would affect not the main facts--which are these.-- . mr. wood, not daring in england to punish this woman arbitrarily, as he would have done in the west indies, drove her out of his house, or left her, at least, only the alternative of returning instantly to antigua, with the certainty of severe treatment there, or submitting in silence to what she considered intolerable usage in his household. . he has since obstinately persisted in refusing her manumission, to enable her to return home in security, though repeatedly offered more than ample compensation for her value as a slave; and this on various frivolous pretexts, but really, and indeed not unavowedly, in order to _punish_ her for leaving his service in england, though he himself had professed to give her that option. these unquestionable facts speak volumes.[ ] [footnote : if it even were so, how strong a plea of palliation might not the poor negro bring, by adducing the neglect of her various owners to afford religious instruction or moral discipline, and the habitual influence of their evil _example_ (to say the very least,) before her eyes? what moral good could she possibly learn--what moral evil could she easily escape, while under the uncontrolled power of such masters as she describes captain i---- and mr. d---- of turk's island? all things considered, it is indeed wonderful to find her such as she now is. but as she has herself piously expressed it, "that god whom then she knew not mercifully preserved her for better things."] [footnote : since the preceding pages were printed off, i have been favoured with a communication from the rev. j. curtin, to whom among other acquaintances of mr. wood's in this country, the entire proof sheets of this pamphlet had been sent for inspection. mr. curtin corrects some omissions and inaccuracies in mary prince's narrative (see page ,) by stating, . that she was baptized, not in august, but on the th of april, ; . that sometime before her baptism, on her being admitted a catechumen, preparatory to that holy ordinance, she brought a note from her owner, mr. wood, recommending her for religious instruction, &c.; . that it was his usual practice, when any adult slaves came on _week days_ to school, to require their owners' permission for their attendance; but that on _sundays_ the chapel was open indiscriminately to all.--mary, after a personal interview with mr. curtin, and after hearing his letter read by me, still maintains that mr. wood's note recommended her for baptism merely, and that she never received any religious instruction whatever from mr. and mrs. wood, or from any one else at that period beyond what she has stated in her narrative. in regard to her non-admission to the sunday school without permission from her owners, she admits that she may possibly have mistaken the clergyman's meaning on that point, but says that such was certainly her impression at the time, and the actual cause of her non-attendance. mr. curtin finds in his books some reference to mary's connection with a captain ----, (the individual, i believe, alluded to by mr. phillips at page ); but he states that when she attended his chapel she was always decently and becomingly dressed, and appeared to him to be in a situation of trust in her mistress's family. mr. curtin offers no comment on any other part of mary's statement; but he speaks in very favourable, though general terms of the respectability of mr. wood, whom he had known for many years in antigua; and of mrs. wood, though she was not personally known to him, he says, that he had "heard her spoken of by those of her acquaintance, as a lady of very mild and amiable manners." another friend of mr. and mrs. wood, a lady who had been their guest both in antigua and england, alleges that mary has grossly misrepresented them in her narrative; and says that she "can vouch for their being the most benevolent, kind-hearted people that can possibly live." she has declined, however, to furnish me with any written correction of the misrepresentations she complains of, although i offered to insert her testimony in behalf of her friends, if sent to me in time. and having already kept back the publication a fortnight waiting for communications of this sort, i will not delay it longer. those who have withheld their strictures have only themselves to blame. of the general character of mr. and mrs. wood, i would not designedly give any _unfair_ impression. without implicitly adopting either the _ex parte_ view of mary prince, or the unmeasured encomiums of their friends, i am willing to believe them to be, on the whole, fair, perhaps favourable, specimens of colonial character. let them even be rated, if you will, in the very highest and most benevolent class of slave-holders; and, laying everything else entirely out of view, let mr. wood's conduct in this affair be tried exclusively by the facts established beyond dispute, and by his own statement of the case in his letter to mr. taylor. but then, i ask, if the very _best_ and _mildest_ of your slave-owners can act as mr. wood is proved to have acted, what is to be expected of persons whose mildness, or equity, or common humanity no one will dare to vouch for? if such things are done in the green tree, what will be done in the dry?--and what else then can colonial slavery possibly be, even in its best estate, but a system incurably evil and iniquitous?--i require no other data--i need add no further comment.] the case affords a most instructive illustration of the true spirit of the slave system, and of the pretensions of the slave-holders to assert, not merely their claims to a "vested right" in the _labour_ of their bondmen, but to an indefeasible property in them as their "absolute chattels." it furnishes a striking practical comment on the assertions of the west indians that self-interest is a sufficient check to the indulgence of vindictive feelings in the master; for here is a case where a man (a _respectable_ and _benevolent_ man as his friends aver,) prefers losing entirely the full price of the slave, for the mere satisfaction of preventing a poor black woman from returning home to her husband! if the pleasure of thwarting the benevolent wishes of the anti-slavery society in behalf of the deserted negro, be an additional motive with mr. wood, it will not much mend his wretched plea. * * * * * i may here add a few words respecting the earlier portion of mary prince's narrative. the facts there stated must necessarily rest entirely,--since we have no collateral evidence,--upon their intrinsic claims to probability, and upon the reliance the reader may feel disposed, after perusing the foregoing pages, to place on her veracity. to my judgment, the internal evidence of the truth of her narrative appears remarkably strong. the circumstances are related in a tone of natural sincerity, and are accompanied in almost every case with characteristic and minute details, which must, i conceive, carry with them full conviction to every candid mind that this negro woman has actually seen, felt, and suffered all that she so impressively describes; and that the picture she has given of west indian slavery is not less true than it is revolting. but there may be some persons into whose hands this tract may fall, so imperfectly acquainted with the real character of negro slavery, as to be shocked into partial, if not absolute incredulity, by the acts of inhuman oppression and brutality related of capt. i---- and his wife, and of mr. d----, the salt manufacturer of turk's island. here, at least, such persons may be disposed to think, there surely must be _some_ exaggeration; the facts are too shocking to be credible. the facts are indeed shocking, but unhappily not the less credible on that account. slavery is a curse to the oppressor scarcely less than to the oppressed: its natural tendency is to brutalize both. after a residence myself of six years in a slave colony, i am inclined to doubt whether, as regards its _demoralizing_ influence, the master is not even a greater object of compassion than his bondman. let those who are disposed to doubt the atrocities related in this narrative, on the testimony of a sufferer, examine the details of many cases of similar barbarity that have lately come before the public, on unquestionable evidence. passing over the reports of the fiscal of berbice,[ ] and the mauritius horrors recently unveiled,[ ] let them consider the case of mr. and mrs. moss, of the bahamas, and their slave kate, so justly denounced by the secretary for the colonies;[ ]--the cases of eleanor mead,[ ]--of henry williams,[ ]--and of the rev. mr. bridges and kitty hylton,[ ] in jamaica. these cases alone might suffice to demonstrate the inevitable tendency of slavery as it exists in our colonies, to brutalize the master to a truly frightful degree--a degree which would often cast into the shade even the atrocities related in the narrative of mary prince; and which are sufficient to prove, independently of all other evidence, that there is nothing in the revolting character of the facts to affect their credibility; but that on the contrary, similar deeds are at this very time of frequent occurrence in almost every one of our slave colonies. the system of coercive labour may vary in different places; it may be more destructive to human life in the cane culture of mauritius and jamaica, than in the predial and domestic bondage of bermuda or the bahamas,--but the spirit and character of slavery are every where the same, and cannot fail to produce similar effects. wherever slavery prevails, there will inevitably be found cruelty and oppression. individuals who have preserved humane, and amiable, and tolerant dispositions towards their black dependents, may doubtless be found among slave-holders; but even where a happy instance of this sort occurs, such as mary's first mistress, the kind-hearted mrs. williams, the favoured condition of the slave is still as precarious as it is rare: it is every moment at the mercy of events; and must always be held by a tenure so proverbially uncertain as that of human prosperity, or human life. such examples, like a feeble and flickering streak of light in a gloomy picture, only serve by contrast to exhibit the depth of the prevailing shades. like other exceptions, they only prove the general rule: the unquestionable tendency of the system is to vitiate the best tempers, and to harden the most feeling hearts. "never be kind, nor speak kindly to a slave," said an accomplished english lady in south africa to my wife: "i have now," she added, "been for some time a slave-owner, and have found, from vexatious experience in my own household, that nothing but harshness and hauteur will do with slaves." [footnote : see anti-slavery reporter, nos. and .] [footnote : ibid, no. .] [footnote : ibid, no. .] [footnote : ibid, no. , p. ; no. , p. .] [footnote : ibid, no. , p. ; no. , p. .] [footnote : anti-slavery reporter, nos. , , and .] i might perhaps not inappropriately illustrate this point more fully by stating many cases which fell under my own personal observation, or became known to me through authentic sources, at the cape of good hope--a colony where slavery assumes, as it is averred, a milder aspect than in any other dependency of the empire where it exists; and i could shew, from the judicial records of that colony, received by me within these few weeks, cases scarcely inferior in barbarity to the worst of those to which i have just specially referred; but to do so would lead me too far from the immediate purpose of this pamphlet, and extend it to an inconvenient length. i shall therefore content myself with quoting a single short passage from the excellent work of my friend dr. walsh, entitled "notices of brazil,"--a work which, besides its other merits, has vividly illustrated the true spirit of negro slavery, as it displays itself not merely in that country, but wherever it has been permitted to open its pandora's box of misery and crime. let the reader ponder on the following just remarks, and compare the facts stated by the author in illustration of them, with the circumstances related at pages and of mary's narrative:-- "if then we put out of the question the injury inflicted on others, and merely consider the deterioration of feeling and principle with which it operates on ourselves, ought it not to be a sufficient, and, indeed, unanswerable argument, against the permission of slavery? "the exemplary manner in which the paternal duties are performed at home, may mark people as the most fond and affectionate parents; but let them once go abroad, and come within the contagion of slavery, and it seems to alter the very nature of a man; and the father has sold, and still sells, the mother and his children, with as little compunction as he would a sow and her litter of pigs; and he often disposes of them together. "this deterioration of feeling is conspicuous in many ways among the brazilians. they are naturally a people of a humane and good-natured disposition, and much indisposed to cruelty or severity of any kind. indeed, the manner in which many of them treat their slaves is a proof of this, as it is really gentle and considerate; but the natural tendency to cruelty and oppression in the human heart, is continually evolved by the impunity and uncontrolled licence in which they are exercised. i never walked through the streets of rio, that some house did not present to me the semblance of a bridewell, where the moans and the cries of the sufferers, and the sounds of whips and scourges within, announced to me that corporal punishment was being inflicted. whenever i remarked this to a friend, i was always answered that the refractory nature of the slave rendered it necessary, and no house could properly be conducted unless it was practised. but this is certainly not the case; and the chastisement is constantly applied in the very wantonness of barbarity, and would not, and dared not, be inflicted on the humblest wretch in society, if he was not a slave, and so put out of the pale of pity. "immediately joining our house was one occupied by a mechanic, from which the most dismal cries and moans constantly proceeded. i entered the shop one day, and found it was occupied by a saddler, who had two negro boys working at his business. he was a tawny, cadaverous-looking man, with a dark aspect; and he had cut from his leather a scourge like a russian knout, which he held in his hand, and was in the act of exercising on one of the naked children in an inner room: and this was the cause of the moans and cries we heard every day, and almost all day long. "in the rear of our house was another, occupied by some women of bad character, who kept, as usual, several negro slaves. i was awoke early one morning by dismal cries, and looking out of the window, i saw in the back yard of the house, a black girl of about fourteen years old; before her stood her mistress, a white woman, with a large stick in her hand. she was undressed except her petticoat and chemise, which had fallen down and left her shoulders and bosom bare. her hair was streaming behind, and every fierce and malevolent passion was depicted in her face. she too, like my hostess at governo [another striking illustration of the _dehumanizing_ effects of slavery,] was the very representation of a fury. she was striking the poor girl, whom she had driven up into a corner, where she was on her knees appealing for mercy. she shewed her none, but continued to strike her on the head and thrust the stick into her face, till she was herself exhausted, and her poor victim covered with blood. this scene was renewed every morning, and the cries and moans of the poor suffering blacks, announced that they were enduring the penalty of slavery, in being the objects on which the irritable and malevolent passions of the whites are allowed to vent themselves with impunity; nor could i help deeply deploring that state of society in which the vilest characters in the community are allowed an almost uncontrolled power of life and death, over their innocent, and far more estimable fellow-creatures."--(notices of brazil, vol. ii. p. - .) * * * * * in conclusion, i may observe that the history of mary prince furnishes a corollary to lord stowell's decision in the case of the slave grace, and that it is most valuable on this account. whatever opinions may be held by some readers on the grave question of immediately abolishing colonial slavery, nothing assuredly can be more repugnant to the feelings of englishmen than that the system should be permitted to extend its baneful influence to this country. yet such is the case, when the slave landed in england still only possesses that qualified degree of freedom, that a change of domicile will determine it. though born a british subject, and resident within the shores of england, he is cut off from his dearest natural rights by the sad alternative of regaining them at the expence of liberty, and the certainty of severe treatment. it is true that he has the option of returning; but it is a cruel mockery to call it a voluntary choice, when upon his return depend his means of subsistence and his re-union with all that makes life valuable. here he has tasted "the sweets of freedom," to quote the words of the unfortunate mary prince; but if he desires to restore himself to his family, or to escape from suffering and destitution, and the other evils of a climate uncongenial to his constitution and habits, he must abandon the enjoyment of his late-acquired liberty, and again subject himself to the arbitrary power of a vindictive master. the case of mary prince is by no means a singular one; many of the same kind are daily occurring: and even if the case were singular, it would still loudly call for the interference of the legislature. in instances of this kind no injury can possibly be done to the owner by confirming to the slave his resumption of his natural rights. it is the master's spontaneous act to bring him to this country; he knows when he brings him that he divests himself of his property; and it is, in fact, a minor species of slave trading, when he has thus enfranchised his slave, to _re-capture_ that slave by the necessities of his condition, or by working upon the better feelings of his heart. abstractedly from all legal technicalities, there is no real difference between thus compelling the return of the enfranchised negro, and trepanning a free native of england by delusive hopes into perpetual slavery. the most ingenious casuist could not point out any essential distinction between the two cases. our boasted liberty is the dream of imagination, and no longer the characteristic of our country, if its bulwarks can thus be thrown down by colonial special pleading. it would well become the character of the present government to introduce a bill into the legislature making perpetual that freedom which the slave has acquired by his passage here, and thus to declare, in the most ample sense of the words, (what indeed we had long fondly believed to be the fact, though it now appears that we have been mistaken,) that no slave can exist within the shores of great britain. narrative of louis asa-asa, a captured african. the following interesting narrative is a convenient supplement to the history of mary prince. it is given, like hers, as nearly as possible in the narrator's words, with only so much correction as was necessary to connect the story, and render it grammatical. the concluding passage in inverted commas, is entirely his own. while mary's narrative shews the disgusting character of colonial slavery, this little tale explains with equal force the horrors in which it originates. it is necessary to explain that louis came to this country about five years ago, in a french vessel called the pearl. she had lost her reckoning, and was driven by stress of weather into the port of st. ives, in cornwall. louis and his four companions were brought to london upon a writ of habeas corpus at the instance of mr. george stephen; and, after some trifling opposition on the part of the master of the vessel, were discharged by lord wynford. two of his unfortunate fellow-sufferers died of the measles at hampstead; the other two returned to sierra leone; but poor louis, when offered the choice of going back to africa, replied, "me no father, no mother now; me stay with you." and here he has ever since remained; conducting himself in a way to gain the good will and respect of all who know him. he is remarkably intelligent, understands our language perfectly, and can read and write well. the last sentences of the following narrative will seem almost too peculiar to be his own; but it is not the first time that in conversation with mr. george stephen, he has made similar remarks. on one occasion in particular, he was heard saying to himself in the kitchen, while sitting by the fire apparently in deep thought, "me think,--me think----" a fellow-servant inquired what he meant; and he added, "me think what a good thing i came to england! here, i know what god is, and read my bible; in my country they have no god, no bible." how severe and just a reproof to the guilty wretches who visit his country only with fire and sword! how deserved a censure upon the not less guilty men, who dare to vindicate the state of slavery, on the lying pretext, that its victims are of an inferior nature! and scarcely less deserving of reprobation are those who have it in their power to prevent these crimes, but who remain inactive from indifference, or are dissuaded from throwing the shield of british power over the victim of oppression, by the sophistry, and the clamour, and the avarice of the oppressor. it is the reproach and the sin of england. may god avert from our country the ruin which this national guilt deserves! we lament to add, that the pearl which brought these negroes to our shore, was restored to its owners at the instance of the french government, instead of being condemned as a prize to lieut. rye, who, on his own responsibility, detained her, with all her manacles and chains and other detestable proofs of her piratical occupation on board. we trust it is not yet too late to demand investigation into the reasons for restoring her. _the negro boy's narrative._ my father's name was clashoquin; mine is asa-asa. he lived in a country called bycla, near egie, a large town. egie is as large as brighton; it was some way from the sea. i had five brothers and sisters. we all lived together with my father and mother; he kept a horse, and was respectable, but not one of the great men. my uncle was one of the great men at egie: he could make men come and work for him: his name was otou. he had a great deal of land and cattle. my father sometimes worked on his own land, and used to make charcoal. i was too little to work; my eldest brother used to work on the land; and we were all very happy. a great many people, whom we called adinyés, set fire to egie in the morning before daybreak; there were some thousands of them. they killed a great many, and burnt all their houses. they staid two days, and then carried away all the people whom they did not kill. they came again every now and then for a month, as long as they could find people to carry away. they used to tie them by the feet, except when they were taking them off, and then they let them loose; but if they offered to run away, they would shoot them. i lost a great many friends and relations at egie; about a dozen. they sold all they carried away, to be slaves. i know this because i afterwards saw them as slaves on the other side of the sea. they took away brothers, and sisters, and husbands, and wives; they did not care about this. they were sold for cloth or gunpowder, sometimes for salt or guns; sometimes they got four or five guns for a man: they were english guns, made like my master's that i clean for his shooting. the adinyés burnt a great many places besides egie. they burnt all the country wherever they found villages; they used to shoot men, women, and children, if they ran away. they came to us about eleven o'clock one day, and directly they came they set our house on fire. all of us had run away. we kept together, and went into the woods, and stopped there two days. the adinyés then went away, and we returned home and found every thing burnt. we tried to build a little shed, and were beginning to get comfortable again. we found several of our neighbours lying about wounded; they had been shot. i saw the bodies of four or five little children whom they had killed with blows on the head. they had carried away their fathers and mothers, but the children were too small for slaves, so they killed them. they had killed several others, but these were all that i saw. i saw them lying in the street like dead dogs. in about a week after we got back, the adinyés returned, and burnt all the sheds and houses they had left standing. we all ran away again; we went to the woods as we had done before.--they followed us the next day. we went farther into the woods, and staid there about four days and nights; we were half starved; we only got a few potatoes. my uncle otou was with us. at the end of this time, the adinyés found us. we ran away. they called my uncle to go to them; but he refused, and they shot him immediately: they killed him. the rest of us ran on, and they did not get at us till the next day. i ran up into a tree: they followed me and brought me down. they tied my feet. i do not know if they found my father and mother, and brothers and sisters: they had run faster than me, and were half a mile farther when i got up into the tree: i have never seen them since.--there was a man who ran up into the tree with me: i believe they shot him, for i never saw him again. they carried away about twenty besides me. they carried us to the sea. they did not beat us: they only killed one man, who was very ill and too weak to carry his load: they made all of us carry chickens and meat for our food; but this poor man could not carry his load, and they ran him through the body with a sword.--he was a neighbour of ours. when we got to the sea they sold all of us, but not to the same person. they sold us for money; and i was sold six times over, sometimes for money, sometimes for cloth, and sometimes for a gun. i was about thirteen years old. it was about half a year from the time i was taken, before i saw the white people. we were taken in a boat from place to place, and sold at every place we stopped at. in about six months we got to a ship, in which we first saw white people: they were french. they bought us. we found here a great many other slaves; there were about eighty, including women and children. the frenchmen sent away all but five of us into another very large ship. we five staid on board till we got to england, which was about five or six months. the slaves we saw on board the ship were chained together by the legs below deck, so close they could not move. they were flogged very cruelly: i saw one of them flogged till he died; we could not tell what for. they gave them enough to eat. the place they were confined in below deck was so hot and nasty i could not bear to be in it. a great many of the slaves were ill, but they were not attended to. they used to flog me very bad on board the ship: the captain cut my head very bad one time. "i am very happy to be in england, as far as i am very well;--but i have no friend belonging to me, but god, who will take care of me as he has done already. i am very glad i have come to england, to know who god is. i should like much to see my friends again, but i do not now wish to go back to them: for if i go back to my own country, i might be taken as a slave again. i would rather stay here, where i am free, than go back to my country to be sold. i shall stay in england as long as (please god) i shall live. i wish the king of england could know all i have told you. i wish it that he may see how cruelly we are used. we had no king in our country, or he would have stopt it. i think the king of england might stop it, and this is why i wish him to know it all. i have heard say he is good; and if he is, he will stop it if he can. i am well off myself, for i am well taken care of, and have good bed and good clothes; but i wish my own people to be as comfortable." "louis asa-asa." "_london, january , _." file made using scans of public domain works at the university of georgia.) music file created by linda cantoni. this little work is designed to adapt mrs. stowe's touching narrative to the understandings of the youngest readers and to foster in their hearts a generous sympathy for the wronged negro race of america. the purpose of the editor of this little work, has been to adapt it for the juvenile family circle. the verses have accordingly been written by the authoress for the capacity of the youngest readers, and have been printed in a large bold type. the prose parts of the book, which are well suited for being read aloud in the family circle, are printed in a smaller type, and it is presumed that in these our younger friends will claim the assistance of their older brothers or sisters, or appeal to the ready aid of their mamma. january, . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by john p. jewett and company, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts. pictures and stories from uncle tom's cabin. published by john p. jewett & co., boston. uncle tom's picture book. the sale of little harry. come read my book good boys and girls that live on freedom's ground, with pleasant homes, and parents dear, and blithesome playmates round; and you will learn a woeful tale, which a good woman told, about the poor black negro race, how they are bought and sold. within our own america where these bad deeds are done, a father and a mother lived who had a little son; as slaves, they worked for two rich men, whose fields were fair and wide-- but harry was their only joy, they had no child beside. now harry's hair was thick with curls and softly bright his eyes, and he could play such funny tricks and look so wondrous wise, [illustration: the sale of little harry. oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear, that for the trader's gold, to that hard-hearted evil man her own sweet boy was sold.] that all about the rich man's house were pleased to see him play, till a wicked trader buying slaves came there one winter day. the trader and the rich man sat together, at their wine, when in poor simple harry slipped in hopes of something fine. he shewed them how the dandy danced, and how old cudjoe walked, till loud they laughed and gave him grapes, and then in whispers talked. the young child knew not what they said, but at the open door eliza, his poor mother, stood, with heart all sick and sore. oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear, that for the trader's gold, to that hard-hearted evil man her own sweet boy was sold. and he would take him far away, to where the cotton grew, and sell him for a slave to men more hard and wicked too. she knew that none would heed his woe, his want, or sickness there, nor ever would she see his face, or hear his evening prayer. so when the house was all asleep, and when the stars were bright, she took her harry in her arms, and fled through that cold night:-- away through bitter frost and snow did that poor mother flee; and how she fared, and what befell, read on, and you shall see. before setting out, eliza took a piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote hastily the following note to her kind mistress, who had tried in vain to save little harry from being sold:-- "oh missus! dear missus! don't think me ungrateful; don't think hard of me. i am going to try to save my boy; you will not blame me! god bless and reward you for all your kindness!" hastily folding and directing this, she went to a drawer and made up a little package of clothing for her boy, which she tied firmly round her waist; and so fond is a mother's remembrance, that even in the terrors of that hour she did not forget to put up in the little package one or two of his favourite toys. on the bed lay her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negligently around his unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands thrown out over the bed-clothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam over his whole face. "poor boy! poor fellow!" said eliza, "they have sold you, but your mother will save you yet." it was some trouble to arouse the little sleeper; but after some effort he sat up, and began playing with his wooden bird, while his mother was putting on her bonnet and shawl. "where are you going, mother?" said he, as she drew near the bed with his little coat and cap. his mother drew near, and looked so earnestly into his eyes, that he at once divined that something unusual was the matter. "hush, harry," she said; "mustn't speak loud, or they will hear us. a wicked man was coming to take little harry away from his mother, and carry him 'way off in the dark; but mother won't let him--she's going to put on her little boy's cap and coat, and run off with him, so the ugly man can't catch him." saying these words, she had tied and buttoned on the child's simple outfit, and taking him in her arms, she whispered to him to be very still; and, opening the door, she glided noiselessly out. it was a sparkling, frosty, starlight night, and the mother wrapped the shawl close round her child, as, perfectly quiet with terror, he clung round her neck. at first the novelty and alarm kept him waking; but after they had gone a considerable way, poor harry said, as he found himself sinking to sleep-- "mother i don't need to keep awake, do i?" "no, my darling; sleep now, if you want to." "but, mother, if i do get asleep, you won't let him get me?" "no! so may god help me!" said his mother with a paler cheek, and a brighter light in her large dark eyes. "you're _sure_, an't you, mother?" "yes, _sure_!" said the mother, in a voice that startled herself; for it seemed to her to come from a spirit within, that was no part of her; and the boy dropped his little weary head on her shoulder, and was soon asleep. when morning came, as poor harry complained of hunger and thirst, she sat down behind a large rock, which hid them from the road, and gave him a breakfast out of her little package. the boy wondered and grieved that she could not eat, and when putting his arms round her neck he tried to force some of his cake into her mouth, it seemed to her that the rising in her throat would choke her. "no, no, harry, darling! mother can't eat till you are safe! we must go on--on--till we come to the river." and she hurried again into the road and proceeded on her journey. when the trader came to take away harry, he was in a great rage, because neither the boy nor his mother could be found. the master who sold him was also very angry, and ordered two of his negroes, called andy and sam, to bring out two of the swiftest horses, and help the trader to pursue eliza, and take harry from her. andy and sam did not like that work, but being slaves, they dare not disobey. however, they did what they could to detain the trader; for, pretending to be in great haste, they squalled for this and that, and frightened the horses, till they ran off over hedges and ditches, with andy and sam after them, laughing till their sides ached as soon as they got out of sight. the trader all the while stood cursing and swearing, like a wicked man as he was. when the horses were caught, they were so tired with their race, that he was fain to let them stay and rest till dinner-time. but when dinner-time came, chloe the cook, of whom you will hear more in the course of the story, spilled one dish, kept another long in baking; and so the trader did not get his dinner till it was late in the afternoon. the horses were brought out at last, and he set off with sam and andy in pursuit of poor harry and his mother. they had gone a great way by this time, and eliza's feet were sore with walking all the night and day, and harry was ready to lie down and sleep on the snow. as the sun was setting, they came in sight of the great river ohio. there was no bridge over it. people crossed in boats in the summer time, and in winter on the thick ice, with which it was always covered. now it was the month of february. the ice had broken, because spring was near. the river was swollen over all its banks, and no boatman would venture on it. there was a little inn hard by, and there poor eliza hoped to get a little rest for herself and harry, who was now fast asleep in her arms. she had just sat down by the fire, when, who should ride into the yard but the trader and his guides. the swift horses had brought them much quicker than she and harry could walk, but the weary mother would not lose her child. she darted out with him that moment, and the verses will tell you by what means she escaped. eliza crossing the river from her resting-place by the trader chased, through the winter evening cold, eliza came with her boy at last, where a broad deep river rolled. great blocks of the floating ice were there, and the water's roar was wild, but the cruel trader's step was near, who would take her only child. poor harry clung around her neck, but a word he could not say, for his very heart was faint with fear, and with flying all that day. her arms about the boy grew tight, with a loving clasp, and brave; "hold fast! hold fast, now, harry dear, and it may be god will save." from the river's bank to the floating ice she took a sudden bound, and the great block swayed beneath her feet with a dull and heavy sound. so over the roaring rushing flood, from block to block she sprang, and ever her cry for god's good help above the waters rang. and god did hear that mother's cry, for never an ice-block sank; while the cruel trader and his men stood wondering on the bank. a good man saw on the farther side, and gave her his helping hand; so poor eliza, with her boy, stood safe upon the land. a blessing on that good man's arm, on his house, and field, and store; may he never want a friendly hand to help him to the shore! a blessing on all that make such haste, whatever their hands can do! for they that succour the sore distressed, our lord will help them too. when the two negroes saw eliza's escape, they began to laugh and cheer; on which the trader chased them with his horsewhip, cursing and swearing as usual. but he could not get over the river, and went in very bad temper to spend that night at the little inn, determined to get a boat, if possible, and catch harry in the morning. the man who had helped eliza up the river's bank, showed her a pretty white house at some distance, where a kind gentleman and his wife lived. the dark night had fallen, the tea-cups were on the table, and the fires were bright in kitchen and parlour, when the poor mother, all wet and weary, her feet cut by the sharp ice (for she had lost her shoes in the river), walked in, with harry still in her arms. before she could ask for shelter, she dropped down fainting on the floor. the good people of the house thought she was dead, and raised a terrible alarm. mr. and mrs. bird ran into the kitchen to see what had happened. they were good, kind people, and great in that place, for mr. bird was a member of the american parliament. he kept slaves himself, and tried to think it was no sin. he had even been trying that very night, in conversation with his wife, to defend a law lately passed, which forbade any one to give shelter to poor runaway slaves. but mrs. bird would listen to no defence of such a law, and said, "it is a shameful, wicked, and abominable law, and i'll break it for one the first time i have a chance, and i hope i shall have a chance too. i know nothing about politics, but i can read my bible, and there i see that i must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and comfort the desolate; and that bible i mean to follow. no, no, john, said she, you may talk all night, but you would not do what you say. would you now turn away a poor, shivering, hungry creature from your door because he was a runaway? would you, now?" now, if the truth must be told, mr. bird was a very kind man, and could not in his heart give a very decided reply to his wife; and it was just at this moment that poor eliza and little harry came to his door. as we said, mr. and mrs. bird ran to the kitchen to see what had happened. they found poor eliza just recovering from her faint. she stared wildly round her for a moment, and then sprang to her feet, saying, "oh! my harry! have you got him?" the boy at this ran to her, and put his arms round her neck. "oh! he's here, he's here!" she exclaimed. and then she cried wildly to mrs. bird, "o, ma'am, do protect us, don't let them get him!" "nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman," said mrs. bird. "you are safe; don't be afraid." "god bless you," said the woman, covering her face and sobbing, while poor little harry, seeing her crying, tried to get into her lap. with many gentle and womanly offices which no one knew better how to render than mrs. bird, the poor woman was rendered more calm. a temporary bed was provided for her near the fire; and after a short time, eliza, faint and weary with her long journey, fell into a heavy slumber, with little harry soundly sleeping on her arm. "i wonder who and what she is," said mr. bird, when he had gone back to the parlour with his wife. "when she wakes and feels a little rested, we shall see," said mrs. bird, who began to busy herself with her knitting. mr. bird took up a newspaper, and pretended to be reading it, but it was not long before he turned to his wife and said, "i say, wife, couldn't she wear one of your gowns; and there's that old cloak that you keep on purpose to put over me when i take my afternoon's nap, you might give her that; she needs clothes." mrs. bird simply replied, "we'll see;" but a quiet smile passed over her face as she remembered the conversation they had had together that very night before eliza and little harry came to their door. after an hour or two, eliza awoke, and mr. and mrs. bird again went to the kitchen. as they entered, poor eliza lifted her dark eyes, and fixed them on mrs. bird, with such a forlorn and imploring expression, that the tears came into the kind-hearted woman's eyes. "you need not be afraid of anything; we are friends here, poor woman! tell me where you came from, and what you want?" said she. "i came from kentucky," said poor eliza. "and what induced you to run away?" said mrs. bird. the woman looked up with a keen, scrutinising glance, and it did not escape her that mrs. bird was dressed in deep mourning. "ma'am," she said, suddenly, "have you ever lost a child?" the question was unexpected, and it was a thrust on a new wound; for it was only a month since a darling child of the family had been laid in the grave. mr. bird turned round and walked to the window, and mrs. bird burst into tears; but, recovering her voice, she said-- "why do you ask that? i have lost a little one." "then you will feel for me. i have lost two, one after another--left them buried there when i came away; and i had only this one left. i never slept a night without him; he was all i had. he was my comfort and pride day and night; and, ma'am, they were going to take him away from me--to _sell_ him--a baby that had never been away from his mother in his life! i couldn't stand it, ma'am. i knew i never should be good for anything if they did; and when i knew the papers were signed and he was sold, i took him and came off in the night, and they chased me--the man that bought him and some of master's folks, and they were coming down right behind me, and i heard them--i jumped right on to the ice, and how i got across i don't know, but first i knew a man was helping me up the bank." "crossed on the ice?" cried every one present. "yes," said poor eliza, slowly. "i did, god helping me. i crossed on the ice, for they were behind me--right behind--and there was no other way!" all around were affected to tears by eliza's story. mr. bird himself, to hide his feelings, had to turn away, and became particularly busy in wiping his spectacle-glasses and blowing his nose. after a short pause, mrs. bird asked:-- "and where do you mean to go to, my poor woman?" "to canada if i only knew where that was. is it very far off ma'am?" said she, looking up with a simple and confiding air to mrs. bird's face. "poor woman," said mrs. bird, "it is much further off than you think; but we will try to think what can be done for you. here dinah," said she to one of the servants, "make her up a bed in your own room close by the kitchen, and i'll think what to do for her in the morning. meanwhile, never fear poor woman, put your trust in god, he will protect you." mrs. bird and her husband re-entered the parlour. she sat down in her little rocking chair before the fire, swinging it thoughtfully to and fro. mr. bird strode up and down the room, grumbling to himself. at length, striding up to his wife, he said:-- "i say, wife, she'll have to get away from here this very night. that trader fellow will be down after her early to-morrow morning." "to-night," said mrs. bird, "how is it possible--and where to?" "well, i know pretty well where to," said mr. bird, beginning to put on his boots. "i know a place where she would be safe enough, but the plague of the thing is, nobody could drive a carriage there to-night but me. the creek has to be crossed twice, and the second crossing is quite dangerous, unless one know it as i do. but never mind. i'll take her over myself. there is no help for it. i could not bear to see the poor woman caught." "thank you, thank you, dear john," said the wife, laying her white hand on his--"could i ever have loved you had i not known you better than you do yourself?" off mr. bird set to see about the carriage, but at the door he stopped for a moment, and then coming back, he said, with a quivering voice,-- "mary, i don't know how you'd feel about it, but there's the drawer full of things--of--of--poor little henry's." so saying, he turned quickly on his heel, and shut the door after him. his wife opened the little bedroom door adjoining her room, and taking the candle, set it down on the top of a bureau there; then from a small recess she took a key, and put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer, and made a sudden pause, while two boys, who, boy-like, had followed close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant glances, at their mother. and oh! mother that reads this, has there never been in your house a drawer, or a closet, the opening of which has been to you like the opening again of a little grave? ah! happy mother that you are, if it has not been so! mrs. bird slowly opened the drawer. there were little coats of many a form and pattern, piles of aprons, and rows of small stockings; and even a pair of little shoes, worn and rubbed at the toes, were peeping from the folds of a paper. there was a toy horse and waggon, a top, a ball--memorials gathered with many a tear and many a heartbreak! she sat down by the drawer, and leaning her head on her hands over it, wept till the tears fell through her fingers into the drawer; then suddenly raising her head, she began, with nervous haste, selecting the plainest and most substantial articles, and gathering them into a bundle. "mamma," said one of the boys, gently touching her arm, "are you going to give away those things?" "my dear boys," she said, softly and earnestly, "if our dear, loving, little henry looks down from heaven, he would be glad to have us do this. i could not find it in my heart to give them away to any common person--to anybody that was happy; but i give them to a mother more heart-broken and sorrowful than i am; and i hope god will send his blessings with them!" mr. bird returned about twelve o'clock with the carriage. "mary," said he, coming in with his overcoat in his hand, you must wake her up now. "we must be off." soon arrayed in a cloak, bonnet, and shawl that had belonged to her benefactress, poor eliza appeared at the door with her child in her arms. when she got seated in the carriage, she fixed her large dark eyes on mrs. bird's face, and seemed going to speak. her lips moved, but there was no sound; pointing upward with a look never to be forgotten, she fell back in her seat and covered her face. the door was shut, and the carriage drove on. it was not long before they arrived at the place where mr. bird thought they would be safe from the cruel trader. it was a village about seven miles off, consisting of neat houses, with orchards and meadows about them. they all belonged to quakers, a sect of christians whom foolish people laugh at, because they think it right to wear broad-brimmed hats, and odd old-fashioned bonnets; but they do many good and charitable things, especially for the poor negroes, and one of them took harry and his mother in. i cannot tell all the kindness the quaker and his family did to them, giving harry such good things, and watching lest the trader should come that way; but the greatest joy of all was, one evening, when a tall strong man, called phineas fletcher, who was a quaker, and a great traveller, guided to the village harry's poor father, george. his master was going to sell him too, and he had run away, and searched everywhere for his wife and child, to take them with him to canada, which you know belongs to england. oh what a happy meeting that was between george, eliza, and little harry. but they could not remain long with the kind quakers. their cruel pursuers had found out where they were hid, so they had all to set out again together. this time they were guided by the brave-hearted phineas fletcher, and hoped to reach canada in safety. but their pursuers overtook them, and they had to run to the rocks to defend themselves, as the verses will tell. the defence. see harry's poor father, with pistol in hand, how bravely he takes on the steep rock his stand, over rivers, and forests, and towns he has passed, and found his eliza and harry at last. the kind quaker folks that wear drab, brown, and gray, to the wanderers gave shelter and bread on their way, their warm clothes were given them, their waggon was lent, and the strong-armed phineas along with them went. their hope was to journey to canada's shore, where the trader or master could reach them no more; for the english flag floats there, o'er land and o'er sea, and they knew in its shadow the negro was free. but far is their way through the slave-dealing land, and now on their track comes the trader's fierce band; so for refuge and rest to the rocks they have run, and the father will fight for his wife and his son. he fires on the first up the steep rock that springs, but the trader comes on, shouting all wicked things, till phineas right over the crag flings him clear, saying, "friend, in my mind thou hast no business here." then off go the traders to find them more men, and off go the friends in their waggon again; but don't you wish well to the good man for life, who would fight for his freedom, his child, and his wife? [illustration: the defence. but far is their way through the slave-dealing land, and now on their track comes the trader's fierce band so for refuge and rest to the rocks they have run, and the father will fight for his wife and his son.] after this, george and eliza, with their little harry, journeyed on, never stopping, except at the house of another kind friend, to disguise themselves before going on board the steamboat, which at last brought them safe to canada. arrival in the land of freedom. look on the travellers kneeling, in thankful gladness, here, as the boat that brought them o'er the lake, goes steaming from the pier. 'tis harry, like a girl disguised, his mother, like a boy, but the father kneels beside them, and their hearts are full of joy. no man can buy or sell them, no trader chase them more, the land of freedom has been gained, the good canadian shore. and they are strangers on the soil, as poor as poor can be, but the english flag above them floats, they know that they are free. george got employment in a factory, and as he was active and clever in his work, he soon earned enough to take a pretty little house, where they all lived together. harry grew older, and went to school, where he was a good boy, and never forgot how god had preserved him from the wicked trader, and what his poor mother had suffered to bring him away. his father, george, though he worked all day, was learning too from all sorts of good books, which he used to read by the fire in the evenings. he was ever thinking of the poor heathen kings in africa, and the negroes they sold for slaves. so at last, when he had learned a great deal, he determined to become a missionary; and, with his wife and family, he embarked for africa, where he still labours, teaching the poor negroes the glad tidings of the gospel. who uncle tom was. now i must tell you something about uncle tom, from whom this book is named. he was a negro man, as black as jet, and a slave, belonging to mr. shelby, the rich man who at first owned eliza and harry. mr. shelby had a great estate, and many slaves to cultivate it, but they all loved and respected tom, for he was a good christian, and kind to everybody, on which account they used all to call him uncle. tom's master was kind to his slaves, and especially to tom, because he was honest and careful with his property. tom had a cabin or cottage hard by the rich man's house; it was built of logs cut from great trees; there was a garden in front, with beautiful flowers and strawberries in it; and climbing plants, so common in our country, twined along the walls. tom had also a wife as black as himself; her name was chloe, and she cooked for the shelbys. you will remember how late she kept the trader's dinner when he wanted to pursue eliza. they had two little sons, with very black faces and curly heads, and a little black baby just beginning to walk. tom and his family were very happy in that cabin; the poor negroes used to gather there to hear tom sing hymns and pray, for, as i said, he was a pious man, and the slaves had no other church to go to, for many people in america will not let negroes worship god with them. mr. shelby's son, a very clever boy, who had gained many prizes at school, liked tom too, and used to come teach him to read and write in the evenings, and tom had great hopes of being able to read the bible at last. as chloe was a cook she always contrived to have ready something very nice for mr. george when he came to teach her goodman, and george would stand with one eye on tom's copy, and another on the cake she prepared, while the boys and the baby played about them. [illustration: arrival in the land of freedom. no man can buy or sell them, no trader chase them more, the land of freedom has been gained, the good canadian shore.] but all those pleasant days came to an end. mr. shelby lost his money, and got in debt to a man who dealt in slaves; for that debt he sold little harry to him, and the rest of it was paid with poor tom. think what sad news that was for the cabin! tom and his wife have heard that he is sold. the work of the winter day is o'er, but tom and his wife are weeping sore beside the hearth, where you can't forget how the cakes were baked, and the copy set. oh, never again will tom be taught! from his master, by wicked trader bought; and he will carry poor tom next day, from children, and wife, and home away. his home--it was low of roof and wall, but there had been room and love for all, the peace that waits on contented days, the voice of prayer and the hymn of praise. and tom himself, he is black of skin, but, children, his soul is fair within, his life is good and his heart is brave, and yet they have sold him as a slave. [illustration: tom and his wife have heard that he is sold. the fire-light shows on the lowly bed, each dusky face, and each curly head of his little children, sound asleep; oh well may their poor tired mother weep!] the fire light shows on the lowly bed, each dusky face, and each curly head of his little children, sound asleep; oh well may their poor tired mother weep! now tom is trying to soothe her woe: "dear chloe 'tis best that i should go, our babes and you will live safely here, and i may be far, but god is near." "yet think of me, love, when i am gone, and the days of the pleasant spring come on. don't grieve, dear wife"--and his tears fell fast. "you know we will meet in heaven at last." tom might have fled away, as eliza did with harry, but he took pity on mr. shelby for being in debt to the trader, and also feared that if he fled, his wife and children would be sold to pay it. poor chloe wept sore, and so did the boys, and all the negroes on the estate were very sorry to part with him. george shelby was from home when tom was sold, and knew nothing about the matter. but he returned that very day, and the moment he learned that tom was gone, he saddled his horse and rode after him. when he came up to the waggon he sprang into it, and throwing his arms round tom's neck, began sobbing and scolding most violently. "i declare it's a shame! i don't care what they say, any of them. it's a nasty mean shame! if i was a man, they shouldn't do it," said george. "oh, mas'r george! this does me good!" said tom. "i couldn't bear to go off without seein' ye! it does me real good, ye can't tell!" here tom made some movement of his feet, and george's eyes fell on the fetters. "what a shame!" he exclaimed, lifting his hands. "i'll knock that old fellow down--i will!" "no, you won't, mas'r george; and you must not talk so loud. it won't help me any, to anger him." "well, i won't, then, for your sake; but only to think of it--isn't it a shame? they never sent for me, nor sent me any word, and, if it hadn't been for tom lincoln, i shouldn't have heard it. i tell you, i blew them up well, all of them, at home." "that wasn't right, i'm feared, mas'r george." "can't help it! i say it's a shame! look here, uncle tom," said he, turning his back to the rest of the party, and speaking in a mysterious tone, "_i've brought you my dollar!_" "oh, i couldn't think o' takin' it, mas'r george, no ways in the world," said tom, quite moved. "but you shall take it," said george. "look here; i told aunt chloe i'd do it, and she advised me just to make a hole in it, and put a string through, so you could hang it round your neck, and keep it out of sight, else this mean scamp would take it away. i tell ye, tom, i want to blow him up! it would do me good." "no, don't, mas'r george, for it won't do _me_ any good." "well, i won't, for your sake," said george, busily tying his dollar round tom's neck; "but there, now, button your coat tight over it, and keep it, and remember, every time you see it, that i'll come down after you, and bring you back. aunt chloe and i have been talking about it. i told her not to fear; i'll see to it, and i'll tease father's life out if he don't do it." "o, mas'r george, ye mustn't talk so about your father! you must be a good boy; remember how many hearts is set on ye. always keep close to yer mother. don't be gettin' into them foolish ways boys has of gettin' too big to mind their mothers. tell ye what, mas'r george, the lord gives good many things twice over; but he don't give ye a mother but once. ye'll never see sich another woman, mas'r george, if ye live to be a hundred years old. so, now, you hold on to her, and grow up, and be a comfort to her, thar's my own good boy--you will, now, won't ye?" "yes, i will, uncle tom," said george, seriously. "and be careful of yer speaking, mas'r george. young boys, when they come to your age, is wilful, sometimes--it's natur they should be. but real gentlemen, such as i hopes you'll be, never lets fall no words that isn't respectful to thar parents. ye an't offended, mas'r george?" "no indeed, uncle tom; you always did give me good advice." "i's older, ye know," said tom, stroking the boy's fine curly head with his large, strong hand, but speaking in a voice as tender as a woman's--"and i sees all that's bound up in you. o, mas'r george, you has everything--larnin', privileges, readin', writin'--and you'll grow up to be a great, learned, good man, and all the people on the place, and your mother and father'll be so proud on ye! be a good mas'r, like yer father; and be a christian, like yer mother. remember yer creator in the days o' yer youth, mas'r george. and now, good-bye, mas'r george," said tom, looking fondly and admiringly at him. "god almighty bless you!" away george went, and tom looked, till the clatter of his horse's heels died away, the last sound or sight of his home. when the trader was disappointed in catching harry, he put handcuffs on poor tom to prevent his escape, and took him away in a waggon to a town, where he bought more slaves--children from their mothers, and husbands from their wives--some of them as black as tom, and some nearly white, like harry and his mother. then he put them all on board of a steamboat going down the great river mississippi. you will see on the map that it is one of the largest rivers in america. there are many towns on its banks, and steamboats go from one to another carrying goods and passengers; and the trader seeing that tom was quiet and peaceable, took off the handcuffs, and allowed him to go about the steamboat helping the sailors, for tom would help anybody. there were many people on board besides the negroes, and among them a rich gentleman called mr. st. clair. he was returning home from a visit to his relations, who lived in new england, and had with him his little daughter eva, and his cousin miss feely. eva had long yellow curls, and a fair, pretty face; better than that, she had the fear of god and the love of all goodness in her heart. always cheerful, meek, and kindly, everybody loved eva st. clair, especially her father, for she was his only daughter. tom saw her play about the steamboat, for they were days and nights on the voyage. eva used to come close and look at him, when he sat thinking of chloe and the children. the little one was shy, notwithstanding all her busy interest in everything going on, and it was not easy to tame her. but at last tom and she got on quite confidential terms. "what's little missy's name?" said tom at last, when he thought matters were ripe to push such an inquiry. "evangeline st. clair," said the little one, "though papa and everybody else call me eva. now, what's your name?" "my name's tom; the little children used to call me uncle tom, away back thar in kentucky." "then, i mean to call you uncle tom, because, you see, i like you," said eva. "so, uncle tom, where are you going?" "i don't know, miss eva." "don't know?" said eva. "no. i am going to be sold to somebody. i don't know who." "my papa can buy you," said eva, quickly; "and if he buys you, you will have good times. i mean to ask him to, this very day." "thank you, my little lady," said tom. the boat here stopped at a small landing to take in wood, and eva, hearing her father's voice, bounded nimbly away. tom rose up, and went forward to offer his service in wooding, and soon was busy among the hands. eva and her father were standing together by the railings to see the boat start from the landing-place; the wheel had made two or three revolutions in the water, when, by some sudden movement, the little one suddenly lost her balance, and fell sheer over the side of the boat, into the water. her father, scarce knowing what he did, was plunging in after her, but was held back by some behind him, who saw that more efficient aid had followed his child. tom was standing just under her on the lower deck as she fell. he saw her strike the water and sink, and was after her in a moment. a broad-chested, strong-armed fellow, it was nothing for him to keep afloat in the water, till, in a moment or two, the child rose to the surface, and he caught her in his arms, and, swimming with her to the boat-side, handed her up, all dripping, to the grasp of hundreds of hands, which, as if they had all belonged to one man, were stretched eagerly out to receive her. a few moments more, and her father bore her, dripping and senseless, to the ladies' cabin, where she soon recovered. her father was much rejoiced, and eva took such a liking for tom, that she would not rest till the rich mr. st. clair had bought him from the trader; and the girl hoped that she would one day get her father coaxed to set him free. from that day tom and eva were great friends. the steamer brought them safely to new orleans. the trader took all his slaves away to sell them in that town; and tom was taken to mr. st. clair's fine house, where you see him and eva. you may also see the doings of little topsy, a poor negro child, whom mr. st. clair bought, and made a present of to his cousin miss feely. eva putting a wreath of flowers round tom's neck. poor tom is far from his cottage now, from his own good wife, and children three, where coffee, and rice, and cedars grow, by a wide old river like the sea. and he has a master rich and kind, with all that his heart can well desire, but homeward still goes the negro's mind, to the curly heads by his cottage fire. he the gentle eva's life did save, when over the great ship's side she fell, and brought her up from the drowning wave,-- so eva had grown to love him well. she will read to tom for hours on hours, and sit with him on the grass all day; you see she is wreathing pretty flowers, about his neck, in her pleasant play. different in colour and in years are the negro man and that fair child's face; but a likeness in god's sight appears, for both are the children of his grace. [illustration: eva putting a wreath of flowers round tom's neck. she will read to tom for hours on hours, and sit with him on the grass all day; you see she is wreathing pretty flowers about his neck, in her pleasant play.] topsy at the looking glass. see little topsy at the glass quite gay, her mistress has forgot the keys to-day, so she has rummaged every drawer, and dressed herself out in miss feely's very best. mark where she stands! the shawl of gorgeous red wound like a turk's great turban round her head; a finer shawl far trailing on the floor, just shews her bare black elbows, and no more. with what an air she flaunts the ivory fan, and tries to step as stately as she can, mincing fine words to her own shadow, "dear! how very ungenteel the folks are here!" but while that shadow only topsy sees, back comes the careful lady for her keys, and finds her in the grandeur all arrayed-- poor topsy will be punished, i'm afraid. now it is wrong, as every reader knows, to rummage people's drawers, and wear their clothes; but topsy is a negro child, you see, who never learned to read like you and me. a child whom bad men from her mother sold, whom a harsh mistress used to cuff and scold, whom no one taught or cared for all her days, no wonder that the girl had naughty ways. [illustration: topsy at the looking-glass. mark where she stands! the shawl of gorgeous red wound like a turk's great turban round her head, a finer shawl for trailing on the floor, just shows her bare black elbows, and no more.] no home, no school, no bible she had seen, how bless'd besides poor topsy we have been! yet boys and girls among ourselves, i've known puffed up with praise for merits not their own. the copy by some clever school-mate penned, the witty saying picked up from a friend, makes many a miss and master look as fine, as if they coined the words or penned the line. but none can keep such borrowed plumes as these, for some one still comes back to find the keys, and so they are found out, it comes to pass, just like poor topsy at the looking-glass. topsy bringing flowers to eva. poor topsy, trying to be kind, has brought a bunch of garden flowers to eva, when she lies reclined through the bright summer's sultry hours. for sickness hangs on eva now, she can no longer run or play, her cheek is pale, her voice is low, and there she lies the livelong day. yet eva does not fear to die, she knows a better home remains for her, beyond the great blue sky, where comes no sickness, tears, or pains. [illustration: topsy bringing flowers to eva. "oh mother dear, let topsy stay," says eva in her gentle mood, "she brought such pretty flowers to-day, indeed she's trying to be good."] for in her happier days of health she read and prized her bible true, above this poor world's pride or wealth, and loved her blessed saviour too. and she like him was kind to all, and pity on poor topsy had, because the rest would scold and call her names, for being black and bad. so eva strove to make her good, and told her, of all tales the best, how christ came down to shed his blood, that sinners might be saved and blest. poor topsy tried to understand-- none ever taught her so before-- and brought the sweet flowers in her hand,-- the negro girl could do no more. but eva's proud mamma comes in with scornful look and frown severe, she cries, "begone, you nasty thing! in all the world what brings you here?" "oh mother dear, let topsy stay," says eva in her gentle mood, "she brought such pretty flowers to-day, indeed she's trying to be good." "i'm going fast, where there will be no difference, but in sins forgiven, and mother it might chance that we would bring poor topsy flowers in heaven." [illustration: death of eva. oh, swift and sad were the tears that fell, as her gifts among them passed, and tom, he got the first fair curl, and topsy got the last.] the death of eva. there is peace on eva's wasted brow, and a soft light in her eye; but her father's heart grows hopeless now, for he knows that she must die. yet the thought is kind and the trust is true, as she takes him by the hand,-- dear father i will look for you in the light of god's own land. "oh let them cut the long, long curls that flow about my head, and let our poor kind negroes come for a moment round my bed. "they have smoothed and stroked it many a day in their kindly sport, and care, and it may be they will think of me when they see that curling hair." the negroes loved her, young and old, with a fond and deep regard, for eva's look was never sour, and her words were never hard. and her old nurse by the bedside stood, sore sobbing in her woe, that so many sinners here should stay, and the good and young should go. "dear nurse," said eva, "i go home to the happiest home of all; where never an evil thing will come, and never a tear will fall. "and i will hope each one to see, that blessed home within; where christ himself will set us free from the bonds of death and sin." oh, swift and sad were the tears that fell, as her gifts among them passed, and tom, he got the first fair curl, and topsy got the last. but first and last alike were given, with some words of love and prayer; and it may be, hearts were helped to heaven, by the links of that soft hair. when eva was dead and buried, tom missed her sore, but he knew it was the will of god, and tried to comfort his master. mr. st. clair intended to set him free for eva's sake. he was a kind man, but given to delay, and one day a wicked man stabbed him in a coffee-house, when he was trying to settle a quarrel. mrs. st. clair was a proud, hard-hearted woman, who cared for nobody but herself. she sold all the negroes, and tom among them, to a cruel cotton planter, called legree, and you shall see how he behaved. legree striking tom. tom's good wife chloe, far at home, and his boys so blythe and black, are all working hard, in hopes to win the dollars, to buy him back. and george, who taught him long ago, has many a pleasant plan, to pay his price, and set him free. when he comes to be a man. but little does that wicked man, in his angry madness, know, that god himself will take account of each cruel word and blow. and children dear, who see him here, at night and morning pray, that you may never have aught like this laid up for the judgment day! by the time all these things happened, george shelby had grown up; but when he came to buy back tom, the pious, kindly negro, had been so ill-treated by that cruel planter, because he tried to save the other slaves from his evil temper, that he lay dying in an old shed; and there was no law to punish the wicked planter, because tom was black. when george entered the shed where tom lay, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick. "is it possible?" said he, kneeling down by him. "uncle tom, my poor, poor old friend!" something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. he smiled, and said-- "jesus can make a dying bed feel soft as downy pillows are." tears fell from the young man's eyes as he bent over his poor friend. "o, dear uncle tom! do wake--do speak once more! look up. here's mas'r george--your own little mas'r george. don't you know me?" "mas'r george!" said tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice--"mas'r george!" he looked bewildered. slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul; and the vacant eye became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks. "bless the lord' it is--it is--it's all i wanted! they haven't forgot me. it warms my soul; it does my old heart good! now i shall die content! bless the lord, o my soul!" he began to draw his breath with long, deep aspirations; and his broad chest rose and fell heavily. the expression of his face was that of a conqueror. "who--who shall separate us from the love of christ?" he said, in a voice that contended with mortal weakness; and with a smile he fell asleep. beyond the boundaries of the plantation george had noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees; there they made a grave for poor tom. "shall we take off the cloak, mas'r?" said the negroes, when the grave was ready. "no, no; bury it with him. it's all i can give you now, poor tom, and you shall have it." they laid him in; and the men shovelled away silently. they banked it up, and laid green turf over it. "you may go, boys," said george, slipping a quarter dollar into the hand of each. they lingered about, however. "if young mas'r would please buy us," said one. "we'd serve him so faithful!" said the other. "do, mas'r, buy us, please!" "i can't--i can't," said george, with difficulty, motioning them off; "it's impossible!" the poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in silence. "witness, eternal god," said george, kneeling on the grave of his poor friend--"o, witness that, from this hour, i will do _what one man can_ to drive out this curse of slavery from my land!" there is no monument to mark the last resting-place of poor tom. he needs none. his lord knows where he lies, and will raise him up immortal, to appear with him when he shall appear in his glory. [illustration: legree striking tom. but little does that wicked man, in his angry madness, know, that god himself will take account of each cruel word and blow.] little eva song. uncle tom's guardian angel. words by john g. whittier . . . . music by manuel emilio. [illustration: music] dry the tears for holy eva! with the blesséd angels leave her; of the form so sweet and fair, give to earth the tender care. for the golden locks of eva, let the sunny south land give her flow'ry pillow of repose, orange bloom and budding rose, orange bloom and budding rose. all is light and peace with eva; there the darkness cometh never; tears are wiped, and fetters fall, and the lord is all in all. weep no more for happy eva; wrong and sin no more shall grieve her, care, and pain, and weariness, lost in love so measureless! gentle eva, loving eva, child confessor, true believer, listener at the master's knee, "suffer such to come to me." o for faith like thine, sweet eva, lighting all the solemn river, and the blessing of the poor, wafting to the heavenly shore. the end. huckleberry finn by mark twain part . chapter xxvi. well, when they was all gone the king he asks mary jane how they was off for spare rooms, and she said she had one spare room, which would do for uncle william, and she'd give her own room to uncle harvey, which was a little bigger, and she would turn into the room with her sisters and sleep on a cot; and up garret was a little cubby, with a pallet in it. the king said the cubby would do for his valley--meaning me. so mary jane took us up, and she showed them their rooms, which was plain but nice. she said she'd have her frocks and a lot of other traps took out of her room if they was in uncle harvey's way, but he said they warn't. the frocks was hung along the wall, and before them was a curtain made out of calico that hung down to the floor. there was an old hair trunk in one corner, and a guitar-box in another, and all sorts of little knickknacks and jimcracks around, like girls brisken up a room with. the king said it was all the more homely and more pleasanter for these fixings, and so don't disturb them. the duke's room was pretty small, but plenty good enough, and so was my cubby. that night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there, and i stood behind the king and the duke's chairs and waited on them, and the niggers waited on the rest. mary jane she set at the head of the table, with susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits was, and how mean the preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried chickens was--and all that kind of rot, the way women always do for to force out compliments; and the people all knowed everything was tiptop, and said so--said "how do you get biscuits to brown so nice?" and "where, for the land's sake, did you get these amaz'n pickles?" and all that kind of humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a supper, you know. and when it was all done me and the hare-lip had supper in the kitchen off of the leavings, whilst the others was helping the niggers clean up the things. the hare-lip she got to pumping me about england, and blest if i didn't think the ice was getting mighty thin sometimes. she says: "did you ever see the king?" "who? william fourth? well, i bet i have--he goes to our church." i knowed he was dead years ago, but i never let on. so when i says he goes to our church, she says: "what--regular?" "yes--regular. his pew's right over opposite ourn--on t'other side the pulpit." "i thought he lived in london?" "well, he does. where would he live?" "but i thought you lived in sheffield?" i see i was up a stump. i had to let on to get choked with a chicken bone, so as to get time to think how to get down again. then i says: "i mean he goes to our church regular when he's in sheffield. that's only in the summer time, when he comes there to take the sea baths." "why, how you talk--sheffield ain't on the sea." "well, who said it was?" "why, you did." "i didn't nuther." "you did!" "i didn't." "you did." "i never said nothing of the kind." "well, what did you say, then?" "said he come to take the sea baths--that's what i said." "well, then, how's he going to take the sea baths if it ain't on the sea?" "looky here," i says; "did you ever see any congress-water?" "yes." "well, did you have to go to congress to get it?" "why, no." "well, neither does william fourth have to go to the sea to get a sea bath." "how does he get it, then?" "gets it the way people down here gets congress-water--in barrels. there in the palace at sheffield they've got furnaces, and he wants his water hot. they can't bile that amount of water away off there at the sea. they haven't got no conveniences for it." "oh, i see, now. you might a said that in the first place and saved time." when she said that i see i was out of the woods again, and so i was comfortable and glad. next, she says: "do you go to church, too?" "yes--regular." "where do you set?" "why, in our pew." "whose pew?" "why, ourn--your uncle harvey's." "his'n? what does he want with a pew?" "wants it to set in. what did you reckon he wanted with it?" "why, i thought he'd be in the pulpit." rot him, i forgot he was a preacher. i see i was up a stump again, so i played another chicken bone and got another think. then i says: "blame it, do you suppose there ain't but one preacher to a church?" "why, what do they want with more?" "what!--to preach before a king? i never did see such a girl as you. they don't have no less than seventeen." "seventeen! my land! why, i wouldn't set out such a string as that, not if i never got to glory. it must take 'em a week." "shucks, they don't all of 'em preach the same day--only one of 'em." "well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?" "oh, nothing much. loll around, pass the plate--and one thing or another. but mainly they don't do nothing." "well, then, what are they for?" "why, they're for style. don't you know nothing?" "well, i don't want to know no such foolishness as that. how is servants treated in england? do they treat 'em better 'n we treat our niggers?" "no! a servant ain't nobody there. they treat them worse than dogs." "don't they give 'em holidays, the way we do, christmas and new year's week, and fourth of july?" "oh, just listen! a body could tell you hain't ever been to england by that. why, hare-l--why, joanna, they never see a holiday from year's end to year's end; never go to the circus, nor theater, nor nigger shows, nor nowheres." "nor church?" "nor church." "but you always went to church." well, i was gone up again. i forgot i was the old man's servant. but next minute i whirled in on a kind of an explanation how a valley was different from a common servant and had to go to church whether he wanted to or not, and set with the family, on account of its being the law. but i didn't do it pretty good, and when i got done i see she warn't satisfied. she says: "honest injun, now, hain't you been telling me a lot of lies?" "honest injun," says i. "none of it at all?" "none of it at all. not a lie in it," says i. "lay your hand on this book and say it." i see it warn't nothing but a dictionary, so i laid my hand on it and said it. so then she looked a little better satisfied, and says: "well, then, i'll believe some of it; but i hope to gracious if i'll believe the rest." "what is it you won't believe, joe?" says mary jane, stepping in with susan behind her. "it ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to him, and him a stranger and so far from his people. how would you like to be treated so?" "that's always your way, maim--always sailing in to help somebody before they're hurt. i hain't done nothing to him. he's told some stretchers, i reckon, and i said i wouldn't swallow it all; and that's every bit and grain i did say. i reckon he can stand a little thing like that, can't he?" "i don't care whether 'twas little or whether 'twas big; he's here in our house and a stranger, and it wasn't good of you to say it. if you was in his place it would make you feel ashamed; and so you oughtn't to say a thing to another person that will make them feel ashamed." "why, maim, he said--" "it don't make no difference what he said--that ain't the thing. the thing is for you to treat him kind, and not be saying things to make him remember he ain't in his own country and amongst his own folks." i says to myself, this is a girl that i'm letting that old reptle rob her of her money! then susan she waltzed in; and if you'll believe me, she did give hare-lip hark from the tomb! says i to myself, and this is another one that i'm letting him rob her of her money! then mary jane she took another inning, and went in sweet and lovely again--which was her way; but when she got done there warn't hardly anything left o' poor hare-lip. so she hollered. "all right, then," says the other girls; "you just ask his pardon." she done it, too; and she done it beautiful. she done it so beautiful it was good to hear; and i wished i could tell her a thousand lies, so she could do it again. i says to myself, this is another one that i'm letting him rob her of her money. and when she got through they all jest laid theirselves out to make me feel at home and know i was amongst friends. i felt so ornery and low down and mean that i says to myself, my mind's made up; i'll hive that money for them or bust. so then i lit out--for bed, i said, meaning some time or another. when i got by myself i went to thinking the thing over. i says to myself, shall i go to that doctor, private, and blow on these frauds? no--that won't do. he might tell who told him; then the king and the duke would make it warm for me. shall i go, private, and tell mary jane? no--i dasn't do it. her face would give them a hint, sure; they've got the money, and they'd slide right out and get away with it. if she was to fetch in help i'd get mixed up in the business before it was done with, i judge. no; there ain't no good way but one. i got to steal that money, somehow; and i got to steal it some way that they won't suspicion that i done it. they've got a good thing here, and they ain't a-going to leave till they've played this family and this town for all they're worth, so i'll find a chance time enough. i'll steal it and hide it; and by and by, when i'm away down the river, i'll write a letter and tell mary jane where it's hid. but i better hive it tonight if i can, because the doctor maybe hasn't let up as much as he lets on he has; he might scare them out of here yet. so, thinks i, i'll go and search them rooms. upstairs the hall was dark, but i found the duke's room, and started to paw around it with my hands; but i recollected it wouldn't be much like the king to let anybody else take care of that money but his own self; so then i went to his room and begun to paw around there. but i see i couldn't do nothing without a candle, and i dasn't light one, of course. so i judged i'd got to do the other thing--lay for them and eavesdrop. about that time i hears their footsteps coming, and was going to skip under the bed; i reached for it, but it wasn't where i thought it would be; but i touched the curtain that hid mary jane's frocks, so i jumped in behind that and snuggled in amongst the gowns, and stood there perfectly still. they come in and shut the door; and the first thing the duke done was to get down and look under the bed. then i was glad i hadn't found the bed when i wanted it. and yet, you know, it's kind of natural to hide under the bed when you are up to anything private. they sets down then, and the king says: "well, what is it? and cut it middlin' short, because it's better for us to be down there a-whoopin' up the mournin' than up here givin' 'em a chance to talk us over." "well, this is it, capet. i ain't easy; i ain't comfortable. that doctor lays on my mind. i wanted to know your plans. i've got a notion, and i think it's a sound one." "what is it, duke?" "that we better glide out of this before three in the morning, and clip it down the river with what we've got. specially, seeing we got it so easy--given back to us, flung at our heads, as you may say, when of course we allowed to have to steal it back. i'm for knocking off and lighting out." that made me feel pretty bad. about an hour or two ago it would a been a little different, but now it made me feel bad and disappointed, the king rips out and says: "what! and not sell out the rest o' the property? march off like a passel of fools and leave eight or nine thous'n' dollars' worth o' property layin' around jest sufferin' to be scooped in?--and all good, salable stuff, too." the duke he grumbled; said the bag of gold was enough, and he didn't want to go no deeper--didn't want to rob a lot of orphans of everything they had. "why, how you talk!" says the king. "we sha'n't rob 'em of nothing at all but jest this money. the people that buys the property is the suff'rers; because as soon 's it's found out 'at we didn't own it--which won't be long after we've slid--the sale won't be valid, and it 'll all go back to the estate. these yer orphans 'll git their house back agin, and that's enough for them; they're young and spry, and k'n easy earn a livin'. they ain't a-goin to suffer. why, jest think--there's thous'n's and thous'n's that ain't nigh so well off. bless you, they ain't got noth'n' to complain of." well, the king he talked him blind; so at last he give in, and said all right, but said he believed it was blamed foolishness to stay, and that doctor hanging over them. but the king says: "cuss the doctor! what do we k'yer for him? hain't we got all the fools in town on our side? and ain't that a big enough majority in any town?" so they got ready to go down stairs again. the duke says: "i don't think we put that money in a good place." that cheered me up. i'd begun to think i warn't going to get a hint of no kind to help me. the king says: "why?" "because mary jane 'll be in mourning from this out; and first you know the nigger that does up the rooms will get an order to box these duds up and put 'em away; and do you reckon a nigger can run across money and not borrow some of it?" "your head's level agin, duke," says the king; and he comes a-fumbling under the curtain two or three foot from where i was. i stuck tight to the wall and kept mighty still, though quivery; and i wondered what them fellows would say to me if they catched me; and i tried to think what i'd better do if they did catch me. but the king he got the bag before i could think more than about a half a thought, and he never suspicioned i was around. they took and shoved the bag through a rip in the straw tick that was under the feather-bed, and crammed it in a foot or two amongst the straw and said it was all right now, because a nigger only makes up the feather-bed, and don't turn over the straw tick only about twice a year, and so it warn't in no danger of getting stole now. but i knowed better. i had it out of there before they was half-way down stairs. i groped along up to my cubby, and hid it there till i could get a chance to do better. i judged i better hide it outside of the house somewheres, because if they missed it they would give the house a good ransacking: i knowed that very well. then i turned in, with my clothes all on; but i couldn't a gone to sleep if i'd a wanted to, i was in such a sweat to get through with the business. by and by i heard the king and the duke come up; so i rolled off my pallet and laid with my chin at the top of my ladder, and waited to see if anything was going to happen. but nothing did. so i held on till all the late sounds had quit and the early ones hadn't begun yet; and then i slipped down the ladder. chapter xxvii. i crept to their doors and listened; they was snoring. so i tiptoed along, and got down stairs all right. there warn't a sound anywheres. i peeped through a crack of the dining-room door, and see the men that was watching the corpse all sound asleep on their chairs. the door was open into the parlor, where the corpse was laying, and there was a candle in both rooms. i passed along, and the parlor door was open; but i see there warn't nobody in there but the remainders of peter; so i shoved on by; but the front door was locked, and the key wasn't there. just then i heard somebody coming down the stairs, back behind me. i run in the parlor and took a swift look around, and the only place i see to hide the bag was in the coffin. the lid was shoved along about a foot, showing the dead man's face down in there, with a wet cloth over it, and his shroud on. i tucked the money-bag in under the lid, just down beyond where his hands was crossed, which made me creep, they was so cold, and then i run back across the room and in behind the door. the person coming was mary jane. she went to the coffin, very soft, and kneeled down and looked in; then she put up her handkerchief, and i see she begun to cry, though i couldn't hear her, and her back was to me. i slid out, and as i passed the dining-room i thought i'd make sure them watchers hadn't seen me; so i looked through the crack, and everything was all right. they hadn't stirred. i slipped up to bed, feeling ruther blue, on accounts of the thing playing out that way after i had took so much trouble and run so much resk about it. says i, if it could stay where it is, all right; because when we get down the river a hundred mile or two i could write back to mary jane, and she could dig him up again and get it; but that ain't the thing that's going to happen; the thing that's going to happen is, the money 'll be found when they come to screw on the lid. then the king 'll get it again, and it 'll be a long day before he gives anybody another chance to smouch it from him. of course i wanted to slide down and get it out of there, but i dasn't try it. every minute it was getting earlier now, and pretty soon some of them watchers would begin to stir, and i might get catched--catched with six thousand dollars in my hands that nobody hadn't hired me to take care of. i don't wish to be mixed up in no such business as that, i says to myself. when i got down stairs in the morning the parlor was shut up, and the watchers was gone. there warn't nobody around but the family and the widow bartley and our tribe. i watched their faces to see if anything had been happening, but i couldn't tell. towards the middle of the day the undertaker come with his man, and they set the coffin in the middle of the room on a couple of chairs, and then set all our chairs in rows, and borrowed more from the neighbors till the hall and the parlor and the dining-room was full. i see the coffin lid was the way it was before, but i dasn't go to look in under it, with folks around. then the people begun to flock in, and the beats and the girls took seats in the front row at the head of the coffin, and for a half an hour the people filed around slow, in single rank, and looked down at the dead man's face a minute, and some dropped in a tear, and it was all very still and solemn, only the girls and the beats holding handkerchiefs to their eyes and keeping their heads bent, and sobbing a little. there warn't no other sound but the scraping of the feet on the floor and blowing noses--because people always blows them more at a funeral than they do at other places except church. when the place was packed full the undertaker he slid around in his black gloves with his softy soothering ways, putting on the last touches, and getting people and things all ship-shape and comfortable, and making no more sound than a cat. he never spoke; he moved people around, he squeezed in late ones, he opened up passageways, and done it with nods, and signs with his hands. then he took his place over against the wall. he was the softest, glidingest, stealthiest man i ever see; and there warn't no more smile to him than there is to a ham. they had borrowed a melodeum--a sick one; and when everything was ready a young woman set down and worked it, and it was pretty skreeky and colicky, and everybody joined in and sung, and peter was the only one that had a good thing, according to my notion. then the reverend hobson opened up, slow and solemn, and begun to talk; and straight off the most outrageous row busted out in the cellar a body ever heard; it was only one dog, but he made a most powerful racket, and he kept it up right along; the parson he had to stand there, over the coffin, and wait--you couldn't hear yourself think. it was right down awkward, and nobody didn't seem to know what to do. but pretty soon they see that long-legged undertaker make a sign to the preacher as much as to say, "don't you worry--just depend on me." then he stooped down and begun to glide along the wall, just his shoulders showing over the people's heads. so he glided along, and the powwow and racket getting more and more outrageous all the time; and at last, when he had gone around two sides of the room, he disappears down cellar. then in about two seconds we heard a whack, and the dog he finished up with a most amazing howl or two, and then everything was dead still, and the parson begun his solemn talk where he left off. in a minute or two here comes this undertaker's back and shoulders gliding along the wall again; and so he glided and glided around three sides of the room, and then rose up, and shaded his mouth with his hands, and stretched his neck out towards the preacher, over the people's heads, and says, in a kind of a coarse whisper, "he had a rat!" then he drooped down and glided along the wall again to his place. you could see it was a great satisfaction to the people, because naturally they wanted to know. a little thing like that don't cost nothing, and it's just the little things that makes a man to be looked up to and liked. there warn't no more popular man in town than what that undertaker was. well, the funeral sermon was very good, but pison long and tiresome; and then the king he shoved in and got off some of his usual rubbage, and at last the job was through, and the undertaker begun to sneak up on the coffin with his screw-driver. i was in a sweat then, and watched him pretty keen. but he never meddled at all; just slid the lid along as soft as mush, and screwed it down tight and fast. so there i was! i didn't know whether the money was in there or not. so, says i, s'pose somebody has hogged that bag on the sly?--now how do i know whether to write to mary jane or not? s'pose she dug him up and didn't find nothing, what would she think of me? blame it, i says, i might get hunted up and jailed; i'd better lay low and keep dark, and not write at all; the thing's awful mixed now; trying to better it, i've worsened it a hundred times, and i wish to goodness i'd just let it alone, dad fetch the whole business! they buried him, and we come back home, and i went to watching faces again--i couldn't help it, and i couldn't rest easy. but nothing come of it; the faces didn't tell me nothing. the king he visited around in the evening, and sweetened everybody up, and made himself ever so friendly; and he give out the idea that his congregation over in england would be in a sweat about him, so he must hurry and settle up the estate right away and leave for home. he was very sorry he was so pushed, and so was everybody; they wished he could stay longer, but they said they could see it couldn't be done. and he said of course him and william would take the girls home with them; and that pleased everybody too, because then the girls would be well fixed and amongst their own relations; and it pleased the girls, too--tickled them so they clean forgot they ever had a trouble in the world; and told him to sell out as quick as he wanted to, they would be ready. them poor things was that glad and happy it made my heart ache to see them getting fooled and lied to so, but i didn't see no safe way for me to chip in and change the general tune. well, blamed if the king didn't bill the house and the niggers and all the property for auction straight off--sale two days after the funeral; but anybody could buy private beforehand if they wanted to. so the next day after the funeral, along about noon-time, the girls' joy got the first jolt. a couple of nigger traders come along, and the king sold them the niggers reasonable, for three-day drafts as they called it, and away they went, the two sons up the river to memphis, and their mother down the river to orleans. i thought them poor girls and them niggers would break their hearts for grief; they cried around each other, and took on so it most made me down sick to see it. the girls said they hadn't ever dreamed of seeing the family separated or sold away from the town. i can't ever get it out of my memory, the sight of them poor miserable girls and niggers hanging around each other's necks and crying; and i reckon i couldn't a stood it all, but would a had to bust out and tell on our gang if i hadn't knowed the sale warn't no account and the niggers would be back home in a week or two. the thing made a big stir in the town, too, and a good many come out flatfooted and said it was scandalous to separate the mother and the children that way. it injured the frauds some; but the old fool he bulled right along, spite of all the duke could say or do, and i tell you the duke was powerful uneasy. next day was auction day. about broad day in the morning the king and the duke come up in the garret and woke me up, and i see by their look that there was trouble. the king says: "was you in my room night before last?" "no, your majesty"--which was the way i always called him when nobody but our gang warn't around. "was you in there yisterday er last night?" "no, your majesty." "honor bright, now--no lies." "honor bright, your majesty, i'm telling you the truth. i hain't been a-near your room since miss mary jane took you and the duke and showed it to you." the duke says: "have you seen anybody else go in there?" "no, your grace, not as i remember, i believe." "stop and think." i studied awhile and see my chance; then i says: "well, i see the niggers go in there several times." both of them gave a little jump, and looked like they hadn't ever expected it, and then like they had. then the duke says: "what, all of them?" "no--leastways, not all at once--that is, i don't think i ever see them all come out at once but just one time." "hello! when was that?" "it was the day we had the funeral. in the morning. it warn't early, because i overslept. i was just starting down the ladder, and i see them." "well, go on, go on! what did they do? how'd they act?" "they didn't do nothing. and they didn't act anyway much, as fur as i see. they tiptoed away; so i seen, easy enough, that they'd shoved in there to do up your majesty's room, or something, s'posing you was up; and found you warn't up, and so they was hoping to slide out of the way of trouble without waking you up, if they hadn't already waked you up." "great guns, this is a go!" says the king; and both of them looked pretty sick and tolerable silly. they stood there a-thinking and scratching their heads a minute, and the duke he bust into a kind of a little raspy chuckle, and says: "it does beat all how neat the niggers played their hand. they let on to be sorry they was going out of this region! and i believed they was sorry, and so did you, and so did everybody. don't ever tell me any more that a nigger ain't got any histrionic talent. why, the way they played that thing it would fool anybody. in my opinion, there's a fortune in 'em. if i had capital and a theater, i wouldn't want a better lay-out than that--and here we've gone and sold 'em for a song. yes, and ain't privileged to sing the song yet. say, where is that song--that draft?" "in the bank for to be collected. where would it be?" "well, that's all right then, thank goodness." says i, kind of timid-like: "is something gone wrong?" the king whirls on me and rips out: "none o' your business! you keep your head shet, and mind y'r own affairs--if you got any. long as you're in this town don't you forgit that--you hear?" then he says to the duke, "we got to jest swaller it and say noth'n': mum's the word for us." as they was starting down the ladder the duke he chuckles again, and says: "quick sales and small profits! it's a good business--yes." the king snarls around on him and says: "i was trying to do for the best in sellin' 'em out so quick. if the profits has turned out to be none, lackin' considable, and none to carry, is it my fault any more'n it's yourn?" "well, they'd be in this house yet and we wouldn't if i could a got my advice listened to." the king sassed back as much as was safe for him, and then swapped around and lit into me again. he give me down the banks for not coming and telling him i see the niggers come out of his room acting that way--said any fool would a knowed something was up. and then waltzed in and cussed himself awhile, and said it all come of him not laying late and taking his natural rest that morning, and he'd be blamed if he'd ever do it again. so they went off a-jawing; and i felt dreadful glad i'd worked it all off on to the niggers, and yet hadn't done the niggers no harm by it. chapter xxviii. by and by it was getting-up time. so i come down the ladder and started for down-stairs; but as i come to the girls' room the door was open, and i see mary jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'd been packing things in it--getting ready to go to england. but she had stopped now with a folded gown in her lap, and had her face in her hands, crying. i felt awful bad to see it; of course anybody would. i went in there and says: "miss mary jane, you can't a-bear to see people in trouble, and i can't --most always. tell me about it." so she done it. and it was the niggers--i just expected it. she said the beautiful trip to england was most about spoiled for her; she didn't know how she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the mother and the children warn't ever going to see each other no more--and then busted out bitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says: "oh, dear, dear, to think they ain't ever going to see each other any more!" "but they will--and inside of two weeks--and i know it!" says i. laws, it was out before i could think! and before i could budge she throws her arms around my neck and told me to say it again, say it again, say it again! i see i had spoke too sudden and said too much, and was in a close place. i asked her to let me think a minute; and she set there, very impatient and excited and handsome, but looking kind of happy and eased-up, like a person that's had a tooth pulled out. so i went to studying it out. i says to myself, i reckon a body that ups and tells the truth when he is in a tight place is taking considerable many resks, though i ain't had no experience, and can't say for certain; but it looks so to me, anyway; and yet here's a case where i'm blest if it don't look to me like the truth is better and actuly safer than a lie. i must lay it by in my mind, and think it over some time or other, it's so kind of strange and unregular. i never see nothing like it. well, i says to myself at last, i'm a-going to chance it; i'll up and tell the truth this time, though it does seem most like setting down on a kag of powder and touching it off just to see where you'll go to. then i says: "miss mary jane, is there any place out of town a little ways where you could go and stay three or four days?" "yes; mr. lothrop's. why?" "never mind why yet. if i'll tell you how i know the niggers will see each other again inside of two weeks--here in this house--and prove how i know it--will you go to mr. lothrop's and stay four days?" "four days!" she says; "i'll stay a year!" "all right," i says, "i don't want nothing more out of you than just your word--i druther have it than another man's kiss-the-bible." she smiled and reddened up very sweet, and i says, "if you don't mind it, i'll shut the door--and bolt it." then i come back and set down again, and says: "don't you holler. just set still and take it like a man. i got to tell the truth, and you want to brace up, miss mary, because it's a bad kind, and going to be hard to take, but there ain't no help for it. these uncles of yourn ain't no uncles at all; they're a couple of frauds --regular dead-beats. there, now we're over the worst of it, you can stand the rest middling easy." it jolted her up like everything, of course; but i was over the shoal water now, so i went right along, her eyes a-blazing higher and higher all the time, and told her every blame thing, from where we first struck that young fool going up to the steamboat, clear through to where she flung herself on to the king's breast at the front door and he kissed her sixteen or seventeen times--and then up she jumps, with her face afire like sunset, and says: "the brute! come, don't waste a minute--not a second--we'll have them tarred and feathered, and flung in the river!" says i: "cert'nly. but do you mean before you go to mr. lothrop's, or--" "oh," she says, "what am i thinking about!" she says, and set right down again. "don't mind what i said--please don't--you won't, now, will you?" laying her silky hand on mine in that kind of a way that i said i would die first. "i never thought, i was so stirred up," she says; "now go on, and i won't do so any more. you tell me what to do, and whatever you say i'll do it." "well," i says, "it's a rough gang, them two frauds, and i'm fixed so i got to travel with them a while longer, whether i want to or not--i druther not tell you why; and if you was to blow on them this town would get me out of their claws, and i'd be all right; but there'd be another person that you don't know about who'd be in big trouble. well, we got to save him, hain't we? of course. well, then, we won't blow on them." saying them words put a good idea in my head. i see how maybe i could get me and jim rid of the frauds; get them jailed here, and then leave. but i didn't want to run the raft in the daytime without anybody aboard to answer questions but me; so i didn't want the plan to begin working till pretty late to-night. i says: "miss mary jane, i'll tell you what we'll do, and you won't have to stay at mr. lothrop's so long, nuther. how fur is it?" "a little short of four miles--right out in the country, back here." "well, that 'll answer. now you go along out there, and lay low till nine or half-past to-night, and then get them to fetch you home again --tell them you've thought of something. if you get here before eleven put a candle in this window, and if i don't turn up wait till eleven, and then if i don't turn up it means i'm gone, and out of the way, and safe. then you come out and spread the news around, and get these beats jailed." "good," she says, "i'll do it." "and if it just happens so that i don't get away, but get took up along with them, you must up and say i told you the whole thing beforehand, and you must stand by me all you can." "stand by you! indeed i will. they sha'n't touch a hair of your head!" she says, and i see her nostrils spread and her eyes snap when she said it, too. "if i get away i sha'n't be here," i says, "to prove these rapscallions ain't your uncles, and i couldn't do it if i was here. i could swear they was beats and bummers, that's all, though that's worth something. well, there's others can do that better than what i can, and they're people that ain't going to be doubted as quick as i'd be. i'll tell you how to find them. gimme a pencil and a piece of paper. there--'royal nonesuch, bricksville.' put it away, and don't lose it. when the court wants to find out something about these two, let them send up to bricksville and say they've got the men that played the royal nonesuch, and ask for some witnesses--why, you'll have that entire town down here before you can hardly wink, miss mary. and they'll come a-biling, too." i judged we had got everything fixed about right now. so i says: "just let the auction go right along, and don't worry. nobody don't have to pay for the things they buy till a whole day after the auction on accounts of the short notice, and they ain't going out of this till they get that money; and the way we've fixed it the sale ain't going to count, and they ain't going to get no money. it's just like the way it was with the niggers--it warn't no sale, and the niggers will be back before long. why, they can't collect the money for the niggers yet--they're in the worst kind of a fix, miss mary." "well," she says, "i'll run down to breakfast now, and then i'll start straight for mr. lothrop's." "'deed, that ain't the ticket, miss mary jane," i says, "by no manner of means; go before breakfast." "why?" "what did you reckon i wanted you to go at all for, miss mary?" "well, i never thought--and come to think, i don't know. what was it?" "why, it's because you ain't one of these leather-face people. i don't want no better book than what your face is. a body can set down and read it off like coarse print. do you reckon you can go and face your uncles when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never--" "there, there, don't! yes, i'll go before breakfast--i'll be glad to. and leave my sisters with them?" "yes; never mind about them. they've got to stand it yet a while. they might suspicion something if all of you was to go. i don't want you to see them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was to ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something. no, you go right along, miss mary jane, and i'll fix it with all of them. i'll tell miss susan to give your love to your uncles and say you've went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or to see a friend, and you'll be back to-night or early in the morning." "gone to see a friend is all right, but i won't have my love given to them." "well, then, it sha'n't be." it was well enough to tell her so--no harm in it. it was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's the little things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below; it would make mary jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing. then i says: "there's one more thing--that bag of money." "well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think how they got it." "no, you're out, there. they hain't got it." "why, who's got it?" "i wish i knowed, but i don't. i had it, because i stole it from them; and i stole it to give to you; and i know where i hid it, but i'm afraid it ain't there no more. i'm awful sorry, miss mary jane, i'm just as sorry as i can be; but i done the best i could; i did honest. i come nigh getting caught, and i had to shove it into the first place i come to, and run--and it warn't a good place." "oh, stop blaming yourself--it's too bad to do it, and i won't allow it --you couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault. where did you hide it?" i didn't want to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and i couldn't seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see that corpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach. so for a minute i didn't say nothing; then i says: "i'd ruther not tell you where i put it, miss mary jane, if you don't mind letting me off; but i'll write it for you on a piece of paper, and you can read it along the road to mr. lothrop's, if you want to. do you reckon that 'll do?" "oh, yes." so i wrote: "i put it in the coffin. it was in there when you was crying there, away in the night. i was behind the door, and i was mighty sorry for you, miss mary jane." it made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all by herself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her own roof, shaming her and robbing her; and when i folded it up and give it to her i see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by the hand, hard, and says: "good-bye. i'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and if i don't ever see you again, i sha'n't ever forget you and i'll think of you a many and a many a time, and i'll pray for you, too!"--and she was gone. pray for me! i reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was more nearer her size. but i bet she done it, just the same--she was just that kind. she had the grit to pray for judus if she took the notion--there warn't no back-down to her, i judge. you may say what you want to, but in my opinion she had more sand in her than any girl i ever see; in my opinion she was just full of sand. it sounds like flattery, but it ain't no flattery. and when it comes to beauty--and goodness, too--she lays over them all. i hain't ever seen her since that time that i see her go out of that door; no, i hain't ever seen her since, but i reckon i've thought of her a many and a many a million times, and of her saying she would pray for me; and if ever i'd a thought it would do any good for me to pray for her, blamed if i wouldn't a done it or bust. well, mary jane she lit out the back way, i reckon; because nobody see her go. when i struck susan and the hare-lip, i says: "what's the name of them people over on t'other side of the river that you all goes to see sometimes?" they says: "there's several; but it's the proctors, mainly." "that's the name," i says; "i most forgot it. well, miss mary jane she told me to tell you she's gone over there in a dreadful hurry--one of them's sick." "which one?" "i don't know; leastways, i kinder forget; but i thinks it's--" "sakes alive, i hope it ain't hanner?" "i'm sorry to say it," i says, "but hanner's the very one." "my goodness, and she so well only last week! is she took bad?" "it ain't no name for it. they set up with her all night, miss mary jane said, and they don't think she'll last many hours." "only think of that, now! what's the matter with her?" i couldn't think of anything reasonable, right off that way, so i says: "mumps." "mumps your granny! they don't set up with people that's got the mumps." "they don't, don't they? you better bet they do with these mumps. these mumps is different. it's a new kind, miss mary jane said." "how's it a new kind?" "because it's mixed up with other things." "what other things?" "well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, and consumption, and yaller janders, and brain-fever, and i don't know what all." "my land! and they call it the mumps?" "that's what miss mary jane said." "well, what in the nation do they call it the mumps for?" "why, because it is the mumps. that's what it starts with." "well, ther' ain't no sense in it. a body might stump his toe, and take pison, and fall down the well, and break his neck, and bust his brains out, and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskull up and say, 'why, he stumped his toe.' would ther' be any sense in that? no. and ther' ain't no sense in this, nuther. is it ketching?" "is it ketching? why, how you talk. is a harrow catching--in the dark? if you don't hitch on to one tooth, you're bound to on another, ain't you? and you can't get away with that tooth without fetching the whole harrow along, can you? well, these kind of mumps is a kind of a harrow, as you may say--and it ain't no slouch of a harrow, nuther, you come to get it hitched on good." "well, it's awful, i think," says the hare-lip. "i'll go to uncle harvey and--" "oh, yes," i says, "i would. of course i would. i wouldn't lose no time." "well, why wouldn't you?" "just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see. hain't your uncles obleegd to get along home to england as fast as they can? and do you reckon they'd be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all that journey by yourselves? you know they'll wait for you. so fur, so good. your uncle harvey's a preacher, ain't he? very well, then; is a preacher going to deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to deceive a ship clerk? --so as to get them to let miss mary jane go aboard? now you know he ain't. what will he do, then? why, he'll say, 'it's a great pity, but my church matters has got to get along the best way they can; for my niece has been exposed to the dreadful pluribus-unum mumps, and so it's my bounden duty to set down here and wait the three months it takes to show on her if she's got it.' but never mind, if you think it's best to tell your uncle harvey--" "shucks, and stay fooling around here when we could all be having good times in england whilst we was waiting to find out whether mary jane's got it or not? why, you talk like a muggins." "well, anyway, maybe you'd better tell some of the neighbors." "listen at that, now. you do beat all for natural stupidness. can't you see that they'd go and tell? ther' ain't no way but just to not tell anybody at all." "well, maybe you're right--yes, i judge you are right." "but i reckon we ought to tell uncle harvey she's gone out a while, anyway, so he won't be uneasy about her?" "yes, miss mary jane she wanted you to do that. she says, 'tell them to give uncle harvey and william my love and a kiss, and say i've run over the river to see mr.'--mr.--what is the name of that rich family your uncle peter used to think so much of?--i mean the one that--" "why, you must mean the apthorps, ain't it?" "of course; bother them kind of names, a body can't ever seem to remember them, half the time, somehow. yes, she said, say she has run over for to ask the apthorps to be sure and come to the auction and buy this house, because she allowed her uncle peter would ruther they had it than anybody else; and she's going to stick to them till they say they'll come, and then, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; and if she is, she'll be home in the morning anyway. she said, don't say nothing about the proctors, but only about the apthorps--which 'll be perfectly true, because she is going there to speak about their buying the house; i know it, because she told me so herself." "all right," they said, and cleared out to lay for their uncles, and give them the love and the kisses, and tell them the message. everything was all right now. the girls wouldn't say nothing because they wanted to go to england; and the king and the duke would ruther mary jane was off working for the auction than around in reach of doctor robinson. i felt very good; i judged i had done it pretty neat--i reckoned tom sawyer couldn't a done it no neater himself. of course he would a throwed more style into it, but i can't do that very handy, not being brung up to it. well, they held the auction in the public square, along towards the end of the afternoon, and it strung along, and strung along, and the old man he was on hand and looking his level pisonest, up there longside of the auctioneer, and chipping in a little scripture now and then, or a little goody-goody saying of some kind, and the duke he was around goo-gooing for sympathy all he knowed how, and just spreading himself generly. but by and by the thing dragged through, and everything was sold --everything but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard. so they'd got to work that off--i never see such a girafft as the king was for wanting to swallow everything. well, whilst they was at it a steamboat landed, and in about two minutes up comes a crowd a-whooping and yelling and laughing and carrying on, and singing out: "here's your opposition line! here's your two sets o' heirs to old peter wilks--and you pays your money and you takes your choice!" chapter xxix. they was fetching a very nice-looking old gentleman along, and a nice-looking younger one, with his right arm in a sling. and, my souls, how the people yelled and laughed, and kept it up. but i didn't see no joke about it, and i judged it would strain the duke and the king some to see any. i reckoned they'd turn pale. but no, nary a pale did they turn. the duke he never let on he suspicioned what was up, but just went a goo-gooing around, happy and satisfied, like a jug that's googling out buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed down sorrowful on them new-comers like it give him the stomach-ache in his very heart to think there could be such frauds and rascals in the world. oh, he done it admirable. lots of the principal people gethered around the king, to let him see they was on his side. that old gentleman that had just come looked all puzzled to death. pretty soon he begun to speak, and i see straight off he pronounced like an englishman--not the king's way, though the king's was pretty good for an imitation. i can't give the old gent's words, nor i can't imitate him; but he turned around to the crowd, and says, about like this: "this is a surprise to me which i wasn't looking for; and i'll acknowledge, candid and frank, i ain't very well fixed to meet it and answer it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he's broke his arm, and our baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the night by a mistake. i am peter wilks' brother harvey, and this is his brother william, which can't hear nor speak--and can't even make signs to amount to much, now't he's only got one hand to work them with. we are who we say we are; and in a day or two, when i get the baggage, i can prove it. but up till then i won't say nothing more, but go to the hotel and wait." so him and the new dummy started off; and the king he laughs, and blethers out: "broke his arm--very likely, ain't it?--and very convenient, too, for a fraud that's got to make signs, and ain't learnt how. lost their baggage! that's mighty good!--and mighty ingenious--under the circumstances!" so he laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four, or maybe half a dozen. one of these was that doctor; another one was a sharp-looking gentleman, with a carpet-bag of the old-fashioned kind made out of carpet-stuff, that had just come off of the steamboat and was talking to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now and then and nodding their heads--it was levi bell, the lawyer that was gone up to louisville; and another one was a big rough husky that come along and listened to all the old gentleman said, and was listening to the king now. and when the king got done this husky up and says: "say, looky here; if you are harvey wilks, when'd you come to this town?" "the day before the funeral, friend," says the king. "but what time o' day?" "in the evenin'--'bout an hour er two before sundown." "how'd you come?" "i come down on the susan powell from cincinnati." "well, then, how'd you come to be up at the pint in the mornin'--in a canoe?" "i warn't up at the pint in the mornin'." "it's a lie." several of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to an old man and a preacher. "preacher be hanged, he's a fraud and a liar. he was up at the pint that mornin'. i live up there, don't i? well, i was up there, and he was up there. i see him there. he come in a canoe, along with tim collins and a boy." the doctor he up and says: "would you know the boy again if you was to see him, hines?" "i reckon i would, but i don't know. why, yonder he is, now. i know him perfectly easy." it was me he pointed at. the doctor says: "neighbors, i don't know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but if these two ain't frauds, i am an idiot, that's all. i think it's our duty to see that they don't get away from here till we've looked into this thing. come along, hines; come along, the rest of you. we'll take these fellows to the tavern and affront them with t'other couple, and i reckon we'll find out something before we get through." it was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king's friends; so we all started. it was about sundown. the doctor he led me along by the hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand. we all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and fetched in the new couple. first, the doctor says: "i don't wish to be too hard on these two men, but i think they're frauds, and they may have complices that we don't know nothing about. if they have, won't the complices get away with that bag of gold peter wilks left? it ain't unlikely. if these men ain't frauds, they won't object to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove they're all right--ain't that so?" everybody agreed to that. so i judged they had our gang in a pretty tight place right at the outstart. but the king he only looked sorrowful, and says: "gentlemen, i wish the money was there, for i ain't got no disposition to throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation o' this misable business; but, alas, the money ain't there; you k'n send and see, if you want to." "where is it, then?" "well, when my niece give it to me to keep for her i took and hid it inside o' the straw tick o' my bed, not wishin' to bank it for the few days we'd be here, and considerin' the bed a safe place, we not bein' used to niggers, and suppos'n' 'em honest, like servants in england. the niggers stole it the very next mornin' after i had went down stairs; and when i sold 'em i hadn't missed the money yit, so they got clean away with it. my servant here k'n tell you 'bout it, gentlemen." the doctor and several said "shucks!" and i see nobody didn't altogether believe him. one man asked me if i see the niggers steal it. i said no, but i see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away, and i never thought nothing, only i reckoned they was afraid they had waked up my master and was trying to get away before he made trouble with them. that was all they asked me. then the doctor whirls on me and says: "are you english, too?" i says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, "stuff!" well, then they sailed in on the general investigation, and there we had it, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word about supper, nor ever seemed to think about it--and so they kept it up, and kept it up; and it was the worst mixed-up thing you ever see. they made the king tell his yarn, and they made the old gentleman tell his'n; and anybody but a lot of prejudiced chuckleheads would a seen that the old gentleman was spinning truth and t'other one lies. and by and by they had me up to tell what i knowed. the king he give me a left-handed look out of the corner of his eye, and so i knowed enough to talk on the right side. i begun to tell about sheffield, and how we lived there, and all about the english wilkses, and so on; but i didn't get pretty fur till the doctor begun to laugh; and levi bell, the lawyer, says: "set down, my boy; i wouldn't strain myself if i was you. i reckon you ain't used to lying, it don't seem to come handy; what you want is practice. you do it pretty awkward." i didn't care nothing for the compliment, but i was glad to be let off, anyway. the doctor he started to say something, and turns and says: "if you'd been in town at first, levi bell--" the king broke in and reached out his hand, and says: "why, is this my poor dead brother's old friend that he's wrote so often about?" the lawyer and him shook hands, and the lawyer smiled and looked pleased, and they talked right along awhile, and then got to one side and talked low; and at last the lawyer speaks up and says: "that 'll fix it. i'll take the order and send it, along with your brother's, and then they'll know it's all right." so they got some paper and a pen, and the king he set down and twisted his head to one side, and chawed his tongue, and scrawled off something; and then they give the pen to the duke--and then for the first time the duke looked sick. but he took the pen and wrote. so then the lawyer turns to the new old gentleman and says: "you and your brother please write a line or two and sign your names." the old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn't read it. the lawyer looked powerful astonished, and says: "well, it beats me"--and snaked a lot of old letters out of his pocket, and examined them, and then examined the old man's writing, and then them again; and then says: "these old letters is from harvey wilks; and here's these two handwritings, and anybody can see they didn't write them" (the king and the duke looked sold and foolish, i tell you, to see how the lawyer had took them in), "and here's this old gentleman's hand writing, and anybody can tell, easy enough, he didn't write them--fact is, the scratches he makes ain't properly writing at all. now, here's some letters from--" the new old gentleman says: "if you please, let me explain. nobody can read my hand but my brother there--so he copies for me. it's his hand you've got there, not mine." "well!" says the lawyer, "this is a state of things. i've got some of william's letters, too; so if you'll get him to write a line or so we can com--" "he can't write with his left hand," says the old gentleman. "if he could use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters and mine too. look at both, please--they're by the same hand." the lawyer done it, and says: "i believe it's so--and if it ain't so, there's a heap stronger resemblance than i'd noticed before, anyway. well, well, well! i thought we was right on the track of a solution, but it's gone to grass, partly. but anyway, one thing is proved--these two ain't either of 'em wilkses"--and he wagged his head towards the king and the duke. well, what do you think? that muleheaded old fool wouldn't give in then! indeed he wouldn't. said it warn't no fair test. said his brother william was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn't tried to write --he see william was going to play one of his jokes the minute he put the pen to paper. and so he warmed up and went warbling right along till he was actuly beginning to believe what he was saying himself; but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and says: "i've thought of something. is there anybody here that helped to lay out my br--helped to lay out the late peter wilks for burying?" "yes," says somebody, "me and ab turner done it. we're both here." then the old man turns towards the king, and says: "perhaps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?" blamed if the king didn't have to brace up mighty quick, or he'd a squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took him so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to make most anybody sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that without any notice, because how was he going to know what was tattooed on the man? he whitened a little; he couldn't help it; and it was mighty still in there, and everybody bending a little forwards and gazing at him. says i to myself, now he'll throw up the sponge--there ain't no more use. well, did he? a body can't hardly believe it, but he didn't. i reckon he thought he'd keep the thing up till he tired them people out, so they'd thin out, and him and the duke could break loose and get away. anyway, he set there, and pretty soon he begun to smile, and says: "mf! it's a very tough question, ain't it! yes, sir, i k'n tell you what's tattooed on his breast. it's jest a small, thin, blue arrow --that's what it is; and if you don't look clost, you can't see it. now what do you say--hey?" well, i never see anything like that old blister for clean out-and-out cheek. the new old gentleman turns brisk towards ab turner and his pard, and his eye lights up like he judged he'd got the king this time, and says: "there--you've heard what he said! was there any such mark on peter wilks' breast?" both of them spoke up and says: "we didn't see no such mark." "good!" says the old gentleman. "now, what you did see on his breast was a small dim p, and a b (which is an initial he dropped when he was young), and a w, with dashes between them, so: p--b--w"--and he marked them that way on a piece of paper. "come, ain't that what you saw?" both of them spoke up again, and says: "no, we didn't. we never seen any marks at all." well, everybody was in a state of mind now, and they sings out: "the whole bilin' of 'm 's frauds! le's duck 'em! le's drown 'em! le's ride 'em on a rail!" and everybody was whooping at once, and there was a rattling powwow. but the lawyer he jumps on the table and yells, and says: "gentlemen--gentlemen! hear me just a word--just a single word--if you please! there's one way yet--let's go and dig up the corpse and look." that took them. "hooray!" they all shouted, and was starting right off; but the lawyer and the doctor sung out: "hold on, hold on! collar all these four men and the boy, and fetch them along, too!" "we'll do it!" they all shouted; "and if we don't find them marks we'll lynch the whole gang!" i was scared, now, i tell you. but there warn't no getting away, you know. they gripped us all, and marched us right along, straight for the graveyard, which was a mile and a half down the river, and the whole town at our heels, for we made noise enough, and it was only nine in the evening. as we went by our house i wished i hadn't sent mary jane out of town; because now if i could tip her the wink she'd light out and save me, and blow on our dead-beats. well, we swarmed along down the river road, just carrying on like wildcats; and to make it more scary the sky was darking up, and the lightning beginning to wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver amongst the leaves. this was the most awful trouble and most dangersome i ever was in; and i was kinder stunned; everything was going so different from what i had allowed for; stead of being fixed so i could take my own time if i wanted to, and see all the fun, and have mary jane at my back to save me and set me free when the close-fit come, here was nothing in the world betwixt me and sudden death but just them tattoo-marks. if they didn't find them-- i couldn't bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, i couldn't think about nothing else. it got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the wrist --hines--and a body might as well try to give goliar the slip. he dragged me right along, he was so excited, and i had to run to keep up. when they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it like an overflow. and when they got to the grave they found they had about a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn't thought to fetch a lantern. but they sailed into digging anyway by the flicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a mile off, to borrow one. so they dug and dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the rain started, and the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning come brisker and brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never took no notice of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute you could see everything and every face in that big crowd, and the shovelfuls of dirt sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the dark wiped it all out, and you couldn't see nothing at all. at last they got out the coffin and begun to unscrew the lid, and then such another crowding and shouldering and shoving as there was, to scrouge in and get a sight, you never see; and in the dark, that way, it was awful. hines he hurt my wrist dreadful pulling and tugging so, and i reckon he clean forgot i was in the world, he was so excited and panting. all of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice of white glare, and somebody sings out: "by the living jingo, here's the bag of gold on his breast!" hines let out a whoop, like everybody else, and dropped my wrist and give a big surge to bust his way in and get a look, and the way i lit out and shinned for the road in the dark there ain't nobody can tell. i had the road all to myself, and i fairly flew--leastways, i had it all to myself except the solid dark, and the now-and-then glares, and the buzzing of the rain, and the thrashing of the wind, and the splitting of the thunder; and sure as you are born i did clip it along! when i struck the town i see there warn't nobody out in the storm, so i never hunted for no back streets, but humped it straight through the main one; and when i begun to get towards our house i aimed my eye and set it. no light there; the house all dark--which made me feel sorry and disappointed, i didn't know why. but at last, just as i was sailing by, flash comes the light in mary jane's window! and my heart swelled up sudden, like to bust; and the same second the house and all was behind me in the dark, and wasn't ever going to be before me no more in this world. she was the best girl i ever see, and had the most sand. the minute i was far enough above the town to see i could make the towhead, i begun to look sharp for a boat to borrow, and the first time the lightning showed me one that wasn't chained i snatched it and shoved. it was a canoe, and warn't fastened with nothing but a rope. the towhead was a rattling big distance off, away out there in the middle of the river, but i didn't lose no time; and when i struck the raft at last i was so fagged i would a just laid down to blow and gasp if i could afforded it. but i didn't. as i sprung aboard i sung out: "out with you, jim, and set her loose! glory be to goodness, we're shut of them!" jim lit out, and was a-coming for me with both arms spread, he was so full of joy; but when i glimpsed him in the lightning my heart shot up in my mouth and i went overboard backwards; for i forgot he was old king lear and a drownded a-rab all in one, and it most scared the livers and lights out of me. but jim fished me out, and was going to hug me and bless me, and so on, he was so glad i was back and we was shut of the king and the duke, but i says: "not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast! cut loose and let her slide!" so in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the river, and it did seem so good to be free again and all by ourselves on the big river, and nobody to bother us. i had to skip around a bit, and jump up and crack my heels a few times--i couldn't help it; but about the third crack i noticed a sound that i knowed mighty well, and held my breath and listened and waited; and sure enough, when the next flash busted out over the water, here they come!--and just a-laying to their oars and making their skiff hum! it was the king and the duke. so i wilted right down on to the planks then, and give up; and it was all i could do to keep from crying. chapter xxx. when they got aboard the king went for me, and shook me by the collar, and says: "tryin' to give us the slip, was ye, you pup! tired of our company, hey?" i says: "no, your majesty, we warn't--please don't, your majesty!" "quick, then, and tell us what was your idea, or i'll shake the insides out o' you!" "honest, i'll tell you everything just as it happened, your majesty. the man that had a-holt of me was very good to me, and kept saying he had a boy about as big as me that died last year, and he was sorry to see a boy in such a dangerous fix; and when they was all took by surprise by finding the gold, and made a rush for the coffin, he lets go of me and whispers, 'heel it now, or they'll hang ye, sure!' and i lit out. it didn't seem no good for me to stay--i couldn't do nothing, and i didn't want to be hung if i could get away. so i never stopped running till i found the canoe; and when i got here i told jim to hurry, or they'd catch me and hang me yet, and said i was afeard you and the duke wasn't alive now, and i was awful sorry, and so was jim, and was awful glad when we see you coming; you may ask jim if i didn't." jim said it was so; and the king told him to shut up, and said, "oh, yes, it's mighty likely!" and shook me up again, and said he reckoned he'd drownd me. but the duke says: "leggo the boy, you old idiot! would you a done any different? did you inquire around for him when you got loose? i don't remember it." so the king let go of me, and begun to cuss that town and everybody in it. but the duke says: "you better a blame' sight give yourself a good cussing, for you're the one that's entitled to it most. you hain't done a thing from the start that had any sense in it, except coming out so cool and cheeky with that imaginary blue-arrow mark. that was bright--it was right down bully; and it was the thing that saved us. for if it hadn't been for that they'd a jailed us till them englishmen's baggage come--and then--the penitentiary, you bet! but that trick took 'em to the graveyard, and the gold done us a still bigger kindness; for if the excited fools hadn't let go all holts and made that rush to get a look we'd a slept in our cravats to-night--cravats warranted to wear, too--longer than we'd need 'em." they was still a minute--thinking; then the king says, kind of absent-minded like: "mf! and we reckoned the niggers stole it!" that made me squirm! "yes," says the duke, kinder slow and deliberate and sarcastic, "we did." after about a half a minute the king drawls out: "leastways, i did." the duke says, the same way: "on the contrary, i did." the king kind of ruffles up, and says: "looky here, bilgewater, what'r you referrin' to?" the duke says, pretty brisk: "when it comes to that, maybe you'll let me ask, what was you referring to?" "shucks!" says the king, very sarcastic; "but i don't know--maybe you was asleep, and didn't know what you was about." the duke bristles up now, and says: "oh, let up on this cussed nonsense; do you take me for a blame' fool? don't you reckon i know who hid that money in that coffin?" "yes, sir! i know you do know, because you done it yourself!" "it's a lie!"--and the duke went for him. the king sings out: "take y'r hands off!--leggo my throat!--i take it all back!" the duke says: "well, you just own up, first, that you did hide that money there, intending to give me the slip one of these days, and come back and dig it up, and have it all to yourself." "wait jest a minute, duke--answer me this one question, honest and fair; if you didn't put the money there, say it, and i'll b'lieve you, and take back everything i said." "you old scoundrel, i didn't, and you know i didn't. there, now!" "well, then, i b'lieve you. but answer me only jest this one more--now don't git mad; didn't you have it in your mind to hook the money and hide it?" the duke never said nothing for a little bit; then he says: "well, i don't care if i did, i didn't do it, anyway. but you not only had it in mind to do it, but you done it." "i wisht i never die if i done it, duke, and that's honest. i won't say i warn't goin' to do it, because i was; but you--i mean somebody--got in ahead o' me." "it's a lie! you done it, and you got to say you done it, or--" the king began to gurgle, and then he gasps out: "'nough!--i own up!" i was very glad to hear him say that; it made me feel much more easier than what i was feeling before. so the duke took his hands off and says: "if you ever deny it again i'll drown you. it's well for you to set there and blubber like a baby--it's fitten for you, after the way you've acted. i never see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble everything --and i a-trusting you all the time, like you was my own father. you ought to been ashamed of yourself to stand by and hear it saddled on to a lot of poor niggers, and you never say a word for 'em. it makes me feel ridiculous to think i was soft enough to believe that rubbage. cuss you, i can see now why you was so anxious to make up the deffisit--you wanted to get what money i'd got out of the nonesuch and one thing or another, and scoop it all!" the king says, timid, and still a-snuffling: "why, duke, it was you that said make up the deffisit; it warn't me." "dry up! i don't want to hear no more out of you!" says the duke. "and now you see what you got by it. they've got all their own money back, and all of ourn but a shekel or two besides. g'long to bed, and don't you deffersit me no more deffersits, long 's you live!" so the king sneaked into the wigwam and took to his bottle for comfort, and before long the duke tackled his bottle; and so in about a half an hour they was as thick as thieves again, and the tighter they got the lovinger they got, and went off a-snoring in each other's arms. they both got powerful mellow, but i noticed the king didn't get mellow enough to forget to remember to not deny about hiding the money-bag again. that made me feel easy and satisfied. of course when they got to snoring we had a long gabble, and i told jim everything. archive: american libraries. [illustration: photo of the author with signature "s. l. clemens"] the adventures of huckleberry finn (tom sawyer's comrade) scene: the mississippi valley time: forty to fifty years ago by mark twain illustrated _new edition from new plates_ harper & brothers publishers new york and london ====== books by mark twain st. joan of arc the innocents abroad roughing it the gilded age a tramp abroad following the equator pudd'nhead wilson sketches new and old the american claimant christian science a connecticut yankee at the court of king arthur the adventures of huckleberry finn personal recollections of joan of arc life on the mississippi the man that corrupted hadleyburg the prince and the pauper the $ , bequest the adventures of tom sawyer tom sawyer abroad what is man? the mysterious stranger adam's diary a dog's tale a double-barreled detective story editorial wild oats eve's diary in defense of harriet shelly and other essays is shakespeare dead? capt. stormfield's visit to heaven a horse's tale the jumping frog the , , pound bank-note travels at home travels in history mark twain's letters mark twain's speeches ====== harper & brothers, new york [established ] the adventures of huckleberry finn ----- copyright, . by samuel l. clemens ----- copyright. and . by harper & brothers ----- copyright. , by clara gabrilowitsch ----- printed in the united states of america contents chap. notice explanatory i. i discover moses and the bulrushers. ii. our gang's dark oath iii. we ambuscade the a-rabs iv. the hair-ball oracle v. pap starts in on a new life vi. pap struggles with the death angel vii. i fool pap and get away viii. i spare miss watson's jim ix. the house of death floats by x. what comes of handlin' snake-skin xi. they're after us! xii. "better let blame well alone" xiii. honest loot from the "walter scott" xiv. was solomon wise? xv. fooling poor old jim xvi. the rattlesnake-skin does its work xvii. the grangerfords take me in xviii. why harney rode away for his hat xix. the duke and the dauphin come aboard xx. what royalty did to parkville xxi. an arkansaw difficulty xxii. why the lynching bee failed xxiii. the orneriness of kings xxiv. the king turns parson xxv. all full of tears and flapdoodle xxvi. i steal the king's plunder xxvii. dead peter has his gold xxviii. overreaching don't pay xxix. i light out in the storm xxx. the gold saves the thieves xxxi. you can't pray a lie xxxii. i have a new name xxxiii. the pitiful ending of royalty xxxiv. we cheer up jim xxxv. dark, deep-laid plans xxxvi. trying to help jim xxxvii. jim gets his witch-pie xxxviii. "here a captive heart busted" xxxix. tom writes nonnamous letters xl. a mixed-up and splendid rescue xli. "must 'a' been sperits" xlii. why they didn't hang jim chapter the last. nothing more to write illustrations portrait of the author huckleberry finn "'gimme a chaw'" tom advises a witch pie notice persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. by order of the author, per g. g., chief of ordnance. explanatory in this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the missouri negro dialect; the extremest form of the backwoods southwestern dialect; the ordinary "pike county" dialect; and four modified varieties of this last. the shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech. i make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers would suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and not succeeding. the author. huckleberry finn chapter i you don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of _the adventures of tom sawyer;_ but that ain't no matter. that book was made by mr. mark twain, and he told the truth, mainly. there was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. that is nothing. i never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was aunt polly, or the widow, or maybe mary. aunt polly--tom's aunt polly, she is--and mary, and the widow douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as i said before. now the way that the book winds up is this: tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. we got six thousand dollars apiece--all gold. it was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. well, judge thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round--more than a body could tell what to do with. the widow douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when i couldn't stand it no longer i lit out. i got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. but tom sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and i might join if i would go back to the widow and be respectable. so i went back. the widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. she put me in them new clothes again, and i couldn't do nothing but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. well, then, the old thing commenced again. the widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time. when you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with them--that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. in a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better. after supper she got out her book and learned me about moses and the bulrushers, and i was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by she let it out that moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then i didn't care no more about him, because i don't take no stock in dead people. pretty soon i wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me. but she wouldn't. she said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and i must try to not do it any more. that is just the way with some people. they get down on a thing when they don't know nothing about it. here she was a-bothering about moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody, being gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a thing that had some good in it. and she took snuff, too; of course that was all right, because she done it herself. her sister, miss watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on, had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a spelling-book. she worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then the widow made her ease up. i couldn't stood it much longer. then for an hour it was deadly dull, and i was fidgety. miss watson would say, "don't put your feet up there, huckleberry"; and "don't scrunch up like that, huckleberry--set up straight"; and pretty soon she would say, "don't gap and stretch like that, huckleberry--why don't you try to behave?" then she told me all about the bad place, and i said i wished i was there. she got mad then, but i didn't mean no harm. all i wanted was to go somewheres; all i wanted was a change, i warn't particular. she said it was wicked to say what i said; said she wouldn't say it for the whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place. well, i couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so i made up my mind i wouldn't try for it. but i never said so, because it would only make trouble, and wouldn't do no good. now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good place. she said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. so i didn't think much of it. but i never said so. i asked her if she reckoned tom sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. i was glad about that, because i wanted him and me to be together. miss watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. by and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was off to bed. i went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table. then i set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. i felt so lonesome i most wished i was dead. the stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and i heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and i couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. then away out in the woods i heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something that's on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so can't rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. i got so downhearted and scared i did wish i had some company. pretty soon a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and i flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and before i could budge it was all shriveled up. i didn't need anybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so i was scared and most shook the clothes off of me. i got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then i tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. but i hadn't no confidence. you do that when you've lost a horseshoe that you've found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but i hadn't ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you'd killed a spider. i set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; for the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn't know. well, after a long time i heard the clock away off in the town go boom--boom--boom--twelve licks; and all still again--stiller than ever. pretty soon i heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees--something was a-stirring. i set still and listened. directly i could just barely hear a "me-yow! me-yow!" down there. that was good! says i, "me-yow! me-yow!" as soft as i could, and then i put out the light and scrambled out of the window on to the shed. then i slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was tom sawyer waiting for me. chapter ii we went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back toward the end of the widow's garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn't scrape our heads. when we was passing by the kitchen i fell over a root and made a noise. we scrouched down and laid still. miss watson's big nigger, named jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty clear, because there was a light behind him. he got up and stretched his neck out about a minute, listening. then he says: "who dah?" he listened some more; then he came tiptoeing down and stood right between us; we could 'a' touched him, nearly. well, likely it was minutes and minutes that there warn't a sound, and we all there so close together. there was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but i dasn't scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back, right between my shoulders. seemed like i'd die if i couldn't scratch. well, i've noticed that thing plenty times since. if you are with the quality, or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain't sleepy--if you are anywheres where it won't do for you to scratch, why you will itch all over in upward of a thousand places. pretty soon jim says: "say, who is you? whar is you? dog my cats ef i didn' hear sumf'n. well, i know what i's gwyne to do: i's gwyne to set down here and listen tell i hears it ag'in." so he set down on the ground betwixt me and tom. he leaned his back up against a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them most touched one of mine. my nose begun to itch. it itched till the tears come into my eyes. but i dasn't scratch. then it begun to itch on the inside. next i got to itching underneath. i didn't know how i was going to set still. this miserableness went on as much as six or seven minutes; but it seemed a sight longer than that. i was itching in eleven different places now. i reckoned i couldn't stand it more'n a minute longer, but i set my teeth hard and got ready to try. just then jim begun to breathe heavy; next he begun to snore--and then i was pretty soon comfortable again. tom he made a sign to me--kind of a little noise with his mouth--and we went creeping away on our hands and knees. when we was ten foot off tom whispered to me, and wanted to tie jim to the tree for fun. but i said no; he might wake and make a disturbance, and then they'd find out i warn't in. then tom said he hadn't got candles enough, and he would slip in the kitchen and get some more. i didn't want him to try. i said jim might wake up and come. but tom wanted to resk it; so we slid in there and got three candles, and tom laid five cents on the table for pay. then we got out, and i was in a sweat to get away; but nothing would do tom but he must crawl to where jim was, on his hands and knees, and play something on him. i waited, and it seemed a good while, everything was so still and lonesome. as soon as tom was back we cut along the path, around the garden fence, and by and by fetched up on the steep top of the hill the other side of the house. tom said he slipped jim's hat off of his head and hung it on a limb right over him, and jim stirred a little, but he didn't wake. afterward jim said the witches bewitched him and put him in a trance, and rode him all over the state, and then set him under the trees again, and hung his hat on a limb to show who done it. and next time jim told it he said they rode him down to new orleans; and, after that, every time he told it he spread it more and more, till by and by he said they rode him all over the world, and tired him most to death, and his back was all over saddle-boils. jim was monstrous proud about it, and he got so he wouldn't hardly notice the other niggers. niggers would come miles to hear jim tell about it, and he was more looked up to than any nigger in that country. strange niggers would stand with their mouths open and look him all over, same as if he was a wonder. niggers is always talking about witches in the dark by the kitchen fire; but whenever one was talking and letting on to know all about such things, jim would happen in and say, "hm! what you know 'bout witches?" and that nigger was corked up and had to take a back seat. jim always kept that five-center piece round his neck with a string, and said it was a charm the devil give to him with his own hands, and told him he could cure anybody with it and fetch witches whenever he wanted to just by saying something to it; but he never told what it was he said to it. niggers would come from all around there and give jim anything they had, just for a sight of that five-center piece; but they wouldn't touch it, because the devil had had his hands on it. jim was most ruined for a servant, because he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil and been rode by witches. well, when tom and me got to the edge of the hilltop we looked away down into the village and could see three or four lights twinkling, where there was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever so fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and awful still and grand. we went down the hill and found joe harper and ben rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard. so we unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half, to the big scar on the hillside, and went ashore. we went to a clump of bushes, and tom made everybody swear to keep the secret, and then showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest part of the bushes. then we lit the candles, and crawled in on our hands and knees. we went about two hundred yards, and then the cave opened up. tom poked about amongst the passages, and pretty soon ducked under a wall where you wouldn't 'a' noticed that there was a hole. we went along a narrow place and got into a kind of room, all damp and sweaty and cold, and there we stopped. tom says: "now, we'll start this band of robbers and call it tom sawyer's gang. everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his name in blood." everybody was willing. so tom got out a sheet of paper that he had wrote the oath on, and read it. it swore every boy to stick to the band, and never tell any of the secrets; and if anybody done anything to any boy in the band, whichever boy was ordered to kill that person and his family must do it, and he mustn't eat and he mustn't sleep till he had killed them and hacked a cross in their breasts, which was the sign of the band. and nobody that didn't belong to the band could use that mark, and if he did he must be sued; and if he done it again he must be killed. and if anybody that belonged to the band told the secrets, he must have his throat cut, and then have his carcass burnt up and the ashes scattered all around, and his name blotted off the list with blood and never mentioned again by the gang, but have a curse put on it and be forgot forever. everybody said it was a real beautiful oath, and asked tom if he got it out of his own head. he said some of it, but the rest was out of pirate-books and robber-books, and every gang that was high-toned had it. some thought it would be good to kill the _families_ of boys that told the secrets. tom said it was a good idea, so he took a pencil and wrote it in. then ben rogers says: "here's huck finn, he hain't got no family; what you going to do 'bout him?" "well, hain't he got a father?" says tom sawyer. "yes, he's got a father, but you can't never find him these days. he used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain't been seen in these parts for a year or more." they talked it over, and they was going to rule me out, because they said every boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it wouldn't be fair and square for the others. well, nobody could think of anything to do--everybody was stumped, and set still. i was most ready to cry; but all at once i thought of a way, and so i offered them miss watson--they could kill her. everybody said: "oh, she'll do. that's all right. huck can come in." then they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get blood to sign with, and i made my mark on the paper. "now," says ben rogers, "what's the line of business of this gang?" "nothing only robbery and murder," tom said. "but who are we going to rob?--houses, or cattle, or--" "stuff! stealing cattle and such things ain't robbery; it's burglary," says tom sawyer. "we ain't burglars. that ain't no sort of style. we are highwaymen. we stop stages and carriages on the road, with masks on, and kill the people and take their watches and money." "must we always kill the people?" "oh, certainly. it's best. some authorities think different, but mostly it's considered best to kill them--except some that you bring to the cave here, and keep them till they're ransomed." "ransomed? what's that?" "i don't know. but that's what they do. i've seen it in books; and so of course that's what we've got to do." "but how can we do it if we don't know what it is?" "why, blame it all, we've _got_ to do it. don't i tell you it's in the books? do you want to go to doing different from what's in the books, and get things all muddled up?" "oh, that's all very fine to _say,_ tom sawyer, but how in the nation are these fellows going to be ransomed if we don't know how to do it to them?--that's the thing i want to get at. now, what do you reckon it is?" "well, i don't know. but per'aps if we keep them till they're ransomed, it means that we keep them till they're dead." "now, that's something _like._ that'll answer. why couldn't you said that before? we'll keep them till they're ransomed to death; and a bothersome lot they'll be, too--eating up everything, and always trying to get loose." "how you talk, ben rogers. how can they get loose when there's a guard over them, ready to shoot them down if they move a peg?" "a guard! well, that _is_ good. so somebody's got to set up all night and never get any sleep, just so as to watch them. i think that's foolishness. why can't a body take a club and ransom them as soon as they get here?" "because it ain't in the books so--that's why. now, ben rogers, do you want to do things regular, or don't you?--that's the idea. don't you reckon that the people that made the books knows what's the correct thing to do? do you reckon _you_ can learn 'em anything? not by a good deal. no, sir, we'll just go on and ransom them in the regular way." "all right. i don't mind; but i say it's a fool way, anyhow. say, do we kill the women, too?" "well, ben rogers, if i was as ignorant as you i wouldn't let on. kill the women? no; nobody ever saw anything in the books like that. you fetch them to the cave, and you're always as polite as pie to them; and by and by they fall in love with you, and never want to go home any more." "well, if that's the way i'm agreed, but i don't take no stock in it. mighty soon we'll have the cave so cluttered up with women, and fellows waiting to be ransomed, that there won't be no place for the robbers. but go ahead, i ain't got nothing to say." little tommy barnes was asleep now, and when they waked him up he was scared, and cried, and said he wanted to go home to his ma, and didn't want to be a robber any more. so they all made fun of him, and called him cry-baby, and that made him mad, and he said he would go straight and tell all the secrets. but tom give him five cents to keep quiet, and said we would all go home and meet next week, and rob somebody and kill some people. ben rogers said he couldn't get out much, only sundays, and so he wanted to begin next sunday; but all the boys said it would be wicked to do it on sunday, and that settled the thing. they agreed to get together and fix a day as soon as they could, and then we elected tom sawyer first captain and joe harper second captain of the gang, and so started home. i clumb up the shed and crept into my window just before day was breaking. my new clothes was all greased up and clayey, and i was dog-tired. chapter iii well, i got a good going-over in the morning from old miss watson on account of my clothes; but the widow she didn't scold, but only cleaned off the grease and clay, and looked so sorry that i thought i would behave awhile if i could. then miss watson she took me in the closet and prayed, but nothing come of it. she told me to pray every day, and whatever i asked for i would get it. but it warn't so. i tried it. once i got a fish-line, but no hooks. it warn't any good to me without hooks. i tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow i couldn't make it work. by and by, one day, i asked miss watson to try for me, but she said i was a fool. she never told me why, and i couldn't make it out no way. i set down one time back in the woods, and had a long think about it. i says to myself, if a body can get anything they pray for, why don't deacon winn get back the money he lost on pork? why can't the widow get back her silver snuff-box that was stole? why can't miss watson fat up? no, says i to myself, there ain't nothing in it. i went and told the widow about it, and she said the thing a body could get by praying for it was "spiritual gifts." this was too many for me, but she told me what she meant--i must help other people, and do everything i could for other people, and look out for them all the time, and never think about myself. this was including miss watson, as i took it. i went out in the woods and turned it over in my mind a long time, but i couldn't see no advantage about it--except for the other people; so at last i reckoned i wouldn't worry about it any more, but just let it go. sometimes the widow would take me one side and talk about providence in a way to make a body's mouth water; but maybe next day miss watson would take hold and knock it all down again. i judged i could see that there was two providences, and a poor chap would stand considerable show with the widow's providence, but if miss watson's got him there warn't no help for him any more. i thought it all out, and reckoned i would belong to the widow's if he wanted me, though i couldn't make out how he was a-going to be any better off then than what he was before, seeing i was so ignorant, and so kind of low-down and ornery. pap he hadn't been seen for more than a year, and that was comfortable for me; i didn't want to see him no more. he used to always whale me when he was sober and could get his hands on me; though i used to take to the woods most of the time when he was around. well, about this time he was found in the river drownded, about twelve mile above town, so people said. they judged it was him, anyway; said this drownded man was just his size, and was ragged, and had uncommon long hair, which was all like pap; but they couldn't make nothing out of the face, because it had been in the water so long it warn't much like a face at all. they said he was floating on his back in the water. they took him and buried him on the bank. but i warn't comfortable long, because i happened to think of something. i knowed mighty well that a drownded man don't float on his back, but on his face. so i knowed, then, that this warn't pap, but a woman dressed up in a man's clothes. so i was uncomfortable again. i judged the old man would turn up again by and by, though i wished he wouldn't. we played robber now and then about a month, and then i resigned. all the boys did. we hadn't robbed nobody, hadn't killed any people, but only just pretended. we used to hop out of the woods and go charging down on hog-drivers and women in carts taking garden stuff to market, but we never hived any of them. tom sawyer called the hogs "ingots," and he called the turnips and stuff "julery," and we would go to the cave and powwow over what we had done, and how many people we had killed and marked. but i couldn't see no profit in it. one time tom sent a boy to run about town with a blazing stick, which he called a slogan (which was the sign for the gang to get together), and then he said he had got secret news by his spies that next day a whole parcel of spanish merchants and rich a-rabs was going to camp in cave hollow with two hundred elephants, and six hundred camels, and over a thousand "sumter" mules, all loaded down with di'monds, and they didn't have only a guard of four hundred soldiers, and so we would lay in ambuscade, as he called it, and kill the lot and scoop the things. he said we must slick up our swords and guns, and get ready. he never could go after even a turnip-cart but he must have the swords and guns all scoured up for it, though they was only lath and broomsticks, and you might scour at them till you rotted, and then they warn't worth a mouthful of ashes more than what they was before. i didn't believe we could lick such a crowd of spaniards and a-rabs, but i wanted to see the camels and elephants, so i was on hand next day, saturday, in the ambuscade; and when we got the word we rushed out of the woods and down the hill. but there warn't no spaniards and a-rabs, and there warn't no camels nor no elephants. it warn't anything but a sunday-school picnic, and only a primer class at that. we busted it up, and chased the children up the hollow; but we never got anything but some doughnuts and jam, though ben rogers got a rag doll, and joe harper got a hymn-book and a tract; and then the teacher charged in, and made us drop everything and cut. i didn't see no di'monds, and i told tom sawyer so. he said there was loads of them there, anyway; and he said there was a-rabs there, too, and elephants and things. i said, why couldn't we see them, then? he said if i warn't so ignorant, but had read a book called don quixote, i would know without asking. he said it was all done by enchantment. he said there was hundreds of soldiers there, and elephants and treasure, and so on, but we had enemies which he called magicians, and they had turned the whole thing into an infant sunday-school, just out of spite. i said, all right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the magicians. tom sawyer said i was a numskull. "why," said he, "a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they would hash you up like nothing before you could say jack robinson. they are as tall as a tree and as big around as a church." "well," i says, "s'pose we got some genies to help _us_--can't we lick the other crowd then?" "how you going to get them?" "i don't know. how do _they_ get them?" "why, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring, and then the genies come tearing in, with the thunder and lightning a-ripping around and the smoke a-rolling, and everything they're told to do they up and do it. they don't think nothing of pulling a shot-tower up by the roots, and belting a sunday-school superintendent over the head with it--or any other man." "who makes them tear around so?" "why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring. they belong to whoever rubs the lamp or the ring, and they've got to do whatever he says. if he tells them to build a palace forty miles long out of di'monds, and fill it full of chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor's daughter from china for you to marry, they've got to do it--and they've got to do it before sun-up next morning, too. and more: they've got to waltz that palace around over the country wherever you want it, you understand." "well," says i, "i think they are a pack of flatheads for not keeping the palace themselves 'stead of fooling them away like that. and what's more--if i was one of them i would see a man in jericho before i would drop my business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp." "how you talk, huck finn. why, you'd _have_ to come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to or not." "what! and i as high as a tree and as big as a church? all right, then; i _would_ come; but i lay i'd make that man climb the highest tree there was in the country." "shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, huck finn. you don't seem to know anything, somehow--perfect saphead." i thought all this over for two or three days, and then i reckoned i would see if there was anything in it. i got an old tin lamp and an iron ring, and went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till i sweat like an injun, calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn't no use, none of the genies come. so then i judged that all that stuff was only just one of tom sawyer's lies. i reckoned he believed in the a-rabs and the elephants, but as for me i think different. it had all the marks of a sunday-school. chapter iv well, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter now. i had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and write just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six times seven is thirty-five, and i don't reckon i could ever get any further than that if i was to live forever. i don't take no stock in mathematics, anyway. at first i hated the school, but by and by i got so i could stand it. whenever i got uncommon tired i played hookey, and the hiding i got next day done me good and cheered me up. so the longer i went to school the easier it got to be. i was getting sort of used to the widow's ways, too, and they warn't so raspy on me. living in a house and sleeping in a bed pulled on me pretty tight mostly, but before the cold weather i used to slide out and sleep in the woods sometimes, and so that was a rest to me. i liked the old ways best, but i was getting so i liked the new ones, too, a little bit. the widow said i was coming along slow but sure, and doing very satisfactory. she said she warn't ashamed of me. one morning i happened to turn over the salt-cellar at breakfast. i reached for some of it as quick as i could to throw over my left shoulder and keep off the bad luck, but miss watson was in ahead of me, and crossed me off. she says, "take your hands away, huckleberry; what a mess you are always making!" the widow put in a good word for me, but that warn't going to keep off the bad luck, i knowed that well enough. i started out, after breakfast, feeling worried and shaky, and wondering where it was going to fall on me, and what it was going to be. there is ways to keep off some kinds of bad luck, but this wasn't one of them kind; so i never tried to do anything, but just poked along low-spirited and on the watch-out. i went down to the front garden and clumb over the stile where you go through the high board fence. there was an inch of new snow on the ground, and i seen somebody's tracks. they had come up from the quarry and stood around the stile awhile, and then went on around the garden fence. it was funny they hadn't come in, after standing around so. i couldn't make it out. it was very curious, somehow. i was going to follow around, but i stooped down to look at the tracks first. i didn't notice anything at first, but next i did. there was a cross in the left boot-heel made with big nails, to keep off the devil. i was up in a second and shinning down the hill. i looked over my shoulder every now and then, but i didn't see nobody. i was at judge thatcher's as quick as i could get there. he said: "why, my boy, you are all out of breath. did you come for your interest?" "no, sir," i says; "is there some for me?" "oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last night--over a hundred and fifty dollars. quite a fortune for you. you had better let me invest it along with your six thousand, because if you take it you'll spend it." "no, sir," i says, "i don't want to spend it. i don't want it at all--nor the six thousand, nuther. i want you to take it; i want to give it to you--the six thousand and all." he looked surprised. he couldn't seem to make it out. he says: "why, what can you mean, my boy?" i says, "don't you ask me no questions about it, please. you'll take it--won't you?" he says: "well, i'm puzzled. is something the matter?" "please take it," says i, "and don't ask me nothing--then i won't have to tell no lies." he studied awhile, and then he says: "oho-o! i think i see. you want to _sell_ all your property to me--not give it. that's the correct idea." then he wrote something on a paper and read it over, and says: "there; you see it says 'for a consideration.' that means i have bought it of you and paid you for it. here's a dollar for you. now you sign it." so i signed it, and left. miss watson's nigger, jim, had a hair-ball as big as your fist, which had been took out of the fourth stomach of an ox, and he used to do magic with it. he said there was a spirit inside of it, and it knowed everything. so i went to him that night and told him pap was here again, for i found his tracks in the snow. what i wanted to know was, what he was going to do, and was he going to stay? jim got out his hair-ball and said something over it, and then he held it up and dropped it on the floor. it fell pretty solid, and only rolled about an inch. jim tried it again, and then another time, and it acted just the same. jim got down on his knees, and put his ear against it and listened. but it warn't no use; he said it wouldn't talk. he said sometimes it wouldn't talk without money. i told him i had an old slick counterfeit quarter that warn't no good because the brass showed through the silver a little, and it wouldn't pass nohow, even if the brass didn't show, because it was so slick it felt greasy, and so that would tell on it every time. (i reckoned i wouldn't say nothing about the dollar i got from the judge.) i said it was pretty bad money, but maybe the hair-ball would take it, because maybe it wouldn't know the difference. jim smelt it and bit it and rubbed it, and said he would manage so the hair-ball would think it was good. he said he would split open a raw irish potato and stick the quarter in between and keep it there all night, and next morning you couldn't see no brass, and it wouldn't feel greasy no more, and so anybody in town would take it in a minute, let alone a hair-ball. well, i knowed a potato would do that before, but i had forgot it. jim put the quarter under the hair-ball, and got down and listened again. this time he said the hair-ball was all right. he said it would tell my whole fortune if i wanted it to. i says, go on. so the hair-ball talked to jim, and jim told it to me. he says: "yo' ole father doan' know yit what he's a-gwyne to do. sometimes he spec he'll go 'way, en den ag'in he spec he'll stay. de bes' way is to res' easy en let de ole man take his own way. dey's two angels hoverin' roun' 'bout him. one uv 'em is white en shiny, en t'other one is black. de white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail in en bust it all up. a body can't tell yit which one gwyne to fetch him at de las'. but you is all right. you gwyne to have considable trouble in yo' life, en considable joy. sometimes you gwyne to git hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you's gwyne to git well ag'in. dey's two gals flyin' 'bout you in yo' life. one uv 'em's light en t'other one is dark. one is rich en t'other is po'. you's gwyne to marry de po' one fust en de rich one by en by. you wants to keep 'way fum de water as much as you kin, en don't run no resk, 'kase it's down in de bills dat you's gwyne to git hung." when i lit my candle and went up to my room that night there sat pap--his own self! chapter v i had shut the door to. then i turned around, and there he was. i used to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much. i reckoned i was scared now, too; but in a minute i see i was mistaken--that is, after the first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being so unexpected; but right away after i see i warn't scared of him worth bothring about. he was most fifty, and he looked it. his hair was long and tangled and greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. it was all black, no gray; so was his long, mixed-up whiskers. there warn't no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body's flesh crawl--a tree-toad white, a fish-belly white. as for his clothes--just rags, that was all. he had one ankle resting on t'other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and two of his toes stuck through, and he worked them now and then. his hat was laying on the floor--an old black slouch with the top caved in, like a lid. i stood a-looking at him; he set there a-looking at me, with his chair tilted back a little. i set the candle down. i noticed the window was up; so he had clumb in by the shed. he kept a-looking me all over. by and by he says: "starchy clothes--very. you think you're a good deal of a big-bug, _don't_ you?" "maybe i am, maybe i ain't," i says. "don't you give me none o' your lip," says he. "you've put on considerable many frills since i been away. i'll take you down a peg before i get done with you. you're educated, too, they say--can read and write. you think you're better'n your father, now, don't you, because he can't? _i'll_ take it out of you. who told you you might meddle with such hifalut'n foolishness, hey?--who told you you could?" "the widow. she told me." "the widow, hey?--and who told the widow she could put in her shovel about a thing that ain't none of her business?" "nobody never told her." "well, i'll learn her how to meddle. and looky here--you drop that school, you hear? i'll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs over his own father and let on to be better'n what _he_ is. you lemme catch you fooling around that school again, you hear? your mother couldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died. none of the family couldn't before _they_ died. i can't; and here you're a-swelling yourself up like this. i ain't the man to stand it--you hear? say, lemme hear you read." i took up a book and begun something about general washington and the wars. when i'd read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack with his hand and knocked it across the house. he says: "it's so. you can do it. i had my doubts when you told me. now looky here; you stop that putting on frills. i won't have it. i'll lay for you, my smarty; and if i catch you about that school i'll tan you good. first you know you'll get religion, too. i never see such a son." he took up a little blue and yaller picture of some cows and a boy, and says: "what's this?" "it's something they give me for learning my lessons good." he tore it up, and says: "i'll give you something better--i'll give you a cowhide." he set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says: "_ain't_ you a sweet-scented dandy, though? a bed; and bedclothes; and a look'n'-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floor--and your own father got to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard. i never see such a son. i bet i'll take some o' these frills out o' you before i'm done with you. why, there ain't no end to your airs--they say you're rich. hey?--how's that?" "they lie--that's how." "looky here--mind how you talk to me; i'm a-standing about all i can stand now--so don't gimme no sass. i've been in town two days, and i hain't heard nothing but about you bein' rich. i heard about it away down the river, too. that's why i come. you git me that money to-morrow--i want it." "i hain't got no money." "it's a lie. judge thatcher's got it. you git it. i want it." "i hain't got no money, i tell you. you ask judge thatcher; he'll tell you the same." "all right. i'll ask him; and i'll make him pungle, too, or i'll know the reason why. say, how much you got in your pocket? i want it." "i hain't got only a dollar, and i want that to--" "it don't make no difference what you want it for--you just shell it out." he took it and bit it to see if it was good, and then he said he was going down-town to get some whisky; said he hadn't had a drink all day. when he had got out on the shed he put his head in again, and cussed me for putting on frills and trying to be better than him; and when i reckoned he was gone he come back and put his head in again, and told me to mind about that school, because he was going to lay for me and lick me if i didn't drop that. next day he was drunk, and he went to judge thatcher's and bullyragged him, and tried to make him give up the money; but he couldn't, and then he swore he'd make the law force him. the judge and the widow went to law to get the court to take me away from him and let one of them be my guardian; but it was a new judge that had just come, and he didn't know the old man; so he said courts mustn't interfere and separate families if they could help it; said he'd druther not take a child away from its father. so judge thatcher and the widow had to quit on the business. that pleased the old man till he couldn't rest. he said he'd cowhide me till i was black and blue if i didn't raise some money for him. i borrowed three dollars from judge thatcher, and pap took it and got drunk, and went a-blowing around and cussing and whooping and carrying on; and he kept it up all over town, with a tin pan, till most midnight; then they jailed him, and next day they had him before court, and jailed him again for a week. but he said _he_ was satisfied; said he was boss of his son, and he'd make it warm for _him._ when he got out the new judge said he was a-going to make a man of him. so he took him to his own house, and dressed him up clean and nice, and had him to breakfast and dinner and supper with the family, and was just old pie to him, so to speak. and after supper he talked to him about temperance and such things till the old man cried, and said he'd been a fool, and fooled away his life; but now he was a-going to turn over a new leaf and be a man nobody wouldn't be ashamed of, and he hoped the judge would help him and not look down on him. the judge said he could hug him for them words; so he cried, and his wife she cried again; pap said he'd been a man that had always been misunderstood before, and the judge said he believed it. the old man said that what a man wanted that was down was sympathy, and the judge said it was so; so they cried again. and when it was bedtime the old man rose up and held out his hand, and says: "look at it, gentlemen and ladies all; take a-hold of it; shake it. there's a hand that was the hand of a hog; but it ain't so no more; it's the hand of a man that's started in on a new life, and'll die before he'll go back. you mark them words--don't forget i said them. it's a clean hand now; shake it--don't be afeard." so they shook it, one after the other, all around, and cried. the judge's wife she kissed it. then the old man he signed a pledge--made his mark. the judge said it was the holiest time on record, or something like that. then they tucked the old man into a beautiful room, which was the spare room, and in the night some time he got powerful thirsty and clumb out on to the porch-roof and slid down a stanchion and traded his new coat for a jug of forty-rod, and clumb back again and had a good old time; and toward daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, and rolled off the porch and broke his left arm in two places, and was most froze to death when somebody found him after sun-up. and when they come to look at that spare room they had to take soundings before they could navigate it. the judge he felt kind of sore. he said he reckoned a body could reform the old man with a shotgun, maybe, but he didn't know no other way. chapter vi well, pretty soon the old man was up and around again, and then he went for judge thatcher in the courts to make him give up that money, and he went for me, too, for not stopping school. he catched me a couple of times and thrashed me, but i went to school just the same, and dodged him or outrun him most of the time. i didn't want to go to school much before, but i reckoned i'd go now to spite pap. that law trial was a slow business--appeared like they warn't ever going to get started on it; so every now and then i'd borrow two or three dollars off of the judge for him, to keep from getting a cowhiding. every time he got money he got drunk; and every time he got drunk he raised cain around town; and every time he raised cain he got jailed. he was just suited--this kind of thing was right in his line. he got to hanging around the widow's too much, and so she told him at last that if he didn't quit using around there she would make trouble for him. well, _wasn't_ he mad? he said he would show who was huck finn's boss. so he watched out for me one day in the spring, and catched me, and took me up the river about three mile in a skiff, and crossed over to the illinois shore where it was woody and there warn't no houses but an old log hut in a place where the timber was so thick you couldn't find it if you didn't know where it was. he kept me with him all the time, and i never got a chance to run off. we lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the key under his head nights. he had a gun which he had stole, i reckon, and we fished and hunted, and that was what we lived on. every little while he locked me in and went down to the store, three miles, to the ferry, and traded fish and game for whisky, and fetched it home and got drunk and had a good time, and licked me. the widow she found out where i was by and by, and she sent a man over to try to get hold of me; but pap drove him off with the gun, and it warn't long after that till i was used to being where i was, and liked it--all but the cowhide part. it was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking and fishing, and no books nor study. two months or more run along, and my clothes got to be all rags and dirt, and i didn't see how i'd ever got to like it so well at the widow's, where you had to wash, and eat on a plate, and comb up, and go to bed and get up regular, and be forever bothering over a book, and have old miss watson pecking at you all the time. i didn't want to go back no more. i had stopped cussing, because the widow didn't like it; but now i took to it again because pap hadn't no objections. it was pretty good times up in the woods there, take it all around. but by and by pap got too handy with his hick'ry, and i couldn't stand it. i was all over welts. he got to going away so much, too, and locking me in. once he locked me in and was gone three days. it was dreadful lonesome. i judged he had got drownded, and i wasn't ever going to get out any more. i was scared. i made up my mind i would fix up some way to leave there. i had tried to get out of that cabin many a time, but i couldn't find no way. there warn't a window to it big enough for a dog to get through. i couldn't get up the chimbly; it was too narrow. the door was thick, solid oak slabs. pap was pretty careful not to leave a knife or anything in the cabin when he was away; i reckon i had hunted the place over as much as a hundred times; well, i was most all the time at it, because it was about the only way to put in the time. but this time i found something at last; i found an old rusty wood-saw without any handle; it was laid in between a rafter and the clapboards of the roof. i greased it up and went to work. there was an old horse-blanket nailed against the logs at the far end of the cabin behind the table, to keep the wind from blowing through the chinks and putting the candle out. i got under the table and raised the blanket, and went to work to saw a section of the big bottom log out--big enough to let me through. well, it was a good long job, but i was getting toward the end of it when i heard pap's gun in the woods. i got rid of the signs of my work, and dropped the blanket and hid my saw, and pretty soon pap come in. pap warn't in a good humor--so he was his natural self. he said he was down-town, and everything was going wrong. his lawyer said he reckoned he would win his lawsuit and get the money if they ever got started on the trial; but then there was ways to put it off a long time, and judge thatcher knowed how to do it. and he said people allowed there'd be another trial to get me away from him and give me to the widow for my guardian, and they guessed it would win this time. this shook me up considerable, because i didn't want to go back to the widow's any more and be so cramped up and sivilized, as they called it. then the old man got to cussing, and cussed everything and everybody he could think of, and then cussed them all over again to make sure he hadn't skipped any, and after that he polished off with a kind of a general cuss all round, including a considerable parcel of people which he didn't know the names of, and so called them what's-his-name when he got to them, and went right along with his cussing. he said he would like to see the widow get me. he said he would watch out, and if they tried to come any such game on him he knowed of a place six or seven mile off to stow me in, where they might hunt till they dropped and they couldn't find me. that made me pretty uneasy again, but only for a minute; i reckoned i wouldn't stay on hand till he got that chance. the old man made me go to the skiff and fetch the things he had got. there was a fifty-pound sack of corn meal, and a side of bacon, ammunition, and a four-gallon jug of whisky, and an old book and two newspapers for wadding, besides some tow. i toted up a load, and went back and set down on the bow of the skiff to rest. i thought it all over, and i reckoned i would walk off with the gun and some lines, and take to the woods when i run away. i guessed i wouldn't stay in one place, but just tramp right across the country, mostly night-times, and hunt and fish to keep alive, and so get so far away that the old man nor the widow couldn't ever find me any more. i judged i would saw out and leave that night if pap got drunk enough, and i reckoned he would. i got so full of it i didn't notice how long i was staying till the old man hollered and asked me whether i was asleep or drownded. i got the things all up to the cabin, and then it was about dark. while i was cooking supper the old man took a swig or two and got sort of warmed up, and went to ripping again. he had been drunk over in town, and laid in the gutter all night, and he was a sight to look at. a body would 'a' thought he was adam--he was just all mud. whenever his liquor begun to work he most always went for the govment. this time he says: "call this a govment! why, just look at it and see what it's like. here's the law a-standing ready to take a man's son away from him--a man's own son, which he has had all the trouble and all the anxiety and all the expense of raising. yes, just as that man has got that son raised at last, and ready to go to work and begin to do suthin' for _him_ and give him a rest, the law up and goes for him. and they call _that_ govment! that ain't all, nuther. the law backs that old judge thatcher up and helps him to keep me out o' my property. here's what the law does: the law takes a man worth six thousand dollars and up'ards, and jams him into an old trap of a cabin like this, and lets him go round in clothes that ain't fitten for a hog. they call that govment! a man can't get his rights in a govment like this. sometimes i've a mighty notion to just leave the country for good and all. yes, and i _told_ 'em so; i told old thatcher so to his face. lots of 'em heard me, and can tell what i said. says i, for two cents i'd leave the blamed country and never come a-near it ag'in. them's the very words. i says, look at my hat--if you call it a hat--but the lid raises up and the rest of it goes down till it's below my chin, and then it ain't rightly a hat at all, but more like my head was shoved up through a jint o' stove-pipe. look at it, says i--such a hat for me to wear--one of the wealthiest men in this town if i could git my rights. "oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful. why, looky here. there was a free nigger there from ohio--a mulatter, most as white as a white man. he had the whitest shirt on you ever see, too, and the shiniest hat; and there ain't a man in that town that's got as fine clothes as what he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a silver-headed cane--the awfulest old gray-headed nabob in the state. and what do you think? they said he was a p'fessor in a college, and could talk all kinds of languages, and knowed everything. and that ain't the wust. they said he could _vote_ when he was at home. well, that let me out. thinks i, what is the country a-coming to? it was 'lection day, and i was just about to go and vote myself if i warn't too drunk to get there; but when they told me there was a state in this country where they'd let that nigger vote, i drawed out. i says i'll never vote ag'in. them's the very words i said; they all heard me; and the country may rot for all me--i'll never vote ag'in as long as i live. and to see the cool way of that nigger--why, he wouldn't 'a' give me the road if i hadn't shoved him out o' the way. i says to the people, why ain't this nigger put up at auction and sold?--that's what i want to know. and what do you reckon they said? why, they said he couldn't be sold till he'd been in the state six months, and he hadn't been there that long yet. there, now--that's a specimen. they call that a govment that can't sell a free nigger till he's been in the state six months. here's a govment that calls itself a govment, and lets on to be a govment, and thinks it is a govment, and yet's got to set stock-still for six whole months before it can take a-hold of a prowling, thieving, infernal, white-shirted free nigger, and--" pap was a-going on so he never noticed where his old limber legs was taking him to, so he went head over heels over the tub of salt pork and barked both shins, and the rest of his speech was all the hottest kind of language--mostly hove at the nigger and the govment, though he give the tub some, too, all along, here and there. he hopped around the cabin considerable, first on one leg and then on the other, holding first one shin and then the other one, and at last he let out with his left foot all of a sudden and fetched the tub a rattling kick. but it warn't good judgment, because that was the boot that had a couple of his toes leaking out of the front end of it; so now he raised a howl that fairly made a body's hair raise, and down he went in the dirt, and rolled there, and held his toes; and the cussing he done then laid over anything he had ever done previous. he said so his own self afterwards. he had heard old sowberry hagan in his best days, and he said it laid over him, too; but i reckon that was sort of piling it on, maybe. after supper pap took the jug, and said he had enough whisky there for two drunks and one delirium tremens. that was always his word. i judged he would be blind drunk in about an hour, and then i would steal the key, or saw myself out, one or t'other. he drank and drank, and tumbled down on his blankets by and by; but luck didn't run my way. he didn't go sound asleep, but was uneasy. he groaned and moaned and thrashed around this way and that for a long time. at last i got so sleepy i couldn't keep my eyes open all i could do, and so before i knowed what i was about i was sound asleep, and the candle burning. i don't know how long i was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an awful scream and i was up. there was pap looking wild, and skipping around every which way and yelling about snakes. he said they was crawling up his legs; and then he would give a jump and scream, and say one had bit him on the cheek--but i couldn't see no snakes. he started and run round and round the cabin, hollering "take him off! take him off! he's biting me on the neck!" i never see a man look so wild in the eyes. pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down panting; then he rolled over and over wonderful fast, kicking things every which way, and striking and grabbing at the air with his hands, and screaming and saying there was devils a-hold of him. he wore out by and by, and laid still awhile, moaning. then he laid stiller, and didn't make a sound. i could hear the owls and the wolves away off in the woods, and it seemed terrible still. he was laying over by the corner. by and by he raised up part way and listened, with his head to one side. he says, very low: "tramp--tramp--tramp; that's the dead; tramp--tramp--tramp; they're coming after me; but i won't go. oh, they're here! don't touch me--don't! hands off--they're cold; let go. oh, let a poor devil alone!" then he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let him alone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in under the old pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying. i could hear him through the blanket. by and by he rolled out and jumped up on his feet looking wild, and he see me and went for me. he chased me round and round the place with a clasp-knife, calling me the angel of death, and saying he would kill me, and then i couldn't come for him no more. i begged, and told him i was only huck; but he laughed _such_ a screechy laugh, and roared and cussed, and kept on chasing me up. once when i turned short and dodged under his arm he made a grab and got me by the jacket between my shoulders, and i thought i was gone; but i slid out of the jacket quick as lightning, and saved myself. pretty soon he was all tired out, and dropped down with his back against the door, and said he would rest a minute and then kill me. he put his knife under him, and said he would sleep and get strong, and then he would see who was who. so he dozed off pretty soon. by and by i got the old split-bottom chair and clumb up as easy as i could, not to make any noise, and got down the gun. i slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded, and then i laid it across the turnip-barrel, pointing towards pap, and set down behind it to wait for him to stir. and how slow and still the time did drag along. chapter vii "git up! what you 'bout?" i opened my eyes and looked around, trying to make out where i was. it was after sun-up, and i had been sound asleep. pap was standing over me looking sour--and sick, too. he says: "what you doin' with this gun?" i judged he didn't know nothing about what he had been doing, so i says: "somebody tried to get in, so i was laying for him." "why didn't you roust me out?" "well, i tried to, but i couldn't; i couldn't budge you." "well, all right. don't stand there palavering all day, but out with you and see if there's a fish on the lines for breakfast. i'll be along in a minute." he unlocked the door, and i cleared out up the river-bank. i noticed some pieces of limbs and such things floating down, and a sprinkling of bark; so i knowed the river had begun to rise. i reckoned i would have great times now if i was over at the town. the june rise used to be always luck for me; because as soon as that rise begins here comes cordwood floating down, and pieces of log rafts--sometimes a dozen logs together; so all you have to do is to catch them and sell them to the woodyards and the sawmill. i went along up the bank with one eye out for pap and t'other one out for what the rise might fetch along. well, all at once here comes a canoe; just a beauty, too, about thirteen or fourteen foot long, riding high like a duck. i shot head-first off of the bank like a frog, clothes and all on, and struck out for the canoe. i just expected there'd be somebody laying down in it, because people often done that to fool folks, and when a chap had pulled a skiff out most to it they'd raise up and laugh at him. but it warn't so this time. it was a drift-canoe sure enough, and i clumb in and paddled her ashore. thinks i, the old man will be glad when he sees this--she's worth ten dollars. but when i got to shore pap wasn't in sight yet, and as i was running her into a little creek like a gully, all hung over with vines and willows, i struck another idea: i judged i'd hide her good, and then, 'stead of taking to the woods when i run off, i'd go down the river about fifty mile and camp in one place for good, and not have such a rough time tramping on foot. it was pretty close to the shanty, and i thought i heard the old man coming all the time; but i got her hid; and then i out and looked around a bunch of willows, and there was the old man down the path a piece just drawing a bead on a bird with his gun. so he hadn't seen anything. when he got along i was hard at it taking up a "trot" line. he abused me a little for being so slow; but i told him i fell in the river, and that was what made me so long. i knowed he would see i was wet, and then he would be asking questions. we got five catfish off the lines and went home. while we laid off after breakfast to sleep up, both of us being about wore out, i got to thinking that if i could fix up some way to keep pap and the widow from trying to follow me, it would be a certainer thing than trusting to luck to get far enough off before they missed me; you see, all kinds of things might happen. well, i didn't see no way for a while, but by and by pap raised up a minute to drink another barrel of water, and he says: "another time a man comes a-prowling round here you roust me out, you hear? that man warn't here for no good. i'd a shot him. next time you roust me out, you hear?" then he dropped down and went to sleep again; what he had been saying give me the very idea i wanted. i says to myself, i can fix it now so nobody won't think of following me. about twelve o'clock we turned out and went along up the bank. the river was coming up pretty fast, and lots of driftwood going by on the rise. by and by along comes part of a log raft--nine logs fast together. we went out with the skiff and towed it ashore. then we had dinner. anybody but pap would 'a' waited and seen the day through, so as to catch more stuff; but that warn't pap's style. nine logs was enough for one time; he must shove right over to town and sell. so he locked me in and took the skiff, and started off towing the raft about half past three. i judged he wouldn't come back that night. i waited till i reckoned he had got a good start; then i out with my saw, and went to work on that log again. before he was t'other side of the river i was out of the hole; him and his raft was just a speck on the water away off yonder. [illustration: huckleberry finn] i took the sack of corn meal and took it to where the canoe was hid, and shoved the vines and branches apart and put it in; then i done the same with the side of bacon; then the whisky-jug. i took all the coffee and sugar there was, and all the ammunition; i took the wadding; i took the bucket and gourd; took a dipper and a tin cup, and my old saw and two blankets, and the skillet and the coffee-pot. i took fish-lines and matches and other things--everything that was worth a cent. i cleaned out the place. i wanted an ax, but there wasn't any, only the one out at the woodpile, and i knowed why i was going to leave that. i fetched out the gun, and now i was done. i had wore the ground a good deal crawling out of the hole and dragging out so many things. so i fixed that as good as i could from the outside by scattering dust on the place, which covered up the smoothness and the sawdust. then i fixed the piece of log back into its place, and put two rocks under it and one against it to hold it there, for it was bent up at that place and didn't quite touch ground. if you stood four or five foot away and didn't know it was sawed, you wouldn't never notice it; and besides, this was the back of the cabin, and it warn't likely anybody would go fooling around there. it was all grass clear to the canoe, so i hadn't left a track. i followed around to see. i stood on the bank and looked out over the river. all safe. so i took the gun and went up a piece into the woods, and was hunting around for some birds when i see a wild pig; hogs soon went wild in them bottoms after they had got away from the prairie-farms. i shot this fellow and took him into camp. i took the ax and smashed in the door. i beat it and hacked it considerable a-doing it. i fetched the pig in, and took him back nearly to the table and hacked into his throat with the ax, and laid him down on the ground to bleed; i say ground because it was ground--hard packed, and no boards. well, next i took an old sack and put a lot of big rocks in it--all i could drag--and i started it from the pig, and dragged it to the door and through the woods down to the river and dumped it in, and down it sunk, out of sight. you could easy see that something had been dragged over the ground. i did wish tom sawyer was there; i knowed he would take an interest in this kind of business, and throw in the fancy touches. nobody could spread himself like tom sawyer in such a thing as that. well, last i pulled out some of my hair, and blooded the ax good, and stuck it on the back side, and slung the ax in the corner. then i took up the pig and held him to my breast with my jacket (so he couldn't drip) till i got a good piece below the house and then dumped him into the river. now i thought of something else. so i went and got the bag of meal and my old saw out of the canoe, and fetched them to the house. i took the bag to where it used to stand, and ripped a hole in the bottom of it with the saw, for there warn't no knives and forks on the place--pap done everything with his clasp-knife about the cooking. then i carried the sack about a hundred yards across the grass and through the willows east of the house, to a shallow lake that was five mile wide and full of rushes--and ducks too, you might say, in the season. there was a slough or a creek leading out of it on the other side that went miles away, i don't know where, but it didn't go to the river. the meal sifted out and made a little track all the way to the lake. i dropped pap's whetstone there too, so as to look like it had been done by accident. then i tied up the rip in the meal-sack with a string, so it wouldn't leak no more, and took it and my saw to the canoe again. it was about dark now; so i dropped the canoe down the river under some willows that hung over the bank, and waited for the moon to rise. i made fast to a willow; then i took a bite to eat, and by and by laid down in the canoe to smoke a pipe and lay out a plan. i says to myself, they'll follow the track of that sackful of rocks to the shore and then drag the river for me. and they'll follow that meal track to the lake and go browsing down the creek that leads out of it to find the robbers that killed me and took the things. they won't ever hunt the river for anything but my dead carcass. they'll soon get tired of that, and won't bother no more about me. all right; i can stop anywhere i want to. jackson's island is good enough for me; i know that island pretty well, and nobody ever comes there. and then i can paddle over to town nights, and slink around and pick up things i want. jackson's island's the place. i was pretty tired, and the first thing i knowed i was asleep. when i woke up i didn't know where i was for a minute. i set up and looked around, a little scared. then i remembered. the river looked miles and miles across. the moon was so bright i could 'a' counted the drift-logs that went a-slipping along, black and still, hundreds of yards out from shore. everything was dead quiet, and it looked late, and _smelt_ late. you know what i mean--i don't know the words to put it in. i took a good gap and a stretch, and was just going to unhitch and start when i heard a sound away over the water. i listened. pretty soon i made it out. it was that dull kind of a regular sound that comes from oars working in rowlocks when it's a still night. i peeped out through the willow branches, and there it was--a skiff, away across the water. i couldn't tell how many was in it. it kept a-coming, and when it was abreast of me i see there warn't but one man in it. thinks i, maybe it's pap, though i warn't expecting him. he dropped below me with the current, and by and by he came a-swinging up shore in the easy water, and he went by so close i could 'a' reached out the gun and touched him. well, it _was_ pap, sure enough--and sober, too, by the way he laid his oars. i didn't lose no time. the next minute i was a-spinning down-stream soft, but quick, in the shade of the bank. i made two mile and a half, and then struck out a quarter of a mile or more toward the middle of the river, because pretty soon i would be passing the ferry-landing, and people might see me and hail me. i got out amongst the driftwood, and then laid down in the bottom of the canoe and let her float. i laid there, and had a good rest and a smoke out of my pipe, looking away into the sky; not a cloud in it. the sky looks ever so deep when you lay down on your back in the moonshine; i never knowed it before. and how far a body can hear on the water such nights! i heard people talking at the ferry-landing. i heard what they said, too--every word of it. one man said it was getting towards the long days and the short nights now. t'other one said _this_ warn't one of the short ones, he reckoned--and then they laughed, and he said it over again, and they laughed again; then they waked up another fellow and told him, and laughed, but he didn't laugh; he ripped out something brisk, and said let him alone. the first fellow said he 'lowed to tell it to his old woman--she would think it was pretty good; but he said that warn't nothing to some things he had said in his time. i heard one man say it was nearly three o'clock, and he hoped daylight wouldn't wait more than about a week longer. after that the talk got further and further away, and i couldn't make out the words any more; but i could hear the mumble, and now and then a laugh, too, but it seemed a long ways off. i was away below the ferry now. i rose up, and there was jackson's island, about two mile and a half down-stream, heavy-timbered and standing up out of the middle of the river, big and dark and solid, like a steamboat without any lights. there warn't any signs of the bar at the head--it was all under water now. it didn't take me long to get there. i shot past the head at a ripping rate, the current was so swift, and then i got into the dead water and landed on the side towards the illinois shore. i run the canoe into a deep dent in the bank that i knowed about; i had to part the willow branches to get in; and when i made fast nobody could 'a' seen the canoe from the outside. i went up and set down on a log at the head of the island, and looked out on the big river and the black driftwood and away over to the town, three mile away, where there was three or four lights twinkling. a monstrous big lumber-raft was about a mile upstream, coming along down, with a lantern in the middle of it. i watched it come creeping down, and when it was most abreast of where i stood i heard a man say, "stern oars, there! heave her head to stabboard!" i heard that just as plain as if the man was by my side. there was a little gray in the sky now; so i stepped into the woods, and laid down for a nap before breakfast. chapter viii the sun was up so high when i waked that i judged it was after eight o'clock. i laid there in the grass and the cool shade thinking about things, and feeling rested and ruther comfortable and satisfied. i could see the sun out at one or two holes, but mostly it was big trees all about, and gloomy in there amongst them. there was freckled places on the ground where the light sifted down through the leaves, and the freckled places swapped about a little, showing there was a little breeze up there. a couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at me very friendly. i was powerful lazy and comfortable--didn't want to get up and cook breakfast. well, i was dozing off again when i thinks i hears a deep sound of "boom!" away up the river. i rouses up, and rests on my elbow and listens; pretty soon i hears it again. i hopped up, and went and looked out at a hole in the leaves, and i see a bunch of smoke laying on the water a long ways up--about abreast the ferry. and there was the ferryboat full of people floating along down. i knowed what was the matter now. "boom!" i see the white smoke squirt out of the ferryboat's side. you see, they was firing cannon over the water, trying to make my carcass come to the top. i was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to do for me to start a fire, because they might see the smoke. so i set there and watched the cannon-smoke and listened to the boom. the river was a mile wide there, and it always looks pretty on a summer morning--so i was having a good enough time seeing them hunt for my remainders if i only had a bite to eat. well, then i happened to think how they always put quicksilver in loaves of bread and float them off, because they always go right to the drownded carcass and stop there. so, says i, i'll keep a lookout, and if any of them's floating around after me i'll give them a show. i changed to the illinois edge of the island to see what luck i could have, and i warn't disappointed. a big double loaf come along, and i most got it with a long stick, but my foot slipped and she floated out further. of course i was where the current set in the closest to the shore--i knowed enough for that. but by and by along comes another one, and this time i won. i took out the plug and shook out the little dab of quicksilver, and set my teeth in. it was "baker's bread"--what the quality eat; none of your low-down corn-pone. i got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there on a log, munching the bread and watching the ferry-boat, and very well satisfied. and then something struck me. i says, now i reckon the widow or the parson or somebody prayed that this bread would find me, and here it has gone and done it. so there ain't no doubt but there is something in that thing--that is, there's something in it when a body like the widow or the parson prays, but it don't work for me, and i reckon it don't work for only just the right kind. i lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching. the ferryboat was floating with the current, and i allowed i'd have a chance to see who was aboard when she come along, because she would come in close, where the bread did. when she'd got pretty well along down towards me, i put out my pipe and went to where i fished out the bread, and laid down behind a log on the bank in a little open place. where the log forked i could peep through. by and by she come along, and she drifted in so close that they could 'a' run out a plank and walked ashore. most everybody was on the boat. pap, and judge thatcher, and bessie thatcher, and joe harper, and tom sawyer, and his old aunt polly, and sid and mary, and plenty more. everybody was talking about the murder, but the captain broke in and says: "look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest here, and maybe he's washed ashore and got tangled amongst the brush at the water's edge. i hope so, anyway." i didn't hope so. they all crowded up and leaned over the rails, nearly in my face, and kept still, watching with all their might. i could see them first-rate, but they couldn't see me. then the captain sung out: "stand away!" and the cannon let off such a blast right before me that it made me deef with the noise and pretty near blind with the smoke, and i judged i was gone. if they'd 'a' had some bullets in, i reckon they'd 'a' got the corpse they was after. well, i see i warn't hurt, thanks to goodness. the boat floated on and went out of sight around the shoulder of the island. i could hear the booming now and then, further and further off, and by and by, after an hour, i didn't hear it no more. the island was three mile long. i judged they had got to the foot, and was giving it up. but they didn't yet awhile. they turned around the foot of the island and started up the channel on the missouri side, under steam, and booming once in a while as they went. i crossed over to that side and watched them. when they got abreast the head of the island they quit shooting and dropped over to the missouri shore and went home to the town. i knowed i was all right now. nobody else would come a-hunting after me. i got my traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thick woods. i made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things under so the rain couldn't get at them. i catched a catfish and haggled him open with my saw, and towards sundown i started my camp-fire and had supper. then i set out a line to catch some fish for breakfast. when it was dark i set by my camp-fire smoking, and feeling pretty well satisfied; but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and so i went and set on the bank and listened to the current swashing along, and counted the stars and drift-logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed; there ain't no better way to put in time when you are lonesome; you can't stay so, you soon get over it. and so for three days and nights. no difference--just the same thing. but the next day i went exploring around down through the island. i was boss of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and i wanted to know all about it; but mainly i wanted to put in the time. i found plenty strawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer grapes, and green razberries; and the green blackberries was just beginning to show. they would all come handy by and by, i judged. well, i went fooling along in the deep woods till i judged i warn't far from the foot of the island. i had my gun along, but i hadn't shot nothing; it was for protection; thought i would kill some game nigh home. about this time i mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake, and it went sliding off through the grass and flowers, and i after it, trying to get a shot at it. i clipped along, and all of a sudden i bounded right on to the ashes of a camp-fire that was still smoking. my heart jumped up amongst my lungs. i never waited for to look further, but uncocked my gun and went sneaking back on my tiptoes as fast as ever i could. every now and then i stopped a second amongst the thick leaves and listened, but my breath come so hard i couldn't hear nothing else. i slunk along another piece further, then listened again; and so on, and so on. if i see a stump, i took it for a man; if i trod on a stick and broke it, it made me feel like a person had cut one of my breaths in two and i only got half, and the short half, too. when i got to camp i warn't feeling very brash, there warn't much sand in my craw; but i says, this ain't no time to be fooling around. so i got all my traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of sight, and i put out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like an old last-year's camp, and then clumb a tree. i reckon i was up in the tree two hours; but i didn't see nothing, i didn't hear nothing--i only _thought_ i heard and seen as much as a thousand things. well, i couldn't stay up there forever; so at last i got down, but i kept in the thick woods and on the lookout all the time. all i could get to eat was berries and what was left over from breakfast. by the time it was night i was pretty hungry. so when it was good and dark i slid out from shore before moonrise and paddled over to the illinois bank--about a quarter of a mile. i went out in the woods and cooked a supper, and i had about made up my mind i would stay there all night when i hear a _plunkety-plunk_, _plunkety-plunk_, and says to myself, horses coming; and next i hear people's voices. i got everything into the canoe as quick as i could, and then went creeping through the woods to see what i could find out. i hadn't got far when i hear a man say: "we better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about beat out. let's look around." i didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy. i tied up in the old place, and reckoned i would sleep in the canoe. i didn't sleep much. i couldn't, somehow, for thinking. and every time i waked up i thought somebody had me by the neck. so the sleep didn't do me no good. by and by i says to myself, i can't live this way; i'm a-going to find out who it is that's here on the island with me; i'll find it out or bust. well, i felt better right off. so i took my paddle and slid out from shore just a step or two, and then let the canoe drop along down amongst the shadows. the moon was shining, and outside of the shadows it made it most as light as day. i poked along well on to an hour, everything still as rocks and sound asleep. well, by this time i was most down to the foot of the island. a little ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as good as saying the night was about done. i give her a turn with the paddle and brung her nose to shore; then i got my gun and slipped out and into the edge of the woods. i sat down there on a log, and looked out through the leaves. i see the moon go off watch, and the darkness begin to blanket the river. but in a little while i see a pale streak over the treetops, and knowed the day was coming. so i took my gun and slipped off towards where i had run across that camp-fire, stopping every minute or two to listen. but i hadn't no luck somehow; i couldn't seem to find the place. but by and by, sure enough, i catched a glimpse of fire away through the trees. i went for it, cautious and slow. by and by i was close enough to have a look, and there laid a man on the ground. it most give me the fantods. he had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. i set there behind a clump of bushes in about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady. it was getting gray daylight now. pretty soon he gapped and stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was miss watson's jim! i bet i was glad to see him. i says: "hello, jim!" and skipped out. he bounced up and stared at me wild. then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says: "doan' hurt me--don't! i hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'. i alwuz liked dead people, en done all i could for 'em. you go en git in de river ag'in, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to ole jim, 'at 'uz alwuz yo' fren'." well, i warn't long making him understand i warn't dead. i was ever so glad to see jim. i warn't lonesome now. i told him i warn't afraid of _him_ telling the people where i was. i talked along, but he only set there and looked at me; never said nothing. then i says: "it's good daylight. le's get breakfast. make up your camp-fire good." "what's de use er makin' up de camp-fire to cook strawbries en sich truck? but you got a gun, hain't you? den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries." "strawberries and such truck," i says. "is that what you live on?" "i couldn' git nuffn else," he says. "why, how long you been on the island, jim?" "i come heah de night arter you's killed." "what, all that time?" "yes-indeedy." "and ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?" "no, sah--nuffn else." "well, you must be most starved, ain't you?" "i reck'n i could eat a hoss. i think i could. how long you ben on de islan'?" "since the night i got killed." "no! w'y, what has you lived on? but you got a gun. oh, yes, you got a gun. dat's good. now you kill sumfn en i'll make up de fire." so we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in a grassy open place amongst the trees, i fetched meal and bacon and coffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the nigger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done with witchcraft. i catched a good big catfish, too, and jim cleaned him with his knife, and fried him. when breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot. jim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved. then when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied. by and by jim says: "but looky here, huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed in dat shanty ef it warn't you?" then i told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart. he said tom sawyer couldn't get up no better plan than what i had. then i says: "how do you come to be here, jim, and how'd you get here?" he looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for a minute. then he says: "maybe i better not tell." "why, jim?" "well, dey's reasons. but you wouldn' tell on me ef i 'uz to tell you, would you, huck?" "blamed if i would, jim." "well, i b'lieve you, huck. i--i _run off_." "jim!" "but mind, you said you wouldn' tell--you know you said you wouldn' tell, huck." "well, i did. i said i wouldn't, and i'll stick to it. honest _injun_, i will. people would call me a low-down abolitionist and despise me for keeping mum--but that don't make no difference. i ain't a-going to tell, and i ain't a-going back there, anyways. so, now, le's know all about it." "well, you see, it 'uz dis way. ole missus--dat's miss watson--she pecks on me all de time, en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she wouldn' sell me down to orleans. but i noticed dey wuz a nigger trader roun' de place considable lately, en i begin to git oneasy. well, one night i creeps to de do' pooty late, en de do' warn't quite shet, en i hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to sell me down to orleans, but she didn' want to, but she could git eight hund'd dollars for me, en it 'uz sich a big stack o' money she couldn' resis'. de widder she try to git her to say she wouldn't do it, but i never waited to hear de res'. i lit out mighty quick, i tell you. "i tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec to steal a skift 'long de sho' som'ers 'bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so i hid in de ole tumbledown cooper shop on de bank to wait for everybody to go 'way. well, i wuz dah all night. dey wuz somebody roun' all de time. 'long 'bout six in de mawnin' skifts begin to go by, en 'bout eight er nine every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how yo' pap come over to de town en say you's killed. dese las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en genlmen a-goin' over for to see de place. sometimes dey'd pull up at de sho' en take a res' b'fo' dey started acrost, so by de talk i got to know all 'bout de killin'. i 'uz powerful sorry you's killed, huck, but i ain't no mo' now. "i laid dah under de shavin's all day. i 'uz hungry, but i warn't afeard; bekase i knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin' to start to de camp-meet'n' right arter breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey knows i goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so dey wouldn' 'spec to see me roun' de place, en so dey wouldn' miss me tell arter dark in de evenin'. de yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase dey'd shin out en take holiday soon as de ole folks 'uz out'n de way. "well, when it come dark i tuck out up de river road, en went 'bout two mile er more to whah dey warn't no houses. i'd made up my mine 'bout what i's a-gwyne to do. you see, ef i kep' on tryin' to git away afoot, de dogs 'ud track me; ef i stole a skift to cross over, dey'd miss dat skift, you see, en dey'd know 'bout whah i'd lan' on de yuther side, en whah to pick up my track. so i says, a raff is what i's arter; it doan' _make_ no track. "i see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int bymeby, so i wade' in en shove' a log ahead o' me en swum more'n half-way acrost de river, en got in 'mongst de drift-wood, en kep' my head down low, en kinder swum agin de current tell de raff come along. den i swum to de stern uv it en tuck a-holt. it clouded up en 'uz pooty dark for a little while. so i clumb up en laid down on de planks. de men 'uz all 'way yonder in de middle, whah de lantern wuz. de river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good current; so i reck'n'd 'at by fo' in de mawnin' i'd be twenty-five mile down de river, en den i'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight en swim asho', en take to de woods on de illinois side. "but i didn' have no luck. when we 'uz mos' down to de head er de islan' a man begin to come aft wid de lantern. i see it warn't no use fer to wait, so i slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'. well, i had a notion i could lan' mos' anywhers, but i couldn't--bank too bluff. i uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' i foun' a good place. i went into de woods en jedged i wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey move de lantern roun' so. i had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg en some matches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so i 'uz all right." "and so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? why didn't you get mud-turkles?" "how you gwyne to git 'm? you can't slip up on um en grab um; en how's a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock? how could a body do it in de night? en i warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime." "well, that's so. you've had to keep in the woods all the time, of course. did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?" "oh, yes. i knowed dey was arter you. i see um go by heah--watched um thoo de bushes." some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and lighting. jim said it was a sign it was going to rain. he said it was a sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the same way when young birds done it. i was going to catch some of them, but jim wouldn't let me. he said it was death. he said his father laid mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny said his father would die, and he did. and jim said you mustn't count the things you are going to cook for dinner, because that would bring bad luck. the same if you shook the tablecloth after sundown. and he said if a man owned a beehive and that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next morning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die. jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but i didn't believe that, because i had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting me. i had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them. jim knowed all kinds of signs. he said he knowed most everything. i said it looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so i asked him if there warn't any good-luck signs. he says: "mighty few--an' _dey_ ain't no use to a body. what you want to know when good luck's a-comin' for? want to keep it off?" and he said: "ef you's got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's a-gwyne to be rich. well, dey's some use in a sign like dat, 'kase it's so fur ahead. you see, maybe you's got to be po' a long time fust, en so you might git discourage' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de sign dat you gwyne to be rich bymeby." "have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, jim?" "what's de use to ax dat question? don't you see i has?" "well, are you rich?" "no, but i ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich ag'in. wunst i had foteen dollars, but i tuck to specalat'n', en got busted out." "what did you speculate in, jim?" "well, fust i tackled stock." "what kind of stock?" "why, live stock--cattle, you know. i put ten dollars in a cow. but i ain' gwyne to resk no mo' money in stock. de cow up 'n' died on my han's." "so you lost the ten dollars." "no, i didn't lose it all. i on'y los' 'bout nine of it. i sole de hide en taller for a dollar en ten cents." "you had five dollars and ten cents left. did you speculate any more?" "yes. you know that one-laigged nigger dat b'longs to old misto bradish? well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar would git fo' dollars mo' at de en' er de year. well, all de niggers went in, but dey didn't have much. i wuz de on'y one dat had much. so i stuck out for mo' dan fo' dollars, en i said 'f i didn' git it i'd start a bank mysef. well, o' course dat nigger want' to keep me out er de business, bekase he says dey warn't business 'nough for two banks, so he say i could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de en' er de year. "so i done it. den i reck'n'd i'd inves' de thirty-five dollars right off en keep things a-movin'. dey wuz a nigger name' bob, dat had ketched a wood-flat, en his marster didn' know it; en i bought it off'n him en told him to take de thirty-five dollars when de en' er de year come; but somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex' day de one-laigged nigger say de bank's busted. so dey didn' none uv us git no money." "what did you do with the ten cents, jim?" "well, i 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but i had a dream, en de dream tole me to give it to a nigger name' balum--balum's ass dey call him for short; he's one er dem chuckleheads, you know. but he's lucky, dey say, en i see i warn't lucky. de dream say let balum inves' de ten cents en he'd make a raise for me. well, balum he tuck de money, en when he wuz in church he hear de preacher say dat whoever give to de po' len' to de lord, en boun' to git his money back a hund'd times. so balum he tuck en give de ten cents to de po', en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to come of it." "well, what did come of it, jim?" "nuffn never come of it. i couldn' manage to k'leck dat money no way; en balum he couldn'. i ain' gwyne to len' no mo' money 'dout i see de security. boun' to git yo' money back a hund'd times, de preacher says! ef i could git de ten _cents_ back, i'd call it squah, en be glad er de chanst." "well, it's all right anyway, jim, long as you're going to be rich again some time or other." "yes; en i's rich now, come to look at it. i owns mysef, en i's wuth eight hund'd dollars. i wisht i had de money, i wouldn' want no mo'." chapter ix i wanted to go and look at a place right about the middle of the island that i'd found when i was exploring; so we started and soon got to it, because the island was only three miles long and a quarter of a mile wide. this place was a tolerable long, steep hill or ridge about forty foot high. we had a rough time getting to the top, the sides was so steep and the bushes so thick. we tramped and clumb around all over it, and by and by found a good big cavern in the rock, most up to the top on the side towards illinois. the cavern was as big as two or three rooms bunched together, and jim could stand up straight in it. it was cool in there. jim was for putting our traps in there right away, but i said we didn't want to be climbing up and down there all the time. jim said if we had the canoe hid in a good place, and had all the traps in the cavern, we could rush there if anybody was to come to the island, and they would never find us without dogs. and, besides, he said them little birds had said it was going to rain, and did i want the things to get wet? so we went back and got the canoe, and paddled up abreast the cavern, and lugged all the traps up there. then we hunted up a place close by to hide the canoe in, amongst the thick willows. we took some fish off of the lines and set them again, and begun to get ready for dinner. the door of the cavern was big enough to roll a hogshead in, and on one side of the door the floor stuck out a little bit, and was flat and a good place to build a fire on. so we built it there and cooked dinner. we spread the blankets inside for a carpet, and eat our dinner in there. we put all the other things handy at the back of the cavern. pretty soon it darkened up, and begun to thunder and lighten; so the birds was right about it. directly it begun to rain, and it rained like all fury, too, and i never see the wind blow so. it was one of these regular summer storms. it would get so dark that it looked all blue-black outside, and lovely; and the rain would thrash along by so thick that the trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and here would come a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and turn up the pale underside of the leaves; and then a perfect ripper of a gust would follow along and set the branches to tossing their arms as if they was just wild; and next, when it was just about the bluest and blackest--_fst!_ it was as bright as glory, and you'd have a little glimpse of tree-tops a-plunging about away off yonder in the storm, hundreds of yards further than you could see before; dark as sin again in a second, and now you'd hear the thunder let go with an awful crash, and then go rumbling, grumbling, tumbling, down the sky towards the under side of the world, like rolling empty barrels down-stairs--where it's long stairs and they bounce a good deal, you know. "jim, this is nice," i says. "i wouldn't want to be nowhere else but here. pass me along another hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread." "well, you wouldn't 'a' ben here 'f it hadn't 'a' ben for jim. you'd 'a' ben down dah in de woods widout any dinner, en gittin' mos' drownded, too; dat you would, honey. chickens knows when it's gwyne to rain, en so do de birds, chile." the river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at last it was over the banks. the water was three or four foot deep on the island in the low places and on the illinois bottom. on that side it was a good many miles wide, but on the missouri side it was the same old distance across--a half a mile--because the missouri shore was just a wall of high bluffs. daytimes we paddled all over the island in the canoe. it was mighty cool and shady in the deep woods, even if the sun was blazing outside. we went winding in and out amongst the trees, and sometimes the vines hung so thick we had to back away and go some other way. well, on every old broken-down tree you could see rabbits and snakes and such things; and when the island had been overflowed a day or two they got so tame, on account of being hungry, that you could paddle right up and put your hand on them if you wanted to; but not the snakes and turtles--they would slide off in the water. the ridge our cavern was in was full of them. we could 'a' had pets enough if we'd wanted them. one night we catched a little section of a lumber-raft--nice pine planks. it was twelve foot wide and about fifteen or sixteen foot long, and the top stood above water six or seven inches--a solid, level floor. we could see saw-logs go by in the daylight sometimes, but we let them go; we didn't show ourselves in daylight. another night when we was up at the head of the island, just before daylight, here comes a frame-house down, on the west side. she was a two-story, and tilted over considerable. we paddled out and got aboard--clumb in at an up-stairs window. but it was too dark to see yet, so we made the canoe fast and set in her to wait for daylight. the light begun to come before we got to the foot of the island. then we looked in at the window. we could make out a bed, and a table, and two old chairs, and lots of things around about on the floor, and there was clothes hanging against the wall. there was something laying on the floor in the far corner that looked like a man. so jim says: "hello, you!" but it didn't budge. so i hollered again, and then jim says: "de man ain't asleep--he's dead. you hold still--i'll go en see." he went, and bent down and looked, and says: "it's a dead man. yes, indeedy; naked, too. he's ben shot in de back. i reck'n he's ben dead two er three days. come in, huck, but doan' look at his face--it's too gashly." i didn't look at him at all. jim throwed some old rags over him, but he needn't done it; i didn't want to see him. there was heaps of old greasy cards scattered around over the floor, and old whisky-bottles, and a couple of masks made out of black cloth; and all over the walls was the ignorantest kind of words and pictures made with charcoal. there was two old dirty calico dresses, and a sun-bonnet, and some women's underclothes hanging against the wall, and some men's clothing, too. we put the lot into the canoe--it might come good. there was a boy's old speckled straw hat on the floor; i took that, too. and there was a bottle that had had milk in it, and it had a rag stopper for a baby to suck. we would 'a' took the bottle, but it was broke. there was a seedy old chest, and an old hair trunk with the hinges broke. they stood open, but there warn't nothing left in them that was any account. the way things was scattered about we reckoned the people left in a hurry, and warn't fixed so as to carry off most of their stuff. we got an old tin lantern, and a butcher-knife without any handle, and a bran-new barlow knife worth two bits in any store, and a lot of tallow candles, and a tin candlestick, and a gourd, and a tin cup, and a ratty old bedquilt off the bed, and a reticule with needles and pins and beeswax and buttons and thread and all such truck in it, and a hatchet and some nails, and a fish-line as thick as my little finger with some monstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather dog-collar, and a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't have no label on them; and just as we was leaving i found a tolerable good currycomb, and jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden leg. the straps was broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good enough leg, though it was too long for me and not long enough for jim, and we couldn't find the other one, though we hunted all around. and so, take it all around, we made a good haul. when we was ready to shove off we was a quarter of a mile below the island, and it was pretty broad day; so i made jim lay down in the canoe and cover up with the quilt, because if he set up people could tell he was a nigger a good ways off. i paddled over to the illinois shore, and drifted down most a half a mile doing it. i crept up the dead water under the bank, and hadn't no accidents and didn't see nobody. we got home all safe. chapter x after breakfast i wanted to talk about the dead man and guess out how he come to be killed, but jim didn't want to. he said it would fetch bad luck; and besides, he said, he might come and ha'nt us; he said a man that warn't buried was more likely to go a-ha'nting around than one that was planted and comfortable. that sounded pretty reasonable, so i didn't say no more; but i couldn't keep from studying over it and wishing i knowed who shot the man, and what they done it for. we rummaged the clothes we'd got, and found eight dollars in silver sewed up in the lining of an old blanket overcoat. jim said he reckoned the people in that house stole the coat, because if they'd 'a' knowed the money was there they wouldn't 'a' left it. i said i reckoned they killed him, too; but jim didn't want to talk about that. i says: "now you think it's bad luck; but what did you say when i fetched in the snake-skin that i found on the top of the ridge day before yesterday? you said it was the worst bad luck in the world to touch a snake-skin with my hands. well, here's your bad luck! we've raked in all this truck and eight dollars besides. i wish we could have some bad luck like this every day, jim." "never you mind, honey, never you mind. don't you git too peart. it's a-comin'. mind i tell you, it's a-comin'." it did come, too. it was a tuesday that we had that talk. well, after dinner friday we was laying around in the grass at the upper end of the ridge, and got out of tobacco. i went to the cavern to get some, and found a rattlesnake in there. i killed him, and curled him up on the foot of jim's blanket, ever so natural, thinking there'd be some fun when jim found him there. well, by night i forgot all about the snake, and when jim flung himself down on the blanket while i struck a light the snake's mate was there, and bit him. he jumped up yelling, and the first thing the light showed was the varmint curled up and ready for another spring. i laid him out in a second with a stick, and jim grabbed pap's whisky-jug and begun to pour it down. he was barefooted, and the snake bit him right on the heel. that all comes of my being such a fool as to not remember that wherever you leave a dead snake its mate always comes there and curls around it. jim told me to chop off the snake's head and throw it away, and then skin the body and roast a piece of it. i done it, and he eat it and said it would help cure him. he made me take off the rattles and tie them around his wrist, too. he said that that would help. then i slid out quiet and throwed the snakes clear away amongst the bushes; for i warn't going to let jim find out it was all my fault, not if i could help it. jim sucked and sucked at the jug, and now and then he got out of his head and pitched around and yelled; but every time he come to himself he went to sucking at the jug again. his foot swelled up pretty big, and so did his leg; but by and by the drunk begun to come, and so i judged he was all right; but i'd druther been bit with a snake than pap's whisky. jim was laid up for four days and nights. then the swelling was all gone and he was around again. i made up my mind i wouldn't ever take a-holt of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that i see what had come of it. jim said he reckoned i would believe him next time. and he said that handling a snake-skin was such awful bad luck that maybe we hadn't got to the end of it yet. he said he druther see the new moon over his left shoulder as much as a thousand times than take up a snake-skin in his hand. well, i was getting to feel that way myself, though i've always reckoned that looking at the new moon over your left shoulder is one of the carelessest and foolishest things a body can do. old hank bunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he got drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and spread himself out so that he was just a kind of a layer, as you may say; and they slid him edgeways between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so they say, but i didn't see it. pap told me. but anyway it all come of looking at the moon that way, like a fool. well, the days went along, and the river went down between its banks again; and about the first thing we done was to bait one of the big hooks with a skinned rabbit and set it and catch a catfish that was as big as a man, being six foot two inches long, and weighed over two hundred pounds. we couldn't handle him, of course; he would 'a' flung us into illinois. we just set there and watched him rip and tear around till he drownded. we found a brass button in his stomach and a round ball, and lots of rubbage. we split the ball open with the hatchet, and there was a spool in it. jim said he'd had it there a long time, to coat it over so and make a ball of it. it was as big a fish as was ever catched in the mississippi, i reckon. jim said he hadn't ever seen a bigger one. he would 'a' been worth a good deal over at the village. they peddle out such a fish as that by the pound in the market-house there; everybody buys some of him; his meat's as white as snow and makes a good fry. next morning i said it was getting slow and dull, and i wanted to get a stirring-up some way. i said i reckoned i would slip over the river and find out what was going on. jim liked that notion; but he said i must go in the dark and look sharp. then he studied it over and said, couldn't i put on some of them old things and dress up like a girl? that was a good notion, too. so we shortened up one of the calico gowns, and i turned up my trouser-legs to my knees and got into it. jim hitched it behind with the hooks, and it was a fair fit. i put on the sun-bonnet and tied it under my chin, and then for a body to look in and see my face was like looking down a joint of stove-pipe. jim said nobody would know me, even in the daytime, hardly. i practised around all day to get the hang of the things, and by and by i could do pretty well in them, only jim said i didn't walk like a girl; and he said i must quit pulling up my gown to get at my britches-pocket. i took notice, and done better. i started up the illinois shore in the canoe just after dark. i started across to the town from a little below the ferry-landing, and the drift of the current fetched me in at the bottom of the town. i tied up and started along the bank. there was a light burning in a little shanty that hadn't been lived in for a long time, and i wondered who had took up quarters there. i slipped up and peeped in at the window. there was a woman about forty year old in there knitting by a candle that was on a pine table. i didn't know her face; she was a stranger, for you couldn't start a face in that town that i didn't know. now this was lucky, because i was weakening; i was getting afraid i had come; people might know my voice and find me out. but if this woman had been in such a little town two days she could tell me all i wanted to know; so i knocked at the door, and made up my mind i wouldn't forget i was a girl. chapter xi "come in," says the woman, and i did. she says: "take a cheer." i done it. she looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says: "what might your name be?" "sarah williams." "where'bouts do you live? in this neighborhood?" "no'm. in hookerville, seven mile below. i've walked all the way and i'm all tired out." "hungry, too, i reckon. i'll find you something." "no'm, i ain't hungry. i was so hungry i had to stop two miles below here at a farm; so i ain't hungry no more. it's what makes me so late. my mother's down sick, and out of money and everything, and i come to tell my uncle abner moore. he lives at the upper end of the town, she says. i hain't ever been here before. do you know him?" "no; but i don't know everybody yet. i haven't lived here quite two weeks. it's a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. you better stay here all night. take off your bonnet." "no," i says; "i'll rest awhile, i reckon, and go on. i ain't afeard of the dark." she said she wouldn't let me go by myself, but her husband would be in by and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she'd send him along with me. then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up the river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better off they used to was, and how they didn't know but they'd made a mistake coming to our town, instead of letting well alone--and so on and so on, till i was afeard i had made a mistake coming to her to find out what was going on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the murder, and then i was pretty willing to let her clatter right along. she told about me and tom sawyer finding the twelve thousand dollars (only she got it twenty) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what a hard lot i was, and at last she got down to where i was murdered. i says: "who done it? we've heard considerable about these goings-on down in hookerville, but we don't know who 'twas that killed huck finn." "well, i reckon there's a right smart chance of people _here_ that 'd like to know who killed him. some think old finn done it himself." "no--is that so?" "most everybody thought it at first. he'll never know how nigh he come to getting lynched. but before night they changed around and judged it was done by a runaway nigger named jim." "why _he_--" i stopped. i reckoned i better keep still. she run on, and never noticed i had put in at all: "the nigger run off the very night huck finn was killed. so there's a reward out for him--three hundred dollars. and there's a reward out for old finn, too--two hundred dollars. you see, he come to town the morning after the murder, and told about it, and was out with 'em on the ferryboat hunt, and right away after he up and left. before night they wanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see. well, next day they found out the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn't ben seen sence ten o'clock the night the murder was done. so then they put it on him, you see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old finn, and went boo-hooing to judge thatcher to get money to hunt for the nigger all over illinois with. the judge gave him some, and that evening he got drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them. well, he hain't come back sence, and they ain't looking for him back till this thing blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and fixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he'd get huck's money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit. people do say he warn't any too good to do it. oh, he's sly, i reckon. if he don't come back for a year he'll be all right. you can't prove anything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and he'll walk in huck's money as easy as nothing." "yes, i reckon so, 'm. i don't see nothing in the way of it. has everybody quit thinking the nigger done it?" "oh, no, not everybody. a good many thinks he done it. but they'll get the nigger pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him." "why, are they after him yet?" "well, you're innocent, ain't you! does three hundred dollars lay around every day for people to pick up? some folks think the nigger ain't far from here. i'm one of them--but i hain't talked it around. a few days ago i was talking with an old couple that lives next door in the log shanty, and they happened to say hardly anybody ever goes to that island over yonder that they call jackson's island. don't anybody live there? says i. no, nobody, says they. i didn't say any more, but i done some thinking. i was pretty near certain i'd seen smoke over there, about the head of the island, a day or two before that, so i says to myself, like as not that nigger's hiding over there; anyway, says i, it's worth the trouble to give the place a hunt. i hain't seen any smoke sence, so i reckon maybe he's gone, if it was him; but husband's going over to see--him and another man. he was gone up the river; but he got back to-day, and i told him as soon as he got here two hours ago." i had got so uneasy i couldn't set still. i had to do something with my hands; so i took up a needle off of the table and went to threading it. my hands shook, and i was making a bad job of it. when the woman stopped talking i looked up, and she was looking at me pretty curious and smiling a little. i put down the needle and thread, and let on to be interested--and i was, too--and says: "three hundred dollars is a power of money. i wish my mother could get it. is your husband going over there to-night?" "oh, yes. he went up-town with the man i was telling you of, to get a boat and see if they could borrow another gun. they'll go over after midnight." "couldn't they see better if they was to wait till daytime?" "yes. and couldn't the nigger see better, too? after midnight he'll likely be asleep, and they can slip around through the woods and hunt up his campfire all the better for the dark, if he's got one." "i didn't think of that." the woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and i didn't feel a bit comfortable. pretty soon she says: "what did you say your name was, honey?" "m--mary williams." somehow it didn't seem to me that i said it was mary before, so i didn't look up--seemed to me i said it was sarah; so i felt sort of cornered, and was afeard maybe i was looking it, too. i wished the woman would say something more; the longer she set still the uneasier i was. but now she says: "honey, i thought you said it was sarah when you first come in?" "oh, yes'm, i did. sarah mary williams. sarah's my first name. some calls me sarah, some calls me mary." "oh, that's the way of it?" "yes'm." i was feeling better then, but i wished i was out of there, anyway. i couldn't look up yet. well, the woman fell to talking about how hard times was, and how poor they had to live, and how the rats was as free as if they owned the place, and so forth and so on, and then i got easy again. she was right about the rats. you'd see one stick his nose out of a hole in the corner every little while. she said she had to have things handy to throw at them when she was alone, or they wouldn't give her no peace. she showed me a bar of lead twisted up into a knot, and said she was a good shot with it generly, but she'd wrenched her arm a day or two ago, and didn't know whether she could throw true now. but she watched for a chance, and directly banged away at a rat; but she missed him wide, and said, "ouch!" it hurt her arm so. then she told me to try for the next one. i wanted to be getting away before the old man got back, but of course i didn't let on. i got the thing, and the first rat that showed his nose i let drive, and if he'd 'a' stayed where he was he'd 'a' been a tolerable sick rat. she said that was first-rate, and she reckoned i would hive the next one. she went and got the lump of lead and fetched it back, and brought along a hank of yarn which she wanted me to help her with. i held up my two hands and she put the hank over them, and went on talking about her and her husband's matters. but she broke off to say: "keep your eye on the rats. you better have the lead in your lap, handy." so she dropped the lump into my lap just at that moment, and i clapped my legs together on it and she went on talking. but only about a minute. then she took off the hank and looked me straight in the face, and very pleasant, and says: "come, now, what's your real name?" "wh-hat, mum?" "what's your real name? is it bill, or tom, or bob?--or what is it?" i reckon i shook like a leaf, and i didn't know hardly what to do. but i says: "please to don't poke fun at a poor girl like me, mum. if i'm in the way here, i'll--" "no, you won't. set down and stay where you are. i ain't going to hurt you, and i ain't going to tell on you, nuther. you just tell me your secret, and trust me. i'll keep it; and, what's more, i'll help you. so'll my old man if you want him to. you see, you're a runaway 'prentice, that's all. it ain't anything. there ain't no harm in it. you've been treated bad, and you made up your mind to cut. bless you, child, i wouldn't tell on you. tell me all about it now, that's a good boy." so i said it wouldn't be no use to try to play it any longer, and i would just make a clean breast and tell her everything, but she mustn't go back on her promise. then i told her my father and mother was dead, and the law had bound me out to a mean old farmer in the country thirty mile back from the river, and he treated me so bad i couldn't stand it no longer; he went away to be gone a couple of days, and so i took my chance and stole some of his daughter's old clothes and cleared out, and i had been three nights coming the thirty miles. i traveled nights, and hid daytimes and slept, and the bag of bread and meat i carried from home lasted me all the way, and i had a-plenty. i said i believed my uncle abner moore would take care of me, and so that was why i struck out for this town of goshen. "goshen, child? this ain't goshen. this is st. petersburg. goshen's ten mile further up the river. who told you this was goshen?" "why, a man i met at daybreak this morning, just as i was going to turn into the woods for my regular sleep. he told me when the roads forked i must take the right hand, and five mile would fetch me to goshen." "he was drunk, i reckon. he told you just exactly wrong." "well, he did act like he was drunk, but it ain't no matter now. i got to be moving along. i'll fetch goshen before daylight." "hold on a minute. i'll put you up a snack to eat. you might want it." so she put me up a snack, and says: "say, when a cow's laying down, which end of her gets up first? answer up prompt now--don't stop to study over it. which end gets up first?" "the hind end, mum." "well, then, a horse?" "the for'rard end, mum." "which side of a tree does the moss grow on?" "north side." "if fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how many of them eats with their heads pointed the same direction?" "the whole fifteen, mum." "well, i reckon you _have_ lived in the country. i thought maybe you was trying to hocus me again. what's your real name, now?" "george peters, mum." "well, try to remember it, george. don't forget and tell me it's elexander before you go, and then get out by saying it's george elexander when i catch you. and don't go about women in that old calico. you do a girl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe. bless you, child, when you set out to thread a needle don't hold the thread still and fetch the needle up to it; hold the needle still and poke the thread at it; that's the way a woman most always does, but a man always does t'other way. and when you throw at a rat or anything, hitch yourself up a-tiptoe and fetch your hand up over your head as awkward as you can, and miss your rat about six or seven foot. throw stiff-armed from the shoulder, like there was a pivot there for it to turn on, like a girl; not from the wrist and elbow, with your arm out to one side, like a boy. and, mind you, when a girl tries to catch anything in her lap she throws her knees apart; she don't clap them together, the way you did when you catched the lump of lead. why, i spotted you for a boy when you was threading the needle; and i contrived the other things just to make certain. now trot along to your uncle, sarah mary williams george elexander peters, and if you get into trouble you send word to mrs. judith loftus, which is me, and i'll do what i can to get you out of it. keep the river road all the way, and next time you tramp take shoes and socks with you. the river road's a rocky one, and your feet 'll be in a condition when you get to goshen, i reckon." i went up the bank about fifty yards, and then i doubled on my tracks and slipped back to where my canoe was, a good piece below the house. i jumped in, and was off in a hurry. i went up-stream far enough to make the head of the island, and then started across. i took off the sun-bonnet, for i didn't want no blinders on then. when i was about the middle i heard the clock begin to strike, so i stops and listens; the sound come faint over the water but clear--eleven. when i struck the head of the island i never waited to blow, though i was most winded, but i shoved right into the timber where my old camp used to be, and started a good fire there on a high and dry spot. then i jumped in the canoe and dug out for our place, a mile and a half below, as hard as i could go. i landed, and slopped through the timber and up the ridge and into the cavern. there jim laid, sound asleep on the ground. i roused him out and says: "git up and hump yourself, jim! there ain't a minute to lose. they're after us!" jim never asked no questions, he never said a word; but the way he worked for the next half an hour showed about how he was scared. by that time everything we had in the world was on our raft, and she was ready to be shoved out from the willow cove where she was hid. we put out the camp-fire at the cavern the first thing, and didn't show a candle outside after that. i took the canoe out from the shore a little piece, and took a look; but if there was a boat around i couldn't see it, for stars and shadows ain't good to see by. then we got out the raft and slipped along down in the shade, past the foot of the island dead still--never saying a word. chapter xii it must 'a' been close on to one o'clock when we got below the island at last, and the raft did seem to go mighty slow. if a boat was to come along we was going to take to the canoe and break for the illinois shore; and it was well a boat didn't come, for we hadn't ever thought to put the gun in the canoe, or a fishing-line, or anything to eat. we was in ruther too much of a sweat to think of so many things. it warn't good judgment to put _everything_ on the raft. if the men went to the island i just expect they found the camp-fire i built, and watched it all night for jim to come. anyways, they stayed away from us, and if my building the fire never fooled them it warn't no fault of mine. i played it as low down on them as i could. when the first streak of day began to show we tied up to a towhead in a big bend on the illinois side, and hacked off cottonwood branches with the hatchet, and covered up the raft with them so she looked like there had been a cave-in in the bank there. a towhead is a sand-bar that has cottonwoods on it as thick as harrow-teeth. we had mountains on the missouri shore and heavy timber on the illinois side, and the channel was down the missouri shore at that place, so we warn't afraid of anybody running across us. we laid there all day, and watched the rafts and steamboats spin down the missouri shore, and up-bound steamboats fight the big river in the middle. i told jim all about the time i had jabbering with that woman; and jim said she was a smart one, and if she was to start after us herself she wouldn't set down and watch a camp-fire--no, sir, she'd fetch a dog. well, then, i said, why couldn't she tell her husband to fetch a dog? jim said he bet she did think of it by the time the men was ready to start, and he believed they must 'a' gone up-town to get a dog and so they lost all that time, or else we wouldn't be here on a towhead sixteen or seventeen mile below the village--no, indeedy, we would be in that same old town again. so i said i didn't care what was the reason they didn't get us as long as they didn't. when it was beginning to come on dark we poked our heads out of the cottonwood thicket, and looked up and down and across; nothing in sight; so jim took up some of the top planks of the raft and built a snug wigwam to get under in blazing weather and rainy, and to keep the things dry. jim made a floor for the wigwam, and raised it a foot or more above the level of the raft, so now the blankets and all the traps was out of reach of steamboat waves. right in the middle of the wigwam we made a layer of dirt about five or six inches deep with a frame around it for to hold it to its place; this was to build a fire on in sloppy weather or chilly; the wigwam would keep it from being seen. we made an extra steering-oar, too, because one of the others might get broke on a snag or something. we fixed up a short forked stick to hang the old lantern on, because we must always light the lantern whenever we see a steamboat coming down-stream, to keep from getting run over; but we wouldn't have to light it for up-stream boats unless we see we was in what they call a "crossing"; for the river was pretty high yet, very low banks being still a little under water; so up-bound boats didn't always run the channel, but hunted easy water. this second night we run between seven and eight hours, with a current that was making over four mile an hour. we catched fish and talked, and we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. it was kind of solemn, drifting down the big, still river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it warn't often that we laughed--only a little kind of a low chuckle. we had mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us at all--that night, nor the next, nor the next. every night we passed towns, some of them away up on black hillsides, nothing but just a shiny bed of lights; not a house could you see. the fifth night we passed st. louis, and it was like the whole world lit up. in st. petersburg they used to say there was twenty or thirty thousand people in st. louis, but i never believed it till i see that wonderful spread of lights at two o'clock that still night. there warn't a sound there; everybody was asleep. every night now i used to slip ashore toward ten o'clock at some little village, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or other stuff to eat; and sometimes i lifted a chicken that warn't roosting comfortable, and took him along. pap always said, take a chicken when you get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy find somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot. i never see pap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to say, anyway. mornings before daylight i slipped into corn-fields and borrowed a watermelon, or a mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things of that kind. pap always said it warn't no harm to borrow things if you was meaning to pay them back some time; but the widow said it warn't anything but a soft name for stealing, and no decent body would do it. jim said he reckoned the widow was partly right and pap was partly right; so the best way would be for us to pick out two or three things from the list and say we wouldn't borrow them any more--then he reckoned it wouldn't be no harm to borrow the others. so we talked it over all one night, drifting along down the river, trying to make up our minds whether to drop the watermelons, or the cantelopes, or the mushmelons, or what. but toward daylight we got it all settled satisfactory, and concluded to drop crabapples and p'simmons. we warn't feeling just right before that, but it was all comfortable now. i was glad the way it come out, too, because crabapples ain't ever good, and the p'simmons wouldn't be ripe for two or three months yet. we shot a water-fowl now and then that got up too early in the morning or didn't go to bed early enough in the evening. take it all round, we lived pretty high. the fifth night below st. louis we had a big storm after midnight, with a power of thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in a solid sheet. we stayed in the wigwam and let the raft take care of itself. when the lightning glared out we could see a big straight river ahead, and high, rocky bluffs on both sides. by and by says i, "hel-_lo_, jim, looky yonder!" it was a steamboat that had killed herself on a rock. we was drifting straight down for her. the lightning showed her very distinct. she was leaning over, with part of her upper deck above water, and you could see every little chimbly-guy clean and clear, and a chair by the big bell, with an old slouch hat hanging on the back of it, when the flashes come. well, it being away in the night and stormy, and all so mysterious-like, i felt just the way any other boy would 'a' felt when i seen that wreck laying there so mournful and lonesome in the middle of the river. i wanted to get aboard of her and slink around a little, and see what there was there. so i says: "le's land on her, jim." but jim was dead against it at first. he says: "i doan' want to go fool'n' 'long er no wrack. we's doin' blame' well, en we better let blame' well alone, as de good book says. like as not dey's a watchman on dat wrack." "watchman your grandmother," i says; "there ain't nothing to watch but the texas and the pilot-house; and do you reckon anybody's going to resk his life for a texas and a pilot-house such a night as this, when it's likely to break up and wash off down the river any minute?" jim couldn't say nothing to that, so he didn't try. "and besides," i says, "we might borrow something worth having out of the captain's stateroom. seegars, i bet you--and cost five cents apiece, solid cash. steamboat captains is always rich, and get sixty dollars a month, and _they_ don't care a cent what a thing costs, you know, long as they want it. stick a candle in your pocket; i can't rest, jim, till we give her a rummaging. do you reckon tom sawyer would ever go by this thing? not for pie, he wouldn't. he'd call it an adventure--that's what he'd call it; and he'd land on that wreck if it was his last act. and wouldn't he throw style into it?--wouldn't he spread himself, nor nothing? why, you'd think it was christopher c'lumbus discovering kingdom come. i wish tom sawyer _was_ here." jim he grumbled a little, but give in. he said we mustn't talk any more than we could help, and then talk mighty low. the lightning showed us the wreck again just in time, and we fetched the stabboard derrick, and made fast there. the deck was high out here. we went sneaking down the slope of it to labboard, in the dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with our feet, and spreading our hands out to fend off the guys, for it was so dark we couldn't see no sign of them. pretty soon we struck the forward end of the skylight, and clumb on to it; and the next step fetched us in front of the captain's door, which was open, and by jimminy, away down through the texas-hall we see a light! and all in the same second we seem to hear low voices in yonder! jim whispered and said he was feeling powerful sick, and told me to come along. i says, all right, and was going to start for the raft; but just then i heard a voice wail out and say: "oh, please don't, boys; i swear i won't ever tell!" another voice said, pretty loud: "it's a lie, jim turner. you've acted this way before. you always want more'n your share of the truck, and you've always got it, too, because you've swore 't if you didn't you'd tell. but this time you've said it jest one time too many. you're the meanest, treacherousest hound in this country." by this time jim was gone for the raft. i was just a-biling with curiosity; and i says to myself, tom sawyer wouldn't back out now, and so i won't either; i'm a-going to see what's going on here. so i dropped on my hands and knees in the little passage, and crept aft in the dark till there warn't but one stateroom betwixt me and the cross-hall of the texas. then in there i see a man stretched on the floor and tied hand and foot, and two men standing over him, and one of them had a dim lantern in his hand, and the other one had a pistol. this one kept pointing the pistol at the man's head on the floor, and saying: "i'd _like_ to! and i orter, too--a mean skunk!" the man on the floor would shrivel up and say, "oh, please don't, bill; i hain't ever goin' to tell." and every time he said that the man with the lantern would laugh and say: "'deed you _ain't!_ you never said no truer thing 'n that, you bet you." and once he said: "hear him beg! and yit if we hadn't got the best of him and tied him he'd 'a' killed us both. and what _for_? jist for noth'n'. jist because we stood on our _rights_--that's what for. but i lay you ain't a-goin' to threaten nobody any more, jim turner. put _up_ that pistol, bill." bill says: "i don't want to, jake packard. i'm for killin' him--and didn't he kill old hatfield jist the same way--and don't he deserve it?" "but i don't _want_ him killed, and i've got my reasons for it." "bless yo' heart for them words, jake packard! i'll never forgit you long's i live!" says the man on the floor, sort of blubbering. packard didn't take no notice of that, but hung up his lantern on a nail and started toward where i was, there in the dark, and motioned bill to come. i crawfished as fast as i could about two yards, but the boat slanted so that i couldn't make very good time; so to keep from getting run over and catched i crawled into a stateroom on the upper side. the man came a-pawing along in the dark, and when packard got to my stateroom, he says: "here--come in here." and in he come, and bill after him. but before they got in i was up in the upper berth, cornered, and sorry i come. then they stood there, with their hands on the ledge of the berth, and talked. i couldn't see them, but i could tell where they was by the whisky they'd been having. i was glad i didn't drink whisky; but it wouldn't made much difference anyway, because most of the time they couldn't 'a' treed me because i didn't breathe. i was too scared. and, besides, a body _couldn't_ breathe and hear such talk. they talked low and earnest. bill wanted to kill turner. he says: "he's said he'll tell, and he will. if we was to give both our shares to him _now_ it wouldn't make no difference after the row and the way we've served him. shore's you're born, he'll turn state's evidence; now you hear _me._ i'm for putting him out of his troubles." "so'm i," says packard, very quiet. "blame it, i'd sorter begun to think you wasn't. well, then, that's all right. le's go and do it." "hold on a minute; i hain't had my say yit. you listen to me. shooting's good, but there's quieter ways if the things _got_ to be done. but what _i_ say is this: it ain't good sense to go court'n' around after a halter if you can git at what you're up to in some way that's jist as good and at the same time don't bring you into no resks. ain't that so?" "you bet it is. but how you goin' to manage it this time?" "well, my idea is this: we'll rustle around and gather up whatever pickin's we've overlooked in the staterooms, and shove for shore and hide the truck. then we'll wait. now i say it ain't a-goin' to be more'n two hours befo' this wrack breaks up and washes off down the river. see? he'll be drownded, and won't have nobody to blame for it but his own self. i reckon that's a considerable sight better 'n killin' of him. i'm unfavorable to killin' a man as long as you can git aroun' it; it ain't good sense, it ain't good morals. ain't i right?" "yes, i reck'n you are. but s'pose she _don't_ break up and wash off?" "well, we can wait the two hours anyway and see, can't we?" "all right, then; come along." so they started, and i lit out, all in a cold sweat, and scrambled forward. it was dark as pitch there; but i said, in a kind of a coarse whisper, "jim!" and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort of a moan, and i says: "quick, jim, it ain't no time for fooling around and moaning; there's a gang of murderers in yonder, and if we don't hunt up their boat and set her drifting down the river so these fellows can't get away from the wreck there's one of 'em going to be in a bad fix. but if we find their boat we can put _all_ of 'em in a bad fix--for the sheriff 'll get 'em. quick--hurry! i'll hunt the labboard side, you hunt the stabboard. you start at the raft, and--" "oh, my lordy, lordy! _raf'?_ dey ain' no raf' no mo'; she done broke loose en gone!--en here we is!" chapter xiii well, i catched my breath and most fainted. shut up on a wreck with such a gang as that! but it warn't no time to be sentimentering. we'd _got_ to find that boat now--had to have it for ourselves. so we went a-quaking and shaking down the stabboard side, and slow work it was, too--seemed a week before we got to the stern. no sign of a boat. jim said he didn't believe he could go any farther--so scared he hadn't hardly any strength left, he said. but i said, come on, if we get left on this wreck we are in a fix, sure. so on we prowled again. we struck for the stern of the texas, and found it, and then scrabbled along forwards on the skylight, hanging on from shutter to shutter, for the edge of the skylight was in the water. when we got pretty close to the cross-hall door there was the skiff, sure enough! i could just barely see her. i felt ever so thankful. in another second i would 'a' been aboard of her, but just then the door opened. one of the men stuck his head out only about a couple of foot from me, and i thought i was gone; but he jerked it in again, and says: "heave that blame lantern out o' sight, bill!" he flung a bag of something into the boat, and then got in himself and set down. it was packard. then bill _he_ come out and got in. packard says, in a low voice: "all ready--shove off!" i couldn't hardly hang on to the shutters, i was so weak. but bill says: "hold on--'d you go through him?" "no. didn't you?" "no. so he's got his share o' the cash yet." "well, then, come along; no use to take truck and leave money." "say, won't he suspicion what we're up to?" "maybe he won't. but we got to have it anyway. come along." so they got out and went in. the door slammed to because it was on the careened side; and in a half second i was in the boat, and jim come tumbling after me. i out with my knife and cut the rope, and away we went! we didn't touch an oar, and we didn't speak nor whisper, nor hardly even breathe. we went gliding swift along, dead silent, past the tip of the paddle-box, and past the stern; then in a second or two more we was a hundred yards below the wreck, and the darkness soaked her up, every last sign of her, and we was safe, and knowed it. when we was three or four hundred yards down-stream we see the lantern show like a little spark at the texas door for a second, and we knowed by that that the rascals had missed their boat, and was beginning to understand that they was in just as much trouble now as jim turner was. then jim manned the oars, and we took out after our raft. now was the first time that i begun to worry about the men--i reckon i hadn't had time to before. i begun to think how dreadful it was, even for murderers, to be in such a fix. i says to myself, there ain't no telling but i might come to be a murderer myself yet, and then how would i like it? so says i to jim: "the first light we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above it, in a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and then i'll go and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for that gang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when their time comes." but that idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again, and this time worse than ever. the rain poured down, and never a light showed; everybody in bed, i reckon. we boomed along down the river, watching for lights and watching for our raft. after a long time the rain let up, but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering, and by and by a flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and we made for it. it was the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again. we seen a light now away down to the right, on shore. so i said i would go for it. the skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stole there on the wreck. we hustled it on to the raft in a pile, and i told jim to float along down, and show a light when he judged he had gone about two mile, and keep it burning till i come; then i manned my oars and shoved for the light. as i got down towards it three or four more showed--up on a hillside. it was a village. i closed in above the shore light, and laid on my oars and floated. as i went by i see it was a lantern hanging on the jackstaff of a double-hull ferryboat. i skimmed around for the watchman, a-wondering whereabouts he slept; and by and by i found him roosting on the bitts forward, with his head down between his knees. i gave his shoulder two or three little shoves, and begun to cry. he stirred up in a kind of a startlish way; but when he see it was only me he took a good gap and stretch, and then he says: "hello, what's up? don't cry, bub. what's the trouble?" i says: "pap, and mam, and sis, and--" then i broke down. he says: "oh, dang it now, _don't_ take on so; we all has to have our troubles, and this 'n 'll come out all right. what's the matter with 'em?" "they're--they're--are you the watchman of the boat?" "yes," he says, kind of pretty-well-satisfied like. "i'm the captain and the owner and the mate and the pilot and watchman and head deck-hand; and sometimes i'm the freight and passengers. i ain't as rich as old jim hornback, and i can't be so blame' generous and good to tom, dick, and harry as what he is, and slam around money the way he does; but i've told him a many a time 't i wouldn't trade places with him; for, says i, a sailor's life's the life for me, and i'm derned if _i'd_ live two mile out o' town, where there ain't nothing ever goin' on, not for all his spondulicks and as much more on top of it. says i--" i broke in and says: "they're in an awful peck of trouble, and--" "_who_ is?" "why, pap and mam and sis and miss hooker; and if you'd take your ferryboat and go up there--" "up where? where are they?" "on the wreck." "what wreck?" "why, there ain't but one." "what, you don't mean the _walter scott?"_ "yes." "good land! what are they doin' _there_, for gracious sakes?" "well, they didn't go there a-purpose." "i bet they didn't! why, great goodness, there ain't no chance for 'em if they don't git off mighty quick! why, how in the nation did they ever git into such a scrape?" "easy enough. miss hooker was a-visiting up there to the town--" "yes, booth's landing--go on." "she was a-visiting there at booth's landing, and just in the edge of the evening she started over with her nigger woman in the horse-ferry to stay all night at her friend's house, miss what-you-may-call-her--i disremember her name--and they lost their steering-oar, and swung around and went a-floating down, stern first, about two mile, and saddle-baggsed on the wreck, and the ferryman and the nigger woman and the horses was all lost, but miss hooker she made a grab and got aboard the wreck. well, about an hour after dark we come along down in our trading-scow, and it was so dark we didn't notice the wreck till we was right on it; and so _we_ saddle-baggsed; but all of us was saved but bill whipple--and oh, he _was_ the best cretur!--i most wish 't it had been me, i do." "my george! it's the beatenest thing i ever struck. and _then_ what did you all do?" "well, we hollered and took on, but it's so wide there we couldn't make nobody hear. so pap said somebody got to get ashore and get help somehow. i was the only one that could swim, so i made a dash for it, and miss hooker she said if i didn't strike help sooner, come here and hunt up her uncle, and he'd fix the thing. i made the land about a mile below, and been fooling along ever since, trying to get people to do something, but they said, 'what, in such a night and such a current? there ain't no sense in it; go for the steam-ferry.' now if you'll go and--" "by jackson, i'd _like_ to, and, blame it, i don't know but i will; but who in the dingnation's a-going to _pay_ for it? do you reckon your pap--" "why _that's_ all right. miss hooker she tole me, _particular_, that her uncle hornback--" "great guns! is _he_ her uncle? looky here, you break for that light over yonder-way, and turn out west when you git there, and about a quarter of a mile out you'll come to the tavern; tell 'em to dart you out to jim hornback's, and he'll foot the bill. and don't you fool around any, because he'll want to know the news. tell him i'll have his niece all safe before he can get to town. hump yourself, now; i'm a-going up around the corner here to roust out my engineer." i struck for the light, but as soon as he turned the corner i went back and got into my skiff and bailed her out, and then pulled up shore in the easy water about six hundred yards, and tucked myself in among some wood-boats; for i couldn't rest easy till i could see the ferryboat start. but take it all around, i was feeling ruther comfortable on accounts of taking all this trouble for that gang, for not many would 'a' done it. i wished the widow knowed about it. i judged she would be proud of me for helping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and dead-beats is the kind the widow and good people takes the most interest in. well, before long here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding along down! a kind of cold shiver went through me, and then i struck out for her. she was very deep, and i see in a minute there warn't much chance for anybody being alive in her. i pulled all around her and hollered a little, but there wasn't any answer; all dead still. i felt a little bit heavy-hearted about the gang, but not much, for i reckoned if they could stand it i could. then here comes the ferryboat; so i shoved for the middle of the river on a long down-stream slant; and when i judged i was out of eye-reach i laid on my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the wreck for miss hooker's remainders, because the captain would know her uncle hornback would want them; and then pretty soon the ferryboat give it up and went for the shore, and i laid into my work and went a-booming down the river. it did seem a powerful long time before jim's light showed up; and when it did show it looked like it was a thousand mile off. by the time i got there the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so we struck for an island, and hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned in and slept like dead people. chapter xiv by and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stole off of the wreck, and found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and all sorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spy-glass, and three boxes of seegars. we hadn't ever been this rich before in neither of our lives. the seegars was prime. we laid off all the afternoon in the woods talking, and me reading the books, and having a general good time. i told jim all about what happened inside the wreck and at the ferryboat, and i said these kinds of things was adventures; but he said he didn't want no more adventures. he said that when i went in the texas and he crawled back to get on the raft and found her gone he nearly died, because he judged it was all up with _him_ anyway it could be fixed; for if he didn't get saved he would get drownded; and if he did get saved, whoever saved him would send him back home so as to get the reward, and then miss watson would sell him south, sure. well, he was right; he was most always right; he had an uncommon level head for a nigger. i read considerable to jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, and how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each other and so on, 'stead of mister; and jim's eyes bugged out, and he was interested. he says: "i didn' know dey was so many un um. i hain't hearn 'bout none un um, skasely, but ole king sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat's in a pack er k'yards. how much do a king git?" "get?" i says; "why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want it; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to them." "_ain'_ dat gay? en what dey got to do, huck?" "_they_ don't do nothing! why, how you talk! they just set around." "no; is dat so?" "of course it is. they just set around--except, maybe, when there's a war; then they go to the war. but other times they just lazy around; or go hawking--just hawking and sp--sh!--d'you hear a noise?" we skipped out and looked; but it warn't nothing but the flutter of a steamboat's wheel away down, coming around the point; so we come back. "yes," says i, "and other times, when things is dull, they fuss with the parlyment; and if everybody don't go just so he whacks their heads off. but mostly they hang round the harem." "roun' de which?" "harem." "what's de harem?" "the place where he keeps his wives. don't you know about the harem? solomon had one; he had about a million wives." "why, yes, dat's so; i--i'd done forgot it. a harem's a bo'd'n-house, i reck'n. mos' likely dey has rackety times in de nussery. en i reck'n de wives quarrels considable; en dat 'crease de racket. yit dey say sollermun de wises' man dat ever live'. i doan' take no stock in dat. bekase why: would a wise man want to live in de mids' er sich a blim-blammin' all de time? no--'deed he wouldn't. a wise man 'ud take en buil' a biler-factry; en den he could shet _down_ de biler-factry when he want to res'." "well, but he _was_ the wisest man, anyway; because the widow she told me so, her own self." "i doan' k'yer what de widder say, he _warn't_ no wise man nuther. he had some er de dad-fetchedes' ways i ever see. does you know 'bout dat chile dat he 'uz gwyne to chop in two?" "yes, the widow told me all about it." "_well_, den! warn' dat de beatenes' notion in de worl'? you jes' take en look at it a minute. dah's de stump, dah--dat's one er de women; heah's you--dat's de yuther one; i's sollermun; en dish yer dollar bill's de chile. bofe un you claims it. what does i do? does i shin aroun' mongs' de neighbors en fine out which un you de bill _do_ b'long to, en han' it over to de right one, all safe en soun', de way dat anybody dat had any gumption would? no; i take en whack de bill in _two_, en give half un it to you, en de yuther half to de yuther woman. dat's de way sollermun was gwyne to do wid de chile. now i want to ast you: what's de use er dat half a bill?--can't buy noth'n wid it. en what use is a half a chile? i wouldn' give a dern for a million un um." "but hang it, jim, you've clean missed the point--blame it, you've missed it a thousand mile." "who? me? go 'long. doan' talk to me 'bout yo' pints. i reck'n i knows sense when i sees it; en dey ain' no sense in sich doin's as dat. de 'spute warn't 'bout a half a chile, de 'spute was 'bout a whole chile; en de man dat think he kin settle a 'spute 'bout a whole chile wid a half a chile doan' know enough to come in out'n de rain. doan' talk to me 'bout sollermun, huck, i knows him by de back." "but i tell you you don't get the point." "blame de point! i reck'n i knows what i knows. en mine you, de _real_ pint furder--it's down deeper. it lays in de way sollermun was raised. you take a man dat's got on'y one or two chillen; is dat man gwyne to be waseful o' chillen? no, he ain't; he can't 'ford it. _he_ know how to value 'em. but you take a man dat's got 'bout five million chillen runnin' roun' de house, en it's diffunt. _he_ as soon chop a chile in two as a cat. dey's plenty mo'. a chile er two, mo' er less, warn't no consekens to sollermun, dad fetch him!" i never see such a nigger. if he got a notion in his head once, there warn't no getting it out again. he was the most down on solomon of any nigger i ever see. so i went to talking about other kings, and let solomon slide. i told about louis sixteenth that got his head cut off in france long time ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that would 'a' been a king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say he died there. "po' little chap." "but some says he got out and got away, and come to america." "dat's good! but he'll be pooty lonesome--dey ain' no kings here, is dey, huck?" "no." "den he cain't git no situation. what he gwyne to do?" "well, i don't know. some of them gets on the police, and some of them learns people how to talk french." "why, huck, doan' de french people talk de same way we does?" "_no_, jim; you couldn't understand a word they said--not a single word." "well, now, i be ding-busted! how do dat come?" "_i_ don't know; but it's so. i got some of their jabber out of a book. s'pose a man was to come to you and say polly-voo-franzy--what would you think?" "i wouldn' think nuffn; i'd take en bust him over de head--dat is, if he warn't white. i wouldn't 'low no nigger to call me dat." "shucks, it ain't calling you anything. it's only saying, do you know how to talk french?" "well, den, why couldn't he _say_ it?" "why, he _is_ a-saying it. that's a frenchman's _way_ of saying it." "well, it's a blame ridicklous way, en i doan' want to hear no mo' 'bout it. dey ain' no sense in it." "looky here, jim; does a cat talk like we do?" "no, a cat don't." "well, does a cow?" "no, a cow don't, nuther." "does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like a cat?" "no, dey don't." "it's natural and right for 'em to talk different from each other, ain't it?" "course." "and ain't it natural and right for a cat and a cow to talk different from _us_?" "why, mos' sholy it is." "well, then, why ain't it natural and right for a _frenchman_ to talk different from us? you answer me that." "is a cat a man, huck?" "no." "well, den, dey ain't no sense in a cat talkin' like a man. is a cow a man?--er is a cow a cat?" "no, she ain't either of them." "well, den, she ain't got no business to talk like either one er the yuther of 'em. is a frenchman a man?" "yes." "_well_, den! dad blame it, why doan' he _talk_ like a man? you answer me _dat!"_ i see it warn't no use wasting words--you can't learn a nigger to argue. so i quit. chapter xv we judged that three nights more would fetch us to cairo, at the bottom of illinois, where the ohio river comes in, and that was what we was after. we would sell the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up the ohio amongst the free states, and then be out of trouble. well, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towhead to tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when i paddled ahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything but little saplings to tie to. i passed the line around one of them right on the edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and the raft come booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and away she went. i see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and scared i couldn't budge for most a half a minute it seemed to me--and then there warn't no raft in sight; you couldn't see twenty yards. i jumped into the canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle and set her back a stroke. but she didn't come. i was in such a hurry i hadn't untied her. i got up and tried to untie her, but i was so excited my hands shook so i couldn't hardly do anything with them. as soon as i got started i took out after the raft, hot and heavy, right down the towhead. that was all right as far as it went, but the towhead warn't sixty yards long, and the minute i flew by the foot of it i shot out into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way i was going than a dead man. thinks i, it won't do to paddle; first i know i'll run into the bank or a towhead or something; i got to set still and float, and yet it's mighty fidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time. i whooped and listened. away down there somewheres i hears a small whoop, and up comes my spirits. i went tearing after it, listening sharp to hear it again. the next time it come i see i warn't heading for it, but heading away to the right of it. and the next time i was heading away to the left of it--and not gaining on it much either, for i was flying around, this way and that and t'other, but it was going straight ahead all the time. i did wish the fool would think to beat a tin pan, and beat it all the time, but he never did, and it was the still places between the whoops that was making the trouble for me. well, i fought along, and directly i hears the whoop _behind_ me. i was tangled good now. that was somebody else's whoop, or else i was turned around. i throwed the paddle down. i heard the whoop again; it was behind me yet, but in a different place; it kept coming, and kept changing its place, and i kept answering, till by and by it was in front of me again, and i knowed the current had swung the canoe's head down-stream, and i was all right if that was jim and not some other raftsman hollering. i couldn't tell nothing about voices in a fog, for nothing don't look natural nor sound natural in a fog. the whooping went on, and in about a minute i come a-booming down on a cut bank with smoky ghosts of big trees on it, and the current throwed me off to the left and shot by, amongst a lot of snags that fairly roared, the current was tearing by them so swift. in another second or two it was solid white and still again. i set perfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and i reckon i didn't draw a breath while it thumped a hundred. i just give up then. i knowed what the matter was. that cut bank was an island, and jim had gone down t'other side of it. it warn't no towhead that you could float by in ten minutes. it had the big timber of a regular island; it might be five or six miles long and more than half a mile wide. i kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, i reckon. i was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don't ever think of that. no, you _feel_ like you are laying dead still on the water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don't think to yourself how fast _you're_ going, but you catch your breath and think, my! how that snag's tearing along. if you think it ain't dismal and lonesome out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it once--you'll see. next, for about a half an hour, i whoops now and then; at last i hears the answer a long ways off, and tries to follow it, but i couldn't do it, and directly i judged i'd got into a nest of towheads, for i had little dim glimpses of them on both sides of me--sometimes just a narrow channel between, and some that i couldn't see i knowed was there because i'd hear the wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash that hung over the banks. well, i warn't long loosing the whoops down amongst the towheads; and i only tried to chase them a little while, anyway, because it was worse than chasing a jack-o'-lantern. you never knowed a sound dodge around so, and swap places so quick and so much. i had to claw away from the bank pretty lively four or five times, to keep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so i judged the raft must be butting into the bank every now and then, or else it would get further ahead and clear out of hearing--it was floating a little faster than what i was. well, i seemed to be in the open river again by and by, but i couldn't hear no sign of a whoop nowheres. i reckoned jim had fetched up on a snag, maybe, and it was all up with him. i was good and tired, so i laid down in the canoe and said i wouldn't bother no more. i didn't want to go to sleep, of course; but i was so sleepy i couldn't help it; so i thought i would take jest one little cat-nap. but i reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when i waked up the stars was shining bright, the fog was all gone, and i was spinning down a big bend stern first. first i didn't know where i was; i thought i was dreaming; and when things began to come back to me they seemed to come up dim out of last week. it was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest kind of timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as i could see by the stars. i looked away down-stream, and seen a black speck on the water. i took after it; but when i got to it it warn't nothing but a couple of saw-logs made fast together. then i see another speck, and chased that; then another, and this time i was right. it was the raft. when i got to it jim was setting there with his head down between his knees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar. the other oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves and branches and dirt. so she'd had a rough time. i made fast and laid down under jim's nose on the raft, and began to gap, and stretch my fists out against jim, and says: "hello, jim, have i been asleep? why didn't you stir me up?" "goodness gracious, is dat you, huck? en you ain' dead--you ain' drownded--you's back ag'in? it's too good for true, honey, it's too good for true. lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you. no, you ain' dead! you's back ag'in, 'live en soun', jis de same ole huck--de same ole huck, thanks to goodness!" "what's the matter with you, jim? you been a-drinking?" "drinkin'? has i ben a-drinkin'? has i had a chance to be a-drinkin'?" "well, then, what makes you talk so wild?" "how does i talk wild?" "_how?_ why, hain't you been talking about my coming back, and all that stuff, as if i'd been gone away?" "huck--huck finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye. _hain't_ you ben gone away?" "gone away? why, what in the nation do you mean? _i_ hain't been gone anywheres. where would i go to?" "well, looky here, boss, dey's sumfn wrong, dey is. is i _me_, or who _is_ i? is i heah, or whah _is_ i? now dat's what i wants to know." "well, i think you're here, plain enough, but i think you're a tangle-headed old fool, jim." "i is, is i? well, you answer me dis: didn't you tote out de line in de canoe fer to make fas' to de towhead?" "no, i didn't. what towhead? i hain't seen no towhead." "you hain't seen no towhead? looky here, didn't de line pull loose en de raf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in de fog?" "what fog?" "why, _de_ fog!--de fog dat's been aroun' all night. en didn't you whoop, en didn't i whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us got los' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah he wuz? en didn't i bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turrible time en mos' git drownded? now ain' dat so, boss--ain't it so? you answer me dat." "well, this is too many for me, jim. i hain't seen no fog, nor no islands, nor no troubles, nor nothing. i been setting here talking with you all night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and i reckon i done the same. you couldn't 'a' got drunk in that time, so of course you've been dreaming." "dad fetch it, how is i gwyne to dream all dat in ten minutes?" "well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there didn't any of it happen." "but, huck, it's all jis' as plain to me as--" "it don't make no difference how plain it is; there ain't nothing in it. i know, because i've been here all the time." jim didn't say nothing for about five minutes, but set there studying over it. then he says: "well, den, i reck'n i did dream it, huck; but dog my cats ef it ain't de powerfulest dream i ever see. en i hain't ever had no dream b'fo' dat's tired me like dis one." "oh, well, that's all right, because a dream does tire a body like everything sometimes. but this one was a staving dream; tell me all about it, jim." so jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as it happened, only he painted it up considerable. then he said he must start in and "'terpret" it, because it was sent for a warning. he said the first towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but the current was another man that would get us away from him. the whoops was warnings that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn't try hard to make out to understand them they'd just take us into bad luck, 'stead of keeping us out of it. the lot of towheads was troubles we was going to get into with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean folks, but if we minded our business and didn't talk back and aggravate them, we would pull through and get out of the fog and into the big clear river, which was the free states, and wouldn't have no more trouble. it had clouded up pretty dark just after i got on to the raft, but it was clearing up again now. "oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, jim," i says; "but what does _these_ things stand for?" it was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. you could see them first-rate now. jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash again. he had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn't seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place again right away. but when he did get the thing straightened around he looked at me steady without ever smiling, and says: "what do dey stan' for? i's gwyne to tell you. when i got all wore out wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos' broke bekase you wuz los', en i didn' k'yer no' mo' what become er me en de raf'. en when i wake up en fine you back ag'in, all safe en soun', de tears come, en i could 'a' got down on my knees en kiss yo' foot, i's so thankful. en all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could make a fool uv ole jim wid a lie. dat truck dah is _trash_; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em ashamed." then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there without saying anything but that. but that was enough. it made me feel so mean i could almost kissed _his_ foot to get him to take it back. it was fifteen minutes before i could work myself up to go and humble myself to a nigger; but i done it, and i warn't ever sorry for it afterward, neither. i didn't do him no more mean tricks, and i wouldn't done that one if i'd 'a' knowed it would make him feel that way. chapter xvi we slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. she had four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty men, likely. she had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open camp-fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end. there was a power of style about her. it _amounted_ to something being a raftsman on such a craft as that. we went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got hot. the river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on both sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. we talked about cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to it. i said likely we wouldn't, because i had heard say there warn't but about a dozen houses there, and if they didn't happen to have them lit up, how was we going to know we was passing a town? jim said if the two big rivers joined together there, that would show. but i said maybe we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the same old river again. that disturbed jim--and me too. so the question was, what to do? i said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed, and tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was a green hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to cairo. jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and waited. there warn't nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and not pass it without seeing it. he said he'd be mighty sure to see it, because he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it he'd be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom. every little while he jumps up and says: "dah she is?" but it warn't. it was jack-o'-lanterns, or lightning-bugs; so he set down again, and went to watching, same as before. jim said it made him all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom. well, i can tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him, because i begun to get it through my head that he _was_ most free--and who was to blame for it? why, _me_. i couldn't get that out of my conscience, no how nor no way. it got to troubling me so i couldn't rest; i couldn't stay still in one place. it hadn't ever come home to me before, what this thing was that i was doing. but now it did; and it stayed with me, and scorched me more and more. i tried to make out to myself that _i_ warn't to blame, because _i_ didn't run jim off from his rightful owner; but it warn't no use, conscience up and says, every time, "but you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could 'a' paddled ashore and told somebody." that was so--i couldn't get around that no way. that was where it pinched. conscience says to me, "what had poor miss watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off right under your eyes and never say one single word? what did that poor old woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? why, she tried to learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to be good to you every way she knowed how. _that's_ what she done." i got to feeling so mean and so miserable i most wished i was dead. i fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and jim was fidgeting up and down past me. we neither of us could keep still. every time he danced around and says, "dah's cairo!" it went through me like a shot, and i thought if it _was_ cairo i reckoned i would die of miserableness. jim talked out loud all the time while i was talking to myself. he was saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free state he would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to where miss watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the two children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, they'd get an ab'litionist to go and steal them. it most froze me to hear such talk. he wouldn't ever dared to talk such talk in his life before. just see what a difference it made in him the minute he judged he was about free. it was according to the old saying, "give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell." thinks i, this is what comes of my not thinking. here was this nigger, which i had as good as helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would steal his children--children that belonged to a man i didn't even know; a man that hadn't ever done me no harm. i was sorry to hear jim say that, it was such a lowering of him. my conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last i says to it, "let up on me--it ain't too late yet--i'll paddle ashore at the first light and tell." i felt easy and happy and light as a feather right off. all my troubles was gone. i went to looking out sharp for a light, and sort of singing to myself. by and by one showed. jim sings out: "we's safe, huck, we's safe! jump up and crack yo' heels! dat's de good ole cairo at las', i jis knows it!" i says: "i'll take the canoe and go and see, jim. it mightn't be, you know." he jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom for me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as i shoved off, he says: "pooty soon i'll be a-shout'n' for joy, en i'll say, it's all on accounts o' huck; i's a free man, en i couldn't ever ben free ef it hadn' ben for huck; huck done it. jim won't ever forgit you, huck; you's de bes' fren' jim's ever had; en you's de _only_ fren' ole jim's got now." i was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me. i went along slow then, and i warn't right down certain whether i was glad i started or whether i warn't. when i was fifty yards off, jim says: "dah you goes, de ole true huck; de on'y white genlman dat ever kep' his promise to ole jim." well, i just felt sick. but i says, i _got_ to do it--i can't get _out_ of it. right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and they stopped and i stopped. one of them says: "what's that yonder?" "a piece of a raft," i says. "do you belong on it?" "yes, sir." "any men on it?" "only one, sir." "well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head of the bend. is your man white or black?" i didn't answer up prompt. i tried to, but the words wouldn't come. i tried for a second or two to brace up and out with it, but i warn't man enough--hadn't the spunk of a rabbit. i see i was weakening; so i just give up trying, and up and says: "he's white." "i reckon we'll go and see for ourselves." "i wish you would," says i, "because it's pap that's there, and maybe you'd help me tow the raft ashore where the light is. he's sick--and so is mam and mary ann." "oh, the devil! we're in a hurry, boy. but i s'pose we've got to. come, buckle to your paddle, and let's get along." i buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars. when we had made a stroke or two, i says: "pap 'll be mighty much obleeged to you, i can tell you. everybody goes away when i want them to help me tow the raft ashore, and i can't do it by myself." "well, that's infernal mean. odd, too. say, boy, what's the matter with your father?" "it's the--a--the--well, it ain't anything much." they stopped pulling. it warn't but a mighty little ways to the raft now. one says: "boy, that's a lie. what _is_ the matter with your pap? answer up square now, and it 'll be the better for you." "i will, sir, i will, honest--but don't leave us, please. it's the--the--gentlemen, if you'll only pull ahead, and let me heave you the headline, you won't have to come a-near the raft--please do." "set her back, john, set her back!" says one. they backed water. "keep away, boy--keep to looard. confound it, i just expect the wind has blowed it to us. your pap's got the smallpox, and you know it precious well. why didn't you come out and say so? do you want to spread it all over?" "well," says i, a-blubbering, "i've told everybody before, and they just went away and left us." "poor devil, there's something in that. we are right down sorry for you, but we--well, hang it, we don't want the smallpox, you see. look here, i'll tell you what to do. don't you try to land by yourself, or you'll smash everything to pieces. you float along down about twenty miles, and you'll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river. it will be long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell them your folks are all down with chills and fever. don't be a fool again, and let people guess what is the matter. now we're trying to do you a kindness; so you just put twenty miles between us, that's a good boy. it wouldn't do any good to land yonder where the light is--it's only a wood-yard. say, i reckon your father's poor, and i'm bound to say he's in pretty hard luck. here, i'll put a twenty-dollar gold piece on this board, and you get it when it floats by. i feel mighty mean to leave you; but my kingdom! it won't do to fool with small-pox, don't you see?" "hold on, parker," says the man, "here's a twenty to put on the board for me. good-by, boy; you do as mr. parker told you, and you'll be all right." "that's so, my boy--good-by, good-bye. if you see any runaway niggers you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it." "good-by, sir," says i; "i won't let no runaway niggers get by me if i can help it." they went off and i got aboard the raft, feeling bad and low, because i knowed very well i had done wrong, and i see it warn't no use for me to try to learn to do right; a body that don't get _started_ right when he's little ain't got no show--when the pinch comes there ain't nothing to back him up and keep him to his work, and so he gets beat. then i thought a minute, and says to myself, hold on; s'pose you'd 'a' done right and give jim up, would you felt better than what you do now? no, says i, i'd feel bad--i'd feel just the same way i do now. well, then, says i, what's the use you learning to do right when it's troublesome to do right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same? i was stuck. i couldn't answer that. so i reckoned i wouldn't bother no more about it, but after this always do whichever come handiest at the time. i went into the wigwam; jim warn't there. i looked all around; he warn't anywhere. i says: "jim!" "here i is, huck. is dey out o' sight yit? don't talk loud." he was in the river under the stern oar, with just his nose out. i told him they were out of sight, so he come aboard. he says: "i was a-listenin' to all de talk, en i slips into de river en was gwyne to shove for sho' if dey come aboard. den i was gwyne to swim to de raf' agin when dey was gone. but lawsy, how you did fool 'em, huck! dat _wuz_ de smartes' dodge! i tell you, chile, i 'spec it save' ole jim--ole jim ain't going to forgit you for dat, honey." then we talked about the money. it was a pretty good raise--twenty dollars apiece. jim said we could take deck passage on a steamboat now, and the money would last us as far as we wanted to go in the free states. he said twenty mile more warn't far for the raft to go, but he wished we was already there. towards daybreak we tied up, and jim was mighty particular about hiding the raft good. then he worked all day fixing things in bundles, and getting all ready to quit rafting. that night about ten we hove in sight of the lights of a town away down in a left-hand bend. i went off in the canoe to ask about it. pretty soon i found a man out in the river with a skiff, setting a trot-line. i ranged up and says: "mister, is that town cairo?" "cairo? no. you must be a blame' fool." "what town is it, mister?" "if you want to know, go and find out. if you stay here botherin' around me for about a half a minute longer you'll get something you won't want." i paddled to the raft. jim was awful disappointed, but i said never mind, cairo would be the next place, i reckoned. we passed another town before daylight, and i was going out again; but it was high ground, so i didn't go. no high ground about cairo, jim said. i had forgot it. we laid up for the day on a towhead tolerable close to the left-hand bank. i begun to suspicion something. so did jim. i says: "maybe we went by cairo in the fog that night." he says: "doan' le's talk about it, huck. po' niggers can't have no luck. i awluz 'spected dat rattlesnake-skin warn't done wid its work." "i wish i'd never seen that snake-skin, jim--i do wish i'd never laid eyes on it." "it ain't yo' fault, huck; you didn't know. don't you blame yo'self 'bout it." when it was daylight, here was the clear ohio water inshore, sure enough, and outside was the old regular muddy! so it was all up with cairo. we talked it all over. it wouldn't do to take to the shore; we couldn't take the raft up the stream, of course. there warn't no way but to wait for dark, and start back in the canoe and take the chances. so we slept all day amongst the cottonwood thicket, so as to be fresh for the work, and when we went back to the raft about dark the canoe was gone! we didn't say a word for a good while. there warn't anything to say. we both knowed well enough it was some more work of the rattlesnake-skin; so what was the use to talk about it? it would only look like we was finding fault, and that would be bound to fetch more bad luck--and keep on fetching it, too, till we knowed enough to keep still. by and by we talked about what we better do, and found there warn't no way but just to go along down with the raft till we got a chance to buy a canoe to go back in. we warn't going to borrow it when there warn't anybody around, the way pap would do, for that might set people after us. so we shoved out after dark on the raft. anybody that don't believe yet that it's foolishness to handle a snake-skin, after all that that snake-skin done for us, will believe it now if they read on and see what more it done for us. the place to buy canoes is off of rafts laying up at shore. but we didn't see no rafts laying up; so we went along during three hours and more. well, the night got gray and ruther thick, which is the next meanest thing to fog. you can't tell the shape of the river, and you can't see no distance. it got to be very late and still, and then along comes a steamboat up the river. we lit the lantern, and judged she would see it. up-stream boats didn't generly come close to us; they go out and follow the bars and hunt for easy water under the reefs; but nights like this they bull right up the channel against the whole river. we could hear her pounding along, but we didn't see her good till she was close. she aimed right for us. often they do that and try to see how close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off a sweep, and then the pilot sticks his head out and laughs, and thinks he's mighty smart. well, here she comes, and we said she was going to try and shave us; but she didn't seem to be sheering off a bit. she was a big one, and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black cloud with rows of glow-worms around it; but all of a sudden she bulged out, big and scary, with a long row of wide-open furnace doors shining like red-hot teeth, and her monstrous bows and guards hanging right over us. there was a yell at us, and a jingling of bells to stop the engines, a powwow of cussing, and whistling of steam--and as jim went overboard on one side and i on the other, she come smashing straight through the raft. i dived--and i aimed to find the bottom, too, for a thirty-foot wheel had got to go over me, and i wanted it to have plenty of room. i could always stay under water a minute; this time i reckon i stayed under a minute and a half. then i bounced for the top in a hurry, for i was nearly busting. i popped out to my armpits and blowed the water out of my nose, and puffed a bit. of course there was a booming current; and of course that boat started her engines again ten seconds after she stopped them, for they never cared much for raftsmen; so now she was churning along up the river, out of sight in the thick weather, though i could hear her. i sung out for jim about a dozen times, but i didn't get any answer; so i grabbed a plank that touched me while i was "treading water," and struck out for shore, shoving it ahead of me. but i made out to see that the drift of the current was towards the left-hand shore, which meant that i was in a crossing; so i changed off and went that way. it was one of these long, slanting, two-mile crossings; so i was a good long time in getting over. i made a safe landing, and clumb up the bank. i couldn't see but a little ways, but i went poking along over rough ground for a quarter of a mile or more, and then i run across a big old-fashioned double log house before i noticed it. i was going to rush by and get away, but a lot of dogs jumped out and went to howling and barking at me, and i knowed better than to move another peg. chapter xvii in about a minute somebody spoke out of a window without putting his head out, and says: "be done, boys! who's there?" i says: "it's me." "who's me?" "george jackson, sir." "what do you want?" "i don't want nothing, sir. i only want to go along by, but the dogs won't let me." "what are you prowling around here this time of night for--hey?" "i warn't prowling around, sir; i fell overboard off of the steamboat." "oh, you did, did you? strike a light there, somebody. what did you say your name was?" "george jackson, sir. i'm only a boy." "look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't be afraid--nobody 'll hurt you. but don't try to budge; stand right where you are. rouse out bob and tom, some of you, and fetch the guns. george jackson, is there anybody with you?" "no, sir, nobody." i heard the people stirring around in the house now, and see a light. the man sung out: "snatch that light away, betsy, you old fool--ain't you got any sense? put it on the floor behind the front door. bob, if you and tom are ready, take your places." "all ready." "now, george jackson, do you know the shepherdsons?" "no, sir; i never heard of them." "well, that may be so, and it mayn't. now, all ready. step forward, george jackson. and mind, don't you hurry--come mighty slow. if there's anybody with you, let him keep back--if he shows himself he'll be shot. come along now. come slow; push the door open yourself--just enough to squeeze in, d'you hear?" i didn't hurry; i couldn't if i'd a-wanted to. i took one slow step at a time and there warn't a sound, only i thought i could hear my heart. the dogs were as still as the humans, but they followed a little behind me. when i got to the three log doorsteps i heard them unlocking and unbarring and unbolting. i put my hand on the door and pushed it a little and a little more till somebody said, "there, that's enough--put your head in." i done it, but i judged they would take it off. the candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me, and me at them, for about a quarter of a minute: three big men with guns pointed at me, which made me wince, i tell you; the oldest, gray and about sixty, the other two thirty or more--all of them fine and handsome--and the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her two young women which i couldn't see right well. the old gentleman says: "there; i reckon it's all right. come in." as soon as i was in the old gentleman he locked the door and barred it and bolted it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and they all went in a big parlor that had a new rag carpet on the floor, and got together in a corner that was out of the range of the front windows--there warn't none on the side. they held the candle, and took a good look at me, and all said, "why, _he_ ain't a shepherdson--no, there ain't any shepherdson about him." then the old man said he hoped i wouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by it--it was only to make sure. so he didn't pry into my pockets, but only felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right. he told me to make myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself; but the old lady says: "why, bless you, saul, the poor thing's as wet as he can be; and don't you reckon it may be he's hungry?" "true for you, rachel--i forgot." so the old lady says: "betsy" (this was a nigger woman), "you fly around and get him something to eat as quick as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake up buck and tell him--oh, here he is himself. buck, take this little stranger and get the wet clothes off from him and dress him up in some of yours that's dry." buck looked about as old as me--thirteen or fourteen or along there, though he was a little bigger than me. he hadn't on anything but a shirt, and he was very frowzy-headed. he came in gaping and digging one fist into his eyes, and he was dragging a gun along with the other one. he says: "ain't they no shepherdsons around?" they said, no, 'twas a false alarm. "well," he says, "if they'd 'a' ben some, i reckon i'd 'a' got one." they all laughed, and bob says: "why, buck, they might have scalped us all, you've been so slow in coming." "well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right. i'm always kept down; i don't get no show." "never mind, buck, my boy," says the old man, "you'll have show enough, all in good time, don't you fret about that. go 'long with you now, and do as your mother told you." when we got up-stairs to his room he got me a coarse shirt and a roundabout and pants of his, and i put them on. while i was at it he asked me what my name was, but before i could tell him he started to tell me about a bluejay and a young rabbit he had catched in the woods day before yesterday, and he asked me where moses was when the candle went out. i said i didn't know; i hadn't heard about it before, no way. "well, guess," he says. "how'm i going to guess," says i, "when i never heard tell of it before?" "but you can guess, can't you? it's just as easy." "_which_ candle?" i says. "why, any candle," he says. "i don't know where he was," says i; "where was he?" "why, he was in the _dark_! that's where he was!" "well, if you knowed where he was, what did you ask me for?" "why, blame it, it's a riddle, don't you see? say, how long are you going to stay here? you got to stay always. we can just have booming times--they don't have no school now. do you own a dog? i've got a dog--and he'll go in the river and bring out chips that you throw in. do you like to comb up sundays, and all that kind of foolishness? you bet i don't, but ma she makes me. confound these ole britches! i reckon i'd better put 'em on, but i'd ruther not, it's so warm. are you all ready? all right. come along, old hoss." cold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilk--that is what they had for me down there, and there ain't nothing better that ever i've come across yet. buck and his ma and all of them smoked cob pipes, except the nigger woman, which was gone, and the two young women. they all smoked and talked, and i eat and talked. the young women had quilts around them, and their hair down their backs. they all asked me questions, and i told them how pap and me and all the family was living on a little farm down at the bottom of arkansaw, and my sister mary ann run off and got married and never was heard of no more, and bill went to hunt them and he warn't heard of no more, and tom and mort died, and then there warn't nobody but just me and pap left, and he was just trimmed down to nothing, on account of his troubles; so when he died i took what there was left, because the farm didn't belong to us, and started up the river, deck passage, and fell overboard; and that was how i come to be here. so they said i could have a home there as long as i wanted it. then it was most daylight and everybody went to bed, and i went to bed with buck, and when i waked up in the morning, drat it all, i had forgot what my name was. so i laid there about an hour trying to think, and when buck waked up i says: "can you spell, buck?" "yes," he says. "i bet you can't spell my name," says i. "i bet you what you dare i can," says he. "all right," says i, "go ahead." "g-e-o-r-g-e j-a-x-o-n--there now," he says. "well," says i, "you done it, but i didn't think you could. it ain't no slouch of a name to spell--right off without studying." i set it down, private, because somebody might want _me_ to spell it next, and so i wanted to be handy with it and rattle it off like i was used to it. it was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too. i hadn't seen no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much style. it didn't have an iron latch on the front door, nor a wooden one with a buckskin string, but a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in town. there warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps of parlors in towns has beds in them. there was a big fireplace that was bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept clean and red by pouring water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes they wash them over with red water-paint that they call spanish-brown, same as they do in town. they had big brass dog-irons that could hold up a saw-log. there was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with a picture of a town painted on the bottom half of the glass front, and a round place in the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the pendulum swinging behind it. it was beautiful to hear that clock tick; and sometimes when one of these peddlers had been along and scoured her up and got her in good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred and fifty before she got tuckered out. they wouldn't took any money for her. well, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock, made out of something like chalk, and painted up gaudy. by one of the parrots was a cat made of crockery, and a crockery dog by the other; and when you pressed down on them they squeaked, but didn't open their mouths nor look different nor interested. they squeaked through underneath. there was a couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out behind those things. on the table in the middle of the room was a kind of a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and grapes piled up in it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier than real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it was, underneath. this table had a cover made out of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and blue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around. it come all the way from philadelphia, they said. there was some books, too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table. one was a big family bible full of pictures. one was pilgrim's progress, about a man that left his family, it didn't say why. i read considerable in it now and then. the statements was interesting, but tough. another was friendship's offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but i didn't read the poetry. another was henry clay's speeches, and another was dr. gunn's family medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was sick or dead. there was a hymn-book, and a lot of other books. and there was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, too--not bagged down in the middle and busted, like an old basket. they had pictures hung on the walls--mainly washingtons and lafayettes, and battles, and highland marys, and one called "signing the declaration." there was some that they called crayons, which one of the daughters which was dead made her own self when she was only fifteen years old. they was different from any pictures i ever see before--blacker, mostly, than is common. one was a woman in a slim black dress, belted small under the armpits, with bulges like a cabbage in the middle of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet with a black veil, and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and very wee black slippers, like a chisel, and she was leaning pensive on a tombstone on her right elbow, under a weeping willow, and her other hand hanging down her side holding a white handkerchief and a reticule, and underneath the picture it said "shall i never see thee more alas." another one was a young lady with her hair all combed up straight to the top of her head, and knotted there in front of a comb like a chair-back, and she was crying into a handkerchief and had a dead bird laying on its back in her other hand with its heels up, and underneath the picture it said "i shall never hear thy sweet chirrup more alas." there was one where a young lady was at a window looking up at the moon, and tears running down her cheeks; and she had an open letter in one hand with black sealing-wax showing on one edge of it, and she was mashing a locket with a chain to it against her mouth, and underneath the picture it said "and art thou gone yes thou art gone alas." these was all nice pictures, i reckon, but i didn't somehow seem to take to them, because if ever i was down a little they always give me the fan-tods. everybody was sorry she died, because she had laid out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done what they had lost. but i reckoned that with her disposition she was having a better time in the graveyard. she was at work on what they said was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and every night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it done, but she never got the chance. it was a picture of a young woman in a long white gown, standing on the rail of a bridge all ready to jump off, with her hair all down her back, and looking up to the moon, with the tears running down her face, and she had two arms folded across her breast, and two arms stretched out in front, and two more reaching up toward the moon--and the idea was to see which pair would look best, and then scratch out all the other arms; but, as i was saying, she died before she got her mind made up, and now they kept this picture over the head of the bed in her room, and every time her birthday come they hung flowers on it. other times it was hid with a little curtain. the young woman in the picture had a kind of a nice sweet face, but there was so many arms it made her look too spidery, seemed to me. this young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste obituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the presbyterian observer, and write poetry after them out of her own head. it was very good poetry. this is what she wrote about a boy by the name of stephen dowling bots that fell down a well and was drownded: ode to stephen dowling bots, dec'd and did young stephen sicken, and did young stephen die? and did the sad hearts thicken, and did the mourners cry? no; such was not the fate of young stephen dowling bots; though sad hearts round him thickened, 'twas not from sickness' shots. no whooping-cough did rack his frame, nor measles drear with spots; not these impaired the sacred name of stephen dowling bots. despised love struck not with woe that head of curly knots, nor stomach troubles laid him low, young stephen dowling bots. o no. then list with tearful eye, whilst i his fate do tell. his soul did from this cold world fly by falling down a well. they got him out and emptied him; alas it was too late; his spirit was gone for to sport aloft in the realms of the good and great. if emmeline grangerford could make poetry like that before she was fourteen, there ain't no telling what she could 'a' done by and by. buck said she could rattle off poetry like nothing. she didn't ever have to stop to think. he said she would slap down a line, and if she couldn't find anything to rhyme with it would just scratch it out and slap down another one, and go ahead. she warn't particular; she could write about anything you choose to give her to write about just so it was sadful. every time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died, she would be on hand with her "tribute" before he was cold. she called them tributes. the neighbors said it was the doctor first, then emmeline, then the undertaker--the undertaker never got in ahead of emmeline but once, and then she hung fire on a rhyme for the dead person's name, which was whistler. she warn't ever the same after that; she never complained, but she kinder pined away and did not live long. poor thing, many's the time i made myself go up to the little room that used to be hers and get out her poor old scrap-book and read in it when her pictures had been aggravating me and i had soured on her a little. i liked all that family, dead ones and all, and warn't going to let anything come between us. poor emmeline made poetry about all the dead people when she was alive, and it didn't seem right that there warn't nobody to make some about her now she was gone; so i tried to sweat out a verse or two myself, but i couldn't seem to make it go somehow. they kept emmeline's room trim and nice, and all the things fixed in it just the way she liked to have them when she was alive, and nobody ever slept there. the old lady took care of the room herself, though there was plenty of niggers, and she sewed there a good deal and read her bible there mostly. well, as i was saying about the parlor, there was beautiful curtains on the windows: white, with pictures painted on them of castles with vines all down the walls, and cattle coming down to drink. there was a little old piano, too, that had tin pans in it, i reckon, and nothing was ever so lovely as to hear the young ladies sing "the last link is broken" and play "the battle of prague" on it. the walls of all the rooms was plastered, and most had carpets on the floors, and the whole house was whitewashed on the outside. it was a double house, and the big open place betwixt them was roofed and floored, and sometimes the table was set there in the middle of the day, and it was a cool, comfortable place. nothing couldn't be better. and warn't the cooking good, and just bushels of it too! chapter xviii col. grangerford was a gentleman, you see. he was a gentleman all over; and so was his family. he was well born, as the saying is, and that's worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the widow douglas said, and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracy in our town; and pap he always said it, too, though he warn't no more quality than a mudcat himself. col. grangerford was very tall and very slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in it anywheres; he was clean-shaved every morning all over his thin face, and he had the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kind of nostrils, and a high nose, and heavy eyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk so deep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caverns at you, as you may say. his forehead was high, and his hair was gray and straight and hung to his shoulders. his hands was long and thin, and every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head to foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it; and on sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brass buttons on it. he carried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it. there warn't no frivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn't ever loud. he was as kind as he could be--you could feel that, you know, and so you had confidence. sometimes he smiled, and it was good to see; but when he straightened himself up like a liberty-pole, and the lightning begun to flicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted to climb a tree first, and find out what the matter was afterwards. he didn't ever have to tell anybody to mind their manners--everybody was always good-mannered where he was. everybody loved to have him around, too; he was sunshine most always--i mean he made it seem like good weather. when he turned into a cloud-bank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that was enough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong again for a week. when him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got up out of their chairs and give them good day, and didn't set down again till they had set down. then tom and bob went to the sideboard where the decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and he held it in his hand and waited till tom's and bob's was mixed, and then they bowed and said, "our duty to you, sir, and madam"; and _they_ bowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank, all three, and bob and tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and the mite of whisky or apple-brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, and give it to me and buck, and we drank to the old people too. bob was the oldest and tom next--tall, beautiful men with very broad shoulders and brown faces, and long black hair and black eyes. they dressed in white linen from head to foot, like the old gentleman, and wore broad panama hats. then there was miss charlotte; she was twenty-five, and tall and proud and grand, but as good as she could be when she warn't stirred up; but when she was she had a look that would make you wilt in your tracks, like her father. she was beautiful. so was her sister, miss sophia, but it was a different kind. she was gentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty. each person had their own nigger to wait on them--buck too. my nigger had a monstrous easy time, because i warn't used to having anybody do anything for me, but buck's was on the jump most of the time. this was all there was of the family now, but there used to be more--three sons; they got killed; and emmeline that died. the old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred niggers. sometimes a stack of people would come there, horseback, from ten or fifteen mile around, and stay five or six days, and have such junketings round about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woods daytimes, and balls at the house nights. these people was mostly kinfolks of the family. the men brought their guns with them. it was a handsome lot of quality, i tell you. there was another clan of aristocracy around there--five or six families--mostly of the name of shepherdson. they was as high-toned and well born and rich and grand as the tribe of grangerfords. the shepherdsons and grangerfords used the same steamboat-landing, which was about two mile above our house; so sometimes when i went up there with a lot of our folks i used to see a lot of the shepherdsons there on their fine horses. one day buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard a horse coming. we was crossing the road. buck says: "quick! jump for the woods!" we done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves. pretty soon a splendid young man came galloping down the road, setting his horse easy and looking like a soldier. he had his gun across his pommel. i had seen him before. it was young harney shepherdson. i heard buck's gun go off at my ear, and harney's hat tumbled off from his head. he grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was hid. but we didn't wait. we started through the woods on a run. the woods warn't thick, so i looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet, and twice i seen harney cover buck with his gun; and then he rode away the way he come--to get his hat, i reckon, but i couldn't see. we never stopped running till we got home. the old gentleman's eyes blazed a minute--'twas pleasure, mainly, i judged--then his face sort of smoothed down, and he says, kind of gentle: "i don't like that shooting from behind a bush. why didn't you step into the road, my boy?" "the shepherdsons don't, father. they always take advantage." miss charlotte she held her head up like a queen while buck was telling his tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped. the two young men looked dark, but never said nothing. miss sophia she turned pale, but the color come back when she found the man warn't hurt. soon as i could get buck down by the corn-cribs under the trees by ourselves, i says: "did you want to kill him, buck?" "well, i bet i did." "what did he do to you?" "him? he never done nothing to me." "well, then, what did you want to kill him for?" "why, nothing--only it's on account of the feud." "what's a feud?" "why, where was you raised? don't you know what a feud is?" "never heard of it before--tell me about it." "well," says buck, "a feud is this way: a man has a quarrel with another man, and kills him; then that other man's brother kills _him_; then the other brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the _cousins_ chip in--and by and by everybody's killed off, and there ain't no more feud. but it's kind of slow, and takes a long time." "has this one been going on long, buck?" "well, i should _reckon!_ it started thirty year ago, or som'ers along there. there was trouble 'bout something, and then a lawsuit to settle it; and the suit went agin one of the men, and so he up and shot the man that won the suit--which he would naturally do, of course. anybody would." "what was the trouble about. buck?--land?" "i reckon maybe--i don't know." "well, who done the shooting? was it a grangerford shepherdson?" "laws, how do i know? it was so long ago." "don't anybody know?" "oh, yes, pa knows, i reckon, and some of the other old people; but they don't know now what the row was about in the first place." "has there been many killed, buck?" "yes; right smart chance of funerals. but they don't always kill. pa's got a few buckshot in him; but he don't mind it 'cuz he don't weigh much, anyway. bob's been carved up some with a bowie, and tom's been hurt once or twice." "has anybody been killed this year, buck?" "yes; we got one and they got one. 'bout three months ago my cousin bud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other side of the river, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame' foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind him, and sees old baldy shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun in his hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumping off and taking to the brush, bud 'lowed he could outrun him; so they had it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all the time; so at last bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced around so as to have the bullet-holes in front, you know, and the old man he rode up and shot him down. but he didn't git much chance to enjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid _him_ out." "i reckon that old man was a coward, buck." "i reckon he _warn't_ a coward. not by a blame' sight. there ain't a coward amongst them shepherdsons--not a one. and there ain't no cowards amongst the grangerfords either. why, that old man kep' up his end in a fight one day for half an hour against three grangerfords, and come out winner. they was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and got behind a little woodpile, and kep' his horse before him to stop the bullets; but the grangerfords stayed on their horses and capered around the old man, and peppered away at him, and he peppered away at them. him and his horse both went home pretty leaky and crippled, but the grangerfords had to be _fetched_ home--and one of 'em was dead, and another died the next day. no, sir; if a body's out hunting for cowards he don't want to fool away any time amongst them shepherdsons, becuz they don't breed any of that _kind_." next sunday we all went to church, about three mile, everybody a-horseback. the men took their guns along, so did buck, and kept them between their knees or stood them handy against the wall. the shepherdsons done the same. it was pretty ornery preaching--all about brotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was a good sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had such a powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace and preforeordestination, and i don't know what all, that it did seem to me to be one of the roughest sundays i had run across yet. about an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in their chairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. buck and a dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. i went up to our room, and judged i would take a nap myself. i found that sweet miss sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she took me in her room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if i liked her, and i said i did; and she asked me if i would do something for her and not tell anybody, and i said i would. then she said she'd forgot her testament, and left it in the seat at church between two other books, and would i slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not say nothing to nobody. i said i would. so i slid out and slipped off up the road, and there warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, for there warn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor in summer-time because it's cool. if you notice, most folks don't go to church only when they've got to; but a hog is different. says i to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be in such a sweat about a testament. so i give it a shake, and out drops a little piece of paper with "_half past two_" wrote on it with a pencil. i ransacked it, but couldn't find anything else. i couldn't make anything out of that, so i put the paper in the book again, and when i got home and upstairs there was miss sophia in her door waiting for me. she pulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the testament till she found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and before a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and said i was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. she was mighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and it made her powerful pretty. i was a good deal astonished, but when i got my breath i asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if i had read it, and i said no, and she asked me if i could read writing, and i told her "no, only coarse-hand," and then she said the paper warn't anything but a book-mark to keep her place, and i might go and play now. i went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon i noticed that my nigger was following along behind. when we was out of sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comes a-running, and says: "mars jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp i'll show you a whole stack o' water-moccasins." thinks i, that's mighty curious; he said that yesterday. he oughter know a body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for them. what is he up to, anyway? so i says: "all right; trot ahead." i followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp, and waded ankle-deep as much as another half-mile. we come to a little flat piece of land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines, and he says: "you shove right in dah jist a few steps, mars jawge; dah's whah dey is. i's seed 'm befo'; i don't k'yer to see 'em no mo'." then he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hid him. i poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patch as big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying there asleep--and, by jings, it was my old jim! i waked him up, and i reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to him to see me again, but it warn't. he nearly cried he was so glad, but he warn't surprised. said he swum along behind me that night, and heard me yell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't want nobody to pick _him_ up and take him into slavery again. says he: "i got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so i wuz a considerable ways behine you towards de las'; when you landed i reck'ned i could ketch up wid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when i see dat house i begin to go slow. i 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say to you--i wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet ag'in i knowed you's in de house, so i struck out for de woods to wait for day. early in de mawnin' some er de niggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey tuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accounts o' de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how you's a-gittin' along." "why didn't you tell my jack to fetch me here sooner, jim?" "well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, huck, tell we could do sumfn--but we's all right now. i ben a-buyin' pots en pans en vittles, as i got a chanst, en a-patchin' up de raf' nights when--" "_what_ raft, jim?" "our ole raf'." "you mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?" "no, she warn't. she was tore up a good deal--one en' of her was; but dey warn't no great harm done, on'y our traps was mos' all los'. ef we hadn' dive' so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn't ben so dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin' is, we'd a seed de raf'. but it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kase now she's all fixed up ag'in mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot o' stuff, in de place o' what 'uz los'." "why, how did you get hold of the raft again, jim--did you catch her?" "how i gwyne to ketch her en i out in de woods? no; some er de niggers foun' her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in a crick 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin' 'bout which un 'um she b'long to de mos' dat i come to heah 'bout it pooty soon, so i ups en settles de trouble by tellin' 'um she don't b'long to none uv 'um, but to you en me; en i ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman's propaty, en git a hid'n for it? den i gin 'm ten cents apiece, en dey 'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo' raf's 'ud come along en make 'm rich ag'in. dey's mighty good to me, dese niggers is, en whatever i wants 'm to do fur me i doan' have to ast 'm twice, honey. dat jack's a good nigger, en pooty smart." "yes, he is. he ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come, and he'd show me a lot of water-moccasins. if anything happens _he_ ain't mixed up in it. he can say he never seen us together, and it 'll be the truth." i don't want to talk much about the next day. i reckon i'll cut it pretty short. i waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over and go to sleep again when i noticed how still it was--didn't seem to be anybody stirring. that warn't usual. next i noticed that buck was up and gone. well, i gets up, a-wondering, and goes down-stairs--nobody around; everything as still as a mouse. just the same outside. thinks i, what does it mean? down by the woodpile i comes across my jack, and says: "what's it all about?" says he: "don't you know, mars jawge?" "no," says i, "i don't." "well, den, miss sophia's run off! 'deed she has. she run off in de night some time--nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get married to dat young harney shepherdson, you know--leastways, so dey 'spec. de fambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago--maybe a little mo'--en' i _tell_ you dey warn't no time los'. sich another hurryin' up guns en hosses _you_ never see! de women folks has gone for to stir up de relations, en ole mars saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de river road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him 'fo' he kin git acrost de river wid miss sophia. i reck'n dey's gwyne to be mighty rough times." "buck went off 'thout waking me up." "well, i reck'n he _did!_ dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it. mars buck he loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home a shepherdson or bust. well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, i reck'n, en you bet you he'll fetch one ef he gits a chanst." i took up the river road as hard as i could put. by and by i begin to hear guns a good ways off. when i came in sight of the log store and the woodpile where the steamboats lands i worked along under the trees and brush till i got to a good place, and then i clumb up into the forks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. there was a wood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first i was going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier i didn't. there was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the steamboat-landing; but they couldn't come it. every time one of them showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. the two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch both ways. by and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. they started riding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady bead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. all the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the run. they got half-way to the tree i was in before the men noticed. then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out after them. they gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys had too good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree, and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again. one of the boys was buck, and the other was a slim young chap about nineteen years old. the men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. as soon as they was out of sight i sung out to buck and told him. he didn't know what to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. he was awful surprised. he told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the men come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or other--wouldn't be gone long. i wished i was out of that tree, but i dasn't come down. buck begun to cry and rip, and 'lowed that him and his cousin joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this day yet. he said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of the enemy. said the shepherdsons laid for them in ambush. buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their relations--the shepherdsons was too strong for them. i asked him what was become of young harney and miss sophia. he said they'd got across the river and was safe. i was glad of that; but the way buck did take on because he didn't manage to kill harney that day he shot at him--i hain't ever heard anything like it. all of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns--the men had slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their horses! the boys jumped for the river--both of them hurt--and as they swum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them and singing out, "kill them, kill them!" it made me so sick i most fell out of the tree. i ain't a-going to tell _all_ that happened--it would make me sick again if i was to do that. i wished i hadn't ever come ashore that night to see such things. i ain't ever going to get shut of them--lots of times i dream about them. i stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down. sometimes i heard guns away off in the woods; and twice i seen little gangs of men gallop past the log store with guns; so i reckoned the trouble was still a-going on. i was mighty downhearted; so i made up my mind i wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because i reckoned i was to blame, somehow. i judged that that piece of paper meant that miss sophia was to meet harney somewheres at half past two and run off; and i judged i ought to told her father about that paper and the curious way she acted, and then maybe he would 'a' locked her up, and this awful mess wouldn't ever happened. when i got down out of the tree i crept along down the river-bank a piece, and found the two bodies laying in the edge of the water, and tugged at them till i got them ashore; then i covered up their faces, and got away as quick as i could. i cried a little when i was covering up buck's face, for he was mighty good to me. it was just dark now. i never went near the house, but struck through the woods and made for the swamp. jim warn't on his island, so i tramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows, red-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. the raft was gone! my souls, but i was scared! i couldn't get my breath for most a minute. then i raised a yell. a voice not twenty-five foot from me says: "good lan'! is dat you, honey? doan' make no noise." it was jim's voice--nothing ever sounded so good before. i run along the bank a piece and got aboard, and jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he was so glad to see me. he says: "laws bless you, chile, i 'uz right down sho' you's dead ag'in. jack's been heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn' come home no mo'; so i's jes' dis minute a-startin' startin' de raf' down towards de mouf er de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as jack comes ag'in en tells me for certain you _is_ dead. lawsy, i's mighty glad to git you back ag'in, honey." i says: "all right--that's mighty good; they won't find me, and they'll think i've been killed, and floated down the river--there's something up there that 'll help them think so--so don't you lose no time, jim, but just shove off for the big water as fast as ever you can." i never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in the middle of the mississippi. then we hung up our signal lantern, and judged that we was free and safe once more. i hadn't had a bite to eat since yesterday, so jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, and pork and cabbage and greens--there ain't nothing in the world so good when it's cooked right--and whilst i eat my supper we talked and had a good time. i was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so was jim to get away from the swamp. we said there warn't no home like a raft, after all. other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don't. you feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft. chapter xix two or three days and nights went by; i reckon i might say they swum by, they slid along so quiet and smooth and lovely. here is the way we put in the time. it was a monstrous big river down there--sometimes a mile and a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid daytimes; soon as night was most gone we stopped navigating and tied up--nearly always in the dead water under a towhead; and then cut young cottonwoods and willows, and hid the raft with them. then we set out the lines. next we slid into the river and had a swim, so as to freshen up and cool off; then we set down on the sandy bottom where the water was about knee-deep, and watched the daylight come. not a sound anywheres--perfectly still--just like the whole world was asleep, only sometimes the bullfrogs a-cluttering, maybe. the first thing to see, looking away over the water, was a kind of dull line--that was the woods on t'other side; you couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots drifting along ever so far away--trading-scows, and such things; and long black streaks--rafts; sometimes you could hear a sweep screaking; or jumbled-up voices, it was so still, and sounds come so far; and by and by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off of the water, and the east reddens up, and the river, and you make out a log cabin in the edge of the woods, away on the bank on t'other side of the river, being a wood-yard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can throw a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and comes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell on account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way, because they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they do get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything smiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it! a little smoke couldn't be noticed now, so we would take some fish off of the lines and cook up a hot breakfast. and afterwards we would watch the lonesomeness of the river, and kind of lazy along, and by and by lazy off to sleep. wake up by and by, and look to see what done it, and maybe see a steamboat coughing along up-stream, so far off towards the other side you couldn't tell nothing about her only whether she was a stern-wheel or side-wheel; then for about an hour there wouldn't be nothing to hear nor nothing to see--just solid lonesomeness. next you'd see a raft sliding by, away off yonder, and maybe a galoot on it chopping, because they're most always doing it on a raft; you'd see the ax flash and come down--you don't hear nothing; you see that ax go up again, and by the time it's above the man's head then you hear the _k'chunk!_--it had took all that time to come over the water. so we would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness. once there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them. a scow or a raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and laughing--heard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made you feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air. jim said he believed it was spirits; but i says: "no; spirits wouldn't say, 'dern the dern fog.'" soon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and talked about all kinds of things--we was always naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us--the new clothes buck's folks made for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides i didn't go much on clothes, nohow. sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark--which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two--on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. it's lovely to live on a raft. we had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. jim he allowed they was made, but i allowed they happened; i judged it would have took too long to _make_ so many. jim said the moon could 'a' _laid_ them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so i didn't say nothing against it, because i've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. we used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the nest. once or twice of a night we would see a steamboat slipping along in the dark, and now and then she would belch a whole world of sparks up out of her chimbleys, and they would rain down in the river and look awful pretty; then she would turn a corner and her lights would wink out and her powwow shut off and leave the river still again; and by and by her waves would get to us, a long time after she was gone, and joggle the raft a bit, and after that you wouldn't hear nothing for you couldn't tell how long, except maybe frogs or something. after midnight the people on shore went to bed, and then for two or three hours the shores was black--no more sparks in the cabin windows. these sparks was our clock--the first one that showed again meant morning was coming, so we hunted a place to hide and tie up right away. one morning about daybreak i found a canoe and crossed over a chute to the main shore--it was only two hundred yards--and paddled about a mile up a crick amongst the cypress woods, to see if i couldn't get some berries. just as i was passing a place where a kind of a cowpath crossed the crick, here comes a couple of men tearing up the path as tight as they could foot it. i thought i was a goner, for whenever anybody was after anybody i judged it was _me_--or maybe jim. i was about to dig out from there in a hurry, but they was pretty close to me then, and sung out and begged me to save their lives--said they hadn't been doing nothing, and was being chased for it--said there was men and dogs a-coming. they wanted to jump right in, but i says: "don't you do it. i don't hear the dogs and horses yet; you've got time to crowd through the brush and get up the crick a little ways; then you take to the water and wade down to me and get in--that 'll throw the dogs off the scent." they done it, and soon as they was aboard i lit out for our towhead, and in about five or ten minutes we heard the dogs and the men away off, shouting. we heard them come along towards the crick, but couldn't see them; they seemed to stop and fool around awhile; then, as we got further and further away all the time, we couldn't hardly hear them at all; by the time we had left a mile of woods behind us and struck the river, everything was quiet, and we paddled over to the towhead and hid in the cottonwoods and was safe. one of these fellows was about seventy or upwards, and had a bald head and very gray whiskers. he had an old battered-up slouch hat on, and a greasy blue woolen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed into his boot-tops, and home-knit galluses--no, he only had one. he had an old long-tailed blue jeans coat with slick brass buttons flung over his arm, and both of them had big, fat, ratty-looking carpet-bags. the other fellow was about thirty, and dressed about as ornery. after breakfast we all laid off and talked, and the first thing that come out was that these chaps didn't know one another. "what got you into trouble?" says the baldhead to t'other chap. "well, i'd been selling an article to take the tartar off the teeth--and it does take it off, too, and generly the enamel along with it--but i stayed about one night longer than i ought to, and was just in the act of sliding out when i ran across you on the trail this side of town, and you told me they were coming, and begged me to help you to get off. so i told you i was expecting trouble myself, and would scatter out _with_ you. that's the whole yarn--what's yourn?" "well, i'd ben a-runnin' a little temperance revival thar 'bout a week, and was the pet of the women folks, big and little, for i was makin' it mighty warm for the rummies, i _tell_ you, and takin' as much as five or six dollars a night--ten cents a head, children and niggers free--and business a-growin' all the time, when somehow or another a little report got around last night that i had a way of puttin' in my time with a private jug on the sly. a nigger rousted me out this mornin', and told me the people was getherin' on the quiet with their dogs and horses, and they'd be along pretty soon and give me 'bout half an hour's start, and then run me down if they could; and if they got me they'd tar and feather me and ride me on a rail, sure. i didn't wait for no breakfast--i warn't hungry." "old man," said the young one, "i reckon we might double-team it together; what do you think?" "i ain't undisposed. what's your line--mainly?" "jour printer by trade; do a little in patent medicines; theater-actor--tragedy, you know; take a turn to mesmerism and phrenology when there's a chance; teach singing-geography school for a change; sling a lecture sometimes--oh, i do lots of things--most anything that comes handy, so it ain't work. what's your lay?" "i've done considerble in the doctoring way in my time. layin' on o' hands is my best holt--for cancer and paralysis, and sich things; and i k'n tell a fortune pretty good when i've got somebody along to find out the facts for me. preachin's my line, too, and workin' camp-meetin's, and missionaryin' around." nobody never said anything for a while; then the young man hove a sigh and says: "alas!" "what 're you alassin' about?" says the baldhead. "to think i should have lived to be leading such a life, and be degraded down into such company." and he begun to wipe the corner of his eye with a rag. "dern your skin, ain't the company good enough for you?" says the baldhead, pretty pert and uppish. "yes, it _is_ good enough for me; it's as good as i deserve; for who fetched me so low when i was so high? i did myself. i don't blame _you_, gentlemen--far from it; i don't blame anybody. i deserve it all. let the cold world do its worst; one thing i know--there's a grave somewhere for me. the world may go on just as it's always done, and take everything from me--loved ones, property, everything; but it can't take that. some day i'll lie down in it and forget it all, and my poor broken heart will be at rest." he went on a-wiping. "drot your pore broken heart," says the baldhead; "what are you heaving your pore broken heart at _us_ f'r? _we_ hain't done nothing." "no, i know you haven't. i ain't blaming you, gentlemen. i brought myself down--yes, i did it myself. it's right i should suffer--perfectly right--i don't make any moan." "brought you down from whar? whar was you brought down from?" "ah, you would not believe me; the world never believes--let it pass--'tis no matter. the secret of my birth--" "the secret of your birth! do you mean to say--" "gentlemen," says the young man, very solemn, "i will reveal it to you, for i feel i may have confidence in you. by rights i am a duke!" jim's eyes bugged out when he heard that; and i reckon mine did, too. then the baldhead says: "no! you can't mean it?" "yes. my great-grandfather, eldest son of the duke of bridgewater, fled to this country about the end of the last century, to breathe the pure air of freedom; married here, and died, leaving a son, his own father dying about the same time. the second son of the late duke seized the titles and estates--the infant real duke was ignored. i am the lineal descendant of that infant--i am the rightful duke of bridgewater; and here am i, forlorn, torn from my high estate, hunted of men, despised by the cold world, ragged, worn, heartbroken, and degraded to the companionship of felons on a raft!" jim pitied him ever so much, and so did i. we tried to comfort him, but he said it warn't much use, he couldn't be much comforted; said if we was a mind to acknowledge him, that would do him more good than most anything else; so we said we would, if he would tell us how. he said we ought to bow when we spoke to him, and say "your grace," or "my lord," or "your lordship"--and he wouldn't mind it if we called him plain "bridgewater," which, he said, was a title anyway, and not a name; and one of us ought to wait on him at dinner, and do any little thing for him he wanted done. well, that was all easy, so we done it. all through dinner jim stood around and waited on him, and says, "will yo' grace have some o' dis or some o' dat?" and so on, and a body could see it was mighty pleasing to him. but the old man got pretty silent by and by--didn't have much to say, and didn't look pretty comfortable over all that petting that was going on around that duke. he seemed to have something on his mind. so, along in the afternoon, he says: "looky here, bilgewater," he says, "i'm nation sorry for you, but you ain't the only person that's had troubles like that." "no?" "no, you ain't. you ain't the only person that's ben snaked down wrongfully out'n a high place." "alas!" "no, you ain't the only person that's had a secret of his birth." and, by jings, _he_ begins to cry. "hold! what do you mean?" "bilgewater, kin i trust you?" says the old man, still sort of sobbing. "to the bitter death!" he took the old man by the hand and squeezed it, and says, "that secret of your being: speak!" "bilgewater, i am the late dauphin!" you bet you, jim and me stared this time. then the duke says: "you are what?" "yes, my friend, it is too true--your eyes is lookin' at this very moment on the pore disappeared dauphin, looy the seventeen, son of looy the sixteen and marry antonette." "you! at your age! no! you mean you're the late charlemagne; you must be six or seven hundred years old, at the very least." "trouble has done it, bilgewater, trouble has done it; trouble has brung these gray hairs and this premature balditude. yes, gentlemen, you see before you, in blue jeans and misery, the wanderin', exiled, trampled-on, and sufferin' rightful king of france." well, he cried and took on so that me and jim didn't know hardly what to do, we was so sorry--and so glad and proud we'd got him with us, too. so we set in, like we done before with the duke, and tried to comfort _him._ but he said it warn't no use, nothing but to be dead and done with it all could do him any good; though he said it often made him feel easier and better for a while if people treated him according to his rights, and got down on one knee to speak to him, and always called him "your majesty," and waited on him first at meals, and didn't set down in his presence till he asked them. so jim and me set to majestying him, and doing this and that and t'other for him, and standing up till he told us we might set down. this done him heaps of good, and so he got cheerful and comfortable. but the duke kind of soured on him, and didn't look a bit satisfied with the way things was going; still, the king acted real friendly towards him, and said the duke's great-grandfather and all the other dukes of bilgewater was a good deal thought of by _his_ father, and was allowed to come to the palace considerable; but the duke stayed huffy a good while, till by and by the king says: "like as not we got to be together a blamed long time on this h-yer raft, bilgewater, and so what's the use o' your bein' sour? it 'll only make things oncomfortable. it ain't my fault i warn't born a duke, it ain't your fault you warn't born a king--so what's the use to worry? make the best o' things the way you find 'em, says i--that's my motto. this ain't no bad thing that we've struck here--plenty grub and an easy life--come, give us your hand, duke, and le's all be friends." the duke done it, and jim and me was pretty glad to see it. it took away all the uncomfortableness and we felt mighty good over it, because it would 'a' been a miserable business to have any unfriendliness on the raft; for what you want, above all things, on a raft, is for everybody to be satisfied, and feel right and kind towards the others. it didn't take me long to make up my mind that these liars warn't no kings nor dukes at all, but just low-down humbugs and frauds. but i never said nothing, never let on; kept it to myself; it's the best way; then you don't have no quarrels, and don't get into no trouble. if they wanted us to call them kings and dukes, i hadn't no objections, 'long as it would keep peace in the family; and it warn't no use to tell jim, so i didn't tell him. if i never learnt nothing else out of pap, i learnt that the best way to get along with his kind of people is to let them have their own way. chapter xx they asked us considerable many questions; wanted to know what we covered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the daytime instead of running--was jim a runaway nigger? says i: "goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run _south?_" no, they allowed he wouldn't. i had to account for things some way, so i says: "my folks was living in pike county, in missouri, where i was born, and they all died off but me and pa and my brother ike. pa, he 'lowed he'd break up and go down and live with uncle ben, who's got a little one-horse place on the river forty-four mile below orleans. pa was pretty poor, and had some debts; so when he'd squared up there warn't nothing left but sixteen dollars and our nigger, jim. that warn't enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck passage nor no other way. well, when the river rose pa had a streak of luck one day; he ketched this piece of a raft; so we reckoned we'd go down to orleans on it. pa's luck didn't hold out; a steamboat run over the forrard corner of the raft one night, and we all went overboard and dove under the wheel; jim and me come up all right, but pa was drunk, and ike was only four years old, so they never come up no more. well, for the next day or two we had considerable trouble, because people was always coming out in skiffs and trying to take jim away from me, saying they believed he was a runaway nigger. we don't run daytimes no more now; nights they don't bother us." the duke says: "leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in the daytime if we want to. i'll think the thing over--i'll invent a plan that 'll fix it. we'll let it alone for to-day, because of course we don't want to go by that town yonder in daylight--it mightn't be healthy." towards night it begun to darken up and look like rain; the heat-lightning was squirting around low down in the sky, and the leaves was beginning to shiver--it was going to be pretty ugly, it was easy to see that. so the duke and the king went to overhauling our wigwam, to see what the beds was like. my bed was a straw tick--better than jim's, which was a corn-shuck tick; there's always cobs around about in a shuck tick, and they poke into you and hurt; and when you roll over the dry shucks sound like you was rolling over in a pile of dead leaves; it makes such a rustling that you wake up. well, the duke allowed he would take my bed; but the king allowed he wouldn't. he says: "i should 'a' reckoned the difference in rank would a sejested to you that a corn-shuck bed warn't just fitten for me to sleep on. your grace 'll take the shuck bed yourself." jim and me was in a sweat again for a minute, being afraid there was going to be some more trouble amongst them; so we was pretty glad when the duke says: "'tis my fate to be always ground into the mire under the iron heel of oppression. misfortune has broken my once haughty spirit; i yield, i submit; 'tis my fate. i am alone in the world--let me suffer; i can bear it." we got away as soon as it was good and dark. the king told us to stand well out towards the middle of the river, and not show a light till we got a long ways below the town. we come in sight of the little bunch of lights by and by--that was the town, you know--and slid by, about a half a mile out, all right. when we was three-quarters of a mile below we hoisted up our signal lantern; and about ten o'clock it come on to rain and blow and thunder and lighten like everything; so the king told us to both stay on watch till the weather got better; then him and the duke crawled into the wigwam and turned in for the night. it was my watch below till twelve, but i wouldn't 'a' turned in anyway if i'd had a bed, because a body don't see such a storm as that every day in the week, not by a long sight. my souls, how the wind did scream along! and every second or two there'd come a glare that lit up the white-caps for a half a mile around, and you'd see the islands looking dusty through the rain, and the trees thrashing around in the wind; then comes a _h-whack!_--bum! bum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum--and the thunder would go rumbling and grumbling away, and quit--and then _rip_ comes another flash and another sock-dolager. the waves most washed me off the raft sometimes, but i hadn't any clothes on, and didn't mind. we didn't have no trouble about snags; the lightning was glaring and flittering around so constant that we could see them plenty soon enough to throw her head this way or that and miss them. i had the middle watch, you know, but i was pretty sleepy by that time, so jim he said he would stand the first half of it for me; he was always mighty good that way, jim was. i crawled into the wigwam, but the king and the duke had their legs sprawled around so there warn't no show for me; so i laid outside--i didn't mind the rain, because it was warm, and the waves warn't running so high now. about two they come up again, though, and jim was going to call me; but he changed his mind, because he reckoned they warn't high enough yet to do any harm; but he was mistaken about that, for pretty soon all of a sudden along comes a regular ripper and washed me overboard. it most killed jim a-laughing. he was the easiest nigger to laugh that ever was, anyway. i took the watch, and jim he laid down and snored away; and by and by the storm let up for good and all; and the first cabin-light that showed i rousted him out, and we slid the raft into hiding-quarters for the day. the king got out an old ratty deck of cards after breakfast, and him and the duke played seven-up awhile, five cents a game. then they got tired of it, and allowed they would "lay out a campaign," as they called it. the duke went down into his carpet-bag, and fetched up a lot of little printed bills and read them out loud. one bill said, "the celebrated dr. armand de montalban, of paris," would "lecture on the science of phrenology" at such and such a place, on the blank day of blank, at ten cents admission, and "furnish charts of character at twenty-five cents apiece." the duke said that was _him._ in another bill he was the "world-renowned shakespearian tragedian, garrick the younger, of drury lane, london." in other bills he had a lot of other names and done other wonderful things, like finding water and gold with a "divining-rod," "dissipating witch spells," and so on. by and by he says: "but the histrionic muse is the darling. have you ever trod the boards, royalty?" "no," says the king. "you shall, then, before you're three days older, fallen grandeur," says the duke. "the first good town we come to we'll hire a hall and do the swordfight in 'richard iii.' and the balcony scene in 'romeo and juliet.' how does that strike you?" "i'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, bilgewater; but, you see, i don't know nothing about play-actin', and hain't ever seen much of it. i was too small when pap used to have 'em at the palace. do you reckon you can learn me?" "easy!" "all right. i'm jist a-freezin' for something fresh, anyway. le's commence right away." so the duke he told him all about who romeo was and who juliet was, and said he was used to being romeo, so the king could be juliet. "but if juliet's such a young gal, duke, my peeled head and my white whiskers is goin' to look oncommon odd on her, maybe." "no, don't you worry; these country jakes won't ever think of that. besides, you know, you'll be in costume, and that makes all the difference in the world; juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the moonlight before she goes to bed, and she's got on her nightgown and her ruffled nightcap. here are the costumes for the parts." he got out two or three curtain-calico suits, which he said was meedyevil armor for richard iii. and t'other chap, and a long white cotton nightshirt and a ruffled nightcap to match. the king was satisfied; so the duke got out his book and read the parts over in the most splendid spread-eagle way, prancing around and acting at the same time, to show how it had got to be done; then he give the book to the king and told him to get his part by heart. there was a little one-horse town about three mile down the bend, and after dinner the duke said he had ciphered out his idea about how to run in daylight without it being dangersome for jim; so he allowed he would go down to the town and fix that thing. the king allowed he would go, too, and see if he couldn't strike something. we was out of coffee, so jim said i better go along with them in the canoe and get some. when we got there there warn't nobody stirring; streets empty, and perfectly dead and still, like sunday. we found a sick nigger sunning himself in a back yard, and he said everybody that warn't too young or too sick or too old was gone to camp-meeting, about two mile back in the woods. the king got the directions, and allowed he'd go and work that camp-meeting for all it was worth, and i might go, too. the duke said what he was after was a printing-office. we found it; a little bit of a concern, up over a carpenter-shop--carpenters and printers all gone to the meeting, and no doors locked. it was a dirty, littered-up place, and had ink-marks, and handbills with pictures of horses and runaway niggers on them, all over the walls. the duke shed his coat and said he was all right now. so me and the king lit out for the camp-meeting. we got there in about a half an hour fairly dripping, for it was a most awful hot day. there was as much as a thousand people there from twenty mile around. the woods was full of teams and wagons, hitched everywheres, feeding out of the wagon-troughs and stomping to keep off the flies. there was sheds made out of poles and roofed over with branches, where they had lemonade and gingerbread to sell, and piles of watermelons and green corn and such-like truck. the preaching was going on under the same kinds of sheds, only they was bigger and held crowds of people. the benches was made out of outside slabs of logs, with holes bored in the round side to drive sticks into for legs. they didn't have no backs. the preachers had high platforms to stand on at one end of the sheds. the women had on sun-bonnets; and some had linsey-woolsey frocks, some gingham ones, and a few of the young ones had on calico. some of the young men was barefooted, and some of the children didn't have on any clothes but just a tow-linen shirt. some of the old women was knitting, and some of the young folks was courting on the sly. the first shed we come to the preacher was lining out a hymn. he lined out two lines, everybody sung it, and it was kind of grand to hear it, there was so many of them and they done it in such a rousing way; then he lined out two more for them to sing--and so on. the people woke up more and more, and sung louder and louder; and towards the end some begun to groan, and some begun to shout. then the preacher begun to preach, and begun in earnest, too; and went weaving first to one side of the platform and then the other, and then a-leaning down over the front of it, with his arms and his body going all the time, and shouting his words out with all his might; and every now and then he would hold up his bible and spread it open, and kind of pass it around this way and that, shouting, "it's the brazen serpent in the wilderness! look upon it and live!" and people would shout out, "glory!--a-a-_men_!" and so he went on, and the people groaning and crying and saying amen: "oh, come to the mourners' bench! come, black with sin! (_amen!_) come, sick and sore! (_amen!_) come, lame and halt and blind! (_amen!_) come, pore and needy, sunk in shame! (_a-a-men!_) come, all that's worn and soiled and suffering!--come with a broken spirit! come with a contrite heart! come in your rags and sin and dirt! the waters that cleanse is free, the door of heaven stands open--oh, enter in and be at rest!" (_a-a-men! glory, glory hallelujah!_) and so on. you couldn't make out what the preacher said any more, on account of the shouting and crying. folks got up everywheres in the crowd, and worked their way just by main strength to the mourners' bench, with the tears running down their faces; and when all the mourners had got up there to the front benches in a crowd, they sung and shouted and flung themselves down on the straw, just crazy and wild. well, the first i knowed the king got a-going, and you could hear him over everybody; and next he went a-charging up onto the platform, and the preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and he done it. he told them he was a pirate--been a pirate for thirty years out in the indian ocean--and his crew was thinned out considerable last spring in a fight, and he was home now to take out some fresh men, and thanks to goodness he'd been robbed last night and put ashore off of a steamboat without a cent, and he was glad of it; it was the blessedest thing that ever happened to him, because he was a changed man now, and happy for the first time in his life; and, poor as he was, he was going to start right off and work his way back to the indian ocean, and put in the rest of his life trying to turn the pirates into the true path; for he could do it better than anybody else, being acquainted with all pirate crews in that ocean; and though it would take him a long time to get there without money, he would get there anyway, and every time he convinced a pirate he would say to him, "don't you thank me, don't you give me no credit; it all belongs to them dear people in pokeville camp-meeting, natural brothers and benefactors of the race, and that dear preacher there, the truest friend a pirate ever had!" and then he busted into tears, and so did everybody. then somebody sings out, "take up a collection for him, take up a collection!" well, a half a dozen made a jump to do it, but somebody sings out, "let _him_ pass the hat around!" then everybody said it, the preacher too. so the king went all through the crowd with his hat, swabbing his eyes, and blessing the people and praising them and thanking them for being so good to the poor pirates away off there; and every little while the prettiest kind of girls, with the tears running down their cheeks, would up and ask him would he let them kiss him for to remember him by; and he always done it; and some of them he hugged and kissed as many as five or six times--and he was invited to stay a week; and everybody wanted him to live in their houses, and said they'd think it was an honor; but he said as this was the last day of the camp-meeting he couldn't do no good, and besides he was in a sweat to get to the indian ocean right off and go to work on the pirates. when we got back to the raft and he come to count up he found he had collected eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents. and then he had fetched away a three-gallon jug of whisky, too, that he found under a wagon when he was starting home through the woods. the king said, take it all around, it laid over any day he'd ever put in in the missionarying line. he said it warn't no use talking, heathens don't amount to shucks alongside of pirates to work a camp-meeting with. the duke was thinking _he'd_ been doing pretty well till the king come to show up, but after that he didn't think so so much. he had set up and printed off two little jobs for farmers in that printing-office--horse bills--and took the money, four dollars. and he had got in ten dollars' worth of advertisements for the paper, which he said he would put in for four dollars if they would pay in advance--so they done it. the price of the paper was two dollars a year, but he took in three subscriptions for half a dollar apiece on condition of them paying him in advance; they were going to pay in cordwood and onions as usual, but he said he had just bought the concern and knocked down the price as low as he could afford it, and was going to run it for cash. he set up a little piece of poetry, which he made, himself, out of his own head--three verses--kind of sweet and saddish--the name of it was, "yes, crush, cold world, this breaking heart"--and he left that all set up and ready to print in the paper, and didn't charge nothing for it. well, he took in nine dollars and a half, and said he'd done a pretty square day's work for it. then he showed us another little job he'd printed and hadn't charged for, because it was for us. it had a picture of a runaway nigger with a bundle on a stick over his shoulder, and "$ reward" under it. the reading was all about jim and just described him to a dot. it said he run away from st. jacques's plantation, forty mile below new orleans, last winter, and likely went north, and whoever would catch him and send him back he could have the reward and expenses. "now," says the duke, "after to-night we can run in the daytime if we want to. whenever we see anybody coming we can tie jim hand and foot with a rope, and lay him in the wigwam and show this handbill and say we captured him up the river, and were too poor to travel on a steamboat, so we got this little raft on credit from our friends and are going down to get the reward. handcuffs and chains would look still better on jim, but it wouldn't go well with the story of us being so poor. too much like jewelry. ropes are the correct thing--we must preserve the unities, as we say on the boards." we all said the duke was pretty smart, and there couldn't be no trouble about running daytimes. we judged we could make miles enough that night to get out of the reach of the powwow we reckoned the duke's work in the printing-office was going to make in that little town; then we could boom right along if we wanted to. we laid low and kept still, and never shoved out till nearly ten o'clock; then we slid by, pretty wide away from the town, and didn't hoist our lantern till we was clear out of sight of it. when jim called me to take the watch at four in the morning, he says: "huck, does you reck'n we gwyne to run acrost any mo' kings on dis trip?" "no," i says, "i reckon not." "well," says he, "dat's all right, den. i doan' mine one er two kings, but dat's enough. dis one's powerful drunk, en de duke ain' much better." i found jim had been trying to get him to talk french, so he could hear what it was like; but he said he had been in this country so long, and had so much trouble, he'd forgot it. chapter xxi it was after sun-up now, but we went right on and didn't tie up. the king and the duke turned out by and by looking pretty rusty; but after they'd jumped overboard and took a swim it chippered them up a good deal. after breakfast the king he took a seat on the corner of the raft, and pulled off his boots and rolled up his britches, and let his legs dangle in the water, so as to be comfortable, and lit his pipe, and went to getting his "romeo and juliet" by heart. when he had got it pretty good him and the duke begun to practise it together. the duke had to learn him over and over again how to say every speech; and he made him sigh, and put his hand on his heart, and after a while he said he done it pretty well; "only," he says, "you mustn't bellow out _romeo!_ that way, like a bull--you must say it soft and sick and languishy, so--r-o-o-meo! that is the idea; for juliet's a dear sweet mere child of a girl, you know, and she doesn't bray like a jackass." well, next they got out a couple of long swords that the duke made out of oak laths, and begun to practise the sword-fight--the duke called himself richard iii.; and the way they laid on and pranced around the raft was grand to see. but by and by the king tripped and fell overboard, and after that they took a rest, and had a talk about all kinds of adventures they'd had in other times along the river. after dinner the duke says: "well, capet, we'll want to make this a first-class show, you know, so i guess we'll add a little more to it. we want a little something to answer encores with, anyway." "what's onkores, bilgewater?" the duke told him, and then says: "i'll answer by doing the highland fling or the sailor's hornpipe; and you--well, let me see--oh, i've got it--you can do hamlet's soliloquy." "hamlet's which?" "hamlet's soliloquy, you know; the most celebrated thing in shakespeare. ah, it's sublime, sublime! always fetches the house. i haven't got it in the book--i've only got one volume--but i reckon i can piece it out from memory. i'll just walk up and down a minute, and see if i can call it back from recollection's vaults." so he went to marching up and down, thinking, and frowning horrible every now and then; then he would hoist up his eyebrows; next he would squeeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of moan; next he would sigh, and next he'd let on to drop a tear. it was beautiful to see him. by and by he got it. he told us to give attention. then he strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg shoved forwards, and his arms stretched away up, and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky; and then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth; and after that, all through his speech, he howled, and spread around, and swelled up his chest, and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever _i_ see before. this is the speech--i learned it, easy enough, while he was learning it to the king: to be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin that makes calamity of so long life; for who would fardels bear, till birnam wood do come to dunsinane, but that the fear of something after death murders the innocent sleep, great nature's second course, and makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune than fly to others that we know not of. there's the respect must give us pause: wake duncan with thy knocking! i would thou couldst; for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take, in the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn in customary suits of solemn black, but that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns, breathes forth contagion on the world, and thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i' the adage, is sicklied o'er with care, and all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops, with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. but soft you, the fair ophelia: ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws, but get thee to a nunnery--go! well, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he could do it first rate. it seemed like he was just born for it; and when he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off. the first chance we got the duke he had some show-bills printed; and after that, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft was a most uncommon lively place, for there warn't nothing but sword-fighting and rehearsing--as the duke called it--going on all the time. one morning, when we was pretty well down the state of arkansaw, we come in sight of a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we tied up about three-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was shut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and all of us but jim took the canoe and went down there to see if there was any chance in that place for our show. we struck it mighty lucky; there was going to be a circus there that afternoon, and the country-people was already beginning to come in, in all kinds of old shackly wagons, and on horses. the circus would leave before night, so our show would have a pretty good chance. the duke he hired the court-house, and we went around and stuck up our bills. they read like this: shaksperean revival ! ! ! wonderful attraction! for one night only! the world renowned tragedians, david garrick the younger, of drury lane theatre, london, and edmund kean the elder, of the royal haymarket theatre, whitechapel, pudding lane, piccadilly, london, and the royal continental theatres, in their sublime shaksperean spectacle entitled the balcony scene in romeo and juliet ! ! ! romeo...................mr. garrick juliet..................mr. kean assisted by the whole strength of the company! new costumes, new scenery, new appointments! also: the thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling broad-sword conflict in richard iii. ! ! ! richard iii.............mr. garrick richmond................mr. kean also: (by special request) hamlet's immortal soliloquy ! ! by the illustrious kean! done by him consecutive nights in paris! for one night only, on account of imperative european engagements! admission cents; children and servants, cents. then we went loafing around town. the stores and houses was most all old, shackly, dried-up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted; they was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of reach of the water when the river was overflowed. the houses had little gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in them but jimpson-weeds, and sunflowers, and ash-piles, and old curled-up boots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out tinware. the fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on at different times; and they leaned every which way, and had gates that didn't generly have but one hinge--a leather one. some of the fences had been whitewashed some time or another, but the duke said it was in columbus's time, like enough. there was generly hogs in the garden, and people driving them out. all the stores was along one street. they had white domestic awnings in front, and the country-people hitched their horses to the awning-posts. there was empty dry-goods boxes under the awnings, and loafers roosting on them all day long, whittling them with their barlow knives; and chawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and stretching--a mighty ornery lot. they generly had on yellow straw hats most as wide as an umbrella, but didn't wear no coats nor waistcoats; they called one another bill, and buck, and hank, and joe, and andy, and talked lazy and drawly, and used considerable many cuss-words. there was as many as one loafer leaning up against every awning-post, and he most always had his hands in his britches pockets, except when he fetched them out to lend a chaw of tobacco or scratch. what a body was hearing amongst them all the time was: "gimme a chaw 'v tobacker, hank." "cain't; i hain't got but one chaw left. ask bill." maybe bill he gives him a chaw; maybe he lies and says he ain't got none. some of them kinds of loafers never has a cent in the world, nor a chaw of tobacco of their own. they get all their chawing by borrowing; they say to a fellow, "i wisht you'd len' me a chaw, jack, i jist this minute give ben thompson the last chaw i had"--which is a lie pretty much every time; it don't fool nobody but a stranger; but jack ain't no stranger, so he says: "_you_ give him a chaw, did you? so did your sister's cat's grandmother. you pay me back the chaws you've awready borry'd off'n me, lafe buckner, then i'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge you no back intrust, nuther." "well, i _did_ pay you back some of it wunst." "yes, you did--'bout six chaws. you borry'd store tobacker and paid back nigger-head." store tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellows mostly chaws the natural leaf twisted. when they borrow a chaw they don't generly cut it off with a knife, but set the plug in between their teeth, and gnaw with their teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get it in two; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks mournful at it when it's handed back, and says, sarcastic: "here, gimme the _chaw_, and you take the _plug_." [illustration:"'gimme a chaw'"] all the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't nothing else _but_ mud--mud as black as tar and nigh about a foot deep in some places, and two or three inches deep in _all_ the places. the hogs loafed and grunted around everywheres. you'd see a muddy sow and a litter of pigs come lazying along the street and whollop herself right down in the way, where folks had to walk around her, and she'd stretch out and shut her eyes and wave her ears whilst the pigs was milking her, and look as happy as if she was on salary. and pretty soon you'd hear a loafer sing out, "hi! _so_ boy! sick him, tige!" and away the sow would go, squealing most horrible, with a dog or two swinging to each ear, and three or four dozen more a-coming; and then you would see all the loafers get up and watch the thing out of sight, and laugh at the fun and look grateful for the noise. then they'd settle back again till there was a dog-fight. there couldn't anything wake them up all over, and make them happy all over, like a dog-fight--unless it might be putting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to him, or tying a tin pan to his tail and see him run himself to death. on the river-front some of the houses was sticking out over the bank, and they was bowed and bent, and about ready to tumble in. the people had moved out of them. the bank was caved away under one corner of some others, and that corner was hanging over. people lived in them yet, but it was dangersome, because sometimes a strip of land as wide as a house caves in at a time. sometimes a belt of land a quarter of a mile deep will start in and cave along and cave along till it all caves into the river in one summer. such a town as that has to be always moving back, and back, and back, because the river's always gnawing at it. the nearer it got to noon that day the thicker and thicker was the wagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time. families fetched their dinners with them from the country, and eat them in the wagons. there was considerable whisky-drinking going on, and i seen three fights. by and by somebody sings out: "here comes old boggs!--in from the country for his little old monthly drunk; here he comes, boys!" all the loafers looked glad; i reckoned they was used to having fun out of boggs. one of them says: "wonder who he's a-gwyne to chaw up this time. if he'd a-chawed up all the men he's ben a-gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year he'd have considerable ruputation now." another one says, "i wisht old boggs 'd threaten me, 'cuz then i'd know i warn't gwyne to die for a thousan' year." boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping and yelling like an injun, and singing out: "cler the track, thar. i'm on the waw-path, and the price uv coffins is a-gwyne to raise." he was drunk, and weaving about in his saddle; he was over fifty year old, and had a very red face. everybody yelled at him and laughed at him and sassed him, and he sassed back, and said he'd attend to them and lay them out in their regular turns, but he couldn't wait now because he'd come to town to kill old colonel sherburn, and his motto was, "meat first, and spoon vittles to top off on." he see me, and rode up and says: "whar'd you come f'm, boy? you prepared to die?" then he rode on. i was scared, but a man says: "he don't mean nothing; he's always a-carryin' on like that when he's drunk. he's the best-naturedest old fool in arkansaw--never hurt nobody, drunk nor sober." boggs rode up before the biggest store in town, and bent his head down so he could see under the curtain of the awning and yells: "come out here, sherburn! come out and meet the man you've swindled. you're the houn' i'm after, and i'm a-gwyne to have you, too!" and so he went on, calling sherburn everything he could lay his tongue to, and the whole street packed with people listening and laughing and going on. by and by a proud-looking man about fifty-five--and he was a heap the best-dressed man in that town, too--steps out of the store, and the crowd drops back on each side to let him come. he says to boggs, mighty ca'm and slow--he says: "i'm tired of this, but i'll endure it till one o'clock. till one o'clock, mind--no longer. if you open your mouth against me only once after that time you can't travel so far but i will find you." then he turns and goes in. the crowd looked mighty sober; nobody stirred, and there warn't no more laughing. boggs rode off blackguarding sherburn as loud as he could yell, all down the street; and pretty soon back he comes and stops before the store, still keeping it up. some men crowded around him and tried to get him to shut up, but he wouldn't; they told him it would be one o'clock in about fifteen minutes, and so he _must_ go home--he must go right away. but it didn't do no good. he cussed away with all his might, and throwed his hat down in the mud and rode over it, and pretty soon away he went a-raging down the street again, with his gray hair a-flying. everybody that could get a chance at him tried their best to coax him off of his horse so they could lock him up and get him sober; but it warn't no use--up the street he would tear again, and give sherburn another cussing. by and by somebody says: "go for his daughter!--quick, go for his daughter; sometimes he'll listen to her. if anybody can persuade him, she can." so somebody started on a run. i walked down street a ways and stopped. in about five or ten minutes here comes boggs again, but not on his horse. he was a-reeling across the street towards me, bareheaded, with a friend on both sides of him a-holt of his arms and hurrying him along. he was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't hanging back any, but was doing some of the hurrying himself. somebody sings out: "boggs!" i looked over there to see who said it, and it was that colonel sherburn. he was standing perfectly still in the street, and had a pistol raised in his right hand--not aiming it, but holding it out with the barrel tilted up towards the sky. the same second i see a young girl coming on the run, and two men with her. boggs and the men turned round to see who called him, and when they see the pistol the men jumped to one side, and the pistol-barrel come down slow and steady to a level--both barrels cocked. boggs throws up both of his hands and says, "o lord, don't shoot!" bang! goes the first shot, and he staggers back, clawing at the air--bang! goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards onto the ground, heavy and solid, with his arms spread out. that young girl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she throws herself on her father, crying, and saying, "oh, he's killed him, he's killed him!" the crowd closed up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another, with their necks stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to shove them back and shouting, "back, back! give him air, give him air!" colonel sherburn he tossed his pistol onto the ground, and turned around on his heels and walked off. they took boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just the same, and the whole town following, and i rushed and got a good place at the window, where i was close to him and could see in. they laid him on the floor and put one large bible under his head, and opened another one and spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt first, and i seen where one of the bullets went in. he made about a dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the bible up when he drawed in his breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it out--and after that he laid still; he was dead. then they pulled his daughter away from him, screaming and crying, and took her off. she was about sixteen, and very sweet and gentle looking, but awful pale and scared. well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrouging and pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people that had the places wouldn't give them up, and folks behind them was saying all the time, "say, now, you've looked enough, you fellows; 'tain't right and 'tain't fair for you to stay thar all the time, and never give nobody a chance; other folks has their rights as well as you." there was considerable jawing back, so i slid out, thinking maybe there was going to be trouble. the streets was full, and everybody was excited. everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened, and there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows, stretching their necks and listening. one long, lanky man, with long hair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on the back of his head, and a crooked-handled cane, marked out the places on the ground where boggs stood and where sherburn stood, and the people following him around from one place to t'other and watching everything he done, and bobbing their heads to show they understood, and stooping a little and resting their hands on their thighs to watch him mark the places on the ground with his cane; and then he stood up straight and stiff where sherburn had stood, frowning and having his hat-brim down over his eyes, and sung out, "boggs!" and then fetched his cane down slow to a level, and says "bang!" staggered backwards, says "bang!" again, and fell down flat on his back. the people that had seen the thing said he done it perfect; said it was just exactly the way it all happened. then as much as a dozen people got out their bottles and treated him. well, by and by somebody said sherburn ought to be lynched. in about a minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and yelling, and snatching down every clothes-line they come to to do the hanging with. chapter xxii they swarmed up towards sherburn's house, a-whooping and raging like injuns, and everything had to clear the way or get run over and tromped to mush, and it was awful to see. children was heeling it ahead of the mob, screaming and trying to get out of the way; and every window along the road was full of women's heads, and there was nigger boys in every tree, and bucks and wenches looking over every fence; and as soon as the mob would get nearly to them they would break and skaddle back out of reach. lots of the women and girls was crying and taking on, scared most to death. they swarmed up in front of sherburn's palings as thick as they could jam together, and you couldn't hear yourself think for the noise. it was a little twenty-foot yard. some sung out "tear down the fence! tear down the fence!" then there was a racket of ripping and tearing and smashing, and down she goes, and the front wall of the crowd begins to roll in like a wave. just then sherburn steps out onto the roof of his little front porch, with a double-barrel gun in his hand, and takes his stand, perfectly ca'm and deliberate, not saying a word. the racket stopped, and the wave sucked back. sherburn never said a word--just stood there, looking down. the stillness was awful creepy and uncomfortable. sherburn run his eye slow along the crowd; and wherever it struck the people tried a little to outgaze him, but they couldn't; they dropped their eyes and looked sneaky. then pretty soon sherburn sort of laughed; not the pleasant kind, but the kind that makes you feel like when you are eating bread that's got sand in it. then he says, slow and scornful: "the idea of _you_ lynching anybody! it's amusing. the idea of you thinking you had pluck enough to lynch a _man!_ because you're brave enough to tar and feather poor friendless cast-out women that come along here, did that make you think you had grit enough to lay your hands on a _man?_ why, a _man's_ safe in the hands of ten thousand of your kind--as long as it's daytime and you're not behind him. "do i know you? i know you clear through. i was born and raised in the south, and i've lived in the north; so i know the average all around. the average man's a coward. in the north he lets anybody walk over him that wants to, and goes home and prays for a humble spirit to bear it. in the south one man, all by himself, has stopped a stage full of men in the daytime, and robbed the lot. your newspapers call you a brave people so much that you think you are braver than any other people--whereas you're just _as_ brave, and no braver. why don't your juries hang murderers? because they're afraid the man's friends will shoot them in the back, in the dark--and it's just what they _would_ do. "so they always acquit; and then a _man_ goes in the night, with a hundred masked cowards at his back, and lynches the rascal. your mistake is, that you didn't bring a man with you; that's one mistake, and the other is that you didn't come in the dark and fetch your masks. you brought _part_ of a man--buck harkness, there--and if you hadn't had him to start you, you'd 'a' taken it out in blowing. "you didn't want to come. the average man don't like trouble and danger. _you_ don't like trouble and danger. but if only _half_ a man--like buck harkness, there--shouts 'lynch him! lynch him!' you're afraid to back down--afraid you'll be found out to be what you are--_cowards_--and so you raise a yell, and hang yourselves onto that half-a-man's coat-tail, and come raging up here, swearing what big things you're going to do. the pitifulest thing out is a mob; that's what an army is--a mob; they don't fight with courage that's born in them, but with courage that's borrowed from their mass, and from their officers. but a mob without any _man_ at the head of it is _beneath_ pitifulness. now the thing for _you_ to do is to droop your tails and go home and crawl in a hole. if any real lynching's going to be done it will be done in the dark, southern fashion; and when they come they'll bring their masks, and fetch a _man_ along. now _leave_--and take your half-a-man with you"--tossing his gun up across his left arm and cocking it when he says this. the crowd washed back sudden, and then broke all apart, and went tearing off every which way, and buck harkness he heeled it after them, looking tolerable cheap. i could 'a' stayed if i wanted to, but i didn't want to. i went to the circus and loafed around the back side till the watchman went by, and then dived in under the tent. i had my twenty-dollar gold piece and some other money, but i reckoned i better save it, because there ain't no telling how soon you are going to need it, away from home and amongst strangers that way. you can't be too careful. i ain't opposed to spending money on circuses when there ain't no other way, but there ain't no use in _wasting_ it on them. it was a real bully circus. it was the splendidest sight that ever was when they all come riding in, two and two, and gentleman and lady, side by side, the men just in their drawers and undershirts, and no shoes nor stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs easy and comfortable--there must 'a' been twenty of them--and every lady with a lovely complexion, and perfectly beautiful, and looking just like a gang of real sure-enough queens, and dressed in clothes that cost millions of dollars, and just littered with diamonds. it was a powerful fine sight; i never see anything so lovely. and then one by one they got up and stood, and went a-weaving around the ring so gentle and wavy and graceful, the men looking ever so tall and airy and straight, with their heads bobbing and skimming along, away up there under the tent-roof, and every lady's rose-leafy dress flapping soft and silky around her hips, and she looking like the most loveliest parasol. and then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one foot out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning more and more, and the ringmaster going round and round the center pole, cracking his whip and shouting "hi!--hi!" and the clown cracking jokes behind him; and by and by all hands dropped the reins, and every lady put her knuckles on her hips and every gentleman folded his arms, and then how the horses did lean over and hump themselves! and so one after the other they all skipped off into the ring, and made the sweetest bow i ever see, and then scampered out, and everybody clapped their hands and went just about wild. well, all through the circus they done the most astonishing things; and all the time that clown carried on so it most killed the people. the ringmaster couldn't ever say a word to him but he was back at him quick as a wink with the funniest things a body ever said; and how he ever _could_ think of so many of them, and so sudden and so pat, was what i couldn't no way understand. why, i couldn't 'a' thought of them in a year. and by and by a drunken man tried to get into the ring--said he wanted to ride; said he could ride as well as anybody that ever was. they argued and tried to keep him out, but he wouldn't listen, and the whole show come to a standstill. then the people begun to holler at him and make fun of him, and that made him mad, and he begun to rip and tear; so that stirred up the people, and a lot of men begun to pile down off of the benches and swarm toward the ring, saying, "knock him down! throw him out!" and one or two women begun to scream. so, then, the ringmaster he made a little speech, and said he hoped there wouldn't be no disturbance, and if the man would promise he wouldn't make no more trouble he would let him ride if he thought he could stay on the horse. so everybody laughed and said all right, and the man got on. the minute he was on, the horse begun to rip and tear and jump and cavort around, with two circus men hanging on to his bridle trying to hold him, and the drunk man hanging on to his neck, and his heels flying in the air every jump, and the whole crowd of people standing up shouting and laughing till tears rolled down. and at last, sure enough, all the circus men could do, the horse broke loose, and away he went like the very nation, round and round the ring, with that sot laying down on him and hanging to his neck, with first one leg hanging most to the ground on one side, and then t'other one on t'other side, and the people just crazy. it warn't funny to me, though; i was all of a tremble to see his danger. but pretty soon he struggled up astraddle and grabbed the bridle, a-reeling this way and that; and the next minute he sprung up and dropped the bridle and stood! and the horse a-going like a house afire, too. he just stood up there, a-sailing around as easy and comfortable as if he warn't ever drunk in his life--and then he begun to pull off his clothes and sling them. he shed them so thick they kind of clogged up the air, and altogether he shed seventeen suits. and, then, there he was, slim and handsome, and dressed the gaudiest and prettiest you ever saw, and he lit into that horse with his whip and made him fairly hum--and finally skipped off, and made his bow and danced off to the dressing-room, and everybody just a-howling with pleasure and astonishment. then the ringmaster he see how he had been fooled, and he _was_ the sickest ringmaster you ever see, i reckon. why, it was one of his own men! he had got up that joke all out of his own head, and never let on to nobody. well, i felt sheepish enough to be took in so, but i wouldn't 'a' been in that ringmaster's place, not for a thousand dollars. i don't know; there may be bullier circuses than what that one was, but i never struck them yet. anyways, it was plenty good enough for _me_; and wherever i run across it, it can have all of _my_ custom every time. well, that night we had _our_ show; but there warn't only about twelve people there--just enough to pay expenses. and they laughed all the time, and that made the duke mad; and everybody left, anyway, before the show was over, but one boy which was asleep. so the duke said these arkansaw lunkheads couldn't come up to shakespeare; what they wanted was low comedy--and maybe something ruther worse than low comedy, he reckoned. he said he could size their style. so next morning he got some big sheets of wrapping-paper and some black paint, and drawed off some handbills, and stuck them up all over the village. the bills said: at the court house! for nights only! _the world-renowned tragedians_ david garrick the younger! and edmund kean the elder! of the london and continental theatres, in their thrilling tragedy of the king's cameleopard, or the royal nonesuch ! ! ! _admission cents._ then at the bottom was the biggest line of all, which said: ladies and children not admitted "there," says he, "if that line don't fetch them, i don't know arkansaw!" chapter xxiii i well, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage and a curtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the house was jam full of men in no time. when the place couldn't hold no more, the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come onto the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech, and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and about edmund kean the elder, which was to play the main principal part in it; and at last when he'd got everybody's expectations up high enough, he rolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancing out on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over, ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a rainbow. and--but never mind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild, but it was awful funny. the people most killed themselves laughing; and when the king got done capering and capered off behind the scenes, they roared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed till he come back and done it over again, and after that they made him do it another time. well, it would make a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut. then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and says the great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, on accounts of pressing london engagements, where the seats is all sold already for it in drury lane; and then he makes them another bow, and says if he has succeeded in pleasing them and instructing them, he will be deeply obleeged if they will mention it to their friends and get them to come and see it. twenty people sings out: "what, is it over? is that _all_?" the duke says yes. then there was a fine time. everybody sings out, "sold!" and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and them tragedians. but a big, fine-looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts: "hold on! just a word, gentlemen." they stopped to listen. "we are sold--mighty badly sold. but we don't want to be the laughing-stock of this whole town, i reckon, and never hear the last of this thing as long as we live. _no_. what we want is to go out of here quiet, and talk this show up, and sell the _rest_ of the town! then we'll all be in the same boat. ain't that sensible?" ("you bet it is!--the jedge is right!" everybody sings out.) "all right, then--not a word about any sell. go along home, and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy." next day you couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendid that show was. house was jammed again that night, and we sold this crowd the same way. when me and the king and the duke got home to the raft we all had a supper; and by and by, about midnight, they made jim and me back her out and float her down the middle of the river, and fetch her in and hide her about two mile below town. the third night the house was crammed again--and they warn't new-comers this time, but people that was at the show the other two nights. i stood by the duke at the door, and i see that every man that went in had his pockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coat--and i see it warn't no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight. i smelt sickly eggs by the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if i know the signs of a dead cat being around, and i bet i do, there was sixty-four of them went in. i shoved in there for a minute, but it was too various for me; i couldn't stand it. well, when the place couldn't hold no more people the duke he give a fellow a quarter and told him to tend door for him a minute, and then he started around for the stage door, i after him; but the minute we turned the corner and was in the dark he says: "walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for the raft like the dickens was after you!" i done it, and he done the same. we struck the raft at the same time, and in less than two seconds we was gliding down-stream, all dark and still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a word. i reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the audience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under the wigwam, and says: "well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, duke?" he hadn't been up-town at all. we never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village. then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly laughed their bones loose over the way they'd served them people. the duke says: "greenhorns, flatheads! i knew the first house would keep mum and let the rest of the town get roped in; and i knew they'd lay for us the third night, and consider it was _their_ turn now. well, it _is_ their turn, and i'd give something to know how much they'd take for it. i _would_ just like to know how they're putting in their opportunity. they can turn it into a picnic if they want to--they brought plenty provisions." them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that three nights. i never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like that before. by and by, when they was asleep and snoring, jim says: "don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries on, huck?" "no," i says, "it don't." "why don't it, huck?" "well, it don't, because it's in the breed. i reckon they're all alike." "but, huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist what dey is; dey's reglar rapscallions." "well, that's what i'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as fur as i can make out." "is dat so?" "you read about them once--you'll see. look at henry the eight; this 'n' 's a sunday-school superintendent to _him_. and look at charles second, and louis fourteen, and louis fifteen, and james second, and edward second, and richard third, and forty more; besides all them saxon heptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise cain. my, you ought to seen old henry the eight when he was in bloom. he _was_ a blossom. he used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head next morning. and he would do it just as indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs. 'fetch up nell gwynn,' he says. they fetch her up. next morning, 'chop off her head!' and they chop it off. 'fetch up jane shore,' he says; and up she comes. next morning, 'chop off her head'--and they chop it off. 'ring up fair rosamun.' fair rosamun answers the bell. next morning, 'chop off her head.' and he made every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a book, and called it domesday book--which was a good name and stated the case. you don't know kings, jim, but i know them; and this old rip of ourn is one of the cleanest i've struck in history. well, henry he takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. how does he go at it--give notice?--give the country a show? no. all of a sudden he heaves all the tea in boston harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. that was _his_ style--he never give anybody a chance. he had suspicions of his father, the duke of wellington. well, what did he do? ask him to show up? no--drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. s'pose people left money laying around where he was--what did he do? he collared it. s'pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't set down there and see that he done it--what did he do? he always done the other thing. s'pose he opened his mouth--what then? if he didn't shut it up powerful quick he'd lose a lie every time. that's the kind of a bug henry was; and if we'd 'a' had him along 'stead of our kings he'd 'a' fooled that town a heap worse than ourn done. i don't say that ourn is lambs, because they ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain't nothing to _that_ old ram, anyway. all i say is, kings is kings, and you got to make allowances. take them all around, they're a mighty ornery lot. it's the way they're raised." "but dis one do _smell_ so like de nation, huck." "well, they all do, jim. we can't help the way a king smells; history don't tell no way." "now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some ways." "yes, a duke's different. but not very different. this one's a middling hard lot for a duke. when he's drunk there ain't no near-sighted man could tell him from a king." "well, anyways, i doan' hanker for no mo' un um, huck. dese is all i kin stan'." "it's the way i feel, too, jim. but we've got them on our hands, and we got to remember what they are, and make allowances. sometimes i wish we could hear of a country that's out of kings." what was the use to tell jim these warn't real kings and dukes? it wouldn't 'a' done no good; and, besides, it was just as i said: you couldn't tell them from the real kind. i went to sleep, and jim didn't call me when it was my turn. he often done that. when i waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there with his head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself. i didn't take notice nor let on. i knowed what it was about. he was thinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and he was low and homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in his life; and i do believe he cared just as much for his people as white folks does for their'n. it don't seem natural, but i reckon it's so. he was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged i was asleep, and saying, "po' little 'lizabeth! po' little johnny! it's mighty hard; i spec' i ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!" he was a mighty good nigger, jim was. but this time i somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young ones; and by and by he says: "what makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase i hear sumpn over yonder on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time i treat my little 'lizabeth so ornery. she warn't on'y 'bout fo' year ole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but she got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en i says to her, i says: "'shet de do'.' "she never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. it make me mad; en i says ag'in, mighty loud, i says: "'doan' you hear me? shet de do'!" "she jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up. i was a-bilin'! i says: "'i lay i _make_ you mine!' "en wid dat i fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'. den i went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en when i come back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open _yit_, en dat chile stannin' mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down. my, but i _wuz_ mad! i was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' den--it was a do' dat open innerds--jis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behine de chile, ker-_blam!_--en my lan', de chile never move'! my breff mos' hop outer me; en i feel so--so--i doan' know _how_ i feel. i crope out, all a-tremblin', en crope aroun' en open de do' easy en slow, en poke my head in behine de chile, sof' en still, en all uv a sudden i says _pow!_ jis' as loud as i could yell. she _never budge!_ oh, huck, i bust out a-cryin' en grab her up in my arms, en say, 'oh, de po' little thing! de lord god amighty fogive po' ole jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself as long's he live!' oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, huck, plumb deef en dumb--en i'd ben a-treat'n her so!" chapter xxiv next day, towards night, we laid up under a little willow towhead out in the middle, where there was a village on each side of the river, and the duke and the king begun to lay out a plan for working them towns. jim he spoke to the duke, and said he hoped it wouldn't take but a few hours, because it got mighty heavy and tiresome to him when he had to lay all day in the wigwam tied with the rope. you see, when we left him all alone we had to tie him, because if anybody happened on to him all by himself and not tied it wouldn't look much like he was a runaway nigger, you know. so the duke said it _was_ kind of hard to have to lay roped all day, and he'd cipher out some way to get around it. he was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he soon struck it. he dressed jim up in king lear's outfit--it was a long curtain-calico gown, and a white horse-hair wig and whiskers; and then he took his theater paint and painted jim's face and hands and ears and neck all over a dead, dull solid blue, like a man that's been drownded nine days. blamed if he warn't the horriblest-looking outrage i ever see. then the duke took and wrote out a sign on a shingle so: _sick arab--but harmless when not out of his head._ and he nailed that shingle to a lath, and stood the lath up four or five foot in front of the wigwam. jim was satisfied. he said it was a sight better than lying tied a couple of years every day, and trembling all over every time there was a sound. the duke told him to make himself free and easy, and if anybody ever come meddling around, he must hop out of the wigwam, and carry on a little, and fetch a howl or two like a wild beast, and he reckoned they would light out and leave him alone. which was sound enough judgment; but you take the average man, and he wouldn't wait for him to howl. why, he didn't only look like he was dead, he looked considerable more than that. these rapscallions wanted to try the nonesuch again, because there was so much money in it, but they judged it wouldn't be safe, because maybe the news might 'a' worked along down by this time. they couldn't hit no project that suited exactly; so at last the duke said he reckoned he'd lay off and work his brains an hour or two and see if he couldn't put up something on the arkansaw village; and the king he allowed he would drop over to t'other village without any plan, but just trust in providence to lead him the profitable way--meaning the devil, i reckon. we had all bought store clothes where we stopped last; and now the king put his'n on, and he told me to put mine on. i done it, of course. the king's duds was all black, and he did look real swell and starchy. i never knowed how clothes could change a body before. why, before, he looked like the orneriest old rip that ever was; but now, when he'd take off his new white beaver and make a bow and do a smile, he looked that grand and good and pious that you'd say he had walked right out of the ark, and maybe was old leviticus himself. jim cleaned up the canoe, and i got my paddle ready. there was a big steamboat laying at the shore away up under the point, about three mile above the town--been there a couple of hours, taking on freight. says the king: "seein' how i'm dressed, i reckon maybe i better arrive down from st. louis or cincinnati, or some other big place. go for the steamboat, huckleberry; we'll come down to the village on her." i didn't have to be ordered twice to go and take a steamboat ride. i fetched the shore a half a mile above the village, and then went scooting along the bluff bank in the easy water. pretty soon we come to a nice innocent-looking young country jake setting on a log swabbing the sweat off of his face, for it was powerful warm weather; and he had a couple of big carpet-bags by him. "run her nose inshore," says the king. i done it. "wher' you bound for, young man?" "for the steamboat; going to orleans." "git aboard," says the king. "hold on a minute, my servant 'll he'p you with them bags. jump out and he'p the gentleman, adolphus"--meaning me, i see. i done so, and then we all three started on again. the young chap was mighty thankful; said it was tough work toting his baggage such weather. he asked the king where he was going, and the king told him he'd come down the river and landed at the other village this morning, and now he was going up a few mile to see an old friend on a farm up there. the young fellow says: "when i first see you i says to myself, 'it's mr. wilks, sure, and he come mighty near getting here in time.' but then i says again, 'no, i reckon it ain't him, or else he wouldn't be paddling up the river.' you _ain't_ him, are you?" "no, my name's blodgett--elexander blodgett--_reverend_ elexander blodgett, i s'pose i must say, as i'm one o' the lord's poor servants. but still i'm jist as able to be sorry for mr. wilks for not arriving in time, all the same, if he's missed anything by it--which i hope he hasn't." "well, he don't miss any property by it, because he'll get that all right; but he's missed seeing his brother peter die--which he mayn't mind, nobody can tell as to that--but his brother would 'a' give anything in this world to see _him_ before he died; never talked about nothing else all these three weeks; hadn't seen him since they was boys together--and hadn't ever seen his brother william at all--that's the deef and dumb one--william ain't more than thirty or thirty-five. peter and george were the only ones that come out here; george was the married brother; him and his wife both died last year. harvey and william's the only ones that's left now; and, as i was saying, they haven't got here in time." "did anybody send 'em word?" "oh, yes; a month or two ago, when peter was first took; because peter said then that he sorter felt like he warn't going to get well this time. you see, he was pretty old, and george's g'yirls was too young to be much company for him, except mary jane, the red-headed one; and so he was kinder lonesome after george and his wife died, and didn't seem to care much to live. he most desperately wanted to see harvey--and william, too, for that matter--because he was one of them kind that can't bear to make a will. he left a letter behind for harvey, and said he'd told in it where his money was hid, and how he wanted the rest of the property divided up so george's g'yirls would be all right--for george didn't leave nothing. and that letter was all they could get him to put a pen to." "why do you reckon harvey don't come? wher' does he live?" "oh, he lives in england--sheffield--preaches there--hasn't ever been in this country. he hasn't had any too much time--and besides he mightn't 'a' got the letter at all, you know." "too bad, too bad he couldn't 'a' lived to see his brothers, poor soul. you going to orleans, you say?" "yes, but that ain't only a part of it. i'm going in a ship, next wednesday, for ryo janeero, where my uncle lives." "it's a pretty long journey. but it'll be lovely; i wisht i was a-going. is mary jane the oldest? how old is the others?" "mary jane's nineteen, susan's fifteen, and joanna's about fourteen--that's the one that gives herself to good works and has a hare-lip." "poor things! to be left alone in the cold world so." "well, they could be worse off. old peter had friends, and they ain't going to let them come to no harm. there's hobson, the babtis' preacher; and deacon lot hovey, and ben rucker, and abner shackleford, and levi bell, the lawyer; and dr. robinson, and their wives, and the widow bartley, and--well, there's a lot of them; but these are the ones that peter was thickest with, and used to write about sometimes, when he wrote home; so harvey 'll know where to look for friends when he gets here." well, the old man went on asking questions till he just fairly emptied that young fellow. blamed if he didn't inquire about everybody and everything in that blessed town, and all about the wilkses; and about peter's business--which was a tanner; and about george's--which was a carpenter; and about harvey's--which was a dissentering minister; and so on, and so on. then he says: "what did you want to walk all the way up to the steamboat for?" "because she's a big orleans boat, and i was afeard she mightn't stop there. when they're deep they won't stop for a hail. a cincinnati boat will, but this is a st. louis one." "was peter wilks well off?" "oh, yes, pretty well off. he had houses and land, and it's reckoned he left three or four thousand in cash hid up som'ers." "when did you say he died?" "i didn't say, but it was last night." "funeral to-morrow, likely?" "yes, 'bout the middle of the day." "well, it's all terrible sad; but we've all got to go, one time or another. so what we want to do is to be prepared; then we're all right." "yes, sir, it's the best way. ma used to always say that." when we struck the boat she was about done loading, and pretty soon she got off. the king never said nothing about going aboard, so i lost my ride, after all. when the boat was gone the king made me paddle up another mile to a lonesome place, and then he got ashore and says: "now hustle back, right off, and fetch the duke up here, and the new carpet-bags. and if he's gone over to t'other side, go over there and git him. and tell him to git himself up regardless. shove along, now." i see what _he_ was up to; but i never said nothing, of course. when i got back with the duke we hid the canoe, and then they set down on a log, and the king told him everything, just like the young fellow had said it--every last word of it. and all the time he was a-doing it he tried to talk like an englishman; and he done it pretty well, too, for a slouch. i can't imitate him, and so i ain't a-going to try to; but he really done it pretty good. then he says: "how are you on the deef and dumb, bilgewater?" the duke said, leave him alone for that; said he had played a deef and dumb person on the histrionic boards. so then they waited for a steamboat. about the middle of the afternoon a couple of little boats come along, but they didn't come from high enough up the river; but at last there was a big one, and they hailed her. she sent out her yawl, and we went aboard, and she was from cincinnati; and when they found we only wanted to go four or five mile they was booming mad, and gave us a cussing, and said they wouldn't land us. but the king was ca'm. he says: "if gentlemen kin afford to pay a dollar a mile apiece to be took on and put off in a yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em, can't it?" so they softened down and said it was all right; and when we got to the village they yawled us ashore. about two dozen men flocked down when they see the yawl a-coming, and when the king says: "kin any of you gentlemen tell me wher' mr. peter wilks lives?" they give a glance at one another, and nodded their heads, as much as to say, "what 'd i tell you?" then one of them says, kind of soft and gentle: "i'm sorry, sir, but the best we can do is to tell you where he _did_ live yesterday evening." sudden as winking the ornery old cretur went all to smash, and fell up against the man, and put his chin on his shoulder, and cried down his back, and says: "alas, alas, our poor brother--gone, and we never got to see him; oh, it's too, too hard!" then he turns around, blubbering, and makes a lot of idiotic signs to the duke on his hands, and blamed if he didn't drop a carpet-bag and bust out a-crying. if they warn't the beatenest lot, them two frauds, that ever i struck. well, the men gathered around and sympathized with them, and said all sorts of kind things to them, and carried their carpet-bags up the hill for them, and let them lean on them and cry, and told the king all about his brother's last moments, and the king he told it all over again on his hands to the duke, and both of them took on about that dead tanner like they'd lost the twelve disciples. well, if ever i struck anything like it, i'm a nigger. it was enough to make a body ashamed of the human race. chapter xxv the news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people tearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on their coats as they come. pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd, and the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march. the windows and dooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence: "is it _them?_" and somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say: "you bet it is." when we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the three girls was standing in the door. mary jane _was_ red-headed, but that don't make no difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her face and her eyes was all lit up like glory, she was so glad her uncles was come. the king he spread his arms, and mary jane she jumped for them, and the hare-lip jumped for the duke, and there they _had_ it! everybody most, leastways women, cried for joy to see them meet again at last and have such good times. then the king he hunched the duke private--i see him do it--and then he looked around and see the coffin, over in the corner on two chairs; so then him and the duke, with a hand across each other's shoulder, and t'other hand to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody dropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping, people saying "'sh!" and all the men taking their hats off and drooping their heads, so you could 'a' heard a pin fall. and when they got there they bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then they bust out a-crying so you could 'a' heard them to orleans, most; and then they put their arms around each other's necks, and hung their chins over each other's shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four, i never see two men leak the way they done. and, mind you, everybody was doing the same; and the place was that damp i never see anything like it. then one of them got on one side of the coffin, and t'other on t'other side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the coffin, and let on to pray all to themselves. well, when it come to that it worked the crowd like you never see anything like it, and everybody broke down and went to sobbing right out loud--the poor girls, too; and every woman, nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a word, and kissed them, solemn, on the forehead, and then put their hand on their head, and looked up towards the sky, with the tears running down, and then busted out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give the next woman a show. i never see anything so disgusting. well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and works himself up and slobbers out a speech, all full of tears and flapdoodle, about its being a sore trial for him and his poor brother to lose the diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long journey of four thousand mile, but it's a trial that's sweetened and sanctified to us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he thanks them out of his heart and out of his brother's heart, because out of their mouths they can't, words being too weak and cold, and all that kind of rot and slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers out a pious goody-goody amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying fit to bust. and the minute the words were out of his mouth somebody over in the crowd struck up the doxolojer, and everybody joined in with all their might, and it just warmed you up and made you feel as good as church letting out. music is a good thing; and after all that soul-butter and hogwash i never see it freshen up things so, and sound so honest and bully. then the king begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his nieces would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the family would take supper here with them this evening, and help set up with the ashes of the diseased; and says if his poor brother laying yonder could speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that was very dear to him, and mentioned often in his letters; and so he will name the same, to wit, as follows, viz.:--rev. mr. hobson, and deacon lot hovey, and mr. ben rucker, and abner shackleford, and levi bell, and dr. robinson, and their wives, and the widow bartley. rev. hobson and dr. robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting together--that is, i mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to t'other world, and the preacher was pinting him right. lawyer bell was away up to louisville on business. but the rest was on hand, and so they all come and shook hands with the king and thanked him and talked to him; and then they shook hands with the duke and didn't say nothing, but just kept a-smiling and bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst he made all sorts of signs with his hands and said "goo-goo--goo-goo-goo" all the time, like a baby that can't talk. so the king he blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty much everybody and dog in town, by his name, and mentioned all sorts of little things that happened one time or another in the town, or to george's family, or to peter. and he always let on that peter wrote him the things; but that was a lie: he got every blessed one of them out of that young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat. then mary jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the king he read it out loud and cried over it. it give the dwelling-house and three thousand dollars, gold, to the girls; and it give the tanyard (which was doing a good business), along with some other houses and land (worth about seven thousand), and three thousand dollars in gold to harvey and william, and told where the six thousand cash was hid down cellar. so these two frauds said they'd go and fetch it up, and have everything square and above-board; and told me to come with a candle. we shut the cellar door behind us, and when they found the bag they spilt it out on the floor, and it was a lovely sight, all them yaller-boys. my, the way the king's eyes did shine! he slaps the duke on the shoulder and says: "oh, _this_ ain't bully nor noth'n! oh, no, i reckon not! why, biljy, it beats the nonesuch, _don't_ it?" the duke allowed it did. they pawed the yaller-boys, and sifted them through their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the king says: "it ain't no use talkin'; bein' brothers to a rich dead man and representatives of furrin heirs that's got left is the line for you and me, bilge. thish yer comes of trust'n to providence. it's the best way, in the long run. i've tried 'em all, and ther' ain't no better way." most everybody would 'a' been satisfied with the pile, and took it on trust; but no, they must count it. so they counts it, and it comes out four hundred and fifteen dollars short. says the king: "dern him, i wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen dollars?" they worried over that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. then the duke says: "well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake--i reckon that's the way of it. the best way's to let it go, and keep still about it. we can spare it." "oh, shucks, yes, we can _spare_ it. i don't k'yer noth'n 'bout that--it's the _count_ i'm thinkin' about. we want to be awful square and open and above-board here, you know. we want to lug this h'yer money up-stairs and count it before everybody--then ther' ain't noth'n suspicious. but when the dead man says ther's six thous'n dollars, you know, we don't want to--" "hold on," says the duke. "le's make up the deffisit," and he begun to haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket. "it's a most amaz'n' good idea, duke--you _have_ got a rattlin' clever head on you," says the king. "blest if the old nonesuch ain't a heppin' us out ag'in," and _he_ begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them up. it most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear. "say," says the duke, "i got another idea. le's go up-stairs and count this money, and then take and _give it to the girls."_ "good land, duke, lemme hug you! it's the most dazzling idea 'at ever a man struck. you have cert'nly got the most astonishin' head i ever see. oh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it. let 'em fetch along their suspicions now if they want to--this 'll lay 'em out." when we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king he counted it and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a pile--twenty elegant little piles. everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their chops. then they raked it into the bag again, and i see the king begin to swell himself up for another speech. he says: "friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by them that's left behind in the vale of sorrers. he has done generous by these yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left fatherless and motherless. yes, and we that knowed him knows that he would 'a' done _more_ generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' his dear william and me. now, _wouldn't_ he? ther' ain't no question 'bout it in _my_ mind. well, then, what kind o' brothers would it be that 'd stand in his way at sech a time? and what kind o' uncles would it be that 'd rob--yes, _rob_--sech poor sweet lambs as these 'at he loved so at sech a time? if i know william--and i _think_ i do--he--well, i'll jest ask him." he turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to the duke with his hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and leather-headed awhile; then all of a sudden he seems to catch his meaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up. then the king says, "i knowed it; i reckon _that_ 'll convince anybody the way _he_ feels about it. here, mary jane, susan, joanner, take the money--take it _all._ it's the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful." mary jane she went for him, susan and the hare-lip went for the duke, and then such another hugging and kissing i never see yet. and everybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of them frauds, saying all the time: "you _dear_ good souls!--how _lovely!_--how _could_ you!" well, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody saying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was all busy listening. the king was saying--in the middle of something he'd started in on-- "--they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased. that's why they're invited here this evenin'; but tomorrow we want _all_ to come--everybody; for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's fitten that his funeral orgies sh'd be public." and so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and every little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke he couldn't stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper, "_obsequies_, you old fool," and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and reaching it over people's heads to him. the king he reads it and puts it in his pocket, and says: "poor william, afflicted as he is, his _heart's_ aluz right. asks me to invite everybody to come to the funeral--wants me to make 'em all welcome. but he needn't 'a' worried--it was jest what i was at." then he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, and goes to dropping in his funeral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before. and when he done it the third time he says: "i say orgies, not because it's the common term, because it ain't--obsequies bein' the common term--but because orgies is the right term. obsequies ain't used in england no more now--it's gone out. we say orgies now in england. orgies is better, because it means the thing you're after more exact. it's a word that's made up out'n the greek _orgo_, outside, open, abroad; and the hebrew _jeesum_, to plant, cover up; hence in_ter_. so, you see, funeral orgies is an open er public funeral." he was the _worst_ i ever struck. well, the iron-jawed man he laughed right in his face. everybody was shocked. everybody says, "why, _doctor!_" and abner shackleford says: "why, robinson, hain't you heard the news? this is harvey wilks." the king he smiled eager, and shoved out his flapper, and says: "_is_ it my poor brother's dear good friend and physician? i--" "keep your hands off me!" says the doctor. "_you_ talk like an englishman, _don't_ you? it's the worst imitation i ever heard. _you_ peter wilks's brother! you're a fraud, that's what you are!" well, how they all took on! they crowded around the doctor and tried to quiet him down, and tried to explain to him and tell him how harvey's showed in forty ways that he _was_ harvey, and knowed everybody by name, and the names of the very dogs, and begged and _begged_ him not to hurt harvey's feelings and the poor girls' feelings, and all that. but it warn't no use; he stormed right along, and said any man that pretended to be an englishman and couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what he did was a fraud and a liar. the poor girls was hanging to the king and crying; and all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on _them._ he says: "i was your father's friend, and i'm your friend; and i warn you as a friend, and an honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of harm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing to do with him, the ignorant tramp, with his idiotic greek and hebrew, as he calls it. he is the thinnest kind of an impostor--has come here with a lot of empty names and facts which he picked up somewheres; and you take them for _proofs_, and are helped to fool yourselves by these foolish friends here, who ought to know better. mary jane wilks, you know me for your friend, and for your unselfish friend, too. now listen to me; turn this pitiful rascal out--i _beg_ you to do it. will you?" mary jane straightened herself up, and my, but she was handsome! she says: "_here_ is my answer." she hove up the bag of money and put it in the king's hands, and says, "take this six thousand dollars, and invest for me and my sisters any way you want to, and don't give us no receipt for it." then she put her arm around the king on one side, and susan and the hare-lip done the same on the other. everybody clapped their hands and stomped on the floor like a perfect storm, whilst the king held up his head and smiled proud. the doctor says: "all right; i wash _my_ hands of the matter. but i warn you all that a time's coming when you're going to feel sick whenever you think of this day." and away he went. "all right, doctor," says the king, kinder mocking him; "we'll try and get 'em to send for you;" which made them all laugh, and they said it was a prime good hit. chapter xxvi well, when they was all gone the king he asks mary jane how they was off for spare rooms, and she said she had one spare room, which would do for uncle william, and she'd give her own room to uncle harvey, which was a little bigger, and she would turn into the room with her sisters and sleep on a cot; and up garret was a little cubby, with a pallet in it. the king said the cubby would do for his valley--meaning me. so mary jane took us up, and she showed them their rooms, which was plain but nice. she said she'd have her frocks and a lot of other traps took out of her room if they was in uncle harvey's way, but he said they warn't. the frocks was hung along the wall, and before them was a curtain made out of calico that hung down to the floor. there was an old hair trunk in one corner, and a guitar-box in another, and all sorts of little knickknacks and jimcracks around, like girls brisken up a room with. the king said it was all the more homely and more pleasanter for these fixings, and so don't disturb them. the duke's room was pretty small, but plenty good enough, and so was my cubby. that night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there, and i stood behind the king and the duke's chairs and waited on them, and the niggers waited on the rest. mary jane she set at the head of the table, with susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits was, and how mean the preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried chickens was--and all that kind of rot, the way women always do for to force out compliments; and the people all knowed everything was tiptop, and said so--said "how _do_ you get biscuits to brown so nice?" and "where, for the land's sake, _did_ you get these amaz'n pickles?" and all that kind of humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a supper, you know. and when it was all done me and the hare-lip had supper in the kitchen off of the leavings, whilst the others was helping the niggers clean up the things. the hare-lip she got to pumping me about england, and blest if i didn't think the ice was getting mighty thin sometimes. she says: "did you ever see the king?" "who? william fourth? well, i bet i have--he goes to our church." i knowed he was dead years ago, but i never let on. so when i says he goes to our church, she says: "what--regular?" "yes--regular. his pew's right over opposite ourn--on t'other side the pulpit." "i thought he lived in london?" "well, he does. where _would_ he live?" "but i thought _you_ lived in sheffield?" i see i was up a stump. i had to let on to get choked with a chicken-bone, so as to get time to think how to get down again. then i says: "i mean he goes to our church regular when he's in sheffield. that's only in the summer-time, when he comes there to take the sea baths." "why, how you talk--sheffield ain't on the sea." "well, who said it was?" "why, you did." "i _didn't_, nuther." "you did!" "i didn't." "you did." "i never said nothing of the kind." "well, what _did_ you say, then?" "said he come to take the sea _baths_--that's what i said." "well, then, how's he going to take the sea baths if it ain't on the sea?" "looky here," i says; "did you ever see any congress-water?" "yes." "well, did you have to go to congress to get it?" "why, no." "well, neither does william fourth have to go to the sea to get a sea bath." "how does he get it, then?" "gets it the way people down here gets congress-water--in barrels. there in the palace at sheffield they've got furnaces, and he wants his water hot. they can't bile that amount of water away off there at the sea. they haven't got no conveniences for it." "oh, i see, now. you might 'a' said that in the first place and saved time." when she said that i see i was out of the woods again, and so i was comfortable and glad. next, she says: "do you go to church, too?" "yes--regular." "where do you set?" "why, in our pew." "_whose_ pew?" "why, _ourn_--your uncle harvey's." "his'n? what does _he_ want with a pew?" "wants it to set in. what did you _reckon_ he wanted with it?" "why, i thought he'd be in the pulpit." rot him, i forgot he was a preacher. i see i was up a stump again, so i played another chicken-bone and got another think. then i says: "blame it, do you suppose there ain't but one preacher to a church?" "why, what do they want with more?" "what!--to preach before a king? i never did see such a girl as you. they don't have no less than seventeen." "seventeen! my land! why, i wouldn't set out such a string as that, not if i _never_ got to glory. it must take 'em a week." "shucks, they don't _all_ of 'em preach the same day--only _one_ of 'em." "well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?" "oh, nothing much. loll around, pass the plate--and one thing or another. but mainly they don't do nothing." "well, then, what are they _for_?" "why, they're for _style_. don't you know nothing?" "well, i don't _want_ to know no such foolishness as that. how is servants treated in england? do they treat 'em better 'n we treat our niggers?" "_no!_ a servant ain't nobody there. they treat them worse than dogs." "don't they give 'em holidays, the way we do, christmas and new year's week, and fourth of july?" "oh, just listen! a body could tell _you_ hain't ever been to england by that. why, hare-l--why, joanna, they never see a holiday from year's end to year's end; never go to the circus, nor theater, nor nigger shows, nor nowheres." "nor church?" "nor church." "but _you_ always went to church." well, i was gone up again. i forgot i was the old man's servant. but next minute i whirled in on a kind of an explanation how a valley was different from a common servant, and _had_ to go to church whether he wanted to or not, and set with the family, on account of its being the law. but i didn't do it pretty good, and when i got done i see she warn't satisfied. she says: "honest injun, now, hain't you been telling me a lot of lies?" "honest injun," says i. "none of it at all?" "none of it at all. not a lie in it," says i. "lay your hand on this book and say it." i see it warn't nothing but a dictionary, so i laid my hand on it and said it. so then she looked a little better satisfied, and says: "well, then, i'll believe some of it; but i hope to gracious if i'll believe the rest." "what is it you won't believe, jo?" says mary jane, stepping in with susan behind her. "it ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to him, and him a stranger and so far from his people. how would you like to be treated so?" "that's always your way, maim--always sailing in to help somebody before they're hurt. i hain't done nothing to him. he's told some stretchers, i reckon, and i said i wouldn't swallow it all; and that's every bit and grain i _did_ say. i reckon he can stand a little thing like that, can't he?" "i don't care whether 'twas little or whether 'twas big; he's here in our house and a stranger, and it wasn't good of you to say it. if you was in his place it would make you feel ashamed; and so you oughtn't to say a thing to another person that will make _them_ feel ashamed." "why, maim, he said--" "it don't make no difference what he _said_--that ain't the thing. the thing is for you to treat him _kind,_ and not be saying things to make him remember he ain't in his own country and amongst his own folks." i says to myself, _this_ is a girl that i'm letting that old reptile rob her of her money! then susan _she_ waltzed in; and if you'll believe me, she did give hare-lip hark from the tomb! says i to myself, and this is _another_ one that i'm letting him rob her of her money! then mary jane she took another inning, and went in sweet and lovely again--which was her way; but when she got done there warn't hardly anything left o' poor hare-lip. so she hollered. "all right, then," says the other girls; "you just ask his pardon." she done it, too; and she done it beautiful. she done it so beautiful it was good to hear; and i wished i could tell her a thousand lies, so she could do it again. i says to myself, this is _another_ one that i'm letting him rob her of her money. and when she got through they all jest laid theirselves out to make me feel at home and know i was amongst friends. i felt so ornery and low down and mean that i says to myself, my mind's made up; i'll hive that money for them or bust. so then i lit out--for bed, i said, meaning some time or another. when i got by myself i went to thinking the thing over. i says to myself, shall i go to that doctor, private, and blow on these frauds? no--that won't do. he might tell who told him; then the king and the duke would make it warm for me. shall i go, private, and tell mary jane? no--i dasn't do it. her face would give them a hint, sure; they've got the money, and they'd slide right out and get away with it. if she was to fetch in help i'd get mixed up in the business before it was done with, i judge. no; there ain't no good way but one. i got to steal that money, somehow; and i got to steal it some way that they won't suspicion that i done it. they've got a good thing here, and they ain't a-going to leave till they've played this family and this town for all they're worth, so i'll find a chance time enough. i'll steal it and hide it; and by and by, when i'm away down the river, i'll write a letter and tell mary jane where it's hid. but i better hive it to-night if i can, because the doctor maybe hasn't let up as much as he lets on he has; he might scare them out of here yet. so, thinks i, i'll go and search them rooms. upstairs the hall was dark, but i found the duke's room, and started to paw around it with my hands; but i recollected it wouldn't be much like the king to let anybody else take care of that money but his own self; so then i went to his room and begun to paw around there. but i see i couldn't do nothing without a candle, and i dasn't light one, of course. so i judged i'd got to do the other thing--lay for them and eavesdrop. about that time i hears their footsteps coming, and was going to skip under the bed; i reached for it, but it wasn't where i thought it would be; but i touched the curtain that hid mary jane's frocks, so i jumped in behind that and snuggled in amongst the gowns, and stood there perfectly still. they come in and shut the door; and the first thing the duke done was to get down and look under the bed. then i was glad i hadn't found the bed when i wanted it. and yet, you know, it's kind of natural to hide under the bed when you are up to anything private. they sets down then, and the king says: "well, what is it? and cut it middlin' short, because it's better for us to be down there a-whoopin' up the mournin' than up here givin' 'em a chance to talk us over." "well, this is it, capet. i ain't easy; i ain't comfortable. that doctor lays on my mind. i wanted to know your plans. i've got a notion, and i think it's a sound one." "what is it, duke?" "that we better glide out of this before three in the morning, and clip it down the river with what we've got. specially, seeing we got it so easy--_given_ back to us, flung at our heads, as you may say, when of course we allowed to have to steal it back. i'm for knocking off and lighting out." that made me feel pretty bad. about an hour or two ago it would 'a' been a little different, but now it made me feel bad and disappointed. the king rips out and says: "what! and not sell out the rest o' the property? march off like a passel of fools and leave eight or nine thous'n' dollars' worth o' property layin' around jest sufferin' to be scooped in?--and all good, salable stuff, too." the duke he grumbled; said the bag of gold was enough, and he didn't want to go no deeper--didn't want to rob a lot of orphans of _everything_ they had. "why, how you talk!" says the king. "we sha'n't rob 'em of nothing at all but jest this money. the people that _buys_ the property is the suff'rers; because as soon 's it's found out 'at we didn't own it--which won't be long after we've slid--the sale won't be valid, and it 'll all go back to the estate. these yer orphans 'll git their house back ag'in, and that's enough for _them;_ they're young and spry, and k'n easy earn a livin'. _they_ ain't a-goin' to suffer. why, jest think--there's thous'n's and thous'n's that ain't nigh so well off. bless you, _they_ ain't got noth'n' to complain of." well, the king he talked him blind; so at last he give in, and said all right, but said he believed it was blamed foolishness to stay, and that doctor hanging over them. but the king says: "cuss the doctor! what do we k'yer for _him?_ hain't we got all the fools in town on our side? and ain't that a big enough majority in any town?" so they got ready to go down-stairs again. the duke says: "i don't think we put that money in a good place." that cheered me up. i'd begun to think i warn't going to get a hint of no kind to help me. the king says: "why?" "because mary jane 'll be in mourning from this out; and first you know the nigger that does up the rooms will get an order to box these duds up and put 'em away; and do you reckon a nigger can run across money and not borrow some of it?" "your head's level ag'in, duke," says the king; and he comes a-fumbling under the curtain two or three foot from where i was. i stuck tight to the wall and kept mighty still, though quivery; and i wondered what them fellows would say to me if they catched me; and i tried to think what i'd better do if they did catch me. but the king he got the bag before i could think more than about a half a thought, and he never suspicioned i was around. they took and shoved the bag through a rip in the straw tick that was under the feather-bed, and crammed it in a foot or two amongst the straw and said it was all right now, because a nigger only makes up the feather-bed, and don't turn over the straw tick only about twice a year, and so it warn't in no danger of getting stole now. but i knowed better. i had it out of there before they was half-way down-stairs. i groped along up to my cubby, and hid it there till i could get a chance to do better. i judged i better hide it outside of the house somewheres, because if they missed it they would give the house a good ransacking: i knowed that very well. then i turned in, with my clothes all on; but i couldn't 'a' gone to sleep if i'd 'a' wanted to, i was in such a sweat to get through with the business. by and by i heard the king and the duke come up; so i rolled off my pallet and laid with my chin at the top of my ladder, and waited to see if anything was going to happen. but nothing did. so i held on till all the late sounds had quit and the early ones hadn't begun yet; and then i slipped down the ladder. chapter xxvii i crept to their doors and listened; they was snoring. so i tiptoed along, and got downstairs all right. there warn't a sound anywheres. i peeped through a crack of the dining-room door, and see the men that was watching the corpse all sound asleep on their chairs. the door was open into the parlor, where the corpse was laying, and there was a candle in both rooms. i passed along, and the parlor door was open; but i see there warn't nobody in there but the remainders of peter; so i shoved on by; but the front door was locked, and the key wasn't there. just then i heard somebody coming down the stairs, back behind me. i run in the parlor and took a swift look around, and the only place i see to hide the bag was in the coffin. the lid was shoved along about a foot, showing the dead man's face down in there, with a wet cloth over it, and his shroud on. i tucked the money-bag in under the lid, just down beyond where his hands was crossed, which made me creep, they was so cold, and then i run back across the room and in behind the door. the person coming was mary jane. she went to the coffin, very soft, and kneeled down and looked in; then she put up her handkerchief, and i see she begun to cry, though i couldn't hear her, and her back was to me. i slid out, and as i passed the dining-room i thought i'd make sure them watchers hadn't seen me; so i looked through the crack, and everything was all right. they hadn't stirred. i slipped up to bed, feeling ruther blue, on accounts of the thing playing out that way after i had took so much trouble and run so much resk about it. says i, if it could stay where it is, all right; because when we get down the river a hundred mile or two i could write back to mary jane, and she could dig him up again and get it; but that ain't the thing that's going to happen; the thing that's going to happen is, the money'll be found when they come to screw on the lid. then the king 'll get it again, and it 'll be a long day before he gives anybody another chance to smouch it from him. of course i _wanted_ to slide down and get it out of there, but i dasn't try it. every minute it was getting earlier now, and pretty soon some of them watchers would begin to stir, and i might get catched--catched with six thousand dollars in my hands that nobody hadn't hired me to take care of. i don't wish to be mixed up in no such business as that, i says to myself. when i got down-stairs in the morning the parlor was shut up, and the watchers was gone. there warn't nobody around but the family and the widow bartley and our tribe. i watched their faces to see if anything had been happening, but i couldn't tell. towards the middle of the day the undertaker come with his man, and they set the coffin in the middle of the room on a couple of chairs, and then set all our chairs in rows, and borrowed more from the neighbors till the hall and the parlor and the dining-room was full. i see the coffin lid was the way it was before, but i dasn't go to look in under it, with folks around. then the people begun to flock in, and the beats and the girls took seats in the front row at the head of the coffin, and for a half an hour the people filed around slow, in single rank, and looked down at the dead man's face a minute, and some dropped in a tear, and it was all very still and solemn, only the girls and the beats holding handkerchiefs to their eyes and keeping their heads bent, and sobbing a little. there warn't no other sound but the scraping of the feet on the floor and blowing noses--because people always blows them more at a funeral than they do at other places except church. when the place was packed full the undertaker he slid around in his black gloves with his softy soothering ways, putting on the last touches, and getting people and things all ship-shape and comfortable, and making no more sound than a cat. he never spoke; he moved people around, he squeezed in late ones, he opened up passageways, and done it with nods, and signs with his hands. then he took his place over against the wall. he was the softest, glidingest, stealthiest man i ever see; and there warn't no more smile to him than there is to a ham. they had borrowed a melodeum--a sick one; and when everything was ready a young woman set down and worked it, and it was pretty skreeky and colicky, and everybody joined in and sung, and peter was the only one that had a good thing, according to my notion. then the reverend hobson opened up, slow and solemn, and begun to talk; and straight off the most outrageous row busted out in the cellar a body ever heard; it was only one dog, but he made a most powerful racket, and he kept it up right along; the parson he had to stand there, over the coffin, and wait--you couldn't hear yourself think. it was right down awkward, and nobody didn't seem to know what to do. but pretty soon they see that long-legged undertaker make a sign to the preacher as much as to say, "don't you worry--just depend on me." then he stooped down and begun to glide along the wall, just his shoulders showing over the people's heads. so he glided along, and the powwow and racket getting more and more outrageous all the time; and at last, when he had gone around two sides of the room, he disappears down cellar. then in about two seconds we heard a whack, and the dog he finished up with a most amazing howl or two, and then everything was dead still, and the parson begun his solemn talk where he left off. in a minute or two here comes this undertaker's back and shoulders gliding along the wall again; and so he glided and glided around three sides of the room, and then rose up, and shaded his mouth with his hands, and stretched his neck out towards the preacher, over the people's heads, and says, in a kind of a coarse whisper, "_he had a rat!_" then he drooped down and glided along the wall again to his place. you could see it was a great satisfaction to the people, because naturally they wanted to know. a little thing like that don't cost nothing, and it's just the little things that makes a man to be looked up to and liked. there warn't no more popular man in town than what that undertaker was. well, the funeral sermon was very good, but pison long and tiresome; and then the king he shoved in and got off some of his usual rubbage, and at last the job was through, and the undertaker begun to sneak up on the coffin with his screw-driver. i was in a sweat then, and watched him pretty keen. but he never meddled at all; just slid the lid along as soft as mush, and screwed it down tight and fast. so there i was! i didn't know whether the money was in there or not. so, says i, s'pose somebody has hogged that bag on the sly?--now how do _i_ know whether to write to mary jane or not? s'pose she dug him up and didn't find nothing, what would she think of me? blame it, i says, i might get hunted up and jailed; i'd better lay low and keep dark, and not write at all; the thing's awful mixed now; trying to better it, i've worsened it a hundred times, and i wish to goodness i'd just let it alone, dad fetch the whole business! they buried him, and we come back home, and i went to watching faces again--i couldn't help it, and i couldn't rest easy. but nothing come of it; the faces didn't tell me nothing. the king he visited around in the evening, and sweetened everybody up, and made himself ever so friendly; and he give out the idea that his congregation over in england would be in a sweat about him, so he must hurry and settle up the estate right away and leave for home. he was very sorry he was so pushed, and so was everybody; they wished he could stay longer, but they said they could see it couldn't be done. and he said of course him and william would take the girls home with them; and that pleased everybody too, because then the girls would be well fixed and amongst their own relations; and it pleased the girls, too--tickled them so they clean forgot they ever had a trouble in the world; and told him to sell out as quick as he wanted to, they would be ready. them poor things was that glad and happy it made my heart ache to see them getting fooled and lied to so, but i didn't see no safe way for me to chip in and change the general tune. well, blamed if the king didn't bill the house and the niggers and all the property for auction straight off--sale two days after the funeral; but anybody could buy private beforehand if they wanted to. so the next day after the funeral, along about noon-time, the girls' joy got the first jolt. a couple of nigger-traders come along, and the king sold them the niggers reasonable, for three-day drafts as they called it, and away they went, the two sons up the river to memphis, and their mother down the river to orleans. i thought them poor girls and them niggers would break their hearts for grief; they cried around each other, and took on so it most made me down sick to see it. the girls said they hadn't ever dreamed of seeing the family separated or sold away from the town. i can't ever get it out of my memory, the sight of them poor miserable girls and niggers hanging around each other's necks and crying; and i reckon i couldn't 'a' stood it all, but would 'a' had to bust out and tell on our gang if i hadn't knowed the sale warn't no account and the niggers would be back home in a week or two. the thing made a big stir in the town, too, and a good many come out flatfooted and said it was scandalous to separate the mother and the children that way. it injured the frauds some; but the old fool he bulled right along, spite of all the duke could say or do, and i tell you the duke was powerful uneasy. next day was auction day. about broad day in the morning the king and the duke come up in the garret and woke me up, and i see by their look that there was trouble. the king says: "was you in my room night before last?" "no, your majesty"--which was the way i always called him when nobody but our gang warn't around. "was you in there yisterday er last night?" "no, your majesty." "honor bright, now--no lies." "honor bright, your majesty, i'm telling you the truth. i hain't been a-near your room since miss mary jane took you and the duke and showed it to you." the duke says: "have you seen anybody else go in there?" "no, your grace, not as i remember, i believe." "stop and think." i studied awhile and see my chance; then i says: "well, i see the niggers go in there several times." both of them gave a little jump, and looked like they hadn't ever expected it, and then like they _had_. then the duke says: "what, _all_ of them?" "no--leastways, not all at once--that is, i don't think i ever see them all come _out_ at once but just one time." "hello! when was that?" "it was the day we had the funeral. in the morning. it warn't early, because i overslept. i was just starting down the ladder, and i see them." "well, go on, _go_ on! what did they do? how'd they act?" "they didn't do nothing. and they didn't act anyway much, as fur as i see. they tiptoed away; so i seen, easy enough, that they'd shoved in there to do up your majesty's room, or something, s'posing you was up; and found you _warn't_ up, and so they was hoping to slide out of the way of trouble without waking you up, if they hadn't already waked you up." "great guns, _this_ is a go!" says the king; and both of them looked pretty sick and tolerable silly. they stood there a-thinking and scratching their heads a minute, and the duke he bust into a kind of a little raspy chuckle, and says: "it does beat all how neat the niggers played their hand. they let on to be _sorry_ they was going out of this region! and i believed they _was_ sorry, and so did you, and so did everybody. don't ever tell _me_ any more that a nigger ain't got any histrionic talent. why, the way they played that thing it would fool _anybody._ in my opinion, there's a fortune in 'em. if i had capital and a theater, i wouldn't want a better lay-out than that--and here we've gone and sold 'em for a song. yes, and ain't privileged to sing the song yet. say, where _is_ that song--that draft?" "in the bank for to be collected. where _would_ it be?" "well, that's all right then, thank goodness." says i, kind of timid-like: "is something gone wrong?" the king whirls on me and rips out: "none o' your business! you keep your head shet, and mind y'r own affairs--if you got any. long as you're in this town don't you forgit _that_--you hear?" then he says to the duke, "we got to jest swaller it and say noth'n': mum's the word for _us_." as they was starting down the ladder the duke he chuckles again, and says: "quick sales _and_ small profits! it's a good business--yes." the king snarls around on him and says: "i was trying to do for the best in sellin' 'em out so quick. if the profits has turned out to be none, lackin' considable, and none to carry, is it my fault any more'n it's yourn?" "well, _they'd_ be in this house yet and we _wouldn't_ if i could 'a' got my advice listened to." the king sassed back as much as was safe for him, and then swapped around and lit into _me_ again. he give me down the banks for not coming and _telling_ him i see the niggers come out of his room acting that way--said any fool would 'a' _knowed_ something was up. and then waltzed in and cussed _himself_ awhile, and said it all come of him not laying late and taking his natural rest that morning, and he'd be blamed if he'd ever do it again. so they went off a-jawing; and i felt dreadful glad i'd worked it all off onto the niggers, and yet hadn't done the niggers no harm by it. chapter xxviii by and by it was getting-up time. so i come down the ladder and started for down-stairs; but as i come to the girls' room the door was open, and i see mary jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'd been packing things in it--getting ready to go to england. but she had stopped now with a folded gown in her lap, and had her face in her hands, crying. i felt awful bad to see it; of course anybody would. i went in there and says: "miss mary jane, you can't a-bear to see people in trouble, and _i_ can't--most always. tell me about it." so she done it. and it was the niggers--i just expected it. she said the beautiful trip to england was most about spoiled for her; she didn't know _how_ she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the mother and the children warn't ever going to see each other no more--and then busted out bitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says: "oh, dear, dear, to think they ain't _ever_ going to see each other any more!" "but they _will_--and inside of two weeks--and i _know_ it!" says i. laws, it was out before i could think! and before i could budge she throws her arms around my neck and told me to say it _again_, say it _again_, say it _again!_ i see i had spoke too sudden and said too much, and was in a close place. i asked her to let me think a minute; and she set there, very impatient and excited and handsome, but looking kind of happy and eased-up, like a person that's had a tooth pulled out. so i went to studying it out. i says to myself, i reckon a body that ups and tells the truth when he is in a tight place is taking considerable many resks, though i ain't had no experience, and can't say for certain; but it looks so to me, anyway; and yet here's a case where i'm blest if it don't look to me like the truth is better and actuly _safer_ than a lie. i must lay it by in my mind, and think it over some time or other, it's so kind of strange and unregular. i never see nothing like it. well, i says to myself at last, i'm a-going to chance it; i'll up and tell the truth this time, though it does seem most _like_ setting down on a kag of powder and touching it off just to see where you'll go to. then i says: "miss mary jane, is there any place out of town a little ways where you could go and stay three or four days?" "yes; mr. lothrop's. why?" "never mind why yet. if i'll tell you how i know the niggers will see each other again--inside of two weeks--here in this house--and _prove_ how i know it--will you go to mr. lothrop's and stay four days?" "four days!" she says; "i'll stay a year!" "all right," i says, "i don't want nothing more out of _you_ than just your word--i druther have it than another man's kiss-the-bible." she smiled and reddened up very sweet, and i says, "if you don't mind it, i'll shut the door--and bolt it." then i come back and set down again, and says: "don't you holler. just set still and take it like a man. i got to tell the truth, and you want to brace up, miss mary, because it's a bad kind, and going to be hard to take, but there ain't no help for it. these uncles of yourn ain't no uncles at all; they're a couple of frauds--regular dead-beats. there, now we're over the worst of it, you can stand the rest middling easy." it jolted her up like everything, of course; but i was over the shoal water now, so i went right along, her eyes a-blazing higher and higher all the time, and told her every blame thing, from where we first struck that young fool going up to the steamboat, clear through to where she flung herself onto the king's breast at the front door and he kissed her sixteen or seventeen times--and then up she jumps, with her face afire like sunset, and says: "the brute! come, don't waste a minute--not a _second_--we'll have them tarred and feathered, and flung in the river!" says i: "cert'nly. but do you mean _before_ you go to mr. lothrop's, or--" "oh," she says, "what am i _thinking_ about!" she says, and set right down again. "don't mind what i said--please don't--you _won't_, now, _will_ you?" laying her silky hand on mine in that kind of a way that i said i would die first. "i never thought, i was so stirred up," she says; "now go on, and i won't do so any more. you tell me what to do, and whatever you say i'll do it." "well," i says, "it's a rough gang, them two frauds, and i'm fixed so i got to travel with them a while longer, whether i want to or not--i druther not tell you why; and if you was to blow on them this town would get me out of their claws, and i'd be all right; but there'd be another person that you don't know about who'd be in big trouble. well, we got to save _him_, hain't we? of course. well, then, we won't blow on them." saying them words put a good idea in my head. i see how maybe i could get me and jim rid of the frauds; get them jailed here, and then leave. but i didn't want to run the raft in the daytime without anybody aboard to answer questions but me; so i didn't want the plan to begin working till pretty late to-night. i says: "miss mary jane, i'll tell you what we'll do, and you won't have to stay at mr. lothrop's so long, nuther. how fur is it?" "a little short of four miles--right out in the country, back here." "well, that 'll answer. now you go along out there, and lay low till nine or half past to-night, and then get them to fetch you home again--tell them you've thought of something. if you get here before eleven put a candle in this window, and if i don't turn up wait _till_ eleven, and _then_ if i don't turn up it means i'm gone, and out of the way, and safe. then you come out and spread the news around, and get these beats jailed." "good," she says, "i'll do it." "and if it just happens so that i don't get away, but get took up along with them, you must up and say i told you the whole thing beforehand, and you must stand by me all you can." "stand by you! indeed i will. they sha'n't touch a hair of your head!" she says, and i see her nostrils spread and her eyes snap when she said it, too. "if i get away i sha'n't be here," i says, "to prove these rapscallions ain't your uncles, and i couldn't do it if i _was_ here. i could swear they was beats and bummers, that's all, though that's worth something. well, there's others can do that better than what i can, and they're people that ain't going to be doubted as quick as i'd be. i'll tell you how to find them. gimme a pencil and a piece of paper. there--'_royal nonesuch, bricksville._' put it away, and don't lose it. when the court wants to find out something about these two, let them send up to bricksville and say they've got the men that played the 'royal nonesuch,' and ask for some witnesses--why, you'll have that entire town down here before you can hardly wink, miss mary. and they'll come a-biling, too." i judged we had got everything fixed about right now. so i says: "just let the auction go right along, and don't worry. nobody don't have to pay for the things they buy till a whole day after the auction on accounts of the short notice, and they ain't going out of this till they get that money; and the way we've fixed it the sale ain't going to count, and they ain't going to get no money. it's just like the way it was with the niggers--it warn't no sale, and the niggers will be back before long. why, they can't collect the money for the _niggers_ yet--they're in the worst kind of a fix, miss mary." "well," she says, "i'll run down to breakfast now, and then i'll start straight for mr. lothrop's." "'deed, _that_ ain't the ticket, miss mary jane," i says, "by no manner of means; go _before_ breakfast." "why?" "what did you reckon i wanted you to go at all for, miss mary?" "well, i never thought--and come to think, i don't know. what was it?" "why, it's because you ain't one of these leather-face people. i don't want no better book than what your face is. a body can set down and read it off like coarse print. do you reckon you can go and face your uncles when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never--" "there, there, don't! yes, i'll go before breakfast--i'll be glad to. and leave my sisters with them?" "yes; never mind about them. they've got to stand it yet awhile. they might suspicion something if all of you was to go. i don't want you to see them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was to ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something. no, you go right along, miss mary jane, and i'll fix it with all of them. i'll tell miss susan to give your love to your uncles and say you've went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or to see a friend, and you'll be back to-night or early in the morning." "gone to see a friend is all right, but i won't have my love given to them." "well, then, it sha'n't be." it was well enough to tell _her_ so--no harm in it. it was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's the little things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below; it would make mary jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing. then i says: "there's one more thing--that bag of money." "well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think _how_ they got it." "no, you're out, there. they hain't got it." "why, who's got it?" "i wish i knowed, but i don't. i _had_ it, because i stole it from them; and i stole it to give to you; and i know where i hid it, but i'm afraid it ain't there no more. i'm awful sorry, miss mary jane, i'm just as sorry as i can be; but i done the best i could; i did honest. i come nigh getting caught, and i had to shove it into the first place i come to, and run--and it warn't a good place." "oh, stop blaming yourself--it's too bad to do it, and i won't allow it--you couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault. where did you hide it?" i didn't want to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and i couldn't seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see that corpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach. so for a minute i didn't say nothing; then i says: "i'd ruther not _tell_ you where i put it, miss mary jane, if you don't mind letting me off; but i'll write it for you on a piece of paper, and you can read it along the road to mr. lothrop's, if you want to. do you reckon that 'll do?" "oh, yes." so i wrote: "i put it in the coffin. it was in there when you was crying there, away in the night. i was behind the door, and i was mighty sorry for you, miss mary jane." it made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all by herself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her own roof, shaming her and robbing her; and when i folded it up and give it to her i see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by the hand, hard, and says: "_good_-by. i'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and if i don't ever see you again, i sha'n't ever forget you, and i'll think of you a many and a many a time, and i'll _pray_ for you, too!"--and she was gone. pray for me! i reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was more nearer her size. but i bet she done it, just the same--she was just that kind. she had the grit to pray for judus if she took the notion--there warn't no back-down to her, i judge. you may say what you want to, but in my opinion she had more sand in her than any girl i ever see; in my opinion she was just full of sand. it sounds like flattery, but it ain't no flattery. and when it comes to beauty--and goodness, too--she lays over them all. i hain't ever seen her since that time that i see her go out of that door; no, i hain't ever seen her since, but i reckon i've thought of her a many and a many a million times, and of her saying she would pray for me; and if ever i'd 'a' thought it would do any good for me to pray for _her_, blamed if i wouldn't 'a' done it or bust. well, mary jane she lit out the back way, i reckon; because nobody see her go. when i struck susan and the hare-lip, i says: "what's the name of them people over on t'other side of the river that you all goes to see sometimes?" they says: "there's several; but it's the proctors, mainly." "that's the name," i says; "i most forgot it. well, miss mary jane she told me to tell you she's gone over there in a dreadful hurry--one of them's sick." "which one?" "i don't know; leastways, i kinder forget; but i thinks it's--" "sakes alive, i hope it ain't _hanner?_" "i'm sorry to say it," i says, "but hanner's the very one." "my goodness, and she so well only last week! is she took bad?" "it ain't no name for it. they set up with her all night, miss mary jane said, and they don't think she'll last many hours." "only think of that, now! what's the matter with her?" i couldn't think of anything reasonable, right off that way, so i says: "mumps." "mumps your granny! they don't set up with people that's got the mumps." "they don't, don't they? you better bet they do with _these_ mumps. these mumps is different. it's a new kind, miss mary jane said." "how's it a new kind?" "because it's mixed up with other things." "what other things?" "well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, and consumption, and yaller janders, and brain-fever, and i don't know what all." "my land! and they call it the _mumps?_" "that's what miss mary jane said." "well, what in the nation do they call it the _mumps_ for?" "why, because it _is_ the mumps. that's what it starts with." "well, ther' ain't no sense in it. a body might stump his toe, and take pison, and fall down the well, and break his neck, and bust his brains out, and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskull up and say, 'why, he stumped his _toe_.' would ther' be any sense in that? _no_. and ther' ain't no sense in _this_, nuther. is it ketching?" "is it _ketching?_ why, how you talk. is a _harrow_ catching--in the dark? if you don't hitch on to one tooth, you're bound to on another, ain't you? and you can't get away with that tooth without fetching the whole harrow along, can you? well, these kind of mumps is a kind of a harrow, as you may say--and it ain't no slouch of a harrow, nuther, you come to get it hitched on good." "well, it's awful, i think," says the hare-lip. "i'll go to uncle harvey and--" "oh, yes," i says, "i _would._ of _course_ i would. i wouldn't lose no time." "well, why wouldn't you?" "just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see. hain't your uncles obleeged to get along home to england as fast as they can? and do you reckon they'd be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all that journey by yourselves? _you_ know they'll wait for you. so fur, so good. your uncle harvey's a preacher, ain't he? very well, then; is a _preacher_ going to deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to deceive a _ship clerk?_--so as to get them to let miss mary jane go aboard? now _you_ know he ain't. what _will_ he do, then? why, he'll say, 'it's a great pity, but my church matters has got to get along the best way they can; for my niece has been exposed to the dreadful pluribus-unum mumps, and so it's my bounden duty to set down here and wait the three months it takes to show on her if she's got it.' but never mind, if you think it's best to tell your uncle harvey--" "shucks, and stay fooling around here when we could all be having good times in england whilst we was waiting to find out whether mary jane's got it or not? why, you talk like a muggins." "well, anyway, maybe you'd better tell some of the neighbors." "listen at that, now. you do beat all for natural stupidness. can't you _see_ that _they'd_ go and tell? ther' ain't no way but just to not tell anybody at _all_." "well, maybe you're right--yes, i judge you _are_ right." "but i reckon we ought to tell uncle harvey she's gone out awhile, anyway, so he won't be uneasy about her?" "yes, miss mary jane she wanted you to do that. she says, 'tell them to give uncle harvey and william my love and a kiss, and say i've run over the river to see mr.'--mr.--what _is_ the name of that rich family your uncle peter used to think so much of?--i mean the one that--" "why, you must mean the apthorps, ain't it?" "of course; bother them kind of names, a body can't ever seem to remember them, half the time, somehow. yes, she said, say she has run over for to ask the apthorps to be sure and come to the auction and buy this house, because she allowed her uncle peter would ruther they had it than anybody else; and she's going to stick to them till they say they'll come, and then, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; and if she is, she'll be home in the morning anyway. she said, don't say nothing about the proctors, but only about the apthorps--which 'll be perfectly true, because she is going there to speak about their buying the house; i know it, because she told me so herself." "all right," they said, and cleared out to lay for their uncles, and give them the love and the kisses, and tell them the message. everything was all right now. the girls wouldn't say nothing because they wanted to go to england; and the king and the duke would ruther mary jane was off working for the auction than around in reach of doctor robinson. i felt very good; i judged i had done it pretty neat--i reckoned tom sawyer couldn't 'a' done it no neater himself. of course he would 'a' throwed more style into it, but i can't do that very handy, not being brung up to it. well, they held the auction in the public square, along towards the end of the afternoon, and it strung along, and strung along, and the old man he was on hand and looking his level pisonest, up there longside of the auctioneer, and chipping in a little scripture now and then, or a little goody-goody saying of some kind, and the duke he was around goo-gooing for sympathy all he knowed how, and just spreading himself generly. but by and by the thing dragged through, and everything was sold--everything but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard. so they'd got to work _that_ off--i never see such a girafft as the king was for wanting to swallow _everything_. well, whilst they was at it a steamboat landed, and in about two minutes up comes a crowd a-whooping and yelling and laughing and carrying on, and singing out: "_here's_ your opposition line! here's your two sets o' heirs to old peter wilks--and you pays your money and you takes your choice!" chapter xxix they was fetching a very nice-looking old gentleman along, and a nice-looking younger one, with his right arm in a sling. and, my souls, how the people yelled and laughed, and kept it up. but i didn't see no joke about it, and i judged it would strain the duke and the king some to see any. i reckoned they'd turn pale. but no, nary a pale did _they_ turn. the duke he never let on he suspicioned what was up, but just went a goo-gooing around, happy and satisfied, like a jug that's googling out buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed down sorrowful on them new-comers like it give him the stomach-ache in his very heart to think there could be such frauds and rascals in the world. oh, he done it admirable. lots of the principal people gethered around the king, to let him see they was on his side. that old gentleman that had just come looked all puzzled to death. pretty soon he begun to speak, and i see straight off he pronounced _like_ an englishman--not the king's way, though the king's _was_ pretty good for an imitation. i can't give the old gent's words, nor i can't imitate him; but he turned around to the crowd, and says, about like this: "this is a surprise to me which i wasn't looking for; and i'll acknowledge, candid and frank, i ain't very well fixed to meet it and answer it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he's broke his arm, and our baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the night by a mistake. i am peter wilks's brother harvey, and this is his brother william, which can't hear nor speak--and can't even make signs to amount to much, now't he's only got one hand to work them with. we are who we say we are; and in a day or two, when i get the baggage, i can prove it. but up till then i won't say nothing more, but go to the hotel and wait." so him and the new dummy started off; and the king he laughs, and blethers out: "broke his arm--_very_ likely, _ain't_ it?--and very convenient, too, for a fraud that's got to make signs, and ain't learnt how. lost their baggage! that's _mighty_ good!--and mighty ingenious--under the _circumstances!_" so he laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four, or maybe half a dozen. one of these was that doctor; another one was a sharp-looking gentleman, with a carpet-bag of the old-fashioned kind made out of carpet-stuff, that had just come off of the steamboat and was talking to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now and then and nodding their heads--it was levi bell, the lawyer that was gone up to louisville; and another one was a big rough husky that come along and listened to all the old gentlemen said, and was listening to the king now. and when the king got done this husky up and says: "say, looky here; if you are harvey wilks, when'd you come to this town?" "the day before the funeral, friend," says the king. "but what time o' day?" "in the evenin'--'bout an hour er two before sundown." "how'd you come?" "i come down on the _susan powell_ from cincinnati." "well, then, how'd you come to be up at the pint in the _mornin_'--in a canoe?" "i warn't up at the pint in the mornin'." "it's a lie." several of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to an old man and a preacher. "preacher be hanged, he's a fraud and a liar. he was up at the pint that mornin'. i live up there, don't i? well, i was up there, and he was up there. i see him there. he come in a canoe, along with tim collins and a boy." the doctor he up and says: "would you know the boy again if you was to see him, hines?" "i reckon i would, but i don't know. why, yonder he is, now. i know him perfectly easy." it was me he pointed at. the doctor says: "neighbors, i don't know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but if _these_ two ain't frauds, i am an idiot, that's all. i think it's our duty to see that they don't get away from here till we've looked into this thing. come along, hines; come along, the rest of you. we'll take these fellows to the tavern and affront them with t'other couple, and i reckon we'll find out _something_ before we get through." it was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king's friends; so we all started. it was about sundown. the doctor he led me along by the hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand. we all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and fetched in the new couple. first, the doctor says: "i don't wish to be too hard on these two men, but i think they're frauds, and they may have complices that we don't know nothing about. if they have, won't the complices get away with that bag of gold peter wilks left? it ain't unlikely. if these men ain't frauds, they won't object to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove they're all right--ain't that so?" everybody agreed to that. so i judged they had our gang in a pretty tight place right at the outstart. but the king he only looked sorrowful, and says: "gentlemen, i wish the money was there, for i ain't got no disposition to throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation o' this misable business; but, alas, the money ain't there; you k'n send and see, if you want to." "where is it, then?" "well, when my niece give it to me to keep for her i took and hid it inside o' the straw tick o' my bed, not wishin' to bank it for the few days we'd be here, and considerin' the bed a safe place, we not bein' used to niggers, and suppos'n' 'em honest, like servants in england. the niggers stole it the very next mornin' after i had went down-stairs; and when i sold 'em i hadn't missed the money yit, so they got clean away with it. my servant here k'n tell you 'bout it, gentlemen." the doctor and several said "shucks!" and i see nobody didn't altogether believe him. one man asked me if i see the niggers steal it. i said no, but i see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away, and i never thought nothing, only i reckoned they was afraid they had waked up my master and was trying to get away before he made trouble with them. that was all they asked me. then the doctor whirls on me and says: "are _you_ english, too?" i says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, "stuff!" well, then they sailed in on the general investigation, and there we had it, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word about supper, nor ever seemed to think about it--and so they kept it up, and kept it up; and it _was_ the worst mixed-up thing you ever see. they made the king tell his yarn, and they made the old gentleman tell his'n; and anybody but a lot of prejudiced chuckleheads would 'a' _seen_ that the old gentleman was spinning truth and t'other one lies. and by and by they had me up to tell what i knowed. the king he give me a left-handed look out of the corner of his eye, and so i knowed enough to talk on the right side. i begun to tell about sheffield, and how we lived there, and all about the english wilkses, and so on; but i didn't get pretty fur till the doctor begun to laugh; and levi bell, the lawyer, says: "set down, my boy; i wouldn't strain myself if i was you. i reckon you ain't used to lying, it don't seem to come handy; what you want is practice. you do it pretty awkward." i didn't care nothing for the compliment, but i was glad to be let off, anyway. the doctor he started to say something, and turns and says: "if you'd been in town at first, levi bell--" the king broke in and reached out his hand, and says: "why, is this my poor dead brother's old friend that he's wrote so often about?" the lawyer and him shook hands, and the lawyer smiled and looked pleased, and they talked right along awhile, and then got to one side and talked low; and at last the lawyer speaks up and says: "that 'll fix it. i'll take the order and send it, along with your brother's, and then they'll know it's all right." so they got some paper and a pen, and the king he set down and twisted his head to one side, and chawed his tongue, and scrawled off something; and then they give the pen to the duke--and then for the first time the duke looked sick. but he took the pen and wrote. so then the lawyer turns to the new old gentleman and says: "you and your brother please write a line or two and sign your names." the old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn't read it. the lawyer looked powerful astonished, and says: "well, it beats _me_--and snaked a lot of old letters out of his pocket, and examined them, and then examined the old man's writing, and then _them_ again; and then says: "these old letters is from harvey wilks; and here's _these_ two handwritings, and anybody can see _they_ didn't write them" (the king and the duke looked sold and foolish, i tell you, to see how the lawyer had took them in), "and here's _this_ old gentleman's handwriting, and anybody can tell, easy enough, _he_ didn't write them--fact is, the scratches he makes ain't properly _writing_ at all. now, here's some letters from--" the new old gentleman says: "if you please, let me explain. nobody can read my hand but my brother there--so he copies for me. it's _his_ hand you've got there, not mine." "_well!_" says the lawyer, "this _is_ a state of things. i've got some of william's letters, too; so if you'll get him to write a line or so we can com--" "he _can't_ write with his left hand," says the old gentleman. "if he could use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters and mine too. look at both, please--they're by the same hand." the lawyer done it, and says: "i believe it's so--and if it ain't so, there's a heap stronger resemblance than i'd noticed before, anyway. well, well, well! i thought we was right on the track of a slution, but it's gone to grass, partly. but anyway, _one_ thing is proved--_these_ two ain't either of 'em wilkses"--and he wagged his head towards the king and the duke. well, what do you think? that mule-headed old fool wouldn't give in _then!_ indeed he wouldn't. said it warn't no fair test. said his brother william was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn't _tried_ to write--_he_ see william was going to play one of his jokes the minute he put the pen to paper. and so he warmed up and went warbling right along till he was actuly beginning to believe what he was saying _himself_; but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and says: "i've thought of something. is there anybody here that helped to lay out my br--helped to lay out the late peter wilks for burying?" "yes," says somebody, "me and ab turner done it. we're both here." then the old man turns toward the king, and says: "peraps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?" blamed if the king didn't have to brace up mighty quick, or he'd 'a' squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took him so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to make most _anybody_ sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that without any notice, because how was _he_ going to know what was tattooed on the man? he whitened a little; he couldn't help it; and it was mighty still in there, and everybody bending a little forwards and gazing at him. says i to myself, _now_ he'll throw up the sponge--there ain't no more use. well, did he? a body can't hardly believe it, but he didn't. i reckon he thought he'd keep the thing up till he tired them people out, so they'd thin out, and him and the duke could break loose and get away. anyway, he set there, and pretty soon he begun to smile, and says: "mf! it's a _very_ tough question, _ain't_ it! _yes_, sir, i k'n tell you what's tattooed on his breast. it's jest a small, thin, blue arrow--that's what it is; and if you don't look clost, you can't see it. _now_ what do you say--hey?" well, _i_ never see anything like that old blister for clean out-and-out cheek. the new old gentleman turns brisk towards ab turner and his pard, and his eye lights up like he judged he'd got the king _this_ time, and says: "there--you've heard what he said! was there any such mark on peter wilks's breast?" both of them spoke up and says: "we didn't see no such mark." "good!" says the old gentleman. "now, what you _did_ see on his breast was a small dim p, and a b (which is an initial he dropped when he was young), and a w, and dashes between them, so: p--b--w"--and he marked them that way on a piece of paper. "come, ain't that what you saw?" both of them spoke up again, and says: "no, we _didn't_. we never seen any marks at all." well, everybody _was_ in a state of mind now, and they sings out: "the whole _bilin'_ of 'm 's frauds! le's duck 'em! le's drown 'em! le's ride 'em on a rail!" and everybody was whooping at once, and there was a rattling powwow. but the lawyer he jumps on the table and yells, and says: "gentlemen--gentle_men!_ hear me just a word--just a _single_ word--if you please! there's one way yet--let's go and dig up the corpse and look." that took them. "hooray!" they all shouted, and was starting right off; but the lawyer and the doctor sung out: "hold on, hold on! collar all these four men and the boy, and fetch _them_ along, too!" "we'll do it!" they all shouted; "and if we don't find them marks we'll lynch the whole gang!" i _was_ scared, now, i tell you. but there warn't no getting away, you know. they gripped us all, and marched us right along, straight for the graveyard, which was a mile and a half down the river, and the whole town at our heels, for we made noise enough, and it was only nine in the evening. as we went by our house i wished i hadn't sent mary jane out of town; because now if i could tip her the wink she'd light out and save me, and blow on our dead-beats. well, we swarmed along down the river road, just carrying on like wildcats; and to make it more scary the sky was darking up, and the lightning beginning to wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver amongst the leaves. this was the most awful trouble and most dangersome i ever was in; and i was kinder stunned; everything was going so different from what i had allowed for; stead of being fixed so i could take my own time if i wanted to, and see all the fun, and have mary jane at my back to save me and set me free when the close-fit come, here was nothing in the world betwixt me and sudden death but just them tattoo-marks. if they didn't find them-- i couldn't bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, i couldn't think about nothing else. it got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the wrist--hines--and a body might as well try to give goliar the slip. he dragged me right along, he was so excited, and i had to run to keep up. when they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it like an overflow. and when they got to the grave they found they had about a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn't thought to fetch a lantern. but they sailed into digging anyway by the flicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a mile off, to borrow one. so they dug and dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the rain started, and the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning come brisker and brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never took no notice of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute you could see everything and every face in that big crowd, and the shovelfuls of dirt sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the dark wiped it all out, and you couldn't see nothing at all. at last they got out the coffin and begun to unscrew the lid, and then such another crowding and shouldering and shoving as there was, to scrouge in and get a sight, you never see; and in the dark, that way, it was awful. hines he hurt my wrist dreadful pulling and tugging so, and i reckon he clean forgot i was in the world, he was so excited and panting. all of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice of white glare, and somebody sings out: "by the living jingo, here's the bag of gold on his breast!" hines let out a whoop, like everybody else, and dropped my wrist and give a big surge to bust his way in and get a look, and the way i lit out and shinned for the road in the dark there ain't nobody can tell. i had the road all to myself, and i fairly flew--leastways, i had it all to myself except the solid dark, and the now-and-then glares, and the buzzing of the rain, and the thrashing of the wind, and the splitting of the thunder; and sure as you are born i did clip it along! when i struck the town i see there warn't nobody out in the storm, so i never hunted for no back streets, but humped it straight through the main one; and when i begun to get towards our house i aimed my eye and set it. no light there; the house all dark--which made me feel sorry and disappointed, i didn't know why. but at last, just as i was sailing by, _flash_ comes the light in mary jane's window! and my heart swelled up sudden, like to bust; and the same second the house and all was behind me in the dark, and wasn't ever going to be before me no more in this world. she _was_ the best girl i ever see, and had the most sand. the minute i was far enough above the town to see i could make the towhead, i begun to look sharp for a boat to borrow, and the first time the lightning showed me one that wasn't chained i snatched it and shoved. it was a canoe, and warn't fastened with nothing but a rope. the towhead was a rattling big distance off, away out there in the middle of the river, but i didn't lose no time; and when i struck the raft at last i was so fagged i would 'a' just laid down to blow and gasp if i could afforded it. but i didn't. as i sprung aboard i sung out: "out with you, jim, and set her loose! glory be to goodness, we're shut of them!" jim lit out, and was a-coming for me with both arms spread, he was so full of joy; but when i glimpsed him in the lightning my heart shot up in my mouth and i went overboard backwards; for i forgot he was old king lear and a drownded a-rab all in one, and it most scared the livers and lights out of me. but jim fished me out, and was going to hug me and bless me, and so on, he was so glad i was back and we was shut of the king and the duke, but i says: "not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast! cut loose and let her slide!" so in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the river, and it _did_ seem so good to be free again and all by ourselves on the big river, and nobody to bother us. i had to skip around a bit, and jump up and crack my heels a few times--i couldn't help it; but about the third crack i noticed a sound that i knowed mighty well, and held my breath and listened and waited; and sure enough, when the next flash busted out over the water, here they come!--and just a-laying to their oars and making their skiff hum! it was the king and the duke. so i wilted right down onto the planks then, and give up; and it was all i could do to keep from crying. chapter xxx when they got aboard the king went for me, and shook me by the collar, and says: "tryin' to give us the slip, was ye, you pup! tired of our company, hey?" i says: "no, your majesty, we warn't--_please_ don't, your majesty!" "quick, then, and tell us what _was_ your idea, or i'll shake the insides out o' you!" "honest, i'll tell you everything just as it happened, your majesty. the man that had a-holt of me was very good to me, and kept saying he had a boy about as big as me that died last year, and he was sorry to see a boy in such a dangerous fix; and when they was all took by surprise by finding the gold, and made a rush for the coffin, he lets go of me and whispers, 'heel it now, or they'll hang ye, sure!' and i lit out. it didn't seem no good for _me_ to stay--i couldn't do nothing, and i didn't want to be _hung_ if i could get away. so i never stopped running till i found the canoe; and when i got here i told jim to hurry, or they'd catch me and hang me yet, and said i was afeard you and the duke wasn't alive now, and i was awful sorry, and so was jim, and was awful glad when we see you coming; you may ask jim if i didn't." jim said it was so; and the king told him to shut up, and said, "oh, yes, it's _mighty_ likely!" and shook me up again, and said he reckoned he'd drownd me. but the duke says: "leggo the boy, you old idiot! would _you_ 'a' done any different? did you inquire around for _him_ when you got loose? i don't remember it." so the king let go of me, and begun to cuss that town and everybody in it. but the duke says: "you better a blame' sight give _yourself_ a good cussing, for you're the one that's entitled to it most. you hain't done a thing from the start that had any sense in it, except coming out so cool and cheeky with that imaginary blue-arrow mark. that _was_ bright--it was right down bully; and it was the thing that saved us. for if it hadn't been for that they'd 'a' jailed us till them englishmen's baggage come--and then--the penitentiary, you bet! but that trick took 'em to the graveyard, and the gold done us a still bigger kindness; for if the excited fools hadn't let go all holts and made that rush to get a look we'd 'a' slept in our cravats to-night--cravats warranted to _wear_, too--longer than _we'd_ need 'em." they was still a minute--thinking; then the king says, kind of absent-minded like: "mf! and we reckoned the _niggers_ stole it!" that made me squirm! "yes," says the duke, kinder slow and deliberate and sarcastic, "_we_ did." after about a half a minute the king drawls out: "leastways, i did." the duke says, the same way: "on the contrary, _i_ did." the king kind of ruffles up, and says: "looky here, bilgewater, what'r you referrin' to?" the duke says, pretty brisk: "when it comes to that, maybe you'll let me ask what was _you_ referring to?" "shucks!" says the king, very sarcastic; "but _i_ don't know--maybe you was asleep, and didn't know what you was about." the duke bristles up now, and says: "oh, let _up_ on this cussed nonsense; do you take me for a blame' fool? don't you reckon i know who hid that money in that coffin?" "_yes_, sir! i know you _do_ know, because you done it yourself!" "it's a lie!"--and the duke went for him. the king sings out: "take y'r hands off!--leggo my throat!--i take it all back!" the duke says: "well, you just own up, first, that you _did_ hide that money there, intending to give me the slip one of these days, and come back and dig it up, and have it all to yourself." "wait jest a minute, duke--answer me this one question, honest and fair; if you didn't put the money there, say it, and i'll b'lieve you, and take back everything i said." "you old scoundrel, i didn't, and you know i didn't. there, now!" "well, then, i b'lieve you. but answer me only jest this one more--now _don't_ git mad; didn't you have it in your mind to hook the money and hide it?" the duke never said nothing for a little bit; then he says: "well, i don't care if i _did_, i didn't _do_ it, anyway. but you not only had it in mind to do it, but you _done_ it." "i wisht i never die if i done it, duke, and that's honest. i won't say i warn't goin' to do it, because i _was_; but you--i mean somebody--got in ahead o' me." "it's a lie! you done it, and you got to _say_ you done it, or--" the king began to gurgle, and then he gasps out: "'nough!--i _own up!_" i was very glad to hear him say that; it made me feel much more easier than what i was feeling before. so the duke took his hands off and says: "if you ever deny it again i'll drown you. it's _well_ for you to set there and blubber like a baby--it's fitten for you, after the way you've acted. i never see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble everything--and i a-trusting you all the time, like you was my own father. you ought to been ashamed of yourself to stand by and hear it saddled on to a lot of poor niggers, and you never say a word for 'em. it makes me feel ridiculous to think i was soft enough to _believe_ that rubbage. cuss you, i can see now why you was so anxious to make up the deffisit--you wanted to get what money i'd got out of the 'none-such' and one thing or another, and scoop it _all!_" the king says, timid, and still a-snuffling: "why, duke, it was you that said make up the deffersit; it warn't me." "dry up! i don't want to hear no more out of you!" says the duke. "and _now_ you see what you _got_ by it. they've got all their own money back, and all of _ourn_ but a shekel or two _besides_. g'long to bed, and don't you deffersit _me_ no more deffersits, long 's _you_ live!" so the king sneaked into the wigwam and took to his bottle for comfort, and before long the duke tackled _his_ bottle; and so in about a half an hour they was as thick as thieves again, and the tighter they got the lovinger they got, and went off a-snoring in each other's arms. they both got powerful mellow, but i noticed the king didn't get mellow enough to forget to remember to not deny about hiding the money-bag again. that made me feel easy and satisfied. of course when they got to snoring we had a long gabble, and i told jim everything. chapter xxxi we dasn't stop again at any town for days and days; kept right along down the river. we was down south in the warm weather now, and a mighty long ways from home. we begun to come to trees with spanish moss on them, hanging down from the limbs like long, gray beards. it was the first i ever see it growing, and it made the woods look solemn and dismal. so now the frauds reckoned they was out of danger, and they begun to work the villages again. first they done a lecture on temperance; but they didn't make enough for them both to get drunk on. then in another village they started a dancing-school; but they didn't know no more how to dance than a kangaroo does; so the first prance they made the general public jumped in and pranced them out of town. another time they tried to go at yellocution; but they didn't yellocute long till the audience got up and give them a solid good cussing, and made them skip out. they tackled missionarying, and mesmerizing, and doctoring, and telling fortunes, and a little of everything; but they couldn't seem to have no luck. so at last they got just about dead broke, and laid around the raft as she floated along, thinking and thinking, and never saying nothing, by the half a day at a time, and dreadful blue and desperate. and at last they took a change and begun to lay their heads together in the wigwam and talk low and confidential two or three hours at a time. jim and me got uneasy. we didn't like the look of it. we judged they was studying up some kind of worse deviltry than ever. we turned it over and over, and at last we made up our minds they was going to break into somebody's house or store, or was going into the counterfeit-money business, or something. so then we was pretty scared, and made up an agreement that we wouldn't have nothing in the world to do with such actions, and if we ever got the least show we would give them the cold shake and clear out and leave them behind. well, early one morning we hid the raft in a good, safe place about two mile below a little bit of a shabby village named pikesville, and the king he went ashore and told us all to stay hid whilst he went up to town and smelt around to see if anybody had got any wind of the "royal nonesuch" there yet. ("house to rob, you _mean_," says i to myself; "and when you get through robbing it you'll come back here and wonder what has become of me and jim and the raft--and you'll have to take it out in wondering.") and he said if he warn't back by midday the duke and me would know it was all right, and we was to come along. so we stayed where we was. the duke he fretted and sweated around, and was in a mighty sour way. he scolded us for everything, and we couldn't seem to do nothing right; he found fault with every little thing. something was a-brewing, sure. i was good and glad when midday come and no king; we could have a change, anyway--and maybe a chance for _the_ chance on top of it. so me and the duke went up to the village, and hunted around there for the king, and by and by we found him in the back room of a little low doggery, very tight, and a lot of loafers bullyragging him for sport, and he a-cussing and a-threatening with all his might, and so tight he couldn't walk, and couldn't do nothing to them. the duke he begun to abuse him for an old fool, and the king begun to sass back, and the minute they was fairly at it i lit out and shook the reefs out of my hind legs, and spun down the river road like a deer, for i see our chance; and i made up my mind that it would be a long day before they ever see me and jim again. i got down there all out of breath but loaded up with joy, and sung out: "set her loose, jim; we're all right now!" but there warn't no answer, and nobody come out of the wigwam. jim was gone! i set up a shout--and then another--and then another one; and run this way and that in the woods, whooping and screeching; but it warn't no use--old jim was gone. then i set down and cried; i couldn't help it. but i couldn't set still long. pretty soon i went out on the road, trying to think what i better do, and i run across a boy walking, and asked him if he'd seen a strange nigger dressed so and so, and he says: "yes." "whereabouts?" says i. "down to silas phelps's place, two mile below here. he's a runaway nigger, and they've got him. was you looking for him?" "you bet i ain't! i run across him in the woods about an hour or two ago, and he said if i hollered he'd cut my livers out--and told me to lay down and stay where i was; and i done it. been there ever since; afeard to come out." "well," he says, "you needn't be afeard no more, becuz they've got him. he run off f'm down south som'ers." "it's a good job they got him." "well, i _reckon!_ there's two hundred dollars dollars' reward on him. it's like picking up money out'n the road." "yes, it is--and i could 'a' had it if i'd been big enough; i see him _first_. who nailed him?" "it was an old fellow--a stranger--and he sold out his chance in him for forty dollars, becuz he's got to go up the river and can't wait. think o' that, now! you bet _i'd_ wait, if it was seven year." "that's me, every time," says i. "but maybe his chance ain't worth no more than that, if he'll sell it so cheap. maybe there's something ain't straight about it." "but it _is_, though--straight as a string. i see the handbill myself. it tells all about him, to a dot--paints him like a picture, and tells the plantation he's frum, below newr_leans_. no-sirree-_bob_, they ain't no trouble 'bout _that_ speculation, you bet you. say, gimme a chaw tobacker, won't ye?" i didn't have none, so he left. i went to the raft, and set down in the wigwam to think. but i couldn't come to nothing. i thought till i wore my head sore, but i couldn't see no way out of the trouble. after all this long journey, and after all we'd done for them scoundrels, here it was all come to nothing, everything all busted up and ruined, because they could have the heart to serve jim such a trick as that, and make him a slave again all his life, and amongst strangers, too, for forty dirty dollars. once i said to myself it would be a thousand times better for jim to be a slave at home where his family was, as long as he'd _got_ to be a slave, and so i'd better write a letter to tom sawyer and tell him to tell miss watson where he was. but i soon give up that notion for two things: she'd be mad and disgusted at his rascality and ungratefulness for leaving her, and so she'd sell him straight down the river again; and if she didn't, everybody naturally despises an ungrateful nigger, and they'd make jim feel it all the time, and so he'd feel ornery and disgraced. and then think of _me!_ it would get all around that huck finn helped a nigger to get his freedom; and if i was ever to see anybody from that town again i'd be ready to get down and lick his boots for shame. that's just the way: a person does a low-down thing, and then he don't want to take no consequences of it. thinks as long as he can hide, it ain't no disgrace. that was my fix exactly. the more i studied about this the more my conscience went to grinding me, and the more wicked and low-down and ornery i got to feeling. and at last, when it hit me all of a sudden that here was the plain hand of providence slapping me in the face and letting me know my wickedness was being watched all the time from up there in heaven, whilst i was stealing a poor old woman's nigger that hadn't ever done me no harm, and now was showing me there's one that's always on the lookout, and ain't a-going to allow no such miserable doings to go only just so fur and no further, i most dropped in my tracks i was so scared. well, i tried the best i could to kinder soften it up somehow for myself by saying i was brung up wicked, and so i warn't so much to blame; but something inside of me kept saying, "there was the sunday-school, you could 'a' gone to it; and if you'd 'a' done it they'd 'a' learnt you there that people that acts as i'd been acting about that nigger goes to everlasting fire." it made me shiver. and i about made up my mind to pray, and see if i couldn't try to quit being the kind of a boy i was and be better. so i kneeled down. but the words wouldn't come. why wouldn't they? it warn't no use to try and hide it from him. nor from _me_, neither. i knowed very well why they wouldn't come. it was because my heart warn't right; it was because i warn't square; it was because i was playing double. i was letting _on_ to give up sin, but away inside of me i was holding on to the biggest one of all. i was trying to make my mouth _say_ i would do the right thing and the clean thing, and go and write to that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep down in me i knowed it was a lie, and he knowed it. you can't pray a lie--i found that out. so i was full of trouble, full as i could be; and didn't know what to do. at last i had an idea; and i says, i'll go and write the letter--and then see if i can pray. why, it was astonishing, the way i felt as light as a feather right straight off, and my troubles all gone. so i got a piece of paper and a pencil, all glad and excited, and set down and wrote: miss watson, your runaway nigger jim is down here two mile below pikesville, and mr. phelps has got him and he will give him up for the reward if you send. huck finn. i felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time i had ever felt so in my life, and i knowed i could pray now. but i didn't do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking--thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near i come to being lost and going to hell. and went on thinking. and got to thinking over our trip down the river; and i see jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. but somehow i couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. i'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of calling me, so i could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when i come back out of the fog; and when i come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me, and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last i struck the time i saved him by telling the men we had smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said i was the best friend old jim ever had in the world, and the _only_ one he's got now; and then i happened to look around and see that paper. it was a close place. i took it up, and held it in my hand. i was a-trembling, because i'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and i knowed it. i studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: "all right, then, i'll _go_ to hell"--and tore it up. it was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. and i let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming. i shoved the whole thing out of my head, and said i would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn't. and for a starter i would go to work and steal jim out of slavery again; and if i could think up anything worse, i would do that, too; because as long as i was in, and in for good, i might as well go the whole hog. then i set to thinking over how to get at it, and turned over some considerable many ways in my mind; and at last fixed up a plan that suited me. so then i took the bearings of a woody island that was down the river a piece, and as soon as it was fairly dark i crept out with my raft and went for it, and hid it there, and then turned in. i slept the night through, and got up before it was light, and had my breakfast, and put on my store clothes, and tied up some others and one thing or another in a bundle, and took the canoe and cleared for shore. i landed below where i judged was phelps's place, and hid my bundle in the woods, and then filled up the canoe with water, and loaded rocks into her and sunk her where i could find her again when i wanted her, about a quarter of a mile below a little steam-sawmill that was on the bank. then i struck up the road, and when i passed the mill i see a sign on it, "phelps's sawmill," and when i come to the farm-houses, two or three hundred yards further along, i kept my eyes peeled, but didn't see nobody around, though it was good daylight now. but i didn't mind, because i didn't want to see nobody just yet--i only wanted to get the lay of the land. according to my plan, i was going to turn up there from the village, not from below. so i just took a look, and shoved along, straight for town. well, the very first man i see when i got there was the duke. he was sticking up a bill for the "royal nonesuch--three-night performance--like that other time. they had the cheek, them frauds! i was right on him before i could shirk. he looked astonished, and says: "hel-_lo!_ where'd _you_ come from?" then he says, kind of glad and eager, "where's the raft?--got her in a good place?" i says: "why, that's just what i was going to ask your grace." then he didn't look so joyful, and says: "what was your idea for asking _me?_" he says. "well," i says, "when i see the king in that doggery yesterday i says to myself, we can't get him home for hours, till he's soberer; so i went a-loafing around town to put in the time and wait. a man up and offered me ten cents to help him pull a skiff over the river and back to fetch a sheep, and so i went along; but when we was dragging him to the boat, and the man left me a-holt of the rope and went behind him to shove him along, he was too strong for me and jerked loose and run, and we after him. we didn't have no dog, and so we had to chase him all over the country till we tired him out. we never got him till dark; then we fetched him over, and i started down for the raft. when i got there and see it was gone, i says to myself, 'they've got into trouble and had to leave; and they've took my nigger, which is the only nigger i've got in the world, and now i'm in a strange country, and ain't got no property no more, nor nothing, and no way to make my living'; so i set down and cried. i slept in the woods all night. but what _did_ become of the raft, then?--and jim--poor jim!" "blamed if i know--that is, what's become of the raft. that old fool had made a trade and got forty dollars, and when we found him in the doggery the loafers had matched half-dollars with him and got every cent but what he'd spent for whisky; and when i got him home late last night and found the raft gone, we said, 'that little rascal has stole our raft and shook us, and run off down the river.'" "i wouldn't shake my _nigger_, would i?--the only nigger i had in the world, and the only property." "we never thought of that. fact is, i reckon we'd come to consider him _our_ nigger; yes, we did consider him so--goodness knows we had trouble enough for him. so when we see the raft was gone and we flat broke, there warn't anything for it but to try the 'royal nonesuch' another shake. and i've pegged along ever since, dry as a powder-horn. where's that ten cents? give it here." i had considerable money, so i give him ten cents, but begged him to spend it for something to eat, and give me some, because it was all the money i had, and i hadn't had nothing to eat since yesterday. he never said nothing. the next minute he whirls on me and says: "do you reckon that nigger would blow on us? we'd skin him if he done that!" "how can he blow? hain't he run off?" "no! that old fool sold him, and never divided with me, and the money's gone." "_sold_ him?" i says, and begun to cry; "why, he was _my_ nigger, and that was my money. where is he?--i want my nigger." "well, you can't _get_ your nigger, that's all--so dry up your blubbering. looky here--do you think _you'd_ venture to blow on us? blamed if i think i'd trust you. why, if you _was_ to blow on us--" he stopped, but i never see the duke look so ugly out of his eyes before. i went on a-whimpering, and says: "i don't want to blow on nobody; and i ain't got no time to blow, nohow; i got to turn out and find my nigger." he looked kinder bothered, and stood there with his bills fluttering on his arm, thinking, and wrinkling up his forehead. at last he says: "i'll tell you something. we got to be here three days. if you'll promise you won't blow, and won't let the nigger blow, i'll tell you where to find him." so i promised, and he says: "a farmer by the name of silas ph--" and then he stopped. you see, he started to tell me the truth; but when he stopped that way, and begun to study and think again, i reckoned he was changing his mind. and so he was. he wouldn't trust me; he wanted to make sure of having me out of the way the whole three days. so pretty soon he says: "the man that bought him is named abram foster--abram g. foster--and he lives forty mile back here in the country, on the road to lafayette." "all right," i says, "i can walk it in three days. and i'll start this very afternoon." "no you won't, you'll start _now_; and don't you lose any time about it, neither, nor do any gabbling by the way. just keep a tight tongue in your head and move right along, and then you won't get into trouble with _us_, d'ye hear?" that was the order i wanted, and that was the one i played for. i wanted to be left free to work my plans. "so clear out," he says; "and you can tell mr. foster whatever you want to. maybe you can get him to believe that jim _is_ your nigger--some idiots don't require documents--leastways i've heard there's such down south here. and when you tell him the handbill and the reward's bogus, maybe he'll believe you when you explain to him what the idea was for getting 'em out. go 'long now, and tell him anything you want to; but mind you don't work your jaw any _between_ here and there." so i left, and struck for the back country. i didn't look around, but i kinder felt like he was watching me. but i knowed i could tire him out at that. i went straight out in the country as much as a mile before i stopped; then i doubled back through the woods towards phelps's. i reckoned i better start in on my plan straight off without fooling around, because i wanted to stop jim's mouth till these fellows could get away. i didn't want no trouble with their kind. i'd seen all i wanted to of them, and wanted to get entirely shut of them. chapter xxxii when i got there it was all still and sunday-like, and hot and sunshiny; the hands was gone to the fields; and there was them kind of faint dronings of bugs and flies in the air that makes it seem so lonesome and like everybody's dead and gone; and if a breeze fans along and quivers the leaves it makes you feel mournful, because you feel like it's spirits whispering--spirits that's been dead ever so many years--and you always think they're talking about _you._ as a general thing it makes a body wish _he_ was dead, too, and done with it all. phelps's was one of these little one-horse cotton plantations, and they all look alike. a rail fence round a two-acre yard; a stile made out of logs sawed off and up-ended in steps, like barrels of a different length, to climb over the fence with, and for the women to stand on when they are going to jump onto a horse; some sickly grass-patches in the big yard, but mostly it was bare and smooth, like an old hat with the nap rubbed off; big double log house for the white folks--hewed logs, with the chinks stopped up with mud or mortar, and these mud-stripes been whitewashed some time or another; round-log kitchen, with a big broad, open but roofed passage joining it to the house; log smokehouse back of the kitchen; three little nigger cabins in a row t'other side the smokehouse; one little hut all by itself away down against the back fence, and some outbuildings down a piece the other side; ash-hopper and big kettle to bile soap in by the little hut; bench by the kitchen door, with bucket of water and a gourd; hound asleep there in the sun; more hounds asleep round about; about three shade trees away off in a corner; some currant bushes and gooseberry bushes in one place by the fence; outside of the fence a garden and a watermelon patch; then the cotton-fields begins, and after the fields the woods. i went around and clumb over the back stile by the ash-hopper, and started for the kitchen. when i got a little ways i heard the dim hum of a spinning-wheel wailing along up and sinking along down again; and then i knowed for certain i wished i was dead--for that _is_ the lonesomest sound in the whole world. i went right along, not fixing up any particular plan, but just trusting to providence to put the right words in my mouth when the time come; for i'd noticed that providence always did put the right words in my mouth if i left it alone. when i got half-way, first one hound and then another got up and went for me, and of course i stopped and faced them, and kept still. and such another powwow as they made! in a quarter of a minute i was a kind of a hub of a wheel, as you may say--spokes made out of dogs--circle of fifteen of them packed together around me, with their necks and noses stretched up towards me, a-barking and howling; and more a-coming; you could see them sailing over fences and around corners from every-wheres. a nigger woman come tearing out of the kitchen with a rolling-pin in her hand, singing out, "begone! _you_ tige! you spot! begone sah!" and she fetched first one and then another of them a clip and sent them howling, and then the rest followed; and the next second half of them come back, wagging their tails around me, and making friends with me. there ain't no harm in a hound, nohow. and behind the woman comes a little nigger girl and two little nigger boys without anything on but tow-linen shirts, and they hung on to their mother's gown, and peeped out from behind her at me, bashful, the way they always do. and here comes the white woman running from the house, about forty-five or fifty year old, bareheaded, and her spinning-stick in her hand; and behind her comes her little white children, acting the same way the little niggers was going. she was smiling all over so she could hardly stand--and says: "it's _you_, at last!--_ain't_ it?" i out with a "yes'm" before i thought. she grabbed me and hugged me tight; and then gripped me by both hands and shook and shook; and the tears come in her eyes, and run down over; and she couldn't seem to hug and shake enough, and kept saying, "you don't look as much like your mother as i reckoned you would; but law sakes, i don't care for that, i'm so glad to see you! dear, dear, it does seem like i could eat you up! children, it's your cousin tom!--tell him howdy." but they ducked their heads, and put their fingers in their mouths, and hid behind her. so she run on: "lize, hurry up and get him a hot breakfast right away--or did you get your breakfast on the boat?" i said i had got it on the boat. so then she started for the house, leading me by the hand, and the children tagging after. when we got there she set me down in a split-bottomed chair, and set herself down on a little low stool in front of me, holding both of my hands, and says: "now i can have a _good_ look at you; and, laws-a-me, i've been hungry for it a many and a many a time, all these long years, and it's come at last! we been expecting you a couple of days and more. what kep' you?--boat get aground?" "yes'm--she--" "don't say yes'm--say aunt sally. where'd she get aground?" i didn't rightly know what to say, because i didn't know whether the boat would be coming up the river or down. but i go a good deal on instinct; and my instinct said she would be coming up--from down towards orleans. that didn't help me much, though; for i didn't know the names of bars down that way. i see i'd got to invent a bar, or forget the name of the one we got aground on--or--now i struck an idea, and fetched it out: "it warn't the grounding--that didn't keep us back but a little. we blowed out a cylinder-head." "good gracious! anybody hurt?" "no'm. killed a nigger." "well, it's lucky; because sometimes people do get hurt. two years ago last christmas your uncle silas was coming up from newrleans on the old lally rook, and she blowed out a cylinder-head and crippled a man. and i think he died afterwards. he was a baptist. your uncle silas knowed a family in baton rouge that knowed his people very well. yes, i remember now, he _did_ die. mortification set in, and they had to amputate him. but it didn't save him. yes, it was mortification--that was it. he turned blue all over, and died in the hope of a glorious resurrection. they say he was a sight to look at. your uncle's been up to the town every day to fetch you. and he's gone again, not more'n an hour ago; he'll be back any minute now. you must 'a' met him on the road, didn't you?--oldish man, with a--" "no, i didn't see nobody, aunt sally. the boat landed just at daylight, and i left my baggage on the wharf-boat and went looking around the town and out a piece in the country, to put in the time and not get here too soon; and so i come down the back way." "who'd you give the baggage to?" "nobody." "why, child, it 'll be stole!" "not where i hid it i reckon it won't," i says. "how'd you get your breakfast so early on the boat?" it was kinder thin ice, but i says: "the captain see me standing around, and told me i better have something to eat before i went ashore; so he took me in the texas to the officers' lunch, and give me all i wanted." i was getting so uneasy i couldn't listen good. i had my mind on the children all the time; i wanted to get them out to one side and pump them a little, and find out who i was. but i couldn't get no show, mrs. phelps kept it up and run on so. pretty soon she made the cold chills streak all down my back, because she says: "but here we're a-running on this way, and you hain't told me a word about sis, nor any of them. now i'll rest my works a little, and you start up yourn; just tell me _everything_--tell me all about 'm all--every one of 'm; and how they are, and what they're doing, and what they told you to tell me; and every last thing you can think of." well, i see i was up a stump--and up it good. providence had stood by me this fur all right, but i was hard and tight aground now. i see it warn't a bit of use to try to go ahead--i'd got to throw up my hand. so i says to myself, here's another place where i got to resk the truth. i opened my mouth to begin; but she grabbed me and hustled me in behind the bed, and says: "here he comes! stick your head down lower--there, that'll do; you can't be seen now. don't you let on you're here. i'll play a joke on him. children, don't you say a word." i see i was in a _fix_ now. but it warn't no use to worry; there warn't nothing to do but just hold still, and try and be ready to stand from under when the lightning struck. i had just one little glimpse of the old gentleman when he come in; then the bed hid him. mrs. phelps she jumps for him, and says: "has he come?" "no," says her husband. "good-_ness_ gracious!" she says, "what in the world _can_ have become of him?" "i can't imagine," says the old gentleman; "and i must say it makes me dreadful uneasy." "uneasy!" she says; "i'm ready to go distracted! he _must_ 'a' come; and you've missed him along the road. i _know_ it's so--something tells me so." "why, sally, i _couldn't_ miss him along the road--_you_ know that." "but oh, dear, dear, what _will_ sis say! he must 'a' come! you must 'a' missed him. he--" "oh, don't distress me any more'n i'm already distressed. i don't know what in the world to make of it. i'm at my wit's end, and i don't mind acknowledging 't i'm right down scared. but there's no hope that he's come; for he _couldn't_ come and me miss him. sally, it's terrible--just terrible--something's happened to the boat, sure!" "why, silas! look yonder!--up the road!--ain't that somebody coming?" he sprung to the window at the head of the bed, and that give mrs. phelps the chance she wanted. she stooped down quick at the foot of the bed and give me a pull, and out i come; and when he turned back from the window there she stood, a-beaming and a-smiling like a house afire, and i standing pretty meek and sweaty alongside. the old gentleman stared, and says: "why, who's that?" "who do you reckon 'tis?" "i hain't no idea. who _is_ it?" "it's _tom sawyer!_" by jings, i most slumped through the floor! but there warn't no time to swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on shaking; and all the time how the woman did dance around and laugh and cry; and then how they both did fire off questions about sid, and mary, and the rest of the tribe. but if they was joyful, it warn't nothing to what i was; for it was like being born again, i was so glad to find out who i was. well, they froze to me for two hours; and at last, when my chin was so tired it couldn't hardly go any more, i had told them more about my family--i mean the sawyer family--than ever happened to any six sawyer families. and i explained all about how we blowed out a cylinder-head at the mouth of white river, and it took us three days to fix it. which was all right, and worked first-rate; because _they_ didn't know but what it would take three days to fix it. if i'd 'a' called it a bolthead it would 'a' done just as well. now i was feeling pretty comfortable all down one side, and pretty uncomfortable all up the other. being tom sawyer was easy and comfortable, and it stayed easy and comfortable till by and by i hear a steamboat coughing along down the river. then i says to myself, s'pose tom sawyer comes down on that boat? and s'pose he steps in here any minute, and sings out my name before i can throw him a wink to keep quiet? well, i couldn't _have_ it that way; it wouldn't do at all. i must go up the road and waylay him. so i told the folks i reckoned i would go up to the town and fetch down my baggage. the old gentleman was for going along with me, but i said no, i could drive the horse myself, and i druther he wouldn't take no trouble about me. chapter xxxiii so i started for town in the wagon, and when i was half-way i see a wagon coming, and sure enough it was tom sawyer, and i stopped and waited till he come along. i says "hold on!" and it stopped alongside, and his mouth opened up like a trunk, and stayed so; and he swallowed two or three times like a person that's got a dry throat, and then says: "i hain't ever done you no harm. you know that. so, then, what you want to come back and ha'nt _me_ for?" i says: "i hain't come back--i hain't been _gone_." when he heard my voice it righted him up some, but he warn't quite satisfied yet. he says: "don't you play nothing on me, because i wouldn't on you. honest injun, you ain't a ghost?" "honest injun, i ain't," i says. "well--i--i--well, that ought to settle it, of course; but i can't somehow seem to understand it no way. looky here, warn't you ever murdered _at all?_" "no. i warn't ever murdered at all--i played it on them. you come in here and feel of me if you don't believe me." so he done it; and it satisfied him; and he was that glad to see me again he didn't know what to do. and he wanted to know all about it right off, because it was a grand adventure, and mysterious, and so it hit him where he lived. but i said, leave it alone till by and by; and told his driver to wait, and we drove off a little piece, and i told him the kind of a fix i was in, and what did he reckon we better do? he said, let him alone a minute, and don't disturb him. so he thought and thought, and pretty soon he says: "it's all right; i've got it. take my trunk in your wagon, and let on it's your'n; and you turn back and fool along slow, so as to get to the house about the time you ought to; and i'll go towards town a piece, and take a fresh start, and get there a quarter or a half an hour after you; and you needn't let on to know me at first." i says: "all right; but wait a minute. there's one more thing--a thing that _nobody_ don't know but me. and that is, there's a nigger here that i'm a-trying to steal out of slavery, and his name is _jim_--old miss watson's jim." he says: "what! why, jim is--" he stopped and went to studying. i says: "_i_ know what you'll say. you'll say it's dirty, low-down business; but what if it is? _i_'m low down; and i'm a-going to steal him, and i want you keep mum and not let on. will you?" his eye lit up, and he says: "i'll _help_ you steal him!" well, i let go all holts then, like i was shot. it was the most astonishing speech i ever heard--and i'm bound to say tom sawyer fell considerable in my estimation. only i couldn't believe it. tom sawyer a _nigger-stealer!_ "oh, shucks!" i says; "you're joking." "i ain't joking, either." "well, then," i says, "joking or no joking, if you hear anything said about a runaway nigger, don't forget to remember that _you_ don't know nothing about him, and i don't know nothing about him." then he took the trunk and put it in my wagon, and he drove off his way and i drove mine. but of course i forgot all about driving slow on accounts of being glad and full of thinking; so i got home a heap too quick for that length of a trip. the old gentleman was at the door, and he says: "why, this is wonderful! whoever would 'a' thought it was in that mare to do it? i wish we'd 'a' timed her. and she hain't sweated a hair--not a hair. it's wonderful. why, i wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that horse now--i wouldn't, honest; and yet i'd 'a' sold her for fifteen before, and thought 'twas all she was worth." that's all he said. he was the innocentest, best old soul i ever see. but it warn't surprising; because he warn't only just a farmer, he was a preacher, too, and had a little one-horse log church down back of the plantation, which he built it himself at his own expense, for a church and schoolhouse, and never charged nothing for his preaching, and it was worth it, too. there was plenty other farmer-preachers like that, and done the same way, down south. in about half an hour tom's wagon drove up to the front stile, and aunt sally she see it through the window, because it was only about fifty yards, and says: "why, there's somebody come! i wonder who 'tis? why, i do believe it's a stranger. jimmy" (that's one of the children), "run and tell lize to put on another plate for dinner." everybody made a rush for the front door, because, of course, a stranger don't come _every_ year, and so he lays over the yaller-fever, for interest, when he does come. tom was over the stile and starting for the house; the wagon was spinning up the road for the village, and we was all bunched in the front door. tom had his store clothes on, and an audience--and that was always nuts for tom sawyer. in them circumstances it warn't no trouble to him to throw in an amount of style that was suitable. he warn't a boy to meeky along up that yard like a sheep; no, he come ca'm and important, like the ram. when he got a-front of us he lifts his hat ever so gracious and dainty, like it was the lid of a box that had butterflies asleep in it and he didn't want to disturb them, and says: "mr. archibald nichols, i presume?" "no, my boy," says the old gentleman, "i'm sorry to say 't your driver has deceived you; nichols's place is down a matter of three mile more. come in, come in." tom he took a look back over his shoulder, and says, "too late--he's out of sight." "yes, he's gone, my son, and you must come in and eat your dinner with us; and then we'll hitch up and take you down to nichols's." "oh, i _can't_ make you so much trouble; i couldn't think of it. i'll walk--i don't mind the distance." "but we won't _let_ you walk--it wouldn't be southern hospitality to do it. come right in." "oh, _do_,"' says aunt sally; "it ain't a bit of trouble to us, not a bit in the world. you must stay. it's a long, dusty three mile, and we can't let you walk. and, besides, i've already told 'em to put on another plate when i see you coming; so you mustn't disappoint us. come right in and make yourself at home." so tom he thanked them very hearty and handsome, and let himself be persuaded, and come in; and when he was in he said he was a stranger from hicksville, ohio, and his name was william thompson--and he made another bow. well, he run on, and on, and on, making up stuff about hicksville and everybody in it he could invent, and i getting a little nervious, and wondering how this was going to help me out of my scrape; and at last, still talking along, he reached over and kissed aunt sally right on the mouth, and then settled back again in his chair comfortable, and was going on talking; but she jumped up and wiped it off with the back of her hand, and says: "you owdacious puppy!" he looked kind of hurt, and says: "i'm surprised at you, m'am." "you're s'rp--why, what do you reckon _i_ am? i've a good notion to take and--say, what do you mean by kissing me?" he looked kind of humble, and says: "i didn't mean nothing, m'am. i didn't mean no harm. i--i--thought you'd like it." "why, you born fool!" she took up the spinning-stick, and it looked like it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it. "what made you think i'd like it?" "well, i don't know. only, they--they--told me you would." "_they_ told you i would. whoever told you's _another_ lunatic. i never heard the beat of it. who's _they?_" "why, everybody. they all said so, m'am." it was all she could do to hold in; and her eyes snapped, and her fingers worked like she wanted to scratch him; and she says: "who's 'everybody'? out with their names, or ther'll be an idiot short." he got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his hat, and says: "i'm sorry, and i warn't expecting it. they told me to. they all told me to. they all said, kiss her; and said she'd like it. they all said it--every one of them. but i'm sorry, m'am, and i won't do it no more--i won't, honest." "you won't, won't you? well, i sh'd _reckon_ you won't!" "no'm, i'm honest about it; i won't ever do it again--till you ask me." "till i _ask_ you! well, i never see the beat of it in my born days! i lay you'll be the methusalem-numskull of creation before ever _i_ ask you--or the likes of you." "well," he says, "it does surprise me so. i can't make it out, somehow. they said you would, and i thought you would. but--" he stopped and looked around slow, like he wished he could run across a friendly eye somewheres, and fetched up on the old gentleman's, and says, "didn't _you_ think she'd like me to kiss her, sir?" "why, no; i--i--well, no, i b'lieve i didn't." then he looks on around the same way to me, and says: "tom, didn't _you_ think aunt sally 'd open out her arms and say, 'sid sawyer--'" "my land!" she says, breaking in and jumping for him, "you impudent young rascal, to fool a body so--" and was going to hug him, but he fended her off, and says: "no, not till you've asked me first." so she didn't lose no time, but asked him; and hugged him and kissed him over and over again, and then turned him over to the old man, and he took what was left. and after they got a little quiet again she says: "why, dear me, i never see such a surprise. we warn't looking for _you_ at all, but only tom. sis never wrote to me about anybody coming but him." "it's because it warn't _intended_ for any of us to come but tom," he says; "but i begged and begged, and at the last minute she let me come, too; so, coming down the river, me and tom thought it would be a first-rate surprise for him to come here to the house first, and for me to by and by tag along and drop in, and let on to be a stranger. but it was a mistake, aunt sally. this ain't no healthy place for a stranger to come." "no--not impudent whelps, sid. you ought to had your jaws boxed; i hain't been so put out since i don't know when. but i don't care, i don't mind the terms--i'd be willing to stand a thousand such jokes to have you here. well, to think of that performance! i don't deny it, i was most putrified with astonishment when you give me that smack." we had dinner out in that broad open passage betwixt the house and the kitchen; and there was things enough on that table for seven families--and all hot, too; none of your flabby, tough meat that's laid in a cupboard in a damp cellar all night and tastes like a hunk of old cold cannibal in the morning. uncle silas he asked a pretty long blessing over it, but it was worth it; and it didn't cool it a bit, neither, the way i've seen them kind of interruptions do lots of times. there was a considerable good deal of talk all the afternoon, and me and tom was on the lookout all the time; but it warn't no use, they didn't happen to say nothing about any runaway nigger, and we was afraid to try to work up to it. but at supper, at night, one of the little boys says: "pa, mayn't tom and sid and me go to the show?" "no," says the old man, "i reckon there ain't going to be any; and you couldn't go if there was; because the runaway nigger told burton and me all about that scandalous show, and burton said he would tell the people; so i reckon they've drove the owdacious loafers out of town before this time." so there it was!--but _i_ couldn't help it. tom and me was to sleep in the same room and bed; so, being tired, we bid good night and went up to bed right after supper, and clumb out of the window and down the lightning-rod, and shoved for the town; for i didn't believe anybody was going to give the king and the duke a hint, and so if i didn't hurry up and give them one they'd get into trouble sure. on the road tom he told me all about how it was reckoned i was murdered, and how pap disappeared pretty soon, and didn't come back no more, and what a stir there was when jim run away; and i told tom all about our "royal nonesuch" rapscallions, and as much of the raft voyage as i had time to; and as we struck into the town and up through the middle of it--it was as much as half after eight then--here comes a raging rush of people with torches, and an awful whooping and yelling, and banging tin pans and blowing horns; and we jumped to one side to let them go by; and as they went by i see they had the king and the duke astraddle of a rail--that is, i knowed it _was_ the king and the duke, though they was all over tar and feathers, and didn't look like nothing in the world that was human--just looked like a couple of monstrous big soldier-plumes. well, it made me sick to see it; and i was sorry for them poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like i couldn't ever feel any hardness against them any more in the world. it was a dreadful thing to see. human beings _can_ be awful cruel to one another. we see we was too late--couldn't do no good. we asked some stragglers about it, and they said everybody went to the show looking very innocent; and laid low and kept dark till the poor old king was in the middle of his cavortings on the stage; then somebody give a signal, and the house rose up and went for them. so we poked along back home, and i warn't feeling so brash as i was before, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehow--though i hadn't done nothing. but that's always the way; it don't make no difference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't got no sense, and just goes for him _anyway._ if i had a yaller dog that didn't know no more than a person's conscience does i would pison him. it takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet ain't no good, nohow. tom sawyer he says the same. chapter xxxiv we stopped talking, and got to thinking. by and by tom says: "looky here, huck, what fools we are to not think of it before! i bet i know where jim is." "no! where?" "in that hut down by the ash-hopper. why, looky here. when we was at dinner, didn't you see a nigger man go in there with some vittles?" "yes." "what did you think the vittles was for?" "for a dog." "so 'd i. well, it wasn't for a dog." "why?" "because part of it was watermelon." "so it was--i noticed it. well, it does beat all that i never thought about a dog not eating watermelon. it shows how a body can see and don't see at the same time." "well, the nigger unlocked the padlock when he went in, and he locked it again when he came out. he fetched uncle a key about the time we got up from table--same key, i bet. watermelon shows man, lock shows prisoner; and it ain't likely there's two prisoners on such a little plantation, and where the people's all so kind and good. jim's the prisoner. all right--i'm glad we found it out detective fashion; i wouldn't give shucks for any other way. now you work your mind, and study out a plan to steal jim, and i will study out one, too; and we'll take the one we like the best." what a head for just a boy to have! if i had tom sawyer's head i wouldn't trade it off to be a duke, nor mate of a steamboat, nor clown in a circus, nor nothing i can think of. i went to thinking out a plan, but only just to be doing something; i knowed very well where the right plan was going to come from. pretty soon tom says: "ready?" "yes," i says. "all right--bring it out." "my plan is this," i says. "we can easy find out if it's jim in there. then get up my canoe to-morrow night, and fetch my raft over from the island. then the first dark night that comes steal the key out of the old man's britches after he goes to bed, and shove off down the river on the raft with jim, hiding daytimes and running nights, the way me and jim used to do before. wouldn't that plan work?" "_work?_ why, cert'nly it would work, like rats a-fighting. but it's too blame' simple; there ain't nothing _to_ it. what's the good of a plan that ain't no more trouble than that? it's as mild as goose-milk. why, huck, it wouldn't make no more talk than breaking into a soap factory." i never said nothing, because i warn't expecting nothing different; but i knowed mighty well that whenever he got _his_ plan ready it wouldn't have none of them objections to it. and it didn't. he told me what it was, and i see in a minute it was worth fifteen of mine for style, and would make jim just as free a man as mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides. so i was satisfied, and said we would waltz in on it. i needn't tell what it was here, because i knowed it wouldn't stay the way it was. i knowed he would be changing it around every which way as we went along, and heaving in new bullinesses wherever he got a chance. and that is what he done. well, one thing was dead sure, and that was that tom sawyer was in earnest, and was actuly going to help steal that nigger out of slavery. that was the thing that was too many for me. here was a boy that was respectable and well brung up; and had a character to lose; and folks at home that had characters; and he was bright and not leather-headed; and knowing and not ignorant; and not mean, but kind; and yet here he was, without any more pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to stoop to this business, and make himself a shame, and his family a shame, before everybody. i _couldn't_ understand it no way at all. it was outrageous, and i knowed i ought to just up and tell him so; and so be his true friend, and let him quit the thing right where he was and save himself. and i _did_ start to tell him; but he shut me up, and says: "don't you reckon i know what i'm about? don't i generly know what i'm about?" "yes." "didn't i _say_ i was going to help steal the nigger?" "yes." "well, then." that's all he said, and that's all i said. it warn't no use to say any more; because when he said he'd do a thing, he always done it. but i couldn't make out how he was willing to go into this thing; so i just let it go, and never bothered no more about it. if he was bound to have it so, i couldn't help it. when we got home the house was all dark and still; so we went on down to the hut by the ash-hopper for to examine it. we went through the yard so as to see what the hounds would do. they knowed us, and didn't make no more noise than country dogs is always doing when anything comes by in the night. when we got to the cabin we took a look at the front and the two sides; and on the side i warn't acquainted with--which was the north side--we found a square window-hole, up tolerable high, with just one stout board nailed across it. i says: "here's the ticket. this hole's big enough for jim to get through if we wrench off the board." tom says: "it's as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, and as easy as playing hooky. i should _hope_ we can find a way that's a little more complicated than _that_, huck finn." "well, then," i says, "how'll it do to saw him out, the way i done before i was murdered that time?" "that's more _like_," he says. "it's real mysterious, and troublesome, and good," he says; "but i bet we can find a way that's twice as long. there ain't no hurry; le's keep on looking around." betwixt the hut and the fence, on the back side, was a lean-to that joined the hut at the eaves, and was made out of plank. it was as long as the hut, but narrow--only about six foot wide. the door to it was at the south end, and was padlocked. tom he went to the soap-kettle and searched around, and fetched back the iron thing they lift the lid with; so he took it and prized out one of the staples. the chain fell down, and we opened the door and went in, and shut it, and struck a match, and see the shed was only built against a cabin and hadn't no connection with it; and there warn't no floor to the shed, nor nothing in it but some old rusty played-out hoes and spades and picks and a crippled plow. the match went out, and so did we, and shoved in the staple again, and the door was locked as good as ever. tom was joyful. he says: "now we're all right. we'll _dig_ him out. it 'll take about a week!" then we started for the house, and i went in the back door--you only have to pull a buckskin latch-string, they don't fasten the doors--but that warn't romantical enough for tom sawyer; no way would do him but he must climb up the lightning-rod. but after he got up half-way about three times, and missed fire and fell every time, and the last time most busted his brains out, he thought he'd got to give it up; but after he was rested he allowed he would give her one more turn for luck, and this time he made the trip. in the morning we was up at break of day, and down to the nigger cabins to pet the dogs and make friends with the nigger that fed jim--if it _was_ jim that was being fed. the niggers was just getting through breakfast and starting for the fields; and jim's nigger was piling up a tin pan with bread and meat and things; and whilst the others was leaving, the key come from the house. this nigger had a good-natured, chuckle-headed face, and his wool was all tied up in little bunches with thread. that was to keep witches off. he said the witches was pestering him awful these nights, and making him see all kinds of strange things, and hear all kinds of strange words and noises, and he didn't believe he was ever witched so long before in his life. he got so worked up, and got to running on so about his troubles, he forgot all about what he'd been a-going to do. so tom says: "what's the vittles for? going to feed the dogs?" the nigger kind of smiled around graduly over his face, like when you heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says: "yes, mars sid, _a_ dog. cur'us dog, too. does you want to go en look at 'im?" "yes." i hunched tom, and whispers: "you going, right here in the daybreak? _that_ warn't the plan." "no, it warn't; but it's the plan _now._" so, drat him, we went along, but i didn't like it much. when we got in we couldn't hardly see anything, it was so dark; but jim was there, sure enough, and could see us; and he sings out: "why, _huck!_ en good _lan'!_ ain' dat misto tom?" i just knowed how it would be; i just expected it. i didn't know nothing to do; and if i had i couldn't 'a' done it, because that nigger busted in and says: "why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?" we could see pretty well now. tom he looked at the nigger, steady and kind of wondering, and says: "does _who_ know us?" "why, dis-yer runaway nigger." "i don't reckon he does; but what put that into your head?" "what _put_ it dar? didn' he jis' dis minute sing out like he knowed you?" tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way: "well, that's mighty curious. _who_ sung out? _when_ did he sing out? _what_ did he sing out?" and turns to me, perfectly ca'm, and says, "did _you_ hear anybody sing out?" of course there warn't nothing to be said but the one thing; so i says: "no; _i_ ain't heard nobody say nothing." then he turns to jim, and looks him over like he never see him before, and says: "did you sing out?" "no, sah," says jim; "i hain't said nothing, sah." "not a word?" "no, sah, i hain't said a word." "did you ever see us before?" "no, sah; not as i knows on." so tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and says, kind of severe: "what do you reckon's the matter with you, anyway? what made you think somebody sung out?" "oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en i wisht i was dead, i do. dey's awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos' kill me, dey sk'yers me so. please to don't tell nobody 'bout it sah, er ole mars silas he'll scole me; 'kase he say dey _ain't_ no witches. i jis' wish to goodness he was heah now--_den_ what would he say! i jis' bet he couldn' fine no way to git aroun' it _dis_ time. but it's awluz jis' so; people dat's _sot_, stays sot; dey won't look into noth'n' en fine it out f'r deyselves, en when _you_ fine it out en tell um 'bout it, dey doan' b'lieve you." tom give him a dime, and said we wouldn't tell nobody; and told him to buy some more thread to tie up his wool with; and then looks at jim, and says: "i wonder if uncle silas is going to hang this nigger. if i was to catch a nigger that was ungrateful enough to run away, i wouldn't give him up, i'd hang him." and whilst the nigger stepped to the door to look at the dime and bite it to see if it was good, he whispers to jim and says: "don't ever let on to know us. and if you hear any digging going on nights, it's us; we're going to set you free." jim only had time to grab us by the hand and squeeze it; then the nigger come back, and we said we'd come again some time if the nigger wanted us to; and he said he would, more particular if it was dark, because the witches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good to have folks around then. chapter xxxv it would be most an hour yet till breakfast, so we left and struck down into the woods; because tom said we got to have _some_ light to see how to dig by, and a lantern makes too much, and might get us into trouble; what we must have was a lot of them rotten chunks that's called fox-fire, and just makes a soft kind of a glow when you lay them in a dark place. we fetched an armful and hid it in the weeds, and set down to rest, and tom says, kind of dissatisfied: "blame it, this whole thing is just as easy and awkward as it can be. and so it makes it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult plan. there ain't no watchman to be drugged--now there _ought_ to be a watchman. there ain't even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to. and there's jim chained by one leg, with a ten-foot chain, to the leg of his bed: why, all you got to do is to lift up the bedstead and slip off the chain. and uncle silas he trusts everybody; sends the key to the punkin-headed nigger, and don't send nobody to watch the nigger. jim could 'a' got out of that window-hole before this, only there wouldn't be no use trying to travel with a ten-foot chain on his leg. why, drat it, huck, it's the stupidest arrangement i ever see. you got to invent _all_ the difficulties. well, we can't help it; we got to do the best we can with the materials we've got. anyhow, there's one thing--there's more honor in getting him out through a lot of difficulties and dangers, where there warn't one of them furnished to you by the people who it was their duty to furnish them, and you had to contrive them all out of your own head. now look at just that one thing of the lantern. when you come down to the cold facts, we simply got to _let on_ that a lantern's resky. why, we could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted to, _i_ believe. now, whilst i think of it, we got to hunt up something to make a saw out of the first chance we get." "what do we want of a saw?" "what do we _want_ of a saw? hain't we got to saw the leg of jim's bed off, so as to get the chain loose?" "why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain off." "well, if that ain't just like you, huck finn. you _can_ get up the infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. why, hain't you ever read any books at all?--baron trenck, nor casanova, nor benvenuto chelleeny, nor henri iv., nor none of them heroes? who ever heard of getting a prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that? no; the way all the best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just so, and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and grease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see no sign of its being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound. then, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip off your chain, and there you are. nothing to do but hitch your rope ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the moat--because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too short, you know--and there's your horses and your trusty vassles, and they scoop you up and fling you across a saddle, and away you go to your native langudoc, or navarre, or wherever it is. it's gaudy, huck. i wish there was a moat to this cabin. if we get time, the night of the escape, we'll dig one." i says: "what do we want of a moat when we're going to snake him out from under the cabin?" but he never heard me. he had forgot me and everything else. he had his chin in his hand, thinking. pretty soon he sighs and shakes his head; then sighs again, and says: "no, it wouldn't do--there ain't necessity enough for it." "for what?" i says. "why, to saw jim's leg off," he says. "good land!" i says; "why, there ain't _no_ necessity for it. and what would you want to saw his leg off for, anyway?" "well, some of the best authorities has done it. they couldn't get the chain off, so they just cut their hand off and shoved. and a leg would be better still. but we got to let that go. there ain't necessity enough in this case; and, besides, jim's a nigger, and wouldn't understand the reasons for it, and how it's the custom in europe; so we'll let it go. but there's one thing--he can have a rope ladder; we can tear up our sheets and make him a rope ladder easy enough. and we can send it to him in a pie; it's mostly done that way. and i've et worse pies." "why, tom sawyer, how you talk," i says; "jim ain't got no use for a rope ladder." "he _has_ got use for it. how _you_ talk, you better say; you don't know nothing about it. he's _got_ to have a rope ladder; they all do." "what in the nation can he _do_ with it?" "_do_ with it? he can hide it in his bed, can't he? that's what they all do; and _he's_ got to, too. huck, you don't ever seem to want to do anything that's regular; you want to be starting something fresh all the time. s'pose he _don't_ do nothing with it? ain't it there in his bed, for a clue, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clues? of course they will. and you wouldn't leave them any? that would be a _pretty_ howdy-do, _wouldn't_ it! i never heard of such a thing." "well," i says, "if it's in the regulations, and he's got to have it, all right, let him have it; because i don't wish to go back on no regulations; but there's one thing, tom sawyer--if we go to tearing up our sheets to make jim a rope ladder, we're going to get into trouble with aunt sally, just as sure as you're born. now, the way i look at it, a hickry-bark ladder don't cost nothing, and don't waste nothing, and is just as good to load up a pie with, and hide in a straw tick, as any rag ladder you can start; and as for jim, he ain't had no experience, and so he don't care what kind of a--" "oh, shucks, huck finn, if i was as ignorant as you i'd keep still--that's what i'd do. who ever heard of a state prisoner escaping by a hickry-bark ladder? why, it's perfectly ridiculous." "well, all right, tom, fix it your own way; but if you'll take my advice, you'll let me borrow a sheet off of the clothes-line." he said that would do. and that gave him another idea, and he says: "borrow a shirt, too." "what do we want of a shirt, tom?" "want it for jim to keep a journal on." "journal your granny--_jim_ can't write." "s'pose he _can't_ write--he can make marks on the shirt, can't he, if we make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron barrel-hoop?" "why, tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose and make him a better one; and quicker, too." "_prisoners_ don't have geese running around the donjon-keep to pull pens out of, you muggins. they _always_ make their pens out of the hardest, toughest, troublesomest piece of old brass candlestick or something like that they can get their hands on; and it takes them weeks and weeks and months and months to file it out, too, because they've got to do it by rubbing it on the wall. _they_ wouldn't use a goose-quill if they had it. it ain't regular." "well, then, what 'll we make him the ink out of?" "many makes it out of iron-rust and tears; but that's the common sort and women; the best authorities uses their own blood. jim can do that; and when he wants to send any little common ordinary mysterious message to let the world know where he's captivated, he can write it on the bottom of a tin plate with a fork and throw it out of the window. the iron mask always done that, and it's a blame' good way, too." "jim ain't got no tin plates. they feed him in a pan." "that ain't nothing; we can get him some." "can't nobody _read_ his plates." "that ain't got anything to _do_ with it, huck finn. all _he's_ got to do is to write on the plate and throw it out. you don't _have_ to be able to read it. why, half the time you can't read anything a prisoner writes on a tin plate, or anywhere else." "well, then, what's the sense in wasting the plates?" "why, blame it all, it ain't the _prisoner's_ plates." "but it's _somebody's_ plates, ain't it?" "well, spos'n it is? what does the _prisoner_ care whose--" he broke off there, because we heard the breakfast-horn blowing. so we cleared out for the house. along during the morning i borrowed a sheet and a white shirt off of the clothes-line; and i found an old sack and put them in it, and we went down and got the fox-fire, and put that in too. i called it borrowing, because that was what pap always called it; but tom said it warn't borrowing, it was stealing. he said we was representing prisoners; and prisoners don't care how they get a thing so they get it, and nobody don't blame them for it, either. it ain't no crime in a prisoner to steal the thing he needs to get away with, tom said; it's his right; and so, as long as we was representing a prisoner, we had a perfect right to steal anything on this place we had the least use for to get ourselves out of prison with. he said if we warn't prisoners it would be a very different thing, and nobody but a mean, ornery person would steal when he warn't a prisoner. so we allowed we would steal everything there was that come handy. and yet he made a mighty fuss, one day, after that, when i stole a watermelon out of the nigger patch and eat it; and he made me go and give the niggers a dime without telling them what it was for. tom said that what he meant was, we could steal anything we _needed._ well, i says, i needed the watermelon. but he said i didn't need it to get out of prison with; there's where the difference was. he said if i'd 'a' wanted it to hide a knife in, and smuggle it to jim to kill the seneskal with, it would 'a' been all right. so i let it go at that, though i couldn't see no advantage in my representing a prisoner if i got to set down and chaw over a lot of gold-leaf distinctions like that every time i see a chance to hog a watermelon. well, as i was saying, we waited that morning till everybody was settled down to business, and nobody in sight around the yard; then tom he carried the sack into the lean-to whilst i stood off a piece to keep watch. by and by he come out, and we went and set down on the woodpile to talk. he says: "everything's all right now except tools; and that's easy fixed." "tools?" i says. "yes." "tools for what?" "why, to dig with. we ain't a-going to _gnaw_ him out, are we?" "ain't them old crippled picks and things in there good enough to dig a nigger out with?" i says. he turns on me, looking pitying enough to make a body cry, and says: "huck finn, did you _ever_ hear of a prisoner having picks and shovels, and all the modern conveniences in his wardrobe to dig himself out with? now i want to ask you--if you got any reasonableness in you at all--what kind of a show would _that_ give him to be a hero? why, they might as well lend him the key and done with it. picks and shovels--why, they wouldn't furnish 'em to a king." "well, then," i says, "if we don't want the picks and shovels, what do we want?" "a couple of case-knives." "to dig the foundations out from under that cabin with?" "yes." "confound it, it's foolish, tom." "it don't make no difference how foolish it is, it's the _right_ way--and it's the regular way. and there ain't no _other_ way, that ever i heard of, and i've read all the books that gives any information about these things. they always dig out with a case-knife--and not through dirt, mind you; generly it's through solid rock. and it takes them weeks and weeks and weeks, and for ever and ever. why, look at one of them prisoners in the bottom dungeon of the castle deef, in the harbor of marseilles, that dug himself out that way; how long was _he_ at it, you reckon?" "i don't know." "well, guess." "i don't know. a month and a half." "_thirty-seven year_--and he come out in china. _that's_ the kind. i wish the bottom of _this_ fortress was solid rock." "_jim_ don't know nobody in china." "what's _that_ got to do with it? neither did that other fellow. but you're always a-wandering off on a side issue. why can't you stick to the main point?" "all right--i don't care where he comes out, so he _comes_ out; and jim don't, either, i reckon. but there's one thing, anyway--jim's too old to be dug out with a case-knife. he won't last." "yes he will _last,_ too. you don't reckon it's going to take thirty-seven years to dig out through a _dirt_ foundation, do you?" "how long will it take, tom?" "well, we can't resk being as long as we ought to, because it mayn't take very long for uncle silas to hear from down there by new orleans. he'll hear jim ain't from there. then his next move will be to advertise jim, or something like that. so we can't resk being as long digging him out as we ought to. by rights i reckon we ought to be a couple of years; but we can't. things being so uncertain, what i recommend is this: that we really dig right in, as quick as we can; and after that, we can _let on_, to ourselves, that we was at it thirty-seven years. then we can snatch him out and rush him away the first time there's an alarm. yes, i reckon that 'll be the best way." "now, there's _sense_ in that," i says. "letting on don't cost nothing; letting on ain't no trouble; and if it's any object, i don't mind letting on we was at it a hundred and fifty year. it wouldn't strain me none, after i got my hand in. so i'll mosey along now, and smouch a couple of case-knives." "smouch three," he says; "we want one to make a saw out of." "tom, if it ain't unregular and irreligious to sejest it," i says, "there's an old rusty saw-blade around yonder sticking under the weather-boarding behind the smokehouse." he looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and says: "it ain't no use to try to learn you nothing, huck. run along and smouch the knives--three of them." so i done it. chapter xxxvi as soon as we reckoned everybody was asleep that night we went down the lightning-rod, and shut ourselves up in the lean-to, and got out our pile of fox-fire, and went to work. we cleared everything out of the way, about four or five foot along the middle of the bottom log. tom said we was right behind jim's bed now, and we'd dig in under it, and when we got through there couldn't nobody in the cabin ever know there was any hole there, because jim's counterpin hung down most to the ground, and you'd have to raise it up and look under to see the hole. so we dug and dug with the case-knives till most midnight; and then we was dog-tired, and our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn't see we'd done anything hardly. at last i says: "this ain't no thirty-seven-year job; this is a thirty-eight-year job, tom sawyer." he never said nothing. but he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped digging, and then for a good little while i knowed that he was thinking. then he says: "it ain't no use, huck, it ain't a-going to work. if we was prisoners it would, because then we'd have as many years as we wanted, and no hurry; and we wouldn't get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while they was changing watches, and so our hands wouldn't get blistered, and we could keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right, and the way it ought to be done. but _we_ can't fool along; we got to rush; we ain't got no time to spare. if we was to put in another night this way we'd have to knock off for a week to let our hands get well--couldn't touch a case-knife with them sooner." "well, then, what we going to do, tom?" "i'll tell you. it ain't right, and it ain't moral, and i wouldn't like it to get out; but there ain't only just the one way: we got to dig him out with the picks, and _let on_ it's case-knives." "_now_ you're _talking!_" i says; "your head gets leveler and leveler all the time, tom sawyer," i says. "picks is the thing, moral or no moral; and as for me, i don't care shucks for the morality of it, nohow. when i start in to steal a nigger, or a watermelon, or a sunday-school book, i ain't no ways particular how it's done so it's done. what i want is my nigger; or what i want is my watermelon; or what i want is my sunday-school book; and if a pick's the handiest thing, that's the thing i'm a-going to dig that nigger or that watermelon or that sunday-school book out with; and i don't give a dead rat what the authorities thinks about it nuther." "well," he says, "there's excuse for picks and letting on in a case like this; if it warn't so, i wouldn't approve of it, nor i wouldn't stand by and see the rules broke--because right is right, and wrong is wrong, and a body ain't got no business doing wrong when he ain't ignorant and knows better. it might answer for _you_ to dig jim out with a pick, _without_ any letting on, because you don't know no better; but it wouldn't for me, because i do know better. gimme a case-knife." he had his own by him, but i handed him mine. he flung it down, and says: "gimme a _case-knife._" i didn't know just what to do--but then i thought. i scratched around amongst the old tools, and got a pickax and give it to him, and he took it and went to work, and never said a word. he was always just that particular. full of principle. so then i got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, and made the fur fly. we stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as long as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for it. when i got up-stairs i looked out at the window and see tom doing his level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn't come it, his hands was so sore. at last he says: "it ain't no use, it can't be done. what you reckon i better do? can't you think of no way?" "yes," i says, "but i reckon it ain't regular. come up the stairs, and let on it's a lightning-rod." so he done it. next day tom stole a pewter spoon and a brass candlestick in the house, for to make some pens for jim out of, and six tallow candles; and i hung around the nigger cabins and laid for a chance, and stole three tin plates. tom says it wasn't enough; but i said nobody wouldn't ever see the plates that jim throwed out, because they'd fall in the dog-fennel and jimpson weeds under the window-hole--then we could tote them back and he could use them over again. so tom was satisfied. then he says: "now, the thing to study out is, how to get the things to jim." "take them in through the hole," i says, "when we get it done." he only just looked scornful, and said something about nobody ever heard of such an idiotic idea, and then he went to studying. by and by he said he had ciphered out two or three ways, but there warn't no need to decide on any of them yet. said we'd got to post jim first. that night we went down the lightning-rod a little after ten, and took one of the candles along, and listened under the window-hole, and heard jim snoring; so we pitched it in, and it didn't wake him. then we whirled in with the pick and shovel, and in about two hours and a half the job was done. we crept in under jim's bed and into the cabin, and pawed around and found the candle and lit it, and stood over jim awhile, and found him looking hearty and healthy, and then we woke him up gentle and gradual. he was so glad to see us he most cried; and called us honey, and all the pet names he could think of; and was for having us hunt up a cold-chisel to cut the chain off of his leg with right away, and clearing out without losing any time. but tom he showed him how unregular it would be, and set down and told him all about our plans, and how we could alter them in a minute any time there was an alarm; and not to be the least afraid, because we would see he got away, _sure_. so jim he said it was all right, and we set there and talked over old times awhile, and then tom asked a lot of questions, and when jim told him uncle silas come in every day or two to pray with him, and aunt sally come in to see if he was comfortable and had plenty to eat, and both of them was kind as they could be, tom says: "_now_ i know how to fix it. we'll send you some things by them." i said, "don't do nothing of the kind; it's one of the most jackass ideas i ever struck"; but he never paid no attention to me; went right on. it was his way when he'd got his plans set. so he told jim how we'd have to smuggle in the rope-ladder pie and other large things by nat, the nigger that fed him, and he must be on the lookout, and not be surprised, and not let nat see him open them; and we would put small things in uncle's coat pockets and he must steal them out; and we would tie things to aunt's apron-strings or put them in her apron pocket, if we got a chance; and told him what they would be and what they was for. and told him how to keep a journal on the shirt with his blood, and all that. he told him everything. jim he couldn't see no sense in the most of it, but he allowed we was white folks and knowed better than him; so he was satisfied, and said he would do it all just as tom said. jim had plenty corn-cob pipes and tobacco; so we had a right down good sociable time; then we crawled out through the hole, and so home to bed, with hands that looked like they'd been chawed. tom was in high spirits. he said it was the best fun he ever had in his life, and the most intellectural; and said if he only could see his way to it we would keep it up all the rest of our lives and leave jim to our children to get out; for he believed jim would come to like it better and better the more he got used to it. he said that in that way it could be strung out to as much as eighty year, and would be the best time on record. and he said it would make us all celebrated that had a hand in it. in the morning we went out to the woodpile and chopped up the brass candlestick into handy sizes, and tom put them and the pewter spoon in his pocket. then we went to the nigger cabins, and while i got nat's notice off, tom shoved a piece of candlestick into the middle of a corn-pone that was in jim's pan, and we went along with nat to see how it would work, and it just worked noble; when jim bit into it it most mashed all his teeth out; and there warn't ever anything could 'a' worked better. tom said so himself. jim he never let on but what it was only just a piece of rock or something like that that's always getting into bread, you know; but after that he never bit into nothing but what he jabbed his fork into it in three or four places first. and whilst we was a-standing there in the dimmish light, here comes a couple of the hounds bulging in from under jim's bed; and they kept on piling in till there was eleven of them, and there warn't hardly room in there to get your breath. by jings, we forgot to fasten that lean-to door! the nigger nat he only just hollered "witches" once, and keeled over onto the floor amongst the dogs, and begun to groan like he was dying. tom jerked the door open and flung out a slab of jim's meat, and the dogs went for it, and in two seconds he was out himself and back again and shut the door, and i knowed he'd fixed the other door too. then he went to work on the nigger, coaxing him and petting him, and asking him if he'd been imagining he saw something again. he raised up, and blinked his eyes around, and says: "mars sid, you'll say i's a fool, but if i didn't b'lieve i see most a million dogs, er devils, er some'n, i wisht i may die right heah in dese tracks. i did, mos' sholy. mars sid, i _felt_ um--i _felt_ um, sah; dey was all over me. dad fetch it, i jis' wisht i could git my han's on one er dem witches jis' wunst--on'y jis' wunst--it's all i'd ast. but mos'ly i wisht dey'd lemme 'lone, i does." tom says: "well, i tell you what _i_ think. what makes them come here just at this runaway nigger's breakfast-time? it's because they're hungry; that's the reason. you make them a witch pie; that's the thing for _you_ to do." "but my lan', mars sid, how's i gwyne to make 'm a witch pie? i doan' know how to make it. i hain't ever hearn er sich a thing b'fo'." "well, then, i'll have to make it myself." "will you do it, honey?--will you? i'll wusshup de groun' und' yo' foot, i will!" [illustration: tom advises a witch pie] "all right, i'll do it, seeing it's you, and you've been good to us and showed us the runaway nigger. but you got to be mighty careful. when we come around, you turn your back; and then whatever we've put in the pan, don't you let on you see it at all. and don't you look when jim unloads the pan--something might happen, i don't know what. and above all, don't you _handle_ the witch-things." "_hannel_ 'm, mars sid? what _is_ you a-talkin' 'bout? i wouldn' lay de weight er my finger on um, not f'r ten hund'd thous'n billion dollars, i wouldn't." chapter xxxvii _that_ was all fixed. so then we went away and went to the rubbage-pile in the back yard, where they keep the old boots, and rags, and pieces of bottles, and wore-out tin things, and all such truck, and scratched around and found an old tin washpan, and stopped up the holes as well as we could, to bake the pie in, and took it down cellar and stole it full of flour and started for breakfast, and found a couple of shingle-nails that tom said would be handy for a prisoner to scrabble his name and sorrows on the dungeon walls with, and dropped one of them in aunt sally's apron pocket which was hanging on a chair, and t'other we stuck in the band of uncle silas's hat, which was on the bureau, because we heard the children say their pa and ma was going to the runaway nigger's house this morning, and then went to breakfast, and tom dropped the pewter spoon in uncle silas's coat pocket, and aunt sally wasn't come yet, so we had to wait a little while. and when she come she was hot and red and cross, and couldn't hardly wait for the blessing; and then she went to sluicing out coffee with one hand and cracking the handiest child's head with her thimble with the other, and says: "i've hunted high and i've hunted low, and it does beat all what _has_ become of your other shirt." my heart fell down amongst my lungs and livers and things, and a hard piece of corn-crust started down my throat after it and got met on the road with a cough, and was shot across the table, and took one of the children in the eye and curled him up like a fishing-worm, and let a cry out of him the size of a war-whoop, and tom he turned kinder blue around the gills, and it all amounted to a considerable state of things for about a quarter of a minute or as much as that, and i would 'a' sold out for half price if there was a bidder. but after that we was all right again--it was the sudden surprise of it that knocked us so kind of cold. uncle silas he says: "it's most uncommon curious, i can't understand it. i know perfectly well i took it _off_, because--" "because you hain't got but one _on_. just _listen_ at the man! i know you took it off, and know it by a better way than your wool-gethering memory, too, because it was on the clo's-line yesterday--i see it there myself. but it's gone, that's the long and the short of it, and you'll just have to change to a red flann'l one till i can get time to make a new one. and it 'll be the third i've made in two years. it just keeps a body on the jump to keep you in shirts; and whatever you do manage to _do_ with 'm all is more'n i can make out. a body'd think you _would_ learn to take some sort of care of 'em at your time of life." "i know it, sally, and i do try all i can. but it oughtn't to be altogether my fault, because, you know, i don't see them nor have nothing to do with them except when they're on me; and i don't believe i've ever lost one of them _off_ of me." "well, it ain't _your_ fault if you haven't, silas; you'd 'a' done it if you could, i reckon. and the shirt ain't all that's gone, nuther. ther's a spoon gone; and _that_ ain't all. there was ten, and now ther' only nine. the calf got the shirt, i reckon, but the calf never took the spoon, _that's_ certain." "why, what else is gone, sally?" "ther's six _candles_ gone--that's what. the rats could 'a' got the candles, and i reckon they did; i wonder they don't walk off with the whole place, the way you're always going to stop their holes and don't do it; and if they warn't fools they'd sleep in your hair, silas--_you'd_ never find it out; but you can't lay the _spoon_ on the rats, and that i _know_." "well, sally, i'm in fault, and i acknowledge it; i've been remiss; but i won't let to-morrow go by without stopping up them holes." "oh, i wouldn't hurry; next year 'll do. matilda angelina araminta _phelps!_" whack comes the thimble, and the child snatches her claws out of the sugar-bowl without fooling around any. just then the nigger woman steps onto the passage, and says: "missus, dey's a sheet gone." "a _sheet_ gone! well, for the land's sake!" "i'll stop up them holes to-day," says uncle silas, looking sorrowful. "oh, _do_ shet up!--s'pose the rats took the _sheet?_ _where's_ it gone, lize?" "clah to goodness i hain't no notion, miss' sally. she wuz on de clo's-line yistiddy, but she done gone: she ain' dah no mo' now." "i reckon the world _is_ coming to an end. i _never_ see the beat of it in all my born days. a shirt, and a sheet, and a spoon, and six can--" "missus," comes a young yaller wench, "dey's a brass cannelstick miss'n." "cler out from here, you hussy, er i'll take a skillet to ye!" well, she was just a-biling. i begun to lay for a chance; i reckoned i would sneak out and go for the woods till the weather moderated. she kept a-raging right along, running her insurrection all by herself, and everybody else mighty meek and quiet; and at last uncle silas, looking kind of foolish, fishes up that spoon out of his pocket. she stopped, with her mouth open and her hands up; and as for me, i wished i was in jeruslem or somewheres. but not long, because she says: "it's _just_ as i expected. so you had it in your pocket all the time; and like as not you've got the other things there, too. how'd it get there?" "i reely don't know, sally," he says, kind of apologizing, "or you know i would tell. i was a-studying over my text in acts seventeen before breakfast, and i reckon i put it in there, not noticing, meaning to put my testament in, and it must be so, because my testament ain't in; but i'll go and see; and if the testament is where i had it, i'll know i didn't put it in, and that will show that i laid the testament down and took up the spoon, and--" "oh, for the land's sake! give a body a rest! go 'long now, the whole kit and biling of ye; and don't come nigh me again till i've got back my peace of mind." i'd 'a' heard her if she'd 'a' said it to herself, let alone speaking it out; and i'd 'a' got up and obeyed her if i'd 'a' been dead. as we was passing through the setting-room the old man he took up his hat, and the shingle-nail fell out on the floor, and he just merely picked it up and laid it on the mantel-shelf, and never said nothing, and went out. tom see him do it, and remembered about the spoon, and says: "well, it ain't no use to send things by _him_ no more, he ain't reliable." then he says: "but he done us a good turn with the spoon, anyway, without knowing it, and so we'll go and do him one without _him_ knowing it--stop up his rat-holes." there was a noble good lot of them down cellar, and it took us a whole hour, but we done the job tight and good and shipshape. then we heard steps on the stairs, and blowed out our light and hid; and here comes the old man, with a candle in one hand and a bundle of stuff in t'other, looking as absent-minded as year before last. he went a-mooning around, first to one rat-hole and then another, till he'd been to them all. then he stood about five minutes, picking tallow-drip off of his candle and thinking. then he turns off slow and dreamy towards the stairs, saying: "well, for the life of me i can't remember when i done it. i could show her now that i warn't to blame on account of the rats. but never mind--let it go. i reckon it wouldn't do no good." and so he went on a-mumbling up-stairs, and then we left. he was a mighty nice old man. and always is. tom was a good deal bothered about what to do for a spoon, but he said we'd got to have it; so he took a think. when he had ciphered it out he told me how we was to do; then we went and waited around the spoon-basket till we see aunt sally coming, and then tom went to counting the spoons and laying them out to one side, and i slid one of them up my sleeve, and tom says: "why, aunt sally, there ain't but nine spoons _yet_." she says: "go 'long to your play, and don't bother me. i know better, i counted 'm myself." "well, i've counted them twice, aunty, and _i_ can't make but nine." she looked out of all patience, but of course she come to count--anybody would. "i declare to gracious ther' _ain't_ but nine!" she says. "why, what in the world--plague _take_ the things, i'll count 'm again." so i slipped back the one i had, and when she got done counting, she says: "hang the troublesome rubbage, ther's _ten_ now!" and she looked huffy and bothered both. but tom says: "why, aunty, i don't think there's ten." "you numskull, didn't you see me _count_ 'm?" "i know, but--" "well, i'll count 'm again." so i smouched one, and they come out nine, same as the other time. well, she _was_ in a tearing way--just a-trembling all over, she was so mad. but she counted and counted till she got that addled she'd start to count in the basket for a spoon sometimes; and so, three times they come out right, and three times they come out wrong. then she grabbed up the basket and slammed it across the house and knocked the cat galley-west; and she said cler out and let her have some peace, and if we come bothering around her again betwixt that and dinner she'd skin us. so we had the odd spoon, and dropped it in her apron pocket whilst she was a-giving us our sailing orders, and jim got it all right, along with her shingle-nail, before noon. we was very well satisfied with this business, and tom allowed it was worth twice the trouble it took, because he said _now_ she couldn't ever count them spoons twice alike again to save her life; and wouldn't believe she'd counted them right if she _did_; and said that after she'd about counted her head off for the next three days he judged she'd give it up and offer to kill anybody that wanted her to ever count them any more. so we put the sheet back on the line that night, and stole one out of her closet; and kept on putting it back and stealing it again for a couple of days till she didn't know how many sheets she had any more, and she didn't _care_, and warn't a-going to bullyrag the rest of her soul out about it, and wouldn't count them again not to save her life; she druther die first. so we was all right now, as to the shirt and the sheet and the spoon and the candles, by the help of the calf and the rats and the mixed-up counting; and as to the candlestick, it warn't no consequence, it would blow over by and by. but that pie was a job; we had no end of trouble with that pie. we fixed it up away down in the woods, and cooked it there; and we got it done at last, and very satisfactory, too; but not all in one day; and we had to use up three wash-pans full of flour before we got through, and we got burnt pretty much all over, in places, and eyes put out with the smoke; because, you see, we didn't want nothing but a crust, and we couldn't prop it up right, and she would always cave in. but of course we thought of the right way at last--which was to cook the ladder, too, in the pie. so then we laid in with jim the second night, and tore up the sheet all in little strings and twisted them together, and long before daylight we had a lovely rope that you could 'a' hung a person with. we let on it took nine months to make it. and in the forenoon we took it down to the woods, but it wouldn't go into the pie. being made of a whole sheet, that way, there was rope enough for forty pies if we'd 'a' wanted them, and plenty left over for soup, or sausage, or anything you choose. we could 'a' had a whole dinner. but we didn't need it. all we needed was just enough for the pie, and so we throwed the rest away. we didn't cook none of the pies in the washpan--afraid the solder would melt; but uncle silas he had a noble brass warming-pan which he thought considerable of, because it belonged to one of his ancesters with a long wooden handle that come over from england with william the conqueror in the _mayflower_ or one of them early ships and was hid away up garret with a lot of other old pots and things that was valuable, not on account of being any account, because they warn't, but on account of them being relicts, you know, and we snaked her out, private, and took her down there, but she failed on the first pies, because we didn't know how, but she come up smiling on the last one. we took and lined her with dough, and set her in the coals, and loaded her up with rag rope, and put on a dough roof, and shut down the lid, and put hot embers on top, and stood off five foot, with the long handle, cool and comfortable, and in fifteen minutes she turned out a pie that was a satisfaction to look at. but the person that et it would want to fetch a couple of kags of toothpicks along, for if that rope ladder wouldn't cramp him down to business i don't know nothing what i'm talking about, and lay him in enough stomach-ache to last him till next time, too. nat didn't look when we put the witch pie in jim's pan; and we put the three tin plates in the bottom of the pan under the vittles; and so jim got everything all right, and as soon as he was by himself he busted into the pie and hid the rope ladder inside of his straw tick, and scratched some marks on a tin plate and throwed it out of the window-hole. chapter xxxviii making them pens was a distressid tough job, and so was the saw; and jim allowed the inscription was going to be the toughest of all. that's the one which the prisoner has to scrabble on the wall. but he had to have it; tom said he'd _got_ to; there warn't no case of a state prisoner not scrabbling his inscription to leave behind, and his coat of arms. "look at lady jane grey," he says; "look at gilford dudley; look at old northumberland! why, huck, s'pose it _is_ considerble trouble?--what you going to do?--how you going to get around it? jim's _got_ to do his inscription and coat of arms. they all do." jim says: "why, mars tom, i hain't got no coat o' arm; i hain't got nuffn but dish yer ole shirt, en you knows i got to keep de journal on dat." "oh, you don't understand, jim; a coat of arms is very different." "well," i says, "jim's right, anyway, when he says he ain't got no coat of arms, because he hain't." "i reckon i knowed that," tom says, "but you bet he'll have one before he goes out of this--because he's going out _right_, and there ain't going to be no flaws in his record." so whilst me and jim filed away at the pens on a brickbat apiece, jim a-making his'n out of the brass and i making mine out of the spoon, tom set to work to think out the coat of arms. by and by he said he'd struck so many good ones he didn't hardly know which to take, but there was one which he reckoned he'd decide on. he says: "on the scutcheon we'll have a bend _or_ in the dexter base, a saltire _murrey_ in the fess, with a dog, couchant, for common charge, and under his foot a chain embattled, for slavery, with a chevron _vert_ in a chief engrailed, and three invected lines on a field _azure_, with the nombril points rampant on a dancette indented; crest, a runaway nigger, _sable_, with his bundle over his shoulder on a bar sinister; and a couple of gules for supporters, which is you and me; motto, _maggiore fretta, minore atto_. got it out of a book--means the more haste the less speed." "geewhillikins," i says, "but what does the rest of it mean?" "we ain't got no time to bother over that," he says; "we got to dig in like all git-out." "well, anyway," i says, "what's _some_ of it? what's a fess?" "a fess--a fess is--_you_ don't need to know what a fess is. i'll show him how to make it when he gets to it." "shucks, tom," i says, "i think you might tell a person. what's a bar sinister?" "oh, i don't know. but he's got to have it. all the nobility does." that was just his way. if it didn't suit him to explain a thing to you, he wouldn't do it. you might pump at him a week, it wouldn't make no difference. he'd got all that coat-of-arms business fixed, so now he started in to finish up the rest of that part of the work, which was to plan out a mournful inscription--said jim got to have one, like they all done. he made up a lot, and wrote them out on a paper, and read them off, so: _ . here a captive heart busted. . here a poor prisoner, forsook by the world and friends, fretted his sorrowful life. . here a lonely heart broke, and a worn spirit went to its rest, after thirty-seven years of solitary captivity. . here, homeless and friendless, after thirty-seven years of bitter captivity, perished a noble stranger, natural son of louis xiv._ tom's voice trembled whilst he was reading them, and he most broke down. when he got done he couldn't no way make up his mind which one for jim to scrabble onto the wall, they was all so good; but at last he allowed he would let him scrabble them all on. jim said it would take him a year to scrabble such a lot of truck onto the logs with a nail, and he didn't know how to make letters, besides; but tom said he would block them out for him, and then he wouldn't have nothing to do but just follow the lines. then pretty soon he says: "come to think, the logs ain't a-going to do; they don't have log walls in a dungeon: we got to dig the inscriptions into a rock. we'll fetch a rock." jim said the rock was worse than the logs; he said it would take him such a pison long time to dig them into a rock he wouldn't ever get out. but tom said he would let me help him do it. then he took a look to see how me and jim was getting along with the pens. it was most pesky tedious hard work and slow, and didn't give my hands no show to get well of the sores, and we didn't seem to make no headway, hardly; so tom says: "i know how to fix it. we got to have a rock for the coat of arms and mournful inscriptions, and we can kill two birds with that same rock. there's a gaudy big grindstone down at the mill, and we'll smouch it, and carve the things on it, and file out the pens and the saw on it, too." it warn't no slouch of an idea; and it warn't no slouch of a grindstone nuther; but we allowed we'd tackle it. it warn't quite midnight yet, so we cleared out for the mill, leaving jim at work. we smouched the grindstone, and set out to roll her home, but it was a most nation tough job. sometimes, do what we could, we couldn't keep her from falling over, and she come mighty near mashing us every time. tom said she was going to get one of us, sure, before we got through. we got her halfway; and then we was plumb played out, and most drownded with sweat. we see it warn't no use; we got to go and fetch jim. so he raised up his bed and slid the chain off of the bed-leg, and wrapt it round and round his neck, and we crawled out through our hole and down there, and jim and me laid into that grindstone and walked her along like nothing; and tom superintended. he could out-superintend any boy i ever see. he knowed how to do everything. our hole was pretty big, but it warn't big enough to get the grindstone through; but jim he took the pick and soon made it big enough. then tom marked out them things on it with the nail, and set jim to work on them, with the nail for a chisel and an iron bolt from the rubbage in the lean-to for a hammer, and told him to work till the rest of his candle quit on him, and then he could go to bed, and hide the grindstone under his straw tick and sleep on it. then we helped him fix his chain back on the bed-leg, and was ready for bed ourselves. but tom thought of something, and says: "you got any spiders in here, jim?" "no, sah, thanks to goodness i hain't, mars tom." "all right, we'll get you some." "but bless you, honey, i doan' _want_ none. i's afeard un um. i jis' 's soon have rattlesnakes aroun'." tom thought a minute or two, and says: "it's a good idea. and i reckon it's been done. it _must_ 'a' been done; it stands to reason. yes, it's a prime good idea. where could you keep it?" "keep what, mars tom?" "why, a rattlesnake." "de goodness gracious alive, mars tom! why, if dey was a rattlesnake to come in heah i'd take en bust right out thoo dat log wall, i would, wid my head." "why, jim, you wouldn't be afraid of it after a little. you could tame it." "_tame_ it!" "yes--easy enough. every animal is grateful for kindness and petting, and they wouldn't _think_ of hurting a person that pets them. any book will tell you that. you try--that's all i ask; just try for two or three days. why, you can get him so in a little while that he'll love you; and sleep with you; and won't stay away from you a minute; and will let you wrap him round your neck and put his head in your mouth." "_please_, tom--_doan_' talk so! i can't _stan'_ it! he'd _let_ me shove his head in my mouf--fer a favor, hain't it? i lay he'd wait a pow'ful long time 'fo' i _ast_ him. en mo' en dat, i doan' _want_ him to sleep wid me." "jim, don't act so foolish. a prisoner's _got_ to have some kind of a dumb pet, and if a rattlesnake hain't ever been tried, why, there's more glory to be gained in your being the first to ever try it than any other way you could ever think of to save your life." "why, mars tom, i doan' _want_ no sich glory. snake take 'n bite jim's chin off, den _whah_ is de glory? no, sah, i doan' want no sich doin's." "blame it, can't you _try?_ i only _want_ you to try--you needn't keep it up if it don't work." "but de trouble all _done_ ef de snake bite me while i's a-tryin' him. mars tom, i's willin' to tackle mos' anything 'at ain't onreasonable, but ef you en huck fetches a rattlesnake in heah for me to tame, i's gwyne to _leave_, dat's _shore_." "well, then, let it go, let it go, if you're so bull-headed about it. we can get you some garter-snakes, and you can tie some buttons on their tails, and let on they're rattlesnakes, and i reckon that 'll have to do." "i k'n stan' _dem_, mars tom, but blame' 'f i couldn' get along widout um, i tell you dat. i never knowed b'fo' 'twas so much bother and trouble to be a prisoner." "well, it _always_ is when it's done right. you got any rats around here?" "no, sah, i hain't seed none." "well, we'll get you some rats." "why, mars tom, i doan' _want_ no rats. dey's de dadblamedest creturs to 'sturb a body, en rustle roun' over 'im, en bite his feet, when he's tryin' to sleep, i ever see. no, sah, gimme g'yarter-snakes, 'f i's got to have 'm, but doan' gimme no rats; i hain' got no use f'r um, skasely." "but, jim, you _got_ to have 'em--they all do. so don't make no more fuss about it. prisoners ain't ever without rats. there ain't no instance of it. and they train them, and pet them, and learn them tricks, and they get to be as sociable as flies. but you got to play music to them. you got anything to play music on?" "i ain' got nuffn but a coase comb en a piece o' paper, en a juice-harp; but i reck'n dey wouldn' take no stock in a juice-harp." "yes they would. _they_ don't care what kind of music 'tis. a jews-harp's plenty good enough for a rat. all animals like music--in a prison they dote on it. specially, painful music; and you can't get no other kind out of a jew's-harp. it always interests them; they come out to see what's the matter with you. yes, you're all right; you're fixed very well. you want to set on your bed nights before you go to sleep, and early in the mornings, and play your jew's-harp; play 'the last link is broken'--that's the thing that 'll scoop a rat quicker 'n anything else; and when you've played about two minutes you'll see all the rats, and the snakes, and spiders and things begin to feel worried about you, and come. and they'll just fairly swarm over you, and have a noble good time." "yes, _dey_ will, i reck'n, mars tom, but what kine er time is _jim_ havin'? blest if i kin see de pint. but i'll do it ef i got to. i reck'n i better keep de animals satisfied, en not have no trouble in de house." tom waited to think it over, and see if there wasn't nothing else; and pretty soon he says: "oh, there's one thing i forgot. could you raise a flower here, do you reckon?" "i doan' know but maybe i could, mars tom; but it's tolable dark in heah, en i ain' got no use f'r no flower, nohow, en she'd be a pow'ful sight o' trouble." "well, you try it, anyway. some other prisoners has done it." "one er dem big cat-tail-lookin' mullen-stalks would grow in heah, mars tom, i reck'n, but she wouldn't be wuth half de trouble she'd coss." "don't you believe it. we'll fetch you a little one and you plant it in the corner over there, and raise it. and don't call it mullen, call it pitchiola--that's its right name when it's in a prison. and you want to water it with your tears." "why, i got plenty spring water, mars tom." "you don't _want_ spring water; you want to water it with your tears. it's the way they always do." "why, mars tom, i lay i kin raise one er dem mullen-stalks twyste wid spring water whiles another man's a start'n one wid tears." "that ain't the idea. you _got_ to do it with tears." "she'll die on my han's, mars tom, she sholy will; kase i doan' skasely ever cry." so tom was stumped. but he studied it over, and then said jim would have to worry along the best he could with an onion. he promised he would go to the nigger cabins and drop one, private, in jim's coffee-pot, in the morning. jim said he would "jis' 's soon have tobacker in his coffee"; and found so much fault with it, and with the work and bother of raising the mullen, and jew's-harping the rats, and petting and flattering up the snakes and spiders and things, on top of all the other work he had to do on pens, and inscriptions, and journals, and things, which made it more trouble and worry and responsibility to be a prisoner than anything he ever undertook, that tom most lost all patience with him; and said he was just loadened down with more gaudier chances than a prisoner ever had in the world to make a name for himself, and yet he didn't know enough to appreciate them, and they was just about wasted on him. so jim he was sorry, and said he wouldn't behave so no more, and then me and tom shoved for bed. chapter xxxix in the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and fetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour we had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we took it and put it in a safe place under aunt sally's bed. but while we was gone for spiders little thomas franklin benjamin jefferson elexander phelps found it there, and opened the door of it to see if the rats would come out, and they did; and aunt sally she come in, and when we got back she was a-standing on top of the bed raising cain, and the rats was doing what they could to keep off the dull times for her. so she took and dusted us both with the hickry, and we was as much as two hours catching another fifteen or sixteen, drat that meddlesome cub, and they warn't the likeliest, nuther, because the first haul was the pick of the flock. i never see a likelier lot of rats than what that first haul was. we got a splendid stock of sorted spiders, and bugs, and frogs, and caterpillars, and one thing or another; and we like to got a hornet's nest, but we didn't. the family was at home. we didn't give it right up, but stayed with them as long as we could; because we allowed we'd tire them out or they'd got to tire us out, and they done it. then we got allycumpain and rubbed on the places, and was pretty near all right again, but couldn't set down convenient. and so we went for the snakes, and grabbed a couple of dozen garters and house-snakes, and put them in a bag, and put it in our room, and by that time it was supper-time, and a rattling good honest day's work: and hungry?--oh, no, i reckon not! and there warn't a blessed snake up there when we went back--we didn't half tie the sack, and they worked out somehow, and left. but it didn't matter much, because they was still on the premises somewheres. so we judged we could get some of them again. no, there warn't no real scarcity of snakes about the house for a considerable spell. you'd see them dripping from the rafters and places every now and then; and they generly landed in your plate, or down the back of your neck, and most of the time where you didn't want them. well, they was handsome and striped, and there warn't no harm in a million of them; but that never made no difference to aunt sally; she despised snakes, be the breed what they might, and she couldn't stand them no way you could fix it; and every time one of them flopped down on her, it didn't make no difference what she was doing, she would just lay that work down and light out. i never see such a woman. and you could hear her whoop to jericho. you couldn't get her to take a-holt of one of them with the tongs. and if she turned over and found one in bed she would scramble out and lift a howl that you would think the house was afire. she disturbed the old man so that he said he could most wish there hadn't ever been no snakes created. why, after every last snake had been gone clear out of the house for as much as a week aunt sally warn't over it yet; she warn't near over it; when she was setting thinking about something you could touch her on the back of her neck with a feather and she would jump right out of her stockings. it was very curious. but tom said all women was just so. he said they was made that way for some reason or other. we got a licking every time one of our snakes come in her way, and she allowed these lickings warn't nothing to what she would do if we ever loaded up the place again with them. i didn't mind the lickings, because they didn't amount to nothing; but i minded the trouble we had to lay in another lot. but we got them laid in, and all the other things; and you never see a cabin as blithesome as jim's was when they'd all swarm out for music and go for him. jim didn't like the spiders, and the spiders didn't like jim; and so they'd lay for him, and make it mighty warm for him. and he said that between the rats and the snakes and the grindstone there warn't no room in bed for him, skasely; and when there was, a body couldn't sleep, it was so lively, and it was always lively, he said, because _they_ never all slept at one time, but took turn about, so when the snakes was asleep the rats was on deck, and when the rats turned in the snakes come on watch, so he always had one gang under him, in his way, and t'other gang having a circus over him, and if he got up to hunt a new place the spiders would take a chance at him as he crossed over. he said if he ever got out this time he wouldn't ever be a prisoner again, not for a salary. well, by the end of three weeks everything was in pretty good shape. the shirt was sent in early, in a pie, and every time a rat bit jim he would get up and write a line in his journal whilst the ink was fresh; the pens was made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the grindstone; the bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust, and it give us a most amazing stomach-ache. we reckoned we was all going to die, but didn't. it was the most undigestible sawdust i ever see; and tom said the same. but as i was saying, we'd got all the work done now, at last; and we was all pretty much fagged out, too, but mainly jim. the old man had wrote a couple of times to the plantation below orleans to come and get their runaway nigger, but hadn't got no answer, because there warn't no such plantation; so he allowed he would advertise jim in the st. louis and new orleans papers; and when he mentioned the st. louis ones it give me the cold shivers, and i see we hadn't no time to lose. so tom said, now for the nonnamous letters. "what's them?" i says. "warnings to the people that something is up. sometimes it's done one way, sometimes another. but there's always somebody spying around that gives notice to the governor of the castle. when louis xvi. was going to light out of the tooleries a servant-girl done it. it's a very good way, and so is the nonnamous letters. we'll use them both. and it's usual for the prisoner's mother to change clothes with him, and she stays in, and he slides out in her clothes. we'll do that, too." "but looky here, tom, what do we want to _warn_ anybody for that something's up? let them find it out for themselves--it's their lookout." "yes, i know; but you can't depend on them. it's the way they've acted from the very start--left us to do _everything_. they're so confiding and mullet-headed they don't take notice of nothing at all. so if we don't _give_ them notice there won't be nobody nor nothing to interfere with us, and so after all our hard work and trouble this escape 'll go off perfectly flat; won't amount to nothing--won't be nothing _to_ it." "well, as for me, tom, that's the way i'd like." "shucks!" he says, and looked disgusted. so i says: "but i ain't going to make no complaint. any way that suits you suits me. what you going to do about the servant-girl?" "you'll be her. you slide in, in the middle of the night, and hook that yaller girl's frock." "why, tom, that 'll make trouble next morning; because, of course, she prob'bly hain't got any but that one." "i know; but you don't want it but fifteen minutes, to carry the nonnamous letter and shove it under the front door." "all right, then, i'll do it; but i could carry it just as handy in my own togs." "you wouldn't look like a servant-girl _then_, would you?" "no, but there won't be nobody to see what i look like, _anyway_." "that ain't got nothing to do with it. the thing for us to do is just to do our _duty_, and not worry about whether anybody _sees_ us do it or not. hain't you got no principle at all?" "all right, i ain't saying nothing; i'm the servant-girl. who's jim's mother?" "i'm his mother. i'll hook a gown from aunt sally." "well, then, you'll have to stay in the cabin when me and jim leaves." "not much. i'll stuff jim's clothes full of straw and lay it on his bed to represent his mother in disguise, and jim 'll take the nigger woman's gown off of me and wear it, and we'll all evade together. when a prisoner of style escapes it's called an evasion. it's always called so when a king escapes, f'rinstance. and the same with a king's son; it don't make no difference whether he's a natural one or an unnatural one." so tom he wrote the nonnamous letter, and i smouched the yaller wench's frock that night, and put it on, and shoved it under the front door, the way tom told me to. it said: _beware. trouble is brewing. keep a sharp lookout. unknown friend._ next night we stuck a picture, which tom drawed in blood, of a skull and crossbones on the front door; and next night another one of a coffin on the back door. i never see a family in such a sweat. they couldn't 'a' been worse scared if the place had 'a' been full of ghosts laying for them behind everything and under the beds and shivering through the air. if a door banged, aunt sally she jumped and said "ouch!" if anything fell, she jumped and said "ouch!" if you happened to touch her, when she warn't noticing, she done the same; she couldn't face no way and be satisfied, because she allowed there was something behind her every time--so she was always a-whirling around sudden, and saying "ouch," and before she'd got two-thirds around she'd whirl back again, and say it again; and she was afraid to go to bed, but she dasn't set up. so the thing was working very well, tom said; he said he never see a thing work more satisfactory. he said it showed it was done right. so he said, now for the grand bulge! so the very next morning at the streak of dawn we got another letter ready, and was wondering what we better do with it, because we heard them say at supper they was going to have a nigger on watch at both doors all night. tom he went down the lightning-rod to spy around; and the nigger at the back door was asleep, and he stuck it in the back of his neck and come back. this letter said: _don't betray me, i wish to be your friend. there is a desprate gang of cutthroats from over in the indian territory going to steal your runaway nigger to-night, and they have been trying to scare you so as you will stay in the house and not bother them. i am one of the gang, but have got religgion and wish to quit it and lead an honest life again, and will betray the helish design. they will sneak down from northards, along the fence, at midnight exact, with a false key, and go in the nigger's cabin to get him. i am to be off a piece and blow a tin horn if i see any danger; but stead of that i will ba like a sheep soon as they get in and not blow at all; then whilst they are getting his chains loose, you slip there and lock them in, and can kill them at your leasure. don't do anything but just the way i am telling you; if you do they will suspicion something and raise whoop-jamboreehoo. i do not wish any reward but to know i have done the right thing. unknown friend._ chapter xl we was feeling pretty good after breakfast, and took my canoe and went over the river a-fishing, with a lunch, and had a good time, and took a look at the raft and found her all right, and got home late to supper, and found them in such a sweat and worry they didn't know which end they was standing on, and made us go right off to bed the minute we was done supper, and wouldn't tell us what the trouble was, and never let on a word about the new letter, but didn't need to, because we knowed as much about it as anybody did, and as soon as we was half up-stairs and her back was turned we slid for the cellar cubboard and loaded up a good lunch and took it up to our room and went to bed, and got up about half past eleven, and tom put on aunt sally's dress that he stole and was going to start with the lunch, but says: "where's the butter?" "i laid out a hunk of it," i says, "on a piece of a corn-pone." "well, you _left_ it laid out, then--it ain't here." "we can get along without it," i says. "we can get along _with_ it, too," he says; "just you slide down cellar and fetch it. and then mosey right down the lightning-rod and come along. i'll go and stuff the straw into jim's clothes to represent his mother in disguise, and be ready to _ba_ like a sheep and shove soon as you get there." so out he went, and down cellar went i. the hunk of butter, big as a person's fist, was where i had left it, so i took up the slab of corn-pone with it on, and blowed out my light, and started up-stairs very stealthy, and got up to the main floor all right, but here comes aunt sally with a candle, and i clapped the truck in my hat, and clapped my hat on my head, and the next second she see me; and she says: "you been down cellar?" "yes'm." "what you been doing down there?" "noth'n." "_noth'n!_" "no'm." "well, then, what possessed you to go down there this time of night?" "i don't know 'm." "you don't _know?_ don't answer me that way. tom, i want to know what you been _doing_ down there." "i hain't been doing a single thing, aunt sally, i hope to gracious if i have." i reckoned she'd let me go now, and as a generl thing she would; but i s'pose there was so many strange things going on she was just in a sweat about every little thing that warn't yard-stick straight; so she says, very decided: "you just march into that setting-room and stay there till i come. you been up to something you no business to, and i lay i'll find out what it is before _i'm_ done with you." so she went away as i opened the door and walked into the setting-room. my, but there was a crowd there! fifteen farmers, and every one of them had a gun. i was most powerful sick, and slunk to a chair and set down. they was setting around, some of them talking a little, in a low voice, and all of them fidgety and uneasy, but trying to look like they warn't; but i knowed they was, because they was always taking off their hats, and putting them on, and scratching their heads, and changing their seats, and fumbling with their buttons. i warn't easy myself, but i didn't take my hat off, all the same. i did wish aunt sally would come, and get done with me, and lick me, if she wanted to, and let me get away and tell tom how we'd overdone this thing, and what a thundering hornet's nest we'd got ourselves into, so we could stop fooling around straight off, and clear out with jim before these rips got out of patience and come for us. at last she come and begun to ask me questions, but i _couldn't_ answer them straight, i didn't know which end of me was up; because these men was in such a fidget now that some was wanting to start right _now_ and lay for them desperadoes, and saying it warn't but a few minutes to midnight; and others was trying to get them to hold on and wait for the sheep-signal; and here was aunty pegging away at the questions, and me a-shaking all over and ready to sink down in my tracks i was that scared; and the place getting hotter and hotter, and the butter beginning to melt and run down my neck and behind my ears; and pretty soon, when one of them says, "_i'm_ for going and getting in the cabin _first_ and right _now_, and catching them when they come," i most dropped; and a streak of butter come a-trickling down my forehead, and aunt sally she see it, and turns white as a sheet, and says: "for the land's sake, what _is_ the matter with the child? he's got the brain-fever as shore as you're born, and they're oozing out!" and everybody runs to see, and she snatches off my hat, and out comes the bread and what was left of the butter, and she grabbed me, and hugged me, and says: "oh, what a turn you did give me! and how glad and grateful i am it ain't no worse; for luck's against us, and it never rains but it pours, and when i see that truck i thought we'd lost you, for i knowed by the color and all it was just like your brains would be if--dear, dear, whyd'nt you _tell_ me that was what you'd been down there for, _i_ wouldn't 'a' cared. now cler out to bed, and don't lemme see no more of you till morning!" i was up-stairs in a second, and down the lightning-rod in another one, and shinning through the dark for the lean-to. i couldn't hardly get my words out, i was so anxious; but i told tom as quick as i could we must jump for it now, and not a minute to lose--the house full of men, yonder, with guns! his eyes just blazed; and he says: "no!--is that so? _ain't_ it bully! why, huck, if it was to do over again, i bet i could fetch two hundred! if we could put it off till--" "hurry! _hurry!_" i says. "where's jim?" "right at your elbow; if you reach out your arm you can touch him. he's dressed, and everything's ready. now we'll slide out and give the sheep-signal." but then we heard the tramp of men coming to the door, and heard them begin to fumble with the padlock, and heard a man say: "i _told_ you we'd be too soon; they haven't come--the door is locked. here, i'll lock some of you into the cabin, and you lay for 'em in the dark and kill 'em when they come; and the rest scatter around a piece, and listen if you can hear 'em coming." so in they come, but couldn't see us in the dark, and most trod on us whilst we was hustling to get under the bed. but we got under all right, and out through the hole, swift but soft--jim first, me next, and tom last, which was according to tom's orders. now we was in the lean-to, and heard trampings close by outside. so we crept to the door, and tom stopped us there and put his eye to the crack, but couldn't make out nothing, it was so dark; and whispered and said he would listen for the steps to get further, and when he nudged us jim must glide out first, and him last. so he set his ear to the crack and listened, and listened, and listened, and the steps a-scraping around out there all the time; and at last he nudged us, and we slid out, and stooped down, not breathing, and not making the least noise, and slipped stealthy towards the fence in injun file, and got to it all right, and me and jim over it; but tom's britches catched fast on a splinter on the top rail, and then he hear the steps coming, so he had to pull loose, which snapped the splinter and made a noise; and as he dropped in our tracks and started somebody sings out: "who's that? answer, or i'll shoot!" but we didn't answer; we just unfurled our heels and shoved. then there was a rush, and a _bang,_ _bang,_ _bang!_ and the bullets fairly whizzed around us! we heard them sing out: "here they are! they've broke for the river! after 'em, boys, and turn loose the dogs!" so here they come, full tilt. we could hear them because they wore boots and yelled, but we didn't wear no boots and didn't yell. we was in the path to the mill; and when they got pretty close onto us we dodged into the bush and let them go by, and then dropped in behind them. they'd had all the dogs shut up, so they wouldn't scare off the robbers; but by this time somebody had let them loose, and here they come, making powwow enough for a million; but they was our dogs; so we stopped in our tracks till they catched up; and when they see it warn't nobody but us, and no excitement to offer them, they only just said howdy, and tore right ahead towards the shouting and clattering; and then we up-steam again, and whizzed along after them till we was nearly to the mill, and then struck up through the bush to where my canoe was tied, and hopped in and pulled for dear life towards the middle of the river, but didn't make no more noise than we was obleeged to. then we struck out, easy and comfortable, for the island where my raft was; and we could hear them yelling and barking at each other all up and down the bank, till we was so far away the sounds got dim and died out. and when we stepped onto the raft i says: "now, old jim, you're a free man _again_, and i bet you won't ever be a slave no more." "en a mighty good job it wuz, too, huck. it 'uz planned beautiful, en it 'uz _done_ beautiful; en dey ain't _nobody_ kin git up a plan dat's mo' mixed up en splendid den what dat one wuz." we was all glad as we could be, but tom was the gladdest of all because he had a bullet in the calf of his leg. when me and jim heard that we didn't feel as brash as what we did before. it was hurting him considerable, and bleeding; so we laid him in the wigwam and tore up one of the duke's shirts for to bandage him, but he says: "gimme the rags; i can do it myself. don't stop now; don't fool around here, and the evasion booming along so handsome; man the sweeps, and set her loose! boys, we done it elegant!--'deed we did. i wish _we'd_ 'a' had the handling of louis xvi., there wouldn't 'a' been no 'son of saint louis, ascend to heaven!' wrote down in _his_ biography; no, sir, we'd 'a' whooped him over the _border_--that's what we'd 'a' done with _him_--and done it just as slick as nothing at all, too. man the sweeps--man the sweeps!" but me and jim was consulting--and thinking. and after we'd thought a minute, i says: "say it, jim." so he says: "well, den, dis is de way it look to me, huck. ef it wuz _him_ dat 'uz bein' sot free, en one er de boys wuz to git shot, would he say, 'go on en save me, nemmine 'bout a doctor f'r to save dis one'? is dat like mars tom sawyer? would he say dat? you _bet_ he wouldn't! _well_, den, is _jim_ gywne to say it? no, sah--i doan' budge a step out'n dis place 'dout a _doctor_; not if it's forty year!" i knowed he was white inside, and i reckoned he'd say what he did say--so it was all right now, and i told tom i was a-going for a doctor. he raised considerable row about it, but me and jim stuck to it and wouldn't budge; so he was for crawling out and setting the raft loose himself; but we wouldn't let him. then he give us a piece of his mind, but it didn't do no good. so when he sees me getting the canoe ready, he says: "well, then, if you're bound to go, i'll tell you the way to do when you get to the village. shut the door and blindfold the doctor tight and fast, and make him swear to be silent as the grave, and put a purse full of gold in his hand, and then take and lead him all around the back alleys and everywheres in the dark, and then fetch him here in the canoe, in a roundabout way amongst the islands, and search him and take his chalk away from him, and don't give it back to him till you get him back to the village, or else he will chalk this raft so he can find it again. it's the way they all do." so i said i would, and left, and jim was to hide in the woods when he see the doctor coming till he was gone again. chapter xli the doctor was an old man; a very nice, kind-looking old man when i got him up. i told him me and my brother was over on spanish island hunting yesterday afternoon, and camped on a piece of a raft we found, and about midnight he must 'a' kicked his gun in his dreams, for it went off and shot him in the leg, and we wanted him to go over there and fix it and not say nothing about it, nor let anybody know, because we wanted to come home this evening and surprise the folks. "who is your folks?" he says. "the phelpses, down yonder." "oh," he says. and after a minute, he says: "how'd you say he got shot?" "he had a dream," i says, "and it shot him." "singular dream," he says. so he lit up his lantern, and got his saddle-bags, and we started. but when he see the canoe he didn't like the look of her--said she was big enough for one, but didn't look pretty safe for two. i says: "oh, you needn't be afeard, sir, she carried the three of us easy enough." "what three?" "why, me and sid, and--and--and _the guns_; that's what i mean." "oh," he says. but he put his foot on the gunnel and rocked her, and shook his head, and said he reckoned he'd look around for a bigger one. but they was all locked and chained; so he took my canoe, and said for me to wait till he come back, or i could hunt around further, or maybe i better go down home and get them ready for the surprise if i wanted to. but i said i didn't; so i told him just how to find the raft, and then he started. i struck an idea pretty soon. i says to myself, spos'n he can't fix that leg just in three shakes of a sheep's tail, as the saying is? spos'n it takes him three or four days? what are we going to do?--lay around there till he lets the cat out of the bag? no, sir; i know what _i'll_ do. i'll wait, and when he comes back if he says he's got to go any more i'll get down there, too, if i swim; and we'll take and tie him, and keep him, and shove out down the river; and when tom's done with him we'll give him what it's worth, or all we got, and then let him get ashore. so then i crept into a lumber-pile to get some sleep; and next time i waked up the sun was away up over my head! i shot out and went for the doctor's house, but they told me he'd gone away in the night some time or other, and warn't back yet. well, thinks i, that looks powerful bad for tom, and i'll dig out for the island right off. so away i shoved, and turned the corner, and nearly rammed my head into uncle silas's stomach! he says: "why, _tom!_ where you been all this time, you rascal?" "_i_ hain't been nowheres," i says, "only just hunting for the runaway nigger--me and sid." "why, where ever did you go?" he says. "your aunt's been mighty uneasy." "she needn't," i says, "because we was all right. we followed the men and the dogs, but they outrun us, and we lost them; but we thought we heard them on the water, so we got a canoe and took out after them and crossed over, but couldn't find nothing of them; so we cruised along up-shore till we got kind of tired and beat out; and tied up the canoe and went to sleep, and never waked up till about an hour ago; then we paddled over here to hear the news, and sid's at the post-office to see what he can hear, and i'm a-branching out to get something to eat for us, and then we're going home." so then we went to the post-office to get "sid"; but just as i suspicioned, he warn't there; so the old man he got a letter out of the office, and we waited awhile longer, but sid didn't come; so the old man said, come along, let sid foot it home, or canoe it, when he got done fooling around--but we would ride. i couldn't get him to let me stay and wait for sid; and he said there warn't no use in it, and i must come along, and let aunt sally see we was all right. when we got home aunt sally was that glad to see me she laughed and cried both, and hugged me, and give me one of them lickings of hern that don't amount to shucks, and said she'd serve sid the same when he come. and the place was plum full of farmers and farmers' wives, to dinner; and such another clack a body never heard. old mrs. hotchkiss was the worst; her tongue was a-going all the time. she says: "well, sister phelps, i've ransacked that-air cabin over, an' i b'lieve the nigger was crazy. i says to sister damrell--didn't i, sister damrell?--s'i, he's crazy, s'i--them's the very words i said. you all hearn me: he's crazy, s'i; everything shows it, s'i. look at that-air grindstone, s'i; want to tell _me't_ any cretur 't's in his right mind 's a goin' to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone? s'i. here sich 'n' sich a person busted his heart; 'n' here so 'n' so pegged along for thirty-seven year, 'n' all that--natcherl son o' louis somebody, 'n' sich everlast'n rubbage. he's plumb crazy, s'i; it's what i says in the fust place, it's what i says in the middle, 'n' it's what i says last 'n' all the time--the nigger's crazy--crazy 's nebokoodneezer, s'i." "an' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, sister hotchkiss," says old mrs. damrell; "what in the name o' goodness _could_ he ever want of--" "the very words i was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to sister utterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself. sh-she, look at that-air rag ladder, sh-she; 'n' s'i, yes, look at it, s'i--what _could_ he 'a' wanted of it, s'i. sh-she, sister hotchkiss, sh-she--" "but how in the nation'd they ever _git_ that grindstone _in_ there, _anyway?_ 'n' who dug that-air _hole?_ 'n' who--" "my very _words_, brer penrod! i was a-sayin'--pass that-air sasser o' m'lasses, won't ye?--i was a-sayin' to sister dunlap, jist this minute, how _did_ they git that grindstone in there? s'i. without _help,_ mind you--'thout _help! thar's_ where 'tis. don't tell _me,_ s'i; there _wuz_ help, s'i; 'n' ther' wuz a _plenty_ help, too, s'i; ther's ben a _dozen_ a-helpin' that nigger, 'n' i lay i'd skin every last nigger on this place but _i'd_ find out who done it, s'i; moreover, s'i--" "a _dozen_ says you!--_forty_ couldn't 'a' done everything that's been done. look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've been made; look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for six men: look at that nigger made out'n straw on the bed; and look at--" "you may _well_ say it, brer hightower! it's jist as i was a-sayin' to brer phelps, his own self. s'e, what do _you_ think of it, sister hotchkiss? s'e. think o' what, brer phelps? s'i. think o' that bed-leg sawed off that a way? s'e? _think_ of it? s'i. i lay it never sawed _itself_ off, s'i--somebody _sawed_ it, s'i; that's my opinion, take it or leave it, it mayn't be no 'count, s'i, but sich as 't is, it's my opinion, s'i, 'n' if anybody k'n start a better one, s'i, let him _do_ it, s'i, that's all. i says to sister dunlap, s'i--" "why, dog my cats, they must 'a' ben a house-full o' niggers in there every night for four weeks to 'a' done all that work, sister phelps. look at that shirt--every last inch of it kivered over with secret african writ'n done with blood! must 'a' ben a raft uv 'm at it right along, all the time, amost. why, i'd give two dollars to have it read to me; 'n' as for the niggers that wrote it, i 'low i'd take 'n' lash 'm t'll--" "people to _help_ him, brother marples! well, i reckon you'd _think_ so if you'd 'a' been in this house for a while back. why, they've stole everything they could lay their hands on--and we a-watching all the time, mind you. they stole that shirt right off o' the line! and as for that sheet they made the rag ladder out of, ther' ain't no telling how many times they _didn't_ steal that; and flour, and candles, and candlesticks, and spoons, and the old warming-pan, and most a thousand things that i disremember now, and my new calico dress; and me and silas and my sid and tom on the constant watch day _and_ night, as i was a-telling you, and not a one of us could catch hide nor hair nor sight nor sound of them; and here at the last minute, lo and behold you, they slides right in under our noses and fools us, and not only fools _us_ but the injun territory robbers too, and actuly gets _away_ with that nigger safe and sound, and that with sixteen men and twenty-two dogs right on their very heels at that very time! i tell you, it just bangs anything i ever _heard_ of. why, _sperits_ couldn't 'a' done better and been no smarter. and i reckon they must 'a' _been_ sperits--because, because, _you_ know our dogs, and ther' ain't no better; well, them dogs never even got on the _track_ of 'm once! you explain _that_ to me if you can!--_any_ of you!" "well, it does beat--" "laws alive, i never--" "so help me, i wouldn't 'a' be--" "_house_-thieves as well as--" "goodnessgracioussakes, i'd 'a' ben afeard to _live_ in sich a--" "fraid to _live!_--why, i was that scared i dasn't hardly go to bed, or get up, or lay down, or _set_ down, sister ridgeway. why, they'd steal the very--why, goodness sakes, you can guess what kind of a fluster i was in by the time midnight come last night. i hope to gracious if i warn't afraid they'd steal some o' the family! i was just to that pass i didn't have no reasoning faculties no more. it looks foolish enough _now_, in the daytime; but i says to myself, there's my two poor boys asleep, 'way upstairs in that lonesome room, and i declare to goodness i was that uneasy 't i crep' up there and locked 'em in! i _did_. and anybody would. because, you know, when you get scared that way, and it keeps running on, and getting worse and worse all the time, and your wits gets to addling, and you get to doing all sorts o' wild things, and by and by you think to yourself, spos'n i was a boy, and was away up there, and the door ain't locked, and you--" she stopped, looking kind of wondering, and then she turned her head around slow, and when her eye lit on me--i got up and took a walk. says i to myself, i can explain better how we come to not be in that room this morning if i go out to one side and study over it a little. so i done it. but i dasn't go fur, or she'd 'a' sent for me. and when it was late in the day the people all went, and then i come in and told her the noise and shooting waked up me and "sid," and the door was locked, and we wanted to see the fun, so we went down the lightning-rod, and both of us got hurt a little, and we didn't never want to try _that_ no more. and then i went on and told her all what i told uncle silas before; and then she said she'd forgive us, and maybe it was all right enough anyway, and about what a body might expect of boys, for all boys was a pretty harum-scarum lot as fur as she could see; and so, as long as no harm hadn't come of it, she judged she better put in her time being grateful we was alive and well and she had us still, stead of fretting over what was past and done. so then she kissed me, and patted me on the head, and dropped into a kind of a brown-study; and pretty soon jumps up, and says: "why, lawsamercy, it's most night, and sid not come yet! what _has_ become of that boy?" i see my chance; so i skips up and says: "i'll run right up to town and get him," i says. "no you won't," she says. "you'll stay right wher' you are; _one's_ enough to be lost at a time. if he ain't here to supper, your uncle 'll go." well, he warn't there to supper; so right after supper uncle went. he come back about ten a little bit uneasy; hadn't run across tom's track. aunt sally was a good _deal_ uneasy; but uncle silas he said there warn't no occasion to be--boys will be boys, he said, and you'll see this one turn up in the morning all sound and right. so she had to be satisfied. but she said she'd set up for him awhile anyway, and keep a light burning so he could see it. and then when i went up to bed she come up with me and fetched her candle, and tucked me in, and mothered me so good i felt mean, and like i couldn't look her in the face; and she set down on the bed and talked with me a long time, and said what a splendid boy sid was, and didn't seem to want to ever stop talking about him; and kept asking me every now and then if i reckoned he could 'a' got lost, or hurt, or maybe drownded, and might be laying at this minute somewheres suffering or dead, and she not by him to help him, and so the tears would drip down silent, and i would tell her that sid was all right, and would be home in the morning, sure; and she would squeeze my hand, or maybe kiss me, and tell me to say it again, and keep on saying it, because it done her good, and she was in so much trouble. and when she was going away she looked down in my eyes so steady and gentle, and says: "the door ain't going to be locked, tom, and there's the window and the rod; but you'll be good, _won't_ you? and you won't go? for _my_ sake." laws knows i _wanted_ to go bad enough to see about tom, and was all intending to go; but after that i wouldn't 'a' went, not for kingdoms. but she was on my mind and tom was on my mind, so i slept very restless. and twice i went down the rod away in the night, and slipped around front, and see her setting there by her candle in the window with her eyes towards the road and the tears in them; and i wished i could do something for her, but i couldn't, only to swear that i wouldn't never do nothing to grieve her any more. and the third time i waked up at dawn, and slid down, and she was there yet, and her candle was most out, and her old gray head was resting on her hand, and she was asleep. chapter xlii the old man was uptown again before breakfast, but couldn't get no track of tom; and both of them set at the table thinking, and not saying nothing, and looking mournful, and their coffee getting cold, and not eating anything. and by and by the old man says: "did i give you the letter?" "what letter?" "the one i got yesterday out of the post-office." "no, you didn't give me no letter." "well, i must 'a' forgot it." so he rummaged his pockets, and then went off somewheres where he had laid it down, and fetched it, and give it to her. she says: "why, it's from st. petersburg--it's from sis." i allowed another walk would do me good; but i couldn't stir. but before she could break it open she dropped it and run--for she see something. and so did i. it was tom sawyer on a mattress; and that old doctor; and jim, in _her_ calico dress, with his hands tied behind him; and a lot of people. i hid the letter behind the first thing that come handy, and rushed. she flung herself at tom, crying, and says: "oh, he's dead, he's dead, i know he's dead!" and tom he turned his head a little, and muttered something or other, which showed he warn't in his right mind; then she flung up her hands, and says: "he's alive, thank god! and that's enough!" and she snatched a kiss of him, and flew for the house to get the bed ready, and scattering orders right and left at the niggers and everybody else, as fast as her tongue could go, every jump of the way. i followed the men to see what they was going to do with jim; and the old doctor and uncle silas followed after tom into the house. the men was very huffy, and some of them wanted to hang jim for an example to all the other niggers around there, so they wouldn't be trying to run away like jim done, and making such a raft of trouble, and keeping a whole family scared most to death for days and nights. but the others said, don't do it, it wouldn't answer at all; he ain't our nigger, and his owner would turn up and make us pay for him, sure. so that cooled them down a little, because the people that's always the most anxious for to hang a nigger that hain't done just right is always the very ones that ain't the most anxious to pay for him when they've got their satisfaction out of him. they cussed jim considerble, though, and give him a cuff or two side the head once in a while, but jim never said nothing, and he never let on to know me, and they took him to the same cabin, and put his own clothes on him, and chained him again, and not to no bed-leg this time, but to a big staple drove into the bottom log, and chained his hands, too, and both legs, and said he warn't to have nothing but bread and water to eat after this till his owner come, or he was sold at auction because he didn't come in a certain length of time, and filled up our hole, and said a couple of farmers with guns must stand watch around about the cabin every night, and a bulldog tied to the door in the daytime; and about this time they was through with the job and was tapering off with a kind of generl good-by cussing, and then the old doctor comes and takes a look, and says: "don't be no rougher on him than you're obleeged to, because he ain't a bad nigger. when i got to where i found the boy i see i couldn't cut the bullet out without some help, and he warn't in no condition for me to leave to go and get help; and he got a little worse and a little worse, and after a long time he went out of his head, and wouldn't let me come a-nigh him any more, and said if i chalked his raft he'd kill me, and no end of wild foolishness like that, and i see i couldn't do anything at all with him; so i says, i got to have _help_ somehow; and the minute i says it out crawls this nigger from somewheres and says he'll help, and he done it, too, and done it very well. of course i judged he must be a runaway nigger, and there i _was!_ and there i had to stick right straight along all the rest of the day and all night. it was a fix, i tell you! i had a couple of patients with the chills, and of course i'd of liked to run up to town and see them, but i dasn't, because the nigger might get away, and then i'd be to blame; and yet never a skiff come close enough for me to hail. so there i had to stick plumb until daylight this morning; and i never see a nigger that was a better nuss or faithfuler, and yet he was risking his freedom to do it, and was all tired out, too, and i see plain enough he'd been worked main hard lately. i liked the nigger for that; i tell you, gentlemen, a nigger like that is worth a thousand dollars--and kind treatment, too. i had everything i needed, and the boy was doing as well there as he would 'a' done at home--better, maybe, because it was so quiet; but there i _was_, with both of 'm on my hands, and there i had to stick till about dawn this morning; then some men in a skiff come by, and as good luck would have it the nigger was setting by the pallet with his head propped on his knees sound asleep; so i motioned them in quiet, and they slipped up on him and grabbed him and tied him before he knowed what he was about, and we never had no trouble. and the boy being in a kind of a flighty sleep, too, we muffled the oars and hitched the raft on, and towed her over very nice and quiet, and the nigger never made the least row nor said a word from the start. he ain't no bad nigger, gentlemen; that's what i think about him." somebody says: "well, it sounds very good, doctor, i'm obleeged to say." then the others softened up a little, too, and i was mighty thankful to that old doctor for doing jim that good turn; and i was glad it was according to my judgment of him, too; because i thought he had a good heart in him and was a good man the first time i see him. then they all agreed that jim had acted very well, and was deserving to have some notice took of it, and reward. so every one of them promised, right out and hearty, that they wouldn't cuss him no more. then they come out and locked him up. i hoped they was going to say he could have one or two of the chains took off, because they was rotten heavy, or could have meat and greens with his bread and water; but they didn't think of it, and i reckoned it warn't best for me to mix in, but i judged i'd get the doctor's yarn to aunt sally somehow or other as soon as i'd got through the breakers that was laying just ahead of me--explanations, i mean, of how i forgot to mention about sid being shot when i was telling how him and me put in that dratted night paddling around hunting the runaway nigger. but i had plenty time. aunt sally she stuck to the sick-room all day and all night, and every time i see uncle silas mooning around i dodged him. next morning i heard tom was a good deal better, and they said aunt sally was gone to get a nap. so i slips to the sick-room, and if i found him awake i reckoned we could put up a yarn for the family that would wash. but he was sleeping, and sleeping very peaceful, too; and pale, not fire-faced the way he was when he come. so i set down and laid for him to wake. in about half an hour aunt sally comes gliding in, and there i was, up a stump again! she motioned me to be still, and set down by me, and begun to whisper, and said we could all be joyful now, because all the symptoms was first-rate, and he'd been sleeping like that for ever so long, and looking better and peacefuler all the time, and ten to one he'd wake up in his right mind. so we set there watching, and by and by he stirs a bit, and opened his eyes very natural, and takes a look, and says: "hello!--why, i'm at _home!_ how's that? where's the raft?" "it's all right," i says. "and _jim?_" "the same," i says, but couldn't say it pretty brash. but he never noticed, but says: "good! splendid! _now_ we're all right and safe! did you tell aunty?" i was going to say yes; but she chipped in and says: "about what, sid?" "why, about the way the whole thing was done." "what whole thing?" "why, _the_ whole thing. there ain't but one; how we set the runaway nigger free--me and tom." "good land! set the run--what _is_ the child talking about! dear, dear, out of his head again!" "_no_, i ain't out of my head; i know all what i'm talking about. we _did_ set him free--me and tom. we laid out to do it, and we _done_ it. and we done it elegant, too." he'd got a start, and she never checked him up, just set and stared and stared, and let him clip along, and i see it warn't no use for _me_ to put in. "why, aunty, it cost us a power of work--weeks of it--hours and hours, every night, whilst you was all asleep. and we had to steal candles, and the sheet, and the shirt, and your dress, and spoons, and tin plates, and case-knives, and the warming-pan, and the grindstone, and flour, and just no end of things, and you can't think what work it was to make the saws, and pens, and inscriptions, and one thing or another, and you can't think half the fun it was. and we had to make up the pictures of coffins and things, and nonnamous letters from the robbers, and get up and down the lightning-rod, and dig the hole into the cabin, and make the rope ladder and send it in cooked up in a pie, and send in spoons and things to work with in your apron pocket--" "mercy sakes!" "--and load up the cabin with rats and snake's and so on, for company for jim; and then you kept tom here so long with the butter in his hat that you come near spiling the whole business, because the men come before we was out of the cabin, and we had to rush, and they heard us and let drive at us, and i got my share, and we dodged out of the path and let them go by, and when the dogs come they warn't interested in us, but went for the most noise, and we got our canoe, and made for the raft, and was all safe, and jim was a free man, and we done it all by ourselves, and _wasn't_ it bully. aunty!" "well, i never heard the likes of it in all my born days! so it was _you_, you little rapscallions, that's been making all this trouble, and turned everybody's wits clean inside out and scared us all most to death. i've as good a notion as ever i had in my life to take it out o' you this very minute. to think, here i've been, night after night, a--_you_ just get well once, you young scamp, and i lay i'll tan the old harry out o' both o' ye!" but tom, he _was_ so proud and joyful, he just _couldn't_ hold in, and his tongue just _went_ it--she a-chipping in, and spitting fire all along, and both of them going it at once, like a cat convention; and she says: "_well_, you get all the enjoyment you can out of it _now_, for mind i tell you if i catch you meddling with him again--" "meddling with _who_ tom says, dropping his smile and looking surprised. "with _who?_ why, the runaway nigger, of course. who'd you reckon?" tom looks at me very grave, and says: "tom, didn't you just tell me he was all right? hasn't he got away?" "_him?_" says aunt sally; "the runaway nigger? 'deed he hasn't. they've got him back, safe and sound, and he's in that cabin again, on bread and water, and loaded down with chains, till he's claimed or sold!" tom rose square up in bed, with his eye hot, and his nostrils opening and shutting like gills, and sings out to me: "they hain't no _right_ to shut him up! _shove!_--and don't you lose a minute. turn him loose! he ain't no slave; he's as free as any cretur that walks this earth!" "what _does_ the child mean?" "i mean every word i _say_, aunt sally, and if somebody don't go, _i'll_ go. i've knowed him all his life, and so has tom, there. old miss watson died two months ago, and she was ashamed she ever was going to sell him down the river, and _said_ so; and she set him free in her will." "then what on earth did _you_ want to set him free for, seeing he was already free?" "well, that _is_ a question, i must say; and _just_ like women! why, i wanted the _adventure_ of it; and i'd 'a' waded neck-deep in blood to--goodness alive, _aunt polly!"_ if she warn't standing right there, just inside the door, looking as sweet and contented as an angel half full of pie, i wish i may never! aunt sally jumped for her, and most hugged the head off of her, and cried over her, and i found a good enough place for me under the bed, for it was getting pretty sultry for _us_, seemed to me. and i peeped out, and in a little while tom's aunt polly shook herself loose and stood there looking across at tom over her spectacles--kind of grinding him into the earth, you know. and then she says: "yes, you _better_ turn y'r head away--i would if i was you, tom." "oh, deary me!" says aunt sally; "_is_ he changed so? why, that ain't _tom_, it's sid; tom's--tom's--why, where is tom? he was here a minute ago." "you mean where's huck _finn_--that's what you mean! i reckon i hain't raised such a scamp as my tom all these years not to know him when i _see_ him. that _would_ be a pretty howdy-do. come out from under that bed, huck finn." so i done it. but not feeling brash. aunt sally she was one of the mixed-upest-looking persons i ever see--except one, and that was uncle silas, when he come in and they told it all to him. it kind of made him drunk, as you may say, and he didn't know nothing at all the rest of the day, and preached a prayer-meeting sermon that night that gave him a rattling ruputation, because the oldest man in the world couldn't 'a' understood it. so tom's aunt polly, she told all about who i was, and what; and i had to up and tell how i was in such a tight place that when mrs. phelps took me for tom sawyer--she chipped in and says, "oh, go on and call me aunt sally, i'm used to it now, and 'taint no need to change"--that when aunt sally took me for tom sawyer i had to stand it--there warn't no other way, and i knowed he wouldn't mind, because it would be nuts for him, being a mystery, and he'd make an adventure out of it, and be perfectly satisfied. and so it turned out, and he let on to be sid, and made things as soft as he could for me. and his aunt polly she said tom was right about old miss watson setting jim free in her will; and so, sure enough, tom sawyer had gone and took all that trouble and bother to set a free nigger free! and i couldn't ever understand before, until that minute and that talk, how he _could_ help a body set a nigger free with his bringing-up. well, aunt polly she said that when aunt sally wrote to her that tom and _sid_ had come all right and safe, she says to herself: "look at that, now! i might have expected it, letting him go off that way without anybody to watch him. so now i got to go and trapse all the way down the river, eleven hundred mile, and find out what that creetur's up to _this_ time, as long as i couldn't seem to get any answer out of you about it." "why, i never heard nothing from you," says aunt sally. "well, i wonder! why, i wrote you twice to ask you what you could mean by sid being here." "well, i never got 'em. sis." aunt polly she turns around slow and severe, and says: "you, tom!" "well--_what?_" he says, kind of pettish. "don't you what _me_, you impudent thing--hand out them letters." "what letters?" "_them_ letters. i be bound, if i have to take a-holt of you i'll--" "they're in the trunk. there, now. and they're just the same as they was when i got them out of the office. i hain't looked into them, i hain't touched them. but i knowed they'd make trouble, and i thought if you warn't in no hurry, i'd--" "well, you _do_ need skinning, there ain't no mistake about it. and i wrote another one to tell you i was coming; and i s'pose he--" "no, it come yesterday; i hain't read it yet, but _it's_ all right, i've got that one." i wanted to offer to bet two dollars she hadn't, but i reckoned maybe it was just as safe to not to. so i never said nothing. chapter the last the first time i catched tom private i asked him what was his idea, time of the evasion?--what it was he'd planned to do if the evasion worked all right and he managed to set a nigger free that was already free before? and he said, what he had planned in his head from the start, if we got jim out all safe, was for us to run him down the river on the raft, and have adventures plumb to the mouth of the river, and then tell him about his being free, and take him back up home on a steamboat, in style, and pay him for his lost time, and write word ahead and get out all the niggers around, and have them waltz him into town with a torchlight procession and a brass-band, and then he would be a hero, and so would we. but i reckoned it was about as well the way it was. we had jim out of the chains in no time, and when aunt polly and uncle silas and aunt sally found out how good he helped the doctor nurse tom, they made a heap of fuss over him, and fixed him up prime, and give him all he wanted to eat, and a good time, and nothing to do. and we had him up to the sick-room, and had a high talk; and tom give jim forty dollars for being prisoner for us so patient, and doing it up so good, and jim was pleased most to death and busted out, and says: "_dah_, now, huck, what i tell you?--what i tell you up dah on jackson islan'? i tole you i got a hairy breas', en what's de sign un it; en i _tole_ you i ben rich wunst, en gwineter to be rich _ag'in;_ en it's come true; en heah she _is! dah_, now! doan' talk to _me_--signs is _signs_, mine i tell you; en i knowed jis' 's well 'at i 'uz gwineter be rich ag'in as i's a-stannin' heah dis minute!" and then tom he talked along and talked along, and says, le's all three slide out of here one of these nights and get an outfit, and go for howling adventures amongst the injuns, over in the territory, for a couple of weeks or two; and i says, all right, that suits me, but i ain't got no money for to buy the outfit, and i reckon i couldn't get none from home, because it's likely pap's been back before now, and got it all away from judge thatcher and drunk it up. "no, he hain't," tom says; "it's all there yet--six thousand dollars and more; and your pap hain't ever been back since. hadn't when i come away, anyhow." jim says, kind of solemn: "he ain't a-comin' back no mo', huck." i says: "why, jim?" "nemmine why, huck--but he ain't comin' back no mo'." but i kept at him; so at last he says: "doan' you 'member de house dat was float'n down de river, en dey wuz a man in dah, kivered up, en i went in en unkivered him and didn' let you come in? well, den, you kin git yo' money when you wants it, kase dat wuz him." tom's most well now, and got his bullet around his neck on a watch-guard for a watch, and is always seeing what time it is, and so there ain't nothing more to write about, and i am rotten glad of it, because if i'd 'a' knowed what a trouble it was to make a book i wouldn't 'a' tackled it, and ain't a-going to no more. but i reckon i got to light out for the territory ahead of the rest, because aunt sally she's going to adopt me and sivilize me, and i can't stand it. i been there before. the end huckleberry finn by mark twain part . chapter xi. "come in," says the woman, and i did. she says: "take a cheer." i done it. she looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says: "what might your name be?" "sarah williams." "where 'bouts do you live? in this neighborhood?' "no'm. in hookerville, seven mile below. i've walked all the way and i'm all tired out." "hungry, too, i reckon. i'll find you something." "no'm, i ain't hungry. i was so hungry i had to stop two miles below here at a farm; so i ain't hungry no more. it's what makes me so late. my mother's down sick, and out of money and everything, and i come to tell my uncle abner moore. he lives at the upper end of the town, she says. i hain't ever been here before. do you know him?" "no; but i don't know everybody yet. i haven't lived here quite two weeks. it's a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. you better stay here all night. take off your bonnet." "no," i says; "i'll rest a while, i reckon, and go on. i ain't afeared of the dark." she said she wouldn't let me go by myself, but her husband would be in by and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she'd send him along with me. then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up the river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better off they used to was, and how they didn't know but they'd made a mistake coming to our town, instead of letting well alone--and so on and so on, till i was afeard i had made a mistake coming to her to find out what was going on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the murder, and then i was pretty willing to let her clatter right along. she told about me and tom sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only she got it ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what a hard lot i was, and at last she got down to where i was murdered. i says: "who done it? we've heard considerable about these goings on down in hookerville, but we don't know who 'twas that killed huck finn." "well, i reckon there's a right smart chance of people here that'd like to know who killed him. some think old finn done it himself." "no--is that so?" "most everybody thought it at first. he'll never know how nigh he come to getting lynched. but before night they changed around and judged it was done by a runaway nigger named jim." "why he--" i stopped. i reckoned i better keep still. she run on, and never noticed i had put in at all: "the nigger run off the very night huck finn was killed. so there's a reward out for him--three hundred dollars. and there's a reward out for old finn, too--two hundred dollars. you see, he come to town the morning after the murder, and told about it, and was out with 'em on the ferryboat hunt, and right away after he up and left. before night they wanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see. well, next day they found out the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn't ben seen sence ten o'clock the night the murder was done. so then they put it on him, you see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old finn, and went boo-hooing to judge thatcher to get money to hunt for the nigger all over illinois with. the judge gave him some, and that evening he got drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them. well, he hain't come back sence, and they ain't looking for him back till this thing blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and fixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he'd get huck's money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit. people do say he warn't any too good to do it. oh, he's sly, i reckon. if he don't come back for a year he'll be all right. you can't prove anything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and he'll walk in huck's money as easy as nothing." "yes, i reckon so, 'm. i don't see nothing in the way of it. has everybody quit thinking the nigger done it?" "oh, no, not everybody. a good many thinks he done it. but they'll get the nigger pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him." "why, are they after him yet?" "well, you're innocent, ain't you! does three hundred dollars lay around every day for people to pick up? some folks think the nigger ain't far from here. i'm one of them--but i hain't talked it around. a few days ago i was talking with an old couple that lives next door in the log shanty, and they happened to say hardly anybody ever goes to that island over yonder that they call jackson's island. don't anybody live there? says i. no, nobody, says they. i didn't say any more, but i done some thinking. i was pretty near certain i'd seen smoke over there, about the head of the island, a day or two before that, so i says to myself, like as not that nigger's hiding over there; anyway, says i, it's worth the trouble to give the place a hunt. i hain't seen any smoke sence, so i reckon maybe he's gone, if it was him; but husband's going over to see --him and another man. he was gone up the river; but he got back to-day, and i told him as soon as he got here two hours ago." i had got so uneasy i couldn't set still. i had to do something with my hands; so i took up a needle off of the table and went to threading it. my hands shook, and i was making a bad job of it. when the woman stopped talking i looked up, and she was looking at me pretty curious and smiling a little. i put down the needle and thread, and let on to be interested --and i was, too--and says: "three hundred dollars is a power of money. i wish my mother could get it. is your husband going over there to-night?" "oh, yes. he went up-town with the man i was telling you of, to get a boat and see if they could borrow another gun. they'll go over after midnight." "couldn't they see better if they was to wait till daytime?" "yes. and couldn't the nigger see better, too? after midnight he'll likely be asleep, and they can slip around through the woods and hunt up his camp fire all the better for the dark, if he's got one." "i didn't think of that." the woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and i didn't feel a bit comfortable. pretty soon she says" "what did you say your name was, honey?" "m--mary williams." somehow it didn't seem to me that i said it was mary before, so i didn't look up--seemed to me i said it was sarah; so i felt sort of cornered, and was afeared maybe i was looking it, too. i wished the woman would say something more; the longer she set still the uneasier i was. but now she says: "honey, i thought you said it was sarah when you first come in?" "oh, yes'm, i did. sarah mary williams. sarah's my first name. some calls me sarah, some calls me mary." "oh, that's the way of it?" "yes'm." i was feeling better then, but i wished i was out of there, anyway. i couldn't look up yet. well, the woman fell to talking about how hard times was, and how poor they had to live, and how the rats was as free as if they owned the place, and so forth and so on, and then i got easy again. she was right about the rats. you'd see one stick his nose out of a hole in the corner every little while. she said she had to have things handy to throw at them when she was alone, or they wouldn't give her no peace. she showed me a bar of lead twisted up into a knot, and said she was a good shot with it generly, but she'd wrenched her arm a day or two ago, and didn't know whether she could throw true now. but she watched for a chance, and directly banged away at a rat; but she missed him wide, and said "ouch!" it hurt her arm so. then she told me to try for the next one. i wanted to be getting away before the old man got back, but of course i didn't let on. i got the thing, and the first rat that showed his nose i let drive, and if he'd a stayed where he was he'd a been a tolerable sick rat. she said that was first-rate, and she reckoned i would hive the next one. she went and got the lump of lead and fetched it back, and brought along a hank of yarn which she wanted me to help her with. i held up my two hands and she put the hank over them, and went on talking about her and her husband's matters. but she broke off to say: "keep your eye on the rats. you better have the lead in your lap, handy." so she dropped the lump into my lap just at that moment, and i clapped my legs together on it and she went on talking. but only about a minute. then she took off the hank and looked me straight in the face, and very pleasant, and says: "come, now, what's your real name?" "wh--what, mum?" "what's your real name? is it bill, or tom, or bob?--or what is it?" i reckon i shook like a leaf, and i didn't know hardly what to do. but i says: "please to don't poke fun at a poor girl like me, mum. if i'm in the way here, i'll--" "no, you won't. set down and stay where you are. i ain't going to hurt you, and i ain't going to tell on you, nuther. you just tell me your secret, and trust me. i'll keep it; and, what's more, i'll help you. so'll my old man if you want him to. you see, you're a runaway 'prentice, that's all. it ain't anything. there ain't no harm in it. you've been treated bad, and you made up your mind to cut. bless you, child, i wouldn't tell on you. tell me all about it now, that's a good boy." so i said it wouldn't be no use to try to play it any longer, and i would just make a clean breast and tell her everything, but she musn't go back on her promise. then i told her my father and mother was dead, and the law had bound me out to a mean old farmer in the country thirty mile back from the river, and he treated me so bad i couldn't stand it no longer; he went away to be gone a couple of days, and so i took my chance and stole some of his daughter's old clothes and cleared out, and i had been three nights coming the thirty miles. i traveled nights, and hid daytimes and slept, and the bag of bread and meat i carried from home lasted me all the way, and i had a-plenty. i said i believed my uncle abner moore would take care of me, and so that was why i struck out for this town of goshen. "goshen, child? this ain't goshen. this is st. petersburg. goshen's ten mile further up the river. who told you this was goshen?" "why, a man i met at daybreak this morning, just as i was going to turn into the woods for my regular sleep. he told me when the roads forked i must take the right hand, and five mile would fetch me to goshen." "he was drunk, i reckon. he told you just exactly wrong." "well, he did act like he was drunk, but it ain't no matter now. i got to be moving along. i'll fetch goshen before daylight." "hold on a minute. i'll put you up a snack to eat. you might want it." so she put me up a snack, and says: "say, when a cow's laying down, which end of her gets up first? answer up prompt now--don't stop to study over it. which end gets up first?" "the hind end, mum." "well, then, a horse?" "the for'rard end, mum." "which side of a tree does the moss grow on?" "north side." "if fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how many of them eats with their heads pointed the same direction?" "the whole fifteen, mum." "well, i reckon you have lived in the country. i thought maybe you was trying to hocus me again. what's your real name, now?" "george peters, mum." "well, try to remember it, george. don't forget and tell me it's elexander before you go, and then get out by saying it's george elexander when i catch you. and don't go about women in that old calico. you do a girl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe. bless you, child, when you set out to thread a needle don't hold the thread still and fetch the needle up to it; hold the needle still and poke the thread at it; that's the way a woman most always does, but a man always does t'other way. and when you throw at a rat or anything, hitch yourself up a tiptoe and fetch your hand up over your head as awkward as you can, and miss your rat about six or seven foot. throw stiff-armed from the shoulder, like there was a pivot there for it to turn on, like a girl; not from the wrist and elbow, with your arm out to one side, like a boy. and, mind you, when a girl tries to catch anything in her lap she throws her knees apart; she don't clap them together, the way you did when you catched the lump of lead. why, i spotted you for a boy when you was threading the needle; and i contrived the other things just to make certain. now trot along to your uncle, sarah mary williams george elexander peters, and if you get into trouble you send word to mrs. judith loftus, which is me, and i'll do what i can to get you out of it. keep the river road all the way, and next time you tramp take shoes and socks with you. the river road's a rocky one, and your feet'll be in a condition when you get to goshen, i reckon." i went up the bank about fifty yards, and then i doubled on my tracks and slipped back to where my canoe was, a good piece below the house. i jumped in, and was off in a hurry. i went up-stream far enough to make the head of the island, and then started across. i took off the sun-bonnet, for i didn't want no blinders on then. when i was about the middle i heard the clock begin to strike, so i stops and listens; the sound come faint over the water but clear--eleven. when i struck the head of the island i never waited to blow, though i was most winded, but i shoved right into the timber where my old camp used to be, and started a good fire there on a high and dry spot. then i jumped in the canoe and dug out for our place, a mile and a half below, as hard as i could go. i landed, and slopped through the timber and up the ridge and into the cavern. there jim laid, sound asleep on the ground. i roused him out and says: "git up and hump yourself, jim! there ain't a minute to lose. they're after us!" jim never asked no questions, he never said a word; but the way he worked for the next half an hour showed about how he was scared. by that time everything we had in the world was on our raft, and she was ready to be shoved out from the willow cove where she was hid. we put out the camp fire at the cavern the first thing, and didn't show a candle outside after that. i took the canoe out from the shore a little piece, and took a look; but if there was a boat around i couldn't see it, for stars and shadows ain't good to see by. then we got out the raft and slipped along down in the shade, past the foot of the island dead still--never saying a word. chapter xii. it must a been close on to one o'clock when we got below the island at last, and the raft did seem to go mighty slow. if a boat was to come along we was going to take to the canoe and break for the illinois shore; and it was well a boat didn't come, for we hadn't ever thought to put the gun in the canoe, or a fishing-line, or anything to eat. we was in ruther too much of a sweat to think of so many things. it warn't good judgment to put everything on the raft. if the men went to the island i just expect they found the camp fire i built, and watched it all night for jim to come. anyways, they stayed away from us, and if my building the fire never fooled them it warn't no fault of mine. i played it as low down on them as i could. when the first streak of day began to show we tied up to a towhead in a big bend on the illinois side, and hacked off cottonwood branches with the hatchet, and covered up the raft with them so she looked like there had been a cave-in in the bank there. a tow-head is a sandbar that has cottonwoods on it as thick as harrow-teeth. we had mountains on the missouri shore and heavy timber on the illinois side, and the channel was down the missouri shore at that place, so we warn't afraid of anybody running across us. we laid there all day, and watched the rafts and steamboats spin down the missouri shore, and up-bound steamboats fight the big river in the middle. i told jim all about the time i had jabbering with that woman; and jim said she was a smart one, and if she was to start after us herself she wouldn't set down and watch a camp fire--no, sir, she'd fetch a dog. well, then, i said, why couldn't she tell her husband to fetch a dog? jim said he bet she did think of it by the time the men was ready to start, and he believed they must a gone up-town to get a dog and so they lost all that time, or else we wouldn't be here on a towhead sixteen or seventeen mile below the village--no, indeedy, we would be in that same old town again. so i said i didn't care what was the reason they didn't get us as long as they didn't. when it was beginning to come on dark we poked our heads out of the cottonwood thicket, and looked up and down and across; nothing in sight; so jim took up some of the top planks of the raft and built a snug wigwam to get under in blazing weather and rainy, and to keep the things dry. jim made a floor for the wigwam, and raised it a foot or more above the level of the raft, so now the blankets and all the traps was out of reach of steamboat waves. right in the middle of the wigwam we made a layer of dirt about five or six inches deep with a frame around it for to hold it to its place; this was to build a fire on in sloppy weather or chilly; the wigwam would keep it from being seen. we made an extra steering-oar, too, because one of the others might get broke on a snag or something. we fixed up a short forked stick to hang the old lantern on, because we must always light the lantern whenever we see a steamboat coming down-stream, to keep from getting run over; but we wouldn't have to light it for up-stream boats unless we see we was in what they call a "crossing"; for the river was pretty high yet, very low banks being still a little under water; so up-bound boats didn't always run the channel, but hunted easy water. this second night we run between seven and eight hours, with a current that was making over four mile an hour. we catched fish and talked, and we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. it was kind of solemn, drifting down the big, still river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it warn't often that we laughed--only a little kind of a low chuckle. we had mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us at all--that night, nor the next, nor the next. every night we passed towns, some of them away up on black hillsides, nothing but just a shiny bed of lights; not a house could you see. the fifth night we passed st. louis, and it was like the whole world lit up. in st. petersburg they used to say there was twenty or thirty thousand people in st. louis, but i never believed it till i see that wonderful spread of lights at two o'clock that still night. there warn't a sound there; everybody was asleep. every night now i used to slip ashore towards ten o'clock at some little village, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or other stuff to eat; and sometimes i lifted a chicken that warn't roosting comfortable, and took him along. pap always said, take a chicken when you get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy find somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot. i never see pap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to say, anyway. mornings before daylight i slipped into cornfields and borrowed a watermelon, or a mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things of that kind. pap always said it warn't no harm to borrow things if you was meaning to pay them back some time; but the widow said it warn't anything but a soft name for stealing, and no decent body would do it. jim said he reckoned the widow was partly right and pap was partly right; so the best way would be for us to pick out two or three things from the list and say we wouldn't borrow them any more--then he reckoned it wouldn't be no harm to borrow the others. so we talked it over all one night, drifting along down the river, trying to make up our minds whether to drop the watermelons, or the cantelopes, or the mushmelons, or what. but towards daylight we got it all settled satisfactory, and concluded to drop crabapples and p'simmons. we warn't feeling just right before that, but it was all comfortable now. i was glad the way it come out, too, because crabapples ain't ever good, and the p'simmons wouldn't be ripe for two or three months yet. we shot a water-fowl now and then that got up too early in the morning or didn't go to bed early enough in the evening. take it all round, we lived pretty high. the fifth night below st. louis we had a big storm after midnight, with a power of thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in a solid sheet. we stayed in the wigwam and let the raft take care of itself. when the lightning glared out we could see a big straight river ahead, and high, rocky bluffs on both sides. by and by says i, "hel-lo, jim, looky yonder!" it was a steamboat that had killed herself on a rock. we was drifting straight down for her. the lightning showed her very distinct. she was leaning over, with part of her upper deck above water, and you could see every little chimbly-guy clean and clear, and a chair by the big bell, with an old slouch hat hanging on the back of it, when the flashes come. well, it being away in the night and stormy, and all so mysterious-like, i felt just the way any other boy would a felt when i see that wreck laying there so mournful and lonesome in the middle of the river. i wanted to get aboard of her and slink around a little, and see what there was there. so i says: "le's land on her, jim." but jim was dead against it at first. he says: "i doan' want to go fool'n 'long er no wrack. we's doin' blame' well, en we better let blame' well alone, as de good book says. like as not dey's a watchman on dat wrack." "watchman your grandmother," i says; "there ain't nothing to watch but the texas and the pilot-house; and do you reckon anybody's going to resk his life for a texas and a pilot-house such a night as this, when it's likely to break up and wash off down the river any minute?" jim couldn't say nothing to that, so he didn't try. "and besides," i says, "we might borrow something worth having out of the captain's stateroom. seegars, i bet you--and cost five cents apiece, solid cash. steamboat captains is always rich, and get sixty dollars a month, and they don't care a cent what a thing costs, you know, long as they want it. stick a candle in your pocket; i can't rest, jim, till we give her a rummaging. do you reckon tom sawyer would ever go by this thing? not for pie, he wouldn't. he'd call it an adventure--that's what he'd call it; and he'd land on that wreck if it was his last act. and wouldn't he throw style into it? --wouldn't he spread himself, nor nothing? why, you'd think it was christopher c'lumbus discovering kingdom-come. i wish tom sawyer was here." jim he grumbled a little, but give in. he said we mustn't talk any more than we could help, and then talk mighty low. the lightning showed us the wreck again just in time, and we fetched the stabboard derrick, and made fast there. the deck was high out here. we went sneaking down the slope of it to labboard, in the dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with our feet, and spreading our hands out to fend off the guys, for it was so dark we couldn't see no sign of them. pretty soon we struck the forward end of the skylight, and clumb on to it; and the next step fetched us in front of the captain's door, which was open, and by jimminy, away down through the texas-hall we see a light! and all in the same second we seem to hear low voices in yonder! jim whispered and said he was feeling powerful sick, and told me to come along. i says, all right, and was going to start for the raft; but just then i heard a voice wail out and say: "oh, please don't, boys; i swear i won't ever tell!" another voice said, pretty loud: "it's a lie, jim turner. you've acted this way before. you always want more'n your share of the truck, and you've always got it, too, because you've swore 't if you didn't you'd tell. but this time you've said it jest one time too many. you're the meanest, treacherousest hound in this country." by this time jim was gone for the raft. i was just a-biling with curiosity; and i says to myself, tom sawyer wouldn't back out now, and so i won't either; i'm a-going to see what's going on here. so i dropped on my hands and knees in the little passage, and crept aft in the dark till there warn't but one stateroom betwixt me and the cross-hall of the texas. then in there i see a man stretched on the floor and tied hand and foot, and two men standing over him, and one of them had a dim lantern in his hand, and the other one had a pistol. this one kept pointing the pistol at the man's head on the floor, and saying: "i'd like to! and i orter, too--a mean skunk!" the man on the floor would shrivel up and say, "oh, please don't, bill; i hain't ever goin' to tell." and every time he said that the man with the lantern would laugh and say: "'deed you ain't! you never said no truer thing 'n that, you bet you." and once he said: "hear him beg! and yit if we hadn't got the best of him and tied him he'd a killed us both. and what for? jist for noth'n. jist because we stood on our rights--that's what for. but i lay you ain't a-goin' to threaten nobody any more, jim turner. put up that pistol, bill." bill says: "i don't want to, jake packard. i'm for killin' him--and didn't he kill old hatfield jist the same way--and don't he deserve it?" "but i don't want him killed, and i've got my reasons for it." "bless yo' heart for them words, jake packard! i'll never forgit you long's i live!" says the man on the floor, sort of blubbering. packard didn't take no notice of that, but hung up his lantern on a nail and started towards where i was there in the dark, and motioned bill to come. i crawfished as fast as i could about two yards, but the boat slanted so that i couldn't make very good time; so to keep from getting run over and catched i crawled into a stateroom on the upper side. the man came a-pawing along in the dark, and when packard got to my stateroom, he says: "here--come in here." and in he come, and bill after him. but before they got in i was up in the upper berth, cornered, and sorry i come. then they stood there, with their hands on the ledge of the berth, and talked. i couldn't see them, but i could tell where they was by the whisky they'd been having. i was glad i didn't drink whisky; but it wouldn't made much difference anyway, because most of the time they couldn't a treed me because i didn't breathe. i was too scared. and, besides, a body couldn't breathe and hear such talk. they talked low and earnest. bill wanted to kill turner. he says: "he's said he'll tell, and he will. if we was to give both our shares to him now it wouldn't make no difference after the row and the way we've served him. shore's you're born, he'll turn state's evidence; now you hear me. i'm for putting him out of his troubles." "so'm i," says packard, very quiet. "blame it, i'd sorter begun to think you wasn't. well, then, that's all right. le's go and do it." "hold on a minute; i hain't had my say yit. you listen to me. shooting's good, but there's quieter ways if the thing's got to be done. but what i say is this: it ain't good sense to go court'n around after a halter if you can git at what you're up to in some way that's jist as good and at the same time don't bring you into no resks. ain't that so?" "you bet it is. but how you goin' to manage it this time?" "well, my idea is this: we'll rustle around and gather up whatever pickins we've overlooked in the staterooms, and shove for shore and hide the truck. then we'll wait. now i say it ain't a-goin' to be more'n two hours befo' this wrack breaks up and washes off down the river. see? he'll be drownded, and won't have nobody to blame for it but his own self. i reckon that's a considerble sight better 'n killin' of him. i'm unfavorable to killin' a man as long as you can git aroun' it; it ain't good sense, it ain't good morals. ain't i right?" "yes, i reck'n you are. but s'pose she don't break up and wash off?" "well, we can wait the two hours anyway and see, can't we?" "all right, then; come along." so they started, and i lit out, all in a cold sweat, and scrambled forward. it was dark as pitch there; but i said, in a kind of a coarse whisper, "jim !" and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort of a moan, and i says: "quick, jim, it ain't no time for fooling around and moaning; there's a gang of murderers in yonder, and if we don't hunt up their boat and set her drifting down the river so these fellows can't get away from the wreck there's one of 'em going to be in a bad fix. but if we find their boat we can put all of 'em in a bad fix--for the sheriff 'll get 'em. quick--hurry! i'll hunt the labboard side, you hunt the stabboard. you start at the raft, and--" "oh, my lordy, lordy! raf'? dey ain' no raf' no mo'; she done broke loose en gone i--en here we is!" chapter xiii. well, i catched my breath and most fainted. shut up on a wreck with such a gang as that! but it warn't no time to be sentimentering. we'd got to find that boat now--had to have it for ourselves. so we went a-quaking and shaking down the stabboard side, and slow work it was, too--seemed a week before we got to the stern. no sign of a boat. jim said he didn't believe he could go any further--so scared he hadn't hardly any strength left, he said. but i said, come on, if we get left on this wreck we are in a fix, sure. so on we prowled again. we struck for the stern of the texas, and found it, and then scrabbled along forwards on the skylight, hanging on from shutter to shutter, for the edge of the skylight was in the water. when we got pretty close to the cross-hall door there was the skiff, sure enough! i could just barely see her. i felt ever so thankful. in another second i would a been aboard of her, but just then the door opened. one of the men stuck his head out only about a couple of foot from me, and i thought i was gone; but he jerked it in again, and says: "heave that blame lantern out o' sight, bill!" he flung a bag of something into the boat, and then got in himself and set down. it was packard. then bill he come out and got in. packard says, in a low voice: "all ready--shove off!" i couldn't hardly hang on to the shutters, i was so weak. but bill says: "hold on--'d you go through him?" "no. didn't you?" "no. so he's got his share o' the cash yet." "well, then, come along; no use to take truck and leave money." "say, won't he suspicion what we're up to?" "maybe he won't. but we got to have it anyway. come along." so they got out and went in. the door slammed to because it was on the careened side; and in a half second i was in the boat, and jim come tumbling after me. i out with my knife and cut the rope, and away we went! we didn't touch an oar, and we didn't speak nor whisper, nor hardly even breathe. we went gliding swift along, dead silent, past the tip of the paddle-box, and past the stern; then in a second or two more we was a hundred yards below the wreck, and the darkness soaked her up, every last sign of her, and we was safe, and knowed it. when we was three or four hundred yards down-stream we see the lantern show like a little spark at the texas door for a second, and we knowed by that that the rascals had missed their boat, and was beginning to understand that they was in just as much trouble now as jim turner was. then jim manned the oars, and we took out after our raft. now was the first time that i begun to worry about the men--i reckon i hadn't had time to before. i begun to think how dreadful it was, even for murderers, to be in such a fix. i says to myself, there ain't no telling but i might come to be a murderer myself yet, and then how would i like it? so says i to jim: "the first light we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above it, in a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and then i'll go and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for that gang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when their time comes." but that idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again, and this time worse than ever. the rain poured down, and never a light showed; everybody in bed, i reckon. we boomed along down the river, watching for lights and watching for our raft. after a long time the rain let up, but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering, and by and by a flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and we made for it. it was the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again. we seen a light now away down to the right, on shore. so i said i would go for it. the skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stole there on the wreck. we hustled it on to the raft in a pile, and i told jim to float along down, and show a light when he judged he had gone about two mile, and keep it burning till i come; then i manned my oars and shoved for the light. as i got down towards it three or four more showed--up on a hillside. it was a village. i closed in above the shore light, and laid on my oars and floated. as i went by i see it was a lantern hanging on the jackstaff of a double-hull ferryboat. i skimmed around for the watchman, a-wondering whereabouts he slept; and by and by i found him roosting on the bitts forward, with his head down between his knees. i gave his shoulder two or three little shoves, and begun to cry. he stirred up in a kind of a startlish way; but when he see it was only me he took a good gap and stretch, and then he says: "hello, what's up? don't cry, bub. what's the trouble?" i says: "pap, and mam, and sis, and--" then i broke down. he says: "oh, dang it now, don't take on so; we all has to have our troubles, and this 'n 'll come out all right. what's the matter with 'em?" "they're--they're--are you the watchman of the boat?" "yes," he says, kind of pretty-well-satisfied like. "i'm the captain and the owner and the mate and the pilot and watchman and head deck-hand; and sometimes i'm the freight and passengers. i ain't as rich as old jim hornback, and i can't be so blame' generous and good to tom, dick, and harry as what he is, and slam around money the way he does; but i've told him a many a time 't i wouldn't trade places with him; for, says i, a sailor's life's the life for me, and i'm derned if i'd live two mile out o' town, where there ain't nothing ever goin' on, not for all his spondulicks and as much more on top of it. says i--" i broke in and says: "they're in an awful peck of trouble, and--" "who is?" "why, pap and mam and sis and miss hooker; and if you'd take your ferryboat and go up there--" "up where? where are they?" "on the wreck." "what wreck?" "why, there ain't but one." "what, you don't mean the walter scott?" "yes." "good land! what are they doin' there, for gracious sakes?" "well, they didn't go there a-purpose." "i bet they didn't! why, great goodness, there ain't no chance for 'em if they don't git off mighty quick! why, how in the nation did they ever git into such a scrape?" "easy enough. miss hooker was a-visiting up there to the town--" "yes, booth's landing--go on." "she was a-visiting there at booth's landing, and just in the edge of the evening she started over with her nigger woman in the horse-ferry to stay all night at her friend's house, miss what-you-may-call-her i disremember her name--and they lost their steering-oar, and swung around and went a-floating down, stern first, about two mile, and saddle-baggsed on the wreck, and the ferryman and the nigger woman and the horses was all lost, but miss hooker she made a grab and got aboard the wreck. well, about an hour after dark we come along down in our trading-scow, and it was so dark we didn't notice the wreck till we was right on it; and so we saddle-baggsed; but all of us was saved but bill whipple--and oh, he was the best cretur !--i most wish 't it had been me, i do." "my george! it's the beatenest thing i ever struck. and then what did you all do?" "well, we hollered and took on, but it's so wide there we couldn't make nobody hear. so pap said somebody got to get ashore and get help somehow. i was the only one that could swim, so i made a dash for it, and miss hooker she said if i didn't strike help sooner, come here and hunt up her uncle, and he'd fix the thing. i made the land about a mile below, and been fooling along ever since, trying to get people to do something, but they said, 'what, in such a night and such a current? there ain't no sense in it; go for the steam ferry.' now if you'll go and--" "by jackson, i'd like to, and, blame it, i don't know but i will; but who in the dingnation's a-going' to pay for it? do you reckon your pap--" "why that's all right. miss hooker she tole me, particular, that her uncle hornback--" "great guns! is he her uncle? looky here, you break for that light over yonder-way, and turn out west when you git there, and about a quarter of a mile out you'll come to the tavern; tell 'em to dart you out to jim hornback's, and he'll foot the bill. and don't you fool around any, because he'll want to know the news. tell him i'll have his niece all safe before he can get to town. hump yourself, now; i'm a-going up around the corner here to roust out my engineer." i struck for the light, but as soon as he turned the corner i went back and got into my skiff and bailed her out, and then pulled up shore in the easy water about six hundred yards, and tucked myself in among some woodboats; for i couldn't rest easy till i could see the ferryboat start. but take it all around, i was feeling ruther comfortable on accounts of taking all this trouble for that gang, for not many would a done it. i wished the widow knowed about it. i judged she would be proud of me for helping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and dead beats is the kind the widow and good people takes the most interest in. well, before long here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding along down! a kind of cold shiver went through me, and then i struck out for her. she was very deep, and i see in a minute there warn't much chance for anybody being alive in her. i pulled all around her and hollered a little, but there wasn't any answer; all dead still. i felt a little bit heavy-hearted about the gang, but not much, for i reckoned if they could stand it i could. then here comes the ferryboat; so i shoved for the middle of the river on a long down-stream slant; and when i judged i was out of eye-reach i laid on my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the wreck for miss hooker's remainders, because the captain would know her uncle hornback would want them; and then pretty soon the ferryboat give it up and went for the shore, and i laid into my work and went a-booming down the river. it did seem a powerful long time before jim's light showed up; and when it did show it looked like it was a thousand mile off. by the time i got there the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so we struck for an island, and hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned in and slept like dead people. chapter xiv. by and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stole off of the wreck, and found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and all sorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spyglass, and three boxes of seegars. we hadn't ever been this rich before in neither of our lives. the seegars was prime. we laid off all the afternoon in the woods talking, and me reading the books, and having a general good time. i told jim all about what happened inside the wreck and at the ferryboat, and i said these kinds of things was adventures; but he said he didn't want no more adventures. he said that when i went in the texas and he crawled back to get on the raft and found her gone he nearly died, because he judged it was all up with him anyway it could be fixed; for if he didn't get saved he would get drownded; and if he did get saved, whoever saved him would send him back home so as to get the reward, and then miss watson would sell him south, sure. well, he was right; he was most always right; he had an uncommon level head for a nigger. i read considerable to jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, and how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each other your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, 'stead of mister; and jim's eyes bugged out, and he was interested. he says: "i didn' know dey was so many un um. i hain't hearn 'bout none un um, skasely, but ole king sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat's in a pack er k'yards. how much do a king git?" "get?" i says; "why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want it; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to them." "ain' dat gay? en what dey got to do, huck?" "they don't do nothing! why, how you talk! they just set around." "no; is dat so?" "of course it is. they just set around--except, maybe, when there's a war; then they go to the war. but other times they just lazy around; or go hawking--just hawking and sp--sh!--d' you hear a noise?" we skipped out and looked; but it warn't nothing but the flutter of a steamboat's wheel away down, coming around the point; so we come back. "yes," says i, "and other times, when things is dull, they fuss with the parlyment; and if everybody don't go just so he whacks their heads off. but mostly they hang round the harem." "roun' de which?" "harem." "what's de harem?" "the place where he keeps his wives. don't you know about the harem? solomon had one; he had about a million wives." "why, yes, dat's so; i--i'd done forgot it. a harem's a bo'd'n-house, i reck'n. mos' likely dey has rackety times in de nussery. en i reck'n de wives quarrels considable; en dat 'crease de racket. yit dey say sollermun de wises' man dat ever live'. i doan' take no stock in dat. bekase why: would a wise man want to live in de mids' er sich a blim-blammin' all de time? no--'deed he wouldn't. a wise man 'ud take en buil' a biler-factry; en den he could shet down de biler-factry when he want to res'." "well, but he was the wisest man, anyway; because the widow she told me so, her own self." "i doan k'yer what de widder say, he warn't no wise man nuther. he had some er de dad-fetchedes' ways i ever see. does you know 'bout dat chile dat he 'uz gwyne to chop in two?" "yes, the widow told me all about it." "well, den! warn' dat de beatenes' notion in de worl'? you jes' take en look at it a minute. dah's de stump, dah--dat's one er de women; heah's you--dat's de yuther one; i's sollermun; en dish yer dollar bill's de chile. bofe un you claims it. what does i do? does i shin aroun' mongs' de neighbors en fine out which un you de bill do b'long to, en han' it over to de right one, all safe en soun', de way dat anybody dat had any gumption would? no; i take en whack de bill in two, en give half un it to you, en de yuther half to de yuther woman. dat's de way sollermun was gwyne to do wid de chile. now i want to ast you: what's de use er dat half a bill?--can't buy noth'n wid it. en what use is a half a chile? i wouldn' give a dern for a million un um." "but hang it, jim, you've clean missed the point--blame it, you've missed it a thousand mile." "who? me? go 'long. doan' talk to me 'bout yo' pints. i reck'n i knows sense when i sees it; en dey ain' no sense in sich doin's as dat. de 'spute warn't 'bout a half a chile, de 'spute was 'bout a whole chile; en de man dat think he kin settle a 'spute 'bout a whole chile wid a half a chile doan' know enough to come in out'n de rain. doan' talk to me 'bout sollermun, huck, i knows him by de back." "but i tell you you don't get the point." "blame de point! i reck'n i knows what i knows. en mine you, de real pint is down furder--it's down deeper. it lays in de way sollermun was raised. you take a man dat's got on'y one or two chillen; is dat man gwyne to be waseful o' chillen? no, he ain't; he can't 'ford it. he know how to value 'em. but you take a man dat's got 'bout five million chillen runnin' roun' de house, en it's diffunt. he as soon chop a chile in two as a cat. dey's plenty mo'. a chile er two, mo' er less, warn't no consekens to sollermun, dad fatch him!" i never see such a nigger. if he got a notion in his head once, there warn't no getting it out again. he was the most down on solomon of any nigger i ever see. so i went to talking about other kings, and let solomon slide. i told about louis sixteenth that got his head cut off in france long time ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that would a been a king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say he died there. "po' little chap." "but some says he got out and got away, and come to america." "dat's good! but he'll be pooty lonesome--dey ain' no kings here, is dey, huck?" "no." "den he cain't git no situation. what he gwyne to do?" "well, i don't know. some of them gets on the police, and some of them learns people how to talk french." "why, huck, doan' de french people talk de same way we does?" "no, jim; you couldn't understand a word they said--not a single word." "well, now, i be ding-busted! how do dat come?" "i don't know; but it's so. i got some of their jabber out of a book. s'pose a man was to come to you and say polly-voo-franzy--what would you think?" "i wouldn' think nuff'n; i'd take en bust him over de head--dat is, if he warn't white. i wouldn't 'low no nigger to call me dat." "shucks, it ain't calling you anything. it's only saying, do you know how to talk french?" "well, den, why couldn't he say it?" "why, he is a-saying it. that's a frenchman's way of saying it." "well, it's a blame ridicklous way, en i doan' want to hear no mo' 'bout it. dey ain' no sense in it." "looky here, jim; does a cat talk like we do?" "no, a cat don't." "well, does a cow?" "no, a cow don't, nuther." "does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like a cat?" "no, dey don't." "it's natural and right for 'em to talk different from each other, ain't it?" "course." "and ain't it natural and right for a cat and a cow to talk different from us?" "why, mos' sholy it is." "well, then, why ain't it natural and right for a frenchman to talk different from us? you answer me that." "is a cat a man, huck?" "no." "well, den, dey ain't no sense in a cat talkin' like a man. is a cow a man?--er is a cow a cat?" "no, she ain't either of them." "well, den, she ain't got no business to talk like either one er the yuther of 'em. is a frenchman a man?" "yes." "well, den! dad blame it, why doan' he talk like a man? you answer me dat!" i see it warn't no use wasting words--you can't learn a nigger to argue. so i quit. chapter xv. we judged that three nights more would fetch us to cairo, at the bottom of illinois, where the ohio river comes in, and that was what we was after. we would sell the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up the ohio amongst the free states, and then be out of trouble. well, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towhead to tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when i paddled ahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything but little saplings to tie to. i passed the line around one of them right on the edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and the raft come booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and away she went. i see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and scared i couldn't budge for most a half a minute it seemed to me--and then there warn't no raft in sight; you couldn't see twenty yards. i jumped into the canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle and set her back a stroke. but she didn't come. i was in such a hurry i hadn't untied her. i got up and tried to untie her, but i was so excited my hands shook so i couldn't hardly do anything with them. as soon as i got started i took out after the raft, hot and heavy, right down the towhead. that was all right as far as it went, but the towhead warn't sixty yards long, and the minute i flew by the foot of it i shot out into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way i was going than a dead man. thinks i, it won't do to paddle; first i know i'll run into the bank or a towhead or something; i got to set still and float, and yet it's mighty fidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time. i whooped and listened. away down there somewheres i hears a small whoop, and up comes my spirits. i went tearing after it, listening sharp to hear it again. the next time it come i see i warn't heading for it, but heading away to the right of it. and the next time i was heading away to the left of it--and not gaining on it much either, for i was flying around, this way and that and t'other, but it was going straight ahead all the time. i did wish the fool would think to beat a tin pan, and beat it all the time, but he never did, and it was the still places between the whoops that was making the trouble for me. well, i fought along, and directly i hears the whoop behind me. i was tangled good now. that was somebody else's whoop, or else i was turned around. i throwed the paddle down. i heard the whoop again; it was behind me yet, but in a different place; it kept coming, and kept changing its place, and i kept answering, till by and by it was in front of me again, and i knowed the current had swung the canoe's head down-stream, and i was all right if that was jim and not some other raftsman hollering. i couldn't tell nothing about voices in a fog, for nothing don't look natural nor sound natural in a fog. the whooping went on, and in about a minute i come a-booming down on a cut bank with smoky ghosts of big trees on it, and the current throwed me off to the left and shot by, amongst a lot of snags that fairly roared, the currrent was tearing by them so swift. in another second or two it was solid white and still again. i set perfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and i reckon i didn't draw a breath while it thumped a hundred. i just give up then. i knowed what the matter was. that cut bank was an island, and jim had gone down t'other side of it. it warn't no towhead that you could float by in ten minutes. it had the big timber of a regular island; it might be five or six miles long and more than half a mile wide. i kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, i reckon. i was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don't ever think of that. no, you feel like you are laying dead still on the water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don't think to yourself how fast you're going, but you catch your breath and think, my! how that snag's tearing along. if you think it ain't dismal and lonesome out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it once--you'll see. next, for about a half an hour, i whoops now and then; at last i hears the answer a long ways off, and tries to follow it, but i couldn't do it, and directly i judged i'd got into a nest of towheads, for i had little dim glimpses of them on both sides of me--sometimes just a narrow channel between, and some that i couldn't see i knowed was there because i'd hear the wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash that hung over the banks. well, i warn't long loosing the whoops down amongst the towheads; and i only tried to chase them a little while, anyway, because it was worse than chasing a jack-o'-lantern. you never knowed a sound dodge around so, and swap places so quick and so much. i had to claw away from the bank pretty lively four or five times, to keep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so i judged the raft must be butting into the bank every now and then, or else it would get further ahead and clear out of hearing--it was floating a little faster than what i was. well, i seemed to be in the open river again by and by, but i couldn't hear no sign of a whoop nowheres. i reckoned jim had fetched up on a snag, maybe, and it was all up with him. i was good and tired, so i laid down in the canoe and said i wouldn't bother no more. i didn't want to go to sleep, of course; but i was so sleepy i couldn't help it; so i thought i would take jest one little cat-nap. but i reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when i waked up the stars was shining bright, the fog was all gone, and i was spinning down a big bend stern first. first i didn't know where i was; i thought i was dreaming; and when things began to come back to me they seemed to come up dim out of last week. it was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest kind of timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as i could see by the stars. i looked away down-stream, and seen a black speck on the water. i took after it; but when i got to it it warn't nothing but a couple of sawlogs made fast together. then i see another speck, and chased that; then another, and this time i was right. it was the raft. when i got to it jim was setting there with his head down between his knees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar. the other oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves and branches and dirt. so she'd had a rough time. i made fast and laid down under jim's nose on the raft, and began to gap, and stretch my fists out against jim, and says: "hello, jim, have i been asleep? why didn't you stir me up?" "goodness gracious, is dat you, huck? en you ain' dead--you ain' drownded--you's back agin? it's too good for true, honey, it's too good for true. lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you. no, you ain' dead! you's back agin, 'live en soun', jis de same ole huck--de same ole huck, thanks to goodness!" "what's the matter with you, jim? you been a-drinking?" "drinkin'? has i ben a-drinkin'? has i had a chance to be a-drinkin'?" "well, then, what makes you talk so wild?" "how does i talk wild?" "how? why, hain't you been talking about my coming back, and all that stuff, as if i'd been gone away?" "huck--huck finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye. hain't you ben gone away?" "gone away? why, what in the nation do you mean? i hain't been gone anywheres. where would i go to?" "well, looky here, boss, dey's sumf'n wrong, dey is. is i me, or who is i? is i heah, or whah is i? now dat's what i wants to know." "well, i think you're here, plain enough, but i think you're a tangle-headed old fool, jim." "i is, is i? well, you answer me dis: didn't you tote out de line in de canoe fer to make fas' to de tow-head?" "no, i didn't. what tow-head? i hain't see no tow-head." "you hain't seen no towhead? looky here, didn't de line pull loose en de raf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in de fog?" "what fog?" "why, de fog!--de fog dat's been aroun' all night. en didn't you whoop, en didn't i whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us got los' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah he wuz? en didn't i bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turrible time en mos' git drownded? now ain' dat so, boss--ain't it so? you answer me dat." "well, this is too many for me, jim. i hain't seen no fog, nor no islands, nor no troubles, nor nothing. i been setting here talking with you all night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and i reckon i done the same. you couldn't a got drunk in that time, so of course you've been dreaming." "dad fetch it, how is i gwyne to dream all dat in ten minutes?" "well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there didn't any of it happen." "but, huck, it's all jis' as plain to me as--" "it don't make no difference how plain it is; there ain't nothing in it. i know, because i've been here all the time." jim didn't say nothing for about five minutes, but set there studying over it. then he says: "well, den, i reck'n i did dream it, huck; but dog my cats ef it ain't de powerfullest dream i ever see. en i hain't ever had no dream b'fo' dat's tired me like dis one." "oh, well, that's all right, because a dream does tire a body like everything sometimes. but this one was a staving dream; tell me all about it, jim." so jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as it happened, only he painted it up considerable. then he said he must start in and "'terpret" it, because it was sent for a warning. he said the first towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but the current was another man that would get us away from him. the whoops was warnings that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn't try hard to make out to understand them they'd just take us into bad luck, 'stead of keeping us out of it. the lot of towheads was troubles we was going to get into with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean folks, but if we minded our business and didn't talk back and aggravate them, we would pull through and get out of the fog and into the big clear river, which was the free states, and wouldn't have no more trouble. it had clouded up pretty dark just after i got on to the raft, but it was clearing up again now. "oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, jim," i says; "but what does these things stand for?" it was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. you could see them first-rate now. jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash again. he had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn't seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place again right away. but when he did get the thing straightened around he looked at me steady without ever smiling, and says: "what do dey stan' for? i'se gwyne to tell you. when i got all wore out wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos' broke bekase you wuz los', en i didn' k'yer no' mo' what become er me en de raf'. en when i wake up en fine you back agin, all safe en soun', de tears come, en i could a got down on my knees en kiss yo' foot, i's so thankful. en all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could make a fool uv ole jim wid a lie. dat truck dah is trash; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em ashamed." then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there without saying anything but that. but that was enough. it made me feel so mean i could almost kissed his foot to get him to take it back. it was fifteen minutes before i could work myself up to go and humble myself to a nigger; but i done it, and i warn't ever sorry for it afterwards, neither. i didn't do him no more mean tricks, and i wouldn't done that one if i'd a knowed it would make him feel that way. father henson's story of his own life. [illustration: josiah henson] truth stranger than fiction. father henson's story of his own life. with an introduction by mrs. h. b. stowe. boston: john p. jewett and company. cleveland, ohio: henry p. b. jewett. . entered according to act of congress in the year , by john p. jewett and company, in the clerk's office of the district court for the district of massachusetts lithotyped by cowles and company, washington street, boston. press of geo. c. rand & avery. preface. the numerous friends of the author of this little work will need no greater recommendation than his name to make it welcome. among all the singular and interesting records to which the institution of american slavery has given rise, we know of none more striking, more characteristic and instructive, than that of josiah henson. born a slave--a slave in effect in a heathen land--and under a heathen master, he grew up without christian light or knowledge, and like the gentiles spoken of by st. paul, "without the law did by nature the things that are written in the law." one sermon, one offer of salvation by christ, was sufficient for him, as for the ethiopian eunuch, to make him at once a believer from the heart and a preacher of jesus. to the great christian doctrine of forgiveness of enemies and the returning of good for evil, he was by god's grace made a faithful witness, under circumstances that try men's souls and make us all who read it say, "lead us not into such temptation." we earnestly commend this portion of his narrative to those who, under much smaller temptations, think themselves entitled to render evil for evil. the african race appear as yet to have been companions only of the sufferings of christ. in the melancholy scene of his death--while europe in the person of the roman delivered him unto death, and asia in the person of the jew clamored for his execution--africa was represented in the person of simon the cyrenean, who came patiently bearing after him the load of the cross; and ever since then poor africa has been toiling on, bearing the weary cross of contempt and oppression after jesus. but they who suffer with him shall also reign; and when the unwritten annals of slavery shall appear in the judgment, many simons who have gone meekly bearing their cross after jesus to unknown graves, shall rise to thrones and crowns! verily a day shall come when he shall appear for these his hidden ones, and then "many that are last shall be first, and the first shall be last." our excellent friend has prepared this edition of his works for the purpose of redeeming from slavery a beloved brother, who has groaned for many years under the yoke of a hard master. whoever would help jesus, were he sick or in prison, may help him now in the person of these his little ones, his afflicted and suffering children. the work is commended to the kind offices of all who love our lord jesus christ in sincerity. h. b. stowe. andover, mass., april , . contents. chapter i. my birth and childhood. earliest memories.--born in maryland.--my father's first appearance.--attempted outrage on my mother.--my father's fight with an overseer.--one hundred stripes and his ear cut off.--throws away his banjo and becomes morose.--sold south, chapter ii. my first great trial. origin of my name.--a kind master.--he is drowned.--my mother's prayers.--a slave auction.--torn from my mother.--severe sickness.--a cruel master.--sold again and restored to my mother, chapter iii. my boyhood and youth. early employment.--slave-life.--food, lodging, clothing.--amusements.--gleams of sunshine.--my knight-errantry.--become an overseer and general superintendent, chapter iv. my conversion. a good man.--hear a sermon for the first time.--its effects upon me.--prayer and communion.--its first fruits, chapter v. maimed for life. taking care of my drunken master.--his fight with an overseer.--rescue him.--am terribly beaten by the overseer.--my master seeks redress at law, but fails.--sufferings then and since.--retain my post as superintendent, chapter vi. a responsible journey. my marriage.--marriage of my master.--his ruin.--comes to me for aid.--a great enterprise undertaken.--long and successful journey.--incidents by the way.--struggle between inclination and duty.--duty triumphant, chapter vii. a new home. become a methodist preacher.--my poor companions sold.--my agony.--sent for again.--interview with a kind methodist preacher.--visit free soil and begin my struggle for freedom, chapter viii. return to maryland. reception from my old master.--a slave again.--appeal to an old friend.--buy my freedom.--cheated and betrayed.--back to kentucky, and a slave again, chapter ix. taken south, away from wife and children. start for new orleans.--study navigation on the mississippi.--the captain struck blind.--find some of my old companions.--the lower depths, chapter x. a terrible temptation. sigh for death.--a murder in my heart.--the axe raised.--conscience speaks and i am saved.--god be praised! chapter xi. providential deliverance. offered for sale.--examined by purchasers.--plead with my young master in vain.--man's extremity, god's opportunity.--good for evil.--return north.--my increased value.--resolve to be a slave no longer, chapter xii. escape from bondage. solitary musings.--preparations for flight.--a long good-night to master.--a dark night on the river.--night journeys in indiana.--on the brink of starvation.--a kind woman.--a new style of drinking cup.--reach cincinnati, chapter xiii. journey to canada. good samaritans.--alone in the wilderness.--meet some indians.--reach sandusky.--another friend.--all aboard.--buffalo.--a "free nigger."--frenzy of joy on reaching canada, chapter xiv. new scenes and a new home. a poor man in a strange land.--begin to acquire property.--resume preaching.--boys go to school.--what gave me a desire to learn to read.--a day of prayer in the woods, chapter xv. life in canada. condition of the blacks in canada.--a tour of exploration.--appeal to the legislature.--improvements, chapter xvi. conducting slaves to canada. sympathy for the slaves.--james lightfoot.--my first mission to the south.--a kentucky company of fugitives.--safe at home, chapter xvii. second journey on the underground railroad. a shower of stars.--kentuckians.--a stratagem.--a providence.--conducted across the miami river by a cow.--arrival at cincinnati.--one of the party taken ill.--we leave him to die.--meet a "friend."--a poor white man.--a strange impression.--once more in canada, chapter xviii. home at dawn. condition in canada.--efforts in behalf of my people.--rev. mr. wilson.--a convention of blacks.--manual-labor school, chapter xix. lumbering operations. industrial project.--find some able friends in boston.--procure funds and construct a saw-mill.--sales of lumber in boston.--incident in the custom house, chapter xx. visit to england. debt on the institution.--a new pecuniary enterprise.--letters of recommendation to england.--personal difficulties.--called an impostor.--triumphant victory over these troubles, chapter xxi. the world's fair in london. my contribution to the great exhibition.--difficulty with the american superintendent.--happy release.--the great crowd.--a call from the queen.--medal awarded to me, chapter xxii. visits to the ragged schools. speech at sunday school anniversary.--interview with lord grey.--interview with the archbishop of canterbury, and dinner with lord john russell, the great events of my life, chapter xxiii. closing up my london agency. my narrative published.--letter from home apprising me of the sickness of my wife.--departure from london.--arrival at home.--meeting with my family.--the great sorrow of my life, the death of my wife, chapter xxiv. closing chapter. containing an accurate account of the past and present condition of the fugitive slaves in canada, with some remarks on their future prospects, father henson's story of his own life. chapter i. my birth and childhood. earliest memories.--born in maryland.--my father's first appearance.--attempted outrage on my mother.--my father's fight with an overseer.--one hundred stripes and his ear cut off.--throws away his banjo and becomes morose.--sold south. the story of my life, which i am about to record, is one full of striking incident. keener pangs, deeper joys, more singular vicissitudes, few have been led in god's providence to experience. as i look back on it through the vista of more than sixty years, and scene on scene it rises before me, an ever fresh wonder fills my mind. i delight to recall it. i dwell on it as did the jews on the marvellous history of their rescue from the bondage of egypt. time has touched with its mellowing fingers its sterner features. the sufferings of the past are now like a dream, and the enduring lessons left behind make me to praise god that my soul has been tempered by him in so fiery a furnace and under such heavy blows. i was born june th, , in charles county, maryland, on a farm belonging to mr. francis newman, about a mile from port tobacco. my mother was a slave of dr. josiah mcpherson, but hired to the mr. newman to whom my father belonged. the only incident i can remember which occurred while my mother continued on mr. newman's farm, was the appearance one day of my father with his head bloody and his back lacerated. he was beside himself with mingled rage and suffering. the explanation i picked up from the conversation of others only partially explained the matter to my mind; but as i grew older i understood it all. it seemed the overseer had sent my mother away from the other field hands to a retired place, and after trying persuasion in vain, had resorted to force to accomplish a brutal purpose. her screams aroused my father at his distant work, and running up, he found his wife struggling with the man. furious at the sight, he sprung upon him like a tiger. in a moment the overseer was down, and, mastered by rage, my father would have killed him but for the entreaties of my mother, and the overseer's own promise that nothing should ever be said of the matter. the promise was kept--like most promises of the cowardly and debased--as long as the danger lasted. the laws of slave states provide means and opportunities for revenge so ample, that miscreants like him never fail to improve them. "a nigger has struck a white man;" that is enough to set a whole county on fire; no question is asked about the provocation. the authorities were soon in pursuit of my father. the fact of the sacrilegious act of lifting a hand against the sacred temple of a white man's body--a profanity as blasphemous in the eye of a slave-state tribunal as was among the jews the entrance of a gentile dog into the holy of holies--this was all it was necessary to establish. and the penalty followed: one hundred lashes on the bare back, and to have the right ear nailed to the whipping-post, and then severed from the body. for a time my father kept out of the way, hiding in the woods, and at night venturing into some cabin in search of food. but at length the strict watch set baffled all his efforts. his supplies cut off, he was fairly starved out, and compelled by hunger to come back and give himself up. the day for the execution of the penalty was appointed. the negroes from the neighboring plantations were summoned, for their moral improvement, to witness the scene. a powerful blacksmith named hewes laid on the stripes. fifty were given, during which the cries of my father might be heard a mile, and then a pause ensued. true, he had struck a white man, but as valuable property he must not be damaged. judicious men felt his pulse. oh! he could stand the whole. again and again the thong fell on his lacerated back. his cries grew fainter and fainter, till a feeble groan was the only response to the final blows. his head was then thrust against the post, and his right ear fastened to it with a tack; a swift pass of a knife, and the bleeding member was left sticking to the place. then came a hurra from the degraded crowd, and the exclamation, "that's what he's got for striking a white man." a few said, "it's a damned shame;" but the majority regarded it as but a proper tribute to their offended majesty. it may be difficult for you, reader, to comprehend such brutality, and in the name of humanity you may protest against the truth of these statements. to you, such cruelty inflicted on a man seems fiendish. ay, on a _man_; there hinges the whole. in the estimation of the illiterate, besotted poor whites who constituted the witnesses of such scenes in charles county, maryland, the man who did not feel rage enough at hearing of "a nigger" striking a white to be ready to burn him alive, was only fit to be lynched out of the neighborhood. a blow at one white man is a blow at all; is the muttering and upheaving of volcanic fires, which underlie and threaten to burst forth and utterly consume the whole social fabric. terror is the fiercest nurse of cruelty. and when, in this our day, you find tender english women and christian english divines fiercely urging that india should be made one pool of sepoy blood, pause a moment before you lightly refuse to believe in the existence of such ferocious passions in the breasts of tyrannical and cowardly slave-drivers. previous to this affair my father, from all i can learn, had been a good-humored and light-hearted man, the ringleader in all fun at corn-huskings and christmas buffoonery. his banjo was the life of the farm, and all night long at a merry-making would he play on it while the other negroes danced. but from this hour he became utterly changed. sullen, morose, and dogged, nothing could be done with him. the milk of human kindness in his heart was turned to gall. he brooded over his wrongs. no fear or threats of being sold to the far south--the greatest of all terrors to the maryland slave--would render him tractable. so off he was sent to alabama. what was his after fate neither my mother nor i have ever learned; the great day will reveal all. this was the first chapter in my history. chapter ii. my first great trial. origin of my name.--a kind master.--he is drowned.--my mother's prayers.--a slave auction.--torn from my mother.--severe sickness.--a cruel master.--sold again and restored to my mother. after the sale of my father by newman, dr. mcpherson would no longer hire out my mother to him. she returned, accordingly, to his estate. he was far kinder to his slaves than the planters generally were, never suffering them to be struck by any one. he was a man of good, kind impulses, liberal, jovial, hearty. no degree of arbitrary power could ever lead him to cruelty. as the first negro-child ever born to him, i was his especial pet. he gave me his own christian name, josiah, and with that he also gave me my last name, henson, after an uncle of his, who was an officer in the revolutionary war. a bright spot in my childhood was my residence with him--bright, but, alas! fleeting. events were rapidly maturing which were to change the whole aspect of my life. the kind doctor was not exempt from that failing which too often besets easy, social natures in a dissipated community. he could not restrain his convivial propensities. although he maintained a high reputation for goodness of heart and an almost saint-like benevolence, the habit of intemperance steadily gained ground, and finally occasioned his death. two negroes on the plantation found him one morning lying dead in the middle of a narrow stream, not a foot in depth. he had been away the night previous at a social party, and when returning home had fallen from his horse, probably, and being too intoxicated to stagger through the stream, fell and was drowned. "there's the place where massa got drownded at;" how well i remember having it pointed out to me in those very words. for two or three years my mother and her young family of six children had resided on this estate; and we had been in the main very happy. she was a good mother to us, a woman of deep piety, anxious above all things to touch our hearts with a sense of religion. how or where she acquired her knowledge of god, or her acquaintance with the lord's prayer, which she so frequently taught us to repeat, i am unable to say. i remember seeing her often on her knees, trying to arrange her thoughts in prayer appropriate to her situation, but which amounted to little more than constant ejaculations, and the repetition of short phrases which were within my infant comprehension, and have remained in my memory to this hour. our term of happy union as one family was now, alas! at an end. mournful as was the doctor's death to his friends it was a far greater calamity to us. the estate and the slaves must be sold and the proceeds divided among the heirs. we were but property--not a mother, and the children god had given her. common as are slave-auctions in the southern states, and naturally as a slave may look forward to the time when he will be put up on the block, still the full misery of the event--of the scenes which precede and succeed it--is never understood till the actual experience comes. the first sad announcement that the sale is to be; the knowledge that all ties of the past are to be sundered; the frantic terror at the idea of being sent "down south;" the almost certainty that one member of a family will be torn from another; the anxious scanning of purchasers' faces; the agony at parting, often forever, with husband, wife, child--these must be seen and felt to be fully understood. young as i was then, the iron entered into my soul. the remembrance of the breaking up of mcpherson's estate is photographed in its minutest features in my mind. the crowd collected round the stand, the huddling group of negroes, the examination of muscle, teeth, the exhibition of agility, the look of the auctioneer, the agony of my mother--i can shut my eyes and see them all. my brothers and sisters were bid off first, and one by one, while my mother, paralyzed by grief, held me by the hand. her turn came, and she was bought by isaac riley of montgomery county. then i was offered to the assembled purchasers. my mother, half distracted with the thought of parting forever from all her children, pushed through the crowd, while the bidding for me was going on, to the spot where riley was standing. she fell at his feet, and clung to his knees, entreating him in tones that a mother only could command, to buy her _baby_ as well as herself, and spare to her one, at least, of her little ones. will it, can it be believed that this man, thus appealed to, was capable not merely of turning a deaf ear to her supplication, but of disengaging himself from her with such violent blows and kicks, as to reduce her to the necessity of creeping out of his reach, and mingling the groan of bodily suffering with the sob of a breaking heart? as she crawled away from the brutal man i heard her sob out, "oh, lord jesus, how long, how long shall i suffer this way!" i must have been then between five and six years old. i seem to see and hear my poor weeping mother now. this was one of my earliest observations of men; an experience which i only shared with thousands of my race, the bitterness of which to any individual who suffers it cannot be diminished by the frequency of its recurrence, while it is dark enough to overshadow the whole after-life with something blacker than a funeral pall. i was bought by a stranger named robb, and truly a robber he was to me. he took me to his home, about forty miles distant, and put me into his negro quarters with about forty others, of all ages, colors, and conditions, all strangers to me. of course nobody cared for me. the slaves were brutalized by this degradation, and had no sympathy for me. i soon fell sick, and lay for some days almost dead on the ground. sometimes a slave would give me a piece of corn bread or a bit of herring. finally i became so feeble that i could not move. this, however, was fortunate for me; for in the course of a few weeks robb met riley, who had bought my mother, and offered to sell me to him cheap. riley said he was afraid "the little devil would die," and he did not want to buy a "dead nigger;" but he agreed, finally, to pay a small sum for me in horse-shoeing if i lived, and nothing if i died. robb was a tavern keeper, and owned a line of stages with the horses, and lived near montgomery court-house; riley carried on blacksmithing about five miles from that place. this clenched the bargain, and i was soon sent to my mother. a blessed change it was. i had been lying on a lot of rags thrown on a dirt floor. all day long i had been left alone, crying for water, crying for mother; the slaves, who all left at daylight, when they returned, caring nothing for me. now, i was once more with my best friend on earth, and under her care; destitute as she was of the proper means of nursing me, i recovered my health, and grew to be an uncommonly vigorous boy and man. the character of riley, the master whom i faithfully served for many years, is by no means an uncommon one in any part of the world; the evil is, that a domestic institution should anywhere put it in the power of such a one to tyrannize over his fellow beings, and inflict so much needless misery as is sure to be inflicted by such a man in such a position. coarse and vulgar in his habits, unprincipled and cruel in his general deportment, and especially addicted to the vice of licentiousness, his slaves had little opportunity for relaxation from wearying labor, were supplied with the scantiest means of sustaining their toil by necessary food, and had no security for personal rights. the natural tendency of slavery is to convert the master into a tyrant, and the slave into the cringing, treacherous, false, and thieving victim of tyranny. riley and his slaves were no exception to the general rule, but might be cited as apt illustrations of the nature of the relation. chapter iii. my boyhood and youth. early employment.--slave-life.--food, lodging, clothing.--amusements.--gleams of sunshine.--my knight-errantry.--become an overseer and general superintendent. my earliest employments were, to carry buckets of water to the men at work, and to hold a horse-plough, used for weeding between the rows of corn. as i grew older and taller, i was entrusted with the care of master's saddle-horse. then a hoe was put into my hands, and i was soon required to do the day's work of a man; and it was not long before i could do it, at least as well as my associates in misery. the every-day life of a slave on one of our southern plantations, however frequently it may have been described, is generally little understood at the north; and must be mentioned as a necessary illustration of the character and habits of the slave and the slaveholder, created and perpetuated by their relative position. the principal food of those upon my master's plantation consisted of corn-meal, and salt herrings; to which was added in summer a little buttermilk, and the few vegetables which each might raise for himself and his family, on the little piece of ground which was assigned to him for the purpose, called a truck patch. in ordinary times we had two regular meals in a day:--breakfast at twelve o'clock, after laboring from daylight, and supper when the work of the remainder of the day was over. in harvest season we had three. our dress was of tow-cloth; for the children nothing but a shirt; for the older ones a pair of pantaloons or a gown in addition, according to the sex. besides these, in the winter a round jacket or overcoat, a wool hat once in two or three years, for the males, and a pair of coarse shoes once a year. we lodged in log huts, and on the bare ground. wooden floors were an unknown luxury. in a single room were huddled, like cattle, ten or a dozen persons, men, women and children. all ideas of refinement and decency were, of course, out of the question. there were neither bedsteads, nor furniture of any description. our beds were collections of straw and old rags, thrown down in the corners and boxed in with boards; a single blanket the only covering. our favorite way of sleeping, however, was on a plank, our heads raised on an old jacket and our feet toasting before the smouldering fire. the wind whistled and the rain and snow blew in through the cracks, and the damp earth soaked in the moisture till the floor was miry as a pig-sty. such were our houses. in these wretched hovels were we penned at night, and fed by day; here were the children born and the sick--neglected. notwithstanding this system of management i grew to be a robust and vigorous lad. at fifteen years of age there were few who could compete with me in work or sport. i was as lively as a young buck, and running over with animal spirits. i could run faster, wrestle better, and jump higher than anybody about me, and at an evening shakedown in our own or a neighbor's kitchen, my feet became absolutely invisible from the rate at which they moved. all this caused my master and my fellow slaves to look upon me as a wonderfully smart fellow, and prophecy the great things i should do when i became a man. my vanity became vastly inflamed, and i fully coincided in their opinion. julius cæsar never aspired and plotted for the imperial crown more ambitiously than did i to out-hoe, out-reap, out-husk, out-dance, out-everything every competitor; and from all i can learn he never enjoyed his triumph half as much. one word of commendation from the petty despot who ruled over us would set me up for a month. i have no desire to represent the life of slavery as an experience of nothing but misery. god be praised, that however hedged in by circumstances, the joyful exuberance of youth will bound at times over them all. ours is a light-hearted race. the sternest and most covetous master cannot frighten or whip the fun out of us; certainly old riley never did out of me. in those days i had many a merry time, and would have had, had i lived with nothing but moccasins and rattle-snakes in okafenoke swamp. slavery did its best to make me wretched; i feel no particular obligation to it; but nature, or the blessed god of youth and joy, was mightier than slavery. along with memories of miry cabins, frosted feet, weary toil under the blazing sun, curses and blows, there flock in others, of jolly christmas times, dances before old massa's door for the first drink of egg-nog, extra meat at holiday times, midnight visits to apple orchards, broiling stray chickens, and first-rate tricks to dodge work. the god who makes the pup gambol, and the kitten play, and the bird sing, and the fish leap, was the author in me of many a light-hearted hour. true it was, indeed, that the fun and freedom of christmas, at which time my master relaxed his front, was generally followed up by a portentous back-action, under which he drove and cursed worse than ever; still the fun and freedom were fixed facts; we had had them and he could not help it. besides these pleasant memories i have others of a deeper and richer kind. i early learned to employ my spirit of adventure for the benefit of my fellow-sufferers. the condition of the male slave is bad enough; but that of the female, compelled to perform unfit labor, sick, suffering, and bearing the peculiar burdens of her own sex unpitied and unaided, as well as the toils which belong to the other, is one that must arouse the spirit of sympathy in every heart not dead to all feeling. the miseries which i saw many of the women suffer often oppressed me with a load of sorrow. no _white_ knight, rescuing white fair ones from cruel oppression, ever felt the throbbing of a chivalrous heart more intensely than i, a _black_ knight, did, in running down a chicken in an out-of-the way place to hide till dark, and then carry to some poor overworked black fair one, to whom it was at once food, luxury, and medicine. no scotch borderer, levying black mail or sweeping off a drove of cattle, ever felt more assured of the justice of his act than i of mine, in driving a mile or two into the woods a pig or a sheep, and slaughtering it for the good of those whom riley was starving. i felt good, moral, heroic. the beautiful combination of a high time and a benevolent act--the harmonious interplay of nature and grace--was absolutely entrancing. i felt then the excellency of a sentiment i have since found expressed in a hymn: "religion never was designed to make our pleasures less." was this wrong? i can only say in reply, that, at this distance of time, my conscience does not reproach me for it. then i esteemed it among the best of my deeds. it was my training in the luxury of doing good, in the divinity of a sympathetic heart, in the righteousness of indignation against the cruel and oppressive. there and then was my soul made conscious of its heavenly original. this, too, was all the chivalry of which my circumstances and condition in life admitted. i love the sentiment in its splendid environment of castles, and tilts, and gallantry; but having fallen on other times, i love it also in the homely guise of sambo as paladin, dinah as outraged maiden, and old riley as grim oppressor. by means of the influence thus acquired, the increased amount of work thus done upon the farm, and by the detection of the knavery of the overseer, who plundered his employer for more selfish ends, and through my watchfulness was caught in the act and dismissed, i was promoted to be superintendent of the farm work, and managed to raise more than double the crops, with more cheerful and willing labor, than was ever seen on the estate before. yes, i was now practically overseer. my pride and ambition had made me master of every kind of farm work. but like all ambition its reward was increase of burdens. the crops of wheat, oats, barley, potatoes, corn, tobacco, all had to be cared for by me. i was often compelled to start at midnight with the wagon for the distant market, to drive on through mud and rain till morning, sell the produce, reach home hungry and tired, and nine times out of ten reap my sole reward in curses for not getting higher prices. my master was a fearful blasphemer. clearly as he saw my profitableness to him, he was too much of a brute, and too great a fool through his brutality, to reward me with kindness or even decent treatment. previous to my attaining this important station, however, an incident occurred which produced so powerful an influence on my intellectual development, my prospect of improvement in character, as well as condition, my chance of religious culture, and in short, on my whole nature, body and soul, that it deserves especial notice and commemoration. this, however, requires another chapter. chapter iv. my conversion. a good man.--hear a sermon for the first time.--its effect upon me.--prayer and communion.--its first fruits. my heart exults with gratitude when i mention the name of a good man who first taught me the blessedness of religion. his name was john mckenny. he lived at georgetown, a few miles only from riley's plantation; his business was that of a baker, and his character was that of an upright, benevolent christian. he was noted especially for his detestation of slavery, and his resolute avoidance of the employment of slave labor in his business. he would not even hire a slave, the price of whose toil must be paid to his master, but contented himself with the work of his own hands, and with such free labor as he could procure. his reputation was high, not only for this almost singular abstinence from what no one about him thought wrong, but for his general probity and excellence. this man occasionally served as a minister of the gospel, and preached in a neighborhood where preachers were somewhat rare at that period. one sunday when he was to officiate in this way, at a place three or four miles distant, my mother urged me to ask master's permission to go and hear him. i had so often been beaten for making such a request that i refused to make it. she still persisted, telling me that i could never become a christian if i minded beatings--that i must take up my cross and bear it. she was so grieved at my refusal that she wept. to gratify her i concluded to try the experiment, and accordingly went to my master and asked permission to attend the meeting. although such permission was not given freely or often, yet his favor to me was shown for this once by allowing me to go, without much scolding, but not without a pretty distinct intimation of what would befall me if i did not return immediately after the close of the service. i hurried off, pleased with the opportunity, but without any definite expectations of benefit or amusement; for up to this period of my life, and i was then eighteen years old, i had never heard a sermon, nor any discourse or conversation whatever, upon religious topics, except what i had heard from my mother, on the responsibility of all to a supreme being. when i arrived at the place of meeting, the services were so far advanced that the speaker was just beginning his discourse, from the text, hebrews ii. : "that he, by the grace of god, should taste of death for every man." this was the first text of the bible to which i had ever listened, knowing it to be such. i have never forgotten it, and scarcely a day has passed since, in which i have not recalled it, and the sermon that was preached from it. the divine character of jesus christ, his tender love for mankind, his forgiving spirit his compassion for the outcast and despised, his cruel crucifixion and glorious ascension, were all depicted, and some of the points were dwelt on with great power; great, at least, to me, who then heard of these things for the first time in my life. again and again did the preacher reiterate the words "_for every man_." these glad tidings, this salvation, were not for the benefit of a select few only. they were for the slave as well as the master, the poor as well as the rich, for the persecuted, the distressed, the heavy-laden, the captive; for me among the rest, a poor, despised, abused creature, deemed of others fit for nothing but unrequited toil--but mental and bodily degradation. o, the blessedness and sweetness of feeling that i was loved! i would have died that moment, with joy, for the compassionate saviour about whom i was hearing. "he loves me," "he looks down in compassion from heaven on me," "he died to save my soul," "he'll welcome me to the skies," i kept repeating to myself. i was transported with delicious joy. i seemed to see a glorious being, in a cloud of splendor, smiling down from on high. in sharp contrast with the experience of the contempt and brutality of my earthly master, i basked in the sunshine of the benignity of this divine being. "he'll be my dear refuge--he'll wipe away all tears from my eyes." "now i can bear all things; nothing will seem hard after this." i felt sorry that "massa riley" didn't know him, sorry he should live such a coarse, wicked, cruel life. swallowed up in the beauty of the divine love, i loved my enemies, and prayed for them that did despitefully use and entreat me. revolving the things which i had heard in my mind as i went home, i became so excited that i turned aside from the road into the woods, and prayed to god for light and for aid with an earnestness, which, however unenlightened, was at least sincere and heartfelt; and which the subsequent course of my life has led me to imagine was acceptable to him who heareth prayer. at all events, i date my conversion, and my awakening to a new life--a consciousness of power and a destiny superior to any thing i had before conceived of--from this day, so memorable to me. i used every means and opportunity of inquiry into religious matters; and so deep was my conviction of their superior importance to every thing else, so clear my perception of my own faults, and so undoubting my observation of the darkness and sin that surrounded me, that i could not help talking much on these subjects with those about me; and it was not long before i began to pray with them, and exhort them, and to impart to the poor slaves those little glimmerings of light from another world, which had reached my own eye. in a few years i became quite an esteemed preacher among them, and i will not believe it is vanity which leads me to think i was useful to some. i must return, however, for the present, to the course of my life in secular affairs, the facts of which it is my principal object to relate. chapter v. maimed for life. taking care of my drunken master.--his fight with an overseer.--rescue him.--am terribly beaten by the overseer.--my master seeks redress at law, but fails.--sufferings then and since.--retain my post as superintendent. the difference between the manner in which it was designed that all men should regard one another as children of the same father, and the manner in which men actually do treat each other, as if they were placed here for mutual annoyance and destruction, is well exemplified by an incident that happened to me within a year or two from this period; that is, when i was nineteen or twenty years old. my master's habits were such as were common enough among the dissipated planters of the neighborhood; and one of their frequent practices was to assemble on saturday or sunday, which were their holidays, and gamble, run horses, or fight game-cocks, discuss politics, and drink whiskey and brandy and water all day long. perfectly aware that they would not be able to find their own way home at night, each one ordered his body-servant to come after him and help him home. i was chosen for this confidential duty by my master; and many is the time i have held him on his horse, when he could not hold himself in the saddle, and walked by his side in darkness and mud from the tavern to his house. of course, quarrels and brawls of the most violent description were frequent consequences of these meetings; and whenever they became especially dangerous, and glasses were thrown, dirks drawn, and pistols fired, it was the duty of the slaves to rush in, and each one drag his master from the fight, and carry him home. to tell the truth, this was a part of my business for which i felt no reluctance. i was young, remarkably athletic and self-relying, and in such affrays i carried it with a high hand, and would elbow my way among the whites,--whom it would have been almost death for me to strike,--seize my master and drag him out, mount him on his horse, or crowd him into his buggy, with the ease with which i would handle a bag of corn. i knew that i was doing for him what he could not do for himself, and showing my superiority to others, and acquiring their respect in some degree, at the same time. on one of these occasions my master got into a quarrel with his brother's overseer, bryce litton. all present sided with litton against him, and soon there was a general row. i was sitting, at the time, out on the front steps of the tavern, and, hearing the scuffle, rushed in to look after my charge. my master, a stout man and a terrible bruiser, could generally hold his own in an ordinary general fight, and clear a handsome space around him; but now he was cornered, and a dozen were striking at him with fists, crockery, chairs, and anything that came handy. the moment he saw me he hallooed, "that's it, sie! pitch in! show me fair play." it was a rough business, and i went in roughly, shoving, tripping, and doing my best for the rescue. with infinite trouble, and many a bruise on my own head and shoulders, i at length got him out of the room. he was crazy with drink and rage, and struggled hard with me to get back and renew the fight. but i managed to force him into his wagon, jump in, and drive off. by ill-luck, in the height of the scuffle, bryce litton got a severe fall. whether the whisky he had drank, or a chance shove from me, was the cause, i am unable to say. he, however, attributed it to me, and treasured up his vengeance for the first favorable opportunity. the opportunity soon came. about a week afterwards i was sent by my master to a place a few miles distant, on horseback, with some letters. i took a short cut through a lane, separated by gates from the high road, and bounded by a fence on each side. this lane passed through some of the farm owned by my master's brother, and his overseer was in the adjoining field, with three negroes, when i went by. on my return, half an hour afterwards, the overseer was sitting on the fence; but i could see nothing of the black fellows. i rode on, utterly unsuspicious of any trouble; but as i approached he jumped off the fence, and at the same moment two of the negroes sprang up from under the bushes where they had been concealed, and stood with him immediately in front of me, while the third sprang over the fence just behind me. i was thus enclosed between what i could no longer doubt were hostile forces. the overseer seized my horse's bridle, and ordered me to alight, in the usual elegant phraseology addressed by such men to slaves. i asked what i was to alight for. "to take the cursedest flogging you ever had in your life, you d----d black scoundrel." "but what am i to be flogged for, mr. l.?" i asked. "not a word," said he, "but 'light at once, and take off your jacket." i saw there was nothing else to be done, and slipped off the horse on the opposite side from him. "now take off your shirt," cried he; and as i demurred at this, he lifted a stick he had in his hand to strike me, but so suddenly and violently that he frightened the horse, which broke away from him and ran home. i was thus left without means of escape, to sustain the attacks of four men, as well as i might. in avoiding mr. l.'s blow, i had accidentally got into a corner of the fence, where i could not be approached except in front. the overseer called upon the negroes to seize me; but they, knowing something of my physical power, were rather slow to obey. at length they did their best, and as they brought themselves within my reach, i knocked them down successively; and one of them trying to trip up my feet when he was down, i gave him a kick with my heavy shoe, which knocked out several teeth, and sent him howling away. meanwhile bryce litton played away on my head with a stick, not heavy enough, indeed, to knock me down, but drawing blood freely; shouting all the while, "won't you give up! won't you give up! you black son of a bitch!" exasperated at my defence, he suddenly seized a heavy fence-rail, and rushed at me to bring matters to a sudden close. the ponderous blow fell; i lifted my arm to ward it off; the bone cracked like a pipe-stem, and i fell headlong to the ground. repeated blows then rained on my back, till both shoulder-blades were broken, and the blood gushed copiously from my mouth. in vain the negroes interposed. "didn't you see the damned nigger strike me?" of course they must say "yes," although the lying coward had avoided close quarters, and fought with his stick alone. at length, his vengeance satisfied, he desisted, telling me to learn what it was to strike a white man. meanwhile an alarm had been raised at the house by the return of the horse without his rider, and my master started off with a small party to learn what the trouble was. when he first saw me he was swearing with rage. "you've been fighting, you damned nigger!" i told him bryce litton had been beating me, because i shoved him the other night at the tavern, when they had a fuss. seeing how much i was injured, he became still more fearfully mad; and after having me carried home, mounted his horse and rode over to montgomery court house, to enter a complaint. little good came of it. litton swore that when he spoke to me in the lane, i "sassed" him, jumped off my horse and made at him, and would have killed him but for the help of his negroes. of course no negro's testimony could be admitted against a white man, and he was acquitted. my master was obliged to pay all the costs of court; and although he had the satisfaction of calling litton a liar and scoundrel, and giving him a tremendous bruising, still even this partial compensation was rendered less gratifying by what followed, which was a suit for damages and a heavy fine. my sufferings after this cruel treatment were intense. besides my broken arm and the wounds on my head, i could feel and hear the pieces of my shoulder-blades grate against each other with every breath. no physician or surgeon was called to dress my wounds; and i never knew one to be called on riley's estate on any occasion whatever. "a nigger will get well anyway," was a fixed principle of faith, and facts seemed to justify it. the robust, physical health produced by a life of out-door labor, made our wounds heal up with as little inflammation as they do in the case of cattle. i was attended by my master's sister, miss patty, as we called her, the esculapius of the plantation. she was a powerful, big-boned woman, who flinched at no responsibility, from wrenching out teeth to setting bones. i have seen her go into the house and get a rifle to shoot a furious ox that the negroes were in vain trying to butcher. she splintered my arm and bound up my back as well as she knew how. alas! it was but cobbler's work. from that day to this i have been unable to raise my hands as high as my head. it was five months before i could work at all, and the first time i tried to plough, a hard knock of the colter against a stone shattered my shoulder-blades again, and gave me even greater agony than at first. and so i have gone through life maimed and mutilated. practice in time enabled me to perform many of the farm labors with considerable efficiency; but the free, vigorous play of muscle and arm was gone forever. my situation as overseer i retained, together with the especial favor of my master, who was not displeased either with saving the expense of a large salary for a white superintendent, or with the superior crops i was able to raise for him. i will not deny that i used his property more freely than he would have done himself, in supplying his people with better food; but if i cheated him in this way, in small matters, it was unequivocally for his own benefit in more important ones; and i accounted, with the strictest honesty, for every dollar i received in the sale of the property entrusted to me. gradually the disposal of everything raised on the farm,--the wheat, oats, hay, fruit, butter, and whatever else there might be,--was confided to me, as it was quite evident that i could and did sell for better prices than any one else he could employ; and he was quite incompetent to attend to the business himself. for many years i was his factotum, and supplied him with all his means for all his purposes, whether they were good or bad. i had no reason to think highly of his moral character; but it was my duty to be faithful to him in the position in which he placed me; and i can boldly declare, before god and man, that i was so. i forgave him the causeless blows and injuries he had inflicted on me in childhood and youth, and was proud of the favor he now showed me, and of the character and reputation i had earned by strenuous and persevering efforts. chapter vi. a responsible journey. my marriage.--marriage of my master.--his ruin.--comes to me for aid.--a great enterprise undertaken.--long and successful journey.--incidents by the way.--struggle between inclination and duty.--duty triumphant. when i was about twenty-two years of age, i married a very efficient, and, for a slave, a very well-taught girl, belonging to a neighboring family, reputed to be pious and kind, whom i first met at the religious meetings which i attended. she has borne me twelve children, eight of whom still survive and promise to be the comfort of my declining years. things remained in this condition for a considerable period; my occupations being to superintend the farming operations, and to sell the produce in the neighboring markets of washington and georgetown. many respectable people, yet living there, may possibly have some recollection of "siah," or "sie," (as they used to call me,) as their market-man; but if they have forgotten me, i remember them with an honest satisfaction. after passing his youth in the manner i have mentioned in a general way, and which i do not wish more particularly to describe, my master, at the age of forty-five, or upwards, married a young woman of eighteen, who had some little property, and more thrift. her economy was remarkable, and was certainly no addition to the comfort of the establishment. she had a younger brother, francis, to whom riley was appointed guardian, and who used to complain--not without reason, i am confident--of the meanness of the provision made for the household; and he would often come to me, with tears in his eyes, to tell me he could not get enough to eat. i made him my friend for life, by sympathising in his emotions and satisfying his appetite, sharing with him the food i took care to provide for my own family. he is still living, and, i understand, one of the wealthiest men in washington city. after a time, however, continual dissipation was more than a match for domestic saving. my master fell into difficulty, and from difficulty into a lawsuit with a brother-in-law, who charged him with dishonesty in the management of property confided to him in trust. the lawsuit was protracted enough to cause his ruin of itself. harsh and tyrannical as my master had been, i really pitied him in his present distress. at times he was dreadfully dejected, at others crazy with drink and rage. day after day would he ride over to montgomery court house about his business, and every day his affairs grew more desperate. he would come into my cabin to tell me how things were going, but spent the time chiefly in lamenting his misfortunes and cursing his brother-in-law. i tried to comfort him as best i could. he had confidence in my fidelity and judgment, and partly through pride, partly through that divine spirit of love i had learned to worship in jesus, i entered with interest into all his perplexities. the poor, drinking, furious, moaning creature was utterly incapable of managing his affairs. shiftlessness, licentiousness and drink had complicated them as much as actual dishonesty. one night in the month of january, long after i had fallen asleep, he came into my cabin and waked me up. i thought it strange, but for a time he said nothing and sat moodily warming himself at the fire. then he began to groan and wring his hands. "sick, massa?" said i. he made no reply but kept on moaning. "can't i help you any way, massa?" i spoke tenderly, for my heart was full of compassion at his wretched appearance. at last, collecting himself, he cried, "oh, sie! i'm ruined, ruined, ruined!" "how so, massa?" "they've got judgment against me, and in less than two weeks every nigger i've got will be put up and sold." then he burst into a storm of curses at his brother-in-law. i sat silent, powerless to utter a word. pity for him and terror at the anticipation of my own family's future fate filled my heart. "and now, sie," he continued, "there's only one way i can save anything. you can do it; won't you, won't you?" in his distress he rose and actually threw his arms around me. misery had levelled all distinctions. "if i can do it, massa, i will. what is it?" without replying he went on, "won't you, won't you? i raised you, sie; i made you overseer; i know i've abused you, sie, but i didn't mean it." still he avoided telling me what he wanted. "promise me you'll do it, boy." he seemed resolutely bent on having my promise first, well knowing from past experience that what i agreed to do i spared no pains to accomplish. solicited in this way, with urgency and tears, by the man whom i had so zealously served for over thirty years, and who now seemed absolutely dependent upon his slave,--impelled, too, by the fear which he skilfully awakened, that the sheriff would seize every one who belonged to him, and that all would be separated, or perhaps sold to go to georgia, or louisiana--an object of perpetual dread to the slave of the more northern states--i consented, and promised faithfully to do all i could to save him from the fate impending over him. at last the proposition came. "i want you to run away, sie, to your master amos in kentucky, and take all the servants along with you." i could not have been more startled had he asked me to go to the moon. master amos was his brother. "kentucky, massa? kentucky? i don't know the way." "o, it's easy enough for a smart fellow like you to find it; i'll give you a pass and tell you just what to do." perceiving that i hesitated, he endeavored to frighten me by again referring to the terrors of being sold to georgia. for two or three hours he continued to urge the undertaking, appealing to my pride, my sympathies, and my fears, and at last, appalling as it seemed, i told him i would do my best. there were eighteen negroes, besides my wife, two children and myself, to transport nearly a thousand miles, through a country about which i knew nothing, and in mid-winter--for it was the month of february, . my master proposed to follow me in a few months, and establish himself in kentucky. my mind once made up, i set earnestly about the needful preparations. they were few and easily made. a one-horse wagon, well stocked with oats, meal, bacon, for our own and the horse's support, was soon made ready. my pride was aroused in view of the importance of my responsibility, and heart and soul i became identified with my master's project of running off his negroes. the second night after the scheme was formed we were under way. fortunately for the success of the undertaking, these people had long been under my direction, and were devotedly attached to me in return for the many alleviations i had afforded to their miserable condition, the comforts i had procured them, and the consideration i had always manifested for them. under these circumstances no difficulty arose from want of submission to my authority. the dread of being separated, and sold away down south, should they remain on the old estate, united them as one man, and kept them patient and alert. we started from home about eleven o'clock at night, and till the following noon made no permanent halt. the men trudged on foot, the children were put into the wagon, and now and then my wife rode for a while. on we went through alexandria, culpepper, fauquier, harper's ferry, cumberland, over the mountains on the national turnpike, to wheeling. in all the taverns along the road were regular places for the droves of negroes continually passing along under the system of the internal slave trade. in these we lodged, and our lodging constituted our only expense, for our food we carried with us. to all who asked questions i showed my master's pass, authorizing me to conduct his negroes to kentucky, and often was the encomium of "smart nigger" bestowed on me, to my immense gratification. at the places where we stopped for the night, we often met negro-drivers with their droves, who were almost uniformly kept chained to prevent them from running away. the inquiry was often propounded to me by the drivers, "whose niggers are those?" on being informed, the next inquiry usually was, "where are they going?" "to kentucky." "who drives them?" "well, i have charge of them," was my reply. "what a smart nigger!" was the usual exclamation, with an oath. "will your master sell you? come in and stop with us." in this way i was often invited to pass the evening with them in the bar-room; their negroes, in the meantime, lying chained in the pen, while mine were scattered around at liberty. arriving at wheeling, in pursuance of the plan laid down by my master, i sold the horse and wagon, and purchased a large boat, called in that region a yawl. our mode of locomotion was now decidedly more agreeable than tramping along day after day, at the rate we had kept up ever since leaving home. very little labor at the oars was necessary. the tide floated us steadily along, and we had ample leisure to sleep and recruit our strength. a new and unexpected trouble now assailed me. on passing along the ohio shore, we were repeatedly told by persons conversing with us, that we were no longer slaves, but free men, if we chose to be so. at cincinnati, especially, crowds of colored people gathered round us, and insisted on our remaining with them. they told us we were fools to think of going on and surrendering ourselves up to a new owner; that now we could be our own masters, and put ourselves out of all reach of pursuit. i saw the people under me were getting much excited. divided counsels and signs of insubordination began to manifest themselves. i began, too, to feel my own resolution giving way. freedom had ever been an object of my ambition, though no other means of obtaining it had occurred to me but purchasing myself. i had never dreamed of running away. i had a sentiment of honor on the subject. the duties of the slave to his master as appointed over him in the lord, i had ever heard urged by ministers and religious men. it seemed like outright stealing. and now i felt the devil was getting the upper hand of me. strange as all this may seem, i really felt it then. entrancing as the idea was, that the coast was clear for a run for freedom, that i might liberate my companions, might carry off my wife and children, and some day own a house and land, and be no longer despised and abused--still my notions of right were against it. i had promised my master to take his property to kentucky, and deposit it with his brother amos. pride, too, came in to confirm me. i had undertaken a great thing; my vanity had been flattered all along the road by hearing myself praised; i thought it would be a feather in my cap to carry it through thoroughly; and had often painted the scene in my imagination of the final surrender of my charge to master amos, and the immense admiration and respect with which he would regard me. under the influence of these impressions, and seeing that the allurements of the crowd were producing a manifest effect, i sternly assumed the captain, and ordered the boat to be pushed off into the stream. a shower of curses followed me from the shore; but the negroes under me, accustomed to obey, and, alas! too degraded and ignorant of the advantages of liberty to know what they were forfeiting, offered no resistance to my command. often since that day has my soul been pierced with bitter anguish at the thought of having been thus instrumental in consigning to the infernal bondage of slavery so many of my fellow-beings. i have wrestled in prayer with god for forgiveness. having experienced myself the sweetness of liberty, and knowing too well the after misery of numbers of many of them, my infatuation has seemed to me the unpardonable sin. but i console myself with the thought that i acted according to my best light, though the light that was in me was darkness. those were my days of ignorance. i knew not the glory of free manhood. i knew not that the title-deed of the slave-owner is robbery and outrage. what advantages i may have personally lost by thus throwing away an opportunity of obtaining freedom, i know not; but the perception of my own strength of character, the feeling of integrity, the sentiment of high honor, i thus gained by obedience to what i believed right, these advantages i do know and prize. he that is faithful over a little, will alone be faithful over much. before god, i tried to do my best, and the error of judgment lies at the door of the degrading system under which i had been nurtured. chapter vii. a new home. become a methodist preacher.--my poor companions sold.--my agony.--sent for again.--interview with a kind methodist preacher.--visit free soil and begin my struggle for freedom. i arrived at davis county, kentucky, about the middle of april, , and delivered myself and my companions to mr. amos riley, the brother of my owner, who had a large plantation, with from eighty to one hundred negroes. his house was situated about five miles south of the ohio river, and fifteen miles above the yellow banks, on big blackfords creek. there i remained three years, expecting my master to follow, and was employed meantime on the farm, of which i had the general management, in consequence of the recommendation for ability and honesty which i brought with me from maryland. the situation was, in many respects, more comfortable than that i had left. the farm was larger and more fertile, and there was a greater abundance of food, which is, of course, one of the principal sources of the comfort of a slave, debarred as he is from so many enjoyments which other men can obtain. sufficiency of food is a pretty important item in any man's account of life; but is tenfold more so in that of the slave, whose appetite is always stimulated by as much labor as he can perform, and whose mind is little occupied by thought on subjects of deeper interest. my post of superintendent gave me some advantages, too, of which i did not fail to avail myself; particularly with regard to those religious privileges, which, since i first heard of christ and christianity, had greatly occupied my mind. in kentucky the opportunities of attending on the preaching of whites, as well as of blacks, were more numerous; and partly by attending them, and the camp-meetings which occurred from time to time, and partly from studying carefully my own heart, and observing the developments of character around me, in all the stations of life which i could watch, i became better acquainted with those religious feelings which are deeply implanted in the breast of every human being, and learned by practice how best to arouse them, and keep them excited, how to stir up the callous and indifferent, and, in general, to produce some good religious impressions on the ignorant and thoughtless community by which i was surrounded. no great amount of theological knowledge is requisite for the purpose. if it had been, it is manifest enough that preaching never could have been my vocation; but i am persuaded that, speaking from the fulness of a heart deeply impressed with its own sinfulness and imperfection, and with the mercy of god, in christ jesus, my humble ministrations have not been entirely useless to those who have had less opportunity than myself to reflect upon these all important subjects. it is certain that i could not refrain from the endeavor to do what i saw others doing in this field; and i labored at once to improve myself and those about me in the cultivation of the harvests which ripen only in eternity. i cannot but derive some satisfaction, too, from the proofs i have had that my services have been acceptable to those to whom they have been rendered. in the course of three years, from to , i availed myself of all the opportunities of improvement which occurred, and was admitted as a preacher by a quarterly conference of the methodist episcopal church. in the spring of the year , news arrived from my master that he was unable to induce his wife to accompany him to kentucky, and that he must therefore remain where he was. he sent out an agent to sell all his slaves, except me and my family, and to carry back the proceeds to him. and now another of those heart-rending scenes was to be witnessed, which had impressed itself so deeply on my childish soul. husbands and wives, parents and children, were to be separated forever. affections, which are as strong in the african as in the european, were to be cruelly disregarded; and the iron selfishness generated by the hateful "institution," was to be exhibited in its most odious and naked deformity. i was exempted from a personal share in the dreadful calamity; but i could not see, without the deepest grief, the agony which i recollected in my own mother, and which was again brought before my eyes in the persons with whom i had been long associated; nor could i refrain from the bitterest feeling of hatred of the system, and those who sustain it. what else, indeed, can be the feeling of the slave, liable at every moment of his life to these frightful and unnecessary calamities, which may be caused by the caprice of the abandoned, or the supposed necessities of the better part of the slaveholders, and inflicted upon him without sympathy or redress, under the sanction of the laws which uphold the institution? as i surveyed this scene, and listened to the groans and outcries of my afflicted companions, the torments of hell seized upon me. my eyes were opened, and the guilty madness of my conduct in preventing them from availing themselves of the opportunity for acquiring freedom, which offered itself at cincinnati, overwhelmed me. this, then, was the reward and end of all my faithfulness to my master. i had thought of him only and his interests, not of them or their welfare. oh! what would i not have given to have had the chance offered once more! and now, through me, were they doomed to wear out life miserably in the hot and pestilential climate of the far south. death would have been welcome to me in my agony. from that hour i saw through, hated, and cursed the whole system of slavery. one absorbing purpose occupied my soul--freedom, self-assertion, deliverance from the cruel caprices and fortunes of dissolute tyrants. once to get away, with my wife and children, to some spot where i could feel that they were indeed _mine_--where no grasping master could stand between me and them, as arbiter of their destiny--was a heaven yearned after with insatiable longing. for it i stood ready to pray, toil, dissemble, plot like a fox, and fight like a tiger. all the noble instincts of my soul, and all the ferocious passions of my animal nature, were aroused and quickened into vigorous action. the object of my old master riley in directing that i and my family should be exempted from the sale, was a desire on his part to get me back to maryland, and employ me in his own service. his best farms had been taken away from him, and but a few tracts of poor land remained. after his slaves had been run off, he cultivated these with hired labor, and month by month grew poorer and more desperate. he had written to his brother amos to give me a pass and let me travel back; but this his brother was reluctant to do, as i saved him the expense of an overseer, and he moreover knew that no legal steps could be taken to force him to comply. i knew of all this, but dared not seem anxious to return, for fear of exciting suspicion. in the course of the summer of , a methodist preacher, a most excellent white man, visited our neighborhood, and i became acquainted with him. he was soon interested in me, and visited me frequently, and one day talked to me in a confidential manner about my position. he said i ought to be free; that i had too much capacity to be confined to the limited and comparatively useless sphere of a slave; "and though," said he, "i must not be known to have spoken to you on this subject, yet if you will obtain mr. amos's consent to go to see your old master in maryland, i will try and put you in a way by which i think you may succeed in buying yourself." he said this to me more than once; and as it was in harmony with all my aspirations and wishes, was flattering to my self-esteem, and gratified my impatience to bring matters to a direct issue, i now resolved to make the attempt to get the necessary leave. the autumn work was over, i was no longer needed in the fields, and a better chance would never offer itself. still i dreaded to make the proposal. so much hung on it, such fond hopes were bound up with it, that i trembled for the result. i opened the subject one sunday morning while shaving mr. amos, and adroitly managed, by bringing the shaving brush close into his mouth whenever he was disposed to interrupt me, to "get a good say" first. of course i made no allusion to my plan of buying myself; but urged my request on the sole ground of a desire to see my old master. to my surprise he made little objection. i had been faithful to him, and gained, in his rude way of showing it, his regard. long before spring i would be back again. he even told me i had earned such a privilege. the certificate he gave me allowed me to pass and repass between kentucky and maryland as servant of amos riley. furnished with this, and with a letter of recommendation from my methodist friend to a brother preacher in cincinnati, i started about the middle of september, , for the east. a new era in my history now opened upon me. a letter i carried with me to a kind-hearted man in cincinnati procured me a number of invaluable friends, who entered heart and soul into my plans. they procured me an opportunity to preach in two or three of the pulpits of the city, and i made my appeal with that eloquence which spontaneously breaks forth from a breast all alive and fanned into a glow by an inspiring project. contact with those who were free themselves, and a proud sense of exultation in taking my destiny into my own hands, gave me the sacred "gift of tongues." i was pleading an issue of life and death, of heaven and hell, and such as heard me felt this in their hearts. in three or four days i left the city with no less a sum than one hundred and sixty dollars in my pockets, and with a soul jubilant with thanksgiving, and high in hope, directed my steps towards chillicothe, to attend the session of the ohio conference of the methodist episcopal church. my kind friend accompanied me, and by his influence and exertions still further success attended me. by his advice i then purchased a decent suit of clothes and an excellent horse, and travelled from town to town preaching as i went. everywhere i met with kindness. the contrast between the respect with which i was treated and the ordinary abuse, or at best insolent familiarity, of plantation life, gratified me in the extreme, as it must any one who has within him one spark of personal dignity as a man. the sweet enjoyment of sympathy, moreover, and the hearty "god speed you, brother!" which accompanied every dollar i received, were to my long starved heart a celestial repast, and angels' food. liberty was a glorious hope in my mind; not as an escape from toil, for i rejoiced in toil when my heart was in it, but as the avenue to a sense of self-respect, to ennobling occupation, and to association with superior minds. still, dear as was the thought of liberty, i still clung to my determination to gain it in one way only--by purchase. the cup of my affliction was not yet full enough to lead me to disregard all terms with my master. chapter viii. return to maryland. reception from my old master.--a slave again.--appeal to an old friend.--buy my freedom.--cheated and betrayed.--back to kentucky, and a slave again. before i left ohio and set my face towards montgomery county, i was master of two hundred and seventy-five dollars, besides my horse and clothes. proud of my success, i enjoyed the thought of showing myself once more in the place where i had been known simply as "riley's head nigger;" and it was with no little satisfaction that about christmas i rode up to the old house. my master gave me a boisterous reception, and expressed great delight at seeing me. "why, what in the devil have you been doing, sie? you've turned into a regular black gentleman." my horse and dress sorely puzzled him, and i soon saw it began to irritate him. the clothes i wore were certainly better than his. and already the workings of that tyrannical hate with which the coarse and brutal, who have no inherent superiority, ever regard the least sign of equality in their dependents, were visible in his manner. his face seemed to say, "i'll take the gentleman out of you pretty soon." i gave him such an account of my preaching as, while it was consistent with the truth, and explained my appearance, did not betray to him my principal purpose. he soon asked to see my pass, and when he found it authorized me to return to kentucky, handed it to his wife, and desired her to put it into his desk. the manoeuvre was cool and startling. i heard the old prison gate clang, and the bolt shoot into the socket once more. but i said nothing, and resolved to manoeuvre also. after putting my horse in the stable i retired to the kitchen, where my master told me i was to sleep for the night. o, how different from my accommodations in the free states, for the last three months, was the crowded room, with its dirt floor, and filth, and stench! i looked around me with a sensation of disgust. the negroes present were strangers to me, being slaves that mrs. riley had brought to her husband. "fool that i was to come back!" i found my mother had died during my absence, and every tie which had ever connected me with the place was broken. the idea of lying down with my nice clothes in this nasty sty was insufferable. full of gloomy reflections at my loneliness, and the poverty-stricken aspect of the whole farm, i sat down; and while my companions were snoring in unconsciousness, i kept awake, thinking how i should escape from the accursed spot. i knew of but one friend to whom i could appeal--"master frank," the brother of riley's wife, before mentioned, who was now of age, and had established himself in business in washington. i knew he would take an interest in me, for i had done much to lighten his sorrows when he was an abused and harshly-treated boy in the house. to him i resolved to go, and as soon as i thought it time to start, i saddled my horse and rode up to the house. it was early in the morning, and my master had already gone to the tavern on his usual business, when mrs. riley came out to look at my horse and equipments. "where are you going, 'siah?" was the natural question. i replied, "i am going to washington, mistress, to see mr. frank, and i must take my pass with me, if you please." "o, everybody knows you here; you won't need your pass." "but i can't go to washington without it. i may be met by some surly stranger, who will stop me and plague me, if he can't do anything worse." "well, i'll get it for you," she answered; and glad was i to see her return with it in her hand, and to have her give it to me, while she little imagined its importance to my plan. my reception by master frank was all i expected, as kind and hearty as possible. he was delighted at my appearance, and i immediately told him all my plans and hopes. he entered cordially into them, and expressed, as he felt, i doubt not, a strong sympathy for me. i found that he thoroughly detested riley, whom he charged with having defrauded him of a large proportion of his property which he had held as guardian, though, as he was not at warfare with him, he readily agreed to negotiate for my freedom, and bring him to the most favorable terms. accordingly, in a few days he rode over to the house, and had a long conversation with him on the subject of my emancipation. he disclosed to him the facts that i had got some money, and _my pass_, and urged that i was a smart fellow, who was bent upon getting his freedom, and had served the family faithfully for many years; that i had really paid for myself a hundred times over, in the increased amount of produce i had raised by my skill and influence; and that if he did not take care, and accept a fair offer when i made it to him, he would find some day that i had the means to do without his help, and that he would see neither me nor my money; that with my horse and my pass i was pretty independent of him already, and he had better make up his mind to do what was really inevitable, and do it with a good grace. by such arguments as these, mr. frank not only induced him to think of the thing, but before long brought him to an actual bargain, by which he agreed to give me my manumission papers for four hundred and fifty dollars, of which three hundred and fifty dollars were to be in cash, and the remainder in my note. my money and my horse enabled me to pay the cash at once, and thus my great hope seemed in a fair way of being realized. some time was spent in the negotiation of this affair, and it was not until the ninth of march, , that i received my manumission papers in due form of law. i prepared to start at once on my return to kentucky; and on the tenth, as i was getting ready, in the morning, for my journey, my master accosted me in the most friendly manner, and entered into conversation with me about my plans. he asked me what i was going to do with my certificate of freedom; whether i was going to show it if questioned on the road. i told him, "yes." "you'll be a fool if you do," he rejoined. "some slave-trader will get hold of it and tear it up, and the first thing you know, you'll be thrown into prison, sold for your jail fees, and be in his possession before any of your friends can help you. don't show it at all. your pass is enough. let me enclose your papers for you under cover to my brother. nobody will dare to break a seal, for that is a state-prison matter; and when you arrive in kentucky you will have it with you all safe and sound." for this friendly advice, as i thought it, i felt extremely grateful. secure in my happiness, i cherished no suspicion of others. i accordingly permitted him to enclose my precious papers in an envelope composed of several wrappers, and after he had sealed it with three seals, and directed it to his brother in davies county, kentucky, in my care, i carefully stowed it in my carpet bag. leaving immediately for wheeling, to which place i was obliged to travel on foot, i there took boat, and in due time reached my destination. i was arrested repeatedly on the way; but by insisting always on being carried before a magistrate, i succeeded in escaping all serious impediments by means of my pass, which was quite regular, and could not be set aside by any responsible authority. the boat which took me down from louisville, landed me about dark, and my walk of five miles brought me to the plantation at bed-time. i went directly to my own cabin, and found my wife and little ones well. of course we had enough to communicate to each other. i soon found that i had something to learn as well as to tell. letters had reached the "great house,"--as the master's was always called,--long before i arrived, telling them what i had been doing. the children of the family had eagerly communicated the good news to my wife--how i had been preaching, and raising money, and making a bargain for my freedom. it was not long before charlotte began to question me, with much excitement, about how i raised the money. she evidently thought i had stolen it. her opinion of my powers as a preacher was not exalted enough to permit her to believe i had gained it as i really did. it was the old story of the prophet without honor in his own place. i contrived however to quiet her fears on this score. "but how are you going to raise enough to pay the remainder of the thousand dollars?" "what thousand dollars?" "the thousand dollars you were to give for your freedom." o, how those words smote me! at once i suspected treachery. again and again i questioned her as to what she had heard. she persisted in repeating the same story as the substance of my master's letters. master amos said i had paid three hundred and fifty dollars down, and when i had made up six hundred and fifty more i was to have my free papers. i now began to perceive the trick that had been played upon me, and to see the management by which riley had contrived that the only evidence of my freedom should be kept from every eye but that of his brother amos, who was requested to retain it until i had made up the balance i was reported to have agreed to pay. indignation is a faint word to express my deep sense of such villainy. i was alternately beside myself with rage, and paralyzed with despair. my dream of bliss was over. what could i do to set myself right? the only witness to the truth, master frank, was a thousand miles away. i could neither write to him, or get any one else to write. every man about me who could write was a slaveholder. i dared not go before a magistrate with my papers, for fear i should be seized and sold down the river before anything could be done. i felt that every man's hand would be against me. "my god! my god! why hast thou forsaken me?" was my bitter cry. one thing only seemed clear. my papers must never be surrendered to master amos. i told my wife i had not seen them since i left louisville. they might be in my bag, or they might be lost. at all events i did not wish to look myself. if she found them there, and hid them away, out of my knowledge, it would be the best disposition to make of them. the next morning, at the blowing of the horn, i went out to find master amos. i found him sitting on a stile, and as i drew near enough for him to recognize me, he shouted out a hearty welcome in his usual chaste style. "why, halloa, sie! is that you? got back, eh! why, you old son of a bitch, i'm glad to see you! drot your blood, drot your blood, why, you're a regular black gentleman!" and he surveyed my dress with an appreciative grin. "well, boy, how's your master? isaac says you want to be free. want to be free, eh! i think your master treats you pretty hard, though. six hundred and fifty dollars don't come so easy in old kentuck. how does he ever expect you to raise all that. it's too much, boy, it's too much." in the conversation that followed i found my wife was right. riley had no idea of letting me off, and supposed i could contrive to raise six hundred and fifty as easily as one hundred dollars. master amos soon asked me if i had not a paper for him. i told him i had had one, but the last i saw of it was at louisville, and now it was not in my bag, and i did not know what had become of it. he sent me back to the landing to see if it had been dropped on the way. of course i did not find it. he made, however, little stir about it, for he had intentions of his own to keep me working for him, and regarded the whole as a trick of his brother's to get money out of me. all he said about the loss was, "well, boy, bad luck happens to everybody, sometimes." all this was very smooth and pleasant to a man who was in a frenzy of grief at the base and apparently irremediable trick that had been played upon him. i had supposed that i should now be free to start out and gain the other hundred dollars which would discharge my obligation to my master. but i soon saw that i was to begin again with my old labors. it was useless to give expression to my feelings, and i went about my work with as quiet a mind as i could, resolved to trust in god, and never despair. chapter ix. taken south, away from wife and children. start for new orleans.--study navigation on the mississippi.--the captain struck blind.--find some of my old companions.--the lower depths. things went on in this way about a year. from time to time master amos joked me about the six hundred and fifty dollars, and said his brother kept writing to know why i did not send something. it was "diamond cut diamond" with the two brothers. mr. amos had no desire to play into the hands of mr. isaac. he was glad enough to secure my services to take care of his stock and his people. one day my master suddenly informed me that his son amos, a young man about twenty-one years of age, was going down the river to new orleans, with a flat-boat loaded with produce, and that i was to go with him. he was to start the next day, and i was to accompany him and help him dispose of his cargo to the best advantage. this intimation was enough. though it was not distinctly stated, yet i well knew what was intended, and my heart sunk within me at the near prospect of this fatal blight to all my long-cherished hopes. there was no alternative but death itself; and i thought that there was hope as long as there was life, and i would not despair even yet. the expectation of my fate, however, produced the degree of misery nearest to that of despair; and it is in vain for me to attempt to describe the wretchedness i experienced as i made ready to go on board the flat-boat. i had little preparation to make, to be sure; and there was but one thing that seemed to me important. i asked my wife to sew up my manumission paper securely in a piece of cloth, and to sew that again round my person. i thought that having possession of it might be the means of saving me yet, and i would not neglect anything that offered the smallest chance of escape from the frightful servitude that threatened me. the immediate cause of this movement on the part of master amos i never fully understood. it grew out of a frequent exchange of letters, which had been kept up between him and his brother in maryland. whether as a compromise between their rival claims it was agreed to sell me and divide the proceeds, or that master amos, in fear of my running away, had resolved to turn me into riches without wings, for his own profit, i never knew. the fact of his intention, however, was clear enough; and god knows it was a fearful blow. my wife and children accompanied me to the landing, where i bade them an adieu which might be for life, and then stepped into the boat, which i found manned by three white men, who had been hired for the trip. mr. amos and myself were the only other persons on board. the load consisted of beef-cattle, pigs, poultry, corn, whisky, and other articles from the farm, and from some of the neighboring estates, which were to be sold as we dropped down the river, wherever they could be disposed of to the greatest advantage. it was a common trading voyage to new orleans, in which i was embarked, the interest of which consisted not in the incidents that occurred, not in storms, or shipwreck, or external disaster of any sort; but in the storm of passions contending within me, and the imminent risk of the shipwreck of my soul, which was impending over me nearly the whole period of the voyage. one circumstance, only, i will mention, illustrating, as other events in my life have often done, the counsel of the saviour, "he that will be chief among you, let him be your servant." we were, of course, all bound to take our trick at the helm in turn, sometimes under direction of the captain, and sometimes on our own responsibility, as he could not be always awake. in the daytime there was less difficulty than at night, when it required some one who knew the river, to avoid sand-bars and snags, and the captain was the only person on board who had this knowledge. but whether by day or by night, as i was the only negro in the boat, i was made to stand at least three tricks (white men are very fond of such tricks) to any other person's one; so that, from being much with the captain, and frequently thrown upon my own exertions, i learned the art of steering and managing the boat far better than the rest. i watched the manoeuvres necessary to shoot by a sawyer, to land on a bank, or avoid a snag, or a steamboat, in the rapid current of the mississippi, till i could do it as well as the captain. after a while he was attacked by a disease of the eyes; they became very much inflamed and swollen. he was soon rendered totally blind, and unable to perform his share of duty. this disorder is not an unfrequent consequence of exposure to the light of the sun, doubled in intensity as it is by the reflection from the river. i was the person who could best take his place, and i was in fact master of the boat from that time till our arrival at new orleans. after the captain became blind we were obliged to lie by at night, as none of the rest of us had been down the river before; and it was necessary to keep watch all night, to prevent depredations by the negroes on shore, who used frequently to attack such boats as ours, for the sake of the provisions on board. on our way down the river we stopped at vicksburg, and i got permission to visit a plantation a few miles from the town, where some of my old companions whom i had brought from kentucky were living. it was the saddest visit i ever made. four years in an unhealthy climate and under a hard master had done the ordinary work of twenty. their cheeks were literally caved in with starvation and disease, and their bodies infested with vermin. no hell could equal the misery they described as their daily portion. toiling half naked in malarious marshes, under a burning, maddening sun, and poisoned by swarms of musquitoes and black gnats, they looked forward to death as their only deliverance. some of them fairly cried at seeing me there, and at thought of the fate which they felt awaited me. their worst fears of being sold down south had been more than realized. i went away sick at heart, and to this day the sight of that wretched group haunts me. chapter x. a terrible temptation. sigh for death.--a murder in my heart.--the axe raised.--conscience speaks and i am saved.--god be praised! now all outward nature seemed to feed my gloomy thoughts. i know not what most men see in voyaging down the mississippi. if gay and hopeful, probably much of beauty and interest. if eager merchants, probably a golden river, freighted with the wealth of nations. i saw nothing but portents of woe and despair. wretched slave-pens; a smell of stagnant waters; half-putrid carcasses of horses or oxen floating along, covered with turkey buzzards and swarms of green flies,--these are the images with which memory crowds my mind. my faith in god utterly gave way. i could no longer pray or trust. he had abandoned me and cast me off forever. i looked not to him for help. i saw only the foul miasmas, the emaciated frames of my negro companions; and in them saw the sure, swift, loving intervention of the one unfailing friend of the wretched,--death! yes; death and the grave! "there the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. there the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor." two years of this would kill me. i dwelt on the thought with melancholy yet sweet satisfaction. two years! and then i should be free. free! ever my cherished hope, though not as i had thought it would come. as i paced backwards and forwards on the deck, during my watch, it may well be believed i revolved in my mind many a painful and passionate thought. after all that i had done for isaac and amos riley, after all the regard they had professed for me, such a return as this for my services, such an evidence of their utter disregard of my claims upon them, and the intense selfishness with which they were ready to sacrifice me, at any moment, to their supposed interest, turned my blood to gall, and changed me from a lively, and, i will say, a pleasant-tempered fellow, into a savage, morose, dangerous slave. i was going not at all as a lamb to the slaughter; but i felt myself becoming more ferocious every day; and as we approached the place where this iniquity was to be consummated, i became more and more agitated with an almost uncontrollable fury. i said to myself, "if this is to be my lot, i cannot survive it long. i am not so young as those whose wretched condition i have but just now seen, and if it has brought them to such a condition, it will soon kill me. i am to be taken by my masters and owners, who ought to be my grateful friends, to a place and a condition where my life is to be shortened, as well as made more wretched. why should i not prevent this wrong if i can, by shortening their lives, or those of their agents, in accomplishing such detestable injustice? i can do the last easily enough. they have no suspicion of me, and they are at this moment under my control, and in my power. there are many ways in which i can dispatch them and escape; and i feel that i should be justified in availing myself of the first good opportunity." these were not thoughts which just flitted across my mind's eye and then disappeared. they fashioned themselves into shapes which grew larger and seemed firmer every time they presented themselves; and at length my mind was made up to convert the phantom shadow into a positive reality. i resolved to kill my four companions, take what money there was in the boat, then to scuttle the craft, and escape to the north. it was a poor plan, maybe, and would very likely have failed; but it was as well contrived, under the circumstances, as the plans of murderers usually are; and blinded by passion, and stung to madness as i was, i could not see any difficulty about it. one dark, rainy night, within a few days' sail of new orleans, my hour seemed to have come. i was alone on the deck; master amos and the hands were all asleep below, and i crept down noiselessly, got hold of an axe, entered the cabin, and looking by the aid of the dim light there for my victims, my eye fell upon master amos, who was nearest to me; my hand slid along the axe-handle; i raised it to strike the fatal blow,--when suddenly the thought came to me, "what! commit _murder_! and you a christian?" i had not called it murder before. it was self-defence,--it was preventing others from murdering me,--it was justifiable, it was even praiseworthy. but now, all at once, the truth burst upon me that it was a crime. i was going to kill a young man who had done nothing to injure me, but was only obeying commands which he could not resist; i was about to lose the fruit of all my efforts at self-improvement, the character i had acquired, and the peace of mind that had never deserted me. all this came upon me instantly, and with a distinctness which almost made me think i heard it whispered in my ear; and i believe i even turned my head to listen. i shrunk back, laid down the axe, and thanked god, as i have done every day since, that i had not committed murder. my feelings were still agitated, but they were changed. i was filled with shame and remorse for the design i had entertained, and with the fear that my companions would detect it in my face, or that a careless word would betray my guilty thoughts. i remained on deck all night, instead of rousing one of the men to relieve; and nothing brought composure to my mind but the solemn resolution i then made, to resign myself to the will of god, and take with thankfulness, if i could, but with submission, at all events, whatever he might decide should be my lot. i reflected that if my life were reduced to a brief term, i should have less to suffer; and that it was better to die with a christian's hope, and a quiet conscience, than to live with the incessant recollection of a crime that would destroy the value of life, and under the weight of a secret that would crush out the satisfaction that might be expected from freedom and every other blessing. it was long before i recovered my self-control and serenity; but i believe that no one but those to whom i have told the story myself, ever suspected me of having entertained such thoughts for a moment. chapter xi. providential deliverance. offered for sale.--examined by purchasers.--plead with my young master in vain.--man's extremity, god's opportunity.--good for evil.--return north.--my increased value.--resolve to be a slave no longer. in a few days after this trying crisis in my life, we arrived at new orleans. the little that remained of our cargo was soon sold, the men were discharged, and nothing was left but to dispose of me, and break up the boat, and then master amos would take passage on a steamboat, and go home. there was no longer any disguise about the disposition which was to be made of me. master amos acknowledged that such were his instructions, and he set about fulfilling them. several planters came to the boat to look at me; i was sent on some hasty errand that they might see how i could run; my points were canvassed as those of a horse would have been; and, doubtless, some account of my various faculties entered into the discussion of the bargain, that my value as a domestic animal might be enhanced. master amos had talked, with apparent kindness, about getting me a good master, who would employ me as a coachman, or as a house-servant; but as time passed on i could discern no particular effort of the kind. in our intervals of leisure i tried every possible means to move his heart. with tears and groans i besought him not to sell me away from my wife and children. i dwelt on my past services to his father, and called to his remembrance a thousand things i had done for him personally. i told him about the wretched condition of the slaves i had seen near vicksburg. sometimes he would shed tears himself, and say he was sorry for me. but still i saw his purpose was unchanged. he now kept out of my way as much as possible, and forestalled every effort i made to talk with him. his conscience evidently troubled him. he knew he was doing a cruel and wicked thing, and wanted to escape from thinking about it. i followed him up hard, for i was supplicating for my life. i fell down and clung to his knees in entreaties. sometimes when too closely pressed, he would curse and strike me. may god forgive him. and yet it was not all his fault. he was made so by the accursed relation of slavemaster and slave. i was property,--not a man, not a father, not a husband. and the laws of property and self-interest, not of humanity and love, bore sway. at length everything was wound up but this single affair. i was to be sold the next day, and master amos was to set off on his return, in a steamboat, at six o'clock in the afternoon. i could not sleep that night; its hours seemed interminably long, though it was one of the shortest of the year. the slow way in which we had come down had brought us to the long days and heats of june; and everybody knows what the climate of new orleans is at that period of the year. and now occurred one of those sudden, marked interpositions of providence, by which in a moment the whole current of a human being's life is changed; one of those slight and, at first, unappreciated contingencies, by which the faith that man's extremity is god's opportunity is kept alive. little did i think, when a little before daylight master amos called me and told me he felt sick, how much my future was bound up in those few words. his stomach was disordered, and i advised him to lie down again, thinking it would soon pass off. before long he felt worse, and it was soon evident that the river fever was upon him. he became rapidly ill, and by eight o'clock in the morning was utterly prostrate. the tables were now turned. i was no longer property, no longer a brute beast to be bought and sold, but his only friend in the midst of strangers. oh, how different was his tone from what it had been the day before! he was now the supplicant. a poor, terrified object, afraid of death, and writhing with pain, there lay the late arbiter of my destiny. how he besought me to forgive him. "stick to me, sie! stick to me, sie! don't leave me, don't leave me. i'm sorry i was going to sell you." sometimes he would say he had only been joking, and never intended to part with me. yes, the tables were utterly turned. he entreated me to dispatch matters, sell the flat-boat in which we had been living, and get him and his trunk, containing the proceeds of the trip, on board the steamer as quick as possible. i attended to all his requests, and by twelve o'clock that day he was in one of the cabins of the steamer appropriated to sick passengers. o, my god! how my heart sang jubilees of praise to thee, as the steamboat swung loose from the levee and breasted the mighty tide of the mississippi! away from this land of bondage and death! away from misery and despair! once more exulting hope possessed me. this time if i do not open my way to freedom, may god never give me chance again! before we had proceeded many hours on our voyage, a change for the better appeared in my young master. the change of air in a measure revived him; and well it was for him that such was the case. short as his illness had been, the fever had raged like a fire, and he was already near death. i watched and nursed him like a mother; for all remembrance of personal wrong was obliterated at sight of his peril. his eyes followed me in entreaty wherever i went. his strength was so entirely gone that he could neither speak nor move a limb, and could only indicate his wish for a teaspoonful of gruel, or something to moisten his throat, by a feeble motion of his lips. i nursed him carefully and constantly. nothing else could have saved his life. it hung by a thread for a long time. we were as much as twelve days in reaching home, for the water was low at that season, particularly in the ohio river; and when we arrived at our landing he was still unable to speak, and could only be moved on a sheet or a litter. something of this sort was soon fixed up at the landing, on which he could be carried to the house, which was five miles off; and i got a party of the slaves belonging to the estate to form relays for the purpose. as we approached the house, the surprise at seeing me back again, and the perplexity to imagine what i was bringing along, with such a party, were extreme; but the discovery was soon made which explained the strange appearance; and the grief of father and mother, and brothers and sisters, made itself seen and heard. loud and long were the lamentations over poor amos; and when the family came a little to themselves, great were the commendations bestowed upon me for my care of him and of the property. although we reached home by the tenth of july, it was not until the middle of august that master amos was well enough to leave his chamber. to do him justice, he manifested strong gratitude towards me. almost his first words after recovering his strength sufficiently to talk, were in commendation of my conduct. "if i had sold him i should have died." on the rest of the family no permanent impression seemed to have been made. the first few words of praise were all i ever received. i was set at my old work. my merits, whatever they were, instead of exciting sympathy or any feeling of attachment to me, seemed only to enhance my market value in their eyes. i saw that my master's only thought was to render me profitable to himself. from him i had nothing to hope, and i turned my thoughts to myself and my own energies. before long i felt assured another attempt would be made to dispose of me. providence seemed to have interfered once to defeat the scheme, but i could not expect such extraordinary circumstances to be repeated; and i was bound to do everything in my power to secure myself and my family from the wicked conspiracy of isaac and amos riley against my life, as well as against my natural rights, and those which i had acquired, under even the barbarous laws of slavery, by the money i had paid for myself. if isaac would only have been honest enough to adhere to his bargain, i would have adhered to mine, and paid him all i had promised. but his attempt to kidnap me again, after having pocketed three-fourths of my market value, in my opinion absolved me from all obligation to pay him any more, or to continue in a position which exposed me to his machinations. chapter xii. escape from bondage. solitary musings.--preparations for flight.--a long good night to master.--a dark night on the river.--night journeys in indiana.--on the brink of starvation.--a kind woman.--a new style of drinking cup.--reach cincinnati. during the bright and hopeful days i spent in ohio, while away on my preaching tour, i had heard much of the course pursued by fugitives from slavery, and became acquainted with a number of benevolent men engaged in helping them on their way. canada was often spoken of as the only sure refuge from pursuit, and that blessed land was now the desire of my longing heart. infinite toils and perils lay between me and that haven of promise; enough to daunt the stoutest heart; but the fire behind me was too hot and fierce to let me pause to consider them. i knew the north star--blessed be god for setting it in the heavens! like the star of bethlehem, it announced where my salvation lay. could i follow it through forest, and stream, and field, it would guide my feet in the way of hope. i thought of it as my god-given guide to the land of promise far away beneath its light. i knew that it had led thousands of my poor, hunted brethren to freedom and blessedness. i felt energy enough in my own breast to contend with privation and danger; and had i been a free, untrammeled man, knowing no tie of father or husband, and concerned for my own safety only, i would have felt all difficulties light in view of the hope that was set before me. but, alas! i had a wife and four dear children; how should i provide for them? abandon them i could not; no! not even for the blessed boon of freedom. they, too, must go. they, too, must share with me the life of liberty. it was not without long thought upon the subject that i devised a plan of escape. but at last i matured it. my mind fully made up, i communicated the intention to my wife. she was overwhelmed with terror. with a woman's instinct she clung to hearth and home. she knew nothing of the wide world beyond, and her imagination peopled it with unseen horrors. we should die in the wilderness,--we should be hunted down with blood-hounds,--we should be brought back and whipped to death. with tears and supplications she besought me to remain at home, contented. in vain i explained to her our liability to be torn asunder at any moment; the horrors of the slavery i had lately seen; the happiness we should enjoy together in a land of freedom, safe from all pursuing harm. she had not suffered the bitterness of my lot, nor felt the same longing for deliverance. she was a poor, ignorant, unreasoning slave-woman. i argued the matter with her at various times, till i was satisfied that argument alone would not prevail. i then told her deliberately, that though it would be a cruel trial for me to part with her, i would nevertheless do it, and take all the children with me except the youngest, rather than remain at home, only to be forcibly torn from her, and sent down to linger out a wretched existence in the hell i had lately visited. again she wept and entreated, but i was sternly resolute. the whole night long she fruitlessly urged me to relent; exhausted and maddened, i left her, in the morning, to go to my work for the day. before i had gone far, i heard her voice calling me, and waiting till i came up, she said, at last, she would go with me. blessed relief! my tears of joy flowed faster than had hers of grief. our cabin, at this time, was near the landing. the plantation itself extended the whole five miles from the house to the river. there were several distinct farms, all of which i was over-seeing, and therefore i was riding about from one to another every day. our oldest boy was at the house with master amos; the rest of the children were with my wife. the chief practical difficulty that had weighed upon my mind, was connected with the youngest two of the children. they were of three and two years, respectively, and of course would have to be carried. both stout and healthy, they were a heavy burden, and my wife had declared that i should break down under it before i had got five miles from home. sometime previously i had directed her to make me a large knapsack of tow cloth, large enough to hold them both, and arranged with strong straps to go round my shoulders. this done, i had practised carrying them night after night, both to test my own strength and accustom them to submit to it. to them it was fine fun, and to my great joy i found i could manage them successfully. my wife's consent was given on thursday morning, and i resolved to start on the night of the following saturday. sunday was a holiday; on monday and tuesday i was to be away on farms distant from the house; thus several days would elapse before i should be missed, and by that time i should have got a good start. at length the eventful night arrived. all things were ready, with the single exception that i had not yet obtained my master's permission for little tom to visit his mother. about sundown i went up to the great house to report my work, and after talking for a time, started off, as usual, for home; when, suddenly appearing to recollect something i had forgotten, i turned carelessly back, and said, "o, master amos, i most forgot. tom's mother wants to know if you won't let him come down a few days; she wants to mend his clothes and fix him up a little." "yes, boy, yes; he can go." "thankee, master amos; good night, good night. the lord bless you!" in spite of myself i threw a good deal of emphasis into my farewell. i could not refrain from an inward chuckle at the thought--how long a good night that will be! the coast was all clear now, and, as i trudged along home, i took an affectionate look at the well-known objects on my way. strange to say, sorrow mingled with my joy; but no man can live anywhere long without feeling some attachment to the soil on which he labors. it was about the middle of september, and by nine o'clock all was ready. it was a dark, moonless night, when we got into the little skiff, in which i had induced a fellow slave to set us across the river. it was an anxious moment. we sat still as death. in the middle of the stream the good fellow said to me, "it will be the end of me if this is ever found out; but you won't be brought back alive, sie, will you?" "not if i can help it," i replied; and i thought of the pistols and knife i had bought some time before of a poor white. "and if they're too many for you, and you get seized, you'll never tell my part in this business?" "not if i'm shot through like a sieve." "that's all," said he, "and god help you." heaven reward him. he, too, has since followed in my steps; and many a time in a land of freedom have we talked over that dark night on the river. in due time we landed on the indiana shore. a hearty, grateful farewell, such as none but companions in danger can know, and i heard the oars of the skiff propelling him home. there i stood in the darkness, my dear ones with me, and the all unknown future before us. but there was little time for reflection. before daylight should come on, we must put as many miles behind us as possible, and be safely hidden in the woods. we had no friends to look to for assistance, for the population in that section of the country was then bitterly hostile to the fugitive. if discovered, we should be seized and lodged in jail. in god was our only hope. fervently did i pray to him as we trudged on cautiously and steadily, and as fast as the darkness and the feebleness of my wife and boys would allow. to her, indeed, i was compelled to talk sternly; she trembled like a leaf, and even then implored me to return. for a fortnight we pressed steadily on, keeping to the road during the night, hiding whenever a chance vehicle or horseman was heard, and during the day burying ourselves in the woods. our provisions were rapidly giving out. two days before reaching cincinnati they were utterly exhausted. all night long the children cried with hunger, and my poor wife loaded me with reproaches for bringing them into such misery. it was a bitter thing to hear them cry, and god knows i needed encouragement myself. my limbs were weary, and my back and shoulders raw with the burden i carried. a fearful dread of detection ever pursued me, and i would start out of my sleep in terror, my heart beating against my ribs, expecting to find the dogs and slave-hunters after me. had i been alone i would have borne starvation, even to exhaustion, before i would have ventured in sight of a house in quest of food. but now something must be done; it was necessary to run the risk of exposure by daylight upon the road. the only way to proceed was to adopt a bold course. accordingly, i left our hiding-place, took to the road, and turned towards the south, to lull any suspicion that might be aroused were i to be seen going the other way. before long i came to a house. a furious dog rushed out at me, and his master following to quiet him, i asked if he would sell me a little bread and meat. he was a surly fellow. "no, he had nothing for niggers!" at the next i succeeded no better, at first. the man of the house met me in the same style; but his wife, hearing our conversation, said to her husband, "how can you treat any human being so? if a dog was hungry i would give him something to eat." she then added, "we have children, and who knows but they may some day need the help of a friend." the man laughed, and told her that she might take care of niggers, he wouldn't. she asked me to come in, loaded a plate with venison and bread, and, when i laid it into my handkerchief, and put a quarter of a dollar on the table, she quietly took it up and put it in my handkerchief, with an additional quantity of venison. i felt the hot tears roll down my cheeks as she said "god bless you;" and i hurried away to bless my starving wife and little ones. a little while after eating the venison, which was quite salt, the children become very thirsty, and groaned and sighed so that i went off stealthily, breaking the bushes to keep my path, to find water. i found a little rill, and drank a large draught. then i tried to carry some in my hat; but, alas! it leaked. finally, i took off both shoes, which luckily had no holes in them, rinsed them out, filled them with water, and carried it to my family. they drank it with great delight. i have since then sat at splendidly furnished tables in canada, the united states, and england; but never did i see any human beings relish anything more than my poor famishing little ones did that refreshing draught out of their father's shoes. that night we made a long run, and two days afterward we reached cincinnati. chapter xiii. journey to canada. good samaritans.--alone in the wilderness.--meet some indians.--reach sandusky.--another friend.--all aboard.--buffalo.--a "free nigger."--frenzy of joy on reaching canada. i now felt comparatively at home. before entering the town i hid my wife and children in the woods, and then walked on alone in search of my friends. they welcomed me warmly, and just after dusk my wife and children were brought in, and we found ourselves hospitably cheered and refreshed. two weeks of exposure to incessant fatigue, anxiety, rain, and chill, made it indescribably sweet to enjoy once more the comfort of rest and shelter. since i have lived in a land of freedom, i have heard harsh and bitter words spoken of those devoted men who are banded together to succor and bid god speed the hunted fugitive; men who, through pity for the suffering, have voluntarily exposed themselves to hatred, fines, and imprisonment. if there be a god who will have mercy on the merciful, great shall be their reward. in the great day when men shall stand in judgment before the divine master, crowds of the outcast and forsaken of earth shall gather around them, and in joyful tones bear witness, "we were hungry and ye gave us meat, thirsty and ye gave us drink, naked and ye clothed us, sick and ye visited us." and he who has declared that, "inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me," shall accept the attestation, and hail them with his welcome, "come ye blessed of my father." they can afford to bide their time. their glory shall yet be proclaimed from the house-tops. meanwhile may that "peace of god which the world can neither give nor take away" dwell richly in their hearts. among such as these--good samaritans, of whom the lord would say, "go ye and do likewise,"--our lot was now cast. carefully they provided for our welfare until our strength was recruited, and then they set us thirty miles on our way by wagon. we followed the same course as before--travelling by night and resting by day--till we arrived at the scioto, where we had been told we should strike the military road of general hull, in the last war with great britain, and might then safely travel by day. we found the road, accordingly, by the large sycamore and elms which marked its beginning, and entered upon it with fresh spirits early in the day. nobody had told us that it was cut through the wilderness, and i had neglected to provide any food, thinking we should soon come to some habitation, where we could be supplied. but we travelled on all day without seeing one, and lay down at night, hungry and weary enough. the wolves were howling around us, and though too cowardly to approach, their noise terrified my poor wife and children. nothing remained to us in the morning but a little piece of dried beef, too little, indeed, to satisfy our cravings, but enough to afflict us with intolerable thirst. i divided most of this among us, and then we started for a second day's tramp in the wilderness. a painful day it was to us. the road was rough, the underbrush tore our clothes and exhausted our strength; trees that had been blown down blocked the way; we were faint with hunger; and no prospect of relief opened up before us. we spoke little, but steadily struggled along; i with my babes on my back, my wife aiding the two other children to climb over the fallen trunks and force themselves through the briers. suddenly, as i was plodding along a little ahead of my wife and the boys, i heard them call me, and turning round saw my wife prostrate on the ground. "mother's dying," cried tom; and when i reached her it seemed really so. from sheer exhaustion she had fallen in surmounting a log. distracted with anxiety, i feared she was gone. for some minutes no sign of life was manifest; but after a time she opened her eyes, and finally recovering enough to take a few mouthfuls of the beef, her strength returned, and we once more went bravely on our way. i cheered the sad group with hopes i was far from sharing myself. for the first time i was nearly ready to abandon myself to despair. starvation in the wilderness was the doom that stared me and mine in the face. but again, "man's extremity was god's opportunity." we had not gone far, and i suppose it was about three o'clock in the afternoon, when we discerned some persons approaching us at no great distance. we were instantly on the alert, as we could hardly expect them to be friends. the advance of a few paces showed me they were indians, with packs on their shoulders; and they were so near that if they were hostile it would be useless to try to escape. so i walked along boldly, till we came close upon them. they were bent down with their burdens, and had not raised their eyes till now; and when they did so, and saw me coming towards them, they looked at me in a frightened sort of way for a moment, and then, setting up a peculiar howl, turned round, and ran as fast as they could. there were three or four of them, and what they were afraid of i could not imagine, unless they supposed i was the devil, whom they had perhaps heard of as black. but, even then, one would have thought my wife and children might have reassured them. however, there was no doubt they were well frightened, and we heard their wild and prolonged howl, as they ran, for a mile or more. my wife was alarmed, too, and thought they were merely running back to collect more of a party, and then to come and murder us; and she wanted to turn back. i told her they were numerous enough to do that, if they wanted to, without help; and that as for turning back, i had had quite too much of the road behind us, and that it would be a ridiculous thing that both parties should run away. if they were disposed to run, i would follow. we did follow, and the noise soon ceased. as we advanced, we could discover indians peeping at us from behind the trees, and dodging out of sight if they thought we were looking at them. presently we came upon their wigwams, and saw a fine-looking, stately indian, with his arms folded, waiting for us to approach. he was, apparently, the chief; and, saluting us civilly, he soon discovered we were human beings, and spoke to his young men, who were scattered about, and made them come in and give up their foolish fears. and now curiosity seemed to prevail. each one wanted to touch the children, who were as shy as partridges with their long life in the woods; and as they shrunk away, and uttered a little cry of alarm, the indian would jump back too, as if he thought they would bite him. however, a little while sufficed to make them understand what we were, and whither we were going, and what we needed; and as little to set them about supplying our wants, feeding us bountifully, and giving us a comfortable wigwam for our night's rest. the next day we resumed our march, having ascertained from the indians that we were only about twenty-five miles from the lake. they sent some of their young men to point out the place where we were to turn off, and parted from us with as much kindness as possible. in passing over the part of ohio near the lake, where such an extensive plain is found, we came to a spot overflowed by a stream, across which the road passed. i forded it first, with the help of a sounding-pole, and then taking the children on my back, first the two little ones, and then the others, one at a time, and, lastly, my wife, i succeeded in getting them safely across. at this time the skin was worn from my back to an extent almost equal to the size of the knapsack. one night more was passed in the woods, and in the course of the next forenoon we came out upon the wide plain, without trees, which lies south and west of sandusky city. the houses of the village were in plain sight. about a mile from the lake i hid my wife and children in the bushes, and pushed forward. i was attracted by a house on the left, between which and a small coasting vessel a number of men were passing and repassing with great activity. promptly deciding to approach them, i drew near, and scarcely had i come within hailing distance, when the captain of the schooner cried out, "hollo there, man! you want to work?" "yes, sir!" shouted i. "come along, come along; i'll give you a shilling an hour. must get off with this wind." as i came near, he said, "o, you can't work; you're crippled." "can't i?" said i; and in a minute i had hold of a bag of corn, and followed the gang in emptying it into the hold. i took my place in the line of laborers next to a colored man, and soon got into conversation with him. "how far is it to canada?" he gave me a peculiar look, and in a minute i saw he knew all. "want to go to canada? come along with us, then. our captain's a fine fellow. we're going to buffalo." "buffalo; how far is that from canada?" "don't you know, man? just across the river." i now opened my mind frankly to him, and told him about my wife and children. "i'll speak to the captain," said he. he did so, and in a moment the captain took me aside, and said, "the doctor says you want to go to buffalo with your family." "yes, sir." "well, why not go with me!" was his frank reply. "doctor says you've got a family." "yes sir." "where do you stop?" "about a mile back." "how long have you been here?" "no time," i answered, after a moment's hesitation. "come, my good fellow, tell us all about it. you're running away, ain't you?" i saw he was a friend, and opened my heart to him. "how long will it take you to get ready?" "be here in half an hour, sir." "well, go along and get them." off i started; but, before i had run fifty feet, he called me back. "stop," says he; "you go on getting the grain in. when we get off, i'll lay to over opposite that island, and send a boat back. there's a lot of regular nigger-catchers in the town below, and they might suspect if you brought your party out of the bush by daylight." i worked away with a will. soon the two or three hundred bushels of corn were aboard, the hatches fastened down, the anchor raised, and the sails hoisted. i watched the vessel with intense interest as she left her moorings. away she went before the free breeze. already she seemed beyond the spot at which the captain agreed to lay to, and still she flew along. my heart sunk within me; so near deliverance, and again to have my hopes blasted, again to be cast on my own resources. i felt that they had been making a mock of my misery. the sun had sunk to rest, and the purple and gold of the west were fading away into grey. suddenly, however, as i gazed with weary heart, the vessel swung round into the wind, the sails flapped, and she stood motionless. a moment more, and a boat was lowered from her stern, and with steady stroke made for the point at which i stood. i felt that my hour of release had come. on she came, and in ten minutes she rode up handsomely on to the beach. my black friend and two sailors jumped out, and we started off at once for my wife and children. to my horror, they were gone from the place where i left them. overpowered with fear, i supposed they had been found and carried off. there was no time to lose, and the men told me i would have to go alone. just at the point of despair, however, i stumbled on one of the children. my wife, it seemed, alarmed at my long absence, had given up all for lost, and supposed i had fallen into the hands of the enemy. when she heard my voice, mingled with those of the others, she thought my captors were leading me back to make me discover my family, and in the extremity of her terror she had tried to hide herself. i had hard work to satisfy her. our long habits of concealment and anxiety had rendered her suspicious of every one; and her agitation was so great that for a time she was incapable of understanding what i said, and went on in a sort of paroxysm of distress and fear. this, however, was soon over, and the kindness of my companions did much to facilitate the matter. and now we were off for the boat. it required little time to embark our baggage--one convenience, at least, of having nothing. the men bent their backs with a will, and headed steadily for a light hung from the vessel's mast. i was praising god in my soul. three hearty cheers welcomed us as we reached the schooner, and never till my dying day shall i forget the shout of the captain--he was a scotchman--"coom up on deck, and clop your wings and craw like a rooster; you're a free nigger as sure as the devil." round went the vessel, the wind plunged into her sails as though innoculated with the common feeling--the water seethed and hissed passed her sides. man and nature, and, more than all, i felt the god of man and nature, who breathes love into the heart and maketh the winds his ministers, were with us. my happiness, that night, rose at times to positive pain. unnerved by so sudden a change from destitution and danger to such kindness and blessed security, i wept like a child. the next evening we reached buffalo, but it was too late to cross the river that night. "you see those trees," said the noble hearted captain next morning, pointing to a group in the distance; "they grow on free soil, and as soon as your feet touch that you're a _mon_. i want to see you go and be a freeman. i'm poor myself, and have nothing to give you; i only sail the boat for wages; but i'll see you across. here green," said he to a ferryman; "what will you take this man and his family over for--he's got no money?" "three shillings." he then took a dollar out of his pocket and gave it to me. never shall i forget the spirit in which he spoke. he put his hand on my head and said, "be a good fellow, won't you?" i felt streams of emotion running down in electric courses from head to foot. "yes," said i; "i'll use my freedom well; i'll give my soul to god." he stood waving his hat as we pushed off for the opposite shore. god bless him! god bless him eternally! amen! it was the th of october, , in the morning, when my feet first touched the canada shore. i threw myself on the ground, rolled in the sand, seized handfuls of it and kissed them, and danced round till, in the eyes of several who were present, i passed for a madman. "he's some crazy fellow," said a colonel warren, who happened to be there. "o, no, master! don't you know? i'm free!" he burst into a shout of laughter. "well, i never knew freedom make a man roll in the sand in such a fashion." still i could not control myself. i hugged and kissed my wife and children, and, until the first exuberant burst of feeling was over, went on as before. chapter xiv. new scenes and a new home. a poor man in a strange land.--begin to acquire property.--resume preaching.--boys go to school.--what gave me a desire to learn to read.--a day of prayer in the woods. there was not much time to be lost, though in frolic even, at this extraordinary moment. i was a stranger in a strange land, and had to look about me, at once, for refuge and resource. i found a lodging for the night; and the next morning set about exploring the interior for the means of support. i knew nothing about the country or the people; but kept my eyes and ears open, and made such inquiries as opportunity afforded. i heard, in the course of the day, of a mr. hibbard, who lived some six or seven miles off, and who was a rich man, as riches were counted there, with a large farm, and several small tenements on it, which he was in the habit of letting to his laborers. to him i went, immediately, though the character given him by his neighbors was not, by any means, unexceptionably good. but i thought he was not, probably, any worse than those i had been accustomed to serve, and that i could get along with him, if honest and faithful work would satisfy him. in the afternoon i found him, and soon struck a bargain with him for employment. i asked him if there was any house where he would let me live. he said "yes," and led the way to an old two-story sort of shanty, into the lower story of which the pigs had broken, and had apparently made it their resting-place for some time. still, it was a house, and i forthwith expelled the pigs, and set about cleaning it for the occupancy of a better sort of tenants. with the aid of hoe and shovel, hot water and a mop, i got the floor into a tolerable condition by midnight, and only then did i rest from my labor. the next day i brought the rest of the hensons to _my house_, and though there was nothing there but bare walls and floors, we were all in a state of great delight, and my wife laughed and acknowledged that it was worth while, and that it was better than a log cabin with an earth-floor. i begged some straw of mr. hibbard, and confining it by logs in the corners of the room, i made beds of it three feet thick, upon which we reposed luxuriously after our long fatigues. another trial awaited me which i had not anticipated. in consequence of the great exposures we had been through, my wife and all the children fell sick; and it was not without extreme peril that they escaped with their lives. my employer soon found that my labor was of more value to him than that of those he was accustomed to hire; and as i consequently gained his favor, and his wife took quite a fancy to mine, we soon procured some of the comforts of life, while the necessaries of food and fuel were abundant. i remained with mr. hibbard three years, sometimes working on shares, and sometimes for wages; and i managed in that time to procure some pigs, a cow, and a horse. thus my condition gradually improved, and i felt that my toils and sacrifices for freedom had not been in vain. nor were my labors for the improvement of myself and others, in more important things than food and clothing, without effect. it so happened that one of my maryland friends arrived in this neighborhood, and hearing of my being here, inquired if i ever preached now, and spread the reputation i had acquired elsewhere for my gifts in the pulpit. i had said nothing myself, and had not intended to say anything of my having ever officiated in that way. i went to meeting with others, when i had an opportunity, and enjoyed the quiet of the sabbath when there was no assembly. i would not refuse to labor in this field, however, when desired to do so; and i hope it is no violation of modesty to state the fact, that i was frequently called upon, not by blacks alone, but by all classes in my vicinity--the comparatively educated, as well as the lamentably ignorant--to speak to them on their duty, responsibility, and immortality, on their obligations to their maker, their saviour, and themselves. it may, nay, i am aware it must, seem strange to many, that a man so ignorant as myself, unable to read, and having heard so little as i had of religion, natural or revealed, should be able to preach acceptably to persons who had enjoyed greater advantages than myself. i can explain it only by reference to our saviour's comparison of the kingdom of heaven to a plant which may spring from a seed no bigger than a mustard-seed, and may yet reach such a size, that the birds of the air may take shelter therein. religion is not so much knowledge as wisdom; and observation upon what passes without, and reflection upon what passes within a man's heart, will give him a larger growth in grace than is imagined by the devoted adherents of creeds, or the confident followers of christ, who call him "lord, lord," but do not the things which he says. mr. hibbard was good enough to give my eldest boy, tom, two quarters' schooling, to which the schoolmaster added more, of his own kindness, so that my boy learned to read fluently and well. it was a great advantage, not only to him, but to me; for i used to get him to read much to me in the bible, especially on sunday mornings, when i was going to preach; and i could easily commit to memory a few verses, or a chapter, from hearing him read it over. one beautiful summer sabbath i rose early, and called him to come and read to me. "where shall i read, father?" "anywhere, my son," i answered, for i knew not how to direct him. he opened upon psalm ciii. "bless the lord, o my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name;" and as he read this beautiful outpouring of gratitude, which i now first heard, my heart melted within me. i recalled, with all the rapidity of which thought is capable, the whole current of my life; and, as i remembered the dangers and afflictions from which the lord had delivered me, and compared my present condition with what it had been, not only my heart but my eyes overflowed, and i could neither check nor conceal the emotion which overpowered me. the words, "bless the lord, o my soul," with which the psalm begins and ends, were all i needed, or could use, to express the fullness of my thankful heart. when he had finished, tom turned to me and asked, "father, who was david?" he had observed my excitement, and added, "he writes pretty, don't he?" and then repeated his question. it was a question i was utterly unable to answer. i had never heard of david, but could not bear to acknowledge my ignorance to my own child. so i answered evasively, "he was a man of god, my son." "i suppose so," said he, "but i want to know something more about him. where did he live? what did he do?" as he went on questioning me, i saw it was in vain to attempt to escape, and so i told him frankly i did not know. "why, father," said he, "can't you read?" this was a worse question than the other, and, if i had any pride in me at the moment, it took it all out of me pretty quick. it was a direct question, and must have a direct answer; so i told him at once i could not. "why not?" said he. "because i never had an opportunity to learn, nor anybody to teach me." "well, you can learn now, father." "no, my son, i am too old, and have not time enough. i must work all day, or you would not have enough to eat." "then you might do it at night." "but still there is nobody to teach me. i can't afford to pay anybody for it, and, of course, no one can do it for nothing." "why, father, _i'll teach you_. i can do it, i know. and then you'll know so much more that you can talk better, and preach better." the little fellow was so earnest, there was no resisting him; but it is hard to describe the conflicting feelings within me at such a proposition from such a quarter. i was delighted with the conviction that my children would have advantages i had never enjoyed; but it was no slight mortification to think of being instructed by a child of twelve years old. yet ambition, and a true desire to learn, for the good it would do my own mind, conquered the shame, and i agreed to try. but i did not reach this state of mind instantly. i was greatly moved by the conversation i had with tom, so much so that i could not undertake to preach that day. the congregation were disappointed, and i passed the sunday in solitary reflection in the woods. i was too much engrossed with the multitude of my thoughts within me to return home to dinner, and spent the whole day in secret meditation and prayer, trying to compose myself, and ascertain my true position. it was not difficult to see that my predicament was one of profound ignorance, and that i ought to use every opportunity of enlightening it. i began to take lessons of tom, therefore, immediately, and followed it up every evening, by the light of a pine knot, or some hickory bark, which was the only light i could afford. weeks passed, and my progress was so slow that poor tom was almost discouraged, and used to drop asleep sometimes, and whine a little over my dullness, and talk to me very much as a schoolmaster talks to a stupid boy, till i began to be afraid that my age, my want of practice in looking at such little scratches, the daily fatigue, and the dim light, would be effectual preventives of my ever acquiring the art of reading. but tom's perseverance and mine conquered at last, and in the course of the winter i did really learn to read a little. it was, and has been ever since, a great comfort to me to have made this acquisition; though it has made me comprehend better the terrible abyss of ignorance in which i had been plunged all my previous life. it made me also feel more deeply and bitterly the oppression under which i had toiled and groaned; but the crushing and cruel nature of which i had not appreciated, till i found out, in some slight degree, from what i had been debarred. at the same time it made me more anxious than before to do something for the rescue and the elevation of those who were suffering the same evils i had endured, and who did not know how degraded and ignorant they really were. chapter xv. life in canada. condition of the blacks in canada.--a tour of exploration.--appeal to the legislature.--improvements. after about three years had passed, i improved my condition again by taking service with a gentleman by the name of riseley, whose residence was only a few miles distant, and who was a man of more elevation of mind than mr. hibbard, and of superior abilities. at his place i began to reflect, more and more, upon the circumstances of the blacks, who were already somewhat numerous in this region. i was not the only one who had escaped from the states, and had settled on the first spot in canada which they had reached. several hundreds of colored persons were in the neighborhood; and, in the first joy of their deliverance, were going on in a way which, i could see, led to little or no progress in improvement. they were content to have the proceeds of their labor at their own command, and had not the ambition for, or the perception of what was within their easy reach, if they did but know it. they were generally working for hire upon the lands of others, and had not yet dreamed of becoming independent proprietors themselves. it soon became my great object to awaken them to a sense of the advantages which were within their grasp; and mr. riseley, seeing clearly the justness of my views, and willing to coöperate with me in the attempt to make them generally known among the blacks, permitted me to call meetings at his house of those who were known to be among the most intelligent and successful of our class. at these meetings we considered and discussed the subject, till we were all of one mind; and it was agreed, among the ten or twelve of us who assembled at them, that we would invest our earnings in land, and undertake the task--which, though no light one certainly would yet soon reward us for our effort--of settling upon wild lands which we could call our own; and where every tree which we felled, and every bushel of corn we raised, would be for ourselves; in other words, where we could secure all the profits of our own labor. the advantages of this course need not be dwelt upon, in a country which is every day exemplifying it, and has done so for two hundred years and more; and has, by this very means, acquired an indestructible character for energy, enterprise, and self-reliance. it was precisely the yankee spirit which i wished to instill into my fellow-slaves, if possible; and i was not deterred from the task by the perception of the immense contrast in all the habits and character generated by long ages of freedom and servitude, activity and sloth, independence and subjection. my associates agreed with me, and we resolved to select some spot among the many offered to our choice, where we could colonize, and raise our own crops, eat our own bread, and be, in short, our own masters. i was deputed to explore the country, and find a place to which i would be willing to migrate myself; and they all said they would go with me, whenever such a one should be found. i set out accordingly in the autumn of , and travelled on foot all over the extensive region between lakes ontario, erie, and huron. when i came to the territory east of lake st. clair and detroit river, i was strongly impressed with its fertility, its convenience, and, indeed, its superiority, for our purposes, to any other spot i had seen. i determined this should be the place; and so reported, on my return, to my future companions. they were wisely cautious, however, and sent me off again in the summer, that i might see it at the opposite seasons of the year, and be better able to judge of its advantages. i found no reason to change my opinion, but upon going farther towards the head of lake erie, i discovered an extensive tract of government land, which, for some years, had been granted to a mr. mccormick upon certain conditions, and which he had rented out to settlers upon such terms as he could obtain. this land being already cleared, offered some advantages for the immediate raising of crops, which were not to be overlooked by persons whose resources were so limited as ours; and we determined to go there first, for a time, and with the proceeds of what we could earn there, to make our purchases in dawn afterwards. this plan was followed, and some dozen or more of us settled upon these lands the following spring, and accumulated something by the crops of wheat and tobacco we were able to raise. i discovered, before long, that mccormick had not complied with the conditions of his grant, and was not, therefore, entitled to the rent he exacted from the settlers. i was advised by sir john cockburn, to whom i applied on the subject, to appeal to the legislature for relief. we did so; and though mccormick was able, by the aid of his friends, to defeat us for one year, yet we succeeded the next, upon a second appeal, and were freed from all rent thereafter, so long as we remained. still, this was not our own land. the government, though it demanded no rent, might set up the land for sale at any time, and then we should, probably, be driven off by wealthier purchasers, with the entire loss of all our improvements, and with no retreat provided. it was manifest that it was altogether better for us to purchase before competition was invited; and we kept this fully in mind during the time we stayed here. we remained in this position six or seven years; and all this while the colored population was increasing rapidly around us, and spreading very fast into the interior settlements and the large towns. the immigration from the united sates was incessant, and some, i am not unwilling to admit, were brought hither with my knowledge and connivance; and i will now proceed to give a short account of the plans and operations i had arranged for the liberation of some of my brethren, which i hope may prove interesting to the reader. chapter xvi. conducting slaves to canada. sympathy for the slaves.--james lightfoot.--my first mission to the south.--a kentucky company of fugitives.--safe at home. the degraded and hopeless condition of a slave, can never be properly felt by him while he remains in such a position. after i had tasted the blessings of freedom, my mind reverted to those whom i knew were groaning in captivity, and i at once proceeded to take measures to free as many as i could. i thought that, by using exertion, numbers might make their escape as i did, if they had some practical advice how to proceed. i was once attending a very large meeting at fort erie, at which a great many colored people were present. in the course of my preaching i tried to impress upon them the importance of the obligations they were under; first, to god, for their deliverance; and then, secondly, to their fellow-men, to do all that was in their power to bring others out of bondage. in the congregation was a man named james lightfoot, who was of a very active temperament, and had obtained his freedom by fleeing to canada, but had never thought of his family and friends whom he had left behind, until the time he heard me speaking, although he himself had been free for some five years. however, that day the cause was brought home to his heart. when the service was concluded he begged to have an interview with me, to which i gladly acceded, and an arrangement was made for further conversation on the same subject one week from that time. he then informed me where he came from, also to whom he belonged, and that he had left behind a dear father and mother, three sisters and four brothers; and that they lived on the ohio river, not far from the city of maysville. he said that he never saw his duty towards them to be so clear and unmistakeable as he did at that time, and professed himself ready to coöperate in any measures that might be devised for their release. during the short period of his freedom he had accumulated some little property, the whole of which, he stated, he would cheerfully devote to carrying out those measures; for he had not had any rest, night nor day, since the meeting above mentioned. i was not able at that time to propose what was best to be done, and thus we parted; but in a few days he came to see me again on the same errand. seeing the agony of his heart in behalf of his kindred, i consented to commence the painful and dangerous task of endeavoring to free those whom he so much loved. i left my own family in the hands of no other save god, and commenced the journey alone, on foot, and travelled thus about four hundred miles. but the lord furnished me with strength sufficient for the undertaking. i passed through the states of new york, pennsylvania, and ohio--free states, so called--and crossed the ohio river into kentucky, and ultimately found his friends in the place he had described. i was an entire stranger to them, but i took with me a small token of their brother who was gone, which they at once recognized; and this was to let them know that he had gone to canada, the land of freedom, and had now sent a friend to assist them in making their escape. this created no little excitement. but his parents had become so far advanced in years that they could not undertake the fatigue; his sisters had a number of children, and they could not travel; his four brothers and a nephew were young men, and sufficiently able for the journey, but the thought of leaving their father, and mother, and sisters, was too painful; and they also considered it unsafe to make the attempt then, for fear that the excitement and grief of their friends might betray them; so they declined going at that time, but promised that they would go in a year, if i would return for them. to this i assented, and then went between forty and fifty miles into the interior of kentucky, having heard that there was a large party ready to attempt their escape, if they had a leader to direct their movements. i travelled by night, resting by day, and at length reached bourbon county, the place where i expected to find these people. after a delay of about a week, spent in discussing plans, making arrangements, and other matters, i found that there were about thirty collected from different states, who were disposed to make the attempt. at length, on a saturday night, we started. the agony of parting can be better conceived than described; as, in their case, husbands were leaving their wives, mothers their children, and children their parents. this, at first sight, will appear strange, and even incredible; but, when we take into consideration the fact, that at any time they were liable to be separated, by being sold to what are termed "nigger traders," and the probability that such an event would take place, it will, i think, cease to excite any surprise. we succeeded in crossing the ohio river in safety, and arrived in cincinnati the third night after our departure. here we procured assistance; and, after stopping a short time to rest, we started for richmond, indiana. this is a town which had been settled by quakers, and there we found friends indeed, who at once helped us on our way, without loss of time; and after a difficult journey of two weeks, through the wilderness, we reached toledo, ohio, a town on the south-western shore of lake erie, and there we took passage for canada, which we reached in safety. i then went home to my family, taking with me a part of this large party, the rest finding their friends scattered in other towns, perfectly satisfied with my conduct in the matter, in being permitted to be the instrument of freeing such a number of my fellow-creatures. chapter xvii. second journey on the underground railroad. a shower of stars.--kentuckians.--a stratagem.--a providence.--conducted across the miami river by a cow.--arrival at cincinnati.--one of the party taken ill.--we leave him to die.--meet a "friend."--a poor white man.--a strange impression.--once more in canada. i remained at home, working on my farm, until the next autumn, soon after which time i had promised to assist in the restoring to liberty the friends of james lightfoot, the individual who had excited my sympathy at the meeting at fort erie. in pursuance of this promise, i again started on my long journey into kentucky. on my way, that strange occurrence happened, called the great meteoric shower. the heavens seemed broken up into streaks of light and falling stars. i reached lancaster, ohio, about three o'clock in the morning, and found the village aroused, and the bells ringing, and the people exclaiming, "the day of judgment is come!" i thought it was probably so; but felt that i was in the right business, and walked on through the village, leaving the terrified people behind. the stars continued to fall till the light of the sun appeared. on arriving at portsmouth, in the state of ohio, i had a very narrow escape from being detected. the place was frequented by a number of kentuckians, who were quite ready to suspect a colored man, if they saw anything unusual about him. i reached portsmouth in the morning, and waited until two in the afternoon for the steamboat, so that i might not arrive in maysville till after dark. while in the town i was obliged to resort to a stratagem, in order to avoid being questioned by the kentuckians i saw in the place. to this end i procured some dried leaves, put them into a cloth and bound it all round my face, reaching nearly to my eyes, and pretended to be so seriously affected in my head and teeth as not to be able to speak. i then hung around the village till time for the evening boat, so as to arrive at maysville in the night. i was accosted by several during my short stay in portsmouth, who appeared very anxious to get some particulars from me as to who i was, where i was going, and to whom i belonged. to all their numerous inquiries i merely shook my head, mumbled out indistinct answers, and acted so that they could not get anything out of me; and, by this artifice, i succeeded in avoiding any unpleasant consequences. i got on board the boat and reached maysville, kentucky, in the evening, about a fortnight from the time i had left canada. on landing a wonderful providence happened to me. the second person i met in the street was jefferson lightfoot, brother of the james lightfoot previously mentioned, and one of the party who had promised to escape if i would assist them. he stated that they were still determined to make the attempt, and the following saturday night was named to put it into execution, and preparations for the journey were at once commenced. the reason why saturday night was chosen on this and the previous occasion was, that from not having to labor the next day, and being allowed to visit their families, they would not be missed until the time came for their usual appearance in the field, at which period they would be some eighty or a hundred miles away. during the interval i had to keep myself concealed by day, and used to meet them by night to make the necessary arrangements. for fear of being detected, they started off without bidding their father or mother farewell, and then, in order to prevent the hounds from following on our trail, we seized a skiff, a little below the city, and made our way down the river. it was not the shortest way, but it was the surest. it was sixty-five miles from maysville to cincinnati, and we thought we could reach that city before daylight, and then take the stage for sandusky. our boat sprung a leak before we had got half way, and we narrowly escaped being drowned; providentially, however, we got to the shore before the boat sunk. we then took another boat, but this detention prevented us from arriving at cincinnati in time for the stage. day broke upon us when we were about ten miles above the city, and we were compelled to leave our boat from fear of being apprehended. this was an anxious time. however, we had got so far away that we knew there was no danger of being discovered by the hounds, and we thought we would go on foot. when we got within seven miles of cincinnati, we came to the miami river, and we could not reach the city without crossing it. this was a great barrier to us, for the water appeared to be deep, and we were afraid to ask the loan of a boat, being apprehensive it might lead to our detection. we went first up and then down the river, trying to find a convenient crossing place, but failed. i then said to my company, "boys, let us go up the river and try again." we started, and after going about a mile we saw a cow coming out of a wood, and going to the river as though she intended to drink. then said i, "boys, let us go and see what that cow is about, it may be that she will tell us some news." i said this in order to cheer them up. one of them replied, in rather a peevish way, "oh that cow can't talk;" but i again urged them to come on. the cow remained until we approached her within a rod or two; she then walked into the river, and went straight across without swimming, which caused me to remark, "the lord sent that cow to show us where to cross the river!" this has always seemed to me to be a very wonderful event. having urged our way with considerable haste, we were literally saturated with perspiration, though it was snowing at the time, and my companions thought that it would be highly dangerous for us to proceed through the water, especially as there was a large quantity of ice in the river. but as it was a question of life or death with us, there was no time left for reasoning; i therefore advanced--they reluctantly following. the youngest of the lightfoots ere we had reached midway of the river, was seized with violent contraction of the limbs, which prevented further self-exertion on his part; he was, therefore, carried the remainder of the distance. after resorting to continued friction, he partially recovered, and we proceeded on our journey. we reached cincinnati about eleven on sunday morning--too late for the stage that day; but having found some friends, we hid ourselves until monday evening, when we recommenced our long and toilsome journey, through mud, rain, and snow, towards canada. we had increased our distance about miles, by going out of our road to get among the quakers. during our passage through the woods, the boy before referred to was taken alarmingly ill, and we were compelled to proceed with him on our backs; but finding this mode of conveying him exceedingly irksome, we constructed a kind of litter with our shirts and handkerchiefs laid across poles. by this time we got into the state of indiana, so that we could travel by day as long as we kept to the woods. our patient continued to get worse, and it appeared, both to himself and to us all, that death would soon release him from his sufferings. he therefore begged to be left in some secluded spot, to die alone, as he feared that the delay occasioned by his having to be carried through the bush, might lead to the capture of the whole company. with very considerable reluctance we acceded to his request, and laid him in a sheltered place, with a full expectation that death would soon put an end to his sufferings. the poor fellow expressed his readiness to meet the last struggle in hope of eternal life. sad, indeed, was the parting; and it was with difficulty we tore ourselves away. we had not, however, proceeded more than two miles on our journey, when one of the brothers of the dying man made a sudden stop, and expressed his inability to proceed whilst he had the consciousness that he had left his brother to perish, in all probability, a prey to the devouring wolves. his grief was so great that we determined to return, and at length reached the spot, where we found the poor fellow apparently dying, moaning out with every breath a prayer to heaven. words cannot describe the joyousness experienced by the lightfoots when they saw their poor afflicted brother once more; they literally danced for joy. we at once prepared to resume our journey as we best could, and once more penetrated the bush. after making some progress, we saw, at a little distance on the road, a wagon approaching, and i immediately determined to ascertain whether some assistance could not be obtained. i at length circumvented the road, so as to make it appear that i had been journeying in an opposite direction to that which the wagon was taking. when i came up with the driver, i bade him good day. he said, "where is thee going?" "to canada." i saw his coat, heard his _thee_ and _thou_, and set him down for a quaker. i therefore plainly told him our circumstances. he at once stopped his horses, and expressed his willingness to assist us. i returned to the place where my companions were in waiting for me, and soon had them in the presence of the quaker. immediately on viewing the sufferer he was moved to tears, and without delay turned his horses' heads, to proceed in the direction of his home, although he had intended to go to a distant market with a load of produce for sale. the reception we met with from the quaker's family overjoyed our hearts, and the transports with which the poor men looked upon their brother, now so favorably circumstanced, cannot be described. we remained with this happy family for the night, and received from them every kindness. it was arranged that the boy should remain behind until, through the blessing of god, he should recover. we were kindly provided by them with a sack of biscuit and a joint of meat, and once more set our faces in the direction of lake erie. after proceeding some distance on our road, we perceived a white man approaching, but as he was travelling alone, and on foot, we were not alarmed at his presence. it turned out that he had been residing for some time in the south, and although a free man, his employers had attempted to castigate him; in return for which he had used violence, which made it necessary that he should at once escape. we travelled in company, and found that his presence was of signal service to us in delivering us out of the hands of the slave-hunters who were now on our track, and eagerly grasping after their prey. we had resolved on reaching the lake, a distance of forty miles, by the following morning; we, therefore, walked all night. just as the day was breaking, we reached a wayside tavern, immediately contiguous to the lake, and our white companion having knocked up the landlord, ordered breakfast for six. whilst our breakfast was in course of preparation, we dosed off into slumber, wearied with our long-continued exertion. just as our breakfast was ready, whilst half asleep and half awake, an impression came forcibly upon me that danger was nigh, and that i must at once leave the house. i immediately urged my companions to follow me out, which they were exceedingly unwilling to do; but as they had promised me submission, they at length yielded to my request. we retired to the yard at the side of the house, and commenced washing ourselves with the snow, which was now up to our knees. presently we heard the tramping of horses, and were at once warned of the necessity of secreting ourselves. we crept beneath a pile of bushes which were lying close at hand, which permitted a full view of the road. the horsemen came to a dead stop at the door of the house, and commenced their inquiries; my companions at once recognized the parties on horseback, and whispered their names to me. this was a critical moment, and the loud beatings of their hearts testified the dreadful alarm with which they viewed the scene. had we been within doors, we should have been inevitably sacrificed. our white friend proceeded to the door in advance of the landlord, and maintained his position. he was at once interrogated by the slave-hunters whether he had seen any negroes pass that way. he said, yes, he thought he had. their number was demanded, and they were told about six, and that they were proceeding in the direction of detroit; and that they might be some few miles on the road. they at once reined their horses, which were greatly fatigued, through having been ridden all night, and were soon out of sight. we at length ventured into the house, and devoured breakfast in an incredibly short space of time. after what had transpired, the landlord became acquainted with our circumstances, and at once offered to sail us in his boat across to canada. we were happy enough to have such an offer, and soon the white sail of our little bark was laying to the wind, and we were gliding along on our way, with the land of liberty in full view. words cannot describe the feelings experienced by my companions as they neared the shore;--their bosoms were swelling with inexpressible joy as they mounted the seats of the boat, ready, eagerly, to spring forward, that they might touch the soil of the freeman. and when they reached the shore, they danced and wept for joy, and kissed the earth on which they first stepped, no longer the slave--but the free. after the lapse of a few months, on one joyous sabbath morning, i had the happiness of clasping the poor boy we had left in the kind care of the quaker, no longer attenuated in frame, but robust and healthy, and surrounded by his family. thus my joy was consummated, and superadded was the blessing of those who were ready to perish, which came upon me. it is one of the greatest sources of my happiness to know, that by similar means to those above narrated, i have been instrumental in delivering _one hundred and eighteen_ human beings out of the cruel and merciless grasp of the slaveholder. mr. frank taylor, the owner of the lightfoots, whose escape i have just narrated, soon after he missed his slaves, fell ill, and became quite deranged; but, on recovering, he was persuaded by his friends to free the remainder of the family of the lightfoots, which he at length did; and, after a short lapse of time, they all met each other in canada, where they are now living. chapter xviii. home at dawn. condition in canada.--efforts in behalf of my people.--rev. mr. wilson.--a convention of blacks.--manual-labor school. i did not find that our prosperity increased with our numbers. the mere delight the slave took in his freedom, rendered him, at first, contented with a lot far inferior to that which he might have attained. then his ignorance led him to make unprofitable bargains, and he would often hire wild land on short terms, and bind himself to clear a certain number of acres; and by the time they were clear and fitted for cultivation, his lease was out, and his landlord would come in, and raise a splendid crop on the new land; and the tenant would, very likely, start again on just such another bargain, and be no better off at the end of ten years than he was at the beginning. another way in which they lost the profits of their labor was by raising nothing but tobacco, the high price of which was very tempting, and the cultivation of which was a monopoly in their hands, as no white man understood it, or could compete with them at all. the consequence was, however, that they had nothing but tobacco to sell; there was rather too much of it in the market, and the price of wheat rose, while their commodity was depressed; and they lost all they should have saved, in the profit they gave the trader for his corn and stores. i saw the effect of these things so clearly that i could not help trying to make my friends and neighbors see it too; and i set seriously about the business of lecturing upon the subject of crops, wages, and profit, just as if i had been brought up to it. i insisted on the necessity of their raising their own crops, saving their own wages, and securing the profits of their own labor, with such plain arguments as occurred to me, and were as clear to their comprehension as to mine. i did this very openly; and, frequently, my audience consisted in part of the very traders whose inordinate profits upon individuals i was trying to diminish, but whose balance of profit would not be ultimately lessened, because they would have so many more persons to trade with, who would be able to pay them a reasonable advance in cash, or its equivalent, on all their purchases. the purse is a tender part of the system; but i handled it so gently, that the sensible portion of my natural opponents were not, i believe, offended; while those whom i wished to benefit saw, for the most part, the propriety of my advice, and took it. at least, there are now great numbers of settlers, in this region of canada, who own their farms, and are training up their children in true independence, and giving them a good elementary education, who had not taken a single step towards such a result before i began to talk to them. while i remained at colchester, i became acquainted with a congregational missionary from massachusetts, by the name of hiram wilson, who took an interest in our people, and was disposed to do what he could to promote the cause of improvement which i had so much at heart. he coöperated with me in many efforts, and i have been associated with him from to the present time. he has been a faithful friend, and still continues his important labors of love in our behalf. among other things which he did for us then, he wrote to a quaker friend of his, an englishman, by the name of james c. fuller, residing at skeneateles, new york, and endeavored to interest him in the welfare of our struggling population. he succeeded so far, that mr. fuller, who was going on a visit to england, promised to do what he could among his friends there, to induce them to aid us. he came back with fifteen hundred dollars which had been subscribed for our benefit. it was a great question how this sum, which sounded vast to many of my brethren, should be appropriated. i had my own opinion pretty decidedly as to what it was best for us all to do with it. but, in order to come to a satisfactory conclusion, the first thing to be done was to call a convention of delegates from every settlement of blacks that was within reach; that all might see that whatever was decided on, was sanctioned by the disinterested votes of those who were thought by their companions, best able to judge what was expedient. mr. wilson and myself called such a convention, therefore, to meet in london, upper canada, and it was held in june, . i urged the appropriation of the money to the establishment of a manual-labor school, where our children could be taught those elements of knowledge which are usually the occupations of a grammar-school; and where the boys could be taught, in addition, the practice of some mechanic art, and the girls could be instructed in those domestic arts which are the proper occupation and ornament of their sex. such an establishment would train up those who would afterwards instruct others; and we should thus gradually become independent of the white man for our intellectual progress, as we might be also for our physical prosperity. it was the more necessary, as in many districts, owing to the insurmountable prejudices of the inhabitants, the children of the blacks were not allowed to share the advantages of the common school. there was some opposition to this plan in the convention; but in the course of the discussion, which continued for three days, it appeared so obviously for the advantage of all to husband this donation, so as to preserve it for a purpose of permanent utility, that the proposal was, at last, unanimously adopted; and a committee of three was appointed to select and purchase a sight for the establishment. mr. wilson and myself were the active members of this committee, and after traversing the country for several months, we could find no place more suitable than that upon which i had had my eye for three or four years, for a permanent settlement, in the town of dawn. we therefore bought two hundred acres of fine rich land, on the river sydenham, covered with a heavy growth of black walnut and white wood, at four dollars the acre. i had made a bargain for two hundred acres adjoining this lot, on my own account; and circumstances favored me so, that the man of whom i purchased was glad to let me have them at a large discount from the price i had agreed to pay, if i would give him cash for the balance i owed him. i transferred a portion of the advantage of this bargain to the institution, by selling to it one hundred acres more, at the low price at which i obtained them. in i removed with my family to dawn, and as a considerable number of my friends are there about me, and the school is permanently fixed there, the future importance of this settlement seems to be decided. there are many other settlements which are considerable; and, indeed, the colored population is scattered over a territory which does not fall far short of three hundred miles in extent, in each direction, and probably numbers not less than twenty thousand persons in all. we look to the school, and the possession of landed property by individuals, as two great means of the elevation of our oppressed and degraded race to a participation in the blessings, as they have hitherto been permitted to share only the miseries and vices, of civilization. my efforts to aid them, in every way in my power, and to procure the aid of others for them, have been constant. i have made many journeys into new york, connecticut, massachusetts, and maine, in all of which states i have found or made some friends to the cause, and, i hope, some personal friends. i have received many liberal gifts, and experienced much kindness of treatment; but i must be allowed to allude particularly to the donations received from boston--by which we have been enabled to erect a saw-mill, and thus to begin in good earnest the clearing of our lands, and to secure a profitable return for the support of our school--as among those which have been most welcome and valuable to us. some of the trips i have made, have led to some incidents and observations which must be the theme of a future chapter. chapter xix. lumbering operations. industrial project.--find some able friends in boston.--procure funds and construct a saw-mill.--sales of lumber in boston.--incident in the custom house. the land on which we settled in canada was covered with a beautiful forest of noble trees of various kinds. our people were accustomed to cut them down and burn them on the ground, simply to get rid of them. often as i roamed through the forest, i was afflicted at seeing such waste, and longed to devise some means of converting this abundant natural wealth into money, so as to improve the condition of the people. full of this subject, i left my home on a journey of observation through the state of new york, and new england. i kept my purposes to myself, not breathing a word of my intentions to any mortal. i found in new york, mills where precisely such logs as those in canada were sawed into lumber, which i learned commanded large prices. in new england i found a ready market for the black walnut, white wood, and other lumber, such as abounded and was wasted in canada. on reaching boston, mass. i made known these facts and my feelings to some philanthropic gentlemen with whom i had become acquainted. it cannot be improper for me to mention the names of these gentlemen, who lent so ready an ear to my representations, and placed so much confidence in my judgment, as to furnish me with the means of starting what has since proved a very profitable enterprise. rev. ephraim peabody introduced me to samuel eliot, esq., who was kind enough to examine carefully into all my representations, and to draw up a sketch of them, which was afterwards presented to amos lawrence, esq., and others. by means of this a collection of money to aid me was made, to which many of the leading gentleman of boston contributed, amounting to about fourteen hundred dollars. with this money i returned to canada, and immediately set myself about building a saw-mill in camden (then dawn). the improvement in the surrounding section was astonishing. the people began to labor, and the progress in clearing up and cultivating the land was quite cheering. but after the frame-work of my mill was completed and covered, my scanty funds were exhausted. this was a trying time. i had begun the work in faith, i had expended the money honestly, and to the best of my judgment, and now should the whole enterprise fail? i immediately returned to my boston friends. amos lawrence, h. ingersoll bowditch, and samuel a. elliot, esqs., listened to me again, and gave me to understand that they deemed me an honest man. they encouraged me in my business enterprise, and the approval of such men was like balm to my soul. they endorsed a note for me and put it into the bank, by which i was enabled to borrow, on my own responsibility, about eighteen hundred dollars more. with this i soon completed the mill, stocked it with machinery, and had the pleasure of seeing it in successful operation. i ought here to add, that the mill was not my own private property, but belonged to an association, which established an excellent manual-labor school, where many children and youth of both sexes have been educated. the school was well attended by both colored children, whites, and some indians. this enterprise having been completed to a great extent by my own labor and the labor of my own sons, who took charge of the mill, i immediately began to consider how i could discharge my pecuniary obligations. i chartered a vessel, and loaded it with eighty thousand feet of good prime black walnut lumber, sawed in our mill, and contracted with the captain to deliver it for me at oswego, n. y. i entered into a contract there with a party to have it delivered at boston, but the party having forwarded it to new york, failed to carry it any farther. there great efforts were made to cheat me out of the lumber, but, by the good friendship of mr. lawrence, of boston, who furnished me the means of having it re-shipped, i succeeded in bringing the whole eighty thousand feet safe to boston, where i sold it to mr. jonas chickering for forty-five dollars per thousand feet. the proceeds paid all expenses, and would have cancelled all the debts i had incurred; but my friends insisted that i should retain a part of the funds for future use. after that, i brought another large load of lumber by the same route. the next season i brought a large cargo by the river st. lawrence, which came direct to boston, where, without the aid of any agent or third party whatever, i paid my own duties, got the lumber through the custom house, and sold it at a handsome profit. a little incident occurred when paying the duties, which has often since afforded me a great deal of amusement. the fugitive slave law had just been passed in the united states, which made it quite an offence to harbor or render aid to a fugitive slave. when the custom house officer presented his bill to me for the duties on my lumber, i jokingly remarked to him that perhaps he would render himself liable to trouble if he should have dealings with a fugitive slave, and if so i would relieve him of the trouble of taking my money. "are you a fugitive slave, sir?" "yes, sir," said i; "and perhaps you had better not have any dealings with me." "i have nothing to do with that," said the official; "there is your bill. you have acted like a man, and i deal with you as a man." i enjoyed the scene, and the bystanders seemed to relish it, and i paid him the money. i look back upon the enterprise related in this chapter with a great deal of pleasure, for the mill which was then built introduced an entire change in the appearance of that section of the country, and in the habits of the people. chapter xx. visit to england. debt on the institution.--a new pecuniary enterprise.--letters of recommendation to england.--personal difficulties.--called an imposter.--triumphant victory over these troubles. my interest in the manual labor school in dawn, was the means of my visiting england. no one who has never engaged in such business can have any idea of the many difficulties connected with so great an enterprise. in spite of all the efforts of the association, a debt of about seven thousand five hundred dollars rested upon it. a meeting of its trustees and friends, in the year , was called to consider its condition, and to devise, if possible, some means for its relief. after a long discussion of the matter, it was finally determined to separate the concern into two departments, and put it under the charge of two parties, the one to take the mill and a certain portion of the land for four years, and to pay all the debts of the institution in that time; and the other party to take the other buildings and land, and to conduct the school. a certain party was found willing to assume the school. but who would be enterprising enough to take the mill for four years encumbered with a debt of seven thousand five hundred dollars was a very important question. on consideration, having a secret project in my own mind, i concluded to do it, provided that mr. peter b. smith would assume an equal share of the responsibility, and attend to the business of the mill. he readily consented. my project was to go to england, carrying with me some of the best specimens of black walnut boards our farm would produce, and to exhibit them in the great world's industrial exhibition, then in session at london, and perhaps negotiate for the sale of lumber. i accordingly left for england, being readily furnished with very complimentary letters of introduction to such men as thomas binney, samuel gurney, lord brougham, hon. abbot lawrence, then american minister to england, from rev. john rolfe, of toronto, chief justice robinson, sir allen mcnab, col. john prince, rev. dr. duffield, of detroit, michigan, judge conant, of the same city, hon. ross wilkinson, u. s. judge, residing also in detroit, hon. charles sumner and amos lawrence, esq., of massachusetts. from the gentlemen above mentioned i had in england a most cordial reception, and was immediately introduced to the very best society in the kingdom. i regret exceedingly to make any allusions to personal difficulties, or to individuals that have pursued an unjust and unchristian course towards me or others, but i cannot give anything like a correct view of this part of my history without, at least, a brief allusion, which shall be as delicate as i can make it, to some difficulties. it was undoubtedly the plan of certain individuals of the party who assumed the care of the school, probably from unworthy sectarian feelings, to obtain entire possession of the property of the association, or certainly, completely to destroy my influence over it, and connection with it. much to my astonishment, therefore, when i had arrived in england, and had been cordially received by the men above mentioned, and had preached in the pulpits of such men as rev. messrs. thomas binney, baptist noel, william brock, james sherman, george smith, dr. burns, in london, and had already introduced my enterprise before a portion of the british public, i was confronted by a printed and published circular, to the following effect: "that one styling himself rev. josiah henson was an impostor, obtaining money under false pretences; that he could exhibit no good credentials; that whatever money he might obtain would not be appropriated according to the wish of the donors, and that the said josiah henson was an artful, skilful, and eloquent man, and would probably deceive the public." this was a severe blow, but fortunately i had already requested my friends to appoint a committee of twelve persons to examine carefully into the merits of my enterprise, which committee should appoint a sub-committee of three, and a treasurer, to receive every farthing contributed to me by the public, and to appropriate it only as they should deem proper. this committee had been appointed, and consisted of samuel gurney, samuel gurney, junior, samuel marley, esq., george hitchcock, esq., rev. james sherman, rev. thomas binney, rev. john branch, eusebius smith, esq., john scobell, secretary of the british and foreign anti-slavery society, lord ashley (now earl of shaftsbury), george sturge, and thomas sturge. the sub-committee of three were, john scobell, rev. john branch, and eusebius smith, who appointed samuel gurney, junior, treasurer. many of the above names are known throughout the world. when the above attack was made upon me, a meeting of those interested in my cause was called, and my accuser, who was in the country, was requested to meet me face to face. i forbear to mention his name, or to describe particularly the sources of this trouble, because i do not wish to injure the feelings of any person. the name, however, i can at any time give. i believe all the difficulty arose from little petty jealousies, fostered, perhaps, by the unworthy influences of slavery, over the misguided people who were for a time misled by false representations. we met before a company of english gentlemen, who heard all that my accuser had to say. they asked me for a reply. i simply re-stated to them all the facts i had previously made known. i reminded them that a man who devotes himself to do good, must and will be misunderstood and have enemies. i called their attention to the misinterpretation of their own motives made by their enemies. i then related to them the parable of christ about the wheat and the tares. my recommendatory letters were re-read--a sufficient reply to the allegation that i was an impostor. they were pleased to assure me of their entire satisfaction; but to give perfect quiet to the public they determined, at their own expense, to send an agent to canada, to make a full inquiry into the matter, and advised me to accompany him. accordingly john scobell and myself started for canada immediately. i had already collected nearly seventeen hundred dollars, which, of course, remained in the hands of the treasurer. a mass meeting, of all interested in the matter, was called in the institution on the premises. a large assemblage met, and rev. john rolfe of toronto, presided. a thorough examination into the records of the institution was made. the originator of the slander against me denied having made it; it was proved upon him, and the whole convention unanimously repudiated the false charges. mr. scobell remained in canada about three months, and before leaving, sent me a letter, informing me that whenever i should see fit to return to england, i should find in the hands of amos lawrence, esq., of boston, a draft to defray the expenses of the journey. accordingly, in the latter part of , i returned. the ground was now prepared for me, and i reaped an abundant harvest. the whole debt of the institution was cancelled in a few months, when i was recalled to canada by the fatal illness of my wife. several very interesting occurrences happened during my stay in england, which i must relate in another chapter. chapter xxi. the world's fair in london. my contribution to the great exhibition.--difficulty with the american superintendent.--happy release.--the great crowd.--a call from the queen.--medal awarded to me. i have already mentioned that the first idea which suggested to me the plan of going to england, was to exhibit, at the great world's fair, in london, some of the best specimens of our black walnut lumber, in the hope that it might lead to some sales in england. for this purpose i selected some of the best boards out of the cargo which i had brought to boston, which mr. chickering was kind enough to have properly packed in boxes, and sent to england in the american ship which carried the american products for exhibition. the boards which i selected were four in number, excellent specimens, about seven feet in length and four feet in width, of beautiful grain and texture. on their arrival in england, i had them planed and perfectly polished, in french style, so that they actually shone like a mirror. the history of my connection with the world's fair is a little amusing. because my boards happened to be carried over in the american ship, the superintendent of the american department, who was from boston, (i think his name was riddle), insisted that my lumber should be exhibited in the american department. to this i objected. i was a citizen of canada, and my boards were from canada, and there was an apartment of the building appropriated to canadian products. i therefore insisted that my boards should be removed from the american department, to the canadian. but, said the american, "you cannot do it. all these things are under my control. you can exhibit what belongs to you if you please, but not a single thing here must be moved an inch without my consent." this was rather a damper to me. i thought his position was rather absurd, but how to move him or my boards seemed just then beyond my control. a happy thought, however, occurred to me. thought i, if this yankee wants to retain my furniture, the world shall know who it belongs to. i accordingly hired a painter to paint in good large white letters on the tops of my boards: "this is the product of the industry of a fugitive slave from the united states, whose residence is dawn, canada." this was done early in the morning. in due time the american superintendent came around, and found me at my post. the gaze of astonishment with which he read my inscription, was laughable to witness. his face was black as a thunder-cloud. "look here, sir," said he; "what, under heaven, have you got up there?"--"o, that is only a little information to let the people know who i am."--"but don't you know better than that. do you suppose i am going to have that insult up there?" the english gentlemen began to gather around, chuckling with half-suppressed delight, to see the wrath of the yankee. this only added fuel to the fire. "well, sir," said he, "do you suppose i am going to bring that stuff across the atlantic for nothing?"--"i have never asked you to bring it for nothing. i am ready to pay you, and have been from the beginning."--"well, sir, you may take it away, and carry it where you please."--"o," said i, "i think, as you wanted it very much, i will not disturb it. you can have it now."--"no, sir; take it away!"--"i beg your pardon, sir," said i, "when i wanted to remove it you would not allow it, and now, for all me, it shall remain." in the meantime the crowd enjoyed it and so did i. the result was, that by the next day the boards were removed to their proper place at no expense to me, and no bill was ever presented against me for carrying the lumber across the atlantic. i may be permitted to say that in that immense exhibition, my humble contribution received its due share of attention. many conversations did i have with individuals of that almost innumerable multitude from every nation under heaven. perhaps my complexion attracted attention, but nearly all who passed, paused to look at me, and at themselves as reflected in my large black walnut mirrors. among others the queen of england, victoria, preceded by her guide, and attended by her cortége, paused to view me and my property. i uncovered my head and saluted her as respectfully as i could, and she was pleased with perfect grace to return my salutation. "is he indeed a fugitive slave?" i heard her inquire; and the answer was, "he is indeed, and that is his work." but notwithstanding such pleasant occurrences, the time wore heavily away. the immense crowd, kept in as perfect order as a single family, became wearisome to me, and i was not sorry, as related in a preceding chapter, to return to canada, leaving my boards on exhibition. on going again to england the exhibition was still in progress. there seemed no diminution of the crowd. like the waters of the great mississippi, the channel was still full, though the individuals were changed. but among all the exhibitors from every nation in europe, and from asia, and america, and the isles of the sea, there was not a single black man but myself. there were negroes there from africa, brought to be exhibited, but no exhibitors but myself. though my condition was wonderfully changed from what it was in my childhood and youth, yet it was a little saddening to reflect that my people were not more largely represented there. the time will yet come, i trust, when such a state of things will no longer exist. at the close of the exhibition, on my return to canada, i received from england a large quarto bound volume containing a full description of all the objects presented at the exhibition, the names of officers of all the committees, juries, exhibitors, prizes, etc., etc. among others i found my own name recorded; and there were in addition awarded to me a bronze medal, a beautiful picture of the queen and royal family, of the size of life, and several other objects of interest. these things i greatly prize. after having fully succeeded in my mission to england, having released myself from the voluntarily-assumed debt in behalf of the manual-labor school, and having received these testimonials of honor, i returned home to canada, contented and happy. while in england i was permitted to enjoy some excellent opportunities to witness its best society, which i propose to relate in the following chapter. chapter xxii. visits to the ragged schools. speech at sunday school anniversary.--interview with lord grey.--interview with the archbishop of canterbury, and dinner with lord john russell, the great events of my life. while in england i was frequently called upon to speak at public meetings of various kinds. i was deeply interested in the ragged school enterprise, and frequently addressed the schools, and also public meetings held in their behalf. i spent two, months of may, in that country, and attended many of the great anniversaries, and was called upon to speak at many of them. on several occasions i did what i could to make known the true condition of slaves, in exeter hall and other places. on one occasion, i recollect, an eminent man from pennsylvania, was addressing the anniversary of a sabbath school union, who boasted of the great benefits of sunday schools in the united states, and asserted that all classes indiscriminately enjoyed their blessings. i felt bound to contradict him, and after putting to the speaker a few questions which he stammeringly answered, i told the immense meeting that in the southern states, the great body of the colored people were almost entirely neglected, and in many places they were excluded altogether; and that even in the most of the northern states, the great mass of the colored children were not sought out and gathered into sunday schools. this created some little storm, but my own personal observation and experience carried conviction to the people. being thus introduced to the public, i became well acquainted with many of the leading men of england. lord grey made a proposition to me, which, if circumstances had permitted, i should have been glad to attempt. it was to go to india and there superintend some great efforts made by the government to introduce the culture of cotton on the american plan. he promised to me an appointment to an office, and a good salary. had it not been for my warm interest in my canadian enterprise, i should have accepted his proposal. one of the most pleasing incidents for me now to look back upon, was a long interview which i was permitted to enjoy with the archbishop of canterbury. the elevated social position of this man, the highest beneath the crown, is well known to all those acquainted with english society. samuel gurney, the noted philanthropist, introduced me, by a note and his family card, to his grace, the archbishop. he received me kindly in his palace. i immediately entered upon a conversation with him, upon the condition of my people, and the plans i had in view. he expressed the strongest interest in me, and after about a half hour's conversation he inquired, "at what university, sir, did you graduate?" "i graduated, your grace," said i in reply, "at the university of adversity." "the university of adversity," said he, looking up with astonishment; "where is that?" i saw his surprise, and explained. "it was my lot, your grace," said i, "to be born a slave, and to pass my boyhood and all the former part of my life as a slave. i never entered a school, never read the bible in my youth, and received all of my training under the most adverse circumstances. this is what i meant by graduating in the university of adversity." "i understand you, sir," said he. "but is it possible that you are not a scholar?" "i am not," said i. "but i should never have suspected that you were not a liberally educated man. i have heard many negroes talk, but have never seen one that could use such language as you. will you tell me, sir, how you learned our language?" i then explained to him, as well as i could, my early life; that it had always been my custom to observe good speakers, and to imitate only those who seemed to speak most correctly. "it is astonishing," said the archbishop. "and is it possible that you were brought up ignorant of religion? how did you attain to the knowledge of christ?" i explained to him, in reply, that a poor ignorant slave mother had taught me to say the lord's prayer, though i did not know then how, truly, to pray. "and how were you led to a better knowledge of the saviour?" i answered that it was by the hearing of the gospel preached. he then asked me to repeat the text, and to explain all the circumstances. i told him of the first sermon i heard, of the text, "he, by the grace of god, tasted death for every man." "a beautiful text was that," said the archbishop, and so affected was he by my simple story that he shed tears freely. i had been told by samuel gurney that perhaps the archbishop would give me an interview of a quarter of an hour; i glanced at the clock and found that i had already been there an hour and a half, and arose to depart. he followed me to the door, and begged of me if ever i came to england to call and see him again; and shaking hands affectionately with me, while the tears trembled in his eyes, he put into my hands graciously five golden sovereigns, (about twenty-five dollars,) and bade me adieu. i have always esteemed him as a warm-hearted christian. thus ended the interview with the venerable archbishop of england. on my second visit to england, i had an invitation, in company with a large number of sabbath school teachers, to spend a day on the beautiful grounds of lord john russell, then prime minister of england. his magnificent park, filled with deer, of all colors, and from all climes, and sleek hares, which the poet cowper would have envied, with numberless birds, whose plumage rivalled the rainbow in gorgeous colors, together with the choicest specimens of the finny tribe, sporting in their native element, drew from me the involuntary exclamation: "o, how different the condition of these happy, sportive, joyful, creatures, from what was once my own condition, and what is now the lot of millions of my colored brethren in america!" this occupancy of the elegant grounds of england's prime minister, for the day, by a party of sabbath school teachers, was what we should call, in america, a pic-nic, with this difference, that, instead of each teacher providing his own cakes, and pies, and fruit, they were furnished by men and women, who were allowed to come on to the grounds, with every variety of choice eatables for sale. after strolling over these charming grounds, enjoying the beautiful scenery, and the happy gambols of the brute creation, and the conversation of the many intelligent men and women, with whom we came in contact, we were most unexpectedly, at five o'clock, sent for to visit the elegant mansion of the proprietor. there we found what i will call a surprise party, or at any rate, we were taken by surprise, for we were ushered, three hundred of us at least, into a spacious dining hall, whose dimensions could not have been less than one hundred feet by sixty, and here were tables, groaning under every article of luxury for the palate, which england could supply, and to this bountiful repast we were all made welcome. i was invited to take the head of the table; i never felt so highly honored. the blessing was invoked by singing the two following verses. "be present at our table, lord, be here and everywhere adored: these creatures bless, and grant that we may feast in paradise with thee!" after dinner, various toasts were proposed, on various subjects, and in my humble way i offered the following: "first to england. honor to the brave, freedom to the slave, success to british emancipation. god bless the queen!" cheers and laughter followed the reading of this toast, succeeded by the usual english exclamations, "_up, up, up again!_" i again arose and gave, to our most sovereign lady, the queen: "may she have a long life, and a happy death. may she reign in righteousness, and rule in love!" and to her illustrious consort, prince albert: "may he have peace at home, pleasure abroad, love his queen, and serve the lord!" among the distinguished persons who made speeches on this joyous occasion, i will mention the names of rev. william brock, hon. samuel m. peto, and a mr. bess, brother-in-law of mr. peto, with his accomplished and beautiful lady. thus ended one of the pleasantest days of my life. chapter xxiii. closing up my london agency. my narrative published.--letter from home apprising me of the sickness of my wife.--departure from london.--arrival at home.--meeting with my family.--the great sorrow of my life, the death of my wife. the dinner at lord john russell's, as detailed in the previous chapter, was in the month of june, ; from that time to the first of august i was busily employed in finishing up all matters connected with my agency, in which i was very successful, having accomplished the objects of my mission. during the month of august, i was engaged in publishing a narrative of incidents in my slave-life, which i had been urgently requested to do by some of the noblest men and women in england. just as i had completed the work, and issued an edition of two thousand copies, i received, on the third of september, a letter from my family in canada, stating that my beloved wife, the companion of my life, the sharer of my joys and sorrows, lay at the point of death, and that she earnestly desired me to return immediately, that she might see me once more before she bid adieu to earth. this was a trying hour for me. i was in england, four thousand miles from my home. i had just embarked in an enterprise which i had every reason to suppose would be a very profitable undertaking. the first edition of my book was ready for sale, and now what shall i do? was the question which i asked myself. shall i remain here and sell ten thousand copies of my book, and make a handsome sum of money for myself and family, or shall i leave all and hasten to the bedside of my dying wife? i was not long in deciding the question. i will leave my books and stereotype plates, and all my property behind, and go. and on the morning of the fourth of september, having received the letter from home at four o'clock on the afternoon of the third, i was on my way from london to liverpool, and embarked from liverpool on the fifth, in the steamer canada, bound for boston. on the twentieth of the same month i arrived at my own canadian home. those who have been placed in similar situations, can realize what must have been my feelings as i drew near my humble dwelling. i had heard nothing since the information contained in the letter which reached me at liverpool. i knew not whether my dear wife, the mother of my children, she who had travelled with me, sad and solitary, and foot-sore, from the land of bondage; who had been to me a kind, and affectionate, and dutiful wife, for forty years, i knew not whether she was still alive, or whether she had entered into rest. a merciful father had, however, kindly prolonged her life, and we were permitted once more to meet. and oh! such a meeting; it was worth more to me than all the fancied gains from my english book. i was met in the yard by four of my daughters, who rushed to my arms, delighted at my unexpected return. they begged me not to go in to see mother, until they should first go and prepare her for it, thinking very wisely that the shock would be too great for her poor shattered nerves to bear. i consented that they should precede me. they immediately repaired to her sick room, and by gradual stages prepared her mind for our meeting. when i went to her bedside, she received and embraced me with the calmness and fortitude of a christian, and even chided me for the strong emotions of sorrow which i found it utterly impossible to suppress. i found her perfectly calm and resigned to the will of god, awaiting with christian firmness the hour for her summons. she was rejoiced to see me once more, while at the same time she said that perhaps she had done wrong in allowing me to be sent for to return, leaving my business behind, with all its flattering prospects. i told her that i was more than satisfied, that i was truly thankful to my heavenly father for granting us this interview, no matter what the pecuniary sacrifice might be. we talked over our whole past life as far as her strength would permit, reviewing the many scenes of sorrow and trouble, as well as the many bright and happy days of our pilgrimage, until exhausted nature sought repose, and she sunk into a quiet sleep. the day following she revived; my return seeming to inspire her with the hope that possibly she might again be restored to health. it was not, however, so to be; but god in his mercy granted her a reprieve, and her life was prolonged a few weeks. i thus had the melancholy satisfaction of watching day and night by her bed of languishing and pain, and was permitted to close her eyes when the final summons came. she blessed me, and blessed her children, commending us to the ever watchful care of that saviour who had sustained her in so many hours of trial; and finally, after kissing me and each one of the children, she passed from earth to heaven without a pang or a groan, as gently as the falling to sleep of an infant on its mother's breast. "who would not wish to die like those whom god's own spirit deigns to bless? to sink into that soft repose, then wake to perfect happiness?" i can truly and from an overflowing heart say, that she was a sincere and devoted christian, and a faithful and kind wife to me, even up to the day of her death arranging all our domestic matters in such a manner as to contribute as largely as possible to my comfort and happiness. rest in peace, dear wife. if i am faithful to the end, as thou wert, we shall ere long meet again in that world where the sorrows of life shall not be remembered or brought into mind. chapter xxiv. closing chapter. containing an accurate account of the past and present condition of the fugitive slaves in canada, with some remarks on their future prospects. i have been requested by many friends in this country to devote a chapter of my book to the fugitive slaves in canada; to a statement of their present numbers, condition, prospects for the future, etc. at the time of my first visit to canada, in the year , there were but a few hundred fugitive slaves in both canadas; there are now not less than thirty-five thousand. at that time they were scattered in all directions, and for the most part miserably poor, subsisting not unfrequently on the roots and herbs of the fields; now many of them own large and valuable farms, and but few can be found in circumstances of destitution or want. in there were no schools among them, and no churches, and only occasional preaching. we have now numerous churches, and they are well filled from sabbath to sabbath with attentive listeners; our children attend the sabbath school, and are being trained as we trust for heaven. we depend principally upon our farms for subsistence, but some of our number are good mechanics--blacksmiths, carpenters, masons, shoemakers, etc., etc. we have found the raising of stock very profitable, and can show some of the finest specimens of horse-flesh to be found on this continent, and we find a ready market for all our products. the soil is fertile and yields an abundant return for the husbandman's labor; and, although the season is short, yet ordinarily it is long enough to ripen corn, wheat, rye, oats, and the various productions of a northern new england or new york farm. of late considerable attention has been paid to the cultivation of fruit trees, apples, cherries, plums, peaches, quinces, currants, gooseberries, strawberries, etc., and they are doing well, and in a few years we doubt not will be quite profitable. it is a mistaken idea that many have, that fruit trees and vines cannot be cultivated to advantage on account of the severity of the climate; i have raised as delicious sweet potatoes on my farm as i ever saw in kentucky, and as good a crop of tobacco and hemp. we have at the present time a large number of settlements, and connected with these are schools at which our children are being taught the ordinary branches of an english education. we are a peaceable people, living at peace among ourselves and with our white neighbors, and i believe the day is not far distant when we shall take a very respectable rank among the subjects of her majesty, the excellent and most gracious queen of england and the canadas. even now, the condition and prospects of a majority of the fugitive slaves in canada is vastly superior to that of most of the free people of color in the northern states; and if thousands who are hanging about at the corners of streets waiting for a job, or who are mending old clothes, or blacking boots in damp cellars in boston, new york, and other large cities, would but come among us and bring their little ones and settle down upon our fine lands, it would be but a few years before they would find themselves surrounded by a pleasant and profitable home, and their children growing up around them with every advantage for a good education, and fitting themselves for lives of usefulness and happiness. the climate is good, the soil is good, the laws protect us from molestation; each and all may sit under their own vine and fig tree with none to molest or make them afraid. we are a temperate people; it is a rare sight to see an intoxicated colored man in canada. my task is done, if what i have written shall inspire a deeper interest in my race, and shall lead to corresponding activity in their behalf i shall feel amply repaid. * * * * * transcriber's notes minor punctuation typos have been silently corrected. retained author's spelling preferences except for the following changes: page : removed duplicate "of." (orig: behind the trees, and dodging out of of sight if they) page : switched "to" and "too." (orig: it was to late too cross the river that night.) page : changed "massachusets" to "massachusetts." (orig: from massachusets, by the name of hiram wilson,) page : changed "settlememt" to "settlement." (orig: delegates from every settlememt of blacks) +-------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ dred a tale of the great dismal swamp by harriet beecher stowe author of "uncle tom's cabin" "away to the dismal swamp he speeds: his path was rugged and sore,-- through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. and when on earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay where the deadly vine doth weep its venomous tears, that nightly steep the flesh with blistering dew." [illustration: logo] boston and new york houghton, mifflin and company the riverside press, cambridge copyright, and , by harriet beecher stowe _all rights reserved._ _the riverside press, cambridge, mass., u. s. a._ electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton & company. preface. the writer of this book has chosen, once more, a subject from the scenes and incidents of the slave-holding states. the reason for such a choice is two-fold. first, in a merely artistic point of view, there is no ground, ancient or modern, whose vivid lights, gloomy shadows, and grotesque groupings, afford to the novelist so wide a scope for the exercise of his powers. in the near vicinity of modern civilization of the most matter-of-fact kind exist institutions which carry us back to the twilight of the feudal ages, with all their exciting possibilities of incident. two nations, the types of two exactly opposite styles of existence, are here struggling; and from the intermingling of these two a third race has arisen, and the three are interlocked in wild and singular relations, that evolve every possible combination of romance. hence, if the writer's only object had been the production of a work of art, she would have felt justified in not turning aside from that mine whose inexhaustible stores have but begun to be developed. but this object, however legitimate, was not the only nor the highest one. it is the moral bearings of the subject involved which have had the chief influence in its selection. the issues presented by the great conflict between liberty and slavery do not grow less important from year to year. on the contrary, their interest increases with every step in the development of the national career. never has there been a crisis in the history of this nation so momentous as the present. if ever a nation was raised up by divine providence, and led forth upon a conspicuous stage, as if for the express purpose of solving a great moral problem in the sight of all mankind, it is this nation. god in his providence is now asking the american people, is the system of slavery, as set forth in the american slave code, _right_? is it so desirable, that you will directly establish it over broad regions, where, till now, you have solemnly forbidden it to enter? and this question the american people are about to answer. under such circumstances the writer felt that no apology was needed for once more endeavoring to do something towards revealing to the people the true character of that system. if the people are to establish such a system, let them do it with their eyes open, with all the dreadful realities before them. one liberty has been taken which demands acknowledgment in the outset. the writer has placed in the mouth of one of her leading characters a judicial decision of judge ruffin, of north carolina, the boldness, clearness, and solemn eloquence of which have excited admiration both in the old world and the new. the author having no personal acquaintance with that gentleman, the character to whom she attributes it is to be considered as created merely on a principle of artistic fitness. to maintain the unity of the story, some anachronisms with regard to the time of the session of courts have been allowed; for works of fiction must sometimes use some liberties in the grouping of incidents. but as mere cold art, unquickened by sympathy with the spirit of the age, is nothing, the author hopes that those who now are called to struggle for all that is noble in our laws and institutions may find in this book the response of a sympathizing heart. contents. chapter i. page the mistress of canema chapter ii. clayton chapter iii. the clayton family and sister anne chapter iv. the gordon family chapter v. harry and his wife chapter vi. the dilemma chapter vii. consultation chapter viii. old tiff chapter ix. the death chapter x. the preparation chapter xi. the lovers chapter xii. explanations chapter xiii. tom gordon chapter xiv. aunt nesbit's loss chapter xv. mr. jekyl's opinions chapter xvi. milly's story chapter xvii. uncle john chapter xviii. dred chapter xix. the conspirators chapter xx. summer talk at canema chapter xxi. tiff's preparations chapter xxii. the worshippers chapter xxiii. the camp-meeting chapter xxiv. life in the swamps chapter xxv. more summer talk chapter xxvi. milly's return chapter xxvii. the trial chapter xxviii. magnolia grove chapter xxix. the troubadour chapter xxx. tiff's garden chapter xxxi. the warning chapter xxxii. the morning star chapter xxxiii. the legal decision chapter xxxiv. the cloud bursts chapter xxxv. the voice in the wilderness chapter xxxvi. the evening star chapter xxxvii. the tie breaks chapter xxxviii. the purpose chapter xxxix. the new mother chapter xl. the flight into egypt chapter xli. the clerical conference chapter xlii. the result chapter xliii. the slave's argument chapter xliv. the desert chapter xlv. jegar sahadutha chapter xlvi. frank russel's opinions chapter xlvii. tom gordon's plans chapter xlviii. lynch law chapter xlix. more violence chapter l. engedi chapter li. the slave hunt chapter lii. "all over" chapter liii. the burial chapter liv. the escape chapter lv. lynch law again chapter lvi. flight chapter lvii. clear shining after rain appendix i. ii. iii. dred. a tale of the great dismal swamp. chapter i. the mistress of canema. "bills, harry?--yes.--dear me, where are they?--there!--no. here?--oh, look!--what do you think of this scarf? isn't it lovely?" "yes, miss nina, beautiful--but"-- "oh, those bills!--yes--well, here goes--here--perhaps in this box. no--that's my opera-hat. by the bye, what do you think of that? isn't that bunch of silver wheat lovely? stop a bit--you shall see it on me." and, with these words, the slight little figure sprang up as if it had wings, and, humming a waltzing-tune, skimmed across the room to a looking-glass, and placed the jaunty little cap on the gay little head, and then, turning a pirouette on one toe, said, "there, now!" "there, now!" ah, harry! ah, mankind generally! the wisest of you have been made fools of by just such dancing, glittering, fluttering little assortments of curls, pendants, streamers, eyes, cheeks, and dimples! the little figure, scarce the height of the venus, rounded as that of an infant, was shown to advantage by a coquettish morning-dress of buff muslin, which fluttered open in front to display the embroidered skirt, and trim little mouse of a slipper. the face was one of those provoking ones which set criticism at defiance. the hair, waving, curling, dancing hither and thither, seemed to have a wild, laughing grace of its own; the brown eyes twinkled like the pendants of a chandelier; the little, wicked nose, which bore the forbidden upward curve, seemed to assert its right to do so with a saucy freedom; and the pendants of multiplied brilliants that twinkled in her ears, and the nodding wreath of silver wheat that set off her opera-hat, seemed alive with mischief and motion. "well, what do you think?" said a lively, imperative voice,--just the kind of voice that you might have expected from the figure. the young man to whom this question was addressed was a well-dressed, gentlemanly person of about thirty-five, with dark complexion and hair, and deep, full blue eyes. there was something marked and peculiar in the square, high forehead, and the finely-formed features, which indicated talent and ability; and the blue eyes had a depth and strength of color that might cause them at first glance to appear black. the face, with its strongly-marked expression of honesty and sense, had about it many careworn and thoughtful lines. he looked at the little, defiant fay for a moment with an air of the most entire deference and admiration; then a heavy shadow crossed his face, and he answered, abstractedly, "yes, miss nina, everything you wear becomes pretty--and that is perfectly charming." "isn't it, now, harry? i thought you would think so. you see, it's my own idea. you ought to have seen what a thing it was when i first saw it in mme. le blanche's window. there was a great hot-looking feather on it, and two or three horrid bows. i had them out in a twinkling, and got this wheat in--which shakes so, you know. it's perfectly lovely!--well, do you believe, the very night i wore it to the opera, i got engaged?" "engaged, miss nina?" "engaged!--yes, to be sure! why not?" "it seems to me that's a very serious thing, miss nina." "serious!--ha! ha! ha!" said the little beauty, seating herself on one arm of the sofa, and shaking the glittering hat back from her eyes. "well, i fancy it was--to him, at least. i made him serious, i can tell you!" "but is this true, miss nina? _are_ you really engaged?" "yes, to be sure i am--to three gentlemen; and going to stay so till i find which i like best. may be, you know, i shan't like any of them." "engaged to three gentlemen, miss nina?" "to be sure!--can't you understand english, harry? i _am_ now--fact." "miss nina, is that right?" "right?--why not? i don't know which to take--i positively don't; so i took them all on trial, you know." "pray, miss nina, tell us who they are." "well, there's mr. carson;--he's a rich old bachelor--horridly polite--one of those little, bobbing men, that always have such shiny dickies and collars, and such bright boots, and such tight straps. and he's rich--and perfectly wild about me. he wouldn't take no for an answer, you know; so i just said yes, to have a little quiet. besides, he is very convenient about the opera and concerts, and such things." "well, and the next?" "well, the next is george emmons. he's one of your pink-and-white men, you know, who look like cream-candy, as if they were good to eat. he's a lawyer, of a good family,--thought a good deal of, and all that. well, really, they say he has talents--i'm no judge. i know he always bores me to death; asking me if i have read this or that--marking places in books that i never read. he's your sentimental sort--writes the most romantic notes on pink paper, and all that sort of thing." "and the third?" "well, you see, i don't like _him_ a bit--i'm sure i don't. he's a hateful creature! he isn't handsome; he's proud as lucifer; and i'm sure i don't know how he got me to be engaged. it was a kind of an accident. he's real good, though--too good for me, that's a fact. but, then, i'm afraid of him a little." "and his name?" "well, his name is clayton--mr. edward clayton, at your service. he's one of your high-and-mighty people--with such deep-set eyes--eyes that look as if they were in a cave--and such black hair! and his eyes have a desperate sort of sad look, sometimes--quite byronic. he's tall, and rather loose-jointed--has beautiful teeth; his mouth, too, is--well, when he smiles, sometimes it really is quite fascinating; and then he's so different from other gentlemen! he's kind--but he don't care how he dresses; and wears the most horrid shoes. and, then, he isn't polite--he won't jump, you know, to pick up your thread or scissors; and sometimes he'll get into a brown study, and let you stand ten minutes before he thinks to give you a chair, and all such provoking things. he isn't a bit of a lady's man. well, consequence is, as my lord won't court the girls, the girls all court my lord--that's the way, you know; and they seem to think it's such a feather in their cap to get attention from him--because, you know, he's horrid sensible. so, you see, that just set me out to see what i could do with him. well, you see, i wouldn't court him;--and i plagued him, and laughed at him, and spited him, and got him gloriously wroth; and he said some spiteful things about me, and then i said some more about him, and we had a real up-and-down quarrel;--and then i took a penitent turn, you know, and just went gracefully down into the valley of humiliation--as we witches can; and it took wonderfully--brought my lord on to his knees before he knew what he was doing. well, really, i don't know what was the matter, just then, but he spoke so earnest and strong that actually he got me to crying--hateful creature!--and i promised all sorts of things, you know--said altogether more than will bear thinking of." "and are you corresponding with all these lovers, miss nina?" "yes--isn't it fun? their letters, you know, can't speak. if they could, when they come rustling together in the bag, wouldn't there be a muss?" "miss nina, i think you have given your heart to this last one." "oh, nonsense, harry! haven't got any heart!--don't care two pins for any of them! all i want is to have a good time. as to love, and all that, i don't believe i could love any of them; i should be tired to death of any of them in six weeks. i never liked anything that long." "miss nina, you must excuse me, but i want to ask again, is it right to trifle with the feelings of gentlemen in this way?" "why not?--isn't all fair in war? don't they trifle with us girls, every chance they get--and sit up so pompous in their rooms, and smoke cigars, and talk us over, as if they only had to put out their finger and say, 'come here,' to get any of us? i tell you, it's fun to bring them down!--now, there's that horrid george emmons--i tell you, if he didn't flirt all winter with mary stephens, and got everybody to laughing about her!--it was so evident, you see, that she liked him--she couldn't help showing it, poor little thing!--and then my lord would settle his collar, and say he hadn't quite made up his mind to take her, and all that. well, i haven't made up my mind to take him, either--and so poor emma is avenged. as to the old bach--that smooth-dicky man--you see, he can't be hurt; for his heart is rubbed as smooth and hard as his dicky, with falling in love and out again. he's been turned off by three girls, now; and his shoes squeak as brisk as ever, and he's just as jolly. you see, he didn't use to be so rich. lately, he's come into a splendid property; so, if i don't take him, poor man, there are enough that would be glad of him." "well, then, but as to that other one?" "what! my lord lofty? oh, he wants humbling!--it wouldn't hurt him, in the least, to be put down a little. he's good, too, and afflictions always improve good people. i believe i was made for a means of grace to 'em all." "miss nina, what if all three of them should come at once--or even two of them?" "what a droll idea! wouldn't it be funny? just to think of it! what a commotion! what a scene! it would really be vastly entertaining." "now, miss nina, i want to speak as a friend." "no, you shan't! it is just what people say when they are going to say something disagreeable. i told clayton, once for all, that i wouldn't have him speak as a friend to me." "pray, how does he take all this?" "take it! why, just as he must. he cares a great deal more for me than i do for him." here a slight little sigh escaped the fair speaker. "and i think it fun to shock him. you know he is one of the fatherly sort, who is always advising young girls. let it be understood that his standard of female character is wonderfully high, and all that. and then, to think of his being tripped up before me!--it's _too_ funny!" the little sprite here took off her opera-hat, and commenced waltzing a few steps, and, stopping midwhirl, exclaimed: "oh, do you know we girls have been trying to learn the cachucha, and i've got some castanets? let me see--where are they?" and with this she proceeded to upset the trunk, from which flew a meteoric shower of bracelets, billets-doux, french grammars, drawing-pencils, interspersed with confectionery of various descriptions, and all the et ceteras of a school-girl's depository. "there, upon my word, there are the bills you were asking for. there, take them!" throwing a package of papers at the young man. "take them! can you catch?" "miss nina, these do not appear to be bills." "oh, bless me! those are love-letters, then. the bills are somewhere." and the little hands went pawing among the heap making the fanciful collection fly in every direction over the carpet. "ah! i believe now in this bonbon-box i did put them. take care of your head, harry!" and, with the word, the gilded missile flew from the little hand, and opening on the way, showered harry with a profusion of crumpled papers. "now you have got them all, except one, that i used for curl-papers the other night. oh, don't look so sober about it! indeed, i kept the pieces--here they are. and now don't you say, harry, don't you tell me that i never save my bills. you don't know how particular i have been, and what trouble i have taken. but, there--there's a letter clayton wrote to me, one time when we had a quarrel. just a specimen of that creature!" "pray tell us about it, miss nina," said the young man, with his eyes fixed admiringly on the little person, while he was smoothing and arranging the crumpled documents. "why, you see, it was just this way. you know, these men--how provoking they are! they'll go and read all sorts of books--no matter what _they_ read!--and then they are so dreadfully particular about us girls. do you know, harry, this always made me angry?" "well, so, you see, one evening sophy elliot quoted some poetry from don juan,--i never read it, but it seems folks call it a bad book,--and my lord clayton immediately fixed his eyes upon her in such an appalling way, and says, 'have you read don juan, miss elliot?' then, you know, as girls always do in such cases, she blushed and stammered, and said her brother had read some extracts from it to her. i was vexed, and said, 'and, pray, what's the harm if she did read it? _i_ mean to read it, the very first chance i get!' "oh! everybody looked so shocked. why, dear me! if i had said i was going to commit murder, clayton could not have looked more concerned. so he put on that very edifying air of his, and said, 'miss nina, i _trust_, as your friend, that you will not read that book. i should lose all respect for a lady friend who had read that.' "'have you read it, mr. clayton?' said i. "'yes, miss nina,' said he, quite piously. "'what makes you read such bad books?' said i, very innocently. "then there followed a general fuss and talk; and the gentlemen, you know, would not have their wives or their sisters read anything naughty, for the world. they wanted us all to be like snow-flakes, and all that. and they were quite high, telling they wouldn't marry this, and they wouldn't marry that, till at last i made them a curtsey, and said, 'gentlemen, we ladies are infinitely obliged to you, but _we_ don't intend to marry people that read naughty books, either. of course you know snow-flakes don't like smut!' "now, i really didn't mean anything by it, except to put down these men, and stand up for my sex. but clayton took it in real earnest. he grew red and grew pale, and was just as angry as he could be. well, the quarrel raged about three days. then, do you know, i made him give up, and own that he was in the wrong. there, i think he was, too,--don't you? don't you think men ought to be _as_ good as we are, any way?" "miss nina, i should think you would be afraid to express yourself so positively." "oh, if i cared a sou for any of them, perhaps i should. but there isn't one of the train that i would give _that_ for!" said she, flirting a shower of peanut-shells into the air. "yes, but, miss nina, some time or other you must marry somebody. you need somebody to take care of the property and place." "oh, that's it, is it? you are tired of keeping accounts, are you, with me to spend the money? well, i don't wonder. how i pity anybody that keeps accounts! isn't it horrid, harry? those awful books! do you know that mme. ardaine set out that 'we girls' should keep account of our expenses? i just tried it two weeks. i had a headache and weak eyes, and actually it nearly ruined my constitution. somehow or other, they gave it up, it gave them so much trouble. and what's the use? when money's spent, it's _spent_; and keeping accounts ever so strict won't get it back. i am very careful about my expenses. i never get anything that i can do without." "for instance," said harry, rather roguishly, "this bill of one hundred dollars for confectionery." "well, you know just how it is, harry. it's so horrid to have to study! girls must have something. and you know i didn't get it all for myself; i gave it round to all the girls. then they used to ask me for it, and i couldn't refuse--and so it went." "i didn't presume to comment, miss nina. what have we here?--mme. les cartes, $ ?" "oh, harry, that horrid mme. les cartes! you never saw anything like her! positively it is not my fault. she puts down things i never got: i know she does. nothing in the world but because she is from paris. everybody is complaining of her. but, then, nobody gets anything anywhere else. so what can one do, you know? i assure you, harry, i am economical." the young man, who had been summing up the accounts, now burst out into such a hearty laugh as somewhat disconcerted the fair rhetorician. she colored to her temples. "harry, now, for shame! positively, you aren't respectful!" "oh, miss nina, on my knees i beg pardon!" still continuing to laugh; "but, indeed, you must excuse me. i am positively delighted to hear of your economy, miss nina." "well, now, harry, you may look at the bills and see. haven't i ripped up all my silk dresses and had them colored over, just to economize? you can see the dyer's bill, there; and mme. carteau told me she always expected to turn my dresses twice, at least. oh, yes, i have been very economical." "i have heard of old dresses turned costing more than new ones, miss nina." "oh, nonsense, harry! what should you know of girls' things? but i'll tell you one thing i've got, harry, and that is a gold watch for you. there it is," throwing a case carelessly towards him; "and there's a silk dress for your wife," throwing him a little parcel. "i have sense enough to know what a good fellow you are, at any rate. i couldn't go on as i do, if you didn't rack your poor head fifty ways to keep things going straight here at home for me." a host of conflicting emotions seemed to cross the young man's face, like a shadow of clouds over a field, as he silently undid the packages. his hands trembled, his lips quivered, but he said nothing. "come, harry, don't this suit you? i thought it would." "miss nina, you are too kind." "no, i'm not, harry; i am a selfish little concern, that's a fact," said she, turning away, and pretending not to see the feeling which agitated him. "but, harry, wasn't it droll, this morning, when all our people came up to get their presents! there was aunt sue, and aunt tike, and aunt kate, each one got a new sack pattern, in which they are going to make up the prints i brought them. in about two days our place will be flaming with aprons and sacks. and _did_ you see aunt rose in that pink bonnet, with the flowers? you could see every tooth in her head! of course, now they'll be taken with a very pious streak, to go to some camp-meeting or other, to show their finery. why don't you laugh, harry?" "i do, don't i, miss nina?" "you only laugh on your face. you don't laugh deep down. what's the matter? i don't believe it's good for you to read and study so much. papa used to say that he didn't think it was good for"-- she stopped, checked by the expression on the face of her listener. "for _servants_, miss nina, your papa said, i suppose." with the quick tact of her sex, nina perceived that she had struck some disagreeable chord in the mind of her faithful attendant, and she hastened to change the subject, in her careless, rattling way. "why, yes, harry, study is horrid for you, or me either, or anybody else, except musty old people, who don't know how to do anything else. did ever anybody look out of doors, such a pleasant day as this, and want to study? think of a bird's studying, now, or a bee! they don't study--they live. now, i don't want to study--i want to live. so now, harry, if you'll just get the ponies and go in the woods, i want to get some jessamines, and spring beauties, and wild honeysuckles, and all the rest of the flowers that i used to get before i went to school." chapter ii. clayton. the curtain rises on our next scene, and discovers a tranquil library, illuminated by the slant rays of the afternoon's sun. on one side the room opened by long glass windows on to a garden, from whence the air came in perfumed with the breath of roses and honeysuckles. the floor covered with white matting, the couches and sofas robed in smooth glazed linen, gave an air of freshness and coolness to the apartment. the walls were hung with prints of the great masterpieces of european art, while bronzes and plaster-casts, distributed with taste and skill, gave evidence of artistic culture in the general arrangement. two young men were sitting together near the opened window at a small table, which displayed an antique coffee-set of silver, and a silver tray of ices and fruits. one of these has already been introduced to the notice of our readers, in the description of our heroine in the last chapter. edward clayton, the only son of judge clayton, and representative of one of the oldest and most distinguished families of north carolina, was in personal appearance much what our lively young friend had sketched--tall, slender, with a sort of loose-jointedness and carelessness of dress, which might have produced an impression of clownishness, had it not been relieved by a refined and intellectual expression on the head and face. the upper part of the face gave the impression of thoughtfulness and strength, with a shadowing of melancholy earnestness, and there was about the eye, in conversation, that occasional gleam of troubled wildness which betrays the hypochondriac temperament. the mouth was even feminine in the delicacy and beauty of its lines, and the smile which sometimes played around it had a peculiar fascination. it seemed to be a smile of but half the man's nature; for it never rose as high as the eyes, or seemed to disturb the dark stillness of their thoughtfulness. the other speaker was in many respects a contrast; and we will introduce him to our readers by the name of frank russel. furthermore, for their benefit, we will premise that he was the only son of a once distinguished and wealthy, but now almost decayed, family of virginia. it is supposed by many that friendship is best founded upon similarity of nature; but observation teaches that it is more common by a union of opposites, in which each party is attracted by something wanting in itself. in clayton, the great preponderance of those faculties which draw a man inward, and impair the efficiency of the outward life, inclined him to overvalue the active and practical faculties, because he saw them constantly attended with a kind of success which he fully appreciated, but was unable to attain. perfect ease of manner, ready presence of mind under all social exigencies, adroitness in making the most of passing occurrences, are qualities which are seldom the gift of sensitive and deeply-thoughtful natures, and which for this very reason they are often disposed to overvalue. russel was one of those men who have just enough of all the higher faculties to appreciate their existence in others, and not enough of any one to disturb the perfect availability of his own mind. everything in his mental furnishing was always completely under his own control, and on hand for use at a moment's notice. from infancy he was noted for quick tact and ready reply. at school he was the universal factotum, the "good fellow" of the ring, heading all the mischief among the boys, and yet walking with exemplary gravity on the blind side of the master. many a scrape had he rescued clayton from, into which he had fallen from a more fastidious moral sense, a more scrupulous honor, than is for worldly profit either in the boy's or man's sphere; and clayton, superior as he was, could not help loving and depending on him. the diviner part of man is often shamefaced and self-distrustful, ill at home in this world, and standing in awe of nothing so much as what is called common sense; and yet common sense very often, by its own keenness, is able to see that these unavailable currencies of another's mind are of more worth, if the world only knew it, than the ready coin of its own; and so the practical and the ideal nature are drawn together. so clayton and russel had been friends from boyhood; had roomed together their four years in college; and, though instruments of a vastly different quality, had hitherto played the concerts of life with scarce a discord. in person, russel was of about the medium size, with a well-knit, elastic frame, all whose movements were characterized by sprightliness and energy. he had a frank, open countenance, clear blue eyes, a high forehead shaded by clusters of curling brown hair; his flexible lips wore a good-natured yet half-sarcastic smile. his feelings, though not inconveniently deep, were easily touched; he could be moved to tears or to smiles, with the varying humor of a friend; but never so far as to lose his equipoise--or, as he phrased it, forget what he was about. but we linger too long in description. we had better let the reader hear the _dramatis personæ_, and judge for himself. "well, now, clayton," said russel, as he leaned back in a stuffed leather chair, with a cigar between his fingers, "how considerate of them to go off on that marooning party, and leave us to ourselves, here! i say, old boy, how goes the world now?--reading law, hey?--booked to be judge clayton the second! now, my dear fellow, if _i_ had the opportunities that you have--only to step into my father's shoes--i should be a lucky fellow." "well, you are welcome to all my chances," said clayton, throwing himself on one of the lounges; "for i begin to see that i shall make very little of them." "why, what's the matter?--don't you like the study?" "the study, perhaps, well enough--but not the practice. reading the theory is always magnificent and grand. 'law hath her seat in the bosom of god; her voice is the harmony of the world.' you remember we used to declaim that. but, then, come to the practice of it, and what do you find? are legal examinations anything like searching after truth? does not an advocate commit himself to one-sided views of his subject, and habitually ignore all the truth on the other side? why, if i practised law according to my conscience, i should be chased out of court in a week." "there you are, again, clayton, with your everlasting conscience, which has been my plague ever since you were a boy, and i have never been able to convince you what a humbug it is! it's what i call a _crotchety_ conscience--always in the way of your doing anything like anybody else. i suppose, then, of course, you won't go into political life.--great pity, too. you'd make a very imposing figure as senator. you have exactly the cut for a conscript father--one of the old viri romæ." "and what do you think the old viri romæ would do in washington? what sort of a figure do you think regulus, or quintus curtius, or mucius scævola, would make there?" "well, to be sure, the style of political action has altered somewhat since those days. if political duties were what they were then,--if a gulf would open in washington, for example,--you would be the fellow to plunge in, horse and all, for the good of the republic; or, if anything was to be done by putting your right hand in the fire and burning it off--or, if there were any carthaginians who would cut off your eyelids, or roll you down hill in a barrel of nails, for truth and your country's sake,--you would be on hand for any such matter. that's the sort of foreign embassy that you would be after. all these old-fashioned goings on would suit you to a t; but as to figuring in purple and fine linen, in paris or london, as american minister, you would make a dismal business of it. but still, i thought you might practise law in a wholesome, sensible way,--take fees, make pleas with abundance of classical allusions, show off your scholarship, marry a rich wife, and make your children princes in the gates--all without treading on the toes of your too sensitive moral what-d'-ye-call-ems. but you've done one thing like other folks, at least, if all 's true that i've heard." "and what is that, pray?" "what's that? hear the fellow, now! how innocent we are! i suppose you think i haven't heard of your campaign in new york--carrying off that princess of little flirts, miss gordon." clayton responded to the charge only with a slight shrug and a smile, in which not only his lips but his eyes took part, while the color mounted to his forehead. "now, do you know, clayton," continued russel, "i _like_ that. do you know i always thought i should detest the woman that you should fall in love with? it seemed to me that such a portentous combination of all the virtues as you were planning for would be something like a comet--an alarming spectacle. do you remember (i should like to know, if you do) just what that woman was to be?--was to have all the learning of a man, all the graces of a woman (i think i have it by heart); she was to be practical, poetical, pious, and everything else that begins with a _p_; she was to be elegant and earnest; take deep and extensive views of life; and there was to be a certain air about her, half madonna, half venus, made of every creature's best. ah, bless us! what poor creatures we are! here comes along our little coquette, flirting, tossing her fan; picks you up like a great solid chip, as you are, and throws you into her chip-basket of beaux, and goes on dancing and flirting as before. aren't you ashamed of it, now?" "no. i am really much like the minister in our town, where we fitted for college, who married a pretty polly peters in his sixtieth year, and, when the elders came to inquire if she had the requisite qualifications for a pastor's lady, he told them that he didn't think she had. 'but the fact is, brethren,' said he, 'though i don't pretend she is a saint, she is a very pretty little sinner, _and i love her_.' that's just my case." "very sensibly said; and, do you know, as i told you before, i'm perfectly delighted with it, because it is acting like other folks. but then, my dear fellow, do you think you have come to anything really solid with this little venus of the sea-foam? isn't it much the same as being engaged to a cloud, or a butterfly? one wants a little _streak_ of reality about a person that one must take for better or for worse. you have a deep nature, clayton. you really want a wife who will have some glimmering perception of the difference between you and the other things that walk and wear coats, and are called men." "well, then, really," said clayton, rousing himself, and speaking with energy, "i'll tell you just what it is: nina gordon is a flirt and a coquette--a spoiled child, if you will. she is not at all the person i ever expected would obtain any power over me. she has no culture, no reading, no habits of reflection; but she has, after all, a certain tone and quality to her, a certain '_timbre_,' as the french say of voices, which suits me. there is about her a mixture of energy, individuality, and shrewdness, which makes her, all uninformed as she is, more piquant and attractive than any woman i ever fell in with. she never reads; it is almost impossible to get her to read; but, if you can catch her ear for five minutes, her literary judgments have a peculiar freshness and truth. and so with her judgment on all other subjects, if you can stop her long enough to give you an opinion. as to heart, i think she has yet a wholly unawakened nature. she has lived only in the world of sensation, and that is so abundant and so buoyant in her that the deeper part still sleeps. it is only two or three times that i have seen a flash of this under nature look from her eyes, and color her voice and intonation. and i believe--i'm quite sure--that i am the only person in the world that ever touched it at all. i'm not at all sure that she loves me _now_; but i'm almost equally sure that she will." "they say," said russel, carelessly, "that she is generally engaged to two or three at a time." "that may be also," said clayton, indolently. "i rather suspect it to be the case now, but it gives me no concern. i've seen all the men by whom she is surrounded, and i know perfectly well there's not one of them that she cares a rush for." "well, but, my dear fellow, how can your extra fastidious moral notions stand the idea of her practising this system of deception?" "why, of course, it isn't a thing to my taste; but then, like the old parson, if i love the 'little sinner,' what am i to do? i suppose you think it a lover's paradox; yet i assure you, though she deceives, she is not deceitful; though she acts selfishly, she is not selfish. the fact is, the child has grown up, _motherless_ and an heiress, among servants. she has, i believe, a sort of an aunt, or some such relative, who nominally represents the head of the family to the eye of the world. but i fancy little madam has had full sway. then she has been to a fashionable new york boarding-school, and that has developed the talent of shirking lessons, and evading rules, with a taste for sidewalk flirtation. these are all the attainments that i ever heard of being got at a fashionable boarding-school, unless it be a hatred of books, and a general dread of literary culture." "and her estates are"-- "nothing very considerable. managed nominally by an old uncle of hers; really by a very clever quadroon servant, who was left her by her father, and who has received an education, and has talents very superior to what are common to those in his class. he is, in fact, the overseer of her plantation, and i believe the most loyal, devoted creature breathing." "clayton," said his companion, "this affair might not be much to one who takes the world as i do, but for you it may be a little too serious. don't get in beyond your depth." "you are too late, russel, for that--i _am_ in." "well, then, good luck to you, my dear fellow! and now, as we are about it, i may as well tell you that i'm _in_ for it, too. i suppose you have heard of miss benoir, of baltimore. well, she is my fate." "and are you really engaged?" "all signed and sealed, and to be delivered next christmas." "let's hear about her." "well, she is of a good height (i always said i shouldn't marry a short woman),--not handsome, but reasonably well-looking--very fine manners--knows the world--plays and sings handsomely--has a snug little fortune. now, you know i never held to marrying for money and nothing else; but then, as i'm situated, i could not have fallen in love without that requisite. some people call this heartless. i don't think it is. if i had met mary benoir, and had known that she hadn't anything, why, i should have known that it wouldn't do for me at all to cultivate any particular intimacy; but, knowing she had fortune, i looked a little further, and found she had other things too. now, if that's marrying for money, so be it. yours, clayton, is a genuine case of falling in love. but, as for me, i walked in with my eyes wide open." "and what are _you_ going to do with yourself in the world, russel?" "i must get into practice, and get some foothold there, you know; and then, hey for washington!--i'm to be president, like every other adventurer in these united states. why not i, as well as another man?" "i don't know, certainly," said clayton, "if you want it, and are willing to work hard enough and long enough, and pay all the price. i would as soon spend my life walking the drawn sword which they say is the bridge to mahomet's paradise." "ah! ah! i fancy i see you doing it! what a figure you'd make, my dear fellow, balancing and posturing on the sword-blade, and making horrid wry faces! yet i know you'd be as comfortable there as you would in political life. and yet, after all, you are greatly superior to me in every respect. it would be a thousand pities if such a man as you couldn't have the management of things. but our national ship has to be navigated by second-rate fellows, jerry-go-nimbles, like me, simply because we are good in dodging and turning. but that's the way. sharp's the word, and the sharpest wins." "for my part," said clayton, "i shall never be what the _world_ calls a _successful_ man. there seems to be one inscription written over every passage of success in life, as far as i've seen,--'what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?'" "i don't understand you, clayton." "why, it seems to me just this. as matters are going on now in our country, i must either lower my standard of right and honor, and sear my soul in all its nobler sensibilities, or i must be what the world calls an unsuccessful man. there is no path in life, that i know of, where humbuggery and fraud and deceit are not essential to success,--none where a man can make the purity of his moral nature the first object. i see satan standing in every avenue, saying, 'all these things will i give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.'" "why don't you take to the ministry, then, clayton, at once, and put up a pulpit-cushion and big bible between you and the fiery darts of the devil?" "i'm afraid i should meet him there, too. i could not gain a right to speak in any pulpit without some profession or pledge to speak this or that, that would be a snare to my conscience by and by. at the door of every pulpit i must swear always to find truth in a certain formula; and living, prosperity, success, reputation, will all be pledged on my finding it there. i tell you i should, if i followed my own conscience, preach myself out of pulpits quicker than i should plead out at the bar." "lord help you, clayton! what _will_ you do? will you settle down on your plantation, and raise cotton and sell niggers? i'm expecting to hear, every minute, that you've subscribed for the 'liberator,' and are going to turn abolitionist." "i do mean to settle down on my plantation, but not to _raise_ cotton or negroes as a chief end of man. i do take the 'liberator,' because i'm a free man, and have a right to take what i have a mind to. i don't agree with garrison, because i think i know more about the matter, where i stand, than he does, or can, where he stands. but it's his _right_, as an honest man, to say what he thinks; and i should use it in his place. if i saw things as he does, i _should_ be an abolitionist. but i don't." "that's a mercy, at least," said russel, "to a man with your taste for martyrdom. but what are you going to do?" "what any christian man should do who finds four hundred odd of his fellow men and women placed in a state of absolute dependence on him. i'm going to educate and fit them for freedom. there isn't a sublimer power on earth than god has given to us, masters. the law gives us absolute and unlimited control. a plantation such as a plantation might be would be 'a light to lighten the gentiles.' there is a wonderful and beautiful development locked up in this ethiopian race, and it is worth being a life-object to unlock it. the raising of cotton is to be the least of the thing. i regard my plantation as a sphere for raising _men and women_, and demonstrating the capabilities of a race." "selah!" said russel. clayton looked angry. "i beg your pardon, clayton. this is all superb, sublime! there is just one objection to it--it is wholly impossible." "every good and great thing has been called impossible before it is done." "well, let me tell you, clayton, just how it will be. you will be a mark for arrows, both sides. you will offend all your neighbors by doing better than they do. you will bring your negroes up to a point in which they will meet the current of the whole community against them, and meanwhile you will get no credit with the abolitionists. they will call you a cutthroat, pirate, sheep-stealer, and all the rest of their elegant little list of embellishments, all the same. you'll get a state of things that nobody can manage but yourself, and you by the hardest; and then you'll die, and it'll all run to the devil faster than you run it up. now, if you would do the thing by halves, it wouldn't be so bad; but i know you of old. you won't be satisfied with teaching a catechism and a few hymns, parrot-wise, which i think is a respectable religious amusement for our women. you'll teach 'em all to read, and write, and think, and speak. i shouldn't wonder to hear of an importation of black-boards and spelling-books. you'll want a lyceum and debating society. pray, what does sister anne say to all this? anne is a sensible girl now, but i'll warrant you've got her to go in for it." "anne is as much interested as i, but her practical tact is greater than mine, and she is of use in detecting difficulties that i do not see. i have an excellent man, who enters fully into my views, who takes charge of the business interests of the plantation, instead of one of these scoundrel overseers. there is to be a graduated system of work and wages introduced--a system that shall teach the nature and rights of property and train to habits of industry and frugality, by making every man's acquirements equal to his industry and good conduct." "and what sort of a support do _you_ expect to make out of all this? are you going to live for them, or they for you?" "i shall set them the example of living for _them_, and trust to awaken the good that is in them, in return. the strong ought to live for the weak--the cultivated for the ignorant." "well, clayton, the lord help you! i'm in earnest now--fact! though i know you won't do it, yet i wish you could. it's a pity, clayton, you were born in this world. it isn't you, but our planet and planetary ways, that are in fault. your mind is a splendid storehouse--gold and gems of ophir--but they are all up in the fifth story, and no staircase to get 'em down into common life. now i've just enough appreciation of the sort of thing that 's in you, not to laugh at you. nine out of ten would. to tell you the truth, if i were already set up in life, and had as definite a position as you have,--family, friends, influence, and means,--why, perhaps i might afford to cultivate this style of thing. but i tell you what it is, clayton, such a conscience as yours is cursedly expensive to keep. it's like a carriage--a fellow mustn't set it up unless he can afford it. it's one of the luxuries." "it's a _necessary_ of life, with me," said clayton, dryly. "well, that's your nature. i can't afford it. i've got my way to make. _i must succeed_, and with your ultra notions i couldn't succeed. so there it is. after all, i can be as religious as dozens of your most respectable men, who have taken their seats in the night-train for paradise, and keep the daylight for their own business." "i dare say you can." "yes, and i shall get all i aim at; and you, clayton, will be always an unhappy, dissatisfied aspirant after something too high for mortality. there's just the difference between us." the conversation was here interrupted by the return of the family party. chapter iii. the clayton family and sister anne. the family party, which was now ushered in, consisted of clayton's father, mother, and sister. judge clayton was a tall, dignified, elderly personage, in whom one recognized, at a glance, the gentleman of the old school. his hair, snowy white, formed a singular contrast with the brightness of his blue eyes, whose peculiar acuteness of glance might remind one of a falcon. there was something stately in the position of the head and the carriage of the figure, and a punctilious exactness in the whole air and manner, that gave one a slight impression of sternness. the clear, sharp blue of his eye seemed to be that of a calm and decided intellect, of a logical severity of thought; and contrasted with the silvery hair with that same expression of cold beauty that is given by the contrast of snow mountains cutting into the keen, metallic blue of an alpine sky. one should apprehend much to fear from such a man's reason--little to hope from any outburst of his emotional nature. yet, as a man, perhaps injustice was done to judge clayton by this first impression; for there was, deep beneath this external coldness, a severely-repressed nature, of the most fiery and passionate vehemence. his family affections were strong and tender, seldom manifested in words, but always by the most exact appreciation and consideration for all who came within his sphere. he was strictly and impartially just in all the little minutiæ of social and domestic life, never hesitating to speak a truth or acknowledge an error. mrs. clayton was a high-bred, elderly lady, whose well-preserved delicacy of complexion, brilliant dark eyes, and fine figure, spoke of a youth of beauty. of a nature imaginative, impulsive, and ardent, inclining constantly to generous extremes, she had thrown herself with passionate devotion round her clear-judging husband, as the alpine rose girdles with beauty the breast of the bright, pure glacier. between clayton and his father there existed an affection deep and entire; yet, as the son developed to manhood, it became increasingly evident that they could never move harmoniously in the same practical orbit. the nature of the son was so veined and crossed with that of the mother, that the father, in attempting the age-long and often-tried experiment of making his child an exact copy of himself, found himself extremely puzzled and confused in the operation. clayton was ideal to an excess; ideality colored every faculty of his mind, and swayed all his reasonings, as an unseen magnet will swerve the needle. ideality pervaded his conscientiousness, urging him always to rise above the commonly-received and so-called practical in morals. hence, while he worshipped the theory of law, the practice filled him with disgust; and his father was obliged constantly to point out deficiencies in reasonings, founded more on a keen appreciation of what things ought to be, than on a practical regard to what they are. nevertheless, clayton partook enough of his father's strong and steady nature to be his mother's idol, who, perhaps, loved this second rendering of the parental nature with even more doting tenderness than the first. anne clayton was the eldest of three sisters, and the special companion and confidant of the brother; and, as she stands there untying her bonnet-strings, we must also present her to the reader. she is a little above the medium height, with that breadth and full development of chest which one admires in english women. she carries her well-formed head on her graceful shoulders with a positive, decided air, only a little on this side of haughtiness. her clear brown complexion reddens into a fine glow in the cheek, giving one the impression of sound, perfect health. the positive outline of the small aquiline nose; the large, frank, well-formed mouth, with its clear rows of shining teeth; the brown eyes, which have caught something of the falcon keenness of the father, are points in the picture by no means to be overlooked. taking her air altogether, there was an honest frankness about her which encouraged conversation, and put one instantly at ease. yet no man in his senses could ever venture to take the slightest liberty with anne clayton. with all her frankness, there was ever in her manner a perfectly-defined "thus far shalt thou come, and no further." beaux, suitors, lovers in abundance, had stood, knelt, and sighed protesting, at her shrine. yet anne clayton was twenty-seven, and unmarried. everybody wondered why; and as to that, we can only wonder with the rest. her own account of the matter was simple and positive. she did not wish to marry--was happy enough without. the intimacy between the brother and sister had been more than usually strong, notwithstanding marked differences of character; for anne had not a particle of ideality. sense she had, shrewdness, and a pleasant dash of humor withal; but she was eminently what people call a practical girl. she admired highly the contrary of all this in her brother; she delighted in the poetic-heroic element in him, for much the same reason that young ladies used to admire thaddeus of warsaw and william wallace--because it was something quite out of her line. in the whole world of ideas she had an almost idolatrous veneration for her brother; in the sphere of practical operations she felt free to assert, with a certain good-natured positiveness, her own superiority. there was no one in the world, perhaps, of whose judgment in this respect clayton stood more in awe. at the present juncture of affairs clayton felt himself rather awkwardly embarrassed in communicating to her an event which she would immediately feel she had a right to know before. a sister of anne clayton's positive character does not usually live twenty-seven years in constant intimacy with a brother like clayton, without such an attachment as renders the first announcement of a contemplated marriage somewhat painful. why, then, had clayton, who always unreservedly corresponded with his sister, not kept her apprised of his gradual attachment to nina? the secret of the matter was, that he had had an instinctive consciousness that he could not present nina to the practical, clear-judging mind of his sister, as she appeared through the mist and spray of his imaginative nature. the hard facts of her case would be sure to tell against her in any communication he might make; and sensitive people never like the fatigue of justifying their instincts. nothing, in fact, is less capable of being justified by technical reasons than those fine insights into character whereupon affection is built. we have all had experience of preferences which would not follow the most exactly ascertained catalogue of virtues, and would be made captive where there was very little to be said in justification of the captivity. but, meanwhile, rumor, always busy, had not failed to convey to anne clayton some suspicions of what was passing; and, though her delicacy and pride forbade any allusion to it, she keenly felt the want of confidence, and of course was not any more charitably disposed towards the little rival for this reason. but now the matter had attained such a shape in clayton's mind that he felt the necessity of apprising his family and friends. with his mother the task was made easier by the abundant hopefulness of her nature, which enabled her in a moment to throw herself into the sympathies of those she loved. to her had been deputed the office of first breaking the tidings to anne, and she had accomplished it during the pleasure-party of the morning. the first glance that passed between clayton and his sister, as she entered the room, on her return from the party, showed him that she was discomposed and unhappy. she did not remain long in the apartment, or seem disposed to join in conversation; and, after a few abstracted moments, she passed through the open door into the garden, and began to busy herself apparently among her plants. clayton followed her. he came and stood silently beside her for some time, watching her as she picked the dead leaves off her geranium. "mother has told you," he said, at length. "yes," said anne. there was a long pause, and anne picked off dry leaves and green promiscuously, threatening to demolish the bush. "anne," said clayton, "how i wish you could see her!" "i've _heard_ of her," replied anne, dryly, "through the livingstons." "and what have you heard?" said clayton, eagerly. "not such things as i could wish, edward; not such as i expected to hear of the lady that you would choose." "and, pray, what _have_ you heard? out with it," said clayton,--"let's know what the world says of her." "well, the world says," said anne, "that she is a coquette, a flirt, a jilt. from all i've heard, i should think she must be an unprincipled girl." "that is hard language, anne." "truth is generally hard," replied anne. "my dear sister," said clayton, taking her hand, and seating her on the seat in the garden, "have you lost all faith in me?" "i think it would be nearer truth," replied anne, "to say that _you_ had lost all faith in _me_. why am i the last one to know all this? why am i to hear it first from reports, and every way but from you? would i have treated you so? did i ever have anything that i did not tell you? down to my very soul i've always told you everything!" "this is true, i own, dear anne; but what if you had loved some man that you felt sure i should not like? now, you are a positive person, anne, and this might happen. would you want to tell me at once? would you not, perhaps, wait, and hesitate, and put off, for one reason or another, from day to day, and find it grow more and more difficult, the longer you waited?" "i can't tell," said anne, bitterly. "i never did love any one better than you,--that's the trouble." "neither do i love anybody _better_ than you, anne. the love i have for you is a whole, perfect thing, just as it was. see if you do not find me every way as devoted. my heart was only opened to take in another love, another wholly different; and which, because it is so wholly different, never can infringe on the love i bear to you. and, anne, my dear sister, if you could love her as a part of me"-- "i wish i could," said anne, somewhat softened; "but what i've heard has been so unfavorable! she is not, in the least, the person i should have expected you to fancy, edward. of all things i despise a woman who trifles with the affections of gentlemen." "well, but, my dear, nina isn't a woman; she is a _child_--a gay, beautiful, unformed child; and i'm sure you may apply to her what pope says:-- 'if to her share some female errors fall, look in her face, and you forget them all.'" "yes, indeed," said anne, "i believe all you men are alike--a pretty face bewitches any of you. i thought you were an exception, edward; but there you are." "but, anne, is this the way to encourage my confidence? suppose i am bewitched and enchanted, you cannot disentangle me without indulgence. say what you will about it, the _fact_ is just this--it is my fate to love this child. i've tried to love many women before. i have seen many whom i knew no sort of reason why i shouldn't love,--handsomer far, more cultivated, more accomplished,--and yet i've seen them without a movement or a flutter of the pulse. but this girl has awakened all there is to me. i do not see in her what the world sees. i see the ideal image of what she can be, what i'm sure she _will_ be, when her nature is fully awakened and developed." "just there, edward--just that," said anne. "you never see anything; that is, you see a glorified image--a something that might, could, would, or should be--that is your difficulty. you glorify an ordinary boarding-school coquette into something symbolic, sublime; you clothe her with all your own ideas, and then fall down to worship her." "well, my dear anne, suppose it were so, what then? i am, as you say, ideal,--you, real. well, be it so; i must act according to what is in me. i have a right to my nature, you to yours. but it is not every person whom i _can_ idealize: and i suspect this is the great reason why i never could love some very fine women, with whom i have associated on intimate terms; they had no capacity of being idealized; they could receive no color from my fancy; they wanted, in short, just what nina has. she is just like one of those little whisking, chattering cascades in the white mountains, and the atmosphere round her is favorable to rainbows." "and you always see her through them." "even so, sister; but some people i cannot. why should you find fault with me? it's a pleasant thing to look through a rainbow. why should you seek to disenchant, if i _can_ be enchanted?" "why," replied anne, "you remember the man who took his pay of the fairies in gold and diamonds, and, after he had passed a certain brook, found it all turned to slate-stones. now, marriage is like that brook: many a poor fellow finds his diamonds turned to slate on the other side; and this is why i put in my plain, hard common sense, against your visions. i see the plain facts about this young girl; that she is an acknowledged flirt, a noted coquette and jilt; and a woman who is so is necessarily heartless; and you are too good, edward, too noble, i have loved you too long, to be willing to give you up to _such_ a woman." "there, my dear anne, there are at least a dozen points in that sentence to which i don't agree. in the first place, as to coquetry, it isn't the unpardonable sin in my eyes--that is, under some circumstances." "that is, you mean, when nina gordon is the coquette?" "no, i don't mean that. but the fact is, anne, there is so little of true sincerity, so little real benevolence and charity, in the common intercourse of young gentlemen and ladies in society, and our sex, who ought to set the example, are so selfish and unprincipled in their ways of treating women, that i do not wonder that, now and then, a lively girl, who has the power, avenges her sex by playing off _our_ weak points. now, i don't think nina capable of trifling with a real, deep, unselfish attachment--a love which sought her good, and was willing to sacrifice itself for her; but i don't believe any such has ever been put at her disposal. there's a great difference between a man's wanting a woman to _love him_, and loving her. wanting to appropriate a woman as a wife does not, of course, imply that a man loves her, or that he is capable of loving anything. all these things girls _feel_, because their instincts are quick; and they are often accused of trifling with a man's heart, when they only see through him, and know he hasn't any. besides, love of power has always been considered a respectable sin in us men; and why should we denounce a woman for loving her kind of power?" "oh, well, edward, there isn't anything in the world that you cannot theorize into beauty. but i don't like coquettes, for all that; and, then, i'm told nina gordon is so very odd, and says and does such very extraordinary things, sometimes." "well, perhaps that charms me the more. in this conventional world, where women are all rubbed into one uniform surface, like coins in one's pocket, it's a pleasure now and then to find one who can't be made to do and think like all the rest. you have a little dash of this merit, yourself, anne; but you must consider that you have been brought up with mamma, under her influence, trained and guided every hour, even more than you knew. nina has grown up an heiress among servants, a boarding-school girl in new york; and, furthermore, you are twenty-seven and she is eighteen, and a great deal may be learned between eighteen and twenty-seven." "but, brother, you remember miss hannah more says,--or some of those good women, i forget who: at any rate it's a sensible saying,--'that a man who chooses his wife as he would a picture in a public exhibition-room should remember that there is this difference, that the picture cannot go back to the exhibition, but the woman may.' you have chosen her from seeing her brilliancy in society; but, after all, can you make her happy in the dull routine of a commonplace life? is she not one of the sort that must have a constant round of company and excitement to keep her in spirits?" "i think not," said clayton. "i think she is one of those whose vitality is in herself, and one whose freshness and originality will keep life anywhere from being commonplace; and that, living with us, she will sympathize, naturally, in all our pursuits." "well, now, don't flatter yourself, brother, that you can make this girl over, and bring her to any of your standards." "who--i? did you think i meditated such an impertinence? the last thing i should try, to marry a wife to educate her! it's generally one of the most selfish tricks of our sex. besides, i don't want a wife who will be a mere mirror of my opinions and sentiments. i don't want an innocent sheet of blotting-paper, meekly sucking up all i say, and giving a little fainter impression of my ideas. i want a wife for an alternative; all the vivacities of life lie in differences." "why, surely," said anne, "one wants one's friends to be congenial, i should think." "so we do; and there is nothing in the world so congenial as differences. to be sure, the differences must be harmonious. in music, now, for instance, one doesn't want a repetition of the same notes, but differing notes that chord. nay, even discords are indispensable to complete harmony. now, nina has just that difference from me which chords with me; and all our little quarrels--for we have had a good many, and i dare say shall have more--are only a sort of chromatic passages,--discords of the seventh, leading into harmony. my life is inward, theorizing, self-absorbed. i am hypochondriac--often morbid. the vivacity and acuteness of her outer life makes her just what i need. she wakens, she rouses, and keeps me in play; and her quick instincts are often more than a match for my reason. i reverence the child, then, in spite of her faults. she has taught me many things." "well," said anne, laughing, "i give you up, if it comes to that. if you come to talk about reverencing nina gordon, i see it's all over with you, edward, and i'll be good-natured, and make the best of it. i hope it may all be true that you think, and a great deal more. at all events, no effort of mine shall be wanting to make you as happy in your new relation as you ought to be." "there, now, that's anne clayton! it's just like _you_, sister, and i couldn't say anything better than that. you have unburdened your conscience, you have done all you can for me, and now very properly yield to the inevitation. nina, i know, will love you; and, if you never _try_ to advise her and influence her, you will influence her very much. good people are a long while learning _that_, anne. they think to do good to others, by interfering and advising. they don't know that all they have to do is to live. when i first knew nina, i was silly enough to try my hand that way, myself; but i've learned better. now, when nina comes to us, all that you and mamma have got to do is just to be kind to her, and _live_ as you always have lived; and whatever needs to be altered in her, she will alter herself." "well," said anne, "i wish, as it is so, that i could see her." "suppose you write a few lines to her in this letter that i am going to write; and then that will lead in due time to a visit." "anything in the world, edward, that you say." chapter iv. the gordon family. a week or two had passed over the head of nina gordon since she was first introduced to our readers, and during this time she had become familiar with the details of her home life. nominally, she stood at the head of her plantation, as mistress and queen in her own right of all, both in doors and out; but, really, she found herself, by her own youth and inexperience, her ignorance of practical details, very much in the hands of those she professed to govern. the duties of a southern housekeeper, on a plantation, are onerous beyond any amount of northern conception. every article wanted for daily consumption must be kept under lock and key, and doled out as need arises. for the most part, the servants are only grown-up children, without consideration, forethought, or self-control, quarrelling with each other, and divided into parties and factions, hopeless of any reasonable control. every article of wear, for some hundreds of people, must be thought of, purchased, cut and made, under the direction of the mistress; and add to this the care of young children, whose childish mothers are totally unfit to govern or care for them, and we have some slight idea of what devolves on southern housekeepers. our reader has seen what nina was on her return from new york, and can easily imagine that she had no idea of embracing, in good earnest, the hard duties of such a life. in fact, since the death of nina's mother, the situation of the mistress of the family had been only nominally filled by her aunt, mrs. nesbit. the real housekeeper, in fact, was an old mulatto woman, named katy, who had been trained by nina's mother. notwithstanding the general inefficiency and childishness of negro servants, there often are to be found among them those of great practical ability. whenever owners, through necessity or from tact, select such servants, and subject them to the kind of training and responsibility which belongs to a state of freedom, the same qualities are developed which exist in free society. nina's mother, being always in delicate health, had, from necessity, been obliged to commit much responsibility to "aunt katy," as she was called; and she had grown up under the discipline into a very efficient housekeeper. with her tall red turban, her jingling bunch of keys, and an abundant sense of the importance of her office, she was a dignitary not lightly to be disregarded. it is true that she professed the utmost deference for her young mistress, and very generally passed the compliment of inquiring what she would have done; but it was pretty generally understood that her assent to aunt katy's propositions was considered as much a matter of course as the queen's to a ministerial recommendation. indeed, had nina chosen to demur, her prime minister had the power, without departing in the slightest degree from a respectful bearing, to involve her in labyrinths of perplexity without end. and as nina hated trouble, and wanted, above all things, to have her time to herself for her own amusement, she wisely concluded not to interfere with aunt katy's reign, and to get by persuasion and coaxing, what the old body would have been far too consequential and opinionated to give to authority. in like manner, at the head of all out-door affairs was the young quadroon, harry, whom we introduced in the first chapter. in order to come fully at the relation in which he stood to the estate, we must, after the fashion of historians generally, go back a hundred years or so, in order to give our readers a fair start. behold us, therefore, assuming historic dignity, as follows. among the first emigrants to virginia, in its colonial days, was one thomas gordon, knight, a distant offshoot of the noble gordon family, renowned in scottish history. being a gentleman of some considerable energy, and impatient of the narrow limits of the old world, where he found little opportunity to obtain that wealth which was necessary to meet the demands of his family pride, he struck off for himself into virginia. naturally of an adventurous turn, he was one of the first to propose the enterprise which afterwards resulted in a settlement on the banks of the chowan river, in north carolina. here he took up for himself a large tract of the finest alluvial land, and set himself to the business of planting, with the energy and skill characteristic of his nation; and, as the soil was new and fertile, he soon received a very munificent return for his enterprise. inspired with remembrances of old ancestral renown, the gordon family transmitted in their descent all the traditions, feelings, and habits, which were the growth of the aristocratic caste from which they sprung. the name of canema, given to the estate, came from an indian guide and interpreter, who accompanied the first colonel gordon as confidential servant. the estate, being entailed, passed down through the colonial times unbroken in the family, whose wealth, for some years, seemed to increase with every generation. the family mansion was one of those fond reproductions of the architectural style of the landed gentry in england, in which, as far as their means could compass it, the planters were fond of indulging. carpenters and carvers had been brought over, at great expense, from the old country, to give the fruits of their skill in its erection; and it was a fancy of the ancestor who built it, to display, in its wood-work, that exuberance of new and rare woods with which the american continent was supposed to abound. he had made an adventurous voyage into south america, and brought from thence specimens of those materials more brilliant than rose-wood, and hard as ebony, which grow so profusely on the banks of the amazon that the natives use them for timber. the floor of the central hall of the house was a curiously-inlaid parquet of these brilliant materials, arranged in fine block-work, highly polished. the outside of the house was built in the old virginian fashion, with two tiers of balconies running completely round, as being much better suited to the american climate than any of european mode. the inside, however, was decorated with sculpture and carvings, copied, many of them, from ancestral residences in scotland, giving to the mansion an air of premature antiquity. here, for two or three generations, the gordon family had lived in opulence. during the time, however, of nina's father, and still more after his death, there appeared evidently on the place signs of that gradual decay which has conducted many an old virginian family to poverty and ruin. slave labor, of all others the most worthless and profitless, had exhausted the first vigor of the soil, and the proprietors gradually degenerated from those habits of energy which were called forth by the necessities of the first settlers, and everything proceeded with that free-and-easy abandon, in which both master and slave appeared to have one common object,--that of proving who should waste with most freedom. at colonel gordon's death, he had bequeathed, as we have already shown, the whole family estate to his daughter, under the care of a servant, of whose uncommon intelligence and thorough devotion of heart he had the most ample proof. when it is reflected that the overseers are generally taken from a class of whites who are often lower in ignorance and barbarism than even the slaves, and that their wastefulness and rapacity are a by-word among the planters, it is no wonder that colonel gordon thought that, in leaving his plantation under the care of one so energetic, competent, and faithful, as harry, he had made the best possible provision for his daughter. harry was the son of his master, and inherited much of the temper and constitution of his father, tempered by the soft and genial temperament of the beautiful eboe mulattress, who was his mother. from this circumstance harry had received advantages of education very superior to what commonly fell to the lot of his class. he had also accompanied his master as valet during the tour of europe, and thus his opportunities of general observation had been still further enlarged, and that tact, by which those of the mixed blood seem so peculiarly fitted to appreciate all the finer aspects of conventional life had been called out and exercised; so that it would be difficult in any circle to meet with a more agreeable and gentlemanly person. in leaving a man of this character, and his own son, still in the bonds of slavery, colonel gordon was influenced by that passionate devotion to his daughter which with him overpowered every consideration. a man so cultivated, he argued to himself, might find many avenues opened to him in freedom; might be tempted to leave the estate to other hands, and seek his own fortune. he therefore resolved to leave him bound by an indissoluble tie for a term of years, trusting to his attachment to nina to make this service tolerable. possessed of very uncommon judgment, firmness, and knowledge of human nature, harry had found means to acquire great ascendency over the hands of the plantation, and, either through fear or through friendship, there was a universal subordination to him. the executors of the estate scarcely made even a feint of overseeing him; and he proceeded, to all intents and purposes, with the perfect ease of a free man. everybody, for miles around, knew and respected him; and, had he not been possessed of a good share of the thoughtful, forecasting temperament derived from his scottish parentage, he might have been completely happy, and forgotten even the existence of the chains whose weight he never felt. it was only in the presence of tom gordon--colonel gordon's lawful son--that he ever realized that he was a slave. from childhood, there had been a rooted enmity between the brothers, which deepened as years passed on; and, as he found himself, on every return of the young man to the place, subjected to taunts and ill-usage, to which his defenceless position left him no power to reply, he had resolved never to marry, and lay the foundation for a family, until such time as he should be able to have the command of his own destiny, and that of his household. but the charms of a pretty french quadroon overcame the dictates of prudence. the history of tom gordon is the history of many a young man grown up under the institutions and in the state of society which formed him. nature had endowed him with no mean share of talent, and with that perilous quickness of nervous organization, which, like fire, is a good servant, but a bad master. out of those elements, with due training, might have been formed an efficient and eloquent public man; but, brought up from childhood among servants to whom his infant will was law, indulged during the period of infantile beauty and grace in the full expression of every whim, growing into boyhood among slaves with but the average amount of plantation morality, his passions developed at a fearfully early time of life; and, before his father thought of seizing the reins of authority, they had gone out of his hands forever. tutor after tutor was employed on the plantation to instruct him, and left, terrified by his temper. the secluded nature of the plantation left him without that healthful stimulus of society which is often a help in enabling a boy to come to the knowledge and control of himself. his associates were either the slaves, or the overseers, who are generally unprincipled and artful, or the surrounding whites, who lay in a yet lower deep of degradation. for one reason or another, it was for the interest of all these to flatter his vices and covertly to assist him in opposing and deceiving his parents. thus an early age saw him an adept in every low form of vice. in despair, he was at length sent to an academy at the north, where he commenced his career on the first day by striking the teacher in the face, and was consequently expelled. thence he went to another, where, learning caution from experience, he was enabled to maintain his foothold. there he was a successful colporteur and missionary in the way of introducing a knowledge of bowie-knives, revolvers, and vicious literature. artful, bold, and daring, his residence for a year at a school was sufficient to initiate in the way of ruin perhaps one fourth of the boys. he was handsome, and, when not provoked, good-natured, and had that off-hand way of spending money which passes among boys for generosity. the simple sons of hard-working farmers, bred in habits of industry and frugality, were dazzled and astonished by the freedom with which he talked, and drank, and spit, and swore. he was a hero in their eye, and they began to wonder at the number of things, to them unknown before, which went to make up the necessaries of life. from school he was transferred to college, and there placed under the care of a professor, who was paid an exorbitant sum for overlooking his affairs. the consequence was, that while many a northern boy, whose father could not afford to pay for similar patronage, was disciplined, rusticated, or expelled, as the case might be, tom gordon exploited gloriously through college, getting drunk every week or two, breaking windows, smoking freshmen, heading various sprees in different parts of the country, and at last graduating nobody knew how, except the patron professor, who received an extra sum for the extra difficulties of the case. returned home, he went into a lawyer's office in raleigh, where, by a pleasant fiction, he was said to be reading law, because he was occasionally seen at the office during the intervals of his more serious avocations of gambling, and horse-racing, and drinking. his father, an affectionate but passionate man, was wholly unable to control him, and the conflicts between them often shook the whole domestic fabric. nevertheless, to the last colonel gordon indulged the old hope for such cases made and provided, that tom would get through sowing his wild oats, some time, and settle down and be a respectable man; in which hope he left him the half of his property. since that time, tom seemed to have studied on no subject except how to accelerate the growth of those wings which riches are said to be inclined to take, under the most favorable circumstances. as often happens in such cases of utter ruin, tom gordon was a much worse character for all the elements of good which he possessed. he had sufficient perception of right, and sufficient conscience remaining, to make him bitter and uncomfortable. in proportion as he knew himself unworthy of his father's affection and trust, he became jealous and angry at any indications of the want of it. he had contracted a settled ill-will to his sister, for no other apparent reason except that the father took a comfort in her which he did not in him. from childhood, it was his habit to vex and annoy her in every possible way; and it was for this reason, among many others, that harry had persuaded mr. john gordon, nina's uncle and guardian, to place her at the new york boarding-school, where she acquired what is termed an education. after finishing her school career, she had been spending a few months in a family of a cousin of her mother's, and running with loose rein the career of fashionable gayety. luckily, she brought home with her unspoiled a genuine love of nature, which made the rural habits of plantation life agreeable to her. neighbors there were few. her uncle's plantation, five miles distant, was the nearest. other families with whom the gordons were in the habit of exchanging occasional visits were some ten or fifteen miles distant. it was nina's delight, however, in her muslin wrapper and straw hat, to patter about over the plantation, to chat with the negroes among their cabins, amusing herself with the various drolleries and peculiarities to which long absence had given the zest of novelty. then she would call for her pony, and, attended by harry, or some of her servants, would career through the woods, gathering the wild-flowers with which they abound; perhaps stop for a day at her uncle's, have a chat and a romp with him, and return the next morning. in the comparative solitude of her present life her mind began to clear itself of some former follies, as water when at rest deposits the sediment which clouded it. apart from the crowd, and the world of gayeties which had dizzied her, she could not help admitting to herself the folly of much she had been doing. something, doubtless, was added to this by the letters of clayton. the tone of them, so manly and sincere, so respectful and kind, so removed either from adulation or sentimentalism, had an effect upon her greater than she was herself aware of. so nina, in her positive and off-hand way, sat down, one day, and wrote farewell letters to both her other lovers, and felt herself quite relieved by the process. a young person could scarce stand more entirely alone, as to sympathetic intercourse with relations, than nina. it is true that the presence of her mother's sister in the family caused it to be said that she was residing under the care of an aunt. mrs. nesbit, however, was simply one of those well-bred, well-dressed lay-figures, whose only office in life seems to be to occupy a certain room in a house, to sit in certain chairs at proper hours, to make certain remarks at suitable intervals of conversation. in her youth this lady had run quite a career as a belle and beauty. nature had endowed her with a handsome face and figure, and youth and the pleasure of admiration for some years supplied a sufficient flow of animal spirits to make the beauty effective. early married, she became the mother of several children, who were one by one swept into the grave. the death of her husband, last of all, left her with a very small fortune alone in the world; and, like many in similar circumstances, she was content to sink into an appendage to another's family. mrs. nesbit considered herself very religious; and, as there is a great deal that passes for religion, ordinarily, of which she may be fairly considered a representative, we will present our readers with a philosophical analysis of the article. when young, she had thought only of self in the form of admiration, and the indulgence of her animal spirits. when married, she had thought of self only in her husband and children, whom she loved because they were _hers_, and for no other reason. when death swept away her domestic circle, and time stole the beauty and freshness of animal spirits, her self-love took another form; and, perceiving that this world was becoming to her somewhat _passé_, she determined to make the best of her chance for another. religion she looked upon in the light of a ticket, which, being once purchased, and snugly laid away in a pocket-book, is to be produced at the celestial gate, and thus secure admission to heaven. at a certain period of her life, while she deemed this ticket unpurchased, she was extremely low-spirited and gloomy, and went through a quantity of theological reading enough to have astonished herself, had she foreseen it in the days of her belleship. as the result of all, she at last presented herself as a candidate for admission to a presbyterian church in the vicinity, there professing her determination to run the christian race. by the christian race, she understood going at certain stated times to religious meetings, reading the bible and hymn-book at certain hours in the day, giving at regular intervals stipulated sums to religious charities, and preserving a general state of leaden indifference to everybody and everything in the world. she thus fondly imagined that she had renounced the world, because she looked back with disgust on gayeties for which she had no longer strength or spirits. nor did she dream that the intensity with which her mind travelled the narrow world of self, dwelling on the plaits of her caps, the cut of her stone-colored satin gowns, the making of her tea and her bed, and the saving of her narrow income, was exactly the same in kind, though far less agreeable in development, as that which once expended itself in dressing and dancing. like many other apparently negative characters, she had a pertinacious intensity of an extremely narrow and aimless self-will. her plans of life, small as they were, had a thousand crimps and plaits, to every one of which she adhered with invincible pertinacity. the poor lady little imagined, when she sat, with such punctilious satisfaction, while the rev. mr. orthodoxy demonstrated that selfishness is the essence of all moral evil, that the sentiment had the slightest application to her; nor dreamed that the little, quiet, muddy current of self-will, which ran without noise or indecorum under the whole structure of her being, might be found, in a future day, to have undermined all her hopes of heaven. of course, mrs. nesbit regarded nina, and all other lively young people, with a kind of melancholy endurance--as shocking spectacles of worldliness. there was but little sympathy, to be sure, between the dashing, and out-spoken, and almost defiant little nina, and the sombre silver-gray apparition which glided quietly about the wide halls of her paternal mansion. in fact, it seemed to afford the latter a mischievous pleasure to shock her respectable relative on all convenient occasions. mrs. nesbit felt it occasionally her duty, as she remarked, to call her lively niece into her apartment, and endeavor to persuade her to read some such volume as law's serious call, or owen on the one hundred and nineteenth psalm; and to give her a general and solemn warning against all the vanities of the world, in which were generally included dressing in any color but black and drab, dancing, flirting, writing love-letters, and all other enormities, down to the eating of pea-nut candy. one of these scenes is just now enacting in this good lady's apartment, upon which we will raise the curtain. mrs. nesbit, a diminutive, blue-eyed, fair-complexioned little woman, of some five feet high, sat gently swaying in that respectable asylum for american old age, commonly called a rocking-chair. every rustle of her silvery silk gown, every fold of the snowy kerchief on her neck, every plait of her immaculate cap, spoke a soul long retired from this world and its cares. the bed, arranged with extremest precision, however, was covered with a _mélange_ of french finery, flounces, laces, among which nina kept up a continual agitation like that produced by a breeze in a flower-bed, as she unfolded, turned, and fluttered them, before the eyes of her relative. "i have been through all this, nina," said the latter, with a melancholy shake of her head, "and i know the vanity of it." "well, aunty, i _haven't_ been through it, so _i_ don't know." "yes, my dear, when i was of your age, i used to go to balls and parties, and could think of nothing but of dress and admiration. i have been through it all, and seen the vanity of it." "well, aunt, i want to go through it, and see the vanity of it too. that's just what i'm after. i'm on the way to be as sombre and solemn as you are, but i'm bound to have a good time first. now, look at this pink brocade!" had the brocade been a pall, it could scarcely have been regarded with a more lugubrious aspect. "ah, child! such a dying world as this! to spend so much time and thought on dress!" "why, aunt nesbit, yesterday you spent just two whole hours in thinking whether you should turn the breadths of your black silk dress upside down, or down side up; and this was a dying world all the time. now, i don't see that it is any better to think of black silk than it is of pink." this was a view of the subject which seemed never to have occurred to the good lady. "but now, aunt, do cheer up, and look at this box of artificial flowers. you know i thought i'd bring a stock on from new york. now, aren't these perfectly lovely? i like flowers that _mean_ something. now, these are all imitations of natural flowers, so perfect that you'd scarcely know them from the real. see--there, that's a moss-rose; and now look at these sweet peas, you'd think they had just been picked; and, there--that heliotrope, and these jessamines, and those orange-blossoms, and that wax camelia"-- "turn off my eyes from beholding vanity!" said mrs. nesbit, shutting her eyes, and shaking her head:-- "'what if we wear the richest vest,-- peacocks and flies are better drest; this flesh, with all its glorious forms, must drop to earth, and feed the worms.'" "aunt, i do think you have the most horrid, disgusting set of hymns, all about worms, and dust, and such things!" "it's my duty, child, when i see you so much taken up with such sinful finery." "why, aunt, do you think artificial flowers are sinful?" "yes, dear; they are a sinful waste of time and money, and take off our mind from more important things." "well, aunt, then what did the lord make sweet peas, and roses, and orange-blossoms for? i'm sure it's only doing as he does, to make flowers. he don't make everything gray, or stone-color. now, if you only would come out in the garden, this morning, and see the oleanders, and the crape myrtle, and the pinks, the roses, and the tulips, and the hyacinths, i'm sure it would do you good." "oh, i should certainly catch cold, child, if i went out doors. milly left a crack opened in the window, last night, and i've sneezed three or four times since. it will never do for me to go out in the garden; the feeling of the ground striking up through my shoes is very unhealthy." "well, at any rate, aunt, i should think, if the lord didn't wish us to wear roses and jessamines, he would not have made them. and it is the most natural thing in the world to want to wear flowers." "it only feeds vanity and a love of display, my dear." "i don't think it's vanity, or a love of display. i should want to dress prettily, if i were the only person in the world. i love pretty things because they _are_ pretty. i like to wear them because they make me look pretty." "there it is, child; you want to dress up your poor perishing body to look pretty--that's the thing!" "to be sure i do. why shouldn't i? i mean to look as pretty as i can, as long as i live." "you seem to have quite a conceit of your beauty!" said aunt nesbit. "well, i know i am pretty. i'm not going to pretend i don't. i like my own looks, now, that's a fact. i'm not like one of your greek statues, i know. i'm not wonderfully handsome, nor likely to set the world on fire with my beauty. i'm just a pretty little thing; and i like flowers and laces, and all of those things; and i mean to like them, and i don't think there'll be a bit of religion in my not liking them; and as for all that disagreeable stuff about the worms, that you are always telling me, i don't think it does me a particle of good. and, if religion is going to make me so _poky_, i shall put it off as long i can." "i used to feel just as you do, dear, but i've seen the folly of it!" "if i've got to lose my love for everything that is bright, everything that is lively, and everything that is pretty, and like to read such horrid stupid books, why, i'd rather be buried, and done with it!" "that's the opposition of the natural heart, my dear." the conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of a bright, curly-headed mulatto boy, bearing mrs. nesbit's daily luncheon. "oh, here comes tomtit," said nina; "now for a scene. let's see what he has forgotten, now." tomtit was, in his way, a great character in the mansion. he and his grandmother were the property of mrs. nesbit. his true name was no less respectable and methodical than that of thomas; but, as he was one of those restless and effervescent sprites, who seem to be born for the confusion of quiet people, nina had rechristened him tomtit, which sobriquet was immediately recognized by the whole household as being eminently descriptive and appropriate. a constant ripple and eddy of drollery seemed to pervade his whole being; his large, saucy black eyes had always a laughing fire in them, that it was impossible to meet without a smile in return. slave and property though he was, yet the first sentiment of reverence for any created thing seemed yet wholly unawakened in his curly pate. breezy, idle, careless, flighty, as his woodland namesake, life to him seemed only a repressed and pent-up ebullition of animal enjoyment; and almost the only excitement of mrs. nesbit's quiet life was her chronic controversy with tomtit. forty or fifty times a day did the old body assure him "that she was astonished at his conduct;" and as many times would he reply by showing the whole set of his handsome teeth, on the broad grin, wholly inconsiderate of the state of despair into which he thus reduced her. on the present occasion, as he entered the room, his eye was caught by the great display of finery on the bed; and, hastily dumping the waiter on the first chair that occurred, with a flirt and a spring as lithe as that of a squirrel, he was seated in a moment astride the foot-board, indulging in a burst of merriment. "good law, miss nina, whar on earth dese yer come from? good law, some on 'em for me, isn't 'er?" "you see that child!" now said mrs. nesbit, rocking back in her chair with the air of a martyr. "after all my talkings to him! nina, you ought not to allow that; it just encourages him!" "tom, get down, you naughty creature you, and get the stand and put the waiter on it. mind yourself, now!" said nina, laughing. tomtit cut a somerset from the foot-board to the floor, and, striking up, on a very high key, "i'll bet my money on a bobtail nag," he danced out a small table, as if it had been a partner, and deposited it, with a jerk, at the side of mrs. nesbit, who aimed a cuff at his ears; but, as he adroitly ducked his head, the intended blow came down upon the table with more force than was comfortable to the inflictor. "i believe that child is made of air!--i never can hit him!" said the good lady, waxing red in the face. "he is enough to provoke a saint!" "so he is, aunt; enough to provoke two saints like you and me. tomtit, you rogue," said she, giving a gentle pull to a handful of his curly hair, "be good, now, and i'll show you the pretty things, by and by. come, put the waiter on the table, now; see if you can't walk, for once!" casting down his eyes with an irresistible look of mock solemnity, tomtit marched with the waiter, and placed it by his mistress. the good lady, after drawing off her gloves and making sundry little decorous preparations, said a short grace over her meal, during which time tomtit seemed to be holding his sides with repressed merriment; then, gravely laying hold of the handle of the teapot she stopped short, gave an exclamation, and flirted her fingers, as she felt it almost scalding hot. "tomtit, i do believe you intend to burn me to death, some day!" "laws, missus, dat are hot? oh, sure i was tickler to set the nose round to the fire." "no, you didn't! you stuck the handle right into the fire as you're always doing!" "laws, now, wonder if i did," said tomtit, assuming an abstracted appearance. "'pears as if never can 'member which dem dare is nose, and which handle. now, i's a studdin on dat dare most all de morning--was so," said he, gathering confidence, as he saw, by nina's dancing eyes, how greatly she was amused. "you need a sound whipping, sir--that's what you need!" said mrs. nesbit, kindling up in sudden wrath. "oh, i knows it," said tomtit. "we's unprofitable servants, all on us. lord's marcy that we an't 'sumed, all on us!" nina was so completely overcome by this novel application of the text which she had heard her aunt laboriously drumming into tomtit, the sabbath before, that she laughed aloud, with rather uproarious merriment. "oh, aunt, there's no use! he don't know anything! he's nothing but an incarnate joke, a walking hoax!" "no, i doesn't know nothing, miss nina," said tomtit, at the same time looking out from under his long eyelashes. "don't know nothing at all--never can." "well, now, tomtit," said mrs. nesbit, drawing out a little blue cowhide from under her chair, and looking at him resolutely, "you see, if this teapot handle is hot again, i'll give it to you! do you hear?" "yes, missis," said tomtit, with that indescribable sing-song of indifference, which is so common and so provoking in his class. "and, now, tomtit, you go down stairs and clean the knives for dinner." "yes, missis," said he, pirouetting towards the door. and once in the passage, he struck up a vigorous "oh, i'm going to glory, won't you go along with me;" accompanying himself, by slapping his own sides, as he went down two stairs at a time. "going to glory!" said mrs. nesbit, rather shortly; "he looks like it, i think! it's the third or fourth time that that child has blistered my fingers with this teapot, and i know he does it on purpose! so ungrateful, when i spend my time, teaching him, hour after hour, laboring with him so! i declare, i don't believe these children have got any souls!" "well, aunt, i declare, i should think you'd get out of all patience with him; yet he's so funny, i cannot, for the life of me, help laughing." here a distant whoop on the staircase, and a tempestuous chorus to a methodist hymn, with the words, "oh come, my loving brethren," announced that tomtit was on the return; and very soon, throwing open the door, he marched in, with an air of the greatest importance. "tomtit, didn't i tell you to go and clean the knives?" "law, missis, come up here to bring miss nina's love-letters," said he, producing two or three letters. "good law, though," said he, checking himself, "forgot to put them on a waity!" and, before a word could be said, he was out of the room and down stairs, and at the height of furious contest with the girl who was cleaning the silver, for a waiter to put miss nina's letters on. "dar, miss nina," appealing to her when she appeared, "rosa won't let me have no waity!" "i could pull your hair for you, you little image!" said nina, seizing the letters from his hands, and laughing while she cuffed his ears. "well," said tomtit, looking after her with great solemnity, "missis in de right on't. an't no kind of order in this here house, 'pite of all i can do. one says put letters on waity. another one won't let you have waity to put letters on. and, finally, miss nina, she pull them all away. just the way things going on in dis yer house, all the time! i can't help it; done all i can. just the way missus says!" there was one member of nina's establishment of a character so marked that we cannot refrain from giving her a separate place in our picture of her surroundings,--and this was milly, the waiting-woman of aunt nesbit. aunt milly, as she was commonly called, was a tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested african woman, with a fulness of figure approaching to corpulence. her habit of standing and of motion was peculiar and majestic, reminding one of the scripture expression "upright as the palm-tree." her skin was of a peculiar blackness and softness, not unlike black velvet. her eyes were large, full, and dark, and had about them that expression of wishfulness and longing which one may sometimes have remarked in dark eyes. her mouth was large, and the lips, though partaking of the african fulness, had, nevertheless, something decided and energetic in their outline, which was still further seconded by the heavy moulding of the chin. a frank smile, which was common with her, disclosed a row of most splendid and perfect teeth. her hair, without approaching to the character of the anglo-saxon, was still different from the ordinary woolly coat of the negro, and seemed more like an infinite number of close-knotted curls, of brilliant, glossy blackness. the parents of milly were prisoners taken in african wars; and she was a fine specimen of one of those warlike and splendid races, of whom, as they have seldom been reduced to slavery, there are but few and rare specimens among the slaves of the south. her usual head-dress was a high turban, of those brilliant colored madras handkerchiefs in which the instinctive taste of the dark races leads them to delight. milly's was always put on and worn with a regal air, as if it were the coronet of the queen. for the rest, her dress consisted of a well-fitted gown of dark stuff, of a quality somewhat finer than the usual household apparel. a neatly-starched white muslin handkerchief folded across her bosom, and a clean white apron, completed her usual costume. no one could regard her, as a whole, and not feel their prejudice in favor of the exclusive comeliness of white races somewhat shaken. placed among the gorgeous surroundings of african landscape and scenery, it might be doubted whether any one's taste could have desired, as a completion to her appearance, to have blanched the glossy skin whose depth of coloring harmonizes so well with the intense and fiery glories of a tropical landscape. in character, milly was worthy of her remarkable external appearance. heaven had endowed her with a soul as broad and generous as her ample frame. her passions rolled and burned in her bosom with a tropical fervor; a shrewd and abundant mother wit, united with a vein of occasional drollery, gave to her habits of speech a quaint vivacity. a native adroitness gave an unwonted command over all the functions of her fine body, so that she was endowed with that much-coveted property which the new englander denominates "faculty," which means the intuitive ability to seize at once on the right and best way of doing everything which is to be done. at the same time, she was possessed of that high degree of self-respect which led her to be incorruptibly faithful and thorough in all she undertook; less, as it often seemed, from any fealty or deference to those whom she served, than from a kind of native pride in well-doing, which led her to deem it beneath herself to slight or pass over the least thing which she had undertaken. her promises were inviolable. her owners always knew that what she once said would be done, if it were within the bounds of possibility. the value of an individual thus endowed in person and character may be easily conceived by those who understand how rare, either among slaves or freemen, is such a combination. milly was, therefore, always considered in the family as a most valuable piece of property, and treated with more than common consideration. as a mind, even when uncultivated, will ever find its level, it often happened that milly's amount of being and force of character gave her ascendency even over those who were nominally her superiors. as her ways were commonly found to be the best ways, she was left, in most cases, to pursue them without opposition or control. but, favorite as she was, her life had been one of deep sorrows. she had been suffered, it is true, to contract a marriage with a very finely-endowed mulatto man, on a plantation adjoining her owner's, by whom she had a numerous family of children, who inherited all her fine physical and mental endowments. with more than usual sensibility and power of reflection, the idea that the children so dear to her were from their birth not her own--that they were, from the first hour of their existence, merchantable articles, having a fixed market value in proportion to every excellence, and liable to all the reverses of merchantable goods--sank with deep weight into her mind. unfortunately, the family to which she belonged being reduced to poverty, there remained, often, no other means of making up the deficiency of income than the annual sale of one or two negroes. milly's children, from their fine developments, were much-coveted articles. their owner was often tempted by extravagant offers for them; and therefore, to meet one crisis or another of family difficulties, they had been successively sold from her. at first, she had met this doom with almost the ferocity of a lioness; but the blow, oftentimes repeated, had brought with it a dull endurance, and christianity had entered, as it often does with the slave, through the rents and fissures of a broken heart. those instances of piety which are sometimes, though rarely, found among slaves, and which transcend the ordinary development of the best-instructed, are generally the results of calamities and afflictions so utterly desolating as to force the soul to depend on god alone. but, where one soul is thus raised to higher piety, thousands are crushed in hopeless imbecility. chapter v. harry and his wife. several miles from the gordon estate, on an old and somewhat decayed plantation, stood a neat log-cabin, whose external aspect showed both taste and care. it was almost enveloped in luxuriant wreaths of yellow jessamine, and garlanded with a magnificent lamarque rose, whose cream-colored buds and flowers contrasted beautifully with the dark, polished green of the finely-cut leaves. the house stood in an enclosure formed by a high hedge of the american holly, whose evergreen foliage and scarlet berries made it, at all times of the year, a beautiful object. within the enclosure was a garden, carefully tended, and devoted to the finest fruits and flowers. this little dwelling, so different in its air of fanciful neatness from ordinary southern cabins, was the abode of harry's little wife. _lisette_, which was her name, was the slave of a french creole woman, to whom a plantation had recently fallen by inheritance. she was a delicate, airy little creature, formed by a mixture of the african and french blood, producing one of those fanciful, exotic combinations, that give one the same impression of brilliancy and richness that one receives from tropical insects and flowers. from both parent races she was endowed with a sensuous being exquisitely quick and fine,--a nature of everlasting childhood, with all its freshness of present life, all its thoughtless, unreasoning fearlessness of the future. she stands there at her ironing-table, just outside her cottage door, singing gayly at her work. her round, plump, childish form is shown to advantage by the trim blue basque, laced in front, over a chemisette of white linen. her head is wreathed with a gay turban, from which escapes, now and then, a wandering curl of her silky black hair. her eyes, as she raises them, have the hazy, dreamy languor, which is so characteristic of the mixed races. her little, childish hands are busy, with nimble fingers adroitly plaiting and arranging various articles of feminine toilet, too delicate and expensive to have belonged to those in humble circumstances. she ironed, plaited, and sung, with busy care. occasionally, however, she would suspend her work, and, running between the flower-borders to the hedge, look wistfully along the road, shading her eyes with her hand. at last, as she saw a man on horseback approaching, she flew lightly out, and ran to meet him. "harry, harry! you've come, at last. i'm so glad! and what have you got in that paper? is it anything for me?" he held it up, and shook it at her, while she leaped after it. "no, no, little curiosity!" he said, gayly. "i know it's something for me," said she, with a pretty, half-pouting air. "and why do you know it's for you? is everything to be for you in the world, you little good-for-nothing?" "good-for-nothing!" with a toss of the gayly-turbaned little head. "you may well say that, sir! just look at the two dozen shirts i've ironed, since morning! come, now, take me up; i want to ride." harry put out the toe of his boot and his hand, and, with an adroit spring, she was in a moment before him, on his horse's neck, and, with a quick turn, snatched the paper parcel from his hand. "woman's curiosity!" said he. "well, i want to see what it is. dear me, what a tight string! oh, i can't break it! well, here it goes; i'll tear a hole in it, anyhow. oh, silk, as i live! aha! tell me now this isn't for me, you bad thing, you!" "why, how do you know it isn't to make me a summer coat?" "summer coat!--likely story! aha! i've found you out, mister! but, come, do make the horse canter! i want to go fast. make him canter, do!" harry gave a sudden jerk to the reins, and in a minute the two were flying off as if on the wings of the wind. on and on they went, through a small coppice of pines, while the light-hearted laugh rang on the breeze behind them. now they are lost to view. in a few minutes, emerging from the pine woods in another direction, they come sweeping, gay and laughing, up to the gate. to fasten the horse, to snatch the little wife on his shoulder, and run into the cottage with her, seemed the work only of a moment; and, as he set her down, still laughing, he exclaimed,-- "there, go, now, for a pretty little picture, as you are! i have helped them get up _les tableaux vivans_, at their great houses; but you are my tableau. you aren't good for much. you are nothing but a humming-bird, made to live on honey!" "that's what i am!" said the little one. "it takes a great deal of honey to keep me. i want to be praised, flattered, and loved, all the time. it isn't enough to have you love me. i want to hear you tell me so every day, and hour, and minute. and i want you always to admire me, and praise everything that i do. now"-- "particularly when you tear holes in packages!" said harry. "oh, my silk--my new silk dress!" said lisette, thus reminded of the package which she held in her hand. "this hateful string! how it cuts my fingers! i _will_ break it! i'll bite it in two. harry, harry, don't you see how it hurts my fingers? why don't you cut it?" and the little sprite danced about the cottage floor, tearing the paper, and tugging at the string, like an enraged humming-bird. harry came laughing behind her, and, taking hold of her two hands, held them quite still, while he cut the string of the parcel, and unfolded a gorgeous plaid silk, crimson, green, and orange. "there, now, what do you think of that? miss nina brought it, when she came home, last week." "oh, how lovely! isn't she a beauty? isn't she good? how beautiful it is! dear me, dear me! how happy i am! how happy _we_ are!--an't we, harry?" a shadow came over harry's forehead as he answered, with a half-sigh,-- "yes." "i was up at three o'clock this morning, on purpose to get all my ironing done to-day, because i thought you were to come home to-night. ah! ah! you don't know what a supper i've got ready! you'll see, by and by. i'm going to do something uncommon. you mustn't look in that other room, harry--you mustn't!" "mustn't i?" said harry, getting up, and going to the door. "there, now! who's curiosity now, i wonder!" said she, springing nimbly between him and the door. "no, you shan't go in, though. there, now; don't, don't! _be_ good now, harry!" "well, i may as well give up first as last. this is your house, not mine, i suppose," said harry. "mr. submission, how meek we are, all of a sudden. well, while the fit lasts, you go to the spring and get me some water to fill this tea-kettle. off with you now, this minute! mind you don't stop to play by the way!" and, while harry is gone to the spring, we will follow the wife into the forbidden room. very cool and pleasant it is, with its white window-curtains, its matted floor, and displaying in the corner that draped feather-bed, with its ruffled pillows and fringed curtains, which it is the great ambition of the southern cabin to attain and maintain. the door, which opened on to a show of most brilliant flowers, was overlaid completely by the lamarque rose we have before referred to; and large clusters of its creamy blossoms, and wreaths of its dark-green leaves, had been enticed in and tied to sundry nails and pegs by the small hands of the little mistress, to form an arch of flowers and roses. a little table stood in the door, draped with a spotless damasked table-cloth, fine enough for the use of a princess, and only produced by the little mistress on festive occasions. on it were arranged dishes curiously trimmed with moss and vine-leaves, which displayed strawberries and peaches, with a pitcher of cream and one of whey, small dishes of curd, delicate cakes and biscuit, and fresh golden butter. after patting and arranging the table-cloth, lisette tripped gayly around, and altered here and there the arrangement of a dish, occasionally stepping back, and cocking her little head on one side, much like a bird, singing gayly as she did so; then she would pick a bit of moss from this, and a flower from that, and retreat again, and watch the effect. "how surprised he will be!" she said to herself. still humming a tune in a low, gurgling undertone, she danced hither and thither, round the apartment. first she gave the curtains a little shake, and, unlooping one of them, looped it up again, so as to throw the beams of the evening sun on the table. "there, there, there! how pretty the light falls through those nasturtions! i wonder if the room smells of the mignonette. i gathered it when the dew was on it, and they say that will make it smell all day. now, here's harry's book-case. dear me! these flies! how they do get on to everything! shoo, shoo! now, now!" and, catching a gay bandana handkerchief from the drawer, she perfectly exhausted herself in flying about the room in pursuit of the buzzing intruders, who soared, and dived, and careered, after the manner of flies in general, seeming determined to go anywhere but out of the door, and finally were seen brushing their wings and licking their feet, with great alertness, on the very topmost height of the sacred bed-curtains; and as just this moment a glimpse was caught of harry returning from the spring, lisette was obliged to abandon the chase, and rush into the other room, to prevent a premature development of her little tea-tableau. then a small, pug-nosed, black tea-kettle came on to the stage of action, from some unknown cupboard; and harry had to fill it with water, and of course spilt the water on to the ironing-table, which made another little breezy, chattering commotion; and then the flat-irons were cleared away, and the pug-nosed kettle reigned in their stead on the charcoal brazier. "now, harry, was ever such a smart wife as i am? only think, besides all the rest that i've done, i've ironed your white linen suit, complete! now, go put it on. not in there! not in there!" she said, pushing him away from the door. "you can't go there, yet. you'll do well enough out here." and away she went, singing through the garden walks; and the song, floating back behind her, seemed like an odor brushed from the flowers. the refrain came rippling in at the door-- "me think not what to-morrow bring; me happy, so me sing!" "poor little thing!" said harry to himself; "why should i try to teach her anything?" in a few minutes she was back again, her white apron thrown over her arm, and blossoms of yellow jessamine, spikes of blue lavender, and buds of moss-roses, peeping out from it. she skipped gayly along, and deposited her treasure on the ironing-table; then, with a zealous, bustling earnestness, which characterized everything she did, she began sorting them into two bouquets, alternately talking and singing, as she did so,-- "come on, ye rosy hours, all joy and gladness bring!" "you see, harry, you're going to have a bouquet to put into the button-hole of that coat. it will make you look so handsome! there, now--there, now,-- 'we'll strew the way with flowers, and merrily, merrily sing.'" suddenly stopping, she looked at him archly, and said, "you can't tell, now, what i'm doing all this for!" "there's never any telling what you women do anything for." "do hear him talk--so pompous! well, sir, it's for your birthday, now. aha! you thought, because i can't keep the day of the month, that i didn't know anything about it; but i did. and i have put down now a chalk-mark every day, for four weeks, right under where i keep my ironing-account, so as to be sure of it. and i've been busy about it ever since two o'clock this morning. and now--there, the tea-kettle is boiling!"--and away she flew to the door. "oh, dear me!--dear me, now!--i've killed myself, now, i have!" she cried, holding up one of her hands, and flirting it up in the air. "dear me! who knew it was so hot?" "i should think a little woman that is so used to the holder _might_ have known it," said harry, as he caressed the little burnt hand. "come, now, let me carry it for you," said harry, "and i'll make the tea, if you'll let me go into that mysterious room." "indeed, no, harry--i'm going to do everything myself;" and, forgetting the burnt finger, lisette was off in a moment, and back in a moment with a shining teapot in her hand, and the tea was made. and at last the mysterious door opened, and lisette stood with her eyes fixed upon harry, to watch the effect. "superb!--magnificent!--splendid! why, this is good enough for a king! and where _did_ you get all these things?" said harry. "oh, out of our garden--all but the peaches. those old mist gave me--they come from florida. there, now, you laughed at me, last summer, when i set those strawberry-vines, and made all sorts of fun of me. and what do you think now?" "think! i think you're a wonderful little thing--a perfect witch." "come, now, let's sit down, then--you there, and i here." and, opening the door of the bird-cage, which hung in the lamarque rose-bush, "little button shall come, too." button, a bright yellow canary, with a smart black tuft upon his head, seemed to understand his part in the little domestic scene perfectly; for he stepped obediently upon the finger which was extended to him, and was soon sitting quite at his ease on the mossy edge of one of the dishes, pecking at the strawberries. "and now, do tell me," said lisette, "all about miss nina. how does she look?" "pretty and smart as ever," said harry. "just the same witchy, wilful ways with her." "and did she show you her dresses?" "oh, yes; the whole." "oh, do tell me about them, harry--do!" "well, there's a lovely pink gauze, covered with spangles, to be worn over white satin." "with flounces?" said lisette, earnestly. "with flounces." "how many?" "really, i don't remember." "don't remember how many flounces? why, harry, how stupid! say, harry, don't you suppose she will let me come and look at her things?" "oh, yes, dear, i don't doubt she will; and that will save my making a gazette of myself." "oh, when will you take me there, harry?" "perhaps to-morrow, dear. and now," said harry, "that you have accomplished your surprise upon me, i have a surprise, in return, for you. you can't guess, now, what miss nina brought for me." "no, indeed! what?" said lisette, springing up; "do tell me--quick." "patience--patience!" said harry, deliberately fumbling in his pocket, amusing himself with her excited air. but who should speak the astonishment and rapture which widened lisette's dark eyes, when the watch was produced? she clapped her hands, and danced for joy, to the imminent risk of upsetting the table, and all the things on it. "i do think we are the most fortunate people--you and i, harry! everything goes just as we want it to--doesn't it, now?" harry's assent to this comprehensive proposition was much less fervent than suited his little wife. "now, what's the matter with you? what goes wrong? why don't you rejoice as i do?" said she, coming and seating herself down upon his knee. "come, now, you've been working too hard, i know. i'm going to sing to you, now; you want something to cheer you up." and lisette took down her banjo, and sat down in the doorway under the arch of lamarque roses, and began thrumming gayly. "this is the nicest little thing, this banjo!" she said; "i wouldn't change it for all the guitars in the world. now, harry, i'm going to sing something specially for you." and lisette sung:-- "what are the joys of white man, here, what are his pleasures, say? he great, he proud, he haughty fine while i my banjo play: he sleep all day, he wake all night; he full of care, his heart no light; he great deal want, he little get; he sorry, so he fret. "me envy not the white man here, though he so proud and gay; he great, he proud, he haughty fine, while i my banjo play: me work all day, me sleep all night; me have no care, me heart is light; me think not what to-morrow bring; me happy, so me sing." lisette rattled the strings of the banjo, and sang with such a hearty abandon of enjoyment that it was a comfort to look at her. one would have thought that a bird's soul put into a woman's body would have sung just so. "there," she said, throwing down her banjo, and seating herself on her husband's knee, "do you know i think you are like white man in the song? i should like to know what is the matter with you. i can see plain enough when you are not happy; but i don't see why." "oh, lisette, i have very perplexing business to manage," said harry. "miss nina is a dear, good little mistress, but she doesn't know anything about accounts, or money; and here she has brought me home a set of bills to settle, and i'm sure i don't know where the money is to be got from. it's hard work to make the old place profitable in our days. the ground is pretty much worked up; it doesn't bear the crops it used to. and, then, our people are so childish, they don't, a soul of them, care how much they spend, or how carelessly they work. it's very expensive keeping up such an establishment. you know the gordons must be gordons. things can't be done now as some other families would do them; and, then, those bills which miss nina brings from new york are perfectly frightful." "well, harry, what are you going to do?" said lisette, nestling down close on his shoulder. "you always know how to do something." "why, lisette, i shall have to do what i've done two or three times before--take the money that i have saved, to pay these bills--our freedom-money, lisette." "oh, well, then, don't worry. we can get it again, you know. why, you know, harry, you can make a good deal with your trade, and one thing and another that you do; and, then, as for me, why, you know, my ironing, and my muslins, how celebrated they are. come, don't worry one bit; we shall get on nicely." "ah! but, lisette, all this pretty house of ours, garden, and everything, is only built on air, after all, till we are free. any accident can take it from us. now, there's miss nina; she is engaged, she tells me, to two or three lovers, as usual." "engaged, is she?" said lisette, eagerly, female curiosity getting the better of every other consideration; "she always did have lovers, just, you know, as i used to." "yes; but, lisette, she will marry, some time, and what a thing that would be for you and me! on her husband will depend all my happiness for all my life. he may set her against me; he may not like me. oh, lisette! i've seen trouble enough coming of marriages; and i was hoping, you see, that before that time came the money for my freedom would all be paid in, and i should be my own man. but, now, here it is. just as the sum is almost made up, i must pay out five hundred dollars of it, and that throws us back two or three years longer. and what makes me feel the most anxious is, that i'm pretty sure miss nina will marry one of these lovers before long." "why, what makes you think so, harry?" "oh, i've seen girls before now, lisette, and i know the signs." "what does she do? what does she say? tell me, now, harry." "oh, well, she runs on abusing the man, after her sort; and she's so very earnest and positive in telling me she don't like him." "just the way i used to do about you, harry, isn't it?" "besides," said harry, "i know, by the kind of character she gives of him, that she thinks of him very differently from what she ever did of any man before. miss nina little knows, when she is rattling about her beaux, what i'm thinking of. i'm saying, all the while, to myself, 'is that man going to be my master?' and this clayton, i'm very sure, is going to be my master." "well, isn't he a good man?" "she _says_ he is; but there's never any saying what good men will do, never. good men think it right sometimes to do the strangest things. this man may alter the whole agreement between us,--he will have a right to do it, if he is her husband; he may refuse to let me buy myself; and, then, all the money that i've paid will go for nothing." "but, certainly, harry, miss nina will never consent to such a thing." "lisette, miss nina is one thing, but mrs. clayton may be quite another thing. i've seen all _that_, over and over again. i tell you, lisette, that we who live on other people's looks and words, we watch and think a great deal! ah! we come to be very sharp, i can tell you. the more miss nina has liked me, the less her husband may like me; don't you know that?" "no; harry, you don't dislike people i like." "child, child, that's quite another thing." "well, then, harry, if you feel so bad about it, what makes you pay this money for miss nina? she don't know anything about it; she don't ask you to. i don't believe she would want you to, if she did know it. just go and pay it in, and have your freedom-papers made out. why don't you tell her all about it?" "no, i can't, lisette. i've had the care of her all her life, and i've made it as smooth as i could for her, and i won't begin to trouble her now. do you know, too, that i'm afraid that, perhaps, if she knew all about it, she wouldn't do the right thing. there's never any knowing, lisette. _now_, you see, i say to myself, 'poor little thing! she doesn't know anything about accounts, and she don't know how i feel.' but, if i should _tell_ her, and she shouldn't care, and act as i've seen women act, why, then, you know i couldn't think so any more. i don't _believe_ she would mind you; but, then, i don't like to try." "harry, what does make you love her so much?" "don't you know, lisette, that master tom was a dreadful bad boy, always wilful and wayward, almost broke his father's heart; and he was always ugly and contrary to her? i'm sure i don't know why; for she was a sweet little thing, and she loves him now, ugly as he is, and he is the most selfish creature i ever saw. and, as for miss nina, she isn't selfish--she is only inconsiderate. but i've known her do for him, over and over, just what i do for her, giving him her money and her jewels to help him out of a scrape. but, then, to be sure, it all comes upon me, at last, which makes it all the more aggravating. now, lisette, i'm going to tell you something, but you mustn't tell anybody. nina gordon is my sister!" "harry!" "yes, lisette, you may well open your eyes," said harry, rising involuntarily; "i'm colonel gordon's oldest son! let me have the comfort of saying it once, if i never do again." "harry, who told you?" "_he_ told me, lisette--he, himself, told me, when he was dying, and charged me always to watch over her; and i have done it! i never told miss nina; i wouldn't have her told for the world. it wouldn't make her love me; more likely it would turn her against me. i've seen many a man sold for nothing else but looking too much like his father, or his brothers and sisters. i was given to her, and my sister and my mother went out to mississippi with miss nina's aunt." "i never heard you speak of this sister, harry. was she pretty?" "lisette, she was beautiful, she was graceful, and she had real genius. i've heard many singers on the stage that could not sing, with all their learning, as she did by nature." "well, what became of her?" "oh, what becomes of such women always, among us! nursed, and petted, and caressed; taught everything elegant, nothing solid. why, the woman meant well enough that had the care of her,--mrs. stewart, colonel gordon's sister,--but she couldn't prevent her son's wanting her, and taking her, for his mistress; and when she died there she was." "well." "when george stewart had lived with her two or three years, he was taken with small-pox. you know what perfect horror that always creates. none of his white acquaintances and friends would come near his plantation; the negroes were all frightened to death, as usual; overseer ran off. well, then cora gordon's blood came up; she nursed him all through that sickness. what's more, she had influence to keep order on the place; got the people to getting the cotton crops themselves, so that when the overseer came sneaking back, things hadn't all gone to ruin, as they might have done. well, the young fellow had more in him than some of them do; for when he got well he left his plantation, took her up to ohio, and married her, and lived with her there." "why didn't he live with her on his plantation?" said lisette. "he couldn't have freed her there; it's against the laws. but, lately, i've got a letter from her saying that he had died and left to her and her son all his property on the mississippi." "why, she will be rich, won't she?" "yes, if she gets it. but there's no knowing how that will be; there are fifty ways of cheating her out of it, i suppose. but, now, as to miss nina's estate, you don't know how i feel about it. i was trusted with it, and trusted with her. she never has known, more than a child, where the money came from, or went to; and it shan't be said that i've brought the estate in debt, for the sake of getting my own liberty. if i have one pride in life, it is to give it up to miss nina's husband in good order. but, then, the _trouble_ of it, lisette! the trouble of getting anything like decent work from these creatures; the ways that i have to turn and twist to get round them, and manage them, to get anything done. they hate me; they are jealous of me. lisette, i'm just like the bat in the fable; i'm neither bird nor beast. how often i've wished that i was a good, honest, black nigger, like uncle pomp! then i should know what i was; but, now, i'm neither one thing nor another. i come just near enough to the condition of the white to look into it, to enjoy it, and want everything that i see. then, the way i've been educated makes it worse. the fact is, that when the fathers of such as we feel any love for us, it isn't like the love they have for their white children. they are half-ashamed of us; they are ashamed to show their love, if they have it; and, then, there's a kind of remorse and pity about it, which they make up to themselves by petting us. they load us with presents and indulgences. they amuse themselves with us while we are children, and play off all our passions as if we were instruments to be played on. if we show talent and smartness, we hear some one say, aside, 'it's rather a pity, isn't it?' or, 'he is too smart for his place.' then, we have all the family blood and the family pride; and what to do with it? i feel that i am a gordon. i feel in my very heart that i'm like colonel gordon--i know i am, and, sometimes, i know i look like him, and that's one reason why tom gordon always hated me; and, then, there's another thing, the hardest of all, to have a sister like miss nina, to feel she _is_ my sister, and never dare to say a word of it! she little thinks, when she plays and jokes with me, sometimes, how i feel. i have eyes and senses; i can compare myself with tom gordon. i know he _never would_ learn anything at any of the schools he was put to; and i know that when his tutors used to teach me, how much faster i got along than he did. and yet he must have all the position, and all the respect; and, then, miss nina so often says to me, by way of apology, when she puts up with his ugliness, 'ah! well, you know, harry, he is the only brother i have got in the world!' isn't it too bad? colonel gordon gave me every advantage of education, because i think he meant me for just this place which i fill. miss nina was his pet. he was wholly absorbed in her, and he was frightened at tom's wickedness; and so he left me bound to the estate in this way, only stipulating that i should buy myself on favorable terms before miss nina's marriage. she has always been willing enough. i might have taken any and every advantage of her inconsiderateness. and mr. john gordon has been willing, too, and has been very kind about it, and has signed an agreement as guardian, and miss nina has signed it too, that, in case of her death, or whatever happened, i'm to have my freedom on paying a certain sum, and i have got his receipts for what i have paid. so that's tolerably safe. lisette, i had meant never to have been married till i was a free man; but, somehow, you bewitched me into it. i did very wrong." "oh, pshaw! pshaw!" interrupted lisette. "i an't going to hear another word of this talk! what's the use? we shall do well enough. everything will come out right,--you see if it don't, now. i was always lucky, and i always shall be." the conversation was here interrupted by a loud whooping, and a clatter of horse's heels. "what's that?" said harry, starting to the window. "as i live, now, if there isn't that wretch of a tomtit, going off with that horse! how came he here? he will ruin him! stop there! hallo!" he exclaimed, running out of doors after tomtit. tomtit, however, only gave a triumphant whoop, and disappeared among the pine-trees. "well, i should like to know what sent him here!" said harry, walking up and down, much disturbed. "oh, he's only going round through the grove; he will be back again," said lisette; "never fear. isn't he a handsome little rogue?" "lisette, you never can see trouble anywhere!" said harry, almost angrily. "ah! yes i do," said lisette, "when you speak in that tone! please don't, harry! what should you want me to see trouble for?" "i don't know, you little thing," said harry, stroking her head fondly. "ah, there comes the little rascal, just as i knew he would!" said lisette. "he only wanted to take a little race; he hasn't hurt the horse;" and, tripping lightly out, she caught the reins, just as tomtit drove up to the gate; and it seemed but a moment before he was over in the garden, with his hands full of flowers. "stop, there, you young rascal, and tell me what sent you here!" said harry, seizing him, and shaking him by the shoulder. "laws, massa harry, i wants to get peaches, like other folks," said the boy, peeping roguishly in at the window, at the tea-table. "and he shall have a peach, too," said lisette, "and some flowers, if he'll be a good boy, and not tread on my borders." tomtit seized greedily at the peach she gave him, and, sitting flat down where he stood, and throwing the flowers on the ground beside him, began eating it with an earnestness of devotion as if his whole being were concentrated in the act. the color was heightened in his brown cheek by the exercise, and, with his long, drooping curls and eyelashes, he looked a very pretty centre to the flower-piece which he had so promptly improvised. "ah, how pretty he is!" said lisette, touching harry's elbow. "i wish he was mine!" "you'd have your hands full, if he was," said harry eying the intruder discontentedly, while lisette stood picking the hulls from a fine bunch of strawberries which she was ready to give him when he had finished the peach. "beauty makes fools of all you girls," said harry, cynically. "is that the reason i married you?" said lisette, archly. "well, i know i could make him good, if i had the care of him. nothing like coaxing; is there, tom?" "i'll boun' there an't!" said tom, opening his mouth for the strawberries with much the air of a handsome, saucy robin. "well," said harry, "i should like to know what brought him over here. speak, now, tom! weren't you sent with some message?" "oh laws, yes!" said tom, getting up, and scratching his curly head. "miss nina sent me. she wants you to get on dat ar horse, and make tracks for home like split foot. she done got letters from two or three of her beaux, and she is dancing and tearing round there real awful. she done got scared, spects; feard they'd all come together." "and she sent you on a message, and you haven't told me, all this time!" said harry, making a motion as though he was going to box the child's ears; but the boy glided out of his hands as if he had been water, and was gone, vanishing among the shrubbery of the garden; and while harry was mounting his horse, he reappeared on the roof of the little cabin, caricoling and dancing, shouting at the topmost of his voice,-- "away down old virginny, dere i bought a yellow girl for a guinea." "i'll give it to you, some time!" said harry, shaking his fist at him. "no, he won't, either," cried lisette, laughing. "come down here, tomtit, and i'll make a good boy of you." chapter vi. the dilemma. in order to understand the occasion which hurried harry home, we must go back to canema. nina, after taking her letters from the hands of tomtit, as we have related, ran back with them into mrs. nesbit's room, and sat herself down to read them. as she read, she evidently became quite excited and discomposed, crumpling a paper with her little hand, and tapping her foot impatiently on the carpet. "there, now, i'm sure i don't know what i shall do, aunt nesbit!" addressing her aunt, because it was her outspoken habit to talk to any body or thing which happened to be sitting next to her. "i've got myself into a pretty scrape now!" "i told you you'd get into trouble, one of these days!" "oh, you _told_ me so! if there's anything i hate, it is to have anybody tell me 'i told you so!' but now aunt, really, i know i've been foolish, but i don't know what to do. here are two gentlemen coming together, that i wouldn't have meet each other here for the world; and i don't know really what i had better do." "you'd better do just as you please, as you always do, and always would, ever since i knew you," said aunt nesbit, in a calm, indifferent tone. "but, really, aunt, i don't know what's proper to do in such a case." "your and my notions of propriety, nina, are so different, that i don't know how to advise you. you see the consequences, now, of not attending to the advice of your friends. i always knew these flirtations of yours would bring you into trouble." and aunt nesbit said this with that quiet, satisfied air with which precise elderly people so often edify their thoughtless young friends under difficulties. "well, i didn't want a sermon, now, aunt nesbit; but, as you've seen a great deal more of the world than i have, i thought you might help me a little, just to tell me whether it wouldn't be proper for me to write and put one of these gentlemen off; or make some excuse for me, or something. i'm sure _i_ never kept house before. i don't want to do anything that don't seem hospitable; and yet i don't want them to come together. now, there, that's flat!" there was a long pause, in which nina sat vexed and coloring, biting her lips, and nestling uneasily in her seat. mrs. nesbit looked calm and considerate, and nina began to hope that she was taking the case a little to heart. at last the good old lady looked up, and said, very quietly, "i wonder what time it is." nina thought she was debating the expediency of sending some message; and therefore she crossed the room with great alacrity, to look at the old clock in the entry. "it's half-past two, aunt!" and she stood, with her lips apart, looking at mrs. nesbit for some suggestion. "i was going to tell rosa," said she, abstractedly, "that that onion in the stuffing does not agree with me. it rose on my stomach all yesterday morning; but it's too late now." nina actually stamped with anger. "aunt nesbit, you are the most selfish person i ever saw in my life!" "nina, child, you astonish me!" said aunt nesbit, with her wonted placidity. "what's the matter?" "i don't care!" said nina; "i don't care a bit! i don't see how people can be so! if a dog should come to me and tell me he was in trouble, i think i should listen to him, and show some kind of interest to help him! i don't care how foolish anybody has been; if they are in trouble, i'd help them, if i could; and i think you might think enough of it to give me some little advice!" "oh, you are talking about that affair, yet?" said her aunt. "why, i believe i told you i didn't know what to advise, didn't i? shouldn't give way to this temper, nina; it's very unladylike, besides being sinful. but, then, i don't suppose it's any use for me to talk!" and aunt nesbit, with an abused air, got up, walked quietly to the looking-glass, took off her morning cap, unlocked her drawer, and laid it in; took out another, which nina could not see differed a particle from the last, held it up thoughtfully on her hand, and appeared absorbed in the contemplation of it,--while nina, swelling with a mixture of anger and mortification, stood regarding her as she leisurely picked out each bow, and finally, with a decorous air of solemnity, arranged it upon her head, patting it tenderly down. "aunt nesbit," she said, suddenly, as if the words hurt her, "i think i spoke improperly, and i'm very sorry for it. i beg your pardon." "oh, it's no matter, child; i didn't care about it. i'm pretty well used to your temper." bang went the door, and in a moment nina stood in the entry, shaking her fist at it with impotent wrath. "you stony, stiff, disagreeable old creature! how came you ever to be my mother's sister?" and, with the word mother, she burst into a tempest of tears, and rushed violently to her own chamber. the first object that she saw was milly, arranging some clothes in her drawer; and, to her astonishment, nina rushed up to her, and, throwing her arms round her neck, sobbed and wept in such tumultuous excitement that the good creature was alarmed. "laws bless my soul, my dear little lamb! what's the matter? why, don't! don't, honey! why, bless the dear little soul! bless the dear precious lamb! who's been a hurting of it?" and, at each word of endearment, nina's distress broke out afresh, and she sobbed so bitterly that the faithful creature really began to be frightened. "laws, miss nina, i hope there an't nothing happened to you now!" "no, no, nothing, milly, only i am lonesome, and i want my mother! i haven't got any mother! dear me!" she said, with a fresh burst. "ah, the poor thing!" said milly, compassionately, sitting down, and fondling nina in her arms, as if she had been a babe. "poor chile! laws, yes; i 'member your ma was a beautiful woman!" "yes," said nina, speaking between her sobs, "the girls at school had mothers. and there was mary brooks, she used to read to me her mother's letters, and i used to feel so, all the while, to think nobody wrote such letters to me! and there's aunt nesbit--i don't care what they say about her being religious, she is the most selfish, hateful creature i ever did see! i do believe, if i was lying dead and laid out in the next room to her, she would be thinking what she'd get next for dinner!" "oh, don't, my poor lamb, don't!" said milly, compassionately. "yes, i will, too! she's always taking it for granted that i'm the greatest sinner on the face of the earth! she don't scold me--she don't care enough about me to scold! she only takes it for granted, in her hateful, quiet way, that i'm going to destruction, and that she can't help it, and don't care! supposing i'm not good!--what's to make me good? is it going to make me good for people to sit up so stiff, and tell me they always knew i was a fool, and a flirt, and all that? milly, i've had dreadful turns of wanting to be good, and i've laid awake nights and cried because i wasn't good. and what makes it worse is, that i think if ma was alive she could help me. she wasn't like aunt nesbit, was she, milly?" "no, honey, she wasn't. i'll tell you about your ma some time, honey." "the worst of it is," said nina, "when aunt nesbit speaks to me in her hateful way, i get angry; then i speak in a way that isn't proper, i know. oh, if she only would get angry with me back again! or if she'd do anything in the world but stand still, in her still way, telling me she is astonished at me! that's a lie, too; for she never was astonished at anything in her life! she hasn't life enough to be!" "ah, miss nina, we mustn't spect more of folks than there is in them." "expect? i don't expect!" "well, bless you, honey, when you knows what folks _is_, don't let's worry. ye can't fill a quart-cup out of a thimble, honey, no way you can fix it. there's just whar 'tis. i knowed your ma, and i's knowed miss loo, ever since she was a girl. 'pears like they wan't no more alike than snow is like sugar. miss loo, when she was a girl, she was that pretty that everybody was wondering after her; but to de love, dat ar went after your ma. couldn't tell why it was, honey. 'peared like miss loo wan't techy, nor she wan't one of your bursting-out sort, scolding round. 'peared like she'd never hurt nobody; and yet our people, they couldn't none of dem bar her. 'peared like nobody did nothing for her with a will." "well, good reason!" said nina; "she never did anything for anybody else with a will! she never cared for anybody! now, i'm selfish; i always knew it. i do a great many selfish things; but it's a different kind from hers. do you know, milly, she don't seem to know she is selfish? there she sits, rocking in her old chair, so sure she's going straight to heaven, and don't care whether anybody else gets there or not!" "oh laws, now, miss nina, you's too hard on her. why, look how patient she sits with tomtit, teaching him his hymns and varses." "and you think that's because she cares anything about him? do you know she thinks he isn't fit to go to heaven, and that if he dies he'll go to the bad place. and yet, if he was to die to-morrow, she'd talk to you about clear-starching her caps! no wonder the child don't love her! she talks to him just as she does to me; tells him she don't expect anything of him--she knows he'll never come to any good; and the little wretch has got it by heart, now. do you know that, though i get in a passion with tom, sometimes, and though i'm sure i should perish sitting boring with him over those old books, yet i really believe i care more for him than she does? and he knows it, too. he sees through her as plain as i do. you'll never make me believe that aunt nesbit has got religion. i know there is such a thing as religion; but she hasn't got it. it isn't all being sober, and crackling old stiff religious newspapers, and boring with texts and hymns, that makes people religious. she is just as worldly-minded as i am, only it's in another way. there, now, i wanted her to advise me about something, to-day. why, milly, all girls want somebody to talk with; and if she'd only showed the least interest in what i said, she might scold me and lecture me as much as she'd a mind to. but, to have her not even hear me! and when she must have seen that i was troubled and perplexed, and wanted somebody to advise me, she turned round so cool, and began to talk about the onions and the stuffing! got me so angry! i suppose she is in her room, now, rocking, and thinking what a sinner i am!" "well, now, miss nina, 'pears though you've talked enough about dat ar; 'pears like it won't make you feel no better." "yes it _does_ make me feel better! i had to speak to somebody, milly, or else i should have burst; and now i wonder where harry is. he always could find a way for me out of anything." "he is gone over to see his wife, i think, miss nina." "oh, too bad! do sent tomtit after him, right away. tell him that i want him to come right home, this very minute--something very particular. and, milly, you just go and tell old hundred to get out the carriage and horses, and i'll go over and drop a note in the post-office, myself. i won't trust it to tomtit; for i know he'll lose it." "miss nina," said milly, looking hesitatingly, "i 'spect you don't know how things go about round here; but the fact is, old hundred has got so kind of cur'ous, lately, there can't nobody do nothing with him, except harry. don't 'tend to do nothing miss loo tells him to. i's feared he'll make up some story or other about the horses; but he won't get 'em out--now, mind, i tell you, chile!" "he won't! i should like to know if he won't, when i tell him to! a pretty story that would be! i'll soon teach him that he has a live mistress--somebody quite different from aunt loo!" "well, well, chile, perhaps you'd better go. he wouldn't mind me, i know. maybe he'll do it for you." "oh, yes; i'll just run down to his house, and hurry him up." and nina, quite restored to her usual good-humor, tripped gayly across to the cabin of old hundred, that stood the other side of the house. old hundred's true name was, in fact, john. but he had derived the appellation, by which he was always known, from the extreme moderation of all his movements. old hundred had a double share of that profound sense of the dignity of his office which is an attribute of the tribe of coachmen in general. he seemed to consider the horses and carriage as a sort of family ark, of which he was the high priest, and which it was his business to save from desecration. according to his own showing, all the people on the plantation, and indeed the whole world in general, were in a state of habitual conspiracy against the family carriage and horses, and he was standing for them, single-handed, at the risk of his life. it was as much part of his duty, in virtue of his office, to show cause, on every occasion, why the carriage should _not_ be used, as it is for state attorneys to undertake prosecutions. and it was also a part of the accomplishment of his situation to conduct his refusal in the most decorous manner; always showing that it was only the utter impossibility of the case which prevented. the available grounds of refusal old hundred had made a life-study, and had always a store of them cut and dried for use, all ready at a moment's notice. in the first place, there were always a number of impossibilities with regard to the carriage. either "it was muddy, and he was laying out to wash it;" or else "he had washed it, and couldn't have it splashed;" or "he had taken out the back curtain, and had laid out to put a stitch in it, one of dese yer days;" or there was something the matter with the irons. "he reckoned they was a little bit sprung." he "'lowed he'd ask the blacksmith about it, some of dese yer times." and then as to the horses the possibilities were rich and abundant. what with strains, and loose shoes, and stones getting in at the hoofs, dangers of all sorts of complaints, for which he had his own vocabulary of names, it was next to an impossibility, according to any ordinary rule of computing chances, that the two should be in complete order together. utterly ignorant, however, of the magnitude of the undertaking which she was attempting, and buoyant with the consciousness of authority, nina tripped singing along, and found old hundred tranquilly reclining in his tent-door, watching through his half-shut eyes, while the afternoon sunbeam irradiated the smoke which rose from the old pipe between his teeth. a large, black, one-eyed crow sat perching, with a quizzical air, upon his knee; and when he heard nina's footsteps approaching, cocked his remaining eye towards her, with a smart, observing attitude, as if he had been deputed to look out for applications while his master dozed. between this crow, who had received the sobriquet of uncle jeff, and his master, there existed a most particular bond of friendship and amity. this was further strengthened by the fact that they were both equally disliked by all the inhabitants of the place. like many people who are called to stand in responsible positions, old hundred had rather failed in the humble virtues, and become dogmatical and dictatorial to that degree that nobody but his own wife could do anything with him. and as to jeff, if the principle of thievery could be incarnate, he might have won a temple among the lacedemonians. in various skirmishes and battles consequent on his misdeeds, jeff had lost an eye, and had a considerable portion of the feathers scalded off on one side of his head; while the remaining ones, discomposed by the incident, ever after stood up in a protesting attitude, imparting something still more sinister to his goblin appearance. in another rencounter he had received a permanent twist in the neck, which gave him always the appearance of looking over his shoulder, and added not a little to the oddity of the general effect. uncle jeff thieved with an assiduity and skill which were worthy of a better cause; and, when not upon any serious enterprise of this kind, employed his time in pulling up corn, scratching up newly-planted flower-seeds, tangling yarn, pulling out knitting-needles, pecking the eyes of sleeping people, scratching and biting children, and any other little miscellaneous mischief which occurred to him. he was invaluable to old hundred, because he was a standing apology for any and all discoveries made on his premises of things which ought not to have been there. no matter what was brought to light,--whether spoons from the great house, or a pair of sleeve-buttons, or a handkerchief, or a pipe from a neighboring cabin,--jeff was always called up to answer. old hundred regularly scolded, on these occasions, and declared he was enough to "spile the character of any man's house." and jeff would look at him comically over the shoulder, and wink his remaining eye, as much as to say that the scolding was a settled thing between them, and that he wasn't going to take it at all in ill part. "uncle john," said nina, "i want you to get the carriage out for me, right away. i want to take a ride over the cross run." "laws bless you sweet face, honey, chile, i's dreadful sorry; but you can't do it dis yer day." "can't do it! why not?" "why, bless you, chile, it an't possible, no way. can't have the carriage and hosses dis yer arternoon." "but i _must_ go over to cross run to the post-office. i must go this minute!" "law, chile, you can't do it! fur you can't walk, and it's sartain you can't ride, because dese yer hosses, nor dis yer carriage, can't stir out dis yer arternoon, no way you can fix it. mout go, perhaps, to-morrow, or next week." "oh, uncle john, i don't believe a word of it! i want them this afternoon, and i say i _must_ have them!" "no, you can't, chile," said old hundred, in a tender, condescending tone, as if he was speaking to a baby. "i tell you dat ar is impossible. why, bless your soul, miss nina, de curtains is all off de carriage!" "well, put them on again, then!" "ah, miss nina, dat ar an't all. pete was desperate sick, last night; took with de thumps, powerful bad. why, miss nina, he was dat sick i had to be up with him most all night!" and, while old hundred thus adroitly issued this little work of fiction, the raven nodded waggishly at nina, as much as to say, "you hear that fellow, now!" nina stood quite perplexed, biting her lips, and old hundred seemed to go into a profound slumber. "i don't believe but what the horses can go to-day! i mean to go and look." "laws, honey, chile, ye can't, now; de do's is all locked, and i've got de key in my pocket. every one of dem critturs would have been killed forty times over 'fore now. i think everybody in dis yer world is arter dem dar critturs. miss loo, she's wanting 'em to go one way, and harry's allers usin' de critturs. got one out, dis yer arternoon, riding over to see his wife. don't see no use in his riding round so grand, noway! laws, miss nina, your pa used to say to me, says he, 'uncle john, you knows more about dem critturs dan i do; and, now i tell you what it is, uncle john--you take care of dem critturs; don't you let nobody kill 'em for nothing.' now, miss nina, i's always a walking in the steps of the colonel's 'rections. now, good, clar, bright weather, over good roads, i likes to trot the critturs out. dat ar is reasonable. but, den, what roads is over the cross run, i want to know? dem dere roads is de most mis'ablest things you ever did see. mud! hi! ought for to see de mud down dar by de creek! why, de bridge all tared off! man drowned in dat dar creek once! was so! it an't no sort of road for young ladies to go over. tell you, miss nina; why don' you let harry carry your letter over? if he must be ridin' round de country, don't see why he couldn't do some good wid his ridin'. why, de carriage wouldn't get over before ten o'clock, dis yer night! now, mine, i tell you. besides, it's gwine fur to rain. i's been feeling dat ar in my corns, all dis yer morning; and jeff, he's been acting like the berry debil hisself--de way he always does 'fore it rains. never knowed dat ar sign to fail." "the short of the matter is, uncle john, you are determined not to go," said nina. "but i tell you you _shall_ go!--there, now! now, do you get up immediately, and get out those horses!" old hundred still sat quiet, smoking; and nina, after reiterating her orders till she got thoroughly angry, began, at last, to ask herself the question, how she was going to carry them into execution. old hundred appeared to have descended into himself in a profound reverie, and betrayed not the smallest sign of hearing anything she said. "i wish harry would come back quick," she said to herself as she pensively retraced her steps through the garden; but tomtit had taken the commission to go for him in his usual leisurely way spending the greater part of the afternoon on the road. "now, an't you ashamed of yourself, you mean old nigger!" said aunt rose, the wife of old hundred, who had been listening to the conversation; "talking 'bout de creek, and de mud, and de critturs, and lor knows what all, when we all knows it's nothing but your laziness!" "well," said old hundred, "and what would come o' the critturs if i wasn't lazy, i want to know? laziness! it's the berry best thing for the critturs can be. where'd dem horses a been now, if i had been one of your highfelutin sort, always driving round? where'd dey a been, and what would dey a been, hey? who wants to see hosses all skin and bone? lord! if i had been like some o' de coachmen, de buzzards would have had the picking of dem critturs, long ago!" "i rally believe that you've told dem dar lies till you begin to believe them yourself!" said rose. "telling our dear, sweet young lady about your being up with pete all night, when de lord knows you laid here snoring fit to tar de roof off!" "well, must say something! folks must be 'spectful to de ladies. course i couldn't tell her i _wouldn't_ take de critturs out; so i just trots out scuse. ah! lots of dem scuses i keeps! i tell you, now, scuses is excellent things. why, scuses is like dis yer grease that keeps de wheels from screaking. lord bless you, de whole world turns round on scuses. whar de world be if everybody was such fools to tell the raal reason for everything they are gwine for to do, or an't gwine fur to!" chapter vii. consultation. "oh, harry, i'm so glad to see you back! in such trouble as i've been to-day! don't you think, this very morning, as i was sitting in aunt nesbit's room, tomtit brought up these two letters; and one of them is from clayton, and the other from mr. carson; and, now, see here what clayton says: 'i shall have business that will take me in your vicinity next week; and it is quite possible, unless i hear from you to the contrary, that you may see me at canema next friday or saturday.' well, then, see here; there's another from mr. carson,--that hateful carson! now, you see, he hasn't got my letter; says he is coming. what impudence! i'm tired to death of that creature, and he'll be here just as certain! disagreeable people always do keep their promises! he'll certainly be here!" "well, miss nina, you recollect you said you thought it would be good fun." "oh, harry, don't bring that up, i beg of you! the fact is, harry, i've altered my mind about that. you know i've put a stop to all those foolish things at once, and am done with them. you know i wrote to carson and emmons, both, that my sentiments had changed, and all that sort of thing, that the girls always say. i'm going to dismiss all of 'em at once, and have no more fooling." "what, all? mr. clayton and all?" "well, i don't know, exactly,--no. do you know, harry, i think his letters are rather improving?--at least, they are different letters from any i've got before; and, though i don't think i shall break my heart after him, yet i like to get them. but the other two i'm sick to death of; and, as for having that creature boring round here, i won't! at any rate, i don't want him and clayton here together. i wouldn't have them together for the world; and i wrote a letter to keep carson off, this morning, and i've been in trouble all day. everybody has plagued me. aunt nesbit only gave me one of her mopy lectures about flirting, and wouldn't help me in the least. and, then, old hundred: i wanted him to get out the carriage and horses for me to go over and put this letter in the office, and i never saw such a creature in my life! i can't make him do anything! i should like to know what the use is of having servants, if you can't get anything done!" "oh, as to old hundred, i understand him, and he understands me," said harry. "i never find any trouble with him; but he is a provoking old creature. he stands very much on the dignity of his office. but, if you want your letter carried to-night, i can contrive a safer way than that, if you'll trust it to me." "ah! well, do take it!" "yes," said harry, "i'll send a messenger across on horseback, and i have means to make him faithful." "well, harry, harry!" said nina, catching at his sleeve as he was going out, "come back again, won't you? i want to talk to you." during harry's absence, our heroine drew a letter from her bosom, and read it over. "how well he writes!" she said to herself. "so different from the rest of them! i wish he'd keep away from here,--that's what i do! it's a pretty thing to get his letters, but i don't think i want to see _him_. oh, dear! i wish i had somebody to talk to about it--aunt nesbit is _so_ cross! i can't--no, i won't care about him! harry is a kind soul." "ah, harry, have you sent the letter?" said she eagerly as he entered. "i have, miss nina; but i can't flatter you too much. i'm afraid it's too late for the mail--though there's never any saying when the mail goes out, within two or three hours." "well, i hope it will stay for me, once. if that stupid creature comes, why, i don't know what i shall do! he's so presuming! and he'll squeak about with those horrid shoes of his; and then, i suppose, it will all come out, one way or another; and i don't know what clayton will think." "but i thought you didn't care _what_ he thought." "well, you know, he's been writing to me all about his family. there's his father, is a very distinguished man, of a very old family; and he's been writing to me about his sister, the most dreadfully sensible sister, he has got--good, lovely, accomplished, and pious! oh, dear me! i don't know what in the world he ever thought of _me_ for! and, do you think, there's a postscript from his sister, written elegantly as can be!" "as to family, miss nina," said harry, "i think the gordons can hold up their heads with anybody; and, then, i rather think you'll like miss clayton." "ah! but, then, harry, this talking about fathers and sisters, it's bringing the thing awfully _near!_ it looks so much, you know, as if i really were caught. do you know, harry, i think i'm just like my pony? you know, she likes to have you come and offer her corn, and stroke her neck; and she likes to _make you believe_ she's going to let you catch her; but when it comes to putting a bridle on her, she's off in a minute. now, that's the way with me. it's rather exciting, you know, these beaux, and love-letters, and talking sentiment, going to the opera, and taking rides on horseback, and all that. but, when men get to talking about their fathers, and their sisters, and to act as if they were sure of me, i'm just like sylfine--i want to be off. you know, harry, i think it's a very serious thing, this being married. it's dreadful! i don't want to be a woman grown. i wish _i_ could always be a girl, and live just as i have lived, and have plenty more girls come and see me, and have fun. i haven't been a bit happy lately, not a bit; and i never was unhappy before in my life." "well, why don't you write to mr. clayton, and break it all off, if you feel so about it?" "well, why don't i? i don't know. i've had a great mind to do it; but i'm afraid i should feel worse than i do now. he's coming just like a great dark shadow over my life, and everything is beginning to feel so real to me! i don't want to take up life in earnest. i read a story, once, about undine; and, do you know, harry, i think i feel just as undine did, when she felt her soul coming in her?" "and is clayton knight heldebound?" said harry, smiling. "i don't know. what if he should be? now, harry, you see the fact is that sensible men get their heads turned by such kind of girls as i am; and they pet us, and humor us. but, then, i'm afraid they're thinking, all the while, that their turn to rule is coming, by and by. they marry us because they think they are going to make us over; and what i'm afraid of is, i never _can_ be made over. don't think i was cut out right in the first place; and there never will be much more of me than there is now. and he'll be comparing me with his pattern sister; and i shan't be any the more amiable for that. now, his sister is what folks call highly-educated, you know, harry. she understands all about literature, and everything. as for me, i've just cultivation enough to appreciate a fine horse--that's the extent. and yet i'm proud. i wouldn't wish to stand second, in his opinion, even to his sister. so, there it is. that's the way with us girls! we are always wanting what we know we ought not to have, and are not willing to take the trouble to get." "miss nina, if you'll let me speak my mind out frankly, now, i want to offer one piece of advice. just be perfectly true and open with mr. clayton; and if he and mr. carson should come together, just tell him frankly how the matter stands. you are a gordon, and they say truth always runs in the gordon blood; and now, miss nina, you are no longer a school-girl, but a young lady at the head of the estate." he stopped, and hesitated. "well, harry, you needn't stop. i understand you--got a few grains of sense left, i hope, and haven't got so many friends that i can afford to get angry with you for nothing." "i suppose," said harry, thoughtfully, "that your aunt will be well enough to be down to the table. have you told her how matters stand?" "who? aunt loo? catch me telling her anything! no, harry, i've got to stand all alone. i haven't any mother, and i haven't any sister; and aunt loo is worse than nobody, because it's provoking to have somebody round that you feel might take an interest, and ought to, and don't care a red cent for you. well, i declare, if i'm not much,--if i'm not such a model as miss clayton, there,--how could any one expect it, when i have just come up by myself, first at the plantation, here, and then at that french boarding-school? i tell you what, harry, boarding-schools are not what they're cried up to be. it's good fun, no doubt, but we never learnt anything there. that is to say, we never learnt it internally, but had it just rubbed on to us outside. a girl can't help, of course, learning something; and i've learnt just what i happened to like and couldn't help, and a deal that isn't of the most edifying nature besides." well! we shall see what will come! chapter viii. old tiff. "i say, tiff, _do_ you think he will come, to-night?" "laws, laws, missis, how can tiff tell? i's been a gazin' out de do'. don't see nor hear nothin'." "it's so lonesome!--_so_ lonesome!--and the nights so long!" and the speaker, an emaciated, feeble little woman, turned herself uneasily on the ragged pallet where she was lying, and, twirling her slender fingers nervously, gazed up at the rough, unplastered beams above. the room was of the coarsest and rudest cast. the hut was framed of rough pine logs, filled between the crevices with mud and straw; the floor made of rough-split planks, unevenly jointed together; the window was formed by some single panes arranged in a row where a gap had been made in one of the logs. at one end was a rude chimney of sticks, where smouldered a fire of pine-cones and brushwood, covered over with a light coat of white ashes. on the mantel over it was a shelf, which displayed sundry vials, a cracked teapot and tumbler, some medicinal-looking packages, a turkey's wing, much abridged and defaced by frequent usage, some bundles of dry herbs, and lastly a gayly-painted mug of coarse crockery-ware, containing a bunch of wild-flowers. on pegs, driven into the logs, were arranged different articles of female attire, and divers little coats and dresses, which belonged to smaller wearers, with now and then soiled and coarse articles of man's apparel. the woman, who lay upon a coarse chaff pallet in the corner, was one who once might have been pretty. her skin was fair, her hair soft and curling, her eyes of a beautiful blue, her hands thin and transparent as pearl. but the deep, dark circles under the eyes, the thin, white lips, the attenuated limbs, the hurried breathing, and the burning spots in the cheek, told that, whatever she might have been, she was now not long for this world. beside her bed was sitting an old negro, in whose close-curling wool age had began to sprinkle flecks of white. his countenance presented, physically, one of the most uncomely specimens of negro features; and would have been positively frightful, had it not been redeemed by an expression of cheerful kindliness which beamed from it. his face was of ebony blackness, with a wide, upturned nose, a mouth of portentous size, guarded by clumsy lips, revealing teeth which a shark might have envied. the only fine feature was his large, black eyes, which, at the present, were concealed by a huge pair of plated spectacles, placed very low upon his nose, and through which he was directing his sight upon a child's stocking, that he was busily darning. at his foot was a rude cradle, made of a gum-tree log, hollowed out into a trough, and wadded by various old fragments of flannel, in which slept a very young infant. another child, of about three years of age, was sitting on the negro's knee, busily playing with some pine-cones and mosses. the figure of the old negro was low and stooping; and he wore, pinned round his shoulders, a half-handkerchief or shawl of red flannel, arranged much as an old woman would have arranged it. one or two needles, with coarse, black thread dangling to them, were stuck in on his shoulder; and as he busily darned on the little stocking, he kept up a kind of droning intermixture of chanting and talking to the child on his knee. "so, ho, teddy!--bub dar!--my man!--sit still!--cause yer ma's sick, and sister's gone for medicine. dar, tiff'll sing to his little man. 'christ was born in bethlehem, christ was born in bethlehem, and in a manger laid.' take car, dar!--dat ar needle scratch yer little fingers!--poor little fingers! ah, be still, now!--play wid yer pretty tings, and see what yer pa'll bring ye!" "oh, dear me!--well!" said the woman on the bed, "i shall give up!" "bress de lord, no, missis!" said tiff, laying down the stocking, and holding the child to him with one hand, while the other was busy in patting and arranging the bedclothes. "no use in givin' up! why, lord bress you, missis, we'll be all up right agin in a few days. work has been kinder pressin', lately, and chil'ns clothes an't quite so 'speckable; but den i's doin' heaps o' mendin'. see dat ar!" said he, holding up a slip of red flannel, resplendent with a black patch, "dat ar hole won't go no furder--and it does well enough for teddy to wear rollin' round de do', and such like times, to save his bettermost. and de way i's put de yarn in dese yer stockings an't slow. den i's laid out to take a stitch in teddy's shoes; and dat ar hole in de kiverlet, dat ar'll be stopped 'fore morning. oh, let me alone!--he! he! he!--ye didn't keep tiff for nothing, missis--ho, ho, ho!" and the black face seemed really to become unctuous with the oil of gladness, as tiff proceeded in his work of consolation. "oh, tiff, tiff! you're a good creature! but you don't know. here i've been lying alone day after day, and he off, nobody knows where! and when he comes, it'll be only a day, and he's off; and all he does don't amount to anything--all miserable rubbish brought home and traded off for other rubbish. oh, what a fool i was for being married! oh, dear! girls little know what marriage is! i thought it was so dreadful to be an old maid, and a pretty thing to get married! but, oh, the pain, and worry, and sickness, and suffering, i've gone through!--always wandering from place to place, never settled; one thing going after another, worrying, watching, weary,--and all for nothing, for i am worn out, and i shall die!" "oh, lord, no!" said tiff, earnestly. "lor, tiff'll make ye some tea, and give it to ye, ye poor lamb! it's drefful hard, so 'tis; but times'll mend, and massa'll come round and be more settled, like, and teddy will grow up and help his ma; and i'm sure dere isn't a pearter young un dan dis yer puppet!" said he, turning fondly to the trough where the little fat, red mass of incipient humanity was beginning to throw up two small fists, and to utter sundry small squeaks, to intimate his desire to come into notice. "lor, now," said he, adroitly depositing teddy on the floor, and taking up the baby, whom he regarded fondly through his great spectacles; "stretch away, my pretty! stretch away! ho-e-ho! lor, if he hasn't got his mammy's eye, for all dis worl! ah, brave! see him, missis!" said he, laying the little bundle on the bed by her. "did ye ever see a peartier young un? he, he, he! dar, now, his mammy should take him, so she should! and tiff'll make mammy some tea, so he will!" and tiff, in a moment, was on his knees, carefully laying together the ends of the burned sticks, and blowing a cloud of white ashes, which powdered his woolly head and red shawl like snow-flakes, while teddy was busy in pulling the needles out of some knitting-work which hung in a bag by the fire. tiff, having started the fire by blowing, proceeded very carefully to adjust upon it a small, black porringer of water, singing, as he did so,-- "my way is dark and cloudy, so it is, so it is; my way is dark and cloudy, all de day." then, rising from his work, he saw that the poor, weak mother had clasped the baby to her bosom, and was sobbing very quietly. tiff, as he stood there, with his short, square, ungainly figure, his long arms hanging out from his side like bows, his back covered by the red shawl, looked much like a compassionate tortoise standing on its hind legs. he looked pitifully at the sight, took off his glasses and wiped his eyes, and lifted up his voice in another stave:-- "but we'll join de forty tousand, by and by, so we will, so we will. we'll join de forty tousand, upon de golden shore, and our sorrows will be gone forevermore, more, more." "bress my soul, mas'r teddy! now us been haulin' out de needles from miss fanny's work! dat ar an't purty, now! tiff'll be 'shamed of ye, and ye do like dat when yer ma's sick! don't ye know ye must be good, else tiff won't tell ye no stories! dar, now, sit down on dis yere log; dat ar's just the nicest log! plenty o' moss on it yer can be a pickin' out! now, yer sit still dar, and don't be interruptin' yer ma." the urchin opened a wide, round pair of blue eyes upon tiff, looking as if he were mesmerized, and sat, with a quiet, subdued air, upon his log, while tiff went fumbling about in a box in the corner. after some rattling, he produced a pine-knot, as the daylight was fading fast in the room, and, driving it into a crack in another log which stood by the chimney corner, he proceeded busily to light it, muttering, as he did so,-- "want to make it more cheerful like." then he knelt down and blew the coals under the little porringer, which, like pine-coals in general, always sulked and looked black when somebody was not blowing them. he blew vigorously, regardless of the clouds of ashes which encircled him, and which settled even on the tips of his eyelashes, and balanced themselves on the end of his nose. "bress de lord, i's dreadful strong in my breff! lord, dey might have used me in blacksmissin! i's kep dis yer chimney a gwine dis many a day. i wonder, now, what keeps miss fanny out so long." and tiff rose up with the greatest precaution, and glancing every moment towards the bed, and almost tipping himself over in his anxiety to walk softly, advanced to the rude door, which opened with a wooden latch and string, opened it carefully, and looked out. looking out with him, we perceive that the little hut stands alone, in the heart of a dense pine forest, which shuts it in on every side. tiff held the door open a few moments to listen. no sound was heard but the shivering wind, swaying and surging in melancholy cadences through the long pine-leaves,--a lonesome, wailing, uncertain sound. "ah! dese yer pine-trees! dey always a talkin'!" said tiff to himself, in a sort of soliloquy. "whisper, whisper, whisper! de lord knows what it's all about! dey never tells folks what dey wants to know. hark! da is foxy, as sure as i'm a livin' sinner! ah! dar she is!" as a quick, loud bark reverberated. "ah, ha! foxy! you'll bring her along!" caressing a wolfish-looking, lean cur, who came bounding through the trees. "ah, yer good-for-nothing! what makes yer run so fast, and leave yer missus behind ye? hark! what's dat!" the clear voice came carolling gayly from out the pine-trees, "if you get there before i do-- i'm bound for the land of canaan." whereupon tiff, kindling with enthusiasm, responded,-- "look out for me--i'm coming too-- i'm bound for the land of canaan." the response was followed by a gay laugh, as a childish voice shouted, from the woods,-- "ha! tiff, you there?" and immediately a bold, bright, blue-eyed girl, of about eight years old, came rushing forward. "lors, miss fannie, so grad you's come! yer ma's powerful weak dis yer arternoon!" and then, sinking his voice to a whisper, "why, now, yer'd better b'leve her sperits isn't the best! why, she's that bad, miss fannie, she actually been a cryin' when i put the baby in her arms. railly, i'm consarned, and i wish yer pa 'ud come home. did yer bring de medicine?" "ah, yes; here 'tis." "ah! so good! i was a makin' of her some tea, to set her up, like, and i'll put a little drop of dis yer in't. you gwin, now, and speak to yer ma, and i'll pick up a little light wood round here, and make up de fire. massa teddy'll be powerful glad to see yer. hope you's got him something, too!" the girl glided softly into the room, and stood over the bed where her mother was lying. "mother, i've come home," said she, gently. the poor, frail creature in the bed seemed to be in one of those helpless hours of life's voyage, when all its waves and billows are breaking over the soul; and while the little new-comer was blindly rooting and striving at her breast, she had gathered the worn counterpane over her face, and the bed was shaken by her sobbings. "mother! mother! mother!" said the child, softly touching her. "go away! go away, child! oh, i wish i had never been born! i wish you had never been born, nor teddy, nor the baby! it's all nothing but trouble and sorrow! fanny, don't you ever marry! mind what i tell you!" the child stood frightened by the bedside, while tiff had softly deposited a handful of pine-wood near the fireplace, had taken off the porringer, and was busily stirring and concocting something in an old cracked china mug. as he stirred, a strain of indignation seemed to cross his generally tranquil mind, for he often gave short sniffs and grunts, indicative of extreme disgust, and muttered to himself,-- "dis yer comes of quality marrying these yer poor white folks! never had no 'pinion on it, no way! ah! do hear the poor lamb now! 'nough to break one's heart!" by this time, the stirring and flavoring being finished to his taste, he came to the side of the bed, and began, in a coaxing tone,-- "come, now, miss sue, come! you's all worn out! no wonder! dat ar great fellow tugging at you! bless his dear little soul, he's gaining half a pound a week! nough to pull down his ma entirely! come, now; take a little sup of this--just a little sup! warm you up, and put a bit of life in you; and den i 'spects to fry you a morsel of der chicken, 'cause a boy like dis yer can't be nursed on slops, dat i knows! dere, dere, honey!" said he, gently removing the babe, and passing his arm under the pillow. "i's drefful strong in the back. my arm is long and strong, and i'll raise you up just as easy! take a good sup on it, now, and wash dese troubles down. i reckon the good man above is looking down on us all, and bring us all round right, some time." the invalid, who seemed exhausted by the burst of feeling to which she had been giving way, mechanically obeyed a voice to which she had always been accustomed, and drank eagerly, as if with feverish thirst; and when she had done, she suddenly threw her arms around the neck of her strange attendant. "oh, tiff, tiff! poor old black, faithful tiff! what should i have done without you? so sick as i've been, and so weak, and so lonesome! but, tiff, it's coming to an end pretty soon. i've seen, to-night, that i an't going to live long, and i've been crying to think the children have got to live. if i could only take them all into my arms, and all lie down in the grave together, i should be so glad! i never knew what god made me for! i've never been fit for anything, nor done anything!" tiff seemed so utterly overcome by this appeal, his great spectacles were fairly washed down in a flood of tears, and his broad, awkward frame shook with sobs. "law bless you, miss sue, don't be talking dat ar way! why, if de lord _should_ call you, miss sue, i can take care of the children. i can bring them up powerful, i tell ye! but you _won't_ be a-going; you'll get better! it's just the sperits is low; and, laws, why shouldn't dey be?" just at this moment a loud barking was heard outside the house, together with the rattle of wheels and the tramp of horses' feet. "dar's massa, sure as i'm alive!" said he, hastily laying down the invalid, and arranging her pillows. a rough voice called, "hallo, tiff! here with a light!" tiff caught the pine-knot, and ran to open the door. a strange-looking vehicle, of a most unexampled composite order, was standing before the door, drawn by a lean, one-eyed horse. "here, tiff, help me out. i've got a lot of goods here. how's sue?" "missis is powerful bad; been wanting to see you dis long time." "well, away, tiff! take this out," indicating a long, rusty piece of stove-pipe. "lay this in the house; and here!" handing a cast-iron stove-door, with the latch broken. "law, massa, what on earth is the use of dis yer?" "don't ask questions, tiff; work away. help me out with these boxes." "what on arth now?" said tiff to himself, as one rough case after another was disgorged from the vehicle, and landed in the small cabin. this being done, and orders being given to tiff to look after the horse and equipage, the man walked into the house, with a jolly, slashing air. "hallo, bub!" said he, lifting the two-year-old above his head. "hallo, fan!" imprinting a kiss on the cheek of his girl. "hallo, sis!" coming up to the bed where the invalid lay, and stooping down over her. her weak, wasted arms were thrown around his neck, and she said, with sudden animation, "oh, you've come at last! i thought i should die without seeing you!" "oh, you an't a-going to die, sis! why, what talk!" said he, chucking her under the chin. "why, your cheeks are as red as roses!" "pa, see the baby!" said little teddy, who, having climbed over the bed, opened the flannel bundle. "ah! sis, i call that ar a tolerable fair stroke of business! well, i tell _you_ what, i've done up a trade now that will set us up and no mistake. besides which, i've got something now in my coat-pocket that would raise a dead cat to life, if she was lying at the bottom of a pond, with a stone round her neck! see here! 'dr. puffer's elixir of the water of life!' warranted to cure janders, toothache, earache, scrofula, speptia, 'sumption, and everything else that ever i hearn of! a teaspoonful of that ar, morn and night, and in a week you'll be round agin, as pert as a cricket!" it was astonishing to see the change which the entrance of this man had wrought on the invalid. all her apprehensions seemed to have vanished. she sat up on the bed, following his every movement with her eyes, and apparently placing full confidence in the new medicine, as if it were the first time that ever a universal remedy had been proposed to her. it must be noticed, however, that tiff, who had returned, and was building the fire, indulged himself, now and then, when the back of the speaker was turned, by snuffing at him in a particularly contemptuous manner. the man was a thick-set and not ill-looking personage, who might have been forty or forty-five years of age. his eyes, of a clear, lively brown, his close-curling hair, his high forehead, and a certain devil-may-care frankness of expression, were traits not disagreeable, and which went some way to account for the partial eagerness with which the eye of the wife followed him. the history of the pair is briefly told. he was the son of a small farmer of north carolina. his father, having been so unfortunate as to obtain possession of a few negroes, the whole family became ever after inspired with an intense disgust for all kinds of labor; and john, the oldest son, adopted for himself the ancient and honorable profession of a loafer. to lie idle in the sun in front of some small grog-shop, to attend horse-races, cock-fights, and gander-pullings, to flout out occasionally in a new waistcoat, bought with money which came nobody knew how, were pleasures to him all-satisfactory. he was as guiltless of all knowledge of common-school learning as governor berkley could desire, and far more clear of religious training than a mahometan or a hindoo. in one of his rambling excursions through the country, he stopped a night at a worn-out and broken-down old plantation, where everything had run down, through many years of mismanagement and waste. there he stayed certain days, playing cards with the equally hopeful son of the place, and ended his performances by running away one night with the soft-hearted daughter, only fifteen years of age, and who was full as idle, careless, and untaught, as he. the family, whom poverty could not teach to forget their pride, were greatly scandalized at the marriage; and, had there been anything left in the worn-out estate wherewith to portion her, the bride, nevertheless, would have been portionless. the sole piece of property that went out with her from the paternal mansion was one, who, having a mind and will of his own, could not be kept from following her. the girl's mother had come from a distant branch of one of the most celebrated families in virginia, and tiff had been her servant; and, with a heart forever swelling with the remembrances of the ancestral greatness of the peytons, he followed his young mistress in her mésalliance with long-suffering devotion. he even bowed his neck so far as to acknowledge for his master a man whom he considered by position infinitely his inferior; for tiff, though crooked and black, never seemed to cherish the slightest doubt that the whole force of the peyton blood coursed through his veins, and that the peyton honor was intrusted to his keeping. his mistress was a peyton, her children were peyton children, and even the little bundle of flannel in the gum-tree cradle was a peyton; and as for him, he was tiff peyton, and this thought warmed and consoled him as he followed his poor mistress during all the steps of her downward course in the world. on her husband he looked with patronizing, civil contempt. he wished him well; he thought it proper to put the best face on all his actions; but, in a confidential hour, tiff would sometimes raise his spectacles emphatically, and give it out, as his own private opinion, "dat dere could not be much 'spected from dat ar 'scription of people!" in fact, the roving and unsettled nature of john cripps's avocations and locations might have justified the old fellow's contempt. his industrial career might be defined as comprising a little of everything, and a great deal of nothing. he had begun, successively, to learn two or three trades; had half made a horse-shoe, and spoiled one or two carpenter's planes; had tried his hand at stage-driving; had raised fighting-cocks, and kept dogs for hunting negroes. but he invariably retreated from every one of his avocations, in his own opinion a much-abused man. the last device that had entered his head was suggested by the success of a shrewd yankee peddler, who, having a lot of damaged and unsalable material to dispose of, talked him into the belief that he possessed yet an undeveloped talent for trade; and poor john cripps, guiltless of multiplication or addition table, and who kept his cock-fighting accounts on his fingers and by making chalk-marks behind the doors, actually was made to believe that he had at last received his true vocation. in fact, there was something in the constant restlessness of this mode of life that suited his roving turn; and, though he was constantly buying what he could not sell, and losing on all that he did sell, yet somehow he kept up an illusion that he was doing something, because stray coins now and then passed through his pockets, and because the circle of small taverns in which he could drink and loaf was considerably larger. there was one resource which never failed him when all other streams went dry; and that was the unceasing ingenuity and fidelity of the bondman tiff. tiff, in fact, appeared to be one of those comfortable old creatures, who retain such a good understanding with all created nature that food never is denied them. fish would always bite on tiff's hook when they wouldn't on anybody's else; so that he was wont confidently to call the nearest stream "tiff's pork-barrel." hens always laid eggs for tiff, and cackled to him confidentially where they were deposited. turkeys gobbled and strutted for him, and led forth for him broods of downy little ones. all sorts of wild game, squirrels, rabbits, coons, and possums, appeared to come with pleasure and put themselves into his traps and springes; so that, where another man might starve, tiff would look round him with unctuous satisfaction, contemplating all nature as his larder, where his provisions were wearing fur coats, and walking about on four legs, only for safe keeping till he got ready to eat them. so that cripps never came home without anticipation of something savory, even although he had drank up his last quarter of a dollar at the tavern. this suited cripps. he thought tiff was doing his duty, and occasionally brought him home some unsalable bit of rubbish, by way of testimonial of the sense he entertained of his worth. the spectacles in which tiff gloried came to him in this manner; and, although it might have been made to appear that the glasses were only plain window-glass, tiff was happily ignorant that they were not the best of convex lenses, and still happier in the fact that his strong, unimpaired eyesight made any glasses at all entirely unnecessary. it was only an aristocratic weakness in tiff. spectacles he somehow considered the mark of a gentleman, and an appropriate symbol for one who had "been fetched up in the very fustest families of old virginny." he deemed them more particularly appropriate, as, in addition to his manifold outward duties, he likewise assumed, as the reader has seen, some feminine accomplishments. tiff could darn a stocking with anybody in the country; he could cut out children's dresses and aprons; he could patch, and he could seam; all which he did with infinite self-satisfaction. notwithstanding the many crooks and crosses in his lot, tiff was, on the whole, a cheery fellow. he had an oily, rollicking fulness of nature, an exuberance of physical satisfaction in existence, that the greatest weight of adversity could only tone down to becoming sobriety. he was on the happiest terms of fellowship with himself; he _liked_ himself, he believed in himself; and, when nobody else would do it, he would pat himself on his own shoulder, and say, "tiff, you're a jolly dog, a fine fellow, and i like you!" he was seldom without a running strain of soliloquy with himself, intermingled with joyous bursts of song, and quiet intervals of laughter. on pleasant days tiff laughed a great deal. he laughed when his beans came up, he laughed when the sun came out after a storm, he laughed for fifty things that you never think of laughing at; and it agreed with him--he throve upon it. in times of trouble and perplexity, tiff talked to himself, and found a counsellor who always kept secrets. on the present occasion it was not without some inward discontent that he took a survey of the remains of one of his best-fatted chickens, which he had been intending to serve up, piecemeal, for his mistress. so he relieved his mind by a little confidential colloquy with himself. "dis yer," he said to himself, with a contemptuous inclination toward the newly-arrived, "will be for eating like a judgment, i 'pose. wish, now, i had killed de old gobbler! good enough for him--raal tough, he is. dis yer, now, was my primest chicken, and dar she'll jist sit and see him eat it! laws, dese yer women! why, dey does get so sot on husbands! pity they couldn't have something like to be sot on! it jist riles me to see him gobbling down everything, and she a-looking on! well, here goes," said he, depositing the frying-pan over the coals, in which the chicken was soon fizzling. drawing out the table, tiff prepared it for supper. soon coffee was steaming over the fire, and corn-dodgers baking in the ashes. meanwhile, john cripps was busy explaining to his wife the celebrated wares that had so much raised his spirits. "well, now, you see, sue, this yer time i've been up to raleigh; and i met a fellow there, coming from new york, or new orleans, or some of them northern states." "new orleans isn't a northern state," humbly interposed his wife, "is it?" "well, new something! who the devil cares? don't you be interrupting me, you suse!" could cripps have seen the vengeful look which tiff gave him over the spectacles at this moment, he might have trembled for his supper. but, innocent of this, he proceeded with his story. "you see, this yer fellow had a case of bonnets just the height of the fashion. they come from paris, the capital of europe; and he sold them to me for a mere song. ah, you ought to see 'em! i'm going to get 'em out. tiff, hold the candle, here." and tiff held the burning torch with an air of grim scepticism and disgust, while cripps hammered and wrenched the top boards off, and displayed to view a portentous array of bonnets, apparently of every obsolete style and fashion of the last fifty years. "dem's fust rate for scare-crows, anyhow!" muttered tiff. "now, what," said cripps,--"sue, what do you think i gave for these?" "i don't know," said she, faintly. "well, i gave fifteen dollars for the whole box! and there an't one of these," said he, displaying the most singular specimen on his hand, "that isn't worth from two to five dollars. i shall clear, at least, fifty dollars on that box." tiff, at this moment, turned to his frying-pan, and bent over it, soliloquizing as he did so,-- "any way, i's found out one ting,--where de women gets dem roosts of bonnets dey wars at camp-meetings. laws, dey's enough to spile a work of grace, dem ar! if i was to meet one of dem ar of a dark night in a grave-yard, i should tink i was sent for--not the pleasantest way of sending, neither. poor missis!--looking mighty faint!--don't wonder!--'nough to scarr a weakly woman into fits!" "here, tiff, help me to open this box. hold the light, here. darned if it don't come off hard! here's a lot of shoes and boots i got of the same man. some on 'em's mates, and some an't; but, then, i took the lot cheap. folks don't always warr both shoes alike. might like to warr an odd one, sometimes, ef it's cheap. now, this yer parr of boots is lady's gaiters, all complete, 'cept there's a hole in the lining down by the toe; body ought to be careful about putting it on, else the foot will slip between the outside and the lining. anybody that bears that in mind--just as nice a pair of gaiters as they'd want! bargain, there, for somebody--complete one, too. then i've got two or three old bureau-drawers that i got cheap at auction; and i reckon some on 'em will fit the old frame that i got last year. got 'em for a mere song." "bless you, massa, dat ar old bureau i took for de chicken-coop! turkeys' chickens hops in lively." "oh, well, scrub it up--'twill answer just as well. fit the drawers in. and now, old woman, we will sit down to supper," said he, planting himself at the table, and beginning a vigorous onslaught on the fried chicken, without invitation to any other person present to assist him. "missis can't sit up at the table," said tiff. "she's done been sick ever since de baby was born." and tiff approached the bed with a nice morsel of chicken which he had providently preserved on a plate, and which he now reverently presented on a board, as a waiter, covered with newspaper. "now, do eat, missis; you can't live on looking, no ways you can fix it. do eat while tiff gets on de baby's nightgown." to please her old friend, the woman made a feint of eating, but, while tiff's back was turned to the fire, busied herself with distributing it to the children, who had stood hungrily regarding her, as children will regard what is put on to a sick mother's plate. "it does me good to see them eat," she said, apologetically once, when tiff, turning round, detected her in the act. "ah, missis, may be! but _you've_ got to eat for _two_, now. what dey eat an't going to dis yer little man, here. mind dat ar." cripps apparently bestowed very small attention on anything except the important business before him, which he prosecuted with such devotion that very soon coffee, chicken, and dodgers, had all disappeared. even the bones were sucked dry, and the gravy wiped from the dish. "ah, that's what i call comfortable!" said he, lying back in his chair. "tiff, pull my boots off! and hand out that ar demijohn. sue, i hope you've made a comfortable meal," he said, incidentally, standing with his back to her, compounding his potation of whiskey and water; which having drank, he called up teddy, and offered him the sugar at the bottom of the glass. but teddy, being forewarned by a meaning glance through tiff's spectacles, responded, very politely,-- "no, i thank you, pa. i don't love it." "come here, then, and take it off like a man. it's good for you," said john cripps. the mother's eyes followed the child wishfully; and she said, faintly, "don't john!--don't!" and tiff ended the controversy by taking the glass unceremoniously out of his master's hand. "laws bless you, massa, can't be bodered with dese yer young ones dis yer time of night! time dey's all in bed, and dishes washed up. here, tedd," seizing the child, and loosening the buttons of his slip behind, and drawing out a rough trundle-bed, "you crawl in dere, and curl up in your nest; and don't you forget your prars, honey, else maybe you'll never wake up again." cripps had now filled a pipe with tobacco of the most villainous character, with which incense he was perfuming the little apartment. "laws, massa, dat ar smoke an't good for missis," said tiff. "she done been sick to her stomach all day." "oh, let him smoke! i like to have him enjoy himself," said the indulgent wife. "but, fanny, you had better go to bed, dear. come here and kiss me, child; good-night,--good-night!" the mother held on to her long, and looked at her wishfully; and when she had turned to go, she drew her back, and kissed her again, and said, "good-night, dear child, good-night!" fanny climbed up a ladder in one corner of the room, through a square hole, to the loft above. "i say," said cripps, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and looking at tiff, who was busy washing the dishes, "i say it's kind of peculiar that gal keeps sick so. seemed to have good constitution when i married her. i'm thinking," said he, without noticing the gathering wrath in tiff's face, "i'm a-thinking whether steamin' wouldn't do her good. now, i got a most dreadful cold when i was up at raleigh--thought i should have given up; and there was a steam-doctor there. had a little kind of machine, with kettle and pipes, and he put me in a bed, put in the pipes, and set it a-going. i thought, my soul, i should have been floated off; but it carried off the cold, complete. i'm thinking if something of that kind wouldn't be good for miss cripps." "laws, massa, don't go for to trying it on her! she is never no better for dese yer things you do for her." "now," said cripps, not appearing to notice the interruption, "these yer stove-pipes, and the tea-kettle,--i shouldn't wonder if we could get up a steam with them!" "it's my private 'pinion, if you do, she'll be sailing out of the world," said tiff. "what's one man's meat is another one's pisin, my old mis's used to say. very best thing you can do for her is to let her alone. dat ar is my 'pinion." "john," said the little woman, after a few minutes, "i wish you'd come here, and sit on the bed." there was something positive, and almost authoritative, in the manner in which this was said, which struck john as so unusual, that he came with a bewildered air, sat down, and gazed at her with his mouth wide open. "i'm so glad you've come home, because i have had things that i've wanted to say to you! i've been lying here thinking about it, and i have been turning it over in my mind. i'm going to die soon, i know." "ah! bah! don't be bothering a fellow with any of your hysterics!" "john, john! it isn't hysterics! look at me! look at my hand! look at my face! i'm so weak, and sometimes i have such coughing spells, and every time it seems to me as if i should die. but it an't to trouble you that i talk. i don't care about myself, but i don't want the children to grow up and be like what we've been. you have a great many contrivances; do, pray, contrive to have them taught to read, and make something of them in the world." "bah! what's the use? i never learnt to read, and i'm as good a fellow as i want. why, there's plenty of men round here making their money, every year, that can't read or write a word. old hubell, there, up on the shad plantation, has hauled in money, hand over hand, and he always signs his mark. got nine sons--can't a soul of them read or write, more than i. i tell you there's nothing ever comes of this yer larning. it's all a sell--a regular yankee hoax! i've always got cheated by them damn reading, writing yankees, whenever i've traded with 'em. what's the good, i want to know! you was teached how to read when you was young--much good it's ever done you!" "sure enough! sick day and night, moving about from place to place, sick baby crying, and not knowing what to do for it no more than a child! oh, i hope fanny will learn something! it seems to me, if there was some school for my children to go to, or some church, or something--now, _if there is_ any such place as heaven, i should like to have them get to it." "ah! bah! don't bother about that! when we get keeled up, that will be the last of us! come, come, don't plague a fellow any more with such talk! i'm tired, and i'm going to sleep." and the man, divesting himself of his overcoat, threw himself on the bed, and was soon snoring heavily in profound slumber. tiff, who had been trotting the baby by the fire, now came softly to the bedside, and sat down. "miss sue," he said, "it's no 'count talking to him! i don't mean nothing dis'pectful, miss sue, but de fac is, dem dat isn't _born_ gentlemen can't be 'spected fur to see through dese yer things like us of de old families. law, missis, don't you worry! now, jest leave dis yer matter to old tiff! dere never wasn't anything tiff couldn't do, if he tried. he! he! he! miss fanny, she done got de letters right smart; and i know i'll come it round mas'r, and make him buy de books for her. i'll tell you what's come into my head, to-day. there's a young lady come to de big plantation, up dere, who's been to new york getting edicated, and i's going for to ask her about dese yer things. and, about de chil'en's going to church, and dese yer things, why, preaching, you know, is mazin' unsartain round here; but i'll keep on de lookout, and do de best i can. why, lord, miss sue, i's bound for the land of canaan, myself, the best way i ken; and i'm sartain i shan't go without taking the chil'en along with me. ho! ho! ho! dat's what i shan't! de chil'en will have to be with tiff, and tiff will have to be with the chil'en, wherever dey is! dat's it! he! he! he!" "tiff," said the young woman, her large blue eyes looking at him, "i have heard of the bible. have you ever seen one, tiff?" "oh, yes, honey, dar was a big bible that your ma brought in the family when she married; but dat ar was tore up to make wadding for de guns, one thing or another, and dey never got no more. but i's been very 'serving, and kept my ears open in a camp-meeting, and such places, and i's learnt right smart of de things that's in it." "now, tiff, can you say anything?" said she, fixing her large, troubled eyes on him. "well, honey, dere's one thing the man said at de last camp-meeting. he preached 'bout it, and i couldn't make out a word he said, 'cause i an't smart about preaching like i be about most things. but he said dis yer so often that i couldn't help 'member it. says he, it was dish yer way: 'come unto me, all ye labor and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest.'" "rest, rest, rest!" said the woman, thoughtfully, and drawing a long sigh. "oh, how much i want it! did he say _that_ was in the bible?" "yes, he said so; and i spects, by all he said, it's de good man above dat says it. it always makes me feel better to think on it. it 'peared like it was jist what i was wanting to hear." "and i, too!" she said, turning her head wearily, and closing her eyes. "tiff," she said, opening them, "where i'm going, may be i shall meet the one who said that, and i'll ask him about it. don't talk to me more, now. i'm getting sleepy. i thought i was better a little while after he came home, but i'm more tired yet. put the baby in my arms--i like the feeling of it. there, there; now give me rest--_please_ do!" and she sank into a deep and quiet slumber. tiff softly covered the fire, and sat down by the bed, watching the flickering shadows as they danced upward on the wall, listening to the heavy sighs of the pine-trees, and the hard breathing of the sleeping man. sometimes he nodded sleepily, and then, recovering, rose, and took a turn to awaken himself. a shadowy sense of fear fell upon him; not that he apprehended anything, for he regarded the words of his mistress only as the forebodings of a wearied invalid. the idea that she could actually die, and go anywhere, without him to take care of her, seemed never to have occurred to him. about midnight, as if a spirit had laid its hand upon him, his eyes flew wide open with a sudden start. her thin, cold hand was lying on his; her eyes, large and blue, shone with a singular and spiritual radiance. "tiff," she gasped, speaking with difficulty, "i've seen the one that said _that_, and it's all true, too! and i've seen all why i've suffered so much. he--he--he is going to take me! tell the children about him!" there was a fluttering sigh, a slight shiver, and the lids fell over the eyes forever. chapter ix. the death. death is always sudden. however gradual may be its approaches, it is, in its effects upon the survivor, always sudden at last. tiff thought, at first, that his mistress was in a fainting-fit, and tried every means to restore her. it was affecting to see him chafing the thin, white, pearly hands, in his large, rough, black paws; raising the head upon his arm, and calling in a thousand tones of fond endearment, pouring out a perfect torrent of loving devotion on the cold, unheeding ear. but, then, spite of all he could do, the face settled itself, and the hands would not be warmed; the thought of death struck him suddenly, and, throwing himself on the floor by the bed, he wept with an exceeding loud and bitter cry. something in his heart revolted against awakening that man who lay heavily breathing by her side. he would not admit to himself, at this moment, that this man had any right in her, or that the sorrow was any part of his sorrow. but the cry awoke cripps, who sat up bewildered in bed, clearing the hair from his eyes with the back of his hand. "tiff, what the durned are you howling about?" tiff got up in a moment, and, swallowing down his grief and his tears, pointed indignantly to the still figure on the bed. "dar! dar! wouldn't b'lieve her last night! now what you think of dat ar? see how you look now! good shepherd hearn you abusing de poor lamb, and he's done took her whar you'll never see her again!" cripps had, like coarse, animal men generally, a stupid and senseless horror of death;--he recoiled from the lifeless form, and sprang from the bed with an expression of horror. "well, now, who would have thought it?" he said. "that i should be in bed with a corpse! i hadn't the least idea!" "no, dat's plain enough, you didn't! you'll believe it now, won't you? poor little lamb, lying here suffering all alone! i tell you, when folks have been sick so long, dey _has_ to die to make folks believe anything ails 'em!" "well, really," said cripps, "this is really--why, it an't comfortable! darned if it is! why, i'm sorry about the gal! i meant to steam her up, or done something with her. what's we to do now?" "pretty likely you don't know! folks like you, dat never tends to nothing good, is always flustered when de master knocks at de do'! _i_ knows what to do, though. i's boun' to get up de crittur, and go up to de old plantation, and bring down a woman and do something for her, kind of decent. you mind the chil'en till i come back." tiff took down and drew on over his outer garment a coarse, light, woollen coat, with very long skirts and large buttons, in which he always arrayed himself in cases of special solemnity. stopping at the door before he went out, he looked over cripps from head to foot, with an air of patronizing and half-pitiful contempt, and delivered himself as follows: "now, mas'r, i's gwine up, and will be back quick as possible; and now do pray be decent, and let dat ar whiskey alone for one day in your life, and 'member death, judgment, and 'ternity. just act, now, as if you'd got a _streak_ of something in you, such as a man ought for to have who is married to one of de very fustest families in old virginny. 'flect, now, on your latter end; may be will do your poor old soul some good; and don't you go for to waking up the chil'en before i gets back. they'll learn de trouble soon enough." cripps listened to this oration with a stupid, bewildered stare, gazing first at the bed, and then at the old man, who was soon making all the speed he could towards canema. nina was not habitually an early riser, but on this morning she had awaked with the first peep of dawn, and, finding herself unable to go to sleep again, she had dressed herself, and gone down to the garden. she was walking up and down in one of the alleys, thinking over the perplexities of her own affairs, when her ear was caught by the wild and singular notes of one of those tunes commonly used among the slaves as dirges. the words "she ar dead and gone to heaven" seemed to come floating down upon her; and, though the voice was cracked and strained, there was a sort of wildness and pathos in it, which made a singular impression in the perfect stillness of everything around her. she soon observed a singular-looking vehicle appearing in the avenue. this wagon, which was no other than the establishment of cripps, drew nina's attention, and she went to the hedge to look at it. tiff's watchful eye immediately fell upon her, and, driving up to where she was standing, he climbed out upon the ground, and, lifting his hat, made her a profound obeisance, and "hoped de young lady was bery well, dis morning." "yes, quite well, thank you, uncle," said nina, regarding him curiously. "we's in 'fliction to our house!" said tiff, solemnly. "dere's been a midnight cry dere, and poor miss sue (dat's my young missis), she's done gone home." "who is your mistress?" "well, her name _was_ seymour 'fore she married, and her ma come from de virginny peytons,--great family, dem peytons! she was so misfortunate as to get married, as gals will, sometimes," said tiff, speaking in a confidential tone. "the man wan't no 'count, and she's had a drefful hard way to travel, poor thing! and dere she's a lying at last stretched out dead, and not a woman nor nobody to do de least thing; and please, missis, tiff comed for to see if de young lady wouldn't send a woman for to do for her--getting her ready for a funeral." "and who are you, pray?" "please, missis, i's tiff peyton, i is. i's raised in virginny, on de great peyton place, and i's gin to miss sue's mother; and when miss sue married dis yer man, dey was all 'fended, and wouldn't speak to her; but i tuck up for her, 'cause what's de use of makin' a bad thing worse? i's a 'pinion, and telled 'em, dat he oughter be 'couraged to behave hisself, seein' the thing was done, and couldn't be helped. but no, dey wouldn't; so i jest tells 'em, says i, 'you may do jis you please, but old tiff's a gwine with her,' says i. 'i'll follow miss sue to de grave's mouth,' says i; and ye see i has done it." "well done of you! i like you better for it," said nina. "you just drive up to the kitchen, there, and tell rose to give you some breakfast, while i go up to aunt nesbit." "no, thank you, miss nina, i's noways hungry. 'pears like, when a body's like as i be, swallerin' down, and all de old times risin' in der throat all de time, dey can't eat; dey gets filled all up to der eyes with feelin's. lord, miss nina, i hope ye won't never know what 'tis to stand outside de gate, when de best friend you've got's gone in; it's hard, dat ar is!" and tiff pulled out a decayed-looking handkerchief, and applied it under his spectacles. "well, wait a minute, tiff." and nina ran into the house, while tiff gazed mournfully after her. "well, lor; just de way miss sue used to run--trip, trip, trip!--little feet like mice! lord's will be done!" "oh, milly!" said nina, meeting milly in the entry, "here you are. here's a poor fellow waiting out by the hedge, his mistress dead all alone in the house, with children,--no woman to do for them. can't you go down? you could do so well! you know how better than any one else in the house." "why, that must be poor old tiff!" said milly; "faithful old creature! so that poor woman's gone, at last? the better for her, poor soul! well, i'll ask miss loo if i may go--or you ask her, miss nina." a quick, imperative tap on her door startled aunt nesbit, who was standing at her toilet, finishing her morning's dressing operations. mrs. nesbit was a particularly systematic early riser. nobody knew why; only folks who have nothing to do are often the most particular to have the longest possible time to do it in. "aunt," said nina, "there's a poor fellow, out here, whose mistress is just dead, all alone in the house, and wants to get some woman to go there to help. can't you spare milly?" "milly was going to clear-starch my caps, this morning," said aunt nesbit. "i have arranged everything with reference to it, for a week past." "well, aunt, can't she do it to-morrow, or next day, just as well?" "to-morrow she is going to rip up that black dress, and wash it. i am always systematic, and have everything arranged beforehand. should like very much to do anything i could, if it wasn't for that. why can't you send aunt katy?" "why, aunt, you know we are to have company to dinner, and aunt katy is the only one who knows where anything is, or how to serve things out to the cook. besides, she's so hard and cross to poor people, i don't think she would go. i don't see, i'm sure, in such a case as this, why you couldn't put your starching off. milly is such a kind, motherly, experienced person, and they are in affliction." "oh, these low families don't mind such things much," said aunt nesbit, fitting on her cap, quietly; "they never have much feeling. there's no use doing for them--they are miserable poor creatures." "aunt nesbit, do, now, as a favor to me! i don't often ask favors," said nina. "_do_ let milly go! she's just the one wanted. do, now, say yes!" and nina pressed nearer, and actually seemed to overpower her slow-feeling, torpid relative, with the vehemence that sparkled in her eyes. "well, i don't care, if"-- "there, milly, she says yes!" said she, springing out the door. "she says you may. now, hurry; get things ready. i'll run and have aunt katy put up biscuits and things for the children; and you get all that you know you will want, and be off quick, and i'll have the pony got up, and come on behind you." chapter x. the preparation. the excitement produced by the arrival of tiff, and the fitting out of milly to the cottage, had produced a most favorable diversion in nina's mind from her own especial perplexities. active and buoyant, she threw herself at once into whatever happened to come uppermost on the tide of events. so, having seen the wagon dispatched, she sat down to breakfast in high spirits. "aunt nesbit, i declare i was so interested in that old man! i intend to have the pony, after breakfast, and ride over there." "i thought you were expecting company." "well, that's one reason, now, why i'd like to be off. do i want to sit all primmed up, smiling and smirking, and running to the window to see if my gracious lord is coming? no, i won't do that, to please any of them. if i happen to fancy to be out riding, i _will_ be out riding." "i think," said aunt nesbit, "that the hovels of these miserable creatures are no proper place for a young lady of your position in life." "my position in life! i don't see what that has to do with it. my position in life enables me to do anything i please--a liberty which i take pretty generally. and, then, really, i couldn't help feeling rather sadly about it, because that old tiff, there (i believe that's his name), told me that the woman had been of a good virginia family. very likely she may have been just such another wild girl as i am, and thought as little about bad times, and of dying, as i do. so i couldn't help feeling sad for her. it really came over me when i was walking in the garden. such a beautiful morning as it was--the birds all singing, and the dew all glittering and shining on the flowers! why, aunt, the flowers really seemed alive; it seemed as though i could hear them breathing, and hear their hearts beating like mine. and, all of a sudden, i heard the most wild, mournful singing, over in the woods. it wasn't anything very beautiful, you know, but it was so wild, and strange! 'she is dead and gone to heaven!--she is dead and gone to heaven!' and pretty soon i saw the funniest old wagon--i don't know what to call it--and this queer old black man in it, with an old white hat and surtout on, and a pair of great, funny-looking spectacles on his nose. i went to the fence to see who he was; and he came up and spoke to me, made the most respectful bow--you ought to have seen it! and then, poor fellow, he told me how his mistress was lying dead, with the children around her, and nobody in the house! the poor old creature, he actually cried, and i felt so for him! he seemed to be proud of his dead mistress, in spite of her poverty." "where do they live?" said mrs. nesbit. "why, he told me over in the pine woods, near the swamp." "oh," said mrs. nesbit, "i dare say it's that cripps family, that's squatted in the pine woods. a most miserable set--all of them liars and thieves! if i had known who it was, i'm sure i shouldn't have let milly go over. such families oughtn't to be encouraged; there oughtn't a thing to be done for them; we shouldn't encourage them to stay in the neighborhood. they always will steal from off the plantations, and corrupt the negroes, and get drunk, and everything else that's bad. there's never a woman of decent character among them, that ever i heard of; and, if you were my daughter, i shouldn't let you go near them." "well, i'm not your daughter, thank fortune!" said nina, whose graces always rapidly declined in controversies with her aunt, "and so i shall do as i please. and i don't know what you pious people talk so for; for christ went with publicans and sinners, i'm sure." "well," said aunt nesbit, "the bible says we mustn't cast pearls before swine; and, when you've lived to be as old as i am, you'll know more than you do now. everybody knows that you can't do anything with these people. you can't give them bibles nor tracts; for they can't read. i've tried it, sometimes, visiting them, and talking to them; but it didn't do them any good. i always thought there ought to be a law passed to make 'em all slaves, and then there would be somebody to take care of them." "well, i can't see," said nina, "how it's their fault. there isn't any school where they could send their children, if they wanted to learn; and, then, if they want to work, there's nobody who wants to hire them. so, what can they do?" "i'm sure i don't know," said aunt nesbit, in that tone which generally means i don't care. "all i know is, that i want them to get away from the neighborhood. giving to them is just like putting into a bag with holes. i'm sure i put myself to a great inconvenience on their account to-day; for, if there's anything i do hate, it is having things irregular. and to-day is the day for clear-starching the caps--and such a good, bright, sunny day!--and to-morrow, or any other day of the week, it may rain. always puts me all out to have things that i've laid out to do put out of their regular order. i'd been willing enough to have sent over some old things; but why they must needs take milly's time, just as if the funeral couldn't have got ready without her! these funerals are always miserable drunken times with them! and, then, who knows, she may catch the small-pox, or something or other. there's never any knowing what these people die of." "they die of just such things as we do," said nina. "they have that in common with us, at any rate." "yes; but there's no reason for risking our lives, as i know of--especially for such people--when it don't do any good." "why, aunt, what do you know against these folks? have you ever known of their doing anything wicked?" "oh, i don't know that i know anything against this family in particular; but i know the whole race. these squatters--i've know them ever since i was a girl in virginia. everybody that knows anything knows exactly what they are. there isn't any help for them, unless, as i said before, they were made slaves; and then they could be kept decent. you may go to see them, if you like, but _i_ don't want _my_ arrangements to be interfered with on their account." mrs. nesbit was one of those quietly-persisting people, whose yielding is like the stretching of an india-rubber band, giving way only to a violent pull, and going back to the same place when the force is withdrawn. she seldom refused favors that were urged with any degree of importunity; not because her heart was touched, but simply because she seemed not to have force enough to refuse; and whatever she granted was always followed by a series of subdued lamentations over the necessity which had wrung them from her. nina's nature was so vehement and imperious, when excited, that it was a disagreeable fatigue to cross her. mrs. nesbit, therefore, made amends by bemoaning herself as we have seen. nina started up, hastily, on seeing her pony brought round to the door; and, soon arrayed in her riding-dress, she was cantering through the pine woods in high spirits. the day was clear and beautiful. the floor of the woodland path was paved with a thick and cleanly carpet of the fallen pine-leaves. and harry was in attendance with her, mounted on another horse, and riding but a very little behind; not so much so but what his mistress could, if she would, keep up a conversation with him. "you know this old tiff, harry?" "oh, yes, very well. a very good, excellent creature, and very much the superior of his master, in most respects." "well, he says his mistress came of a good family." "i shouldn't wonder," said harry. "she always had a delicate appearance, very different from people in their circumstances generally. the children, too, are remarkably pretty, well-behaved children; and it's a pity they couldn't be taught something, and not grow up and go on these miserable ways of these poor whites!" "why don't anybody ever teach them?" said nina. "well, miss nina, you know how it is: everybody has his own work and business to attend to--there are no schools for them to go to--there's no work for them to do. in fact, there don't seem to be any place for them in society. boys generally grow up to drink and swear. and, as for girls, they are of not much account. so it goes on from generation to generation." "this is so strange, and so different from what it is in the northern states! why, all the children go to school there--the very poorest people's children! why, a great many of the first men, there, were poor children! why can't there be some such thing here?" "oh, because people are settled in such a scattering way they can't have schools. all the land that's good for any thing is taken up for large estates. and, then, these poor folks that are scattered up and down in between, it's nobody's business to attend to them, and they can't attend to themselves; and so they grow up, and nobody knows how they live, and everybody seems to think it a pity they are in the world. i've seen those sometimes that would be glad to do something, if they could find anything to do. planters don't want them on their places--they'd rather have their own servants. if one of them wants to be a blacksmith, or a carpenter, there's no encouragement. most of the large estates have their own carpenters and blacksmiths. and there's nothing for them to do, unless it is keeping dogs to hunt negroes; or these little low stores where they sell whiskey, and take what's stolen from the plantations. sometimes a smart one gets a place as overseer on a plantation. why, i've heard of their coming so low as actually to sell their children to traders, to get a bit of bread." "what miserable creatures! but do you suppose it can be possible that a woman of any respectable family can have married a man of this sort?" "well, i don't know, miss nina; that might be. you see, good families sometimes degenerate; and when they get too poor to send their children off to school, or keep any teachers for them, they run down very fast. this man is not bad-looking, and he really is a person who, if he had had any way opened to him, might have been a smart man, and made something of himself and family; and when he was young and better-looking, i shouldn't wonder if an uneducated girl, who had never been off a plantation, might have liked him; he was fully equal, i dare say, to her brothers. you see, miss nina, when _money_ goes, in this part of the country, everything goes with it; and when a family is not rich enough to have everything in itself, it goes down very soon." "at any rate, i pity the poor things," said nina. "i don't despise them, as aunt nesbit does." here nina, observing the path clear and uninterrupted for some distance under the arching pines, struck her horse into a canter, and they rode on for some distance without speaking. soon the horse's feet splashed and pattered on the cool, pebbly bottom of a small, shallow stream, which flowed through the woods. this stream went meandering among the pines like a spangled ribbon, sometimes tying itself into loops, leaving open spots--almost islands of green--graced by its waters. such a little spot now opened to the view of the two travellers. it was something less than a quarter of an acre in extent, entirely surrounded by the stream, save only a small neck of about four feet, which connected it to the main-land. here a place had been cleared and laid off into a garden, which, it was evident, was carefully tended. the log-cabin which stood in the middle was far from having the appearance of wretchedness which nina had expected. it was almost entirely a dense mass of foliage, being covered with the intermingled drapery of the virginia creeper and the yellow jessamine. two little borders, each side of the house, were blooming with flowers. around the little island the pine-trees closed in unbroken semicircle, and the brook meandered away through them, to lose itself eventually in that vast forest of swampy land which girdles the whole carolina shore. the whole air of the place was so unexpectedly inviting, in its sylvan stillness and beauty, that nina could not help checking her horse, and exclaiming,-- "i'm sure, it's a pretty place. they can't be such very forsaken people, after all." "oh, that's all tiff's work," said harry. "he takes care of everything outside and in, while the man is off after nobody knows what. you'd be perfectly astonished to see how that old creature manages. he sews, and he knits, and works the garden, does the house-work, and teaches the children. it's a fact! you'll notice that they haven't the pronunciation or the manners of these wild white children; and i take it to be all tiff's watchfulness, for that creature hasn't one particle of selfishness in him. he just identifies himself with his mistress and her children." by this time tiff had perceived their approach, and came out to assist them in dismounting. "de lord above bless you, miss gordon, for coming to see my poor missis! ah! she is lying dere just as beautiful, just as she was the very day she was married! all her young looks come back to her; and milly, she done laid her out beautiful! lord, i's wanting somebody to come and look at her, because she has got good blood, if she be poor. she is none of your common sort of poor whites, miss nina. just come in; come in, and look at her." nina stepped into the open door of the hut. the bed was covered with a clean white sheet, and the body, arrayed in a long white night-dress brought by milly, lay there so very still, quiet, and life-like, that one could scarcely realize the presence of death. the expression of exhaustion, fatigue, and anxiety, which the face had latterly worn, had given place to one of tender rest, shaded by a sort of mysterious awe, as if the closed eyes were looking on unutterable things. the soul, though sunk below the horizon of existence, had thrown back a twilight upon the face radiant as that of the evening heavens. by the head of the bed the little girl was sitting, dressed carefully, and her curling hair parted in front, apparently fresh from the brush; and the little boy was sitting beside her, his round blue eyes bearing an expression of subdued wonder. cripps was sitting at the foot of the bed, evidently much the worse for liquor; for, spite of the exhortation of tiff, he had applied to the whiskey-jug immediately on his departure. why not? he was uncomfortable--gloomy; and every one, under such circumstances, naturally inclines towards _some_ source of consolation. he who is intellectual reads and studies; he who is industrious flies to business; he who is affectionate seeks friends; he who is pious, religion; but he who is none of these--what has he but his whiskey? cripps made a stupid, staring inclination toward nina and harry, as they entered, and sat still, twirling his thumbs and muttering to himself. the sunshine fell through the panes on the floor, and there came floating in from without the odor of flowers and the song of birds. all the father's gentle messengers spoke of comfort; but he as a deaf man heard not--as a blind man did not regard. for the rest, an air of neatness had been imparted to the extreme poverty of the room by the joint efforts of milly and tiff. tiff entered softly, and stood by nina, as she gazed. he had in his hand several sprays of white jessamine, and he laid one on the bosom of the dead. "she had a hard walk of it," he said, "but she's got home! don't she look peaceful?--poor lamb!" the little, thoughtless, gay coquette had never looked on a sight like this before. she stood with a fixed, tender thoughtfulness, unlike her usual gayety, her riding-hat hanging carelessly by its strings from her hands, her loose hair drooping over her face. she heard some one entering the cottage, but she did not look up. she was conscious of some one looking over her shoulder, and thought it was harry. "poor thing! how young she looks," she said, "to have had so much trouble!" her voice trembled, and a tear stood in her eye. there was a sudden movement; she looked up, and clayton was standing by her. she looked surprised, and the color deepened in her cheek, but was too ingenuously and really in sympathy with the scene before her even to smile. she retained his hand a moment, and turned to the dead, saying, in an under-tone, "see here!" "i see," he said. "can i be of service?" "the poor thing died last night," said nina. "i suppose some one might help about a funeral. harry," she said, walking softly towards the door, and speaking low, "you provide a coffin; have it made neatly." "uncle," she said, motioning tiff towards her, "where would they have her buried?" "buried?" said tiff. "o lord! buried!" and he covered his face with his hard hands, and the tears ran through his fingers. "lord, lord! well, it must come, i know, but 'pears like i couldn't! laws, she's so beautiful! don't, to-day! don't!" "indeed, uncle," said nina, tenderly, "i'm sorry i grieved you; but you know, poor fellow, that must come." "i's known her ever since she's dat high!" said tiff. "her har was curly, and she used to war such pretty red shoes, and come running after me in de garden. 'tiff, tiff,' she used to say--and dar she is now, and troubles brought her dar! lord, what a pretty gal she was! pretty as you be, miss nina. but since she married _dat ar_," pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, and speaking confidentially, "everything went wrong. i's held her up--did all i could; and now here she is!" "perhaps," said nina, laying her hand on his, "perhaps she's in a better place than this." "oh, lord, dat she is! she told me dat when she died. she saw de lord at last,--she did so! dem's her last words. 'tiff,' she says, 'i see him, and he will give me rest. tiff,' she says,--i'd been asleep, you know, and i kinder felt something cold on my hand, and i woke up right sudden, and dar she was, her eyes so bright, looking at me and breathing so hard; and all she says was, 'tiff, i've seen him, and i know now why i've suffered so; he's gwine to take me, and give me rest!'" "then, my poor fellow, you ought to rejoice that she is safe." "'deed i does," said tiff; "yet i's selfish. i wants to be dere too, i does--only i has de chil'en to care for." "well, my good fellow," said nina, "we must leave you now. harry will see about a coffin for your poor mistress; and whenever the funeral is to be, our carriage will come over, and we will all attend." "lord bless you, miss gordon! dat ar _too_ good on ye! my heart's been most broke, tinking nobody cared for my poor young mistress! you's too good, dat you is!" then, drawing near to her, and sinking his voice, he said: "'bout de mourning, miss nina. _he_ an't no 'count, you know--body can see how 'tis with him very plain. but missis was a peyton, you know; and i's a peyton, too. i naturally feels a 'sponsibility he couldn't be 'spected fur to. i's took de ribbons off of miss fanny's bonnet, and done de best i could trimming it up with black crape what milly gave me; and i's got a band of black crape on master teddy's hat; and i 'lowed to put one on mine, but there wasn't quite enough. you know, missis, old family servants always wars mourning. if missis just be pleased to look over my work! now, dis yer is miss fanny's bonnet. you know i can't be 'spected for to make it like a milliner." "they are very well indeed, uncle tiff." "perhaps, miss nina, you can kind of touch it over." "oh, if you like, uncle tiff, i'll take them all home, and do them for you." "the lord bless _you_, miss gordon! dat ar was just what i wanted, but was most 'fraid to ask you. some gay young ladies doesn't like to handle black." "ah! uncle tiff, i've no fears of that sort; so put it in the wagon, and let milly take it home." so saying, she turned and passed out of the door where harry was standing holding the horses. a third party might have seen, by the keen, rapid glance with which his eye rested upon clayton, that he was measuring the future probability which might make him the arbiter of his own destiny--the disposer of all that was dear to him in life. as for nina, although the day before a thousand fancies and coquetries would have colored the manner of her meeting clayton, yet now she was so impressed by what she had witnessed, that she scarcely appeared to know that she had met him. she placed her pretty foot on his hand, and let him lift her on to the saddle, scarcely noticing the act, except by a serious, graceful inclination of her head. one great reason of the ascendency which clayton had thus far gained over her, was that his nature, so quiet, speculative, and undemonstrative, always left her such perfect liberty to follow the more varying moods of her own. a man of a different mould would have sought to awake her out of the trance--would have remarked on her abstracted manner, or rallied her on her silence. clayton merely mounted his horse and rode quietly by her side, while harry, passing on before them, was soon out of sight. chapter xi. the lovers. they rode on in silence, till their horses' feet again clattered in the clear, pebbly water of the stream. here nina checked her horse; and, pointing round the circle of pine forests, and up the stream, overhung with bending trees and branches, said: "hush!--listen!" both stopped, and heard the swaying of the pine-trees, the babble of the waters, the cawing of distant crows, and the tapping of the woodpecker. "how beautiful everything is!" she said. "it seems to me so sad that people must die! i never saw anybody dead before, and you don't know how it makes me feel! to think that that poor woman was just such a girl as i am, and used to be just so full of life, and never thought any more than i do that she should lie there all cold and dead! why is it things are made so beautiful, if we must die?" "remember what you said to the old man, miss nina. perhaps she sees more beautiful things, now." "in heaven? yes; i wish we knew more about heaven, so that it would seem natural and home-like to us, as this world does. as for me, i can't feel that i ever want to leave this world--i enjoy living so much! i can't forget how cold her hand was! i never felt anything like that cold!" in all the varying moods of nina, clayton had never seen anything that resembled this. but he understood the peculiar singleness and earnestness of nature which made any one idea, or impression, for a time absolute in her mind. they turned their horses into the wood-path, and rode on in silence. "do you know," said she, "it's such a change coming from new york to live here? everything is so unformed, so wild, and so lonely! i never saw anything so lonesome as these woods are. here you can ride miles and miles, hours and hours, and hear nothing but the swaying of the pine-trees, just as you hear it now. our place (you never were there, were you?) stands all by itself, miles from any other; and i've been for so many years used to a thickly-settled country, that it seems very strange to me. i can't help thinking things look rather deserted and desolate, here. it makes me rather sober and sad. i don't know as you'll like the appearance of our place. a great many things are going to decay about it; and yet there are some things that can't decay; for papa was very fond of trees and shrubbery, and we have a good deal more of them than usual. are you fond of trees?" "yes; i'm almost a tree-worshipper. i have no respect for a man who can't appreciate a tree. the only good thing i ever heard of xerxes was, that he was so transported with the beauty of a plane-tree, that he hung it with chains of gold. this is a little poetical island in the barbarism of those days." "xerxes!" said nina. "i believe i studied something about him in that dismal, tedious history at madame ardaine's; but nothing so interesting as that, i'm sure. but what should he hang gold chains on a tree for?" "'twas the best way he knew of expressing his good opinion." "do you know," said nina, half checking her horse, suddenly, "that i never had the least idea that these men were alive that we read about in these histories, or that they had any feelings like ours? we always studied the lessons, and learnt the hard names, and how forty thousand were killed on one side, and fifty thousand on the other; and we don't know any more about it than if we never had. that's the way we girls studied at school, except a few '_poky_' ones, who wanted to be learned, or meant to be teachers." "an interesting _résumé_, certainly," said clayton, laughing. "but how strange it is," said nina, "to think that all those folks we read about are alive _now_, doing something somewhere; and i get to wondering where they are--xerxes, and alexander, and the rest of them. why, they were so full of life they kept everything in commotion while in this world; and i wonder if they have been keeping a going ever since. perhaps xerxes has been looking round at _our_ trees--nobody knows. but here we are coming now to the beginning of our grounds. there, you see that holly-hedge! mamma had that set out. she travelled in england, and liked the hedges there so much that she thought she would see what could be done with our american holly. so she had these brought from the woods, and planted. you see it all grows wild, now, because it hasn't been cut for many years. and this live-oak avenue my grandfather set out. it's my pride and delight." as she spoke, a pair of broad gates swung open, and they cantered in beneath the twilight arches of the oaks. long wreaths of pearly moss hung swinging from the branches, and, although the sun now was at high noon, a dewy, dreamy coolness seemed to rustle through all the leaves. as clayton passed in, he took off his hat, as he had often done in foreign countries in cathedrals. "welcome to canema!" said she, riding up to him, and looking up frankly into his face. the air, half queenly, half childish, with which this was said, was acknowledged by clayton with a grave smile, as he replied, bowing,-- "thank you, madam." "perhaps," she added, in a grave tone, "you'll be sorry that you ever came here." "what do you mean by that?" he replied. "i don't know; it just came into my head to say it. we none of us ever know what's going to come of what we do." at this instant, a violent clamor, like the cawing of a crow, rose on one side of the avenue; and the moment after tomtit appeared, caricoling, and cutting a somerset; his curls flying, his cheeks glowing. "why, tomtit, what upon earth is this for?" said nina. "laws, missis, deres been a gen'elman waiting for you at the house these two hours. and missis, she's done got on her best cap, and gone down in the parlor for him." nina felt herself blush to the roots of her hair, and was vexed and provoked to think she did so. involuntarily her eyes met clayton's. but he expressed neither curiosity nor concern. "what a pretty drapery this light moss makes!" said he. "i wasn't aware that it grew so high up in the state." "yes; it is very pretty," said nina, abstractedly. clayton, however, had noticed both the message and the blush, and was not so ill-informed as nina supposed as to the whole affair, having heard from a new york correspondent of the probability that an arrival might appear upon the field about this time. he was rather curious to watch the development produced by this event. they paced up the avenue, conversing in disconnected intervals, till they came out on the lawn which fronted the mansion--a large, gray, three-story building, surrounded on the four sides by wide balconies of wood. access was had to the lower of these by a broad flight of steps. and there nina saw, plain enough, her aunt nesbit in all the proprieties of cap and silk gown, sitting, making the agreeable to mr. carson. mr. frederic augustus carson was one of those nice little epitomes of conventional society, which appear to such advantage in factitious life, and are so out of place in the undress, sincere surroundings of country life. nina had liked his society extremely well in the drawing-rooms and opera-houses of new york. but, in the train of thought inspired by the lonely and secluded life she was now leading, it seemed to her an absolute impossibility that she could, even in coquetry and in sport, have allowed such an one to set up pretensions to her hand and heart. she was vexed with herself that she had done so, and therefore not in the most amiable mood for a meeting. therefore, when, on ascending the steps, he rushed precipitately forward, and, offering his hand, called her nina, she was ready to die with vexation. she observed, too, a peculiar swelling and rustling of aunt nesbit's plumage,--an indescribable air of tender satisfaction, peculiar to elderly ladies who are taking an interest in an affair of the heart, which led her to apprehend that the bachelor had commenced operations by declaring his position to her. 'twas with some embarrassment that nina introduced mr. clayton, whom aunt nesbit received with a most stately curtsey, and mr. carson with a patronizing bow. "mr. carson has been waiting for you these two hours," said aunt nesbit. "very warm riding, nina," said mr. carson, observing her red cheeks. "you've been riding too fast, i fear. you must be careful of yourself. i've known people bring on very grave illnesses by over-heating the blood!" clayton seated himself near the door, and seemed to be intent on the scene without. and carson, drawing his chair close to nina, asked, in a confidential under-tone,-- "who is that gentleman?" "mr. clayton, of claytonville," said nina, with as much _hauteur_ as she could assume. "ah, yes!--hem!--hem! i've heard of the family--a very nice family--a very worthy young man--extremely, i'm told. shall be happy to make his acquaintance." "i beg," said nina, rising, "the gentlemen will excuse me a moment or two." clayton replied by a grave bow, while mr. carson, with great _empressement_, handed nina to the door. the moment it was closed, she stamped, with anger, in the entry. "the provoking fool! to take these airs with me! and i, too--i deserve it! what on earth could make me think i could tolerate that man?" as if nina's cup were not yet full, aunt nesbit followed her to her chamber with an air of unusual graciousness. "nina, my dear, he has told me all about it! and i assure you i'm very much pleased with him!" "told you all about _what_?" said nina. "why, your engagement, to be sure! i'm delighted to think you've done so well! i think your aunt maria, and all of them, will be delighted! takes a weight of care off my mind!" "i wish you wouldn't trouble yourself about me, or my affairs, aunt nesbit!" said nina. "and, as for this old pussy-cat, with his squeaking boots, i won't have him purring round _me_, that's certain! _so_ provoking, to take that way towards me! call me nina, and talk as though he were lord paramount of me, and everything here! i'll let him know!" "why, nina! seems to me this is very strange conduct! i am very much astonished at you!" "i dare say you are, aunt! i never knew the time i didn't astonish you! but this man i detest!" "well, then, my dear, what were you engaged to him for?" "_engaged!_ aunt, for pity's sake, do hush! engaged! i should like to know what a new york engagement amounts to! engaged at the opera!--engaged for a joke! why, he was my bouquet-holder! the man is just an opera libretto! he was very useful in his time. but who wants him afterwards?" "but, my dear nina, this trifling with gentlemen's hearts!" "i'll warrant his heart! it's neither sugar nor salt, i'll assure you. i'll tell you what, aunt, he loves good eating, good drinking, nice clothes, nice houses, and good times generally! and he wants a pretty wife as a part of a whole; and he thinks he'll take me. but he is mistaken. calling me 'nina,' indeed! just let me have a chance of seeing him alone! i'll teach him to call me 'nina'! i'll let him know how things stand!" "but, nina, you must confess you've given him occasion for all this." "well, supposing i have? i'll give him occasion for something else, then!" "why, my dear," said aunt nesbit, "he came on to know when you'll fix the day to be married!" "married! oh, my gracious! just think of the creature's talking about it! well, it _is_ my fault, as you say; but i'll do the best i can to mend it." "well, i'm really sorry for him," said aunt nesbit. "you are, aunt? why don't you _take_ him yourself, then? you are as young and good-looking as he is." "nina, how you talk!" said aunt nesbit, coloring and bridling. "there _was_ a time when i wasn't bad-looking, to be sure; but that's long since past." "oh, that's because you always dress in stone-color and drab," said nina, as she stood brushing and arranging her curls. "come, now, and go down, aunt, and do the best you can till i make my appearance. after all, as you say, i'm the most to blame. there's no use in being vexed with the old soul. so, aunt, do be as fascinating as you can; see if you can't console him. only remember how _you_ used to turn off lovers, when you were of my age." "and who is this other gentleman, nina?" "oh, nothing, only he is a friend of mine. a very good man--good enough for a minister, any day, aunt, and not so stupid as good people generally are, either." "well, perhaps you are engaged to _him_?" "no, i am not; that is to say, i won't be to anybody. this is an insufferable business! i _like_ mr. clayton, because he can let me alone, don't look at me in that abominably delighted way all the time, and dance about, calling me _nina_! he and i are very good friends, that's all. i'm not going to have any engagements _anywhere_." "well, nina, i'll go down, and you make haste." while the gentlemen and aunt nesbit were waiting in the saloon, carson made himself extremely happy and at home. it was a large, cool apartment, passing, like a hall, completely through the centre of the house. long french windows, at either end, opened on to balconies. the pillars of the balconies were draped and garlanded with wreaths of roses now in full bloom. the floor of the room was the polished mosaic of different colors to which we have formerly alluded. over the mantel-piece was sculptured in oak the gordon arms. the room was wainscoted with dark wood, and hung with several fine paintings, by copley and stuart, of different members of the family. a grand piano, lately arrived from new york, was the most modern-looking article in the room. most of the furniture was of heavy dark mahogany, of an antique pattern. clayton sat by the door, still admiring the avenue of oaks which were to be seen across the waving green of the lawn. in about half an hour nina reappeared in a flossy cloud of muslin, lace, and gauzy ribbons. dress was one of those accomplishments for which the little gypsy had a natural instinct; and, without any apparent thought, she always fell into that kind of color and material which harmonized with her style of appearance and character. there was always something floating and buoyant about the arrangement of her garments and drapery; so that to see her move across the floor gave one an airy kind of sensation, like the gambols of thistle-down. her brown eyes had a peculiar resemblance to a bird's; and this effect was increased by a twinkling motion of the head, and a fluttering habit of movement peculiar to herself; so that when she swept by in rosy gauzes, and laid one ungloved hand lightly on the piano, she seemed to clayton much like some saucy bird--very good indeed if let alone, but ready to fly on the slightest approach. clayton had the rare faculty of taking in every available point of observation, without appearing to stare. "'pon my word, nina," said mr. carson, coming towards her with a most delighted air, "you look as if you had fallen out of a rainbow!" nina turned away very coolly, and began arranging her music. "oh, that's right!" said carson; "give us one of your songs. sing something from the favorita. you know it's my favorite opera," said he, assuming a most sentimental expression. "oh, i'm entirely out of practice--i don't sing at all. i'm sick of all those opera-songs!" and nina skimmed across the floor, and out of the open door by which clayton was lounging, and began busying herself amid the flowers that wreathed the porch. in a moment carson was at her heels; for he was one of those persons who seem to think it a duty never to allow any one to be quiet, if they can possibly prevent it. "have you ever studied the language of flowers, nina?" said he. "no, i don't like to study languages." "you know the signification of a full-blown rose?" said he, tenderly presenting her with one. nina took the rose, coloring with vexation, and then, plucking from the bush a rose of two or three days' bloom, whose leaves were falling out, she handed it to him, and said,-- "do you understand the signification of this?" "oh, you have made an unfortunate selection! this rose is all falling to pieces!" said mr. carson, innocently. "so i observed," said nina, turning away quickly; then, making one of her darting movements, she was in the middle of the saloon again, just as the waiter announced dinner. clayton rose gravely, and offered his arm to aunt nesbit; and nina found herself obliged to accept the delighted escort of mr. carson, who, entirely unperceiving, was in the briskest possible spirits, and established himself comfortably between aunt nesbit and nina. "you must find it very dull here--very barren country, shockingly so! what do you find to interest yourself in?" said he. "will you take some of this gumbo?" replied nina. "i always thought," said aunt nesbit, "it was a good plan for girls to have a course of reading marked out to them when they left school." "oh, certainly," said carson. "i shall be happy to mark out one for her. i've done it for several young ladies." at this moment nina accidentally happened to catch clayton's eye, which was fixed upon mr. carson with an air of quiet amusement greatly disconcerting to her. "now," said mr. carson, "i have no opinion of making _blues_ of young ladies; but still, i think, mrs. nesbit, that a little useful information adds greatly to their charms. don't you?" "yes," said mrs. nesbit. "i've been reading 'gibbon's decline and fall of the roman empire,' lately." "yes," said nina, "aunt's been busy about that ever since i can remember." "that's a very nice book," said mr. carson, looking solemnly at nina; "only, mrs. nesbit, an't you afraid of the infidel principle? i think, in forming the minds of the young, you know, one cannot be too careful." "why, he struck me as a very pious writer!" said aunt nesbit, innocently. "i'm sure, he makes the most religious reflections, all along. i liked him particularly on that account." it seemed to nina that, without looking at clayton, she was forced to meet his eye. no matter whether she directed her attention to the asparagus or the potatoes, it was her fatality always to end by a rencounter with his eye; and she saw, for some reason or other, the conversation was extremely amusing to him. "for my part," said nina, "i don't know what sort of principles aunt nesbit's history, there, has; but one thing i'm pretty certain of,--that _i_'m not in any danger from any such thick, close-printed, old, stupid-looking books as that. i hate reading, and i don't intend to have my mind formed; so that nobody need trouble themselves to mark out courses for me! what is it to me what all these old empires have been, a hundred years ago? it is as much as i can do to attend to what is going on now." "for my part," said aunt nesbit, "i've always regretted that i neglected the cultivation of my mind when i was young. i was like nina, here, immersed in vanity and folly." "people always talk," said nina, reddening, "as if there was but one kind of vanity and folly in the world. i think there can be as much learned vanity and folly as we girls have!" and she looked at clayton indignantly, as she saw him laughing. "i agree with miss gordon, entirely. there is a great deal of very stupid respectable trifling, which people pursue under the head of courses of reading," he said. "and i don't wonder that most compends of history which are studied in schools should inspire any lively young lady with a life-long horror, not only of history, but of reading." "do you think so?" said nina, with a look of inexpressible relief. "i do, indeed," said clayton. "and it would have been a very good thing for many of our historians, if they had been obliged to have shaped their histories so that they would interest a lively school-girl. we literary men, then, would have found less sleepy reading. there is no reason why a young lady, who would sit up all night reading a novel, should not be made to sit up all night with a history. i'll venture to say there's no romance can come up to the gorgeousness and splendor, and the dramatic power, of things that really have happened. all that's wanting is to have it set before us with an air of reality." "but, then," said nina, "you'd have to make the history into a romance." "well, a good historical romance is generally truer than a dull history; because it gives some sort of conception of the truth; whereas, the dull history gives none." "well, then," said nina, "i'll confess, now, that about all the history i do know has been got from walter scott's novels. _i_ always told our history-teacher so; but she insisted upon it that it was very dangerous reading." "for my part," said mrs. nesbit, "i've a great horror of novel-reading, particularly for young ladies. it did me a great deal of harm when i was young. it dissipates the mind; it gives false views of life." "oh, law!" said nina. "we used to write compositions about that, and i've got it all by heart--how it raises false expectations, and leads people to pursue phantoms, rainbows, and meteors, and all that sort of thing!" "and yet," said clayton, "all these objections would lie against _perfectly_ true history, and the more so just in proportion to its truth. if the history of napoleon bonaparte were graphically and minutely given, it would lie open to the very same objections. it would produce the very same cravings for something out of the commonplace course of life. there would be the same dazzling mixture of bad and good qualities in the hero, and the same lassitude and exhaustion after the story was finished. and common history does not do this, simply because it is not true--does not produce a vivid impression of the reality as it happened." aunt nesbit only got an indefinite impression, from this harangue, that clayton was defending novel-reading, and felt herself called to employ her own peculiar line of reasoning to meet it, which consisted in saying the same thing over and over, at regular intervals, without appearing to hear or notice anything said in reply. accordingly, she now drew herself up, with a slightly virtuous air, and said to mr. clayton,-- "i must say, after all, that i don't approve of novel-reading. it gives false views of life, and disgusts young people with their duties." "i was only showing, madam, that the same objection would apply to the best-written history," said clayton. "i think novel-reading does a great deal of harm," rejoined aunt nesbit. "i never allow myself to read any work of fiction. i'm principled against it." "for my part," said nina, "i wish i could find that kind of history you are speaking of; i believe i could read that." "'twould be very interesting history, certainly," said mr. carson. "i should think it would prove a very charming mode of writing. i wonder somebody don't produce one." "for my part," said aunt nesbit, "i confine myself entirely to what is practically useful. useful information is all i desire." "well, i suppose, then, i'm very wicked," said nina; "but i don't like anything useful. why, i've sometimes thought, when i've been in the garden, that the summer-savory, sage, and sweet-marjoram, were just as pretty as many other flowers; and i couldn't see any reason why i shouldn't like a sprig of one of them for a bouquet, except that i've seen them used for stuffing turkeys. well, now, that seems very bad of me, don't it?" "that reminds me," said aunt nesbit, "that rose has been putting sage into this turkey again, after all that i said to her. i believe she does it on purpose." at this moment harry appeared at the door, and requested to speak to nina. after a few moments' whispered conversation, she came back to the table, apparently disconcerted. "i'm so sorry--so very sorry!" she said. "harry has been riding all round the country to find a minister to attend the funeral, this evening. it will be such a disappointment to that poor fellow! you know the negroes think so much of having prayers at the grave!" "if no one else can be found to read prayers, i will," said clayton. "oh, thank you! will you, indeed?" said nina. "i'm glad of it, now, for poor tiff's sake. the coach will be out at five o'clock, and we'll ride over together, and make as much of a party as we can." --------- "why, child," said aunt nesbit to nina, after they returned to the parlor, "i did not know that mr. clayton was an episcopalian." "he isn't," said nina. "he and his family all attend the presbyterian church." "how strange that he should offer to read prayers!" said aunt nesbit. "i don't approve of such things, for my part." "such things as what?" "countenancing episcopal errors. if we are right, they are wrong, and we ought not to countenance them." "but, aunt, the burial-service is beautiful." "don't approve of it!" said aunt nesbit. "why, you know, as clayton isn't a minister, he would not feel like making an extempore prayer." "shows great looseness of religious principle," said aunt nesbit. "don't approve of it!" chapter xii. explanations. the golden arrows of the setting sun were shooting hither and thither through the pine woods, glorifying whatever they touched with a life not its own. a chorus of birds were pouring out an evening melody, when a little company stood around an open grave. with instinctive care for the feeling of the scene, nina had arrayed herself in a black silk dress, and plain straw bonnet with black ribbon--a mark of respect to the deceased remembered and narrated by tiff for many a year after. cripps stood by the head of the grave, with that hopeless, imbecile expression with which a nature wholly gross and animal often contemplates the symbols of the close of mortal existence. tiff stood by the side of the grave, his white hat conspicuously draped with black crape, and a deep weed of black upon his arm. the baby, wrapped in an old black shawl, was closely fondled in his bosom, while the two children stood weeping bitterly at his side. the other side of the grave stood mr. carson and mr. clayton, while milly, harry, and several plantation slaves, were in a group behind. the coffin had been opened, that all might take that last look, so coveted, yet so hopeless, which the human heart will claim on the very verge of the grave. it was but a moment since the coffin had been closed; and the burst of grief which shook the children was caused by that last farewell. as clayton, in a musical voice, pronounced the words, "i am the resurrection and the life," nina wept and sobbed as if the grief had been her own; nor did she cease to weep during the whole touching service. it was the same impulsive nature which made her so gay in other scenes that made her so sympathetic here. when the whole was over, she kissed the children, and, shaking hands with old tiff, promised to come and see them on the morrow. after which, clayton led her to the carriage, into which he and carson followed her. "upon my word," said carson, briskly, "this has been quite solemn! really, a very interesting funeral, indeed! i was delighted with the effect of our church service; in such a romantic place, too! 'twas really very interesting. it pleases me, also, to see young ladies in your station, nina, interest themselves in the humble concerns of the poor. if young ladies knew how much more attractive it made them to show a charitable spirit, they would cultivate it more. singular-looking person, that old negro! seems to be a good creature. interesting children, too! i should think the woman must have been pretty when she was young. seen a great deal of trouble, no doubt, poor thing! it's a comfort to hope she is better off now." nina was filled with indignation at this monologue; not considering that the man was giving the very best he had in him, and laboring assiduously at what he considered his vocation, the prevention of half an hour of silence in any spot of earth where he could possibly make himself heard. the same excitement which made nina cry made him talk. but he was not content with talking, but insisted upon asking nina, every moment, if she didn't think it an interesting occasion, and if she had not been much impressed. "i don't feel like talking, mr. carson," said nina. "oh--ah--yes, indeed! you've been so deeply affected--yes. naturally _does_ incline one to silence. understand your feelings perfectly. very gratifying to me to see you take such a deep interest in your fellow-creatures." nina could have pushed him out of the carriage. "for my part," continued carson, "i think we don't reflect enough about this kind of thing--i positively don't. it really is useful sometimes to have one's thoughts turned in this direction. it does us good." thus glibly did carson proceed to talk away the impression of the whole scene they had witnessed. long before the carriage reached home, nina had forgotten all her sympathy in a tumult of vexation. she discovered an increasing difficulty in making carson understand, by any degree of coolness, that he was not acceptable; and saw nothing before her but explanations in the very plainest terms, mortifying and humiliating as that might be. his perfect self-complacent ease, and the air with which he constantly seemed to appropriate her as something which of right belonged to himself, filled her with vexation. but yet her conscience told her that she had brought it upon herself. "i won't bear this another hour!" she said to herself, as she ascended the steps toward the parlor. "all this before clayton too! what must he think of me?" but they found tea upon the table and aunt nesbit waiting. "it's a pity, madam, you were not with us. such an interesting time!" said mr. carson, launching, with great volubility, into the tide of discourse. "it wouldn't have done for me at all," said mrs. nesbit. "being out when the dew falls, always brings on hoarseness. i have been troubled in that way these two or three years. now i have to be very careful. then i'm timid about riding in a carriage with john's driving." "i was amused enough," said nina, "with old hundred's indignation at having to get out the carriage and horses to go over to what he called a 'cracker funeral.' i really believe, if he could have upset us without hurting himself, he would have done it." "for my part," said aunt nesbit, "i hope that family will move off before long. it's very disagreeable having such people round." "the children look very pretty and bright," said nina. "oh, there's no hope for them! they'll grow up and be just like their parents. i've seen that sort of people all through and through. i don't wish them any evil; only i don't want to have anything to do with them!" "for my part," said nina, "i'm sorry for them. i wonder why the legislature, or somebody, don't have schools, as they do up in new york state? there isn't anywhere there where children can't go to school, if they wish to. besides, aunt, these children really came from an old family in virginia. their old servant-man says that their mother was a peyton." "i don't believe a word of it! they'll lie--all of them. they always do." "well," said nina, "i shall do something for these children, at any rate." "i quite agree with you, nina. it shows a very excellent spirit in you," said mr. carson. "you'll always find me ready to encourage everything of that sort." nina frowned, and looked indignant. but to no purpose. mr. carson went on remorselessly with his really good-hearted rattle, till nina, at last, could bear it no longer. "how dreadfully warm this room is!" said she, springing up. "come, let's go back into the parlor." nina was as much annoyed at clayton's silence, and his quiet, observant reserve, as with carson's forth-putting. rising from table, she passed on before the company, with a half-flying trip, into the hall, which lay now cool, calm, and breezy, in the twilight, with the odor of the pillar-roses floating in at the window. the pale white moon, set in the rosy belt of the evening sky, looked in at the open door. nina would have given all the world to be still; but, well aware that stillness was out of the question, she determined to select her own noise; and, sitting down at the piano, began playing very fast, in a rapid, restless, disconnected manner. clayton threw himself on a lounge by the open door; while carson busied himself fluttering the music, opening and shutting music-books, and interspersing running commentaries and notes of admiration on the playing. at last, as if she could bear it no longer, she rose, with a very decided air, from the piano, and, facing about towards mr. carson, said:-- "it looks very beautifully out doors. don't you want to come out? there's a point of view at the end of one of the paths, where the moon looks on the water, that i should like to show you." "won't you catch cold, nina?" said aunt nesbit. "no, indeed! i never catch cold," said nina, springing into the porch, and taking the delighted mr. carson's arm. and away she went with him, with almost a skip and a jump, leaving clayton _tête-à-tête_ with aunt nesbit. nina went so fast that her attendant was almost out of breath. they reached a little knoll, and there nina stopped suddenly, and said, "look here, mr. carson; i have something to say to you." "i should be delighted, my dear nina! i'm perfectly charmed!" "no--no--if you please--_don't!_" said nina, putting up her hand to stop him. "just wait till you hear what i have to say. i believe you did not get a letter which i wrote you a few days ago, did you?" "a letter! no, indeed. how unfortunate!" "very unfortunate for me!" said nina; "and for you, too. because, if you had, it would have saved you and me the trouble of this interview. i wrote that letter to tell you, mr. carson, that i cannot _think_ of such a thing as an engagement with you! that i've acted very wrong and very foolishly; but that i cannot do it. in new york, where everybody and everything seemed to be trifling, and where the girls all trifled with these things, i was engaged--just for frolic--nothing more. i had no idea what it would amount to; no idea what i was saying, nor how i should feel afterwards. but every hour since i've been home, here, since i've been so much alone, has made me feel how wrong it is. now, i'm very sorry, i'm sure. but i must speak the truth, this time. but it is--i can't tell you how--disagreeable to me to have you treat me as you have since you've been here!" "miss gordon!" said mr. carson, "i am positively astonished! i--i don't know what to think!" "well, i only want you to think that i am in earnest; and that, though i can _like_ you very well as an acquaintance, and shall always wish you well, yet anything else is just as far out of the question as that moon there is from us. i can't tell you how sorry i am that i've made you all this trouble. i really am," said she, good-naturedly; "but please now to understand how we stand." she turned, and tripped away. "there!" said she, to herself, "at any rate, i've done _one_ thing!" mr. carson stood still, gradually recovering from the stupor into which this communication had thrown him. he stretched himself, rubbed his eyes, took out his watch and looked at it, and then began walking off with a very sober pace in the opposite direction from nina. happily-constituted mortal that he was, nothing ever could be subtracted from his sum of complacence that could not be easily balanced by about a quarter of an hour's consideration. the walk through the shrubbery in which he was engaged was an extremely pretty one, and wound along on the banks of the river through many picturesque points of view, and finally led again to the house by another approach. during the course of this walk mr. carson had settled the whole question for himself. in the first place, he repeated the comfortable old proverb, that there were as good fish in the sea as ever were caught. in the second place, as mr. carson was a shrewd business-man, it occurred to him, in this connection, that the plantation was rather run down, and not a profitable acquisition. and, in the third place, contemplating nina as the fox of old did his bunch of sour grapes, he began to remember that, after all, she was dressy, expensive, and extravagant. then, as he did not want that imperturbable good-nature which belongs to a very shallow capability of feeling, he said to himself that he shouldn't like the girl a bit the less. in fact, when he thought of his own fine fortune, his house in new york, and all the accessories which went to make up himself, he considered her, on the whole, as an object of pity; and, by the time that he ascended the balcony steps again, he was in as charitable and christian a frame as any rejected suitor could desire. he entered the drawing-room. aunt nesbit had ordered candles, and was sitting up with her gloves on, alone. what had transpired during his walk, he did not know; but we will take our readers into confidence. nina returned to the house with the same decided air with which she went out, and awakened mr. clayton from a reverie with a brisk little tap of her fan on his shoulder. "come up here with me," she said, "and look out of the library window, and see this moonlight." and up she went, over the old oaken staircase, stopping on each landing; and, beckoning to clayton, with a whimsically authoritative gesture, threw open the door of a large, black-wainscoted room, and ushered him in. the room lay just above the one where they had been sitting, and, like that, opened on to the veranda by long-sashed windows, through which, at the present moment, a flood of moonlight was pouring. a large, mahogany writing-table, covered with papers, stood in the middle of the room, and the moon shone in so brightly that the pattern of the bronze inkstand, and the color of the wafers and sealing-wax, were plainly revealed. the window commanded a splendid view of the river over the distant tree-tops, as it lay shimmering and glittering in the moonlight. "isn't that a beautiful sight?" said nina, in a hurried voice. "very beautiful!" said clayton, sitting down in the large lounging-chair before the window, and looking out with the abstracted air which was habitual with him. after a moment's thought, nina added, with a sudden effort,-- "but, after all, that was not what i wanted to speak to you about. i wanted to see you somewhere, and say a few words which it seems to me it is due to you that i should say. i got your last letter, and i'm sure i am very much obliged to your sister for all the kind things she says; but i think you must have been astonished at what you have seen since you have been here." "astonished at what?" said clayton, quietly. "at mr. carson's manners towards me." "i have not been astonished at all," replied clayton, quietly. "i think, at all events," said nina, "i think it is no more than honorable that i should tell you exactly how things have stood. mr. carson has thought that he had a right to me and mine; and i was so foolish as to give him reason to think so. the fact is, that i have been making a game of life, and saying and doing anything and everything that came into my head, just for frolic. it don't seem to me that there has been anything serious or real about me, until very lately. somehow, my acquaintance with you has made things seem more real to me than they ever did before; and it seems to me now perfectly incredible, the way we girls used to play and trifle with everything in the world. just for sport, i was engaged to that man; just for sport, too, i have been engaged to another one." "and," said clayton, breaking the silence, "just for sport, have you been engaged to me?" "no," said nina, after a few moments' silence, "not in sport, certainly; but, yet, not enough in earnest. i think i am about half waked up. i don't know myself. i don't know where or what i am, and i want to go back into that thoughtless dream. i do really think it's too hard to take up the responsibility of living in good earnest. now, it seems to me just this,--that i cannot be bound to anybody. i want to be free. i have positively broken all connection with mr. carson; i have broken with another one, and i wish"-- "to break with me?" said clayton. "i don't really know as i can say what i do wish. it is a very different thing from any of the others, but there's a feeling of dread, and responsibility, and constraint, about it; and, though i think i should feel very lonesome now without you, and though i like to get your letters, yet it seems to me that i cannot be engaged,--that is a most dreadful feeling to me." "my dear friend," said clayton, "if that is all, make yourself easy. there's no occasion for our being engaged. if you can enjoy being with me and writing to me, why, do it in the freest way, and to-morrow shall take care for the things of itself. you shall say what you please, do what you please, write when you please, and not write when you please, and have as many or as few letters as you like. there can be no true love without liberty." "oh, i'm sure i'm much obliged to you!" said nina, with a sigh of relief. "and, now, do you know, i like your sister's postscript very much; but i can't tell what it is in it, for the language is as kind as can be, that would give me the impression that she is one of those very proper kind of people, that would be dreadfully shocked if she knew of all my goings on in new york." clayton could hardly help laughing at the instinctive sagacity of this remark. "i'm sure i don't know," said he, "where you could have seen that,--in so short a postscript, too." "do you know, i never take anybody's handwriting into my hand, that i don't feel an idea of them come over me, just as you have when you see people? and that idea came over me when i read your sister's letter." "well, nina, to tell you the truth, sister anne is a little bit conventional--a little set in her ways; but, after all, a large-hearted, warm-hearted woman. you would like each other, i know." "i don't know about that," said nina. "i am very apt to shock proper people. somehow or other, they have a faculty of making me contrary." "well, but, you see, anne isn't merely a conventional person; there's only the slightest crust of conventionality, and a real warm heart under it." "whereas," said nina, "most conventional people are like a shallow river, frozen to the bottom. but, now, really, i should like very much to have your sister come and visit us, if i could think that she would come as any other friend; but, you know, it isn't very agreeable to have anybody come to look one over to see if one will do." clayton laughed at the naïve, undisguised frankness of this speech. "you see," said nina, "though i'm nothing but an ignorant school-girl, i'm as proud as if i had everything to be proud of. now, do you know, i don't much like writing to your sister, because i don't think i write very good letters! i never could sit still long enough to write." "write exactly as you talk," said clayton. "say just what comes into your head, just as you would talk it. i hope you will do that much, for it will be very dull writing all on one side." "well," said nina, rising, with animation, "now, mr. edward clayton, if we have settled about this moonlight, we may as well go down into the parlor, where aunt nesbit and mr. carson are _tête-à-tête_." "poor carson!" said clayton. "oh, don't pity him! good soul! he's a man that one night's rest would bring round from anything in creation. he's so thoroughly good-natured! besides, i shall like him better, now. he did not use to seem to me so intrusive and disagreeable. we girls used to like him very well, he was such a comfortable, easy-tempered, agreeable creature, always brisk and in spirits, and knowing everything that went on. but he is one of those men that i think would be really insufferable, if anything serious were the matter with me. now, you heard how he talked coming from that funeral! do you know, that if he had been coming from _my_ funeral, it would have been just so?" "oh, no, not quite so bad," said clayton. "indeed he is," said nina. "that man! why, he just puts me in mind of one of these brisk blue-flies, whirring and whisking about, marching over pages of books, and alighting on all sorts of things. when he puts on that grave look, and begins to talk about serious things, he actually looks to me just as a fly does when he stands brushing his wings on a bible! but, come, let's go down to the good soul." down they went, and nina seemed like a person enfranchised. never had she seemed more universally gracious. she was chatty and conversable with carson, and sang over for him all her old opera-songs, with the better grace that she saw that clayton was listening intently. as they were sitting and conversing together, the sound of a horse's heels was heard coming up the avenue. "who can that be, this time of night?" said nina, springing to the door, and looking out. she saw harry hastening in advance to meet her, and ran down the veranda steps to speak to him. "harry, who is coming?" "miss nina, it's master tom," said harry, in a low voice. "tom! oh, mercy!" said nina, in a voice of apprehension. "what sent him here, now?" "what sends him anywhere?" said harry. nina reascended the steps, and stood looking apprehensively towards the horseman, who approached every moment nearer. harry came up on the veranda, and stood a little behind her. in a few moments the horse was up before the steps. "hallo, there!" said the rider. "come, take my horse, you rascal!" harry remained perfectly still, put his arms by his side, and stood with a frowning expression on his forehead. "don't you hear?" said the horseman, throwing himself off, with an oath. "come here, boy, and take my horse!" "for pity's sake," said nina, turning and looking in harry's face, "don't have a scene here! do take his horse, quick! _anything_ to keep him quiet!" with a sudden start, harry went down the steps, and took the bridle from the hand of the newly-arrived in silence. the horseman sprang up the steps. "hallo, nin, is this you?" and nina felt herself roughly seized in the arms of a shaggy great-coat, and kissed by lips smelling of brandy and tobacco. she faintly said, as she disengaged herself,-- "tom, is it you?" "yes, to be sure! who did you think it was? devilish glad to see me, an't you? suppose you was in hopes i wouldn't come!" "hush, tom, do! i _am_ glad to see you. there are gentlemen in there; don't speak so loud!" "some of your beaux, hey? well, i am as good a fellow as any of 'em! free country, i hope! no, i an't going to whisper, for any of them. so now, nin-- if there isn't old starchy, to be sure!" said he, as aunt nesbit came to the door. "hallo, old girl, how are you?" "thomas!" said mrs. nesbit, softly, "thomas!" "none of your thomasing me, you old pussy-cat! don't you be telling me, neither, to hush! i won't hush, neither! i know what i am about, i guess! it's my house, as much as it is nin's, and i'm going to do as i have a mind to here! i an't going to have my mouth shut on account of her beaux! so, clear out, i tell you, and let me come in!" and aunt nesbit gave back. he pushed his way into the apartment. he was a young man, about twenty-five years old, who evidently had once possessed advantages of face and figure; but every outline in the face was bloated and rendered unmeaning by habits of constant intemperance. his dark eyes had that muddy and troubled expression which in a young man too surely indicates the habitual consciousness of inward impurity. his broad, high forehead was flushed and pimpled, his lips swollen and tumid, and his whole air and manner gave painful evidence that he was at present too far under the influence of stimulus justly to apprehend what he was about. nina followed him, and clayton was absolutely shocked at the ghastly paleness of her face. she made an uncertain motion towards him, as if she would have gone to him for protection. clayton rose; carson, also; and all stood for a moment in silent embarrassment. "well, this is a pretty business, to be sure! nina," said he, turning to her, with a tremendous oath, "why don't you introduce me? pretty way to meet a brother you haven't seen for three or four years! you act as if you were ashamed of me! confound it all! introduce me, i say!" "tom, don't speak so!" said nina, laying her hand on his arm, in a soothing tone. "this gentleman is mr. clayton; and, mr. clayton," she said, lifting her eyes to him, and speaking in a trembling voice, "this is my brother." mr. clayton offered his hand, with the ordinary expressions of civility. "mr. carson," said nina, "my brother." there was something inexpressibly touching and affecting in the manner in which this was said. one other person noticed it. harry, who had given the horse to a servant, stood leaning against the doorway, looking on. a fiery gleam, like that of a steel blade, seemed to shoot from his blue eyes; and each time that nina said "my brother," he drew in his breath, as one who seeks to restrain himself in some violent inward emotion. "i suppose you don't any of you want to see me much," said the new-comer, taking a chair, and sitting down doggedly in the centre of the group, with his hat on his head. "well, i have as good a right as anybody to be here!" he continued, spitting a quid of tobacco at aunt nesbit's feet. "for my part, i think relations ought to have natural affection, and be glad to see one another. well, now, you can see, gentlemen, with your own eyes, just how it is here! there's my sister, there. you better believe me, she hasn't seen me for three years! instead of appearing glad, or anything, there she sits, all curled up in a corner! won't come near me, more than if i had the plague! come here, now, you little kit, and sit in my lap!" he made a movement to pull nina towards him, which she resisted with an air of terror, looking at her aunt, who, more terrified still, sat with her feet drawn up on the sofa, as if he had been a mad dog. there was reason enough for the terror which seemed to possess them both. both had too vivid recollections of furious domestic hurricanes that had swept over the family when tom gordon came home. nina remembered the storms of oaths and curses that had terrified her when a child; the times that she had seen her father looking like death, leaning his head on his hand, and sighing as only those sigh who have an only son worse than dead. it is no wonder, therefore, that nina, generally courageous and fearless as she was, should have become fearful and embarrassed at his sudden return. "tom," she said, softly, coming up to him, "you haven't been to supper. hadn't you better come out?" "no you don't!" said he, catching her round the waist, and drawing her on his knee. "you won't get me out of the room, now! i know what i am about! tell me," continued he, still holding her on his knee, "which of them is it, nin?--which is the favored one?" clayton rose and went out on the veranda, and mr. carson asked harry to show him into his room. "hallo! shelling out there, are they? well, nin, to tell the truth, i am deuced hungry. for my part, i don't see what the thunder keeps my jim out so long. i sent him across to the post-office. he ought to have been back certainly as soon as i was. oh, here he comes! hallo! you dog, there!" said he, going to the door, where a very black negro was dismounting. "any letters?" "no, mas'r. i spect de mails have gin up. der an't been no letters dere, for no one, for a month. it is some 'quatic disorganization of dese yer creeks, i s'pose. so de letter-bags goes anywhere 'cept der right place." "confound it all! i say, you nin," turning round, "why don't you offer a fellow some supper? coming home, here, in my own father's house, everybody acts as if they were scared to death! no supper!" "why, tom, i've been asking you, these three or four times." "bless us!" said jim, whispering to harry. "de mischief is, he an't more than half-primed! tell her to give him a little more brandy, and after a little we will get him into bed as easy as can be!" and the event proved so; for, on sitting down to supper, tom gordon passed regularly through all the stages of drunkenness; became as outrageously affectionate as he had been before surly, kissed nina and aunt nesbit, cried over his sins and confessed his iniquities, laughed and cried feebly, till at last he sank in his chair asleep. "dar, he is done for, now!" said jim, who had been watching the gradual process. "now, just you and i, let's tote him off," said he to harry. nina, on her part, retired to a troubled pillow. she foresaw nothing before her but mortification and embarrassment, and realized more than ever the peculiar loneliness of her situation. for all purposes of consultation and aid, aunt nesbit was nobody in her esteem, and nina was always excited and vexed by every new attempt that she made to confide in her. "now, to-morrow," she said to herself, as she lay down, "no one knows what will turn up. he will go round as usual, interfering with everything--threatening and frightening my servants, and getting up some difficulty with harry. dear me! it seems to me life is coming over me hard enough, and all at once, too!" as nina said this, she saw some one standing by her bed. it was milly, who stooped tenderly over her, smoothing and arranging the bed-clothes in a motherly way. "is that you, milly? oh, sit down here a minute! i am so troubled! it seems to me i've had so much trouble to-day! do you know tom came home to-night _so_ drunk! oh, dear milly, it was horrid! do you know he took me in his arms and kissed me; and, though he is my only brother, it's perfectly dreadful to me! and i feel so worried, and so anxious!" "yes, lamb, i knows all about dese yer things," said milly. "i's seen him many and many times." "the worst of it is," said nina, "that i don't know what he will do to-morrow--and before mr. clayton, too! it makes me feel so helpless, ashamed, and mortifies me so!" "yes, yes, chile," said milly, gently stroking her head. "i stand so much alone!" said nina. "other girls have some friend or relation to lean on; but i have nobody!" "why don't you ask your _father_ to help you?" said milly to nina, in a gentle tone. "ask _who_?" said nina, lifting up her head from the pillow. "your father!" said milly, with a voice of solemnity. "don't you know 'our father who art in heaven'? you haven't forgot your prayers, i hope, honey." nina looked at her with surprise. and milly continued, "now, if i was you, lamb, i would tell my father all about it. why, chile, he loves you! he wouldn't like nothing better, now, than to have you just come to him and tell him all about your troubles, and he'll make 'em all straight. that's the way i does, and i's found it come out right, many and many a time." "why, milly, you wouldn't have me go to god about _my_ little foolish affairs?" "laws, chile, what should you go to him 'bout, den? sure dese are all de 'fairs you's got." "well, but, milly," said nina, apprehensively, "you know i've been a very bad girl about religion. it's years and years since i've said any prayers. at school, the girls used to laugh at anybody who said prayers; and so i never did. and, since i've neglected my heavenly father when things went well with me, it wouldn't be fair to call on him now, just because i've got into trouble. i don't think it would be honorable." "de lord bless dis yer chile! do hear her talk! just as if de heavenly father didn't know all about you, and hadn't been a loving and watching you de whole time! why, chile, he knows what poor foolish creatures we be; and he an't noways surprised, nor put out. why, laws, don't you know he's de good shepherd? and what you suppose dey has shepherds fur, 'cept de sheeps are all de time running away, and getting into trouble? why, honey, _dat's what dey's fur_." "well, but it is so long since i prayed, that i don't know anything how to pray, milly." "bless you, chile, who wanted you to pray? i never prays myself. used to try, but i made such drefful poor work on it that i gin it up. now, i just goes and _talks_ to de father, and tells him anything and everything; and i think he likes it a great deal better. why, he is just as willing to hear me now, as if i was the greatest lady in the land. and he takes such an interest in all my poor 'fairs! why, sometimes i go to him when my heart is _so_ heavy; and, when i tells him all about it, i comes away as light as a feather!" "well, but, after i've forgotten him so many years!" "why, honey, now just look yere! i 'member once, when you was a little weety thing, that you toddles down dem steps dere, and you slips away from dem dat was watching you, and you toddles away off into de grove, yonder, and dere you got picking flowers, and one thing and another, mighty tickled and peart. you was down dere 'joying yourself, till, by and by, your pa missed you; and den such another hunt as dere was! dere was a hurrying here, and a looking dere; and finally your pa run down in de woods, and dere you'd got stuck fast in de mud! both your shoes off, and well scratched with briers; and dere you stood a crying, and calling your pa. i tell you he said dat ar was de sweetest music he ever heard in his life. i 'member he picked you up, and came up to de house kissing you. now, dere 'twas, honey! you didn't call on your pa till you got into trouble. and laws, laws, chile, dat's de way with us all. we never does call on de father till we gets into trouble; and it takes heaps and heaps of trouble, sometimes, to bring us round. some time, chile, i'll tell you my sperence. i's got a sperence on this point. but, now, honey, don't trouble yourself no more; but just ask your father to take care of your 'fairs, and turn over and go to sleep. and he'll do it. now you mind." so saying, milly smoothed the pillow with anxious care, and, kissing nina on the forehead, departed. chapter xiii. tom gordon. "i say, nina," said her brother, coming in, a day or two after, from a survey he had been taking round the premises, "you want _me_ here to manage this place. everything going at sixes and sevens; and that nigger of a harry riding round with his boots shining. that fellow cheats you, and feathers his own nest well. i know! these white niggers are all deceitful." "come, tom, you know the estate is managed just as father left word to have it; and uncle john says that harry is an excellent manager. i'm sure nobody could have been more faithful to me; and i am very well satisfied." "yes, i dare say. all left to you and the executors, as you call them; as if _i_ were not the natural guardian of my sister! then i come here to put up with that fellow's impudence!" "whose?--harry's? he is never impudent. he is always gentlemanly. everybody remarks it." "gentlemanly! there it is, nin! what a fool you are to encourage the use of that word in connection with any of your niggers! gentleman, forsooth! and while he plays gentleman, who takes care? i tell you what, you'll find one of these days how things are going on. but that's just the way! you never would listen to me, or pay the least attention to my advice." "oh, tom, don't talk about that--don't! i never interfere about your affairs. please leave me the right to manage mine in my own way." "and who is this clayton that's hanging about here? are you going to have him, or he you--hey?" "i don't know," said nina. "because _i_, for one, don't like him; and i shan't give my consent to let him have you. that other one is worth twice as much. he has one of the largest properties in new york. joe snider has told me about him. you shall have him." "i shall _not_ have him, say what you please; and i _shall_ have mr. clayton, if i choose!" said nina, with a heightened color. "you have no right to dictate to me of my own affairs; and i shan't submit to it, i tell you frankly." "highty-tighty! we are coming up, to be sure!" said tom. "moreover," said nina, "i wish you to let everything on this place entirely alone; and remember that my servants are not your servants, and that you have no control over them whatever." "well, we will see how you'll help yourself! i am not going to go skulking about on my father's own place as if i had no right or title there; and if your niggers don't look sharp, they'll find out whether i am the master here or not, especially that harry. if the dog dare so much as to lift his fingers to countermand any one of my orders, i'd put a bullet through his head as soon as i would through a buck's. i give you warning!" "oh, tom, pray don't talk so!" said nina, who really began to be alarmed. "what do you want to make me such trouble for?" the conversation was here suspended by the entrance of milly. "if you please, miss nina, come and show me which of your muslins you wish to be done up, as i's starching for miss loo." glad of an opportunity to turn the conversation, nina ran up to her room, whither she was followed by milly, who shut the door, and spoke to her in mysterious tones. "miss nina, can't you make some errand to get harry off the place for two or three days, while mas'r tom's round?" "but what right," said nina, with heightened color, "has he to dictate to my servants, or me? or to interfere with any of our arrangements here?" "oh, dere's no use talking about _rights_, honey. we must all do jest what we _ken_. don't make much odds whether our rights is one way or t'other. you see, chile, it's just here. harry's your right hand. but you see he an't learnt to _bend_ 'fore the wind, like the rest of us. he is spirity; he is just as full now as a powder-box; and mas'r tom is bent on aggravating him. and, laws, chile, dere may be bloody work--dere may so!" "why, do you think he'd _dare_"-- "chile, don't talk to me! dare!--yes; sure 'nough he will dare! besides, dere's fifty ways young gentlemen may take to aggravate and provoke. and, when flesh and blood can't bear it no longer, if harry raises his hand, why, den shoot him down! nothing said--nothing done. you can't help yourself. you won't want to have a lawsuit with your own brother; and, if you did, 'twouldn't bring harry to life! laws, chile, ef i could tell you what i've seen--you don't know nothing 'bout it. now, i tell you, get up some message to your uncle's plantation; send him off for anything or nothing; only have him gone! and then speak your brother fair, and then may be he will go off. but don't you quarrel! don't you cross him, come what may! dere an't a soul on the place that can bar de sight on him. but, then, you see the rest dey _all bends_! but, chile, you must be quick about it! let me go right off and find him. just you come in the little back room, and i'll call him in." pale and trembling, nina descended into the room; and, in a few moments after, milly appeared, followed by harry. "harry!" said nina, in a trembling voice, "i want you to take your horse and go over to uncle john's plantation, and carry a note for me." harry stood with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon the ground, and nina continued,-- "and, harry, i think you had better make some business or errand to keep you away two or three days, or a week." "miss nina," said harry, "the affairs of the place are very pressing now, and need overlooking. a few days' neglect now may produce a great loss, and then it will be said that i neglected my business to idle and ride round the country." "well, but if i send you, i take the responsibility, and i'll bear the loss. the fact is, harry, i'm afraid that you won't have patience to be here, now tom is at home. in fact, harry, i'm afraid for your life! and now, if you have any regard for me, make the best arrangement with the work you can, and be off. i'll tell him that i sent you on business of my own, and i am going to write a letter for you to carry. it's the only safe way. he has so many ways in which he can provoke and insult you, that, at last, you may say or do something that will give him occasion against you; and i think he is determined to drive you to this." "isn't this provoking, now? isn't this outrageous!" said harry, between his teeth, looking down, "that everything must be left, and all because i haven't the right to stand up like a man, and protect you and yours!" "it is a pity! it is a shame!" said nina. "but, harry, don't stop to think upon it; do go!" she laid her hand softly on his. "for my sake, now, be good--be good!" the room where they were standing had long windows, which opened, like those of the parlor, on the veranda, and commanded a view of a gravel-walk bordered with shrubbery. as harry stood, hesitating, he started at seeing lisette come tripping up the walk, balancing on her head a basket of newly-ironed muslins and linens. her trim little figure was displayed in a close-fitting gown of blue, a snowy handkerchief crossed upon her bust, and one rounded arm raised to steady the basket upon her head. she came tripping forward, with her usual airy motion, humming a portion of a song; and attracted, at the same moment, the attention of tom gordon and of her husband. "'pon my word, if that isn't the prettiest concern!" said tom, as he started up and ran down the walk to meet her. "good-morning, my pretty girl!" he said. "good-morning, sir," returned lisette, in her usual tone of gay cheerfulness. "pray, who do you belong to, my pretty little puss! i think i've never seen you on this place." "please, sir, i'm harry's wife." "indeed! you are, hey? devilish good taste he has!" said he, laying his hand familiarly on her shoulder. the shoulder was pulled away, and lisette moved rapidly on to the other side of the path, with an air of vexation which made her look rather prettier. "what, my dear, don't you know that i am your husband's young master? come, come!" he said, following her, and endeavoring to take hold of her arm. "please let me alone!" said lisette, coloring, and in a petted, vexed tone. "let you alone? no, that i shan't, not while you ask it in such a pretty way as that!" and again the hand was laid upon her shoulder. it must be understood that harry had witnessed so far, in pantomime, this scene. he had stood with compressed lips, and eyes slowly dilating, looking at it. nina, who was standing with her back to the window, wondered at the expression of his countenance. "look there, miss nina!" he said. "do you see my wife and your brother?" nina turned, and in an instant the color mounted to her cheeks; her little form seemed to dilate, and her eyes flashed fire; and before harry could see what she was doing, she was down in the gravel-walk, and had taken lisette's hand. "tom gordon," she said, "i'm ashamed of you! hush! hush!" she continued, fixing her eyes on him, and stamping her foot. "_dare_ to come to my place, and take such liberties here! you shall not be allowed to while _i_ am mistress; and i _am_ mistress! _dare_ to lay a finger on this girl while she is here under my protection! come, lisette!" and she seized the trembling girl by the hand, and drew her along towards the house. tom gordon was so utterly confused at this sudden burst of passion in his sister, that he let them go off without opposition. in a few moments he looked after her, and gave a long, low whistle. "ah! pretty well up for her! but she'll find it's easier said than done, i fancy!" and he sauntered up to the veranda, where harry stood with his arms folded, and the veins in his forehead swelling with repressed emotion. "go in, lisette," said nina; "take the things into my room, and i'll come to you." "'pon my word, harry," said tom, coming up, and addressing harry in the most insulting tone, "we are all under the greatest obligations to you for bringing such a pretty little fancy article here!" "my wife does not belong to this place," said harry, forcing himself to speak calmly. "she belongs to a mrs. le clere, who has come into belleville plantation." "ah! thank you for the information! i may take a fancy to buy her, and i'd like to know who she belongs to. i've been wanting a pretty little concern of that sort. she's a good housekeeper, isn't she, harry? does up shirts well? what do you suppose she could be got for? i must go and see her mistress." during this cruel harangue harry's hands twitched and quivered, and he started every now and then, looking first at nina, and then at his tormentor. he turned deadly pale; even his lips were of ashy whiteness; and, with his arms still folded, and making no reply, he fixed his large blue eyes upon tom, and, as it sometimes happened in moments of excitement and elevation, there appeared on the rigid lines of his face, at that moment, so strong a resemblance to colonel gordon, that nina noticed and was startled by it. tom gordon noticed it also. it added fuel to the bitterness of his wrath; and there glared from his eyes a malignancy of hatred that was perfectly appalling. the two brothers seemed like thunder-clouds opposing each other, and ready to dart lightning. nina hastened to interfere. "hurry, hurry, harry! i want that message carried. do, pray, go directly!" "let me see," said tom, "i must call jim, and have my horse. which is the way to that belleville plantation? i think i'll ride over." and he turned and walked indolently down the steps. "for shame, tom! you won't! you can't! how can you want to trouble me so?" said nina. he turned and looked upon her with an evil smile, turned again, and was gone. "harry, harry, go quick! don't you worry; there's no danger!" she added, in a lower voice. "madam le clere never would consent." "there's no knowing!" said harry, "never any knowing! people act about money as they do about nothing else." "then--then i'll send and buy her myself!" said nina. "you don't know how our affairs stand, miss nina," said harry hurriedly. "the money couldn't be raised now for it, especially if i have to go off this week. it will make a great difference, my being here or not being here; and very likely master tom may have a thousand dollars to pay down on the spot. i never knew him to want money when his will was up. great god! haven't i borne this yoke long enough?" "well, harry," said nina, "i'll sell everything i've got--my jewels--everything. i'll mortgage the plantation, before tom gordon shall do this thing! i'm not _quite_ so selfish as i've always seemed to be. i know you've made the sacrifice of body and soul to my interest; and i've always taken it because i loved my ease, and was a spoiled child. but, after all, i know i've as much energy as tom has, when i am roused, and i'll go over this very morning and make an offer for her. only you be off. you can't stand such provocation as you get here; and if you yield, as any man will do, at last, then everything and everybody will go against you, and i can't protect you. trust to _me_. i'm not so much of a child as i have seemed to be! you'll find i can act for myself, and you too! there comes mr. clayton through the shrubbery--that's right! order two horses round to the door immediately, and we'll go over there this morning." nina gave her orders with a dignity as if she had been a princess, and in all his agitation harry could not help marvelling at the sudden air of womanliness which had come over her. "i could serve _you_," he said, in a low voice, "to the last drop of my blood! but," he added, in a tone which made nina tremble, "i hate everybody else! i hate your country! i hate your laws!" "harry," said nina, "you do wrong--you forget yourself!" "oh, i do wrong, do i? we are the people that are _never_ to do wrong! people may stick pins in us, and stick knives in us, wipe their shoes on us, spit in our face--_we_ must be amiable! we must be models of christian patience! i tell you, your father should rather have put me into quarters and made me work like a field-negro, than to have given me the education he did, and leave me under the foot of every white man that dares tread on me!" nina remembered to have seen her father in transports of passion, and was again shocked and startled to see the resemblance between his face and the convulsed face before her. "harry," she said, in a pitying, half-admonitory tone, "do think what you are saying! if you love me, be quiet!" "love you? you have always held my heart in your hand. that has been the clasp upon my chain. if it hadn't been for you, i should have fought my way to the north before now, or i would have found a grave on the road!" "well, harry," said nina, after a moment's thought, "my love shall not be a clasp upon _any_ chain; for, as there is a god in heaven, i will set you free! i'll have a bill introduced at the very next legislature, and i know what friend will see to it. so go, now, harry, go!" harry stood a moment, then suddenly raised the hand of his little mistress to his lips, turned, and was gone. clayton, who had been passing through the shrubbery, and who had remarked that nina was engaged in a very exciting conversation, had drawn off, and stood waiting for her at the foot of the veranda steps. as soon as nina saw him, she reached out her hand frankly, saying,-- "oh, there, mr. clayton, you are just the person! wouldn't you like to take a ride with me?" "of course i should," said he. "wait here a moment," said she, "till i get ready. the horses will be here immediately." and, running up the steps, she passed quickly by him, and went into the house. clayton had felt himself in circumstances of considerable embarrassment ever since the arrival of tom gordon, the evening before. he had perceived that the young man had conceived an instinctive dislike of himself, which he was at no particular pains to conceal; and he had found it difficult to preserve the appearance of one who does not notice. he did not wish to intrude upon nina any embarrassing recognition of her situation, even under the guise of sympathy and assistance; and waited, therefore, till some word from her should authorize him to speak. he held himself, therefore, ready to meet any confidence which she might feel disposed to place in him; not doubting, from the frankness of her nature, that she would soon find it impossible not to speak of what was so deeply interesting to her. nina soon reappeared, and, mounting their horses, they found themselves riding through the same forest-road that led to the cottage of tiff, from which a divergent path went to the belleville plantation. "i'm glad to see you alone this morning, for many reasons," said nina; "for i think i never needed a friend's help more. i'm mortified that you should have seen what you did last night; but, since you have, i may as well speak of it. the fact is, that my brother, though he is the only one i have, never did treat me as if he loved me. i can't tell what the reason is: whether he was jealous of my poor father's love for me, or whether it was because i was a wilful, spoiled girl, and so gave him reason to be set against me, or whatever the reason might be,--he never has been kind to me long at a time. perhaps he would be, if i would always do exactly as he says; but i am made as positive and wilful as he is. i never have been controlled, and i can't recognize the right which he seems to assume to control me, and to dictate as to my own private affairs. he was not left my guardian; and, though i do love him, i shan't certainly take him as one. now, you see, he has a bitter hatred, and a most unreasonable one, towards my harry; and i had no idea, when i came home, in how many ways he had the power to annoy me. it does seem as if an evil spirit possessed them both when they get together; they seem as full of electricity as they can be, and i am every instant afraid of an explosion. unfortunately for harry, he has had a much superior education to the generality of his class and station, and the situation of trust in which he has been placed has given him more the feelings of a free man and a gentleman than is usual; for, except tom, there isn't one of our family circle that hasn't always treated him with kindness, and even with deference; and i think this very thing angers tom the more, and makes him take every possible occasion of provoking and vexing. i believe it is his intention to push harry up to some desperate action; and, when i see how frightfully they look at each other, i tremble for the consequences. harry has lately married a very pretty wife, with whom he lives in a little cottage on the extremity of the belleville estate; and this morning tom happened to spy her, and it seemed to inspire him with a most ingenious plan to trouble harry. he threatened to come over and buy her of madam le clere; and so, to quiet harry, i promised to come over here before him, and make an offer for her." "why," said clayton, "do you think her mistress would sell her?" "i can't say," said nina. "she is a person i am acquainted with only by report. she is a new orleans creole who has lately bought the place. lisette, i believe, hired her time of her. lisette is an ingenious, active creature, and contrives, by many little arts and accomplishments, to pay a handsome sum, monthly, to her mistress. whether the offer of a large sum at once would tempt her to sell her, is more than i know until it's tried. i should like to have lisette, for harry's sake." "and do you suppose your brother was really serious?" "i shouldn't be at all surprised if he were. but, serious or not serious, i intend to make the matter sure." "if it be necessary to make an immediate payment," said clayton, "i have a sum of money which is lying idle in the bank, and it's but drawing a check which will be honored at sight. i mention this, because the ability to make an immediate payment may make the negotiation easier. you ought to allow me the pleasure of joining you in a good work." "thank you," said nina, frankly. "it may not be necessary; but, if it should be, i will take it in the same spirit in which it is offered." after a ride of about an hour, they arrived in the boundaries of belleville plantation. in former days, nina had known this as the residence of an ancient rich family, with whom her father was on visiting terms. she was therefore uncomfortably struck with the air of poverty, waste, and decay, everywhere conspicuous through the grounds. nothing is more depressing and disheartening than the sight of a gradual decay of what has been arranged and constructed with great care; and when nina saw the dilapidated gateway, the crushed and broken shrubbery, the gaps in the fine avenue where the trees had been improvidently cut down for fire-wood, she could not help a feeling of depression. "how different this place used to be when i came here as a child!" said she. "this madam, whatever her name is, can't be much of a manager." as she said this, their horses came up the front of the house, in which the same marks of slovenly neglect were apparent. blinds were hanging by one hinge; the door had sunk down into the rotten sill; the wooden pillars that supported it were decayed at the bottom; and the twining roses which once climbed upon them laid trailing, dishonored, upon the ground. the veranda was littered with all kinds of rubbish,--rough boxes, saddles, bridles, overcoats; and various nondescript articles formed convenient hiding-places and retreats, in which a troop of negro children and three or four dogs were playing at hide-and-go-seek with great relish and noise. on the alighting of nina and clayton at the door, they all left their sports, and arranged themselves in a grinning row, to see the new-comers descend. nothing seemed to be further from the minds of the little troop than affording the slightest assistance in the way of holding horses or answering questions. all they did was alternately to look at each other and the travellers, and grin. a tattered servant-man, with half a straw hat on his head, was at length raised by a call of clayton, who took their horses--having first distributed a salutation of kicks and cuffs among the children, asking where their manners were that they didn't show the gentleman and lady in. and nina and clayton were now marshalled by the whole seven of them into an apartment on the right of the great hall. everything in the room appeared in an unfinished state. the curtains were half put up at the windows, and part lying in a confused heap on the chairs. the damp, mouldy paper, which hung loosely from the wall, had been torn away in some places, as if to prepare for repapering; and certain half-opened rolls of costly wall-paper lay on the table, on which appeared the fragment of some ancient luncheon; to wit, plates, and pieces of bread and cheese, dirty tumblers, and an empty bottle. it was difficult to find a chair sufficiently free from dust to sit down on. nina sent up her card by one of the small fry, who, having got half-way up the staircase, was suddenly taken with the desire to slide down the banisters with it in his hand. of course he dropped the card in the operation; and the whole group precipitated themselves briskly on to it, all in a heap, and fought, tooth and nail, for the honor of carrying it up stairs. they were aroused, however, by the entrance of the man with half a hat; who, on nina's earnest suggestion, plunged into the troop, which ran, chattering and screaming like so many crows, to different parts of the hall, while he picked up the card, and, with infinite good-will beaming on his shining black face, went up with it, leaving nina and clayton waiting below. in a few moments he returned. "missis will see de young lady up stairs." nina tripped promptly after him, and left clayton the sole tenant of the parlor for an hour. at length she returned, skipping down the stairs, and opening the door with great animation. "the thing is done!" she said. "the bill of sale will be signed as soon as we can send it over." "i had better bring it over myself," said clayton, "and make the arrangement." "so be it!" said nina. "but pray let us be delivered from this place! did you ever see such a desolate-looking house? i remember when i've seen it a perfect paradise--full of the most agreeable people." "and pray what sort of a person did you find?" said clayton, as they were riding homeward. "well," said nina, "she's one of the tow-string order of women. very slack-twisted, too, i fancy--tall, snuffy, and sallow. clothes looked rough-dry, as if they had been pulled out of a bag. she had a bright-colored madras handkerchief tied round her head, and spoke french a little more through her nose than french people usually do. flourished a yellow silk pocket-handkerchief. poor soul! she said she had been sick for a week with toothache, and kept awake all night! so, one mustn't be critical! one comfort about these french people is, that they are always '_ravis de vous voir_,' let what will turn up. the good soul was really polite, and insisted on clearing all the things off from a dusty old chair for me to sit down in. the room was as much at sixes and sevens as the rest of the house. she apologized for the whole state of things by saying that they could not get workmen out there to do anything for her; and so everything is left in the second future tense; and the darkeys, i imagine, have a general glorification in the chaos. she is one of the indulgent sort, and i suspect she'll be eaten up by them like the locusts. poor thing! she is shockingly home-sick, and longing for louisiana, again. for, notwithstanding her snuffy appearance, and yellow pocket-handkerchief, she really has a genuine taste for beauty; and spoke most feelingly of the oleanders, crape myrtles, and cape jessamines, of her native state." "well, how did you introduce your business?" said clayton, laughing at this description. "me?--why, i flourished out the little french i have at command, and she flourished her little english; and i think i rather prepossessed the good soul, to begin with. then i made a sentimental story about lisette and harry's amours; because i know french people always have a taste for the sentimental. the old thing was really quite affected, wiped her little black eyes, pulled her hooked nose as a tribute to my eloquence, called lisette her '_enfant mignon_,' and gave me a little lecture on the tender passion, which i am going to lay up for future use." "indeed!" said clayton. "i should be charmed to have you repeat it. can't you give us a synopsis?" "i don't know what synopsis means. but, if you want me to tell you what she said, i shan't do it. well, now, do you know i am in the best spirits in the world, now that i've got this thing off my mind, and out of that desolate house? did you ever see such a direful place? what is the reason, when we get down south, here, everything seems to be going to destruction, so? i noticed it all the way down through virginia. it seems as if everything had stopped growing, and was going backwards. well, now, it's so different at the north! i went up, one vacation, into new hampshire. it's a dreadfully poor, barren country; nothing but stony hills, and poor soil. and yet the people there seem to be so well off! they live in such nice, tight, clean-looking white houses! everything around them looks so careful and comfortable; and yet their land isn't half so good as ours, down here. why, actually, some of those places seem as if there were nothing but rock! and, then, they have winter about nine months in the year, i do believe! but these yankees turn everything to account. if a man's field is covered with rock, he'll find some way to sell it, and make money out of it; and if they freeze up all winter, they sell the ice, and make money out of that. they just live by selling their disadvantages!" "and we grow poor by wasting our advantages," said clayton. "do you know," said nina, "people think it's a dreadful thing to be an abolitionist? but, for my part, i've a great inclination to be one. perhaps because i have a contrary turn, and always have a little spite against what everybody else believes. but, if you won't tell anybody, i'll tell you--i don't believe in slavery!" "nor i, either!" said clayton. "you don't! well, really, i thought i was saying something original. now, the other day, aunt nesbit's minister was at our house, and they sat crooning together, as they always do; and, among other things, they said, 'what a blessed institution it was to bring these poor africans over here to get them christianized!' so, by way of saying something to give them a start, i told them i thought they came nearer to making heathen of us than we to making christians of them." "that's very true," said clayton. "there's no doubt that the kind of society which is built up in this way constantly tends to run back towards barbarism. it prevents general education of the whites, and keeps the poorer classes down to the lowest point, while it enriches a few." "well, what do we have it for?" said nina. "why don't we blow it up, right off?" "that's a question easier asked than answered. the laws against emancipation are very stringent. but i think it is every owner's business to contemplate this as a future resort, and to educate his servants in reference to it. that is what i am trying to do on my plantation." "indeed!" said nina, looking at him with a good deal of interest. "well, now, that reminds me of what i was going to say to you. generally speaking, my conscience don't trouble me much about my servants, because i think they are doing about as well with me as they would be likely to do anywhere else. but, now, there's harry! he is well-educated, and i know that he could do for himself, anywhere, better than he does here. i have always had a kind of sense of this; but i've thought of it more lately, and i'm going to try to have him set free at the next legislature. and i shall want you to help me about all the what-do-you-call-'ems." "of course, i shall be quite at your service," said clayton. "there used to be some people, when i was up at the north, who talked as if all of us were no better than a pack of robbers and thieves. and, of course, when i was there i was strong for our institutions, and would not give them an inch of ground. it set me to thinking, though; and the result of my thinking is, that we have no right to hold those to work for us who clearly can do better. now, there's aunt nesbit's milly--there's harry and lisette. why, it's clear enough, if they can support themselves and us too, they certainly can support themselves alone. lisette has paid eight dollars a month to her mistress, and supported herself besides. i'm sure it's _we_ that are the helpless ones!" "well, do you think your aunt nesbit is going to follow your example?" "no! catch her at it! aunt nesbit is doubly fortified in her religion. she is so satisfied with something or other about 'cursed be canaan,' that she'd let milly earn ten dollars a month for her, all the year round, and never trouble her head about taking every bit of it. some folks, you know, have a way of calling everything they want to do a dispensation of providence! now, aunt nesbit is one of 'em. she always calls it a dispensation that the negroes were brought over here, and a dispensation that we are the mistresses. ah! milly will not get free while aunt nesbit is alive! and do you know, though it does not seem very generous in me, yet i'm resigned to it, because milly is such a good soul, and such a comfort to me?--do you know she seems a great deal more like a mother to me than aunt nesbit? why, i really think, if milly had been educated as we are, she would have made a most splendid woman--been a perfect candace queen of ethiopia. there's a vast deal that is curious and interesting in some of these old africans. i always did love to be with them; some of them are so shrewd and original! but i wonder, now, what tom will think of my cutting him out so neatly? 'twill make him angry, i suppose." "oh, perhaps, after all, he had no real intention of doing anything of the kind," said clayton. "he may have said it merely for bravado." "i should have thought so, if i hadn't known that he always had a grudge against harry." at this moment the galloping of a horse was heard in the woodland path before them; and very soon tom gordon appeared in sight accompanied by another man, on horseback, with whom he was in earnest conversation. there was something about the face of this man which, at the first glance, nina felt to be very repulsive. he was low, thickset, and yet lean; his features were thin and sharp; his hair and eyebrows bushy and black, and a pair of glassy, pale-blue eyes formed a peculiar contrast to their darkness. there was something in the expression of the eye which struck nina as hard and cold. though the man was habited externally as a gentleman, there was still about him an under-bred appearance, which could be detected at the first glance, as the coarseness of some woods will reveal themselves through every varnish. "good-morrow, nina," said her brother, drawing his horse up to meet hers, and signing to his companion to arrest his, also. "allow me to present to you my friend, mr. jekyl. we are going out to visit the belleville plantation." "i wish you a pleasant ride!" said nina. and, touching her horse, she passed them in a moment. looking back almost fiercely, a moment, she turned and said to clayton: "i hate that man!" "who is it?" said clayton. "i don't know!" said nina. "i never saw him before. but i hate him! he is a bad man! i'd as soon have a serpent come near me as that man!" "well, the poor fellow's face isn't prepossessing," said clayton. "but i should not be prepared for such an anathema." "tom's badness," continued nina, speaking as if she were following out a train of thought, without regarding her companion's remark, "is good turned to bad. it's wine turned to vinegar. but this man don't even know what good is!" "how can you be so positive about a person that you've only seen once!" said clayton. "oh," said nina, resuming her usual gay tones, "don't you know that girls and dogs, and other inferior creatures, have the gift of seeing what's in people? it doesn't belong to highly-cultivated folks like you, but to us poor creatures, who have to trust to our instincts. so, beware!" and, as she spoke, she turned to him with a fascinating air of half-saucy defiance. "well," said clayton, "have you seen, then, what is in me?" "yes, to be sure!" said nina, with energy; "i knew what you were the very first time i saw you. and that's the reason why"-- clayton made an eager gesture, and his eye met hers with a sudden flash of earnestness. she stopped, and blushed, and then laughed. "what, nina?" "oh, well, i always thought you were a grandfatherly body, and that you wouldn't take advantage of 'us girls,' as some of the men do. and so i've treated you with confidence, as you know. i had just the same feeling that you could be trusted, as i have that that other fellow cannot!" "well," said clayton, "that deduction suits me so well that i should be sorry to undermine your faith. nevertheless, i must say such a way of judging isn't always safe. instinct may be a greater matter than we think; yet it isn't infallible, any more than our senses. we try the testimony even of our eyesight by reason. it will deceive us, if we don't. much more we ought to try this more subtle kind of sight." "may be so," said nina; "yet i don't think i shall like that man, after all. but i'll give him a chance to alter my feeling, by treating him civilly if tom brings him back to dinner. that's the best i can do." chapter xiv. aunt nesbit's loss. on entering the house, nina was met at the door by milly, with a countenance of some anxiety. "miss nina," she said, "your aunt has heard bad news this morning." "bad news!" said nina, quickly,--"what?" "well, honey, ye see dere has been a lawyer here," said milly, following nina as she was going up stairs; "and she has been shut up with him all de mornin'; and when he come out i found her taking on quite dreadful! and she says she has lost all her property." "oh! is that all?" said nina. "i didn't know what dreadful thing might have happened. why, milly, this isn't so very bad. she hadn't much to lose." "oh, bless you, chile! nobody wants to lose all they got, much or little!" "yes; but," said nina, "you know she can always live here with us; and what little money she wants to fuss with, to buy new caps, and paregoric for her cough, and all such little matters, we can give her, easily enough." "ah, miss nina, your heart is free enough; you'd give away both ends of the rainbow, if you had 'em to give. but the trouble is, chile, you _haven't got 'em_. why, chile, dis yer great place, and so many mouths opened to eat and eat, chile, i tell you it takes heaps to keep it a going. and harry, i tell you, finds it hard work to bring it even all the year round, though he never says nothing to you about his troubles,--wants you always to walk on flowers, with both hands full, and never think where they come from. i tell you what, chile, we's boun' to think for you a little; and i tell you what, i's jist a going to hire out." "why, milly, how ridiculous!" "it an't ridiculous, now. why, just look on it, miss nina. here's miss loo, dat's one; here's me, dat's two; here's polly,--great grown girl,--three; dere's tomtit, four; all on us eating your bread, and not bringing in a cent to you, 'cause all on us together an't done much more than wait on miss loo. why, you's got servants enough of your own to do every turn that wants doing in dis yer house. i know, miss nina, young ladies don't like to hear about dese things; but the fac' is, victuals cost something, and dere must be some on us to bring in something. now, dat ar gentleman what talked with your aunt, he said he could find me a right good place up dar to the town, and i was jest a going. sally, she is big enough now to do everything that i have been used to doing for miss loo, and i am jest a going; besides, to tell you the truth, i think miss loo has kind o' set her heart upon it. you know she is a weakly kind of thing,--don't know how to do much 'cept sit in her chair and groan. she has always been so used to having me make a way for her; and when i told her about dis yer, she kind o' brightened up." "but, milly, what shall i do? i can't spare you at all," said nina. "law bless _you_, chile! don't you suppose i's got eyes? i tell you, miss nina, i looked that gen'leman over pretty well for you, and my opinion is _he'll do_." "oh, come, you hush!" said nina. "you see, chile, it wouldn't be everybody that our people would be willing to have come on to de place, here, but there an't one of 'em that wouldn't go in for dis yar, now i tell you. dere's old hundred, as you calls him, told me 'twas just as good as a meeting to hear him reading de prayers dat ar day at de funeral. now, you see, i's seen gen'lemen handsome, and rich, and right pleasant, too, dat de people wouldn't want at all; 'cause why? dey has dere frolics and drinks, and de money flies one way for dis ting and one way for dat, till by and by it's all gone. den comes de sheriff, and de people is all sold, some one way and some another way. now, mr. clayton, he an't none of dem." "but, milly, all this may be very well; but if i couldn't love him?" "law sakes, miss nina! you look me in the face and tell me dat ar? why, chile, it's plain enough to see through _you_. 'tis so! the people's all pretty sure, by this time. sakes alive, we's used to looking out for the weather; and we knows pretty well what's coming. and now, miss nina, you go right along and give him a good word, 'cause you see, dear lamb, you _need_ a good, husband to take care of you,--dat's what you want, chile. girls like you has a hard life being at the head of a place, especially your brother being just what he is. now, if you had a husband here, mas'r tom 'ud be quiet, 'cause he knows he couldn't do nothing. but just as long as you's alone he'll plague you. but, now, chile, it's time for you to be getting ready for dinner." "oh, but, do you know, milly," said nina, "i've something to tell you, which i had liked to have forgotten! i have been out to the belleville plantation, and bought harry's wife." "you has, miss nina! why, de lord bless _you_! why, harry was dreadful worked, dis yer morning, 'bout what mas'r tom said. 'peared like he was most crazy." "well," said nina, "i've done it. i've got the receipt here." "why, but, chile, where alive did you get all the money to pay right sudden so?" "mr. clayton lent it to me," said nina. "mr. clayton! now, chile, didn't i tell you so? do you suppose, now, you'd a let him lend you dat ar money if you hadn't liked him? but, come, chile, hurry! dere's mas'r tom and dat other gen'leman coming back, and you must be down to dinner." the company assembled at the dinner-table was not particularly enlivening. tom gordon, who, in the course of his morning ride, had discovered the march which his sister had stolen upon him, was more sulky and irritable than usual, though too proud to make any allusion to the subject. nina was annoyed by the presence of mr. jekyl, whom her brother insisted should remain to dinner. aunt nesbit was uncommonly doleful, of course. clayton, who, in mixed society, generally took the part of a listener rather than a talker, said very little; and had it not been for carson, there's no saying whether any of the company could have spoken. every kind of creature has its uses, and there are times when a lively, unthinking chatterbox is a perfect godsend. those unperceiving people, who never notice the embarrassment of others, and who walk with the greatest facility into the gaps of conversation, simply because they have no perception of any difficulty there, have their hour; and nina felt positively grateful to mr. carson for the continuous and cheerful rattle which had so annoyed her the day before. carson drove a brisk talk with the lawyer about the value of property, percentage, etc.; he sympathized with aunt nesbit on her last-caught cold; rallied tom on his preoccupation; complimented nina on her improved color from her ride; and seemed on such excellent terms both with himself and everybody else, that the thing was really infectious. "what do you call your best investments, down here,--land, eh?" he said to mr. jekyl. mr. jekyl shook his head. "land deteriorates too fast. besides, there's all the trouble and risk of overseers, and all that. i've looked this thing over pretty well, and i always invest in niggers." "ah!" said mr. carson, "you do?" "yes, sir, i invest in niggers; that's what i do; and i hire them out, sir,--hire them out. why, sir, if a man has a knowledge of human nature, knows where to buy and when to buy, and watches his opportunity, he gets a better percentage on his money that way than any other. now, that was what i was telling mrs. nesbit, this morning. say, now, that you give one thousand dollars for a man,--and i always buy the best sort, that's economy,--well, and he gets--put it at the lowest figure--ten dollars a month wages, and his living. well, you see there, that gives you a pretty handsome sum for your money. i have a good talent of buying. i generally prefer mechanics. i have got now working for me three bricklayers. i own two first-rate carpenters, and last month i bought a perfect jewel of a blacksmith. he is an uncommonly ingenious man; a fellow that will make, easy, his fifteen dollars a month; and he is the more valuable because he has been religiously brought up. why, some of them, now, will cheat you if they can; but this fellow has been brought up in a district where they have a missionary, and a great deal of pains has been taken to form his religious principles. now, this fellow would no more think of touching a cent of his earnings than he would of stealing right out of my pocket. i tell people about him, sometimes, when i find them opposed to religious instruction. i tell them, 'see there, now--you see how godliness is profitable to the life that now is.' you know the scriptures, mrs. nesbit?" "yes," said aunt nesbit, "i always believed in religious education." "confound it all!" said tom, "i _don't_! i don't see the use of making a set of hypocritical sneaks of them! i'd make niggers bring me my money; but, hang it all, if he came snuffling to me, pretending 'twas his duty, i'd choke him! they never think so,--they don't and they can't--and it's all hypocrisy, this religious instruction, as you call it!" "no, it isn't," said the undiscouraged mr. jekyl, "not when you found it on right principles. take them early enough, and work them right, you'll get it ground into them. now, when they begun religious instruction, there was a great prejudice against it in our part of the country. you see they were afraid that the niggers would get _uppish_. ah, but you see the missionaries are pretty careful; they put it in strong in the catechisms about the rights of the master. you see the instruction is just grounded on this, that the master stands in god's place to them." "d--d bosh!" said tom gordon. aunt nesbit looked across the table as if she were going to faint. but mr. jekyl's composure was not in the slightest degree interrupted. "i can tell you," he said, "that, in a business, practical view,--for i am used to investments,--that, since the publishing of those catechisms, and the missionaries' work among the niggers, the value of that kind of property has risen ten per cent. they are better contented. they don't run away, as they used to. just that simple idea that their master stands in god's place to them. why, you see, it cuts its way." "i have a radical objection to all that kind of instruction," said clayton. aunt nesbit opened her eyes, as if she could hardly believe her hearing. "and pray what is your objection?" said mr. jekyl, with an unmoved countenance. "my objection is that it is all a lie," said clayton, in such a positive tone that everybody looked at him with a start. clayton was one of those silent men who are seldom roused to talk, but who go with a rush when they are. not seeming to notice the startled looks of the company, he went on: "it's a worse lie, because it's told to bewilder a simple, ignorant, confiding creature. i never could conceive how a decent man could ever look another man in the face and say such things. i remember reading, in one of the missionary reports, that when this doctrine was first propounded in an assembly of negroes somewhere, all the most intelligent of them got up and walked deliberately out of the house; and i honor them for it." "good for them!" said tom gordon. "i can keep my niggers down without any such stuff as that!" "i have no doubt," said clayton, "that these missionaries are well-intending, good men, and that they actually think the only way to get access to the negroes at all is to be very positive in what will please the masters. but i think they fall into the same error that the jesuits did when they adulterated christianity with idolatry in order to get admission in japan. a lie never works well in religion, nor in morals." "that's what i believe," said nina, warmly. "but, then, if you can't teach them this, what can you teach them?" said mr. jekyl. "confound it all!" said tom gordon, "teach them that you've _got the power_!--teach them the weight of your fist! that's enough for them. i am bad enough, i know; but i can't bear hypocrisy. i show a fellow my pistol. i say to him, you see that, sir! i tell him, you do so and so, and you shall have a good time with me. but, you do that, and i'll thrash you within an inch of your life! that's my short method with niggers, and poor whites, too. when one of these canting fellows comes round to my plantation, let him see what he'll get, that's all!" mr. jekyl appeared properly shocked at this declaration. aunt nesbit looked as if it was just what she had expected, and went on eating her potato with a mournful air, as if nothing could surprise her. nina looked excessively annoyed, and turned a sort of appealing glance upon clayton. "for my part," said clayton, "i base my religious instruction to my people on the ground that every man and every woman must give an account of themselves _to god alone_; and that god is to be obeyed first, and before me." "why," said mr. jekyl, "that would be destructive of all discipline. if you are going to allow every fellow to judge for himself, among a parcel of ignorant, selfish wretches, what the will of god is, one will think it's one thing, another will think it's another; and there will be an end of all order. it would be absolutely impossible to govern a place in that way." "they must not be left an ignorant set," said clayton. "they must be taught to read the scriptures for themselves, and be able to see that my authority accords with it. if i command anything contrary to it, they ought to oppose it!" "ah! i should like to see a plantation managed in that way!" said tom gordon, scornfully. "please god, you shall see such an one, if you'll come to mine," said clayton, "where i should be very happy to see you, sir." the tone in which this was said was so frank and sincere, that tom was silenced, and could not help a rather sullen acknowledgment. "i think," said mr. jekyl, "that you'll find such a course, however well it may work at first, will fail at last. you begin to let people think, and they won't stop where you want them to; they'll go too far; it's human nature. the more you give, the more you may give. you once get your fellows to thinking, and asking all sorts of questions, and they get discontented at once. i've seen that thing tried in one or two instances, and it didn't turn out well. fellows got restless and discontented. the more was given to them, the more dissatisfied they grew, till finally they put for the free states." "very well," said clayton; "if that's to be the result, they may all 'put' as soon as they can get ready. if my title to them won't bear an intelligent investigation, i don't wish to keep them. but i never will consent to keep them by making false statements to them in the name of religion, and presuming to put myself as an object of obedience before my maker." "i think," said mr. carson, "mr. clayton shows an excellent spirit--excellent spirit! on my word, i think so. i wish some of our northern agitators, who make such a fuss on the the subject, could hear him. i'm always disgusted with these abolitionists producing such an unpleasantness between the north and the south, interrupting trade, and friendship, and all that sort of thing." "he shows an excellent spirit," said mr. jekyl; "but i must think he is mistaken if he thinks that he can bring up people in that way, under our institutions, and not do them more harm than good. it's a notorious fact that the worst insurrections have arisen from the reading of the bible by these ignorant fellows. that was the case with nat turner, in virginia. that was the case with denmark vesey, and his crew, in south carolina. i tell you, sir, it will never do, this turning out a set of ignorant people to pasture in the bible! that blessed book is a savor of life unto life when it's used right; but it's a savor of death unto death when ignorant people take hold of it. the proper way is this: administer such portions only as these creatures are capable of understanding. this admirable system of religious instruction keeps the matter in our own hands, by allowing us to select for them such portions of the word as are best fitted to keep them quiet, dutiful, and obedient; and i venture to predict that whoever undertakes to manage a plantation on any other system will soon find it getting out of his hands." "so you are afraid to trust the lord's word without holding the bridle!" said tom, with a sneer. "that's pretty well for you!" "_i_ am not!" said clayton. "i'm willing to resign any rights to any one that i am not able to defend in god's word--any that i cannot make apparent to any man's cultivated reason. i scorn the idea that i must dwarf a man's mind, and keep him ignorant and childish, in order to make him believe any lie i choose to tell him about my rights over him! i intend to have an educated, intelligent people, who shall submit to me because they think it clearly for their best interests to do so; because they shall feel that what i command is right in the sight of god." "it's my opinion," said tom, "that both these ways of managing are humbugs. one way makes hypocrites, and the other makes rebels. the best way of educating is, to show folks that they can't help themselves. all the fussing and arguing in the world isn't worth one dose of certainty on that point. just let them know that there are no two ways about it, and you'll have all still enough." from this point the conversation was pursued with considerable warmth, till nina and aunt nesbit rose and retired to the drawing-room. perhaps it did not materially discourage clayton, in the position he had taken, that nina, with the frankness usual to her, expressed the most eager and undisguised admiration of all that he said. "didn't he talk beautifully? wasn't it noble?" she said to aunt nesbit, as she came in the drawing-room. "and that hateful jekyl! isn't he mean?" "child!" said aunt nesbit, "i'm surprised to hear you speak so! mr. jekyl is a very respectable lawyer, an elder in the church, and a very pious man. he has given me some most excellent advice about my affairs; and he is going to take milly with him, and find her a good place. he's been making some investigations, nina, and he's going to talk to you about them, after dinner. he's discovered that there's an estate in mississippi worth a hundred thousand dollars, that ought properly to come to you!" "i don't believe a word of it!" said nina. "don't like the man!--think he is hateful!--don't want to hear anything he has to say!--don't believe in him!" "nina, how often have i warned you against such sudden prejudices--against such a good man, too!" "you won't make me believe he is good, not if he were elder in twenty churches!" "well, but, child, at any rate you must listen to what he has got to say. your brother will be very angry if you don't, and it's really very important. at any rate, you ought not to offend tom, when you can help it." "that's true enough," said nina; "and i'll hear, and try and behave as well as i can. i hope the man will go, some time or other! i don't know why, but his talk makes me feel worse than tom's swearing! that's certain." aunt nesbit looked at nina as if she considered her in a most hopeless condition. chapter xv. mr. jekyl's opinions. after the return of the gentlemen to the drawing-room, nina, at the request of tom, followed him and mr. jekyl into the library. "mr. jekyl is going to make some statements to us, nina, about our property in mississippi, which, if they turn out as he expects, will set us up in the world," said tom. nina threw herself carelessly into the leather arm-chair by the window, and looked out of it. "you see," said mr. jekyl, also seating himself, and pulling out the stiff points of his collar, "having done law business for your father, and known, in that way, a good deal about the family property, i have naturally always felt a good deal of interest in it; and you remember your father's sister, mrs. stewart, inherited, on the death of her husband, a fine estate in mississippi." "i remember," said tom,--"well, go on." "well, she died, and left it all to her son. well, he, it seems, like some other young men, lived in a very reprehensible union with a handsome quadroon girl, who was his mother's maid; and she, being an artful creature, i suppose, as a great many of them are, got such an ascendency over him, that he took her up to ohio, and married her, and lived there with her some years, and had two children by her. well, you see, he had a deed of emancipation recorded for her in mississippi, and just taking her into ohio, set her free by the laws of that state. well, you see, he thought he'd fixed it so that the thing couldn't be undone, and she thought so too; and i understand she's a pretty shrewd woman--has a considerable share of character, or else she wouldn't have done just what she has; for, you see, he died about six months ago, and left the plantation and all the property to her and her children, and she has been so secure that she has actually gone and taken possession. you see, she is so near white, you must know that there isn't one in twenty would think what she was,--and the people round there, actually, some of them, had forgotten all about it, and didn't know but what she was a white woman from ohio; and so, you see, the thing never would have been looked into at all, if i hadn't happened to have been down there. but, you see, she turned off an overseer that had managed the place, because the people complained of him; and i happened to fall in with the man, and he began telling me his story, and, after a little inquiry, i found who these people were. well, sir, i just went to one of the first lawyers, for i suspected there was false play; and we looked over the emancipation laws together, and we found out that, as the law stood, the deed of emancipation was no more than so much waste paper. and so, you see, she and her children are just as much slaves as any on her plantation; and the whole property, which is worth a hundred thousand dollars, belongs to your family. i rode out with him, and looked over the place, and got introduced to her and her children, and looked them over. considered as property, i should call them a valuable lot. she is past forty, but she don't look older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, i should say. she is a very good-looking woman, and then, i'm told, a very capable woman. well, her price in the market might range between one thousand and fifteen hundred dollars. smalley said he had seen no better article sold for two thousand dollars; but, then, he said, they had to give a false certificate as to the age,--and that i couldn't hear of, for i never countenance anything like untruth. then, the woman's children: she has got two fine-looking children as i have ever seen--almost white. the boy is about ten years old; the little girl, about four. you may be sure i was pretty careful not to let on, because i consider the woman and children are an important part of the property, and, of course, nothing had better be said about it, lest she should be off before we are ready to come down on them. now, you see, you gordons are the proper owners of this whole property; there isn't the slightest doubt in my mind that you ought to put in your claim immediately. the act of emancipation was contrary to law, and, though the man meant well, yet it amounted to a robbery of the heirs. i declare, it rather raised my indignation to see that creature so easy in the possession of property which of right belongs to you. now, if i have only the consent of the heirs, i can go on and commence operations immediately." nina had been sitting regarding mr. jekyl with a fixed and determined expression of countenance. when he had finished, she said to him,-- "mr. jekyl, i understand you are an elder in the church; is that true?" "yes, miss gordon, i have that privilege," said mr. jekyl, his sharp, business tone subsiding into a sigh. "because," said nina, "i am a wild young girl, and don't profess to know much about religion; but i want you to tell me, as a christian, if you think it would be _right_ to take this woman and children, and her property." "why, certainly, my dear miss gordon; isn't it right that every one should have his own property? i view things simply with the eye of the law; and, in the eye of the law, that woman and her children are as much your property as the shoe on your foot; there is no manner of doubt of it." "i should think," said nina, "that you might see with the eye of the gospel, sometimes! do you think, mr. jekyl, that doing this is doing as i should wish to be done by, if i were in the place of this woman?" "my dear miss gordon, young ladies of fine feeling, at your time of life, are often confused on this subject by a wrong application of the scripture language. suppose i were a robber, and had possession of your property? of course, i shouldn't wish to be made to give it up. but would it follow that the golden rule obliged the lawful possessor not to take it from me? this woman is your property; this estate is your property, and she is holding it as unlawfully as a robber. of course, she won't want to give it up; but right is right, notwithstanding." like many other young persons, nina could _feel_ her way out of sophistry much sooner than she could think it out; and she answered to all this reasoning,-- "after all, i can't think it would be right." "oh, confound the humbug!" said tom; "who cares whether it is right or not? the fact is, nin, to speak plain sense to you, you and i both are deuced hard up for money, and want all we can get; and what's the use of being more religious than the very saints themselves at our time of day? mr. jekyl is a pious man--one of the tallest kind! he thinks this is all right, and why need we set ourselves all up? he has talked with uncle john, and he goes in for it. as for my part, i am free to own i don't care whether it's right or not! i'll do it if i can. might makes right,--that's my doctrine!" "why," said mr. jekyl, "i have examined the subject, and i haven't the slightest doubt that slavery is a divinely-appointed institution, and that the rights of the masters are sanctioned by god; so, however much i may naturally feel for this woman, whose position is, i must say, an unfortunate one, still it is my duty to see that the law is properly administered in the case." "all i have to say, mr. jekyl," said nina, "is just this: that i won't have anything to do with this matter; for, if i can't prove it's wrong, i shall always feel it is." "nina, how ridiculous!" said tom. "i have said my say," said nina, as she rose and left the room. "very natural,--fine feelings, but uninstructed," said mr. jekyl. "certainly, we pious folks know a trick worth two of that, don't we?" said tom. "i say, jekyl, this sister of mine is a pretty rapid little case, i can tell you, as you saw by the way she circumvented us, this morning. she is quite capable of upsetting the whole dish, unless we go about it immediately. you see, her pet nigger, this harry, is this woman's brother; and if she gave him the word, he'd write at once, and put her on the alarm. you and i had better start off to-morrow, before this harry comes back. i believe he is to be gone a few days. it's no matter whether she consents to the suit or not. she don't need to know anything about it." "well," said jekyl, "i advise you to go right on, and have the woman and children secured. it's a perfectly fair, legal proceeding. there has been an evident evasion of the law of the state, by means of which your family are defrauded of an immense sum. at all events, it will be tried in an open court of justice, and she will be allowed to appear by her counsel. it's a perfectly plain, above-board proceeding; and, as the young lady has shown such fine feelings, there's the best reason to suppose that the fate of this woman would be as good in her hands as in her own." mr. jekyl was not now talking to convince tom gordon, but himself; for, spite of himself, nina's questions had awakened in his mind a sufficient degree of misgiving to make it necessary for him to pass in review the arguments by which he generally satisfied himself. mr. jekyl was a theologian, and a man of principle. his metaphysical talent, indeed, made him a point of reference among his christian brethren; and he spent much of his leisure time in reading theological treatises. his favorite subject of all was the nature of true virtue; and this, he had fixed in his mind, consisted in a love of the greatest good. according to his theology, right consisted in creating the greatest amount of happiness; and every creature had rights to be happy in proportion to his capacity of enjoyment or being. he whose capacity was ten pounds had a right to place his own happiness before that of him who had five, because, in that way, five pounds more of happiness would exist in the general whole. he considered the right of the creator to consist in the fact that he had a greater amount of capacity than all creatures put together, and, therefore, was bound to promote his own happiness before all of them put together. he believed that the creator made himself his first object in all that he did; and, descending from him, all creatures were to follow the same rule, in proportion to their amount of being; the greater capacity of happiness always taking precedence of the less. thus, mr. jekyl considered that the creator brought into the world yearly myriads of human beings with no other intention than to make them everlastingly miserable; and that this was right, because his capacity of enjoyment being greater than all theirs put together, he had a right to gratify himself in this way. mr. jekyl's belief in slavery was founded on his theology. he assumed that the white race had the largest amount of being; therefore, it had a right to take precedence of the black. on this point he held long and severe arguments with his partner, mr. israel mcfogg, who, belonging to a different school of theology, referred the whole matter to no natural fitness, but to a divine decree, by which it pleased the creator in the time of noah to pronounce a curse upon canaan. the fact that the african race did _not_ descend from canaan was, it is true, a slight difficulty in the chain of the argument; but theologians are daily in the habit of surmounting much greater ones. either way, whether by metaphysical fitness or divine decree, the two partners attained the same practical result. mr. jekyl, though a coarse-grained man, had started from the hands of nature no more hard-hearted or unfeeling than many others; but his mind, having for years been immersed in the waters of law and theology, had slowly petrified into such a steady consideration of the greatest general good, that he was wholly inaccessible to any emotion of particular humanity. the trembling, eager tone of pity, in which nina had spoken of the woman and children who were about to be made victims of a legal process, had excited but a moment's pause. what considerations of temporal loss and misery can shake the constancy of the theologian who has accustomed himself to contemplate and discuss, as a cool intellectual exercise, the eternal misery of generations?--who worships a god that creates myriads only to glorify himself in their eternal torments? chapter xvi. milly's story. nina spent the evening in the drawing-room; and her brother, in the animation of a new pursuit, forgetful of the difference of the morning, exerted himself to be agreeable, and treated her with more consideration and kindness than he had done any time since his arrival. he even made some off-hand advances towards clayton, which the latter received with good-humor, and which went further than she supposed to raise the spirits of nina; and so, on the whole, she passed a more than usually agreeable evening. on retiring to her room, she found milly, who had been for some time patiently waiting for her, having dispatched her mistress to bed some time since. "well, miss nina, i am going on my travels in de morning. thought i must have a little time to see you, lamb, 'fore i goes." "i can't bear to have you go, milly! i don't like that man you are going with." "i 'spects he's a nice man," said milly. "of course he'll look me out a nice place, because he has always took good care of miss loo's affairs. so you never trouble yourself 'bout me! i tell you, chile, i never gets where i can't find de lord; and when i finds him, i gets along. 'de lord is my shepherd, i shall not want.'" "but you have never been used to living except in our family," said nina, "and, somehow, i feel afraid. if they don't treat you well, come back milly; will you?" "laws, chile, i isn't much feared but what i'll get along well enough. when people keep about dere business, doing de best dey ken, folks doesn't often trouble dem. i never yet seed de folks i couldn't suit," she added, with a glow of honest pride. "no, chile, it isn't for myself i's fearing; it's just for you, chile. chile, you don't know what it is to live in dis yer world, and i wants you to get de best friend to go with you. why, dear lamb, you wants somebody to go to and open your heart; somebody dat'll love you, and always stand by you; somebody dat'll always lead you right, you know. you has more cares than such a young thing ought for to have; great many looking to you, and 'pending on you. now, if your ma was alive, it would be different; but, just now, i see how 'tis; dere'll be a hundred things you'll be thinking and feeling, and nobody to say 'em to. and now, chile, you must learn to go to de lord. why, chile, he loves you! chile, he loves you _just as you be_; if you only saw how much, it would melt your heart right down. i told you i was going some time fur to tell you my sperience--how i first found jesus. oh lord, lord! but it is along story." nina, whose quick sympathies were touched by the earnestness of her old friend, and still more aroused by the allusion to her mother, answered,-- "oh, yes, come, tell me about it!" and, drawing a low ottoman, she sat down, and laid her head on the lap of her humble friend. "well, well, you see, chile," said milly, her large, dark eyes fixing themselves on vacancy, and speaking in a slow and dreamy voice, "a body's life, in dis yer world, is a mighty strange thing! you see, chile, my mother--well, dey brought her from africa; my father, too. heaps and heaps my mother has told me about dat ar. dat ar was a mighty fine country, where dey had gold in the rivers, and such great, big, tall trees, with de strangest beautiful flowers on them you ever did see! laws, laws! well, dey brought my mother and my father into charleston, and dere mr. campbell,--dat was your ma's father, honey,--he bought dem right out of de ship; but dey had five children, and dey was all sold, and dey never knowed where dey went to. father and mother couldn't speak a word of english when dey come ashore; and she told me often how she couldn't speak a word to nobody, to tell 'em how it hurt her. "laws, when i was a chile, i 'member how often, when de day's work was done, she used to come out and sit and look up at de stars, and groan, groan, and groan! i was a little thing, playing round; and i used to come up to her, dancing, and saying,-- "'mammy, what makes you groan so? what's de matter of you?' "'matter enough, chile!' she used to say. 'i's a thinking of my poor children. i likes to look at de stars, because dey sees de same stars dat i do. 'pears like we was in one room; but i don't know where dey is! dey don't know where i be!' "den she'd say to me,-- "'now, chile, you may be sold away from your mammy. der's no knowing what may happen to you, chile; but, if you gets into any trouble, as i does, you mind, chile, you ask god to help you.' "'who is god, mammy,' says i, 'anyhow?' "'why, chile,' says she, 'he made dese yer stars.' "and den i wanted mammy to tell me more about it; only she says,-- "'he can do anything he likes; and, if ye are in any kind of trouble, he can help you.' "well, to be sure, i didn't mind much about it--all dancing round, because pretty well don't need much help. but she said dat ar to me so many times, i couldn't help 'member it. 'chile, troubles will come; and, when dey does come, you ask god, and he will help you.' "well, sure enough, i wasn't sold from her, but she was took from me, because mr. campbell's brother went off to live in orleans, and parted de hands. my father and mother was took to orleans, and i was took to virginny. well, you see, i growed up along with de young ladies,--your ma, miss harrit, miss loo, and de rest on 'em,--and i had heaps of fun. dey all like milly. dey couldn't nobody run, nor jump, nor ride a horse, nor row a boat, like milly; and so it was milly here, and milly dere, and whatever de young ladies wanted, it was milly made de way for it. "well, dere was a great difference among dem young ladies. dere was miss loo--she was de prettiest, and she had a great many beaux; but, den, dere was your ma--everybody loved her; and den dere was miss harrit--she had right smart of life in her, and was always for _doing_ something--always right busy 'tending to something or other, and she liked me because i'd always go in with her. well, well! dem dar was pleasant times enough; but when i got to be about fourteen or fifteen, i began to feel kind o' bad--sort of strange and heavy. i really didn't know why, but 'peared like's when i got older, i felt i was in bondage. "'member one day your ma came in, and seed me looking out of window, and she says to me,-- "'milly, what makes you so dull lately?' "'oh,' says i, 'i, somehow, i don't have good times.' "'why?' says she; 'why not? don't everybody make much of you, and don't you have everything that you want?' "'oh, well,' says i, 'missis, i's a poor slave-girl, for all dat.' "chile, your ma was a weety thing, like you. i 'member just how she looked dat minute. i felt sorry, 'cause i thought i'd hurt her feelings. but says she,-- "'milly, i don't wonder you feel so. i know i should feel so myself, if i was in your place.' "afterwards, she told miss loo and miss harrit; but dey laughed, and said dey guessed der wasn't many girls who were as well off as milly. well, den, miss harrit, she was married de first. she married mr. charles blair; and when she was married, nothing was to do but she must have me to go with her. i liked miss harrit; but, den, honey, i'd liked it much better if it had been your ma. i'd always counted that i wanted to belong to your ma, and i think your ma wanted me; but, den, she was still, and miss harrit she was one of de sort dat never lost nothing by not asking for it. she was one of de sort dat always _got things_ by hook or by crook. she always had more clothes, and more money, and more everything, dan de rest of them, 'cause she was always wide awake, and looking out for herself. "well, mr. blair's place was away off in another part of virginny, and i went dere with her. well, she wan't very happy, no ways, she wan't; because mr. blair, he was a high fellow. laws, miss nina, when i tells you dis yere one you've got here is a good one, and i 'vise you to take him, it's because i knows what comes o' girls marrying high fellows. don't care how good-looking dey is, nor what dere manners is,--it's just de ruin of girls that has them. law, when he was a courting miss harrit, it was all nobody but her. she was going to be his angel, and he was going to give up all sorts of bad ways, and live _such_ a good life! ah! she married him; it all went to smoke! 'fore de month was well over, he got a going in his old ways; and den it was go, go, all de time, carousing and drinking,--parties at home, parties abroad,--money flying like de water. "well, dis made a great change in miss harrit. she didn't laugh no more; she got sharp and cross, and she wan't good to me like what she used to be. she took to be jealous of me and her husband. she might have saved herself de trouble. i shouldn't have touched him with a pair of tongs. but he was always running after everything that came in his way; so no wonder. but, 'tween them both, i led a bad life of it. "well, things dragged kind along in this way. she had three children, and, at last, he was killed, one day, falling off his horse when he was too drunk to hold the bridle. good riddance, too, i thought. and den, after he's dead, miss harrit, she seemed to grow more quiet like, and setting herself picking up what pieces and crumbs was left for her and de children. and i 'member she had one of her uncles dere a good many days helping her in counting up de debts. well, dey was talking one day in missis' room, and dere was a little light closet on one side, where i got set down to do some fine stitching; but dey was too busy in their 'counts to think anything 'bout me. it seemed dat de place and de people was all to be sold off to pay de debts,--all 'cept a few of us, who were to go off with missis, and begin again on a small place,--and i heard him telling her about it. "'while your children are small,' he says, 'you can live small, and keep things close, and raise enough on the place for ye all; and den you can be making the most of your property. niggers is rising in de market. since missouri came in, they's worth double; and so you can just sell de increase of 'em for a good sum. now, there's that black girl milly, of yourn.'--you may be sure, now, i pricked up my ears, miss nina.--'you don't often see a girl of finer breed than she is,' says he, just as if i'd been a cow, you know. 'have you got her a husband?' "'no,' said miss harrit; and then says she, 'i believe milly is something of a coquette among the young men. she's never settled on anybody yet,' says she. "'well,' says he, 'that must be attended to, 'cause that girl's children will be an estate of themselves. why, i've known women to have twenty! and her children wouldn't any of 'em be worth less than eight hundred dollars. there's a fortune at once. if dey's like her, dey'll be as good as cash in the market, any day. you can send out and sell one, if you happen to be in any straits, just as soon as you can draw a note on the bank.' "oh, laws, miss nina, i tell you dis yer fell on me like so much lead. 'cause, you see, i'd been keeping company with a very nice young man, and i was going to ask miss harrit about it dat very day; but, dere--i laid down my work dat minute, and thinks, says i, 'true as de lord's in heaven i won't never be married in dis world!' and i cried 'bout it, off and on, all day, and at night i told paul 'bout it. he was de one, you know. but paul, he tried to make it all smooth. he guessed it wouldn't happen; he guessed missis would think better on't. at any rate, we loved each other, and why shouldn't we take as much comfort as we could? well, i went to miss harrit, and told her just what i thought 'bout it. allers had spoke my mind to miss harrit 'bout everything, and i wan't going to stop den. and she laughed at me, and told me not to cry 'fore i's hurt. well, things went on so two or three weeks, and finally paul he persuaded me. and so we was married. when our first child was born, paul was so pleased, he thought strange that i wan't. "'paul,' said i, 'dis yer child an't ourn; it may be took from us, and sold, any day.' "'well, well,' says he, 'milly, it may be god's child, any way, even if it an't ourn.' "'cause, you see, miss nina, paul, he was a christian. ah, well, honey, i can't tell you; after dat i had a great many chil'en, girls and boys, growing up round me. well, i's had fourteen chil'en, dear, and dey's all been sold from me, every single one of 'em. lord, it's a heavy cross! heavy, heavy! none knows but dem dat bears it!" "what a shame!" said nina. "how could aunt harriet be such a wicked woman?--an aunt of mine do so!" "chile, chile," said milly, "we doesn't none of us know what's in us. when miss harrit and i was gals together, hunting hens' eggs and rowing de boat in de river,--well, i wouldn't have thought it would have been so, and she wouldn't have thought so, neither. but, den, what little's bad in girls when dey's young and handsome, and all de world smiling on 'em--oh, honey, it gets drefful strong when dey gets grown women, and de wrinkles comes in der faces! always, when she was a girl,--whether it was eggs, or berries, or chincapins, or what,--it was miss harrit's nature to _get_ and to _keep_; and when she got old, dat all turned to money." "oh! but," said nina, "it does seem impossible that a woman--a lady born, too, and my aunt--could do such a thing!" "ah, ah, honey! ladies born have some bad stuff in dem, sometimes, like de rest of us. but, den, honey, it was de most natural thing in de world, come to look on't; for now, see here, honey, dere was your aunt--she was poor, and she was pestered for money. dere was mas'r george's bills and peter's bills to pay, and miss susy's; and every one of 'em must have everything, and dey was all calling for money, money; and dere has been times she didn't know which way to turn. now, you see, when a woman is pestered to pay two hundred here and tree hundred dere, and when she has got more niggers on her place dan she can keep, and den a man calls in and lays down eight hundred dollars in gold and bills before her, and says, 'i want dat ar lucy or george of yourn,' why, don't you see? dese yer soul-drivers is always round, tempting folks dey know is poor; and dey always have der money as handy as de devil has his. but, den, i oughtn't fur to be hard upon dem poor soul-drivers, neither, 'cause dey an't taught no better. it's dese yer christians, dat profess christ, dat makes great talks 'bout religion, dat has der bibles, and turns der backs upon swearing soul-drivers, and tinks dey an't fit to speak to--it's _dem_, honey, dat's de root of de whole business. now, dere was dat uncle of hern,--mighty great christian he was, with his prayer-meetings, and all dat!--he was always a putting her up to it. oh, dere's been times--dere was times 'long first, miss nina, when my first chil'en was sold--dat, i tell you. i poured out my soul to miss harrit, and i've seen dat ar woman cry so dat i was sorry for her. and she said to me, 'milly, i'll never do it again.' but, lord! i didn't trust her,--not a word on't,--'cause i knowed she would. i knowed dere was dat in her heart dat de devil wouldn't let go of. i knowed he'd no kind of objection to her 'musing herself with meetin's, and prayers, and all dat; but he'd no notion to let go his grip on her heart. "but, lord! she wasn't _quite_ a bad woman,--poor miss harrit wasn't,--and she wouldn't have done so bad, if it hadn't been for _him_. but he'd come and have prayers, and exhort, and den come prowling round my place like a wolf, looking at my chil'en. "'and, milly,' he'd say, 'how do you do now? lucy is getting to be a right smart girl, milly. how old is she? dere's a lady in washington has advertised for a maid,--a nice woman, a pious lady. i suppose you wouldn't object, milly? your poor mistress is in great trouble for money.' "i never said nothing to that man. only once, when he asked me what i thought my lucy would be worth, when she was fifteen years old, says i to him:-- "'sir, she is worth to me just what your daughter is worth to you.' "den i went in and shut de door. i didn't stay to see how he took it. den he'd go up to de house, and talk to miss harrit. 'twas her duty, he'd tell her, to take proper care of her goods. and dat ar meant selling my chil'en. i 'member, when miss susy came home from boarding-school, she was a pretty girl: but i didn't look on her very kind, i tell you, 'cause three of my chil'en had been sold to keep her at school. my lucy,--ah, honey!--she went for a lady's maid. i knowed what dat ar meant, well enough. de lady had a son grown, and he took lucy with him to orleans, and dere was an end of dat. dere don't no letters go 'tween us. once gone, we can't write, and it is good as being dead. ah, no, chile, not so good! paul used to teach lucy little hymns, nights, 'fore she went to sleep. and if she'd a died right off after one of dem, it would have been better for her. oh, honey, 'long dem times i used to rave and toss like a bull in a net--i did so! "well, honey, i wasn't what i was. i got cross and ugly. miss harrit, she grew a great christian, and joined de church, and used to have heaps of ministers and elders at her house; and some on 'em used to try and talk to me. i told 'em i'd seen enough of der old religion, and i didn't want to hear no more. but paul, he was a christian; and when he talked to me, i was quiet, like, though i couldn't be like what he was. well, last, my missis promised me one. she'd give me my youngest child, sure and certain. his name was alfred. well, dat boy!--i loved dat child better dan any of de rest of 'em. he was all i'd got left to love; for, when he was a year old, paul's master moved away down to louisiana, and took him off, and i never heard no more of him. so it 'peared as if dis yer child was all i had left. well, he _was_ a bright boy. oh, he was most uncommon! he was so handy to anything, and saved me so many steps! oh, honey, he had such ways with him--dat boy!--would always make me laugh. he took after larnin' mighty, and he larned himself to read; and he'd read de bible to me, sometimes. i just brought him up and teached him de best way i could. all dat made me 'fraid for him was, dat he was so spirity. i's 'fraid 'twould get him into trouble. "he wan't no more spirity dan white folks would like der chil'en fur to be. when white chil'en holds up der heads, and answers back, den de parents laugh, and say, 'he's got it in him! he's a bright one!' but, if one of ourn does so, it's a drefful thing. i was allers talking to alfred 'bout it, and telled him to keep humble. it 'peared like there was so much in him, you couldn't keep it down. laws, miss nina, folks may say what dey like about de black folks, dey'll never beat it out of my head;--dere's some on 'em can be as smart as any white folks, if dey could have de same chance. how many white boys did you ever see would take de trouble for to teach theirselves to read? and dat's what my alfred did. laws, i had a mighty heap of comfort in him, 'cause i was thinkin' to get my missis to let me hire my time; den i was going to work over hours, and get money, and buy him; because, you see, chile, i knowed he was too spirity for a slave. you see he couldn't _learn to stoop_; he wouldn't let nobody impose on him; and he always had a word back again to give anybody as good as dey sent. yet, for all dat, he was a dear, good boy to me; and when i used to talk to him, and tell him dese things was dangerous, he'd always promise fur to be kerful. well, things went on pretty well while he was little, and i kept him with me till he got to be about twelve or thirteen years old. he used to wipe de dishes, and scour de knives, and black de shoes, and such-like work. but, by and by, dey said it was time dat he should go to de reg'lar work; and dat ar was de time i felt feared. missis had an overseer, and he was real aggravating, and i felt feared dere'd be trouble; and sure enough dere was, too. dere was always somethin' brewing 'tween him and alfred; and he was always running to missis with tales, and i was talking to alfred. but 'peared like he aggravated de boy so, dat he couldn't do right. well, one day, when i had been up to town for an errand, i come home at night, and i wondered alfred didn't come home to his supper. i thought something was wrong; and i went to de house, and dere sat miss harrit by a table covered with rolls of money, and dere she was a counting it. "'miss harrit,' says i, 'i can't find alfred. an't you seen him?' says i. "at first she didn't answer, but went on counting--fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three. finally i spoke again. "'i hope there an't nothing happened to alfred, miss harrit?' "she looked up, and says she to me,-- "'milly,' says she, 'de fact is, alfred has got too much for me to manage, and i had a great deal of money offered for him; and i sold him.' "i felt something strong coming up in my throat, and i just went up and took hold of her shoulders, and said i,-- "'miss harrit, you took de money for thirteen of my chil'en, and you promised me, sure enough, i should have dis yer one. you call dat being a christian?' says i. "'why,' says she, 'milly, he an't a great way off; you can see him about as much. it's only over to mr. jones's plantation. you can go and see him, and he can come and see you. and you know you didn't like the man who had the care of him here, and thought he was always getting him into trouble.' "'miss harrit,' says i, 'you may cheat yourself saying dem things; but you don't cheat me, nor de lord neither. you folks have de say all on your side, with your ministers preaching us down out of de bible; you won't teach us to read. but i'm going straight to de lord with dis yer case. i tell you, if de lord is to be found, i'll find him; and i'll ask him to look on't,--de way you've been treating me,--selling _my_ chil'en, all de way 'long, to pay for _your_ chil'en, and now breaking your word to me, and taking dis yer boy, de last drop of blood in my heart! i'll pray de lord to curse every cent of dat ar money to you and your chil'en!' "dat ar was de way i spoke to her, child. i was poor, ignorant cretur, and didn't know god, and my heart was like a red-hot coal. i turned and walked right straight out from her. i didn't speak no more to her, and she didn't speak no more to me. and when i went to bed at night, dar, sure 'nough, was alfred's bed in de corner, and his sunday coat hanging up over it, and his sunday shoes i had bought for him with my own money; 'cause he was a handsome boy, and i wanted him always to look nice. well, so, come sunday morning, i took his coat and his shoes, and made a bundle of 'em, and i took my stick, and says i, 'i'll just go ever to jones's place and see what has 'come of alfred.' all de time, i hadn't said a word to missis, nor she to me. well, i got about half-way over to de place, and dere i stopped under a big hickory-tree to rest me a bit, and i looked along and seed some one a coming; and pretty soon i knowed it was huldah. she was one that married paul's cousin, and she lived on jones's place. and so i got up and went to meet her, and told her i was going over to see 'bout alfred. "'lord!' says she, 'milly, haven't you heard dat alfred's dead?' "well, miss nina, it seemed as if my heart and everything in it stopped still. and said i, 'huldah, has dey killed him?' "and said she, 'yes.' and she told me it was dis yer way: dat stiles--he dat was jones's overseer--had heard dat alfred was dreadful spirity; and when boys is so, sometimes dey aggravates 'em to get 'em riled, and den dey whips 'em to break 'em in. so stiles, when he was laying off alfred's task, was real aggravating to him; and dat boy--well, he answered back, just as he allers would be doing, 'cause he was smart, and it 'peared like he couldn't keep it in. and den dey all laughed round dere, and den stiles was mad, and swore he'd whip him; and den alfred, he cut and run. and den stiles he swore awful at him, and he told him to 'come here, and he'd give him hell, and pay him de cash.' dem is de very words he said to my boy. and alfred said he wouldn't come back; he wasn't going to be whipped. and just den young master bill come along, and wanted to know what was de matter. so stiles told him, and he took out his pistol, and said, 'here, young dog, if you don't come back before i count five, i'll fire!' "'fire ahead!' says alfred; 'cause, you see, dat boy never knowed what fear was. and so he fired. and huldah said he just jumped up and give one scream, and fell flat. and dey run up to him, and he was dead; 'cause you see, de bullet went right through his heart. well, dey took off his jacket and looked, but it wan't of no use; his face settled down still. and huldah said dat dey just dug a hole and put him in. nothing on him--nothing round him--no coffin; like he'd been a dog. huldah showed me de jacket. dere was de hole, cut right round in it, like it was stamped, and his blood running out on it. i didn't say a word. i took up de jacket, and wrapped it up with his sunday clothes, and i walked straight--straight home. i walked up into missis' room, and she was dressed for church, sure enough, and sat dere reading her bible. i laid it right down under her face, dat jacket. 'you see dat _hole_!' said i; 'you see dat blood! alfred's killed! _you_ killed him; his blood be on you and your chil'en! o lord god in heaven, hear me, and _render unto her double_!'" nina drew in her breath hard, with an instinctive shudder. milly had drawn herself up, in the vehemence of her narration, and sat leaning forward, her black eyes dilated, her strong arms clenched before her, and her powerful frame expanding and working with the violence of her emotion. she might have looked, to one with mythological associations, like the figure of a black marble nemesis in a trance of wrath. she sat so for a few minutes, and then her muscles relaxed, her eyes gradually softened; she looked tenderly, but solemnly, down on nina. "dem was awful words, chile; but i was in egypt den. i was wandering in de wilderness of sinai. i had heard de sound of de trumpet, and de voice of words; but, chile, i hadn't seen de lord. well--i went out, and i didn't speak no more to miss harrit. dere was a great gulf fixed 'tween us; and dere didn't no words pass over it. i did my work--i scorned not to do it; but i didn't speak to her. den it was, chile, dat i thought of what my mother told me, years ago; it came to me, all fresh--'chile, when trouble comes, you ask de lord to help you;' and i saw dat i hadn't asked de lord to help me; and now, says i to myself, de lord can't help me; 'cause he couldn't bring back alfred, no way you could fix it; and yet i wanted to find de lord, 'cause i was so tossed up and down. i wanted just to go and say, 'lord, you see what dis woman has done.' i wanted to put it to him, if he'd stand up for such a thing as that. lord, how de world, and everything, looked to me in dem times! everything goin' on in de way it did; and dese yer christians, dat said dat dey was going into de kingdom, doing as dey did! i tell you, i sought de lord early and late. many nights i have been out in de woods and laid on de ground till morning, calling and crying, and 'peared like nobody heerd me. oh, how strange it used to look, when i looked up to de stars! winking at me, so kind of still and solemn, but never saying a word! sometimes i got dat wild, it seemed as if i could tear a hole through de sky, 'cause i must find god; i had an errand to him, and i must find him. "den i heard 'em read out de bible, 'bout how de lord met a man on a threshing-floor, and i thought maybe if i had a threshing-floor he would come to me. so i threshed down a place just as hard as i could under de trees; and den i prayed dere--but he didn't come. den dere was coming a great camp-meeting; and i thought i'd go and see if i could find de lord dere; because, you see, missis, she let her people go sunday to de camp-meeting. well, i went into de tents and heerd dem sing; and i went afore de altar, and i heerd preaching; but it 'peared like it was no good. it didn't touch me nowhere; and i couldn't see nothing to it. i heerd 'em read out of de bible, 'oh, dat i knew where i might find him. i would come even to his seat. i would order my cause before him. i would fill my mouth with arguments;' and i thought, sure enough, dat ar's just what i want. well, came on dark night, and dey had all de camp-fires lighted up, and dey was singing de hymns round and round, and i went for to hear de preaching. and dere was a man--pale, lean man he was, with black eyes and black hair. well, dat ar man, he preached a sermon, to be sure, i never shall forget. his text was, 'he that spared not his own son, but freely delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him freely give us all things?' well, you see, the first sound of dis took me, because i'd lost my son. and the man, he told us who de son of god was,--jesus,--oh, how sweet and beautiful he was! how he went round doing for folks. o lord, what a story dat ar was! and, den, how dey took him, and put de crown of thorns on his head, and hung him up bleeding, bleeding, and bleeding! god so loved us dat he let his own dear son suffer all dat for us. chile, i got up, and i went to de altar, and i kneeled down with de mourners; and i fell flat on my face, and dey said i was in a trance. maybe i was. where i was, i don't know; but i saw de lord! chile, it seemed as if my very heart was still. i saw him, suffering, bearing with us, year in and year out--bearing--bearing--bearing so patient! 'peared like, it wan't just on de cross; but, bearing always, everywhar! oh, chile, i saw how he loved us!--us _all_--all--every one on us!--we dat hated each other so! 'peared like he was using his heart up for us, all de time--bleedin' for us like he did on calvary, and willin' to bleed! oh, chile, i saw what it was for me to be hatin', like i'd hated. 'o lord,' says i, 'i give up? o lord, never see you afore; i didn't know. lord, i's a poor sinner! i won't hate no more!' and oh, chile, den dere come such a rush of love in my soul! says i, 'lord, i ken love even de white folks!' and den came another rush; and says i, 'yes, lord, i love poor miss harrit, dat's sole all my chil'en, and been de death of my poor alfred! i loves her.' chile, i overcome--i did so--i overcome by de blood of de _lamb_--de lamb!--yes, de lamb, chile!--'cause if he'd been a lion i could a kept in; 'twas de _lamb_ dat overcome. "when i come to, i felt like a chile. i went home to miss harrit; and i hadn't spoke peaceable to her since alfred died. i went in to her. she'd been sick, and she was in her room, looking kinder pale and yaller, poor thing; 'cause her son, honey, he got drunk and 'bused her awful. i went in, and says i, 'oh, miss harrit, i's seen de lord! miss harrit, i an't got no more hard feelin's; i forgive ye, and loves ye with all my heart, just as de lord does.' honey, ye ought to see how dat woman cried! says she, 'milly, i's a great sinner.' says i, 'miss harrit, we's sinners, both on us, but de lord gives hisself for us both; and if he loves us poor sinners, we mustn't be hard on each other. ye was tempted, honey,' says i (for you see i felt like makin' scuses for her); 'but de lord jesus has got a pardon for both on us.' "after dat, i didn't have no more trouble with miss harrit. chile, we was sisters in jesus. i bore her burdens, and she bore mine. and, dear, de burdens was heavy; for her son he was brought home a corpse; he shot hisself right through de heart trying to load a gun when he was drunk. oh, chile, i thought den how i'd prayed de lord to render unto her double; but i had a better mind den. ef i could have brought poor mas'r george to life, i'd a done it; and i held de poor woman's head on my arm all dat ar night, and she a screamin' every hour. well, dat ar took her down to de grave. she didn't live much longer; but she was ready to die. she sent and bought my daughter lucy's son, dis here tom, and gin him to me. poor thing! she did all she could. "i watched with her de night she died. oh, miss nina, if ever ye're tempted to hate anybody, think how 't'll be with 'em when dey comes to die. "she died hard, poor thing! and she was cast down, 'bout her sins. 'oh, milly,' says she, 'the lord and you may forgive me, but i _can't_ forgive myself.' "'and,' says i to her, 'oh, missis, don't think of it no more! _de lord's hid it in his own heart!_' oh, but she struggled long, honey; she was all night dyin', and 'twas 'milly! milly!' all de time; 'oh, milly, stay with me!' "and, chile, i felt i loved her like my own soul; and when de day broke de lord set her free, and i laid her down like she'd been one o' my babies. i took up her poor hand. it was warm, but the strength was all gone out on't; and, 'oh,' i thought, 'ye poor thing, how could i ever have hated ye so?' ah, chile, we mustn't hate nobody; we's all poor creaturs, and de dear lord he loves us all." chapter xvii. uncle john. about four miles east of canema lay the plantation of nina's uncle, whither harry had been sent on the morning which we have mentioned. the young man went upon his errand in no very enviable mood of mind. uncle jack, as nina always called him, was the nominal guardian of the estate, and a more friendly and indulgent one harry could not have desired. he was one of those joyous, easy souls, whose leading desire seemed to be that everybody in the world should make himself as happy as possible, without fatiguing him with consultations as to particulars. his confidence in harry was unbounded; and he esteemed it a good fortune that it was so, as he was wont to say, laughingly, that his own place was more than he could manage. like all gentlemen who make the study of their own ease a primary consideration, uncle jack found the whole course of nature dead-set against him. for, as all creation is evidently organized with a view to making people work, it follows that no one has so much care as the man who resolves not to take any. uncle jack was systematically, and as a matter of course, cheated and fleeced, by his overseers, by his negroes, and the poor whites of his vicinity; and, worst of all, continually hectored and lectured by his wife therefor. nature, or destiny, or whoever the lady may be that deals the matrimonial cards, with her usual thoughtfulness in balancing opposites, had arranged that jovial, easy, care-hating uncle john should have been united to a most undaunted and ever-active spirit of enterprise and resolution, who never left anything quiet in his vicinity. she it was who continually disturbed his repose, by constantly ferreting out, and bringing before his view, all the plots, treasons, and conspiracies, with which plantation-life is ever abounding; bringing down on his devoted head the necessity of discriminations, decisions, and settlements, most abhorrent to an easy man. the fact was, that responsibility, aggravated by her husband's negligence, had transformed the worthy woman into a sort of domestic dragon of the hesperides; and her good helpmeet declared that he believed she never slept, nor meant anybody else should. it was all very well, he would observe. he wouldn't quarrel with her for walking the whole night long, or sleeping with her head out of the window, watching the smoke-house; for stealing out after one o'clock to convict pompey, or circumvent cuff, if she only wouldn't bother him with it. suppose the half of the hams were carried off, between two and three, and sold to abijah skinflint for rum?--he must have his sleep; and, if he had to pay for it in ham, why, he'd pay for it in ham; but sleep he must, and would. and, supposing he really believed, in his own soul, that cuffy, who came in the morning, with a long face, to announce the theft, and to propose measures of discovery, was in fact the main conspirator--what then? he couldn't prove it on him. cuff had gone astray from the womb, speaking lies ever since he was born; and what would be the use of his fretting and sweating himself to death to get truth out of cuff? no, no! mrs. g., as he commonly called his helpmeet, might do that sort of thing, but she mustn't bother him about it. not that uncle jack was invariable in his temper; human nature has its limits, and a personage who finds "mischief still for idle hands to do" often seems to take a malicious pleasure in upsetting the temper of idle gentlemen. so, uncle jack, though confessedly the best fellow in the world, was occasionally subject to a tropical whirlwind of passion, in which he would stamp, tear, and swear, with most astounding energy; and in those ignited moments all the pent-up sorrows of his soul would fly about him, like red-hot shot, in every direction. and then he would curse the negroes, curse the overseers, curse the plantation, curse cuff and pomp and dinah, curse the poor white folks round, curse mr. abijah skinflint, and declare that he would send them and the niggers all severally to a department which politeness forbids us to mention. he would pour out awful threats of cutting up, skinning alive, and selling to georgia. to all which commotion and bluster the negroes would listen, rolling the whites of their eyes, and sticking their tongues in their cheeks, with an air of great satisfaction and amusement; because experience had sufficiently proved to them that nobody had ever been cut up, skinned alive, or sent to georgia, as the result of any of these outpourings. so, when uncle jack had one of these fits, they treated it as hens do an approaching thunderstorm,--ran under cover, and waited for it to blow over. as to madam gordon, her wrath was another affair. and her threats they had learned to know generally meant something; though it very often happened that, in the dispensation of most needed justice, uncle jack, if in an extra good humor, would rush between the culprit and his mistress, and bear him off in triumph, at the risk of most serious consequences to himself afterwards. our readers are not to infer from this that madam gordon was really and naturally an ill-natured woman. she was only one of that denomination of vehement housekeepers who are to be found the world over--women to whom is appointed the hard mission of combating, single-handed, for the principles of order and exactness, against a whole world in arms. had she had the good fortune to have been born in vermont or massachusetts, she would have been known through the whole village as a woman who couldn't be cheated half a cent on a pound in meat, and had an instinctive knowledge whether a cord of wood was too short, or a pound of butter too light. put such a woman at the head of the disorderly rabble of a plantation, with a cheating overseer, surrounded by thieving poor whites, to whom the very organization of society leaves no resource but thieving, with a never-mind husband, with land that has seen its best days, and is fast running to barrenness, and you must not too severely question her temper, if it should not be at all times in perfect subjection. in fact, madam gordon's cap habitually bristled with horror, and she was rarely known to sit down. occasionally, it is true, she alighted upon a chair; but was in a moment up again, to pursue some of her household train, or shout, at the top of her lungs, some caution toward the kitchen. when harry reined up his horse before the plantation, the gate was thrown open for him by old pomp, a superannuated negro, who reserved this function as his peculiar sinecure. "lord bress you, harry, dat you? bress you, you ought fur to see mas'r! such a gale up to de house!" "what's the matter, pomp?" "why, mas'r, he done got one of he fits! tarin' round dar, fit to split!--stompin' up and down de 'randy, swarin' like mad! lord, if he an't! he done got jake tied up, dar!--swars he's goin' to cut him to pieces! he! he! he! has so! got jake tied up dar! ho! ho! ho! real curus! and he's blowin' hisself out dere mighty hard, i tell you! so, if you want to get word wid him, you can't do it till he done got through wid dis yer!" and the old man ducked his pepper-and-salt-colored head, and chuckled with a lively satisfaction. as harry rode slowly up the avenue to the house, he caught sight of the portly figure of its master, stamping up and down the veranda, vociferating and gesticulating in the most violent manner. he was a corpulent man, of middle age, with a round, high forehead, set off with grizzled hair. his blue eyes, fair, rosy, fat face, his mouth adorned with brilliant teeth, gave him, when in good-humor, the air of a handsome and agreeable man. at present his countenance was flushed almost to purple, as he stood storming, from his rostrum, at a saucy, ragged negro, who, tied to the horse-post, stood the picture of unconcern; while a crowd of negro men, women, and children, were looking on. "i'll teach you!" he vociferated, shaking his fist. "i won't--won't bear it of you, you dog, you! you won't take my orders, won't you? i'll _kill_ you--that i will! i'll cut you up into inch-pieces!" "no, you won't, and you know you won't!" interposed mrs. gordon, who sat at the window behind him. "you won't, and you know you won't! and _they_ know you won't, too! it will all end in smoke, as it always does. i only wish you wouldn't talk and threaten, because it makes you ridiculous!" "hold your tongue, too! i'll be master in my own house, i say! infernal dog!--i say, cuff, cut him up!--why don't you go at him?--give it to him!--what you waiting for?" "if mas'r pleases!" said cuff, rolling up his eyes, and making a deprecating gesture. "if i please! well, blast you, i _do_ please! go at him!--thrash away! stay, i'll come myself." and, seizing a cow-hide, which lay near him, he turned up his cuffs, and ran down the steps; but, missing his footing in his zeal, came head-first against the very post where the criminal was tied. "there! i hope, now, you are satisfied! you have killed me!--you have broke my head, you have! i shall be laid up a month, all for you, you ungrateful dog!" cuffy and sambo came to the rescue, raised him up carefully, and began brushing the dust off his clothes, smothering the laughter with which they seemed ready to explode, while the culprit at the post seemed to consider this an excellent opportunity to put in his submission. "please, mas'r, do forgive me! i tole 'em to go out, and dey said dey wouldn't. i didn't mean no harm when i said 'mas'r had better go hisself;' 'cause i thinks so now. mas'r _had_ better go! dem folks is curus, and dey won't go for none of us. dey just acts ridiculous, dey does! and i didn't mean fur to be sarcy, nor nothin.' i say 'gin, if mas'r'll take his horse and go over dar, mas'r drive dose folks out; and nobody else can't do it! we done can't do it--dey jest sarce us. now, for my heavenly master, all dis yere is de truth i've been telling. de lord, de master, knows it is; and, if mas'r'll take his horse, and ride down dere, he'd see so; so dere, just as i've been telling mas'r. i didn't mean no harm at all, i didn't!" the quarrel, it must be told, related to the ejecting of a poor white family which had _squatted_, as the phrase is, in a deserted cabin, on a distant part of the gordon plantation. mrs. gordon's untiring assiduity having discovered this fact, she had left her husband no peace till something was undertaken in the way of ejectment. he accordingly commissioned jake, a stout negro, on the morning of the present day, to go over and turn them off. now, jake, who inherited to the full the lofty contempt with which the plantation negro regards the poor white folks, started upon his errand, nothing loth, and whistled his way in high feather, with two large dogs at his heels. but, when he found a miserable, poor, sick woman, surrounded by four starving children, jake's mother's milk came back to him; and, instead of turning them out, he actually pitched a dish of cold potatoes in among them, which he picked up in a neighboring cabin, with about the same air of contemptuous pity with which one throws scraps to a dog. and then, meandering his way back to the house, informed his master that "he couldn't turn de white trash out; and, if he wanted them turned out, he would have to go hisself." now, we all know that a fit of temper has very often nothing to do with the thing which appears to give rise to it. when a cloud is full charged with electricity, it makes no difference which bit of wire is put in. the flash and the thunder come one way as well as another. mr. gordon had received troublesome letters on business, a troublesome lecture from his wife, his corn-cake had been over-done at breakfast, and his coffee burned bitter; besides which, he had a cold in his head coming on, and there was a settlement brewing with the overseer. in consequence of all which things, though jake's mode of delivering himself wasn't a whit more saucy than ordinary, the storm broke upon him then and there, and raged as we have described. the heaviest part of it, however, being now spent, mr. gordon consented to pardon the culprit on condition that he would bring him up his horse immediately, when he would ride over and see if he couldn't turn out the offending party. he pressed harry, who was rather a favorite of his, into the service; and, in the course of a quarter of an hour, they were riding off in the direction of the squatter's cabin. "it's perfectly insufferable, what we proprietors have to bear from this tribe of creatures!" he said. "there ought to be hunting-parties got up to chase them down, and exterminate 'em, just as we do rats. it would be a kindness to them; the only thing you can do for them is to kill them. as for charity, or that kind of thing, you might as well throw victuals into the hollow logs as to try to feed 'em. the government ought to pass laws,--we will have laws, somehow or other,--and get them out of the state." and, so discoursing, the good man at length arrived before the door of a miserable, decaying log-cabin, out of whose glassless windows dark emptiness looked, as out of the eye-holes of a skull. two scared, cowering children disappeared round the corner as he approached. he kicked open the door, and entered. crouched on a pile of dirty straw, sat a miserable, haggard woman, with large, wild eyes, sunken cheeks, dishevelled, matted hair, and long, lean hands, like bird's-claws. at her skinny breast an emaciated infant was hanging, pushing, with its little skeleton hands, as if to force the nourishment which nature no longer gave; and two scared-looking children, with features wasted and pinched blue with famine, were clinging to her gown. the whole group huddled together, drawing as far as possible away from the new-comer, looked up with large, frightened eyes, like hunted wild animals. "what you here for?" was the first question of mr. gordon, put in no very decided tone; for, if the truth must be told, his combativeness was oozing out. the woman did not answer, and, after a pause, the youngest child piped up, in a shrill voice,-- "an't got nowhere else to be!" "yes," said the woman, "we camped on mr. durant's place, and bobfield--him is the overseer--pulled down the cabin right over our head. 'pears like we couldn't get nowhere." "where is your husband?" "gone looking for work. 'pears like he couldn't get none nowhere. 'pears like nobody wants us. but we have got to be somewhere, though!" said the woman, in a melancholy, apologetic tone. "we can't die, as i see!--wish we could!" mr. gordon's eye fell upon two or three cold potatoes in a piece of broken crock, over which the woman appeared keeping jealous guard. "what you doing with those potatoes?" "saving them for the children's dinner." "and is that all you've got to eat, i want to know?" said mr. gordon, in a high, sharp tone, as if he were getting angry very fast. "yes," said the woman. "what did you have to eat yesterday?" "nothing!" said the woman. "and what did you eat the day before?" "found some old bones round the nigger houses; and some on 'em give us some corn-cake." "why the devil didn't you send up to _my_ house, and get some bacon? picking up bones, slop, and swill, round the nigger huts? why didn't you send up for some ham, and some meal? lord bless you, you don't think madam gordon is a dog to bite you, do you? wait here till i send you down something fit to eat. just end in my having to take care of you, i see! and, if you are going to stay here, there will be something to be done to keep the rain out!" "there, now," he said to harry, as he was mounting his horse, "just see what 'tis to be made with hooks in one's back, like me! everybody hangs on to me, of course! now, there's durant turns off these folks; there's peters turns them off! well, what's the consequence? they come and litter down on me, just because i am an easy, soft-hearted old fool! it's too devilish bad! they breed like rabbits! what god almighty makes such people for, i don't know! i suppose he does. but there's these poor, miserable trash have children like sixty; and there's folks living in splendid houses, dying for children, and can't have any. if they manage one or two, the scarlet-fever or whooping-cough makes off with 'em. lord bless me, things go on in a terrible mixed-up way in this world! and, then, what upon earth i'm to say to mrs. g.! i know what she'll say to me. she'll tell me she told me so--that's what she always says. i wish she'd go and see them herself--i do so! mrs. g. is the nicest kind of a woman--no mistake about that; but she has an awful deal of energy, that woman! it's dreadful fatiguing to a quiet man, like me--dreadful! but i'm sure i don't know what i should do without her. she'll be down upon me about this woman; but the woman must have some ham, that's flat! cold potatoes and old bones! pretty story! such people have no business to live at all; but, if they will live, they ought to eat christian things! there goes jake. why couldn't he turn 'em off before i saw 'em? it would have saved me all this plague! dog knew what he was about, when he got me down here! jake! oh, jake, jake! come here!" jake came shambling along up to his master, with an external appearance of the deepest humility, under which was too plainly seen to lurk a facetious air of waggish satisfaction. "here, you, jake; you get a basket"-- "yes, mas'r!" said jake, with an air of provoking intelligence. "be still saying 'yes, mas'r,' and hear what i've got to say! mind yourself!" jake gave a side glance of inexpressible drollery at harry, and then stood like an ebony statue of submission. "you go to your missis, and ask her for the key of the smoke-house, and bring it to me." "yes, sir." "and you tell your missis to send me a peck of meal. stay--a loaf of bread, or some biscuit, or corn-cake, or anything else which may happen to be baked up. tell her i want them sent out right away." jake bowed and disappeared. "now we may as well ride down this path, while he is gone for the things. mrs. g. will blow off on him first, so that rather less of it will come upon me. i wish i could get her to see them herself. lord bless her, she is a kind-hearted woman enough! but she thinks there's no use doing,--and there an't. she is right enough about it. but, then, as the woman says, there must be some place for them to _be_ in the world. the world is wide enough, i'm sure! plague take it! why can't we pass a law to take them all in with our niggers, and then they'd have some one to take care of them! then we'd do something for them, and there'd be some hope of keeping 'em comfortable." harry felt in no wise inclined to reply to any of this conversation, because he knew that, though nominally addressed to him, the good gentleman was talking merely for the sake of easing his mind, and that he would have opened his heart just as freely to the next hickory-bush, if he had not happened to be present. so he let him expend himself, waiting for an opportunity to introduce subjects which lay nearer his heart. in a convenient pause, he found opportunity to say,-- "miss nina sent me over here, this morning." "ah, nin! my pretty little nin! bless the child! she did? why couldn't she come over herself, and comfort an old fellow's heart? nin is the prettiest girl in the county! i tell you that, harry!" "miss nina is in a good deal of trouble. master tom came home last night drunk, and to-day he is so cross and contrary she can't do anything with him." "drunk? oh, what a sad dog! tom gets drunk too often! carries that too far, altogether! told him that, the last time i talked to him. says i, 'tom, it does very well for a young man to have a spree once in one or two months. i did it myself, when i was young. but,' says i, 'tom, to spree _all_ the time, won't do, tom!' says i. 'nobody minds a fellow being drunk _occasionally_; but he ought to be moderate about it, and know where to stop,' says i; 'because, when it comes to that, that he is drunk every day, or every other day, why, it's my opinion that he may consider the devil's got him!' i talked to tom just so, right out square; because, you see, i'm in a father's place to him. but, lord, it don't seem to have done him a bit of good! good lord! they tell me he is drunk one half his time, and acts like a crazy creature! goes too far, tom does, altogether. mrs. g. an't got any patience with him. she blasts at him every time he comes here, and he blasts at her; so it an't very comfortable having him here. good woman at heart, mrs. gordon, but a little strong in her ways, you know; and tom is strong, too. so it's fire fight fire when they get together. it's no ways comfortable to a man wanting to have everybody happy around him. lord bless me! i wish nin were my daughter! why can't she come over here, and live with me? she hasn't got any more spirit in her than just what i like. just enough fizz in her to keep one from flatting out. what about those beaux of hers? is she going to be married? hey?" "there's two gentlemen there, attending upon miss nina. one is mr. carson, of new york"-- "hang it all! she isn't going to marry a d----d yankee! why, brother would turn over in his grave!" "i don't think it will be necessary to put himself to that trouble," said harry, "for i rather think it's mr. clayton who is to be the favored one." "clayton! good blood!--like that! seems to be a gentlemanly good fellow, doesn't he?" "yes, sir. he owns a plantation, i'm told, in south carolina." "ah! ah! that's well! but i hate to spare nin! i never half liked sending her off to new york. don't believe in boarding-schools. i've seen as fine girls grown on plantations as any man need want. what do we want to send our girls there, to get fipenny-bit ideas? i thank the lord, i never was in new york, and i never mean to be! carolina born and raised, i am; and my wife is virginia--pure breed! no boarding-school about her! and, when i stood up to be married to her, there wasn't a girl in virginia could stand up with her. her cheeks were like damask roses! a tall, straight, lively girl, she was! knew her own mind, and had a good notion of speaking it, too. and there isn't a woman, now, that can get through the business she can, and have her eyes always on everything. if it does make me uncomfortable, every now and then, i ought to take it, and thank the lord for it. for, if it wan't for her, what with the overseer, and the niggers, and the poor white trash, we should all go to the devil in a heap!" "miss nina sent me over here to be out of master tom's way," said harry, after a pause. "he is bent upon hectoring me, as usual. you know, sir, that he always had a spite against me, and it seems to grow more and more bitter. he quarrels with her about the management of everything on the place; and you know, sir, that i try to do my very best, and you and mrs. gordon have always been pleased to say that i did well." "so we did, harry, my boy! so we did! stay here as long as you like. just suit yourself about that. maybe you'd like to go out shooting with me." "i'm worried," said harry, "to be obliged to be away just at the time of putting in the seed. everything depends upon my overseeing." "why don't you go back, then? tom's ugliness is nothing but because he is drunk. there's where it is! i see through it! you see, when a fellow has had a drunken spree, why, the day after it he is all at loose ends and cross--nerves all ravelled out, like an old stocking. then fellows are sulky and surly like. i've heard of their having temperance societies up in those northern states, and i think something of that sort would be good for our young men. they get drunk too often. full a third of them, i should reckon, get the delirium tremens before they are fifty. if we could have a society like them, and that sort of thing, and agree to be moderate! nobody expects young men to be old before their time; but, if they'd agree not to blow out more than once a month, or something in that way!" "i'm afraid," said harry, "master tom's too far gone for that." "oh, ay! yes! pity, pity! suppose it is so. why, when a fellow gets so far, he's like a nigger's old patched coat--you can't tell where the real cloth is. now, tom; i suppose he never is himself--always up on a wave, or down in the trough! heigho! i'm sorry!" "it's very hard on miss nina," said harry. "he interferes, and i have no power to stand for her. and, yesterday, he began talking to my wife in a way i can't bear, nor won't! he _must_ let her alone!" "sho! sho!" said mr. gordon. "see what a boy that is, now! that an't in the least worth while--that an't! i shall tell tom so. and, harry, mind your temper! remember, young men will be young; and, if a fellow will treat himself to a pretty wife, he must expect trials. but tom ought not to do so. i shall tell him. high! there comes jake, with the basket and the smoke-house key. now for something to send down to those poor hobgoblins. if people are going to starve, they mustn't come on to my place to do it. i don't mind what i don't see--i wouldn't mind if the whole litter of 'em was drowned to-morrow; but, hang it, i can't stand it if i know it! so, here, jake, take this ham and bread, and look 'em up an old skillet, and see if you can't tinker up the house a bit. i'd set the fellow to work, when he comes back; only we have two hands to every turn, now, and the niggers always plague 'em. harry, you go home, and tell nin mrs. g. and i will be over to dinner." chapter xviii. dred. harry spent the night at the place of mr. john gordon, and arose the next morning in a very discontented mood of mind. nothing is more vexatious to an active and enterprising person than to be thrown into a state of entire idleness; and harry, after lounging about for a short time in the morning, found his indignation increased by every moment of enforced absence from the scene of his daily labors and interest. having always enjoyed substantially the privileges of a freeman in the ability to regulate his time according to his own ideas, to come and go, to buy and sell, and transact business unfettered by any felt control, he was the more keenly alive to the degradation implied in his present position. "here i must skulk around," said he to himself, "like a partridge in the bushes, allowing everything to run at loose ends, preparing the way for my being found fault with for a lazy fellow by and by; and all for what? because my younger brother chooses to come, without right or reason, to domineer over me, to insult my wife; and because the laws will protect him in it, if he does it! ah! ah! that's it. they are all leagued together! no matter how right i am--no matter how bad he is! everybody will stand up for him, and put me down; all because my grandmother was born in africa, and his grandmother was born in america. confound it all, i won't stand it! who knows what he'll be saying and doing to lisette while i am gone? i'll go back and face him, like a man! i'll keep straight about my business, and, if he crosses me, let him take care! he hasn't got but one life, any more than i have. let him look out!" and harry jumped upon his horse, and turned his head homeward. he struck into a circuitous path, which led along that immense belt of swampy land to which the name of dismal has been given. as he was riding along, immersed in thought, the clatter of horses' feet was heard in front of him. a sudden turn of the road brought him directly facing to tom gordon and mr. jekyl, who had risen early and started off on horseback, in order to reach a certain stage depot before the heat of the day. there was a momentary pause on both sides; when tom gordon, like one who knows his power, and is determined to use it to the utmost, broke out, scornfully:-- "stop, you d----d nigger, and tell your master where you are going!" "you are not my master!" said harry, in words whose concentrated calmness conveyed more bitterness and wrath than could have been given by the most violent outburst. "you d----d whelp!" said tom gordon, striking him across the face twice with his whip, "take _that_, and _that_! we'll see if i'm not your master! there, now, help yourself, won't you? isn't that a master's mark?" it had been the life-long habit of harry's position to repress every emotion of anger within himself. but, at this moment, his face wore a deadly and frightful expression. still, there was something majestic and almost commanding in the attitude with which he reined back his horse, and slowly lifted his hand to heaven. he tried to speak, but his voice was choked with repressed passion. at last he said:-- "you may be sure, mr. gordon, this mark will _never_ be forgotten!" there are moments of high excitement, when all that is in a human being seems to be roused, and to concentrate itself in the eye and the voice. and, in such moments, _any_ man, apparently by virtue of his mere humanity, by the mere awfulness of the human soul that is in him, gains power to overawe those who in other hours scorn him. there was a minute's pause, in which neither spoke; and mr. jekyl, who was a man of peace, took occasion to touch tom's elbow, and say:-- "it seems to me this isn't worth while--we shall miss the stage." and, as harry had already turned his horse and was riding away, tom gordon turned his, shouting after him, with a scornful laugh:-- "i called on your wife before i came away this morning, and i liked her rather better the second time than i did the first!" this last taunt flew like a parthian arrow backward, and struck into the soul of the bondman with even a keener power than the degrading blow. the sting of it seemed to rankle more bitterly as he rode along, till at last he dropped the reins on his horse's neck, and burst into a transport of bitter cursing. "aha! aha! it has come nigh _thee_, has it? it toucheth _thee_, and thou faintest!" said a deep voice from the swampy thicket beside him. harry stopped his horse and his imprecations. there was a crackling in the swamp, and a movement among the copse of briers; and at last the speaker emerged, and stood before harry. he was a tall black man, of magnificent stature and proportions. his skin was intensely black, and polished like marble. a loose shirt of red flannel, which opened very wide at the breast, gave a display of a neck and chest of herculean strength. the sleeves of the shirt, rolled up nearly to the shoulders, showed the muscles of a gladiator. the head, which rose with an imperial air from the broad shoulders, was large and massive, and developed with equal force both in the reflective and perceptive department. the perceptive organs jutted like dark ridges over the eyes, while that part of the head which phrenologists attribute to the moral and intellectual sentiments, rose like an ample dome above them. the large eyes had that peculiar and solemn effect of unfathomable blackness and darkness which is often a striking characteristic of the african eye. but there burned in them, like tongues of flame in a black pool of naphtha, a subtle and restless fire that betokened habitual excitement to the verge of insanity. if any organs were predominant in the head, they were those of ideality, wonder, veneration, and firmness; and the whole combination was such as might have formed one of the wild old warrior prophets of the heroic ages. he wore a fantastic sort of turban, apparently of an old scarlet shawl, which added to the outlandish effect of his appearance. his nether garments, of coarse negro-cloth, were girded round the waist by a strip of scarlet flannel, in which was thrust a bowie-knife and hatchet. over one shoulder he carried a rifle, and a shot-pouch was suspended to his belt. a rude game-bag hung upon his arm. wild and startling as the apparition might have been, it appeared to be no stranger to harry; for, after the first movement of surprise, he said, in a tone of familiar recognition, in which there was blended somewhat of awe and respect:-- "oh, it is you, then, dred! i didn't know that you were hearing me!" "have i not heard?" said the speaker, raising his arm, and his eyes gleaming with wild excitement. "how long wilt thou halt between two opinions? did not moses refuse to be called the son of pharaoh's daughter? how long wilt thou cast in thy lot with the oppressors of israel, who say unto thee, 'bow down that we may walk over thee'? shall not the red sea be divided? 'yea,' saith the lord, 'it shall.'" "dred! i know what you mean!" said harry, trembling with excitement. "yea, thou dost!" said the figure. "yea, thou dost! hast thou not eaten the fat and drunk the sweet with the oppressor, and hid thine eyes from the oppression of thy people? have not _our_ wives been for a prey, and thou hast not regarded? hath not our cheek been given to the smiter? have we not been counted as sheep for the slaughter? but thou saidst, 'lo! i knew it not,' and didst hide thine eyes! therefore, the curse of meroz is upon thee, saith the lord. and _thou_ shalt bow down to the oppressor, and his rod shall be upon thee; and _thy_ wife shall be for a prey!" "don't talk in that way!--don't!" said harry, striking out his hands with a frantic gesture, as if to push back the words. "you are raising the very devil in me!" "look here, harry," said the other, dropping from the high tone he at first used to that of common conversation, and speaking in bitter irony, "did your master strike you? it's sweet to kiss the rod, isn't it? bend your neck and ask to be struck again!--won't you? be meek and lowly! that's the religion for you! you are a _slave_, and you wear broadcloth, and sleep soft. by and by he will give you a fip to buy salve for those cuts! don't fret about your wife! women always like the master better than the slave! why shouldn't they? when a man licks his master's foot, his wife scorns him,--serves him right. take it meekly, my boy! 'servants, obey your masters.' take your master's old coats--take your wife when he's done with her--and bless god that brought you under the light of the gospel! go! _you_ are a slave! but as for me," he said, drawing up his head, and throwing back his shoulders with a deep inspiration, "_i_ am a free man! free by this," holding out his rifle. "free by the lord of hosts, that numbereth the stars, and calleth them forth by their names. go home--that's all i have to say to you! you sleep in a curtained bed.--i sleep on the ground, in the swamps! you eat the fat of the land. i have what the ravens bring me! but no man whips me!--no man touches _my_ wife!--no man says to me, 'why do ye so?' go! _you_ are a slave!--i am free!" and, with one athletic bound, he sprang into the thicket, and was gone. the effect of this address on the already excited mind of the bondman may be better conceived than described. he ground his teeth, and clenched his hands. "stop!" he cried; "dred, i will--i will--i'll do as you tell me--i will not be a slave!" a scornful laugh was the only reply, and the sound of crackling footsteps retreated rapidly. he who retreated struck up, in a clear, loud voice, one of those peculiar melodies in which vigor and spirit are blended with a wild inexpressible mournfulness. the voice was one of a singular and indescribable quality of tone; it was heavy as the sub-bass of an organ, and of a velvety softness, and yet it seemed to pierce the air with a keen dividing force which is generally characteristic of voices of much less volume. the words were the commencement of a wild camp-meeting hymn, much in vogue in those parts:-- "brethren, don't you hear the sound? the martial trumpet now is blowing; men in order listing round, and soldiers to the standard flowing." there was a wild, exultant fulness of liberty that rolled in the note; and, to harry's excited ear, there seemed in it a fierce challenge of contempt to his imbecility, and his soul at that moment seemed to be rent asunder with a pang such as only those can know who have felt what it is to be a slave. there was an uprising within him, vague, tumultuous, overpowering; dim instincts, heroic aspirations; the will to do, the soul to dare; and then, in a moment, there followed the picture of all society leagued against him, the hopeless impossibility of any outlet to what was burning within him. the waters of a nature naturally rally noble, pent up, and without outlet, rolled back upon his heart with a suffocating force: and, in his hasty anguish, he cursed the day of his birth. the spasm of his emotion was interrupted by the sudden appearance of milly coming along the path. "why, bless you, milly," said harry in sudden surprise, "where are you going?" "oh, bless you, honey, chile. i's gwine on to take de stage. dey wanted to get up de wagon for me; but, bless you, says i, what you s'pose de lord gin us legs for? i never wants no critturs to tug me round, when i can walk myself. and, den, honey, it's so pleasant like, to be a walking along in de bush here, in de morning; 'pears like de voice of de lord is walking among de trees. but, bless you, chile, honey, what's de matter o' yer face?" "it's tom gordon, d--n him!" said harry. 'don't talk dat ar way, chile!' said milly; using the freedom with harry which her years and weight of character had gradually secured for her among the members of the plantation. "i _will_ talk that way! why shouldn't i? i am not going to be good any longer." "why, 'twon't help de matter to be _bad_, will it, harry? 'cause you hate tom gordon, does you want to act just like him?" "no!" said harry, "i won't be like him, but i'll have my revenge! old dred has been talking to me again, this morning. he always did stir me up so that i could hardly live; and i won't stand it any longer!" "chile," said milly, "you take care! keep clear on him! he's in de wilderness of sinai; he is with de blackness, and darkness, and tempest. he han't come to de heavenly jerusalem. oh! oh! honey! dere's a blood of sprinkling dat speaketh better things dan dat of abel. jerusalem above is _free_--is _free_, honey; so, don't you mind, now, what happens in _dis_ yer time." "ah, ah, aunt milly! this may do well enough for old women like you; but, stand opposite to a young fellow like me, with good strong arms, and a pair of doubled fists, and a body and soul just as full of light as they can be; it don't answer to go to telling about a heavenly jerusalem! we want something here. we'll have it too! how do you know there is any heaven, anyhow?" "know it?" said milly, her eye kindling, and striking her staff on the ground. "know it? i knows it by de _hankering arter it_ i got in here;" giving her broad chest a blow which made it resound like a barrel. "de lord knowed what he was 'bout when he made us. when he made babies rooting round, with der poor little mouths open, he made milk, and de mammies for 'em too. chile, we's nothing but great babies, but an't got our eyes opened--rooting round and round; but de father'll feed us yet--he will so." "he's a long time about it," said harry, sullenly. "well, chile, an't it a long time 'fore your corn sprouts--a long time 'fore it gets into de ears?--but you plants for all dat. what's dat to me what i is here?--shan't i reign with de lord jesus?" "i don't know," said harry. "well, honey, _i does_! jest so sure as i's standing on dis yer ground. i knows in a few years i shall be reigning with de lord jesus, and a casting my crown at his feet. dat's what i knows. flesh and blood didn't reveal it unto me, but de spirit of de father. it's no odds to me what i does here; every road leads straight to glory, and de glory an't got no end to it!" and milly uplifted her voice in a favorite stave-- "when we've been dere ten thousand years, bright shining like de sun, we've no less days to sing god's praise than when we first begun." "chile," said she to him, solemnly, "i an't a fool. does ye s'pose dat i thinks folks has any business to be sitting on der cheers all der life long, and working me, and living on my money? why, i knows dey han't! an't it all wrong, from fust to last, de way dey makes merchandise o' us! why, i know it is; but i's still about it, for de lord's sake. i don't work for miss loo; i works for de lord jesus; and he is good pay--no mistake, now i tell you." "well," said harry, a little shaken, but not convinced, "after all, there isn't much use in trying to do any other way. but you're lucky in feeling so, aunt milly; but i can't." "well, chile, any way, don't you do nothing rash, and don't you hear _him_. dat ar way out is through seas of blood. why, chile, would you turn against miss nina? chile, if they get a going, they won't spare nobody. don't you start up dat ar tiger; 'cause, i tell ye, ye can't chain him, if ye do!" "yes," said harry, "i see it's all madness, perfect madness; there's no use thinking, no use talking. well, good-morning, aunt milly. peace go with you!" and the young man started his horse, and was soon out of sight. chapter xix. the conspirators. we owe our readers now some words of explanation respecting the new personage who has been introduced into our history; therefore we must go back somewhat, and allude to certain historical events of painful significance. it has been a problem to many, how the system of slavery in america should unite the two apparent inconsistencies of a code of slave-laws more severe than that of any other civilized nation, with an average practice at least as indulgent as any other; for, bad as slavery is at the best, it may yet be admitted that the practice, as a whole, has been less cruel in this country than in many. an examination into history will show us that the cruelty of the laws resulted from the effects of indulgent practice. during the first years of importation of slaves into south carolina, they enjoyed many privileges. those who lived in intelligent families, and had any desire to learn, were instructed in reading and writing. liberty was given them to meet in assemblies of worship, in class-meetings, and otherwise, without the presence of white witnesses; and many were raised to situations of trust and consequence. the result of this was the development of a good degree of intelligence and manliness among the slaves. there arose among them grave, thoughtful, energetic men, with their ears and eyes open, and their minds constantly awake to compare and reason. when minds come into this state, in a government professing to be founded on principles of universal equality, it follows that almost every public speech, document, or newspaper, becomes an incendiary publication. of this fact the southern slave states have ever exhibited the most singular unconsciousness. documents containing sentiments most dangerous for slaves to hear have been publicly read and applauded among them. the slave has heard, amid shouts, on the fourth of july, that his masters held the truth to be self-evident that all men were born equal, and had an _inalienable right_ to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; and that all governments derive their just power from the consent of the governed. even the mottoes of newspapers have embodied sentiments of the most insurrectionary character. such inscriptions as "resistance to tyrants is obedience to god" stand, to this day, in large letters, at the head of southern newspapers; while speeches of senators and public men, in which the principles of universal democracy are asserted, are constant matters of discussion. under such circumstances, it is difficult to induce the servant, who feels that he is a man, to draw those lines which seem so obvious to masters, by whom this fact has been forgotten. accordingly we find that when the discussions for the admission of missouri as a slave state produced a wave whose waters undulated in every part of the union, there were found among the slaves men of unusual thought and vigor, who were no inattentive witnesses and listeners. the discussions were printed in the newspapers; and what was printed in the newspapers was further discussed at the post-office door, in the tavern, in the bar-room, at the dinner-party, where black servants were listening behind the chairs. a free colored man in the city of charleston, named denmark vesey, was the one who had the hardihood to seek to use the electric fluid in the cloud thus accumulated. he conceived the hopeless project of imitating the example set by the american race, and achieving independence for the blacks. our knowledge of this man is derived entirely from the printed reports of the magistrates who gave an account of the insurrection, of which he was the instigator, and who will not, of course, be supposed to be unduly prejudiced in his favor. they state that he was first brought to the country by one captain vesey, a young lad, distinguished for personal beauty and great intelligence, and that he proved, for twenty years, a most faithful slave; but, on drawing a prize of fifteen hundred dollars in the lottery, he purchased his freedom of his master, and worked as a carpenter in the city of charleston. he was distinguished for strength and activity, and, as the accounts state, maintained such an irreproachable character, and enjoyed so much the confidence of the whites, that when he was accused, the charge was not only discredited, but he was not even arrested for several days after, and not till the proof of his guilt had become too strong to be doubted. his historians go on, with considerable _naïveté_, to remark:-- "it is difficult to conceive _what motive he had to enter into such a plot_, unless it was the one mentioned by one of the witnesses, who said that vesey had _several children who were slaves_, and that he said, on one occasion, _he wished he could see them free_, as he himself artfully remarked in his defence on his trial." it appears that the project of rousing and animating the blacks to this enterprise occupied the mind of vesey for more than four years, during which time he was continually taking opportunities to animate and inspire the spirits of his countrymen. the account states that the speeches in congress of those opposed to the admission of missouri into the union, perhaps garbled and misrepresented, furnished him with ample means for inflaming the minds of the colored population. "even while walking in the street," the account goes on to say, "he was not idle; for, if his companion bowed to a white person, as slaves universally do, he would rebuke him, and observe, 'that all men were born equal, and that he was surprised that any one would degrade himself by such conduct; that he would never cringe to the whites nor ought any one to, who had the feelings of a man.'[ ] when answered, 'we are slaves,' he would say, sarcastically and indignantly, 'you deserve to remain slaves!' and, if he were further asked, 'what can we do?' he would remark, 'go and buy a spelling-book, and read the fable of "hercules and the wagoner."' he also sought every opportunity of entering into conversation with white persons, during which conversation he would artfully introduce some bold remark on slavery; and sometimes, when, from the character he was conversing with, he found he might be still bolder, he would go so far that, had not his declarations been clearly proved, they would scarcely have been credited." but his great instrument of influence was a book that has always been prolific of insurrectionary movements, under all systems of despotism. "he rendered himself perfectly familiar with all those parts of scripture which he thought he could pervert to his purpose, and would readily quote them to prove that slavery was contrary to the laws of god, and that slaves were bound to attempt their emancipation, however shocking and bloody might be the consequences; that such efforts would not only be pleasing to the almighty, but were absolutely enjoined." vesey, in the course of time, associated with himself five slavemen of marked character--rolla, ned, peter, monday, and gullah jack. of these, the account goes on to say:-- "in the selection of his leaders, vesey showed great penetration and sound judgment. rolla was plausible, and possessed uncommon self-possession; bold and ardent, he was not to be deterred from his purpose by danger. ned's appearance indicated that he was a man of firm nerves and desperate courage. peter was intrepid and resolute, true to his engagements, and cautious in observing secrecy where it was necessary; he was not to be daunted nor impeded by difficulties, and, though confident of success, was careful in providing against any obstacles or casualties which might arise, and intent upon discovering every means which might be in their power, if thought of beforehand. gullah jack was regarded as a sorcerer, and, as such, feared by the natives of africa, who believed in witchcraft. he was not only considered invulnerable, but that he could make others so by his charms, and that he could, and certainly would, provide all his followers with arms. he was artful, cruel, bloody; his disposition, in short, was diabolical. his influence among the africans was inconceivable. monday was firm, resolute, discreet, and intelligent." "it is a melancholy truth that the general good conduct of all the leaders, except gullah jack, was such as rendered them objects least liable to suspicion. their conduct had secured them, not only the unlimited confidence of their owners, but they had been indulged in every comfort, and allowed every privilege compatible with their situation in the community; and, though gullah jack was not remarkable for the correctness of his deportment, he by no means sustained a bad character. but," adds the report, "not only were the leaders of good character, and very much indulged by their owners, but this was very generally the case with all who were convicted, many of them possessing the highest confidence of their owners, _and not one a bad character_." "the conduct and behavior of vesey and his five leaders during their trial and imprisonment may be interesting to many. when vesey was tried, he folded his arms, and seemed to pay great attention to the testimony given against him, but with his eyes fixed on the floor. in this situation he remained immovable until the witnesses had been examined by the court, and cross-examined by his counsel, when he requested to be allowed to examine the witnesses himself, which he did. the evidence being closed, he addressed the court at considerable length. when he received his sentence, tears trickled down his cheeks. "rolla, when arraigned, affected not to understand the charge against him; and when, at his request, it was explained to him, assumed, with wonderful adroitness, astonishment and surprise. he was remarkable throughout his trial for composure and great presence of mind. when he was informed that he was convicted, and was advised to prepare for death, he appeared perfectly confounded, but exhibited no signs of fear. "in ned's behavior there was nothing remarkable. his countenance was stern and immovable, even while he was receiving sentence of death. from his looks it was impossible to discover or conjecture what were his feelings. not so with peter poyes. in his countenance were strongly marked disappointed ambition, revenge, indignation, and an anxiety to know how far the discoveries had extended. he did not appear to fear personal consequences, for his whole behavior indicated the reverse, but exhibited an evident anxiety for the success of their plan, in which his whole soul was embarked. his countenance and behavior were the same when he received his sentence, and his only words were, on retiring, 'i suppose you'll let me see my wife and family before i die,' and that in no supplicating tone. when he was asked, a day or two after, 'if it was possible that he could see his master and family murdered, who had treated him so kindly?' he replied to the question only by a smile. in their prison, the convicts resolutely refused to make any confessions or communications which might implicate others; and peter poyes sternly enjoined it upon them to maintain this silence,--'_do not open your lips; die silent, as you will see me do!_' and in this resolute silence they met their fate. twenty-two of the conspirators were executed upon one gallows." the account says, "that peter poyes was one of the most active of the recruiting agents. all the principal conspirators kept a list of those who had consented to join them, and peter was said, by one of the witnesses, to have had six hundred names on his list; but, so resolutely to the last did he observe his pledge of secrecy to his associates, that, of the whole number arrested and tried, not one of them belonged to his company. in fact, in an insurrection in which thousands of persons were supposed to have been implicated, only thirty-six were convicted." among the children of denmark vesey was a boy by a mandingo slave-woman, who was his father's particular favorite. the mandingos are one of the finest of african tribes, distinguished for intelligence, beauty of form, and an indomitable pride and energy of nature. as slaves, they are considered particularly valuable by those who have tact enough to govern them, because of their great capability and their proud faithfulness; but they resent a government of brute force, and under such are always fractious and dangerous. this boy received from his mother the name of dred; a name not unusual among the slaves, and generally given to those of great physical force. the development of this child's mind was so uncommon as to excite astonishment among the negroes. he early acquired the power of reading, by an apparent instinctive faculty, and would often astonish those around him with things which he had discovered in books. like other children of a deep and fervent nature, he developed great religious ardor, and often surprised the older negroes by his questions and replies on this subject. a son so endowed could not but be an object of great pride and interest to a father like denmark vesey. the impression seemed to prevail universally among the negroes that this child was born for extraordinary things; and perhaps it was the yearning to acquire liberty for the development of such a mind which first led denmark vesey to reflect on the nature of slavery, and the terrible weights which it lays on the human intellect, and to conceive the project of liberating a race. the bible, of which vesey was an incessant reader, stimulated this desire. he likened his own position of comparative education, competence, and general esteem among the whites, to that of moses among the egyptians; and nourished the idea that, like moses, he was sent as a deliverer. during the process of the conspiracy, this son, though but ten years of age, was his father's confidant; and he often charged him, though he should fail in the attempt, never to be discouraged. he impressed it upon his mind that he should never submit tamely to the yoke of slavery; and nourished the idea already impressed, that some more than ordinary destiny was reserved for him. after the discovery of the plot, and the execution of its leaders, those more immediately connected with them were sold from the state, even though not proved to have participated. with the most guarded caution, vesey had exempted this son from suspicion. it had been an agreed policy with them both, that in the presence of others they should counterfeit alienation and dislike. their confidential meetings with each other had been stolen and secret. at the time of his father's execution, dred was a lad of fourteen. he could not be admitted to his father's prison, but he was a witness of the undaunted aspect with which he and the other conspirators met their doom. the memory dropped into the depths of his soul, as a stone drops into the desolate depths of a dark mountain lake. sold to a distant plantation, he became noted for his desperate, unsubduable disposition. he joined in none of the social recreations and amusements of the slaves, labored with proud and silent assiduity, but, on the slightest rebuke or threat, flashed up with a savage fierceness, which, supported by his immense bodily strength, made him an object of dread among overseers. he was one of those of whom they gladly rid themselves; and, like a fractious horse, was sold from master to master. finally, an overseer, hardier than the rest, determined on the task of subduing him. in the scuffle that ensued dred struck him to the earth, a dead man, made his escape to the swamps, and was never afterwards heard of in civilized life. the reader who consults the map will discover that the whole eastern shore of the southern states, with slight interruptions, is belted by an immense chain of swamps, regions of hopeless disorder, where the abundant growth and vegetation of nature, sucking up its forces from the humid soil, seems to rejoice in a savage exuberance, and bid defiance to all human efforts either to penetrate or subdue. these wild regions are the homes of the alligator, the moccasin, and the rattle-snake. evergreen trees, mingling freely with the deciduous children of the forest, form here dense jungles, verdant all the year round, and which afford shelter to numberless birds, with whose warbling the leafy desolation perpetually resounds. climbing vines, and parasitic plants, of untold splendor and boundless exuberance of growth, twine and interlace, and hang from the heights of the highest trees pennons of gold and purple,--triumphant banners, which attest the solitary majesty of nature. a species of parasitic moss wreaths its abundant draperies from tree to tree, and hangs in pearly festoons, through which shine the scarlet berry and green leaves of the american holly. what the mountains of switzerland were to the persecuted vaudois, this swampy belt has been to the american slave. the constant effort to recover from thence fugitives has led to the adoption, in these states, of a separate profession, unknown at this time in any other christian land--hunters, who train and keep dogs for the hunting of men, women, and children. and yet, with all the convenience of this profession, the reclaiming of the fugitives from these fastnesses of nature has been a work of such expense and difficulty, that the near proximity of the swamp has always been a considerable check on the otherwise absolute power of the overseer. dred carried with him to the swamp but one solitary companion--the bible of his father. to him it was not the messenger of peace and good-will, but the herald of woe and wrath! as the mind, looking on the great volume of nature, sees there a reflection of its own internal passions, and seizes on that in it which sympathizes with itself,--as the fierce and savage soul delights in the roar of torrents, the thunder of avalanches, and the whirl of ocean-storms,--so is it in the great answering volume of revelation. there is something there for every phase of man's nature; and hence its endless vitality and stimulating force. dred had heard read in the secret meetings of conspirators the wrathful denunciations of ancient prophets against oppression and injustice. he had read of kingdoms convulsed by plagues; of tempest, and pestilence, and locusts; of the sea cleft in twain, that an army of slaves might pass through, and of their pursuers whelmed in the returning waters. he had heard of prophets and deliverers, armed with supernatural powers, raised up for oppressed people; had pondered on the nail of jael, the goad of shamgar, the pitcher and lamp of gideon; and thrilled with fierce joy as he read how samson, with his two strong arms, pulled down the pillars of the festive temple, and whelmed his triumphant persecutors in one grave with himself. in the vast solitudes which he daily traversed, these things entered deep into his soul. cut off from all human companionship, often going weeks without seeing a human face, there was no recurrence of every-day and prosaic ideas to check the current of the enthusiasm thus kindled. even in the soil of the cool saxon heart the bible has thrown out its roots with an all-pervading energy, so that the whole frame-work of society may be said to rest on soil held together by its fibres. even in cold and misty england, armies have been made defiant and invincible by the incomparable force and deliberate valor which it breathes into men. but, when this oriental seed, an exotic among us, is planted back in the fiery soil of a tropical heart, it bursts forth with an incalculable ardor of growth. a stranger cannot fail to remark the fact that, though the slaves of the south are unable to read the bible for themselves, yet most completely have its language and sentiment penetrated among them, giving a hebraistic coloring to their habitual mode of expression. how much greater, then, must have been the force of the solitary perusal of this volume on so impassioned a nature!--a nature, too, kindled by memories of the self-sacrificing ardor with which a father and his associates had met death at the call of freedom; for, none of us may deny that, wild and hopeless as this scheme was, it was still the same in kind with the more successful one which purchased for our fathers a national existence. a mind of the most passionate energy and vehemence, thus awakened, for years made the wild solitudes of the swamp its home. that book, so full of startling symbols and vague images, had for him no interpreter but the silent courses of nature. his life passed in a kind of dream. sometimes, traversing for weeks these desolate regions, he would compare himself to elijah traversing for forty days and nights the solitudes of horeb; or to john the baptist in the wilderness, girding himself with camel's hair, and eating locusts and wild honey. sometimes he would fast and pray for days; and then voices would seem to speak to him, and strange hieroglyphics would be written upon the leaves. in less elevated moods of mind, he would pursue, with great judgment and vigor, those enterprises necessary to preserve existence. the negroes lying out in the swamps are not so wholly cut off from society as might at first be imagined. the slaves of all the adjoining plantations, whatever they may pretend, to secure the good-will of their owners, are at heart secretly disposed, from motives both of compassion and policy, to favor the fugitives. they very readily perceive that, in the event of any difficulty occurring to themselves, it might be quite necessary to have a friend and protector in the swamp; and therefore they do not hesitate to supply these fugitives, so far as they are able, with anything which they may desire. the poor whites, also, who keep small shops in the neighborhood of plantations, are never particularly scrupulous, provided they can turn a penny to their own advantage; and willingly supply necessary wares in exchange for game, with which the swamp abounds. dred, therefore, came in possession of an excellent rifle, and never wanted for ammunition, which supplied him with an abundance of food. besides this, there are here and there elevated spots in the swampy land, which, by judicious culture, are capable of great productiveness. and many such spots dred had brought under cultivation, either with his own hands, or from those of other fugitives, whom he had received and protected. from the restlessness of his nature, he had not confined himself to any particular region, but had traversed the whole swampy belt of both the carolinas, as well as that of southern virginia; residing a few months in one place, and a few months in another. wherever he stopped, he formed a sort of retreat, where he received and harbored fugitives. on one occasion, he rescued a trembling and bleeding mulatto woman from the dogs of the hunters, who had pursued her into the swamp. this woman he made his wife, and appeared to entertain a very deep affection for her. he made a retreat for her, with more than common ingenuity, in the swamp adjoining the gordon plantation; and, after that, he was more especially known in that locality. he had fixed his eye upon harry, as a person whose ability, address, and strength of character, might make him at some day a leader in a conspiracy against the whites. harry, in common with many of the slaves on the gordon plantation, knew perfectly well of the presence of dred in the neighborhood, and had often seen and conversed with him. but neither he nor any of the rest of them ever betrayed before any white person the slightest knowledge of the fact. this ability of profound secrecy is one of the invariable attendants of a life of slavery. harry was acute enough to know that his position was by no means so secure that he could afford to dispense with anything which might prove an assistance in some future emergency. the low white traders in the neighborhood also knew dred well; but, as long as they could drive an advantageous trade with him, he was secure from their intervention. so secure had he been, that he had been even known to mingle in the motley throng of a camp-meeting unmolested. thus much with regard to one who is to appear often on the stage before our history is done. footnote: [ ] these extracts are taken from the official report. chapter xx. summer talk at canema. in the course of a few days the family circle at canema was enlarged by the arrival of clayton's sister; and carson, in excellent spirits, had started for a northern watering-place. in answer to nina's letter of invitation, anne had come with her father, who was called to that vicinity by the duties of his profession. nina received her with her usual gay frankness of manner; and anne, like many others, soon found herself liking her future sister much better than she had expected. perhaps, had nina been in any other situation than that of hostess, her pride might have led her to decline making the agreeable to anne, whom, notwithstanding, she very much wished to please. but she was mistress of the mansion, and had an arab's idea of the privileges of a guest; and so she chatted, sang, and played for her; she took her about, showed her the walks, the arbors, the flower-garden; waited on her in her own apartment, with a thousand little attentions, all the more fascinating from the kind of careless independence with which they were rendered. besides, nina had vowed a wicked little vow in her heart that she would ride rough-shod over anne's dignity; that she wouldn't let her be grave or sensible, but that she should laugh and frolic with her. and clayton could scarce help smiling at the success that soon crowned her exertions. nina's gayety, when in full tide, had a breezy infectiousness in it, that seemed to stir up every one about her and carry them on the tide of her own spirits; and anne, in her company, soon found herself laughing at everything and nothing, simply because she felt gay. to crown all, uncle john gordon arrived, with his cheery, jovial face; and he was one of those fearless, hit-or-miss talkers, that are invaluable in social dilemmas, because they keep something or other all the while in motion. with him came madam gordon, or, as nina commonly called her, aunt maria. she was a portly, finely-formed, middle-aged woman, who might have been handsome, had not the lines of care and nervous anxiety ploughed themselves so deeply in her face. her bright, keen, hazel eyes, fine teeth, and the breadth of her ample form, attested the vitality of the old virginia stock from whence she sprung. "there," said nina, to anne clayton, as they sat in the shady side of the veranda, "i've marshalled aunt maria up into aunt nesbit's room, and there they will have a comfortable dish of lamentation over me." "over you?" said anne. "yes--over me, to be sure!--that's the usual order of exercises. such a setting down as i shall get! they'll count up on their fingers all the things i ought to know and don't, and ought to do and can't. i believe that's the way relatives always show their affection--aunts in particular--by mourning over you." "and what sort of a list will they make out?" said anne. "oh, bless me, that's easy enough. why, there's aunt maria is a perfectly virulent housekeeper--really insane, i believe, on that subject. why, she chases up every rat and mouse and cockroach, every particle of dust, every scrap of litter. she divides her hours, and is as punctual as a clock. she rules her household with a rod of iron, and makes everybody stand round; and tells each one how many times a day they may wink. she keeps accounts like a very dragon, and always is sure to pounce on anybody that is in the least out of the way. she cuts out clothes by the bale; she sews, and she knits, and she jingles keys. and all this kind of bustle she calls housekeeping! now, what do you suppose she must think of me, who just put on my hat in the morning, and go sailing down the walks, looking at the flowers, till aunt katy calls me back, to know what my orders are for the day?" "pray, who is aunt katy?" said anne. "oh, she is my female prime minister; and she is very much like some prime ministers i have studied about in history, who always contrive to have their own way, let what will come. now, when aunt katy comes and wants to know, so respectfully, 'what miss nina is going to have for dinner,' do you suppose she has the least expectation of getting anything that i order? she always has fifty objections to anything that i propose. for sometimes the fit comes over me to try to be _house-keepy_, like aunt maria; but it's no go, i can tell you. so, when she has proved that everything that i propose is the height of absurdity, and shown conclusively that there's nothing fit to be eaten in the neighborhood, by that time i am reduced to a proper state of mind. and, when i humbly say, 'aunt katy, what _shall_ we do?' then she gives a little cough, and out comes the whole programme, just as she had arranged it the night before. and so it goes. as to accounts, why harry has to look after them. i detest everything about money, except the spending of it--i have rather a talent for that. now, just think how awfully all this must impress poor aunt maria! what sighings, and rollings up of eyes, and shakings of heads, there are over me! and, then, aunt nesbit is always dinging at me about improving my mind! and improving my mind means reading some horrid, stupid, boring old book, just as she does! now, i like the idea of improving my mind. i am sure it wants improving, bad enough; but, then, i can't help thinking that racing through the garden, and cantering through the woods, improves it faster than getting asleep over books. it seems to me that books are just like dry hay--very good when there isn't any fresh grass to be had. but i'd rather be out and eat what's growing. now, what people call nature never bores me; but almost every book i ever saw does. don't you think people are made differently? some like books, and some like things; don't you think so?" "i can give you a good fact on your side of the argument," said clayton, who had come up behind them during the conversation. "i didn't know i was arguing; but i shall be glad to have anything on my side," said nina, "of course." "well, then," said clayton, "i'll say that the books that have influenced the world the longest, the widest, and deepest, have been written by men who attended to _things_ more than to books; who, as you say, eat what was growing, instead of dry hay. homer couldn't have had much to read in his time, nor the poets of the bible; and they have been fountains for all ages. i don't believe shakespeare was much of a reader." "well, but," said anne, "don't you think that, for us common folks, who are not going to be either homers or shakespeares, that it's best to have two strings to our bow, and to gain instruction both from books and things?" "to be sure," said clayton, "if we only use books aright. with many people, reading is only a form of mental indolence, by which they escape the labor of thinking for themselves. some persons are like pharaoh's lean kine; they swallow book upon book, but remain as lean as ever." "my grandfather used to say," said anne, "that the bible and shakespeare were enough for a woman's library." "well," said nina, "i don't like shakespeare, there! i'm coming out flat with it. in the first place, i don't understand half he says; and, then, they talk about his being so very natural! i'm sure i never heard people talk as he makes them. now, did you ever hear people talk in blank verse, with every now and then one or two lines of rhyme, as his characters do when they go off in long speeches? now, did you?" "as to that," said clayton, "it's about half and half. his conversations have just about the same resemblance to real life that acting at the opera has. it is not natural for norma to burst into a song when she discovers the treachery of her husband. you make that concession to the nature of the opera, in the first place; and then, with that reserve, all the rest strikes you as natural, and the music gives an added charm to it. so in shakespeare, you concede that the plays are to be poems, and that the people are to talk in rhythm, and with all the exaltation of poetic sentiment; and, that being admitted, their conversations may seem natural." "but i can't _understand_ a great deal that shakespeare says," said nina. "because so many words and usages are altered since he wrote," said clayton. "because there are so many allusions to incidents that have passed, and customs that have perished, that you have, as it were, to acquire his language before you can understand him. suppose a poem were written in a foreign tongue; you couldn't say whether you liked it or disliked it till you could read the language. now, my opinion is, that there is a liking for shakespeare hidden in your nature, like a seed that has not sprouted." "what makes you think so?" "oh, i see it in you, just as a sculptor sees a statue in a block of marble." "and are you going to chisel it out?" said nina. "with your leave," said clayton. "after all, i like your sincerity in saying what you do think. i have often heard ladies profess an admiration for shakespeare that i knew couldn't be real. i knew that they had neither the experience of life, nor the insight into human nature, really to appreciate what is in him; and that their liking for him was all a worked-up affair, because they felt it would be very shocking not to like him." "well," said nina, "i'm much obliged to you for all the sense you find in my nonsense. i believe i shall keep you to translate my fooleries into good english." "you know i'm quite at your disposal," said clayton, "for that or anything else." at this moment the attention of nina was attracted by loud exclamations from that side of the house where the negro cottages were situated. "get along off! don't want none o' yo old trash here! no, no, miss nina don't want none o' yo old fish! she's got plenty of niggers to ketch her own fish." "somebody taking my name in vain in those regions," said nina, running to the other end of the veranda. "tomtit," she said to that young worthy, who lay flat on his back, kicking up his heels in the sun, waiting for his knives to clean themselves, "pray tell me what's going on there!" "laws, missis," said tom, "it's just one of dese yer poor white trash, coming round here trying to sell one thing o' nother. miss loo says it won't do 'courage 'em, and i's de same 'pinion." "send him round here to me," said nina, who, partly from humanity, and partly from a spirit of contradiction, had determined to take up for the poor white folks, on all occasions. tomtit ran accordingly, and soon brought to the veranda a man whose wretchedly tattered clothing scarcely formed a decent covering. his cheeks were sunken and hollow, and he stood before nina with a cringing, half-ashamed attitude; and yet one might see that, with better dress and better keeping, he might be made to assume the appearance of a handsome, intelligent man. "what do you ask for your fish?" she said to him. "anything ye pleases!" "where do you live?" said nina, drawing out her purse. "my folks's staying on mr. gordon's place." "why don't you get a place of your own to stay on?" said nina. there was an impatient glance flashed from the man's eye, but it gave place immediately to his habitual cowed expression, as he said,-- "can't get work--can't get money--can't get nothing." "dear me," said her uncle john, who had been standing for a moment listening to the conversation. "this must be husband of that poor hobgoblin that has lighted down on my place lately. well, you may as well pay him a good price for his fish. keep them from starving one day longer, may be." and nina paid the man a liberal sum, and dismissed him. "i suppose, now, all my eloquence wouldn't make rose cook those fish for dinner," said nina. "why not, if you told her to?" said aunt maria, who had also descended to the veranda. "why not?--just because, as she would say, she hadn't _laid out_ to do it." "that's not the way _my_ servants are taught to do!" said aunt maria. "i'll warrant not," said nina. "but yours and mine are quite different affairs, aunt. they all do as they have a mind to, in my '_diggings_.' all i stipulated for is a little of the same privilege." "that man's wife and children have come and '_squatted_' down on my place," said mr. gordon, laughing; "and so, nin, all you paid for his fish is just so much saving to me." "yes, to be sure! mr. gordon is just one of those men that will have a tribe of shiftless hangers on at his heels!" said mrs. gordon. "well, bless my soul! what's a fellow to do? can't see the poor heathen starve, can we? if society could only be organized over, now, there would be hope for them. the brain ought to control the hands; but among us the hands try to set up for themselves;--and see what comes of it!" "who do you mean by brain?" said nina. "who?--why, _we_ upper crust, to be sure! we educated people! we ought to have an absolute sway over the working classes, just as the brain rules the hand. it must come to that, at last--no other arrangement is possible. the white working classes can't take care of themselves, and must be put into a condition for us to take care of them. what is liberty to them?--only a name--liberty to be hungry and naked, that's all. it's the strangest thing in the world, how people stick to names! i suppose that fellow, up there, would flare up terribly at being put in with my niggers; and yet he and his children are glad of the crumbs that fall from their table! it's astonishing to me how, with such examples before them, any decent man can be so stone blind as to run a tilt against slavery. just compare the free working classes with our slaves! dear me! the blindness of people in this world! it's too much for my patience, particularly in hot weather!" said mr. john, wiping his face with a white pocket-handkerchief. "well, but, uncle john," said nina, "my dear old gentleman, you haven't travelled, as i have." "no, child! i thank the lord i never stepped my foot out of a slave state, and i never mean to," said uncle john. "but you ought to see the _northern_ working people," said nina. "why, the governors of the states are farmers, sometimes, and work with their own men. the brain and the hand go together, in each one--not one great brain to fifty pair of hands. and, i tell you, work is _done_ up there very differently from what's done here! just look at our ploughs and our hoes!--the most ridiculous things that i ever saw. i should think one of them would weigh ten pounds!" "well, if you don't have 'em heavy enough to go into the ground by their own weight, these cussed lazy nigs won't do anything with them. they'd break a dozen yankee hoes in a forenoon," said uncle john. "now," said nina, "uncle john, you dear old heathen, you! do let me tell you a little how it is there. i went up into new hampshire, once, with livy ray, to spend a vacation. livy's father is a farmer; works part of every day with his own men; hoes, digs, plants; but he is governor of the state. he has a splendid farm--all in first-rate order; and his sons, with two or three hired men, keep it in better condition than our places ever saw. mr. ray is a man who reads a great deal; has a fine library, and he's as much of a gentleman as you'll often see. there are no high and low _classes_ there. everybody works; and everybody seems to have a good time. livy's mother has a beautiful dairy, spring house, and two strong women to help her; and everything in the house looks beautifully; and, for the greater part of the day, the house seems so neat and still, you wouldn't know anything had been done in it. seems to me this is better than making slaves of all the working classes, or having any working classes at all." "how wise young ladies always are!" said uncle john. "undoubtedly the millennium is begun in new hampshire! but, pray, my dear, what part do _young_ ladies take in all this? seems to me, nin, _you_ haven't picked up much of this improvement in person." "oh, as to that, i labor in my vocation," said nina; "that is, of enlightening dull, sleepy old gentlemen, who never travelled out of the state they were born in, and don't know what can be done. i come as a missionary to them; i'm sure that's work enough for one." "well," said aunt maria, "i know i am as great a slave as any of the poor whites, or negroes either. there isn't a soul in my whole troop that pretends to take any care, except me, either about themselves or their children, or anything else." "i hope that isn't a slant at me!" said uncle john, shrugging his shoulders. "i must say you are as bad as any of them," said aunt maria. "there it goes!--now, i'm getting it!" said uncle john. "i declare, the next time we get a preacher out here, i'm going to make him hold forth on the duties of wives!" "and husbands, too!" said aunt maria. "do," said nina; "i should like a little prospective information." nina, as often, spoke before she thought. uncle john gave a malicious look at clayton. nina could not recall the words. she colored deeply, and went on hastily to change the subject. "at any rate, i know that aunt, here, has a much harder time than housekeepers do in the free states. just the shoes she wears out chasing up her negroes would hire help enough to do all her work. they used to have an idea up there, that all the southern ladies did was to lie on the sofa. i used to tell them it was as much as they knew about it." "_your_ cares don't seem to have worn you much!" said uncle john. "well, they will, uncle john, if you don't behave better. it's enough to break anybody down to keep you in order." "i wish," said uncle john, shrugging up his shoulders, and looking quizzically at clayton, "somebody would take warning!" "for my part," said aunt maria, "i know one thing: i'd be glad to get rid of my negroes. sometimes i think life is such a burden that i don't think it's worth having." "oh, no, you don't, mother!" said uncle john; "not with such a charming husband as you've got, who relieves you from all care so perfectly!" "i declare," said nina, looking along the avenue, "what's that? why, if there isn't old tiff, coming along with his children!" "who is he?" said aunt maria. "oh, he belongs to one of these miserable families," said aunt nesbit, "that have squatted in the pine-woods somewhere about here--a poor, worthless set! but nina has a great idea of patronizing them." "clear gordon, every inch of her!" said aunt maria, as nina ran down to meet tiff. "just like her uncle!" "come, now, old lady, i'll tell of _you_, if you don't take care!" said mr. gordon. "didn't i find you putting up a basket of provisions for those folks you scolded me so for taking in?" "scold, mr. gordon? i never scold!" "i beg pardon--that you reproved me for!" ladies generally are not displeased for being reproached for their charities; and aunt maria, whose bark, to use a vulgar proverb, was infinitely worse than her bite, sat fanning herself, with an air of self-complacency. meanwhile, nina had run down the avenue, and was busy in a confidential communication with tiff. on her return, she came skipping up the steps, apparently in high glee. "oh, uncle john! there's the greatest fun getting up! you must all go, certainly! what do you think? tiff says there's to be a camp-meeting in the neighborhood, only about five miles off from his place. let's make up a party, and all go!" "that's the time of day!" said uncle john. "i enrol myself under your banner, at once. i am open to improvement! anybody wants to convert me, here i am!" "the trouble with you, uncle john," said nina, "is that you don't _stay_ converted. you are just like one of these heavy fishes--you bite very sharp, but, before anybody can get you fairly on to the bank, you are flapping and floundering back into the water, and down you go into your sins again. i know at least three ministers who thought they had hooked you out; but they were mistaken." "for my part," said aunt maria, "i think these camp-meetings do more harm than good. they collect all the scum and the riff-raff of the community, and i believe there's more drinking done at camp-meetings in one week than is done in six anywhere else. then, of course, all the hands will want to be off; and mr. gordon has brought them up so that they feel dreadfully abused if they are not in with everything that's going on. i shall set down _my_ foot, this year, that they shan't go any day except sunday." "my wife knows that she was always celebrated for having the handsomest foot in the country, and so she is always setting it down at _me_!" said mr. gordon; "for she knows that a pretty foot is irresistible with me." "mr. gordon, how can you talk so? i should think that you'd got old enough not to make such silly speeches!" said aunt maria. "silly speeches! it's a solemn fact, and you won't hear anything truer at the camp-meeting!" said uncle john. "but come, clayton, will you go? my dear fellow, your grave face will be an appropriate ornament to the scene, i can assure you; and, as to miss anne, it won't do for an old fellow like me, in this presence, to say what a happiness it would be." "i suspect," said anne, "edward is afraid he may be called on for some of the services. people are always taking him for a clergyman, and asking him to say grace at meals, and to conduct family prayers, when he is travelling among strangers." "it's a comment on our religion, that these should be thought peculiar offices of clergymen," said clayton. "every christian man ought to be ready and willing to take them." "i honor that sentiment!" said uncle john. "a man ought not so be ashamed of his religion anywhere, no more than a soldier of his colors. i believe there's more religion hid in the hearts of honest laymen, now, than is plastered up behind the white cravats of clergymen; and they ought to come out with it. not that i have any disrespect for the clergy, either," said uncle john. "fine men--a little stiffish, and don't call things by good english names. always talking about dispensation, and sanctification, and edification, and so forth; but i like them. they are sincere. i suppose they wouldn't any of them give me a chance for heaven, because i rip out with an oath, every now and then. but, the fact is, what with niggers, and overseers, and white trash, my chances of salvation are dreadfully limited. i can't help swearing, now and then, if i was to die for it. they say it's dreadfully wicked; but i feel more christian when i let out than when i keep in!" "mr. gordon," said aunt maria, reprovingly, "do consider what you're saying!" "my dear, i _am_ considering. i am considering all the time! i never do anything else but consider--except, as i said before, every now and then, when what-'s-his-name gets the advantage over me. and, hark you, mrs. g., let 's have things ready at our house, if any of the clergy would like to spend a week or so with us; and we could get them up some meetings, or any little thing in their line. i always like to show respect for them." "our beds are _always_ prepared for company, mr. gordon," said aunt maria, with a stately air. "oh, yes, yes, i don't doubt that! i only meant some special preparation--some little fatted-calf killing, and so on." "now," said nina, "shall we set off to-morrow morning?" "agreed!" said uncle john. chapter xxi. tiff's preparations. the announcement of the expected camp-meeting produced a vast sensation at canema, in other circles beside the hall. in the servants' department, everybody was full of the matter, from aunt katy down to tomtit. the women were thinking over their available finery; for these gatherings furnish the negroes with the same opportunity of display that grace church does to the broadway belles. and so, before old tiff, who had brought the first intelligence to the plantation, had time to depart, tomtit had trumpeted the news through all the cluster of negro-houses that skirted the right side of the mansion, proclaiming that "dere was gwine to be a camp-meeting, and tip-top work of grace, and miss nina was going to let all de niggers go." old tiff, therefore, found himself in a prominent position in a group of negro-women, among whom rose, the cook, was conspicuous. "law, tiff, ye gwine? and gwine to take your chil'en? ha! ha! ha!" said she. "why, miss fanny, dey'll tink tiff's yer mammy! ho! ho! ho!" "yah! yah! ho! ho! ho!" roared in a chorus of laughter on all sides, doing honor to aunt rosy's wit; and tomtit, who hung upon the skirts of the crowd, threw up the fragment of a hat in the air, and kicked it in an abandon of joy, regardless of the neglected dinner-knives. old tiff, mindful of dignities, never failed to propitiate rose, on his advents to the plantation, with the gift which the "wise man saith maketh friends;" and, on the present occasion he had enriched her own peculiar stock of domestic fowl by the present of a pair of young partridge-chicks, a nest of which he had just captured, intending to bring them up by hand, as he did his children. by this discreet course, tiff stood high where it was of most vital consequence that he should so stand; and many a choice morsel did rose cook for him in secret, besides imparting to him most invaluable recipes on the culture and raising of sucking babies. old hundred, like many other persons, felt that general attention lavished on any other celebrity was so much taken from his own merits, and, therefore, on the present occasion, sat regarding tiff's evident popularity with a cynical eye. at last, coming up, like a wicked fellow as he was, he launched his javelin at old tiff, by observing to his wife,-- "i's 'stonished at you, rose! _you_, cook to de gordons, and making youself so cheap--so familiar with de poor white folks' niggers!" had the slant fallen upon himself, personally, old tiff would probably have given a jolly crow, and laughed as heartily as he generally did if he happened to be caught out in a rain-storm; but the reflection on his family connection fired him up like a torch, and his eyes flashed through his big spectacles like firelight through windows. "you go 'long, talking 'bout what you don' know nothing 'bout! i like to know what you knows 'bout de old virginny fam'lies? _dem's_ de real old stock! you car'lina folks come from _dem_, stick and stock, every blest one of you! de gordons is a nice family--an't nothing to say agin de gordons--but whar was you raised, dat ye didn't hear 'bout de peytons? why, old gen'al peyton, didn't he use to ride with six black horses afore him, as if he'd been a king? dere wan't one of dem horses dat hadn't a tail as long as my arm. _you_ never see no such critters in _your_ life!" "i han't, han't i?" said old hundred, now, in his turn, touched in a vital point. "bless me, if i han't seen de gordons riding out with der eight horses, any time o' day!" "come, come, now, dere wasn't so many!" said rose, who had her own reasons for staying on tiff's side. "nobody never rode with eight horses!" "did too! you say much more, i'll make sixteen on 'em! 'fore my blessed master, how dese yer old niggers will lie! dey's always zaggerating der families. makes de very har rise on my head, to hear dese yer old niggers talk, dey lie so!" said old hundred. "you tink folks dat take to lying is using up your business, don't ye?" said tiff. "but, i tell you, any one dat says a word agin de peytons got me to set in with!" "laws, dem chil'en an't peytons!" said old hundred; "dey's crippses; and i like to know who ever hearn of de crippses? go way! don't tell me nothing about dem crippses! dey's poor white folks! a body may see _dat_ sticking out all over 'em!" "you shut up!" said tiff. "i don't b'lieve you was born on de gordon place, 'cause you an't got no manners. i spects you some old, second-hand nigger, colonel gordon must a took for debt, some time, from some of dese yer mean tennessee families, dat don' know how to keep der money when dey gets it. der niggers is allers de meanest kind. 'cause all de real gordon niggers is ladies and gen'lemen--every one of 'em!" said old tiff, like a true orator, bent on carrying his audience along with him. a general shout chorused this compliment; and tiff, under cover of the applause, shook up his reins, and rode off in triumph. "dar, now, you aggravating old nigger," said rose, turning to her bosom lord, "i hope yer got it now! de plaguest old nigger dat ever i see! and you, tom, go 'long and clean your knives, if yer don't mean to be cracked over!" meanwhile tiff, restored to his usual tranquillity, ambled along homeward behind his one-eyed horse, singing "i'm bound for the land of canaan," with some surprising variations. at last miss fanny, as he constantly called her, interposed with a very pregnant question. "uncle tiff, where is the land of canaan?" "de lord-a-mercy, chile, dat ar's what i'd like to know myself." "is it heaven?" said fanny. "well, i reckon so," said tiff, dubiously. "is it where ma is gone?" said fanny. "chile, i reckon it is," said tiff. "is it down under ground?" said fanny. "why, no! ho! ho! honey!" said tiff, laughing heartily. "what put dat ar in your head, miss fanny?" "didn't ma go that way?" said fanny, "down through the ground?" "lordy, no, chile! heaven's up!" said tiff, pointing up to the intense blue sky which appeared through the fringy hollows of the pine-trees above them. "is there any stairs anywhere? or any ladder to get up by?" said fanny. "or do they walk to where the sky touches the ground, and get up? perhaps they climb up on the rainbow." "i don' know, chile, how dey works it," said uncle tiff. "dey gets dar somehow. i's studdin' upon dat ar. i's gwine to camp-meeting to find out. i's been to plenty of dem ar, and i never could quite see clar. 'pears like dey talks about everything else more'n dey does about dat. dere's de methodists, dey cuts up de presbyter'ans; and de presbyter'ans pitches into de methodists; and den both on 'em's down on de 'piscopals. my ole mist' was 'piscopal, and i never seed no harm in't. and de baptists think dey an't none on 'em right; and, while dey's all a blowing out at each other, dat ar way, i's a wondering whar's de way to canaan. it takes a mighty heap o' larning to know about dese yer things, and i an't got no larning. i don' know nothing, only de lord, he 'peared to your ma, and he knows de way, and he took her. but, now, chile, i's gwine to fix you up right smart, and take you, teddy, and de baby, to dis yer camp-meeting, so you can seek de lord in yer youth." "tiff, if you please, i'd rather not go!" said fanny, in an apprehensive tone. "oh, bress de lord, miss fanny, why not? fust-rate times dere." "there'll be too many people. i don't want them to see us." the fact was, that rose's slant speech about tiff's maternal relationship, united with the sneers of old hundred, had their effect upon fanny's mind. naturally proud, and fearful of ridicule, she shrank from the public display which would thus be made of their family condition; yet she would not for the world have betrayed to her kind old friend the real reason of her hesitation. but old tiff's keen eye had noticed the expression of the child's countenance at the time. if anybody supposes that the faithful old creature's heart was at all wounded by the perception, they are greatly mistaken. to tiff it appeared a joke of the very richest quality; and, as he rode along in silence for some time, he indulged himself in one of his quiet, long laughs, actually shaking his old sides till the tears streamed down his cheeks. "what's the matter with you, tiff?" said fanny. "oh, miss fanny, tiff knows!--tiff knows de reason ye don't want to go to camp-meeting. tiff's seen it in yer face--ye ho! ho! ho! miss fanny, is you 'fraid dey'll take old tiff for yer mammy?--ye ho! ho! ho!--for yer mammy?--and teddy's, and de baby's?--bless his little soul!" and the amphibious old creature rollicked over the idea with infinite merriment. "don't i look like it, miss fanny? lord, ye por dear lamb, can't folks see ye's a born lady, with yer white, little hands? don't ye be 'feared, miss fanny!" "i know it's silly," said fanny; "but, beside, i don't like to be called _poor white folksy_!" "oh, chile, it's only dem mean niggers! miss nina's allers good to ye, an't she? speaks to ye so handsome. ye must memorize dat ar, miss fanny, and talk like miss nina. i's feared, now yer ma's dead, ye'll fall into some o' my nigger ways of talking. 'member you mustn't talk like old tiff, 'cause young ladies and gen'lemen mustn't talk like niggers. now, i says 'dis and dat, dis yer and dat ar.' dat ar is nigger talk, and por white folksy, too. only de por white folks, dey's mis'able, 'cause niggers _knows_ what's good talk, but dey doesn't. lord, chile, old tiff _knows_ what good talk is. an't he heard de greatest ladies and gen'lemen in de land talk? but he don't want de trouble to talk dat ar way, 'cause he's a nigger! tiff likes his own talk--it's good enough for tiff. tiff's talk sarves him mighty well, i tell yer. but, den, white children mustn't talk so. now, you see, miss nina has got de prettiest way of saying her words. dey drops out one after another, one after another, so pretty! now, you mind, 'cause she's coming to see us off and on--she promised so. and den you keep a good lookout how she walks, and how she holds her pocket-handkerchief. and when she sits down she kind o' gives a little flirt to her clothes, so dey all set out round her like ruffles. dese yer little ways ladies have! why, dese yer por white folks, did yer ever mind der settin' down? why, dey jist slaps down into a chair like a spoonful o' mush, and der clothes all stick tight about 'em. i don't want nothing _poor white folksy_ 'bout you. den, if you don't understand what people's a saying to you, any time, you mustn't star, like por white chil'en, and say, 'what?' but you must say 'i beg pardon, sir,' or, 'i beg pardon, ma'am.' dat ar's de way. and, miss fanny, you and teddy, you must study yer book; 'cause, if you can't read, den dey'll be sure to say yer por white folks. and, den, miss fanny, you see dat ladies don't demean demselves with sweeping and scrubbing, and dem tings; and yet _dey does work_, honey! dey sews, and dey knits; and it would be good for you to larn how to sew and knit; 'cause, you know, i can't allers make up all de clothes; 'cause, you see, young ladies haves ways wid 'em dat niggers can't get. now, you see, miss fanny, all dese yer tings i was telling you, you must 'bserve. now, you see, if you was one of dese yer por white folks, dere be no use of your trying; 'cause dat ar 'scription o' people couldn't never be ladies, if dey was waring themselves out a trying. but, you see, you's got it in you; you was born to it, honey. it's in de blood; and what's in de blood must come out--ho! ho! ho!" and with this final laugh, tiff drew up to his dwelling. a busy day was before old tiff; for he was to set his house in order for a week's campaign. there was his corn to be hoed, his parsley to be weeded, there was his orphan family of young partridges to be cared for. and tiff, after some considerable consideration, resolved to take them along with him in a basket; thinking, in the intervals of devotion, he should have an abundant opportunity to minister to their wants, and superintend their education. then he went to one of his favorite springes, and brought from thence, not a fatted calf, to be sure, but a fatted coon, which he intended to take with him, to serve as the basis of a savory stew on the camp-ground. tiff had a thriving company of pot-herbs, and a flourishing young colony of onions; so that, whatever might be true of the sermons, it was evident that the stew would lack no savor. teddy's clothes, also, were to be passed in review; washing and ironing to be done; the baby fitted up to do honor to his name, or rather to the name of his grandfather. with all these cares upon his mind, the old creature was even more than usually alert. the day was warm, and he resolved, therefore, to perform his washing operations in the magnificent kitchen of nature. he accordingly kindled a splendid bonfire, which was soon crackling at a short distance from the house, slung over it his kettle, and proceeded to some other necessary avocations. the pine-wood, which had been imperfectly seasoned, served him the ungracious trick that pine-wood is apt to do; it crackled and roared merrily while he was present, but while he was down examining his traps in the woods went entirely out, leaving only the blackened sticks. "uncle tiff," said teddy, "the fire is all gone out!" "ho! ho! ho!--has it?" said tiff, coming up. "curus enough! well, bress de lord, got all de wood left, any way; had a real bright fire, beside," said tiff, intent on upholding the sunniest side of things. "lord, it's de sun dat puts de fire out o' countenance. did you ever see fire dat wouldn't go out when de sun's shining right in it's face? dat ar is a curus fact. i's minded it heaps o' times. well, i'll jist have to come out wid my light-wood kindlings, dat's all. bress de lord, ho! ho! ho!" said tiff, laughing to himself, "if dese yer an't the very sp'rit of de camp-meeting professors! dey blazes away at de camp-meeting, and den dey's black all de year round! see 'em at de camp-meetings, you'd say dey war gwine right into de kingdom, sure enough! well, lord have marcy on us all! our 'ligion's drefful poor stuff! we don' know but a despert leetle, and what we does know we don' do. de good mas'r above must have his hands full, with us!" chapter xxii. the worshippers. the camp-meeting is one leading feature in the american development of religion, peculiarly suited to the wide extent of country, and to the primitive habits which generally accompany a sparse population. undoubtedly its general effects have been salutary. its evils have been only those incident to any large gatherings, in which the whole population of a country are brought promiscuously together. as in many other large assemblies of worship, there are those who go for all sorts of reasons; some from curiosity, some from love of excitement, some to turn a penny in a small way of trade, some to scoff, and a few to pray. and, so long as the heavenly way remains straight and narrow, so long the sincere and humble worshippers will ever be the minority in all assemblies. we can give no better idea of the difference of motive which impelled the various worshippers, than by taking our readers from scene to scene, on the morning when different attendants of the meeting were making preparations to start. between the grounds of mr. john gordon and the plantation of canema stood a log cabin, which was the trading establishment of abijah skinflint. the establishment was a nuisance in the eyes of the neighboring planters, from the general apprehension entertained that abijah drove a brisk underhand trade with the negroes, and that the various articles which he disposed for sale were many of them surreptitiously conveyed to him in nightly instalments from off their own plantations. but of this nothing could be proved. abijah was a shrewd fellow, long, dry, lean, leathery, with a sharp nose, sharp, little, gray eyes, a sharp chin, and fingers as long as bird's-claws. his skin was so dry that one would have expected that his cheeks would crackle whenever he smiled, or spoke; and he rolled in them a never-failing quid of tobacco. abijah was one of those over-shrewd yankees, who leave their country for their country's good, and who exhibit, wherever they settle, such a caricature of the thrifty virtue of their native land as to justify the aversion which the native-born southerner entertains for the yankee. abijah drank his own whiskey,--_prudently_, however,--or, as he said, "never so as not to know what he was about." he had taken a wife from the daughters of the land; who also drank whiskey, but less prudently than her husband, so that sometimes she did _not_ know what she was about. sons and daughters were born unto this promising couple, white-headed, forward, dirty, and ill-mannered. but, amid all domestic and social trials, abijah maintained a constant and steady devotion to the main chance--the acquisition of money. for money he would do anything; for money he would have sold his wife, his children, even his own soul, if he had happened to have one. but that article, had it ever existed, was now so small and dry, that one might have fancied it to rattle in his lean frame like a shrivelled pea in a last year's peascod. abijah was going to the camp-meeting for two reasons. one, of course, was to make money; and the other was to know whether his favorite preacher, elder stringfellow, handled the doctrine of election according to his views; for abijah had a turn for theology, and could number off the five points of calvinism on his five long fingers with unfailing accuracy. it is stated in the scriptures that the devils believe and tremble. the principal difference between their belief and abijah's was, that he believed and did _not_ tremble. truths awful enough to have shaken the earth, and veiled the sun, he could finger over with as much unconcern as a practised anatomist the dry bones of a skeleton. "you, sam!" said abijah to his only negro helot, "you mind, you steady that ar bar'l, so that it don't roll out, and pour a pailful of water in at the bung. it won't do to give it to 'em too strong. miss skinflint, you make haste! if you don't, i shan't wait for you; 'cause, whatever the rest may do, it's important i should be on the ground early. many a dollar lost for not being in time, in this world. hurry, woman!" "i am ready, but polly an't'," said mrs. skinflint. "she's busy a plastering down her hair." "can't wait for her!" said abijah, as he sallied out of the house to get into the wagon, which stood before the door, into which he had packed a copious supply of hams, eggs, dressed chickens, corn-meal, and green summer vegetables, to say nothing of the barrel of whiskey aforesaid. "i say, dad, you stop!" called polly, from the window. "if you don't, i'll make work for you 'fore you come home; you see if i don't! durned if i won't!" "come along, then, can't you? next time we go anywhere, i'll shut you up over night to begin to dress!" polly hastily squeezed her fat form into a red calico dress, and, seizing a gay summer shawl, with her bonnet in her hand, rushed to the wagon and mounted, the hooks of her dress successively exploding, and flying off, as she stooped to get in. "durned if i knows what to do!" said she; "this yer old durned gear coat's all off my back!" "gals is always fools!" said abijah, consolingly. "stick in a pin, polly," said her mother, in an easy, sing-song drawl. "durn you, old woman, every hook is off!" said the promising young lady. "stick in more pins, then," said the mamma; and the vehicle of abijah passed onward. on the verge of the swamp, a little beyond tiff's cabin, lived ben dakin. ben was a mighty hunter; he had the best pack of dogs within thirty miles round; and his advertisements, still to be seen standing in the papers of his native state, detailed with great accuracy the precise terms on which he would hunt down and capture any man, woman, or child, escaping from service and labor in that country. our readers must not necessarily suppose ben to have been a monster for all this, when they recollect that, within a few years, both the great political parties of our union solemnly pledged themselves, as far as in them lay, to accept a similar vocation; and, as many of them were in good and regular standing in churches, and had ministers to preach sermons to the same effect, we trust they'll entertain no unreasonable prejudice against ben on this account. in fact, ben was a tall, broad-shouldered, bluff, hearty-looking fellow, who would do a kind turn for a neighbor with as much good-will as anybody; and, except that he now and then took a little too much whiskey, as he himself admitted, he considered himself quite as promising a candidate for the kingdom as any of the company who were going up to camp-meeting. had any one ventured to remonstrate with ben against the nature of his profession, he would probably have defended it by pretty much the same arguments by which modern theologians defend the institution of which it is a branch. ben was just one of those jovial fellows who never could bear to be left behind in anything that was going on in the community, and was always one of the foremost in a camp-meeting. he had a big, loud voice, and could roll out the chorus of hymns with astonishing effect. he was generally converted at every gathering of this kind; though, through the melancholy proclivity to whiskey, before alluded to, he usually fell from grace before the year was out. like many other big and hearty men, he had a little, pale, withered moonshiny wisp of a wife, who hung on his elbow much like an empty work-bag; and ben, to do him justice, was kind to the wilted little mortal, as if he almost suspected that he had absorbed her vitality into his own exuberant growth. she was greatly given to eating clay, cleaning her teeth with snuff, and singing methodist hymns, and had a very sincere concern for ben's salvation. the little woman sat resignedly on the morning we speak of, while a long-limbed, broad-shouldered child, of two years, with bristly white hair, was pulling her by her ears and hair, and otherwise maltreating her, to make her get up to give him a piece of bread and molasses; and she, without seeming to attend to the child, was giving earnest heed to her husband. "there's a despit press of business now!" said ben. "there's james's niggers, and smith's polly, and we ought to be on the trail, right away!" "oh, ben, you ought to 'tend to your salvation afore anything else!" said his wife. "that's true enough!" said ben; "meetings don't come every day. but what are we to do with dis yer'un?" pointing to the door of an inner room. "dis yer'un" was no other than a negro-woman, named nance, who had been brought in by the dogs, the day before. "laws!" said his wife, "we can set her something to eat, and leave the dogs in front of the door. she can't get out." ben threw open the door, and displayed to view a low kind of hutch, without any other light than that between the crevices of the logs. on the floor, which was of hard-trodden earth, sat a sinewy, lean negro-woman, drawing up her knees with her long arms, and resting her chin upon them. "hollo, nance, how are you?" said ben, rather cheerily. "por'ly, mas'r," said the other, in a sullen tone. "nance, you think your old man will whale you, when he gets you?" said ben. "i reckons he will," said nance; "he allers does." "well, nance, the old woman and i want to go to a camp-meeting; and i'll just tell you what it is,--you stay here quiet, while we are gone, and i'll make the old fellow promise not to wallop you. i wouldn't mind taking off something of the price--that's fair, an't it?" "yes, mas'r!" said the woman, in the same subdued tone. "does your foot hurt you much?" said ben. "yes, mas'r!" said the woman. "let me look at it," said ben. the woman put out one foot, which had been loosely bound up in old rags, now saturated in blood. "i declar, if that ar dog an't a pealer!" said ben. "nance, you ought ter have stood still; then he wouldn't have hurt you so." "lord, he hurt me so i couldn't stand still!" said the woman. "it an't natur to stand still with a critter's teeth in yer foot." "well, i don't know as it is," said ben, good-naturedly. "here, miss dakin, you bind up this here gal's foot. stop your noise, sir-ee!" he added, to the young aspirant for bread and molasses, who, having despatched one piece, was clamoring vigorously for another. "i'll tell you what!" said ben to his wife, "i am going to talk to that ar old elder settle. i runs more niggers for him than any man in the county, and i know there's some reason for it. niggers don't run into swamps when they's treated well. folks that professes religion, i think, oughtn't to starve their niggers, no way!" soon the vehicle of ben was also on the road. he gathered up the reins vigorously, threw back his head to get the full benefit of his lungs, and commenced a vehement camp-meeting melody, to the tune of "am i a soldier of the cross, a follower of the lamb?" a hymn, by the by, which was one of ben's particular favorites. we come next to tiff's cottage, of which the inmates were astir, in the coolness of the morning, bright and early. tiff's wagon was a singular composite article, principally of his own construction. the body of it consisted of a long packing-box. the wheels were all odd ones, that had been brought home at different times by cripps. the shafts were hickory-poles, thinned at one end, and fastened to the wagon by nails. some barrel-hoops bent over the top, covered by coarse white cotton cloth, formed the curtains, and a quantity of loose straw dispersed inside was the only seat. the lean, one-eyed horse was secured to this vehicle by a harness made of old ropes; but no millionaire, however, ever enjoyed his luxuriantly-cushioned coach with half the relish with which tiff enjoyed his equipage. it was the work of his hands, the darling of his heart, the delight of his eyes. to be sure, like other mortal darlings, it was to be admitted that it had its weak points and failings. the wheels would now and then come off, the shafts get loose, or the harness break; but tiff was always prepared, and, on occasion of any such mishaps, would jump out and attend to them with such cheerful alacrity, that, if anything, he rather seemed to love it better for the accident. there it stands now, before the inclosure of the little cabin; and tiff, and fanny, and teddy, with bustling assiduity, are packing and arranging it. the gum-tree cradle-trough took precedence of all other articles. tiff, by the private advice of aunt rose, had just added to this an improvement, which placed it, in his view, tip-top among cradles. he had nailed to one end of it a long splint of elastic hickory, which drooped just over the baby's face. from this was suspended a morsel of salt pork, which this young scion of a noble race sucked with a considerate relish, while his large, round eyes opened and shut with sleepy satisfaction. this arrangement rose had recommended, in mysterious tones, as all powerful in making sucking babies forget their mammies, whom otherwise they might pine for in a manner prejudicial to their health. although the day was sultry, tiff was arrayed in his long-skirted white great-coat, as his nether garments were in too dilapidated a state to consist with the honor of the family. his white felt hat still bore the band of black crape. "it's a 'mazin' good day, bless de lord!" said tiff. "'pears like dese yer birds would split der troats, praising de lord! it's a mighty good zample to us, any way. you see, miss fanny, you never see birds put out, nor snarly like, rain or shine. dey's allers a praising de lord. lord, it seems as if critters is better dan we be!" and, as tiff spoke, he shouldered into the wagon a mighty bag of corn; but, failing in what he meant to do, the bag slid over the side, and tumbled back into the road. being somewhat of the oldest, the fall burst it asunder, and the corn rolled into the sand, with that provoking alacrity which things always have when they go the wrong way. fanny and teddy both uttered an exclamation of lamentation; but tiff held on to his sides and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. "he! he! he! ho! ho! ho! why, dat ar is de last bag we's got, and dar's all de corn a running out in de sand! ho! ho! ho! lord, it's so curus!" "why, what are you going to do?" said fanny. "oh, bress you, miss fanny," said tiff, "i's bound to do something, anyhow. 'clare for it, now, if i han't got a box!" and tiff soon returned with the article in question, which proved too large for the wagon. the corn, however, was emptied into it _pro tem._, and tiff, producing his darning-needle and thimble, sat down seriously to the task of stitching up the hole. "de lord's things an't never in a hurry," said tiff. "corn and 'tatoes will have der time, and why shouldn't i? dar," he said, after having mended the bag and replaced the corn, "dat ar's better now nor 'twas before." besides his own store of provisions, tiff prudently laid into his wagon enough of garden stuff to turn a penny for miss fanny and the children, on the camp-ground. his commissariat department, in fact, might have provoked appetite, even among the fastidious. there were dressed chickens and rabbits, the coon aforesaid, bundles of savory herbs, crisp, dewy lettuce, bunches of onions, radishes, and green peas. "tell ye what, chil'en," said tiff, "we'll live like princes! and you mind, order me round _well_. let folks har ye; 'cause what's de use of having a nigger, and nobody knowing it?" and, everything being arranged, tiff got in, and jogged comfortably along. at the turn of the cross-road, tiff, looking a little behind, saw, on the other road, the gordon carriage coming, driven by old hundred, arrayed in his very best ruffled shirt, white gloves, and gold hat-band. if ever tiff came near having a pang in his heart, it was at that moment; but he retreated stoutly upon the idea that, however appearances might be against them, his family was no less ancient and honorable for that; and, therefore, putting on all his dignity, he gave his beast an extra cut, as who should say, "i don't care." but, as ill-luck would have it, the horse, at this instant, giving a jerk, wrenched out the nails that fastened the shaft on one side, and it fell, trailing dishonored on the ground. the rope harness pulled all awry, and just at this moment the gordon carriage swept up. "'fore i'd drive sich old trash!" said old hundred, scornfully; "pulls all to pieces every step! if dat ar an't a poor white folksy 'stablishment, i never seed one!" "what's the matter?" said nina, putting her head out. "oh, tiff! good-morning, my good fellow. can we help you, there? john, get down and help him." "please, miss nina, de hosses is so full o' tickle, dis yer mornin', i couldn't let go, no ways!" said old hundred. "oh, laws bless you, miss nina," said tiff, restored to his usual spirits, "'tan't nothin'. broke in a strordinary good place dis yer time. i ken hammer it up in a minute." and tiff was as good as his word; for a round stone and big nail made all straight. "pray," said nina, "how are little miss fanny, and the children?" miss fanny! if nina had heaped tiff with presents, she could not have conferred the inexpressible obligation conveyed in these words. he bowed low to the ground, with the weight of satisfaction, and answered that "miss fanny and the chil'en were well." "there," said nina, "john, you may drive on. do you know, friends, i've set tiff up for six weeks, by one word? just saying _miss_ fanny has done more for him than if i'd sent him six bushels of potatoes."... we have yet to take our readers to one more scene before we finish the review of those who were going to the camp-meeting. the reader must follow us far beyond the abodes of man, into the recesses of that wild desolation known as the "dismal swamp." we pass over vast tracts where the forest seems growing out of the water. cypress, red cedar, sweet gum, tulip, poplar, beech, and holly, form a goodly fellowship, waving their rustling boughs above. the trees shoot up in vast columns, fifty, seventy-five, and a hundred feet in height; and below are clusters of evergreen gall-bushes, with their thick and glossy foliage, mingled in with swamp honeysuckles, grape-vines, twining brier, and laurels, and other shrubs, forming an impenetrable thicket. the creeping plants sometimes climb seventy or eighty feet up the largest tree, and hang in heavy festoons from their branches. it would seem impossible that human feet could penetrate the wild, impervious jungle; but we must take our readers through it, to a cleared spot, where trunks of fallen trees, long decayed, have formed an island of vegetable mould, which the art of some human hand has extended and improved. the clearing is some sixty yards long by thirty broad, and is surrounded with a natural rampart, which might well bid defiance to man or beast. huge trees have been felled, with all their branches lying thickly one over another, in a circuit around; and nature, seconding the efforts of the fugitives who sought refuge here, has interlaced the frame-work thus made with thorny cat-briers, cables of grape-vine, and thickets of virginia creeper, which, running wild in their exuberance, climb on to the neighboring trees, and, swinging down, again lose themselves in the mazes from which they spring, so as often to form a verdurous wall fifty feet in height. in some places the laurel, with its glossy green leaves, and its masses of pink-tipped snowy blossoms, presents to the eye, rank above rank, a wilderness of beauty. the pendants of the yellow jessamine swing to and fro in the air like censers, casting forth clouds of perfume. a thousand twining vines, with flowers of untold name, perhaps unknown as yet to the botanist, help to fill up the mosaic. the leafy ramparts sweep round on all the sides of the clearing, for the utmost care has been taken to make it impenetrable; and, in that region of heat and moisture, nature, in the course of a few weeks, admirably seconds every human effort. the only egress from it is a winding path cut through with a hatchet, which can be entered by only one person at a time; and the water which surrounds this island entirely cuts off the trail from the scent of dogs. it is to be remarked that the climate, in the interior of the swamp, is far from being unhealthy. lumber-men, who spend great portions of the year in it, cutting shingles and staves, testify to the general salubrity of the air and water. the opinion prevails among them that the quantity of pine and other resinous trees that grow there impart a balsamic property to the water, and impregnate the air with a healthy resinous fragrance, which causes it to be an exception to the usual rule of the unhealthiness of swampy land. the soil also, when drained sufficiently for purposes of culture, is profusely fertile. two small cabins stood around the border of the clearing, but the centre was occupied with patches of corn and sweet potatoes, planted there to secure as much as possible the advantage of sun and air. at the time we take our readers there, the afternoon sun of a sultry june day is casting its long shadows over the place, and a whole choir of birds is echoing in the branches. on the ground, in front of one of the cabins, lies a negro-man, covered with blood; two women, with some little children, are grouped beside him; and a wild figure, whom we at once recognize as dred, is kneeling by him, busy in efforts to stanch a desperate wound in the neck. in vain! the red blood spurts out at every pulsation of the heart, with a fearful regularity, telling too plainly that it is a great life-artery which has been laid open. the negro-woman, kneeling on the other side, is anxiously holding some bandages, which she has stripped from a portion of her raiment. "oh, put these on, quick--do!" "it's no use," said dred; "he is going!" "oh, do!--don't, don't let him go! _can't_ you save him?" said the woman, in tones of agony. the wounded man's eyes opened, and first fixed themselves, with a vacant stare, on the blue sky above; then, turning on the woman, he seemed to try to speak. he had had a strong arm; he tries to raise it, but the blood wells up with the effort, the eye glazes, the large frame shivers for a few moments, and then all is still. the blood stops flowing now, for the heart has stopped beating, and an immortal soul has gone back to him who gave it. the man was a fugitive from a neighboring plantation--a simple-hearted, honest fellow, who had fled, with his wife and children, to save her from the licentious persecution of the overseer. dred had received and sheltered him; had built him a cabin, and protected him for months. a provision of the revised statutes of north carolina enacts that slaves thus secreted in the swamps, not returning within a given time, shall be considered outlawed; and that "it shall be lawful for any person or persons whatsoever to kill and destroy such slaves, by such ways and means as they shall think fit, without any accusation or impeachment of crime for the same." it also provides that, when any slave shall be killed in consequence of such outlawry, the value of such slave shall be ascertained by a jury, and the owner entitled to receive two thirds of the valuation from the sheriff of the county wherein the slave was killed. in olden times, the statute provided that the proclamation of outlawry should be published on a sabbath day, at the door of any church or chapel, or place where divine service should be performed, immediately after divine service, by the parish clerk or reader. in the spirit of this permission, a party of negro-hunters, with dogs and guns, had chased this man, who, on this day, had unfortunately ventured out of his concealment. he succeeded in outrunning all but one dog, which sprang up, and, fastening his fangs in his throat, laid him prostrate within a few paces of his retreat. dred came up in time to kill the dog, but the wound, as appeared, had proved a mortal one. as soon as the wife perceived that her husband was really dead, she broke into a loud wail. "oh, dear, he's gone! and 'twas all for me he did it! oh, he was so good, such a good man! oh, do tell me, _is_ he dead, is he?" dred lifted the yet warm hand in his a moment, and then dropped it heavily. "dead!" he said, in a deep undertone of suppressed emotion. suddenly kneeling down beside him, he lifted his hands, and broke forth with wild vehemence:-- "o lord god, to whom vengeance belongeth, show thyself! lift up thyself, thou judge of the earth, render a reward to the proud! doubtless thou art our father, though abraham be ignorant of us, and israel acknowledge us not. thou, o lord, art our father, our redeemer; thy ways are everlasting--where is thy zeal and thy strength, and the sounding of thy bowels towards us? are they restrained?" then, tossing his hands to heaven, with a yet wilder gesture, he almost screamed: "o lord! o lord! how long? oh, that thou wouldst rend the heavens and come down! oh, let the sighings of the prisoner come before thee! our bones are scattered at the grave's mouth, as when one cutteth and cleaveth wood! we are given as sheep to the slaughter! we are killed all the day long! o lord, avenge us of our adversaries!" these words were spoken with a vehement earnestness of gesture and voice, that hushed the lamentation of the mourners. rising up from his knees, he stood a moment looking down at the lifeless form before him. "see here," he said, "what harm had this man done? was he not peaceable? did he not live here in quietness, tilling the ground in the sweat of his brow? why have they sent the hunters upon him? because he wanted to raise his corn for himself, and not for another. because he wanted his wife for himself, and not for another. was not the world wide enough? isn't there room enough under the sky? because this man wished to eat the fruit of his own labor, the decree went forth against him, even the curse of cain, so that whosoever findeth him shall kill him. will not the lord be avenged on such a people as this? to-night they will hold their solemn assembly, and blow the trumpet in their new moon, and the prophets will prophesy falsely, and the priests will speak wickedly concerning oppression. the word of the lord saith unto me, 'go unto this people, and break before them the staff beauty and the staff bands, and be a sign unto this people of the terror of the lord. behold, saith the lord, therefore have i raised thee up and led thee through the wilderness, through the desolate places of the land not sown.'" as dred spoke, his great black eye seemed to enlarge itself and roll with a glassy fulness, like that of a sleep-walker in a somnambulic dream. his wife, seeing him prepare to depart, threw herself upon him. "oh, don't, don't leave us! you'll be killed, some of these times, just as they killed him!" "woman! the burden of the lord is upon me. the word of the lord is as a fire shut up in my bones. the lord saith unto me, 'go show unto this people their iniquity, and be a sign unto this evil nation!'" breaking away from his wife, he precipitated himself through an opening into the thicket, and was gone. chapter xxiii. the camp-meeting. the place selected for the camp-meeting was in one of the most picturesque portions of the neighborhood. it was a small, partially-cleared spot, in the midst of a dense forest, which stretched away in every direction, in cool, green aisles of checkered light and shade. in the central clearing, a sort of rude amphitheatre of seats was formed of rough-pine slabs. around on the edges of the forest the tents of the various worshippers were pitched; for the spending of three or four days and nights upon the ground is deemed an essential part of the service. the same clear stream which wound round the dwelling of tiff prattled its way, with a modest gurgle, through this forest, and furnished the assembly with water. the gordons, having come merely for the purposes of curiosity, and having a residence in the neighborhood, did not provide themselves with a tent. the servants, however, were less easily satisfied. aunt rose shook her head, and declared, oracularly, that "de blessing was sure to come down in de night, and dem dat wanted to get a part of it would have to be dar!" consequently, nina was beset to allow her people to have a tent, in which they were to take turns in staying all night, as candidates for the blessing. in compliance with that law of good-humored indulgence which had been the traditionary usage of her family, nina acceded; and the gordon tent spread its snowy sails, to the rejoicing of their hearts. aunt rose predominated about the door, alternately slapping the children and joining the chorus of hymns which she heard from every part of the camp-ground. on the outskirts were various rude booths, in which whiskey and water, and sundry articles of provision, and fodder for horses, were dispensed for a consideration. abijah skinflint here figured among the money-changers, while his wife and daughter were gossiping through the tents of the women. in front of the seats, under a dense cluster of pines, was the preachers' stand: a rude stage of rough boards, with a railing around it, and a desk of small slabs, supporting a bible and a hymn-book. the preachers were already assembling; and no small curiosity was expressed with regard to them by the people, who were walking up and down among the tents. nina, leaning on the arm of clayton, walked about the area with the rest. anne clayton leaned on the arm of uncle john. aunt nesbit and aunt maria came behind. to nina the scene was quite new, for a long residence in the northern states had placed her out of the way of such things; and her shrewd insight into character, and her love of drollery, found an abundant satisfaction in the various little points and oddities of the scene. they walked to the gordon tent, in which a preliminary meeting was already in full course. a circle of men and women, interspersed with children, were sitting, with their eyes shut, and their heads thrown back, singing at the top of their voices. occasionally, one or other would vary the exercises by clapping of hands, jumping up straight into the air, falling flat on the ground, screaming, dancing, and laughing. "oh, set me up on a rock!" screamed one. "i's sot up!" screamed another. "glory!" cried the third, and a tempest of "amens" poured in between. "i's got a sperience!" cried one, and forthwith began piping it out in a high key, while others kept on singing. "i's got a sperience!" shouted tomtit, whom aunt rose, with maternal care, had taken with her. "no, you an't neither! sit down!" said aunt rose, kneading him down as if he had been a batch of biscuits, and going on at the same time with her hymn. "i's on the rock of ages!" screamed a neighbor. "i want to get on a rock edgeways!" screamed tomtit, struggling desperately with aunt rose's great fat hands. "mind yourself!--i'll crack you over!" said aunt rose. and tomtit, still continuing rebellious, _was_ cracked over accordingly, with such force as to send him head-foremost on the straw at the bottom of the tent; an indignity which he resented with loud howls of impotent wrath, which, however, made no impression in the general whirlwind of screaming, shouting, and praying. nina and uncle john stood at the tent-door laughing heartily. clayton looked on with his usual thoughtful gravity of aspect. anne turned her head away with an air of disgust. "why don't you laugh?" said nina, looking round at her. "it doesn't make me feel like it," said anne. "it makes me feel melancholy." "why so?" "because religion is a sacred thing with me, and i don't like to see it travestied," said she. "oh," said nina, "i don't respect religion any the less for a good laugh at its oddities. i believe i was born without any organ of reverence, and so don't feel the incongruity of the thing as you do. the distance between laughing and praying isn't so very wide in my mind as it is in some people's." "we must have charity," said clayton, "for every religious manifestation. barbarous and half-civilized people always find the necessity for outward and bodily demonstration in worship; i suppose because the nervous excitement wakes up and animates their spiritual natures, and gets them into a receptive state, just as you have to shake up sleeping persons and shout in their ears to put them in a condition to understand you. i have known real conversions to take place under just these excitements." "but," said anne, "i think we might teach them to be decent. these things ought not to be allowed!" "i believe," said clayton, "intolerance is a rooted vice in our nature. the world is as full of different minds and bodies as the woods are of leaves, and each one has its own habit of growth. and yet our first impulse is to forbid everything that would not be proper for us. no, let the african scream, dance, and shout, and fall in trances. it suits his tropical lineage and blood as much as our thoughtful inward ways do us." "i wonder who that is!" said nina, as a general movement on the ground proclaimed the arrival of some one who appeared to be exciting general interest. the stranger was an unusually tall, portly man, apparently somewhat past the middle of life, whose erect carriage, full figure, and red cheeks, and a certain dashing frankness of manner, might have indicated him as belonging rather to the military than the clerical profession. he carried a rifle on his shoulder, which he set down carefully against the corner of the preacher's stand, and went around shaking hands among the company with a free and jovial air that might almost be described by the term rollicking. "why," said uncle john, "that's father bonnie! how are you, my fine fellow?" "what! _you_, mr. gordon?--how do you do?" said father bonnie, grasping his hand in his, and shaking it heartily. "why, they tell me," he said, looking at him with a jovial smile, "that you have fallen from grace!" "even so!" said uncle john. "i am a sad dog, i dare say." "oh, i tell _you_ what," said father bonnie, "but it takes a strong hook and a long line to pull in you _rich_ sinners! your money-bags and your niggers hang round you like mill-stones! you are too tough for the gospel! ah!" said he, shaking his fist at him, playfully, "but i'm going to come down upon you, to-day, with the law, i can tell you! you want the thunders of sinai! you must have a dose of the law!" "well," said uncle john, "thunder away! i suppose we need it, all of us. but, now, father bonnie, you ministers are always preaching to us poor dogs on the evils of riches; but, somehow, i don't see any of you that are much afraid of owning horses, or niggers, or any other good thing that you can get your hands on. now, i hear that you've got a pretty snug little place, and a likely drove to work it. you'll have to look out for your own soul, father bonnie!" a general laugh echoed this retort; for father bonnie had the reputation of being a shrewder hand at a bargain, and of having more expertness in swapping a horse or trading a negro, than any other man for six counties round. "he's into you, now, old man!" said several of the by-standers, laughingly. "oh, as to that," said father bonnie, laughing, also, "i go in with paul,--they that preach the gospel must live of the gospel. now, paul was a man that stood up for his rights to live as other folks do. 'isn't it right,' says he, 'that those that plant a vineyard should first eat of the fruit? haven't we power to lead about a sister, a wife?' says he. and if paul had lived in our time he would have said a drove of niggers, too! no danger about us ministers being hurt by riches, while you laymen are so slow about supporting the gospel!" at the elbow of father bonnie stood a brother minister, who was in many respects his contrast. he was tall, thin, and stooping, with earnest black eyes, and a serene sweetness of expression. a threadbare suit of rusty black, evidently carefully worn, showed the poverty of his worldly estate. he carried in his hand a small portmanteau, probably containing a change of linen, his bible, and a few sermons. father dickson was a man extensively known through all that region. he was one of those men among the ministers of america, who keep alive our faith in christianity, and renew on earth the portrait of the old apostle: "in journeyings often, in weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness. besides those things that are without, that which cometh upon them daily, the care of all the churches. who is weak, and they are not weak? who is offended, and they burn not?" every one in the state knew and respected father dickson; and, like the generality of the world, people were very well pleased, and thought it extremely proper and meritorious for him to bear weariness and painfulness, hunger and cold, in their spiritual service, leaving to them the right of attending or not attending to him, according to their own convenience. father dickson was one of those who had never yielded to the common customs and habits of the country in regard to the holding of slaves. a few, who had been left him by a relation, he had at great trouble and expense transported to a free state, and settled there comfortably. the world need not trouble itself with seeking to know or reward such men; for the world cannot know and has no power to reward them. their citizenship is in heaven, and all that can be given them in this life is like a morsel which a peasant gives in his cottage to him who to-morrow will reign over a kingdom. he had stood listening to the conversation thus far with the grave yet indulgent air with which he generally listened to the sallies of his ministerial brothers. father bonnie, though not as much respected or confided in as father dickson, had, from the frankness of his manners, and a certain rude but effective style of eloquence, a more general and apparent popularity. he produced more sensation on the camp-ground; could sing louder and longer, and would often rise into flights of eloquence both original and impressive. many were offended by the freedom of his manner out of the pulpit; and the stricter sort were known to have said of him, "that when out he never ought to be in, and when in never out." as the laugh that rose at his last sally died away, he turned to father dickson, and said:-- "what do you think?" "i don't think," said father dickson, mildly, "that you would ever have found paul leading a drove of negroes." "why not, as well as abraham, the father of the faithful? didn't he have three hundred trained servants?" "servants, perhaps; but not slaves!" said father dickson, "for they all bore arms. for my part, i think that the buying, selling, and trading, of human beings, for purposes of gain, is a sin in the sight of god." "well, now, father dickson, i wouldn't have thought you had read your bible to so little purpose as that! i wouldn't believe it! what do you say to moses?" "he led out a whole army of fugitive slaves through the red sea," said father dickson. "well, i tell you, now," said father bonnie, "if the buying, selling, or holding, of a slave for the sake of gain, is, as you say, a sin, then three fourths of all the episcopalians, methodists, baptists, and presbyterians, in the slave states of the union, are of the devil!" "i think it is a sin, notwithstanding," said father dickson, quietly. "well, but doesn't moses say expressly, 'ye shall buy of the heathen round about you'?" "there's into him!" said a georgia trader, who, having camped with a coffle of negroes in the neighborhood, had come up to camp-meeting. "all those things," said father dickson, "belong to the old covenant, which paul says was annulled for the weakness and unprofitableness thereof, and have nothing to do with us, who have risen with christ. we have got past mount sinai and the wilderness, and have come unto mount zion; and ought to seek the things that are above, where christ sitteth." "i say, brother," said another of the ministers, tapping him on the shoulder, "it's time for the preaching to begin. you can finish your discussion some other time. come, father bonnie, come forward, here, and strike up the hymn." father bonnie accordingly stepped to the front of the stand, and with him another minister, of equal height and breadth of frame, and, standing with their hats on, they uplifted, in stentorian voices, the following hymn:-- "brethren don't you hear the sound? the martial trumpet now is blowing; men in order listing round, and soldiers to the standard flowing." as the sound of the hymn rolled through the aisles and arches of the wood, the heads of different groups, who had been engaged in conversation, were observed turning toward the stand, and voices from every part of the camp-ground took up the air, as, suiting the action to the words, they began flowing to the place of preaching. the hymn went on, keeping up the same martial images:-- "bounty offered, life and peace; to every soldier this is given, when the toils of life shall cease, a mansion bright, prepared in heaven." as the throng pressed up, and came crowding from the distant aisles of the wood, the singers seemed to exert themselves to throw a wilder vehemence into the song, stretching out their arms and beckoning eagerly. they went on singing:-- "you need not fear; the cause is good, let who will to the crown aspire: in this cause the martyrs bled, and shouted victory in the fire. "in this cause let's follow on, and soon we'll tell the pleasing story, how by faith we won the crown, and fought our way to life and glory. "oh, ye rebels, come and 'list! the officers are now recruiting: why will you in sin persist, or waste your time in vain disputing? "all excuses now are vain; for, if you do not sue for favor, down you'll sink to endless pain, and bear the wrath of god forever." there is always something awful in the voice of the multitude. it would seem as if the breath that a crowd breathed out together, in moments of enthusiasm, carried with it a portion of the dread and mystery of their own immortal natures. the whole area before the pulpit, and in the distant aisles of the forest, became one vast, surging sea of sound, as negroes and whites, slaves and freemen, saints and sinners, slave-holders, slave-hunters, slave-traders, ministers, elders, and laymen, alike joined in the pulses of that mighty song. a flood of electrical excitement seemed to rise with it, as, with a voice of many waters, the rude chant went on:-- "hark! the victors singing loud! emanuel's chariot wheels are rumbling; mourners weeping through the crowd, and satan's kingdom down is tumbling!" our friend, ben dakin, pressed to the stand, and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, exceeded all others in the energy of his vociferations. ben had just come from almost a fight with another slave-hunter, who had boasted a better-trained pack of dogs than his own; and had broken away to hurry to the camp-ground, with the assurance that he'd "give him fits when the preachin' was over;" and now he stood there, tears rolling down his cheeks, singing with the heartiest earnestness and devotion. what shall we make of it? poor heathen ben! is it any more out of the way for him to think of being a christian in this manner, than for some of his more decent brethren, who take sunday passage for eternity in the cushioned new york or boston pews, and solemnly drowse through very sleepy tunes, under a dim, hazy impression that they are going to heaven? of the two, we think ben's chance is the best; for, in some blind way, he does think himself a sinner, and in need of something he calls salvation; and, doubtless, while the tears stream down his face, the poor fellow makes a new resolve against the whiskey-bottle, while his more respectable sleepy brethren never think of making one against the cotton-bale. then there was his rival, also, jim stokes,--a surly, foul-mouthed, swearing fellow,--he joins in the chorus of the hymn, and feels a troublous, vague yearning, deep down within him, which makes him for the moment doubt whether he had better knock down ben at the end of the meeting. as to harry, who stood also among the crowd, the words and tune recalled but too vividly the incidents of his morning's interview with dred, and with it the tumultuous boiling of his bitter controversy with the laws of the society in which he found himself. in hours of such high excitement, a man seems to have an intuitive perception of the whole extent and strength of what is within himself; and, if there be anything unnatural or false in his position, he realizes it with double intensity. mr. john gordon, likewise, gave himself up, without resistance, to be swayed by the feeling of the hour. he sung with enthusiasm, and wished he was a soldier of somebody, going somewhere, or a martyr shouting victory in the fire; and if the conflict described had been with any other foe than his own laziness and self-indulgence--had there been any outward, tangible enemy, at the moment--he would doubtless have enlisted, without loss of time. when the hymn was finished, however, there was a general wiping of eyes, and they all sat down to listen to the sermon. father bonnie led off in an animated strain. his discourse was like the tropical swamp, bursting out with a lush abundance of every kind of growth--grave, gay, grotesque, solemn, fanciful, and even coarse caricature, provoking the broadest laughter. the audience were swayed by him like trees before the wind. there were not wanting touches of rude pathos, as well as earnest appeals. the meeting was a union one of presbyterians and methodists, in which the ministers of both denominations took equal part; and it was an understood agreement among them, of course, that they were not to venture upon polemic ground, or attack each other's peculiarities of doctrine. but abijah's favorite preacher could not get through a sermon without some quite pointed exposition of scripture bearing on his favorite doctrine of election, which caused the next minister to run a vehement tilt on the correlative doctrines of free grace, with a eulogy on john wesley. the auditors, meanwhile, according to their respective sentiments, encouraged each preacher with a cry of "amen!" "glory be to god!" "go on, brother!" and other similar exclamations. about noon the services terminated, _pro tem._, and the audience dispersed themselves to their respective tents through the grove, where there was an abundance of chatting, visiting, eating, and drinking, as if the vehement denunciations and passionate appeals of the morning had been things of another state of existence. uncle john, in the most cheery possible frame of mind, escorted his party into the woods, and assisted them in unpacking a hamper containing wine, cold fowls, cakes, pies, and other delicacies which aunt katy had packed for the occasion. old tiff had set up his tent in a snug little nook on the banks of the stream, where he informed passers-by that it was his young mas'r and missis's establishment, and that he, tiff, had come to wait on them. with a good-natured view of doing him a pleasure, nina selected a spot for their nooning at no great distance, and spoke in the most gracious and encouraging manner to them, from time to time. "see, now, can't you, how real quality behaves demselves!" he said, grimly, to old hundred, who came up bringing the carriage-cushions for the party to sit down upon. "real quality sees into things! i tell ye what, blood sees into blood. miss nina sees dese yer chil'en an't de common sort--dat's what she does!" "umph!" said old hundred, "such a muss as ye keep up about yer chil'en! tell you what, dey an't no better dan oder white trash!" "now, you talk dat ar way, i'll knock you down!" said old tiff, who, though a peaceable and law-abiding creature, in general, was driven, in desperation, to the last resort of force. "john, what are you saying to tiff?" said nina, who had overheard some of the last words. "go back to your own tent, and don't you trouble him! i have taken him under my protection." the party enjoyed their dinner with infinite relish, and nina amused herself in watching tiff's cooking preparations. before departing to the preaching-ground, he had arranged a slow fire, on which a savory stew had been all the morning simmering, and which, on the taking off of the pot-lid, diffused an agreeable odor through the place. "i say, tiff, how delightfully that smells!" said nina, getting up, and looking into the pot. "wouldn't miss fanny be so kind as to favor us with a taste of it?" fanny, to whom tiff punctiliously referred the question, gave a bashful consent. but who shall describe the pride and glory that swelled the heart of tiff as he saw a bowl of his stew smoking among the gordon viands, praised and patronized by the party? and, when nina placed on their simple board--literally a board, and nothing more--a small loaf of frosted cake, in exchange, it certainly required all the grace of the morning exercises to keep tiff within due bounds of humility. he really seemed to dilate with satisfaction. "tiff, how did you like the sermon?" said nina. "dey's pretty far, miss nina. der's a good deal o' quality preaching." "what do you mean by quality preaching, tiff?" "why, dat ar kind dat's good for quality--full of long words, you know. i spects it's very good; but poor nigger like me can't see his way through it. you see, miss nina, what i's studdin' on, lately, is, how to get dese yer chil'en to canaan; and i hars fus with one ear, and den with t'oder, but 'pears like an't clar 'bout it, yet. dere's a heap about mose everything else, and it's all very good; but 'pears like i an't clar, arter all, about dat ar. dey says, 'come to christ;' and i says, 'whar is he, any how?' bress you, i _want_ to come! dey talks 'bout going in de gate, and knocking at de do', and 'bout marching on de road, and 'bout fighting and being soldiers of de cross; and de lord knows, now, i'd be glad to get de chil'en through any gate; and i could take 'em on my back and travel all day, if dere was any road; and if dere was a do', bless me, if dey wouldn't hear old tiff a rapping! i spects de lord would have fur to open it--would so. but, arter all, when de preaching is done, dere don't 'pear to be nothing to it. dere an't no gate, dere an't no do', nor no way; and dere an't no fighting, 'cept when ben dakin and jim stokes get jawing about der dogs; and everybody comes back eating der dinner quite comf'table, and 'pears like dere wan't no such ting dey's been preaching 'bout. dat ar troubles me--does so--'cause i wants fur to get dese yer chil'en in de kingdom, some way or oder. i didn't know but some of de quality would know more 'bout it." "hang me, if i haven't felt just so!" said uncle john. "when they were singing that hymn about enlisting and being a soldier, if there had been any fighting doing anywhere, i should have certainly gone right into it; and the preaching always stirs me up terribly. but, then, as tiff says, after it's all over, why, there's dinner to be eaten, and i can't see anything better than to eat it; and then, by the time i have drank two or three glasses of wine, it's all gone. now, that's just the way with me!" "dey says," said tiff, "dat we must wait for de blessing to come down upon us, and aunt rose says it's dem dat shouts dat gets de blessing; and i's been shouting till i's most beat out, but i hasn't got it. den, one of dem said none of dem could get it but de 'lect; but, den, t'oder one, he seemed to tink different; and in de meeting dey tells about de scales falling from der eyes,--and i wished dey fall from mine--i do so! perhaps, miss nina, now, you could tell me something." "oh, don't ask me!" said nina; "i don't know anything about these things. i think i feel a little like uncle john," she said, turning to clayton. "there are two kinds of sermons and hymns; one gets me to sleep, and the other excites and stirs me up in a general kind of way; but they don't either seem to do me real good." "for my part, i am such an enemy to stagnation," said clayton, "that i think there is advantage in everything that stirs up the soul, even though we see no immediate results. i listen to music, see pictures, as far as i can, uncritically. i say, 'here i am; see what you can do with me.' so i present myself to almost all religious exercises. it is the most mysterious part of our nature. i do not pretend to understand it, therefore never criticise." "for _my_ part," said anne, "there is so much in the wild freedom of these meetings that shocks my taste and sense of propriety, that i am annoyed more than i am benefited." "there spoke the true, well-trained conventionalist," said clayton. "but look around you. see, in this wood, among these flowers, and festoons of vine, and arches of green, how many shocking, unsightly growths! _you_ would not have had all this underbrush, these dead limbs, these briers running riot over trees, and sometimes choking and killing them. you would have well-trimmed trees and velvet turf. but i love briers, dead limbs, and all, for their very savage freedom. every once in a while you see in a wood a jessamine, or a sweet-brier, or a grape-vine, that throws itself into a gracefulness of growth which a landscape gardener would go down on his knees for, but cannot get. nature resolutely denies it to him. she says, 'no! i keep this for _my own_. you won't have my wildness--my freedom; very well, then you shall not have the graces that spring from it.' just so it is with men. unite any assembly of common men in a great enthusiasm,--work them up into an abandon, and let every one 'let go,' and speak as nature prompts,--and you will have brush, underwood, briers, and all grotesque growths; but, now and then, some thought or sentiment will be struck out with a freedom or power such as you cannot get in any other way. you cultivated people are much mistaken when you despise the enthusiasms of the masses. there is more truth than you think in the old '_vox populi, vox dei_.'" "what's that?" said nina. "'the voice of the people is the voice of god.' there is truth in it. i never repent my share in a popular excitement, provided it be of the higher sentiments; and i do not ask too strictly whether it has produced any tangible result. i reverence the people, as i do the woods, for the wild, grand freedom with which their humanity develops itself." "i'm afraid, nina," said aunt nesbit, in a low tone, to the latter, "i'm afraid he isn't orthodox." "what makes you think so, aunt?" "oh, i don't know; his talk hasn't the real sound." "you want something that ends in 'ation,' don't you, aunt?--justification, sanctification, or something of that kind." * * * * * * * * * meanwhile, the department of abijah skinflint exhibited a decided activity. this was a long, low booth, made of poles, and roofed with newly-cut green boughs. here the whiskey-barrel was continually pouring forth its supplies to customers who crowded around it. abijah sat on the middle of a sort of rude counter, dangling his legs, and chewing a straw, while his negro was busy in helping his various customers. abijah, as we said, being a particularly high calvinist, was recreating himself by carrying on a discussion with a fat, little, turnipy brother of the methodist persuasion. "i say," he said, "stringfellow put it into you, methodists, this morning! hit the nail on the head, i thought!" "not a bit of it!" said the other, contemptuously. "why, elder baskum chawed him up completely! there wan't nothin' left of him!" "well," said abijah, "strange how folks will see things! why, it's just as clar to me that all things is decreed! why, that ar nails everything up tight and handsome. it gives a fellow a kind of comfort to think on it. things is just as they have got to be. all this free-grace stuff is drefful loose talk. if things is been decreed 'fore the world was made, well, there seems to be some sense in their coming to pass. but, if everything kind of turns up whenever folks think on't, it's a kind of shaky business." "i don't like this tying up things so tight," said the other, who evidently was one of the free, jovial order. "i go in for the freedom of the will. free gospel, and free grace." "for my part," said abijah, rather grimly, "if things was managed my way, i shouldn't commune with nobody that didn't believe in election, up to the hub." "you strong electioners think you's among the elect!" said one of the by-standers. "you wouldn't be so crank about it, if you didn't! now, see here: if everything is decreed, how am i going to help myself?" "that ar is none of _my_ look-out," said abijah. "but there's a pint my mind rests upon--everything is fixed as it can be, and it makes a man mighty easy." * * * * * * * * * in another part of the camp-ground, ben dakin was sitting in his tent door, caressing one of his favorite dogs, and partaking his noontide repast with his wife and child. "i declar'," said ben, wiping his mouth, "wife, i intend to go into it, and sarve the lord, now, full chisel! if i catch the next lot of niggers, i intend to give half the money towards keeping up preaching somewhere round here. i'm going to enlist, now, and be a soldier." "and," said his wife, "ben, just keep clear of abijah skinflint's counter, won't you?" "well, i will, durned if i won't!" said ben. "i'll be moderate. a fellow wants a glass or two, to strike up the hymn on, you know; but i'll be moderate." the georgia trader, who had encamped in the neighborhood, now came up. "do you believe, stranger," said he, "one of them durned niggers of mine broke loose and got in the swamps, while i was at meeting this morning! couldn't you take your dog, here, and give 'em a run? i just gave nine hundred dollars for that fellow, cash down." "ho! what you going to _him_ for?" said jim stokes, a short, pursy, vulgar-looking individual, dressed in a hunting-shirt of blue kentucky jean, who just then came up. "why, durn ye, his dogs an't no breed 't all! mine's the true grit, i can tell you; they's the true florida blood-hounds! i's seen one of them ar dogs shake a nigger in his mouth like he'd been a sponge." poor ben's new-found religion could not withstand this sudden attack of his spiritual enemy; and, rousing himself, notwithstanding the appealing glances of his wife, he stripped up his sleeves, and, squaring off, challenged his rival to a fight. a crowd gathered round, laughing and betting, and cheering on the combatants with slang oaths and expressions, such as we will not repeat, when the concourse was routed by the approach of father bonnie on the outside of the ring. "look here, boys, what works of the devil have you got round here? none of this on the camp-ground! this is the lord's ground, here; so shut up your swearing, and don't fight." a confused murmur of voices now began to explain to father bonnie the cause of the trouble. "ho, ho!" said he, "let the nigger run; you can catch him fast enough when the meetings are over. you come here to 'tend to your salvation. ah, don't you be swearing and blustering round! come, boys, join in a hymn with me." so saying, he struck up a well-known air:-- "when israel went to jericho, o good lord, in my soul!" in which one after another joined, and the rising tumult was soon assuaged. "i say," said father bonnie to the trader, in an undertone, as he was walking away, "you got a good cook in your lot, hey?" "got a prime one," said the trader; "an a number one cook, and no mistake! picked her up real cheap, and i'll let you have her for eight hundred dollars, being as you are a minister." "you must think the gospel a better trade than it is," said father bonnie, "if you think a minister can afford to pay at that figure!" "why," said the trader, "you haven't seen her; it's dirt cheap for her, i can tell you! a sound, strong, hearty woman; a prudent, careful housekeeper; a real pious methodist, a member of a class-meeting! why, eight hundred dollars an't anything! i ought to get a thousand for her; but i don't hear preaching for nothing,--always think right to make a discount to ministers!" "why couldn't you bring her in?" said father bonnie. "maybe i'll give you seven hundred and fifty for her." "couldn't do that, no way!" said the trader. "couldn't, indeed!" "well, after the meetings are over i'll talk about it." "she's got a child, four years old," said the trader, with a little cough; "healthy, likely child; i suppose i shall want a hundred dollars for him!" "oh, that won't do!" said father bonnie. "i don't want any more children round my place than i've got now!" "but, i tell you," said the trader, "it's a likely boy. why, the keeping of him won't cost you anything, and before you think of it you'll have a thousand-dollar hand grown on your own place." "well," said father bonnie, "i'll think of it!" in the evening the scene on the camp-ground was still more picturesque and impressive. those who conduct camp-meetings are generally men who, without much reasoning upon the subject, fall into a sort of tact, in influencing masses of mind, and pressing into the service all the great life forces and influences of nature. a kind of rude poetry pervades their minds, colors their dialect, and influences their arrangements. the solemn and harmonious grandeur of night, with all its mysterious power of exalting the passions and intensifying the emotions, has ever been appreciated, and used by them with even poetic skill. the day had been a glorious one in june; the sky of that firm, clear blue, the atmosphere of that crystalline clearness, which often gives to the american landscape such a sharply-defined outline, and to the human system such an intense consciousness of life. the evening sun went down in a broad sea of light, and even after it had sunk below the purple horizon, flashed back a flood of tremulous rose-colored radiance, which, taken up by a thousand filmy clouds, made the whole sky above like a glowing tent of the most ethereal brightness. the shadows of the forest aisles were pierced by the rose-colored rays; and, as they gradually faded, star after star twinkled out, and a broad moon, ample and round, rose in the purple zone of the sky. when she had risen above the horizon but a short space, her light was so resplendent and so profuse, that it was decided to conduct the evening service by that alone; and when, at the sound of the hymn, the assembly poured in and arranged themselves before the preaching-stand, it is probable that the rudest heart present was somewhat impressed with the silent magnificence by which god was speaking to them through his works. as the hymn closed, father bonnie, advancing to the front of the stage, lifted his hands, and pointing to the purple sky, and in a deep and not unmelodious voice, repeated the words of the psalmist:-- "the heavens declare the glory of god, and the firmament showeth his handy-work; day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge." "oh, ye sinners!" he exclaimed, "look up at the moon, there, walking in her brightness, and think over your oaths, and your cursings, and your drinkings! think over your backbitings, and your cheatings! think over your quarrellings and your fightings! how do they look to you now, with that blessed moon shining down upon you? don't you see the beauty of our lord god upon her? don't you see how the saints walk in white with the lord, like her? i dare say some of you, now, have had a pious mother, or a pious wife, or a pious sister, that's gone to glory; and there they are walking with the lord!--walking with the lord, through the sky, and looking down on you, sinners, just as that moon looks down! and what does she see you doing, your wife, or your mother, or sister, that's in glory? does she see all your swearings, and your drinkings, and your fightings, and your hankerings after money, and your horse-racings, and your cock-fightings? oh, sinners, but you are a bad set! i tell you the lord is looking now down on you, out of that moon! he is looking down in mercy! but, i tell you, he'll look down quite another way, one of these days! oh, there'll be a time of wrath, by and by, if you don't repent! oh, what a time there was at sinai, years ago, when the voice of the trumpet waxed louder and louder, and the mountain was all of a smoke, and there were thunderings and lightnings, and the lord descended on sinai! that's nothing to what you'll see, by and by! no more moon looking down on you! no more stars, but the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat! ah! did you ever see a fire in the woods? i have; and i've seen the fire on the prairies, and it rolled like a tempest, and men and horses and everything, had to run before it. i have seen it roaring and crackling through the woods, and great trees shrivelled in a minute like tinder! i have seen it flash over trees seventy-five and a hundred feet high, and in a minute they'd be standing pillars of fire, and the heavens were all a blaze, and the crackling and roaring was like the sea in a storm. there's a judgment-day for you! oh, sinner, what will become of you in that day? never cry, lord, lord! too late--too late, man! you wouldn't take mercy when it was offered, and now you shall have wrath! no place to hide! the heavens and earth are passing away, and there shall be no more sea! there's no place for you now in god's universe." by this time there were tumultuous responses from the audience of groans, cries, clapping of hands, and mingled shouts of glory and amen! the electric shout of the multitude acted on the preacher again, as he went on, with a yet fiercer energy. "now is your time, sinners! now is your time! come unto the altar, and god's people will pray for you! now is the day of grace! come up! come up, you that have got pious fathers and mothers in glory! come up, father! come up mother! come up, brother! come, young man! we want you to come! ah, there's a hardened sinner, off there! i see his lofty looks! come up, come up! come up, you rich sinners! you'll be poor enough in the day of the lord, i can tell you! come up, you young women! you daughters of jerusalem, with your tinkling ornaments! come, saints of the lord, and labor with me in prayer. strike up a hymn, brethren, strike up the hymn!" and a thousand voices commenced the hymn,-- "stop, poor sinner, stop and think, before you further go!" and, meanwhile, ministers and elders moved around the throng, entreating and urging one and another to come and kneel before the stand. multitudes rushed forward, groans and sobs were heard, as the speaker continued, with redoubled vehemence. "i don't care," said mr. john gordon, "who sees me; i'm going up! i am a poor old sinner, and i ought to be prayed for, if anybody." nina shrank back, and clung to clayton's arm. so vehement was the surging feeling of the throng around her that she wept with a wild, tremulous excitement. "do take me out,--it's dreadful!" she said. clayton passed his arm round her, and, opening a way through the crowd, carried her out beyond the limits, where they stood together alone, under the tree. "i know i am not good as i ought to be," she said, "but i don't know how to be any better. do you think it would do me any good to go up there? do you believe in these things?" "i sympathize with every effort that man makes to approach his maker," said clayton; "these ways do not suit me, but i dare not judge them. i cannot despise them. i must not make myself a rule for others." "but, don't you think," said nina, "that these things do harm sometimes?" "alas, child, what form of religion does not? it is our fatality that everything that does good must do harm. it's the condition of our poor, imperfect life here." "i do not like these terrible threats," said nina. "can fear of fire make me love? besides, i have a kind of courage in me that always rises up against a threat. it isn't my nature to fear." "if we may judge our father by his voice in nature," said clayton, "he deems severity a necessary part of our training. how inflexibly and terribly regular are all his laws! fire and hail, snow and vapor, stormy wind, fulfilling his word--all these have a crushing regularity in their movements, which show that he is to be feared as well as loved." "but i want to be religious," said nina, "entirely apart from such considerations. not driven by fear, but drawn by love. you can guide me about these things, for you are religious." "i fear i should not be accepted as such in any church," said clayton. "it is my misfortune that i cannot receive any common form of faith, though i respect and sympathize with all. generally speaking, preaching only weakens my faith; and i have to forget the sermon in order to recover my faith. i do not _believe_--i _know_ that our moral nature needs a thorough regeneration; and i believe this must come through christ. this is all i am certain of." "i wish i were like milly," said nina. "she is a christian, i know; but she has come to it by dreadful sorrows. sometimes i'm afraid to ask my heavenly father to make me good, because i think it will come by dreadful trials, if he does." "and i," said clayton, speaking with great earnestness, "would be willing to suffer anything conceivable, if i could only overcome all evil, and come up to my highest ideas of good." and, as he spoke, he turned his face up to the moonlight with an earnest fervor of expression, that struck nina deeply. "i almost shudder to hear you say so! you don't know what it may bring on you!" he looked at her with a beautiful smile, which was a peculiar expression of his face in moments of high excitement. "i say it again!" he said. "whatever it involves, let it come!" * * * * * * * * * the exercises of the evening went on with a succession of addresses, varied by singing of hymns and prayers. in the latter part of the time many declared themselves converts, and were shouting loudly. father bonnie came forward. "brethren," he shouted, "we are seeing a day from the lord! we've got a glorious time! oh, brethren, let us sing glory to the lord! the lord is coming among us!" the excitement now became general. there was a confused sound of exhortation, prayers, and hymns, all mixed together, from different parts of the ground. but, all of a sudden, every one was startled by a sound which seemed to come pealing down directly from the thick canopy of pines over the heads of the ministers. "woe unto you that desire the day of the lord! to what end shall it be for _you_? the day of the lord shall be darkness, and not light! blow ye the trumpet in zion! sound an alarm in my holy mountain! let all the inhabitants of the land tremble! for the day of the lord cometh!" there was deep, sonorous power in the voice that spoke, and the words fell pealing down through the air like the vibrations of some mighty bell. men looked confusedly on each other; but, in the universal license of the hour, the obscurity of the night, and the multitude of the speakers, no one knew exactly whence it came. after a moment's pause, the singers were recommencing, when again the same deep voice was heard. "take away from me the noise of thy songs, and the melody of thy viols; for i will not hear them, saith the lord. i hate and despise your feast-days! i will not smell in your solemn assemblies; for your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers are greedy for violence! will ye kill, and steal, and commit adultery, and swear falsely, and come and stand before _me_, saith the lord? ye oppress the poor and needy, and hunt the stranger; also in thy skirts is found the blood of poor innocents! and yet ye say, because i am clean shall his anger pass from me! hear this, ye that swallow up the needy, and make the poor of the land to fail, saying, when will the new moon be gone, that we may sell corn? that we may buy the poor for silver, and the needy for a pair of shoes? the lord hath sworn, saying, i will never forget their works. i will surely visit you!" the audience, thus taken, in the obscurity of the evening, by an unknown speaker, whose words seemed to fall apparently from the clouds, in a voice of such strange and singular quality, began to feel a creeping awe stealing over them. the high state of electrical excitement under which they had been going on, predisposed them to a sort of revulsion of terror; and a vague, mysterious panic crept upon them, as the boding, mournful voice continued to peal from the trees. "hear, oh ye rebellious people! the lord is against this nation! the lord shall stretch out upon it the line of confusion, and the stones of emptiness? for thou saidst, i will ascend into the stars; i will be as god! but thou shalt be cast out as an abominable branch, and the wild beasts shall tread thee down! howl, fir-tree, for thou art spoiled! open thy doors, o lebanon, that the fire may devour thy cedars! for the lord cometh out of his place to punish the inhabitants of the land! the lord shall utter his voice before his army, for his camp is very great! multitudes! multitudes! in the valley of decision! for the day of the lord is near in the valley of decision! the sun and the moon shall be dark, and the stars withdraw their shining; for the lord shall utter his voice from jerusalem, and the heavens and earth shall shake! in that day i will cause the sun to go down at noon, and darken the whole earth! and i will turn your feasts into mourning, and your songs into lamentation! woe to the bloody city! it is full of lies and robbery! the noise of a whip!--the noise of the rattling of wheels!--of the prancing horses, and the jumping chariot! the horseman lifteth up the sword and glittering spear! and there is a multitude of slain! there is no end of their corpses!--they are stumbling upon the corpses! for, behold, i am against thee, saith the lord, and i will make thee utterly desolate!" there was a fierce, wailing earnestness in the sound of these dreadful words, as if they were uttered in a paroxysm of affright and horror, by one who stood face to face with some tremendous form. and, when the sound ceased, men drew in their breath, and looked on each other, and the crowd began slowly to disperse, whispering in low voices to each other. so extremely piercing and so wildly earnest had the voice been, that it actually seemed, in the expressive words of scripture, to make every ear to tingle. and, as people of rude and primitive habits are always predisposed to superstition, there crept through the different groups wild legends of prophets strangely commissioned to announce coming misfortunes. some spoke of the predictions of the judgment-day; some talked of comets, and strange signs that had preceded wars and pestilences. the ministers wondered, and searched around the stand in vain. one auditor alone could, had he desired it, make an explanation. harry, who stood near the stand, had recognized the voice. but, though he searched, also, around, he could find no one. he who spoke was one whose savage familiarity with nature gave him the agility and stealthy adroitness of a wild animal. and, during the stir and commotion of the dispersing audience, he had silently made his way from tree to tree, over the very heads of those who were yet wondering at his strange, boding words, till at last he descended in a distant part of the forest. after the service, as father dickson was preparing to retire to his tent, a man pulled him by the sleeve. it was the georgia trader. "we have had an awful time, to-night!" said he, looking actually pale with terror. "do you think the judgment-day really is coming?" "my friend," said father dickson, "it surely is! every step we take in life is leading us directly to the judgment-seat of christ!" "well," said the trader, "but do you think that was from the lord, the last one that spoke? durned if he didn't say awful things!--'nough to make the hair rise! i tell you what, i've often had doubts about my trade. the ministers may prove it's all right out of the old testament; but i'm durned if i think they know all the things that we do! but, then, i an't so bad as some of 'em. but, now, i've got a gal out in my gang that's dreadful sick, and i partly promised her i'd bring a minister to see her." "i'll go with you, friend," said father dickson; and forthwith he began following the trader to the racks where their horses were tied. selecting, out of some hundred who were tied there, their own beasts, the two midnight travellers soon found themselves trotting along under the shadow of the forest's boughs. "my friend," said father dickson, "i feel bound in conscience to tell you that i think your trade a ruinous one to your soul. i hope you'll lay to heart the solemn warning you've heard to-night. why, your own sense can show you that a trade can't be right that you'd be afraid to be found in if the great judgment-day were at hand." "well, i rather spect you speak the truth; but, then, what makes father bonnie stand up for 't?" "my friend, i must say that i think father bonnie upholds a soul-destroying error. i must say that, as conscience-bound. i pray the lord for him and you both. i put it right to your conscience, my friend, whether you think you could keep to your trade, and live a christian life." "no; the fact is, it's a d----d bad business, that's just where 't is. we an't fit to be trusted with such things that come to us--gals and women. well, i feel pretty bad, i tell you, to-night; 'cause i know i haven't done right by this yer gal. i ought fur to have let her alone; but, then, the devil or something possessed me. and now she has got a fever, and screeches awfully. i declar, some things she says go right through me!" father dickson groaned in spirit over this account, and felt himself almost guilty for belonging ostensibly and outwardly to a church which tolerated such evils. he rode along by the side of his companion, breaking forth into occasional ejaculations and snatches of hymns. after a ride of about an hour, they arrived at the encampment. a large fire had been made in a cleared spot, and smouldering fragments and brands were lying among the white ashes. one or two horses were tied to a neighboring tree, and wagons were drawn up by them. around the fire, in different groups, lay about fifteen men and women, with heavy iron shackles on their feet, asleep in the moonlight. at a little distance from the group, and near to one of the wagons, a blanket was spread down on the ground under a tree, on which lay a young girl of seventeen, tossing and moaning in a disturbed stupor. a respectable-looking mulatto-woman was sitting beside her, with a gourd full of water, with which from time to time she moistened her forehead. the woman rose as the trader came up. "well, nance, how does she do now?" said the trader. "mis'able enough!" said nance. "she done been tossing, a throwing round, and crying for her mammy, ever since you went away!" "well, i've brought the minister," said he. "try, nance, to wake her up; she'll be glad to see him." the woman knelt down, and took the hand of the sleeper. "emily! emily!" she said, "wake up!" the girl threw herself over with a sudden, restless toss. "oh, how my head burns!--oh, dear!--oh, my mother! mother!--mother!--mother!--why don't you come to me?" father dickson approached and knelt the other side of her. the mulatto-woman made another effort to bring her to consciousness. "emily here's the minister you was wanting so much! emily, wake up!" the girl slowly opened her eyes--large, tremulous, dark eyes. she drew her hand across them, as if to clear her sight, and looked wistfully at the woman. "minister!--minister!" she said. "yes, minister! you said you wanted to see one." "oh, yes, i did!" she said, heavily. "my daughter!" said father dickson, "you are very sick!" "yes!" she said, "very! and i'm glad of it! i'm going to die!--i'm glad of that, too! that's all i've got left to be glad of! but i wanted to ask you to write to my mother. she is a free woman; she lives in new york. i want you to give my love to her, and tell her not to worry any more. tell her i tried all i could to get to her: but they took us, and mistress was so angry she sold me! i forgive her, too. i don't bear her any malice, 'cause it's all over, now! she used to say i was a wild girl, and laughed too loud. i shan't trouble any one that way any more! so that's no matter!" the girl spoke these sentences at long intervals, occasionally opening her eyes and closing them again in a languid manner. father dickson, however, who had some knowledge of medicine, placed his finger on her pulse, which was rapidly sinking. it is the usual instinct, in all such cases, to think of means of prolonging life. father dickson rose, and said to the trader:-- "unless some stimulus be given her, she will be gone very soon!" the trader produced from his pocket a flask of brandy, which he mixed with a little water in a cup, and placed it in father dickson's hand. he kneeled down again, and, calling her by name, tried to make her take some. "what is it?" said she, opening her wild, glittering eyes. "it's something to make you feel better." "i don't want to feel better! i want to die!" she said, throwing herself over. "what should i want to live for?" what should she? the words struck father dickson so much that he sat for a while in silence. he meditated in his mind how he could reach, with any words, that dying ear, or enter with her into that land of trance and mist, into whose cloudy circle the soul seemed already to have passed. guided by a subtle instinct, he seated himself by the dying girl, and began singing, in a subdued plaintive air, the following well-known hymn:-- "hark, my soul! it is the lord, 'tis thy saviour, hear his word; jesus speaks--he speaks to thee! say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me?" the melody is one often sung among the negroes; and one which, from its tenderness and pathos, is a favorite among them. as oil will find its way into crevices where water cannot penetrate, so song will find its way where speech can no longer enter. the moon shone full on the face of the dying girl, only interrupted by flickering shadows of leaves; and, as father dickson sung, he fancied he saw a slight, tremulous movement of the face, as if the soul, so worn and weary, were upborne on the tender pinions of the song. he went on singing:-- "can a mother's tender care cease toward the child she bare? yes, she may forgetful be: still will i remember thee." by the light of the moon, he saw a tear steal from under the long lashes, and course slowly down her cheek. he continued his song:-- "mine is an eternal love, higher than the heights above, deeper than the depths beneath, true and faithful--strong as death. "thou shalt see my glory soon, when the work of faith is done; partner of my throne shalt be! say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me?" oh, love of christ! which no sin can weary, which no lapse of time can change; from which tribulation, persecution, and distress cannot separate--all-redeeming, all-glorifying, changing even death and despair to the gate of heaven! thou hast one more triumph here in the wilderness, in the slave-coffle, and thou comest to bind up the broken-hearted. as the song ceased, she opened her eyes. "mother used to sing that!" she said. "and can you believe in it, daughter?" "yes," she said, "i see him now! _he_ loves me! let me go!" there followed a few moments of those strugglings and shiverings which are the birth-pangs of another life, and emily lay at rest. father dickson, kneeling by her side, poured out the fulness of his heart in an earnest prayer. rising, he went up to the trader, and, taking his hand, said to him,-- "my friend, this may be the turning-point with your soul for eternity. it has pleased the lord to show you the evil of your ways; and now my advice to you is, break off your sins at once, and do works meet for repentance. take off the shackles of these poor creatures, and tell them they are at liberty to go." "why, bless your soul, sir, this yer lot's worth ten thousand dollars!" said the trader, who was not prepared for so close a practical application. do not be too sure, friend, that the trader is peculiar in this. the very same argument, though less frankly stated, holds in the bonds of satan many extremely well-bred, refined, respectable men, who would gladly save their souls if they could afford the luxury. "my friend," said father dickson, using the words of a very close and uncompromising preacher of old, "what shall it profit a man if he should gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" "i know that," said the trader, doubtfully; "but it's a very hard case, this. i'll think about it, though. but there's father bonnie wants to buy nance. it would be a pity to disappoint him. but i'll think it over." father dickson returned to the camp-ground between one and two o'clock at night, and, putting away his horse, took his way to the ministers' tent. here he found father bonnie standing out in the moonlight. he had been asleep within the tent; but it is to be confessed that the interior of a crowded tent on a camp-ground is anything but favorable to repose. he therefore came out into the fresh air, and was there when father dickson came back to enter the tent. "well, brother, where have you been so late?" said father bonnie. "i have been looking for a few sheep in the wilderness, whom everybody neglects," said father dickson. and then, in a tone tremulous from agitation, he related to him the scene he had just witnessed. "do you see," he said, "brother, what iniquities you are countenancing? now, here, right next to our camp, a slave-coffle encamped! men and women, guilty of no crime, driven in fetters through our land, shaming us in the sight of every christian nation! what horrible, abominable iniquities are these poor traders tempted to commit! what perfect hells are the great trading-houses, where men, women, and children are made merchandise of, and where no light of the gospel ever enters! and when this poor trader is convicted of sin, and wants to enter into the kingdom, you stand there to apologize for his sins! brother bonnie, i much fear you are the stumbling block over which souls will stumble into hell. i don't think you believe your argument from the old testament, yourself. you must see that it has no kind of relation to such kind of slavery as we have in this country. there's an awful scripture which saith: 'he feedeth on ashes; a deceived heart hath turned him aside, so that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, is there not a lie in my right hand?'" the earnestness with which father dickson spoke, combined with the reverence commonly entertained for his piety, gave great force to his words. the reader will not therefore wonder to hear that father bonnie, impulsive and easily moved as he was, wept at the account, and was moved by the exhortation. nor will he be surprised to learn that, two weeks after, father bonnie drove a brisk bargain with the same trader for three new hands. the trader had discovered that the judgment-day was not coming yet a while; and father bonnie satisfied himself that noah, when he awoke from his wine, said, "cursed be canaan." * * * * * * * * * we have one scene more to draw before we dismiss the auditors of the camp-meeting. at a late hour the gordon carriage was winding its way under the silent, checkered, woodland path. harry, who came slowly on a horse behind, felt a hand laid on his bridle. with a sudden start, he stopped. "oh, dred, is it you? how dared you--how _could_ you be so imprudent? how dared you come here, when you know you risk your life?" "life!" said the other, "what is life? he that loveth his life shall lose it. besides, the lord said unto me, go! the lord is with me as a mighty and terrible one! harry, did you mark those men? hunters of men, their hands red with the blood of the poor, all seeking unto the lord! ministers who buy and sell us! is this a people prepared for the lord? i left a man dead in the swamps, whom their dogs have torn! his wife is a widow--his children, orphans! they eat and wipe their mouth, and say, 'what have i done?' the temple of the lord, the temple of the lord, are we!" "i know it," said harry, gloomily. "and you join yourself unto them?" "don't speak to me any more about that! i won't betray you, but i won't consent to have blood shed. my mistress is my sister." "oh, yes, to be sure! they read scripture, don't they? cast out the children of the bond-woman! that's scripture for them!" "dred," said harry, "i love her better than i love myself. i will fight for her to the last, but never against her, nor hers!" "and you will serve tom gordon?" said dred. "never!" said harry. dred stood still a moment. through an opening among the branches the moonbeams streamed down on his wild, dark figure. harry remarked his eye fixed before him on vacancy, the pupil swelling out in glassy fulness, with a fixed, somnambulic stare. after a moment, he spoke, in a hollow, altered voice, like that of a sleep-walker:-- "then shall the silver cord be loosed, and the golden bowl be broken. yes, cover up the grave--cover it up! now, hurry! come to me, or he will take thy wife for a prey!" "dred, what do you mean?" said harry. "what's the matter?" he shook him by the shoulder. dred rubbed his eyes, and stared on harry. "i must go back," he said, "to my den. 'foxes have holes, the birds of the air have nests,' and in the habitation of dragons the lord hath opened a way for his outcasts!" he plunged into the thickets, and was gone. chapter xxiv. life in the swamps. our readers will perhaps feel an interest to turn back with us, and follow the singular wanderings of the mysterious personage, whose wild denunciations had so disturbed the minds of the worshippers at the camp-meeting. there is a twilight-ground between the boundaries of the sane and insane, which the old greeks and romans regarded with a peculiar veneration. they held a person whose faculties were thus darkened as walking under the awful shadow of a supernatural presence; and, as the mysterious secrets of the stars only become visible in the night, so in these eclipses of the more material faculties they held there was often an awakening of supernatural perceptions. the hot and positive light of our modern materialism, which exhales from the growth of our existence every dewdrop, which searches out and dries every rivulet of romance, which sends an unsparing beam into every cool grotto of poetic possibility, withering the moss, and turning the dropping cave to a dusty den--this spirit, so remorseless, allows us no such indefinite land. there are but two words in the whole department of modern anthropology--the sane and the insane; the latter dismissed from human reckoning almost with contempt. we should find it difficult to give a suitable name to the strange and abnormal condition in which this singular being, of whom we are speaking, passed the most of his time. it was a state of exaltation and trance, which yet appeared not at all to impede the exercise of his outward and physical faculties, but rather to give them a preternatural keenness and intensity, such as sometimes attends the more completely-developed phenomena of somnambulism. in regard to his physical system there was also much that was peculiar. our readers may imagine a human body of the largest and keenest vitality to grow up so completely under the nursing influences of nature, that it may seem to be as perfectly _en rapport_ with them as a tree; so that the rain, the wind, and the thunder, all those forces from which human beings generally seek shelter, seem to hold with it a kind of fellowship, and to be familiar companions of existence. such was the case with dred. so completely had he come into sympathy and communion with nature, and with those forms of it which more particularly surrounded him in the swamps, that he moved about among them with as much ease as a lady treads her turkey carpet. what would seem to us in recital to be incredible hardship, was to him but an ordinary condition of existence. to walk knee-deep in the spongy soil of the swamp, to force his way through thickets, to lie all night sinking in the porous soil, or to crouch, like the alligator, among reeds and rushes, were to him situations of as much comfort as well-curtained beds and pillows are to us. it is not to be denied, that there is in this savage perfection of the natural organs a keen and almost fierce delight, which must excel the softest seductions of luxury. anybody who has ever watched the eager zest with which the hunting-dog plunges through the woods, darts through the thicket, or dives into water, in an ecstasy of enjoyment, sees something of what such vital force must be. dred was under the inspiring belief that he was the subject of visions and supernatural communications. the african race are said by mesmerists to possess, in the fullest degree, that peculiar temperament which fits them for the evolution of mesmeric phenomena; and hence the existence among them, to this day, of men and women who are supposed to have peculiar magical powers. the grandfather of dred, on his mother's side, had been one of these reputed african sorcerers, and he had early discovered in the boy this peculiar species of temperament. he had taught him the secret of snake-charming, and had possessed his mind from childhood with expectations of prophetic and supernatural impulses. that mysterious and singular gift, whatever it may be, which highland seers denominate second sight, is a very common tradition among the negroes; and there are not wanting thousands of reputed instances among them to confirm belief in it. what this faculty may be, we shall not pretend to say. whether there be in the soul a yet undeveloped attribute, which is to be to the future what memory is to the past, or whether in some individuals an extremely high and perfect condition of the sensuous organization endows them with something of that certainty of instinctive discrimination which belongs to animals, are things which we shall not venture to decide upon. it was, however, an absolute fact with regard to dred, that he had often escaped danger by means of a peculiarity of this kind. he had been warned from particular places where the hunters had lain in wait for him; had foreseen in times of want where game might be ensnared, and received intimations where persons were to be found in whom he might safely confide; and his predictions with regard to persons and things had often chanced to be so strikingly true, as to invest his sayings with a singular awe and importance among his associates. it was a remarkable fact, but one not peculiar to this case alone, that the mysterious exaltation of mind in this individual seemed to run parallel with the current of shrewd, practical sense; and, like a man who converses alternately in two languages, he would speak now the language of exaltation, and now that of common life, interchangeably. this peculiarity imparted a singular and grotesque effect to his whole personality. on the night of the camp-meeting, he was as we have already seen, in a state of the highest ecstasy. the wanton murder of his associate seemed to flood his soul with an awful tide of emotion, as a thunder-cloud is filled and shaken by slow-gathering electricity. and, although the distance from his retreat to the camp-ground was nearly fifteen miles, most of it through what seemed to be impassable swamps, yet he performed it with as little consciousness of fatigue as if he had been a spirit. even had he been perceived at that time, it is probable that he could no more have been taken, or bound, than the demoniac of gadara. after he parted from harry he pursued his way to the interior of the swamp, as was his usual habit, repeating to himself, in a chanting voice, such words of prophetic writ as were familiar to him. the day had been sultry, and it was now an hour or two past midnight, when a thunder-storm, which had long been gathering and muttering in the distant sky, began to develop its forces. a low, shivering sigh crept through the woods, and swayed in weird whistlings the tops of the pines; and sharp arrows of lightning came glittering down among the darkness of the branches, as if sent from the bow of some warlike angel. an army of heavy clouds swept in a moment across the moon; then came a broad, dazzling, blinding sheet of flame, concentrating itself on the top of a tall pine near where dred was standing, and in a moment shivered all its branches to the ground, as a child strips the leaves from a twig. dred clapped his hands with a fierce delight; and, while the rain and wind were howling and hissing around him, he shouted aloud:-- "wake, o arm of the lord! awake, put on thy strength! the voice of the lord breaketh the cedars--yea, the cedars of lebanon! the voice of the lord divideth the flames of fire! the voice of the lord shaketh the wilderness of kadesh! hailstones and coals of fire!" the storm, which howled around him, bent the forest like a reed, and large trees, uprooted from the spongy and tremulous soil, fell crashing with a tremendous noise; but, as if he had been a dark spirit of the tempest, he shouted and exulted. the perception of such awful power seemed to animate him, and yet to excite in his soul an impatience that he whose power was so infinite did not awake to judgment. "rend the heavens," he cried, "and come down! avenge the innocent blood! cast forth thine arrows, and slay them! shoot out thy lightnings, and destroy them!" his soul seemed to kindle with almost a fierce impatience, at the toleration of that almighty being, who, having the power to blast and to burn, so silently endures. could dred have possessed himself of those lightnings, what would have stood before him? but his cry, like the cry of thousands, only went up to stand in waiting till an awful coming day! gradually the storm passed by; the big drops dashed less and less frequently; a softer breeze passed through the forest, with a patter like the clapping of a thousand little wings; and the moon occasionally looked over the silvery battlements of the great clouds. as dred was starting to go forward, one of these clear revealings showed him the cowering form of a man, crouched at the root of a tree, a few paces in front of him. he was evidently a fugitive, and, in fact, was the one of whose escape to the swamps the georgia trader had complained of the day of of the meeting. "who is here, at this time of night?" said dred, coming up to him. "i have lost my way," said the other. "i don't know where i am!" "a runaway?" inquired dred. "don't betray me!" said the other, apprehensively. "betray you! would _i_ do that?" said dred. "how did you get into the swamp?" "i got away from a soul-driver's camp, that was taking us on through the states." "oh, oh!" said dred. "camp-meeting and driver's camp right alongside of each other! shepherds that sell the flock, and pick the bones! well, come, old man; i'll take you home with me." "i'm pretty much beat out," said the man. "it's been up over my knees every step; and i didn't know but they'd set the dogs after me. if they do, i'll let 'em kill me, and done with it, for i'm 'bout ready to have it over with. i got free once, and got clear up to new york, and got me a little bit of a house, and a wife and two children, with a little money beforehand; and then they nabbed me, and sent me back again, and mas'r sold me to the drivers,--and i believe i's 'bout as good 's die. there's no use in trying to live--everything going agin a body so!" "die! no, indeed, you won't," said dred; "not if i've got hold of you! take heart, man, take heart! before morning i'll put you where the dogs can't find you, nor anything else. come, up with you!" the man rose up, and made an effort to follow; but, wearied, and unused as he was to the choked and perplexed way, he stumbled and fell almost every minute. "how now, brother?" said dred. "this won't do! i must put you over my shoulder as i have many a buck before now!" and, suiting the action to the word, he put the man on his back, and, bidding him hold fast to him, went on, picking his way as if he scarcely perceived his weight. it was now between two and three o'clock, and the clouds, gradually dispersing, allowed the full light of the moon to slide down here and there through the wet and shivering foliage. no sound was heard, save the humming of insects and the crackling plunges by which dred made his way forward. "you must be pretty strong!" said his companion. "have you been in the swamps long?" "yes," said the other, "i have been a wild man--every man's hand against me--a companion of the dragons and the owls, this many a year. i have made my bed with the leviathan, among the reeds and the rushes. i have found the alligators and the snakes better neighbors than christians. they let those alone that let them alone; but christians will hunt for the precious life." after about an hour of steady travelling, dred arrived at the outskirts of the island which we have described. for about twenty paces before he reached it, he waded waist-deep in water. creeping out, at last, and telling the other one to follow him, he began carefully coursing along on his hands and knees, giving, at the same time, a long, shrill, peculiar whistle. it was responded to by a similar sound, which seemed to proceed through the bushes. after a while, a crackling noise was heard, as of some animal, which gradually seemed to come nearer and nearer to them, till finally a large water-dog emerged from the underbrush, and began testifying his joy at the arrival of the new-comer, by most extravagant gambols. "so, ho! buck! quiet, my boy!" said dred. "show us the way in!" the dog, as if understanding the words, immediately turned into the thicket, and dred and his companion followed him, on their hands and knees. the path wound up and down the brushwood, through many sharp turnings, till at last it ceased altogether, at the roots of a tree; and, while the dog disappeared among the brushwood, dred climbed the tree, and directed his companion to follow him, and, proceeding out on to one of the longest limbs, he sprang nimbly on to the ground in the cleared space which we have before described. his wife was standing waiting for him, and threw herself upon him with a cry of joy. "oh, you've come back! i thought, sure enough, dey'd got you dis time!" "not yet! i must continue till the opening of the seals--till the vision cometh! have ye buried him?" "no; there's a grave dug down yonder, and he's been carried there." "come, then!" said dred. at a distant part of the clearing was a blasted cedar-tree, all whose natural foliage had perished. but it was veiled from head to foot in long wreaths of the tillandsia, the parasitic moss of these regions, and, in the dim light of the approaching dawn, might have formed no unapt resemblance to a gigantic spectre dressed in mourning weeds. beneath this tree dred had interred, from time to time, the bodies of fugitives which he had found dead in the swamps, attaching to this disposition of them some peculiar superstitious idea. the widow of the dead, the wife of dred, and the new-comer, were now gathered around the shallow grave; for the soil was such as scarcely gave room to make a place deep enough for a grave without its becoming filled with water. the dawn was just commencing a dim foreshadowing in the sky. the moon and stars were still shining. dred stood and looked up, and spoke, in a solemn voice. "seek him that maketh arcturus and orion--that turneth the shadow of death into morning! behold those lights in the sky--the lights in his hands pierced for the sins of the world, and spread forth as on a cross! but the day shall come that he shall lay down the yoke, and he will bear the sin of the world no longer. then shall come the great judgment. he will lay righteousness to the line and judgment to the plummet, and the hail shall sweep away the refuges of lies." he stooped, and, lifting the body, laid him in the grave, and at this moment the wife broke into a loud lament. "hush, woman!" said dred, raising his hand. "weep ye not for the dead, neither bewail him; but weep ye sore for the living! he must rest till the rest of his brethren be killed; for the vision is sealed up for an appointed time. if it tarry, wait for it. it shall surely come, and shall not tarry!" chapter xxv. more summer talk. a glorious morning, washed by the tears of last night's shower, rose like a bride upon canema. the rain-drops sparkled and winked from leaf to leaf, or fell in showery diamonds in the breeze. the breath of numberless roses, now in full bloom, rose in clouds to the windows. the breakfast-table, with its clean damask, glittering silver, and fragrant coffee, received the last evening's participants of the camp-meeting in fresh morning spirits, ready to discuss, as an every-day affair, what, the evening before, they had felt too deeply, perhaps, to discuss. on the way home, they had spoken of the scenes of the day, and wondered and speculated on the singular incident which closed it. but, of all the dark circle of woe and crime,--of all that valley of vision which was present to the mind of him who spoke,--they were as practically ignorant as the dwellers of the curtained boudoirs of new york are of the fearful mysteries of the five points. the aristocratic nature of society at the south so completely segregates people of a certain position in life from any acquaintance with the movements of human nature in circles below them, that the most fearful things may be transacting in their vicinity unknown or unnoticed. the horrors and sorrows of the slave-coffle were a sealed book to nina and anne clayton. they had scarcely dreamed of them; and uncle john, if he knew their existence, took very good care to keep out of their way, as he would turn from any other painful and disagreeable scene. all of them had heard something of negro-hunters, and regarded them as low, vulgar people, but troubled their heads little further on the subject; so that they would have been quite at a loss for the discovery of any national sins that could have appropriately drawn down the denunciations of heaven. the serious thoughts and aspirations which might have risen in any of the company, the evening before, assumed, with everything else, quite another light under the rays of morning. all of us must have had experience, in our own histories, of the great difference between the night and the morning view of the same subject. what we have thought and said in the august presence of witnessing stars, or beneath the holy shadows of moonlight, seems with the hot, dry light of next day's sun to take wings, and rise to heaven with the night's clear drops. if all the prayers and good resolutions which are laid down on sleeping pillows could be found there on awaking, the world would be better than it is. of this uncle john gordon had experience, as he sat himself down at the breakfast-table. the night before, he realized, in some dim wise, that he, mr. john gordon, was not merely a fat, elderly gentleman, in blue coat and white vest, whose great object in existence was to eat well, drink well, sleep well, wear clean linen, and keep out of the way of trouble. he had within him a tumult of yearnings and aspirings,--uprisings of that great, life-long sleeper, which we call _soul_, and which, when it wakes, is an awfully clamorous, craving, exacting, troublesome inmate, and which is therefore generally put asleep again in the shortest time, by whatever opiates may come to hand. last night, urged on by this troublesome guest, stimulated by the vague power of such awful words as judgment and eternity, he had gone out and knelt down as a mourner for sin and a seeker for salvation, both words standing for very real and awful facts; and, this morning, although it was probably a more sensible and appropriate thing than most of the things he was in the habit of doing, he was almost ashamed of it. the question arose, at table, whether another excursion should be made to the camp-ground. "for my part," said aunt maria, "i hope you'll not go again, mr. gordon. i think you had better keep out of the way of such things. i really was vexed to see you in that rabble of such very common people!" "you'll observe," said uncle john, "that, when mrs. g. goes to heaven, she'll notify the lord, forthwith, that she has only been accustomed to the most select circles, and requests to be admitted at the front door." "it isn't because i object to being with common people," said anne clayton, "that i dislike this custom of going to the altar; but it seems to me an invasion of that privacy and reserve which belong to our most sacred feelings. besides, there are in a crowd coarse, rude, disagreeable people, with whom it isn't pleasant to come in contact." "for my part," said mrs. john gordon, "i don't believe in it at all! it's a mere temporary excitement. people go and get wonderfully wrought up, come away, and are just what they were before." "well," said clayton, "isn't it better to be wrought up once in a while, than _never_ to have any religious feelings? isn't it better to have a vivid impression of the vastness and worth of the soul,--of the power of an endless life,--for a few hours once a year, than never to feel it at all? the multitudes of those people, there, never hear or think a word of these things at any other time in their lives. for my part," he added, "i don't see why it's a thing to be ashamed of, if mr. gordon or i should have knelt at the altar last night, even if we do not feel like it this morning. we are too often ashamed of our better moments;--i believe protestant christians are the only people on earth who are ashamed of the outward recognition of their religion. the mahometan will prostrate himself in the street, or wherever he happens to be, when his hour for prayer comes. the roman catholic sailor or soldier kneels down at the sound of the vesper bell. but we rather take pride in having it understood that we take our religion moderately and coolly, and that we are not going to put ourselves much out about it." "well, but, brother," said anne, "i will maintain, still, that there is a reserve about these things which belongs to the best christians. and did not our saviour tell us that our prayers and alms should be in secret?" "i do not deny at all what you say, anne," said clayton; "but i think what i said is true, notwithstanding; and, both being true, of course, in some way they must be consistent with each other." "i think," said nina, "the sound of the singing at these camp-meetings is really quite spirit-stirring and exciting." "yes," said clayton, "these wild tunes, and the hymns with which they are associated, form a kind of forest liturgy, in which the feelings of thousands of hearts have been embodied. some of the tunes seem to me to have been caught from the song of birds, or from the rushing of wind among the branches. they possess a peculiar rhythmical energy, well suited to express the vehement emotions of the masses. did camp-meetings do no other good than to scatter among the people these hymns and tunes, i should consider them to be of inestimable value." "i must say," said anne, "i always had a prejudice against that class both of hymns and tunes." "you misjudge them," said clayton, "as you refined, cultivated women always do, who are brought up in the kid-slipper and carpet view of human life. but just imagine only the old greek or roman peasantry elevated to the level of one of these hymns. take, for example, a verse of one i heard them sing last night:-- 'the earth shall be dissolved like snow, the sun shall cease to shine, but god, who called me here below, shall be forever mine.' what faith is there! what confidence in immortality! how could a man feel it, and not be ennobled? then, what a rough hearty heroism was in that first hymn! it was right manly!" "ah, but," said anne, "half the time they sing them without the slightest perception of their meaning, or the least idea of being influenced by them." "and so do the worshippers in the sleepiest and most aristocratic churches," said clayton. "that's nothing peculiar to the camp-ground. but, if it is true, what a certain statesman once said, 'let me make the ballads of the people, and i care not who makes their laws,' it is certainly a great gain to have such noble sentiments as many of these hymns contain circulating freely among the people." "what upon earth," said uncle john, "do you suppose that last fellow was about, up in the clouds, there? nobody seemed to know where he was, or _who_ he was; and i thought his discourse seemed to be rather an unexpected addition. he put it into us pretty strong, i thought! declare, such a bundle of woes and curses i never heard distributed! seemed to have done up all the old prophets into one bundle, and tumbled it down upon our heads! some of them were quite superstitious about it, and began talking about warnings, and all that." "pooh!" said aunt maria, "the likelihood is that some itinerant poor preacher has fallen upon this trick for producing a sensation. there is no end to the trickeries and the got-up scenes in these camp-meetings, just to produce effect. if i had had a pistol, i should like to have fired into the tree, and see whether i couldn't have changed his tune." "it seemed to me," said clayton, "from the little that i did hear, that there was some method in his madness. it was one of the most singular and impressive voices i ever heard; and, really, the enunciation of some of those latter things was tremendous. but, then, in the universal license and general confusion of the scene, the thing was not so much to be wondered at. it would be the most natural thing in the world that some crazy fanatic should be heated almost to the point of insanity by the scene, and take this way of unburdening himself. such excitements most generally assume the form of denunciation." "well, now," said nina, "to tell the truth, i should like to go out again to-day. it's a lovely ride, and i like to be in the woods. and, then, i like to walk around among the tents, and hear the people talk, and see all the different specimens of human nature that are there. i never saw such a gathering together in my life." "agreed!" said uncle john. "i'll go with you. after all, clayton, here, has got the right of it, when he says a fellow oughtn't to be ashamed of his religion, such as it is." "such as it is, to be sure!" said aunt maria, sarcastically. "yes, i say again, such as it is!" said uncle john, bracing himself. "i don't pretend it's much. we'll all of us bear to be a good deal better, without danger of being translated. now, as to this being converted, hang me if i know how to get at it! i suppose that it is something like an electric shock,--if a fellow is going to get it, he must go up to the machine!" "well," said nina, "you do hear some queer things there. don't you remember that jolly, slashing-looking fellow, whom they called bill dakin, that came up there with his two dogs? in the afternoon, after the regular services, we went to one of the tents where there was a very noisy prayer-meeting going on, and there was bill dakin, on his knees, with his hands clasped, and the tears rolling down his cheeks; and father bonnie was praying over him with all his might. and what do you think he said? he said, 'o lord, here's bill dakin; he is converted; now take him right to heaven, now he is ready, or he'll be drunk again in two weeks!'" "well," said anne clayton, tossing her head, indignantly, "that's blasphemy, in my opinion." "oh, perhaps not," said clayton, "any more than the clownish talk of any of our servants is intentional rudeness." "well," said anne, "don't you think it shows a great want of perception?" "certainly, it does," said clayton. "it shows great rudeness and coarseness of fibre, and is not at all to be commended. but still we are not to judge of it by the rules of cultivated society. in well-trained minds every faculty keeps its due boundaries; but, in this kind of wild-forest growth, mirthfulness will sometimes overgrow reverence, just as the yellow jessamine will completely smother a tree. a great many of the ordinances of the old mosaic dispensation were intended to counteract this very tendency." "well," said nina, "did you notice poor old tiff, so intent upon getting his children converted? he didn't seem to have the least thought or reference to getting into heaven himself. the only thing with him was to get those children in. tiff seems to me just like those mistletoes that we see on the trees in the swamps. he don't seem to have any root of his own; he seems to grow out of something else." "those children are very pretty-looking, genteel children," said anne; "and how well they were dressed!" "my dear," said nina, "tiff prostrates himself at my shrine, every time he meets me, to implore my favorable supervision as to that point; and it really is diverting to hear him talk. the old caliban has an eye for color, and a sense of what is suitable, equal to any french milliner. i assure you, my dear, i always was reputed for having a talent for dress; and tiff _appreciates_ me. isn't it charming of him? i declare, when i see the old creature lugging about those children, i always think of an ugly old cactus with its blossoms. i believe he verily thinks they belong to him just as much. their father is entirely dismissed from tiff's calculations. evidently all he wants of him is to keep out of the way, and let him work. the whole burden of their education lies on his shoulders." "for my part," said aunt nesbit, "i'm glad you've faith to believe in those children. i haven't; they'll be sure to turn out badly--you see if they don't." "and i think," said aunt maria, "we have enough to do with our own servants, without taking all these miserable whites on our hands, too." "i'm not going to take all the whites," said nina. "i'm going to take these children." "i wish you joy!" said aunt maria. "i wonder," said aunt nesbit, "if harry is under concern of mind. he seems to be dreadfully down, this morning." "is he?" said nina. "i hadn't noticed it." "well," said uncle john, "perhaps he'll get set up, to-day--who knows? in fact, i hope i shall myself. i tell you what it is, parson," said he, laying his hand on clayton's shoulder, "you should take the gig, to-day, and drive this little sinner, and let me go with the ladies. of course you know mrs. g. engrosses my whole soul; but, then, there 's a kind of insensible improvement that comes from such celestial bodies as miss anne, here, that oughtn't to be denied to me. the clergy ought to enumerate female influence among the means of grace. i'm sure there's nothing builds me up like it." clayton, of course, assented very readily to this arrangement; and the party was adjusted on this basis. "look ye here, now, clayton," said uncle john, tipping him a sly wink, after he had handed nina in, "you must confess that little penitent! she wants a spiritual director, my boy! i tell you what, clayton, there isn't a girl like that in north carolina. there's blood, sir, there. you must humor her on the bit, and give her her head a while. ah, but she'll draw well at last! i always like a creature that kicks to pieces harness, wagon, and all, to begin with. they do the best when they are broken in." with which profound remarks uncle john turned to hand anne clayton to the carriage. clayton understood too well what he was about to make any such use of the interview as uncle john had suggested. he knew perfectly that his best chance, with a nature so restless as nina's, was to keep up a sense of perfect freedom in all their intercourse; and, therefore, no grandfather could have been more collected and easy in a _tête-à-tête_ drive than he. the last conversation at the camp-meeting he knew had brought them much nearer to each other than they had ever stood before, because both had spoken in deep earnestness of feeling of what lay deepest in their heart; and one such moment, he well knew, was of more binding force than a hundred nominal betrothals. the morning was one of those perfect ones which succeed a thunder-shower in the night; when the air, cleared of every gross vapor, and impregnated with moist exhalations from the woods, is both balmy and stimulating. the steaming air developed to the full the balsamic properties of the pine-groves through which they rode; and, where the road skirted the swampy land, the light fell slanting on the leaves of the deciduous trees, rustling and dripping with the last night's shower. the heavens were full of those brilliant, island-like clouds, which are said to be a peculiarity of american skies, in their distinct relief above the intense blue. at a long distance they caught the sound of camp-meeting hymns. but, before they reached the ground, they saw, in more than one riotous group, the result of too frequent an application to abijah skinflint's department, and others of a similar character. they visited the quarters of old tiff, whom they found busy ironing some clothes for the baby, which he had washed and hung out the night before. the preaching had not yet commenced, and the party walked about among the tents. women were busy cooking and washing dishes under the trees; and there was a great deal of good-natured gossiping. one of the most remarkable features of the day was a sermon from father dickson, on the sins of the church. it concluded with a most forcible and solemn appeal to all on the subject of slavery. he reminded both the methodists and presbyterians that their books of discipline had most pointedly and unequivocally condemned it; that john wesley had denounced it as the sum of all villanies, and that the general assemblies of the presbyterian church had condemned it as wholly inconsistent with the religion of christ, with the great law which requires us to love others as ourselves. he related the scene which he had lately witnessed in the slave-coffle. he spoke of the horrors of the inter-state slave-trade, and drew a touching picture of the separation of families, and the rending of all domestic and social ties, which resulted from it; and, alluding to the unknown speaker of the evening before, told his audience that he had discerned a deep significance in his words, and that he feared, if there was not immediate repentance and reformation, the land would yet be given up to the visitations of divine wrath. as he spoke with feeling, he awakened feeling in return. many were affected even to tears; but, when the sermon was over, it seemed to melt away, as a wave flows back again into the sea. it was far easier to join in a temporary whirlwind of excitement, than to take into consideration troublesome, difficult, and expensive reforms. yet, still, it is due to the degenerate christianity of the slave states to say, that, during the long period in which the church there has been corrupting itself, and lowering its standard of right to meet a depraved institution, there have not been wanting, from time to time, noble confessors, who have spoken for god and humanity. for many years they were listened to with that kind of pensive tolerance which men give when they acknowledge their fault without any intention of mending. of late years, however, the lines have been drawn more sharply, and such witnesses have spoken in peril of their lives; so that now seldom a voice arises except in approbation of oppression. the sermon was fruitful of much discussion in different parts of the camp-ground; and none, perhaps, was louder in the approbation of it than the georgia trader, who, seated on abijah skinflint's counter, declared: "that was a _parson_ as _was_ a parson, and that he liked his _pluck_; and, for his part, when ministers and church-members would give over buying, he should take up some other trade." "that was a very good sermon," said nina, "and i believe every word of it. but, then, what do you suppose _we_ ought to do?" "why," said clayton, "we ought to contemplate emancipation as a future certainty, and prepare our people in the shortest possible time." this conversation took place as the party were seated at their nooning under the trees, around an unpacked hamper of cold provisions, which they were leisurely discussing. "why, bless my soul, clayton," said uncle john, "i don't see the sense of such an anathema maranatha as we got to-day. good lord, what earthly harm are we doing? as to our niggers, they are better off than we are! i say it coolly--that is, as coolly as a man can say anything between one and two o'clock in such weather as this. why, look at my niggers! do _i_ ever have any chickens, or eggs, or cucumbers? no, to be sure. all _my_ chickens die, and the cut-worm plays the devil with _my_ cucumbers; but the niggers have enough. _theirs_ flourish like a green bay-tree; and of course i have to buy of _them_. _they_ raise chickens. _i_ buy 'em, and cook 'em and then _they_ eat 'em! that's the way it goes. as to the slave-coffles, and slave-prisons, and the trade, why, that's abominable, to be sure. but, lord bless you, _i_ don't want it done! i'd kick a trader off my doorsteps forthwith, though i'm all eaten up with woolly-heads, like locusts. i don't like such sermons, for my part." "well," said aunt nesbit, "our mr. titmarsh preached quite another way when i attended church in e----. he proved that slavery was a scriptural institution, and established by god." "i should think anybody's common sense would show that a thing which works so poorly for both sides couldn't be from god," said nina. "who is mr. titmarsh?" said clayton to her, aside. "oh, one of aunt nesbit's favorites, and one of my aversions! he isn't a _man_--he's nothing but a theological dictionary with a cravat on! i can't bear him!" "now, people may talk as much as they please of the educated democracy of the north," said uncle john. "_i_ don't like 'em. what do working-men want of education?--ruins 'em! i've heard of their learned blacksmiths bothering around, neglecting their work, to make speeches. i don't like such things. it raises them above their sphere. and there's nothing going on up in those northern states but a constant confusion and hubbub. all sorts of heresies come from the north, and infidelity, and the lord knows what! we have peace, down here. to be sure, our poor whites are in a devil of a fix; but we haven't got 'em under yet. we shall get 'em in, one of these days, with our niggers, and then all will be contentment." "yes," said nina, "there's uncle john's view of the millennium!" "to be sure," said uncle john, "the lower classes want _governing_--they want care; that's what they want. and all they need to know is, what the episcopal church catechism says, 'to learn and labor truly to get their own living in the state wherein it has pleased god to call them.' that makes a well-behaved lower class, and a handsome, gentlemanly, orderly state of society. the upper classes ought to be instructed in their duties. they ought to be considerate and condescending, and all that. that's my view of society." "then you are no republican," said clayton. "bless you, yes i am! i believe in the equality of _gentlemen_, and the equal rights of well-bred people. that's my idea of a republic." clayton, nina, and anne, laughed. "now," said nina, "to see uncle so jovial and free, and 'hail fellow well met,' with everybody, you'd think he was the greatest democrat that ever walked. but, you see, it's only because he's so immeasurably certain of his superior position--that's all. he isn't afraid to kneel at the altar with bill dakin, or jim sykes, because he's so sure that his position can't be compromised." "besides that, chick," said uncle john, "i _have_ the sense to know that, in my maker's presence, all human differences are child's play." and uncle john spoke with a momentary solemnity which was heartfelt. it was agreed by the party that they would not stay to attend the evening exercises. the novelty of the effect was over, and aunt nesbit spoke of the bad effects of falling dew and night air. accordingly, as soon as the air was sufficiently cooled to make riding practicable, the party were again on their way home. the woodland path was streaked with green and golden bands of light thrown between the tree-trunks across the way, and the trees reverberated with the evening song of birds. nina and clayton naturally fell into a quiet and subdued train of conversation. "it is strange," said nina, "these talkings and searchings about religion. now, there are people who have something they call religion, which i don't think does them any good. it isn't of any use--it doesn't make them better--and it makes them very disagreeable. i would rather be as i am, than to have what they call religion. but, then, there are others that have something which i know _is_ religion; something that i know i have not; something that i'd give all the world to have, and don't know how to get. now, there was livy ray--you ought to have seen livy ray--there was something so superior about her; and, what was extraordinary is, that she was _good_ without being _stupid_. what do you suppose the reason is that good people are generally so stupid?" "a great deal," said clayton, "is called goodness, which is nothing but want of force. a person is said to have self-government simply because he has nothing to govern. they talk about self-denial, when their desires are so weak that one course is about as easy to them as another. such people easily fall into a religious routine, get by heart a set of phrases, and make, as you say, very stupid, good people." "now, livy," said nina, "was remarkable. she had that kind of education that they give girls in new england, stronger and more like a man's than ours. she could read greek and latin as easily as she could french and italian. she was keen, shrewd, and witty, and had a kind of wild grace about her, like these grape-vines; yet she was so _strong_! well, do you know, i almost worship livy? and i think, the little while she was in our school, she did me more good than all the teachers and studying put together. why, it does one good to know that such people are possible. don't you think it does?" "yes," said clayton; "all the good in the world is done by the personality of people. now, in books, it isn't so much what you learn from them, as the contact it gives you with the personality of the writer, that improves you. a real book always makes you feel that there is more in the writer than anything that he has said." "that," said nina, eagerly, "is just the way i feel toward livy. she seems to me like a mine. when i was with her the longest, i always felt as if i hadn't half seen her. she always made me hungry to know her more. i mean to read you some of her letters, some time. she writes beautiful letters; and i appreciate that very much, because i can't do it. i can talk better than i can write. somehow my ideas will not take a course down through my arms; they always will run up to my mouth. but you ought to see livy; such people always make me very discontented with myself. i don't know what the reason is that i like to see superior people, and things, when they always make me realize what a poor concern i am. now, the first time i heard jenny lind sing, it spoiled all my music and all my songs for me,--turned them all to trash at one stroke,--and yet i liked it. but i don't seem to have got any further in goodness than just dissatisfaction with myself." "well," said clayton, "there's where the foundation-stone of all excellence is laid. the very first blessing that christ pronounced was on those who were poor in spirit. the indispensable condition to all progress in art, science, or religion, is to feel that we have nothing." "do you know," said nina, after something of a pause, "that i can't help wondering what you took up with me for? i have thought very often that you ought to have livy ray." "well, i'm much obliged to you," said clayton, "for your consideration in providing for me. but, supposing i should prefer my own choice, after all? we men are a little wilful, sometimes, like you of the gentler sex." "well," said nina, "if you _will_ have the bad taste, then, to insist on liking me, let me warn you that you don't know what you are about. i'm a very unformed, unpractical person. i don't keep accounts. i'm nothing at all of a housekeeper. i shall leave open drawers, and scatter papers, and forget the day of the month, and tear the newspaper, and do everything else that is wicked; and then, one of these days, it will be, 'nina, why haven't you done this? and why haven't you done that? and why don't you do the other? and why _do_ you do something else?' ah, i've heard you men talk before! and, then, you see, i shan't like it, and i shan't behave well. haven't the least hope of it; won't ever engage to!--so, now, won't you take warning?" "no," said clayton, looking at her with a curious kind of smile, "i don't think i shall." "how dreadfully positive and self-willed men are!" said nina, drawing a long breath, and pretending to laugh. "there's so little of that in you ladies," said clayton, "we have to do it for both." "so, then," said nina, looking round with a half-laugh and half-blush, "you _will_ persist?" "yes, you wicked little witch!" said clayton, "since you challenge me, i _will_." and, as he spoke, he passed his arm round nina, firmly, and fixed his eyes on hers. "come, now, my little baltimore oriole, have i caught you?" and-- but we are making our chapter too long. chapter xxvi. milly's return. the visit of clayton and his sister, like all other pleasant things, had its end. clayton was called back to his law-office and books, and anne went to make some summer visits previous to her going to clayton's plantation of magnolia grove, where she was to superintend his various schemes for the improvement of his negroes. although it was gravely insisted to the last that there was no _engagement_ between nina and clayton, it became evident enough to all parties that only the name was wanting. the warmest possible friendship existed between nina and anne; and, notwithstanding that nina almost every day said something which crossed anne's nicely-adjusted views, and notwithstanding anne had a gentle infusion of that disposition to sermonize which often exists in very excellent young ladies, still the two got on excellently well together. it is to be confessed that, the week after they left, nina was rather restless and lonesome, and troubled to pass her time. an incident, which we shall relate, however, gave her something to think of, and opens a new page in our story. while sitting on the veranda, after breakfast, her attention was called by various exclamations from the negro department, on the right side of the mansion; and, looking out, to her great surprise, she saw milly standing amid a group, who were surrounding her with eager demonstrations. immediately she ran down the steps to inquire what it might mean. approaching nearer, she was somewhat startled to see that her old friend had her head bound up and her arm in a sling: and, as she came towards her, she observed that she seemed to walk with difficulty, with a gait quite different from her usual firm, hilarious tread. "why, milly!" she said, running towards her with eagerness, "what is the matter?" "not much, chile, i reckon, now i's got home!" said milly. "well, but what's the matter with your arm?" "no great! dat ar man shot me; but, praise de lord, he didn't kill me! i don't owe him no grudge; but i thought it wasn't right and fit that i should be treated so; and so i just _put_!" "why, come in the house this minute!" said nina, laying hold of her friend, and drawing her towards the steps. "it's a shame! come in, milly, come in! that man! i _knew_ he wasn't to be trusted. so, this is the good place he found for you, is it?" "jes so," said tomtit, who, at the head of a dark stream of young juveniles, came after, with a towel hanging over one arm, and a knife half cleaned in his hand, while rose and old hundred, and several others, followed to the veranda. "laws-a-me!" said aunt rose, "just to think on't! dat's what 'tis for old fam'lies to hire der niggers out to common people!" "well," said old hundred, "milly was allers too high feelin'; held her head up too much. an't no ways surprised at it!" "oh, go 'long, you old hominy-beetle!" said aunt rose. "don't know nobody dat holds up der head higher nor you does!" nina, after having dismissed the special train of the juveniles and servants, began to examine into the condition of her friend. the arm had evidently been grazed by a bullet, producing somewhat of a deep flesh-wound, which had been aggravated by the heat of the weather and the fatigue which she had undergone. on removing the bandage round her head, a number of deep and severe flesh-cuts were perceived. "what's all this?" said nina. "it's whar he hit me over de head! he was in drink, chile; he didn't well know what he was 'bout!" "what an abominable shame!" said nina. "look here," turning round to aunt nesbit, "see what comes of hiring milly out!" "i am sure i don't know what's to be done!" said aunt nesbit, pitifully. "done! why, of course, these are to be bandaged and put up, in the first place," said nina, bustling about with great promptness, tearing off bandages, and ringing for warm water. "aunt milly, i'll do them up for you myself. i'm a pretty good nurse, when i set about it." "bless _you_, chile, but it seems good to get home 'mong friends!" "yes; and you won't go away again in a hurry!" said nina, as she proceeded rapidly with her undertaking, washing and bandaging the wound. "there, now," she said, "you look something like; and now you shall lie down in my room, and take a little rest!" "thank ye, honey, chile, but i'll go to my own room; 'pears like it's more home like," said milly. and nina, with her usual energy, waited on her there, closed the blinds, and spread a shawl over her after she had lain down, and, after charging her two or three times to go to sleep and be quiet, she left her. she could hardly wait to have her get through her nap, so full was she of the matter, and so interested to learn the particulars of her story. "a pretty business, indeed!" she said to aunt nesbit. "we'll prosecute those people, and make them pay dear for it." "that will be a great expense," said aunt nesbit, apprehensively, "besides the loss of her time." "well," said nina, "i shall write to clayton about it directly. i know he'll feel just as i do. he understands the law, and all about those things, and he'll know how to manage it." "everything will make expense!" said aunt nesbit, in a deplorable voice. "i'm sure misfortunes never come single! now, if she don't go back, i shall lose her wages! and here's all the expenses of a lawsuit, besides! i think she ought to have been more careful." "why, aunt, for pity's sake, you don't pretend that you wish milly to go back?" "oh, no, of course i don't; but, then, it's a pity. it will be a great loss, every way." "why, aunt, you really talk as if you didn't think of anything but your loss. you don't seem to think anything about what _milly_ has had to suffer!" "why, of course, i feel sorry for that," said aunt nesbit. "i wonder if she is going to be laid up long. i wish, on the whole, i had hired out one that wasn't quite so useful to me." "now, if that isn't just like her!" said nina, in an indignant tone, as she flung out of the room, and went to look softly in at milly's door. "never can see, hear, or think of anything but herself, no matter what happens! i wonder why milly couldn't have belonged to me!" after two or three hours' sleep, milly came out of her room, seeming much better. a perfectly vigorous physical system, and vital powers all moving in the finest order, enabled her to endure much more than ordinary; and nina soon became satisfied that no material injury had been sustained, and that in a few days she would be quite recovered. "and now, milly, do pray tell me where you have been," said nina, "and what this is all about." "why, you see, honey, i was hired to mr. barker, and dey said 'he was a mighty nice man;' and so he was, honey, most times; but, den, you see, honey, dere's some folks dere's _two_ men in 'em,--one is a good one and t'oder is very bad. well, dis yer was just dat sort. you see, honey, i wouldn't go for to say dat he got drunk; but he was dat sort dat if he took ever so little, it made him kind o' ugly and cross, and so dere wan't no suiting him. well, his wife, she was pretty far; and so he was, too, 'cept in spots. he was one of dese yer streaked men, dat has drefful ugly streaks; and, some of dem times, de lord only knows what he won't do! well, you see, honey, i thought i was getting along right well, at first, and i was mighty pleased. but dere was one day he came home, and 'peared like dere couldn't nobody suit him. well, you see, dey had a gal dere, and she had a chile, and dis yer chile was a little thing. it got playing with a little burnt stick, and it blacked one of his clean shirts, i had just hung up,--for i'd been ironing, you see. just den he came along, and you never heerd a man go on so! i's heerd bad talk afore, but i never heerd no sich! he swore he'd kill de chile; and i thought my soul he would! de por little thing run behind me, and i just kep him off on it, 'cause i knowed he wan't fit to touch it; and den he turned on me, and he got a cow-hide, and he beat me over de head. i thought my soul he'd kill me! but i got to de door, and shut de chile out, and hannah, she took it and run with it. but, bless you, it 'peared like he was a tiger,--screeching, and foaming, and beating me! i broke away from him, and run. he just caught de rifle,--he always kep one loaded,--and shot at me, and de ball just struck my arm, and glanced off again. bless de lord, it didn't break it. dat ar was a mighty close run, i can tell you! but i did run, 'cause, thinks i, dere an't no safety for me in dat ar house; and, you see, i run till i got to de bush, and den i got to whar dere was some free colored folks, and dey did it up, and kep me a day or two. den i started and came home, just as you told me to." "well," said nina, "you did well to come home; and i tell you what, i'm going to have that man prosecuted!" "oh, laws, no, miss nina! don't you goes doing nothing to him! his wife is a mighty nice woman, and 'peared like he didn't rightly know what he was 'bout." "yes, but, milly, you ought to be willing, because it may make him more careful with other people." "laws, miss nina, why, dere is some sense in dat; but i wouldn't do it as bearing malice." "not at all," said nina. "i shall write to mr. clayton, and take his advice about it." "he's a good man," said milly. "he won't say nothing dat an't right. i spect dat will do very well, dat ar way." "yes," said nina, "such people must be taught that the law will take hold of them. that will bring them to their bearings!" nina went immediately to her room, and dispatched a long letter to clayton, full of all the particulars, and begging his immediate assistance. our readers, those who have been in similar circumstances, will not wonder that clayton saw in this letter an immediate call of duty to go to canema. in fact, as soon as the letter could go to him, and he could perform a rapid horseback journey, he was once more a member of the domestic circle. he entered upon the case with great confidence and enthusiasm. "it is a debt which we owe," he said, "to the character of our state, and to the purity of our institutions, to prove the efficiency of the law in behalf of that class of our population whose helplessness places them more particularly under our protection. they are to us in the condition of children under age; and any violation of their rights should be more particularly attended to." he went immediately to the neighboring town, where milly had been employed, and found, fortunately, that the principal facts had been subject to the inspection of white witnesses. a woman, who had been hired to do some sewing, had been in the next room during the whole time; and milly's flight from the house, and the man's firing after her, had been observed by some workmen in the neighborhood. everything, therefore, promised well, and the suit was entered forthwith. chapter xxvii. the trial. "well, now," said frank russel, to one or two lawyers with whom he was sitting, in a side-room of the court-house at e., "look out for breakers! clayton has mounted his war-horse, and is coming upon us, now, like leviathan from the rushes." "clayton is a good fellow," said one of them. "i like him, though he doesn't talk much." "good?" said russel, taking his cigar from his mouth; "why, as the backwoodsmen say, he an't nothing else! he is a great seventy-four pounder, charged to the muzzle with goodness! but, if he should be once fired off, i'm afraid he'll carry everything out of the world with him. because, you see, abstract goodness doesn't suit our present mortal condition. but it is a perfect godsend that he has such a case as this to manage for his maiden plea, because it just falls in with his heroic turn. why, when i heard of it, i assure you i bestirred myself. i went about, and got smithers, and jones, and peters, to put off suits, so as to give him fair field and full play. for, if he succeeds in this, it may give him so good a conceit of the law, that he will keep on with it." "why," said the other, "don't he like the law? what's the matter with the law?" "oh, nothing, only clayton has got one of those ethereal stomachs that rise against almost everything in this world. now, there isn't more than one case in a dozen that he'll undertake. he sticks and catches just like an old bureau drawer. some conscientious crick in his back is always taking him at a critical moment, and so he is knocked up for actual work. but this defending a slave-woman will suit him to a t." "she is a nice creature, isn't she?" said one of them. "and belongs to a good old family," said another. "yes," said the third, "and i understand his lady-love has something to do with the case." "yes," said russel, "to be sure she has. the woman belongs to a family connection of hers, i'm told. miss gordon is a spicy little puss--one that would be apt to resent anything of that sort; and the gordons are a very influential family. he is sure to get the case, though i'm not clear that the law is on his side, by any means." "not?" said the other barrister, who went by the name of will jones. "no," said russel. "in fact, i'm pretty clear it isn't. but that will make no odds. when clayton is thoroughly waked up, he is a whole team, i can tell you. he'll take jury and judge along with him, fast enough." "i wonder," said one, "that barker didn't compound the matter." "oh, barker is one of the stubbed sort. you know these middling kind of people always have a spite against old families. he makes fight because it is the gordons, that's all. and there comes in his republicanism. he isn't going to be whipped in by the gordons. barker has got scotch blood in him, and he'll hang on to the case like death." "clayton will make a good speech," said jones. "speech? that he will!" said russel. "bless me, i could lay off a good speech on it, myself. because, you see, it really was quite an outrage; and the woman is a presentable creature. and, then, there's the humane dodge; that can be taken, beside all the chivalry part of defending the helpless, and all that sort of thing. i wouldn't ask for a better thing to work up into a speech. but clayton will do it better yet, because he is actually sincere in it. and, after all's said and done, there's a good deal in that. when a fellow speaks in solemn earnest, he gives a kind of weight that you can't easily get at any other way." "well, but," said one, "i don't understand you, russel, why you think the law isn't on clayton's side. i'm sure it's a very clear case of terrible abuse." "oh, certainly it is," said russel, "and the man is a dolt, and a brute beast, and ought to be shot, and so forth; but, then, he hasn't really exceeded his legal limits, because, you see, the law gives to the hirer all the rights of the master. there's no getting away from that, in my opinion. now, any _master_ might have done all that, and nobody could have done anything about it. they _do_ do it, for that matter, if they're bad enough, and nobody thinks of touching them." "well, i say," said jones, "russel, don't you think that's too bad?" "laws, yes, man; but the world is full of things that are too bad. it's a bad kind of a place," said russel, as he lit another cigar. "well, how do you think clayton is going to succeed," said jones, "if the law is so clearly against him?" "oh, bless you, you don't know clayton. he is a glorious mystifier. in the first place, he mystifies himself. and, now, you mark me. when a powerful fellow mystifies _himself_, so that he really gets himself thoroughly on to his own side, there's nobody he _can't_ mystify. i speak it in sober sadness, jones, that the want of this faculty is a great hindrance to me in a certain class of cases. you see i can put on the pathetic and heroic, after a sort; but i don't take myself along with me--i don't really believe myself. there's the trouble. it's this power of self-mystification that makes what you call earnest men. if men saw the real bread and butter and green cheese of life, as i see it,--the hard, dry, primitive facts,--they couldn't raise such commotions as they do." "russel, it always makes me uncomfortable to hear you talk. it seems as if you didn't believe in anything!" "oh, yes, i do," said russel; "i believe in the multiplication table, and several other things of that nature at the beginning of the arithmetic; and, also, that the wicked will do wickedly. but, as to clayton's splendid abstractions, i only wish him joy of them. but, then, i shall believe him while i hear him talk; so will you; so will all the rest of us. that's the fun of it. but the thing will be just where it was before, and i shall find it so when i wake up to-morrow morning. it's a pity such fellows as clayton couldn't be used as we use big guns. he is death on anything he fires at; and if he only would let me load and point him, he and i together would make a firm that would sweep the land. but here he comes, upon my word." "hallo, clayton, all ready?" "yes," said clayton, "i believe so. when will the case be called?" "to-day, i'm pretty sure," said russel. clayton was destined to have something of an audience in his first plea; for, the gordons being an influential and a largely-connected family, there was quite an interest excited among them in the affair. clayton also had many warm personal friends, and his father, mother, and sister were to be present; for, though residing in a different part of the state, they were at this time on a visit in the vicinity of the town of e. there is something in the first essay of a young man, in any profession, like the first launching of a ship, which has a never-ceasing hold on human sympathies. clayton's father, mother, and sister, with nina, at the time of the dialogue we have given, were sitting together in the parlor of a friend's house in e., discussing the same event. "i am sure that he will get the case," said anne clayton, with the confidence of a generous woman and warm-hearted sister. "he has been showing me the course of his argument, and it is perfectly irresistible. has he said anything to you about it, father?" judge clayton had been walking up and down the room, with his hands behind him, with his usual air of considerate gravity. stopping short at anne's question, he said,-- "edward's mind and mine work so differently, that i have not thought best to embarrass him by any conference on the subject. i consider the case an unfortunate one, and would rather he could have had some other." "why," said anne, eagerly, "don't you think he'll gain it?" "not if the case goes according to law," said judge clayton. "but, then, edward has a great deal of power of eloquence, and a good deal of skill in making a diversion from the main point; so that, perhaps, he may get the case." "why," said nina, "i thought cases were always decided according to law! what else do they make laws for?" "you are very innocent, my child," said judge clayton. "but, father, the proof of the outrage is most abundant. nobody could pretend to justify it." "nobody will, child. but that's nothing to the case. the simple point is, _did_ the man exceed his legal power? it's my impression he did not." "father, what a horrible doctrine!" said anne. "i simply speak of what is," said judge clayton. "i don't pretend to justify it. but edward has great power of exciting the feelings, and under the influence of his eloquence the case may go the other way, and humanity triumph at the expense of law." clayton's plea came on in the afternoon, and justified the expectations of his friends. his personal presence was good, his voice melodious, and his elocution fine. but what impressed his auditors, perhaps, more than these, was a certain elevation and clearness in the moral atmosphere around him,--a gravity and earnestness of conviction which gave a secret power to all he said. he took up the doctrine of the dependent relations of life, and of those rules by which they should be guided and restrained; and showed that while absolute power seems to be a necessary condition of many relations of life, both reason and common sense dictate certain limits to it. "the law guarantees to the parent, the guardian, and the master, the right of enforcing obedience by chastisement; and the reason for it is, that the subject being supposed to be imperfectly developed, his good will, on the whole, be better consulted by allowing to his lawful guardian this power." "_the good of the subject_," he said, "is understood to be the foundation of the right; but, when chastisement is inflicted without just cause, and in a manner so inconsiderate and brutal as to endanger the safety and well-being of the subject, the great foundation principle of the law is violated. the act becomes perfectly lawless, and as incapable of legal defence as it is abhorrent to every sentiment of humanity and justice." "he should endeavor to show," he said, "by full testimony, that the case in question was one of this sort." in examining witnesses clayton showed great dignity and acuteness, and as the feeling of the court was already prepossessed in his favor, the cause evidently gathered strength as it went on. the testimony showed, in the most conclusive manner, the general excellence of milly's character, and the utter brutality of the outrage which had been committed upon her. in his concluding remarks, clayton addressed the jury in a tone of great elevation and solemnity, on the duty of those to whom is intrusted the guardianship of the helpless. "no obligation," he said, "can be stronger to an honorable mind, than the obligation of _entire dependence_. the fact that a human being has no refuge from our power, no appeal from our decisions, so far from leading to careless security, is one of the strongest possible motives to caution and to most exact care. the african race," he said, "had been bitter sufferers. their history had been one of wrong and cruelty, painful to every honorable mind. we of the present day, who sustain the relation of slave-holder," he said, "receive from the hands of our fathers an awful trust. irresponsible power is the greatest trial of humanity, and if we do not strictly guard our own moral purity in the use of it, we shall degenerate into despots and tyrants. no consideration can justify us in holding this people in slavery an hour, unless we make this slavery a guardian relation, in which our superior strength and intelligence is made the protector and educator of their simplicity and weakness." "the eyes of the world are fastened upon us," he said. "our continuing in this position at all is, in many quarters, matter of severe animadversion. let us therefore show, by the spirit in which we administer our laws, by the impartiality with which we protect their rights, that the master of the helpless african is his best and truest friend." it was evident, as clayton spoke, that he carried the whole of his audience with him. the counsel on the other side felt himself much straitened. there is very little possibility of eloquence in defending a manifest act of tyranny and cruelty; and a man speaks, also, at great disadvantage, who not only is faint-hearted in his own cause, but feels the force of the whole surrounding atmosphere against him. in fact, the result was, that the judge charged the jury, if they found the chastisement to have been disproportionate and cruel, to give verdict for the plaintiff. the jury, with little discussion, gave it unanimously, accordingly, and so clayton's first cause was won. if ever a woman feels proud of her lover, it is when she sees him as a successful public speaker; and nina, when the case was over, stood half-laughing, half-blushing, in a circle of ladies, who alternately congratulated and rallied her on clayton's triumph. "ah," said frank russel, "we understand the magic. the knight always fights well when his lady-love looks down! miss gordon must have the credit of this. she took all the strength out of the other side,--like the mountain of loadstone, that used to draw all the nails out of the ship." "i am glad," said judge clayton, as he walked home with his wife, "i am very glad that edward has met with such success. his nature is so fastidious that i have had my fears that he would not adhere to the law. there are many things in it, i grant, which would naturally offend a fastidious mind, and one which, like his, is always idealizing life." "he has established a noble principle," said mrs. clayton. "i wish he had," said the judge. "it would be a very ungrateful task, but i could have shattered his argument all to pieces." "don't tell him so!" said mrs. clayton, apprehensively; "let him have the comfort of it." "certainly i shall. edward is a good fellow, and i hope, after a while, he'll draw well in the harness." meanwhile, frank russel and will jones were walking along in another direction. "didn't i tell you so?" said russel. "you see, clayton run bedford down, horse and foot, and made us all as solemn as a preparatory lecture." "but he had a good argument," said jones. "to be sure he had--i never knew him to want that. he builds up splendid arguments, always, and the only thing to be said of him, after it's all over, is, it isn't so; it's no such thing. barker is terrible wroth, i can assure you. he swears he'll appeal the case. but that's no matter. clayton has had his day all the same. he is evidently waked up. oh, he has no more objection to a little popularity than you and i have, now; and if we could humor him along, as we would a trout, we should have him a first-rate lawyer, one of these days. did you see miss gordon while he was pleading? by george! she looked so handsome, i was sorry i hadn't taken her myself!" "is she that dashing little flirting miss gordon that i heard of in new york?" "the very same." "how came she to take a fancy to him?" "she? how do i know? she's as full of streaks as a tulip; and her liking for him is one of them. did you notice her, will?--scarf flying one way, and little curls, and pennants, and streamers, and veil, the other! and, then, those eyes! she's alive, every inch of her! she puts me in mind of a sweet-brier bush, winking and blinking, full of dew-drops, full of roses, and brisk little thorns, beside! ah, she'll keep him awake!" chapter xxviii. magnolia grove. judge clayton was not mistaken in supposing that his son would contemplate the issue of the case he had defended with satisfaction. as we have already intimated, clayton was somewhat averse to the practice of the law. regard for the feelings of his father had led him to resolve that he would at least give it a fair trial. his own turn of mind would have led him to some work of more immediate and practical philanthropy. he would have much preferred to retire to his own estate, and devote himself, with his sister, to the education of his servants. but he felt that he could not, with due regard to his father's feelings, do this until he had given professional life a fair trial. after the scene of the trial which we have described, he returned to his business, and anne solicited nina to accompany her for a few weeks to their plantation at magnolia grove, whither, as in duty bound, we may follow her. our readers will therefore be pleased to find themselves transported to the shady side of a veranda belonging to clayton's establishment at magnolia grove. the place derived its name from a group of these beautiful trees, in the centre of which the house was situated. it was a long, low cottage, surrounded by deep verandas, festooned with an exuberance of those climbing plants which are so splendid in the southern latitude. the range of apartments which opened on the veranda where anne and nina were sitting were darkened to exclude the flies; but the doors, standing open, gave picture-like gleams of the interior. the white, matted floors, light bamboo furniture, couches covered with glazed white linen, and the large vases of roses disposed here and there, where the light would fall upon them, presented a background of inviting coolness. it was early in the morning, and the two ladies were enjoying the luxury of a _tête-à-tête_ breakfast before the sun had yet dried the heavy dews which give such freshness to the morning air. a small table which stood between them was spread with choice fruits, arranged on dishes in green leaves; a pitcher of iced milk, and a delicate little _tête-à-tête_ coffee-service, dispensing the perfume of the most fragrant coffee. nor were they wanting those small, delicate biscuits, and some of those curious forms of cornbread, of the manufacture of which every southern cook is so justly proud. nor should we omit the central vase of monthly roses, of every shade of color, the daily arrangement of which was the special delight of anne's brown little waiting-maid lettice. anne clayton, in a fresh white morning-wrapper, with her pure, healthy complexion, fine teeth, and frank, beaming smile, looked like a queenly damask rose. a queen she really was on her own plantation, reigning by the strongest of all powers, that of love. the african race have large ideality and veneration; and in no drawing-room could anne's beauty and grace, her fine manners and carriage, secure a more appreciating and unlimited admiration and devotion. the negro race, with many of the faults of children, unite many of their most amiable qualities, in the simplicity and confidingness with which they yield themselves up in admiration of a superior friend. nina had been there but a day, yet could not fail to read in the eyes of all how absolute was the reign which anne held over their affections. "how delightful the smell of this magnolia blossom!" said nina. "oh, i'm glad that you waked me so early, anne!" "yes," said anne, "in this climate early rising becomes a necessary of life to those who mean to have any real, positive pleasure in it, and i'm one of the sort that must have _positive_ pleasures. merely negative rest, lassitude, and dreaming, are not enough for me. i want to feel that i'm alive, and that i accomplish something." "yes, i see," said nina, "you are not nominally like me, but really housekeeper. what wonderful skill you seem to have! is it possible that you keep nothing locked up here?" "no," said anne, "nothing. i am released from the power of the keys, thank fortune! when i first came here, everybody told me it was sheer madness to try such a thing. but i told them that i was determined to do it, and edward upheld me in it: and you can see how well i've succeeded." "indeed," said nina, "you must have magic power, for i never saw a household move on so harmoniously. all your servants seem to think, and contrive, and take an interest in what they are doing. how did you begin? what did you do?" "well," said anne, "i'll tell you the history of the plantation. in the first place, it belonged to mamma's uncle; and, not to spoil a story for relation's sake, i must say he was a dissipated, unprincipled man. he lived a perfectly heathen life here, in the most shocking way you can imagine; and so the poor creatures who were under him were worse heathen than he. he lived with a quadroon woman, who was violent tempered, and when angry ferociously cruel; and so the servants were constantly passing from the extreme of indulgence to the extreme of cruelty. you can scarce have an idea of the state we found them in. my heart almost failed me; but edward said, 'don't give it up, anne; try the good that is in them.' well, i confess, it seemed very much as it seemed to me when i was once at a water-cure establishment,--patients would be brought in languid, pale, cold, half dead, and it appeared as if it would kill them to apply cold water; but, somehow or other, there was a vital power in them that reacted under it. well, just so it was with my servants. i called them all together, and i said to them, 'now, people have always said that you are the greatest thieves in the world; that there is no managing you except by locking up everything from you. but, i think differently. i have an idea that you can be trusted. i have been telling people that they don't know how much good there is in you; and now, just to show them what you can do, i'm going to begin and leave the closets and doors, and everything, unlocked, and i shall not watch you. you can take my things, if you choose; and if, after a time, i find that you can't be trusted, i shall go back to the old way.' well, my dear, i wouldn't have believed myself that the thing would have answered so well. in the first place, approbativeness is a stronger principle with the african race than almost any other; they like to be thought well of. immediately there was the greatest spirit in the house, for the poor creatures, having suddenly made the discovery that somebody thought they were to be trusted, were very anxious to keep up the reputation. the elder ones watched the younger; and, in fact, my dear, i had very little trouble. the children at first troubled me going into my store-closet and getting the cake, notwithstanding very spirited government on the part of the mammies. so, i called my family in session again, and said that their conduct had confirmed my good opinion; that i always knew they could be trusted, and that my friends were astonished to hear how well they did; but that i had observed that some of the children probably had taken my cake. 'now, you know,' said i, 'that i have no objection to your having some. if any of you would enjoy a piece of cake, i shall be happy to give it to them, but it is not agreeable to have things in my closet fingered over--i shall therefore set a plate of cake out every day, and anybody that wishes to take some i hope will take that.' well, my dear, my plate of cake stood there and dried. you won't believe me, but in fact it wasn't touched." "well," said nina, "i shouldn't think you could have had our tomtit here! why, really this goes beyond the virtue of white children." "my dear, it isn't such a luxury to white children to be thought well of, and have a character. you must take that into account. it was a taste of a new kind of pleasure, made attractive by its novelty." "yes," said nina, "i have something in me which makes me feel this would be the right way. i know it would be with me. there's nothing like confidence. if a person trusts me, i'm bound." "yet," said anne, "i can't get the ladies of my acquaintance to believe in it. they see how i get along, but they insist upon it that it's some secret magic, or art, of mine." "well, it is so," said nina. "such things are just like the divining-rod; they won't work in every hand; it takes a real, generous, warm-hearted woman, like you, anne. but, could you carry your system through your plantation, as well as your house?" "the field-hands were more difficult to manage, on some accounts," said anne, "but the same principle prevailed with them. edward tried all he could to awaken self-respect. now, i counselled that we should endeavor to form some decent habits before we built the cabins over. i told him they could not appreciate cleanliness and order. 'very likely they cannot,' he said, 'but we are not to suppose it;' and he gave orders immediately for that pretty row of cottages you saw down at the quarters. he put up a large bathing establishment. yet he did not enforce at first personal cleanliness by strict rules. those who began to improve first were encouraged and noticed; and, as they found this a passport to favor, the thing took rapidly. it required a great while to teach them how to be consistently orderly and cleanly even after the first desire had been awakened, because it isn't every one that likes neatness and order, who has the forethought and skill to secure it. but there has been a steady progress in these respects. one curious peculiarity of edward's management gives rise to a good many droll scenes. he has instituted a sort of jury trial among them. there are certain rules for the order and well-being of the plantation, which all agree to abide by; and, in all offences, the man is tried by a jury of his peers. mr. smith, our agent, says that these scenes are sometimes very diverting, but on the whole there's a good deal of shrewdness and sense manifested; but he says that, in general, they incline much more to severity than he would. you see the poor creatures have been so barbarized by the way they have been treated in past times, that it has made them hard and harsh. i assure you, nina, i never appreciated the wisdom of god, in the laws which he made for the jews in the wilderness, as i have since i've tried the experiment myself of trying to bring a set of slaves out of barbarism. now, this that i'm telling you is the fairest side of the story. i can't begin to tell you the thousand difficulties and trials which we have encountered in it. sometimes i've been almost worn out and discouraged. but, then, i think, if there is a missionary work in this world, it is this." "and what do your neighbors think about it?" said nina. "well," said anne, "they are all very polite, well-bred people, the families with whom we associate; and such people, of course, would never think of interfering, or expressing a difference of opinion, in any very open way; but i have the impression that they regard it with suspicion. they sometimes let fall words which make me think they do. it's a way of proceeding which very few would adopt, because it is not a money-making operation, by any means. the plantation barely pays for itself, because edward makes that quite a secondary consideration. the thing which excites the most murmuring is our teaching them to read. i teach the children myself two hours every day, because i think this would be less likely to be an offence than if i should hire a teacher. mr. smith teaches any of the grown men who are willing to take the trouble to learn. any man who performs a certain amount of labor can secure to himself two or three hours a day to spend as he chooses; and many do choose to learn. some of the men and the women have become quite good readers, and clayton is constantly sending books for them. this, i'm afraid, gives great offence. it is against the law to do it; but, as unjust laws are sometimes lived down, we thought we would test the practicability of doing this. there was some complaint made of our servants, because they have not the servile, subdued air which commonly marks the slave, but look, speak, and act, as if they respected themselves. i'm sometimes afraid that we shall have trouble; but, then, i hope for the best." "what does mr. clayton expect to be the end of all this?" said nina. "why," said anne, "i think edward has an idea that one of these days they may be emancipated on the soil, just as the serfs were in england. it looks to me rather hopeless, i must say; but he says the best way is for some one to begin and set an example of what ought to be done, and he hopes that in time it will be generally followed. it would, if all men were like him; but there lies my doubt. the number of those who would pursue such a disinterested course is very small. but who comes there? upon my word, if there isn't my particular admirer, mr. bradshaw!" as anne said this, a very gentlemanly middle-aged man came up on horseback, on the carriage-drive which passed in front of the veranda. he bore in his hand a large bunch of different colored roses; and, alighting, and delivering his horse to his servant, came up the steps and presented it to anne. "there," said he, "are the first fruits of my roses, in the garden that i started in rosedale." "beautiful," said anne, taking them. "allow me to present to you miss gordon." "miss gordon, your most obedient," said mr. bradshaw, bowing obsequiously. "you are just in season, mr. bradshaw," said anne, "for i'm sure you couldn't have had your breakfast before you started; so sit down and help us with ours." "thank you, miss anne," said mr. bradshaw, "the offer is too tempting to be refused." and he soon established himself as a third at the little table, and made himself very sociable. "well, miss anne, how do all your plans proceed--all your benevolences and cares? i hope your angel ministrations don't exhaust you." "not at all, mr. bradshaw; do i look like it?" "no, indeed! but such energy is perfectly astonishing to us all." nina's practised eye observed that mr. bradshaw had that particular nervous, restless air, which belongs to a man who is charged with a particular message, and finds himself unexpectedly blockaded by the presence of a third person. so, after breakfast, exclaiming that she had left her crochet-needle in her apartment, and resisting anne's offer to send a servant for it, by declaring that nobody could find it but herself, she left the veranda. mr. bradshaw had been an old family friend for many years, and stood with anne almost on the easy footing of a relation, which gave him the liberty of speaking with freedom. the moment the door of the parlor was closed after nina, he drew a chair near to anne, and sat down, with the unmistakable air of a man who is going into a confidential communication. "the fact is, my dear miss clayton," he said, "i have something on my mind that i want to tell you; and i hope you will think my long friendship for the family a sufficient warrant for my speaking on matters which really belong chiefly to yourself. the fact is, my dear miss clayton, i was at a small dinner-party of gentlemen, the other day, at colonel grandon's. there was a little select set there, you know,--the howards, and the elliotts, and the howlands, and so on,--and the conversation happened to turn upon your brother. now, there was the very greatest respect for him; they seemed to have the highest possible regard for his motives; but still they felt that he was going on a very dangerous course." "dangerous?" said anne, a little startled. "yes, really dangerous; and i think so myself, though i, perhaps, don't feel as strongly as some do." "really," said anne, "i'm quite at a loss!" "my dear miss anne, it's these improvements, you know, which you are making.--don't misapprehend me! admirable, very admirable, in themselves,--done from the most charming of motives, miss anne,--but dangerous, dangerous!" the solemn, mysterious manner in which these last words were pronounced made anne laugh; but when she saw the expression of real concern on the face of her good friend, she checked herself, and said,-- "pray, explain yourself. i don't understand you." "why, miss anne, it's just here. we appreciate your humanity, and your self-denial, and your indulgence to your servants. everybody is of opinion that it's admirable. you are really quite a model for us all. but, when it comes to teaching them to read and write, miss anne," he said, lowering his voice, "i think you don't consider what a dangerous weapon you are putting into their hands. the knowledge will spread on to the other plantations; bright niggers will pick it up; for the very fellows who are most dangerous are the very ones who will be sure to learn." "what if they should?" said anne. "why, my dear miss anne," said he, lowering his voice, "the facilities that it will afford them for combinations, for insurrections! you see, miss anne, i read a story once of a man who made a cork leg with such wonderful accuracy that it would walk of itself, and when he got it on he couldn't stop its walking--it walked him to death--actually did! walked him up hill and down dale, till the poor man fell down exhausted; and then it ran off with his body. and it's running with its skeleton to this day, i believe." and good-natured mr. bradshaw conceived such a ridiculous idea, at this stage of his narrative, that he leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily, wiping his perspiring face with a cambric pocket-handkerchief. "really, mr. bradshaw, it's a very amusing idea, but i don't see the analogy," said anne. "why, don't you see? you begin teaching niggers, and having reading and writing, and all these things, going on, and they begin to open their eyes, and look round and think; and they are having opinions of their own, they won't take yours; and they want to rise directly. and if they can't rise, why, they are all discontented; and there's the what-'s-his-name to pay with them! then come conspiracies and insurrections, no matter how well you treat them; and, now, we south carolinians have had experience in this matter. you must excuse us, but it is a terrible subject with us. why, the leaders of that conspiracy, all of them, were fellows who could read and write, and who had nothing in the world to wish for, in the way of comfort, treated with every consideration by their masters. it is a most melancholy chapter in human nature. it shows that there is no trust to be placed in them. and, now, the best way to get along with negroes, in my opinion, is to make them happy; give them plenty to eat and drink and wear, and keep them amused and excited, and don't work them too hard. i think it's a great deal better than this kind of exciting instruction. mind," he said, seeing that anne was going to interrupt him, "mind, now, i'd have religious instruction, of course. now, this system of oral instruction, teaching them hymns and passages of scripture suited to their peculiar condition, it's just the thing; it isn't so liable to these dangers. i hope you'll excuse me, miss anne, but the gentlemen really feel very serious about these things; they find it's affecting their own negroes. you know, somehow everything goes round from one plantation to another; and one of them said that he had a very smart man who is married to one of your women, and he actually found him with a spelling-book, sitting out under a tree. he said if the man had had a rifle he couldn't have been more alarmed; because the man was just one of those sharp, resolute fellows, that, if he knew how to read and write, there's no knowing what he would do. well, now, you see how it is. he takes the spelling-book away, and he tells him he will give him nine-and-thirty if he ever finds him with it again. what's the consequence? why, the consequence is, the man sulks and gets ugly, and he has to sell him. that's the way it's operating." "well, then," said anne, looking somewhat puzzled, "i will strictly forbid our people to allow spelling-books to go out of their hands, or to communicate any of these things off of the plantation." "oh, i tell you, miss anne, you can't do it. you don't know the passion in human nature for anything that is forbidden. now, i believe it's more that than love of reading. you can't shut up such an experiment as you are making here. it's just like a fire. it will blaze; it will catch on all the plantations round; and i assure you it's matter of life and death with us. you smile, miss anne, but it's so." "really, my dear mr. bradshaw, you could not have addressed me on a more unpleasant subject. i am sorry to excite the apprehension of our neighbors; but"-- "give me leave to remind you, also, miss anne, that the teaching of slaves to read and write is an offence to which a severe penalty is attached by the laws." "i thought," said anne, "that such barbarous laws were a dead letter in a christian community, and that the best tribute i could pay to its christianity was practically to disregard them." "by no means, miss anne, by no means! why, look at us here in south carolina. the negroes are three to one over the whites now. will it do to give them the further advantages of education and facilities of communication? you see, at once, it will not. now, well-bred people, of course, are extremely averse to mingling in the affairs of other families; and had you merely taught a few favorites, in a private way, as i believe people now and then do, it wouldn't have seemed so bad; but to have regular provision for teaching school, and school-hours,--i think, miss anne, you'll find it will result in unpleasant consequences." "yes, i fancy," said anne, raising herself up, and slightly coloring, "that i see myself in the penitentiary for the sin and crime of teaching children to read! i think, mr. bradshaw, it is time such laws were disregarded. is not that the only way in which many laws are repealed? society outgrows them, people disregard them, and so they fall away, like the calyx from some of my flowers. come, now, mr. bradshaw, come with me to my school. i'm going to call it together," said anne, rising, and beginning to go down the veranda steps. "certainly, my dear friend, you ought not to judge without seeing. wait a moment, till i call miss gordon." and anne stepped across the shady parlor, and in a few moments reappeared with nina, both arrayed in white cape-bonnets. they crossed to the right of the house, to a small cluster of neat cottages, each one of which had its little vegetable garden, and its plot in front, carefully tended, with flowers. they passed onward into a grove of magnolias which skirted the back of the house, till they came to a little building, with the external appearance of a small grecian temple the pillars of which were festooned with jessamine. "pray what pretty little place is this?" said mr. bradshaw. "this is my school-room," said anne. mr. bradshaw repressed a whistle of astonishment; but the emotion was plainly legible in his face, and anne said, laughing,-- "a lady's school-room, you know, should be lady-like. besides, i wish to inspire ideas of taste, refinement, and self-respect, in these children. i wish learning to be associated with the idea of elegance and beauty." they ascended the steps, and entered a large room, surrounded on three sides by blackboards. the floor was covered with white matting, and the walls hung with very pretty pictures of french lithographs, tastefully colored. in some places cards were hung up, bearing quotations of scripture. there were rows of neat desks, before each of which there was a little chair. anne stepped to the door and rang a bell, and in about ten minutes the patter of innumerable little feet was heard ascending the steps, and presently they came streaming in--all ages, from four or five to fifteen, and from the ebony complexion of the negro, with its closely-curling wool, to the rich brown cheek of the quadroon, with melancholy, lustrous eyes, and waving hair. all were dressed alike, in a neat uniform of some kind of blue stuff, with white capes and aprons. they filed in to the tune of one of those marked rhythmical melodies which characterize the negro music, and, moving in exact time to the singing, assumed their seats, which were arranged with regard to their age and size. as soon as they were seated, anne, after a moment's pause, clapped her hands, and the whole school commenced a morning hymn, in four parts, which was sung so beautifully that mr. bradshaw, quite overpowered, stood with tears in his eyes. anne nodded at nina, and cast on him a satisfied glance. after that, there was a rapid review of the classes. there was reading, spelling, writing on the blackboard, and the smaller ones were formed in groups in two adjoining apartments, under the care of some of the older girls. anne walked about superintending the whole; and nina, who saw the scene for the first time, could not repress her exclamation of delight. the scholars were evidently animated by the presence of company, and anxious to do credit to the school and teacher, and the two hours passed rapidly away. anne exhibited to mr. bradshaw specimens of the proficiency of her scholars in handwriting, and the drawing of maps, and even the copying of small lithograph cards, which contained a series of simple drawing-patterns. mr. bradshaw seemed filled with astonishment. "'pon my word," said he, "these are surprising! miss anne, you are a veritable magician--a worker of miracles! you must have found aaron's rod, again! my dear madam, you run the risk of being burned for a witch!" "very few, mr. bradshaw, know how much of beauty lies sealed up in this neglected race," said anne, with enthusiasm. as they were walking back to the house, mr. bradshaw fell a little behind, and his face wore a thoughtful and almost sad expression. "well," said anne, looking round, "a penny for your thoughts!" "oh, i see, miss anne, you are for pursuing your advantage. i see triumph in your eyes. but yet," he added, "after all this display, the capability of your children makes me feel sad. to what end is it? what purpose will it serve, except to unfit them for their inevitable condition--to make them discontented and unhappy?" "well," replied anne, "there ought to be no inevitable condition that makes it necessary to dwarf a human mind. any condition which makes a full development of the powers that god has given us a misfortune, cannot, certainly, be a healthy one--cannot be right. if a mind will grow and rise, make way and let it. make room for it, and cut down everything that stands in the way!" "that's terribly levelling doctrine, miss anne." "let it level, then!" said anne. "i don't care! i come from the old virginia cavalier blood, and am not afraid of anything." "but, miss anne, how do you account for it that the best-educated and best-treated slaves--in fact, as you say, the most perfectly-developed human beings--were those who got up the insurrection in charleston?" "how do you account for it," said anne, "that the best-developed and finest specimens of men have been those that have got up insurrections in italy, austria, and hungary?" "well, you admit, then," said mr. bradshaw, "that if you say a in this matter, you've got to say b." "certainly," said anne, "and when the time comes to say b, i'm ready to say it. i admit, mr. bradshaw, it's a very dangerous thing to get up steam, if you don't intend to let the boat go. but when the steam is high enough, let her go, say i." "yes, but, miss anne, other people don't want to say so. the fact is, we are not all of us ready to let the boat go. it's got all our property in it--all we have to live on. if you are willing yourself, so far as your people are concerned, they'll inevitably want liberty, and you say you'll be ready to give it to them; but your fires will raise a steam on our plantations, and we must shut down these escape-valves. don't you see? now, for my part, i've been perfectly charmed with this school of yours; but, after all, i can't help inquiring whereto it will grow." "well, mr. bradshaw," said anne, "i'm obliged to you for the frankness of this conversation. it's very friendly and sincere. i think, however, i shall continue to compliment the good sense and gallantry of this state, by ignoring its unworthy and unchristian laws. i will endeavor, nevertheless, to be more careful and guarded as to the manner of what i do; but, if i should be put into the penitentiary, mr. bradshaw, i hope you'll call on me." "miss anne, i beg ten thousand pardons for that unfortunate allusion." "i think," said anne, "i shall impose it as a penance upon you to stay and spend the day with us, and then i'll show you my rose-garden. i have great counsel to hold with you on the training of a certain pillar-rose. you see, my design is to get you involved in my treason. you've already come into complicity with it, by visiting my school." "thank you, miss anne; i should be only too much honored to be your abettor in any treason you might meditate. but, really, i'm a most unlucky dog! think of my having four bachelor friends engaged to dine with me, and so being obliged to decline your tempting offer! in fact, i must take horse before the sun gets any hotter." "there he goes, for a good-hearted creature as he is!" said anne. "do you know," said nina, laughing, "that i thought that he was some poor, desperate mortal, who was on the verge of a proposal, this morning, and i ran away like a good girl to give him a fair field?" "child," said anne, "you are altogether too late in the day. mr. bradshaw and i walked that little figure some time ago, and now he is one of the most convenient and agreeable of friends." "anne, why in the world don't you get in love with somebody?" said nina. "my dear, i think there was something or other left out when i was made up," said anne, laughing, "but i never had much of a fancy for the lords of creation. they do tolerably well till they come to be lovers; but then they are perfectly unbearable. lions in love, my dear, don't appear to advantage, you know. i can't marry papa or edward, and they have spoiled me for everybody else. besides, i'm happy, and what do i want of any of them? can't there be now and then a woman sufficient to herself? but, nina, dear, i'm sorry that our affairs here are giving offence and making uneasiness." "for my part," said nina, "i should go right on. i have noticed that people try all they can to stop a person who is taking an unusual course; and when they are perfectly certain that they can't stop them, then they turn round and fall in with them; and i think that will be the case with you." "they certainly will have an opportunity of trying," said anne. "but there is dulcimer coming up the avenue with the letter-bag. now, child, i don't believe you appreciate half my excellence, when you consider that i used to have all these letters that fall to you every mail." at this moment dulcimer rode up to the veranda steps, and deposited the letter-bag in anne's hands. "what an odd name you have given him!" said nina, "and what a comical-looking fellow he is! he has a sort of waggish air that reminds me of a crow." "oh, dulcimer don't belong to our _régime_," said anne. "he was the prime minister and favorite under the former reign,--a sort of licensed court jester,--and to this day he hardly knows how to do anything but sing and dance; and so brother, who is for allowing the largest liberty to everybody, imposes on him only such general and light tasks as suit his roving nature. but there!" she said throwing a letter on nina's lap, and at the same time breaking the seal of one directed to herself. "ah, i thought so! you see, puss, edward has some law business that takes him to this part of the state forthwith. was ever such convenient law business? we may look for him to-night. now there will be rejoicings! how now, dulcimer? i thought you had gone," she said, looking up, and observing that personage still lingering in the shade of a tulip-tree near the veranda. "please, miss anne, is master clayton coming home to-night?" "yes, dulcimer; so now go and spread the news; for that's what you want, i know." and dulcimer, needing no second suggestion, was out of sight in the shrubbery in a few moments. "now, i'll wager," said anne, "that creature will get up something or other extraordinary for this evening." "such as what?" said nina. "well, he is something of a troubadour, and i shouldn't wonder if he should be cudgelling his brain at this moment for a song. we shall have some kind of operatic performance, you may be sure." chapter xxix. the troubadour. about five o'clock in the evening, nina and anne amused themselves with setting a fancy tea-table on the veranda. nina had gathered a quantity of the leaves of the live-oak, which she possessed a particular faculty of plaiting in long, flat wreaths, and with these she garlanded the social round table, after it had been draped in its snowy damask, while anne was busy arranging fruit in dishes with vine-leaves. "lettice will be in despair, to-night," said anne, looking up, and smiling at a neatly-dressed brown mulatto girl, who stood looking on with large, lustrous eyes; "her occupation's gone!" "oh, lettice must allow me to show my accomplishments," said nina. "there are some household arts that i have quite a talent for. if i had lived in what-'s-its-name, there, that they used to tell about in old times--arcadia--i should have made a good housekeeper; for nothing suits me better than making wreaths, and arranging bouquets. my nature is dressy. i want to dress everything. i want to dress tables, and dress vases, and adorn dishes, and dress handsome women, anne! so look out for yourself, for when i have done crowning the table, i shall crown you!" as nina talked, she was flitting hither and thither, taking up and laying down flowers and leaves, shaking out long sprays, and fluttering from place to place, like a bird. "it's a pity," said anne, "that life can't be all arcadia!" "oh, yes!" said nina. "when i was a child, i remember there was an old torn translation of a book called gesner's idyls, that used to lie about the house; and i used to read in it most charming little stories about handsome shepherds, dressed in white, playing on silver and ivory flutes; and shepherdesses, with azure mantles and floating hair; and people living on such delightful things as cool curds and milk, and grapes, and strawberries, and peaches; and there was no labor, and no trouble, and no dirt, and no care. everybody lived like the flowers and the birds,--growing and singing, and being beautiful. ah, dear, i have never got over wanting it since! why couldn't it be so?" "it's a thousand pities!" said anne. "but what constant fight we have to maintain for order and beauty!" "yes," said nina; "and, what seems worse, beauty itself becomes dirt in a day. now, these roses that we are arranging, to-morrow or next day we shall call them _litter_, and wish somebody would sweep them out of the way. but i never want to to be the one to do that. i want some one to carry away the withered flowers, and wash the soiled vases; but i want to be the one to cut the fresh roses every day. if i were in an association, i should take that for my part. i'd arrange all their flowers through the establishment, but i should stipulate expressly that i should do no clearing up." "well," said anne, "it's really a mystery to me what a constant downward tendency there is to everything--how everything is gravitating back, as you may say, into disorder. now, i think a cleanly, sweet, tasteful house--and, above all, table--are among the highest works of art. and yet, how everything attacks you when you set out to attain it--flies, cockroaches, ants, mosquitoes! and, then, it seems to be the fate of all human beings, that they are constantly wearing out and disarranging and destroying all that is about them." "yes," said nina, "i couldn't help thinking of that when we were at the camp-meeting. the first day, i was perfectly charmed. everything was so fresh, so cool, so dewy and sweet; but, by the end of the second day, they had thrown egg-shells, and pea-pods, and melon-rinds, and all sorts of abominations, around among the tents, and it was really shocking to contemplate." "how disgusting!" said anne. "now, i'm one of that sort," said nina, "that love order dearly, but don't want the trouble of it myself. my prime minister, aunt katy, thanks to mamma, is an excellent hand to keep it, and i encourage her in it with all my heart; so that any part of the house where _i_ don't go much is in beautiful order. but, bless me, i should have to be made over again before i could do like aunt nesbit! did you ever see her take a pair of gloves or a collar out of a drawer? she gets up, and walks _so_ moderately across the room, takes the key from under the napkin on the right-hand side of the bureau, and unlocks the drawer, as gravely as though she was going to offer a sacrifice. then, if her gloves are at the back side, underneath something else, she takes out one thing after another, so moderately; and then, when the gloves or collar are found, lays everything back exactly where it was before, locks the drawer, and puts the key back under the towel. and all this she'd do if anybody was dying, and she had to go for the doctor! the consequence is, that her room, her drawers, and everything, are a standing sermon to me. but i think i've got to be a much calmer person than i am, before this will come to pass in my case. i'm always in such a breeze and flutter! i fly to my drawer, and scatter things into little whirlwinds; ribbons, scarf, flowers--everything flies out in a perfect rainbow. it seems as if i _should die_ if i didn't get the thing i wanted that minute; and, after two or three such attacks on a drawer, then comes repentance, and a long time of rolling up and arranging, and talking to little naughty nina, who always promises herself to keep better order in future. but, my dear, she doesn't do it, i'm sorry to say, as yet, though perhaps there are hopes of her in future. tell me, anne,--you are not stiff and '_poky_,' and yet you seem to be endowed with the gift of order. how did it come about?" "it was not natural to me, i assure you," said anne. "it was a second nature, drilled into me by mamma." "mamma! ah, indeed!" said nina, giving a sigh. "then you are very happy! but, come, now, lettice, i've done with all these; take them away. my tea-table has risen out of them like the world out of chaos," she said, as she swept together a heap of rejected vines, leaves, and flowers. "ah! i always have a repenting turn, when i've done arranging vases, to think i've picked so many more than were necessary! the poor flowers droop their leaves, and look at me reproachfully, as if they said, 'you didn't want us--why couldn't you have left us alone?'" "oh," said anne, "lettice will relieve you of that. she has great talents in the floral line, and out of these she will arrange quantities of bouquets," she said, as lettice, blushing perceptibly through her brown skin, stooped and swept up the rejected flowers into her apron. "what have we here?" said anne, as dulcimer, attired with most unusual care, came bowing up the steps, presenting a note on a waiter. "dear me, how stylish! gilt-edged paper, smelling of myrrh and ambergris!" she continued, as she broke the seal. "what's this? "'the magnolia grove troubadours request the presence of mr. and miss clayton and miss gordon at an operatic performance, which will be given this evening, at eight o'clock, in the grove.' "very well done! i fancy some of my scholars have been busy with the writing. dulcimer, we shall be happy to come." "where upon earth did he pick up those phrases?" said nina, when he had departed. "oh," said anne, "i told you that he was prime favorite of the former proprietor, who used to take him with him wherever he travelled, as people sometimes will a pet monkey; and, i dare say, he has lounged round the lobbies of many an opera-house. i told you that he was going to get up something." "what a delightful creature he must be!" said nina. "perhaps so, to you," said anne; "but he is a troublesome person to manage. he is as wholly destitute of any moral organs as a jackdaw. one sometimes questions whether these creatures have any more than a reflected mimicry of a human soul--such as the german stories imagine in cobolds and water spirits. all i can see in dulcimer is a kind of fun-loving animal. he don't seem to have any moral nature." "perhaps," said nina, "his moral nature is something like the cypress-vine seeds which i planted three months ago, and which have just come up." "well, i believe edward expects to see it along, one of these days," said anne. "his faith in human nature is unbounded. i think it one of his foibles, for my part; but yet i try to have hopes of dulcimer, that some day or other he will have some glimmering perceptions of the difference between a lie and the truth, and between his own things and other people's. at present, he is the most lawless marauder on the place. he has been so used to having his wit to cover a multitude of sins, that it's difficult for a scolding to make any impression on him. but, hark! isn't that a horse? somebody is coming up the avenue." both listened. "there are two," said nina. just at this instant clayton emerged to view, accompanied by another rider, who, on nearer view, turned out to be frank russel. at the same instant, the sound of violins and banjos was heard, and, to anne's surprise, a gayly-dressed procession of servants and children began to file out from the grove, headed by dulcimer and several of his associates, playing and singing. "there," said anne, "didn't i tell you so. there's the beginning of dulcimer's operations." the air was one of those inexpressibly odd ones whose sharp, metallic accuracy of rhythm seems to mark the delight which the negro race feel in that particular element of music. the words, as usual, amounted to very little. nina and anne could hear,-- "oh, i see de mas'r a comin' up de track, his horse's heels do clatter, with a clack, clack, clack!" the idea conveyed in these lines being still further carried out by the regular clapping of hands at every accented note, while every voice joined in the chorus:-- "sing, boys, sing; de mas'r is come! give three cheers for de good man at home! ho! he! ho! hurra! hurra!" clayton acknowledged the compliment, as he came up, by bowing from his horse; and the procession arranged itself in a kind of lane, through which he and his companion rode up to the veranda. "'pon my word," said frank russel, "i wasn't prepared for such a demonstration. quite a presidential reception!" when clayton came to the steps and dismounted, a dozen sprang eagerly forward to take his horse, and in the crowding round for a word of recognition the order of the procession was entirely broken. after many kind words, and inquiries in every direction for a few moments, the people quietly retired, leaving their master to his own enjoyments. "you really have made quite a triumphal entry," said nina. "dulcimer always exhausts himself on all such occasions," said anne, "so that he isn't capable of any further virtue for two or three weeks." "well, take him while he is in flower, then!" said russel. "but how perfectly cool and inviting you look. really, quite idyllic! we must certainly have got into a fairy queen's castle!" "but you must show us somewhere to shake the dust off of our feet," said clayton. "yes," said anne, "there's aunt praw waiting to show you your room. go and make yourselves as fascinating as you can." in a little while the gentlemen returned, in fresh white linen suits, and the business of the tea-table proceeded with alacrity. "well, now," said anne, after tea, looking at her watch, "i must inform the company that we are all engaged to the opera this evening." "yes," said nina, "the magnolia grove opera house is to be opened, and the magnolia troubadour troupe to appear for the first time." at this moment they were surprised by the appearance, below the veranda, of dulcimer, with three of his colored associates, all wearing white ribbons in their button-holes, and carrying white wands tied with satin ribbon, and gravely arranging themselves two and two on each side of the steps. "why, dulcimer, what's this?" said clayton. dulcimer bowed with the gravity of a raven, and announced that the committee had come to wait on the gentlemen and ladies to their seats. "oh," said anne, "we were not prepared for our part of the play!" "what a pity i didn't bring my opera-hat!" said nina. "never mind," she said, snatching a spray of multiflora rose, "this will do." and she gave it one twist round her head, and her toilet was complete. "'pon my word, that's soon done!" said frank russel, as he watched the coronet of half-opened buds and roses. "yes," said nina. "sit down, anne; i forgot your crown. there, wait a moment; let me turn this leaf a little, and weave these buds in here--so. now you are a baltimore belle, to be sure! now for the procession." the opera-house for the evening was an open space in the grove behind the house. lamps had been hung up in the trees, twinkling on the glossy foliage. a sort of booth or arbor was built of flowers and leaves at one end, to which the party were marshalled in great state. between two magnolia-trees a white curtain was hung up; and the moment the family party made their appearance, a chorus of voices from behind the scenes began an animated song of welcome. as soon as the party was seated, the curtain rose, and the chorus, consisting of about thirty of the best singers, males and females, came forward, dressed in their best holiday costume, singing, and keeping step as they sung, and bearing in their hands bouquets, which, as they marched round the circle, they threw at the feet of the company. a wreath of orange-blossoms was significantly directed at nina, and fell right into her lap. "these people seem to have had their eyes open. coming events cast their shadows before!" said russel. after walking around, the chorus seated themselves at the side of the area, and the space behind was filled up with a dense sea of heads--all the servants and plantation hands. "i declare," said russel, looking round on the crowd of dark faces, "this sable cloud is turning a silver lining with a witness! how neat and pretty that row of children look!" and, as they spoke, a procession of the children of anne's school came filing round in the same manner that the other had done, singing their school-songs, and casting flowers before the company. after this, they seated themselves on low seats in front of all the others. dulcimer and four of his companions now came into the centre. "there," said anne, "dulcimer is going to be the centrepiece. he is the troubadour." dulcimer, in fact, commenced a kind of recitative, to the tune "mas'r's in the cold, cold ground." after singing a few lines, the quartet took up the chorus, and their voices were really magnificent. "why," said nina, "it seems to me they are beginning in a very doleful way." "oh," said anne, "wait a minute. this is the old mas'r, i fancy. we shall soon hear the tune changed." and accordingly, dulcimer, striking into a new tune, began to rehearse the coming in of a new master. "there," said anne, "now for a catalogue of edward's virtues! they must all be got in, rhyme or no rhyme." dulcimer kept on rehearsing. every four lines, the quartet struck in with the chorus, which was then repeated by the whole company, clapping their hands and stamping their feet to the time, with great vivacity. "now, anne, is coming your turn," said nina, as dulcimer launched out, in most high-flown strains, on the beauty of miss anne. "yes," said clayton, "the catalogue of your virtues will be something extensive." "i shall escape, at any rate," said nina. "don't you be too sure," said anne. "dulcimer has had his eye on you ever since you've been here." and true enough, after the next stanza, dulcimer assumed a peculiarly meaning expression. "there," said anne, "do see the wretch flirting himself out like a saucy crow! it's coming! now look out, nina!" with a waggish expression from the corner of his downcast eyes, he sung,-- "oh, mas'r is often absent--do you know where he goes? he goes to north carolina, for de north carolina rose." "there you are!" said frank russel. "do you see the grin going round? what a lot of ivory! they are coming in this chorus, strong!" and the whole assembly, with great animation, poured out on the chorus:-- "oh, de north carolina rose! oh, de north carolina rose! we wish good luck to mas'r, with de north carolina rose!" this chorus was repeated with enthusiasm, clapping of hands, and laughing. "i think the north carolina rose ought to rise!" said russel. "oh, hush!" said anne; "dulcimer hasn't done yet." assuming an attitude, dulcimer turned and sang to one of his associates in the quartet,-- "oh, i see two stars arising, up in de shady skies!" to which the other responded, with animation:-- "no, boy, you are mistaken; 'tis de light of her fair eyes!" "that's _thorough_, at any rate!" said russel. while dulcimer went on:-- "oh, i see two roses blowing, togeder on one bed!" and the other responded:-- "no, boy, you are mistaken; dem are her cheeks so red!" "and they are getting redder!" said anne, tapping nina with her fan. "dulcimer is evidently laying out his strength upon you, nina!" dulcimer went on singing:-- "oh, i see a grape-vine running, with its curly rings, up dere!" and the response,-- "no, boy, you are mistaken: 'tis her rings of curly hair!" and the quartet here struck up:-- "oh, she walks on de veranda, and she laughs out of de door, and she dances like de sunshine across de parlor floor. her little feet, dey patter, like de rain upon de flowers; and her laugh is like sweet waters, through all de summer hours!" "dulcimer has had help from some of the muses along there!" said clayton, looking at anne. "hush!" said anne; "hear the chorus." "oh, de north carolina rose! oh, de north carolina rose! oh, plant by our veranda de north carolina rose!" this chorus was repeated with three times three, and the whole assembly broke into a general laugh, when the performers bowed and retired, and the white sheet, which was fastened by a pulley to the limb of a tree, was let down again. "come, now, anne, confess that wasn't all dulcimer's work!" said clayton. "well, to tell the truth," said anne, "'twas got up between him and lettice, who has a natural turn for versifying, quite extraordinary. if i chose to encourage and push her on, she might turn out a second phillis wheatly." dulcimer and his coadjutors now came round, bearing trays with lemonade, cake, sliced pine-apples, and some other fruits. "well, on my word," said russel, "this is quite prettily got up!" "oh, i think," said clayton, "the african race evidently are made to excel in that department which lies between the sensuous and the intellectual--what we call the elegant arts. these require rich and abundant animal nature, such as they possess; and, if ever they become highly civilized, they will excel in music, dancing, and elocution." "i have often noticed," said anne, "in my scholars, how readily they seize upon anything which pertains to the department of music and language. the negroes are sometimes laughed at for mispronouncing words, which they will do in a very droll manner; but it's only because they are so taken with the sounds of words that they will try to pronounce beyond the sphere of their understanding, like bright children." "some of these voices here are perfectly splendid," said russel. "yes," said anne, "we have one or two girls on the place who have that rich contralto voice which, i think, is oftener to be found among them than among whites." "the ethiopian race is a slow-growing plant, like the aloe," said clayton; "but i hope, some of these days, they'll come into flower; and i think, if they ever do, the blossoming will be gorgeous." "that will do for a poet's expectation," said russel. the performance now gave place to a regular dancing-party, which went on with great animation, yet decorum. "religious people," said clayton, "who have instructed the negroes, i think have wasted a great deal of their energy in persuading them to give up dancing and singing songs. i try to regulate the propensity. there is no use in trying to make the negroes into anglo-saxons any more than making a grape-vine into a pear-tree. i train the grape-vine." "behold," said russel, "the successful champion of negro rights!" "not so very successful," said clayton. "i suppose you've heard my case has been appealed; so that my victory isn't so certain, after all." "oh," said nina, "yes, it must be! i'm sure no person of common sense would decide any other way; and your own father is one of the judges, too." "that will only make him the more careful not to be influenced in my favor," said clayton. the dancing now broke up, and the servants dispersed in an orderly manner, and the company returned to the veranda, which lay pleasantly checkered with the light of the moon falling through trailing vines. the air was full of those occasional pulsations of fragrance which rise in the evening from flowers. "oh, how delightful," said nina, "this fragrance of the honeysuckles! i have a perfect passion for perfumes! they seem to me like spirits in the air." "yes," said clayton, "lord bacon says, 'that the breath of flowers comes and goes in the air, like the warbling of music.'" "did lord bacon say that?" said nina, in a tone of surprise. "yes; why not?" said clayton. "oh, i thought he was one of those musty old philosophers who never thought of anything pretty!" "well," said clayton, "then to-morrow let me read you his essay on gardens, and you'll find musty old philosophers often do think of pretty things." "it was lord bacon," said anne, "who always wanted musicians playing in the next room while he was composing." "he did?" said nina. "why, how delightful of him! i think i should like to hear some of his essays." "there are some minds," said clayton, "large enough to take in everything. such men can talk as prettily of a ring on a lady's finger, as they can wisely on the courses of the planets. nothing escapes them." "that's the kind of man _you_ ought to have for a lover, anne," said nina, laughing; "you have weight enough to risk it. i'm such a little whisk of thistle-down that it would annihilate me. such a ponderous weight of wisdom attached to me would drag me under water, and drown me. i should let go my line, i think, if i felt such a fish bite." "you are tolerably safe in our times," said clayton. "nature only sends such men once in a century or two. they are the road-makers for the rest of the world. they are quarry-masters, that quarry out marble enough for a generation to work up." "well," said nina, "i shouldn't want to be a quarry-master's wife. i should be afraid that some of his blocks would fall on me." "why, wouldn't you like it, if he were wholly your slave?" said frank russel. "it would be like having the genius of the lamp at your feet." "ah," said nina, "if _i_ could keep him my slave; but i'm afraid he'd outwit me at last. such a man would soon put _me_ up on a shelf for a book read through. i've seen some great men,--i mean great for our times,--and they didn't seem to care half as much for their wives as they did for a newspaper." "oh," said anne, "that's past praying for, with any husband. the newspaper is the standing rival of the american lady. it must be a warm lover that can be attracted from _that_, even before he is secure of his prize." "you are severe, miss anne," said russel. "she only speaks the truth. you men are a bad set," said nina. "you are a kind of necessary evil, half civilized at best. but if ever _i_ set up an establishment, i shall insist upon taking precedence of the newspaper." chapter xxx. tiff's garden. would the limits of our story admit of it, we should gladly linger many days in the shady precincts of magnolia grove, where clayton and nina remained some days longer, and where the hours flew by on flowery feet; but the inevitable time and tide, which wait for no man, wait not for the narrator. we must therefore say, in brief, that when the visit was concluded, clayton accompanied nina once more to canema, and returned to the circle of his own duties. nina returned to her own estate, with views somewhat chastened and modified by her acquaintance with anne. as clayton supposed, the influence of a real noble purpose in life had proved of more weight than exhortations, and she began to feel within herself positive aspirations for some more noble and worthy life than she had heretofore led. that great, absorbing feeling which determines the whole destiny of woman's existence, is in its own nature an elevating and purifying one. it is such even when placed on an unworthy object, and much more so when the object is a worthy one. since the first of their friendship, clayton had never officiously sought to interfere with the growth and development of nina's moral nature. he had sufficient sagacity to perceive that, unconsciously to herself, a deeper power of feeling, and a wider range of thought, was opening within her; and he left the development of it to the same quiet forces which swell the rosebud and guide the climbing path of the vine. simply and absolutely he lived his own life before her, and let hers alone; and the power of his life therefore became absolute. a few mornings after her return, she thought that she would go out and inquire after the welfare of our old friend tiff. it was a hazy, warm, bright summer morning, and all things lay in that dreamy stillness, that trance of voluptuous rest, which precedes the approach of the fiercer heats of the day. since her absence there had been evident improvement in tiff's affairs. the baby, a hearty, handsome little fellow, by dint of good nursing, pork-sucking, and lying out doors in the tending of breezes and zephyrs, had grown to be a creeping creature, and followed tiff around, in his garden ministrations, with unintelligible chatterings of delight. at the moment when nina rode up, tiff was busy with his morning work in the garden. his appearance, it is to be confessed, was somewhat peculiar. he usually wore, in compliment to his nursing duties, an apron in front; but, as his various avocations pressed hard upon his time, and as his own personal outfit was ever the last to be attended to, tiff's nether garments had shown traces of that frailty which is incident to all human things. "bress me," he said to himself, that morning, as he with difficulty engineered his way into them, "holes here, and holes dar! don't want but two holes in my breeches, and i's got two dozen! got my foot through de wrong place! por old tiff! laws a massy! wish i could get hold of some of dem dar clothes dey were telling 'bout at de camp-meeting, dey wore forty years in de wilderness! 'mazing handy dem ar times was! well, any how, i'll tie an apron behind, and anoder in front. bress de lord, i's got aprons, any how! i must make up a par of breeches, some of dese yer days, when de baby's teeth is all through, and teddy's clothes don't want no mending, and de washing is done, and dese yer weeds stops a growing in de garden. bress if i know what de lord want of so many weeds. 'pears like dey comes just to plague us; but, den, we doesn't know. may be dere's some good in 'em. we doesn't know but a leetle, no way." tiff was sitting on the ground weeding one of his garden-beds, when he was surprised by the apparition of nina on horse-back coming up to the gate. here was a dilemma, to be sure! no cavalier had a more absolute conception of the nature of politeness, and the claims of beauty, rank, and fashion, than tiff. then, to be caught sitting on the ground, with a blue apron on in front, and a red one on behind, was an appalling dilemma! however, as our readers may have discovered, tiff had that essential requisite of good breeding, the moral courage to face an exigency; and, wisely considering that a want of cordiality is a greater deficiency than the want of costume, he rose up, without delay, and hastened to the gate to acknowledge the honor. "lord bress yer sweet face, miss nina!" he said, while the breezes flapped and fluttered his red and blue sails, "old tiff's 'mazin' happy to see you. miss fanny's well, thank ye; and mas'r teddy and the baby all doing nicely. bress de lord, miss nina, be so good as to get down and come in. i's got some nice berries dat i picked in de swamp, and miss fanny'll be proud to have you take some. you see," he said, laughing heartily, and regarding his peculiar costume, "i wasn't looking for any quality long dis yer time o' day, so i just got on my old clothes." "why, uncle tiff, i think they become you immensely!" said nina. "your outfit is really original and picturesque. you're not one of the people that are ashamed of their work, are you, uncle tiff? so, if you just lead my horse to that stump, i'll get down." "laws, no, miss nina!" said tiff, as with alacrity he obeyed her orders. "spects, if old tiff was 'shamed of work, he'd have a heap to be 'shamed of; 'cause it's pretty much all work with him. 'tis so!" "tomtit pretended to come with me," said nina, as she looked round; "but he lagged behind by the brook to get some of those green grapes, and i suspect it's the last i shall see of him. so, tiff, if you please to tie sylphine in the shade, i'll go in to see miss fanny." and nina tripped lightly up the walk, now bordered on either side by china asters and marigolds, to where fanny was standing bashfully in the door waiting for her. in her own native woods this child was one of the boldest, freest, and happiest of romps. there was scarce an eligible tree which she could not climb, or a thicket she had not explored. she was familiar with every flower, every bird, every butterfly, of the vicinity. she knew precisely when every kind of fruit would ripen, and flower would blossom; and was so _au fait_ in the language of birds and squirrels, that she might almost have been considered one of the fraternity. her only companion and attendant, old tiff, had that quaint, fanciful, grotesque nature which is the furthest possible removed from vulgarity; and his frequent lectures on proprieties and conventionalities, his long and prolix narrations of her ancestral glories and distinctions, had succeeded in infusing into her a sort of childish consciousness of dignity, while at the same time it inspired her with a bashful awe of those whom she saw surrounded with the actual insignia and circumstances of position and fortune. after all, tiff's method of education, instinctive as it was, was highly philosophical, since a certain degree of self-respect is the nurse of many virtues, and a shield from many temptations. there is also something, perhaps, in the influence of descent. fanny certainly inherited from her mother a more delicate organization than generally attends her apparent station in life. she had, also, what perhaps belongs to the sex, a capability of receiving the mysteries and proprieties of dress; and nina, as she stood on the threshold of the single low room, could not but be struck with the general air of refinement which characterized both it and its little mistress. there were flowers from the swamps and hedges arranged with care and taste; feathers of birds, strings of eggs of different color, dried grasses, and various little woodland curiosities, which showed a taste refined by daily intercourse with nature. fanny herself was arrayed in a very pretty print dress, which her father had brought home in a recent visit, with a cape of white muslin. her brown hair was brushed smoothly from her forehead, and her clear blue eyes, and fair, rosy complexion, gave her a pleasing air of intelligence and refinement. "thank you," said nina, as fanny offered her the only chair the establishment afforded; "but i'm going with tiff out in the garden. i never can bear to be in the house such days as this. you didn't expect me over so early, uncle tiff; but i took a notable turn, this morning, and routed them up to an early breakfast, on purpose that i might have time to get over here before the heat came on. it's pleasant out here, now the shadow of the woods falls across the garden so. how beautifully those trees wave! tiff, go on with your work--never mind me." "yes, miss nina, it's mighty pleasant. why, i was out in dis yer garden at four o'clock dis morning, and 'peared like dese yer trees was waving like a psalm, so sort o' still, you know! kind o' spreading out der hands like dey'd have prayers; and dere was a mighty handsome star a looking down. _i_ spects dat ar star is one of de very oldest families up dar." "most likely," said nina, cheerily. "they call it venus, the star of love, uncle tiff; and i believe that is a very old family." "love is a mighty good ting, any how," said tiff. "lord bress you, miss nina, it makes everyting go kind o' easy. sometimes, when i'm studding upon dese yer tings, i says to myself, 'pears like de trees in de wood, dey loves each oder. dey stands kind o' locking arms so, and dey kind o' nod der heads, and whispers so! 'pears like de grape-vines, and de birds, and all dem ar tings, dey lives comfortable togeder, like dey was peaceable, and liked each oder. now, folks is apt to get a stewin' and a frettin' round, and turning up der noses at dis yer ting, and dat ar; but 'pears like de lord's works takes everyting mighty easy. dey just kind o' lives along peaceable. i tink it's mighty 'structive!" "certainly it is," said nina. "old mother nature is an excellent manager, and always goes on making the best of everything." "dere's heaps done dat ar way, and no noise," said tiff. "why, miss nina, i studies upon dat ar out here in my garden. why, look at dat ar corn, way up over your head, now! all dat ar growed dis yer summer. no noise 'bout it--'pears like nobody couldn't see when 'twas done. dey were telling us in camp-meeting how de lord created de heaven and de earth. now, miss nina, tiff has his own thoughts, you know; and tiff says, 'pears like de lord is creating de heaven and de earth all de time. 'pears like you can see him a doing of it right afore your face; and dem growing tings are so curus! miss nina, 'pears for all de world like as if dey was critters! 'pears like each of 'em has der own way, and won't go no oder! dese yer beans, dey will come up so curus right top o' de stalks; dey will turn round de pole one way, and, if you was to tie 'em, you couldn't make 'em go round t'oder! dey's set in der own way--dey is, for all dey's so still 'bout it! laws, miss nina dese yer tings makes tiff laugh--does so!" he said, sitting down, and indulging in one of his fits of merriment. "you are quite a philosopher, tiff," said nina. "laws, miss nina, i hopes not!" said tiff, solemnly; "'cause one of de preachers at de camp-meeting used up dem folk terrible, i tell you! dat ar pretty much all i could make out of de sermon, dat people mustn't be 'losophers! laws, miss nina, i hope i an't no sich!" "oh, i mean the good kind, uncle tiff. but how were you pleased, upon the whole, at the camp-meeting?" said nina. "well," said tiff, "miss nina, i hope i got something--i don't know fa'rly how much 'tis. but, miss nina, it 'pears like as if you had come out here to instruct us 'bout dese yer tings. miss fanny, she don't read very well yet, and 'pears like if you could read us some out of de bible, and teach us how to be christians"-- "why, tiff, i scarcely know how myself!" said nina. "i'll send milly to talk to you. she is a real good christian." "milly is a very nice woman," said tiff, somewhat doubtfully; "but, miss nina, 'pears like i would rather have white teaching; 'pears like i would rather have you, if it wouldn't be too much trouble." "oh, no, uncle tiff! if you want to hear me read, i'll read to you now," said nina. "have you got a bible, here? stay; i'll sit down. i'll take the chair and sit down in the shade, and then you needn't stop your work." tiff hurried into the house to call fanny; produced a copy of a testament, which, with much coaxing, he had persuaded cripps to bring on his last visit; and, while fanny sat at her feet making larkspur rings, she turned over the pages, to think what to read. when she saw tiff's earnest and eager attention, her heart smote her to think that the book, so valuable in his eyes, was to her almost an unread volume. "what shall i read to you, tiff? what do you want to hear?" "well, i wants to find out de shortest way i ken, how dese yer chil'en's to be got to heaven!" said tiff. "dis yer world is mighty well long as it holds out; but, den, yer see, it don't last forever! tings is passing away!" nina thought a moment. the great question of questions, so earnestly proposed to her! the simple, childlike old soul hanging confidingly on her answer! at last she said, with a seriousness quite unusual with her:-- "tiff, i think the best thing i can do is to read to you about our saviour. he came down into this world to show us the way to heaven. and i'll read you, when i come here days, all that there is about him--all he said and did; and then, perhaps, you'll see the way yourself. perhaps," she added, with a sigh, "i shall, too!" as she spoke, a sudden breeze of air shook the clusters of a prairie-rose, which was climbing into the tree under which she was sitting, and a shower of rose-leaves fell around her. "yes," she said to herself, as the rose-leaves fell on her book, "it's quite true, what he says. everything is passing!" and now, amid the murmur of the pine-trees, and the rustling of the garden-vines, came on the ear of the listeners the first words of that sweet and ancient story:-- "now, when jesus was born in bethlehem of judea, in the days of herod the king, behold there came wise men from the east, saying, 'where is _he_ that is born king of the jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.'" probably more cultivated minds would have checked the progress of the legend by a thousand questions, statistical and geographical, as to where jerusalem was, and who the wise men were, and how far the east was from jerusalem, and whether it was probable they would travel so far. but nina was reading to children, and to an old child-man, in whose grotesque and fanciful nature there was yet treasured a believing sweetness, like the amulets supposed to belong to the good genii of the fairy tales. the quick fancy of her auditors made reality of the story as it went along. a cloudy jerusalem built itself up immediately in their souls, and became as well known to them as the neighboring town of e----. herod, the king, became a real walking personage in their minds, with a crown on his head. and tiff immediately discerned a resemblance between him and a certain domineering old general eaton, who used greatly to withstand the cause of virtue, and the peytons, in the neighborhood where he was brought up. tiff's indignation, when the slaughter of the innocents was narrated, was perfectly outrageous. he declared "he wouldn't have believed that of king herod, bad as he was!" and, good-hearted and inoffensive as tiff was in general, it really seemed to afford him comfort, "dat de debil had got dat ar man 'fore now." "sarves him right, too!" said tiff, striking fiercely at a weed with his hoe. "killing all dem por little chil'en! why, what harm had dey done him, any way? wonder what he thought of hisself!" nina found it necessary to tranquillize the good creature, to get a hearing for the rest of the story. she went on reading of the wild night-journey of the wise men, and how the star went before them till it stood over the place where the child was. how they went in, and saw the young child, and mary his mother, and fell down before him, offering gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. "lord bless you! i wish i'd a been dar!" said tiff. "and dat ar chile was de lord of glory, sure 'nough, miss nina! i hearn 'em sing dis yer hymn at de camp-meeting--you know, 'bout cold on his cradle. you know it goes dis yer way." and tiff sung, to a kind of rocking lullaby, words whose poetic imagery had hit his fancy before he knew their meaning. "cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining, low lies his head with the beasts of the stall; angels adore, in slumber reclining, maker, and saviour, and monarch of all." nina had never realized, till she felt it in the undoubting faith of her listeners, the wild, exquisite poetry of that legend, which, like an immortal lily, blooms in the heart of christianity as spotless and as tender now as eighteen hundred years ago. that child of bethlehem, when afterwards he taught in galilee, spoke of seed which fell into a good and honest heart; and words could not have been more descriptive of the nature which was now receiving this seed of paradise. when nina had finished her reading, she found her own heart touched by the effect which she had produced. the nursing, child-loving old tiff was ready, in a moment, to bow before his redeemer, enshrined in the form of an infant; and it seemed as if the air around him had been made sacred by the sweetness of the story. as nina was mounting her horse to return, tiff brought out a little basket full of wild raspberries. "tiff wants to give you something," he said. "thank you, uncle tiff. how delightful! now, if you'll only give me a cluster of your michigan rose!" proud and happy was tiff, and, pulling down the very topmost cluster of his rose, he presented it to her. alas! before nina reached home, it hung drooping from the heat. "the grass withereth, and the flower fadeth; but the word of our god shall stand forever." chapter xxxi. the warning. in life organized as it is at the south, there are two currents:--one, the current of the master's fortunes, feelings, and hopes; the other, that of the slave's. it is a melancholy fact in the history of the human race, as yet, that there have been multitudes who follow the triumphal march of life only as captives, to whom the voice of the trumpet, the waving of the banners, the shouts of the people, only add to the bitterness of enthralment. while life to nina was daily unfolding in brighter colors, the slave-brother at her side was destined to feel an additional burden on his already unhappy lot. it was toward evening, after having completed his daily cares, that he went to the post-office for the family letters. among these, one was directed to himself, and he slowly perused it as he rode home through the woods. it was as follows: my dear brother,--i told you how comfortably we were living on our place--i and my children. since then, everything has been changed. mr. tom gordon came here and put in a suit for the estate, and attached me and my children as slaves. he is a dreadful man. the case has been tried and gone against us. the judge said that both deeds of emancipation--both the one executed in ohio, and the one here--were of no effect; that my boy was a slave, and could no more hold property than a mule before a plough. i had some good friends here, and people pitied me very much; but nobody could help me. tom gordon is a bad man--a _very_ bad man. i cannot tell you all that he said to me. i only tell you that i will kill myself and my children before we will be his slaves. harry, i have been _free_, and i know what liberty is. my children have been brought up _free_, and if i can help it they never shall know what slavery is. i have got away, and am hiding with a colored family here in natchez. i hope to get to cincinnati, where i have friends. my dear brother, i did hope to do something for you. now i cannot. nor can you do anything for me. the law is on the side of our oppressors; but i hope god will help us. farewell! your affectionate sister. it is difficult to fathom the feelings of a person brought up in a position so wholly unnatural as that of harry. the feelings which had been cultivated in him by education, and the indulgence of his nominal possessors, were those of an honorable and gentlemanly man. his position was absolutely that of the common slave, without one legal claim to anything on earth, one legal right of protection in any relation of life. what any man of strong nature would feel on hearing such tidings from a sister, harry felt. in a moment there rose up before his mind the picture of nina in all her happiness and buoyancy--in all the fortunate accessories in her lot. had the vague thoughts which crowded on his mind been expressed in words, they might have been something like these:-- "i have two sisters, daughters of one father, both beautiful, both amiable and good; but one has rank, and position, and wealth, and ease, and pleasure; the other is an outcast, unprotected, given up to the brutal violence of a vile and wicked man. she has been a good wife, and a good mother. her husband has done all he could to save her; but the cruel hand of the law grasps her and her children, and hurls them back into the abyss from which it was his life-study to raise them. and i can do nothing! i am not even a man! and this curse is on me, and on my wife, and on my children and children's children, forever! yes, what does the judge say, in this letter? 'he can no more own anything than the mule before his plough!' that's to be the fate of every child of mine! and yet people say, 'you have all you want; why are you not happy?' i wish they could try it! do they think broadcloth coats and gold watches can comfort a man for all this?" harry rode along, with his hands clenched upon the letter, the reins drooping from the horse's neck, in the same unfrequented path where he had twice before met dred. looking up, he saw him the third time, standing silently, as if he had risen from the ground. "where did you come from?" said he. "seems to me you are always at hand when anything is going against me!" "went not my spirit with thee?" said dred. "have i not seen it all? it is because we _will_ bear this, that we have it to bear, harry." "but," said harry, "what can we do?" "do? what does the wild horse do? launch out our hoofs! rear up, and come down on them! what does the rattlesnake do? lie in their path, and bite! why did they make slaves of us? they tried the wild indians first. why didn't they keep to them? _they_ wouldn't be slaves, and we _will_! they that _will_ bear the yoke, _may_ bear it!" "but," said harry, "dred, this is all utterly hopeless. without any means, or combination, or leaders, we should only rush on to our own destruction." "let us die, then!" said dred. "what if we do die? what great matter is that? if they bruise our head, we can sting their heels? nat turner--they killed him; but the fear of him almost drove them to set free their slaves! yes, it was argued among them. they came within two or three votes of it in their assembly. a little more fear, and they would have done it. if my father had succeeded, the slaves in carolina would be free to-day. die?--why not die? christ was crucified! has everything dropped out of you, that you can't die--that you'll crawl like worms, for the sake of living?" "i'm not afraid of death myself," said harry. "god knows i wouldn't care if i did die; but"-- "yes, i know," said dred. "she that letteth will let, till she be taken out of the way. i tell you, harry, there's a seal been loosed--there's a vial poured out on the air; and the destroying angel standeth over jerusalem, with his sword drawn!" "what do you mean by that?" said harry. dred stood silent for a moment; his frame assumed the rigid tension of a cataleptic state, and his voice sounded like that of a person speaking from a distance, yet there was a strange distinctness in it. "the words of the prophet, and the vision that he hath from the lord, when he saw the vision, falling into a trance, and having his eyes open, and behold he saw a roll flying through the heavens, and it was written, within and without, with mourning and lamentation and woe! behold, it cometh! behold, the slain of the lord shall be many! they shall fall in the house and by the way! the bride shall fall in her chamber, and the child shall die in its cradle! there shall be a cry in the land of egypt, for there shall not be a house where there is not one dead!" "dred! dred! dred!" said harry, pushing him by the shoulder; "come out of this--come out! it's frightful!" dred stood looking before him, with his head inclined forward, his hand upraised, and his eyes strained, with the air of one who is trying to make out something through a thick fog. "i see her!" he said. "who is that by her? his back is turned. ah! i see--it is he! and there's harry and milly! try hard--try! you won't do it. no, no use sending for the doctor. there's not one to be had. they are all too busy. rub her hands! yes. but--it's no good. 'whom the lord loveth, he taketh away from the evil to come.' lay her down. yes, it is death! death! death!" harry had often seen the strange moods of dred, and he shuddered now, because he partook somewhat in the common superstitions, which prevailed among the slaves, of his prophetic power. he shook and called him; but he turned slowly away, and, with eyes that seemed to see nothing, yet guiding himself with his usual dextrous agility, he plunged again into the thickness of the swamp, and was soon lost to view. after his return home it was with the sensation of chill at his heart that he heard aunt nesbit reading to nina portions of a letter, describing the march through some northern cities of the cholera, which was then making fearful havoc on our american shore. "nobody seems to know how to manage it," the letter said; "physicians are all at a loss. it seems to spurn all laws. it bursts upon cities like a thunderbolt, scatters desolation and death, and is gone with equal rapidity. people rise in the morning well, and are buried before evening. in one day houses are swept of a whole family." "ah," said harry, to himself, "i see the meaning now, but what does it portend to us?" how the strange foreshadowing had risen to the mind of dred, we shall not say. whether there be mysterious electric sympathies which, floating through the air, bear dim presentiments on their wings, or whether some stray piece of intelligence had dropped on his ear, and been interpreted by the burning fervor of his soul, we know not. the news, however, left very little immediate impression on the daily circle at canema. it was a dread reality in the far distance. harry only pondered it with anxious fear. chapter xxxii. the morning star. nina continued her visits to tiff's garden on almost every pleasant morning or evening. tiff had always some little offering, either berries or flowers, to present, or a nice little luncheon of fish or birds, cooked in some mode of peculiar delicacy; and which, served up in sylvan style, seemed to have something of the wild relish of the woods. in return, she continued to read the story so interesting to him; and it was astonishing how little explanation it needed--how plain honesty of heart, and lovingness of nature, interpreted passages over which theologians have wrangled in vain. it was not long before tiff had impersonated to himself each of the disciples, particularly peter; so that, when anything was said by him, tiff would nod his head significantly, and say, "ah, ah! dat ar's just like him! he's allers a puttin' in; but he's a good man, arter all!" what impression was made on the sensitive young nature, through whom, as a medium, tiff received this fresh revelation, we may, perhaps, imagine. there are times in life when the soul, like a half-grown climbing vine, hangs wavering tremulously, stretching out its tendrils for something to ascend by. such are generally the great transition periods of life, when we are passing from the ideas and conditions of one stage of existence to those of another. such times are most favorable for the presentation of the higher truths of religion. in the hazy, slumberous stillness of that midsummer atmosphere, in the long, silent rides through the pines. nina half awakened from the thoughtless dreams of childhood, yearning for something nobler than she yet had lived for, thought over, and revolved in her mind, this beautiful and spotless image of god, revealed in man, which her daily readings presented; and the world that he created seemed to whisper to her in every pulsation of its air, in every breath of its flowers, in the fanning of its winds, "he still liveth, and he loveth thee." the voice of the good shepherd fell on the ear of the wandering lamb, calling her to his arms; and nina found herself one day unconsciously repeating, as she returned through the woods, words which she had often heard read at church:-- "when thou saidst unto me, seek ye my face, my heart said unto thee, thy face, lord, will i seek." nina had often dreaded the idea of becoming a christian, as one shrinks from the idea of a cold, dreary passage which must be passed to gain a quiet home. but suddenly, as if by some gentle invisible hand, the veil seemed to be drawn which hid the face of almighty love from her view. she beheld the earth and the heavens transfigured in the light of his smile. a strange and unspeakable joy arose within her, as if some loving presence were always near her. it was with her when she laid down at night, and when she awoke in the morning the strange happiness had not departed. her feelings may be best expressed by an extract from a letter which she wrote at this time to clayton:-- "it seems to me that i have felt a greater change in me within the last two months than in my whole life before. when i look back at what i was in new york, three months ago, actually i hardly know myself. it seems to me in those old days that life was only a frolic to me, as it is to the kitten. i don't really think that there was much harm in me, only the want of good. in those days, sometimes i used to have a sort of dim longing to be better, particularly when livy ray was at school. it seemed as if she woke up something that had been asleep in me; but she went away, and i fell asleep again, and life went on like a dream. then i became acquainted with you, and you began to rouse me again, and for some time i thought i didn't like to wake; it was just as it is when one lies asleep in the morning--it's so pleasant to sleep and dream, that one resists any one who tries to bring them back to life. i used to feel quite pettish when i first knew you, and sometimes wished you'd let me alone, because i saw that you belonged to a different kind of sphere from what i'd been living in. and i had a presentiment that, if i let you go on, life would have to be something more than a joke with me. but _you would_, like a very indiscreet man as you are, you would insist on being in sober earnest. "i used to think that i had no heart; i begin to think i have a good deal now. every day it seems as if i could love more and more; and a great many things are growing clear to me that i didn't use to understand, and i'm growing happier every day. "you know my queer old _protégé_, uncle tiff, who lives in the woods here. for some time past i have been to his house every day, reading to him in the testament, and it has had a very great effect on me. it affected me very much, in the first place, that he seemed so very earnest about religion, when i, who ought to know so much more, was so indifferent to it; and when the old creature, with tears in his eyes, actually insisted upon it that i should show his children the road to heaven, then i began to read to him the testament, the life of jesus. i didn't know myself how beautiful it was--how suited to all our wants. it seemed to me i never saw so much beauty in anything before; and it seems as if it had waked a new life in me. everything is changed; and it is the beauty of christ that has changed it. you know i always loved beauty above all things, in music, in nature, and in flowers; but it seems to me that i see something now in jesus more beautiful than all. it seems as if all these had been shadows of beauty, but _he_ is the substance. it is strange, but i have a sense of him, his living and presence, that sometimes almost overpowers me. it seems as if he had been following me always, but i had not seen him. he has been a good shepherd, seeking the thoughtless lamb. he has, all my life, been calling me child; but till lately my heart has never answered, father! is this religion? is this what people mean by conversion? i tried to tell aunt nesbit how i felt, because now i feel kinder to everybody; and really my heart smote me to think how much fun i had made of her, and now i begin to love her very much. she was so anxious i should talk with mr. titmarsh, because he is a minister. well, you know i didn't want to do it, but i thought i ought to, because poor aunty really seemed to feel anxious i should. i suppose, if i were as perfect as i ought to be, a good man's stiff ways wouldn't trouble me so. but stiff people, you know, are my particular temptation. "he came and made a pastoral call, the other day, and talked to me. i don't think he understood me very well, and i'm sure i didn't understand him. he told me how many kinds of faith there were, and how many kinds of love. i believe there were three kinds of faith, and two kinds of love; and he thought it was important to know whether i had got the right kind. he said we ought not to love god because he loves us, but because he is holy. he wanted to know whether i had any just views of sin, as an infinite evil; and i told him i hadn't the least idea of what infinite was; and that i hadn't any views of anything, but the beauty of christ; that i didn't understand anything about the different sorts of faith, but that i felt perfectly sure that jesus is so good that he would make me feel right, and give me right views, and do everything for me that i need. "he wanted to know if i loved him because he magnified the law, and made it honorable; and i told him i didn't understand what that meant. "i don't think, on the whole, that the talk did me much good. it only confused me, and made me very uncomfortable. but i went out to old tiff's in the evening, and read how jesus received the little children. you never saw anybody so delighted as old tiff was. he got me to read it to him three or four times over; and now he gets me to read it every time i go there, and he says he likes it better than any other part of the testament. tiff and i get along very well together. he doesn't know any more about faith than i do, and hasn't any better views than i have. aunt nesbit is troubled about me, because i'm so happy. she says she's afraid i haven't any sense of sin. don't you remember my telling you how happy i felt the first time i heard _real_ music? i thought, before that, that i could sing pretty well; but in one hour all _my_ music became trash in my eyes. and yet, i would not have missed it for the world. so it is now. that beautiful life of jesus--so sweet, so calm, so pure, so unselfish, so perfectly _natural_, and yet so far beyond nature--has shown me what a poor, sinful, low creature i am; and yet i rejoice. i feel, sometimes, as i did when i first heard a full orchestra play some of mozart's divine harmonies. i forgot that i was alive; i lost all thought of myself entirely; and i was perfectly happy. so it is now. this loveliness and beauty that i see makes me happy without any thought of myself. it seems to me, sometimes, that while i see it i never can suffer. "there is another thing that is strange to me; and that is, that the bible has grown so beautiful to me. it seems to me that it has been all my life like the transparent picture, without any light behind it; and now it is all illuminated, and its words are full of meaning to me. i am light-hearted and happy--happier than ever i was. do you remember, the first day you came to canema, that i told you it seemed so sad that we must die? that feeling is all gone, now. i feel that jesus is everywhere, and that there is no such thing as dying; it is only going out of one room into another. "everybody wonders to see how light-hearted i am; and poor aunty says, 'she trembles for me.' i couldn't help thinking of that, the other morning i was reading to tiff; what jesus said when they asked him why his disciples did not fast: 'can the children of the bride-chamber mourn while the bridegroom is with them?' "now, my dear friend, you must tell me what you think of all this, because, you know, i always tell you everything. i have written to livy about it, because i know it will make her so happy. milly seems to understand it all, and what she says to me really helps me very much. i always used to think that milly had some strange, beautiful kind of inward life, that i knew nothing of, because she would speak with so much certainty of god's love, and _act_ as if it was so real to her; and she would tell me so earnestly, 'chile, he loves you!' now i see into it--that mystery of his love to us, and how he overcomes and subdues all things by love; and i understand how 'perfect love casteth out fear.'" to this letter nina soon received an answer, from which also we give an extract:-- "if i was so happy, my dearest one, as to be able to awaken that deeper and higher nature which i always knew was in you, i thank god. but, if i ever was in any respect your teacher, you have passed beyond my teachings now. your childlike simplicity of nature makes you a better scholar than i in that school where the first step is to forget all our worldly wisdom and become a little child. we men have much more to contend with, in the pride of our nature, in our habits of worldly reasoning. it takes us long to learn the lesson that faith is the highest wisdom. don't trouble your head, dear nina, with aunt nesbit or mr. titmarsh. _what you feel is faith._ they _define_ it, and you _feel_ it. and there's all the difference between the definition and the feeling, that there is between the husk and the corn. "as for me, i am less happy than you. religion seems to me to have two parts to it. one part is the aspiration of man's nature, and the other is god's answer to those aspirations. i have, as yet, only the first; perhaps, because i am less simple and less true; perhaps, because i am not yet become a little child. so _you_ must be my guide, instead of i _yours_; for i believe it is written of the faithful, that a little child shall lead them. "i am a good deal tried now, my dear, because i am coming to a crisis in my life. i am going to take a step that will deprive me of many friends, of popularity, and that will, perhaps, alter all my course for the future. but, if i should lose friends and popularity, _you_ would love me still, would you not? it is wronging you to ask such a question; but yet i should like to have you answer it. it will make me stronger for what i have to do. on thursday of this week, my case will come on again. i am very busy just now; but the thought of you mingles with every thought." chapter xxxiii. the legal decision. the time for the session of the supreme court had now arrived, and clayton's cause was to be reconsidered. judge clayton felt exceedingly chagrined, as the time drew near. being himself the leading judge of the supreme court, the declaration of the bench would necessarily be made known through him. "it is extremely painful to me," he said, to mrs. clayton, "to have this case referred to me; for i shall be obliged to reverse the decision." "well," said mrs. clayton, "edward must have fortitude to encounter the usual reverses of his profession. he made a gallant defence, and received a great deal of admiration, which will not be at all lessened by this." "you do not understand me," said judge clayton. "it is not the coming out in opposition to edward which principally annoys me. it is the nature of the decision that i am obliged to make--the doctrine that i feel myself forced to announce." "and must you, then?" said mrs. clayton. "yes, i must," said judge clayton. "a judge can only perceive and declare. what i see, i must speak, though it go against all my feelings and all my sense of right." "i don't see, for my part," said mrs. clayton, "how that decision can possibly be reversed, without allowing the most monstrous injustice." "such is the case," said judge clayton; "but i sit in my seat, not to make laws, nor to alter them, but simply to declare what they are. however bad the principle declared, it is not so bad as the proclamation of a falsehood would be. i have sworn truly to declare the laws, and i must keep my oath." "and have you talked with edward about it?" "not particularly. he understands, in general, the manner in which the thing lies in my mind." this conversation took place just before it was time for judge clayton to go to his official duties. the court-room, on this occasion, was somewhat crowded. barker, being an active, resolute, and popular man, with a certain class, had talked up a considerable excitement with regard to his case. clayton's friends were interested in it on his account; lawyers were, for the sake of the principle; so that, upon the whole, there was a good deal of attention drawn towards this decision. among the spectators on the morning of the court, clayton remarked harry. for reasons which our readers may appreciate, his presence there was a matter of interest to clayton. he made his way towards him. "harry," he said, "how came you here?" "the ladies," said harry, "thought they would like to know how the thing went, and so i got on to my horse and came over." as he spoke, he placed in clayton's hand a note, and, as the paper touched his hand, a close spectator might have seen the color rise in his cheek. he made his way back to his place, and opened a law-book, which he held up before his face. inside the law-book, however, was a little sheet of gilt-edged paper, on which were written a few words in pencil, more interesting than all the law in the world. shall we commit the treason of reading over his shoulder? it was as follows:-- "you say you may to-day be called to do something which you think right, but which will lose you many friends; which will destroy your popularity, which may alter all your prospects in life; and you ask if i can love you yet. i say, in answer, that it was not your friends that i loved, nor your popularity, nor your prospects, but _you_. i _can_ love and honor a man who is not afraid nor ashamed to do what he thinks to be right; and therefore i hope ever to remain yours, nina. "p. s. i only got your letter this morning, and have but just time to scribble this and send by harry. we are all well, and shall be glad to see you as soon as the case is over." "clayton, my boy, you are very busy with your authorities," said frank russel, behind him. clayton hastily hid the paper in his hand. "it's charming!" said russel, "to have little manuscript annotations on law. it lights it up, like the illuminations in old missals. but say, clayton, you live at the fountain-head;--how is the case going?" "against me!" said clayton. "well, it's no great odds, after all. you have had your triumph. these after-thoughts cannot take away that.... but hush! there's your father going to speak!" every eye in the court-room was turned upon judge clayton, who was standing with his usual self-poised composure of manner. in a clear, deliberate voice, he spoke as follows:-- "a judge cannot but lament, when such cases as the present are brought into judgment. it is impossible that the reasons on which they go can be appreciated, but where institutions similar to our own exist, and are _thoroughly understood_. the struggle, too, in the judge's own breast, between the feelings of the man and the duty of the magistrate, is a severe one, presenting strong temptation to put aside such questions, if it be possible. it is useless, however, to complain of things inherent in our political state. and it is criminal in a court to avoid any responsibility which the laws impose. with whatever reluctance, therefore, it is done, the court is compelled to express an opinion upon the extent of the dominion of the master over the slave in north carolina. the indictment charges a battery on milly, a slave of louisa nesbit.... "the inquiry here is, whether a cruel and unreasonable battery on a slave by the hirer is indictable. the judge below instructed the jury that it is. he seems to have put it on the ground, that the defendant had but a special property. our laws uniformly treat the master, or other person having the possession and command of the slave, as entitled to the same extent of authority. _the object is the same, the service of the slave_; and the same powers must be confided. in a criminal proceeding, and, indeed, in reference to all other persons but the general owner, the hirer and possessor of the slave, in relation to both rights and duties, is, for the time being, the owner.... but, upon the general question, whether the owner is answerable _criminaliter_, for a battery upon his own slave, or other exercise of authority or force, not forbidden by statute, the court entertains but little doubt. that he is so liable, has never been decided; nor, as far as is known, been hitherto contended. there has been no prosecution of the sort. the established habits and uniform practice of the country, in this respect, is the best evidence of the portion of power deemed by the whole community requisite to the preservation of the master's dominion. if we thought differently, we could not set our notions in array against the judgment of everybody else, and say that this or that authority may be safely lopped off. "this has indeed been assimilated at the bar to the other domestic relations: and arguments drawn from the well-established principles, which _confer_ and _restrain_ the authority of the parent over the child, the tutor over the pupil, the master over the apprentice, have been pressed on us. "the court does not recognize their application. there is no likeness between the cases. they are in opposition to each other, and there is an impassable gulf between them. the difference is that which exists between freedom and slavery; and a greater cannot be imagined. in the one, the end in view is the happiness of the youth born to equal rights with that governor on whom the duty devolves of training the young to usefulness, in a station which he is afterwards to assume among freemen. to such an end, and with such a subject, moral and intellectual instruction seem the natural means; and, for the most part, they are found to suffice. moderate force is superadded only to make the others effectual. if that fail, it is better to leave the party to his own headstrong passions, and the ultimate correction of the law, than to allow it to be immoderately inflicted by a private person. with slavery it is far otherwise. the end is the profit of the master, his security, and the public safety; the subject, one doomed, in his own person and his posterity, to live without knowledge, and without the capacity to make anything his own, and to toil that another may reap the fruits. what moral considerations shall be addressed to such a being, to convince him what it is impossible but that the most stupid must feel and know can never be true,--that he is thus to labor upon a principle of natural duty, or for the sake of his own personal happiness? such services can only be expected from one who has no will of his own; who surrenders his will in implicit obedience to that of another. such obedience is the consequence only of uncontrolled authority over the body. there is nothing else which can operate to produce the effect. the power of the master must be absolute, to render the submission of the slave perfect. i most freely confess my sense of the harshness of this proposition. i feel it as deeply as any man can. and, as a principle of moral right, every person in his retirement must repudiate it. but, in the actual condition of things, it must be so. there is no remedy. this discipline belongs to the state of slavery. they cannot be disunited without abrogating at once the rights of the master, and absolving the slave from his subjection. it constitutes the curse of slavery to both the bond and the free portions of our population. but it is _inherent in the relation_ of master and slave. that there may be particular instances of cruelty and deliberate barbarity, where in conscience the law might properly interfere, is most probable. the difficulty is to determine where a _court_ may properly begin. merely in the abstract, it may well be asked which power of the master accords with right. the answer will probably sweep away all of them. but we cannot look at the matter in that light. the truth is that we are forbidden to enter upon a train of general reasoning on the subject. we cannot allow the right of the master to be brought into discussion in the courts of justice. the slave, to remain a slave, must be made sensible that there is no appeal from his master; that his power is, in no instance, usurped, but is conferred by the laws of man, at least, if not by the law of god. the danger would be great, indeed, if the tribunals of justice should be called on to graduate the punishment appropriate to every temper, and every dereliction of menial duty. "no man can anticipate the many and aggravated provocations of the master which the slave would be constantly stimulated by his own passions, or the instigation of others, to give; or the consequent wrath of the master, prompting him to bloody vengeance upon the turbulent traitor; a vengeance _generally practised with impunity, by reason of its privacy_. the court, therefore, disclaims the power of changing the relation in which these parts of our people stand to each other. * * * * * * * * * "i repeat, that i would gladly have avoided this ungrateful question. but, being brought to it, the court is compelled to declare that while slavery exists amongst us in its present state, or until it shall seem fit to the legislature to interpose express enactments to the contrary, it will be the imperative _duty_ of the judges _to recognize the full dominion of the owner over the slave_, except where the exercise of it is forbidden by statute. "and this we do upon the ground that _this dominion is essential to the value of slaves as property, to the security of the master and the public tranquillity, greatly dependent upon their subordination_; and, in fine, as most effectually securing the general protection and comfort of the slaves themselves. judgment below reversed; and judgment entered for the defendant." during the delivery of the decision clayton's eyes, by accident, became fixed upon harry, who was standing opposite to him, and who listened through the whole with breathless attention. he observed, as it went on, that his face became pale, his brow clouded, and that a fierce and peculiar expression flashed from his dark-blue eye. never had clayton so forcibly realized the horrors of slavery as when he heard them thus so calmly defined in the presence of one into whose soul the iron had entered. the tones of judge clayton's voice, so passionless, clear, and deliberate; the solemn, calm, unflinching earnestness of his words, were more than a thousand passionate appeals. in the dead silence that followed, clayton rose, and requested permission of the court to be allowed to say a few words in view of the decision. his father looked slightly surprised, and there was a little movement among the judges. but curiosity, perhaps, among other reasons, led the court to give consent. clayton spoke:-- "i hope it will not be considered a disrespect or impertinence for me to say that the law of slavery, and the nature of that institution, have for the first time been made known to me to-day in their true character. i had before flattered myself with the hope that it might be considered a guardian institution, by which a stronger race might assume the care and instruction of the weaker one; and i had hoped that its laws were capable of being so administered as to protect the defenceless. this illusion is destroyed. i see but too clearly now the purpose and object of the law. i cannot, therefore, as a christian man, remain in the practice of law in a slave state. i therefore relinquish the profession, into which i have just been inducted, and retire forever from the bar of my native state." "there!--there!--there he goes!" said frank russel. "the sticking-point has come at last. his conscience is up, and start him now who can!" there was a slight motion of surprise in the court and audience. but judge clayton sat with unmoved serenity. the words had struck to the depth of his soul. they had struck at the root of one of his strongest hopes in life. but he had listened to them with the same calm and punctilious attention which it was his habit to give to every speaker; and, with unaltered composure, he proceeded to the next business of the court. a step so unusual occasioned no little excitement. but clayton was not one of the class of people to whom his associates generally felt at liberty to express their opinions of his conduct. the quiet reserve of his manners discouraged any such freedom. as usual, in cases where a person takes an uncommon course from conscientious motives, clayton was severely criticised. the more trifling among the audience contented themselves with using the good set phrases, quixotic, absurd, ridiculous. the elder lawyers, and those friendly to clayton, shook their heads, and said, rash, precipitate, unadvised. "there's a want of ballast about him, somewhere!" said one. "he is unsound!" said another. "radical and impracticable!" added a third. "yes," said frank russel, who had just come up, "clayton _is_ as radical and impracticable as the sermon on the mount, and that's the most impracticable thing i know of in literature. we all _can_ serve god and mammon. we have discovered that happy medium in our day. clayton is behind the times. he is _jewish_ in his notions. don't you think so, mr. titmarsh?" addressing the rev. mr. titmarsh. "it strikes me that our young friend is extremely _ultra_," said mr. titmarsh. "i might feel disposed to sympathize with him in the feelings he expressed, _to some extent_; but it having pleased the divine providence to establish the institution of slavery, i humbly presume it is not competent for human reason to judge of it." "and if it had pleased the divine providence to have established the institution of piracy, you'd say the same thing, i suppose!" said frank russel. "certainly, my young friend," said mr. titmarsh. "whatever is divinely ordered, becomes right by that fact." "i should think," said frank russel, "that things were divinely ordered because they were right." "no, my friend," replied mr. titmarsh, moderately; "they are right because they are ordered, however contrary they may appear to any of our poor notions of justice and humanity." and mr. titmarsh walked off. "did you hear that?" said russel. "and they expect really to come it over us with stuff like that! now, if a fellow don't go to church sundays, there's a dreadful outcry against him for not being religious! and, if they get us there, that's the kind of thing they put down our throats! as if they were going to make practical men give in to such humbugs!" and the rev. mr. titmarsh went off in another direction, lamenting to a friend as follows:-- "how mournfully infidelity is increasing among the young men of our day! they quote scripture with the same freedom that they would a book of plays, and seem to treat it with no more reverence! i believe it's the want of catechetical instruction while they are children. there's been a great falling back in the teaching of the assembly's catechism to children when they are young! i shall get that point up at the general assembly. if that were thoroughly committed when they are children, i think they would never doubt afterwards." clayton went home and told his mother what he had done, and why. his father had not spoken to him on this subject; and there was that about judge clayton which made it difficult to introduce a topic, unless he signified an inclination to enter upon it. he was, as usual, calm, grave, and considerate, attending to every duty with unwearying regularity. at the end of the second day, in the evening, judge clayton requested his son to walk in to his study. the interview was painful on both sides. "you are aware, my son," he said, "that the step you have taken is a very painful one to me. i hope that it was not taken precipitately, from any sudden impulse." "you may rest assured it was not," said clayton. "i followed the deepest and most deliberate convictions of my conscience." "in that case, you could not do otherwise," replied judge clayton. "i have no criticisms to make. but will your conscience allow you to retain the position of a slave-holder?" "i have already relinquished it," replied clayton, "so far as my own intentions are concerned. i retain the legal relation of owner simply as a means of protecting my servants from the cruelties of the law, and of securing the opportunity to educate and elevate them." "and suppose this course brings you into conflict with the law of the state?" said judge clayton. "if there is any reasonable prospect of having the law altered, i must endeavor to do that," said clayton. "but," said judge clayton, "suppose the law is so rooted in the nature of the institution, that it cannot be repealed without uprooting the institution? what then?" "i say repeal the law, if it do uproot the institution," said clayton. "_fiat justitia ruat coelum._" "i supposed that would be your answer," said judge clayton, patiently. "that is undoubtedly the logical line of life. but you are aware that communities do not follow such lines; your course, therefore, will place you in opposition to the community in which you live. your conscientious convictions will cross self-interest, and the community will not allow you to carry them out." "then," said clayton, "i must, with myself and my servants, remove to some region where i can do this." "that i supposed would be the result," said judge clayton. "and have you looked at the thing in all its relations and consequences?" "i have," said clayton. "you are about to form a connection with miss gordon," said judge clayton. "have you considered how this will affect her?" "yes," said clayton. "miss gordon fully sustains me in the course i have taken." "i have no more to say," said judge clayton. "every man must act up to his sense of duty." there was a pause of a few moments, and judge clayton added:-- "you, perhaps, have seen the implication which your course throws upon us who still continue to practise the system and uphold the institution which you repudiate." "i meant no implications," said clayton. "i presume not. but they result, logically, from your course," said his father. "i assure you, i have often myself pondered the question with reference to my own duties. my course is a sufficient evidence that i have not come to the same result. human law is, at best, but an approximation, a reflection of many of the ills of our nature. imperfect as it is, it is, on the whole, a blessing. the worst system is better than anarchy." "but, my father, why could you not have been a reformer of the system?" "my son, no reform is possible, unless we are prepared to give up the institution of slavery. that will be the immediate result; and this is so realized by the instinct of self-preservation, which is unfailing in its accuracy, that every such proposition will be ignored, till there is a settled conviction in the community that the institution itself is a moral evil, and a sincere determination felt to be free from it. i see no tendency of things in that direction. that body of religious men of different denominations, called, _par excellence_, the church, exhibit a degree of moral apathy on this subject which is to me very surprising. it is with them that the training of the community, on which any such reform could be built, must commence; and i see no symptoms of their undertaking it. the decisions and testimonies of the great religious assemblies in the land, in my youth, were frequent. they have grown every year less and less decided; and now the morality of the thing is openly defended in our pulpits, to my great disgust. i see no way but that the institution will be left to work itself out to its final result, which will, in the end, be ruinous to our country. i am not myself gifted with the talents of a reformer. my turn of mind fits me for the situation i hold. i cannot hope that i have done no harm in it; but the good, i hope, will outweigh the evil. if you feel a call to enter on this course, fully understanding the difficulties and sacrifices it would probably involve, i would be the last one to throw the influence of my private wishes and feelings into the scale. we live here but a few years. it is of more consequence that we should do right, than that we should enjoy ourselves." judge clayton spoke this with more emotion than he usually exhibited, and clayton was much touched. "my dear father," he said, putting nina's note into his hand, "you made allusion to miss gordon. this note, which i received from her on the morning of your decision, will show you what her spirit is." judge clayton put on his spectacles, and read over the note deliberately, twice. he then handed it formally to his son, and remarked, with his usual brevity,-- "she will do!" chapter xxxiv. the cloud bursts. the shadow of that awful cloud which had desolated other places now began to darken the boundaries of the plantation of canema. no disease has ever more fully filled out the meaning of those awful words of scripture, "the pestilence that walketh in darkness." none has been more irregular, and apparently more perfectly capricious, in its movements. during the successive seasons that it has been epidemic in this country, it has seemed to have set at defiance the skill of the physicians. the system of medical tactics which has been wrought out by the painful experience of one season seems to be laughed to scorn by the varying type of the disease in the next. certain sanitary laws and conditions would seem to be indispensable; yet those who are familiar with it have had fearful experience how like a wolf it will sometimes leap the boundaries of the best and most carefully-guarded fold, and, spite of every caution and protection, sweep all before it. its course through towns and villages has been equally singular. sometimes descending like a cloud on a neighborhood, it will leave a single village or town untouched amidst the surrounding desolations, and long after, when health is restored to the whole neighborhood, come down suddenly on the omitted towns, as a ravaging army sends back a party for prey to some place which has been overlooked or forgotten. sometimes, entering a house, in twenty-four hours it will take all who are in it. sometimes it will ravage all the city except some one street or locality, and then come upon that, while all else is spared. its course, upon southern plantations, was marked by similar capriciousness, and was made still more fatal by that peculiar nature of plantation life which withdraws the inmates so far from medical aid. when the first letters were received describing the progress of it in northern cities, aunt nesbit felt much uneasiness and alarm. it is remarkable with what tenacity people often will cling to life, whose enjoyments in it are so dull and low that a bystander would scarcely think them worth the struggle of preservation. when at length the dreaded news began to be heard from one point and another in their vicinity, aunt nesbit said, one day, to nina,-- "your cousins, the gordons, in e., have written to us to leave the plantation, and come and spend some time with them, till the danger is over." "why," said nina, "do they think the cholera can't come there?" "well," said aunt nesbit, "they have their family under most excellent regulations; and, living in a town so, they are within call of a doctor, if anything happens." "aunt," said nina, "perhaps you had better go; but i will stay with my people." "why, don't you feel afraid, nina?" "no, aunt, i don't. besides, i think it would be very selfish for me to live on the services of my people all my life, and then run away and leave them alone when a time of danger comes. the least i can do is to stay and take care of them." this conversation was overheard by harry, who was standing with his back to them, on the veranda, near the parlor door where they were sitting. "child," said aunt nesbit, "what do you suppose you can do? you haven't any experience. harry and milly can do a great deal better than you can. i'll leave milly here. it's our first duty to take care of our health." "no, aunt, i think there are some duties before that," said nina. "it's true i haven't a great deal of strength, but i have courage; and i know my going away would discourage our people, and fill them with fear; and that, they say, predisposes to the disease. i shall get the carriage up, and go directly over to see the doctor, and get directions and medicines. i shall talk to our people, and teach them what to do, and see that it is done. and, when they see that i am calm, and not afraid, they will have courage. but, aunt, if you are afraid, i think you had better go. you are feeble; you can't make much exertion; and if you feel any safer or more comfortable, i think it would be best. i should like to have milly stay, and she, harry, and i, will be a board of health to the plantation." "harry," she said, "if you'll get up the carriage, we'll go immediately." again harry felt the bitterness of his soul sweetened and tranquillized by the noble nature of her to whose hands the law had given the chain which bound him. galling and intolerable as it would have been otherwise, he felt, when with her, that her service was perfect freedom. he had not said anything to nina about the contents of the letter which he had received from his sister. he saw that it was an evil which she had no power over, and he shrank from annoying her with it. nina supposed that his clouded and troubled aspect was caused wholly by the solicitude of responsibility. in the same carriage which conveyed her to the town sat aunt nesbit also, and her cap-boxes, whose importance even the fear of the cholera could not lessen in her eyes. nina found the physician quite _au fait_ on the subject. he had been reading about miasma and animalculæ, and he entertained nina nearly half an hour with different theories as to the cause of the disease, and with the experiments which had been made in foreign hospitals. among the various theories, there was one which appeared to be his particular pet; and nina couldn't help thinking, as he stepped about so alertly, that he almost enjoyed the prospect of putting his discoveries to the test. by dint, however, of very practical and positive questions, nina drew from him all the valuable information which he had to give her; and he wrote her a very full system of directions, and put up a case of medicines for her, assuring her that he should be happy to attend in person if he had time. on the way home, nina stopped at uncle john gordon's plantation, and there had the first experience of the difference between written directions for a supposed case, and the actual, awful realities of the disease. her uncle john had been seized only half an hour before, in the most awful manner. the household was all in terror and confusion, and the shrieks and groans of agony which proceeded from his room were appalling. his wife, busy with the sufferer, did not perceive that the messengers who had been sent in haste for the doctor were wringing their hands in fruitless terror, running up and down the veranda, and doing nothing. "harry," said nina, "take out one of the carriage-horses, and ride quick for your life, and bring the doctor over here in a minute!" in a few moments the thing was done, and harry was out of sight. she then walked up to the distracted servants, and commanded them, in a tone of authority, to cease their lamentations. her resolute manner, and the quiet tone of voice which she preserved, acted as a sedative on their excited nerves. she banished all but two or three of the most reasonable from the house, and then went to the assistance of her aunt. before long the doctor arrived. when he had been in the sick room a few moments, he came out to make some inquiries of nina, and she could not help contrasting the appalled and confounded expression of his countenance with the dapper, consequential air, with which, only two hours before, he had been holding forth to her on animalculæ and miasma. "the disease," he said, "presented itself in an entirely different aspect from what he had expected. the remedies," he said, "did not work as he anticipated; the case was a peculiar one." alas! before the three months were over, poor doctor, you found many peculiar cases! "do you think you can save his life?" said nina. "child, only god can save him!" said the physician; "nothing works right." but why prolong the torture of that scene, or rehearse the struggles, groans, and convulsions? nina, poor flowery child of seventeen summers, stood with the rest in mute despair. all was tried that could be done or thought of; but the disease, like some blind, deaf destroyer, marched on, turning neither to right nor left, till the cries and groans grew fainter, the convulsed muscles relaxed, and the strong, florid man lay in the last stages of that fearful collapse which in one hour shrivels the most healthy countenance and the firmest muscles to the shrunken and withered image of decrepit old age. when the breath had passed, and all was over, nina could scarcely believe that that altered face and form, so withered and so worn, could have been her healthy and joyous uncle, and who never had appeared healthier and more joyous than on that morning. but, as a person passing under the foam and spray of niagara clings with blind confidence to a guide whom he feels, but cannot see, nina, in this awful hour, felt that she was not alone. the redeemer, all-powerful over death and the grave, of whom she had been thinking so much of late, seemed to her sensibly near. and it seemed to her as if a voice said to her, continually, "fear not, for i am with thee. be not dismayed, for i am thy god." "how calm you are, my child!" said aunt maria to her. "i wouldn't have thought it was in you. i don't know what we should do without you." but now a frightful wail was heard. "oh, we are all dying! we are all going! oh, missis, come quick! peter has got it! oh, daddy has got it! oh, my child! my child!" and the doctor, exhausted as he was by the surprise and excitement of this case, began flying from one to another of the cabins, in the greatest haste. two or three of the house-servants also seemed to be struck in the same moment, and only the calmness and courage which nina and her aunt maintained prevented a general abandonment to panic. nina possessed that fine, elastic temperament which, with the appearance of extreme delicacy, possesses great powers of endurance. the perfect calmness which she felt enabled her to bring all her faculties to bear on the emergency. "my good aunty, you mustn't be afraid! bring out your religion; trust in god," she said, to the cook, who was wringing her hands in terror. "remember your religion; sing some of your hymns, and do your duty to the sick." there is a magic power in the cheerful tone of courage, and nina succeeded in rallying the well ones to take care of the sick; but now came a messenger, in hot haste, to say that the cholera had broken out on the plantation at home. "well, harry," said nina, with a face pale, yet unmoved, "our duty calls us away." and, accompanied by the weary physician, they prepared to go back to canema. before they had proceeded far, a man met them on horseback. "is dr. butler with you?" "yes," said nina, putting her head out of the carriage. "oh, doctor, i've been riding all over the country after you. you must come back to town this minute! judge peters is dying! i'm afraid he is dead before this time, and there's a dozen more cases right in that street. here, get on to my horse, and ride for your life." the doctor hastily sprang from the carriage, and mounted the horse; then, stopping a moment, he cast a look of good-natured pity on the sweet, pale face that was leaning out of the carriage window. "my poor child," he said, "i can't bear to leave you. who will help you?" "god," said nina; "i am not afraid!" "come, come," said the man, "do hurry!" and, with one hasty glance more, he was gone. "now, harry," said nina, "everything depends upon our keeping up our courage and our strength. we shall have no physician. we must just do the best we can. after all, it is our lord jesus that has the keys of death, and _he_ loved us and died for us. he will certainly be with us." "oh, miss nina, you are an angel!" said harry, who felt at that moment as if he could have worshipped her. arrived at home, nina found a scene of terror and confusion similar to that she had already witnessed. old hundred lay dead in his cabin, and the lamenting crowd, gathering round, were yielding to the full tide of fear and excitement, which predisposed them to the same fate. nina rode up immediately to the group. she spoke to them calmly; she silenced their outcries, and bade them obey her. "if you wish, all of you, to die," she said, "this is the way towards it; but, if you'll keep quiet and calm, and do what ought to be done, your lives may be saved. harry and i have got medicines--we understand what to do. you must follow our directions exactly." nina immediately went to the house, and instructed milly, aunt rose, and two or three of the elderly women, in the duties to be done. milly rose up, in this hour of terror, with all the fortitude inspired by her strong nature. "bress de lord," she said, "for his grace to you, chile! de lord is a shield. he's been wid us in six troubles, and he'll be wid us in seven. we can sing in de swellings of jordan." harry, meanwhile, was associating to himself a band of the most reliable men on the place, and endeavoring in the same manner to organize them for action. a messenger was dispatched immediately to the neighboring town for unlimited quantities of the most necessary medicines and stimulants. the plantation was districted off, and placed under the care of leaders, who held communication with harry. in the course of two or three hours, the appalling scene of distress and confusion was reduced to the resolute and orderly condition of a well-managed hospital. milly walked the rounds in every direction, appealing to the religious sensibilities of the people, and singing hymns of trust and confidence. she possessed a peculiar voice, suited to her large development of physical frame, almost as deep as a man's bass, with the rich softness of a feminine tone; and nina could now and then distinguish, as she was moving about the house or grounds, that triumphant tone, singing,-- "god is my sun, and he my shade, to guard my head, by night or noon. hast thou not given thy word to save my soul from death? and i can trust my lord, to keep my mortal breath. i'll go and come, nor fear to die, till from on high thou call me home." the house that night presented the aspect of a beleaguered garrison. nina and milly had thrown open all the chambers; and such as were peculiarly exposed to the disease, by delicacy of organization or tremulousness of nervous system, were allowed to take shelter there. "now, chile," said milly, when all the arrangements had been made, "you jes lie down and go to sleep in yer own room. i see how 'tis with you; de spirit is willing, but de flesh is weak. chile, dere isn't much of you, but dere won't nothing go widout you. so, you take care of yerself first. never you be 'fraid! de people's quiet now, and de sick ones is ben took care of, and de folks is all doing de best dey can. so, now, you try and get some sleep; 'cause if _you_ goes we shall _all_ go." accordingly nina retired to her room, but before she lay down she wrote to clayton:-- "we are all in affliction here, my dear friend. poor uncle john died this morning of the cholera. i had been to e---- to see a doctor and provide medicines. when i came back i thought i would call a few moments at the house, and i found a perfect scene of horror. poor uncle died, and there are a great many sick on the place now; and while i was thinking that i would stay and help aunt, a messenger came in all haste, saying that the disease had broken out on our place at home. "we were bringing the doctor with us in our carriage, when we met a man riding full speed from e----, who told us that judge peters was dying, and a great many others were sick on the same street. when we came home we found the poor old coachman dead, and the people in the greatest consternation. it took us some time to tranquillize them and to produce order, but that is now done. our house is full of the sick and the fearful ones. milly and harry are firm and active, and inspire the rest with courage. about twenty are taken with the disease, but not as yet in a violent way. in this awful hour i feel a strange peace, which the bible truly says 'passeth all understanding.' i see, now, that though the world and all that is in it should perish, 'christ can give us a beautiful immortal life.' i write to you because, perhaps, this may be the only opportunity. if i die, do not mourn for me, but thank god, who giveth us the victory through our lord jesus christ. but, then, i trust, i shall not die. i hope to live in this world, which is more than ever beautiful to me. life has never been so valuable and dear as since i have known you. yet i have such trust in the love of my redeemer, that, if _he_ were to ask me to lay it down, i could do it almost without a sigh. i would follow the lamb whithersoever he goeth. perhaps the same dreadful evil is around you,--perhaps at magnolia grove. i will not be selfish in calling you here, if anne needs you more. perhaps she has not such reliable help as harry and milly are to me. so do not fear, and do not leave any duty for me. our father loves us, and will do nothing amiss. milly walks about the entries singing. i love to hear her sing, she sings in such a grand triumphant tone. hark, i hear her now! 'i'll go and come, nor fear to die, till from on high thou call me home.' "i shall write you every mail, now, till we are better. "living or dying, ever your own "nina." after writing this, nina lay down and slept--slept all night as quietly as if death and disease were not hanging over her head. in the morning she rose and dressed herself, and milly, with anxious care, brought to her room some warm coffee and crackers, which she insisted on her taking before she left her apartment. "how are they all, milly?" said nina. "well, chile," said milly, "de midnight cry has been heard among us. aunt rose is gone; and big sam, and jack, and sally, dey's all gone; but de people is all more quiet, love, and dey's determined to stand it out!" "how is harry?" said nina, in a tremulous voice. "he isn't sick; he has been up all night working over de sick, but he keeps up good heart. de older ones is going to have a little prayer-meeting after breakfast, as a sort of funeral to dem dat's dead; and, perhaps, miss nina, you'd read us a chapter." "certainly i will," said nina. it was yet an early hour, when a large circle of family and plantation hands gathered together in the pleasant, open saloon, which we have so often described. the day was a beautiful one; the leaves and shrubbery round the veranda moist and tremulous with the glittering freshness of morning dew. there was a murmur of tenderness and admiration as nina, in a white morning-wrapper, and a cheek as white, came into the room. "sit down, all my friends," she said, "sit down," looking at some of the plantation men, who seemed to be diffident about taking the sofa, which was behind them; "it's no time for ceremony now. we are standing on the brink of the grave, where all are equal. i'm glad to see you so calm and so brave. i hope your trust is in the saviour, who gives us the victory over death. sing," she said. milly began the well-known hymn: "and must this feeble body fail, and must it faint and die? my soul shall quit this gloomy vale, and soar to realms on high; "shall join the disembodied saints, and find its long-sought rest; that only rest for which it pants, on the redeemer's breast." every voice joined, and the words rose triumphant from the very gates of the grave. when the singing was over, nina, in a tremulous voice, which grew clearer as she went on, read the undaunted words of the ancient psalm:-- "he that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall abide under the shadow of the almighty. i will say of the lord, he is my refuge and my fortress. my god, in him will i trust. surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. he shall cover thee with his feathers. under his wings shalt thou trust. thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day, nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. a thousand shall fall by thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. he shall give his angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways." "it is possible," said nina, "that we may, some of us, be called away. but, to those that love christ, there is no fear in death. it is only going home to our father. keep up courage, then!" in all cases like this, the first shock brings with it more terror than any which succeeds. the mind can become familiar with anything, even with the prospect of danger and death, so that it can appear to be an ordinary condition of existence. everything proceeded calmly on the plantation; and all, stimulated by the example of their young mistress, seemed determined to meet the exigency firmly and faithfully. in the afternoon of the second day, as nina was sitting in the door, she observed the wagon of uncle tiff making its way up the avenue; and, with her usual impulsiveness, ran down to meet her humble friend. "oh, tiff, how do you do, in these dreadful times!" "oh, miss nina," said the faithful creature, removing his hat, with habitual politeness, "ef yer please, i's brought de baby here, 'cause it's drefful sick, and i's been doing all i could for him, and he don't get no better. and i's brought miss fanny and teddy, 'cause i's 'fraid to leave 'em, 'cause i see a man yesterday, and he tell me dey was dying eberywhar on all de places round." "well," said nina, "you have come to a sorrowful place, for they are dying here, too! but, if you feel any safer here, you and the children may stay, and we'll do for you just as we do for each other. give me the baby, while you get out. it's asleep, isn't it?" "yes, miss nina, it's 'sleep pretty much all de time, now." nina carried it up the steps, and put it into the arms of milly. "it's sleeping nicely," she said. "ah, honey!" said milly, "it'll neber wake up out of dat ar! dat ar sleep an't de good kind!" "well," said nina, "we'll help him take care of it, and we'll make room for him and the children, milly; because we have medicines and directions, and they have nothing out there." so tiff and his family took shelter in the general fortress. towards evening, the baby died. tiff held it in his arms to the very last; and it was with difficulty that nina and milly could persuade him that the little flickering breath was gone forever. when forced to admit it, he seemed for a few moments perfectly inconsolable. nina quietly opened her testament, and read to him:-- "and they brought little children unto him, that he should touch them; and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. but jesus said, suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." "bressed lord!" said tiff, "i'll gib him up, i will! i won't hold out no longer! i won't forbid him to go, if it does break my old heart! laws, we's drefful selfish! but de por little ting, he was getting so pretty!" chapter xxxv. the voice in the wilderness. clayton was quietly sitting in his law-office, looking over and arranging some papers necessary to closing his business. a colored boy brought in letters from the mail. he looked them over rapidly; and, selecting one, read it with great agitation and impatience. immediately he started, with the open letter crushed in his hand, seized his hat, and rushed to the nearest livery-stable. "give me the fastest horse you have--one that can travel night and day!" he said. "i must ride for life or death!" and half an hour more saw clayton in full speed on the road. by the slow, uncertain, and ill-managed mail-route, it would have taken three days to reach canema. clayton hoped, by straining every nerve, to reach there in twenty-four hours. he pushed forward, keeping the animal at the top of his speed; and, at the first stage-stand, changed him for a fresh one. and thus proceeding along, he found himself, at three o'clock of the next morning, in the woods about fifteen miles from canema. the strong tension of the nervous system, which had upheld him insensible to fatigue until this point, was beginning slightly to subside. all night he had ridden through the loneliness of pine-forests, with no eye looking down on him save the twinkling mysterious stars. at the last place where he had sought to obtain horses, everything had been horror and confusion. three were lying dead in the house, and another was dying. all along upon the route, at every stopping-place, the air had seemed to be filled with flying rumors and exaggerated reports of fear and death. as soon as he began to perceive that he was approaching the plantation, he became sensible of that shuddering dread which all of us may remember to have had, in slight degrees, in returning home after a long absence, under a vague expectation of misfortune, to which the mind can set no definite limits. when it was yet scarcely light enough to see, he passed by the cottage of old tiff. a strange impulse prompted him to stop and make some inquiries there, before he pushed on to the plantation. but, as he rode up, he saw the gate standing ajar, the door of the house left open; and, after repeated callings, receiving no answer, he alighted, and, leading his horse behind him, looked into the door. the gloaming starlight was just sufficient to show him that all was desolate. somehow this seemed to him like an evil omen. as he was mounting his horse, preparing to ride away, a grand and powerful voice rose from the obscurity of the woods before him, singing, in a majestic, minor-keyed tune, these words:-- "throned on a cloud our god shall come, bright flames prepare his way; thunder and darkness, fire and storm, lead on the dreadful day!" wearied with his night ride, his nervous system strained to the last point of tension by the fearful images which filled his mind, it is not surprising that these sounds should have thrilled through the hearer with even a superstitious power. and clayton felt a singular excitement, as, under the dim arcade of the pine-trees, he saw a dark figure approaching. he seemed to be marching with a regular tread, keeping time to the mournful music which he sung. "who are you?" called clayton, making an effort to recall his manhood. "i?" replied the figure, "i am the voice of one crying in the wilderness! i am a sign unto this people of the judgment of the lord!" our readers must remember the strange dimness of the hour, the wildness of the place and circumstances, and the singular quality of the tone in which the figure spoke. clayton hesitated a moment, and the speaker went on:-- "i saw the lord coming with ten thousand of his saints! before him went the pestilence, and burning coals went forth at his feet! thy bow is made quite naked, o god, according to the oaths of the tribes! i saw the tents of cushan in affliction, and the curtains of the land of midian did tremble!" pondering in his mind what this wild style of address might mean, clayton rode slowly onward. and the man, for such he appeared to be, came out of the shadows of the wood and stood directly in his path, raising his hand with a commanding gesture. "i know whom you seek," he said; "but it shall not be given you; for the star, which is called wormwood, hath fallen, and the time of the dead is come, that they shall be judged! behold, there sitteth on the white cloud _one_ like the son of man, having on his head a golden crown, and in his hand a sharp sickle!" then, waving his hand above his head, with a gesture of wild excitement, he shouted:-- "thrust in thy sharp sickle, and gather the clusters of the vine of the earth, for her grapes are fully ripe! behold, the wine-press shall be trodden without the city, and there shall be blood even to the horses' bridles! woe, woe, woe to the inhabitants of the earth, because of the trumpets of the other angels, which are yet to sound!" the fearful words pealed through the dim aisles of the forest like the curse of some destroying angel. after a pause, the speaker resumed, in a lower and more plaintive tone:-- "weep ye not for the dead! neither bewail her! behold, the lamb standeth on mount zion, and with him a hundred and forty and four thousand, having his father's name written on their foreheads. these are they which follow the lamb whithersoever he goeth; and in their mouth is found no guile, for they are without fault before the throne of god. behold the angel having the seal of god is gone forth, and she shall be sealed in her forehead unto the lamb." the figure turned away slowly, singing, as he made his way through the forest, in the same weird and funereal accents; but this time the song was a wild, plaintive sound, like the tolling of a heavy bell:-- "ding dong! dead and gone! farewell, father! bury me in egypt's land, by my dear mother! ding, dong! ding, dong! dead and gone!" clayton, as he slowly wound his way along the unfrequented path, felt a dim, brooding sense of mystery and terror creeping over him. the tones of the voice, and the wild style of the speaker, recalled the strange incident of the camp-meeting; and, though he endeavored strenuously to reason with himself that probably some wild and excited fanatic, made still more frantic by the presence of death and destruction all around, was the author of these fearful denunciations, still he could not help a certain weight of fearful foreboding. this life may be truly called a haunted house, built as it is on the very confines of the land of darkness and the shadow of death. a thousand living fibres connect us with the unknown and unseen state; and the strongest hearts, which never stand still for any mortal terror, have sometimes hushed their very beating at a breath of a whisper from within the veil. perhaps the most resolute unbeliever in spiritual things has hours of which he would be ashamed to tell, when he, too, yields to the powers of those awful affinities which bind us to that unknown realm. it is not surprising that clayton, in spite of himself, should have felt like one mysteriously warned. it was a relief to him when the dusky dimness of the solemn dawn was pierced by long shafts of light from the rising sun, and the day broke gladsome and jubilant, as if sorrow, sighing, and death, were a dream of the night. during the whole prevalence of this fearful curse, it was strange to witness the unaltered regularity, splendor, and beauty, with which the movements of the natural world went on. amid fears, and dying groans, and wailings, and sobs, and broken hearts, the sun rose and set in splendor, the dews twinkled, and twilight folded her purple veil heavy with stars; birds sung, waters danced and warbled, flowers bloomed, and everything in nature was abundant, and festive, and joyous. when clayton entered the boundaries of the plantation, he inquired eagerly of the first person he met for the health of its mistress. "thank god, she is yet alive!" said he. "it was but a dream, after all!" chapter xxxvi. the evening star. the mails in the state of north carolina, like the prudential arrangements of the slave states generally, were very little to be depended upon; and therefore a week had elapsed after the mailing of nina's first letter, describing the danger of her condition, before it was received by clayton. during that time the fury of the shock which had struck the plantation appeared to have abated; and, while on some estates in the vicinity it was yet on the increase, the inhabitants of canema began to hope that the awful cloud was departing from them. it was true that many were still ailing; but there were no new cases, and the disease in the case of those who were ill appeared to be yielding to nursing and remedies. nina had risen in the morning early, as her custom had been since the sickness, and gone the rounds, to inquire for the health of her people. returned, a little fatigued, she was sitting in the veranda, under the shadow of one of the pillar-roses, enjoying the cool freshness of the morning. suddenly the tramp of horse's feet was heard, and, looking, she saw clayton coming up the avenue. there seemed but a dizzy, confused moment, before his horse's bridle was thrown to the winds, and he was up the steps, holding her in his arms. "oh, you are here yet, my rose, my bride, my lamb! god is merciful! this is too much! oh, i thought you were gone!" "no, dear, not yet," said nina. "god has been with us. we have lost a great many; but god has spared me to you." "are you really well?" said clayton, holding her off, and looking at her. "you look pale, my little rose!" "that's not wonderful," said nina; "i've had a great deal to make me look pale; but i am very well. i have been well through it all--never in better health--and, it seems strange to say it, but never happier. i have felt so peaceful, so sure of god's love!" "do you know," said clayton, "that that peace alarms me--that strange, unearthly happiness? it seems so like what is given to dying people." "no," said nina, "i think that when we have no one but our father to lean on, he comes nearer than he does any other time; and that is the secret of this happiness. but, come,--you look wofully tired; have you been riding all night?" "yes, ever since yesterday morning at nine o'clock. i have ridden down four horses to get to you. only think, i didn't get your letter till a week after it was dated!" "well, perhaps that was the best," said nina; "because i have heard them say that anybody coming suddenly and unprepared in the epidemic, when it is in full force, is almost sure to be taken by it immediately. but you must let me take care of you. don't you know that i'm mistress of the fortress here--commander-in-chief and head-physician? i shall order you to your room immediately, and milly shall bring you up some coffee, and then you must have some sleep. you can see with your eyes, now, that we are all safe, and there's nothing to hinder your resting. come, let me lead you off, like a captive." released from the pressure of overwhelming fear, clayton began now to feel the reaction of the bodily and mental straining which he had been enduring for the last twenty-four hours, and therefore he willingly yielded himself to the directions of his little sovereign. retired to his room, after taking his coffee, which was served by milly, he fell into a deep and tranquil sleep, which lasted till some time in the afternoon. at first, overcome by fatigue, he slept without dreaming; but, when the first weariness was past, the excitement of the nervous system, under which he had been laboring, began to color his dreams with vague and tumultuous images. he thought that he was again with nina at magnolia grove, and that the servants were passing around in procession, throwing flowers at their feet; but the wreath of orange-blossoms which fell in nina's lap was tied with black crape. but she took it up, laughing, threw the crape away, and put the wreath on her head, and he heard the chorus singing,-- "oh, de north carolina rose! oh, de north carolina rose!" and then the sound seemed to change to one of lamentation, and the floral procession seemed to be a funeral, and a deep, melancholy voice, like the one he had heard in the woods in the morning, sang,-- "weep, for the rose is withered! the north carolina rose!" he struggled heavily in his sleep, and, at last waking, sat up and looked about him. the rays of the evening sun were shining on the tree-tops of the distant avenue, and nina was singing on the veranda below. he listened, and the sound floated up like a rose-leaf carried on a breeze:-- "the summer hath its heavy cloud, the rose-leaf must fall, but in our land joy wears no shroud-- never doth it pall! each new morning ray leaves no sigh for yesterday-- no smile passed away would we recall!" the time was a favorite melody, which has found much favor with the popular ear, and bore the title of "the hindoo dancing-girl's song;" and is, perhaps, a fragment of one of those mystical songs in which oriental literature abounds, in which the joy and reunion of earthly love are told in shadowy, symbolic resemblance to the everlasting union of the blessed above. it had a wild, dreamy, soothing power, as verse after verse came floating in, like white doves from paradise, as if they had borne healing on their wings:-- "then haste to the happy land, where sorrow is unknown; but first in a joyous band, i'll make thee my own. haste, haste, fly with me where love's banquet waits for thee; thine all its sweets shall be,-- thine, thine, alone!" a low tap at his door at last aroused him. the door was partly opened, and a little hand threw in a half-opened spray of monthly-rosebuds. "there's something to remind you that you are yet in the body!" said a voice in the entry. "if you are rested, i'll let you come down, now." and clayton heard the light footsteps tripping down the stairs. he roused himself, and, after some little attention to his toilet, appeared on the veranda. "tea has been waiting for some time," said nina. "i thought i'd give you a hint." "i was lying very happy, hearing you sing," said clayton. "you may sing me that song again." "was i singing?" said nina; "why i didn't know it! i believe that's my way of thinking, sometimes. i'll sing to you again, after tea. i like to sing." after tea they were sitting again in the veranda, and the whole heavens were one rosy flush of filmy clouds. "how beautiful!" said nina. "it seems to me i've enjoyed these things, this summer, as i never have before. it seemed as if i felt an influence from them going through me, and filling me, as the light does those clouds." and, as she stood looking up into the sky, she began singing again the words that clayton had heard before:-- "i am come from the happy land, where sorrow is unknown; i have parted a joyous band, to make thee mine own! haste, haste, fly with me, where love's banquet waits for thee; thine all its sweets shall be,-- thine, thine, alone! "the summer has its heavy cloud, the rose-leaf must fall,"-- she stopped her singing suddenly, left the veranda, and went into the house. "do you want anything?" said clayton. "nothing," said she, hurriedly. "i'll be back in a moment." clayton watched, and saw her go to a closet in which the medicines and cordials were kept, and take something from a glass. he gave a start of alarm. "you are not ill, are you?" he said, fearfully, as she returned. "oh, no; only a little faint. we have become so prudent, you know, that if we feel the least beginning of any disagreeable sensation, we take something at once. i have felt this faintness quite often. it isn't much." clayton put his arm around her, and looked at her with a vague yearning of fear and admiration. "you look so like a spirit," he said, "that i must hold you." "do you think i've got a pair of hidden wings?" she said, smiling, and looking gayly in his face. "i am afraid so!" he said. "do you feel quite well, now?" "yes, i believe so. only, perhaps, we had better sit down. i think, perhaps, it is the reaction of so much excitement makes me feel rather tired." clayton seated her on the settee by the door, still keeping his arm anxiously around her. in a few moments she drooped her head wearily on his shoulder. "_you are ill!_" he said, in tones of alarm. "no, no! i feel very well--only a little faint and tired. it seems to me it is getting a little cold here, isn't it?" she said, with a slight shiver. clayton took her up in his arms, without speaking, carried her in and laid her on the sofa, then rang for harry and milly. "get a horse, instantly," he said to harry, as soon as he appeared, "and go for a doctor!" "there's no use in sending," said nina; "he is driven to death, and can't come. besides, there's nothing the matter with me, only i am a little tired and cold. shut the doors and windows, and cover me up. no, no, don't take me up stairs! i like to lie here; just put a shawl over me, that's all. i am thirsty,--give me some water!" the fearful and mysterious disease, which was then in the ascendant, has many forms of approach and development. one, and the most deadly, is that which takes place when a person has so long and gradually imbibed the fatal poison of an infected atmosphere, that the resisting powers of nature have been insidiously and quietly subdued, so that the subject sinks under it, without any violent outward symptom, by a quiet and certain yielding of the vital powers, such as has been likened to the bleeding to death by an internal wound. in this case, before an hour had passed, though none of the violent and distressing symptoms of the disease appeared, it became evident that the seal of death was set on that fair young brow. a messenger had been dispatched, riding with the desperate speed which love and fear can give, but harry remained in attendance. "nothing is the matter with me--nothing is the matter," she said, "except fatigue, and this change in the weather. if i only had more over me! and, perhaps, you had better give me a little brandy, or some such thing. this is water, isn't it, that you have been giving me?" alas! it was the strongest brandy; but there was no taste, and the hartshorn that they were holding had no smell. and there was no change in the weather; it was only the creeping deadness, affecting the whole outer and inner membrane of the system. yet still her voice remained clear, though her mind occasionally wandered. there is a strange impulse, which sometimes comes in the restlessness and distress of dissolving nature, _to sing;_ and, as she lay with her eyes closed, apparently in a sort of trance, she would sing, over and over again, the verse of the song which she was singing when the blow of the unseen destroyer first struck her. "the summer hath its heavy cloud, the rose-leaf must fall; but in our land joy wears no shroud, never doth it pall." at last she opened her eyes, and, seeing the agony of all around, the truth seemed to come to her. "i think i'm called!" she said. "oh, i'm so sorry for you all! don't grieve so; my father loves me so well,--he cannot spare me any longer. he wants me to come to him. that's all--don't grieve so. it's _home_ i'm going to--_home_! 'twill be only a little while, and you'll come too, all of you. you are satisfied, are you not, edward?" and again she relapsed into the dreamy trance, and sang, in that strange, sweet voice, so low, so weak,-- "in our land joy wears no shroud, never doth it pall." clayton,--what did he? what could he do? what have any of us done, who have sat holding in our arms a dear form, from which the soul was passing--the soul for which gladly we would have given our own in exchange! when we have felt it going with inconceivable rapidity from us; and we, ignorant and blind, vainly striving, with this and that, to arrest the inevitable doom, feeling every moment that some _other_ thing might be done to save, which is not done, and that that which we are doing may be only hastening the course of the destroyer! oh, those awful, agonized moments, when we watch the clock, and no physician comes, and every stroke of the pendulum is like the approaching step of death! oh, is there anything in heaven or earth for the despair of such hours? not a moment was lost by the three around that dying bed, chafing those cold limbs, administering the stimulants which the dead, exhausted system no longer felt. "she doesn't suffer! thank god, at any rate, for that!" said clayton, as he knelt over her in anguish. a beautiful smile passed over her face, as she opened her eyes and looked on them all, and said,-- "no, my poor friends, i don't suffer. i'm come to the land where they never suffer. i'm only _so_ sorry for you! edward," she said to him, "do you remember what you said to me once?--it has come now. you must bear it like a man. god calls you to some work--don't shrink from it. you are baptized with fire. it all lasts only a little while. it will be over soon, very soon! edward, take care of my poor people. tell tom to be kind to them. my poor, faithful, good harry! oh! i'm going so fast!" the voice sunk into a whispering sigh. life now seemed to have retreated to the citadel of the brain. she lay apparently in the last sleep, when the footsteps of the doctor were heard on the veranda. there was a general spring to the door, and dr. butler entered, pale, haggard, and worn, from constant exertion and loss of rest. he did not say in words that there was no hope, but his first dejected look said it but too plainly. she moved her head a little, like one who is asleep uneasily upon her pillow, opened her eyes once more, and said,-- "good by! i will arise and go to my father!" the gentle breath gradually became fainter and fainter,--all hope was over! the night walked on with silent and solemn footsteps--soft showers fell without, murmuring upon the leaves--within, all was still as death! "they watched her breathing through the night, her breathing soft and low, as in her breast the wave of life kept heaving to and fro. "so silently they seemed to speak, so slowly moved about, as they had lent her half their powers to eke her living out. "their very hopes belied their fears, their fears their hopes belied-- they thought her dying when she slept, and sleeping when she died. "for when the morn came dim and sad, and chill with early showers, her quiet eyelids closed--she had another morn than ours." chapter xxxvii. the tie breaks. clayton remained at canema several days after the funeral. he had been much affected by the last charge given him by nina, that he should care for her people; and the scene of distress which he witnessed among them, at her death, added to the strength of his desire to be of service to them. he spent some time in looking over and arranging nina's papers. he sealed up the letters of her different friends, and directed them in order to be returned to the writers, causing harry to add to each a memorandum of the time of her death. his heart sunk heavily when he reflected how little it was possible for any one to do for servants left in the uncontrolled power of a man like tom gordon. the awful words of his father's decision, with regard to the power of the master, never seemed so dreadful as now, when he was to see this unlimited authority passed into the hands of one whose passions were his only law. he recalled, too, what nina had said of the special bitterness existing between tom and harry; and his heart almost failed him when he recollected that the very step which nina, in her generosity, had taken to save lisette from his lawlessness, had been the means of placing her, without remedy, under his power. under the circumstances, he could not but admire the calmness and firmness with which harry still continued to discharge his duties to the estate; visiting those who were still ailing, and doing his best to prevent their sinking into a panic which might predispose to another attack of disease. recollecting that nina had said something of some kind of a contract, by which harry's freedom was to be secured in case of her death, he resolved to speak with him on the subject. as they were together in the library, looking over the papers, clayton said to him:-- "harry, is there not some kind of contract, or understanding, with the guardians of the estate, by which your liberty was secured in case of the death of your mistress?" "yes," said harry, "there is such a paper. i was to have my freedom on paying a certain sum which is all paid in to five hundred dollars." "i will advance you that money," said clayton, unhesitatingly, "if that is all that is necessary. let me see the paper." harry produced it, and clayton looked it over. it was a regular contract, drawn in proper form, and with no circumstance wanting to give it validity. clayton, however, knew enough of the law which regulates the condition in which harry stood, to know that it was of no more avail in his case than so much blank paper. he did not like to speak of it, but sat reading it over, weighing every word, and dreading the moment when he should be called upon to make some remark concerning it; knowing, as he did, that what he had to say must dash all harry's hopes,--the hopes of his whole life. while he was hesitating a servant entered and announced mr. jekyl; and that gentleman, with a business-like directness which usually characterized his movements, entered the library immediately after. "good-morning, mr. clayton," he said, and then, nodding patronizingly to harry, he helped himself to a chair and stated his business, without further preamble. "i have received orders from mr. gordon to come and take possession of the estate and chattels of his deceased sister without delay." as clayton sat perfectly silent, it seemed to occur to mr. jekyl that a few moral reflections of a general nature would be in etiquette on the present occasion. he therefore added, in the tone of voice which he reserved particularly for that style of remark:-- "we have been called upon to pass through most solemn and afflicting dispensations of divine providence, lately. mr. clayton these things remind us of the shortness of life, and of the necessity of preparation for death!" mr. jekyl paused, and, as clayton still sat silent, he went on: "there was no will, i presume?" "no," said clayton, "there was not." "ah, so i supposed," said mr. jekyl, who had now recovered his worldly tone. "in that case, of course the whole property reverts to the heir-at-law, just as i had imagined." "perhaps mr. jekyl would look at this paper," said harry, taking his contract from the hand of mr. clayton, and passing it to mr. jekyl; who took out his spectacles, placed them deliberately on his sharp nose, and read the paper through. "were you under the impression," said he to harry, "that this is a legal document?" "certainly," said harry. "i can bring witnesses to prove mr. john gordon's signature, and miss nina's also." "oh, that's all evident enough," said mr. jekyl. "i know mr. john gordon's signature. but all the signatures in the world couldn't make it a valid contract. you see, my boy," he said, turning to harry, "a slave, not being a person in the eye of the law, cannot have a contract made with him. the law, which is based on the old roman code, holds him, _pro nullis, pro mortuis_; which means, harry, that he's held as nothing--as dead, inert substance. that's his position in law." "i believe," said harry in a strong and bitter tone, "that is what religious people call a christian institution!" "hey?" said mr. jekyl, elevating his eyebrows, "what's that?" harry repeated his remark, and mr. jekyl replied in the most literal manner:-- "of course it is. it is a divine ordering, and ought to be met in a proper spirit. there's no use, my boy, in rebellion. hath not the potter power over the clay, to make one lump to honor, and the other to dishonor?" "mr. jekyl, i think it would be expedient to confine the conversation simply to legal matters," said clayton. "oh, certainly," said mr. jekyl. "and this brings me to say that i have orders from mr. gordon to stay till he comes, and keep order on the place. also that none of the hands shall, at any time, leave the plantation until he arrives. i brought two or three officers with me, in case there should be any necessity for enforcing order." "when will mr. gordon be here?" said clayton. "to-morrow, i believe," said mr. jekyl. "young man," he added, turning to harry, "you can produce the papers and books, and i can be attending to the accounts." clayton rose and left the room, leaving harry with the imperturbable mr. jekyl, who plunged briskly into the business of the accounts, talking to harry with as much freedom and composure as if he had not just been destroying the hopes of his whole lifetime. if, by any kind of inward clairvoyance, or sudden clearing of his mental vision, mr. jekyl could have been made to appreciate the anguish which at that moment overwhelmed the soul of the man with whom he was dealing, we deem it quite possible that he might have been moved to a transient emotion of pity. even a thorough-paced political economist may sometimes be surprised in this way, by the near view of a case of actual irremediable distress; but he would soon have consoled himself by a species of mental algebra, that the greatest good of the greatest number was nevertheless secure; therefore there was no occasion to be troubled about infinitesimal amounts of suffering. in this way people can reason away every kind of distress but their own; for it is very remarkable that even so slight an ailment as a moderate toothache will put this kind of philosophy entirely to rout. "it appears to me," said mr. jekyl, looking at harry, after a while, with more attention than he had yet given him, "that something is the matter with you, this morning. aren't you well?" "in body," said harry, "i am well." "well, what is the matter, then?" said mr. jekyl. "the matter is," said harry, "that i have all my life been toiling for my liberty, and thought i was coming nearer to it every year; and now, at thirty-five years of age, i find myself still a slave, with no hope of getting free!" mr. jekyl perceived from the outside that there was something the matter inside of his human brother; some unknown quantity in the way of suffering, such as his algebra gave no rule for ascertaining. he had a confused notion that this was an affliction, and that when people were in affliction they must be talked to; and he proceeded accordingly to talk. "my boy, this is a dispensation of divine providence!" "i call it a dispensation of human tyranny!" said harry. "it pleased the lord," continued mr. jekyl, "to foredoom the race of ham"-- "mr. jekyl, that humbug don't go down with me! i'm no more of the race of ham than you are! i'm colonel gordon's oldest son--as white as my brother, who you say owns me! look at my eyes, and my hair, and say if any of the rules about ham pertain to me!" "well," said mr. jekyl, "my boy, you mustn't get excited. everything must go, you know, by general rules. we must take that course which secures the greatest general amount of good on the whole; and all such rules will work hard in particular cases. slavery is a great missionary enterprise for civilizing and christianizing the degraded african." "wait till you see tom gordon's management on this plantation," said harry, "and you'll see what sort of a christianizing institution it is! mr. jekyl, you _know_ better! you throw such talk as that in the face of your northern visitors, and you know all the while that sodom and gomorrah don't equal some of these plantations, where nobody isn't anybody's husband or wife in particular! you know all these things, and you dare talk to me about a missionary institution! what sort of missionary institutions are the great trading-marts, where they sell men and women? what are the means of grace they use there? and the dogs and the negro-hunters!--those are for the greatest good, too! if your soul were in our souls' stead, you'd see things differently." mr. jekyl was astonished, and said so. but he found a difficulty in presenting his favorite view of the case, under the circumstances; and we believe those ministers of the gospel, and elders, who entertain similar doctrines, would gain some new views by the effort to present them to a live man in harry's circumstances. mr. jekyl never had a more realizing sense of the difference between the abstract and concrete. harry was now thoroughly roused. he had inherited the violent and fiery passions of his father. his usual appearance of studied calmness, and his habits of deferential address, were superinduced; they resembled the thin crust which coats over a flood of boiling lava, and which a burst of the seething mass beneath can shiver in a moment. he was now wholly desperate and reckless. he saw himself already delivered, bound hand and foot, into the hands of a master from whom he could expect neither mercy nor justice. he was like one who had hung suspended over an abyss, by grasping a wild rose; the frail and beautiful thing was broken, and he felt himself _going_, with only despair beneath him. he rose and stood the other side of the table, his hands trembling with excitement. "mr. jekyl," he said, "it is all over with me! twenty years of faithful service have gone for nothing. myself and wife, and unborn child, are the slaves of a vile wretch! hush, now! i will have my say for once! i've borne, and borne, and borne, and it shall come out! you men who call yourselves religious, and stand up for such tyranny,--you serpents, you generation of vipers,--how can you escape the damnation of hell? you keep the clothes of them who stone stephen! you encourage theft, and robbery, and adultery, and you know it! you are worse than the villains themselves, who don't pretend to justify what they do. now, go, tell tom gordon--go! i shall fight it out to the last! i've nothing to hope, and nothing to lose. let him look out! they made sport of samson,--they put out his eyes,--but he pulled down the temple over their heads, after all. look out!" there is something awful in an outburst of violent passion. the veins in harry's forehead were swollen, his lips were livid, his eyes glittered like lightning; and mr. jekyl cowered before him. "there will come a day," said harry, "when all this shall be visited upon you! the measure you have filled to us shall be filled to you _double_--mark my words!" harry spoke so loudly, in his vehemence, that clayton overheard him, and came behind him silently into the room. he was pained, shocked, and astonished; and, obeying the first instinct, he came forward and laid his hand entreatingly on harry's shoulder. "my good fellow, you don't know what you are saying," he said. "yes, i do," said harry, "and my words will be true!" another witness had come behind clayton--tom gordon, in his travelling-dress, with pistols at his belt. he had ridden over after jekyl, and had arrived in time to hear part of harry's frantic ravings. "stop!" he said, stepping into the middle of the room; "leave that fellow to me! now, boy," he said, fixing his dark and evil eye upon harry, "you didn't know that your master was hearing you, did you? the last time we met, you told me i wasn't your master! _now_, we'll see if you'll say that again! you went whimpering to your mistress, and got her to buy lisette, so as to keep her out of _my_ way! now who owns her?--say! do you see this?" he said, holding up a long, lithe gutta-percha cane. "this is what i whip dogs with, when they don't know their place! now, sir, down on your knees, and ask pardon for your impudence, or i'll thrash you within an inch of your life!" "i won't kneel to my younger brother!" said harry. with a tremendous oath, tom struck him; and, as if a rebound from the stroke, harry struck back a blow so violent as to send him stumbling across the room, against the opposite wall; then turned, quick as thought, sprang through the open window, climbed down the veranda, vaulted on to tom's horse, which stood tied at the post, and fled as rapidly as lightning to his cottage door, where lisette stood at the ironing-table. he reached out his hand, and said, "up, quick, lisette! tom gordon's here!" and before tom gordon had fairly recovered from the dizziness into which the blow had thrown him, the fleet blood-horse was whirling harry and lisette past bush and tree, till they arrived at the place where he had twice before met dred. dred was standing there. "even so," he said, as the horse stopped, and harry and lisette descended; "the vision is fulfilled! behold, the lord shall make thee a witness and commander to the people!" "there's no time to be lost," said harry. "well i know that," said dred. "come, follow me!" and before sunset of that evening harry and lisette were tenants of the wild fastness in the centre of the swamp. chapter xxxviii. the purpose. it would be scarcely possible to describe the scene which harry left in the library. tom gordon was for a few moments stunned by the violence of his fall, and clayton and mr. jekyl at first did not know but he had sustained some serious injury; and the latter, in his confusion, came very near attempting his recovery, by pouring in his face the contents of the large inkstand. certainly, quite as appropriate a method, under the circumstances, as the exhortations with which he had deluged harry. but clayton, with more presence of mind, held his hand, and rang for water. in a few moments, however, tom recovered himself, and started up furiously. "where is he?" he shouted, with a volley of oaths, which made mr. jekyl pull up his shirt-collar, as became a good elderly gentleman, preparatory to a little admonition. "my young friend"--he began. "blast you! none of your _young friends_ to me! where is he?" "he has escaped," said clayton, quietly. "he got right out of the window," said mr. jekyl. "confound you, why didn't you stop him?" said tom, violently. "if that question is addressed to me," said clayton, "i do not interfere in your family affairs." "you _have_ interfered, more than you ever shall again!" said tom roughly. "but, there's no use talking now; that fellow must be chased! he thinks he's got away from me--we'll see! i'll make such an example of him as shall be remembered!" he rang the bell violently. "jim," he said, "did you see harry go off on my horse?" "yes, sah!" "then, why in thunder didn't you stop him?" "i tought mas'r tom sent him--did so!" "you knew better, you dog! and now, i tell you, order out the best horses, and be on after him! and, if you don't catch him, it shall be the worse for you!--stay! get _me_ a horse! i'll go myself." clayton saw that it was useless to remain any longer at canema. he therefore ordered his horse, and departed. tom gordon cast an evil eye after him, as he rode away. "i hate that fellow!" he said. "i'll make him mischief, one of these days, if i can!" as to clayton, he rode away in bitterness of spirit. there are some men so constituted that the sight of injustice, which they have no power to remedy, is perfectly maddening to them. this is a very painful and unprofitable constitution, so far as this world is concerned; but they can no more help it than they can the toothache. others may say to them, "why, what is it to you? you can't help it, and it's none of your concern;" but still the fever burns on. besides, clayton had just passed through one of the great crises of life. all there is in that strange mystery of what man can feel for woman had risen like a wave within him; and, gathering into itself, for a time, the whole force of his being, had broken, with one dash, on the shore of death, and the waters had flowed helplessly backward. in the great void which follows such a crisis, the soul sets up a craving and cry for something to come in to fill the emptiness; and while the heart says no _person_ can come into that desolate and sacred enclosure, it sometimes embraces a _purpose_, as in some sort a substitute. in this manner, with solemnity and earnestness, clayton resolved to receive as a life-purpose a struggle with this great system of injustice, which, like a parasitic weed, had struck its roots through the whole growth of society, and was sucking thence its moisture and nourishment. as he rode through the lonely pine-woods, he felt his veins throbbing and swelling with indignation and desire. and there arose within him that sense of power which sometimes seems to come over man like an inspiration, and leads him to say, "_this_ shall not be, and _this_ shall be;" as if he possessed the ability to control the crooked course of human events. he was thankful in his heart that he had taken the first step, by entering his public protest against this injustice, in quitting the bar of his native state. what was next to be done, how the evil was to be attacked, how the vague purpose fulfilled, he could not say. clayton was not aware, any more than others in his situation have been, of what he was undertaking. he had belonged to an old and respected family, and always, as a matter of course, been received in all circles with attention, and listened to with respect. he who glides dreamily down the glassy surface of a mighty river floats securely, making his calculations to row upward. he knows nothing what the force of that seemingly glassy current will be when his one feeble oar is set against the whole volume of its waters. clayton did not know that he was already a marked man; that he had touched a spot, in the society where he lived, which was vital, and which that society would never suffer to be touched with impunity. it was the fault of clayton, and is the fault of all such men, that he judged mankind by himself. he could not believe that anything, except ignorance and inattention, could make men upholders of deliberate injustice. he thought all that was necessary was the enlightening of the public mind, the direction of general attention to the subject. in his way homeward he revolved in his mind immediate measures of action. this evil should no longer be tampered with. he would take on himself the task of combining and concentrating those vague impulses towards good which he supposed were existing in the community. he would take counsel of leading minds. he would give his time to journeyings through the state; he would deliver addresses, write in the newspapers, and do what otherwise lies in the power of a free man who wishes to reach an utterly unjust law. full of these determinations, clayton entered again his father's house, after two days of solitary riding. he had written in advance to his parents of the death of nina, and had begged them to spare him any conversation on that subject; and, therefore, on his first meeting with his mother and father, there was that painful blank, that heavy dulness of suffering, which comes when people meet together, feeling deeply on one absorbing subject, which must not be named. it was a greater self-denial to his impulsive, warm-hearted mother than to clayton. she yearned to express sympathy; to throw herself upon his neck; to draw forth his feelings, and mingle them with her own. but there are some people with whom this is impossible; it seems to be their fate that they cannot speak of what they suffer. it is not pride nor coldness, but a kind of fatal necessity, as if the body were a marble prison, in which the soul were condemned to bleed and suffer alone. it is the last triumph of affection and magnanimity, when a loving heart can respect that suffering silence of its beloved, and allow that lonely liberty in which only some natures can find comfort. clayton's sorrow could only be measured by the eagerness and energy with which, in conversation, he pursued the object with which he endeavored to fill his mind. "i am far from looking forward with hope to any success from your efforts," said judge clayton, "the evil is so radical." "i sometimes think," said mrs. clayton, "that i regret that edward began as he did. it was such a shock to the prejudices of people!" "people have got to be shocked," said clayton, "in order to wake them up out of old absurd routine. use paralyzes us to almost every injustice; when people are shocked, they begin to think and to inquire." "but would it not have been better," said mrs. clayton, "to have preserved your personal influence, and thus have insinuated your opinions more gradually? there is such a prejudice against abolitionists; and, when a man makes any sudden demonstration on this subject, people are apt to call him an abolitionist, and then his influence is all gone, and he can do nothing." "i suspect," said clayton, "there are multitudes now in every part of our state who are kept from expressing what they really think, and doing what they ought to do, by this fear. somebody must brave this mad-dog cry; somebody must be willing to be odious; and i shall answer the purpose as well as anybody." "have you any definite plan of what is to be attempted?" said his father. "of course," said clayton, "a man's first notions on such a subject must be crude; but it occurred to me, first, to endeavor to excite the public mind on the injustice of the present slave-law, with a view to altering it." "and what points would you alter?" said judge clayton. "i would give to the slave the right to bring suit for injury, and to be a legal witness in court. i would repeal the law forbidding their education, and i would forbid the separation of families." judge clayton sat pondering. at length he said, "and how will you endeavor to excite the public mind?" "i shall appeal first," said clayton, "to the church and the ministry." "you can try it," said his father. "why," said mrs. clayton, "these reforms are so evidently called for, by justice and humanity, and the spirit of the age, that i can have no doubt that there will be a general movement among all good people in their favor." judge clayton made no reply. there are some cases where silence is the most disagreeable kind of dissent, because it admits of no argument in reply. "in my view," said clayton, "the course of legal reform, in the first place, should remove all those circumstances in the condition of the slaves which tend to keep them in ignorance and immorality, and make the cultivation of self-respect impossible; such as the want of education, protection in the family state, and the legal power of obtaining redress for injuries. after that, the next step would be to allow those masters who are so disposed to emancipate, giving proper security for the good behavior of their servants. they might then retain them as tenants. under this system, emancipation would go on gradually; only the best masters would at first emancipate, and the example would be gradually followed. the experiment would soon demonstrate the superior cheapness and efficiency of the system of free labor; and self-interest would then come in, to complete what principle began. it is only the first step that costs. but it seems to me that in the course of my life i have met with multitudes of good people, groaning in secret under the evils and injustice of slavery, who would gladly give their influence to any reasonable effort which promises in time to ameliorate and remove them." "the trouble is," said judge clayton, "that the system, though ruinous in the long run to communities, is immediately profitable to individuals. besides this, it is a source of political influence and importance. the holders of slaves are an aristocracy supported by special constitutional privileges. they are united against the spirit of the age by a common interest and danger, and the instinct of self-preservation is infallible. no logic is so accurate. "as a matter of personal feeling, many slave-holders would rejoice in some of the humane changes which you propose; but they see at once that any change endangers the perpetuity of the system on which their political importance depends. therefore, they'll resist you at the very outset, not because they would not, many of them, be glad to have justice done, but because they think they cannot afford it. "they will have great patience with you--they will even have sympathy with you--so long as you confine yourself merely to the expression of feeling; but the moment your efforts produce the slightest movement in the community, then, my son, you will see human nature in a new aspect, and know more about mankind than you know now." "very well," said clayton, "the sooner the better." "well, edward," said mrs. clayton, "if you are going to begin with the ministry, why don't you go and talk to your uncle cushing? he is one of the most influential among the presbyterians in the whole state; and i have often heard him lament, in the strongest manner, the evils of slavery. he has told me some facts about its effect on the character of his church-members, both bond and free, that are terrible!" "yes," said judge clayton, "your brother will do all that. he will lament the evils of slavery in private circles, and he will furnish you any number of facts, if you will not give his authority for them." "and don't you think that he will be willing to do something?" "no," said judge clayton, "not if the cause is unpopular." "why," said mrs. clayton, "do you suppose that my brother will be deterred from doing his duty for fear of personal unpopularity?" "no," said judge clayton; "but your brother has the interest of zion on his shoulders,--by which he means the presbyterian organization,--and he will say that he can't afford to risk his influence. and the same will be true of every leading minister of every denomination. the episcopalians are keeping watch over episcopacy, the methodists over methodism, the baptists over baptism. none of them dare espouse an unpopular cause, lest the others, taking advantage of it, should go beyond them in public favor. none of them will want the odium of such a reform as this." "but i don't see any odium in it," said mrs. clayton. "it's one of the noblest and one of the most necessary of all possible changes." "nevertheless," said judge clayton, "it will be made to appear extremely odious. the catch-words of abolition, incendiarism, fanaticism, will fly thick as hail. and the storm will be just in proportion to the real power of the movement. it will probably end in edward's expulsion from the state." "my father, i should be unwilling to think," said clayton, "that the world is quite so bad as you represent it,--particularly the religious world." "i was not aware that i was representing it as very bad," said judge clayton. "i only mentioned such facts as everybody can see about them. there are undoubtedly excellent men in the church." "but," said clayton, "did not the church, in the primitive ages, stand against the whole world in arms? if religion be anything, must it not take the lead of society, and be its sovereign and teacher, and not its slave?" "i don't know as to that," said judge clayton. "i think you'll find the facts much as i have represented them. what the church was in the primitive ages, or what it ought to be now, is not at all to our purpose, in making practical calculations. without any disrespect, i wish to speak of things just as they are. nothing is ever gained by false expectations." "oh," said mrs. clayton, "you lawyers get so uncharitable! i'm quite sure that edward will find brother ready to go heart and hand with him." "i'm sure i shall be glad of it, if he does," said judge clayton. "i shall write to him about it, immediately," said mrs. clayton, "and edward shall go and talk with him. courage, edward! our woman's instincts, after all, have some prophetic power in them. at all events, we women will stand by you to the last." clayton sighed. he remembered the note nina had written him on the day of the decision, and thought what a brave-hearted little creature she was; and, like the faint breath of a withered rose, the shadowy remembrance of her seemed to say to him, "go on!" chapter xxxix. the new mother. the cholera at length disappeared, and the establishment of our old friend tiff proceeded as of yore. his chickens and turkeys grew to maturity, and cackled and strutted joyously. his corn waved its ripening flags in the september breezes. the grave of the baby had grown green with its first coat of grass, and tiff was comforted for his loss, because, as he said, "he knowed he's better off." miss fanny grew healthy and strong, and spent many long sunny hours wandering in the woods with teddy; or, sitting out on the bench where nina had been wont to read to them, would spell out with difficulty, for her old friend's comfort and enlightenment, the half-familiar words of the wondrous story that nina had brought to their knowledge. the interior of the poor cottage bore its wonted air of quaint, sylvan refinement; and tiff went on with his old dream of imagining it an ancestral residence, of which his young master and mistress were the head, and himself their whole retinue. he was sitting in his tent door, in the cool of the day, while teddy and fanny had gone for wild grapes, cheerfully examining and mending his old pantaloons, meanwhile recreating his soul with a cheerful conversation with himself. "now, old tiff," said he, "one more patch on dese yer, 'cause it an't much matter what you wars. mas'r is allers a promising to bring some cloth fur to make a more 'specable pair; but, laws, he never does nothing he says he will. an't no trusting in dat 'scription o' people--jiggeting up and down de country, drinking at all de taverns, fetching disgrace on de fam'ly, spite o' all i can do! mighty long time since he been home, any how! shouldn't wonder if de cholera'd cotched him! well, de lord's will be done! pity to kill such critturs! wouldn't much mind if he should die. laws, he an't much profit to de family, coming home here wid lots o' old trash, drinking up all my chicken-money down to 'bijah skinflint's! for my part, i believe dem devils, when dey went out o' de swine, went into de whiskey-bar'l. dis yer liquor makes folks so ugly! teddy shan't never touch none as long as dere's a drop o' peyton blood in _my_ veins! lord, but dis yer world is full o' 'spensations! por, dear miss nina, dat was a doin for de chil'en! she's gone up among de angels! well, bress de lord, we must do de best we can, and we'll all land on de canaan shore at last." and tiff uplifted a quavering stave of a favorite melody:-- "my brother, i have found the land that doth abound with food as sweet as manna. the more i eat, i find the more i am inclined to shout and sing hosanna!" "shoo! shoo! shoo!" he said, observing certain long-legged, half-grown chickens, who were surreptitiously taking advantage of his devotional engrossments to rush past him into the kitchen. "'pears like dese yer chickens never will larn nothing!" said tiff, finding that his vigorous "shooing" only scared the whole flock in, instead of admonishing them out. so tiff had to lay down his work; and his thimble rolled one way, and his cake of wax another, hiding themselves under the leaves; while the hens, seeing tiff at the door, instead of accepting his polite invitation to walk out, acted in that provoking and inconsiderate way that hens generally will, running promiscuously up and down, flapping their wings, cackling, upsetting pots, kettles, and pans, in promiscuous ruin, tiff each moment becoming more and more wrathful at their entire want of consideration. "bress me, if i ever did see any kind o' crittur so shaller as hens!" said tiff, as, having finally ejected them, he was busy repairing the ruin they had wrought in miss fanny's fanciful floral arrangements, which were all lying in wild confusion. "i tought de lord made room in every beast's head for some sense, but 'pears like hens an't got the leastest grain! puts me out, seeing dem crawking and crawing on one leg, 'cause dey han't got sense 'nough to know whar to set down t'oder. dey never has no idees what dey's going to do, from morning to night, i b'lieve! but, den, dere's folks dat's just like 'em, dat de lord has gin brains to, and dey won't use 'em. dey's always settin round, but dey never lays no eggs. so hens an't de wust critters, arter all. and i rally don' know what we'd do widout 'em!" said old tiff, relentingly, as, appeased from his wrath, he took up at once his needle and his psalm, singing lustily, and with good courage,-- "perhaps you'll tink me wild, and simple as a child, but i'm a child of glory!" "laws, now," said tiff, pursuing his reflections to himself, "maybe he's dead now, sure 'nough! and if he is, why, i can do for de chil'en raal powerful. i sold right smart of eggs dis yer summer, and de sweet 'tatoes allers fetches a good price. if i could only get de chil'en along wid der reading, and keep der manners handsome! why, miss fanny, now, she's growing up to be raal perty. she got de raal peyton look to her; and dere's dis yer 'bout gals and women, dat if dey's perty, why, somebody wants to be marrying of 'em; and so dey gets took care of. i tell you, dere shan't any of dem fellers dat he brings home wid him have anyting to say to her! peyton blood an't for der money, i can tell 'em! dem fellers allers find 'emselves mighty onlucky as long as i's 'round! one ting or 'nother happens to 'em, so dat dey don't want to come no more. drefful poor times dey has!" and tiff shook with a secret chuckle. "but, now, yer see, dere's never any knowing! dere may be some peyton property coming to dese yer chil'en. i's known sich things happen, 'fore now. lawyers calling after de heirs; and den here dey be a'ready fetched up. i's minding dat i'd better speak to miss nina's man 'bout dese yer chil'en; 'cause he's a nice, perty man, and nat'rally he'd take an interest; and dat ar handsome sister of his, dat was so thick wid miss nina, maybe she'd be doing something for her. any way, dese yer chil'en shall neber come to want 'long as i's above ground!" alas for the transitory nature of human expectations! even our poor little arcadia in the wilderness, where we have had so many hours of quaint delight, was destined to feel the mutability of all earthly joys and prospects. even while tiff spoke and sung, in the exuberance of joy and security of his soul, a disastrous phantom was looming up from a distance--the phantom of cripps' old wagon. cripps was not dead, as was to have been hoped, but returning for a more permanent residence, bringing with him a bride of his own heart's choosing. tiff's dismay--his utter, speechless astonishment--may be imagined, when the ill-favored machine rumbled up to the door, and cripps produced from it what seemed to be, at first glance, a bundle of tawdry, dirty finery; but at last it turned out to be a woman, so far gone in intoxication as scarcely to be sensible of what she was doing. evidently, she was one of the lowest of that class of poor whites whose wretched condition is not among the least of the evils of slavery. whatever she might have been naturally,--whatever of beauty or of good there might have been in the womanly nature within her,--lay wholly withered and eclipsed under the force of an education churchless, schoolless, with all the vices of civilization without its refinements, and all the vices of barbarism without the occasional nobility by which they are sometimes redeemed. a low and vicious connection with this woman had at last terminated in marriage--such marriages as one shudders to think of, where gross animal natures come together, without even a glimmering idea of the higher purposes of that holy relation. "tiff, this yer is your new mistress," said cripps, with an idiotic laugh. "plaguy nice girl, too! i thought i'd bring the children a mother to take care of them. come along, girl!" looking closer, we recognize in the woman our old acquaintance, polly skinflint. he pulled her forward; and she, coming in, seated herself on fanny's bed. tiff looked as if he could have struck her dead. an avalanche had fallen upon him. he stood in the door with the slack hand of utter despair; while she, swinging her heels, began leisurely spitting about her, in every direction, the juice of a quid of tobacco, which she cherished in one cheek. "durned if this yer an't pretty well!" she said. "only i want the nigger to heave out that ar trash!" pointing to fanny's flowers. "i don't want children sticking no herbs round my house! hey, you nigger, heave out that trash!" as tiff stood still, not obeying this call, the woman appeared angry; and, coming up to him, struck him on the side of the head. "oh, come, come, poll!" said cripps, "you be still! he an't used to no such ways." "still!" said the amiable lady, turning round to him. "you go 'long! didn't you tell me, if i married you, i should have a nigger to order round, just as i pleased?" "well, well," said cripps, who was not by any means a cruelly-disposed man, "i didn't think you'd want to go walloping him, the first thing." "i will, if he don't shin round," said the virago, "and you, too!" and this vigorous profession was further carried out by a vigorous shove, which reacted in cripps in the form of a cuff, and in a few moments the disgraceful scuffle was at its full height. and tiff turned in disgust and horror from the house. "oh, good lord!" he said to himself, "we doesn't know what's 'fore us! and i's feeling so bad when de lord took my poor little man, and now i's ready to go down on my knees to thank de lord dat he's took him away from de evil to come! to think of my por sweet lamb, miss fanny, as i's been bringing up so carful! lord, dis yer's a heap worse dan de cholera!" it was with great affliction and dismay that he saw the children coming forward in high spirits, bearing between them a basket of wild-grapes, which they had been gathering. he ran out to meet them. "laws, yer por lambs," he said, "yer doesn't know what's a coming on you! yer pa's gone and married a drefful low white woman, sich as an't fit for no christian children to speak to. and now dey's quar'ling and fighting in dere, like two heathens! and miss nina's dead, and dere an't no place for you to go!" and the old man sat down and actually wept aloud, while the children, frightened, got into his arms, and nestled close to him for protection, crying too. "what shall we do? what shall we do?" said fanny. and teddy, who always repeated, reverentially, all his sister's words, said, after her, in a deplorable whimper, "what shall we do?" "i's a good mind to go off wid you in de wilderness, like de chil'en of israel," said tiff, "though dere an't no manna falling nowadays." "tiff, does marrying father make her our ma?" said fanny. "no 'deed, miss fanny, it doesn't! yer ma was one o' de fustest old virginny families. it was jist throwing herself 'way, marrying him! i neber said dat ar 'fore, 'cause it wan't 'spectful. but i don't care now!" at this moment cripps' voice was heard shouting:-- "hallo, you tiff! where is the durned nigger? i say, come back! poll and i's made it up, now! bring 'long them children, and let them get acquainted with their mammy," he said, laying hold of fanny's hand, and drawing her, frightened and crying, towards the house. "don't you be afraid, child," said cripps; "i've brought you a new ma." "we didn't want any new ma!" said teddy, in a dolorous voice. "oh, yes, you do," said cripps, coaxing him. "come along, my little man! there's your mammy," he said, pushing him into the fat embrace of polly. "fanny, go kiss your ma." fanny hung back and cried, and teddy followed her example. "confound the durn young uns!" said the new-married lady. "i told you, cripps, i didn't want no brats of t'other woman's! be plague enough when i get some of my own!" chapter xl. the flight into egypt. the once neat and happy cottage, of which old tiff was the guardian genius, soon experienced sad reverses. polly skinflint's violent and domineering temper made her absence from her father's establishment rather a matter of congratulation to abijah. her mother, one of those listless and inefficient women, whose lives flow in a calm, muddy current of stupidity and laziness, talked very little about it; but, on the whole, was perhaps better contented to be out of the range of polly's sharp voice and long arms. it was something of a consideration, in abijah's shrewd view of things, that cripps owned a nigger--the first point to which the aspiration of the poor white of the south generally tends. polly, whose love of power was a predominant element in her nature, resolutely declared, in advance, she'd make him shin round, or she'd know the reason why. as to the children, she regarded them as the incumbrances of the estate, to be got over with in the best way possible; for, as she graphically remarked, "every durned young un had to look out when she was 'bout!" the bride had been endowed with a marriage-portion, by her father, of half a barrel of whiskey; and it was announced that cripps was tired of trading round the country, and meant to set up trading at home. in short, the little cabin became a low grog-shop, a resort of the most miserable and vicious portion of the community. the violent temper of polly soon drove cripps upon his travels again, and his children were left unprotected to the fury of their step-mother's temper. every vestige of whatever was decent about the house and garden was soon swept away; for the customers of the shop, in a grand sunday drinking-bout, amused themselves with tearing down even the prairie-rose and climbing-vine that once gave a sylvan charm to the rude dwelling. polly's course, in the absence of her husband, was one of gross, unblushing licentiousness; and the ears and eyes of the children were shocked with language and scenes too bad for repetition. old tiff was almost heart-broken. he could have borne the beatings and starvings which came on himself; but the abuse which came on the children he could not bear. one night, when the drunken orgy was raging within the house, tiff gathered courage from despair. "miss fanny," he said, "jist go in de garret, and make a bundle o' sich tings as dere is, and throw 'em out o' de winder. i's been a praying night and day; and de lord says _he_'ll open some way or oder for us! i'll keep teddy out here under de trees, while you jist bundles up what por clothes is left, and throws 'em out o' de winder." silently as a ray of moonlight, the fair, delicate-looking child glided through the room where her step-mother and two or three drunken men were revelling in a loathsome debauch. "halloa, sis!" cried one of the men, after her, "where are you going to? stop here, and give me a kiss!" the unutterable look of mingled pride, and fear, and angry distress, which the child cast, as, quick as thought, she turned from them and ran up the ladder into the loft, occasioned roars of laughter. "i say, bill, why didn't you catch her?" said one. "oh, no matter for that," said another; "she'll come of her own accord, one of these days." fanny's heart beat like a frightened bird, as she made up her little bundle. then, throwing it to tiff, who was below in the dark, she called out, in a low, earnest whisper,-- "tiff, put up that board, and i'll climb down on it. i won't go back among those dreadful men!" carefully and noiselessly as possible, tiff lifted a long, rough slab, and placed it against the side of the house. carefully fanny set her feet on the top of it, and, spreading her arms, came down, like a little puff of vapor, into the arms of her faithful attendant. "bress de lord! here we is, all right," said tiff. "oh, tiff, i'm so glad!" said teddy, holding fast to the skirt of tiff's apron, and jumping for joy. "yes," said tiff, "all right. now de angel of de lord'll go with us into de wilderness!" "ther's plenty of angels there, an't there?" said teddy, victoriously, as he lifted the little bundle, with undoubting faith. "laws, yes!" said tiff. "i don' know why dere shouldn't be in our days. any rate, de lord 'peared to me in a dream, and says he, 'tiff, rise and take de chil'en and go in de land of egypt, and be dere till de time i tell dee.' dem is de bery words. and 'twas 'tween de cock-crow and daylight dey come to me, when i'd been lying dar praying, like a hail-storm, all night, not gibing de lord no rest! says i to him, says i, 'lord, i don' know nothing what to do; and now, ef you was por as i be, and i was great king, like you, i'd help you! and now, lord,' says i 'you _must_ help us, 'cause we an't got no place else to go; 'cause, you know, miss nina she's dead, and mr. john gordon, too! and dis yer woman will ruin dese yer chil'en, ef you don't help us! and now i hope you won't be angry! but i has to be very bold, 'cause tings have got so dat we can't bar 'em no longer!' den, yer see, i dropped 'sleep; and i hadn't no more'n got to sleep, jist after cock-crow, when de voice come!" "and is this the land of egypt," said teddy, "that we're going to?" "i spect so," said tiff. "don't you know de story miss nina read to you, once, how de angel of de lord 'peared to hagar in de wilderness, when she was sitting down under de bush. den dere was anoder one come to 'lijah, when he was under de juniper-tree, when he was wandering up and down, and got hungry, and woke up; and dere, sure 'nough, was a corn-cake baking for him on de coals! don't you mind miss nina was reading dat ar de bery last sunday she come to our place? bress de lord for sending her to us! i's got heaps o' good through dem readings." "do you think we really shall see any?" said fanny, with a little shade of apprehension in her voice. "i don't know as i shall know how to speak to them." "oh, angels is pleasant-spoken, well-meaning folks, allers," said tiff, "and don't take no 'fence at us. of course, dey knows we an't fetched up in der ways, and dey don't spect it of us. it's my 'pinion," said tiff, "dat when folks is honest, and does de bery best dey can, dey don't need to be 'fraid to speak to angels, nor nobody else; 'cause, you see, we speaks to de lord hisself when we prays, and, bress de lord, he don't take it ill of us, no ways. and now it's borne in strong on my mind, dat de lord is going to lead us through the wilderness, and bring us to good luck. now, you see, i's going to follow de star, like de wise men did." while they were talking, they were making their way through dense woods in the direction of the swamp, every moment taking them deeper and deeper into the tangled brush and underwood. the children were accustomed to wander for hours through the wood; and, animated by the idea of having escaped their persecutors, followed tiff with alacrity, as he went before them, clearing away the brambles and vines with his long arms, every once in a while wading with them across a bit of morass, or climbing his way through the branches of some uprooted tree. it was after ten o'clock at night when they started. it was now after midnight. tiff had held on his course in the direction of the swamp, where he knew many fugitives were concealed; and he was not without hopes of coming upon some camp or settlement of them. about one o'clock they emerged from the more tangled brushwood, and stood on a slight little clearing, where a grape-vine, depending in natural festoons from a sweet gum-tree, made a kind of arbor. the moon was shining very full and calm, and the little breeze fluttered the grape-leaves, casting the shadow of some on the transparent greenness of others. the dew had fallen so heavily in that moist region, that every once in a while, as a slight wind agitated the leaves, it might be heard pattering from one to another, like rain-drops. teddy had long been complaining bitterly of fatigue. tiff now sat down under this arbor, and took him fondly into his arms. "sit down, miss fanny. and is tiff's brave little man got tired? well, he shall go to sleep, dat he shall! we's got out a good bit now. i reckon dey won't find us. we's out here wid de good lord's works, and dey won't none on 'em tell on us. so, now, hush, my por little man; shut up your eyes!" and tiff quavered the immortal cradle-hymn,-- "hush, my dear, lie still and slumber! holy angels guard thy bed; heavenly blessings, without number, gently falling on thy head." in a few moments teddy was sound asleep, and tiff, wrapping him in his white great-coat, laid him down at the root of a tree. "bress de lord, dere an't no whiskey here!" he said, "nor no drunken critturs to wake him up. and now, miss fanny, por chile, your eyes is a falling. here's dis yer old shawl i put up in de pocket of my coat. wrap it round you, whilst i scrape up a heap of dem pine-leaves, yonder. dem is reckoned mighty good for sleeping on, 'cause dey's so healthy, kinder. dar, you see, i's got a desput big heap of 'em." "i'm tired, but i'm not sleepy," said fanny. "but, tiff, what are _you_ going to do?" "do!" said tiff, laughing, with somewhat of his old, joyous laugh. "ho! ho! ho! i's going to sit up for to meditate--a 'sidering on de fowls of de air, and de lilies in de field, and all dem dar miss nina used to read 'bout." for many weeks, fanny's bed-chamber had been the hot, dusty loft of the cabin, with the heated roof just above her head, and the noise of bacchanalian revels below. now she lay sunk down among the soft and fragrant pine-foliage, and looked up, watching the checkered roof of vine-leaves above her head, listening to the still patter of falling dew-drops, and the tremulous whirr and flutter of leaves. sometimes the soft night-winds swayed the tops of the pines with a long swell of dashing murmurs, like the breaking of a tide on a distant beach. the moonlight, as it came sliding down through the checkered, leafy roof, threw fragments and gleams of light, which moved capriciously here and there over the ground, revealing now a great silvery fern-leaf, and then a tuft of white flowers, gilding spots on the branches and trunks of the trees; while every moment the deeper shadows were lighted up by the gleaming of fire-flies. the child would raise her head a while, and look on the still scene around, and then sink on her fragrant pillow in dreamy delight. everything was so still, so calm, so pure, no wonder she was prepared to believe that the angels of the lord were to be found in the wilderness. they who have walked in closest communion with nature have ever found that they have not departed thence. the wilderness and solitary places are still glad for them, and their presence makes the desert to rejoice and blossom as the rose. when fanny and teddy were both asleep, old tiff knelt down and addressed himself to his prayers; and, though he had neither prayer-book, nor cushion, nor formula, his words went right to the mark, in the best english he could command for any occasion; and, so near as we could collect from the sound of his words, tiff's prayer ran as follows:-- "oh, good lord, now please do look down on dese yer chil'en. i started 'em out, as you telled me; and now whar we is to go, and whar we is to get any breakfast, i's sure i don' know. but, oh good lord, you has got everyting in de world in yer hands, and it's mighty easy for you to be helping on us; and i has faith to believe dat you will. oh, bressed lord jesus, dat was carried off into egypt for fear of de king herod, do, pray, look down on dese yer por chil'en, for i's sure dat ar woman is as bad as herod, any day. good lord, you's seen how she's been treating on 'em; and now do pray open a way for us through de wilderness to de promised land. everlasting--amen." the last two words tiff always added to his prayers, from a sort of sense of propriety, feeling as if they rounded off the prayer, and made it, as he would have phrased it, more like a white prayer. we have only to say, to those who question concerning this manner of prayer, that, if they will examine the supplications of patriarchs of ancient times, they will find that, with the exception of the broken english and bad grammar, they were in substance very much like this of tiff. the bible divides men into two classes: those who trust in themselves, and those who trust in god. the one class walk by their own light, trust in their own strength, fight their own battles, and have no confidence otherwise. the other, not neglecting to use the wisdom and strength which god has given them, still trust in his wisdom and his strength to carry out the weakness of theirs. the one class go through life as orphans; the other have a father. tiff's prayer had at least this recommendation, that he felt perfectly sure that something was to come of it. had he not told the lord all about it? certainly he had; and of course he would be helped. and this confidence tiff took, as jacob did a stone, for his pillow, as he lay down between his children and slept soundly. how innocent, soft, and kind, are all god's works! from the silent shadows of the forest the tender and loving presence which our sin exiled from the haunts of men hath not yet departed. sweet fall the moonbeams through the dewy leaves; peaceful is the breeze that waves the branches of the pines; merciful and tender the little wind that shakes the small flowers and tremulous wood-grasses fluttering over the heads of the motherless children. oh thou who bearest in thee a heart hot and weary, sick and faint with the vain tumults and confusions of the haunts of men, go to the wilderness, and thou shalt find _him_ there who saith, "as one whom his mother comforteth, so will i comfort you. i will be as the dew to israel. he shall grow as a lily, and cast forth his roots as lebanon." well, they slept there quietly, all night long. between three and four o'clock, an oriole, who had his habitation in the vine above their heads, began a gentle twittering conversation with some of his neighbors; not a loud song, i would give you to understand, but a little, low inquiry as to what o'clock it was. and then, if you had been in a still room at that time, you might have heard, through all the trees of pine, beech, holly, sweet-gum, and larch, a little, tremulous stir and flutter of birds awaking and stretching their wings. little eyes were opening in a thousand climbing vines, where soft, feathery habitants had hung, swinging breezily, all night. low twitterings and chirpings were heard; then a loud, clear, echoing chorus of harmony answering from tree to tree, jubilant and joyous as if there never had been a morning before. the morning star had not yet gone down, nor were the purple curtains of the east undrawn; and the moon, which had been shining full all night, still stood like a patient, late-burning light in a quiet chamber. it is not everybody that wakes to hear this first chorus of the birds. they who sleep till sunrise have lost it, and with it a thousand mysterious pleasures--strange, sweet communings,--which, like morning dew, begin to evaporate when the sun rises. but, though tiff and the children slept all night we are under no obligations to keep our eyes shut to the fact that between three and four o'clock there came crackling through the swamps the dark figure of one whose journeyings were more often by night than by day. dred had been out on one of his nightly excursions, carrying game, which he disposed of for powder and shot at one of the low stores we have alluded to. he came unexpectedly on the sleepers, while making his way back. his first movement, on seeing them, was that of surprise; then, stooping and examining the group more closely, he appeared to recognize them. dred had known old tiff before; and had occasion to go to him more than once to beg supplies for fugitives in the swamps, or to get some errand performed which he could not himself venture abroad to attend to. like others of his race, tiff, on all such subjects, was so habitually and unfathomably secret, that the children, who knew him most intimately, had never received even a suggestion from him of the existence of any such person. dred, whose eyes, sharpened by habitual caution, never lost sight of any change in his vicinity, had been observant of that which had taken place in old tiff's affairs. when, therefore, he saw him sleeping as we have described, he understood the whole matter at once. he looked at the children, as they lay nestled at the roots of the tree, with something of a softened expression, muttering to himself, "they embrace the rock for shelter." he opened a pouch which he wore on his side, and took from thence one or two corn-dodgers and half a broiled rabbit, which his wife had put up for hunting provision, the day before; and, laying them down on the leaves, hastened on to a place where he had intended to surprise some game in the morning. the chorus of birds we have before described awakened old tiff, accustomed to habits of early rising. he sat up, and began rubbing his eyes and stretching himself. he had slept well, for his habits of life had not been such as to make him at all fastidious with regard to his couch. "well," he said to himself, "any way, dat ar woman won't get dese yer chil'en, dis yer day!" and he gave one of his old hearty laughs, to think how nicely he had outwitted her. "laws," he said to himself, "don't i hear her now! 'tiff! tiff! tiff!' she says. holla away, old mist'! tiff don't hear yer! no, nor de chil'en eider, por blessed lambs!" here, in turning to the children, his eye fell on the provisions. at first he stood petrified, with his hands lifted in astonishment. had the angel been there? sure enough, he thought. "well, now, bress de lord, sure 'nough, here's de bery breakfast i's asking for last night! well, i knowed de lord would do something for us; but i really didn't know as 't would come so quick! may be ravens brought it, as dey did to 'lijah--bread and flesh in de morning, and bread and flesh at night. well, dis yer 's 'couraging--'tis so. i won't wake up de por little lambs. let 'em sleep. dey'll be mighty tickled when dey comes fur to see de breakfast; and, den, out here it's so sweet and clean! none yer nasty 'bacca spittins of folks dat doesn't know how to be decent. bress me, i's rather tired, myself. i spects i'd better camp down again, till de chil'en wakes. dat ar crittur 's kep me gwine till i's got pretty stiff, wid her contrary ways. spect she'll be as troubled as king herod was, and all 'rusalem wid her!" and tiff rolled and laughed quietly, in the security of his heart. "i say, tiff, where are we?" said a little voice at his side. "whar is we, puppit?" said tiff, turning over; "why, bress yer sweet eyes, how does yer do, dis morning? stretch away, my man! neber be 'fraid; we's in de lord's diggins now, all safe. and de angel's got a breakfast ready for us, too!" said tiff, displaying the provision which he had arranged on some vine-leaves. "oh, uncle tiff, did the angels bring that?" said teddy. "why didn't you wake me up? i wanted to see them. i never saw any angel, in all my life!" "nor i neider, honey. dey comes mostly when we's 'sleep. but, stay, dere's miss fanny, a waking up. how is ye, lamb? is ye 'freshed?" "oh, uncle tiff, i've slept so sound," said fanny; "and i dreamed such a beautiful dream!" "well, den, tell it right off, 'fore breakfast," said tiff, "to make it come true." "well," said fanny, "i dreamed i was in a desolate place, where i couldn't get out, all full of rocks and brambles, and teddy was with me; and while we were trying and trying, our ma came to us. she looked like our ma, only a great deal more beautiful; and she had a strange white dress on, that shone, and hung clear to her feet; and she took hold of our hands, and the rocks opened, and we walked through a path into a beautiful green meadow, full of lilies and wild strawberries; and then she was gone." "well," said teddy, "maybe 'twas she who brought some breakfast to us. see here, what we've got!" fanny look surprised and pleased, but, after some consideration, said,-- "i don't believe mamma brought that. i don't believe they have corn-cake and roast meat in heaven. if it had been manna, now, it would have been more likely." "neber mind whar it comes from," said tiff. "it's right good and we bress de lord for it." and they sat down accordingly, and ate their breakfast with a good heart. "now," said tiff, "somewhar roun' in dis yer swamp dere's a camp o' de colored people; but i don' know rightly whar 'tis. if we could get dar, we could stay dar a while, till something or nuder should turn up. hark! what's dat ar?" 'twas the crack of a rifle reverberating through the dewy, leafy stillness of the forest. "dat ar an't fur off," said tiff. the children looked a little terrified. "don't you be 'fraid," he said. "i wouldn't wonder but i knowed who dat ar was. hark, now! 'tis somebody coming dis yer way." a clear, exultant voice sung, through the leafy distance,-- "oh, had i the wings of the morning, i'd fly away to canaan's shore." "yes," said tiff, to himself, "dat ar's his voice. now, chil'en," he said, "dar's somebody coming; and you mustn't be 'fraid on him, 'cause i spects he'll get us to dat ar camp i's telling 'bout." and tiff, in a cracked and strained voice, which contrasted oddly enough with the bell-like notes of the distant singer, commenced singing part of an old song, which might, perhaps, have been used as a signal:-- "hailing so stormily, cold, stormy weder; i want my true love all de day. whar shall i find him? whar shall i find him?" the distant singer stopped his song, apparently to listen, and, while tiff kept on singing, they could hear the crackling of approaching footsteps. at last dred emerged to view. "so you've fled to the wilderness?" he said. "yes, yes," said tiff with a kind of giggle, "we had to come to it, dat ar woman was so aggravating on de chil'en. of all de pizin critturs dat i knows on, dese yer mean white women is de pizinest! dey an't got no manners, and no bringing up. dey doesn't begin to know how tings ought to be done 'mong 'spectable people. so we just tuck to de bush." "you might have taken to a worse place," said dred. "the lord god giveth grace and glory to the trees of the wood. and the time will come when the lord will make a covenant of peace, and cause the evil beast to cease out of the land; and they shall dwell safely in the wilderness, and shall sleep in the woods; and the tree of the field shall yield her fruit, and they shall be safe in the land, when the lord hath broken the bands of their yoke, and delivered them out of the hands of those that serve themselves of them." "and you tink dem good times coming, sure 'nough?" said tiff. "the lord hath said it," said the other. "but first the day of vengeance must come." "i don't want no sich," said tiff. "i want to live peaceable." dred looked upon tiff with an air of acquiescent pity, which had in it a slight shade of contempt, and said, as if in soliloquy,-- "issachar is a strong ass, couching down between two burdens; and he saw that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant, and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute." "as to rest," said tiff, "de lord knows i an't had much of dat ar, if i be an ass. if i had a good, strong pack-saddle, i'd like to trot dese yer chil'en out in some good cleared place." "well," said dred, "you have served him that was ready to perish, and not betrayed him who wandered; therefore the lord will open for you a fenced city in the wilderness." "jest so," said tiff; "dat ar camp o'yourn is jest what i's arter. i's willing to lend a hand to most anyting dat's good." "well," said dred, "the children are too tender to walk where we must go. we must bear them as an eagle beareth her young. come, my little man!" and, as dred spoke, he stooped down and stretched out his hands to teddy. his severe and gloomy countenance relaxed into a smile, and, to tiff's surprise, the child went immediately to him, and allowed him to lift him in his arms. "now i'd thought he'd been skeered o' you!" said tiff. "not he! i never saw a child or dog that i couldn't make come to me. hold fast, now, my little man!" he said, seating the boy on his shoulder. "trees have long arms; don't let them rake you off. now, tiff," he said, "you take the girl and come after, and when we come into the thick of the swamp, mind you step right in my tracks. mind you don't set your foot on a tussock if i haven't set mine there before you; because the moccasons lie on the tussocks." and thus saying, dred and his companion began making their way towards the fugitive camp. chapter xli. the clerical conference. a few days found clayton in the city of ----, guest of the rev. dr. cushing. he was a man in middle life; of fine personal presence, urbane, courtly, gentlemanly. dr. cushing was a popular and much-admired clergyman, standing high among his brethren in the ministry, and almost the idol of a large and flourishing church, a man of warm feelings, humane impulses, and fine social qualities, his sermons, beautifully written, and delivered with great fervor, often drew tears from the eyes of the hearers. his pastoral ministrations, whether at wedding or funeral, had a peculiar tenderness and unction. none was more capable than he of celebrating the holy fervor and self-denying sufferings of apostles and martyrs; none more easily kindled by those devout hymns which describe the patience of the saints; but, with all this, for any practical emergency, dr. cushing was nothing of a soldier. there was a species of moral effeminacy about him, and the very luxuriant softness and richness of his nature unfitted him to endure hardness. he was known, in all his intercourse with his brethren, as a peace-maker, a modifier, and harmonizer. nor did he scrupulously examine how much of the credit of this was due to a fastidious softness of nature which made controversy disagreeable and wearisome. nevertheless, clayton was at first charmed with the sympathetic warmth with which he and his plans were received by his relative. he seemed perfectly to agree with clayton in all his views of the terrible evils of the slave system and was prompt with anecdotes and instances to enforce everything that he said. "clayton was just in time," he said; "a number of his ministerial brethren were coming to-morrow, some of them from the northern states. clayton should present his views to them." dr. cushing's establishment was conducted on the footing of the most liberal hospitality; and that very evening the domestic circle was made larger by the addition of four or five ministerial brethren. among these clayton was glad to meet, once more, father dickson. the serene, good man, seemed to bring the blessing of the gospel of peace with him wherever he went. among others, was one whom we will more particularly introduce, as the rev. shubael packthread. dr. shubael packthread was a minister of a leading church, in one of the northern cities. constitutionally, he was an amiable and kindly man, with very fair natural abilities, fairly improved by culture. long habits, however, of theological and ecclesiastical controversy had cultivated a certain species of acuteness of mind into such disproportioned activity, that other parts of his intellectual and moral nature had been dwarfed and dwindled beside it. what might, under other circumstances, have been agreeable and useful tact, became in him a constant and life-long _habit_ of stratagem. while other people look upon words as vehicles for conveying ideas, dr. packthread regarded them only as mediums for concealment. his constant study, on every controverted topic, was so to adjust language that, with the appearance of the utmost precision, it should always be capable of a double interpretation. he was a cunning master of all forms of indirection; of all phrases by which people _appear_ to say what they do not say, and _not_ to say what they _do_ say. he was an adept also in all the mechanism of ecclesiastical debate, of the intricate labyrinths of heresy-hunting, of every scheme by which more simple and less advised brethren, speaking with ignorant sincerity, could be entrapped and deceived. he was _au fait_ also in all compromise measures, in which two parties unite in one form of words, meaning by them exactly opposite ideas, and call the agreement a _union_. he was also expert in all those parliamentary modes, in synod or general assembly, by which troublesome discussions could be avoided or disposed of, and credulous brethren made to believe they had gained points which they had not gained; by which discussions could be at will blinded with dusty clouds of misrepresentation, or trailed on through interminable marshes of weariness, to accomplish some manoeuvre of ecclesiastical tactics. dr. packthread also was master of every means by which the influence of opposing parties might be broken. he could spread a convenient report on necessary occasions, by any of those forms which do not assert, but which disseminate a slander quite as certainly as if they did. if it was necessary to create a suspicion of the orthodoxy, or of the piety, or even of the morality, of an opposing brother, dr. packthread understood how to do it in the neatest and most tasteful manner. he was an infallible judge whether it should be accomplished by innocent interrogations, as to whether you had heard "so and so of mr. ----;" or, by "charitably expressed hopes that you had not heard so and so;" or, by gentle suggestions, whether it would not be as well to inquire; or, by shakes of the head, and lifts of the eyes, at proper intervals in conversation; or, lastly, by _silence_ when silence became the strongest as well as safest form of assertion. in person, he was rather tall, thin, and the lines of his face appeared, every one of them, to be engraved by caution and care. in his boyhood and youth, the man had had a trick of smiling and laughing without considering why; the grace of prudence, however, had corrected all this. he never did either, in these days, without understanding precisely what he was about. his face was a part of his stock in trade, and he understood the management of it remarkably well. he knew precisely all the gradations of smile which were useful for accomplishing different purposes. the solemn smile, the smile of inquiry, the smile affirmative, the smile suggestive, the smile of incredulity, and the smile of innocent credulity, which encouraged the simple-hearted narrator to go on unfolding himself to the brother, who sat quietly behind his face, as a spider does behind his web, waiting till his unsuspecting friend had tangled himself in incautious, impulsive, and, of course, contradictory meshes of statement, which were, in some future hour, in the most gentle and christian spirit, to be tightened around the incautious captive, while as much blood was sucked as the good of the cause demanded. it is not to be supposed that the rev. dr. packthread, so skilful and adroit as we have represented him, failed in the necessary climax of such skill--that of deceiving himself. far from it. truly and honestly dr. packthread thought himself one of the hundred and forty and four thousand, who follow the lamb whithersoever he goeth, in whose mouth is found no guile. _prudence_ he considered the chief of christian graces. he worshipped christian prudence, and the whole category of accomplishments which we have described he considered as the fruits of it. his prudence, in fact, served him all the purposes that the stock of the tree did to the ancient idolater. "with part thereof he eateth flesh; he roasteth roast, and is satisfied; yea, he warmeth himself, and saith, aha, i am warm, i have seen the fire: and the residue thereof he maketh a god, even his graven image; he falleth down unto it, and worshippeth it, and prayeth unto it, and saith, deliver me; for thou art my god." no doubt, dr. packthread expected to enter heaven by the same judicious arrangement by which he had lived on earth; and so he went on, from year to year, doing deeds which even a political candidate would blush at; violating the most ordinary principles of morality and honor; while he sung hymns, made prayers, and administered sacraments, expecting, no doubt, at last to enter heaven by some neat arrangement of words used in two senses. dr. packthread's cautious agreeableness of manner formed a striking contrast to the innocent and almost child-like simplicity with which father dickson, in his threadbare coat, appeared at his side. almost as poor in this world's goods as his master, father dickson's dwelling had been a simple one-story cottage, in all, save thrift and neatness, very little better than those of the poorest; and it was a rare year when a hundred dollars passed through his hands. he had seen the time when he had not even wherewithal to take from the office a necessary letter. he had seen his wife suffer for medicine and comforts, in sickness. he had himself ridden without overcoat through the chill months of winter; but all those things he had borne as the traveller bears a storm on the way to his home; and it was beautiful to see the unenvying, frank, simple pleasure which he seemed to feel in the elegant and abundant home of his brother, and in the thousand appliances of hospitable comfort by which he was surrounded. the spirit within us that lusteth to envy had been chased from his bosom by the expulsive force of a higher love; and his simple and unstudied acts of constant good-will showed that simple christianity can make the gentleman. father dickson was regarded by his ministerial brethren with great affection and veneration, though wholly devoid of any ecclesiastical wisdom. they were fond of using him much as they did their hymn-books and testaments, for their better hours of devotion; and equally apt to let slip his admonitions, when they came to the hard, matter-of-fact business of ecclesiastical discussion and management; yet they loved well to have him with them, as they felt that, like a psalm or a text, his presence in some sort gave sanction to what they did. in due time there was added to the number of the circle our joyous, out-spoken friend, father bonnie, fresh from a recent series of camp-meetings in a distant part of the state, and ready at a minute's notice for either a laugh or a prayer. very little of the stereotype print of his profession had he; the sort of wild woodland freedom of his life giving to his manners and conversation a tone of sylvan roughness, of which dr. packthread evidently stood in considerable doubt. father bonnie's early training had been that of what is called, in common parlance, a "self-made man." he was unsophisticated by greek or latin, and had rather a contempt for the forms of the schools, and a joyous determination to say what he pleased on all occasions. there were also present one or two of the leading presbyterian ministers of the north. they had, in fact, come for a private and confidential conversation with dr. cushing concerning the reunion of the new school presbyterian church with the old. it may be necessary to apprise some of our readers, not conversant with american ecclesiastical history, that the presbyterian church of america is divided into two parties in relation to certain theological points, and that the adherents on either side call themselves _old_ or _new_ school. some years since, these two parties divided, and each of them organized its own general assembly. it so happened that all the slaveholding interest, with some very inconsiderable exceptions, went into the old school body. the great majority of the new school body were avowedly anti-slavery men, according to a solemn declaration, which committed the whole presbyterian church to those sentiments in the year eighteen hundred and eighteen. and the breach between the two sections was caused quite as much by the difference of feeling between the northern and southern branches on the subject of slavery, as by any differences of doctrine. after the first jar of separation was over, thoughts of reunion began to arise on both sides, and to be quietly discussed among leading minds. there is a power in men of a certain class of making an organization of any kind, whether it be political or ecclesiastical, an object of absorbing and individual devotion. most men feel empty and insufficient of themselves, and find a need to ballast their own insufficiency by attaching themselves to something of more weight than they are. they put their stock of being out at interest, and invest themselves somewhere and in something; and the love of wife or child is not more absorbing than the love of the bank where the man has invested himself. it is true, this power is a noble one; because thus a man may pass out of self, and choose god, the great good of all, for his portion. but human weakness falls below this; and, as the idolater worships the infinite and unseen under a visible symbol till it effaces the memory of what is signified, so men begin by loving institutions for god's sake, which come at last to stand with them in the place of god. such was the rev. dr. calker. he was a man of powerful though narrow mind, of great energy and efficiency, and of that capability of abstract devotion which makes the soldier or the statesman. he was earnestly and sincerely devout, as he understood devotion. he began with loving the church for god's sake, and ended with loving her better than god. and, by the church, he meant the organization of the presbyterian church in the united states of america. her cause, in his eyes, was god's cause; her glory, god's glory; her success, the indispensable condition of the millennium; her defeat, the defeat of all that was good for the human race. his devotion to her was honest and unselfish. of course dr. calker estimated all interests by their influence on the presbyterian church. he weighed every cause in the balance of her sanctuary. what promised extension and power to her, _that_ he supported. what threatened defeat or impediment, _that_ he was ready to sacrifice. he would, at any day, sacrifice himself and all his interests to that cause, and he felt equally willing to sacrifice others and their interests. the anti-slavery cause he regarded with a simple eye to this question. it was a disturbing force, weakening the harmony among brethren, threatening disruption and disunion. he regarded it, therefore, with distrust and aversion. he would read no facts on that side of the question. and when the discussions of zealous brethren would bring frightful and appalling statements into the general assembly, he was too busy in seeking what could be said to ward off their force, to allow them to have much influence on his own mind. gradually he came to view the whole subject with dislike, as a pertinacious intruder in the path of the presbyterian church. that the whole train of cars, laden with the interests of the world for all time, should be stopped by a ragged, manacled slave across the track, was to him an impertinence and absurdity. what was he, that the presbyterian church should be divided and hindered for him? so thought the exultant thousands who followed christ, once, when the blind beggar raised his importunate clamor, and they bade him hold his peace. so thought not he, who stopped the tide of triumphant success, that he might call the neglected one to himself, and lay his hands upon him. dr. calker had from year to year opposed the agitation of the slavery question in the general assembly of the presbyterian church, knowing well that it threatened disunion. when, in spite of all his efforts, disunion came, he bent his energies to the task of reuniting; and he was the most important character in the present caucus. of course a layman, and a young man also, would feel some natural hesitancy in joining at once in the conversation of those older than himself. clayton, therefore, sat at the hospitable breakfast-table of dr. cushing rather as an auditor than as a speaker. "now, brother cushing," said dr. calker, "the fact is, there never was any need of this disruption. it has crippled the power of the church, and given the enemy occasion to speak reproachfully. our divisions are playing right into the hands of the methodists and baptists; and ground that we might hold, united, is going into their hands every year." "i know it," said dr. cushing, "and we southern brethren mourn over it, i assure you. the fact is, brother calker, there's no such doctrinal division, after all. why, there are brethren among us that are as new school as dr. draper, and we don't meddle with them." "just so," replied dr. calker; "and we have true-blue old school men among us." "i think," said dr. packthread, "that, with suitable care, a document might be drawn up which will meet the views on both sides. you see, we must get the extreme men on both sides to agree to hold still. why, now, i am called new school; but i wrote a set of definitions once, which i showed to dr. pyke, who is as sharp as any body on the other side, and he said, 'he agreed with them entirely.' those n---- h---- men are incautious." "yes," said dr. calker, "and it's just dividing the resources and the influence of the church for nothing. now, those discussions as to the time when moral agency begins are, after all, of no great account in practical workings." "well," said dr. cushing, "it's, after all, nothing but the tone of your abolition fanatics that stands in the way. these slavery discussions in general assembly have been very disagreeable and painful to our people, particularly those of the western brethren. they don't understand us, nor the delicacy of our position. they don't know that we need to be let alone in order to effect anything. now, i am for trusting to the softening, meliorating influences of the gospel. the kingdom of god cometh not with observation. i trust that, in his mysterious providence, the lord will see fit, in his own good time, to remove this evil of slavery. meanwhile, brethren ought to possess their souls in patience." "brother cushing," said father dickson, "since the assembly of eighteen hundred and eighteen, the number of slaves has increased in this country four-fold. new slave states have been added, and a great, regular system of breeding and trading organized, which is filling all our large cities with trading-houses. the ships of our ports go out as slavers, carrying loads of miserable creatures down to new orleans; and there is a constant increase of this traffic through the country. this very summer i was at the death-bed of a poor girl, only seventeen or eighteen, who had been torn from all her friends and sent off with a coffle; and she died there in the wilderness. it does seem to me, brother cushing, that this silent plan does not answer. we are not half as near to emancipation, apparently, as we were in eighteen hundred and eighteen." "has there ever been any attempt," said clayton, "among the christians of your denominations, to put a stop to this internal slave-trade?" "well," said dr. cushing, "i don't know that there has, any further than general preaching against injustice." "have you ever made any movement in the church to prevent the separation of families?" said clayton. "no, not exactly. we leave that thing to the conscience of individuals. the synods have always enjoined it on professors of religion to treat their servants according to the spirit of the gospel." "has the church ever endeavored to influence the legislature to allow general education?" said clayton. "no; that subject is fraught with difficulties," said dr. cushing. "the fact is, if these rabid northern abolitionists would let us alone, we might, perhaps, make a movement on some of these subjects. but they excite the minds of our people, and get them into such a state of inflammation, that we cannot do anything." during all the time that father dickson and clayton had been speaking, dr. calker had been making minutes with a pencil on a small piece of paper, for future use. it was always disagreeable to him to hear of slave-coffles and the internal slave-trade; and, therefore, when anything was ever said on these topics, he would generally employ himself in some other way than listening. father dickson he had known of old as being remarkably pertinacious on those subjects; and therefore, when he began to speak, he took the opportunity of jotting down a few ideas for a future exigency. he now looked up from his paper and spoke:-- "oh, those fellows are without any reason--perfectly wild and crazy! they are monomaniacs! they cannot see but one subject anywhere. now, there's father ruskin, of ohio--there's nothing can be done with that man! i have had him at my house hours and hours, talking to him, and laying it all down before him, and showing him what great interests he was compromising. but it didn't do a bit of good. he just harps on one eternal string. now, it's all the pushing and driving of these fellows in the general assembly that made the division, in my opinion." "we kept it off a good many years," said dr. packthread; "and it took all our ingenuity to do it, i assure you. now, ever since eighteen hundred and thirty-five, these fellows have been pushing and crowding in every assembly; and we have stood faithfully in our lot, to keep the assembly from doing anything which could give offence to our southern brethren. we have always been particular to put them forward in our public services, and to show them every imaginable deference. i think our brethren ought to consider how hard we have worked. we had to be instant in season and out of season, i can tell you. i think i may claim some little merit," continued the doctor, with a cautious smile spreading over his face; "if i have any talent, it is a capacity in the judicious use of language. now, sometimes brethren will wrangle a whole day, till they all get tired and sick of a subject; and then just let a man who understands the use of terms step in, and sometimes, by omitting a single word, he will alter the whole face of an affair. i remember one year those fellows were driving us up to make some sort of declaration about slavery. and we really had to do it, because it wouldn't do to have the whole west split off; and there was a three days' fight, till finally we got the thing pared down to the lowest terms. we thought we would pass a resolution that slavery was a _moral evil_, if the southern brethren liked that better than the old way of calling it a sin, and we really were getting on quite harmoniously, when some of the southern ultras took it up; and they said that moral evil meant the same as sin, and that would imply a censure on the brethren. well, it got late, and some of the hottest ones were tired and had gone off; and i just quietly drew my pen across the word _moral_, and read the resolution, and it went unanimously. most ministers, you see, are willing to call slavery an _evil_--the trouble lay in that word _moral_. well, that capped the crater for that year. but, then, they were at it again the very next time they came together, for those fellows never sleep. well, then we took a new turn. i told the brethren we had better get it on to the ground of the reserved rights of presbyteries and synods, and decline interfering. well, then, that was going very well, but some of the brethren very injudiciously got up a resolution in the assembly recommending disciplinary measures for dancing. that was passed without much thought, because, you know, there's no great interest involved in dancing, and, of course, there's nobody to oppose such a resolution; but, then, it was very injudicious, under the circumstances; for the abolitionists made a handle of it immediately, and wanted to know why we couldn't as well recommend a discipline for slavery; because, you see, dancing isn't a sin, _per se_, any more than slavery is; and they haven't done blowing their trumpets over us to this day." here the company rose from breakfast, and, according to the good old devout custom, seated themselves for family worship. two decent, well-dressed black women were called in, and also a negro man. at father dickson's request, all united in singing the following hymn:-- "am i a soldier of the cross, a follower of the lamb; and shall i fear to own his cause, or blush to speak his name? must i be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease, while others fought to win the prize, and sailed through bloody seas? sure i must fight if i would reign; increase my courage, lord! i'll bear the cross, endure the shame, supported by thy word the saints, in all this glorious war, shall conquer, though they die; they see the victory from afar, with faith's discerning eye. when that illustrious day shall rise, and all thine armies shine in robes of victory through the skies, the glory shall be thine." anybody who had seen the fervor with which these brethren now united in singing these stanzas, might have supposed them a company of the primitive martyrs and confessors, who, having drawn the sword and thrown away the scabbard, were now ready for a millennial charge on the devil and all his works. none sung with more heartiness than dr. packthread, for his natural feelings were quick and easily excited; nor did he dream he was not a soldier of the cross, and that the species of skirmishes he had been describing were not all in accordance with the spirit of the hymn. had you interrogated him, he would have shown you a syllogistic connection between the glory of god and the best good of the universe, and the course he had been pursuing. so that, if father dickson had supposed the hymn would act as a gentle suggestion, he was very much mistaken. as to dr. calker, he joined, with enthusiasm, applying it all the while to the enemies of the presbyterian church, in the same manner as ignatius loyola might have sung it, applying it to protestantism. dr. cushing considered the conflict described as wholly an internal one, and thus all joined alike in swelling the chorus:-- "a soldier for jesus, hallelujah! love and serve the lord." father dickson read from the bible as follows:-- "our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our consciences, that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of god, we have our conversation in the world." father dickson had many gentle and quiet ways, peculiar to himself, of suggesting his own views to his brethren. therefore, having read these verses, he paused, and asked dr. packthread "if he did not think there was danger of departing from this spirit, and losing the simplicity of christ, when we conduct christian business on worldly principles." dr. packthread cordially assented, and continued to the same purpose in a strain so edifying as entirely to exhaust the subject; and dr. calker, who was thinking of the business that was before them, giving an uneasy motion here, they immediately united in the devotional exercises, which were led with great fervor by dr. cushing. chapter xlii. the result. after the devotional services were over, dr. calker proceeded immediately with the business that he had in his mind. "now, brother cushing," he said, "there never was any instrumentality raised up by providence to bring in the latter day equal to the presbyterian church in the united states of america. it is the great hope of the world; for here, in this country, we are trying the great experiment for all ages; and, undoubtedly, the presbyterian church comes the nearest perfection of any form of organization possible to our frail humanity. it is the ark of the covenant for this nation, and for all nations. missionary enterprises to foreign countries, tract societies, home missionary, seamen's friend societies, bible societies, sunday-school unions, all are embraced in its bosom; and it grows in a free country, planted by god's own right hand, with such laws and institutions as never were given to mortal man before. it is carrying us right on to the millennium; and all we want is _union_. united, we stand the most glorious, the most powerful institution in the world. now, there was no need for you southern brethren to be so restive as you were. we were doing all we could to keep down the fire, and keep things quiet, and you ought not to have bolted so. since you have separated from us, what have we done? i suppose you thought we were going to blaze out in a regular abolition fury; but you see we haven't done it. we haven't done any more than when we were united. just look at our minutes, and you'll see it. we have strong and determined abolitionists among us, and they are constantly urging and pushing. there have been great public excitements on the subject of slavery, and we have been plagued and teased to declare ourselves, but we haven't done it in a single instance--not one. you see that ruskin and his clique have gone off from us, because we would hold still. it is true that now and then we had to let some anti-slavery man preach an opening sermon, or something of that sort; but, then, opening sermons are nothing; they don't commit anybody; they don't show the opinion of anybody but the speaker. in fact, they don't express any more than that declaration of eighteen hundred and eighteen, which stands unrepealed on _your_ records, as well as on ours. of course, we are all willing to say that slavery is an evil, 'entirely inconsistent with the spirit of the gospel,' and all that, because that's on your own books; we only agree to say nothing about it, nowadays, in our public capacity, because what was said in eighteen hundred and eighteen is all-sufficient, and prevents the odium and scandal of public controversy now. now, for proof that what i have just said is true, look at the facts. we had three presbyteries in slave-holding states when we started, and now we have over twenty, with from fifteen to twenty thousand members. that must show you what our hearts are on this subject. and have we not always been making overtures for reunion--really humbling ourselves to you, brethren? now, i say you ought to take these facts into account; our slave-holding members and churches are left as perfectly undisturbed, to manage in their own way, as yours. to be sure, some of those western men will fire off a remonstrance once a year, or something of that sort. just let them do that; it keeps them easy and contented. and, so long as there is really no interfering in the way of discipline or control, what harm is done? you ought to bear some with the northern brethren, unreasonable as they are; and we may well have a discussion every year, to let off the steam." "for my part," said father bonnie, "i want union, i'm sure. i'd tar and feather those northern abolitionists, if i could get at them!" "_figuratively_, i suppose," said dr. packthread, with a gentle smile. "yes, figuratively and literally too," said father bonnie, laughing. "let them come down here, and see what they'll get! if they will set the country in a blaze, they ought to be the first ones to be warmed at the fire. for my part, brethren, i must say that you lose time and strength by your admissions, all of you. you don't hit the buck in the eye. i thank the lord that i am delivered from the bondage of thinking slavery a sin, or an evil, in any sense. our abolitionist brethren have done one good thing; they have driven us up to examine the scriptures, and there we find that slavery is not only permitted but appointed, enjoined. it is a divine institution. if a northern abolitionist comes at me now, i shake the bible at him, and say, 'nay, but, oh man, who art thou that repliest against god?' hath not the potter power over the clay, to make one lump to honor, and another to dishonor? i tell you, brethren, it blazes from every page of the scriptures. you'll never do anything till you get on to that ground. a man's conscience is always hanging on to his skirts; he goes on just like a bear with a trap on his legs--can't make any progress that way. you have got to get your feet on the rock of ages, i can tell you, and get the trap off your leg. there's nothing like the study of the scriptures to clear a fellow's mind." "well, then," said clayton, "would it not be well to repeal the laws which forbid the slaves to learn to read, and put the scriptures into their hands? these laws are the cause of a great deal of misery and immorality among the slaves, and they furnish abolitionists with some of their strongest arguments." "oh," said father bonnie, "that will never do, in the world! it will expose them to whole floods of abolition and incendiary documents, corrupt their minds, and make them discontented." "well," said dr. cushing, "i have read dr. carnes' book, and i must say that the scriptural argument lies, in my mind, on the other side." "hang dr. carnes' book!" said father bonnie. "figuratively, i suppose," said dr. packthread. "why, dr. carnes' much learning has made him mad!" said father bonnie. "i don't believe anything that can't be got out of a plain english bible. when a fellow goes shuffling off in a hebrew fog, in a latin fog, in a greek fog, i say, 'ah, my boy, you are treed! you had better come down!' why, is it not plain enough to any reader of the bible, how the apostles talked to the slaves? they didn't fill their heads with stuff about the rights of man. now, see here, just at a venture," he said, making a dive at a pocket-bible that lay on the table,--"now, just let me read you, '_masters, give unto your servants that which is just and equal_.' sho! sho! that isn't the place i was thinking of. it's here, '_servants, obey your masters!_' there's into them, you see! 'obey your masters that are in the flesh.' now, these abolitionists won't even allow that we are masters!" "perhaps," said clayton, quietly, "if the slaves could read, they'd pay more attention to the first passage that you favored us with." "oh, likely," said father bonnie, "because, you see, their interests naturally would lead them to pervert scripture. if it wasn't for that perverting influence of self-love, i, for my part, would be willing enough to put the scriptures into their hands." "i suppose," said clayton, "there's no such danger in the case of us masters, is there?" "i say," said father bonnie, not noticing the interruption, "cushing, you ought to read fletcher's book. that book, sir, is a sweater, i can tell you; i sweat over it, i know; but it does up this greek and hebrew work thoroughly, i promise you. though i can't read greek or hebrew, i see there's heaps of it there. why, he takes you clear back to the creation of the world, and drags you through all the history and literature of the old botherers of all ages, and he comes down on the fathers like forty. there's chrysostom and tertullian, and all the rest of those old cocks, and the old greek philosophers, besides,--plato and aristotle, and all the rest of them. if a fellow wants learning, there he'll get it. i declare, i'd rather cut my way through the dismal swamp in dog-days! but i was determined to be thorough; so i off coat, and went at it. and, there's no mistake about it, cushing, you must get the book. you'll feel so much better, if you'll settle your mind on that point. i never allow myself to go trailing along with anything hanging by the gills. i am an out-and-outer. walk up to the captain's office and settle! that's what i say." "we shall all have to do that, one of these days," said father dickson, "and maybe we shall find it one thing to settle with the clerk, and another to settle with the captain!" "well, brother dickson, you needn't look at me with any of your solemn faces! i'm settled, now." "for my part," said dr. packthread, "i think, instead of condemning slavery in the abstract, we ought to direct our attention to its abuses." "and what do you consider its abuses?" said clayton. "why, the separation of families, for instance," said dr. packthread, "and the forbidding of education." "you think, then," said clayton, "that the slave ought to have a legal right to his family?" "yes." "of course, he ought to have the legal means of maintaining it?" "yes." "then, of course, he ought to be able to enter suit when this right is violated, and to bear testimony in a court of justice?" "yes." "and do you think that the master ought to give him what is just and equal, in the way of wages?" "certainly, in one shape or another," said dr. packthread. "and ought the slave to have the means of enforcing this right?" "certainly." "then the slave ought to be able to hold property?" "yes." "and he should have the legal right to secure education, if he desires it?" "yes." "well," said clayton, "when the slave has a legal existence and legal rights, can hold property and defend it, acquire education and protect his family relations, he ceases to be a slave; for slavery consists in the fact of legal incapacity for any of these things. it consists in making a man a dead, inert substance in the hands of another, holding men _pro nullis, pro mortuis_. what you call reforming abuses is abolishing slavery. it is in this very way that i wish to seek its abolition, and i desire the aid of the church and ministry in doing it. now, dr. packthread, what efforts has the church as yet made to reform these abuses of slavery?" there was a silence of some minutes. at last dr. cushing replied,-- "there has been a good deal of effort made in oral religious instruction." "oh, yes," said father bonnie, "our people have been at it with great zeal in our part of the country. i have a class, myself, that i have been instructing in the assembly's catechism, in the oral way; and the synods have taken it up, and they are preaching the gospel to them, and writing catechisms for them." "but," said clayton, "would it not be best to give them a legal ability to obey the gospel? is there any use in teaching the sanctity of marriage, unless you obtain for husbands and wives the legal right to live faithful to each other? it seems to me only cruelty to awaken conscience on that subject, without giving the protection and assistance of law." "what he says is very true," said dr. cushing, with emphasis. "we ministers are called to feel the necessity of that with regard to our slave church-members. you see, we are obliged to preach unlimited obedience to masters; and yet,--why, it was only last week, a very excellent pious mulatto woman in my church came to me to know what she should do. her master was determined she should live with him as a mistress; yet she has a husband on the place. how am i to advise her? the man is a very influential man, and capable of making a good deal of commotion; besides which, she will gain nothing by resistance, but to be sold away to some other master who will do worse. now, this is a very trying case to a minister. i'm sure, if anything could be done, i'd be glad; but the fact is, the moment a person begins to move in the least to reform these abuses, he is called an abolitionist, and the whole community is down on him at once. that's the state these northern fanatics have got us into." "oh, yes," said dr. baskum, a leading minister, who had recently come in. "besides, a man can't do everything! we've got as much as we can stagger under on our shoulders, now. we've got the building up of the church to attend to. that's the great instrumentality which at last will set everything straight. we must do as the apostles did,--confine ourselves to preaching the gospel, and the gospel will bring everything else in its train. the world can't be made over in a day. we must do one thing at a time. we can't afford, just at present, to tackle in with all our other difficulties the odium and misrepresentation of such a movement. the minute we begin to do anything which looks like restraining the rights of masters, the cry of church and state and abolition will be raised, and we shall be swamped!" "but," said father dickson, "isn't it the right way first to find out our duty and do it, and then leave the result with god? ought we to take counsel of flesh and blood in matters like these?" "of course not," said dr. packthread. "but there is a wise way and an unwise way of doing things. we are to consider the times, and only undertake such works as the movements of divine providence seem to indicate. i don't wish to judge for brethren. a time may come when it will be their duty to show themselves openly on this subject; but, in order to obtain a foothold for the influences of the gospel to work on, it may be necessary to bear and forbear with many evils. under the present state of things, i hope many of the slaves are becoming hopefully pious. brethren seem to feel that education will be attended with dangers. probably it might. it would seem desirable to secure the family relations of the slaves, if it could be done without too much sacrifice of more important things. after all, the kingdom of our lord jesus christ is not of this world. the apostles entered no public protest against the abuses of slavery, that we read of." "it strikes me," said clayton, "that there is a difference between our position under a republican government,--in which we vote for our legislators, and, in fact, make the laws ourselves, and have the admitted right to seek their repeal,--and that of the apostles, who were themselves slaves, and could do nothing about the laws. we make our own laws, and every one of us is responsible for any unjust law which we do not do our best to alter. we have the right to agitate, write, print, and speak, and bring up the public mind to the point of reform; and, therefore, we are responsible if unjust laws are not repealed." "well," said father dickson, "god forgive me that i have been so remiss in times past! henceforth, whatever others may do, i will not confer with flesh and blood; but i will go forth and declare the word of the lord plainly to this people, and show unto the house of judah their transgressions. and now i have one thing to say to our dear northern brethren. i mourn over the undecided course which they take. brethren in slave states are beset with many temptations. the whole course of public opinion is against them. they need that their northern brethren should stand firm, and hold up their hands. alas! how different has been their course! their apologies for this mighty sin have weakened us more than all things put together. public opinion is going back. the church is becoming corrupted. ministers are drawn into connivance with deadly sin. children and youth are being ruined by habits of early tyranny. our land is full of slave-prisons; and the poor trader--no man careth for his soul! our poor whites are given up to ignorance and licentiousness; and our ministers, like our brother bonnie, here, begin to defend this evil from the bible. brother calker, here, talks of the presbyterian church. alas! in her skirts is found the blood of poor innocents, and she is willing, for the sake of union, to destroy them for whom christ died. brethren, you know not what you do. you enjoy the blessings of living in a land uncursed by any such evils. your churches, your schools, and all your industrial institutions, are going forward, while ours are going backward; and you do not feel it, because you do not live among us. but take care! one part of the country cannot become demoralized without, at last, affecting the other. the sin you cherish and strengthen by your indifference may at last come back in judgments that may visit even you. i pray god to avert it! but, as god is just, i tremble for you and for us! well, good-by, brethren; i must be on my way. you will not listen to me, and my soul cannot come into your counsels." and father dickson rose to depart. "oh, come, come, now, brother, don't take it so seriously!" said dr. cushing. "stay, at least, and spend the day with us, and let us have a little christian talk." "i must go," said father dickson. "i have an appointment to preach, which i must keep, for this evening, and so i must bid you farewell. i hoped to do something by coming here; but i see that it is all in vain. farewell, brethren; i shall pray for you." "well, father dickson, i should like to talk more with you on this subject," said dr. cushing. "do come again. it is very difficult to see the path of duty in these matters." poor dr. cushing was one of those who are destined, like stationary ships, forever to float up and down in one spot, only useful in marking the ebb and flood of the tide. affection, generosity, devotion, he had--everything but the power to move on. clayton, who had seen at once that nothing was to be done or gained, rose, and said that his business was also pressing, and that he would accompany father dickson on his way. "what a good fellow dickson is!" said cushing, after he returned to the room. "he exhibits a very excellent spirit," said dr. packthread. "oh, dickson would do well enough," said dr. calker, "if he wasn't a monomaniac. that's what's the matter with him! but when he gets to going on this subject, i never hear what he says. i know it's no use to reason with him--entirely time lost. i have heard all these things over and over again." "but i wish," said dr. cushing, "something could be done." "well, who doesn't?" said dr. calker. "we all wish something could be done; but, if it can't, it can't; there's the end of it. so now let us proceed, and look into business a little more particularly." "after all," said dr. packthread, "you old school brethren have greatly the advantage of us. although you have a few poor good souls, like this dickson, they are in so insignificant a minority that they can do nothing--can't even get into the general assembly, or send in a remonstrance, or petition, or anything else; so that you are never plagued as we are. we cannot even choose a moderator from the slave-holding states, for fear of an explosion; but you can have slave-holding moderators, or anything else that will promote harmony and union." chapter xliii. the slave's argument. on his return home, clayton took from the post-office a letter, which we will give to our readers:-- "mr. clayton: i am now an outcast. i cannot show my face in the world, i cannot go abroad by daylight; for no crime, as i can see, except resisting oppression. mr. clayton, if it were proper for your fathers to fight and shed blood for the oppression that came upon them, why isn't it right for us? they had not half the provocation that we have. their wives and families were never touched. they were not bought, and sold, and traded, like cattle in the market, as we are. in fact, when i was reading that history, i could hardly understand what provocation they did have. they had everything easy and comfortable about them. they were able to support their families, even in luxury. and yet they were willing to plunge into war, and shed blood. i have studied the declaration of independence. the things mentioned there were bad and uncomfortable, to be sure; but, after all, look at the laws which are put over _us_! now, if they had forbidden them to teach their children to read,--if they had divided them all out among masters, and declared them as incapable of holding property as the mule before the plough,--there would have been some sense in that revolution. "well, how was it with our people in south carolina? denmark vesey was a _man_! his history is just what george washington's would have been, if you had failed. what set him on in his course? the bible and your declaration of independence. what does your declaration say? 'we hold these truths to be self-evident, that _all men are created equal_; that they are endowed by their creator with certain _inalienable_ rights: that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. that _to secure these rights_ governments are instituted among men. that _whenever any form of government becomes destructive of any of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it_. now, what do you make of that? this is read to us every fourth of july. it was read to denmark vesey and peter poyas, and all those other brave, good men, who dared to follow your example and your precepts. well, they failed, and your people hung them. and they said they couldn't conceive what motive could have induced them to make the effort. they had food enough, and clothes enough, and were kept very comfortable. well, had not your people clothes enough, and food enough? and wouldn't you still have had enough, even if you had remained a province of england to this day,--much better living, much better clothes, and much better laws, than we have to-day? i heard your father's interpretation of the law; i heard mr. jekyl's; and yet, when men rise up against such laws, you wonder what in the world could have induced them! that's perfectly astonishing! "but, of all the injuries and insults that are heaped upon us, there is nothing to me so perfectly maddening as the assumption of your religious men, who maintain and defend this enormous injustice by the bible. we have all the right to rise against them that they had to rise against england. they tell us the bible says, 'servants, obey your masters.' well, the bible says, also, 'the powers that be are ordained of god, and whoso resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of god.' if it was right for them to resist the ordinance of god, it is right for us. if the bible does justify slavery, why don't they teach the slave to read it? and what's the reason that two of the greatest insurrections came from men who read scarcely anything else but the bible? no, the fact is, they don't believe this themselves. if they did, they would try the experiment fairly of giving the bible to their slaves. i can assure you the bible looks as different to a slave from what it does to a master, as everything else in the world does. "now, mr. clayton, you understand that when i say _you_, along here, i do not mean you personally, but the generality of the community of which you are one. i want you to think these things over, and, whatever my future course may be, remember my excuse for it is the same as that on which your government is built. "i am very grateful to you for all your kindness. perhaps the time may come when i shall be able to show my gratitude. meanwhile, i must ask one favor of you, which i think you will grant for the sake of that angel who is gone. i have a sister, who, as well as myself, is the child of tom gordon's father. she was beautiful and good, and her owner, who had a large estate in mississippi, took her to ohio, emancipated and married her. she has two children by him, a son and a daughter. he died, and left his estate to her and her children. tom gordon is the heir-at-law. he has sued for the property, and obtained it. the act of emancipation has been declared null and void, and my sister and her children are in the hands of that man, with all that absolute power; and they have no appeal from him for any evil whatever. she has escaped his hands, so she wrote me once; but i have heard a report that he has taken her again. the pious mr. jekyl will know all about it. now, may i ask you to go to him, and make inquiries, and let me know? a letter sent to mr. james twitchel, at the post-office near canema, where our letters used to be taken, will get to me. by doing this favor, you will secure my eternal gratitude. "harry gordon." clayton read this letter with some surprise, and a good deal of attention. it was written on very coarse paper, such as is commonly sold at the low shops. where harry was, and how concealed, was to him only a matter of conjecture. but the call to render him any assistance was a sacred one, and he determined on a horseback excursion to e., the town where mr. jekyl resided. he found that gentleman very busy in looking over and arranging papers in relation to that large property which had just come into tom gordon's hands. he began by stating that the former owner of the servants at canema had requested him, on her death-bed, to take an interest in her servants. he had therefore called to ascertain if anything had been heard from harry. "not yet," said mr. jekyl, pulling up his shirt-collar. "our plantations in this vicinity are very unfortunate in their proximity to the swamp. it's a great expense of time and money. why, sir, it's inconceivable the amount of property that's lost in that swamp! i have heard it estimated at something like three millions of dollars! we follow them up with laws, you see. they are outlawed regularly, after a certain time, and then the hunters go in and chase them down; sometimes kill two or three a day, or something like that. but on the whole, they don't effect much." "well," said clayton, who felt no disposition to enter into any discussion with mr. jekyl, "so you think he is there?" "yes, i have no doubt of it. the fact is, there's a fellow that's been seen lurking about this swamp, off and on, for years and years. sometimes he isn't to be seen for months; and then again he is seen or heard of, but never so that anybody can get hold of him. i have no doubt the niggers on the plantation know him; but, then, you can never get anything out of them. oh, they are deep! they are a dreadfully corrupt set!" "mr. gordon has, i think, a sister of harry's, who came in with this new estate," said mr. clayton. "yes, yes," said mr. jekyl. "she has given us a good deal of trouble, too. she got away, and went off to cincinnati, and i had to go up and hunt her out. it was really a great deal of trouble and expense. if i hadn't been assisted by the politeness and kindness of the marshal and brother officers, it would have been very bad. there is a good deal of religious society, too, in cincinnati; and so, while i was waiting, i attended anniversary meetings." "then you did succeed," said clayton. "i came to see whether mr. gordon would listen to a proposition for selling her." "oh, he has sold her!" said mr. jekyl. "she is at alexandria, now, in beaton & burns' establishment." "and her children, too?" "yes, the lot. i claim some little merit for that, myself. tom is a fellow of rather strong passions, and he was terribly angry for the trouble she had made. i don't know what he would have done to her, if i hadn't talked to him. but i showed him some debts that couldn't be put off any longer without too much of a sacrifice; and, on the whole, i persuaded him to let her be sold. i have tried to exert a good influence over him, in a quiet way," said mr. jekyl. "now, if you want to get the woman, like enough she may not be sold, as yet." clayton, having thus ascertained the points which he wished to know, proceeded immediately to alexandria. when he was there, he found a considerable excitement. "a slave-woman," it was said, "who was to have been sent off in a coffle the next day, had murdered her two children." the moment that clayton heard the news, he felt an instinctive certainty that this woman was cora gordon. he went to the magistrate's court, where the investigation was being held, and found it surrounded by a crowd so dense that it was with difficulty he forced his way in. at the bar he saw seated a woman dressed in black, whose face, haggard and wan, showed yet traces of former beauty. the splendid dark eyes had a peculiar and fierce expression. the thin lines of the face were settled into an immovable fixedness of calm determination. there was even an air of grave, solemn triumph on her countenance. she appeared to regard the formalities of the court with the utmost indifference. at last she spoke, in a clear, thrilling, distinct voice,-- "if gentlemen will allow me to speak, i'll save them the trouble of that examination of witnesses. it's going a long way round to find out a very little thing." there was an immediate movement of curiosity in the whole throng, and the officer said.-- "you are permitted to speak." she rose deliberately, untied her bonnet-strings, looked round the whole court, with a peculiar but calm expression of mingled triumph and power. "you want to know," she said, "who killed those children! well, i will tell you;" and again her eyes travelled round the house, with that same strong, defiant expression; "i killed them!" there was a pause, and a general movement through the house. "yes," she said, again, "i killed them! and, oh, how glad i am that i have done it! do you want to know what i killed them for? because i loved them!--loved them so well that i was willing to give up my soul to save theirs! i have heard some persons say that i was in a frenzy, excited, and didn't know what i was doing. they are mistaken. i was not in a frenzy; i was not excited; and i did know what i was doing! and i bless god that it is done! i was born the slave of my own father. your old proud virginia blood is in my veins, as it is in half of those you whip and sell. i was the lawful wife of a man of honor, who did what he could to evade your cruel laws, and set me free. my children were born to liberty; they were brought up to liberty, till my father's son entered a suit for us, and made us _slaves_. judge and jury helped him--all your laws and your officers helped him--to take away the rights of the widow and the fatherless! the judge said that my son, being a slave, could no more hold property than the mule before his plough; and we were delivered into tom gordon's hands. i shall not say what he is. it is not fit to be said. god will show at the judgment-day. but i escaped, with my children, to cincinnati. he followed me there, and the laws of your country gave me back to him. to-morrow i was to have gone in a coffle and leave these children--my son a slave for life--my daughter"-- she looked round the court-room with an expression which said more than words could have spoken. "so i heard them say their prayers and sing their hymns, and then, while they were asleep and didn't know it, i sent them to lie down in green pastures with the lord. they say this is a dreadful sin. it may be so. i am willing to lose my soul to have _theirs saved_. i have no more to hope or fear. it's all nothing, now, where i go or what becomes of me. but, at any rate, they are safe. and, now, if any of you mothers, in my place, wouldn't have done the same, you either don't know what slavery is, or you don't love your children as i have loved mine. this is all." she sat down, folded her arms, fixed her eyes on the floor, and seemed like a person entirely indifferent to the further opinions and proceedings of the court. she was remanded to jail for trial. clayton determined, in his own mind, to do what he could for her. her own declaration seemed to make the form of a trial unnecessary. he resolved, however, to do what he could to enlist for her the sympathy of some friends of his in the city. the next day he called with a clergyman, and requested permission to see her. when they entered her cell, she rose to receive them with the most perfect composure, as if they had called upon her in a drawing-room. clayton introduced his companion as the rev. mr. denton. there was an excited flash in her eyes, but she said, calmly,-- "have the gentlemen business with me?" "we called," said the clergyman, "to see if we could render you any assistance." "no, sir, you cannot!" was the prompt reply. "my dear friend," said the clergyman, in a very kind tone, "i wish it were in my power to administer to you the consolations of the gospel." "i have nothing to do," she answered, firmly, "with ministers who pretend to preach the gospel, and support oppression and robbery! your hands are defiled with blood!--so don't come to me! i am a prisoner, here, and cannot resist. but, when i tell you that i prefer to be left alone, perhaps it may have some effect, even if i am a slave!" clayton took out harry's letter, handed it to her, and said:-- "after you have read this, you will, perhaps, receive me, if i should call again to-morrow, at this hour." the next day when clayton called, he was conducted by the jailer to the door of the cell. "there is a lady with her now, reading to her." "then i ought not to interrupt her," said clayton, hesitating. "oh, i suspect it would make no odds," said the jailer. clayton laid his hand on his to stop him. the sound that came indistinctly through the door was the voice of prayer. some woman was interceding, in the presence of eternal pity, for an oppressed and broken-hearted sister. after a few moments the door was partly opened, and he heard a sweet voice, saying:-- "let me come to you every day, may i? i know what it is to suffer." a smothered sob was the only answer; and then followed words, imperfectly distinguished, which seemed to be those of consolation. in a moment the door was opened, and clayton found himself suddenly face to face with a lady in deep mourning. she was tall, and largely proportioned; the outlines of her face strong, yet beautiful, and now wearing the expression which comes from communion with the highest and serenest nature. both were embarrassed, and made a momentary pause. in the start she dropped one of her gloves. clayton picked it up, handed it to her, bowed, and she passed on. by some singular association, this stranger, with a serious, radiant face, suggested to him the sparkling, glittering beauty of nina; and it seemed for a moment, as if nina was fluttering by him in the air, and passing away after her. when he examined the emotion more minutely afterwards, he thought, perhaps, it might have been suggested by the perception, as he lifted the glove, of a peculiar and delicate perfume, which nina was fond of using. so strange and shadowy are the influences which touch the dark, electric chain of our existence. when clayton went into the cell, he found its inmate in a softened mood. there were traces of tears on her cheek, and an open bible on the bed; but her appearance was calm and self-possessed, as usual. she said:-- "excuse my rudeness, mr. clayton, at your last visit. we cannot always command ourselves to do exactly what we should. i thank you very much for your kindness to us. there are many who are kindly disposed towards us; but it's very little that they can do." "can i be of any assistance in securing counsel for you?" said clayton. "i don't need any counsel. i don't wish any," said she. "i shall make no effort. let the law take its course. if you ever should see harry, give my love to him--that's all! and, if you can help him, pray do! if you have time, influence, or money to spare, and can get him to any country where he will have the common rights of a human being, pray do, and the blessing of the poor will come on you! that's all i have to ask." clayton rose to depart. he had fulfilled the object of his mission. he had gained all the information, and more than all, that he wished. he queried with himself whether it were best to write to harry at all. the facts that he had to relate were such as were calculated to kindle to a fiercer flame the excitement which was now consuming him. he trembled, when he thought of it, lest that excitement should blaze out in forms which should array against him, with still more force, that society with which he was already at war. thinking, however, that harry, perhaps, might obtain the information in some less guarded form, he sat down and wrote him the following letter: "i have received your letter. i need not say that i am sorry for all that has taken place--sorry for your sake, and for the sake of one very dear both to me and to you. harry, i freely admit that you live in a state of society which exercises a great injustice. i admit your right, and that of all men, to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. i admit the right of an oppressed people to change their form of government, _if they can_. i admit that your people suffer under greater oppression than ever our fathers suffered. and, if i believed that they were capable of obtaining and supporting a government, i should believe in their right to take the same means to gain it. but i do not, at present; and i think, if you reflect on the subject, you will agree with me. i do not think that, should they make an effort, they would succeed. they would only embitter the white race against them, and destroy that sympathy which many are beginning to feel for their oppressed condition. i know it seems a very unfeeling thing for a man who is at ease to tell one, who is oppressed and suffering, to be patient; and yet i must even say it. it is my place, and your place, to seek repeal of the unjust laws which oppress you. i see no reason why the relation of master and servants may not be continued through our states, and the servants yet be free men. i am satisfied that it would be for the best interests of master as well as slave. if this is the truth, time will make it apparent, and the change will come. with regard to you, the best counsel i can give is, that you try to escape to some of the northern states; and i will furnish you with means to begin life there under better auspices. i am very sorry that i have to tell you something very painful about your sister. she was sold to a trading-house in alexandria, and, in desperation, has killed both her children! for this she is now in prison, awaiting her trial! i have been to see her, and offered every assistance in my power. she declines all. she does not wish to live, and has already avowed the fact; making no defence, and wishing none to be made for her. another of the bitter fruits of this most unrighteous system! she desired her love and kind wishes to you. whatever more is to be known, i will tell you at some future time. "after all that i have said to you in this letter, i cannot help feeling, for myself, how hard, and cold, and insufficient it must seem to you! if i had such a sister as yours, and her life had been so wrecked, i feel that i might not have patience to consider any of these things; and i am afraid you will not. yet i feel this injustice to my heart. i feel it like a personal affliction; and, god helping me, i will make it the object of my life to remedy it! your sister's trial will not take place for some time; and she has friends who do all that can be done for her." clayton returned to his father's house, and related the result of his first experiment with the clergy. "well, now," said mrs. clayton, "i must confess i was not prepared for this." "i was," said judge clayton. "it's precisely what i expected. you have tried the presbyterians, with whom our family are connected; and now you may go successively to the episcopalians, the methodists, the baptists, and you will hear the same story from them all. about half of them defend the thing from the bible, in the most unblushing, disgusting manner. the other half acknowledge and lament it as an evil; but they are cowed and timid, and can do nothing." "well," said clayton, "the greatest evidence to my mind of the inspiration of the scriptures is, that they are yet afloat, when every new absurdity has been successively tacked to them." "but," said mrs. clayton, "are there no people that are faithful?" "none in this matter that i know of," said judge clayton, "except the covenanters and the quakers among us, and the free-will baptists and a few others at the north. and their number and influence is so small, that there can be no great calculation made on them for assistance. of individuals, there are not a few who earnestly desire to do something; but they are mostly without faith or hope, like me. and from the communities--from the great organizations in society--no help whatever is to be expected." chapter xliv. the desert. there's no study in human nature more interesting than the aspects of the same subject seen in the points of view of different characters. one might almost imagine that there were no such thing as absolute truth, since a change of situation or temperament is capable of changing the whole force of an argument. we have been accustomed, even those of us who feel most, to look on the arguments for and against the system of slavery with the eyes of those who are at ease. we do not even know how fair is freedom, for we were always free. we shall never have all the materials for absolute truth on this subject, till we take into account, with our own views and reasonings, the views and reasonings of those who have bowed down to the yoke, and felt the iron enter into their souls. we all console ourselves too easily for the sorrows of others. we talk and reason coolly of that which, did we feel it ourselves, would take away all power of composure and self-control. we have seen how the masters feel and reason; how good men feel and reason, whose public opinion and christian fellowship support the master, and give him confidence in his position. we must add, also, to our estimate, the feelings and reasonings of the slave; and, therefore, the reader must follow us again to the fastness in the dismal swamp. it is a calm, still, indian-summer afternoon. the whole air is flooded with a golden haze, in which the tree-tops move dreamily to and fro, as if in a whispering reverie. the wild climbing grape-vines, which hang in thousand-fold festoons round the inclosure, are purpling with grapes. the little settlement now has among its inmates old tiff and his children, and harry and his wife. the children and tiff had been received in the house of the widow whose husband had fallen a victim to the hunters, as we mentioned in one of our former chapters. all had united in building for harry and lisette a cabin contiguous to the other. old tiff, with his habitual industry, might now be seen hoeing in the sweet-potato patch, which belonged to the common settlement. the children were roaming up and down, looking after autumn flowers and grapes. dred, who had been out all the night before, was now lying on the ground on the shady side of the clearing, with an old, much-worn, much-thumbed copy of the bible by his side. it was the bible of denmark vesey, and in many a secret meeting its wild, inspiring poetry had sounded like a trumpet in his youthful ear. he lay with his elbow resting on the ground, his hands supporting his massive head, and his large, gloomy, dark eyes fixed in reverie on the moving tree-tops as they waved in the golden blue. now his eye followed sailing islands of white cloud, drifting to and fro above them. there were elements in him which might, under other circumstances, have made him a poet. his frame, capacious and energetic as it was, had yet that keenness of excitability which places the soul _en rapport_ with all the great forces of nature. the only book which he had been much in the habit of reading--the book, in fact, which had been the nurse and forming power of his soul--was the bible, distinguished above all other literature for its intense sympathy with nature. dred, indeed, resembled in organization and tone of mind some of those men of old who were dwellers in the wilderness, and drew their inspirations from the desert. it is remarkable that, in all ages, communities and individuals who have suffered under oppression have always fled for refuge to the old testament, and to the book of revelation in the new. even if not definitely understood, these magnificent compositions have a wild, inspiring power, like a wordless yet impassioned symphony played by a sublime orchestra, in which deep and awful sub-bass instruments mingle with those of ethereal softness, and wild minors twine and interlace with marches of battles and bursts of victorious harmony. they are much mistaken who say that nothing is efficient as a motive that is not definitely understood. who ever thought of understanding the mingled wail and roar of the marseillaise? just this kind of indefinite stimulating power has the bible to the souls of the oppressed. there is also a disposition, which has manifested itself since the primitive times, by which the human soul, bowed down beneath the weight of mighty oppressions, and despairing, in its own weakness, seizes with avidity the intimations of a coming judgment, in which the son of man, appearing in his glory, and all his holy angels with him, shall right earth's mighty wrongs. in dred's mind this thought had acquired an absolute ascendency. all things in nature and in revelation he interpreted by this key. during the prevalence of the cholera, he had been pervaded by a wild and solemn excitement. to him it was the opening of a seal--the sounding of the trumpet of the first angel. and other woes were yet to come. he was not a man of personal malignity to any human being. when he contemplated schemes of insurrection and bloodshed, he contemplated them with the calm, immovable firmness of one who felt himself an instrument of doom in a mightier hand. in fact, although seldom called into exercise by the incidents of his wild and solitary life, there was in him a vein of that gentleness which softens the heart towards children and the inferior animals. the amusement of his vacant hours was sometimes to exercise his peculiar gifts over the animal creation, by drawing towards him the birds and squirrels from the coverts of the forest, and giving them food. indeed, he commonly carried corn in the hunting-dress which he wore, to use for this purpose. just at this moment, as he lay absorbed in reverie, he heard teddy, who was near him, calling to his sister,-- "oh, fanny, do come and see this squirrel, he is so pretty!" fanny came running, eagerly. "where is he?" she said. "oh, he is gone; he just went behind that tree." the children, in their eagerness, had not perceived how near they were to dred. he had turned his face towards them, and was looking at them with a pleased expression, approaching to a smile. "do you want to see him?" he said. "stop a few minutes." he rose and scattered a train of corn between him and the thicket, and, sitting down on the ground, began making a low sound, resembling the call of the squirrel to its young. in a few moments teddy and fanny were in a tremor of eager excitement, as a pair of little bright eyes appeared among the leaves, and gradually their owner, a brisk little squirrel, came out and began rapidly filling its chops with the corn. dred still continued, with his eyes fixed on the animal, to make the same noise. very soon two others were seen following their comrade. the children laughed when they saw the headmost squirrel walk into dred's hand, which he had laid upon the ground, the others soon following his example. dred took them up, and, softly stroking them, they seemed to become entirely amenable to his will; and, to amuse the children, he let them go into his hunting-pouch to eat the corn that was there. after this, they seemed to make a rambling expedition over his whole person, investigating his pockets, hiding themselves in the bosom of his shirt, and seeming apparently perfectly fearless, and at home. fanny reached out her hand, timidly. "won't they come to me?" she said. "no, daughter," said dred, with a smile, "they don't know you. in the new earth the enmity will be taken away, and then they'll come." "i wonder what he means by the new earth!" said fanny. dred seemed to feel a kind of pleasure in the admiration of the children, to which, perhaps, no one is wholly insensible. he proceeded, therefore, to show them some other of his accomplishments. the wood was resounding with the afternoon song of birds, and dred suddenly began answering one of the songsters with an exact imitation of his note. the bird evidently heard it, and answered back with still more spirit; and thus an animated conversation was kept up for some time. "you see," he said, "that i understand the speech of birds. after the great judgment, the elect shall talk with the birds and the beasts in the new earth. every kind of bird has a different language, in which they show why men should magnify the lord, and turn from their wickedness. but the sinners cannot hear it, because their ear is waxed gross." "i didn't know," said fanny, hesitating, "as that was so. how did you find it out?" "the spirit of the lord revealed it unto me, child." "what is the spirit?" said fanny, who felt more encouraged, as she saw dred stroking a squirrel. "it's the spirit that spoke in the old prophets," he said. "did it tell you what the birds say?" "i am not perfected in holiness yet, and cannot receive it. but the birds fly up near the heavens, wherefore they learn droppings of the speech of angels. i never kill the birds, because the lord hath set them between us and the angels for a sign." "what else did the spirit tell you?" said teddy. "he showed me that there was a language in the leaves," said dred. "for i rose and looked, and, behold, there were signs drawn on the leaves, and forms of every living thing, with strange words, which the wicked understand not, but the elect shall read them. and, behold, the signs are in blood, which is the blood of the lamb, that descendeth like dew from heaven." fanny looked puzzled. "who are the elect?" she said. "they?" said dred. "they are the hundred and forty and four thousand, that follow the lamb whithersoever he goeth. and the angels have charge, saying, 'hurt not the earth till these are sealed in their forehead.'" fanny instinctively put her hand to her forehead. "do you think they'll seal me?" she said. "yes," said dred; "such as you are of the kingdom." "did the spirit tell you that?" said fanny, who felt some considerable anxiety. "yea, the spirit hath shown me many such things," said dred. "it hath also revealed to me the knowledge of the elements, the revolutions of the planets, the operations of the tide, and changes of the seasons." fanny looked doubtfully, and, taking up her basket of wild grapes, slowly moved off, thinking that she would ask tiff about it. at this moment there was a rustling in the branches of the oak-tree which overhung a part of the clearing near where dred was lying, and harry soon dropped from the branches on to the ground. dred started up to receive him. "how is it?" said he. "will they come?" "yes; by midnight to-night they will be here. see here," he added, taking a letter from his pocket, "what i have received." it was the letter which clayton had written to harry. it was remarkable, as dred received it, how the wandering mystical expression of his face immediately gave place to one of shrewd and practical earnestness. he sat down on the ground, laid it on his knee, and followed the lines with his finger. some passages he seemed to read over two or three times with the greatest attention, and he would pause after reading them, and sat with his eyes fixed gloomily on the ground. the last part seemed to agitate him strongly. he gave a sort of suppressed groan. "harry," he said, turning to him, at last, "behold the day shall come when the lord shall take out of our hand the cup of trembling, and put it into the hand of those that oppress us. our soul is exceedingly filled now with the scorning of them that are at ease, and with the contempt of the proud. the prophets prophesy falsely, the rulers bear rule by their means, and the people love to have it so. but what will it be in the end thereof? their own wickedness shall reprove them, and their backsliding shall correct them. listen to me, harry," he said, taking up his bible, "and see what the lord saith unto thee. 'thus saith the lord my god, feed the flock of the slaughter; whose possessors slay them, and hold themselves not guilty, and they that sell them say, blessed be the lord for i am rich. and their own shepherds pity them not. for i will no more pity the inhabitants of the land, saith the lord. but, lo, i will deliver the men, every one into his neighbor's hand, and into the hand of his king. and they shall smite the land, and out of their hand i will not deliver them. and i will feed the flock of slaughter, even you, o ye poor of the flock. and i took unto me two staves: the one i called beauty, and the other i called bands. and i fed the flock. and i took my staff, even beauty, and cut it asunder, that i might break my covenant which i had made with all the people. and it was broken in that day, so the poor of the flock that waited on me knew it was the word of the lord. then i cut asunder mine other stave, even bands, that i might break the brotherhood between judah and israel. the burden of the word of the lord for israel, saith the lord, which stretcheth forth the heavens, and layeth the foundations of the earth, and formeth the spirit of man within him. behold, i will make jerusalem a cup of trembling to all the people round about. also in that day i will make jerusalem a burdensome stone for all people. all that burden themselves with it shall be cut to pieces. in that day, saith the lord, i will smite every horse with astonishment, and every rider with madness. and i will open mine eyes on the house of judah, and will smite every horse of the people with blindness. in that day i will make the governors of judah like a hearth of fire among the wood, and like a torch of fire in a sheaf, and they shall devour all the people on the right and the left.' "harry," said he, "these things are written for our learning. we will go up and take away her battlements, for they are not the lord's!" the gloomy fervor with which dred read these words of scripture, selecting, as his eye glanced down the prophetic pages, passages whose images most affected his own mind, carried with it an overpowering mesmeric force. who shall say that, in this world, where all things are symbolic, bound together by mystical resemblances, and where one event is the archetype of thousands, that there is not an eternal significance in these old prophecies? do they not bring with them "_springing_ and _germinant_ fulfilments" wherever there is a haughty and oppressive nation, and a "flock of the slaughter?" "harry," said dred, "i have fasted and prayed before the lord, lying all night on my face, yet the token cometh not! behold, there are prayers that resist me! the lamb yet beareth, and the opening of the second seal delayeth! yet the lord had shown unto me that we should be up and doing, to prepare the way for the coming of the lord! the lord hath said unto me. 'speak to the elders, and to the prudent men, and prepare their hearts.'" "one thing," said harry, "fills me with apprehension. hark, that brought me this letter, was delayed in getting back; and i'm afraid that he'll get into trouble. tom gordon is raging like a fury over the people of our plantation. they have always been held under a very mild rule, and every one knows that a plantation so managed is not so immediately profitable as it can be made for a short time by forcing everything up to the highest notch. he has got a man there for overseer--old hokum--that has been famous for his hardness and meanness; and he has delivered the people, unreservedly, into his hands. he drinks, and frolics, and has his oyster-suppers, and swears he'll shoot any one that brings him a complaint. hokum is to pay him so much yearly, and have to himself all that he makes over. tom gordon keeps two girls, there, that he bought for himself and his fellows, just as he wanted to keep my wife!" "be patient, harry! this is a great christianizing institution!" said dred, with a tone of grave irony. "i am afraid for hark," said harry. "he is the bravest of brave fellows. he is ready to do anything for us. but if he is taken, there will be no mercy." dred looked on the ground, gloomily. "hark was to be here to-night," he said. "yes," said harry, "i wish we may see him." "harry," said dred, "when they come, to-night, read them the declaration of independence of these united states, and then let each one judge of our afflictions, and the afflictions of their fathers, and the lord shall be judge between us. i must go and seek counsel of the lord." dred rose, and, giving a leap from the ground, caught on the branch of the oak, which overhung their head, and, swinging himself on the limb, climbed in the thickness of the branches, and disappeared from view. harry walked to the other side of the clearing, where his lodge had been erected. he found lisette busy within. she ran to meet him, and threw her arms around his neck. "i am so glad you've come back, harry! it is so dreadful to think what may happen to you while you are gone! harry, i think we could be very happy here. see what a nice bed i have made in this corner, out of leaves and moss! the women are both very kind, and i am glad we have got old tiff and the children here. it makes it seem more natural. see, i went out with them, this afternoon, and how many grapes i have got! what have you been talking to that dreadful man about? do you know, harry, he makes me afraid? they say he is a prophet. do you think he is?" "i don't know, child," said harry, abstractedly. "don't stay with him too much!" said lisette. "he'll make you as gloomy as he is." "do i need any one to make me gloomy?" said harry. "am i not gloomy enough? am i not an outcast? and you, too, lisette?" "it isn't so very dreadful to be an outcast," said lisette. "god makes wild grapes for us, if we are outcasts." "yes, child," said harry, "you are right." "and the sun shines so pleasant, this afternoon!" said lisette. "yes," said harry; "but by and by cold storms and rain will come, and frosty weather!" "well," said lisette, "then we will think what to do next. but don't let us lose this afternoon, and these grapes, at any rate." chapter xlv. jegar sahadutha. at twelve o'clock, that night, harry rose from the side of his sleeping wife, and looked out into the darkness. the belt of forest which surrounded them seemed a girdle of impenetrable blackness. but above, where the tree-tops fringed out against the sky, the heavens were seen of a deep, transparent violet, blazing with stars. he opened the door, and came out. all was so intensely still that even the rustle of a leaf could be heard. he stood listening. a low whistle seemed to come from a distant part of the underwood. he answered it. soon a crackling was heard, and a sound of cautious, suppressed conversation. in a few moments a rustling was heard in the boughs overhead. harry stepped under. "who is there?" he said. "the camp of the lord's judgment!" was the answer, and a dark form dropped on the ground. "hannibal?" said harry. "yes, hannibal!" said the voice. "thank god!" said harry. but now the boughs of the tree were continually rustling, and one after another sprang down to the ground, each one of whom pronounced his name, as he came. "where is the prophet?" said one. "he is not here," said harry. "fear not, he will be with us." the party now proceeded to walk, talking in a low voices. "there's nobody from the gordon place, yet," said harry, uneasily. "they'll be along," said one of them. "perhaps hokum was wakeful, to-night. they'll give him the slip, though." the company had now arrived at the lower portion of the clearing, where stood the blasted tree, which we formerly described, with its funeral-wreaths of moss. over the grave which had recently been formed there dred had piled a rude and ragged monument of stumps of trees, and tufts of moss, and leaves. in the top of one of the highest stumps was stuck a pine-knot, to which harry now applied a light. it kindled, and rose with a broad, red, fuliginous glare, casting a sombre light on the circle of dark faces around. there were a dozen men, mulatto, quadroon, and negro. their countenances all wore an expression of stern gravity and considerate solemnity. their first act was to clasp their hands in a circle, and join in a solemn oath never to betray each other. the moment this was done, dred emerged mysteriously from the darkness, and stood among them. "brethren," he said, "this is the grave of your brother, whose wife they would take for a prey! therefore he fled to the wilderness. but the assembly of the wicked compassed him about, and the dogs tore him, and licked up his blood, and here i buried him! wherefore, this heap is called jegar sahadutha! for the god of abraham and nahor, the god of their fathers, shall judge betwixt us. he that regardeth not the oath of brethren, and betrayeth counsel, let his arm fall from his shoulder-blade! let his arm be broken from the bone! behold, this heap shall be a witness unto you; for it hath heard all the words that ye have spoken!" a deep-murmured "amen" rose solemnly among them. "brethren," said dred, laying his hand upon harry, "the lord caused moses to become the son of pharaoh's daughter, that he might become learned in the wisdom of the egyptians, to lead forth his people from the house of bondage. and, when he slew an egyptian, he fled into the wilderness, where he abode certain days, till the time of the lord was come. in like manner hath the lord dealt with our brother. he shall expound unto you the laws of the egyptians; and for me, i will show you what i have received from the lord." the circle now sat down on the graves which were scattered around, and harry thus spoke:-- "brothers, how many of you have been at fourth of july celebrations?" "i have! i have! all of us!" was the deep response, uttered not eagerly, but in low and earnest tones. "brethren, i wish to explain to you to-night the story that they celebrate. it was years ago that this people was small, and poor, and despised, and governed by men sent by the king of england, who, they say, oppressed them. then they resolved that they would be free, and govern themselves in their own way and make their own laws. for this they were called rebels and conspirators; and, if they had failed, every one of their leaders would have been hung, and nothing more said about it. when they were agreeing to do this, they met together and signed a paper, which was to show to all the world the reason why. you have heard this read by them when the drums were beating and the banners flying. now hear it here, while you sit on the graves of men they have murdered!" and, standing by the light of the flaring torch, harry read that document which has been fraught with so much seed for all time. what words were those to fall on the ears of thoughtful bondmen! "governments derive their just power from the consent of the governed." "when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a determination to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their _right_ and their _duty_ to throw off such government." "brothers," said harry, "you have heard the grievances which our masters thought sufficient to make it right for them to shed blood. they rose up against their king, and when he sent his armies into the country, they fired at them from the windows of the houses, and from behind the barns, and from out of the trees, and wherever they passed, till they were strong enough to get together an army, and fight them openly." "yes," said hannibal, "i heard my master's father tell of it. he was one of them." "now," said harry, "the lord judge between us and them, if the laws that they put upon us be not worse than any that lay upon them. they complained that they could not get justice done to them in the courts. but how stands it with us, who cannot even come into a court to plead?" harry then, in earnest and vehement language, narrated the abuse which had been inflicted upon milly; and then recited, in a clear and solemn voice, that judicial decision which had burned itself into his memory, and which had confirmed and given full license to that despotic power. he related the fate of his own contract--of his services for years to the family for which he had labored, all ending in worse than nothing. and then he told his sister's history, till his voice was broken by sobs. the audience who sat around were profoundly solemn; only occasionally a deep, smothered groan seemed to rise from them involuntarily. hannibal rose. "i had a master in virginny. he was a methodist preacher. he sold my wife and two children to orleans, and then sold me. my next wife was took for debt, and she's gone." a quadroon young man rose. "my mother was held by a minister in kentucky. my father was a good, hard-working man. there was a man set his eye on her, and wanted her; but she wouldn't have anything to do with him. then she told her master, and begged him to protect her; but he sold her. her hair turned all white in that year, and she went crazy. she was crazy till she died!" "i's got a story to tell, on that," said a middle-aged negro man, of low stature, broad shoulders, and a countenance indicative of great resolution, who now rose. "i's got a story to tell." "go on, monday," said harry. "you spoke 'bout de laws. i's seen 'bout dem ar. now, my brother sam, he worked with me on de great morton place, in virginny. and dere was going to be a wedding dere, and dey wanted money, and so some of de colored people was sold to tom parker, 'cause tom parker he was a buying up round, dat ar fall; and he sold him to souther, and he was one o' yer drefful mean white trash, dat lived down to de bush. well, sam was nigh 'bout starved, and so he had to help hisself de best way he could; and he used fur to trade off one ting and 'nother fur meal to stone's store, and souther he told him 'dat he'd give him hell if he caught him.' so, one day, when he missed something off de place, he come home and he brought stone with him, and a man named hearvy. he told him dat he was going to cotch it. i reckon dey was all three drunk. any how, dey tied him up, and souther he never stopped to cut him, and to slash him, and to hack him; and dey burned him with chunks from de fire, and dey scalded him with boiling water. he was strong man, but dey worked on him dat way all day, and at last he died. dey hearn his screeches on all de places round. now, brethren, you jest see what was done 'bout it. why, mas'r and some of de gen'lemen round said dat souther 'wasn't fit to live,' and it should be brought in de courts; and sure 'nough it was; and, 'cause he is my own brother, i listened for what dey would say. well, fust dey begun with saying dat it wan't no murder at all, 'cause slaves, dey said, wan't people, and dey couldn't be murdered. but den de man on t'oder side he read heaps o' tings to show dat dey _was_ people--dat dey _was_ human critturs. den de lawyer said dat dere wan't no evidence dat souther meant fur to kill him, any how. dat it was de right of de master to punish his slave any way he thought fit. and how was he going to know dat it would kill him? well, so dey had it back and forth, and finally de jury said 'it was murder in de second degree.' lor! if dat ar's being murdered in de second degree, i like to know what de fust is! you see, dey said he must go to de penitentiary for five years. but, laws, he didn't, 'cause dere's ways enough o' getting out of dese yer tings; 'cause he took it up to de upper court, and dey said 'dat it had been settled dat dere couldn't be noting done agin a mas'r fur no kind of beating or 'busing of der own slaves. dat de master must be protected, even if 'twas ever so cruel.'[ ] "so, now, brethren, what do you think of dat ar?" at this moment another person entered the circle. there was a general start of surprise and apprehension, which immediately gave place to a movement of satisfaction and congratulation. "you have come, have you, henry?" said harry. but at this moment the other turned his face full to the torch-light, and harry was struck with its ghastly expression. "for god's sake, what's the matter, henry? where's hark?" "dead!" said the other. as one struck with a pistol-shot leaps in the air, harry bounded, with a cry, from the ground. "dead?" he echoed. "yes, dead, at last! dey's all last night a killing of him." "i thought so! oh, i was afraid of it!" said harry. "oh, hark! hark! hark! god do so to me, and more also, if i forget this!" the thrill of a present interest drew every one around the narrator, who proceeded to tell how "hark having been too late on his return to the plantation, had incurred the suspicion of being in communication with harry. how hokum, tom gordon, and two of his drunken associates, had gathered together to examine him by scourging. how his shrieks the night before had chased sleep from every hut of the plantation. how he died, and gave no sign." when he was through, there was dead and awful silence. dred, who had been sitting, during most of these narrations, bowed, with his head between his knees, groaning within himself, like one who is wrestling with repressed feeling, now rose, and, solemnly laying his hand on the mound, said:-- "_jegar sahadutha!_ the god of their fathers judge between us! if they had a right to rise up for their oppressions, shall they condemn us? for judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off! truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter! yea, truth faileth, and he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey! they are not ashamed, neither can they blush! they declare their sin as sodom, and hide it not! the mean man boweth down, and the great man humbleth himself! therefore, forgive them not, saith the lord!" dred paused a moment, and stood with his hands uplifted. as a thunder-cloud trembles and rolls, shaking with gathering electric fire, so his dark figure seemed to dilate and quiver with the force of mighty emotions. he seemed, at the moment, some awful form, framed to symbolize to human eye the energy of that avenging justice which all nature shudderingly declares. he trembled, his hands quivered, drops of perspiration rolled down his face, his gloomy eyes dilated with an unutterable volume of emotion. at last the words heaved themselves up in deep chest-tones; resembling the wild, hollow wail of a wounded lion, finding vent in language to him so familiar, that it rolled from his tongue in a spontaneous torrent, as if he had received their first inspiration. "hear ye the word of the lord against this people! the harvest groweth ripe! the press is full! the vats overflow! behold, saith the lord--behold, saith the lord, i will gather all nations, and bring them down to the valley of jehoshaphat, and will plead with them for my people, whom they have scattered among the nations! woe unto them, for they have cast lots for my people, and given a boy for a harlot, and sold a girl for wine, that they may drink! for three transgressions of israel, and for four, i will not turn away the punishment thereof, saith the lord! because they sold the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of shoes! they pant after the dust on the head of the poor, and turn aside the way of the meek! and a man and his father will go in unto the same maid, to profane my holy name! behold, saith the lord, i am pressed under you, as a cart is pressed full of sheaves! "the burden of the beasts of the south! the land of trouble and anguish, from whence cometh the young and old lion, the viper, and fiery, flying serpent! go write it upon a table, and note it in a book, that it may be for time to come, for ever and ever, that this is a rebellious people, lying children--children that will not hear the law of the lord! which say to the seers, see not! prophesy not unto us right things! speak unto us smooth things! prophesy deceits! wherefore, thus saith the holy one of israel, because ye despise his word, and trust in oppression, and perverseness, and stay thereon; therefore, this iniquity shall be to you as a breach ready to fall, swelling out in a high wall whose breaking cometh suddenly in an instant! and he shall break it as the breaking of a potter's vessel!" pausing for a moment, he stood with his hands tightly clasped before him, leaning forward, looking into the distance. at last, with the action and energy of one who beholds a triumphant reality, he broke forth:-- "who is this that cometh from edom, with dyed garments, from bozrah? this, that is glorious in his apparel, travelling in the greatness of his strength?" he seemed to listen, and, as if he had caught an answer, he repeated:-- "i that speak in righteousness, mighty to save!" "wherefore art thou red in thine apparel, and thy garments like him that treadeth in the wine-press? i have trodden the wine-press alone, and of the people there was none with me; for i will tread them in my anger, and trample them in my fury, and their blood shall be sprinkled on my garments, and i will stain all my raiment! for the day of vengeance is in my heart, and the year of my redeemed is come! and i looked, and there was none to help! and i wondered that there was none to uphold! therefore mine own arm brought salvation, and my fury it upheld me! for i will tread down the people in mine anger, and make them drunk in my fury!" gradually the light faded from his face. his arms fell. he stood a few moments with his head bowed down on his breast. yet the spell of his emotion held every one silent. at last, stretching out his hand, he broke forth in passionate prayer: "how long, o lord, how long? awake! why sleepest thou, o lord? why withdrawest thou thy hand? pluck it out of thy bosom! we see not the sign! there is no more any prophet, neither any among us, that knoweth how long! wilt thou hold thy peace forever? behold the blood of the poor crieth unto thee! behold how they hunt for our lives! behold how they pervert justice, and take away the key of knowledge! they enter not in themselves, and those that are entering in they hinder! behold our wives taken for a prey! behold our daughters sold to be harlots! art thou a god that judgest on the earth? wilt thou not avenge thine own elect, that cry unto thee day and night? behold the scorning of them that are at ease, and the contempt of the proud! behold how they speak wickedly concerning oppression! they set their mouth against the heavens, and their tongue walketh through the earth! wilt thou hold thy peace for all these things, and afflict us very sore?" the energy of the emotion which had sustained him appeared gradually to have exhausted itself. and, after standing silent for a few moments, he seemed to gather himself together as a man waking out of a trance, and, turning to the excited circle around him, he motioned them to sit down. when he spoke to them in his ordinary tone:-- "brethren," he said, "the vision is sealed up, and the token is not yet come! the lamb still beareth the yoke of their iniquities; there be prayers in the golden censers which go up like a cloud! and there is silence in heaven for the space of half an hour! but hold yourselves in waiting, for the day cometh! and what shall be the end thereof?" a deep voice answered dred. it was that of hannibal. "we will reward them as they have rewarded us! in the cup that they have filled to us we will measure to them again!" "god forbid," said dred, "that the elect of the lord should do that! when the lord saith unto us, smite, then will we smite! we will not torment them with the scourge and fire, nor defile their women, as they have done with ours! but we will slay them utterly, and consume them from off the face of the earth!" at this moment the whole circle were startled by the sound of a voice which seemed to proceed deep in from among the trees, singing, in a wild and mournful tone, the familiar words of a hymn:-- "alas! and did my saviour bleed, and did my sovereign die? would he devote that sacred head for such a wretch as i?" there was a dead silence as the voice approached still nearer, and the chorus was borne upon the night air:-- "oh, the lamb, the loving lamb, the lamb of calvary! the lamb that was slain, but liveth again, to intercede for me!" and as the last two lines were sung, milly emerged and stood in the centre of the group. when dred saw her, he gave a kind of groan, and said, putting his hand out before his face:-- "woman, thy prayers withstand me!" "oh, brethren," said milly, "i mistrusted of yer councils, and i's been praying de lord for you. oh, brethren, behold de lamb of god! if dere must come a day of vengeance, pray not to be in it! it's de lord's strange work. oh, brethren, is we de fust dat's been took to de judgment-seat? dat's been scourged, and died in torments? oh, brethren, who did it afore us? didn't he hang bleeding three hours, when dey mocked him, and gave him vinegar? didn't he sweat great drops o' blood in de garden?" and milly sang again, words so familiar to many of them, that, involuntarily, several voices joined her:-- "agonizing in the garden, on the ground your maker lies; on the bloody tree behold him, hear him cry, before he dies, it is finished! sinners, will not this suffice?" "oh, won't it suffice, brethren!" she said. "if de lord could bear all dat, and love us yet, shan't we? oh, brethren, dere's a better way. i's been whar you be. i's been in de wilderness! yes, i's heard de sound of dat ar trumpet! oh, brethren! brethren! dere was blackness and darkness dere! but i's come to jesus, de mediator of de new covenant, and de blood of sprinkling, which speaketh better tings than dat of abel. hasn't _i_ suffered? my heart has been broke over and over for every child de lord give me! and, when dey sold my poor alfred, and shot him, and buried him like a dog, oh, but didn't my heart burn? oh, how i hated her dat sold him! i felt like i'd kill her! i felt like i'd be glad to see mischief come on her children! but, brethren, de lord turned and looked upon me like he done on peter. i saw him with de crown o' thorns on his head, bleeding, bleeding, and i broke down and forgave her. and de lord turned her heart, and he was our peace. he broke down de middle wall 'tween us, and we come together, two poor sinners, to de foot of de cross. de lord he judged her poor soul! she wan't let off from her sins. her chil'en growed up to be a plague and a curse to her! dey broke her heart! oh, she was saved by fire--but, bress de lord, she _was_ saved! she died with her poor head on my arm--she dat had broke my heart! wan't dat better dan if i'd killed her? oh, brethren, pray de lord to give 'em repentance! leave de vengeance to him. vengeance is mine--i will repay, saith de lord. like he loved us when we was enemies, love yer enemies!" a dead silence followed this appeal. the key-note of another harmony had been struck. at last dred rose up solemnly:-- "woman, thy prayers have prevailed for this time!" he said. "the hour is not yet come!" footnote: [ ] lest any of our readers should think the dark witness who is speaking mistaken in his hearing, we will quote here the words which stand on the virginia law records, in reference to this very case. "it has been decided by this court, in turner's case, that the owner of a slave, for the _malicious, cruel, and excessive beating of his own slave, cannot be indicted_.... it is the policy of the law in respect to the relation of the master and slave and for the sake of securing proper subordination and obedience on the part of the slave, to _protect the master from prosecution even if the whipping and punishment be malicious, cruel, and excessive_."-- _grattan_, , , _souther vs. commonwealth_. any one who has sufficiently strong nerves to peruse the records of this trial will see the effect of the slave system on the moral sensibilities of educated men. chapter xlvi. frank russel's opinions. clayton was still pursuing the object which he had undertaken. he determined to petition the legislature to grant to the slave the right of seeking legal redress in cases of injury; and, as a necessary to this, the right of bearing testimony in legal action. as frank russel was candidate for the next state legislature, he visited him for the purpose of getting him to present such a petition. our readers will look in on the scene, in a small retired back room of frank's office, where his bachelor establishment as yet was kept. clayton had been giving him an earnest account of his plans and designs. "the only safe way of gradual emancipation," said clayton, "is the reforming of law; and the beginning of all legal reform must of course be giving the slave legal personality. it's of no use to enact laws for his protection in his family state, or in any other condition, till we open to him an avenue through which, if they are violated, his grievances can be heard, and can be proved. a thousand laws for his comfort, without this, are only a dead letter." "i know it," said frank russel; "there never was anything under heaven so atrocious as our slave-code. it's a bottomless pit of oppression. nobody knows it so well as we lawyers. but, then, clayton, it's quite another thing what's to be done about it." "why, i think it's very plain what's to be done," said clayton. "go right forward and enlighten the community. get the law reformed. that's what i have taken for my work; and, frank, you must help me." "hum!" said frank. "now, the fact is, clayton, if i wore a stiff white neckcloth, and had a _d. d._ to my name, i should tell you that the interests of zion stood in the way, and that it was my duty to preserve my influence, for the sake of being able to take care of the lord's affairs. but, as i am not so fortunate, i must just say, without further preface, that it won't do for me to compromise frank russel's interests. clayton, i can't afford it--that's just it. it won't do. you see, our party can't take up that kind of thing. it would be just setting up a fort from which our enemies could fire on us at their leisure. if i go in to the legislature, i have to go in by my party. i have to represent my party, and, of course, i can't afford to do anything that will compromise them." "well, now, frank," said clayton, seriously and soberly, "are you going to put your neck into such a noose as this, to be led about all your life long--the bond-slave of a party?" "not i, by a good deal!" said russel. "the noose will change ends, one of these days, and i'll drag the party. but we must all stoop to conquer, at first." "and do you really propose nothing more to yourself than how to rise in the world?" said clayton. "isn't there any great and good work that has beauty for you! isn't there anything in heroism and self-sacrifice?" "well," said russel, after a short pause, "may be there is; but, after all, clayton, _is_ there? the world looks to me like a confounded humbug, a great hoax, and everybody is going in for grub; and, i say, hang it all, why shouldn't i have some of the grub, as well as the rest?" "man shall not live by bread alone!" said clayton. "bread's a pretty good thing, though, after all," said frank shrugging his shoulders. "but," said clayton, "frank, i am in earnest, and you've got to be. i want you to go with me down to the depths of your soul, where the water is still, and talk to me on honor. this kind of half-joking way that you have isn't a good sign, frank; it's too old for you. a man that makes a joke of everything at your age, what will he do before he is fifty? now, frank, you do know that this system of slavery, if we don't reform it, will eat out this country like a cancer." "i know it," said frank. "for that matter, it has eaten into us pretty well." "now," said clayton, "if for nothing else, if we had no feeling of humanity for the slave, we must do something for the sake of the whites, for this is carrying us back into barbarism, as fast as we can go. virginia has been ruined by it--run all down. north carolina, i believe, has the unenviable notoriety of being the most ignorant and poorest state in the union. i don't believe there's any country in old, despotic europe where the poor are more miserable, vicious, and degraded, than they are in our slave states. and it's depopulating us; our men of ability, in the lower classes, who want to be respectable, won't stand it. they will go off to some state where things _move on_. hundreds and hundreds move out of north carolina, every year, to the western states. and it's all this unnatural organization of society that does it. we have got to contemplate some mode of abolishing this evil. we have got to take the first step towards progress, some time, or we ourselves are all undone." "clayton," said frank, in a tone now quite as serious as his own, "i tell you, as a solemn fact, that we can't do it. those among us who have got the power in their hands are determined to keep it, and they are wide awake. they don't mean to let the _first_ step be taken, because they don't mean to lay down their power. the three fifths vote that they get by it is a thing they won't part with. they'll die first. why, just look at it! there is at least twenty-four millions of property held in this way. what do you suppose these men care about the poor whites, and the ruin of the state, and all that? the poor whites may go to the devil, for all them; and as for the ruin of the state, it won't come in _their_ day; and 'after us the deluge,' you know. that's the talk! these men are our masters; they are yours; they are mine; they are masters of everybody in these united states. they can crack their whips over the head of any statesman or clergyman, from maine to new orleans, that disputes their will. they govern the country. army, navy, treasury, church, state, everything is theirs, and whoever is going to get up must go up on their ladder. there isn't any other ladder. there isn't an interest, not a body of men, in these whole united states, that they can't control; and i tell you, clayton, you might as well throw ashes into the teeth of the north wind, as undertake to fight their influence. now, if there was any hope of doing any good by this, if there was the least prospect of succeeding, why, i'd join in with you; but there isn't. the thing is a fixed fact, and why shouldn't i climb up on it, as well as everybody else?" "nothing is fixed," said clayton, "that isn't fixed in right. god and nature fight against evil." "they do, i suppose; but it's a long campaign," said frank, "and i must be on the side that will win while i'm alive. now, clayton, to you i always speak the truth; i won't humbug you. i worship _success_. i am of frederick the great's creed, 'that providence goes with the strongest battalions.' "i wasn't made for defeat. i must have power. the preservation of this system, whole and entire, is to be the policy of the leaders of this generation. the fact is, they stand where it _must_ be their policy. they _must_ spread it over the whole territory. they _must_ get the balance of power in the country, to build themselves up against the public opinion of mankind. "why, clayton, moral sentiment, as you call it, is a humbug! the whole world acquiesces in _what goes_--they always have. there is a great outcry about slavery now, but let it _succeed_, and there won't be. when they can outvote the northern states, they'll put _them_ down. they have kept them subservient by intrigue so far, and by and by they'll have the strength to put them down by force. england makes a fuss now; but let them only succeed, and she'll be civil as a sheep. of course, men always make a fuss about injustice, when they have nothing to gain by holding their tongues; but england's mouth will be stopped with cotton--you'll see it. they love trade, and hate war. and so the fuss of anti-slavery will die out in the world. now, when you see what a poor hoax human nature is, what's the use of bothering? the whole race together aren't worth a button, clayton, and self-sacrifice for such fools is a humbug. that's my programme!" "well, frank, you have made a clean breast; so will i. the human race, as you say, may be a humbug, but it's every man's duty to know for himself that _he_ isn't one. _i_ am not. i do _not_ worship success, and _will_ not. and if a cause is a right and honorable one, i will labor in it till i die, whether there is any chance of succeeding or not." "well, now," said frank russel, "i dare say it's so. i respect your sort of folks; you form an agreeable heroic poem, with which one can amuse the tediousness of life. i suppose it won't do you any good to tell you that you are getting immensely unpopular, with what you are doing." "no," said clayton, "it won't." "i am really afraid," said russel, "that they'll mob you, some of these bright days." "very well," said clayton. "oh, of course. i knew it would be very well; but say, clayton, what do you want to get up a petition on _that_ point for? why don't you get up one to prevent the separation of families? there 's been such a muss made about that in europe, and all round the world, that it's rather the fashion to move about that a little. politicians like to appear to intend to begin to do something about it. it has a pleasing effect, and gives the northern editors and ministers something to say, as an apology for our sins. besides, there are a good many simple-hearted folks, who don't see very deep into things, that really think it possible to do something effective on this subject. if you get up a petition for that, you might take the tide with you; and i'd do something about it, myself." "you know very well, frank, for i told you, that it's no use to pass laws for that, without giving the slaves power to sue or give evidence, in case of violation. the improvement i propose touches the root of the matter." "that's the fact--it surely does!" said russel. "and, for that very reason, you'll never carry it. now, clayton, i just want to ask you one question. can you fight? _will_ you fight? will you wear a bowie-knife and pistol, and shoot every fellow down that comes at you?" "why, no, of course, frank. you know that i never was a fighting man. such brute ways are not to my taste." "then, my dear sir, you shouldn't set up for a reformer in southern states. now, i'll tell you one thing, clayton, that i've heard. you made some remarks at a public meeting, up at e., that have staked a mad-dog cry, which i suppose came from tom gordon. see here; have you noticed this article in the _trumpet of liberty_?" said he, looking over a confused stack of papers on his table. "where's the article? oh, here it is." at the same time he handed clayton a sheet bearing the motto "liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable," and pointed to an article headed "covert abolitionism! citizens, beware! "we were present, a few evenings ago, at the closing speech delivered before the washington agricultural society, in the course of which the speaker, mr. edward clayton, gratuitously wandered away from his subject to make inflammatory and seditious comments on the state of the laws which regulate our negro population. it is time for the friends of our institutions to be awake. such remarks dropped in the ear of a restless and ignorant population will be a fruitful source of sedition and insurrection. this young man is supposed to be infected with the virus of northern abolitionists. we cannot too narrowly watch the course of such individuals; for the only price at which we can maintain liberty is eternal vigilance. mr. clayton belongs to one of our oldest and most respected families, which makes his conduct the more inexcusable." clayton perused this with a quiet smile, which was usual with him. "the hand of joab is in that thing," said frank russel. "i'm sure i said very little," said clayton. "i was only showing the advantage to our agriculture of a higher tone of moral feeling among our laborers, which, of course, led me to speak of the state of the law regulating them. i said nothing but what everybody knows." "but, don't you know, clayton," said russel, "that if a fellow has an enemy--anybody bearing him the least ill-will--that he puts a tremendous power in his hands by making such remarks? why, our common people are so ignorant that they are in the hands of anybody who wants to use them. they are just like a swarm of bees; you can manage them by beating on a tin pan. and tom gordon has got the tin pan now, i fancy. tom intends to be a swell. he is a born bully, and he'll lead a rabble. and so you must take care. your family is considerable for you; but, after all, it won't stand you in stead for everything. who have you got to back you? who have you talked with?" "well," said clayton, "i have talked with some of the ministry"-- "and, of course," said frank, "you found that the leadings of providence didn't indicate that _they_ are to be martyrs! you have their prayers _in secret_, i presume; and if you ever get the cause on the upper hill-side, they'll come out and preach a sermon for you. now, clayton, i'll tell you what i'll do. if tom gordon attacks you, i'll pick a quarrel with him, and shoot him right off the reel. my stomach isn't nice about those matters, and that sort of thing won't compromise me with my party." "thank you," said clayton, "i shall not trouble you." "my dear fellow," said russel, "you philosophers are very much mistaken about the use of carnal weapons. as long as you wrestle with flesh and blood, you had better use fleshly means. at any rate, a gentlemanly brace of pistols won't hurt you; and, in fact, clayton, i am serious. you _must_ wear pistols,--there are no two ways about it. because, if these fellows know that a man wears pistols and will use them, it keeps them off. they have an objection to being shot, as this is all the world they are likely to have. and i think, clayton, you can fire off a pistol in as edifying and dignified a manner, as you can say a grace on proper occasions. the fact is, before long, there will be a row kicked up. i'm pretty sure of it. tom gordon is a deeper fellow than you'd think, and he has booked himself for congress; and he means to go in on the thunder-and-blazes principle, which will give him the vote of all the rabble. he'll go into congress to do the fighting and slashing. there always must be a bully or two there, you know, to knock down fellows that you can't settle any other way. and nothing would suit him better, to get his name up, than heading a crusade against an abolitionist." "well," said clayton, "if it's come to that, that we can't speak and discuss freely in our own state, where are we?" "where are we, my dear fellow? why, i know where we are; and if you don't, it's time you did. discuss freely? certainly we can, on _one_ side of the question; or on both sides of any other question than this. but this you can't discuss freely, and they can't afford to let you, as long as they mean to keep their power. do you suppose they are going to let these poor devils, whites, get their bandages off their eyes, that make them so easy to lead now? there would be a pretty bill to pay, if they did! just now, these fellows are in as safe and comfortable a condition for use as a party could desire; because they have got votes, and we have the guiding of them. and they rage, and swear, and tear, for our institutions, because they are fools, and don't know what hurts them. then, there's the niggers. those fellows are deep. they have as long ears as little pitchers, and they are such a sort of fussy set, that whatever is going on in the community is always in their mouths, and so comes up that old fear of insurrection. that's the awful word, clayton! _that_ lies at the bottom of a good many things in our state, more than we choose to let on. these negroes are a black well; you never know what's at the bottom." "well," said clayton, "the only way, the only safeguard to prevent this is reform. they are a patient set, and will bear a great while; and if they only see that anything is being done, it will be an effectual prevention. if you want insurrection, the only way is to shut down the escape-valve; for, will ye nill ye, the steam must rise. you see, in this day, minds _will grow_. they _are_ growing. there's no help for it, and there's no force like the force of growth. i have seen a rock split in two by the growing of an elm-tree that wanted light and air, and would make its way up through it. look at all the aristocracies of europe. they have gone down under this force. only one has stood--that of england. and how came that to stand? because it knew when to _yield_; because it never confined discussion: because it gave way gracefully before the growing force of the people. that's the reason it stands to-day, while the aristocracy of france has been blown to atoms." "my dear fellow," said russel, "this is all very true and convincing, no doubt; but you won't make _our_ aristocracy believe it. they have mounted the lightning, and they are going to ride it whip and spur. they are going to annex cuba and the sandwich islands, and the lord knows what, and have a great and splendid slave-holding empire. and the north is going to be what greece was to rome. we shall govern it, and it will attend to the arts of life for us. the south understands governing. we are trained to rule from the cradle. we have leisure to rule. we have nothing else to do. the free states have their factories, and their warehouses, and their schools, and their internal improvements, to take up their minds; and, if we are careful, and don't tell them too plain where we are taking them, they'll never know it till they get there." "well," said clayton, "there's one element of force that you've left out in your calculation." "and what's that?" said russel. "god," said clayton. "i don't know anything about him," said russel. "you may have occasion to learn, one of these days," said clayton. "i believe he is alive yet." chapter xlvii. tom gordon's plans. tom gordon, in the mean while, had commenced ruling his paternal plantation in a manner very different from the former indulgent system. his habits of reckless and boundless extravagance, and utter heedlessness, caused his cravings for money to be absolutely insatiable; and, within legal limits, he had as little care how it was come by as a highway robber. it is to be remarked that tom gordon was a worse slave-holder and master from the very facts of certain desirable qualities in his mental constitution; for, as good wine makes the strongest vinegar, so fine natures perverted make the worse vice. tom had naturally a perfectly clear, perceptive mind, and an energetic, prompt temperament. it was impossible for him, as many do, to sophisticate and delude himself with false views. he marched up to evil boldly, and with his eyes open. he had very little regard for public opinion, particularly the opinion of conscientious and scrupulous people. so he carried his purposes, it was very little matter to him what any one thought of them or him; they might complain till they were tired. after clayton had left the place, he often pondered the dying words of nina, "that he should care for her people; that he should tell tom to be kind to them." there was such an impassable gulf between the two characters, that it seemed impossible that any peaceable communication should pass between them. clayton thought within himself that it was utterly hopeless to expect any good arising from the sending of nina's last message. but the subject haunted him. had he any right to withhold it? was it not his duty to try every measure, however apparently hopeless? under the impulse of this feeling, he one day sat down and wrote to tom gordon an account, worded with the utmost simplicity, of the last hours of his sister's life, hoping that he might read it, and thus, if nothing more, his own conscience be absolved. death and the grave, it is true, have sacred prerogatives, and it is often in their power to awaken a love which did not appear in life. there are few so hard as not to be touched by the record of the last hours of those with whom they have stood in intimate relations. a great moralist says, "there are few things not purely evil of which we can say, without emotion, this is the last." the letter was brought to tom gordon one evening when, for a wonder, he was by himself; his associates being off on an excursion, while he was detained at home by a temporary illness. he read it over, therefore, with some attention. he was of too positive a character, however, too keenly percipient, not to feel immediate pain in view of it. a man of another nature might have melted in tears over it, indulged in the luxury of sentimental grief, and derived some comfort, from the exercise, to go on in ways of sin. not so with tom gordon. he could not afford to indulge in anything that roused his moral nature. he was doing wrong of set purpose, with defiant energy; and his only way of keeping his conscience quiet was to maintain about him such a constant tumult of excitement as should drown reflection. he could not afford a _tête-à-tête_ conversation with his conscience;--having resolved, once for all, to go on in his own wicked way, serving the flesh and the devil, he had to watch against anything that might occasion uncomfortable conflict in his mind. he knew very well, lost man as he was, that there was something sweet and pure, high and noble, against which he was contending; and the letter was only like a torch, which a fair angel might hold up, shining into the filthy lair of a demon. he could not bear the light; and he had no sooner read the note than he cast it into the fire, and rang violently for a hot brandy-toddy, and a fresh case of cigars. the devil's last, best artifice to rivet the fetters of his captives is the opportunity which these stimulants give them to command insanity at will. tom gordon was taken to bed drunk; and, if a sorrowful guardian spirit hovered over him as he read the letter, he did not hear the dejected rustle of its retreating wings. the next day nothing was left, only a more decided antipathy to clayton, for having occasioned him so disagreeable a sensation. tom gordon, on the whole, was not unpopular in his vicinity. he determined to rule them all, and he did. all that uncertain, uninstructed, vagrant population, which abound in slave states, were at his nod and beck. they were his tools--prompt to aid him in any of his purposes, and convenient to execute vengeance on his adversaries. tom was a determined slave-holder. he had ability enough to see the whole bearings of that subject, from the beginning to the end; and he was determined that, while he lived, the first stone should never be pulled from the edifice in his state. he was a formidable adversary, because what he wanted in cultivation he made up in unscrupulous energy; and, where he might have failed in argument, he could conquer by the cudgel and the bludgeon. he was, as frank russel had supposed, the author of the paragraph which had appeared in the _trumpet of freedom_, which had already had its effect in awakening public suspicion. but what stung him to frenzy, when he thought of it, was, that every effort which he had hitherto made to recover possession of harry had failed. in vain he had sent out hunters and dogs. the swamp had been tracked in vain. he boiled and burned with fierce tides of passion, as he thought of him in his security defying his power. some vague rumors had fallen upon his ear of the existence, in the swamp, of a negro conspirator, of great energy and power, whose lair had never yet been discovered; and he determined that he would raise heaven and earth to find him. he began to suspect that there was, somehow, understanding and communication between harry and those who were left on the plantation, and he determined to detect it. this led to the scene of cruelty and tyranny to which we made allusion in a former chapter. the mangled body was buried, and tom felt neither remorse nor shame. why should he, protected by the express words of legal decision? he had only met with an accident in the exercise of his lawful power on a slave in the act of rebellion. "the fact is, kite," he said, to his boon-companion, theophilus kite, as they were one day sitting together, "i'm bound to have that fellow. i'm going to publish a proclamation of outlawry, and offer a reward for his head. that will bring it in, i'm thinking. i'll put it up to a handsome figure, for that will be better than nothing." "pity you couldn't catch him alive," said kite, "and make an example of him!" "i know it," said tom. "i'd take him the long way round, that i would! that fellow has been an eye-sore to me ever since i was a boy. i believe all the devils that are in me are up about him." "tom," said kite, "you've got the devil in you--no mistake!" "to be sure i have," said tom. "i only want a chance to express him. i wish i could get hold of the fellow's wife! i could make him wince there, i guess. i'll get her, too, one of these days! but, now, kite, i'll tell you, the fact is, somebody round here is in league with him. they know about him, i know they do. there's that squeaky, leathery, long-nosed skinflint, trades with the niggers in the swamp--i know he does! but he is a double and twisted liar, and you can't get anything out of him. one of these days i'll burn up that old den of his, and shoot him, if he don't look out! jim stokes told me that he slept down there, one night, when he was tracking, and that he heard skinflint talking with somebody between twelve and one o'clock; and he looked out, and saw him selling powder to a nigger." "oh, that couldn't be harry," said kite. "no, but it's one of the gang that he is in with. and, then, there's that hark. jim says that he saw him talking,--giving a letter, that he got out of the post-office, to a man that rode off towards the woods. i thought we'd have the truth out of his old hide! but he didn't hold out as i thought he would." "hokum don't understand his business," said kite. "he shouldn't have used him up so fast." "hokum is a bother," said tom, "like all the rest of those fellows! hark was a desperately-resolute fellow, and it's well enough he is dead, because he was getting sullen, and making the others rebellious. hokum, you see, had taken a fancy to his wife, and hark was jealous." "quite a romance!" said kite, laughing. "and now i'll tell you another thing," said tom, "that i'm bound to reform. there's a canting, sneaking, dribbling, whining old priest, that's ravaging these parts and getting up a muss among people about the abuses of the slaves; and i'm not going to have it. i'm going to shut up his mouth. i shall inform him, pretty succinctly, that, if he does much more in this region, he'll be illustrated with a coat of tar-and-feathers." "good for you!" said kite. "now," said tom, "i understand that to-night he is going to have a general snivelling season in the old log church, out on the cross run, and they are going to form a church on anti-slavery principles. contemptible whelps! not a copper to bless themselves with! dirty, sweaty, greasy mechanics, with their spawn of children! think of the impudence of their getting together and passing anti-slavery resolutions, and resolving they won't admit slave-holders to the communion! i have a great mind to let them try the dodge, once! by george, if i wouldn't walk up and take their bread and wine, and pitch it to thunder!" "are they really going to form such a church?" "that's the talk," said tom. "but they'll find they have reckoned without their host, i fancy! you see, i just tipped jim stokes the wink. says i, 'jim, don't you think they'll want you to help the music there, to-night?' jim took at once; and he said he would be on the ground with a dog or two, and some old tin pans. oh, we shall get them up an orchestra, i promise you! and some of our set are going over to see the fun. there's bill akers, and bob story, and sim dexter, will be over here to dinner, and towards evening we'll ride over." chapter xlviii. lynch law. the rays of the afternoon sun were shining through the fringy needles of the pines. the sound of the woodpecker reverberated through the stillness of the forest, answering to thousand woodland notes. suddenly, along the distant path, a voice is heard singing, and the sound comes strangely on the ear through the dreamy stillness:-- "jesus christ has lived and died-- what is all the world beside? this to know is all i need, this to know is life indeed. other wisdom seek i none-- teach me this, and this alone: christ for me has lived and died, christ for me was crucified." and, as the last lines fall upon the ear, a figure, riding slowly on horseback, comes round the bend of the forest path. it is father dickson. it was the habit of this good man, much of whose life was spent in solitary journeyings, to use the forest arches for that purpose for which they seemed so well designed, as a great cathedral of prayer and praise. he was riding with the reins loose over the horse's neck, and a pocket-bible in his hand. occasionally he broke out into snatches of song, like the one which we heard him singing a few moments ago. as he rides along now, he seems absorbed in mental prayer. father dickson, in truth, had cause to pray. the plainness of speech which he felt bound to use had drawn down upon him opposition and opprobrium, and alienated some of his best friends. the support which many had been willing to contribute to his poverty was entirely withdrawn. his wife, in feeble health, was toiling daily beyond her strength; and hunger had looked in at the door, but each day prayer had driven it away. the petition, "give us this day our daily bread," had not yet failed to bring an answer, but there was no bread for to-morrow. many friendly advisers had told him that, if he would relinquish a futile and useless undertaking, he should have enough and to spare. he had been conferred with by the elders in a vacant church, in the town of e., who said to him, "we enjoy your preaching when you let alone controverted topics; and if you'll agree to confine yourself solely to the gospel, and say nothing on any of the delicate and exciting subjects of the day, we shall rejoice in your ministrations." they pleaded with him his poverty, and the poor health of his wife, and the necessities of his children; but he answered, "'man shall not live by bread alone.' god is able to feed me, and he will do it." they went away, saying that he was a fool, that he was crazy. he was not the first whose brethren had said, "he is beside himself." as he rode along through the forest paths, he talked of his wants to his master. "thou knowest," he said, "how i suffer. thou knowest how feeble my poor wife is, and how it distresses us both to have our children grow up without education. we cast ourselves on thee. let us not deny thee; let us not betray thee. thou hadst not where to lay thy head; let us not murmur. the disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his lord." and then he sang:-- "jesus, i my cross have taken, all to leave and follow thee; naked, poor, despised, forsaken, thou my all henceforth shalt be! let the world despise and leave me-- they have left my saviour too; human looks and words deceive me-- thou art not, like them, untrue! and, while thou shalt smile upon me, god of wisdom, power, and might, foes may hate and friends disown me, show thy face and all is bright!" and, as he sang and prayed, that strange joy arose within him which, like the sweetness of night flowers, is born of darkness and tribulation. the soul hath in it somewhat of the divine, in that it can have joy in endurance beyond the joy of indulgence. they mistake who suppose that the highest happiness lies in wishes accomplished--in prosperity, wealth, favor, and success. there has been a joy in dungeons and on racks passing the joy of harvest. a joy strange and solemn, mysterious even to its possessor. a white stone dropped from that signet-ring, peace, which a dying saviour took from his own bosom, and bequeathed to those who endure the cross, despising the shame. as father dickson rode on, he lifted his voice, in solemn exultation:-- "soul, then know thy full salvation; rise o'er fear, doubt, and care; joy to find, in every station, something still to do or bear. think what spirit dwells within thee; think what father's smiles are thine; think that jesus died to win thee; child of heaven, wilt thou repine?" at this moment dr. cushing in the abundant comforts of his home, might have envied father dickson in his desertion and poverty. for that peace seldom visited him. he struggled wearily along the ways of duty, never fulfilling his highest ideal; wearied by confusing accusations of conscience, and deeming himself happy only because, having never lived in any other state, he knew not what happiness was like. he alternately condemned his brother's rashness, and sighed as he thought of his uncompromising spirituality; and once or twice he had written him a friendly letter of caution, inclosing him a five-dollar bill, wishing that he might succeed, begging that he would be careful, and ending with the pious wish that we might all be guided aright; which supplication, in many cases, answers the purpose, in a man's inner legislation, of laying troublesome propositions on the table. meanwhile the shades of evening drew on, and father dickson approached the rude church which stood deep in the shadow of the woods. in external appearance it had not the pretensions even of a new england barn, but still it had echoed prayers and praises from humble, sincere worshippers. as father dickson rode up to the door, he was surprised to find quite a throng of men, armed with bludgeons and pistols, waiting before it. one of these now stepped forward and, handing him a letter, said,-- "here, i have a letter for you to read!" father dickson put it calmly in his pocket. "i will read it after service," said he. the man then laid hold of his bridle. "come out here!" he said; "i want to talk to you." "thank you, friend, i will talk with you after meeting," said he. "it's time for me to begin service." "the fact is," said a surly, wolfish-looking fellow who came behind the first speaker, "the fact is, we an't going to have any of your d----d abolition meetings here! if he can't get it out, i can!" "friends," said father dickson, mildly, "by what right do you presume to stop me?" "we think," said the first man, "that you are doing harm, violating the laws"-- "have you any warrant from the civil authorities to stop me?" "no, sir," said the first speaker; but the second one, ejecting a large quid of tobacco from his mouth, took up the explanation in a style and taste peculiarly his own. "now, old cock, you may as well know fust as last, that we don't care a cuss for the civil authorities, as you call them, 'cause we's going to do what we darn please; and we don't please have you yowping abolishionism round here, and putting deviltry in the heads of our niggers! now, that ar's plain talk!" this speech was chorused by a group of men on the steps, who now began to gather round and shout,-- "give it to him! that's into him! make the wool fly!" father dickson, who was perfectly calm, now remarked in the shadow of the wood, at no great distance, three or four young men mounted on horses, who laughed brutally and called out to the speaker,-- "give him some more!" "my friends," said father dickson, "i came here to perform a duty, at the call of my heavenly master, and you have no right to stop me." "well, how will you help yourself, old bird? supposing we haven't?" "remember, my friends, that we shall all stand side by side at the judgment seat to give an account for this night's transactions. how will you answer for it to god?" a loud, sneering laugh came from the group under the trees, and a voice, which we recognize as tom gordon's, calls out, "he is coming the solemn dodge on you, boys! get on your long faces!" "come," said the roughest of the speakers, "this here don't go down with us! we don't know nothing about no judgments; and as to god, we an't none of us seen him, lately. we 'spect he don't travel round these parts." "the eyes of the lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good," said father dickson. here one of the mob mewed like a cat, another barked like a dog, and the spectators under the tree laughed more loudly than ever. "i say," said the first speaker, "you shan't go to getting up rat-traps and calling 'em meetings! this yer preaching o' yourn is a cussed sell, and we won't stand it no longer! we shall have an insurrection among our niggers. pretty business, getting up churches where you won't have slave-holders commune! i's got niggers myself, and i know i's bigger slave than they be, and i wished i was shet of them! but i an't going to have no d----d old parson dictating to me about my affairs! and we won't, none of the rest of us, will we? 'cause them that an't got any niggers now means to have. don't we, boys?" "ay, ay, that we do! give it to him!" was shouted from the party. "it's our right to have niggers, and we will have them, if we can get them," continued the speaker. "who gave you the right?" said father dickson. "who gave it? why, the constitution of the united states, to be sure, man! who did you suppose? an't we got the freest government in the world? is we going to be shut out of communion, 'cause we holds niggers? don't care a cuss for your old communion, but it's the _principle_ i's going for! now, i tell you what, old fellow, we've got you; and you have got to promise, right off the reel, that you won't say another word on this yer subject." "friend, i shall make no such promise," said father dickson, in a tone so mild and steadfast that there was a momentary pause. "you'd better," said a man in the crowd, "if you know what 's good for you!" a voice now spoke from the circle of the young men,-- "never cave in, boys!" "no fear of us!" responded the man who had taken the most prominent part in the dialogue hitherto. "we'll serve it out to him! now, ye see, old feller, ye're treed, and may as well come down, as the coon said to davy. you can't help yourself, 'cause we are ten to one; and if you don't promise peaceable, we'll make you!" "my friends," said father dickson, "i want you to think what you are doing. your good sense must teach you the impropriety of your course. you know that you are doing wrong. you know that it isn't right to trample on all law, both human and divine, out of professed love to it. you must see that your course will lead to perfect anarchy and confusion. the time may come when your opinions will be as unpopular as mine." "well, what then?" "why, if your course prevails, you must be lynched, stoned, tarred, and feathered. this is a two-edged sword you are using, and some day you may find the edge turned towards you. you may be seized, just as you are seizing me. you know the men that threw daniel into the den got thrown in themselves." "daniel who?" shouted one of the company; and the young men under the tree laughed insultingly. "why are you afraid to let me preach, this evening?" said father dickson. "why can't you hear me, and, if i say anything false, why can't you show me the falsehood of it? it seems to me it's a weak cause that can only get along by stopping men's mouths." "no, no--we an't going to have it!" said the man who had taken the most active part. "and now you've got to sign a solemn promise, this night, that you won't ever open your mouth again about this yer subject, or we'll make it worse for you!" "i shall never make such a promise. you need not think to terrify me into it, for i am not afraid. you must kill me before you can stop me." "d--n you, then, old man," said one of the young men, riding up by the side of him, "i'll tell you what you shall do! you shall sign a pledge to leave north carolina in three days, and never come back again, and take your whole spawn and litter with you, or you shall be chastised for your impudence! now, look out, sir, for you are speaking to your betters! your insolence is intolerable! what business have you passing strictures reflecting on the conduct of gentlemen of family? think yourself happy that we let you go out of the state without the punishment that your impudence deserves!" "mr. gordon, i am sorry to hear you speaking in that way," said father dickson, composedly. "by right of your family, you certainly ought to know how to speak as a gentleman. you are holding language to me that you have no right to hold, and uttering threats that you have no means of enforcing." "you'll see if i haven't!" replied the other, with an oath. "here, boys!" he beckoned one or two of the leaders to his side, and spoke with them in a low voice. one of them seemed inclined to remonstrate. "no, no--it's too bad!" he said. but the others said,-- "yes, it serves him right! we'll do it! hurra, boys! we'll help on the parson home, and help him kindle his fire!" there was a general shout, as the whole party, striking up a ribald song, seized father dickson's horse, turned him round, and began marching in the direction of his cabin in the woods. tom gordon and his companions, who rode foremost, filled the air with blasphemous and obscene songs, which entirely drowned the voice of father dickson whenever he attempted to make himself heard. before they started, tom gordon had distributed freely of whiskey among them, so that what little manliness there might have been within seemed to be "set on fire of hell." it was one of those moments that try men's souls. father dickson, as he was hurried along, thought of that other _one_, who was led by an infuriate mob through the streets of jerusalem, and he lifted his heart in prayer to the apostle and high priest of his profession, the god in jesus. when they arrived before his little cabin, he made one more effort to arrest their attention. "my brethren," he said. "none of your brethren! stop that cant!" said tom gordon. "hear me one word," said father dickson. "my wife is quite feeble. i'm sure you wouldn't wish to hurt a sick woman, who never did harm to any mortal creature." "well, then," said tom gordon, facing round to him, "if you care so very much about your wife, you can very easily save her any further trouble. just give us the promise we want, and we'll go away peaceably, and leave you. but, if you won't, as true as there is a god in heaven, we'll pull down every stick of timber in your old kennel! i'll tell you what, old man, you've got a master to deal with, now!" "i cannot promise not to preach upon this subject." "well, then, you must promise to take yourself out of the state. you can go among your northern brethren, and howl and mawl round there; but we are not going to have you here. i have as much respect for respectable ministers of the gospel as any one, when they confine themselves to the duties of their calling; but, when they come down to be intriguing in our worldly affairs, they must expect to be treated as we treat other folks that do that. their black coats shan't protect them! we are not going to be priest-ridden, are we, boys?" a loud whoop of inflamed and drunken merriment chorused this question. just at this moment the door of the cottage was opened, and a pale, sickly-looking woman came gliding out to the gate. "my dear," she said, and her voice was perfectly calm, "don't yield a hair's breadth, on my account. i can bear as well as you. i am not afraid. i am ready to die for conscience' sake. gentlemen," she said, "there is not much in this house of any value, except two sick children. if it is agreeable to you to pull it down, you can do it. our goods are hardly worth spoiling, but you can spoil them. my husband, be firm; don't yield an inch!" it is one of the worst curses of slavery that it effaces from the breast all manly feeling with regard to woman. every one remembers the story how the frail and delicate wife of lovejoy placed her weakness as a shield before the chamber door where her husband was secreted, and was fought with brutal oaths and abuse by the drunken gang, who were determined to pass over her body, if necessary, to his heart! they who are trained to whip women in a servile position, of course can have none of the respect which a free man feels for woman as woman. they respect the sex when they see it enshrined by fashion, wealth, and power; but they tread it in the dust when, in poverty and helplessness, it stands in the path of their purposes. "woman," said tom gordon, "you are a fool! you needn't think to come it round us with any of that talk! you needn't think we are going to stop on your account, for we shan't. we know what we are about." "so does god!" said the woman, fixing her eye on him with one of those sudden looks of power with which a noble sentiment sometimes lights up for a moment the weakest form. there was a momentary pause, and then tom broke out into oaths and curses. "i'll tell you what, boys," he said, "we had better bring matters to a point! here, tie him up to this tree, and give him six-and-thirty! he is so dreadful fond of the niggers, let him fare with them! we know how to get a promise out of him!" the tiger was now fully awake in the crowd. wild oaths and cries of "give it to him! give it to him, g--d d--n him!" arose. father dickson stood calm; and, beholding him, they saw his face as if it had been that of an angel, and they gnashed on him with their teeth. a few moments more, and he was divested of his outer garments, and bound to a tree. "now will you promise?" said tom gordon, taking out his watch. "i give you five minutes." the children, now aroused, were looking out, crying, from the door. his wife walked out and took her place before him. "stand out of the way, old woman!" said tom gordon. "i will not stand out of the way!" she said, throwing her arms round her husband. "you shall not get to him but over my body!" "ben hyatt, take her away!" said tom gordon. "treat her decently, as long as she behaves herself." a man forced her away. she fell fainting on his shoulder. "lay her down," said tom gordon. "now, sir, your five minutes are up. what have you got to say?" "i have to say that i shall not comply with your demands." "very well," said tom, "it's best to be explicit." he drew his horse a little back, and said to a man who was holding a slave-whip behind,-- "give it to him!" the blows descended. he uttered no sound. the mob, meanwhile, tauntingly insulted him. "how do you like it? what do you think of it? preach us a sermon, now, can't you? come, where's your text?" "he is getting stars and stripes, now!" said one. "i reckon he'll see stars!" said another. "stop," said tom gordon. "well, my friend," he said, "you see we are in earnest, and we shall carry this through to the bitter end, you may rely on it. you won't get any sympathy; you won't get any support. there an't a minister in the state that will stand by you. they all have sense enough to let our affairs alone. they'd any of them hold a candle here, as the good elder did when they thrashed dresser, down at nashville. come, now, will you cave in?" but at this moment the conversation was interrupted by the riding up of four or five gentlemen on horseback, the headmost of whom was clayton. "what's this?" he exclaimed, hurriedly. "what, mr. gordon--father dickson! what--what am i to understand by this?" "who the devil cares what you understand? it's no business of yours," said tom gordon; "so stand out of my way!" "i shall make it some of my business," said clayton, turning round to one of his companions. "mr. brown, you are a magistrate?" mr. brown, a florid, puffy-looking old gentleman, now rode forward. "bless my soul, but this is shocking! mr. gordon, don't! how can you? my boys, you ought to consider!" clayton, meanwhile, had thrown himself off his horse, and cut the cords which bound father dickson to the tree. the sudden reaction of feeling overcame him. he fell, fainting. "are you not ashamed of yourselves?" said clayton, indignantly glancing round. "isn't this pretty business for great, strong men like you, abusing ministers that you know won't fight, and women and children that you know can't!" "do you mean to apply that language to me?" said tom gordon. "yes, sir, i do mean just that!" said clayton, looking at him, while he stretched his tall figure to its utmost height. "sir, that remark demands satisfaction." "you are welcome to all the satisfaction you can get," said clayton, coolly. "you shall meet me," said tom gordon, "where you shall answer for that remark!" "i am not a fighting man," said clayton; "but, if i were, i should never consent to meet any one but my equals. when a man stoops to do the work of a rowdy and a bully, he falls out of the sphere of gentlemen. as for you," said clayton, turning to the rest of the company, "there's more apology for you. you have not been brought up to know better. take my advice; disperse yourselves now, or i shall take means to have this outrage brought to justice." there is often a magnetic force in the appearance, amid an excited mob, of a man of commanding presence, who seems perfectly calm and decided. the mob stood irresolute. "come, tom," said kite, pulling him by the sleeve, "we've given him enough, at any rate." "yes, yes," said mr. brown, "mr. gordon, i advise you to go home. we must all keep the peace, you know. come, boys, you've done enough for one night, i should hope! go home, now, and let the old man be; and there's something to buy you a treat, down at skinflint's. come, do the handsome, now!" tom gordon sullenly rode away, with his two associates each side; but, before he went, he said to clayton,-- "you shall hear of me again, one of these days!" "as you please," said clayton. the party now set themselves about recovering and comforting the frightened family. the wife was carried in and laid down on the bed. father dickson was soon restored so as to be able to sit up, and, being generally known and respected by the company, received many expressions of sympathy and condolence. one of the men was an elder in the church which had desired his ministerial services. he thought this a good opportunity of enforcing some of his formerly expressed opinions. "now, father dickson," he said, "this just shows you the truth of what i was telling you. this course of yours won't do; you see it won't, now. now, if you'd agree not to say anything of these troublesome matters, and just confine yourself to the preaching of the gospel, you see you wouldn't get into any more trouble; and, after all, it's the gospel that's the root of the matter. the gospel will gradually correct all these evils, if you don't say anything about them. you see, the state of the community is peculiar. they won't bear it. we feel the evils of slavery just as much as you do. our souls are burdened under it," he said, complacently wiping his face with his handkerchief. "but providence doesn't appear to open any door here for us to do anything. i think we ought to abide on the patient waiting on the lord, who, in his own good time, will bring light out of darkness, and order out of confusion." this last phrase being a part of a stereotyped exhortation with which the good elder was wont to indulge his brethren in church prayer-meetings, he delivered it in the sleepy drawl which he reserved for such occasions. "well," said father dickson, "i must say that i don't see that the preaching of the gospel, in the way we have preached it hitherto, has done anything to rectify the evil. it's a bad sign if our preaching doesn't make a conflict. when the apostles came to a place, they said, 'these men that turn the world upside down are come hither.'" "but," said mr. brown, "you must consider our institutions are peculiar; our negroes are ignorant and inflammable, easily wrought upon, and the most frightful consequences may result. that's the reason why there is so much sensation when any discussion is begun which relates to them. now, i was in nashville when that dresser affair took place. he hadn't said a word--he hadn't opened his mouth, even--but he was known to be an abolitionist; and so they searched his trunks and papers, and there they found documents expressing abolition sentiments, sure enough. well, everybody, ministers and elders, joined in that affair, and stood by to see him whipped. i thought, myself, they went too far. but there is just where it is. people are not reasonable, and they won't be reasonable, in such cases. it's too much to ask of them; and so everybody ought to be cautious. now, i wish, for my part, that ministers would confine themselves to their appropriate duties. 'christ's kingdom is not of this world.' and, then, you don't know tom gordon. he is a terrible fellow! i never want to come in conflict with him. i thought i'd put the best face on it, and persuade him away. i didn't want to make tom gordon my enemy. and i think mr. dickson, if you must preach these doctrines i think it would be best for you to leave the state. of course, we don't want to restrict any man's conscience; but when any kind of preaching excites brawls and confusion, and inflames the public mind, it seems to be a duty to give it up." "yes," said mr. cornet, the elder, "we ought to follow the things which make for peace--such things whereby one may edify another." "don't you see, gentlemen," said mr. clayton, "that such a course is surrendering our liberty of free speech into the hands of a mob? if tom gordon may dictate what is to be said on one subject, he may on another; and the rod which has been held over our friend's head to-night may be held over ours. independent of the right or wrong of father dickson's principles, he ought to maintain his position, for the sake of maintaining the right of free opinion in the state." "why," said mr. cornet, "the scripture saith, 'if they persecute you in this city, flee ye into another.'" "that was said," said clayton, "to a people that lived under despotism, and had no rights of liberty given them to maintain. but, if we give way before mob law, we make ourselves slaves of the worst despotism on earth." but clayton spoke to men whose ears were stopped by the cotton of slothfulness and love of ease. they rose up, and said, "it was time for them to be going." clayton expressed his intention of remaining over the night, to afford encouragement and assistance to his friends, in case of any further emergency. chapter xlix. more violence. clayton rose the next morning, and found his friends much better than he had expected after the agitation and abuse of the night before. they seemed composed and cheerful. "i am surprised," he said, "to see that your wife is able to be up this morning." "they that wait on the lord shall renew their strength," said father dickson. "how often i have found it so! we have seen times when i and my wife have both been so ill that we scarcely thought we had strength to help ourselves; and a child has been taken ill, or some other emergency has occurred that called for immediate exertion, and we have been to the lord and found strength. our way has been hedged up many a time--the sea before us and the egyptians behind us; but the sea has always opened when we have stretched our hands to the lord. i have never sought the lord in vain. he has allowed great troubles to come upon us; but he always delivers us." clayton recalled the sneering, faithless, brilliant frank russel, and compared him, in his own mind, with the simple, honest man before him. "no," he said to himself, "human nature is not a humbug, after all. there are some real men--some who will not acquiesce in what is successful, if it be wrong." clayton was in need of such living examples; for, in regard to religion, he was in that position which is occupied by too many young men of high moral sentiment in this country. what he had seen of the worldly policy and time-serving spirit of most of the organized bodies professing to represent the christian faith and life, had deepened the shadow of doubt and distrust which persons of strong individuality and discriminating minds are apt to feel in certain stages of their spiritual development. great afflictions--those which tear up the roots of the soul--are often succeeded, in the course of the man's history, by a period of scepticism. the fact is, such afflictions are disenchanting powers; they give to the soul an earnestness and a power of discrimination which no illusion can withstand. they teach us what we need, what we must have to rest upon; and, in consequence, thousands of little formalities, and empty shows, and dry religious conventionalities, are scattered by it like chaff. the soul rejects them, in her indignant anguish; and, finding so much that is insincere, and untrue, and unreliable, she has sometimes hours of doubting all things. clayton saw again in the minister what he had seen in nina--a soul swayed by an attachment to an invisible person, whose power over it was the power of a personal attachment, and who swayed it, not by dogmas or commands, merely, but by the force of a sympathetic emotion. beholding, as in a glass, the divine image of his heavenly friend, insensibly to himself the minister was changing into the same image. the good and the beautiful to him was an embodied person,--even jesus his lord. "what may be your future course?" said clayton, with anxiety. "will you discontinue your labors is this state?" "i may do so, if i find positively that there is no gaining a hearing," said father dickson. "i think we owe it to our state not to give up the point without a trial. there are those who are willing to hear me--willing to make a beginning with me. it is true they are poor and unfashionable; but still it is my duty not to desert them till i have tried, at least, whether the laws can't protect me in the exercise of my duty. the hearts of all men are in the hands of the lord. he turneth them as the rivers of water are turned. this evil is a great and a trying one. it is gradually lowering the standard of morals in our churches, till men know not what spirit they are of. i held it my duty not to yield to the violence of the tyrant, and bind myself to a promise to leave, till i had considered what the will of my master would be." "i should be sorry," said clayton, "to think that north carolina couldn't protect you. i am sure, when the particulars of this are known, there will be a general reprobation from all parts of the country. you might remove to some other part of the state, not cursed by the residence of a man like tom gordon. i will confer with my uncle, your friend dr. cushing, and see if some more eligible situation cannot be found, where you can prosecute your labors. he is at this very time visiting his wife's father, in e., and i will ride over and talk with him to-day. meanwhile," said clayton, as he rose to depart, "allow me to leave with you a little contribution to help the cause of religious freedom in which you are engaged." and clayton, as he shook hands with his friend and his wife, left an amount of money with them such as had not crossed their palms for many a day. bidding them adieu, a ride of a few hours carried him to e., where he communicated to dr. cushing the incidents of the night before. "why, it's perfectly shocking--abominable!" said dr. cushing. "why, what are we coming to? my dear young friend, this shows the necessity of prayer. 'when the enemy cometh in like a flood, the spirit of the lord must lift up a standard against him.'" "my dear uncle," said clayton, rather impatiently, "it seems to me the lord has lifted up a standard in the person of this very man, and people are too cowardly to rally around it." "well, my dear nephew, it strikes me you are rather excited," said dr. cushing, good-naturedly. "excited?" said clayton. "i ought to be excited! you ought to be excited, too! here's a good man beginning what you think a necessary reform, and who does it in a way perfectly peaceable and lawful, who is cloven down under the hoof of a mob, and all you can think of doing is to pray to _the lord_ to raise up a standard! what would you think, if a man's house were on fire, and he should sit praying the lord that in his mysterious providence he would put it out?" "oh, the cases are not parallel," said dr. cushing. "i think they are," said clayton. "our house is the state, and our house is on fire by mob law; and, instead of praying the lord to put it out, you ought to go to work and put it out yourself. if all your ministers would make a stand against this, uncle, and do all you can to influence those to whom you are preaching, it wouldn't be done again." "i am sure i should be glad to do something. poor father dickson! such a good man as he is! but, then, i think, clayton, he was rather imprudent. it don't do, this unadvised way of proceeding. we ought to watch against rashness, i think. we are too apt to be precipitate, and not await the leadings of providence. poor dickson! i tried to caution him, the last time i wrote to him. to be sure, it's no excuse for them; but, then, i'll write to brother barker on the subject, and we'll see if we can't get an article in the _christian witness_. i don't think it would be best to allude to these particular circumstances, or to mention any names; but there might be a general article on the importance of maintaining the right of free speech, and of course people can apply it for themselves." "you remind me," said clayton, "of a man who proposed commencing an attack on a shark by throwing a sponge at him. but, now, really, uncle, i am concerned for the safety of this good man. isn't there any church near you to which he can be called? i heard him at the camp-meeting, and i think he is an excellent preacher." "there are a good many churches," said dr. cushing, "which would be glad of him, if it were not for the course he pursues on that subject; and i really can't feel that he does right to throw away his influence so. he might be the means of converting souls, if he would only be quiet about this." "be quiet about fashionable sins," said clayton, "in order to get a chance to convert souls! what sort of converts are those who are not willing to hear the truth on every subject? i should doubt conversions that can only be accomplished by silence on great practical immoralities." "but," said dr. cushing, "christ and the apostles didn't preach on the abuses of slavery, and they alluded to it as an existing institution." "nor did they preach on the gladiatorial shows," said clayton; "and paul draws many illustrations from them. will you take the principle that everything is to be let alone now about which the apostles didn't preach directly?" "i don't want to enter into that discussion now," said dr. cushing. "i believe i'll ride over and see brother dickson. after all, he is a dear, good man, and i love him. i'd like to do something for him, if i were not afraid it might be misunderstood." toward evening, however, clayton, becoming uneasy at the lonely situation of his clerical friend, resolved to ride over and pass the night with him, for the sake of protecting him; and, arming himself with a brace of pistols, he proceeded on his ride. as the day had been warm, he put off his purpose rather late, and darkness overtook him before he had quite accomplished his journey. riding deliberately through the woodland path in the vicinity of the swamp, he was startled by hearing the tramp of horses' hoofs behind him. three men, mounted on horseback, were coming up, the headmost of whom, riding up quickly behind, struck him so heavy a blow with a gutta percha cane, as to fell him to the earth. in an instant, however, he was on his feet again, and had seized the bridle of his horse. "who are you?" said he; for, by the dim light that remained of the twilight, he could perceive that they all wore masks. "we are men," said one of them, whose voice clayton did not recognize, "that know how to deal with fellows who insult gentlemen, and then refuse to give them honorable satisfaction." "and," said the second speaker, "we know how to deal with renegade abolitionists, who are covertly undermining our institutions." "and," said clayton, coolly, "you understand how to be cowards; for none but cowards would come three to one, and strike a man from behind! shame on you! well, gentlemen, act your pleasure. your first blow has disabled my right arm. if you wish my watch and my purse, you may help yourselves, as cut-throats generally do!" the stinging contempt which was expressed in these last words seemed to enrage the third man, who had not spoken. with a brutal oath, he raised his cane again, and struck at him. "strike a wounded man, who cannot help himself--do!" said clayton. "show yourself the coward you are! you are brave in attacking defenceless women and children, and ministers of the gospel!" this time the blow felled clayton to the earth, and tom gordon, precipitating himself from the saddle, proved his eligibility for congress by beating his defenceless acquaintance on the head, after the fashion of the chivalry of south carolina. but, at this moment, a violent blow from an unseen hand struck his right arm, and it fell, broken, at his side. mad with pain, he poured forth volumes of oaths, such as our readers have never heard, and the paper refuses to receive. and a deep voice said from the woods,-- "woe to the bloody and deceitful man!" "look for the fellow! where is he?" said tom gordon. the crack of a rifle, and a bullet which passed right over his head, answered from the swamp, and the voice, which he knew was harry's, called from within the thicket,-- "tom gordon, beware! remember hark!" at the same time another rifle-shot came over their heads. "come, come," said the other two, "there's a gang of them. we had better be off. you can't do anything with that broken arm, there." and, helping tom into the saddle, the three rode away precipitately. as soon as they were gone, harry and dred emerged from the thicket. the latter was reported among his people to have some medical or surgical skill. he raised clayton up, and examined him carefully. "he is not dead," he said. "what shall we do for him?" said harry. "shall we take him along to the minister's cabin?" "no, no," said dred; "that would only bring the philistines upon him!" "it's full three miles to e.," said harry. "it wouldn't do to risk going there." "no, indeed," said dred. "we must take him to our stronghold of engedi, even as samson bore the gates of gaza. our women shall attend him, and when he is recovered we will set him on his journey." chapter l. engedi. the question may occur to our readers, why a retreat which appeared so easily accessible to the negroes of the vicinity in which our story is laid should escape the vigilance of hunters. in all despotic countries, however, it will be found that the oppressed party become expert in the means of secrecy. it is also a fact that the portion of the community who are trained to labor enjoy all that advantage over the more indolent portion of it which can be given by a vigorous physical system, and great capabilities of endurance. without a doubt, the balance of the physical strength of the south now lies in the subject race. usage familiarizes the dwellers of the swamp with the peculiarities of their location, and gives them the advantage in it that a mountaineer has in his own mountains. besides, they who take their life in their hand exercise their faculties with more vigor and clearness than they who have only money at stake; and this advantage the negroes had over the hunters. dred's "stronghold of engedi," as we have said, was isolated from the rest of the swamp by some twenty yards of deep morass, in which it was necessary to wade almost to the waist. the shore presented to the eye only the appearance of an impervious jungle of cat-brier and grapevine rising out of the water. there was but one spot on which there was a clear space to set foot on, and that was the place where dred crept up on the night when we first introduced the locality to our readers' attention. the hunters generally satisfied themselves with exploring more apparently accessible portions; and, unless betrayed by those to whom dred had communicated the clue, there was very little chance that any accident would ever disclose the retreat. dred himself appeared to be gifted with that peculiar faculty of discernment of spirits which belonged to his father denmark vesey, sharpened into a preternatural intensity by the habits of his wild and dangerous life. the men he selected for trust were men as impenetrable as himself, the most vigorous in mind and body on all the plantations. the perfectness of his own religious enthusiasm, his absolute certainty that he was inspired of god, as a leader and deliverer, gave him an ascendency over the minds of those who followed him, which nothing but religious enthusiasm ever can give. and this was further confirmed by the rigid austerity of his life. for all animal comforts he appeared to entertain a profound contempt. he never tasted strong liquors in any form, and was extremely sparing in his eating; often fasting for days in succession, particularly when he had any movement of importance in contemplation. it is difficult to fathom the dark recesses of a mind so powerful and active as his, placed under a pressure of ignorance and social disability so tremendous. in those desolate regions which he made his habitation, it is said that trees often, from the singularly unnatural and wildly stimulating properties of the slimy depths from which they spring, assume a goblin growth, entirely different from their normal habit. all sorts of vegetable monsters stretch their weird, fantastic forms among its shadows. there is no principle so awful through all nature as the principle of _growth_. it is a mysterious and dread condition of existence, which, place it under what impediment or disadvantage you will, is constantly forcing on; and when unnatural pressure hinders it, develops in forms portentous and astonishing. the wild, dreary belt of swamp-land which girds in those states scathed by the fires of despotism is an apt emblem, in its rampant and we might say delirious exuberance of vegetation, of that darkly struggling, wildly vegetating swamp of human souls, cut off, like it, from the usages and improvements of cultivated life. beneath that fearful pressure, souls whose energy, well-directed, might have blessed mankind, start out in preternatural and fearful developments, whose strength is only a portent of dread. the night after the meeting which we have described was one, to this singular being, of agonizing conflict. his psychological condition, as near as we can define it, seemed to be that of a human being who had been seized and possessed, after the manner related in ancient fables, by the wrath of an avenging god. that part of the moral constitution, which exists in some degree in us all, which leads us to feel pain at the sight of injustice, and to desire retribution for cruelty and crime, seemed in him to have become an absorbing sentiment, as if he had been chosen by some higher power as the instrument of doom. at some moments the idea of the crimes and oppressions which had overwhelmed his race rolled in upon him with a burning pain, which caused him to cry out, like the fated and enslaved cassandra, at the threshold of the dark house of tyranny and blood. this sentiment of justice, this agony in view of cruelty and crime, is in men a strong attribute of the highest natures; for he who is destitute of the element of moral indignation is effeminate and tame. but there is in nature and in the human heart a pleading, interceding element, which comes in constantly to temper and soften this spirit and this element in the divine mind, which the scriptures represent by the sublime image of an eternally interceding high priest, who, having experienced every temptation of humanity, constantly urges all that can be thought in mitigation of justice. as a spotless and high-toned mother bears in her bosom the anguish of the impurity and vileness of her child, so the eternally suffering, eternally interceding love of christ bears the sins of our race. but the scriptures tell us that the mysterious _person_, who thus stands before all worlds as the image and impersonation of divine tenderness, has yet in reserve this awful energy of wrath. the oppressors, in the last dread day, are represented as calling to the mountains and rocks to fall on them, and hide them from the wrath of the lamb. this idea had dimly loomed up before the mind of dred, as he read and pondered the mysteries of the sacred oracles; and was expressed by him in the form of language so frequent in his mouth, that "the lamb was bearing the yoke of the sins of men." he had been deeply affected by the presentation which milly had made in their night meeting of the eternal principle of intercession and atonement. the sense of it was blindly struggling with the habitual and overmastering sense of oppression and wrong. when his associates had all dispersed to their dwellings, he threw himself on his face, and prayed: "o lamb of god, that bearest the yoke, why hast thou filled me with wrath? behold these graves! behold the graves of my brothers, slain without mercy, and, lord, they do not repent! thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity. wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more righteous than he? they make men as fishes in the sea, as creeping things that have no ruler over them. they take them up with the angle. they catch them in their net, and gather them in their drag. therefore they rejoice and are glad. therefore they sacrifice unto their net, and burn incense unto their drag, because by them their portion is fat, and their meat plenteous. shall they, therefore, empty their net, and not spare continually to slay the nations? did not he that made them in the womb make us? did not the same god fashion us in the womb? doubtless thou art our father, though abraham be ignorant of us, and israel acknowledgeth us not. thou, o god, art our father, our redeemer. wherefore forgettest thou us for ever, and forsakest us so long a time? wilt thou not judge between us and our enemies? behold, there is none among them that stirreth himself up to call upon thee, and he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey. they lie in wait, they set traps, they catch men, they are waxen fat, they shine, they overpass the deeds of the wicked, they judge not the cause of the fatherless; yet they prosper, and the right of the needy do they not judge. wilt thou not visit for these things, o lord? shall not thy soul be avenged on such a nation as this? how long wilt thou endure? behold under the altar the souls of those they have slain! they cry unto thee continually. how long, o lord, dost thou not judge and avenge? is there any that stirreth himself up for justice? is there any that regardeth our blood? we are sold for silver; the price of our blood is in thy treasury; the price of our blood is on thine altars! behold, they build their churches with the price of our hire! behold, the stone doth cry out of the wall, and the timber doth answer it. because they build their towns with blood, and establish their cities by iniquity. they have all gone one way. there is none that careth for the spoilings of the poor. art thou a just god? when wilt thou arise to shake terribly the earth, that the desire of all nations may come? overturn, overturn, and overturn, till _he_ whose right it is shall come!" such were the words, not uttered continuously, but poured forth at intervals, with sobbings, groanings, and moanings, from the recesses of that wild fortress. it was but a part of that incessant prayer with which oppressed humanity has besieged the throne of justice in all ages. we who live in ceiled houses would do well to give heed to that sound, lest it be to us that inarticulate moaning which goes before the earthquake. if we would estimate the force of almighty justice, let us ask ourselves what a mother might feel for the abuse of her helpless child, and multiply that by infinity. but the night wore on, and the stars looked down serene and solemn, as if no prayer had gone through the calm, eternal gloom; and the morning broke in the east resplendent. harry, too, had passed a sleepless night. the death of hark weighed like a mountain upon his heart. he had known him for a whole-souled, true-hearted fellow. he had been his counsellor and friend for many years, and he had died in silent torture for him. how stinging is it at such a moment to view the whole respectability of civilized society upholding and glorifying the murderer; calling his sin by soft names, and using for his defence every artifice of legal injustice! some in our own nation have had bitter occasion to know this, for we have begun to drink the cup of trembling which for so many ages has been drank alone by the slave. let the associates of brown ask themselves if they cannot understand the midnight anguish of harry! his own impulses would have urged to an immediate insurrection, in which he was careless about his own life, so the fearful craving of his soul for justice was assuaged. to him the morning seemed to break red with the blood of his friend. he would have urged to immediate and precipitate action. but dred, true to the enthusiastic impulses which guided him, persisted in waiting for that sign from heaven which was to indicate when the day of grace was closed, and the day of judgment to begin. this expectation he founded on his own version of certain passages in the prophets, such as these:-- "i will show wonders in heaven above, and signs in the earth beneath; blood, and fire, and vapor of smoke! the sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before that great and notable day of the lord shall come!" meanwhile, his associates were to be preparing the minds of the people, and he was traversing the swamps in different directions, holding nightly meetings, in which he read and expounded the prophecies to excited ears. the laborious arguments, by which northern and southern doctors of divinity have deduced from the old testament the divine institution of slavery, were too subtle and fine-spun to reach his ear amid the denunciations of prophecies, all turning on the sin of oppression. his instinctive understanding of the spirit of the bible justified the sagacity which makes the supporter of slavery, to this day, careful not to allow the slave the power of judging it for himself; and we leave it to any modern pro-slavery divine whether, in dred's circumstances, his own judgment might not have been the same. after daylight, harry saw dred standing, with a dejected countenance, outside of his hut. "i have wrestled," he said, "for thee; but the time is not yet! let us abide certain days, for the thing is secret unto me; and i cannot do less nor more till the lord giveth commandment. when the lord delivereth them into our hands, one shall chase a thousand, and two put ten thousand to flight!" "after all," said harry, "our case is utterly hopeless! a few poor, outcast wretches, without a place to lay our heads, and they all revelling in their splendor and their power! who is there in this great nation that is not pledged against us? who would not cry _amen_, if we were dragged out and hung like dogs? the north is as bad as the south! they kill us, and the north consents and justifies! and all their wealth, power, and religion, are used against us. we are the ones that all sides are willing to give up. any party in church or of state will throw in our blood and bones as a make-weight, and think nothing of it. and, when i see them riding out in their splendid equipages, their houses full of everything that is elegant, they so cultivated and refined, and our people so miserable, poor, and down-trodden, i haven't any faith that there is a god!" "stop!" said dred, laying his hand on his arm. "hear what the prophet saith. 'their land, also, is full of silver and gold; neither is there any end of their treasures. their land, also, is full of horses; neither is there any end of their chariots. their land also is full of idols. they worship the work of their own hands. enter into the rock, and hide thee in the dust, for fear of the lord, and for the glory of his majesty. the lofty looks of man shall be humbled, and the haughtiness of man shall be bowed down, and the lord alone shall be exalted in that day. for the day of the lord of hosts shall be on every one that is proud and lofty, and upon every one that is lifted up; and he shall be brought low! and upon all the cedars of lebanon that are high and lifted up, and upon all the oaks of bashan, and upon all the high mountains, and upon all the hills that are lifted up, and upon every high tower, and upon every fenced wall, and upon all the ships of tarshish, and upon all pleasant pictures! and the loftiness of man shall be bowed down, the haughtiness of man shall be made low! and they shall go in the holes of the rocks, and in the caves of the earth, for fear of the lord, and for his majesty, when he ariseth to shake terribly the earth!'" the tall pines, and whispering oaks, as they stood waving in purple freshness at the dawn, seemed like broad-winged attesting angels, bearing witness, in their serene and solemn majesty, to the sublime words, "heaven and earth shall not pass away till these words have been fulfilled!" after a few moments a troubled expression came over the face of dred. "harry," he said, "verily, he is a god that hideth himself! he giveth none account to any of these matters. it may be that i shall not lead the tribes over this jordan; but that i shall lay my bones in the wilderness! but the day shall surely come, and the sign of the son of man shall appear in the air, and all tribes of the earth shall wail, because of him! behold, i saw white spirits and black spirits, that contended in the air; and the thunder rolled, and the blood flowed, and the voice said, 'come rough, come smooth! such is the decree. ye must surely bear it!' but, as yet, the prayers of the saints have power; for there be angels, having golden censers, which be the prayers of saints. and the lord, by reason thereof, delayeth. behold i have borne the burden of the lord even for many years. he hath covered me with a cloud in the day of his anger, and filled me with his wrath; and his word has been like a consuming fire shut in my bones! he hath held mine eyes waking, and my bones have waxed old with my roarings all the day long! then i have said, 'oh, that thou wouldst hide me in the dust! that thou wouldst keep me secret till thy wrath be past!'" at this moment, soaring upward through the blue sky, rose the fair form of a wood-pigeon, wheeling and curving in the morning sunlight, cutting the ether with airy flight, so smooth, even, and clear, as if it had learnt motion from the music of angels. dred's eye, faded and haggard with his long night-watchings, followed it for a moment with an air of softened pleasure, in which was blent somewhat of weariness and longing. "oh, that i had wings like a dove!" he said. "then would i flee away and be at rest! i would hasten from the windy storm and tempest! lo, then i would wander far off, and remain in the wilderness!" there was something peculiar in the power and energy which this man's nature had of drawing others into the tide of its own sympathies, as a strong ship, walking through the water, draws all the smaller craft into its current. harry, melancholy and disheartened as he was, felt himself borne out with him in that impassioned prayer. "i know," said dred, "that the new heavens and the new earth shall come, and the redeemed of the lord shall walk in it. but, as for me, i am a man of unclean lips, and the lord hath laid on me the oppressions of the people! but, though the violent man prevail against me, it shall surely come to pass!" harry turned away, and walked slowly to the other side of the clearing, where old tiff, with fanny, teddy, and lisette, having kindled a fire on the ground, was busy in preparing their breakfast. dred, instead of going into his house, disappeared in the thicket. milly had gone home with the man who came from canema. the next day, as harry and dred made a hunting excursion through the swamp, returning home in the edge of the evening, they happened to be passing near the scene of lawless violence which we have already described. chapter li. the slave hunt. tom gordon, for the next two or three days after his injury, was about as comfortable to manage as a wounded hyena. he had a thousand varying caprices every hour and moment; and now one and now another prevailed. the miserable girls who were held by him as his particular attendants were tormented by every species of annoyance which a restless and passionate man, in his impatience, could devise. the recent death of milly's mistress by the cholera had reduced her under tom's authority; and she was summoned now from her work every hour to give directions and advice, which, the minute they were given, were repudiated with curses. "i declare," said aunt katy, the housekeeper, "if mas'r tom isn't 'nough to use a body off o' der feet. it's jist four times i's got gruel ready for him dis last two hours--doing all i could to suit him; and he swars at it, and flings it round real undecent. why, he's got fever, and does he spect to make things taste good to him, when he's got fever! why, course i can't, and no need of him calling me a devil, and all that! that ar's very unnecessary, i think. i don't believe in no such! the gordons allers used to have some sense to 'em, even if they was cross; but he an't got a grain. i should think he was 'sessed wid old sam, for my part. bringing 'sgrace on us all, the way he cuts up! we really don' know how to hold up our head, none of us. the gordons have allers been sich a genteel family! laws, we didn't know what privileges we had when we had miss nina! them new girls, dressed up in all their flounces and ferbuloes! guess they has to take it!" in time, however, even in spite of his chafing, and fretfulness, and contempt of physicians' prescriptions, tom seemed to recover, by the same kind of fatality which makes ill-weeds thrive apace. meanwhile he employed his leisure hours in laying plans of revenge, to be executed as soon as he should be able to take to his horse again. among other things, he vowed deep vengeance on abijah skinflint, who, he said, he knew _must_ have sold the powder and ammunition to the negroes in the swamp. this may have been true, or may not; but, in cases of lynch law, such questions are indifferent matter. a man is accused, condemned, and judged, at the will of his more powerful neighbor. it was sufficient to tom that _he thought so_; and, being sick and cross, thought so just now with more particular intensity. jim stokes, he knew, cherished an animosity of long standing towards abijah, which he could make use of in enlisting him in the cause. one of the first uses, therefore, which tom made of his recovered liberty, after he was able to ride out, was to head a raid on abijah's shop. the shop was without ceremony dismantled and plundered; and the mob, having helped themselves to his whiskey, next amused themselves by tarring and feathering him; and, having insulted and abused him to their satisfaction, and exacted a promise from him to leave the state within three days, they returned home glorious in their own eyes. and the next week a brilliant account of the affair appeared in the _trumpet of liberty_, headed,-- "summary justice." nobody pitied abijah, of course; and, as he would probably have been quite willing to join in the same sort of treatment for any one else, we know not that we are particularly concerned for his doom. the respectable people in the neighborhood first remarked that they didn't approve of mobs in general, and then dilated, with visible satisfaction, on this in particular, after a fashion of that stupid class that are called respectable people, generally. the foolish mob gloried and exulted, not considering that any day the same weapons might be turned against them. the mob being now somewhat drilled and animated, tom proposed, while their spirit was up, to get up a hunting in the swamp, which should more fully satisfy his own private vengeance. there is a sleeping tiger in the human breast that delights in violence and blood; and this tiger tom resolved to unchain. the act of outlawry had already publicly set up harry as a mark for whatever cruelty drunken ingenuity might choose to perpetrate. as our readers may have a curiosity in this kind of literature, we will indulge them with a copy of this:-- "_state of north carolina, chowan county._ "whereas, complaint upon oath hath this day been made to us, two of the justices of the peace for the said county and state aforesaid, by thomas gordon, that a certain male slave belonging to him, named harry, a carpenter by trade, about thirty-five years old, five feet four inches high or thereabouts; dark complexion, stout built, blue eyes, deep sunk in his head, forehead very square, tolerable loud voice; hath absented himself from his master's service, and is supposed to be lurking about in the swamp, committing acts of felony or other misdeeds. these are, therefore, in the name of the state aforesaid, to command said slave forthwith to surrender himself, and return home to his said master. and we do hereby, by virtue of the act of assembly, in such case made and provided, intimate and declare that if the said slave harry doth not surrender himself, and return home immediately after the publication of these presents, that any person or persons may kill and destroy the said slave by such means as he or they may think fit, without accusation or impeachment of any crime or offence for so doing, and without incurring any penalty or forfeiture thereby. "given under our hands and seal, "james t. muller, { seal. } "t. buttercourt."[ ] { seal. } one can scarcely contemplate without pity the condition of a population which grows up under the influence of such laws and customs as these. that the lowest brutality and the most fiendish cruelty should be remorselessly practised by those whose ferocity thus receives the sanction of the law, cannot be wondered at. tom gordon convened at his house an assemblage of those whom he used as the tools and ministers of his vengeance. harry had been secretly hated by them all in his prosperous days, because, though a slave, he was better dressed, better educated, and, on the whole, treated with more consideration by the gordon family and their guests, than they were; and, at times, he had had occasion to rebuke some of them for receiving from the slaves goods taken from the plantation. to be sure, while he was prosperous they were outwardly subservient to him, as the great man of a great family; but now he was _down_, as the amiable fashion of the world generally is, they resolved to make up for their former subservience by redoubled insolence. jim stokes, in particular, bore harry a grudge, for having once expressed himself with indignation concerning the meanness and brutality of his calling; and he was therefore the more willing to be made use of on the present occasion. accordingly, on the morning we speak of, there was gathered before the door of the mansion at canema a confused _mélange_ of men, of that general style of appearance which, in our times, we call "border ruffians,"--half drunken, profane, obscene as the harpies which descended on the feast of Ã�neas. tom gordon had only this advantage among them, that superior education and position had given him the power, when he chose, of assuming the appearance and using the language of a gentleman. but he had enough of grossness within, to enable him at will to become as one of them. tom's arm was still worn in a sling, but, as lack of energy never was one of his faults, he was about to take the saddle with his troop. at present they were drawn up before the door, laughing, swearing, and drinking whiskey, which flowed in abundance. the dogs--the better-mannered brutes of the two, by all odds--were struggling in their leashes with impatience and excitement. tom gordon stood forth on the veranda, after the fashion of great generals of old, who harangued their troops on the eve of battle. any one who has read the speeches of the leaders who presided over the sacking of lawrence will get an idea of some features in this style of eloquence, which our pen cannot represent. "now, boys," said tom, "you are getting your names up. you've done some good work already. you've given that old, snivelling priest a taste of true orthodox doctrine, that will enlighten him for the future. you've given that long-nosed skinflint light enough to see the error of _his_ ways." a general laugh here arose, and voices repeated,-- "ah, ah, that we did! didn't we, though?" "i reckon you did!" said tom gordon. "i reckon he didn't need candles to see his sins by, that night! didn't we make a candle of his old dog-kennel? didn't he have light to see his way out of the state by? and didn't we give him a suit to keep him warm on the road? ah, boys, that was a warm suit--no mistake! it was a suit that will stick to him, too! he won't trade that off for rum, in a hurry, i'm thinking! will he, boys?" bursts of crazy, half-drunken applause here interrupted the orator. "pity we hadn't put a match to it!" shouted one. "ah, well, boys, you did enough for that time! wait till you catch these sneaking varmins in the swamp; you shall do what you like with them. nobody shall hinder you, that's law and order. these foxes have troubled us long enough, stealing at our hen-roosts while we were asleep. we shall make it hot for them, if we catch them; and we are going to catch them. there are no two ways about it. this old swamp is like davy's coon--it's got _to come down_! and it will come down, boys, when it sees _us_ coming. no mistake about that! now, boys, mind, catch him alive, if you can; but shoot him, if you can't. remember, i'll give a hundred and fifty dollars for his head!" a loud shout chorused this last announcement, and tom descended in glory to take his place in his saddle. once, we suppose, this history would not have been believed, had it been told; but of late our own sons and brothers have been hounded and hunted by just such men, with such means. the fire which began in the dry tree has spread to the green! long live the _great christianizing institution_!!! footnote: [ ] the original document from which this is taken can be seen in the appendix. it appeared in the _wilmington journal_, december , . chapter lii. "all over." clayton, at the time of the violent assault which we have described, received an injury upon the head which rendered him insensible. when he came to himself, he was conscious at first only of a fanning of summer breezes. he opened his eyes, and looked listlessly up into the blue sky, that appeared through the thousand leafy hollows of waving boughs. voices of birds warbling and calling, like answering echoes, to each other, fell dreamily on his ear. some gentle hand was placing bandages around his head; and figures of women, he did not recognize, moved whisperingly around him, tending and watching. he dropped asleep again, and thus for many hours lay in a kind of heavy trance. harry and lisette had vacated, for his use, their hut; but, as it was now the splendid weather of october, when earth and sky become a temple of beauty and serenity, they tended him during the hours of the day in the open air, and it would seem as if there were no art of healing like to this. as air and heat and water all have a benevolent tendency to enter and fill up a vacuum, so we might fancy the failing vitality of the human system to receive accessions of vigor by being placed in the vicinity of the healthful growths of nature. all the trees which john saw around the river of life and heaven bore healing leaves; and there may be a sense in which the trees of our world bear leaves that are healing both to body and soul. he who hath gone out of the city, sick, disgusted, and wearied, and lain himself down in the forest, under the fatherly shadow of an oak, may have heard this whispered to him in the leafy rustlings of a thousand tongues. * * * * * * * * * "see," said dred to harry, as they were watching over the yet insensible form of clayton, "how the word of the lord is fulfilled on this people. he shall deliver them, every man into the hand of his neighbor; and he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey!" "yes," said harry; "but this is a good man; he stands up for our rights. if he had his way, we should soon have justice done us." "yes," said dred, "but it is even as it was of old; 'behold i send unto you prophets and wise men, and some of them shall ye slay. for this people's heart is waxed gross, and their ears have they closed. therefore, the lord shall bring upon this generation the blood of all the slain, from the blood of righteous abel to the blood of zacharias, the son of barachias, whom they slew between the temple and the altar.'" * * * * * * * * * after a day or two spent in a kind of listless dreaming, clayton was so far recovered as to be able to sit up and look about him. the serene tranquillity of the lovely october skies seemed to fall like a spell upon his soul. amidst the wild and desolate swamp, here was an island of security, where nature took men to her sheltering bosom. a thousand birds, speaking with thousand airy voices, were calling from breezy tree-tops, and from swinging cradles of vine-leaves; white clouds sailed, in changing and varying islands, over the heavy green battlements of the woods. the wavering, slumberous sound of thousand leaves, through which the autumn air walked to and fro, consoled him. life began to look to him like a troubled dream, forever past. his own sufferings, the hours of agony and death which he had never dared to remember, seemed now to wear a new and glorified form. such is the divine power in which god still reveals himself through the lovely and incorruptible forms of nature. clayton became interested in dred, as a psychological study. at first he was silent and reserved, but attended to the wants of his guest with evident respect and kindness. gradually, however, the love of expression, which lies hidden in almost every soul, began to unfold itself in him, and he seemed to find pleasure in a sympathetic listener. his wild jargon of hebraistic phrases, names, and allusions, had for clayton, in his enfeebled state, a quaint and poetic interest. he compared him, in his own mind, to one of those old rude gothic doorways, so frequent in european cathedrals, where scriptural images, carved in rough granite, mingle themselves with a thousand wayward, fantastic freaks of architecture; and sometimes he thought, with a sigh, how much might have been accomplished by a soul so ardent and a frame so energetic, had they been enlightened and guided. dred would sometimes come, in the shady part of the afternoon, and lie on the grass beside him, and talk for hours in a quaint, rambling, dreamy style, through which there were occasional flashes of practical ability and shrewdness. he had been a great traveller--a traveller through regions generally held inaccessible to human foot and eye. he had explored not only the vast swamp-girdle of the atlantic, but the everglades of florida, with all their strange and tropical luxuriance of growth; he had wandered along the dreary and perilous belt of sand which skirts the southern atlantic shores, full of quicksands and of dangers, and there he had mused of the eternal secret of the tides, with whose restless, never-ceasing rise and fall the soul of man has a mysterious sympathy. destitute of the light of philosophy and science, he had revolved in the twilight of his ardent and struggling thoughts the causes of natural phenomena, and settled these questions for himself by theories of his own. sometimes his residence for weeks had been a stranded hulk, cast on one of these inhospitable shores, where he fasted and prayed, and fancied that answering voices came to him in the moaning of the wind and the sullen swell of the sea. our readers behold him now, stretched on the grass beside the hut of harry and lisette, in one of his calmest and most communicative moods. the children, with lisette and the women, were searching for grapes in a distant part of the inclosure; and harry, with the other fugitive man, had gone to bring in certain provisions which were to have been deposited for them in a distant part of the swamp by some of their confederates on one of the plantations. old tiff was hoeing potatoes diligently in a spot not very far distant, and evidently listening to the conversation with an ear of shrewd attention. "yes," said dred, with that misty light in his eye which one may often have remarked in the eye of enthusiasts, "the glory holds off, but it is coming! now is the groaning time! _that_ was revealed to me when i was down at okerecoke, when i slept three weeks in the hulk of a ship out of which all souls had perished." "rather a dismal abode, my friend," said clayton, by way of drawing him on to conversation. "the spirit drove me there," said dred, "for i had besought the lord to show unto me the knowledge of things to come; and the lord bade me to go from the habitations of men, and to seek out the desolate places of the sea, and dwell in the wreck of a ship that was forsaken, for a sign of desolation unto this people. so i went and dwelt there. and the lord called me amraphal, because hidden things of judgment were made known unto me. and the lord showed unto me that even as a ship which is forsaken of the waters, wherein all flesh have died, so shall it be with the nation of the oppressor." "how did the lord show you this?" said clayton, bent upon pursuing his inquiry. "mine ear received it in the night season," said dred, "and i heard how the whole creation groaneth and travaileth, waiting for the adoption; and because of this he hath appointed the tide." "i don't see the connection," said clayton. "why because of this?" "because," said dred, "every day is full of labor, but the labor goeth back again into the seas. so that travail of all generations hath gone back, till the desire of all nations shall come, and he shall come with burning and with judgment, and with great shakings; but in the end thereof shall be peace. wherefore, it is written that in the new heavens and the new earth there shall be no more sea." these words were uttered with an air of solemn, assured confidence, that impressed clayton strangely. something in his inner nature seemed to recognize in them a shadow of things hoped for. he was in that mood into which the mind of him who strives with the evils of this world must often fall--a mood of weariness and longing; and heard within him the cry of the human soul, tempest-tossed and not comforted, for rest and assurance of the state where there shall be no more sea. "so, then," he said unto dred, "so, then, you believe that these heavens and earth shall be made new." "assuredly," said dred. "and the king shall reign in righteousness. he shall deliver the needy when he crieth,--the poor and him that hath no helper. he shall redeem their souls from deceit and violence. he shall sit upon a white cloud, and the rainbow shall be round about his head. and the elect of the lord shall be kings and priests on the earth." "and do you think you shall be one of them?" said clayton. dred gave a kind of inward groan. "not every one that prophesieth in his name shall be found worthy!" he said. "i have prayed the lord, but he hath not granted me the assurance. i am the rod of his wrath, to execute vengeance on his enemies. shall the axe magnify itself against him that lifteth it?" the conversation was here interrupted by harry, who, suddenly springing from the tree, came up, in a hurried and agitated manner. "the devil is broke loose!" he said. "tom gordon is out, with his whole crew at his heels, beating the swamp! a more drunken, swearing, ferocious set i never saw! they have got on to the trail of poor jim, and are tracking him without mercy!" a dark light flashed from dred's eye, as he sprang upon his feet. "the voice of the lord shaketh the wilderness; yea, the wilderness of kadesh. i will go forth and deliver him!" he seized his rifle and shot-bag, and in a few moments was gone. it was harry's instinct to have followed him; but lisette threw herself, weeping, on his neck. "don't go--don't!" she said. "what shall we all do without you? stay with us! you'll certainly be killed, and you can do no good!" "consider," said clayton, "that you have not the familiarity with these swamps, nor the wonderful physical power of this man. it would only be throwing away your life." the hours of that day passed gloomily. sometimes the brutal sound of the hunt seemed to sweep near them,--the crack of rifles, the baying of dogs, the sound of oaths,--and then again all went off into silence, and nothing was heard but the innocent patter of leaf upon leaf, and the warbling of the birds, singing cheerily, ignorant of the abyss of cruelty and crime over which they sang. towards sunset a rustling was heard in the branches of the oak, and dred dropped down into the inclosure, wet, and soiled, and wearied. all gathered round him, in a moment. "where is jim?" asked harry. "slain!" said dred. "the archers pressed him sore and he hath fallen in the wilderness!" there was a general exclamation of horror. dred made a movement to sit down on the earth. he lost his balance, and fell; and they all saw now, what at first they had not noticed, a wound in his breast, from which the blood was welling. his wife fell by his side, with wild moans of sorrow. he lifted his hand, and motioned her from him. "peace," he said, "peace! it is enough! behold, i go unto the witnesses who cry day and night!" the circle stood around him in mute horror and surprise. clayton was the first who had presence of mind to kneel and stanch the blood. dred looked at him; his calm, large eyes filled with supernatural light. "all over!" he said. he put his hand calmly to his side, and felt the gushing blood. he took some in his hand and threw it upward, crying out, with wild energy, in the words of an ancient prophet,-- "oh, earth, earth, earth! cover thou not my blood!" behind the dark barrier of the woods the sun was setting gloriously. piles of loose, floating clouds, which all day long had been moving through the sky in white and silvery stillness, now one after another took up the rosy flush, and became each one a light-bearer, filled with ethereal radiance. and the birds sang on as they ever sing, unterrified by the great wail of human sorrow. it was evident to the little circle that he who is mightier than the kings of the earth was there, and that that splendid frame, which had so long rejoiced in the exuberance of health and strength, was now to be resolved again into the eternal elements. "harry," he said, "lay me beneath the heap of witness. let the god of their fathers judge between us!" chapter liii. the burial. the death of dred fell like a night of despair on the hearts of the little fugitive circle in the swamps--on the hearts of multitudes in the surrounding plantations, who had regarded him as a prophet and a deliverer. he in whom they trusted was dead! the splendid, athletic form, so full of wild vitality, the powerful arm, the trained and keen-seeing eye, all struck down at once! the grand and solemn voice hushed, and all the splendid poetry of olden time, the inspiring symbols and prophetic dreams, which had so wrought upon his own soul, and with which he had wrought upon the souls of others, seemed to pass away with him, and to recede into the distance and become unsubstantial, like the remembered sounds of mighty winds, or solemn visions of evening clouds, in times long departed. on that night, when the woods had ceased to reverberate the brutal sounds of baying dogs, and the more brutal profanity of drunken men; when the leaves stood still on the trees, and the forest lay piled up in the darkness like black clouds, and the morning star was standing like a calm angelic presence above them, there might have been heard in the little clearing a muffled sound of footsteps, treading heavily, and voices of those that wept with a repressed and quiet weeping, as they bore the wild chieftain to his grave beneath the blasted tree. of the undaunted circle who had met there at the same hour many evenings before, some had dared to be present to-night; for, hearing the report of the hunt, they had left their huts on the plantations by stealth when all were asleep, and, eluding the vigilance of the patrols, the night watch which commonly guards plantations, had come to the forest to learn the fate of their friends; and bitter was the dismay and anguish which filled their souls when they learned the result. it is melancholy to reflect, that among the children of one father an event which excites in one class bitterness and lamentation should in another be cause of exultation and triumph. but the world has been thousands of years and not yet learned the first two words of the lord's prayer; and not until all tribes and nations have learned these will his kingdom come, and his will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven. among those who stood around the grave, none seemed more bowed down and despairing than one whom we have before introduced to the reader, under the name of hannibal. he was a tall and splendidly formed negro, whose large head, high forehead, and marked features, indicated resolution and intellectual ability. he had been all his life held as the property of an uneducated man, of very mean and parsimonious character, who was singularly divided in his treatment of him, by a desire to make the most of his energies and capabilities as a slave, and a fear lest they should develop so fast as to render him unfit for the condition of slavery. hannibal had taught himself to read and write, but the secret of the acquisition was guarded in his own bosom, as vigilantly as the traveller among thieves would conceal in his breast an inestimable diamond; for he well knew that, were these acquisitions discovered, his master's fears would be so excited as to lead him to realize at once a present sum upon him, by selling him to the more hopeless prison-house of the far south, thus separating him from his wife and family. hannibal was generally employed as the keeper of a ferryboat by his master, and during the hours when he was waiting for passengers found many opportunities for gratifying, in an imperfect manner, his thirst for knowledge. those who have always had books about them more than they could or would read know nothing of the passionate eagerness with which a repressed and starved intellect devours in secret its stolen food. in a little chink between the logs of his ferry-house there was secreted a bible, a copy of robinson crusoe, and an odd number of a northern newspaper which had been dropped from the pocket of a passenger; and when the door was shut and barred at night, and his bit of pine knot lighted, he would take these out and read them hour by hour. there he yearned after the wild freedom of the desolate island. he placed his wife and children, in imagination, in the little barricaded abode of robinson. he hunted and made coats of skin, and gathered strange fruits from trees with unknown names, and felt himself a free man. over a soul so strong and so repressed it is not to be wondered at that dred should have acquired a peculiar power. the study of the bible had awakened in his mind that vague tumult of aspirations and hopes which it ever excites in the human breast; and he was prompt to believe that the lord who visited israel in egypt had listened to the sighings of their captivity, and sent a prophet and a deliverer to his people. like a torch carried in a stormy night, this hope had blazed up within him; but the cold blast of death had whistled by, and it was extinguished forever. among the small band that stood around the dead, on the edge of the grave, he stood, looking fixedly on the face of the departed. in the quaint and shaggy mound to which dred had attached that strange, rugged, oriental appellation, _jegar sahadutha_, or the "heap of witness," there was wildly flaring a huge pine-knot torch, whose light fell with a red, distinct glare on the prostrate form that lay there like a kingly cedar uprooted, no more to wave its branches in air, yet mighty in its fall, with all the shaggy majesty of its branches around. whatever might have been the strife and struggle of the soul once imprisoned in that form, there was stamped upon the sombre face an expression of majestic and mournful tranquillity, as if that long-suffering and gracious god, to whose judgment he had made his last appeal, had rendered that judgment in mercy. when the statesmen and mighty men of _our_ race die, though they had the weaknesses and sins of humanity, they want not orators in the church to draw the veil gently, to speak softly of their errors and loudly of their good, and to predict for them, if not an abundant entrance, yet at least a safe asylum among the blessed; and something not to be rebuked in our common nature inclines to join in a hopeful amen. it is not easy for us to believe that a great and powerful soul can be lost to god and itself forever. but he who lies here so still and mournfully in this flickering torch-light had struggling within him the energies which make the patriot and the prophet. crushed beneath a mountain of ignorance, they rose blind and distorted; yet had knowledge enlightened and success crowned them, his name might have been, with that of toussaint, celebrated in mournful sonnet by the deepest thinking poet of the age:-- "thou hast left behind powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies; there's not a breathing of the common wind that will forget thee; thou hast great allies; thy friends are exaltations, agonies, and love, and man's unconquerable mind." the weight of so great an affliction seemed to have repressed the usual vivacity with which the negro is wont to indulge the expression of grief. when the body was laid down by the side of the grave, there was for a time a silence so deep that the rustling of the leaves, and the wild, doleful clamor of the frogs and turtles in the swamps, and the surge of the winds in the pine-tree tops, were all that met the ear. even the wife of the dead stood with her shawl wrapped tightly about her, rocking to and fro, as if in the extremity of grief. an old man in the company, who had officiated sometimes as preacher among the negroes, began to sing a well-known hymn very commonly used at negro funerals, possibly because its wild and gloomy imagery has something exciting to their quick imaginations. the words rose on the night air:-- "hark, from the tombs a doleful sound, my ears attend the cry; ye living men, come view the ground where you must shortly lie." during the singing of this verse hannibal stood silent, with his arms gloomily folded, his eyes fixed on the lifeless face. gradually the sentiment seemed to inspire his soul with a kind of serene triumph; he lifted his head, and joined his deep bass voice in the singing of the second verse:-- "princes, this clay must be your bed, in spite of all your towers; the tall, the wise, the reverend head, must lie as low as ours." "yes," he said, "brethren, that will be the way of it. they triumph and lord it over us now, but their pomp will be brought down to the grave, and the noise of their viols. the worm shall be spread under them, and the worm shall cover them; and when we come to stand together at the judgment seat, our testimony will be took there if it never was afore; and the lord will judge atween us and our oppressors,--that's one comfort. now, brethren, let's jest lay him in the grave, and he that's a better man, or would have done better in his place, let him judge him if he dares." they lifted him up and laid him into the grave; and in a few moments all the mortal signs by which that soul had been known on earth had vanished, to appear no more till the great day of judgment and decision. chapter liv. the escape. clayton had not been an unsympathizing or inattentive witness of these scenes. it is true that he knew not the whole depth of the affair; but harry's letter and his own observations had led him, without explanation, to feel that there was a perilous degree of excitement in some of the actors in the scene before him, which, unless some escape-valve were opened, might lead to most fatal results. the day after the funeral, he talked with harry, wisely and kindly, assuming nothing to himself on the ground either of birth or position; showing to him the undesirableness and hopelessness, under present circumstances, of any attempt to right by force the wrongs under which his class were suffering, and opening to him and his associates a prospect of a safer way by flight to the free states. one can scarcely appreciate the moral resolution and force of character which could make a person in clayton's position in society--himself sustaining, in the eye of the law, the legal relation of a slave-holder--give advice of this kind. no crime is visited with more unsparing rigor by the _régime_ of southern society than the aiding or abetting the escape of a slave. he who does it is tried as a negro-stealer; and in some states death, in others a long and disgraceful imprisonment in the penitentiary, is the award. for granting the slightest assistance and succor, in cases like these,--for harboring the fugitive for even a night,--for giving him the meanest shelter and food,--persons have been stripped of their whole property, and turned out destitute upon the world. others for no other crime, have languished years in unhealthy dungeons, and coming out at last with broken health and wasted energies; nor has the most saintly patience and purity of character in the victim been able to lessen or mitigate the penalty. it was therefore only by the discerning power of a mind sufficiently clear and strong to see its way through the mists of educational association, that clayton could feel himself to be doing right in thus violating the laws and customs of the social state under which he was born. but, in addition to his belief in the inalienable right of every man to liberty, he had at this time a firm conviction that nothing but the removal of some of these minds from the oppressions which were goading them could prevent a development of bloody insurrection. it is probable that nothing has awakened more bitterly the animosity of the slave-holding community than the existence in the northern states of an indefinite yet very energetic institution, known as _the underground railroad_; and yet, would they but reflect wisely on the things that belong to their peace, they would know that this has removed many a danger from their dwellings. one has only to become well acquainted with some of those fearless and energetic men who have found their way to freedom by its means, to feel certain that such minds and hearts would have proved, in time, an incendiary magazine under the scorching reign of slavery. but by means of this, men of that class who cannot be kept in slavery have found a road to liberty which endangered the shedding of no blood but their own; and the record of the strange and perilous means by which these escapes have been accomplished sufficiently shows the resolute nature of the men by whom they were undertaken. it was soon agreed that a large party of fugitives should in concert effect their escape. harry, being so white as easily to escape detection out of the immediate vicinity where he was known, assumed the task of making arrangements, for which he was amply supplied with money by clayton. it is well known that there are, during the greater part of the year, lumberers engaged in the cutting and making of shingles, who have extensive camps in the swamp, and live there for months at a time. these camps are made by laying foundations of logs on the spongy soil, thus forming platforms on which rude cabins are erected. in the same manner roads are constructed into distant parts of the swamp, by means of which transportation is carried on. there is also a canal cut through the middle of the swamp, on which small sailing craft pass backwards and forwards with shingles and produce. in the employ of these lumberers are multitudes of slaves hired from surrounding proprietors. they live here in a situation of comparative freedom, being obliged to make a certain number of staves or shingles within a stipulated time, and being furnished with very comfortable provision. living thus somewhat in the condition of freemen, they are said to be more intelligent, energetic, and self-respecting, than the generality of slaves. the camp of the fugitives had not been without intercourse with the camp of lumberers, some five miles distant. in cases of straits they had received secret supplies from them, and one or two of the more daring and intelligent of the slave lumberers had attended some of dred's midnight meetings. it was determined, therefore, to negotiate with one of the slaves who commanded a lighter, or small vessel, in which lumber was conveyed to norfolk, to assist their escape. on some consultation, however, it was found that the numbers wanting to escape were so large as not to be able, without exciting suspicion, to travel together, and it was therefore decided to make two detachments. milly had determined to cast in her lot with the fugitives, out of regard to her grandchild, poor little tomtit, whose utter and merry thoughtlessness formed a touching contrast to the gravity and earnestness of her affections and desires for him. he was to her the only remaining memorial of a large family, which had been torn from her by the ordinary reverses and chances of slavery; and she clung to him, therefore, with the undivided energy of her great heart. as far as her own rights were concerned, she would have made a willing surrender of them, remaining patiently in the condition wherein she was called, and bearing injustice and oppression as a means of spiritual improvement, and seeking to do what good lay in her power. every individual has an undoubted right, if he chooses, thus to resign the rights and privileges of his earthly birthright; but the question is a very different one when it involves the improvement and the immortal interests of those for whom the ties of blood oblige him to have care. milly, who viewed everything with the eye of a christian, was far less impressed by the rigor and severity of tom gordon's administration than by the dreadful demoralization of character which he brought upon the plantation. tomtit being a bright, handsome child, his master had taken a particular fancy to him. he would have him always about his person, and treated him with the same mixture of indulgence and caprice which one would bestow upon a spaniel. he took particular pleasure in teaching him to drink and to swear, apparently for nothing else than the idle amusement it afforded him to witness the exhibition of such accomplishments in so young a child. in vain milly, who dared use more freedom with him than any other servant, expostulated. he laughed or swore at her, according to the state in which he happened to be. milly, therefore, determined at once to join the flying party, and take her darling with her. perhaps she would not have been able to accomplish this, had not what she considered a rather fortunate reverse, about this time, brought tomtit into disgrace with his master. owing to some piece of careless mischief which he had committed, he had been beaten with a severity as thoughtless as the indulgence he at other times received, and, while bruised and trembling from this infliction, he was fully ready to fly anywhere. quite unexpectedly to all parties, it was discovered that tom gordon's confidential servant and valet, jim, was one of the most forward to escape. this man, from that peculiar mixture of boldness, adroitness, cunning, and drollery, which often exists among negroes, had stood for years as prime and undisputed favorite with his master; he had never wanted for money, or for anything that money could purchase; and he had had an almost unreproved liberty of saying, in an odd fashion, what he pleased, with the licensed audacity of a court buffoon. one of the slaves expressed astonishment that he, in his favored position, should think of such a thing. jim gave a knowing inclination of his head to one side, and said:-- "fac' is, bredren, dis chile is jest tired of dese yer partnership concerns. i and mas'r, we has all tings in common, sure 'nough; but den i'd rather have less of 'em, and have something dat's _mine_; 'sides which, i never's going to have a wife till i can get one dat'll belong to myself; dat ar's a ting i's 'ticular 'bout." the conspirators were wont to hold their meetings nightly in the woods, near the swamp, for purposes of concert and arrangement. jim had been trusted so much to come and go at his own pleasure, that he felt little fear of detection, always having some plausible excuse on hand, if inquiries were made. it is to be confessed that he had been a very profane and irreverent fellow, often attending prayer-meetings, and other religious exercises of the negroes, for no other apparent purpose than to be able to give burlesque imitations of all the proceedings for the amusement of his master and his master's vile associates. whenever, therefore, he was missed, he would, upon inquiry, assert, with a knowing wink, that "he had been out to de prayer-meetin'." "seems to me, jim," says tom, one morning, when he felt peculiarly ill-natured, "seems to me you are doing nothing but go to meeting, lately. i don't like it, and i'm not going to have it. some deviltry or other you are up to, and i'm going to put a stop to it. now, mind yourself; don't you go any more, or i'll give you----" we shall not mention particularly what tom was in the habit of threatening to give. here was a dilemma. one attendance more in the woods this very night was necessary,--was, indeed, indispensable. jim put all his powers of pleasing into requisition. never had he made such desperate efforts to be entertaining. he sang, he danced, he mimicked sermons, carried on mock meetings, and seemed to whip all things sacred and profane together, in one great syllabub of uproarious merriment; and this to an idle man, with a whole day upon his hands, and an urgent necessity for never having time to think, was no small affair. tom mentally reflected in the evening, as he lay stretched out in the veranda, smoking his cigar, what in the world he should do without jim, to keep him in spirits; and jim, under cover of the day's glory, had ventured to request of his master the liberty of an hour, which he employed in going to his tryst in the woods. this was a bold step, considering how positively he had been forbidden to do it in the morning; but jim heartily prayed to his own wits, the only god he had been taught to worship, to help him out once more. he was returning home, hastening, in order to be in season for his master's bed-time, hoping to escape unquestioned as to where he had been. the appointments had all been made, and, between two and three o'clock that night, the whole party were to strike out upon their course, and ere morning to have travelled the first stage of their pilgrimage towards freedom. already the sense of a new nature was beginning to dawn on jim's mind--a sense of something graver, steadier, and more manly, than the wild, frolicsome life he had been leading; and his bosom throbbed with a strange, new, unknown hope. suddenly, on the very boundary of the spot where the wood joins the plantation, whom should he meet but tom gordon, sent there as if he had been warned by his evil stars. "now, lord help me! if dere is any lord," said jim. "well, i's got to blaze it out now de best way i ken." he walked directly up to his master, with his usual air of saucy assurance. "why, jim," said tom, "where have you been? i've been looking for you." "why, bless you, mas'r, honey, i's been out to de meetin'." "didn't i tell you, you dog," said tom, with an oath, "that you were not to go to any more of those meetings?" "why, laws, mas'r, honey, chile, 'fore my heavenly mas'r, i done forgot every word you said!" said jim. "i's so kind o' tumbled up and down this day, and things has been so cur'us!" the ludicrous grimace and tone, and attitude of affected contrition, with which all this was said, rather amused tom; and, though he still maintained an air of sternness, the subtle negro saw at once his advantage, and added, "'clare if i isn't most dead! ole pomp, he preached, and he gets me so full o' grace i's fit to bust. has to do something wicked, else i'll get translated one dese yer days, like 'lijah, and den who'd mas'r have fur to wait on him?" "i don't believe you've been to meeting," said tom, eyeing him with affected suspicion. "you've been out on some spree." "why, laws, mas'r, honey, you hurts my feelings! why, now, i's in hopes you'd say you see de grace a shining out all over me. why, i's been in a clar state of glorrufication all dis evening. dat ar ole pomp, dar's no mistake, he does lift a body up powerful!" "you don't remember a word he said, now, i'll bet," said tom. "where was the text?" "text!" said jim, with assurance; "'twas in de twenty-fourth chapter of jerusalem, sixteenth verse." "well," said tom, "what was it? i should like to know." "laws, mas'r, i b'lieve i can 'peat it," said jim, with an indescribable air of waggish satisfaction. "'twas dis yer: 'ye shall sarch fur me in de mornin' and ye won't find me.' dat ar's a mighty solemn text, mas'r, and ye ought to be 'flecting on't." and tom had occasion to reflect upon it, the next morning, when, having stormed, and sworn, and pulled until he broke the bell-wire, no jim appeared. it was some time before he could actually realize or believe he was gone. the ungrateful dog! the impudent puppy, who had had all his life everything he wanted, to run away from him! tom aroused the whole country in pursuit; and, as servants were found missing in many other plantations, there was a general excitement through the community. the _trumpet of liberty_ began to blow dolorous notes, and articles headed, "the results of abolitionist teaching, and covert incendiarism," began to appear. it was recommended that a general search should be made through the country for all persons tinctured with abolitionist sentiments, and immediate measures pursued to oblige them to leave the state forthwith. one or two respectable gentlemen, who were in the habit of taking the _national era_, were visited by members of a vigilance committee, and informed that they must immediately drop the paper or leave the state; and when one of them talked of his rights as a free citizen, and inquired how they would enforce their requisitions, supposing he determined to stand for his liberty, the party informed him succinctly to the following purport: "if you do not comply, your corn, grain, and fodder, will be burned; your cattle driven off; and, if you still persist, your house will be set on fire and consumed, and you will never know who does it." when the good gentleman inquired if this was freedom, his instructors informed him that freedom consisted in their right and power to make their neighbors submit to their own will and dictation; and he would find himself in a free country so far as this, that every one would feel at liberty to annoy and maltreat him so long as he opposed the popular will. this modern doctrine of liberty has of late been strikingly and edifyingly enforced on the minds of some of our brethren and sisters in the new states, to whom the offer of relinquishing their principles or their property and lives has been tendered with the same admirable explicitness. it is scarcely necessary to remark that both these worthy gentlemen, to use the language of their conquerors, "caved in," and thus escaped with no other disadvantage than a general plundering of their smoke-houses, the hams in which were thought a desirable addition to a triumphal entertainment proposed to be given in honor of law and order by the associate bands of the glorious immortal coons, the body-guard which was tom gordon's instrument in all these exploits. in fact, this association, although wanting the advantage of an ordaining prayer and a distribution of bibles, as has been the case with some more recently sent from southern states, to beat the missionary drum of state rights and the principles of law and order on our frontiers, yet conducted themselves in a manner which might have won them approbation even in col. buford's regiment, giving such exhibitions of liberty as were sufficient to justify all despots for putting it down by force for centuries to come. tom gordon was the great organizer and leader of all these operations; his suspicions had connected clayton with the disappearance of his slaves, and he followed upon his track with the sagacity of a bloodhound. the outrage which he had perpetrated upon him in the forest, so far from being a matter of shame or concealment, was paraded as a cause for open boast and triumph. tom rode about with his arm in a sling as a wounded hero, and received touching testimonials and demonstrations from sundry ladies of his acquaintance for his gallantry and spirit. when on the present occasion he found the pursuit of his slaves hopeless, his wrath and malice knew no bounds, and he determined to stir up and enkindle against clayton to the utmost degree the animosities of the planters around his estate of magnolia grove. this it was not difficult to do. we have already shown how much latent discontent and heart-burning had been excited by the course which clayton and his sister had pursued on their estate. tom gordon had a college acquaintance with the eldest son of one of the neighboring families, a young man of as reckless and dissipated habits as his own. hearing, therefore, that clayton had retired to magnolia grove, he accepted an invitation of this young man to make him a visit, principally, as it would appear, for the purpose of instigating some mischief. chapter lv. lynch law again. the reader next beholds clayton at magnolia grove, whither he had fled to recruit his exhausted health and spirits. he had been accompanied there by frank russel. our readers may often have observed how long habits of intimacy may survive between two persons who have embarked in moral courses, which, if pursued, must eventually separate them forever. for such is the force of moral elements, that the ambitious and self-seeking cannot _always_ walk with those who love good for its own sake. in this world, however, where all these things are imperfectly developed, habits of intimacy often subsist a long time between the most opposing affinities. the fact was that russel would not give up the society of clayton. he admired the very thing in him which he wanted himself; and he comforted himself for not listening to his admonitions by the tolerance and good-nature with which he had always heard them. when he heard that he was ill, he came to him and insisted upon travelling with him, attending him with the utmost fidelity and kindness. clayton had not seen anne before since his affliction--both because his time had been very much engaged, and because they who cannot speak of their sorrows often shrink from the society of those whose habits of intimacy and affection might lead them to desire such confidence. but he was not destined in his new retreat to find the peace he desired. our readers may remember that there were intimations conveyed through his sister some time since of discontent arising in the neighborhood. the presence of tom gordon soon began to make itself felt. as a conductor introduced into an electric atmosphere will draw to itself the fluid, so he became an organizing point for the prevailing dissatisfaction. he went to dinner-parties and talked; he wrote in the nearest paper; he excited the inflammable and inconsiderate; and, before he had been there many weeks, a vigilance association was formed among the younger and more hot-headed of his associates, to search out and extirpate covert abolitionism. anne and her brother first became sensible of an entire cessation of all those neighborly acts of kindness and hospitality, in which southern people, when in a good humor, are so abundant. at last, one day clayton was informed that three or four gentlemen of his acquaintance were wishing to see him in the parlor below. on descending, he was received first by his nearest neighbor, judge oliver, a fine-looking elderly gentleman, of influential family connection. he was attended by mr. bradshaw, whom we have already introduced to our readers, and by a mr. knapp, who was a very wealthy planter, a man of great energy and ability, who had for some years figured as the representative of his native state in congress. it was evident, by the embarrassed air of the party, that they had come on business of no pleasing character. it is not easy for persons, however much excited they may be, to enter at once upon offensive communications to persons who receive them with calm and gentlemanly civility; therefore, after being seated, and having discussed the ordinary topics of the weather and the crops, the party looked one upon another, in a little uncertainty which should begin the real business of the interview. "mr. clayton," at length said judge oliver, "we are really sorry to be obliged to make disagreeable communications to you. we have all of us had the sincerest respect for your family and for yourself. i have known and honored your father many years, mr. clayton; and, for my own part, i must say i anticipated much pleasure from your residence in our neighborhood. i am really concerned to be obliged to say anything unpleasant; but i am under the necessity of telling you that the course you have been pursuing with regard to your servants, being contrary to the laws and usages of our social institutions, can no longer be permitted among us. you are aware that the teaching of slaves to read and write is forbidden by the law, under severe penalties. we have always been liberal in the interpretation of this law. exceptional violations, conducted with privacy and discretion, in the case of favored servants, whose general good conduct seems to merit such confidence, have from time to time existed, and passed among us without notice or opposition; but the institution of a regular system of instruction, to the extent and degree which exists upon your plantation, is a thing so directly in the face of the law, that we can no longer tolerate it; and we have determined, unless this course is dropped, to take measures to put the law into execution." "i had paid my adopted state the compliment," said clayton, "to suppose such laws to be a mere relic of barbarous ages, which the practical christianity of our times would treat as a dead letter. i began my arrangements in all good faith, not dreaming that there could be found those who would oppose a course so evidently called for by the spirit of the gospel, and the spirit of the age." "you are entirely mistaken, sir," said mr. knapp, in a tone of great decision, "if you suppose these laws are, or can ever be, a matter of indifference to us, or can be suffered to become a dead letter. sir, they are founded in the very nature of our institutions. they are indispensable to the preservation of our property, and the safety of our families. once educate the negro population, and the whole system of our domestic institutions is at an end. our negroes have acquired already, by living among us, a degree of sagacity and intelligence which makes it difficult to hold an even rein over them; and, once open the flood-gates of education, and there is no saying where they and we might be carried. i, for my part, do not approve of these exceptional instances judge oliver mentioned. generally speaking, those negroes whose intelligence and good conduct would make them the natural recipients of such favors are precisely the ones who ought not to be trusted with them. it ruins them. why, just look at the history of the insurrection that very nearly cut off the whole city of charleston: what sort of men were those who got it up? they were just your steady, thoughtful, well-conducted men,--just the kind of men that people are teaching to read, because they think they are so good it can do no harm. sir, my father was one of the magistrates on the trial of those men, and i have heard him say often there was not one man of bad character among them. they had all been _remarkable_ for their good character. why, there was that denmark vesey, who was the head of it: for twenty years he served his master, and was the most faithful creature that ever breathed; and after he got his liberty, everybody respected him, and liked him. why, at first, my father said the magistrates could not be brought to arrest him, they were so sure that he could not have been engaged in such an affair. now, all the leaders in that affair could read and write. they kept their lists of names; and nobody knows, or ever will know, how many were down on them, for those fellows were deep as the grave, and you could not get a word out of them. sir, they died and made no sign; but all this is a warning to us." "and do you think," said clayton, "that if men of that degree of energy and intelligence are refused instruction, they will not find means to get knowledge for themselves? and if they do get it themselves, in spite of your precautions, they will assuredly use it against you. "the fact is, gentlemen, it is inevitable that a certain degree of culture must come from their intercourse with us, and minds of a certain class _will_ be stimulated to desire more; and all the barriers we put up will only serve to inflame curiosity, and will make them feel a perfect liberty to use the knowledge they conquer from us against us. in my opinion, the only sure defence against insurrection is systematic education, by which we shall acquire that influence over their minds which our superior cultivation will enable us to hold. then, as fast as they become fitted to enjoy rights, we must grant them." "not we, indeed!" said mr. knapp, striking his cane upon the floor. "we are not going to lay down our power in that way. we will not allow any such beginning. we must hold them down firmly and consistently. for my part, i dislike even the system of oral religious instruction. it starts their minds, and leads them to want something more. it's indiscreet, and i always said so. as for teaching them out of the bible,--why, the bible is the most exciting book that ever was put together! it always starts up the mind, and it's unsafe." "don't you see," said clayton, "what an admission you are making? what sort of a system must this be, that requires such a course to sustain it?" "i can't help that," said mr. knapp. "there's millions and millions invested in it, and we can't afford to risk such an amount of property for mere abstract speculation. the system is as good as forty other systems that have prevailed, and will prevail. we can't take the frame-work of society to pieces. we must proceed with things as they are. and now, mr. clayton, another thing i have to say to you," said he, looking excited, and getting up and walking the floor. "it has been discovered that you receive incendiary documents through the post-office; and this cannot be permitted, sir." the color flushed into clayton's face, and his eye kindled as he braced himself in his chair. "by what right," he said, "does any one pry into what i receive through the post-office? am i not a free man?" "no, sir, you are not," said mr. knapp,--"not free to receive that which may imperil a whole neighborhood. you are not free to store barrels of gunpowder on your premises, when they may blow up ours. sir, we are obliged to hold the mail under supervision in this state; and suspected persons will not be allowed to receive communications without oversight. don't you remember that the general post-office was broken open in charleston, and all the abolition documents taken out of the mail-bags and consumed, and a general meeting of all the most respectable citizens, headed by the clergy in their robes of office, solemnly confirmed the deed?" "i think, mr. knapp," said judge oliver, interposing in a milder tone, "that your excitement is carrying you further than you are aware. i should rather hope that mr. clayton would perceive the reasonableness of our demand, and of himself forego the taking of these incendiary documents." "i take no incendiary documents," said clayton, warmly. "it is true i take an anti-slavery paper, edited at washington, in which the subject is fairly and coolly discussed. i hold it no more than every man's duty to see both sides of a question." "well, there, now," said mr. knapp, "you see the disadvantage of having your slaves taught to read. if they could not read your papers, it would be no matter what you took; but to have them get to reasoning on these subjects, and spread their reasonings through our plantations,--why, there'll be the devil to pay, at once." "you must be sensible," said judge oliver, "that there must be some individual rights which we resign for the public good. i have looked over the paper you speak of, and i acknowledge it seems to me very fair; but, then, in our peculiar and critical position, it might prove dangerous to have such reading about my house, and i never have it." "in that case," said clayton, "i wonder you don't suppress your own newspapers; for as long as there is a congressional discussion, or a fourth of july oration, or senatorial speech in them, so long they are full of incendiary excitement. our history is full of it, our state bills of rights are full of it, the lives of our fathers are full of it; we must suppress our whole literature, if we would avoid it." "now, don't you see," said mr. knapp, "you have stated just so many reasons why slaves must not learn to read?" "to be sure i do," said clayton, "if they are always to remain slaves, if we are never to have any views of emancipation for them." "well, they _are_ to remain slaves," said mr. knapp, speaking with excitement. "their condition is a finality; we will not allow the subject of emancipation to be discussed, even." "then, god have mercy on you!" said clayton, solemnly; "for it is my firm belief that, in resisting the progress of human freedom, you will be found fighting against god." "it isn't the cause of human freedom," said mr. knapp, hastily. "they are not human; they are an inferior race, made expressly for subjection and servitude. the bible teaches this plainly." "why don't you teach them to read it, then?" said clayton, coolly. "the long and the short of the matter is, mr. clayton," said mr. knapp, walking nervously up and down the room, "you'll find this is not a matter to be trifled with. we come, as your friends, to warn you; and, if you don't listen to our warnings, we shall not hold ourselves responsible for what may follow. you ought to have some consideration for your sister, if not for yourself." "i confess," said clayton, "i had done the chivalry of south carolina the honor to think that a lady could have nothing to fear." "it is so generally," said judge oliver, "but on this subject there is such a dreadful excitability in the public mind, that we cannot control it. you remember, when the commissioner was sent by the legislature of massachusetts to charleston, he came with his daughter, a very cultivated and elegant young lady; but the mob was rising, and we could not control it, and we had to go and beg them to leave the city. i, for one, wouldn't have been at all answerable for the consequences, if they had remained." "i must confess, judge oliver," said clayton, "that i have been surprised, this morning, to hear south carolinians palliating two such events in your history, resulting from mob violence, as the breaking open of the post-office, and the insult to the representative of a sister state, who came in the most peaceable and friendly spirit, and to womanhood in the person of an accomplished lady. is this hydra-headed monster, the mob, to be our governor?" "oh, it is only upon this subject," said all three of the gentlemen, at once; "this subject is exceptional." "and do you think," said clayton, "that 'you can set the land on fire, to burn just so high, and no higher?' "you may depend upon it you will find that you cannot. the mob that you smile on and encourage when it does work that suits you, will one day prove itself your master in a manner that you will not like." "well, now, mr. clayton," said mr. bradshaw, who had not hitherto spoken, "you see this is a very disagreeable subject; but the fact is, we came in a friendly way to you. we all appreciate, personally, the merits of your character, and the excellence of your motives; but, really sir, there is an excitement rising, there is a state of the public mind which is getting every day more and more inflammable. i talked with miss anne on this subject, some months ago, and expressed my feelings very fully; and now, if you will only give us a pledge that you will pursue a different course, we shall have something to take hold of to quiet the popular mind. if you will just write and stop your paper for the present, and let it be understood that your plantation system is to be stopped, the thing will gradually cool itself off." "gentlemen," said clayton, "you are asking a very serious thing from me, and one which requires reflection. if i am violating the direct laws of the state, and these laws are to be considered as still in vital force, there is certainly some question with regard to my course; but still i have responsibilities for the moral and religious improvement of those under my care, which are equally binding. i see no course but removal from the state." "of course, we should be sorry," said judge oliver, "you should be obliged to do that; still we trust you will see the necessity, and our motives." "necessity is the tyrant's plea, i believe," said clayton, smiling. "at all events, it is a strong one," replied judge oliver, smiling also. "but i am glad we have had this conversation; i think it will enable me to pacify the minds of some of our hot-headed young neighbors, and prevent threatened mischief." after a little general conversation, the party separated on apparently friendly terms, and clayton went to seek counsel with his sister and frank russel. anne was indignant with that straight-out and generous indignation which belongs to women, who, generally speaking, are ready to follow their principles to any result with more inconsiderate fearlessness than men. she had none of the anxieties for herself which clayton had for her. having once been witness of the brutalities of a slave-mob, clayton could not, without a shudder, connect any such possibilities with his sister. "i think," said anne, "we had better give up this miserable sham of a free government, of freedom of speech, freedom of conscience, and all that, if things must go on in this way." "oh," said frank russel, "the fact is that our republic, in these states, is, like that of venice; it's not a democracy, but an oligarchy, and the mob is its standing army. we are, all of us, under the 'council of ten', which has its eyes everywhere. we are free enough as long as our actions please them; when they don't, we shall find their noose around our necks. it's very edifying, certainly, to have these gentlemen call on you to tell you that they will not be answerable for consequences of excitement which they are all the time stirring up; for, after all, who cares what you do, if they don't? the large proprietors are the ones interested. the rabble are their hands, and this warning about popular excitement just means, 'sir, if you don't take care, i shall let out my dogs, and then i won't be answerable for consequences.'" "and you call this liberty!" said anne, indignantly. "oh, well," said russel, "this is a world of humbugs. we call it liberty because it's an agreeable name. after all, what is liberty, that people make such a breeze about? we are all slaves to one thing or another. nobody is absolutely free except robinson crusoe, in the desolate island; and he tears all his shirts to pieces and hangs them up as signals of distress, that he may get back into slavery again." "for all that," said anne, warming, "i know there is such a thing as liberty. all that nobleness and enthusiasm which has animated people in all ages for liberty cannot be in vain. who does not thrill at those words of the marsellaise:-- 'o liberty, can men resign thee, once having felt thy generous flame? can dungeons, bolts, or bars, confine thee, or whips thy noble spirit tame?'" "these are certainly agreeable myths," said russel, "but these things will not bear any close looking into. liberty has generally meant the liberty of me and my nation and my class to do what we please; which is a very pleasant thing, certainly, to those who are on the upper side of the wheel, and probably involving much that's disagreeable to those who are under." "that is a heartless, unbelieving way of talking," said anne, with tears in her eyes. "i know there have been some right true, noble souls, in whom the love of liberty has meant the love of right, and the desire that every human brother should have what rightly belongs to him. it is not _my_ liberty, nor _our_ liberty, but the _principle_ of liberty itself, that they strove for." "such a principle, carried out logically, would make smashing work in this world," said russell. "in this sense, where is there a free government on earth? what nation ever does or ever did respect the right of the weaker, or ever will, till the millennium comes?--and that's too far off to be of much use in practical calculations; so don't let's break our hearts about a name. for my part, i am more concerned about these implied threats. as i said before, 'the hand of joab is in this thing.' tom gordon is visiting in this neighborhood, and you may depend upon it that this, in some way, comes from him. he is a perfectly reckless fellow, and i am afraid of some act of violence. if he should bring up a mob, whatever they do, there will be no redress for you. these respectable gentlemen, your best friends, will fold their hands, and say, 'ah, poor fellow! we told him so!' while others will put their hands complacently in their pockets, and say, 'served him right!'" "i think," said clayton, "there will be no immediate violence. i understood that they pledged as much when they departed." "if tom gordon is in the camp," said russel, "they may find that they have reckoned without their host in promising that. there are two or three young fellows in this vicinity, who, with his energy to direct them, are reckless enough for anything; and there is always an abundance of excitable rabble to be got for a drink of whiskey." the event proved that russel was right. anne's bedroom was in the back part of the cottage, opposite the little grove where stood her school-room. she was awakened, about one o'clock that night, by a broad, ruddy glare of light, which caused her at first to start from her bed, with the impression that the house was on fire. at the same instant she perceived that the air was full of barbarous and dissonant sounds, such as the beating of tin pans, the braying of horns, and shouts of savage merriment, intermingled with slang oaths and curses. in a moment, recovering herself, she perceived that it was her school-house which was in a blaze, crisping and shrivelling the foliage of the beautiful trees by which it was surrounded, and filling the air with a lurid light. she hastily dressed, and in a few moments clayton and russel knocked at the door. both were looking very pale. "don't be alarmed," said clayton, putting his arm around her with that manner which shows that there is everything to fear; "i am going out to speak to them." "indeed you are going to do no such thing," said frank russel, decidedly. "this is no time for any extra displays of heroism. these men are insane with whiskey and excitement. they have probably been especially inflamed against you, and your presence would irritate them still more. let me go out: i understand the _ignobile vulgus_ better than you do; besides which, providentially, i haven't any conscience to prevent my saying and doing what is necessary for an emergency. you shall see me lead off this whole yelling pack at my heels in triumph. and now, clayton, you take care of anne, like a good fellow, till i come back, which may be about four or five o'clock to-morrow morning. i shall toll all these fellows down to muggins', and leave them so drunk they cannot stand for one three hours." so saying, frank proceeded hastily to disguise himself in a shaggy old great-coat, and to tie around his throat a red bandanna silk handkerchief, with a very fiery and dashing tie, and surmounting these equipments by an old hat which had belonged to one of the servants, he stole out of the front door, and, passing around through the shrubbery, was very soon lost in the throng who surrounded the burning building. he soon satisfied himself that tom gordon was not personally among them,--that they consisted entirely of the lower class of whites. "so far, so good," he said to himself, and, springing on to the stump of a tree, he commenced a speech in that peculiar slang dialect which was vernacular with them, and of which he perfectly well understood the use. with his quick and ready talent for drollery, he soon had them around him in paroxysms of laughter; and, complimenting their bravery, flattering and cajoling their vanity, he soon got them completely in his power, and they assented, with a triumphant shout, to the proposition that they should go down and celebrate their victory at muggins' grocery, a low haunt about a mile distant, whither, as he predicted, they all followed him. and he was as good as his word in not leaving them till all were so completely under the power of liquor as to be incapable of mischief for the time being. about nine o'clock the next day he returned, finding clayton and anne seated together at breakfast. "now, clayton," he said, seating himself, "i am going to talk to you in good, solemn earnest, for once. the fact is, you are checkmated. your plans for gradual emancipation, or reform, or anything tending in that direction, are utterly hopeless; and, if you want to pursue them with your own people, you must either send them to liberia, or to the northern states. there was a time, fifty years ago, when such things were contemplated with some degree of sincerity by all the leading minds at the south. that time is over. from the very day that they began to open new territories to slavery, the value of this kind of property mounted up, so as to make emancipation a moral impossibility. it _is_, as they told you, a _finality_; and don't you see how they make everything in the union bend to it? why these men are only about three tenths of the population of our southern states, and yet the other seven tenths virtually have no existence. all they do is to vote as they are told--as they know they must, being too ignorant to know any better. "the mouth of the north is stuffed with cotton, and will be kept full as long as it suits us. good, easy gentlemen, they are so satisfied with their pillows, and other accommodations inside of the car, that they don't trouble themselves to reflect that we are the engineers, nor to ask where we are going. and, when any one does wake up and pipe out in melancholy inquiry, we slam the door in his face, and tell him 'mind your own business, sir,' and he leans back on his cotton pillow, and goes to sleep again, only whimpering a little, that 'we might be more polite.' "they have their fanatics up there. we don't trouble ourselves to put them down; we make them do it. they get up mobs on our account, to hoot troublesome ministers and editors out of their cities; and their men that they send to congress invariably do all our dirty work. there's now and then an exception, it is true; but they only prove the rule. "if there was any public sentiment at the north for you reformers to fall back upon, you might, in spite of your difficulties, do something; but there is not. they are all implicated with us, except the class of born fanatics, like you, who are walking in that very unfashionable narrow way we've heard of." "well," said anne, "let us go out of the state, then. i will go anywhere; but i will not stop the work that i have begun." chapter lvi. flight. the party of fugitives, which started for the north, was divided into two bands. harry, lisette, tiff, and his two children, assumed the character of a family, of whom harry took the part of father, lisette the nurse, and tiff the man-servant. the money which clayton had given them enabling them to furnish a respectable outfit, they found no difficulty in taking passage under this character, at norfolk, on board a small coasting-vessel bound to new york. never had harry known a moment so full of joyous security as that which found him out at sea in a white-winged vessel, flying with all speed toward the distant port of safety. before they neared the coast of new york, however, there was a change in their prospects. the blue sky became darkened, and the sea, before treacherously smooth, began to rise in furious waves. the little vessel was tossed baffling about by contrary and tumultuous winds. when she began to pitch and roll, in all the violence of a decided storm, lisette and the children cried for fear. old tiff exerted himself for their comfort to the best of his ability. seated on the cabin-floor, with his feet firmly braced, he would hold the children in his arms, and remind them of what miss nina had read to them of the storm that came down on the lake of gennesareth, and how jesus was in the hinder part of the boat, asleep on a pillow. "and he's dar yet," tiff would say. "i wish they'd wake him up, then," said teddy, disconsolately; "i don't like this dreadful noise! what does he let it be so for?" before the close of that day the fury of the storm increased; the horrors of the night can only be told by those who have felt the like. the plunging of the vessel, the creaking and straining of the timbers, the hollow and sepulchral sound of waves striking against the hull, and the shiver with which, like a living creature, she seemed to tremble at every shock, were things frightful even to the experienced sailor; much more so to our trembling refugees. the morning dawned only to show the sailors their bark drifting helplessly toward a fatal shore, whose name is a sound of evil omen to seamen. it was not long before the final crash came, and the ship was wedged among rugged rocks, washed over every moment by the fury of the waves. all hands came now on deck for the last chance of life. one boat after another was attempted to be launched, but was swamped by the furious waters. when the last boat was essayed, there was a general rush of all on board. it was the last chance for life. in such hours the instinctive fear of death often overbears every other consideration; and the boat was rapidly filled by the hands of the ship, who, being strongest and most accustomed to such situations, were more able to effect this than the passengers. the captain alone remained standing on the wreck, and with him harry, lisette, tiff, and the children. "pass along," said the captain, hastily pressing lisette on board, simply because she was the first that came to hand. "for de good lord's sake," said tiff, "put de chil'en on board; dere won't be no room for me, and 'tan't no matter! you go 'board and take care of 'em," he said, pushing harry along. harry mechanically sprang into the boat, and the captain after him. the boat was full. "oh, do take poor tiff--do!" said the children, stretching their hands after their old friend. "clear away, boys,--the boat's full!" shouted a dozen voices; and the boat parted from the wreck, and sunk in eddies and whirls of boiling waves, foam, and spray, and went, rising and sinking, onward driven toward the shore. a few, looking backwards, saw a mighty green wave come roaring and shaking its crested head, lift the hull as if it had been an egg-shell, then dash it in fragments upon the rocks. this was all they knew, till they were themselves cast, wet and dripping, but still living, upon the sands. a crowd of people were gathered upon the shore, who, with the natural kindness of humanity on such occasions, gathered the drenched and sea-beaten wanderers into neighboring cottages, where food and fire, and changes of dry clothing, awaited them. the children excited universal sympathy and attention, and so many mothers of the neighborhood came bringing offerings of clothing, that their lost wardrobe was soon very tolerably replaced. but nothing could comfort them for the loss of their old friend. in vain the "little dears" were tempted with offers of cake and custard, and every imaginable eatable. they sat with their arms around each other, quietly weeping. no matter how unsightly the casket may be which holds all the love there is on earth for us, be that love lodged in the heart of the poorest and most uneducated, the whole world can offer no exchange for the loss of it. tiff's devotion to these children had been so constant, so provident, so absolute, that it did not seem to them possible they could live a day without him; and the desolation of their lot seemed to grow upon them every hour. nothing would restrain them. they would go out and look up and down, if, perhaps, they might meet him; but they searched in vain. and harry, who had attended them, led them back again, disconsolate. "i say, fanny," said teddy, after they had said their prayers, and lain down in their little bed, "has tiff gone to heaven?" "certainly he has," said fanny, "if ever anybody went there." "won't he come and bring us pretty soon?" said teddy. "he won't want to be there without us, will he?" "oh, i don't know," said fanny. "i wish we could go; the world is so lonesome!" and, thus talking, the children fell asleep. but it is written in an ancient record, "weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning;" and, verily, the next morning teddy started up in bed, and awakened his sister with a cry of joy. "oh, fanny! fanny! tiff isn't dead! i heard him laughing." fanny started up, and, sure enough, there came through the partition which separated their little sleeping-room from the kitchen a sound very much like tiff's old, unctuous laugh. one would have thought no other pair of lungs could have rolled out the jolly ho, ho, ho, with such a joyous fulness of intonation. the children hastily put on their clothes, and opened the door. "why, bress de lord! poppets, here dey is, sure 'nough! ho! ho! ho!" said tiff, stretching out his arms, while both the children ran and hung upon him. "oh, tiff, we are so glad! oh, we thought you was drowned; we've been thinking so all night." "no, no, no, bress de lord! you don't get shet of ole tiff dat ar way! won't get shet of him till ye's fetched up and able to do for yerselves." "oh, tiff, how did you get away?" "laws! why, chil'ens, 'twas a very strait way. i told de lord 'bout it. says i, 'good lord, you knows i don't care nothing 'bout it on my own 'count; but 'pears like dese chil'en is so young and tender, i couldn't leave dem, no way;' and so i axed him if he wouldn't jest please to help me, 'cause i knowed he had de power of de winds and de sea. well, sure 'nough, dat ar big wave toted me clar up right on de sho'; but it tuk my breff and my senses so i didn't farly know whar i was. and de peoples dat foun' me took me a good bit 'way to a house down here, and dey was 'mazing good to me, and rubbed me wid de hot flannels, and giv me one ting and anoder, so't i woke up quite peart dis mornin', and came out to look up my poppets; 'cause, yer see, it was kinder borne in on my mind dat i should find you. and now yer see, chil'en, you mark my words, de lord been wid us in six troubles, and in seven, and he'll bring us to good luck yet. tell ye, de sea han't washed dat ar out o' me, for all its banging and bruising." and tiff chuckled in the fulness of his heart, and made a joyful noise. his words were so far accomplished that, before many days, the little party, rested and refreshed, and with the losses of their wardrobe made up by friendly contributions, found themselves under the roof of some benevolent friends in new york. thither, in due time, the other detachment of their party arrived, which had come forward under the guidance of hannibal, by ways and means which, as they may be wanted for others in like circumstances, we shall not further particularize. harry, by the kind patronage of friends, soon obtained employment, which placed him and his wife in a situation of comfort. milly and her grandson, and old tiff and his children, were enabled to hire a humble tenement together; and she, finding employment as a pastry-cook in a confectioner's establishment, was able to provide a very comfortable support, while tiff presided in the housekeeping department. after a year or two an event occurred of so romantic a nature, that, had we not ascertained it as a positive fact, we should hesitate to insert it in our veracious narrative. fanny's mother had an aunt in the peyton family, a maiden lady of very singular character, who, by habits of great penuriousness, had amassed a large fortune, apparently for no other purpose than that it should, some day, fall into the hands of somebody who would know how to enjoy it. having quarrelled, shortly before her death, with all her other relatives, she cast about in her mind for ways and means to revenge herself on them, by placing her property out of their disposal. she accordingly made a will, bequeathing it to the heirs of her niece susan, if any such heirs existed; and if not, the property was to go to an orphan asylum. by chance, the lawyer's letter of inquiry was addressed to clayton, who immediately took the necessary measures to identify the children, and put them in possession of the property. tiff now was glorious. "he always knowed it," he said, "dat miss sue's chil'en would come to luck, and dat de lord would open a door for them, and he had." fanny, who was now a well-grown girl of twelve years, chose clayton as her guardian; and, by his care, she was placed at one of the best new england schools, where her mind and her person developed rapidly. her brother was placed at school in the same town. as for clayton, after some inquiry and consideration, he bought a large and valuable tract of land in that portion of canada where the climate is least severe, and the land the most valuable for culture. to this place he removed his slaves, and formed there a township, which is now one of the richest and finest in the region. here he built for himself a beautiful residence, where he and his sister live happily together, finding their enjoyment in the improvement of those by whom they are surrounded. it is a striking comment on the success of clayton's enterprise, that the neighboring white settlers, who at first looked coldly upon him, fearing he would be the means of introducing a thriftless population among them, have been entirely won over, and that the value of the improvements which clayton and his tenants have made has nearly doubled the price of real estate in the vicinity. so high a character have his schools borne, that the white settlers in the vicinity have discontinued their own, preferring to have their children enjoy the advantages of those under his and his sister's patronage and care.[ ] harry is one of the head men of the settlement, and is rapidly acquiring property and consideration in the community. a large farm, waving with some acres of fine wheat, with its fences and out-houses in excellent condition, marks the energy and thrift of hannibal, who, instead of slaying men, is great in felling trees and clearing forests. he finds time, winter evenings, to read, with "none to molest or make afraid." his oldest son is construing cæsar's _commentaries_ at school, and often reads his lesson of an evening to his delighted father, who willingly resigns the palm of scholarship into his hands. as to our merry friend jim, he is the life of the settlement. liberty, it is true, has made him a little more sober; and a very energetic and capable wife, soberer still; but yet jim has enough and to spare of drollery, which makes him an indispensable requisite in all social gatherings. he works on his farm with energy, and repels with indignation any suggestion that he was happier in the old times, when he had abundance of money, and very little to do. one suggestion more we almost hesitate to make, lest it should give rise to unfounded reports; but we are obliged to speak the truth. anne clayton, on a visit to a friend's family in new hampshire, met with livy ray, of whom she had heard nina speak so much, and very naturally the two ladies fell into a most intimate friendship; visits were exchanged between them, and clayton, on first introduction, discovered the lady he had met in the prison in alexandria. the most intimate friendship exists between the three, and, of course, in such cases reports will arise; but we assure our readers we have never heard of any authentic foundation for them; so that, in this matter, we can clearly leave every one to predict a result according to their own fancies. we have now two sketches, with which the scenery of our book must close. footnote: [ ] these statements are all true of the elgin settlement, founded by mr. king, a gentleman who removed and settled his slaves in the south of canada. chapter lvii. clear shining after rain. clayton had occasion to visit new york on business. he never went without carrying some token of remembrance from the friends in his settlement to milly, now indeed far advanced in years, while yet, in the expressive words of scripture, "her eye was not dim, nor her natural force abated." he found her in a neat little tenement in one of the outer streets of new york, surrounded by about a dozen children, among whom were blacks, whites, and foreigners. these she had rescued from utter destitution in the streets, and was giving to them all the attention and affection of a mother. "why, bless you, sir," she said to him, pleasantly, as he opened the door, "it's good to see you once more! how is miss anne?" "very well, milly. she sent you this little packet; and you will find something from harry and lisette, and all the rest of your friends in our settlement.--ah! are these all your children, milly?" "yes, honey; mine and de lord's. dis yer's my second dozen. de fust is all in good places, and doing well. i keeps my eye on 'em, and goes round to see after 'em a little, now and then." "and how is tomtit?" "oh, tomtit's doing beautiful, thank 'e, sir. he's 'come a christian, and jined the church; and they has him to wait and tend at the anti-slavery office, and he does _well_." "i see you have black and white here," said clayton, glancing around the circle. "laws, yes," said milly, looking complacently around; "i don't make no distinctions of color,--i don't believe in them. white chil'en, when they 'haves themselves, is jest as good as black, and i loves 'em jest as well." "don't you sometimes think it a little hard you should have to work so in your old age?" "why, bress you, honey, no! i takes comfort of my money as i goes along. dere's a heap in me yet," she said, laughing. "i's hoping to get dis yer batch put out and take in anoder afore i die. you see," she said, "dis yer's de way i took to get my heart whole. i found it was getting so sore for my chil'en i'd had took from me, 'pears like the older i grow'd the more i thought about 'em; but long's i keeps doing for chil'en it kinder eases it. i calls 'em all mine; so i's got good many chil'en now." we will inform our reader, in passing, that milly, in the course of her life, on the humble wages of a laboring woman, took from the streets, brought up, and placed in reputable situations, no less than _forty_ destitute children.[ ] when clayton returned to boston, he received a note written in a graceful female hand, from fanny, expressing her gratitude for his kindness to her and her brother, and begging that he would come and spend a day with them at their cottage in the vicinity of the city. accordingly, eight o'clock the next morning found him whirling in the cars through green fields and pleasant meadows, garlanded with flowers and draped with bending elms, to one of those peaceful villages which lie like pearls on the bosom of our fair old mother, massachusetts. stopping at ---- station, he inquired his way up to a little eminence which commanded a view of one of those charming lakes which open their blue eyes everywhere through the new england landscape. here, embowered in blossoming trees, stood a little gothic cottage, a perfect gem of rural irregularity and fanciful beauty. a porch in the front of it was supported on pillars of cedar, with the rough bark still on, around which were trained multitudes of climbing roses, now in full flower. from the porch a rustic bridge led across a little ravine into a summer-house, which was built like a nest into the branches of a great oak which grew up from the hollow below the knoll on which the house stood. a light form, dressed in a pretty white wrapper, came fluttering across the bridge, as clayton ascended the steps of the porch. perhaps our readers may recognize in the smoothly-parted brown hair, the large blue eyes, and the bashful earnestness of the face, our sometime little friend fanny; if they do not, we think they'll be familiar with the cheery "ho, ho, ho," which comes from the porch, as our old friend tiff, dressed in a respectable suit of black, comes bowing forward. "bress de lord, mas'r clayton,--it's good for de eyes to look at you! so, you's come to see miss fanny, now she's come to her property, and has got de place she ought for to have. ah, ah!--old tiff allers know'd it! he seed it--he know'd de lord would bring her out right, and he did. ho! ho! ho!" "yes," said fanny, "and i sometimes think i don't enjoy it half as well as uncle tiff. i'm sure he ought to have some comfort of us, for he worked hard enough for us--didn't you, uncle tiff?" "work! bress your soul, didn't i?" said tiff, giggling all over in cheerful undulations. "reckon i has worked, though i doesn't have much of it to do now; but i sees good of my work now'days,--does so. mas'r teddy, he's grow'd up tall, han'some young gen'leman, and he's in college,--only tink of dat! laws! he can make de latin fly! dis yer's pretty good country, too. dere's families round here dat's e'enamost up to old virginny; and she goes with de best on 'em--dat she does." fanny now led clayton into the house, and, while she tripped up stairs to change her morning dress, tiff busied himself in arranging cake and fruit on a silver salver, as an apology for remaining in the room. he seemed to consider the interval as an appropriate one for making some confidential communications on a subject that lay very near his heart. so, after looking out of the door with an air of great mystery, to ascertain that miss fanny was really gone, he returned to clayton, and touched him on the elbow with an air of infinite secrecy and precaution. "dis yer an't to be spoken of out loud," he said. "i's ben mighty anxious; but, bress de lord, i's come safely through; 'cause, yer see, i's found out he's a right likely man, beside being one of de very fustest old families in de state; and dese yer old families here 'bout as good as dey was in virginny; and, when all's said and done, it's de men dat's de ting, after all; 'cause a gal can't marry all de generations back, if dey's ever so nice. but he's one of your likeliest men." "what's his name?" "russel," said tiff, lifting up his hand apprehensively to his mouth, and shouting out the name in a loud whisper. "i reckon he'll be here to-day, 'cause mas'r teddy's coming home, and going to bring him wid him; so please, mas'r clayton, you won't notice nothing; 'cause miss fanny she's jest like her ma,--she'll turn red clar up to her har, if a body only looks at her. see here," said tiff, fumbling in his pocket, and producing a spectacle-case, out of which he extracted a portentous pair of gold-mounted spectacles; "see what he give me, de last time he's here. i puts dese yer on of a sundays, when i sets down to read my bible." "indeed," said clayton; "have you learned, then, to read?" "why, no, honey, i don'no as i can rightly say dat i's larn'd to read, 'cause i's 'mazing slow at dat ar; but, den, i's larn'd all de best words, like christ, lord, and god, and dem ar; and whar dey's pretty thick, i makes out quite comfortable." we shall not detain our readers with minute descriptions of how the day was spent: how teddy came home from college a tall, handsome fellow, and rattled over latin and greek sentences in tiff's delighted ears, who considered his learning as, without doubt, the eighth wonder of the world; nor how george russel came with him, a handsome senior, just graduated; nor how fanny blushed and trembled when she told her guardian her little secret, and, like other ladies, asked advice after she had made up her mind. nor shall we dilate on the yet brighter glories of the cottage three months after, when clayton, and anne, and livy ray, were all at the wedding, and tiff became three and four times blessed in this brilliant consummation of his hopes. the last time we saw him he was walking forth in magnificence, his gold spectacles set conspicuously astride of his nose, trundling a little wicker wagon, which cradled a fair, pearly little miss fanny, whom he informed all beholders was "de very sperit of de peytons." footnote: [ ] these circumstances are true of an old colored woman in new york, known by the name of aunt katy, who in her youth was a slave, and who is said to have established among these destitute children the first sunday-school in the city of new york. appendix i. nat turner's confessions. as an illustration of the character and views ascribed to dred, we make a few extracts from the confessions of nat turner, as published by t. r. gray, esq., of southampton, virginia, in november, . one of the principal conspirators in this affair was named dred. we will first give the certificate of the court, and a few sentences from mr. gray's introductory remarks, and then proceed with turner's own narrative. "we, the undersigned, members of the court convened at jerusalem, on saturday, the fifth day of november, , for the trial of nat, _alias_ nat turner, a negro slave, late the property of putnam moore, deceased, do hereby certify, that the confession of nat to thomas r. gray was read to him in our presence, and that nat acknowledged the same to be full, free, and voluntary; and that furthermore, when called upon by the presiding magistrate of the court to state if he had anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon him, replied he had nothing further than he had communicated to mr. gray. given under our hands and seals at jerusalem, this fifth day of november, . jeremiah cobb, (_seal._) james w. parker, (_seal._) samuel b. hines, (_seal._) thomas pretlow, (_seal._) carr bowers, (_seal._) orris a. browne, (_seal._)" "_state of virginia, southampton county_, to wit: "i, james rochelle, clerk of the county court of southampton in the state of virginia, do hereby certify, that jeremiah cobb, thomas pretlow, james w. parker, carr bowers, samuel b. hines, and orris a. browne, esqrs., are acting justices of the peace in and for the county aforesaid; and were members of the court which convened at jerusalem, on saturday, the fifth day of november, , for the trial of nat, _alias_ nat turner, a negro slave, late the property of putnam moore, deceased, who was tried and convicted, as an insurgent in the late insurrection in the county of southampton aforesaid, and that full faith and credit are due and ought to be given to their acts as justices of the peace aforesaid. (_seal._) in testimony whereof, i have hereunto set my hand, and caused the seal of the court aforesaid to be affixed, this fifth day of november, . james rochelle, c. s. c. c." "everything connected with this sad affair was wrapt in mystery, until nat turner, the leader of this ferocious band, whose name has resounded throughout our widely-extended empire, was captured. "since his confinement, by permission of the jailer, i have had ready access to him; and, finding that he was willing to make a full and free confession of the origin, progress, and consummation of the insurrectory movements of the slaves, of which he was the contriver and head, i determined, for the gratification of public curiosity, to commit his statements to writing, and publish them, with little or no variation, from his own words. "he was not only the contriver of the conspiracy, but gave the first blow towards its execution. "it will thus appear, that whilst everything upon the surface of society wore a calm and peaceful aspect, whilst not one note of preparation was heard to warn the devoted inhabitants of woe and death, a gloomy fanatic was revolving in the recesses of his own dark, bewildered, and overwrought mind, schemes of indiscriminate massacre to the whites. schemes too fearfully executed, as far as his fiendish band proceeded in their desolating march. no cry for mercy penetrated their flinty bosoms. no acts of remembered kindness made the least impression upon these remorseless murderers. men, women, and children, from hoary age to helpless infancy, were involved in the same cruel fate. never did a band of savages do their work of death more unsparingly. "nat has survived all his followers, and the gallows will speedily close his career. his own account of the conspiracy is submitted to the public, without comment. it reads an awful, and, it is hoped, a useful lesson, as to the operations of a mind like his, endeavoring to grapple with things beyond its reach. how it first became bewildered and confounded, and finally corrupted and led to the conception and perpetration of the most atrocious and heartrending deeds. "if nat's statements can be relied on, the insurrection in this county was entirely local, and his designs confided but to a few, and these in his immediate vicinity. it was not instigated by motives of revenge or sudden anger; but the result of long deliberation, and a settled purpose of mind--the offspring of gloomy fanaticism acting upon materials but too well prepared for such impressions." * * * * * * * * * "i was thirty-one years of age the second of october last, and born the property of benjamin turner, of this county. in my childhood a circumstance occurred which made an indelible impression on my mind, and laid the groundwork of that enthusiasm which has terminated so fatally to many, both white and black, and for which i am about to atone at the gallows. it is here necessary to relate this circumstance. trifling as it may seem, it was the commencement of that belief which has grown with time; and even now, sir, in this dungeon, helpless and forsaken as i am, i cannot divest myself of. being at play with other children, when three or four years old, i was telling them something, which my mother, overhearing, said it had happened before i was born. i stuck to my story, however, and related some things which went, in her opinion, to confirm it. others being called on, were greatly astonished, knowing that these things had happened, and caused them to say, in my hearing, i surely would be a prophet, as the lord had shown me things that had happened before my birth. and my father and mother strengthened me in this my first impression, saying, in my presence, i was intended for some great purpose, which they had always thought from certain marks on my head and breast. (a parcel of excrescences, which, i believe, are not at all uncommon, particularly among negroes, as i have seen several with the same. in this case he has either cut them off, or they have nearly disappeared.) "my grandmother, who was very religious, and to whom i was much attached--my master, who belonged to the church, and other religious persons who visited the house, and whom i often saw at prayers, noticing the singularity of my manners, i suppose, and my uncommon intelligence for a child, remarked i had too much sense to be raised, and, if i was, i would never be of any service to any one as a slave. to a mind like mine, restless, inquisitive, and observant of everything that was passing, it is easy to suppose that religion was the subject to which it would be directed; and, although this subject principally occupied my thoughts, there was nothing that i saw or heard of to which my attention was not directed. the manner in which i learned to read and write, not only had great influence on my own mind, as i acquired it with the most perfect ease--so much so, that i have no recollection whatever of learning the alphabet; but, to the astonishment of the family, one day, when a book was shown me, to keep me from crying, i began spelling the names of different objects. this was a source of wonder to all in the neighborhood, particularly the blacks--and this learning was constantly improved at all opportunities. when i got large enough to go to work, while employed i was reflecting on many things that would present themselves to my imagination; and whenever an opportunity occurred of looking at a book, when the school-children were getting their lessons, i would find many things that the fertility of my own imagination had depicted to me before. all my time, not devoted to my master's service, was spent either in prayer, or in making experiments in casting different things in moulds made of earth, in attempting to make paper, gunpowder, and many other experiments, that, although i could not perfect, yet convinced me of its practicability if i had the means.[ ] "i was not addicted to stealing in my youth, nor have ever been; yet such was the confidence of the negroes in the neighborhood, even at this early period of my life, in my superior judgment, that they would often carry me with them when they were going on any roguery, to plan for them. growing up among them with this confidence in my superior judgment, and when this, in their opinions, was perfected by divine inspiration, from the circumstances already alluded to in my infancy, and which belief was ever afterwards zealously inculcated by the austerity of my life and manners, which became the subject of remark by white and black; having soon discovered to be great, i must appear so, and therefore studiously avoided mixing in society, and wrapped myself in mystery, devoting my time to fasting and prayer. "by this time, having arrived to man's estate, and hearing the scriptures commented on at meetings, i was struck with that particular passage which says, 'seek ye the kingdom of heaven, and all things shall be added unto you.' i reflected much on this passage, and prayed daily for light on this subject. as i was praying one day at my plough, the spirit spoke to me, saying, 'seek ye the kingdom of heaven, and all things shall be added unto you.' _question._ 'what do you mean by the spirit?' _answer._ 'the spirit that spoke to the prophets in former days,'--and i was greatly astonished, and for two years prayed continually, whenever my duty would permit; and then again i had the same revelation, which fully confirmed me in the impression that i was ordained for some great purpose in the hands of the almighty. several years rolled round, in which many events occurred to strengthen me in this my belief. at this time i reverted in my mind to the remarks made of me in my childhood, and the things that had been shown me; and as it had been said of me in my childhood, by those by whom i had been taught to pray, both white and black, and in whom i had the greatest confidence, that i had too much sense to be raised, and if i was i would never be of any use to any one as a slave; now, finding i had arrived to man's estate, and was a slave, and these revelations being made known to me, i began to direct my attention to this great object, to fulfil the purpose for which, by this time, i felt assured i was intended. knowing the influence i had obtained over the minds of my fellow-servants--(not by the means of conjuring and such-like tricks--for to them i always spoke of such things with contempt), but by the communion of the spirit, whose revelations i often communicated to them, and they believed and said my wisdom came from god,--i now began to prepare them for my purpose, by telling them something was about to happen that would terminate in fulfilling the great promise that had been made to me. "about this time i was placed under an overseer, from whom i ran away and, after remaining in the woods thirty days, i returned, to the astonishment of the negroes on the plantation, who thought i had made my escape to some other part of the country, as my father had done before. but the reason of my return was, that the spirit appeared to me and said i had my wishes directed to the things of this world, and not to the kingdom of heaven, and that i should return to the service of my earthly master--'for he who knoweth his master's will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes, and thus have i chastened you.' and the negroes found fault, and murmured against me, saying that if they had my sense they would not serve any master in the world. and about this time i had a vision--and i saw white spirits and black spirits engaged in battle, and the sun was darkened--the thunder rolled in the heavens, and blood flowed in streams--and i heard a voice saying, 'such is your luck, such you are called to see; and let it come rough or smooth, you must surely bear it.' "i now withdrew myself as much as my situation would permit from the intercourse of my fellow-servants, for the avowed purpose of serving the spirit more fully; and it appeared to me, and reminded me of the things it had already shown me, and that it would then reveal to me the knowledge of the elements, the revolution of the planets, the operation of tides, and changes of the seasons. after this revelation in the year , and the knowledge of the elements being made known to me, i sought more than ever to obtain true holiness before the great day of judgment should appear, and then i began to receive the true knowledge of faith. and from the first steps of righteousness until the last, was i made perfect; and the holy ghost was with me, and said, 'behold me as i stand in the heavens.' and i looked and saw the forms of men in different attitudes; and there were lights in the sky, to which the children of darkness gave other names than what they really were; for they were the lights of the saviour's hands, stretched forth from east to west, even as they were extended on the cross on calvary for the redemption of sinners. and i wondered greatly at these miracles, and prayed to be informed of a certainty of the meaning thereof; and shortly afterwards, while laboring in the field, i discovered drops of blood on the corn, as though it were dew from heaven; and i communicated it to many, both white and black, in the neighborhood--and i then found on the leaves in the woods hieroglyphic characters and numbers, with the forms of men in different attitudes, portrayed in blood, and representing the figures i had seen before in the heavens. and now the holy ghost had revealed itself to me, and made plain the miracles it had shown me, for as the blood of christ had been shed on this earth, and had ascended to heaven for the salvation of sinners, and was now returning to earth again in the form of dew,--and as the leaves on the trees bore the impression of the figures i had seen in the heavens,--it was plain to me that the saviour was about to lay down the yoke he had borne for the sins of men, and the great day of judgment was at hand. "about this time i told these things to a white man (etheldred t. brantley), on whom it had a wonderful effect; and he ceased from his wickedness, and was attacked immediately with a cutaneous eruption, and blood oozed from the pores of his skin, and after praying and fasting nine days he was healed. and the spirit appeared to me again, and said, as the saviour had been baptized, so should we be also; and when the white people would not let us be baptized by the church, we went down into the water together, in the sight of many who reviled us, and were baptized by the spirit. after this i rejoiced greatly, and gave thanks to god. and on the th of may, , i heard a loud noise in the heavens, and the spirit instantly appeared to me and said the serpent was loosened, and christ had laid down the yoke he had borne for the sins of men, and that i should take it on and fight against the serpent, for the time was fast approaching when the first should be last and the last should be first. _ques._ 'do you not find yourself mistaken now?'--_ans._ 'was not christ crucified?' and by signs in the heavens that it would make known to me when i should commence the great work, and until the first sign appeared i should conceal it from the knowledge of men; and on the appearance of the sign (the eclipse of the sun, last february), i should arise and prepare myself, and slay my enemies with their own weapons. and immediately on the sign appearing in the heavens, the seal was removed from my lips, and i communicated the great work laid out for me to do to four in whom i had the greatest confidence (henry, hark, nelson, and sam). it was intended by us to have begun the work of death on the th of july last. many were the plans formed and rejected by us, and it affected my mind to such a degree that i fell sick, and the time passed without our coming to any determination how to commence--still forming new schemes and rejecting them, when the sign appeared again, which determined me not to wait longer. "since the commencement of i had been living with mr. joseph travis, who was to me a kind master, and placed the greatest confidence in me; in fact, i had no cause to complain of his treatment to me. on saturday evening, the th of august, it was agreed between henry, hark, and myself, to prepare a dinner the next day for the men we expected, and then to concert a plan, as we had not yet determined on any. hark, on the following morning brought a pig, and henry brandy; and being joined by sam, nelson, will, and jack, they prepared in the woods a dinner, where, about three o'clock, i joined them." "_q._ why were you so backward in joining them?" "_a._ the same reason that had caused me not to mix with them for years before. "i saluted them on coming up, and asked will how came he there. he answered, his life was worth no more than others, and his liberty as dear to him. i asked him if he thought to obtain it. he said he would, or lose his life. this was enough to put him in full confidence. jack, i knew, was only a tool in the hands of hark. it was quickly agreed we should commence a home (mr. j. travis') on that night; and until we had armed and equipped ourselves, and gathered sufficient force, neither age nor sex was to be spared--which was invariably adhered to. we remained at the feast until about two hours in the night, when we went to the house and found austin." we will not go into the horrible details of the various massacres, but only make one or two extracts, to show the spirit and feelings of turner:-- "i then went to mr. john t. harrow's; they had been here and murdered him. i pursued on their track to capt. newit harris', where i found the greater part mounted and ready to start. the men, now amounting to about forty, shouted and hurraed as i rode up. some were in the yard, loading their guns; others drinking. they said captain harris and his family had escaped; the property in the house they destroyed, robbing him of money and other valuables. i ordered them to mount and march instantly; this was about nine or ten o'clock, monday morning. i proceeded to mr. levi waller's, two or three miles distant. i took my station in the rear, and, as it was my object to carry terror and devastation wherever we went, i placed fifteen or twenty of the best armed and most to be relied on in front, who generally approached the houses as fast as their horses could run. this was for two purposes--to prevent their escape, and strike terror to the inhabitants; on this account i never got to the houses, after leaving mrs. whitehead's, until the murders were committed, except in one case. i sometimes got in sight in time to see the work of death completed; viewed the mangled bodies as they lay, in silent satisfaction, and immediately started in quest of other victims. having murdered mrs. waller and ten children, we started for mr. wm. williams',--having killed him and two little boys that were there; while engaged in this, mrs. williams fled and got some distance from the house, but she was pursued, overtaken, and compelled to get up behind one of the company, who brought her back, and, after showing her the mangled body of her lifeless husband, she was told to get down and lay by his side, where she was shot dead. "the white men pursued and fired on us several times. hark had his horse shot under him, and i caught another for him as it was running by me; five or six of my men were wounded, but none left on the field. finding myself defeated here, i instantly determined to go through a private way, and cross the nottoway river at the cypress bridge, three miles below jerusalem, and attack that place in the rear, as i expected they would look for me on the other road, and i had a great desire to get there to procure arms and ammunition. after going a short distance in this private way, accompanied by about twenty men, i overtook two or three, who told me the others were dispersed in every direction. "on this, i gave up all hope for the present; and on thursday night, after having supplied myself with provisions from mr. travis', i scratched a hole under a pile of fence-rails in a field, where i concealed myself for six weeks, never leaving my hiding-place but for a few minutes in the dead of the night to get water, which was very near. thinking by this time i could venture out, i began to go about in the night, and eavesdrop the houses in the neighborhood; pursuing this course for about a fortnight, and gathering little or no intelligence, afraid of speaking to any human being, and returning every morning to my cave before the dawn of day. i know not how long i might have led this life, if accident had not betrayed me. a dog in the neighborhood passing by my hiding-place one night while i was out, was attracted by some meat i had in my cave, and crawled in and stole it, and was coming out just as i returned. a few nights after, two negroes having started to go hunting with the same dog, and passed that way, the dog came again to the place, and having just gone out to walk about, discovered me and barked; on which, thinking myself discovered, i spoke to them to beg concealment. on making myself known, they fled from me. knowing then they would betray me, i immediately left my hiding-place and was pursued almost incessantly, until i was taken, a fortnight afterwards, by mr. benjamin phipps, in a little hole i had dug out with my sword, for the purpose of concealment, under the top of a fallen tree. "during the time i was pursued, i had many hair-breadth escapes, which your time will not permit you to relate. i am here loaded with chains, and willing to suffer the fate that awaits me." mr. gray asked him if he knew of any extensive or concerted plan. his answer was, i do not. when i questioned him as to the insurrection in north carolina happening about the same time, he denied any knowledge of it; and when i looked him in the face, as though i would search his inmost thoughts, he replied, "i see, sir, you doubt my word, but can you not think the same ideas, and strange appearances about this time in the heavens, might prompt others, as well as myself, to this undertaking?" i now had much conversation with and asked him many questions, having forborne to do so previously, except in the cases noted in parenthesis; but during his statement had, unnoticed by him, taken notes as to some particular circumstances, and, having the advantage of his statement before me in writing, on the evening of the third day that i had been with him, i began a cross-examination, and found his statement corroborated by every circumstance coming within my own knowledge, or the confessions of others who had been either killed or executed, and whom he had not seen or had any knowledge of since the d of august last. he expressed himself fully satisfied as to the impracticability of his attempt. it has been said he was ignorant and cowardly, and that his object was to murder and rob for the purpose of obtaining money to make his escape. it is notorious that he was never known to have a dollar in his life, to swear an oath, or drink a drop of spirits. as to his ignorance, he certainly never had the advantages of education, but he can read and write (it was taught him by his parents), and for natural intelligence and quickness of apprehension is surpassed by few men i have ever seen. as to his being a coward, his reason as given for not resisting mr. phipps shows the decision of his character. when he saw mr. phipps present his gun, he said he knew it was impossible for him to escape, as the woods were full of men: he therefore thought it was better to surrender, and trust to fortune for his escape. he is a complete fanatic, or plays his part most admirably. on other subjects he possesses an uncommon share of intelligence, with a mind capable of attaining anything, but warped and perverted by the influence of early impressions. he is below the ordinary stature, though strong and active, having the true negro face, every feature of which is strongly marked. i shall not attempt to describe the effect of his narrative, as told and commented on by himself, in the condemned hole of the prison. the calm, deliberate composure with which he spoke of his late deeds and intentions; the expression of his fiend-like face when excited by enthusiasm, still bearing the stains of the blood of helpless innocence about him; clothed with rags and covered with chains, yet daring to raise his manacled hands to heaven, with a spirit soaring above the attributes of man. i looked on him, and my blood curdled in my veins. footnote: [ ] when questioned as to the manner of manufacturing those different articles, he was found well informed. appendix ii. the chapter headed _jegar sahadutha_ contains some terrible stories. it is to be said, they are all facts on judicial record, of the most fiend-like cruelty, terminating in the death of the victim, where the affair has been judicially examined, and the perpetrator escaped death, and in most cases _any_ punishment for his crime. . case of souther. "_souther v. the commonwealth_, _grattan_, , . "the killing of a slave by his master and owner, by wilful and excessive whipping, is murder in the first degree: though it may not have been the purpose and intention of the master and owner to kill the slave. "simon souther was indicted at the october term, , of the circuit court for the county of hanover, for the murder of his own slave. the indictment contained fifteen counts, in which the various modes of punishment and torture by which the homicide was charged to have been committed were stated singly, and in various combinations. the fifteenth count unites them all: and, as the court certifies that the _indictment was sustained by the evidence_, the giving the facts stated in that count will show what was the charge against the prisoner, and what was the proof to sustain it. "the count charged that on the st day of september, , the prisoner tied his negro slave, sam, with ropes about his wrists, neck, body, legs, and ankles, to a tree. that whilst so tied, the prisoner first whipped the slave with switches. that he next beat and cobbed the slave with a shingle, and compelled two of his slaves, a man and a woman, also to cob the deceased with the shingle. that whilst the deceased was so tied to the tree, the prisoner did strike, knock, kick, stamp, and beat him upon various parts of his head, face, and body; that he applied fire to his body; ... that he then washed his body with warm water, in which pods of red pepper had been put and steeped; and he compelled his two slaves aforesaid also to wash him with this same preparation of warm water and red pepper. that after the tying, whipping, cobbing, striking, beating, knocking, kicking, stamping, wounding, bruising, lacerating, burning, washing, and torturing, as aforesaid, the prisoner untied the deceased from the tree in such a way as to throw him with violence to the ground; and he then and there did knock, kick, stamp, and beat the deceased upon his head, temples, and various parts of his body. that the prisoner then had the deceased carried into a shed-room of his house, and there he compelled one of his slaves, in his presence, to confine the deceased's feet in stocks, by making his legs fast to a piece of timber, and to tie a rope about the neck of the deceased, and fasten it to a bedpost in the room, thereby strangling, choking, and suffocating, the deceased. and that whilst the deceased was thus made fast in stocks, as aforesaid, the prisoner did kick, knock, stamp, and beat him upon his head, face, breast, belly, sides, back, and body; and he again compelled his two slaves to apply fire to the body of the deceased, whilst he was so made fast as aforesaid. and the count charged that from these various modes of punishment and torture, the slave sam then and there died. it appeared that the prisoner commenced the punishment of the deceased in the morning, and that it was continued throughout the day; and that the deceased died in the presence of the prisoner, and one of his slaves, and one of the witnesses, whilst the punishment was still progressing. "field, j., delivered the opinion of the court. "the prisoner was indicted and convicted of _murder in the second degree_, in the circuit court of hanover, at its april term last past, and was sentenced to the _penitentiary for five years_, the period of time ascertained by the jury. the murder consisted in the killing of a negro man-slave by the name of sam, the property of the prisoner, by cruel and excessive whipping and torture, inflicted by souther, aided by two of his other slaves, on the st day of september, . the prisoner moved for a new trial, upon the ground that the offence, _if any_, amounted only to manslaughter. the motion for a new trial was overruled, and a bill of exceptions taken to the opinion of the court, setting forth the facts proved, or as many of them as were deemed material for the consideration of the application for a new trial. the bill of exception states: that the slave sam, in the indictment mentioned, was the slave and property of the prisoner. that for the purpose of chastising the slave for the offence of getting drunk, and dealing, as the slave confessed and alleged, with henry and stone, two of the witnesses for the commonwealth, he caused him to be tied and punished in the presence of the said witnesses, with the exception of slight whipping with peach or apple-tree switches, before the said witnesses arrived at the scene after they were sent for by the prisoner (who were present by request from the defendant), and of several slaves of the prisoner, in the manner and by the means charged in the indictment; and the said slave died under and from the infliction of the said punishment, in the presence of the prisoner, one of his slaves, and one of the witnesses for the commonwealth. but it did not appear that it was the design of the prisoner to kill the said slave, unless such design be properly inferable from the manner, means, and duration, of the punishment. and, on the contrary, it did appear that the prisoner frequently declared, while the said slave was undergoing the punishment, that he believed the said slave was feigning, and pretending to be suffering and injured when he was not. the judge certifies that the slave was punished in the _manner and by the means charged in the indictment_. the indictment contains fifteen counts, and sets forth a case of the most cruel and excessive whipping and torture.... "it is believed that the records of criminal jurisprudence do not contain a case of more atrocious and wicked cruelty than was presented upon the trial of souther; and yet it has been gravely and earnestly contended here by his counsel that his offence amounts to manslaughter only. "it has been contended by the counsel of the prisoner that a man cannot be indicted and prosecuted for the cruel and excessive whipping of his own slave. that it is lawful for the master to chastise his slave, and that if death ensues from such chastisement, unless it was intended to produce death, it is like the case of homicide which is committed by a man in the performance of a lawful act, which is manslaughter only. it has been decided by this court in turner's case, rand. that the owner of a slave, for the malicious, cruel, and excessive beating of his own slave, cannot be indicted; yet it by no means follows, when such malicious, cruel, and excessive beating results in death, though not intended and premeditated, that the beating is to be regarded as lawful for the purpose of reducing the crime to manslaughter, when the whipping is inflicted for the sole purpose of chastisement. _it is the policy of the law, in respect to the relation of master and slave, and for the sake of securing proper subordination and obedience on the part of the slave, to protect the master from prosecution in all such cases, even if the whipping and punishment be malicious, cruel, and excessive._ but in so inflicting punishment for the sake of punishment, the owner of the slave acts at his peril; and if death ensues in consequence of such punishment, the relation of master and slave affords no ground of excuse or palliation. the principles of the common law, in relation to homicide, apply to his case without qualification or exception; and, according to those principles, the act of the prisoner, in the case under consideration, amounted to murder.... the crime of the prisoner is not manslaughter, but murder in the first degree." . death of hark. _the master is, as we have asserted, protected from prosecution by express enactment, if the victim dies in the act of resistance to his will, or under moderate correction._ "whereas by another act of the assembly, passed in , the killing of a slave, however wanton, cruel, and deliberate, is only punishable in the first instance by imprisonment and paying the value thereof to the owner, which _distinction of criminality between the murder of a white person and one who is equally a human creature, but merely of a different complexion, is_ disgraceful to humanity, and degrading in the highest degree to the laws and principles of a free, christian, and enlightened country, be it enacted, &c., that if any person shall hereafter be guilty of wilfully and maliciously killing a slave, such offender shall, upon the first conviction thereof, be adjudged guilty of murder, and shall suffer the same punishment as if he had killed a free man: _provided always, this act shall not extend to the person killing a slave_ outlawed by virtue of any act of assembly of this state, _or to any slave in the act of resistance to his lawful owner or master, or to any slave dying under moderate correction_." instance in point;-- "_from the 'national era,' washington, november , ._ "homicide case in clarke county, virginia. "some time since, the newspapers of virginia contained an account of a horrible tragedy, enacted in clarke county, of that state. a slave of colonel james castleman, it was stated, had been chained by the neck, and whipped to death by his master, on the charge of stealing. the whole neighborhood in which the transaction occurred was incensed; the virginia papers abounded in denunciations of the cruel act; and the people of the north were called upon to bear witness to the justice which would surely be meted out in a slave state to the master of a slave. we did not publish the account. the case was horrible; it was, we were confident, exceptional. it should not be taken as evidence of the general treatment of slaves. we chose to delay any notice of it till the courts should pronounce their judgment, and we could announce at once the crime and its punishment, so that the state might stand acquitted of the foul deed. "those who were so shocked at the transaction will be surprised and mortified to hear that the actors in it have been tried and _acquitted_! and when they read the following account of the trial and verdict, published at the instance of the friends of the accused, their mortification will deepen into bitter indignation." "_from the 'spirit of jefferson.'_ "'colonel james castleman.--the following statement, understood to have been drawn up by counsel, since the trial, has been placed by the friends of this gentleman in our hands for publication:-- "'at the circuit superior court of clarke county, commencing on the th of october, judge samuels presiding, james castleman and his son stephen d. castleman were indicted jointly for the murder of negro lewis, property of the latter. by advice of their counsel, the parties elected to be tried separately, and the attorney for the commonwealth directed that james castleman should be tried first. "'it was proved, on this trial, that for many months previous to the occurrence the money-drawer of the tavern kept by stephen d. castleman, and the liquors kept in large quantities in his cellar, had been pillaged from time to time, until the thefts had attained to a considerable amount. suspicion had, from various causes, been directed to lewis, and another negro, named reuben (a blacksmith), the property of james castleman; but, by the aid of two of the house-servants, they had eluded the most vigilant watch. "'on the th of august last, in the afternoon, s. d. castleman accidentally discovered a clue, by means of which, and through one of the house-servants implicated, he was enabled fully to detect the depredators, and to ascertain the manner in which the theft had been committed. he immediately sent for his father, living near him, and, after communicating what he had discovered, it was determined that the offenders should be punished at once, and before they should know of the discovery that had been made. "'lewis was punished first; and in a manner, as was fully shown, to preclude all risk of injury to his person, by stripes with a broad leathern strap. he was punished severely, but to an extent by no means disproportionate to his offence: nor was it pretended, in any quarter, that this punishment implicated either his life or health. he confessed the offence, and admitted that it had been effected by false keys, furnished by the blacksmith, reuben. "'the latter servant was punished immediately afterwards. it was believed that he was the principal offender, and he was found to be more obdurate and contumacious than lewis had been in reference to the offence. thus it was proved, both by the prosecution and the defence, that he was punished with greater severity than his accomplice. it resulted in a like confession on his part, and he produced the false key, one fashioned by himself, by which the theft had been effected. "'it was further shown, on the trial, that lewis was whipped in the upper room of a warehouse, connected with stephen castleman's store, and near the public road, where he was at work at the time; that after he had been flogged, to secure his person, whilst they went after reuben, he was confined by a chain around his neck, which was attached to a joist above his head. the length of this chain, the breadth and thickness of the joist, its height from the floor, and the circlet of chain on the neck, were accurately measured; and it was thus shown that the chain unoccupied by the circlet and the joist was a foot and a half longer than the space between the shoulders of the man and the joist above, or to that extent the chain hung loose above him; that the circlet (which was fastened so as to prevent its contraction) rested on the shoulders and breast, the chain being sufficiently drawn only to prevent being slipped over his head, and that there was no other place in the room to which he could be fastened except to one of the joists above. his hands were tied in front; a white man, who had been at work with lewis during the day, was left with him by the messrs. castleman, the better to insure his detention, whilst they were absent after reuben. it was proved by this man (who was a witness for the prosecution) that lewis asked for a box to stand on, or for something that he could jump off from; that after the castlemans had left him he expressed a fear that when they came back he would be whipped again; and said, if he had a knife, and could get one hand loose, he would cut his throat. the witness stated that the negro "stood firm on his feet," that he could turn freely in whatever direction he wished, and that he made no complaint of the mode of his confinement. this man stated that he remained with lewis about half an hour, and then left there to go home. "'after punishing reuben, the castlemans returned to the warehouse, bringing him with them; their object being to confront the two men, in the hope that by further examination of them jointly all their accomplices might be detected. "'they were not absent more than half an hour. when they entered the room above, lewis was found hanging by the neck, his feet thrown behind him, his knees a few inches from the floor, and his head thrown forward,--the body warm and supple (or relaxed), but life was extinct. "'it was proved by the surgeons who made a post-mortem examination before the coroner's inquest that the death was caused by strangulation by hanging; and other eminent surgeons were examined to show, from the appearance of the brain and its blood-vessels after death (as exhibited at the post-mortem examination), that the subject could not have fainted before strangulation. "'after the evidence was finished on both sides, the jury, from their box, and of their own motion, without a word from counsel on either side, informed the court that they had agreed upon their verdict. the counsel assented to its being thus received, and a verdict of "_not guilty_" was immediately rendered. the attorney for the commonwealth then informed the court that all the evidence for the prosecution had been laid before the jury; and, as no new evidence could be offered on the trial of stephen d. castleman, he submitted to the court the propriety of entering a _nolle prosequi_. the judge replied that the case had been fully and fairly laid before the jury upon the evidence; that the court was not only satisfied with the verdict, but, if any other had been rendered, it must have been set aside; and that, if no further evidence was to be adduced on the trial of stephen, the attorney for the commonwealth would exercise a proper discretion in entering a _nolle prosequi_ as to him, and the court would approve its being done. a _nolle prosequi_ was entered accordingly, and both gentlemen discharged. "'it may be added that two days were consumed in exhibiting the evidence, and that the trial was by a jury of clarke county. both the parties had been on bail from the time of their arrest, and were continued on bail whilst the trial was depending.' "let us admit that the evidence does not prove the legal crime of homicide; what candid man can doubt, after reading this _ex parte_, version of it, that the slave died in consequence of the punishment inflicted upon him? "in criminal prosecutions the federal constitution guarantees to the accused the right to a public trial by an impartial jury; the right to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witness in his favor; and to have the assistance of counsel; guarantees necessary to secure innocence against hasty or vindictive judgment,--absolutely necessary to prevent injustice. grant that they were not intended for slaves; every master of a slave must feel that they are still morally binding upon him. he is the sole judge; he alone determines the offence, the proof requisite to establish it, and the amount of the punishment. the slave, then, has a peculiar claim upon him for justice. when charged with a crime, common humanity requires that he should be informed of it, that he should be confronted with the witnesses against him, that he should be permitted to show evidence in favor of his innocence. "but how was poor lewis treated? the son of castleman said he had discovered who stole the money; and it was forthwith 'determined that the offenders should be punished at once, and _before they should know of the discovery that had been made_.' punished without a hearing! punished on the testimony of a house-servant, the nature of which does not appear to have been inquired into by the court! not a word is said which authorizes the belief that any careful examination was made, as it respects their guilt. lewis and reuben were assumed, on loose evidence, without deliberate investigation, to be guilty; and then, without allowing them to attempt to show their evidence, they were whipped until a confession of guilt was extorted by bodily pain. "is this virginia justice?" "'_to the editor of the era_: "'i see that castleman, who lately had a trial for whipping a slave to death in virginia, was "_triumphantly acquitted_,"--as many expected. there are three persons in this city, with whom i am acquainted, who stayed at castleman's the same night in which this awful tragedy was enacted. they heard the dreadful lashing, and the heartrending screams and entreaties of the sufferer. they implored the only white man they could find on the premises, not engaged in the bloody work, to interpose, but for a long time he refused, on the ground that he was a dependant, and was afraid to give offence; and that, moreover, they had been drinking, and he was in fear of his own life, should he say a word that would be displeasing to them. he did, however, venture, and returned and reported the cruel manner in which the slaves were chained, and lashed, and secured in a blacksmith's vise. in the morning, when they ascertained that one of the slaves was dead, they were so shocked and indignant that they refused to eat in the house, and reproached castleman with his cruelty. he expressed his regret that the slave had died, and especially as he had ascertained that he _was innocent_ of the accusation for which he had suffered. the idea was that he had fainted from exhaustion; and, the chain being round his neck, he was strangled. the persons i refer to are themselves slaveholders; but their feelings were so harrowed and lacerated that they could not sleep (two of them are ladies), and for many nights afterwards their rest was disturbed, and their dreams made frightful, by the appalling recollection. "'these persons would have been material witnesses, and would have willingly attended on the part of the prosecution. the knowledge they had of the case was communicated to the proper authorities, yet their attendance was not required. the only witness was that dependant who considered his own life in danger. yours, &c., j. f." _the law of outlawry._ _revised_ statutes of north carolina, chap. cxi., sect. : "'whereas, many times _slaves run away and lie out, hid and lurking in swamps, woods, and other obscure places_, killing cattle and hogs, and committing other injuries to the inhabitants of this state; in all such cases, upon intelligence of any slave or slaves lying out as aforesaid, any two justices of the peace for the county wherein such slave or slaves is or are supposed to lurk or do mischief, shall, and they are hereby empowered and required to issue proclamation against such slave or slaves (reciting his or their names, and the name or names of the owner or owners, if known), thereby requiring him or them, and every of them, forthwith to surrender him or themselves; and also to empower and require the sheriff of the said county to take such power with him as he shall think fit and necessary for going in search and pursuit of, and effectually apprehending, such outlying slave or slaves; which proclamation shall be published at the door of the court-house, and at such other places as said justices shall direct. and if any slave or slaves, against whom proclamation hath been thus issued, stay out, and do not immediately return home, it shall be lawful for any person or persons whatsoever to kill and destroy such slave or slaves by _such ways and means as he shall think fit_, without accusation or impeachment of any crime for the same.' "'state of north carolina, lenoir county.--whereas complaint hath been this day made to us, two of the justices of the peace for the said county, by william d. cobb, of jones county, that two negro slaves belonging to him, named ben (commonly known by the name of ben fox) and rigdon, have absented themselves from their said master's service, and are lurking about in the counties of lenoir and jones, committing acts of felony; these are, in the name of the state, to command the said slaves forthwith to surrender themselves, and turn home to their said master. and we do hereby also require the sheriff of said county of lenoir to make diligent search and pursuit after the above-mentioned slaves.... and we do hereby, by virtue of an act of assembly of this state concerning servants and slaves, intimate and declare, if the said slaves do not surrender themselves and return home to their master immediately after the publication of these presents, that any person may kill or destroy said slaves by such means as he or they think fit, without accusation or impeachment of any crime or offence for so doing, or without incurring any penalty of forfeiture thereby. "'given under our hands and seals, this th of november, . "'b. coleman, j. p. [_seal._] "'jas. jones, j. p.' [_seal._] ----- "'$ reward.--ran away from the subscriber, about three years ago, a certain negro man, named ben, commonly known by the name of ben fox; also one other negro, by the name of rigdon, who ran away on the eighth of this month. "'i will give the reward of one hundred dollars for each of the above negroes, to be delivered to me, or confined in the jail of lenoir or jones county, _or for the killing of them, so that i can see them_. "'_november , ._ w. d. cobb.' "that this act was _not_ a dead letter, also, was plainly implied in the protective act first quoted. if slaves were not, as a matter of fact, ever outlawed, why does the act formally recognize such a class?--'provided that this act shall not extend to the killing of any slave _outlawed_ by any act of the assembly.' this language sufficiently indicates the existence of the custom. "further than this, the statute-book of contained two acts: the first of which provides that all masters, in certain counties, who have had slaves killed in consequence of outlawry, shall have a claim on the treasury of the state for their value, unless cruel treatment of the slaves be proved on the part of the master; the second act extends the benefits of the latter provision to all the counties in the state. "finally there is evidence that this act of outlawry was executed so recently as the year ,--the year in which 'uncle tom's cabin' was written. see the following from the _wilmington journal_ of december , . "'state of north carolina, new hanover county.--whereas complaint, upon oath, hath this day been made to us, two of the justices of the peace for the said state and county aforesaid, by guilford horn, of edgecombe county, that a certain male slave belonging to him, named harry, a carpenter by trade, about forty years old, five feet five inches high, or thereabouts, yellow complexion, stout built; with a scar on his left leg (from the cut of an axe); has very thick lips, eyes deep sunk in his head; forehead very square; tolerably loud voice; has lost one or two of his upper teeth; and has a very dark spot on his jaw, supposed to be a mark,--hath absented himself from his master's service, and is supposed to be lurking about in this county, committing acts of felony or other misdeeds; these are, therefore, in the name of state aforesaid, to command the said slave forthwith to surrender himself and return home to his said master; and we do hereby, by virtue of the act of assembly in such cases made and provided, intimate and declare that if the said slave harry doth not surrender himself and return home immediately after the publication of these presents, that any person or persons may kill and destroy the said slave by such means as he or they may think fit, without accusation or impeachment of any crime or offence in so doing, and without incurring any penalty or forfeiture thereby. "'given under our hands and seals, this th day of june, . "'james t. miller, j. p. [_seal._] "'w. c. bettencourt, j. p.' [_seal._] ----- '"one hundred and twenty-five dollars reward will be paid for the delivery of the said harry to me at tosnott depot, edgecombe county, or for his confinement in any jail in the state, so that i can get him; or _one hundred and fifty dollars will be given for his head_. '"he was lately heard from in newbern, where he called himself henry barnes (or burns), and will be likely to continue the same name, or assume that of copage or farmer. he has a free mulatto woman for a wife, by the name of sally bozeman, who has lately removed to wilmington, and lives in that part of the town called texas, where he will likely be lurking. "'masters of vessels are particularly cautioned against harboring or concealing the said negro on board their vessels, as the full penalty of the law will be rigorously enforced. guilford horn. "'_june th, ._'" this last advertisement was cut by the author from the _wilmington journal_, december th, , a paper published in wilmington, north carolina. appendix iii. church action on slavery. in reference to this important subject, we present a few extracts from the first and second chapters of the fourth part of the "key to uncle tom's cabin": let us review the declarations that have been made in the southern church, and see what principles have been established by them. . that slavery is an innocent and lawful relation, as much as that of parent and child, husband and wife, or any other lawful relation of society. (harmony pres., s. c.) . that it is consistent with the most fraternal regard for the good of the slave. (charleston union pres., s. c.) . that masters ought not to be disciplined for selling slaves without their consent. (new school pres. church, petersburg, va.) . that the right to buy, sell, and hold men for purposes of gain, was given by express permission of god. (james smylie and his presbyteries.) . that the laws which forbid the education of the slave are right, and meet the approbation of the reflecting part of the christian community. (ibid.) . that the fact of slavery is not a question of morals at all, but is purely one of political economy. (charleston baptist association.) . the right of masters to dispose of the time of their slaves has been distinctly recognized by the creator of all things. (ibid.) . that slavery, as it exists in these united states, is not a moral evil. (georgia conference, methodist.) . that, without a new revelation from heaven, no man is entitled to pronounce slavery wrong. . that the separation of slaves by sale should be regarded as separation by death, and the parties allowed to marry again. (shiloh baptist ass., and savannah river ass.) . that the testimony of colored members of the churches shall not be taken against a white person. (methodist church.) in addition, it has been plainly avowed, by the expressed principles and practice of christians of various denominations, that they regard it right and proper to put down all inquiry upon this subject by lynch law. the old school presbyterian church, in whose communion the greater part of the slaveholding presbyterians of the south are found, has never felt called upon to discipline its members for upholding a system which denies legal marriage to all slaves. yet this church was agitated to its very foundation by the discussion of a question of morals which an impartial observer would probably consider of far less magnitude, namely, whether a man might lawfully marry his deceased wife's sister. for the time, all the strength and attention of the church seemed concentrated upon this important subject. the trial went from presbytery to synod, and from synod to general assembly; and ended with deposing a very respectable minister for this crime. rev. robert j. breckenridge, d. d., a member of the old school assembly, has thus described the state of the slave population as to their marriage relations: "the system of slavery denies to a whole class of human beings the sacredness of marriage and of home, compelling them to live in a state of concubinage; for, in the eye of the law, no colored slave-man is the husband of any wife in particular, nor any slave-woman the wife of any husband in particular; no slave-man is the father of any child in particular, and no slave-child is the child of any parent in particular." now, had this church considered the fact that three millions of men and women were, by the laws of the land, obliged to live in this manner, as of equally serious consequence, it is evident, from the ingenuity, argument, vehemence, biblical research, and untiring zeal, which they bestowed on mr. mcqueen's trial, that they could have made a very strong case with regard to this also. the history of the united action of denominations which included churches both in the slave and free states is a melancholy exemplification, to a reflecting mind, of that gradual deterioration of the moral sense which results from admitting any compromise, however slight, with an acknowledged sin. the best minds in the world cannot bear such a familiarity without injury to the moral sense. the facts of the slave system and of the slave laws, when presented to disinterested judges in europe, have excited a universal outburst of horror, yet, in assemblies composed of the wisest and best clergymen of america, these things have been discussed from year to year, and yet brought no results that have, in the slightest degree, lessened the evil. the reason is this. a portion of the members of these bodies had pledged themselves to sustain the system, and peremptorily to refuse and put down all discussion of it; and the other part of the body did not consider this stand so taken as being of sufficiently vital consequence to authorize separation. nobody will doubt that, had the southern members taken such a stand against the divinity of our lord, the division would have been immediate and unanimous; but yet the southern members do maintain the right to buy and sell, lease, hire, and mortgage, multitudes of men and women, whom, with the same breath, they declare to be members of their churches, and true christians. the bible declares of all such that they are the temples of the holy ghost; that they are the members of christ's body, of his flesh and bones. is not the doctrine that men may lawfully sell the members of christ, his body, his flesh and bones, for purposes of gain, as really a heresy as the denial of the divinity of christ? and is it not a dishonor to him who is over all, god blessed forever, to tolerate this dreadful opinion, with its more dreadful consequences, while the smallest heresies concerning the imputation of adam's sin are pursued with eager vehemence? if the history of the action of all the bodies thus united can be traced downwards, we shall find that, by reason of this tolerance of an admitted sin, the anti-slavery testimony has every year grown weaker and weaker. if we look over the history of all denominations, we shall see that at first they used very stringent language with relation to slavery. this is particularly the case with the methodist and presbyterian bodies, and for that reason we select these two as examples. the methodist society especially, as organized by john wesley, was an anti-slavery society, and the book of discipline contained the most positive statutes against slaveholding. the history of the successive resolutions of the conference of this church is very striking. in , before the church was regularly organized in the united states, they resolved as follows: "the conference acknowledges that slavery is contrary to the laws of god, man, and nature, and hurtful to society; contrary to the dictates of conscience and true religion; and doing what we would not others should do unto us." in , when the church was fully organized, rules were adopted prescribing the times at which members who were already slaveholders should emancipate their slaves. these rules were succeeded by the following: "every person concerned, who will not comply with these rules, shall have liberty quietly to withdraw from our society within the twelve months following the notice being given him, as aforesaid; otherwise the assistants shall exclude him from the society. "no person holding slaves shall in future be admitted into the society, or to the lord's supper, till he previously comply with these rules concerning slavery. "those who buy, sell, or give slaves away, unless on purpose to free them, shall be expelled immediately." in : "we declare that we are more than ever convinced of the great evil of african slavery, which still exists in these united states. "every member of the society who sells a slave shall immediately, after full proof, be excluded from the society, etc. "the annual conferences are directed to draw up addresses for the gradual emancipation of the slaves, to the legislature. proper committees shall be appointed by the annual conference, out of the most respectable of our friends, for the conducting of the business; and the presiding elders, deacons, and travelling preachers, shall procure as many proper signatures as possible to the addresses, and give all the assistance in their power, in every respect, to aid the committees, and to further the blessed undertaking. let this be continued from year to year, till the desired end be accomplished." in , let us notice the change. the general conference held its annual session in cincinnati, and resolved as follows: "resolved, by the delegates of the annual conferences in general conference assembled, that they are decidedly opposed to modern abolitionism, and wholly disclaim any right, wish, or intention to interfere in the civil and political relation between master and slave, as it exists in the slaveholding states of this union." these resolutions were passed by a very large majority. an address was received from the wesleyan methodist conference in england, affectionately remonstrating on the subject of slavery. the conference refused to publish it. in the pastoral address to the churches are these passages: "it cannot be unknown to you that the question of slavery in the united states, by the constitutional compact which binds us together as a nation, is left to be regulated by the several state legislatures themselves; and thereby is put beyond the control of the general government, as well as that of all ecclesiastical bodied, it being manifest that in the slaveholding states themselves the entire responsibility of its existence, or non-existence, rests with those state legislatures.... these facts, which are only mentioned here as a reason for the friendly admonition which we wish to give you, constrain us, as your pastors, who are called to watch over your souls, as they must give account, to exhort you to abstain from all abolition movements and associations, and to refrain from patronizing any of their publications," etc.... the subordinate conferences showed the same spirit. in , the new york annual conference resolved that no one should be elected a deacon or elder in the church unless he would give a pledge to the church he would refrain from discussing this subject.[ ] in , the conference resolved-- "as the sense of this conference, that any of its members, or probationers, who shall patronize _zion's watchman_, either by writing in commendation of its character, by circulating it, recommending it to our people, or procuring subscribers, or by collecting or remitting moneys, shall be deemed guilty of indiscretion, and dealt with accordingly." it will be recollected that _zion's watchman_ was edited by la roy sunderland, for whose abduction the state of alabama had offered fifty thousand dollars. in , the general conference at baltimore passed the resolution that we have already quoted, forbidding preachers to allow colored persons to give testimony in their churches. it has been computed that about eighty thousand people were deprived of the right of testimony by this act. this methodist church subsequently broke into a northern and southern conference. the southern conference is avowedly all pro-slavery, and the northern conference has still in its communion slaveholding conferences and members. of the northern conferences, one of the largest, the baltimore, passed the following: "_resolved_, that this conference disclaims having any fellowship with abolitionism. on the contrary, while it is determined to maintain its well-known and long-established position, by keeping the travelling preachers composing its own body free from slavery, it is also determined not to hold connection with any ecclesiastical body that shall make non-slaveholding a condition of membership in the church, but to stand by and maintain the discipline as it is." the following extract is made from an address of the philadelphia annual conference to the societies under its care, dated wilmington, delaware, april , : "if the plan of separation gives us the pastoral care of you, it remains to inquire whether we have done anything, as a conference, or as men, to forfeit your confidence and affection. we are not advised that even in the great excitement which has distressed you for some months past, any one has impeached our moral conduct, or charged us with unsoundness in doctrine, or corruption, or tyranny in the administration of discipline. but we learn that the simple cause of the unhappy excitement among you is, that some suspect us, or affect to suspect us, of being abolitionists. yet no particular act of the conference, or any particular member thereof, is adduced as the ground of the erroneous and injurious suspicion. we would ask you, brethren, whether the conduct of our ministry among you for sixty years past ought not to be sufficient to protect us from this charge. whether the question we have been accustomed, for a few years past, to put to candidates for admission among us, namely, are you an abolitionist? and, without each one answered in the negative, he was not received, ought not to protect us from the charge. whether the action of the last conference on this particular matter ought not to satisfy any fair and candid mind that we are not, and do not desire to be, abolitionists.... we cannot see how we can be regarded as abolitionists, without the ministers of the methodist episcopal church south being considered in the same light.... "wishing you all heavenly benedictions, we are, dear brethren, yours, in christ jesus, j. p. durbin, } j. kennaday, } ignatius t. cooper, } _committee_." william h. gilder, } joseph castle, } these facts sufficiently define the position of the methodist church. the history is melancholy, but instructive. the history of the presbyterian church is also of interest. in , the following note to the eighth commandment was inserted in the book of discipline, as expressing the doctrine of the church upon slaveholding: " tim. : .--the law is made for man-stealers. this crime among the jews exposed the perpetrators of it to capital punishment (exodus : ); and the apostle here classes them with sinners of the first rank. the word he uses, in its original import, comprehends all who are concerned in bringing any of the human race into slavery, or in retaining them in it. _hominum fures, qui servos vel liberos, abducunt, retinent, vendunt, vel emunt._ stealers of men are all those who bring off slaves or freemen, and keep, sell, or buy them. to steal a free man, says grotius, is the highest kind of theft. in other instances, we only steal human property; but when we steal or retain men in slavery, we seize those who, in common with ourselves, are constituted by the original grant lords of the earth." no rules of church discipline were enforced, and members whom this passage declared guilty of this crime remained undisturbed in its communion, as ministers and elders. this inconsistency was obviated in by expunging the passage from the book of discipline. in it adopted an expression of its views on slavery. this document is a long one, conceived and written in a very christian spirit. the assembly's digest says, page , that it was _unanimously_ adopted. the following is its testimony as to the nature of slavery: "we consider the voluntary enslaving of one part of the human race by another as a gross violation of the most precious and sacred rights of human nature, as utterly inconsistent with the law of god which requires us to love our neighbor as ourselves, and as totally irreconcilable with the spirit and principles of the gospel of christ, which enjoin that 'all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.' slavery creates a paradox in the moral system. it exhibits rational, accountable, and immortal beings in such circumstances as scarcely to leave them the power of moral action. it exhibits them as dependent on the will of others whether they shall receive religious instruction; whether they shall know and worship the true god; whether they shall enjoy the ordinances of the gospel; whether they shall perform the duties and cherish the endearments of husbands and wives, parents and children, neighbors and friends; whether they shall preserve their chastity and purity, or regard the dictates of justice and humanity. such are some of the consequences of slavery,--consequences not imaginary, but which connect themselves with its very existence. the evils to which the slave is always exposed often take place in fact, and in their very worst degree and form; and where all of them do not take place,--as we rejoice to say that in many instances, through the influence of the principles of humanity and religion on the minds of masters, they do not,--still the slave is deprived of his natural right, degraded as a human being, and exposed to the danger of passing into the hands of a master who may inflict upon him all the hardships and injuries which inhumanity and avarice may suggest." this language was surely decided, and it was _unanimously_ adopted by slaveholders and non-slaveholders. certainly one might think the time of redemption was drawing nigh. the declaration goes on to say: "it is manifestly the duty of all christians who enjoy the light of the present day, when the inconsistency of slavery both with the dictates of humanity and religion has been demonstrated, and is generally seen and acknowledged, to use honest, earnest, unwearied endeavors to correct the errors of former times, and as speedily as possible to efface this blot on our holy religion, and to obtain the complete abolition of slavery throughout christendom and throughout the world." here we have the presbyterian church, slaveholding and non-slaveholding, virtually formed into one great _abolition society_, as we have seen the methodist was. the assembly then goes on to state that the slaves are not _at present_ prepared to be free,--that they tenderly sympathize with the portion of the church and country that has had this evil entailed upon them, where, as they say, "a great and the most virtuous part of the community abhor slavery, and wish its extermination." but they exhort them to commence immediately the work of instructing slaves, with a view to preparing them for freedom, and to let no greater delay take place than "a regard to public welfare _indispensably_ demands;" "to be governed by no other considerations than an _honest and impartial regard to the happiness of the injured party, uninfluenced by the expense and inconvenience_ which such regard may involve." it warns against "_unduly extending this plea of necessity_,"--against making it a cover for the _love and practice of slavery_. it ends by recommending that any one who shall sell a fellow-christian without his consent be immediately disciplined and suspended. if we consider that this was _unanimously_ adopted by slaveholders and all, and grant, as we certainly do, that it was adopted in all honesty and good faith, we shall surely expect something from it. we should expect forthwith the organizing of a set of common schools for the slave children; for an efficient religious ministration; for an entire discontinuance of trading in christian slaves; for laws which make the family relations sacred. was any such thing done or attempted? alas! two years after this came the admission of missouri, and the increase of demand in the southern slave-market, and the internal slave-trade. instead of school-teachers, they had slave-traders; instead of gathering _schools_, they gathered _slave-coffles_. instead of building schoolhouses, they built slave-pens and slave-prisons, jails, barracoons, factories, or whatever the trade pleases to term them; and so went the plan of gradual emancipation. in , sixteen years after, a committee of the synod of kentucky, in which state slavery is generally said to exist in its mildest form, appointed to make a report on the condition of the slaves, gave the following picture of their condition. first, as to their spiritual condition, they say: "after making all reasonable allowances, our colored population can be considered, at the most, but semi-heathen. "brutal stripes, and all the various kinds of personal indignities, are not the only species of cruelty which slavery licenses. the law does not recognize the family relations of the slave, and extends to him no protection in the enjoyment of domestic endearments. the members of a slave-family may be forcibly separated, so that they shall never more meet until the final judgment. and cupidity often induces the masters to practise what the law allows. brothers and sisters, parents and children, husbands and wives, are torn asunder, and permitted to see each other no more. these acts are daily occurring in the midst of us. the shrieks and the agony often witnessed on such occasions proclaim with a trumpet-tongue the iniquity and cruelty of our system. the cries of these sufferers go up to the ears of the lord of sabaoth. there is not a neighborhood where these heartrending scenes are not displayed. there is not a village or road that does not behold the sad procession of manacled outcasts, whose chains and mournful countenances tell that they are exiled by force from all that their hearts hold dear. our church, years ago, raised its voice of solemn warning against this flagrant violation of every principle of mercy, justice, and humanity. yet we blush to announce to you and to the world, that this warning has been often disregarded, even by those who hold to our communion. cases have occurred, in our own denomination, where professors of the religion of mercy have torn the mother from her children, and sent her into a merciless and returnless exile. yet acts of discipline have rarely followed such conduct." hon. james g. birney, for years a resident of kentucky, in his pamphlet, amends the word _rarely_ by substituting _never_. what could show more plainly the utter inefficiency of the past act of the assembly, and the necessity of adopting some measures more efficient? in , therefore, the subject was urged upon the general assembly, entreating them to carry out the principles and designs they had avowed in . mr. stuart, of illinois, in a speech he made upon the subject, said: "i hope this assembly are prepared to come out fully and declare their sentiments, that slaveholding is a most flagrant and heinous sin. let us not pass it by in this indirect way, while so many thousands and tens of thousands of our fellow-creatures are writhing under the lash, often inflicted, too, by ministers and elders of the presbyterian church. * * * * * * * * * "in this church a man may take a free-born child, force it away from its parents, to whom god gave it in charge, saying, 'bring it up for me,' and sell it as a beast, or hold it in perpetual bondage, and not only escape corporal punishment, but really be esteemed an excellent christian. nay, even ministers of the gospel and doctors of divinity may engage in this unholy traffic, and yet sustain their high and holy calling. * * * * * * * * * "elders, ministers, and doctors of divinity are, with both hands, engaged in the practice." one would have thought facts like these, stated in a body of christians, were enough to wake the dead; but, alas! we can become accustomed to very awful things. no action was taken upon these remonstrances, except to refer them to a committee, to be reported on at the next session, in . the moderator of the assembly in was a slaveholder, dr. t. s. witherspoon, the same who said to the editor of the _emancipator_, "i draw my warrant from the scriptures of the old and new testament to hold my slaves in bondage. the principle of holding the heathen in bondage is recognized by god. when the tardy process of the law is too long in redressing our grievances, we at the south have adopted the summary process of judge lynch." the majority of the committee appointed made a report as follows: "whereas the subject of slavery is inseparably connected with the laws of many of the states in this union, with which it is by no means proper for an ecclesiastical judicature to interfere, and involves many considerations in regard to which great diversity of opinion and intensity of feeling are known to exist in the churches represented in this assembly; and whereas there is great reason to believe that any action on the part of this assembly, in reference to this subject, would tend to distract and divide our churches, and would probably in no wise promote the benefit of those whose welfare is immediately contemplated in the memorials in question: "therefore, resolved, " . that it is not expedient for the assembly to take any further order in relation to this subject. " . that as the notes which have been expunged from our public formularies, and which some of the memorials referred to the committee request to have restored, were introduced irregularly, never had the sanction of the church, and, therefore, never possessed any authority, the general assembly has no power, nor would they think it expedient, to assign them a place in the authorized standards of the church." the minority of the committee, the rev. messrs. dickey and beman, reported as follows: "_resolved_, . that the buying, selling, or holding a human being as property, is in the sight of god a heinous sin, and ought to subject the doer of it to the censures of the church. " . that it is the duty of every one, and especially of every christian, who may be involved in this sin, to free himself from its entanglement without delay. " . that it is the duty of every one, especially of every christian, in the meekness and firmness of the gospel, to plead the cause of the poor and needy, by testifying against the principle and practice of slaveholding, and to use his best endeavors to deliver the church of god from the evil, and to bring about the emancipation of the slaves in these united states, and throughout the world." the slaveholding delegates, to the number of forty-eight, met _apart_, and _resolved_, "that if the general assembly shall undertake to exercise authority on the subject of slavery, so as to make it an immorality, or shall in any way declare that christians are criminal in holding slaves, that a declaration shall be presented by the southern delegation declining their jurisdiction in the case, and our determination not to submit to such decision." in view of these conflicting reports, the assembly resolved as follows: "inasmuch as the constitution of the presbyterian church, in its preliminary and fundamental principles, declares that no church judicatories ought to pretend to make laws to bind the conscience in virtue of their own authority; and as the urgency of the business of the assembly, and the shortness of the time during which they can continue in session, render it impossible to deliberate and decide judiciously on the subject of slavery in its relation to the church, therefore, resolved, that this whole subject be indefinitely postponed." the amount of the slave-trade at the time when the general assembly refused to act upon the subject of slavery at all may be inferred from the following items. the _virginia times_, in an article published in this very year of , estimated the number of slaves exported for sale from that state alone, during the twelve months preceding, at forty thousand. the _natchez_ (miss.) _courier_ says that in the same year the states of alabama, missouri, and arkansas imported two hundred and fifty thousand slaves from the more northern states. if we deduct from these all who may be supposed to have emigrated with their masters, still what an immense trade is here indicated! two years after, the general assembly, by a sudden and very unexpected movement, passed a vote exscinding, without trial, from the communion of the church, four synods, comprising the most active and decided anti-slavery portions of the church, the reasons alleged were, doctrinal differences and ecclesiastical practices inconsistent with presbyterianism. by this act about five hundred ministers and sixty thousand members were cut off from the presbyterian church. that portion of the presbyterian church called new school, considering this act unjust, refused to assent to it, joined the exscinded synods, and formed themselves into the new school general assembly. in this communion only three slaveholding presbyteries remained; in the old there were between thirty and forty. the course of the old school assembly, after the separation, in relation to the subject of slavery, may be best expressed by quoting one of their resolutions, passed in . having some decided anti-slavery members in its body, and being, moreover, addressed on the subject of slavery by associated bodies, they presented, in this year, the following deliberate statement of their policy. (minutes for , p. .) "_resolved_, . that the general assembly of the presbyterian church in the united states was originally organized, and has since continued the bond of union in the church, upon the conceded principle that the existence of domestic slavery, under the circumstances in which it is found in the southern portion of the country, is no bar to christian communion. " . that the petitions that ask the assembly to make the holding of slaves in itself a matter of discipline do virtually require this judicatory to dissolve itself, and abandon the organization under which, by the divine blessing, it has so long prospered. the tendency is evidently to separate the northern from the southern portion of the church--a result which every good christian must deplore, as tending to the dissolution of the union of our beloved country, and which every enlightened christian will oppose, as bringing about a ruinous and unnecessary schism between brethren who maintain a common faith. "yeas, ministers and elders, . "nays, " " " ." it is scarcely necessary to add a comment to this very explicit declaration. it is the plainest possible disclaimer of any protest against slavery; the plainest possible statement that the existence of the ecclesiastical organization is of more importance than all the moral and social considerations which are involved in a full defence and practice of american slavery. the next year a large number of petitions and remonstrances were presented, requesting the assembly to utter additional testimony against slavery. in reply to the petitions, the general assembly reaffirmed all their former testimonies on the subject of slavery for sixty years back, and also affirmed that the previous year's declaration must not be understood as a retraction of that testimony; in other words, they expressed it as their opinion, in the words of , that slavery is "_wholly opposed to the law of god_," and "_totally irreconcilable with the precepts of the gospel of christ_;" and yet that they "had formed their church organization upon the conceded principle that the existence of it, under the circumstances in which it is found in the southern states of the union, is no bar to christian communion." some members protested against this action. (minutes, . overture, no. .) great hopes were at first entertained of the new school body. as a body, it was composed mostly of anti-slavery men. it had in it three synods whose anti-slavery opinions and actions had been, to say the least, one very efficient cause for their excision from the church. it had only three slaveholding presbyteries. the power was all in its own hands. now, if ever, was their time to cut this loathsome encumbrance wholly adrift, and stand up, in this age of concession and conformity to the world, a purely protesting church, free from all complicity with this most dreadful national immorality. on the first session of the general assembly this course was most vehemently urged, by many petitions and memorials. these memorials were referred to a committee of decided anti-slavery men. the argument on one side was, that the time was now come to take decided measures to cut free wholly from all pro-slavery complicity, and avow their principles with decision, even though it should repel all such churches from their communion as were not prepared for immediate emancipation. on the other hand, the majority of the committee were urged by opposing considerations. the brethren from slave states made to them representations somewhat alike to these: "brethren, our hearts are with you. we are with you in faith, in charity, in prayer. we sympathized in the injury that had been done you by excision. we stood by you then, and are ready to stand by you still. we have no sympathy with the party that have expelled you, and we do not wish to go back to them. as to this matter of slavery, we do not differ from you. we consider it an evil. we mourn and lament over it. we are trying, by gradual and peaceable means, to exclude it from our churches. we are going as far in advance of the sentiment of our churches as we consistently can. we cannot come up to more decided action without losing our hold over them, and, as we think, throwing back the cause of emancipation. if you begin in this decided manner, we cannot hold our churches in the union; they will divide, and go to the old school." here was a very strong plea, made by good and sincere men. it was an appeal, too, to the most generous feelings of the heart. it was, in effect, saying, "brothers, we stood by you, and fought your battles, when everything was going against you; and, now that you have the power in your hands, are you going to use it so as to cast us out?" these men, strong anti-slavery men as they were, were affected. one member of the committee foresaw and feared the result. he felt and suggested that the course proposed conceded the whole question. the majority thought, on the whole, that it was best to postpone the subject. the committee reported that the applicants, for reasons satisfactory to themselves, had withdrawn their papers. the next year, in , the subject was resumed; and it was again urged that the assembly should take high, and decided, and unmistakable ground; and certainly, if we consider that all this time not a single church had emancipated its slaves, and that the power of the institution was everywhere stretching and growing and increasing, it would certainly seem that something more efficient was necessary than a general understanding that the church agreed with the testimony delivered in . it was strongly represented that it was time something was done. this year the assembly decided to refer the subject to presbyteries, to do what they deemed advisable. the words employed were these: "solemnly referring the whole to the lower judicatories, to take such action as in their judgment is most judicious, and adapted to remove the evil." the rev. george beecher moved to insert the word moral before evil; they declined.[ ] this brought, in , a much larger number of memorials and petitions; and very strong attempts were made by the abolitionists to obtain some decided action. the committee this year referred to what had been done last year, and declared it inexpedient to do anything further. the subject was indefinitely postponed. at this time it was resolved that the assembly should meet only once in three years. accordingly, it did not meet till . in , several memorials were again presented, and some resolutions offered to the assembly, of which this was one (minutes of the general assembly for , p. ): "resolved, that we affectionately and earnestly urge upon the ministers, sessions, presbyteries, and synods, connected with this assembly, that they treat this as all other sins of great magnitude; and by a diligent, kind, and faithful application of the means which god has given them, by instruction, remonstrance, reproof, and effective discipline, seek to purify the church of this great iniquity." this resolution they declined. they passed the following: "whereas there is in this assembly great diversity of opinion as to the proper and best mode of action on the subject of slavery; and whereas, in such circumstances, any expression of sentiment would carry with it but little weight, as it would be passed by a small majority, and must operate to produce alienation and division; and whereas the assembly of , with great unanimity, referred this whole subject to the lower judicatories, to take such order as in their judgment might be adapted to remove the evil;--resolved, that the assembly do not think it for the edification of the church for this body to take any action on the subject." they, however, passed the following: "resolved, that the fashionable amusement of promiscuous dancing is so entirely unscriptural, and eminently and exclusively that of 'the world which lieth in wickedness,' and so wholly inconsistent with the spirit of christ, and with that propriety of christian deportment and that purity of heart which his followers are bound to maintain, as to render it not only improper and injurious for professing christians either to partake in it, or to qualify their children for it, by teaching them the 'art,' but also to call for the faithful and judicious exercise of discipline on the part of church sessions, when any of the members of their churches have been guilty." thus has the matter gone on from year to year, ever since. in we are sorry to say that we can report no improvement in the action of the great ecclesiastical bodies on the subject of slavery, but rather deterioration. notwithstanding all the aggressions of slavery, and notwithstanding the constant developments of its horrible influence in corrupting and degrading the character of the nation, as seen in the mean, vulgar, assassin-like outrages in our national congress, and the brutal, bloodthirsty, fiend-like proceedings in kansas, connived at and protected, if not directly sanctioned and in part instigated, by our national government;--notwithstanding all this, the great ecclesiastical organizations seem less disposed than ever before to take any efficient action on the subject. this was manifest in the general conference of the methodist episcopal church north, held at indianapolis during the spring of the present year, and in the general assemblies of the presbyterian church held at new york at about the same time. true, a very large minority in the methodist conference resisted with great energy the action, or rather no action, of the majority, and gave fearless utterance to the most noble sentiments; but in the final result the numbers were against them. the same thing was true to some extent in the new school presbyterian general assembly, though here the anti-slavery utterances were, on the whole, inferior to those in the methodist conference. in both bodies the packthreads, and cushings, and calkers, and bonnies, are numerous and have the predominant influence, while the dicksons and the ruskins are fewer, and have far less power. the representations, therefore, in the body of the work, though very painful, are strictly just. individuals, everywhere in the free states, and in same of the slave states, are most earnestly struggling against the prevailing corruption; but the churches, as such, are, for the most part, still on the wrong side. there are churches free from this stain, but they are neither numerous nor popular. for an illustration of the lynching of father dickson, see "key to uncle tom's cabin," part iii., chapter viii. footnotes: [ ] this resolution is given in birney's pamphlet. [ ] _goodell's history of the great struggle between freedom and slavery._ struggles for freedom. [illustration: (signed) yours truly, lucy a. delaney] from the darkness cometh the light or struggles for freedom. [illustration] st. louis, mo. publishing house of j. t. smith, no. , bridge entrance. dedication. to those who by their valor have made their name immortal, from whom we are daily learning the lessons of patriotism, in whom we respect the virtues of charity, patience and friendship as displayed towards the colored race and to those "whose deeds crowd history's pages and time's great volume make," is this little volume reverently dedicated-- the grand army of the republic. preface. so many of my friends have urged me to give a short sketch of my varied life that i have consented, and herewith present it for the consideration of my readers. those who were with me in the days of slavery will appreciate these pages, for though they cannot recur with any happiness to the now "shadowy past, or renew the unrenewable," the unaccountable longing for the aged to look backward and review the events of their youth will find an answering chord in this little book. those of you who have never suffered as we have, perhaps may suppose the case, and therefore accept with interest and sympathy the passages of life and character here portrayed and the lessons which should follow from them. if there is a want of unity or coherence in this work, be charitable and attribute it to lack of knowledge and experience in literary acquirements. as this is a world of varied interests and many events, although we are each but atoms, it must be remembered, that we assist in making the grand total of all history, and therefore are excusable in making our affairs of importance to ourselves, and endeavoring to impress them on others. with this reason of my seeking your favor, i leave you to the perusal of my little tale. l. a. d. struggles for freedom. chapter i. "soon is the echo and the shadow o'er, soon, soon we lie with lid-encumbered eyes and the great fabrics that we reared before crumble to make a dust to hide who dies." in the year --, mr. and mrs. john woods and mr. and mrs. andrew posey lived as one family in the state of illinois. living with mrs. posey was a little negro girl, named polly crocket, who had made it her home there, in peace and happiness, for five years. on a dismal night in the month of september, polly, with four other colored persons, were kidnapped, and, after being securely bound and gagged, were put into a skiff and carried across the mississippi river to the city of st. louis. shortly after, these unfortunate negroes were taken up the missouri river and sold into slavery. polly was purchased by a farmer, thomas botts, with whom she resided for a year, when, overtaken by business reverses, he was obliged to sell all he possessed, including his negroes. among those present on the day set apart for the sale was major taylor berry, a wealthy gentleman who had travelled a long distance for the purpose of purchasing a servant girl for his wife. as was the custom, all the negroes were brought out and placed in a line, so that the buyers could examine their good points at leisure. major berry was immediately attracted by the bright and alert appearance of polly, and at once negotiated with the trader, paid the price agreed upon, and started for home to present his wife with this flesh and blood commodity, which money could so easily procure in our vaunted land of freedom. mrs. fanny berry was highly pleased with polly's manner and appearance, and concluded to make a seamstress of her. major berry had a mulatto servant, who was as handsome as an apollo, and when he and polly met each other, day after day, the natural result followed, and in a short time, with the full consent of major berry and his wife, were married. two children were the fruit of this marriage, my sister nancy and myself, lucy a. delaney. while living in franklin county, major berry became involved in a quarrel with some gentleman, and a duel was resorted to, to settle the difficulty and avenge some fancied insult. the major arranged his affairs and made his will, leaving his negroes to his wife during her life-time and at her death they were to be free; this was his expressed wish. my father accompanied major berry to new madrid, where the fatal duel was fought, and stayed by him until the end came, received his last sigh, his last words, and closed his dying eyes, and afterwards conveyed the remains of his best friend to the bereaved family with a sad heart. though sympathizing deeply with them in their affliction, my father was much disturbed as to what disposition would be made of him, and after major berry was consigned with loving hands to his last resting place, these haunting thoughts obtruded, even in his sleeping hours. a few years after, major berry's widow married robert wash, an eminent lawyer, who afterwards became judge of the supreme court. one child was born to them, who, when she grew to womanhood, became mrs. francis w. goode, whom i shall always hold in grateful remembrance as long as life lasts, and god bless her in her old age, is my fervent prayer for her kindness to me, a poor little slave girl! we lived in the old "wash" mansion some time after the marriage of the judge, until their daughter frances was born. how well i remember those happy days! slavery had no horror then for me, as i played about the place, with the same joyful freedom as the little white children. with mother, father and sister, a pleasant home and surroundings, what happier child than i! as i carelessly played away the hours, mother's smiles would fade away, and her brow contract into a heavy frown. i wondered much thereat, but the time came--ah! only too soon, when i learned the secret of her ever-changing face! chapter ii. mrs. wash lost her health, and, on the advice of a physician, went to pensacola, florida, accompanied by my mother. there she died, and her body was brought back to st. louis and there interred. after mrs. wash's death, the troubles of my parents and their children may be said to have really commenced. though in direct opposition to the will of major berry, my father's quondam master and friend, judge wash tore my father from his wife and children and sold him "way down south!" slavery! cursed slavery! what crimes has it invoked! and, oh! what retribution has a righteous god visited upon these traders in human flesh! the rivers of tears shed by us helpless ones, in captivity, were turned to lakes of blood! how often have we cried in our anguish, "oh! lord, how long, how long?" but the handwriting was on the wall, and tardy justice came at last and avenged the woes of an oppressed race! chickamauga, shiloh, atlanta and gettysburgh, spoke in thunder tones! john brown's body had indeed marched on, and we, the ransomed ones, glorify god and dedicate ourselves to his service, and acknowledge his greatness and goodness in rescuing us from such bondage as parts husband from wife, the mother from her children, aye, even the babe from her breast! major berry's daughter mary, shortly after, married h. s. cox, of philadelphia, and they went to that city to pass their honeymoon, taking my sister nancy with them as waiting-maid. when my father was sold south, my mother registered a solemn vow that her children should not continue in slavery all their lives, and she never spared an opportunity to impress it upon us, that we must get our freedom whenever the chance offered. so here was an unlooked-for avenue of escape which presented much that was favorable in carrying out her desire to see nancy a free woman. having been brought up in a free state, mother had learned much to her advantage, which would have been impossible in a slave state, and which she now proposed to turn to account for the benefit of her daughter. so mother instructed my sister not to return with mr. and mrs. cox, but to run away, as soon as chance offered, to canada, where a friend of our mother's lived who was also a runaway slave, living in freedom and happiness in toronto. as the happy couple wandered from city to city, in search of pleasure, my sister was constantly turning over in her mind various plans of escape. fortune finally favored nancy, for on their homeward trip they stopped at niagara falls for a few days. in her own words i will describe her escape: "in the morning, mr. and mrs. cox went for a drive, telling me that i could have the day to do as i pleased. the shores of canada had been tantalizing my longing gaze for some days, and i was bound to reach there long before my mistress returned. so i locked up mrs. cox's trunk and put the key under the pillow, where i was sure she would find it, and i made a strike for freedom! a servant in the hotel gave me all necessary information and even assisted me in getting away. some kind of a festival was going on, and a large crowd was marching from the rink to the river, headed by a band of music. in such a motley throng i was unnoticed, but was trembling with fear of being detected. it seemed an age before the ferry boat arrived, which at last appeared, enveloped in a gigantic wreath of black smoke. hastily i embarked, and as the boat stole away into the misty twilight and among crushing fields of ice, though the air was chill and gloomy, i felt the warmth of freedom as i neared the canada shore. i landed, without question, and found my mother's friend with but little difficulty, who assisted me to get work and support myself. not long afterwards, i married a prosperous farmer, who provided me with a happy home, where i brought my children into the world without the sin of slavery to strive against." on the return of mrs. cox to st. louis she sent for my mother and told her that nancy had run away. mother was very thankful, and in her heart arose a prayer of thanksgiving, but outwardly she pretended to be vexed and angry. oh! the impenetrable mask of these poor black creatures! how much of joy, of sorrow, of misery and anguish have they hidden from their tormentors! i was a small girl at that time, but remember how wildly mother showed her joy at nancy's escape when we were alone together. she would dance, clap her hands, and, waving them above her head, would indulge in one of those weird negro melodies, which so charm and fascinate the listener. mrs. cox commenced housekeeping on a grand and extended scale, having a large acquaintance, she entertained lavishly. my mother cared for the laundry, and i, who was living with a mrs. underhill, from new york, and was having rather good times, was compelled to go live with mrs. cox to mind the baby. my pathway was thorny enough, and though there may be no roses without thorns, i had thorns in plenty with no roses. i was beginning to plan for freedom, and was forever on the alert for a chance to escape and join my sister. i was then twelve years old, and often talked the matter over with mother and canvassed the probabilities of both of us getting away. no schemes were too wild for us to consider! mother was especially restless, because she was a free woman up to the time of her being kidnapped, so the injustice and weight of slavery bore more heavily upon her than upon me. she did not dare to talk it over with anyone for fear that they would sell her further down the river, so i was her only confidant. mother was always planning and getting ready to go, and while the fire was burning brightly, it but needed a little more provocation to add to the flames. chapter iii. mrs. cox was always very severe and exacting with my mother, and one occasion, when something did not suit her, she turned on mother like a fury, and declared, "i am just tired out with the 'white airs' you put on, and if you don't behave differently, i will make mr. cox sell you down the river at once." although mother turned grey with fear, she presented a bold front and retorted that "she didn't care, she was tired of that place, and didn't like to live there, nohow." this so infuriated mr. cox that he cried, "how dare a negro say what she liked or what she did not like; and he would show her what he should do." so, on the day following, he took my mother to an auction-room on main street and sold her to the highest bidder, for five hundred and fifty dollars. oh! god! the pity of it! "in the home of the brave and the land of the free," in the sight of the stars and stripes--that symbol of freedom--sold away from her child, to satisfy the anger of a peevish mistress! my mother returned to the house to get her few belongings, and straining me to her breast, begged me to be a good girl, that she was going to run away, and would buy me as soon as she could. with all the inborn faith of a child, i believed it most fondly, and when i heard that she had actually made her escape, three weeks after, my heart gave an exultant throb and cried, "god is good!" a large reward was offered, the bloodhounds (curse them and curse their masters) were set loose on her trail. in the day time she hid in caves and the surrounding woods, and in the night time, guided by the wondrous north star, that blessed lodestone of a slave people, my mother finally reached chicago, where she was arrested by the negro-catchers. at this time the fugitive slave law was in full operation, and it was against the law of the whole country to aid and protect an escaped slave; not even a drink of water, for the love of the master, might be given, and those who dared to do it (and there were many such brave hearts, thank god!) placed their lives in danger. the presence of bloodhounds and "nigger-catchers" in their midst, created great excitement and scandalized the community. feeling ran high and hundreds of people gathered together and declared that mother should not be returned to slavery; but fearing that mr. cox would wreak his vengeance upon me, my mother finally gave herself up to her captors, and returned to st. louis. and so the mothers of israel have been ever slain through their deepest affections! after my mother's return, she decided to sue for her freedom, and for that purpose employed a good lawyer. she had ample testimony to prove that she was kidnapped, and it was so fully verified that the jury decided that she was a free woman, and papers were made out accordingly. in the meanwhile, miss martha berry had married mr. mitchell and taken me to live with her. i had never been taught to work, as playing with the babies had been my sole occupation; therefore, when mrs. mitchell commanded me to do the weekly washing and ironing, i had no more idea how it was to be done than mrs. mitchell herself. but i made the effort to do what she required, and my failure would have been amusing had it not been so appalling. in those days filtering was unknown and the many ways of clearing water were to me an unsolved riddle. i never had to do it, so it never concerned me how the clothes were ever washed clean. as the mississippi water was even muddier than now, the results of my washing can be better imagined than described. after soaking and boiling the clothes in its earthy depths, for a couple of days, in vain attempt to get them clean, and rinsing through several waters, i found the clothes were getting darker and darker, until they nearly approximated my own color. in my despair, i frantically rushed to my mother and sobbed out my troubles on her kindly breast. so in the morning, before the white people had arisen, a friend of my mother came to the house and washed out the clothes. during all this time, mrs. mitchell was scolding vigorously, saying over and over again, "lucy, you do not want to work, you are a lazy, good-for-nothing nigger!" i was angry at being called a nigger, and replied, "you don't know nothing, yourself, about it, and you expect a poor ignorant girl to know more than you do yourself; if you had any feeling you would get somebody to teach me, and then i'd do well enough." she then gave me a wrapper to do up, and told me if i ruined that as i did the other clothes, she would whip me severely. i answered, "you have no business to whip me. i don't belong to you." my mother had so often told me that she was a free woman and that i should not die a slave, i always had a feeling of independence, which would invariably crop out in these encounters with my mistress; and when i thus spoke, saucily, i must confess, she opened her eyes in angry amazement and cried: "you _do_ belong to me, for my papa left you to me in his will, when you were a baby, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk so to one that you have been raised with; now, you take that wrapper, and if you don't do it up properly, i will bring you up with a round turn." without further comment, i took the wrapper, which was too handsome to trust to an inexperienced hand, like mrs. mitchell very well knew i was, and washed it, with the same direful results as chronicled before. but i could not help it, as heaven is my witness. i was entirely and hopelessly ignorant! but of course my mistress would not believe it, and declared over and over again, that i did it on purpose to provoke her and show my defiance of her wishes. in vain did i disclaim any such intentions. she was bound to carry out her threat of whipping me. i rebelled against such government, and would not permit her to strike me; she used shovel, tongs and broomstick in vain, as i disarmed her as fast as she picked up each weapon. infuriated at her failure, my opposition and determination not to be whipped, mrs. mitchell declared she would report me to mr. mitchell and have him punish me. when her husband returned home, she immediately entered a list of complaints against me as long as the moral law, including my failure to wash her clothes properly, and her inability to break my head for it; the last indictment seemed to be the heaviest she could bring against me. i was in the shadow of the doorway as the woman raved, while mr. mitchell listened patiently until the end of his wife's grievances reached an appeal to him to whip me with the strength that a man alone could possess. then he declared, "martha, this thing of cutting up and slashing servants is something i know nothing about, and positively will not do. i don't believe in slavery, anyhow; it is a curse on this land, and i wish we were well rid of it." "mr. mitchell, i will not have that saucy baggage around this house, for if she finds you won't whip her, there will be no living with her, so you shall just sell her, and i insist upon it." "well, martha," he answered, "i found the girl with you when we were married, and as you claim her as yours, i shall not interpose any objections to the disposal of what you choose to call your property, in any manner you see fit, and i will make arrangements for selling her at once." i distinctly overheard all that was said, and was just as determined not to be sold as i was not to be whipped. my mother's lawyer had told her to caution me never to go out of the city, if, at any time, the white people wanted me to go, so i was quite settled as to my course, in case mr. mitchell undertook to sell me. several days after this conversation took place, mrs. mitchell, with her baby and nurse, lucy wash, made a visit to her grandmother's, leaving orders that i should be sold before her return; so i was not surprised to be ordered by mr. mitchell to pack up my clothes and get ready to go down the river, for i was to be sold that morning, and leave, on the steamboat alex. scott, at o'clock in the afternoon. "can't i go see my mother, first?" i asked. "no," he replied, not very gently, "there is no time for that, you can see her when you come back. so hurry up and get ready, and let us have no more words about it!" how i did hate him! to hear him talk as if i were going to take a pleasure trip, when he knew that if he sold me south, as he intended, i would never see my dear mother again. however, i hastily ran up stairs and packed my trunk, but my mother's injunction, "never to go out of the city," was ever present in my mind. mr. mitchell was superintendent of indian affairs, his office being in the dwelling house, and i could hear him giving orders to his clerk, as i ran lightly down the stairs, out of the front door to the street, and with fleet foot, i skimmed the road which led to my mother's door, and, reaching it, stood trembling in every limb with terror and fatigue. i could not gain admittance, as my mother was away to work and the door was locked. a white woman, living next door, and who was always friendly to mother, told me that she would not return until night. i clasped my hands in despair and cried, "oh! the white people have sold me, and i had to run away to keep from being sent down the river." this white lady, whose name i am sorry i cannot remember, sympathized with me, as she knew my mother's story and had written many letters for her, so she offered me the key of her house, which, fortunately, fitted my mother's door, and i was soon inside, cowering with fear in the darkness, magnifying every noise and every passing wind, until my imagination had almost converted the little cottage into a boat, and i was steaming down south, away from my mother, as fast as i could go. late at night mother returned, and was told all that had happened, and after getting supper, she took me to a friend's house for concealment, until the next day. as soon as mr. mitchell had discovered my unlooked-for departure, he was furious, for he did not think i had sense enough to run away; he accused the coachman of helping me off, and, despite the poor man's denials, hurried him away to the calaboose and put him under the lash, in order to force a confession. finding this course unavailing, he offered a reward to the negro catchers, on the same evening, but their efforts were equally fruitless. chapter iv. on the morning of the th of september, , my mother sued mr. d. d. mitchell for the possession of her child, lucy ann berry. my mother, accompanied by the sheriff, took me from my hiding-place and conveyed me to the jail, which was located on sixth street, between chestnut and market, where the laclede hotel now stands, and there met mr. mitchell, with mr. h. s. cox, his brother-in-law. judge bryant mullanphy read the law to mr. mitchell, which stated that if mr. mitchell took me back to his house, he must give bond and security to the amount of two thousand dollars, and furthermore, i should not be taken out of the state of missouri until i had a chance to prove my freedom. mr. h. s. cox became his security and mr. mitchell gave bond accordingly, and then demanded that i should be put in jail. "why do you want to put that poor young girl in jail?" demanded my lawyer. "because," he retorted, "her mother or some of her crew might run her off, just to make me pay the two thousand dollars; and i would like to see her lawyer, or any other man, in jail, that would take up a d---- nigger case like that." "you need not think, mr. mitchell," calmly replied mr. murdock, "because my client is colored that she has no rights, and can be cheated out of her freedom. she is just as free as you are, and the court will so decide it, as you will see." however, i was put in a cell, under lock and key, and there remained for seventeen long and dreary months, listening to the "----foreign echoes from the street, faint sounds of revel, traffic, conflict keen-- and, thinking that man's reiterated feet have gone such ways since e'er the world has been, i wondered how each oft-used tone and glance retains its might and old significance." my only crime was seeking for that freedom which was my birthright! i heard mr. mitchell tell his wife that he did not believe in slavery, yet, through his instrumentality, i was shut away from the sunlight, because he was determined to prove me a slave, and thus keep me in bondage. consistency, thou art a jewel! at the time my mother entered suit for her freedom, she was not instructed to mention her two children, nancy and lucy, so the white people took advantage of this flaw, and showed a determination to use every means in their power to prove that i was not her child. this gave my mother an immense amount of trouble, but she had girded up her loins for the fight, and, knowing that she was right, was resolved, by the help of god and a good lawyer, to win my case against all opposition. after advice by competent persons, mother went to judge edward bates and begged him to plead the case, and, after fully considering the proofs and learning that my mother was a poor woman, he consented to undertake the case and make his charges only sufficient to cover his expenses. it would be well here to give a brief sketch of judge bates, as many people wondered that such a distinguished statesman would take up the case of an obscure negro girl. edward bates was born in belmont, goochland county, va., september, . he was of quaker descent, and inherited all the virtues of that peace-loving people. in , he received a midshipman's warrant, and was only prevented from following the sea by the influence of his mother, to whom he was greatly attached. edward emigrated to missouri in , and entered upon the practice of law, and, in , was appointed prosecuting lawyer for the st. louis circuit. toward the close of the same year, he was appointed attorney general for the new state of missouri, and in , while yet a young man, was elected representative to congress as an anti-democrat, and served one term. for the following twenty-five years, he devoted himself to his profession, in which he was a shining light. his probity and uprightness attracted to him a class of people who were in the right and only sought justice, while he repelled, by his virtues, those who traffic in the miseries or mistakes of unfortunate people, for they dared not come to him and seek counsel to aid them in their villainy. in , mr. bates was delegate to the convention for internal improvement, held in chicago, and by his action he came prominently before the whole country. in , president fillmore offered him the portfolio of secretary of war, which he declined. three years later, he accepted the office of judge of st. louis land court. when the question of the repeal of the missouri compromise was agitated, he earnestly opposed it, and thus became identified with the "free labor" party in missouri, and united with it, in opposition to the admission of kansas under the lecompton constitution. he afterwards became a prominent anti-slavery man, and in was mentioned as a candidate for the presidency. he was warmly supported by his own state, and for a time it seemed that the opposition to governor seward might concentrate on him. in the national republican convention, , he received forty-eight votes on the first ballot, but when it became apparent that abraham lincoln was the favorite, mr. bates withdrew his name. mr. lincoln appointed judge bates attorney general, and while in the cabinet he acted a dignified, safe and faithful part. in , he resigned his office and returned to his home in st. louis, where he died in , surrounded by his weeping family. "----loved at home, revered abroad. princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 'an honest man's the noblest work of god.'" on the th of february, , the suit for my freedom began. a bright, sunny day, a day which the happy and care-free would drink in with a keen sense of enjoyment. but my heart was full of bitterness; i could see only gloom which seemed to deepen and gather closer to me as i neared the courtroom. the jailer's sister-in-law, mrs. lacy, spoke to me of submission and patience; but i could not feel anything but rebellion against my lot. i could not see one gleam of brightness in my future, as i was hurried on to hear my fate decided. among the most important witnesses were judge robert wash and mr. harry douglas, who had been an overseer on judge wash's farm, and also mr. mackeon, who bought my mother from h. s. cox, just previous to her running away. judge wash testified that "the defendant, lucy a. berry, was a mere infant when he came in possession of mrs. fannie berry's estate, and that he often saw the child in the care of its reputed mother, polly, and to his best knowledge and belief, he thought lucy a. berry was polly's own child." mr. douglas and mr. mackeon corroborated judge wash's statement. after the evidence from both sides was all in, mr. mitchell's lawyer, thomas hutchinson, commenced to plead. for one hour, he talked so bitterly against me and against my being in possession of my liberty that i was trembling, as if with ague, for i certainly thought everybody must believe him; indeed i almost believed the dreadful things he said, myself, and as i listened i closed my eyes with sickening dread, for i could just see myself floating down the river, and my heart-throbs seemed to be the throbs of the mighty engine which propelled me from my mother and freedom forever! oh! what a relief it was to me when he finally finished his harangue and resumed his seat! as i never heard anyone plead before, i was very much alarmed, although i knew in my heart that every word he uttered was a lie! yet, how was i to make people believe? it seemed a puzzling question! judge bates arose, and his soulful eloquence and earnest pleading made such an impression on my sore heart, i listened with renewed hope. i felt the black storm clouds of doubt and despair were fading away, and that i was drifting into the safe harbor of the realms of truth. i felt as if everybody _must_ believe _him_, for he clung to the truth, and i wondered how mr. hutchinson could so lie about a poor defenseless girl like me. judge bates chained his hearers with the graphic history of my mother's life, from the time she played on illinois banks, through her trials in slavery, her separation from her husband, her efforts to become free, her voluntary return to slavery for the sake of her child, lucy, and her subsequent efforts in securing her own freedom. all these incidents he lingered over step by step, and concluding, he said: "gentlemen of the jury, i am a slave-holder myself, but, thanks to the almighty god, i am above the base principle of holding anybody a slave that has as good right to her freedom as this girl has been proven to have; she was free before she was born; her mother was free, but kidnapped in her youth, and sacrificed to the greed of negro traders, and no free woman can give birth to a slave child, as it is in direct violation of the laws of god and man!" at this juncture he read the affidavit of mr. a. posey, with whom my mother lived at the time of her abduction; also affidavits of mr. and mrs. woods, in corroboration of the previous facts duly set forth. judge bates then said: "gentlemen of the jury, here i rest this case, as i would not want any better evidence for one of my own children. the testimony of judge wash is alone sufficient to substantiate the claim of polly crockett berry to the defendant as being her own child." the case was then submitted to the jury, about o'clock in the evening, and i was returned to the jail and locked in the cell which i had occupied for seventeen months, filled with the most intense anguish. chapter v. "there's a joy in every sorrow, there's a relief from every pain; though to-day 'tis dark to-morrow he will turn all bright again." before the sheriff bade me good night he told me to be in readiness at nine o'clock on the following morning to accompany him back to court to hear the verdict. my mother was not at the trial. she had lingered many days about the jail expecting my case would be called, and finally when called to trial the dear, faithful heart was not present to sustain me during that dreadful speech of mr. hutchinson. all night long i suffered agonies of fright, the suspense was something awful, and could only be comprehended by those who have gone through some similar ordeal. i had missed the consolation of my mother's presence, and i felt so hopeless and alone! blessed mother! how she clung and fought for me. no work was too hard for her to undertake. others would have flinched before the obstacles which confronted her, but undauntedly she pursued her way, until my freedom was established by every right and without a questioning doubt! on the morning of my return to court, i was utterly unable to help myself. i was so overcome with fright and emotion,--with the alternating feelings of despair and hope--that i could not stand still long enough to dress myself. i trembled like an aspen leaf; so i sent a message to mrs. lacy to request permission for me to go to her room, that she might assist me in dressing. i had done a great deal of sewing for mrs. lacy, for she had showed me much kindness, and was a good christian. she gladly assisted me, and under her willing hands i was soon made ready, and, promptly at nine o'clock, the sheriff called and escorted me to the courthouse. on our way thither, judge bates overtook us. he lived out a short distance in the country, and was riding on horseback. he tipped his hat to me as politely as if i were the finest lady in the land, and cried out, "good morning miss lucy, i suppose you had pleasant dreams last night!" he seemed so bright and smiling that i was imbued with renewed hope; and when he addressed the sheriff with "good morning sir. i don't suppose the jury was out twenty minutes were they?" and the sheriff replied "oh! no, sir," my heart gave a leap, for i was sure that my fate was decided for weal or woe. i watched the judge until he turned the corner and desiring to be relieved of suspense from my pent-up anxiety, i eagerly asked the sheriff if i were free, but he gruffly answered that "he didn't know." i was sure he did know, but was too mean to tell me. how could he have been so flinty, when he must have seen how worried i was. at last the courthouse was reached and i had taken my seat in such a condition of helpless terror that i could not tell one person from another. friends and foes were as one, and vainly did i try to distinguish them. my long confinement, burdened with harrowing anxiety, the sleepless night i had just spent, the unaccountable absence of my mother, had brought me to an indescribable condition. i felt dazed, as if i were no longer myself. i seemed to be another person--an on-looker--and in my heart dwelt a pity for the poor, lonely girl, with down-cast face, sitting on the bench apart from anyone else in that noisy room. i found myself wondering where lucy's mother was, and how she would feel if the trial went against her; i seemed to have lost all feeling about it, but was speculating what lucy would do, and what her mother would do, if the hand of fate was raised against poor lucy! oh! how sorry i did feel for myself! at the sound of a gentle voice, i gathered courage to look upward, and caught the kindly gleam of judge bates' eyes, as he bent his gaze upon me and smilingly said, "i will have you discharged in a few minutes, miss lucy!" some other business occupied the attention of the court, and when i had begun to think they had forgotten all about me, judge bates arose and said calmly, "your honor, i desire to have this girl, lucy a. berry, discharged before going into any other business." judge mullanphy answered "certainly!" then the verdict was called for and rendered, and the jurymen resumed their places. mr. mitchell's lawyer jumped up and exclaimed: "your honor, my client demands that this girl be remanded to jail. he does not consider that the case has had a fair trial, i am not informed as to what course he intends to pursue, but i am now expressing his present wishes?" judge bates was on his feet in a second and cried: "for shame! is it not enough that this girl has been deprived of her liberty for a year and a half, that you must still pursue her after a fair and impartial trial before a jury, in which it was clearly proven and decided that she had every right to freedom? i demand that she be set at liberty at once!" "i agree with judge bates," responded judge mullanphy, "and the girl may go!" oh! the overflowing thankfulness of my grateful heart at that moment, who could picture it? none but the good god above us! i could have kissed the feet of my deliverers, but i was too full to express my thanks, but with a voice trembling with tears i tried to thank judge bates for all his kindness. as soon as possible, i returned to the jail to bid them all good-bye and thank them for their good treatment of me while under their care. they rejoiced with me in my good fortune and wished me much success and happiness in years to come. i was much concerned at my mother's prolonged absence, and was deeply anxious to meet her and sob out my joy on her faithful bosom. surely it was the hands of god which prevented mother's presence at the trial, for broken down with anxiety and loss of sleep on my account, the revulsion of feeling would have been greater than her over-wrought heart could have sustained. as soon as she heard of the result, she hurried to meet me, and hand in hand we gazed into each other's eyes and saw the light of freedom there, and we felt in our hearts that we could with one accord cry out: "glory to god in the highest, and peace and good will towards men." dear, dear mother! how solemnly i invoke your spirit as i review these trying scenes of my girlhood, so long agone! your patient face and neatly-dressed figure stands ever in the foreground of that checkered time; a figure showing naught to an on-looker but the common place virtues of an honest woman! never would an ordinary observer connect those virtues with aught of heroism or greatness, but to me they are as bright rays as ever emanated from the lives of the great ones of earth, which are portrayed on historic pages--to me, the qualities of her true, steadfast heart and noble soul become "a constellation, and is tracked in heaven straightway." chapter vi. after the trial was over and my mother had at last been awarded the right to own her own child, her next thought reverted to sister nancy, who had been gone so long, and from whom we had never heard, and the greatest ambition mother now had was to see her child nancy. so, we earnestly set ourselves to work to reach the desired end, which was to visit canada and seek the long-lost girl. my mother being a first-class laundress, and myself an expert seamstress, it was easy to procure all the work we could do, and command our own prices. we found, as well as the whites, a great difference between slave and free labor, for while the first was compulsory, and, therefore, at the best, perfunctory, the latter must be superior in order to create a demand, and realizing this fully, mother and i expended the utmost care in our respective callings, and were well rewarded for our efforts. by exercising rigid economy and much self-denial, we, at last, accumulated sufficient to enable mother to start for canada, and oh! how rejoiced i was when that dear, overworked mother approached the time, when her hard-earned and long-deferred holiday was about to begin. the uses of adversity is a worn theme, and in it there is much of weak cant, but when it is considered how much of sacrifice the poverty-stricken must bear in order to procure the slightest gratification, should it not impress the thinking mind with amazement, how much of fortitude and patience the honest poor display in the exercise of self-denial! oh! ye prosperous! prate of the uses of adversity as poetically as you please, we who are obliged to learn of them by bitter experience would greatly prefer a change of surroundings. mother arrived in toronto two weeks after she left st. louis, and surprised my sister nancy, in a pleasant home. she had married a prosperous farmer, who owned the farm on which they lived, as well as some property in the city near-by. mother was indescribably happy in finding her child so pleasantly situated, and took much pleasure with her bright little grandchildren; and after a long visit, returned home, although strongly urged to remain the rest of her life with nancy; but old people are like old trees, uproot them, and transplant to other scenes, they droop and die, no matter how bright the sunshine, or how balmy the breezes. on her return, mother found me with mrs. elsie thomas, where i had lived during her absence, still sewing for a livelihood. those were the days in which sewing machines were unknown, and no stitching or sewing of any description was allowed to pass muster, unless each stitch looked as if it were a part of the cloth. the art of fine sewing was lost when sewing machines were invented, and though doubtless they have given women more leisure, they have destroyed that extreme neatness in the craft, which obtained in the days of long ago. time passed happily on with us, with no event to ruffle life's peaceful stream, until , when i met frederick turner, and in a few short months we were made man and wife. after our marriage, we removed to quincy, ill., but our happiness was of short duration, as my husband was killed in the explosion of the steamboat edward bates, on which he was employed. to my mind it seemed a singular coincidence that the boat which bore the name of the great and good man, who had given me the first joy of my meagre life--the precious boon of freedom--and that his namesake should be the means of weighting me with my first great sorrow; this thought seemed to reconcile me to my grief, for that name was ever sacred, and i could not speak it without reverence. the number of killed and wounded were many, and they were distributed among friends and hospitals; my husband was carried to a friend's, where he breathed his last. telegraphs were wanting in those times, so days passed before this wretched piece of news reached me, and there being no railroads, and many delays, i reached the home of my friend only to be told that my husband was dead and buried. intense grief was mine, and my repining worried mother greatly; she never believed in fretting about anything that could not be helped. my only consolation from her was, "'cast your burden on the lord.' _my_ husband is down south, and i don't know where he is; he may be dead; he may be alive; he may be happy and comfortable; he may be kicked, abused and half-starved. _your_ husband, honey, is in heaven; and mine--god only knows where he is!" in those few words, i knew her burden was heavier than mine, for i had been taught that there was hope beyond the grave, but hope was left behind when sold "down souf"; and so i resolved to conceal my grief, and devote myself to my mother, who had done so much and suffered so much for me. we then returned to st. louis, and took up the old life, minus the contentment which had always buoyed us up in our daily trials, and with an added sorrow which cast a sadness over us. but time, the great healer, taught us patience and resignation, and once more we were "waiting when fortune sheds brightly her smile, there always is something to wait for the while." chapter vii. four years afterward, i became the wife of zachariah delaney, of cincinnati, with whom i have had a happy married life, continuing forty-two years. four children were born to us, and many were the plans we mapped out for their future, but two of our little girls were called from us while still in their childhood. my remaining daughter attained the age of twenty-two years, and left life behind, while the brightest of prospects was hers, and my son, in the fullness of a promising youth, at the age of twenty-four, "turned his face to the wall." so my cup of bitterness was full to the brim and overflowing; yet one consolation was always mine! our children were born free and died free! their childhood and my maternity were never shadowed with a thought of separation. the grim reaper did not spare them, but they were as "treasures laid up in heaven." such a separation one could accept from the hand of god, with humble submission, "for he calleth his own!" mother always made her home with me until the day of her death; she had lived to see the joyful time when her race was made free, their chains struck off, and their right to their own flesh and blood lawfully acknowledged. her life, so full of sorrow, was ended, full of years and surrounded by many friends, both black and white, who recognized and appreciated her sufferings and sacrifices and rejoiced that her old age was spent in freedom and plenty. the azure vault of heaven bends over us all, and the gleaming moonlight brightens the marble tablet which marks her last resting place, "to fame and fortune unknown," but in the eyes of him who judgeth us, hers was a heroism which outvied the most famous. * * * * * i frequently thought of father, and wondered if he were alive or dead; and at the time of the great exodus of negroes from the south, a few years ago, a large number arrived in st. louis, and were cared for by the colored people of that city. they were sheltered in churches, halls and private houses, until such time as they could pursue their journey. methought, i will find him in this motley crowd, of all ages, from the crowing babe in its mother's arms, to the aged and decrepit, on whom the marks of slavery were still visible. i piled inquiry upon inquiry, until after long and persistent search, i learned that my father had always lived on the same plantation, fifteen miles from vicksburg. i wrote to my father and begged him to come and see me and make his home with me; sent him the money, so he would be to no expense, and when he finally reached st. louis, it was with great joy that i received him. old, grizzled and gray, time had dealt hardly with him, and he looked very little like the dapper master's valet, whose dark beauty won my mother's heart. forty-five years of separation, hard work, rough times and heart longings, had perseveringly performed its work, and instead of a man bearing his years with upright vigor, he was made prematurely old by the accumulation of troubles. my sister nancy came from canada, and we had a most joyful reunion, and only the absence of our mother left a vacuum, which we deeply and sorrowfully felt. father could not be persuaded to stay with us, when he found his wife dead; he longed to get back to his old associations of forty-five years standing, he felt like a stranger in a strange land, and taking pity on him, i urged him no more, but let him go, though with great reluctance. * * * * * there are abounding in public and private libraries of all sorts, lives of people which fill our minds with amazement, admiration, sympathy, and indeed with as many feelings as there are people, so i can scarcely expect that the reader of these episodes of my life will meet with more than a passing interest, but as such i will commend it to your thought for a brief hour. to be sure, i am deeply sensible that this story, as written, is not a very striking performance, but i have brought you with me face to face with but only a few of the painful facts engendered by slavery, and the rest can be drawn from history. just have patience a little longer, and i have done. i became a member of the methodist episcopal church in ; was elected president of the first colored society, called the "female union," which was the first ever organized exclusively for women; was elected president of a society known as the "daughters of zion"; was matron of "siloam court," no. , three years in succession; was most ancient matron of the "grand court of missouri," of which only the wives of masons are allowed to become members. i am at present, past grand chief preceptress of the "daughters of the tabernacle and knights of tabor," and also was secretary, and am still a member, of col. shaw woman's relief corps, no. , auxiliary to the col. shaw post, , grand army of the republic. considering the limited advantages offered me, i have made the best use of my time, and what few talents the lord has bestowed on me i have not "hidden in a napkin," but used them for his glory and to benefit those for whom i live. and what better can we do than to live for others? except the deceitfulness of riches, nothing is so illusory as the supposition of interest we assume that our readers may feel in our affairs; but if this sketch is taken up for just a moment of your life, it may settle the problem in your mind, if not in others, "can the negro race succeed, proportionately, as well as the whites, if given the same chance and an equal start?" "the hours are growing shorter for the millions who are toiling; and the homes are growing better for the millions yet to be; and we all shall learn the lesson, how that waste and sin are spoiling the fairest and the finest of a grand humanity. it is coming! it is coming! and men's thoughts are growing deeper; they are giving of their millions as they never gave before; they are learning the new gospel; man must be his brother's keeper, and right, not might, shall triumph, and the selfish rule no more." finis. * * * * * =transcriber's notes= spelling variations have been retained for: chapter i, page : polly crocket (living with mrs. posey was a little negro girl, named polly crocket, who had made it her home there, in peace and happiness, for five years.) chapter iv, page : polly crockett berry (the testimony of judge wash is alone sufficient to substantiate the claim of polly crockett berry to the defendant as being her own child.) other minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected from the original to reflect the author's intent. huckleberry finn by mark twain part . chapter xvi. we slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. she had four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty men, likely. she had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end. there was a power of style about her. it amounted to something being a raftsman on such a craft as that. we went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got hot. the river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on both sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. we talked about cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to it. i said likely we wouldn't, because i had heard say there warn't but about a dozen houses there, and if they didn't happen to have them lit up, how was we going to know we was passing a town? jim said if the two big rivers joined together there, that would show. but i said maybe we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the same old river again. that disturbed jim--and me too. so the question was, what to do? i said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed, and tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was a green hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to cairo. jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and waited. there warn't nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and not pass it without seeing it. he said he'd be mighty sure to see it, because he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it he'd be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom. every little while he jumps up and says: "dah she is?" but it warn't. it was jack-o'-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set down again, and went to watching, same as before. jim said it made him all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom. well, i can tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him, because i begun to get it through my head that he was most free--and who was to blame for it? why, me. i couldn't get that out of my conscience, no how nor no way. it got to troubling me so i couldn't rest; i couldn't stay still in one place. it hadn't ever come home to me before, what this thing was that i was doing. but now it did; and it stayed with me, and scorched me more and more. i tried to make out to myself that i warn't to blame, because i didn't run jim off from his rightful owner; but it warn't no use, conscience up and says, every time, "but you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could a paddled ashore and told somebody." that was so--i couldn't get around that noway. that was where it pinched. conscience says to me, "what had poor miss watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off right under your eyes and never say one single word? what did that poor old woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? why, she tried to learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to be good to you every way she knowed how. that's what she done." i got to feeling so mean and so miserable i most wished i was dead. i fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and jim was fidgeting up and down past me. we neither of us could keep still. every time he danced around and says, "dah's cairo!" it went through me like a shot, and i thought if it was cairo i reckoned i would die of miserableness. jim talked out loud all the time while i was talking to myself. he was saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free state he would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to where miss watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the two children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, they'd get an ab'litionist to go and steal them. it most froze me to hear such talk. he wouldn't ever dared to talk such talk in his life before. just see what a difference it made in him the minute he judged he was about free. it was according to the old saying, "give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell." thinks i, this is what comes of my not thinking. here was this nigger, which i had as good as helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would steal his children--children that belonged to a man i didn't even know; a man that hadn't ever done me no harm. i was sorry to hear jim say that, it was such a lowering of him. my conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last i says to it, "let up on me--it ain't too late yet--i'll paddle ashore at the first light and tell." i felt easy and happy and light as a feather right off. all my troubles was gone. i went to looking out sharp for a light, and sort of singing to myself. by and by one showed. jim sings out: "we's safe, huck, we's safe! jump up and crack yo' heels! dat's de good ole cairo at las', i jis knows it!" i says: "i'll take the canoe and go and see, jim. it mightn't be, you know." he jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom for me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as i shoved off, he says: "pooty soon i'll be a-shout'n' for joy, en i'll say, it's all on accounts o' huck; i's a free man, en i couldn't ever ben free ef it hadn' ben for huck; huck done it. jim won't ever forgit you, huck; you's de bes' fren' jim's ever had; en you's de only fren' ole jim's got now." i was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me. i went along slow then, and i warn't right down certain whether i was glad i started or whether i warn't. when i was fifty yards off, jim says: "dah you goes, de ole true huck; de on'y white genlman dat ever kep' his promise to ole jim." well, i just felt sick. but i says, i got to do it--i can't get out of it. right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and they stopped and i stopped. one of them says: "what's that yonder?" "a piece of a raft," i says. "do you belong on it?" "yes, sir." "any men on it?" "only one, sir." "well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head of the bend. is your man white or black?" i didn't answer up prompt. i tried to, but the words wouldn't come. i tried for a second or two to brace up and out with it, but i warn't man enough--hadn't the spunk of a rabbit. i see i was weakening; so i just give up trying, and up and says: "he's white." "i reckon we'll go and see for ourselves." "i wish you would," says i, "because it's pap that's there, and maybe you'd help me tow the raft ashore where the light is. he's sick--and so is mam and mary ann." "oh, the devil! we're in a hurry, boy. but i s'pose we've got to. come, buckle to your paddle, and let's get along." i buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars. when we had made a stroke or two, i says: "pap'll be mighty much obleeged to you, i can tell you. everybody goes away when i want them to help me tow the raft ashore, and i can't do it by myself." "well, that's infernal mean. odd, too. say, boy, what's the matter with your father?" "it's the--a--the--well, it ain't anything much." they stopped pulling. it warn't but a mighty little ways to the raft now. one says: "boy, that's a lie. what is the matter with your pap? answer up square now, and it'll be the better for you." "i will, sir, i will, honest--but don't leave us, please. it's the--the --gentlemen, if you'll only pull ahead, and let me heave you the headline, you won't have to come a-near the raft--please do." "set her back, john, set her back!" says one. they backed water. "keep away, boy--keep to looard. confound it, i just expect the wind has blowed it to us. your pap's got the small-pox, and you know it precious well. why didn't you come out and say so? do you want to spread it all over?" "well," says i, a-blubbering, "i've told everybody before, and they just went away and left us." "poor devil, there's something in that. we are right down sorry for you, but we--well, hang it, we don't want the small-pox, you see. look here, i'll tell you what to do. don't you try to land by yourself, or you'll smash everything to pieces. you float along down about twenty miles, and you'll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river. it will be long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell them your folks are all down with chills and fever. don't be a fool again, and let people guess what is the matter. now we're trying to do you a kindness; so you just put twenty miles between us, that's a good boy. it wouldn't do any good to land yonder where the light is--it's only a wood-yard. say, i reckon your father's poor, and i'm bound to say he's in pretty hard luck. here, i'll put a twenty-dollar gold piece on this board, and you get it when it floats by. i feel mighty mean to leave you; but my kingdom! it won't do to fool with small-pox, don't you see?" "hold on, parker," says the other man, "here's a twenty to put on the board for me. good-bye, boy; you do as mr. parker told you, and you'll be all right." "that's so, my boy--good-bye, good-bye. if you see any runaway niggers you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it." "good-bye, sir," says i; "i won't let no runaway niggers get by me if i can help it." they went off and i got aboard the raft, feeling bad and low, because i knowed very well i had done wrong, and i see it warn't no use for me to try to learn to do right; a body that don't get started right when he's little ain't got no show--when the pinch comes there ain't nothing to back him up and keep him to his work, and so he gets beat. then i thought a minute, and says to myself, hold on; s'pose you'd a done right and give jim up, would you felt better than what you do now? no, says i, i'd feel bad--i'd feel just the same way i do now. well, then, says i, what's the use you learning to do right when it's troublesome to do right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same? i was stuck. i couldn't answer that. so i reckoned i wouldn't bother no more about it, but after this always do whichever come handiest at the time. i went into the wigwam; jim warn't there. i looked all around; he warn't anywhere. i says: "jim!" "here i is, huck. is dey out o' sight yit? don't talk loud." he was in the river under the stern oar, with just his nose out. i told him they were out of sight, so he come aboard. he says: "i was a-listenin' to all de talk, en i slips into de river en was gwyne to shove for sho' if dey come aboard. den i was gwyne to swim to de raf' agin when dey was gone. but lawsy, how you did fool 'em, huck! dat wuz de smartes' dodge! i tell you, chile, i'spec it save' ole jim--ole jim ain't going to forgit you for dat, honey." then we talked about the money. it was a pretty good raise--twenty dollars apiece. jim said we could take deck passage on a steamboat now, and the money would last us as far as we wanted to go in the free states. he said twenty mile more warn't far for the raft to go, but he wished we was already there. towards daybreak we tied up, and jim was mighty particular about hiding the raft good. then he worked all day fixing things in bundles, and getting all ready to quit rafting. that night about ten we hove in sight of the lights of a town away down in a left-hand bend. i went off in the canoe to ask about it. pretty soon i found a man out in the river with a skiff, setting a trot-line. i ranged up and says: "mister, is that town cairo?" "cairo? no. you must be a blame' fool." "what town is it, mister?" "if you want to know, go and find out. if you stay here botherin' around me for about a half a minute longer you'll get something you won't want." i paddled to the raft. jim was awful disappointed, but i said never mind, cairo would be the next place, i reckoned. we passed another town before daylight, and i was going out again; but it was high ground, so i didn't go. no high ground about cairo, jim said. i had forgot it. we laid up for the day on a towhead tolerable close to the left-hand bank. i begun to suspicion something. so did jim. i says: "maybe we went by cairo in the fog that night." he says: "doan' le's talk about it, huck. po' niggers can't have no luck. i awluz 'spected dat rattlesnake-skin warn't done wid its work." "i wish i'd never seen that snake-skin, jim--i do wish i'd never laid eyes on it." "it ain't yo' fault, huck; you didn' know. don't you blame yo'self 'bout it." when it was daylight, here was the clear ohio water inshore, sure enough, and outside was the old regular muddy! so it was all up with cairo. we talked it all over. it wouldn't do to take to the shore; we couldn't take the raft up the stream, of course. there warn't no way but to wait for dark, and start back in the canoe and take the chances. so we slept all day amongst the cottonwood thicket, so as to be fresh for the work, and when we went back to the raft about dark the canoe was gone! we didn't say a word for a good while. there warn't anything to say. we both knowed well enough it was some more work of the rattlesnake-skin; so what was the use to talk about it? it would only look like we was finding fault, and that would be bound to fetch more bad luck--and keep on fetching it, too, till we knowed enough to keep still. by and by we talked about what we better do, and found there warn't no way but just to go along down with the raft till we got a chance to buy a canoe to go back in. we warn't going to borrow it when there warn't anybody around, the way pap would do, for that might set people after us. so we shoved out after dark on the raft. anybody that don't believe yet that it's foolishness to handle a snake-skin, after all that that snake-skin done for us, will believe it now if they read on and see what more it done for us. the place to buy canoes is off of rafts laying up at shore. but we didn't see no rafts laying up; so we went along during three hours and more. well, the night got gray and ruther thick, which is the next meanest thing to fog. you can't tell the shape of the river, and you can't see no distance. it got to be very late and still, and then along comes a steamboat up the river. we lit the lantern, and judged she would see it. up-stream boats didn't generly come close to us; they go out and follow the bars and hunt for easy water under the reefs; but nights like this they bull right up the channel against the whole river. we could hear her pounding along, but we didn't see her good till she was close. she aimed right for us. often they do that and try to see how close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off a sweep, and then the pilot sticks his head out and laughs, and thinks he's mighty smart. well, here she comes, and we said she was going to try and shave us; but she didn't seem to be sheering off a bit. she was a big one, and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black cloud with rows of glow-worms around it; but all of a sudden she bulged out, big and scary, with a long row of wide-open furnace doors shining like red-hot teeth, and her monstrous bows and guards hanging right over us. there was a yell at us, and a jingling of bells to stop the engines, a powwow of cussing, and whistling of steam--and as jim went overboard on one side and i on the other, she come smashing straight through the raft. i dived--and i aimed to find the bottom, too, for a thirty-foot wheel had got to go over me, and i wanted it to have plenty of room. i could always stay under water a minute; this time i reckon i stayed under a minute and a half. then i bounced for the top in a hurry, for i was nearly busting. i popped out to my armpits and blowed the water out of my nose, and puffed a bit. of course there was a booming current; and of course that boat started her engines again ten seconds after she stopped them, for they never cared much for raftsmen; so now she was churning along up the river, out of sight in the thick weather, though i could hear her. i sung out for jim about a dozen times, but i didn't get any answer; so i grabbed a plank that touched me while i was "treading water," and struck out for shore, shoving it ahead of me. but i made out to see that the drift of the current was towards the left-hand shore, which meant that i was in a crossing; so i changed off and went that way. it was one of these long, slanting, two-mile crossings; so i was a good long time in getting over. i made a safe landing, and clumb up the bank. i couldn't see but a little ways, but i went poking along over rough ground for a quarter of a mile or more, and then i run across a big old-fashioned double log-house before i noticed it. i was going to rush by and get away, but a lot of dogs jumped out and went to howling and barking at me, and i knowed better than to move another peg. chapter xvii. in about a minute somebody spoke out of a window without putting his head out, and says: "be done, boys! who's there?" i says: "it's me." "who's me?" "george jackson, sir." "what do you want?" "i don't want nothing, sir. i only want to go along by, but the dogs won't let me." "what are you prowling around here this time of night for--hey?" "i warn't prowling around, sir, i fell overboard off of the steamboat." "oh, you did, did you? strike a light there, somebody. what did you say your name was?" "george jackson, sir. i'm only a boy." "look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't be afraid--nobody'll hurt you. but don't try to budge; stand right where you are. rouse out bob and tom, some of you, and fetch the guns. george jackson, is there anybody with you?" "no, sir, nobody." i heard the people stirring around in the house now, and see a light. the man sung out: "snatch that light away, betsy, you old fool--ain't you got any sense? put it on the floor behind the front door. bob, if you and tom are ready, take your places." "all ready." "now, george jackson, do you know the shepherdsons?" "no, sir; i never heard of them." "well, that may be so, and it mayn't. now, all ready. step forward, george jackson. and mind, don't you hurry--come mighty slow. if there's anybody with you, let him keep back--if he shows himself he'll be shot. come along now. come slow; push the door open yourself--just enough to squeeze in, d' you hear?" i didn't hurry; i couldn't if i'd a wanted to. i took one slow step at a time and there warn't a sound, only i thought i could hear my heart. the dogs were as still as the humans, but they followed a little behind me. when i got to the three log doorsteps i heard them unlocking and unbarring and unbolting. i put my hand on the door and pushed it a little and a little more till somebody said, "there, that's enough--put your head in." i done it, but i judged they would take it off. the candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me, and me at them, for about a quarter of a minute: three big men with guns pointed at me, which made me wince, i tell you; the oldest, gray and about sixty, the other two thirty or more--all of them fine and handsome --and the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her two young women which i couldn't see right well. the old gentleman says: "there; i reckon it's all right. come in." as soon as i was in the old gentleman he locked the door and barred it and bolted it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and they all went in a big parlor that had a new rag carpet on the floor, and got together in a corner that was out of the range of the front windows --there warn't none on the side. they held the candle, and took a good look at me, and all said, "why, he ain't a shepherdson--no, there ain't any shepherdson about him." then the old man said he hoped i wouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by it--it was only to make sure. so he didn't pry into my pockets, but only felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right. he told me to make myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself; but the old lady says: "why, bless you, saul, the poor thing's as wet as he can be; and don't you reckon it may be he's hungry?" "true for you, rachel--i forgot." so the old lady says: "betsy" (this was a nigger woman), "you fly around and get him something to eat as quick as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake up buck and tell him--oh, here he is himself. buck, take this little stranger and get the wet clothes off from him and dress him up in some of yours that's dry." buck looked about as old as me--thirteen or fourteen or along there, though he was a little bigger than me. he hadn't on anything but a shirt, and he was very frowzy-headed. he came in gaping and digging one fist into his eyes, and he was dragging a gun along with the other one. he says: "ain't they no shepherdsons around?" they said, no, 'twas a false alarm. "well," he says, "if they'd a ben some, i reckon i'd a got one." they all laughed, and bob says: "why, buck, they might have scalped us all, you've been so slow in coming." "well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right i'm always kept down; i don't get no show." "never mind, buck, my boy," says the old man, "you'll have show enough, all in good time, don't you fret about that. go 'long with you now, and do as your mother told you." when we got up-stairs to his room he got me a coarse shirt and a roundabout and pants of his, and i put them on. while i was at it he asked me what my name was, but before i could tell him he started to tell me about a bluejay and a young rabbit he had catched in the woods day before yesterday, and he asked me where moses was when the candle went out. i said i didn't know; i hadn't heard about it before, no way. "well, guess," he says. "how'm i going to guess," says i, "when i never heard tell of it before?" "but you can guess, can't you? it's just as easy." "which candle?" i says. "why, any candle," he says. "i don't know where he was," says i; "where was he?" "why, he was in the dark! that's where he was!" "well, if you knowed where he was, what did you ask me for?" "why, blame it, it's a riddle, don't you see? say, how long are you going to stay here? you got to stay always. we can just have booming times--they don't have no school now. do you own a dog? i've got a dog--and he'll go in the river and bring out chips that you throw in. do you like to comb up sundays, and all that kind of foolishness? you bet i don't, but ma she makes me. confound these ole britches! i reckon i'd better put 'em on, but i'd ruther not, it's so warm. are you all ready? all right. come along, old hoss." cold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilk--that is what they had for me down there, and there ain't nothing better that ever i've come across yet. buck and his ma and all of them smoked cob pipes, except the nigger woman, which was gone, and the two young women. they all smoked and talked, and i eat and talked. the young women had quilts around them, and their hair down their backs. they all asked me questions, and i told them how pap and me and all the family was living on a little farm down at the bottom of arkansaw, and my sister mary ann run off and got married and never was heard of no more, and bill went to hunt them and he warn't heard of no more, and tom and mort died, and then there warn't nobody but just me and pap left, and he was just trimmed down to nothing, on account of his troubles; so when he died i took what there was left, because the farm didn't belong to us, and started up the river, deck passage, and fell overboard; and that was how i come to be here. so they said i could have a home there as long as i wanted it. then it was most daylight and everybody went to bed, and i went to bed with buck, and when i waked up in the morning, drat it all, i had forgot what my name was. so i laid there about an hour trying to think, and when buck waked up i says: "can you spell, buck?" "yes," he says. "i bet you can't spell my name," says i. "i bet you what you dare i can," says he. "all right," says i, "go ahead." "g-e-o-r-g-e j-a-x-o-n--there now," he says. "well," says i, "you done it, but i didn't think you could. it ain't no slouch of a name to spell--right off without studying." i set it down, private, because somebody might want me to spell it next, and so i wanted to be handy with it and rattle it off like i was used to it. it was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too. i hadn't seen no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much style. it didn't have an iron latch on the front door, nor a wooden one with a buckskin string, but a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in town. there warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps of parlors in towns has beds in them. there was a big fireplace that was bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept clean and red by pouring water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes they wash them over with red water-paint that they call spanish-brown, same as they do in town. they had big brass dog-irons that could hold up a saw-log. there was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with a picture of a town painted on the bottom half of the glass front, and a round place in the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the pendulum swinging behind it. it was beautiful to hear that clock tick; and sometimes when one of these peddlers had been along and scoured her up and got her in good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred and fifty before she got tuckered out. they wouldn't took any money for her. well, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock, made out of something like chalk, and painted up gaudy. by one of the parrots was a cat made of crockery, and a crockery dog by the other; and when you pressed down on them they squeaked, but didn't open their mouths nor look different nor interested. they squeaked through underneath. there was a couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out behind those things. on the table in the middle of the room was a kind of a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and grapes piled up in it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier than real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it was, underneath. this table had a cover made out of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and blue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around. it come all the way from philadelphia, they said. there was some books, too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table. one was a big family bible full of pictures. one was pilgrim's progress, about a man that left his family, it didn't say why. i read considerable in it now and then. the statements was interesting, but tough. another was friendship's offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but i didn't read the poetry. another was henry clay's speeches, and another was dr. gunn's family medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was sick or dead. there was a hymn book, and a lot of other books. and there was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, too--not bagged down in the middle and busted, like an old basket. they had pictures hung on the walls--mainly washingtons and lafayettes, and battles, and highland marys, and one called "signing the declaration." there was some that they called crayons, which one of the daughters which was dead made her own self when she was only fifteen years old. they was different from any pictures i ever see before --blacker, mostly, than is common. one was a woman in a slim black dress, belted small under the armpits, with bulges like a cabbage in the middle of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet with a black veil, and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and very wee black slippers, like a chisel, and she was leaning pensive on a tombstone on her right elbow, under a weeping willow, and her other hand hanging down her side holding a white handkerchief and a reticule, and underneath the picture it said "shall i never see thee more alas." another one was a young lady with her hair all combed up straight to the top of her head, and knotted there in front of a comb like a chair-back, and she was crying into a handkerchief and had a dead bird laying on its back in her other hand with its heels up, and underneath the picture it said "i shall never hear thy sweet chirrup more alas." there was one where a young lady was at a window looking up at the moon, and tears running down her cheeks; and she had an open letter in one hand with black sealing wax showing on one edge of it, and she was mashing a locket with a chain to it against her mouth, and underneath the picture it said "and art thou gone yes thou art gone alas." these was all nice pictures, i reckon, but i didn't somehow seem to take to them, because if ever i was down a little they always give me the fan-tods. everybody was sorry she died, because she had laid out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done what they had lost. but i reckoned that with her disposition she was having a better time in the graveyard. she was at work on what they said was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and every night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it done, but she never got the chance. it was a picture of a young woman in a long white gown, standing on the rail of a bridge all ready to jump off, with her hair all down her back, and looking up to the moon, with the tears running down her face, and she had two arms folded across her breast, and two arms stretched out in front, and two more reaching up towards the moon--and the idea was to see which pair would look best, and then scratch out all the other arms; but, as i was saying, she died before she got her mind made up, and now they kept this picture over the head of the bed in her room, and every time her birthday come they hung flowers on it. other times it was hid with a little curtain. the young woman in the picture had a kind of a nice sweet face, but there was so many arms it made her look too spidery, seemed to me. this young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste obituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the presbyterian observer, and write poetry after them out of her own head. it was very good poetry. this is what she wrote about a boy by the name of stephen dowling bots that fell down a well and was drownded: ode to stephen dowling bots, dec'd and did young stephen sicken, and did young stephen die? and did the sad hearts thicken, and did the mourners cry? no; such was not the fate of young stephen dowling bots; though sad hearts round him thickened, 'twas not from sickness' shots. no whooping-cough did rack his frame, nor measles drear with spots; not these impaired the sacred name of stephen dowling bots. despised love struck not with woe that head of curly knots, nor stomach troubles laid him low, young stephen dowling bots. o no. then list with tearful eye, whilst i his fate do tell. his soul did from this cold world fly by falling down a well. they got him out and emptied him; alas it was too late; his spirit was gone for to sport aloft in the realms of the good and great. if emmeline grangerford could make poetry like that before she was fourteen, there ain't no telling what she could a done by and by. buck said she could rattle off poetry like nothing. she didn't ever have to stop to think. he said she would slap down a line, and if she couldn't find anything to rhyme with it would just scratch it out and slap down another one, and go ahead. she warn't particular; she could write about anything you choose to give her to write about just so it was sadful. every time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died, she would be on hand with her "tribute" before he was cold. she called them tributes. the neighbors said it was the doctor first, then emmeline, then the undertaker--the undertaker never got in ahead of emmeline but once, and then she hung fire on a rhyme for the dead person's name, which was whistler. she warn't ever the same after that; she never complained, but she kinder pined away and did not live long. poor thing, many's the time i made myself go up to the little room that used to be hers and get out her poor old scrap-book and read in it when her pictures had been aggravating me and i had soured on her a little. i liked all that family, dead ones and all, and warn't going to let anything come between us. poor emmeline made poetry about all the dead people when she was alive, and it didn't seem right that there warn't nobody to make some about her now she was gone; so i tried to sweat out a verse or two myself, but i couldn't seem to make it go somehow. they kept emmeline's room trim and nice, and all the things fixed in it just the way she liked to have them when she was alive, and nobody ever slept there. the old lady took care of the room herself, though there was plenty of niggers, and she sewed there a good deal and read her bible there mostly. well, as i was saying about the parlor, there was beautiful curtains on the windows: white, with pictures painted on them of castles with vines all down the walls, and cattle coming down to drink. there was a little old piano, too, that had tin pans in it, i reckon, and nothing was ever so lovely as to hear the young ladies sing "the last link is broken" and play "the battle of prague" on it. the walls of all the rooms was plastered, and most had carpets on the floors, and the whole house was whitewashed on the outside. it was a double house, and the big open place betwixt them was roofed and floored, and sometimes the table was set there in the middle of the day, and it was a cool, comfortable place. nothing couldn't be better. and warn't the cooking good, and just bushels of it too! chapter xviii. col. grangerford was a gentleman, you see. he was a gentleman all over; and so was his family. he was well born, as the saying is, and that's worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the widow douglas said, and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracy in our town; and pap he always said it, too, though he warn't no more quality than a mudcat himself. col. grangerford was very tall and very slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in it anywheres; he was clean shaved every morning all over his thin face, and he had the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kind of nostrils, and a high nose, and heavy eyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk so deep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caverns at you, as you may say. his forehead was high, and his hair was black and straight and hung to his shoulders. his hands was long and thin, and every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head to foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it; and on sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brass buttons on it. he carried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it. there warn't no frivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn't ever loud. he was as kind as he could be--you could feel that, you know, and so you had confidence. sometimes he smiled, and it was good to see; but when he straightened himself up like a liberty-pole, and the lightning begun to flicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted to climb a tree first, and find out what the matter was afterwards. he didn't ever have to tell anybody to mind their manners --everybody was always good-mannered where he was. everybody loved to have him around, too; he was sunshine most always--i mean he made it seem like good weather. when he turned into a cloudbank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that was enough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong again for a week. when him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got up out of their chairs and give them good-day, and didn't set down again till they had set down. then tom and bob went to the sideboard where the decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and he held it in his hand and waited till tom's and bob's was mixed, and then they bowed and said, "our duty to you, sir, and madam;" and they bowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank, all three, and bob and tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and the mite of whisky or apple brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, and give it to me and buck, and we drank to the old people too. bob was the oldest and tom next--tall, beautiful men with very broad shoulders and brown faces, and long black hair and black eyes. they dressed in white linen from head to foot, like the old gentleman, and wore broad panama hats. then there was miss charlotte; she was twenty-five, and tall and proud and grand, but as good as she could be when she warn't stirred up; but when she was she had a look that would make you wilt in your tracks, like her father. she was beautiful. so was her sister, miss sophia, but it was a different kind. she was gentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty. each person had their own nigger to wait on them--buck too. my nigger had a monstrous easy time, because i warn't used to having anybody do anything for me, but buck's was on the jump most of the time. this was all there was of the family now, but there used to be more --three sons; they got killed; and emmeline that died. the old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred niggers. sometimes a stack of people would come there, horseback, from ten or fifteen mile around, and stay five or six days, and have such junketings round about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woods daytimes, and balls at the house nights. these people was mostly kinfolks of the family. the men brought their guns with them. it was a handsome lot of quality, i tell you. there was another clan of aristocracy around there--five or six families --mostly of the name of shepherdson. they was as high-toned and well born and rich and grand as the tribe of grangerfords. the shepherdsons and grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, which was about two mile above our house; so sometimes when i went up there with a lot of our folks i used to see a lot of the shepherdsons there on their fine horses. one day buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard a horse coming. we was crossing the road. buck says: "quick! jump for the woods!" we done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves. pretty soon a splendid young man come galloping down the road, setting his horse easy and looking like a soldier. he had his gun across his pommel. i had seen him before. it was young harney shepherdson. i heard buck's gun go off at my ear, and harney's hat tumbled off from his head. he grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was hid. but we didn't wait. we started through the woods on a run. the woods warn't thick, so i looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet, and twice i seen harney cover buck with his gun; and then he rode away the way he come--to get his hat, i reckon, but i couldn't see. we never stopped running till we got home. the old gentleman's eyes blazed a minute--'twas pleasure, mainly, i judged--then his face sort of smoothed down, and he says, kind of gentle: "i don't like that shooting from behind a bush. why didn't you step into the road, my boy?" "the shepherdsons don't, father. they always take advantage." miss charlotte she held her head up like a queen while buck was telling his tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped. the two young men looked dark, but never said nothing. miss sophia she turned pale, but the color come back when she found the man warn't hurt. soon as i could get buck down by the corn-cribs under the trees by ourselves, i says: "did you want to kill him, buck?" "well, i bet i did." "what did he do to you?" "him? he never done nothing to me." "well, then, what did you want to kill him for?" "why, nothing--only it's on account of the feud." "what's a feud?" "why, where was you raised? don't you know what a feud is?" "never heard of it before--tell me about it." "well," says buck, "a feud is this way: a man has a quarrel with another man, and kills him; then that other man's brother kills him; then the other brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the cousins chip in--and by and by everybody's killed off, and there ain't no more feud. but it's kind of slow, and takes a long time." "has this one been going on long, buck?" "well, i should reckon! it started thirty year ago, or som'ers along there. there was trouble 'bout something, and then a lawsuit to settle it; and the suit went agin one of the men, and so he up and shot the man that won the suit--which he would naturally do, of course. anybody would." "what was the trouble about, buck?--land?" "i reckon maybe--i don't know." "well, who done the shooting? was it a grangerford or a shepherdson?" "laws, how do i know? it was so long ago." "don't anybody know?" "oh, yes, pa knows, i reckon, and some of the other old people; but they don't know now what the row was about in the first place." "has there been many killed, buck?" "yes; right smart chance of funerals. but they don't always kill. pa's got a few buckshot in him; but he don't mind it 'cuz he don't weigh much, anyway. bob's been carved up some with a bowie, and tom's been hurt once or twice." "has anybody been killed this year, buck?" "yes; we got one and they got one. 'bout three months ago my cousin bud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other side of the river, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame' foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind him, and sees old baldy shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun in his hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumping off and taking to the brush, bud 'lowed he could out-run him; so they had it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all the time; so at last bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced around so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, and the old man he rode up and shot him down. but he didn't git much chance to enjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid him out." "i reckon that old man was a coward, buck." "i reckon he warn't a coward. not by a blame' sight. there ain't a coward amongst them shepherdsons--not a one. and there ain't no cowards amongst the grangerfords either. why, that old man kep' up his end in a fight one day for half an hour against three grangerfords, and come out winner. they was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and got behind a little woodpile, and kep' his horse before him to stop the bullets; but the grangerfords stayed on their horses and capered around the old man, and peppered away at him, and he peppered away at them. him and his horse both went home pretty leaky and crippled, but the grangerfords had to be fetched home--and one of 'em was dead, and another died the next day. no, sir; if a body's out hunting for cowards he don't want to fool away any time amongst them shepherdsons, becuz they don't breed any of that kind." next sunday we all went to church, about three mile, everybody a-horseback. the men took their guns along, so did buck, and kept them between their knees or stood them handy against the wall. the shepherdsons done the same. it was pretty ornery preaching--all about brotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was a good sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had such a powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace and preforeordestination, and i don't know what all, that it did seem to me to be one of the roughest sundays i had run across yet. about an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in their chairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. buck and a dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. i went up to our room, and judged i would take a nap myself. i found that sweet miss sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she took me in her room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if i liked her, and i said i did; and she asked me if i would do something for her and not tell anybody, and i said i would. then she said she'd forgot her testament, and left it in the seat at church between two other books, and would i slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not say nothing to nobody. i said i would. so i slid out and slipped off up the road, and there warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, for there warn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor in summer-time because it's cool. if you notice, most folks don't go to church only when they've got to; but a hog is different. says i to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be in such a sweat about a testament. so i give it a shake, and out drops a little piece of paper with "half-past two" wrote on it with a pencil. i ransacked it, but couldn't find anything else. i couldn't make anything out of that, so i put the paper in the book again, and when i got home and upstairs there was miss sophia in her door waiting for me. she pulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the testament till she found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and before a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and said i was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. she was mighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and it made her powerful pretty. i was a good deal astonished, but when i got my breath i asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if i had read it, and i said no, and she asked me if i could read writing, and i told her "no, only coarse-hand," and then she said the paper warn't anything but a book-mark to keep her place, and i might go and play now. i went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon i noticed that my nigger was following along behind. when we was out of sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comes a-running, and says: "mars jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp i'll show you a whole stack o' water-moccasins." thinks i, that's mighty curious; he said that yesterday. he oughter know a body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for them. what is he up to, anyway? so i says: "all right; trot ahead." i followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp, and waded ankle deep as much as another half-mile. we come to a little flat piece of land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines, and he says: "you shove right in dah jist a few steps, mars jawge; dah's whah dey is. i's seed 'm befo'; i don't k'yer to see 'em no mo'." then he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hid him. i poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patch as big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying there asleep--and, by jings, it was my old jim! i waked him up, and i reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to him to see me again, but it warn't. he nearly cried he was so glad, but he warn't surprised. said he swum along behind me that night, and heard me yell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't want nobody to pick him up and take him into slavery again. says he: "i got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so i wuz a considable ways behine you towards de las'; when you landed i reck'ned i could ketch up wid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when i see dat house i begin to go slow. i 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say to you--i wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet agin i knowed you's in de house, so i struck out for de woods to wait for day. early in de mawnin' some er de niggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey tuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accounts o' de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how you's a-gitt'n along." "why didn't you tell my jack to fetch me here sooner, jim?" "well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, huck, tell we could do sumfn--but we's all right now. i ben a-buyin' pots en pans en vittles, as i got a chanst, en a-patchin' up de raf' nights when--" "what raft, jim?" "our ole raf'." "you mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?" "no, she warn't. she was tore up a good deal--one en' of her was; but dey warn't no great harm done, on'y our traps was mos' all los'. ef we hadn' dive' so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn' ben so dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin' is, we'd a seed de raf'. but it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kase now she's all fixed up agin mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot o' stuff, in de place o' what 'uz los'." "why, how did you get hold of the raft again, jim--did you catch her?" "how i gwyne to ketch her en i out in de woods? no; some er de niggers foun' her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in a crick 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin' 'bout which un 'um she b'long to de mos' dat i come to heah 'bout it pooty soon, so i ups en settles de trouble by tellin' 'um she don't b'long to none uv um, but to you en me; en i ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman's propaty, en git a hid'n for it? den i gin 'm ten cents apiece, en dey 'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo' raf's 'ud come along en make 'm rich agin. dey's mighty good to me, dese niggers is, en whatever i wants 'm to do fur me i doan' have to ast 'm twice, honey. dat jack's a good nigger, en pooty smart." "yes, he is. he ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come, and he'd show me a lot of water-moccasins. if anything happens he ain't mixed up in it. he can say he never seen us together, and it 'll be the truth." i don't want to talk much about the next day. i reckon i'll cut it pretty short. i waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over and go to sleep again when i noticed how still it was--didn't seem to be anybody stirring. that warn't usual. next i noticed that buck was up and gone. well, i gets up, a-wondering, and goes down stairs--nobody around; everything as still as a mouse. just the same outside. thinks i, what does it mean? down by the wood-pile i comes across my jack, and says: "what's it all about?" says he: "don't you know, mars jawge?" "no," says i, "i don't." "well, den, miss sophia's run off! 'deed she has. she run off in de night some time--nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get married to dat young harney shepherdson, you know--leastways, so dey 'spec. de fambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago--maybe a little mo'--en' i tell you dey warn't no time los'. sich another hurryin' up guns en hosses you never see! de women folks has gone for to stir up de relations, en ole mars saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de river road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him 'fo' he kin git acrost de river wid miss sophia. i reck'n dey's gwyne to be mighty rough times." "buck went off 'thout waking me up." "well, i reck'n he did! dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it. mars buck he loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home a shepherdson or bust. well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, i reck'n, en you bet you he'll fetch one ef he gits a chanst." i took up the river road as hard as i could put. by and by i begin to hear guns a good ways off. when i came in sight of the log store and the woodpile where the steamboats lands i worked along under the trees and brush till i got to a good place, and then i clumb up into the forks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. there was a wood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first i was going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier i didn't. there was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the steamboat landing; but they couldn't come it. every time one of them showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. the two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch both ways. by and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. they started riding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady bead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. all the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the run. they got half way to the tree i was in before the men noticed. then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out after them. they gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys had too good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree, and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again. one of the boys was buck, and the other was a slim young chap about nineteen years old. the men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. as soon as they was out of sight i sung out to buck and told him. he didn't know what to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. he was awful surprised. he told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the men come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or other --wouldn't be gone long. i wished i was out of that tree, but i dasn't come down. buck begun to cry and rip, and 'lowed that him and his cousin joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this day yet. he said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of the enemy. said the shepherdsons laid for them in ambush. buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their relations--the shepherdsons was too strong for them. i asked him what was become of young harney and miss sophia. he said they'd got across the river and was safe. i was glad of that; but the way buck did take on because he didn't manage to kill harney that day he shot at him--i hain't ever heard anything like it. all of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns--the men had slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their horses! the boys jumped for the river--both of them hurt--and as they swum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them and singing out, "kill them, kill them!" it made me so sick i most fell out of the tree. i ain't a-going to tell all that happened--it would make me sick again if i was to do that. i wished i hadn't ever come ashore that night to see such things. i ain't ever going to get shut of them--lots of times i dream about them. i stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down. sometimes i heard guns away off in the woods; and twice i seen little gangs of men gallop past the log store with guns; so i reckoned the trouble was still a-going on. i was mighty downhearted; so i made up my mind i wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because i reckoned i was to blame, somehow. i judged that that piece of paper meant that miss sophia was to meet harney somewheres at half-past two and run off; and i judged i ought to told her father about that paper and the curious way she acted, and then maybe he would a locked her up, and this awful mess wouldn't ever happened. when i got down out of the tree i crept along down the river bank a piece, and found the two bodies laying in the edge of the water, and tugged at them till i got them ashore; then i covered up their faces, and got away as quick as i could. i cried a little when i was covering up buck's face, for he was mighty good to me. it was just dark now. i never went near the house, but struck through the woods and made for the swamp. jim warn't on his island, so i tramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows, red-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. the raft was gone! my souls, but i was scared! i couldn't get my breath for most a minute. then i raised a yell. a voice not twenty-five foot from me says: "good lan'! is dat you, honey? doan' make no noise." it was jim's voice--nothing ever sounded so good before. i run along the bank a piece and got aboard, and jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he was so glad to see me. he says: "laws bless you, chile, i 'uz right down sho' you's dead agin. jack's been heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn' come home no mo'; so i's jes' dis minute a startin' de raf' down towards de mouf er de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as jack comes agin en tells me for certain you is dead. lawsy, i's mighty glad to git you back again, honey." i says: "all right--that's mighty good; they won't find me, and they'll think i've been killed, and floated down the river--there's something up there that 'll help them think so--so don't you lose no time, jim, but just shove off for the big water as fast as ever you can." i never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in the middle of the mississippi. then we hung up our signal lantern, and judged that we was free and safe once more. i hadn't had a bite to eat since yesterday, so jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, and pork and cabbage and greens--there ain't nothing in the world so good when it's cooked right--and whilst i eat my supper we talked and had a good time. i was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so was jim to get away from the swamp. we said there warn't no home like a raft, after all. other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don't. you feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft. chapter xix. two or three days and nights went by; i reckon i might say they swum by, they slid along so quiet and smooth and lovely. here is the way we put in the time. it was a monstrous big river down there--sometimes a mile and a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid daytimes; soon as night was most gone we stopped navigating and tied up--nearly always in the dead water under a towhead; and then cut young cottonwoods and willows, and hid the raft with them. then we set out the lines. next we slid into the river and had a swim, so as to freshen up and cool off; then we set down on the sandy bottom where the water was about knee deep, and watched the daylight come. not a sound anywheres--perfectly still --just like the whole world was asleep, only sometimes the bullfrogs a-cluttering, maybe. the first thing to see, looking away over the water, was a kind of dull line--that was the woods on t'other side; you couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots drifting along ever so far away--trading scows, and such things; and long black streaks --rafts; sometimes you could hear a sweep screaking; or jumbled up voices, it was so still, and sounds come so far; and by and by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off of the water, and the east reddens up, and the river, and you make out a log-cabin in the edge of the woods, away on the bank on t'other side of the river, being a woodyard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can throw a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and comes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell on account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way, because they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they do get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything smiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it! a little smoke couldn't be noticed now, so we would take some fish off of the lines and cook up a hot breakfast. and afterwards we would watch the lonesomeness of the river, and kind of lazy along, and by and by lazy off to sleep. wake up by and by, and look to see what done it, and maybe see a steamboat coughing along up-stream, so far off towards the other side you couldn't tell nothing about her only whether she was a stern-wheel or side-wheel; then for about an hour there wouldn't be nothing to hear nor nothing to see--just solid lonesomeness. next you'd see a raft sliding by, away off yonder, and maybe a galoot on it chopping, because they're most always doing it on a raft; you'd see the axe flash and come down --you don't hear nothing; you see that axe go up again, and by the time it's above the man's head then you hear the k'chunk!--it had took all that time to come over the water. so we would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness. once there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them. a scow or a raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and laughing--heard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made you feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air. jim said he believed it was spirits; but i says: "no; spirits wouldn't say, 'dern the dern fog.'" soon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and talked about all kinds of things--we was always naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us--the new clothes buck's folks made for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides i didn't go much on clothes, nohow. sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark--which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two--on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. it's lovely to live on a raft. we had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. jim he allowed they was made, but i allowed they happened; i judged it would have took too long to make so many. jim said the moon could a laid them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so i didn't say nothing against it, because i've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. we used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the nest. once or twice of a night we would see a steamboat slipping along in the dark, and now and then she would belch a whole world of sparks up out of her chimbleys, and they would rain down in the river and look awful pretty; then she would turn a corner and her lights would wink out and her powwow shut off and leave the river still again; and by and by her waves would get to us, a long time after she was gone, and joggle the raft a bit, and after that you wouldn't hear nothing for you couldn't tell how long, except maybe frogs or something. after midnight the people on shore went to bed, and then for two or three hours the shores was black--no more sparks in the cabin windows. these sparks was our clock--the first one that showed again meant morning was coming, so we hunted a place to hide and tie up right away. one morning about daybreak i found a canoe and crossed over a chute to the main shore--it was only two hundred yards--and paddled about a mile up a crick amongst the cypress woods, to see if i couldn't get some berries. just as i was passing a place where a kind of a cowpath crossed the crick, here comes a couple of men tearing up the path as tight as they could foot it. i thought i was a goner, for whenever anybody was after anybody i judged it was me--or maybe jim. i was about to dig out from there in a hurry, but they was pretty close to me then, and sung out and begged me to save their lives--said they hadn't been doing nothing, and was being chased for it--said there was men and dogs a-coming. they wanted to jump right in, but i says: "don't you do it. i don't hear the dogs and horses yet; you've got time to crowd through the brush and get up the crick a little ways; then you take to the water and wade down to me and get in--that'll throw the dogs off the scent." they done it, and soon as they was aboard i lit out for our towhead, and in about five or ten minutes we heard the dogs and the men away off, shouting. we heard them come along towards the crick, but couldn't see them; they seemed to stop and fool around a while; then, as we got further and further away all the time, we couldn't hardly hear them at all; by the time we had left a mile of woods behind us and struck the river, everything was quiet, and we paddled over to the towhead and hid in the cottonwoods and was safe. one of these fellows was about seventy or upwards, and had a bald head and very gray whiskers. he had an old battered-up slouch hat on, and a greasy blue woollen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed into his boot-tops, and home-knit galluses--no, he only had one. he had an old long-tailed blue jeans coat with slick brass buttons flung over his arm, and both of them had big, fat, ratty-looking carpet-bags. the other fellow was about thirty, and dressed about as ornery. after breakfast we all laid off and talked, and the first thing that come out was that these chaps didn't know one another. "what got you into trouble?" says the baldhead to t'other chap. "well, i'd been selling an article to take the tartar off the teeth--and it does take it off, too, and generly the enamel along with it--but i stayed about one night longer than i ought to, and was just in the act of sliding out when i ran across you on the trail this side of town, and you told me they were coming, and begged me to help you to get off. so i told you i was expecting trouble myself, and would scatter out with you. that's the whole yarn--what's yourn? "well, i'd ben a-running' a little temperance revival thar 'bout a week, and was the pet of the women folks, big and little, for i was makin' it mighty warm for the rummies, i tell you, and takin' as much as five or six dollars a night--ten cents a head, children and niggers free--and business a-growin' all the time, when somehow or another a little report got around last night that i had a way of puttin' in my time with a private jug on the sly. a nigger rousted me out this mornin', and told me the people was getherin' on the quiet with their dogs and horses, and they'd be along pretty soon and give me 'bout half an hour's start, and then run me down if they could; and if they got me they'd tar and feather me and ride me on a rail, sure. i didn't wait for no breakfast--i warn't hungry." "old man," said the young one, "i reckon we might double-team it together; what do you think?" "i ain't undisposed. what's your line--mainly?" "jour printer by trade; do a little in patent medicines; theater-actor --tragedy, you know; take a turn to mesmerism and phrenology when there's a chance; teach singing-geography school for a change; sling a lecture sometimes--oh, i do lots of things--most anything that comes handy, so it ain't work. what's your lay?" "i've done considerble in the doctoring way in my time. layin' on o' hands is my best holt--for cancer and paralysis, and sich things; and i k'n tell a fortune pretty good when i've got somebody along to find out the facts for me. preachin's my line, too, and workin' camp-meetin's, and missionaryin' around." nobody never said anything for a while; then the young man hove a sigh and says: "alas!" "what 're you alassin' about?" says the bald-head. "to think i should have lived to be leading such a life, and be degraded down into such company." and he begun to wipe the corner of his eye with a rag. "dern your skin, ain't the company good enough for you?" says the baldhead, pretty pert and uppish. "yes, it is good enough for me; it's as good as i deserve; for who fetched me so low when i was so high? i did myself. i don't blame you, gentlemen--far from it; i don't blame anybody. i deserve it all. let the cold world do its worst; one thing i know--there's a grave somewhere for me. the world may go on just as it's always done, and take everything from me--loved ones, property, everything; but it can't take that. some day i'll lie down in it and forget it all, and my poor broken heart will be at rest." he went on a-wiping. "drot your pore broken heart," says the baldhead; "what are you heaving your pore broken heart at us f'r? we hain't done nothing." "no, i know you haven't. i ain't blaming you, gentlemen. i brought myself down--yes, i did it myself. it's right i should suffer--perfectly right--i don't make any moan." "brought you down from whar? whar was you brought down from?" "ah, you would not believe me; the world never believes--let it pass --'tis no matter. the secret of my birth--" "the secret of your birth! do you mean to say--" "gentlemen," says the young man, very solemn, "i will reveal it to you, for i feel i may have confidence in you. by rights i am a duke!" jim's eyes bugged out when he heard that; and i reckon mine did, too. then the baldhead says: "no! you can't mean it?" "yes. my great-grandfather, eldest son of the duke of bridgewater, fled to this country about the end of the last century, to breathe the pure air of freedom; married here, and died, leaving a son, his own father dying about the same time. the second son of the late duke seized the titles and estates--the infant real duke was ignored. i am the lineal descendant of that infant--i am the rightful duke of bridgewater; and here am i, forlorn, torn from my high estate, hunted of men, despised by the cold world, ragged, worn, heart-broken, and degraded to the companionship of felons on a raft!" jim pitied him ever so much, and so did i. we tried to comfort him, but he said it warn't much use, he couldn't be much comforted; said if we was a mind to acknowledge him, that would do him more good than most anything else; so we said we would, if he would tell us how. he said we ought to bow when we spoke to him, and say "your grace," or "my lord," or "your lordship"--and he wouldn't mind it if we called him plain "bridgewater," which, he said, was a title anyway, and not a name; and one of us ought to wait on him at dinner, and do any little thing for him he wanted done. well, that was all easy, so we done it. all through dinner jim stood around and waited on him, and says, "will yo' grace have some o' dis or some o' dat?" and so on, and a body could see it was mighty pleasing to him. but the old man got pretty silent by and by--didn't have much to say, and didn't look pretty comfortable over all that petting that was going on around that duke. he seemed to have something on his mind. so, along in the afternoon, he says: "looky here, bilgewater," he says, "i'm nation sorry for you, but you ain't the only person that's had troubles like that." "no?" "no you ain't. you ain't the only person that's ben snaked down wrongfully out'n a high place." "alas!" "no, you ain't the only person that's had a secret of his birth." and, by jings, he begins to cry. "hold! what do you mean?" "bilgewater, kin i trust you?" says the old man, still sort of sobbing. "to the bitter death!" he took the old man by the hand and squeezed it, and says, "that secret of your being: speak!" "bilgewater, i am the late dauphin!" you bet you, jim and me stared this time. then the duke says: "you are what?" "yes, my friend, it is too true--your eyes is lookin' at this very moment on the pore disappeared dauphin, looy the seventeen, son of looy the sixteen and marry antonette." "you! at your age! no! you mean you're the late charlemagne; you must be six or seven hundred years old, at the very least." "trouble has done it, bilgewater, trouble has done it; trouble has brung these gray hairs and this premature balditude. yes, gentlemen, you see before you, in blue jeans and misery, the wanderin', exiled, trampled-on, and sufferin' rightful king of france." well, he cried and took on so that me and jim didn't know hardly what to do, we was so sorry--and so glad and proud we'd got him with us, too. so we set in, like we done before with the duke, and tried to comfort him. but he said it warn't no use, nothing but to be dead and done with it all could do him any good; though he said it often made him feel easier and better for a while if people treated him according to his rights, and got down on one knee to speak to him, and always called him "your majesty," and waited on him first at meals, and didn't set down in his presence till he asked them. so jim and me set to majestying him, and doing this and that and t'other for him, and standing up till he told us we might set down. this done him heaps of good, and so he got cheerful and comfortable. but the duke kind of soured on him, and didn't look a bit satisfied with the way things was going; still, the king acted real friendly towards him, and said the duke's great-grandfather and all the other dukes of bilgewater was a good deal thought of by his father, and was allowed to come to the palace considerable; but the duke stayed huffy a good while, till by and by the king says: "like as not we got to be together a blamed long time on this h-yer raft, bilgewater, and so what's the use o' your bein' sour? it 'll only make things oncomfortable. it ain't my fault i warn't born a duke, it ain't your fault you warn't born a king--so what's the use to worry? make the best o' things the way you find 'em, says i--that's my motto. this ain't no bad thing that we've struck here--plenty grub and an easy life--come, give us your hand, duke, and le's all be friends." the duke done it, and jim and me was pretty glad to see it. it took away all the uncomfortableness and we felt mighty good over it, because it would a been a miserable business to have any unfriendliness on the raft; for what you want, above all things, on a raft, is for everybody to be satisfied, and feel right and kind towards the others. it didn't take me long to make up my mind that these liars warn't no kings nor dukes at all, but just low-down humbugs and frauds. but i never said nothing, never let on; kept it to myself; it's the best way; then you don't have no quarrels, and don't get into no trouble. if they wanted us to call them kings and dukes, i hadn't no objections, 'long as it would keep peace in the family; and it warn't no use to tell jim, so i didn't tell him. if i never learnt nothing else out of pap, i learnt that the best way to get along with his kind of people is to let them have their own way. chapter xx. they asked us considerable many questions; wanted to know what we covered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the daytime instead of running --was jim a runaway nigger? says i: "goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run south?" no, they allowed he wouldn't. i had to account for things some way, so i says: "my folks was living in pike county, in missouri, where i was born, and they all died off but me and pa and my brother ike. pa, he 'lowed he'd break up and go down and live with uncle ben, who's got a little one-horse place on the river, forty-four mile below orleans. pa was pretty poor, and had some debts; so when he'd squared up there warn't nothing left but sixteen dollars and our nigger, jim. that warn't enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck passage nor no other way. well, when the river rose pa had a streak of luck one day; he ketched this piece of a raft; so we reckoned we'd go down to orleans on it. pa's luck didn't hold out; a steamboat run over the forrard corner of the raft one night, and we all went overboard and dove under the wheel; jim and me come up all right, but pa was drunk, and ike was only four years old, so they never come up no more. well, for the next day or two we had considerable trouble, because people was always coming out in skiffs and trying to take jim away from me, saying they believed he was a runaway nigger. we don't run daytimes no more now; nights they don't bother us." the duke says: "leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in the daytime if we want to. i'll think the thing over--i'll invent a plan that'll fix it. we'll let it alone for to-day, because of course we don't want to go by that town yonder in daylight--it mightn't be healthy." towards night it begun to darken up and look like rain; the heat lightning was squirting around low down in the sky, and the leaves was beginning to shiver--it was going to be pretty ugly, it was easy to see that. so the duke and the king went to overhauling our wigwam, to see what the beds was like. my bed was a straw tick better than jim's, which was a corn-shuck tick; there's always cobs around about in a shuck tick, and they poke into you and hurt; and when you roll over the dry shucks sound like you was rolling over in a pile of dead leaves; it makes such a rustling that you wake up. well, the duke allowed he would take my bed; but the king allowed he wouldn't. he says: "i should a reckoned the difference in rank would a sejested to you that a corn-shuck bed warn't just fitten for me to sleep on. your grace 'll take the shuck bed yourself." jim and me was in a sweat again for a minute, being afraid there was going to be some more trouble amongst them; so we was pretty glad when the duke says: "'tis my fate to be always ground into the mire under the iron heel of oppression. misfortune has broken my once haughty spirit; i yield, i submit; 'tis my fate. i am alone in the world--let me suffer; can bear it." we got away as soon as it was good and dark. the king told us to stand well out towards the middle of the river, and not show a light till we got a long ways below the town. we come in sight of the little bunch of lights by and by--that was the town, you know--and slid by, about a half a mile out, all right. when we was three-quarters of a mile below we hoisted up our signal lantern; and about ten o'clock it come on to rain and blow and thunder and lighten like everything; so the king told us to both stay on watch till the weather got better; then him and the duke crawled into the wigwam and turned in for the night. it was my watch below till twelve, but i wouldn't a turned in anyway if i'd had a bed, because a body don't see such a storm as that every day in the week, not by a long sight. my souls, how the wind did scream along! and every second or two there'd come a glare that lit up the white-caps for a half a mile around, and you'd see the islands looking dusty through the rain, and the trees thrashing around in the wind; then comes a h-whack!--bum! bum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum--and the thunder would go rumbling and grumbling away, and quit--and then rip comes another flash and another sockdolager. the waves most washed me off the raft sometimes, but i hadn't any clothes on, and didn't mind. we didn't have no trouble about snags; the lightning was glaring and flittering around so constant that we could see them plenty soon enough to throw her head this way or that and miss them. i had the middle watch, you know, but i was pretty sleepy by that time, so jim he said he would stand the first half of it for me; he was always mighty good that way, jim was. i crawled into the wigwam, but the king and the duke had their legs sprawled around so there warn't no show for me; so i laid outside--i didn't mind the rain, because it was warm, and the waves warn't running so high now. about two they come up again, though, and jim was going to call me; but he changed his mind, because he reckoned they warn't high enough yet to do any harm; but he was mistaken about that, for pretty soon all of a sudden along comes a regular ripper and washed me overboard. it most killed jim a-laughing. he was the easiest nigger to laugh that ever was, anyway. i took the watch, and jim he laid down and snored away; and by and by the storm let up for good and all; and the first cabin-light that showed i rousted him out, and we slid the raft into hiding quarters for the day. the king got out an old ratty deck of cards after breakfast, and him and the duke played seven-up a while, five cents a game. then they got tired of it, and allowed they would "lay out a campaign," as they called it. the duke went down into his carpet-bag, and fetched up a lot of little printed bills and read them out loud. one bill said, "the celebrated dr. armand de montalban, of paris," would "lecture on the science of phrenology" at such and such a place, on the blank day of blank, at ten cents admission, and "furnish charts of character at twenty-five cents apiece." the duke said that was him. in another bill he was the "world-renowned shakespearian tragedian, garrick the younger, of drury lane, london." in other bills he had a lot of other names and done other wonderful things, like finding water and gold with a "divining-rod," "dissipating witch spells," and so on. by and by he says: "but the histrionic muse is the darling. have you ever trod the boards, royalty?" "no," says the king. "you shall, then, before you're three days older, fallen grandeur," says the duke. "the first good town we come to we'll hire a hall and do the sword fight in richard iii. and the balcony scene in romeo and juliet. how does that strike you?" "i'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, bilgewater; but, you see, i don't know nothing about play-actin', and hain't ever seen much of it. i was too small when pap used to have 'em at the palace. do you reckon you can learn me?" "easy!" "all right. i'm jist a-freezn' for something fresh, anyway. le's commence right away." so the duke he told him all about who romeo was and who juliet was, and said he was used to being romeo, so the king could be juliet. "but if juliet's such a young gal, duke, my peeled head and my white whiskers is goin' to look oncommon odd on her, maybe." "no, don't you worry; these country jakes won't ever think of that. besides, you know, you'll be in costume, and that makes all the difference in the world; juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the moonlight before she goes to bed, and she's got on her night-gown and her ruffled nightcap. here are the costumes for the parts." he got out two or three curtain-calico suits, which he said was meedyevil armor for richard iii. and t'other chap, and a long white cotton nightshirt and a ruffled nightcap to match. the king was satisfied; so the duke got out his book and read the parts over in the most splendid spread-eagle way, prancing around and acting at the same time, to show how it had got to be done; then he give the book to the king and told him to get his part by heart. there was a little one-horse town about three mile down the bend, and after dinner the duke said he had ciphered out his idea about how to run in daylight without it being dangersome for jim; so he allowed he would go down to the town and fix that thing. the king allowed he would go, too, and see if he couldn't strike something. we was out of coffee, so jim said i better go along with them in the canoe and get some. when we got there there warn't nobody stirring; streets empty, and perfectly dead and still, like sunday. we found a sick nigger sunning himself in a back yard, and he said everybody that warn't too young or too sick or too old was gone to camp-meeting, about two mile back in the woods. the king got the directions, and allowed he'd go and work that camp-meeting for all it was worth, and i might go, too. the duke said what he was after was a printing-office. we found it; a little bit of a concern, up over a carpenter shop--carpenters and printers all gone to the meeting, and no doors locked. it was a dirty, littered-up place, and had ink marks, and handbills with pictures of horses and runaway niggers on them, all over the walls. the duke shed his coat and said he was all right now. so me and the king lit out for the camp-meeting. we got there in about a half an hour fairly dripping, for it was a most awful hot day. there was as much as a thousand people there from twenty mile around. the woods was full of teams and wagons, hitched everywheres, feeding out of the wagon-troughs and stomping to keep off the flies. there was sheds made out of poles and roofed over with branches, where they had lemonade and gingerbread to sell, and piles of watermelons and green corn and such-like truck. the preaching was going on under the same kinds of sheds, only they was bigger and held crowds of people. the benches was made out of outside slabs of logs, with holes bored in the round side to drive sticks into for legs. they didn't have no backs. the preachers had high platforms to stand on at one end of the sheds. the women had on sun-bonnets; and some had linsey-woolsey frocks, some gingham ones, and a few of the young ones had on calico. some of the young men was barefooted, and some of the children didn't have on any clothes but just a tow-linen shirt. some of the old women was knitting, and some of the young folks was courting on the sly. the first shed we come to the preacher was lining out a hymn. he lined out two lines, everybody sung it, and it was kind of grand to hear it, there was so many of them and they done it in such a rousing way; then he lined out two more for them to sing--and so on. the people woke up more and more, and sung louder and louder; and towards the end some begun to groan, and some begun to shout. then the preacher begun to preach, and begun in earnest, too; and went weaving first to one side of the platform and then the other, and then a-leaning down over the front of it, with his arms and his body going all the time, and shouting his words out with all his might; and every now and then he would hold up his bible and spread it open, and kind of pass it around this way and that, shouting, "it's the brazen serpent in the wilderness! look upon it and live!" and people would shout out, "glory!--a-a-men!" and so he went on, and the people groaning and crying and saying amen: "oh, come to the mourners' bench! come, black with sin! (amen!) come, sick and sore! (amen!) come, lame and halt and blind! (amen!) come, pore and needy, sunk in shame! (a-a-men!) come, all that's worn and soiled and suffering!--come with a broken spirit! come with a contrite heart! come in your rags and sin and dirt! the waters that cleanse is free, the door of heaven stands open--oh, enter in and be at rest!" (a-a-men! glory, glory hallelujah!) and so on. you couldn't make out what the preacher said any more, on account of the shouting and crying. folks got up everywheres in the crowd, and worked their way just by main strength to the mourners' bench, with the tears running down their faces; and when all the mourners had got up there to the front benches in a crowd, they sung and shouted and flung themselves down on the straw, just crazy and wild. well, the first i knowed the king got a-going, and you could hear him over everybody; and next he went a-charging up on to the platform, and the preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and he done it. he told them he was a pirate--been a pirate for thirty years out in the indian ocean--and his crew was thinned out considerable last spring in a fight, and he was home now to take out some fresh men, and thanks to goodness he'd been robbed last night and put ashore off of a steamboat without a cent, and he was glad of it; it was the blessedest thing that ever happened to him, because he was a changed man now, and happy for the first time in his life; and, poor as he was, he was going to start right off and work his way back to the indian ocean, and put in the rest of his life trying to turn the pirates into the true path; for he could do it better than anybody else, being acquainted with all pirate crews in that ocean; and though it would take him a long time to get there without money, he would get there anyway, and every time he convinced a pirate he would say to him, "don't you thank me, don't you give me no credit; it all belongs to them dear people in pokeville camp-meeting, natural brothers and benefactors of the race, and that dear preacher there, the truest friend a pirate ever had!" and then he busted into tears, and so did everybody. then somebody sings out, "take up a collection for him, take up a collection!" well, a half a dozen made a jump to do it, but somebody sings out, "let him pass the hat around!" then everybody said it, the preacher too. so the king went all through the crowd with his hat swabbing his eyes, and blessing the people and praising them and thanking them for being so good to the poor pirates away off there; and every little while the prettiest kind of girls, with the tears running down their cheeks, would up and ask him would he let them kiss him for to remember him by; and he always done it; and some of them he hugged and kissed as many as five or six times--and he was invited to stay a week; and everybody wanted him to live in their houses, and said they'd think it was an honor; but he said as this was the last day of the camp-meeting he couldn't do no good, and besides he was in a sweat to get to the indian ocean right off and go to work on the pirates. when we got back to the raft and he come to count up he found he had collected eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents. and then he had fetched away a three-gallon jug of whisky, too, that he found under a wagon when he was starting home through the woods. the king said, take it all around, it laid over any day he'd ever put in in the missionarying line. he said it warn't no use talking, heathens don't amount to shucks alongside of pirates to work a camp-meeting with. the duke was thinking he'd been doing pretty well till the king come to show up, but after that he didn't think so so much. he had set up and printed off two little jobs for farmers in that printing-office--horse bills--and took the money, four dollars. and he had got in ten dollars' worth of advertisements for the paper, which he said he would put in for four dollars if they would pay in advance--so they done it. the price of the paper was two dollars a year, but he took in three subscriptions for half a dollar apiece on condition of them paying him in advance; they were going to pay in cordwood and onions as usual, but he said he had just bought the concern and knocked down the price as low as he could afford it, and was going to run it for cash. he set up a little piece of poetry, which he made, himself, out of his own head--three verses--kind of sweet and saddish--the name of it was, "yes, crush, cold world, this breaking heart"--and he left that all set up and ready to print in the paper, and didn't charge nothing for it. well, he took in nine dollars and a half, and said he'd done a pretty square day's work for it. then he showed us another little job he'd printed and hadn't charged for, because it was for us. it had a picture of a runaway nigger with a bundle on a stick over his shoulder, and "$ reward" under it. the reading was all about jim, and just described him to a dot. it said he run away from st. jacques' plantation, forty mile below new orleans, last winter, and likely went north, and whoever would catch him and send him back he could have the reward and expenses. "now," says the duke, "after to-night we can run in the daytime if we want to. whenever we see anybody coming we can tie jim hand and foot with a rope, and lay him in the wigwam and show this handbill and say we captured him up the river, and were too poor to travel on a steamboat, so we got this little raft on credit from our friends and are going down to get the reward. handcuffs and chains would look still better on jim, but it wouldn't go well with the story of us being so poor. too much like jewelry. ropes are the correct thing--we must preserve the unities, as we say on the boards." we all said the duke was pretty smart, and there couldn't be no trouble about running daytimes. we judged we could make miles enough that night to get out of the reach of the powwow we reckoned the duke's work in the printing office was going to make in that little town; then we could boom right along if we wanted to. we laid low and kept still, and never shoved out till nearly ten o'clock; then we slid by, pretty wide away from the town, and didn't hoist our lantern till we was clear out of sight of it. when jim called me to take the watch at four in the morning, he says: "huck, does you reck'n we gwyne to run acrost any mo' kings on dis trip?" "no," i says, "i reckon not." "well," says he, "dat's all right, den. i doan' mine one er two kings, but dat's enough. dis one's powerful drunk, en de duke ain' much better." i found jim had been trying to get him to talk french, so he could hear what it was like; but he said he had been in this country so long, and had so much trouble, he'd forgot it. generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) _publications of the society for the collegiate instruction of women_ fay house monographs no. fugitive slaves ( - ) by marion gleason mcdougall prepared under the direction of albert bushnell hart, ph.d. assistant professor of history in harvard university boston, u.s.a. published by ginn & company _copyright, ,_ by the society for the collegiate instruction of women. university press: john wilson and son, cambridge. editor's preface. every careful student of history is aware that it is no longer possible to write the general history of any important country from the original sources; on any period, the materials which accumulate in a year are more than can be assimilated by one mind in three years. the general historian must use the results of others' work. it is therefore essential that the great phases of political and constitutional development be treated in monographs, each devoted to a single, limited subject and each prepared on a careful and scientific method. this first number of the historical series of the fay house monographs aims to discuss the single topic of fugitive slaves. mrs. mcdougall has drawn together and compared many cases found in obscure sources, and has perhaps been able to correct some commonly received impressions on this neglected subject. even in its limited range this does not pretend to be a complete work in the sense that all the available cases are discussed or recorded. the effort has been made to use the cases as illustrations of principles, and to add such bibliography as may direct the reader to further details. the appendix of laws is as full as it was possible to make it from the collections in the boston public and massachusetts state libraries. if the monograph prove useful to the student of american history, it will meet the expectations of author and editor. albert bushnell hart. cambridge, april , . author's preface. the following monograph was written while the author was a student in the "harvard annex" as a study in the seminary course given by professor albert bushnell hart. the work has continued during parts of the four years since . the effort has been to trace in some measure the development of public sentiment upon the subject, to prepare an outline of colonial legislation and of the work of congress during the entire period, and to give accounts of typical cases illustrative of conditions and opinions. only a few of the more important cases are described minutely, but a critical list of the authorities may be found in the bibliographical appendix. the thanks of the author are due first to professor hart, under whose direction and with whose assistance and encouragement the monograph has been prepared; then to miss anna b. thompson, without whose careful training in the thayer academy and continued sympathy, the work could not have been undertaken. many thanks are due also to the authorities of the library of harvard college for the use, in the alcoves, of their large and conveniently arranged collection of books and pamphlets on united states history, and to the assistants in the boston public and massachusetts state libraries for courteous aid. colonel t. w. higginson has kindly examined the chapter on the cases from to , suggesting some interesting details; and mr. arthur gilman has read the whole in proof, and made many valuable suggestions. marion gleason mcdougall. rockland, mass. april , . contents. page chapter i. _legislation and cases before the constitution._ § . elements of colonial slavery § . regulations as to fugitives ( - ) § . treatment of fugitives § . regulations in new england colonies § . escapes in new england: attucks case § . dutch regulations in new netherlands § . escapes from new amsterdam § . intercolonial regulations § . intercolonial cases § . international relations § . international cases § . relations with the mother country § . regulation under the articles of confederation ( - ) § . ordinance for the northwest territory ( ) § . the fugitive question in the constitutional conventions chapter ii. _legislation from to ._ § . effect of the fugitive slave clause in the constitution § . the first fugitive slave act ( ) § . discussion of the first act § . propositions of and § . propositions from to § . period of the missouri compromise ( - ) § . status of the question from to § . canada and mexico places of refuge § . status of fugitives on the high seas § . kidnapping from to : prigg case § . necessity of more stringent fugitive slave provisions § . action of congress from to § . slavery in the district of columbia § . the second fugitive slave act ( ) § . provisions of the second fugitive slave act § . arguments for the bill § . arguments against the bill chapter iii. _principal cases from to ._ § . change in character of cases § . the first case of rescue ( ) § . president washington's demand for a fugitive ( ) § . kidnapping cases § . jones case ( ) § . solomon northup case (about ) § . washington case (between and ) § . oberlin case ( ) § . interference and rescues § . chickasaw rescue ( ) § . philadelphia case ( ) § . latimer case ( ) § . ottoman case ( ) § . interstate relations § . boston and isaac cases ( , ) § . ohio and kentucky cases ( ) § . prosecutions § . van zandt, pearl, and walker cases ( , ) § . unpopularity of the fugitive slave act of § . principle of the selection of cases § . hamlet case ( ) § . sims case ( ) § . burns case ( ) § . garner case ( ) § . shadrach case ( ) § . jerry mchenry case ( ) § . oberlin-wellington case ( ) § . christiana case ( ) § . miller case ( ) § . john brown in kansas ( ) chapter iv. _fugitives and their friends._ § . methods of escape § . reasons for escape § . conditions of slave life § . escapes to the woods § . escapes to the north § . use of protection papers § . fugitives disguised as whites: craft case § . underground railroad § . rise and growth of the system § . methods pursued § . colored agents of the underground railroad § . prosecutions of agents § . formal organization § . general effect of escapes chapter v. _personal liberty laws._ § . character of the personal liberty laws § . acts passed before the prigg decision ( - ) § . acts passed between the prigg decision and the second fugitive slave law ( - ) § . acts occasioned by the law of ( - ) § . massachusetts acts § . review of the acts by states § . effect of the personal liberty laws chapter vi. _the end of the fugitive slave question ( - )._ § . the fugitive slave law in the crisis of - § . proposition to enforce the fugitive slave law § . propositions to repeal or amend the law § . the question of slaves of rebels § . slavery attacked in congress § . confiscation bills § . confiscation provisions extended § . effect of the emancipation proclamation ( ) § . fugitives in loyal slave states § . typical cases § . question discussed in congress § . arrests by civil officers § . denial of the use of jails in the district of columbia § . abolition of slavery in the district of columbia § . regulations against kidnapping § . repeal of the fugitive slave acts § . early propositions to repeal the acts § . discussion of the repeal bill in the house § . repeal bills in the senate § . the repeal act and the thirteenth amendment § . educating effect of the controversy appendices. appendix a. colonial laws relative to fugitives appendix b. national acts and propositions relative to fugitive slaves ( - ) appendix c. national acts and propositions relating to fugitive slaves ( - ) appendix d. list of important fugitive slave cases appendix e. bibliography of fugitive slave cases and fugitive slave legislation index. chapter i. _legislation and cases before the constitution._ § . elements of colonial slavery. § . regulations as to fugitives ( - ). § . treatment of fugitives. § . regulations in new england colonies. § . escapes in new england: attucks case. § . dutch regulations in new netherlands. § . escapes from new amsterdam. § . intercolonial regulations. § . intercolonial cases. § . international relations. § . international cases. § . relations with the mother country. § . regulation under the articles of confederation ( - ). § . ordinance for the northwest territory ( ). § . the fugitive question in the constitutional conventions. =§ . elements of colonial slavery.=--by the middle of the seventeenth century, the settlements made in america by the english, dutch, and swedes were arranged for the most part in a line of little colonies closely following the atlantic coast. to the west, wide forests and plains, broken only by the paths of the indian, stretched on to the pacific; while long intervals of unpopulated country separated the colonists on the north from the french in canada, and on the south from the spaniards in florida. in all the colonies thus grouped together, the system of slavery had already become well established, and with its institution the question of the escape and return of the slaves had necessarily arisen. the conditions of the country, both physical and social, gave unusual facilities for flight. the wild woods, the indian settlements, or the next colony, peopled by a foreign race, and perhaps as yet without firmly established government, offered to the slave a refuge and possibly protection. escape, therefore, as a peculiar danger, demanded peculiar remedies. though it is the purpose of this monograph not so much to study the detail of legislation or escape in the colonies as to deal with the period from to , a slight sketch of the intercolonial laws and provisions which preceded and in part suggested later legislation will first be necessary. almost immediately after the introduction of slavery, in , we begin to find regulations made by the colonists upon this subject. at first they applied solely to their own territory, but soon agreements were entered into among several colonies, or between a colony and the indians or the french in canada. these acts and agreements recognized not only the negro, as at a later period, but also the white and the indian slave. there existed in some of the colonies of this time a peculiar class of white people, who received no wages, and were bound to their masters.[ ] usually these redemptioners were laborers or handicraftsmen, but sometimes they were persons of education who had committed a crime, and were sold according to law for a term of years, or for life. one of the class is curiously connected with the education of no less a person than george washington. an unpublished autobiography of the reverend john boucher, who from to the revolution was a teacher and preacher in virginia, contains the following paragraph noticing the fact:-- "mr. washington was the second of five sons, of parents distinguished neither for their rank nor fortune.... george, who, like most people thereabouts at that time, had no other education than reading, writing, and accounts, which he was taught by a convict servant whom his father bought for a schoolmaster, first set out in the world as a surveyor of orange county."[ ] =§ . regulations as to fugitives.=--the earliest regulation upon this subject is found among the freedoms and exemptions granted by the west india company, in , "to all patroons, masters, or private persons" who would agree to settle in new netherlands. the authorities promised to do all in their power to return to their masters any slaves or colonists fleeing from service.[ ] a little later, the swedish colonists in pennsylvania asked from their government the same privilege of reclaiming fugitives.[ ] the preamble of an act against fugitives in east jersey, in , explains these provisions. they found that "the securing of such persons as run away, or otherwise absent themselves from their master's lawfull occasion," was "a material encouragement to such persons as come into this country to settle plantations and populate the province."[ ] in many of the southern colonies, as maryland and south carolina, so severe were the acts against this class of bound colonists that a runaway might be declared outlawed, and might rightfully be killed by any person.[ ] [sidenote: treatment of fugitives] =§ . treatment of fugitives.=--from to , laws were also passed in new jersey, maryland, south carolina, and virginia. it is not necessary to follow out the provisions here,[ ] but each of the southern colonies, as in later regulations, provided most minutely for all possible cases. by a virginia law of , all persons who entertained runaways, whether slaves or hired freemen, were to be fined twenty pounds of tobacco for each night's hospitality. the fugitives were to add to their tenure of service double their time of absence, and on a second offence to be branded with the letter r.[ ] a curious regulation in - , in virginia, provided that if a negro and white bound servant ran away together, since the negro's time of servitude was for life, and he was therefore incapable of making up his lost time, the white servant's punishment should be doubled by adding the negro's sentence to his own.[ ] another regulation, entitled "how to know a runaway," commanded that all recovered fugitives have their hair "cutt" close about their ears.[ ] sometimes the penalties were even more severe, but the processes were much the same. a person who found a slave or vagabond without a pass usually took him before the next justice, who took cognizance of the captor's good service, and certified it in the next assembly: the runaway was then delivered from constable to constable, until he was returned to his master. after the process grows yet more elaborate; for example, take a north carolina law of . the securer of a runaway was to have seven shillings and sixpence proclamation money, and for every mile over ten which he conducted the fugitive threepence extra. when seized, runaways were to be whipped and placed in the county gaol. if the owner was known, he was notified and went for his slave; if not, a notice describing the runaway must be placed upon the door of the court-house, and sent to the clerk or reader of each church or chapel within the county. they were required to post all such notices every lord's day for two months in some convenient place near the church. at the end of this time, should no claimant appear, the slave must be sent from constable to constable, till the public gaol of the government was reached. there, upon consent of the court or of two justices, he might be sold to hire by the gaoler.[ ] the maryland archives record that in ten thousand pounds of tobacco were appropriated to build one of these log-house gaols wherein fugitive servants might be lodged.[ ] =§ . regulations in new england colonies.=--let us turn now to the new england colonies. here we must expect to find but few provisions, since the class of slaves and bound servants was so small that it could easily be controlled. the first law in massachusetts bay was passed in , and was entitled, "an act respecting masters, servants, and laborers." in accordance with the arbitrary methods of government then pursued, it included not only runaway servants, but also any persons who should "privily go away with suspicion of evil intention," and ordered the magistrate "to press men, boats, or pinnaces," and "to bring them back by force of arms." a humane provision, usually wanting in southern laws, though also found in new netherlands, declared that, whenever servants fled on account of the tyranny of their masters, they should be protected until measures for their relief could be taken.[ ] in connecticut and new hampshire similar laws were passed, and in massachusetts bay, in regulating the free negro population, enacted that every freeman or mulatto who should harbor a negro servant in his house without his owner's consent should pay five shillings for the use of the poor of the town.[ ] in those days, when bridges were few, the ferrymen were apparently much relied upon as agents to detect and apprehend runaways. in we find that several negro slaves had been carried over ferries, and thus escaped out of rhode island. the assembly therefore enacted that "no ferryman or boatman whatsoever, within this colony, shall carry or bring any slave as aforesaid over their ferries, without a certificate under the hands of their masters or mistresses, or some person in authority, upon the penalty of paying all costs and damages their said masters or mistresses shall sustain thereby: and to pay a fine of twenty shillings for the use of the colony for each offence, as aforesaid." all persons were also commanded to take up any slave they might find travelling about without a pass.[ ] [sidenote: escapes in new england.] =§ . escapes in new england: attucks case.=--although we do not find records of fugitive slave cases tried at this time within the new england colonies, advertisements of runaways exist in sufficient numbers to prove that escapes were common. it seems probable, therefore, that the return of a slave when within his own colony was taken as a matter of course, and roused so little opposition, and required so simple a process at law, that matters concerning it would seldom find mention in the chronicles of the time. here is a typical advertisement:-- "ran away from samuel gilbert of littleton, an indentured servant boy, named samuel gilson, about years old, of a middling stature for his age, and wears black curled hair, he carried away with him a blue cloth coat, a light colored jacket with sleeves, one pair of worsted stockings, two striped woolen shirts, and one good linnen shirt. he went away in company with a short thick set fellow, who wore a green coat and a green jacket double breasted, also a pair indian green stockings. whoever shall take up and secure, or give information of said runaway, so that his master may find him again, shall receive a reward of two dollars and all necessary charges from samuel gilbert. "all masters of vessels and others are cautioned against harboring," etc.[ ] again a case interesting not only as an illustration of the customs of the time, but also because the fugitive himself bears a name known to history in another connection, is noticed in the boston gazette of . here is advertised as escaping, october , , from his master, william browne of framingham, massachusetts, "a molatto fellow about twenty-seven years of age, named crispus." after describing his clothing and appearance, a reward of ten pounds, old tenor, is offered for his return, and "all masters of vessels and others are cautioned against concealing said servant on penalty of law."[ ] tradition has it, however, that he was never arrested, but returned of his own accord after a short time, and was for the next twenty years a faithful servant.[ ] then, in , presumably while in town upon one of the expeditions he often undertook to buy and sell cattle for his master, he was drawn into the boston massacre of march .[ ] a somewhat famous case, which also occurred in massachusetts, though many years later, may here be mentioned. about one rotch, a quaker, and therefore probably opposed to slavery, received on board the whaler friendship a young negro boy named boston, belonging to the heirs of william swain. at the end of the voyage his master, john swain, brought action in the court of nantucket against captain folger for the recovery of the slave; the jury, whether from lack of evidence or from sympathy cannot be determined, returned a verdict in favor of the defendant.[ ] [sidenote: dutch and intercolonial regulations.] =§ . dutch regulations in new netherlands.=--the early new netherlands regulations furnish many interesting provisions concerning fugitive servants. apparently the servile class was numerous, and hard to govern. in the words of the ordinance of , "many servants daily run away from their masters, whereby the latter are put to great inconvenience and expense; the corn and tobacco rot in the field, and the whole harvest is at a standstill, which tends to the serious injury of this country, to their masters' ruin, and to bring the magistracy into contempt." it was therefore ordained that runaways must, at the end of their term of indenture, serve double the time of their absence, and make good all loss and damage to their masters; while persons harboring fugitives were obliged to pay a fine of fifty guilders.[ ] =§ . escapes from new amsterdam.=--within these dutch colonies there is recorded a case of escape as early as . four menservants of cornelis herperts de jager, of new amsterdam, ran away to manhattan. one of them soon returned, and in accordance with the regulation made in by the west india company,[ ] requiring the return of fugitives in their various settlements, one of the officers of the colony sent to manhattan an order to arrest and bring back the remaining three in chains.[ ] =§ . intercolonial regulations.=--it will be seen that most of the colonies considered some provision against runaways necessary to the welfare of the settlements. to secure such legislation in a single colony was a comparatively easy matter; but the unorganized and sparsely settled condition of the country rendered any intercolonial regulations difficult. the first formal agreement of this kind was arranged by the new england confederation of plymouth, massachusetts, connecticut, and new haven, in . in their articles of confederation was a clause which promised: "if any servant runn away from his master into any other of these confederated jurisdiccons, that in such case vpon the certyficate of one majistrate in the jurisdiccon out of which the said servant fled, or upon other due proofe, the said servant shall be deliuered either to his master or any other that pursues and brings such certificate or proofe."[ ] this clause contains the earliest statement of the principles regarding the treatment of fugitive slave cases, afterward carried out in the united states statutes of , , and . there was no trial by jury, but the certificate of a magistrate was sufficient evidence to convict the runaway. it is probable, also, that the rendition of fugitives was considered a duty incumbent upon all colonies, whatever their relation to each other, since about this time we find an agreement made for the mutual surrender of fugitives between the dutch at new netherlands and the english at new haven.[ ] not only did the slaves of the dutch escape to the english colonies, but they often fled to the forests, where recovery must have been almost impossible unless the indians could be induced to hunt them out. curious rewards were sometimes offered. maryland, in , ordered that any indian who shall apprehend a fugitive may have a "match coate," or its value.[ ] virginia would give " armes length of roanoke," or its value,[ ] while in connecticut "two yards of cloth" was considered sufficient inducement.[ ] we have record of several conferences upon this subject. governor burnett of new york asked his indians to exert themselves in behalf of the governor of virginia, who had written to him about the escape of several of his negro servants to the mountains. the indians promised their help in this and any other search; but as they seldom seem to have succeeded, it is probable that their sympathy was with the fugitives.[ ] again governor burnett demanded the restoration of a certain indian slave whom they had kidnapped from the english. the indians acknowledged the fact, but they said that he was then sold to others, and nothing further could be done.[ ] canada even in these early times seems also to have been a haven for fugitives. in new york passed an act, which was renewed in , to prevent slaves running away from frontier towns like albany to canada, because it was of great importance, they said, in time of war, "that no intelligence be carried from the said city and county to the french in canada."[ ] during all this time the southern colonies, especially the carolinas and georgia, were also making many complaints in regard to the difficulty they had in recovering the fugitives, both indian and negro, who were escaping in large numbers into florida. there, among the creek indians and the spanish at st. augustine, they easily found refuge.[ ] this difficulty was, however, not remedied in colonial times, but continued long after the formation of the federal union, and in fact until the close of the seminole war, in . [sidenote: intercolonial cases.] =§ . intercolonial cases.=--when, as was often the case, no agreement upon the return of fugitives had been arranged between the colonies, the rendition of a slave depended wholly upon the state of feeling existing between the two peoples, and sometimes became an important question. between the new england colonies no cases have been found recorded, although we infer that there must have been reason for the insertion of a fugitive slave clause in the articles of confederation of .[ ] of other early cases one of the most interesting is the escape from virginia of four englishmen belonging to the class of bound servants. they rowed in a small boat up the coast as far as cape may, where they landed.[ ] they soon found themselves objects of suspicion with the people, and, as was a common practice, took refuge among the indians. about a year afterward their masters tracked them to their place of refuge, and captured two of them, but the others were again beyond reach. the indians, who evidently did not always befriend runaways, had just sold one of them, william browne, to a swede, and browne, learning of his former master's appearance, had found opportunity to escape. the fourth of the fugitives was still among the mantas, and could not be secured. of the two recaptured, one was returned without trouble, but the other, turc, who had just entered the service of a certain pieter aldrich, resisted his captors. a struggle took place upon the boat in which they were carrying him away. after wounding three of his guards, he succeeded in making his escape, only to be recaptured almost immediately. when tried for the deed at new amsterdam, he received a death sentence.[ ] in this case, one of the most complete in detail left to us, may be found, in the incidents of escape, pursuit, resistance, and final rendition, all the features of the later fugitive slave cases. it is also an example wherein the laws of the period, which required the rendition of a bound white man in the same manner as a negro slave, were strictly carried out: and in the diverse fates of the four men we find instances probably typical of the fortunes of most fugitives of the time. =§ . international relations.=--the proximity of the french, spanish, and dutch settlements led to escapes from the colonies of one power into those of another. all were slaveholding communities, and there was no disposition to shield a slave because his lot was a hard one; but the distrust and enmity between neighboring colonies owing allegiance to different sovereigns caused such escapes to lead to petty quarrels. there was no system of extradition treaties; in fact, there was as yet little international law. fugitives were demanded as an act of comity, and sometimes their delivery was refused. it was hardly a subject on which the home governments bestirred themselves. the colonies were left to make their own agreements, or to settle their own disagreements. [sidenote: international cases] =§ . international cases.=--thus far only those cases have been noticed which arose within and between colonies of the same nation. let us now consider a very early case of disagreement between colonies of different nations, which occurred in . the commissioners of the united colonies made complaint to the governor of new netherlands that his dutch agent at hartford was harboring one of their indian slaves. soon after, governor stuyvesant was refused the return of some of his runaway servants from new haven. thereupon the angry lords of the west india company issued a proclamation commanding that there should be no rendition of fugitive slaves to new haven. this provision continued in effect until governor elton sent back some of the fugitives to new netherlands. it was then annulled, and a mutual agreement to return the runaways was entered into by the united colonies and the dutch.[ ] governor john winthrop, in his history of new england, refers to the case, and says that massachusetts bay endeavored to bring about a reconciliation, and wrote to the governor of new netherlands intimating to him that "at their request he might send back the fugitives without prejudice to their right or reputation."[ ] maryland also found difficulty, from the readiness with which her servants could flee north to new netherlands. in the state archives may be found a letter sent by the authorities to the governor of new netherlands, as follows:-- "sir,--some servants being lately fledd out of this colony, into yours, as is supposed, we could not promise ourselves from you that justice & faire correspondence betweene the two governments so neerly bordering & which are shortly like to be nearer neighbors in delaware bay, as to hope that vpon the receiving of these outres & the demand of the parties interessted you will remand to us all such apprentice servants as are or shall run out of this government into yours; and will compell such other persons, as shall flie to you without a passe, being indebted or otherwise obnoxious to the justice of this place, to make such satisfaction to the parties endamaged by their unlawful departure, upon their complaints and proofe thereof, as you shall find justice to require. and you may promise yourself the like helpe and concurrence from this governm't in that or any other thing as shalbe in the power of it: and so we bid you heartilly farewell & rest. "to the hon'ble the governor of the new netherlands."[ ] in the dutch had occasion to ask the same favor of maryland. whether there had been trouble between the colonies since the earlier letter we do not know, but the spirit of the communication was quite different. instead of assurances of good will, and expressions of a belief in the certainty of peaceful return, the dutch threatened, if their servants were not secured to them, "to publish free liberty, access and recess to all planters, servants, negroes, fugitives, and runaways which may go into new netherland."[ ] trouble was also constantly arising between the french and english, or french and dutch, in regard to the many runaways who fled from the eastern colonies northward to canada. in there was a dispute about a certain negro belonging to the english, but at that time in possession of the sieur de la corne st. luc; and, in a letter to a friend, one of the officers of the colony makes the following explanation concerning them: "in regard to the negro in possession of sieur de la corne st. luc i thought proper not to send him back every negro being a slave wherever he be. besides, i am only doing what the english did in . ensign de malbronne on board le screux had a negro servant who was at first taken from him; i took pains to reclaim him, but the english refused to surrender him on ground as above."[ ] =§ . relations with the mother country.=--with only one country across the sea was any question of fugitives likely to arise. in england white slavery had long since died out, except as a punishment for crime; villeinage ceased about the time the colonies were settled. but the status of black slaves who were taken from the colonies to england was in practice unchanged. the principle thus apparently established by custom was overthrown by a succession of legal decisions, culminating in the famous somersett case. it was first decided by thomas grahame, judge in the admiralty court, glasgow, that a certain negro who had been brought into great britain must be liberated, on the ground that a guiltless human being taken into that country must be free.[ ] in occurred another similar case. a bill had been filed in equity by an administrator to recover money given by his intestate to a negro brought to england as a slave. the suit was dismissed by lord northington, who said that as soon as a man set foot on english ground he was free.[ ] the somersett case came ten years later. the circumstances were as follows. a mr. stewart, accompanied by his slave somersett, left boston on the st of october, , and went to london, where he kept his slave until october , . then somersett ran away, but his owner soon secured him and had him placed on board a vessel bound for jamaica, probably with the intention of selling him as a slave. a writ of habeas corpus was then served upon the captain of the ship, and on the hearing lord mansfield decided that somersett must be discharged. in england, he said, slavery could exist only by positive law; and in default of such law there was no legal machinery for depriving a man of his liberty on the ground that he was a slave. the importance of the case for the colonies lay not in the assertion of the principle that slavery depended on positive law, for the american statute-books were full of positive law on slavery; the precedent thus established determined the future course of england against the delivery of fugitives, whether from her colonies or from other countries.[ ] =§ . international regulations under the articles of confederation ( - ).=--when, on march , , the articles of confederation went into effect, the only action taken by the united states on the subject of fugitives had been the negotiation of a treaty with the delaware indians, august , , by which the parties bound themselves not "to protect in their respective states criminal fugitives, servants, or slaves, but the same to apprehend, secure, and deliver."[ ] in seven of the eight other treaties negotiated with indian tribes from to , clauses were introduced for the return of black prisoners, or of "negroes and other property."[ ] the states affected were chiefly southern; but the article on the same subject in the treaty of peace in and , was intended as much to protect the slaveholders of new york as those of virginia. it was distinctly agreed that the british should not carry away "any negroes or other property."[ ] the failure to abide by this agreement led to reclamation by the american government, but no indemnity was ever secured.[ ] [sidenote: english law. northwest ordinance.] =§ . ordinance for the northwest territory.=--since all the thirteen colonies recognized slavery, the revolution made no difference in any previous intercolonial practice as to the delivery of slaves; in framing the articles of confederation no clause on the subject was thought necessary. the precedent of the new england confederation was forgotten or ignored. but the action of the states of vermont, pennsylvania, massachusetts, connecticut, and rhode island, in taking steps toward immediate or gradual emancipation, from to , brought up a new question,--the status of fugitives in free regions. before the change of conditions in the states was completely understood, the same question had arisen in the western territories. jefferson, in , proposed to draw a north and south line through the mouth of the kanawha, west of which there should be no slavery after .[ ] the next year a northern man proposed a similar limitation in the territory north of the ohio, and added a clause for the return of fugitive slaves to the original slave states.[ ] neither of these two propositions was carried, but the principles both of exclusion of slavery and of the return of fugitives appear in the northwest ordinance of , the first legislation by congress looking toward the surrender of fugitives by any territory or state. in providing a government for the new territory, it was enacted, july , , that "any person escaping into the same from whom labor or service is lawfully claimed in any one of the original states, such fugitive may be lawfully reclaimed, and conveyed to the person claiming his or her labor or service as aforesaid."[ ] the fugitive clause seems to have provoked no discussion, but to have been accepted as a reasonable condition of the limitation of slavery. [sidenote: fugitive question in constitutional conventions.] =§ . the fugitive question in the constitutional conventions.=--while the northwest ordinance was passing through congress, the philadelphia convention was framing a new constitution, and the return of fugitives was again eagerly insisted upon by the slave states. the necessity of some positive stipulation that fugitives should be returned was felt to be even more necessary in a constitution meant permanently to bind together a free and a slaveholding section. the only debate of which we have a record occurred august , . mr. butler of north carolina pressed the point in behalf of the southern states. to his first proposition, "that fugitive slaves and servants be delivered up like criminals,"[ ] mr. wilson objected; he saw no reason for obliging the state to arrest fugitives at public expense, while mr. sherman saw no more propriety in the public seizing and surrendering a slave or servant than a horse.[ ] mr. butler therefore withdrew the proposition. he soon introduced a more particular provision, which was accepted and inserted in the constitution, as follows:-- "no person held to service or labour in one state, under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such service or labour, but shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labour may be due."[ ] in the various constitutional conventions, there was little discussion upon the matter. the southern states in general considered the clause sufficient to protect their property. general charles c. pinckney, in south carolina, said: "we have obtained the right to recover our slaves in whatever part of america they may take refuge, which is a right we have not had before. in short, considering all circumstances, we have made the best terms for the security of this species of property it was in our power to make. we would have made better if we could, but on the whole i do not think them bad."[ ] in north carolina, mr. iredell explained to the convention that the northern delegates, owing to their peculiar scruples on the subject of slavery, did not choose the word "slave" to be mentioned; but since the present laws were so prejudicial to the inhabitants of the southern states, some such clause was necessary.[ ] in virginia, mr. grayson discussed the provision giving congress exclusive legislation over ten square miles surrounding the capital. it seemed to him that, unless the ten miles square be considered a state, "persons bound to labor who shall escape thereto will not be given up. for they are only to be delivered up after they shall have escaped into a state."[ ] this objection, though perfectly good at the time, was later overcome by the adoption by congress of the laws of maryland for the regulation of the district of columbia, whereby it was made slave territory. mr. mason did not think the clause provided sufficiently for the protection of their slaves,[ ] but mr. madison urged its adoption, as a better security than anything they then had.[ ] in the north, there was apparently no discussion upon this article. everywhere, however, it was thought that without such a clause the southern states would not consent to the union, and, in a spirit of compromise, the provision was accepted. [footnote : hurd, law of freedom and bondage, i. .] [footnote : nation, april , .] [footnote : appendix a, no. .] [footnote : n. y. colonial manuscripts, xiii. .] [footnote : appendix a, no. .] [footnote : hurd, law of freedom and bondage, i. .] [footnote : the texts will be found post, appendix a.] [footnote : appendix a, no. .] [footnote : appendix a, no. .] [footnote : appendix a, no. .] [footnote : iredell, ; appendix a, no. .] [footnote : maryland archives, ii. .] [footnote : appendix a, no. .] [footnote : appendix a, no. .] [footnote : appendix a, no. ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : boston gazette, jan. , .] [footnote : boston gazette, oct. , ; g. w. williams, history of the negro race in america, i. .] [footnote : liberator, march , .] [footnote : w. c. nell's address at the nineteenth anniversary of boston massacre.] [footnote : moore, slavery in massachusetts, .] [footnote : appendix a, no ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : see _ante_, § .] [footnote : n. y. colonial manuscripts, xiii. ; letter from jacob aldrich to director stuyvesant of new netherlands, new amstel, may, ; documentary history of n. y. colony, ii. ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix a, no. , gilman, history of the american people, .] [footnote : n. y. colonial manuscripts, i. ; doyle, english in america, i. .] [footnote : maryland archives, ii. .] [footnote : appendix a, no. .] [footnote : acts and laws of connecticut, .] [footnote : n. y. colonial manuscripts, v. ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : n. y. colonial manuscripts, v. .] [footnote : appendix a, nos. , .] [footnote : giddings, exiles of florida, ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power in america, i. .] [footnote : _ante_, § .] [footnote : letter from william beekman to director stuyvesant, in n. y. colonial manuscripts, xiii. ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : n. y. colonial manuscripts, xiii. .] [footnote : moore, notes on the history of slavery in massachusetts, ; doyle, english in america, i. ; compare appendix a, no. .] [footnote : john winthrop, history of new england from to , p. ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : archives of maryland, proceedings of council, - , pp. , .] [footnote : archives of maryland, proceedings of council, iii. .] [footnote : letter from m. de la jonquière to m. de rouillé, in n. y. colonial manuscripts, x. ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : massachusetts historical society collections, third series, ix. ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : j. quincy, reports of cases, ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : moore, slavery in massachusetts, ; t. r. cobb, historical sketch of slavery, , law of negro slavery, ; massachusetts historical society collections, third series, ix. ; josiah quincy, reports of cases, ; hurd, law of freedom and bondage, ii.] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : appendix b, nos. , .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : post, § .] [footnote : randall, jefferson, i. - ; winsor, vii. ; journals of congress, ix. - .] [footnote : appendix b, no. ; journals of congress, x. ; bancroft, history of the u. s. (last rev.), vi. - ; bancroft, constitution, i. - ; hildreth, iii. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. . on the northwest ordinance in general, see winsor, vii. ; j. h. merriam, legislative history of the ordinance of (worcester, ); lalor's cyclopædia, iii. - .] [footnote : elliot's debates, v. .] [footnote : ibid., v. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : elliot's debates, iii. .] [footnote : ibid., iii. .] [footnote : ibid., iii. .] [footnote : ibid., iii. .] [footnote : ibid., iii. .] chapter ii. _legislation from to ._ § . effect of the fugitive slave clause in the constitution. § . the first fugitive slave act ( ). § . discussion of the first act. § . propositions of and . § . propositions from to . § . period of the missouri compromise ( - ). § . status of the question from to . § . canada and mexico places of refuge. § . status of fugitives on the high seas. § . kidnapping from to : prigg case. § . necessity of more stringent fugitive slave provisions. § . action of congress from to . § . slavery in the district of columbia. § . the second fugitive slave act ( ). § . provisions of the second fugitive slave act. § . arguments for the bill. § . arguments against the bill. =§ . effect of the fugitive slave clause in the constitution.=--by obtaining in the constitution the insertion of a clause requiring the return of fugitives, a great step for the advancement of the interests of slavery had been taken. for this embodiment in the constitution ever afterward formed a basis for the slaveholder's argument that the constitution recognized and defended slavery, and was a justification to northern men in their support of the later fugitive slave laws. although the clause did not in terms apply to the territories, the ordinance of was, on august , , confirmed in terms which by implication continued the sixth article, including the rendition of slaves;[ ] and in the earliest treaties made by the united states with indian tribes, under the new constitution, the return of negroes was expressly required.[ ] [sidenote: the first fugitive slave act.] =§ . the first fugitive slave act ( ).=--for some time, however, the provision of the constitution remained unexecuted; and it is a striking fact that the call for legislation came not from the south, but from a free state; and that it was provoked, not by fugitive slaves, but by kidnappers. the case seemed to suggest that an act of congress was necessary, more definite in conditions and detail than the provision of the constitution. a free negro named john was seized at washington, pennsylvania, in , and taken to virginia. the governor of pennsylvania, at the instigation of the society for the abolition of slavery, asked the return of the three kidnappers; but the governor of virginia replied that, since there was no national law touching such a case, he could not carry out the request.[ ] on the matter being brought to the notice of congress by the governor of pennsylvania,[ ] a committee, consisting of mr. sedgwick, mr. bourne of massachusetts, and mr. white, was appointed in the house of representatives to bring in a bill or bills "providing the means by which persons charged in any state with treason, felony, or other crime, who shall flee from justice, shall, on the demand of the executive authority of the state from which they fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the state having jurisdiction of the crime; also providing the mode by which a person held to service or labor in one state under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall be delivered up on the claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be due."[ ] a bill prepared by the house committee, of which mr. sedgwick was chairman, was reported, november , ;[ ] but for some reason which does not appear, it was dropped, and a senate committee, of which calvert was chairman, was appointed, march , , "to consider the expediency [of] a bill respecting fugitives from justice and from the service of their masters."[ ] nothing was done during this session, and, november , , a second senate committee was appointed, consisting of johnston, calvert, and read,[ ] and they submitted a bill, december , .[ ] unfortunately, we have no details of the debate; but on december , a third senate committee was appointed by adding taylor and sherman to the committee of november , and to them the bill was recommitted with instructions to amend.[ ] at last, january , , the bill was reported in a form not unlike that finally agreed upon.[ ] of the amendments offered, the text of only one is preserved in the journals; it was for the insertion of a less sum than five hundred dollars as the penalty for harboring a fugitive, or resisting his arrest.[ ] it was not adopted. after two debates, of which we have no record, the bill passed the senate, january .[ ] in the house it seems to have elicited little discussion, and it passed, february , by a vote of to .[ ] the bill became law by the signature of the president, february , .[ ] in thus uniting with the clause providing for the extradition of fugitives from justice one requiring the return of fugitive slaves, congress was but following examples set in by the articles of confederation,[ ] and again in by the constitution.[ ] from the scanty records, it is possible to discern only that there was serious difference of opinion in the senate, and that the measure finally adopted was probably a compromise. in the one amendment stated, there is a faint protest against the harshness of the law.[ ] =§ . discussion of the first act.=--the provisions of the act of are quoted elsewhere;[ ] their purport was as follows. the act provided at the same time for the recovery of fugitives from justice and from labor; but the alleged criminal was to have a protection through the requirement of a requisition, a protection denied to the man on trial for his liberty only. the act was applicable to fugitive apprentices as well as to slaves, a provision of some importance at the time. in the northwest territory there were so-called negro apprentices, who were virtually slaves, and to whom the law applied, since it was in terms extended to all the territories. proceedings began with the forcible seizure of the alleged fugitive. the act, it will be observed, does not admit a trial by jury. it allowed the owner of the slave, his agent or attorney, to seize the fugitive and take him before any judge of a united states circuit or district court, or any local magistrate.[ ] the only requirement for the conviction of the slave was the testimony of his master, or the affidavit of some magistrate in the state from which he came, certifying that such a person had escaped. hindering arrest or harboring a slave was punishable by a fine of five hundred dollars. the law thus established a system allowing the greatest harshness to the slave and every favor to the master. even at that time, when persons might still be born slaves in new york and new jersey, and gradual emancipation had not yet taken full effect in rhode island and connecticut, it was repellent to the popular sense of justice; there were two cases of resistance to the principle of the act before the close of .[ ] [sidenote: propositions of and .] =§ . propositions of and .=--until no further law upon this subject was passed, but as the provisions of were found ineffectual, many attempts at amendment were made. in a troublesome question arose out of the seizure, under the act of , of four negroes who had been manumitted in north carolina. a retroactive act of that state had declared them slaves again, and they had fled to philadelphia where they were arrested. january , , they petitioned congress for relief, and after an exciting debate the house by a vote of to refused to receive the petition.[ ] there is nothing in the scanty records which connects this case or petition with an attempt to amend the act; but it is altogether likely that it occasioned murray's motion of december , , for a committee to report on alterations of the law;[ ] and that it led to the almost simultaneous appointment of a house committee on january ,[ ] and a senate committee on january .[ ] no report is recorded. the coming on of difficulties with france, and the alien and sedition acts of , absorbed the popular attention. in debates on the slave trade and on the reception of petitions from free negroes began. january , , a house committee was appointed to report a bill increasing the stringency of the act.[ ] the bill was reported, but failed to be considered.[ ] in the next congress the matter was at last brought to an issue. a committee, of which nicholson of maryland was chairman, was appointed, december , ,[ ] and reported only seven days later. the report was made a special order for december .[ ] on that day no debate is recorded, but a petition from a free colored soldier of the revolution was contemptuously denied reception.[ ] january and , the bill was debated freely, and from the debate and sundry amendments the character of the bill may be inferred. not only harboring, but employing a fugitive, was made punishable; and it was ordained that every black employed must be furnished with an official certificate, and that every person who employed a negro must publish a description of him. southern members "considered it a great injury to the owners of that species of property, that runaways were employed in the middle and northern states, and even assisted in procuring a living. they stated that, when slaves ran away and were not recovered, it excited discontent among the rest. when they were caught and brought home, they informed their comrades how well they were received and assisted, which excited a disposition in others to attempt escaping, and obliged their masters to use greater severity than they otherwise would. it was, they said, even on the score of humanity, good policy in those opposed to slavery to agree to this law."[ ] this appeal to the humanity of the north failed to produce the requisite effect. on the test vote, january , , every southern member except two voted for the bill, every northern member except five against it; the vote was to , and the bill was laid aside.[ ] [sidenote: propositions from to .] =§ . propositions from to .=--for many years the question of amendment of the law does not appear to have come up in congress. the abolition of the slave trade seems to have absorbed the attention of congress. several treaties were negotiated including clauses on the return of fugitives.[ ] the question was brought up again in by pindall of virginia, who for several years urged a revision of the act. a committee of which he was chairman was appointed, december , , and reported a bill, december , .[ ] this third proposition of general amendment led to a debate, january and , , in which for the first time we have a record of discussion on the principles of the act and its relations to human freedom. the opposition was based not only on constitutional, but on humanitarian grounds.[ ] a petition of the pennsylvania abolition society, asking for a milder law than that of , added fuel to the discussion.[ ] the principle of the bill was that the fugitives should be surrendered by a requisition on the state executive, as in the case of fugitives from justice: the question of proof was thus left to the courts of the state of the claimant, and there was to be no habeas corpus. the strongest expression of disapproval is found in the speech of mr. adams of massachusetts, who said, "that, in guaranteeing the possession of slaves, the constitution did not authorize or require the general government to go as far as the bill proposed to render this bill effectual; that the bill contained provisions dangerous to the liberty and safety of the free people of color in other sections of the union."[ ] mr. rich of vermont desired "that it might be so amended as to guard more effectually the rights of free persons of color. this motion he enforced by urging the oppressions to which these persons were now subjected, and the necessity of some regulation on the subject, which he thought might be very properly connected with this bill."[ ] mr. livermore also showed that it exposed the colored men of the north to the peril of being dragged south, and there convicted.[ ] all these objections, however, were considered of little value by some who, like smith of maryland, thought that the subject of the free colored population and their protection should be treated separately, while mr. holmes of massachusetts suggested that the operation of the writ of habeas corpus would render such acts of injustice improbable.[ ] mason, of the same state, objected to a trial by jury, which had been suggested, because "juries in massachusetts would in ninety-nine cases out of one hundred decide in favor of the fugitives, and he did not wish his town [boston] infected with the runaways of the south."[ ] upon two constitutional points the opponents of the bill made a stand. mr. sergeant wished to change the bill materially, by making "the judges of the state in which ... slaves are seized the tribunal to decide the fact of slavery, instead of the judges of the state whence the fugitives escaped," but this was negatived by a large majority.[ ] another objection to the bill, raised by mr. whitman, is noteworthy, since some years later it was the point made most prominent in judge story's decision in the prigg case.[ ] mr. whitman disapproved of the provision making it a penal offence for a state officer to refuse his assistance in executing the act. he did not believe that congress had any right to compel state officers to perform this duty; they could do no more than authorize it.[ ] a vote was taken, january , , in the house, and the bill passed by a vote of to .[ ] it was ordered that the title be "an act to provide for delivering up persons held to labor or service in any of the states or territories who shall escape into any other state or territory." for the first time since , amendment of the act seemed within reach. the senate showed itself in other questions more inclined than the house to consider the claims of the south; but although dagget's amendment to strike out the elaborate provision for the return of fugitives by executive requisition was not adopted,[ ] the senate first voted to limit the bill to four years,[ ] and then added other amendments. the result was a non-concurrence with the house, and the failure of the bill,[ ] march - , . a last attempt to take the bill up failed, april , .[ ] [sidenote: period of the missouri compromise.] =§ . period of the missouri compromise ( - ).=--the loss of the bill of seems not to have discouraged the friends of amendment of the act of . december , , a resolution of the maryland legislature was laid before the house, calling for protection against the citizens of pennsylvania who harbored or protected fugitives.[ ] a committee was appointed, january , , which promptly reported next day, but the bill was not considered.[ ] the question of fugitives came incidentally into the great debate of the next session on the admission of missouri. the region which sought admission as a slave state was flanked on the east by free territory, and was therefore peculiarly difficult to protect. a compromise, which made missouri a slave state, prohibited slavery in all other territory gained from france north of ° '.[ ] in the prohibitory clause, however, it was provided "that any persons escaping into the same from whom labor or service is lawfully claimed in any state or territory of the united states, such fugitive may be reclaimed, and conveyed to the person claiming his or her labor or service as aforesaid."[ ] during the immigration into missouri which now began, large numbers of slaveholders took their slaves with them, and on the passage opportunities for escape were often found. in one instance, at least, recorded in ohio, the public sympathy was so strongly with the fugitives that they were successfully protected from their masters even in court.[ ] hardly was the ink dry on the president's signature of the missouri compromise (march , ) before propositions were made in both the house and senate for new general fugitive slave acts. march , a house committee was appointed,[ ] but no report is recorded. april , an inquiry was set on foot into the provisions of a pennsylvania act hindering the operation of the act of ,[ ] and the secretary of state submitted a copy of the obnoxious act, april . on the day of the secretary's report a proposition in the senate to instruct the judiciary committee to report a bill was voted down.[ ] positive evidence cannot be obtained, but it would seem that a continued effort was made to take advantage of the agitation on the slavery question to secure a new fugitive slave act, as was done in . one more attempt was made in - . mr. wright presented, december , , a resolution of the maryland general assembly praying for relief against the abettors of the fugitives in pennsylvania.[ ] he desired a special committee, but the question was referred to the committee on the judiciary, which reported a bill, january , .[ ] march to april , it was debated, but finally tabled.[ ] the character of the bill does not distinctly appear in the records. =§ . status of the question from to .=--although no amendment could be procured to the act of , the government of the united states had repeatedly, by diplomatic demands and treaties, undertaken to recover fugitives, or their value, for southern owners. the first indian treaty negotiated under the constitution, that of april , , with the creeks, required the return of negroes held as prisoners of war.[ ] a similar clause appeared in the treaty made in , at the end of the war with the creeks, a war which had been provoked in part by their ready reception of fugitives.[ ] in the government went so far as to promise to expend seven thousand dollars in paying for "slaves and other property alleged to have been stolen" by the seminoles.[ ] with great britain, also, the encouragement of fugitives became a subject for negotiation. much bitterness had been felt at the carrying away by the british, in , of slaves who had taken refuge with them.[ ] in the treaty of ghent, therefore, a strict clause forbade the carrying away by the british of "any slaves or other private property."[ ] a large number of slaves had, during the war, been received on board british vessels, and the humane but specious plea was set up by the british government that the clause applied only to slaves received after the date of the peace. a convention of submitted the question to the emperor of russia, who in made a decision not wholly favorable to either party; and in ,[ ] by a second convention, great britain agreed to pay $ , , . this last award was obtained by a pennsylvanian, gallatin, acting under the direction of president john quincy adams, a citizen of massachusetts. [sidenote: canada and mexico places of refuge.] =§ . canada and mexico places of refuge.=--the existence on the northern and southwestern frontiers of regions in which slavery was practically, if not yet legally, extinct, brought about another set of complications. january , , a resolution was presented in congress from the general assembly of kentucky, protesting against the kindly reception of fugitives in canada, and asking for negotiation with great britain on the subject.[ ] in , mr. clay, secretary of state, instructed mr. gallatin, united states minister at the court of st. james, to propose the "mutual surrender of all persons held to service or labor under the laws of either country who escape into the territory of the other." the british government replied that any such agreement was impossible, and, though a second attempt was made by the united states, it was without success.[ ] in mr. woodbridge submitted a resolution to the senate requesting the committee on foreign relations to consider the expediency of entering into an arrangement with great britain for the arrest of fugitive slaves charged with crime who might escape over the northern boundary of the united states.[ ] no action was taken upon the resolution. the north, however, was not the only region to which slaves were fleeing at this time. complaint was heard after , that the "freedom and equality granted blacks by the mexican constitution and law of , was attracting large numbers of slaves from louisiana,"[ ] while in florida the seminole trouble was not yet ended. the last case of this kind occurred just at the outbreak of the civil war. a slave by the name of anderson was found one day by mr. seneca t. p. diggs, wandering about his plantation in howard county, missouri, without a pass. mr. diggs thereupon arrested him as a fugitive slave. in the struggle which followed, the desperate runaway plunged a knife into mr. diggs's heart. his captor dead, anderson hastened on to canada.[ ] there he lived a quiet and industrious life until , when the american government called upon canada, under the extradition treaty, to give up anderson for punishment. he was arrested, but applied to the toronto court for a writ of habeas corpus, which was refused. an appeal was immediately made to the queen's bench, england, which granted the writ.[ ] in the trial anderson was defended by mr. gerrit smith in an eloquent speech, which made a great impression, and was circulated all over the united states.[ ] the prisoner was discharged on a technical point.[ ] =§ . status of fugitives on the high seas.=--when in gradual emancipation began in the british colonies, and in slavery ceased to exist there, a new set of complications arose. american vessels carrying slaves from one part of the united states to another were repeatedly driven or conveyed into british ports, and the slaves were there treated as ordinary fugitives, that is, as free men. thus the comet in ,[ ] and the encomium in ,[ ] were cast away on the bahamas, and the slaves on board could not be recovered. in the enterprise was forced by stress of weather to enter a port of the bermudas,[ ] and the officers were not permitted by the british authorities to restrain the persons on board. in none of these three cases were the negroes restored; but in the british government paid an indemnity for the first two cargoes, on the ground that at the time of the wrecks slavery had not yet been completely extinguished in the colonies.[ ] no indemnity was allowed in the enterprise case, and the british government declared that it could assume no responsibility in cases arising since the abolition of slavery.[ ] elaborate resolutions introduced by calhoun, march , , and passed, april , by a unanimous vote of the senate, condemned the british principle.[ ] but when, in the next year, the slaves on board the american ship creole rose and by force carried her into nassau,[ ] the british government refused to return them either as slaves or as murderers.[ ] webster, as secretary of state, strenuously urged the surrender. in , an arbitrator decided that an indemnity must be paid to the american government.[ ] on the other hand, when, in , a spanish vessel, l'amistad, in which the slaves on board had revolted and killed their master, was brought into an american port, the supreme court refused to permit their surrender, on the ground that they were free by spanish law, and therefore could not be tried for murder.[ ] [sidenote: kidnapping from - . prigg case.] =§ . kidnapping from to : prigg case.=--since slavery was now extinct in the more northern states, their population contained many free negroes. upon them the eyes of the slave trader were often turned, as easy prey under the law of , and many cases of kidnapping occurred. it was such instances, involving as they did the most manifest injustice and cruelty, that first aroused the sympathies of the people.[ ] the border states like pennsylvania were often the scene of these acts. the neighboring white families first began to try to protect the negroes settled near them, and a little later to give a helping hand to those escaping from slavery, and at last, in the underground railroad,[ ] to complete a systematic organization for the assistance of fugitives. cases of kidnapping are recorded as early as .[ ] in the carrying away of a black woman without process of law not only roused the people of pennsylvania, but led to a decision which took away much of the force of the act of . a slave woman, margaret morgan, had fled from maryland to pennsylvania. five years later, in , edward prigg, an attorney, caused her to be arrested and sent back to her mistress without recourse either to the national or state act on the subject. in the act he disregarded a law of pennsylvania, brought about in through the efforts of the society for the abolition of slavery, which forbade the carrying out of the state of any negro with the intention of enslaving him. accordingly, mr. prigg was arrested and convicted in the county court. the supreme court of pennsylvania sustained the decision. thence the case was taken to the supreme court of the united states. there the counsel for mr. prigg argued that the statute of pennsylvania on which the indictment was founded was unconstitutional, since it conflicted with the law of . justice story delivered the opinion of the court, and upon this decision all future judgments were based. he announced that the law must be carried out through national authorities alone; the states or state magistrates could not be forced into action.[ ] after this, many states, seeing the advantage thus given them, passed laws which forbade the officers to aid in a fugitive slave case, and also denied the use of their jails for imprisonment.[ ] plainly the prigg case showed a growing indisposition on the part of the states to carry out the law, however severe its provisions might be; and this disposition to evade its obligations is still further evidenced by the cases given in the next chapter. =§ . necessity of more stringent fugitive slave provisions.=--the increasing number of rescues,[ ] and the occurrence of several cases of resistance, proved conclusively the inadequacy of the law of . after the prigg decision the provisions made for its execution through national powers were entirely insufficient. underlying all these acts, the south also could but perceive a sentiment the growth of which, unless checked in some way, would at last permanently injure, if not destroy, their peculiar institution. =§ . action of congress from to .=--from until apparently no effort was made to secure a new law. then a petition received in from the legislature of kentucky, urging the importance of passing such laws as would enable the citizens of slaveholding states to recover their slaves when they escaped into non-slaveholding states,[ ] gave rise to a bill from the committee on the judiciary.[ ] the bill provided "for the more effectual execution of the third clause of the second section of the fourth article of the constitution."[ ] it passed only to the second reading. in , mr. meade proposed in the house to instruct the committee on the judiciary to report a fugitive slave bill.[ ] no report apparently was ever made, but this was the last ineffectual proposition. in , a new law was successfully carried in both houses. =§ . slavery in the district of columbia.=--during this period, from to , the subject of slavery and fugitives in the district of columbia began to occasion debate, which was never long silenced. it was notorious that almost under the windows of the capitol negroes were confined in public jails on the ground that they were fugitives; and that a free negro so confined might be sold for his jail fees. resolutions for an investigation of the condition of the jails were offered in by mr. giddings;[ ] and mr. hall also introduced more sweeping propositions to repeal all laws of congress and of maryland which authorized or required courts, officers, or magistrates to issue process for arrest or commitment to the jail of the district of any fugitive slave.[ ] congress, however, was in a mood too conciliatory toward the south to consider these propositions; and no action was taken. [sidenote: the second fugitive slave act.] =§ . the second fugitive slave act ( ).=--in the early part of the first session of the thirty-first congress, mr. mason of virginia introduced a bill to make the provisions of the fugitive slave act more severe,[ ] and the bill was reported from the committee on the judiciary, january , . two additional amendments were soon offered by mr. mason. the first imposed a fine of one thousand dollars and imprisonment for twelve months upon any one who should obstruct the execution of the law. the second provided that the testimony of a fugitive should not be admitted. mr. seward, in opposition, proposed on the th to allow a fugitive the right of trial by jury, with a fine of five thousand dollars and the forfeiture of office should the right be disallowed by any judge or marshal.[ ] mr. clay's "omnibus bill," by which he intended to settle the territorial question then before congress, and at the same time to check the antislavery movement, contained a fugitive slave clause, though not so severe in its provisions as mr. mason's.[ ] this bill, however, was not debated as a whole, but each proposition considered separately, and thus mr. mason's bill became the basis of the fugitive slave provision in the compromise of . the measure was considered, and various amendments were offered, until august , , when it was passed by the senate, and a few days later by the house;[ ] the signature of president fillmore was readily appended, and it became law, september , .[ ] =§ . provisions of the second fugitive slave act.=--every provision of the act was arranged for the protection and benefit of the slaveholders. it was based upon the law of , but a number of new regulations were added.[ ] commissioners were to be chosen by the circuit courts of the united states and the superior courts of the territories, to act with the judges of those courts in fugitive slave cases. such commissioners could be fined one thousand dollars for refusing to issue a writ, and were liable for the value of any slave escaping from them. the testimony required for rendition was the official declaration of the fact of the escape of a slave by two witnesses, and the establishment of his identity by oath. the testimony of the accused could not be admitted. the right of trial by jury was not affirmed, and was therefore practically denied. a sheriff might call upon any bystander for help in executing the law, and the penalty for harboring or aiding in a rescue was increased from five hundred dollars, as in , to one thousand dollars, and imprisonment for not more than six months. should the slave escape, damages to the same amount were to be paid to the claimant. if a mob were feared, military force might be employed; and by a discrimination little likely to win respect for the act, the fee of the commissioner was to be increased from five to ten dollars whenever the case was decided in favor of the claimant. [sidenote: arguments for the bill.] =§ . arguments for the bill.=--the debate on the fugitive slave bill more than any other part of the compromise illustrates the character of the slavery conflict. most of the southern members urged the immediate necessity of a new law, but some of the more ardent considered the evil to be one which could be reached only through a change in public sentiment, and they thought all legislation valueless.[ ] mr. mason thus presented the evils with which the law must cope. he stated that the border states had found it an impossibility to reclaim a fugitive when he once got within the boundaries of a non-slaveholding state; "and this bill, or rather the amendments, ... have been framed with a great deal of consideration, to reach, if practicable, the evils which this experience has demonstrated to exist, and to furnish the appropriate remedy in enabling the owner of a fugitive to reclaim him." under the existing laws, "you may as well go down into the sea and endeavor to recover from his native element a fish which has escaped from you, as expect to recover such a fugitive. every difficulty is thrown in your way by the population.... there are armed mobs, rescues. this is the real state of things."[ ] not only were the laws thus set aside by individuals, but also through the underground railroad an organized system of depredation was carried on, whereby thousands of dollars were every year lost to the slaveholder.[ ] as an illustration of the extent to which this disregard of law was carried, mr. yulee, one of the most extreme of the southern men, instanced a convention which was then in session in new york "for the very purpose, openly avowed, of congratulation upon their successful violation of the constitution in respect to fugitives, and to devise ways and means to encourage the escape of slaves."[ ] such, according to the southern congressmen, was the condition of affairs. they then proceeded to contrast it with the situation as contemplated by the constitution, and supported by the decision of the supreme court in the prigg case. mr. butler insisted that this bill required "nothing more than is enjoined by the constitution, and which contains the bond of union and the security of harmony; and in the name of washington, i would invoke all parties to observe, maintain, and defend it." he said it was the handiwork of sages and patriots, and resulted from intelligent concessions, for the benefit of all.[ ] many speeches were filled with prophecies, more or less openly expressed, of the dissolution of the union. mr. soulé said the south must fight for its rights, since it is the weaker of the two sections.[ ] it had come down to the question, how could the union be preserved?[ ] some concessions must be made. mr. badger urged the bill, because it "will give assurance, it will satisfy the public mind that the government is disposed, is truly anxious, to accomplish the restitution of fugitive slaves; sincerely wished and is resolved to do right to the uttermost of its power. the proof of this will be complete, because we furnish the best means for the recovery of the slave himself, and if these fail we can secure prompt and adequate indemnity for the loss."[ ] [sidenote: arguments against the bill.] =§ . arguments against the bill.=--on the northern side, there seems to have been an admission that some bill of the kind was necessary for the interests of the union. the opposition dwelt chiefly, therefore, upon the details of the measure. many considered them unjust, as recognizing only one class of rights, those of the masters. mr. chase, from the antislavery wing, demanded that a claim of this kind be put on the same footing as any other statutory right. "claims of right in the services of individuals found under the protection of the laws of a free state must be investigated in the same manner as other claims of right. if the most ordinary controversy involving a contested claim of twenty dollars must be decided by jury, surely a controversy which involves the right of a man to his liberty should have a similar trial.... it will not do for a man to go into a state where every legal presumption is in favor of freedom, and seize a person whom he claims as a fugitive slave, and say, 'this man is my slave, and by my authority under the constitution of the united states i carry him off, and whoever interferes does so at his peril.' he is asked, 'where is your warrant?' and he produces none; 'where is your evidence of claim?' and he offers none. the language of his action is, 'my word stands for law.'" [footnote : statutes at large, i. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., appendix, ; annals of cong., cong. sess., h. of r., .] [footnote : state papers, miscellaneous, i. - .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : senate journal, ; annals, .] [footnote : cong. sess., senate journal, ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : senate journal, ; annals, .] [footnote : senate journal, , ; annals, .] [footnote : senate journal, ; annals, .] [footnote : senate journal, ; annals, .] [footnote : senate journal, , ; annals, .] [footnote : house journal, ; annals, .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : ante, § ; appendix a, no. .] [footnote : ante, § .] [footnote : for general discussions of the act, see von holst, constitutional history, i. - ; hildreth, history of the u. s., iv. - ; lalor's cyclopædia, ii. - ; stephens, war between the states, i. - , ; bancroft's history of the u. s. (last revision), vi. , ; goodell, slavery and antislavery, ; curtis, history of the constitution, ii. - ; hurd, law of freedom and bondage, ii. ; story, commentaries, iii. - ; mcmaster, history of the american people, i. , ii. , ; elliott's debates, v. , ; schouler, history of the u. s., i. , ; tucker, history of the u. s., i. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : post, § .] [footnote : post, §§ , .] [footnote : annals of congress, - , p. , and - , p. .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., , .] [footnote : murray, cooper, and kiltera. annals of cong., .] [footnote : sedgwick, reed, and henry. senate journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : nicholson, goddard, holland, j. smith (va.), lowndes. house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : annals of cong., .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., , ; appendix b, no. .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., , ; annals of cong., , .] [footnote : _post_, § .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., , , , , , , ; annals of cong., , , , , , , , , .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : annals of cong., .] [footnote : annals of cong., .] [footnote : annals of cong., cong. sess., , .] [footnote : annals of cong., .] [footnote : annals of cong., .] [footnote : annals of cong., .] [footnote : annals of cong., .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : _post_, § .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : senate journal, cong. sess., , , , , , , ; house journal, ; annals of cong., , , , , .] [footnote : annals of cong., .] [footnote : cf. appendix b, no. .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., , ; annals of cong., , .] [footnote : annals of cong., cong. sess., , .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : liberator, jan. , (n. y. evening post).] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : senate journal, cong. sess., , ; annals of cong., p. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of cong., , , .] [footnote : annals of cong, cong. sess., , , .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : _ante_, § ; appendix b, no. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : am. state papers, foreign, iv. - , vi. - .] [footnote : annals of cong., cong. sess., .] [footnote : s. g. howe, refugees from slavery in canada, - ; niles's register, xxiii. , lv. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. ; cf. no. .] [footnote : niles's register, xxiii. .] [footnote : liberator, dec. , .] [footnote : pamphlets on anderson case, boston public library; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : life of gerrit smith, .] [footnote : liberator, jan. , .] [footnote : von holst, ii. ; calhoun, iii. , , ; senate docs., cong. sess., no. .] [footnote : wilson, slave power, i. - ; congressional globe, xiv. .] [footnote : goodell, slavery and antislavery, , ; von holst, calhoun, - .] [footnote : house docs., cong. sess., v., no. ; congressional globe, xiv. .] [footnote : senate docs., cong. sess., iii., no. .] [footnote : congressional globe, xiv. , - ; calhoun, iii. ; appendix b, no. .] [footnote : senate docs., cong. sess., ii., no. .] [footnote : cobbett's case, ; dana's wheaton, note ; cf. appendix b, no. .] [footnote : lawrence's wheaton, , n.] [footnote : von holst, i. , ; opinions of the attorney generals, iii. ; peters, .] [footnote : r. smedley, underground railroad, .] [footnote : see _post_, §§ - .] [footnote : see _post_, § .] [footnote : appendix b, no. ; peters, ; report of case of edward prigg, supreme court of pennsylvania, ; bledsoe, liberty and slavery, ; j. f. clarke, antislavery days, .] [footnote : _post_, §§ , .] [footnote : _post_, §§ , , .] [footnote : senate journal, cong., sess., ; congressional globe, .] [footnote : senate journal, cong., sess., ; congressional globe, .] [footnote : senate journal, cong. sess., ; congressional globe, .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : appendix b, nos. , , .] [footnote : appendix b, no. .] [footnote : appendix b, no. . in this number of the appendix is a summary of the legislative history of the measure, from the introduction of mason's bill, jan. , , to the signature of the act by president fillmore, sept. , , with references to the records of congress.] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : senate journal, cong. sess., .] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., ; appendix b, no. . the test vote in the house stood as follows:-- states. for. against. not total. voting. new england states middle states interior and pacific states -- -- -- --- total, free states border slave states planter states -- -- -- --- total, slave states --- -- -- --- total ] [footnote : appendix b, nos. , . for general discussions of the act, see von holst, iii. - , iv. - , - ; wilson, slave power, ii. - ; greeley, american conflict, i. - ; cooley's story, § ; lalor's cyclopædia, ii. - ; bryant and gay, u. s., iv. - .] [footnote : for the text of the act, see appendix b, no. .] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., appendix, .] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., appendix, .] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., appendix, .] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : von holst, iii. .] [footnote : congressional globe, cong. sess., appendix, .] chapter iii. _principal cases from to ._ § . change in character of cases. § . the first case of rescue ( ). § . president washington's demand for a fugitive ( ). § . kidnapping cases. § . jones case ( ). § . solomon northrup case (about ). § . washington case (between and ). § . oberlin case ( ). § . interference and rescues. § . chickasaw rescue ( ). § . philadelphia case ( ). § . latimer case ( ). § . ottoman case ( ). § . interstate relations. § . boston and isaac cases ( , ). § . ohio and kentucky cases ( ). § . prosecutions. § . van zandt, pearl, and walker cases ( , ). § . unpopularity of the fugitive slave act of . § . principle of the selection of cases. § . hamlet case ( ). § . sims case ( ). § . burns case ( ). § . garner case ( ). § . shadrach case ( ). § . jerry mchenry case ( ). § . oberlin-wellington case ( ). § . christiana case ( ). § . miller case ( ). § . john brown in kansas ( ). =§ . change in character of cases.=--the cases of escape which occur in the period beginning with the formation of the constitution, and ending with the passage of the fugitive slave law in , will be found, in comparison with those of colonial times, much more frequent, more complex in action, and more varied in detail. instead of many colonies under governments independent one of another, there was now one government and one country; nevertheless, the extinction of the system of bondage and the rise of the antislavery sentiment in the northern states brought into the cases new and difficult elements. no attempt will be made to mention the cases in their chronological order, or to describe them all. they will be classified into cases of simple escape, of kidnapping, of rescue, and of state interference; and typical examples will be described in each category. [sidenote: the first case of rescue.] =§ . the first case of rescue.=--the first attempt to enforce the act of , of which any record has been discovered, immediately revealed its unfairness, and the indisposition of the north to carry it out. mr. josiah quincy, then a young lawyer, afterwards known as a public man and the president of harvard college, has left an interesting account of his connection with the case. "he states that the process was issued by a justice of the peace, that he was retained as counsel for the alleged slave, that he prepared his brief, and went down loaded with all the necessary authorities. he found a great crowd of people assembled; but while he was in the midst of the argument, he heard a noise, and, turning around, he saw the constables lying sprawling on the floor, and a passage opening through the crowd, through which the fugitive was taking his departure without stopping to hear the opinion of the court, and that was the last of that case, and that was the last of the law of in massachusetts."[ ] =§ . president washington's demand for a fugitive.=--as has been noticed in a previous chapter, george washington's boyhood was connected with white slavery. now, at the zenith of his public life, we find one of his chattels the occasion of the first recorded refusal on moral grounds to return a slave. in , president washington wrote to mr. whipple, collector of portsmouth, n. h., to send back to him one of his slaves who had escaped to that place, if it could be done without exciting a mob. this letter has been preserved, and the following extract gives us an insight into president washington's opinions upon the rendition of fugitives:-- "however well disposed i might be to gradual abolition, or even to an entire emancipation of that description of people, (if the latter was in itself practicable,) at this moment it would neither be politic nor just to reward unfaithfulness with a premature preference, and thereby discontent beforehand the minds of all her fellow serv'ts, who, by their steady attachment, are far more deserving than herself of favor."[ ] mr. whipple answered, that any return would be impossible; public sentiment was too strong against it. [sidenote: kidnapping.] =§ . kidnapping cases.=--the great number of cases of kidnapping throughout the period from to show what cruel and unjust deeds were possible under the existing system, and served as nothing else could to rouse people to the defence of negroes. various were the methods by which, in spite of law, kidnappers were enabled to secure their prey. perhaps the most common practice, in places where the courts were known to be friendly to slavery, was to arrest a man on some false pretence, and then, when he appeared in court without opportunity to secure papers or witnesses, to claim him as a fugitive slave. most of these cases occurred in communities bordering upon or near the southern states. the risk and trouble of transporting slaves across free states were so great, that up to we seldom hear of kidnapping cases, and rarely of the capture of a genuine fugitive in the new england states. the natural consequence of such acts of outrageous violence was to rouse people to the forcible rescue of the captured negroes. in the earliest cases, colored people seem to take the leadership; later on, the whites joined, and became most active in the work. =§ . jones case.=--the following instance well exemplifies this form of oppression. george jones, a respectable colored man, was arrested on broadway, new york, in , on the pretext that he had committed assault and battery. as he knew that no such charge could be sustained against him, he at first refused to go with his captors; but finally he yielded, on the assurance of his employer that everything possible should be done for him. he was then placed in bridewell, and his friends were told that when they were wanted they "would be sent for"; but, soon after one o'clock that same day, he was taken before the hon. richard riker, recorder of new york, and to the satisfaction of that magistrate was proved to be a slave. thus, in less than two hours after his arrest he was hurried away as the property of the kidnappers: their word had been accepted as sufficient evidence, and he had not been allowed to secure the presence of a single friendly witness.[ ] =§ . solomon northup case.=--sometimes, if they feared to enter their case in court, slave hunters could find opportunity, by watching a negro for a while, to carry out their plans through some small deception. one of the most striking of these cases is that of solomon northup, who has written an account of his experiences as freeman and as slave. he was born in in new york state. his father had been made a free man by the provisions of his master's will. thus solomon was brought up under the influences of freedom, and knew little of slavery. after his marriage, he lived for some years in saratoga. here he earned a comfortable livelihood. during the day he worked about the hotels, and in the evenings he was often engaged to play the violin at parties. one day, two men, apparently managers of a travelling circus company, met him and offered him good pay if he would go with them as a violinist to washington. he consented. their behavior seemed to him peculiar, but he remained in their service, only to find himself one morning in a slave pen in washington. how he got there remained always a mystery, but it is evident that he must have been drugged. resistance was useless. he was carried south and sold to mr. epps, a hard master, with whom he remained for twelve years. after he had long given up all hopes of escape, a friend was found in a northern man who was working on the same plantation. mr. bass consented, though at a great risk to himself, to write some letters, telling solomon's story to his northern friends. the letters reached their destination, and, under the law of against kidnapping, a memorial was prepared to the governor of new york. he became interested, and immediately sent a man south to find northrup. after a long search, the agent was directed to mr. epps's plantation. much to the disappointment of the master, who used every means to prevent his return, solomon was identified at last, and went back to new york again a free man. efforts were made to prosecute the kidnappers; but as sufficient evidence could not be obtained, no case was made out.[ ] =§ . washington case.=--so bold did these stealers of men become, that they sometimes resorted to simple force, without the slightest attempt at concealment. a case of this kind occurred in washington, d. c., between and . three or four men seized a negro who was employed in a hotel near the capitol, and dragged him away. mr. hall, proprietor of the house, after trying in vain to prevent the arrest, succeeded at last in compelling them to take the man before a magistrate. the justice declined to assume jurisdiction in such a case, and before any other protection could be provided, the man was hurried by the kidnappers into a hack, and taken across the potomac into bondage.[ ] =§ . oberlin case.=--occasionally the result was less fortunate for the captors. in oberlin, three slave hunters seized by force a negro man and his wife, and carried them to an inn for the night. in the mean time the people of the town decided that the negroes must have a trial. they therefore employed a lawyer, who discovered that the writ for the capture was illegal, and secured a hearing. the captives were placed in jail, but, aided by some undivulged agency, they managed to break the grates of their prison windows, and escaped to canada before the day set for trial.[ ] [sidenote: interference and rescues.] =§ . interference and rescues.=--after a kidnapping case had occurred in a northern village or town, measures were frequently taken by the indignant citizens to prevent the recurrence of such acts. they organized vigilance committees, or the antislavery societies took it up as a part of their work. in a free community, public sentiment would not allow negro towns-people to stand entirely unprotected. thus many of the cases of interference and rescue were the result of some organized movements on the part of the white people, though occasionally they came about through the unpremeditated action of a mob. =§ . chickasaw rescue.=--the first case which has been found occurred in . a writ of habeas corpus was served against captain eldridge of the brig chickasaw, for holding two colored women in his ship with the intention of carrying them south. as both presented free papers at the hearing, the judge ordered them discharged; but the agent of john b. morris of baltimore, who demanded their return, declared that he would soon have sufficient evidence to prove them fugitives. thereupon the colored people rushed in, took the women to a carriage, and carried them away to safety.[ ] =§ . philadelphia and kennedy cases.=--a similar but unsuccessful attempt was made in philadelphia in . a slave had been delivered to the man claiming to be his master. as the captors were about to take him away, a crowd of colored people gathered and attempted to rescue him. it was not so simple a matter in a large city as in a country town. a body of police soon appeared, protected the slaveholders, and finally arrested some of the leaders among the free blacks.[ ] a few years later, in carlisle, pennsylvania, three negroes were arrested and their identity established as the slaves of messrs. kennedy and hollingsworth of maryland. the colored people of the neighborhood had caused a writ of habeas corpus to be issued and a second hearing was held. judge hepburne decided that the magistrate first employed had no right to commit the alleged fugitives, but he himself remanded them. a riot ensued, and some thirty-six persons were tried for participating in it.[ ] =§ . latimer case.=--in the latimer case, the first of that series of famous fugitive slave trials which took place in boston, was strongly developed the feeling against kidnapping, or in fact against the rendition of a slave under any circumstances. in , george latimer was seized in boston without a warrant, at the request of james b. grey of norfolk, virginia. latimer's counsel, samuel e. sewall and amos b. merrill, sued out a writ of habeas corpus, but after argument chief justice shaw denied it. mr. grey asked for time to procure evidence against latimer from virginia. the judge ruled that the request should be granted, and that latimer should for the time being be kept in the custody of the city jailer, nathaniel cooledge. a writ of personal replevin, under the act of securing trial by jury,[ ] was then sworn out, but justice shaw decided that, according to the decision by the supreme court in the prigg case, the law was illegal.[ ] the proceedings aroused great indignation throughout the city and state. meetings to devise means of aiding latimer were held in faneuil hall and belknap street church. stirring speeches were made by wendell phillips and others, and resolutions condemning the proceedings of the authorities, and remonstrating against the return of latimer, were adopted. bands of ruffians strove to break up the meetings, and succeeded in greatly disturbing them. to rouse the people, to give expression to public sentiment, and to spread the news from day to day, dr. h. i. bowditch and dr. w. f. channing edited a paper called "the latimer journal and north star." this was published for a number of weeks by the friends of the fugitive. petitions were sent to the sheriff to remove the jailer, and to the governor asking the removal of the sheriff if he did not accede to their demand. thereupon latimer's custodian agreed to give him up for a sufficient payment. the sum of four hundred dollars was accordingly raised, the proceedings came to an abrupt termination, and latimer was released. the excitement produced, however, did not die out immediately, and some of the results were far-reaching. so intense was the public excitement, that, soon after, a petition was prepared and sent to congress, asking an amendment to the constitution. this was signed by fifty thousand people in massachusetts, and presented in the house by mr. adams. another, signed by sixty-five thousand people, was sent to the legislature. the effect was the act of , forbidding all officers to aid in the recapture of a fugitive slave, or to permit the use of state jails for their imprisonment. the petition to congress was not received. a resolution from the latimer committee, which proposed an amendment to the constitution so as to base representation on "free persons," brought about much discussion, and was not received in the house. in the senate it excited even more violent opposition, and the resolutions were laid on the table and not printed.[ ] =§ . ottoman case.=--similar indignation was felt in boston over the case of captain hannum of the brig ottoman. he had found a runaway concealed on board, but had set sail to return, evidently with the intention of taking the man back into captivity. a steamer was sent out to rescue the slave, but the ottoman managed to elude it, and the man was lost. at a meeting held september , , a committee was appointed for the purpose of preventing similar outrages.[ ] [sidenote: interstate relations.] =§ . interstate relations.=--the spirit of opposition to the execution of the fugitive slave law made itself felt, not only in popular demonstrations and in legislation, but in interstate relations. we have already noticed the prigg case,[ ] and its effect in relieving the states from any responsibility in the enforcement of the law. other states took advantage of this decision, and of the general principle of international law, that one nation or state is not bound to enforce the municipal law of another. =§ . boston and isaac cases ( - ).=--in a runaway was found on the ship boston, then on her homeward voyage from georgia to maine. after landing, the slave succeeded in getting to canada. the governor of georgia charged the captain with slave-stealing, and demanded his return as a fugitive from justice. the governor of maine would not comply with the request, because, as he said, the laws of that state recognized slaves not as property, but as persons. the indignant legislature of georgia adopted resolutions calling upon congress so to amend the laws that the governor of maine should be compelled to give up slave stealers as fugitives from justice. resolutions were presented in the united states senate, but no action was taken.[ ] the refusal to use state machinery against fugitives extended to the process of extradition against persons connected with the rescue of slaves. thus in the isaac case, in , virginia asked new york for the arrest of three colored men who were accused of abetting a slave's escape. the governor of new york returned answer, that no state could demand the surrender of a fugitive from justice for an act which was made criminal only by its own legislation.[ ] =§ . ohio and kentucky case.=--kentucky, in , demanded from the governor of ohio the extradition of fifteen persons on the charge of aiding the escape of a fugitive. governor bell refused, on the ground that ohio laws did not recognize property in man.[ ] [sidenote: prosecutions. act of .] =§ . prosecutions.=--the effects of the aid and protection thus given fugitives by northern people or governments awakened among the slaveholders a feeling of wrong and indignation. the fugitive slave law was clear, and they determined to carry it out to the letter. they began, therefore, energetically to prosecute people for aiding and harboring escaping slaves. the case just mentioned shows how difficult it was to secure prosecutions beyond the state boundaries. when the offence occurred within the bounds of a slave state, the judgments were most severe, and the heaviest possible fines and longest terms of imprisonment were inflicted for simple acts of charity. =§ . van zandt, pearl, and walker cases.=--mr. van zandt, returning into the country from cincinnati one day in , took nine fugitive slaves from kentucky into his farm wagon. he was stopped by three persons, and all but two of the slaves were recaptured. mr. van zandt was arrested, taken into court, and fined twelve thousand dollars, which exhausted his entire property.[ ] a still more severe penalty was that imposed upon captain drayton, of the schooner pearl, in . he took on board seventy-five fugitive slaves, and sailed up the potomac. an armed steamer, sent in pursuit, overtook them and brought them back. captain drayton and another officer of the schooner were placed in prison, where they remained for twenty years, and at last were relieved only through the efforts of charles sumner.[ ] another instance of the same sort is the case of mr. jonathan walker, in . with seven fugitives he embarked from pensacola in an open boat for the bahama islands, but he received a sun-stroke and was obliged to leave the management of the craft in the hands of the negroes. on account of the accident, they were overtaken by two sloops, and both fugitives and their protector captured. mr. walker was twice tried, imprisoned, sentenced to stand in the pillory, and branded on the hand with the letters s. s., slave stealer.[ ] the crime and the punishment have alike been glorified in whittier's verses:-- "then lift that manly right hand, bold ploughman of the wave! its branded hand shall prophesy 'salvation to the slave!' hold up its fire-wrought language that whoso reads may feel his heart swell strong within him, his sinews change to steel." [ ] =§ . unpopularity of the fugitive slave act of .=--the passage of the new law probably increased the number of antislavery people more than anything else which had occurred during the whole agitation. many of those formerly indifferent were roused to active opposition by a sense of the injustice of the fugitive slave act as they saw it executed in boston and elsewhere. hence, in the cases of the period from to the outbreak of the civil war, we shall find a new element. the antislavery party, grown strong, resisted the regulations, and instead of the unquestioned return of a fugitive, as in colonial times, or of prosecutions carried on under the simple conditions of the act of , the struggle became long and complex. in fact during this time hardly an important case can be cited in which there was not some opposition to the natural course of the law. these exasperating effects were not at first apparent to the south, since before the famous rescues began several cases of rendition showed the power of the executive. as the escapes grew more and more frequent yearly, increasing all the time in boldness, the slaveholders put forth greater efforts to punish the offenders, and prosecutions were numerous. but the "new law had no moral foundation," and against such an act public sentiment must sooner or later revolt, no matter how severe may be its provisions.[ ] as mr. james freeman clarke has said, "it was impossible to convince the people that it was right to send back to slavery men who were so desirous of freedom as to run such risks. all education from boyhood up to manhood had taught us to believe that it was the duty of all men to struggle for freedom."[ ] =§ . principle of the selection of cases.=--the large number of cases occurring between and renders it impossible to present a detailed account of them all in a brief monograph. the selection, therefore, includes only such as are typical of the various phases of the agitation. =§ . hamlet case ( ).=--the first recorded action under the provisions of the law of took place on the th of september of that year, just eight days after the passage of the act. james hamlet, a free negro, who with his family had been living for several years in new york, was on that day arrested by a deputy united states marshal as the fugitive slave of mary brown of baltimore. after a hasty examination by commissioner gardiner, he was surrendered in accordance with the new law. these proceedings were not sufficiently well known at the time to excite a mob, but when discovered they roused so strong a feeling that the money necessary to redeem hamlet was almost immediately raised, and on the th of october he was brought back from slavery.[ ] [sidenote: sims and burns.] =§ . sims case ( ).=--another instance in boston, often mentioned as the first under the law of , but really six months later than the hamlet case, is that of thomas m. sims. a common method of seizure was followed. marshal tukey arrested sims on a false charge of theft. mr. potter of virginia then claimed him as his slave. court square was filled with people. the marshal feared a popular outbreak while the matter was pending, and, to the indignation of the city, caused the court-house in which sims was confined to be surrounded with chains. as these were but four feet from the ground, the judges as they went in and out from the sessions were forced, morning and night, to bow beneath them. the building was also strongly guarded by a company of armed men, ever afterward known as the "sims brigade." robert rantoul, jr. and samuel e. sewall conducted sims's case. commissioner curtis overruled the constitutional objections to the fugitive slave law, and to the judicial functions of the commissioners of the united states courts. then, despite all efforts of the antislavery people in his behalf, the certificate which sent sims back to virginia was made out and signed by commissioner curtis.[ ] the liberator says of the popular sentiment: "one feeling was visible on almost every countenance, commiseration, humiliation,--commiseration for the victim, humiliation at the degradation of massachusetts. no man talked, no man thought, of violence. why? because it is acquiesced in? no! no! because it is approved? a thousand times, no! but because government is pleased to enforce the law, and resistance is hopeless."[ ] sims was taken from his cell in the early morning, observed only by a few faithful vigilants, and, amid platoons of armed men, conducted to the united states ship acorn, which was detailed to carry him back to the south.[ ] the indignation of the antislavery people remained to be expressed, and a mass meeting was held on the common and in tremont temple. wendell phillips and theodore parker addressed the assemblage, and phillips noticed the fact that hostile troops had not been seen in the streets of boston since the redcoats marched up from long wharf.[ ] =§ . burns case ( ).=--the rendition of anthony burns in was the last great fugitive slave case which occurred in boston. burns was the property of charles f. suttle of virginia. he escaped in , and came to boston. one of the first things he did was to write a letter to his brother, still a slave in the south. unfortunately, though this was mailed in canada, by some oversight it was dated in boston. since a letter to a slave was always opened by the master, burns's hiding place was discovered.[ ] he was arrested upon the usual charge of theft. then, upon a warrant issued by judge loring, he was claimed as a fugitive slave by suttle. when the knowledge of the arrest began to circulate, the most intense excitement prevailed. handbills asking all antislavery people to go to boston were sent throughout the country. public meetings held in faneuil and meionaon halls were crowded with representatives from all the towns about.[ ] one of the people who took part in the attempted rescue which followed one of these meetings thus describes it:-- "on the evening of the th of may, we went down to faneuil hall to hear wendell phillips. he counselled waiting until morning before any attempt to rescue burns should be made, but the excited audience silenced him with shouts of 'no, no! to-night! to-night!' "mr. phillips saw that it was useless to try to go on, so he sat down and mr. theodore parker began speaking. at first he advocated the same plan, but at last, as he found the crowd growing more and more eager and uproarious, he said, 'well, if you will, let us go!' and led the way out of the hall. the people followed, and my friend and i were among the first to reach the court-house. there we found prepared for us long beams and boxes of axes. five or six men seized one of these beams, and before its pressure the large door of the court-house crushed like glass. mr. higginson first stepped in, but just then a pistol shot was heard, and the mob fell back. mr. higginson looked around, and entreated them not to desert him, but the favorable moment was gone. the people should have lost no time in filling the house, for the marines had been ordered from the navy yard, and when they appeared nothing further could be done."[ ] in this riot james batchelder, one of the marshal's guards, was killed. at the trial, though burns was ably defended by mr. r. h. dana and others, it was of no avail. his identity was unfortunately established from the first. he had recognized and addressed his master, and also a mr. brant, who had once hired him. the order for his rendition was therefore at once given.[ ] guarded by a large military force he was conducted through the streets, filled with an indignant multitude, to the united states cutter morris, which had been ordered by the president to take him back.[ ] many buildings on the route were hung with black, and so great was the popular excitement, that rev. j. f. clarke, an eyewitness of the affair, has said: "it was evident that a very trifling incident might have brought on a collision, and flooded the streets with blood." the difficulty of enforcing the act was shown in the precautionary measures immediately adopted by the government. the city police, the militia, the marines, and some regular troops, were ordered out to the task of guarding one poor fugitive. it cost the country one hundred thousand dollars to send this single slave back to his master.[ ] not long after burns's return, a sum of money, to which charles devens, united states marshal at his trial, contributed largely, was raised in boston and the vicinity for his purchase; but it was found impossible to effect it.[ ] mr. higginson, wendell phillips, and theodore parker, with others, were indicted for riot, but the indictment was quashed by judge curtis on technical grounds, and they were discharged.[ ] [sidenote: garner and shadrach.] =§ . garner case ( ).=--of all the cases of rendition, the saddest, and next to the burns case probably the best known at the time, was that of margaret garner. in accounts of the underground railroad we are told that winter was the favorite season for flight in the section of the country south of the ohio, since ice then covered the river, and the difficulty of crossing by boat did not arise. it was at this season that simeon garner, his son robert, and their families, fled from kentucky and crossed the frozen stream to the house of a colored man in cincinnati. they were soon traced thither, and after a desperate hand to hand struggle the house was entered. there the pursuers found that margaret garner, preferring for her children death to slavery, had striven to take their lives, and one lay dead. the case was immediately brought into court, where, despite the efforts made to save them, rendition was decided upon. on the way back, margaret, in despair, attempted to drown herself and her child in the river; but even the deliverance of death was denied her, for she was recovered and sold, to be carried yet farther south.[ ] =§ . shadrach case ( ).=--in the three typical cases just described, neither the law's delay, violent interference, nor the desperation of the slave, availed to prevent the return of the fugitive to the oppressor. let us turn from this group, and take up those more important cases wherein the law was not allowed to complete its course, but rescues were accomplished, either by free negroes or antislavery people. first in time and importance comes the case of shadrach, which occurred in boston in february, . in may, , a slave named frederic wilkins had run away from virginia and come to boston, where he found employment as a waiter in the cornhill coffee house under the alias of shadrach. he had been there not quite a year, however, when john de bere, his master in norfolk, sent some one in pursuit of him. a warrant was served and he was arrested while at work. united states commissioner riley then took him to the court-house, where mr. list, a young lawyer of antislavery sympathies, offered his aid as counsel, and messrs. charles g. davis, samuel e. sewall, and ellis gray loring also came to his assistance. mr. list obtained some delay in the proceedings; but since, by the act of ,[ ] the use of state jails had been denied for fugitives, the officers were obliged to keep the prisoner in the court-room until another place of confinement could be found. by this time a large number of people had gathered about the building, and were trying to force an entrance. for a long time they were unable to enter, but at last opportunity was given as mr. davis opened the door to leave the court-room. in spite of all efforts on the part of the officers to close the door, a body of colored people under the lead of lewis hayden rushed in and seized the prisoner. they carried him triumphantly out of the court-room on their shoulders, and soon saw him safely started for canada. mr. davis and others were prosecuted for aiding in the rescue, but nothing was proved against them. intense excitement prevailed in the city, and finally throughout the country, since congress took up this infringement of the law.[ ] mr. clay, february , , introduced a resolution which requested the president to send to congress "any information he may possess in regard to the alleged recent case of a forcible resistance to the execution of the laws of the united states in the city of boston," and communicate to congress "what means he has adopted to meet the occurrence," and "whether, in his opinion, any additional legislation is necessary to meet the exigencies of the case."[ ] president pierce then issued a proclamation announcing the facts to the country, and calling on all people to assist in quelling this and other disturbances. the senate's request was also answered in an executive message to congress, which announced to them that the president would use all his constitutional powers to insure the execution of the laws. such unusual national interference gave the case wide celebrity, and, as von holst says, "the pretensions and assumptions of the south were encouraged in a very unwise way, by the fact that, by such a manner of treating the matter, people seemed to recognize that it was entitled to hold the whole north responsible for every violation of the compromise, which could properly be laid at the door of only a few individuals. the proclamation and the message placed the compromise in a far more glaring light than the liberation of shadrach."[ ] [sidenote: rescues.] =§ . jerry mchenry rescue ( ).=--later, a case occurred at syracuse, new york, which was a significant illustration of the successful action of a vigilance committee. jerry mchenry, a respectable colored man who had lived for several years in that city, was arrested in october, , as a fugitive slave. at the examination, which took place at two o'clock in the afternoon, he found opportunity to break away from the officers and escape through the crowd, which opened to allow him to pass. he was, however, immediately pursued and recaptured. it so happened that an agricultural fair and a convention of the liberty party were going on at that time in syracuse, and the city was unusually full of people. when the alarm bell gave notice to the vigilance committee that a negro had been seized, mr. gerrit smith, who was attending the meetings, and rev. samuel j. may, with others, hastened to the scene. the commissioner, after the capture, had again taken up the trial, but such a disturbance was made by the crowd which gathered outside that he was forced to adjourn. meanwhile, mr. smith with the committee had planned a rescue, and at about half-past eight fully two thousand people had assembled, and an assault was begun upon the court-house. they broke doors and windows, overpowered the officers, and at last bore jerry away in triumph. he remained in the home of a friend until he could be sent to canada. prosecutions were immediately instituted, and eighteen persons indicted for taking part in the rescue, but nothing came of the case. on the other side, henry w. allen, marshal in the case, was tried for kidnapping. the judge declared the fugitive slave act unconstitutional, but a verdict of not guilty was rendered.[ ] =§ . oberlin-wellington rescue ( ).=--sometimes, however, general sentiment was so strong that the rescue became, not an action instigated and carried through by three or four determined men, but the indignant uprising of a whole town. such was the oberlin-wellington case, celebrated for the great number of prosecutions and the high character of those engaged in it. two kidnappers from kentucky induced an oberlin boy, by a bribe of twenty dollars, to entice away a negro named john rice on pretence of giving him work. having taken him to a lonely spot, he was seized and carried about eight miles across country to wellington, there to await the south bound train. on the way the party was overtaken by an oberlin college student, who at once gave the alarm. a crowd gathered and followed the kidnappers to the railway station. there, by placing a ladder upon the balcony they succeeded in rescuing john from the upper story of the house in which he was confined. for this violation of the law thirty-seven citizens of oberlin and wellington were indicted. this produced the greatest excitement all over the country, and the case grew more and more complicated, until the proceedings had lasted several months. public meetings to express sympathy with the prosecuted were held in many places. some of them were imprisoned to await the trial, but no severe sentences were imposed.[ ] [sidenote: castner hanway. john brown.] =§ . christiana case ( ).=--occasionally the rescue of fugitives was not accomplished by a sudden unorganized movement, but by a deliberate armed defence on the part of the slaves and their friends. in the christiana case the affair was marked by violence and bloodshed, while the fact that the quakers castner hanway and elijah lewis were afterward prosecuted made it notorious; and the further fact that the charge was not, as usual, that of aiding a fugitive, but of treason, gave it still greater interest. in and about christiana, pennsylvania, there were many negroes who had formerly been slaves, descriptions of whom were frequently furnished to kidnappers by a band of men known throughout the country as the "gap gang." a league for mutual protection had therefore been formed by the colored people, and prominent among them for intelligence and boldness was william parker. soon after the passage of the law of , edward gorsuch and a party came from maryland to christiana for a fugitive slave. with united states officers from philadelphia they went immediately to the house of william parker, where the man they were seeking was sheltered. when their demand was refused, they fired two shots at the house. this roused the people, and a riot ensued in which the fugitive escaped. mr. gorsuch was killed, his son desperately wounded, and the rest put to flight. castner hanway at the beginning of the struggle was notified of the kidnappers' presence, and, though feeble in health, hastened to the scene. when ordered by marshal kline to aid him in accordance with the law, he refused; yet, far from leading in the affair, he tried in every way to prevent bloodshed and bring about peace. after it was over, parker, with two other colored men, knowing that arrest must follow, secreted themselves under piles of shavings in an old carpenter's shop. at night they sent four wagons in different directions as decoys for the detectives, and were carried safely away by a fifth. many negroes hid that night in the corn shocks, and under the floors of houses, until escape could be made in safety.[ ] castner hanway was arrested, and arraigned before the united states court on the charge of treason; but no proof of a conspiracy to make a general and public resistance to the law could be found, and he was acquitted. afterward it was desired to try hanway and lewis for "riot and murder," but the grand jury ignored the bill, and all prisoners were released. with these prosecutions the end of the affair was apparently reached, though perhaps its influence may be traced in a succeeding case. =§ . miller case ( ).=--a noted kidnapper from maryland, in , seized a free negro girl living at the house of mr. miller, in nottingham, pennsylvania, and took her to baltimore. mr. miller followed them, and succeeded in getting her freed. he then started back, but never reached home. search was made, and his body found upon the way. it was thought that the murder was committed in revenge for the part he had taken in the christiana riot.[ ] =§ . john brown in kansas ( ).=--it was during this period also that john brown was endeavoring to put into execution his famous plan for freeing the slaves. this is interesting, not only as typical of organized efforts to free the slaves on the plantations, but also because of its connection with other phases of the slavery question, into which we shall not attempt to enter here. his idea was first to gather as large a force as possible, then, when his men were properly drilled, to run off the slaves in large numbers; to retain the brave and strong in the mountains, and to send the weak and timid to the north by the "underground railroad."[ ] in december, , brown divided his forces into two divisions, and went into missouri. here he succeeded in freeing eleven slaves, and, though pursued by a far superior number of missourians, took them safely into kansas. the affair, by its boldness, created great excitement throughout the south. the governor of missouri offered three thousand dollars reward, and the president of the united states two hundred and fifty dollars, for brown's capture; within a very short time he had succeeded in conveying himself and his eleven fugitives safely into canada, and the horses which he had appropriated from the slaveholders in order to carry his protegés out of kansas were afterward publicly sold by him in ohio.[ ] [footnote : mr. quincy also states, that "about a fortnight elapsed, when i was called upon by rufus green amory, a lawyer of eminence at the boston bar in that day, who showed me a letter from a southern slaveholder, directing him to prosecute josiah quincy for the penalty under the law of , for obstructing the agent of the claimant in obtaining his slave under the process established by that law. mr. amory felt, no less than myself, the folly of such a pretence; and i never heard from him, or from any one, anything more upon the subject of prosecution. this fact, and the universal gratification which the fact appeared to give to the public, satisfied my mind, that, unless by accident, or stealth, or in some very thin settled part of the country, the law of would be forever inoperative, as the event has proved in massachusetts."--meeting at faneuil hall to protest against the fugitive slave law, letter read from josiah quincy, boston atlas, oct. , ; goodell, slavery and antislavery, ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : see post, § .] [footnote : _ante_, § .] [footnote : appendix d, no. ; see _post_, § .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : _ante_, § .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : liberator, aug. , , "the branded hand."] [footnote : von holst, iv. , .] [footnote : j. f. clarke, antislavery days, .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : liberator, april , .] [footnote : daily morning chronicle, april , .] [footnote : liberator, april , .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : boston journal, may , .] [footnote : personal statement of mr. elbridge sprague, made to the writer. col. t. w. higginson suggests a few minor corrections in mr. sprague's narrative. the first person to step in was an unknown negro: the beam used was found in court square; none were prepared beforehand; there was but one box of axes.] [footnote : boston daily advertiser, , worcester spy, may , , argument of mr. r. h. dana.] [footnote : liberator, aug. , .] [footnote : von holst, v. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : commonwealth, june , .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : see post, § .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : cong. sess., senate journal, ; congressional globe, .] [footnote : von holst, iii. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : sanborn, life and letters of john brown, ; douglass, life and times of john brown, , .] [footnote : von holst, john brown, .] chapter iv. _fugitives and their friends._ § . methods of escape. § . reasons for escape. § . conditions of slave life. § . escapes to the woods. § . escapes to the north. § . use of protection papers. § . fugitives disguised as whites: craft case. § . underground railroad. § . rise and growth of the system. § . methods pursued. § . colored agents of the underground railroad. § . prosecutions of agents. § . formal organization. § . general effect of escapes. =§ . methods of escape.=--the great increase in the number of fugitives after was in part due to the uneasiness felt by northern people under a law which made them co-workers with the south in a system of slave hunting, and in part to the greater ease of communication now afforded between the two sections. the knowledge that there was in the north a body of "abolitionists" eager to aid them from bondage to freedom was also spreading more widely each day among the slaves. public interest in the subject was more and more aroused, not only by the cases of cruelty and injustice which were forcibly brought to the attention of northern communities, but also by the romantic and thrilling episodes of the escapes. to understand the attitude of the north toward fugitives, it is necessary to examine some of the different methods used by the fugitives in their flight. perhaps a better point of view than that of the outside observer will be gained by placing ourselves in the position of the slave, and examining his motives for flight, the difficulties which he encountered at home, the manner in which he overcame them, and, finally, the various paths of escape then open to him, and the agencies which befriended him and forwarded him on his way. [sidenote: reasons for escape.] =§ . reasons for escape.=--first, why did the slave seek to escape? however unlike the attending circumstances, we find upon investigation that the negro's desire to run away may be traced to one of but three or four motives. among the more intelligent slaves, who could comprehend the nature and injustice of their position, it often rose solely from the upspringing in their hearts of that love of freedom natural to all men. it is probable that in the greater number of cases this was the motive at the root of the matter. a fugitive, on being questioned at an underground railroad station as to his reasons for escape, replied that he had had a kind master, plenty to eat and to wear, but that notwithstanding this for many years he had been dissatisfied. he was thirsting for freedom.[ ] another said that his owner had always been considerate, and even indulgent to him. he left for no other reason than simply to gain his liberty.[ ] a second reason, and that which perhaps most frequently led them to take the decisive step in this often long premeditated act, was the cruel treatment received from their masters. an owner upon one of the southern plantations said his slaves usually ran away after they had been whipped, or something had occurred to make them angry.[ ] a third and very effective cause was the fear of being sold south, where slave life, spent in toil under the merciless masters of the rice swamps and cotton fields, was seen on its darkest side. such was the horror with which the slave regarded this change, that the threat of it was constantly used by owners as one of the surest means of reducing their rebellious slaves to submission. in the virginia slave mother's farewell to her daughters who have been sold into southern bondage, whittier has well expressed their feelings.[ ] many cases of this kind came to light through the examinations at the underground railroad stations. three brothers once learned that the next day they were to be sent south with a slave trader then in the vicinity. filled with terror at the prospect, they preferred the danger of death in the swamps to the certainty of life in the unknown country. that night they made their escape, but it was only after weeks of wandering in swamps and morasses that they reached a haven.[ ] so long as a black family remained together upon one plantation, their love for one another operated as the strongest bond to prevent their departure; but when, as constantly happened, the sale and separation of the members scattered families far and wide, with no hope of reunion, the firmest and often the sole tie which bound them to the south was broken. there was no longer anything to hold them back.[ ] =§ . conditions of slave life.=--these are some of the motives which led the slave to plan an escape. it will now be well to glance at those surrounding conditions, incident to the time and country, which made successful flight particularly difficult. first, the slave was a negro; and in the south, where the presumption was that every black man must be a slave, the color of his skin gave not only a means of tracing him, but also made him liable at any moment to questioning and arrest. in both city and country patrols were appointed, whose duty it was to keep strict watch over the negroes; and any slave found away from his plantation, unless in livery or provided with a pass, could be whipped and sent back to his master.[ ] it was also lawful for any white man to seize and carry a stray slave to the nearest jail.[ ] the next morning, if not claimed, he was advertised in a manner of which the following is an example:-- "was taken up and committed to the jail of halifax co., on the th day of may, a dark colored boy who says his name is jordan artis; said boy says he was born free, and bound out to mr. beale, near murfreesboro, hartford co., n. c., and is now twenty-one years of age. owner is requested to come forward, prove property, pay charges, and take said boy away within time prescribed by law, otherwise he will be dealt with as the law directs. "o. p. shell, _jailer_. "halifax co., n. c., june , ."[ ] if not claimed within one year, such a prisoner could be sold by the jailer. thus olmsted remarks that "the security of the whites is not so much dependent upon patrols, as on the constant, habitual, and instinctive surveillance and authority of all white people over the blacks."[ ] =§ . escapes to the woods.=--if an opportunity for escape should present itself, the first question for the slave was, "in what direction shall i turn?" many slaves knew nothing of the northern people, or had heard of canada only as a cold, barren, uninviting country, where the negro must perish. to those who had neither the courage nor the knowledge requisite for a long journey, the woods and swamps near by offered the only refuge. there they built cabins, or lived in caves, and got food by hunting and fishing, and by raids upon the neighboring plantations. in one of the papers of the day an underground den is noticed, the opening of which, though in sight of two or three houses, and near roads and fields, where passing was constant, had been so concealed by a pile of straw, that for many months it had remained unnoticed. when discovered, on opening a trap-door, steps were seen leading down into a room about six feet square, comfortably ceiled with boards, and containing a fire-place. the den was well stocked with food by the occupants, who had been missing about a year.[ ] in most cases slaves were not so bold, and preferred concealment on an uninhabited island, or a bit of land surrounded by morasses. we often find advertisements of the time, mentioning such places as the probable refuge of runaways. the savannah georgian of offers a reward for two men who have been out for eighteen months, and are supposed to be encamped in a swamp near pine grove plantation. in the great dismal swamp, which extends from near norfolk, virginia, into north carolina, a large colony of these fugitive negroes was established, and so long was the custom continued that children were born, grew up, and lived their whole lives in its dark recesses. besides their hunting and fishing, they sometimes obtained food and money, in return for work, from the poor whites and the negroes who had homes on the borders of the swamp. it was this practice of remaining out near home which, under easy masters, brought about the habitual runaways,--men who were constantly escaping, and after a little time returning, often of their own accord.[ ] one of his masters said of william browne, afterward a well known speaker upon slavery, that he hesitated some time before he invested seven hundred dollars in william, for he was "a noted runaway."[ ] again, in a southern paper advertising a sale of slaves, one description is thus given: "number , daniel, a runaway, but has not run away during the last two years, aged years."[ ] [sidenote: escapes to the north.] =§ . escapes to the north.=--of those who, with heroic hearts and firm courage, determined to reach even canada, many had seldom left the plantation on which they were born, and were so completely ignorant of geography and relative distances, that the best and quickest way northward could seldom be chosen. they knew nothing of the facilities for communication possessed by their masters through newspapers and telegraph, and would often fancy themselves safe when they had travelled but a short distance from home. in reality, the white people about were often fully informed against them, and arrests were almost sure to follow.[ ] the journeys of the fugitives were necessarily long, since unfrequented ways were generally chosen, and but part of the day could be used. there is a record of a man who had "taken a whole year in coming from alabama to cincinnati. he had travelled only in the night, hiding in the woods during the day. he had nothing to eat but what he could get from the fields, sometimes finding a chicken, green corn, or perhaps a small pig."[ ] although the methods pursued were innumerable, and varied from those of the man whose only guide was the north star, to those of the party aided onward by the most elaborate arrangements of the underground railroad, the fugitive was obliged to follow one of two great routes, by water or by land. from the earliest times the ship had been a favorite refuge. once on board a craft bound to a northern port, the fugitive was almost certain of reaching that destination, and, once arrived, could hope for protection from the northern friends of whom vague rumors had penetrated the south. new laws, therefore, bore more and more heavily upon captains who should be found guilty of harboring a slave, and many cases were made public of cruel treatment experienced by slaves at the hands of captains who sent them directly back. nevertheless, escapes on shipboard still occurred frequently through the years of slavery. a method commonly used by women in getting on board was to disarm suspicion by appearing to be carrying some freshly laundered clothes to the sailors. =§ . use of protection papers.=--another method called for less physical effort on the part of the fugitive, but for greater coolness. it was simply to procure from some freeman his protection papers, and to show them whenever necessary to disarm suspicion. as the descriptions could seldom be made to agree, both giver and receiver were placed in situations of the greatest risk. it was thus, however, that frederick douglass travelled in the most open manner from baltimore to new york, and escaped from a bondage to which he never afterward returned.[ ] [sidenote: fugitives disguised as whites.] =§ . fugitives disguised as whites: craft case.=--sometimes the boldest plans succeeded best if supported by sufficient firmness and presence of mind. three negroes possessed of a considerable sum of money once determined upon a plan, startling in its simplicity and success. they hired a good travelling coach and horses. they then bribed a white beggar to dress as a virginian gentleman, while they mounted the coach as his driver and footmen; and in this guise they successfully made their way into canada.[ ] another example of unconcealed flight is found in the often told story of the escape of william and ellen craft, in . they lived in macon, georgia, and were generally well treated. but ellen had been compelled to go north with her mistress, and leave her little child at home; during this absence, the child died uncared for. from that time she determined to escape.[ ] william at last arranged a plan which was successfully carried out. ellen was nearly white. she personated a young southern planter, while william accompanied her as her servant. she carried her right arm in a sling so that she might not be expected to write, bandaged her smooth face, and put on a pair of green goggles. thus disguised, she succeeded in buying tickets for herself and servant without discovery. in the train she was terrified to see a gentleman who had known her from childhood. he even sat down by her, and spoke, but to her great relief, he saw in her only a young invalid going north for his health. from savannah they took a steamer to charleston. there they had some difficulty in passing inspection, but their most dangerous stopping place was baltimore, where every white man with a slave was required to prove his right of property before he could be allowed to go on to philadelphia. after some conversation ellen told the officer that she knew no one in baltimore, and had no proofs that william was her slave; but that he was necessary to her on account of her illness, and she must take him on. the officer finally relented, as the train was about to start, and baltimore was safely passed. at philadelphia shelter was found among the quakers, and thence they pushed on to boston. here they engaged the attention of theodore parker, and he protected them during their stay. william took up his trade of cabinet-making, while ellen added to their income by sewing. they lived thus quietly until the passage of the fugitive slave law in . from that time, to remain even in boston was hazardous. soon after, there appeared one day in william's shop a man who had worked with him in the south. he immediately suspected the presence of others, and took refuge among friends. for two weeks ellen was with mr. parker, who wrote his sermons during her stay with his sword in a drawer under his inkstand, and a pistol in his desk. they were then taken to mr. ellis gray loring's home. here william showed a most honorable spirit. when he found mr. loring was not at home he would not remain, saying, "i am subjecting him to a heavy fine and imprisonment, and i must go at once to look for some other shelter." his pursuers, who had come from georgia, were staying at the united states hotel. the knowledge of their object was soon spread abroad, and they dared not go into the streets for fear of a mob. handbills, calling attention to them, were placed everywhere, and cries of "slave hunters! there go the slave hunters!" were heard on all sides. at last, they were absolutely compelled to leave the city. william and ellen no longer felt safe, and therefore went to england, where the remainder of their life was spent in peace.[ ] [sidenote: the underground railroad.] =§ . underground railroad.=--from the preceding sketch of the conditions of escape, it is plain that no such numbers as are known to have fled could possibly have escaped from their masters' power had they depended solely upon their own exertions. from the beginning of the antislavery agitation, about , and especially near , a mysterious organization made it a business to receive, forward, conceal, and protect fugitives. to that organization the name of "underground railroad" was given, and the many methods used by those connected with it can best be given under a more elaborate description of the system. =§ . rise and growth of the system.=--the first efforts toward any systematic organization for the aid and protection of fugitive slaves are found among the quakers in pennsylvania. the great number of cases of kidnapping which occurred in this state after the passage of the law of , by their injustice roused people to action in behalf of the free blacks; and, their sympathies once enlisted for the colored race, it was but a step to the aid of the fugitive negroes.[ ] from this time, as the number of runaways increased, new agencies were constantly being established, until from the slave states to canada a perfect chain of stations was arranged, not more than one day's journey apart.[ ] the system is said to have extended from kentucky and virginia across ohio, and from maryland, through pennsylvania and new york, to new england and canada.[ ] as negroes began to disappear, and their masters found themselves unable to trace them farther than certain towns in pennsylvania, they said, in bewilderment, "there must be an underground railroad somewhere," and this expression, suiting the popular fancy, became the general name by which the whole system was known.[ ] [sidenote: operations "underground."] =§ . methods pursued.=--although often varied by circumstances, the general method of work was always the same. in the south, money was usually the motive, and for its sake the managers of the railroad could usually get some one to aid a slave in escaping and crossing the line. in the north it was an unselfish, and sometimes dangerous, work of charity. fugitives arrived at the first station, ignorant, half-clothed, and hungry. there they were fed, and, in order to elude the advertisements sent through the states, disguises were provided. for women, the large veiled bonnet and plain attire of the quakeress proved one of the best costumes. the men received a slip of paper, with a word or two which would be recognized at the next place, and, unless special caution was needed, were sent forward on foot. women and children were often taken in close carriages, sometimes constructed for this special purpose.[ ] stations, that is, the houses of persons known to be interested, were reached between sunset and ten o'clock in the evening. a tap at the door would rouse some member of the family, and the fugitive would be taken to the barn, or some place of concealment.[ ] often, too, these houses were not merely places for a night's tarrying, but homes where the ill and fatigued might remain and be cared for until strong enough for the onward journey.[ ] to conduct people over this long line, and to baffle all plans of their pursuers, required quick wit, as well as great courage and coolness.[ ] so successful were the conductors in this respect, however, that a discouraged slave hunter, after a fruitless search, once said it was "as easy to find a needle in a haymow as a negro among quakers."[ ] when fugitives were concealed, and persons desiring to search the house appeared, it was the custom to receive the searchers courteously. one of the family immediately engaged them in conversation, and offered them refreshments. the hunt was thus delayed as long as possible, so that the fugitive might be helped away. in one case, while the slave's master was thus entertained upon the front piazza, the mistress of the house quietly conveyed the hunted negro out at the back door, and placed him under an inverted hogshead standing by. then, with the most unconcerned manner, she allowed the man to search until he was satisfied that there could be no fugitive in that house.[ ] =§ . colored agents of the underground railroad.=--an example of the most courageous and successful action may be found in the life of harriet tubman,[ ] who when a young girl made her escape from slavery alone and unassisted. after several years of work in the north, she determined to go back for her family. this trip was safely accomplished, and followed by others, until during her life she had made nineteen journeys, never losing a person. the rev. james freeman clarke gives the following account of her methods:-- "she said she first obtained enough money, then went to maryland, where she privately collected a party of slaves and got them ready to start. she satisfied herself that they had enough courage and firmness to run the risks. for if once a negro entered her party, there was no falling back. fully determined herself, she would allow no one to return. "she next made arrangements so that they should set out saturday night, as there would be no opportunity on sunday for advertising them, so that they had that day's start on their way north. then she had places prepared where she could be sure that they could be protected and taken care of, if she had the money to pay for that protection. when she was at the north, she tried to raise funds until she got a certain amount, and then went south to carry out this plan. she always paid some colored man to follow after the person who put up the posters advertising the runaway, and pull them down as fast as they were put up."[ ] when she feared the party were closely pursued, she would take them for a time on a train southward bound, as no one seeing a company of negroes going in this direction would for an instant suppose them to be fugitives. as their leader out of bondage, her people gave her the name of "moses," and thus she is generally known. =§ . prosecutions of agents.=--such acts as those daily performed by the conductors on the underground railroad could not be carried on under the existing laws without leading to prosecutions. large rewards were many times offered for harriet's capture, but she eluded all efforts to stop her work. at one time the maryland legislature offered a reward to any person who should secure thomas garrett in any public jail in the state. he was a delaware quaker, who, it is said, helped twenty-nine hundred slaves in escaping. the governor was required to employ the best legal skill to prosecute him on the charge of aiding runaways.[ ] he was afterward tried and fined a sum which consumed his entire property. as this was paid, the officer who received it said that he hoped the remembrance of this punishment would prevent any further trouble. mr. garrett, undaunted, replied that they had taken all that he possessed, but added, "if thee knows any poor fugitive who wants a breakfast, send him to me."[ ] in fact, he seemed absolutely fearless. angry slaveholders often called upon him, and demanded their property. he never denied knowledge of their slaves, or of having helped them on their way, but, in the most quiet manner, positively refused to give information concerning them.[ ] =§ . formal organization.=--in the first formal organization of the underground railroad was made, with robert purvis as president. it was said that two marketwomen in baltimore were their best helpers. they had come into possession of a number of passports, or "freedoms," which were used by slaves for part of the distance, and then were returned to serve the same purpose again.[ ] in all transactions connected with this organization the greatest secrecy was necessarily observed, seldom more than two or three persons at a station being allowed any knowledge of it. in the liberator of , a notice is found cautioning people against exposing in any way the methods used by fugitives in escaping, as it only helped the pursuers in the next case. the fugitives themselves were usually careful in this respect. frederick douglass absolutely refused until after the abolition of slavery to reveal the method of his escape.[ ] mrs. g. s. hillard, of boston, was in the habit of putting fugitives in an upper room of her house. a colored man was placed there, and when mrs. hillard went up to see him, she found he had carefully pulled down all the shades at the windows. she told him that there was no danger of his being seen from the street. "perhaps not, missis," he replied, "but i do not want to spoil the place." he was afraid lest some one might see a colored face there, and so excite suspicions injurious to the next man.[ ] =§ . general effect of escapes.=--although many fugitives were aided previous to , it was after the new law went into effect that the great efforts of the abolitionists were centred on this form of assistance. of such importance did it become, that at the beginning of the civil war one of the chief complaints of the southern states was the injury received through the aid given their escaping slaves by the north.[ ] it was, however, really the "safety valve to the institution of slavery. as soon as leaders arose among the slaves who refused to endure the yoke, they would go north. had they remained, there must have been enacted at the south the direful scenes of san domingo."[ ] [footnote : still, underground railroad, .] [footnote : ibid., .] [footnote : f. l. olmsted, journey in the back country, .] [footnote : "gone, gone,--sold and gone to the rice swamp dank and lone,-- where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, where the noisome insect stings, where the fever demon strews poison with the falling dews, where the sickly sunbeams glare through the hot and misty air,-- gone, gone,--sold and gone to the rice swamp dank and lone from virginia's hills and waters,-- woe is me, my stolen daughters! "there no mother's eye is near them, there no mother's ear can hear them; never, when the torturing lash seams their back with many a gash, shall a mother's kindness bless them, or a mother's arms caress them.... "oh, when weary, sad, and slow from the fields at night they go, faint with toil, and racked with pain, to their cheerless homes again,-- there no brother's voice shall greet them there no father's welcome meet them."] [footnote : still, underground railroad, .] [footnote : ibid., .] [footnote : williams, history of the negro race in america, .] [footnote : still, underground railroad, .] [footnote : f. l. olmsted, the cotton kingdom, .] [footnote : f. l. olmsted, journey in the back country, .] [footnote : w. i. bowditch, slavery and the constitution; macon (ga.) telegram, nov. , .] [footnote : ball, mammoth pictorial tour of united states, ; f. l. olmsted, journey in the back country, .] [footnote : w. i. bowditch, slavery and the constitution; macon (ga.) telegram, nov. , .] [footnote : liberator, april , .] [footnote : wm. parker, freedman's story, in atlantic monthly, february and march, ; letter from gerrit smith, in liberator, dec. , .] [footnote : j. f. clarke, antislavery days, .] [footnote : life and times of frederick douglass, .] [footnote : appendix d, no. ; antislavery almanac, .] [footnote : j. f. clarke, antislavery days, .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : smedley, the underground railroad, .] [footnote : lalor's cyclopædia, i. ; williams, history of the negro race in america, ii. , .] [footnote : clarke, antislavery days, .] [footnote : smedley, the underground railroad, .] [footnote : ibid., , .] [footnote : ibid., - .] [footnote : ibid., .] [footnote : ibid., .] [footnote : ibid., .] [footnote : smedley, underground railroad, .] [footnote : harriet, the moses of her people.] [footnote : clarke, antislavery days, .] [footnote : liberator, march , .] [footnote : pamphlet proposing a defensive league of freedom, .] [footnote : smedley, underground railroad, .] [footnote : ibid., .] [footnote : douglass, my bondage and freedom, .] [footnote : j. f. clarke, antislavery days, .] [footnote : lalor's cyclopædia, i. ; congressional globe, cong. sess., appendix, .] [footnote : williams, history of the negro race in america, ii. , .] chapter v. _personal liberty laws._ § . character of the personal liberty laws. § . acts passed before the prigg decision ( - ). § . acts passed between the prigg decision and the second fugitive slave law ( - ). § . acts occasioned by the law of ( - ). § . massachusetts acts. § . review of the acts by states. § . effect of the personal liberty laws. =§ . character of the personal liberty laws.=--the personal liberty laws were statutes passed in the northern states whose object was to defeat in some measure the national fugitive slave law. often their ostensible purpose was to protect the free negroes from kidnappers, and to this end they secured for the alleged fugitive the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus, and the trial by jury. sometimes, however, they frankly avowed their aim as a deliberate attempt to interfere with the execution of the united states statutes. in the following examination of these laws, they will be considered first chronologically, and afterward more minutely according to their subject matter. in previous chapters we have noticed many instances wherein fugitives have been befriended by individuals, or by organizations like the antislavery societies or the underground railroad. but the action of the state governments in the personal liberty bills, from the time the fugitive slave act of began to be executed to the outbreak of the civil war, showed that the dissatisfaction of the north was fundamental, and was not confined merely to the few in the van of the antislavery movement. [sidenote: analysis.] =§ . acts passed before the prigg decision ( - ).=--although the so-called personal liberty laws were not passed until about , indiana[ ] and connecticut[ ] had before that time provided that on appeal fugitives might have a trial by jury. the connecticut law, in contrast to the hostile spirit of later legislation, was entitled, "an act for the fulfilment of the obligation of this state imposed by the constitution of the united states in regard to persons held to service or labor in one state escaping into another, and to secure the right of trial by jury in the cases herein mentioned." notwithstanding this preamble, the law provided for fining state officials who might take part in fugitive slave cases. the first definite personal liberty laws were passed by vermont[ ] and new york,[ ] in , and were entitled acts "to extend the right of trial by jury." they not only insured jury trial, but also provided attorneys to defend fugitives. this was the only law of the kind new york ever passed, and proved of little value, since it soon fell into disuse, and was almost forgotten. =§ . acts passed between the prigg decision and the second fugitive slave law ( - ).=--after the prigg decision in , wherein it was declared that the law must be executed through national powers only, and that state authorities could not be forced into action,[ ] a new class of statutes sprang up. the state legislatures seized the opportunity afforded them by judge story's opinion, to forbid state officers from performing the duties required of them by the law of , and prohibited the use of state jails in fugitive slave cases. such laws were passed in massachusetts,[ ] vermont,[ ] pennsylvania,[ ] and rhode island.[ ] in , connecticut repealed her act of , as being then unconstitutional, but retained the portion forbidding state officers to participate in the execution of the law. =§ . acts occasioned by the law of ( - ).=--the provisions of the law of roused yet more opposition in the north, and before many of the states had passed personal liberty bills. the new national law avoided the employment of state officers. this change in the statute brought about a corresponding alteration in the state legislation, and we therefore find the acts of this period differing somewhat from those of earlier years. they almost invariably prohibited the use of state jails, they often forbade state judges and officers to issue writs or to give assistance to the claimant, and punished severely the seizure of a free person with the intent to reduce him to slavery. should an alleged fugitive be arrested, the personal liberty acts were intended to secure him a trial surrounded by the usual legal safeguards. the identity of the person claimed was to be proved by two witnesses; or they gave him the right to a writ of habeas corpus; or they enjoined upon the court to which the writ was returnable a trial by jury. at the trial the prisoner must be defended by an attorney, frequently the state or county attorney, and a penalty was provided for false testimony. any violation of these clauses by state officers was punished by penalties varying from five hundred dollars and six months in jail, as in pennsylvania, to the maximum punishment in vermont, of two thousand dollars' fine and ten years in prison. such acts were passed in vermont,[ ] connecticut,[ ] and rhode island,[ ] in massachusetts,[ ] michigan,[ ] and maine.[ ] later, laws were also enacted in wisconsin,[ ] kansas,[ ] ohio,[ ] and pennsylvania.[ ] of the other northern states, two only, new jersey and california, gave any official sanction to the rendition of fugitives. in new hampshire, new york, indiana, illinois, iowa, and minnesota, however, no full personal liberty laws were passed.[ ] =§ . massachusetts acts.=--let us now examine the purport of these acts in the various states. the general tenor and effect are best seen in massachusetts, which may be selected as a typical state. in , massachusetts passed a law "to restore the trial by jury, on questions of personal freedom." this secured to the prisoner a writ of personal replevin, which was to be issued from and returnable to the court of common pleas for the county in which the plaintiff was confined, and was to be issued fourteen days at least before the return day. if the prisoner were secreted, the court might send out a capias to take the body of the defendant. this act allowed an appeal to the supreme judicial court. in , the latimer case[ ] occurred. this so aroused public sentiment that a great petition, signed by sixty-five thousand people, was sent to the legislature, asking for a new personal liberty law. on the basis of the prigg decision, a law was enacted which forbade state magistrates to issue certificates or take cognizance of the law of , and withheld the use of state jails for the imprisonment of fugitives.[ ] in , in the shadrach case,[ ] there was opportunity for testing the value of this law. the fugitive was not indeed confined in any jail, but there was little difficulty in providing a place of detention, and the court-house was secured. in this year, acting upon a clause in the governor's message, which treated of the new fugitive slave law of , a committee in the legislature made a report, accompanied by resolutions and a bill further to protect personal liberty; but no law was passed, and there the matter rested until .[ ] after the sims[ ] and burns[ ] cases, in which the court-houses were again used in the place of jails, the heat of public indignation led to petitions to the legislature asking for a more stringent personal liberty law. a joint committee prepared a bill, which was passed, but was vetoed by governor gardner, who had been advised by the attorney general that some of the clauses were unconstitutional. but so strong was the influence in its favor that it was passed over the veto by a two-thirds vote.[ ] the feeling that it was probably unconstitutional, however, must have strengthened in the next three years: for in [ ] we find another act which amended the act of . this limited some provisions, and repealed the following sections: the tenth, which required that any person who should give a certificate that a person claimed as a fugitive was a slave should forfeit any state office he might hold; the eleventh, which forbade any person acting as attorney for a claimant to appear as counsel or attorney in the state courts; the twelfth, which made a violation of the preceding section sufficient ground for the impeachment of any officer of the commonwealth; the thirteenth, which forbade any united states officer empowered to give certificate or issue warrants from holding a state office; and the fourteenth, which made liable to removal any person holding a state judicial office who should also hold the office of commissioner. [sidenote: review of the acts by states.] =§ . review of the acts by states.=--of the other new england states, maine had no personal liberty law until .[ ] two years after, however, in ,[ ] a portion of an act declaring free all slaves brought by their masters into that state was devoted to a provision "to punish any attempt to exercise authority over them." in new hampshire, one of the laws of [ ] enacted that every person holding any person as a slave for any length of time, under any pretence, should be deemed guilty of felony; but provided that this should not apply to united states officers executing any legal process. vermont, by an act in ,[ ] extended to fugitives the right of trial by jury, but after three years this was repealed,[ ] only to be renewed in .[ ] connecticut, as has been noticed, had no personal liberty law. rhode island first passed such an act in .[ ] this forbade state officers to take cognizance of fugitive slave cases, and the use of state jails. another statute, in ,[ ] extended these provisions so as to apply to the national law of . the act of was the only personal liberty law of new york.[ ] pennsylvania, some seven years later, forbade the use of jails, and punished state officers for participating in fugitive slave cases.[ ] it also enacted a regulation of the same character as late as . ohio made but one provision on the subject, and that lasted but a year. her jails were closed to suspected slaves in ,[ ] but in this law was repealed.[ ] michigan passed such an act in ,[ ] with the usual clauses on the use of jails and jury trial, and imposed a fine on false testimony against the defendant. in wisconsin and kansas also passed similar acts.[ ] =§ . effect of the personal liberty laws.=--since the avowed purpose of these laws was to obstruct the execution of one of the united states statutes, national and state legislation were thus brought into direct conflict; but the fugitive slave law was held constitutional by the supreme court, and any attempt to prevent its enforcement by positive means, however righteous from an ethical standpoint, must be considered an infraction of the constitution, and of the common understanding between the states, on which the union was founded.[ ] the provisions denying the use of state institutions and officers, though distinctly unfriendly, were not unconstitutional. many of the abolitionists, however, held the national law to be unconstitutional, and at the same time morally so repugnant that it ought never to be executed.[ ] the state laws were brought up by south carolina, in her declaration of the causes of secession, as one of the chief grievances against the north; and president buchanan, in his message of ,[ ] said they were "the most palpable violations of constitutional duty which had yet been committed." they must certainly be classed in principle with the nullification ordinance of . indeed, the legislature of wisconsin, after the supreme court had overridden the decision of the state courts in the case of ableman v. booth that the national law was contrary to the national constitution, passed some resolutions in which a "positive defiance is urged as the 'rightful remedy'" against such legislation.[ ] [footnote : revised laws of indiana, , p. .] [footnote : laws of connecticut, , p. .] [footnote : acts and resolves of vermont, , p. .] [footnote : laws of new york, , p. .] [footnote : see _ante_, § .] [footnote : laws of massachusetts, , p. .] [footnote : acts and resolves of vermont, , p. .] [footnote : laws of pennsylvania, , p. .] [footnote : acts and resolves of rhode island, , p. .] [footnote : laws of vermont, , p. .] [footnote : public acts of connecticut, , p. .] [footnote : laws of rhode island, , p. .] [footnote : laws of massachusetts, , p. ; , p. .] [footnote : laws of michigan, , p. .] [footnote : laws of maine, , p. .] [footnote : lalor, iii. .] [footnote : lalor, iii. .] [footnote : laws of ohio, , p. ; , p. .] [footnote : lalor, iii. .] [footnote : the following tabulation shows the provisions of the personal liberty laws as distributed among the states:-- _judges and justices forbidden to take cognizance._ massachusetts, ; vermont, ; connecticut, ; rhode island, ; maine, ; pennsylvania, . _writ of habeas corpus._ massachusetts, ; michigan, ; maine, ; connecticut, and . _jury trial._ indiana, ; new york, ; vermont, , , and ; connecticut, ; michigan, ; massachusetts, . _use of jails forbidden._ massachusetts, and ; vermont, and ; pennsylvania, ; rhode island, ; maine, ; michigan, ; ohio, . _attorneys employed to defend fugitives._ new york, ; vermont, ; massachusetts, ; maine, . _false testimony punished._ connecticut, and ; michigan, . _admission of national officers._ connecticut, and ; vermont, ; maine, ; new hampshire, .] [footnote : see _ante_, § .] [footnote : laws of massachusetts, , p. .] [footnote : see _ante_, § .] [footnote : parker, personal liberty laws, .] [footnote : see _ante_, § .] [footnote : see _ante_, § .] [footnote : parker, personal liberty laws, ; laws of massachusetts, , p. ; appendix d, no. , case of william johnson.] [footnote : laws of massachusetts, , p. .] [footnote : acts and resolves of maine, , p. .] [footnote : ibid., , p. .] [footnote : acts and resolves of new hampshire, , p. .] [footnote : acts and resolves of vermont, , p. .] [footnote : laws of vermont, , p. .] [footnote : ibid., , p. .] [footnote : acts and resolves of rhode island, , p. .] [footnote : laws of rhode island, , p. .] [footnote : laws of new york, , p. .] [footnote : laws of pennsylvania, , p. .] [footnote : laws of ohio, , p. .] [footnote : laws of ohio, , p. .] [footnote : laws of michigan, , p. .] [footnote : lalor, iii. .] [footnote : hurd, law of freedom and bondage, ii. ; von holst, iv. ; parker, personal liberty laws.] [footnote : phillips, no slave hunting in the old bay state; phillips, argument against repeal of personal liberty law; pierce, personal liberty law, ; johnson, speech on personal liberty law, new york, .] [footnote : cong. sess., congressional globe, appendix, .] [footnote : lalor, iii. .] chapter vi. _the end of the fugitive slave question ( - )._ § . the fugitive slave law in the crisis of - . § . propositions to enforce the fugitive slave law. § . propositions to repeal or amend the law. § . the question of slaves of rebels. § . slavery attacked in congress. § . confiscation bills. § . confiscation provisions extended. § . effect of the emancipation proclamation ( ). § . fugitives in loyal slave states. § . typical cases. § . question discussed in congress. § . arrests by civil officers. § . denial of the use of jails in the district of columbia. § . abolition of slavery in the district of columbia. § . regulations against kidnapping. § . repeal of the fugitive slave acts. § . early propositions to repeal the acts. § . discussion of the repeal bill in the house. § . repeal bills in the senate. § . the repeal act and the thirteenth amendment. § . educating effect of the controversy. =§ . the fugitive slave law in the crisis of - .=--if the number of interesting fugitive slave cases falls off in the latter part of the decade from to , it is not because the law was better enforced, but because it was little enforced. the continued interference of the friends of the slave had proved that a fugitive could not safely be recovered in massachusetts, and that no punishment could be secured for those who helped him to his freedom. the personal liberty bills added serious legal obstacles. the supreme court of wisconsin even went so far as to declare the national act of unconstitutional.[ ] in john brown, in his harper's ferry raid, attempted to establish a centre to which fugitives might flock; and although he was defeated, he had the sympathy of a large number of persons in the north, including some public men. in the violent debates of - , one of the frequent charges brought by the southern members against the north was its persistent refusal to execute the fugitive slave act, or to permit it to be executed.[ ] even republican members disclaimed responsibility for their party, and urged that the personal liberty bills should be repealed.[ ] other bolder spirits seized the opportunity to urge a repeal of the act, and in the various compromise propositions introduced were several attempts to modify the existing constitutional provision on the subject. =§ . propositions to enforce the fugitive slave law.=--in the crisis of the south seemed to expect a general settlement of the slavery question like that of , and therefore demanded a more effective act for the return of fugitives. president buchanan, in his message of december , , recommended "explanatory" constitutional amendments which should recognize the master's right to the recovery of his fugitive slaves, and the validity of the fugitive slave law. he recommended also a declaration against state laws impairing the right of the master, as being violations of the constitution, and consequently null and void.[ ] this recommendation was followed, december , , by no less than eleven resolutions upon the subject in the house.[ ] of these five were constitutional amendments. several provided, as a pacific measure, that the town, county, or state, guilty of neglect to return a fugitive, might be sued by the owner of the slave for the amount thus lost to him.[ ] the most arbitrary proposition was that of mr. hindman. it denied representation in congress to any state which should hold in force laws hindering the delivery of fugitives.[ ] another resolution inquired into the expediency of declaring it felony to resist an officer of the united states in the execution of the law, or to attempt to rescue a runaway.[ ] =§ . propositions to repeal or amend the law.=--on the other hand, antislavery members insisted that the provision for the return of fugitives was already too severe; but only one of the resolutions proposed any amendment in favor of the slave. mr. kilgore proposed to give a trial by jury before a fugitive should be returned.[ ] as early as mr. blake had introduced into the house a bill to repeal the law of . it was read twice, and referred to the committee on the judiciary, from whom it was never reported.[ ] at that time congress, in alarm at the state of the country, was vainly striving to mend matters by making the fugitive slave law even more effective. march , , the select committee of thirty-three brought in a bill for the amendment of the law of ; it allowed an appeal to the circuit court of the united states where jury trial was to be given. the bill passed the house the same day; but in the senate it never got beyond the first reading.[ ] [sidenote: enforcement. slaves of disloyal men.] =§ . the question of slaves of rebels.=--with the beginning of the civil war in the last period in the study of fugitive slaves opens, to close only with the repeal of the fugitive slave law and the abolition of slavery. new conditions now surrounded the slaves. their masters were away in the army; many homes were broken up, and confusion reigned instead of law; the strict discipline and oversight necessary for the maintenance of the slave system was impossible. opportunities for escape occurred everywhere and at all times. since war had brought the northern people down into their own land, the slave no longer needed to travel hundreds of miles to find friends; the northern camps were perhaps but a few miles from his own plantation. in this way negroes began to gather around the federal camps in such numbers that the question of disposing of them became serious. if the fugitive slave law of were considered as still binding, their apprehension and return were necessary; but many of the masters were in arms against the government; should they still be protected in their property? the belligerent position of the south seemed to preclude any right on the part of disloyal owners to ask for the benefit of the law. to meet the changed conditions no policy had as yet been developed by the government. the first solution of the problem was made at fortress monroe by general butler. he drew an analogy from international law, which makes material of war imported into the country of a belligerent lawful prize to the army or navy of the other belligerent. regarded as property, the slaves of rebels could be of great service to them, and of equal help to the government in suppressing rebellion. regarded as persons, they had escaped from communities where rebellion was in progress, and they asked protection from the government to which they were still loyal. in may, , general butler therefore replied to all demands for fugitives that he should retain them as "contraband of war." the answer was widely spread, and "contraband" became the name by which such negroes were known.[ ] =§ . slavery attacked in congress.=--a series of attacks upon slavery now began in congress. to many persons the fact that the institution was recognized in the constitution seemed sufficient ground for protecting it. no doubt was entertained of the power of congress to confiscate the ordinary property of rebels; but such persons deprecated all interference with slaves, who were supposed to possess a kind of constitutional immunity, wholly unknown to and above all other property.[ ] in the minds of antislavery men, "no greater fallacy was ever asserted than this attempt thus to link 'the institution' and the constitution indissolubly together, to engraft the former upon the latter, to make slavery the corner stone of the nation, to be guarded and protected by the government."[ ] nevertheless, the existence of slavery in the border states which had remained loyal made congress very cautious as to general enactments. on the other hand, no form of property held by rebels was so vulnerable; slaves could not only be seized as the lines of the northern troops extended, they could, by actual law or by kindly reception, be invited across the lines. both the passions aroused by civil war and a humane pity for the slave urged the government to deprive the master engaged in secession of the services of his slave. [sidenote: confiscation bills.] =§ . confiscation bills.=--july , , mr. chandler and mr. trumbull introduced general confiscation bills in the senate; they were both referred to the committee on the judiciary. in the discussion mr. trumbull offered as an amendment "that whenever any person claiming to be entitled to the service or labor of any other person, under the laws of any state, shall employ such person in aiding or promoting any insurrection, or in resisting the laws of the united states, or shall permit or suffer him to be so employed, he shall forfeit all right to such service or labor, and the person whose service or labor is thus claimed shall be thenceforth discharged therefrom, any law to the contrary notwithstanding."[ ] the proposition aroused considerable opposition, since it was a step far in advance of anything which had yet been done against the interests of slavery, and any proposition which advocated "an act of emancipation," however limited and qualified, was the signal for hot discussion. the opposing party announced that "nothing will come of it but more irritation,"[ ] and in each crisis statesmen should "observe all possible toleration, all conciliation, all liberality."[ ] mr. wilson upheld the opposite opinion, and thought that the time had come when this government, and the men who are in arms under the government, should cease to return their fugitive slaves to traitors. the bill passed the senate july , . in the house it was amended so as to limit the negroes to be freed more strictly to those employed in military service.[ ] the bill went back to the senate, which concurred in the amendment,[ ] and it received the signature of the president, august , .[ ] [sidenote: the emancipation proclamation.] =§ . confiscation provisions extended.=--propositions more far reaching were introduced into the senate in the session of - .[ ] january , , mr. trumbull, from the committee on the judiciary, to whom the various propositions had been referred, reported an original bill, and asked that the committee be discharged from the consideration of others.[ ] march , , mr. harris introduced into the senate a bill to confiscate the property of rebels and for other purposes.[ ] these propositions were considered at length, but never came to a vote. it is not necessary to enter here into the discussion of confiscations and of the constitutional right of congress to free the slaves; in most of the bills there was a provision against the return of slaves to disloyal masters. the harris bill declared that, before any order for the surrender of fugitives should be given, the claimant must establish not only his title to the slave, as was then provided by law, but also that he is and has been loyal to the united states during the rebellion. mr. pomeroy objected to this because it would make it "obligatory on the government of the united states to surrender a person claimed to be indebted to another for service or labor, if the claimant proves that he is loyal to the government. would not this re-enact the fugitive slave law of ?"[ ] an amendment was therefore adopted which so changed the law that any reference to the act of was avoided.[ ] after several debates the proposition was recommitted, may .[ ] mr. clark reported a bill, may , which retained the provision in regard to fugitives as at first offered.[ ] in the house, resolutions on confiscation and emancipation were offered on the first day of the session, but the final action was based upon one of several bills introduced by mr. eliot, may , .[ ] his first bill, upon the confiscation of the property of the rebels, need not be followed out here; but the second bill provided for the emancipation of the slaves of disloyal masters, and forbade their return as fugitives. after various recommitments[ ] a bill was brought in, according to which, in any suit brought by a claimant to recover the possession of slaves to enforce such service or labor, it was to be a sufficient bar to allege and prove that the master was disloyal to the government.[ ] the bill then passed the house by a vote of to .[ ] when it came up in the senate, june , , mr. clark moved to strike out all after the enacting clause, and to insert a substitute which would again unite the confiscation and emancipation bills. this amendment was rejected by the house, and a conference committee was appointed which reported july and . the fugitive from a disloyal master was by this compromise to be deemed a captive of war, and forever freed from servitude.[ ] the report was adopted by both houses, and approved by the president, july , .[ ] from that date any slave of a disloyal master who could make his way into the territory occupied by the northern troops was _ipso facto_ free. the fugitive was to become a freeman. =§ . effect of the emancipation proclamation ( ).=--the complete emancipation of the negroes within the confederate lines was the next logical step, and was demanded as a war measure. it deprived the confederacy of the aid of these slaves, and at the same time made it possible to arm and employ the former slaves against their masters. september , , president lincoln issued his preliminary proclamation, by which he warned the south that, unless it should return to its allegiance, all persons held as slaves in the states in rebellion on the st of january, , should be "thenceforth and forever free." at the end of one hundred days the final and absolute proclamation was put forth, january , . it declared also that negroes might be received into the armed service of the united states; and henceforth throughout the war, the former slaves were enrolled as soldiers and did good service for the government. the effect of this proclamation was to end slavery, and with it the return of fugitives, within the confederate lines. but here the legal machinery of the government had no effect; the state laws relating to slavery might be considered suspended, but practically the laws and practices of the confederacy prevailed. on the other hand, the fugitive slave law yet existed upon the statute-book where the union had power; the arrest and imprisonment of fugitives was yet legal, and many desired to see the law repealed as another step toward the final crushing out of the system. [sidenote: fugitives from loyal slave states.] =§ . fugitives in loyal slave states.=--from the beginning of the war one of the most embarrassing questions which had come before congress was, how shall the slaves of loyal owners be treated? the necessity of holding the border states firm for the union disposed many to support only the most conciliatory measures; but these states were a part of the theatre of war. northern armies now occupied parts of the confederacy as well, and among the great numbers of blacks who flocked to the union camp it was impossible to separate the slaves of the loyal from the disloyal. moreover, it was necessary that there should be some uniformity of method. without specific law, the reception given to fugitives from loyal masters must vary with the views of each commanding officer with whom they sought refuge. =§ . typical cases.=--cases began to occur very early in the struggle. in a slave called wisdom ran away from georgetown, and was taken in by some wagoners belonging to the northern army. he soon found work, but his master succeeded in tracing him, and came to camp to claim him. he demanded the slave of captain swan, officer of the day. captain swan hoped the man might be smuggled away, and so delayed the search as long as possible. the master then went to colonel cowden, who immediately ordered the slave to be surrendered, without the form of proceedings prescribed by the act of , and in disregard of the fact that the master was not provided with the necessary certificate. when the facts became known in massachusetts and elsewhere, there was great indignation. the colonel was hung in effigy in boston, with the following inscription: "colonel cowden, of burns rendition notoriety, is now practising his tricks at kidnapping in washington."[ ] major sherwood of the th west virginia regiment had, in , employed a colored refugee as his servant. the owner sent a united states marshal to brigadier general boyle, who gave an order for his rendition. major sherwood sent a message that he would give up his sword, but, while he was in command, no fugitive should be returned. he was placed under arrest for disobedience, to await court-martial; but general staunton ordered general boyle's order revoked, and major sherwood was never tried. in the mean time the boy had been sent away concealed under the seat of an ambulance, and reached canada in safety.[ ] =§ . question discussed in congress.=--as early in the war as , a number of resolutions were brought into congress, designed to meet this difficulty,[ ] and mr. lovejoy introduced a bill making it a penal offence "for any officer or private of the army or navy to capture or return, or aid in the capture or return" of fugitive slaves.[ ] the bill was referred to the committee on the judiciary, which reported adversely upon it, april , .[ ] december , , mr. hale had offered a resolution, which was adopted, looking toward a uniform method of dealing with the slaves of rebels.[ ] mr. sumner brought in another on december , which forbade the employment of the armies in the surrender of fugitives.[ ] "i ask, sir," said the writer of a letter read by mr. sumner, "shall our sons, who are offering their lives for the preservation of our institutions, be degraded to slave catchers for any persons loyal or disloyal? if such is the policy of the government, i shall urge my son to shed no more blood for its preservation."[ ] another protest came from two german companies in one of the massachusetts regiments, who, when they enlisted, entered the service with the understanding that they should not be put to any such discreditable service. they complained, and with them the german population generally throughout the country.[ ] some proof that the owner of the slave was at least loyal to the government seemed necessary, if rendition were to be made at all; though antislavery men were determined to admit no return of fugitives under any circumstances. december , , a resolution of mr. wilson's was adopted, for an additional article of war forbidding officers from returning fugitives under any consideration.[ ] a bill was introduced, discussed, and somewhat amended, but never passed.[ ] mr. blair's bill, of february , , from the committee on military affairs in the house, was to the same purpose.[ ] this, however, was successfully carried in both houses, and signed by the president, may , . in the discussion, mr. mallory opposed the bill, because it seemed to him that it would prevent the president of the united states from sending a military force into a state to aid the authorities in enforcing a national law which stands upon the statute-book.[ ] mr. bingham answered this objection by saying that it simply determined that for the future, as in the past, the army and navy should not exercise functions which belong solely to the civil magistrates.[ ] =§ . arrests by civil officers.=--the act of may , , applied only to army officers. notwithstanding the opportunities then offered for escape, wandering negroes were still liable to be seized by civil authorities and placed in jail. in this way numbers of negroes, many of them really free, were arrested, on the supposition of being runaways, and were imprisoned without trial for an indefinite length of time. an advertisement in shows the method then in use. "there was committed to the jail of warren county, kentucky, as a runaway slave, on the th september, , a negro man calling himself jo miner. he says he is free, but has nothing to show to establish the fact. he is about thirty-five years of age, very dark copper color, about five feet eight inches high, and will weigh about one hundred and fifty pounds. the owner can come forward, prove property, and pay charges, or he will be dealt with as the law requires. "r. j. potter, j. w. c. "march , . m."[ ] [sidenote: district of columbia.] =§ . denial of the use of the jails in the district of columbia.=--several efforts were made to remedy this state of things, at least in the territory over which congress had exclusive control. december , , mr. wilson, who had been investigating the condition of the district of columbia jail in washington, offered a joint resolution for the release of all fugitives from service or labor therein held.[ ] it appeared that some sixty persons were imprisoned solely because they were suspected of being runaways, and had been allowed no opportunity to prove the contrary. a free boy from pennsylvania came to washington with the th pennsylvania regiment. he was found in the streets and sent to jail. another boy, who was working for the soldiers on the railroad, was also taken up and placed there.[ ] mr. wilson struck at the root of the matter by a resolution, which was agreed to, looking to the revision of all the laws in the district of columbia providing for the arrest of persons as fugitives from service or labor, and to consider the expediency of abolishing slavery in the district.[ ] on december , , mr. bingham introduced a resolution for the repeal of all acts in force in the district of columbia which authorized the commitment of runaways and suspected runaways to the jail; it was referred to the committee on the judiciary.[ ] mr. fessenden asked that the committee on the district of columbia investigate and report upon the condition of the jail; this was agreed to.[ ] a few weeks later, december , , mr. grimes presented a bill in the senate in regard to the administration of criminal justice in the district. this was read and referred to the committee, which reported it, january , .[ ] efforts were immediately made to prevent fugitive slaves from being included in the general jail delivery contemplated by the bill. mr. powell, in the debate upon his amendment to that purpose, urged that so long as the institution of slavery existed in the south, no such measure ought to prevail.[ ] mr. grimes supported his measure by giving some examples of exceedingly unjust cases which had occurred. "a young colored fellow, who came as a servant of an officer from the vicinity of pittsburg, was thrown into this jail in august last. the regiment to which he was attached went forward toward the face of the enemy. there was nobody here to look after him. there is no doubt as to his being a free boy, yet he was there on the first day of this month." to such cases he desired to have the law apply. "they have here in this district and in maryland what they call an apprehension fee. they have a law which declares that if any slave wanders a certain distance from the residence of his master, he may be taken up as a fugitive. there are persons in this vicinity, i am credibly informed, who are lying in wait all around your city and the surrounding country, in hope that they can find some poor colored man or woman who is out picking berries and visiting a friend, and who will wander a little further than the distance established by law from the residence of the master."[ ] the opinion that such injustice ought to be corrected prevailed, and the amendment was rejected. after much discussion the bill passed the senate, january , ,[ ] and it was approved by the president on the same day. thenceforward the fugitive slave law was practically a dead letter at the seat of government, since the necessary machinery was lacking, and the spirit of the administration was opposed to it. the new act was in effect a national personal liberty bill. =§ . abolition of slavery in the district of columbia.=--the work contemplated by all the propositions was finally accomplished in one act. on december , , mr. wilson had offered a bill in the senate for the total abolition of slavery in the district of columbia. it was reported with amendments a few weeks after the passage of the act denying the use of jails, and on february , , mr. wilson presented a supplementary bill.[ ] the debates upon this proposition were long and interesting. the south regarded it as "an entering wedge of something more comprehensive and radical,"[ ] as preparatory to the abolition of slavery in the whole country by congress. the antislavery party rejoiced that at last an opportunity had come for freeing the national capital from the disgrace of slavery. the bill passed both houses, and was approved april , .[ ] by the final section of the act the black code of maryland was wiped out, and the severe local provisions against fugitives, which had not been repealed by the previous act, were at last taken away. it remained only to attack the last stronghold of the system,--the two acts of and . =§ . regulations against kidnapping.= in the act of april , , were included regulations against kidnapping,--a practice made easy by the unsettled state of the country. it seems to have been largely carried on not only by southerners, but also by unprincipled soldiers connected with the union army. the liberator of march , , notices such a case. some men from the th regiment of new york volunteers kidnapped a free colored man at norfolk, virginia. they took his horse, cart, and the provisions which he had just bought, and offered him for sale to be sent south. during the absence of his captors for a few moments, the man was able to work off his bonds and to escape in the darkness. he immediately went before a provost marshal, told his story, and recognized one of his captors who was just entering the door. what the consequences of this meeting were the "liberator" does not tell us; but the impression is given that the negro was saved from his pursuers.[ ] [sidenote: repeal of the acts proposed.] =§ . repeal of the fugitive slave acts.=--by the successive acts of congress and the president, the legal effect of the fugitive slave laws was now confined practically to the limited area of the border states. no officer, civil or military, could return a fugitive into the confederate lines. slavery was forbidden in the district of columbia, and there could be no escapes thence; and congress forbade the use of the jails of the district for the confinement of fugitives from slaveholding regions. in the free states the rendition of slaves, though still legally required, had long since ceased. the final step was delayed till . =§ . early propositions to repeal the acts.=--repeal, however, was preceded by many earlier propositions. the committee on the judiciary, to which was referred mr. howe's bill, presented december , ,[ ] did not report until , and then with the opinion that it ought not to pass. in introducing his repeal measure, mr. howe spoke of the bill of as one "which has probably done as much mischief as any other one act that was ever passed by the national legislature. it has embittered against each other two great sections of the country."[ ] to take away the law of would leave in force the act of , which was "good enough." june , , soon after the passage of the acts on the district of columbia, mr. julian presented in the house another repeal bill, which was referred to the committee on the judiciary.[ ] as the war progressed, and the antislavery sentiment began to outweigh all others, it became evident that the old law could not much longer obtain. nevertheless the question was set aside during the session of - , but in - five bills were introduced looking to the repeal of the acts.[ ] mr. morris, from the committee to whom all bills for repeal had been referred, reported a substitute for them, june , , and this was the basis of the final action of congress.[ ] [sidenote: discussion of repeal bills.] =§ . discussion of the repeal bill in the house.=--had the country been divided simply into two parts, the slaveholding southern confederacy and the free loyal north, little discussion could have arisen. the third element, the slaveholding states which remained firm for the union, rendered the question far more complex. the bill therefore aroused much indignation. mr. mallory demanded, as an act of justice to his state, that "the fugitive slave act be permitted to remain on the statute-book. if you say it will be a dead letter, so much less excuse have you for repealing it, and so much more certainly is the insult and wrong to kentucky gratuitous. this act, by which you declare your intention not to obey the injunction of the constitution is wanton and useless, except for the purpose of bravely exhibiting your contempt for that instrument." "the framers of the constitution gave us the right to reclaim fugitive slaves. it was conceded not as a favor, but as a right." "kentucky has remained true to her faith pledged to the government, and i warn you not to persevere in inflicting on her insult and outrage."[ ] again, one of the reasons for the departure of the southern states, was the "bad faith of the northern states,--the fatal infringement of this part of the constitution. it was because of personal liberty bills, john brown raids, and general denunciation and intermeddling with slavery."[ ] many members urged that there could be no more reckless action than to show to the border states an apparent disregard of the constitution. mr. cox considered the law the only refuge left to a certain class of citizens to protect their "rights." it would be like saying to them, we place the penalty of the treason of the revolted slaveholders on your innocent heads. "we add to your calamities the ingratitude and treachery of the government to which you have adhered."[ ] the final discussion, june , opened with a long speech by mr. king. the old arguments from the constitution, the far-seeing wisdom of the fathers, the opinion of the supreme court in the prigg case, and the harm done the border states, were again rehearsed.[ ] in answer to mr. king, mr. hubbard denied that the constitution provided for the enactment of a law by congress, and in any case, the treason of slavery had already absolved the people from any such obligation. it surely must be competent for this congress to repeal any act which a previous congress had enacted. for yet another reason the law should be repealed. negro soldiers must be enlisted: "you cannot draft black men into the field, while your marshals are chasing women and children in the woods of ohio with a view to render them back into bondage. the moral sense of the nation, ay, of the world, would revolt at it."[ ] again, this would make a conflict in our laws, said mr. morris. a colored man might enlist in our army, then, under the fugitive slave law, "he might be seized and remanded to slavery; and as a further consequence, dealt with as a deserter from his post of duty."[ ] it was also urged that unless slavery was to survive the war, the two acts were useless and obsolete statutes, which ought to be wiped out of existence. no one who believes that slavery is dead would desire to keep such a guaranty of the institution.[ ] mr. hubbard then demanded the yeas and nays on the passage of the bill. it was declared in the affirmative, yeas , nays , and thus the repeal was successfully carried in the house.[ ] =§ . repeal bills in the senate.=--mr. sumner had already reported a repeal bill from the committee on slavery and freedom in the senate, february , .[ ] the progress of the bill was so delayed by the opposition, that mr. sumner at last gave notice that he should take every proper occasion to call up the bill, and press its consideration.[ ] in the debate several speeches were made against the measure, while mr. sumner defended it. to the antislavery party the act was constitutionally[ ] and morally wrong, so against public sentiment that it could seldom be enforced, and the question of its repeal was as plain as a "diagram," "the multiplication table," or "the ten commandments."[ ] they desired to strike slavery wherever they could hit it, and to "purify the statute-book, so that there should be nothing in it out of which this wrong can derive any support." it should be repealed for the sake of our cause in foreign lands.[ ] "since the outbreak of the rebellion this statute has been constantly adduced by our enemies abroad as showing that we are little better than jefferson davis and his slave-monger crew; for slavery never shows itself worse than in the slave-hunter. it is a burden for our cause which it ought not to be obliged to bear." to retain the law of , framed by the founders of the republic, and repeal the act of with its manifest injustice, was suggested as a desirable compromise. mr. sherman, therefore, offered an amendment to this effect, and it was accepted.[ ] the friends of the measure then felt that the bill as it stood was of little value to the antislavery cause. mr. brown maintained that it was really a proposition to reinstate slavery in its fastness in the constitution. "the civilized world, when it beholds the spectacle of the american senate going back for three quarters of a century to resurrect a statute of slave-catching, and pass it anew with their indorsement, will credit very little all your talk about freedom. the act will give the lie to all argument."[ ] before further action was taken on mr. sherman's bill, the repeal bill from the house came before the senate, and was reported from the committee, june , . it was discussed for several days, but no new arguments were offered, and, june , , the bill passed the senate by a vote of to .[ ] on the th of june it received president lincoln's signature, and the fugitive slave laws were swept from the statute-book of the united states.[ ] [sidenote: repeal of the acts.] =§ . the repeal act and the thirteenth amendment.=--the act was a simple one; it runs as follows:-- "chap. clxvi. an act to repeal the fugitive slave act of eighteen hundred and fifty, and all acts and parts of acts for the rendition of fugitive slaves. "_be it enacted by the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america in congress assembled_, that sections three and four of an act entitled 'an act respecting fugitives from justice, and persons escaping from the service of their masters,' passed february twelve, seventeen hundred and ninety-three, and an act entitled 'an act to amend, and supplementary to, the act entitled an act respecting fugitives from justice, and persons escaping from the service of their masters, passed february twelve, seventeen hundred and ninety-three,' passed september, eighteen hundred and fifty, be and the same are hereby repealed. "approved, june , ." the whole structure of statutes, decisions, and judicial machinery which had been erected to compel by national authority the people of free states to share in the responsibility for slavery, was at last overthrown. but the constitutional obligation remained; so long as a slave anywhere existed, the neighboring states were bound to pursue him, if he ran away, and might by statute provide for his return. the final step was therefore to complete the work of legal emancipation by the thirteenth amendment to the constitution. on january , , congress voted to submit the following article to the states for their approval and ratification: "art. xiii. neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime, whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the united states or any place subject to their jurisdiction." on december , , the secretary of state proclaimed that the amendment had been approved by twenty-seven of the thirty-six states, and was consequently adopted. =§ . educating effect of the controversy.=--the first act of was imperfect. it did not provide a national machinery whereby its provisions could be executed, and many of the states by means of the personal liberty laws refused to lend their officers and jails for the work. all efforts to amend the law were unsuccessful until the great compromise of gave opportunity to pass a second act. this new measure remedied certain defects in the first statute, and was therefore more satisfactory to the slave-owners. as soon as it began to be executed, however, its provisions were found to be so severe that the trials and rescues it occasioned served only to educate the people to the evils of slavery by bringing its effects close to them. thus, far from compelling the north to acquiesce in the system, it greatly increased the number of abolitionists. the arraying of the north and south against each other in the civil war intensified public sentiment upon the question, and led more and more to a loose execution of the law. it was found impracticable to return slaves to disloyal masters, and a law to prevent any such return was the next step toward the doing away of the whole system. next came the question of the duty and power of the general government, within its exclusive jurisdiction: in all responsibility was disavowed. by this time the force of the law extended only to the loyal slave states, and the force of public opinion in withdrew the last statutory safeguard of slavery under the constitution. a change in the text of the constitution finally took away the force of the clause on which the return of fugitives was based. we can see, at this distance, how clearly slavery was doomed to destruction, from the time the two sections first made it an issue in ; but there was no relation arising out of slavery except the territorial question which did so much as the fugitive slave controversy to hasten the downfall of the system. the contrast between the free principles of democratic government and human bondage was forced upon the attention of the north by the pursuit of fugitives in their midst. yet without national machinery for the recapture of runaways the institution could not have long been maintained. there is no evidence that the north was profoundly stirred by the horrors of slavery before ; it was only when the north was called upon, in the territories, and through the fugitive slave law, to give positive aid to the system that the antislavery movement grew strong. fugitive slaves and fugitive slave laws helped to destroy slavery. [footnote : ableman v. booth, wis., .] [footnote : globe, - , p. , app. .] [footnote : globe, - , (baker) , (burnham) .] [footnote : senate journal, cong. sess., p. . appendix c, no. .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., p. ; congr. globe, cong. sess., . appendix c, nos. - . for a list of proposed constitutional amendments bearing on fugitive slaves, i am indebted to mr. h. v. ames, of the harvard graduate school, who has kindly furnished me transcripts from his material for a forthcoming monograph on proposed amendments to the constitution.] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., . appendix c, nos. - .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., . appendix c, no. .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., . appendix c, no. .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., . appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : liberator, nov. , ; edw. l. pierce, in atlantic monthly, november, .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., . appendix c, nos. , .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, , . appendix c, no. .] [footnote : senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, . appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., . appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, nos. , , .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. . referred to the committee on the judiciary, and reported by them, april , . appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. . previous bills introduced by mr. eliot had been unfavorably reported on by the judiciary committee. appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : liberator, july , ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : williams, history of negro race in america, ; appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, nos. , , , , , .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., ; appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess, .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : liberator, may , extract from frankfort commonwealth.] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., ; appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : appendix c, no .] [footnote : appendix c, nos. , , .] [footnote : wilson, rise and fall of the slave power in america, iii. .] [footnote : appendix c, nos. , .] [footnote : appendix d, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : three bills were introduced in the house on the same day, december , , by messrs. stevens, julian, and ashley. they were read twice and referred. appendix c, nos. , . before the final consideration of the subject, on february , , two more bills were introduced in congress, mr. sumner's in the senate, and mr. spalding's in the house. the former went to the committee on the judiciary, the latter to the select committee on slavery and freedom. appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., , .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe. cong. sess., .] [footnote : senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ; appendix c, no. .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., , .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., .] [footnote : cong. globe, cong. sess., ; appendix c, no. .] [footnote : appendix c, no. .] appendix a. colonial laws relative to fugitives. the precise text is quoted in each case. the figures in brackets [] refer to paragraphs in the text. the sign (¤) indicates that the full text is to be found in the reference cited. = . new netherlands:--running away from patroons. [§ ].= = , june .= freedoms and exemptions. granted by the west india company to all patroons, masters or private persons who will plant colonies in new netherlands.--"xviii. the company promise the colonists of the patroons.... xix.--and any colonist who shall leave the service of his patroon and enter into the service of another, or shall, contrary to his contract, leave his service, we promise to do everything in our power to apprehend and deliver the same into the hands of his patroon or attorney, that he may be proceeded against according to the customs of this country, as occasion may require."--¤_laws and ordinances of new netherlands, ._ = . massachusetts:--capture and protection of servants. [§ .]= = - .= "acts respecting masters, servants, and labourers."--"sec. . it is also ordered, that when any servants shall run from their masters, or any other inhabitants shall privily go away with suspicion of evil intentions, it shall be lawful for the next magistrate, or the constable and two of the chief inhabitants where no magistrate is, to press men and boats or pinnaces at the publick charge, to pursue such persons by sea and land, and bring them back by force of arms.... sec. . it is ordered, and by this court declared; that if any servant shall flee from the tyranny and cruelty of his or her master to the house of any freeman of the same town, they shall be there protected and sustained till due order be taken for their relief; provided due notice thereof be speedily given to their master from whom they fled, and to the next magistrate or constable where the party so fled is harboured."--¤_charters and general laws of the colony and province of massachusetts bay, ._ = . new netherlands:--runaway servants. [§ .]= = , aug. .= "ordinance of the director and council of new netherland, against fugitives from service, and providing for the proper drawing up of legal instruments." passed august, . "whereas many servants daily run away from their masters, whereby the latter are put to great inconvenience and expense; the corn and tobacco rot in the field and the whole harvest is at a stand still, which tends to the serious injury of this country, to their masters' ruin, and to bring the magistracy into contempt. we, therefore, command all farm and house servants faithfully to serve out their time with their masters according to their contracts and in no manner to run away, and if they have any thing against their masters, to come to us and make application to be heard in due form of law, on pain of being punished and of making good all losses and damages of their masters and serving double the time they may lose.... we do, also, forbid all inhabitants of new netherland to harbor or feed any of these fugitive servants under the penalty of fifty guilders, for the benefit of the informer; / for the new church and / for the fiscal." dated as above.--¤_laws and ordinances of new netherlands, ._ = . maryland:--runaway apprentices felons.= = , march .= act against fugitives.--"it shall be felony in any apprentice servant to depart away secretly from his or her master or dame then being with intent to convey him or her selfe away out of the province. and on any other person that shall wittingly accompany such servant in such unlawfull departure as aforesaid. and the offendors therein shall suffer paines of death, and after his due debts paid shall forfeit all his lands, goods, & chattels within the province. provided, that in case his lordship or his leivt't-generall shall at the request of the partie so condemned exchange such pains of death into servitude, that then such exchange shall not exceed the term of seaven years, and that the master or dame of the parties so pardoned of death shall first be satisfied for the terme of such parties service unexpired from the day of such unlawfull departure, and for double the time of his absence dureing his said departure."--¤_archives of maryland, assembly proceedings, ._ = . new netherlands:--against harboring fugitive servants. [§ ].= = , april .= "we have interdicted and forbidden, as we do hereby most, expressly interdict and forbid, all our good inhabitants here, from this time henceforward, lodging any strangers in their houses, or furnishing them more than one meal and harboring them more than one night without first notifying the director," etc.--¤_laws and ordinances of new netherlands, ._ = . virginia:--entertainment of fugitives. [§ ].= = - , march.= act xxi. "whereas complaints are at every quarter court exhibited against divers persons who entertain and enter into covenants with runaway servants and freemen who have formerly hired themselves to others, to the great prejudice if not the utter undoeing of divers poor men, thereby also encouraging servants to runn from their masters and obscure themselves in some remote plantation. upon consideration had for the future preventing of the like injurious and unjust dealings, _be it enacted and confirmed_ that what person or persons soever shall entertain any person as hireling, or sharer, or upon any other conditions for one whole yeare, without certificate from the commander or any one commissioner of the place, that he or she is free from any ingagement of service. the person so hireing without such certificate as aforesaid, shall for every night that he or she entertaineth any servant, either as hireling or otherwise, fforfeit to the master or mistris of the said servant twenty pounds of tobacco. and for evrie freeman which he or she entertaineth (formerly hired by another) for a year as aforesaid, he or she shall forfeit to the party who had first hired him twenty pound of tobacco for every night deteyned. and for every freeman which he or she entertaineth (though he hath not formerly hired himselfe to another), without certificate as aforesaid, and in all these cases the party hired shall receive such censure and punishment as shall be thought fitt by the governor and counsell: allways provided that if any such runnaway servants or hired freemen shall produce such a certificate, wherein it appears that they are freed from their former masters service, or from any such ingagement respectively, if afterwards it shall be proved that the said certificates are counterfeit then the retayner not to suffer according to the penalty of this act, but such punishment shall be inflicted upon the forger and procurer thereof as the governor and council shall think fitt."--¤_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, i. ._ = . virginia:--runaway servants. [§ .]= = - , march.= act xxii. "_be it therefore enacted and confirmed_ that all runaways that shall absent themselves from their said master's service shall be lyable to make satisfaction by service at the end of their tymes by indenture (vizt.) double the tyme of service soe neglected, and in some cases more if the commissioners for the place appointed shall find it requisite and convenient. and if such runaways shall be found to transgresse the second time or oftener (if it shall be duely proved against them), that then they shall be branded in the cheek with the letter r. and passe under the statute of incorrigible rogues."--¤_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, i. ._ = . new england confederation:--articles of confederation. [§ .]= = , aug. .= viii. "it is also agreed that if any servant runn away from his master into any other of these confederated jurisdiccons, that in such case, vpon the certyficate of one magistrate in the jurisdiccon out of which the said servant fled, or upon other due proofe, the said servant shalbe deliuered either to his master or any other that pursues and brings such certificate or proufe."--¤_plymouth colony records, ix. ._ = . connecticut:--servants and apprentices.= = , june .= "whereas many stubborn, refrectary and discontented searuants and apprentices with drawe themselves from their masters searuices, to improue their tyme to their owne aduantage; for the preuenting whereof, it is ordered, that whatsoeuer searuant or apprentice shall heareafter offend in that kynd, before their couenants or terme of searuice are expiered, shall searue their said masters, as they shall be apprehended or retayned the treble terme, or threefold tyme of their absense in such kynd."--¤_connecticut records, i. ._ = . new netherlands:--entertainment of runaways.= = , oct. .= ordinance of the director and council of new netherland against fugitives from service. passed october, .--"the director general and council hereby notify and warn all persons against harboring or entertaining any one bound to service either to the company or to any private individual here or elsewhere, and against lodging or boarding them at most longer than twenty-four hours, and if any one shall be found to have acted contrary hereto, he shall forfeit a fine of fl. , to be paid to whomsoever will make the complaint and it may appertain."--¤_laws and ordinances of new netherlands, ._ = . maryland:--against fugitives.= = .= _archives of maryland, assembly proceedings, ._ = . maryland:--against fugitives.= = , oct.= _archives of maryland, assembly proceedings, ._ = . virginia:--penalty for second offence.= = - , march.= "act xi. _be it enacted by this grand assembly_ that if any runnaway servant offend the second time against the act in march, , concerning runnaway servants, that he shall not onely be branded with the letter r., and passe under the statute for an incorrigible rogue, but also double his time of service so neglected, and soe likewise double the time that any time afterward he shall neglect, and in some cases more if the commissioners think fitt: and be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid, that he or she that shall lodge or harbour any such runnaway shall not only pay lb. of tobacco per night, but also lb. of tobacco per day so long as they shall be proved to entertaine them, contrary to an act of assembly in march, ."--¤_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, i. ._ = . new netherlands:--treaty with united colonies. [§ .]= = .= resolution of the states general ratifying the treaty of hartford, passed february , .--"respecting fugitives. it is agreed that the same method shall be observed between the united english colonies and the dutch nation in this country of new netherland, agreeably to the eighth article of the confederation between the united english colonies in that case provided."--¤_laws and ordinances of new netherlands, ._ = . city of amsterdam:--runaway colonists banished.= = , december.= articles and ordinances revised and enacted by the right honorable the lords burgomasters of the city of amsterdam, according to which shall be engaged and sworn all those who shall hereafter enter the service of the lord's burgomasters of the city of amsterdam, for the purpose of going with their own, or chartered ships to new netherlands and the limits of the west india company's grant, etc. passed december, .--"whoever runs off to the french, english, or any other christian or indian neighbors by whatsoever name they may be called, shall, in addition to the forfeiture of all his monthly pay to the city, be banished forever from new netherland as a perjured villain, and if he afterward come to fall into the hands of the city, he shall, without any consideration, be punished by death or otherwise, according to the exigency of the case."--¤_laws and ordinances of new netherlands, ._ = . virginia:--entertainment of runaways.= = - , march.= act xv. concerning hireing servants. thirty pounds of tobacco shall be paid for every night a servant or person without a certificate is entertained.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, i. ._ = . virginia:--punishment of runaways.= = - , march.= act xvi. against runnaway servants. runnaways shall double the time of service absent at the end of their time of indenture. for the second offence they shall be branded with the letter r. and double the time lost.--_hening, laws of virginia, i. ._ = . virginia:--huie and crie after runaways.= = - , march.= "act cxiii. concerning huie and cries. whereas huy and cries after runnaway servants hath been much neglected to the greate damage and loss of the inhabitants of this colloney, _bee it therefore enacted and confirmed by the anthorite of this present grand assembly_, that all such huy and cries shall be signed either by the governor or some of the councill, or under the hand of some com'r, nameing the county where the said com'r lives, and the same shall be conveyed from house to house with all convenient speed according as the direction thereof expresseth: and every com'r of each county unto whose house by this meanes the said huy and crie shall come shall then date and subscribe the same, and the master of every house that shall make default in the speedy conveyance of any such huies and cries shall for every such default forfeit and pay unto the owners of any such runnawaie as the said hues and cries shall mention, one hundred pounds of tobacco, and where the said runnawaie servant is found he shall be apprehended and sent from constable to constable untill such runnawaie or runnawayes shall be delivered to his or theire master or mistresse, and if any neglect can be proved against the constable hee to be fined three hundred and fiftie pounds of tobacco."--¤_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, i. ._ = . new netherlands:--runaway servants.= = , april .= ordinance of the director general and council of new netherland renewing sundery ordinances therein mentioned. passed april, .--" thly, not to debauch or incite any person's servants, male or female, or to harbor them, or fugitives and strangers, longer than hours without notifying the fiscal, magistrates, or schouts, and all servant men and women remaine bound to fulfill and complete their contracts, on pain of arbitrary correction, according to the ordinance of the october, ."--¤_laws of new netherlands, ._ = . virginia:--how to know a runnaway servant. [§ .]= = - , march.= act iii. "_it is enacted and ordained_ that the master of everie such runaway shall cutt, or cause to be cutt, the hair of all such runnawayes close above their ears, whereby they may be with more ease discovered and apprehended."--¤_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, i. ._ = . virginia:--payment of dutch shipmasters.= = - , march.= act xv. an act for the pay of dutch masters bringing in runnaway servants. whenever a master shall refuse to pay the cost of returning a runnaway from the dutch, the payment shall be made by the secretary at his office.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, i. ._ = . virginia:--apprehension of runaways.= = - , march.= act x. apprehending of runnawayes.--"whereas the pursuit and takeing of runnaways is hindered chiefly by the neglect of constables in making search according to their warrants, _bee itt enacted_ that every constable shall make diligent search and inquiry through his precincts, and what constable soever shall upon search apprehend such runaways shall receive from the master of the servant for his encouragement two hundred pounds of tobaccoe, and if any constable shall neglect he shall be fined three hundred and fifty pounds of tobaccoe and caske according to former act."--¤_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . virginia:--english runnaway with negroes. [§ .]= = - , march. act xiii.= "_bee itt enacted_ that in case any english servant shall runaway in company with any negroes who are incapable of making satisfaction by addition of time, bee itt enacted that the english so running away in company with them shall serve for the time of the said negroes absence as they are to do for their owne by a former act"--¤_hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . virginia:--glocester to have jurisdiction over runaways.= = - , march.= it was ordered that the county of glocester have the power to make such laws for the recovering of runaways as shall be found necessary and convenient.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . virginia:--runaway servants.= = - , march.= act cii. runaways.--penalties for running away are the same as in former acts. english servants if running away with negroes, and the negroes die or be lost, shall pay either four thousand five hundred pounds of tobacco and caske, or four years service for every negro so lost or dead.--_hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . maryland:--against runaways.= = .=_ maryland archives, assembly proceedings, ._ = . virginia:--pursuit of runaways to the dutch.= = , september.= act viii. "an act concerning the pursuit of runawayes." it is enacted that runaways are to be pursued at the public expense, and, if they have escaped to the dutch, letters are to be written to the governors of those plantations to return the runaways. expenses are to be paid according to the provisions of a former act.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . maryland:--against english servants.= = , october.= _maryland archives, assembly proceedings, ._ = . new netherlands:--quakers, etc. refused admission to colony.= = , may .= ordinance of the director general and council of new netherland prohibiting the bringing of quakers and other strollers into new netherland. passed may .--"the director general and council, therefore, do hereby order and command all skippers, sloop captains and others, whomsoever they may be, not to convey or bring, much less to land within this government, any such vagabonds, quakers and other fugitives, whether men or women, until they have first addressed themselves to the government, etc.... on the pain of the importers forfeiting a fine of twenty pounds flemish for every person," etc.--¤_laws and ordinances of new netherlands, ._ = . virginia:--entertainment of runaways.= = , october.= act ix. "an act against entertayners of runaways." penalty for entertaining runaways increased to sixty pounds of tobacco for every day and night he or they shall be harbored.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . maryland:--runaways and their entertainers.= = , may.= "an act providing against runaways, and all such as shall entertayn them. whereas there was an act providing against runnawaies made in the year , and another act made in the year , both which acts being adjudged insufficient satisfaccion for the reparacion of their respective masters, mrssrse, dame, or overseers damages sustained by their servt running from them, be it enacted by the right hon'ble, the lord proprietary, by and with the consent of the upper and lower house of this present general assembly, that from and after the publicacion hereof any servant or servants whatsoever unlawfully absenting themselves from their said master, mistress, dame, or overseer, shall serve for every day . and be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid that any master, mistress, dame, or overseer that shall entertain any servant unlawfully absenting himselve as aforesaid, having been forewarned by the master, mistress, dame, or overseer of the said servant, shall be fined for the first night five hundred pounds of casked tobacco, for the second one thousand pounds of casked tobacco, for every other night fifteen hundred pounds of casked tobacco, the one half to the lord proprietor, the other to the informer, or them that shall sue for the same within any court of record within this province, to be recovered by action of debt, plaint or informacion wherein no essoyne, protection or wager of lawe to be allowed, provided that this act nor anything therein conteynd shall not be adjudged to the predudice of any person or persons that shall apprehend any runaway servants who are hereby required to use the best endeavors to convey them to their owners or next justice of the peace to be conveyed from constable to constable until they be delivered to their said owners, if then living within this province. this act to continue for years, or to the end of the next general assembly which shall first come."--¤_maryland archives, assembly proceedings, ._ = . new jersey--fugitive servants.= = , may .= acts passed and assented unto by the governor, council, and burgess of the general assembly of the province of new-caesarea, or new jersey, the th day of may, anno domini .--"concerning fugitives, it is enacted by the same authority, that every apprentice and servant that shall depart and absent themselves from their master and dames, without leave first obtained, shall be judged by the court to double the time of such their absence, by future service over and above other damages and costs which master and dame shall sustain by such unlawful departure. "and it is also enacted, that whosoever shall be proved to have transported, or to have contrived the transportation of any such apprentice or servant shall be fined _five pounds_, and all such damages as the court shall judge, and that the master or dame can make appear, and if not able, to be left to the judgement of the court."--¤_new jersey laws, ._ = . virginia:--runaways.= = , september.= act iv. about runawayes. moderate corporal punishment inflicted by the master or magistrate shall not deprive the master of the satisfaction allowed by the law.--_statutes at large, hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . virginia:--runaways.= = , october.= act viii. against runawayes. "_be it therefore enacted_ that whosoever apprehends any runaways, whether servant by indenture, custome or covenant, not haveing a legall passe, by those in every county that shall be appointed to give passes, or a note from his master, shall have a thousand pounds of tobacco allowed him by the publique, which tobacco shall be repaid by the service of the servant to the country when free from his master, and by the hired ffreeman immediately after expiration of his covenant to the man that apprehends." "_and be it further enacted_ that he that takes up such runaway is hereby enjoyned first to carry him before the next justice who is to take cognizance of his good service, and to certify it in the next assembly, and then to deliver him to the constable of the parish where that justice dwells, who is to convey him to the next constable, till he be retorned to his master, and that each constable upon receipt of such runaway give his receipt, and if escape be made from any constable, the delinquent constable to pay one thousand pounds of tobacco; and for the reimbursing the publique with the tobacco disbursed to the taker up."--¤_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . virginia:--apprehension of runaways.= = , october.= act i. an act concerning runaways. reward for apprehending runaways is reduced to two hundred pounds of tobacco. servants are to serve four months for every two hundred pounds of tobacco. masters who fail to cut their servants' hair after twice running away shall be fined two hundred pounds of tobacco. every constable through whose hands a runaway passes is to whip the servant severely. constables allowing runaways to escape shall pay four hundred pounds of tobacco. masters must not allow their servants to go free until the time of service has been worked out.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . virginia:--reward to the first taker up of runaways.= = , october.= act xiii. runawayes. only the first taker up of a runaway shall be rewarded.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . virginia:--apprehension of runaways. [§ .]= = , october.= act viii. an act for the apprehension and suppression of runawayes, negroes and slaves. runaways resisting may be killed or wounded, and if they die from the effects of a wound the public shall pay the owner, but the person inflicting the injury is not to be questioned. indians shall be rewarded by twenty armes length of roanoake or the value thereof in goods for the apprehension of a runaway. act is to continue in force only until the next assembly.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . maryland:--apprehension of runaways.= = , april.= the three acts of , , and have not proved sufficient encouragement to people to apprehend runaways, therefore a statute against runaways and such persons that shall give them entertainment and others that shall travel without passes is enacted.--_maryland archives, assembly proceedings, ._ = . new jersey:--fugitive servants and apprentices.= = , november.= "xxxiii. concerning fugitives, it is enacted by the same authority, that every apprentice and servant that shall depart and absent themselves from their masters or dames, without leave first obtaind, shall be judged by the court to double the time of such their absence, by future service, over and above other damages and costs which the master and dame shall sustain by such unlawful departure. xxxiv. _and it is further enacted_, that whosoever shall be proved to have transported or contrived the transportation of any such apprentice, servant, or slave, shall be fined _five pounds_, and all such damages as the court shall judge, and that the master or dame can make appear, and if not able to be left to the judgement of the court. _it is further enacted_, that every inhabitant that shall harbour or entertain any such apprentice, servant, or slave, and knowing that he hath absented himself from his service upon proof thereof, shall forfeit to their master or dame _ten shillings_ for every days entertainment or concealment, and if not able to satisfy, to be liable to the judgement of the court."--_new jersey laws, ._ = . maryland:--runaways.= = , june.= an act against runaways.--_laws of maryland, bacon, index._ = . east new jersey:--fugitive servants.= = , march.= laws passed by general assembly in east new jersey. chap. ix. a bill against fugitive servants, and entertainers of them. "be it enacted by the governor, council, and deputies in general assembly met, and by the authority of the same, that every apprentice, or servant, that shall depart or absent themselves from their master or mistress, without leave first obtained, shall be adjudged by the court to double the time of such their absence by future service, besides all costs and damages, which the master or mistress shall have sustained by such unlawful departure. _be it further enacted_ by the authority aforesaid, that whosoever shall knowingly transport or contrive the transportation of any apprentice, servant, or slave, or be any aiding or assisting thereto, and be thereof lawfully convicted, shall be fined _five pounds_, and make full satisfaction to the master or mistress of such apprentice, servant, or slave, for all costs or damages which the said master or mistress can make appear to have thereby sustained. _be it further enacted_ by the authority aforesaid, that every inhabitant, who shall entertain, or afford any manner of relief to such apprentice, servant, or slave, knowing that he hath absented himself as aforesaid, except of real charity, and thereof be lawfully convicted, shall pay to the master or mistress of such servant _ten shillings_ for every days entertainment and concealment, and be fined according to the discretion of the court."--_acts of the proprietary government of new jersey, ._ = . new jersey:--prevention of runaways.= = .= no title given. general assembly. vi. "and for the preventing servants running away from their masters, and other vagabonds, _be it hereby enacted_ by the authority aforesaid, that all magistrates, officiers, ordinary keepers, and other inhabitants within this province, take special notice of all suspicious travellers, and require their pass or certificates, under the hand and seal of the magistrate or magistrates, or publick notary of the place of their last abode, to satisfy the clearness of his, her, or their coming away, and for want of such pass or certificate, to secure such person or persons into the custody of the next constable; which person and persons so to be secured, or their masters, shall pay such charge and trouble as the person or persons shall be put to, in the securing them as aforesaid, before they shall be discharged, at the discretion of two or more of the magistrates of the said province."--¤_acts of the proprietary governments of new jersey, ._ = . south carolina.--prevention of runaways.= = , nov. .= an act to prevent runaways. title only preserved. table of contents.--_statutes at large of south carolina, ii._ = . virginia:--repeal of law of , september.= = , april.= act iii. an act repealing the act concerning the persuit of runawayes. the law of september, , has been found inconvenient in practice, it is therefore repealed.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, iii. ._ = . east new jersey:--runaway servants. [§ .]= = , april.= chap. xi. an act concerning runaway servants. "whereas the securing of servants that runaway, or otherwise absent themselves from their masters lawful occasions, is found a material encouragement to such persons as come into this country to settle plantations and populate the province; for the better encouragement of such persons, be it therefore enacted by the governor and council and deputies now met in general assembly, and by the authority of the same, that if any servant or servants, prentices or covenant servants, run away or absent him or herself unlawfully from their masters or mistress' service, being taken up or secured, so that the master or mistress hath him or her again, for the better encouragement of such person or persons so securing him or them, they shall have _twenty shillings_ paid him or them," etc.--_new jersey laws, ._ = . virginia: law of amended.= = , october.= act i. slight change in making out the certificate for apprehension of runaway.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, iii. ._ = . south carolina:--inhibition of trade with runaways.= = .= an act inhibiting the tradeing with servants and slaves. "_and it is alsoe enacted_ by the authority aforesaid, that if any servant or servants shall at any tyme or tymes hereafter absent or withdraw him or themselves from his, her, or their master or mistresses service, such servant or servants soe offending shall for every naturall day they shall soe absent themselves serve one whole weeke, and for every weeke, if they shall att any one tyme soe long absent themselves, one whole yeare to theire master or mistresse, over and above their contracted tyme of servitude."--¤_statutes at large of south carolina, ii. ._ = . pennsylvania:--regulation of servants.= = .= an act for the better regulation of servants in this province and territories. "and for the prevention of servants quitting their masters service, _be it enacted_ by the authority aforesaid, that if any servant shall absent him or herself from the service of their master or owner for the space of one day, or more, without leave first obtained for the same, every such servant shall, for every such days absence, be obliged to serve five days after the expiration of his or her time, and shall further make such satisfaction to his or her master or owner for the damages and charges sustained by such absence as the respective county courts shall see meet, who shall order as well the time to be served, as other recompence for damages sustained. and whosoever shall apprehend or take up any runaway servant, and shall bring him or her to the sheriff of the county, such person shall for every such servant, if taken up within ten miles of the servants abode, receive _ten shillings_; and if ten miles or upwards, _twenty shillings_ reward of the said sheriff, who is hereby required to pay the same, and forthwith to send notice to the master or owner, of whom he shall receive _five shillings_ prison fees upon the delivery of the said servant, together with all other disbursements and reasonable charges for and upon the same."--¤_province laws of pennsylvania, i. ._ = . new york:--regulation of slaves.= = .= an act for regulating slaves. "and be it further enacted, etc., that no person or persons whatsoever do hereafter employ, harbour, conceal or entertain other men's slaves at their house, out-house, or plantation, without the consent of their master or mistress, either signified to them verbally, or by certificate in writing, under the said master or mistress' hand upon forfeiture of five pounds for every night or day, to the master or mistress of such slave or slaves, so that the penalty of such slave do not exceed the value of the said slave. and if any person or persons whatsoever shall be found guilty of harbouring, entertaining, or concealing of any slave, or assisting to the conveying them away, if such slave shall happen to be lost, dead, or otherwise distroyed, such person or persons, so harbouring, entertaining, concealing, assisting or conveying of them away, shall be also liable to pay the value of such slave to the master or mistress, to be recovered by action of debt, in manner aforesaid."--¤_acts of province of new york from to , p. ._ = . new york:--punishment of runaways to canada. [§ .]= = .= an act to prevent the running away of negro slaves out of the city and county of _albany_, to the french at canada. "whereas the city and county of albany are the frontiers of this province toward the _french_ of canada; and that it is of great concern to this colony, during this time of war with the french, that no intelligence be carried from the said city and county to the french at canada: ... be it enacted, and it is hereby enacted by his excellency the governor, council and assembly, etc., that all and every negro slave or slaves, belonging to any of the inhabitants of the city and county of _albany_, who shall from and after the first day of _august_ of this present year of our lord, one thousand seven hundred and five, be found traveling forty miles above the city of albany, at or above a certain place called _sarachtoge_ (unless in company of his, her, or their master, mistress, or such employed by them, or either of them), and be thereof convicted by the oaths of two or more credible witnesses, before the court of sessions of the peace of the said city and county (which court of sessions are hereby authorized and impowered to hear and determine the same, in manner aforesaid, and thereupon to award execution), he, she, or they so convicted, shall suffer the pains of death, as in cases of felony."--_acts of province of new york, ._ = . new york:--act of revived.= = .= an act for reviving and continuing an act, intituled, an act for regulating slaves, (expired in ).--_acts of the province of new york, ._ = . virginia:--runaway servants and slaves.= = , october.= chap. xlix. an act concerning servants and slaves. xxi. penalty for entertaining runaway servants without a certificate shall be for every day sixty pounds of tobacco. xxiii. persons rewarded for taking up runaway according to the distance.--_hening, laws of virginia, ii. ._ = . massachusetts bay:--regulation of free negroes. [§ .]= = .= an act for the regulating of free negroes. "sec. . and be it further enacted, that every free negro or mulatto who shall harbour or entertain any negro or mulatto servant in his or her house, without the leave or consent of their respective masters or mistresses, shall forfeit and pay the sum of five shillings to the use of the poor of the town, for each offence."--_charters and general laws of the colony and province of massachusetts bay, ._ = . south carolina:--for the better ordering of slaves.= = .= _statutes at large of south carolina, ii. ._ = . new jersey:--regulation of slaves.= = .= an act for regulating of slaves. sec. . "negroes, etc., not having a pass may be taken up if miles from home whipped, and persons so taking up have s." sec. . "negro belonging to another province not having license, to be whipped, and the taker of them to have s."--_acts of the assembly of new jersey, ._ = . new jersey:--regulation of white servants.= = .= an act for regulating of white servants, and taking up soldiers and seamen deserting her majestys service, and coming into this colony. sec. . "servants absenting without leave to be adjudged by any one justice to serve double the time, and pay or serve for costs." sec. . "those who counsel, aid, etc. such servants to runaway, to forfeit £" etc. sec. . "those who knowingly conceal them, to pay s. per day." sec. . "those who take up runaways and carry them back to have s. and d. per mile for so doing." sec. . "any boatman, etc., who shall carry them into or out of this province, etc., not having passes, as aforesaid, and publick-housekeepers entertaining them to forfeit s.," etc.--_acts of the assembly of new jersey, ._ = . rhode island:--ferriage of runaways. [§ .]= = , oct. .= "whereas, several negroes and mulatto slaves that have run away from their masters or mistresses, under pretence of being sent or employed by their masters or mistresses upon some service, and have been carried over the ferries, out and into the colony, and suffered to pass through the several towns under the aforesaid pretence, to the considerable damage and charge of their owners, and many times to the loss of their slaves;--be it therefore enacted by this assembly, and by the authority thereof it is enacted, that no ferryman or boatman whatsoever, within this colony, shall carry or bring any slave as aforesaid over their ferries, without a certificate under the hands of their masters or mistresses, or some person in authority, upon the penalty of paying all costs and damages their said masters or mistresses shall sustain thereby; and to pay a fine of twenty shillings for the use of the colony, for each offence, as aforesaid. the said fine to be recovered by any two justices of the peace, upon confession or conviction of the said fact; and all persons in authority, and other his majesty's subjects in this colony knowing of any such slaves traveling through their township, wherein they dwell, without a certificate, as aforesaid, they are hereby required to cause such slave to be examined and secured so as the owner may be notified thereof, and have his slave again, paying the costs and charges that shall accrue thereon."--_proceedings of general assembly, colony of rhode island and providence plantations, providence, ; records of colony of rhode island, ._ = . south carolina:--additional act to act of .= = .= _statutes at large of south carolina, ii. ._ = . new york:--act of revived. [§ .]= = .= an act for reviving and continuing an act, intituled an act to prevent the running away of negro slaves out of the city and county of albany to the french at albany, .--_laws province of new york, ._ = . north carolina:--servants and slaves.= = .= an act concerning servants and slaves. title only given.--_laws of north carolina, , ._ = . new hampshire:--runaway minors and servants.= = .= an act for preventing men's sons or servants absenting themselves from their parents or masters service without leave.--"that no commander of any private man of war, or master of any merchant ship or vessel coming into, tarrying or abiding in, or going forth of any port, harbour, or place within this province, shall receive, harbour, entertain, conceal or secure on board such ship or other vessel, or suffer to be there harbour'd or detain'd any man's son, being under age or apprentice or covenant servant (knowing him to be such, or after notice thereof given) without license or consent of his parent or master in writing under his hand first had and obtain'd, on pain of forfeiting the sum of _five pounds per_ week, and so proportionably for a longer or shorter time, that any son, apprentice, or servant shall be held, harbour'd, conceal'd, or detain'd on board any such ship or other vessel, as aforesaid, without license and consent as aforesaid; the one moiety thereof to her majesty, to be employed toward the support of the government of the province, and the other moiety unto the parent or master of such son, apprentice or servant that shall inform, or sue for the same, in any of her majesty's courts of record, within this province, by bill, plaint, or information, wherein no essoign, protection or wager of law shall be allowed. § . _and be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid_, that every apprentice or covenant servant who shall unlawfully absent himself from his master, and enter himself on board any ship or vessel, as aforesaid, with intent to leave his master's service, or incline there more than the space of twenty-four hours, and be thereof convicted before any two of her majesty's justices of the peace, or in general sessions, within this province, shall forfeit unto his master such further service, from and after the expiration of the term which his said master had in him at the time of his departure as the said court shall order, not exceeding one year."--¤_acts and laws of his majesty's province of new hampshire, ._ = . south carolina:--additional act against runaways.= = .= _statutes at large of south carolina, iii. ._ = . massachusetts bay:--transportation of apprentices and servants.= = , october.= an act for the preventing of persons under age, apprentices or servants, being transported out of the province without the consent of their masters, parents, or guardians. "every master of any outward bound ship or vessel that shall hereafter carry or transport out of this province any person under age, or bought or hired servant or apprentice, to any parts beyond the seas, without the consent of such master, parent or guardian, signified in writing, shall forfeit the sum of fifty pounds," etc.--_charters and laws of the colony and province of massachusetts bay, ._ = . south carolina:--regulation of slaves.= = .= an act for the better ordering and governing of slaves.--_statutes at large of south carolina, ._ = . pennsylvania:--regulation of negroes.= = .= an act for the better regulating of negroes in this province. "and be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid, that no person or persons whatsoever shall imploy, or knowingly harbour, conceal, or entertain other peoples slaves at their houses, out houses, or plantations, without the masters or owners consent, excepting in stress of weather or other extraordinary occasion, under the penalty of _thirty shillings_ for every twenty four hours he or they shall entertain or harbour him or them as aforesaid."--_province laws of pennsylvania, philadelphia, ._ = . virginia:--earlier act amended.= = , may.= chap. iii. the clause in regard to imprisonment when slave would not give name of master has proved very inconvenient. chap. iv. an act for amending the act concerning servants and slaves; and for the further preventing the clandestine transportation of persons out of this colony. iv. the sheriff or under sheriff to whom the slave is committed shall cause a notice containing a full description of the runaway to be posted on the door of the court-house, and shall send a copy to each church or chapel within the county which shall be set up "in some open and convenient place" on every lord's day for two months. neglect on part of the sheriff shall be fined five hundred pounds of tobacco; on the part of the clerk, two hundred pounds. vi. provisions in regard to transportation. viii. runaways may be let out to hire by the keeper of the gaol. ix. when demanded by the owner, the person hireing shall deliver up the servant. x. "provided also, that where the keeper of the said public gaol shall, by the direction of such court or courts, as aforesaid, let out any such negro or runaway to hire to any person or persons whatsoever, the said keeper shall, at the time of his delivery, cause a strong iron collar to be put on the neck of such negro or runaway, with the letters (p. g.) stamped thereon; and that thereafter the said keeper shall not be answerable for any escape of the said negro or runaway." xii. fees of the gaolers given. xiii. runaways from maryland or carolina shall be committed to any public gaol, and the fees shall be according to the laws of the province wherein the master dwells. xiv. the keeper of the gaol shall send descriptions of the runaway to such places of this dominion bordering on maryland or carolina as shall be agreed upon. xv., xvi. fees described. xviii. masters of vessels shall take the following oath: "i, a. b., master of the ship (or vessel), do swear that i will make diligent enquiry and search in my said ship (or vessel), and will not knowingly or willingly carry, or suffer to be carried, in my said ship, out of this dominion, without such pass as is directed by law, any person or persons whatsoever, that i shall know to be running hence in order to deceive their creditors; nor any servant or slave that is not attending his or her master or owner, or sent by such master or owner." xx. for forging a pass persons offending shall stand two hours in the pillory, and receive thirty lashes at the whipping-post. xxi. a white servant who shall run away, change his name, or disguise himself with intent to escape, shall serve six months longer than his term for running away.--_statutes at large. hening, laws of virginia, iv. ._ = . connecticut:--runaway servants and slaves.= = (probably).= an act concerning _indian_, _molatto_, and _negro_ servants and slaves. "that whatsoever _negro_, _molatto_, or _indian_ servant, or servants shall be found wandering out of the bounds of the town, or place to which they belong, without a ticket or pass in writing, under the hand of some assistant or justice of the peace, or under the hand of the master, or owner of such _negro_, _molatto_, or _indian_ servants shall be deemed and accounted to be run-aways, and may be treated as such; and every person inhabiting this colony, finding or meeting with any such _negro_, _molatto_, or _indian_ servant or servants, not having a ticket as aforesaid, is hereby impowered to seize and secure him, or them, and bring him or them before the next authority to be examined, and returned to his, or their master or owner, who shall satisfy the charge accruing thereby. and all ferry-men within this colony, are hereby required not to suffer any _indian_, _molatto_ or _negro_ servant without certificate, as aforesaid, to pass over their respective ferries, by assisting them therein directly or indirectly, on penalty of paying a fine of twenty shillings for every such offence."--¤_acts and laws of his majestie's colony of connecticut, ._ = . new york:--slave insurrections, etc.= = .= an act for the more effectual preventing and punishing the conspiracy and insurrection of negroes and other slaves; for the better regulating them, and for repealing the acts therein mentioned, relating thereto. passed the th of october, . no fugitive slave provision. penalty for entertaining slaves as in . also persons who do not discover those that entertain slaves shall pay forty shillings.--_acts of province of new york, ._ = . south carolina:--regulation of slaves.= = .= _statutes at large of south carolina, iii. ._ = . delaware:--regulation of servants and slaves.= = .= an act for the better regulation of servants and slaves within this government (a). sec. . "be it enacted by the authority aforesaid, that from such time as any servant shall absent him or herself from his or her masters or mistress' service, without leave first obtained for the same, every such servant, for such absence, and the expenses of taking up, shall at the expiration of the time of his or her servitude, make satisfaction by servitude, according to the judgement of any court of quarter sessions within this government." sec. . "and be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid, that if any person shall apprehend or take up any runaway servant and carry him or her before the next justice of the peace of the county where such servant shall be so taken up, in order to be sent to and secured in the gaol of the said county, for his or her master's or mistress' service." the sheriff or gaoler shall then send notice to the servant's owner, if known; if not, the servant shall be advertised in some newspaper in the city of philadelphia. the reward for taking up runaways shall be, "if ten miles distant from the place of the said servants last abode, or under, the sum of ten shillings, if upwards of ten miles, the sum of twenty shillings." "and if the master or owner of such servant so imprisoned shall, for the space of six weeks next after notice had of his or her servants imprisonment, neglect or refuse to release such servant, it shall and may be lawful for the said sheriff, and he is hereby required and commanded, upon affidavit made of the due service of such notice, to expose every such servant to sale at public vendue, and him or her to sell to the highest bidder, for such term and sum as shall be sufficient for the defraying the costs and charges arising upon the apprehending and imprisoning the said servant." sec. . "suspicious persons travelling without a pass shall be deemed runaway servants and treated as such."--_laws of delaware, , ._ = . delaware:--regulation of servants and slaves.= = .= an act for the better regulation of servants and slaves within this government. "sec. . _and be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid_, that who so ever shall take up any negro or mulatto slave at above ten miles distance from his or her masters or mistress' dwelling or habitation, and not having leave in writing from his or her master or mistress, or not being known by the taker-up to be about his or her master's or mistress' business or service, and shall convey him or her to the habitation of his or her said master or mistress, if known, such taker-up shall receive of the said master or mistress, for his reward, the sum of five shillings, with reasonable charges. sec. . _and be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid_, that no person shall employ or knowingly harbour, conceal or entertain another's servant or slave at his or her house or plantation without the master or owner's leave and consent, except in distress of weather or other extraordinary occasion or accident, under the penalty of forty shillings for every twenty four hours he or she shall entertain any such servant or slave, as afore said, and so in proportion for any lesser time."--¤_laws of the state of delaware, , ._ = . south carolina:--regulation of slaves.= = .= _statutes at large, south carolina, iii. ._ = . north carolina:--entertainment of runaways, etc. [§ .]= = .= xxvii. any person harbouring a runaway shall be prosecuted and compelled to pay the sum of twenty-five pounds or serve the owner of the slave or his assigns five years. if he actually carry away the slave, he shall be convicted of felony and suffer accordingly. xxviii. seven shillings and sixpence, proclamation money, reward for taking up runaways. for every mile over ten, threepence. xxxiv. runaways when taken up shall be whipped. xxxv. constables must give a receipt for runaway. any failure shall be fined twenty shillings, proclamation money, to be paid the church warden. xxxvi. sheriff who shall hold a runaway longer than the act directs shall forfeit five pounds. sheriff who allows a runaway to escape is liable to action from the party grieved. xxxviii. this article takes up the fees of the jailor, etc.--_laws of north carolina, ._ = . virginia:--ferriage of runaways.= = , oct.= an act for the settlement and regulation of ferries, and for the despatch of public expresses. vi. all constables and their assistants charged with conducting any runaway servant shall be passed ferry free. the ferriage shall then be paid by the owners of the runaways.--_statutes at large, hening, vi. ._ = . south carolina: act additional to act of .= = .= _statutes at large of south carolina, iii. ._ = . rhode island:--assistance of runaways.= = - .= an act relative to slaves, and to their manumission and support.--sec. . and be it further enacted, that if any person shall conceal any negro or mulatto slave, or shall in any manner assist such slave in escaping from the lawful authority of his or her master, the person so offending shall forfeit and pay the sum of three hundred dollars, to be recovered by action of debt, one moiety thereof to and for the use of the state, and the other moiety thereof to and for the use of the person who shall sue for the same.--_laws of rhode island and providence plantations, ._ = . north carolina:--slave stealing.= = .= an act to prevent the stealing of slaves, or by violence, seduction, or any other means, taking or conveying away any slave or slaves the property of another, and for other purposes therein mentioned. iv. and whereas many evil disposed persons frequently entice or persuade slaves (without any intention to steal them) and servants, to absent themselves from their master or mistress, and often times harbour and maintain runaway servants and slaves; _be it therefore further enacted_ by the authority aforesaid, that any person or persons who shall hereafter entice or persuade any servant or slave to absent him or herself from his or her master or mistress, or who shall harbour or maintain any runaway servant or slave, shall for every such offence forfeit or pay to the master or mistress of such servant or slave, the sum of one hundred pounds current money, to be recovered by action of debt, in any jurisdiction having cognizance thereof; and be further liable to the said master or mistress in an action for damages, where in no essoign, injunction, protection, or wager of law shall be allowed or admitted, notwithstanding any law, usage, or custom to the contrary.--_laws of north carolina, ._ = . connecticut:--escape of negroes and servants.= =no date given.= an act to prevent the running away of indian and negro servants. "be it enacted by the governour, council, and representatives, in general court assembled, and by the authority of the same, that whatsoever negro or indian servant or servants shall at any time after the publication hereof be found wandering out of the town bounds, or place to which they belong, without a ticket or pass in writing under the hand of some assistant or justice of the peace, or under the hand of the master or owner of such negro or indian servant or servants, shall be deemed and accounted to be run-aways; and every person inhabiting in this colony, finding or meeting with any such negro or indian servant or servants, not having a ticket as aforesaid, is hereby impowered to seize and secure him or them, and bring him or them before the next authority, to be examined and returned to his or their master or owner, who shall satisfy the charge accruing thereby; and all ferrymen within this colony are hereby required not to suffer any indian or negro servant, without certificate as aforesaid, to pass over their respective ferrys, by assisting of them therein directly or indirectly, on penalty of paying a fine of twenty shillings for every such offence to the county treasury, to be levied on their estates upon non-payment, by warrant from any one assistant or justice of the peace: and the like methods shall or may be used and observed as to vagrant or suspected persons, found wandring from town to town, having no certificate as aforesaid, who shall be seized and conveyed before the next authority to be examined and disposed of according to law: and if any free negroes shall travel without such certificate or pass, and be stopped, seized, or taken up, they shall pay all charges arising thereby."--¤_acts and laws of his majesty's province of connecticut, ._ = . connecticut:--pursuit of runaways.= =no date given.= "it is also ordered, that when any servants shall runn from theire masters, or any other inhabitants shall privately goe away with supition of ill intentions, it shall bee lawfull for the next magistrate, or the constable and two of the chiefest inhabitants where no magistrate is, to press men and boates or pinnaces, at the publique charge, to persue such persons by sea or land, and bring them back by force of armes."--¤_colonial records of connecticut, i. ._ = . pennsylvania:--harboring fugitives.= =anno regni duodecimo georgii regis. [ ?]= an act for the better regulating of negroes in this province. "and be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid, that no person or persons whatsoever shall employ, or knowingly harbour, conceal, or entertain other peoples slaves at their houses, out-houses, or plantations, without the master or owner's consent; excepting in distress of weather or other extraordinary occasion, under the penalty of thirty shillings for every twenty-four hours he or they shall entertain or harbour him or them as aforesaid."--¤_province laws of pennsylvania, ._ appendix b. _national acts and propositions relative to fugitive slaves. - ._ this appendix contains all the important bills, acts, and treaties from the foundation of the constitution to . many minor propositions may be found through the foot-notes to the text of chapter ii. the figures in brackets [] refer back to the text of the monograph. [sidenote: treaties and first act.] = . fugitive clause in treaty with the delawares.= = , aug. .= art. iv. "and it is further agreed between the parties aforesaid, that neither shall entertain or give countenance to the enemies of the other, or protect in their respective states, criminal fugitives, servants, or slaves, but the same to apprehend, and secure and deliver to the state or states to which such enemies, criminals, servants, or slaves respectively belong."--_statutes at large, vii. ._ = . fugitive clause in the treaty of peace. [§§ , .]= = - . , nov. .= provisional articles. = , sept. .= definitive treaty. "his britannic majesty shall, with all convenient speed, and without causing any destruction, or carrying away any negroes or other property of the american inhabitants, withdraw all his armies, garrisons, and fleets from the said united states."--_treaties and conventions, ed. of , pp. , ._ = . fugitive clauses in indian treaties. [§ .]= = - . , oct. .= treaty with the six nations, art. i. = , jan. .= treaty with the wyandots, etc. art. i. "all the prisoners white and black" taken by the indians "shall be delivered up" or "restored."--_statutes at large, vii. , ._ = . fugitive clause in king's ordinance. [§ .]= = , april .= report of the committee on government of the western territory. "provided that always, upon the escape of any person into any of the states described in the resolve of congress of the twenty-third day of april, , from whom labor or service is lawfully claimed in any one of the thirteen original states, such fugitive might be lawfully reclaimed and carried back to the person claiming his labor or service, this resolve notwithstanding."--_papers of old congress_, xxi. , cited in _bancroft, history of the united states (last revision), vi. ._ = . fugitive clauses in indian treaties. [§ .]= = , nov. .= treaty with the cherokees, art. i. = , jan. .= treaty with the choctaws, art. i. = , jan. .= treaty with the chickasaws, art. i. identical clauses. the indians "to restore all the negroes and all other property taken during the late war." = , june .= treaty with the shawanees. art. i. "all prisoners white and black taken in the late war from among the citizens of the united states by the shawanee nation shall be restored."--_statutes at large, vii. , , , ._ = . fugitive clause in northwest ordinance of . [§ ]= = , july .= art. vi. "there shall be neither slavery nor involuntary servitude in the said territory, otherwise than in the punishment of crimes, whereof the party shall have been duly convicted; _provided_, always, that any person escaping into the same, from whom labor or service is lawfully claimed in any one of the original states, such fugitive may be lawfully reclaimed and conveyed to the person claiming his or her labor or service aforesaid." read first time, july , . passed july , .--¤ _journals of congress, xii. , ._ = . fugitive clause in the constitution. [§ .]= = , sept. .= art. iv. § . "no person held to service or labor in one state, under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be due."--_revised statutes of the united states, i. ._ = . clauses for returning fugitives in indian treaties.= = , jan. .= treaty with the wiandots, etc. art. i. "the said nations agree to deliver up all the prisoners now in their hands (by what means soever they may have come into their possession)."--_statutes at large, vii. ._ = - . , apr. .= treaty with the creeks. art. iii. "the creek nation shall deliver ... all citizens of the united states, white inhabitants or negroes, who are now prisoners in any part of the said nation. and if any such prisoners or negroes should not be delivered on or before the first day of june next ensuing, the governor of georgia may empower three persons to repair to the said nation, in order to claim and receive such prisoners and negroes."--_statutes at large, vii. ._ = , july .= treaty with the cherokees. art. iii. all prisoners to be yielded up on both sides.--_statutes at large, vii. ._ = . first fugitive slave act.= = , feb. .= _an act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters._ "section ._ be it enacted by the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america in congress assembled_, that whenever the executive authority of any state in the union, or of either of the territories northwest or south of the river ohio, shall demand any person as a fugitive from justice, of the executive authority of any such state or territory to which such person shall have fled, and shall moreover produce the copy of an indictment found, or an affidavit made before a magistrate of any state or territory as aforesaid, charging the person so demanded, with having committed treason, felony or other crime, certified as authentic by the governor or chief magistrate of the state or territory from whence the person so charged fled, it shall be the duty of the executive authority of the state or territory to which such person shall have fled, to cause him or her to be arrested and secured, and notice of the arrest to be given to the executive authority making such demand, or to the agent of such authority appointed to receive the fugitive, and to cause the fugitive to be delivered to such agent when he shall appear: but if no such agent shall appear within six months from the time of the arrest, the prisoner may be discharged. and all costs or expenses incurred in the apprehending, securing, and transmitting such fugitive to the state or territory making such demand, shall be paid by such state or territory. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that any agent, appointed as aforesaid, who shall receive the fugitive into his custody, shall be empowered to transport him or her to the state or territory from which he or she shall have fled. and if any person or persons shall by force set at liberty, or rescue the fugitive from such agent while transporting, as aforesaid, the person or persons so offending shall, on conviction, be fined not exceeding five hundred dollars, and be imprisoned not exceeding one year. "sec. . _and be it also enacted_, that when a person held to labour in any of the united states, or in either of the territories on the northwest or south of the river ohio, under the laws thereof, shall escape into any other of the said states or territory, the person to whom such labour or service may be due, his agent or attorney, is hereby empowered to seize or arrest such fugitive from labour, and to take him or her before any judge of the circuit or district courts of the united states, residing or being within the state, or before any magistrate of a county, city or town corporate, wherein such seizure or arrest shall be made, and upon proof to the satisfaction of such judge or magistrate, either by oral testimony or affidavit taken before and certified by a magistrate of any such state or territory, that the person so seized or arrested, doth, under the laws of the state or territory from which he or she fled, owe service or labour to the person claiming him or her, it shall be the duty of such judge or magistrate to give a certificate thereof to such claimant, his agent or attorney, which shall be sufficient warrant for removing the said fugitive from labour, to the state or territory from which he or she fled. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that any person who shall knowingly and willingly obstruct or hinder such claimant, his agent or attorney, in so seizing or arresting such fugitive from labour, or shall rescue such fugitive from such claimant, his agent or attorney when so arrested pursuant to the authority herein given or declared; or shall harbor or conceal such person after notice that he or she was a fugitive from labour, as aforesaid, shall, for either of the said offences, forfeit and pay the sum of five hundred dollars. which penalty may be recovered by and for the benefit of such claimant, by action of debt, in any court proper to try the same; saving moreover to the person claiming such labour or service, his right of action for or on account of the said injuries or either of them."--¤_statutes at large, i. - ._ [sidenote: bills and propositions.] = . abstract of amendatory bill on fugitives. [§ .]= = , dec. .= "the bill contemplates inflicting a penalty of five hundred dollars on any person harboring, concealing, or employing runaway slaves. every person employing a black person, unless he had a certificate with a county seal to it, or signed by a justice of the peace, would be liable to the penalty." = , jan. .= a motion was made to strike out the second section of the bill, which would create therein and inflict the penalty for employing a person of color who has not a certificate of his freedom. motion not carried.--_ cong. sess., annals of congress, h. of r., ._ = . restoration of slaves by indian treaties. [§ .]= = , aug. .= treaty with the creeks. art. iii. "the united states demand that a surrender be immediately made of all the persons and property taken from the citizens of the united states ... to the respective owners."--_treaties and conventions._ = . fugitive slave clause in the treaty of ghent. [§ ].= = , dec. .= art. i. "all territory, etc. shall be restored without delay, and without causing any destruction or carrying away any artillery, ... or any slaves or other private property."--treaties and conventions. = . amendments proposed to pindall's bill. [§ ]= = , jan. .= "resolved, that the said bill be referred to the committee to whom was referred the memorial of the annual meeting of the society of friends, of baltimore, with instructions to inquire into the expediency of so amending the said bill as to guard more effectually against infringement of the rights of free negroes and other persons of color." introduced by mr. rich. resolution not accepted.--_house journal cong. sess., ; annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ to change the bill materially "by making judges of the state in which the apprentices, slaves, etc. are seized, the tribunal to decide the fact of slavery, instead of the judges of the states whence the fugitives have escaped." introduced by mr. sergeant. amendment not accepted.--_annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ "mr. rich made several successive attempts to procure amendments to the bill, relaxing some of its provisions, which were successively negatived."--_annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ = . provision for delivery on executive requisition. [§ .]= = , march .= mr. daggett moved to strike out the following section of the bill: "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that whenever the executive authority of any state in the union, or of either of the territories thereof, shall, for or in behalf of any citizen or inhabitant of such state or territory, demand any fugitive slave of the executive authority of any state or territory, to which such slave shall have fled, and shall moreover produce a certificate, issued pursuant to the first section of this act, it shall be the duty of the executive authority of the state or territory to which such fugitive shall have fled to cause him or her to be arrested and secured, and notice of the arrest to be given to the executive authority making such demand, or to the agent of such authority appointed to receive the fugitive, and to cause such fugitive to be delivered to the said agent, on the confine or boundary of the state or territory in which said arrest shall be, and in the most usual and direct route to the place from whence the said fugitive shall have escaped; and the reasonable expense of such arrest, detention, and delivery of such fugitive shall be paid by the said agent." amendment determined in the negative.--_senate journal, cong. sess., , ; annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ = . proposed limitation to four years. [§ .]= = , may .= mr. lacock moved to amend by adding the following: "sec.--. _and be it further enacted_ that this law shall be and remain in force for the term of four years, and no longer." the senate being equally divided, the president determined the question in the affirmative.--_senate journal, cong. sess., ; annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ = . fugitive slave clause in the missouri compromise. [§ .]= = , march .= the missouri compromise provided "that any persons escaping into the same, from whom labor or service is lawfully claimed in any state or territory of the united states, such fugitive may be lawfully reclaimed, and conveyed to the person claiming his or her labor, or service, as aforesaid."--_annals of congress, cong. sess., , ._ = . investigation into the pennsylvania act. [§ .]= = , april .= mr. pindall introduced the following resolution: "_resolved_, that the secretary of state be instructed to procure and transmit to this house, as soon as practicable, a copy of such late act or acts of the pennsylvania legislature as prohibit or restrain the justices, aldermen, or other magistrates or officers of that state from interposing in the apprehension or surrender of fugitive slaves."--_house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ mr. tarr moved to amend as follows: "provided, any such act or acts shall have been passed." resolution and amendment agreed to.--_house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ = , april .= ordered, that the letter from the secretary of state with the act of the pennsylvania legislature accompanying it, "be committed to the committee appointed th of march to inquire into the expediency of providing by law for reclaiming persons held to service or labor in one state, and escaping therefrom into another."--_house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ = . maryland resolutions protesting against pennsylvanians. [§ .]= = , dec. .= "mr. wright laid before the house an attested copy of a resolution passed by the general assembly of the state of maryland, complaining of the protection offered by the citizens of pennsylvania to the slaves of the citizens of maryland, who abscond and go into that state, and declaring that it is the duty of congress to enact such a law as will prevent a continuance of the evils complained of; which resolution was referred to the committee on the judiciary."--_house journal, cong. sess., ; annals of congress, cong. sess., ._ = . assumption of claims on indians for fugitives. [§ .]= = , may .= treaty with the seminoles, art. vi. "the seminoles being anxious to be relieved from repeated vexatious demands for slaves and other property alleged to have been stolen and destroyed by them, so that they may remove unembarrassed to their new homes, the united states stipulate to have the same property investigated, and to liquidate such as may be satisfactorily established, provided the amount does not exceed seven thousand ( , ) dollars."--_statutes at large, vii. ._ = . calhoun's resolution on the status of slaves on the high seas. [§ .]= = , april .= "_resolved_, that a ship or vessel on the high seas, in time of peace, engaged in a lawful voyage, is, according to the laws of nations, under the exclusive jurisdiction of the state to which her flag belongs; as much so as if constituting a part of its own domain. "_resolved_, that if such ship or vessel should be forced by stress of weather, or other unavoidable cause, into the port, and under the jurisdiction of a friendly power, she and her cargo, and persons on board, with their property, and all the rights belonging to their personal relations, as established by the laws of the state to which they belong, would be placed under the protection which the laws of nations extend to the unfortunate under such circumstances. "_resolved_, that the brig enterprise, which was forced unavoidably by stress of weather into port hamilton, bermuda island, while on a lawful voyage on the high seas from one port of the union to another, comes within the principles embraced in the foregoing resolutions; and that the seizure and detention of the negroes on board by the local authority of the island, was an act in violation of the laws of nations, and highly unjust to our own citizens, to whom they belong."--_cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . woodbridge resolution on extradition of slaves. [§ .]= = , dec. .= mr. woodbridge submitted the following resolution, which was considered, and by unanimous consent agreed to. "_resolved_, that the committee on foreign relations inquire into the expediency of entering into some arrangement with the government of great britain, reciprocal in its provisions, for the arrest of fugitives escaping over the northern or western boundary of the united states, charged with the commission of any crime or crimes, and for the surrender of such fugitives upon reasonable requisition to the authorities of the state or province from which such fugitives may have fled: _provided_, such arrangements do not comprehend cases of political offences merely, but be restricted to those which are in themselves criminal." no action taken.--_senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ [sidenote: prigg decision. resolutions.] = . significant extracts from the prigg decision. [§ .]= = .= "upon this ground we have not the slightest hesitation in holding that, under and in virtue of the constitution, the owner of a slave is clothed with entire authority, in every state in the union, to seize and recapture his slave, whenever he can do it without any breach of the peace, or any illegal violence." "the clause is found in the national constitution, and not in that of any state. it does not point out any state functionaries, or any state actions to carry its provisions into effect. the states cannot, therefore, be compelled to enforce them; and it might well be deemed an unconstitutional exercise of the power of interpretation, to insist that the states are bound to provide means to carry into effect the duties of the national government nowhere delegated or intrusted to them by the constitution." "if this be so, then it would seem, upon just principles of construction, that the legislation of congress, if constitutional, must supersede all state legislation upon the same subject; and by necessary implication prohibit it." "as to the authority so conferred upon state magistrates, while a difference of opinion has existed, and may exist still on the point, in different states, whether state magistrates are bound to act under it; none is entertained by this court that state magistrates may, if they choose, exercise that authority, unless prohibited by state legislation."--_ peters, justice story's opinion, ._ = . giddings's resolutions on the status of slaves on the high seas. [§ .]= = , march .= "resolved, that when a ship belonging to the citizens of any state of this union leaves the waters and territory of such state, and enters upon the high seas, the persons on board cease to be subject to the slave laws of such state, and thenceforth are governed in their relations to each other by, and are amenable only to, the laws of the united states. "resolved, that when the brig creole, on her late voyage for new orleans, left the territorial jurisdiction of virginia, the slave laws of that state ceased to have jurisdiction over the persons on board said brig, and such persons became amenable only to the law of the united states. "resolved, that the persons on board the said ship, in reserving their natural rights of personal liberty, violated no law of the united states, incurred no legal penalty, and are justly liable to no punishment."--_cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . benton's resolution on slaves escaping to canada. [§ .]= = , jan. .= mr. benton presented the following resolution:-- "_resolved_, that the president be requested to communicate to the senate the information, if any, which may be in the department of state, in relation to slaves committing crimes and escaping from the united states to the british dominions since the ratification of the treaty of , and the refusal of the british authorities to give them up. also, that he communicate to the senate the information, if any such is possessed by him, of the construction which the british government puts upon the said article in relation to slaves committing crimes in the united states and taking refuge in the british dominions."--_congressional record, cong. sess., ._ = . giddings's resolution for the abolition of the slave trade in the district of columbia. [§ .]= = , jan. .= mr. giddings described the seizure of a colored man employed as waiter in a colored boarding-house in washington. he then offered the following resolution:-- "_resolved_, that a select committee of five members be appointed to inquire into and report upon facts aforesaid; also as to the propriety of repealing such acts of congress as sustain or authorize the slave trade in this district, or to remove the seat of the government to some free state." resolution laid on the table.--_house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . hall's repeal resolution for the district of columbia. [§ .]= = , feb. .= mr. nathan k. hall offered the following preamble and resolutions, which were read, and, debate arising thereon, it was laid over under the rule, viz.:-- "preamble.... _resolved_, that the committee on the judiciary be, and they are hereby, directed to report to this house with all convenient speed a bill repealing all laws of congress, and abrogating, so far as they are operative or in force in the district of columbia all the laws in the state of maryland which authorize or require the courts, officers, or magistrates of the united states, or of the said district, within the district of columbia to issue process for arrest, or commit to the jail of the said district any runaway or other slave or fugitive from service," etc. resolution laid over under the rule.--_house journal, cong. sess., , ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ [sidenote: resolutions. bill of .] = . giddings's resolution inquiring into the condition of the district of columbia jail. [§ .]= = , april .= mr. giddings introduced the following resolution:-- "whereas, more than eighty men, women, and children, are said to be now confined in the prison of the district of columbia without being charged with crime or any impropriety other than an attempt to enjoy that liberty for which our fathers encountered toil, suffering, and death itself, and for which the people of many european governments are now struggling; and whereas said prison was erected, and is now sustained, by funds contributed by the people of the free as well as of the slave states, and is under the control of the laws and officers of the united states: "and whereas, such practice is derogatory to our national character, incompatible with the duty of a civilized and christian people, and unworthy of being sustained by an american congress: therefore, _be it resolved_, that a select committee of five members of this body be appointed to inquire into and report to this house by what authority said prison is used for the purpose of confining persons who have attempted to escape from slavery, with leave to report what legislation is proper in regard to said practice. _resolved, further_, that said committee be authorized to send for persons and papers." objections being made, the motion was not received.--_cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . giddings's resolution on the jail in the district of columbia. [§ .]= = , april .= mr. giddings visited the jail in the district of columbia for the purpose of interviewing the persons confined there on charge of carrying away slaves from this district. he was then mobbed and his life endangered. "_resolved_, that a committee of five members be appointed to investigate and report to this house respecting the points alluded to in the above statement, and that said committee be authorized to send for persons and papers, and to sit during the session of the house."--_cong. globe, th cong. sess., ._ = . meade's resolution on more effectual enforcement of the constitutional article on fugitive slaves. [§ .]= = , jan. .= mr. meade moved that the rules be suspended to enable him to offer the following resolution:-- "preamble. whereas it is the duty of the congress of the united states to enact all laws necessary to enforce such provisions of the constitution as were intended to protect the citizens of the several states in their rights of property, and past experience has proved that laws should be passed by congress to enforce the second section of the fourth article of the constitution, which requires that persons held to labor in one state, escaping into another, shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such labor may be due; therefore, resolved, that the committee on the judiciary is hereby instructed to report a bill to this house, providing effectually for the apprehension and delivery of fugitives from labor who have escaped, or may hereafter escape, from one state into another." rules not suspended.--_house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . legislative history of the fugitive slave act. [jan. to sept. , § .]= = , jan. .= mr. mason of virginia gave notice of his intention to introduce a bill.--_cong. globe, ._ =jan. .= senate bill no. introduced by mason, read twice, ordered printed, and referred to the committee on the judiciary.--_senate journal, ; globe, ._ =jan. .= bill reported favorably by butler from the committee, ordered printed, and made a special order for jan. .--_senate journal, ; globe, ; senate reports, i. no. ._ =jan. .= debate begun. mason offered an amendment which made the fine for any obstruction of the workings of the act one thousand dollars, and refused to allow the testimony of a fugitive.--_globe_, . =jan. , .= bill taken up and debated.--_senate journal_, , ; _globe_, , ; _globe app._ , . =jan .= seward presented an amendment, which allowed the right of trial by jury, and punished judges who should disallow the writ of habeas corpus.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, - . =jan. .= clay introduced, as a part of his compromise resolutions, a declaration that a more effective fugitive slave act should be passed.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, . =jan. .= mason offered a substitute for the bill already before the senate. it was laid on the table, and ordered to be printed.--_globe_, . =june .= webster brought in an amendatory bill.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, . =aug. .= the debate was again opened, and made the special order for aug. .--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, . =aug. .= mason offered as an amendment a substitute for the bill already before the senate.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, ; _globe app._, . dayton brought in an amendment which gave trial by jury. this was rejected.--_senate journal_, ; _globe app._, . chase offered one of the same character, which was also rejected.--_globe app._, . winthrop brought in an amendment granting the protection of the habeas corpus. this was rejected.--_senate journal_, ; _globe app._, . =aug. .= mason's substitute was agreed to.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, ; _globe app._, . an amendment to mason's substitute was offered by mr. pratt. this gave the owner the right of suit against the united states for the value of the slave if not delivered. this was afterward amended by mason and pratt, and rejected, august .--_senate journal_, - ; _globe_, ; _globe app._, . =aug .= underwood offered an amendment as a substitute, and davis presented an amendment to mason's bill striking out the clause providing compensation for escaped slaves. this was rejected.--_senate journal_, , ; _globe_, ; _globe app._, , . = aug. .= amendments were offered to underwood's amendment by chase and badger. both were rejected.--_senate journal_, - ; _globe app._, , , . another slight amendment by chase was also rejected.--_globe app._, . mason amended his bill by making the marshal liable for the value of a slave who has escaped from his custody.--_senate journal_, ; _globe app._, . an attempt to amend the bill by striking out the compensation for escaped slaves, and other slight changes, was made by davis, and the amendment was accepted.--_senate journal_, ; _globe app._, . bill as amended was then ordered to be engrossed for the third reading.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, ; _globe app._, . =aug. .= after changing the title to make it an act supplementary to that of , the bill was passed, and sent to the house.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, . =sept. .= in the house it was read a first and second time by title. thompson of pennsylvania moved to put it on its passage, and moved the previous question, which he refused to withdraw, and which was carried.--_house journal_, , . stevens moved to lay it on the table, but the motion was lost, and the bill was ordered to a third reading.--_house journal_, . the bill was passed, to .--_house journal_, - ; _globe_, . it was returned to the senate.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, . =sept .= the bill was signed by the presiding officer of the senate.--_senate journal_, ; _globe_, . bill signed by the speaker of the house.--_house journal, ; globe, ._ =sept. .= bill sent to the president, and signed by him sept. .--_house journal, , ; senate journal, , ._ [sidenote: second fugitive slave act.] = . second fugitive slave act. [§§ , .]= = , sept. .= "_an act to amend, and supplementary to, the act entitled 'an act respecting fugitives from justice, and persons escaping from the service of their masters,' approved february twelfth, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three._ "_be it enacted by the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america in congress assembled_, that the persons who have been, or may hereafter be, appointed commissioners, in virtue of any act of congress, by the circuit courts of the united states, and who, in consequence of such appointment, are authorized to exercise the powers that any justice of the peace, or other magistrate of any of the united states, may exercise in respect to offenders for any crime or offence against the united states, by arresting, imprisoning, or bailing the same under and by virtue of the thirty-third section of the act of the twenty-fourth of september seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, entitled 'an act to establish the judicial courts of the united states,' shall be, and are hereby, authorized and required to exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that the superior court of each organized territory of the united states shall have the same power to appoint commissioners to take acknowledgments of bail and affidavits, and to take depositions of witnesses in civil causes, which is now possessed by the circuit court of the united states; and all commissioners who shall hereafter be appointed for such purposes by the superior court of any organized territory of the united states, shall possess all the powers, and exercise all the duties, conferred by law upon the commissioners appointed by the circuit courts of the united states for similar purposes, and shall moreover exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that the circuit courts of the united states, and the superior courts of each organized territory of the united states, shall from time to time enlarge the number of commissioners, with a view to afford reasonable facilities to reclaim fugitives from labor, and to the prompt discharge of the duties imposed by this act. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that the commissioners above named shall have concurrent jurisdiction with the judges of the circuit and district courts of the united states, in their respective circuits and districts within the several states, and the judges of the superior courts of the territories, severally and collectively, in term-time and vacation; and shall grant certificates to such claimants, upon satisfactory proof being made, with authority to take and remove such fugitives from service or labor, under the restrictions herein contained, to the state or territory from which such persons may have escaped or fled. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that it shall be the duty of all marshals and deputy marshals to obey and execute all warrants and precepts issued under the provisions of this act, when to them directed; and should any marshal or deputy marshal refuse to receive such warrant, or other process, when tendered, or to use all proper means diligently to execute the same, he shall, on conviction thereof, be fined in the sum of one thousand dollars, to the use of such claimant, on the motion of such claimant by the circuit or district court for the district of such marshal; and after arrest of such fugitive, by such marshal or his deputy, or whilst at any time in his custody under the provisions of this act, should such fugitive escape, whether with or without the assent of such marshal or his deputy, such marshal shall be liable, on his official bond, to be prosecuted for the benefit of such claimant, for the full value of the service or labor of said fugitive in the state, territory, or district whence he escaped: and the better to enable the said commissioners, when thus appointed, to execute their duties faithfully and efficiently, in conformity with the requirements of the constitution of the united states and of this act, they are hereby authorized and empowered, within their counties respectively, to appoint, in writing under their hands, any one or more suitable persons, from time to time, to execute all such warrants and other process as may be issued by them in the lawful performance of their respective duties; with authority to such commissioners, or the persons to be appointed by them, to execute process as aforesaid, to summon and call to their aid the bystanders, or _posse comitatus_ of the proper county, when necessary to insure a faithful observance of the clause of the constitution referred to, in conformity with the provisions of this act; and all good citizens are hereby commanded to aid and assist in the prompt and efficient execution of this law, whenever their services may be required, as aforesaid, for that purpose; and said warrants shall run, and be executed by said officers, anywhere in the state within which they are issued. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that when a person held to service or labor in any state or territory of the united states, has heretofore or shall hereafter escape into another state or territory of the united states, the person or persons to whom such service or labor may be due, or his, her, or their agent or attorney, duly authorized, by power of attorney, in writing, acknowledged and certified under the seal of some legal officer or court of the state or territory in which the same may be executed, may pursue and reclaim such fugitive person, either by procuring a warrant from some one of the courts, judges, or commissioners aforesaid, of the proper circuit, district, or county, for the apprehension of such fugitive from service or labor, or by seizing and arresting such fugitive, where the same can be done without process, and by taking, or causing such person to be taken, forthwith before such court, judge, or commissioner, whose duty it shall be to hear and determine the case of such claimant in a summary manner; and upon satisfactory proof being made, by deposition or affidavit, in writing, to be taken and certified by such court, judge, or commissioner, or by other satisfactory testimony, duly taken and certified by some court, magistrate, justice of the peace, or other legal officer authorized to administer an oath and take depositions under the laws of the state or territory from which such person owing service or labor may have escaped, with a certificate of such magistracy or other authority, as aforesaid, with the seal of the proper court or officer thereto attached, which seal shall be sufficient to establish the competency of the proof, and with proof, also by affidavit, of the identity of the person whose service or labor is claimed to be due as aforesaid, that the person so arrested does in fact owe service or labor to the person or persons claiming him or her, in the state or territory from which such fugitive may have escaped as aforesaid, and that said person escaped, to make out and deliver to such claimant, his or her agent or attorney, a certificate setting forth the substantial facts as to the service or labor due from such fugitive to the claimant, and of his or her escape from the state or territory in which such service or labor was due, to the state or territory in which he or she was arrested, with authority to such claimant, or his or her agent or attorney, to use such reasonable force and restraint as may be necessary, under the circumstances of the case, to take and remove such fugitive person back to the state or territory whence he or she may have escaped as aforesaid. in no trial or hearing under this act shall the testimony of such alleged fugitive be admitted in evidence; and the certificates in this and the first [fourth] section mentioned, shall be conclusive of the right of the person or persons in whose favor granted, to remove such fugitive to the state or territory from which he escaped, and shall prevent all molestation of such person or persons by any process issued by any court, judge, magistrate, or other person whomsoever. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that any person who shall knowingly and willingly obstruct, hinder, or prevent such claimant, his agent or attorney, or any person or persons lawfully assisting him, her, or them, from arresting such a fugitive from service or labor, either with or without process as aforesaid, or shall rescue, or attempt to rescue, such fugitive from service or labor, from the custody of such claimant, his or her agent or attorney, or other person or persons lawfully assisting as aforesaid, when so arrested, pursuant to the authority herein given and declared; or shall aid, abet, or assist such person so owing service or labor as aforesaid, directly or indirectly, to escape from such claimant, his agent or attorney, or other person or persons legally authorized as aforesaid; or shall harbor or conceal such fugitive, so as to prevent the discovery and arrest of such person, after notice or knowledge of the fact that such person was a fugitive from service or labor as aforesaid, shall, for either of said offences, be subject to a fine not exceeding one thousand dollars, and imprisonment not exceeding six months, by indictment and conviction before the district court of the united states for the district in which such offence may have been committed, or before the proper court of criminal jurisdiction, if committed within any one of the organized territories of the united states; and shall moreover forfeit and pay, by way of civil damages to the party injured by such illegal conduct, the sum of one thousand dollars, for each fugitive so lost as aforesaid, to be recovered by action of debt, in any of the district or territorial courts aforesaid, within whose jurisdiction the said offence may have been committed. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that the marshals, their deputies, and the clerks of the said district and territorial courts, shall be paid, for their services, the like fees as may be allowed to them for similar services in other cases; and where such services are rendered exclusively in the arrest, custody, and delivery of the fugitive to the claimant, his or her agent or attorney, or where such supposed fugitive may be discharged out of custody for the want of sufficient proof as aforesaid, then such fees are to be paid in the whole by such claimant, his agent or attorney; and in all cases where the proceedings are before a commissioner, he shall be entitled to a fee of ten dollars in full for his services in each case, upon the delivery of the said certificate to the claimant, his or her agent or attorney; or a fee of five dollars in cases where the proof shall not, in the opinion of such commissioner, warrant such certificate and delivery, inclusive of all services incident to such arrest and examination, to be paid, in either case, by the claimant, his or her agent or attorney. the person or persons authorized to execute the process to be issued by such commissioners for the arrest and detention of fugitives from service or labor as aforesaid, shall also be entitled to a fee of five dollars each for each person he or they may arrest and take before any such commissioner as aforesaid, at the instance and request of such claimant, with such other fees as may be deemed reasonable by such commissioner for such other additional services as may be necessarily performed by him or them; such as attending at the examination, keeping the fugitive in custody, and providing him with food and lodging during his detention, and until the final determination of such commissioner; and, in general, for performing such other duties as may be required by such claimant, his or her attorney or agent, or commissioner in the premises, such fees to be made up in conformity with the fees usually charged by the officers of the courts of justice within the proper district or county, as near as may be practicable, and paid by such claimants, their agents or attorneys, whether such supposed fugitives from service or labor be ordered to be delivered to such claimants by the final determination of such commissioners or not. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that, upon affidavit made by the claimant of such fugitive, his agent or attorney, after such certificate has been issued, that he has reason to apprehend that such fugitive will be rescued by force from his or their possession before he can be taken beyond the limits of the state in which the arrest is made, it shall be the duty of the officer making the arrest to retain such fugitive in his custody, and to remove him to the state whence he fled, and there to deliver him to said claimant, his agent, or attorney. and to this end, the officer aforesaid is hereby authorized and required to employ so many persons as he may deem necessary to overcome such force, and to retain them in his service so long as circumstances may require. the said officer and his assistants, while so employed, to receive the same compensation, and to be allowed the same expenses, as are now allowed by law for transportation of criminals, to be certified by the judge of the district within which the arrest is made, and paid out of the treasury of the united states. "sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that when any person held to service or labor in any state or territory, or in the district of columbia, shall escape therefrom, the party to whom such service or labor shall be due, his, her, or their agent or attorney, may apply to any court of record therein, or judge thereof in vacation, and make satisfactory proof to such court, or judge in vacation, of the escape aforesaid, and that the person escaping owed service or labor to such party. whereupon the court shall cause a record to be made of the matters so proved, and also a general description of the person so escaping, with such convenient certainty as may be; and a transcript of such record, authenticated by the attestation of the clerk and of the seal of the said court, being produced in any other state, territory, or district in which the person so escaping may be found, and being exhibited to any judge, commissioner, or other officer authorized by the law of the united states to cause persons escaping from service or labor to be delivered up, shall be held and taken to be full and conclusive evidence of the fact of escape, and that the service or labor of the person escaping is due to the party in such record mentioned. and upon the production by the said party of other and further evidence if necessary, either oral or by affidavit, in addition to what is contained in the said record of the identity of the person escaping, he or she shall be delivered up to the claimant. and the said court, commissioner, judge, or other person authorized by this act to grant certificates to claimants of fugitives, shall, upon the production of the record and other evidences aforesaid, grant to such claimant a certificate of his right to take any such person identified and proved to be owing service or labor as aforesaid, which certificate shall authorize such claimant to seize or arrest and transport such person to the state or territory from which he escaped: _provided_, that nothing herein contained shall be construed as requiring the production of a transcript of such record as evidence as aforesaid. but in its absence the claim shall be heard and determined upon other satisfactory proofs, competent in law. "approved, september , ."--_statutes at large, ix. - ._ [sidenote: act of . resolutions.] = . mclanahan's resolution against repeal of the law of .= = , jan. .= mr. mclanahan moved that the rules be suspended to enable him to introduce the following resolution, viz., "_resolved_, that it would be inexpedient and improper to repeal the law passed at the last session of congress, entitled 'an act to amend, and supplementary to, the act entitled an act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters,' approved feb. , ." house refused to suspend the rules.--_house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . clay's resolution on the shadrach case, boston. [§ .]= = , feb. .= mr. clay submitted the following resolution, which lies over one day: "_resolved_, that the president of the united states be requested to lay before the senate, if not incompatible with the public interest, any information he may possess in regard to an alleged recent case of a forcible resistance to the execution of the laws of the united states in the city of boston, and to communicate to the senate under the above condition what means he has adopted to meet the occurrence, and whether, in his opinion, any additional legislation is necessary to meet the exigency of the case, and to more rigorously execute existing laws." resolution adopted.--_senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . bright's bill explanatory of law of .= = , feb. .= mr. bright obtained leave to bring in a bill ( ) explanatory of the act approved th september in the year , entitled, "an act to amend, and supplemental to, the act entitled, 'an act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters,'" approved feb. , , which was read twice, and referred to the committee on the judiciary.--_senate journal, cong. sess., ._ the bill is in the following terms: "_be it enacted, etc._, that all action and causes of action, and all proceedings instituted and to be instituted, for any violation of the provisions of said act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters, approved the th february, , may be instituted and prosecuted to final judgment and execution as if the said act of sept. , , had not been passed."--_cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . fitch's resolution affirming the compromise.= = , march .= mr. fitch offered the following resolution: "_resolved_, that we recognize the binding efficacy of the compromises of the constitution, and believe it to be the intention of the people generally, as we hereby declare it to be ours individually, to abide such compromises, and to sustain the laws necessary to carry out the provisions for the delivery of fugitive slaves ordered, and that we deprecate all further agitation of questions growing out of that provision of the constitution embraced in the acts of the last congress known as the compromise."--_house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . jackson's resolution affirming the compromise.= = , march .= "_resolved_, that we recognize the binding efficacy of the compromises of the constitution, and believe it to be the intention of the people generally, as we hereby declare it to be ours individually, to abide such compromises, and to sustain the laws necessary to carry them out,--the provision for the delivery of fugitive slaves, and the act of the last congress for that purpose included,--and that we deprecate all further agitation of questions growing out of that provision, of the questions embraced in the acts of the last congress known as the compromise, and of questions generally connected with the institution of slavery as unnecessary, useless, and dangerous." resolution, as amended by mr. hillyer below, agreed to.--_house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . hillyer's finality resolution.= = , april .= mr. hillyer moved the following resolution: "resolved, that the series of acts passed during the first session of the thirty-first congress, known as the compromise, are recorded as a final adjustment, and a permanent settlement of the questions there embraced, and should be maintained and executed as such." resolution agreed to, april , .--_house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . chase's resolution of inquiry into payments under act of .= = , june .= mr. chase submitted the following resolution: "resolved, that the secretary of the interior be directed to communicate to the senate statements, showing in detail the expenses incurred and claims made under the act to amend and supplemental to the 'act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters,' distinguishing the expenses incurred and claimed by reason of prosecutions for treasons, alleged to have been committed in resistance of said act from expenses incurred and claimed by reason of other prosecutions for offending against said act, and for proceedings before and under orders made by committee." no action taken.--_senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ appendix c. _national acts and propositions relating to fugitive slaves._ ( - .) this appendix is intended to contain references to all the resolutions, bills, and acts of congress, relative to fugitives, from the beginning of the critical session of - to the repeal of the acts in . the resolutions for amendments to the constitution have been collected by mr. herman v. ames of the harvard graduate school, who has kindly selected out of the numerous amendments proposed in the last session of the thirty-sixth congress those bearing upon this subject. the single star (*) indicates a measure which passed one house: a double star (**) a measure which passed both houses. = . president buchanan's message. [§ .]= = , dec. .= paragraph on the return of fugitive slaves: _senate journal, cong. sess., ._ = . cochrane's joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= to amend the constitution, for the return of fugitives: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . morris's resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= to amend the fugitive slave law: _house journal, cong. sess. ; cong. globe, ._ = . leake's joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= amendment to the constitution: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . cox's resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= to amend the fugitive slave law: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . stevenson's resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= to amend the fugitive slave law: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . niblack's resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= to amend the fugitive slave law: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . english's joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= amendment to the constitution on the return of fugitives: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . mcclernand's joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= amendment to the constitution, on fugitive slaves: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . hindman's joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= amendment to the constitution for the enforcement of the fugitive slave law: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . kilgore's resolution. [§ ]= = , dec. .= to amend the fugitive slave law: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong globe, ._ = . johnson's joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= amendment to the constitution for the return of fugitive slaves: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . crittenden's joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= amendment to the constitution for payment for fugitive slaves: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . douglas's joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= amendment to the constitution for payment for fugitive slaves: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . florence's joint resolution.= = , jan. .= amendment to the constitution for payment for fugitive slaves: _cong. globe, cong sess., ._ = . morris's joint resolution.= = , jan. .= amendment to the constitution on the return of fugitive slaves: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . douglas's bill to amend the fugitive slave laws. [§ .]= = , jan. .= introduced: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . florence's joint resolution.= = , jan. .= amendment to the constitution against the obstruction of the fugitive slave law by states: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . kellogg's joint resolution.= = , feb. .= amendment to the constitution on the power of congress over fugitive slaves: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . kellogg's joint resolution.= = , feb. .= same as above: _cong. globe, cong. sess, ._ = . kellogg's joint resolution.= = , feb. .= similar to above: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . peace convention amendment to the constitution. [§ .]= = , feb. .= reported by select committee: _senate journal, cong. sess., , ; cong. globe, ._ = . clarence's joint resolution.= = , feb. .= amendment to the constitution for payment for fugitive slaves: _cong. globe, cong sess., ._ = . crittenden's joint resolution.= = , feb. .= amendment to the constitution on the power of the states over fugitive slaves, etc.: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ =* . compromise bill to amend the fugitive slave act. [§ .]= = , mar. .= bill reported by the select committee of thirty-three for the amendment of the act for the rendition of fugitives from labor: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=mar. .= vallandigham's amendment to the above: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=mar. .= bill passed the house: _cong. globe, cong. sess., , ._----=mar. .= bill read in the senate: _cong. globe, , cong. sess., ._ = . pugh's joint resolution.= = , mar. .= amendment to the constitution on the return of fugitive slaves: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . johnson's joint resolution on the return of fugitives.= = , mar. .= amendment to the constitution: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . powell's joint resolution on the return of fugitive slaves.= = , mar. .= amendment to the constitution: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . lovejoy's resolution against the return of fugitives by the army. [§ .]= = , july .= introduced: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . trumbull's confiscation bill. [§ .]= = , july .= introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =** . chandler's confiscation act. [§ .]= = , july .= introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=july .= trumbull's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=july .= passed the senate (yeas and nays not given): _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=july .= senate bill introduced into the house and referred: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=aug. .= reported with amendment in the house: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=aug. .= committee amendments: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=aug .= passed the house (yeas , nays ): _house journal, cong sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=aug .= passed the senate as amended in the house: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=aug. .= bill signed by the president: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . wilson's joint resolution for discharge of fugitives from the washington jail. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and referred: _senate journal, cong, sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =* . wilson's resolution on repeal of the black code in the district of columbia. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and agreed to: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =* . clark's resolution on persons in washington jail.= = , dec. .= introduced and agreed to: _senate journal, cong sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . lovejoy's bill to prevent return by the army. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =* . sumner's resolution on army orders relating to fugitive slaves.= = , dec. .= introduced and agreed to: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . trumbull's confiscation bill.= = , dec .= introduced and read twice: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =* . fessenden's resolution on the washington jail. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced: _house journal, cong sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=dec. .= aldrich's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=dec. .= lovejoy's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=dec. .= passed as amended: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . bingham's resolution on the washington jail. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and referred: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . morrill's confiscation joint resolution. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and referred: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =* . hale's resolution on the slaves of rebels. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and agreed to: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . wilson's bill for emancipation in the district of columbia. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and read twice: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=dec. .= referred: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ [see no. .]. =* . sumner's resolution against the surrender of fugitives by the army. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and agreed to: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . lovejoy's confiscation and emancipation resolution. [§§ , .]= = , dec. .= introduced and laid on the table: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =* . julian's resolution to amend the fugitive slave law. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and adopted: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . shank's resolution on the return of fugitives by the army. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced and referred: _house journal, cong. sess., , ; cong globe, , ._ =* . wilson's resolution for articles of war. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=dec. .= adopted: _senate journal, cong. sess., , ; cong. globe, , ._ = . wilson's bill on the arrest of fugitives by the officers of the army and navy. [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, , ._----= , jan. .= committee amendments: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no .] = . howe's bill for repeal of the fugitive slave act of . [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . davis's confiscation bill.= = , dec. .= introduced and referred: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =** . grimes's act on criminal justice in the district of columbia [§ .]= = , dec. .= introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----= , jan. .= reported: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=jan. .= committee amendments: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=jan. .= powell's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., , ; cong. globe, , ._----=jan. .= pearce's two amendments: _senate journal. cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=jan. .= ten eyck's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=jan. .= harlan's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=jan. .= clark's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=jan .= saulsbury's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=jan. .= clark's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=jan. .= passed the senate (yeas , nays ): _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . trumbull's bill for the confiscation of property of rebels and to free the slaves of rebels. [§ .]= = , jan. .= reported from the senate committee on judiciary: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no. .] = . amendments to wilson's bill on army and navy officers. [§ .]= = , jan .= [see no. .] collamer's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=jan. .= saulsbury's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=jan. .= rice's amendment to saulsbury's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . wilson's district of columbia bill. [§ .]= = , feb .= [see no. .] reported: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ =* . wilson's resolution on the management of the washington jail.= = , feb. .= introduced and agreed to: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . wilson's bill to repeal the black code in the district of columbia. [§ .]= = , feb. .= introduced and referred: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . amendments to the confiscation bill. [§ .]= = , feb. .= [see no. .] trumbull's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=feb. .= sumner's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=feb. .= davis's substitute: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ [see no. .] =** . blair's act prohibiting return by the army. [§ .]= = , feb. .= introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=feb. .= bingham's amendment: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=feb. .= passed the house (yeas , nays ): _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=mar. .= in the senate; davis's amendment: _senate journal, cong, sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=mar. .= saulsbury's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=mar. .= macdougall's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=mar. .= saulsbury's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe cong. sess., ._----=mar. .= passed the senate (yeas , nays ): _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=mar. .= approved by the president: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . harris's confiscation bill. [§ ]= = , mar. .= introduced and referred: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no. .] = . report of house judiciary committee on confiscation.= = , mar. = adverse to all bills referred by the house: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ [see no. ] = . wilson's resolution on the return of fugitives by the army and navy.= = , apr. .= introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no. .] =* . bill for the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia. [§ .]= = , apr. .= passed the senate: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ [see no. ] = . sherman's amendment to harris's confiscation bill.= = , apr. .= [see no. .] introduced: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ [see no. .] = . wilson's bill to amend the fugitive slave act. [§ .]= = , apr. = introduced: _senate journal, cong sess., , cong. globe, ._----=apr. .= harris's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess, ._----=apr. .= grimes's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess, , ; cong. globe, ._ =* . bill for the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia. [§ .]= = , apr. .= [see no. .] passed the house: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ approved by the president. = . lovejoy's bill on return of fugitives by the army. [§ .]= = , apr. .= reported adversely from the committee on judiciary in the house: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . harris's confiscation bill. [§ .]= = , apr. .= [see no. .] reported from the senate committee on judiciary: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=apr. .= walton's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=apr. .= porter's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, , ._----=apr. .= bingham's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=apr. .= collamer's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., , ._----=apr. .= motion to recommit: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, , ._ [see no. .] = . house confiscation bill. [§ .]= = , apr. .= a select committee raised in the house: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, , ._ = . eliot's confiscation and emancipation bill. [§ .]= = , apr. .= introduced: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no. .] = . saulsbury's amendment of wilson's resolution.= = , may .= [see no. .] introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . harris's confiscation bill recommitted. [§ .]= = , may .= [see no. .] wilson's amendment of collamer's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=may .= final vote: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong globe, , ._ = . clark's confiscation bill. [§ .]= = , may .= reported: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=may .= discussed but not acted upon: _cong. globe, cong. sess., , , , ._ = . confiscation and emancipation bill. [§ .]= = , may .= [see no. .] reported in the house: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no. .] = . sumner's resolution on fugitive slaves.= = , may .= introduced: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=may .= grimes's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=may .= walton's emancipation bill amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., , ._ = . emancipation bill.= = , june .= [see no. .] recommitted: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no. .] = . julian's bill to repeal the fugitive slave act. [§ .]= = , june .= introduced with a resolution: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . colfax's resolution demanding trial by jury for fugitives.= = , june .= introduced: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ =* . bill for emancipation of fugitives from disloyal masters. [§ .]= = , june .= [see no. .] reported in the house: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=june .= eliot's substitute: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=june .= emancipation bill passed the house (yeas , nays ): _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=june .= clark's senate amendment to eliot's substitute: _cong. globe, cong. sess., , ._----=june .= trumbull's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., , ._ =** . progress of the confiscation bill. [§ .]= = , june .= passed the senate (yeas , nays ): _senate journal, cong. sess., ._----=july .= report of conference committee adopted by the house: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=july .= report of conference committee adopted by the senate: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=july .= approved by the president: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._ = . bills for the repeal of the fugitive slave act. [§§ - .]= = , feb. .= ten eyck's report on wilson's repeal bill: _cong. globe, cong. sess._----=dec. .= stevens's repeal bill: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=dec. .= julian's repeal bill: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=dec. .= ashley's repeal bill: _house journal, cong sess., ; cong. globe, ._----= , feb .= sumner's repeal bill: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=feb. .= spalding's repeal bill: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=feb. .= sumner's bill reported: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no. ] = . saulsbury's substitute on the validity of personal liberty laws in the states, etc.= = , apr. .= joint resolution for an amendment to the constitution: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ = . discussion of the repeal of the fugitive slave law. [§ .]= = , apr. .= [see no. .] sherman's amendment: _senate journal, cong sess., ; cong. globe, , ._----=apr. .= henderson's amendment to sherman's amendment: _cong. globe, cong. sess., ._----=apr. .= saulsbury's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., , ; cong. globe, , ._----=apr. .= hale's amendment to saulsbury's amendment: _senate journal, cong sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=apr. .= howard's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._ [see no. .] =** . act repealing the fugitive slave acts. [§§ - .]= = , june .= [see no. .] hubbard's repeal resolution: _house journal, cong. sess., ._----=june .= house substitute for repeal bill, reported by the committee on judiciary: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=june .= passed house (yeas , nays ): _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=june .= referred in the senate: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=june .= saulsbury's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=june .= johnson's amendment: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong. globe, ._----=june .= passed the senate: _senate journal, cong. sess., ; cong globe, ._----=june .= signed by the president: _house journal, cong. sess., ; cong globe, ._ appendix d. _list of important fugitive slave cases._ no attempt has been made to present a full list of cases, but only such as had especial influence on the public mind, or such as illustrate some special phase of the question. = . new netherlands and hartford controversy. [§ .]= = .= escapes from both colonies: _winthrop, history of new england, ; moore, notes on history of slavery in massachusetts, ; doyle, english in america, i. ._ = . escape to manhattan. [§ .]= = .= four men escaped from new amsterdam: _new york colonial manuscripts, xiii. ; documentary history of n. y. colony, ii. (ch. i. p. )._ = . escape of white servants to cape may. [§ .]= = .= virginian white colonists escape: _new york colonial manuscripts, xiii. ._ = . escape to the indians. [§ .]= the negro servants of the governor of virginia: _new york colonial manuscripts, ii. ._ = . escape from english to french. [§ .]= = .= negro servant escapes from english to canada: _new york colonial manuscripts, x. ._ = . crispus attucks. [§ .]= = , oct.= escaped from framingham, mass.: _boston gazette, oct. , ; liberator, mar. , ; nineteenth anniversary of boston massacre, w. c. neil, address; williams, history of the negro race in america, i. ._ = . glasgow. [§ .]= slave freed in glasgow: _mass. historical society collections, third series, ix. ._ = . shanley v. haney. [§ .]= = .= slave freed in england: _quincy, reports of cases, ._ = . somersett case. [§ .]= = .= england will not return a fugitive slave: _moore, slavery in mass., ; cobb, historical sketch of slavery, ; goodell, slavery and antislavery, - ; hurd, law of freedom and bondage, i. - ; broom, constitutional law, - ; howells, state trials, xx. ; tasswell-langmead, english constitutional history, , n._ = . ship friendship, case of. [§ .]= = .= harbored a slave: _moore, slavery in mass., ._ = . john. [§ .]= = .= free negro kidnapped in pennsylvania: _am. state papers, i. ; cong. globe, cong. sess., appendix, ._ = . quincy's case. [§ .]= = .= first case in boston after : _edw. c. learned, speech on the new fugitive slave law, chicago, oct. , ; whittier, prose works, , , a chapter of history; goodell, slavery and antislavery, ; boston atlas, oct. , ._ = . washington's slave. [§ .]= = , oct.= president washington demanded a slave from portsmouth, n. h.: _magazine of american history, dec., , p. ; charles sumner, works, iii. ._ = . north carolina fugitives. [§ .]= = .= _annals of congress, - , p. , - , p. ._ = . columbia case.= = .= general boude defends a runaway: _smedley, underground railroad, ._ = . solomon northup. [§ .]= = .= kidnapping at saratoga, n. y.: _solomon northrup, autobiography._ = . williams case.= = .= claimed as a fugitive in philadelphia: _greeley, american conflict, i. ._ = . prigg case. [§ .]= = .= _ peters, ; report of case of edward prigg, supreme court, pennsylvania; cobb, historical sketch of slavery; bledsoe, liberty and slavery, ; clarke, antislavery days, ; hurd, law of freedom and bondage, ii. - ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, i. - ; von holst, constitutional history, iii. - ._ = . kidnapping of jones. [§ .]= = .= kidnapping in new jersey: _liberator, aug. , ._ = . chickasaw rescue. [§ .]= = .= rescue of two colored women on brig chickasaw: _liberator, aug. , ._ = . schooner boston case. [§ .]= = .= georgia and maine controversy: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, i. ; niles's register, liii. , , lv. ; senate journal, - , pp. - ; senate doc., cong. sess., vol. v. doc. ._ = . philadelphia. [§ .]= = .= attempted rescue: _liberator, march , ._ = . escape of douglass. [§§ , .]= = .= escape of frederick douglass: _life and times of douglass; williams, negro race in america, ii. , ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, i. , ._ = . isaac gansey case. [§ .]= = .= virginia and new york controversy: _u. s. gazette, case of isaac, judge hopkinson's speech; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, i. ; seward, works, ii. - ; von holst, constitutional history, ii. - ; senate documents, cong. sess., vol. ii. doc. ._ = . van zandt case. [§ .]= = .= prosecution for aiding escape: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, i. ; t. r. cobb, historical sketch of slavery, ._ = . oberlin case. [§ .]= = (about).= _liberator, may , ._ = . thompson case.= = , july.= prosecution for aiding escapes: _thompson, prison life and reflections; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; goodell, slavery and antislavery, ._ = . latimer case. [§ .]= = .= famous fugitive slave case, boston: _liberator, oct. , nov. , nov. , , feb. , , , , and aug. , ; law reporter, latimer case; eleventh annual report of mass. antislavery society; mass. house journal, , pp. , ; mass. senate journal, , p. ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, i. ._ = . goin case.= = .= attempted seizure of fugitive: _liberator, april , ._ = . thomas case.= = .= seizure in marietta, penn.: _liberator, june , ._ = . walker case. [§ .]= = .= prosecution for aiding escapes: _trial and imprisonment of jonathan walker, liberator, aug. , , sept. , , oct. , , and dec. , , aug. , , and july , ._ = . smithburg.= = .= battle between whites and ten runaways: _liberator, june , ._ = . kirk case.= =between and .= unsuccessful attempt to capture george kirk in new york: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; supplement to new york legal observer, containing report of case, boston public library._ = . brig ottoman. [§ .]= = .= unsuccessful attempt to rescue slave on brig: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ._ = . kennedy case. [§ .]= = .= riot in carlisle, penn.: _liberator, sept. , , ; congressional globe, - , pp. , , ._ = . slaves on board brazilian ship.= = .= attempt to rescue: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; liberator, aug. , ._ = . ohio and kentucky controversy. [§ ]= = .= controversy on account of extradition demanded: _liberator, july , ._ = . south bend case.= = , oct. .= fugitives discharged on trial in michigan: _south bend fugitive slave case._ = . brig wm. purrington.= = .= escape from: _liberator, dec. , ._ = . drayton and sayres. [§ .]= = .= prosecution for aiding escapes: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ._ = . crafts escape. [§ .]= = .= escape of william and ellen crafts: _liberator, nov. , ; still, underground railroad, ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ._ = . washington case. [§ .]= between = - := _liberator, may , ._ = . hamlet case. [§ .]= = .= rendition in n. y.: _fugitive slave bill, its history and unconstitutionality, with an account of the seizure of james hamlet, ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ._ = . gannett case.= = , oct. .= alleged fugitive discharged in philadelphia: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, ._ = . gibson case.= = , dec. .= rendition of an innocent man: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, ; still, underground railroad, ._ = . case in pennsylvania.= = , jan.= house of colored man entered by force: _liberator, jan. , ._ = . sims case. [§ .]= = .= rendition in boston: _liberator, april and , ; daily morning chronicle, april , ; twentieth annual report of mass. antislavery society, , p. ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; new england magazine, june, ; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, ; trial of sims, arguments by r. rantoul, jr. and c. g. loring; c. f. adams, richard henry dana, i. - ._ = . shadrach case. [§ .]= = , feb.= rendition in boston: _liberator, feb. , may , ; cong. globe, cong. sess., appendix, , , ; von holst, iii. ; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; new england magazine, may, ; boston traveller, feb. , ; boston courier, feb. , ; washington national era, feb. , ; statesman's manual, iii. ._ = . christiana case. [§ .]= = , sept.= riot in christiana: _parker's account, the freedman's story, t. w. higginson, atlantic monthly, feb. and march, ; u. s. v. hanway, treason, ; smedley, underground railroad, , , , ; may, fugitive slave law, ; lunsford lane, ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; history of the trial of castner hanway and others for treason; n. y. tribune, sept. , , and nov. to dec. ; greeley, american conflict, i. ; national antislavery standard, sept. , ; lowell journal, sept , ; boston daily traveller, sept. , ; still, underground railroad, ._ = . miller. [§ .]= = , nov.= mr. miller murdered: _liberator, feb. , ; lunsford lane, ; may, fugitive slave law, ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ._ = . jerry case. [§ .]= = , oct.= rescue in syracuse, n. y.: _liberator, oct. to , ; life of gerrit smith, ; trial of h. w. allen, ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ._ = . parker rescue.= = , dec. .= rescue by mr. miller: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, ; liberator, , feb. ; lunsford lane, ._ = . brig florence.= = .= rescue of slave on board by mr. bearse: _bearse, reminiscences of fugitive slave days in boston, ._ = . lewis case.= = .= escape of lewis from trial: _liberator, oct. , ._ = . glover case.= = .= joshua glover rescued by a mob at milwaukee: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ; liberator, april , , ._ = . bath.= = .= escape to canada from ship from florida: _liberator, oct. , ._ = . burns case. [§ .]= = .= rendition in boston: _liberator, may, june, , aug. , ; kidnapping of burns, scrapbook collected by theo. parker; personal statement of mr. elbridge sprague, n. abington; accounts in boston journal, may , , ; daily advertiser, may , , june , , july ; traveller, may , , june , , , , july , , oct. , nov. , dec. , , , april , , , , ; evening gazette, may , ; worcester spy, may ; argument of mr. r. h. dana; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, ; clarke, antislavery days, ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; stevens, history of anthony burns; greeley, american conflict i. ; new york tribune, may , ; liberator, june , , , ; von holst vi. ; garrisons' garrison, ii. , iii. ; c. f. adams, dana, i. - ._ = . garner. [§ ]= = .= rendition of a family in ohio: _liberator, feb. , , , ; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, ; lunsford lane, ; greeley, american conflict, i. , lalor's cyclopædia, i. ; wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. , ._ = . williamson case.= = , jan.= prosecution for aiding fugitives: _wilson, rise and fall of the slave power, ii. ; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, , ; annual report of american antislavery society, n. y., may , , p. ; narrative of the facts in the case of passmore williamson, penn. antislavery society._ = . johnson case.= = , july .= rescue of slave on ship from mobile: _liberator, july , ._ = . gatchell case.= = , jan.= rendition of philip young: _chambers, slavery and color; fugitive slave law, appendix, ._ = . oberlin-wellington case. [§ ]= = .= rescue at wellington: _liberator, jan. , april , may , june , june , ; shepherd, oberlin-wellington rescue; lunsford lane, ; anglo-african magazine (oberlin-wellington rescue), ; may, fugitive slave law and its victims, ._ = . john brown's raid. [§ .]= = .= raid in missouri: _sanborn, life and letters of john brown, ; von holst, john brown, ._ = . nalle case.= = , april .= rescue of charles nalle by a mob: _bradford, harriet, the moses of her people, appendix, ; liberator, may , ._ = . anderson case. [§ .]= = .= extradition case between u. s. and canada: _liberator, dec. , ; pamphlets on anderson case, boston public library; life of gerrit smith, ; liberator, jan. , ._ = . wisdom case. [§ .]= = .= rendition by army officers: _liberator, july , ._ = . major sherwood's servant. [§ .]= = .= rendition ordered in army: _liberator, july , ._ = . norfolk case.= = .= kidnapping by n. y. volunteers: _liberator, march , ._ = . archer alexander.= = .= fugitive during the war: _archer alexander._ appendix e. _bibliography of fugitive slave cases and fugitive slave legislation._ . sources of information. . libraries. . secondary works. . biographies. . original sources. . slave autobiographies. . records of trials. . speeches. . reminiscences. . reports of societies. . periodicals and newspapers. . materials bearing on legislation. . alphabetical list of works. = . sources of information.= there are many sources from which material for a study of fugitive slaves may be gathered. almost any work upon the slavery question touches sooner or later upon this topic, and the difficulties arise rather from the amount of the literature which must be examined than from lack of information. no formal bibliography of the subject, or of any phase of it, has been found; it has therefore been necessary to go through a large body of material, and to sift out references which bear upon the subject. = . libraries.= the labor has been much facilitated by the completeness and convenient arrangement of the literature bearing upon slavery in the libraries of cambridge and boston. the harvard college library possesses two unique collections of slavery pamphlets, one the bequest of charles sumner, the other the gift of colonel t. w. higginson; and the card catalogue of the library is a comprehensive guide to a large alcove of other books. the great collections of the boston public library have also been made accessible by the full card catalogue of that library. the boston athenæum has also furnished valuable material; and in the massachusetts state library is an excellent set of state statutes, which has been freely used. i have not been able to consult the antislavery collection of the cornell library at ithaca. = . secondary works.= the material upon fugitive slaves, as upon any topic, may be divided into two classes, secondary and original. the general and local histories which come under the first class have been of good service as guides to further investigation. _the rise and fall of the slave power in america_, by _henry wilson_, takes up the whole question of slavery in a thorough manner, and devotes special attention to the debates in congress. though long and ill-arranged, it is comprehensive and trustworthy. unfortunately, the work is not provided with foot-notes. _williams's history of the negro race_, and _greeley's american conflict_, are other surveys of the whole subject. for a discussion of political forces and constitutional questions, _von holst_ is the best authority, while _hurd_, besides enumerating the statutes from colonial times down, considers the subject with great clearness from a judicial point of view, describes many cases, and in foot-notes gives references to others. studies of colonial slavery are found in _lodge's english colonies in america_ and _doyle's english in america_. several special essays have been printed on slavery in massachusetts; _deane's_ and _moore's notes on slavery_, and _washburn's extinction of slavery in massachusetts_. little attention is in any of these works given to fugitive slaves. to another class belong books descriptive of the institution of slavery. _mrs. frances kemble_ wrote about life on a southern plantation before the war, and the _cotton kingdom_ and other volumes by _frederick law olmsted_ give many interesting details, and furnished me with much material for the chapter on fugitives and their friends. = . biographies.= biographies of antislavery men are likely to contain information on fugitive slave cases. the _life of isaac t. hopper_ is full of accounts of his ways of aiding flight, and for the same reason the _life of gerrit smith_ is exceedingly interesting. birney's _life of james g. birney_ deals little with fugitives. the biographies of mrs. lydia maria child, arthur and lewis tappan, john brown, garrison, phillips, and the grimké sisters, may also be mentioned. others, like those of jonathan walker, l. w. paine, daniel drayton, captain of the schooner pearl, w. l. chaplin, work, burr, and thompson, and the recently published _life of rev. calvin colman_, relate simply the stories of trials and imprisonments for aiding fugitives, and are often more in the nature of original than secondary sources. = . original sources.= very early in the preparation of this work it became evident that no writer had systematically examined and compared the legislation of the colonies and states, or searched the records of congress, or looked for contemporary accounts of any considerable number of escapes. i was therefore obliged to search for such original material as was within my reach. doubtless some important books and pamphlets have escaped me, and an examination of other collections would enlarge the bibliography; but the effort has been made to exhaust the literature of the subject, except in newspapers. = . slave autobiographies.= out of the great variety of original sources containing descriptions of slave life and escapes, the autobiographies of the slaves themselves are the most interesting, and often the saddest. the rev. james freeman clarke says, in his antislavery days: "even now, when it is all over, the flesh creeps and the blood curdles in the veins at the accounts of the dreadful cruelties practised on slaves in many parts of the south. i would advise no one to read such histories to-day unless his nerves are very well strung." _frederick douglass_ has given us two books, one written before slavery was abolished, and a fuller account afterward, when it was no longer imprudent to reveal the whole story of his escape. many of these lives were published by antislavery people, who wished by such means to rouse the north. such are the stories of _box brown_, _peter still_, _archy moore_, _solomon northrup_, _lunsford lane_, and others, most of which have been quoted above. = . records of trials.= much descriptive detail can often be found in the published reports of trials. a volume is devoted to the oberlin-wellington case, and several volumes have been published on the burns trial. for the prigg and hanway cases, and others of importance, the records of the supreme court and lower courts have been consulted. most of the important cases were tried in state courts or before commissioners, and the only reports are fugitive pamphlets, of which many have been consulted and cited. = . speeches.= in the study of public sentiment and for the weighing of argument the speeches of _phillips_, _sumner_, _seward_, _giddings_, _webster_, _mann_, _rantoul_, _loring_, and others, are of the greatest value. they often throw light upon obscure cases, and the fugitive slave stories brought in as illustrations have sometimes led to the discovery of interesting and forgotten cases. = . reminiscences.= a valuable aid in reconstructing in the mind the conditions of the slavery struggle are the reminiscences of participants. _rev. james freeman clarke's antislavery days_ and _mr. parker pillsbury's_ book have been helpful in these chapters. a pamphlet by _mr. austin bearse_ describes the fugitive slave laws in boston, and relates the work of the vigilance committee in protecting escaped negroes. the books of _still_, _smedley_, and _coffin_, on the workings of the underground railroad, are composed chiefly of reminiscences, and have furnished many essential facts. = . reports of societies.= the reports of the various antislavery societies, especially of those of massachusetts and pennsylvania, have also been examined with profit as to the work among the refugees in canada, etc. for the colonial period the publications of the massachusetts and new york historical societies are exceedingly important, and have been freely drawn upon. = . periodicals and newspapers.= not much has been gathered from periodicals. _poole's index_ was used and occasionally something of importance was discovered. thus _the freedman's story_ in the _atlantic monthly_ has furnished one of the most striking of the stories about resistance to escapes. such articles are few, and occur long after the slavery period, when such disclosures were no longer unpopular. _the magazine of american history_ contains several articles. among newspapers, the _liberator_ is without doubt the most complete record of the extreme antislavery sentiment toward the fugitive slave laws and their workings. each case as it occurs is fully commented upon, and in addition there is each week a column or two of atrocities, and among them stories of fugitives are often given. the harvard college library contains a complete file, which i have examined; and references to the liberator are therefore frequent throughout the work. the colonial newspapers are of little value, except for the conclusions which may be drawn from the advertisements for runaways. newspapers of that time were so limited in scope, that an affair so unimportant to them as a fugitive slave case would scarcely appear. = . materials bearing on legislation.= the materials for the study of colonial legislation must be gathered from many sources. the best collection of them in boston may be found at the state library. in some colonies there are carefully edited series of volumes chronologically arranged, but in others the records have been but irregularly printed. the laws of new netherlands and of early new york are easily accessible in well printed volumes of a recent date. for the southern states, the hening edition of the virginia statutes at large is clear, and covers a long period. there is also the cooper collection for south carolina, bacon's series for maryland, iredell's edition of south carolina statutes, and leaming and spicer for new jersey. there are of course many others, but these comprise the most important. from the beginning of the constitutional period, the proceedings of congress may be followed as minutely as desired. an outline of the proceedings is given in the journals of the senate and house, while for a fuller account and reports of speeches the annals of congress and congressional debates to , and the congressional globes from to , furnish ample material. information in regard to the number and personnel of the house is most readily gathered from poore's congressional directory. = . alphabetical list of works.= this list includes all the books and articles which have been of service in preparing the monograph, except a few of the general histories. =adams, charles francis, jr.= richard henry dana: a biography. vols. boston, . =allen, h. w.= trial of u. s. deputy marshal for kidnapping, etc. syracuse, . =amherstburg quarterly mission journal=, amherstburg, canada west. =antislavery almanacs=, miscellaneous collection of, in the library of harvard college. =antislavery pamphlets=, miscellaneous collection of, unsuitable for binding, in the library of harvard college. =antislavery societies=, annual reports of. =ball, j. p.= mammoth pictorial tour of the united states, compiled for a panorama. cincinnati, . =bayard, james.= a brief exposition of the constitution of the united states. philadelphia, . =bearse, anthony.= remembrances of fugitive slave law days in boston. boston, . pp. . =birney, j. g.= examination of the decision of the supreme court of the united states in the case of strader, gorman, and armstrong _vs._ christopher graham, . cincinnati, . pp. . =bledsoe, albert t.= an essay on liberty and slavery. philadelphia, . pp. . =boston slave riot and trial of anthony burns.= boston, . =bowditch, h. i.= to the public. [defence of his conduct in the case of latimer against the charges of j. b. gray.] boston, . pp. . =bowditch, w. i.= the rendition of anthony burns. boston, . pp. . =----.= the united states constitution a pro-slavery instrument. new york, . pp. . =bowen, c. w.= arthur and lewis tappan, a paper read at the fiftieth anniversary of the new york city antislavery society, oct. , . new york, . (?) pp. . =bowen, f.= fugitive slaves. in _north american review_, lxxi. . (july, .) =brown, w. w.= narrative of a fugitive slave. boston, . pp. . =bump, o. f.= notes of constitutional decisions, being the digest of the provincial interpretations of the constitution of the united states, etc. new york, . =canada mission=, th annual report of. rochester, n. y. =case of william r. chaplin=, etc. boston, . pp. . =chambers, william.= american slavery and color. london, . =chase, s. p.= reclamation of fugitive slaves from service, an argument for the defendant, submitted to the supreme court of the united states at december term, , in case of w. jones _vs._ john van zandt. cincinnati, . pp. . =child, lydia maria.= the duty of disobedience to the fugitive slave act (an appeal to the legislators of mass.). boston, . pp. . =----.= isaac t. hopper (a true life). boston, . pp. . =----.= letters of lydia maria child. boston, . =clarke, james freeman.= antislavery days. new york, . =clarke, lewis and milton=, narrative of the sufferings of, among the slaveholders of kentucky. boston, . pp. . =cobb, t. r.= historical sketch of slavery. philadelphia, . =coffin, l.= (president of underground railroad). reminiscences of a lifetime spent in behalf of the slave. cincinnati, . =constitutional provision, the=, respecting fugitives from justice, and the act of congress, sept. , . boston, . =cooley, thomas m.= the general principles of constitutional law in the united states of america. boston, . pp. . =daggs (ruel)= _vs._ =elihu frazier et als.= fugitive slave case, southern division of iowa. burlington, . pp. . =deane, charles, and moore.= slavery in massachusetts. connecticut, . =desty, robert.= constitution of the united states, with notes by robert desty, etc. san francisco, . =douglass, frederick.= narrative of his life. written by himself. boston, . =----.= life and times of frederick douglass. hartford, - . =drayton, daniel.= personal memoirs of, for four years and four months (a prisoner for charity's sake in washington jail), including narrative of voyage and capture of schooner pearl. new york, . =drew, benjamin.= north side view of slavery, or narrative of a refugee in canada, with an account of the history of the colored population in upper canada. boston, . =eliot, w. g.= the story of archer alexander from slavery to freedom. boston, . =elliott, chas. w.= the new england history, from the discovery of the continent by the northmen, a. d. , to the period when the colonies declared their independence, a. d. . vols. new york, . =friend, by a.= the experiences of thomas jones, who was for forty-three years a slave. boston, . =frothingham, o. b.= life of gerrit smith. a biography. new york, . pp. . =fugitive slave bill= enacted by u. s. congress, and approved by president fillmore, sept. , . boston, . pp. . =fugitive slaves.= in democratic review, xxviii. (april, ). =furness, w. h.= the moving power. a discourse delivered in the first congregational unitarian church in philadelphia, feb. , , after the occurrence of a fugitive slave case. philadelphia, . =garrison, wendell phillips=, and =garrison, francis jackson.= william lloyd garrison, - : the story of his life, told by his children [wendell phillips garrison and francis jackson garrison]. vols., vo. new york, . =giddings, j. r.= the exiles of florida, or crimes committed by our government against maroons who fled from south carolina, etc. columbus, o., . =goodell, william.= views of american constitutional law in its bearings upon american slavery. d ed. utica, n. y., . =goodloe, d. r.= the southern platform, or manual of southern sentiments on the subject of slavery. boston, . =gray, a. f.= (?) letter to w. h. seward touching the surrender of certain fugitives from justice. new york, . =great britain.= british documents, parliament of great britain, correspondence respecting case of fugitive slave anderson. london, . =greeley, horace.= the american conflict; a history of the great rebellion, - ; its moral and political phases, with the drift and progress of america respecting human slavery from . vols., vo. hartford, . =green, william= (formerly a slave), narrative of events in the life of. written by himself. springfield, . pp. . =hawkins, w. g.= lunsford lane, or another helper from north carolina. boston, . =helper, h. r.= the impending crisis in the south, and how to meet it. new york, . pp. . =henson, josiah.= life of j. henson, formerly a slave, now an inhabitant of canada, as narrated by himself. =hildreth, r.= the slave, or memoirs of archy moore. boston, . =hopper, i. t.= thomas cooper. new york, . =hossack, john.= speech of john hossack, convicted of violation of the fugitive slave law, before judge drummond of the united states district court, chicago, ill. new york, . pp. . =howe, s. g.= refugees from the south in canada west. report to freedman's inquiry committee. boston, . =hurd, j. c.= the law of freedom and bondage. vols. new york, , . =----.= topics of jurisprudence connected with the condition of freedom and bondage. new york, . pp. ix, . =hurd, r. c.= treatise on the right of personal liberty, and on the writ of habeas corpus, and practice connected with it, with a view of the law of extradition of fugitives. albany, . =joliffe, john.= in the matter of george gordon's petition for pardon. john joliffe's argument for petitioner. cincinnati, . =kane, judge.= district court of the united states for the eastern district of pennsylvania. united states of america, ex relatione wheeler, _vs._ williamson. opinion of judge kane, oct. , . philadelphia, . pp. . =kemble, frances anne.= journal of a residence on a georgian plantation in - . new york, . =kent, j.= commentaries on american law. vols. boston, . =kidnapping.= _african observer_, may, . =kingsbury, harmon.= the fugitive slave bill, its history and unconstitutionality: with an account of the seizure and enslavement of james hamlet and his subsequent restoration to liberty (with appendix). new york, . =larned, e. c.= argument on the trial of joseph stout, indicted for rescuing a fugitive slave from a united states deputy marshal at ottawa, ill., oct. , , delivered march and , -. chicago, -. pp. . =----.= the new fugitive slave law. speech of e. c. larned, chicago, oct. , . chicago, . =latimer case.= from the _law reporter_, march, . boston, . pp. . =letter= to his excellency, william h. seward, governor of the state of new york, touching the surrender of certain fugitives from justice. new york, . pp. . =lord, j. c.= the higher law in its application to the fugitive slave bill. buffalo, . =madison, james.= the constitution a pro-slavery compact. new york, . =mann, horace.= fugitive slave law. boston, . =massachusetts senate.= various documents. senate, , no. (examination of sims case). =may, s. j.= american antislavery society. the fugitive slave law and its victims. new york, , . =----.= catalogue of antislavery publications in america, - . =moore, g. h.= notes on the history of slavery in massachusetts. new york, . =narrative= of facts in the case of passmore williamson. philadelphia, . =narrative= of solomon northrup, a citizen of new york, kidnapped in washington in , and rescued in from a cotton plantation near red river, louisiana. cincinnati, h. w. derby. =needles, edward.= historical memoir of the pennsylvania society for promoting the abolition of slavery. philadelphia, . =new york court of appeals=, report of the lemmon slave case. new york, . pp. . =new york legal observer=, supplement to, containing report of the case in the matter of george kirk, a fugitive slave, heard before j. w. edmunds, circuit judge; also the argument of john jay, counsel for the slave. new york, . pp. . =oberlin-wellington rescue.= new englander, xvii. . =olmsted, f. l.= the cotton kingdom. vols. new york, . =paine, byron=, and =smith, a. d.= unconstitutionality of the fugitive slave act. argument of a. d. smith. milwaukee, . pp. . =paine, l. w.= six years in a georgia prison. narrative of l. w. paine, who suffered imprisonment for aiding slaves to escape from that state after he had fled from slavery. boston, . =parker, joel.= personal liberty laws (state of massachusetts) and slavery in the territories (case of dred scott). boston, . pp. . =parker, theodore.= anthony burns. [collection made and arranged in the form of a scrap-book by theodore parker, whose autograph and manuscript it contains.] boston public library. =peabody, andrew preston.= [address before the new england historic-genealogical society, may , .] =peabody, e.= narratives of fugitive slaves. _christian examiner_, xlvii. . =phillips, wendell.= argument of wendell phillips, esq., against repeal of the personal liberty laws before the committee of the legislature, tuesday, january , . boston, . =----.= no slave hunting in the old bay state, before committee on federal relations, h. r., thursday, feb. , . boston, . =----.= speech in the house of representatives of massachusetts before the committee on federal relations [against the recapture of fugitive slaves]. boston, . =pickard, mrs. k. e. r.= the kidnapped and the ransomed. personal reflections of peter still and his wife vina after forty years of slavery. syracuse, new york, . =pierce, e. l.= remarks of e. l. pierce before the committee of the legislature of massachusetts on the general statutes relating to personal liberty, at their hearing of feb. , . boston, . =pomeroy, j. n.= an introduction to the constitutional laws of the united states. boston, . =poole, w. f.= sketch of antislavery opinion before year . an essay read before the cincinnati literary club, nov. , . cincinnati, . =randolph, peter=, an emancipated slave. sketches of slave life. boston, . pp. . =rantoul, robert.= speech at lynn, april , , on the fugitive slave law. speech in congress on june , , on the constitutionality of the fugitive slave law. =rendition of fugitive slaves.= acts of and , and decisions of the supreme court sustaining them. the dred scott case. . pp. . =refugees' home society=, report of committee. winsor, . pp. . =report= of the trial of castner hanway for treason, etc. philadelphia, . pp. . =report= of the case of edward prigg against the commonwealth of pennsylvania in superior court. philadelphia, . =roper, moses=, narrative of the adventures and escape of, from american slavery. philadelphia, . pp. . =sergeant, thomas.= on constitutional law. philadelphia, . =seward, w. h.= john van zandt, etc., argument for defendant by w. h. seward. albany, . pp. . =sherman, h.= slavery in the united states; from the establishment of the confederation to the present time. hartford, . pp. . =shipherd, j. r.= history of oberlin-wellington rescue. boston, . =smedley, r. c., m. d.= history of the underground railroad in chester and neighboring counties of pennsylvania. lancaster, pa., . pp. . =smith, gerrit.= argument on the fugitive slave law, june, , on the trial of h. w. allen for kidnapping. syracuse. pp. . no date. =south bend fugitive slave case, the.= (john ames _vs._ l. b. newton.) new york. pp. . =spooner, l.= a defence for fugitive slaves against the acts of congress of feb. , , and sept. , . boston, . pam. =stearns, charles.= narrative of henry box brown, who escaped from slavery enclosed in a box three feet long and two wide. boston, . =stearns, charles.= the "fugitive slave law of the united states." =stevens, c. e.= anthony burns (a fugitive slave). a history. boston, . =still, w.= the underground railroad. philadelphia, . =stroud, g. m.= sketch of laws relative to slavery in the several states of the united states of america. philadelphia, . pp. . =sumner, charles.= fugitive slaves. _brownson_, xi. (october, ). =tappan, arthur.= the life of. new york, . =thomas, b. f.= a few suggestions to a friend upon personal liberty laws and secession (so called), in a letter to a friend. boston, . =thompson, george.= prison life and reflections, narrative of trial, imprisonment, etc. of work, burr, and thompson for aiding slaves to liberty. hartford, . =----.= the negroes' flight from american slavery to british freedom. . pp. . =watson, henry.= narrative of henry watson, a fugitive slave. written by himself. boston, . pp. . =weld, s. d.= american slavery as it is: testimony of thousands of witnesses. new york, . =wesley, rev. j.= the rev. j. w. loguen as a slave and as a freeman. syracuse, new york, . =weston, g. m.= progress of slavery in the united states. washington, . =white slave, the=: or memoirs of a fugitive. boston, . pp. . =whittier, john g.= the writings of john g. whittier. boston, - . vols. mo. =wigham, e.= antislavery cause in america and its martyrs. london, . =wilcox, a.= the powers of the federal government over slavery. baltimore, . pp. . =willey, rev. austin.= history of the antislavery cause in state and nation. portland, . pp. xii, . =williams, george w.= history of the negro race in america. vols. new york, . =wilson, henry.= history of the antislavery measures in the th and th united states congresses. boston, . =----.= history of the rise and fall of the slave power in america. vols. boston, - . =wisconsin supreme court.= unconstitutionality of the fugitive slave act. decision in case of booth and bycraft. milwaukee, . index. abolition, in the d. c., § , c , c ; of the slave trade in the d. c., b . see also antislavery, emancipation. abolitionists, known to slaves, § ; efforts on the underground railroad, § . see also antislavery. acorn, ship, § . act, first fugitive slave, b ; second fugitive slave, b ; grimes, c ; blair, c ; repealing fugitive slave act, c . see also bill. adams, ----, against fugitive slave bill, § . adams, j. q., in treaty of ghent convention, § ; presented petitions, § . advertisement, of runaways, § ; colonial, § ; later, § , § ; of probable place of refuge of an habitual runaway, § . albany, escapes from, § , a . aldrich, amendment, c . alexander, archer, d . alien and sedition acts, absorb attention, § . allen, henry w., tried for kidnapping, § . amendments to the constitution, § . amsterdam, banishes runaway colonists, a . anderson case, § , d . antislavery men, biographies of, e . antislavery reminiscences, e . antislavery sentiment, rise of, § . antislavery societies, character of work, § ; reports of, e . apprentices, fugitive, a , a . arbitration, in creole case, § . army officers, arrests by, § . arrest, negro liable to, § ; by army officers, § . articles of confederation, fugitive slave clause in, § , § , a . articles of war, resolution on, c ; bill for an additional, § . artis, jordan, advertisement of, § . ashley, repeal bill, § , c . athenæum, boston, e . attorneys, to defend fugitives, § ; forbidden to act, § . attucks, crispus, escape of, § , d . badger, on fugitive slave bill, § . bahamas, treatment of fugitives in, § , § . bass, aids s. northrup, § . batchelder, james, death of, § . bath, escape from, d . bell, governor. see ohio. benton resolution, b . bermudas, treatment of fugitives in, § . bill, for a new fugitive slave law, reported, § -§ , § , § ; - ; character of, , § ; principles of, , § -§ ; for amending, § ; on maryland resolutions, § ; douglas's, c ; lovejoy's, c , c ; wilson's, c , c , c , c ; howe's, c ; davis's c , c ; confiscation, c , c , c , c ; abolition, c , c ; harris's, c , c , c ; clark's, c ; julian's, c , c ; emancipation, c , c , c ; repeal, c ; stevens's, c ; ashley's, c ; sumner's, c , c ; spalding's, c ; house substitute, c . see also acts. bingham, ----, on blair bill, § ; resolutions, § , c ; amendments, c , c . black code, in the d. c., resolution on, c ; bill to repeal, c . blair, ----, bill, § ; act, c . blake, ----, introduces repeal bill, § . boston massacre, attucks killed in, § . boston, schooner, case of, § , d . boucher, rev. john, on washington's education, § . bound servants, escape from virginia, § . bourne, ----, appointed on committee, § . bowditch, h. i. see latimer journal. boyle, ----, brigadier general in sherwood case, § . bright, ----, explanatory bill, b . brown, on repeal bill, § . brown, john, in missouri and kansas, § ; plan of, § ; effect of raid, § ; case, d . brown, mary, demands arrest of hamlet, § . browne, william, story of escapes, § . browne, william, a runaway, § . buchanan, james, presidential message of, § , c . burnett, governor, conference with indians, demands slave, § . burns, anthony, arrest and trial, § , d ; use of court-house in his case, § . butler, ----, proposition on fugitive slave clause, § ; on fugitive slave bill, § ; reports fugitive slave bill, b . butler, general b. f., on "contrabands," § . calhoun, resolution, § , b . california, sanctions rendition, § . calvert, appointed on committee, made chairman, § . cape may, escapes to, d . carlisle, fugitive slave case in, § . cases, legal, change in character of, § ; classification of, § ; principle of selection of, § . certificate, evidence for conviction, § . chandler, zachary, introduces confiscation bill, § ; confiscation act, c . chase, s. p., on fugitive slave law, § ; on payments under law of , b ; offers amendments, b . cherokees. see treaty. chickasaws. see treaty. chickasaw case, § , d . christiana case, § , d ; influence traced, § . choctaws. see treaty. clarence, ----, joint resolution, c . clark, ----, reports confiscation bill, § ; substitute, § ; resolution, b ; amendments, c ; c ; confiscation bill, c . clarke, j. f., quoted, § , § , § , § . clay, henry, see gallatin; provision on fugitives, § ; on shadrach case, § , b ; amendment, b . cochrane, joint resolution, c . colfax, schuyler, resolution, c . collamer, ----, amendments, c ; c . colonial regulation, began early, § ; cases, § -§ ; legislation, appendix a. colonists, runaway, a . colony, of fugitives, § . columbia, case in, d . comet case, § . commissioners, of united colonies, complain of fugitives, § ; duty of, § . committee, for a new fugitive slave law, § ; on the fugitive slave law, § -§ , § ; on maryland resolution, § ; to prevent outrages, § ; conference, § ; amendments by, c , c , c ; on judiciary, instructed, § ; report a fugitive slave law, § . compromise, resolution affirming, b ; fugitive slave act, c . conferences, between indians and the governor of new york, § . confiscation, of slaves of rebels, § ; report on, c ; bill, § , § ; amendments, § ; provisions extended, § , § ; presented, § , § ; act approved by president, § ; trumbull's, c , c , c ; chandler's, c ; davis's, c ; coupled with emancipation, c , c , c ; amendments to, c , c , c ; harris's, c , c , c , c ; clark's, c ; progress of, c ; morrill's joint resolution, c . congress, action of, from to , § . connecticut, legislation in, § ; in the new england confederation, § ; offers reward, § ; emancipation in, § ; personal liberty laws in, § , § , § ; servants in, a ; against runaways, a , a , a . constitution, fugitive slave clause in, § , b ; defended slavery, § ; amendments proposed, c . constitutional convention, fugitive question in, § . contrabands, origin of term, § . convention, in treaty of ghent, § . see also constitutional convention. conviction of a fugitive, evidence necessary, § . cooledge, n., in latimer case, § . court, commissioners, how chosen, § . see also conviction, trials. court-house assaulted, § . cowden, colonel, in wisdom case, § . cox, ----, resolution, c ; on repeal bill, § . crafts, william and lucy, escape of, § , d . creek indians, escapes to, § ; treaty with, § ; restoration clause in treaty, b . creole, case of, § . crittenden, joint resolution, c , c . curtis, commissioner, § . curtis, judge, trial of, § . dagget amendment, § , b . dana, r. h., defends burns, § . daniel, offered for sale, § . davis, amendment, b ; bill, c ; substitute bill, c ; amendments, c . davis, charles g., in shadrach case, § . dayton amendment, b . debate, on fugitive slave clause in the constitution, § ; on fugitive slave bill, § -§ ; on the slave trade, § ; on the fugitive slave act, § , § ; on the admission of missouri, § ; on slavery in the d. c., § ; on the fugitive slave law of , § , § . de bere, john, in shadrach case, § . delaware, regulation of servants and slaves, a . delawares, fugitive slave clause in treaty, b . diggs, s. t. p., in anderson case, § . dismal swamp, refuge for fugitive, § . district of columbia, slavery in, § ; repeal of jail laws in, § , § ; grimes's bill, § , § ; debate on abolition of slavery in, § ; resolution on repeal of the black code in, c ; bill for emancipation in, c ; act on criminal justice in, c ; bill, c ; bill to repeal black code in, c ; bill for the abolition of slavery in, c , c . drayton, ----, captain, aids fugitives, § . drayton and sayres, case of, § , d . douglass, frederick, method of escape, § , § , d . douglas, stephen a., joint resolution, c . dutch colonies, along the coast, § ; regulations on fugitives, § , § ; legislation in, § . see also new amsterdam, new netherlands. east jersey, against fugitives, § , a ; against runaways, a . eldridge, captain, of brig chickasaw, § . eliot, ----, introduces confiscation bill, § ; bill, c ; substitute bill, c . elton, governor, action in fugitive slave case, § . emancipation, in great britain, § ; resolutions on, § ; in the district of columbia, c ; bill, c ; coupled with confiscation, c , c , c ; of fugitives from disloyal masters, bill for, c . emancipation proclamation, effect of, as a war measure, § . encomium, case of, § . england. see great britain. english, ----, joint resolution, c . english colonies, § . see colonies. enterprise, case of, § . escape, by ferries, § ; methods of investigation of, § ; methods of, § ; motives for, § ; to the woods, § ; to the north, § ; by laundry work, § ; by coach, § ; by passports, § ; general effect of, § ; from english to french, d . see also fugitives, runaways. extradition, no system of, in the colonies, § . false testimony, punished, § . faneuil hall, mass meetings in, § , § . fee, of commissioners, § . felons, runaway apprentices, a . felony, when guilty of, § . ferries, escapes by, § . fessenden, ----, requests investigation of the district of columbia jail, § , c . fitch, ----, resolutions affirming the compromise, b . florence, ----, joint resolutions, c , c . florida, escapes to, § ; seminole trouble in, § . fortress monroe, contrabands at, § . free negroes, penalty for harboring fugitives, § ; condition of, § . free states, difficulty of transporting slaves across, § . french colonies, interval of unpopulated country south, § ; refuse to return fugitives, § . friendship, ship, case of, § , d . frontiers, places of refuge, § . fugitive apprentices, act applies to, § . see also servants. fugitives, evidence to convict, § ; status on the high seas, § ; penalty for harboring, § , a ; pursuit interfered with, ; length of journeys, § ; disguised as whites, § ; how conducted on the underground railroad, § ; in loyal slave states, § ; typical cases of, during the war, § ; arrests of, by civil officers, advertisement of, § ; entertainment of, a ; against, a , a ; resolution for the discharge of, c ; bill to prevent return of, c ; resolution against the return of, c , c ; bill on the arrest of, by army and navy officers, c ; act to prohibit return by the army, c ; resolution on the return of, by the army and navy, bill on the return of, by the army, resolution demanding trial by jury for, c , c , c ; bill for the emancipation of fugitives from disloyal masters, c . see also runaways, escapes; see table of contents. fugitive slaves, appeal for, § ; status of question from to , § , § ; resolutions on, § ; question discussed, § ; arrest by army officers, § ; resolutions on the return of, resolution on army orders on, c , c ; resolution on, c ; sources of information on, general histories of, e , e ; secondary sources of information on, original sources of information on, autobiographies of, records of trials of, periodicals and newspapers upon, e , e , e , e , e ; materials for study of legislation upon, e . see also escapes, fugitives, runaways, and table of contents. fugitive slave act, first ( ), § , § ; first called for, § ; necessity of the act, § ; passed the senate, passed the house, § ; signed by the president, § ; text, b ; followed earlier examples, § , § ; status of opinion on, § ; remained inoperative, § , § ; to enforce the, b . fugitive slave act, second ( ), attempts to secure, § , § ; secured, § ; introduced by mason, § , b ; webster proposes, b ; substitute offered, b ; passed congress, § ; necessity of, urged, § ; arguments for, § ; arguments against, § ; provisions of, § ; text of, b ; unpopularity of, § ; no moral foundation, § ; declared unconstitutional, § ; non-execution of, § ; resolution to amend, c . fugitive slave acts repealed ( ), repeal urged, § ; status of, § ; early propositions, § ; discussion, § ; repeal bill, § ; passed, § ; repeal bill discussed, § ; bill to amend, c ; repeal bills, c , c , c , c ; repeal bill passes, § ; text of, § , c . fugitive slave bill of , passed the house, § , § ; title of, § ; failure in the senate, § . fugitive slave cases. see table of contents. fugitive slave clause, in the new england articles of confederation, § ; in the constitution, § -§ ; in the treaty of ghent, § , b . fugitive slave controversy, educating effect of, recapitulation of, § . fugitive slave legislation, opposed by northern states, § ; inadequacy of, proved, § ; necessity of more stringent, § ; proposition for new, § ; must be carried out, § ; new element in, § ; in , § ; resistance to, declared felony, § ; propositions to repeal or amend, § ; after emancipation proclamation, § . gallatin, albert, in treaty of ghent, § . gannett, case of, d . gansey, isaac, case of, d . "gap gang," aid kidnappers, § . gardiner, ----, commissioner in hamlet case, § . garner, margaret, flight and seizure, § . garner, robert, flight and seizure, § . garner, simeon, flight and seizure, § ; case d . garrett, thomas, trial and fine, reward offered for, § . gatchell case, d . georgia, difficulty in recovery of fugitives in, § ; governor of, demands fugitives from justice, § . gibson case, d . giddings resolution, § , b , b , b , b . glasgow, freedom case in, § , d . glocester, given jurisdiction over runaways, a . glover case, d . goin case, d . gorsuch, edward, claims a fugitive, § . grahame, thomas, in freedom case, § . grayson, ----, on fugitive slave clause, § . great britain, status of fugitives in, § ; diplomatic relations, § ; encouragement of fugitives, § , § ; pays indemnity, § . see also england. great dismal swamp, refuge for runaways, § . grey, james b., demands a fugitive, § . grimes, criminal justice bill, § ; act, c ; amendments, c , c . hale, ----, resolution, § , c ; amendment, c . hall, ----, resolution, § , b . hamlet, james, case, § , d . hannum, captain, in ottoman case, § . hanway, castner, in christiana case, § . harlan, ----, amendment, c . harris, ----, introduces confiscation bill, § ; confiscation bill, c , c , c ; amendment, c . hartford, fugitive harbored in, § ; treaty of, ratified, a ; controversy with new netherlands, d . harvard college, library of, e . henderson amendment, c . hepburne, judge, in kennedy case, § . higginson, t. w., in burns case, § . hilliard, mrs. g. s., harbors a fugitive, § . hillyer, ----, finality resolution, b . hindman, ----, proposition, § ; joint resolution, c . holmes, ----, on the fugitive slave bill, § . howard, ----, amendment, c . howe, ----, repeal bill, , c . hubbard, ----, on repeal bill, § ; resolution, c . illinois, no full personal liberty law in, § . immigration, into missouri, § . impeachment, ground for, § . imprisonment of a runaway, § . indented servants. see servants. indiana, personal liberty law in ( ), § , § . indians, received fugitives in the wilderness, § ; as slaves, § ; as slave hunters, § ; conferences with, § ; escapes to, § . see chickasaws, choctaws, creeks, delawares, seminoles. intercolonial cases, early agreements as to fugitives, § , § ; agreement between the dutch and english, § ; difficulty of arranging regulations, § ; first contained in articles of confederation, § ; dependent upon intercolonial feeling, § ; case of escape of slaves, § . interferences and rescues, § . international cases, earliest, § ; relations unsettled, § ; regulations under the articles of confederation, § . interstate relations, affected by prigg decision, § . iowa, personal liberty laws in, § . iredell, on fugitive slave clause, § . isaac, case of, § , d . jackson, ----, resolution, b . jager, cornelis herperts de, escape of servants of, § . jail, in the district of columbia, resolution on, § ; denied to fugitives, § , b , b . see district of columbia. jails, state, not to be used, § ; denied to fugitives, § ; denial constitutional, § ; use forbidden, § . see also personal liberty bill. jefferson, thomas, proposition, § . john case, § , d . johnson, joint resolution, c , c ; amendment, c . johnson case, d . johnston, on committee, § . jones, george, case, § , d . julian, george w., repeal bills, § , c , c ; resolution, c . jury trial, not admitted, § ; disuse of, § . kansas, personal liberty laws in, § , § . kellogg, ----, joint resolution, c , c , c . kennedy case, § , d . kentucky, resolutions, § ; petition of legislature, § ; demands extradition of abettors of fugitives, § ; controversy with ohio, d . kidnapping, suggests new fugitive slave law, § ; from to , § ; in border states, § ; character of cases, § ; enlists sympathy, § ; regulations against, § . kilgore, resolution, § , c . king, ----, on repeal bill, § . kirk case, d . kline, marshal, demands assistance, § . l'amistad case, § . latimer, george, case of, § , d ; effect, § ; daily journal, § . leake, ----, joint resolution, c . le screux, slave on, c . lewis case, d . lewis, elijah, prosecution of, § , d . liberator, kidnapping case in, § . see newspapers. liberty, love of, by slaves, § . liberty party, convention of, § . libraries, use of, e . lincoln, president, preliminary proclamation, § ; final emancipation proclamation, § . list, counsel in shadrach case, § . loring, ellis gray, in shadrach case, § ; crafts taken to house of, § . louisiana, escape of slaves from, § . lovejoy, bills, § , c , c ; resolutions, c , c ; amendment, c . madison, on fugitive slave clause, § . maine, governor of, refuses to surrender fugitives from justice, § ; personal liberty law in, § . malbronne, ensign de, loses servant, § . mallory, ----, on blair bill, § ; on repeal, § . manhattan, escape to, § , d . mansfield, lord. see somersett case. market women, on underground railroad, § . maryland, regulations on fugitives, § , § ; offers reward, § ; letter from, to new netherlands, § ; fugitives escape from, § ; resolution, § ; resolutions debated, § , b ; offers reward for thomas garrett, § ; regulations against runaways, a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a . mason, of massachusetts, on the fugitive slave bill, § . mason, of virginia, fugitive slave bill, § , b ; amendment, § ; argument, § . massachusetts bay, regulation against transportation of apprentices and servants, a ; on the capture of servants in, a ; regulation of free negroes, a . massachusetts colony, first law as to fugitives, § ; in the new england confederation, § ; emancipation in, § ; first fugitive slave case in, § . massachusetts state, governor of, advised, § ; personal liberty law, § , § , § ; no recovery of fugitives in, § . may, s. j., in "jerry" case, § . mcclernand, ----, c . mchenry, "jerry," case, § , d . mclanahan, ----, resolution, b . meade, ----, proposition, § ; resolution, b . meionaon, mass meetings in, § . merrill, amos b., in latimer case, § . mexico, as a place of refuge, § . michigan, personal liberty laws in, § , § . miller, in kidnapping case, § , d . miner, jo, advertisement of, § . minnesota, personal liberty law in, § . missouri, admission of, § ; anderson case in, § ; governor of, offers reward for john brown, § . missouri compromise, fugitive slave clause in, § , b ; period of, § . mob, provisions against, § . morgan, margaret. see prigg case. morrill, ----, resolution, c . morris, cutter, in burns case, § . morris, ----, substitute reported, § ; on repeal bill, § ; resolution, c ; joint resolution, c . morris, john b., demands a fugitive slave, § . "moses." see harriet tubman. murray, ----, motion, § . nalle case, d . nassau, fugitives in, § . negroes, ignorance of, § ; regulation of, a ; against escape of, a ; petition of a soldier, § ; free, how affected, § ; regulation of, a . see also fugitives. new amsterdam, escape of servants from, § ; trial at, § . see also new netherlands. new england, regulations as to fugitives, § . new england confederation, composition of, § ; articles of, a . new hampshire, legislation in, § , a ; personal liberty laws in, § , § . new haven, in the new england confederation, § . new jersey, regulations on fugitives, § , a , a , a ; sanctions rendition, § ; slaves, a ; white servants, a . new netherlands, legislation in, § ; on fugitive slave cases, § ; regulations against runaways, a , a , a , a , a , a ; quakers, a ; controversy with hartford, d . see also dutch colonies. new york, regulation on fugitives, § , a , a , a ; governor of, in solomon northrup case, § ; refusal to return abettors of fugitives, § ; personal liberty laws, § , § , § ; slaves, a ; prevention of insurrections, a ; kidnapping in, § . niblack, ----, resolution, c . nicholson, on committee, § . norfolk, kidnapping cases in, § , d . oberlin case, § , d . oberlin-wellington, rescue, § , d . officers, return of fugitives by army and navy, c . ohio, fugitives protected in, § ; refusal to return abettors of fugitives, § ; personal liberty law, § , § . olmsted, f. l., quoted, § . "omnibus bill," fugitive slave provision in, § . ordinance of , for the northwest territory, § , § ; confirmed, § . ottoman case, § , d . parker, theodore, speaks on burns' case, § ; indicted for riot, § ; protects william and lucy crafts, § . parker, william, in christiana case, § . pass, necessity of, § . patrols, duty of, § . patroons, runaways from, a . peace convention, amendment, c . pearl, carries fugitives, § . penalties for escape, § ; for violating personal liberty laws, § . pennsylvania, emancipation in, § ; governor of, in "john" case, § ; act of, reported, § , b ; fugitives abetted in, ; personal liberty laws in, § , § ; regulation of servants, a ; regulation of negroes, a ; harboring of fugitives, a ; case in, d . pennsylvania society for the abolition of slavery, efforts in behalf of "john," § ; petition of, § ; efforts of, § . pensacola, walker embarks from, § . personal liberty laws, passed, § ; character of, § ; before the prigg decision, § ; between the prigg decision and the second fugitive slave law, § ; occasioned by the law of , § ; change in character, § ; table of, § ; distribution among states, § ; report on, § ; effect of, § , § ; constitutionality of, § ; obstruction by, § ; repeal urged, § ; resolution against, § ; saulsbury substitute on, c . petition of north carolina negroes, § ; of free negroes, § ; of a free colored soldier, § ; of the pennsylvania abolition society § ; from the kentucky legislature, § ; to remove jailer and sheriff in latimer case, § ; for an amendment to the constitution, § ; for a new personal liberty law, § . philadelphia, constitutional convention sits in, § ; attempted rescue in, § , d . phillips, wendell, speeches on latimer case, § ; addresses mass meeting, § ; speaks on burns' case, § ; indicted for riot, § . pierce, franklin, president, sends executive message, § ; issues proclamation, § . pindall, on revision of the fugitive slave act, § ; made chairman of committee, § ; amendatory bill, b . pine grove plantation, probable refuge, § . pinckney, gen. c. c., on the fugitive slave clause, § . plymouth, in the new england confederation, § . pomeroy, ----, on confiscation bill, § . porter, ----, amendment, c . potter, r. j., advertisement by, § . powell, ----, on district of columbia jail, § ; joint resolution, c ; amendment, c . pratt, ----, amendment, b . priggs vs. pennsylvania case, § , d ; consequences of, § ; extracts from, b . proclamation, by west india company, § ; on shadrach case, § ; emancipation, § . prosecutions, carried on, § ; after "jerry" rescue, § ; of oberlin-wellington rescuers, § ; of wendell phillips, § . protection papers, use of, § . pugh, george h., joint resolution, c . purrington, brig william, d . purvis, robert, connection with underground railroad, § . quakers, arrange station on the underground railroad, § ; fugitives hidden by, § ; refused admision to new netherlands, a . quincy, josiah, account of first fugitive slave case in the north, § , d . raids, upon plantations, § . rantoul, robert, jr., in sims case, § . read, ----, on committee, § . redemptioners, described, § ; cases of, § ; case of running away with negroes, § . refuge, place of, § . rendition, a duty, § . see also fugitives. rescue, first case of, § . resolution, by maryland legislature, § ; on relations with canada, § ; kentucky, § ; on fugitives on the high seas, § ; giddings, § ; against the return of latimer, § ; to base representation on free persons, § ; georgia legislature, § ; on arrests by army officers, § ; fitch, b ; jackson, b ; hillyer, b ; chase, b ; cochrane's joint, c ; morris, c ; leake, c ; cox, c ; stevenson, c ; niblack, c ; english joint, c ; mcclernand joint, c ; hindman, c ; kilgore, c ; johnson's joint, c , c ; crittenden's joint, c ; douglas's joint, c ; florence, c , c ; morris's joint, c ; kellogg's joint, c , c , c ; clarence's joint, c ; crittenden's joint, c ; pugh's joint, c ; powell's joint, c ; lovejoy's, c ; wilson's, c , c , c , c , c ; clark, c ; sumner, c ; fessenden, c ; bingham, c ; morrill's confiscation joint, c ; hale, c ; sumner, c , c ; lovejoy, c ; julian, c ; shank, c ; colfax, c ; hubbard's repeal, c . revolution, did not change condition of slave, § . reward, offered by missouri, § ; by united states, § ; by colonies, § . rhode island legislation, § ; emancipation, § ; personal liberty law, § , § , § ; regulation of ferries in, a . rice, ----, amendment, c . rice, john, kidnapped, § . rich, on the fugitive slave bill, § . riker, richard, in jones case, § . riley, ----, united states commissioner, § . rotch, aids escape, § . runaways, regulations against, § , § ; easily regulated, § ; the habitual, § ; methods pursued, § ; harboring upon a ship, § ; regulations against, a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a ; entertainment of, a , a , a , a , a ; second offence, how punished, a ; hue and cry after, a ; from the dutch, a ; apprehension of, a ; english, a ; in glocester, a ; apprehension of, a , a ; capture rewarded, a ; prevention of, a ; to canada, a ; trade with, inhibited, a ; against ferriage of, a , a ; minor, a ; pursuit of, a . russia, emperor of, arbitration by, § . saulsbury, amendments, c , c , c , c , c , c . savannah georgian, advertisement in, § . secrecy, observed by fugitives, § . sedgwick, ----, on committee, § . seizure, of north carolina negroes, § . see also arrest, kidnapping cases. seminoles, steal slaves, § ; trouble, § ; united states claims on, b . sergeant, ----, on the fugitive slave bill, § . servants, english, a , a ; an act concerning, a ; regulation of, a , a , a ; fugitive, a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a ; how to know a, a . see also fugitives, runaways. sewall, samuel e., counsels fugitives, § , § . seward, w. h., amendments, § , b . shadrach, case, § ; personal liberty laws tested, § ; clay's resolution on, b ; case, d . shank, ----, resolution, c . shanley vs. haney case, d . shaw, chief justice, in latimer case, § . shell, o. p., advertises a runaway, § . sheriff, power of, § . sherman, john, amendments, § , c . sherman, roger, on the fugitive slave clause, § ; on committee, § . sherwood, major, case of servant of, § , d . ship, refuge for runaways, § ; slave on brazilian, d . ship-masters, dutch, rewarded, a . sims, thomas m., case, § ; brigade, § ; court-house used as jail, § ; case, d . slaves, conditions of life, § ; mother's farewell, extract from, § ; stealing of, a ; abolition of trade in, § ; status of, in england, § ; question of damages, § ; must wear livery, § ; new conditions surround, § ; regulation of, a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a ; extradition of, b ; status on the high seas, b , b ; of the dutch, escape to the english, § ; escape to the forest, § ; of rebels, resolutions on, § ; bill to free, c . slaveholder, demand for legislation, § ; basis of, argued, § ; complaints of, § . slave-hunters, how received, § ; insurrections to prevent, a . slavery, condition in the colonies, § ; interests advanced, § ; justification of, § ; extinction of, § ; attacked in congress, § ; abolition in the district of columbia, § , c , c ; studies of the institution of, e ; studies of colonial, e ; speeches upon, e . smith, ----, on fugitive slave law, § . smith, gerrit, in anderson case, § ; in "jerry" rescue, § . smithburg case, d . society for the abolition of slavery. see pennsylvania. somersett case, § , d . soulé, ----, on the fugitive slave bill, § . south bend case, d . south carolina, regulations on fugitives, § , § ; difficulty in recovering fugitives, § ; constitutional convention in, § ; regulations against runaways, a , a , a , a , a ; regulation of slaves, a , a , a , a . southern states, complain of underground railroad, § . spalding, ----, repeal bill, § , c . spanish colonies, interval of unpopulated country south, § . sprague, e., . state jails. see jails. state officers, power discussed, § , § ; forfeiture of office, § ; forbidden to act, § , . st. augustine, escapes to, § . st. luc, sieur de la corne, negro servant of, . staunton, general, in sherwood case, § . stevens, ----, repeal bill, § , c ; motion of, b . stevenson, ----, resolution, c . stewart, ----. see somersett case. story, justice, decision in prigg case, § . stuyvesant, governor, in fugitive slave case, § . sumner, charles, in drayton case, § ; resolutions, § ; repeal bills, § , § , c ; resolutions, c , c , c ; amendment, c . suttle, charles f., in burns case, § . swain, john, suit for slave, § . swamps, as a refuge, § . swan, captain, in wisdom case, § . swedish colonies, along the coast, § ; regulations on fugitives, § . syracuse, "jerry" rescue in, § . taylor, ----, on committee, § . ten eyck, ----, amendment, c ; report of, c . thomas case, d . thompson, ----, case, d . treaty, of hartford, fugitive slave clause in, a ; of , b ; with indian tribes, § , § , § , § , b , b , b , b , b , b , b ; of ghent, § , b ; proposed with great britain, § . tremont temple, mass meetings in, § . trial, by jury, not admitted, in first act, § ; objected to, § ; denied, § ; proposed, § ; resolution demanding, c . trumbull, confiscation bill, § , c , c ; bill, c ; amendments, c , c , c . tubman, harriet, account of, § . tukey, marshal, in sims case, § . turc, escape of, § . underground railroad, beginnings of, § ; how regarded by the south, § ; methods south of the ohio, § ; use of, by john brown, § ; incident at, § ; description of, § ; rise and growth, § ; stations on, described, § ; methods pursued, § ; extent of system, § ; origin of name, § ; in the south, § ; in the north, § ; colored agents on, § , § ; prosecution of agents, § ; formal organization, § ; market women as helpers, § . underwood, ----, amendment, b . united colonies, treaty with new netherlands, a . united states, reward offered for john brown, § ; in seminole trouble, § ; in anderson case, § . see also acts, bills, fugitives, resolutions, runaways. united states hotel, slave hunters at, § . vallandigham, c. l., amendment, c . van zandt, aids fugitive, § , d . vermont, personal liberty laws in, § , § , § . vigilance committee organized, § ; in "jerry" rescue, § . villeinage, ceased in england, § . virginia, regulations on fugitives, § ; rewards the recovery of a fugitive, § ; slaves escape, § ; constitutional convention in, § ; governor of, action in "john" case, § ; demands arrest of abettors of a fugitive, § ; regulation against the entertainment of fugitives, a ; regulations against runaways, a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a , a ; reward for the capture of runaways, a , a ; on english runaways, a ; in county of glocester, a ; repeal law, a ; amends law, a ; amended, a ; against ferriage of runaways, a . walker, jonathan, aids fugitives, § , d . walton, ----, amendment, c , c . washington, president, asks for the return of a fugitive, § , d . washington case, § , d . washington, jail, resolutions on, c , c , c , c , c . see also jail. webster, daniel, in creole case, § ; introduces bill, b . wellington. see oberlin-wellington. west india company, regulation of, § ; execution of regulation § ; ordinance of, a . whipping, motive for flight, § . whipple, ----, in kidnapping case, § . white, ----, on committee, § . white slaves. see redemptioners, servants. whitman, ----, on the fugitive slave bill § , § . williams case, d . williamson case, d . wilkins, frederick. see shadrach. wilson, ----, on butler's proposition, § . wilson, henry, on confiscation, § ; bills, § , c , c , c , c ; resolutions, § , § , c , c , c , c , c ; amendment, c . winthrop, ----, amendment, b . winthrop, governor john, in fugitive slave case, § . wisconsin, personal liberty laws in, § , § ; supreme court decision, d . wisdom case, § , d . woodbridge resolutions, § , b . woods, as a refuge, § , § . wright, ----, presents maryland resolution, § . writ, of habeas corpus, in somersett case, § ; allowed, § ; advisability of, § , § ; refused, § ; issued, § ; of personal replevin, sworn out, § . yulee, on the fugitive slave law, § . [transcriber's note: _underscores_ indicate text in _italic_ font; =equal= signs indicate =bold= font. original spelling varieties have been maintained; footnotes were renumbered. the index was changed to refer to section numbers instead of page numbers. abbreviations and references changed for clarity: § .: o'selves--> we could not promise ourselves from you; w'ch--> which are shortly like to be nearer neighbors; o'tres--> vpon the receiving of these outres; p'ties--> the demand of the parties interessted; p'sons--> compell such other persons. § ., footnotes , : "appendix b, nos. ., ., ." not found; see appendix b, no. .--"§ " not listed in the original.--§ ., footnote : "appendix c, nos. , ." not found; see appendix c, no. . § ., footnote : "appendix c, no. ." not found; see appendix c, no. . appendix a, no. .: appr'ntices--> apprentices; w'th--> with; fr'o--> from; pr'euenting--> preuenting. appendix a, .: ag't--> against; satisfacc'on--> satisfaccion; reparac'on--> reparacion; lord prop'ry--> lord proprietary; publicac'on--> publicacion; informac'on--> informacion. appendix a, no. .: goalers--> fees of the gaolers given. appendix c, no. : "see no. " not found, linked to no. . appendix e, no. .: reminscences--> the reminiscences of participants.] [transcriber's note: there is no chapter xi.] uncle tom's cabin young folks' edition by harriet beecher stowe uncle tom's cabin chapter i uncle tom and little harry are sold very many years ago, instead of having servants to wait upon them and work for them, people used to have slaves. these slaves were paid no wages. their masters gave them only food and clothes in return for their work. when any one wanted servants he went to market to buy them, just as nowadays we buy horses and cows, or even tables and chairs. if the poor slaves were bought by kind people they would be quite happy. then they would work willingly for their masters and mistresses, and even love them. but very often cruel people bought slaves. these cruel people used to beat them and be unkind to them in many other ways. it was very wicked to buy and sell human beings as if they were cattle. yet christian people did it, and many who were good and kind otherwise thought there was no wrong in being cruel to their poor slaves. 'they are only black people,' they said to themselves. 'black people do not feel things as we do.' that was not kind, as black people suffer pain just in the same way as white people do. one of the saddest things for the poor slaves was that they could never long be a happy family all together--father, mother, and little brothers and sisters--because at any time the master might sell the father or the mother or one of the children to some one else. when this happened those who were left behind were very sad indeed--more sad than if their dear one had died. uncle tom was a slave. he was a very faithful and honest servant, and his master, mr. shelby, was kind to him. uncle tom's wife was called aunt chloe. she was mr. shelby's head cook, and a very good one too, she was. nobody in all the country round could make such delicious pies and cakes as aunt chloe. uncle tom and aunt chloe lived together in a pretty little cottage built of wood, quite close to mr. shelby's big house. the little cottage was covered with climbing roses, and the garden was full of beautiful bright flowers and lovely fruit trees. uncle tom and aunt chloe lived happily for many years in their little cottage, or cabin, as it was called. all day uncle tom used to work in the fields, while aunt chloe was busy in the kitchen at mr. shelby's house. when evening came they both went home to their cottage and their children, and were merry together. mr. shelby was a good man, and kind to his slaves, but he was not very careful of his money. when he had spent all he had, he did not know what to do to get more. at last he borrowed money from a man called haley, hoping to be able to pay it back again some day. but that day never came. haley grew impatient, and said, 'if you don't pay what you owe me, i will take your house and lands, and sell them to pay myself back all the money i have lent to you.' so mr. shelby sold everything he could spare and gathered money together in every way he could think of, but still there was not enough. then haley said, 'give me that slave of yours called tom--he is worth a lot of money.' but mr. shelby knew that haley was not a nice man. he knew he did not want tom for a servant, but only wanted to sell him again, to make more money. so mr. shelby said, 'no, i can't do that. i never mean to sell any of my slaves, least of all tom. he has been with me since he was a little boy.' 'oh very well,' said haley, 'i shall sell your house and lands, as i said i should.' mr. shelby could not bear to think of that, so he agreed to let haley have tom. he made him promise, however, not to sell tom again except to a kind master. 'very well,' said haley, 'but tom isn't enough. i must have another slave.' just at this moment a little boy came dancing into the room where mr. shelby and haley were talking. he was a pretty, merry little fellow, the son of a slave called eliza, who was mrs. shelby's maid. 'there now,' said haley, 'give me that little chap, as well as tom, and we will say no more about the money you owe me.' 'i can't,' said mr. shelby. 'my wife is very fond of eliza, and would never hear of having harry sold.' 'oh, very well,' said haley once more, 'i must just sell your house.' so again mr. shelby gave in, and haley went away with the promise that next morning uncle tom and little harry should be given to him, to be his slaves. chapter ii eliza runs away with little harry mr. shelby was very unhappy because of what he had done. he knew his wife would be very unhappy too, and he did not know how to tell her. he had to do it that night, however, before she went to bed. mrs. shelby could hardly believe it. 'oh, you do not mean this,' she said. 'you must not sell our good tom and dear little harry. do anything rather than that. it is a wicked, wicked thing to do. 'there is nothing else i can do,' said mr. shelby. 'i have sold everything i can think of, and at any rate now that haley has set his heart on having tom and harry, he would not take anything or anybody instead.' mrs. shelby cried very much about it, but at last, though she was very, very unhappy she fell asleep. but some one whom mr. and mrs. shelby never thought of was listening to this talk. eliza was sitting in the next room. the door was not quite closed, so she could not help hearing what was said. as she listened she grew pale and cold and a terrible look of pain came into her face. eliza had had three dear little children, but two of them had died when they were tiny babies. she loved and cared for harry all the more because she had lost the others. now he was to be taken from her and sold to cruel men, and she would never see him again. she felt she could not bear it. eliza's husband was called george, and was a slave too. he did not belong to mr. shelby, but to another man, who had a farm quite near. george and eliza could not live together as a husband and wife generally do. indeed, they hardly ever saw each other. george's master was a cruel man, and would not let him come to see his wife. he was so cruel, and beat george so dreadfully, that the poor slave made up his mind to run away. he had come that very day to tell eliza what he meant to do. as soon as mr. and mrs. shelby stopped talking, eliza crept away to her own room, where little harry was sleeping. there he lay with his pretty curls around his face. his rosy mouth was half open, his fat little hands thrown out over the bed-clothes, and a smile like a sunbeam upon his face. 'my baby, my sweet-one,' said eliza, 'they have sold you. but mother will save you yet!' she did not cry. she was too sad and sorrowful for that. taking a piece of paper and a pencil, she wrote quickly. [illustration] 'oh, missis! dear missis! don't think me ungrateful--don't think hard of me, anyway! i heard all you and master said to-night. i am going to try to save my boy--you will not blame me i god bless and reward you for all your kindness!' eliza was going to run away. she gathered a few of harry's clothes into a bundle, put on her hat and jacket, and went to wake him. poor harry was rather frightened at being waked in the middle of the night, and at seeing his mother bending over him, with her hat and jacket on. 'what is the matter, mother?' he said beginning to cry. [illustration] 'hush,' she said, 'harry mustn't cry or speak aloud, or they will hear us. a wicked man was coming to take little harry away from his mother, and carry him 'way off in the dark. but mother won't let him. she's going to put on her little boy's cap and coat, and run off with him, so the ugly man can't catch him.' harry stopped crying at once, and was good and quiet as a little mouse, while his mother dressed him. when he was ready, she lifted him in her arms, and crept softly out of the house. it was a beautiful, clear, starlight night, but very cold, for it was winter-time. eliza ran quickly to uncle tom's cottage, and tapped on the window. aunt chloe was not asleep, so she jumped up at once, and opened the door. she was very much astonished to see eliza standing there with harry in her arms. uncle tom followed her to the door, and was very much astonished too. 'i'm running away, uncle tom and aunt chloe--carrying off my child,' said eliza. 'master sold him.' 'sold him?' they both echoed, lifting up their hands in dismay. 'yes, sold him,' said eliza. 'i heard master tell missis that he had sold my harry, and you, uncle tom. the man is coming to take you away to-morrow.' at first tom could hardly believe what he heard. then he sank down, and buried his face in his hands. 'the good lord have pity on us!' said aunt chloe. 'what has tom done that master should sell him?' [illustration] 'he hasn't done anything--it isn't for that. master don't want to sell; but he owes this man money. if he doesn't pay him it will end in his having to sell the house and all the slaves. master said he was sorry. but missis she talked like an angel. i'm a wicked girl to leave her so, but i can't help it. it must be right; but if it an't right, the good lord will forgive me, for i can't help doing it. 'tom,' said aunt chloe, 'why don't you go too? there's time.' tom slowly raised his head and looked sorrowfully at her. 'no, no,' he said. 'let eliza go. it is right that she should try to save her boy. mas'r has always trusted me, and i can't leave him like that. it is better for me to go alone than for the whole place to be sold. mas'r isn't to blame, chloe. he will take care of you and the poor--' tom could say no more. big man though he was, he burst into tears, at the thought of leaving his wife and dear little children, never to see them any more. 'aunt chloe,' said eliza, in a minute or two, 'i must go. i saw my husband to-day. he told me he meant to run away soon, because his master is so cruel to him. try to send him a message from me. tell him i have run away to save our boy. tell him to come after me if he can. good-bye, good-bye. god bless you!' then eliza went out again into the dark night with her little boy in her arms, and aunt chloe shut the door softly behind her. chapter iii the morning after next morning, when it was discovered that eliza had run away with her little boy, there was great excitement and confusion all over the house. mrs. shelby was very glad. 'thank god!' she said. 'i hope eliza will get right away. i could not bear to think of harry being sold to that cruel man.' mr. shelby was angry. 'haley knew i didn't want to sell the child,' he said. 'he will blame me for this.' one person only was quite silent, and that was aunt chloe. she went on, making the breakfast as if she heard and saw nothing of the excitement round her. all the little black boys belonging to the house thought it was fine fun. very soon, about a dozen young imps were roosting, like so many crows, on the railings, waiting for haley to come. they wanted to see how angry he would be, when he heard the news. and he was dreadfully angry. the little nigger boys thought it was grand. they shouted and laughed and made faces at him to their hearts' content. at last haley became so angry, that mr. shelby offered to give him two men to help him to find eliza. but these two men, sam and andy, knew quite well that mrs. shelby did not want eliza to be caught, so they put off as much time as they could. they let loose their horses and haley's too. then they frightened and chased them, till they raced like mad things all over the great lawns which surrounded the house. whenever it seemed likely that a horse would be caught, sam ran up, waving his hat and shouting wildly, 'now for it! cotch him! cotch him!' this frightened the horses so much that they galloped off faster than before. haley rushed up and down, shouting and using dreadful, naughty words, and stamping with rage all the time. at last, about twelve o'clock, sam came riding up with haley's horse. 'he's cotched,' he said, seemingly very proud of himself. 'i cotched him!' of course, now it was too late to start before dinner. besides, the horses were so tired with all their running about, that they had to have a rest. when at last they did start, sam led them by a wrong road. so the sun was almost setting before they arrived at the village where haley hoped to find eliza. chapter iv the chase when eliza left uncle tom's cabin, she felt very sad and lonely. she knew she was leaving all the friends she had ever had behind her. at first harry was frightened. soon he grew sleepy. 'mother, i don't need to keep awake, do i?' he said. 'no, my darling, sleep, if you want to.' 'but, mother, if i do get asleep, you won't let the bad man take me?' 'no!' 'you're sure, an't you, mother?' 'yes, sure.' [illustration] harry dropped his little weary head upon her shoulder, and was soon fast asleep. eliza walked on and on, never resting, all through the night. when the sun rose, she was many miles away from her old home. still she walked on, only stopping, in the middle of the day, to buy a little dinner for herself and harry at a farm-house. at last, when it was nearly dark, she arrived at a village, on the banks of the river ohio. if she could only get across that river, eliza felt she would be safe. she went to a little inn on the bank, where a kind-looking woman was busy cooking supper. 'is there a boat that takes people across the river now?' she asked. 'no, indeed,' replied the woman. 'the boats has stopped running. it isn't safe, there be too many blocks of ice floating about.' eliza looked so sad and disappointed when she heard this, that the good woman was sorry for her. harry too was so tired, that he began to cry. [illustration] 'here, take him into this room,' said the woman, opening the door into a small bed-room. eliza laid her tired little boy upon the bed, and he soon fell fast asleep. but for her there was no rest. she stood at the window, watching the river with its great floating blocks of ice, wondering how she could cross it. as she stood there she heard a shout. looking up she saw sam. she drew back just in time, for haley and andy were riding only a yard or two behind him. it was a dreadful moment for eliza. her room opened by a side door to the river. she seized her child and sprang down the steps towards it. haley caught sight of her as she disappeared down the bank. throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly to sam and andy, he was after her in a moment. in that terrible moment her feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground. the next, she was at the water's edge. on they came behind her. with one wild cry and flying leap, she jumped right over the water by the shore, on to the raft of ice beyond. it was a desperate leap. haley, sam, and andy cried out, and lifted up their hands in astonishment. the great piece of ice pitched and creaked as her weight came upon it. but she stayed there not a moment. with wild cries she leaped to another and still another--stumbling--leaping--slipping--springing up again! her shoes were gone, her stockings cut from her feet by the sharp edges of the ice. blood marked every step. but she knew nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank. 'yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye are!' said the man. 'oh, save me--do save me--do hide me,' she cried. 'why, what's the matter?' asked the man. 'my child! this boy--mas'r sold him. there's his new mas'r,' she said, pointing to the other shore. 'oh, save me.' 'yer a right brave gal,' said the man. 'go there,' pointing to a big white house close by. 'they are kind folks; they'll help you.' 'oh, thank you, thank you,' said eliza, as she walked quickly away. the man stood and looked after her wonderingly. on the other side of the river haley was standing perfectly amazed at the scene. when eliza disappeared over the bank he turned and looked at sam and andy, with terrible anger in his eyes. but sam and andy were glad, oh, so glad, that eliza had escaped. they were so glad that they laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks. 'i'll make ye laugh,' said haley, laying about their heads with his riding whip. they ducked their heads, ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses before he could reach them. 'good evening, mas'r,' said sam. 'i berry much 'spect missis be anxious 'bout us. mas'r haley won't want us no longer.' then off they went as fast as their horses could gallop. it was late at night before they reached home again, but mrs. shelby was waiting for them. as soon as she heard the horses galloping up she ran out to the balcony. 'is that you, sam?' she called. 'where are they?' 'mas'r haley's a-restin' at the tavern. he's drefful fatigued, missis.' 'and eliza, sam?' 'come up here, sam,' called mr. shelby, who had followed his wife, 'and tell your mistress what she wants to know.' so sam went up and told the wonderful story of how eliza had crossed the river on the floating ice. mr. and mrs. shelby found it hard to believe that such a thing was possible. mrs. shelby was very, very glad that eliza had escaped. she told aunt chloe to give sam and andy a specially good supper. then they went to bed quite pleased with their day's work. chapter v eliza finds a refuge a lady and gentleman were sitting talking happily together in the drawing-room of the white house to which eliza had gone. suddenly their old black man-of-all-work put his head in at the door and said, 'will missis come into the kitchen?' the lady went. presently she called to her husband, 'i do wish you would come here a moment.' he rose and went into the kitchen. there lay eliza on two kitchen chairs. her poor feet were all cut and bleeding, and she had fainted quite away. the master of the house drew his breath short, and stood silent. [illustration] his wife and the cook were trying to bring eliza round. the old man had harry on his knee, and was busy pulling off his shoes and stockings, to warm the little cold feet. 'poor creature,' said the lady. suddenly eliza opened her eyes. a dreadful look of pain came into her face. she sprang up saying, 'oh, my harry, have they got him?' as soon as he heard her voice, harry jumped from the old man's knee, and running to her side, put up his arms. 'oh, he's here! he's here,' she said, kissing him. 'oh, ma'am,' she went, on turning wildly to the lady of the house, 'do protect us, don't let them get him.' 'nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman,' said the lady. 'you are safe; don't be afraid.' 'god bless you,' said eliza, covering her face and sobbing, while harry, seeing her crying, tried to get into her lap to comfort her. 'you needn't be afraid of anything; we are friends here, poor woman. tell me where you come from and what you want,' said the lady. 'i came from the other side of the river,' said eliza. 'when?' said the gentleman, very much astonished. 'to-night.' 'how did you come?' 'i crossed on the ice.' 'crossed on the ice!' exclaimed every one. 'yes,' said eliza slowly, 'i did. god helped me, and i crossed on the ice. they were close behind me--right behind, and there was no other way.' 'law, missis,' said the old servant, 'the ice is all in broken up blocks, a-swinging up and down in the water.' 'i know it is. i know it,' said eliza wildly. 'but i did it. i would'nt have thought i could--i didn't think i could get over, but i didn't care. i could but die if i didn't. and god helped me.' 'were you a slave?' said the gentleman. 'yes, sir.' 'was your master unkind to you?' 'no, sir.' 'was your mistress unkind to you?' 'no, sir--no. my mistress was always good to me.' 'what could make you leave a good home, then, and run away, and go through such danger?' 'they wanted to take my boy away from me--to sell him--to sell him down south, ma'am. to go all alone--a baby that had never been away from his mother in his life. i couldn't bear it. i took him, and ran away in the night. they chased me, they were coming down close behind me, and i heard 'em. i jumped right on to the ice. how i got across i don't know. the first i knew, a man was helping me up the bank.' it was such a sad story, that the tears came into the eyes of everyone who heard her tell it. [illustration] 'where do you mean to go to, poor woman?' asked the lady. 'to canada, if i only knew where that was. is it very far off, is canada'? said eliza, looking up in a simple, trusting way, to the kind lady's face. 'poor woman,' said she again. 'is it a great way off?' asked eliza. 'yes,' said the lady of the house sadly, 'it is far away. but we will try to help you to get there.' eliza wanted to go to canada, because it belonged to the british. they did not allow any one to be made a slave there. george, too, was going to try to reach canada. 'wife,' said the gentleman, when they had gone back again into their own sitting-room, 'we must get that poor woman away to-night. she is not safe here. i know some good people, far in the country, who will take care of her.' so this kind gentleman got the carriage ready, and drove eliza and her boy a long, long way, through the dark night, to a cottage far in the country. there he left her with a good man and his wife, who promised to be kind to her, and help her to go to canada. he gave some money to the good man too, and told him to use it for eliza. chapter vi uncle tom says good-bye the day after the hunt for eliza was a very sad one in uncle tom's cabin. it was the day on which haley was going to take uncle tom away. aunt chloe had been up very early. she had washed and ironed all tom's clothes, and packed his trunk neatly. now she was cooking the breakfast,--the last breakfast she would ever cook for her dear husband. her eyes were quite red and swollen with crying, and the tears kept running down her cheeks all the time. 'it's the last time,' said tom sadly. aunt chloe could not answer. she sat down, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. 's'pose we must be resigned. but, o lord, how can i? if i knew anything where you was goin', or how they'd treat you! missis says she'll try and buy you back again in a year or two. but, lor', nobody never comes back that goes down there.' 'there'll be the same god there, chloe, that there is here.' 'well,' said aunt chloe, 's'pose dere will. but the lord lets drefful things happen sometimes. i don't seem to get no comfort dat way.' 'let's think on our mercies,' said tom, in a shaking voice. 'mercies!' said aunt chloe, 'don't see any mercies in 't. it isn't right! it isn't right it should be so! mas'r never ought to have left it so that ye could be took for his debts. mebbe he can't help himself now, but i feel it's wrong. nothing can beat that out of me. such a faithful crittur as ye've been, reckonin' on him more than your own wife and chil'en.' 'chloe! now, if ye love me, you won't talk so, when it is perhaps jest the last time we'll ever have together,' said tom. 'wall, anyway, there's wrong about it somewhere,' said aunt chloe, 'i can't jest make out where 'tis. but there is wrong somewhere, i'm sure of that.' neither tom nor chloe could eat any breakfast; their hearts were too full of sorrow. but the little children, who hardly understood what was happening, enjoyed theirs. it was not often that they had such a fine one as chloe had cooked for tom's last morning at home. [illustration] breakfast was just finished, when mrs. shelby came. chloe was not very pleased to see her. she was angry, and blamed her for letting tom be sold. but mrs. shelby did not seem to see aunt chloe's angry looks. 'tom,' she said, turning to him, 'i come to--' she could say no more, she was crying so bitterly. then all aunt chloe's anger faded away. 'lor', now missis, don't-don't,' she said. she too burst out crying again, and for a few minutes they all sobbed together. 'tom,' said mrs. shelby at last, 'i can't do anything for you now. but i promise you, most solemnly, to save as much, money as i can. as soon as i have enough, i will buy you back again.' just then haley arrived. tom said a last sad good-bye to his wife and children, and got into the cart, which haley had brought with him. as soon as tom was seated in the cart, haley took a heavy chain, and fastened it round his ankles. poor tom had done nothing wrong, yet he was treated worse than a thief, just because he was a slave. 'you don't need to do that,' said mrs. shelby, 'tom won't run away.' 'don't know so much about that, ma'am; i've lost one already. i can't afford to run any more risks,' replied haley. 'please give my love to mas'r george,' said tom, looking round sadly. 'tell him how sorry i am he is not at home to say good-bye.' master george was mr. and mrs. shelby's son. he was very fond of tom, and was teaching him to write. he often used to come and have tea in uncle tom's little cottage. aunt chloe used to make her very nicest cakes when mas'r george came to tea. but he was not at home now, and did not know that tom had been sold. haley whipped up the horse, and, with a last sad look at the old place, tom was whirled away to a town called washington. chapter vii uncle tom meets eva haley stayed in washington several days. he went to market each day and bought more slaves. he put heavy chains on their hands and feet, and sent them to prison along with tom. when he had bought all the slaves he wanted, and was ready to go, he drove them before him, like a herd of cattle, on to a boat which was going south. it was a beautiful boat. the deck was gay with lovely ladies and fine gentlemen walking about enjoying the bright spring sunshine. down on the lower deck, in the dark, among the luggage, were crowded tom and the other poor slaves. some of the ladies and gentlemen on board were very sorry for the poor niggers, and pitied them. others never thought about them at all, or if they did, thought it was quite just and proper that they should be treated badly. 'they are only slaves,' they said. among the passengers was a pretty little girl, about six years old. she had beautiful golden hair, and big blue eyes. she ran about here, there, and everywhere, dancing and laughing like a little fairy. there were other children on board, but not one so pretty or so merry as she. she was always dressed in white, and tom thought she looked like a little angel, as she danced and ran about. often and often she would come and walk sadly around the place where the poor slaves sat in their chains. she would look pityingly at them, and then go slowly away. once or twice she came with her dress full of sweets, nuts, and oranges, and gave them all some. tom watched the little lady, and tried to make friends with her. his pockets were full of all kinds of things, with which he used to amuse his old master's children. he could make whistles of every sort and size, cut baskets out of cherry-stones, faces out of nut-shells, jumping figures out of bits of wood. he brought these out one by one, and though the little girl was shy at first, they soon grew to be great friends. 'what is missy's name?' said tom one day. 'evangeline st. clare,' said the little girl; 'though papa and everybody else call me eva. now, what's your name?' 'my name's tom. the little chil'en at my old home used to call me uncle tom.' 'then i mean to call you uncle tom, because, you see, i like you,' said eva. 'so, uncle tom, where are you going?' 'i don't know, miss eva.' 'don't know?' said eva. 'no. i'm going to be sold to somebody. i don't know who.' 'my papa can buy you, said eva quickly. 'if he buys you you will have good times. i mean to ask him to, this very day.' 'thank you, my little lady,' said tom. just at this moment, the boat stopped at a small landing-place to take in some wood. eva heard her father's voice, and ran away to speak to him. tom too rose and walked to the side. he was allowed to go about now without chains. he was so good and gentle, that even a man like haley could not help seeing that it could do no harm to let him go free. tom helped the sailors to carry the wood on the boat. he was so big and strong that they were very glad to have his help. [illustration] eva and her father were standing by the railings as the boat once more began to move. it had hardly left the landing-stage when, some how or other, eva lost her balance. she fell right over the side of the boat into the water. tom was standing just under her, on the lower deck, as she fell. in one moment he sprang after her. the next he had caught her his arms, and was swimming with her to the boat-side, where eager hands were held out to take her. the whole boat was in confusion. every one ran to help eva, while the poor slave went back to his place, unnoticed and uncared for. but mr. st. clare did not forget. the next day tom sat on the lower deck, with folded arms, anxiously watching him as he talked to haley. eva's father was a very handsome man. he was like eva, with the same beautiful blue eyes and golden-brown hair. he was very fond of fun and laughter, and though he had quite made up his mind to buy tom, he was now teasing haley, and pretending to think that he was asking too much money for him. [illustration] 'papa do buy him, it's no matter what you pay', whispered eva softly, putting her arms around her father's neck. 'you have money enough, i know. i want him.' 'what for, pussy? are you going to use him for a rattle-box, or a rocking-horse, or what?' 'i want to make him happy.' mr. st. clare laughed; but after making a few more jokes about it, he gave haley the money he asked for, and tom had a new master. 'come, eva,' said mr. st. clare, and, taking her hand, went across the boat to tom. 'look up, tom,' he said to him, 'and see how you like your new master.' tom looked up. mr. st. clare had such a gay, young, handsome face, that tom could not help feeling glad. grateful tears rushed to his eyes as he said, 'god bless you, mas'r.' 'can you drive horses, tom?' 'i've been allays used to horses,' said tom. 'well, i think i'll make you a coachman. but you must not get drunk.' tom looked surprised and a little hurt. 'i never drink', mas'r,' he said. 'never mind, my boy,' said mr. st. clare, seeing him look so grave; 'i don't doubt you mean to do well.' 'i certainly do, mas'r,' said tom. 'and you shall have good times,' said eva. 'papa is very good to everybody, only he always will laugh at them.' 'papa is much obliged to you,' said mr. st. clare laughing, as he walked away. chapter viii eliza among the quakers while uncle tom was sailing south, down the wide river, to his new master's home, eliza with her boy was travelling north to canada. kind people helped her all the way. she passed from friend to friend, till she arrived safely at a village where the people were quakers. the quakers were gentle, quiet people. they all dressed alike in plain grey clothes, and the women wore big, white muslin caps. because they thought it was wicked to have slaves, they helped those who ran away from their cruel masters. often they were punished for doing this, but still they went on helping the poor slaves. for though the laws said it was wrong, they felt quite sure that it was really right to do so. the kind quaker women grew to be very fond of eliza, and would have been glad if she would have stayed with them. but eliza said, 'no, i must go on; i dare not stop. i can't sleep at night: i can't rest. last night i dreamed i saw that man come into the yard.' 'poor child,' said rachel, the kind quaker woman to whom she was speaking, 'poor child, thee mustn't feel so. no slave that has run away has ever been stolen from our village. it is safe here.' while they were talking, simeon, rachel's husband, came to the door and called, 'wife, i want to speak to thee a minute.' rachel went out to him. 'eliza's husband is here,' he said. 'art thee sure?' asked rachel, her face bright with joy. 'yes, quite certain; he will be here soon. will thee tell her?' rachel went back into the kitchen, where eliza was sewing, and, opening the door of a small bedroom, said gently, 'come in here with me, my daughter; i have news to tell thee.' eliza rose trembling, she was so afraid it was bad news. 'no, no! never fear thee. it's good news, eliza,' said simeon, rachel shut the door, and drew eliza towards her. 'the lord has been very good to thee,' she said gently. 'thy husband hath escaped, and will be here to-night.' 'to-night!' repeated eliza, 'to-night!' then it seemed as if the room and everything in it swam round her, and she fell into rachel's arms. very gently rachel laid her down on the bed. eliza slept as she had not slept since the dreadful night when she had taken her boy and run away through the cold, dark night. she dreamed of a beautiful country--a land, it seemed to her, of rest--green shores, pleasant islands, and lovely glittering water. there in a house, which kind voices told her was her home, she saw harry playing happily. she heard her husband's footstep. she felt him coming nearer. his arms were around her, his tears falling upon her face, and she awoke. it was no dream. the sun had set, the candles were lit. harry was sleeping by her side, and george, her husband, was holding her in his arms. chapter ix uncle tom's new home uncle tom soon settled down in his new home. he was as happy as he could be, so far away from his wife and dear little children. he had a kind master. mrs. st. clare, however, was not nearly so nice as her husband. she was cruel, and would often have beaten her poor slaves, but mr. st. clare would not allow it. she always pretended that she was very ill, and spent most of her time lying on a sofa, or driving about in her comfortable carriage. mrs. st. clare said she really was too ill to look after the house, so everything was left to the slaves. soon things began to be very uncomfortable, and even good-natured mr. st. clare could stand it no longer. he went to his cousin, miss ophelia st. clare, and begged her to come and keep house for him, and to look after eva. it was on the journey back with her that the accident to eva happened, which ended in his buying tom. miss ophelia was a very prim and precise person, not at all like the st. clares. in her home people did not have slaves. though her cousin had a great many, and was kind to them, she could not help seeing that it was a very wicked thing to buy and sell men and women as if they were cattle. she was very, very sorry for the poor slaves, and would have liked to free them all. yet she did not love them. she could not bear even to have them near her, nor to touch them, just because they were black. [illustration] it made her quite ill to see eva kissing and hugging the black slave women when she came home. 'well, i couldn't do that,' she said. 'why not?' said mr. st. clare, who was looking on. 'well, i want to be kind to every one. i wouldn't have anybody hurt. but, as to kissing niggers--' she gave a little shudder. 'how can she?' presently a gay laugh sounded from the court. mr. st. clare stepped out to see what was happening. 'what is it?' said miss ophelia, following him. there sat tom on a little mossy seat in the court. every one of his buttonholes was stuck full of flowers. eva, laughing gaily, was hanging a wreath of roses round his neck. then, still laughing, she perched on his knee like a little sparrow. 'oh, tom, you look so funny!' tom had a sober smile on his face. he seemed in his own quiet way to be enjoying the fun quite as much as his little mistress. when he lifted his eyes and saw his master he looked as if he were afraid he might be scolded. but mr. st. clare only smiled. 'how can you let her do that?' said miss ophelia. 'why not?' said mr. st. clare. 'why? i don't know. it seems dreadful to me.' 'you would think it was quite right and natural if you saw eva playing with a large dog, even if he was black. but a fellow-creature that can think, and reason, and feel, and is immortal, you shudder at. i know how you north-country people feel about it. you loathe the blacks as you would a toad or a snake. yet you pity them, and are angry because they are often ill-treated.' 'well, cousin,' said miss ophelia thoughtfully, 'i daresay you are right. i suppose i must try to get over my feeling.' chapter x uncle tom's letter uncle tom felt that he was indeed very fortunate to have found such a kind master and so good a home. he had nice clothes, plenty of food, and a comfortable room to sleep in. he had no hard, disagreeable work to do. his chief duties were to drive mrs. st. clare's carriage when she wanted to go out, and to attend on eva when she wanted him. he soon grew to love his little mistress very, very much indeed. mr. st. clare too began to find tom very useful. he was dreadfully careless about money, and his chief servant was just as careless as his master. so between them a great deal was not only spent but wasted. mr. shelby had trusted tom in everything, and tom had always been careful of his master's money--as careful as if it had been his own. waste seemed dreadful to him, and he tried to do something to stop it now. mr. st. clare was not long in finding out how clever tom was, and soon trusted him as thoroughly as mr. shelby had done. but in spite of all his good fortune, tom used to long very much to go home to see his dear ones again. he had plenty of spare time, and whenever he had nothing to do he would pull his bible out of his pocket and try to find comfort in reading it. [illustration] but as time went on, uncle tom longed more and more for his home. at last one day he had a grand idea. he would write a letter. before uncle tom was sold, george shelby had been teaching him to write so he thought he could manage a letter. he begged a sheet of writing-paper from eva, and going to his room began to make a rough copy on his slate. it was very difficult. poor uncle tom found that he had quite forgotten how to make some of the letters. of those he did remember, he was not quite sure which he ought to use. yes, it was a very difficult thing indeed. while he was working away, breathing very hard over it, eva came behind him, and peeped over his shoulder. 'oh, uncle tom! what funny things you are making there!' eva put her little golden head close to uncle tom's black one, and the two began a grave and anxious talk over the letter. they were both very earnest, and both very ignorant. but after a great deal of consulting over every word, the writing began, they really thought, to look quite like a proper letter. 'yes, uncle tom, it begins to look beautiful,' said eva, gazing on it with delight. 'how pleased your wife will be, and the poor little children! oh, it is a shame that you ever had to go away from them! i mean to ask papa to let you go back, some day.' 'missis said that she would send down money for me, as soon as they could get it together,' said tom. 'young mas'r george, he said he'd come for me. he gave me this dollar as a sign,' and tom drew the precious dollar from under his coat. 'oh, he is sure to come, then,' said eva, 'i am so glad.' 'i wanted to send a letter, you see, to let 'em know where i was, and tell poor chloe that i was well off, 'cause she felt so dreadful, poor soul.' 'i say, tom,' said mr. st. clare, coming in at the door at this minute. tom and eva both started. 'what's this?' mr. st. clare went on, coming up and looking at the slate. 'oh, it's tom's letter. i'm helping him to write it,' said eva. 'isn't it nice?' 'i wouldn't discourage either of you,' said her father; 'but i rather think, tom, you had better let me write your letter for you. i'll do it when i come home from my ride.' 'it is very important that he should write,' said eva, 'because his mistress is going to send money to buy him back again, you know, papa. he told me they had said so.' mr. st. clare thought in his heart that very likely this meant nothing. he thought it was only one of these things which good-natured people said to their slaves to comfort them when they were taken away from their dear ones to be sold. he did not really believe mrs. shelby meant to buy tom back again. however, he did not say so out loud, but just told tom to get the horses ready for a ride. that evening the letter was written, and uncle tom carried it joyfully to the post-office. [illustration] chapter xii george fights for freedom the day after george and eliza met each other once more at the end of so many sad months of parting, was a very happy one in the quaker house. the two had much to say to each other. george had to tell how he had escaped from his cruel master, and how he had followed eliza all the way and at last found her. then there were plans to make for going on towards canada. it was arranged that they should start that night at ten o'clock. 'the pursuers are hard after thee, we must not delay,' said simeon. rachel was happy and busy, packing up food and clothes for them to take on the journey. late in the afternoon another quaker, called phineas, came with the dreadful news that the wicked men, whom haley had sent to catch eliza, were only a few miles away. so george and eliza decided to start as soon as it was dark. a little while after supper a large covered waggon drew up before the door. they got in and the waggon drove off. on and on, all through the dark night they drove. about three o'clock, george heard the click of a horse's hoof coming behind them. 'that's simeon,' said phineas, who was driving, as he pulled up the horses to listen. 'halloa, there, simeon,' he shouted, 'what news? are they coming?' 'yes, right on behind, eight or ten of them.' 'oh! what shall we do?' groaned eliza. but phineas knew the road well. he lashed the horses till they flew along, the waggon rattling and jumping over the hard road behind them. [illustration] on they went till they came to a place where the rocks rose straight up from the road like a wall. it seemed impossible for any one to climb up there. but phineas knew a way. he stopped the horses. 'here, simeon,' he said, 'take the waggon, and drive on as fast as thou canst, and bring back help. now follow me,' he said to the others, 'quick, for your lives. run now, if you you ever did run.' quicker than we can say it, they were following him up a tiny narrow path to the top of the rocks, and simeon was galloping the horses with the empty waggon along the road. 'we are pretty safe here,' said phineas, when they had reached the top. 'only one person can come up that path at a time. if any one tries it, shoot him.' the men who were chasing them had now arrived at the foot of of the rocks. they were led by a big man called tom loker, and another mean-looking little man, whom haley had sent. after some hunting about, they found the path, and, headed by tom loker, began to climb up. 'come up if you like,' george called out, 'but if you do we will shoot you.' for answer, the little man took aim at george, and fired. eliza screamed, but the shot did not hurt him. it passed close to his hair, nearly touched her cheek, and, struck a tree behind. tom loker came on. george waited until he was near enough, then he fired. the shot hit him in the side. but, though wounded, he would not go back. with a yell like that of a mad bull he came leaping on, and sprang right in among them. quakers are not allowed to use guns and pistols, so phineas had been standing back while george shot. now he sprang forward. as tom loker landed in the middle of them, he gave him a great push, saying, 'friend, thee isn't wanted here.' down fell tom loker, down, down the steep side of the rock. he crashed and crackled among trees, bushes, logs, loose stones, till he lay bruised and groaning far below. the fall might have killed him, had it not been broken by his clothes catching on the branches of a large tree. cruel people are, very often, cowardly too. when the men saw their leader first wounded, and then thrown down, they all ran away. mounting their horses, they rode off as fast as they could, leaving tom loker lying on the ground wounded and groaning with pain. as soon as phineas and the others saw that the wicked men had really ridden away, they climbed down, meaning to walk along the road till they met simeon. they had just reached the bottom, when they saw him coming back with the waggon and two other men. 'now we are safe,' cried phineas joyfully. 'well, do stop then,' said eliza, 'and do something for that poor man. he is groaning dreadfully.' 'it would be no more than christian,' said george. 'let us take him with us.' they lifted the wounded man gently, as if he had been a friend instead of a cruel enemy, and laid him in the waggon. then they all set out once more. [illustration] a drive of about an hour brought them to a neat farm-house. there the tired travellers were kindly received and given a good breakfast. tom loker was put into a comfortable bed, far cleaner and softer than any he had ever slept in before. george and eliza walked about the garden hand-in-hand, feeling happy together, and almost safe. they were so near canada now. chapter xiii aunt dinah miss ophelia found that it was no easy matter to bring anything like order into the st. clare household. the slaves had been left to themselves so long, and had grown so untidy, that they were not at all pleased with miss feely, as they called her, for trying to make them be tidy. however, she had quite made up her mind that order there must be. she got up at four o'clock in the morning, much to the surprise of the housemaids. all day long she was busy dusting and tidying, till mrs. st. clare said it made her tired to see cousin ophelia so busy. chapter xiv topsy one morning, while miss ophelia was busy, as usual, she heard mr. st. clare calling her from the foot of the stairs. 'come down here, cousin. i have something to show you.' 'what is it?' said miss ophelia, coming down with her sewing in her hand. 'i have bought something for you. see here,' he said, pulling forward a little negro girl of about eight or nine years old. she was quite black. her round, shining eyes glittered like glass beads. her wooly hair was plaited into little tails which stuck out in all directions. her clothes were dirty and ragged. miss ophelia thought she had never seen such a dreadful little girl in all her life. 'cousin, what in the world have you brought that thing here for?' she asked, in dismay. 'for you to teach, to be sure, and train in the way she should go,' said mr. st. clare, laughing. 'topsy,' he went on, 'this is your new mistress. see, now, that you behave yourself.' 'yes, mas'r,' said topsy gravely, but her eyes had a wicked twinkle in them. 'you're going to be good, topsy, you understand?' said mr. st. clare. 'oh yes, mas'r' said topsy again, meekly folding her hands, but with another twinkle in her eyes. 'now cousin, what is this for? your house is full of these little plagues as it is. i get up in the morning and find one asleep behind the door; see one black head poking out from under the table; another lying on the mat. they tumble over the kitchen floor, so that a body can't put their foot down without treading on them. what on earth did you want to bring this one for?' 'for you to teach, didn't i tell you?' 'i don't want her, i'm sure. i have more to do with them now than i want.' 'well the fact is, cousin,' said mr. st. clare, drawing her aside, 'she belonged to some people who were dreadfully cruel and beat her. i couldn't bear to hear her screaming every day, so i bought her. i will give her to you. do try and make something of her.' 'well, i'll do what i can,' said miss ophelia. 'she is fearfully dirty, and half naked.' 'well, take her downstairs, and tell somebody to clean her up, and give her some decent clothes.' getting topsy clean was a very long business. but at last it was done. then, sitting down before her, miss ophelia began to question her. 'how old are you, topsy?' 'dunno, missis,' said she, grinning like an ugly little black doll. 'don't know how old you are! did nobody ever tell you? who was your mother?' 'never had none,' said topsy, with another grin. 'never had any mother! what do you mean? where were you born?' 'never was born.' 'you mustn't answer me like that, child,' said miss ophelia sternly. 'i am not playing with you. tell me where you were born, and who your father and mother were.' 'never was born,' said topsy again very decidedly. 'never had no father, nor mother, nor nothin!' miss ophelia hardly knew what to make of her. 'how long have you lived with your master and mistress, then?' she asked. 'dunno, missis.' 'is it a year, or more, or less?' 'dunno, missis.' 'have you ever heard anything about god, topsy?' asked miss ophelia next. topsy looked puzzled, but kept on grinning. 'do you know who made you?' 'nobody as i knows on,' replied topsy, with a laugh. 'spect i grow'd. don't think nobody ever made me.' [illustration] 'do you know how to sew?' asked miss ophelia, quite shocked. 'no, missis.' 'what can you do? what did you do for your master and mistress?' 'fetch water, and wash dishes, and clean knives, and wait on folks.' 'well, now, topsy, i'm going to show you just how my bed is to be made. i am very particular about my bed. you must learn exactly how to do it.' 'yes, missis,' said topsy, with a deep sigh and a face of woeful earnestness. 'now, topsy, look here. this is the hem of the sheet. this is the right side of the sheet. this is the wrong. will you remember?' 'yes, missis,' said topsy with another sigh. 'well, now, the under-sheet you must bring over the bolster--so, and tuck it right down under the mattress nice and smooth--so. do you see?' 'yes, missis.' 'but the upper sheet,' said miss ophelia, 'must be brought down in this way, and tucked under, firm and smooth, at the foot--so, the narrow hem at the foot.' 'yes, missis,' said topsy as before. but while miss ophelia was bending over the bed she had quickly seized a pair of gloves and a ribbon, which were lying on the dressing-table, and slipped them up her sleeves. when miss ophelia looked up again, the naughty little girl was standing with meekly-folded hand as before. 'now, topsy, let me see you do this,' said miss ophelia, pulling the clothes off again and seating herself. topsy, looking very earnest, did it all just as she had been shown. she did it so quickly and well that miss ophelia was very pleased. but, alas! as she was finishing, an end of ribbon came dangling out of her sleeve. 'what is this?' said miss ophelia, seizing it. 'you naughty, wicked child--you have been stealing this.' the ribbon was pulled out of topsy's own sleeve. yet she did not seem a bit ashamed. she only looked at it with an air of surprise and innocence. 'why, that's miss feely's ribbon, an't it? how could it a got into my sleeve?' 'topsy, you naughty girl, don't tell me a lie. you stole that ribbon,' 'missis, i declare i didn't. never seed it till dis blessed minnit.' 'topsy,' said miss ophelia, 'don't you know it is wicked to tell lies?' 'i never tells no lies, miss feely,' said topsy. 'it's jist the truth i've been, tellin' now. it an't nothin' else.' [illustration] 'topsy, i shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so.' 'laws, missis, if you whip's all day, couldn't say no other way,' said topsy, beginning to cry. 'i never seed dat ribbon. it must a caught in my sleeve. miss feely must'a left it on the bed, and it got caught in the clothes, and so got in my sleeve.' miss ophelia was so angry at such a barefaced lie that she caught topsy and shook her. 'don't tell me that again,' she said. the shake brought the gloves on the floor from the other sleeve. 'there,' said miss ophelia, 'will you tell me now you didn't steal the ribbon?' topsy now confessed to stealing the gloves. but she, still said she had not taken the ribbon. 'now, topsy', said miss ophelia kindly, 'if you will confess all about it i won't whip you this time.' so topsy confessed to having stolen both the ribbon and the gloves. she said she was very, very sorry, and would never do it again. 'well, now, tell me,' said miss ophelia, 'have you taken anything else since you have been in the house? if you confess i won't whip you.' 'laws, missis, i took miss eva's red thing she wears on her neck.' 'you did, you naughty child! well, what else?' 'i took rosa's ear-rings--them red ones.' 'go and bring them to me this minute--both of them.' 'laws, missis, i can't--they's burnt up.' 'burnt up? what a story! go and get them, or i shall whip you.' topsy began to cry and groan, and declare that she could not. 'they's burnt up, they is.' 'what did you burn them up for?' asked miss ophelia. 'cause i's wicked, i is. i's mighty wicked, anyhow. i can't help it.' just at this minute eva came into the room wearing her coral necklace. 'why, eva, where did you get your necklace?' said miss ophelia. 'get it? why, i have had it on all day,' answered eva, rather surprised. 'and what is funny, aunty, i had it on all night too. i forgot to take it off when i went to bed.' miss ophelia looked perfectly astonished. she was more astonished still when, next minute, rosa, who was one of the housemaids, came in with a basket of clean clothes, wearing her coral ear-rings as usual. i'm sure i don't know what to do with such a child,' she said, in despair. 'what in the world made you tell me you took those things, topsy?' 'why, missis said i must 'fess. i couldn't think of nothing else to 'fess,' said topsy, wiping her eyes. 'but of course, i didn't want you to confess things you didn't do,' said miss ophelia. 'that is telling a lie just as much as the other.' 'laws, now, is it?' said topsy, looking surprised and innocent. 'poor topsy,' said eva, 'why need you steal? you are going to be taken good care of now. i am sure i would rather give you anything of mine than have you steal it.' topsy had never been spoken to so kindly and gently in all her life. for a minute she looked as if she were going to cry. the next she was grinning as usual in her ugly way. what was to be done with topsy? miss ophelia was quite puzzled. she shut her up in a dark room till she could think about it. 'i don't see,' she said to mr. st. clare, 'how i am going to manage that child without whipping her.' 'well, whip her, then.' 'i never heard of bringing up children without it,' said miss ophelia. 'oh, well, do as you think best. only, i have seen this child beaten with a poker, knocked down with the shovel or tongs, or anything that came handy. so i don't think your beatings will have much effect.' 'what is to be done with her, then?' said miss ophelia. 'i never saw such a child as this.' but mr. st. clare could not answer her question. so miss ophelia had to go on, as best she could, trying to make topsy a good girl. she taught her to read and to sew. topsy liked reading, and learned her letters like magic. but she could not bear sewing. so she broke her needles or threw them away. she tangled, broke, and dirtied her cotton and hid her reels. miss ophelia felt sure all these things could not be accidents. yet she could never catch topsy doing them. in a very few days topsy had learned how to do miss ophelia's room perfectly, for she was very quick and clever. but if miss ophelia ever left her to do it by herself there was sure to be dreadful confusion. instead of making the bed, she would amuse herself with pulling off the pillow-cases. then she would butt her woolly head among the pillows, until it was covered with feathers sticking out in all directions. she would climb the bedpost, and hang head downwards from the top; wave the sheets and covers all over the room; dress the bolster up in miss ophelia's nightgown and act scenes with it, singing, whistling, and making faces at herself in the looking-glass all the time. 'topsy,' miss ophelia would say, when her patience was at an end, 'what makes you behave so badly?' 'dunno, missis--i'spects' cause i's so wicked.' 'i don't know what i shall do with you, topsy.' 'laws, missis, you must whip me. my old missis always did. i an't used to workin' unless i gets whipped.' so miss ophelia tried it. topsy would scream and groan and implore. but half an hour later she would be sitting among the other little niggers belonging to the house, laughing about it. 'miss feely whip!' she would say, 'she can't do it nohow.' 'law, you niggers,' she would go on, 'does you know you's all sinners? well, you is; everybody is. white folks is sinners too--miss feely says so. but i 'spects niggers is the biggest ones. but ye an't any of ye up to me. i's so awful wicked, there can't nobody do nothin' with me. i 'spects i's the wickedest crittur in the world.' then she would turn a somersault, and come up bright and smiling, evidently quite pleased with herself. chapter xv eva and topsy two or three years passed. uncle tom was still with mr. st. clare, far away from his home. he was not really unhappy. but always in his heart was the aching longing to see his dear ones again. now he began to have a new sorrow. he loved his little mistress eva very tenderly, and she was ill. he saw that she was growing white and thin. she no longer ran and played in the garden for hours together as she used to do. she was always tired now. miss ophelia noticed it too, and tried to make mr. st. clare see it. but he would not. he loved his little eva so much, that he did not want to believe that anything could be the matter with her. mrs. st. clare never thought that any one, except herself, could be ill. so eva grew daily thinner and weaker, and uncle tom and aunt ophelia more and more sad and anxious. but at last she became so unwell, that even mr. st. clare had to own that something was wrong, and the doctor was sent for. in a week or two she was very much better. once more she ran about playing and laughing, and her father was delighted. only miss ophelia and the doctor sighed and shook their heads. and little eva herself knew; but she was not troubled. she knew she was going to god. 'papa' she said one day, 'there are some things i want to say to you. i want to say them now while i am able.' she seated herself on his knee, and laid her head on his shoulder. 'it is all no use, papa, to keep it to myself any longer. the time is coming when i am going to leave you. i am going, never to come back', and eva sobbed. 'eva, darling, don't say such things; you are better you know.' 'no, papa, i am not any better. i know it quite well, and i am going soon.' 'and i want to go,' she went on, 'only i don't want to leave you--it almost breaks my heart.' 'don't, eva, don't talk so. what makes you so sad?' 'i feel sad for our poor people. i wish, papa, they were all free. isn't there any way to have all slaves made free?' 'that is a difficult question, dearest. there is no doubt that this way is a very bad one. a great many people think so. i do myself. i wish there was not a slave in the land. but then, i don't know what is to be done about it.' 'papa, you are such a good man, and so noble and kind. couldn't you go all around and try and persuade people to do right about this? when i am dead, papa, then you will think of me, and do it for my sake.' 'when you are dead, eva! oh, child, don't talk to me so.' 'promise me at least, father, that tom shall have his freedom, as soon as i am gone.' 'yes, dear, i will do anything you wish. only don't talk so.' miss ophelia and eva had been to church together. miss ophelia had gone to her room to take off her bonnet, while eva talked to her father. suddenly mr. st. clare and his little girl heard a great noise coming from miss ophelia's room. a minute later she appeared, dragging topsy behind her. 'come out here' she was saying. 'i will tell your master.' 'what is the matter now?' asked mr. st. clare. 'the matter is that i cannot be plagued with this child any longer' said miss ophelia. 'it is past all bearing. here, i locked her up, and gave her a hymn to learn. what does she do, but spy out where i put my key. she has gone to my wardrobe, taken a bonnet-trimming, and cut it all to pieces to make dolls' jackets! i never saw anything like it in my life.' [illustration] 'i don't know what to do' she went on; 'i have taught and taught. i have talked till i'm tired. i've whipped her. i've punished her in every way i can think of, and still she is as naughty as she was at first.' 'come here, topsy, you monkey,' said mr. st. clare. topsy came, her hard, round eyes glittering and blinking, half in fear, half in mischief. 'what makes you behave so?' said mr. st. clare, who could not help being amused at her funny expression. 'spects it's my wicked heart; miss feely says so.' 'don't you see how much miss ophelia has done for you? she says she has done everything she can think of.' 'lor', yes, mas'r! old missis used to say so, too. she whipped me a heap harder, and used to pull my hair and knock my head agin the door. but it didn't do me no good. i 'spect if they is to pull every hair out o' my head it wouldn't do no good neither. i's so wicked. laws! i's nothin' but a nigger noways.' 'i shall have to give her up,' said miss ophelia. 'i can't have that trouble any longer.' eva had stood silent, listening. now she took topsy by the hand, and led her into a little room close by. 'what makes you so naughty, topsy?' she said, with tears in her eyes. 'why don't you try to be good? don't you love anybody, topsy?' 'dunno nothin' 'bout love. i love candy, that's all.' 'but you love your father and mother?' 'never had none, ye know. i telled ye that, miss eva.' 'oh, i forgot,' said eva sadly. 'but hadn't you any brother, or sister or aunt, or--' 'no, none on 'em. never had nothin' nor nobody.' 'but, topsy, if you would only try to be good you might--' 'couldn't never be nothin' but a nigger, if i was ever so good,' said topsy. 'if i could be skinned, and come white, i'd try then.' 'but people can love you, if you are black, topsy. miss ophelia would love you if you were good.' topsy laughed scornfully. 'don't you think so?' said eva. 'no. she can't bear me, 'cause i'm a nigger. she'd as soon have a toad touch her. there can't nobody love niggers, and niggers can't do nothin'. i don't care,' and topsy began whistling to show that she didn't. 'oh, topsy! i love you,' said eva, laying her little, thin hand on topsy's shoulder. 'i love you, because you haven't had any mother, or father, or friends; because you have been a poor, ill-used child. i love you, and i want you to be good. it makes me sorry to have you so naughty. i wish you would try to be good for my sake, because i'm going to die soon. i shan't be here very long.' topsy's round, bright eyes grew suddenly dim with tears. she did believe at last that it was possible for some one to love her. she laid her head down between her knees and wept and sobbed. 'poor topsy,' said eva gently. [illustration] 'oh, miss eva, dear miss eva,' cried the poor little black child, 'i will try, i will try. i never did care nothin' about it before.' chapter xvi eva's last good-bye it soon became quite plain to everybody that eva was very ill indeed. she never ran about and played now, but spent most of the day lying on the sofa in her own pretty room. every one loved her, and tried to do things for her. even naughty little topsy used to bring her flowers, and try to be good for her sake. uncle tom was a great deal in eva's room. she used to get very restless, and then she liked to be carried about. he was so big and strong that he could do it very easily. he would walk about with her under the orange-trees in the garden, or sitting down on some of their old seats, would sing their favorite hymns. he loved to do it, and could not bear to be long away from his little mistress. he gave up sleeping in his bed, and lay all night on the mat outside her door. one day eva made her aunt cut off a lot of her beautiful hair. then she called all the slaves together, said good-bye to them, and gave them each a curl of her hair as a keepsake. they all cried very much, and said they would never forget her, and would try to be good for her sake. a few nights later miss ophelia came quickly to tom, as he lay on the mat outside eva's door. 'go, tom,' she said, 'go as fast as you can for the doctor.' tom ran. but in the morning little eva lay on her bed, cold and white, with closed eyes and folded hands. she had gone to god. mr. st. clare was very, very unhappy for a long time after eva died. he had loved her so much, that now his life seemed quite empty without her. he did not forget his promise to her about tom. he went to his lawyer, and told him to begin writing out the papers that would make tom free. it took some time to make a slave free. 'well, tom,' said mr. st. clare the day after he had spoken to his lawyer, 'i'm going to make a free man of you. so have your trunk packed and get ready to set out for home.' joy shone in uncle tom's face. 'bless the lord,' he said, raising his hands to heaven. mr. st. clare felt rather hurt. he did not like tom to be so glad to leave him. 'you haven't had such a very bad time here that you need be in such rapture, tom,' he said. 'no, no, mas'r! tan't that. it's bein' a free man! that's what i'm joyin' for.' 'why, tom, don't you think that you are really better off as you are?' 'no, indeed, mas'r st. clare,' said tom, very decidedly; 'no, indeed.' 'but, tom, you couldn't possibly have earned by your work such clothes and such nice, comfortable rooms and good food as i have given you.' 'i knows all that, mas'r st. clare. mas'r has been too good. but, mas'r, i'd rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have 'em mine than have the best, and have 'em any man's else. i had so, mas'r. i thinks it's nature, mas'r.' 'i suppose so, tom. you will be going off and leaving me, in a month or two,' he said, rather discontentedly. 'though why you shouldn't, i don't know,' he added, in a gayer voice. [illustration] 'not while mas'r is in trouble,' said tom. 'i'll stay with mas'r as long as he wants me--so as i can be of any use.' 'not while i am in trouble, tom?' said mr. st. clare, looking sadly out of the window. 'and when will my trouble be over?' then half-smiling he turned from the window, and laid his hand on tom's shoulder. 'ah, tom, you soft, silly boy,' he said. 'i won't keep you. go home to your wife and children, and give them all my love.' 'cousin,' said miss ophelia, coming into the room, 'i want to speak to you about topsy.' 'what has she been doing now?' [illustration] 'nothing; she is a much better girl than she used to be. but i want to ask you, whose is she--yours or mine?' 'why yours, of course; i gave her to you,' said mr. st. clare. 'but not by law. there is no use my trying to make this child a christian, unless i can be quite sure that she will not be sold as a slave again. if you are really willing i should have her, i want you to give me a paper saying she is mine.' 'but you think it is wicked to keep slaves. now you want to have one of your own. oh! shocking, cousin,' said mr. st. clare, who loved to tease. 'nonsense! i only want to have her, so that i can set her free.' 'very well,' said mr. st. clare, 'i will write the paper for you.' then he sat down and began to read. 'but i want it done now,' said miss ophelia. 'why are you in such a hurry?' 'because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing in,' said miss ophelia. 'want to make sure of it. you may die or lose all your money. then topsy would be taken away and sold, in spite of anything i could say.' mr. st. clare hated being made to do things when he didn't want to. however, after teasing his cousin a little more, he wrote out the paper, and topsy belonged to miss ophelia. that evening mr. st. clare went out for a ride. tom saw him go, and asked if he should come too. 'no, my boy,' said mr. st. clare, 'i shall be back in an hour.' tom sat down on the verandah to wait till his master came home. while he waited, he fell asleep. presently he was awakened by loud knocking, and the sound of voices at the gate. he ran to open it. several men were there carrying a load. it was mr. st. clare. he had been hurt in an accident, and was dying. very gently they laid him on a sofa. nothing could be done. in a short time he had gone to join his little eva. chapter xvii uncle tom's new master there had been great grief in the house when eva died. now there was not only sorrow, but gloom and fear. the kind master was dead, and the poor slaves asked themselves in despair what would happen to them now. they were not long left in doubt. one morning mrs. st. clare told them that they were all to be sold. she was going back to her father's house to live, and would not want them any more. poor uncle tom! the news was a dreadful blow to him. for a few days he had been so happy in the thought of going home. once more, after all these years, he thought he would see his dear wife and little children. now, at one stroke, he had lost both his kind master and his hope of freedom. instead of going home, he was to be sent farther away than ever from his dear ones. he could not bear it. he tried to say, "thy will be done", but bitter tears almost choked the words. he had one hope left. he would ask miss ophelia to speak to mrs. st. clare for him. 'mas'r st. clare promised me my freedom, miss feely,' he said. 'he told me that he had begun to take it out for me. and now, perhaps, if you would be good enough to speak about it to missis, she would feel like going on with it. seeing it was mas'r st. clare's wish, she might.' 'i'll speak for you, tom, and do my best,' said miss ophelia. 'i haven't much hope, but i will try.' so miss ophelia asked mrs. st. clare to set tom free. 'indeed, i shall do no such thing,' she replied. 'tom is worth more than any of the other slaves. i couldn't afford to lose so much money. besides, what does he want with his freedom? he is a great deal better off as he is.' 'but he does want it very much,' replied miss ophelia. 'and his master promised it to him.' 'i dare say he does want it,' replied mrs. st. clare. 'they all want it. just because they are a discontented set, always wanting what they haven't got.' 'but tom is so good and gentle, and such a splendid worker. if you sell him there is the chance of his getting a bad master.' 'oh, i have no fear about that. most masters are good, in spite of all the talk people make about it,' replied mrs. st. clare. 'well', said miss ophelia at last, 'i know it was one of the last wishes of your husband that tom should have his freedom. he promised dear little eva that he should have it. i think you ought to do it.' then mrs. st. clare began to cry, and say every one was unkind to her, and miss ophelia saw it was no use saying anything more. there was only one other thing she could do. she wrote to mrs. shelby, telling her that poor uncle tom was going to be sold again. she asked her to send money to buy him back, as soon as possible. the next day, uncle tom and the other slaves belonging to mr. st. clare were sent to market to be sold. as uncle tom stood in the market-place, waiting for some one to buy him, he looked anxiously round. in the crowd of faces, he was trying to find one kind, handsome one, like mr. st. clare's. but there was none. presently a short, broad man, with a coarse, ugly face and dirty hands, came up to tom. he looked him all over, pulled his mouth open and looked at his teeth, pinched his arms, made him walk and jump, and indeed treated him as he would a horse or cow he had wished to buy. tom knew from the way this man looked and spoke, that he must be bad and cruel. he prayed in his heart that this might not be his new master. but it was. his name was legree. he bought uncle tom, several other men slaves, and two women. one of the women was a pretty young girl, who had never been away from her mother before, and who was very much afraid of her new master. the other was an old woman. the two women were chained together. the men, uncle tom among them, had heavy chains put on both hands and feet. then legree drove them all on to a boat which was going up the river to his plantation. it was a sad journey. this time there was no pretty eva, nor kind-hearted mr. st. clare, to bring any happiness to the poor slaves. one of the first things legree did was to take away all tom's nice clothes which mr. st. clare had given him. he made him put on his oldest clothes, then he sold all the others to the sailors. legree made his slaves unhappy in every way he could think of. then he would come up to them and say, 'come, come, i don't allow any sulky looks. be cheerful, now, or--' and he would crack his whip in a way to make them tremble. at last the weary journey was over. legree and his slaves landed. his house was a long way from the river. the men slaves walked, while legree and the two women drove in a cart. mile after mile they trudged along, over the rough road through wild and dreary country, till, hungry, thirsty, and tired, they arrived at the farm, or plantation as it was called. legree was not a gentleman like mr. shelby or mr. st. clare. he was a very rough kind of farmer. on his farm he grew cotton. the cotton had to be gathered and tied into bundles. then he sold it to people who made it into calico, muslin, and other things, which we need to use and wear. gathering cotton is very hard work. the house legree lived in had once been a very fine one, and had belonged to a rich gentleman. now, it was old, neglected, and almost in ruins. the house was bad enough, but the cabins where the slaves lived were far worse. they were roughly built of wood. the wind and the rain came through the chinks between the planks. there were no windows. the floors were nothing but the bare earth. there was no furniture of any kind in them, only heaps of dirty straw to sleep upon. uncle tom felt more unhappy than ever. he had hoped at least to have a little room which he could keep clean and tidy. but this hole he did not even have to himself. he had to share it with five or six others. now began the saddest time of uncle tom's life. every morning very early the slaves were driven out into the fields like cattle. all day long they worked hard. the burning sun blazed down upon them, making them hot and tired. legree and his two chief slaves, called quimbo and sambo, marched about all the time with whips in their hands. at night they drove the slaves back again to their miserable huts. but before they could rest, they had to grind and cook the corn for their supper. when at last they did go to sleep, they had to lie on the heaps of dirty straw instead of in comfortable beds. chapter xviii george and eliza find freedom tom loker lay tossing and tumbling in his clean, comfortable bed at the quaker farmhouse. a pretty, old quaker lady, with white hair and a kind face, was nursing him. tom loker did not like being ill and having to lie in bed. he threw the clothes about, grumbling and using naughty words all the tune. 'i must ask thee, thomas loker, not to use such language,' said the nice lady, as she smoothed his sheets, and made his bed comfortable again for him. 'well, i won't, granny, if i can help it,' he replied; 'but it is enough to make a fellow swear, it is so awfully hot.' he gave another great lunge, and made the sheets and blankets all untidy again. 'i suppose that fellow george and the girl eliza are here,' he said, in a sulky voice, after a few minutes' silence. 'yes, they are,' said the old lady. 'they had better get away across the lake,' said tom loker, 'the quicker the better.' 'very likely they will do so,' said the old lady, calmly going on with her knitting. 'but, listen,' said tom loker, getting excited, 'there are people who are watching the boats for us. i don't care if i tell now. i hope they will get away, just to spite the others for going and leaving me as they did--the mean puppies, the--' 'thomas loker!' said the old lady. 'i tell you, granny, if you bottle a fellow up too tight he'll split,' said tom loker. 'but about eliza--tell them to dress her up some way so as to alter her. we have sent a description of what she looks like to the town where the boats start from. she will be caught yet if she doesn't dress up differently.' 'i thank thee, thomas loker,' replied the old lady with her usual calmness. 'we will attend to that. thank thee.' then she went to tell george and eliza what tom loker had said. they were indeed very grateful to him, and very glad that they had not left him, as his own friends had done, to die by the roadside. so next day eliza cut off all her beautiful black hair, and dressed herself like a boy. 'don't i make a pretty young fellow?' she said to george, laughing and blushing at the same time. 'you always will be pretty,' said george gravely, 'do what you will.' 'what makes you so sober?' asked eliza, kneeling on one knee, and laying her hand on his. 'we are within twenty-four hours of canada, they say. only a day and a night on the lake, and then--oh, then!' 'o eliza,' said george, holding her fast, 'that is just it. to be so near liberty, to be almost in sight of it--and then if we lost it. o eliza, i should die.' 'don't fear,' said eliza hopefully. 'the good lord would not have brought us so far if he didn't mean to save us. i seem to feel him with us, george.' so george kissed his wife and took heart again. then the kind old lady brought harry in dressed as a little girl. and a very pretty girl he made too. they called him 'harriet,' as it was so like harry it was easy to remember. harry did not know his mamma, dressed as she was, and clung to the kind lady, feeling rather afraid of the strange young man. that was just as well, as he was too young to understand what this dressing-up and pretending meant, and he might have spoiled it all by calling the nice-looking young man 'mamma.' so the kind lady was going with them, pretending to be the little girl's aunt. when everything was ready they got into a cab, and drove to the wharf. the two young men, as they seemed to be, got out, eliza helping the kind lady and little girl, while george saw to the luggage. as he was standing at the office, taking the tickets, george overheard two men talking by his side. 'i've watched every one that came on board,' said one, 'and i know they are not on this boat.' 'you would scarcely know the woman from a white one,' said the other. 'the man is very fair too. he has an h burned into the palm of his hand.' the hand with which george was taking the tickets and change trembled a little, but he turned calmly round, looked straight at the speaker, and then walked slowly away to where eliza was waiting for him. it was a terribly anxious time, but at last the bell rang, the boat began to move, and george and eliza drew long sighs of relief as they saw the shore getting farther and farther away. it was a lovely day. the blue waves of lake erie danced, rippling and sparkling, in the sunlight. hour after hour the boat steamed on. night came; and in the morning, clear and beautiful before them, rose the shores of canada. george and his wife stood arm in arm as the boat came near the little town, where they were going to land. his breath came thick and short; a mist gathered before his eyes; he silently pressed the little hand that lay trembling on his arm. the bell rang--the boat stopped. [illustration] scarcely seeing what he did, george looked out his luggage, and gathered his little party. they were landed on the shore, and stood still till the boat had started again. then with tears of joy, the husband and wife, with their wondering little boy in their arms, knelt down and lifted up their hearts to god. they were free. chapter xix uncle tom finds freedom the letter which miss ophelia wrote to mrs. shelby, telling her that tom was to be sold again, was delayed a long time in the post. when at last it did arrive, mr. shelby was very ill, and though mrs. shelby felt dreadfully sorry about uncle tom, she could do nothing, as her husband was so ill. soon mr. shelby died. mrs. shelby was very sad, but in her sorrow she did not forget her promise to aunt chloe and uncle tom. as soon as she could, she sold some land, and george shelby, taking the money with him, went off to try to find uncle tom and buy him back again. but by the time george shelby, came to the place where mr. st. clare used to live, uncle tom had been sold to legree, and no one knew where he had gone. at last, after searching about for months, george shelby found out where uncle tom was, and followed him. two days after legree had been so cruel, george shelby drove up the avenue and stopped at the door of the old house. 'i hear,' he said to legree, 'that you bought a slave named tom. he used to belong to my father. i have come to buy him back again.' legree's face grew black with anger. 'yes, i did buy such a fellow,' he growled in rage. 'and a bad bargain it was, too! the most rebellious, saucy, impudent dog! set up my niggers to run away. he owned to it, and, when i bid him tell me where they were, he said he knew, but wouldn't tell. he stuck to it, too, though i gave him the very worst beating i ever gave a nigger yet. i believe he is trying to die. i shouldn't wonder if he did.' 'where is he?' said george. 'let me see him.' his cheeks were crimson, and his eye flashed fire at the thought that legree had dared to treat dear uncle tom so badly. 'he is in that shed,' said a little fellow who was holding george shelby's horse. george, without saying another word, hurried to the place to which the little boy pointed. as he entered the shed, his head felt giddy and his heart sick. uncle tom lay on a heap of straw on the floor, still and quiet. 'oh, dear uncle tom,' cried george as he knelt beside him, 'dear uncle tom, do wake--do speak once more. here's mas'r george--your own little mas'r george. don't you know me?' 'mas'r george!' said tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice. 'mas'r george? it is--it is. it's all i wanted. they haven't forgot me. it warms my soul; it does my old heart good. now i shall die content.' 'you shan't die! you mustn't die, nor think of it. i've come to buy you and take you home,' said george, and the tears came into his eyes as he bent over poor uncle tom. 'oh, mas'r george, ye're too late. the lord has bought me, and is going to take me home.' [illustration] 'oh, don't. it breaks my heart to think of what you've suffered--lying in this old shed, too.' 'you mustn't, now, tell chloe, poor soul, how ye found me,' said tom, taking george by the hand. 'it would seem so dreadful to her. only tell her ye found me going into glory, and that i couldn't stay for no one. and oh, the poor chil'en, and the baby--my old heart's been most broke for them. tell them to follow me. give my love to mas'r, and dear, good missis, and everybody in the place. i love them all.' he closed his eyes, and with a smile he fell asleep. uncle tom too was free. beyond the gates of legree's farm, george had noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees. there he made uncle tom's grave. no stone marks his last resting-place. he needs none. god knows where he lies. kneeling there george bent his head, in shame and sorrow. 'here me, dear god,' he said, 'from this day, i will do what one man can to drive out the curse of slavery from this land.' chapter xx george shelby frees his slaves george shelby wrote a little note to his mother, telling her that he was coming home. he tried to write about uncle tom, but he could not; tears blinded him, and sobs choked him. on the day he was expected every one was in a state of bustle and excitement. aunt chloe in a new print dress, and clean white apron walked round the supper-table, making sure that everything was right. her black face shone with joy at the thought of seeing uncle tom again. 'i'm thinking my old man won't know the boys and the baby,' she said. mrs. shelby sighed. ever since the letter had come from george she had had a very sad heart. she felt sure something must be wrong. 'he won't know the baby, my old man won't,' said chloe again, 'why, it's five years since they took him.' just then the sound of wheels was heard. 'it's mas'r george,' cried aunt chloe, running to the window in great excitement. mrs. shelby ran to the door. as george met her he put his arms round her, and kissed her tenderly. aunt chloe stood behind anxiously looking out into the darkness. 'oh, poor aunt chloe,' said george, gently taking her hard, black hand between both his own. 'i'd have given all my fortune to have brought uncle tom home with me; but he has gone to a better country.' mrs. shelby cried out as if she had been hurt, but aunt chloe did not make a sound. in silence they went into the supper-room. [illustration:] 'there,' said aunt chloe, holding out her trembling hands to her mistress, 'it's just as i knew it would be. he's been sold and murdered on dem old plantations.' then she turned and walked proudly out of the room. mrs. shelby followed her softly, took one of her hands, drew her down into a chair, and sat down beside her. 'my poor, good chloe,' she said gently. chloe leaned her head on her mistress's shoulder, and sobbed out, 'oh, missis, 'scuse me, my heart's broke--dat's all.' 'i know it is,' said mrs. shelby, as her tears fell fast, 'and i cannot heal it.' there was silence for a little as they wept together. then george sat down beside aunt chloe, and took her hand. he talked gently to her, telling her of uncle tom's last loving messages. so she was comforted a little. one morning, about a month after this, george shelby called all his servants together, telling them he had something to say to them. they wondered what it could be, and were very much surprised when he appeared, carrying a bundle of papers in his hand. they were still more astonished when he gave a paper to each one, and told them all that they were free. with sobs and tears and shouts they pressed round him, thanking and blessing him. but some of them came with anxious faces, begging him to take their free papers back again, and not to send them away. 'we don't want to be any freer than we are,' they said. 'we have always had all we wanted.' 'we don't want to leave the old place, and young mas'r and missis, and the rest.' [illustration] 'my good friends,' said george, when he could get silence, 'there will be no need for you to leave me. we want quite as many servants as we did before. but now you are free men and free women. i shall pay you wages for your work, and if i die, or get into debt, you can't be taken away to be sold. that is all the difference. i want you all to stay with me, for i want to teach you how to live as free men and women ought.' 'one thing more,' added george, when the cheering and rejoicing had died away a little. 'you all remember our good old uncle tom. you have heard how he died, and how he sent his love to you all. it was on his grave, my friends, that i made up my mind, with god's help, never to own another slave, if it were possible to free him. i resolved that nobody, through my fault, should ever run the risk of being parted from his dear ones, and of dying far from them, as he died. 'so, when you rejoice in your freedom, remember that you owe it to dear old uncle tom, and pay it back in kindness to his wife and children. think of your freedom every time you see uncle tom's cabin; and let it help you to try to live as he did, and be as honest and faithful and christian as he was.' the end. huckleberry finn by mark twain part . chapter vi. well, pretty soon the old man was up and around again, and then he went for judge thatcher in the courts to make him give up that money, and he went for me, too, for not stopping school. he catched me a couple of times and thrashed me, but i went to school just the same, and dodged him or outrun him most of the time. i didn't want to go to school much before, but i reckoned i'd go now to spite pap. that law trial was a slow business--appeared like they warn't ever going to get started on it; so every now and then i'd borrow two or three dollars off of the judge for him, to keep from getting a cowhiding. every time he got money he got drunk; and every time he got drunk he raised cain around town; and every time he raised cain he got jailed. he was just suited--this kind of thing was right in his line. he got to hanging around the widow's too much and so she told him at last that if he didn't quit using around there she would make trouble for him. well, wasn't he mad? he said he would show who was huck finn's boss. so he watched out for me one day in the spring, and catched me, and took me up the river about three mile in a skiff, and crossed over to the illinois shore where it was woody and there warn't no houses but an old log hut in a place where the timber was so thick you couldn't find it if you didn't know where it was. he kept me with him all the time, and i never got a chance to run off. we lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the key under his head nights. he had a gun which he had stole, i reckon, and we fished and hunted, and that was what we lived on. every little while he locked me in and went down to the store, three miles, to the ferry, and traded fish and game for whisky, and fetched it home and got drunk and had a good time, and licked me. the widow she found out where i was by and by, and she sent a man over to try to get hold of me; but pap drove him off with the gun, and it warn't long after that till i was used to being where i was, and liked it--all but the cowhide part. it was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking and fishing, and no books nor study. two months or more run along, and my clothes got to be all rags and dirt, and i didn't see how i'd ever got to like it so well at the widow's, where you had to wash, and eat on a plate, and comb up, and go to bed and get up regular, and be forever bothering over a book, and have old miss watson pecking at you all the time. i didn't want to go back no more. i had stopped cussing, because the widow didn't like it; but now i took to it again because pap hadn't no objections. it was pretty good times up in the woods there, take it all around. but by and by pap got too handy with his hick'ry, and i couldn't stand it. i was all over welts. he got to going away so much, too, and locking me in. once he locked me in and was gone three days. it was dreadful lonesome. i judged he had got drowned, and i wasn't ever going to get out any more. i was scared. i made up my mind i would fix up some way to leave there. i had tried to get out of that cabin many a time, but i couldn't find no way. there warn't a window to it big enough for a dog to get through. i couldn't get up the chimbly; it was too narrow. the door was thick, solid oak slabs. pap was pretty careful not to leave a knife or anything in the cabin when he was away; i reckon i had hunted the place over as much as a hundred times; well, i was most all the time at it, because it was about the only way to put in the time. but this time i found something at last; i found an old rusty wood-saw without any handle; it was laid in between a rafter and the clapboards of the roof. i greased it up and went to work. there was an old horse-blanket nailed against the logs at the far end of the cabin behind the table, to keep the wind from blowing through the chinks and putting the candle out. i got under the table and raised the blanket, and went to work to saw a section of the big bottom log out--big enough to let me through. well, it was a good long job, but i was getting towards the end of it when i heard pap's gun in the woods. i got rid of the signs of my work, and dropped the blanket and hid my saw, and pretty soon pap come in. pap warn't in a good humor--so he was his natural self. he said he was down town, and everything was going wrong. his lawyer said he reckoned he would win his lawsuit and get the money if they ever got started on the trial; but then there was ways to put it off a long time, and judge thatcher knowed how to do it. and he said people allowed there'd be another trial to get me away from him and give me to the widow for my guardian, and they guessed it would win this time. this shook me up considerable, because i didn't want to go back to the widow's any more and be so cramped up and sivilized, as they called it. then the old man got to cussing, and cussed everything and everybody he could think of, and then cussed them all over again to make sure he hadn't skipped any, and after that he polished off with a kind of a general cuss all round, including a considerable parcel of people which he didn't know the names of, and so called them what's-his-name when he got to them, and went right along with his cussing. he said he would like to see the widow get me. he said he would watch out, and if they tried to come any such game on him he knowed of a place six or seven mile off to stow me in, where they might hunt till they dropped and they couldn't find me. that made me pretty uneasy again, but only for a minute; i reckoned i wouldn't stay on hand till he got that chance. the old man made me go to the skiff and fetch the things he had got. there was a fifty-pound sack of corn meal, and a side of bacon, ammunition, and a four-gallon jug of whisky, and an old book and two newspapers for wadding, besides some tow. i toted up a load, and went back and set down on the bow of the skiff to rest. i thought it all over, and i reckoned i would walk off with the gun and some lines, and take to the woods when i run away. i guessed i wouldn't stay in one place, but just tramp right across the country, mostly night times, and hunt and fish to keep alive, and so get so far away that the old man nor the widow couldn't ever find me any more. i judged i would saw out and leave that night if pap got drunk enough, and i reckoned he would. i got so full of it i didn't notice how long i was staying till the old man hollered and asked me whether i was asleep or drownded. i got the things all up to the cabin, and then it was about dark. while i was cooking supper the old man took a swig or two and got sort of warmed up, and went to ripping again. he had been drunk over in town, and laid in the gutter all night, and he was a sight to look at. a body would a thought he was adam--he was just all mud. whenever his liquor begun to work he most always went for the govment, this time he says: "call this a govment! why, just look at it and see what it's like. here's the law a-standing ready to take a man's son away from him--a man's own son, which he has had all the trouble and all the anxiety and all the expense of raising. yes, just as that man has got that son raised at last, and ready to go to work and begin to do suthin' for him and give him a rest, the law up and goes for him. and they call that govment! that ain't all, nuther. the law backs that old judge thatcher up and helps him to keep me out o' my property. here's what the law does: the law takes a man worth six thousand dollars and up'ards, and jams him into an old trap of a cabin like this, and lets him go round in clothes that ain't fitten for a hog. they call that govment! a man can't get his rights in a govment like this. sometimes i've a mighty notion to just leave the country for good and all. yes, and i told 'em so; i told old thatcher so to his face. lots of 'em heard me, and can tell what i said. says i, for two cents i'd leave the blamed country and never come a-near it agin. them's the very words. i says look at my hat--if you call it a hat--but the lid raises up and the rest of it goes down till it's below my chin, and then it ain't rightly a hat at all, but more like my head was shoved up through a jint o' stove-pipe. look at it, says i --such a hat for me to wear--one of the wealthiest men in this town if i could git my rights. "oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful. why, looky here. there was a free nigger there from ohio--a mulatter, most as white as a white man. he had the whitest shirt on you ever see, too, and the shiniest hat; and there ain't a man in that town that's got as fine clothes as what he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a silver-headed cane--the awfulest old gray-headed nabob in the state. and what do you think? they said he was a p'fessor in a college, and could talk all kinds of languages, and knowed everything. and that ain't the wust. they said he could vote when he was at home. well, that let me out. thinks i, what is the country a-coming to? it was 'lection day, and i was just about to go and vote myself if i warn't too drunk to get there; but when they told me there was a state in this country where they'd let that nigger vote, i drawed out. i says i'll never vote agin. them's the very words i said; they all heard me; and the country may rot for all me --i'll never vote agin as long as i live. and to see the cool way of that nigger--why, he wouldn't a give me the road if i hadn't shoved him out o' the way. i says to the people, why ain't this nigger put up at auction and sold?--that's what i want to know. and what do you reckon they said? why, they said he couldn't be sold till he'd been in the state six months, and he hadn't been there that long yet. there, now--that's a specimen. they call that a govment that can't sell a free nigger till he's been in the state six months. here's a govment that calls itself a govment, and lets on to be a govment, and thinks it is a govment, and yet's got to set stock-still for six whole months before it can take a hold of a prowling, thieving, infernal, white-shirted free nigger, and--" pap was agoing on so he never noticed where his old limber legs was taking him to, so he went head over heels over the tub of salt pork and barked both shins, and the rest of his speech was all the hottest kind of language--mostly hove at the nigger and the govment, though he give the tub some, too, all along, here and there. he hopped around the cabin considerable, first on one leg and then on the other, holding first one shin and then the other one, and at last he let out with his left foot all of a sudden and fetched the tub a rattling kick. but it warn't good judgment, because that was the boot that had a couple of his toes leaking out of the front end of it; so now he raised a howl that fairly made a body's hair raise, and down he went in the dirt, and rolled there, and held his toes; and the cussing he done then laid over anything he had ever done previous. he said so his own self afterwards. he had heard old sowberry hagan in his best days, and he said it laid over him, too; but i reckon that was sort of piling it on, maybe. after supper pap took the jug, and said he had enough whisky there for two drunks and one delirium tremens. that was always his word. i judged he would be blind drunk in about an hour, and then i would steal the key, or saw myself out, one or t'other. he drank and drank, and tumbled down on his blankets by and by; but luck didn't run my way. he didn't go sound asleep, but was uneasy. he groaned and moaned and thrashed around this way and that for a long time. at last i got so sleepy i couldn't keep my eyes open all i could do, and so before i knowed what i was about i was sound asleep, and the candle burning. i don't know how long i was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an awful scream and i was up. there was pap looking wild, and skipping around every which way and yelling about snakes. he said they was crawling up his legs; and then he would give a jump and scream, and say one had bit him on the cheek--but i couldn't see no snakes. he started and run round and round the cabin, hollering "take him off! take him off! he's biting me on the neck!" i never see a man look so wild in the eyes. pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down panting; then he rolled over and over wonderful fast, kicking things every which way, and striking and grabbing at the air with his hands, and screaming and saying there was devils a-hold of him. he wore out by and by, and laid still a while, moaning. then he laid stiller, and didn't make a sound. i could hear the owls and the wolves away off in the woods, and it seemed terrible still. he was laying over by the corner. by and by he raised up part way and listened, with his head to one side. he says, very low: "tramp--tramp--tramp; that's the dead; tramp--tramp--tramp; they're coming after me; but i won't go. oh, they're here! don't touch me --don't! hands off--they're cold; let go. oh, let a poor devil alone!" then he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let him alone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in under the old pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying. i could hear him through the blanket. by and by he rolled out and jumped up on his feet looking wild, and he see me and went for me. he chased me round and round the place with a clasp-knife, calling me the angel of death, and saying he would kill me, and then i couldn't come for him no more. i begged, and told him i was only huck; but he laughed such a screechy laugh, and roared and cussed, and kept on chasing me up. once when i turned short and dodged under his arm he made a grab and got me by the jacket between my shoulders, and i thought i was gone; but i slid out of the jacket quick as lightning, and saved myself. pretty soon he was all tired out, and dropped down with his back against the door, and said he would rest a minute and then kill me. he put his knife under him, and said he would sleep and get strong, and then he would see who was who. so he dozed off pretty soon. by and by i got the old split-bottom chair and clumb up as easy as i could, not to make any noise, and got down the gun. i slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded, then i laid it across the turnip barrel, pointing towards pap, and set down behind it to wait for him to stir. and how slow and still the time did drag along. chapter vii. "git up! what you 'bout?" i opened my eyes and looked around, trying to make out where i was. it was after sun-up, and i had been sound asleep. pap was standing over me looking sour and sick, too. he says: "what you doin' with this gun?" i judged he didn't know nothing about what he had been doing, so i says: "somebody tried to get in, so i was laying for him." "why didn't you roust me out?" "well, i tried to, but i couldn't; i couldn't budge you." "well, all right. don't stand there palavering all day, but out with you and see if there's a fish on the lines for breakfast. i'll be along in a minute." he unlocked the door, and i cleared out up the river-bank. i noticed some pieces of limbs and such things floating down, and a sprinkling of bark; so i knowed the river had begun to rise. i reckoned i would have great times now if i was over at the town. the june rise used to be always luck for me; because as soon as that rise begins here comes cordwood floating down, and pieces of log rafts--sometimes a dozen logs together; so all you have to do is to catch them and sell them to the wood-yards and the sawmill. i went along up the bank with one eye out for pap and t'other one out for what the rise might fetch along. well, all at once here comes a canoe; just a beauty, too, about thirteen or fourteen foot long, riding high like a duck. i shot head-first off of the bank like a frog, clothes and all on, and struck out for the canoe. i just expected there'd be somebody laying down in it, because people often done that to fool folks, and when a chap had pulled a skiff out most to it they'd raise up and laugh at him. but it warn't so this time. it was a drift-canoe sure enough, and i clumb in and paddled her ashore. thinks i, the old man will be glad when he sees this--she's worth ten dollars. but when i got to shore pap wasn't in sight yet, and as i was running her into a little creek like a gully, all hung over with vines and willows, i struck another idea: i judged i'd hide her good, and then, 'stead of taking to the woods when i run off, i'd go down the river about fifty mile and camp in one place for good, and not have such a rough time tramping on foot. it was pretty close to the shanty, and i thought i heard the old man coming all the time; but i got her hid; and then i out and looked around a bunch of willows, and there was the old man down the path a piece just drawing a bead on a bird with his gun. so he hadn't seen anything. when he got along i was hard at it taking up a "trot" line. he abused me a little for being so slow; but i told him i fell in the river, and that was what made me so long. i knowed he would see i was wet, and then he would be asking questions. we got five catfish off the lines and went home. while we laid off after breakfast to sleep up, both of us being about wore out, i got to thinking that if i could fix up some way to keep pap and the widow from trying to follow me, it would be a certainer thing than trusting to luck to get far enough off before they missed me; you see, all kinds of things might happen. well, i didn't see no way for a while, but by and by pap raised up a minute to drink another barrel of water, and he says: "another time a man comes a-prowling round here you roust me out, you hear? that man warn't here for no good. i'd a shot him. next time you roust me out, you hear?" then he dropped down and went to sleep again; but what he had been saying give me the very idea i wanted. i says to myself, i can fix it now so nobody won't think of following me. about twelve o'clock we turned out and went along up the bank. the river was coming up pretty fast, and lots of driftwood going by on the rise. by and by along comes part of a log raft--nine logs fast together. we went out with the skiff and towed it ashore. then we had dinner. anybody but pap would a waited and seen the day through, so as to catch more stuff; but that warn't pap's style. nine logs was enough for one time; he must shove right over to town and sell. so he locked me in and took the skiff, and started off towing the raft about half-past three. i judged he wouldn't come back that night. i waited till i reckoned he had got a good start; then i out with my saw, and went to work on that log again. before he was t'other side of the river i was out of the hole; him and his raft was just a speck on the water away off yonder. i took the sack of corn meal and took it to where the canoe was hid, and shoved the vines and branches apart and put it in; then i done the same with the side of bacon; then the whisky-jug. i took all the coffee and sugar there was, and all the ammunition; i took the wadding; i took the bucket and gourd; i took a dipper and a tin cup, and my old saw and two blankets, and the skillet and the coffee-pot. i took fish-lines and matches and other things--everything that was worth a cent. i cleaned out the place. i wanted an axe, but there wasn't any, only the one out at the woodpile, and i knowed why i was going to leave that. i fetched out the gun, and now i was done. i had wore the ground a good deal crawling out of the hole and dragging out so many things. so i fixed that as good as i could from the outside by scattering dust on the place, which covered up the smoothness and the sawdust. then i fixed the piece of log back into its place, and put two rocks under it and one against it to hold it there, for it was bent up at that place and didn't quite touch ground. if you stood four or five foot away and didn't know it was sawed, you wouldn't never notice it; and besides, this was the back of the cabin, and it warn't likely anybody would go fooling around there. it was all grass clear to the canoe, so i hadn't left a track. i followed around to see. i stood on the bank and looked out over the river. all safe. so i took the gun and went up a piece into the woods, and was hunting around for some birds when i see a wild pig; hogs soon went wild in them bottoms after they had got away from the prairie farms. i shot this fellow and took him into camp. i took the axe and smashed in the door. i beat it and hacked it considerable a-doing it. i fetched the pig in, and took him back nearly to the table and hacked into his throat with the axe, and laid him down on the ground to bleed; i say ground because it was ground--hard packed, and no boards. well, next i took an old sack and put a lot of big rocks in it--all i could drag--and i started it from the pig, and dragged it to the door and through the woods down to the river and dumped it in, and down it sunk, out of sight. you could easy see that something had been dragged over the ground. i did wish tom sawyer was there; i knowed he would take an interest in this kind of business, and throw in the fancy touches. nobody could spread himself like tom sawyer in such a thing as that. well, last i pulled out some of my hair, and blooded the axe good, and stuck it on the back side, and slung the axe in the corner. then i took up the pig and held him to my breast with my jacket (so he couldn't drip) till i got a good piece below the house and then dumped him into the river. now i thought of something else. so i went and got the bag of meal and my old saw out of the canoe, and fetched them to the house. i took the bag to where it used to stand, and ripped a hole in the bottom of it with the saw, for there warn't no knives and forks on the place --pap done everything with his clasp-knife about the cooking. then i carried the sack about a hundred yards across the grass and through the willows east of the house, to a shallow lake that was five mile wide and full of rushes--and ducks too, you might say, in the season. there was a slough or a creek leading out of it on the other side that went miles away, i don't know where, but it didn't go to the river. the meal sifted out and made a little track all the way to the lake. i dropped pap's whetstone there too, so as to look like it had been done by accident. then i tied up the rip in the meal sack with a string, so it wouldn't leak no more, and took it and my saw to the canoe again. it was about dark now; so i dropped the canoe down the river under some willows that hung over the bank, and waited for the moon to rise. i made fast to a willow; then i took a bite to eat, and by and by laid down in the canoe to smoke a pipe and lay out a plan. i says to myself, they'll follow the track of that sackful of rocks to the shore and then drag the river for me. and they'll follow that meal track to the lake and go browsing down the creek that leads out of it to find the robbers that killed me and took the things. they won't ever hunt the river for anything but my dead carcass. they'll soon get tired of that, and won't bother no more about me. all right; i can stop anywhere i want to. jackson's island is good enough for me; i know that island pretty well, and nobody ever comes there. and then i can paddle over to town nights, and slink around and pick up things i want. jackson's island's the place. i was pretty tired, and the first thing i knowed i was asleep. when i woke up i didn't know where i was for a minute. i set up and looked around, a little scared. then i remembered. the river looked miles and miles across. the moon was so bright i could a counted the drift logs that went a-slipping along, black and still, hundreds of yards out from shore. everything was dead quiet, and it looked late, and smelt late. you know what i mean--i don't know the words to put it in. i took a good gap and a stretch, and was just going to unhitch and start when i heard a sound away over the water. i listened. pretty soon i made it out. it was that dull kind of a regular sound that comes from oars working in rowlocks when it's a still night. i peeped out through the willow branches, and there it was--a skiff, away across the water. i couldn't tell how many was in it. it kept a-coming, and when it was abreast of me i see there warn't but one man in it. think's i, maybe it's pap, though i warn't expecting him. he dropped below me with the current, and by and by he came a-swinging up shore in the easy water, and he went by so close i could a reached out the gun and touched him. well, it was pap, sure enough--and sober, too, by the way he laid his oars. i didn't lose no time. the next minute i was a-spinning down stream soft but quick in the shade of the bank. i made two mile and a half, and then struck out a quarter of a mile or more towards the middle of the river, because pretty soon i would be passing the ferry landing, and people might see me and hail me. i got out amongst the driftwood, and then laid down in the bottom of the canoe and let her float. i laid there, and had a good rest and a smoke out of my pipe, looking away into the sky; not a cloud in it. the sky looks ever so deep when you lay down on your back in the moonshine; i never knowed it before. and how far a body can hear on the water such nights! i heard people talking at the ferry landing. i heard what they said, too--every word of it. one man said it was getting towards the long days and the short nights now. t'other one said this warn't one of the short ones, he reckoned--and then they laughed, and he said it over again, and they laughed again; then they waked up another fellow and told him, and laughed, but he didn't laugh; he ripped out something brisk, and said let him alone. the first fellow said he 'lowed to tell it to his old woman--she would think it was pretty good; but he said that warn't nothing to some things he had said in his time. i heard one man say it was nearly three o'clock, and he hoped daylight wouldn't wait more than about a week longer. after that the talk got further and further away, and i couldn't make out the words any more; but i could hear the mumble, and now and then a laugh, too, but it seemed a long ways off. i was away below the ferry now. i rose up, and there was jackson's island, about two mile and a half down stream, heavy timbered and standing up out of the middle of the river, big and dark and solid, like a steamboat without any lights. there warn't any signs of the bar at the head--it was all under water now. it didn't take me long to get there. i shot past the head at a ripping rate, the current was so swift, and then i got into the dead water and landed on the side towards the illinois shore. i run the canoe into a deep dent in the bank that i knowed about; i had to part the willow branches to get in; and when i made fast nobody could a seen the canoe from the outside. i went up and set down on a log at the head of the island, and looked out on the big river and the black driftwood and away over to the town, three mile away, where there was three or four lights twinkling. a monstrous big lumber-raft was about a mile up stream, coming along down, with a lantern in the middle of it. i watched it come creeping down, and when it was most abreast of where i stood i heard a man say, "stern oars, there! heave her head to stabboard!" i heard that just as plain as if the man was by my side. there was a little gray in the sky now; so i stepped into the woods, and laid down for a nap before breakfast. chapter viii. the sun was up so high when i waked that i judged it was after eight o'clock. i laid there in the grass and the cool shade thinking about things, and feeling rested and ruther comfortable and satisfied. i could see the sun out at one or two holes, but mostly it was big trees all about, and gloomy in there amongst them. there was freckled places on the ground where the light sifted down through the leaves, and the freckled places swapped about a little, showing there was a little breeze up there. a couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at me very friendly. i was powerful lazy and comfortable--didn't want to get up and cook breakfast. well, i was dozing off again when i thinks i hears a deep sound of "boom!" away up the river. i rouses up, and rests on my elbow and listens; pretty soon i hears it again. i hopped up, and went and looked out at a hole in the leaves, and i see a bunch of smoke laying on the water a long ways up--about abreast the ferry. and there was the ferryboat full of people floating along down. i knowed what was the matter now. "boom!" i see the white smoke squirt out of the ferryboat's side. you see, they was firing cannon over the water, trying to make my carcass come to the top. i was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to do for me to start a fire, because they might see the smoke. so i set there and watched the cannon-smoke and listened to the boom. the river was a mile wide there, and it always looks pretty on a summer morning--so i was having a good enough time seeing them hunt for my remainders if i only had a bite to eat. well, then i happened to think how they always put quicksilver in loaves of bread and float them off, because they always go right to the drownded carcass and stop there. so, says i, i'll keep a lookout, and if any of them's floating around after me i'll give them a show. i changed to the illinois edge of the island to see what luck i could have, and i warn't disappointed. a big double loaf come along, and i most got it with a long stick, but my foot slipped and she floated out further. of course i was where the current set in the closest to the shore--i knowed enough for that. but by and by along comes another one, and this time i won. i took out the plug and shook out the little dab of quicksilver, and set my teeth in. it was "baker's bread"--what the quality eat; none of your low-down corn-pone. i got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there on a log, munching the bread and watching the ferry-boat, and very well satisfied. and then something struck me. i says, now i reckon the widow or the parson or somebody prayed that this bread would find me, and here it has gone and done it. so there ain't no doubt but there is something in that thing --that is, there's something in it when a body like the widow or the parson prays, but it don't work for me, and i reckon it don't work for only just the right kind. i lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching. the ferryboat was floating with the current, and i allowed i'd have a chance to see who was aboard when she come along, because she would come in close, where the bread did. when she'd got pretty well along down towards me, i put out my pipe and went to where i fished out the bread, and laid down behind a log on the bank in a little open place. where the log forked i could peep through. by and by she come along, and she drifted in so close that they could a run out a plank and walked ashore. most everybody was on the boat. pap, and judge thatcher, and bessie thatcher, and jo harper, and tom sawyer, and his old aunt polly, and sid and mary, and plenty more. everybody was talking about the murder, but the captain broke in and says: "look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest here, and maybe he's washed ashore and got tangled amongst the brush at the water's edge. i hope so, anyway." "i didn't hope so. they all crowded up and leaned over the rails, nearly in my face, and kept still, watching with all their might. i could see them first-rate, but they couldn't see me. then the captain sung out: "stand away!" and the cannon let off such a blast right before me that it made me deef with the noise and pretty near blind with the smoke, and i judged i was gone. if they'd a had some bullets in, i reckon they'd a got the corpse they was after. well, i see i warn't hurt, thanks to goodness. the boat floated on and went out of sight around the shoulder of the island. i could hear the booming now and then, further and further off, and by and by, after an hour, i didn't hear it no more. the island was three mile long. i judged they had got to the foot, and was giving it up. but they didn't yet a while. they turned around the foot of the island and started up the channel on the missouri side, under steam, and booming once in a while as they went. i crossed over to that side and watched them. when they got abreast the head of the island they quit shooting and dropped over to the missouri shore and went home to the town. i knowed i was all right now. nobody else would come a-hunting after me. i got my traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thick woods. i made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things under so the rain couldn't get at them. i catched a catfish and haggled him open with my saw, and towards sundown i started my camp fire and had supper. then i set out a line to catch some fish for breakfast. when it was dark i set by my camp fire smoking, and feeling pretty well satisfied; but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and so i went and set on the bank and listened to the current swashing along, and counted the stars and drift logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed; there ain't no better way to put in time when you are lonesome; you can't stay so, you soon get over it. and so for three days and nights. no difference--just the same thing. but the next day i went exploring around down through the island. i was boss of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and i wanted to know all about it; but mainly i wanted to put in the time. i found plenty strawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer grapes, and green razberries; and the green blackberries was just beginning to show. they would all come handy by and by, i judged. well, i went fooling along in the deep woods till i judged i warn't far from the foot of the island. i had my gun along, but i hadn't shot nothing; it was for protection; thought i would kill some game nigh home. about this time i mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake, and it went sliding off through the grass and flowers, and i after it, trying to get a shot at it. i clipped along, and all of a sudden i bounded right on to the ashes of a camp fire that was still smoking. my heart jumped up amongst my lungs. i never waited for to look further, but uncocked my gun and went sneaking back on my tiptoes as fast as ever i could. every now and then i stopped a second amongst the thick leaves and listened, but my breath come so hard i couldn't hear nothing else. i slunk along another piece further, then listened again; and so on, and so on. if i see a stump, i took it for a man; if i trod on a stick and broke it, it made me feel like a person had cut one of my breaths in two and i only got half, and the short half, too. when i got to camp i warn't feeling very brash, there warn't much sand in my craw; but i says, this ain't no time to be fooling around. so i got all my traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of sight, and i put out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like an old last year's camp, and then clumb a tree. i reckon i was up in the tree two hours; but i didn't see nothing, i didn't hear nothing--i only thought i heard and seen as much as a thousand things. well, i couldn't stay up there forever; so at last i got down, but i kept in the thick woods and on the lookout all the time. all i could get to eat was berries and what was left over from breakfast. by the time it was night i was pretty hungry. so when it was good and dark i slid out from shore before moonrise and paddled over to the illinois bank--about a quarter of a mile. i went out in the woods and cooked a supper, and i had about made up my mind i would stay there all night when i hear a plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, and says to myself, horses coming; and next i hear people's voices. i got everything into the canoe as quick as i could, and then went creeping through the woods to see what i could find out. i hadn't got far when i hear a man say: "we better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about beat out. let's look around." i didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy. i tied up in the old place, and reckoned i would sleep in the canoe. i didn't sleep much. i couldn't, somehow, for thinking. and every time i waked up i thought somebody had me by the neck. so the sleep didn't do me no good. by and by i says to myself, i can't live this way; i'm a-going to find out who it is that's here on the island with me; i'll find it out or bust. well, i felt better right off. so i took my paddle and slid out from shore just a step or two, and then let the canoe drop along down amongst the shadows. the moon was shining, and outside of the shadows it made it most as light as day. i poked along well on to an hour, everything still as rocks and sound asleep. well, by this time i was most down to the foot of the island. a little ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as good as saying the night was about done. i give her a turn with the paddle and brung her nose to shore; then i got my gun and slipped out and into the edge of the woods. i sat down there on a log, and looked out through the leaves. i see the moon go off watch, and the darkness begin to blanket the river. but in a little while i see a pale streak over the treetops, and knowed the day was coming. so i took my gun and slipped off towards where i had run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two to listen. but i hadn't no luck somehow; i couldn't seem to find the place. but by and by, sure enough, i catched a glimpse of fire away through the trees. i went for it, cautious and slow. by and by i was close enough to have a look, and there laid a man on the ground. it most give me the fantods. he had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. i set there behind a clump of bushes in about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady. it was getting gray daylight now. pretty soon he gapped and stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was miss watson's jim! i bet i was glad to see him. i says: "hello, jim!" and skipped out. he bounced up and stared at me wild. then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says: "doan' hurt me--don't! i hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'. i alwuz liked dead people, en done all i could for 'em. you go en git in de river agin, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to ole jim, 'at 'uz awluz yo' fren'." well, i warn't long making him understand i warn't dead. i was ever so glad to see jim. i warn't lonesome now. i told him i warn't afraid of him telling the people where i was. i talked along, but he only set there and looked at me; never said nothing. then i says: "it's good daylight. le's get breakfast. make up your camp fire good." "what's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich truck? but you got a gun, hain't you? den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries." "strawberries and such truck," i says. "is that what you live on?" "i couldn' git nuffn else," he says. "why, how long you been on the island, jim?" "i come heah de night arter you's killed." "what, all that time?" "yes--indeedy." "and ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?" "no, sah--nuffn else." "well, you must be most starved, ain't you?" "i reck'n i could eat a hoss. i think i could. how long you ben on de islan'?" "since the night i got killed." "no! w'y, what has you lived on? but you got a gun. oh, yes, you got a gun. dat's good. now you kill sumfn en i'll make up de fire." so we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in a grassy open place amongst the trees, i fetched meal and bacon and coffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the nigger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done with witchcraft. i catched a good big catfish, too, and jim cleaned him with his knife, and fried him. when breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot. jim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved. then when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied. by and by jim says: "but looky here, huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed in dat shanty ef it warn't you?" then i told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart. he said tom sawyer couldn't get up no better plan than what i had. then i says: "how do you come to be here, jim, and how'd you get here?" he looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for a minute. then he says: "maybe i better not tell." "why, jim?" "well, dey's reasons. but you wouldn' tell on me ef i uz to tell you, would you, huck?" "blamed if i would, jim." "well, i b'lieve you, huck. i--i run off." "jim!" "but mind, you said you wouldn' tell--you know you said you wouldn' tell, huck." "well, i did. i said i wouldn't, and i'll stick to it. honest injun, i will. people would call me a low-down abolitionist and despise me for keeping mum--but that don't make no difference. i ain't a-going to tell, and i ain't a-going back there, anyways. so, now, le's know all about it." "well, you see, it 'uz dis way. ole missus--dat's miss watson--she pecks on me all de time, en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she wouldn' sell me down to orleans. but i noticed dey wuz a nigger trader roun' de place considable lately, en i begin to git oneasy. well, one night i creeps to de do' pooty late, en de do' warn't quite shet, en i hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to sell me down to orleans, but she didn' want to, but she could git eight hund'd dollars for me, en it 'uz sich a big stack o' money she couldn' resis'. de widder she try to git her to say she wouldn' do it, but i never waited to hear de res'. i lit out mighty quick, i tell you. "i tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec to steal a skift 'long de sho' som'ers 'bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so i hid in de ole tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for everybody to go 'way. well, i wuz dah all night. dey wuz somebody roun' all de time. 'long 'bout six in de mawnin' skifts begin to go by, en 'bout eight er nine every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how yo' pap come over to de town en say you's killed. dese las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en genlmen a-goin' over for to see de place. sometimes dey'd pull up at de sho' en take a res' b'fo' dey started acrost, so by de talk i got to know all 'bout de killin'. i 'uz powerful sorry you's killed, huck, but i ain't no mo' now. "i laid dah under de shavin's all day. i 'uz hungry, but i warn't afeard; bekase i knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin' to start to de camp-meet'n' right arter breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey knows i goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so dey wouldn' 'spec to see me roun' de place, en so dey wouldn' miss me tell arter dark in de evenin'. de yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase dey'd shin out en take holiday soon as de ole folks 'uz out'n de way. "well, when it come dark i tuck out up de river road, en went 'bout two mile er more to whah dey warn't no houses. i'd made up my mine 'bout what i's agwyne to do. you see, ef i kep' on tryin' to git away afoot, de dogs 'ud track me; ef i stole a skift to cross over, dey'd miss dat skift, you see, en dey'd know 'bout whah i'd lan' on de yuther side, en whah to pick up my track. so i says, a raff is what i's arter; it doan' make no track. "i see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int bymeby, so i wade' in en shove' a log ahead o' me en swum more'n half way acrost de river, en got in 'mongst de drift-wood, en kep' my head down low, en kinder swum agin de current tell de raff come along. den i swum to de stern uv it en tuck a-holt. it clouded up en 'uz pooty dark for a little while. so i clumb up en laid down on de planks. de men 'uz all 'way yonder in de middle, whah de lantern wuz. de river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good current; so i reck'n'd 'at by fo' in de mawnin' i'd be twenty-five mile down de river, en den i'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight en swim asho', en take to de woods on de illinois side. "but i didn' have no luck. when we 'uz mos' down to de head er de islan' a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, i see it warn't no use fer to wait, so i slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'. well, i had a notion i could lan' mos' anywhers, but i couldn't--bank too bluff. i 'uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' i found' a good place. i went into de woods en jedged i wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey move de lantern roun' so. i had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some matches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so i 'uz all right." "and so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? why didn't you get mud-turkles?" "how you gwyne to git 'm? you can't slip up on um en grab um; en how's a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock? how could a body do it in de night? en i warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime." "well, that's so. you've had to keep in the woods all the time, of course. did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?" "oh, yes. i knowed dey was arter you. i see um go by heah--watched um thoo de bushes." some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and lighting. jim said it was a sign it was going to rain. he said it was a sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the same way when young birds done it. i was going to catch some of them, but jim wouldn't let me. he said it was death. he said his father laid mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny said his father would die, and he did. and jim said you mustn't count the things you are going to cook for dinner, because that would bring bad luck. the same if you shook the table-cloth after sundown. and he said if a man owned a beehive and that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next morning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die. jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but i didn't believe that, because i had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting me. i had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them. jim knowed all kinds of signs. he said he knowed most everything. i said it looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so i asked him if there warn't any good-luck signs. he says: "mighty few--an' dey ain't no use to a body. what you want to know when good luck's a-comin' for? want to keep it off?" and he said: "ef you's got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's agwyne to be rich. well, dey's some use in a sign like dat, 'kase it's so fur ahead. you see, maybe you's got to be po' a long time fust, en so you might git discourage' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de sign dat you gwyne to be rich bymeby." "have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, jim?" "what's de use to ax dat question? don't you see i has?" "well, are you rich?" "no, but i ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich agin. wunst i had foteen dollars, but i tuck to specalat'n', en got busted out." "what did you speculate in, jim?" "well, fust i tackled stock." "what kind of stock?" "why, live stock--cattle, you know. i put ten dollars in a cow. but i ain' gwyne to resk no mo' money in stock. de cow up 'n' died on my han's." "so you lost the ten dollars." "no, i didn't lose it all. i on'y los' 'bout nine of it. i sole de hide en taller for a dollar en ten cents." "you had five dollars and ten cents left. did you speculate any more?" "yes. you know that one-laigged nigger dat b'longs to old misto bradish? well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar would git fo' dollars mo' at de en' er de year. well, all de niggers went in, but dey didn't have much. i wuz de on'y one dat had much. so i stuck out for mo' dan fo' dollars, en i said 'f i didn' git it i'd start a bank mysef. well, o' course dat nigger want' to keep me out er de business, bekase he says dey warn't business 'nough for two banks, so he say i could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de en' er de year. "so i done it. den i reck'n'd i'd inves' de thirty-five dollars right off en keep things a-movin'. dey wuz a nigger name' bob, dat had ketched a wood-flat, en his marster didn' know it; en i bought it off'n him en told him to take de thirty-five dollars when de en' er de year come; but somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex day de one-laigged nigger say de bank's busted. so dey didn' none uv us git no money." "what did you do with the ten cents, jim?" "well, i 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but i had a dream, en de dream tole me to give it to a nigger name' balum--balum's ass dey call him for short; he's one er dem chuckleheads, you know. but he's lucky, dey say, en i see i warn't lucky. de dream say let balum inves' de ten cents en he'd make a raise for me. well, balum he tuck de money, en when he wuz in church he hear de preacher say dat whoever give to de po' len' to de lord, en boun' to git his money back a hund'd times. so balum he tuck en give de ten cents to de po', en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to come of it." "well, what did come of it, jim?" "nuffn never come of it. i couldn' manage to k'leck dat money no way; en balum he couldn'. i ain' gwyne to len' no mo' money 'dout i see de security. boun' to git yo' money back a hund'd times, de preacher says! ef i could git de ten cents back, i'd call it squah, en be glad er de chanst." "well, it's all right anyway, jim, long as you're going to be rich again some time or other." "yes; en i's rich now, come to look at it. i owns mysef, en i's wuth eight hund'd dollars. i wisht i had de money, i wouldn' want no mo'." chapter ix. i wanted to go and look at a place right about the middle of the island that i'd found when i was exploring; so we started and soon got to it, because the island was only three miles long and a quarter of a mile wide. this place was a tolerable long, steep hill or ridge about forty foot high. we had a rough time getting to the top, the sides was so steep and the bushes so thick. we tramped and clumb around all over it, and by and by found a good big cavern in the rock, most up to the top on the side towards illinois. the cavern was as big as two or three rooms bunched together, and jim could stand up straight in it. it was cool in there. jim was for putting our traps in there right away, but i said we didn't want to be climbing up and down there all the time. jim said if we had the canoe hid in a good place, and had all the traps in the cavern, we could rush there if anybody was to come to the island, and they would never find us without dogs. and, besides, he said them little birds had said it was going to rain, and did i want the things to get wet? so we went back and got the canoe, and paddled up abreast the cavern, and lugged all the traps up there. then we hunted up a place close by to hide the canoe in, amongst the thick willows. we took some fish off of the lines and set them again, and begun to get ready for dinner. the door of the cavern was big enough to roll a hogshead in, and on one side of the door the floor stuck out a little bit, and was flat and a good place to build a fire on. so we built it there and cooked dinner. we spread the blankets inside for a carpet, and eat our dinner in there. we put all the other things handy at the back of the cavern. pretty soon it darkened up, and begun to thunder and lighten; so the birds was right about it. directly it begun to rain, and it rained like all fury, too, and i never see the wind blow so. it was one of these regular summer storms. it would get so dark that it looked all blue-black outside, and lovely; and the rain would thrash along by so thick that the trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and here would come a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and turn up the pale underside of the leaves; and then a perfect ripper of a gust would follow along and set the branches to tossing their arms as if they was just wild; and next, when it was just about the bluest and blackest--fst! it was as bright as glory, and you'd have a little glimpse of tree-tops a-plunging about away off yonder in the storm, hundreds of yards further than you could see before; dark as sin again in a second, and now you'd hear the thunder let go with an awful crash, and then go rumbling, grumbling, tumbling, down the sky towards the under side of the world, like rolling empty barrels down stairs--where it's long stairs and they bounce a good deal, you know. "jim, this is nice," i says. "i wouldn't want to be nowhere else but here. pass me along another hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread." "well, you wouldn't a ben here 'f it hadn't a ben for jim. you'd a ben down dah in de woods widout any dinner, en gittn' mos' drownded, too; dat you would, honey. chickens knows when it's gwyne to rain, en so do de birds, chile." the river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at last it was over the banks. the water was three or four foot deep on the island in the low places and on the illinois bottom. on that side it was a good many miles wide, but on the missouri side it was the same old distance across--a half a mile--because the missouri shore was just a wall of high bluffs. daytimes we paddled all over the island in the canoe, it was mighty cool and shady in the deep woods, even if the sun was blazing outside. we went winding in and out amongst the trees, and sometimes the vines hung so thick we had to back away and go some other way. well, on every old broken-down tree you could see rabbits and snakes and such things; and when the island had been overflowed a day or two they got so tame, on account of being hungry, that you could paddle right up and put your hand on them if you wanted to; but not the snakes and turtles--they would slide off in the water. the ridge our cavern was in was full of them. we could a had pets enough if we'd wanted them. one night we catched a little section of a lumber raft--nice pine planks. it was twelve foot wide and about fifteen or sixteen foot long, and the top stood above water six or seven inches--a solid, level floor. we could see saw-logs go by in the daylight sometimes, but we let them go; we didn't show ourselves in daylight. another night when we was up at the head of the island, just before daylight, here comes a frame-house down, on the west side. she was a two-story, and tilted over considerable. we paddled out and got aboard --clumb in at an upstairs window. but it was too dark to see yet, so we made the canoe fast and set in her to wait for daylight. the light begun to come before we got to the foot of the island. then we looked in at the window. we could make out a bed, and a table, and two old chairs, and lots of things around about on the floor, and there was clothes hanging against the wall. there was something laying on the floor in the far corner that looked like a man. so jim says: "hello, you!" but it didn't budge. so i hollered again, and then jim says: "de man ain't asleep--he's dead. you hold still--i'll go en see." he went, and bent down and looked, and says: "it's a dead man. yes, indeedy; naked, too. he's ben shot in de back. i reck'n he's ben dead two er three days. come in, huck, but doan' look at his face--it's too gashly." i didn't look at him at all. jim throwed some old rags over him, but he needn't done it; i didn't want to see him. there was heaps of old greasy cards scattered around over the floor, and old whisky bottles, and a couple of masks made out of black cloth; and all over the walls was the ignorantest kind of words and pictures made with charcoal. there was two old dirty calico dresses, and a sun-bonnet, and some women's underclothes hanging against the wall, and some men's clothing, too. we put the lot into the canoe--it might come good. there was a boy's old speckled straw hat on the floor; i took that, too. and there was a bottle that had had milk in it, and it had a rag stopper for a baby to suck. we would a took the bottle, but it was broke. there was a seedy old chest, and an old hair trunk with the hinges broke. they stood open, but there warn't nothing left in them that was any account. the way things was scattered about we reckoned the people left in a hurry, and warn't fixed so as to carry off most of their stuff. we got an old tin lantern, and a butcher-knife without any handle, and a bran-new barlow knife worth two bits in any store, and a lot of tallow candles, and a tin candlestick, and a gourd, and a tin cup, and a ratty old bedquilt off the bed, and a reticule with needles and pins and beeswax and buttons and thread and all such truck in it, and a hatchet and some nails, and a fishline as thick as my little finger with some monstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather dog-collar, and a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't have no label on them; and just as we was leaving i found a tolerable good curry-comb, and jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden leg. the straps was broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good enough leg, though it was too long for me and not long enough for jim, and we couldn't find the other one, though we hunted all around. and so, take it all around, we made a good haul. when we was ready to shove off we was a quarter of a mile below the island, and it was pretty broad day; so i made jim lay down in the canoe and cover up with the quilt, because if he set up people could tell he was a nigger a good ways off. i paddled over to the illinois shore, and drifted down most a half a mile doing it. i crept up the dead water under the bank, and hadn't no accidents and didn't see nobody. we got home all safe. chapter x. after breakfast i wanted to talk about the dead man and guess out how he come to be killed, but jim didn't want to. he said it would fetch bad luck; and besides, he said, he might come and ha'nt us; he said a man that warn't buried was more likely to go a-ha'nting around than one that was planted and comfortable. that sounded pretty reasonable, so i didn't say no more; but i couldn't keep from studying over it and wishing i knowed who shot the man, and what they done it for. we rummaged the clothes we'd got, and found eight dollars in silver sewed up in the lining of an old blanket overcoat. jim said he reckoned the people in that house stole the coat, because if they'd a knowed the money was there they wouldn't a left it. i said i reckoned they killed him, too; but jim didn't want to talk about that. i says: "now you think it's bad luck; but what did you say when i fetched in the snake-skin that i found on the top of the ridge day before yesterday? you said it was the worst bad luck in the world to touch a snake-skin with my hands. well, here's your bad luck! we've raked in all this truck and eight dollars besides. i wish we could have some bad luck like this every day, jim." "never you mind, honey, never you mind. don't you git too peart. it's a-comin'. mind i tell you, it's a-comin'." it did come, too. it was a tuesday that we had that talk. well, after dinner friday we was laying around in the grass at the upper end of the ridge, and got out of tobacco. i went to the cavern to get some, and found a rattlesnake in there. i killed him, and curled him up on the foot of jim's blanket, ever so natural, thinking there'd be some fun when jim found him there. well, by night i forgot all about the snake, and when jim flung himself down on the blanket while i struck a light the snake's mate was there, and bit him. he jumped up yelling, and the first thing the light showed was the varmint curled up and ready for another spring. i laid him out in a second with a stick, and jim grabbed pap's whisky-jug and begun to pour it down. he was barefooted, and the snake bit him right on the heel. that all comes of my being such a fool as to not remember that wherever you leave a dead snake its mate always comes there and curls around it. jim told me to chop off the snake's head and throw it away, and then skin the body and roast a piece of it. i done it, and he eat it and said it would help cure him. he made me take off the rattles and tie them around his wrist, too. he said that that would help. then i slid out quiet and throwed the snakes clear away amongst the bushes; for i warn't going to let jim find out it was all my fault, not if i could help it. jim sucked and sucked at the jug, and now and then he got out of his head and pitched around and yelled; but every time he come to himself he went to sucking at the jug again. his foot swelled up pretty big, and so did his leg; but by and by the drunk begun to come, and so i judged he was all right; but i'd druther been bit with a snake than pap's whisky. jim was laid up for four days and nights. then the swelling was all gone and he was around again. i made up my mind i wouldn't ever take a-holt of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that i see what had come of it. jim said he reckoned i would believe him next time. and he said that handling a snake-skin was such awful bad luck that maybe we hadn't got to the end of it yet. he said he druther see the new moon over his left shoulder as much as a thousand times than take up a snake-skin in his hand. well, i was getting to feel that way myself, though i've always reckoned that looking at the new moon over your left shoulder is one of the carelessest and foolishest things a body can do. old hank bunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he got drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and spread himself out so that he was just a kind of a layer, as you may say; and they slid him edgeways between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so they say, but i didn't see it. pap told me. but anyway it all come of looking at the moon that way, like a fool. well, the days went along, and the river went down between its banks again; and about the first thing we done was to bait one of the big hooks with a skinned rabbit and set it and catch a catfish that was as big as a man, being six foot two inches long, and weighed over two hundred pounds. we couldn't handle him, of course; he would a flung us into illinois. we just set there and watched him rip and tear around till he drownded. we found a brass button in his stomach and a round ball, and lots of rubbage. we split the ball open with the hatchet, and there was a spool in it. jim said he'd had it there a long time, to coat it over so and make a ball of it. it was as big a fish as was ever catched in the mississippi, i reckon. jim said he hadn't ever seen a bigger one. he would a been worth a good deal over at the village. they peddle out such a fish as that by the pound in the market-house there; everybody buys some of him; his meat's as white as snow and makes a good fry. next morning i said it was getting slow and dull, and i wanted to get a stirring up some way. i said i reckoned i would slip over the river and find out what was going on. jim liked that notion; but he said i must go in the dark and look sharp. then he studied it over and said, couldn't i put on some of them old things and dress up like a girl? that was a good notion, too. so we shortened up one of the calico gowns, and i turned up my trouser-legs to my knees and got into it. jim hitched it behind with the hooks, and it was a fair fit. i put on the sun-bonnet and tied it under my chin, and then for a body to look in and see my face was like looking down a joint of stove-pipe. jim said nobody would know me, even in the daytime, hardly. i practiced around all day to get the hang of the things, and by and by i could do pretty well in them, only jim said i didn't walk like a girl; and he said i must quit pulling up my gown to get at my britches-pocket. i took notice, and done better. i started up the illinois shore in the canoe just after dark. i started across to the town from a little below the ferry-landing, and the drift of the current fetched me in at the bottom of the town. i tied up and started along the bank. there was a light burning in a little shanty that hadn't been lived in for a long time, and i wondered who had took up quarters there. i slipped up and peeped in at the window. there was a woman about forty year old in there knitting by a candle that was on a pine table. i didn't know her face; she was a stranger, for you couldn't start a face in that town that i didn't know. now this was lucky, because i was weakening; i was getting afraid i had come; people might know my voice and find me out. but if this woman had been in such a little town two days she could tell me all i wanted to know; so i knocked at the door, and made up my mind i wouldn't forget i was a girl. [illustration: _daniel drayton_] personal memoir of daniel drayton, for four years and four months a prisoner (for charity's sake) in washington jail including a narrative of the voyage and capture of the schooner pearl. we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, _liberty_, and the pursuit of happiness. declaration of independence. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by daniel drayton, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts advertisement. considering the large share of the public attention which the case of the schooner pearl attracted at the time of its occurrence, perhaps the following narrative of its origin, and of its consequences to himself, by the principal actor in it, may not be without interest. it is proper to state that a large share of the profits of the sale are secured to captain drayton, the state of whose health incapacitates him from any laborious employment. memoir. i was born in the year , in cumberland county, downs township, in the state of new jersey, on the shores of nantuxet creek, not far from delaware bay, into which that creek flows. my father was a farmer,--not a very profitable occupation in that barren part of the country. my mother was a widow at the time of her marriage with my father, having three children by a former husband. by my father she had six more, of whom i was the youngest but one. she was a woman of strong mind and marked character, a zealous member of the methodist church; and, although i had the misfortune to lose her at an early age, her instructions--though the effect was not apparent at the moment--made a deep impression on my youthful mind, and no doubt had a very sensible influence over my future life. just previous to, or during the war with great britain, my father removed still nearer to the shore of the bay, and the sight of the vessels passing up and down inspired me with a desire to follow the life of a waterman; but it was some years before i was able to gratify this wish. i well remember the alarm created in our neighborhood by the incursions of the british vessels up the bay during the war, and that, at these times, the women of the neighborhood used to collect at our house, as if looking up to my mother for counsel and guidance. i was only twelve years old when this good mother died; but, so strong was the impression which she left upon my memory, that, amid the struggles and dangers and cares of my subsequent life, i have seldom closed my eyes to sleep without some thought or image of her. as my father soon after married another widow, with four small children, it became necessary to make room in the house for their accommodation; and, with a younger brother of mine, i was bound out an apprentice in a cotton and woollen factory at a place called cedarville. manufactures were just then beginning to be introduced into the country, and great hopes were entertained of them as a profitable business. my employer,--or bos, as we called him,--had formerly been a schoolmaster, and he did not wholly neglect our instructions in other things besides cotton-spinning. of this i stood greatly in need; for there were no public schools in the neighborhood in which i was born, and my parents had too many children to feed and clothe to be able to pay much for schooling. we were required on sundays, by our employer, to learn two lessons, one in the forenoon, the other in the afternoon; after reciting which we were left at liberty to roam at our pleasure. winter evenings we worked in the factory till nine o'clock, after which, and before going to bed, we were required to recite over one of our lessons these advantages of education were not great, but even these i soon lost. within five months from the time i was bound to him, my employer died. the factories were then sold out to three partners. the one who carried on the cotton-spinning took me; but he soon gave up the business, and went back to farming, which had been his original occupation. i remained with him for a year and a half, or thereabouts, when my father bound me out apprentice to a shoe-maker. my new bos was, in some respects, a remarkable man, but not a very good sort of one for a boy to be bound apprentice to. he paid very little attention to his business, which he seemed to think unworthy of his genius. he was a kind-hearted man, fond of company and frolics, in which he indulged himself freely, and much given to speeches and harangues, in which he had a good deal of fluency. in religion he professed to be a universalist, holding to doctrines and opinions very different from those which my mother had instilled into me. he ridiculed those opinions, and argued against them, but without converting me to his way of thinking; though, as far as practice went, i was ready enough to imitate his example. my sundays were spent principally in taverns, playing at dominos, which then was, and still is, a favorite game in that part of the country; and, as the unsuccessful party was expected to treat, i at times ran up a bill at the bar as high as four or six dollars,--no small indebtedness for a young apprentice with no more means than i had. as i grew older this method of living grew less and less satisfactory to me; and as i saw that no good of any kind, not even a knowledge of the trade he had undertaken to teach me, was to be got of my present bos, i bought my time of him, and went to work with another man to pay for it. before i had succeeded in doing that, and while i was not yet nineteen, i took upon myself the still further responsibility of marriage. this was a step into which i was led rather by the impulse of youthful passion than by any thoughtful foresight. yet it had at least this advantage, that it obliged me to set diligently to work to provide for the increasing family which i soon found growing up around me. i had never liked the shoe-making business, to which my father had bound me an apprentice. i had always desired to follow the water. the vessels which i had seen sailing up and down the delaware bay still haunted my fancy; and i engaged myself as cook on board a sloop, employed in carrying wood from maurice river to philadelphia. promotion in this line is sufficiently rapid; for in four months, after commencing as cook, i rose to be captain. this wood business, in which i remained for two years, is carried on by vessels of from thirty to sixty tons, known as _bay-craft_. they are built so as to draw but little water, which is their chief distinction from the _coasters_, which are fit for the open sea. they will carry from twenty-five to fifty cords of wood, on which a profit is expected of a dollar and upwards. they have usually about three hands, the captain, or skipper, included. the men used to be hired, when i entered the business, for eight or ten dollars the month, but they now get nearly or quite twice as much. the captain usually sails the vessel on shares (unless he is himself owner in whole, or in part), victualling the vessel and hiring the men, and paying over to the owner forty dollars out of every hundred. during the winter, from december to march, the navigation is impeded by ice, and the bay-craft seldom run. the men commonly spend this long vacation in visiting, husking-frolics, rabbiting, and too often in taverns, to the exhaustion of their purses, the impoverishment of their families, and the sacrifice of their sobriety. yet the watermen, if many of them are not able always to resist the temptations held out to them, are in general an honest and simple-hearted set, though with little education, and sometimes rather rough in their manners. the extent of my education when i took to the water--and in this respect i was not, perhaps, much inferior to the generality of my brother watermen--was to read with no great fluency, and to sign my name; nor did i ever learn much more than this till my residence in washington jail, to be related hereafter. having followed the wood business for two years, i aspired to something a little higher, and obtained the command of a sloop engaged in the coasting business, from philadelphia southward and eastward. at this time a sloop of sixty tons was considered a very respectable coaster. the business is now mostly carried on by vessels of a larger class; some of them, especially the regular lines of packets, being very handsome and expensive. the terms on which these coasters were sailed were very similar to those already stated in the case of the bay-craft. the captain victualled the vessel, and paid the hands, and received for his share half the net profits, after deducting the extra expenses of loading and unloading. it was in this coasting business that the best years of my life were spent, during which time i visited most of the ports and rivers between savannah southward, and st. john, in the british province of new brunswick, eastward;--those two places forming the extreme limits of my voyagings. as philadelphia was the port from and to which i sailed, i presently found it convenient to remove my family thither, and there they continued to live till after my release from the washington prison. i was so successful in my new business, that, besides supporting my family, i was able to become half owner of the sloop superior, at an expense of over a thousand dollars, most of which i paid down. but this proved a very unfortunate investment. on her second trip after i had bought into her, returning from baltimore to philadelphia by the way of the delaware and chesapeake canal, while off the mouth of the susquehannah, she struck, as i suppose, a sunken tree, brought down by a heavy freshet in that river. the water flowed fast into the cabin. it was in vain that i attempted to run her ashore. she sunk in five minutes. the men saved themselves in the boat, which was on deck, and which floated as she went down. i stood by the rudder till the last, and stepped off it into the boat, loath enough to leave my vessel, on which there was no insurance. by this unfortunate accident i lost everything except the clothes i had on, and was obliged to commence anew. i accordingly obtained the command of the new sloop sarah henry, of seventy tons burden, and continued to sail her for several years, on shares. while in her i made a voyage to savannah; and while under sail from that city for charleston, i was taken with the yellow fever. i lay for a week quite unconscious of anything that was going on about me and came as near dying as a man could do and escape. the religious instructions of my mother had from time to time recurred to my mind, and had occasioned me some anxiety. i was now greatly alarmed at the idea of dying in my sins, from which i seemed to have escaped so narrowly. my mind was possessed with this fear; and, to relieve myself from it, i determined, if it were a possible thing, to get religion at any rate. the idea of religion in which i had been educated was that of a sudden, miraculous change, in which a man felt himself relieved from the burden of his sins, united to god, and made a new creature. for this experience i diligently sought, and tried every way to get it. i set up family prayers in my house, went to meetings, and conversed with experienced members of the church; but, for nine months or more, all to no purpose. at length i got into an awful state, beginning to think that i had been so desperate a sinner that there was no forgiveness for me. while i was in this miserable condition, i heard of a camp-meeting about to be held on cape may, and i immediately resolved to attend it, and to leave no stone unturned to accomplish the object which i had so much at heart. i went accordingly, and yielded myself entirely up to the dictation of those who had the control of the meeting. i did in everything as i was told; went into the altar, prayed, and let them pray over me. this went on for several days without any result. one evening, as i approached the altar, and was looking into it, i met a captain of my acquaintance, and asked him what he thought of these proceedings; and, as he seemed to approve them, i invited him to go into the altar with me. we both went in accordingly, and knelt down. pretty soon my friend got up and walked away, saying he had got religion. i did not find it so easily. i remained at the altar, praying, till after the meeting broke up, and even till one o'clock,--a few acquaintances and others remaining with me, and praying round me, and over me, and for me;--till, at last, thinking that i had done everything i could, i told them pray no more, as evidently there was no forgiveness for me. so i withdrew to a distance, and sat down upon an old tree, lamenting my hard case very seriously. i was sure i had committed the unpardonable sin. a friend, who sat down beside me, and of whom i inquired what he supposed the unpardonable sin was, endeavored comfort me by suggesting that, whatever it might be, it would take more sense and learning than ever i had to commit it. but i would not enter into his merriment. all the next day, which was sunday, i passed in a most miserable state. i went into the woods alone. i did not think myself worthy or fit to associate with those who had religion, while i was anxious to avoid the company of those who made light of it. sometimes i would sit down, sometimes i would stand up, sometimes i would walk about. frequently i prayed, but found no comfort in it. about sun-set i met a friend, who said to me, "well, our camp-meeting is about ended." what a misery those few words struck to my heart! "about ended!" i said to myself; "about ended, and i not converted!" a little later, as i was passing along the camp-ground, i saw a woman before me kneeling and praying. an acquaintance of mine, who was approaching her in an opposite direction, called out to me, "daniel, help me pray for this woman!" i had made up my mind to make one more effort, and i knelt down and commenced praying; but quite as much for myself as for her. others gathered about us and joined in, and the interest and excitement became so great, that, after a vain effort to call us off, the regular services of the evening were dispensed with, and the ground was left to us. things went on in this way till about nine o'clock, when, as suddenly as if i had been struck a heavy blow, i felt a remarkable change come over me. all my fears and terrors seemed to be instantaneously removed, and my whole soul to be filled with joy and peace. this was the sort of change which i had been taught to look for as the consequence of getting that religion for which i had been struggling so hard. i instantly rose up, and told those about me that i was a converted man; and from that moment i was able to sing and shout and pray with the best of them. in the midst of my exultation who should come up but my old master in the shoe-making trade, of whom i have already given some account. he had heard that i was on the camp-ground in pursuit of religion, and had come to find me out. "daniel," he said, addressing me by my christian name, "what are you doing here? don't make a fool of yourself." to which i answered, that i had got to be just such a fool as i had long wanted to be; and i took him by the arm, and endeavored to prevail upon him to kneel down and allow us to pray over him, assuring him that i knew his convictions to be much better than his conduct; that he must get religion, and now was the time. but he drew back, and escaped from me, with promises to do better, which, however, he did not keep. as for myself, considering, and, as i thought, feeling that i was a converted man, i now enjoyed for some time an extraordinary satisfaction, a sort of offset to the months of agony and misery which i had previously endured. but, though regarding myself as now truly converted, i delayed some time before uniting myself with any particular church. i did not know which to join. this division into so many hostile sects seemed to me unaccountable. i thought that all good christians should love each other, and be as one family. yet it seemed necessary to unite myself with some body of christians; and, as i had been educated a methodist, i concluded to join them. i have given the account of my religious experience exactly as it seemed to me at the time, and as i now remember it. it corresponded with the common course of religious experiences in the methodist church, except that with me the struggle was harder than commonly happens. i did not doubt at the time that it was truly a supernatural change, as much the work of the spirit as the sudden conversions recorded in the acts of the apostles. others can form their own opinion about it. i will only add that subsequent experience has led me to the belief that the reality of a man's religion is more to be judged of by what he does than by how he feels or what he says. the change which had taken place in me, however it is to be regarded, was not without a decided influence on my whole future life. i no longer considered myself as living for myself alone. i regarded myself as bound to do unto others as i would that they should do unto me; and it was in attempting to act up to this principle that i became involved in the difficulties to be hereafter related. meanwhile i resumed my voyages in the sarah henry, in which i continued to sail, on shares, for several years, with tolerable success. afterwards i followed the same business in the schooner protection, in which i suffered another shipwreck. we sailed from philadelphia to washington, in the district of columbia, laden with coal, proceeding down the delaware, and by the open sea; but, when off the entrance of the chesapeake, we encountered a heavy gale, which split the sails, swept the decks, and drove us off our course as far south as ocracoke inlet, on the coast of north carolina. i took a pilot, intending to go in to repair damages; but, owing to the strength of the current, which defeated his calculations, the pilot ran us on the bar. as soon as the schooner's bow touched the ground, she swung round broadside to the sea, which immediately began to break over her in a fearful manner. she filled immediately,--everything on deck was swept away; and, as our only chance of safety, we took to the main-rigging. this was about seven o'clock in the evening. towards morning, by reason of the continual thumping, the mainmast began to work through the vessel, and to settle in the sand, so that it became necessary for us to make our way to the fore-rigging; which we did, not without danger, as one of the men was twice washed off. about a quarter of a mile inside was a small, low island, on which lay five boats, each manned by five men, who had come down to our assistance; but the surf was so high that they did not venture to approach us; so we remained clinging with difficulty to the rigging till about half-past one, when the schooner went to pieces. the mast to which we were clinging fell, and we were precipitated into the raging surf, which swept us onward towards the island already mentioned. the men there, anticipating what had happened, had prepared for its occurrence; and the best swimmers, with ropes tied round their waists, the other end of which was held by those on shore, plunged in to our assistance. one of our unfortunate company was drowned,--the rest of us came safely to the shore; but we lost everything except the clothes we stood in. the fragments saved from the wreck were sold at auction for two hundred dollars. the people of that neighborhood treated us with great kindness, and we presently took the packet for elizabeth city, whence i proceeded to norfolk, baltimore, and so home. i had made up my mind to go to sea no more; but, after remaining on shore for three weeks, and not finding anything else to do, as it was necessary for me to have the means of supporting my increasing family, i took the command of another vessel, belonging to the same owners, the sloop joseph b. while in this vessel, my voyages were to the eastward. i was engaged in the flour-trade, in conjunction with the owners of the vessel. we bought flour and grain on a sixty days' credit, which i carried to the kennebec, portsmouth, boston, new bedford, and other eastern ports, calculating upon the returns of the voyage to take up our notes. i was so successful in this business as finally to become the owner of the joseph b., which vessel i exchanged away at portsmouth for the sophronia, a top-sail schooner of one hundred and sixty tons, worth about fourteen hundred dollars. in this vessel i made two trips to boston,--one with coal, and the other with timber. having unloaded my timber, i took in a hundred tons of plaster, purchased on my own account, intending to dispose of it in the susquehanna. but on the passage i encountered a heavy storm, which blew the masts out of the vessel, and drove her ashore on the south side of long island. we saved our lives; but i lost everything except one hundred and sixty dollars, for which i sold what was left of the vessel and cargo. having returned to my family, with but little disposition to try my fortune again in the coasting-trade, one day, being in the horse-market, i purchased a horse and wagon; and, taking in my wife and some of the younger children, i went to pay a visit to the neighborhood in which i was born. here i traded for half of a bay-craft, of about sixty tons burden, in which i engaged in the oyster-trade, and other small bay-traffic. having met at baltimore the owner of the other half, i bought him out also. the whole craft stood me in about seven hundred dollars. i then purchased three hundred bushels of potatoes, with which i sailed for fredericksburg, in virginia; but this proved a losing trip, the potatoes not selling for what they cost me. at fredericksburg i took in flour on freight for norfolk; but my ill-luck still pursued me. in unloading the vessel, the cargo forward being first taken out, she settled by the stern and sprang a leak, damaging fifteen barrels of flour, which were thrown upon my hands. i then sailed for the eastern shore of virginia, and at a place called cherrystone traded off my damaged flour for a cargo of pears, with which i sailed for new york. i proceeded safely as far as barnegat, when i encountered a north-east storm, which drove me back into the delaware, obliging me to seek refuge in the same maurice river from which i had commenced my sea-faring life in the wood business. but by this time the pears were spoiled, and i was obliged to throw them overboard. at cherrystone i had met the owner of a pilot-boat, who had seemed disposed to trade with me for my vessel; and i now returned to that place, and completed the trade; after which i loaded the pilot-boat with oysters and terrapins, and sailed for philadelphia. this boat was an excellent sailer, but too sharp, and not of burden enough for my business; and i soon exchanged her for half a little sloop, in which i carried a load of water-melons to baltimore. by this time i was pretty well sick of the water; and, having hired out the sloop, i set up a shop, at philadelphia, for the purchase and sale of junk, old iron, &c. &c. but, after continuing in this business for about two years,--my health being bad, and the doctor having advised me to try the water again,--i bought half of another sloop, and engaged in trading up and down chesapeake bay. returning home, towards the close of the season, with the proceeds of the summer's business, i encountered, in the upper part of chesapeake bay, a terrible snow-storm which proved fatal to many vessels then in the bay. in attempting to make a harbor, the vessel struck the ground, and knocked off her rudder; and, in order to get her off, we were obliged to throw over the deck-load. we drifted about all day, it still blowing and snowing, and at night let go both anchors. so we lay for a night and a day; but, having neither boat, rudder nor provisions, i was finally obliged to slip the anchors and run ashore. i sold my half of her, as she lay, for ninety dollars, which was all that remained to me of my investment and my summer's work. not having the means to purchase a boat, my health also continuing quite infirm, the next summer i hired one, and continued the same trade up and down the bay which i had followed the previous summer. my trading up and down the bay, in the way which i have described, of course brought me a good deal into contact with the slave population. no sooner, indeed, does a vessel, known to be from the north, anchor in any of these waters--and the slaves are pretty adroit in ascertaining from what state a vessel comes--than she is boarded, if she remains any length of time, and especially over night, by more or less of them, in hopes of obtaining a passage in her to a land of freedom. during my earlier voyagings, several years before, in chesapeake bay, i had turned a deaf ear to all these requests. at that time, according to an idea still common enough, i had regarded the negroes as only fit to be slaves, and had not been inclined to pay much attention to the pitiful tales which they told me of ill-treatment by their masters and mistresses. but my views upon this subject had undergone a gradual change. i knew it was asserted in the declaration of independence that all men are born free and equal, and i had read in the bible that god had made of one flesh all the nations of the earth. i had found out, by intercourse with the negroes, that they had the same desires, wishes and hopes, as myself. i knew very well that i should not like to be a slave even to the best of masters, and still less to such sort of masters as the greater part of the slaves seemed to have. the idea of having first one child and then another taken from me, as fast as they grew large enough, and handed over to the slave-traders, to be carried i knew not where, and sold, if they were girls, i knew not for what purposes, would have been horrible enough; and, from instances which came to my notice, i perceived that it was not less horrible and distressing to the parties concerned in the case of black people than of white ones. i had never read any abolition books, nor heard any abolition lectures. i had frequented only methodist meetings, and nothing was heard there about slavery. but, for the life of me, i could not perceive why the golden rule of doing to others as you would wish them to do to you did not apply to this case. had i been a slave myself,--and it is not a great while since the algerines used to make slaves of our sailors, white as well as black,--i should have thought it very right and proper in anybody who would have ventured to assist me in escaping out of bondage; and the more dangerous it might have been to render such assistance, the more meritorious i should have thought the act to be. why had not these black people, so anxious to escape from their masters, as good a light to their liberty as i had to mine? i know it is sometimes said, by those who defend slavery or apologize for it, that the slaves at the south are very happy and contented, if left to themselves, and that this idea of running away is only put into their heads by mischievous white people from the north. this will do very well for those who know nothing of the matter personally, and who are anxious to listen to any excuse. but there is not a waterman who ever sailed in chesapeake bay who will not tell you that, so far from the slaves needing any prompting to run away, the difficulty is, when they ask you to assist them, to make them take no for an answer. i have known instances where men have lain in the woods for a year or two, waiting for an opportunity to escape on board some vessel. on one of my voyages up the potomac, an application was made to me on behalf of such a runaway; and i was so much moved by his story, that, had it been practicable for me at that time, i should certainly have helped him off. one or two attempts i did make to assist the flight of some of those who sought my assistance; but none with success, till the summer of , which is the period to which i have brought down my narrative. i was employed during that summer, as i have mentioned already in trading up and down the chesapeake, in a hired boat, a small black boy being my only assistant. among other trips, i went to washington with a cargo of oysters. while i was lying there, at the same wharf, as it happened, from which the pearl afterwards took her departure, a colored man came on board, and, observing that i seemed to be from the north, he said he supposed we were pretty much all abolitionists there. i don't know where he got this piece of information, but i think it likely from some southern member of congress. as i did not check him, but rather encouraged him to go on, he finally told me that he wanted to get passage to the north for a woman and five children. the husband of the woman, and father of the children, was a free colored man; and the woman, under an agreement with her master, had already more than paid for her liberty; but, when she had asked him for a settlement, he had only answered by threatening to sell her. he begged me to see the woman, which i did; and finally i made an arrangement to take them away. their bedding, and other things, were sent down on board the vessel in open day, and at night the woman came on board with her five children and a niece. we were ten days in reaching frenchtown, where the husband was in waiting for them. he took them under his charge, and i saw them no more; but, since my release from imprisonment in washington, i have heard that the whole family are comfortably established in a free country, and doing well. having accomplished this exploit,--and was it not something of an exploit to bestow the invaluable gift of liberty upon seven of one's fellow-creatures--the season being now far advanced, i gave up the boat to the owner, and returned to my family at philadelphia. in the course of the following month of february, i received a note from a person whom i had never known or heard of before, desiring me to call at a certain place named in it. i did so, when it appeared that i had been heard of through the colored family which i had brought off from washington. a letter from that city was read to me, relating the case of a family or two who expected daily and hourly to be sold, and desiring assistance to get them away. it was proposed to me to undertake this enterprise; but i declined it at this time, as i had no vessel, and because the season was too early for navigation through the canal. i saw the same person again about a fortnight later, and finally arranged to go on to washington, to see what could be done. there i agreed to return again so soon as i could find a vessel fit for the enterprise. i spoke with several persons of my acquaintance, who had vessels under their control; but they declined, on account of the danger. they did not appear to have any other objection, and seemed to wish me success. passing along the street, i met captain sayres, and knowing that he was sailing a small bay-craft, called the pearl, and learning from him that business was dull with him, i proposed the enterprise to him, offering him one hundred dollars for the charter of his vessel to washington and back to frenchtown where, according to the arrangement with the friends of the passengers, they were to be met and carried to philadelphia. this was considerably more than the vessel could earn in any ordinary trip of the like duration, and sayres closed with the offer. he fully understood the nature of the enterprise. by our bargain, i was to have, as supercargo, the control of the vessel so far as related to her freight, and was to bring away from washington such passengers as i chose to receive on board; but the control of the vessel in other respects remained with him. captain sayres engaged in this enterprise merely as a matter of business. i, too, was to be paid for my time and trouble,--an offer which the low state of my pecuniary affairs, and the necessity of supporting my family, did not allow me to decline. but this was not, by any means, my sole or principal motive. i undertook it out of sympathy for the enslaved, and from my desire to do something to further the cause of universal liberty. such being the different ground upon which sayres and myself stood, i did not think it necessary or expedient to communicate to him the names of the persons with whom the expedition had originated; and, at my suggestion, those persons abstained from any direct communication with him, either at philadelphia or washington. sayres had, as cook and sailor, on board the pearl, a young man named chester english. he was married, and had a child or two, but was himself as inexperienced as a child, having never been more than thirty miles from the place where he was born. i remonstrated with sayres against taking this young man with us. but english, pleased with the idea of seeing washington, desired to go; and sayres, who had engaged him for the season, did not like to part with him. he went with us, but was kept in total ignorance of the real object of the voyage. he had the idea that we were going to washington for a load of ship-timber. we proceeded down the delaware, and by the canal into the chesapeake, making for the mouth of the potomac. as we ascended that river we stopped at a place called machudock, where i purchased, by way of cargo and cover to the voyage, twenty cords of wood; and with that freight on board we proceeded to washington, where we arrived on the evening of thursday, the th of april, . as it happened, we found that city in a great state of excitement on the subject of emancipation, liberty and the rights of man. a grand torch-light procession was on foot, in honor of the new french revolution, the expulsion of louis-philippe, and the establishment of a republic in france. bonfires were blazing in the public squares, and a great out-door meeting was being held in front of the _union_ newspaper office, at which very enthusiastic and exciting speeches were delivered, principally by southern democratic members of congress, which body was at that time in session. a full account of these proceedings, with reports of the speeches, was given in the _union_ of the next day. according to this report, mr. foote, the senator from mississippi, extolled the french revolution as holding out "to the whole family of man a bright promise of the universal establishment of civil and religious liberty." he declared, in the same speech, "that the age of tyrants and of slavery was rapidly drawing to a close, and that the happy period to be signalized by the _universal emancipation_ of man from the fetters of civic oppression, and the recognition in all countries of the great principles of popular sovereignty, equality and brotherhood, was at this moment visibly commencing." mr. stanton, of tennessee, and others, spoke in a strain equally fervid and philanthropic. i am obliged to refer to the _union_ newspaper for an account of these speeches, as i did not hear them myself. i came to washington, not to preach, nor to hear preached, emancipation, equality and brotherhood, but to put them into practice. sayres and english went up to see the procession and hear the speeches. i had other things to attend to. the news of my arrival soon spread among those who had been expecting it, though i neither saw nor had any direct communication with any of those who were to be my passengers. i had some difficulty in disposing of my wood, which was not a very first-rate article, but finally sold it, taking in payment the purchaser's note on sixty days, which i changed off for half cash and half provisions. as the trader to whom i passed the note had no hard bread, sayres and myself went in the steamer to alexandria to purchase a barrel,--a circumstance of which it was afterwards attempted to take advantage against us. it was arranged that the passengers should come on board after dark on saturday evening, and that we should sail about midnight. i had understood that the expedition, had principally originated in the desire to help off a certain family, consisting of a woman, nine children and two grand-children, who were believed to be legally entitled to their liberty. their case had been in litigation for some time; but, although they had a very good case,--the lawyer whom they employed (mr. bradley, one of the most distinguished members of the bar of the district) testified, in the course of one of my trials, that he believed them to be legally free,--yet, as their money was nearly exhausted, and as there seemed to be no end to the law's delay and the pertinacity of the woman who claimed them, it was deemed best by their friends that they should get away if they could, lest she might seize them unawares, and sell them to some trader. in speaking of this case, the person with whom i communicated at washington informed me that there were also quite a number of others who wished to avail themselves of this opportunity of escaping, and that the number of passengers was likely to be larger than had at first been calculated upon. to which i replied, that i did not stand about the number; that all who were on board before eleven o'clock i should take,--the others would have to remain behind. saturday evening, at supper, i let english a little into the secret of what i intended. i told him that the sort of ship-timber we were going to take would prove very easy to load and unload; that a number of colored people wished to take passage with us down the bay, and that, as sayres and myself would be away the greater part of the evening, all he had to do was, as fast as they came on board, to lift up the hatch and let them pass into the hold, shutting the hatch down upon them. the vessel, which we had moved down the river since unloading the wood, lay at a rather lonely place, called white-house wharf, from a whitish-colored building which stood upon it. the high bank of the river, under which a road passed, afforded a cover to the wharf, and there were only a few scattered buildings in the vicinity. towards the town there stretched a wide extent of open fields. anxious, as might naturally be expected, as to the result, i kept in the vicinity to watch the progress of events. there was another small vessel that lay across the head of the same wharf, but her crew were all black; and, going on board her just at dusk, i informed the skipper of my business, intimating to him, at the same time, that it would be a dangerous thing for him to betray me. he assured me that i need have no fears of him--that the other men would soon leave the vessel, not to return again till monday, and that, for himself, he should go below and to sleep, so as neither to hear nor to see anything. shortly after dark the expected passengers began to arrive, coming stealthily across the fields, and gliding silently on board the vessel. i observed a man near a neighboring brick-kiln, who seemed to be watching them. i went towards him, and found him to be black. he told me that he understood what was going on, but that i need have no apprehension of him. two white men, who walked along the road past the vessel, and who presently returned back the same way, occasioned me some alarm; but they seemed to have no suspicions of what was on foot, as i saw no more of them. i went on board the vessel several times in the course of the evening, and learned from english that the hold was fast filling up. i had promised him, in consideration of the unusual nature of the business we were engaged in, ten dollars as a gratuity, in addition to his wages. something past ten o'clock, i went on board, and directed english to cast off the fastenings and to get ready to make sail. pretty soon sayres came on board. it was a dead calm, and we were obliged to get the boat out to get the vessel's head round. after dropping down a half a mile or so, we encountered the tide making up the river; and, as there was still no wind, we were obliged to anchor. here we lay in a dead calm till about daylight. the wind then began to breeze up lightly from the northward, when we got up the anchor and made sail. as the sun rose, we passed alexandria. i then went into the hold for the first time, and there found my passengers pretty thickly stowed. i distributed bread among them, and knocked down the bulkhead between the hold and the cabin, in order that they might get into the cabin to cook. they consisted of men and women, in pretty equal proportions, with a number of boys and girls, and two small children. the wind kept increasing and hauling to the westward. off fort washington we had to make two stretches, but the rest of the way we run before the wind. shortly after dinner, we passed the steamer from baltimore for washington, bound up. i thought the passengers on board took particular notice of us; but the number of vessels met with in a passage up the potomac at that season is so few, as to make one, at least for the idle passengers of a steamboat, an object of some curiosity. just before sunset, we passed a schooner loaded with plaster, bound up. as we approached the mouth of the potomac, the wind hauled to the north, and blew with such stiffness as would make it impossible for us to go up the bay, according to our original plan. under these circumstances, apprehending a pursuit from washington, i urged sayres to go to sea, with the intention of reaching the delaware by the outside passage. but he objected that the vessel was not fit to go outside (which was true enough), and that the bargain was to go to frenchtown. having reached point lookout, at the mouth of the river, and not being able to persuade sayres to go to sea, and the wind being dead in our teeth, and too strong to allow any attempt to ascend the bay, we came to anchor in cornfield harbor, just under point lookout, a shelter usually sought by bay-craft encountering contrary winds when in that neighborhood. we were all sleepy with being up all the night before, and, soon after dropping anchor, we all turned in. i knew nothing more till, waking suddenly, i heard the noise of a steamer blowing off steam alongside of us. i knew at once that we were taken. the black men came to the cabin, and asked if they should fight. i told them no; we had no arms, nor was there the least possibility of a successful resistance. the loud shouts and trampling of many feet overhead proved that our assailants were numerous. one of them lifted the hatch a little, and cried out, "niggers, by g--d!" an exclamation to which the others responded with three cheers, and by banging the buts of their muskets against the deck. a lantern was called for, to read the name of the vessel; and it being ascertained to be the pearl, a number of men came to the cabin-door, and called for captain drayton. i was in no great hurry to stir; but at length rose from my berth, saying that i considered myself their prisoner, and that i expected to be treated as such. while i was dressing, rather too slowly for the impatience of those outside, a sentinel, who had been stationed at the cabin-door, followed every motion of mine with his gun, which he kept pointed at me, in great apprehension, apparently, lest i should suddenly seize some dangerous weapon and make at him. as i came out of the cabin-door, two of them seized me, took me on board the steamer and tied me; and they did the same with sayres and english, who were brought on board, one after the other. the black people were left on board the pearl, which the steamer took in tow, and then proceeded up the river. to explain this sudden change in our situation, it is necessary to go back to washington. great was the consternation in several families of that city, on sunday morning, to find no breakfast, and, what was worse, their servants missing. nor was this disaster confined to washington only. georgetown came in for a considerable share of it, and even alexandria, on the opposite side of the river, had not entirely escaped. the persons who had taken passage on board the pearl had been held in bondage by no less than forty-one different persons. great was the wonder at the sudden and simultaneous disappearance of so many "prime hands," roughly estimated, though probably with considerable exaggeration, as worth in the market not less than a hundred thousand dollars,--and all at "one fell swoop" too, as the district attorney afterwards, in arguing the case against me, pathetically expressed it! there were a great many guesses and conjectures as to where these people had gone, and how they had gone; but it is very doubtful whether the losers would have got upon the right track, had it not been for the treachery of a colored hackman, who had been employed to carry down to the vessel two passengers who had been in hiding for some weeks previous, and who could not safely walk down, lest they might be met and recognized. emulating the example of that large, and, in their own opinion at least, highly moral, religious and respectable class of white people, known as "dough-faces," this hackman thought it a fine opportunity to feather his nest by playing cat's-paw to the slave-holders. seeing how much the information was in demand, and anticipating, no doubt, a large reward, he turned informer, and described the pearl as the conveyance which the fugitives had taken; and, it being ascertained that the pearl had actually sailed between saturday night and sunday morning, preparations were soon made to pursue her. a mr. dodge, of georgetown, a wealthy old gentleman, originally from new england, missed three or four slaves from his family, and a small steamboat, of which he was the proprietor, was readily obtained. thirty-five men, including a son or two of old dodge, and several of those whose slaves were missing, volunteered to man her; and they set out about sunday noon, armed to the teeth with guns, pistols, bowie-knives, &c., and well provided with brandy and other liquors. they heard of us on the passage down, from the baltimore steamer and the vessel loaded with plaster. they reached the mouth of the river, and, not having found the pearl, were about to return, as the steamer could not proceed into the bay without forfeiting her insurance. as a last chance, they looked into cornfield harbor, where they found us, as i have related. this was about two o'clock in the morning. the pearl had come to anchor about nine o'clock the previous evening. it is a hundred and forty miles from washington to cornfield harbor. the steamer, with the pearl in tow, crossed over from point lookout to piney point, on the south shore of the potomac, and here the pearl was left at anchor, a part of the steamer's company remaining to guard her, while the steamer, having myself and the other white prisoners on board, proceeded up coan river for a supply of wood, having obtained which, she again, about noon of monday, took the pearl in tow and started for washington. the bearing, manner and aspect of the thirty-five armed persons by whom we had been thus seized and bound, without the slightest shadow of lawful authority, was sufficient to inspire a good deal of alarm. we had been lying quietly at anchor in a harbor of maryland; and, although the owners of the slaves might have had a legal right to pursue and take them back, what warrant or authority had they for seizing us and our vessel? they could have brought none from the district of columbia, whose officers had no jurisdiction or authority in cornfield harbor; nor did they pretend to have any from the state of maryland. some of them showed a good deal of excitement, and evinced a disposition to proceed to lynch us at once. a man named houver, who claimed as his property two of the boys passengers on board the pearl, put me some questions in a very insolent tone; to which i replied, that i considered myself a prisoner, and did not wish to answer any questions; whereupon one of the bystanders, flourishing a dirk in my face, exclaimed, "if i was in his place, i'd put this through you!" at piney point, one of the company proposed to hang me up to the yard-arm, and make me confess; but the more influential of those on board were not ready for any such violence, though all were exceedingly anxious to get out of me the history of the expedition, and who my employers were. that i had employers, and persons of note too, was taken for granted on all hands; nor did i think it worth my while to contradict it, though i declined steadily to give any information on that point. sayres and english very readily told all that they knew. english, especially, was in a great state of alarm, and cried most bitterly. i pitied him much, besides feeling some compunctions at getting him thus into difficulty; and, upon the representations which i made, that he came to washington in perfect ignorance of the object of the expedition, he was finally untied. as sayres was obliged to admit that he came to washington to take away colored passengers, he was not regarded with so much favor. but it was evidently me whom they looked upon as the chief culprit, alone possessing a knowledge of the history and origin of the expedition, which they were so anxious to unravel. they accordingly went to work very artfully to worm this secret out of me. i was placed in charge of one orme, a police-officer of georgetown, whose manner towards me was such as to inspire me with a certain confidence in him; who, as it afterwards appeared from his testimony on the trial, carefully took minutes--but, as it proved, very confused and incorrect ones--of all that i said, hoping thus to secure something that might turn out to my disadvantage. another person, with whom i had a good deal of conversation, and who was afterwards produced as a witness against me, was william h. craig, in my opinion a much more conscientious person than orme, who seemed to think that it was part of his duty, as a police-officer, to testify to something, at all hazards, to help on a conviction. but this is a subject to which i shall have occasion to return presently. in one particular, at least, the testimony of both these witnesses was correct enough. they both testified to my expressing pretty serious apprehensions of what the result to myself was likely to be. what the particular provisions were, in the district of columbia, as to helping slaves to escape, i did not know; but i had heard that, in some of the slave-states, they were very severe; in fact, i was assured by craig that i had committed the highest crime, next to murder, known in their laws. under these circumstances, i made up my mind that the least penalty i should be apt to escape with was confinement in the penitentiary for life; and it is quite probable that i endeavored to console myself, as these witnesses testified, with the idea that, after all, it might, in a religious point of view, be all for the best, as i should thus be removed from temptation, and have ample time for reflection and repentance. but my apprehensions were by no means limited to what i might suffer under the forms of law. from the temper exhibited by some of my captors, and from the vindictive fury with which the idea of enabling the enslaved to regain their liberty was, i knew, generally regarded at the south, i apprehended more sudden and summary proceedings; and what happened afterwards at washington proved that these apprehensions were not wholly unfounded. the idea of being torn in pieces by a furious mob was exceedingly disagreeable. many men, who might not fear death, might yet not choose to meet it in that shape. i called to mind the apology of the methodist minister, who, just after a declaration of his that he was not afraid to die, ran away from a furious bull that attacked him,--"that, though not fearing death, he did not like to be torn in pieces by a mad bull." i related this anecdote to craig, and, as he testified on the trial, expressed my preference to be taken on the deck of the steamer and shot at once, rather than to be given up to a washington mob to be baited and murdered. i talked pretty freely with orme and craig about myself, the circumstances under which i had undertaken this enterprise, my motives to it, my family, my past misfortunes, and the fate that probably awaited me; but they failed to extract from me, what they seemed chiefly to desire, any information which would implicate others. orme told me, as he afterwards testified, that what the people in the district wanted was the principals; and that, if i would give information that would lead to them, the owners of the slaves would let me go, or sign a petition for my pardon. craig also made various inquiries tending to the same point. though i was firmly resolved not to yield in this particular, yet i was desirous to do all i could to soften the feeling against me; and it was doubtless this desire which led me to make the statements sworn to by orme and craig, that i had no connection with the persons called abolitionists,--which was true enough; that i had formerly refused large offers made me by slaves to carry them away; and that, in the present instance, i was employed by others, and was to be paid for my services. on arriving off fort washington, the steamer anchored for the night, as the captors preferred to make their triumphant entry into the city by daylight. sayres and myself were watched during the night by a regular guard of two men, armed with muskets, who were relieved from time to time. before getting under weigh again,--which they did about seven o'clock in the morning of tuesday, feb. ,--sayres and myself were tied together arm-and-arm, and the black people also, two-and-two, with the other arm bound behind their backs. as we passed alexandria, we were all ordered on deck, and exhibited to the mob collected on the wharves to get a sight of us, who signified their satisfaction by three cheers. when we landed at the steamboat-wharf in washington, which is a mile and more from pennsylvania avenue, and in a remote part of the city, but few people had yet assembled. we were marched up in a long procession, sayres and myself being placed at the head of it, guarded by a man on each side; english following next, and then the negroes. as we went along, the mob began to increase; and, as we passed gannon's slave-pen, that slave-trader, armed with a knife, rushed out, and, with horrid imprecations, made a pass at me, which was very near finding its way through my body. instead of being arrested, as he ought to have been, this slave-dealer was politely informed that i was in the hands of the law, to which he replied, "d--n the law!--i have three negroes, and i will give them all for one thrust at this d--d scoundrel!" and he followed along, waiting his opportunity to repeat the blow. the crowd, by this time, was greatly increased. we met an immense mob of several thousand persons coming down four-and-a-half street, with the avowed intention of carrying us up before the capitol, and making an exhibition of us there. the noise and confusion was very great. it seemed as if the time for the lynching had come. when almost up to pennsylvania avenue, a rush was made upon us,--"lynch them! lynch them! the d--n villains!" and other such cries, resounded on all sides. those who had us in charge were greatly alarmed; and, seeing no other way to keep us from the hands of the mob, they procured a hack, and put sayres and myself into it. the hack drove to the jail, the mob continuing to follow, repeating their shouts and threats. several thousand people surrounded the jail, filling up the enclosure about it. our captors had become satisfied, from the statements made by sayres and myself, and from his own statements and conduct, that the participation of english in the affair was not of a sort that required any punishment; and when the mob made the rush upon us, the persons having him in charge had let him go, with the intention that he should escape. after a while he had found his way back to the steamboat wharf; but the steamer was gone. alone in a strange place, and not knowing what to do, he told his story to somebody whom he met, who put him in a hack and sent him up to the jail. it was a pity he lacked the enterprise to take care of himself when set at liberty, as it cost him four months' imprisonment and his friends some money. i ought to have mentioned before that, on arriving within the waters of the district, sayres and myself had been examined before a justice of the peace, who was one of the captors; and who had acted as their leader. he had made out a commitment against us, but none against english; so that the persons who had him in charge were right enough in letting him go. sayres and myself were at first put into the same cell, but, towards night, we were separated. a person named goddard, connected with the police, came to examine us. he went to sayres first. he then came to me, when i told him that, as i supposed he had got the whole story out of sayres, and as it was not best that two stories should be told, i would say nothing. goddard then took from me my money. one of the keepers threw me in two thin blankets, and i was left to sleep as i could. the accommodations were not of the most luxurious kind. the cell had a stone floor, which, with the help of a blanket, was to serve also for a bed. there was neither chair, table, stool, nor any individual piece of furniture of any kind, except a night-bucket and a water-can. i was refused my overcoat and valise, and had nothing but my water-can to make a pillow of. with such a pillow, and the bare stone floor for my bed, looked upon by all whom i saw with apparent abhorrence and terror,--as much so, to all appearance, as if i had been a murderer, or taken in some other desperate crime,--remembering the execrations which the mob had belched forth against me, and uncertain whether a person would be found to express the least sympathy for me (which might not, in the existing state of the public feeling, be safe), it may be imagined that my slumbers were not very sound. meanwhile the rage of the mob had taken, for the moment, another direction. i had heard it said, while we were coming up in the steamboat, that the abolition press must be stopped; and the mob accordingly, as the night came on, gathered about the office of the _national era_, with threats to destroy it. some little mischief was done; but the property-holders in the city, well aware how dependent washington is upon the liberality of congress, were unwilling that anything should occur to place the district in bad odor at the north. some of them, also, it is but justice to believe, could not entirely give in to the slave-holding doctrine and practice of suppressing free discussion by force; and, by their efforts, seconded by a drenching storm of rain, that came on between nine and ten o'clock, the mob were persuaded to disperse for the present. the jail was guarded that night by a strong body of police, serious apprehensions being entertained, lest the mob, instigated by the violence of many southern members of congress, should break in and lynch us. great apprehension, also, seemed to be felt at the jail, lest we might be rescued; and we were subject, during the night, to frequent examinations, to see that all was safe. great was the terror, as well as the rage, which the abolitionists appeared to inspire. they seemed to be thought capable, if not very narrowly watched, of taking us off through the roof, or the stone floor, or out of the iron-barred doors; and, from the half-frightened looks which the keepers gave me from time to time, i could plainly enough read their thoughts,--that a fellow who had ventured on such an enterprise as that of the pearl was desperate and daring enough to attempt anything. for a poor prisoner like me, so much in the power of his captors, and without the slightest means, hopes, or even thoughts of escape, it was some little satisfaction to observe the awe and terror which he inspired. of the prison fare i shall have more to say, by and by. it is sufficient to state here that it was about on a par with the sleeping accommodations, and hardly of a sort to give a man in my situation the necessary physical vigor. however, i thought little of this at that moment, as i was too sick and excited to feel much disposition to eat. the washington prison is a large three-story stone building, the front part of the lower story of which is occupied by the guard-room, or jail-office, and by the kitchen and sleeping apartments for the keepers. the back part, shut off from the front by strong grated doors, has a winding stone stair-case, ascending in the middle, on each side of which, on each of the three stories, are passage-ways, also shut off from the stair-case, by grated iron doors. the back wall of the jail forms one side of these passages, which are lighted by grated windows. on the other side are the cells, also with grated iron doors, and receiving their light and air entirely from the passages. the passages themselves have no ventilation except through the doors and windows, which answer that purpose very imperfectly. the front second story, over the guard-room, contains the cells for the female prisoners. the front third story is the debtors' apartment. the usage of the jail always has been--except in cases of insubordination or attempted escape, when locking up in the cells by day, as well as by night, has been resorted to as a punishment--to allow the prisoners, during the day-time, the use of the passages, for the benefit of light, air and exercise. indeed, it is hard to conceive a more cruel punishment than to keep a man locked up all the time in one of these half-lighted, unventilated cells. on the morning of the second day of our confinement, we too were let out into the passage. but we were soon put back again, and not only into separate cells, but into separate passages, so as to be entirely cut off from any communication with each other. it was a long time before we were able to regain the privilege of the passage. but, for the present, i shall pass over the internal economy and administration of the prison, and my treatment in it, intending, further on, to give a general sketch of that subject. about nine or ten o'clock, mr. giddings, the member of congress from ohio, came to see us. there was some disposition, i understood, not to allow him to enter the jail; but mr. giddings is a man not easily repulsed, and there is nobody of whom the good people at washington, especially the office-holders, who make up so large a part of the population, stand so much in awe as a member of congress; especially a member of mr. giddings' well-known fearless determination. he was allowed to come in, bringing another person with him, but was followed into the jail by a crowd of ruffians, who compelled the turnkey to admit them into the passage, and who vented their rage in execration and threats. mr. giddings said that he had understood we were here in jail without counsel or friends, and that he had come to let us know that we should not want for either; and he introduced the person he had brought with him as one who was willing to act temporarily as our counsel. not long after, mr. david a. hall, a lawyer of the district, came to offer his services to us in the same way. key, the united states attorney for the district, and who, as such, had charge of the proceedings against us, was there at the same time. he advised mr. hall to leave the jail and go home immediately, as the people outside were furious, and he ran the risk of his life. to which mr. hall replied that things had come to a pretty pass, if a man's counsel was not to have the privilege of talking with him. "poor devils!" said the district attorney, as he went out, "i pity them,--they are to be made scape-goats for others!" yet the rancor, and virulence, and fierce pertinacity with which this key afterwards pursued me, did not look much like pity. no doubt he was a good deal irritated at his ill success in getting any information out of me. the seventy-six passengers found on board the pearl had been committed to the jail as runaways, and mr. giddings, on going up to the house, by way of warning, i suppose, to the slave-holders, that they were not to be allowed to have everything their own way, moved an inquiry into the circumstances under which seventy-six persons were held prisoners in the district jail, merely for attempting to vindicate their inalienable rights. mr. hale also, in the senate, in consequence of the threats held out to destroy the _era_ office, and to put a stop to the publication of that paper, moved a resolution of inquiry into the necessity of additional laws for the protection of property in the district. the fury which these movements excited in the minds of the slave-holders found expression in the editorial columns of the washington _union_, in an article which i have inserted below, as forming a curious contrast to the exultations of that print, only a week before, and to which i have had occasion already to refer, over the spread of the principles of liberty and universal emancipation. the violent attack upon mr. giddings, because he had visited us three poor prisoners in jail, and offered us the assistance of counsel,--as if the vilest criminals were not entitled to have counsel to defend them,--is well worthy of notice. the following is the article referred to. the abolition incendiaries. those two abolition incendiaries (giddings and hale) threw firebrands yesterday into the two houses of congress. the western abolitionist moved a resolution of inquiry into the transactions now passing in washington, which brought on a fierce and fiery debate on the part of the southern members, in the course of which mr. giddings _was compelled to confess_, on the cross-questioning of messrs. venable and haskell, _that he had visited the three piratical kidnappers now confined in jail, and offered them counsel_. the reply of mr. toombs, of georgia, was scorching to an intense degree. the abolitionist john p. hale threw a firebrand resolution into the senate, calling for additional laws to compel this city to prevent riots. this also gave rise to a long and excited debate. no question was taken, in either house, before they adjourned. but, in the progress of the discussion in both houses, some doctrines were uttered which are calculated to startle the friends of the union. giddings justified the kidnappers, and contended that, though the act was legally forbidden, it was not morally wrong! mr. toombs brought home the practical consequences of this doctrine to the member from ohio in a most impressive manner. hale, of the senate, whilst he was willing to protect the abolitionist, expressed himself willing to relax the laws and weaken the protection which is given to the slave property in this district! mr. davis, of massachusetts, held the strange doctrine, that while he would not disturb the rights of the slave-holders, he would not cease to discuss those rights! as if congress ought to discuss, or to protect a right to discuss, a domestic institution of the southern states, with which they had no right to interfere! why discuss, when they cannot act? why first lay down an abstract principle, which they intend to violate in practice? such fanatics as giddings and hale are doing more mischief than they will be able to atone for. their incessant and impertinent intermeddling with the most delicate question in our social relations is creating the most indignant feelings in the community. the fiery discussions they are exciting are calculated to provoke the very riots which they deprecate. let these madmen forbear, if they value the tranquillity of our country, and the stability of our union. we conjure them to forbear their maddened, parricidal hand. an article like this in the _union_ was well calculated, and probably was intended, to encourage and stimulate the rioters, and accordingly they assembled that same evening in greater force than before threatening the destruction of the _era_ office. the publication office of the _era_ was not far from the patent office; and the dwelling-house of dr. bailey, the editor, was at no great distance. the mob, taking upon themselves the character of a meeting of citizens, appointed a committee to wait upon dr. bailey, to require him to remove his press out of the district of columbia. of course, as i was locked up in the jail, trying to rest my aching head and weary limbs, with a stone floor for a bed and a water-can for my pillow, i can have no personal knowledge of what transpired on this occasion. but a correspondent of the new york _tribune_, who probably was an eye-witness, gives the following account of the interview between the committee and dr. bailey: clearing his throat, the leader of the committee stretched forth his hand, and thus addressed dr. bailey: _mr. radcliff_.--sir, we have been appointed as a committee to wait upon you, by the meeting of the citizens of washington which has assembled this evening to take into consideration the circumstances connected with the late outrage upon _our_ property, and to convey to you the result of the deliberations of that meeting. you are aware of the excitement which now prevails. it has assumed a most threatening aspect. this community is satisfied that the existence of your press among us is endangering the public peace, and they are convinced that the public interests demand its removal. we have therefore waited upon you for the purpose of inquiring whether you are prepared to remove your press by ten o'clock to-morrow morning; and we beseech you, as you value the peace of this district, to accede to our request. [loud shouting heard at the patent office.] _dr. bailey_.--gentlemen: i do not believe you are actuated by any unkind feelings towards me personally; but you must be aware that you are demanding of me the surrender of a great constitutional right,--a right which i have used, but not abused,--in the preservation of which you are as deeply interested as i am. how can you ask me to abandon it, and thus become a party to my own degradation? _mr. radcliff_.--we subscribe to all that you say. but you see the popular excitement. the consequences of your refusal are inevitable. now, if you can avert these consequences by submitting to what the people request, although unreasonable, is it not your duty, as a good citizen, to submit? it is on account of the community we come here, obeying the popular feeling which you hear expressed in the distance, and which cannot be calmed, and, but for the course we have adopted, would at this moment be manifested in the destruction of your office. but they have consented to wait till they hear our report. we trust, then, that, as a good citizen, you will respond favorably to the wish of the people. _another of the committee_.--as one of the oldest citizens, i do assure you that it is in all kindness we make this request. we come here to tell you that we cannot arrest violence in any other way than by your allowing us to say that you yield to the request of the people. in kindness we tell you that if this thing commences here we know not where it may end. i am for mild measures myself. the prisoners were in my hands, but i would not allow my men to inflict any punishment on them. _dr. bailey_.--gentlemen, i appreciate your kindness; but i ask, is there a man among you who, standing as i now stand, the representative of a free press, would accede to this demand, and abandon his rights as an american citizen? _one of the committee_.--we know it is a great sacrifice that we ask of you; but we ask it to appease popular excitement. _dr. bailey_.--let me say to you that i am a peace-man. i have taken no measures to defend my office, my house or myself. i appeal to the good sense and intelligence of the community, and stand upon my rights as an american citizen, looking to the law alone for protection. _mr. radcliff_.--we have now discharged our duty. it has come to this,--the people say it must be done, unless you agree to go to-morrow. we now ask a categorical answer,--will you remove your press? _dr. bailey_.--i answer: i make no resistance, and i cannot assent to your demand. the press is there--it is undefended--you can do as you think proper. _one of the committee_.--all rests with you. we tell you what will follow your refusal, and, if you persist, all the responsibility must fall upon your shoulders. it is in your power to arrest the arm that is raised to give the blow. if you refuse to do so by a single expression, though it might cost you much, on you be all the consequences. _dr. bailey_.--you demand the sacrifice of a great right. you-- _one of the committee (interrupting him_).--i know it is a hardship; but look at the consequences of your refusal. we do not come here to express our individual opinions. i would myself leave the district to-morrow, if in your place. we now ask of you, shall this be done? we beg you will consider this matter in the light in which we view it. _dr. bailey_.--i am one man against many. but i cannot sacrifice any right that i possess. those who have sent you here may do as they think proper. _one of the committee_.--the whole community is against you. they say here is an evil that threatens them, and they ask you to remove that evil. you say "no!" and of course on your head be all the consequences. _dr. bailey_.--let me remind you that we have been recently engaged in public rejoicings. for what have we rejoiced? because the people in another land have arisen and triumphed over the despot, who had done--what? he did not demolish presses, but he imprisoned editors. in other words, he enslaved the press. will you then present to america and the world-- _one of the committee (interrupting him_).--if we could stop this movement, of the people, we would do it. but you make us unable to do so. we cannot tell how far it will go. after your press is pulled down, we do not know where they will go next. it is your duty, in such a case, to sacrifice your constitutional rights. _dr. bailey_.--i presume, when they shall have accomplished their object-- _mr. radcliff (interrupting)._--we advise you to be out of the way! the people think that your press endangers their property and their lives; and they have appointed us to tell you so, and ask you to remove it to-morrow. if you say that you will do so, they will retire satisfied. if you refuse, they say they will tear it down. here is mr. boyle, a gentleman of property, and one of our oldest residents. you see that we are united. if you hold out and occupy your position, the men, women and children of the district will universally rise up against you. _dr. bailey (addressing himself to his father, a venerable man of more than eighty years of age, who approached the doorway and commenced remonstrating with the committee)_.--you do not understand the matter, father; these gentlemen are a committee appointed by a meeting assembled in front of the patent office. you need not address remonstrances to them. gentlemen, you appreciate my position. i cannot surrender my rights. were i to die for it, i cannot surrender my rights! tell those who sent you hither that my press and my house are undefended--they must do as they see proper. i maintain my rights, and make no resistance! the committee then retired, and dr. bailey reëntered his dwelling. meanwhile, the shouts of the mob, as they received the reports of the committee, were reëchoed along the streets. a fierce yell greeted the reäppearance of radcliff in front of the patent office. he announced the result of the interview with the editor of the _era_. shouts, imprecations, blasphemy, burst from the crowd. "down with the _era_!" "now for it!" "gut the office!" were the exclamations heard on all sides, and the mob rushed tumultuously to seventh-street. but a body of the city police had been stationed to guard the building, and the mob finally contented themselves with passing a resolution to pull it down the next day at ten o'clock, if the press was not meanwhile removed. that same afternoon, we three prisoners had been taken before three justices, who held a court within the jail for our examination. mr. hall appeared as our counsel. the examination was continued till the next day, when we were, all three of us, recommitted to jail, on a charge of stealing slaves, our bail being fixed at a thousand dollars for each slave, or seventy-six thousand dollars for each of us. meanwhile, both houses of congress became the scenes of very warm debates, growing out of circumstances connected with our case. in the senate, mr. hale, agreeably to the notice he had given, asked leave to introduce a bill for the protection of property in the district of columbia against the violence of mobs. this bill, as was stated in the debate, was copied, almost word for word, from a law in force in the state of maryland (and many other states have--and all ought to have--a similar law), making the cities and towns liable for any property which might be destroyed in them by mob violence. in the house the subject came up on a question of privilege, raised by mr. palfrey, of massachusetts, who offered a resolution for the appointment of a select committee to inquire into the currently-reported facts that a lawless mob had assembled during the two previous nights, setting at defiance the constituted authorities of the united states, and menacing members of congress and other persons. in both those bodies the debate was very warm, as any one interested in it will find, by reading it in the columns of the _congressional globe_. it was upon this occasion, during the debate in the senate, that mr. foote, then a senator from mississippi, and now governor of that state, whose speech on the french revolution has been already quoted, threatened to join in lynching mr. hale, if he ever set foot in mississippi, whither he invited him to come for that purpose. this part of the debate was so peculiar and so characteristic, showing so well the spirit with which the district of columbia was then blazing against me, that i cannot help giving the following extract from mr. foote's speech, as contained in the official report: "all must see that the course of the senator from new hampshire is calculated to embroil the confederacy--to put in peril our free institutions--to jeopardize that union which our forefathers established, and which every pure patriot throughout the country desires shall be perpetuated. can any man be a patriot who pursues such a course? is he an enlightened friend of freedom, or even a judicious friend of those with whom he affects to sympathize, who adopts such a course? who does not know that such men are, practically, the worst enemies of the slaves? i do not beseech the gentleman to stop; but, if he perseveres, he will awaken indignation everywhere, and it cannot be that enlightened men, who conscientiously belong to the faction at the north of which he is understood to be the head, can sanction or approve everything that he may do, under the influence of excitement, in this body. i will close by saying that, if he really wishes glory, and to be regarded as the great liberator of the blacks,--if he wishes to be particularly distinguished in this cause of emancipation, as it is called,--let him, instead of remaining here in the senate of the united states, or instead of secreting himself in some dark corner of new hampshire, where he may possibly escape the just indignation of good men throughout this republic,--let him visit the good state of mississippi, in which i have the honor to reside, and no doubt he will be received with such shouts of joy as have rarely marked the reception of any individual in this day and generation. i invite him there, and will tell him, beforehand, in all honesty, that he could not go ten miles into the interior before he would grace one of the tallest trees in the forest, with a rope around his neck, with the approbation of every virtuous and patriotic citizen; and that, if necessary, i should myself assist in the operation!" mr. hale's reply was equally characteristic: "the honorable senator invites me to visit the state of mississippi, and kindly informs me that he would be one of those who would act the assassin, and put an end to my career. he would aid in bringing me to public execution,--no, death by a mob! well, in return for his hospitable invitation, i can only express the desire that he would penetrate into some of the dark corners of new hampshire; and, if he do, i am much mistaken if he would not find that the people in that benighted region would be very happy to listen to his arguments, and engage in an intellectual conflict with him, in which the truth might be elicited. i think, however, that the announcement which the honorable senator has made on this floor of the fate which awaits so humble an individual as myself in the state of mississippi must convince every one of the propriety of the high eulogium which he pronounced upon her, the other day, when he spoke of the high position which she occupied among the states of this confederacy.--but enough of this personal matter."[a] [footnote a: the following paragraph, which has recently been going the rounds of the newspapers, will serve to show the sort of manners which prevail in the state so fitly represented by mr. foote, and how these southern ruffians experience in their own families the natural effect of the blood-thirsty sentiments which they so freely avow: "the death of mr. carneal.--the vicksburg _sentinel_, of the th ult., gives the following account of the shooting of mr. thomas carneal, son-in-law of governor foote: "we have abstained thus long from giving any notice of the sad affair which resulted in the death of mr. thomas carneal, the son-in-law of the governor of our state, that we might get the particulars. it seems that the steamer e.c. watkins, with mr. carneal as a passenger, landed at or near the plantation of judge james, in washington county. mr. carneal had heard that the judge was an extremely brutal man to his slaves, and was likewise excited with liquor; and, upon the judge inviting him and others to take a drink with him, carneal replied that he would not drink with a man who abused his negroes; this the judge resented as an insult, and high words ensued. "the company took their drink, however, all but mr. carneal, who went out upon the bow of the boat, and took a seat, where he was sought by judge james, who desired satisfaction for the insult. carneal refused to make any, and asked the old gentleman if any of his sons would resent the insult if he was to slap him in the mouth; to which the judge replied that he would do it himself, if his sons would not; whereupon mr. carneal struck him in the month with the back of his hand. the judge resented it by striking him across the head with a cane, which stunned mr. carneal very much, causing the blood to run freely from the wound. as soon as carneal recovered from the wound, he drew a bowie-knife, and attacked the judge with it, inflicting several wounds upon his person, some of which were thought to be mortal. "some gentlemen, in endeavoring to separate the combatants, were wounded by carneal. when judge james arrived at his house, bleeding, and in a dying state, as was thought, his son seized a double-barrelled gun, loaded it heavily with large shot, galloped to where the boat was, hitched his horse, and deliberately raised his gun to shoot carneal, who was sitting upon a cotton-bale. mr. james was warned not to fire, as carneal was unarmed, and he might kill some innocent person. he took his gun from his shoulder, raised it again, and fired both barrels in succession, killing carneal instantly. "it is a sad affair, and carneal leaves, besides numerous friends, a most interesting and accomplished widow, to bewail his tragical end."] such was the savage character of the debate, that even mr. calhoun, who was not generally discourteous, finding himself rather hard pressed by some of mr. hale's arguments, excused himself from an answer, on the ground that mr. hale was a maniac! the slave-holders set upon mr. hale with all their force; but, though they succeeded in voting down his bill, it was generally agreed, and anybody may see by the report, that he had altogether the best of the argument. mr. palfrey's resolution was also lost; but the boldness with which giddings and others avowed their opinions, and the freedom of speech which they used on the subject of slavery, afforded abundant proof that the gagging system which had prevailed so long in congress had come at last to an end. these movements, though the propositions of messrs. hale and palfrey were voted down, were not without their effect. the common council of washington appointed an acting mayor, in place of the regular mayor, who was sick. president polk sent an intimation to the clerks of the departments, some of whom had been active in the mobs, that they had better mind their own business and stay at home. something was said about marines from the navy-yard; and from that time the riotous spirit began to subside. meanwhile, the unfortunate people who had attempted to escape in the pearl had to pay the penalty of their love of freedom. a large number of them, as they were taken out of jail by the persons who claimed to be their owners, were handed over to the slave-traders. the following account of the departure of a portion of these victims for the southern market was given in a letter which appeared at the time in several northern newspapers: "_washington, april_ , . "last evening, as i was passing the railroad dépôt, i saw a large number of colored people gathered round one of the cars, and, from manifestations of grief among some of them, i was induced to draw near and ascertain the cause of it. i found in the car towards which they were so eagerly gazing about fifty colored people, some of whom were nearly as white as myself. a majority of them were of the number who attempted to gain their liberty last week. about half of them were females, a few of whom had but a slight tinge of african blood in their veins, and were finely formed and beautiful. the men were ironed together, and the whole group looked sad and dejected. at each end of the car stood two ruffianly-looking personages, with large canes in their hands, and, if their countenances were an index of their hearts, they were the very impersonation of hardened villany itself. "in the middle of the car stood the notorious slave-dealer of baltimore, slatter, who, i learn, is a member of the methodist church, 'in good and regular standing.' he had purchased the men and women around him, and was taking his departure for georgia. while observing this old, gray-headed villain,--this dealer in the bodies and souls of men,--the chaplain of the senate entered the car,--a methodist brother,--and took his brother slatter by the hand, chatted with him for some time, and seemed to view the heart-rending scene before him with as little concern as we should look upon cattle. i know not whether he came with a view to sanctify the act, and pronounce a parting blessing; but this i do know, that he justifies slavery, and denounces anti-slavery efforts as bitterly as do the most hardened slave-dealers. "a presbyterian minister, who owned one of the fugitives, was the first to strike a bargain with slatter, and make merchandise of god's image; and many of these poor victims, thus manacled and destined for the southern market, are regular members of the african methodist church of this city. i did not hear whether they were permitted to get letters of dismission from the church, and of 'recommendation to any church where god, in his providence, might cast their lot.' probably a certificate from slatter to the effect that they are christians will answer every purpose. no doubt he will demand a good price for slaves of this character. perhaps brother slicer furnished him with testimonials of their religious character, to help their sale in georgia. i understand that he was accustomed to preach to them here, and especially to urge upon them obedience to their masters. "some of the colored people outside, as well as in the car, were weeping most bitterly. i learned that many families were separated. wives were there to take leave of their husbands, and husbands of their wives, children of their parents, brothers and sisters shaking hands perhaps for the last time, friends parting with friends, and the tenderest ties of humanity sundered at the single bid of the inhuman slave-broker before them. a husband, in the meridian of life, begged to see the partner of his bosom. he protested that she was free--that she had free papers, and was torn from him, and shut up in the jail. he clambered up to one of the windows of the car to see his wife, and, as she was reaching forward her hand to him, the black-hearted villain, slatter, ordered him down. he did not obey. the husband and wife, with tears streaming down their cheeks, besought him to let them converse for a moment. but no! a monster more hideous, hardened and savage, than the blackest spirit of the pit, knocked him down from the car, and ordered him away. the bystanders could hardly restrain themselves from laying violent hands upon the brutes. this is but a faint description of that scene, which took place within a few rods of the capitol, under _enactments_ recognized by congress. o! what a revolting scene to a feeling heart, and what a retribution awaits the actors! will not these wailings of anguish reach the ears of the most high? 'vengeance is mine; i will repay, saith the lord.'" of those sent off at this time, several, through the generosity of charitable persons at the north, were subsequently redeemed, among whom were the edmundson girls, of whom an account is given in the "key to uncle tom's cabin." from one of the women, who was not sold, but retained at washington, i received a mark of kindness and remembrance for which i felt very grateful. she obtained admission to the jail, the sunday after our committal, to see some of her late fellow-passengers still confined there; and, as she passed the passage in which i was confined, she called to me and handed a bible through the gratings. i am happy to be able to add that she has since, upon a second trial, succeeded in effecting her escape, and that she is now a free woman. the great excitement which our attempt at emancipation had produced at washington, and the rage and fury exhibited against us, had the effect to draw attention to our case, and to secure us sympathy and assistance on the part of persons wholly unknown to us. a public meeting was held in faneuil hall, in boston, on the th of april, at which a committee was appointed, consisting of samuel may, samuel g. howe, samuel e. sewell, richard hildreth, robert morris, jr., francis jackson, elizur wright, joseph southwick, walter channing, j.w. browne, henry i. bowditch, william f. channing, joshua p. blanchard and charles list, authorized to employ counsel and to collect money for the purpose of securing to us a fair trial, of which, without some interference from abroad, the existing state of public feeling in the district of columbia seemed to afford little prospect. a correspondence was opened by this committee with the hon. horace mann, then a representative in congress from the state of massachusetts, with ex-governor seward, of new york, with salmon p. chase, esq., of ohio, and with gen. fessenden, of maine, all of whom volunteered their gratuitous services, should they be needed. a moderate subscription was promptly obtained, the larger part of it, as i am informed, through the liberality of gerrit smith, now a representative in congress from new york, whose large pecuniary contributions to all philanthropic objects, as well as his zealous efforts in the same direction both with the tongue and the pen, have made him so conspicuous. he has, indeed, a unique way of spending his large fortune, without precedent, at least in this country, and not likely to find many imitators. the committee, being thus put in funds, deputed mr. hildreth, one of the members of it, to proceed to washington to make the necessary arrangements. he arrived there toward the end of the month of may, by which time the public excitement against us, or at least the exterior signs of it, had a good deal subsided. but we were still treated with much rigor, being kept locked up in our cells, denied the use of the passage, and not allowed to see anybody, except when once in a while mr. giddings or mr. hall found an access to us; but even then we were not allowed to hold any conversation, except in the presence of the jailer. it may well be imagined that the news of my capture and imprisonment, and of the danger in which i seemed to be, had thrown my family into great distress. i also had suffered exceedingly on their account, several of the children being yet too young to shift for themselves. but i was presently relieved, by the information which i received before long, that during my imprisonment my family would be provided for. warm remonstrances had been made to the judge of the criminal court by mr. hall against the attempt to exclude us from communication with our friends,--a liberty freely granted to all other prisoners. the judge declined to interfere; but mr. mann, having agreed to act as our counsel, was thenceforth freely admitted to interviews with us, without the presence of any keeper. books and newspapers were furnished me by friends out of doors. i presently obtained a mattress, and the liberty of providing myself with better food than the jail allows. i continued to suffer a good deal of annoyance from the capricious insolence and tyranny of the marshal, robert wallace; but i intend to go more at length into the details of my prison experience after having first disposed of the legal proceedings against us. the feeling against me was no doubt greatly increased by the failure of the efforts repeatedly made to induce me to give up the names of those who had coöperated with me, and to turn states-evidence against them. there was a certain mr. taylor, from boston, i believe, then in washington, the inventor of a submarine armor for diving purposes. i had formerly been well acquainted with him, and, at a time when no friend of mine was allowed access to me, he made me repeated visits at the jail, at the request, as he said, of the district attorney, to induce me to make a full disclosure, in which case it was intimated i should be let off very easy. as mr. taylor did not prevail with me, one of the jailers afterwards assured me that he was authorized to promise me a thousand dollars in case i would become a witness against those concerned with me. as i turned a deaf ear to all these propositions, the resolution seemed to be taken to make me and sayres, and even english, suffer in a way to be a warning to all similar offenders. the laws under which we were to be tried were those of the state of maryland as they stood previous to the year . these laws had been temporarily continued in force over that part of the district ceded by maryland (the whole of the present district) at the time that the jurisdiction of the united spates commenced; and questions of more general interest, and the embarrassment growing out of the existence of slavery, having defeated all attempts at a revised code, these same old laws of maryland still remain in force, though modified, in some respects, by acts of congress. in an act of maryland, passed in the year , and in force in the district, there was a section which seemed to have been intended for precisely such cases as ours. it provided "that any person or persons who shall hereafter be convicted of giving a pass to any slave, or person held to service, or shall be found to assist, by advice, donation or loan, or otherwise, the transporting of any slave or any person held to service, from this state, or by any other unlawful means depriving a master or owner of the service of his slave or person held to service, for every such offence the party aggrieved shall recover damages in an action on the case, against such offender or offenders, and such offender or offenders shall also be liable, upon indictment, and conviction upon verdict, confession or otherwise, in this state, in any county court where such offence shall happen, to be fined a sum not exceeding two hundred dollars, at the discretion of the court, one-half to the use of the master or owner of such slave, the other half to the county school, if there be any; if there be no such school, to the use of the county." accordingly, the grand jury, under the instructions of the district attorney, found seventy-four indictments against each of us prisoners, based on this act, one for each of the slaves found on board the vessel, two excepted, who were runaways from virginia, and the names of their masters not known. as it would have been possible to have fined us about, fifteen thousand dollars apiece upon these indictments, besides costs, and as, by the laws of the district, there is no method of discharging prisoners from jail who are unable to pay a fine, except by an executive pardon, one would have thought that this might have satisfied. but the idea that we should escape with a fine, though we might be kept in prison for life from inability to pay it, was very unsatisfactory. it was desired to make us out guilty of a penitentiary offence at the least; and for that purpose recourse was had to an old, forgotten act of maryland, passed in the year , the fourth section of which provided "that any person or persons who, after the said tenth day of september [ ], shall steal any ship, sloop, or other vessel whatsoever, out of any place within the body of any county within this province, of seventeen feet or upwards by the keel, and shall carry the same ten miles or upwards from the place whence it shall be stolen, _or who shall steal any negro or other slave_, or who shall counsel, hire, aid, abet, or command any person or persons to commit the said offences, or who shall be accessories to the said offences, and shall be thereof legally convicted as aforesaid, or outlawed, or who shall obstinately or of malice stand mute, or peremptorily challenge above twenty, shall suffer death as a felon, or felons, and be excluded the benefit of the clergy." they would have been delighted, no doubt, to hang us under this act; but that they could not do, as congress, by an act passed in , having changed the punishment of death, inflicted by the old maryland statutes (except in certain cases specially provided for), into confinement in the penitentiary for not less than twenty years. to make sure of us at all events, not less than forty-one separate indictments (that being the number of the pretended owners) were found against each of us for stealing slaves. our counsel afterwards made some complaint of this great number of indictments, when two against each of us, including all the separate charges in different counts, would have answered as well. it was even suggested that the fact that a fee of ten dollars was chargeable upon each indictment toward the five-thousand-dollar salary of the district attorney might have something to do with this large number. but the district attorney denied very strenuously being influenced by any such motive, maintaining, in the face of authorities produced against him, that this great number was necessary. he thought it safest, i suppose, instead of a single jury on each charge against each of us, to have the chance of a much greater number, and the advantage, besides, of repeated opportunities of correcting such blunders, mistakes and neglects, as the prisoner's counsel might point out. on the th of july, i was arraigned in the criminal court, judge crawford presiding, on one of the larceny indictments, to which i pleaded not guilty; whereupon my counsel, messrs. hall and mann, moved the court for a continuance till the next term, alleging the prevailing public excitement, and the want of time to prepare the defence and to procure additional counsel. but the judge could only be persuaded, and that with difficulty, to delay the trial for eighteen days. when this unexpected information was communicated to the committee at boston, a correspondence was opened by telegraph with messrs. seward, chase and fessenden. but governor seward had a legal engagement at baltimore on the very day appointed for the commencement of the trial, and the other two gentlemen had indispensable engagements in the courts of ohio and maine. under these circumstances, as mr. hall was not willing to take the responsibility of acting as counsel in the case, and as it seemed necessary to have some one familiar with the local practice, the boston committee retained the services of j.m. carlisle, esq., of the washington bar, and mr. hildreth again proceeded to washington to give his assistance. just as the trial was about to commence, mr. carlisle being taken sick, the judge was, with great difficulty, prevailed upon to grant a further delay of three days. this delay was very warmly opposed, not only by the district attorney, but by the same mr. radcliff whom we have seen figuring as chairman of the mob-committee to wait on dr. bailey, and who had been retained, at an expense of two hundred dollars, by the friends of english, as counsel for him, they thinking it safest not to have his defence mixed up in any way with that of myself and sayres. before the three days were out, governor seward, having finished his business in baltimore, hastened to washington; but, as the rules of the court did not allow more than two counsel to speak on one side, the other counsel being also fully prepared, it was judged best to proceed as had been arranged. the trials accordingly commenced on thursday, the th of july, upon an indictment against me for stealing two slaves, the property of one andrew houver. the district attorney, in opening his case, which he did in a very dogmatic, overbearing and violent manner, declared that this was no common affair. the rights of property were violated by every larceny, but this case was peculiar and enormous. other kinds of property were protected by their want of intelligence; but the intelligence of this kind of property greatly diminished the security of its possession. the jury therefore were to give such a construction to the laws and the facts as to subject violators of it to the most serious consequences. the facts which seemed to be relied upon by the district attorney as establishing the alleged larceny were--that i had come to washington, and staid from monday to saturday, without any ostensible business, when i had sailed away with seventy-six slaves on board, concealed under the hatches, and the hatches battened down; and that when pursued and overtaken the slaves were found on board with provisions enough for a month. it is true that houver swore that the hatches were battened down when the pearl was overtaken by the steamer; but in this he was contradicted by every other government witness. this houver was, according to some of the other witnesses, in a considerable state of excitement, and at the time of the capture he addressed some violent language to me, as already related. he had sold his two boys, after their recapture, to the slave-traders; but had been obliged to buy them back again, at a loss of one hundred dollars, by the remonstrances of his wife, who did not like to part with them, as they had been raised in the family. perhaps this circumstance made him the more inveterate against me. as to the schooner being provisioned for a month, the bill of the provisions on board, purchased in washington, was produced on the trial, and they were found to amount to three bushels of meal, two hundred and six pounds of pork, and fifteen gallons of molasses, which, with a barrel of bread, purchased in alexandria, would make rather a short month's supply for seventy-nine persons! it was also proved, by the government witnesses, that the pearl was a mere bay-craft, not fit to go to sea; which did not agree very well with the idea held out by the district attorney, that i intended to run these negroes off to the west indies, and to sell them there. but, to make up for these deficiencies, williams, who acted as the leader of the steamer expedition, swore that i had said, while on board, that if i had got off with the negroes i should have made an independent fortune; but on the next trial he could not say whether it was i who told him so, or whether somebody else told him that i had said so. orme and craig, with whom i principally conversed, and who went into long details, recollected nothing of the sort; and it is very certain that, as there was no foundation for it, and no motive for such a statement on my part, i never made it. williams, perhaps, had heard somebody guess that, if i had got off, i had slaves enough to make me independent; and that guess of somebody else he perhaps remembered, or seemed to remember, as something said by me, or reported to have been said by me; and such often, in cases producing great public excitement, is the sort of evidence upon which men's lives or liberty is sworn away. the idea, however, of an intention to run the negroes off for sale, seemed principally to rest on the testimony of a certain captain baker, who had navigated the steamer by which we were captured at the mouth of the potomac, and who saw, as he was crossing over to coan river for wood, a long, black, suspicious-looking brig, with her sails loose, lying at anchor under point lookout, about three miles from our vessel. this was proved, by other witnesses, to be a very common place of anchorage; in fact, that it was common for vessels waiting for the wind, or otherwise, to anchor anywhere along the shores of the bay. but captain baker thought otherwise; and he and the district attorney wished the jury to infer that this brig seen by him under point lookout was a piratical craft, lying ready to receive the negroes on board, and to carry them off to cuba! besides houver, williams, orme, craig and baker, another witness was called to testify as to the sale of the wood, and my having been in washington the previous summer. many questions as to evidence arose, and the examination of these witnesses consumed about two days and a half. in opening the defence, mr. mann commenced with some remarks on the peculiarity of his position, growing out of the unexpected urgency with which the case had been pushed to a trial, and the public excitement which had been produced by it. he also alluded to the hardship of finding against me such a multiplicity of indictments,--for what individual, however innocent, could stand up against such an accumulated series of prosecutions, backed by all the force of the nation? some observations on the costs thus unnecessarily accumulated, and, in particular, on the district attorney's ten-dollar fees, produced a great excitement, and loud denials on the part of that officer. mr. mann then proceeded to remark that, in all criminal trials which he had ever before attended or heard of, the prosecuting officer had stated and produced to the jury, in his opening, the law alleged to be violated. as the district attorney had done nothing of that sort, he must endeavor to do it for him. mr. mann then proceeded to call the attention of the jury to the two laws already quoted, upon which the two sets of indictments were founded. of both these acts charged against me--the stealing of houver's slaves, and the helping them to escape from their master--i could not be guilty. the real question in this case was, which had i done? to make the act stealing, there must have been--so mr. mann maintained--a taking _lucri causa_, as the lawyers say; that is, a design on my part to appropriate these slaves to my own use, as my own property. if the object was merely to help them to escape to a free state, then the case plainly came under the other statute. in going on to show how likely it was that the persons on board the pearl might have desired and sought to escape, independently of any solicitations or suggestions on my part, mr. mann alluded to the meeting in honor of the french revolution, already mentioned, held the very night of the arrival of the pearl at washington. as he was proceeding to read certain extracts from the speech of senator foote on that occasion, already quoted, and well calculated, as he suggested, to put ideas of freedom and emancipation into the heads of the slaves, he was suddenly interrupted by the judge, when the following curious dialogue occurred: "_judge crawford_.--a certain latitude is to be allowed to counsel in this case; but i cannot permit any harangue against slavery to be delivered here. "_carlisle (rising suddenly and stepping forward_).--i am sure your honor must be laboring under some strange misapprehension. born and bred and expecting to live and die in a slave-holding community, and entertaining no ideas different from those, which commonly prevail here, i have watched the course of my associate's argument with the closest attention. the point he is making, i am sure, is most pertinent to the case,--a point it would be cowardice in the prisoner's counsel not to make; and i must beg your honor to deliberate well before you undertake to stop the mouths of counsel, and to take care that you have full constitutional warrant for doing so. "_judge crawford_.--i can't permit an harangue against slavery." mr. mann proceeded to explain the point at which he was aiming. he had read these extracts from mr. foote's speech, delivered to a miscellaneous collection of blacks and whites, bond and free, assembled before the _union_ office, as showing to what exciting influences the slaves of the district were exposed, independently of any particular pains taken by anybody to make them discontented; and, with the same object in view, he proposed to read some further extracts from other speeches delivered on the same occasion. "_district attorney_.--if this matter is put in as evidence, it must first be proved that such speeches were delivered. "_mann_.--if the authenticity of the speeches is denied, i will call the honorable mr. foote to prove it. "_district attorney_.--what newspaper is that from which the counsel reads? "_mann_ (_holding it up_).--the washington _union_, of april th." and, without further objection, he proceeded to read some further extracts. he concluded by urging upon the jury that this case was to be viewed merely as an attempt of certain slaves to escape from their masters, and on my part an attempt to assist them in so doing; and therefore a case under the statute of , punishable with fine; and not a larceny, as charged against me in this indictment. several witnesses were called who had known me in philadelphia, to testify as to my good character. the district attorney was very anxious to get out of these witnesses whether they had never heard me spoken of as a man likely to run away with slaves? and it did come out from one of them that, from the tenor of my conversation, it used sometimes to be talked over, that one day or other it "would heave up" that i had helped off some negro to a free state. but these conversations, the witness added, were generally in a jesting tone; and another witness stated that the charge of running off slaves was a common joke among the watermen. according to the practice in the maryland criminal courts,--and the same practice prevails in the district of columbia,--the judge does not address the jury at all. after the evidence is all in, the counsel, before arguing the case, may call upon the judge to give to the jury instructions as to the law. these instructions, which are offered in writing, and argued by the counsel, the judge can give or refuse, as he sees fit, or can alter them to suit himself; but any such refusal or alteration furnishes ground for a bill of exceptions, on which the case, if a verdict is given against the prisoner, may be carried by writ of error before the circuit court of the district, for their revisal. my counsel asked of the judge no less than fourteen instructions on different points of law, ten of which the judge refused to give, and modified to suit himself. several of these related to the true definition of theft, or what it was that makes a taking larceny. it was contended by my counsel, and they asked the judge to instruct the jury, that, to convict me of larceny, it must be proved that the taking the slaves on board the pearl was with the intent to convert them to my own use, and to derive a gain from such conversion; and that, if they believed that the slaves were received on board with the design to help them to escape to a free state, then the offence was not larceny, but a violation of the statute of . this instruction, variously put, was six times over asked of the judge, and as often refused. he was no less anxious than the district attorney to convict me of larceny, and send me to the penitentiary. but, having a vast deal more sense than the district attorney, he saw that the idea that i had carried off these negroes to sell them again for my own profit was not tenable. it was plain enough that my intention was to help them to escape. the judge therefore, who did not lack ingenuity, went to work to twist the law so as, if possible, to bring my case within it. even he did not venture to say that merely to assist slaves to escape was stealing. stealing, he admitted, must be a taking, _lucri causa_, for the sake of gain; but--so he told the jury in one of his instructions--"this desire of gain need not be to convert the article taken to his--the taker's--own use, nor to obtain for the thief the value in money of the thing stolen. if the act was prompted by a desire to obtain for himself, or another even, other than the owner, a money gain, or any other inducing advantage, a dishonest gain, then the act was a larceny." and, in another instruction, he told the jury, "that if they believed, from the evidence, that the prisoner, before receiving the slaves on board, imbued their minds with discontent, persuaded them to go with him, and, by corrupt influences and inducements, caused them to come to his ship, and then took and carried them down the river, then the act was a larceny." upon these instructions of the judge, to which bills of exceptions were filed by my counsel, the case, which had been already near a week on trial, was argued to the jury. the district attorney had the opening and the close, and both my counsel had the privilege of speaking. for the following sketch of the argument, as well as of the legal points already noted, i am indebted to the notes of mr. hildreth, taken at the time: "_district attorney_.--i shall endeavor to be very brief in the opening, reserving myself till i know the grounds of defence. it is the duty of the jury to give their verdict according to the law and evidence; and, so far as i knew public opinion, there neither exists now, nor has existed at any other time, the slightest desire on the part of a single individual that the prisoner should have otherwise than a fair trial. i think, therefore, the solemn warnings by the prisoner's counsel to the jury were wholly uncalled for. there was, no doubt, an excitement out of doors,--a natural excitement,--at such an amount of property snatched up at one fell swoop; but was that to justify the suggestion to a jury of twelve honest men that they were not to act the part of a mob? the learned counsel who opened the case for the prisoner has alluded to the disadvantage of his position from the fact that he was a stranger. i acknowledge that disadvantage, and i have attempted to remedy it, and so has the court, by extending towards him every possible courtesy. "the prisoner's counsel seems to think i press this matter too hard. but am i to sit coolly by and see the hard-earned property of the inhabitants of this district carried off, and when the felon is brought into court not do my best to secure his conviction? [the district attorney here went into a long and labored defence of the course he had taken in preferring against the prisoner forty-one indictments for larceny, and seventy-four others, on the same state of facts, for transportation. he denied that the forty-one larcenies of the property of different individuals could be included in one indictment, and declared that if the prisoner's counsel would show the slightest authority for it he would give up the case. after going on in this strain for an hour or more, attacking the opposite counsel and defending himself, in what carlisle pronounced 'the most extraordinary opening argument he had ever heard in his life,' the district attorney came down at last to the facts of the case."] "in what position is the prisoner placed by the evidence? how is he introduced to the jury by his philadelphia friends? these witnesses were examined as to his character, and the substance of their testimony is, that he is a man who would steal a negro if he got a chance. he passed for honest otherwise. but he says himself he would steal a negro to liberate him, and the court says it makes no difference whether he steals to liberate or steals to sell. being caught in the act, he acknowledges his guilt, and says he was a deserter from his god,--a backslider,--a church-member one year--the next, in the potomac with a schooner, stealing seventy-four negroes! why say he took them for gain, if he did not steal them? why say he knew he should end his days in a penitentiary? why say if he got off with the negroes he should have realized an independent fortune? did he not know they were slaves? he chartered the vessel to carry off negroes; and, if they were free negroes, or he supposed them to be, how was he to realize an independent fortune? he was afraid of the excitement at washington. why so, if the negroes were not slaves? there was the fact of their being under the hatches, concealed in the hold of the vessel,--did not that prove he meant to steal them? add to that the other fact of his leaving at night. he comes here with a miserable load of wood; gives it away; sells it for a note; did not care about the wood, wanted only to get it out; had a longing for a cargo of negroes. the wood was a blind; besides he lied about it;--would he have ever come back to collect his note? but the prisoner's counsel says the slaves might have heard mr. foote's torch-light oration, and so have been persuaded to go. a likely story! they all started off, i suppose, ran straight down to the vessel and got into the hold! seventy-four negroes all together! but was not the vessel chartered in philadelphia to carry off negroes? this shows the excessive weakness of the defence. and how did the slaves behave after they were captured? if they had been running away, would they not have been downcast and disheartened? would not they have said, now we are taken? on the other hand, according to the testimony of major williams, on their way back they were laughing, shouting and eating molasses in large quantities. nero fiddled when rome was burning, but did not eat molasses. what a transition, from liberty to molasses! "then it is proved that the bulkhead between the cabin and the hold was knocked down, and that the slaves went to drayton and asked if they should fight. did not that show his authority over them,--that the slaves were under his control, and that he was the master-spirit? it speaks volumes. [here followed a long eulogy on the gallantry and humanity of the thirty-five captors. one man did threaten a little, but he was drunk.] "the substance of the law, as laid down by the judge, is this: if drayton came here to carry off these people, and, by machinations, prevailed on them to go with him, and knew they were slaves, it makes no difference whether he took them to liberate, or took them to sell. if he was to be paid for carrying them away, that was gain enough. suppose a man were to take it into his head that the northern factories were very bad things for the health of the factory-girls, and were to go with a schooner for the purpose of liberating those poor devils by stealing the spindles, would not he be served as this prisoner is served here? would they not exhaust the law-books to find the severest punishment? there may be those carried so far by a miserable mistaken philanthropy as even to steal slaves for the sake of setting them at liberty. but this prisoner says he did it for gain. we might look upon him with some respect if, in a manly style, he insisted on his right to liberate them. but he avowedly steals for gain. he lies about it, besides. even a jury of abolitionists would have no sympathy for such a man. try him anyhow, by the word of god--by the rules of common honesty--he would be convicted, anyhow. he is presented to the world at large as a rogue and a common thief and liar. there can be no other conception of him. he did it for dishonest gain. "the prisoner must be convicted. he cannot escape. there can be no manner of doubt as to his guilt. i am at a loss, without appearing absurd in my own eyes, to conceive what kind of a defence can be made. "i have not the least sort of feeling against the wretch himself,--i desire a conviction from principle. i have heard doctrines asserted on this trial that strike directly at the rights and liberty of southern citizens. i have heard counsel seeking to establish principles that strike directly at the security of southern property. i feel no desire that this man, as a man, should be convicted; but i do desire that all persons inclined to infringe on our rights of property should know that there is a law hero to punish them, and i am happy that the law has been so clearly laid down by the court. let it be known from maine to texas, to earth's widest limits, that we have officers and juries to execute that law, no matter by whom it may be violated! "_mann_--for the prisoner--regretted to occupy any more of the jury's time with this very protracted trial. i mentioned, some days since, that the prisoner was liable, under the indictments against him, to eight hundred years imprisonment,--a term hardly to be served out by methuselah himself; but, apart from any punishment, if his hundred and twenty-five trials are to proceed at this rate, the chance is he will die without ever reaching their termination. the district attorney has dwelt at great length on what passed the other day, and more than once he has pointedly referred to me, in a tone and manner not to be mistaken. i have endeavored to conduct this trial according to the principles of law, and to that standard i mean to come up. my client, though a prisoner at this bar, has rights, legal, social, human; and upon those rights i mean to insist. this is the first time in my life that i ever heard a prisoner on trial, and before conviction, denounced as a liar, a thief, a felon, a wretch, a rogue. it is unjust to apply these terms to any man on trial. the law presumes him to be innocent. the feelings of the prisoner ought not to be thus outraged. he is unfortunate; he may be guilty; that is the very point you are to try. "this prisoner is charged with stealing two slaves, the property of andrew houver. did he, or not? that point you are to try by the law and the evidence. because you may esteem this a peculiarly valuable kind of property, you are not to measure out in this case a peculiar kind of justice. you have heard the evidence; the law for the purposes of this trial you are to take from the judge. but you are not to be led away with the idea that you must convict this prisoner at any rate. it is a well-established principle that it is better for an indefinite number of guilty men to escape than for one innocent man to be convicted and punished; and for the best of reasons,--for to have the very machinery established for the protection of right turned into an instrument for the infliction of wrong, strikes a more fatal blow at civil society than any number of unpunished private injuries. "nor is there any danger that the prisoner will escape due punishment for any crimes he may have committed. besides this and forty other larceny indictments hanging over his head, there are seventy-four transportation indictments against him. now, he cannot be guilty of both; and which of these offences, if either, does the evidence against him prove? "who is this man? look at him! you see he has passed the meridian of life. you have heard about him from his neighbors. they pronounce him a fair, upright, moral man. no suspicion hitherto was ever breathed against his honesty. he was a professor of religion, and, so far as we know, had walked in all the ordinances and commands of the law blameless. now, in all cases of doubt, a fair and exemplary character, especially in an elderly man, is a great capital to begin with. this prisoner may have been mistaken in his views as to matters of human right; but, as to violating what he believed to be duty, there is not the slightest evidence that such was his character, but abundance to the contrary. he is found under circumstances that make him amenable to the law; let him be tried,--i do not gainsay that; but let him have the common sentiments of humanity extended toward him, even if he be guilty. "the point urged against him with such earnestness--i may say vehemence--is, not that he took the slaves merely, but that he took them with design to steal. his confessions are dwelt upon, stated and overstated, as you will recollect. but consider under what circumstances these alleged confessions were made. there are circumstances which make such statements very fallacious. consider his excitement--his state of health; for it is in evidence that he had been out of health, suffering with some disorder which required his head to be shaved. consider the armed men that surrounded him, and the imminent peril in which he believed his life to be. it is great injustice to brand him with the foul epithet of liar for any little discrepancies, if such there were, in statements made under such circumstances. other matters have been forced in, of a most extraordinary character, to prejudice his case in your eyes. it has been suggested--the idea has been thrown out, again and again--that, under pretence of helping them to freedom, he meant to sell these negroes. this suggestion, which outruns all reason and discretion, is founded on the simple fact of a brig seen lying at anchor in a place of common anchorage, suggesting no suspicious appearance, but as to which you are asked to infer that these seventy-six slaves were to be transported into her, and carried to cuba or elsewhere for sale. what a monstrous imagination! what a gross libel on that brig, her officers, her crew, her owners, all of whom are thus charged as kidnappers and pirates; and all this baseless dream got up for the purpose of influencing your minds against the prisoner! it marks, indeed, with many other things, the style in which this prosecution is conducted. "take the law as laid down by the court, and it is necessary for the government to prove, if this indictment is to be sustained, that the prisoner corrupted the minds of houver's slaves, and induced and persuaded them to go on board his vessel. they were found on board the prisoner's vessel, no doubt; but as to how they came there we have not a particle of evidence. here is a gap, a fatal gap, in the government's case. by what second-sight are you to look into this void space and time, and to say that drayton enticed them to go on board? [the counsel here read from _starkie on evidence,_ , &c., to the effect that the prosecution are bound by the evidence to exclude every hypothesis inconsistent with the prisoner's guilt.] now, is it the only possible means of accounting for the presence of houver's slaves on board to suppose that this prisoner enticed them? might not somebody else have done it? might they not have gone without being enticed at all? we wished to call the slaves themselves as witnesses, but the law shuts up their mouths. can you, without any evidence, say that drayton enticed them, and that by no other means could they come onboard? presumptive evidence, as laid down in the book--an acknowledged and unquestioned authority--from which i have read, ought to be equally strong with the evidence of one unimpeached witness swearing positively to the fact. are you as sure that drayton enticed those slaves as if that fact had been positively sworn to by one witness, testifying that he stood by and saw and heard it? if you are not, then, under the law as laid down by the court, you can not find him guilty. "_thursday, aug_. . "_carlisle_, for the prisoner.--the sun under which we draw our breath, the soil we tottle over, in childhood, the air we breathe, the objects that earliest attract our attention, the whole system of things with which our youth is surrounded, impress firmly upon us ideas and sentiments which cling to us to our latest breath, and modify all our views. i trust i am man enough always to remember this, when i hear opinions expressed and views maintained by men educated under a system different from that prevailing here, no matter how contrary those views and opinions may be to my own. "it may surprise those of you who know me,--the moral atmosphere in which i have grown up, and the opinions which i entertain,--but never have i felt so deep and hearty an interest in the defence of any case as in this. this prisoner i never saw till i came from a sick bed into this court, when i met him for the first time. i had participated strongly in the feeling which in connection with him had been excited in this community. as you well know, i have and could have no sympathy with the motives by which he may be presumed to have been actuated. why, then, this sudden feeling in his behalf? not, i assure you, from mercenary motives. his acquittal or his condemnation will make no difference in the compensation i receive for my services. the overpowering interest i feel in this case originates in the fact that it places at stake the reputation of this district, and, in some respects, of the country itself, of which this city is the political capital. the counsel for the government has dwelt with emphasis on the great amount and value of property placed at hazard by this prisoner. there is something, however, far more valuable than property--a fair, honorable, impartial administration of justice; and of the chivalrous race of the south it may be expected that they will do justice, though the heavens fall! god forbid that the world should point to this trial as a proof that we are so besotted by passion and interest that we cannot discern the most obvious distinctions and that on a slave question with a jury of slave-holders there is no possible chance of justice! many, i assure you, will be ready to fasten this charge upon us. it is my hope, my ardent desire, it is your sworn duty, that no step be taken against this prisoner without full warrant of law and evidence. the duty of defence i discharge with pleasure. i could have desired that this prisoner might have been defended entirely by counsel resident in this district. it would have been my pride to have shown to the world that of our own mere motion we would do justice in any case, no matter how delicate, no matter how sore the point the prisoner had touched. "my learned friend, the district attorney, has alluded to the courtesy which he and the court have extended to my associate in this cause. i hope he does not plume himself upon that. a gentleman of my associate's learning, ability, unexceptionable deportment, and high character among his own people, must and will be treated with courtesy wherever he goes. but, at the same time that he boasts of his courtesy, the district attorney takes occasion to charge my associate with gross ignorance of the law. he says the forty-one charges could not have been included in one indictment, and offers to give up the case if we will produce a single authority to that effect. it were easy to produce the authority [see _chitty_, c.l. indictment], but, unfortunately, the district attorney has made a promise which he can't fulfil. the district attorney is mistaken in this matter; at the same time, let me admit that in the management of this case he has displayed an ability beyond his years. this is the first prosecution ever brought, so far as we can discover, on this slave-stealing statute, either in this district or in maryland. this statute, of the existence of which few lawyers were aware,--i am sure i was not,--has been waked up, after a slumber of more than a century, and brought to bear upon my client. it is your duty to go into the examination of this novel case temperately and carefully; to take care that no man and no court, upon review of the case, shall be able to say that your verdict is not warranted by the evidence. if the case is made out against the prisoner, convict him; but if not, as you value the reputation of the district and your own souls, beware how you give a verdict against him! "you are not a lynch-law court. it is no part of your business to inquire whether the prisoner has done wrong, and if so to punish him for it. it is your sole business to inquire if he be guilty of this, special charge set forth against him in this indictment, of stealing andrew houver's two slaves. the law you are not expected to judge of; to enlighten you on that matter, we have prayed instructions from the court, and those instructions, for the purpose of this trial, are to be taken as the law. the question for you is, does the evidence in this case bring the prisoner within the law as laid down by the court? to bring him within that law, you are not to go upon imagination, but upon facts proved by witnesses; and, it seems to me, you have a very plain duty before you. this is not a thing done in a corner. take care that you render such a verdict that you will not be ashamed to have it set forth in letters of light, visible to all the world. "there are two offences established by the statutes of maryland, between which, in this case, it becomes your duty to distinguish. everything depends on these statutes, because without these statutes neither act is a crime. at common law, there are no such offences as stealing slaves, or transporting slaves. now, which of these two acts is proved against this prisoner? in some respects they are alike. the carrying the slaves away, the depriving the master of their services, is common to both. but, to constitute the stealing of slaves, according to the law as laid down by the court, there must be something more yet. there must be a corruption of the minds of the slaves, and a seducing them to leave their masters' service. and does not this open a plain path for this prisoner out of the danger of this prosecution? where is the least evidence that the prisoner seduced these slaves, and induced them to leave their masters? has the district attorney, with all his zeal, pointed out a single particle of evidence of that sort? has he done anything to take this case out of the transportation statute, and to convert it into a case of stealing? he has, to be sure, indulged in some very harsh epithets applied to this prisoner,--epithets very similar to those which lord coke indulged in on the trial of sir walter raleigh, and which drew out on the part of that prisoner a memorable retort. my client is not a raleigh; but neither, i must be permitted to say, is the district attorney a lord coke. i should be sorry to have it go abroad that we cannot try a man for an offence of this sort without calling him a liar, a rogue, a wretch. [the district attorney here interrupted, with a good deal of warmth. he insisted that he did not address the prisoner, but the jury, and that it was his right to call the attention of the jury to the evidence proving the prisoner to be a liar, rogue and wretch.] _carlisle_--i do not dispute the learned gentleman's right. it is a matter of taste; but with you, gentlemen of the jury, these harsh epithets are not to make the difference of a hair. you are to look at the evidence; and where is the evidence that the prisoner seduced and enticed these slaves? "it may happen to any man to have a runaway slave in his premises, and even in his employment. it happened to me to have in my employ a runaway,--one of the best servants, by the way, i ever had. he told me he was free, and i employed him as such. if i had happened to have taken him to baltimore, there would have been a complete similitude to the case at bar, and, according to the district attorney's logic, i might have been indicted for stealing. because i had him with me, i am to be presumed to have enticed him from his master! as to the particular circumstances under which he came into my employment, i might have been wholly unable to show them. is it not possible to suppose a great number of circumstances under which these slaves of houver left their master's service and came on board the pearl, without any agency on the part of this prisoner? now, the government might positively disprove and exclude forty such suppositions; but, so long as one remained which was not excluded, you cannot find a verdict of conviction. the government is to prove that the prisoner enticed and seduced these negroes, and you have no right to presume he did so unless every other possible explanation of the case is positively excluded by the testimony. is it so extravagant a supposition that mr. foote's speech, and the other torch-light speeches heretofore alluded to, heard by these slaves, or communicated to them, might have so wrought upon their minds as to induce them to leave their masters? i don't say that they had any right to suppose that these declamations about universal emancipation had any reference to them. i am a southern man, and i hold to the southern doctrine. i admit that there is no inconsistency between perfect civil liberty and holding people of another race in domestic servitude. but then it is natural that these people should overlook this distinction, however obvious and important. nor do they lack wit to apply these speeches to their own case or interest in such matters. i myself have a slave as quick to see distinctions as i am, and who would have made a better lawyer if he had had the same advantages. it came out the other day, in a trial in this court, that the colored people have debating-societies among themselves. it was an assault and battery case; one of the disputants, in the heat of the argument, struck the other; but then they have precedents for that in the house of representatives. is it an impossible, or improbable, or a disproved supposition, that a number of slaves, having agreed together to desert their masters, or having concerted such a plan with somebody here, drayton was employed to come and take them away, and that he received them on board without ever having seen one of them? if his confessions are to be taken at all, they are to be taken together; and do they not tend to prove such a state of facts? drayton says he was hired to come here,--that he was to be paid for taking them away. does that look as if he seduced them? [the counsel here commented at length on drayton's statements, for the purpose of showing that they tended to prove nothing more than a transportation for hire; and he threw no little ridicule on the 'phantom ship' which the district attorney had conjured up in his opening of the case, but which, in his late speech, he had wholly overlooked.] "but, even should you find that drayton seduced these slaves to leave their masters, to make out a case of larceny you must be satisfied that he took them into his possession. now, what is possession of a slave? not merely being in company with him. if i ride in a hack, i am not in possession of the driver. possession of a slave is dominion and control; and where is the slightest evidence that this prisoner claimed any dominion or control over these slaves? the whole question in this case is, were these slaves stolen, or were they running away with the prisoner's assistance? the mere fact of their being in the prisoner's company throws no light whatever on this matter. "the great point, however, in this case is this,--by the judge's instructions, enticement must be proved. shall the record of this trial go forth to the world showing that you have found a fact of which there was no evidence? "i believe in my conscience there is a gap in this evidence not to be filled up except by passion and prejudice. if that is so, i hope there is no one so ungenerous, so little of a true southerner, as to blame me for my zeal in this case, or not to rejoice in a verdict of acquittal. it is bad enough that strangers should have got up a mob in this district in relation to this matter. it would, however, be a million times worse if juries cannot be found here cool and dispassionate enough to render impartial verdicts. "_district attorney_.--i hope, gentlemen of the jury, you will rise above all out-of-door influence. make yourselves abolitionists, if you can; but look at the facts of the case. and, looking at those facts, is it necessary for me to open my lips in reply? in a case like this, sustained by such direct testimony, such overwhelming proof, i defy any man,--however crazy on the subject of slavery, unless he be blinded by some film of interest,--to hesitate a moment as to his conclusions. [the district attorney here proceeded at great length, and with a great air of offended dignity, to complain of having been schooled and advised by the prisoner's counsel, and to justify the use of the foul epithets he had bestowed on the prisoner.] this is not a place for parlor talk. i had chosen the english words that conveyed my meaning most distinctly. it was all very well for the prisoner's counsel to smooth things over; but was i, instead of calling him a liar, to say, he told a fib? when i call him a thief and a felon, do i go beyond the charge of the grand jury in the indictment? if this is stepping over the limits of propriety, in all similar cases i shall do the same. i do not intend to blackguard the prisoner,--i do not delight in using these epithets. my heart is not locked up; i am no jack ketch, prosecuting criminals for ten dollars a head. i sympathize with the wretches brought here; but when i choose to call them by their proper names i am not to be accused of bandying epithets. [the district attorney then proceeded also at great length, and in a high key, to justify his hundred and twenty-five indictments against the prisoner, and to clear himself from the imputation of mercenary motives, on the ground that the business of the year, independently of these indictments, would furnish the utmost amount to which he was entitled. he next referred to the matter of the brig testified to by captain baker, which had been made the occasion of much ridicule by the prisoner's counsel. part of the evidence which he had relied on in connection with the brig had been ruled out; and the law, as laid down by the court, according to which taking to liberate was the same as taking to steal, had made it unnecessary for him, so he said, to dwell on this part of the case. yet he now proceeded to argue at great length, from the testimony in the case, that there must have been a connection between the brig and the schooner; that, as the schooner was confessedly unseaworthy, and could not have gone out of the bay, it must have been the intention to put the slaves on board the brig, and to carry them off to cuba or elsewhere and sell them. the testimony to this effect he pronounced conclusive.] "the united states (said the district attorney) have laid before you the clearest possible case. i have just gone through a pretty long term of this court; i see several familiar faces on the jury, and i rely on your intelligence. in fact, the only point of the defence is, that the united states have offered no proof that drayton seduced and enticed these slaves to come on board the pearl; and that the prisoner's counsel are pleased to call a gap, a chasm, which they say you can't fill up. it is the same gap which occurs in every larceny case. where can the government produce positive testimony to the taking? that is done secretly, in the dark, and is to be presumed from circumstances. a man is found going off with a bag of chickens,--your chickens. are you going to presume that the chickens run into his bag of their own accord, and without his agency? a man is found riding your horse. are you to presume that the horse came to him of its own accord? and yet horses love liberty,--they love to kick up their heels and run. yet this would be just as sensible as to suppose that these slaves came on board drayton's vessel without his direct agency. he came here from philadelphia for them; they are found on board his vessel; drayton says he would steal a negro if he could; is not that enough? then he was here some months before with an oyster-boat, pretending to sell oysters. he pretended that he came for his health. likely story, indeed! i should like to see the doctor who would recommend a patient to come here in the fall of the year, when the fever and ague is so thick in the marshes that you can cut it with a knife. cruising about, eating and selling oysters, at that time of the year, for his health! nonsense! he was here, at that very time, hatching and contriving that these very negroes should go on board the pearl. but the prisoner's counsel say he might have been employed by others simply to carry them away! who could have employed him but abolitionists; and did he not say he had no sympathy with abolitionists. so much for that hypothesis. then, he in fact pleads guilty,--he says he expects to die in the penitentiary. don't you think he ought to? if there is any chasm here, the prisoner must shed light upon it. if he had employers, who were they? the prisoner's counsel have said that he is not bound to tell; and that the witnesses, if summoned here, would not be compelled to criminate themselves. but shall this prisoner be allowed to take advantage of his own wrong? "as to the metaphysics of the prisoner's counsel about possession, that is easily disposed of. were not these slaves found in drayton's possession, and didn't he admit that he took them? "as to the cautions given you about prejudice and passion, i do not think they are necessary. i have seen no sort of excitement here since the first detection of this affair that would prevent the prisoner having a fair trial. is there any crowd or excitement here? the community will be satisfied with the verdict. there is no question the party is guilty. i never had anything to do with a case sustained by stronger evidence. i don't ask you to give an illegal or perjured verdict. take the law and the evidence, and decide upon it. "n.b.--the argument being now concluded, and the jury about to go out, some question arose whether the jury should have the written instructions of the court with them; and some inquiry being made as to the practice, one of the jurors observed that in a case in which he had formerly acted as juror the jury had the instructions with them, and he proceeded to tell a funny story about a bottle of rum, told by one of the jurors on that occasion, which story caused him to remember the fact. it may be observed, by the way, that the proceedings of the united states criminal court for the district of columbia are not distinguished for any remarkable decorum or dignity. the jury, in this case, were in constant intercourse, during any little intervals in the trial, with the spectators outside the bar." the case was given to the jury about three o'clock, p.m., and the court, after waiting half an hour, adjourned. when the court met, at ten o'clock the next morning, the jury were still out, having remained together all night without being able to agree. meanwhile the district attorney proceeded to try me on another indictment, for stealing three slaves the property of one william h. upperman. as this trial was proceeding, about half-past two the jury in the first case came in, and rendered a verdict of guilty. they presented rather a haggard appearance, having been locked up for twenty-four hours, and some of them being perhaps a little troubled in their consciences. the jury, it was understood, had been divided, from the beginning, four for acquittal and eight for conviction. these four were all irishmen, and perhaps they did not consider it consistent with their personal safety and business interests to persist in disappointing the slave-holding public of that verdict which the district attorney had so imperiously demanded. the agreement, it was understood, had taken place only a few moments before they came in, and had been reached entirely on the strength of williams' testimony to my having said, that had i got off i should have made an independent fortune. now, it was a curious coincidence, that at the very moment that this agreement was thus taking place, williams, again on the stand as a witness on the second trial, wished to take back what he had then sworn to on the first trial, stating that he could not tell whether he had heard me say this, or whether he had heard of my having said it from somebody else. after the rendition of the verdict of the other jury, the second case was again resumed. the evidence varied in only a few particulars from that which had been given in the first case. there was, in addition, the testimony of upperman, the pretended owner of the woman and her daughters, one of fifteen, the other nine years old, whom i was charged in this indictment with stealing. this man swore with no less alacrity, and with no less falsehood, than houver had done before him. he stated that about half-past ten, of that same night that the pearl left washington, while he was fastening up his house, he saw a man standing on the side-walk opposite his door, and observed him for some time. not long after, having gone to bed, he heard a noise of somebody coming down stairs; and, calling out, he was answered by his slave-woman, who was just then going off, though he had no suspicion of it at the time. that man standing on the side-walk he pretended to recognize as me. he was perfectly certain of it, beyond all doubt and question. the object of this testimony was, to lead to a conclusion of enticement or persuasion on my part, and so to bring the case within one of the judge's instructions already stated. on a subsequent trial, upperman was still more certain, if possible, that i was the man. but he was entirely mistaken in saying so. his house was on pennsylvania avenue, more than a mile from where the pearl lay, and i was not within a mile of it that night. i dare say upperman was sincere enough. he was one of your positive sort of men; but his case, like that of houver, shows that men in a passion will sometimes fall into blunders. i have reason to believe that after the trials were over upperman became satisfied of his error. the first trial had consumed a week; the second one lasted four days. the judge laid down the same law as before, and similar exceptions were taken by my counsel. the jury again remained out all night, being long divided,--nine for conviction to three for acquittal; but on the morning of august th they came in with a verdict of guilty. satisfied for the present with these two verdicts against me, the district attorney now proposed to pass over the rest of my cases, and to proceed to try sayres. my counsel objected that, having been forced to proceed against my remonstrances, i was here ready for trial, and they insisted that all my cases should be now disposed of. they did not prevail, however; and the district attorney proceeded to try sayres on an indictment for stealing the same two slaves of houver. in addition to the former witnesses against me, english was now put upon the stand, the district attorney having first entered _nolle prosequi_ upon the hundred and fifteen indictments against him. but he could state nothing except the circumstances of his connection with the affair, and the coming on board of the passengers on saturday night, as i have already related them. on the other hand, the "phantom brig" story, of which the district attorney had made so great a handle in the two cases against me, was now ruled out, on the ground that the brig could not be brought into the case till some connection had first been shown between her and the pearl. the trial lasted three days. the district attorney pressed for a conviction with no less violence than he had done in my case, assuring the jury that if they did not convict there was an end of the security of slave property. but sayres had several advantages over me. my two juries had been citizens of washington, several of them belonging to a class of loafers who frequent the courts for the sake of the fees to be got as jurymen. some complaints having been made of this, the officers had been sent to georgetown and the country districts, and the present jury was drawn from those quarters. then, again, i was regarded as the main culprit,--the only one in the secret of the transaction; and, as i was already convicted, the feeling against sayres was much lessened. in fact, the jury in his case, after an absence of half an hour, returned a verdict of not guilty. the district attorney, greatly surprised and vexed, proceeded to try sayres on another indictment. this trial lasted three days and a half; but, in spite of the efforts of the district attorney, who was more positive, longer and louder, than ever, the jury, in ten minutes, returned a verdict of not guilty. the trials had now continued through nearly four weeks of very hot weather, and both sides were pretty well worn out. vexed at the two last verdicts, the district attorney threatened to give up sayres on a requisition from virginia, which was said to have been lodged for us, some of the alleged slaves belonging there, and we having been there shortly before. finally, it was agreed that verdicts should be taken against sayres in the seventy-four transportation cases, he to have the advantage of carrying the points of law before the circuit court, and the remaining larceny indictments against him to be discontinued. thus ended the first legal campaign. english was discharged altogether, without trial. sayres had got rid of the charge of larceny. i had been found guilty on two indictments for stealing, upon which judge crawford sentenced me to twenty years imprisonment in the penitentiary; while sayres, on seventy-four indictments for assisting the escape of slaves, was sentenced to a fine on each indictment of one hundred and fifty dollars and costs, amounting altogether to seven thousand four hundred dollars. but from these judgments an appeal had been taken to the circuit court, and meanwhile sayres and i remained in prison as before. the hearing before the circuit court came on the th of november. that court consisted of chief-justice cranch, an able and upright judge, but very old and infirm; and judges morrell and dunlap, the latter of whom claimed to be the owner of two of the negroes found on board the pearl. my cases were argued for me by messrs. hildreth, carlisle and mann. the district attorney, who was much better fitted to bawl to a jury than to argue before a court, had retained, at the expense of the united states, the assistance of mr. bradley, one of the ablest lawyers of the district. the argument consumed not less than three days. many points were discussed; but that on which the cases turned was the definition of larceny. it resulted in the allowance of several of my bills of exceptions, the overturn of the law of judge crawford on the subject of larceny, and the establishment by the circuit court of the doctrine on that subject contended for by my counsel; but from this opinion judge dunlap dissented. the case of sayres, for want of time, was postponed till the next term. a new trial having been ordered in my two cases, everybody supposed that the charge of larceny would now be abandoned, as the circuit court had taken away the only basis on which it could possibly rest. but the zeal of the district attorney was not yet satisfied; and, no longer trusting to his own unassisted efforts, he obtained (at the expense of the united states) the assistance of richard cox, esq., an old and very unscrupulous practitioner, with whose aid he tried the cases over again in the criminal court. the two trials lasted about fourteen days. i was again defended by messrs. mann and carlisle, and now with better success, as the juries, under the instructions which judge crawford found himself obliged to give, and notwithstanding the desperate efforts against me, acquitted me in both cases, almost without leaving their seats. finally, the district attorney agreed to abandon the remaining larceny cases, if we would consent to verdicts in the transportation cases on the same terms with those in the case of sayres. this was done; when judge crawford had the satisfaction of sentencing me to fines and costs amounting together to ten thousand and sixty dollars, and to remain in prison until that amount was paid. there was still a further hearing before the circuit court on the bills of exceptions to these transportation indictments. my counsel thought they had some good legal objections; but the hearing unfortunately came on when judge cranch was absent from the bench, and the other two judges overruled them. by a strange construction of the laws, no criminal case, except by accident, can be carried before the supreme court of the united states; otherwise, the cases against us would have been taken there, including the question of the legality of slavery in the district of columbia. thus, after a severe and expensive struggle, i was saved from the penitentiary; but sayres and myself remained in the washington jail, loaded with enormous fines, which, from our total inability to pay them, would keep us there for life, unless the president could be induced to pardon us; and it was even questioned, as i shall show presently, whether he had any such power. the jail of the district of columbia is under the charge of the marshal of the district. that office, when i was first committed to prison, was filled by a mr. hunter; but he was sick at the time, and died soon after, when robert wallace was appointed. this wallace was a virginian, from the neighbor hood of alexandria, son of a doctor wallace from whom he had inherited a large property, including many slaves. he had removed to tennessee, and had set up cotton-planting there; but, failing in that business, had returned back with the small remnants of his property, and polk provided for him by making him marshal. it was not long before i found that he had a great spite against me. it was in vain that i solicited from him the use of the passage. the light which came into my cell was very faint, and i could only read by sitting on the floor with my back against the grating of the cell door. but, so far from aiding me to read,--and it was the only method i had of passing my time,--wallace made repeated and vexatious attempts to keep me from receiving newspapers. i should very soon have died on the prison allowance. the marshal is allowed by the united states thirty-three cents per day for feeding the prisoners. for this money they receive two meals; breakfast, consisting of one herring, corn-bread and a dish of molasses and water, very slightly flavored with coffee; and for dinner, corn-bread again, with half a pound of the meanest sort of salted beef, and a soup made of corn-meal stirred into the pot-liquor. this is the bill of fare day after day, all the year round; and, as at the utmost such food cannot cost more than eight or nine cents a day for each prisoner, and as the average number is fifty, the marshal must make a handsome profit. the diet has been fixed, i suppose, after the model of the slave allowances. but congress, after providing the means of feeding the prisoners in a decent manner, ought not to allow them to be starved for the benefit of the marshal. such was the diet to which i was confined in the first days of my imprisonment. but i soon contrived to make a friend of jake, the old black cook of the prison, who, i could see as he came in to pour out my coffee, evinced a certain sympathy and respect for me. through his agency i was able to purchase some more eatable food; and indeed the surgeon of the jail allowed me flour, under the name of medicine, it being impossible, as he said, for me to live on the prison diet. wallace, soon after he came into office, finding a small sum in my possession, of about forty dollars, took it from me. he expressed a fear that i might corrupt old jake, or somebody else,--especially as he found that i gave jake my old newspapers,--and so escape from the prison. but he left the money in the hands of the jailer, and allowed me to draw it out, a dollar at a time. he presently turned out old jake, and put in a slave-woman of his own as cook; but she was better disposed towards me than her master, and i found no difficulty in purchasing with my own money, and getting her to prepare such food as i wanted. i was able, too, after some six or eight weeks' sleeping on the stone floor of my cell, to obtain some improvement in that particular; and not for myself only, but for all the other prisoners also. the jailer was requested by several persons who came to see us to procure mattresses for us at their expense; and, finally, wallace, as if out of pure shame, procured a quantity of husk mattresses for the use of the prisoners generally. still, we had no cots, and were obliged to spread our mattresses on the floor. the allowance of clothing made to the prisoners who were confined without any means of supporting themselves corresponded pretty well with the jail allowance of provisions. they received shirts, one at a time, made of the very meanest kind of cotton cloth, and of the very smallest dimensions; trousers of about equal quality, and shoes. it was said that the united states paid also for jackets and caps. how that was i do not know; but the prisoners never received any. the custody of the jail was intrusted to a head jailer, assisted by four guards, or turnkeys, one of whom acted also as book-keeper. of the personal treatment toward me of those in office, at the time i was first committed, i have no complaint to make. the rigor of my confinement was indeed great; but i am happy to say that it was not aggravated by any disposition on the part of these men to triumph over me, or to trample upon me. as they grew more acquainted with me, they showed their sense that i was not an ordinary criminal, and treated me with many marks of consideration, and even of regard, and in one of them i found a true friend. shortly after wallace came into office, he made several changes. he was full of caprices, and easily took offence from very small causes; and of this the keepers, as well as the prisoners, had abundant experience. the head jailer did his best to please, behaving in the most humble and submissive manner; but all to no purpose. he was discharged, as were also the others, one after another,--wallace undertaking to act as head jailer himself. of wallace's vexatious conduct towards me; of his refusal to allow me to receive newspapers,--prohibiting the under jailer to lend me even the baltimore _sun_; of his accusation against me of bribing old jake, whom he forbade the turnkeys to allow to come near me; of his keeping me shut up in my cell; and generally of a bitter spirit of angry malice against me,--i had abundant reason to complain during the weary fifteen months or more that i remained under his power. but his subordinates, though obliged to obey his orders and to comply with his humors, were far from being influenced by his feelings. even his favorite among the turnkeys, a person who pretty faithfully copied his conduct towards the other prisoners, always behaved very kindly towards me, and even used to make a confidant of me, by coming to my cell to talk over his troubles. but the person whose kind offices and friendly sympathy did far more than those of any other to relieve the tediousness of my confinement, and to keep my heart from sinking, was mr. wood. there is no chaplain at the washington jail, nor has congress, so far as i am aware, made any provision of any kind for the spiritual wants or the moral and religious instruction of the inmates of it. this great deficiency mr. wood, a man of a great heart, though of very limited pecuniary means, being then a clerk in the telegraph office, had taken it upon himself to supply, so far as he could; and for that purpose he was in the habit of visiting the prison on sundays, conversing with the prisoners, and furnishing tracts and books to such as were able and disposed to read. he came to my cell, or to the grating of the passage in which i was confined, on the very first sunday of my imprisonment, and he readily promised, at my request, to furnish me with a bible; though in that act of kindness he was anticipated by the colored woman of whom i have already made mention, who appeared at my cell, with a bible for me, just after mr. wood had left it. the kindness of mr. wood's heart, and the sincerity of his sympathy, was so apparent as to secure him the affectionate respect of all the prisoners. to me he proved a very considerate and useful friend. not only was i greatly indebted to his assistance in making known my necessities and those of my family to those disposed to relieve them, but his cheerful and christian conversation served to brighten many a dark hour, and to dispel many gloomy feelings. were all professing christians like my friend mr. wood, we should not hear so many denunciations as we now do of the church, and complaints of her short-comings. there was another person, also, whose kind attentions to me i ought not to overlook. this was mrs. susannah ford, a very respectable colored woman, who sold refreshments in the lobby of the court-house, and who, in the progress of the trial, had evinced a good deal of interest in the case. as she often had boarders in the jail, who, like me, could not live on the jail fare, and whom she supplied, she was frequently there, and she seldom came without bringing with her some substantial token of her regard. sayres and myself had looked forward to the change of administration, which resulted from the election of general taylor, with considerable hopes of advantage from it--but, for a considerable time, this advantage was limited to a change in the marshal in whose custody we were. the turning out of wallace gave great satisfaction to everybody in the jail, or connected with it, except the turnkeys, who held office by his appointment, and who expected that his dismissal would be followed by their own. the very day before the appointment of his successor came out, i had been remonstrating with him against the cruelty of refusing me the use of the passage; and i had even ventured to hint that i hoped he would do nothing which he would be ashamed to see spoken of in the public prints; to which he replied, "g--d d--n the public prints!--in that cell you will stay!" but in this he proved not much of a prophet. the next day, as soon as the news of his dismissal reached the jail, the turnkeys at once unlocked my cell-door and admitted me into the passage, observing that the new marshal, when he came to take possession, should at least find me there. this new marshal was mr. robert wallach, a native of the district, very similar in name to his predecessor, but very different in nature; and from the time that he entered into office the extreme rigor hitherto exercised to me was a good deal abated. one thing, however, i had to regret in the change, which was the turning out of all the old guards, with whom i was already well acquainted, and the appointment of a new set. one of these thus turned out--the person to whom i have already referred to as the chief favorite of the late marshal--made a desperate effort to retain his office. but, although he solicited and obtained certificates to the effect that he was, and always had been, a good whig, he had to walk out with the others. the new jailer appointed by wallach, and three of the new guards, or turnkeys, were very gentlemanly persons, and neither i nor the other prisoners had any reason to complain of the change. of the fourth turnkey i cannot say as much. he was violent, overbearing and tyrannical, and he was frequently guilty of conduct towards the prisoners which made him very unfit to serve under such a marshal, and ought to have caused his speedy removal. but, unfortunately, the marshal was under some political obligations to him, which made the turning him out not so easy a matter. this person seemed to have inherited all the feelings of hatred and dislike which the late marshal had entertained towards me, and he did his best to annoy me in a variety of ways, though, of course, his power was limited by his subordinate position. but, although i gained considerably by the new-order of things, i soon found that it had also some annoying consequences. under the old marshal, either to make the imprisonment more disagreeable to me, or from fear lest i should corrupt the other prisoners, i had been kept in a sort of solitary confinement, no other prisoners being placed in the same passage. this system was now altered; and, although my privacy was always so far respected that i was allowed a cell by myself, i often found myself with fellow-prisoners in the same passage from whose society it was impossible for me to derive either edification or pleasure. i suffered a good deal from this cause; but at length succeeded in obtaining a remedy, or, at least, a partial one. i was allowed, during the day-time, the range of the debtors' apartments, a suite of spacious, airy and comfortable rooms, in which there were seldom more than one or two tenants. i pleaded hard to be removed to these apartments altogether,--to be allowed to sleep there, as well as to pass the days there. as it was merely for the non-payment of a sum of money that i was held, i thought i had a right to be treated as a debtor. but those apartments were so insecure, that the keepers did not care to trust me there during the night. by this change of quarters my condition was a good deal improved. i not only had ample conveniences for reading, but i improved the opportunity to learn to write, having only been able to sign my name when t was committed to the prison. but a jail, after all, is a jail; and i longed and sighed to obtain my liberty, and to enjoy again the society of my wife and children. had it been wished to impress my mind in the strongest manner with the horrors of slavery, no better method could have been devised than this imprisonment in the washington jail. i felt personally what it was to be restrained of my liberty; and, as many of the prisoners were runaway slaves, or slaves committed at the request of their masters, i saw a good deal of what slaves are exposed to. of this i shall here give but a single instance. wallace, the marshal, as i have already mentioned, had two female slaves, the last remnants of the large slave-property which he had inherited from his father. one of these was a young and very comely mulatto girl, whom wallace had made his housekeeper, and whom he sought to make also his concubine. but, as the girl already had a child by a young white man, to whom she was attached, she steadily repelled all his advances. not succeeding by persuasion, this scion of the aristocracy of the old dominion--this virginian gentleman, and marshal of the united states for the district of columbia--shut the girl up in the jail of the district, in hopes of thus breaking her to his will; and, as she proved obstinate, he finally sold her. he then turned his eyes on the other woman,--his property,--jemima, our cook, already the mother of three children. but she set him at open defiance. as she wished to be sold, he had lost the greatest means of controlling her; and as she openly threatened, before all the keepers, to tear every rag of clothing off his body if he dared lay his hand upon her, he did not venture, to brave her fury. in most of the states, if not in all of them, certainly in all the free states, there is no such thing as keeping a man in prison for life merely for the non-payment of a fine which he has no means to pay. the same spirit of humanity which has abolished the imprisonment of poor debtors at the caprice of their creditors has provided means for discharging, after a short imprisonment, persons held in prison for fines which they have no means of paying. indeed, what can be more unequal or unjust than to hold a poor man a prisoner for life for an offence which a rich man is allowed to expiate by a small part of his superfluous wealth? but this is one, among many other barbarisms, which the existence of slavery in the district of columbia, by preventing any systematic revision of the laws, has entailed upon the capital of our model democracy. there was, as i have stated, no means by which sayres and myself could be discharged from prison except by paying our fines (which was totally out of the question), or by obtaining a presidential pardon, which, for a long time, seemed equally hopeless. there was, indeed, a peculiarity about our case, such as might afford a plausible excuse for not extending to us any relief. under the law of , the sums imposed upon us as fines were to go one half to the owners of the slaves, and the other half to the district; and it was alleged, that although the president might remit the latter half, he could not the other. that same mr. radcliff whom i have already had occasion to mention volunteered his services--for a consideration--to get over this difficulty. in consequence of a handsome fee which he received, he undertook to obtain the consent of the owners of the slaves to our discharge. but, having pocketed the money, he made, so far as i could find, very little progress in the business, not having secured above five or six signers. in answer to my repeated applications, he at length proposed that my wife and youngest daughter should come on to "washington to do the business which he had undertaken, and for which he had secured a handsome payment in advance. they came on accordingly, and, by personal application, succeeded in obtaining, in all, the signatures of twenty-one out of forty-one, the whole number. the reception which they met with from different parties was very different, showing that there is among slave-holders as much variety of character as among other people. some signed with alacrity, saying that, as no slaves had been lost, i had been kept in jail too long already. others required much urging. others positively refused. some even added insults. young francis dodge, of georgetown, would not sign, though my life had depended upon it. one wanted me hung, and another tarred and feathered. one pious church-member, lying on his death-bed, as he supposed, was persuaded to sign; but he afterwards drew back, and nothing could prevail on him to put his name to the paper. die or live, he wholly refused. but the most curious case occurred at alexandria, to which place my wife went to obtain the signature of a pious old lady, who had been the claimant of a youngster found among the passengers of the pearl, and who had been sold, in consequence, for the southern market. the old lady, it appeared, was still the owner of the boy's mother, who acted as one of her domestics, and, if she was willing, the old lady professed her readiness to sign. the black woman was accordingly called in, and the nature of my wife's application stated to her. but, with much positiveness and indignation, she refused to give her consent, declaring that my wife could as well do without her husband as she could do without her boy. so imbruted and stupefied by slavery was this old woman, that she seemed to think the selling her boy away from her a perfectly humane, christian and proper act, while all her indignation was turned against me, who had merely afforded the boy an opportunity of securing his freedom! i dare say they had persuaded the old woman that i had enticed the boy to run away; whereas, as i have already stated, i had never seen him, nor any other of the passengers, till i found them on board. as only twenty-one signers could be obtained, the matter stood very much as it did before the attempt was made. so long as president fillmore remained a candidate for reëlection there was little ground to expect from him a favorable consideration of my case. i therefore felt sincerely thankful to the whig convention when they passed by mr. fillmore, and gave the nomination to general scott. mr. fillmore being thus placed in a position which enabled him to listen to the dictates of reason, justice and humanity, my hopes, and those of my friends, were greatly raised. mr. sumner, the free democratic senator from massachusetts, had visited me in prison shortly after his arrival at washington, and had evinced from the beginning a sincere and active sympathy for me. some complaints were made against him in some anti-slavery papers, because he did not present to the senate some petitions in my behalf, which had been forwarded to his care. but mr. sumner was of opinion, and i entirely agreed with him, that if the object was to obtain my discharge from prison, that object was to be accomplished, not by agitating the matter in the senate, but by private appeals to the equity and the conscience of the president; nor did he think, nor i either, that my interests ought to be sacrificed for the opportunity to make an anti-slavery speech. there is reason in everything; and i thought, and he thought too, that i had been made enough of a martyr of already. the case having been brought to the notice of the president, he, being no longer a candidate for reëlection, could not fail to recognize the claim of sayres and myself to a discharge. we had already been kept in jail upwards of four years, for an offence which the laws had intended to punish by a trifling pecuniary fine nor was this all. the earlier part of our confinement had been exceedingly rigorous, and it had only been by the untiring efforts of our friends, and at a great expense to them, that we had been saved from falling victims to the conspiracy, between the district attorney and judge crawford, to send us to the penitentiary. although my able and indefatigable counsel, mr. mann, whose arduous labors and efforts in my behalf i shall never forget, and still less his friendly counsels and kind personal attentions, had received nothing, except, i believe, the partial reimbursement of his travelling expenses, and although there was much other service gratuitously rendered in our cases, yet it had been necessary to pay pretty roundly for the services of mr. carlisle; and, altogether, the expenditures which had been incurred to shield us from the effects of the conspiracy above mentioned far exceeded any amount of fine which might have been reasonably imposed under the indictments upon which we had been found guilty. was not the enormous sum which judge crawford sentenced us to pay a gross violation of the provision in the constitution of the united states against excessive fines? any fine utterly beyond a man's ability to pay, and which operates to keep him a prisoner for life, must be excessive, or else that word has no meaning. but, though our case was a strong one, there still remained a serious obstacle in the way, in the idea that, because half the fines was to go to the owners of the slaves, the president could not remit that half. here was a point upon which mr. sumner was able to assist us much more effectually than by making speeches in the senate. it was a point, too, involved in a good deal of difficulty; for there were some english cases which denied the power of pardon under such circumstances. mr. sumner found, however, by a laborious examination of the american cases, that a different view had been taken in this country; and he drew up and submitted to the president an elaborate legal opinion, in which the right of the executive to pardon us was very clearly made out. this opinion the president referred to the attorney general. a considerable time elapsed before he found leisure to examine it; but at last it obtained his sanction, also. information at length reached us--the matter having been pending for two months or more--that the president had signed our pardon. it had yet, however, to pass through the office of the secretary for the interior, and meanwhile we were not by any means free from anxiety. the reader will perhaps recollect that among the other things which the district attorney had held over our heads had been the threat to surrender us up to the authorities of virginia, on a requisition which it was alleged they had made for us. the story of this requisition had been repeated from time to time, and a circumstance now occurred which, in seeming to threaten us with something of the sort, served to revive all our apprehensions. mr. stuart, the secretary of the interior, through whose office the pardon was to pass, sent word to the marshal that such a pardon had been signed, and, at the same time, requested him, if it came that day into his hands, not to act upon it till the next. as this stuart was a virginian, out apprehensions were naturally excited of some movement from that quarter. the pardon arrived about five o'clock that afternoon; and immediately upon receiving it the marshal told us that he had no longer any hold upon us,--that we were free men, and at liberty to go where we chose. as we were preparing to leave the jail, i observed that a gentleman, a friend of the marshal, whom i had often seen there, and who had always treated me with great courtesy, hardly returned my good-day, and looked at me as black as a thunder-cloud. afterwards, upon inquiring of the jailer what the reason could be, i learned that this gentleman, who was a good deal of a politician, was greatly alarmed and disturbed lest the act of the president in having pardoned us should result in the defeat of the whig party--and, though willing enough that we should be released, he did not like to have it done at the expense of his party, and his own hopes of obtaining some good office. the whigs were defeated, sure enough; but whether because we were pardoned--though the idea is sufficiently nattering to my vanity--is more than i shall venture to decide. the black prisoners in the jail, having nothing to hope or fear from the rise or fall of parties, yielded freely to their friendly feelings, and greeted our departure with three cheers. we left the jail as privately as possible, and proceeded in a carriage to the house of a gentleman of the district, where we were entertained at supper. our imprisonment had lasted four years and four months, lacking seven days. we did not feel safe, however, with that virginia requisition hanging over our heads, so long as we remained in the district, or anywhere on slave-holding ground; and, by the liberality of our friends, a hack was procured for us, to carry us, that same night, to baltimore, there, the next morning, to take the cars for philadelphia. the night proved one of the darkest and stormiest which it had ever been my fate to encounter,--and i have seen some bad weather in my time. the rain fell in torrents, and the road was only now and then visible by the flashes of the lightning. but our trusty driver persevered, and, in spite of all obstacles, brought us to baltimore by the early dawn. sayres proceeded by the direct route to philadelphia. having still some apprehensions of pursuit and a requisition, i took the route by harrisburg. great was the satisfaction which i felt as the cars crossed the line from maryland into pennsylvania. it was like escaping out of algiers into a free and christian country. i shall leave it to the reader to imagine the meeting between myself and my family. they had received notice of my coming, and were all waiting to receive me. if a man wishes to realize the agony which our american slave-trade inflicts in the separation of families, let him personally feel that separation, as i did; let him pass four years in the washington jail. when committed to the prison, i was by no means well. i had been a good deal out of health, as appeared from the evidence on the trial, for two or three years before. close confinement, or, indeed, confinement of any sort, does not agree with persons of my temperament; and i came out of the prison a good deal older, and much more of an invalid, than when i entered it. the reader, perhaps, will inquire what good was gained by all these sufferings of myself and my family--what satisfaction i can have, as it did not succeed, in looking back to an enterprise attended with so much risk, and which involved me in so long and tedious an imprisonment? the satisfaction that i have is this: what i did, and what i attempted to do, was my protest,--a protest which resounded from one end of the union to the other, and which, i hope, by the dissemination of this, my narrative, to renew and repeat it,--it was my protest against the infamous and atrocious doctrine that there can be any such thing as property in man! we can only do according to our power, and the capacity, gifts and talents, that we have. others, more fortunate than i, may record their protest against this wicked doctrine more safely and comfortably for themselves than i did. they may embody it in burning words and eloquent speeches; they may write it out in books; they may preach it in sermons. i could not do that. i have as many thoughts as another, but, for want of education, i lack the power to express them in speech or writing. i have not been able to put even this short narrative on paper without obtaining the assistance of a friend. i could not talk, i could not write; but i could act. the humblest, the most uneducated man can do that. i did act; and, by my actions, i protested that i did not believe that there was, or could be, any such thing as a right of property in human beings. nobody in this country will admit, for a moment, that there can be any such thing as property in a white man. the institution of slavery could not last for a day, if the slaves were all white. but i do not see that because their complexions are different they are any the less men on that account. the doctrine i hold to, and which i desired to preach in a practical way, is the doctrine of jefferson and madison, that there cannot be property in man,--no, not even in black men. and the rage exerted against me on the part of the slave-holders grew entirely out of my preaching that doctrine. actions, as everybody knows, speak louder than words. by virtue of my actions proclaiming my opinion on that subject, i became at once, powerless as i otherwise was, elevated, in the minds of the slave-holders, to the same high level with mr. giddings and mr. hale, who they could not help believing must have been my secret confederates. if i had believed, as the slave-holders do, that men can be owned; if i had really attempted, as they falsely and meanly charged me with doing, to steal; had i actually sought to appropriate men as property to my own use; had that been all, does anybody imagine that i should ever have been pursued with such persevering enmity and personal virulence? do they get up a debate in congress, and a riot in the city of washington, every time a theft is committed or attempted in the district? it was purely because i was not a thief; because, in helping men, women and children, claimed as chattels, to escape, i bore my testimony against robbing human beings of their liberty; this was the very thing that excited the slave-holders against me, just as a strong anti-slavery speech excites them against mr. hale, or mr. giddings, or mr. mann, or mr. stunner. those gentlemen have words at command; they can speak, and can do good service by doing so. as for me, it was impossible that i should ever be able to make myself heard in congress, or by the nation at large, except in the way of action. the opportunity occurring, i did not hesitate to improve it; nor have i ever yet seen occasion to regret having done so. file was produced from images generously made available by the internet archive and the library of congress) _price six cents._ abolition fanaticism in new york. [illustration] speech of a runaway slave from baltimore, at an abolition meeting in new york, held may , . . for sale at all the periodical agencies. flaming abolition speech delivered by the runaway slave, frederick douglass, at the anniversary of the american anti-slavery society, in the tabernacle, new york, may , . the following report will show to marylanders, how a runaway slave talks, when he reaches the abolition regions of the country. this presumptive negro was even present at the london world's temperance convention, last year; and in spite of all the efforts of the american delegates to prevent it, he palmed off his abolition bombast upon an audience of persons! of this high-handed measure he now makes his boast in new-york, one of the hot-beds of abolitionism. the report is given exactly as published in the new-york tribune. the reader will make his own comments. mr. douglass was introduced to the audience by wm. lloyd garrison, esq., president of the american anti-slavery society, and, upon taking the platform, was greeted with enthusiastic and long-continued applause by the vast concourse which filled the spacious tabernacle to overflowing. as soon as the audience became silent, mr. d. with, at first, a slight degree of embarrassment, addressed them as follows: "i am very glad to be here. i am very glad to be present at this anniversary--glad again to mingle my voice with those with whom i have stood identified, with those with whom i have labored, for the last seven years, for the purpose of undoing the burdens of my brethren, and hastening the day of their emancipation. i do not doubt but that a large portion of this audience will be disappointed, both by the _manner_ and the _matter_ of what i shall this day set forth. the extraordinary and unmerited eulogies which have been showered upon me, here and elsewhere, have done much to create expectations which, i am well aware, i can never hope to gratify. i am here, a simple man, knowing what i have experienced in slavery, knowing it to be a bad system, and desiring, by all christian means, to seek its overthrow. i am not here to please you with an eloquent speech, with a refined and logical address, but to speak to you the sober truths of a heart overborne with gratitude to god that we have in this land, cursed as it is with slavery, so noble a band to second my efforts and the efforts of others in the noble work of undoing the yoke of bondage, with which the majority of the states of this union are now unfortunately cursed. since the last time i had the pleasure of mingling my voice with the voices of my friends on this platform, many interesting and even trying events have occurred to me. i have experienced, within the last eighteen or twenty months, many incidents, all of which it would be interesting to communicate to you; but many of these i shall be compelled to pass over at this time, and confine my remarks to giving a general outline of the manner and spirit with which i have been hailed abroad, and welcomed at the different places which i have visited during my absence of twenty months. you are aware, doubtless, that my object in going from this country, was to get beyond the reach of the clutch of the man who claimed to own me as his property. i had written a book giving a history of that portion of my life spent in the gall and bitterness and degradation of slavery, and in which i also identified my oppressors as the perpetrators of some of the most atrocious crimes. this had deeply incensed them against me, and stirred up within them the purpose of revenge, and my whereabouts being known, i believed it necessary for me, if i would preserve my liberty, to leave the shores of america, and take up my abode in some other land, at least until the excitement occasioned by the publication of my narrative had subsided. i went to england, monarchical england, to get rid of democratic slavery, and i must confess that, at the very threshold, i was satisfied that i had gone to the right place. say what you will of england--of the degradation--of the poverty--and there is much of it there--say what you will of the oppression and suffering going on in england at this time, there is liberty there--there is freedom there, not only for the white man, but for the black man also. the instant i stepped upon the shore, and looked into the faces of the crowd around me, i saw in every man a recognition of my manhood, and an absence, a perfect absence, of everything like that disgusting hate with which we are pursued in this country. [cheers.] i looked around in vain to see in any man's face a token of the slightest aversion to me on account of my complexion. even the cabmen demeaned themselves to me as they did to other men, and the very dogs and pigs of old england treated me as a man! i cannot, however, my friends, dwell upon this anti-prejudice, or rather the many illustrations of the absence of prejudice against color in england--but will proceed, at once, to defend the right and duty of invoking english aid and english sympathy for the overthrow of american slavery, for the education of colored americans, and to forward in every way, the interests of humanity; inasmuch as the right of appealing to england for aid in overthrowing slavery in this country, has been called in question, in public meetings and by the press, in this city. i cannot agree with my friend mr. garrison in relation to my love and attachment to this land. i have no love for america, as such; i have no patriotism. i have no country. what country have i? the institutions of this country do not know me--do not recognize me as a man. i am not thought of, spoken of, in any direction, out of the anti-slavery ranks, as a man. i am not thought of or spoken of, except as a piece of property belonging to some _christian_ slaveholder, and all the religious and political institutions of this country alike pronounce me a slave and a chattel. now, in such a country as this i cannot have patriotism. the only thing that links me to this land is my family, and the painful consciousness that here there are , , of my fellow creatures groaning beneath the iron rod of the worst despotism that could be devised even in pandemonium,--that here are men and brethren who are identified with me by their complexion, identified with me by their hatred of slavery, identified with me by their love and aspirations for liberty, identified with me by the stripes upon their backs, their inhuman wrongs and cruel sufferings. this, and this only, attaches me to this land, and brings me here to plead with you, and with this country at large, for the disenthrallment of my oppressed countrymen, and to overthrow this system of slavery which is crushing them to the earth. how can i love a country that dooms , , of my brethren, some of them my own kindred, my own brothers, my own sisters, who are now clanking the chains of slavery upon the plains of the south, whose warm blood is now making fat the soil of maryland and of alabama, and over whose crushed spirits rolls the dark shadow of oppression, shutting out and extinguishing forever the cheering rays of that bright sun of liberty, lighted in the souls of all god's children by the omnipotent hand of deity itself? how can i, i say, love a country thus cursed, thus bedewed with the blood of my brethren? a country, the church of which, and the government of which, and the constitution of which are in favor of supporting and perpetuating this monstrous system of injustice and blood? i have not, i cannot have, any love for this country, as such, or for its constitution. i desire to see it overthrown as speedily as possible and its constitution shivered in a thousand fragments, rather than this foul curse should continue to remain as now. [hisses and cheers.] in all this, my friends, let me make myself understood. i do not hate america as against england, or against any other country or land. i love humanity all over the globe. i am anxious to see righteousness prevail in all directions. i am anxious to see slavery overthrown here; but, i never appealed to englishmen in a manner calculated to awaken feelings of hatred or disgust, or to inflame their prejudices toward america as a nation, or in a manner provocative of national jealousy or ill-will; but i always appealed to their conscience--to the higher and nobler feelings of the people of that country, to enlist them in this cause. i always appealed to their manhood, that which preceded their being englishmen, (to quote an expression of my friend phillips,) i appealed to them as men, and i had a right to do so. they are men, and the slave is a man, and we have a right to call upon all men to assist in breaking his bonds, let them be born when and live where they may. but it is asked, 'what good will this do?' or 'what good has it done?' 'have you not irritated, have you not annoyed your american friends and the american people rather than done them good?' i admit that we have irritated them. they deserve to be irritated. i am anxious to irritate the american people on this question. as it is in physics, so in morals, there are cases which demand irritation and counter-irritation. the conscience of the american public needs this irritation, and i would _blister it all over from centre to circumference_, until it gives signs of a purer and a better life than it is now manifesting to the world. but why expose the sins of one nation in the eyes of another? why attempt to bring one people under the odium of another people? there is much force in this question. i admit that there are sins in almost every country which can be best removed by means confined exclusively to their immediate locality. but such evils and such sins pre-suppose the existence of a moral power in their immediate locality sufficient to accomplish the work of renovation. but, where, pray, can we go to find moral power in this nation sufficient to overthrow slavery? to what institution, to what party shall we apply for aid? i say we admit that there are evils which can be best removed by influences confined to their immediate locality. but in regard to american slavery it is not so. it is such a giant crime, so darkening to the soul, so blinding in its moral influence, so well calculated to blast and corrupt all the humane principles of our nature, so well adapted to infuse its own accursed spirit into all around it, that the people among whom it exists have not the moral power to abolish it. shall we go to the church for this influence? we have heard its character described. shall we go to politicians or political parties? have they the moral power necessary to accomplish this mighty task? they have not. what are they doing at this moment? voting supplies for slavery--voting supplies for the extension, the stability, the perpetuation of slavery in this land. what is the press doing? the same. the pulpit? almost the same. i do not flatter myself that there is moral power in the land sufficient to overthrow slavery, and i welcome the aid of england. and that aid will come. the growing intercourse between england and this country, by means of steam navigation, the relaxation of the protective system in various countries in europe, gives us an opportunity to bring in the aid, the moral and christian aid of those living on the other side of the atlantic. we welcome it in the language of the resolution. we entreat our british friends to continue to send their remonstrances across the deep against slavery in this land. and these remonstrances will have a powerful effect here. sir, the americans may tell of their ability, and i have no doubt they have it, to keep back the invader's hosts, to repulse the strongest force that its enemies may send against this country. it may boast, and _rightly_ boast of its capacity to build its ramparts so high that no foe can hope to scale them--to render them so impregnable as to defy the assaults of the world. but, sir, there is one thing it cannot resist, come from what quarter it may. it cannot resist truth. you cannot build your forts so strong, nor your ramparts so high, nor arm yourselves so powerfully, as to be able to withstand the overwhelming moral sentiment against slavery now flowing into this land. for example: prejudice against color is continually becoming weaker in this land; and why? because the whole european continent denounces this sentiment as unworthy a lodgment in the breast of an enlightened community. and the american abroad dares not now, even in a public conveyance, to lift his voice in defence of this disgusting prejudice. i do not mean to say that there are no practices abroad which deserve to receive an influence, favorable to their extermination, from america. i am most glad to know that democratic freedom--not the bastard democracy which, while loud in its protestations of regard for liberty and equality, builds up slavery, and, in the name of freedom fights the battles of despotism--is making great strides in europe. we see, abroad, in england especially, happy indications of the progress of american principles. a little while ago england was cursed by a corn monopoly--by that giant monopoly which snatched from the mouths of the famishing poor the bread which you sent from this land. the community--the _people_ of england demanded its destruction, and they have triumphed! we have aided them, and they aid us, and the mission of the two nations, henceforth, is _to serve each other_. sir, it is said that, when abroad, i misrepresented my country on this question. i am not aware of any misrepresentation. i stated facts and facts only. a gentleman of your own city, rev. dr. cox, has taken particular pains to stigmatize me as having introduced the subject of slavery illegitimately into the world's temperance convention. but what was the fact? i went to that convention, not as a delegate--i went into it by the invitation of a committee of the convention. i suppose most of you know the circumstances, but i wish to say one word in relation to the spirit and the principle which animated me at that meeting. i went into it at the invitation of the committee, and spoke not only at their urgent request, but by public announcement. i stood on the platform on the evening referred to, and heard some eight or ten americans address the , people assembled in that vast hall. i heard them speak of the temperance movement in the land. i heard them eulogize the temperance societies in the highest terms, calling on england to follow their example (and england may follow them with advantage to herself;) but i heard no reference made to the , , of people in this country who are denied the privilege, not only of temperance, but of all other societies. i heard not a word of the american slaves, who, if seven of them were found together at a temperance meeting or any other place, would be scourged and beaten by their cruel tyrants. yes, nine-and-thirty lashes is the penalty required to be inflicted by the law if any of the slaves get together in a number exceeding seven, for any purpose, however peaceable or laudable. and while these american gentlemen were extending their hands to me, and saying, 'how do you do, mr. douglass? i am most happy to meet you here,' &c. &c. i knew that, in america, they would not have touched me with a pair of tongues. i felt, therefore, that that was the place and the time to call to remembrance the , , of slaves, whom i aspired to represent on that occasion. i did so, not maliciously, but with a desire, only, to subserve the best interests of my race. i besought the american delegates who had at first responded to my speech with shouts of applause, when they should arrive at home, to extend the borders of their temperance societies, so as to include the , colored people in the northern states of the union. i also called to mind the facts in relation to the mob that occurred in the city of philadelphia in the year . i stated these facts to show to the british public how difficult it is for a colored man in this country to do anything to elevate himself or his race from the state of degradation in which they are plunged; how difficult it is for him to be virtuous or temperate, or anything but a menial, an outcast. you all remember the circumstances of the mob to which i have alluded. a number of intelligent, philanthropic, manly colored men, desirous of snatching their colored brethren from the fangs of intemperance, formed themselves into a procession and walked through the streets of philadelphia with appropriate banners, and badges, and mottoes. i stated the fact that that procession was not allowed to proceed far, in the city of philadelphia--the american city of brotherly love, the city of all others loudest in its boasts of freedom and liberty--before these noble-minded men were assaulted by the citizens, their banners torn in shreds and themselves trampled in the dust, and inhumanly beaten, and all their bright and fond hopes and anticipations in behalf of their friends and their race blasted by the wanton cruelty of their white fellow citizens. and all this was done for no other reason than that they had presumed to walk through the streets with temperance banners and badges, like human beings. the statement of this fact caused the whole convention to break forth in one general expression of intense disgust at such atrocious and inhuman conduct. this disturbed the composure of some of our american representatives, who, in serious alarm, caught hold of the skirts of my coat, and attempted to make me desist from my exposition of the situation of the colored race in this country. there was one doctor of divinity there--the ugliest man that i ever saw in my life--who almost tore the skirts of my coat off, so vehement was he in his _friendly_ attempts to induce me to yield the floor. but fortunately the audience came to my rescue, and demanded that i should go on, and i did go on, and, i trust, discharged my duty to my brethren in bonds and the cause of human liberty, in a manner not altogether unworthy the occasion. i have been accused of _dragging_ the question of slavery into the convention. i had a right to do so. it was the _world's_ convention--not the convention of any sect or number of sects--not the convention of any particular nation--not a man's nor a woman's convention, not a black man's nor a white man's convention, but the _world's_ convention, the convention of all, _black_ as well as _white_, _bond_ as well as _free_. and i stood there, as i thought, a representative of , , of men whom i had left in rags and wretchedness to be devoured by the accursed institution which stands by them, as with a drawn sword, ever ready to fall upon their devoted and defenceless heads. i felt, as i said to dr. cox, that it was demanded of me by conscience, to speak out boldly in behalf of those whom i had left behind. [cheers.] and, sir, (i think i may say this, without subjecting myself to the charge of egotism) i deem it very fortunate for the friends of the slave, that mr. garrison and myself were there just at that time. sir, the churches in this country have long repined at the position of the churches in england on the subject of slavery. they have sought many opportunities to do away the prejudices of the english churches against american slavery. why, sir, at this time there were not far from seventy ministers of the gospel from christian america, in england, pouring their leprous pro-slavery distilment into the ears of the people of that country, and by their prayers, their conversation and their public speeches, seeking to darken the british mind on the subject of slavery, and to create in the english public the same cruel and heartless apathy that prevails in this country in relation to the slave, his wrongs and his rights. i knew them by their continuous slandering of my race, and at this time, and under these circumstances, i deemed it a happy interposition of god, in behalf of my oppressed, and misrepresented, and slandered people, that one of their number should be able to break his chains and burst up through the dark incrustations of malice and hate and degradation which had been thrown over them, and stand before the british public to open to them the secrets of the prison-house of bondage in america. [cheers.] sir, the slave sends no delegates to the evangelical alliance. [cheers.] the slave sends no delegates to the world's temperance convention. why? because chains are upon his arms, and fetters fast bind his limbs. he must be driven out to be sold at auction by some _christian_ slaveholder, and the money for which his soul is bartered must be appropriated to spread the gospel among the heathen. sir, i feel it is good to be here. there is always work to be done. slavery is everywhere. slavery goes out in the cambria and comes back in the cambria. slavery was in the evangelical alliance, looking saintly in the person of rev. doctor smythe; it was in the world's temperance convention, in the person of rev. mr. kirk. dr. marsh went about saying, in so many words, that the unfortunate slaveholders in america were so peculiarly situated, so environed by uncontrollable circumstances that they could not liberate their slaves; that if they were to emancipate them they would be, in many instances, cast into prison. sir, it did me good to go around on the heels of this gentleman. i was glad to follow him around for the sake of my country, for the country is not, after all, so bad as rev. dr. marsh represented it to be. my fellow countrymen, what think ye he said of you, on the other side of the atlantic? he said you were not only pro-slavery, but that you actually aided the slaveholder in holding his slaves securely in his grasp; that, in fact, you compelled him to be a slaveholder. this i deny. you are not so bad as that. you do not compel the slaveholder to be a slaveholder. and rev. doctor cox, too, talked a great deal over there, and among other things, he said that 'many slave-holders--dear christian men!--were sincerely anxious to get rid of their slaves;' and to show how difficult it is for them to get rid of their human chattels, he put the following case: a man living in a state, the laws of which compel all persons emancipating their slaves to remove them beyond its limits, wishes to liberate his slaves; but he is too poor to transport them beyond the confines of the state in which he resides; therefore he cannot emancipate them--he is necessarily a slaveholder. but, sir, there was one fact, which i happened, fortunately, to have on hand just at that time, which completely neutralized this very affecting statement of the doctor's. it so happens that messrs. gerrit smith and arthur tappan have advertised for the especial benefit of this afflicted class of slaveholders, that they have set apart the sum of $ , , to be appropriated in aiding them to remove their emancipated slaves beyond the jurisdiction of the state, and that the money would be forthcoming on application being made for it; but _no such application was ever made_. this shows that however truthful the statements of these gentlemen may be concerning the things of the world to come, they are lamentably reckless in their statements concerning things appertaining to this world. i do not mean to say that they would designedly tell that which is false; but they did make the statements which i have ascribed to them. and doct. cox and others charge me with having stirred up warlike feeling while abroad. this charge, also, i deny. the whole of my arguments and the whole of my appeals, while i was abroad, were in favor of any thing else than war. i embraced every opportunity to propagate the principles of peace while i was in great britain. i confess, honestly, that were i not a peace man, were i a believer in fighting at all, i should have gone through england, saying to englishmen, _as_ englishmen, 'there are , , of men across the atlantic who are whipped, scourged, robbed of themselves, denied every privilege, denied the right to read the word of the god who made them, trampled under foot, denied all the rights of human beings; go to their rescue; shoulder your muskets, buckle on your knapsacks, and in the invincible cause of human rights and universal liberty, go forth, and the laurels which you shall win will be as fadeless and as imperishable as the eternal aspirations of the human soul after that freedom which every being made after god's image instinctively feels is his birthright.' this would have been my course had i been a war man. that such was not my course, i appeal to my whole career while abroad to determine. weapons of war we have cast from the battle: truth is our armor--our watchword is love; hushed be the sword, and the musketry's rattle, all our equipments are drawn from above. praise then the god of truth, hoary age and ruddy youth. long may our rally be love, light and liberty; ever our banner the banner of peace." mr. douglass took his seat in the midst of the most enthusiastic and overwhelming applause in which the whole of the vast assembly appeared heartily to join. [transcriber's note: this text has been transcribed from library of congress scans of a pamphlet printed in baltimore md which has minor damage at the outer lower corners. because no other copies of this exact pamphlet are available, the obscured text has been supplied from the same edition of the new york (daily) tribune which is referred to as the source in the pamphlet's introductory paragraph: "country, conscience, and the anti-slavery cause: an address delivered in new york, new york, may , ." new york daily tribune, may .] proofreading team. the fugitive slave law and its victims. american anti-slavery society, nassau street, new york. . anti-slavery tracts. no. . * * * * * the fugitive slave law, and its victims. * * * * * the fugitive slave law was enacted by congress in september, , received the signature of howell cobb, [of georgia,] as speaker of the house of representatives, of william r. king, [of alabama,] as president of the senate, and was "approved," september th, of that year, by millard fillmore, acting president of the united states. the authorship of the bill is generally ascribed to james m. mason, senator from virginia. before proceeding to the principal object of this tract, it is proper to give a synopsis of the act itself, which was well called, by the new york _evening post_, "an act for the encouragement of kidnapping." it is in ten sections. synopsis of the law. section . united states commissioners "authorized and required to exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act." sect. . commissioners for the territories to be appointed by the superior court of the same. sect. . united states circuit courts, and superior courts of territories, required to enlarge the number of commissioners, "with a view to afford reasonable facilities to reclaim fugitives from labor," &c. sect. . commissioners put on the same footing with judges of the united states courts, with regard to enforcing the law and its penalties. sect. . united states marshals and deputy marshals, who may refuse to act under the law, to be fined one thousand dollars, to the use of the claimant. if a fugitive escape from the custody of the marshal, the marshal to be liable for his full value. commissioners authorized to appoint special officers, and to call out the _posse comitatus_, &c. sect. . the claimant of any fugitive slave, or his attorney, "may pursue and reclaim such fugitive person," either by procuring a warrant from some judge or commissioner, "or by seizing and arresting such fugitive, where the same can be done without process;" to take such fugitive before such judge or commissioner, "whose duty it shall be to hear and determine the case of such claimant in a summary manner," and, if satisfied of the identity of the prisoner, to grant a certificate to said claimant to "remove such fugitive person back to the state or territory from whence he or she may have escaped,"--using "such reasonable force or restraint as may be necessary under the circumstances of the case." "in no trial or hearing under this act shall the testimony of such alleged fugitive be admitted in evidence." all molestation of the claimant, in the removal of his slave, "by any process issued by any court, judge, magistrate, or other person whomsoever," to be prevented. sect. . any person obstructing the arrest of a fugitive, or attempting his or her rescue, or aiding him or her to escape, or harboring and concealing a fugitive, knowing him to be such, shall be subject to a fine of not exceeding one thousand dollars, and to be imprisoned not exceeding six months, and shall also "forfeit and pay the sum of one thousand dollars for each fugitive so _lost_." sect. . marshals, deputies, clerks, and special officers to receive usual fees; commissioners to receive ten dollars, if fugitive is given up to claimant; otherwise, five dollars; to be paid by claimant. sect. . if claimant make affidavit that he fears a rescue of such fugitive from his possession, the officer making the arrest to retain him in custody, and "to remove him to the state whence he fled." said officer "to employ so many persons as he may deem necessary." all, while so employed, be paid out of the treasury of the united states. sect. . [this section provides an additional and wholly distinct method for the capture of a fugitive; and, it may be added, one of the loosest and most extraordinary that ever appeared on the pages of statute book.] any person, from whom one held to service or labor has escaped, upon making "satisfactory proof" of such escape before any court of record, or judge thereof in vacation--a record of matter so proved shall be made by such court, or judge, and also a description of the person escaping, "with such convenient certainty as may be;"--a copy of which record, duly attested, "being produced in any other state, territory, or district," and "being exhibited to any judge, commissioner, or other officer authorized," &c. "shall be held and taken to be full and conclusive evidence of the fact of escape, and that the service or labor of the person escaping is due to the party in such record mentioned;" when, on satisfactory proof of identity, "he or she shall be delivered up to the claimant." "_provided_, that nothing herein contained shall be construed as requiring the production of a transcript of such record as evidence as aforesaid; but in its absence, the claim shall be heard and determined upon other satisfactory proofs competent in law." the name of the northern men who voted for this cruel kidnapping law should not be forgotten. until they repent, and do works meet for repentance, let their names stand high and conspicuous on the roll of infamy. let the "slow-moving finger of scorn" point them out, when they walk among men, and the stings of shame, disappointment, and remorse continually visit them in secret, till they are forced to cry, "my punishment is greater than i can bear." as to the _southern_ men who voted for the law, they only appeared in their legitimate character of oppressors of the poor--whom god will repay, in his own time. the thousand-tongued voices of their brother's blood cry against them from the ground. the following is the vote, in the senate, on the engrossment of the bill:-- yeas,--atchison, badger, barnwell, bell, berrien, butler, davis (of mississippi), dawson, a.c. dodge (of iowa), downs, foote, houston, hunter, jones (of iowa), king, mangum, mason, pearce, rusk, sebastian, soulé, spruance, sturgeon (of pennsylvania), turney, underwood, wales, yulee.-- . nays.--baldwin, bradbury, chase, cooper, davis (of massachusetts), dayton, henry dodge (of wisconsin), greene, smith, upham, walker, winthrop.-- . absent, or not voting.--benton, borland, _bright_ of indiana, _clarke_ of rhode island, clay, _cass_ of michigan, clemens, _dickinson_ of new york, _douglas_ of illinois, _ewing_ of ohio, _felch_ of michigan, _hale_ of new hampshire, _hamlin_ of maine, _miller_ of new jersey, morton, _norris_ of new hampshire, _phelps_ of vermont, pratt, _seward_ of new york, _shields_ of illinois, _whitcomb_ of indiana. [fifteen northern senators absent from the vote.] on the final passage of the bill in the senate, the yeas and nays were not taken. _d.s. dickinson_ of new york, who had been absent when the vote was taken on the engrossment, spoke in favor of the bill. mr. seward was said to be absent from the city, detained by ill health. when the bill came up in the house of representatives, (september th,) james thompson of pennsylvania, got the floor,--doubtless by a previous understanding with the speaker,--and addressed the house in support of the bill. he closed his remarks by _moving the previous question_! it was ordered, and thus all opportunity for reply, and for discussion of the bill was cut off. the bill was then passed to its third reading--equivalent to enactment--by a vote of yeas, to nays; as follows:-- yeas. _maine._--thomas j.d. fuller, of calais; elbridge gerry, of waterford; nathaniel s. littlefield, of bridgton. _new hampshire._--harry hibbard, of bath; charles h. peaslee, of concord. _massachusetts._--samuel a. eliot, of boston. _new york._--hiram walden, of waldensville. _new jersey._--isaac wildrick, of blairstown. _pennsylvania._--milo m. dimmick, of stroudsburg; job mann, of bedford; j.x. mclanahan, of chambersburg; john robbins, jr., of philadelphia; thomas ross, of doylestown; james thompson, of erie. _ohio._--moses hoagland, of millersburg; john k. miller, of mount vernon; john l. taylor, of chillicothe. _michigan._--alexander w. buell, of detroit. _indiana._--nathaniel albertson, of greenville; william j. brown, of amity; cyrus l. dunham, of salem; willis a. gorman, of bloomington; joseph e. mcdonald, of crawfordsville; edward w. mcgaughey, of rockville. _illinois._--william h. bissell, of belleville; thomas l. harris, of petersburg; john a. mcclernand; william a. richardson, of quincy; timothy r. young, of marshall. _iowa._--shepherd leffler, of burlington. _california._--edward gilbert. [all these northern traitors called themselves _democrats_! save three--_eliot_ of massachusetts, _taylor_ of ohio, and _mcgaughey_ of indiana, who were whigs.] --> every representative of a slaveholding state, who voted at all, voted yea. their names are needless, and are omitted. nays _maine._--otis, sawtelle, stetson. _new hampshire._--amos tuck. _vermont._--hebard, henry, meacham. _massachusetts._--allen, duncan, fowler, mann. _rhode island._--dixon, king. _connecticut._--butler, booth, waldo. _new york._--alexander, bennett, briggs, burrows, gott, gould, halloway, jackson, john a. king, preston king, matteson, mckissock, nelson, putnam, rumsey, sackett, schermerhorn, schoolcraft, thurman, underhill, silvester. _new jersey._--hay, king. _pennsylvania._--calvin, chandler, dickey, freedley, hampton, howe, moore, pitman, reed, stevens. _ohio._--cable, carter, campbell, m.b. corwin, crowell, disney, evans, giddings, hunter, morris, root, vinton, whittlesey, wood. _michigan._--bingham, sprague. _indiana._--fitch, harlan, julian, robinson. _illinois._--baker, wentworth. _wisconsin._--cole, doty, durkee. _california._--wright. absent, or not voting. andrews, ashmun (mass.), bokee, brooks, butler, casey, cleveland (conn.), clarke, conger, duer, gilmore, goodenow, grinnell (mass.), levin, nes, newell, ogle, olds, peck, phoenix, potter, reynolds, risley, rockwell (mass.), rose, schenck, spaulding, strong, sweetser, thompson (iowa), van dyke, white, wilmot (penn.) [ --all northern men.] [fifteen southern representatives did not vote.] daniel webster was not a member of the senate when the vote on the fugitive slave bill was taken. he had been made secretary of state, a short time previous. all, however, will remember the powerful aid which he gave to the new compromise measures, and among them to the fugitive slave bill, in his notorious seventh of march speech, [ .] a few extracts from that speech will show how heavily the responsibility of the existence of this law rests upon daniel webster:-- "i suppose there is to be found no injunction against that relation [slavery] between man and man, in the teachings of the gospel of jesus christ, or of any of his apostles."--_webster's th march speech_, (_authorized edition_,) p. . "one complaint of the south has, in my opinion, just foundation; and that is, that there has been found at the north, among individuals and among legislators, a disinclination to perform, fully, their constitutional duties in regard to the return of persons bound to service, who have escaped into the free states. in that respect, it is my judgment that the south is right, and the north is wrong." * * * * "my friend at the head of the judiciary committee [mr. mason of virginia] has a bill on the subject now before the senate, with some amendments to it, which i propose to support, with all its provisions, _to the fullest extent_."--_idem._ p. . he proceeded to assure the senate that the north would, on due consideration, fulfil "their constitutional obligations" "_with alacrity_." "therefore, i repeat, sir, that here is a ground of complaint against the north well founded, which ought to be removed, which it is now in the power of the different departments of this government to remove; which calls for the enactment of proper laws authorizing the judicature of this government, in the several states, to do all that is necessary for the recapture of fugitive slaves, and for the restoration of them to those who claim them wherever i go, and whenever i speak on the subject, and when i speak here, i desire to speak to the whole north, i say that the south has been injured in this respect, and has a right to complain; and the north has been too careless of what, i think, the constitution peremptorily and emphatically enjoins upon her as a duty."--_idem._ p. . in a speech in the united states senate, july , , made with an evident view to calm that northern feeling which had been aroused and excited by his th of march speech, beyond the power of priest or politician wholly to subdue, mr. webster said there were various misapprehensions respecting the working of the proposed fugitive slave bill:-- "the first of these misapprehensions," he said, "is an exaggerated sense of the actual evil of the reclamation of fugitive slaves, felt by massachusetts and the other new england states. what produced that? the cases do not exist. there has not been a case within the knowledge of this generation, in which a man has been taken back from massachusetts into slavery by process of law, not one." * * * * "not only has there been no case, so far as i can learn, of the reclamation of a slave by his master, which ended in taking him back to slavery, in this generation, but i will add, that, as far as i have been able to go back in my researches, as far as i have been able to hear and learn, in all that region there has been no one case of false claim. * * * _there is no danger of any such violation being perpetrated."[a]--webster's speech on the compromise bill, in the united states senate, th of july, , edition of gideon & co., washington_, pp. - . [footnote a: see also mr. webster's letter to the citizens of newburyport, dated may th, , wherein he urges the same point, with great pains of argument.] with such words did mr. webster endeavor to allay northern alarm, and to create the impression (which was created and which prevailed extensively with his friends) that the fugitive law was only a concession to southern feeling, and that few or no attempts to enforce it were likely to be made. but when a few months had proved him a false prophet, and the southern chase after fugitive men, women, and children had become hot and fierce, and in one or two instances the hunter had been foiled in his attempts and had lost his prey, mr. webster changed his tone, as follows:-- in may, , at syracuse, n.y., he said: "depend upon it, the law [the fugitive slave law] will be executed in its spirit and to its letter. it will be executed in all the great cities--here in syracuse, in the midst of the next anti-slavery convention, if the occasion shall arise." certainly, so far as in mr. webster lay, so far as was in the power of mr. fillmore, and the officers of the united states government generally, and of the still larger crowd of _expectants_ of office, nothing was left undone to introduce the tactics, discipline, and customs of the southern plantation into our northern cities and towns, in order to enforce the fugitive law. * * * * * the remainder of this tract will be devoted to a record, as complete as circumstances enable us to make, of the victims of the fugitive slave law. it is a terrible record, which the people of this country should never allow to sleep in oblivion, until the disgraceful and bloody system of slavery is swept from our land, and with it, all compromise bills, all constitutional guarantees to slavery, all fugitive slave laws. the established and accredited newspapers of the day, without reference to party distinctions, are the authorities relied upon in making up this record, and the _dates_ being given with each case, the reader is enabled to verify the same, and the few particulars which the compass of the tract allows to be given with each. with all the effort which has been made to secure a good degree of completeness and exactness, the present record must of necessity be an imperfect one, and fall short of exhibiting all the enormities of the act in question. james hamlet, _of new york, september, _, was the first victim. he was surrendered by united states commissioner gardiner to the agent of one mary brown, of baltimore, who claimed him as her slave. he was taken to baltimore. an effort was immediately made to purchase his freedom, and in the existing state of the public feeling, the sum demanded by his mistress, $ , was quickly raised. hamlet was brought back to new york with great rejoicings. _near bedford, penn., october ._ ten fugitives, from virginia, were attacked in pennsylvania--one mortally wounded, another dangerously. next morning, both were captured. five others entered a mountain hut, and begged relief. the woman supplied their wants. her husband went out, procured assistance, captured the slaves, and received a reward of $ . _harrisburg, penn., october._ some slaves, number not stated, were brought before commissioner m'allister, when "the property was proven, and they were delivered to their masters, who took them back to virginia, by railroad, without molestation." _detroit, th october._ a negro was arrested under the new law, and sent to jail for a week, to await evidence. great numbers of colored people armed themselves to rescue him. result not known. henry garnett, _philadelphia_, arrested as the slave of thomas p. jones, of cecil county, maryland, and taken before judge grier, of the united states supreme court, october , , who declared his determination to execute the law as he found it. the judge said that the claimant had not taken the course prescribed by the fugitive act, and proceeded to explain, in a detailed manner, what the course should be in such cases. as the claimant thus failed to make out his case, the prisoner was ordered to be discharged. _boston, about th october._ attempt to seize william and ellen craft. william craft armed himself, and kept within his shop. ellen was concealed in the house of a friend. their claimants, named hughes & knight, were indicted for defamation of character, in calling w.c. a slave, and brought before a magistrate. the feeling excited against them was so great, that they at length fled from the city. shortly after, it being considered hazardous for mr. and mrs. craft to remain in the country, they were enabled to escape to england. [in a letter, dated macon, georgia, nov. , john knight gives a particular account of the proceedings and experiences of himself and his friend hughes, on their then recent visit to boston for the purpose, to quote his own language, "of re-capturing william and ellen craft, the negroes belonging to dr. collins and ira taylor." willis h. hughes also published his statement.] _new albany, indiana._ a woman and boy given up, and taken to louisville. they were so white that, even in kentucky, a strong feeling arose in their favor on that ground. they were finally bought for $ , and set free. adam gibson, _philadelphia, december , _. surrendered by edward d. ingraham, united states commissioner. the case was hurried through in indecent haste, testimony being admitted against him of the most groundless character. one witness swore that gibson's name was emery rice. he was taken to elkton, maryland. there, mr. william s. knight, his supposed owner, refused to receive gibson, saying he was not the man, and he was taken back to philadelphia. what compensation has the united states government ever made to adam gibson, for the injurious act of its agent, ingraham? had not the slaveholder been more honorable than the commissioner or the makers of the fugitive law, gibson would have been in slavery for life. henry long, _new york, december, _. brought before commissioner charles m. hall, claimed as the fugitive slave of john t. smith of russell county, virginia. after five or six days' proceedings, there being some doubt of the commissioner's legal right to act, the alleged fugitive, long, was taken before judge judson, district judge of the united states. the castle garden union safety committee retained mr. george wood in this case, as counsel for the slave claimant. long was surrendered by judge judson, and taken to richmond, virginia. judge j. was complimented by the _washington union_ as "a clear-headed, competent, and independent officer, who has borne himself with equal discretion, liberality, and firmness. such judges as he," continues the _union_, "are invaluable in these times of turmoil and agitation." at richmond, long was advertised to be sold at public auction. on saturday, january th, he was sold, amid the jeers and scoffs of the spectators, for $ , to david clapton, of georgia. the auctioneers (pullam & slade), in commencing, said there was one condition of the sale. bonds must be given by the purchaser that this man shall be carried south, and that he shall be kept south, and sold, if sold again, to go south; and they declared their intention to see the terms fully complied with. long was subsequently advertised for sale at atlanta, georgia. _near coatsville, chester county, penn._ on a writ issued by commissioner ingraham, deputy marshal halzell and other officers, with the claimant of an alleged fugitive, at night, knocked at the door of a colored family, and asked for a light to enable them to mend their broken harness. the door being opened for this purpose, the marshal's party rushed in, and said they came to arrest a fugitive slave. resistance was made by the occupant of the house and others, and the marshal's party finally driven off--the slave owner advising that course, and saying, "well, if this is a specimen of the pluck of pennsylvania negroes, i don't want my slaves back." the master of the house was severely wounded in the arm by a pistol shot; still he maintained his ground, declaring the marshal's party should not pass except by first taking his life. _marion, williamson county, ill., about december , ._ mr. o'havre, of the city police, memphis, tennessee, arrested and took back to memphis a fugitive slave, belonging to dr. young. he did so, as the memphis paper states, only "after much difficulty and heavy expense, being strongly opposed by the free soilers and abolitionists, but was assisted by mr. w. allen, member of congress, and other gentlemen." _philadelphia, about january , ._ g.f. alberti and others seized, under the fugitive slave law, a free colored boy, named joel thompson, alleging that he was a slave. the boy was saved. stephen bennett, _columbia, penn._, arrested as the slave of edward b. gallup, of baltimore. taken before commissioner ingraham; thence, by _habeas corpus_, before judge kane. he was saved only by his freedom being purchased by his friends. _the huntsville (ala.) advocate_, of january , , said that messrs. markwood & chester had brought back "_seven of their slaves_" from michigan. _the memphis (tenn.) eagle_, of a later date, says that within a few weeks "at least five fugitive slaves have been brought back to this city, from free states, with as little trouble as would be had in recovering stray cows." the same paper adds, "we occasionally receive letters notifying us that a slave, said to be the property of some one in this vicinity, has been lodged in jail in illinois or indiana, for his owner, who will please call, pay charges, and take him away." _in boston, end of january, ._ a colored man, lately from north carolina, was sought by officers, under marshal devens, aided by a lawyer, named spencer, provided by the new york union safety committee. the arrest was not attempted. it was found that the colored man was too strongly guarded and protected. mrs. tamor, or euphemia williams, _philadelphia, february, _, mother of six children, arrested and brought before commissioner ingraham, as the slave mahala, belonging to william t.j. purnell, of worcester county, maryland, admitted to have been absent since --twenty-two years. children all born in pennsylvania; oldest about seventeen--a girl. her husband also in custody, and alleged to be the slave of another man. under writ of _habeas corpus_, mrs. williams was taken before judge kane, of the united states circuit court. after a full hearing, she was discharged, as not being the woman alleged. shadrach, _in boston, february , _. arrested in taft's cornhill coffee house, by deputies of united states marshal devens, on a warrant issued by george t. curtis, united states commissioner, on the complaint of john caphart, attorney of john de bree, of norfolk, va. seth j. thomas appeared as counsel for caphart. after a brief hearing before g.t. curtis, commissioner, the case was adjourned to the following tuesday. shortly after the adjournment, the court-room was entered by a body of men, who bore away the prisoner, shadrach. after which he was heard of in montreal, canada, having successfully, with the aid of many friends, escaped the snares of all kidnappers, in and out of boston. the acting president, millard fillmore, issued his proclamation, countersigned by daniel webster, secretary of state, requiring prosecutions to be commenced against all who participated in the rescue. _shawneetown, illinois._ a woman was claimed by mr. haley, of georgia, as his slave; and was delivered up to him by two justices of the peace, (early in .) _madison, indiana._ george w. mason, of davies county, kentucky, arrested a colored man, named mitchum, who, with his wife and children, lived near vernon. the case was tried before a justice of the peace, named basnett, who was satisfied that mitchum was davis's slave, and had left his service _nineteen years before_. the slave was accordingly delivered up, and was taken to kentucky, (feb. .) _clearfield county, penn., about th january, ._ a boy was kidnapped and taken into slavery.--_mercer (pa.) presbyterian_. _near ripley, ohio._ a fugitive slave, about january , killed his pursuer. he was afterwards taken and carried back to slavery. _burlington, lawrence county, ohio, near the end of february, _, four liberated slaves were kidnapped, re-enslaved, and sold. efforts were made to bring the perpetrators of this nefarious act to punishment, and restore the victims to freedom. _at philadelphia, early in march, _, occurred the case of the colored woman helen or hannah, and her son, a child of tender years. she was taken before a commissioner, and thence, by writ of _habeas corpus_, before judge kane. an additional question arose from the fact that the woman would soon become the mother of another child. judge kane decided that she was the property of john perdu, of baltimore, together with her son, and her unborn child, and they were all surrendered accordingly, and taken into slavery. _pittsburg, march , ._ richard gardiner was arrested in bridgewater, beaver county, pennsylvania, claimed as the property of miss r. byers, of louisville, kentucky. judge irwin, of the united states district court, "remanded the fugitive back to his owner." he was afterwards bought for $ , and brought into a free state. _the wilmington (del.) journal_, in march, , says kidnapping has become quite frequent in that state; and speaks of a negro kidnapped in that city, on the previous wednesday night, by a man who had been one of the city watchmen. thomas sims, arrested in _boston_, april , , at first on pretence of a charge of theft. but when he understood it was as a fugitive from slavery, he drew a knife and wounded one of the officers. he was taken before commissioner george t. curtis. to guard against a repetition of the shadrach rescue, the united states marshal, devens, aided by the mayor (john p. bigelow) and city marshal (francis tukey) of boston, surrounded the court house, in boston, with heavy chains, guarded it by a strong extra force of police officers, with a strong body of guards also within the building, where the fugitive was imprisoned as well as tried. several military companies also were called out by the city authorities, and kept in readiness night and day to act against the people, should they attempt the deliverance of sims; faneuil hall itself being turned into barracks for these hirelings of slavery. every effort was made by s.e. sewall, esq., hon. robert rantoul, jr., and charles g. loring, esq., to save sims from being returned into slavery, and boston from the eternal and ineffaceable disgrace of the act. but in vain. the omnipotent slave power demanded of boston a victim for its infernal sacrifices. millard fillmore, daniel webster, and their numerous tools, on the bench, in commissioners' seats, and other official stations, or in hopes of gaining such stations bye and bye, had fallen upon their faces before the monster idol, and sworn that the victim should be prepared. thomas sims was ordered back to slavery by commissioner g.t. curtis, and was taken from the court house, in boston, early on the morning of april th, [ ,] to the brig acorn, lying at the end of long wharf, and thence in the custody of officers, to savannah, georgia. there, after being lodged in jail, and severely and cruelly whipped, as was reported, he was at length sold, and became merged and lost in the great multitude of the enslaved population. the surrender of sims is said to have cost the united states government $ , ; the city of boston about as much more; and mr. potter, the claimant of sims, about $ , , making a total of some $ , , directly expended on the case. _vincennes, indiana, april, ._ four fugitive slaves were seized, claimed by one mr. kirwan, of or near florence, alabama. the magistrate, named robinson, gave up the fugitives, and they were taken into slavery. _in salisbury township, penn., april, _, an elderly man was kidnapped and carried into maryland. _near sandy hill, chester county, penn., in march, _, a very worthy and estimable colored man, named thomas hall, was forcibly seized, his house being broken into by three armed ruffians, who beat him and his wife with clubs. he was kidnapped. moses johnson, _chicago, illinois_, brought before a united states commissioner, discharged as not answering to the description of the man claimed. charles wedley, kidnapped from _pittsburg, pennsylvania_, and taken into maryland. he was found, and brought back. _cincinnati, ohio, june , _, an attempt to arrest a fugitive was made. but a scuffle ensued, in which the man escaped. _cincinnati, ohio._ about the same time, some slaves, (number not stated,) belonging to rev. mr. perry and others, of covington, kentucky, were taken in cincinnati, and carried back to kentucky. _philadelphia, end of june, _, a colored man was taken away as a slave, by steamboat. a writ of _habeas corpus_ was got out but the officer could not find the man. this is probably the same case with that of jesse whitman, arrested at wilkesbarre. frank jackson, a free colored man in _mercer, penn._, was taken, early in , by a man named charles may, into virginia, and sold as a slave. he tried to escape, but was taken and lodged in fincastle jail, virginia. thomas scott johnson, free colored man, of _new bedford_, was arrested near portsmouth, virginia, and was about to be sold as a slave; but, by the strenuous interposition of capt. card, certificates were obtained from new bedford, and he was set at liberty. elizabeth williams, _west chester county, penn._, delivered into slavery by commissioner jones. (july, .) daniel hawkins, of _lancaster county, penn._, (july, ,) was brought before commissioner ingraham, philadelphia, and by him delivered to his claimant, and he was taken into slavery. _new athens, ohio, july , ._ eighteen slaves, who had escaped from lewis county, kentucky, were discovered in an old building in adams county, ohio. some white men, professing to be friendly, misled them, and brought them to a house, where they were imprisoned, bound one by one, and carried back to kentucky. [the enactment of the fugitive slave law is the direct stimulating cause of all these cases of kidnapping.] _buffalo, august, ._ case of daniel ----. d. was a cook on board the steamer "buckeye state." he was engaged in his avocation, when benj. s. rust, with a warrant from united states commissioner h.k. smith, went on board the boat. daniel was called up from below, and as his head appeared above the deck, rust struck him a heavy blow, upon the head, with a large billet of wood, which knocked him back into the cook-room, where he fell upon the stove and was badly burned. in this state, he was brought before the commissioner, "bleeding profusely at the back, of the head, and at the nose, and was moreover so stupefied by the assault, that he fell asleep several times during the brief and very summary proceedings." for most of the time he was unable to converse with his counsel, and "sat dozing, with the blood slowly oozing out of his mouth and nostrils." after a very hurried form, and mockery of a trial, daniel was ordered to be delivered to rust, the agent of george h. moore, of louisville, kentucky. by a writ of _habeas corpus_, daniel was brought before judge coakling, of the united states court, at auburn, who gave a decision that set daniel at liberty, and he was immediately hurried by his friends into canada. rust was indicted, in buffalo, for his brutal assault on daniel. it was fully proved; he afterwards plead guilty, and; was let off with the paltry fine of fifty dollars. john bolding, _arrested in poughkeepsie, new york_, claimed as the property of barret anderson, of columbia, s.c. bolding was a young man, of good character, recently married, and had a small tailor's shop in p. he said he was told, when a boy, that he was the son of a white man. he was tried before united states commissioner nelson, who ordered him to be delivered up to his claimants, and he was taken quietly from the city to columbia, s.c. the sum of $ , was raised in new york, and paid to bolding's owner, who had consented to take that sum for him, and bolding returned to his family in poughkeepsie. _christiana, lancaster county, penn., sept. ._ edward gorsuch, (represented as a very pious member of a methodist church in baltimore,) with his son dickinson, accompanied by the sheriff of lancaster county, pa., and by a philadelphia officer named _henry kline_, went to christiana to arrest certain slaves of his, who, (as he had been privately informed by a wretch, named wm. m. padgett,) were living there. an attack was made upon the house, the slave-holder declaring (as was said) that he "would not leave the place alive without his slaves." "then," replied one of them, "you will not leave here alive." many shots were fired on both sides, and the slave-hunter, edward gorsuch, was killed. at a subsequent trial, a number of persons (nearly forty) were committed to take their trial for "treason against the united states, by levying war against the same, in resisting by force of arms the execution of the fugitive slave law." castner hanway was of the number. after suffering imprisonment and being subjected to great loss of time and heavy expenses, they were all discharged. _syracuse, october , ._ jerry, claimed as the slave of john mcreynolds, of marion county, missouri, was brought to trial before commissioner j.f. sabine. he was rescued by a large body of men from the officers who had him in custody, and was next heard of in canada. _james r. lawrence_, a lawyer of syracuse, acted as counsel for _james lear_, attorney of mcreynolds. [n.b. daniel webster's prophecy was not fulfilled.] _columbia, penn._, (fall of .) man named henry, arrested as the slave of dr. duvall, of prince george's county, maryland,--taken to _harrisburg_, before united states commissioner mcallister and by him consigned to slavery. _judge denning_, of illinois, discharged a negro brought before him as a fugitive slave, on the ground that the fugitive slave law was unconstitutional. _two alleged slaves arrested_ at _columbia, penn._, on warrant of united states commissioner mcallister,--claimed as property of w.t. mcdermott, of baltimore. one was carried into slavery, one escaped. (november, .) _near new philadelphia, maryland_, a woman, married to a free colored man, with whom she had lived ten years, was arrested as the slave of a mr. shreve, of louisville, kentucky. she was taken back to kentucky. rachel parker, free colored girl, kidnapped from house of joseph s. miller, west nottingham, penn., by the "notorious elkton kidnapper, mccreary," dec. , . mr. miller tracked the kidnappers to baltimore, and tried to recover the girl, but in vain. on his way home, he was induced to leave the cars, and was undoubtedly murdered,--it was supposed in revenge of the death of gorsuch at christiana. mr. miller's body was found suspended from a tree. a suit was brought in the circuit court of baltimore county, for the freedom of rachel parker, jan. . over sixty witnesses, from pennsylvania, attended to testify to her being free-born, and that she was not the person she was claimed to be; although, in great bodily terror, she had, after her capture, confessed herself the alleged slave! so complete and strong was the evidence in her favor, that, after an eight days' trial, the claimants abandoned the case, and a verdict was rendered for the freedom of rachel, and also of her sister, elizabeth parker, who had been previously kidnapped, and conveyed to new orleans. --> mccreary was demanded by gov. bigler, of pennsylvania, to be delivered up for trial on a charge of kidnapping; but gov. lowe, of maryland, refused to surrender him. see _standard_, july , . james tasker, _new york city_, (feb. ,) arrested through the treachery of police officer martin, and brought before united states commissioner george w. morton, as the slave of jonathan pinckney, of maryland. he was given up, and taken back to slavery. horace preston, arrested in _williamsburg, new york_, as the slave of william reese, of baltimore, maryland;--richard busteed, of new york, being attorney for the slaveholder. he was brought before united states commissioner morton, st april, ; for several days previous he had been kept a prisoner, and his wife knew not what had become of him. he was given up by the commissioner, and was carried into slavery. the same policeman, martin, (who acted in the case of james tasker,) was active in this case; being, doubtless, the original informant. preston was afterwards bought for about $ , , and brought back. _columbia, penn._, (end of march, ;) a colored man, named william smith, was arrested as a fugitive slave in the lumber yard of mr. gottlieb, by deputy marshal snyder, of harrisburg, and police officer ridgeley, of baltimore, under a warrant from commissioner mcallister. smith endeavored to escape, when ridgeley drew a pistol and shot him dead! ridgeley was demanded by the governor of pennsylvania, of the governor of maryland, and the demand was referred to the maryland legislature. hon. j.r. giddings proposed the erection of a monument to smith. james phillips, who had resided in _harrisburg, penn._, for fourteen years, was arrested may , , as the former slave of dennis hudson, of culpepper county, virginia, afterwards bought by henry t. fant, of fauquier county. he was brought before united states commissioner mcallister. judge mckinney volunteered his services to defend the alleged fugitive. the commissioner, as soon as possible, ordered the man to be delivered up; and, after fourteen years' liberty, he was taken back to slavery in virginia. afterwards, bought for $ , and taken back to harrisburg. _wilkesbarre, penn._, (summer of .) mr. harvey arrested and fined for shielding a slave. _sacramento, california_; a man named lathrop claimed another as his slave, and judge fry decided that the claim was good, and ordered the slave to be surrendered. mr. lathrop left, with his slave, for the atlantic states. _a beautiful young woman_, nearly white, was pursued by her owner [and father] to new york, (end of june, .) there a large reward was offered to a police officer to discover her, place of residence. it was discovered, and measures taken for her apprehension; but the alarm had been taken, and she escaped. _sacramento, california_; three men were seized by a mr. perkins, of mississippi. the court decided them to be his property and they were carried back to mississippi.--_standard_, july , . _petersburg, penn._ two fugitives from alabama slavery were overtaken, and taken back, september, . john henry wilson, a lad of fourteen years, kidnapped from danville, pennsylvania, and taken to baltimore, where he was, offered for sale to john n. denning. kidnappers committed to jail, october, . [--> daniel webster, the endorser of the fugitive slave law, died at marshfield, mass., october th, , in the very height of the law's triumphant operation.] _louisa_, a colored woman, claimed by mrs. reese, of san francisco, california, was seized by five armed men, and put on board steamer golden gate, and carried it is not known whither. the aid of the law was not invoked. the california _christian advocate_, from which the above is taken, says, "two colored men, stewards on the golden gate, were sent back to the states on the last trip under the state fugitive law." _a mulatto woman, in san francisco_, was ordered to be delivered to her claimant, t.t. smith, jackson country, missouri, by "justice shepherd,"--_san francisco herald_--in _standard_, november , . _sandusky, ohio._ two men, two women, and several children were arrested and taken from a steamboat just about to leave for detroit. taken before mayor follett, by a man who claimed to be their owner. r.r. sloane, esq., was employed as counsel for the slaves. no one claiming custody of the slaves, or producing any writs or warrants, mr. sloane signified to the crowd present that there appeared to be no cause for the detention of the persons. immediately a rush was made for the door. a man, who before had been silent, exclaimed, "here are the papers--i own the slaves--i'll hold you individually responsible for their escape." the slaves escaped into canada, october, . mr. sloane was afterwards prosecuted for the value of the slaves, and judgment given against him to the amount of $ , . _thirty slaves_, says the _maysville_ (ky.) _eagle_, "escaped from mason and bracken counties, a short time ago. some of them were captured in ohio, by their owners, at a distance of about forty miles from the river." "they brought the captured slaves home without encountering the least obstacle, or even an unkind word."--_standard_, november , . the lemmon slaves. at new york, eight persons, claimed by jonathan lemmon, of norfolk, virginia, as his slaves, were brought before judge paine, november, . it appeared that they had been brought to new york by their owner, with a view of taking them to texas, as his slaves. mr. louis napoleon, a respectable colored man, of new york, procured a writ of habeas corpus, under which they were brought before the court. their liberation was called for, under the state law, not being fugitives, but brought into a free state by their owner. said owner appeared, with henry d. lapaugh as his counsel, aided by mr. clinton. at their urgent request, the case was postponed from time to time, when judge paine, with evident reluctance, decreed the freedom of the slaves. e.d. culver and john jay, esqs., were counsel for the slaves. the merchants and others of new york subscribed and paid mr. lemmon the sum of $ , , for loss of his slaves. the new york _journal of commerce_ was very active in raising this money. the same men were invited to contribute something for the destitute men, women, and children claimed by lemmon. the whole amount given by them all, was two dollars. about one thousand dollars were raised for them among the better disposed but less wealthy class. thomas brown alias george bordley, _philadelphia, november, _, was claimed by one andrew pearce, cecil county, maryland. given up to claimant by commissioner ingraham. the arrest of the man was made by the notorious kidnapper, george f. alberti. mr. pettit, counsel for the claimant. [transcriber's note: the following note is inserted after the following section but does not refer to any specific reported incident.] --> the slaveholders of kentucky begin forming associations for mutual protection against loss of runaway slaves. the preamble of the plan of association proposed at a meeting at minerva kentucky, held in the winter of - , is as follows:--"whereas it has become absolutely necessary for the slave-owners of kentucky to take such steps as will secure their property, we, the citizens of mass. and bracken counties, do recommend," &c. [end note] richard neal, free colored man, kidnapped in philadelphia and carried from the city in a carriage towards maryland. a writ of _habeas corpus_ was obtained, the kidnappers were overtaken, and neal brought back after resistance and various hindrances. the supreme court of pennsylvania discharged him. february, . _ten slaves_, arrested in indiana, and taken back to tennessee, by w. carney and others. resistance was made, and w. carney "was very badly injured during the fracas."--_nashville ----_, march , . [transcribers' note: ---- substituted for word cut off on original page.] _alton, illinois._ a man claimed to belong to walter carrico, of warren county, missouri, was arrested by police officers from st. louis. after being lodged in jail in st. louis he made his escape, and again went into illinois. he was pursued, found, and taken back to st. louis.--_st. louis republican_, march, . amanda, a slave girl, was brought to st. louis, from near memphis, tennessee, a year before, by a son of her master, and by him set free, without his father's consent. after the father's death, an attempt was made to seize amanda, and take her back to tennessee without trial. this was prevented by officers, the girl taken from the steamboat cornelia, and brought before levi davis, united states commissioner. he decided in favor of the claimants, (the heirs of the estate, of course.)--_st. louis republican_, march , . jane trainer, a colored child, about ten years old, in the possession of mrs. rose cooper, _alias_ porter, (a woman admitted by her counsel to be a common prostitute,) was brought before judge duer, of new york city, by a writ of _habeas corpus_, which had been applied for by charles trainer, the father of the child, (a free colored man, who had followed the parties from mobile to new york,) and who desired that the custody of his daughter's person should be granted to him. [june, , and previous.] judge duer decided that it was not within his jurisdiction to determine to whom the custody of the child belonged; the supreme court of new york must decide that. judge d. proposed to both parties that the child should be put into his hands, and he would provide a proper person for her care and education, but the woman (porter) would not consent to this. she evidently designed to train up the child for a life of shame, and perhaps of slavery also. the case was brought by a writ of _habeas corpus_, before judge barculo, of the supreme court, sitting at brooklyn. the effort to serve the writ was at first defeated by the notorious new york bully, captain isaiah rynders, acting, it was said, under the advice of james t. brady, counsel for mrs. porter. for this interference with, the law, rynders and some others were arrested and taken before judge barculo, who let them off on their making an apology! the second attempt to serve the writ on the child was more successful. after hearing counsel, judge barculo adjudged "that the said charles trainer is entitled to the care and custody of said jane trainer, and directing her to be delivered to him as her father," &c. in giving his decision, judge b. said, "it is not to be assumed that a child under fourteen years of age is possessed of sufficient discretion to choose her own guardian; a house of ill-fame is not a suitable place, nor one of its inmates a proper person for the education of such a child." jane trainer's mother was afterwards bought from slavery in mobile, alabama, and enabled to join her husband and child. in , charles trainer obtained a verdict in king's county court, new york, for $ damages, against rose cooper. [n.b. though not strictly a case under the fugitive slave law, this is very properly inserted here, as the whole spirit of the woman, of her counsel, and of the means he took to accomplish his base designs, was clearly instigated by that law, and by the malignant influences it brought into action against the colored people, both slave and free.] basil white, philadelphia, was summarily surrendered into slavery in maryland, by united states commissioner ingraham, june , . he was betrayed into the clutches of the kidnapper alberti, by a colored man named john dorsey. _two slaves_ of sylvester singleton, living near burlington, (ky.?) escaped and reached columbus, ohio; were there overtaken by their master, who secured them and took them back with him.--_cincinnati enquirer_. john freeman, a free colored man, seized in indianapolis, and claimed as the slave of pleasant ellington, a methodist church-member, (summer, ,) of missouri. freeman pledged himself to prove that he was not the person he was alleged to be. the united states marshal consented to his having time for this, provided he would go to jail, and pay _three dollars a day_ for a guard to keep him secure! bonds to any amount, to secure the marshal against loss, if freeman could go at large, were rejected. freeman's counsel went to georgia, and "after many days returned with a venerable and highly respectable gentleman from georgia, mr. patillo, (post-master of the place where he resides,) who had voluntarily made the long journey for the sole purpose of testifying to his knowledge of freeman, and that he was well known to be free!" but freeman was still kept in jail. after several days, ellington brought witnessess to prove f. to be his slave. the witnesses, and liston (counsel for ellington) wished to have freeman strip himself, to be examined naked. by advise of his counsel he refused. the marshal took him to his cell, and compelled him to strip. the witnesses then swore that he was ellington's property. freeman's counsel produced further evidence that he had been known as a free man _twenty_ years. ellington claimed that he had escaped from him _sixteen_ years before. the man who did escape from ellington, just sixteen years before, was discovered to be living near malden, canada. two of the kentucky witnesses visited and recognized him. freeman was then released, but with a large debt upon him, $ , , which had grown up by the unusually heavy expenses of his defence and long imprisonment, freeman brought a suit against ellington for false imprisonment laying damages at $ , . a verdict for $ , was given in his favor, which was agreed to by ellington's counsel.--_indiana free democrat_, may, . _three slaves_, two men and a girl, fled from near maysville, kentucky, into ohio. were pursued by their owners and assistants, five men armed, and were overtaken, says the maysville _weekly express_, "at the bridge over rattlesnake creek, on the petersburg and greenfield road, about ten o'clock at night," the slaves being, armed, and accompanied by a white man. both parties fired, the negro girl was wounded, but still fled; one of the negro men was also wounded, and, says the maysville paper, they "were tracked a mile and a half by the blood." the other slave was secured and taken back to kentucky, "much bruised and cut in the affray." "the white man," says the same paper, "was also caught and beaten in a very severe manner with a club, and strong hopes are entertained that he will die."--_wilmington (ohio) republican_, july, , . _a colored girl_, between four and five years old, suddenly disappeared from providence, r.i., july , ; at the same time, a mulatto woman, who had been heard to make inquiries about the child, was missing also. believed to be a case of kidnapping. _a negro boy_, says the memphis _inquirer_, "left his owner in this city," and went on board the steamboat aurilla wood, bound for cincinnati. by a telegraphic message he was intercepted, taken from the boat at cairo, illinois, and taken back to memphis. (summer, .) george w. mcquerry, _cincinnati, ohio_. a colored man, who had resided three or four years in ohio, and married a free woman, by whom he had three children, was remanded to slavery by judge mclean (august, .) the man was taken by the united states marshal, with a posse, across the river to covington, kentucky, and there delivered to his _master_! _two men kidnapped_ from chicago, and taken to st. louis. see _chicago_ tribune, quoted in _standard_, aug. , . _three slaves_ taken by _habeas corpus_, from steamboat tropic, and brought before judge flinn, at cincinnati, august, . the woman hannah expressed a wish to return to her master in the boat. judge flinn ordered her into the custody of the claimants without investigation. judge f. asked hannah if she had the custody of the child susan, to which she answered that she had. whereupon the judge also ordered her back into the custody of the claimants, without examination. mr. jolliffe protested against ordering the child back without examination. the court said they would take the responsibility. the examination then proceeded in the case of the man edward. it appeared that they were purchased in virginia, to be conveyed to mississippi. the boat stopped at cincinnati, and the slaves were twice taken by the agent of the owners on shore, and upon the territory of ohio. mr. jolliffe commenced his argument at , p.m., and argued that the slaves, being brought by their owners upon free territory, were legally free. mr. j., before finishing, was taken ill, and obliged to leave the court-room; he first begged the court to adjourn until morning, which was refused by judge flinn. judge keys said the ohio river was a highway for all states bordering on it, whose citizens had a right also to use the adjacent shores for purposes necessary to navigation. mr. zinn stated that mr. jolliffe had been obliged to retire, in consequence of illness, and had requested him to urge the court to continue the case. judge flinn said--"the case will he decided to-night; that is decided on. we have not been silting here four or five hours to determine whether we will decide the case or not. it will be decided, and you may come up to it sideways or square; or any way you please; you must come to it." mr. zinn said he was not going to argue. he had made the request out of courtesy to a professional brother. he doubted the power of the court to deliver the boy into slavery. judge flinn said--"i do not wish to hear any arguments of that nature." the man was then ordered to be taken by the sheriff, and delivered to claimant on board the boat,--which was done.--_cincinnati gazette_, th august, . patrick sneed, a colored waiter in the cataract house, niagara falls, arrested on the pretended charge of murder committed in savannah, georgia. he was brought, by _habeas corpus_, before judge sheldon, at buffalo, (september, ,) and by him ordered to be "fully discharged." bill, [or william thomas,] a colored waiter at the phenix hotel, wilkesbarre, penn., described as a "tall, noble-looking, intelligent, and active mulatto, nearly white," was attacked by "deputy marshal wynkoop," sept. , , and four other persons, (three of them from virginia.) these men came "suddenly, from behind, knocked him down with a mace, and partially shackled him." he struggled hard against the five, shook them off, and with the handcuff, which had been secured to his right wrist only "inflicted some hard wounds on the countenances" of his assailants. covered with blood, he broke from them, rushed from the house, and plunged in the river close by, exclaiming, "i will be drowned rather than taken alive." he was pursued, fired upon repeatedly, ordered to come out of the water, where he stood immersed to his neck, or "they would blow his brains out." he replied, "i will die first." they then deliberately fired at him four or five different times, the last ball supposed to have struck on his head, for his face was instantly covered with blood, and he sprang up and shrieked. the by-standers began to cry "shame" and the kidnappers retired a short distance for consultation. bill came out of the water and lay down on the shore. his pursuers, supposing him dying, said, "dead niggers are not worth taking south." some one brought and put on him a pair of pantaloons. he was helped to his feet by a colored man named rex; on seeing which, wynkoop and party headed him and presented their revolvers, when bill again ran into the river, "where he remained upwards of an hour, nothing but his head above water, covered with blood, and in full view of hundreds who lined the banks." his claimants dared not follow him into the water; for, as he said afterward, "he would have died contented, could he have carried two or three of them down with him." preparations [rather slow it would appear,] were made to arrest the murderous gang, but they had departed from the place. bill then waded some distance up the stream, and "was found by some women flat on his face in a corn-field. they carried him to a place of safety, dressed his wounds," and the suffering man was seen no more in wilkesbarre.--_correspondence of new york tribune_. wynkoop and another were afterwards arrested in philadelphia, on a charge of riot, the warrant issuing from a state magistrate of wilkesbarre, on the complaint of william c. gildersleeve, of the place. mr. jackson, the constable who held them in custody, was brought before judge grier, of the united states supreme court, by _habeas corpus_. judge grier, during the examination, said:-- "i will not have the officers of the united states harassed at every step in the performance of their duties by every petty magistrate who chooses to harass them, or by any unprincipled interloper who chooses to make complaints against them--for i know something of the man who makes this complaint." "if this man gildersleeve fails to make out the facts set forth in the warrant of arrest, i will request the prosecuting attorney of luzerne county to prosecute him for perjury. * * * if any tuppenny magistrate, or any unprincipled interloper can come in, and cause to be arrested the officers of the united states, whenever they please, it is a sad affair. * * * if _habeas corpuses_ are to be taken out alter that manner, i will have an indictment sent to the united states grand jury against the person who applies for the writ, or assists in getting it, the lawyer who defends it, and the sheriff who serves the writ. * * * i will see that my officers are protected." on a subsequent day, judge grier gave an elaborate opinion, reciting the facts in the case, _as stated by the prisoners_, and ordering them to be _discharged_! he said:--"we are unable to perceive, in this transaction, anything worthy of blame in the conduct of these officers in their unsuccessful endeavors to fulfil a most dangerous and disgusting duty; except, perhaps, a want of sufficient courage and perseverance in the attempt to execute the writ!" wynkoop and the other were discharged by judge kane on the ground that they did only what their duty, under the law, required. (may, .) _a family of colored persons_, at uniontown, pa., were claimed as slaves by a man in virginia. they admitted that they had been his slaves, but declared that they had come into pennsylvania with their master's consent and knowledge, on a visit to some friends in fayette county, and were not, therefore, _fugitives_. this was overruled, and the negroes were sent back by a united states commissioner, name not given. (september, .)[a]--_pittsburgh saturday visiter_. [footnote a: _a correspondent_ of the _new york evening post_, writing from columbus, ohio, september , , states that a very large number of fugitive slaves are continually passing through that state; that they are generally armed; and that they find increasing sympathy among the people on the road, and the boatmen on the lakes.] _a desperate fight_ between a party of four fugitives and about double the number of whites, took place in carroll county, maryland. four white men shot--none dangerously. two of the slaves wounded, one severely. they were captured. (october, .)--_westminster (md.) democrat_. _washington, indiana._ in april, , george, a negro man, was arrested and claimed by a mr. rice, of kentucky, as his slave. judge clemens ordered his surrender to rice, who took him to louisville, and there sold him to a slave-trader, who took him to memphis, tennessee. here a man from mississippi claimed that george was _his_ slave, obtained a writ of replevin, and took possession of him. joshua glover, colored man, claimed as the slave of b.s. garland, of st. louis county, missouri, was arrested near racine, wisconsin, about the th of march, . arrest made by five men, who burst suddenly into his shanty, put a pistol to his head, felled him to the ground, handcuffed him, and took him in a wagon to milwaukee jail, a distance of twenty-five miles. they swore that if he shouted or made the least noise, they would kill him instantly. when visited, says the _milwaukee sentinel_, "we found him in his cell. he was cut in two places on the head; the front of his shirt and vest were soaking and stiff with his own blood." a writ of _habeas corpus_ was immediately issued; also a warrant for the arrest of the five men who assaulted and beat him in his shanty. thousands of people collected around the jail and court-house, "the excitement being intense." a vigilance committee of twenty-five persons was appointed to watch the jail at night and see that glover was not secretly taken away. the next day, at about five o'clock, p.m., a considerable accession of persons being made to the crowd, and it appearing that every attempt to save glover by the laws of wisconsin had been overruled by united states judge miller, a demand was made for the man. this being refused, an attack was made upon the door with axes, planks, &c. it was broken in, the inner door and wall broken through, and glover taken from his keepers, brought out, placed in a wagon, and driven off at great speed. s.m. booth, editor of the _milwaukee free democrat_, charles clement, of the _racine advocate_, w.h. waterman, and george s. wright were arrested for aiding and abetting the rescue of glover. booth was subsequently discharged by the supreme court of wisconsin, on the ground that the fugitive slave law is unconstitutional. he was, however, re-arrested, and held to answer in the united states courts, on the same charge; the offered bail was refused, and he was lodged in jail. the case was subsequently tried before the district court of the united states, at milwaukee, on the question as to the right of a state judiciary to release prisoners under a writ of _habeas corpus_, who may be in the lawful custody of united states officers; and also to determine the constitutionality of the fugitive slave law. (_washington star_, september , .) the attorney general, caleb cushing, made himself very active in pushing forward this case. mr. booth, early in , was fined one thousand dollars and sentenced to one month's imprisonment. john ryecraft, for same offence, was sentenced in a fine of two hundred dollars and imprisonment for ten days. all for acts such as christianity and humanity enjoin. on a writ of _habeas corpus_, messrs. booth and ryecraft were taken before the wisconsin supreme court, sitting at madison, and discharged from imprisonment. this, however, did not relieve them from the fines imposed by the united states court. the owner of the slave brought a civil suit against mr. booth, claiming $ , damages for the loss of his slave. judge miller decided, july, , that the $ , must be paid. edward davis, _march, _. as the steamboat keystone state, captain hardie, from savannah, was entering delaware bay, bound to philadelphia, the men engaged in heaving the lead heard a voice from under the guards of the boat, calling for help. a rope was thrown, and a man caught it and was drawn into the boat in a greatly exhausted state. he had remained in that place from the time of leaving savannah, the water frequently sweeping over him. some bread in his pocket was saturated with salt water and dissolved to a pulp. the captain ordered the vessel to be put in to newcastle, delaware, where the fugitive, hardly able to stand, was taken on shore and put in jail, to await the orders of his owner, in savannah. davis claimed to be a free man, and a native of philadelphia, and described many localities there. before judge bradford, at newcastle, davis's freedom was fully proved, and he was discharged. he was again arrested and placed in jail on the oath of captain hardie, that he believed him to be a fugitive slave and a fugitive from justice. after some weeks' delay, he was brought to trial before united states commissioner samuel guthrie, who ordered him to be delivered up to his claimant on the ground that he was legally a slave, though free-born. it appeared in evidence that davis had formerly gone from pennsylvania to reside in maryland, contrary to the laws of that state; which forbid free colored persons from other states to come there to reside; and being unable to pay the fine imposed for this offence (!) by the orphan's (!) court of harford county, was committed to jail and sold as a slave for life, by robert mcgaw, sheriff of the county, to dr. john g. archer, of louisiana, from whom he was sold to b.m. campbell, who sold him to william a. dean, of macon, georgia, the present claimant. thus a free-born citizen of pennsylvania was consigned, _by law_ to slavery for life: [-->in may, , the kansas-nebraska bill was enacted.] anthony burns, arrested in boston, may , , as the slave of charles f. suttle, of alexandria, virginia, who was present to claim him, accompanied by a witness from richmond, virginia, named william brent. burns was arrested on a warrant granted by united states commissioner edward greeley loring, taken to the court-house in boston, ironed, and placed in an upper story room under a strong guard. the hearing commenced the next morning before mr. loring, but was adjourned until saturday; may , to give the counsel for a. burns time to examine the case. on friday evening, ( th,) an attack was made upon the court-house by a body of men, with the evident design of rescuing burns; a door was forced in, and one of the marshal's special guard, (named batchelder,) was killed, whether by the assailants or by one of his own party is uncertain, it being quite dark; upon the cry of batchelder that he was killed, the attacking party retreated and made no further attempt. the trial of the case proceeded on saturday, again on monday, tuesday, and wednesday, when the commissioner said he would give his decision on friday. during the trial, burns was continually surrounded by a numerous body-guard, (said to be at least one hundred and twenty-five men,) selected by watson freeman, united states marshal, from the vilest sinks of scoundrelism, corruption, and crime in the city to be deputy marshals for the occasion. these men, with every form of loathsome impurity and hardened villainy stamped upon their faces, sat constantly around the prisoner while in the court-room, the handles of pistols and revolvers visibly protruding from their breast pockets. a company of united states troops, from the navy yard, occupied the court-house, and guarded all avenues to the united states court-room. the testimony of numerous highly respectable witnesses was adduced to show that anthony burns was in boston a month earlier than the time at which he was said to have left richmond. r.h. dana, jr. and charles m. ellis, counsel for burns, made very eloquent and able arguments in his behalf. seth j. thomas and e.g. parker were the counsel for suttle, the case being constantly watched and aided by the united states district attorney, benjamin f. hallett, who was in regular telegraphic communication with the president of the united states, (f. pierce,) at washington. an effort was made, and followed up with much patience, to buy burns's freedom, suttle having offered to sell him for $ , . the money was raised and tendered to suttle, when difficulties were interposed, especially by mr. attorney hallett, and the attempt failed. suttle afterwards declared he would not sell burns for any sum, but that he should go back to virginia. on friday morning, june d, commissioner loring gave his decision, overriding all the testimony in burns's favor, using certain expressions which fell from burns in the first heat and confusion of his arrest, as testimony against him, and concluding with ordering him to be delivered up to the claimant. some four hours were consumed in getting court street, state street, &c., in a state of readiness for the removal of the prisoner. a regiment of massachusetts infantry had been posted on boston common, under command of col. benjamin franklin (!) edmands, from an early hour of the day, in anticipation of the commissioner's decision. these troops, which had been called out by the mayor, jerome v.c. smith, were marched to the scene of the kidnapping, and so placed as to guard every street, lane, and other avenue leading to state street, &c., the route through which the slave procession was to pass. no individual was suffered to pass within these guards; but acts of violence were committed by them on several individuals. court square was occupied by two companies of united states troops, (chiefly irishmen,) and a large field-piece was drawn into the centre. all preparations being made, watson freeman (united states marshal) issued forth from the court-house with his prisoner, who walked with a firm step, surrounded by the body-guard of criminals before mentioned, with drawn united states sabres in their hands, and followed by united states troops with the aforesaid piece of artillery. preceded by a company of massachusetts mounted troops, under command of colonel isaac h. wright, this infamous procession took its way down court street, state street and commerce street, (for the proprietors of long wharf refused to allow them to march upon their premises, through a public highway in all ordinary cases,) to the t wharf, where the prisoner was taken on board a steam tow-boat, and conveyed down the harbor to the united states revenue cutter morris; in which he was transported to virginia. it may not be amiss to have given, in a single instance, this somewhat detailed account of the process of seizing, trying, and delivering up a man into slavery, whose only crime was that he had fled from a bondage "one hour of which is fraught with more misery than ages of that which our fathers rose in rebellion to throw off," thomas jefferson, the virginian slaveholder, himself being witness. anthony burns, having been sold into north carolina, was afterwards purchased with money subscribed in boston and vicinity, for the purpose, and returned to boston. the _illegality_ of the mayor's conduct in ordering out the military, and giving to the colonel of the regiment the entire control of the same, was fully shown by different and highly competent writers, among whom was p.w. chandler, esq., whose two articles, in the _boston advertiser_, deserve to be remembered with respect. the mayor's excuse was that he desired to _keep the peace_. but these massachusetts troops received pay for their day's work from the united states government. judge hoar, in a charge to the grand jury, declared the act of the mayor, in calling out the militia, to be an infraction of law. stephen pembroke, and his two sons, _robert_ and _jacob_, and years of age, were arrested in new york almost simultaneously with the seizure of burns in boston; claimed as the slaves of david smith and jacob h. grove, of sharpsburg, washington county, maryland. they escaped may st, and came to new york, followed closely by their masters, who discovered their retreat in thompson street, and pounced upon them by night. at - / o'clock, next morning, they were taken before united states commissioner g.w. morton, "where the case came up for the most summary and hasty hearing that has ever characterized our judicial proceedings." dunning and smith were counsel for the masters, but the fugitives had no counsel; and the hearing was finished, and a warrant granted to the slave claimants before the matter became known in the city. when mr. jay and mr. culver hastened to the court-room to offer their services to the prisoners, as counsel, they were assured by officers, _and by commissioner morton himself_, that the men wanted no counsel, and were not in the building. on search, however, it was found they were in the building, locked up in a room. they said they desired counsel and the aid of friends. a writ of _habeas corpus_ was obtained, but before it could be served the three men had been removed from the state, and were on their way to baltimore. [see the published. card of e.d. culver, esq.] stephen pembroke was the brother, and his sons the nephews of rev. dr. pennington, of new york city, pastor of a presbyterian (colored) church. stephen pembroke was purchased and brought back to new york, ($ , having been contributed for that purpose,) and related his experience of the slave's life, at a public meeting, held in the broadway tabernacle, july , . his sons had been sold, and remained in slavery. james cotes, free man of color, residing in gibson county, indiana, went to jeffersonville, (ind.,) to take the cars for indianapolis. on going to the depot, at , a.m., for the morning train, he was knocked down, "beat over the head with a brick-bat, and cut with a bowie-knife, until subdued. he was then tied, and in open daylight in full view of our populace, borne off bleeding like a hog." he was undoubtedly taken to the jail, in louisville. on crossing the river to louisville he met the captain of a steamboat, who knew him to be a free man. (about june , .) the kidnapper was arrested and held to bail in the sum of $ , , to take his trial at next circuit court. _near cedarville, ohio, may , _, about noon, "a colored man, of middle age and respectable appearance, was walking on the columbus and xenia turnpike. he was alone. a man in a buggy overtook him, and invited him to ride, saying he was a friend to the colored man, and promising to assist him in obtaining his liberty." he took the colored man to the house of one chapman, "three miles south of selma, in greene county." there chapman and the other, (whose name was william mccord,) fell upon the colored man, struck him with a _colt_ upon the head, so that he bled severely, and bound his hands behind him. "soon after the negro got loose and ran down the road; mccord ran after him, crying 'catch the d----d horse thief,' &c., chapman and his son following; negro picked up a stone, the man a club and struck him on the head, so that he did not throw the stone. he was then tied, and helped by mccord and chapman to walk to the buggy. mccord asked chapman, the son, to accompany him to cincinnati with the colored man, promising to give him half the reward ($ ) if he would. they then started, driving very fast." "we had not gone over two or three miles," said chapman, "before the negro died, and after taking him two or three miles further, put him out, and left him as now discovered,"--viz. in a thick wood, one mile south of clifton. the above facts are taken from the testimony given at the coroner's inquest over the body. "the jury gave in substance the following verdict:--deceased came to his death by blows from a colt and club in the hands of one william mccord, assisted by the two chapmans." chapman, the son, said that mccord made him a proposition to join and follow kidnapping for a business, stating that he knew where he could get four victims immediately. mccord was taken and lodged in xenia jail. the chapmans bound over to take their trial for kidnapping.--_wilmington (ohio) herald of freedom_. _columbus, indiana._ a kentuckian endeavored to entice a little negro boy to go with him, and both were waiting to take the cars, when mischief was suspected, and a crowd of people proceeded to the depot, and made the kidnapper release his intended victim. (june, .)--_indiana free democrat_. ---- brown, a resident of henderson, kentucky, was arrested for aiding four female slaves to escape from union county, kentucky, to canada. united states marshal ward and sheriff gavitt, of indiana, made the arrest. he was lodged in henderson jail.--_evansville (ind.) journal_, june , . several kentucky planters, among them archibald dixon, raised $ in order to secure brown's conviction and sentence to penitentiary. [transcriber's note: the following note appears as a footnote to this section without specific reference to any of the cited cases.] --> the case of solomon northup, though not under the fugitive law, is so striking an illustration of the power which created that law, and of the constant danger which impends over every colored citizen of the northern states, fast threatening to include white citizens also, that it must not he passed over without mention. he was kidnapped in , from the state of new york, and kept in slavery twelve years. two men, named merrill and russell, were arrested and tried as his kidnappers, and the fact fully proven. but the case was got into the united states courts, and the criminals went unpunished. [end of note] _nine slaves_ left their masters in boone county, kentucky, on sunday, june , , having three horses with them. arrived at the river, they turned the horses back, and taking a skiff crossed at midnight to the ohio shore. after travelling two or three miles, they hid during monday in a clump of bushes. at night they started northward again. a man, named john gyser, met them and promised to assist them. he took them to a stable, where they were to remain until night. he immediately went to covington, kentucky, learned that $ , reward was offered for their apprehension, and gave information of their place of concealment. at evening a strong band of kentuckians, with united states deputy marshal george thayer, assisted by three cincinnati officers, surrounded the stable and took the nine prisoners, on a warrant issued by united states commissioner pendery. they were all given up to their claimants, and taken back to kentucky. _a new orleans correspondent of the new york tribune_, in a letter dated july , , writes, "during a recent trip up the river i was on several steamers, and on every boat they had one or more runaway slaves, who had been caught and were being taken in _irons_ to their _masters_." _on the steamer alvin adams_, at madison, indiana, a man was arrested as a fugitive and taken to louisville, kentucky. he was claimed as the slave of john h. page, of bowling green. the _louisville journal_, edited by a northern man, stigmatised him as a "rascal," for his attempt to be free. (july, .) _two colored men_, on their way to chicago, were seized and taken from the cars at lasalle, illinois, by three men, who said they were not officers. the colored men were known to be free; one was "a respectable resident of chicago." some of the passengers interfered; but it being night, and very dark, and the cars starting on the colored men were left in the hands of their kidnappers. _chicago, illinois._ three men from missouri, with a warrant from the governor of that state, to take a certain fugitive slave, seized a man whom they met in the street, bound him with a handkerchief, and to quicken his steps beat him with the butt of a pistol. he succeeded in shaking off his captors and fled, a pistol-bullet being sent after him, which did not hit him. he made good his escape. the men were arrested and held to trial for assault with deadly weapons. by an extraordinary conspiracy on the part of district attorney hoyne, sheriff bradley, and others, these men were taken from jail to be carried to springfield, illinois, two hundred miles distant, to appear before chief justice treat, that he might inquire "whether said alleged kidnappers were justly held to bail and imprisoned." it was so suddenly done that the counsel for the kidnapped man and for the state of illinois had not time to reach springfield before the men were discharged and on their way to missouri. the grand jury of the county (in which chicago is) had found a true bill against them, of which the sheriff professed to be ignorant, (which was deemed hardly possible,)--under which bill they would probably have been convicted and sentenced to the state prison. thus the omnipotent slave power reaches forth its hand into our most northern cities, end saves its minions from the punishment which their lawless acts have justly merited.--_chicago daily tribune_, sept. , . --> the three kidnappers published a statement in the _st. louis republican_ of september . henry massey, at philadelphia, september, , was brought before united states commissioner e.d. ingraham, claimed by franklin bright, of queen anne's county, maryland, as his slave. arrested in harrisburg. harvey, arrested near cumminsville, ohio,--escaped,--taken again in goshen, about ten miles from cincinnati, and lodged in the jail of that city. an investigation of the case was had before united states commissioner pendery, and the slave remanded to the custody of his master.--_cincinnati commercial_, september , . _byberry, pennsylvania, september , ._ a carriage load of suspicious looking men came to this place in the afternoon. they waited until nightfall, when they burst into the house of a colored family, "seized the man in presence of his wife and another woman, threatening to shoot them if they interfered--dragged him out, beating him over the head with a mace. the poor fellow continued to scream for help until his voice was stifled by his groans; they forced him into their carriage and drove off, before any effectual assistance could be offered." he was a sober and industrious man, and much respected. his wife was left heartbroken, with one child.--_norristown (pa.) olive branch_. _the frankfort (ky.) yeoman_, of november , , said:--"kidnapping free negroes in ohio, and deluding our slaves from their masters to recapture and sell them, is an established profession of a gang located upon the borders of the ohio river, combining with negro-traders in the interior of this state." the names of some employed in this business are given, two of whom, having been arrested and imprisoned, threatened to burn the city of frankfort for interrupting their business. jane moore, a free colored woman, at cincinnati, november, , seized in the house of her sister, (sycamore street,) beaten, and with the help of a deputy marshal from covington, kentucky, carried over to covington, and lodged in jail, on pretence of her being a fugitive slave. she was taken before the mayor of covington, "who heard the case with impartiality." her freedom was established, and she released. _at indianapolis, indiana, december, _, benjamin b. waterhouse was indicted for harboring fugitive slaves, contrary to the provisions of the fugitive law. he was found guilty, but the jury recommended him "to the favorable consideration of the court, and stated that the evidence was barely sufficient to convict." he was fined fifty dollars and to be imprisoned one hour, and the government to pay the costs.---_chicago tribune_. _a proposition for kidnapping_, on a large scale, was made by john h. pope, "police officer and constable," in a letter dated "frederick, maryland, united states of america, january , ," and addressed to mr. hays, sheriff of montreal, canada. "vast numbers of slaves," says mr. pope, "escaping from their masters or owners, succeed in reaching your provinces, and are, therefore, without the pale of the 'fugitive slave law,' and can only be restored by cunning, together with skill. large rewards are offered and will be paid for their return, and could i find an efficient person to act with me, a great deal of money could be made, as i would equally divide. * * * the only apprehension we have in approaching too far into canada is the fear of being arrested; and had i a good assistant in your city, who would induce the negroes to the frontier, i would be there to pay the cash. on your answer, i can furnish names and descriptions of negroes." this letter was published, doubtless at the montreal sheriff's request, in the _montreal gazette_, january , . --> the _montreal gazette_, of february , published a second letter from j.h. pope. _a warrant was issued in boston_, january , , by united states commissioner charles levi woodbury, for the arrest of john jackson, as a fugitive from service and labor in georgia. mr. jackson, who had been for some time in the city, was nowhere to be found. rosetta armstead, a colored girl, was taken by writ of _habeas corpus_ before judge jamison, at columbus, ohio. rosetta formerly belonged to ex-president john tyler, who _gave her_ to his daughter, the wife of rev. henry m. dennison, an episcopal clergyman of louisville, kentucky. mrs. d. having deceased, rosetta was to be sent back to virginia in care of an infant child, both being placed in charge of a dr. miller, a friend of mr. dennison. passing through ohio, the above writ was obtained. rosetta expressed her desire to remain in freedom in ohio. the case was removed to cincinnati, and was delayed until mr. dennison could arrive from louisville. (_ohio state journal_, march , .) the girl was set free; "but was again arrested by the united states marshal upon the same warrant which judge parker had declared illegal; thereupon another _habeas corpus_ was issued, which the marshal refused to obey; when he was fined $ , and imprisoned for contempt." even united states commissioner pendery, before whom the case was brought as that of a fugitive slave, pronounced the girl free, and she was placed in the care of a guardian. the united states marshal being taken by _habeas corpus_ before judge mclean, of the united states supreme court, was set at liberty, judge mcl. alleging that the proceedings in the state court were null and void! george clark, a colored boy, eighteen years of age, in pennsylvania, was decoyed into the house of one thompson, (february , ,) where he was seized by three men, one of whom was solomon snyders, a well known ruffian and kidnapper in the neighborhood, who said to him, "now, george, i am going to take you to your master." the screams of george fortunately brought deliverance to him. the three men were arrested, tried, and sentenced to imprisonment for kidnapping, by the court of dauphin county.--_norristown (penn.) olive branch_. _the norristown (penn.) olive branch_, (in connection with the last named case,) speaks of a case which had occurred a short time before, under the fugitive law, before united states commissioner mcallister, at harrisburg, pennsylvania, and which has not yet been mentioned in this record. a colored man and his wife, with their infant child, were taken, "one morning, very early," before commissioner richard mcallister, and before any counsel could reach the spot the case had been decided against the man and woman; but the babe, having been born in pennsylvania, they did not "dare to send that" into slavery; "so the only alternative was to take it away from its mother," which was done, and that evening the man and woman were taken south. no time had been allowed to bring forward witnesses in their behalf, and there was only a single witness against them, and he a boy about seventeen years old, and a relative of the slave-claimant. the woman's sufferings, on account of the separation from her child, seemed greater than for her own fate. the article from the norristown paper is in the _national anti-slavery standard_, june , . george mitchell, a young colored man, at san jose, california, arrested and taken before justice allen, april, , "charged with owing service and labor to one jesse c. cooper, of tennessee." mitchell was brought into california by his then owner, in , the year before the enactment of the fugitive slave law. his arrest was made, under a fugitive slave law of california. by _habeas corpus_ the case was carried before judge c.p. hester, of the district court. mitchell was discharged on the ground (we believe) that the california law was unconstitutional; also that the proceedings were "absolutely void." on the st april (or may) "another attempt was made to reduce george to slavery at san francisco." he was brought before the united states district court, judge hoffman presiding, claimed under the united states fugitive law as the property of the above-named cooper. [the result of the trial not known.]--_san jose telegraph_. _at dayville, connecticut_, june , , an attempt was made to seize a fugitive slave; "but the citizens interfered and the fugitive escaped." he was claimed by a resident of pomfret, who said he had bought him in cuba.--_hartford religious herald_. _at burlington, iowa_, a colored man, called dick, was arrested and taken before united states commissioner frazee. "much excitement was caused." he was claimed as belonging to thomas ruthford, clark county, missouri. dick was discharged as not being the man claimed. (june, .) _a white girl_, fourteen years of age, daughter of mr. samuel godshall, of downingtown, chester county, pennsylvania, while walking upon the road, was seized by two men, a plaster put upon her mouth, and she taken in a close carriage in the direction of maryland. after going twelve miles, they put her out of the carriage, "in a secluded and woody portion of the country, threatening to kill her if she made any alarm, when they drove away as fast as they could." some colored people met her, got the plaster off her mouth, and aided her home. it was supposed the kidnappers mistook her for a mulatto girl; but discovering their blunder dismissed her.--_philadelphia ledger_, july , . _the norristown (penn.) herald_ relates a case similar to the preceding. benjamin johnson, a white lad of fifteen, on his way from his father's, at evansburg, to s. jarrett's, near jeffersonville, was invited to ride by a man in a carriage. the man took him by an unusual route; night coming on, the boy was alarmed and attempted to escape, "when the villain caught him and drove off at full speed, and by threats and blows prevented him from making any alarm." he drove to a distance of fifteen miles beyond jeffersonville, when the boy succeeded in making his escape. (july, .) jane johnson, and her two sons, (colored,) brought into philadelphia (on their way to new york and thence to nicaragua) by john h. wheeler. stopped to dine at bloodgood's hotel. jane there made known her desire to be free. information of the same was conveyed to passmore williamson, secretary of the pennsylvania abolition society, an old association founded by benjamin franklin, benjamin rush, and others. mr. williamson went to the hotel, and found that the party had gone to the steamboat, at the foot of walnut street. he proceeded thither, found them, and told the mother that she and her sons had been legally made free by being brought by their master into a free state. after some delay, jane rose to leave the boat. wheeler endeavored to detain her. williamson held wheeler back, and the woman went on shore, a number of colored persons taking up the boys and carrying them from the boat. they were enabled to escape. (july , .) the celebrated case of passmore williamson followed, before judge kane, of the united states district court. (see "case of passmore williamson," reported in full, and published in philadelphia, by uriah hunt & son, .) on the th july, mr. williamson was committed to moyamensing prison, by judge kane, "for a contempt of the court in refusing to answer to the writ of _habeas corpus_;" mr. w. _having answered_ that he had not, and never had had, the custody of the three alleged slaves, and therefore could not produce them in court. mr. williamson was kept in prison until november d, when he was discharged by judge kane, the technical "contempt" having been removed. celeste, a mulatto woman, claimed as a slave, before judge burgoyne, cincinnati, ohio. it appeared that she was brought to cincinnati by her master, and she was set free.--_cincinnati gazette_, july , . _two fugitives_, in indiana, (september, ,) requested aid of the conductor of the madison and indianapolis railroad. the aid given was to take them back to madison, whence they were conveyed over the river to kentucky. before leaving that state they had been hunted and attacked by dogs. these they had despatched with their knives. the conductor was dismissed from his position. an agent of the express company was said to have aided him in the surrender of the men.--_madison courier_. jack, a colored boy, nine years of age, "claimed by joseph tucker, of mobile, as his slave, was sent back to his master from boston, in the brig selma, captain rogers, on the th inst." (october, .)--_boston times_. jacob green, a colored man, was seized near hollidaysburg, pennsylvania, by one parsons, as a fugitive slave. parsons could show no authority for detaining green, who, with the help of some bystanders, released himself and escaped.--_hollidaysburg standard_, october , . _four men indicted for kidnapping_ at greensburg, indiana, in the spring of . their names--david and thomas maple, morrison, and mccloskey. charged with kidnapping two men, whom they conveyed to a slave state, and sold as slaves. the two maples, fearing the indictment, absconded. the other two were arrested, and brought to trial in october, , at the state court, before judge logan. "defendants' counsel moved to quash the indictment, for the reason that the section of the statute of indiana against kidnapping was in violation of the acts of congress, and, therefore, void; and the court accordingly quashed the indictment"--_indianapolis journal_. _eight fugitives from kentucky_ reached adams county, ohio, closely followed by several kentuckians, who attempted to search the houses of several of the citizens. "the people, indignant at this outrage, assembled with arms, and placed an injunction upon these summary proceedings." "the men-hunters then offered $ , to any traitor who would betray the fugitives into their hands. but, so far as we have learned, the bribe was as unsuccessful as the attempted search." (november, .)--_carroll free press_. _at wilson's corner, bensalem, buck's county, pa._, dec. , , a colored man in the employ of john henderson was seized by three men, who tied him, threw him into a wagon, and drove off at full speed. they were seen, and quickly followed by men on horseback. after two hours' hard riding, the kidnappers were overtaken. a fight ensued--the black man was released; when three pistol-shots were fired by the kidnappers, killing a horse, and wounding one of the rescuing party severely. a statement of the facts was published, as an advertisement, in the _philadelphia ledger_, signed by william williams and john henderson. "_two very bright mulatto girls_," says the _staunton (va.) spectator_, "one belonging to mr. john churchman, and the other to the estate of colonel crawford, deceased, took the cars at staunton, on the morning of december , , and made their way successfully to baltimore, en route for a free state. at baltimore they were detected just as they were about to take the train for philadelphia, and information of their arrest was immediately forwarded to d. churchman, of this place." on the following friday they were taken back to virginia. "they were so nearly white that their success in imposing upon the conductors of the cars is not astonishing, and the only wonder is that they were detected at all. since their return, the negro girls have been sold--mr. churchman's for $ , , and the other for $ ." fanny, a colored child of fire years old, was taken from chicago, illinois, into tennessee, and sold for $ . a man named f.m. chapman, with his servant william r. tracy, were arrested as the kidnappers, and taken before justice dewolf. chapman claimed to have owned the child in arkansas, and to have brought her to illinois [thereby making her free.] he procured tracy to take the child to tennessee and sell her. the result of the case not known. (january, .) _two fugitives_, passing through ohio, (january, ,) were closely pursued and nearly overtaken at columbus, ohio. "ten minutes previous warning only saved the fugitives from their pursuers." deputy marshal j. underwood, being called on to act in the case, refused, and resigned his office, saying, he did not expect to be "called upon to help execute the odious fugitive slave law."--_cincinnati commercial_. [--> the following may, not improperly, find a place here.] the house of delegates of virginia, early in , adopted the following:--"_be it resolved by the general assembly_, that our representatives in congress are requested, and our senators be and are hereby instructed, to secure the passage of a law making full compensation to all owners whose slaves have or may hereafter escape into any of the non-slaveholding states of this union, and there be withheld from those to whom such service or labor may be due." _fourteen persons of color_, held at los angelos, california, early in , as the servants of one robert smith, were brought before judge benjamin hays, on a writ of _habeas corpus_. smith alleged that he formerly resided in mississippi, where he owned these persons; was now about to remove to texas, and designed to take these persons with him as his slaves. judge hays decided that they were all free, and those under twenty-one years of age were placed in the charge of the sheriff, as their special guardian.--_los angelos star._ the opinion of judge hays (who was said to be a native of south carolina,) is a very able one, and under the circumstances, of much interest. it may be found in the _standard_, of april , . _two colored lads_, named ralls and logan, living in cincinnati, were kidnapped thence by two men, named orr and simpkins, and taken to st. louis, missouri, where the men tried to sell them. the men were arrested as kidnappers. (march, .) _the decatur (illinois) chronicle_ states that "a man charged with being a fugitive slave was recently arrested at that place and carried off, no one knows where. the sheriff of the county was the willing instrument in the hands of the claimants; no attempt to appeal to the law was made, the negro being carried off as if he were a stray horse or dog." the _chicago tribune_ says: "if this is a true statement of the affair, that sheriff has laid himself liable to the charge of kidnapping, and should at once be proceeded against with such rigor as his offence demands." (april, .) margaret garner _and seven others_, at cincinnati, ohio, january, . of this recent and peculiarly painful case we give a somewhat detailed account, mainly taken from the cincinnati papers of the day. about ten o'clock on sunday, th january, , a party of eight slaves--two men, two women, and four children--belonging to archibald k. gaines and john marshall, of richwood station, boone county, kentucky, about sixteen miles from covington, escaped from their owners. three of the party are father, mother, and son, whose names are simon, mary, and simon, jr.; the others are margaret, wife of simon, jr., and her four children. the three first are the property of marshall, and the others of gaines. they took a sleigh and two horses belonging to mr. marshall, and drove to the river bank, opposite cincinnati, and crossed over to the city on the ice. they were missed a few hours after their flight, and mr. gaines, springing on a horse, followed in pursuit. on reaching the river shore, he learned that a resident had found the horses standing in the road. he then crossed over to the city, and after a few hours diligent inquiry, he learned that his slaves were in a house about a quarter of a mile below the mill creek bridge, on the river road, occupied by a colored man named kite. he proceeded to the office of united states commissioner john l. pendery, and procuring the necessary warrants, with united states deputy marshal ellis, and a large body of assistants, went on monday to the place where his fugitives were concealed. arriving at the premises, word was sent to the fugitives to surrender. a firm and decided negative was the response. the officers, backed by a large crowd, then made a descent. breaking open the doors, they were assailed by the negroes with cudgels and pistols. several shots were fired, but only one took effect, so far as we could ascertain. a bullet struck a man named john patterson, one of the marshal's deputies; tearing off a finger of his right hand, and dislocating several of his teeth. no other of the officers were injured, the negroes being rendered powerless before they could reload their weapons. on looking around, horrible was the sight which met the officers' eyes. in one corner of the room was a nearly white child, bleeding to death. her throat was cut from ear to ear, and the blood was spouting out profusely, showing that the deed was but recently committed. scarcely was this fact noticed, when a scream issuing from an adjoining room drew their attention thither. a glance into the apartment revealed a negro woman holding in her hand a knife literally dripping with gore, over the heads of two little negro children, who were crouched to the floor, and uttering the cries whose agonized peals had first startled them. quickly the knife was wrested from the hand of the excited woman, and a more close investigation instituted as to the condition, of the infants. they were discovered to be cut across the head and shoulders, but not very seriously injured, although the blood trickled down their backs and upon their clothes. the woman avowed herself the mother of the children, and said that she had killed one and would like to kill the three others, rather than see them again reduced to slavery! by this time the crowd about the premises had become prodigious, and it was with no inconsiderable difficulty that the negroes were secured in carriages, and brought to the united states district court-rooms, on fourth street. the populace followed the vehicle closely, but evinced no active desire to effect a rescue. rumors of the story soon circulated all over the city. nor were they exaggerated, as is usually the case. for once, reality surpassed the wildest thought of fiction. the slaves, on reaching the marshal's office, seated themselves around the stove with dejected countenances, and preserved a moody silence, answering all questions propounded to them in monosyllables, or refusing to answer at all. simon is apparently about fifty-five years of age, and mary about fifty. the son of mr. marshall, who is here, in order, if possible, to recover the property of his father, says that they have always been faithful servants, and have frequently been on this side of the river. simon, jr., is a young man, about twenty-two years old, of a very lithe and active form, and rather a mild and pleasant countenance. margaret is a dark mulatto, twenty-three years of age; her countenance is far from being vicious, and her senses, yesterday, appeared partially stultified from the exciting trials she had endured. after remaining about two hours at the marshal's office, commissioner pendery announced that the slaves would be removed to the custody of the united states marshal until nine o'clock tuesday morning, when the case would come up for examination. the slaves were then taken down stairs to the street-door, when a wild and exciting scene presented itself; the sidewalks and the middle of the street were thronged with people, and a couple of coaches were at the door in order to convey the captives to the station-house. the slaves were guarded by a strong posse of officers, and as they made their appearance on the street, it was evident that there was a strong sympathy in their favor. when they were led to the carriage-doors, there were loud cries of "drive on!" "don't take them!" the coachmen, either from alarm or from a sympathetic feeling, put the whip to their horses, and drove rapidly off, leaving the officers with their fugitives on the sidewalk. they started on foot with their charge to the hammond street station-house, where they secured their prisoners for the night. the slaves claimed that they had been on this side of the river frequently, by consent of their masters. about three o'clock application was made to judge burgoyne for a writ of _habeas corpus_, to bring the slaves before him. this was put in the hands of deputy sheriff buckingham to serve, who, accompanied by several assistants, proceeded to hammond street station-house, where the slaves were lodged. mr. bennett, deputy united states marshal, was unwilling to give them up, and a long time was spent parleying between the marshal and the sheriff's officers. the sheriff being determined that the writ should be executed, mr. bennett went out to take counsel with his friends. finally, through the advice of mayor faran, mr. bennett agreed to lodge the slaves in the jail, ready to be taken out at the order of judge burgoyne. mr. buckingham obtained the complete control of the slaves. on the morning of the th, sheriff brashears, being advised by lawyers that judge burgoyne had no right to issue his writ for the slaves, and remembering judge mclean's decision in the rosetta case, made a return on the writ of _habeas corpus_, that the slaves were in the custody of the united states marshal, and, therefore, without his jurisdiction. this returned the slaves to the custody of the marshal. by agreement, the parties permitted the slaves to remain in the county jail during that day, with the understanding that their examination should commence the next morning, before commissioner pendery. an inquest had been held on the body of the child which was killed, and a verdict was found by the jury charging the death of the child upon the mother, who it was said would be held under the laws of ohio to answer the charge of murder. an examination took place on wednesday, before the united states commissioner. time was allowed their counsel to obtain evidence to show that they had been brought into the state at former times by their masters. a meeting of citizens was held on thursday evening, to express sympathy with the alleged fugitives. the _cincinnati commercial_ of january , said:--the mother is of an interesting appearance, a mulatto of considerable intelligence of manner, and with a good address. in reply to a gentleman who yesterday complimented her upon the looks of her little boy, she said, "you should have seen my little girl that--that--[she did not like to say, was killed]--that died, that was the bird." the _cincinnati gazette_, of january , said:--we learn that the mother of the dead child acknowledges that she had killed it, and that her determination was to have killed all the children, and then destroy herself, rather than return to slavery. she and the others complain of cruel treatment on the part of their master, and allege that as the cause of their attempted escape. the coroner's jury, after examining the citizens present at the time of the arrest, went to the jail last evening, and examined the grandmother of the child--one of the slaves. she testified that the mother, when she saw they would be captured, caught a butcher knife and ran to the children, saying she would kill them rather than to have them return to slavery, and cut the throat of the child, calling on the grandmother to help her kill them. the grandmother said she would not do it, and hid under a bed. the jury gave a verdict as follows:--that said child was killed by its mother, margaret garner, with a butcher knife, with which she cut its throat. two of the jurors also find that the two men arrested as fugitives were accessories to the murder. "the murdered child was almost white, and was a little girl of rare beauty." the examination of witnesses was continued until monday, february , when the commissioner listened to the arguments of counsel until february th. messrs. jolliffe and gitchell appeared for the fugitives, and colonel chambers, of cincinnati, and mr. finnell, of covington, kentucky, for the claimants of the slaves. a great number of assistants, (amounting very nearly to five hundred,) were employed by the united states marshal, h.h. robinson, from the first, making the expenses to the united states government very large; for their twenty-eight days' service alone, at $ . per day, amounting to over $ , . february th, the case was closed, so far as related to the three slaves of mr. marshall, but the decision was postponed. the examination in regard to margaret and her children was farther continued. it was publicly stated that commissioner pendery had declared that he "would not send the woman back into slavery while a charge or indictment for murder lay against her." colonel chambers, counsel for the slave-claimants, in his argument, "read long extracts from a pamphlet entitled, 'a northern presbyter's second letter to ministers of the gospel of all denominations, on slavery, by nathan lord, of dartmouth college,' approving and recommending dr. lord's views." colonel chambers having alluded, in his remarks, to mrs. lucy stone blackwell, and said that she had sought to give a knife to margaret garner, the court gave permission to mrs. blackwell to reply to colonel c. mrs. b. preferred not to speak at the bar, but addressed the crowded court-room directly after the adjournment. her eloquent remarks will be found in the papers of the day. at the close of the hearing, february th, the commissioner adjourned his court to the st, afterwards to the th, when, he said, he would give his decision. meantime the case was making some progress in the state courts. sheriff brashears having made return to the common pleas court that the fugitives were in the custody of the united states marshal, judge carter said this could not be received as a true return, as they were in the county jail, under the sheriff's control. the sheriff then amended his return, so as to state that the prisoners were in his custody, as required in the writ, and this was received by the court. the fugitives now came fully into the charge of the state authorities. the sheriff held them "by virtue of a _capias_ issued on an indictment by the grand jury for murder." the slaves declared they would go dancing to the gallows rather than to be sent back into slavery. on the th february, commissioner pendery gave his decision. first, he refused to discharge margaret and three others from the custody of the united states marshal and deliver them to the sheriff of hamilton county, although held to answer, under the laws of ohio, to the charge of murder. he then proceeded to consider the claim of marshall to three of the slaves, decided it to be valid, and ordered them into marshall's custody. he then considered gaines's claim to margaret and her three surviving children, decided that also to be good and valid, and ordered them to be delivered into the possession of said gaines. the case of the rightful custody, as between the united states marshal and the ohio sheriff also came on, february th before judge leavitt, of the united states district court, and was argued by counsel on both sides. on the th, judge leavitt decided that the custody was with the united states marshal. the substance of judge l.'s argument and decision is found in the following extract. "judge mclean says: 'neither this nor any other court of the united states, nor judge thereof, can issue a _habeas corpus_ to bring up a prisoner who is in custody under the sentence or execution of a state court, for any other purpose than to be used as a witness. and it is immaterial whether the imprisonment be under _civil or criminal process_.' if it be true, as there asserted, that no federal court can interfere with the exercise of the proper jurisdiction of a state court, either in a civil or criminal case, the converse of the proposition is equally true. and it results that a state court cannot take from an officer of the united states, even on a criminal charge, the custody of a person in execution on a civil case. "it is said in argument that if these persons cannot be held by the arrest of the sheriff under the state process, the rights and dignity of ohio are invaded without the possibility of redress. i cannot concur in this view. the constitution and laws of the united states provide for a reclamation of these persons, by a demand on the executive of kentucky. it is true, if now remanded to the claimant and taken back to kentucky as slaves, they cannot be said to have fled from justice in ohio; but it would clearly be a case within the spirit and intention of the constitution and the act of congress, and i trust nothing would be hazarded by the prediction that upon demand properly made upon the governor of kentucky, he would order them to be surrendered to the authorities of ohio to answer to its violated law. i am sure it is not going too far to say that if the strictness of the law did not require this, an appeal to comity would not be in vain." mr. chambers said his client, mr. gaines, authorized him to say that he would hold the woman margaret, who had killed her child, subject to the requisition of the governor of ohio, to answer for any crime she might have committed in ohio. judge leavitt's decision covered the cases of the four adult fugitives. another legal process was going on, at the same time, before judge burgoyne, of the probate court, viz.--a hearing under a writ of _habeas corpus_ allowed by judge burgoyne, alleging the illegal detention, by the united states marshal, of the three negro children, samuel, thomas, and silla garner, which took place in the probate court, before judge b., on the afternoon of february . mr. jolliffe said he represented the infants at the request of their father and mother, who had solicited him to save the children, if possible. messrs. headington and ketchum appeared for the united states marshal. judge burgoyne intimated that, in view of the serious and important questions involved, he should require some time to render a decision. he intimated, however, that a majority of the judges of the supreme court having passed on the constitutionality of the fugitive slave law was no reason why he should not take up the constitution and read it for himself, being sworn to support the constitution of the united states and the constitution of the state of ohio. mr. ketchum suggested that his honor was as much bound in conscience to regard the decision of the majority of the judges of the united states courts as the express provisions of the constitution itself. judge burgoyne said, that however the decisions of the judges of the united states courts might aid him in coming to a conclusion, where the obligations of his conscience were involved, he could not screen himself behind a decision made by somebody else. judge burgoyne subsequently decided that, in as far as the fugitive slave law was intended to suspend the writ of _habeas corpus_--and he believed that it was so intended--it clearly transcended the limits prescribed by the constitution, and is "utterly void." judge b. required the united states marshal to answer to the writ on the following friday; and on his neglect to do so, fined and imprisoned him. judge leavitt, of the united states court, soon released the marshal from prison. the _cincinnati columbian_, of february , gave the following account:--the last act of the drama of the fugitives was yesterday performed by the rendition of the seven persons whose advent into the city, under the bloody auspices of murder, caused such a sensation in the community. after the decision of judge leavitt, sheriff brashears surrendered the four fugitives in his custody, under a _capias_ from an ohio court, to united states marshal robinson. an omnibus was brought to the jail, and the fugitives were led into it--a crowd of spectators looking on. margaret was in custody of deputy-marshal brown. she appeared greatly depressed and dispirited. the little infant, silla, was carried by pfc. russell, the door-keeper of the united states court, and was crying violently. pollock, the reporter of the proceedings in the united states court, conducted another of the fugitives, and all were safely lodged in the omnibus, which drove down to the covington ferry-boat; but, although a large crowd followed it, no hootings or other signs of excitement or disapprobation were shown. on arriving at the kentucky shore, a large crowd was in attendance, which expressed its pleasure at the termination of the long proceedings in this city by triumphant shouts. the fugitives were escorted to the jail, where they were safely incarcerated, and the crowd moved off to the magnolia hotel, where several toasts were given and drank. the crowd outside were addressed from the balcony by h.h. robinson, esq., united states marshal for the southern district of ohio, who declared that he had done his duty and no more, and that it was a pleasure to him to perform an act that added another link to the glorious chain that bound the union. [what a _union_! for what "glorious" purposes!] mr. finnell, attorney for the claimants, said he never loved the union so dearly as now. it was proved to be a substantial reality. judge flinn also addressed to the crowd one of his peculiar orations; and was followed by mr. gaines, owner of margaret and the children. after hearty cheering the crowd dispersed. further to signalize their triumph, the slaveholders set on the covington mob to attack mr. babb, reporter for one of the cincinnati papers, on the charge of being an abolitionist, and that gentleman was knocked down, kicked, trampled on, and would undoubtedly have been murdered, but for the interference of some of the united states deputy marshals. a legal irregularity on the part of the sheriff was brought to the notice of judge carter on the morning of february . it was passed over lightly. on the sunday after the delivery of the slaves, they were visited in the covington jail by rev. p.c. bassett, whose account of his interview, especially with margaret, was published in the _american baptist_, and may also be found in the _national antislavery standard_ of march , . margaret confessed that she had killed the child. "i inquired," says mr. bassett, "if she were not excited almost to madness when she committed the act! 'no,' she replied, 'i was as cool as i now am; and would much rather kill them at once, and thus end their sufferings, than have them taken back to slavery and be murdered by piece-meal.' she then told the story of her wrongs. she spoke of her days of suffering, of her nights of unmitigated toil, while the bitter tears coursed their way down her cheeks." governor chase, of ohio, made a requisition upon governor morehead, of kentucky, for the surrender of margaret garner, charged with murder. the requisition was taken by joseph cooper, esq. to gov. morehead, at frankfort, on the _ th of march_--an unpardonable delay in the circumstances. gov. morehead issued an order for the surrender of margaret. on taking it to louisville, mr. cooper found that margaret, with her infant child, and the rest of mr. gaines's slaves had been sent down the river in the steamboat henry lewis, to be sold in arkansas. thus it was that gaines kept his pledged word that margaret should be surrendered upon the requisition of the governor of ohio! on the passage down the ohio, the steamboat, in which the slaves were embarked, came in collision with another boat, and so violently that margaret and her child, with many others, were thrown into the water. about twenty-five persons perished. a colored man seized margaret and drew her back to the boat, but her babe was drowned! "the mother," says a correspondent of the _louisville courier_, "exhibited no other feeling than joy at the loss of her child." so closed another act of this terrible tragedy. the slaves were transferred to another boat, and taken to their destination. (_see_ mr. cooper's letter to gov. chase, dated columbus, march , .) almost immediately on the above tragic news, followed the tidings that gaines had determined to bring margaret back to covington, kentucky, and hold her subject to the requisition of the governor of ohio. evidently he could not stand up under the infamy of his conduct. margaret was brought back, and placed in covington jail, to await a requisition. on wednesday, mr. cox, the prosecuting-attorney, received the necessary papers from gov. chase, and the next day (thursday), two of the sheriffs deputies went over to covington for margaret, but did not find her, as she had been taken away from the jail the night before. the jailor said he had given her up on wednesday night, to a man who came there with a written order from her master, gaines, but could not tell where she had been taken. the officers came back and made a return 'not found.' the _cincinnati gazette_ said,--"on friday our sheriff received information which induced him to believe that she had been sent on the railroad to lexington, thence via frankfort to louisville, there to be shipped off to the new orleans slave market. he immediately telegraphed to the sheriff at louisville (who holds the original warrant from gov. morehead, granted on the requisition of gov. chase,) to arrest her there, and had a deputy in readiness to go down for her. but he has received no reply to his dispatch. as she was taken out on wednesday night, there is reason to apprehend that she has already passed louisville, and is now on her way to new orleans. why mr. gaines brought margaret back at all, we cannot comprehend. if it was to vindicate his character, he was most unfortunate in the means he selected, for his duplicity has now placed this in a worse light than ever before, and kept before the public the miserable spectacle of his dishonor. we have learned now, by experience, what is that boasted comity of kentucky on which judge leavitt so earnestly advised ohio to rely." the assertion of the _louisville journal_, that margaret was kept in covington jail "ten days," and that the ohio authorities had been notified of the same, is pronounced to be untrue in both particulars by the _cincinnati gazette_, which paper also declares that prompt action was taken by the governor of ohio, and the attorney and sheriff of hamilton county, as soon as the fact was known. here we must leave margaret, a noble woman indeed, whose heroic spirit and daring have won the willing, and extorted the unwilling, admiration of hundreds of thousands. alas for her! after so terrible a struggle, so bloody a sacrifice, so near to deliverance once, twice, and even a third time, to be, by the villainy and lying or her "respectable" white owner again engulphed in the abyss of slavery! what her fate is to be, it is not hard to conjecture. but friendless, heart-stricken, robbed of her children, outraged as she has been, not wholly without friends, "yea, three firm friends, more sure than day and night, herself, her maker, and the angel death." * * * * * extract from a sermon recently delivered in cleveland, ohio, by rev. h. bushnell, from the following text: "and it was so, that all that saw it, said, there was no such deed done nor seen from the day that the children of israel came up out of the land of egypt unto this day: consider of it, take advice, and speak your minds."--judges xix: . a few weeks ago, just at dawn of day, might be seen a company of strangers crossing the winter bridge over the ohio river, from the state of kentucky, into the great city of our own state, whose hundred church-spires point to heaven, telling the travellers that in this place the god of abraham was worshipped, and that here jesus the messiah was known, and his religion of love taught and believed. and yet, no one asked them in or offered them any hospitality, or sympathy, or assistance. after wandering from street to street, a poor laboring man gave them the shelter of his humble cabin, for they were strangers and in distress. soon it was known abroad that this poor man had offered them the hospitalities of his home, and a rude and ferocious rabble soon gathered around his dwelling, demanding his guests. with loud clamor and horrid threatening they broke down his doors, and rushed upon the strangers. they were an old man and his wife, their daughter and her husband with four children; and they were of the tribe of slaves fleeing from a bondage which was worse than death. there was now no escape--the tribes of israel had banded against them. on the side of the oppressor there is power. and the young wife and mother, into whose very soul the iron had entered, hearing the cry of the master: "now we'll have you all!" turning from the side of her husband and father, with whom she had stood to repel the foe, seized a knife, and with a single blow nearly severed the head from the body of her darling daughter, and throwing its bloody corpse at his feet, exclaimed, "yes, you _shall_ have us all! take that!" and with another blow inflicted a ghastly wound upon the head of her beautiful son, repeating, "yes, you _shall_ have us all--take that!" meanwhile calling upon her old mother to help her in the quick work of emancipation--for there were two more. but the pious old grandmother could not do it, and it was now too late--the rescuers had subdued and bound them. they were on their way back to the house of their bondage--a life more bitter than death! on their way through that city of churches whose hundred spires told of jesus and the good father above; on their way amid the throng of christian men, whose noble sires had said and sung, "give me _liberty_, or give me _death_." but they all tarried in the great queen city of the west--in chains, and in a felon's cell. there our preacher visited them again and again. there he saw the old grandfather and his aged companion, whose weary pilgrimage of unrequited toil and tears was nearly at its end. and there stood the young father and the heroic wife "margaret." said the preacher, "margaret, why did you kill your child?" "it was my own," she said, "given me of god, to do the best a mother could in its behalf. _i have done the best i could!_ i would have done more and better for the rest! i knew it was better for them to go home to god than back to slavery." "but why did you not trust in god--why not wait and hope?" "i did wait, and then we dared to do, and fled in fear, but in hope; hope fled--god did not appear to save--_i did the best i could!"_ and who was this woman? a noble, womanly, amiable, _affectionate mother_. "but was she not deranged?" not at all--calm, intelligent, but resolute and determined. "but was she not fiendish, or beside herself with passion?" no, she was most tender and affectionate, and all her passion was that of a _mother's fondest love_. i reasoned with her, said the preacher; tried to awaken a sense of guilt, and lead her to repentance and to christ. but there was no remorse, no desire of pardon, no reception of christ or his religion. to her it was a religion of _slavery_, more cruel than death. and where had she lived? where thus taught? not down among the rice swamps of georgia, or on the banks of red river. no, but within sixteen miles of the queen city of the west! in a nominally christian family--whose master was most liberal in support of the gospel, and whose mistress was a communicant at the lord's table, and a professed follower of christ! here, in this family, where slavery is found in its mildest form, she had been kept in ignorance of god's will and word, and learned to know that the mildest form of american slavery, at this day of christian civilization and democratic liberty, was worse than death itself! she had learned by an experience of many years, that it was so bad she had rather take the life of her own dearest child, without the hope of heaven for herself, than that _it_ should experience its unutterable agonies, which were to be found even in a christian family! but here are her two little boys, of eight and ten years of age. taking the eldest boy by the hand, the preacher said to him, kindly and gently, "come here, my boy; what is your name?" "tom, sir." "yes, _thomas_." "no sir, _tom_." "well, tom, how old are you?" "three _months_." "and how old is your little brother?" "six _months_, sir!" "and have you no other name but tom?" "no." "what is your father's name?" "haven't got any!" "who made you, tom?" "nobody!" "did you ever hear of god or jesus christ?" "no, sir." and this was slavery in its best estate. by and by the aged couple, and the young man and his wife, the remaining children, with the master, and the dead body of the little one, were escorted through the streets of the queen city of the west by a _national guard of armed men_, back to the great and chivalrous state of old kentucky and away to the shambles of the south--back to a life-long servitude of hopeless despair. it was a long, sad, silent procession down to the banks of the ohio; and as it passed, the death-knell of freedom tolled heavily. the sovereignty of ohio trailed in the dust beneath the oppressor's foot, and the great confederacy of the tribes of modern israel attended the funeral obsequies, and made ample provision for the necessary expenses! "and it was so, that all that saw it, said, _there was no such deed done, nor seen from the day that the children of israel came up out of the land of egypt unto this day_; consider of it, take advice, and speak your minds!" * * * * * with the sad case of margaret garner we close, for the present, the record of the fugitive slave law, as its history has been daily writing itself in our country's annals. enactment of hell! which has marked every step of its progress over the land by suffering and by crimes,--crimes of the bloodiest dye, groanings which cannot fully be uttered; which is tracked by the dripping blood of its victims, by their terrors and by their despair; against which, and against that wicked nation which enacted it, and which suffers it still to stand as their law, the cries of the down-trodden poor go up continually into the ears of god,--cries of bitterest anguish, mingled with fiercest execrations--thousands of rachels weeping for their children, and will not be comforted, because they _are not_. reader, is your patriotism of the kind which believes, with the supporters of old monarchies, that the sovereign power can do no wrong? consider the long record which has been laid before you, and say if your country has not enacted a most wicked, cruel, and shameful law, which merits only the condemnation and abhorrence of every heart. consider that this law was aimed at the life, liberty, and happiness of the poor and least-privileged portion of our people--a class whom the laws should befriend, protect, and raise up. what is the true character of a law, whose working, whose fruits are such as this meagre outline of its history shows? is it fit that such deeds and such a law should have your sanction and support? will you remain in a moment's doubt whether to be a friend or a foe to such a law? will you countenance or support the man, in the church or in the state, who is not its open and out-spoken opponent? will you not, rather, yourself trample it under foot, as alike the disgrace of your country, the enemy of humanity, and the enemy of god? and nobly join, with heart and hand, every honest man who seeks to load with the opprobrium they deserve, the law itself and everything that justifies and upholds it? in this tract no mention is made of that great company of slaves who, flying from their intolerable wrongs and burdens, are overtaken before reaching the free states--(alas, that we should mock ourselves with this empty name of _free_!)--and carried back into a more remote and hopeless slavery; nor of the thousands who, having fled in former years, and established themselves in industry and comfort in the northern states, were compelled again to become fugitives, leaving their little all behind them, into a still more northern land where, under british law, they find at last a resting-place and protection; nor to any great extent of the numerous cases of white citizens, prosecuted, fined, harassed in every way, for the _crime_ of giving shelter and succor to the hunted wanderers. to have included these--all emphatically _victims_ of the fugitive slave law--would swell our tract into a volume. what a testimony against our land and our people is given by their accumulated weight! every living man and woman is guilty of this great sin, who either by apology, or by silence, lends it the least support. --> in a record like the foregoing, dealing so largely with facts and dates, perfect accuracy is not to be expected, although much pains have been taken to make it strictly correct. any information, on good authority, which will help to make the record more exact, or more complete, will be very gratefully received. it should be addressed to samuel may, jr., no. cornhill, boston, mass. * * * * * published at the office of the american anti-slavery society, no. nassau street, new york. also to be had at the anti-slavery offices, no. cornhill, boston, and no. north fifth street, philadelphia; of joel mcmillan, salem, columbiana co., ohio, and of jacob walton, jr., adrian, michigan. [transcriber's note: the following remain as in the original: pittsburg, pennsylvania; los angelos; pittsburgh saturday visiter.] united states vs. charles g. davis. report of the proceedings at the examination of charles g. davis, esq., on a charge of aiding and abetting in the rescue of a fugitive slave. held in boston, in february, boston: white & potter, printers, spring lane. . note. the following report is published at the request of numerous persons who are of opinion that all which is known of the operation of the fugitive slave bill, should be spread before the public. to the legal profession it will be of interest, as developing new points in the construction and application of a statute, destined to be of great political importance now, and in future history. they will be able to judge of the constructions upon the statute, and of the law of evidence, as laid down and applied by the commissioner, and contended for by the representative of the government. not the profession alone, but the public, can judge of the temper, and manner, as to parties and witnesses, in which the prosecution was pressed, and the judicial duties performed. it will be well for every reader to bear in mind that this is the tribunal to which the late act of congress gives final jurisdiction in deciding whether a man found a free inhabitant of a free state, shall be exiled, and sent into endless slavery. the commissioner tries an issue, on the result of which, all the hopes of a fellow man for the life that is, and that which is to come, are suspended; and his judgment is "conclusive on all other tribunals."[a] [a: see the opinion of attorney general crittenden.] it will be well for us, as citizens, to remember, that the attempt is making to establish this act, passed by the vote of less than half of the representatives of the people, as the unalterable law of the country; to treat as treason and disaffection to government, all attempts to rouse the public to efforts for its repeal; and, by unprecedented coalitions, that might almost be called conspiracies, of public men, to destroy the character and means of influence of all who lend their aid in these efforts. even a public discussion of the subject, is cause for suspicion and inquiry. we would ask every reader, on rising from the examination of this trial, taken in connexion with the president's proclamation and message, the late debate in the senate, and the recent letters and speeches of leading men of both parties, to say, for himself, whether these are not times, not only of danger to the liberty of colored men, but of serious apprehension for our independence and dignity as men, and our rights as citizens. report. on the th of february, a.d. , one john caphart, of norfolk, va., came to boston, in pursuit of one shadrach, alleged to be a fugitive slave and the property of john debree, a purser in the navy, and attended by seth j. thomas, esq., as counsel, made his complaint, as agent and attorney of the said owner, before george t. curtis, esq., u. s. commissioner. on the evening of the th, the following warrant was placed in the hands of special marshal sawin, and served, shadrach offering no resistance, about half-past on saturday forenoon, the th, at the cornhill coffee house, where shadrach had been employed for some months as a waiter:-- united states of america. _massachusetts district, ss._ to the marshal of our district of massachusetts, or either of his deputies. [seal] greeting: these are, in the name of the president of the united states of america, to command you, the said marshal or deputies, and each of you, forthwith to apprehend one shadrach, now commorant in boston, in said district, a colored person, who is alleged to be a fugitive from service or labor, and who has escaped from service or labor in the state of virginia, (if he may be found in your precinct), and have him forthwith before me, one of the commissioners of the circuit court of the united states for the massachusetts district, at the court house in boston aforesaid, then and there to answer to the complaint of john caphart, attorney of john de bree, of norfolk, in the state of virginia, alleging under oath, that the said shadrach owes service or labor to the said de bree, in the said state of virginia, and while held to service there under the laws of the said state of virginia, escaped into the state of massachusetts aforesaid, and praying for the restoration of the said shadrach to the said de bree, and then and there before me to be dealt with according to law. hereof fail not, and make due return of this with your doings thereon, before me. witness my hand and seal at boston, in the said district, on this fourteenth day of february, in the year of our lord, one thousand eight hundred and fifty one. (signed) geo. t. curtis, commissioner of the circuit court of the united states, for massachusetts district. * * * * * the following return was endorsed upon the warrant:-- boston, february th, . in obedience to the warrant to me directed, i have this day arrested the within named shadrach, and now have him before the commissioner within named. p. riley, u. s. deputy marshal. a hearing was had in the u. s. court room, and several papers, being affidavits and certificates of a record, were exhibited by the complainant's counsel, as the evidence under the th section of the fugitive slave law so called, that shadrach was a slave in virginia, that he was owned by said de bree, and that he escaped on the d of may, . at the request of counsel these papers were read and admitted as evidence in the case, subject to such objections as might be made to their admissibility as legal evidence thereafter. there were present as counsel for shadrach, s. e. sewall, ellis g. loring, charles g. davis, and charles list, and as they had not had an opportunity to examine the documents produced by the complainant, and were therefore not satisfied of their sufficiency, they asked for a postponement, to february th, and the commissioner adjourned the further hearing of the matter until o'clock, on tuesday, february th, and passed the following order:-- united states of america, district of massachusetts, february th, .--and now the hearing of this case being adjourned to tuesday the eighteenth day of february instant, at ten o'clock in the forenoon, the said deputy marshal, who has made return of this warrant, is hereby ordered to retain the said shadrach in his custody, and have him before me at the time last mentioned, at the court house in boston, for the further hearing of the complaint on which this warrant is issued. geo. t. curtis, commissioner. * * * * * on the following tuesday, p. riley, esq., deputy u. s. marshal, appeared before the commissioner, george t. curtis, esq., and offered the following return which was annexed to the above order. boston, tuesday, february th, . united states of america. _massachusetts district, ss._ i hereby certify, in pursuance of law and the foregoing order, the said "shadrach" named in the foregoing warrant and order, was being detained in my custody in the court room of the united states, in the court house, in said boston, when the door of said room, which was being used as a prison, was forced open by a mob, and the said "shadrach" forcibly rescued from my custody. i also annex hereto, and make part of my return an original [printed] deposition, of the circumstances attending the arrest and rescue, and have not been able to retake said shadrach, and cannot now have him before said commissioner for reasons above stated. p. riley, u. s. deputy marshal. * * * * * commonwealth of massachusetts. _suffolk county._ i, patrick riley, of boston, in the said county, counsellor at law, having been duly sworn, depose and say, that i am, and have been, for fourteen years past, the principal deputy of the united states marshal for the district of massachusetts. that on saturday morning, february th, , about twenty minutes before o'clock, a.m., i was called upon at my residence, by frederick warren, one of the u. s. deputy marshals, who informed me that there was a negro man, an alleged fugitive, to be arrested at o'clock, who was supposed to be at taft's cornhill coffee house, near the court house, and desired to know where the negro should be put in case he should be arrested before i reached the office; that i told him to place him in the united states court room,--and that i would come to the office immediately,--that i came down almost immediately to the office, where i arrived shortly after o'clock, and there found mr. warren, who informed me that the negro was unknown to mr. sawin, deputy marshal, to whom the warrant was handed on the night previous, as i have been informed, though no notice of it had been given to any occupant of the marshal's office,--and that the negro was unknown to any one of the marshal's deputies or assistants,--that mr. warren informed me that mr. sawin had gone to find the man, who by previous arrangement was to point out the negro, and who had not shown himself as agreed; that i remained in the court giving directions, and making preparations to secure the negro when arrested, and awaiting the return of mr. sawin; that i saw him after ten o'clock, and he informed me that he had seen the parties in interest, and that it had been arranged not to attempt the arrest until o'clock,--that i told him that it should not be delayed one moment, and directed him to notify the man who was to point him out to come instantly; that he left for that purpose, and at ten minutes before returned, and said that the parties were about taft's coffee house, and that the men engaged were also in readiness in that neighborhood; that i went immediately with mr. warren, mr. john h. riley, and other deputies to the said coffee-house, and there found all our men, nine in number, stationed in and about the place,--that there were several negroes in and about the house, and i inquired for the man who was to point out the alleged fugitive, and was informed that he had not arrived; that mr. warren and myself went immediately into the dining hall at the coffee-house, and to avoid suspicion, ordered some coffee, and were waited upon by a negro, who subsequently proved to be the alleged fugitive; that, not hearing any thing from our assistants, we took our coffee and rose to go out and learn why we had not heard from them; that the negro went before us to the bar-room, with the money to pay for the coffee, and in the passage between the bar-room and hall, mr. sawin and mr. byrnes came up, and each took the negro by an arm, and walked him out of the back passage way through a building between the coffee-house and the square beside the court house to the court-room as by me directed. that i immediately, while he was entering the court house, went to the office of the city marshal, in the city hall, in the same square with the court house, and there saw mr. francis tukey, the city marshal, told him what had been done, and stated, that as there would probably be a great crowd, his presence with the police would be needed to preserve order, and keep the peace in and about the court house, which is owned by the city, and in which all the courts of the commonwealth for suffolk county are held. that mr. tukey stated that it should be attended to,--that i told him that i should notify the mayor instantly, and proceeded up stairs to the mayor's office, where i found hon. john p. bigelow, mayor of the city, and made the same communication and request to him, which i had made to mr. tukey. to which the mayor said,--"mr. riley, i am sorry for it." that i then left the office, at which time it was just half past o'clock. that i went immediately to the court-house, and found the negro in the united states court room, with the officers, and found all the doors closed, and was admitted by the usual inside entrance,--that george t. curtis, esq., the united states commissioner, was called, and came, and the claimant's counsel were sent for,--that all the doors were kept closed excepting the usual entrance, which was kept guarded by officers,--that the commissioner informed the fugitive, who was named "shadrach" in the warrant, of the character of the business, and asked him if he wanted counsel,--to which he said that he did, and that his friends had gone for counsel,--that while waiting for the counsel to come, the room began to be filled with negroes and whites,--that the counsel for the prisoner appeared, and claimed a delay, to give them opportunity to consult with their client, pending which i desired mr. warren, the deputy marshal, to go to the navy yard at charlestown, about two miles distant, and ask commodore downes whether, should a delay or adjournment take place, the navy yard might be used as a place of detention, the united states not being permitted by the law of the state to use the jails, and having none of their own. that the examination proceeded, and after the reading of certain documents presented by the claimant's attorney, and some discussion, the commissioner decided to grant the delay until tuesday following the th inst. that the counsel for the prisoner asked of the commissioner if they might not remain and hold consultation with their client, and examine with him the papers presented, to which the commissioner assented,--that the court room was ordered to be cleared, and was cleared of all save some fifteen officers, being all the reliable men whom we had been able to collect, the counsel, and some newspaper reporters,--that mr. warren, at this time, which was about half past , returned from the navy yard, and informed me that he had seen commodore downes, who said he could not grant my request,--that i despatched what officers i could spare to ask such of their friends to remain as would assist, and to procure all the additional force possible, intending to use the court house as a place of detention. that mr. curtis, also left. that crowds of negroes and others began to gather about the court room, and in the passage ways leading to the court house,--that i went to one of the messengers who had charge of the building, and desired him to have all the court house doors closed as soon as possible, which were not necessary for use. that, at or before one o'clock, mr. ebenezer noyes, the messenger of the u. s. court, was despatched to the city marshal, whom he informed that the u. s. marshal wanted every man that he could send to keep the peace in and about the court house, to which the city marshal replied, that he had no men in, but would send them over as they came in. that at about two o'clock, all the counsel had left, except mr. charles g. davis, and a reporter, who i learned was elizur wright, one of the editors of the commonwealth newspaper; that as the door was opened for them to leave, which opened outwardly, the negroes without, who had filled the passage way on the outside, took hold of the edges of the door as it opened, and then a struggle ensued between the holders of the door within, and those without. that mr. warren the deputy, immediately ran to the city marshal's office, but not finding him in, went to the mayor's office, and was informed, that the mayor had gone to dinner. that he then stated to those in his office that there was a mob in and about the court house, and called upon them to send men to help disperse it. that he then returned to the city marshal's office, found him in his private room, informed him of the trouble in the court house, and asked him to send all the men he could furnish, and whether he (mr. warren) could aid him in getting his men, to which he said that mr. warren could not assist him in the matter. that, meanwhile, the struggle at the door continued for some minutes, and the crowd of negroes finally succeeded in forcing the door wide open, rushed in in great numbers, overpowered all the officers, surrounded the negro, and he was forced by them through the door, down the stairs, and out of the side door of the court house, and thence through the streets to the section where most of the negroes of the city reside,--that officers were despatched in pursuit, but have not succeeded in finding his present abode. that from the time of the first notice to the mayor and city marshal, immediately after the arrest, as heretofore stated, to the giving of this deposition, neither the mayor nor the city marshal has appeared, nor has a single officer under their direction appeared, or aided in attempting to disperse the mob, or in keeping the peace; and that, in my opinion, it was the predetermined purpose of both not to do their duty in keeping the peace in and about their court house; for the city marshal, when requested by henry s. hallett, esq., to disperse a similar mob, which had collected about the office of his father, a u. s. commissioner, during the excitement in the "crafts" case, said that he had orders not to meddle in the matter, as i am informed by the said hallett, and that the city marshal gave a similar answer to watson freeman, esq., who asked him at about the same time why he did not disperse the mob, as i am informed by the said freeman. that charles devens, jr., esq., the u. s. marshal for this district, was at the time of the arrest, returning from washington, where he had gone on imperative official business,--that it is proper to state here that neither the marshal nor his deputy is authorized by law to employ a permanent force sufficient to resist a mob; and that he has no authority to call to his aid the troops of the state or of the united states. p. riley, u. s. deputy marshal, massachusetts district. * * * * * commonwealth of massachusetts, suffolk county, february , .--then personally appeared the above named patrick riley, and duly swore that the foregoing deposition by him subscribed is true, as to facts stated to be in his personal knowledge,--and that he believes that the statements therein given as made to him by others are true. horatio woodman, justice of the peace. * * * * * after the reading of the above return, samuel e. sewall, esq., protested against placing the whole of the last named affidavit on file, as a part of the return, inasmuch as it purported to narrate facts which took place previous to the last hearing, and the order thereon. the commissioner inquired of mr. sewall, for whom he appeared. answer, "for the alleged fugitive, called shadrach." the commissioner,--"you cannot appear for a person who has avoided process." mr. sewall. "the return in question shows, that he was forcibly removed. he is claimed as property. there is no evidence before the commissioner that he has voluntarily avoided. so we are ready to proceed if the commissioner chooses." the commissioner. "you cannot address the court, sir. it is well settled, that a person who avoids process, cannot appear by attorney. the marshal may make such a return as he sees fit. i cannot interfere. but i will say that the return seems to me proper, and it may be filed." mr. curtis declared the proceedings suspended, and ordered the marshal to proclaim the court adjourned indefinitely. * * * * * on monday the th of february, , charles g. davis, esq., of boston, an attorney, and counsellor at law, was arrested upon a warrant issued by b. f. hallett, esq., a u. s. commissioner, upon complaints made to the district attorney, a copy of which is subjoined. mr. davis gave bail for his appearance. * * * * * thursday morning, february , . u. s. circuit court room. before b. f. hallett, u. s. commissioner. _united states, vs. charles g. davis._ george lunt, esq., district attorney, appeared for the united states. richard h. dana, jr., and charles g. davis, esquires., for the defence. mr. lunt moved that the original complaint be amended by the addition of another count. no objection was made, and the following complaint, as amended, was then read:-- united states of america. _massachusetts district, ss._ to b. f. hallett, esq., commissioner of the circuit court of the united states, for the district of massachusetts. george lunt, attorney of the united states, for the district of massachusetts, in behalf of said united states, on oath, complains, and informs your honor, that on the fifteenth day of february, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one, at boston, in said district, one charles g. davis, of said boston, esq., with force and arms, did aid, abet, and assist one shadrach, otherwise called frederic, otherwise called frederic wilkins, the same being then and there a person owing service or labor, and a fugitive from service or labor, to escape from one john caphart, who was then and there, the agent of one john de bree, claimant of said person, owing service or labor, and a fugitive from service or labor as aforesaid; against the peace and dignity of the said united states, and contrary to the form of the statute in such case made and provided. wherefore, the said complainant complains that the said charles g. davis may be apprehended, and held to answer to this complaint, and further dealt with, relative to the same, according to law. and furthermore the said complainant prays that frederic d. byrnes, simpson clark, charles sawin, patrick riley, john h. riley, john caphart, may be duly summoned to appear and give evidence relative to the subject matter of the complaint. (signed) george lunt, u. s. attorney. boston, february th, . united states of america. _massachusetts district, ss._ then the above named george lunt, personally appeared, and made oath to the truth of the above complaint, by him subscribed. before me, (signed) b. f. hallett, commissioner of the u. s. circuit court, for massachusetts district. _amended count._ also for that on the fifteenth day of february, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one, at boston, in said district, one charles g. davis, with force and arms, did aid, abet and assist one shadrach, otherwise called frederic, otherwise called frederic wilkins, the same being then and there a person owing service or labor to escape from charles devens, junior, marshal of the united states, for said district of massachusetts, who was then and there, a person legally authorized to arrest said fugitive, and said fugitive being then and there arrested pursuant to the authority given and declared in a certain statute of the united states, approved on the eighteenth day of september, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty. mr. davis thereupon repeated his plea of not guilty. * * * * * [note. upon the previous examination of mr. wright, mr. lunt for the united states, had opened his case by stating that the complaint was based upon the th section of the act of september , , (see appendix), making it punishable by fine and imprisonment, to aid, abet, or assist, in the escape of a fugitive slave; and he should therefore call witnesses to show that the shadrach named in the complaint against wright, was a fugitive, as therein alleged. (see complaint). mr. lunt proceeded to call several witnesses, among whom seth j. thomas, and john caphart, were named. mr. caphart did not appear. commissioner hallett called the attention of the district attorney to the statute, and said he was clearly of the opinion, and should rule, that, if it should appear that shadrach was an _alleged fugitive_, an attempt to rescue him would be an offence under the act. mr. sewall, counsel for mr. wright, protested against the ruling. colonel seth j. thomas was called to the stand. mr. thomas was called upon to read the norfolk documents, before exhibited to commissioner curtis, tending to show that shadrach was a fugitive. mr. sewall objected, that the documents could not be used as evidence in this case. they could only be used, if at all, upon a complaint, under the act, for the arrest and delivery of an alleged fugitive. they had not yet been received as evidence in such a case; they were only admitted subject to future objections, and the proceedings had been indefinitely postponed. there was no provision of the statute, and no principle of law which would make them evidence in criminal proceedings against a stranger, a free man, charged with making a rescue. the commissioner stated that the papers should go in as papers having a tendency to show that shadrach was an _alleged fugitive_]. * * * * * the government then opened its testimony. _patrick riley._ am a deputy u. s. marshal--was before mr. g. t. curtis on saturday, feb. th; had an alleged fugitive called shadrach, a black man, under arrest by warrant from mr. curtis--came to this room about - / o'clock, a.m.; remained till about ; about o'clock i was standing near shadrach at end of reporter's table inside of bar--he was consulting with his counsel; i was by the table when i heard a cry that they were rushing in--the cry came from the officers. mr. elizur wright and mr. davis were the only strangers here, except mr. grimes, an alleged colored preacher. i immediately rushed to the door--some officers were between the green door and the outer door; i put my shoulder to green door--just then it cracked, the perpendicular piece was broken. i pushed as hard as i could with one of my feet against the judges' desk; i was there some three minutes; some one or two officers were outside pulling green door toward them. the crowd rushed in, surrounded the prisoner and left. i should think thirty or forty came into the room--shadrach left with the crowd--there was noise and tumult outside and inside--"tear him away," i heard, and such expressions; cheers as he went out; before he went out i should think from two or three hundred. i saw no alteration in conduct of shadrach, before the adjournment of court; saw him take his coat off and loosen his neckcloth--was satisfied he had no weapon, and was anxious none should be given to him. mr. davis was here as one of the counsel. i asked shadrach if he was one of his counsel, and he said, yes, he had four or five counsel. i asked mr. sewall who were counsel, and some one said we four; s. sewall, e. g. loring, c. g. davis and charles list, were the counsel. mr. king remained, stating something about his being counsel, and also mr. wells, his partner. (i told mr. wells to leave and mr. king said he was his partner, and i let him remain.) mr. davis was here at the opening of court, and shadrach told me he was his counsel; he remained at the table in consultation, from adjournment to about the time of the rescue; do not know when he went out; do not remember his leaving the court-room, and i was here all the time, with this exception; i passed out the door a moment to give directions--i spoke to the messenger to close court house doors which he did not wish to use. when i went out, counsel and officers and reporters were here; that was before mr. wright came in. four courts, c. c. pleas, supreme, municipal and police had been in session that morning. about , directed mr. davis and mr. wright to go out. i remained by prisoner with one or two officers at door, and between me and the door; did not see davis after he passed the door; i saw him pass the inner door; mr. wright remained in; i remained by the prisoner. when i rushed to the door, i do not remember seeing mr. davis; i heard mr. davis say nothing offensive in the court room. [the original warrant for the arrest of shadrach is here shown.] this is the warrant, order and return, etc., addressed to the marshal or either of his deputies; i arrested the man mentioned in this warrant, and the same man escaped. _to the commissioner._ i did not come into court room with shadrach, but i knew him as the man arrested. the second return, as to the escape, refers to the same party, shadrach. _cross examination by mr. davis._ i saw you examining papers produced before the commissioner; saw you at table when mr. sewall called your name as counsel; you were standing; mr. sewall was talking to prisoner, and called you--this was immediately after order was given to clear the room. _to the commissioner._ commissioner curtis ordered prisoner be kept till tuesday morning safely; i carried it out in reference to prisoner. _cross examination resumed._ i walked to end of passage to speak to mr. merrill; did not communicate to you a crowd was at the door. it is usual on exciting occasions to have officers outside when the door is open; sometimes have an officer outside. in other courts it is very common to have officers outside; there are fewer trials with us, and the room is hired by united states; we have no right to obstruct the entry. [mr. dexter was in room between adjournment and rescue.] don't know but i stated yesterday there were officers outside; perhaps that stratton was outside helping against the negroes. my printed return was made up of what i supposed to be the truth. i meant in that to say i heard a cry, and supposed there was no interpretation, except that the negroes broke the door open--saw the officers--communicated with them afterward, and published the affidavit as a general and true account of all that was material. immediately after the rescue i ordered officers to go to see where the man was; i remained. i confess i was under great excitement; i had no conversation with byrnes, sawin or clark, before the affidavit was prepared and sworn to. i was enquired of where the prisoner would be kept--i did not tell, but said if consultation was wanted we could have it in lobby. you told me, and mr. list told me you were waiting for mr. dana. i told list that mr. dana asked me for a copy of the warrant before two o'clock--this was some few minutes before the rescue. mr. list had just left with my copy of warrant, and had not returned at the time of the rescue,--did not know the use to be made of it. my impression is, that mr. sewall, yourself and mr. wright, were moving out together, but that mr. sewall got out before you did. there were three persons to leave, and i think you were all gradually moving to the door--i had no doubt you could get out safely and without disturbance--can't say you conversed with mr. wright or the preacher--there was some general conversation--saw you and mr. wright have no private conversation. i told mr. wright he might remain if prisoner assented. perhaps the prisoner would like his counsel--shadrach assented. i let mr. wright go up and speak to prisoner; i kept my eye on mr. wright when he spoke to the prisoner--he went up and took hold of his hand--mr. loring left the room sometime before. when mr. wright came in, i was surprised. you said grimes better not come in--counsel asked me if a friend might remain with prisoner during his arrest--messrs. list, sewall and davis were present--can't swear who asked me. _to the commissioner._ some colored friend i supposed--can't swear it was davis asked it. _mr. dana._ do you know the person you arrested, was the person named in the warrant? _answer._ the person rescued was the person arrested under the warrant, but cannot say he was the person named in the warrant. _the commissioner._ do you contradict your return? the return is conclusive. _mr. lunt._ mr. riley, do you mean to contradict your return! i warn you, sir! _mr. dana._ he has contradicted it. mr. riley, you didn't know that the person you arrested was the man named in the original warrant and complaint, as the slave of debree? _mr. lunt._ i warn you, mr. riley, not to give that testimony! i warn you, sir! _the commissioner._ the return of the officer is conclusive. _mr. dana._ does the commissioner mean to rule that a man may be hung in a criminal case, on the return of an officer in another, and that a civil case? this case goes further. here the very man who made the return is on the stand. cannot we show by him that a part of this return is matter of form, and that he does not know whether it is true or not? _the commissioner._ i think, sir, the return of the officer is conclusive in all these proceedings. _mr. dana._ but the fact is already in--and the return is nullified. the objection is too late. _the commissioner._ if he has answered, it may go in, _de bene esse_. _mr. lunt._ does the commissioner mean to rule in that testimony? _the commissioner._ i receive it _de bene esse_; to give such weight to it as i shall think proper. _mr. dana._ mr. riley, do you know whether the man you arrested was the man named in the original warrant? _mr. riley._ hardly a man is arrested known to the officer. the officer is responsible for mistakes. i don't know that the man arrested was the man named in the warrant. did not apprehend a rescue or an attempt when davis left. he left at my request at the time he left. he did not leave the room from all i saw, until his final departure--don't recollect seeing him outside the bar, nor conversing privately with any person beside counsel. he is known to me as a counsellor practising law in circuit court. _to district attorney._ there might have been fifteen persons in court room when i left. my attention was not directed to davis particularly. he _might_ have been absent without my knowledge. _to mr. dana._ i kept my eye on the door after the room was cleared--ordered that no one should be admitted. _charles sawin, dep. marsh._ soon after mr. davis came in and sat down, he rose, coming towards me, and asked who mr. clark was, whether he was a southern man? i said, "no, that he was a citizen of boston, and had been for some years." i asked mr. davis what there was in the wind, and he replied--"not anything that i know of." he then added, "this is a damned dirty piece of business." this was before the proceedings before the commissioner had closed. afterwards when the proceedings had ended, mr. byrnes was standing within the rail and i was outside, mr. davis said, "well, you ought all to have your throats cut." the attorneys were present. in all there were about twenty persons present. it was after the order had been given to clear the room. i made no reply to remark. i thought it was uncalled for. i missed mr. wright and mr. davis about the same time. i did not see him go out. i was near the prisoner. i saw a tallish man whisper in the prisoner's ear during the hearing. the prisoner then took off his coat, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, and adjust his neckerchief and look kind of fierce. it was a white man that whispered to the prisoner. mr. davis might have been gone a minute before the rush was made to break in. _cross examined by mr. davis._ i don't know that your remark was, "this is damned dirty business for you to be in." my impression is that you did not qualify it. i did not consider it mean business. i thought it was legal business. i don't know that what you had said was the conclusion of a conversation that you had been having with mr. byrnes, and i don't recollect that the remark was, "well, then, you ought to have your throats cut." mr. byrnes was near, and so were others of the counsel with you. there was a mr. morris, or morrison, with them. _mr. davis._ what mr. morris? _sawin._ that one! (pointing to mr. morris, who was in the bar) the little darkey lawyer! _the commissioner._ mr. morris is a member of the bar, and entitled to be spoken of with respect, as much as the white lawyers who were engaged in the case. _sawin._ i meant no disrespect. i only used the expression for the purpose of designating the man. _mr. dean._ the remark seems to amuse the district attorney. _mr. lunt._ i cannot always control my muscles. _sawin._ (to mr. davis.) have known you four or five years--never told you i was deputy marshal. have given you business--considered the remark not unfriendly--didn't think much of it. the man was arrested in his apron and shirt sleeves--coat was afterwards brought in--don't know that he put his coat on again before the rescue. heard mr. riley say to him, "now, pretty soon, we'll have dinner." this was about the time you went out--thought you were counsel all the time. _fred. d. byrnes._ am a deputy marshal. saw davis in room on saturday sometime while proceedings were going on. the first thing i heard mr. davis say, was "damn mean business." the prisoner was in the bar. mr. sawin was on one side of the prisoner, and mr. clark on the other. mr. davis was within two feet of the prisoner, and i was near mr. davis. this was before the adjournment. afterwards, near the rail on the left of the room, mr. davis came along and put his hand on my shoulder, and said--"this is a damned pretty mess," or, "you are a damned pretty set," and "every one of you ought to have your throats cut." after that, and when nearly all the people had left, mr. wright and davis came along, and i said to mr. davis, "i always took you for a gentleman until to-day, but i am very sorry to say i can't say it now." he said, "why?" i repeated his remark about cutting our throats, and he replied--"well, i say so now." mr. davis then went out. i saw nothing out of the way when he went out. after mr. wright had passed out, i saw mr. davis near the wall on the right of the door, and close to the steps. i heard a voice that i then took to be mr. davis's, say--"take him out, boys--take him out." i did not see his lips move, but i thought it was him who spoke the words, and i think so now. i am acquainted with mr. davis, and knew it to be mr. davis's voice, and no other one's voice. his shoulder was resting, or leaning against the wall. i had passed through the baize door with mr. wright, so that i could see a person at the corner of the wall at the outer door. _cross examined._ mr. hutchins had the charge of the door. i did not notice his position. did see mr. clark's position. i saw nothing different in your going out from others going out. clark and hutchins were in front of me. i do not think the baize door closed on you before mr. wright came. the shout was after the pulling of the door commenced. before that there had been several attempts to pull the door open. i had seen the ends of fingers on the edge of the door before that repeatedly. there was no rush when you passed out; but there may have been some hands on the door. i had gently led mr. wright as far out as the threshold when the rush commenced. i saw no obstructions in your way when you went out. i can't say whether mr. hutchins had to let go of the knob or not, when you got out. i thought at the time, that you meant to call the people in, and i so told our people then. mr. davis cross examined the witness very minutely as to the repeated opening and shutting of the baize and outer door during the minute prior to the rush, and also as to his position from moment to moment, and the positions of clark and hutchins, at and near the door. he testified that he was somewhat hard of hearing, more so some days than on others. _to mr. dana._ i think saturday was one of my hearing days. i don't hear so well to-day. my deafness came on when elder knapp was here. i was called out on duty at the time of the disturbance in bowdoin square, in , or thereabouts. _to mr. lunt._ i saw a cleaver in the hands of a black man outside the door. he was standing rather back. _to mr. dana._ i know the voice i took for mr. davis's was not a black man's voice. i know a black voice usually from a white man's. it was a white man's voice, and i thought at the time it was mr. davis's. i did not think it was mr. davis's voice because of its being a white man's voice. it was my opinion that it was not the voice of a colored man. there were many other voices heard calling out at the time. my first reason for supposing it was mr. davis's voice was that it was not a black man's voice. within the past three years i have casually conversed several times with mr. davis. know him as i know a thousand other people in boston. _to mr. lunt._ that the voice i heard was not a black man's was only one of my reasons for supposing the voice was that of mr. davis. friday, feb. st. _calvin hutchins_ was called, and testified, that he was stationed at the door, and had hold of it, when mr. davis came to the door to go out. mr. byrnes spoke to him, and i opened the door for him; that is, i let it open, there being others pressing upon the door. i let the door open enough to let him out. i saw the stairway all filled. the stairs leading up were all filled also. when he stepped round, he got his back against the side of the door, and clapped his left hand up against the door. there was a cry to go in. i should suppose by the fingers on the door that five or six got hold of it to pull it round. i had already opened it as far as for others, and there was sufficient room for him to go out. i could not tell where he went to. he stood there when the door got started, and i was slapped round outside into the passage-way. _cross examined._ (to mr. davis.) to go out the best way to clear the crowd, you ought to have turned to your right; but you faced round to the door, putting your left hand upon it, and opening it more than was necessary. some one had hold of the knob of the door at the time, and there were fingers on the edges. i was holding on to the door to give you space enough to get out, and was contending with the negroes by keeping the door from being opened more than sufficient to let you out. you slid out to the right. _to the commissioner._ mr. davis's back was against the door jam, or door post on the right, when his hand was on the door. [witness goes to the door, and explains the position of himself and mr. davis, at the moment mr. davis had his hand upon the partly opened door.] the door opens outwardly from right hand side. didn't see davis afterwards. * * * * * col. seth j. thomas was next called, and put, by the counsel for the defence, on his _voir dire_, as to any interest he might have in the penalties provided in the act. he answered that he was the counsel for mr. de bree, the owner of the alleged fugitive, and that he had received written instructions from his client in relation to the case of shadrach; but he did not hold such a power of attorney as is contemplated in the fugitive act. his relations to the case were those of an attorney and counsellor of law, and as such he had advised with mr. caphart, the agent, who held such a power of attorney from mr. de bree as is intended in the act. fees in no manner depended upon the result of the proceedings in the case. mr. dana inquired what was to be proved by this witness. _mr. lunt._ that the person under arrest was claimed as a fugitive. _mr. thomas._ was here on saturday last, saw a person called shadrach, who was alleged to be a fugitive slave. this evidence was strongly objected to as hearsay, but held admissible by the commissioner. _cross examined._ my means of information is confined to others. don't know that i ever saw the negro before. the commissioner said that he had ruled that the government were not obliged to show that shadrach was a slave, and that no further evidence was necessary to show that he was arrested and escaped. _mr. davis._ the question now arises under the present warrant and complaint, which alleges not only that one shadrach was a fugitive slave; but that the same shadrach who was a slave to one de bree, was rescued. the commissioner has ruled that the government are not obliged to prove that the man under arrest was a fugitive, or was a slave. does the commissioner also rule that the government need not show that the man arrested was the man claimed, and that the man rescued was shadrach? _the commissioner._ the government may prove by col. thomas that the man arrested was the man claimed. here the question was discussed, whether the prosecution were bound to prove that the colored man arrested was the person intended in the warrant, and named shadrach. the commissioner again held that the returns on the warrant were _prima facie_ evidence that the man arrested was the said shadrach. mr. dana thought mr. riley had destroyed the presumption arising from the return by having testified that he did not personally know whether the man was shadrach or not; all he could say was that he knew he was the man he had arrested as shadrach. col. thomas was allowed to testify, that the man arrested and brought into the court room was claimed by caphart as shadrach. when he came into the room caphart said, "this is my boy." col. thomas produced a paper and testified to it as the power of attorney. objected to on the ground that the signature was not proved. the commissioner held that it was admissible as one of the papers before mr. curtis. _simpson clark_, recalled. _mr. lunt._ i propose to show that shadrach admitted he was a slave, and owned by de bree, and that his name was shadrach. _mr. dana._ it is true the commissioner has admitted col. thomas to testify to the declaration of de bree's agent, as evidence that de bree claimed the man; but this evidence is still more remote. this is a criminal prosecution. is a man to be bound by statements of others? this matter was not adjudicated. how can the man's admission that his name is shadrach affect us? he is not placed upon the stand. he is not under oath. his admission is that his name is shadrach, not that he is a slave. moreover, the act provides that the party claimed shall not be received as a witness. _the commissioner._ an alleged fugitive is only excluded from being a witness in the case of a complaint against himself as a fugitive. this does not exclude his admissions in the case of a criminal trial of another party. his admission is the best possible evidence of identity under the act. see law in appendix, sec. . ["in all proceedings under this act"] _mr. clark._ am a constable. am employed specially. after the man was brought in, he asked who it was that claimed him. he first asked me, and i referred him to mr. sawin. mr. sawin named one person to him, and he said he did not know him. mr. sawin then named another person to him, and he said he did not know him. he then said he was named shadrach, and commenced to tell me the circumstances of his coming away, but i advised him not to speak to me about it, as i might be made a witness against him. i told him not to tell any one but his counsel; and mr. list, his counsel, told him the same, and he stopped talking to the officers and others. i was at the further side of the door when mr. davis went out. [describes the scene.] _mr. lunt._ did you hear mr. davis testify the other day, if so, what did he say? _mr. clark._ he said when he got down to the landing he first thought there was to be a rescue, and he saw a man pass two canes up. _to mr. davis._ i had some conversation with you in the room near the prisoner, after mr. wright came in, while the minister was here. the prisoner said something about his trust in god. _mr. davis._ do you remember his saying anything further concerning his position, showing any religious feeling? _mr. lunt._ religious feelings have nothing to do with this case. _mr. davis._ i am aware of that, i waive the inquiry. _mr. clark._ i don't know that i saw anything peculiar in your conduct. many persons spoke to shadrach, besides the person who whispered to him. while my back was turned towards shadrach, i heard some one say to him--"we will stand by you till death." _george t. curtis, esq._, u. s. commissioner, who held the examination in the case of shadrach, testified that there was no actual disturbance during the hearing. about the time of the adjournment, it might have been a minute or so afterwards, a tall young colored man standing behind the rail, approached shadrach, and, addressing him, said--"we will stand by you." mr. riley, the deputy marshal, observed the man, and heard the remark, and checked him, and sent an officer to remove him to another part of the room. mr. davis was present, but i did not know he was one of shadrach's counsel. he neither said or did anything, so far as i saw, from which i could infer he was present in that capacity. mr. e. g. loring, and mr. sewall were the only recognized counsel; that is, they were the only persons who addressed the court, and i should not have allowed him more than two counsel. _to mr. dana._ it is common to have more counsel than address the court. i do not know that mr. davis may not have been one of these. i should not have limited him, except as to such counsel as should address the court. [witness identifies the papers produced before him, and the order he passed for the adjournment, &c.] _austin s. cushing._ i was present on saturday, while the proceedings were going on. after the order was given for clearing the court room, i saw a man standing behind the rail, who was disinclined to leave. he left rather slowly, and, as he was leaving, he reached his hand over to the prisoner, and, i believe, calling him "fred," said--"we will stand by you till the death." it was a colored man. _jessee p. prescott_, in the employ of the fitchburg railroad company, testified that he was present in the passage way at the time of the rescue, and described the scene. a stout negro man came up the passage way from the supreme court room. he was peculiarly dressed, and two negroes said to him--"you are just the man we want." another said--"that's the boy for them," pointing to him. there being some difficulty in getting the door open, some sung out--"go it. life or death, we are prepared for 'em." another said--"damned bloodhounds." others said--"knife 'em." one man, whom he took to be a minister, dissuaded the other party from acts of violence. saw the rush into the court room, and saw the fugitive borne out in the arms of four or five persons. i am sure i saw mr. davis go into the court room by the east door, some five or ten minutes before the door was forced open. one man had a sword. _cross examined._ i had seen mr. davis before. i had seen him at the thompson meeting at the tremont temple. i think i had seen him trying a case in court also. saw you at the chaplin meeting. the person i took to be you was in a hurry--had no hat on, and spoke to a man as he was coming in. said, "how do you do," merely. it was not more than ten minutes before the adjournment. mr. lunt here rested the case for the prosecution. mr. dana moved the discharge of the defendant, on the ground of failure of proof, to raise the question of the construction of the statute, and asked the commissioner if he adhered to his ruling in mr. wright's case. the commissioner denied the motion, and said that he considered it sufficient for the government to prove that a person claimed as a slave had been rescued. testimony for the defence. mr. davis now called a number of witnesses for the defence, and mr. dana gave notice that the first set to be examined were expected to testify to the character of the government witness, frederick d. byrnes, for truth and veracity. * * * * * william ross was called to the stand as to the character of byrnes, but mr. byrnes being absent, was withdrawn. mr. riley recalled by defence. he was quite confident that mr. davis did not leave the court room, and come in again, just preceding the rescue. he seemed to be busy in talking with the associate counsel. the prisoner put on his coat while within the bar, before mr. davis left the room. _to mr. lunt._ on saturday morning mr. davis asked me if i had any more craft's cases. i told him not that i knew of. this was in the entry of the court house. while in the court room after the adjournment, he asked me if he understood me to say in the morning that no warrant was out. i had no warrant when mr. davis spoke to me in the morning. the warrant was in the hands of another deputy marshal, and i had not then seen it. i told mr. davis that whether i had known, or not, of the warrant, i should have given him the same answer. the reply rather surprised mr. davis. i think no one could have entered the easterly door without my knowledge. _cross examined._ _to mr. davis._ it was between and a.m., that i saw you. i was standing at the outer door, you passed, and i first asked you if you had seen mr. george p. curtis. _mr. davis._ it was that which reminded me of fugitive slave warrants? _mr. riley._ you answered the question, and then asked about warrants. i was waiting for mr. sawin, and mr. curtis at the time. _henry homer,_ assistant clerk of the municipal court. at the time of the mob, i was standing on the steps, about three above the level of the u. s. court-room. i had a view of the whole scene. the wooden door was open, and mr. hutchins had hold of it. the crowd was not very large then, nor pressing very hard. three good officers outside could have protected the door, and cleared the passage. then there were cries of "go in, and take him out," and the pressure increased against the door, and all at once it gave way, and in the crowd went. all done in ten seconds, i should think. never saw anything done so quick before. saw two men take hold of shadrach and fetch him out, about twenty other men following. the stairs were clear when they brought shadrach out, and they kind of threw him down the stairs. the crowd was all behind him. there was no crowd obstructing the stairs all the way down. the collection was outside. in passing him out into the street, they tore his coat off, and took his hat off. his coat laid in the mud, and his hat laid there. a woman seized him by the hair and said--"god-bless you. have they got you?" shadrach was very much frightened,--did not seem to know whether he had got among his friends or enemies. i saw this from the window at the head of the stairs. i did not see mr. wright. i think mr. davis was on the platform, or on the third stair going down. i did not hear his voice. i think i should have noticed it, if he had spoken. i heard no white voice. the voices were all of colored people. i am well acquainted with your voice (to mr. davis),--i have heard the music of it often enough, both in court and out of it. i will not swear that mr. davis did not speak; but i will swear that i don't remember to have heard any voices but those of colored people. i had been out to get a volume to see the statute, forbidding the officers of this state from aiding in any manner in making arrests under the old law for taking fugitives. _to the commissioner._--i remained on the stairs step above the landing until shadrach was brought out. i then went up stairs to get out of the way. i saw no man with two canes; saw no man with a club; saw no man with a sword. i am a justice of the peace, but i did not know what duty it imposed on me at that time. the affair was sudden, and i was somewhat excited. _afternoon._--gustavus andrews, jailor. i have known frederick d. byrnes ever since he came to boston. his general reputation for truth and veracity is bad. _cross examined._ i heard his character discussed by officers, and other persons. i cannot call to mind at this moment any person, not an officer, whom i have heard say he was not a man to be believed. _hiram wellington, esq._ attorney at law. had known frederick d. byrnes about seven years--his general reputation for truth and veracity is decidedly bad. _cross examined._--i never had any difficulty with him, that i know of. he once brought a small suit against me for constable's fees, and recovered, i believe. it was in the justices court. i don't know that he ever brought any complaint against me. if he did it was a secret one. i never knew of his complaining against me to the grand jury. _william ross_, tailor.--i should like to know what i am summoned here for. i don't wish to testify. have known mr. byrnes some three years. his general character for truth and veracity, i should say, is decidedly bad. _cross examined._ who have you heard speak of it? i don't wish to say. there have been twenty people in my place within a week to inquire how such a liar could get into office. i was once called to court in cambridge to testify about his character, and he called upon me to ask what i had against him. he is a well-known man. he became known on account of having been brought up for adultery. i could name people whom i have heard speak of him. i have heard martha adams speak of him; she lived with him when he kept the cape ann cottage, which was mysteriously burned down, and the insurance recovered. i might name others, but i don't think i am bound to mention them. mr. byrnes knows who they are. _derastus clapp_, constable.--have known mr. byrnes five or six years; have not heard his character for truth called in question these two years; have not heard it discussed within that period. he has kept in this city during this time. _the commissioner._--i think you cannot ask about reputation two years ago. _mr. lunt_ said it was clearly inadmissible. _mr. dana_ read a case in wendall's reports in which it was decided that the previous reputation could be shown. it is often the best evidence. _the commissioner_ thought he should take time to decide the point. _mr. lunt_ said there might be a difference of practice in different states. _ira gibbs._--have lived in boston between and years--was city marshal. have known mr. byrnes several years. i can't say but that i have heard his character spoken against in relation to truth and veracity. i don't think i have heard it frequently spoken about, but when spoken of, it has been against him. _charles smith_--constable and coroner--have known mr. byrnes about ten years; his character for truth, &c., bad. _cross examined._--the most i have heard about him has been from officers. mr. dexter keeps in the office with me. he has had difficulty with mr. byrnes. so has mr. leighton, who keeps in our office. i think i have heard his truth discussed, in reference to cases in which he was a witness. one of the cases was at east cambridge. it depended wholly on his testimony, i understood, and the other side prevailed. these discussions about his character were revived on account of his being appointed deputy u. s. marshal. i don't know that those who spoke of him wanted the office. don't know any body who wants his office. officers _rice_, _dexter_, _neale_, and _luther hutchins_, examined as to the character of mr. byrnes for truth, testified to the same effect as the preceding witness. _thomas s. harlow, esq._, counseller at law. i have known frederick d. byrnes seven or eight years. his reputation for truth and veracity is bad. _cross examined._--have heard him spoken of in the regular course of business, about the courts among officers. i had some business connection with mr. wellington, when he was sued by mr. byrnes. at this stage, the court adjourned till saturday, feb. . _saturday, february d._--commissioner hallett took his seat at o'clock. defence resumed. on the question reserved yesterday, the commissioner decided in relation to the knowledge of constable clapp of the reputation of mr. byrnes, he having stated that he had not heard his truth and veracity spoken of for two years, that he must first be inquired of generally as to mr. byrnes's reputation. mr. clapp answered as he did yesterday, and then mr. dana was allowed to ask him if he knew anything of his reputation for truth prior to that period. he replied that for about five years previous to the past two he had heard his reputation for truth and veracity spoken of. it was bad. _cross examined._--when he was so spoken of, reference was had to some business matters; to a civil case at new bedford, and a criminal case in boston. it was his character for truth and veracity that was spoken of, and had no relation to his honesty in not paying what he owed. _john g. king. esq._, counsellor at law.--i was in this court room on saturday forenoon. mr. davis was in when i came in. i ascertained that he was acting as counsel for the prisoner. after the adjournment i left mr. davis in consultation with the other counsel. before leaving i drew up a power of attorney, which the man shadrach signed. it was made to robert morris, and was intended to give him authority to act in reference to an application for a habeas corpus. when mr. riley was clearing the room, shadrach pointed out mr. davis as one of his counsel, and as such mr. riley allowed him to stay. _marcus morton, jr., esq._, counsellor at law.--i was sent for on saturday morning by shadrach. i had known him from six to nine months. there were but few persons in the court room when i came in. it was proposed to raise money for his value, if it should be decided to send him back. i went to the office of colonel thomas, the claimant's counsel, in relation to procuring the man's liberation in that way. nothing resulted from the conversation with colonel thomas. i don't know that mr. davis knew of it. i know that mr. davis was twice recognized by shadrach as his counsel. when i came in to the court room, shadrach appeared excited, and was talking a good deal. i told him he had better keep his mouth shut, and not to speak to any person except his counsel. he asked who he should have, and i designated among others, mr. davis for counsel. _cross examined._--i communicated my intention to e. g. loring. i was to have an answer from colonel thomas on monday morning. i don't recollect mentioning this to any of the counsel. i did mention it to several people. the case had been postponed till tuesday, before i called upon colonel thomas. _charles list, esq._, counsellor at law. i was in this room on saturday. mr. davis was here in the capacity of counsel for shadrach. i heard shadrach ask him to serve as counsel. mr. davis joined mr. sewall and myself at the table in examining the papers sent on by the owner for establishing his claims to shadrach. mr. davis examined them very thoroughly, and expressed a decided opinion that the papers were not sufficient under the statute. i asked mr. davis who the men guarding the prisoner were. he said one was sawin, whom he knew well, and he would inquire of him the other's name. he did so, and told me his name was clark. did not state to davis my object in asking. was told here there were to be proceedings for habeas corpus. i asked riley for copy of the warrant. he said he had one for mr. dana, which he was to have before o'clock. i told him if he would let me have it, i would give it to mr. dana before . sewall and mr. davis were then present. i went to mr. dana's office. i left eight or ten minutes before two, leaving mr. davis. i think mr. davis did not leave the court room any time while i was there. i was there from the commencement of the hearing, except for a short time that i stepped into the law library, to see if a particular gentleman was there. i think i went into the library before the commissioner left. i spoke with mr. davis frequently in the court room, and i think i should have known it, if he had gone out. no attempt had been made to force the door when i left. i had no difficulty in getting through the people in descending the stairs, or going through the passage, getting out of the court house. _mr. dana_ here proposed to prove that mr. davis at various places and times had advised the colored people against acts of violence. [the commissioner was inclined to allow the inquiry]. _mr. lunt_ objected to the inquiry, the charge against mr. davis being that he committed a specific act. _mr. dana_ waived the point for the present. _mr. list_ resumed. it was agreed in the court room that the counsel should hold a meeting at mr. sewall's office at three o'clock, and another meeting was to be holden at half past nine the next morning. the meeting was not held that afternoon on account of the rescue. the meeting was held sunday morning, and mr. davis was present. mr. davis called attention again to the insufficiency of the papers. question then arose whether proceedings would go on, and what commissioner might do. _cross examined._--i am not sure that mr. davis was one of those who agreed to hold the meeting in the afternoon. there were six who were considered as counsel. these were named e. g. loring, mr. sewall, mr. davis, mr. morris, mr. king, and myself. i cannot say that mr. davis was not out of my sight five minutes. when i went out, the officer opened the door sufficient to let me out, using no particular care with the door. there were in the entry about half as many people as it would contain; chiefly negroes; did not recognise any one, black or white, that i knew. i first went to mr. dana's office. i was in court street going towards washington street, when the rescue took place. i could not believe it when i first heard of the rescue, and went back to inquire. i had thought it possible a rescue would be attempted, for the colored people were very much against the law. i have spoken against the law, and probably shall again. [manifestations of applause on the part of the spectators. order commanded by the commissioner]. _mr. lunt_ here put the question,--do you approve of the rescue? mr. dana objected, and the commissioner sustained the objection. mr. list preferred to answer, and said that he was opposed to any violation of law, and had advised against violations of the law. _george w. adams, esq._, counsellor at law.--i was coming into the east door of the court house near o'clock, on saturday, met davis going through the passage, near the marshal's office,--saw him pass between the pillars in front of the office. i talked with him two or three minutes. i heard noises and shouts above, while i was talking with mr. davis. men were running in and out, when i left him, i ran out to court street, and saw the crowd moving off. _alonzo f. neale_, constable neale--i was in the court room on saturday--was called in by mr. noyes, the messenger of the u. s. courts--i saw mr. davis in the court room. i saw him go out of the court room. somebody asked me to let mr. davis out. i said i was not the door keeper. the person then spoke to mr. hutchins, who opened the door, and mr. davis passed out. i suppose now it was mr. wright who asked me to open the door for mr. davis. i think mr. davis, mr. wright, and a third person, a stranger, went out about together; and my attention was called off for a moment, by noticing the colored man get up, put his coat on, and walk about. then came the yell, and the forcing of the door. doubting whether as a constable, i had any right to interfere, i concluded not to do anything until some emergency occurred. i saw mr. hutchins driven away from the door. it is my opinion that mr. byrnes was behind the door. if so, he could not see outside the doorway. at the time of the first rush, there was one or two near mr. hutchins, and mr. byrnes might have been one of them. i should think the prisoner got up and put on his coat just about the time mr. wright and mr. davis passed out. when the yell came the prisoner ran towards the door on the east side, and then back on the other side of the rail to the front door. i was somewhat excited, but i helped in holding on to the door. john h. riley was on the other side, and patrick riley was walking back and forth. i felt rather vexed that they did not come to the door attacked, to assist in closing it, and i withdrew from the door. john riley was calling for assistance. there had been pounding at the doors before the prisoner put his coat on, and shew signs of excitement; and there had been a good deal of loud talking outside. i was in the court room about an hour. i should not think mr. davis went out after i came in, until he went out at the time i have spoken of. _george w. minns, esq._, counsellor at law.--i was in this court room between one and two on saturday,--saw mr. davis was here. including the officers and counsel, there appeared to be about a dozen persons in the court room, when i was admitted. heard mr. riley say the prisoner would be allowed to see his friends from time to time, and every thing reasonable done to make his situation comfortable. saw mr. davis--his manner was calm. he remained so till an incident occurred. some person behind where i was sitting said something, concluding with the remark, "kill the negroes!" i thought the remark came from mr. byrnes, but i don't know. mr. davis, at the time, was walking from the table to me, and heard it. he was irritated by the remark, and said--"then, on that principle, you ought to have your throats cut." mr. byrnes and another officer were behind me. i was sitting within the bar, next to the railing, which was between me and byrnes and the other officer. i know mr. byrnes' voice, and am able to recognize it, and i thought at the time that it was he who made the remark, but i cannot swear. it was not very loud, and i did not turn round to look at mr. byrnes. i didn't think from the tone, that the remark was made by one who intended to kill the negro, but i thought it was made for the purpose of irritating or insulting mr. davis. my attention was chiefly occupied in looking at the prisoner. _frederick warren_, deputy marshal. i left the court room about five minutes before two o'clock--went down stairs--came back by the passage up to the supreme court--went to the closet, and there heard the shout; came out of the closet; found the crowd more dense than five minutes before, and the door being pulled and vibrating; proceeded to the city marshal's office, to notify the marshal, who said he could do nothing. i told him the crowd was forcing the door. i think i saw a white person near the corner of the recess, when i entered the closet. when i got back from the city hall, the rescue had been made. [the object of mr. warren's testimony was to show that it was he, and not mr. davis, who was seen in the passage, and to go into the court room a few minutes before the rescue]. _elizur wright,_ one of the editors of the commonwealth,--i was in the court room on saturday,--i came about half past one,--i had previously been at the adams house, attending a meeting of the proprietors of the commonwealth. i met some reporters coming out of the court room, when i got to the door. the officers refused to admit me. i said i was connected with the press, and was soon admitted. i saw mr. davis, but was not acquainted with him. did not know his name. understood they had been examining papers. had no conversation with davis, except what i now state. i got into a little difficulty with mr. riley, by supposing him to be the counsel for the claimant. mr. davis then told me that mr. riley was the deputy marshal. i said to some of the people, that there were not many persons outside, and i may have said so to mr. davis. when mr. davis went out, i was just about where mr. list is now sitting, in front of the clerk's desk. at this stage, the court adjourned till monday. * * * * * _monday, february_ .--mr. commissioner hallett resumed the examination at o'clock. _elizur wright_ recalled. i was in the court room fifteen or twenty minutes. it was perfectly impossible that mr. davis could have gone out and come in again without my knowing it. _cross examined._ mr. sewall stated to me the _quo modo_ of the arrest. about half the time i was in there i was occupied in explanations with mr. riley, after the altercation which arose from my mistaking him for the counsel for the claimant. the explanations resulted in his giving me permission to speak to shadrach. i then shook shadrach by the hand, and spoke a few words to him. while mr. sewall was telling me that he thought a good defence could be made for shadrach, that there would be a probability of his getting off upon the proof, there were two or three persons standing about, and some one of them said there might be an interference on the part of the colored people. mr. sewall said that would be perfectly ridiculous, and i said so too. it was in that connection, i think, that i said there were but few persons outside. i had come from a meeting of the persons interested in the commonwealth. _mr. lunt_--are you one of the editors of the commonwealth? [witness did not answer, but smiled]. _mr. dana_--i object to the question, and ask the purpose of the district attorney in proposing to put in anything in relation to the connection of the witness with that newspaper. _the commissioner_ remarked that the inquiry was irrelevant, unless the district attorney expected to show from it a bias on the part of the witness. _mr. wright_ now, without any further questioning, stated that he was one of the editors of the "commonwealth." the conversation was about the possibility of the colored people taking it quietly. mr. sewall said, i hope there will be no violence. _richard h. dana, jr._ was called to the stand by mr. davis. [mr. dana said that when he entered upon the case, he did not suppose he should be a witness, or he would have declined acting as counsel. _the commissioner._ there is no impropriety in it in a preliminary inquiry; and in your case, never.] on saturday morning, mr. davis called at my office and told me that a man had just been arrested as a fugitive slave, and was before the court, and proposed that we should offer our services as counsel. i asked if he had counsel. mr. davis said it was a sudden arrest, and a case for volunteers. we went over to the court room. the court was in session. there was a division of labor. it was agreed that i should take charge of the habeas corpus and of a writ _de homine replegiando_, and mr. davis was to remain and assist at the hearing. i went to the marshal's office, and there drew up a petition for a habeas corpus, and filled out a writ _de homine replegiando_. deputy marshal warren was present. i left word with the counsel to send me down some one to swear to the petition in the prisoner's behalf. mr. morris came with mr. loring and swore to the petition. i then went to chief justice shaw, and asked for the writ. he refused it, for reasons which he gave. i returned to the court room, reported my proceedings to the counsel, and prepared to obviate the objections of judge shaw. mr. davis knew of all these proceedings. just then mr. curtis adjourned the court to tuesday. finding that there was to be no hurrying, i agreed with the counsel, (including mr. davis.) to meet them in consultation at - / p.m., at mr. sewall's office. bespoke a copy of the warrant from mr. riley, and returned to my office. a little after half past one, i received a message that, by the marshal's permission, the counsel were to remain awhile in the court room for consultation, and wished me to join them there. i sent word that i would come immediately. i was accidentally detained, by a client, until nearly o'clock, and, in the interval, the rescue had taken place. _to mr. lunt._ i heard some conversation from people of all opinions, in the way of conjecture or inquiry as to whether the blacks would resort to force, but nothing in the way of advising or planning such a course. _mr. lunt._ can you say that none of those who acted as counsel here, spoke of it? _mr. dana._ i can say, most positively, that i never heard one of the gentlemen who acted as counsel here, say any thing in the way of advising or planning a resort to violence, or that indicated any knowledge or belief on their part that it would take place. _mr. lunt._ did you attend the meetings at faneuil hall in october, relating to the fugitive slave bill? _mr. dana._ one i did, the other i did not. i do not recollect the dates. when i attended, i read a letter from president quincy, at the request of one of his family. that will fix the date. _mr. lunt._ did you speak at that meeting? _mr. dana._ i object to these questions as matter of right. i am not obliged to answer them. but, personally, i have no objection to answering them. _mr. lunt._ i think it would be a satisfaction to the community to know from yourself how the matter stands as to these meetings. _mr. dana._ on that ground, i have no objections to answering. i did not speak at this meeting, for reasons of my own. for the same reasons i did not attend the second meeting. i wrote a set of resolutions, which i believe were adopted. these i am ready to stand or fall by. _the commissioner._ i read them. they were unexceptionable. _mr. dana._ unexceptionable in a legal view; but your honor could not agree to the opinions expressed. after the meeting had adjourned, as i was informed, (and as it was stated in the papers,) a resolution was put, and declared by the crowd to be passed, but it was irregular and not noticed by the officers. that resolution was objectionable, in my opinion. but in none of the meetings or consultations i have attended, have any of the gentlemen recommended or suggested use of force against the law. the private meetings have related to the use of legal defences and modes of raising and presenting constitutional questions, and have been composed of lawyers, almost, if not quite, exclusively. the opinions of the defendant, so far as i know, are the same as mine. he believes the act unconstitutional and unjust, and will give it no voluntary aid, but will not recommend or join in forcible violations of it. i am willing to say this, since we have got upon the subject, although it is not testimony. _charles h. brainard._ i have heard mr. byrnes' reputation for truth and veracity spoken of, but not until these trials had commenced. _charles c. conley._ had heard mr. byrnes' truth, &c., spoken against for some time back. _charles mead_ examined on same point, but did not testify definitely. _mr. dana to mr. lunt._ it was in the lobby that i saw chief justice shaw in relation to the habeas corpus. i came into the court room and reported the result to the counsel. it was after the proceedings before the commissioner were over. _to mr. davis._ my impression is that i saw some of the crowd enter the door on the west side of the building after i heard the yell in the court-house. mr. dana here proposed to put in the testimony given by mr. davis on the examination of mr. wright, on the ground that the government had asked mr. clark whether he heard mr. davis's testimony in mr. wright's case, and he had stated a portion of it. mr. lunt objected. mr. dana said the government had put it in either as conversation or as confession. in either case the defendant was entitled to the whole of it, under the general principles of evidence. _the commissioner._ you may put in all that part of mr. davis's testimony which concerns the statement of transactions which mr. clark testified that mr. davis said, but no more. mr. dana then read a small portion of mr. davis's testimony, and said he should rest his defence for the present. _j. s. prescott_, recalled by the government.--i recollect seeing mr. warren in the passage-way after the man was carried down stairs; but he was not the person i saw before the rescue, and who went in by the door next to the marshal's desk. that man spoke to one of the colored men. i also saw a man come out of that door, go into the closet, and return into the court room by the same door. _cross-ex._ i saw mr. warren start on the run down stairs. saw mr. neale too. i said to him--"what, have they rescued the man?" and he said they had. he appeared agitated. at the time i spoke to mr. neale i knew they had taken the negro out. i spoke to mr. neale because i took him for an officer. i was at the court house to see a mr. pearson in the supreme court. after the rescue i had some conversation in court square on saturday afternoon with mr. simon hanscom, a reporter. i did not tell him i was in the court room; but told him i was present when the crowd rushed in. i knew that several people saw me there. i had been told i had been seen there. i felt it to be my duty to tell mr. riley what i knew about the proceedings, as i regarded it as outrageous. i may have said in one sense, i was glad the man had got away, so far as he was concerned. i gave notice first to mr. riley of what i knew. i expected to be called as a witness. knew that it was known i was here. think i should not have spoken to mr. riley if i had not known that i had spoken of having been here. i do not exactly approve of the law, for i think there might be a trial by jury; but so long as it was the law, i did not want to see it put down in the manner it was. some one pointed me out to mr. hanscom, as a person who saw the whole of it. i was laughing about it. mr. hanscom called me aside. i could not help laughing. my conversation with mr. hanscom was a very short one. i think i said something about mob law. mr. hanscom tried to get me to talk more; but knowing him to be a reporter, and the paper he was reporter for, i did not say much to him. _to the commissioner._ the person i took to be mr. davis, in the passage, had spectacles, i think, and had his hat in his hand. i did not think there was a rescue intended until they drew the man out. i supposed the negroes, in trying to get the door open, only wanted to get in and see the trial. a few minutes before, in the street, i had been told that there was a slave case on trial in the u. s. court. _mr. sawin_, recalled. when mr. davis said we all ought to have our throats cut, he spoke to me. mr. byrnes had said nothing about killing the negro. i heard no such remark from any body. i saw mr. minns in the room. _the commissioner._ why didn't you report the remark of mr. davis to the commissioner? _mr. sawin._ i did not think enough of the remark to report it to the commissioner. i was friendly to mr. davis, and had known him a long time. _cross-ex._ it was a private remark. james h. blake, late city marshal, geo. woodman, nathan hyde, john s. phillips, and f. l. cushman, custom house officers, were then called to testify concerning the character of mr. byrnes. they had known him casually, and had never heard any thing said about his character. robert mcgill, brigham n. bacon, levi whitney, geo. w. barker, and m. c. woodman, of the merchant's hotel and exchange coffee house, testified that they had known him as frequenting their houses several years, and never heard his character called in question. r. m. kibbe, keeper of a billiard-room and eating-house, joseph cochran, keeper of a restaurant, g. l. gilbert, late of california, previously a dealer in spirituous liquors, j. g. smith, wholesale wine and liquor dealer, henry gilbert, dealer in ale and liquors, and daniel leland, jr., vinegar manufacturer, had known mr. byrnes as a customer several years, and have not heard his character for truth questioned. sylvanus mitchell, richard nutter, ---- gilbert, and james h. mitchell had known him in bridgewater or years ago, but had never been intimate with them. not known much of him of late years, and had not heard his character for truth questioned. george w. phillips, attorney at law, had known byrnes several years as an officer, and had never heard his character called in question until within a week. john l. roberts, a mason, had known byrnes by name for a year, but had never heard him spoken of. richard hosea, constable, testified that his character was good as far as he knew. john roberts, book-binder, had known him several years, not as an acquaintance or neighbor, and had never heard his character doubted until last week. samuel g. andrews, a printer, living in somerville the last year, had met him or years, occasionally, and had never heard his character questioned. robert t. alden, sail-maker, had known him years, never heard his character for truth doubted. cross examined. had met him at balls and assemblies, had known him as a constable, plumber, and keeper of cape cottage. it appeared from cross examination of the other witnesses, that mr. byrnes had also been known as a farmer, iron founder, tack maker, sailor, keeper of a restaurant, keeper of a bowling alley, real estate broker, grocer, and deputy marshal. none of the witnesses had been his neighbors since he left bridgewater. elisha p. glover, officer in the employ of the marshal. had never heard byrnes' character called in question until a year ago, don't recollect hearing it spoken of since then. did hear one of the witnesses speak of it a few days after. was a witness for byrnes at that trial. _simon p. hanscom_ was now called for the defence, and stated that he was one of the reporters for the commonwealth. he was called for the purpose of proving that mr. prescott, one of the government witnesses, had stated that he saw what was done in the court room at the time of the rescue. a short time after the rescue, he saw mr. prescott in the street, and, in his capacity of reporter, applied to mr. prescott for information, he having stated that he saw the rescue and knew all about it. he supposed at the time mr. prescott gave him the account, that he was relating what he had seen only. this was his conclusion at the time, and, the question having been raised, he was not now able to separate the hearsay statements made by mr. prescott, from the facts which he stated upon his personal knowledge. those statements differed from the observations of mr. wright, who was in the court room, particularly in reference to the knocking down of officers, &c., which mr. wright said did not take place. prescott said there were officers knocked down at the door, that one colored man knocked an officer under the rail of the bar, and another took the sword and brandished it in the room. mr. davis, who was inquired of on that point, said that there were no blows struck. don't know what part of the transaction davis spoke of. therefore the information he received from mr. prescott was not used in making up the account of the rescue which was given in the commonwealth "extra" published on sunday morning. _cross examination._ mr. prescott said it was well done, and he appeared very much pleased, as many others did. i was also very much pleased at the escape; and am always gratified at a person's gaining his liberty. he had no recollection of expressing any approbation of the manner of the rescue. i am not in favor of violating the laws. i should have been very glad if shadrach had not been arrested. _mr. lunt._ is mr. davis often at the office of the commonwealth? _mr. hanscom._ i have seen him there once or twice before the rescue, and once since. the evidence was here announced to be closed on both sides, and the court was adjourned to tuesday, o'clock. * * * * * mr. dana then addressed the court, as follows: _may it please your honor:_ certainly, mr. commissioner, we are assembled here, this morning, under extraordinary circumstances. i am not aware that since the foundations of our institutions were laid, since we became an independent people, since the commonwealth of massachusetts had an independent existence,--i am not aware that a case similar to this has once arisen. i do not know that ever before in our history, a judicial tribunal has sat, even for a preliminary hearing, upon a gentleman of education, a counsellor of the law, sworn doubly, as a justice of the peace, and as a counsellor in all the courts, to sustain the constitution of the united states and the laws made in pursuance thereof,--a gentleman of property, family, friends, reputation, who has more at stake in the preservation of these institutions than nine in ten of those who charge him with this crime;--who stands charged with an offence (in the construction now attempted to be put upon the statute) of a treasonable character, a treasonable misdemeanor, an attempt to rescue a person from the law by force, an attempt to set up violence against the law of the land. therefore it is that this trial attracts this unusual interest. it is not that, so far as this defendant is concerned, the question whether he be bound over here, or whether the district attorney takes his case directly to the grand jury, can make the slightest difference in the world; but because the decision of this tribunal, though only preliminary, will have great effect upon the community, and will be carried throughout the united states. it is because of the political weight attached to it, that such anxiety is felt for the result. for the simple rescue of a prisoner out of the hands of an officer, is a thing that occurs in our streets not very unfrequently, and often in other cities. it might have occurred up stairs, and not have attracted a moment's attention. who, mr. commissioner, is the defendant, at the bar? i have said that he is a justice of the peace, sworn to sustain the laws, a counsellor of this court and of all the courts of the united states in this state, sworn doubly to sustain the laws. he is a gentleman of property and education, whose professional reputation and emolument depend upon sustaining law against force; a man whose ancestors, of the ancient pilgrim stock of plymouth, are among those who laid the foundations of the institutions that we enjoy. he has at this moment so much interest in the way of personal pride, historical recollections, property, in family, reputation, honor and emolument in these courts--so much at stake as to render it impossible to believe, except on the strongest confirmation, that he should be guilty of the offence charged against him at this moment. the charge against the defendant involves the meanness of instigating others to an act he dares not commit of himself, of putting forward obscure and oppressed men, to dare the dangers and bear the penalties from which he screens himself; meantime holding up his hand and swearing to obey the laws of his country which he is urging others forward to violate. since, then, my friend has done me the honor to ask me to appear for him before this tribunal, from among others so much better qualified, i feel that i am placed in circumstances calling for some allowance, some liberty for feeling and expression. we think ourselves happy that in this state trial, this political state trial, we appear before one who has been known through his whole life as not only the advocate of the largest liberty, but the asserter and maintainer of the largest liberty of speech and action, at the bar, in the press, and in the forum, carrying those ideas to an extent to which, i confess, with my comparative conservatism, i have not always seen my way clear to follow. therefore, i shall look for as large a liberty as the case will allow me in addressing myself to this court; in bringing forward all considerations, in suggesting all possible motives, in commenting upon all the circumstances that lie about this cause. at the same time i shall expect from the person who sits clothed with the authority of an executive whose will is as powerful as that of any sovereign in christendom, except the czar of the russias--i shall expect from him no unnecessary interruptions, no extraordinary appeals, no traveling out of the usual course of a simple judicial proceeding. why is it that the defendant stands here at this bar a prisoner? how is this extraordinary spectacle to be accounted for? i beg leave to submit that the whole history is simply this. there has been a law passed in the year , by the congress of the united states, which subjects certain persons, if they be fugitive slaves, or whether they be or not, subjects them to be arrested and brought into court, to have the question of their liberty and that of their seed forever, tried by a so called judicial tribunal. those persons are mostly poor. they belong to an oppressed class. they are the poor plebeians, while we are the patricians of our community. they are of all the people in the world those who most need the protection of courts of justice. i think the court will agree with me that if there is a single duty within the range of the duties of a counsellor of this court which it is honorable for him to perform, and in the performance of which he ought to have the encouragement of the court, it is when he comes forward voluntarily to offer his services for a man arrested as a fugitive slave. therefore it is that i think it somewhat unfortunate the district attorney should have thought it necessary to arrest counsel. if there be a person against whom no intimidation should be used, it is the counsel for a poor, unprotected fugitive from captivity.--the question is, whether a man and his posterity forever, the fruit of his body, shall be slave or free. it is to be decided on legal principles. if there is a case in the world that calls for legal knowledge and ability--that calls for counsellors to come in and labor without money or price, it is a case like this. i think it a monstrous thing, unless it be a case beyond doubt, that counsel should have been selected to be proceeded against in this manner. i take the facts to be these:--mr. davis, being a counsellor of this court, and possessed of no small sympathy for persons in peril of their freedom, when it was known that a person claimed as a fugitive slave was arrested, and in a few hours, perhaps, to be sent into eternal servitude, mr. davis steps over to my office and suggests to me that we offer our services as counsel. he leaves his business, which is large, while five courts are in session in this building. he sits here that whole saturday forenoon by the prisoner, to whom he is recommended by mr. morton. he is twice spoken of to mr. riley by the prisoner, as one of his counsel. he sits from eleven to two o'clock, absorbed in this case, his feelings necessarily excited, (and i should be ashamed of him if they were not excited,) but his intellectual powers devoted to the points of law in this case, and your honor knows that the points are various and new. by the courtesy of the marshal, the counsel were permitted to remain here, because the marshal had not yet determined where to keep his prisoner. they remained until the time for the prisoner's meal. when the business is over, they leave. some one must go out first, and somebody must go out last. it is nothing more nor less than the old rule of "the devil take the hindermost." mr. list leaves the court-room--mr. warren goes out. all the officers are to go to dinner, and the door is to be opened and closed each time. dinner is to be brought in. twenty times that door is to be opened. in the mean time about that door is collected a small number of persons of the same color with the person then at the bar, very likely, perhaps, to make a rescue, some advising against it, and some for it, with considerable excitement. mr. davis slides out of that passage-way and goes to his office. mr. wright is prevented from going by the crowd. not a blow is struck. not the hair of a man's head is injured. the prisoner walks off with his friends, straight out of this court-house, and no more than twenty or thirty persons have done the deed. three men outside of the door could have prevented the rescue. mr. riley did not suspect it. mr. warren did not suspect it. mr. homer did not suspect it. mr. wright did not suspect it. nobody suspected it. the sudden action of a small body of men, unexpected, and only successful because unexpected, accomplished it. he is out of the reach of the officers in a moment, and there's the end of the whole business. no premeditation! no plan! counsel knowing nothing about it! nobody suspecting it, and the whole thing over in one minute! but, may it please the commissioner, the law is violated--the outrage is done. this is a case of great political importance, and the deputy marshal thinks it his duty, (i think in rather an extraordinary manner,) instantly, before any charge is made against him, before any official inquiry is started, to issue a long affidavit, sent post haste to every newspaper, and hurried on to washington,--congress in session,--a delicate question there,--northern and southern men arrayed against each other. then comes an alarm. then the executive shrieks out a proclamation. a standing army is to be ordered to boston. all good citizens are to be commanded to sustain the laws. the country thinks that mob law is rioting in boston--that we all go armed to the teeth. the chief magistrate of fifteen millions of people must launch against us the thunders from his mighty hand. in the meantime, we poor, innocent citizens are just as quiet, just as peaceable, just as confident in our own laws, just as capable of taking care of ourselves on saturday evening as on friday morning. only some frightened innocents, like the goose, the duck and the turkey in the fable, say the sky is falling, and they must go and tell the king! but we can all see now that there was too much alarm. we begin already to feel the reaction. a state of things has been created over this country entirely unwarranted by the circumstances. and i trust that the commissioner will be able to say to the country, say to his excellency the president of the united states, say to the world, that nothing of this sort has occurred; that there has been no preconcerted action; that the marshal cleared his room, and every body went out peaceably; that nobody expected the rescue; that there was no crowd in the court-room; but the blacks, feeling themselves oppressed and periled by this law, standing at that door, behind which their friend and companion is held a prisoner, rush in, almost without resistance, carry off their prisoner, and not a blow is struck, not a weapon drawn, not a man injured. that is the end of it. there is no need of standing armies in boston! and, above all, we trust that the commissioner will be able to say to the world, to the president, and to congress, that this effort was the unpremeditated, irresistible impulse of a small body of men, acting under the sense and sight of oppression and impending horrid calamities, against the advice of some of their own number; and that no gentleman of education, no counsellor of this court sworn to obey the law, has instigated these poor men to its overthrow. massachusetts is not in a state of civil war, and her most valued citizens are not engaged in overturning the foundations of civil government. why should the criminal proceedings of this day have taken place at all? what is the evidence? the learned district attorney thought proper to suggest to the court that there was further evidence which might be presented in another stage of this proceeding. that, i am sure, fell with as little weight upon the mind of the commissioner as it would if we, on the other hand, had said, as is the fact, that we have a large amount of evidence that might yet be presented in behalf of mr. davis. this is not a game of brag! it is not upon evidence that is not here, but upon evidence that is here, that this case is to be decided. here has been mortified pride, here has been fear, here has been the dread spectre of executive power, stalking across the scene, appalling the hearts, and disabling the judgments of men. excited men suspect everybody. every person who ever attended a public meeting is suspected. a political party is to be put under the ban. there is nothing so rash as fear. there is nothing so indiscriminating as fear. there is nothing so cruel as fear, unless it be mortified pride--and here they both concurred. instructions come from a distant executive power that knows nothing of the facts. and the fear of that power and patronage is the reason, may it please the commissioner, why suddenly, on saturday or sunday, before the subject can be examined and the truth ascertained, a warrant is got out against a person of the character and position of mr. davis. but when we look at things in their natural light, when there is a calm investigation of the facts, i think the government will see and regret its rashness and delusion. i understand, may it please the commissioner, that there is to be a great deal done on this case of an unusual character. we have been threatened with the reading of newspapers; and public meetings, and political principles are to be charged as treasonable. yes! political considerations are brought to bear. we cannot tell what limit is to be put to this. therefore, not knowing what is before me, having no ordinary rules of procedure to guide me, the commissioner will allow me to try to anticipate the attacks as well as i can. for having had it intimated that the argument will not follow legal evidence, but extracts from newspapers-- _mr. lunt._ that is very strong. i have offered you everything of that kind that i have to say. _the commissioner._ the gentleman proposes to read as part of his argument, an article from the newspapers. _mr. dana._ he proposes to read it as evidence, to affect the mind of the court on the facts. i cannot object to it now. when it is offered, i have no doubt it will be properly met by the commissioner. i say, not knowing what is to come upon me, i must take a pretty wide margin. in that view of the case, it will not be improper if i state what i understand to be the true position of mr. davis, with reference to the principles involved in this case. may it please your honor, we are not subjects of a monarchy, which has put laws upon us that we have no hand in making. i do not hesitate to say, here, that if the act of had been imposed upon us, a subject people, by a monarchy, we should have rebelled as one man. i do not hesitate to say that if this law had been imposed upon us as a province, by a mother country, without our participation in the act, we should have rebelled as one man. but we are a republic. we make our own laws. we choose our own lawgivers. we obey the laws we make, and we make the laws we obey. this law was constitutionally passed, though not constitutional, we think, in its provisions. it is the law until repealed or judicially abrogated. who passed this law? it was passed by the vote of the representative of our own city, whom we sent there by our own votes. it was advocated by our own senator. it was passed by the aid of northern votes. where is the remedy? it strikes me that the statement of the case shows where the remedy is. it is in the hands of the people. it is not in standing behind and urging on poor men to put themselves in the cannon's mouth. it is political courage that is wanted. courage shown in speech, through the pen, and through the ballot-box. but be it known that all i have said is on the idea that this is a repealable law. if we are to be told that this is a part of the organic law, sunk down deep into national compact, and never to be repealed,--then neither you nor i can answer for the consequences. but now we can say that it is nothing but an act, that may be repealed tomorrow. take from us that great argument, and what can the defendant and myself do? what can the defendant say to discourage colored men from the use of force? you take from him his great means of influence. i never have been one of those, and i think the defendant has never been one of those, who would throw out all their strength in denunciations against southern men born to their institution of slavery, and pass over those northern men who volunteer to bring this state of things upon us. but as a citizen, within constitutional limits, addressing his fellow-citizens at faneuil hall, (where i think we have still a right to go,) discouraging his fellow-citizens from violence, writing in the newspapers and arguing in the courts of law to the same purpose, saying to the poor trembling negro, i will give you a habeas corpus! i will give you a writ of personal replevin! i will aid in your defence! there is no need of violence! that is the position of the defendant. if he held any other position, if the defendant had made up his mind that here was a case for revolution, that here was a case for civil war and bloodshed--if i know anything of the spirit of the defendant, he would have exhibited himself in a far different manner. he would have resigned his position as a counsellor of this court, with all its profits and honors; he would put himself at the head instead of urging on from behind a class of ignorant, excited men, against the execution of the laws. for he knows perfectly well--an educated man as he is, who has studied his logic and metaphysics, and who is not unfamiliar with the principles of the social system--that an intentional, forcible resistance to law is, in its nature, revolution. and i take it, no citizen has the right forcibly to violate the law, unless he is prepared for revolution. i know that these nice metaphysic rays, as burke says, piercing into the dense medium of common life, are refracted and distorted from their course. but an educated man, with a disciplined mind, knows that he has no right to encourage others to forcible resistance, unless he is ready to take the risks of bringing upon the community all the consequences of civil war. we talk about a higher law on the subject of resistance to the law. and there is a higher law. but what is it? it is the right to passive submission to penalties, or, it is the active ultimate right of revolution. it is the right our fathers took to themselves, as an ultimate remedy for unsupportable evils. it means, war and bloodshed. it is a case altogether out of law. i do not know a man educated to the law that takes any other ground. i suppose your honor did not misapprehend my last remark and that no one did. when i said resistance to the law, i did not mean to include resistance for the purpose of raising a constitutional issue. if an unconstitutional tax is levied, you refuse to pay it and raise the constitutional question. this right seems to be lost sight of. persons seem to think we are to obey statutes and not the constitution. i understand that the duty to the constitution is above the duty to the statutes. and therefore i say, by resistance to the law, i mean combined, systematic, forcible resistance to the law for the purpose of overcoming all law, or a particular law in all cases; defying the government to arms, and not for the purpose of raising a constitutional issue. for this is within the power, nay, it is sometimes the duty of a citizen. i do not know a position in which a person does a greater good to his fellow citizens than when he does, as john hampden did on the question of ship money, raise, by refusal to obey, the constitutional issue. and in doing this, he ought to have the approbation of the courts and their ministers, and of every person true to the constitution and the laws. at the same time that it is important to maintain all these principles, which are the principles of the defendant, i also think this is a season when we must be very careful that certain opposite doctrines are not carried too far. i think it is a time, this day, when it becomes a judicial tribunal to see to it, that this extraordinary combination of executive power and patronage; this alarm and this anxiety at head quarters, does not lead to a violation of private rights and personal liberty. i think there is a pressure brought to bear against the free expression of popular opinion, against the exercise of private judgment--a pressure felt even in the courts of law, intimidating counsel, overawing witnesses, and making the defence of liberty a peril. there is the pressure of fear of political disfranchisement, of social ostracism, which weighs upon this community like a night-mare. we feel it everywhere. we know that we make sacrifices when we act in this cause. we feel that we suffer under it. and if this course is persevered in, i believe that if a man stands at that bar charged with being a fugitive slave, he will find it difficult to obtain counsel in this city of boston, except from a small body of men peculiarly situated. i think that two years ago no man could have stood before this bar, with perpetual servitude impending over him, but almost the entire bar would have come forward for his defence. no man would have dared to decline. but because of this pressure of political and mercantile interests, it is said that henry long found it difficult to obtain counsel in new york. his friends sent to boston to obtain an eminent man here, willing to brave public feeling by acting as a counsellor in a case of slavery. i do believe that this danger is to be regarded. for there is, at times, as much servility in democracies as in monarchies. i was struck with the remark made by the earl of carlisle, in his late letter, that there is in the united states an absolute submission to the supposed popular opinion of the hour, greater than he ever knew in any other country in the world. this is something in which no american can take pride. the history of democratic governments shows that they may be as arbitrary as any absolute monarchy. athens and paris have, under democratic forms, been the standing illustrations of tyranny and arbitrary rule the world over. those are free governments, in which there is a government of just laws, whether wrought out through a mixed government, as in england, or wrought out as here by the people themselves, and cast into representative forms. and now we see before us the anomaly, the mortifying contradiction, that it is in great britain, and not in the republic of the united states, with our venerated declaration of independence, that the great principles of liberty and fraternity are practically carried out. i do not mean to reflect upon any person or persons south or north of a certain geographical line. our ancestors have eaten sour grapes, and their childrens' teeth are set on edge. we are all under the same condemnation. we are all responsible for these laws--for slavery, in some form or other. our constitutional compact makes us responsible, and we cannot escape from our share of the evil and the wrong. but i must leave these generalities, and pass to the particular points of this case. this is the first case of its kind that has occurred. the decision in this case by the commissioner, though not matter of precedent, yet goes to the profession, the press, and into the private records of the country. therefore we may be excused if we pay some considerable attention to the points of law involved. in the first place, it should be borne in mind that a fugitive slave is not a criminal. a few years ago, it was thought in massachusetts that the pursuing of slaves was criminal. i thank god, it is not yet decided that the escaping from slavery is criminal. it is a mere question of property under this act. this law has recognized certain property in slaves, claimed in a certain manner, in the free states. it is a mere question of property. the southern man has certain property in his slave. that property we do not here recognise. but if the property escapes, and he pursues it, it is to be recognised in this court. consequently, when a southern man comes here and seizes a person as his property, he takes him at his own risk, a risk which every man takes in seizing any thing as his property. if he seizes the wrong property, any person who owns it, may resist him, or resist his officer armed with a warrant. this has been ruled in various cases. your honor recollects in the th pickering, the case of the commonwealth vs. kennard. there the writ was placed in the hands of the officer, to go and attach some property of the defendant. he attached certain property which he thought belonged to the defendant. he showed his warrant, but the true owners put him, neck and heels, out of the house. they were indicted, but the court sustained them in their act. in a civil action, if the wrong person, the wrong horse, or the wrong slave, is taken, then the owner of the property may defend it, or the man seized may defend himself if he chooses. there is a different statute on the subject of interfering with the process of the courts, interfering with judicial processes, under which this respondent is not held to answer. whenever this respondent is held to answer for resisting judicial processes, then these other questions may be raised. he is now only charged with rescuing property from the owner, or the officer holding for the owner. the constitution says that any person _charged_ with crime, and escaping, shall delivered up. but in the case of the fugitive slave, it carefully alters the phraseology. it does not say that any person _charged_ with being a fugitive slave shall be surrendered, but any person who _is_ a fugitive slave. in the one case, the _charge_ is the only material fact, and is proved by record. in the other case, which is a question of property, the fact of property is the foundation of the proceeding. so, in this act of , the th section does not provide that any person who _claims_ a fugitive slave, shall have the right to arrest him, but any person who _is the owner_ of a fugitive slave, may arrest him. so in the th section, the penalty is not inflicted for rescuing a person who is _claimed_ as a fugitive slave, but for rescuing a person who _is_ a fugitive slave. these provisions are in analogy with the law of property, and of the arrest of persons and property, in all other cases. as bad as this statute is, it is not quite so bad as its friends in this case would make it. the next consideration is, that it is not necessary that the claim should be made by virtue of legal process. the owner or his agent may arrest the fugitive _with or without process._ the offence is equally committed, and the penalty is the same, whether the rescue is made from the owner without process, or from the officer having process. this fact, with the fact that there is a general statute relating to the offence of obstructing judicial processes, shows that this statute assumes the facts of property and escape to be true, and applies only to cases in which they shall prove to be true. if this is not so, what is the result? if a man claims another, without process, by putting his hand on his shoulder, though the man may be as free as you or i, if he resists, or his friends aid him in resisting, the offence is committed. a man claimed as a fugitive slave, has been rescued or aided in his escape. you cannot refuse to deliver up a colored boy or girl born in your house, of free parents, to any man who knocks at your door and claims the child, with or without a warrant, without incurring the penalties of this act. this monstrous construction can never be admitted. i beseech the commissioner to reconsider his intimated opinion on this point, and to hold the government to preliminary proof, in the outset, that the person rescued was a slave by the law of virginia, was the slave of the man who claimed him, and was a fugitive from that state of slavery. what evidence has there been of any of these facts? there has been no evidence offered that the prisoner was a slave by the law of virginia!--there has been no evidence offered that he was the slave of mr. debree! there has been no evidence offered that he was a fugitive from a state of slavery! mr. riley's return upon the warrant, stating that he had arrested "the within named shadrach," was admitted as evidence. i solemnly protested against the reception of the return as evidence in a criminal proceeding between other parties; but it was received, and for a while held to be conclusive. but, in answer to my question, mr. riley replied that he did not know the man he arrested to be the man named in the warrant. and how could he know it? this nullified the return, and the government had no evidence. the district attorney saw this, and rising in his seat, in a threatening tone, said to mr. riley, "i warn you, sir, not to give that testimony!" the testimony was true, and it was admitted by the court. why was mr. riley warned? he was warned for private reasons. it was an official warning, by the agent of the executive to one of its servants. _mr. lunt_--i deny that it was a private warning. it was public, and for proper reasons. _mr. dana_--it was for private, or secret reasons, not given, not apparent,--some political or governmental terror, known only to the parties. there is no escape from this. the bar saw it. the audience saw it. it is graven with a pen of iron, and laid up in the rock forever! all evidence of identity having failed, the government is driven to its last shift. col. thomas is called in, and he testifies that the agent of mr. debree said to him, in the court-room, when the prisoner was brought in, "that is my boy!" this is hearsay evidence upon hearsay evidence. it is monstrous! yet on this slender thread of illegal testimony, hung all the evidence of the facts of identity, slavery and escape. if it is enough to prove that the man rescued was the man in custody, and upon whom the court was sitting in fact, no one denies it. but if it be necessary to show that the man in custody was the man named in the warrant, or that he was a slave, and a fugitive slave, there has been no competent evidence of any of those facts, and no evidence at all but of one of them. this man was not rescued from the court. the court had adjourned. the marshal had chosen to make the court-room a slave jail. the offence would have been the same in the eye of the law, if he had been rescued from the hands of the agent having no warrant, in the streets, or in a railroad car. i have nothing more to submit to the court on the subject of the law applicable to this case. i will now call your honor's attention to the facts in proof. to avoid repetition and confusion, i will call your honor's attention to single points. . mr. davis was counsel in the case, and acted as such. mr. morton, who knew shadrach, and to whom shadrach looked for advice, recommended mr. davis to him as counsel. mr. riley testifies that shadrach twice pointed out mr. davis to him as one of his counsel, when officially inquired of by mr. riley. mr. king and mr. list, counsellors of this court, testify that mr. davis sat with, consulted with and conversed with the counsel who addressed the court, made a prolonged and careful examination of the papers, and was the first who raised the doubt of their sufficiency. mr. sawin, an officer, says he acted as counsel. it is proved that he went into the court room for the purpose of acting as counsel, and did not leave the room or the bar at all (the government will admit, not for more than a minute or two) until the last moment. what other evidence can there be of counsel's authority? it is seldom if ever in writing, but is proved by acts and recognitions. after such evidence of the acts and recognitions of a hasty and troubled forenoon, including the testimony of two of his own officers, i was amazed at the pertinacity of the prosecuting officer in calling mr. curtis to prove that mr. davis was not counsel. but mr. curtis admitted that he knew nothing of the relations between shadrach and mr. davis, that there are often counsel who do not address the court, and that mr. davis might have been of such counsel, for aught he knew. and most of the work of counsel was done after mr. curtis left. i think your honor will find no difficulty in believing that mr. davis acted as counsel for shadrach, and was in attendance for that purpose. . to connect mr. davis with the rescue, the government has found it necessary to contend that he left the court room and returned, shortly before the rescue took place. the only witness to this is prescott; and how does he stand? prescott was in the entry before the rescue took place, he heard it debated, he saw it through, he gave no notice to any one, but evidently, from the testimony of hanscom, he sympathized with the rescuers, and expressed his sympathy in a very unguarded manner for a man who was present, in the midst. all that day and the next, with the vanity of a youth who has been the fortunate spectator of the great event of the day, a fire, a hanging, or a murder, he vaunts his connection and sympathy with the rescue. on the third day come the arrests. he finds the government has learned that he was present. six months in jail and a thousand dollars fine, is no trifle to a mechanic's apprentice. he becomes alarmed, and offers himself as state's evidence, and becomes a swift, a terrified, and a blinded witness for the government. he says he was standing in the entry by the recess that leads to the east door and the water-closet. while there, he saw a gentleman come along the entry and go past him into the recess, and he thinks through the east door into the court room. if this was mr. davis, he must have gone through that door, for he was in the room and left it again a minute after. this gentleman he is sure was mr. davis, although he did not then know him by name and had only seen him once. nor was there anything then to call his attention to a casual passer by. now, may it please your honor, how long and when was prescott at that post? according to his own testimony, about two minutes before the rescue began, and as soon as he saw the attempt was serious, he left that place for the stairs. mr. davis, then, must have entered the east door one or two minutes before he went out of the west door. now, mr. warren, the deputy marshal, testifies that he passed through the entry into this closet, just about two minutes before the rescue, and remembers seeing a young white man standing at the corner. to avoid the effect of this evidence, prescott is recalled and says he remembers also to have seen a man come out at the east door and go into the closet, at this moment. but here the witness made a mistake. he thought that mr. warren went through the east door, but mr. warren says that he came along the entry, and had not been in or out of that door. what then is the predicament in which prescott has involved himself? three different men must have gone into that recess in the short space of two minutes; two of them at least, must have been in the closet at the same minute; and the east door must have been opened three times upon a knock from without. against this evident mistake or wilful perversion, what is the evidence? mr. riley and mr. warren both say that the east door was fastened on the inside, with strict orders not to have it opened at all; and so strict were they, that they themselves went and came by the west door. no one can be found who opened that door or saw it opened, or saw mr. davis go in or out at it, and it is next the marshal's desk, and in plain sight of every one. no one could come in at it, without knocking and having it opened from within. during the half hour before the rescue, there was no one in the room but the prisoner, the officers and the counsel. the doors were both in plain sight, the east door locked, and at the west door two officers, between whom every person must pass. both these officers testify that mr. davis did not go out or in to their knowledge. byrnes, neale and sawin, the other officers, did not see him go, and think he did not leave the room. mr. riley is confident he did not leave the room. mr. wright found mr. davis in the room, half an hour before the rescue, and is sure he did not leave. not a man in the court room saw him go or come, or believes that he did so. if prescott's conjecture is true, mr. davis must have gone out past the officers at the west door, returned to the east door, knocked and been admitted by another officer,--beside the inconsistencies about the men in the closet. we might well ask, what if this were mr. davis? what does it prove? he spoke to no one, except a "good day" to one man, and took no notice of the crowd at the door. but i will not argue this supposition, for it is not true. it was not mr. davis. he did not leave the room until he went out for the last time. something has been attempted to be made out of mr. davis' conversation with the officers in the room. a man engaged in a plot for a rescue, would not be likely to expose himself to suspicion by violent remarks to officers. but take the evidence as it stands. at the request of mr. list, he asked sawin, whom he knew, if the man next shadrach was a southern man. this was proper. the counsel did not wish a man to sit next the prisoner, who might converse with him for the purpose of getting admissions from him. they feared he might be an agent of the claimant. he said privately to mr. sawin, whom he had known intimately for years, that this was a dirty business he was engaged in. he did not know mr. sawin to be an officer of the court. he knew him as a city constable; and supposed he had let himself out by the day as a catcher of fugitive slaves. i know something of the feelings of southern gentlemen as to this class of men. they are necessary evils. they use them as we use spies, informers and deserters in war; they use them, but they despise them. i remember being in one of the chief cities of virginia, and passing a large, handsome house, when my friend said to me, "there lives perhaps the richest man in our town, but he visits nowhere, nobody notices him. he is looked upon with aversion. he is a dealer in slaves! he keeps a slave-market, and pursues fugitives!" they look upon this occupation with as much contempt, aye, with more contempt than we seem to now; for there is a higher spirit in their aristocracy, than in the ruling classes of our northern cities at this moment. this was the feeling of mr. davis, when he spoke to sawin. this is the feeling of every man of honor. he wished a man whom he knew, to be engaged in a more respectable business. i have said the same. i saw a man i knew in court the other day, letting himself by the dollar a day, in slave catching. i begged him, if he could find any honest mode of getting a living, to abandon it. _the commissioner._ did you know him to be engaged in his legal duties? _mr. lunt._ a very improper remark! _mr. dana._ i venture to suggest not. the remark was with reference to the future, and not to the present. _the commissioner._ i see no distinction between attempting to deter men from executing the law and assisting in violating it. _mr. dana._ i am sorry i cannot see the impropriety of it. perhaps i have not made myself clearly understood. mr. davis expressed his opinion that the man had better be in better business. _the commissioner._ it was equivalent to saying to the officer that the execution of the law was a mean business. _mr. dana._ that i propose to argue. _the commissioner._ on that point, the defendant himself intimated in his cross-examination, that the expression was not used as an observation in general. on being asked whether the remark was not said with regard to his business, he replied, yes. _mr. dana._ i did not so understand it. he intended to say this--mr. sawin, you and i are old acquaintances. you are not obliged to do this business. it is mean business. why do you volunteer in it? this is what i myself have said, and what every high-minded man must feel. _mr. lunt_ here intimated that mr. dana might find himself changing places at the bar, and be a defendant instead of counsel, if he advocated and expressed such sentiments. _mr. dana_ simply bowed to the attorney, and proceeded. no citizen is bound to an active execution of this law, unless called upon as one of the _posse comitatus_. did your honor feel bound to join in the pursuit last saturday, when the mob passed you at the corner of court street? do you feel bound, of a pleasant evening, to walk about in the neighborhood and see what fugitives you can find and dispose of? would any compensation tempt you to do it? on the subject of the conversation with byrnes, that was considered, of course, very truculent, on the government's evidence. but when explained by mr. minns, what is it? the defendant knows that the cause in which he is engaged, by a strange revulsion of public feeling, is unpopular. it is unprofitable, and whatever is unprofitable is unpopular. it is not genteel, and persons doubtful of their gentility ridicule it. now mr. davis being engaged in this unpopular cause, byrnes makes a remark which mr. minns thought was intended to irritate mr. davis. he did not hear the first part, but it ended with "killing the negroes." mr. davis felt that it was intended as a taunt to him. he answered him, "then, on that principle, you ought to have your throats cut." i have no doubt it was a logical conclusion from mr. byrnes' premises, and nothing more. up to this point, what is the evidence against mr. davis? am i not right in saying, nothing whatever--nothing more than any man would be subject to, who acted as counsel? the only remaining point is his passing out of the door, and his conduct in the entry. on this point there is but one witness against him, and that is mr. byrnes, who, unfortunately, holds the office of deputy marshal. i shall not go into an examination of the evidence as to the reputation of this man. twelve good men, known to us all, persons likely to know byrnes's character, have testified it is and has for years been bad, decidedly bad; and it was not denied by his witness, that the verdict at east cambridge was rendered on the assumption of his not being worthy of belief. his own witnesses were chiefly casual acquaintances, or the boon companions of his bowling-alley and billiard-room, the retailers of liquors, men who, like him, live by violating the laws by night, which he lives by enforcing in the day-time. it is clearly proved that there was no suspicion of a rescue, either in the court room or in the entry, until the instant it took place. prescott did not suspect it. mr. homer, the highly respectable assistant clerk of the municipal court, who saw the whole occurrence from the stairway, did not think it would be any thing serious. mr. warren, the deputy marshal, passed through the group at the door twice, but two or three minutes before the rescue, and suspected nothing. five courts were in session, and persons were passing up the stairs and through the passage-way to the last moment, and suspected nothing. the officers inside suspected nothing. their defence against negligence is the defence of mr. davis. mr. davis knew that mr. morton expected to purchase the freedom of shadrach. he had confidence that the documentary evidence was fatally defective. he was engaged to attend the consultations on the defence, and on the habeas corpus, that afternoon. he saw that mr. curtis was not disposed to hurry matters, or to deny the prisoner full opportunities for defence. and i will do mr. curtis the justice to say that i have no doubt it was his object to exhibit this law to us in its most favorable light; to justify its makers as far as possible. mr. davis neither knew, nor suspected, nor thought of a rescue at that door. every witness says he went out of the door in the usual manner, except hutchins, and when hutchins thought he should have gone out in full front, instead of side-wise, your honor well asked how otherwise could he have gone out, with a crowd against the door, and in the passage? i see that your honor thinks nothing of that; although in the more jealous eye of the district attorney, it is matter of suspicion. to minds so disposed, there is nothing but is proof of guilt. if mr. davis had marched out in full front, it would have been in order to open the door wider, for the conspirators to rush in. just so in the case of poor shadrach's coat. yesterday the district attorney was certain that mr. davis, or some one apprised him of the intended rescue, because he pulled his coat off. now, when it is proved, by the government's own witnesses, that shadrach afterwards put his coat on again, i suppose his putting it on will be just as good proof of the same thing. mr. byrnes, thinks he recognized mr. davis' voice in the entry, calling out, "take him out, boys!" but the same cry was uttered several times, and mr. homer and mr. hutchins, who saw mr. davis at the moment, and were outside, say it did not come from him, but from the negroes, and prescott attributes it to the negroes. four men were nearer to mr. davis than byrnes was, and all of them exculpate mr. davis. and byrnes is confessedly hard of hearing, and not particularly familiar with mr. davis' voice. moreover his character for truth and veracity is impeached. mr. davis was on or near the platform when mr. homer saw him. mr. adams met him on the lower floor, by the marshal's office, while the noise was going on up stairs; talked with him two or three minutes, and walked round the building, and saw the crowd go up the street. this proves that mr. davis did not linger near the rescuers; nor did he absolutely run away, or fly, as a man would who desired to avoid discovery. on the contrary, he did just as any other person would have done. he staid long enough to let himself be seen by several persons, but not long enough to be of any aid to the rescuers. nothing can be clearer of cause for imputation, than the conduct of mr. davis in the entry and on the stairway. such, please your honor, is all the evidence against the defendant. it is reduced to an exclamation on the stair-case, sworn to, not very confidently, by a deaf man, who was too far off to hear well at any rate of hearing, denied by three officers, with good hearing, two of whom were outside, while a dozen voices were calling out the same thing at the same moment; the moment, too, one of alarm and excitement on the part of the officers. if such evidence is sufficient, who can be safe? who would dare to act as counsel in any case of public excitement, with a suspicious and angry government watching every motion, served by officers of broken down reputations? please your honor, i have done with the testimony. on what principles of proof is the judgment to be made up? the constitution requires that no person shall be arrested without a warrant supported by oath. the act of requires these proceedings to be conformed to proceedings in the state courts. in massachusetts it has always been required that the complainant shall be first examined on his oath. in this case there has been no examination under oath. mr. george lunt, has sworn, "so help me god," that charles gideon davis, a counsellor of this court, has aided in rescuing the prisoner. yet, so help him god! he knew nothing about the facts. he has made oath to the form of the statute, and no more. _mr. lunt_ here intervened and said it was the custom for the district attorney to swear to complaints on hearsay evidence. _mr. dana_--but this is not stated as hearsay. it is sworn to as a fact. charles g. davis "_did_ rescue," and the above named george lunt made oath to the _truth of the facts_. as a question of conscience, i leave it with that officer to settle with himself. as a matter of law, as a matter of vital importance to every citizen, as a great question of constitutional law, i earnestly protest against the issuing of warrants on the mere formal oaths of official persons, representing a party in the proceedings, and utterly ignorant of the facts they swear to. if it be a custom, it is more honored in the breach than in the observance. but i deny that it is the custom. complaints are sworn to by persons knowing the facts always in the state courts, and in my experience in the federal courts. if the prosecuting officer is obliged to swear to them, for want of other witnesses, he only swears to his information and belief. in closing my prolonged remarks, let me recapitulate our case. mr. davis is not the man to urge others to acts he dares not commit himself. he believes this dreadful statute unconstitutional, a violation of our moral sense, a great breach upon the safeguards of freedom every where. yet he will oppose it legally, by speech, by the pen, and in court. he will not yield to it any voluntary obedience, but he will not use force, or counsel citizens to use force to set aside the laws. he rejoices that shadrach is free. every right minded man rejoices that he is free. sober second thought teaches him and all of us that violent counsels are weak counsels. better had it been for the cause of freedom, if, when the marshal called out to shoot the prisoner, some armed minister of the law had shot dead the unarmed, unoffending man! better had it been for him, and the cause of those like him, if john h. riley, instead of flying to the window, had plunged that sword to the hilt in the heart of the captive! better if this temple of justice, which has already been turned into a slave jail, and a slave market, had also been made the shambles and the grave! while we uphold the public peace and the dignity of all laws, let us regard with tenderness and consideration that poor class of oppressed men, our negro population, on whom the statute falls with the terrors and blackness of night. when one of their number, by his industry and abilities has raised himself to the dignity of a place in this bar, it was with mortification i heard him insulted, yesterday, on the stand, by an officer of court, who pointed him out, in giving his evidence, as "the little darkey lawyer." while i rejoiced at the rebuke administered to that officer from the bench, it was with deep regret that i saw the representative of the government lead off the laugh of the audience against him. _mr. lunt_--this is false. _mr. dana_--do you deny you did so? it was seen and noticed by us all. i spoke to you at the time. _mr. lunt_--i only smiled. i cannot always control my muscles. _mr. dana_--i am sorry you could not control them on this occasion. it led off and encouraged others, who take their cue from persons in high stations. the doings of these last few days are now part of history. if there has been a hasty and a needless arrest of a respectable gentleman; if counsel have been intimidated, or witnesses threatened; if liberty of speech and action have been periled; if the dignity and duty of office have been yielded to the unreasonable demands of political agents, and the commands of a misinformed executive,--the inquest of public opinion is to sit upon the whole transaction, and it will be held up to the world. _proximus ardet ucalegon!_ there are revolutions in the wheel of fortune. there are tides in the affairs of men. let us hope that your honor will be able to set this occurrence in its true light:--a sudden, unexpected, unpremeditated action of a group of excited men, and successful because unexpected. but a sworn counsellor of this court, even in the excitement of the rescue of a slave to his freedom, by those of his own flesh and bone, did not forget the duty he owed personally to the court and the law. * * * * * argument of george lunt, esq., district attorney. mr. lunt said that the counsel for the defence had commenced by saying, that he did not know how he was to be answered. he should not reply to the first two hours of the gentleman's speech. the gentleman has alluded to constitutional doctrines, and opinions, which a small class of the community entertain. i shall not spend my time for popular effect. some of his remarks come with an ill grace from him, and those with whom he associates. the gentleman should take care how he is associated. i have nothing to say against the colored people--ignorant--degraded, no doubt, but peaceable, as a general thing; they would be glad to get away from people who meddle with them, and would prefer to be let alone. but i say it is dangerous and mischievous to recommend such doctrines as the gentleman avows. _proximus ardet ucalegon!_ the relation of counsel in which he appears here may be changed. the sentiments he has uttered here place _him_ in peril. he will find it _so_, _to his cost_, unless he changes the tone of his remarks, on this and future occasions. i will proceed at once to the evidence. the question here is, has a law of the united states been violated? i throw to the winds every question except whether this defendant is guilty; high or low, it matters not; the higher in station, the more amenable. i do not suppose for a moment that the commissioner has any prejudice. we cannot, and we never will regard, the office, which the counsel seems to consider sacred. the sacredness of an office depends upon the sacredness of character. i am accused of having arrested an individual with unseemly haste, a person of character, of a family whose name is known in history; a member of the bar, bound to preserve the law, counsel at the time, and entitled to perfect freedom. i can state with confidence that the defendant was not arrested until after a full personal investigation of facts, and then on a keen sense of duty. now what were the grounds in general, on which the warrant was issued? mr. davis meets mr. riley in the morning, upon which, after an inquiry whether he has seen mr. curtis, he asked if he has a slave case? a question he might well ask, considering the company with which he is associated. he asks him again in this court room. _mr. dana_--there is no evidence of that,--the evidence is, that after the adjournment he asked an explanation from mr. riley of the interview in the morning. _the commissioner_ referring to his notes--says, he believes mr. dana is right. _mr. lunt._ now with whom is he associated? i hold in my hand an account of a meeting held in faneuil hall, on the th of october last. _mr dana._--for what purpose this narrative to be read here? it is an account from a hostile paper, of a political meeting, not made under oath; and it does not appear who wrote it, nor whether the person who wrote it was present at the meeting. _the commissioner._--i shall not object to the gentleman's reading whatever he thinks proper. you have introduced in your argument a great many irrelevant matters, mr. dana, and mr. lunt may do the same. _mr. lunt._--this is the account,--reads from the boston post of october , . the fugitive slave law meeting. "the call for a meeting of the opponents of the fugitive slave law, at faneuil hall, last night, collected a large audience, comprising a considerable number of colored people. there were about three hundred colored females in the galleries. the meeting was called to order by francis jackson, and organized as follows:--charles francis adams, president; samuel e. sewall, gershom b. weston, francis jackson, and timothy gilbert, vice presidents; j. w. stone, and j. w. thornton, secretaries. "upon taking the chair, mr. adams delivered a carefully prepared address, in which he maintained that the law was repugnant to the spirit of our institutions and the constitution, and fraught with as much danger to free colored people as to fugitives. "he was followed by frederick douglass, who described the consternation the law had created among the colored people, free and fugitive, and said that he knew of hundreds of both classes who were fleeing to canada. the free colored people were in fear of seizure by conspiring complainants, aided by perjured affidavits. "richard h. dana, jr., after expressing regret that the meeting was not made up of somewhat different material, of the leading men in all branches of business, and of men of property and reputed respectability, read a long letter from josiah quincy, senior, declaring against the law, but at the same time expressing his belief that there was no real ground for alarm, for, in his opinion, the enforcement of the law in massachusetts would prove to be impracticable. "at the request of the president, mr. dana also read a series of resolutions, author unknown, declaring that the moral sense of the individuals composing the meeting, revolted against the law; denouncing it as contradictory to the declaration of independence, and inconsistent with the purposes of the constitution, and in direct violation of its habeas corpus provision, and the right of the people to be secure from unreasonable seizure, &c.; that the meeting could not believe that any citizen of boston and its vicinity could be so destitute of love of his country and of his race, or devoid of a sense of justice, as to take part in returning a fugitive; and that all present pledge themselves to endeavor to aid and cooperate with all colored people endangered by the law. "speeches were made by wendell phillips, james w. briggs, of ohio, charles remond, and the rev. mr. colver. the resolutions were adopted, as a matter of course. the last one provided "for a committee of vigilance to secure the fugitives and colored inhabitants of boston and vicinity from any invasion of their rights by persons acting under the law," and the committee was styled and made up as follows:--" the last resolution provides for a committee, of which charles g. davis was one. now i admit that mr. davis was in syracuse, at the time. but he admits that he volunteered upon his return. why didn't he publicly disclaim any assent to these proceedings? and if he did not, is he not to be presumed to have assented? i want the public to know whether mr. davis and those associated with him, abide by the doctrines avowed in faneuil hall. the statute provides that whoever has been engaged in aiding, abetting, or assisting, _directly or indirectly_, is criminal. i shall contend that the defendant is directly implicated. he is more or less implicated, in the opinions which have been promulgated, and from his conversations with mr. riley. what next? he comes and asks whether a certain man is a southern man. why? is not a southern man to go into a united states court? has it come to this? mr. davis then says to sawin, "this is a d--d nasty piece of business," in the presence of the prisoner. he knew that such an expression was calculated to have two effects; first, to discourage the officer,--and secondly, to encourage and excite the prisoner. this was an indirect aiding,--connecting it with the subsequent escape. he uses language of a very unusual and violent character afterwards. for some unaccountable reason mr. davis remains here; for it is unaccounted for. was he counsel? i maintain he was not counsel. mr. riley did not know he was counsel when he asked shadrach in wright's presence if davis was counsel. riley didn't know it then. shadrach appeared to be in doubt about it. (it was suggested that there was no such evidence.) what was he waiting for? what single thing did he do as counsel? mr. lunt here reviewed the evidence of the transactions in the court room more minutely. davis pushed the door and stuck his back against the post. one expression, "take him out, boys," is the natural expression of a stranger. the other words testified to by others were, "take him out." he goes down, and does not interfere, according to his own statement. he shows no disposition to prevent a rescue. the commissioner inquires whether not interfering may not be indirectly aiding and abetting. _mr. lunt._ i am not ready to take that ground at present. _the commissioner._ he is undoubtedly liable, as a magistrate, and subject to a fine of $ . mr. lunt reviews the evidence of what took place in the entry, argues that mr. homer could not have seen the whole disturbance, says that as a professional man, he can't say it is proved beyond a reasonable doubt, that mr. davis uttered the words "take him out, boys," and does not think they would satisfy a jury, taken by themselves. but there was reasonable cause for binding him over. mr. prescott shakes my confidence in my preconceived opinions upon the subject, as to whether davis went out or not. i did not think before that davis went out. mr. prescott cannot be mistaken. mr. prescott's testimony is not met by the negative testimony of mr. riley, for it was impossible that mr. riley could have constantly watched the left hand or easterly door, while talking with others or disputing with mr. wright. if he did go out then, he had an opportunity to concert a signal with the colored men without. mr. lunt argued to show the intenseness of mr. davis's interest and zeal in opposition to the law, that it was avowed by him under oath upon the stand; that showed his predisposition and excited state of mind upon the subject, and the greater liability of his being betrayed into an act of overt resistance to the law, if an opportunity occurred. this excited state of mind continued in the court room, as was proved by his addressing the officers in the abusive and sanguinary terms used by him. up to the moment of leaving the court room, and when expostulated with by the officer, for saying he and others ought to have their throats cut, he admitted that he had said so, and that he said so again. clark and hutchins heard the cry--"take him out boys;" and byrnes, whose eye was fixed on mr. davis, was certain that they came from him. the words were uttered. he was in that peculiar state of mind, which rendered such words the natural expression of his feelings, and they were in perfect accordance with the general purpose of resistance to the law publicly promulgated by his associates and co-laborers, who had been formed into an organized body in this city. he did not content himself with going out when hutchins opened the door for him. he braced his back against the door-post, and pushed against the door to open it wider. then came the cry--"take him out, boys!" and byrnes had sworn it came from mr. davis. connected with mr. davis's leaving the room was another significant fact. almost at the moment that he, quitting that part of the room where the fugitive was, started to go out, the fugitive rose, put on his coat, and appearing to be excited, walked forward, just as the first cry was raised. mr. davis lingers on the stair-case, and goes to his office, not knowing or caring, he would have us suppose, what had been the issue. upon this evidence, it seems to me a clear case for holding the party over for further examination and trial. * * * * * _wednesday, feb. ._ upon the opening of the court the commissioner delivered his decision. he commenced by stating the offence under the statute with which the defendant is charged, and stated that he should confine himself principally to the question whether the defendant was aiding or abetting the person who had been arrested, and that the legal decisions upon the construction of the statute were merely for the purposes of this examination. the commissioner then reviewed the evidence as to the expressions of the defendant in the court room, and stated that it had been proved that the defendant said the officers of the court ought to have their throats cut. no notice was taken in the opinion of the evidence of geo. w. minns, esq. the following extracts are made from the opinion of the commissioner. "the defendant has also volunteered the statement in this court, when called as a witness in the preceding examination, that he was glad the prisoner was free, and when further questioned, he left it unexplained whether that opinion also embraced the unlawful means that had been used." "these facts have a legal bearing upon the _animus_, the wilful intent with which any act may have been done, by the defendant to aid in the rescue; and i should fail in the duty of a magistrate at this time, and under all the circumstances surrounding this examination, to permit to pass unrebuked any manifestation of a resistance to or contempt of legal process, especially when coming from intelligent citizens and men in official positions, whose countenance or encouragement may have involved, and may again involve, the excitable and less informed in an open violation of law. at the same time there is a plain distinction as to the penal consequences, between a moral and a legal aiding or abetting; and holding throughout these examinations, as i trust i may be enabled to do, an impartial as well as a firm hand, care shall be taken not to confound an indiscretion or a moral perversion, or any mere expression of opinion, however gross, with a wilful act constituting legal guilt. i fully recognise the doctrine suggested in the defence, of the largest liberty within law, and also the right of the people to make or amend constitutions and laws, by all constitutional means or reserved powers." * * * * * "but so far as the defendant is here proved to have done any act, there is no evidence which connects him criminally with a preconcerted plan of rescue; and i take pleasure in adding that the conduct of the defence by the learned counsel, and his testimony and disavowals, have greatly aided me in coming to that conclusion." * * * "of this preliminary point of the evidence i do not find an aiding or abetting within the provisions of the statute. but, in connection with what immediately followed in the passing of the defendant out at the door, the exclamation supposed by one witness to have come from him, his position and his hand upon the door, immediately followed by the rush of the rioters who surrounded it, and the absence of all evidence of attempt on the part of the defendant to prevent the rescue, it presented, on the part of the evidence for the prosecution, a strong case of probable cause, that made it the duty of the district attorney to bring the party to an examination. but in the view i take of a preliminary inquiry in this form, and especially where not only the evidence that would come before a grand jury, but the defence is gone into, testimony stronger than probable cause should appear, in order to hold the party to a trial." * * * "then is that proof found in the acts of the defendant as he passed out of the door, in themselves or in their connection with his preceding declarations and conduct?" the commissioner then reviewed the evidence of mr. byrnes, and come to the conclusion that taking it as it stands it does not satisfactorily prove that the defendant uttered the words ascribed to him. * * * "the only other evidence refers to the manner the defendant went out of the door. hutchins, who passed him out, says that the defendant turned his back to the wall, the outer corner of the casement, instead of going directly forward, and put his head on the outer door, and then it started and was forced open. this act, as it was exhibited to the commissioner, by the witness, is not inconsistent with the explanation that it was the result of the rush and pressure without, and the force there applied to the door; and if the attack was unexpected by the defendant, his neglect to interpose resistance to the forcing of the door, or to aid the officers, which it was his duty to have done, and which, it has been urged by the district attorney for the prosecution, with much force in the argument, may have been caused from sudden surprise or agitation. and even if, as the previous and subsequent conduct of the defendant might lead to infer, was a wilful omission of duty, especially in a magistrate, yet, if unaccompanied by any act or expression, aiding in, or inciting to the rescue, and in the absence of a call from a proper officer for assistance, it is not the distinct offence charged in the complaint, or defined in the statute; and the party, if answerable, is so in another form and tribunal. it is further to be considered, as suggested by the counsel for the defence, that the decision in this hearing is not final, or in any legal form conclusive, and as the defendant has a permanent locality, leaves the inquiry open elsewhere, should this evidence or further proof require it. upon the whole evidence, therefore, and applying the rule which should govern preliminary examinations, of not binding over a party accused, without testimony beyond that which might constitute legal probable cause for his arrest and examination, i shall order that the defendant be discharged." the commissioner now addressed the defendant personally, and said--"charles g. davis, the court order you to be discharged, and go without day." act of congress of . an act to amend, and supplementary to the act, entitled "an act respecting fugitives from justice, and persons escaping from the service of their masters," approved february , . _be it enacted by the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america in congress assembled_, that the persons who have been, or may hereafter be, appointed commissioners, in virtue of any act of congress, by the circuit courts of the united states and who, in consequence of such appointment, are authorized to exercise the powers that any justice of the peace or other magistrate of any of the united states may exercise in respect to offenders for any crime or offence against the united states by arresting, imprisoning, or bailing the same under and by virtue of the thirty-third section of the act of the twenty-fourth of september, seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, entitled, "an act to establish the judicial courts of the united states," shall be, and are hereby authorized and required to exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that the superior court of each organized territory of the united states shall have the same power to appoint commissioners to take acknowledgments of bail and affidavit, and to take depositions of witnesses in civil causes, which is now possessed by the circuit courts of the united states; and all commissioners who shall hereafter be appointed for such purposes by the superior court of any organized territory of the united states shall possess all the powers and exercise all the duties conferred by law upon the commissioners appointed by the circuit courts of the united states for similar purposes, and shall moreover exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that the circuit courts of the united states, and the superior courts of each organized territory of the united states, shall from time to time enlarge the number of commissioners, with a view to afford reasonable facilities to reclaim fugitives from labor, and to the prompt discharge of the duties imposed by this act. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that the commissioners above named shall have concurrent jurisdiction with the judges of the circuit and district courts of the united states, in their respective circuits and districts within the several states, and the judges of the superior courts of the territories, severally and collectively, in term time and vacation; and shall grant certificates to such claimants, upon satisfactory proof being made, with authority to take and remove such fugitives from service or labor, under the restrictions herein contained, to the state or territory from which such persons may have escaped or fled. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that it shall be the duty of all marshals and deputy marshals to obey and execute all warrants and precepts issued under the provisions of this act, when to them directed; and should any marshal or deputy marshal refuse to receive such warrant or other process, when tendered, or to use all proper means diligently to execute the same, he shall, on conviction thereof, be fined in the sum of one thousand dollars to the use of such claimant, on the motion of such claimant, by the circuit or district court for the district of such marshal; and after arrest of such fugitive by such marshal or his deputy, or whilst at any time in his custody, under the provisions of this act, should such fugitive escape, whether with or without the assent of such marshal or his deputy, such marshal shall be liable, on his official bond, to be prosecuted for the benefit of such claimant, for the full value of the service or labor of said fugitive in the state, territory, or district whence he escaped; and the better to enable the said commissioners, when thus appointed, to execute their duties faithfully and efficiently, in conformity with the requirements of the constitution of the united states and of this act, they are hereby authorized and empowered, within their counties respectively, to appoint in writing under their hands, any one or more suitable persons, from time to time, to execute all such warrants and other process as may be issued by them in the lawful performance of their respective duties; with an authority to such commissioners, or the persons to be appointed by them, to execute process as aforesaid, to summon and call to their aid the bystanders, or _posse comitatus_ of the proper county, when necessary to insure a faithful observance of the clause of the constitution referred to, in conformity with the provisions of this act; and all good citizens are hereby commanded to aid and assist in the prompt and efficient execution of this law, whenever their services may be required, as aforesaid, for that purpose; and said warrants shall run and be executed by said officers anywhere in the state within which they are issued. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that when _a person held to service or labor in any state or_ territory of the united states has heretofore or shall hereafter escape into another state or territory of the united states, the person or persons to whom such service or labor may be due, or his, her, or their agent or attorney, duly authorized, by power of attorney, in writing, acknowledged and certified under the seal of some legal office or court of the state or territory in which the same may be executed, _may pursue and reclaim such fugitive person_, either by procuring a warrant from some one of the courts, judges, or commissioners aforesaid, of the proper circuit, district or county, for the apprehension of such fugitive from service or labor, or by seizing and arresting such fugitive where the same can be done without process, and by taking and causing such person to be taken forthwith before such court, judge or commissioner, whose duty it shall be to hear and determine the case of such claimant in a summary manner; and upon satisfactory proof being made, by deposition or affidavit, in writing, to be taken and certified by such court, judge, or commissioner, or by other satisfactory testimony, duly taken and certified by some court, magistrate, justice of the peace, or other legal officer authorized to administer an oath and take depositions under the laws of the state or territory from which _such person owing service or labor_ may have escaped, with a certificate of such magistracy or other authority, as aforesaid, with the seal of the proper court or officer thereto attached, which seal shall be sufficient to establish the competency of the proof, and with proof also by affidavit, of the identity of the person whose service or labor is claimed to be due as aforesaid, that the person so arrested does in fact owe service or labor to the person or persons claiming him or her, in the state or territory from which such fugitive may have escaped as aforesaid, and that said person escaped, to make out and deliver to such claimant, his or her agent or attorney, a certificate setting forth the substantial facts as to the service or labor due from such fugitive to the claimant, and of his or her escape from the state or territory in which such service or labor was due to the state or territory in which he or she was arrested, with authority to such claimant, or his or her agent or attorney, to use such reasonable force and restraint as may be necessary under the circumstances of the case, to take and remove such fugitive person back to the state or territory from whence he or she may have escaped as aforesaid. in no trial or hearing under this act shall the testimony of such alleged fugitive be admitted in evidence; and the certificates in this and the first section mentioned shall be conclusive of the right of the person or persons in whose favor granted to remove such fugitive to the state or territory from which he escaped, and shall prevent all molestation of said person or persons by any process issued by any court, judge, magistrate, or other person whomsoever. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that any person who shall knowingly and willingly obstruct, hinder, or prevent such claimant, his agent or attorney, or any person or persons lawfully assisting him, her, or them, from arresting _such fugitive from service or labor_, either with or without process as aforesaid; or shall rescue, or attempt to rescue, _such fugitive from service or labor_, from the custody of such claimant, his or her agent or attorney, or other person or persons lawfully assisting as aforesaid, when so arrested, pursuant to the authority herein given and declared; or shall aid, abet, or assist such person, so owing service or labor as aforesaid, directly or indirectly, to escape from such claimant, his agent or attorney, or other person or persons, legally authorized as aforesaid; or shall harbor or conceal such _fugitive_, so as to prevent the discovery and arrest of such person, after notice or knowledge of the fact that such person was a fugitive from service or labor as aforesaid, shall, for either of said offences, be subject to a fine not exceeding one thousand dollars and imprisonment not exceeding six months, by indictment and conviction before the district court of the united states for the district in which such offence may have been committed, or before the proper court of criminal jurisdiction, if committed within any one of the organized territories of the united states; and shall moreover forfeit and pay, by way of civil damages to the party injured by such illegal conduct, the sum of one thousand dollars for _each fugitive so lost_ as aforesaid, to be recovered by action of debt in any of the district or territorial courts aforesaid, within whose jurisdiction the said offence may have been committed. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that the marshals, their deputies, and the clerks of the said district and territorial courts, shall be paid for their services the like fees as may be allowed to them for similar services in other cases; and where such services are rendered exclusively in the arrest, custody, and delivery of the fugitive to the claimant, his or her agent or attorney, or where such supposed fugitive may be discharged out of custody for the want of sufficient proof as aforesaid, then such fees are to be paid in the whole by such claimant, his agent or attorney; and in all cases where the proceedings are before a commissioner, he shall be entitled to a fee of ten dollars in full for his services in each case, upon the delivery of the said certificate to the claimant, his or her agent or attorney; or a fee of five dollars in cases where the proof shall not, in the opinion of such commissioner, warrant such certificate and delivery, inclusive of all services incident to such arrest and examination, to be paid in either case by the claimant, his or her agent or attorney. the person or persons authorized to execute the process to be issued by such commissioners for the arrest and detention of fugitives from service or labor as aforesaid, shall also be entitled to a fee of five dollars each for each person he or they may arrest and take before any such commissioner as aforesaid at the instance and request of such claimant, with such other fees as may be deemed reasonable by such commissioner for such other additional services as may be necessarily performed by him or them: such as attending to the examination, keeping the fugitive in custody, and providing him with food and lodging during his detention, and until the final determination of such commissioner: and in general for performing such other duties as may be required by such claimant, his or her attorney or agent, or commissioner in the premises; such fees to be made up in conformity with the fees usually charged by the officers of the courts of justice within the proper district or county, as near as may be practicable, and paid by such claimants, their agents or attorneys, whether such supposed fugitive from service or labor be ordered to be delivered to such claimants by the final determination of such commissioners or not. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that upon affidavit made by the claimant of such fugitive, his agent or attorney, after such certificate has been issued, that he has reason to apprehend that such fugitive will be rescued by force from his or their possession before he can be taken beyond the limits of the state in which the arrest is made, it shall be the duty of the officer making the arrest to retain such fugitive in his custody, and to remove him to the state whence he fled, and there to deliver him to said claimant, his agent or attorney. and to this end the officer aforesaid is hereby authorized and required to employ so many persons as he may deem necessary, to overcome such force, and to retain them in his service so long as circumstances may require; the said officer and his assistants, while so employed, to receive the same compensation, and to be allowed the same expenses as are now allowed by law for the transportation of criminals, to be certified by the judge of the district within which the arrest is made, and paid out of the treasury of the united states. sec. . _and be it further enacted_, that when any person held to service or labor in any state or territory, or in the district of columbia, shall escape therefrom, the party to whom such service or labor shall be due, his, her, or their agent or attorney, may apply to any court of record therein, or judge thereof in vacation, and make satisfactory proof to such court, or judge in vacation, of the escape aforesaid, and that the person escaping owed service or labor to such party. whereupon the court shall cause a record to be made of the matters so proved, and also a general description of the person so escaping, with such convenient certainty as may be; and a transcript of such record authenticated by the attestation of the clerk, and of the seal of the said court, being produced in any other state, territory, or district in which the person so escaping may be found, and being exhibited to any judge, commissioner, or other officer authorized by the law of the united states to cause persons escaping from service or labor to be delivered up, shall be held and taken to be full and conclusive evidence of the fact of escape, and that the service or labor of the person escaping is due to the party in such record mentioned. and upon the production by the said party of other and further evidence, if necessary, either oral or by affidavit, in addition to what is contained in the said record, of the identity of the person escaping, he or she shall be delivered up to the claimant. and the said court, commissioner, judge, or other person authorized by this act to grant certificates to claimants of fugitives, shall, upon the production of the record and other evidences aforesaid, grant to such claimant a certificate of his right to take any such person identified and proved to be owing service or labor as aforesaid, which certificate shall authorize such claimant to seize or arrest and transport such person to the state or territory from which he escaped: _provided_. that nothing herein contained shall be construed as requiring the production of a transcript of such record as evidence as aforesaid; but in its absence, the claim shall be heard and determined upon other satisfactory proofs competent in law. howell cobb, _speaker of the house of representatives._ william r. king. _president of the senate, pro tempore._ approved september th, . millard fillmore. biography of a slave being the experiences of rev. charles thompson, a preacher of the united brethren church, while a slave in the south. together with startling occurrences incidental to slave life. . preface. in publishing this book i hope to do good not only to my own race, but to all who may read it. i am not a book-maker, and make no pretensions to literary attainments; and i have made no efforts to create for myself a place in the literary, book-making ranks. i claim for my book truthfulness and honesty of purpose, and upon that basis it must succeed or fail. the biography of a slave is called for by a very large number of my immediate acquaintances, and, i am assured, will meet with such reception as to justify the expense i have incurred in having it printed and bound. to the members of the united brethren church, white as well as colored, i look for help in the sale and circulation of my work, yet i am satisfied i will receive commendable patronage from members of all christian churches everywhere. the book is written in the narrative style, as being much better suited to the tastes and capacities of my colored readers, and i have used simple and plain english language, discarding the idiomatic and provincial language of the southern slaves and ignorant whites, expecting thereby to help educate the blacks in the use of proper language. i am indebted to william h. rhodes, esq., attorney at law, of newman, douglas county, illinois, for his valuable assistance in the preparation of my manuscript for the printer. he has re-written the whole of it for me, and has otherwise assisted me in the matter of placing the book before the public. charles thompson. newman, illinois, aug., . contents. chapter i. charles thompson, born in atala county, mississippi--division of kirkwood's slaves among his six children--the writer and his two sisters fall to mrs. wilson--the parting between mother and child--deprived of a fond mother forever--old uncle jack--wilson buys uncle ben from strucker--uncle ben runs away and is hunted with blood-hounds--two hundred dollars reward. chapter ii. not sent to hell by wilson--mrs. wilson protects me, to whom i belong--sent to school with the children--the school-children teach me to read and write--what came of it--mount that mule or i'll shoot you--i mounted the mule--a start for the railroad to work--i dismount and take to the woods--i owe allegiance to god and my country only. chapter iii. caught, tried, and taken back home to james wilson--my mistress saves me from being whipped--i go to the railroad and work one month precisely--go back home--wilson surprised--left the railroad at o'clock a.m.--did not want to disturb leadbitter's rest--sent to memphis with a load of cotton--afraid of the slave-pens and slave-auction--start for home--not sold--pray, sing, and shout--get home and ordered to hire myself out. chapter iv. start out on my travels to hunt a new master--find mr. dansley--hire to him--thirty dollars per month for my master and five dollars for myself--wilson astonished--appointed superintendent of dansley's farm--rules and regulations--peace and tranquillity--my moral labors successful--prayer and social meetings--meetings in the woods--quarrel and fight like very brothers--time comes to be moved to another field of labor. chapter v. james wilson comes along--wants me to go with him to saulsbury, tennessee, to help build a house for a grocery-store--takes me along with him--wilson taken sick--i take care of him--he gels well--i make another attempt to escape from slavery--what came of it. chapter vi. was hired to mr. thompson, and adopted his name--opened regular meetings, and preached on the plantation and other places--took unto myself a wife--was purchased by thompson, duly installed on the plantation, and invested with authority--various means and plans resorted to by the overseer to degrade me in the eyes of mr. thompson--driven, through persecution, to run away--return back to my master. biography of a slave. * * * * * chapter i. charles thompson, born in atala county, mississippi--division of kirkwood's slaves among his six children--the writer and his two sisters fall to mrs. wilson--the parting between mother and child--deprived of a fond mother forever--old uncle jack--wilson buys uncle ben from strucker--uncle ben runs away and is hunted with blood-hounds--two hundred dollars reward. i was a slave, and was born in atala county, mississippi, near the town of rockford, on the third day of march, . my father and mother both being slaves, of course my pedigree is not traceable, by me, farther back than my parents. our family belonged to a man named kirkwood, who was a large slave-owner. kirkwood died when i was about nine years old, after which, upon the settlement of the affairs of his estate, the slaves belonging to the estate were divided equally, as to value, among the six heirs. there were about seventy-five slaves to be divided into six lots; and great was the tribulation among the poor blacks when they learned that they were to be separated. when the division was completed two of my sisters and myself were cast into one lot, my mother into another, and my father into another, and the rest of the family in the other lots. young and slave as i was, i felt the pang of separation from my loved and revered mother; child that i was i mourned for mother, even before our final separation, as one dead to me forever. so early to be deprived of a fond mother, by the "law," gave me my first view of the curse of slavery. until this time i did not know what trouble was, but from then until the tocsin of freedom was sounded through the glorious emancipation proclamation by the immortal abraham lincoln, i passed through hardship after hardship, in quick succession, and many, many times i have almost seen and tasted death. i bade farewell to my mother, forever, on this earth. oh! the pangs of that moment. even after thirty years have elapsed the scene comes vividly to my memory as i write. a gloomy, dark cloud seemed to pass before my vision, and the very air seemed to still with awfulness. i felt bereaved, forlorn, forsaken, lost. put yourself in my place; feel what i have felt, and then say, god is just; he will protect the helpless and right the wronged, and you will have some idea of my feelings and the hope that sustained me through long and weary years of servitude. my mother, my poor mother! what must she have suffered. never will i forget her last words; never will i forget the earnest prayers of that mother begging for her child, and refusing to be comforted. she had fallen to the lot of mrs. anderson, and she pleaded with burning tears streaming down her cheeks, "he is my only son, my baby child, my youngest and the only son i have; please let me have him to go with me!" anderson spoke roughly to her and told her to hold her peace; but with her arms around me she clung to me and cried the louder, "let me have my child; if you will let me have my baby you may have all the rest!" mothers can realize this situation only, who have parted with children whom they never expected to see again. imagine parting with your dearest child, never to see it again; to be thrown into life-servitude in one part of the country and your dear child in the same condition six hundred miles away. although my mother was black, she had a soul; she had a heart to feel just as you have, and i, her child, was being ruthlessly torn from her by inexorable "law." what would you have done if you had been in her place? _she_ prayed to god for help. my kind old father consoled and encouraged my mother all he could, and said to her, "do not be discouraged, for jesus is your friend; if you lack for knowledge, he will inform you, and if you meet with troubles and trials on your way, cast all your cares on jesus, and don't forget to pray." the old man spoke these words while praying, shouting, crying, and saying farewell to my mother. he had, in a manner, raised nearly all the colored people on the plantation; so he had a fatherly feeling for all of them. the old man looked down on me, and said, "my child, you are now without a father and will soon be without a mother; but be a good boy, and god will be father and mother to you. if you will put your trust in him and pray to him, he will take you home to heaven when you die, where you can meet your mother there, where parting will be no more. farewell." i was then taken from my mother, and have not seen or heard of her since--about twenty-nine years ago. old uncle jack, as my father was called by the plantation people, spoke words of comfort to all of us before we were parted. the lot of human chattels, of which i was one, was taken to their new home on wilson's plantation, in the same county as the kirkwood plantation. wilson told my sisters and myself that our mother and ourselves were about six hundred miles apart. after i had been in my new home about two years, wilson bought my uncle ben from a man named strucker, who lived in the same neighborhood, but he did not buy uncle ben's wife. two years later wilson moved to another plantation he owned in pontotoc county, mississippi, about one hundred miles distant from his atala county plantation. ben not being willing to go so far from his wife, ran away from his master. wilson, however, left word that if any one would catch and return ben to him, he would pay two hundred dollars. this was a bait not to be resisted. the professional slave-hunters, with their blood-hounds, were soon on the track. they failed to get the poor hunted man, though. ben was a religious, god-fearing man, and placed firm reliance on the help of the almighty, in his serious trials, and never failed to find help when most needed. he stayed under cover in the woods, in such lurking places as the nature of the country provided, in the day time, and at night would cautiously approach his wife's cabin, when, at an appointed signal, she would let him in and give him such food and care as his condition required. the slaves of the south were united in the one particular of helping each other in such cases as this, and would adopt ingenious telegrams and signals to communicate with each other; and it may well be believed that the inventive genius of the blacks was, as a general thing, equal to all emergencies, and when driven to extremities they were brave to a fault. ben's wife, in this instance, used the simple device of hanging a certain garment in a particular spot, easily to be seen from ben's covert, and which denoted that the coast was clear and no danger need be apprehended. the garment and the place of hanging it had to be changed every day, yet the signals thus made were true to the purpose, and saved uncle ben from capture. uncle ben was closely chased by the hounds and inhuman men-hunters; on one occasion so closely that he plunged into a stream and followed the current for more than a mile. taking to the water threw the hounds off the scent of the track. before reaching the stream, uncle ben was so closely pursued that one of the men in the gang shot at him, the bullet passing unpleasantly close to him. his wife heard the hounds and the gun-shot. this race for life and liberty was only one of a continued series, and was repeated as often as blood-hounds could find a track to follow. at night ben was very much fatigued and hungry, and his only hope of getting anything to eat was to reach his wife's cabin. how to do this without being observed, was the question. as well as he was able, about midnight he left his retreat and approached the cabin. it was too dark to see a signal if one had been placed for him in the usual manner. after waiting for some time a bright light shot through the cracks in the cabin for an instant, and was repeated at intervals of two or three minutes, three or four times. this was the night-signal of "all right" agreed upon between uncle ben and his wife, and was made by placing the usual grease light under a vessel and raising the vessel for a moment at intervals. ben approached the cabin and gave _his_ signal by rapping on the door three times, and after a short pause three more raps. thus they had to arrange to meet; the husband to obtain food to sustain life, and the wife to administer to him. on this particular night their meeting was unusually impressive. she had heard the death-hounds, the sound of the gun-shot, and she knew the yelps of the hounds and the shot were intended for ben, her husband. with no crime laid to him, he was hunted down as a wild beast. made in god's own image, he is made a slave, a brute, an outcast, and an outlaw because his skin is black. thus they met, ben and his wife. after the usual precautions and mutual congratulations they both kneeled before the throne of god and thanked him for their preservation thus far, and throwing themselves upon his goodness and bounty, asked help in their need and safety in the future. without rising from his knees, ben, even in the anguish of his heart, consoled his wife, remarking, "that the darkest hour is always just before daylight." the blacks of the south have their own peculiar moral maxims, applicable to all situations in life, and the slaves not knowing how to read committed such bible truths as were read to them from time to time. it is true they were generally superstitious in a great degree, as all ignorant persons are; yet their native sense of right led them to adopt the best and most religious principles, dressed in homely "sayings," their circumstances permitted. ben dare not stay very long at a time in his wife's cabin, as a strict watch was constantly kept, that the runaway might be apprehended. bidding his wife farewell, ben hastened back to one of a number of his hiding-places, there to stay through the day, unless routed out by the blood-hounds. he was fortunate, however, in the help of god, for his safety, and the efforts of the hounds and the hounds' followers were futile. finally, wilson gave up chasing ben with blood-hounds, and resolved to try a better and more human method. he bought ben's wife and left her with strucker, with instructions to send her and ben to his plantation if ben was willing for the arrangement. ben soon got word of how matters stood with reference to himself, and concluded if he could live with his wife on the same plantation that it was the very best he could do, so he acceded to the wishes of wilson, and was sent with his wife to wilson. the happiness of this couple was unbounded when they found they could once more live together as god intended they should, and the poor wife in her great gratitude cried, "god is on our side!" ben replied that he had told her on one occasion that god was on their side, and that "the darkest hour was just before day." the usual expression used by the blacks when a runaway returned to his master was that he "had come out of the woods;" that is, he had left his hiding place in the woods and returned to the plantation to work. when i heard that uncle ben had come out of the woods, and was coming to live on our plantation, my joy knew no bounds. on the day when he was expected to arrive i got permission to go out on the road some distance and meet them. early in the morning i caught a horse and started. every wagon i met filled me with hope and fear blended; hope that the wagon contained my uncle and aunt, and fear that it did not. i rode on, on, on, all that day, until my heart was sick with hope deferred. i had received orders before starting that if i did not meet them that day to return home. but i was so far from home, and with straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of my uncle, added to my keen disappointment in not seeing them, made me feel tired, sick, and worn out. so i stopped at a friendly cabin that night, after telling the inmates who i was and what my errand was. early the next morning i was out, and the anxiety to see my uncle was so great i thought i would ride out the road a short distance in the hope of meeting him, notwithstanding my orders to return home. after traveling about an hour i met the wagon containing uncle ben and his wife. the joy of that moment to me is inexpressible. having been deprived of mother and father he was the only relative my sisters and myself could ever have any hopes of seeing again. my heart rejoiced exceedingly. i was, as it were, a new boy entirely, so overcome was i. we all arrived home that same day, and it was a much more pleasant trip than i had taken the day before. on that day it was all anxiety, mixed with hope and fear; to-day it was all joy and thanksgiving, again proving uncle ben's saying that "the darkest hour is always just before day." my sisters were simply wild with joy when we arrived. they ran out the road to meet, us crying, "there comes uncle ben; we have one more friend!" we were all comforted and rejoiced to a very great extent, and we felt indeed that we had "one more friend" with us. we were as happy as slaves could be, and spent all the time we could together--uncle ben, his wife, my sisters, and myself. but wilson harbored a grudge toward uncle ben because he had to buy his wife in order to get him, and had said that if he ever got ben after he ran away he would whip him to death. he treated ben very well for the time being, but about a year after he had got him home he began to put his plans into operation for severely punishing him. he was afraid of ben's prayers. although wilson would not have hesitated a moment to have put any plan into execution he may have conceived, under ordinary circumstances, yet praying ben, while defending himself by appeals to almighty god was stronger than with carnal weapons in his hands. wilson proceeded cautiously and laid snares for ben. uncle ben was one of the best hands on the plantation, and religiously performed the labor alloted him truly and persistently. he obeyed his overseer and wilson in all things pertaining to his manual occupation, and obeyed god to the very best of his ability in this as in everything else. but wilson wanted to punish ben, and was determined to do so. he knew that ben was a faithful slave to labor, and was reliable, yet he wished to break ben's spirit--his manhood, the god part of him. wilson did not seem to know that he was not fighting ben in his scheme of revenge but that he was fighting god in ben, and that although he punished ben to the death he would be conquered himself, and more severely punished than he could ever hope to punish ben. but wilson was mad, infatuated, and satanically determined. precautious preparations were made by wilson to insure success in his revengeful scheme, and after having obtained the aid of several neighbors who were what might be called professional slave-whippers, he deemed his undertaking to punish and conquer ben fully ripe for execution. ben being a field hand was busily employed picking cotton, with a prayerful heart, and a watchful eye on wilson. from wilson's actions ben was sure something was going to occur which would nearly concern him, and having been hunted like a beast he had become suspicious and on his guard all the time. having a feeling of presentiment, he was uneasy, and, as was usual with him, he kneeled down and asked god to protect him from the machinations of his enemies, and give him heart, courage, and strength to overcome the evil intended him. while praying he was startled by the snort of a horse, and on looking around to ascertain the cause of the noise he discovered himself almost surrounded by armed men on horseback. no time to think now; the time for action had arrived. ben knew at once the flight was for life. better, however, was death than to be thus hunted and harassed. bounding through the field he gained a friendly covert, and seemingly by mere chance he eluded his pursuers and the hounds. ben thanked god for his deliverance. wilson with his heartless band were again baffled, and with man-hunting and disappointments in his man-chase he became furious. ben stayed in the woods about four weeks, and during all this time my sisters, ben's wife, and myself were kept in close confinement, to keep us from communicating with ben or rendering him any assistance. thus all of us had to suffer. but we were only slaves. wilson finally took ben's wife to a man in oxford, about twenty-five miles distant, and came back circulating the word among the blacks that he had sold her. wilson had made arrangements at oxford with some professional slave-hunters to catch ben if he ever came to see his wife, for which purpose she had been taken there. after a time ben was informed that he and his wife had been sold by wilson to a man in oxford, and of course believing such to be the fact, he went there to see her, and make arrangements for the future. his wife was told by the man with whom wilson had left her that he had bought both her and ben, and wished her to get ben to "come out of the woods." laboring under this delusion, ben was month. the cabin was surrounded by armed men, when ben was overpowered, chained, and put in jail for safe keeping until wilson should come after him. living in the woods so long and the harsh treatment he was now receiving wore ben down considerably; yet, believing that "the darkest hour is just before day," he relied on god's help in his misery. wilson came for ben in due time, and after chaining him securely around the neck he fastened one end of the chain to the rear of his buggy and literally, a part of the time, dragged him to holly springs, about thirty miles from oxford, where he sold him to a man who had the reputation of being the hardest master in the country. wilson afterwards took ben's wife home. thus they were separated,--ben and his wife,--never to meet again on this earth. wilson told me when he got home that he had sent ben to hell, and that he would send me there too. infatuated man; he supposed he had done with ben for the very worst; he thought he had as much power over the souls of his slaves as he had under "the laws" over their bodies. he found, however, in time, that god was with us, and in his good time he delivered us from our bondage and punished our persecutors as they deserved. chapter ii. not sent to hell by wilson--mrs. wilson protects me, to whom i belong--sent to school with the children--the school-children teach me to read and write--what came of it--mount that mule or i'll shoot you--i mounted the mule--a start for the railroad to work--i dismount and take to the woods--i owe allegiance to god and my country only. the monotonous tedium of routine slave-labor was very often broken by some scene of cruelty to one or another of the poor blacks, either by the master or his overseer; and woe unto the luckless one if the master should happen to be in a good mood to break bones. although slaves were worth money in the south at that time, yet the ungovernable passions of some if not most masters found free vent in cruelty to their own property--that is, their slaves. this was the case with wilson, and no opportunity was missed by him to make a poor black feel the effects of his brutish nature and passions. his wife, on the other hand, made every effort to protect the blacks on the plantation as much as possible. when wilson threatened to send me to hell, as he had tried to send uncle ben, mrs. wilson came forward in my behalf and saved me from her husband's unwarranted wrath by telling him that she wished "charles to accompany her children to school and take such care of them as might be required." it was customary in the south for families who owned slaves to send one or more of them with their children when they attended school as waiters, or personal servants, and as i belonged to mrs. wilson, being an inherited chattel, wilson acceded to her demand, and i was sent along with the children when they went to school. i was not allowed to sit with the white children in school, but i "loafed around handy," ready for a call from either of my young mistresses. the "laws," the enlightened laws of the southern states, prohibited, under heavy penalties, the education of a slave, or even a negro, although free; yet some of us, under very disadvantageous circumstances, learned to read and write. it has always been a kind of habit with me to "be doing something" all the time, and when not actually employed in some active work i would make use of my time for some good purpose; and while "loafing around" that school-house it occurred to me as being strange that the white children should be compelled to sit and study hour after hour, while us little darkies "loafed around" and did nothing. why couldn't we lighten our young masters and mistresses of that labor as well as other kinds of labor? i determined that my young mistresses should not be made slaves of by the school-master, but that i would do that work for them, as they were generally so kind to me. so i proposed the matter to them, and they were tremendously pleased; at least they laughed and chatted a great deal about me getting their lessons for them, which so elated me that i could not avoid turning handsprings and somersaults all the way home that evening, my joy being so great at the idea of doing my mistresses the favor of taking such great labor off their hands as getting their lessons. i did not doubt my ability to perform the work, for i was stout, hearty, and large for my age, and could almost make a full hand in the field. such was my idea at that time of getting lessons. however, the next day my young mistresses told me the school-master would not allow me to study their lessons for them, but that i might take a book and sit outside of the school-house and study there, but that i must be sure and not let any one see me. why not? why should _i_ not study lessons in the school-house for my young mistresses? because it is against the "law" for slaves to learn to read and write. well, that is curious. a person, because he is a slave, must not study lessons; must not learn to read and write because it is against the "law." what law? my mistress used often to read to the children from a book which told about jesus, and mary, and lazarus, and peter, and paul; and how jesus was our savior, and shed his precious blood for the redemption of all who believed him and would obey his commands; and how jesus said, "suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." did the "law" prohibit me from studying lessons out of a book about jesus, and learning to read about jesus as my mistress did? when my mistress sent my young mistresses to jesus wouldn't she send me along with them just the same as she sent me to school with them? i reckon so. such was my reasoning; and i determined to assist my young mistresses in getting their lessons, law or no law, let the consequences be what they may. i received the book and went out from the school-house a short distance, and secured myself from observation in a shady place. i opened the book--a spelling-book it was. hallo! here's a dog and a cat, and here's a sheep too, and right here in the corner is a yoke--a regular ox-yoke. well, now, this _is_ nice. so i got my first idea of what a book contained by the pictures in a spelling-book. the print in the book meant something, i was sure, and my mind was employed until recess in endeavors to make out what the print and pictures were intended for. the scholars came out at recess, and my mistresses gave me such instructions as they were able, which gave me a start ahead that enabled me to memorize the first six letters of the alphabet by the time school dismissed for noon. i began to be deeply interested in "studying lessons," and was soon, after hard study, complete master of the alphabet. i could repeat it forwards and backwards, and could instantly tell the name of any letter pointed out to me. my mistresses seemed to take great pleasure in teaching me, and i was very anxious to learn. i soon found that i could understand in a great measure the instructions the teacher gave to the different scholars, by which i profited. i sat in the back part of the house, behind the scholars, with my young mistress' old book in my hand, and held it so that nobody could see it, and studied constantly day after day, which soon advanced me beyond some of the white children older than myself in learning. i learned to spell and read; and my appetite for knowledge increasing, my young mistress set copies for me, and by the time the school-term was out i could spell, read, and write. slaves on large plantations in the south were worked in gangs, under the general supervision of the overseer or slave-owner. the gangs were placed under the immediate supervision of a trusty and intelligent slave, whose duty it was to see that each hand performed his or her allotted task, to weigh cotton during the picking season, and to direct the slaves in their labor, and were called field superintendents or bosses. this was my position on the plantation a short time after school was out for the term. for the first few days after my term at school as waiter for my young mistresses, i was ordered into the field to pick cotton, but was shortly placed over the hands as "boss" and cotton-weigher. each picker had a "stint" or daily task to perform; that is, each of them was required to pick so many pounds of cotton, and when in default were unmercifully whipped. i had the cotton of each hand to weigh, three times each day, and had to keep the weights of each hand separate and correctly in my mind and report to wilson every night. i dare not let wilson or any of the slaves know that i knew anything about figures or could read or write, for a knowledge of those rudiments of education was considered criminal in a slave. the slaves were nearly always jealous and envious of a "boss" of their own color, and left no pretext untried to bring a "boss" into disrepute with the master and consequent corporal punishment. and should i make a misstatement of the weight of any one hand's cotton, that hand would know it. therefore at the time i am now writing of i had the weights of about three hundred baskets of cotton to report to wilson every day. this was hard mind-work for me, but i mastered the situation and escaped supersedure and punishment. i held the position of field-superintendent about nine years, and performed my duties faithfully and honestly, to the satisfaction of my master and the hands under me generally. why was i so faithful and dutiful to my slave master? simply because i was doing my duty to god and acting in obedience to the commands of christ; for my book taught me to do good and shun evil--to obey the revealed will of god no matter what position i might be placed in. as a slave i loved to do the will of the master in heaven; as a responsible human being i could do no less. i improved my knowledge, whenever opportunity occurred, and it was but a short time, comparatively, until i found out for myself, by searching the scriptures clandestinely, the great truths that jesus taught. i read, pondered, and began the work of self-regeneration. i read that god required of me to do certain things; that unless i obeyed the commands of jesus i could expect no help from god. i found that i was commanded to "do," and not stand still and wait for others to "do" for me. the way seemed to open before me plainly and unmistakably, and engraved the command to "do" firmly in my heart, in the simple words, "do the will of god." i obeyed the commands of our savior in all the essentials of repentance, baptism, and in everything, and began the real work of my life--of living and being a servant of god and a faithful follower of jesus christ. my field of labor was my own heart, which i endeavored to render pure in the sight of god. but a short time elapsed when my work within myself began to bear fruit in my efforts to redeem my fellow-slaves from sin and make them children of god. i labored with them in a spirit of brotherly love, and urged them, in season and out of season, to come to jesus. my labors were not in vain, for a great many were brought to the altar of prayer through my exertions, and were forgiven. wilson found out that i could read and write. during the time of cotton-picking, the last season i was superintendent, a protracted meeting was held in the neighborhood, and my master and mistress attended regularly. the only time i could go was on sunday, and i looked forward to that day with hope and pleasure. on saturday evening my master stayed to church, and did not expect to return home until sunday evening. my report of weights were on my mind, and i became somewhat uneasy about the result if i should attempt to remember them until the following monday. what to do under the circumstances i did not know; yet i knew that "where there was a will there was a way." i was afraid to set the weights down for fear of detection and punishment. i hesitated and tried to think of some safe way out of the dilemma. i knew if i let the matter rest over sunday i would not remember the weights, for the reason that my mind was so employed and taken up with the religious revival that was then going on in the neighborhood, in which i was very much interested on my own account and on account of my fellow-slaves. i prayed to god to direct me right. the overseer used a slate on which to set down the weights of cotton, which was hanging in his cabin. i took the slate down, made the entries of weights with the names of the pickers, and hung it up again. during the next day (sunday) the overseer came home, and found the slate with the entries on it i had made. he was somewhat surprised. when wilson came home he was duly informed of the fact. i was called, and ordered into _the presence_. i knew it was unlawful for me to know how to write, and i dreaded the consequences of my rash act, yet i unhesitatingly, and with a courage that surprised me, went to the house. "who wrote these names and weights on this slate, charles?" asked mr. wilson. "i did it, sir," i answered. "how and when did you learn to write?" "during the time i attended my young mistresses to school, sir." wilson looked at me long and angrily, and remarked that i had kept that fact secret for a long time, and that as i had learned to read and write he could not help it. "but you must remember, charles," he continued, "that the law is that if any negro shall be found writing, his forefinger shall be cut off at the first joint." my time had now come for my first punishment, i thought. a day or two after i heard wilson, while in conversation with the overseer, say, "it will not do to let charles stay with the rest of the negroes, or he will learn them all to read and write, and then we might as well set them free." what was to be done with me for my unpardonable crime? all kinds of surmises and speculations entered my mind. what was to be my fate? belonging to mrs. wilson--her property--i was placed in charge of her son james, who employed me at teaming, that is, hauling cotton, lumber, etc. in this occupation i became pretty well acquainted with the surrounding country and the people, and was very well satisfied with matters generally as they then stood. but i was soon to learn that my young master was only anxious to carry out the plans of his father, and was determined to punish, or, as they pleased to term it, "break me," merely because i was related to ben--because i was able to read and write as well if not better than james wilson himself. i was told one day by james that he had hired me to a man in pontotoc to work in a livery-stable, and that i must come to his plantation without delay. when i arrived i was informed that instead of going to pontotoc i should go to the railroad then building through mississippi, and work for mr. leadbitter. i expostulated with my master, and urged him, with all the pleas and arguments at my command, to allow me to remain on the plantation or go to pontotoc, but to no avail. he whipped out his six-shooter, raving and swearing, and bade me mount one of two mules instanter or he would shoot me on the spot. i mounted the mule. my reasons for not wanting to go to the railroad to work were good. there was plenty to do on the plantation, and there was no good cause for sending me away. i feared rough usage at the railroad, and rougher associations. i had by this time become the religious teacher of all the well-disposed slaves in the neighborhood, and i was so much interested in my labors that i doomed my great master's work of too much importance to be driven away from it without a struggle. i was no coward, and was always ready to stand out to the end against all opposition, when my duty as a humble follower of jesus was in question. therefore my reluctance to be driven from my place of usefulness. however, i got on the mule and started, in company with a colored man who was going with me to bring the mules back. after traveling four or five miles, and when at a convenient place, i dismounted from the mules and told my companion i was going no farther with him, and that if wilson wanted any one to go to the railroad to work he might go himself; and i "took to the woods." this was the first time i ever attempted to escape and gain my freedom. whether i was right or wrong i shall not say, only i ask you to put yourself in my place as i was then situated, and draw your own conclusions. it is true i had formed dear and near associations, and the old neighborhood had been the scene of my trials and triumphs. my master had been uniformly kind, as much so at least as his disposition would allow, yet i felt, although my skin was black, i was entitled to and deserved freedom to worship god according to the dictates of my own conscience, and to teach others the way to everlasting life. i felt that i was a man made after god's own image, and that no one had any right to a property in me as a mere chattel, all human laws to the contrary notwithstanding. i did not deem that i was a criminal, and that i was escaping from penal servitude; but that i was one of god's children, escaping from a worse than egyptian bondage. i rightfully owed allegiance to god and my country only. so i run away. chapter iii. caught, tried, and taken back home to james wilson--my mistress saves me from being whipped--i go to the railroad and work one month precisely--go back home--wilson surprised--left the railroad at o'clock a.m.--did not want to disturb leadbitter's rest--sent to memphis with a load of cotton--afraid of the slave-pens and slave-auction--start for home--not sold--pray, sing, and shout--get home and ordered to hire myself out. the peculiar feelings one has who is a "runaway" are indescribable. i felt every bit an outcast, and was frightened by the least noise or the sight of any person, and the yelp of a hound was terror to me. i skulked and hid in the woods all day until night, when i concluded to go to town, get something to eat, and make my arrangements for the future. when the "hoy," who was sent by wilson with me, returned and repeated to him my words, vengeance was sworn against me, and the hounds were turned loose for immediate chase. i went to the town of pontotoc, and while there refreshing myself in a cabin i heard hounds whining. that was sufficient to inform me that i was trapped. what to do i did not know, but went to the door with the intention of making my escape, if possible, when i was met by james wilson and five other persons fully armed. resistance was useless, the hounds would have caught me before i could have run a hundred yards, even if i could have escaped the bullets. i surrendered, and was securely tied by james wilson and his gang and taken back to the plantation. dire threats were made against me, but my mistress, james' mother, saved me again. she informed her son that "charles belonged to her; that charles' mother had placed him, under the care of god, in her custody, and that she did not intend to have him beaten." james insisted on "breaking" me, as he termed it, and finally prevailed on his mother, with promises, that if she would let him deal with me he would "break" me without whipping me. she consented. james came to the cabin where i was tied and chained, and told me that he did not desire to whip me, but that if i did not go to the railroad to work every slave on the plantation would become demoralized, and they would all do as they pleased. his words and manner were very kind and conciliatory, yet i took them for what they were worth, and did not believe him; for he would have whipped me severely if he had dared do so. his reasoning regarding the poor, ignorant slaves on the plantation, however, was to the point. in their ignorance they would suppose that if i could do as i pleased and not be punished, they could do the same; and they would, in all probability, create an insurrection which would result in their own destruction. for their sakes i acceded to james' wishes. he told me that if i would go to the railroad and work for leadbitter one month, that i might after that time hire myself out to whom i pleased and for as long a time as i pleased. i was given a letter to leadbitter, and immediately started on foot for the railroad. when i arrived there i handed the letter to mr. leadbitter, who asked me how long i had come to stay with him. i told him one month. he broke the letter open, and after reading it informed me that james wilson stated in the letter that i was to stay as long as he wanted me. this was a piece of intelligence that learned me that james wilson would lie, and from that time forward i had no confidence in his truthfulness. i did not know what was best to do, but finally made up my mind to fulfill and make good my promise, and trust to the future to compel james wilson to perform his. i thought this the right course. i did not deem that i would be justified in breaking my promise because wilson was unreliable and broke his. i concluded that if leadbitter kept me longer than one month he would have to be smarter than i gave him credit for being. i asked leadbitter how many days there were in that month. i went to work, and kept account of the days. i worked carefully. the time passed slowly and wearily. my associations were of the worst character possible, and my co-laborers were of that lowest class of southern blacks whose ignorance and waywardness render them most of the time more than brutal. i made every effort to do good among them, and endeavored to preach to them on several occasions, but was interrupted and deterred by the whites, who forbade my preaching. i talked to the blacks, however, whenever opportunity occurred, and i hope that my labors for jesus were not in vain. the last day of my month came and passed. it was friday. on saturday morning, about three o'clock, i started for home, and with rapid walking i reached my destination about two hours after sunrise. when i reached the plantation i "cut across lots," and passed through the field where wilson was at work with the hands. i approached, unobserved by him, and spoke to him. he looked at me with astonishment, and in surprise asked, "what are you doing here?" "you told me to stay one month; i done so," i answered. "did mr. leadbitter know when you left?" "i do not know, sir," i replied. "i left at three o'clock this morning, and did not think it worth while to disturb mr. leadbitter's rest." "three o'clock!" exclaimed wilson. "yes, sir," i quietly answered. "you ran away, did you?" "no, sir, i did not run away. i stayed as long as you required me to stay, when, in obedience to your expressed promises, i came home." james wilson made some remark i could not understand, but finally said that as i had come home he had some work for me to do before i could hire myself out. i felt somewhat easy in my mind, and waited to be set to work. but when he afterwards told me he wanted me to take a load of cotton to memphis, my heart misgave me, i felt sure, in my mind, that i was to be sold from the slave-pens at memphis. the grand trial time had now come for me, and the teachings of my mother and uncle ben and uncle jack before and at our final separation came to me in full force. they taught me, before i could read for myself, that in trouble i should rely implicitly on the help of my savior, and that i should pray without ceasing. to god i immediately turned for guidance and help, and asked that my every step might be directed by him, and that he should protect me from my enemies and persecutors. i felt that i was being persecuted for jesus' sake, for i was promised, time and again, that if i would quit preaching and talking to the slaves on religious subjects, i should be advanced and my life made easy and comfortable. i refused the offers, because my master's work was of more importance than my ease. i was impressed, deeply, with the great responsibilities resting upon me, and was determined to preach and teach while i had strength and opportunity to do so. i may have been mistaken with regard to the cause of my persecution by the wilsons, but i think not. i do not really believe that any one is persecuted for christ's sake in this day and age of the world, in a christian country, except in the south before the rebellion. i have heard men, and, i am almost ashamed to say, preachers, proclaim that they were persecuted because of their adherence to the cause of christ, when they were not persecuted at all on any account, except probably on account of some wrong act of their own. paul and the apostles were persecuted, and early christians were persecuted, but who ever heard of a citizen of the united states being persecuted because he was a follower of jesus! but slaves in the south were persecuted and punished severely for preaching the gospel of christ, not on that very account probably, but because it would teach the slaves obedience to a higher power than the inhuman laws of the southern states as they then existed. paul was persecuted for preaching the redemption of mankind through the blood of the savior, by pagans and gentiles. i was persecuted for the same reasons by the slave-owners of the south, and for endeavoring to lead the benighted blacks to jesus. there seems to be some likeness in the positions of paul and myself. i felt that was the case, at any rate. my mind was distressed with the fear that i was being sent to memphis only to be sold to the highest bidder. after addressing the throne of god for help and deliverance i felt relieved, and determined that, come what would, i would use my best talents and exertions for my heavenly master wherever i might be. relieved, i set about making preparations for my trip to memphis, with a prayerful heart. two of us were going in company, each with a load of cotton. we started on monday morning, and traveled along without unusual trouble or delay for three days over hilly and rough roads, when we camped for the night within a mile of holly springs, in mississippi, and about fifty-five miles from home. it will be remembered that uncle ben was sold by wilson to a man who lived in and near holly springs. i was anxious to see uncle ben, if possible, and began making inquiries regarding his whereabouts. a colored man came along the road, driving a team, of whom i inquired. after a little time he said a preacher named ben harris lived in a house close by, at the same time pointing to it. upon further inquiries i learned that ben had taken another wife. this may seem rather criminal, and may appear to be a clear case of bigamy against uncle ben; but when it is remembered that masters compelled their slaves to live together as man and wife, without ceremony, for the purpose only of breeding children, and that ben had no say in the matter, he will be held blameless. the laws of the southern states did not recognize the legal relations of man and wife between slaves, therefore they could not commit the crime of bigamy. if ben was morally guilty, he was forced into his guilt by law and general custom. i had not seen ben for about ten years, and was so overjoyed at the prospect of seeing him that i could scarcely wait until night, for i was informed that he would not be at his cabin until night. after attending to my affairs about town i waited until sundown, when i went to the house indicated by my informant. not being certain that the person who lived in the cabin was my uncle, i necessarily had to make inquiries. a colored woman met me at the door, and answered such questions as i asked, from which i was satisfied that ben lived here. i informed the woman who i was and that ben was my uncle, and that i had called, in passing on my way to memphis, to see him. she cordially invited me to enter the cabin, and told me that ben was out feeding the horses and would shortly be in. i had to wait but a little while when ben came in. he supposed me to be some passing stranger, and did not recognize me. after some desultory conversation i told him who i was and how i came to be there. our meeting, after mutual recognition, was affectionate and cordial. we talked over old times and related our experience since we parted at the wilson plantation. we kneeled at the family altar, and each poured out his soul's thanksgiving to god for his goodness to us, having, before i left, a season of soul-reviving prayer. thus we knelt, uncle ben, his wife, and i, poor slaves in the chains of bondage, really and earnestly thanking god for the many blessings we received. strange, was it not? when men and women rolling in wealth and all the luxuries and happiness that wealth could purchase, did not even deign to notice the source from whence all their blessings flowed. they had life and liberty, and were unrestrained in the pursuit of happiness, yet not once did they thank the great giver of all their good. then what had we, poor wretches, to thank god for? for everything we enjoyed,--for life, for the blessed plan of salvation, for our senses of seeing, hearing, and feeling, for our hearts with which to love him, for our humanity, for the great gifts of sunshine, rain, regulated seasons, the moon, the stars, the earth, the trees, the brooks, the rivers,--everything truly enjoyable we thanked god for. we thanked him for health and strength to do his work. then we had a great deal to thank almighty god for, although slaves. how many of you ever think to thank god for sunshine or for reason? let me illustrate. a gentleman was passing along the highway, when he was met by a poor maniac, who accosted him, saying, "what do you thank god for?" the gentleman being surprised by the abrupt question did not reply immediately, when the maniac continued, "then thank god for your reason; mine is gone; i'm mad--a maniac." this was something the gentleman had never thought of before, and it opened to his mind an entirely new source of thankfulness. we are apt to forget that we are not slaves, not blind, deaf, or dumb, and not insane; yet should we lose any one of our five senses we would then know how to be thankful for and appreciate that sense should we regain it. then thank god for everything, your very existence included. suppose the sun would stop in his course and not shine on the earth but for one day. what consternation and grief there would be throughout the world! then suppose that after twenty-four hours the sun should burst upon us in all his refulgence and glorious magnificence. what a shout of joy would greet his appearance, and glad hearts would pour out thanks upon thanks to the great giver for the needful sunshine. then let us be thankful for all the great blessings bestowed upon us by our heavenly father, and serve him with all our hearts, in whatever position in life we may be placed. uncle ben and i did _then_, and we do _yet_. after a prolonged conversation and a good and refreshing season of prayer i took my departure for my camp, never expecting to meet my relative again, and never have. we started next morning on our way to memphis, and traveled into memphis, after three days, on a very fine road for the south, known as the state-line road. we drove to the cotton-yard, unloaded, and received the receipts for the cotton, and put up for the night at a wagon-yard. i spent this night in prayer and supplication that god would save me from the slave-pen and the auctioneer's block; and my prayers were responded to in my protection. the next morning we started for home by what was known as the pigeon-roost route, in order to save toll and other expenses. the weight on my mind was removed, and i felt happy and thankful. i was not sold from the shambles. i prayed, i sung, and i shouted by turns. we arrived at home, and i waited patiently for my next order. my young master soon informed me, however, that i might hire myself out, if i could find and one that would hire me. good! god was on my side. with a light heart and truly happy i set about my preparations to hire myself out; and the very first thing i did was to go to my cabin and thank god for his goodness, and ask for his protection and guidance. always praying? yes, i was always at it. my heart was big with love to god. chapter iv. start out on my travels to hunt a new master--find mr. dansley--hire to him--thirty dollars per month for my master and five dollars for myself--wilson astonished--appointed superintendent of dansley's farm--rules and regulations--peace and tranquillity--my moral labors successful--prayer and social meetings--meetings in the woods--quarrel and fight like very brothers--time comes to be moved to another field of labor. it was customary in the slave states to allow slaves to hire themselves for their masters to such as the slaves themselves desired to work for. sometimes this arrangement was made to save the master trouble. in my case i was instructed to find a place to work at thirty dollars per month and board, and then to return and report to wilson, who would then give the necessary permission in writing, which would stand as a contract between him and my employer. my first object was to find a christian man to hire to who would allow me to pray and preach on all proper occasions, and who would rather assist me than hinder me in my efforts to make christians of the blacks. i cared nothing for the manual labor i had to do, if i could only be placed in a position to do my great master's work. his work was my life-labor. on this particular account i was very careful who i applied to. in a day or two i applied to mr. dansley, whose plantation was about eighteen miles from wilson's, and who had been recommended to me as being the kind of man i was hunting for. mr. dansley questioned me closely, and examined me as to my reasons for wanting to hire out, and why my master wished me to hire out when there was plenty of work on his own place for me to do. i confessed frankly that i could read and write, and knew something about figures, and was desirous to serve god and do his work by preaching, and in every other way in my power; that my master was afraid that i would demoralize his other slaves by learning them to read and write and by preaching to them, and in order that i might not do that he wanted me off the plantation; that he could not sell me because i was the property of his wife, and that she would not consent to have me sold out of the family. "if those are faults, as considered by mr. wilson, i am very well satisfied that you will perform your part of the contract notwithstanding; yet what mr. wilson is pleased to consider faults in you i deem good points in your character and disposition, therefore i will hire you, hoping that your duty to god will include your duty to me under the contract of hire." i told him that was my understanding of my duty to god; that it comprised, in my condition of servitude, my duty to my slave-master. i informed mr. dansley that my master, wilson, wanted thirty dollars per month for my services, and that i wanted five dollars per month for myself, making in all thirty-five dollars per month. he was satisfied to pay that amount, and gave me a letter to carry to wilson stating that he would hire me at thirty dollars per month, yet he agreed with me that he would pay me, besides, five dollars per month. when wilson gave me instructions to hire myself out at not less than thirty dollars per month, he hoped i would fail, from the fact that wages for field-hands were only twenty-five dollars per month; and when i went back with mr. dansley's letter so soon, he was somewhat surprised. he would have opened his eyes with wonder if he had known that dansley was to pay me five dollars per month extra. he gave me a written permission to work for mr. dansley as long as dansley should want me. i immediately went to dansley's, and stayed with him nine months--nine months of contented time. i found my new master every way worthy of any confidence i might repose in him. in moderate circumstances, he used prudence and diligence in his business transactions and farm operations. he was one of those kind of men some of which may be found in almost every community--an unassuming, industrious, christian gentleman. for his farm-force he hired men, both white and black; and when his work pushed him he would require his cook and house-maid, the only slaves he owned, to assist in the fields. at the time of my commencing to work for him he had white men hired who were worse, if any thing, in their habits of shiftless laziness than the lazy blacks. these whites, whom the negroes usually termed "white trash," were, as a general thing, the most vicious, brutal, thieving, shiftless, and lazy human beings imaginable. they were ignorant in the greatest degree, and would not work so long as they could obtain food to sustain life in any other way. they deemed it an honor to be noticed civilly by a respectable negro, and would fawn and truckle to the behests of any one who had the physical courage to command them. such people can be found in no place except the south. they are a result of the system of slavery and slave-laws, and slave-owners are responsible for their condition. such were the kind of men i had to work with. these men would quarrel and wrangle among themselves, and would consume time and neglect their work. when the house-servants were at work in the field, they would insult and misuse them in every conceivable manner, and it was with great difficulty that mr. dansley could get his work done properly and in season. knowing i had been a farm-superintendent on wilson's plantation for a number of years, mr. dansley immediately appointed me to the same position on his farm, which accounts for his readiness and willingness to pay me high wages. this was a new kind of position for me, and it required considerable thought and management for me to get matters properly arranged in my mind. "bossing" white hands and working with them, so as to make their labors profitable for my employer, was no easy task. the farm-work was carried on somewhat similar to the way in which large farms are worked in the northern states, and it required great prudence and watchful care to avoid waste and save all the crops. i arranged my rules of conduct, hours of labor, etc., for the hands, and submitted them to mr. dansley for his approval. mr. dansley left the matter entirely with me; and, after trial, i found my rules were not sufficiently stringent, and that if i expected to successfully "carry on" that farm i would have to make rules with penalties attached, the men i had to deal with caring little or nothing for mild, persuasive laws. i therefore drew up the following rules, and presented them to mr. dansley, and requested him to make them stipulations in the contracts of hire with his men. he approved them, and acceded to my request. . quarreling and using vulgar and profane language is strictly forbidden on the farm, and any hand or hands violating this rule shall be discharged or corrected, in the discretion of the superintendent. . obedience to the just orders of the superintendent is essential to the profitable conduct of the farm; therefore, disobedience to the orders of the superintendent shall be followed by the discharge of the hand or hands so offending, or his or their correction, in the discretion of the superintendent. . each and every hand hereby binds himself to obey the just orders of the superintendent and the rules herein established, and upon the discharge of any hand or hands, by the superintendent, one month's wages shall be forfeited. these rules were signed by the hands, that is, they "made their mark;" but i signed my name, being the only negro hand on the place and the only one who could write. peace and tranquillity reigned on that farm thereafter, and better crops were not raised in the county. my whole study and aim was to do right--to be just to my hands and do my duty to my employer. i relied on god's help, and prayerfully asked his guidance in every and all difficulties and emergencies, and my success is attributable to that help which is always given when properly asked for. the men i had to deal with were more to be pitied than blamed. they were entirely ignorant of any but the most crude principles of right, and were taught from their childhood only such rude notions as prevailed among the ignorant. when i talked to them of jesus they seemed astonished. they did not even know that punishment would meet them hereafter for their sins committed in this life, and were puzzled and perplexed with the plan of salvation until after i had repeatedly explained it to them; in fact, i taught them the history of man, from adam down to the coming of our savior, and taught them the religion of jesus. better-behaved men or better hands were not to be found in the neighborhood after they learned the way to jesus, and many happy times we did have on that farm at our prayer--meetings and social gatherings. all of us would meet at some convenient place on the farm, every sabbath-day, and would spend the time profitably, in exhortation and prayer. the master and mistress were always there, and worked with a will in the cause of christ, and i would exhort and preach to the best of my ability. sometimes mr. dansley would read a chapter from the bible and comment thereon, and sometimes his wife would read and comment. all of us prayed, and some of the white hands became, in a short time, earnest public prayers. they had found the fount of true happiness, and would drink largely therefrom on all occasions. our regular sunday meetings soon became known in the neighborhood, and the neighbors and their slaves would come and worship with us, until our congregations became so large that mr. dansley allowed me to take the hands and clear away a nice place in the woods, and make seats and a stand, where we held our meetings regularly thereafter every sunday, in the forenoon, afternoon, and at night; besides, we held a social prayer-meeting every wednesday evening. these meetings were productive of great good to the community and to individuals. in this way i brought men and women to god even while in a condition of slavery, and required to labor six days in the week in the grain and cotton fields. if i, a slave, could accomplish this much, how much should the favored preachers of the country accomplish? this is a hard question to answer, however, and i shall not insist on its consideration, as every preacher can not be a lorenzo dow, a john smith, or a james findley. among the field-hands under me were two brothers, white men, who, when i first took charge of the farm were maliciously wicked toward each other, and were almost constantly quarreling just like brothers(!). before three months had elapsed, under my kind of treatment, they were praying, acting christians, and remained so as long as i knew them. from this time down to the present writing i have been a zealous worker in the lord's vineyard, and shall remain in the harness as long as god wills. regarding doctrinal points of theology i knew nothing, and my whole stock of theological works could have been carried in a vest pocket, in the shape of one or two tracts which fell in my way, and which i read, studied, and preserved. i had a bible, and that alone served me as the guide in my ministry, and furnished me with all the arguments necessary to the conversion of sinners and their redemption. our congregation at mr. dansley's was not organized into a church, and i did not attempt to receive members into the church of christ. i doubted my authority to do so, and any efforts on my part in that direction would have been immediately stopped by the preachers and members of the white churches. but this did not deter me from preaching and exhorting. i believed firmly that god required of me the labor i performed, and i was so much interested and taken up in my work that i did not stop to consider what the consequences would be to myself. my only consideration was, "where can i find an opportunity to do good and save souls." i asked no pay for my services as a preacher, and never received any; hence i usually found congregations awaiting me at my appointments made up of all classes, white and black, and from all churches organized in the community. my discourses were sometimes off-hand and sometimes studied. it is true my studied discourses were, in the main, original, and taken wholly from the bible, yet they were none the less effective, because they were earnest and honest. my language was that of the southern blacks and uneducated whites at the beginning of my labors as an exhorter, but after hard study and training i improved myself greatly in this respect, and gained the reputation of being as correct in my pronunciation of english words as the majority of the white preachers. i am not yet entirely free from dialectic pronunciation, and never expect to be; but i find that this very defect, if so it may be called, adds force to my sermons, and gives them a distinctness not otherwise attainable. therefore i make use of my very faults to do good. i had hoped to stay with mr. dansley as long as he could find it profitable to hire me; and so far i had been of great use to him. i had placed his whole farm in a good state of repair, and had matured and saved his crops in such a manner that his profits were much larger than they ever were before in any one season. i had the goodwill and confidence of the hands, both white and black, who worked under me, and was an instrument in the hands of god in spreading the religion of jesus christ in the neighborhood; consequently i was happy and contented, with plenty of all kinds of work to do. but i had accomplished my mission at this place, and it pleased god to remove me to another field of labor, where the harvest was ripe and ready for the reaper. i never complained; on the contrary, i rejoiced that god was not done with me, and had plenty for me to do. when i had thoroughly worked one field of labor, i deemed my immediate services no longer required, and was glad when removed where more work was to be done in god's moral vineyard. of course i formed intimate associations in every locality in which i was placed, and was prone to leave them; but i was content to do the will of god in every particular, whether that will was expressed through the slave-laws and james wilson or otherwise. i was a slave, and was compelled to labor for the profit of my owner, which i performed diligently and faithfully; i was a child of god, and owed him duty and obedience, which i performed earnestly and constantly. from my slave-owners i expected and received no reward or remuneration; from god i received no pay as i labored, but my great reward is yet to come. i have been a depositor in god's bank, from which i expect to draw largely at the final settlement. chapter v. james wilson comes along--wants me to go with him to saulsbury, tennessee, to help build a house for a grocery-store--takes me along with him--wilson taken sick--i take care of him--he gets well--i make another attempt to escape from slavery--what came of it. one day james wilson came to mr. dansley's, and said he had come for me to go with him to saulsbury, tennessee, where he was going to start a grocery, and that he wished my assistance in erecting a building therefor. he informed me, at the same time, that as soon as the building was finished, i might return to mr. dansley and stay with him as long as he wanted me. he had another colored man with him, and desired to go right away. all i had to do was to obey, so without further ado i bade farewell to the people of the plantation, and went with wilson. the parting made me feel sad, for a time. the word grocery, as applied in the south, has a far different meaning than that intended in the north. a grocery in the south is a place where whisky and other intoxicating beverages are sold, and, as a general thing, at these places the planters and others congregate to drink, carouse, gamble, quarrel, and fight. this was the kind of grocery james wilson was going to start in saulsbury, and the thought of aiding even under protest and unwillingly in the establishment of one of these hells caused me much anxiety. i made every effort to get relieved from this odious work, but without avail. we immediately began the erection of the grocery-building, on our arrival at saulsbury, and made good progress for a while. the boards we used in the building had to be sawed by us two slaves with a whipsaw. we dug a deep trench in the ground, and laid the log to be sawed into boards lengthwise over the trench, and one of us would stand in the trench under the log and the other on top of the log. in this way we worked, day after day, until we had a sufficient number of boards to accommodate our wants. the almighty, it seemed to me, interfered with our work. james wilson was taken down very sick in the midst of our efforts to create this additional devil's den, and was totally unable to leave his bed. i had to take care of him, and the work on the grocery-house was necessarily stopped. as soon as he was able to be moved i took him to the sulphur springs, not many miles away, and nursed him carefully and attentively until he was able to be about again. this sickness of wilson i deemed a warning to him, and endeavored to impress as much on his mind; but i was cursed and reviled for my pains. i availed myself of every opportunity to dissuade him from his evil purpose, but failed. he was determined to start a grocery, and start a grocery he would and did. i cleared my skirts and conscience in the business, however, as far as i could under the circumstances; yet a "still small voice" seemed to whisper to me that i was doing very wicked and sinful acts in helping to further the grocery iniquity. i was, in a manner, forced to work, yet i was uneasy and troubled in my mind. others may think i was blameless; that i was a slave and not accountable for acts my master commanded me to do. this seemed very specious reasoning, but still i felt guilty, and sent fervent and prayerful petitions to the throne of grace for forgiveness and fortitude to withstand temptation, which enable me to do the will of my great master regardless of the consequences that might ensue to me from the effects of wilson's wrath or resentment. we finished the building in about two months from the time we first went to salisbury, and prepared to return home. it was here that i first saw a complete railroad and a locomotive with a train of cars. my fellow-slave, on hearing the whistle of the locomotive for the first time, was very much frightened, and jumped over the log he was hewing, with the exclamation, "good god! what is that?" and started to run. i stopped him, and, explaining to him what the loud, shrill shriek meant, quieted his fears. we both went to the depot and examined the locomotive and cars with great curiosity and interest. james wilson, being still weak with his late sickness, was compelled to ride in the wagon he had brought from home, and i rode his saddle-horse. on the way, wilson informed me that i was to attend the grocery at salisbury, and that he expected me to make money out of the concern. my very soul revolted at the bare idea of being a whisky-vender, and my immediate determination was not to be one. my mind was made up to "take to the woods" on the first favorable opportunity. i said nothing, however, but kept my own counsel. we traveled slowly, by reason of the master's sickness; and when we stopped for the night i found that the saddle i had been riding had hurt the horse's back. wilson was furious, and swore he would take as much hide from my back when we got home as the saddle had taken from the horse's back. the next day after leaving salisbury we arrived at mr. dansley's. in conversation, i heard wilson tell mr. dansley that he intended to take me home with him. i claimed the fulfillment of his promise from wilson, and asked him if he was not going to let me work for mr. dansley, according to agreement. this so enraged wilson that he pulled out his six-shooter, and exclaimed: "mount that horse, you ---- black rascal!" i did so. fearful that the horse's back would become incurably sore if i rode him with his back in the condition it was, i suggested that the horse had better be led. wilson therefore ordered me into the wagon to drive the team, and required havely, my fellow-slave, to walk,--intending we should take turns. after awhile havely exchanged places with me, and while walking along in rear of the wagon it occurred to me that this would be as favorable an opportunity as i would soon again get for making my escape from wilson and slavery. i "took to the woods" without attracting the attention of either wilson or havely, and made good my escape, for the time at least. i made my way back to mr. dansley's and told him my reasons for endeavoring to effect my escape from slavery, and that the immediate cause of my present attempt was to keep myself clear of the accursed sin of whisky-selling. my motives were applauded, but my judgment was condemned. how could i ever expect to escape to a country where i could be a free man? even should i escape to the northern states the fugitive slave law, which was then in full force, would remand me back to slavery, and it was a long, tedious, and perilous journey to canada. i was going to make the attempt at any rate. it was agreed between us that mr. dansley should buy me of wilson if he could, and that i should stay and work for him at the rate of thirty-five dollars per month until i had re-imbursed mr. dansley, when i should have my freedom papers. it would have required about four years for me to pay for myself at those rates, as wilson "priced" me at sixteen hundred dollars. the negotiations for my purchase by mr. dansley failed, and i was left to my exertions to get to canada the best way i could. i was secreted during this time about dansley's farm, and was aroused to a sense of my condition one day by reading a hand-bill which was posted on a tree on the road close to mr. dansley's house, of which the following is a copy: "one hundred dollars reward!" "charles, a slave, has disappeared from the plantation of the undersigned, in pontotoc county. the above reward will be given for his apprehension and return to me alive. "james wilson." this settled the matter. the reward was soon known over the whole country, and every slave-hunter was on the chase to gain the reward. i "laid close" and waited to escape from that part of the country, so that i might not compromise mr. dansley. he was already under surveillance by slave-owners, and was in danger of being driven from the country; in fact, threats of lynching had been made against him. the last day i was there i lay hid in some cotton-pens, close to the house, when two men came on the hunt of me. they had their blood-hounds with them, and demanded permission of dansley to search his house. the permission was granted, when the men began the search. i could see and hear all that was going on, and trembled for my safety. i put myself on the mercy of the almighty and resigned myself entirely into his hands. the search was made all over the premises, including the cotton-pens in which i was hid; but god was on my side, and i was saved from their clutches. i earnestly thanked god for my deliverance on this occasion. as soon as dark came i emerged from my hiding-place, and, after being supplied with what provisions i could conveniently carry, i bid good-by to christian dansley and his family, and started on my perilous journey to the free states and canada. my progress was necessarily slow and wearisome, being compelled to travel altogether at night. the first point i designed making on my journey was memphis, where i hoped to find means of escape to illinois. i had plenty of time for meditation and prayer, and my thoughts were naturally concentrated on my deplorable condition all the time. my past life came up in review before me, and while sorrowfully wandering through the woods i would compare myself to persecuted christians in the days of the apostles and the early evaneglists. the blessed savior was persecuted in his very infancy and had to be hid by his parents. they had to flee for life; i was fleeing for liberty. what had i to complain of? jesus was with me and would protect me. god had delivered him from the very tomb of death; why need i fear? with these reflections in my mind i would feel revived and refreshed with the consolation that while there was life in me there was hope for me. the words of the poet came to my memory, wherein he says: "neither will he upbraid you, though often your request; he'll give you grace to conquer, and take you home to rest." the consolation and help i received from my meditations sustained me through all my trials and hardships, and i plodded my weary way along with god in my heart and bright hopes for the future. i knew if i drew nigh unto god he would draw nigh unto me; and that if i would let the word of christ dwell in me i would be rich in all wisdom. yet i was aware i should suffer persecution if i lived godly in jesus christ; therefore i determined to continue in the things which i had learned. on sunday night i arrived at holly springs. uncle ben lived there, and i was anxious to see him and obtain through his assistance, if possible, rest and food. i had proceeded only a little way toward his house when i met a colored man and began conversation with him. i learned that the reward wilson had offered for me had arrived at holly springs before me, and that persons were on the lookout for me. the colored man seemed to have a suspicion that i was a runaway, and was disposed to aid me all in his power. to keep out of the way of slave-hunters was my object, and i knew that the contemplated visit to uncle ben was fraught with too much danger to be further thought of. fearful that the negro would betray me, yet feeling somewhat safe for the present, i sat down to think and rest myself. i knew that if i was caught wilson would flay me, as he had threatened to do, for making his saddle-horse's back sore, but that if i could once get through to memphis i would be enabled, through the assistance of friends, to make my way north. yet i wanted to see uncle ben again, and tried to hit upon some plan to accomplish that object; but i failed, and started on the road again. after traveling a short time i came to a house by the road-side. the kitchen stood about twenty yards from the main building, and had a window in the back part of it. i was very hungry, and debated in my mind as to the manner in which i should proceed to obtain food. to ask for it was too risky, and i was fearful that if i was seen by any of the persons about the house i would be apprehended and put in the nearest jail as a runaway. looking in at the window i saw a colored woman; and on a table a meal was prepared, which, it seemed, was being held in readiness for the arrival of some one. i waited patiently, hoping the colored woman would leave the kitchen for some purpose; but she sat quietly waiting. after awhile the master and mistress arrived, it seems, from a visit. shortly the mistress of the house came in and ordered the supper. fortunately for me the supper was to be carried into the "big house," and the cook, taking her hands full of things, left the kitchen and went into the house. i immediately sprung through the window, promiscuously emptied the meat and bread into my sack, and left the kitchen the same way before the return of the cook, just in time to escape detection. i crouched in the shade of the cabin fearing to move, when i heard the cook exclaim: "good gracious! some one hab tuk and turned in an' tuk all de bread an' meat." her cries brought the household to the kitchen, and during the racket i made my escape to the road and a more peaceful neighborhood. i walked briskly for a couple of miles, when i stopped and satisfied my ravenous hunger. this was my first theft of something to eat. before this i had been fortunate enough to obtain supplies of food from friendly slaves, but for the twenty-four hours previous to my raid on the kitchen i had eaten nothing. i make no excuse for this immoral act, and ask no one to say i did right. i only did what perhaps any one else, under the same circumstances, would have done. i was too weak from hunger and other causes to withstand the temptation of obtaining the food as i did. as soon as my appetite was satisfied, however, my sin rose up before me in all its enormity; i felt distressed; and it came vividly in my mind, "in that christ hath suffered, being tempted, he is able to succor them that are tempted." oh, what had i done! i had lost god's help in this my hour of trial. i prayed for forgiveness, and asked god to direct and protect me. yet i felt uneasy and depressed,--not that my faith in jesus was any the less, but that my sin would bring its own punishment. "there is many a pang to pursue me; they may crush, but they shall not contemn-- they may torture, but shall not subdue me,-- 'tis of god i think--not of them." about daylight i reached a forest in which i could conceal myself during the day. i slept soundly, being undisturbed, until dark, when i proceeded onward. while traveling _that night_ i was compelled to pass a large plantation. i was afraid some white person would see me, therefore i avoided every one,--not being able to distinguish, in the dark, a white from a black person. however, about daylight i met a colored boy, who procured some food for me and directed me to a cotton-pen close by, where i could hide and sleep during the day. when night came--it was thursday night--i crawled out of the pen and started for another night's walk. i made very good time that night, and walked to within nine miles of memphis. i was afraid to go on into memphis in the day-time, consequently i slept in the woods that day without anything to eat, my supply of food being exhausted. i was very much exhausted, and suffered greatly from hunger. when night came i started again. after proceeding on my way about two miles i came to the village of mt. pleasant, where i thought to obtain something to eat. i had passed nearly through the village without seeing any one; but finally i saw a man who i mistook for a colored man. i accosted him, when, to my chagrin and disappointment, he was a white man. i felt that i had already betrayed myself; and through my fright and want of steadiness i was again in bonds. the man asked me numerous and various questions, as to where i came from, where i was going, who i belonged to, etc. i again sinned, and paid the penalty. i lied to the man. i told him i belonged to a man by the name of potts, and that i was going to his plantation. quite a number of persons soon gathered around me, and by repeated questions entrapped me. inquiries were made as to the health of mr. potts' family, and of mr. potts in particular. i stated that the family were well and that mr. potts was as well as usual. it turned out that several of the persons present knew the potts family, and that mr. potts had died two months previously. i was immediately arrested and placed in a secure place, tied and chained to the floor. thus sin brought me into trouble. had i trusted to god and not been in too great haste to get something to eat, he would have helped me. my weakness made me forget that i should not lie to any one, seeing that i had put off the old man with his deeds. in my great need of strengthening food, christ would have succored me had i not forgotten to pray to him and ask his help, for "a man can receive nothing except it be given him from heaven." in nearly all the villages of the south, and on most of the large plantations, were slave-jails, where runaway and refractory slaves were incarcerated. these jails were usually a double pen, the inside pen being covered with a roof, and the top of the outside pen being covered with sharp iron spikes. between the pens one or more savage dogs were usually kept. this was the kind of place i was now placed in. hungry, worn out with my journey, and nearly naked, i soon fell asleep from sheer exhaustion and slept soundly until morning. after i had eaten my breakfast i was taken out of jail at mt. pleasant and started back to holly springs, well ironed and guarded, where i was recognized as wilson's slave. wilson was notified of my apprehension. after laying in the jail at holly springs about three weeks wilson came for me. i had made several attempts in that time to escape, but did not succeed. i was ironed and compelled to walk, which, in my exhausted state, was too much for me, and i was taken violently sick on the road, when wilson procured a conveyance and hauled me the balance of the way home. a physician was immediately summoned, who ordered my shackles removed. after the irons were removed i regained my spirits, and entertained hopes of being able to make another attempt to regain my liberty. i was very sick for several days. about two o'clock on the last morning i stayed there i awoke and felt fresh, and found that my strength had in a great measure returned. upon looking around the moonlit room i found that i was alone. to escape was my very first intention. getting out of bed i examined the window to the cabin, when i found i could raise it easily. i gathered what clothes i could find, as well as a blanket from the bed, and climbing through the window made my escape unobserved. i did not stop to put on my clothes until i had got two or three miles from the plantation. i stayed in the woods about three weeks, when i returned to my master and asked his forgiveness, and promised that i would never run away again. i was forgiven. during my three weeks' starving and hiding in the woods i had ample time for reflection and thought. prayerfully i considered my situation and asked god's help to direct me. i came to the conclusion that i was entirely wrong in my course. god, for his own good purpose, had placed me in bondage, and in his good time he would relieve me either by death or emancipation. my hardships, i felt, were by reason of my disobedience to god's will. although i was a slave god had given me my task in his vineyard as a slave, and i should have fronted the wrath of my master, wilson, rather than that of god. i felt that i was doing wrong, and after prayerful consideration i determined to do right, and go back to the plantation and patiently await god's time to set me free. wilson received me as kindly as his nature would permit, and treated me as he did the other slaves and as if i had never been disobedient to him and ran away. i felt better, and knew then that i was right in the sight of my heavenly father. my views underwent a change for the better while i was an outcast in the woods, and after that i was better fitted to do my allotted work for god. chapter vi. was hired to mr. thompson, and adopted his name--opened regular meetings, and preached on the plantation and other places--took unto myself a wife--was purchased by thompson, duly installed on the plantation, and invested with authority--various means and plans resorted to by the overseer to degrade me in the eyes of mr. thompson--driven, through persecution, to run away--returned back to my master. a short time after i came in from the woods wilson determined to hire me to a man named thompson, who lived about twenty miles away. i made no objection, and was duly hired for the term of three years. i adopted the name "thompson," from my new master, which i have since retained. the slaves of the south are usually named like brutes, with only one name for a designation, and it became customary among the slaves to adopt the surname of their masters. i had never adopted the name of wilson, because i disliked the man; but as soon as i was hired to mr. thompson i took his name, therefore i was henceforth known as charles thompson. the adoption of a name by myself may appear strange to a great many of my readers, yet when it comes to be considered that i was a human chattel, with no rights or privileges of american citizenship, and that i was without a name, except simply "charles," no surprise will be felt. i labored faithfully and honestly for mr. thompson during my term of service, and endeavored in all things to do my duty. i made such efforts as i could to bring the slaves on the plantation to jesus, and inaugurated regular and stated meetings. i preached and exhorted on the plantation and at other places where i could gather the negroes to hear me; and i felt that i was the means in god's hands of redeeming precious souls. in these meetings i had helpers from among the most intelligent of the slaves, and made such progress that at all our meetings we would have a number of god-fearing whites to pray with us. during my term of hired service with mr. thompson i married a colored girl and added the responsibilities of a husband to my various cares. the marriage of slaves was a mere formality among themselves, there being nothing legal, according to the laws of the southern states, about the ceremony or marriage contract. the slaves cohabited together in most instances with the express or implied consent of their masters; and as the masters did not regard the marriage of their slaves as anything, wives and husbands were constantly in danger of being separated forever. but the slaves themselves instituted a ceremony which they considered morally binding, as far as they were concerned; and the slave-owners deemed it prudent to gratify their slaves by a recognition, in some degree, of the marital relations that might exist among them. therefore a certain set of rules came into operation, by general consent, governing the visits of the husband to the wife when owned by different masters. when the wife of a slave lived not more than five miles from his master he could visit her once a week; when she lived not more than ten miles away, he could go to see her once in two weeks; and when she lived twenty or more miles away he could go to see her only once in two months. at the expiration of my term of service i was loth to leave my wife at thompson's, and go back to wilson's, and strenuously objected, knowing that i could get to see her only once in two months. wilson having learned that i was not desirous of returning to him, wrote to mr. thompson to send me home as soon as the last day of my service expired; but mr. thompson was desirous of retaining me, and made efforts to that effect. he sent me to wilson to learn the price set for me. i arrived in due time, when wilson informed me that he would sell me to thompson, but that he would not take less than twelve hundred dollars, cash. the proposition did not seem to please thompson, but after a time he concluded to buy me, and sent his son to wilson with the purchase money. the purchase at that particular time was lucky for me, as wilson had written thompson a very abusive letter, and it was received by mr. thompson on the evening of the day on which his son went to wilson's to buy me. the bargain was made, however, and i was duly transferred to my new master, by delivery and a bill of sale. the personal matter between wilson and thompson soon blew over, and i was duly installed on the plantation as one of the chattel fixtures. i seemed to take a new lease of life from this time, and determined, if possible, to profit by former experiences and shun every appearance of ill-nature and evil intentions, and to gain the confidence of my new master, that i might better do the work of my heavenly master. all nature seemed lovely to me, and i was happy in doing my duty and obliging the will of god. i was invested with authority on the plantation by mr. thompson, and was required to keep an eye on the overseer, and to report any enormities that might be committed by him. mr. thompson was a wealthy planter and kept a general overseer, besides the usual field bosses; yet there were other slaves on the plantation who had the confidence of the master and were put at such service as required intelligence and integrity. the position in which i was now placed was difficult and onerous; but i did my duty to the very best of my ability, and satisfactorily to my master. the overseer soon found out that i was _his_ overseer; and he used every means, and various plans, to drive me to do something that would degrade me in the eyes of mr. thompson. it was only by reason of the greatest forbearance and the very closest attention to my duties that i escaped his machinations; and by attending to everything with the most scrupulous care he could find no fault with me, that had truth for its foundation. but the constant and pertinacious maliciousness of the overseer, and my own weakness, eventually brought me to grief. as a rule, when a bad and wicked man undertakes any species of devilishness he generally prevails, for a time, and is apparently successful in his schemes; and should he meet with failure at the onset his want of success only maddens him to greater exertions and more persistent efforts. being urged by the devil, and the devil being a hard driver, he either rushes to his own destruction or destroys the happiness or lives of others. thus i was placed in the crucible for further refinement and regeneration. my humanity gave way for some time; but god was with me, and in the end i prevailed. the overseer's name was hines, and he belonged to that class of southern whites who are noted for their ignorance and brutality. he could read and write a little,--just enough to make out a negro's pass or a receipt for money paid on account of his employer. in this respect i was far in advance of him, of which my master was aware, and which was one of the causes of hines' excessive hatred of me, and of his great desire to "put me down and make me know my place," as he termed it. he was very irreligious, and entirely wanting in every attribute of a christian. he was also what in the south is termed a "bully"--that is, he was free to use his pistols on the slightest occasion, when among his equals, but when in the presence of his superiors he was a cringing sycophant and coward. he was a real coward, at best, in all places. he did not want me on the plantation; and he was determined that he would so harrass me that i would become as reckless and devilish as himself, and thereby compel my master to send me to a slave-market to be sold. hines concocted various tales and reported them to mr. thompson, relating to my alleged insubordination, laziness, refusal to work, etc., but all to no effect. finally he told my master that i was so disobedient that the rest of the slaves were affected by my conduct, and that i would ruin all the slaves on the plantation unless severe means were used to conquer me. my master informed hines, after hearing his story, that jack, a fellow-servant of mine in my younger days, had killed prince, another fellow-servant, on wilson's plantation, several years before; that i might be imbued with the same spirit; and that if he undertook to chastise me he might meet with the same fate of prince. this murder occurred after i had been sold by wilson to thompson, but being permitted to return to wilson's plantation once a year to visit and preach to my old flock, i learned the facts regarding the matter. jack belonged to a neighbor of wilson's by the name of scott, and having done something displeasing to scott he wished to tie him up and whip him. jack refused to be whipped by scott or any one else, when prince was called upon by his master (scott) to help him secure jack. prince was reluctant, but was commanded two or three times to take hold of jack and hold him. jack told him not to approach him at the peril of his life; but not heeding jack's warning he made the effort to tie jack, when he was stabbed to the heart with a knife in jack's hand, and expired almost instantly. jack made his escape for a short time, but was captured and immediately hanged without a trial or an opportunity to make any defense. jack was captured in a corn-crib on wilson's plantation, which made thompson suppose the murder had been committed there. this recital, which was made in substance to hines by my master, cowed the overseer considerably, and a house-servant who was present during the conversation afterwards told me that hines' face turned white as a sheet, and he trembled like a leaf. my master knew his overseer was a coward, and that if he could work upon his fears by supposing me to be too high-spirited to stand a whipping, he would probably save me from hines' malice, and keep the overseer to his work. good overseers were hard to get in the south. an intelligent christian man would not have such a position under any circumstances, and the very best of the "poor white trash" who _would_, were unreliable and brutish; therefore mr. thompson had to do the very best he could under the circumstances. he did not believe hines; yet he had to humor him, in a measure. after a few days hines reported to mr. thompson that he had heard me say that i would never be whipped by him or any other overseer on the plantation, as long as i had life to resist, which was a most malicious falsehood. what i did tell hines was, that i would so conduct myself and so perform my work that he nor any other overseer on the plantation should never have cause to chastise me. the falsehood inflamed my master, and in his wrath he told hines to whip me for the first offense i might commit, or kill me in the attempt. armed with this instruction, hines was in high glee; yet he dare not attempt anything without first laying well his plans and making sure of sufficient force to carry them out. the next morning he charged me to pick six hundred pounds of cotton and deliver it at the weighing-house at night, under penalty, for a failure, of one hundred lashes on my bare back with a rawhide. this would not have been an extraordinary task in good cotton; but where we had to work that day the cotton was poor, and in that field the crop was not more than half a one. however, i worked hard against fate all day, and prayed to almighty god to help me in my hour of need, and keep me steadfast. i knew i was to be punished not for any fault or misdoing, but simply to gratify a brute in human shape, and my inferior in intellect, morality, and physical strength. the burden was hard to bear, yet i prayed for strength to bear it. when called from the field to the weighing-house i was kept waiting until all the other slaves had their cotton weighed. when mine was weighed i was told by hines that i had only picked four hundred pounds. i verily believed this to be untrue, and felt convinced that i had picked at least five hundred pounds, for i was one of the best, if not the best, cotton-pickers in the country; and i had labored faithfully and rapidly all day, and did not lose a minute's time, unnecessarily. hines turned to me and said, go to your quarters; i will settle with you in the morning. now began new trials. my duty and my christianity instructed me to face the undeserved and unjust punishment manfully. the devil and my human nature told me to run away. i became weak. the fear of the disgrace of a whipping was too much for me, and i succumbed to the evil one. i made such arrangements as i could, and concealed myself on the plantation, before daylight the next morning, so that i could take an early start in the night and travel behind my pursuers instead of before them. my wife knew of my hiding-place, and when night came she sought me and reported what had been done for my capture. hines seemed, she said, to be more cheerful than usual in the morning when he found i was gone, and hastened to report the good news, as he thought, to mr. thompson. after some conversation between them it was determined by my master to obtain the services of a professional slave-hunter, and follow me with hounds. the slave-hunter was sent for and came with his pack of dogs that same day about noon. the hunt was immediately begun, and the country was then being scoured in all directions for my tracks. this information put me on my guard, and gave me time to consider what direction i had better take in my flight. i had provide myself a preparation called "smut" among the negroes, which, when spread thinly on the soles of the shoes or feet, destroyed that peculiar scent by which blood-hounds are enabled to follow the trail of a man or a beast. after bidding my wife farewell i smeared my shoes with "smut" and started in the direction of the hills, beyond which was a large swamp, the refuge of many a poor runaway. on my way i had to pass through innumerable thickets of underbrush and briers, and by reason thereof i tore my already much-worn clothes almost into shreds, and lacerated my flesh severely, especially on my arms and legs. i arrived in the swamp, however, without being followed by the dogs, and while proceeding slowly and dejectedly along, my steps were suddenly stopped by a fierce and loud growl. i was frightened, to be sure, yet i knew scarcely what to do. the growl proceeded from a bear, i felt fully assured, for bears roamed through the hills and swamps of mississippi. but with presence of mind i retreated slowly from the presence of mr. and mrs. bruin, and not being followed by the bears my fears on that score were removed. about this time it began to rain; and the night was one of those black, foreboding nights that novelists love so well to depict in their descriptions of storms. the lightning flashed with a vividness that lighted up the dismal swamps with a weird and horrible brightness; the thunder rolled peal upon peal, making to me a pandemonium, real and feeling; the pitiless rain pelted me unmercifully and constantly, with that persistence that made it almost unendurable to me. i sat down at the root of a large tree, not to shelter myself from the rain but to protect myself from the attack of any wild animal that should approach me. there i sat the rest of the long night, unfriended, alone, forsaken,--a hunted outcast. "man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn." the condition in which i was now placed rendered me indeed a pitiable object. i waited and longed for morning to come; but the long, slow minutes passed lazily along without regard to my sufferings or wishes. after a long time, to me, i heard a rooster crow, and the welcome sound brought me to my feet in an instant. i started in the direction of the sound, and approached warily. having walked a short distance i reached the edge of the swamps, or rather a dry spot or oasis in the swamp, and by the faint glimmer of day, which was just breaking, i could see the outlines of a house. the cock continued to crow, which seemed to invite me to approach, and which i construed into a good omen,--at least i really felt good at the sight of the house, even though it might contain those who would chain me and take me back to my master. i noticed that a public road ran along close to the house; and after going on the road, in approaching the house i was discovered by a dog, belonging to the house, who set up a furious barking. fearing to stay and make my wants known i again sought "cover" in the swamp. i stayed in the swamp that day and ate such berries, roots, and nuts as i could find. i had plenty of time for prayer and meditation. i was alone with god, and prayed to him for help in my distress, and for direction. i became convinced that i had done wrong in running away, and deemed that i had sinned against god. i had been a runaway and an outcast before, and had came to right conclusions; yet i had turned from the path of duty, and was even now being punished for my sin. i determined to return to my master and take the consequences of my acts in running away. i asked god to have mercy on me and pardon my sins, and protect me from the wrath of my master and the maliciousness of hines. having fully made up my mind to return to thompson and make such efforts as i could to allay the punishment i expected to receive, i set about perfecting my plans to get there without being apprehended by the slave-hunters, who were then, i have no doubt, hunting for me. my master had offered a reward for my return to his plantation; and should any one arrest me and take me home, although i might be returning on my own accord, they would receive the reward and i would have to make up the amount to my master in extra labor and extra punishment. to avoid this was now my object. at night i left the swamp and went to the road, intending to travel home that night--thinking i was not more than ten or twelve miles away from there. i was uncertain which way to go; but i finally started off on the road, hoping that i was going in the direction of thompson's. the rain was pattering down; but i traveled briskly all that night, and about day-break i came to a plantation. i entered one of the slave-cabins and told the inmates i was lost, hungry, and tired, and asked them for something to eat. one of the colored men spoke to a woman who appeared to be his wife, and told her to get me something to eat, and that he would go and get some pine to put on the fire. his actions, and the manner in which he spoke, aroused my suspicions, and being fearful that he intended to betray me, i left the cabin directly after he did, and sought an asylum in the woods, where i stayed during that day. thus "the wicked flee when no one pursueth." at night i found the same road i had traveled the day before, and started again to try and get to thompson's. i knew that i was wrong, and that i was traveling away from instead of toward thompson's; therefore i concluded to make inquiries at the first opportunity. after traveling three or four miles i came to a cabin in which there was a light shining through the cracks between the logs. approaching the cabin, i intended to enter; but being enabled to see the inmates through the cracks i discovered three white men sitting around the fire, so i turned to leave. as i was passing the corner of the cabin a colored woman came to the door for some purpose, and saw me. she jumped back into the cabin, at the same time exclaiming, "here's a runaway nigger!" i immediately ran for the road; but a dog--not a blood-hound--followed me, and while getting over the fence between the cabin and the road he caught me by the breeches leg. i shook him off and ran for the woods. the white men were slave-hunters, and were after me particularly, as i learned afterwards. they followed me closely by the sound of the crackling of brush, and put the dogs they had with them on my track. these dogs, fortunately for me, were in the cabin at the time i approached it. as soon as i heard the first yelp of a blood-hound i "smutted" my shoe-soles, and soon threw them off the scent. the white men followed me about three or four miles. finally, finding i would not get away from them by running, i stopped, and making my way into a dense thicket of briers i sat down. the white men stopped a short distance from me and listened, i suppose, for the sound of brush cracking. after waiting a short time one of them started off in the direction they had come, leaving the others still waiting,--using this ruse in order to throw me off my guard, so as to enable the remaining ones to ascertain where i was by the noise i would make in walking. i was too close to them; and from the noise i heard from where they were standing i knew they had a dog with them, and that they were only waiting for me to move to begin the chase again. i sat perfectly quiet, and waited patiently for the remaining whites and the dog to leave. after a time the men began to move about through the brush, coming still closer to me. i heard them talking, when one of them said, "we ought to catch the nigger if we have to run him all night." "no" said the other, "we should let him alone to-night, and start him up in the morning, when we can have daylight for the chase, and not run him to-night, for we might run him off and never catch him." after a short parley they concluded to get some more dogs and be on the ground before daylight, so as to make sure of me. as soon as they had gone out of my hearing i emerged from the brier thicket. i found my limbs had become sore and benumbed from the exposure and hardships i had undergone, and i was intensely hungry. i worried along, however, to get out of that neighborhood as soon as possible. the sky was now clear, the air frosty, and my rags were but a scant protection to me. after walking awhile i found my soreness began to leave me, when i began to accelerate my pace. i had to walk as fast as i could, and exercise my limbs all i could, in order to keep warm. after walking some time i came to a plantation. upon reconnoitering, i found an old house, and approaching it with the intention of seeking a little rest in it during the remainder of the night and the next day, i saw a light in it. i went in, however, and found it to be the workshop of the plantation, and five colored men were there putting handles in their axes. i asked them for something to eat, and was about to tell them the truth regarding myself, when one of the negroes hurried me out of the cabin, saying he would get me something to eat. after we got out he told me i was very imprudent, for if i had told the negroes who i was and that i was a runaway, they would have taken me themselves. he got me some meat and bread, and after i had told him who i was and that i wanted to find my way back to thompson's, he put me on the right road and gave me such directions as i required. i found that i was about fifty miles from thompson's plantation, and that it would require two nights' hard walking to get there. i felt very much discouraged, and grieved considerably to myself. however, having satisfied the cravings of my appetite, i plucked up courage and started on my long return walk with renewed energy. after traveling about five miles i came to a little town. i was afraid to go through it on account of the liability of being apprehended; and i did not like to go around it for fear of getting lost again. i determined to risk going through the place, and, by avoiding every one, escape detection. there was quite an excitement here by reason of an epidemic sickness among the children, and about every other house had a light in it. i passed through the town with fear; but i escaped arrest and felt like rejoicing over my good fortune, not once thinking of any dangers or hardships that might lay before me. after i got through the town i came to a considerable stream, with a bridge across it, the name of which i am unable to give; but on the opposite end of the bridge from the town there is a road-way, or levee, thrown up across the "bottom" for about two miles. at the time i crossed, the stream was very much swelled from the recent rains, and the water extended all over the bottom on each side of the road-grade, and to within two or three feet of the top of it. this grade i had to cross; and i was greatly afraid that i would meet some one. i started across, and when about half way over the grade, or levee, i heard hounds baying ahead of me; and the sounds seemed to be approaching me, i became very much frightened, and turned and fled back to the bridge, when, just as i was stepping on it, i heard men's voices, and stopped, when i found they were coming across the bridge toward me. i concluded i would rather face the blood-hounds than the white men, so i made my way back over the grade as hurriedly as i could. i reached the end of the grade without meeting the hounds and turned off into the woods. after walking a short distance i heard the hounds again, and the sound of their yelps was nearing me rapidly. i turned my course immediately, and ran as fast as i was able for three or four hundred yards, when i saw distinctly, in the starlight, a man running nearly toward me. my heart leaped into my throat, as it were, and i made ready for battle. but the man proved to be a poor runaway like myself, and the one whom the hounds were after. i had got into a field, and the runaway passed through the same field without noticing me. i kept on in an opposite direction from the one which he had taken, and crossed the fence on the other side of the field just in time to hear one of the slave-hunters say, "there he is now; i heard him getting over the fence." i threw myself on the ground and awaited results. the dogs were "hot" on the other slave's track, and were running at a great rate, which induced the slave-hunters to think their companion was mistaken. so, to my great relief and pleasure, they started on after the hounds. i was nearly exhausted by my exertions during the night, and as it was now nearly morning i lay on the ground for a time to rest and recuperate my worn-out energies a little. in a short time i got up, and after looking around i saw the outlines of plantation houses in the distance. on going to them i found a resting-place in a fodder-loft, in the horse-lot of the plantation. i ensconced myself in the fodder, when i again heard the infernal yelps of the blood-hounds, and the more infernal yelps of the white pursuers urging the hounds after the poor runaway. the hounds soon after caught the poor wretch, whose cries for mercy were heart-rending and piteous. my situation was perilous; yet i had hopes that the other slave being run down and caught would save me, from the fact that the hunters were not aware of the presence of another runaway in the immediate neighborhood. the day wore slowly away, and being very weak from hunger and fatigue i was unable to gain that rest my wasted body required. i slept two or three hours, however, and had ample time for reflection. the bridge where i had been so completely hemmed in the night before was impressed deeply upon my memory; and the agony of mind while on the bridge was still troubling me. i relied on a loving heavenly father in my troubles and trials, and brought to my mind the condition of the children of israel when about to be overwhelmed by the hosts of pharaoh on the shore of the red sea. god delivered them, and i believed he would deliver me. my faith was strong. night came at last, when i cautiously emerged from my hiding-place and continued my journey toward home. i ran and walked about twenty-five miles, and did not find any familiar objects to lead me to suppose i was in the neighborhood of my master's plantation, when i began to look about for a place of concealment in which to spend another weary and lonesome day. walking slowly along, after a short time my attention was attracted by sounds as if some one was pounding a hard substance. on stopping and listening, i soon heard some person calling hogs. the voice seemed familiar. upon further investigation i began to recognize objects, and soon ascertained that i was "at home." now that i had got back "home," new troubles arose in my mind. i would be punished severely, without doubt. instead of going to "the quarters" i went directly to my master's plantation, in the hope that i could enlist my mistress in my behalf, and thus have the way made smooth for me. my master was not at home, fortunately, and my mistress heard my story and prayers for forgiveness. she promised to intercede with my master for me, but that i must promise not to run away again, which i did. she bade me to go and hide myself in the stable loft, and not to leave there until she sent for me. soon after, my master came home. in conversation with him my mistress broached the subject as to my whereabouts. he told her that he believed i had got to the free states and was lost to him; however, that if any of the slaves on the plantation knew where i was they should get me word that if i would come back i should not be punished, and that i should be forgiven. in that case my mistress said she would insure my return speedily. matters were soon arranged, and i was re-instated in my former position on the plantation. but severe trials were soon to overtake me, and what i had already gone through was but an atom in comparison with what i afterwards suffered from the hands of my master, and by reason of my condition of slavery. thus ended my earlier experiences as a slave, from my earliest recollection down to the time of my return to thompson's plantation. i propose to continue this biography, and include the whole in book form. this pamphlet is printed for the purpose of enabling me to raise money to continue my work and paying for printing the whole in a book substantially and neatly bound. to the friends of the colored race i appeal for help in this matter, hoping that sufficient interest is taken to insure the accumulation of sufficient funds for my purpose. the remainder will contain my full experience as a minister of the gospel, and incidents relating to my efforts and the efforts of my co-workers in building up the church of christ among the former slaves of the south, and such suggestions as i may deem proper to aid to raise the standard of intelligence among negroes. huckleberry finn by mark twain part . chapter xxi. it was after sun-up now, but we went right on and didn't tie up. the king and the duke turned out by and by looking pretty rusty; but after they'd jumped overboard and took a swim it chippered them up a good deal. after breakfast the king he took a seat on the corner of the raft, and pulled off his boots and rolled up his britches, and let his legs dangle in the water, so as to be comfortable, and lit his pipe, and went to getting his romeo and juliet by heart. when he had got it pretty good him and the duke begun to practice it together. the duke had to learn him over and over again how to say every speech; and he made him sigh, and put his hand on his heart, and after a while he said he done it pretty well; "only," he says, "you mustn't bellow out romeo! that way, like a bull--you must say it soft and sick and languishy, so--r-o-o-meo! that is the idea; for juliet's a dear sweet mere child of a girl, you know, and she doesn't bray like a jackass." well, next they got out a couple of long swords that the duke made out of oak laths, and begun to practice the sword fight--the duke called himself richard iii.; and the way they laid on and pranced around the raft was grand to see. but by and by the king tripped and fell overboard, and after that they took a rest, and had a talk about all kinds of adventures they'd had in other times along the river. after dinner the duke says: "well, capet, we'll want to make this a first-class show, you know, so i guess we'll add a little more to it. we want a little something to answer encores with, anyway." "what's onkores, bilgewater?" the duke told him, and then says: "i'll answer by doing the highland fling or the sailor's hornpipe; and you--well, let me see--oh, i've got it--you can do hamlet's soliloquy." "hamlet's which?" "hamlet's soliloquy, you know; the most celebrated thing in shakespeare. ah, it's sublime, sublime! always fetches the house. i haven't got it in the book--i've only got one volume--but i reckon i can piece it out from memory. i'll just walk up and down a minute, and see if i can call it back from recollection's vaults." so he went to marching up and down, thinking, and frowning horrible every now and then; then he would hoist up his eyebrows; next he would squeeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of moan; next he would sigh, and next he'd let on to drop a tear. it was beautiful to see him. by and by he got it. he told us to give attention. then he strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg shoved forwards, and his arms stretched away up, and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky; and then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth; and after that, all through his speech, he howled, and spread around, and swelled up his chest, and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever i see before. this is the speech--i learned it, easy enough, while he was learning it to the king: to be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin that makes calamity of so long life; for who would fardels bear, till birnam wood do come to dunsinane, but that the fear of something after death murders the innocent sleep, great nature's second course, and makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune than fly to others that we know not of. there's the respect must give us pause: wake duncan with thy knocking! i would thou couldst; for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take, in the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn in customary suits of solemn black, but that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns, breathes forth contagion on the world, and thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i' the adage, is sicklied o'er with care, and all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops, with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. but soft you, the fair ophelia: ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws, but get thee to a nunnery--go! well, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he could do it first-rate. it seemed like he was just born for it; and when he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off. the first chance we got the duke he had some showbills printed; and after that, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft was a most uncommon lively place, for there warn't nothing but sword fighting and rehearsing--as the duke called it--going on all the time. one morning, when we was pretty well down the state of arkansaw, we come in sight of a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we tied up about three-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was shut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and all of us but jim took the canoe and went down there to see if there was any chance in that place for our show. we struck it mighty lucky; there was going to be a circus there that afternoon, and the country people was already beginning to come in, in all kinds of old shackly wagons, and on horses. the circus would leave before night, so our show would have a pretty good chance. the duke he hired the courthouse, and we went around and stuck up our bills. they read like this: shaksperean revival ! ! ! wonderful attraction! for one night only! the world renowned tragedians, david garrick the younger, of drury lane theatre london, and edmund kean the elder, of the royal haymarket theatre, whitechapel, pudding lane, piccadilly, london, and the royal continental theatres, in their sublime shaksperean spectacle entitled thebalcony scene in romeo and juliet ! ! ! romeo...................mr. garrick juliet..................mr. kean assisted by the whole strength of the company! new costumes, new scenes, new appointments! also: the thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling broad-sword conflict in richard iii. ! ! ! richard iii.............mr. garrick richmond................mr. kean also: (by special request) hamlet's immortal soliloquy ! ! by the illustrious kean! done by him consecutive nights in paris! for one night only, on account of imperative european engagements! admission cents; children and servants, cents. then we went loafing around town. the stores and houses was most all old, shackly, dried up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted; they was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of reach of the water when the river was over-flowed. the houses had little gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in them but jimpson-weeds, and sunflowers, and ash piles, and old curled-up boots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out tinware. the fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on at different times; and they leaned every which way, and had gates that didn't generly have but one hinge--a leather one. some of the fences had been white-washed some time or another, but the duke said it was in clumbus' time, like enough. there was generly hogs in the garden, and people driving them out. all the stores was along one street. they had white domestic awnings in front, and the country people hitched their horses to the awning-posts. there was empty drygoods boxes under the awnings, and loafers roosting on them all day long, whittling them with their barlow knives; and chawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and stretching--a mighty ornery lot. they generly had on yellow straw hats most as wide as an umbrella, but didn't wear no coats nor waistcoats, they called one another bill, and buck, and hank, and joe, and andy, and talked lazy and drawly, and used considerable many cuss words. there was as many as one loafer leaning up against every awning-post, and he most always had his hands in his britches-pockets, except when he fetched them out to lend a chaw of tobacco or scratch. what a body was hearing amongst them all the time was: "gimme a chaw 'v tobacker, hank." "cain't; i hain't got but one chaw left. ask bill." maybe bill he gives him a chaw; maybe he lies and says he ain't got none. some of them kinds of loafers never has a cent in the world, nor a chaw of tobacco of their own. they get all their chawing by borrowing; they say to a fellow, "i wisht you'd len' me a chaw, jack, i jist this minute give ben thompson the last chaw i had"--which is a lie pretty much everytime; it don't fool nobody but a stranger; but jack ain't no stranger, so he says: "you give him a chaw, did you? so did your sister's cat's grandmother. you pay me back the chaws you've awready borry'd off'n me, lafe buckner, then i'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge you no back intrust, nuther." "well, i did pay you back some of it wunst." "yes, you did--'bout six chaws. you borry'd store tobacker and paid back nigger-head." store tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellows mostly chaws the natural leaf twisted. when they borrow a chaw they don't generly cut it off with a knife, but set the plug in between their teeth, and gnaw with their teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get it in two; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks mournful at it when it's handed back, and says, sarcastic: "here, gimme the chaw, and you take the plug." all the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't nothing else but mud --mud as black as tar and nigh about a foot deep in some places, and two or three inches deep in all the places. the hogs loafed and grunted around everywheres. you'd see a muddy sow and a litter of pigs come lazying along the street and whollop herself right down in the way, where folks had to walk around her, and she'd stretch out and shut her eyes and wave her ears whilst the pigs was milking her, and look as happy as if she was on salary. and pretty soon you'd hear a loafer sing out, "hi! so boy! sick him, tige!" and away the sow would go, squealing most horrible, with a dog or two swinging to each ear, and three or four dozen more a-coming; and then you would see all the loafers get up and watch the thing out of sight, and laugh at the fun and look grateful for the noise. then they'd settle back again till there was a dog fight. there couldn't anything wake them up all over, and make them happy all over, like a dog fight--unless it might be putting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to him, or tying a tin pan to his tail and see him run himself to death. on the river front some of the houses was sticking out over the bank, and they was bowed and bent, and about ready to tumble in, the people had moved out of them. the bank was caved away under one corner of some others, and that corner was hanging over. people lived in them yet, but it was dangersome, because sometimes a strip of land as wide as a house caves in at a time. sometimes a belt of land a quarter of a mile deep will start in and cave along and cave along till it all caves into the river in one summer. such a town as that has to be always moving back, and back, and back, because the river's always gnawing at it. the nearer it got to noon that day the thicker and thicker was the wagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time. families fetched their dinners with them from the country, and eat them in the wagons. there was considerable whisky drinking going on, and i seen three fights. by and by somebody sings out: "here comes old boggs!--in from the country for his little old monthly drunk; here he comes, boys!" all the loafers looked glad; i reckoned they was used to having fun out of boggs. one of them says: "wonder who he's a-gwyne to chaw up this time. if he'd a-chawed up all the men he's ben a-gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year he'd have considerable ruputation now." another one says, "i wisht old boggs 'd threaten me, 'cuz then i'd know i warn't gwyne to die for a thousan' year." boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping and yelling like an injun, and singing out: "cler the track, thar. i'm on the waw-path, and the price uv coffins is a-gwyne to raise." he was drunk, and weaving about in his saddle; he was over fifty year old, and had a very red face. everybody yelled at him and laughed at him and sassed him, and he sassed back, and said he'd attend to them and lay them out in their regular turns, but he couldn't wait now because he'd come to town to kill old colonel sherburn, and his motto was, "meat first, and spoon vittles to top off on." he see me, and rode up and says: "whar'd you come f'm, boy? you prepared to die?" then he rode on. i was scared, but a man says: "he don't mean nothing; he's always a-carryin' on like that when he's drunk. he's the best naturedest old fool in arkansaw--never hurt nobody, drunk nor sober." boggs rode up before the biggest store in town, and bent his head down so he could see under the curtain of the awning and yells: "come out here, sherburn! come out and meet the man you've swindled. you're the houn' i'm after, and i'm a-gwyne to have you, too!" and so he went on, calling sherburn everything he could lay his tongue to, and the whole street packed with people listening and laughing and going on. by and by a proud-looking man about fifty-five--and he was a heap the best dressed man in that town, too--steps out of the store, and the crowd drops back on each side to let him come. he says to boggs, mighty ca'm and slow--he says: "i'm tired of this, but i'll endure it till one o'clock. till one o'clock, mind--no longer. if you open your mouth against me only once after that time you can't travel so far but i will find you." then he turns and goes in. the crowd looked mighty sober; nobody stirred, and there warn't no more laughing. boggs rode off blackguarding sherburn as loud as he could yell, all down the street; and pretty soon back he comes and stops before the store, still keeping it up. some men crowded around him and tried to get him to shut up, but he wouldn't; they told him it would be one o'clock in about fifteen minutes, and so he must go home--he must go right away. but it didn't do no good. he cussed away with all his might, and throwed his hat down in the mud and rode over it, and pretty soon away he went a-raging down the street again, with his gray hair a-flying. everybody that could get a chance at him tried their best to coax him off of his horse so they could lock him up and get him sober; but it warn't no use--up the street he would tear again, and give sherburn another cussing. by and by somebody says: "go for his daughter!--quick, go for his daughter; sometimes he'll listen to her. if anybody can persuade him, she can." so somebody started on a run. i walked down street a ways and stopped. in about five or ten minutes here comes boggs again, but not on his horse. he was a-reeling across the street towards me, bare-headed, with a friend on both sides of him a-holt of his arms and hurrying him along. he was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't hanging back any, but was doing some of the hurrying himself. somebody sings out: "boggs!" i looked over there to see who said it, and it was that colonel sherburn. he was standing perfectly still in the street, and had a pistol raised in his right hand--not aiming it, but holding it out with the barrel tilted up towards the sky. the same second i see a young girl coming on the run, and two men with her. boggs and the men turned round to see who called him, and when they see the pistol the men jumped to one side, and the pistol-barrel come down slow and steady to a level--both barrels cocked. boggs throws up both of his hands and says, "o lord, don't shoot!" bang! goes the first shot, and he staggers back, clawing at the air--bang! goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards on to the ground, heavy and solid, with his arms spread out. that young girl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she throws herself on her father, crying, and saying, "oh, he's killed him, he's killed him!" the crowd closed up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another, with their necks stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to shove them back and shouting, "back, back! give him air, give him air!" colonel sherburn he tossed his pistol on to the ground, and turned around on his heels and walked off. they took boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just the same, and the whole town following, and i rushed and got a good place at the window, where i was close to him and could see in. they laid him on the floor and put one large bible under his head, and opened another one and spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt first, and i seen where one of the bullets went in. he made about a dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the bible up when he drawed in his breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it out--and after that he laid still; he was dead. then they pulled his daughter away from him, screaming and crying, and took her off. she was about sixteen, and very sweet and gentle looking, but awful pale and scared. well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrouging and pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people that had the places wouldn't give them up, and folks behind them was saying all the time, "say, now, you've looked enough, you fellows; 'tain't right and 'tain't fair for you to stay thar all the time, and never give nobody a chance; other folks has their rights as well as you." there was considerable jawing back, so i slid out, thinking maybe there was going to be trouble. the streets was full, and everybody was excited. everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened, and there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows, stretching their necks and listening. one long, lanky man, with long hair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on the back of his head, and a crooked-handled cane, marked out the places on the ground where boggs stood and where sherburn stood, and the people following him around from one place to t'other and watching everything he done, and bobbing their heads to show they understood, and stooping a little and resting their hands on their thighs to watch him mark the places on the ground with his cane; and then he stood up straight and stiff where sherburn had stood, frowning and having his hat-brim down over his eyes, and sung out, "boggs!" and then fetched his cane down slow to a level, and says "bang!" staggered backwards, says "bang!" again, and fell down flat on his back. the people that had seen the thing said he done it perfect; said it was just exactly the way it all happened. then as much as a dozen people got out their bottles and treated him. well, by and by somebody said sherburn ought to be lynched. in about a minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and yelling, and snatching down every clothes-line they come to to do the hanging with. chapter xxii. they swarmed up towards sherburn's house, a-whooping and raging like injuns, and everything had to clear the way or get run over and tromped to mush, and it was awful to see. children was heeling it ahead of the mob, screaming and trying to get out of the way; and every window along the road was full of women's heads, and there was nigger boys in every tree, and bucks and wenches looking over every fence; and as soon as the mob would get nearly to them they would break and skaddle back out of reach. lots of the women and girls was crying and taking on, scared most to death. they swarmed up in front of sherburn's palings as thick as they could jam together, and you couldn't hear yourself think for the noise. it was a little twenty-foot yard. some sung out "tear down the fence! tear down the fence!" then there was a racket of ripping and tearing and smashing, and down she goes, and the front wall of the crowd begins to roll in like a wave. just then sherburn steps out on to the roof of his little front porch, with a double-barrel gun in his hand, and takes his stand, perfectly ca'm and deliberate, not saying a word. the racket stopped, and the wave sucked back. sherburn never said a word--just stood there, looking down. the stillness was awful creepy and uncomfortable. sherburn run his eye slow along the crowd; and wherever it struck the people tried a little to out-gaze him, but they couldn't; they dropped their eyes and looked sneaky. then pretty soon sherburn sort of laughed; not the pleasant kind, but the kind that makes you feel like when you are eating bread that's got sand in it. then he says, slow and scornful: "the idea of you lynching anybody! it's amusing. the idea of you thinking you had pluck enough to lynch a man! because you're brave enough to tar and feather poor friendless cast-out women that come along here, did that make you think you had grit enough to lay your hands on a man? why, a man's safe in the hands of ten thousand of your kind--as long as it's daytime and you're not behind him. "do i know you? i know you clear through was born and raised in the south, and i've lived in the north; so i know the average all around. the average man's a coward. in the north he lets anybody walk over him that wants to, and goes home and prays for a humble spirit to bear it. in the south one man all by himself, has stopped a stage full of men in the daytime, and robbed the lot. your newspapers call you a brave people so much that you think you are braver than any other people--whereas you're just as brave, and no braver. why don't your juries hang murderers? because they're afraid the man's friends will shoot them in the back, in the dark--and it's just what they would do. "so they always acquit; and then a man goes in the night, with a hundred masked cowards at his back and lynches the rascal. your mistake is, that you didn't bring a man with you; that's one mistake, and the other is that you didn't come in the dark and fetch your masks. you brought part of a man--buck harkness, there--and if you hadn't had him to start you, you'd a taken it out in blowing. "you didn't want to come. the average man don't like trouble and danger. you don't like trouble and danger. but if only half a man--like buck harkness, there--shouts 'lynch him! lynch him!' you're afraid to back down--afraid you'll be found out to be what you are--cowards--and so you raise a yell, and hang yourselves on to that half-a-man's coat-tail, and come raging up here, swearing what big things you're going to do. the pitifulest thing out is a mob; that's what an army is--a mob; they don't fight with courage that's born in them, but with courage that's borrowed from their mass, and from their officers. but a mob without any man at the head of it is beneath pitifulness. now the thing for you to do is to droop your tails and go home and crawl in a hole. if any real lynching's going to be done it will be done in the dark, southern fashion; and when they come they'll bring their masks, and fetch a man along. now leave--and take your half-a-man with you"--tossing his gun up across his left arm and cocking it when he says this. the crowd washed back sudden, and then broke all apart, and went tearing off every which way, and buck harkness he heeled it after them, looking tolerable cheap. i could a stayed if i wanted to, but i didn't want to. i went to the circus and loafed around the back side till the watchman went by, and then dived in under the tent. i had my twenty-dollar gold piece and some other money, but i reckoned i better save it, because there ain't no telling how soon you are going to need it, away from home and amongst strangers that way. you can't be too careful. i ain't opposed to spending money on circuses when there ain't no other way, but there ain't no use in wasting it on them. it was a real bully circus. it was the splendidest sight that ever was when they all come riding in, two and two, a gentleman and lady, side by side, the men just in their drawers and undershirts, and no shoes nor stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs easy and comfortable --there must a been twenty of them--and every lady with a lovely complexion, and perfectly beautiful, and looking just like a gang of real sure-enough queens, and dressed in clothes that cost millions of dollars, and just littered with diamonds. it was a powerful fine sight; i never see anything so lovely. and then one by one they got up and stood, and went a-weaving around the ring so gentle and wavy and graceful, the men looking ever so tall and airy and straight, with their heads bobbing and skimming along, away up there under the tent-roof, and every lady's rose-leafy dress flapping soft and silky around her hips, and she looking like the most loveliest parasol. and then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one foot out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning more and more, and the ringmaster going round and round the center-pole, cracking his whip and shouting "hi!--hi!" and the clown cracking jokes behind him; and by and by all hands dropped the reins, and every lady put her knuckles on her hips and every gentleman folded his arms, and then how the horses did lean over and hump themselves! and so one after the other they all skipped off into the ring, and made the sweetest bow i ever see, and then scampered out, and everybody clapped their hands and went just about wild. well, all through the circus they done the most astonishing things; and all the time that clown carried on so it most killed the people. the ringmaster couldn't ever say a word to him but he was back at him quick as a wink with the funniest things a body ever said; and how he ever could think of so many of them, and so sudden and so pat, was what i couldn't noway understand. why, i couldn't a thought of them in a year. and by and by a drunk man tried to get into the ring--said he wanted to ride; said he could ride as well as anybody that ever was. they argued and tried to keep him out, but he wouldn't listen, and the whole show come to a standstill. then the people begun to holler at him and make fun of him, and that made him mad, and he begun to rip and tear; so that stirred up the people, and a lot of men begun to pile down off of the benches and swarm towards the ring, saying, "knock him down! throw him out!" and one or two women begun to scream. so, then, the ringmaster he made a little speech, and said he hoped there wouldn't be no disturbance, and if the man would promise he wouldn't make no more trouble he would let him ride if he thought he could stay on the horse. so everybody laughed and said all right, and the man got on. the minute he was on, the horse begun to rip and tear and jump and cavort around, with two circus men hanging on to his bridle trying to hold him, and the drunk man hanging on to his neck, and his heels flying in the air every jump, and the whole crowd of people standing up shouting and laughing till tears rolled down. and at last, sure enough, all the circus men could do, the horse broke loose, and away he went like the very nation, round and round the ring, with that sot laying down on him and hanging to his neck, with first one leg hanging most to the ground on one side, and then t'other one on t'other side, and the people just crazy. it warn't funny to me, though; i was all of a tremble to see his danger. but pretty soon he struggled up astraddle and grabbed the bridle, a-reeling this way and that; and the next minute he sprung up and dropped the bridle and stood! and the horse a-going like a house afire too. he just stood up there, a-sailing around as easy and comfortable as if he warn't ever drunk in his life--and then he begun to pull off his clothes and sling them. he shed them so thick they kind of clogged up the air, and altogether he shed seventeen suits. and, then, there he was, slim and handsome, and dressed the gaudiest and prettiest you ever saw, and he lit into that horse with his whip and made him fairly hum--and finally skipped off, and made his bow and danced off to the dressing-room, and everybody just a-howling with pleasure and astonishment. then the ringmaster he see how he had been fooled, and he was the sickest ringmaster you ever see, i reckon. why, it was one of his own men! he had got up that joke all out of his own head, and never let on to nobody. well, i felt sheepish enough to be took in so, but i wouldn't a been in that ringmaster's place, not for a thousand dollars. i don't know; there may be bullier circuses than what that one was, but i never struck them yet. anyways, it was plenty good enough for me; and wherever i run across it, it can have all of my custom every time. well, that night we had our show; but there warn't only about twelve people there--just enough to pay expenses. and they laughed all the time, and that made the duke mad; and everybody left, anyway, before the show was over, but one boy which was asleep. so the duke said these arkansaw lunkheads couldn't come up to shakespeare; what they wanted was low comedy--and maybe something ruther worse than low comedy, he reckoned. he said he could size their style. so next morning he got some big sheets of wrapping paper and some black paint, and drawed off some handbills, and stuck them up all over the village. the bills said: at the court house! for nights only! the world-renowned tragedians david garrick the younger! and edmund kean the elder! of the london and continental theatres, in their thrilling tragedy of the king's cameleopard, or the royal nonesuch ! ! ! admission cents. then at the bottom was the biggest line of all, which said: ladies and children not admitted. "there," says he, "if that line don't fetch them, i don't know arkansaw!" chapter xxiii. well, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage and a curtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the house was jam full of men in no time. when the place couldn't hold no more, the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come on to the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech, and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and about edmund kean the elder, which was to play the main principal part in it; and at last when he'd got everybody's expectations up high enough, he rolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancing out on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over, ring-streaked-and- striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a rainbow. and--but never mind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild, but it was awful funny. the people most killed themselves laughing; and when the king got done capering and capered off behind the scenes, they roared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed till he come back and done it over again, and after that they made him do it another time. well, it would make a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut. then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and says the great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, on accounts of pressing london engagements, where the seats is all sold already for it in drury lane; and then he makes them another bow, and says if he has succeeded in pleasing them and instructing them, he will be deeply obleeged if they will mention it to their friends and get them to come and see it. twenty people sings out: "what, is it over? is that all?" the duke says yes. then there was a fine time. everybody sings out, "sold!" and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and them tragedians. but a big, fine looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts: "hold on! just a word, gentlemen." they stopped to listen. "we are sold--mighty badly sold. but we don't want to be the laughing stock of this whole town, i reckon, and never hear the last of this thing as long as we live. no. what we want is to go out of here quiet, and talk this show up, and sell the rest of the town! then we'll all be in the same boat. ain't that sensible?" ("you bet it is!--the jedge is right!" everybody sings out.) "all right, then--not a word about any sell. go along home, and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy." next day you couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendid that show was. house was jammed again that night, and we sold this crowd the same way. when me and the king and the duke got home to the raft we all had a supper; and by and by, about midnight, they made jim and me back her out and float her down the middle of the river, and fetch her in and hide her about two mile below town. the third night the house was crammed again--and they warn't new-comers this time, but people that was at the show the other two nights. i stood by the duke at the door, and i see that every man that went in had his pockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coat--and i see it warn't no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight. i smelt sickly eggs by the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if i know the signs of a dead cat being around, and i bet i do, there was sixty-four of them went in. i shoved in there for a minute, but it was too various for me; i couldn't stand it. well, when the place couldn't hold no more people the duke he give a fellow a quarter and told him to tend door for him a minute, and then he started around for the stage door, i after him; but the minute we turned the corner and was in the dark he says: "walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for the raft like the dickens was after you!" i done it, and he done the same. we struck the raft at the same time, and in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all dark and still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a word. i reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the audience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under the wigwam, and says: "well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, duke?" he hadn't been up-town at all. we never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village. then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly laughed their bones loose over the way they'd served them people. the duke says: "greenhorns, flatheads! i knew the first house would keep mum and let the rest of the town get roped in; and i knew they'd lay for us the third night, and consider it was their turn now. well, it is their turn, and i'd give something to know how much they'd take for it. i would just like to know how they're putting in their opportunity. they can turn it into a picnic if they want to--they brought plenty provisions." them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that three nights. i never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like that before. by and by, when they was asleep and snoring, jim says: "don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries on, huck?" "no," i says, "it don't." "why don't it, huck?" "well, it don't, because it's in the breed. i reckon they're all alike," "but, huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist what dey is; dey's reglar rapscallions." "well, that's what i'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as fur as i can make out." "is dat so?" "you read about them once--you'll see. look at henry the eight; this 'n 's a sunday-school superintendent to him. and look at charles second, and louis fourteen, and louis fifteen, and james second, and edward second, and richard third, and forty more; besides all them saxon heptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise cain. my, you ought to seen old henry the eight when he was in bloom. he was a blossom. he used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head next morning. and he would do it just as indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs. 'fetch up nell gwynn,' he says. they fetch her up. next morning, 'chop off her head!' and they chop it off. 'fetch up jane shore,' he says; and up she comes, next morning, 'chop off her head'--and they chop it off. 'ring up fair rosamun.' fair rosamun answers the bell. next morning, 'chop off her head.' and he made every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a book, and called it domesday book--which was a good name and stated the case. you don't know kings, jim, but i know them; and this old rip of ourn is one of the cleanest i've struck in history. well, henry he takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. how does he go at it --give notice?--give the country a show? no. all of a sudden he heaves all the tea in boston harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. that was his style--he never give anybody a chance. he had suspicions of his father, the duke of wellington. well, what did he do? ask him to show up? no--drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. s'pose people left money laying around where he was--what did he do? he collared it. s'pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't set down there and see that he done it--what did he do? he always done the other thing. s'pose he opened his mouth--what then? if he didn't shut it up powerful quick he'd lose a lie every time. that's the kind of a bug henry was; and if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings he'd a fooled that town a heap worse than ourn done. i don't say that ourn is lambs, because they ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain't nothing to that old ram, anyway. all i say is, kings is kings, and you got to make allowances. take them all around, they're a mighty ornery lot. it's the way they're raised." "but dis one do smell so like de nation, huck." "well, they all do, jim. we can't help the way a king smells; history don't tell no way." "now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some ways." "yes, a duke's different. but not very different. this one's a middling hard lot for a duke. when he's drunk there ain't no near-sighted man could tell him from a king." "well, anyways, i doan' hanker for no mo' un um, huck. dese is all i kin stan'." "it's the way i feel, too, jim. but we've got them on our hands, and we got to remember what they are, and make allowances. sometimes i wish we could hear of a country that's out of kings." what was the use to tell jim these warn't real kings and dukes? it wouldn't a done no good; and, besides, it was just as i said: you couldn't tell them from the real kind. i went to sleep, and jim didn't call me when it was my turn. he often done that. when i waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there with his head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself. i didn't take notice nor let on. i knowed what it was about. he was thinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and he was low and homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in his life; and i do believe he cared just as much for his people as white folks does for their'n. it don't seem natural, but i reckon it's so. he was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged i was asleep, and saying, "po' little 'lizabeth! po' little johnny! it's mighty hard; i spec' i ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!" he was a mighty good nigger, jim was. but this time i somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young ones; and by and by he says: "what makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase i hear sumpn over yonder on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time i treat my little 'lizabeth so ornery. she warn't on'y 'bout fo' year ole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but she got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en i says to her, i says: "'shet de do'.' "she never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. it make me mad; en i says agin, mighty loud, i says: "'doan' you hear me? shet de do'!' "she jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up. i was a-bilin'! i says: "'i lay i make you mine!' "en wid dat i fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'. den i went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en when i come back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open yit, en dat chile stannin' mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down. my, but i wuz mad! i was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' den--it was a do' dat open innerds--jis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behine de chile, ker-blam!--en my lan', de chile never move'! my breff mos' hop outer me; en i feel so--so--i doan' know how i feel. i crope out, all a-tremblin', en crope aroun' en open de do' easy en slow, en poke my head in behine de chile, sof' en still, en all uv a sudden i says pow! jis' as loud as i could yell. she never budge! oh, huck, i bust out a-cryin' en grab her up in my arms, en say, 'oh, de po' little thing! de lord god amighty fogive po' ole jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself as long's he live!' oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, huck, plumb deef en dumb--en i'd ben a-treat'n her so!" chapter xxiv. next day, towards night, we laid up under a little willow towhead out in the middle, where there was a village on each side of the river, and the duke and the king begun to lay out a plan for working them towns. jim he spoke to the duke, and said he hoped it wouldn't take but a few hours, because it got mighty heavy and tiresome to him when he had to lay all day in the wigwam tied with the rope. you see, when we left him all alone we had to tie him, because if anybody happened on to him all by himself and not tied it wouldn't look much like he was a runaway nigger, you know. so the duke said it was kind of hard to have to lay roped all day, and he'd cipher out some way to get around it. he was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he soon struck it. he dressed jim up in king lear's outfit--it was a long curtain-calico gown, and a white horse-hair wig and whiskers; and then he took his theater paint and painted jim's face and hands and ears and neck all over a dead, dull, solid blue, like a man that's been drownded nine days. blamed if he warn't the horriblest looking outrage i ever see. then the duke took and wrote out a sign on a shingle so: sick arab--but harmless when not out of his head. and he nailed that shingle to a lath, and stood the lath up four or five foot in front of the wigwam. jim was satisfied. he said it was a sight better than lying tied a couple of years every day, and trembling all over every time there was a sound. the duke told him to make himself free and easy, and if anybody ever come meddling around, he must hop out of the wigwam, and carry on a little, and fetch a howl or two like a wild beast, and he reckoned they would light out and leave him alone. which was sound enough judgment; but you take the average man, and he wouldn't wait for him to howl. why, he didn't only look like he was dead, he looked considerable more than that. these rapscallions wanted to try the nonesuch again, because there was so much money in it, but they judged it wouldn't be safe, because maybe the news might a worked along down by this time. they couldn't hit no project that suited exactly; so at last the duke said he reckoned he'd lay off and work his brains an hour or two and see if he couldn't put up something on the arkansaw village; and the king he allowed he would drop over to t'other village without any plan, but just trust in providence to lead him the profitable way--meaning the devil, i reckon. we had all bought store clothes where we stopped last; and now the king put his'n on, and he told me to put mine on. i done it, of course. the king's duds was all black, and he did look real swell and starchy. i never knowed how clothes could change a body before. why, before, he looked like the orneriest old rip that ever was; but now, when he'd take off his new white beaver and make a bow and do a smile, he looked that grand and good and pious that you'd say he had walked right out of the ark, and maybe was old leviticus himself. jim cleaned up the canoe, and i got my paddle ready. there was a big steamboat laying at the shore away up under the point, about three mile above the town--been there a couple of hours, taking on freight. says the king: "seein' how i'm dressed, i reckon maybe i better arrive down from st. louis or cincinnati, or some other big place. go for the steamboat, huckleberry; we'll come down to the village on her." i didn't have to be ordered twice to go and take a steamboat ride. i fetched the shore a half a mile above the village, and then went scooting along the bluff bank in the easy water. pretty soon we come to a nice innocent-looking young country jake setting on a log swabbing the sweat off of his face, for it was powerful warm weather; and he had a couple of big carpet-bags by him. "run her nose in shore," says the king. i done it. "wher' you bound for, young man?" "for the steamboat; going to orleans." "git aboard," says the king. "hold on a minute, my servant 'll he'p you with them bags. jump out and he'p the gentleman, adolphus"--meaning me, i see. i done so, and then we all three started on again. the young chap was mighty thankful; said it was tough work toting his baggage such weather. he asked the king where he was going, and the king told him he'd come down the river and landed at the other village this morning, and now he was going up a few mile to see an old friend on a farm up there. the young fellow says: "when i first see you i says to myself, 'it's mr. wilks, sure, and he come mighty near getting here in time.' but then i says again, 'no, i reckon it ain't him, or else he wouldn't be paddling up the river.' you ain't him, are you?" "no, my name's blodgett--elexander blodgett--reverend elexander blodgett, i s'pose i must say, as i'm one o' the lord's poor servants. but still i'm jist as able to be sorry for mr. wilks for not arriving in time, all the same, if he's missed anything by it--which i hope he hasn't." "well, he don't miss any property by it, because he'll get that all right; but he's missed seeing his brother peter die--which he mayn't mind, nobody can tell as to that--but his brother would a give anything in this world to see him before he died; never talked about nothing else all these three weeks; hadn't seen him since they was boys together--and hadn't ever seen his brother william at all--that's the deef and dumb one--william ain't more than thirty or thirty-five. peter and george were the only ones that come out here; george was the married brother; him and his wife both died last year. harvey and william's the only ones that's left now; and, as i was saying, they haven't got here in time." "did anybody send 'em word?" "oh, yes; a month or two ago, when peter was first took; because peter said then that he sorter felt like he warn't going to get well this time. you see, he was pretty old, and george's g'yirls was too young to be much company for him, except mary jane, the red-headed one; and so he was kinder lonesome after george and his wife died, and didn't seem to care much to live. he most desperately wanted to see harvey--and william, too, for that matter--because he was one of them kind that can't bear to make a will. he left a letter behind for harvey, and said he'd told in it where his money was hid, and how he wanted the rest of the property divided up so george's g'yirls would be all right--for george didn't leave nothing. and that letter was all they could get him to put a pen to." "why do you reckon harvey don't come? wher' does he live?" "oh, he lives in england--sheffield--preaches there--hasn't ever been in this country. he hasn't had any too much time--and besides he mightn't a got the letter at all, you know." "too bad, too bad he couldn't a lived to see his brothers, poor soul. you going to orleans, you say?" "yes, but that ain't only a part of it. i'm going in a ship, next wednesday, for ryo janeero, where my uncle lives." "it's a pretty long journey. but it'll be lovely; wisht i was a-going. is mary jane the oldest? how old is the others?" "mary jane's nineteen, susan's fifteen, and joanna's about fourteen --that's the one that gives herself to good works and has a hare-lip." "poor things! to be left alone in the cold world so." "well, they could be worse off. old peter had friends, and they ain't going to let them come to no harm. there's hobson, the babtis' preacher; and deacon lot hovey, and ben rucker, and abner shackleford, and levi bell, the lawyer; and dr. robinson, and their wives, and the widow bartley, and--well, there's a lot of them; but these are the ones that peter was thickest with, and used to write about sometimes, when he wrote home; so harvey 'll know where to look for friends when he gets here." well, the old man went on asking questions till he just fairly emptied that young fellow. blamed if he didn't inquire about everybody and everything in that blessed town, and all about the wilkses; and about peter's business--which was a tanner; and about george's--which was a carpenter; and about harvey's--which was a dissentering minister; and so on, and so on. then he says: "what did you want to walk all the way up to the steamboat for?" "because she's a big orleans boat, and i was afeard she mightn't stop there. when they're deep they won't stop for a hail. a cincinnati boat will, but this is a st. louis one." "was peter wilks well off?" "oh, yes, pretty well off. he had houses and land, and it's reckoned he left three or four thousand in cash hid up som'ers." "when did you say he died?" "i didn't say, but it was last night." "funeral to-morrow, likely?" "yes, 'bout the middle of the day." "well, it's all terrible sad; but we've all got to go, one time or another. so what we want to do is to be prepared; then we're all right." "yes, sir, it's the best way. ma used to always say that." when we struck the boat she was about done loading, and pretty soon she got off. the king never said nothing about going aboard, so i lost my ride, after all. when the boat was gone the king made me paddle up another mile to a lonesome place, and then he got ashore and says: "now hustle back, right off, and fetch the duke up here, and the new carpet-bags. and if he's gone over to t'other side, go over there and git him. and tell him to git himself up regardless. shove along, now." i see what he was up to; but i never said nothing, of course. when i got back with the duke we hid the canoe, and then they set down on a log, and the king told him everything, just like the young fellow had said it --every last word of it. and all the time he was a-doing it he tried to talk like an englishman; and he done it pretty well, too, for a slouch. i can't imitate him, and so i ain't a-going to try to; but he really done it pretty good. then he says: "how are you on the deef and dumb, bilgewater?" the duke said, leave him alone for that; said he had played a deef and dumb person on the histronic boards. so then they waited for a steamboat. about the middle of the afternoon a couple of little boats come along, but they didn't come from high enough up the river; but at last there was a big one, and they hailed her. she sent out her yawl, and we went aboard, and she was from cincinnati; and when they found we only wanted to go four or five mile they was booming mad, and gave us a cussing, and said they wouldn't land us. but the king was ca'm. he says: "if gentlemen kin afford to pay a dollar a mile apiece to be took on and put off in a yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em, can't it?" so they softened down and said it was all right; and when we got to the village they yawled us ashore. about two dozen men flocked down when they see the yawl a-coming, and when the king says: "kin any of you gentlemen tell me wher' mr. peter wilks lives?" they give a glance at one another, and nodded their heads, as much as to say, "what d' i tell you?" then one of them says, kind of soft and gentle: "i'm sorry sir, but the best we can do is to tell you where he did live yesterday evening." sudden as winking the ornery old cretur went an to smash, and fell up against the man, and put his chin on his shoulder, and cried down his back, and says: "alas, alas, our poor brother--gone, and we never got to see him; oh, it's too, too hard!" then he turns around, blubbering, and makes a lot of idiotic signs to the duke on his hands, and blamed if he didn't drop a carpet-bag and bust out a-crying. if they warn't the beatenest lot, them two frauds, that ever i struck. well, the men gathered around and sympathized with them, and said all sorts of kind things to them, and carried their carpet-bags up the hill for them, and let them lean on them and cry, and told the king all about his brother's last moments, and the king he told it all over again on his hands to the duke, and both of them took on about that dead tanner like they'd lost the twelve disciples. well, if ever i struck anything like it, i'm a nigger. it was enough to make a body ashamed of the human race. chapter xxv. the news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people tearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on their coats as they come. pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd, and the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march. the windows and dooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence: "is it them?" and somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say: "you bet it is." when we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the three girls was standing in the door. mary jane was red-headed, but that don't make no difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her face and her eyes was all lit up like glory, she was so glad her uncles was come. the king he spread his arms, and mary jane she jumped for them, and the hare-lip jumped for the duke, and there they had it! everybody most, leastways women, cried for joy to see them meet again at last and have such good times. then the king he hunched the duke private--i see him do it--and then he looked around and see the coffin, over in the corner on two chairs; so then him and the duke, with a hand across each other's shoulder, and t'other hand to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody dropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping, people saying "sh!" and all the men taking their hats off and drooping their heads, so you could a heard a pin fall. and when they got there they bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then they bust out a-crying so you could a heard them to orleans, most; and then they put their arms around each other's necks, and hung their chins over each other's shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four, i never see two men leak the way they done. and, mind you, everybody was doing the same; and the place was that damp i never see anything like it. then one of them got on one side of the coffin, and t'other on t'other side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the coffin, and let on to pray all to themselves. well, when it come to that it worked the crowd like you never see anything like it, and everybody broke down and went to sobbing right out loud--the poor girls, too; and every woman, nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a word, and kissed them, solemn, on the forehead, and then put their hand on their head, and looked up towards the sky, with the tears running down, and then busted out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give the next woman a show. i never see anything so disgusting. well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and works himself up and slobbers out a speech, all full of tears and flapdoodle about its being a sore trial for him and his poor brother to lose the diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long journey of four thousand mile, but it's a trial that's sweetened and sanctified to us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he thanks them out of his heart and out of his brother's heart, because out of their mouths they can't, words being too weak and cold, and all that kind of rot and slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers out a pious goody-goody amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying fit to bust. and the minute the words were out of his mouth somebody over in the crowd struck up the doxolojer, and everybody joined in with all their might, and it just warmed you up and made you feel as good as church letting out. music is a good thing; and after all that soul-butter and hogwash i never see it freshen up things so, and sound so honest and bully. then the king begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his nieces would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the family would take supper here with them this evening, and help set up with the ashes of the diseased; and says if his poor brother laying yonder could speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that was very dear to him, and mentioned often in his letters; and so he will name the same, to wit, as follows, vizz.:--rev. mr. hobson, and deacon lot hovey, and mr. ben rucker, and abner shackleford, and levi bell, and dr. robinson, and their wives, and the widow bartley. rev. hobson and dr. robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting together--that is, i mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to t'other world, and the preacher was pinting him right. lawyer bell was away up to louisville on business. but the rest was on hand, and so they all come and shook hands with the king and thanked him and talked to him; and then they shook hands with the duke and didn't say nothing, but just kept a-smiling and bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst he made all sorts of signs with his hands and said "goo-goo--goo-goo-goo" all the time, like a baby that can't talk. so the king he blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty much everybody and dog in town, by his name, and mentioned all sorts of little things that happened one time or another in the town, or to george's family, or to peter. and he always let on that peter wrote him the things; but that was a lie: he got every blessed one of them out of that young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat. then mary jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the king he read it out loud and cried over it. it give the dwelling-house and three thousand dollars, gold, to the girls; and it give the tanyard (which was doing a good business), along with some other houses and land (worth about seven thousand), and three thousand dollars in gold to harvey and william, and told where the six thousand cash was hid down cellar. so these two frauds said they'd go and fetch it up, and have everything square and above-board; and told me to come with a candle. we shut the cellar door behind us, and when they found the bag they spilt it out on the floor, and it was a lovely sight, all them yaller-boys. my, the way the king's eyes did shine! he slaps the duke on the shoulder and says: "oh, this ain't bully nor noth'n! oh, no, i reckon not! why, billy, it beats the nonesuch, don't it?" the duke allowed it did. they pawed the yaller-boys, and sifted them through their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the king says: "it ain't no use talkin'; bein' brothers to a rich dead man and representatives of furrin heirs that's got left is the line for you and me, bilge. thish yer comes of trust'n to providence. it's the best way, in the long run. i've tried 'em all, and ther' ain't no better way." most everybody would a been satisfied with the pile, and took it on trust; but no, they must count it. so they counts it, and it comes out four hundred and fifteen dollars short. says the king: "dern him, i wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen dollars?" they worried over that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. then the duke says: "well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake--i reckon that's the way of it. the best way's to let it go, and keep still about it. we can spare it." "oh, shucks, yes, we can spare it. i don't k'yer noth'n 'bout that--it's the count i'm thinkin' about. we want to be awful square and open and above-board here, you know. we want to lug this h-yer money up stairs and count it before everybody--then ther' ain't noth'n suspicious. but when the dead man says ther's six thous'n dollars, you know, we don't want to--" "hold on," says the duke. "le's make up the deffisit," and he begun to haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket. "it's a most amaz'n' good idea, duke--you have got a rattlin' clever head on you," says the king. "blest if the old nonesuch ain't a heppin' us out agin," and he begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them up. it most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear. "say," says the duke, "i got another idea. le's go up stairs and count this money, and then take and give it to the girls." "good land, duke, lemme hug you! it's the most dazzling idea 'at ever a man struck. you have cert'nly got the most astonishin' head i ever see. oh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it. let 'em fetch along their suspicions now if they want to--this 'll lay 'em out." when we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king he counted it and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a pile--twenty elegant little piles. everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their chops. then they raked it into the bag again, and i see the king begin to swell himself up for another speech. he says: "friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by them that's left behind in the vale of sorrers. he has done generous by these yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left fatherless and motherless. yes, and we that knowed him knows that he would a done more generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' his dear william and me. now, wouldn't he? ther' ain't no question 'bout it in my mind. well, then, what kind o' brothers would it be that 'd stand in his way at sech a time? and what kind o' uncles would it be that 'd rob--yes, rob--sech poor sweet lambs as these 'at he loved so at sech a time? if i know william--and i think i do--he--well, i'll jest ask him." he turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to the duke with his hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and leather-headed a while; then all of a sudden he seems to catch his meaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up. then the king says, "i knowed it; i reckon that 'll convince anybody the way he feels about it. here, mary jane, susan, joanner, take the money--take it all. it's the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful." mary jane she went for him, susan and the hare-lip went for the duke, and then such another hugging and kissing i never see yet. and everybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of them frauds, saying all the time: "you dear good souls!--how lovely!--how could you!" well, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody saying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was all busy listening. the king was saying--in the middle of something he'd started in on-- "--they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased. that's why they're invited here this evenin'; but tomorrow we want all to come--everybody; for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's fitten that his funeral orgies sh'd be public." and so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and every little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke he couldn't stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper, "obsequies, you old fool," and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and reaching it over people's heads to him. the king he reads it and puts it in his pocket, and says: "poor william, afflicted as he is, his heart's aluz right. asks me to invite everybody to come to the funeral--wants me to make 'em all welcome. but he needn't a worried--it was jest what i was at." then he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, and goes to dropping in his funeral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before. and when he done it the third time he says: "i say orgies, not because it's the common term, because it ain't --obsequies bein' the common term--but because orgies is the right term. obsequies ain't used in england no more now--it's gone out. we say orgies now in england. orgies is better, because it means the thing you're after more exact. it's a word that's made up out'n the greek orgo, outside, open, abroad; and the hebrew jeesum, to plant, cover up; hence inter. so, you see, funeral orgies is an open er public funeral." he was the worst i ever struck. well, the iron-jawed man he laughed right in his face. everybody was shocked. everybody says, "why, doctor!" and abner shackleford says: "why, robinson, hain't you heard the news? this is harvey wilks." the king he smiled eager, and shoved out his flapper, and says: "is it my poor brother's dear good friend and physician? i--" "keep your hands off of me!" says the doctor. "you talk like an englishman, don't you? it's the worst imitation i ever heard. you peter wilks's brother! you're a fraud, that's what you are!" well, how they all took on! they crowded around the doctor and tried to quiet him down, and tried to explain to him and tell him how harvey 'd showed in forty ways that he was harvey, and knowed everybody by name, and the names of the very dogs, and begged and begged him not to hurt harvey's feelings and the poor girl's feelings, and all that. but it warn't no use; he stormed right along, and said any man that pretended to be an englishman and couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what he did was a fraud and a liar. the poor girls was hanging to the king and crying; and all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on them. he says: "i was your father's friend, and i'm your friend; and i warn you as a friend, and an honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of harm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing to do with him, the ignorant tramp, with his idiotic greek and hebrew, as he calls it. he is the thinnest kind of an impostor--has come here with a lot of empty names and facts which he picked up somewheres, and you take them for proofs, and are helped to fool yourselves by these foolish friends here, who ought to know better. mary jane wilks, you know me for your friend, and for your unselfish friend, too. now listen to me; turn this pitiful rascal out--i beg you to do it. will you?" mary jane straightened herself up, and my, but she was handsome! she says: "here is my answer." she hove up the bag of money and put it in the king's hands, and says, "take this six thousand dollars, and invest for me and my sisters any way you want to, and don't give us no receipt for it." then she put her arm around the king on one side, and susan and the hare-lip done the same on the other. everybody clapped their hands and stomped on the floor like a perfect storm, whilst the king held up his head and smiled proud. the doctor says: "all right; i wash my hands of the matter. but i warn you all that a time 's coming when you're going to feel sick whenever you think of this day." and away he went. "all right, doctor," says the king, kinder mocking him; "we'll try and get 'em to send for you;" which made them all laugh, and they said it was a prime good hit. [illustration: [signature of] austin steward] twenty-two years a slave, and forty years a freeman; embracing a correspondence of several years, while president of wilberforce colony, london, canada west, by austin steward. from governor clark. state of new york, executive department, albany, may , . mr. a. steward, canandaigua, dear sir:--i notice a paragraph in the "ontario times" of this date, making the announcement that you are preparing "a sketch of events occurring under your own observation during an eventful life," to be entitled, "twenty years a slave, and forty years a freeman;" and that you design soon to make an effort to obtain subscribers for the book. being desirous of rendering you what encouragement i may in the work, you are permitted to place my name on your list of subscribers. respectfully yours, myron h. clark. * * * * * rochester, september, mr. wm. alling, dear sir:--the undersigned have heard with pleasure, that you are about issuing a book made up from incidents in the life of austin steward. we have been the early acquaintances and associates of mr. steward, while a business man in rochester in an early day, and take pleasure in bearing testimony to his high personal, moral and christian character. in a world of vicissitude, mr. steward has received no ordinary share, and we hope, while his book may do the world good, it may prove a substantial benefit to him in his declining years. ashley sampson, thomas kempshall, frederick starr, chas. j. hill, l.a. ward, edwin scrantom, jacob gould. * * * * * recommendatory. rochester, july , . a. steward, esq., dear sir:--in reply to your letter upon the propriety of publishing your life, i answer, that there is not only no objection to it, but it will be timely, and is demanded by every consideration of humanity and justice. every tongue which speaks for freedom, which has once been held by the awful gag of slavery, is trumpet-tongued--and he who pleads against this monstrous oppression, if he can say, "here are the scars," can do much. it is a great pleasure to me to run back to my boyhood, and stop at that spot where i first met you. i recollect the story of your wrongs, and your joy in the supposition that all were now ended in your freedom; of your thirst for knowledge, as you gathered up from the rudimental books--not then very plenty--a few snatches of the elements of the language; of playing the school-master to you, in "setting copies" for your writing-- book; of guiding your mind and pen. i remember your commencement in business, and the outrage and indignity offered you in rochester, by white competitors on no other ground than that of color.[ ] i saw your bitter tears, and recollect assuring you--what afterwards proved true--that justice would overtake the offenders, and that you would live to see these enemies bite the dust! i remember your unsullied character, and your prosperity, and when your word or endorsement was equal to that of any other citizen. i remember too, when yourself, and others of your kind, sunk all the gatherings of years of toil, in an unsuccessful attempt to establish an asylum for your enslaved and oppressed brethren--and, not to enumerate, which i might do much farther, i remember when your "old master," finding you had been successful, while he himself had lost in the changes on fortune's wheel--came here and set up a claim to yourself and your property--a claim which might have held both, had not a higher power suddenly summoned him to a tribunal, where both master and slave shall one day answer each for himself! but to the book. let its plain, unvarnished tale be sent out, and the story of slavery and its abominations, again be told by one who has felt in his own person its scorpion lash, and the weight of its grinding heel. i think it will do good service, and could not have been sent forth at a more auspicious period. the downfall of the hateful system of slavery is certain. though long delayed, justice is sure to come at length; and he must be a slow thinker and a poor seer, who cannot discern in the elements already at work, the mighty forces which must eventually crush this oppression. i know that you and i have felt discouraged at the long delay, years ago,--when we might have kept up our hopes by the fact that every thing that is slow is _sure_. your book may be humble and your descriptions tame, yet truth is always mighty; and you may furnish the sword for some modern sampson, who shall shout over more slain than his ancient prototype. i close with the wish, that much success may attend your labors, in more ways than one, and that your last days may be your best--and am, your old friend, and obed't serv't, edwin scrantom. [footnote : the indignity spoken of was this: mr. steward had established a grocery and provision store on buffalo street, in a part of abner wakelee's building, opposite the eagle hotel. he put up his sign, a very plain and proper one, and at night, some competitors, whom he knew, as well as he could know anything which he could not prove, smeared his sign with black paint, utterly destroying it! but the misguided men who stooped to such an act--the victims of sensuality and excess--have years ago ended their journey, and passed to the bar of a higher adjudication.] * * * * * contents. i. slave life on the plantation ii. at the great house iii. horse-racing and its consequences iv. journey to our new home in new york v. incidents at sodus vi. removal from sodus to bath vii. dueling viii. horse-racing and general training ix. death-bed and bridal scenes x. hired out to a new master xi. thoughts on freedom xii. captain helm--divorce--kidnapping xiii. locate in the village of rochester xiv. incidents in rochester and vicinity xv. sad reverses captain helm xvi. british emancipation of slavery xvii. oration--termination of slavery in the british possessions xviii. condition of free colored people xix. persecution of the colored people xx. removal to canada xxi. roughing it in the wilds of canada xxii. narrow escape of a smuggler xxiii. narrative of two fugitives from virginia xxiv. pleasant re-union of old and tried friends xxv. private losses and private difficulties xxvi. incidents and peculiarities of the indians xxvii. our difficulties with israel lewis xxviii. desperation of a fugitive slave xxix. a narrow escape from my enemies xxx. death of b. paul and return of his brother xxxi. my family return to rochester xxxii. the land agent and the squatter xxxiii. character and death of israel lewis xxxiv. my return to rochester xxxv. bishop brown--death of my daughter xxxvi. celebration of the first of august xxxvii. conclusion correspondence preface. the author does not think that any apology is necessary for this issue of his life and history. he believes that american slavery is now the great question before the american people: that it is not merely a political question, coming up before the country as the grand element in the making of a president, and then to be laid aside for four years; but that its moral bearings are of such a nature that the patriot, the philanthropist, and all good men agree that it is an evil of so much magnitude, that longer to permit it, is to wink at _sin_, and to incur the righteous judgments of god. the late outrages and aggressions of the slave power to possess itself of new soil, and extend the influence of the hateful and god-provoking "institution," is a practical commentary upon its benefits and the moral qualities of those who seek to sustain and extend it. the author is therefore the more willing--nay, anxious, to lay alongside of such arguments the history of his own life and experiences _as a slave_, that those who read may know what are some of the characteristics of that highly favored institution, which is sought to be preserved and perpetuated. "facts are stubborn things,"--and this is the reason why all systems, religious, moral, or social, which are founded in injustice, and supported by fraud and robbery, suffer so much by faithful exposition. the author has endeavored to present a true statement of the practical workings of the system of slavery, as he has seen and _felt it himself._ he has intended "nothing to extenuate, nor aught set down in malice;" indeed, so far from believing that he has misrepresented slavery as an institution, he does not feel that he has the power to give anything like a true picture of it in all its deformity and wickedness; especially _that_ slavery which is an institution among an enlightened and christian people, who profess to believe that all men are born _free_ and _equal_, and who have certain inalienable _rights_, among which are _life, liberty_, and the pursuit of happiness. the author claims that he has endeavored since he had his freedom, as much as in him lay, to benefit his suffering fellows in bondage; and that he has spent most of his free life in efforts to elevate them in manners and morals, though against all the opposing forces of prejudice and pride, which of course, has made much of his labor vain. in his old age he sends out this history--presenting as it were his _own body_, with the marks and scars of the tender mercies of slave drivers upon it, and asking that these may plead in the name of justice, humanity, and mercy, that those who have the power, may have the magnanimity to strike off the chains from the enslaved, and bid him stand up, a freeman and a brother! chapter i. slave life on the plantation. i was born in prince william county, virginia. at seven years of age, i found myself a slave on the plantation of capt. william helm. our family consisted of my father and mother--whose names were robert and susan steward--a sister, mary, and myself. as was the usual custom, we lived in a small cabin, built of rough boards, with a floor of earth, and small openings in the sides of the cabin were substituted for windows. the chimney was built of sticks and mud; the door, of rough boards; and the whole was put together in the rudest possible manner. as to the furniture of this rude dwelling, it was procured by the slaves themselves, who were occasionally permitted to earn a little money after their day's toil was done. i never knew capt. h. to furnish his slaves with household utensils of any description. the amount of provision given out on the plantation per week, was invariably one peck of corn or meal for each slave. this allowance was given in meal when it could be obtained; when it could not, they received corn, which they pounded in mortars after they returned from their labor in the field. the slaves on our plantation were provided with very little meat in addition to the peck of corn or meal, they were allowed a little salt and a few herrings. if they wished for more, they were obliged to earn it by over-work. they were permitted to cultivate small gardens, and were thereby enabled to provide themselves with many trifling conveniences. but these gardens were only allowed to some of the more industrious. capt. helm allowed his slaves a small quantity of meat during harvest time, but when the harvest was over they were obliged to fall back on the old allowance. it was usual for men and women to work side by side on our plantation; and in many kinds of work, the women were compelled to do as much as the men. capt. h. employed an overseer, whose business it was to look after each slave in the field, and see that he performed his task. the overseer always went around with a whip, about nine feet long, made of the toughest kind of cowhide, the but-end of which was loaded with lead, and was about four or five inches in circumference, running to a point at the opposite extremity. this made a dreadful instrument of torture, and, when in the hands of a cruel overseer, it was truly fearful. with it, the skin of an ox or a horse could be cut through. hence, it was no uncommon thing to see the poor slaves with their backs mangled in a most horrible manner. our overseer, thus armed with his cowhide, and with a large bull-dog behind him, followed the slaves all day; and, if one of them fell in the rear from any cause, this cruel weapon was plied with terrible force. he would strike the dog one blow and the slave another, in order to keep the former from tearing the delinquent slave in pieces,--such was the ferocity of his canine attendant. it was the rule for the slaves to rise and be ready for their task by sun-rise, on the blowing of a horn or conch-shell; and woe be to the unfortunate, who was not in the field at the time appointed, which was in thirty minutes from the first sounding of the horn. i have heard the poor creatures beg as for their lives, of the inhuman overseer, to desist from his cruel punishment. hence, they were usually found in the field "betimes in the morning," (to use an old virginia phrase), where they worked until nine o'clock. they were then allowed thirty minutes to eat their morning meal, which consisted of a little bread. at a given signal, all hands were compelled to return to their work. they toiled until noon, when they were permitted to take their breakfast, which corresponds to our dinner. on our plantation, it was the usual practice to have one of the old slaves set apart to do the cooking. all the field hands were required to give into the hands of the cook a certain portion of their weekly allowance, either in dough or meal, which was prepared in the following manner. the cook made a hot fire and rolled up each person's portion in some cabbage leaves, when they could be obtained, and placed it in a hole in the ashes, carefully covered with the same, where it remained until done. bread baked in this way is very sweet and good. but cabbage leaves could not always be obtained. when this was the case, the bread was little better than a mixture of dough and ashes, which was not very palatable. the time allowed for breakfast, was one hour. at the signal, all hands were obliged to resume their toil. the overseer was always on hand to attend to all delinquents, who never failed to feel the blows of his heavy whip. the usual mode of punishing the poor slaves was, to make them take off their clothes to the bare back, and then tie their hands before them with a rope, pass the end of the rope over a beam, and draw them up till they stood on the tips of their toes. sometimes they tied their legs together and placed a rail between. thus prepared, the overseer proceeded to punish the poor, helpless victim. thirty-nine was the number of lashes ordinarily inflicted for the most trifling offence. who can imagine a position more painful? oh, who, with feelings of common humanity, could look quietly on such torture? who could remain unmoved, to see a fellow-creature thus tied, unable to move or to raise a hand in his own defence; scourged on his bare back, with a cowhide, until the blood flows in streams from his quivering flesh? and for what? often for the most trifling fault; and, as sometimes occurs, because a mere whim or caprice of his brutal overseer demands it. pale with passion, his eyes flashing and his stalwart frame trembling with rage, like some volcano, just ready to belch forth its fiery contents, and, in all its might and fury, spread death and destruction all around, he continues to wield the bloody lash on the broken flesh of the poor, pleading slave, until his arm grows weary, or he sinks down, utterly exhausted, on the very spot where already stand the pools of blood which his cruelty has drawn from thee mangled body of his helpless victim, and within the hearing of those agonized groans and feeble cries of "oh do, massa! oh do, massa! do, lord, have mercy! oh, lord, have mercy!" &c. nor is this cruel punishment inflicted on the bare backs of the male portion of slaves only. oh no! the slave husband must submit without a murmur, to see the form of his cherished, but wretched wife, not only exposed to the rude gaze of a beastly tyrant, but he must unresistingly see the heavy cowhide descend upon her shrinking flesh, and her manacled limbs writhe in inexpressible torture, while her piteous cries for help ring through his ears unanswered. the wild throbbing of his heart must be suppressed, and his righteous indignation find no voice, in the presence of the human monster who holds dominion over him. after the infuriated and heartless overseer had satiated his thirst for vengeance, on the disobedient or delinquent slave, he was untied, and left to crawl away as best he could; sometimes on his hands and knees, to his lonely and dilapidated cabin, where, stretched upon the cold earth, he lay weak and bleeding and often faint from the loss of blood, without a friend who dare administer to his necessities, and groaning in the agony of his crushed spirit. in his cabin, which was not as good as many of our stables at the north, he might lie for weeks before recovering sufficient strength to resume the labor imposed upon him, and all this time without a bed or bed clothing, or any of the necessaries considered so essential to the sick. perhaps some of his fellow-slaves might come and bathe his wounds in warm water, to prevent his clothing from tearing open his flesh anew, and thus make the second suffering well nigh equal to the first; or they might from their scanty store bring him such food as they could spare, to keep him from suffering hunger, and offer their sympathy, and then drag their own weary bodies to their place of rest, after their daily task was finished. oh, you who have hearts to feel; you who have kind friends around you, in sickness and in sorrow, think of the sufferings of the helpless, destitute, and down-trodden slave. has sickness laid its withering hand upon you, or disappointment blasted your fairest earthly prospects, still, the outgushings of an affectionate heart are not denied you, and you may look forward with hope to a bright future. such a hope seldom animates the heart of the poor slave. he toils on, in his unrequited labor, looking only to the grave to find a quiet resting place, where he will be free from the oppressor. chapter ii. at the great house. when eight years of age, i was taken to the "great house," or the family mansion of my master, to serve as an errand boy, where i had to stand in the presence of my master's family all the day, and a part of the night, ready to do any thing which they commanded me to perform. my master's family consisted of himself and wife, and seven children. his overseer, whose name was barsly taylor, had also a wife and five children. these constituted the white population on the plantation. capt. helm was the owner of about one hundred slaves, which made the residents on the plantation number about one hundred and sixteen persons in all. one hundred and seven of them, were required to labor for the benefit of the remaining nine, who possessed that vast domain; and one hundred of the number doomed to unrequited toil, under the lash of a cruel task-master during life, with no hope of release this side of the grave, and as far as the cruel oppressor is concerned, shut out from hope beyond it. and here let me ask, why is this practice of working slaves half clad, poorly fed, with nothing or nearly so, to stimulate them to exertion, but fear of the lash? do the best interests of our common country require it? i think not. did the true interest of capt. helm demand it? whatever may have been his opinion, i cannot think it did. can it be for the best interest or good of the enslaved? certainly not; for there is no real inducement for the slaveholder to make beasts of burden of his fellow men, but that which was frankly acknowledged by gibbs and other pirates: "we have the power,"--the power to rob and murder on the high seas!--which they will undoubtedly continue to hold, until overtaken by justice; which will certainly come some time, just as sure as that a righteous god reigns over the earth or rules in heaven. some have attempted to apologize for the enslaving of the negro, by saying that they are inferior to the anglo-saxon race in every respect. this charge i deny; it is utterly false. does not the bible inform us that "god hath created of one blood all the nations of the earth?" and certainly in stature and physical force the colored man is quite equal to his white brother, and in many instances his superior; but were it otherwise, i can not see why the more favored class should enslave the other. true, god has given to the african a darker complexion than to his white brother; still, each have the same desires and aspirations. the food required for the sustenance of one is equally necessary for the other. naturally or physically, they alike require to be warmed by the cheerful fire, when chilled by our northern winter's breath; and alike they welcome the cool spring and the delightful shade of summer. hence, i have come to the conclusion that god created all men free and equal, and placed them upon this earth to do good and benefit each other, and that war and slavery should be banished from the face of the earth. my dear reader will not understand me to say, that all nations are alike intelligent, enterprising and industrious, for we all know that it is far otherwise; but to man, and not to our creator, should the fault be charged. but, to resume our narrative, capt. helm was not a very hard master; but generally was kind and pleasant. indulgent when in good humor, but like many of the southerners, terrible when in a passion. he was a great sportsman, and very fond of company. he generally kept one or two race horses, and a pack of hounds for fox-hunting, which at that time, was a very common and fashionable diversion in that section of country. he was not only a sportsman, but a gamester, and was in the habit of playing cards, and sometimes betting very high and losing accordingly. i well remember an instance of the kind: it was when he played cards with a mr. w. graham, who won from him in one sweep, two thousand and seven hundred dollars in all, in the form of a valuable horse, prized at sixteen hundred dollars, another saddle-horse of less value, one slave, and his wife's gold watch. the company decided that all this was fairly won, but capt. holm demurred, and refused to give up the property until an application was made to gen. george washington, ("the father of his country,") who decided that capt. helm had lost the game, and that mr. graham had fairly won the property, of which mr. g. took immediate possession, and conveyed to his own plantation. capt. helm was not a good business man, unless we call horse-racing, fox-hunting, and card-playing, business. his overseer was entrusted with every thing on the plantation, and allowed to manage about as he pleased, while the captain enjoyed himself in receiving calls from his wealthy neighbors, and in drinking what he called "grog," which was no more nor less than whisky, of which he was extremely fond, notwithstanding his cellar contained the choicest wines and liquors. to show his partiality for his favorite beverage, i will relate an incident which occurred between capt. helm and col. charles williamson. the colonel, believing wine to be a healthier beverage than whisky, accepted a bet made by capt. helm, of one thousand dollars, that he would live longer and drink whisky, than the colonel, who drank wine. shortly after, col. williamson was called home by the british government, and while on his way to england, died, and his body, preserved in a cask of brandy, was taken home. the bet capt. helm made considerable effort to get, but was unsuccessful. mrs. helm was a very industrious woman, and generally busy in her household affairs--sewing, knitting, and looking after the servants; but she was a great scold,--continually finding fault with some of the servants, and frequently punishing the young slaves herself, by striking them over the head with a heavy iron key, until the blood ran; or else whipping them with a cowhide, which she always kept by her side when sitting in her room. the older servants she would cause to be punished by having them severely whipped by a man, which she never failed to do for every trifling fault. i have felt the weight of some of her heaviest keys on my own head, and for the slightest offences. no slave could possibly escape being punished--i care not how attentive they might be, nor how industrious--punished they must be, and punished they certainly were. mrs. helm appeared to be uneasy unless some of the servants were under the lash. she came into the kitchen one morning and my mother, who was cook, had just put on the dinner. mrs. helm took out her white cambric handkerchief, and rubbed it on the inside of the pot, and it crocked it! that was enough to invoke the wrath of my master, who came forth immediately with his horse-whip, with which he whipped my poor mother most unmercifully--far more severely than i ever knew him to whip a horse. i once had the misfortune to break the lock of master's shot gun, and when it came to his knowledge, he came to me in a towering passion, and charged me with what he considered the _crime_ of carelessness. i denied it, and told him i knew nothing about it; but i was so terribly frightened that he saw i was guilty, and told me so, foaming with rage; and then i confessed the truth. but oh, there was no escaping the lash. its recollection is still bitter, and ever will be. i was commanded to take off my clothes, which i did, and then master put me on the back of another slave, my arms hanging down before him and my hands clasped in his, where he was obliged to hold me with a vise-like grasp. then master gave me the most severe flogging that i ever received, and i pray god that i may never again experience such torture. and yet capt. helm was not the worst of masters. these cruelties are daily occurrences, and so degrading is the whole practice of slavery, that it not only crushes and brutalizes the wretched slave, but it hardens the heart, benumbs all the fine feelings of humanity, and deteriorates from the character of the slaveholders themselves,--whether man or woman. otherwise, how could a gentle, and in other respects, amiable woman, look on such scenes of cruelty, without a shudder of utter abhorrence? but slaveholding ladies, can not only look on quietly, but with approbation; and what is worse, though very common, they can and do use the lash and cowhide themselves, on the backs of their slaves, and that too on those of their own sex! far rather would i spend my life in a state's prison, than be the slave of the best slaveholder on the earth! when i was not employed as an errand-boy, it was my duty to stand behind my master's chair, which was sometimes the whole day, never being allowed to sit in his presence. indeed, no slave is ever allowed to sit down in the presence of their master or mistress. if a slave is addressed when sitting, he is required to spring to his feet, and instantly remove his hat, if he has one, and answer in the most humble manner, or lay the foundation for a flogging, which will not be long delayed. i slept in the same room with my master and mistress. this room was elegantly furnished with damask curtains, mahogany bedstead of the most expensive kind, and every thing else about it was of the most costly kind. and while mr. and mrs. helm reposed on their bed of down, with a cloud of lace floating over them, like some eastern prince, with their slaves to fan them while they slept, and to tremble when they awoke, i always slept upon the floor, without a pillow or even a blanket, but, like a dog, lay down anywhere i could find a place. slaves are never allowed to leave the plantation to which they belong, without a written pass. should any one venture to disobey this law, he will most likely be caught by the _patrol_ and given thirty-nine lashes. this patrol is always on duty every sunday, going to each plantation under their supervision, entering every slave cabin, and examining closely the conduct of the slaves; and if they find one slave from another plantation without a pass, he is immediately punished with a severe flogging. i recollect going one sunday with my mother, to visit my grand-mother; and while there, two or three of the patrol came and looked into the cabin, and seeing my mother, demanded her pass. she told them that she had one, but had left it in another cabin, from whence she soon brought it, which saved her a whipping but we were terribly frightened. the reader will obtain a better knowledge of the character of a virginia patrol, by the relation of an affair, which came off on the neighboring plantation of col. alexander, in which some forty of capt. helm's slaves were engaged, and which proved rather destructive of human life in the end. but i must first say that it is not true, that slave owners are respected for kindness to their slaves. the more tyrannical a master is, the more will he be favorably regarded by his neighboring planters; and from the day that he acquires the reputation of a kind and indulgent master, he is looked upon with suspicion, and sometimes hatred, and his slaves are watched more closely than before. col. alexander was a very wealthy planter and owned a great number of slaves, but he was very justly suspected of being a kind, humane, and indulgent master. his slaves were always better fed, better clad, and had greater privileges than any i knew in the old dominion; and of course, the patrol had long had an eye on them, anxious to flog some of "those pampered niggers, who were spoiled by the indulgence of a weak, inefficient, but well-meaning owner." col. a. gave his slaves the liberty to get up a grand dance. invitations were sent and accepted, to a large number of slaves on other plantations, and so, for miles around, all or many of the slaves were in high anticipation of joining in the great dance, which was to come off on easter night. in the mean time, the patrol was closely watching their movements, and evinced rather a joyful expectancy of the many they should find there without a pass, and the flogging they would give them for that, if not guilty of any other offence, and perhaps they might catch some of the colonel's slaves doing something for which they could be taught "to know their place," by the application of the cowhide. the slaves on col. a.'s plantation had to provide and prepare the supper for the expected vast "turn out," which was no light matter; and as slaves like on such occasions to pattern as much as possible after their master's family, the result was, to meet the emergency of the case, they _took_ without saying, "by your leave, sir," some property belonging to their master, reasoning among themselves, as slaves often do, that it can not be _stealing_, because "it belongs to massa, and so do _we_, and we only use one part of his property to benefit another. sure, 'tis all massa's." and if they do not get detected in this removal of "massa's property" from one location to another, they think no more of it. col. alexander's slaves were hurrying on with their great preparations for the dance and feast; and as the time drew near, the old and knowing ones might be seen in groups, discussing the matter, with many a wink and nod; but it was in the valleys and by-places where the younger portion were to be found, rather secretly preparing food for the great time coming. this consisted of hogs, sheep, calves; and as to master's _poultry_, that suffered daily. sometimes it was missed, but the disappearance was always easily accounted for, by informing "massa" that a great number of hawks had been around of late; and their preparation went on, night after night, undetected. they who repaired to a swamp or other by-place to cook by night, carefully destroyed everything likely to detect them, before they returned to their cabins in the morning. the night for the dance _came_ at last, and long before the time, the road leading to col. alexander's plantation presented a gay spectacle. the females were seen flocking to the place of resort, with heads adorned with gaudy bandanna turbans and new calico dresses, of the gayest colors, --their whole attire decked over with bits of gauze ribbon and other fantastic finery. the shades of night soon closed over the plantation, and then could be heard the rude music and loud laugh of the unpolished slave. it was about ten o'clock when the _aristocratic slaves_ began to assemble, dressed in the cast-off finery of their master and mistress, swelling out and putting on airs in imitation of those they were forced to obey from day to day. when they were all assembled, the dance commenced; the old fiddler struck up some favorite tune, and over the floor they went; the flying feet of the dancers were heard, pat, pat, over the apartment till the clock warned them it was twelve at midnight, or what some call "low twelve," to distinguish it from twelve o'clock at noon; then the violin ceased its discordant sounds, and the merry dancers paused to take breath. supper was then announced, and all began to prepare for the sumptuous feast. it being the pride of slaves to imitate the manners of their master and mistress, especially in the ceremonies of the table, all was conducted with great propriety and good order. the food was well cooked, and in a very plentiful supply. they had also managed in some way, to get a good quantity of excellent wine, which was sipped in the most approved and modern style. every dusky face was lighted up, and every eye sparkled with joy. however ill fed they might have been, here, for once, there was plenty. suffering and toil was forgotten, and they all seemed with one accord to give themselves up to the intoxication of pleasurable amusement. house servants were of course, "the stars" of the party; all eyes were turned to them to see how they conducted, for they, among slaves, are what a military man would call "fugle-men." the field hands, and such of them as have generally been excluded from the dwelling of their owners, look to the house servant as a pattern of politeness and gentility. and indeed, it is often the only method of obtaining any knowledge of the manners of what is called "genteel society;" hence, they are ever regarded as a privileged class; and are sometimes greatly envied, while others are bitterly hated. and too often justly, for many of them are the most despicable tale-bearers and mischief-makers, who will, for the sake of the favor of his master or mistress, frequently betray his fellow-slave, and by tattling, get him severely whipped; and for these acts of perfidy, and sometimes downright falsehood, he is often rewarded by his master, who knows it is for his interest to keep such ones about him; though he is sometimes obliged, in addition to a reward, to send him away, for fear of the vengeance of the betrayed slaves. in the family of his master, the example of bribery and treachery is ever set before him, hence it is, that insurrections and stampedes are so generally detected. such slaves are always treated with more affability than others, for the slaveholder is well aware that he stands over a volcano, that may at any moment rock his foundation to the center, and with one mighty burst of its long suppressed fire, sweep him and his family to destruction. when he lies down at night, he knows not but that ere another morning shall dawn, he may be left mangled and bleeding, and at the mercy of those maddened slaves whom he has so long ruled with a rod of iron. but the supper, like other events, came to an end at last. the expensive table service, with other things, which had been secretly brought from the "great house," was hurriedly cleansed by the slaves, and carefully returned. the floor was again cleared, the violin sounded, and soon they were performing another "break down," with all the wild abandon of the african character,--in the very midst of which, the music suddenly ceased, and the old musician assumed a listening attitude. every foot was motionless; every face terrified, and every ear listening for the cause of the alarm. soon the slave who was kept on the "look-out," shouted to the listeners the single word "_patrol!_" and then the tumult that followed that announcement, is beyond the power of language to describe! many a poor slave who had stolen from his cabin, to join in the dance, now remembered that they had no pass! many screamed in affright, as if they already felt the lash and heard the crack of the overseer's whip; others clenched their hands, and assumed an attitude of bold defiance, while a savage frown contracted the brow of all. their unrestrained merriment and delicious fare, seemed to arouse in them the natural feelings of self-defence and defiance of their oppressors. but what could be done? the patrol was nearing the building, when an athletic, powerful slave, who had been but a short time from his "fatherland," whose spirit the cowardly overseer had labored in vain to quell, said in a calm, clear voice, that we had better stand our ground, and advised the females to lose no time in useless wailing, but get their things and repair immediately to a cabin at a short distance, and there remain quiet, without a light, which they did with all possible haste. the men were terrified at this bold act of their leader; and many with dismay at the thought of resistance, began to skulk behind fences and old buildings, when he opened the door and requested every slave to leave who felt unwilling to fight. none were urged to remain, and those who stood by him did so voluntarily. their number was now reduced to twenty-five men, but the leader, a gigantic african, with a massive, compact frame, and an arm of great strength, looked competent to put ten common men to flight. he clenched his powerful fist, and declared that he would resist unto death, before he would be arrested by those savage men, even if they promised not to flog him. they closed the door, and agreed not to open it; and then the leader cried, "extinguish the lights and let them come! we will meet them hand to hand!" five of the number he stationed near the door, with orders to rush out, if the patrol entered, and seize their horses, cut the bridles, or otherwise unfit them for use. this would prevent them from giving an alarm and getting a reinforcement from surrounding plantations. in silence they awaited the approach of the enemy, and soon the tramping of horses' feet announced their approach, but when within a few yards of the house they halted, and were overheard by one of the skulking slaves, maturing their plans and mode of attack. there was great hesitancy expressed by a part of the company to engage in the affair at all. "coming events cast their shadow before." the majority, however, seemed to think it safe enough, and uttered expressions of triumph that they had got the rascals at last. "are you not afraid that they will resist?" said the weaker party. "resist?" was the astonished answer. "this old fellow, the colonel, has pampered and indulged his slaves, it is true, and they have slipped through our fingers whenever we have attempted to chastise them; but they are not such fools as to dare resistance! those niggers know as well as we, that it is _death_, by the law of the state, for a slave to strike a white man." "very true," said the other, "but it is dark and long past midnight, and beside they have been indulging their appetites, and we cannot tell what they may attempt to do." "pshaw!" he answered, contemptuously, "they are unarmed, and i should not fear in the least, to go in among them _alone_, armed only with my cowhide!" "as you please, then," he said, rather dubiously, "but look well to your weapons; are they in order?" "in prime order, sir." and putting spurs to their horses, were soon at the house, where they dismounted and requested one of the party to remain with the horses. "what," said he, "are you so chicken-hearted as to suppose those d----d cowardly niggers are going to get up an insurrection?" "oh no," he replied, carelessly, but would not consent to have the horses left alone. "besides," said he, "they may forget themselves at this late hour; but if they do, a few lashes of the cowhide will quicken their memory, i reckon." the slaves were aware of their movements, and prepared to receive them. they stepped up to the door boldly, and demanded admittance, but all was silent; they tried to open it, but it was fastened. those inside, ranged on each side of the door, and stood perfectly still. the patrol finding the slaves not disposed to obey, burst off the slight fastening that secured the door, and the chief of the patrol bounded into their midst, followed by several of his companions, all in total darkness! vain is the attempt to describe the tumultuous scene which followed. hand to hand they fought and struggled with each other, amid the terrific explosion of firearms,--oaths and curses, mingled with the prayers of the wounded, and the groans of the dying! two of the patrol were killed on the spot, and lay drenched in the warm blood that so lately flowed through their veins. another with his arm broken and otherwise wounded, lay groaning and helpless, beside the fallen slaves, who had sold their lives so dearly. another of his fellows was found at a short distance, mortally wounded and about to bid adieu to life. in the yard lay the keeper of the horses, a stiffened corpse. six of the slaves were killed and two wounded. it would be impossible to convey to the minds of northern people, the alarm and perfect consternation that the above circumstance occasioned in that community. the knowledge of its occurrence was carried from one plantation to another, as on the wings of the wind; exaggerated accounts were given, and prophecies of the probable result made, until the excitement became truly fearful. every cheek was blanched and every frame trembled when listening to the tale, that "insurrection among the slaves had commenced on the plantation of col. alexander; that three or four of the patrol had been killed, &c." the day after, people flocked from every quarter, armed to the teeth, swearing vengeance on the defenceless slaves. nothing can teach plainer than this, the constant and tormenting fear in which the slaveholder lives, and yet he repents not of his deeds. the kind old colonel was placed in the most difficult and unenviable position. his warm heart was filled with sorrow for the loss of his slaves, but not alone, as is generally the case in such instances, because he had lost so much property. he truly regretted the death of his faithful servants, and boldly rebuked the occasion of their sudden decease. when beset and harassed by his neighbors to give up his slaves to be tried for insurrection and murder, he boldly resisted, contending for the natural right of the slaves, to act in their own defence, and especially when on his own plantation and in their own quarters. they contended, however, that as his slaves had got up a dance, and had invited those of the adjoining plantations, the patrol was only discharging their duty in looking after them; but the gallant old colonel defended his slaves, and told them plainly that he should continue to do so to the extent of his ability and means. the poor slaves were sad enough, on the morning after their merry meeting, and they might be seen standing in groups, conversing with a very different air from the one they had worn the day before. their business was now to prepare the bodies of their late associates for the grave. robert, the brave african, who had so boldly led them on the night before, and who had so judiciously provided for their escape, was calmly sleeping in death's cold embrace. he left a wife and five slave children. two of the other slaves left families, whose pitiful cries it was painful to hear. the colonel's family, deeply afflicted by what was passing around them, attended the funeral. one of the slaves, who sometimes officiated as a minister, read a portion of scripture, and gave out two hymns;--one of which commences with "hark! from the tomb a doleful sound." both were sung with great solemnity by the congregation, and then the good old man offered a prayer; after which he addressed the slaves on the shortness of human life and the certainty of death, and more than once hinted at the hardness of their lot, assuring, however, his fellow-slaves, that if they were good and faithful, all would be right hereafter. his master, col. alexander, was deeply affected by this simple faith and sincere regard for the best interests of all, both master and slave. when the last look at their fellow-servants had been taken, the procession was formed in the following manner: first, the old slave minister, then the remains of the dead, followed by their weeping relatives; then came the master and his family; next the slaves belonging to the plantation; and last, friends and strangers, black and white; all moved on solemnly to the final resting-place of those brave men, whose descendants may yet be heard from, in defence of right and freedom. chapter iii. horse-racing and its consequences. capt. helm had a race-course on his plantation, on which he trained young horses for the fall races. one very fine horse he owned, called _mark anthony_, which he trained in the most careful manner for several months previous to the races. he would put him on the course every morning, sometimes covering him with a blanket, and then put him to his utmost speed, which he called "sweating him." mark anthony was to be put on the race-course in october following, as a competitor for the purse of ten thousand dollars, which was the amount to be lost or gained on the first day of the fall races. capt. h. had also another young horse, called _buffer_, under a course of training, which he designed to enter the lists for the second day. his course of training had been about the same as mark anthony's, but being a year or two younger, it was thought that he had not sufficient "bottom" to risk so much money on, as was at stake on the first day. [illustration: "away they go, sweeping round the course with lightning speed, while every spectator's eye is strained, and every countenance flushed with intense anxiety."] when the time for the races to commence came, all was bustle and excitement in the house and on the plantation. it was a fine october morning, and the sun shed a mellow radiance on all around, when people began to throng the race-course. some came with magnificent equipages, attended by their numerous train of black servants, dressed in livery, --some in less splendid array,--and others on foot, all hurrying on to the exciting scene. there the noblest blood of old virginia, of which many are wont to boast, was fully represented, as was also the wealth and fashion of the country for many miles around. all were in high spirits, and none seemed to fear that they would be the losers in the amount of money about to change hands. and for what, pray, is all this grand outlay--this vast expenditure? merely the pleasure and gratification of witnessing the speed of a fine horse, and the vanity of prejudging concerning it. the arrangements were at length completed,--the horses regularly entered, mark anthony among the rest,--and then the word "go!" was given, when each horse sprang as if for his life, each striving to take the lead. away they go, sweeping round the course with lightning speed, while every spectator's eye is strained, and every countenance flushed with intense anxiety. some of the noble animals were distanced the first heat, and others were taken away by their owners. the judges allowed twenty minutes to prepare the horses for the second trial of their speed--a trial which must enrich or empoverish many of the thousands present. already there were sad countenances to be seen in the crowd. the horses were again in readiness, and the word given,--away they flew with the fleetness of the wind, to come in the second time. but who can describe the anxiety written on every face, as they prepared for the third and last trial? i cannot. many had already lost all they had staked, and others who had bet high began to fear for the result. soon, however, all was again prepared and those foaming steeds, after having exerted their animal power to the utmost, have accomplished their task and come in for the last time. the purse was won, _but not by mark anthony_. capt. helm was more fortunate the second day. buffer won the smaller purse, but the captain came from the races, a much poorer man than when they commenced. these repeated failures and heavy losses had the effect to arouse him to a sense of his pecuniary position, and he soon after began to think and talk about going to some new country. he resolved at last to visit the far-off "genesee country," which he shortly after put in practice, and after an absence of about three weeks he returned in good health, and delighted with the country; the more so, doubtless, because he said, "the more slaves a man possessed in that country the more he would be respected, and the higher would be his position in society." capt. helm finally concluded to sell his plantation and stock, except the slaves, and remove to the genesee country, where he designed to locate his future residence. the plantation and stock (retaining the slaves) were advertised for sale, and on a certain day named, all would be disposed of at a public sale, or to the highest bidder. when the day of sale arrived, there flocked from all parts of the surrounding country the largest assemblage of people i ever saw in that place. a large number of wealthy and respectable planters were present, whose gentlemanly behavior should have been an example to others. the majority of that vast crowd, however, were a rough, quarrelsome, fighting set, just such as might be expected from slave-holding districts. there were several regularly fought battles during the first day of the sale. one thomas ford, a large, muscular, ferocious-looking fellow, a good specimen of a southern bully and woman-whipper, had been victorious through the day in numerous fights and brawls; but he had to pay dear for it when night came. some one or more of the vanquished party, took advantage of the dark night to stab him in both sides. the knife of the assassin had been thrust into his thigh, tearing the flesh upward, leaving a frightful and dangerous wound; but what is most singular, both sides were wounded in nearly the same manner, and at the same time, for so quickly was the deed committed that the offenders made their escape, before an alarm could be raised for their detection; nor have i ever heard of any one being arrested for the crime. ford's groans and cries were painful to hear, but his brother acted like a madman; rushing hither and thither, with a heavy bludgeon in his hand, with which he indiscriminately beat the fences and whatever came in his way, crying "oh my brother, my poor brother! who has murdered my poor brother?" physicians came to the aid of the wounded man who at first thought he might recover, but in a climate like that of virginia it was impossible. his friends did all they could to save him, but the poor wretch lingered a few days and died. thus ended the life of a bad man and a hard master. and who will wonder, if his slaves rejoiced to hear of his death? if they must be sold to pay his debts, they could not fall into the hands of a more heartless tyrant. who then can blame those feeble women and helpless children, long held as chattels in his iron grasp, if they are grateful that the man-stealer is no more? this ford was a fair specimen of that class, known in more modern parlance as a "border ruffian." such as are at this time endeavoring, by their swaggering and bullying, to cast on the fair fields of kansas the deep curse of slavery--a curse which, like the poison of the deadly upas, blights all within its influence: the colored and the white man, the slave and the master. we were thankful, however, that no more lives were lost during the vendue, which was commenced with the stock; this occupied two days. the reader will see that we had cause to be grateful, when he takes into consideration that drinking and fighting was the order of the day, and drunkenness and carousing the order of the night. then too, the practice of dueling was carried on in all its hideous barbarity. if a gentleman thought himself insulted, he would immediately challenge the offender to mortal combat, and if he refused to do so, then the insulted gentleman felt bound by that barbarous code of honor, to take his life, whenever or wherever he might meet him, though it might be in a crowded assembly, where the lives of innocent persons were endangered. a case of this kind happened in kentucky, where the belligerent parties met in a large concourse of people, the majority of them women and children; but the combat ensued, regardless of consequences. one woman was shot through the face, but that was not worthy of notice, for she was only a _colored woman_; and in that, as in other slave states, the laws give to the white population the liberty to trample under foot the claims of all such persons to justice. justly indignant ladies present remonstrated, but all to no purpose. the governor of the state was there and was in danger of being wounded by their flying bullets, and it is possible that if he had been in the place of the poor african, some action would have been taken, and laws made to protect the people against such inhuman practices. but i must return to capt. helm and the vendue. the sale continued for several days, during which there was no such thing as rest or sleep or one quiet moment on the premises. as was customary in that state, capt. helm provided the food and drink for all who came, and of course a great many came to drink and revel and not to buy; and that class generally took the night time for their hideous outbreaks, when the more respectable class had retired to their beds or to their homes. and many foul deeds and cruel outrages were committed; nor could the perpetrators be detected or brought to justice. nothing could be done but to submit quietly to their depredations. one peaceable old slave was killed by having his head split open with an ax. he was found in the morning lying in the yard, with the bloody instrument of death by his side. this occasioned some excitement among the slaves, but as the white people paid but little attention to it, it soon passed off, and the sorrowful slaves put the old man's remains in a rough box, and conveyed them to their last resting-place. after the sale was over, the slaves were allowed a holiday, with permission to go and visit their friends and relatives previous to their departure for their new home in a strange land. the slaves generally on capt. helm's plantation looked upon this removal as the greatest hardship they had ever met; the severest trial they had ever endured; and the separation from our old home and fellow-slaves, from our relatives and the old state of virginia, was to us a contemplation of sorrowful interest. those who remained, thought us the most unfortunate of human beings to be taken away off into the state of new york, and, as they believed, beyond the bounds of civilization, where we should in all probability be destroyed by wild beasts, devoured by cannibals, or scalped by the indians. we never expected to meet again in this life, hence our parting interviews were as solemn as though we were committing our friends to the grave. but he whose tender mercies are over all his creatures, knew best what was for our good. little did capt. helm think when bringing his slaves to new york that in a few short years, they would be singing the song of deliverance from slavery's thralldom; and as little thought he of the great and painful change, to be brought about in his own circumstances. could any one have looked into futurity and traced the difficult path, my master was to tread,--could any one have foreseen the end to which he must soon come, and related it to him in the days of his greatness and prosperity, he would, i am certain, have turned from such a narrator of misfortune in a greater rage than did namaan when the man of god told him "to go and dip seven times in the jordan." he could not have believed, nor could i, that in a few years the powerful, wealthy slaveholder, living in luxury and extravagance, would be so reduced that the _necessaries_ of life even, were beyond his means, and that he must be supported by the town! but i anticipate. let us return to the old plantation which seems dearer than ever, now that we are about to leave it forever. we thought capt. helm's prospects pretty fair, and yet we shuddered when we realized our condition as slaves. this change in our circumstances was calculated to awaken all our fears that had been slumbering, and bring all the perilous changes to which we might be subjected most vividly to mind. we were about to leave the land of our birth, the home of our childhood, and we felt that untried scenes were before us. we were slaves, it is true, but we had heart-felt emotions to suppress, when we thought of leaving all that was so familiar to us, and chose rather to "bear the ills we had, than to fly to those we knew not of." and oh, the terrible uncertainty of the future, that ever rests on the slave, even the most favored, was now felt with a crushing weight. to-day, they are in the old familiar cabin surrounded by their family, relatives and friends; to-morrow, they may be scattered, parted forever. the master's circumstances, not their own, may have assigned one to the dreadful slave-pen, and another to the distant rice-swamp; and it is this continual dread of some perilous future that holds in check every joyous emotion, every lofty aspiration, of the most favored slave at the south. they know that their owners indulge in high living, and they are well aware also that their continual indulgences engender disease, which make them very liable to sudden death; or their master may be killed in a duel, or at a horse-race, or in a drunken brawl; then his creditors are active in looking after the estate; and next, the blow of the auctioneer's hammer separates them perhaps for life. now, after the lapse of so many years, when my thoughts wander back, as they often do, to my native state, i confess that painful recollections drive from my mind those joyful emotions that should ever arise in the heart of man, when contemplating the familiar scenes of his youth, and especially when recurring to the venerable shades and the sheltering roof under which he was born. true, around the well-remembered spot where our childhood's years were spent, recollection still loves to linger; yet memory, ever ready with its garnered store, paints in glowing colors, virginia's crouching slaves in the foreground. her loathsome slave-pens and slave markets--chains, whips and instruments of torture; and back of all this is as truthfully recorded the certain doom, the retributive justice, that will sooner or later overtake her; and with a despairing sigh i turn away from the imaginary view of my native state. what though she may have been justly styled, "the mother of presidents?" what avails the honor of being the birth-place of the brave and excellent washington, while the prayers and groans of the down-trodden african daily ascend to heaven for redress? what though her soil be fertile, yielding a yearly product of wealth to its possessors? and what matter is it, that their lordly mansions are embowered in the shade of trees of a century's growth, if, through their lofty and tangled branches, we espy the rough cabin of the mangled bondman, and know that the soil on which he labors has drunk his heart's blood? ah! to me, life's sweetest memories are all embittered. slavery had cast its dark and fearful shadow over my childhood, youth, and early manhood, and i went out from the land of my birth, a fettered slave. a land which i can regard only as "the house of bondage and the grave of freedom." but god forgive me for having envied my master his fair prospects at this time. after the sale of the plantation, capt. helm was in possession of quite a large sum of money, and having never paid much attention to his pecuniary interests, he acted as if there could be no end of it. he realized about forty thousand dollars from the sale of his estate in virginia, which would have been a pretty sum in the hands of a man who had been accustomed to look after his own interests; but under the management of one who had all his life lived and prospered on the unrequited toil of slaves, it was of little account. he bought largely of every thing he thought necessary for himself or the comfort of his family, for which he always paid the most extravagant prices. the captain was not as well qualified to take care of himself and family as some of his slaves were; but he thought differently, and so the preparations for leaving the old plantation for a home in the wilds of new york, went on under his direction, and at last we bade a final adieu to our friends and all we held dear in the state of virginia. chapter iv. journey to our new home in new york. all things having been prepared for our departure, our last "good-bye" spoken, and our last look taken of the old plantation, we started, amid the sobs and prolonged cries of separating families, in company with our master, the overseer and another white man named davis, who went with us to take back the five-horse "pennsylvania team," which was provided for the conveyance of the food for the slaves, and what little baggage they might have, and also that of the overseer. capt. helm had determined to leave his family until he could get his slaves settled in their future quarters, and a home provided for himself, when they were expected to join him. we traveled northward, through maryland, pennsylvania, and a portion of new york, to sodus bay, where we halted for some time. we made about twenty miles per day, camping out every night, and reached that place after a march of twenty days. every morning the overseer called the roll, when every slave must answer to his or her name, felling to the ground with his cowhide, any delinquent who failed to speak out in quick time. after the roll had been called, and our scanty breakfast eaten, we marched on again, our company presenting the appearance of some numerous caravan crossing the desert of sahara. when we pitched our tents for the night, the slaves must immediately set about cooking not their supper only, but their breakfast, so as to be ready to start early the next morning, when the tents were struck; and we proceeded on our journey in this way to the end. at sodus bay there was then one small tavern, kept by a man named sill. the bay is ten miles in length and from a half to two miles in breadth, and makes an excellent harbor. the surrounding country then was almost an unbroken wilderness. after capt. helm had rested a few days at sodus, he went six miles up the bay and purchased a large tract of land lying on both sides of that beautiful sheet of water, and put his slaves on to clear and cultivate it. then came the "tug of war." neither the overseer nor the slaves had the least knowledge of _clearing_ land, and that was the first thing to be done. it was useless to consult the captain, for he knew still less about matters of that kind. to obviate this difficulty, our master bought out a mr. cummings, who had some cleared land on the west side of the bay. on this he put the overseer and a part of the slaves, and then hired a mr. herrington to take charge of the remainder. herrington and his gang of slaves was sent to the east side to chop down the heavy timber and clear the land for cultivation, all of which had first to be learned, for we knew nothing of felling trees, and the poor slaves had rather a hard time of it. provisions were scarce and could not be procured for cash in that section. there was no corn to be had, and we had but little left. we had no neighbors to assist us in this trying time, and we came near starvation. true, the wild, romantic region in which we were located abounded in game,--elk, deer, bear, panther, and wolves, roamed abroad through the dense forest, in great abundance, but the business of the slaves was not hunting or fishing, but clearing the land, preparatory to raising crops of grain the coming season. at last capt. helm chartered a boat, and manned it to go to the mouth of the genesee river to buy corn. they embarked under favorable auspices, but soon there came on such a tremendous storm, that the boat could no longer be managed, and the crew in despair threw themselves on the bottom of the boat to await their inevitable destruction, when one of their number, a colored man named dunbar, sprang to the helm, and with great difficulty succeeded in running her safely into a canadian port, where they were obliged to part with every thing in their possession to obtain the means to return to their families in sodus, who had given them up as lost. but, to the great joy of all, they came back at last with their lives, but with nothing for the famishing slaves. before another boat could be sent for our relief, we were reduced to the last extremity. we became so weak we could not work, and it was difficult to drag ourselves about, as we were now obliged to do, to gather up all the old bones we could find, break them up fine and then boil them; which made a sort of broth sufficient barely to sustain life. this we drank, and merely existed, until at last, the long looked for boat returned, loaded with provision, which saved us from starvation and gave us strength to pursue our labor. chapter v. incidents at sodus bay. about this time two slaves who were laboring in the forest, instead of returning to their cabin as was expected, got lost, and wandered eight days in the dense forest without provision, except what they could procure from roots and the bark of trees. great exertion was made to find them; guns were fired, horns blown, and shouts raised, but all to no purpose. finally, we gave them up, supposing they had starved to death or had been killed by wild beasts. one of them was an elderly man, named benjamin bristol, and the other, edmund watkins, a lad of about eighteen years of age. they wandered in an easterly direction, a distance of some sixty or seventy miles, through an unbroken wilderness, vainly trying to find their way home. on the eighth day, to their inexpressible joy, they came out on the shore of lake ontario, near oswego; but young watkins was so completely exhausted that he declared himself incapable of further exertion, and begged to be left to his fate. bristol, however, who chewed tobacco, which it was supposed kept him from sinking so low as his companion, took him on his back, and carried him home, which they reached in a famished state and reduced to skeletons. all were thankful for the preservation of their lives, and, with the best we could do for them, they soon recruited and became strong as ever. one day, two others and myself thought we saw some animal swimming across the bay. we got a boat and went out to see what it was. after rowing for some time we came near enough to perceive it was a large bear. those who watched us from the shore expected to see our boat upset, and all on board drowned, but it was not so to be; the, bear was struck on the nose with a blow that killed him instantly, and he was hauled ashore in great triumph. while these things were transpiring on the east side of the bay, the overseer on the west side determined to punish one of the slaves who worked on the east side. the name of the slave was williams; a strong, athletic man, and generally a good workman, but he had unfortunately offended the overseer, for which nothing could appease his wrath but the privilege of flogging him. the slave, however, thought as he was no longer in virginia, he would not submit to such chastisement, and the overseer was obliged to content himself with threatening what he would do if he caught him on the west side of the bay. a short time after, the overseer called at the cabin of one of the slaves, and was not a little surprised to find there the refractory slave, williams, in company with three other men. he immediately walked up to him and asked him some question, to which williams made no reply. attended, as he always was, by his ferocious bull-dog, he flourished his cowhide in great wrath and demanded an instant reply, but he received none, whereupon he struck the slave a blow with the cowhide. instantly williams sprang and caught him by the throat and held him writhing in his vise-like grasp, until he succeeded in getting possession of the cowhide, with which he gave the overseer such a flogging as slaves seldom get. williams was seized at once by the dog who endeavored to defend his brutal master, but the other slaves came to the rescue, and threw the dog into a huge fire which was near by, from which, after a singeing, he ran off, howling worse than his master when in the hands of williams. he foamed and swore and still the blows descended; then he commanded the slaves to assist him, but as none obeyed, he commenced begging in the most humble manner, and at last entreated them as "gentlemen" to spare him; but all to no purpose. when williams thought he had thrashed him sufficiently, he let him go and hurried to his boat and rowed down the bay, instead of crossing it. the overseer no sooner found himself at liberty than he ran out, calling to a servant girl to bring his rifle, which was loaded. the rifle was brought, but before he could get to the bay, williams had gone beyond his reach; but unfortunately another boat was at this moment crossing the bay, which he, mad with rage, fired into. the men in the boat immediately cried out to him not to repeat the shot, but he was so angry that he swore he would shoot somebody, and sent another bullet after them. no one was hurt, however, but the brave overseer was vanquished. crest-fallen and unrevenged, he shortly after called on capt. helm for a settlement, which was granted, and bidding a final adieu to the "genesee country," he departed for virginia, where he could beat slaves without himself receiving a cow-hiding. no one regretted his absence, nor do i think any but the most heartless would cordially welcome his return to the land of slavery. [illustration: "instantly williams sprang and caught him by the throat and held him writhing in his vise-like grasp, until he succeeded in getting possession of the cow-hide, with which he gave the overseer such a flogging as slaves seldom get."] chapter vi. removal from sodus to bath. capt. helm went to virginia for his family, and returning with them, concluded to locate his future residence in the village of bath, steuben county. he purchased a large tract of land near the village, a large grist mill, and two saw mills; also, two farms; one called the "maringo," east of the village; and the other, called "epsam," north of it; and a fine house and lot in the village. he also kept a distillery, which in those days was well patronized, for nearly every body drank whisky; and with capt. helm it was a favorite beverage. the slaves were removed to bath, where our master was well suited, and was everywhere noted for his hospitality. he had a great deal of land to cultivate, and carried on a multiplicity of business. soon after we were settled at bath, capt. helm's eldest daughter, jenny, was married to mr. john fitzhugh, her cousin, who had come from virginia to claim his bride. the wedding was a splendid affair. no pains were spared to make it more imposing than any thing that had ever happened in that country. never before had the quiet village of bath seen such splendor. all that wealth, power and ambition could do, was done to make the event one of great brilliancy. europe contributed her full proportion; turkey, the indias, east and west, were heavily taxed to produce their finest fabrics to adorn the bride and bridal guests; and contribute delicacies to add elegance to the festal scene. two days previous to the wedding, the invited guests began to arrive with their retinue of servants, and on the evening of the marriage the large mansion was thrown open, and there was the most magnificent assemblage i ever beheld. in the drawing-room, where the ceremony took place, every thing was surpassingly elegant. costly chandeliers shed their light on the rich tapestry, and beautiful dresses glittering with diamonds, and the large mirrors everywhere reflecting the gay concourse. while the servants were preparing supper it was announced that the hour had arrived for the ceremony to commence. the bridal pair took their place in the center of the apartment. pearls, diamonds, and jewelry glittered on the bride with such luster, that it was almost painful to the eye to look upon her. the minister, after asking god to bless the assembled guests, and those he was about to unite in the holy bonds of wedlock, proceeded in a very solemn and impressive manner with the marriage service. the ceremony concluded, and good wishes having been expressed over the sparkling wine, the man of god took his leave, two hundred dollars richer than when he came. the company were all very happy, or appeared so; mirth reigned supreme, and every countenance wore a smile. they were seated at tables loaded with luxuries of every description, and while partaking, a band of music enlivened the scene. all business was suspended for several days, the wedding party making a tour of ten days to niagara falls. after a while, however, affairs assumed their usual aspect, and business took its regular routine. the grist mill belonging to the captain was the only one for many miles around, and was a source of great profit to him; the saw mills also, were turning out a large quantity of lumber, which was in good demand; and the distillery kept up a _steaming_ business. it yielded, however, a handsome income to capt. helm, who was now, for the first time since i knew him, overseeing his affairs himself, dispensing altogether with the service of a regularly installed overseer. the oldest son of our master had been absent from home for sometime, nor did he return to attend his sister's grand wedding. he had sought and obtained a commission in the united states service as a lieutenant. this had been his own choice; he had preferred the service and hardships of a soldier, to a plantation well stocked with slaves, and the quietude of domestic life. he had cheerfully given up his friends and prospects as a planter, and entered the service of his country. frank helm, the second son, soon followed the example of his older brother, lina. he obtained a like commission, but he did not, like his brother, get along quietly. his prospects as an officer were soon blighted, and all hope of being serviceable to his country vanished forever. chapter vii. dueling. lina helm was an easy, good-natured, clever fellow; but his brother frank was his opposite in nearly every thing; proud, fractious and unyielding. as might be expected, frank, soon after entering the army, got into an "affair of honor," according to the duelist's code of laws. he was not, however, the principal in the difficulty. one of his friends and a brother officer, had a quarrel with a gentleman whom he challenged to mortal combat. frank was the bearer of his friend's challenge, and on presenting it, the gentleman refused to accept it, saying that the challenger "was no gentleman." then, according to the rules of dueling, no alternative was left for frank, but to take his brother officer's place, and fight. this he did and came from the bloody field disabled for life. in consequence of his lameness, he was under the necessity of resigning his commission in the army, which he did, and came home a cripple, and nearly unfitted for any kind of business whatever. while on the subject of dueling, permit me to record some of the incidents of another "affair of honor," which occurred in the district of columbia, between gen. mason and mr. m'carter, two antagonistic politicians. m'carter offered his vote to the inspectors, and mason challenged it. m'carter offered to swear it in, when mason said if he did so he would perjure himself. this blew what appeared to be but a spark into an angry blaze, and a duel was momentarily expected; but their warlike propensities subsided into a newspaper combat, which was kept up for several weeks, each party supposing they had the advantage of their adversary. in this stage of the quarrel, gen. jackson, with one of his aid-de-camps, dr. bruno, visited washington. dr. bruno was a friend of gen. mason's, and to him the general submitted the correspondence, desiring his opinion relative to the advantage one had obtained over the other. dr. bruno decided against his friend, which probably exasperated him still more, and the general expressed his determination to fight his antagonist. dr. bruno wrote to m'carter to come to washington, and he came immediately, and was as readily waited upon by the doctor, who inquired if he would receive a communication from his friend, gen. mason. m'carter replied, that he "would receive no communication from gen. mason, except a challenge to fight." the challenge was therefore sent, and accepted, and the doctor appointed to make the necessary arrangements for the duel. he proposed the weapons to be pistols, and the distance, ten paces; to which m'carter objected, because he said, "the general was a dead shot with the pistol, while he hardly knew how to use one." then it was left to m'carter to choose the mode of warfare. he proposed muskets and ten paces distance. this was agreed upon, and finally the morning arrived for the conflict, and people began to assemble in great numbers to witness this murderous scene. the belligerent parties unflinchingly took their place, each with his loaded musket at his shoulder, and gazing in each other's face, with feelings of the most bitter hatred, while their eyes flashed vengeance. oh! what a state of mind was this in which to meet inevitable death? how could intelligent men, or gentlemen, if you please so to term them, look placidly on such a horrid scene? was there no heart of humanity to interfere and arrest the murderous designs of these madmen? alas, no! the slaveholder's "code of honor" must be acknowledged, though it outrage the laws of god and his country. dr. bruno asks, "gentlemen, are you ready?" and the duelists take their deadly aim at each other. the signal to fire is given, and both weapons are discharged, and when the smoke had cleared away, what a spectacle was there presented to the duelist and spectator? gen. mason, a husband, a father, a statesman, and a kind friend, lies bleeding, and gasping for breath. he is no more! who will bear to his loving and unsuspecting wife, the sad intelligence of her sudden bereavement? who will convey his lifeless body to his late residence, and throw grief and consternation into the bosom of his family, and drape in sadness his whole household? and yet this painful task must be performed. the family of general mason remained entirely ignorant of what was transpiring regarding the duel, until his mangled corpse was brought into his dwelling, from which he had so recently gone forth in all the vigor of life and manhood. and here let us drop the curtain, nor intrude on that scene of domestic affliction around the deserted hearth-stone of the bereaved family of general mason. but where is mr. m'carter, the more fortunate party in the duel? hurrying away from the frightful scene, his hands dripping with the blood of his fellow-man, he skulks about, until an opportunity is given him to step on board a vessel bound to a foreign port; he leaves home, friends and country, in the vain hope of finding peace of mind, and ridding himself of that guilt and censure which must attach itself to a crime so heinous as that of taking the life of another. i can but regard the inhuman practice of dueling as the legitimate fruit of slavery. men who have been raised in the slave states, where, if the laws do not give them the power, they do not restrain them from cruelly punishing every offender with personal violence, even unto death, if their insulted dignity seems to demand it. it is, however, encouraging to know that for a few years past the practice of dueling has somewhat fallen into disrepute among the more humane and candid class of community. chapter viii. horse-racing and general training. after the return of the wedding party, mr. fitzhugh purchased a tract of land near that of capt. helm, on which the newly-married couple commenced keeping house. they, however, became dissatisfied with their location, and soon after sold their possessions and returned to the south. capt. helm still continued to take the oversight of his slaves, and was out every day, superintending his business, just as his overseer used to do. about this time a man named henry tower came to bath to hire "slave boys," as we were called. the captain hired to him simon and myself, and a mr. baker also hired to him one slave named vol. mckenzie. we three started for dresden, ontario county, where we arrived in due time. mr. tower had just bought a tract of land, three miles this side of the village of lyons, on the canandaigua outlet. here mr. tower contemplated making great improvements, building mills, opening stores &c. this tract of land was comparatively wild, there being but a small frame house for a dwelling, one for a store, and another for a blacksmith shop. mr. tower had two brothers; james, the eldest, who took charge of the store, and john, the younger, who took charge of the hands who worked on the farm; henry himself superintending the building of the mills. this firm had a great number of men in their employ that year. i was kept busy helping the women about the cooking and house-work. and here, for the first time in my life, i had a comfortable bed to sleep on, and plenty of wholesome food to eat; which was something both new and strange to me. the towers were thorough-going business-men; they built a large grist mill, with four run of stone, and also a distillery. in those days it was customary for nearly all classes to drink spirituous liquors; hence, the distilleries were sources of great pecuniary interest to those who owned them. but having lived to see the dreadful evils which the drinking of alcoholic beverages have produced on community, i can hardly speak of distilleries in the favorable light in which they were then regarded. the towers, with commendable enterprise, cleared a great number of acres of land during the first year i lived with them, besides doing a heavy business in the mill, store and distillery. it was customary then for men to assemble at some public place for the purpose of drinking whisky and racing horses. one saturday afternoon there was to be a race, and all was excitement. being young, i wished to go with the rest. i hurried through my work as fast as possible, and then, with a trembling heart, set off in search of my master, fearing lest he would refuse me the simple request. but he happened to be in uncommon good humor, and readily gave his consent; and away i went, "as happy as a lark." when i reached the race-ground, they were just preparing to run the horses. seeing me, they knew me to be a poor friendless little slave boy, helpless and unprotected, and they could therefore do with me as they pleased, and have some fine sport at my expense. when i was asked to ride one of the fast horses, i felt proud of the honor conferred, and was assisted to mount, feeling highly elated with the lofty position i had gained. the word "go," was shouted, and the horse whirled off, and it seemed to me as if he flew with the speed of lightning. my hat fell off the first thing; and there i was, clinging with might and main to the neck of the fiery animal, my head bare, my feet bootless, and my old stripped shirt blown from my back, and streaming out behind, and fluttering like a banner in the breeze; my ragged pants off at the knees, and my long legs dangling down some length below; and at the same time crying "whoa! whoa!" as loud as i could. nor was this all; frightened as i was, nearly to death, i cast a despairing look behind me, and the loud, derisive laugh of the bystanders rung in my ears. ludicrous as i must have appeared, this was too much,--i felt a giddiness coming over me, my brain reeled, my hold relaxed, and the next instant i had fallen to the ground, where all consciousness left me. when i came to my senses i was lying in bed, surrounded by all the appurtenances of a dying person. the first thing i heard was mr. tower scolding the men who put me on the horse, and threatening them with a law-suit for presuming to do such a thing without his permission. mr. tower considered himself holden to capt. helm for my safe return, and was therefore justly indignant at their placing my life in such peril. it was indeed a narrow escape, for the horse was running with all his speed when i fell. my bones were unbroken, however, and i suppose it must have been the tremendous jar i got when i fell that rendered me unconscious; nor do i think it impossible that the fright may not have contributed somewhat to the catastrophe. it was while i was living with that gentleman that the greatest "general training" ever known in western new york, came off at "oak's corners," in the town of phelps. it really seemed to me that the whole world were going to the training, and i, of course, felt a great curiosity to go where "all creation" appeared to be going. mr. tower permitted me to go, and i started off in high spirits. when i arrived within two or three miles of the place the road was almost blocked up with people, and when i got to oak's corners the crowd beggared all description; carriages of all sorts were there, containing eatables of all kinds, and tents of all dimensions were on the road-side, for the houses could not begin to accommodate the people. the entire brigade was to meet at that place, and gov. lewis was expected to review the different companies, and all were anxious to see the governor, for, in those days, it was a rare thing to see so high a dignitary in western new york; the eastern portion of the state having had every thing of that kind their own way. nor was the means and mode of traveling brought to such perfection as now. the roads were new and rough, and our best public conveyances only the slow lumbering stage-coach; yet, notwithstanding these inconveniences, there was an innumerable crowd gathered at that place. i spent the day in walking about the encampment, and seeing what was to be seen, for it was all new to me. officers were riding over the ground, dressed in uniform, and mounted on their splendid steeds: their plumes waving over their cocked-hats in true military array. a band of music, as is usual, accompanied the soldiers. there was also a "sham-fight," before the breaking up of the encampment, and it was really terrifying to me, who had never seen a battle fought, to witness two columns of troops drawn up, and, at the roll of the drum, behold them engage in deadly conflict, to all appearance, and the smoke curling up in a blackened mass toward heaven; and, above all, the neighing of horses, with the feigned groans of the wounded and dying. i inwardly prayed to god that those men might ever draw their weapons in a feigned encounter. the first night i spent at the encampment was one long to be remembered; it was like the confusion of babel. of all the hideous noises i ever heard none could exceed those made there that night. they fired guns, quarreled, drank, and swore, till day light. there was such a crowd at the tavern that i did not suppose i could get a bed, so i threw myself down upon a door-step, and began to compose myself to sleep, when a man came and wakened me, inquiring at the same time whose boy i was. i replied that i lived with mr. tower. "follow me," said he; i arose and followed him into the house, where he procured for me a bed, to be shared with another "boy," who had already occupied it. i had just began to doze, when the explosion of firearms startled all in the house. the keeper of the tavern ran up stairs in great alarm, and when an examination was made, we found that a drunken fellow had discharged his musket in the room below the one where we were sleeping, and that the ball had passed up through the second floor and completely through the bed on which i slept, to the roof, where, having passed through that also, rolled from thence to the ground! and yet, strange as it may appear, no one was injured, though the house was filled to overflowing with guests. there were groups of disorderly and drunken men continually roaming over the camp-ground at night, who seemed to have no other object than to annoy others, and torment any one they might find sleeping, by shaking them, or, if soundly asleep, dragging them out of their beds by their feet. among these thus annoyed by them was a physician from canandaigua. being a passionate man, they seemed to think it fine sport to arouse him from sleep and hear him scold. the first time they dragged him from his tent he merely remonstrated in a very gentlemanly manner, and quietly crept back again. the rowdies were disappointed; they had expected a "scene." as soon as he was asleep they attacked him again, dragging him out by the heels; then he was angry, and told them if they repeated the offence it would be at the peril of their lives, and a third time retired to his tent; but a third party soon came, and one, more bold than the rest, entered the tent and laid hold of the doctor. he sprang to his feet and drew his sword, which he ran through the body of a man supposed to be that of his tormentor; but oh! what sorrow and consternation possessed him when he found he had taken the life of a quiet, unoffending person who happened to be standing by, attracted to the spot probably by the noise of the revelers. the unhappy doctor was obliged to flee from his country for a time, but after a while the shadows which had so suddenly fallen on his fair prospects were cleared away, and he returned to his home and country. the second day of the encampment was one of surpassing beauty. the sun shone in all its softened radiance on that vast concourse of human beings. the field presented a spectacle which must have been imposing to those of more experienced vision than mine; but to me, in my ignorant simplicity, it was superbly grand; fascinating beyond my power of resistance, and made an impression on my mind never to be effaced. the brigade was drawn up in a line, each colonel stationed just so many paces in front of the line, and all the other officers, such as majors, quarter-masters, &c., were stationed at an equal distance in the rear. when all were paraded, the governor of the state made his appearance, dressed in full uniform, his hat being one of the bonaparte style, attended by his aid-de-camp, who was dressed much in the same manner as his excellency governor lewis, who, after the salute, took his place at the head of the brigade, and the military exercises commenced. when the governor issued his orders, they were first given to his aid, who passed them to the officers, and they gave the word of command to the soldiers; for instance if the governor wished the brigade to "shoulder arms,"--the order went to the officer who commanded the first regiment, and he repeated the order, and was obeyed; then the same order passed to the next, and so on, until the whole brigade had complied with the order of his excellency. but this, i believe, was the first and last time that the military were ever called out on so large a scale, in the state of new york. it was supposed that the effect would be decidedly injurious to a community and the idea was abandoned. young men were so liable to be fascinated by the magnificent spectacle, that not the rabble only were attracted by the "trappings of war," but they have a tendency to induce young, and _old men even_, of fair prospects, to neglect _their agricultural interests_ for military pursuits, which, in a new country, were certainly of paramount importance, if not the greater of the two. i know that it became very hard for me to content myself to labor as i had done, after witnessing this grand display. i was completely intoxicated with a military spirit, and sighed for the liberty to go out "on the lines" and fight the british. the martial music, the waving plumes, and magnificent uniform, had driven from my mind entirely the bloodshed and carnage of the battle field; beside, i was sick and tired of being a slave, and felt ready to do almost any thing to get where i could act and feel like a free man. i became acquainted with a mr. mcclure, a merchant in bath, who, while on a journey to philadelphia, to purchase goods, was taken suddenly ill and died; when his brother, george mcclure, came on to attend to his diseased brother's business. he was a fine, persevering kind of man, and very soon got to be general mcclure, and commanded the brigade in steuben county, and, as such, was liable to be called at any time when his services were required, to go to the frontier and guard our lines from the invasion of the english army. to him i applied for a situation as waiter, which he readily agreed to give me if i could get the consent of captain helm. i thought there would be no trouble about that; and oh! how i dreamed of and anticipated the happiness of being _something_ beside a slave, for a _little while at least_. almost every day i went to the store to talk to gen. mcclure of this greatest happiness imaginable, "going to the lines!" and was impatient for the chance to arrive that would send me there. at last gen. mcclure wrote to gen. armstrong, to say that he was ready to obey any order that he might send him, and march to "the lines," if his services were needed; and, to _my_ inexpressible joy, marching orders were returned. i nearly flew in search of capt. helm, never once suspecting that he would object; because i knew that he did not then require my services himself, and the pay would be quite as good as he had been receiving for my time; besides i had so completely set my heart on going, that it was impossible for me to dream of a disappointment so bitter as that of being denied going "to the lines." oh! how then were my high hopes fallen, and how much more hateful appeared that slavery which had blighted all my military prospects? nor was capt. helm's heartless and mercenary reply to my humble pleading any antidote to my disappointed feelings and desire for freedom. he said, "you shall not go; i will permit nothing of the kind, so let there be an end to it. the _pay_ is all well enough, i know, but if you get killed your wages will stop; and then who, do you suppose, will indemnify me for the loss? go about your business, and let me hear no more of such nonsense!" there was an emergency i had not provided for; and, as i then believed, the master could make no demand on or for the slaves beyond the grave, i was silent; but both master and myself were mistaken on that point; for i have since learned numerous instances where slaves have fought and died in the service of their master's country, and the slave-owner received his wages up to the hour of his death, and then recovered of the united states the full value of his person as property! gen. mcclure left soon after for the frontier; my saddened heart followed him, and that was all; my body was in slavery still, and painful though it was, i must quietly submit. the general, however, reaped but few if any laurels in that campaign; he burned the small village of newark, in canada, for which he got very little credit on either side of the lake; so i comforted myself as well as i could with the reflection, that all who "went to the wars" did not return covered with glory and laurels of victory. i continued to live with the towers; and in the fall of that year, i had the misfortune to cut my foot badly. while chopping fire wood at the door, i accidentally struck my ax against a post, which glanced the blow in such a manner that it came down with sufficient force to nearly sever my great toe from my left foot, gashing upward completely through the large joint, which made a terrible wound. dr. taylor was immediately called, and sewed the flesh together, taking two stitches on the upper, and one on the under, side of the foot, before it began to swell; but when the swelling came on, the stitches on the upper side gave way, which occasioned the toe to fall over so much, that i have been slightly lame from that day to this. for several weeks i was unable to be moved, and was regularly attended by dr. taylor, but as soon as it could be done without danger, i was taken back to capt. helm's, where i found things in much the same condition as when i left them over a year before. on leaving the family of mr. tower, i endeavored to express to them as well in my power the gratitude i felt for their kindness, and the attention i had received during my lameness. we returned to bath in a sleigh, and arrived without accident or any great suffering. but the kind treatment i had always received from the messrs. tower and family, made it very hard for me to reconcile myself to my former mode of living; especially now that i was lame and weak, from sickness and long confinement; besides, it was cold weather. oh! how hard it did seem to me, after having a good bed and plenty of bed clothes every night for so long time, to now throw myself down, like a dog, on the "_softest side_" of a rough board, without a pillow, and without a particle of bedding to cover me during the long cold nights of winter. to be reduced from a plentiful supply of good, wholesome food, to the mere pittance which the captain allowed his slaves, seemed to me beyond endurance. and yet i had always lived and fared thus, but i never felt so bitterly these hardships and the cruelties of slavery as i did at that time; making a virtue of necessity, however, i turned my thoughts in another direction. i managed to purchase a spelling book, and set about teaching myself to read, as best i could. every spare moment i could find was devoted to that employment, and when about my work i could catch now and then a stolen glance at my book, just to refresh my memory with the simple lesson i was trying to learn. but here slavery showed its cloven foot in all its hideous deformity. it finally reached the ears of my master that i was learning to read; and then, if he saw me with a book or a paper in my hand, oh, how he would swear at me, sending me off in a hurry, about some employment. still i persevered, but was more careful about being seen making any attempt to learn to read. at last, however, i was discovered, and had to pay the penalty of my determination. i had been set to work in the sugar bush, and i took my spelling book with me. when a spare moment occurred i sat down to study, and so absorbed was i in the attempt to blunder through my lesson, that i did not hear the captain's son-in-law coming until he was fairly upon me. he sprang forward, caught my poor old spelling book, and threw it into the fire, where it was burned to ashes; and then came my turn. he gave me first a severe flogging, and then swore if he ever caught me with another book, he would "whip every inch of skin off my back," &c. this treatment, however, instead of giving me the least idea of giving it up, only made me look upon it as a more valuable attainment. else, why should my oppressors feel so unwilling that their slaves should possess that which they thought so essential to themselves? even then, with my back bleeding and smarting from the punishment i had received, i determined to learn to read and write, at all hazards, if my life was only spared. about this time capt. helm began to sell off his slaves to different persons, as he could find opportunity, and sometimes at a great sacrifice. it became apparent that the captain, instead of prospering in business, was getting poorer every day. chapter ix. death bed and bridal scenes. neither capt. helm nor his wife made any religious pretensions. i hardly know whether or not they were avowed infidels; but they alike ridiculed all religious professions and possessed some very singular notions regarding life and death. i have often heard the captain say, that no person need die unless they choose to do so; and his wife was of the same belief. i have frequently heard her remark that if mankind would firmly resist death it would flee from them. an opportunity, however, was soon after given to test the truth of this strange dogma. mrs. helm's health began to decline, but she would pay no attention to it, following her usual course and regular routine of household duties; but all in vain; she was taken down, alarmingly ill, and it became apparent to all, that the "king of terrors" had chosen his victim. she tried with all her natural energy of character, to baffle his pursuit and escape his steady approach, but all to no purpose. "the valley and the shadow of death" were before her, and she had no assurance that the "rod and staff" of the almighty would sustain and comfort her through the dark passage. she shrank with perfect horror from the untried scenes of the future. if any one had ever envied mrs. helm in her drawing-room, richly attired and sparkling with jewels, or as she moved with the stately step of a queen among her trembling slaves, they should have beheld her on her death bed! they should have listened to her groans and cries for help, while one piercing shriek after another rang through the princely mansion of which she had been the absolute mistress! [illustration: "if any one had ever envied mrs. helm in her drawing-room, richly attired and sparkling with jewels, or as she moved with the stately step of a queen among her trembling slaves, they should have beheld her on her death-bed!"] surrounded as she was with every elegance and luxury that wealth could procure, she lay shrieking out her prayers for a short respite, a short lengthening out of the life she had spent so unprofitably; her eyes wandering restlessly about the apartment, and her hands continually clinching the air, as if to grasp something that would prevent her from sinking into the embrace of death! there was not a slave present, who would have exchanged places with her. not one of those over whom she had ruled so arbitrarily would have exchanged their rough, lowly cabin and quiet conscience, for all the wealth and power she had ever possessed. nothing of all she had enjoyed in life, nor all that she yet called her own, could give her one hour of life or one peaceful moment in death! oh! what a scene was that! the wind blew, and great drops of rain fell on the casements. the room lighted only with a single taper; the wretched wife mingles her dying groans with the howling of the storm, until, as the clock struck the hour of midnight she fell back upon her pillow and expired, amid the tears and cries of her family and friends, who not only deplored the loss of a wife and mother, but were grieved by the manner in which she died. the slaves were all deeply affected by the scene; some doubtless truly lamented the death of their mistress; others rejoiced that she was no more, and all were more or less frightened. one of them i remember went to the pump and wet his face, so as to appear to weep with the rest. what a field was opened for reflection, by the agonizing death of mrs. helm? born and reared in affluence; well educated and highly accomplished, possessed of every means to become a useful woman and an ornament to her sex; which she most likely would have been, had she been instructed in the christian religion, and had lived under a different influence. as infidelity ever deteriorates from the female character, so slavery transforms more than one, otherwise excellent woman, into a feminine monster. of mrs. helm, with her active intellect and great force of character, it made a tyrannical demon. her race, however, is ended; her sun gone down in darkness, and her soul we must leave in the keeping of a righteous god, to whom we must all give an account for the deeds done in the body. but in view of the transitory pleasures of this life; the unsatisfactory realization of wealth, and the certainty of death, we may well inquire, "what shall it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" some little time after the scene just recorded, there came to bath a young physician named henry, who commenced practice under very flattering prospects. he was an accomplished young man, well educated and very skillful in his profession. he was affable and gay in his manners, and very fond of company. an intimate acquaintance was soon formed with capt. helm and family, and he called almost daily to chat and drink wine with the captain,--both being quite fond of a social glass. one night in the depth of winter, the doctor was called to see a patient who lived six miles down the conhocton river. previous, however, to the call, he had accepted an invitation to attend a party at capt. helm's, and there he was found. they had music and dancing, while the wine passed around very freely. none seemed to join in the dance and other amusements of the evening with more enjoyment than did dr. henry; but after he was sent for, it being a most bitter cold night, he asked the captain for a horse to ride to see his patient, to which he readily assented, and had his fine _race-horse_ (for the captain had not left off all his old habits), brought out from the stable, and the doctor sprang lightly into the saddle. unfortunately his way led by the race-course, and when the trained animal came to it he started with such speed as to throw the doctor to the ground, where he lay all that terrible cold night. in the morning, some person going after wood, came in sight of the doctor as he was trying to creep away on his frozen hands and feet. he was put into the sleigh and taken to the village with all possible speed. all was done for him that could be, but his feet and legs were frozen solid. his uncle, dr. henry, was brought as soon as possible, who decided that nothing could save his life but the amputation of both legs, just below the knee. this was done; but what a change in the prospects of this promising young man! instead of stepping lightly about as he used to do, with a smiling countenance, he at last came forth after a tedious confinement, a cripple for life, hobbling about on his knees, sad and dejected. and what, think you, was the cause of this terrible calamity? what prevented the doctor from an exertion to save his life? wine, intoxicating wine, was undoubtedly the occasion of the heedless and reckless conduct of both himself and capt. helm. and should not this circumstance be a warning to parents and guardians, to young men and children, "to look not upon the wine when it is red," and remember that at last "it will bite like a serpent and sting like an adder?" should it not also remind those who have guests to entertain, of the sinfulness of putting the cup to their neighbor's lips? certainly it should. but i must resume my story. about this time major thornton of bath, died. he had long been an intimate friend and acquaintance of capt. helm, and as the reader is already informed of the death of mrs. helm, they will not be surprised to know that he began to look earnestly after the widow of his late friend. it become apparent that his solicitude for the loneliness of madam thornton was not so much as a disconsolate widow, as that of making her the future mrs. helm; nor was it less observable that the new-made widow accepted the captain's attentions with great favor, and more as a lover than a comforter. the result was, after the major had been dead six weeks, capt. helm was married to his widow, and brought her and her servants in great triumph to his house, giving her the charge of it. his own servants were discharged, and hers took their places. all went on pleasantly for a while; then the slaves began to grow sullen and discontented; and two of them ran away. capt. helm started a man named morrison, a scotchman, in pursuit, who hunted them ten days, and then returned without any tidings of the absconding slaves. they made good their escape and were never heard from afterwards, by those whose interest suffered by the loss. i was one afternoon at a neighbor's house in the village, when i was suddenly taken so violently ill with pain in my head and side, that i had to be carried home. when we arrived there, i was allowed a pallet of straw to lie on, which was better than nothing. day after day, my disease increased in violence, and my master employed a physician to attend me through my illness, which brought me very low indeed. i was constantly burning with fever, and so thirsty that i knew not what i would have given for a draught of cold water, which was denied me by the physician's direction. i daily grew weaker until i was reduced to helplessness, and was little else than "skin and bones." i really thought my time had come to die; and when i had strength to talk, i tried to arrange the few little business affairs i had, and give my father direction concerning them. and then i began to examine my own condition before god, and to determine how the case stood between him and my poor soul. and "there was the rub." i had often excused myself, for frequent derelictions in duty, and often wild and passionate outbreaks, on account of the hardness of my lot, and the injustice with which i was treated, even in my best endeavors to do as well as i knew how. but now, with death staring me in the face, i could see that though i was a friendless "slave-boy," i had _not_ always done as well as i knew how; that i had _not_ served god as i knew i ought, nor had i always set a good example before my fellow-slaves, nor warned them as well as i might, "to flee the wrath to come." then i prayed my heavenly father to spare me a little longer, that i might serve him better; and in his mercy and gracious goodness, he did so; though when the fever was turning they gave me up; and i could hear them say, when they came to feel my pulse, "he is almost gone," "it will soon be over," &c., and then inquire if i knew them. i did, but was too weak to say so. i recollect with gratitude, the kindness of mrs. h.a. townsend, who sent me many delicacies and cooling drinks to soften the rigor of my disease; and though i suppose she has long since "passed away" and gone to her reward, may the blessing of those who are ready to perish, rest upon the descendants of that excellent woman. capt. helm was driving on in his milling, distillery and farming business. he now began to see the necessity of treating his slaves better by far than he had ever done before, and granted them greater privileges than he would have dared to do at the south. many of the slaves he had sold, were getting their liberty and doing well. chapter x. hired out to a new master. while i was staying with my master at bath, he having little necessity for my services, hired me out to a man by the name of joseph robinson, for the purpose of learning me to drive a team. robinson lived about three miles from the village of bath, on a small farm, and was not only a poor man but a very mean one. he was cross and heartless in his family, as well as tyrannical and cruel to those in his employ; and having hired me as a "slave boy," he appeared to feel at full liberty to wreak his brutal passion on me at any time, whether i deserved rebuke or not; nor did his terrible outbreaks of anger vent themselves in oaths, curses and threatenings only, but he would frequently draw from the cart-tongue a heavy iron pin, and beat me over the head with it, so unmercifully that he frequently sent the blood flowing over my scanty apparel, and from that to the ground, before he could feel satisfied. these kind of beatings were not only excessively painful, but they always reminded me of the blows i had so often received from the key, in the hand of mrs. helm, when i was but a little waiter lad; and in truth i must say that the effect of these heavy blows on the head, have followed me thus far through life; subjecting me to frequent and violent head-aches, from which i never expect to be entirely free. even to this day i shudder at the thought, when i think how robinson used to fly at me, swearing, foaming, and seeming to think there was no weapon too large or too heavy to strike me with. he and i were at one time logging with a yoke of oxen, which it was my business to drive. at that time rattle-snakes were numerous, and a great terror to the inhabitants. to be bitten by one of these poisonous reptiles was certain and almost instant death; hence, the greatest caution and constant vigilance was necessary to avoid them while at work. i had been sent with the oxen to draw a log to the pile, and when i came up to it, i observed that it appeared to be hollow; but stepping forward, with the chain in my hand, ready to attach it to the log, when, oh, horror! the warning rattle of a snake sounded like a death knell in my ears, proceeding from the log i was about to lay hold of. i was so much frightened by the sound, that i dropped the chain as though it were red hot, left my team, and ran with all the speed in my power, screaming "murder, murder!" as loud as i could. this proceeding, which was the fearful impulse of the moment, offended robinson, and gave him another opportunity to beat me most cruelly. he was himself as much afraid of rattle-snakes as i; but he was the master and i the "slave boy," which made a vast difference. he caught hold of me, and, with horrid oaths, beat me with his fist again and again; threatening me with awful punishment if i did not instantly return and bring the log to the desired spot. i never can forget the mortal agony i was in, while compelled by his kicks and blows to return and fasten the chain around the log containing the deadly serpent. i, however, succeeded with trembling hands, and drove the oxen, but keeping myself at the fartherest possible distance from them and the log. when i finally arrived at the pile, mr. robinson and some other men, cut a hole with an ax in the log, and killed the large, venomous rattle-snake that had occasioned me so much alarm and such a cruel beating. nor was the uncontrollable and brutal passion of robinson his only deficiency; he was mean as he was brutal. he had, at one time, borrowed a wagon of a neighbor living two miles distant, through a dense forest. on the day of the total eclipse of the sun, it entered his head that it would be fine sport, knowing my my ignorance and superstition, to send me, just as the darkness was coming on, to return the borrowed wagon. i accordingly hitched the ox-team to it and started. as i proceeded through the wood, i saw, with astonishment and some alarm, that it was growing very dark, and thought it singular at that hour of the day. when i reached the place of my destination it was almost total darkness, and some persons, ignorant as myself, were running about, wringing their hands, and declaring that they believed the day of judgment had come, and such like expressions. the effect of all this was, however, very different from what my master had expected. i thought, of course, if the judgment day had come, i should be no longer a slave in the power of a heartless tyrant. i recollect well of thinking, that if indeed all things earthly were coming to an end, i should be free from robinson's brutal force, and as to meeting my creator, i felt far less dread of that than of meeting my cross, unmerciful master. i felt that, sinful as i had been, and unworthy as i was, i should be far better off than i then was; driven to labor all day, without compensation; half starved and poorly clad, and above all, subjected to the whims and caprices of any heartless tyrant to whom my master might give the power to rule over me. but i had not much time for reflection, i hurried home; my mind filled with the calm anticipation that the end of all things was at hand; which greatly disappointed my expectant master, who was looking for me to return in a great fright, making some very ludicrous demonstration of fear and alarm. but after a few months more of hardship i was permitted to return to capt. helm's, where i was treated much better than at robinson's, and much, better than the captain used to treat his slaves. capt. helm, not having demand for slave labor as much as formerly, was in the practice of hiring out his slaves to different persons, both in and out of the village; and among others, my only sister was hired out to a _professed_ gentleman living in bath. she had become the mother of two or three children, and was considered a good servant. one pleasant sabbath morning, as i was passing the house where she lived, on my way to the presbyterian church, where i was sent to ring the bell as usual, i heard the most piteous cries and earnest pleadings issuing from the dwelling. to my horror and the astonishment of those with me, my poor sister made her appearance, weeping bitterly, and followed by her inhuman master, who was polluting the air of that clear sabbath morning, with the most horrid imprecations and threatenings, and at the same time flourishing a large raw-hide. very soon his bottled wrath burst forth, and the blows, aimed with all his strength, descended upon the unprotected head, shoulders and back of the helpless woman, until she was literally cut to pieces. she writhed in his powerful grasp, while shriek after shriek died away in heart-rending moanings; and yet the inhuman demon continued to beat her, though her pleading cries had ceased, until obliged to desist from the exhaustion of his own strength. what a spectacle was that, for the sight of a brother? the god of heaven only knows the conflict of feeling i then endured; he alone witnessed the tumult of my heart, at this outrage of manhood and kindred affection. god knows that my will was good enough to have wrung his neck; or to have drained from his heartless system its last drop of blood! and yet i was obliged to turn a deaf ear to her cries for assistance, which to this day ring in my ears. strong and athletic as i was, no hand of mine could be raised in her defence, but at the peril of both our lives;--nor could her husband, had he been a witness of the scene, be allowed any thing more than unresisting submission to any cruelty, any indignity which the master saw fit to inflict on _his wife_, but the other's _slave_. does any indignant reader feel that i was wanting in courage or brotherly affection, and say that he would have interfered, and, at all hazards, rescued his sister from the power of her master; let him remember that he is a _freeman_; that he has not from his infancy been taught to cower beneath the white man's frown, and bow at his bidding, or suffer all the rigor of the slave laws. had the gentlemanly woman-whipper been seen beating his horse, or his ox, in the manner he beat my poor sister, and that too for no fault which the law could recognize as an offence, he would have been complained of most likely; but as it was, she was but a "slave girl,"--with whom the slave law allowed her master to do what he pleased. well, i finally passed on, with a clinched fist and contracted brow, to the church, and rung the bell, i think rather furiously, to notify the inhabitants of bath, that it was time to assemble for the worship of that god who has declared himself to be "no respecter of persons." with my own heart beating wildly with indignation and sorrow, the kind reader may imagine my feelings when i saw the smooth-faced hypocrite, the inhuman slave-whipper, enter the church, pass quietly on to his accustomed seat, and then meekly bow his hypocritical face on the damask cushion, in the reverent acknowledgment of that religion which teaches its adherents "to do unto others as they would be done by," just as if nothing unusual had happened on that sabbath morning. can any one wonder that i, and other slaves, often doubted the sincerity of every white man's religion? can it be a matter of astonishment, that slaves often feel that there is no just god for the poor african? nay, verily; and were it not for the comforting and sustaining influence that these poor, illiterate and suffering creatures feel as coming from an unearthly source, they would in their ignorance all become infidels. to me, that beautiful sabbath morning was clouded in midnight darkness, and i retired to ponder on what could be done. for some reason or other, capt. helm had supplied every lawyer in that section of country with slaves, either by purchase or hire; so when i thought of seeking legal redress for my poor, mangled sister, i saw at once it would be all in vain. the laws were in favor of the slave owner, and besides, every legal gentleman in the village had one or more of the captain's slaves, who were treated with more or less rigor; and of course they would do nothing toward censuring one of their own number, so nothing could be done to give the slave even the few privileges which the laws of the state allowed them. the captain sold my aunt betsy bristol to a distinguished lawyer in the village, retaining her husband, aaron bristol, in his own employ; and two of her children he sold to another legal gentleman named cruger. one day captain helm came out where the slaves were at work, and finding aaron was not there, he fell into a great rage and swore terribly. he finally started off to a beach tree, from which he cut a stout limb, and trimmed it so as to leave a knot on the but end of the stick, or bludgeon rather, which was about two and a half feet in length. with this formidable weapon he started for aaron's lonely cabin. when the solitary husband saw him coming he suspected that he was angry, and went forth to meet him in the street. they had no sooner met than my master seized aaron by the collar, and taking the limb he had prepared by the smaller end, commenced beating him with it, over the head and face, and struck him some thirty or more terrible blows in quick succession; after which aaron begged to know for what he was so unmercifully flogged. "because you deserve it," was the angry reply. aaron said that he had ever endeavored to discharge his duty, and had done so to the best of his ability; and that he thought it very hard to be treated in that manner for no offence at all. capt. helm was astonished at his audacity; but the reader will perceive that the slaves were not blind to the political condition of the country, and were beginning to feel that they had some rights, and meant to claim them. poor aaron's face and head, however, was left in a pitiable condition after such a pummeling with a knotty stick. his face, covered with blood, was so swollen that he could hardly see for some time; but what of that? did he not belong to capt. helm, soul and body; and if his brutal owner chose to destroy his own property, certainly had he not a right to do so, without let or hindrance? of course; such is the power that slavery gives one human being over another. and yet it must be confessed that among the poor, degraded and ignorant slaves there exists a foolish pride, which loves to boast of their master's wealth and influence. a white person, too poor to own slaves, is as often looked upon with as much disdain by the miserable slave as by his wealthy owner. this disposition seems to be instilled into the mind of every slave at the south, and indeed, i have heard slaves object to being sent in very small companies to labor in the field, lest that some passer-by should think that they belonged to a poor man, who was unable to keep a large gang. nor is this ridiculous sentiment maintained by the slaves only; the rich planter feels such a contempt for all white persons without slaves, that he does not want them for his neighbors. i know of many instances where such persons have been under the necessity of buying or hiring slaves, just to preserve their reputation and keep up appearances; and even among a class of people who profess to be opposed to slavery, have i known instances of the same kind, and have heard them apologize for their conduct by saying that "when in rome, we must do as the romans do." uncle aaron bristol was one of capt. helm's slaves who had a large amount of this miserable pride; and for him to be associated with a white man in the same humble occupation, seemed to give him ideas of great superiority, and full liberty to treat him with all the scorn and sarcasm he was capable of, in which my uncle was by no means deficient. at this time the captain owned a fine and valuable horse, by the name of _speculator_. this horse, groomed by uncle aaron, stood sometimes at bath and sometimes at geneva; and at the latter village another horse was kept, groomed by a white man. the white groom was not very well pleased with aaron's continual disparagement of the clumsy animal which my uncle called "a great, awkward plow-horse;" and then he would fling out some of his proud nonsense about "_poor white people_ who were obliged to groom their own old dumpy horses," &c. well, things went on in this unpleasant manner for several weeks, when at last the white groom and aaron met at geneva, and the horse belonging to the former, designedly or accidentally, escaped from his keeper, and came with full speed, with his mouth wide open, after speculator. when the fiery fellow had overtaken uncle aaron he attempted to grasp the wethers of speculator with his teeth, instead of which he caught aaron on the inside of his thigh, near the groin, from whence he bit a large piece of flesh, laying the bone entirely bare; at the same moment flinging aaron to the ground, some rods off; and the next instant he kicked speculator down a steep embankment aaron was taken up for dead, and dr. henry sent for, who dressed his wounds; and after several months' confinement he finally recovered. it is probable that the biting and overthrow of aaron saved his life, as he must have otherwise been killed in the encounter of the two horses. a while after his recovery, uncle aaron succeeded in procuring a team and some kind of vehicle, in which he put his wife and children, and between two days, took "french leave" of his master as well as of the lawyer to whom his wife belonged. the lawyer, however, was far from being pleased when he missed his property, and immediately set his wits to work to reclaim her. all was kept secret as possible, but it was whispered about that it was to be done by a state's warrant, for removing the clothing and furniture they had taken, and so, being thus arrested, "madam bristol" would be glad to return to her work in the lawyer's kitchen. but aaron was a smart, shrewd man, and kept out of their reach, where he soon found friends and employment, and could go where he pleased, without having an infuriated master to beat and disfigure him with a knotted stick, until his clothes were bespattered with blood. they appreciated their liberty, and lived and died in peace and freedom. capt. helm continued his old manner of treating slaves, dealing out their weekly allowance of corn or meal; but living as we now did, so much more intimately with white inhabitants, our condition was materially improved. the slaves became more refined in manners and in possession of far greater opportunities to provide for themselves, than they had ever before enjoyed, and yet it was _slavery_. any reverse in the fortunes of our master would be disadvantageous to us. oh, how this fearful uncertainty weighed upon us as we saw that our master was not prospering and increasing in wealth; but we had not the dismal fears of the loathsome slave-pen, rice swamps, and many other things we should have to fear in virginia. we were still _slaves_, and yet we had so much greater chance to learn from the kind, intelligent people about us, so many things which we never knew before, that i think a slave-trader would have found it a difficult task to take any one of us to a southern slave market, if our master had so ordered it. the village of bath is rather an out-of-the-way place, hemmed in on all sides by mountains of considerable height, leaving an opening on the north, through a pleasant valley, to the head of crooked lake. produce of every kind, when once there, met a ready sale for the new york market. in the first settlement of the country this was the only outlet for the country produce, which was transported in rude boats or vessels called _arks_, built during the winter season to await the spring freshet; then they loaded them with wheat or other produce, and sent them to baltimore or elsewhere. they used also to obtain great quantities of fine lumber, and floated it through the same rivers every spring; but it was attended with great loss of life and property. bath assumed a warlike appearance during the last war with great britain; the public square was dotted all over with officers, marquees, and soldiers' tents. some of these soldiers were unprincipled and reckless men, who seemed to care very little what they did. one evening i was walking around the encampment in company with a mr. james morrison, a clerk in the land office, looking at the soldiers, until we came near a sentinel on duty. he kept his gun to his shoulder until we came near enough, and then he attempted to run me through with his bayonet. young morrison sprang forward, and seizing the musket, told me to run; i did so, which probably saved my life. chapter xi. thoughts on freedom. after living sometime in bath, and having the privilege of more enlightened society, i began to think that it was possible for me to become a free man in some way besides going into the army or running away, as i had often thought of doing. i had listened to the conversation of others, and determined to ask legal counsel on the subject the first opportunity i could find. very soon after, as i was drawing wood, i met on the river bridge, mr. d. cruger, the eminent lawyer before mentioned, and i asked him to tell me if i was not free, by the laws of new york. he started, and looked around him as if afraid to answer my question, but after a while told me i was _not_ free. i passed on, but the answer to my question by no means satisfied me, especially when i remembered the hesitancy with which it was given. i sought another opportunity to speak with mr. cruger, and at last found him in his office alone; then he conversed freely on the subject of slavery, telling me that capt. helm could not hold me as a slave in that state, if i chose to leave him, and then directed me to d. comstock and j. moore; the first being at the head of a manumission society, and the last named gentleman one of its directors. our condition, as i have said before, was greatly improved; and yet the more we knew of freedom the more we desired it, and the less willing were we to remain in bondage. the slaves that capt. helm had sold or hired out, were continually leaving him and the country, for a place of freedom; and i determined to become my own possessor. there is no one, i care not how favorable his condition, who desires to be a slave, to labor for nothing all his life for the benefit of others. i have often heard fugitive slaves say, that it was not so much the cruel beatings and floggings that they received which induced them to leave the south, as the idea of dragging out a whole life of unrequited toil to enrich their masters. everywhere that slavery exists, it is nothing but _slavery_. i found it just as hard to be beaten over the head with a piece of iron in new york as it was in virginia. whips and chains are everywhere necessary to degrade and brutalize the slave, in order to reduce him to that abject and humble state which slavery requires. nor is the effect much less disastrous on the man who holds supreme control over the soul and body of his fellow beings. such unlimited power, in almost every instance transforms the man into a tyrant; the brother into a demon. when the first of our persecuted race were brought to this country it was to teach them to reverence the only true and living god; or such was the answer of her majesty queen elizabeth of england, when her subjects desired the liberty to bring from their native land the poor, ignorant african. "let them," said the queen, "be brought away only by their own consent, otherwise the act will be detestable, and bring down the vengeance of heaven upon us." a very different position truly, from the one assumed at the present day by apologists for the traffic in human flesh. but, to return to myself. i had determined to make an effort to own myself, and as a preliminary step, i obtained permission of capt. helm to visit some friends living in canandaigua and geneva. this was in the winter of . i went first to geneva; from there to canandaigua. between the two villages i met a company of united states' troops, returning from buffalo, where they had been to repel an invasion of the british. the two villages above named, were small but very pretty, having been laid out with taste and great care. some wealthy and enterprising gentlemen had come from the east into this great western country, who were making every improvement in their power. the dense forest had long since fallen under the stroke of the woodman's ax, and in that section, flourishing villages were springing up as if by magic, where so lately roamed wild beasts and rude savages, both having fallen back before the march of civilization. i called on james moore, as directed by mr. cruger, and found he was one of the directors of the "manumission society," as it was then called. this was an association of humane and intelligent gentlemen whose object it was to aid any one who was illegally held in bondage. the funds of the society were ample; and able counsel was employed to assist those who needed it. the late lamented john c. spencer, one of the most eminent lawyers in western new york, was then counsel for that society. i soon got an interview with mr. moore, to whom i related the history of my life,--the story of my wrongs and hardships. i told him about my having been hired out by capt. helm, which he said was sufficient to insure my freedom! oh! how my heart leaped at the thought! the tears started, my breast heaved with a mighty throb of gratitude, and i could hardly refrain from grasping his hand or falling down at his feet; and perhaps should have made some ludicrous demonstration of my feelings, had not the kind gentleman continued his conversation in another direction. he said that indispensable business called him to albany, where he must go immediately, but assured me that he would return in march following; then i must come to him and he would see that i had what justly belonged to me--my freedom from slavery. he advised me to return to bath and go on with my work as usual until march, but to say nothing of my intentions and prospects. i returned according to his directions, with a heart so light, that i could not realize that my bonds were not yet broken, nor the yoke removed from off my neck. i was already free in spirit, and i silently exulted in the bright prospect of liberty. could my master have felt what it was to be relieved of such a crushing weight, as the one which was but partially lifted from my mind, he would have been a happier man than he had been for a long time. i went cheerfully back to my labor, and worked with alacrity, impatient only for march to come; and as the time drew near i began to consider what kind of an excuse i could make to get away. i could think of none, but i determined to go without one, rather than to remain. just before the time appointed for me to meet mr. moore, a slave girl named milly, came secretly to bath. she had been one of capt. helm's slaves, and he had a while before sold her to a man who lived some distance west of the village. milly had now taken the matter into her own hands. she had left her master to take care of himself, and was in short, "running away," determined as myself, that she would be a slave no longer; resolved on death, or freedom from the power of the slaveholder. the time i had set for my departure was so near at hand, that i concluded to accompany her in her flight. when the dark night came on, we started together, and traveled all night, and just as the day dawned we arrived at manchester, where we stopped a short time with one thomas watkins. but i was not to be let go so easily. i had been missed at capt. helm's, and several men started in immediate pursuit. i was weary, and so intent on getting a little rest that i did not see my pursuers until they had well nigh reached the house where i was; but i _did_ see them in time to spring from the house with the agility of a deer, and to run for the woods as for life. and indeed, i so considered it. i was unarmed to be sure, and not prepared to defend myself against two or three men, armed to the teeth; but it would have gone hard with me before i surrendered myself to them, after having dreamed as i had, and anticipated the blessings of a free man. i escaped them, thank god, and reached the woods, where i concealed myself for some time, and where i had ample opportunity to reflect on the injustice and cruelty of my oppressors, and to ask myself why it was that i was obliged to fly from my home. why was i there panting and weary, hungry and destitute--skulking in the woods like a thief, and concealing myself like a murderer? what had i done? for what fault, or for what crime was i pursued by armed men, and hunted like a beast of prey? god only knows how these inquiries harrowed up my very soul, and made me well nigh doubt the justice and mercy of the almighty, until i remembered my narrow escape, when my doubts dissolved in grateful tears. but why, oh why, had i been forced to flee thus from my fellow men? i was guilty of no crime; i had committed no violence; i had broken no law of the land; i was not charged even with a fault, except of _the love of liberty_ and a desire to be _free_! i had claimed the right to possess my own person, and remove it from oppression. oh my god, thought i, can the american people, who at this very hour are pouring out their blood in defence of their country's liberty; offering up as a sacrifice on the battle field their promising young men, to preserve their land and hearthstones from english oppression; can they, will they, continue to hunt the poor african slave from their soil because he desires that same liberty, so dear to the heart of every american citizen? will they not blot out from their fair escutcheon the foul stain which slavery has cast upon it? will they not remember the southern bondman, in whom the love of freedom is as inherent as in themselves; and will they not, when contending for equal rights, use their mighty forces "to break _every yoke_, and let the oppressed go free?" god grant that it may be so! as soon as i thought it prudent, i pursued my journey, and finally came out into the open country, near the dwelling of mr. dennis comstock, who, as i have said, was president of the manumission society. to him i freely described my situation, and found him a friend indeed. he expressed his readiness to assist me, and wrote a line for me to take to his brother, otis comstock, who took me into his family at once. i hired to mr. comstock for the season, and from that time onward lived with him nearly four years. when i arrived there i was about twenty-two years of age, and felt for the first time in my life, that i was my own master. i cannot describe to a free man, what a proud manly feeling came over me when i hired to mr. c. and made my first bargain, nor when i assumed the dignity of collecting my own earnings. notwithstanding i was very happy in my freedom from slavery, and had a good home, where for the first time in my life i was allowed to sit at table with others, yet i found myself very deficient in almost every thing which i should have learned when a boy. these and other recollections of the past often saddened my spirit; but _hope _,--cheering and bright, was now mine, and it lighted up the future and gave me patience to persevere. in the autumn when the farm work was done, i called on mr. comstock for some money, and the first thing i did after receiving it i went to canandaigua where i found a book-store kept by a man named j.d. bemis, and of him i purchased some school books. no king on his throne could feel prouder or grander than i did that day. with my books under my arm, and money of my own earning in my pocket, i stepped loftily along toward farmington, where i determined to attend the academy. the thought, however, that though i was twenty-three years old, i had yet to learn what most boys of eight years knew, was rather a damper on my spirits. the school was conducted by mr. j. comstock, who was a pleasant young man and an excellent teacher. he showed me every kindness and consideration my position and ignorance demanded; and i attended his school three winters, with pleasure and profit to myself at least. when i had been with mr. comstock about a year, we received a visit from my old master, capt. helm, who had spared no pains to find me, and when he learned where i was he came to claim me as "his boy," who, he said he "wanted and must have." mr. comstock told him i was _not_ "his boy," and as such he would not give me up; and further, that i was free by the laws of the state. he assured the captain that his hiring me out in the first instance, to mr. tower, forfeited his claim to me, and gave me a right to freedom,--but if he chose to join issue, they would have the case tried in the supreme court; but this proposition the captain declined: he knew well enough that it would result in my favor; and after some flattery and coaxing, he left me with my friend, mr. comstock, in liberty and peace! chapter xii. capt. helm--divorce--kidnapping. the business affairs of capt. helm had for some time been far from prosperous; and now he was quite poor. his slave property proved a bad investment, and madam thornton a far worse one. she had already applied for a divorce, and a good share of the estate as alimony; both of which she succeeded in getting, the captain allowing her to take pretty much her own course. these troubles, with costs of lawsuits, bad management, &c., had now emptied the coffers of my old master almost to the last farthing; and he began to cast about him for some way to replenish his purse, and retrieve his fallen fortunes. had capt. helm been brought up to honorable industry, and accustomed to look after his own pecuniary interests, he doubtless would have sustained his position; or if reverses were unavoidable, he would have by persevering industry, regained what he had lost. but he had been raised in a slave state, and southern principles were as deeply instilled into his mind, as southern manners were impressed on his life and conduct. he had no partiality for labor of any kind; horse-racing and card-playing were far more congenial to his tastes; reduced as he now was, he would deny himself no luxury that his means or credit would procure. his few remaining slaves were given into the hands of an idle, brutal overseer --while they, half fed, half clothed, grew more and more discontented, and ran away on every opportunity that offered. the captain at last hit upon a method of making money, which, if it had been carried into operation on the high seas, would in all probability have been called by its right name, and incurred the penalty of the gallows--as piracy. ought it then to be deemed less criminal because transpiring on the free soil of the american republic? i think not. nor was it less censurable on account of its failure. the captain's plan was to collect all the slaves he had once owned, many of whom had escaped to the surrounding villages, and when once in his grasp, to run them speedily into a slave state, and there sell them for the southern market. to carry forward this hellish design, it was necessary to have recourse to stratagem. some person must be found to lure the unsuspecting slaves into the net he was spreading for them. at last he found a scoundrel named simon watkins, who for the consideration of fifty dollars, was to collect as many of the slaves as he could at one place; and when he had done so, he was to receive the money, leaving capt. helm to do the rest. simon set immediately about the business, which was first to go to palmyra, and in great kindness and generosity, give a large party to the colored people,--desiring that all capt. helm's former slaves, _in particular_, should be present to have a joyous re-union, and celebrate their freedom in having a fine time generally. invitations were sent to all, and extensive preparation made for a large "social party," at palmyra, at the house of mrs. bristol. my parents were invited; and simon took the pains to come to farmington to give me a special invitation. when the time arrived for the party, i went to palmyra with the intention of attending. i had not the least suspicion of any thing wrong; yet, by some mysterious providence, or something for which i can not account, a presentiment took possession of my mind that all was not right. i knew not what i feared, and could in no way define my apprehensions; but i grew so uneasy, that i finally gave up the party and returned home, before the guests were assembled. capt. helm and his assistants came on to palmyra in disguise, before evening, and secreted themselves in one of the hotels to await the arrival of their victims. at the appointed hour the slaves began to assemble in large numbers and great glee, without the least suspicion of danger. they soon began their amusements, and in the midst of their mirth, capt. helm and party stealthily crept from their hiding place and surrounded the house; then bursting in suddenly upon the revelers, began to make arrests. such a tumult, such an affray as ensued would be hard to describe. the slaves fought for their lives and their liberty, and the captain's party for their property and power. fists, clubs, chairs, and any thing they could get hold of, was freely used with a strength and will of men who had tasted the joys of freedom. cries and curses were mingled, while blows fell like hail on both sides. commands from our old master were met with shouts of bold defiance on the part of the negroes, until the miserable kidnappers were glad to desist, and were driven of--not stealthily as they came, but in quick time and in the best way they could, to escape the threatened vengeance of the slaves, who drove them like "feathers before the wind." but it was a terrible battle and many were severely wounded; among them was my father. he was taken to his home, mangled and bleeding, and from the effects of that night's affray he never recovered. he lingered on in feeble health until death finally released him from suffering, and placed him beyond the reach of kidnappers and tyrants. the captain and his party, enraged and disappointed in their plans at palmyra, returned to bath to see what could be done there toward success, in getting up a gang of slaves for the southern market. when they came among the colored people of bath, it was like a hawk alighting among a flock of chickens at noon-day. they scattered and ran in every direction, some to the woods, some hid themselves in cellars, and others in their terror plunged into the conhocton river. in this manner the majority of the negroes escaped, but not all; and those were so unfortunate as to get caught were instantly thrown into a large covered "pennsylvania wagon," and hurried off, closely guarded, to olean point. among those taken were harry lucas, his wife, lucinda, and seven children; mrs. jane cooper and four children, with some others, were also taken. when capt. helm arrived at olean point with his stolen freight of human beings, he was unexpectedly detained until he could build a boat,--which, to his great dismay took him several days. the sorrow and fearful apprehension of those wretched recaptured slaves can not be described nor imagined by any one except those who have experienced a like affliction. they had basked for a short season in the sunshine of liberty, and thought themselves secure from the iron grasp of slavery, and the heel of the oppressor, when in the height of their exultation, they had been thrust down to the lowest depths of misery and despair, with the oppressor's heel again upon their necks. to be snatched without a moment's warning from their homes and friends,--hurried and crowded into the close slave wagon, regardless of age or sex, like sheep for the slaughter, to be carried they knew not whither; but, doubtless to the dismal rice swamp of the south,--was to them an agony too great for endurance. the adult portion of the miserable company determined at last to go no farther with their heartless master, but to resist unto death if need be, before they surrendered themselves to the galling chains they had so recently broken, or writhed again under the torturing lash of the slave-driver. harry lucas and wife, and jane cooper, silently prepared themselves for the conflict, determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible. when they were nearly ready to start, jane cooper sent her oldest daughter and younger sister, (she who is now our worthy friend mrs. p. of bath), into the woods, and then when the men undertook to get lucas and the two women on board the boat the struggle commenced. the women fought the captain and his confederates like a lioness robbed of her whelps! they ran and dodged about, making the woods ring with their screams and shouts of "murder! murder! help! help! murder!" until the captain's party, seeing they could do nothing to quell them, became so exceedingly alarmed lest they should be detected in their illegal proceedings, that they ran off at full speed, as if they thought an officer at their heels. in their hurry and fright they caught two of harry's children, and throwing them into the boat, pushed off as quick as possible, amid the redoubled cries of the agonized parents and sympathizing friends, all trying in every way possible, to recover from the merciless grasp of the man-stealer, the two frightened and screaming children. guns were fired and horns sounded, but all to no purpose--they held tightly the innocent victims of their cupidity, and made good their escape. mr. d. c----, a gentleman of wealth and high standing in steuben county, became responsible for the fifty dollars which capt. helm promised to pay simon watkins for his villainy in betraying, judas-like, those unsuspecting persons whom it should have been his pleasure to protect and defend against their common oppressor,--his own as well as theirs. in addition to this rascality, it can not appear very creditable to the citizens of steuben county, that capt. helm and thomas mcbirney should both hold high and important offices at the time, and _after_ they had been tried and convicted of the crime of kidnapping. both of these gentlemen, guilty of a state's prison offence, were judges of the common pleas. t. mcbirney was first judge in the county, and capt. helm was side judge; and notwithstanding their participation in, and conviction of, a flagrant outrage on the laws of god and man, they managed not only to escape the penalty, but to retain their offices and their respectable standing in community for years after. chapter xiii. locate in the village of rochester. i continued to labor in the employ of mr. o. comstock, whose son, zeno, was married during the year , and purchased a farm on the site of the present flourishing village of lockport, to which he moved his family and effects; but from a mistaken supposition that the erie canal, which was then under contemplation, would take a more southern route, he was induced to sell his farm in hartland, which has proved a mine of wealth to the more fortunate purchaser. in the winter of that year, i was sent by my employer to hartland with a sleigh-load of produce, and passed through the village of rochester, which i had never before seen. it was a very small, forbidding looking place at first sight, with few inhabitants, and surrounded by a dense forest. i recollect that while pursuing my journey, i overtook a white man driving a span of horses, who contended that i had not a right to travel the public highway as other men did, but that it was my place to keep behind him and his team. being in haste i endeavored to pass him quietly, but he would not permit it and hindered me several hours, very much to my annoyance and indignation. this was, however, but a slight incident indicating the bitter prejudice which every man seemed to feel against the negro. no matter how industrious he might be, no matter how honorable in his dealings, or respectful in his manners,--he was a "nigger," and as such he must be treated, with a few honorable exceptions. this year also, my father died in the village of palmyra, where, as i have before mentioned, he received injuries from which he never entirely recovered. after about six months severe illness which he bore with commendable patience and resignation, his spirit returned to god who gave it; and his sorrowing friends and bereaved family followed his remains to their final abode, where we laid him down to rest from unrequited labor and dire oppression, until "all they who are in their graves shall hear the voice of the son of god, and they that hear shall live forever," where the "tears shall be wiped from off all faces"--and where the righteous bondman shall no longer fear the driver's lash or master's frown, but freely join in the song of "alleluia! the lord god omnipotent reigneth!" my father had a good reputation for honesty and uprightness of character among his employers and acquaintances, and was a kind, affectionate husband and a fond, indulgent parent. his, i believe was the life and death of a good man. "peace be to his ashes." the following season i commenced a new business--that of peddling in the village of rochester such articles as my employer, mr. comstock, desired to sell: the products of his farm,--wheat, corn, oats, butter, cheese, meat, and poultry--all of which met a ready sale, generally for cash at liberal prices. that market was then but little known to the generality of farmers, and the enterprising gentlemen of that place, were desirous of encouraging commerce with the surrounding country, offered every encouragement in their power. hence, we found it a profitable business, which i continued in for several months. the present flourishing city of rochester was then, as i have said, but a village in its infancy, situated near the upper falls of the genesee river, and about seven miles from its mouth. here, some time previously, three gentlemen from maryland bought a large tract of land, and as no business man could fail to observe and appreciate its rare advantages they commenced laying out a village. sirs fitzhugh, carroll, and rochester, composed the company; but the management of the business devolved almost wholly on col. rochester, whose wealth, enterprise, and intelligence well qualified him for the undertaking; and as it had been assigned him to cognominate the new village, i have heard it said that he jocularly gave his reason for selecting its present title, as follows: "should he call it _fitzhugh_ or _carroll_, the slighted gentleman would certainly feel offended with the other; but if he called it by his own name, they would most likely _both_ be angry with him; so it was best to serve them alike." there was then two grist mills,--one owned by mr. ely, and the other by mr. brown; one small building for religious worship, occupied by the presbyterians on carroll street (now state street); and but two stone buildings within what now comprises that beautiful city. there were then no brick buildings at all, but business was good; merchants and mechanics from the east soon began to settle there and give it a thriving aspect. about this time another company was formed, whose moving spirit was mr. e. stone, a man of worth and talent; the object of which was to locate another village at the head of navigation and about half way between the mouth of the river and rochester, which they called _carthage_. the company commenced building and improving the place so rapidly, that many who came to purchase residences and business stations were at a loss to decide which of the two places would finally become the center of business. it, however, was soon perceivable that the advantage of water privileges, stone, and access to both, was greatly in favor of rochester. at carthage the genesee is narrow and its banks steep and abrupt, rising in many places three hundred feet above the bed of the river, which of course render the privileges and business on it far less easy of access for building purposes. i may have occasion to speak hereafter of the expensive and magnificent bridge at carthage, which was the wonder and admiration of the times. the following year i concluded to go into business for myself, and was as much at loss as others, whether to locate at rochester or carthage; but after considering the matter in all its bearings, and closely watching the progress of events, my choice preponderated in favor of rochester, and to that place i went, designing to enter into business on my own account. it was indeed painful to my feelings to leave the home and family of mr. comstock, where i had experienced so much real comfort and happiness, where i had ever been treated with uniform kindness, where resided those kind friends to whom i felt under the greatest obligation for the freedom and quietude i then enjoyed, as well as for the little knowledge of business and of the world that i then possessed. thinking, however, that i could better my condition, i subdued, as well as i could, my rising emotions, and after sincerely thanking them for their goodness and favors--wishing them long life and prosperity,--i took my departure for the chosen place of my destination. soon after i left mr. comstock's, that gentleman, sent his hired man, named john cline, to rochester with a wagon load of produce to sell, as had been his custom for some time. in vain the family looked for his return at the usual hour in the evening, and began to wonder what had detained him; but what was their horror and surprise to find, when they arose the next morning, the horses standing at the door, and the poor unfortunate man lying in the wagon, _dead_! how long they had been there nobody knew; no one had heard them come in; and how the man had been killed was a matter of mere conjecture. the coroner was sent for and an inquest held, and yet it was difficult to solve the whole mystery. the most probable explanation was, that he was sitting in the back part of the wagon, and fell over on his left side, striking his neck on the edge of the wagon box, breaking it instantly. the verdict of the jury was, in accordance with these facts, "accidental death," &c. when i left mr. comstock's i had acquired quite a knowledge of reading, writing, arithmetic, and had made a small beginning in english grammar. it had been for some time a question which i found hard to decide, whether or not i should pursue my studies as i had done. if i went into business as i contemplated, i knew it would end my proficiency in the sciences; and yet i felt a desire to accumulate more of the wealth that perisheth. considering too that i was advancing in age, and had no means of support but by my own labor, i finally concluded to do what i have from that time to this deeply regretted,--give up the pursuit of an education, and turn my attention wholly to business. i do not regret having desired a competency, nor for having labored to obtain it, but i _do_ regret not having spared myself sufficient leisure to pursue some regular system of reading and study; to have cultivated my mind and stored it with useful knowledge. truly has it been said, "knowledge is power." but it is not like the withering curse of a tyrant's power; not like the degrading and brutalizing power of the slave-driver's lash, chains, and thumb-screws; not like the beastly, demonical power of rum, nor like the brazen, shameless power of lust; but a power that elevates and refines the intellect; directs the affections; controls unholy passions; a power so god-like in its character, that it enables its possessor to feel for the oppressed of every clime, and prepares him to defend the weak and down-trodden. what but ignorance renders the poor slave so weak and inefficient in claiming his right to liberty, and the possession of his own being! nor will that god who is "no respecter of persons," hold him guiltless who assumes unlimited control over his fellow. the chain of slavery which fetters every slave south of mason and dixon's line, is as closely linked around the master as the slave. the time has passed by when african blood alone is enslaved. in virginia as well as in some other slave states, there is as much european blood in the veins of the enslaved as there is african; and the increase is constantly in favor of the white population. this fact alone speaks volumes, and should remind the slave-breeding southerner of that fearful retribution which must sooner or later overtake him. in september, , i commenced business in rochester. having rented a room of mr. a. wakely, i established a meat market, which was supplied mostly by my former employer, mr. comstock, and was liberally patronized by the citizens; but there were butchers in the village who appeared to be unwilling that i should have any share in public patronage. sometimes they tore down my sign, at others painted it black, and so continued to annoy me until after i had one of their number arrested, which put a stop to their unmanly proceedings. the village was now rapidly increasing, and yet the surrounding country was mostly a wilderness. mr. e. stone, who then owned the land on the east side of the river, thought his farm a very poor one; he, however, commenced clearing it in the midst of wild beasts and rattlesnakes, both of which were abundant, and in a few years was richly rewarded for his labor, in the sale of village lots, which commanded high prices. in the summer of , i commenced teaching a sabbath school for the neglected children of our oppressed race. for a while it was well attended, and i hoped to be able to benefit in some measure the poor and despised colored children, but the parents interested themselves very little in the undertaking, and it shortly came to naught. so strong was the prejudice then existing against the colored people, that very few of the negroes seemed to have any courage or ambition to rise from the abject degradation in which the estimation of the white man had placed him. this year, also, i purchased a lot of land, eighteen by fifty feet, situated on main street, for which i was to pay five hundred dollars. having secured my land, i began making preparations for building, and soon had a good two story dwelling and store, into which i moved my effects, and commenced a more extensive business. some disadvantage as well as sport was occasioned on business men, who resided on the confines of ontario and genesee counties. it was indeed laughable to witness the races and maneuvering of parties in those days when men were imprisoned for debt. if a man in ontario county had a suspicion that an officer was on his track, he had only to step over the line into genesee, to be beyond the power of an officer's precept. a great deal of trouble as well as unpleasant feeling was engendered by the exercise of that law, which allowed the creditor so great advantage over the debtor. this, together with the fact that very many of the citizens of rochester were men of small means, the more wealthy portion felt called upon to protect their interests, by forming themselves into what was called a "shylock society," the object of which was to obtain a list of all the names of persons who had been, or were then, on "the limits" for debt. this list of names was printed, and each member of the society furnished with a copy, which enabled him to decide whether or not to trust a man when he came to trade. the formation of this society gave rise to another, whose members pledged themselves to have no dealing with a member of the "shylock society," and also to publish all defaulters in "high life," which served to check these oppressive measures and restore harmony. among others who came to settle in the thriving village of rochester, was a colored man named daniel furr, who came from the east. he soon became acquainted with a very respectable young white lady, of good family, who after a short acquaintance appeared to be perfectly enamored of her dusky swain; and notwithstanding the existing prejudice, she did not scruple to avow her affection for him,--a devotion which appeared to be as sincerely returned by the young "othello." they resolved to marry; but to this, serious objections arose, and all that the lady's family and friends could do to break off the match was done, but without effect. they could, however, prevail on no one to perform the marriage ceremony in the village, and finally concluded to go to a magistrate in the town of brighton, four miles distant. at this stage of the proceedings i was appealed to, to accompany them. i took the matter into consideration and came to the conclusion that i could take no active part in the affair, nor bear any responsible station in the unpleasant occurrence. is it no sin in the sight of the almighty, for southern gentlemen(?) to mix blood and amalgamate the races? and if allowed to them, is it not equally justifiable when the commerce is prompted by affection rather than that of lust and force? but i at length consented to accompany them, after learning that all the mischief was already done that could be feared, and that the gallant lover desired to marry the lady as the only atonement he could make for the loss of her reputation. we arrived at the house of the magistrate about one o'clock at night, and all were soundly sleeping. they were, however, aroused, and when our business was made known, an exciting scene followed. the magistrate refused at first to marry them; and the lady of the house took aside the intended bride, spending two hours in endeavoring to dissuade her from the contemplated union; assuring her that her house should be freely opened to her, that no attention should be spared during her expected confinement, &c.; but all to no purpose. they returned to the parlor where the magistrate again tried his power of persuasion, but with as little success as his lady had met: and then he reluctantly married them. the newly-made husband paid a liberal fee, and we took our leave. i returned to my home to reflect on the scenes of the past night, and mr. and mrs. furr to the house of a friend of the bride in penfield. the report soon reached the village that the marriage had been consummated, which produced a great excitement. threats of an alarming character were openly made against the "nigger" who had dared to marry a white woman, although at her own request. and there was also a class of persons who associated together, professing great friendship for the persecuted husband, and often drew him into their company, pretending to defend his cause while they were undoubtedly plotting his destruction. one day, after furr had been drinking rather freely with his pretended friends, he was taken so violently ill, that a physician was immediately called. i was with him when the doctor arrived. he gazed upon the suffering man with an angry expression, and inquired in a tone of command, "daniel, what have you been doing?" in vain the poor creature begged for relief, the doctor merely repeating his question. after looking at him for some time, he finally administered a potion and hastily left the room, saying as he did so, "that furr was as sure to die as though his head had been cut off." and so it proved, though not so speedily as the medical man had predicted; nor did he ever visit him again, notwithstanding he lingered for several days in the most intense agony. it was a strong man grappling with disease and death, and the strife was a fearful one. but death at last ended the scene, with none of all his professed friends, except his faithful but heart-broken wife, to administer to his necessities. no sound save that of the moaning widow broke the stillness of his death-chamber. a few friends collected, who prepared the emaciated body for the grave; enclosing it in a rude board coffin it was conveyed to its last resting place, followed by three or four men, just as the shades of evening had fallen upon this sin-cursed world; there in darkness and silence we lowered his remains, and left the gloomy spot to return to his disconsolate wife, who had been too ill to join the meager procession. it has ever been my conviction that furr was poisoned, most likely by some of his false friends who must have mingled some deadly drug with his drinks or food; nor do i believe that the medicine administered by the physician was designed to save his life. but to him who knoweth all things, we leave the matter. his despised, forsaken, and bereaved wife soon followed him to the grave, where she sleeps quietly with her innocent babe by her side; and where probably this second desdemonia finds the only refuge which would have been granted her by a heartless and persecuting world. oh, when will this nation "cease to do evil and learn to do well?" when will they judge character in accordance with its moral excellence, instead of the complexion a man unavoidably bears to the world? chapter xiv. incidents in rochester and vicinity. after long petitioning, the inhabitants of that section succeeded in having the new county of monroe set off from genesee and ontario counties, in , which gave a new impulse to the business interests of the already flourishing town, which had heretofore labored under some disadvantages in consequence of having all public business done at canandaigua or batavia. about this time, too, was the carthage bridge built by a company of enterprising gentlemen of that village which at that day was considered one of the wonders of the age; but as its history is well known to all interested in the enterprises of those days, it is only necessary to say, that the magnificent structure, so grand in its appearance, such a pattern of mechanical ingenuity, exhibiting in all its vast proportions, both strength and beauty, combined with utility and grandeur; and erected at such an enormous expense of time, labor, and cash, was destined soon to fall. it had cost some ten thousand dollars; and had been warranted by the builders to stand one year. how great then must have been the loss and disappointment when in a little more than twenty-four hours after the time specified, the ruins of that beautiful structure were found floating on the broad bosom of the genesee! and yet when we take into consideration the vast amount of human life which hourly passed over its solid surface, we can but wonder at the intervention of a kind providence which prevented any loss of life at the time of its fall. a child had but just passed over it, when with one general crash it sank to the waters below; mocking in its rapid flight, the wisdom of the architect and foresight of frail humanity. the fall of carthage bridge was indeed a calamity felt by the public generally, and sounded the death-knell of all future greatness to carthage, or at least for some years to come. about this time the village was thrown into a state of excitement by the arrest of a colored woman named ellen, who it was charged had escaped from service due to a mr. d., south of mason and dixon's line. she had been arrested in accordance with a law passed by congress in , which forbids persons owing service in one state to flee to another; and which also obliges those receiving such service, to render to the claimant any fugitive from labor due, &c. poor ellen! she had many friends and able counsel, but nothing short of an open violation of the law of the land, could prevent her return to the house of bondage. she was tried and given up to him who claimed dominion over her. hopeless and heart-broken, she was escorted from the boasted land and village of freedom, by a company of the "light horse," under the command of capt. curtis. one poor, persecuted slave woman, upon whose heart had fallen a shadow darker than death's; driving every earthly hope of liberty from her wounded spirit; helpless and forlorn! she indeed must have required this military parade--this show of power! and that too, by men who throw up their caps with a shout for freedom and equal rights! oh, "consistency, thou art a jewel!" as i recollect but one other incident of the kind occurring in rochester, i will now name it. a colored man named davis, generally known as "doctor davis," with a reputation unsullied for industry, truth and sobriety, was arrested as a fugitive from slave labor in kentucky. two men came on from that state, acting in the double capacity of agents for the claimant and witnesses against the slave. they employed mr. l. as counsel, and hastened on the trial of the afflicted african. when it became generally known that davis was arrested, and about to be tried, the excitement grew intense among all classes; but more particularly among the colored people. when the trial came on, the court room was crowded to overflowing, and every avenue leading to it densely thronged with deeply anxious persons, assembled to witness the result. it became evident, however, that the poor man must be given up to his grasping master, unless some means were devised to rescue him from the power of an unjust law. his friends were on the alert, and as the trial proceeded, the colored men found an opportunity to get him into a corner of the crowded apartment; where, while the officers stood at the door, they dressed him in disguise, and otherwise so completely changed his personal appearance, that he passed out of the court room, undetected by the officers, and as all supposed was safely pursuing his way to canada. the hawk-eyed counsel for the kentuckians, however, too soon observed exultation written on every dusky countenance, to keep quiet. starting to his feet in great alarm, he cried out "where is davis?" and oh, how that question startled every one present. every eye gazed hither and thither, and every ear intently listened for the answer. after a moment of breathless silence, the excited counselor was assured that the "bird had flown," which announcement was received with a rapturous shout of joy by the audience, greatly, however, to the discomfiture of the gentlemen from kentucky, who had thought themselves so sure of their prize. nor would they be thwarted now. it was not yet too late to overtake their victim, and slavery required at their hands a sacrifice which they were ready to make. hand-bills were in immediate circulation, offering a reward of fifty dollars for the apprehension of the flying fugitive. fifty dollars, for the body and soul of a man to plunge into the degradation of slavery! fifty dollars for the ruin of a fellow being, for whom christ gave his precious life! yes, fifty dollars are offered to any human blood-hound who will hunt and worry the poor slave, who must fly from this boasted land of liberty, to seek protection in the dominion of england's queen! unfortunately for davis, some of these hand-bills were thrown on board the very packet on which he had embarked for buffalo; nor was this all. the bills would have left him uninjured, but a scoundrel--an apology for a man--was there also, who, for the consideration of fifty dollars was willing to compromise all pretensions to manhood and humanity, and drag from the boat the panting slave, whom he cast beneath the heel of his oppressor. when davis was finally retaken, those kentucky dealers in human chattels, held him with a grasp that banished all hope of escape by flight; and then in his sorrow and despair the wretched, hopeless man cried out "oh, my god, must i return to the hell of slavery? save me, oh, dear lord, save this, thy helpless, friendless servant, from a fate so dreadful! oh, christian friends and neighbors, i appeal to you to rescue me from a life far more terrible than death in any form! oh, god, is there no protection for me in the laws of new york? i claim it, by all that is sacred in her past history! give me liberty or death! or death!" he repeated, with a shudder; then casting one glance of hopeless agony on his persecutors, he secretly drew from his pocket a razor, and before he could be prevented he drew it across his throat, and fell gasping in the midst of his slave-hunting tormentors, while a collection of bystanders cried "shame! shame! on the institution of slavery!" poor davis was not dead, but supposing he soon would be, these gentlemen were requested to give security, and indemnify the town for all expenses it might incur on davis' account. but instead of giving their bond as requested, they took a sudden start for kentucky, where it was very generally desired they might remain. with good treatment, davis, after a long time, recovered sufficiently to be removed by his friends to a place of safety; and when so far restored as to be able he returned to rochester, where he received assistance which enabled him to reach canada. i have often heard from him during his residence in that country, where no slaves exist and he has done well, having quite an extensive practice in medicine, and lives in the quiet enjoyment of that liberty which he struggled so hard to obtain and came so near losing; yet, to this day he prefers death to slavery. and who does not? none, who have breathed the air of freedom after an experience of unrequited toil to enrich a brutal and selfish master. truly is it said, "a contented slave is a degraded being." chapter xv. sad reverses of capt. helm. i must again introduce to the kind reader my old master, capt. helm, who we left residing in bath, several years ago. and as i have before intimated he had now become a very poor man; indeed so reduced was he now that he lived with one of his slave women, and was supported by public charity! learning, too, that i had saved by my industry a few hundred dollars, it seemed very congenial with his avaricious habits to endeavor to obtain what i possessed. in accordance with his plan he employed a lawyer named lewland to come to my place of business, which he did, and demanded of me to pay capt. helm two hundred dollars. he also left a notice, forbidding all persons to take or destroy any property in my possession; and then impudently inquired how i expected to gain my freedom; if i thought of applying for a writ of _habaeus corpus_; and many other questions; to which i replied that i should pay no money on the order of capt. helm; apply for no writ; but should continue to maintain my personal rights and enjoy the freedom which was already mine, and which i designed to keep, assuring him that the captain had forfeited his claim, if he had any, to me or my services, when he hired me to mr. tower. he hung about me for a day or two, and then left me to pursue my business --i saw no more of him. some time afterward mr. h.e. rochester informed me that he had a _subpoena_ for me, which i found was issued by the direction of capt. helm. by mr. rochester's counsel, i took it to mr. a. sampson, who assured me that my old master had commenced a suit against me in the court of equity, and the case would be tried before wm. b. rochester, esq., who was one of the circuit judges. capt. helm claimed every particle of property i possessed; a claim that occasioned me great anxiety and some cost. mr. sampson encouraged me to hope, however, that the case would be dismissed as two other cases of that kind had been. i labored to the best of my ability to prepare myself for the trial, which was to decide whether i had a right to possess myself and command my own services and earnings, or whether all belonged to capt. helm. as i looked forward with anxious forebodings to the day appointed for the suit to commence, i was startled by the announcement of my old master's _death_! yes, capt. helm was dead; and with him died the law suit. he who had so wronged me, who had occasioned me so much suffering and sorrow had gone to his account. he who had once been thought to be one of the wealthiest as well as one of the greatest men in the county, died a pauper--neglected and despised, and scarcely awarded a decent burial. like his wife, who died such a horrid death, he had been reared in affluence and was an inheritor of vast possessions, but his home was in a slave state; he was raised on a plantation, and nurtured in the atmosphere of slavery. in his youth he had contracted the habit of drinking to excess, beside that of gambling, horse-racing and the like, which followed him through life. forgotten and scorned in his poverty by many who had partaken of his abundance, sipped his wine, and rode his fast horses. during the last war his princely mansion was ever open to the officers of the army, and many a wounded soldier has been cheered and comforted by his hospitality. but now he is regarded as no better than his poorest slave, and lies as lowly as they, in the narrow house appointed for all the living. my old master had two brothers: the oldest, thomas helm, was a captain in the united states army, and had been in many hard-fought battles. his younger brother, william, was a captain also; but thomas was the man to awaken curiosity. i have lived with him, but never knew of his going unarmed for an hour, until he left virginia and came to steuben county, where he died. when at the south, i have seen strangers approach him, but they were invariably commanded to "stand" and to "approach him at their peril." he finally came to the state of new york, bringing with him his "woman" with whom he lived, and two children, with whom he settled on a piece of land given him by my old master, where the old soldier lived, died, and was buried on one of his small "clearings" under an old apple tree. he owned a few slaves, but at his death his "woman" collected every thing she could, and among the rest, two or three slave children, to whom she had no right or claim whatever, and made her way to kentucky. about a year ago i visited the spot where the brave old defender of his country had been buried, but found very little to mark the resting place of the brother of my old master. they had passed away. their wealth, power and bravery had come to nought; and no tribute was now paid to the memory of one of "old virginia's best families." the _blood_ of which they were wont to boast, was now no more revered than that which commingled with the african and circulated in the veins of his despised and downtrodden slaves. chapter xvi. british emancipation of slavery. as time passed on i found myself progressing in a profitable business. i had paid for my house and lot, and purchased another adjoining, on which i had erected a valuable brick building. the lord prospered all my undertakings and i felt grateful for my good fortune. i kept all kinds of groceries and grain, which met a ready sale; and now i began to look about me for a partner in life, to share my joys and sorrows, and to assist me on through the tempestuous scenes of a life-long voyage. such a companion i found in the intelligent and amiable miss b----, to whom i was married on the eleventh of may, . she was the youngest daughter of a particular friend, who had traveled extensively and was noted for his honesty and intelligence. about this time, too, "sam patch" made his last and fatal leap from a scaffold twenty five feet above the falls of genesee, which are ninety-six feet in height. from thence he plunged into the foaming river to rise no more in life. the following spring the body of the foolish man was found and buried, after having lain several months in the turbulent waters of the genesee. this year was also rendered memorable by the efficient labors of professor finney, through whose faithful preaching of the gospel, many were brought to a saving knowledge of the truth. the "emancipation act" had now been passed, and the happy time for it to take effect was drawing nigh. slavery could no longer exist in the empire state nor receive the protection of her laws. would to god it had so continued to be what it professed--the refuge of the bondman and the home of the free. but alas! now the flying fugitive from slavery finds no security within her borders; he must flee onward, to the dominion of queen victoria, ere he rests, lest the exaction of the odious "fugitive slave law" return him to the house of bondage. but the emancipation bill had been passed, and the colored people felt it to be a time fit for rejoicing. they met in different places and determined to evince their gratitude by a general celebration. in rochester they convened in large numbers, and resolved to celebrate the glorious day of freedom at johnson's square, on the _fifth_ day of july. this arrangement was made so as not to interfere with the white population who were everywhere celebrating the day of their independence--"the glorious fourth,"--for amid the general and joyous shout of liberty, prejudice had sneeringly raised the finger of scorn at the poor african, whose iron bands were loosed, not only from english oppression, but the more cruel and oppressive power of slavery. they met according to previous appointment, mr. a. h----, having been chosen president, mr. h. e----, marshal, and mr. h. d----, reader of the "act of emancipation," and "the declaration of independence." a large audience of both white and colored people assembled, and the day which had been ushered in by the booming cannon, passed by in the joyous realization that we were indeed free men. to the music of the band the large procession marched from the square to the hotel, where ample provision was made for dinner, after listening to the following oration, which i had been requested to deliver. i must not omit to mention that on the morning of that happy day, a committee of colored men waited upon the hon. matthew brown, and in behalf of the citizens of monroe county, presented their thanks for his noble exertions in the legislature, in favor of the act by which thousands were made free men. they were received by that worthy gentleman with grateful and pleasing assurances of his continued labor in behalf of freedom. now i will lay before the reader my address to the audience on that eventful day. chapter xvii. oration--termination of slavery. the age in which we live is characterised in no ordinary degree, by a certain boldness and rapidity in the march of intellectual and political improvements. inventions the most surprising; revolutions the most extraordinary, are springing forth, and passing in quick succession before us,--all tending most clearly to the advancement of mankind towards that state of earthly perfection and happiness, from which they are yet so far distant, but of which their nature and that of the world they inhabit, are most certainly capable. it is at all times pleasing and instructive to look backward by the light of history, and forward by the light of analogical reasoning, to behold the gradual advancement of man from barbarism to civilization, from civilization toward the higher perfections of his nature; and to hope--nay, confidently believe, that the time is not far distant when liberty and equal rights being everywhere established, morality and the religion of the gospel everywhere diffused,--man shall no longer lift his hand for the oppression of his fellow man; but all, mutually assisting and assisted, shall move onward throughout the journey of human life, like the peaceful caravan across the burning sands of arabia. and never, on this glorious anniversary, so often and so deservedly celebrated by millions of free men, but which we are to-day for the first time called to celebrate--never before, has the eye been able to survey the past with so much satisfaction, or the future with hopes and expectations so brilliant and so flattering; it is to us a day of two-fold joy. we are men, though the strong hand of prejudice and oppression is upon us; we can, and we will rejoice in the advancement of the rapidly increasing happiness of mankind, and especially of our own race. we can, and we will rejoice in the growing power and glory of the country we inhabit. although almighty god has not permitted us to remain in the land of our forefathers and our own, the glories of national independence, and the sweets of civil and religious liberty, to their full extent; but the strong hand of the spoiler has borne us into a strange land, yet has he of his great goodness given us to behold those best and noblest of his gifts to man, in their fairest and loveliest forms; and not only have we beheld them, but we have already felt much of their benignant influence. most of us have hitherto enjoyed many, very many of the dearest rights of freemen. our lives and personal liberties have been held as sacred and inviolable; the rights of property have been extended to us, in this land of freedom; our industry has been, and still is, liberally rewarded; and so long as we live under a free and happy government which denies us not the protection of its laws, why should we fret and vex ourselves because we have had no part in framing them, nor anything to do with their administration. when the fruits of the earth are fully afforded us, we do not wantonly refuse them, nor ungratefully repine because we have done nothing towards the cultivation of the tree which produces them. no, we accept them with lively gratitude; and their sweetness is not embittered by reflecting upon the manner in which they were obtained. it is the dictate of sound wisdom, then, to enjoy without repining, the freedom, privileges, and immunities which wise and equal laws have awarded us--nay, proudly to rejoice and glory in their production, and stand ready at all times to defend them at the hazard of our lives, and of all that is most dear to us. but are we alone shut out and excluded from any share in the administration of government? are not the clergy, a class of men equally ineligible to office? a class of men almost idolized by their countrymen, ineligible to office! and are we alone excluded from what the world chooses to denominate polite society? and are not a vast majority of the polar race excluded? i know not why, but mankind of every age, nation, and complexion have had lower classes; and, as a distinction, they have chosen to arrange themselves in the grand spectacle of human life, like seats in a theater--rank above rank, with intervals between them. but if any suppose that happiness or contentment is confined to any single class, or that the high or more splendid order possesses any substantial advantage in those respects over their more lowly brethren, they must be wholly ignorant of all rational enjoyment. for what though the more humble orders cannot mingle with the higher on terms of equality. this, if rightly considered, is not a curse but a blessing. look around you, my friends: what rational enjoyment is not within your reach? your homes are in the noblest country in the world, and all of that country which your real happiness requires, may at any time be yours. your industry can purchase it; and its righteous laws will secure you in its possession. but, to what, my friends, do you owe all these blessings? let not the truth be concealed. you owe them to that curse, that bitter scourge of africa, whose partial abolishment you are this day convened to celebrate. slavery has been your curse, but it shall become your rejoicing. like the people of god in egypt, you have been afflicted; but like them too, you have been redeemed. you are henceforth free as the mountain winds. why should we, on this day of congratulation and joy, turn our view upon the origin of african slavery? why should we harrow up our minds by dwelling on the deceit, the forcible fraud and treachery that have been so long practised on your hospitable and unsuspecting countrymen? why speak of fathers torn from the bosom of their families, wives from the embraces of their husbands, children from the protection of their parents; in fine, of all the tender and endearing relations of life dissolved and trampled under foot, by the accursed traffic in human flesh? why should we remember, in joy and exultation, the thousands of our countrymen who are to-day, in this land of gospel light, this boasted land of civil and religious liberty, writhing under the lash and groaning beneath the grinding weight of slavery's chain? i ask, almighty god, are they who do such things thy chosen and favorite people? but, away with such thoughts as these; we will rejoice, though sobs interrupt the songs of our rejoicing, and tears mingle in the cup we pledge to freedom; our harps though they have long hung neglected upon the willows, shall this day be strung full high to the notes of gladness. on this day, in one member at least of this mighty republic, the slavery of our race has ceased forever! no more shall the insolent voice of a master be the main-spring of our actions, the sole guide of our conduct; no more shall their hands labor in degrading and profitless servitude. their toils will henceforth be voluntary, and be crowned with the never failing reward of industry. honors and dignities may perhaps never be ours; but wealth, virtue, and happiness are all within the compass of our moderate exertions. and how shall we employ a few moments better than in reflecting upon the means by which these are to be obtained. for what can be more proper and more profitable to one who has just gained an invaluable treasure, than to consider how he may use it to the best possible advantage? and here i need not tell you that a strict observance to all the precepts of the gospel ought to be your first and highest aim; for small will be the value of all that the present world can bestow, if the interests of the world to come are neglected and despised. none of you can be ignorant of what the gospel teaches. bibles may easily be obtained; nor can there be a greater disgrace, or a more shameful neglect of duty than for a person of mature age, and much more, for any father of a family to be without that most precious of all books--the bible. if, therefore, any of you are destitute of a bible, hasten to procure one. will any of you say that it can be of no use to you, or that you cannot read it? look then to that noblest of all remedies for this evil, the sunday school--that most useful of all institutions. there you may learn without loss of time or money, that of which none should be ignorant--to read. let me exhort you with earnestness to give your most sincere attention to this matter. it is of the utmost importance to every one of you. let your next object be to obtain as soon as may be, a competency of the good things of this world; immense wealth is not necessary for you, and would but diminish your real happiness. abject poverty is and ought to be regarded as the greatest, most terrible of all possible evils. it should be shunned as a most deadly and damning sin. what then are the means by which so dreadful a calamity may be avoided? i will tell you, my friends, in these simple words--hear and ponder on them; write them upon the tablets of your memory; they are worthy to be inscribed in letters of gold upon every door-post--"industry, prudence, and economy." oh! they are words of power to guide you to respectability and happiness. attend, then, to some of the laws which industry impose, while you have health and strength. let not the rising sun behold you sleeping or indolently lying upon your beds. rise ever with the morning light; and, till sun-set, give not an hour to idleness. say not human nature cannot endure it. it can--it almost requires it. sober, diligent, and moderate labor does not diminish it, but on the contrary, greatly adds to the health, vigor, and duration of the human frame. thousands of the human race have died prematurely of disease engendered by indolence and inactivity. few, very few indeed, have suffered by the too long continuance of bodily exertion. as you give the day to labor, so devote the night to rest; for who that has drunk and reveled all night at a tippling shop, or wandered about in search of impious and stolen pleasures, has not by so doing not only committed a most heinous and damning sin in the sight of heaven, but rendered himself wholly unfit for the proper discharge of the duties of the coming day. nor think that industry or true happiness do not go hand in hand; and to him who is engaged in some useful avocation, time flies delightfully and rapidly away. he does not, like the idle and indolent man, number the slow hours with sighs--cursing both himself and them for the tardiness of their flight. ah, my friends, it is utterly impossible for him who wastes time in idleness, ever to know anything of true happiness. indolence, poverty, wretchedness, are inseparable companions,--fly them, shun idleness, as from eminent and inevitable destruction. in vain will you labor unless prudence and economy preside over and direct all your exertions. remember at all times that money even in your own hands, is power; with it you may direct as you will the actions of your pale, proud brethren. seek after and amass it then, by just and honorable means; and once in your hand never part with it but for a full and fair equivalent; nor let that equivalent be something which you do not want, and for which you cannot obtain more than it cost you. be watchful and diligent and let your mind be fruitful in devises for the honest advancement of your worldly interest. so shall you continually rise in respectability, in rank and standing in this so late and so long the land of your captivity. above all things refrain from the excessive use of ardent spirits. there is no evil whose progress is so imperceptible; and at the same time so sure and deadly, as that of intemperance; and by slow degrees it undermines health, wealth, and happiness, till all at length tumble into one dreadful mass of ruin. if god has given you children, he has in so doing imposed upon you a most fearful responsibility; believe me, friends, you will answer to god for every misfortune suffered, and every crime committed by them which right education and example could have taught them to avoid. teach them reverence and obedience to the laws both of god and man. teach them sobriety, temperance, justice, and truth. let their minds be rightly instructed--imbued with kindness and brotherly love, charity, and benevolence. let them possess at least so much learning as is to be acquired in the common schools of the country. in short, let their welfare be dearer to you than any earthly enjoyment; so shall they be the richest of earthly blessings. my countrymen, let us henceforth remember that we are men. let us as one man, on this day resolve that henceforth, by continual endeavors to do good to all mankind, we will claim for ourselves the attention and respect which as men we should possess. so shall every good that can be the portion of man, be ours--this life shall be happy, and the life to come, glorious. * * * * * the opinion of the public regarding the celebration and performances of that day, together with the behavior of the colored people, will be seen by the following short extract from the _rochester daily advertiser_, published soon after the occurrence of those events: "abolition of slavery. "the extinction of that curse by the laws of our state, was marked with appropriate rejoicings on the part of the african race in this neighborhood. a procession of considerable length and respectable appearance, preceded by a band of music, moved from brown's island through the principal streets to the public square, yesterday forenoon, where a stage and seats were erected, for the speakers and audience. the throne of grace was addressed by the rev. mr. allen, a colored clergyman. the act declaring all slaves free in this state, on the fourth day of july, , was read, which was succeeded by the reading of the declaration of independence and delivery of an oration by mr. steward. we have heard but one opinion from several gentlemen who were present, and that was highly complimentary to the composition and delivery of the same. "the exercises were concluded by a short discourse from the rev. mr. allen, and the procession moved off to partake of an entertainment prepared for the occasion. the thing was got up in good order, and passed off remarkably well. the conduct of the emancipated race was exemplary throughout, and if their future enjoyment of freedom be tinctured with the prudence that characterised their celebration of its attainment, the country will have no reason to mourn the philanthropy that set them free." * * * * * thus ended our first public celebration of our own and our country's freedom. all conducted themselves with the strictest propriety and decorum, retiring to their homes soberly and in proper season. chapter xviii. condition of free colored people. pursuant to a call given in the summer of , by the colored residents of philadelphia, for a national convention of their race, i started in company with a friend to attend it; having previously engaged seats inside mr. coe's stage-coach as far as utica, n.y., to which place we had paid our fare the same as other passengers. we rode on to auburn very pleasantly, but when at that place, we with others moved to resume our seats; we were met by a stern rebuke for presuming to seat ourselves on the inside, and were ordered to ride on the outside of the coach. in vain we expostulated; in vain we reminded the driver of the agreement, and of our having paid for an inside seat; we were told to take the outside of the coach or remain behind. desiring to attend the convention, we concluded to go on, submitting to this rank injustice and dishonesty, until our return, when we determined to sue the proprietor of that line of stages. an opportunity was offered soon after, when i commenced a suit for damages against mr. sherwood, who was the great stage proprietor of those days. he, however, cleared himself by declaring that he was in no way responsible for the failures of mr. coe, to whom i must look for remuneration. i never found it convenient to sue mr. coe, and so the matter ended. we passed through new york city to the place of our destination, where we found many of our brethren already assembled. philadelphia, which i now saw for the first time, i thought the most beautiful and regularly laid out city i ever beheld. here had lived the peaceable, just, and merciful william penn; and here many of his adherents still reside. here, too, was the place where the rt. rev. bishop allen, the first colored american bishop in the united states, had labored so successfully. when the methodists sought to crush by cruel prejudice the poor african, he stepped boldly forward in defence of their cause, which he sustained, with a zeal and talent ever to be revered. thousands were brought to a knowledge of the truth, and induced "to seek first the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness," through his instrumentality. through the benign influence of this good man, friends and means were raised for his poor brethren, to build houses of worship, where they would no more be dragged from their knees when in prayer, and told to seat themselves by the door. oh, how much good can one good and faithful man do, when devoted to the cause of humanity--following in the footsteps of the blessed christ; doing unto others as they would be done by; and remembering those in bonds as bound with them. what though his skin be black as ebony, if the heart of a brother beats in his bosom? oh, that man could judge of character as does our heavenly father; then would he judge righteous judgment, and cease to look haughtily down upon his afflicted fellow, because "his skin is colored not like his own." we convened at the specified time, and organized by appointing rev. r. allen, president, a. steward, vice-president, and j.c. morrell, secretary. the convention which continued in session three days, was largely attended by all classes of people, and many interesting subjects were ably discussed; but the most prominent object was the elevation of our race. resolutions were passed calculated to encourage our brethren to take some action on the subjects of education and mechanism. agricultural pursuits were also recommended;--and here allow me to give my opinion in favor of the latter, as a means of sustenance and real happiness. i knew many colored farmers, all of whom are well respected in the neighborhood of their residence. i wish i could count them by hundreds; but our people mostly flock to cities where they allow themselves to be made "hewers of wood and drawers of water;" barbers and waiters,--when, if they would but retire to the country and purchase a piece of land, cultivate and improve it, they would be far richer and happier than they can be in the crowded city. it is a mistaken idea that there is more prejudice against color in the country. true, it exists everywhere, but i regard it less potent in the country, where a farmer can live less dependant on his oppressors. the sun will shine, the rains descend, and the earth bring forth her increase, just as readily for the colored agriculturist as for his pale face neighbor. yes, and our common mother earth will, when life is ended, as readily open her bosom to receive your remains in a last embrace, as that of the haughty scorner of our rights. in the city, however, there is no escape from the crushing weight of prejudice, to ramble over fields of your own cultivation; to forget your sorrows in the refreshing air that waves the loaded branches of an orchard of your own planting; nor to solace yourself with a gambol over the green meadow with your little ones. it is all toil, toil, with a burthened heart until shadows fall across the hearth-stone, and dismal forebodings darken the fireside, from whence the weary wife retires to refresh herself in broken slumber for the renewed toil of another day. will not my friends think of these and many other advantages in favor of a country life, and practice accordingly? after the close of the convention, i returned to my business in rochester. until the discussion, which commenced about this time on the subject of temperance, i had been engaged, as most other grocers were at that time, in the sale of spirituous liquors somewhat extensively. my attention had never before been called especially to the subject, though i had witnessed some of its direst evils; but now, when i saw the matter in its true light, i resolved to give it up. i was doing well and making handsome profits on the sale of alcoholic beverages. i had also experienced a good deal of trouble with it. my license allowed me to sell any quantity less than five gallons; but it was a fine of twenty-five dollars if drunk on the premises,--one half of the sum to go to the complainant. if a vicious man got out of funds it became both easy and common for him to give some person a sixpence, half of which was to be spent for whisky, which made him a witness for the other, who would make immediate complaint, and collect his share of the fine. nor could i prevent men who came with bottles, and purchased whisky, from drinking it where they pleased; consequently i was often called to answer to such complaints. one morning a man entered my store and called for liquor, which the clerk gave him. after drinking it, he went directly to the office of a. house, esq., and entered a complaint against the clerk who had served him; then stepped out for consultation with his counsel. at that moment i arrived at the office of the magistrate to whom i immediately made complaint against myself, relating to him also just how the event happened. in a few minutes the original complainant returned, to whom 'squire house explained that he should have arraigned the proprietor of the store, and not the clerk as he had done. determined on making a speculation, however, he demanded a precept for myself. the 'squire, laughing most heartily, informed him that he was too late,--that mr. steward had the start of him, having just entered a complaint against himself, by which he saves one half of the fine. the man walked out, looking rather "cheap," nor did he or others annoy me afterwards by making complaints of that kind. but now i saw, as never before, the sin of selling that which would make beasts of men, and only stopped to inquire what was duty in the matter. all the arguments in favor of its sale were more forcible then than now. all classes of persons used and drank the article; and it required more moral courage, to relinquish the business than it does now. nevertheless, it appeared plain to my mind, that duty to god and my fellow-men required it, and i cheerfully gave it up forever. i could not conscientiously, nor do i see how any man can, continue to traffic in this most fruitful source of pauperism and crime. no benefit whatever arises from its use as a beverage or from its sale. it is a curse to the drinker, to the seller, and to the community. those who are licensed venders take from the government fifty dollars for every one put into the treasury. the money paid for licenses is a very meager compensation for the beggary, crime, and bloodshed which rum produces. all who have any knowledge of the statistics of the state, or of our prison and police records know, that intemperance has done more to fill the prisons, work-houses, alms-houses, and asylums of the state than all other influences combined; and yet men uphold the traffic. their favors are for those who love its use and sale, and their anathemas for him, who is striving to save a nation of drunkards from swift destruction; yea, their own sires, sons, and brothers from the grave of the inebriate. when in rochester a short time since, soliciting subscribers for this work, i stepped into a distillery and asked a man to subscribe for it. he hesitated in his decision until he took a tumbler and filling it with brandy, invited me to drink. i thanked him, saying i never drink brandy. "never drink!" he growled, "then i tell you, sir, that you stand a much better chance of being struck by lightning than of getting a subscriber here." oh, very well; most likely had he agreed to take a copy, he would have been sorely displeased with my views of the liquor traffic, and perhaps with the compliment i have here paid him. but in the foregoing remarks i have said but a tithe of what my heart feels, when i think of the sufferings occasioned by drunkenness. even the cup of the burthened slave, writhing in his chains and toiling under the lash, is not full of bitterness until the demon rum throws in its dregs and fills it to overflowing. how often does it occur that a passionate master, heated with wine,--mad with himself and all about him, pours out his vengeful ire on the head and back of some helpless slave, and leaves him weltering in his blood! how often may be heard the agonized wail of the slave mother, deploring the departure of some innocent child that has been lost in gambling, while the master was intoxicated! how often do the shrieks of the poor but virtuous slave girl, ring through the midnight air, as she, pleading for death rather than life, rushes screaming away from a brutal master, infuriated and drunk! if it is a fact, and certainly it is, that the master is thus affected by his costly wine; what, think you, will be the temper and condition of the coarse and heartless overseer who drinks his miserable whisky or bad brandy? it is horrible, beyond description. i have often myself seen a drunken overseer, after pouring down dram after dram, mount his horse and ride furiously among the slaves, beating, bruising, mangling with his heavy cowhide every one he chanced to meet, until the ground presented the appearance of a battlefield. chapter xix. persecution of the colored people. while the colored population of new york were rejoicing in the measure of freedom allowed them by the more wholesome laws of that state, our brethren in ohio were being oppressed and maltreated by the unjust and odious "black laws" of that professedly free state, enacted with special reference to the disposition of the colored race. in cincinnati, o., within sight of the slave land of kentucky, a terrible persecution had commenced, and an effort was made to drive all colored persons from the place. our people had settled there in large numbers, but now a mob had assembled in that city with the determination to drive them, not only from their homes and city, but from the state. a bloody conflict ensued, in which the white and black man's blood mingled freely. so great had been the loss of property; and go horrid and fearful had been the scene, that our people chose to leave, rather than remain under such untoward circumstances. they lived in constant fear of the mob which had so abused and terrified them. families seated at the fireside started at every breath of wind, and trembled at the sound of every approaching footstep. the father left his family in fear, lest on his return from his daily labor, he should find his wife and children butchered, and his house left desolate. meetings were held to devise plans and means for leaving the place where they had been so cruelly treated. but where should they go? and why should they be compelled to leave the state of ohio? the fact is, that the african race there, as in all parts of this nominally free republic, was looked down upon by the white population as being little above the brute creation; or, as belonging to some separate class of degraded beings, too deficient in intellect to provide for their own wants, and must therefore depend on the superior ability of their oppressors, to take care of them. indeed, both the time and talents of eminent men have been wasted in unsuccessful research for the line of demarcation, between the african and the highest order of animals,--such for instance as the monkey or the ourang-outang. some even, have advanced the absurd idea, that wicked cain transmitted to them the "mark" which the almighty set upon him for the murder of his brother; and that he, (who then must have survived the deluge), is the progenitor of that despised and inferior race--the negro slave of the united states of america! if it be true, that the natural inferiority of the black man, connects him so closely with the animal creation, it looks passing strange to me that he should be made responsible for the violation of laws which he has been declared too imbecile to aid in framing or of comprehending. nor is it less strange to see him enslaved and compelled by his labor to maintain both his master and himself, after having declared him incapable of doing either. why not let him go then? why hold with an unyielding grasp, so miserable and useless a piece of property? is it benevolence that binds him with his master's chain? judge ye. stranger still is the fact of attaching such vast influence to his presence and so much concern regarding his movements, when in a state of freedom, if indeed, he is of so little worth and consequence, and so nearly related to the brutes that perish. surely, the legislature of ohio, or of any other state, would never feel called upon to sit in grave counsel, for the purpose of framing laws which would impose fine and imprisonment on a monkey, should one chance to locate within its jurisdiction; nor would they think it advisable for the court to assemble, or a jury to be empanelled, to drive from their midst an ourang-outang. and yet this and more must be done to get rid of the hated negro, who has been born in that state, or has fled to it for protection from the manstealer. when strangers pass hastily through this country, and after a careless glance at the colored population, report them to be "an indolent, improvident, and vicious class of persons," they should consider some of the many obstacles thrown in the way of the most favored of that race. knowing as they do, the rigor of the law, and feeling as they do, the oppressive power of prejudice, it becomes almost impossible for them to rise to that station they were designed to fill, and for which their natural abilities as certainly qualify them, as though they had never been robbed of their god-given rights. but let us return to our tried friends in cincinnati. they finally resolved to collect what they could of their possessions and establish a colony in canada. in accordance with this resolution, they agreed to first send an agent to obtain liberty to settle there, and if successful to select and purchase a large tract of land, making such arrangements as he thought best for their speedy removal to their new home. israel lewis was their appointed agent, who departed immediately for upper canada to perform his mission; and there for the present we will leave him and return to rochester. our more favored brethren in new york felt a deep sympathy for their outraged countrymen in cincinnati; a sympathy equaled only by their indignation at the cause of such demand. a meeting expressive of their views and feelings on that subject, was convened in the city of rochester during which, the following preamble and resolutions were read and unanimously adopted: _whereas_, the city of cincinnati has again become the scene of another dreadful mob and bloodshed, where nothing but terror and confusion reigned for a number of hours together. _and whereas_, our brethren and fellow citizens were left exposed to the fury of an ungovernable mob, made up of the base, the ignorant, and vile, the very dregs of society; and probably led on by slaveholders, who of all men are the most execrable; while boasting of liberty, he tramples on the dearest rights of men and in the greatest robber of it on earth. _resolved_, that we deprecate an appeal to arms by any class of our fellow citizens, except in extreme cases, and we think that such a case has been presented in the late outrage at cincinnati. _resolved_, that when a class of men so far forget the duty they owe to god, their fellow men, and their country, as to trample under their feet the very laws they have made, and are in duty bound to obey and execute, we believe it to be the duty of our brethren and fellow citizens, to protect their lives against such lawless mobs; and if in the conflict, any of the mobocrats perish, every good citizen should say amen. _resolved_, that we do truly sympathize with the friends of god's poor; the friends of the oppressed, throughout this boasted land of liberty, in the losses they have sustained in consequence of the mob. _resolved_, that we believe the time is not far distant, when the _queen city of the west_, shall be redeemed from the hateful influence of the slaveholder; redeemed from that cruel prejudice of caste which, hangs like a mill-stone around the neck of our people; redeemed from all those unequal laws, which have a tendency to make the strong stronger and the weak weaker; redeemed from their falsehearted friends, whose sarcastic smile is more to be feared than the frowns of an open enemy. _resolved_, that the untiring exertions of our friends, and the indefatigable industry of our brethren, are sure guarantees that the state of ohio will not long be what she now is,--a hissing and by-word on account of her iniquitous laws; but that she will rise above every narrow minded prejudice, and raise up her sable sons and daughters and place them on an equality with the rest of her citizens. _resolved_, that we deeply deplore the loss our friends have sustained in the destruction of their printing press in cincinnati. _resolved_, that we as an oppressed people, feel it our duty to give our undivided support to the press and the laborers in our cause. * * * * * mr. israel lewis made his way to canada, and having obtained permission to establish a colony, he bargained with the canada company for one township of land, for which he agreed to pay the money demanded, in a few days, and then returned to cincinnati, by way of rochester. the poor, persecuted colored people, had in the mean time made ready for their flight from their homes, their native land, and from this boasted free republic, to seek a residence in the cold and dreary wilds of canada; to claim that protection from the english government which had been denied them in the land of their birth; and like the overtasked israelites, "they went out with their wives and their little ones," but with smaller possessions. during the stay of mr. lewis in rochester, he reported there and elsewhere, that eleven hundred persons were then in the dense woods of canada in a state of actual starvation, and called upon the humane everywhere, to assist them in such extreme suffering. to me he also told the story of their destitution, which affected me deeply. i had at that time just made a public profession of my faith in the christian religion and my determination to be governed by its holy precepts, i felt for the distressed and suffering everywhere; but particularly for those who had fled, poor and destitute, from cruel task-masters, choosing rather the sufferings of cold and hunger, with liberty, than the meager necessities of life and slavery. i concluded to go to canada and try to do some good; to be of some little service in the great cause of humanity. as soon as practicable therefore, i left rochester for toronto, the capital of upper canada, which i found quite a thriving town, and containing some fine brick buildings, and some i saw were built of mud, dried in the sun, wearing rather a poor than pretty appearance. at toronto we hired a team to take us on to ancaster, fifty miles distant. we traveled now through a new country; the roads were very bad, and the inhabitants few. we, however, reached ancaster, a small village, where we remained one night and next morning pursued our journey to the settlement of the poor fugitives from cincinnati. after some hard traveling, we finally arrived at the place where we found our brethren, it is true, but in quite destitute circumstances. our fare was poor indeed, but as good as they could get. the township was one unbroken wilderness when purchased for the colony, and of course their lands must be cleared of the heavy timber before crops could be got in, hence, there was a great deal of destitution and suffering before their harvest could ripen after the land was prepared for the seed. the day after i arrived at the settlement, which consisted of a few rude log cabins, a meeting was called to give the township a name. several were suggested, but i at length motioned to name it in honor of the great philanthropist, wilberforce. this was carried, and the township from that time has been known by that name. it is situated on what is known as the huron tract, kent county, london district, and is the next north of the township of london. our neighbors on the south, were a company of irish people, who owned the township, and on the west side were a township of welshmen, a hardy, industrious and enterprising people. in wilberforce there were no white inhabitants; the land appeared level and handsome, with but one stream of any magnitude running through it; this was the oxsable, which was dry during a part of the year. all was one vast forest of heavy timber, that would compare well with that of western new york. beech, maple, ash, elm, oak, whitewood, bass, balm of gilead, &c. the soil was good for corn, wheat, rye, oats, and most kinds of the grain and vegetables raised in new york, and was a superior grazing country, about fifteen miles from london. this was a village containing perhaps thirty dwellings, and two hundred inhabitants; a court-house and jail all under one roof, built of stone and plastered; small doors and windows in the style of some of the old english castles. london was built in the forks, or between the east and west branches of the river thames; hence, you would hear people speak of "going to the forks," instead of the village; it is about two hundred miles from buffalo, and the nearest port between the two is port stanley, thirty miles from london. i returned from canada, where i had seen an oppressed people struggling with the hardships and privations of a new settlement; i had seen wretchedness in some places, but by no means sufficient to justify the report made by mr. lewis, and i determined i would remove there with my family, and do all in my power to assist the colored people in canada. i had witnessed a disposition on the part of some to prevent our brethren from settling in wilberforce, while the colonizationists made a grand argument of it in favor of their wicked policy. all must see that it became a necessity with those who fled to canada to save themselves from constant abuse or from slavery, and in some instances their lives; and not because they admitted the justice of one portion of american citizens driving another from their native land; nor their right to colonize them anywhere on the habitable globe. all these things taken into consideration, determined me to join them in the enterprize of building up an asylum for the oppressed, where our colored friends could obtain a home, and where, by their industry they could obtain a competency for themselves, besides providing a safe retreat for the weary fugitive from slavery; guiding by its beacon light of liberty, the destitute and oppressed everywhere, to home and plenty. i felt willing to make any sacrifice in my power to serve my lord, by administering to the necessities of my down-trodden countrymen. how far my desire has been accomplished god only knows, but i do know that the purest motives influenced me, and an honest purpose directed my steps in removing to wilberforce. not so with all, however. some there were, judas-like, who "cared not for the poor; but because he was a thief and had the bag, and bore what was put therein," made great exertions for a time in favor of the settlement. it too soon became apparent that to make money was the prominent object with by far too great a number of the colonists; hence, our future difficulties. chapter xx. removal to canada. in , i closed my business in rochester, preparatory to leaving for canada. some of my friends thought i had better remain in the states and direct emigrants to wilberforce; while others were certain i could benefit them more by going myself at once,--the latter i had determined to do; but as the time drew near for me to start, an unaccountable gloominess and forebodings of evil took possession of my mind. doubts of the practicability of the undertaking began to arise, though nothing unfavorable had occurred. to the throne of grace, i often bore the subject and besought my heavenly father to enlighten my mind, and direct my steps in duty's path regarding it; but to confess the truth, i never received any great encouragement from that source, though it occupied my mind constantly. during the hours of slumber i was continually being startled by frightful dreams,--sometimes i thought i saw a monstrous serpent as large as a log stretched across the road between rochester and the genesee river; at another i thought myself in the air so high that i could have a full view of the shores of lake ontario, and they were alive with snakes; and then i saw a large bird like an eagle, rise up out of the water and fly toward the south. notwithstanding these omens, i turned my steps toward wilberforce. in may, , we bid adieu to our friends in rochester, and taking passage to buffalo on a canal boat, we arrived in due time, and from whence we sailed for port stanley, or as it is sometimes called, kettle creek. it took a week to make this trip, which, with favorable wind might have been made in two days. the mouth of the creek makes a safe harbor at that place, where there is also a dock, one ware-house and several farm houses. the place was then very wild and picturesque in its appearance; we did not stop long, however, to admire its beauty, but engaged a farmer to take us on to london. ten miles on our way, and we came to a newly laid out village, called st. thomas, from whence we pursued our journey through a new country to london, where we arrived tired and hungry, and put up for the night with a mr. faden. there i purchased a span of horses for one hundred and fifty dollars, and putting them before a new lumber wagon brought on from rochester, we started for our wild and new home in good spirits, at which we arrived in good time. the colony was comprised of some fourteen or fifteen families, and numbered some over fifty persons in all. the first business done after my arrival, was to appoint a board of managers, to take the general oversight of all the public business of the colony. the board consisted of seven men, chosen by the settlers, and as i was now one of them, they gave me the office of president. it was also resolved by the board, to send out two agents for the purpose of soliciting aid for the erection of houses for worship, and for the maintenance of schools in the colony. the rev. n. paul was chosen one of their agents, and he received from me a power of attorney, authorising him to collect funds for the above purposes in england, ireland, and scotland; the other, i. lewis was empowered to solicit and collect funds for the same objects in the united states. preparations were immediately made to fit mr. paul out for his mission to england, from whence he was to remit any funds he might receive to arthur tappan, of new york city; first to pay for his outfit, and afterwards to the treasurer of the board of managers, for the support of schools in wilberforce. mr. paul, however, still lacked money to proceed to england, and therefore went to rochester, where he found my old and tried friend everard peck; who was ever known as the poor man's friend, and the support of the weak everywhere. to this good man, whose memory is still dear to thousands, mr. paul showed his power of attorney, at the same time informing him of the condition and wants of the colony; and as was ever his wont, when help was needed, his purse, (though not one of the heaviest), was at his service. through the kind influence of mr. peck, and some of the colored friends in that city, a note for seven hundred dollars was drawn up, signed by mr. p. and cashed at the bank, which enabled the agent to make the voyage without further delay. he reached england, and collected quite large sums of money, but entirely failed in the remittance of any sums, either to mr. tappan or myself. when the note of seven hundred dollars became due, mr. peck was obliged to pay, and lose it. it was out of my power, nor had any of the friends the means to do any thing towards paying it, inasmuch as they had assisted paul all they could and got nothing in return. there was one thing, however, that the reverend gentleman did do,--he wrote me from time to time, to keep me advised of the success of his mission, and once informed me that he had then twelve hundred dollars on hand; but not a farthing could we get. we wrote him again and again, reminding him of the bank debt, and the uneasiness of his friends on account of it, but all to no purpose,--the atlantic was between us, and he was making money too easily, to like to be interrupted. he never paid one dollar. let us now look after the other agent, who had likewise been fitted out, to prosecute his mission in the states. that he collected money professedly for the assistance of the colony, is too well known to require proof, but how much, we could not determine; we had reason to believe, however, that he retained quite a large sum. he would neither pay it over to the board, nor give any account of his proceedings. very little did he ever pay over to the aid of the colony as designed. he was frequently written to, and every means in our power used, to induce him to give some account of his mission, but in vain; he would do nothing of the kind. things went on in this way for two years, when it became evident that he had no intention of satisfying the minds of the settlers; and farther, that he meant to collect what he could, and use it as he pleased. we learned too, that when abroad, he lived extravagantly,--putting up at the most expensive hotels, giving parties, and doing many things, not only beyond his means, but that brought dishonor on the cause and colony. when he returned to the settlement, he would, if he had funds, make presents to his particular friends instead of paying it to the treasurer, as he was pledged to do, until the majority of the colony became thoroughly disgusted with his heartlessness and dishonesty. it was also perceivable that lewis and paul both, were getting weary of the solicitations of the board and complaints of the settlers, and were anxious to be rid of them, and enjoy their ill gotten gains in their own way. it was never intended by the managers, to send out agents to beg money to be divided among the colonists; but to support schools, &c. most of the settlers were able to work and did so; and were now getting along quite pleasantly. finally, after we had tried every means in vain, to get a settlement with lewis, and to obtain his papers, there was nothing more we could do, but to warn the public against him, by publishing the facts in the case; this we did in various newspapers of canada and in the states. an article inserted in the "rochester observer," to that effect, was like throwing a lighted match into a keg of powder. the excitement was intense on the part of lewis and his friends, who were joined by the friends of n. paul, to destroy, if they could, the board of managers. i, however, being the only member of that devoted board, who happened to be extensively known in the states, their anathemas were all poured out on me, and all their energies brought forward to insure my destruction. they were few in number, it is true, but they had money, and i had little to spend in litigation; besides, lewis was in debt, and his creditors did not like to see his means of paying them swept away. the canadians seemed to think there was no harm done if lewis did get money out of the "yankees," as long as it came into their hands at last, and so, on the whole, they raised a tremendous storm, designed, however, to sweep nobody away but myself; and i have continued to this day, notwithstanding all their artful malignity. nothing, i am persuaded, could have saved me from imprisonment at that time, had i not possessed a high reputation for truth and honesty during my previous sojourn in the colony. lewis had dealt somewhat extensively with mr. jones, who was the principal agent for the canada company; but failing to fulfil his agreement, regarding the payment for a large tract of land, it so exasperated mr. jones, that he declared he would have nothing to do with any of the colored people; and so when i wanted to buy a lot of land, he would not sell it to me because he so despised lewis. how much harm can one wicked man do! and yet it cannot be right to judge the character of a whole class or community by that of one person. chapter xxi. roughing it in the wilds of canada. the "canada company," of which i have so frequently spoken, was an association of wealthy gentlemen, residing in england; something like the east india company, especially regarding the title of lands. they had sent on their agent and purchased a large tract of land known as the "huron tract," extending from london to lake huron, where they laid out a village, named goderich, sixty miles distant from wilberforce. with this company, mr. lewis had contracted for a township of land, as agent for the cincinnati refugees; but failing to meet the demand, the company kindly extended the time of payment; but when that time also passed without receiving any thing from lewis, the general agent, mr. jones became so indignant, that he utterly refused to sell a foot of land to any colored person whatever. this proved to be one of the greatest detriments to the prosperity of the colony it ever met. the society of friends at this time, however, with commendable sympathy for the oppressed and abused colored residents of cincinnati, and with their proverbial liberality, raised a sum of money sufficient to purchase eight hundred acres of land of the canada company for the benefit of the colony. the funds were placed in the hands of one of their number, frederick stover, who went to canada as their agent, purchased the land, and settled colored people upon it, which comprised nearly all of the wilberforce settlement. this occurred before i settled in canada, and the consequence was, when i desired to purchase land, none could be obtained. at the time, however, of which i am speaking, the canada company were constructing a road through their possessions, some seventy miles in length, and the principal contractor, mr. ingersoll, had agreed to take land in part payment for his services on the road. in accordance with this agreement, he accepted one lot of land situated within the wilberforce settlement, which he agreed to sell to mr. lewis for twenty-five dollars. mr. lewis, knowing that i was anxious to purchase, accepted the offer, and then came and showed the contract, offering it to me on condition that i paid him the twenty-five dollars which he had just paid mr. ingersoll. this i was glad to do; i paid the demand; took an assignment on the back of the receipt, and passed into immediate possession of the land. he at the same time requested me to take up a note of twenty-five dollars for him; which i did, on his promising to refund the money in a short time. i commenced laboring on the wild land i had purchased; cleared some ten acres, which in consequence of its being so heavily timbered, cost me at least twenty-five dollars per acre; built a house and barn--supposing myself its legal possessor,--until i chanced to meet mr. ingersoll, who informed me that mr. jones had refused to sell him the land to be disposed of to a colored person; that he had duly informed lewis of the fact, and had returned to him the twenty-five dollars received. not a word of this, had lewis communicated to me, though he knew i was making expensive improvements, in the faith that i was its only owner. instead of atoning for the wrong already done me, he made it the basis of a deeper injury. after one year's residence in wilberforce, i found it necessary to return to rochester to settle some unfinished business; and when on my way thither i stopped at london, where i found lewis, who had not only preceded me but had taken out a _capias_, for forty pounds currency. i was therefore obliged to get bail for my appearance at court, after which i pursued my journey. on my arrival in rochester, i found business at a stand; and the community in a state of excitement and alarm, on account of that fell destroyer, the cholera. this was its first visit to the united states, and the fearful havoc it was making, spread terror and consternation throughout the land. i returned to canada; but found on my arrival at london, that "the pestilence that walketh at noon-day," had preceded me, and taken from that village my friend, mr. ingersoll, with several others. so great had been the alarm, that instead of my appearing at court as i expected to do, i found it adjourned, and the judge returned to his home. i hastened on to wilberforce, which had fortunately escaped the fearful scourge, with terrible apprehensions. having a little spare time, i went out with my rifle, in search of deer; but soon came upon a large wolf, which i wounded with the first shot; he, however, sprang aside and was gone. on looking about for him i espied another!--reloading my rifle, i fired, and he fell dead at my feet, while my dog at the same time i heard barking furiously. having dispatched this second intruder, i saw that my dog had the first one, entangled in the branches of a fallen tree. i searched for my balls, and was vexed to find that i had left them at home. in this predicament i cut with my knife, a knot from a beech limb, put it in my rifle, and took deadly aim at the enraged wolf. the wooden ball struck him between the eyes and killed him on the spot. the two dead animals, with their skins, i sold for nine dollars and a half,--making pretty good wages for a few hours labor. hunting was very generally pursued by the settlers, with great earnestness and considerable skill. the forest abounded with deer, wolves, bears, and other wild animals. bears were plenty, and very troublesome because so dangerously tame. one day, our children had built for themselves a play-house, a few rods from the door, and were enjoying their play when they were called in to dinner. a moment after, i observed one of the settlers gazing intently at the play-house; i called to know what so attracted his attention, and he informed me that an old bear, with three cubs, had just then taken possession of the playhouse. and sure enough there they were! knocking about among the dishes, and munching the crumbs of bread which the children had left. the man was supplied with a loaded rifle and urged to shoot them, but he begged to be excused from a pitched battle with so many; and the bears leisurely took their departure for the woods without molestation. the play-house, however, was soon deserted by the children after these unbidden guests had made so free with it; and we were ourselves somewhat alarmed for the safety of our children, who were accustomed to roam in the edge of the forest, and make swings of the luxuriant grape vines. but such incidents are common in a new country, surrounded as we were by a dense wilderness. chapter xxii. narrow escape of a smuggler. from the time i first settled in wilberforce, my house had ever been open to travelers and strangers; but a conversation i happened to overhear, led me to take a course different from what i had at first intended. i was at a public house about twenty miles from home, when i heard the landlord advising his guest to eat heartily, for, said he, "you will find nothing more worthy of your attention, until you reach wilberforce. when you arrive at that settlement, inquire for a. steward, from the states, and he will give you a meal fit for a prince." i began to reflect on the subject and concluded, inasmuch as people would send company to me, it would be better to make some preparation for entertaining them. i had plenty of furniture, and all i needed was a larger supply of food, to commence keeping a tavern. this was easily obtained, and i opened a public house which was well patronized. one day while i was absent from home, a man drove to the door the finest span of horses, i think i ever saw,--black as jet, with proudly arched necks, and glossy tails that nearly swept the ground. the gentleman sprang from his carriage, bounded through the open door, and in the most excited manner, began to inquire "who owns this establishment? when will he return? can i be accommodated? can i see your barn?" &c. the stable boy took him to the barn, from whence he soon returned; his face flushed, and breathing so heavily as to be heard all through the apartment; trembling so violently that he could scarcely speak at all,--but made out to inquire, "if there was not some place besides the barn where he could put his horses?" he was told that there was a small shelter built for cows, in bad weather, and the next moment he was examining it. in a very short time he had his horses and carriage stowed away in the cow-shed. he acted like a crazy man; but when he had secured his horses, he re-entered the house and frankly apologized for his conduct. "i may as well tell you the truth," said he; "i am suspected of smuggling goods; a reward is offered for my arrest, and the constables are on my track, in pursuit of me. my name is cannouse, and i am from m----, in ontario county." but perhaps they can not prove you guilty of smuggling, said i, in an after conversation. "ah," said he, "there is for me no such hope or probability; i have been engaged for the last few months in the sale of dress-goods and broad-cloths, and my exposure and flight is the consequence of my own folly. while in the village of st. catharines, i took a young girl out to ride, after she had engaged to accompany another young fellow, which of course offended him; and he being too well posted up on my affairs, went directly to the custom house officer and informed against me. i was sitting in the parlor, perfectly at ease, when a young man, a relative of the young lady in question, burst into the room, shouting, 'fly! fly! for your life! the officers are upon you!' and i did fly; with barely time to reach the woods, for as i sprang through the back door, the officers entered through the front door. my horses were my first consideration; they had been raised by my father, and should i lose them, i should never dare to meet him again. in my hasty flight, i engaged the young man to conceal them till night, and then to drive them to a certain place where i would meet him. this he did, and i kept on my flight until i came to the house of a friend, where i halted to make inquiries. the gentleman had just come from london, and had seen handbills at every conspicuous place, describing me and my horses. i asked him what i should do? he said, 'you are not safe a moment; there is no hope but in flight; avoid the main road, and get to the colony if you can; if you succeed, go to a. steward; he is an upright man and will never betray you for money,' and here i am: if i am arrested, six months imprisonment, three hundred dollars fine, and the forfeiture of my father's valuable and favorite horses, will be my portion. i have had no regular meal for the last three days, and my head aches violently." we gave him some refreshment, and conducted him to a room, assuring him that he should have it to himself. all remained quiet until midnight, when a man knocked cautiously at our door. i opened it myself, and a gentleman, looking carefully about the place, inquired, "are you full?" "no," said i. "have you any travelers here to night?" "yes." "how many?" "two." "where are they?" "in this room; walk in, sir." he took the light from my hand, and stepping lightly up to a bed, where two travelers were quietly sleeping, he closely examined their faces. he soon returned the light, and without further inquiry retired from the house. when his companions came up, i distinctly heard him tell them that the smuggler was not there. "you may be mistaken," said the other, "and we must search the barn for his horses." this they did thoroughly, after procuring a lantern; but without finding any thing to reward their diligent search; and they finally drove off. when they had gone, cannouse groaned most bitterly, and trembled from head to foot at the thought of his narrow escape. the next day an officer rode up to where the children were playing, with a handbill which he read, and inquired if they had seen a person bearing that description, pass _that day?_ they answered negatively, and he rode on. the poor frightened cannouse stayed with us a week; and nearly every day during the time, the house and barn were searched for him. the children kept watch, and when they saw any one coming they would let him know, in time to take himself and horses into a thicket near by. when he thought pursuit was over, he started to leave; but when, in a half hour after, a _posse_ of men drove up to my door, flourishing their handbills, i thought it all over with cannouse. i told them that he was not there; but they chose to have another search, and when they found nothing, the officer sprang into his carriage, exclaiming, "come on, boys; we'll soon have him now; we have tracked him here, and he can't be far off." cannouse had left us, feeling quite secure; but he had traveled but a short distance, when he observed a horse shoe loose, and to get it fastened he drove down to a blacksmith's shop, which happened to stand at the foot of a hill; and between it and the highway there had been left standing a clump of trees which nearly hid it from view. while there, getting his horse shod, the officers passed him unobserved, and he finally escaped. some time after, a gentleman called on us who had seen cannouse in michigan, where he was doing well. he had succeeded in reaching detroit, from whence he passed safely to his home; but probably learned a lesson not to be forgotten. he was a talented young man--one who would have felt deeply the disgrace of imprisonment,--and it was indeed a pleasure to me to do what i could, to effect his release from an unenviable position. i would never have betrayed him; but happily i was not asked directly for him, until he was gone from my house and protection. chapter xxiii. narrative of two fugitives from virginia. the settlers in wilberforce, were in general, industrious and thrifty farmers: they cleared their land, sowed grain, planted orchards, raised cattle, and in short, showed to the world that they were in no way inferior to the white population, when given an equal chance with them. in proof of this let me say, that it was uniformly the practice of persons traveling from london to goderich, to remain in our settlement over night, in preference to going on to find entertainment among their own class of people. and we believe that the whites are bound to admit, that the experiment of the wilberforce colony proves that the colored man can not only take care of himself, but is capable of improvement; as industrious and intelligent as themselves, when the yoke is taken from off their necks, and a chance given them to exercise their abilities. true, many of them had just escaped from cruel task-masters; ignorant of almost every thing but the lash,--but the air of freedom so invigorated and put new life into their weary bodies, that they soon became intelligent and thrifty. among the settlers might be gathered many a thrilling narrative, of suffering and hair-breadth escapes from the slave-land,--one of which i will tell as 'twas told to me. in a small rude cabin, belonging to one of the large plantations in virginia, sat at a late hour of the night, an afflicted slave-man and his devoted wife, sad and weeping. at length the husband repeated what he before had been saying: "i tell you, wife, we must flee from this place, without delay. oh, i cannot endure the idea of seeing you sold for the southern market, to say nothing of myself; and we shall most likely be separated, which i can't bear! oh, rosa, the thought distracts me,--i can't bear it!" "are you sure," said rosa, "that master thinks of such a frightful doom for us?" "oh yes, i know it; i heard master to-day making a bargain with the slave dealer that has been hanging about here so long; and when it was finished, i heard him reading over the list, and our names, wife, are the first on it." "oh, dear!" sobbed the wife, "we shall certainly be retaken and whipped to death; or else we shall starve in the wilderness! oh, it is very hard to be compelled to leave all our friends and the old plantation where we were born!" "yes; it is both hard and unjust," said joe, and an indignant frown contracted his brow,--"here is our birth-place, and here, for forty years have i toiled early and late to enrich my master; and you, my poor wife, a few years less; and now we are to be sold, separated, and all without a choice of our own. we must go, rosa. if we die, let us die together!" "it shall be as you say, joe," she replied, "but it frightens me to think of the hardships of the way, and the danger of being recaptured." "courage, wife: no fate can be worse than the one designed for us; and we have no time to lose. tomorrow night, then, we must make the first effort to gain our liberty, and leave all that is dear to us except each other!" and they retired to rest, but not to sleep. the following night was very dark; and as soon as all was quiet on the plantation, they stole out of their cabin and stealthily crept over the ground until they reached the highway; and then, guided only by the north star, they made their way to the nearest woods. so fearful had they been of being suspected, that they took no provision of any kind with them. all night they plunged forward through the tangled thicket and under-brush, surrounded by thick darkness, glancing now and then upward to their only light, "star of the north! though night winds drift the fleecy drapery of the sky, between thy lamp and thee, i lift, yea, lift with hope my sleepless eye." when day dawned they threw their weary bodies on the ground, famished and thirsty, and waited for the darkness to again conceal them while they pursued their journey. the second day of their flight, the pain of hunger became almost beyond endurance. they found a few roots which relieved them a little; but frequently they lost their way, and becoming bewildered, knew not which way to go; they pushed on, however, determined to keep as far from their pursuers as possible. their shoes were soon worn out; but bare-footed, bare-headed, and famishing with hunger, they pressed forward, until the fourth day, when they found themselves too weak to proceed farther. hope, the anchor of the soul, had failed them! they were starving in a dense forest! no track or path could they find, and even had they seen a human being, they would have been more terrified than at the sight of a wild beast! poor rosa, could go no farther--her strength was all gone--and as her emaciated husband laid her on the cold earth, he exclaimed, "oh, dear god! _must_ we, after all our efforts, starve in this dark wilderness! beside his fainting wife, he finally stretched himself, sheltered only by a few bushes, and tried to compose himself to die! but resting a few moments revived him, and he aroused himself, to make one more effort for life! stay you here, wife, and i will try once more to find the highway; it cannot be far from here; and if i am taken, i will submit to my fate without a struggle; we can but die." so saying, he left her, and began to reconnoitre the country around them. much sooner than he expected he emerged from the wood, and not far distant he saw a house in the direction from whence he came; being, however, as most of the slaves are, superstitious, he thought it would be a bad omen to turn backward, and so continued to look about him. it seemed, he said, that some unseen power held him, for though starving as he was, he could not take a step in that direction; and at last as he turned around, to his great joy, he saw another dwelling a little way off, and toward that he hastened his now lightened footsteps. with a palpitating heart, he approached the door and knocked cautiously. the man of the house opened it, and as soon as he saw him, he said, "you are a fugitive slave, but be not alarmed, come in; no harm shall befall you here; i shall not inquire from whence you came; it is enough for me to know that you are a human being in distress; consider me your friend, and let me know your wants." "bread! oh, for a morsel of bread!" said the famished creature, while his hitherto wild and sunken eyes, began to distil grateful tears. the "good samaritan" stepped to another apartment and brought him a piece of bread, which he expected to see him devour at once, but instead, he looked at it wistfully, literally devouring it with his eyes; turned it over and over, and at last stammered out, "my good master, without a piece of bread for my poor starving wife, i can never swallow this, tempting as it is." "poor man," said his benefactor, "can it be that you have a wife with you, wretched as yourself?" he brought out a loaf of bread, some cheese and meat, and while the fugitive was preparing to return, the kind gentleman said, "i am glad you came to me; had you called at the house you first saw, you would have been betrayed, and immediately arrested. you must remember," he continued, "that you are young and valuable slaves, and that your master will make every effort in his power to find you, especially since he has made a sale of you. to-day and to-night, remain in the woods, and the next morning you may come to me, if all is quiet; should i see danger approaching you, i will warn you of it by the crack my rifle. go now, to your poor wife, and listen for the signal of danger; if you hear none, come to me at the appointed time." he returned, and after feeding his helpless rosa, she revived, and soon felt quite comfortable and grateful. when the morning came for them to leave their retreat, they listened intently, but hearing nothing, joe started for the residence of his friend. he had been gone but a short time, when his wife, who lay in the bushes, thought she heard the tramp of horses,--she crept nearer the highway, and peeping through the bush--oh, horror! what was her consternation and sickening fear, to find herself gazing upon the well-known features of her old master, and two of his neighbors, all armed to the teeth! her heart seemed to stand still, and the blood to chill in her veins. had she been discovered she would have been an easy prey, for she declared that she could not move a step. in the meantime her husband had got about half way to the residence of his preserver, when his quick ear detected the sound made by the feet of horses, and as he stopped to listen more intently, the sharp crack of a rifle sent him bounding back to his concealment in the forest. the party of horsemen rode on to the dwelling of the kind hearted gentleman, and inquired whether he had seen any fugitive slaves pass that way. "i saw," said he, "a man and woman passing rapidly along the road, but do not know whether they were fugitives, as i did not see their faces." the human blood-hound, thanked the gentleman for the information, and immediately set out in pursuit; but, just as the informant had intended, in a direction _opposite_ to that the slaves had taken. that night, joe and rosa visited the house of their benefactor, where they were supplied with clothing and as much food as they could carry; and next day they went on their way rejoicing. they settled in cincinnati, where they lived happily, until the mob drove them with others, to the wilberforce settlement, where they are in no danger of the auction block, or of a southern market; and are as much devoted to each other as ever. chapter xxiv. pleasant re-union of old and tried friends. it is well known to those who have assisted in clearing land in a new country, that bears, who are not jews, are very troublesome, and levy a heavy tax on the settlers, to supply themselves with pork-their favorite food. one old bear in particular, had for a long time annoyed the colonists, by robbing their hog-stys almost every night. we failed in all our plans to destroy his life, until a woman saw him one day, walking at ease through the settlement. a half dozen of us gave chase immediately, and came up with him after traveling two miles. so anxious was i to kill him, that i fired at first sight and missed him, which gave us another two miles chase. when, however, we came up, he was seated on a branch of a tree, leisurely surveying us and the dogs, with great complacency. the contents of my rifle brought him to the ground, and stirred his blood for battle. one blow from his powerful paw, sent my fine greyhound some yards distant, sprawling upon the ground, and when he renewed the attack, bruin met him with extended jaws, taking and munching his head in his mouth. my rifle was now reloaded, and the second shot killed him on the spot. we tied his legs together, and lifting him on a pole, marched in triumph into the settlement, where guns were discharged and cheers given, in approbation of our success. one winter's evening we had drawn closely around the blazing fire, for the air was piercing cold without, and the snow four feet deep on a level. now and then, a traveler might be seen on snow-shoes; but though our cabin was situated on the king's highway, we seldom saw company on such a night as this. while the wind whistled, and the snow drifted about our dwelling, we piled the wood higher in our ample fire-place, and seated ourselves again, to resume the conversation, when i was startled by a loud and furious knocking at the door. i opened it to what i supposed to be three indians. their costume was that of the red man; but the voice of him who addressed me was not that of an indian. "can you keep three poor devils here to-night?" said he, and when i made farther inquiry, he repeated the same question; "we can sleep," he continued, "on the soft side of a board; only give us poor devils a shelter." i told him we were not accustomed to turn away any one on such a night; that they were welcome to come in; and they were soon seated around our large and cheerful fire. they had laid aside their snow-shoes and knapsacks, and the heat of the fire soon made their blankets uncomfortable; but as one of them made a move to throw it off, another was heard to whisper, "wait a little; we are among strangers, you know; so do not make a display of yourself." the fellow drew his blanket about him; but we had heard and seen enough to awaken curiosity, if not suspicion. in passing out of the room soon after, i heard one of these pretended indians say to his companion, "i know these folks are from the states, for i smell coffee." when they finally sat down to table, and saw silver upon it, they cast surprised and knowing glances at each other, all of which we closely observed, and were convinced, that they were not red men of the forest, but belonged to that race who had so long looked haughtily down upon the colored people; that the least exhibition of comfort, or show of refinement astonished them beyond measure. in the meantime, my wife had whispered to me that she was sure that the principal speaker was no other than the aristocratic mr. g----, of canandaigua. i could not believe it; i could not recognize in that savage costume, one who had been bred in affluence, and "the star" of genteel society. but my wife soon developed the affair to our mutual satisfaction: g----, on taking from her a cup of coffee, remarked, "this looks good; and i have had no good coffee since i left my mother's house." "does your mother still reside in c----?" asked mrs. steward. "my mother! my mother! what do you know of my mother!" said he, looking sharply at her; but observing that they were recognized, they began to laugh, and we had a hearty congratulation all round; while g----, starting-up from table, exclaimed, "come, boys, off with this disguise; we are among friends now." our indian guests, now appeared in costume more like "broadway dandies," than savages. dressed in the finest cloth, with gold chains and repeaters; and all that constituted the toilet of a gentleman. after tea they requested to dry some costly furs, which they took from their knapsacks and hung around the fire. the following day they took their leave, with many apologies and explanations, regarding their appearance and conduct. they were in the wilderness, they said, trading for very valuable furs; they had money, jewelry and rich goods, which they had taken that method to conceal. during all this time, there had been another visitor in the house, who was sitting in a corner, absorbed in writing. our mock indians had noticed him, and not knowing who he was, expressed a determination "to quiz that deaf old devil," after supper. we all seated ourselves around the fire, and our canandaigua friends, though no longer savages, had not forgotten the silent man in the corner; they began to question him, and he aroused himself for conversation; nor was it long before they forgot their design to quiz him, and found themselves charmed listeners to the brilliant conversation, of that world-renowned champion of humanity, benjamin lundy, for he it was. on this particular evening, he gave us a sketch of his journey to hayti; to accompany there and settle some emancipated slaves; which i thought very interesting, and as i have never seen it in print i will here relate it, as near as i can, in his own words: in the state of maryland, there lived a slaveholder the proprietor of some sixty slaves, and being somewhat advanced in years, he determined to free them, in accordance with the laws of that state, which required that they be sent out of it. he had thought the matter over, but being undecided where to send them, he sent for mr. lundy to assist him in his proposed plan; who was only too glad to comply with a request calculated to carry out his own plans of philanthropy and equal rights. when he had listened to the suggestions and expressed desires of the planter, he offered his arguments in favor of the west india islands; and it was decided to send them to hayti, as their future place of residence. six weeks were allowed for preparations; then mr. lundy was to return and take charge of them on the voyage, and see them settled in their new homes. when the appointed time arrived, mr. lundy was there to accompany them on board a vessel bound for hayti; on which was furnished as comfortable quarters, as the kindness of their conscientious master and his own benevolent heart could suggest. when all was ready, the christian master came on board, to take leave of those faithful servants,--many of whom had served him from their childhood, and all of whom he had bound to his heart by kindness and christian benevolence. it was a sad parting; not because the slaves did not love liberty, but because they appreciated their master's kind forbearance, and solicitude for their future welfare. he had ever been a humane and indulgent master; one who lightened the burthen of the poor slave, all in his power. a moment's reflection will show, that it is invariably this conscientious kind of slaveholders, who are induced to emancipate their slaves; and not the avaricious, cruel tyrant, who neither fears god nor regards his fellow man. the master of the slaves had kindly informed them of his intentions,--of the probable length of the voyage, and the unavoidable sickness they would experience, &c.; but now, they were gazing up into his kind face for the last time, as he knelt in prayer, commending that numerous flock--raised on his own plantation--to the care and protection of almighty god, beseeching him to protect them in the storm and dangers of the ocean; to guide them through this life, and save them in the world to come; until the sobs and cries of the poor slaves drowned his utterance. he at length took his final leave of them, and of mr. lundy; and the ship sailed immediately. they, however, met storms and adverse winds, which detained them; and then the poor, ignorant slaves began to believe what they had before suspected: that this was only some wicked plan of mr. lundy's, laid to entice them away from a kind master, and to plunge them into some dreadful degradation and suffering. "master" had not told them of the adverse winds, and they were certain that some mischief was intended; they grew sullen and disobedient; and notwithstanding the kindness of mr. lundy, they murmured and complained, until his kind heart sank within him; still he pursued the even tenor of his way, trusting in god for deliverance. he watched over them in sickness, and administered to all their wants; but his tender solicitude for their health and comfort, only excited suspicion, and increased their ungrateful ill humor. one pleasant evening, mr. lundy paced the deck in deep thought. he was sad, and well nigh hopeless. he had seen enough in the fierce look and sullen scowl; and had heard enough of the bitterness, and threatening anger of the negroes, to know that a storm was gathering, which must soon burst in all its wild fury over his devoted head. he was a small, feeble man, compared with those who watched his every movement, and gnashed their teeth upon him so fiercely. none but the almighty could save him now; and to him who "rides upon the wings of the wind, and maketh the clouds his chariot," he drew near in fervent prayer; after which he retired in peace and confidence to his berth. during the night, a fine breeze sprang up; and when he went on deck the next morning, they were in sight of the luxuriant shore of hayti! the officers of the island boarded the ship; but their language was unintelligible to the negroes, who still looked daggers at every one who spoke. they landed; but the fearful, and ungrateful slaves continued sullen and forbidding. mr. lundy left them, however, and went into the country, where he selected their future residence; and made every preparation for their comfort and convenience in his power; saw them conveyed to their neat, pleasant homes, and all happily settled. this work was accomplished; and he merely called to bid adieu to his ungrateful charge, when he found that one of the slaves had been appointed to speak to him, in behalf of the whole number, and confess how deeply they had wronged him. while they were conversing, the others gathered around, with tears and prayers for forgiveness; and finally fell at his feet, imploring pardon for themselves, and blessings on the kind, patient and humane benjamin lundy. he hurried from the affecting scene, and soon after returned to america. thus that cold evening passed more pleasantly away in our rude cabin; and our canandaigua gentlemen, after an agreeable acquaintance, and pleasant chat with mr. lundy, retired for the night--not like savages, but like gentlemen as they were; and i doubt not, with a more exalted opinion of "the deaf old devil in the corner" chapter xxv. private losses and private difficulties. soon after settling in wilberforce, i found that the rumor i had heard in the states, concerning the refusal to sell land to colored persons, was literally correct, and my farm being too small to yield a support for my family, and knowing it would be useless to apply for more land, i engaged to carry packages for different merchants in the adjoining villages, as well as to and from the settlement. possessing a pair of excellent horses and a good wagon, i found it a profitable business, and the only one i could well do, to eke out the proceeds of my farm, and meet my expenses. one day as i was returning from the village, one of my horses was taken suddenly ill. i took him to a tavern near by, and as i could discover no cause for his illness, i concluded to leave him a few days, supposing rest would soon restore him. i accordingly hired another horse, and returned to the colony. in a day or two after, i collected my packages as usual, and started on my route, designing to leave the hired horse and take my own; but when i arrived at the tavern, i found some indians engaged in taking off the hide and shoes of my poor, dead horse. this was indeed, a great loss to me; but i consoled myself with the thought that i had one good horse left, yet he would hardly be sufficient to accomplish alone, the labor i had engaged to perform; nor had i the means to spare, to purchase another. i therefore hired one, and commenced business again, with the determination to make up my loss by renewed diligence and perseverance. i started in good spirits; but had proceeded but a few miles, when my remaining horse, which i had supposed perfectly sound, reeled and fell in the harness! and before i could relieve him of it, my noble animal and faithful servant, had breathed his last! without a struggle or a movement he lay lifeless on the cold earth. i was sad. i deplored the loss of my good, and valuable team; but more the mystery and suspicion that hung over the event. i returned home and sat down to devise some plan of procedure. what could i do? half the means of our support had been suddenly and mysteriously snatched from us. what could i do next? while thus ruminating, i arose to answer a summons at the door, and who should enter but mr. b. paul, a brother to our foreign agent, who had so long absented himself from our house, that i was indeed surprised to see him at this time. he, however, seated himself, with great apparent concern for my recent loss, which he soon made the subject of conversation and the object of his visit. "there has been," said he, "a great deal of unpleasant feeling, and injudicious speaking on both sides, for which i am heartily sorry. the colony is too weak to sustain a division of feelings; and now, that your recent losses have left you in a far less favorable condition to sustain yourself and family, i have called to make a settlement of our former difficulties, and to offer you two hundred and fifty dollars out of the collections for the colony." i saw through the plan at once, and considered it only a bribe, to prevent my exposing the iniquity of others. should i consent to take a part of the ill-gotten spoils, with what confidence could i attempt to stay the hand of the spoiler. i wanted money very much, it is true; but after a moment's reflection, not enough to sanction the manner in which it had been obtained; and though i confess, the offer presented to me a strong temptation, i am thankful that i was enabled to resist it. i refused to accept the money; and after sending away the tempter and his offered gain, i felt my heart lighter, and my conscience more peaceful than is often the lot of sinful, erring man in this world of trial and conflict; and yet i could but feel that the mystery in which the death of my horses was involved, was partially at least, explained. chapter xxvi. incidents and peculiarities of the indians. during our residence in canada, we were often visited by the indians, which gave us an opportunity to learn their character, habits and disposition; and some incidents illustrative of the peculiarities of that abused people, i will here mention. i recollect one bitter cold night, about eleven o'clock, i happened to awake, and looking out toward the fire, i was surprised to see standing there, erect and quiet, a tall, brawny indian, wrapped in his blanket; his long hunting knife and tomahawk dangling from his belt; and his rifle in his hand. had he been in his own wigwam, he could not have looked about him with more satisfaction and independence. i instantly sprang to my feet, and demanded his errand. "me lost in the woods, and me come to stay all night," was his grave reply. "then," said i, "give me your weapons, and i will make no objection." he disarmed himself, and gave his weapons to me, with an air of haughty disdain for my fears. i put them in a place of safety and then prepared his bed, which was nothing more than the floor, where they choose to sleep, with their head to the fire. my offer of anything different from this he proudly resented as an insult to his powers of endurance, and would say, "beds for pale faces and women; hard board for indians." he threw himself down, drew his blanket about him, and was soon sleeping soundly. as soon as the day began to dawn, he was up, called for his arms, and after thanking me in the brief indian style of politeness, departed for the forest. he had found our doors all fastened, save a low back door, through which he entered, passing through a back room so full of miscellaneous articles, that it was difficult to go through it in the day time without upsetting something; but the indian understood all this, he made no noise, nor would he have spoken at all, had i not awakened; and yet, he would have scorned to injure any one beneath the roof that gave him shelter, unless he had been intoxicated. one sabbath afternoon, one of my children was sitting in the door, when a tall, emaciated indian came up and said, "will my little lady please to give me a drink of water?" while she went for it, i invited him to a seat within. there was something dignified and commanding in his appearance, and something in his voice and countenance, that won my confidence and respect at once. he remained in the place some time, and i learned his history. in his younger days he had been a great warrior; and even now, when recounting, as he often did, the scenes of the battle field, his eye would burn with savage fire, lighting up his whole countenance with the fiercest kind of bravery, and often with a hideous yell that would startle our very souls, he would burst from the room and bound over the fields and forest, with the fleetness of a deer--making the woods ring with his frightful war-cry, until the blood seemed ready to curdle in our veins. he had also been one of the famous tecumseh's braves; and had stood by him when he fell on the fifth of october, . this old brave, whenever he called the name of tecumseh, bowed his head reverently; and would often try to tell us how very deeply they mourned when it could no longer be doubted that the brave heart of tecumseh, brother of the celebrated wabash prophet, had ceased to beat. "had an arrow pierced the sun and brought it to my feet," said the old warrior, "i could not have been more astounded than at the fall of tecumseh." then he told us that once, after a great and victorious battle, tecumseh, in his war paint and feathers, stood in the midst of his braves, when a little pale faced girl made her way weeping to him and said, "my mother is very ill, and your men are abusing her, and refuse to go away." "never," said the indian, "did i see a frown so terrible on the face of tecumseh, as at that moment; when he with one hand clutched his tomahawk, and with the other led the little girl to the scene of riot. he approached the unruly savages with uplifted tomahawk, its edge glittering like silver, and with one shout of 'begone!' they scattered as though a thunderbolt had fallen in their midst." but the old warrior at wilberforce fought no more battles, except in imagination those of the past. after peace was declared he bought a valuable piece of land, with the intention of spending the remainder of his life more quietly; but unfortunately there lived not far from him a man who had once been the possessor of that farm, and had lost it in some way, and was now in reduced circumstances. he was both envious and vicious; and because he could not himself buy the land, he was determined that the old indian should not have it. after having tried many ways to get it from him, he finally complained of him, for fighting for the british and against the country where he now resided. this was successful; he was arrested and thrown into prison, and without a trial, removed from one prison to another, until he, with several others, was sent south to be tried as traitors. while on the way, the keeper of this indian wished to call on his mother, who lived in a little cottage by the roadside, to bid her farewell. she was an aged woman, and when her son left her to join his companions, she followed him to the door weeping, wringing her hands in great distress, and imploring the widow's god to protect her only son. she had had four; all of whom went forth, with an american mother's blessing, to fight in defence of their country; and this one alone, returned alive from the field of battle. now as he took his final departure for the south, she clasped her hands, raised her tearful eyes to heaven, and while large drops rolled over her wrinkled cheeks, she cried, "oh, god, protect my only one, and return him to me in safety, ere i die." this scene, the imprisoned, and as some supposed, heartless indian, watched with interest; no part of it escaped his attention; but they passed on, and safely reached detroit. the prisoners were conducted to a hotel and secured for the night; our indian hero being consigned to an attic, which they supposed a safe place for him. there happened to be on that night, a company of showmen stopping at that hotel, and exhibiting wax-work; among the rest, was a figure of general brock, who fell at queenston heights, and a costly cloak of fur, worn by the general previous to his death. nothing of this escaped the eagle-eye and quick ear of the indian. when all was quiet in the hotel, he commenced operations, for he had made up his mind to leave, which with the red man is paramount to an accomplishment of his design. he found no great difficulty in removing the window of his lofty apartment, out of which he clambered, and with the agility of a squirrel and the caution of a cat, he sprang for the conductor and on it he slid to the ground. he was now free to go where he pleased; but he had heard something about the cloak of gen. brock; he knew too, that the friends of the general had offered fifty guineas for it, and now he would just convey it to them. with the sagacity of his race, he surveyed the hotel, and determined the exact location of the show-room. stealthily and noiselessly, he entered it; found the cloak--took it and departed, chuckling at his good fortune. as he was creeping out of the apartment with his booty, a thought struck him, which not only arrested his footsteps, but nearly paralized his whole being. would not his keeper be made to answer, and perhaps to suffer for his escape and theft? of course he would. "then in the darkness i saw again," said the old brave, "that old pale-faced mother, weeping for the loss of her only son," when he immediately returned the cloak to its place, and with far more difficulty than in his descent, he succeeded in reaching his attic prison, where he laid himself down, muttering to himself, "not yet,--poor old pale-face got but one." they took him to virginia, where, instead of a trial, they gave him about the same liberty they do their slaves. he staid one winter; but when the spring opened, the fire of the red man took possession of him, and when sent to the forest to chop wood, he took a bee-line for his former residence. but what was he to do for food? with a rifle, he could live happily in the woods, but he had none; so after considering the matter, he said to himself, "me _must_ get a rifle," and instantly started for the highway. the first cabin he saw, he entered in great apparent excitement, and told the woman of the house, that he had seen a "big deer in the woods, and wanted a rifle to shoot it. when you hear my gun," he said, "then you come and get big deer." she gave him her husband's excellent rifle and a few bullets; he looked at them, and said he must have more, for "it was a big deer;" so she gave him the bullet-mould and a piece of lead, with which he departed, after repeating his former injunction, to come when she heard the rifle; but, said he, "she no hear it yet." he at length arrived at his own farm, from which he had been so cruelly driven, and concealed himself behind a log in sight of his own house, to watch the inmates. he soon learned that it was occupied by the man who had persecuted him in order to obtain it, his wife and one child. all day until midnight, he watched them from his hiding place, then assuming all the savage ferocity of his nature, and giving himself the most frightful appearance possible, he entered the house, and noiselessly passed to their sleeping room, where he placed himself before them with a long knife in his hand. having assumed this frightful attitude, he commanded them in a voice of thunder, to get up and give him some supper. they were awake now. oh, horror! what a sight for a guilty man, and a timid woman! "me come to kill you!" said the indian, as he watched their blanched cheeks and quivering lips. they tottered about on their trembling limbs to get everything he asked for, imploring him for god's sake to take all, but spare their lives. "me will have scalps," he answered fiercely; but when he had eaten all he desired, he adjusted his blanket, and putting on a savage look, he remarked as if to himself, "me go now get my men and kill him, kill he wife, and kill he baby!" and left the house for his post of observation. the frightened inmates lost no time, but hastily collecting some provisions, fled to the frontier, and were never heard of afterwards. the indian immediately took possession of his own and quite an addition left by the former tenants. while the kind-hearted old indian repeated to me the story of his wrongs, it reminded me of the injustice practised on myself, and the colored race generally. does a colored man by hard labor and patient industry, acquire a good location, a fine farm, and comfortable dwelling, he is almost sure to be looked upon by the white man, as an usurper of _his_ rights and territory; a robber of what he himself should possess, and too often does wrong the colored man out of,--yet, i am happy to acknowledge many honorable exceptions. i have often wondered, when looking at the remnant of that once powerful race, whether the black man would become extinct and his race die out, as have the red men of the forest; whether they would wither in the presence of the enterprising anglo-saxon as have the natives of this country. but now i have no such wondering inquiries to make; being persuaded that the colored man has yet a prominent part to act in this highly-favored republic,--of what description the future must determine. chapter xxvii. our difficulties with israel lewis. being under the necessity of referring again to the difficulties existing in the wilberforce colony, i shall here introduce a circular, published in new york city, which will give the reader an understanding of the real cause of our embarrassments, and the character of our agent, israel lewis. circular _new york, may th_, . the committee of colored citizens of the city of new york, as servants of the public, sincerely regret the necessity of bringing the within subject before the public. their duty to god, to society, and to themselves, only actuates them in this matter. the fact that many individuals in different sections of the country, have long suspected the integrity of israel lewis, but possessing no authentic documentary evidence, they have been prevented from making an effort, to counteract his too successful attempts and those of his agents, in the collection of funds from the public, has induced us to transmit this circular. theodore s. wright, peter ogden, thomas downing, george potts, charles b. ray, david ruggles, john stans, william p. johnson, william hamilton, samuel e. cornish. * * * * * israel lewis. _wilberforce, u.c., march th, ._ the board of managers of the wilberforce settlement, met and passed unanimously the following resolutions--present, austin steward, philip harris, peter butler, william bell, john whitehead, samuel peters. _resolved_, st. that we deeply regret the manner in which our friends in the states have been imposed upon by israel lewis; and that we hereby inform them, as a board of managers or otherwise, that we have received less than one hundred dollars of all the money borrowed and collected in the states. _resolved_, d. that although we have not received one hundred dollars from said lewis, yet, when we shall have received the funds collected by our agent, the rev. nathan paul, in england, we will refund as far as our abilities will allow and our friends may require, the money contributed for our supposed benefit, by them in the states. _resolved_, d. that we tender our sincere thanks to our beloved friends, arthur tappan and others, who have taken such deep interest in the welfare of our little colony. _resolved_, th. that the foregoing resolutions be signed by the whole board, and sent to the states to be published in the _new york observer_ and other papers. austin steward, _president_, peter butler, _treasurer_, john halmes, _secretary_. philip harris, } william bell, } john whitehead, } _managers._ samuel peters, } * * * * * _new york, april th, ._ at a public meeting of the colored citizens of new york city, held in phoenix hall, thomas l. jennings in the chair, and charles b. ray, secretary, the following resolutions were passed unanimously: _resolved_, that the thanks of this meeting be tendered to the rev. samuel e. cornish, for the able and satisfactory report of his mission to upper canada, especially to the wilberforce settlement. _resolved_, that this meeting deem it their imperative duty, to announce to the public, that in view of facts before them, israel lewis [ ] has abused their confidence, wasted their benevolence, and forfeited all claim to their countenance and respect. _resolved_, that a committee of ten, be appointed to give publicity to the foregoing resolutions; also, to the communication from the managers of the wilberforce settlement, as they may deem necessary in the case. thomas l. jennings, _chairman_, charles b. ray, _secretary_. [footnote : it necessarily follows that the public should withhold their money from his subordinate agents.] it will now appear that i was not the only unfortunate individual who had difficulty with mr. lewis. mr. arthur tappan made known through the press, about this time, that israel lewis was not a man to be fully relied upon in his statements regarding the wilberforce colony; and also, if money was placed in his hands for the benefit of the sick and destitute among the settlers, it would be doubtful whether it was faithfully applied according to the wishes of the donors. for this plain statement of facts, mr. lewis commenced a suit against mr. tappan, for defamation of character; laying the damages at the round sum of ten thousand dollars. it appeared that lewis valued his reputation highly now that he had elevated himself sufficiently to commence a suit against one of the best and most respectable gentlemen in new york city; a whole souled abolitionist withal; one who had suffered his name to be cast out as evil, on account of his devotion to the colored man's cause-- both of the enslaved and free; one who has, moreover, seen his own dwelling entered by an infuriated and pro-slavery mob; his expensive furniture thrown into the street as fuel for the torch of the black man's foe; and, amid the crackling flame which consumed it, to hear the vile vociferations of his base persecutors, whose only accusation was his defence of the colored man. this noble hearted, christian philanthropist, who took "joyfully the spoiling of his goods" for the cause of the oppressed, was the chosen victim of lewis' wrath and violent vituperation; and that too, where he was well known as a most honorable, humane gentleman; and all for naming facts which were quite generally known already. lewis returned to wilberforce, flushed and swaggering with the idea of making his fortune in this speculation of a law-suit against mr. tappan; and to remove all obstacles, he sent a man to me, to say that if i would publish nothing, and would abandon the interests of the colonists, he would give me a handsome sum of money. i soon gave him to understand that he had applied to the wrong person for anything of that kind; and he then laid a plan to accomplish by fraud and perjury, what he had failed to do by bribery. i have before mentioned the fact of my having taken up a note of twenty-five dollars for mr. lewis, on condition that he would soon refund the money. i did it as a favor, and kept the note in my possession, until about a year afterward, when i sued him to recover my just due on the note. we had then began to differ in our public business, which led to other differences in our transaction of both public and private matters relating to the colony. he of course gave bail for his appearance at court, and it ran along for some time until he found he could not bribe me to enter into his interests, and then for the first time, he declared that i had stolen the note! and finally succeeded in getting me indicted before the grand jury! in this i suppose lewis and his confederates had two objects: first, to get rid of me; secondly, that they might have a chance to account for my continued hostility, by saying that it arose in consequence of a private quarrel, and not for any true interest i had in their collecting money deceptively. lewis appeared so bent on my destruction, that he forgot it was in my power to show how i came by the note. the court of king's bench met, but in consequence of the cholera, was adjourned, and of course, the case must lie over until another year. when the time for the trial drew near, i was, in the midst of my preparations to attend it, counseled and advised by different persons to flee from the country, which i had labored so hard and so conscientiously to benefit, and received in return nothing but detraction and slander. but conscious of my innocence, i declared i would not leave; i knew i had committed no crime; i had violated no law of the land,--and i would do nothing to imply guilt. he who hath formed the heart, knoweth its intent and purpose, and to him i felt willing to commit my cause. true, the court might convict, imprison, and transport me away from my helpless family of five small children; if so, i was determined they should punish an innocent man. nevertheless, it was a dark time; i was not only saddened and perplexed, but my spirit was grieved, and i felt like one "wounded in the house of his friends,"--ready to cry out, "had it been an enemy i could have borne it," but to be arraigned, for the _first_ time in my life, as a _criminal_, by one of the very people i had spent my substance to benefit, was extremely trying. guiltless as i knew myself to be, still, i was aware that many incidents had transpired, which my enemies could and would construe to my disadvantage; moreover, lewis had money, which he would freely distribute to gain his point right or wrong, and to get me out of his way. in due time the trial came on, and i was to be tried for _theft_! lewis had reported all through the settlement that on a certain time i had called at his house, and from a bundle of papers which his wife showed me, i had purloined the note, which had caused me so much trouble. to prove this it was necessary to get his wife to corroborate the statement. this was not an easy matter. mrs. lewis, indignant and distressed by her husband's unkindness, had left him and taken up her abode in the family of a hospitable englishman. after lewis had been sent out as an agent for the colony, finding himself possessed of sufficient funds to cut a swell, he associated and was made a great deal of, by both ladies and gentlemen in high stations of life; the consequence of which was, he looked now with disdain upon his faithful, but illiterate wife, who like himself had been born a slave, and bred on a southern plantation; and who had with him escaped from the cruel task-master, enduring with him the hardships and dangers of the flying fugitive. now her assistance was necessary to carry forward his plans, and he endeavored in various ways to induce her to return, but in vain. when he sent messengers to inform her how sorry he felt for his past abuse, she said she feared it was only some wicked plot to entice her away from the peaceable home she had found. lewis saw that he must devise some other method to obtain her evidence. he therefore called on the brother of the englishman in whose family mrs. lewis was, and in a threatening manner told him that he understood his brother was harboring his wife, and that he intended to make him pay dear for it. the brother, to save trouble, said he would assist him to get his wife, and that night conducted lewis to her residence. no better proof can be given that mrs. lewis possessed the true heart of a woman, than that the moment her husband made humble concessions, and promised to love and protect her henceforth, she forgave him all his past infidelity and neglect, and looked with hope to a brighter future. in return lewis presented her with a note, telling her to take it to a certain person and present it, and he would give her twenty dollars on it. this would, he doubtless thought, leave her in his power. as mrs. lewis could not read, the unsuspecting wife presented the paper all in good faith. the gentleman looked at her sharply, suspiciously,--and then asked her, if she was not aware that she was presenting him a paper completely worthless! the poor woman was mortified and astonished; and instead of returning to her husband, fled to wilberforce, and called at our house. knowing how disastrous to me would be her false statement, and ignorant of her state of mind, i asked her if she had come to assist mr. lewis by swearing against me. i saw at once, that she had not yet been informed of her husband's design. "swear against you, mr. steward!" said she. "i know nothing to swear that would injure you; i have always known you as an honest, upright man, and you need not fear my turning against an innocent person, for the benefit of one i know to be guilty. nor would i have left my place, had i known what i now do." so all help and fear was ended in that quarter. when at length the appointed morning arrived, i arose early, but with a saddened heart. i looked upon my wife and helpless family, reflecting that possibly this might be the last time we should all assemble around the breakfast table in our hitherto quiet home, and i could scarcely refrain from weeping. i, however, took my leave, and a lad with me, to bring back a message of the result, if the court found sufficient cause to detain me for trial. but when i found that i must be tried, i felt too unhappy to make others so, and kept out of the lad's way. he returned without a message; and i took my seat in the prisoner's box. i had just taken a letter out of the post office, from rochester, containing recommendations and attestations from the first men in the city, of my good character, which relieved my feelings somewhat: nevertheless, my heart was heavy, and especially when, soon after i took my seat, a trap-door was opened and a murderer was brought up and seated by my side! chief justice robinson, made his appearance in great pomp--dressed in the english court style-then the crier, in a shrill voice, announced the opening of the court, and finished by exclaiming, "god save the king!" his lordship then called the attention of the jury to the law of the land; particularly to that portion relating to their present duty; and the grand jury presented me to the court, for feloniously taking a certain promissory note from the house of israel lewis. the king's attorney had but one witness, and that was lewis. he was called to the stand, permitted to relate his story, and retire without any cross-examination on the part of my attorney; but that gentleman called up three respectable white men, all of whom swore that they would not believe israel lewis under oath! then submitted the case to the jury without remark or comment, and the jury, without leaving their seats, brought in a verdict of "not guilty." thus ended my first and last trial for theft! oh, how my very soul revolted at the thought of being thus accused; but now that i stood justified before god and my fellow-men, i felt relieved and grateful; nor could i feel anything but pity for lewis, who, like hainan, had been so industriously engaged in erecting "a gallows fifty cubits high" for me, but found himself dangling upon it he raved like a madman, clutched the arm of the judge and demanded a new trial, but he shook him off with contempt and indignation, as though he had been a viper. in his wild fury and reckless determination to destroy my character, he had cast a foul stain upon his own, never to be effaced. i had felt bound to preserve my reputation when unjustly assailed, but it had been to me a painful necessity to throw a fellow-being into the unenviable and disgraceful attitude in which lewis now stood; and yet, he would not, and did not yield the point, notwithstanding his ignominious defeat. he very soon began to gather his forces for another attack upon me, and followed the same direction for his accusation,--the land purchase. the reader will recollect without further repetition, that as i could purchase no land of the canada company, because of their indignation against lewis, i was glad to accept of the contract he had made with mr. ingersoll, for lot number four in the colony; that i paid the sum demanded, and took his assignment on the back of the contract, and as we then were on good terms, it never occurred to me that a witness was necessary to attest to the transaction. but after his failure to prove me a thief; his next effort was to convict me of forgery! it will be remembered that lewis after selling out to me, returned the contract to mr. ingersoll, and that i had lost by the means, the land, and at least five hundred dollars' worth of improvements. then i brought a suit against lewis, to recover the money i had paid him for the contract; and then it was that he asserted and attempted to prove, that i had forged the assignment, and therefore, had no just claim on him for the amount paid. but in this, as in the other case, he met a defeat and made an entire failure. i recovered all that i claimed, which, was only my just due. one would suppose that after so many unsuccessful attempts to ruin me, he would have left me alone,--but not so with lewis: he had the ambition of a bonaparte; and doubtless had he possessed the advantages of an education, instead of having been born and bred a slave, he might, like an alexander or napoleon, have astonished the world with his deeds of daring. i am, however, no admirer of what the world call "great men,"--one humble, self-sacrificing christian, like benjamin lundy, has far greater claim on my respect and reverence. lewis, failing in his second attack, backed up as he had been in all his wicked course, by a friend wearing the sacred garb of a minister of the gospel, cooled off, and it became evident to all, that he was meditating some different mode of warfare. to this concealed confederate, i must attach great blame, on account of the influence his station and superior learning gave him, not only over mr. lewis, but the colonists generally, and which should have been exerted for the good of all, in truth and honesty. chapter xxviii. desperation of a fugitive slave. we had as yet received no funds from our foreign agent, n. paul, and the board of managers had resolved to send a man after him. an englishman and a white man named nell, would gladly undertake the mission, leaving his wife and five children among the settlers. again was i under the necessity of returning to new york, to obtain the funds required to send out mr. nell after our agent in england. the night before i left home, i had a singular dream which i will briefly relate. i dreamed of journeying on a boat to albany, and of stopping at a house to take tea. several persons, i thought, were at the table, and as a cup of tea was handed me, i saw a woman slyly drop something into it. i, however, drank the tea, and dreamed that it made me very sick. i found it difficult to drive from my mind the unpleasant impression this dream had made upon it, but finally succeeded in doing so, attributing it to the many and malicious threatenings which had been made by lewis and his associates. they had boldly asserted, that "if i went to the states, i would never return alive," and several other threats equally malignant. i, however, started with mr. nell for rochester, where we made an effort to raise money to aid in defraying the expenses of the voyage, and succeeded in collecting about a hundred dollars. from thence we passed on to albany, where we fell in company with a number of mr. paul's friends, who appeared to be terribly indignant, and accused me of coming there to expose their friends,--paul and lewis. we had some warm words and unpleasant conversation, after which they left me very unceremoniously, and appeared to be very angry. a short time after, one of them returned, and in the most friendly manner invited me to his house to tea. i was glad of an opportunity to show that i harbored no unpleasant feelings toward them, and immediately accompanied him home. the moment that we were all seated at the table, an unpleasant suspicion flashed through, my mind. the table, the company--all seemed familiar to me, and connected with some unpleasant occurrence which i could not then recall. but when the lady of the house poured out a cup of tea, and another was about to pass it, i heard her whisper, "i intended that for mr. steward," my dream for the first time, flashed through my mind, with all the vivid distinctness of a real incident. i endeavored to drive it from my thoughts, and did so. pshaw! i said to myself; i will not be suspicious nor whimsical, and i swallowed the tea; then took my leave for the steamboat, on our way to new york city. when we had passed a few miles out of albany, the boat hove to, and there came on board four men--one of the number a colored man. the white men repaired to their state-rooms, leaving the colored man on deck, after the boat had returned to the channel. he attracted my attention, by his dejected appearance and apparent hopeless despair. he was, i judged, about forty years of age; his clothing coarse and very ragged; and the most friendless, sorrowful looking being i ever saw. he spake to no one, but silently paced the deck; his breast heaving with inaudible sighs; his brow contracted with a most terrible frown; his eyes dreamily fastened on the floor, and he appeared to be considering on some hopeless undertaking, i watched him attentively, as i walked to and fro on the same deck, and could clearly discover that some fearful conflict was taking place in his mind; but as i afterwards repassed him he looked up with a happy, patient smile, that lighted up his whole countenance, which seemed to say plainly, i see a way of escape, and have decided on my course of action. his whole appearance was changed; his heart that before had beat so wildly was quiet now as the broad bosom of the hudson, and he gazed alter me with a look of calm deliberation, indicative of a settled, but desperate purpose. i walked hastily forward and turned around, when, oh, my god! what a sight was there! holding still the dripping knife, with which he had cut his throat! and while his life-blood oozed from the gaping wound and flowed over his tattered garments to the deck, the same exultant smile beamed on his ghastly features! [illustration: "i walked hastily forward and turned around, when, oh, my god! what a sight was there! he still held the dripping knife, with which he had cut his throat."] the history of the poor, dejected creature was now revealed: he had escaped from his cruel task-master in maryland; but in the midst of his security and delightful enjoyment, he had been overtaken by the human blood-hound, and returned to his avaricious and tyrannical master, now conducting him back to a life of slavery, to which he rightly thought death was far preferable. the horrors of slave life, which he had so long endured, arose in all their hideous deformity in his mind, hence the conflict of feeling which i had observed,--and hence the change in his whole appearance, when he had resolved to endure a momentary pain, and escape a life-long scene of unrequited toil and degradation. there happened to be on the boat at the time, several companies of citizen soldiers, who, shocked by the awful spectacle, expressed their decided abhorrence of the institution of slavery, declaring that it was not for such peculiar villainy, that their fathers fought and bled on the battle field. so determined were they in their indignation; so loudly demanded they a cessation of such occurrences on board our boats, and the soil of a free state, that the slaveholders became greatly alarmed, and with all possible dispatch they hurriedly dragged the poor bleeding slave into a closet, and securely locked the door; nor have i ever been able to learn his final doom. whether the kindly messenger of death released him from the clutches of the man-stealer, or whether he recovered to serve his brutal master, i have never been informed. after this exciting scene had passed, i began to realize that i was feeling quite ill; an unusual load seemed to oppress my stomach, and by the time we had reached new york city, i was exceedingly distressed. i hastened to a boarding house, kept by a colored woman, who did everything in her power to relieve me; but i grew worse until i thought in reality, i must die. the lady supposed i was dying of cholera, sent to brooklyn after mr. nell; but having previously administered an emetic, i began to feel better; and when i had finally emptied my stomach of its contents, _tea and all_, by vomiting, i felt into a profound sleep, from which i awoke greatly relieved. the kindness of that lady i shall not soon forget. she had a house full of boarders, who would have fled instantly, had they known that, as she supposed, i was suffering from cholera; and instead of sending me to the hospital, as she might have done, she kept all quiet until it was over, doing all she could for my relief and comfort; yet, it was a scene of distress which i hope may never be repeated. on the following morning, i saw in the city papers, "a card," inserted by the owner of the poor slave on board the steamboat, informing the public that he was returning south with a fugitive slave, who, when arrested, evinced great willingness to return; who had confessed also, that he had done very wrong in leaving his master, for which he was sorry,--but he supposed that the abolitionists had been tampering with him. that was all! not a word about his attempt to take his life! oh no, he merely wished to allay the excitement, that the horrid deed had produced on the minds of those present. i was indignant at the publication of such a deliberate falsehood, and immediately wrote and published that i too was on board the same boat with the fugitive; that i had witnessed an exhibition of his willingness to return to slavery, by seeing him cut his throat, and lay on the deck wallowing in his blood; that the scene had so excited the sympathies of the soldiers present, that his owner had been obliged to hurry him out of their sight, &c. when this statement appeared in the newspapers, it so exasperated the friends of the slaveholder, that i was advised to flee from the city, lest i might be visited with personal violence; but i assured my advisers that it was only the wicked who "flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are bold as a lion." i therefore commenced the business that brought me to that city. messrs. bloss, nell, and myself, made an effort, and raised between three and four hundred dollars for the purpose of sending mr. nell after rev. n. paul. most of the funds collected, we gave to mr. nell, who sailed from new york, and arrived safely in england, just as n. paul was boarding a vessel to return to new york. had mr. nell acted honorably, or in accordance with his instructions, he would have returned with the agent; but he remained in england, and for aught i know is there yet. he was sent expressly after mr. paul, and when he left that kingdom, nell's mission was ended. he proved himself less worthy of confidence than the agent, for he _did_ return when sent for, and he did account for the money he had collected, though he retained it all; but mr. nell accounted for nothing of the kind; and if he has ever returned, i have not seen him. mr. n. paul arrived in new york in the fall of , and remained there through the winter, to the great disappointment and vexation of the colonists. i wrote him concerning our condition and wants, hoping it would induce him to visit us immediately; but he had married while in england, an english lady, who had accompanied aim to new york, where they were now living; nor did he appear to be in any haste about giving an account of himself to the board of managers who had employed him. chapter xxix. a narrow escape from my enemies. during my absence in new york city, lewis and his confederates were prophesying that i would never trouble them more, and shaking their heads quite ominously at the happy riddance. one day, our hired man entered the house and inquired of my wife, when i was expected home. she told him she did not know, having received no intelligence from me. he assured her that a letter had been received by some one in the colony; that he had seen it, and had heard mr. lewis speak of conveying it to her,--but as it did not come, she gave it up, supposing some mistake had been made. i had, however, written, naming the time when she might expect me; but no letter of mine reached her, during my long absence, for which she could not account. a short time before that specified for my return, a woman, whose husband was an associate of mr. lewis, came to my house, and urged my wife "to leave word at the village of london, to have mr. steward detained there, should he arrive toward evening, and by no means allow him to start for the colony after dark." my family had so often been alarmed by such warnings, and had so frequently been annoyed by the violent threatenings of lewis, that they ceased to regard them, and paid little attention, to this one. i arrived at london on the day i had appointed for my return, but was detained there until a late hour; feeling anxious, however, to get home that night, supposing that i was expected,--i therefore hired a horse to ride the remaining fifteen miles to the settlement. the road from london to wilberforce led through a swamp, known as "mcconnell's dismal swamp," and it was indeed, one of the most dreary places in all that section of country. i am certain that a hundred men might conceal themselves within a rod of the highway, without being discovered. the horse i had engaged, was a high spirited animal, and to that fact, i doubtless owe my life. the moon shone brightly, and nothing broke the stillness of the night, as i rode onward, but the clatter of my horse's hoofs, and an occasional "bow-wow" of some faithful watch-dog. when i reached the swamp and entered its darkened recesses, the gloom and stillness was indeed fearful; my horse started at every rustling leaf or crackling brush, until i attempted to pass a dense thicket, when i was started by the sharp crack of a rifle, and a bullet whizzed past me, close to my ear! the frightened horse reared and plunged, and then springing as if for life, he shot off like an arrow, amid the explosion of fire arms discharged at me as i rode away. i lost my balance at first, and came near falling, but recovering it i grasped the rein tightly, while my fiery steed flew over the ground with lightning speed; nor did i succeed in controlling him until he had run two miles, which brought me to my own door. i found my family well, and very grateful that i had arrived safely after so fearful an encounter. when morning came i sent a person out to inquire whether any of the settlers were out the night previous, and the report was, "israel lewis and two other men were out all night; that they had been seen near the dismal swamp;" moreover, lewis was seen to come in that morning with his boots covered with swamp mud,--these the rev. mr. paul's boys cleaned for him, all of which was evidence that he it was, who had way-laid me with criminal intent. i afterwards learned, that those three men left the settlement at dusk, for the swamp; that they stationed themselves one rod apart, all on one side of the road, each man with a loaded rifle,--the poorest marksman was to fire first, and if he did not bring me down, probably the second would; but lewis being the best shot of the three, was to reserve his fire until the last, which they supposed i could not escape. it was quite dark in the thicket, and my spirited horse plunged in every direction so furiously, that they could take no aim at me, until he had started to run, when we were soon beyond their reach. we had already had so much difficulty in our little colony that we were getting heartily sick of it. i was well aware that lewis was thirsting for revenge; that he wished to do me a great wrong; and yet i was thankful on his account, as well as on my own, that he had been prevented from imbruing his hands in the blood of a fellow being. had he succeeded in taking my life, as he undoubtedly intended to do, he would have been arrested immediately, and most likely punished as a murderer. he had boldly threatened my life, and the colonists were expecting something of the kind to take place. had i not arrived at the colony, it was known at london that i had started for the settlement that night, and an immediate search would have been instituted; nor could the wicked deed have brought the least peace to the mind of lewis or his companions, "no peace of mind does that man know, who bears a guilty breast; his conscience drives him to and fro, and never lets him rest." chapter xxx. death of b. paul, and return of his brother. the bold and wicked attempt to take my life, recorded in the preceding chapter, aroused a feeling of indignation in the community against lewis, and completely destroyed the little influence he had left; moreover, he had now been so extensively published as an impostor, that he could collect no more money on the false pretense of raising it for the benefit of the colony. as soon as his money was gone and his influence destroyed, --many who had been his firmest friends, turned against him, and among this class was the rev. benjamin paul. he had ever professed the greatest friendship for, and interest in the success of mr. lewis. heretofore, whenever he went to the states he was commissioned by that gentleman's family, to purchase a long list of expensive articles, which the poor colonists were seldom able to buy; and he generally returned to them richly laden with goods, purchased with, money given to the poor, sick, and destitute in the colony. mr. b. paul had ever been a very proud man, but not a very healthy one. he was inclined to pulmonary diseases; but had kept up pretty well, until lewis was effectually put down, and his own character involved in many of his notorious proceedings, together with the disappointment occasioned by his brother remaining so long in england, when his health failed, and he sank rapidly under accumulating disasters, to the grave. the welshmen had partially engaged him to preach for them the ensuing year, but something they had heard of him changed their minds, and they were about appointing a meeting to investigate his conduct, when they were informed of his illness, and concluded to let it pass. his son, with whom he lived, became deranged, and his oldest daughter on whom he was greatly dependent, had been dismissed from school, where she had been for some time engaged in teaching. all these unpleasant circumstances in his sickly state weighed heavily upon his proud heart; and he not only declined in health, but sank into a state of melancholy and remorse for his past course of living. as he lay pining and murmuring on his death bed, i could but reflect how different the scene from that of an apostle of the lord jesus christ, who could exclaim, when about to be offered, "i have fought a good fight, i have finished my course, i have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness." i called to see him as he lay writhing in agony, his sunken eyes gleaming wildly, rolling and tossing from side to side, while great drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead, continually lamenting his misspent time, and the life he had led! he took my hand in his cold, bony fingers, thanking me that i did not so despise him, that i could not come to see him in his sorrow and affliction. generally, however, when he raved and talked of his wicked life, his family excluded all persons from his room except his attendants. pride, which had ever been his besetting sin, displayed itself in his conduct to the last, for he had a lengthy will made, dispensing some sixteen hundred dollars to different individuals, when he must have known that his whole possessions would not amount to half that sum. as i looked upon him i could but reflect on the mysterious ways of providence. before me lay a man, who had for years arrayed himself against me, using all his influence as a man and a minister to injure me, by setting lewis forward in his wickedness; his family living in extravagance and a style far beyond their means, while mine had labored hard and were sometimes destitute, often harassed and perplexed on every side by himself and party. and for what? because i would not join hands with iniquity, and deeds of darkness. notwithstanding the contrast, when i heard his bitter lamentations and self-reproaches, i could lift my heart to god, in gratitude for his protecting goodness, which had preserved me an _honest man_. i had often erred no doubt, but it had never been designedly; and never did i value a good conscience more than when standing by the death-bed of benjamin paul, who now had passed the jordan of death; and it is enough to know that his future, whether of joy or woe, will be meted out to him, by a merciful and just god,--nevertheless, his last moments on earth were such as ought to arouse every professed christian, to redoubled diligence in watchfulness and prayer, lest they fall into temptation,-- lest they determine to become rich, and thereby fall into diverse and hurtful lusts, and pierce themselves through with many sorrows. soon after the event above narrated, a law was passed in the province, allowing each township to elect three commissioners, whose duty it should be, to transact the public business pertaining to the township. each township should also elect one township clerk, whose business it should be, to hold and keep all moneys, books, and papers belonging to said town; with power to administer oaths, and in fact, he, with the commissioners, were to constitute a board, possessing all the power of a court, in relation to township business. in our colony, located in the township of bidulph, the colored people were a large majority of the inhabitants, which gave us the power to elect commissioners from our own settlement, and therefore, three black men where duly chosen, who entered on the duties of their office, while your humble servant, a. steward, was elected township clerk, with all the responsibility of the office resting upon him and the same power given him as though he had been born in her britannic majesty's dominion, with a face as white as the driven snow. i felt the responsibility of my office, but not more deeply than i did this assurance of entire confidence, and respect shown me by my townsmen, after all the cruel persecutions i had met; after all the accusations of theft, forgery, &c., that vicious person could bring against me. the rev. nathaniel paul, with his lady, arrived at wilberforce in the spring of , to the great joy of the colonists, to find that his brother had gone the way of all the earth, and his remains quietly resting on his own premises, where his afflicted family still resided. in the colony there was a great deal of excitement regarding the course our agent would pursue, and all waited with anxious expectancy to see him enrich the treasury with his long-promised collections. we had agreed, on sending him forth as an agent for the colony, to give him fifty dollars per month for his services, besides bearing his expenses. the reverend gentleman, charged, on his return to the colony, the sum specified, for four years, three months and twenty days. we spent several days in auditing his account, with increased fearful forebodings. we found his receipts to be, in the united kingdoms of great britain, one thousand six hundred and eighty-three pounds, nineteen shillings; or, eight thousand and fifteen dollars, eighty cents. his expenditures amounted to one thousand four hundred and three pounds, nineteen shillings; or, seven thousand and nineteen dollars, eighty cents. then his wages for over four years, at fifty dollars per month, left a balance against the board of several hundred dollars, which we had no funds to cancel, inasmuch as the reverend gentleman had paid us nothing of all he had collected in europe, nor even paid a farthing toward liquidating the debts incurred for his outfit and expenses. there was also in mr. paul's charge against the board of managers, an item of two hundred dollars, which he had paid to wm. loyd garrison, while that gentleman was also in england; but by whose authority he had paid or given it, it was hard to determine. we gave him no orders to make donations of any kind. to take the liberty to do so, and then to charge it to our poor and suffering colony, seemed hard to bear; still we allowed the charge. had we, in our straitened and almost destitute circumstances, made a donation of that, to us, large sum of money to mr. garrison or any body else, certainly _we_ should, at least, have had the credit of it; and as mr. garrison had made no acknowledgment of the receipt, i wrote him on the subject, and his answer will be found, heading our correspondence, in this volume. not a dollar did the treasurer ever receive of the rev. n. paul, unless we call the donations he had made without our permission, a payment. he did, it is true, award to the board, the sum of two hundred dollars, paid by him to mr. garrison, and fifty dollars more given by himself to mr. nell, on his departure from england. not a farthing could we get of him; and in short, as far as the monied interest of the colony was concerned, his mission proved an entire failure. how much good the reverend gentleman may have done in spreading anti-slavery truth, during his stay in europe, is not for me to say. the english, at that time held slaves; and report speaks well of his labors and endeavors to open the eyes of that nation to the sin of slavery and the injustice of the colonization scheme. it is said that he continually addressed crowded and deeply interested audiences, and that many after hearing him, firmly resolved to exert themselves, until every chain was broken and every bondman freed beneath the waving banner of the british lion. perhaps his arduous labors assisted in freeing the west india islands of the hateful curse of slavery; if so, we shall not so much, regret the losses and severe trials, it was ours to bear at that time. the indignant and disappointed colonists, however, took no such view of his mission; and knowing as they did, that he had paid not a cent of cash into the treasury, nor liquidated one debt incurred on his account, they became excited well nigh to fury,--so much so, that at one time we found it nearly impossible to restrain them from having recourse to lynch law. they thought that the reverend gentleman must have large sums of money at his command somewhere--judging from his appearance and mode of living, and that a little wholesome punishment administered to his reverence, by grave judge lynch, enthroned upon a "cotton bale," might possibly bring him to terms, and induce him to disgorge some of his ill-gotten wealth, which he so freely lavished upon himself, and was withholding from those to whose wants it had been kindly contributed. just, as was their dissatisfaction, i was satisfied by the examination of his accounts, that he had spent nearly all of the money collected for us; his expenses had been considerable; beside, he had fallen in love, during his stay in england, with a white woman, and i suppose it must have required both time and money to woo and win so fine and fair an english lady, said also to possess quite a little sum of money, that is, several thousand dollars, all of which our poor, little suffering colony must pay for,--the reverend gentleman's statement to the contrary notwithstanding. we succeeded at last, after a tedious effort, in satisfying the minds of the settlers to the extent, that a violent outbreak was no longer to be feared or dreaded. when all was quiet in the colony, i ventured to make my first call on the wife of n. paul, who was then stopping with the widow of the late rev. b. paul, residing some three miles from us. the houses of the colonists were generally built of logs, hewn on both sides, the spaces chinked with mortar, and the roof constructed of boards. the lower part was generally left in one large room, and when another apartment was desired, it was made by drawing a curtain across it. when we arrived at the residence of mrs. paul, we were immediately ushered into the presence of mrs. nathaniel paul, whom we found in an inner apartment, made by drawn curtains, carpeted in an expensive style, where she was seated like a queen in state,--with a veil floating from her head to the floor; a gold chain encircling her neck, and attached to a gold watch in her girdle; her fingers and person sparkling with costly jewelry. her manners were stiff and formal nor was she handsome, but a tolerably fair looking woman, of about thirty years of age: and this was the wife of our agent for the poor wilberforce colony! n. paul had now settled his business with the colonists, and being about to leave for the states, we appealed to his honor as a man and a christian, to call at rochester and pay the seven hundred dollar bank debt, for which he was justly and legally holden, and relieve honorably, those kind gentlemen who had raised the money for him. he well knew the condition of our friend e. peck, and that the names of some of our colored friends were also attached to the note; all of whom were relying implicitly on his or our honor to pay the obligation. that we had no funds in the treasury he was well aware; also, that all were deeply concerned about that debt. all this he knew; and in answer to our earnest and repeated injunction, he promised most faithfully and solemnly that he would call at rochester, and take up the note. on those conditions he was allowed to leave the colony, and when parting with me, no more to meet in this life, his last assurance was, that he would cancel that obligation. what then could we think of his word, when we learned soon after that he passed rochester, without calling, direct to albany; nor did he ever return, or make any explanation of his conduct; nor give any reason why his promise was not redeemed and the money paid. he preached in albany until his health failed, then he was obliged to live the best way he could, and at last to depend on charity. his disease was dropsy, from which he suffered deeply, being unable to lie down for some time previous to his death. i have been told that his domestic life was far from a peaceable or happy one, and that in poverty, sorrow and affliction, he lingered on a long time, till death at last closed the scene. chapter xxxi. my family return to rochester. i was now seriously meditating a return to rochester. my purpose in going to canada, has already been made known to the reader, as well as some of the disappointments i met, and some of the trials and difficulties i had to encounter. now, after laboring, and suffering persecution for about five years, my way was comparatively clear; still i wished to leave the province and return to the states, in which prospect my family greatly rejoiced. doubtless most persons in the position i then occupied, would have chosen to remain; but for several reasons, i did not. notwithstanding i had been during my youth, a poor, friendless, and illiterate slave, i had, through the mercy of god and the kindness of friends, not only obtained my freedom, but i had by the industry and perseverance of a few years, acquired a tolerable english education, established a profitable business, built for myself a good and extensive business reputation, and had laid the foundation for increasing wealth and entire independence. indeed, so far as a competency is concerned, i possessed that when i left rochester. my house and land was paid for; my store also, and the goods it contained were free from debt; beside, i had several hundred dollars in the bank for future use,--nor do i boast, when i say that the comfort and happiness of myself and family, required no further exertion on my part to better our worldly condition. we were living in one of the best countries on the earth, surrounded by friends,--good and intelligent society, and some of the noblest specimens of christian philanthropy in the world. my wife and children, had not only been accustomed to the comforts, if not the luxuries of life, but also to associate with persons of refinement and cultivation; and although they had willingly accompanied me to canada, where they had experienced little less than care, labor and sorrow, it cannot be thought very strange that they should desire to return. we were colored people to be sure, and were too often made to feel the weight of that cruel prejudice, which small minds with a perverted education, know so well how to heap upon the best endeavors of our oppressed race. yet truth and justice to my friends, compel me to say, that after a short acquaintance, i have usually been treated with all that kindness and confidence, which should exist between man and man. at my house of entertainment in canada, it was not uncommon for gentlemen of my former acquaintances, to stop for a friendly chat; merchants, journeying through our settlement, after goods, would frequently call, with their money, watches, and other valuables, carefully concealed about their persons; but when they learned our name, and had become acquainted a little, they would not only freely expose their wealth, but often place all their money and valuables in my hands, for safe keeping; nor was their confidence ever misplaced to my knowledge. another thing: when i went to wilberforce, i supposed that the colonists would purchase the whole township of bidulph, and pay for it, which might have been done, had they been fortunate enough to put forward better men. then when we had a sufficient number of inhabitants, we could have sent a member to parliament, one of our own race, to represent the interests of our colony. in all this we were disappointed. the canada company, in their unjust judgment of a whole people, by one dishonest man, had stopped the sale of lands to colored persons, which of course, put an end to the emigration of respectable and intelligent colored men to that place; nor was there any prospect of a favorable change. moreover, the persecutions which gave rise to the colony, had in a great measure ceased; anti-slavery truth was taking effect on the minds of the people, and god was raising up many a friend for the poor slave, to plead with eloquent speech and tears, the cause of the dumb and down-trodden. these, with other considerations, influenced me in my decision to leave canada. as soon, however, as my intentions were made known, i was importuned on all sides, by persons both in and out of the settlement, to remain awhile longer, at least. this will be seen by a reference to the appendix. after due deliberation, i concluded to send my family to the states, and remain myself, until my year should terminate, for which i had been elected township clerk. in accordance with this determination, i made preparation to take my family to port stanley, forty miles distant. but what a contrast was there between our leaving rochester, five years before, and our removing from the colony! then, we had five two-horse wagon loads of goods and furniture, and seven in family; now, our possessions were only a few articles, in _a one-horse wagon_, with an addition of two members to our household! the settlers collected about us, to take an affectionate leave of my wife and children; but tears and sobs, prevented an utterance of more than a "god bless you," and a few like expressions. the scene was indeed an affecting one: all the weary days of our labor; all the trials and difficulties we had passed; all the sweet communion we had enjoyed in our religious and social meetings; all the acts of neighborly kindness, seemed now to be indelibly impressed on every memory, and we felt that a mutual regard and friendship had bound us closer to each other, in the endearing bonds of christian brotherhood-- bonds not to be broken by the adverse scenes incident to frail human life. arrived at port stanley, we were kindly entertained by a mr. white, a fugitive slave from virginia, who owned a snug little farm on the bank of kettle creek, and who appeared to be in a good and prosperous condition. being detained there, waiting for a boat, on which i was anxious to see my family comfortably situated before i left them, i was aroused at an early hour on the second morning of our stay, by a loud rapping at the door; and hearing myself inquired for, i dressed myself immediately, and followed mr. white into the sitting room, where i saw two strange men, armed with bludgeons! i soon learned, however, that one of them was the under-sheriff, who had come to arrest me for a debt of about forty dollars, and the other armed man had come to assist him, i assured them i was ready to accompany them back to london, which i was obliged to do, a prisoner, leaving my family among comparative strangers. the debt had become due to a man who had worked for us in the building of a saw-mill. i arranged the matter without going to jail, but before i could return to port stanley, my family, kindly assisted by mr. white, had departed for buffalo. the weather was cold and the lake very rough, but they safely arrived in rochester, after a journey of three days. during their passage up the lake my oldest daughter took a severe cold, from which she never recovered. i returned to the colony to attend to the duties of my office, and to close my business with the colony, preparatory to joining my family, who were now settled in rochester, but in very different circumstances from those in which they had left it. i had deposited quite a sum of money in the rochester bank; but our continual expenditures at wilberforce, in my journeyings for the benefit of the colony, and in the transacting of business pertaining to its interests, had left not one dollar for the support of my family, or to give me another start in business. nevertheless, i felt willing to submit the case to him who had known the purity of my intentions, and who had hitherto "led me through scenes dark and drear," believing he would not forsake me now, in this time of need. consoling myself with these reflections, i renewed my endeavors to do my best, leaving the event with my god. chapter xxxii. the land agent and the squatter. i have named, i believe, that all the colored people, who purchased lands of lewis, could get no deed nor any remuneration for their improvements. this they thought hard and unfair. some had built a house and barn, cleared land, &c.; but when they wished to pay for their farms, they could get no deed, and were obliged to lose all their labor. this raised such a general complaint against the land agents, that they finally agreed to pay the squatters for their improvements, if they would leave their farms. an opportunity was soon offered to test their sincerity in this agreement. a shrewd fellow, who had been many years a sailor, named william smith, had made valuable improvements on land, for which he could get no deed, and then he wished to leave it. his wife, also, died about this time, leaving him with eight children, which determined him to leave the colony, and after providing homes for his children, to return to his former occupation on the high seas; but he also determined not to leave without receiving the pay which the agents had agreed to give for his improvements. "oh yes," said they, in answer to his repeated solicitations, "you shall be paid, certainly, certainly; you shall be paid every farthing." but when the appointed day came for the pompous land agents to ride through the settlement, you might see smith station himself at first one and then another conspicuous place on the road, hoping they would have the magnanimity to stop and pay him, especially, as he had informed them of his destitute and almost desperate condition, with eight young children to maintain, and no means to do so, after giving up to them the farm. before them as usual rode their body servant, of whom smith would inquire at what hour the agents might be expected. and most blandly would he be informed of some particular hour, when perhaps, within the next ten minutes, the lordly agent would fly past him, on their foaming steeds, with the speed of a "lightning train." this course they repeated again and again. one day, when all of the land agents rode through the settlement in this manner, smith followed them on foot over fifty miles. he at last intercepted them, and they promised with the coolest indifference, that on a certain day, not far distant, they would certainly pay him all he claimed, if he would meet them at a certain hotel in london. to this he agreed; and the poor fellow returned to the colony almost exhausted. his funds were nearly all spent, and he wished to take his children to new york; yet his only hope was in the integrity and honor of the land agents. on the day appointed, he was at london long before the hour to meet, had arrived. he entered the village with a determined air, and saw the agents just riding up to a hotel,--but not the one they had told him to call at. he, however, waited for no invitation, but entered the hotel and inquired of the servant for his master. he said his master was not there! "i know he is," said smith, "and i want to see him." the servant withdrew, but soon returned to say that his master was engaged and could not see him that day. smith followed the servant into the hall, calling out to him in the most boisterous manner, demanding to be told the reason _why_ he could not see his master. the noise which smith purposely made, soon brought into the hall one of the agents, a mr. longworth, a short, fat man,--weighing in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds! when he saw smith, he strutted about, assuring him that this disgraceful uproar was quite uncalled for, and finally putting on a severe look, told him that he could not have anything for his improvements; of course not,-- he really could not expect; certainly not, &c. smith plainly assured the agent that his "blarney" would avail him nothing; he had come by their own appointment to get his pay, and that he certainly should _have_--if not in the way they themselves agreed upon, he would choose his own method of getting it! thus saying, he stepped back, threw down his woolly head, and goat fashion, let drive into the fat englishman's "bread basket!" he sprawled about and soon recovered his standing, but continued to scream and halloo with rage and mortification, more than with pain, until he had brought to the spot landlord, boarders, and servants, to witness the affray; but smith, nothing daunted, administered two or three more effectual butts with his hard head into the lordly agent, when the subdued and now silent english gentleman, drew from his pocket book, and carefully counted out, every dollar smith had at first demanded. smith accepted it pleasantly, thanked him and withdrew, amid the shouts and jeers of the spectators, which the agent was more willing to avoid than he. that was the way the land agent paid the squatter. it seemed, however, a little too bad, to make a fine english gentleman, feel as "flat" as longworth appeared to feel; yet it was undoubtedly the only method by which smith could recover a farthing. the agents, it was supposed, did not design to pay for any improvements; indeed, some very hard and unjust incidents occurred in connection with, that matter, and probably smith was about the only one, who ever received the full value of his claim. there was committed about this time, a most shocking murder, in the london district. a farmer who had a respectable family, consisting of a wife and several children, became so addicted to the use of spirituous liquors, that he neglected both his family and farm so much, that his friends felt called upon to request the distiller, who was his near neighbor, to furnish him with no more intoxicating drink. this, so exasperated the poor, ruined and besotted wretch, that he raved like a madman--such as he undoubtedly was--crazed and infuriated, by the contents of the poisoned cup of liquid damnation, held to his lips by a neighboring distiller; a fellow-being, who for the consideration of a few shillings, could see his neighbor made a brute and his family left in destitution and sorrow. perhaps, however, he did not anticipate a termination so fearful; yet that is but a poor excuse for one who lives by the sale of rum. when a rumseller gives that to a man, which he knows will "steal away his brains," and make him a maniac, how can he anticipate his future conduct? and who is responsible? ah, who? when severin found he could get no more intoxicating beverage, he in his demoniacal rage, conceived the idea of despatching his whole family, and set about his purpose by first snatching the young babe and casting it into the fire! when the poor wife and mother came shrieking to the rescue of her darling infant, he with one furious blow, laid her a bleeding corpse at his feet! two other young children he next murdered, and left them mingling their blood with that of their mother's, while he ran furiously after the two older ones, who were endeavoring to escape to a neighbor's for assistance; and overtaking, killed them both! when the miserable wretch had completed his hellish design, he started for his nearest neighbor, named smith, and told him that there was a black and a white man at his house, murdering his family, requesting him to go to their assistance. mrs. smith, believing that severin designed to murder her husband, insisted on his calling his young men to assist him, which he did; and on arriving at the scene of slaughter, a most horrid spectacle was before them: five dead bodies weltering in blood, aside from that of the innocent babe, whose little form lay roasted and charred, on the fatal and bloody hearthstone of the drunkard! victims all, of an intoxicated husband and father! when the guilty man saw the mangled remains of his household, he only increased his depravity by trying to make others responsible for the wicked deed,--exclaiming in feigned anguish, "my dear wife! my poor children! i was afraid they would murder you! oh, my lost family!" &c. community was soon alarmed; severin, arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced to suffer the extreme penalty of the law. it is sufficient for us to say, that the evidence was clear and conclusive, that he was the only murderer of his family; nor was it doubted that mrs. smith's suspicion was correct; yet, with all the array of positive testimony brought against him, he denied the commission of the crime to the last moment of his life! when brought out for execution, he was placed under the gallows, and the rope with its fatal noose adjusted around his neck, when one of the attorneys arose, and with great solemnity, addressed him, in the most impressive manner: "we have done," said he, "all in our power to save your life; but you are justly condemned, and in a few minutes more, will enter the presence of the all-seeing eye of jehovah; now let me beseech you, in the name of god, to tell the truth, before you die." severin declared himself innocent of the crime, for which he was about to suffer; but was consoled, he said, with the belief that he should, in a few short moments, meet in blissful re-union his dear, murdered wife and children in heaven, to part no more! prayers were read; and during the reading of the lord's prayer, at the words "thy will be done," the hardened wretch was launched into eternity. no room was left to doubt the fact, that severin with his own hand destroyed the life of his unhappy and abused wife, and also that of his helpless family. yet in one sense, may we say with the murderer, it was not he who committed the awful and inhuman deed, but boldly and truthfully charge it to man's bitterest foe--rum! what but the maddening effects of spirituous liquors, could so demoralize, so demonize a man, as to convert the once loving husband and proud father, into a reckless fiend, a heartless savage? oh, rum! earth contains not another so fell a foe! should any who may read these humble pages, find an effectual warning in the unhappy end of severin, one which shall induce them to pause in their course, or at once and forever abandon the use of alcoholic drinks, i shall gratefully feel that i have not written this incident in vain. before i left wilberforce, the rev. s.e. cornish, made a visit, and preached the word of life to the colony, greatly to the satisfaction and comfort of the settlers. after distributing liberally of his abundance, to his poor brethren, he departed for the states, attended by the prayers and blessings of the wilberforce colonists. chapter xxxiii. character and death of i. lewis. i have spoken in the preceding chapter, of a visit from the rev. s.e. cornish, to the colony. he had previously written me, concerning the object of his proposed visit, which was to obtain the depositions of the board of managers, relative to all the money received through their agents for the colony. he was sent to canada then, and once afterwards, for and at the expense of a. tappan, on business pertaining to the law-suit instituted by i. lewis against that gentleman, for defamation of character. the depositions taken in the colony, with the expense of twice sending an agent to canada, must have made a round sum for that kind gentleman to pay, merely for telling a truth already known! mr. cornish had also been informed of my intention to leave the colony, and that my family were already gone. he, knowing something concerning the state of things, urged me to remain at least, until his arrival, as will be seen by a reference to his letter in the appendix. as i look back on those scenes of labor and trial, i find cause for deep humiliation and gratitude to god, for his goodness and gracious protection, over my frail life, through unseen dangers of various kinds, and for his continued favors and unmerited blessings. many of my fellow men have fallen in death's cold embrace since that time, while my health and life has been mercifully preserved. three of the leading characters of the wilberforce colony are now dead. rev. benjamin paul, lies in the silent grave-yard in wilberforce, c.w. his brother, rev. nathaniel paul, also sleeps the dreamless sleep of death, and his dust rests in the beautiful cemetery in albany, n.y. israel lewis has also finished his earthly career after robbing the poor of their just dues, and persecuting those who endeavored to defend them; after living in extravagance--"faring sumptuously every day,"--he became reduced in circumstances; despised and dishonored, his proud spirit was at last broken. his health gave way; when at length, unattended and alone, he found his way to a hospital in montreal, where he soon after died, leaving not enough of all his gains to afford him a decent burial! oh, what a reward "for all his labor under the sun!" his fame, his wealth, and his law-suits, all have perished with his memory. poor man! israel lewis was born a slave, raised on a southern plantation, and subjected to all the cruelties and deprivations of a bondman. his natural abilities were above mediocrity, but having never had the advantages of an education, or the privileges of a society calculated to cultivate and refine his natural aspiring intellect, and to direct his indomitable will in the acquirement of the more imperishable graces of the human heart, he had come to manhood with a determined, selfish disposition, to accomplish whatever gratified his vanity or administered to the wants of his animal nature. and may we not, with propriety here inquire, whether our common father, who has declared himself to be "no respecter of persons," has endowed men with enlarged capacities for the attainment of that knowledge and wisdom, so requisite to the elevation of character,--for the express purpose of seeing them made beasts of burden, and their superior faculties prostituted by the sensuality imposed by slavery, and to be sold as chattels, with impunity? i tell you, nay. the day when almighty god will avenge the work of his own hands, hasteth greatly! were it not so, we might rejoice in the ignorance of the poor slaves, and pray that none of them may ever be endowed with a superior intellect to that of the brutes they are made to resemble. then would the proud spirit no longer chafe, and manhood writhe in the unbroken chain; but, like the ox to the yoke or the horse to the harness, they might submit, without a conscious violation of their dearest and god given rights. but we were speaking of israel lewis. a natural energy and strength of character, he had inherited; a malicious, selfish, and consequently a deceptive disposition, his life as a slave had undoubtedly bestowed upon him. intellect must have scope, and when nothing is left within its grasp but vice, can we wonder that the slave possessing the most talent, should generally prove the greatest villain. uneducated as was lewis, his quick perception, his ungoverned passions, and his native independence, not only made him a dangerous slave, but an unfaithful and overbearing companion. he, however, took a wife--a slave like himself,--whose devotedness and good sense, cannot be made manifest, more than in her willingness to leave all that was dear to her on earth, and flee from their birth-place, she knew not whither; but confiding in the professed love and protection of her husband, she cheerfully followed him to the dense forest, in search of that freedom, denied them in their native country,--submitting herself gladly to all the hardships and fearful anxieties of a fugitive slave. what to her were horsemen, armed with dirk and rifle! what though the trained and inhuman blood-hound bayed upon their track! was not he who had sworn a life-long allegiance to her by her side! should he be killed or retaken, what could she desire, but to be his companion still! slavery even, bitter as was the cup, might contain for her _one sweet drop_, while connubial love lighted up their rude cabin, and sweetened their daily toil; but the additional anticipation of liberty, to their domestic happiness--oh blessed hope! how it quickened their weary footsteps, and, with fixed eyes upon the star of the north, they pressed forward through every difficulty, until they finally reached cincinnati, o. there they lived quietly, and with others, suffered the terrors of the mob, where also he was chosen agent, to seek a more safe and quiet home for his afflicted and outcast countrymen. the office was accepted, and lewis became the founder of the wilberforce colony. the personal appearance of israel lewis was prepossessing; his manner and address easy and commanding. to those unacquainted with his private life, his ungoverned passions, and his unprincipled, revengeful disposition, he could appear the gentleman, the philanthropist, and the christian. his education was limited; yet he had managed to gather a sufficient knowledge of the sciences to enable him to read and write, together with quite a fund of general information; and then his shrewdness and tact accomplished all the rest. to strangers he could appear a ripe scholar, if left unquestioned. he was a good speaker, and once spake with eloquence and marked effect before the legislature, assembled in the senate chamber, at albany, n.y. had the childhood of mr. lewis been passed under more favorable auspices; had his intellectual faculties been so cultivated as to predominate over his animal propensities, and his towering aspirations directed toward the accomplishment of acts, lofty in their benevolence, noble in their sacrifice, high in their honorable purpose, and great in their purity; i can but believe that his powerful intellect would have achieved the fame of a lundy, or would have bequeathed to his brethren a memory like that of a clarkson. instead, we have found him devoting his energies to the gratification of his avarice, pride, and ambition--characteristics directly opposed to the deportment of the humble christian, and such as our heavenly father has never promised to prosper. how truly has "the wise man" said, "he that is greedy of gain troubleth his own house; but he that hateth gifts shall live." how strikingly has this passage been verified in the course of lewis! for a few paltry sums of gain, could he consent, not alone to rob the poor, for whom it was kindly given as unto the lord, but to turn scornfully away from that poor, illiterate, and humble slave wife, whom he had, in their mutual adversity, vowed to cherish in _prosperity_ as well as in all other circumstances through life. that wife, who had borne with him the sorrows of slavery--the humble choice of a bondman! she, who fled with him anticipating additional happiness in a life of freedom! poor woman! disappointment is of an earthly growth, yet god is merciful; notwithstanding we have the same authority as above, for saying that "every one that is proud in heart is an abomination to the lord: though hand join in hand, he shall not be unpunished." in the hands of a righteous judge we leave him, who, for the wealth that perisheth,--who, for worldly honor and selfish gratification, could barter his honesty and integrity, as "esau, who sold his birth-right for a mess of pottage." to me the lesson is an impressive one, and i am thinking it would be well for us all to examine the foundation on which we stand. if based upon the solid and broad foundation of christianity, doing to others in all things as we would they should do to us, sacrificing on all occasions our own ease, and worldly honor, for the benefit of our fellow-men, and the good of our country, then indeed, we need fear no evil; if the winds of adversity howl about our dwelling, we shall find it will stand, being founded on a rock. but if we build upon "the sands" of fame or self-aggrandizement, and, like the towering oak, lift our insignificant heads in proud defiance of the coming storm, we may expect that our superstruction will fall! "and great will be the fall of it!" chapter xxxiv. my return to rochester. having closed my business in wilberforce, i prepared to leave on the expiration of my term of office as township clerk, which was now near at hand. notwithstanding, i ever felt a sensation of relief and pleasure, when i thought of returning to my old home and friends in the states, yet as often as i look abroad over the settlement and remember all my glowing hopes,--all my delightful anticipations of a prosperous future for those poor, struggling colonists; when i recollected with what zeal and honest purpose, with what sincerity and sacrifice i had prosecuted my labor among them,--a dark shadow of disappointment would flit across my mind, however welcome it might be. that i had firm and tried friends in the colony, i had never the least reason to doubt, not to suppose their number less after a five years residence with them; but our expectations had not been realized. our hope of settling a township, to be represented in parliament by one of our own people, was now forever blasted. i remembered too, that many of the colonists had been unjustly incited against my course; but in the retrospect my heart did not condemn me. errors many, no doubt i had committed; but i was grateful, when reviewing the whole ground, for a conscience void of offence toward god and man; and i finally took my leave of all, craving the choicest blessings of heaven to rest upon that infant colony and its interests. on the nineteenth day of january, , i left wilberforce, passing through brantford, hamilton, queenston, lewiston, and from thence to rochester. during my journey, i could not avoid feeling sad and despondent, as my mind incessantly returned to the review of my mission, upon which i could look with no other decision than that of an entire failure. i had spent my time, wasted my substance for naught, and was now returning to my dependant family,--that, with myself, had been stripped of nearly every means of comfort and support. what would my rochester friends think of my conduct? notwithstanding all my despondency and evil foreboding at that time, i am now well satisfied that my labor was not all in vain, but that some good did result from it. as i drew near the city, a gloom like thick darkness overshadowed me: i thought of the unfavorable transactions which had occurred between the directors of the colony and my friends in rochester, and fell to wondering how they would receive me. on the twenty-third of january, , i finally re-entered the city penniless; but as i soon found, not so friendless as my fears would have it. among, the first to welcome me back to my old home, was that friend of "blessed memory," everard peck, who had been apprised of some of the losses i had met and the trials i had passed through. this gentleman was also one of the first to propose to be one of five men, who should loan me one hundred dollars each, for five years. through the disinterested kindness of this worthy gentleman, i was in a few days after my arrival, well established in a store of provisions and groceries. the five kind gentlemen, to whom i was so deeply indebted for the loan, were: everard peck, george a. avery, samuel d. porter, levi w. sibley, and griffith, brother & co. this noble act of generosity and kindness, on the part of my friends, to furnish me with the means to commence business, especially when their prospect was anything but flattering, regarding my ever being able to refund their well-timed and gracious liberality,--affected me more deeply than all the censure and persecution i had elsewhere received. their frown and displeasure, i was better prepared to meet than this considerate act of christian sympathy, which i am not ashamed to say melted me to tears, and i resolved to show my appreciation of their kindness by an industry and diligence in business hitherto unsurpassed. e. bardwell, then a merchant on exchange street, next laid me under a lasting obligation by offering to sell me goods on credit; others proffered assistance by promising their continual patronage, which was to me the same as cash,--and soon the store i had opened on main street, was doing an extensive business. my profits were small to be sure, and i had a heavy rent to pay for my store and dwelling, yet i was making a comfortable living for my family, and laying by something to reimburse the kind friends who had helped me in the time of need, when i found that the health of my family required more of my time and assistance than ever before. my oldest daughter, who, i have before mentioned, having taken a violent cold on lake erie, was now confined to her bed. all that could be done to save the life of a darling child--our first born--was done; and if we sometimes went beyond our means, it was a satisfaction to us to see her enjoy some of the comforts of life of which my mission to canada had deprived her. one physician after another was employed to stay the approach of the destroyer: some said they could cure her, if paid in advance; to all of which i cheerfully acceded, but only to see our beloved sink lower, and patiently pine away. no one but a parent who has watched the rapid decline of a darling child, and marked with a bursting heart the approaching footsteps of the spoiler, can imagine how powerless we felt at that time. the wealth of the indias, had we possessed it, would have been freely given, although it would have been unavailing, to shield that loved and gentle form from pain, and we were obliged to look hopelessly on, while our little patient, suffering daughter sank lower and lower every day. in vain were our parental arms outstretched for her protection; from death we could not save her. she had long since ceased to glide about the house, and soothe with her silvery tones all the childish fears of the little ones. helpless she now lay, burning with fever, and wasting from our sight, "till soft as the dew on the twilight descending," the cold damps of death gathered on her youthful brow. one pleasant morning after passing a restless night, i observed her to gaze earnestly upward, and a moment after i called her name but received no answer. "her languishing head was at rest; its thinkings and achings were o'er; her quiet, immoveable breast, was heaved by affliction no more." on the fifteenth day of april, , she sweetly fell asleep, aged eleven years. sorrowfully we followed her remains to mount hope, where we laid her down to rest until the resurrection morning. death had now made its first inroad in our family circle, and since then we have laid two other loved ones by her side. we sorrowed, but not without hope. my business continued to prosper, and i concluded to buy a small variety store, containing some three or four hundred dollars worth of goods on the corner of main and north streets, formerly owned by mr. snow, but, having two stores on my hands, i did not make much by the trade. the first summer after i returned to rochester, the friends of temperance made a fine celebration, and gave me the privilege of providing the dinner. i considered it not only a privilege, but an honor, and felt very grateful to the committee who conferred the favor upon me. the celebration came off on the fourth of july, and was indeed a splendid affair. the multitude were addressed on the public square, by some of the best speakers in the country. i laid in a large quantity of provisions of every available kind, built a bower, hired waiters, and prepared seats for five hundred to dine; but when the oration was over, and the multitude came to the table, i found that as many more seats were wanted. we, however, accommodated as many as we could, at one dollar each, and all passed off well, to the great satisfaction of all concerned. when all was over, and the friends learned that i had on hand a large amount of cooked provision, they continued their kindness by purchasing it, thus preventing any loss on my part. my store on the corner of main and north streets, was at the head of the market, and i was enabled to supply both of my stores with country produce on the best possible terms. i kept two clerks at each store, and all seemed prosperous for a time, when from some cause, which i could never understand, my business began to fail. my family had ever lived prudently, and i knew that was not the cause. i thought to better my circumstances by taking a store in the rochester house, but that proved to be a bad stand for my business, and after one year, i removed to buffalo street, opposite the court house. i ought to say, that as soon as i found that my income was getting less than my expenses, i went to the gentlemen who had loaned me the five hundred dollars, and showed them the true state of my affairs, and they kindly agreed to take fifty per cent., which i paid them. after locating on buffalo street, i took in a partner, named john lee, a young man, active and industrious, who paid into the firm three hundred dollars, with which we bought goods. with what i had on hand, this raised the joint stock to about a thousand dollars, on which we were making frequent additions, and on which we had an insurance of six hundred dollars. our business was now more prosperous than at any previous time, and we began to look up with hope and confidence in our final success. one night i returned to my home as usual, leaving lee in the store. about twelve o'clock, mr. morris awoke me with a few loud raps, and the announcement that my store was on fire and a part of my goods in the street! i hastened to the place, where i found, as he had said, what was saved from the fire piled up in the street and the fire extinguished. the building was greatly damaged and the goods they rescued were nearly ruined. now we were thrown out of business, and the firm was dissolved. with the assistance of w.s. bishop, a lawyer, we made out the amount of damage, which was readily paid by the agent for the insurance company. when the fourth of july came round again, the temperance men resolved on having another demonstration, and as before, i was requested to supply the dinner, which i did, after the same manner as the year previous. having been thrown out of business by the fire, i began to examine my pecuniary matters, and found that i was some three or four hundred dollars in debt, which i had no means of paying. true, i had met with a great misfortune, but i felt that to be an honest man i must meet all obligations, whether legally bound to do so or not; yet it was beyond my power at that time, and i finally concluded to leave the city, and try to better my condition by some other business, or at least to clear myself from debt. chapter xxxv. bishop brown--death of my daughter. i removed with my family to the village of canandaigua, where i commenced teaching a school for colored children, assisted by my daughter. the school was sustained partly by the liberality of the citizens of the village, and partly by donations from abroad. it was continued two years, and the children made rapid progress while they were under our tuition. soon after i left rochester, i visited new york city, and while there, i joined "the african methodist episcopal conference." bishop brown, of philadelphia, presided over the deliberations of that body, and appeared to be a man of deep piety, as well as apt in business, and was a native of one of the carolinas. i found a pleasing acquaintance also, with bishop walters of baltimore, md. he was small in stature; but a powerful speaker, and discharged every duty with "an eye single to the glory of god." he has now gone to give an account of his stewardship, and i pray that "his mantle may fall" upon one as capable of leading our people as he. the conference consisted of some sixty or seventy ministers of the gospel, with these two bishops at their head. the conference continued its session ten days. when it was closed, bishop brown, with several others, started on a visit to the west. they called at rochester, and then passed over to canada, where a conference was to be holden. we arrived, after a pleasant journey, at hamilton, where the english government have a regiment of black soldiers stationed. it was common, in passing through the streets of hamilton, to meet every few rods, a colored man in uniform, with a sword at his side, marching about in all the military pomp allowed only to white men in this _free republic_. all being in readiness, bishop brown opened the conference under the authority of her britannic majesty, with great solemnity, which seemed to be felt by the whole assembly. this meeting appeared to me far more interesting than the one we had attended in new york city. the colored people were much more numerous in hamilton, and in far better circumstances than in new york. it is a hard case to be poor in any large city, but to be both poor and black, as was the condition of the majority of our friends in new york, was indeed a terrible calamity. every class, no matter how worthless they might be, would be allowed to rent a house in preference to a colored man. the consequence was, our people were crowded back into the most unhealthy alleys, in old dilapidated tenements unfit for human beings to dwell in, and such as could not be disposed of to any other class of people. i am happy to say, however, that a favorable change has taken place in new york, since the time of which i am speaking. capitalists have noted the good reputation of the colored people as tenants, and have of late erected good dwellings for their accommodation. in hamilton there was none of that wretchedness and squalid poverty, nor any of that drunken rowdyism so common in eastern cities, perceivable among the colored people. our conference was largely attended by all classes, both black and white, --many of the latter invited the bishop with his associates to their dwellings to dine, indeed we seldom took a meal at our lodgings, so constantly were we solicited by friends to accompany them home. we also found many fugitive slaves in that city, many of whom were intelligent mechanics. some of them took us about the place, showing us the different buildings they were engaged in erecting; quite a number were employed in building a church which appeared to be done in a workman-like manner. in the meantime our meeting was progressing in a very interesting manner, and when the closing services were commenced, the house was filled to overflowing; still many could not be accommodated. the preaching was solemn and impressive, and it really seemed to me that the glory of god filled the house in which we worshipped; saints rejoiced and shouted "glory to god, in the highest," while sinners trembled and cried out, "what must we do to be saved from the wrath to come." there were several hopeful conversions during the session of conference; and after its close we spent one day in making social calls, and viewing the city and its surroundings. burlington bay makes an excellent harbor for shipping, while burlington heights loom up on the north in all their wild and terrific grandeur. near the bay resides mr. mcnab, so notorious in the history of the canadian revolution. we went in a large company to look at his beautiful grounds and residence, over which we were politely conducted by his amiable lady. it was indeed a lordly mansion, with its surroundings laid out in the english style of princely magnificence. on our return to the city at evening, we were invited to attend a grand soiree, got up in honor of the bishop's first visit to that place. several families of colored people combined to provide the splendid entertainment, while one lady presided at the board. she was very beautiful and very dark; but a complete model of grace and elegance, conversing with perfect ease and intelligence with all, both black and white ministers, who surrounded the festive board, as well as our irish friends, not a few of whom were present. one honest son of the emerald isle entered, and not understanding the matter, inquired of his brother "pat," in rather a loud whisper, "what's all them nagurs setting to that table for?" he, however, soon satisfied himself, and all passed off quietly and in excellent order. at a late hour the company, after a benediction, withdrew and dispersed. we left hamilton the following morning, feeling grateful and pleased with our meeting and visit. it was a beautiful morning; the lake was still, no sound was heard but the rushing waves, as our boat moved on through its placid waters, toward our destination, then called fort george, now niagara, where we took stage for the falls. at that place of resort, we stopped to view the stupendous work of almighty god, and listen to the ceaseless thundering of the cataract. how tame appear the works of art, and how insignificant the bearing of proud, puny man, compared with the awful grandeur of that natural curiosity. yet there, the rich from all parts of the world, do congregate! there you will find the idle, swaggering slaveholder, blustering about in lordly style; boasting of his wealth; betting and gambling; ready to fight, if his slightest wish is not granted, and lavishing his cash on all who have the least claim upon him. ah, well can he afford to be liberal,--well can he afford to spend thousands yearly at our northern watering places; he has plenty of human chattels at home, toiling year after year for his benefit. the little hoe-cake he gives them, takes but a mill of the wealth with which they fill his purse; and should his extravagance lighten it somewhat, he has only to order his brutal overseer to sell--soul and body --some poor creature; perchance a husband, or a wife, or a child, and forward to him the proceeds of the sale. while the wretched slave marches south with a gang, under the lash, he lavishes his funds in extravagant living,--funds gathered from the tears and blood of a helpless human being. have you, dear reader, ever watched the slaveholder at such places as i have, gliding through the shady groves, or riding in his splendid carriage, dressed in the richest attire, and with no wish ungratified that gold can purchase; and have you ever been guilty of envying him, or of wishing yourself in his condition? if so, think of the curse which rests on him who grinds the face of the poor. think of his doom in the day of final retribution, when he shall receive at the bar of a righteous judge, "according to the deeds done in the body," and not according to his wealth and power. think you, that the prayers, cries, and pleadings of the down-trodden slave that for years have been ascending to the throne of a just god, will never be avenged? yea, verily, the day of reckoning hastens on apace, and though, "he bear long with them; he will surely avenge them of their adversaries; and that speedily!" as we pursued our journey to buffalo, we passed grand island, from whence mordecai emanuel noah, some years ago issued a proclamation, calling on the jews to come and build on that island the "city of refuge," but which i believe was not responded to, as i saw it remained in its native wildness. he had also a monument erected there at the time, which might be seen from the highway and canal, consisting of a white marble slab, six feet in height, with a suitable inscription upon it, to direct the poor jew to the city of refuge. it was quite conspicuous, but not so magnificent as gen. brock's at queenston heights. arrived at buffalo, we held several meetings which were very interesting. the colored people were then numerous in that city, and owned one of the largest churches in western new york. we found a large and prosperous society under the superintendence of elder weir, who was a good and talented man, setting a godly example for his flock to imitate. at buffalo i parted with my pleasant and instructive traveling companion, bishop brown, never to meet again on the shores of time. soon after that pleasant journey he died, and passed from his labor to reward. buffalo was then, as now a great place for business. vessels from all parts of the country crowded the docks, and i then thought that it must in time become one of the largest cities in the union. after a pleasant visit with our people there, i returned to my home in canandaigua, where i now began to feel quite settled. i had been requested to act as agent for the "anti-slavery standard," with which i complied, and leaving my daughter to teach the school, i spent the most of my time in traveling through the country to advance the interests of that paper. when i returned from buffalo, she was complaining of poor health, nor was it long before we saw that she was rapidly declining. this beloved daughter, i had spared no pains nor money to educate and qualify for teaching. i had encountered all the trials and difficulties that every colored man meets, in his exertions to educate his family. i had experienced enough to make me fear that i should not always be able to get my children, into good schools, and therefore determined at whatever cost, to educate this child thoroughly, that she might be able, not only to provide for her own wants, but to teach her younger brothers and sisters, should they be deprived of the advantages of a good school. well had she rewarded my labor; well had she realized all my fondest hopes and expectations,--but alas! for human foresight and worldly wisdom! the accomplishments and qualifications of a teacher were attained; and proudly we looked for the achievement of our long-contemplated design. how hard to believe that the fell destroyer was upon her track! her education had qualified her for teaching the sciences; but now i saw, that her faith in the religion of the blessed christ, was assisting her to teach her own heart a lesson of patience, and quiet submission to the will of him who holds the issues of life,--and oh, how difficult for us to learn the solemn lesson, that her wasting form, her gradual sinking away, was hourly setting before us. slowly her strength failed; she, however, saw our sorrowful anxiety, and would try to relieve it with a cheerful appearance. one day perhaps she would be able to walk about, which would revive our wavering hope; the next she was prostrate and suffering; then hope died and we were sad! all the spring time she languished; the summer came, the roses bloomed, and the grain began to ripen, but she was wasting away. the orchard yielded its golden harvest; the birds sang merrily on the trees, but a dark shadow had fallen on our hearthstone, and a gloom, like the pall of death, rested on our household. her place at table was already vacant; no longer she called the little ones about her to hear them repeat their tasks,--all of which admonished us, that soon the bed where we could now see her, would be vacated; and we should no longer witness her patient smile, and know that she was still with us. the pastor of the baptist church often called to pray with, and for, the quiet sufferer, which she appreciated very highly, for she was a christian in every sense of the word. on the thirtieth day of august, at about eleven o'clock, a.m., without a struggle or a groan, her spirit returned to god who gave it. "sweetly as babes sleep," she sank into the embrace of death. happily, triumphantly, had she seen the grim messenger approach; but she knew whom she had believed, and that he was able to keep that which she had committed to him, unto the resurrection of the just. she had previously made a confession of her faith in christ, and had been buried with him in baptism. a few days after her demise, a long, sad train wound its way to the village church yard, where we deposited the remains of our beloved,--patience jane steward, in the eighteenth year of her age; and then returned to our desolate house, to realize that she had left a world of pain and sorrow, where the fairest rose conceals a thorn, the sweetest cup a bitter drop, for a home where the flowers would never fade, and where pain, sorrow and death will never come. we all felt the solemn and impressive warning, "be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not, the son of man cometh." as often as i recalled her triumphant, peaceful death, her firm reliance on god, and sweet submission to his will, i could not forbear contrasting her departure with that of mrs. helm, whose death i have elsewhere described; and could fervently pray, that i might live the life of the righteous, that my last end might be like hers. "behold the western evening light, it melts in deep'ning gloom; so calmly christians sink away, descending to the tomb. the winds breathe low, the withering leaf scarce whispers from the tree,-- so gently flows the parting breath, when good folks cease to be. how beautiful on all the hills, the crimson light is shed; 'tis like the peace the christian gives, to mourners round his bed. how mildly on the wandering cloud, the sunset beam is cast,-- 'tis like the mem'ry left behind, when loved ones breathe their last. and now above the dews of night, the yellow star appears; so faith springs in the breast of those, whose eyes are bathed in tears. but soon the morning's happier light, its glory shall restore; and eyelids that are sealed in death, shall wake to close no more." chapter xxxvi. celebration of the first of august. the anti-slavery friends in canandaigua, had resolved to celebrate the anniversary of the west india emancipation, in suitable manner in that village, for which funds had been unsparingly collected, to defray the expenses of the coming demonstration. the first of august, , fell on sunday, and our people concluded to devote that day to religious meetings, and the second to their proposed celebration. frederick douglass and mr. van loon, from poughkeepsie, addressed the people on the sabbath; and also, on the same evening, a large concourse at the court house. the day following, there were not less than ten thousand people assembled on the beautiful grounds, belonging to the village academy-attentive listeners all to the eloquent speeches delivered, and interested spectators of the imposing exercises. when the vast multitude had convened, the exercises were commenced by the rev. s.r. ward, who addressed the throne of grace, after which, mr. frederick douglass delivered an oration, in a style of eloquence which only mr. douglass himself can equal, followed by a song from the geneva choir, and music by barring's band. rev. h.h. garnet, editor of "the national watchman," next spake, and with marked effect, followed by messrs. ward and douglass; after which, the assemblage formed a procession, and marching to the canandaigua hotel, partook of a sumptuous dinner, provided by the proprietor of that house. at six p.m., they again assembled on the square, and were most eloquently addressed by both ward and garnet; at the close, they repaired to the ladies' fair, where they found everything in a condition which spake well for the enterprise and industry of our colored sisters. their articles for sale, were of a choice and considerate selection, and such as sold rapidly and at fair prices. when all was pleasantly over, the ladies contributed twenty dollars toward paying the speakers present. a most beautiful ode was composed by a warm and generous friend of the cause, which was sung in the grove, in a spirit which produced a thrilling interest. gladly would i give the reader the whole composition, but its length makes it objectionable for this place, but should they happen to hear a soul-stirring and sublime ode, commencing with, "hail! to this day returning; let all to heaven aspire," &c., they may know it is the one to which i refer. it was indeed, a glorious day for the colored population generally; and many were the indications of a diminution of that prejudice so prevalent everywhere. some, who had supposed the colored man so inferior to themselves as to be incapable of making an interesting speech, were convinced of their error, after hearing messrs. douglass, ward and garnet. mr. van loon was a white clergyman, but a brother indeed; his soul illumined by the pure light of the gospel of peace; his heart full of sympathy for the oppressed; his tongue pleading eloquently for equal rights; and his hands busily engaged in breaking every yoke, resting on the necks of poor humanity. so vigorously, so zealously did he unfold the horrors of the slave system; so truthfully and faithfully did he expose the treachery of northern politicians, and so pathetically did he appeal to the humanity of every professed christian to speak out boldly for the dumb; to shield, by the holy principles of their religion, the poor, bound, illiterate slave, from southern cruelty and bondage,--that some of our aristocratic citizens, some of our white savans, repaid his truthful eloquence, by visiting upon him the bitterest maledictions. from the negro, said they, we will accept these statements as true,--from him, they are pertinent and forcible; but when such unpalatable truths are uttered by a white clergyman, we cannot abide, nor will we listen to them! let consistency blush, and justice hang down its head! is not truth the same, whether proclaimed by black or white,--bond or free? is a falsehood to be pardoned because uttered by a negro? if indeed, as was admitted, the sentiments expressed by our eloquent colored speakers, were _true_, could they be false, when enforced by our intellectual friend, van loon? certainly not; nor would the case have been so decided by these solons, in any other case: or where the prejudice against color had not warped and blinded their otherwise good judgments. our speaker, however, performed his duty faithfully, and with great satisfaction to the colored people and their true friends present. the remains of this fearless champion of liberty; this humble disciple of the despised nazarene, now sleeps in death, beside the placid waters of the hudson, while his cherished memory lives in the affections of thousands, who "are ready to perish," and is honored by the pure in heart, wherever his name has been known throughout the land. in the day of final reckoning, think you, he will regret having plead the cause of the bondman? ah, no; nor can we doubt that to him will be rendered the welcome plaudits: "well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy lord. thou hast been faithful over a few things; i will make thee a ruler over many things." what then are the few light afflictions endured in this life, when compared with "an eternal weight of glory," awarded to the faithful in that which is to come? pleasant, happy, and beneficial, as had been the reunion of old and tried friends, to celebrate a glorious event, yet, like all earthly enjoyments, it was brought to a termination, reluctant as were the friends to separate. since that day, many have been the demonstrations of grateful joy and gladness on the glorious anniversary of the emancipation of slaves on the west india islands; and yet, in this boasted "land of the free, and home of the brave;" this famous and declared _free_ republic,--the american slave still clanks his heavy chain, and wears the galling yoke of the bondman! chapter xxxvii. conclusion. for several years past, anti-slavery truth has been spreading, and in proportion as light has shone upon the "peculiar institution," exposing to the world its crimes and blood,--enstamping upon its frontlet, "the sum of all villainies,"--has the wrath of the impious slaveholder been kindled, and his arm outstretched to strengthen the chain, and press closer the yoke upon the helpless slave, proving conclusively that he loves darkness because his deeds are evil. nor is this all; he and his apologists will insolently tell you, that _you_ are the guilty ones who have tightened the bonds of the slave, increased his hardships, and blighted his prospect of freedom, by your mistaken kindness, in showing the slaveholder the enormity of his sin! can this be so? have we any direct influence over his human chattels? none. then who is it that rivets the chain and increases the already heavy burden of the crushed slave, but he who has the power to do with him as he wills? he it is, who has been thrust, unwillingly perhaps, into sufficient light to show him his moral corruption, and the character of the sin he is daily committing; he it is, whose avarice and idleness induces to hold fast that which is to him a source of wealth,-- and by no means to allow the same light to fall in upon the darkened intellect of his slave property, lest his riches "take to themselves wings;" or, as may be more properly said, _take to themselves legs and run away_. what stronger proof can we ask in favor of our position, than the intolerant spirit of the south? if the system and practice of slavery is a righteous one, instituted by an all-wise god, certainly no human power-- especially one so impotent and futile as the abolition power is said to be --can ever overthrow it. why then are the mails so closely examined, and fines imposed on prohibited anti-slavery documents? is it beyond their power to confute the arguments adduced, or are they fearful that a ray of northern light may fall on the mind of some listening slave, and direct him to the depot of an under-ground railroad? judge ye! what but this same fearful and intolerant spirit,--this over-bearing, boasting spirit, was it, that cowardly attacked a christian senator, while seated unsuspectingly at his desk, and felled him to the floor, bleeding and senseless? was not the villainous blow which fell upon the honored head of charles sumner, dealt by the infamous brooks of south carolina, aimed at the free speech of the entire north? was it, think you, a personal enmity that the cowardly scoundrel had toward our worthy northern senator, which induced the attack? no, no. brooks spake for the south, and boldly has it responded--amen! it has said through its representatives, that you northerners are becoming too bold in speaking of our sin, and we will use brute force to repel it-- an argument with which we are familiar. you have told us that we ought not to hold slaves, nor extend slave territory, which will in a measure destroy our slave market, and prove injurious to our slave-breeding population. you have told us we have no right to usurp kansas,--no right to murder "free state men," and no right to sustain there, a set of "ruffians" to make kansas a slave state. you have told us, that we have no right to live on the unrequited toil of our slaves; nor to sell them to the highest bidder; nor spend the proceeds of the sale in idle extravagance. now know, all ye northerners, by this cowardly blow on the devoted head of your honored and respected senator, that we shall no longer permit you to tell us such unpalatable truths, nor allow you the privilege of free speech! we have too long held the balance of power in the government to yield it now; and we give you to know, that whatever we ask of this government, we expect to obtain; nor will we hear any of your objections. when we desire you to turn blood-hound, and hunt for us our fugitive slaves, we expect you to do it, and to see them returned to their masters, without a murmur on your part. should you object or dare refuse, we shall certainly _cane somebody_, or else do what we have threatened for the last quarter of a century,--"dissolve the union!" bah! my house has ever been open to the fugitive slaves; but more particularly when i resided in rochester, did i have occasion to see and feel the distresses of that class of persons; and it appears to me, that the heart must be of adamant, that can turn coldly away from the pleadings of the poor, frightened, flying fugitive from southern bondage. for many years past, i have been a close and interested observer of my race, both free and enslaved. i have observed with great pleasure, the gradual improvement in intelligence and condition of the free colored people of the north. in proportion as prejudice has diminished, they have gradually advanced; nor can i believe that there is any other great impediment in the way to a higher state of improvement. that prejudice against color is not destroyed, we very well know. its effects may be seen in our down-cast, discouraged, and groveling countrymen, if no where else. notwithstanding the late diminution, it exists in many of our hotels: some of them would as soon admit the dog from his kennel, at table, as the colored man; nevertheless, he is sought as a waiter; allowed to prepare their choicest dishes, and permitted to serve the white man, who would sneer and scorn to eat beside him. prejudice is found also, in many of our schools,--even in those to which colored children are admitted; there is so much distinction made by prejudice, that the poor, timid colored children might about as well stay at home, as go to a school where they feel that they are looked upon as inferior, however much they may try to excel. nor is that hateful prejudice--so injurious to the soul, and all the best interests of the negro--excluded from the professed church of christ. oh, no; we often find it in the house of worship, in all its cruel rigor. where people assemble to worship a pure and holy god, who can look upon no sin with allowance--the creator of all, both white and black,--and where people professing to walk in the footsteps of the meek and quiet jesus, who has taught us to esteem others better than ourselves; we often see the lip of some professed saint, curled in scorn at a dusky face, or a scowl of disapprobation if a colored person sits elsewhere than by the door or on the stairs. how long, o lord, must these things be! of my enslaved brethren, nothing so gratifies me, as to hear of their escape from bondage; and since the passage of that iniquitous "fugitive slave bill," i have watched with renewed interest the movements of the fugitives, not only from slavery direct, but those who have been compelled to flee from the nominally free states, and ask the protection of a monarchial government, to save them from their owners in a land of boasted liberty! the knowledge i have of the colored men in canada, their strength and condition, would cause me to tremble for these united states, should a war ever ensue between the english and american governments, which i pray may never occur. these fugitives may be thought to be a class of poor, thriftless, illiterate creatures, like the southern slaves, but it is not so. they are no longer slaves; many of whom have been many years free men, and a large number were never slaves. they are a hardy, robust class of men; very many of them, men of superior intellect; and men who feel deeply the wrongs they have endured. driven as they have been from their native land; unprotected by the government under which they were born, and would gladly have died,--they would in all probability, in case of a rupture, take up arms in defense of the government which has protected them and the country of their adoption. england could this day, very readily collect a regiment of stalwart colored men, who, having felt the oppression of our laws, would fight with a will not inferior to that which actuated our revolutionary forefathers. and what inducement, i ask, have colored men to defend with their lives the united states in any case; and what is there to incite them to deeds of bravery? wherever men are called upon to take up arms in defense of a country, there is always a consciousness of approaching wrong and oppression, which arouses their patriotism and incites to deeds of daring. they look abroad over fields of their own cultivation; they behold too, churches, schools, and various institutions, provided by their labor, for generations yet to come; they see their homes, their cherished hearthstone, about to be desecrated, and their wives and little ones, with their aged sires, exposed to the oppression of a ruthless foe. then, with what cheerful and thrilling enthusiasm, steps forward the husband, the father, the brother, and bares his bosom to the sword,--his head to the storm of the battle-field, in defence of his country's freedom, and the god-given rights of himself and family! but what sees the oppressed negro? he sees a proud and haughty nation, whose congressmen yearly meet to plot his ruin and perpetuate his bondage! he beholds, it is true, a few christ-like champions, who rise up with bleeding hearts to defend his cause; but while his eye kindles with grateful emotion, he sees the bludgeon of the south-- already reeking in the blood of freemen--raised and ready to fall with murderous intent upon the head of any one, who, like the illustrious sumner, dare open his mouth in defence of freedom, or speak of the wrongs of the poor negro, and the sins of the southern autocrat! what inducement then, has the slave to shoulder his musket, when the american drum beats the call, "to arms! to arms!" does he not remember that the wife of his bosom; the children,--"bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh,"--and the rude hearth-stone they for a time are allowed to surround, belong not to himself, but to the tyrannical master, who claims dominion over all he possesses. as his property then, let the slave owner go forth in defence of his own, and lay down his life if he please; but the poor slave has no home, no family to protect; no country to defend; nor does he care to assist in sustaining a government that instead of offering him protection, drives him from the soil which has been cultivated by his own labor,--to beg at the hand of england's queen, "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." humiliating as it is for an american citizen to name these things, they are nevertheless true; and i would to god that america would arise in her native majesty, and divest herself of the foul stain, which slavery has cast upon her otherwise pure drapery! then would she be no longer a hissing and by-word among the nations; but indeed what she professes to be, "the land of the free, and the home of the brave;" an asylum for the oppressed of every clime. but should the monarchial government of england call for the services of the colored man, freely would his heart's blood be poured out in her defence,--not because he has a particular preference for that form of government; not because he has ceased to love his native country,--but because she has acknowledged his manhood, and given him a home to defend. beneath the floating banner of the british lion, he finds inducements to lay down his life, if need be, in defence of his own broad acres, his family and fireside,--all of which were denied him under the stars and stripes of his fatherland. but a short time ago, the colored men of cincinnati, o., were promptly denied the privilege they had solicited, to join with other citizens, in celebrating the anniversary of washington's birth day! oh, no; there must be no colored man in the company, met to honor him who still lives in the heart of every american citizen,--"the father of his country,"--and yet, who scorned not to sleep beside his faithful negro! nor did the nephew of the illustrious general, despise the command of the black regiment, which gen. jackson so proudly commended for their bravery, and bestowed upon it his personal thanks, for their services on the field of battle. do the northern or free states of the union think to clear their skirts of the abomination of slavery, by saying that they own no slaves? very true. but is the poor, flying fugitive from the house of bondage, safe one moment within your borders? will he be welcomed to your homes, your tables, your firesides? will your clergymen bid you clothe and feed him, or give him a cup of cold water, in the name of a disciple of that holy christ, who has said,--"inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these little ones, ye have done it unto me?"--or will your own miserable fugitive slave law, close the mouth of your clergy; crush down the rising benevolence of your heart; and convert you into a human blood-hound, to hunt down the panting fugitive, and return him to the hell of slavery? oh, my god!--the fact is too horrible to acknowledge, and yet it is a stubborn one. not on one foot of land under the broad folds of columbia's banner, can the slave say, "i am free!" hungry, naked, and forlorn, he must flee onward; nor stop short of the outstretched arms of an english queen. yet, thanks be to our heavenly father, that all have not bowed the knee to the southern autocrat or slave power. a few noble souls, thank god, remain, who, in defiance of iniquitous laws, throw open wide their doors to the trembling, fleeing bondman, whose purses are freely emptied to supply his wants, and help him on in his flight to the british dominion. but can these out-gushings of a benevolent heart--the purest impulses of a noble nature--be permitted to flow out spontaneously, in open daylight? alas, no! you must be quiet; make no noise, lest an united states' marshal wrest from you the object of your christian sympathy, and impose on you a heavy fine, for your daring to do to another as you would he should do to you. is not the necessity of an "_under ground railroad_," a disgrace to the laws of any country? certainly it is; yet i thank god, that it does afford a means of escape to many, and i pray that the blessings of heaven may ever rest upon those who willingly superintend its interests. oh, my country! when will thy laws, just and equal, supersede this humiliating necessity! is my reader about to throw the blame of our nation's wrong on england, and accuse her of first tolerating slavery? we admit it; but did she not repent of the evil she had done, and speedily break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free? certainly; no slave now breathes in england's atmosphere. but, say you, her white poor are slaves to the aristocracy, from which sentiment i beg leave to differ. oppressed they may be, and doubtless are, as the poor are apt to be in any and every country; but they are not sold in the market, to the highest bidder, like beasts of burden, as are the american slaves. no englishman, however poor, destitute, or degraded he may be, but owns himself, his wife and children; nor does he fear that they be sold and torn from his embrace, while he is laboring for their support. poverty, my friend, does not comprise the bitterness of slavery, no more than "one swallow makes a summer,"--nor does it consist solely in ignorance and degradation. its bitterness arises from a consciousness of wrong; a sense of the violation of every right god has given to man, and the uncertainty of his future, over which he has no control. if the american people flatter themselves with the idea of getting rid of the hated negro race, by colonizing them on the sickly soil of liberia, or any other country, they will surely find themselves mistaken. they are americans; allied to this country by birth and by misfortune; and here will they remain,--not always as now, oppressed and degraded,--for all who have any interest in the matter, well know that the free colored people, are rapidly advancing in intelligence, and improving their condition in every respect. men of learning and genius, are now found among those with fleecy locks, and good mechanics with dusky complexion. this marked improvement in the condition and rapid advancement in intelligence among our people, seems to have alarmed the colonizationists, and made them fearful that those very down-trodden slaves, who have for years labored for nought; whose blood and tears have fertilized the southern soil, may, perchance, become their equals in intelligence, and take vengeance on their oppressors for the wrongs done them; and lest they should do so, they would gladly remove them to some far-off country. yet here, in north america, will the colored race remain, and ere long in my opinion, become a great people, equal with the proud anglo-saxon in all things. the african has once been a powerful nation, before christian englishmen invaded her coasts with rum, and incited her chiefs to war, by purchasing with gaudy, but worthless trinkets, her conquered captives; and we have every reason to believe, that though her glory as a nation has departed, that her sons will yet be acknowledged free men by the white population of this country. there have been black generals in the world before napoleon was born, and there may be again; and to-day, notwithstanding all the prejudice against color, that everywhere exists in this guilty nation, there are men of talent among us, inferior to none on the earth; nor are their numbers few, though rapidly increasing. well may the south arouse herself, form societies, replenish its treasury with a tax imposed on the free colored people, to defray the expense of sending manumitted slaves to liberia! listen a moment to the cant of the colonizationist. hear him talk of the duty he owes to africa, and how happy, how intelligent, how prosperous everything is in liberia. but when that delightful country asks to be taken into fellowship with the united states, and to have her independence recognized--ah, then he lifts his hands in horror and begs to be excused from so close a relation. this is all cant, in my humble opinion; and when i see men so anxious to send the negro out of their sight, i feel quite certain that they are conscious of having deeply wronged him, and think to remove him, to atone for their guilty consciences. would they refuse to acknowledge the independence of liberia, if their interest in the colored people was genuine, especially when several other nations had done so? oh, no. but that is not "_the rub_." how could one of our lordly nabobs of the south, sit in congress with perhaps one of his own manumitted slaves as a representative from liberia or hayti! he would die of mortification. very well then; but let him talk no more of sending colored men to that country to make them free men. the colored people generally, i am happy to say, have a right conception of the colonization plan, and will never be induced to go to africa, unless they go as missionaries to the heathen tribes, who certainly should have the gospel preached to them. some, from a sense of duty, may go as teachers,--which is all well enough,--but certain it is, that no amount of prejudice or abuse, will ever induce the colored race to leave this country. long have they been oppressed; but they are rising-coming up to an elevated standard, and are fast gathering strength and courage, for the great and coming conflict with their haughty oppressors. that there must be ere long, a sharp contest between the friends of freedom and the southern oligarchy, i can no longer doubt. when our worthy ministers of the gospel, are sent back to us from the south, clothed with a coat of tar and feathers; when our best and most sacrificing philanthropists are thrown into southern dungeons; when our laboring men are shot down by haughty and idle southern aristocrats, in the hotels of their employers, and under the very eye of congress; when the press is muzzled, and every editor, who has the manliness to speak in defence of freedom, and the wickedness of the slaveholder, is caned or otherwise insulted by some insignificant southern bully; and when at last, our mr. sumner is attacked from behind, by a southern, cowardly scoundrel, and felled senseless on the floor of the senate chamber, for his defence of liberty,--then, indeed, may northern men look about them! well may they be aroused by the insolence and tyranny of the south! and for what _is_ all this? do not our southern men know, that if light and truth are permitted to reach the minds of the people, that kansas will be lost to them as slave territory, wherein the southern slave-breeder can dispose of his own flesh to the highest bidder! hear them talk as they do, in their pious moments, with upturned faces, in solemn mockery, of returning the negro to his _native_ africa! how many pure africans, think you, can be found in the whole slave population of the south, to say nothing of their nativity? native africa, indeed! who does not know, that in three-fourths of the colored race, there runs the blood of the white master,--the breeder of his own chattels! think you, that a righteous god will fail to judge a nation for such flagrant sins? nay, verily. if the all-wise god, who has created of one blood all nations of the earth, has designed their blood to commingle until that of the african is absorbed in that of the european,--then is it right, and amalgamation of all the different races should be universally practiced and approved. if it be right for the southern slaveholder, to cruelly enforce the mixture of the races, to gratify his lust, and swell the enormity of his gains, certainly it cannot be wrong to amalgamate from choice and affection. let us ask then, why did our omnipotent creator make the marked distinction? certainly not for the purpose that one race might enslave and triumph over another; but evidently, that each in his own proper sphere might glorify god, to whom their respective bodies and spirits belong. why, indeed, was the black man created, if not to fulfil his destiny _as a negro_, to the glory of god? suffer me then to exhort you, my countrymen, to cease looking to the white man for example and imitation. stand boldly up in your own national characteristics, and show by your perseverance and industry, your honor and purity, that you are men, colored men, but of no inferior quality. the greatest lack i see among you, is unity of action, pardonable, to be sure, in the eyes of those who have seen your oppression and limited advantages; but now that many of you have resolved to gain your rights or die in the struggle, let me entreat you to band yourselves together in one indissoluble bond of brotherhood, to stand shoulder to shoulder in the coming conflict, and let every blow of yours tell for freedom and the elevation of your race throughout the land. speak boldly out, for the dumb and enslaved of your unfortunate countrymen, regardless of the frowns and sneers of the haughty tyrants, who may dare lift their puny arm, to frustrate the design of the almighty, in preserving you an unmixed and powerful race on the earth. while i would not that you depend on any human agency, save your own unyielding exertion, in the elevation of our race; still, i would not have you unmindful of, nor ungrateful for, the noble exertions of those kind white friends, who have plead the cause of the bondman, and have done all in their power to aid you, for which, may the god of the oppressed abundantly bless them. let your attention be given to the careful training and education of the rising generation, that they may be useful, and justly command the respect of their fellow-men. labor for a competency, but give not your whole attention to amassing the wealth that perishes; but seek to lay up for yourselves "treasures where moth doth not corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal." suppose not, my brethren, that your task is a light one, or one that can be performed without years of patient toil and unyielding perseverance. our oppressors are not very ready to credit our exertion,--too often forgetting the effects of our long degradation, and vainly expecting to see us arise at once, to the highest standard of elevation, able to cope successfully with those who have known no such discouragements or disadvantages, as has been our lot to bear. these and many other obstacles must be bravely met, and assiduously removed,--remembering that slavery has robbed some of us, and prejudice many others, of that perseverance so necessary to the accomplishment of any enterprize; but in the elevation of ourselves and race, let us never falter and grow weary, until we have reached the elevated station god designed us to occupy, and have fitted the rising generation to fill and improve it after our earthly course is finished and we leave to them the stage of action. allow me, however, to entreat, that no success which may attend your determined efforts; no position which you may attain,--may ever so occupy your mind, as to cause you to forget for one moment, the afflictions of your countrymen, or to cease to remember the groaning millions in bonds, until every slave shall triumphantly chant the song of deliverance from slavery's dark prison house. bear with me, my dear brethren, while i claim a friend's license, to say, that i would not that you place implicit confidence in any of the political organizations of the present time; but remember that the majority of those parties are diligently laboring for their own interest. look you then to yours; are you less capable of securing your rights than they? never was there a time when indolence and supineness among us, would be so unpardonable as now, nor when so much depended on our active and judicious exertions. let us not forget, that in the past, we could and did truthfully complain, that we had no helper,--bound and crushed beneath an overwhelming weight of prejudice and ignorance, we lay helpless at the feet of our political spoilers. a favorable change has since been effected in the public sentiment; and now that we see thousands who are willing to aid us, and as many more who will not hinder our labor,--shall we fold our hands in idleness?--or shall we renew our energies, in the cause of freedom and of our own advancement? although we may not implicitly rely upon the political exertion of others, let us not fear to co-operate with the friends of liberty everywhere, as far as a good conscience will permit, and our limited privileges will allow, by our determined zeal for the right, make our influence felt in the nation. see what wrong and oppression our white brethren have met in kansas, from the slave power; and let their noble deeds of patriotism; their liberal sacrifices for freedom, be not only our example, but an incentive to do our duty. have they more at stake in that mighty struggle than we, that they should leave their homes of refinement and comfort, take their lives in their hands and bravely contend for their rights, surrounded by scenes of blood and carnage? certainly not. no people on the earth can have greater incentives to arouse them to action, than the colored people of this country now have; i trust therefore, that our future independence and prosperity, will suffer nothing from the inactivity of our race. some may entertain the belief that the african slave trade is entirely abandoned. i think not. often are seen strange, suspicious looking vessels, lying along the african coast, for no other purpose than that of kidnapping the poor, ignorant natives. stealthily the slave-trader lands his wicked crew, in the vicinity of some negro village or cluster of huts, and when a favorable opportunity occurs, he and his men rush upon the frightened african, burn their huts, and amid the shrieks of the captives, and the groans of the helpless and aged, who have been trampled down in their rude haste to secure the young and able-bodied natives, bear them to the vessel, where they are stowed away in the hold of the ship, which bears them to christian (?) america, where they are sold as slaves. some years ago, a woman engaged in washing clothes, near the sea coast, had a lad with her to take care of her two younger children--one a young babe--while she was at work. they wandered away a short distance, and while amusing themselves under some bushes, four men, to them strange looking creatures, with white faces, surrounded them; and when the lad attempted to run away, they threw the infant he held in his arms, on the ground, and seizing the other two children, bore them screaming with fear, to the ship. frantic and inconsolable, they were borne to the american slave market, where they were sold to a virginia planter, for whom they labored sorrowfully and in tears, until old age deprived them of farther exertion, when they were turned out, like an old horse, to die; and did die destitute and uncared for, in their aged infirmity, after a long life of unrequited toil. that lad, stolen from africa's coast, was my grand-father. it is not, however, necessary for us to look beyond our own country, to find all the horrors of the slave traffic! a tour through the southern states will prove sufficient to satisfy any one of that fact; nor will they travel over one of them, before--if they have a heart of flesh--they will feel oppressed by the cruel outrage, daily inflicted on their fellow-beings. the tourist need not turn aside to seek evidences: he will very readily observe the red flag of the auctioneer floating over the slave pen, on which he may read in large letters, waving in the pure air of heaven, "slaves, horses, and other cattle, _in lots to suit purchasers!_" he may halt a moment, and look at the multitude, collecting under the folds of that infamous banner, where will be found a few gentlemanly appearing slave holding planters, superbly mounted, and perhaps with their servants in waiting; but the larger number he will find to be drunken, coarse, brutal looking men, swaggering about in the capacity of slave-traders. let him enter the low, dingy, filthy building, occupied by human merchandize, and he will there behold husbands and wives, parents and children, about to be sold, and perhaps separated forever! see the trader, as he examines with inhuman indifference the bones and sinews, the teeth and joints of the _articles_ on hand, even of females, and hear him make inquiries concerning her capabilities, that would make a savage blush! and see the miserable woman lift her red and swollen eyes to the face of the heartless trader, and the next moment cast a despairing glance over the motley crowd, in search of a compassionate look--a pitying eye. should she see one countenance wearing a kind, humane expression, it will most likely bring her frantically to his feet, where, kneeling, with uplifted hands, she pleads: "oh, massa, do buy me! do buy me and little sam! he be all of the chil'ens i got left! o, lord! o, lord! do, massa, buy me, and this one baby! oh, do massa!" but the weight of the cow-hide drives her to the auction block, where in mock solemnity she is represented as "an article of excellent breed, a good cook, a good seamstress, and withal a good christian, a ra'al genewine lamb of the flock!"--and then she is struck off to the highest bidder, who declares that he "won't have the young'un any how, 'cause he's gwine to drive her down to lousianny." he may see, too, the wild, despairing look of some frightened young slave girl, passing under the lustful gaze of some lordly libertine, who declares himself "in search of a fancy article for his own use!" one after another is taken from the block, until all are disposed of, amid the agonized wail of heartbroken wives and mothers, husbands and fathers, and the piercing screams of helpless children, torn from a parent's embrace, to be consigned to the care of strangers. nor need i inform our traveler of the inhuman method generally approved, in hunting with trained blood-hounds, kept and advertised for the purpose of recapturing any poor slave who may attempt to escape from this cruel bondage. he may perchance, come across the mangled and lifeless body of some fugitive, which has just been run down and torn in pieces by the dogs of the hunter! should he stop a few moments, he will soon see a hole dug in the ground, and the remains of the slave pitched into it, covered sufficiently to hide the unsightly mass from view, and there will be an end of the whole matter! "shall i not visit for these things? saith the lord; and shall not my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?" in giving to the public this unvarnished, but truthful narrative, of some of the occurrences of my humble and uneventful life, i have not been influenced by a vain desire for notoriety, but by a willingness to gratify a just and honorable request, repeatedly made by numerous and respected friends, to learn the truth concerning my connection with the wilberforce colony; the events which there transpired during my stay, and the cause of my losing a hard-earned property. regarding the affairs of the colony, i have, therefore, endeavored to be particular,--believing that duty to myself and brethren, required me to give them the within information; but nothing have i set down in malice. much more might have been said relative to some of the leading characters in that settlement, had i not been fearful of its assuming the character of a personal enmity or retaliation. he who knows and will judge the actions of men, will bear me witness, that i have cherished no such feelings toward any of those who then lived, but now sleep in death. in justification, however, of my statements regarding the character of mr. lewis, i will call the attention of the reader to some of the many letters received from good and eminent men, to show that i was not alone in the low estimate of his virtues. gladly i leave that unpleasant subject, hoping that nothing in our past history will serve to becloud the bright future beginning to dawn on the prospects of our disfranchised and oppressed countrymen. correspondence. letter from a. steward to wm. l. garrison. mr. garrison, dear sir:--in a recent examination of the business transactions between the board of managers of the wilberforce colony, and their agent rev. n. paul, i find a charge made by him, and allowed by the board, of the sum of two hundred dollars, which he paid to yourself. finding no receipt or acknowledgment from you, i write to ask you to favor me with one, or an explanation of the facts in the case, either of which will greatly oblige me, as i design to make it public. truly yours, &c., a. steward. canandaigua, n.y., may, . * * * * * mr. garrison's reply to a. steward. dear sir: you state that rev. n. paul, as agent for the wilberforce settlement, u.c., in rendering his accounts on his return from england, charged the board of managers with the sum of two hundred dollars, paid by him to me while in england; that said sum was allowed by the board; adding that you do not recollect of my acknowledging or giving credit to the settlement for it. in reply, i can only assure you that there must be a mistake in regard to this item. i borrowed no money, nor had i any occasion to ask a loan of my friend paul, my expenses being defrayed by funds contributed by friends in this country; nor could i with propriety receive, nor he give me any part of the money contributed for the benefit of the wilberforce settlement; hence, a loan or gift from him, could have been nothing more than a personal matter between ourselves. moreover, had he at that time or any other, given me in good faith the sum named as belonging to the settlement, (believing that as we were laboring together, for the interest of one common cause, the board would not hesitate to allow it,) he would certainly have demanded a receipt, which it would have pleased me to give, of course, that he might satisfy the board that their liberality had been disbursed according to their wishes, or his judgment. but receiving no money from your agent, will be a sufficient reason for not acknowledging it, or giving due credit to the settlement. i can account for this charge on his part, in no way, except that as he was with me a part of the time i was in london, and we traveled together a part of the time, during which, he ably and effectively assisted me in exposing that most iniquitous combination, "the american colonization society,"--he charged to me, (that is, to my mission) sundry items of expense which he undoubtedly believed justly incurred by his helping me to open the eyes of british philanthropists to the real design of that society; and i shall ever remember with gratitude, his heartiness and zeal in the cause and in my behalf. i owe much to the success that so signally crowned my mission, to his presence, testimony, and eloquent denunciation of the colonization scheme. i, however, received no money from him, and can but think that the above explanation was the occasion of his making the charge, and which i trust will leave on his memory, no intentional [final word missing from text]. * * * * * from mr. baker to a. steward. mr. a. steward, dear sir:--israel lewis, the former agent of your settlement, last spring represented to me the suffering condition of your poor, and requested that i should forward some goods, for which i should be paid; i did so, and sent goods to the amount of one hundred thirty-six dollars and ninety-eight cents. the goods were sold at cost. i am also endorsed on a note for two hundred thirteen dollars and ten cents, which falls due th of this month, and which i shall have to pay. this note was given by lewis for the purpose of raising money to fit out mr. paul, on his mission to england. i was promised that the money should be here to meet it. i have heard nothing from lewis or this business since, and as i understand you are the agent, i must look to you to make provision to meet the note, and pay for the goods. good faith requires that all contracts by your agency be fulfilled. yours, respectfully, cornal baker. new york city, dec., . * * * * * from mr. l.a. spalding to a. steward dear friend: in august last, israel lewis, accompanied by rev. nathaniel paul called upon me and exhibited a power of attorney, signed by you as president of the trustees of the colony, authorizing lewis to take loans, &c., for the benefit of the colony. feeling a deep interest in the progress of the colony, i agreed to become security with e. peck, at the bank of rochester, for the payment of seven hundred dollars, which soon was raised by lewis on the note, for the benefit of the colony. i was in hopes to have seen you. e. peck and myself, both are willing to aid you in your noble enterprise,--and may others feel the same disposition. but as we have families and friends, who look to us for support and protection, it is proper that we should have your personal pledge to save us from embarrassment. we know your character _well_, and we have also great confidence in israel lewis, and the others engaged with you,--but none of them are so thoroughly known to us as yourself. our asking for your personal pledge, does not arise from any fears that the note will not be paid; but as it was signed to aid you, we think it proper that you should respond by guaranteeing that we shall not be injured. i accordingly copy the note in question, and write a guarantee which i wish you to sign and hand to my brother. i feel much anxiety in regard to your progress; in your forming schools; religious and temperance societies; and in your taking every measure to elevate the unfortunate colored man who may go to your colony for protection and improvement. very respectfully yours, lyman a. spalding. austin steward. lockport, n.y. . * * * * * from the conventional board, philadelphia, pa., to a. steward. mr. austin steward, wilberforce, u.c., esteemed friend:--i am charged by the conventional board, to inform you that at the last session of the general convention, you was duly elected their _general corresponding agent_, for the wilberforce settlement and parts adjacent. respectfully and in an official capacity, would i ask you to accept the appointment. and in pursuance of the said appointment, the board would be happy to have at least a monthly correspondence from you, on all such matters as may, in your opinion, be thought conducive to the prosperity of the settlement, the elevation and future happiness of the free people of color. in particular, we would wish you to give as accurate an account as possible, of the number of settlers; the number of acres as purchased; at what price; what number are improved and under culture; what number of houses or tenements are in the settlement, &c., &c. what are your present prospects in regard to crops; your political advantages or disadvantages. we would also respectfully ask you to inform us, what number of settlers might emigrate there each year, without injuring the settlement. also, what kind of machines you most need; also, what are the terms for which laborers are contracted for and how paid. the board have been thus particular, because they rely with full confidence on your _patriotism_ and capability, which have been unanimously assigned to you. you will perceive our object is, to contribute, as far as lays in our power, pecuniary_ aid, and assist in securing you such _agricultural_ and _mechanical_ emigrants as, in your opinion, the settlement may need; and in all our recommendations to you, we shall endeavor to have an eye to character, knowing full well that by that alone you must _stand_ or _fall_. we have been informed here by a letter (purporting to be written by a mr. stover), that the canada company actually refuses to sell land to colored persons; and that they are anxious to buy out the colored settlers at wilberforce. be pleased to inform me if that be a fact, with its particulars; and if there be any disadvantages in purchasing land by colored emigrants. the board would be happy to know if you have had any news from your agent in england. if any, what are his prospects? you will please be particular and candid in stating your wants (as well as disadvantages) to us, as we will do our utmost to satisfy them, as well as promote the happiness of the settlers, and the prosperity of the settlement. be pleased to answer as soon as possible, for we as brothers in common, feel deeply interested. with sentiments of sincere friendship, i remain, yours, junius c. morrell. a true copy from the record. * * * * * resolutions passed by the board of managers of the wilberforce colony. at a meeting of the board of managers, held september th, , to call the agents to an account: resolved, that the report of n. paul be accepted, and unanimously agreed to. at a meeting of the board of directors, all the members present, march th, : resolved, that we disapprove of the conduct of israel lewis, in his being absent so long, and also his not communicating with the board of directors, and not informing them from time to time, how he is prosecuting his agency. resolved, that the chairman of this board be instructed to write to said lewis, to return home, and lay before this board his doings. at a meeting of the board, held april st, , all the members and israel lewis present with them, he made the following report, and resigned his office as agent, which was accepted: lewis said that seven hundred dollars was all that he had collected. that he paid one hundred and fifty dollars for board in new york, thirty-five dollars for clothes, and two hundred dollars to n. paul, as an out-fit for england. * * * * * circular. the board of managers for the colony, _to the christians and philanthropists in the united states:_ we, the undersigned inhabitants and board of managers for the colony of wilberforce, beg leave to state that the frost cut off the crops in this part of the country last year, and some of the colonists are in great need of assistance. and we flatter ourselves that when the peculiar circumstances of this infant settlement are duly considered, this appeal, to a generous and discriminating public, will not be made in vain. the board are sensible from the cause above stated, that the inhabitants of wilberforce will be _compelled_ to ask _aid_ from the friends of humanity in the states, or they must _suffer_. under these circumstances they commissioned the rev. james sharp, as their agent, and sent him to the states; but owing to the opposition of israel lewis,--who had been formerly employed as agent, but was removed from the agency--his labors were almost wholly lost to the board. we would simply say, that lewis was acting for a _certain_ company here; but we have made inquiries, and find but _one man_ in wilberforce that belongs to said company, and he is an old man, in his dotage. that man is _simon wyatt_. we might say _more_, but we think there has been enough written to satisfy the public. in consequence of the unfaithfulness of israel lewis, and the numerous agents that may be looking around the country after him, the board have come to the conclusion to dispense with a traveling agent for the present. and we would humbly request lyman a. spalding, esq., of lockport; e. peck, esq., of rochester; rev. dr. budd, of auburn; charles davis, esq., of ludlowville, tompkins county, n.y.; arthur tappan, esq., city of new york; to act as receivers for the colony. the above named gentlemen, will see that the funds which they may receive, be faithfully applied according to the wishes of the donors. all money placed in each of the banks at rochester and a duplicate sent on to the colony, may be cashed here without any discount. to christians we appeal: by the brotherhood of christ, and by their own hopes of being united in him, to extend to us the means of obtaining bread; give us, in the name of jesus, of your abundance; give us, as god has blessed you, for the poor among us want bread and clothing. it is to be hoped that every clergyman in the states, will lay this circular before their respective congregations, and give every person an opportunity to throw in their mite into the treasury of the lord! austin steward, _pres't_ joseph taylor, _sec'y._ philip harris, john whitehead, peter butler, samuel peterson, william brown. * * * * * from rev. j. budd to a. steward and others. messrs. paul and steward: i have ever taken a great degree of interest in the welfare of your colony, and have in various ways, brought it before the public. it has pained me deeply to learn that there are divisions among you. the whole deportment and manner of lewis, who has been here, has evidently impressed the public in his favor. although i do not wish to take ground as his advocate, to the extinction of others, i am not inclined to think him dishonest from the testimony now before me. but, apart from him, my present impression is that the most effectual way for you to promote the cause of the colony, is not, at this stage of the business, to appear before the public in a hostile attitude to lewis. i know some excellent and prominent gentlemen in this quarter, who think he is unkindly treated; at any rate, while the investigation, lately commenced at albany, is going on, it appears to me not wise in you to put forth any further publication reflecting upon lewis. he may have acted imprudently; but he has excited himself very much, and should the idea prevail that you and he are in a state of collision, it would be very bad for you. i consider your colony as a very important matter, and will do all in my power to promote your welfare, but it is very material not to prejudice the public against you. before i move in the matter, i wish to know the real state of the matter between lewis and the colony. as soon as i can know that he has defrauded you and deceived the public, i will not hesitate to give my views on the subject, and put forth any efforts in my power for your advancement. there should no sectarian or party feeling be allowed to creep into your institution. i thank you for naming me as a receiver for your colony, and should anything come to me, i shall hand it over to james s. seymour, esq., cashier of the bank of auburn, who should have been named instead of me. i hope you will put his name in my place, or at any rate, name him with me, for he has been from the first, much interested in your behalf. if you will allow me, i will briefly say, that my opinion is, your best way to relieve your immediate wants, would be to issue a brief circular, stating the failure of your crops, your newness of settlement, &c., &c.; and call upon the public for help, without naming lewis or alluding to your difficulty with him; let your papers be properly authorized, and say that the agent you employ is not engaged in getting funds to pay for land, found schools, &c., but to get _immediate_ provisions for the colony. if you will send an agent here and prepare your circular in this way--let it be short--and i will print it and give copies of it to him for circulation, free of charge. with many prayers for the prosperity of your colony, i am your friend, john budd. auburn, n.y., may, . * * * * * reply to j. budd by a. steward. to the rev. j. budd, sir:--we feel under renewed obligation to you, for you friendly advice; but we have already sent out several copies of our circular to different places, and probably some of them have been printed before this time. we have no object in view, but truth, justice,--the greatest good of the settlement, and of our brethren in general. israel lewis has, however, collected large sums of money, for our relief, of which we have not had the benefit. nearly two years ago, he was appointed agent for the colony, to collect funds to build a meeting-house, to endow schools, &c. in less than one year he received more than two thousand dollars, which he squandered; and we have neither _meeting-house_ nor _schools_, nor never _will have_, so long as the money goes into the hands of lewis. all that we would have forgiven him gladly, if he would consent to be _still_ and not _usurp_ the agency _against_ the wishes of the people. sir, is it not expected that he would appear well; as you say, that "the whole deportment and manner of lewis, who has been in this place, evidently have impressed the people in his favor,"--while collecting money with the eye of the public upon him. but follow him home into another kingdom, and there see the man in his true character; stripped of his borrowed plumage,--and we will guarantee that you would agree with us, in believing that he _is_ an _arch hypocrite_. we should be sorry to prejudice the public against our settlement, more especially when we are actuated by the purest motives,--that of preventing the christian public from being imposed upon, by drawing large sums from them for us, as they suppose, when in _truth_ such sums _never_ reach us at all. sir, we know that you are actuated by the purest motives, but you are deceived in the character of the man, (lewis). when i was living in the states and only saw him there, collecting money for the poor, i thought him honest as you now do; but two or three years' residence in wilberforce colony, has abundantly satisfied me that his object is to get money, that he may live in a princely style, and not for the benefit of the poor as he pretends. such are the true facts in the case. we should be glad to have the name of james s. seymour, esq., added to the list, and any other prominent citizen you may think would help the cause. in regard to the investigation at albany, we do not see how the public are to arrive at the facts in the case from any statement lewis may make; for all his statements that i have seen in print, are positively void of truth, in the most essential part, so that they are of little or no importance at all unless substantiated by other testimony. the circular contains no testimony that has not been heretofore laid before the public. mr. benjamin paul recently wrote a letter to the editors of "the baptist register," in which he stated that lewis had fed and clothed the colonists like a father, which is not true; and so sensible was paul of the fact, that when the letter reached here, together with the surprise it created wherever lewis was known, that paul cheerfully contradicted it, confessed that he was mistaken, and thus made it known to the public. we certainly have no sectional feelings in the matter, though lewis has labored hard to impress the public with a contrary belief; and he has even brought false charges of the basest kind against our more respectable citizens, all to draw the attention of the public from the true facts in the case. it is a general time of health here in the colony. the season is very favorable; our crops look well, and with the blessings of god we shall raise enough to supply our wants this year. yours, with due respect, in behalf of the colonists, a. steward. wilberforce, june, . * * * * * from a. steward to g. banks and others. messrs. banks, wilber, brockenberg & harris: i have received a communication through your corresponding secretary, mr. james c. brown, and i hasten to answer it. the last communication i have received from mr. n. paul, was in december, , at which time he was vigorously prosecuting his mission, as will more fully appear by the annexed copy of said letter, which i cheerfully send you. his return is expected daily. [copy of n. paul's letter.] my dear brother steward: when i last addressed you, i informed you that i expected to leave this country before a return letter from you could be expected. i therefore stated, if i remember correctly, that you need not write. i now find that i shall be detained much longer than i then calculated; and this detention is owing to the slavery question. the friends of the cause, advised me to forego my object, until that question was settled; and then they would turn their attention to my cause, and render me what assistance they could. all their united strength was needed now, while that question was pending. but thanks be to god, that is now settled. on the first day of august next, will be the proudest day that ever britain knew; for from that time henceforth, there will not remain a single slave throughout his majesty's dominions. the friends of the cause are now turning their attention to slavery in the united states, and are about to form a society for the abolition of slavery throughout the world. they all think highly of our settlement, and will give it their cordial support. the leading abolitionists have given me letters of recommendation throughout the kingdom, and have appointed one of their most effective men to travel with me,--his name is john scoble, a very ready, intelligent, earnest, and an eloquent speaker. i think i can do more now in one month, than i could in three before the question was settled in regard to their own slaves. you will at once see that although the people concluded my object to be an important one, yet, they generally thought that they ought to lend all their aid in removing the stain from their own land first this stain is now effectually effaced, and my meetings are exceedingly crowded. i addressed an audience at norwich of from three to four thousand persons, week before last, when about five hundred dollars was collected. so you see i am getting on. i start, the lord willing, next week for scotland, and shall spend the winter there and in the north of england. in the spring i shall return and take passage for canada. i doubt not, that you are anxiously looking for my return; yet, you cannot want to see me more than i want to return; but i tell you now as i have told you before, that i shall not return until i have done all that can be done by my labor. yours, n. paul. sirs: the above copy will give you all the recent information we have received concerning the mission of our foreign agent. please accept my kindest regards, with my acknowledgments of your distinguished consideration, while i remain, yours truly, austin steward. wilberforce, u.c. * * * * * from a. steward to mr. nell. dear sir: we are glad to acknowledge your favor of october last, and to hear of your safe arrival in england, your health and fair prospects. since my removal to wilberforce, i have opened a school, which mrs. steward has engaged to teach for one year; while i shall probably devote my time to traveling through the states, for the benefit of the colony, which is indeed poor, and in want of some assistance; and yet, not a dollar have we in the treasury to help them with. mr. paul has not returned, though we are daily expecting him. our friends in new york, still have confidence in his pledge to do right; and we are anxiously expecting its fulfilment. your wife, mrs. nell, and the children are well, and we are still doing all in our power for their comfort; but my means, in consequence of having been so much abroad the past season, are limited; by which you will see, my dear sir, the necessity of remitting funds to me, that i may make your family more comfortable in all things, without distressing my own. the settlers are well, and are looking with hopeful expectancy for you to do something handsome for them, in which i do hope they may not be disappointed. lewis is still in new york. we have appointed another agent, named scott, but who is doing nothing for the colony now. may the blessings of god rest upon you, and your endeavors; your good deportment put to silence your enemies; may they who foresee that you will cheat the poor colored children, be sadly mistaken, and your good deeds finally enrol your name on the proud list of philanthropists, headed by a wilberforce and a clarkson. yours, in great haste, austin steward. wilberforce, dec., . * * * * * from l.a. spalding to a. steward and others. dear friends: i have received a letter from israel lewis, new york, requesting me to forward fifty dollars to the treasurer of the wilberforce colony, which i will do at the first convenience. i sent fifty dollars some time since, which i presume was received. i have also received a letter from b. lundy, who speaks very flatteringly of the settlement; but gives me some information relating to lewis, which will injure you, unless you act wisely. now i suggest for your consideration, whether it would not be best to keep perfectly quiet relative to him, until after he returns and settles with the directors. if he cannot then satisfy you, he will no doubt surrender up his documents and agency like a man, and leave you to appoint another. by all means you must agree among yourselves, not suffering any difference of opinion to become public. your enemies will seize upon this, and injure your prospects; besides, you gain nothing by it. your friends too, could then say that you acted imprudently. i hope to have a good account of the settlement of your difficulties if any should exist. respectfully your friend, lyman a. spalding. austin steward & benj. paul. lockport, n.y., d mo., th, . * * * * * from rev. s.e. cornish to a. steward. dear steward: i have this day received your letter, and god willing, i will be with you in the course of ten or twelve days. please to keep your people together, until i come. i will see that they be not oppressed by that notorious israel lewis. i believe him to be one of the worst men living, whose deeds will yet come to light. do stay in the colony and keep all things as they are until i come. yours, with high esteem, samuel e. cornish. p.s.--i am glad that mrs. steward is in rochester; your colony is by no means suited to her talents and refined mind. she never could be happy there. my love to all the colonists; i will do every thing for them in my power. s.e.c. * * * * * from b. lundy to a. steward and others. esteemed friends: again i take this method of communicating some private information to my personal friends, relative to my proceedings in mexico. my last visit to that country, (like the one preceding), having been prolonged far beyond the time which i had anticipated, i feel it incumbent on me to explain the causes thereof especially to such as take an interest in the enterprize in which i have engaged, and those who have kindly assisted me with, means to defray the expenses of my journey, &c. soon after the date of my last printed letter, which was issued from this place, i went to new orleans, with the intention of taking a passage by sea, to some port in mexico; but after waiting in that city about two weeks, and finding no opportunity to obtain one, i proceeded up the red river, and journeyed through texas again by land. my health continued very good for some length of time; but when i reached the middle part of the texas country, it was my misfortune to come again in contact with the direful "cholera," and again i was the subject of its virulent attacks. my detention was great, and affliction severe; though i finally expelled the disorder as i had done before. my sufferings were somewhat aggravated in several instances, by the fearful prejudices of the people among whom i traveled. i was very anxious to get through my journey, and often assayed to travel before i was in fact well enough. the consequence was, that i frequently took relapses, and sometimes had to lie out under trees, even in time of rain, within sight of houses, the people being unwilling to give me shelter therein, fearing that my disorder was contagious. at length i reached the mexican town of san antonio de bexar, and there i tarried, until i had got pretty well rid of the cholera. i then pursued my journey to monclova, the seat of government for the state of coahuila and texas, in company with several mexican gentlemen and foreigners. previous to this time, i had traveled several hundred miles entirely alone, and generally encamped in the woods or plains at night. on my arrival at monclova, i was doomed to encounter "misfortune" of a very different character. here i found that the englishman, (mentioned in my other letter), with whom i had contracted to petition for two grants of land, _had totally failed in his application_. the petition had been laid before the governor, and he was about issuing the grants, when he received a _decree_ from the legislature--which was then in session--forbidding him to grant any more land, under any pretext. this measure was taken to prevent the great land speculators from carrying on their swindling operations in texas. an act was soon after passed by that body, repealing all their colonization laws; and thus every hope that i had so fondly entertained, and each fair prospect, seemingly so near its realization, _was instantly blasted and utterly destroyed_! if ever the fortitude of man was tried, mine was then. if ever stoic philosophy might be successfully called to the aid of human courage, i felt the necessity of invoking it upon that occasion. nearly two years of toil, privation and peril, have been wasted. my sufferings had been great, though my spirit soared on the bouyancy of hope. now the fair superstructure of an important enterprise, whose ideal magnitude had employed my mind, to the exclusion of many hardships endured, suddenly vanished from my sight, and left before me a hideous and gloomy void with no other encouragement than total disappointment, conscious poverty and remediless despair! what _should_ i then have done? my health was restored, but my detention and consequent expenses had been so great that my funds were nearly exhausted. i came to the country for an important purpose; and i reasoned with myself thus; although my way is closed in this state, cannot something be done _elsewhere_? i will not boast of the stoutest heart among men, but mine _must not quail_. something further _must_ be done if possible, and i will try. in the course of my travels, i had seen a part of the adjoining state of tamaulipas, and had been informed that the colonization laws thereof were liberal. i was even aware that some parts of it are more suitable for the culture of the sugar cane, than any tract i could have obtained in coahuila and texas. and upon a little reflection, i determined to make further investigations in tamaulipas, and had been informed of the state. as soon as my horse was a little rested, i set out, _alone_, on a journey of between four and five hundred miles, part of the way through an awfully mountainous region, and much of it an uninhabited wilderness. i encamped out almost every night, during the whole journey; very seldom near any human habitation. i had no fire-arms nor anything to defend myself against the ferocious beasts of the forest, which i had evidence to convince me were frequently numerous, and not far distant. in two weeks i reached the city of matamoras, in the state of tamaulipas, quite destitute of funds, after parting with almost every disposable article belonging to my wardrobe, &c. the people of this place being all perfect strangers to me, i did not for a while unfold to them the real object of my visit; but instead thereof, i opened a shop, and commenced working at my old trade-- the saddling business. i soon got as much work as i could do--supported myself, replenished my pocket, made some acquaintance with a number of people, and obtained more information respecting the colonization laws of the state. a few weeks elapsed, while i was employed in this way. i then mounted my horse again, and proceeded to the capital of the state; and after negotiating for some time with the governor and council of the state, i succeeded in obtaining a grant of land, upon advantageous terms. i then performed another journey of almost two hundred and fifty miles, "alone," to matamoras again; and soon thereafter embarked for the united states. my friends will thus perceive that i have not been idle; though much time has been occupied in my last expedition. i shall not attempt to excite their sympathy by exhibiting the twentieth part of what i have suffered. i do not even like to look back upon some of the scenes through which i have passed. but thanks to a kind and all-sustaining providence, complete success has at last crowned my exertions. i strove hard to command it; and i leave it to others to say whether i have _deserved_ it or not. the terms upon which i have obtained my grant of land will be noticed in a public address, which i shall forward with this letter. since my arrival in this place, i have been confined by sickness; but am now convalescent, and shall visit my friends to the eastward, as soon as circumstances will permit. i cannot close this communication without an expression of my sincere thanks to those kind friends who rendered me assistance in defraying the expenses of my last mexican tour. their favors will be most gratefully remembered, and i shall feel myself under additional obligations to labor for the melioration of the condition of the poor and suffering _slave_. in the next number of the "genius of universal emancipation," i shall insert the names of those who contributed to aid me in the prosecution of my enterprise; and correct information relative to all proceedings therein, will be given in the pages of that work, as the business connected with it progresses. i am, most respectfully, your friend, b. lundy. n. & b. paul, austin steward, rev. j. sharp. nashville, th mo., . the end. huckleberry finn by mark twain part . chapter xxxi. we dasn't stop again at any town for days and days; kept right along down the river. we was down south in the warm weather now, and a mighty long ways from home. we begun to come to trees with spanish moss on them, hanging down from the limbs like long, gray beards. it was the first i ever see it growing, and it made the woods look solemn and dismal. so now the frauds reckoned they was out of danger, and they begun to work the villages again. first they done a lecture on temperance; but they didn't make enough for them both to get drunk on. then in another village they started a dancing-school; but they didn't know no more how to dance than a kangaroo does; so the first prance they made the general public jumped in and pranced them out of town. another time they tried to go at yellocution; but they didn't yellocute long till the audience got up and give them a solid good cussing, and made them skip out. they tackled missionarying, and mesmerizing, and doctoring, and telling fortunes, and a little of everything; but they couldn't seem to have no luck. so at last they got just about dead broke, and laid around the raft as she floated along, thinking and thinking, and never saying nothing, by the half a day at a time, and dreadful blue and desperate. and at last they took a change and begun to lay their heads together in the wigwam and talk low and confidential two or three hours at a time. jim and me got uneasy. we didn't like the look of it. we judged they was studying up some kind of worse deviltry than ever. we turned it over and over, and at last we made up our minds they was going to break into somebody's house or store, or was going into the counterfeit-money business, or something. so then we was pretty scared, and made up an agreement that we wouldn't have nothing in the world to do with such actions, and if we ever got the least show we would give them the cold shake and clear out and leave them behind. well, early one morning we hid the raft in a good, safe place about two mile below a little bit of a shabby village named pikesville, and the king he went ashore and told us all to stay hid whilst he went up to town and smelt around to see if anybody had got any wind of the royal nonesuch there yet. ("house to rob, you mean," says i to myself; "and when you get through robbing it you'll come back here and wonder what has become of me and jim and the raft--and you'll have to take it out in wondering.") and he said if he warn't back by midday the duke and me would know it was all right, and we was to come along. so we stayed where we was. the duke he fretted and sweated around, and was in a mighty sour way. he scolded us for everything, and we couldn't seem to do nothing right; he found fault with every little thing. something was a-brewing, sure. i was good and glad when midday come and no king; we could have a change, anyway--and maybe a chance for the chance on top of it. so me and the duke went up to the village, and hunted around there for the king, and by and by we found him in the back room of a little low doggery, very tight, and a lot of loafers bullyragging him for sport, and he a-cussing and a-threatening with all his might, and so tight he couldn't walk, and couldn't do nothing to them. the duke he begun to abuse him for an old fool, and the king begun to sass back, and the minute they was fairly at it i lit out and shook the reefs out of my hind legs, and spun down the river road like a deer, for i see our chance; and i made up my mind that it would be a long day before they ever see me and jim again. i got down there all out of breath but loaded up with joy, and sung out: "set her loose, jim! we're all right now!" but there warn't no answer, and nobody come out of the wigwam. jim was gone! i set up a shout--and then another--and then another one; and run this way and that in the woods, whooping and screeching; but it warn't no use--old jim was gone. then i set down and cried; i couldn't help it. but i couldn't set still long. pretty soon i went out on the road, trying to think what i better do, and i run across a boy walking, and asked him if he'd seen a strange nigger dressed so and so, and he says: "yes." "whereabouts?" says i. "down to silas phelps' place, two mile below here. he's a runaway nigger, and they've got him. was you looking for him?" "you bet i ain't! i run across him in the woods about an hour or two ago, and he said if i hollered he'd cut my livers out--and told me to lay down and stay where i was; and i done it. been there ever since; afeard to come out." "well," he says, "you needn't be afeard no more, becuz they've got him. he run off f'm down south, som'ers." "it's a good job they got him." "well, i reckon! there's two hunderd dollars reward on him. it's like picking up money out'n the road." "yes, it is--and i could a had it if i'd been big enough; i see him first. who nailed him?" "it was an old fellow--a stranger--and he sold out his chance in him for forty dollars, becuz he's got to go up the river and can't wait. think o' that, now! you bet i'd wait, if it was seven year." "that's me, every time," says i. "but maybe his chance ain't worth no more than that, if he'll sell it so cheap. maybe there's something ain't straight about it." "but it is, though--straight as a string. i see the handbill myself. it tells all about him, to a dot--paints him like a picture, and tells the plantation he's frum, below newrleans. no-sirree-bob, they ain't no trouble 'bout that speculation, you bet you. say, gimme a chaw tobacker, won't ye?" i didn't have none, so he left. i went to the raft, and set down in the wigwam to think. but i couldn't come to nothing. i thought till i wore my head sore, but i couldn't see no way out of the trouble. after all this long journey, and after all we'd done for them scoundrels, here it was all come to nothing, everything all busted up and ruined, because they could have the heart to serve jim such a trick as that, and make him a slave again all his life, and amongst strangers, too, for forty dirty dollars. once i said to myself it would be a thousand times better for jim to be a slave at home where his family was, as long as he'd got to be a slave, and so i'd better write a letter to tom sawyer and tell him to tell miss watson where he was. but i soon give up that notion for two things: she'd be mad and disgusted at his rascality and ungratefulness for leaving her, and so she'd sell him straight down the river again; and if she didn't, everybody naturally despises an ungrateful nigger, and they'd make jim feel it all the time, and so he'd feel ornery and disgraced. and then think of me! it would get all around that huck finn helped a nigger to get his freedom; and if i was ever to see anybody from that town again i'd be ready to get down and lick his boots for shame. that's just the way: a person does a low-down thing, and then he don't want to take no consequences of it. thinks as long as he can hide, it ain't no disgrace. that was my fix exactly. the more i studied about this the more my conscience went to grinding me, and the more wicked and low-down and ornery i got to feeling. and at last, when it hit me all of a sudden that here was the plain hand of providence slapping me in the face and letting me know my wickedness was being watched all the time from up there in heaven, whilst i was stealing a poor old woman's nigger that hadn't ever done me no harm, and now was showing me there's one that's always on the lookout, and ain't a-going to allow no such miserable doings to go only just so fur and no further, i most dropped in my tracks i was so scared. well, i tried the best i could to kinder soften it up somehow for myself by saying i was brung up wicked, and so i warn't so much to blame; but something inside of me kept saying, "there was the sunday-school, you could a gone to it; and if you'd a done it they'd a learnt you there that people that acts as i'd been acting about that nigger goes to everlasting fire." it made me shiver. and i about made up my mind to pray, and see if i couldn't try to quit being the kind of a boy i was and be better. so i kneeled down. but the words wouldn't come. why wouldn't they? it warn't no use to try and hide it from him. nor from me, neither. i knowed very well why they wouldn't come. it was because my heart warn't right; it was because i warn't square; it was because i was playing double. i was letting on to give up sin, but away inside of me i was holding on to the biggest one of all. i was trying to make my mouth say i would do the right thing and the clean thing, and go and write to that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep down in me i knowed it was a lie, and he knowed it. you can't pray a lie--i found that out. so i was full of trouble, full as i could be; and didn't know what to do. at last i had an idea; and i says, i'll go and write the letter--and then see if i can pray. why, it was astonishing, the way i felt as light as a feather right straight off, and my troubles all gone. so i got a piece of paper and a pencil, all glad and excited, and set down and wrote: miss watson, your runaway nigger jim is down here two mile below pikesville, and mr. phelps has got him and he will give him up for the reward if you send. huck finn. i felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time i had ever felt so in my life, and i knowed i could pray now. but i didn't do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking--thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near i come to being lost and going to hell. and went on thinking. and got to thinking over our trip down the river; and i see jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. but somehow i couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. i'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of calling me, so i could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when i come back out of the fog; and when i come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last i struck the time i saved him by telling the men we had small-pox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said i was the best friend old jim ever had in the world, and the only one he's got now; and then i happened to look around and see that paper. it was a close place. i took it up, and held it in my hand. i was a-trembling, because i'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and i knowed it. i studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: "all right, then, i'll go to hell"--and tore it up. it was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. and i let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming. i shoved the whole thing out of my head, and said i would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn't. and for a starter i would go to work and steal jim out of slavery again; and if i could think up anything worse, i would do that, too; because as long as i was in, and in for good, i might as well go the whole hog. then i set to thinking over how to get at it, and turned over some considerable many ways in my mind; and at last fixed up a plan that suited me. so then i took the bearings of a woody island that was down the river a piece, and as soon as it was fairly dark i crept out with my raft and went for it, and hid it there, and then turned in. i slept the night through, and got up before it was light, and had my breakfast, and put on my store clothes, and tied up some others and one thing or another in a bundle, and took the canoe and cleared for shore. i landed below where i judged was phelps's place, and hid my bundle in the woods, and then filled up the canoe with water, and loaded rocks into her and sunk her where i could find her again when i wanted her, about a quarter of a mile below a little steam sawmill that was on the bank. then i struck up the road, and when i passed the mill i see a sign on it, "phelps's sawmill," and when i come to the farm-houses, two or three hundred yards further along, i kept my eyes peeled, but didn't see nobody around, though it was good daylight now. but i didn't mind, because i didn't want to see nobody just yet--i only wanted to get the lay of the land. according to my plan, i was going to turn up there from the village, not from below. so i just took a look, and shoved along, straight for town. well, the very first man i see when i got there was the duke. he was sticking up a bill for the royal nonesuch--three-night performance--like that other time. they had the cheek, them frauds! i was right on him before i could shirk. he looked astonished, and says: "hel-lo! where'd you come from?" then he says, kind of glad and eager, "where's the raft?--got her in a good place?" i says: "why, that's just what i was going to ask your grace." then he didn't look so joyful, and says: "what was your idea for asking me?" he says. "well," i says, "when i see the king in that doggery yesterday i says to myself, we can't get him home for hours, till he's soberer; so i went a-loafing around town to put in the time and wait. a man up and offered me ten cents to help him pull a skiff over the river and back to fetch a sheep, and so i went along; but when we was dragging him to the boat, and the man left me a-holt of the rope and went behind him to shove him along, he was too strong for me and jerked loose and run, and we after him. we didn't have no dog, and so we had to chase him all over the country till we tired him out. we never got him till dark; then we fetched him over, and i started down for the raft. when i got there and see it was gone, i says to myself, 'they've got into trouble and had to leave; and they've took my nigger, which is the only nigger i've got in the world, and now i'm in a strange country, and ain't got no property no more, nor nothing, and no way to make my living;' so i set down and cried. i slept in the woods all night. but what did become of the raft, then?--and jim--poor jim!" "blamed if i know--that is, what's become of the raft. that old fool had made a trade and got forty dollars, and when we found him in the doggery the loafers had matched half-dollars with him and got every cent but what he'd spent for whisky; and when i got him home late last night and found the raft gone, we said, 'that little rascal has stole our raft and shook us, and run off down the river.'" "i wouldn't shake my nigger, would i?--the only nigger i had in the world, and the only property." "we never thought of that. fact is, i reckon we'd come to consider him our nigger; yes, we did consider him so--goodness knows we had trouble enough for him. so when we see the raft was gone and we flat broke, there warn't anything for it but to try the royal nonesuch another shake. and i've pegged along ever since, dry as a powder-horn. where's that ten cents? give it here." i had considerable money, so i give him ten cents, but begged him to spend it for something to eat, and give me some, because it was all the money i had, and i hadn't had nothing to eat since yesterday. he never said nothing. the next minute he whirls on me and says: "do you reckon that nigger would blow on us? we'd skin him if he done that!" "how can he blow? hain't he run off?" "no! that old fool sold him, and never divided with me, and the money's gone." "sold him?" i says, and begun to cry; "why, he was my nigger, and that was my money. where is he?--i want my nigger." "well, you can't get your nigger, that's all--so dry up your blubbering. looky here--do you think you'd venture to blow on us? blamed if i think i'd trust you. why, if you was to blow on us--" he stopped, but i never see the duke look so ugly out of his eyes before. i went on a-whimpering, and says: "i don't want to blow on nobody; and i ain't got no time to blow, nohow. i got to turn out and find my nigger." he looked kinder bothered, and stood there with his bills fluttering on his arm, thinking, and wrinkling up his forehead. at last he says: "i'll tell you something. we got to be here three days. if you'll promise you won't blow, and won't let the nigger blow, i'll tell you where to find him." so i promised, and he says: "a farmer by the name of silas ph--" and then he stopped. you see, he started to tell me the truth; but when he stopped that way, and begun to study and think again, i reckoned he was changing his mind. and so he was. he wouldn't trust me; he wanted to make sure of having me out of the way the whole three days. so pretty soon he says: "the man that bought him is named abram foster--abram g. foster--and he lives forty mile back here in the country, on the road to lafayette." "all right," i says, "i can walk it in three days. and i'll start this very afternoon." "no you wont, you'll start now; and don't you lose any time about it, neither, nor do any gabbling by the way. just keep a tight tongue in your head and move right along, and then you won't get into trouble with us, d'ye hear?" that was the order i wanted, and that was the one i played for. i wanted to be left free to work my plans. "so clear out," he says; "and you can tell mr. foster whatever you want to. maybe you can get him to believe that jim is your nigger--some idiots don't require documents--leastways i've heard there's such down south here. and when you tell him the handbill and the reward's bogus, maybe he'll believe you when you explain to him what the idea was for getting 'em out. go 'long now, and tell him anything you want to; but mind you don't work your jaw any between here and there." so i left, and struck for the back country. i didn't look around, but i kinder felt like he was watching me. but i knowed i could tire him out at that. i went straight out in the country as much as a mile before i stopped; then i doubled back through the woods towards phelps'. i reckoned i better start in on my plan straight off without fooling around, because i wanted to stop jim's mouth till these fellows could get away. i didn't want no trouble with their kind. i'd seen all i wanted to of them, and wanted to get entirely shut of them. chapter xxxii. when i got there it was all still and sunday-like, and hot and sunshiny; the hands was gone to the fields; and there was them kind of faint dronings of bugs and flies in the air that makes it seem so lonesome and like everybody's dead and gone; and if a breeze fans along and quivers the leaves it makes you feel mournful, because you feel like it's spirits whispering--spirits that's been dead ever so many years--and you always think they're talking about you. as a general thing it makes a body wish he was dead, too, and done with it all. phelps' was one of these little one-horse cotton plantations, and they all look alike. a rail fence round a two-acre yard; a stile made out of logs sawed off and up-ended in steps, like barrels of a different length, to climb over the fence with, and for the women to stand on when they are going to jump on to a horse; some sickly grass-patches in the big yard, but mostly it was bare and smooth, like an old hat with the nap rubbed off; big double log-house for the white folks--hewed logs, with the chinks stopped up with mud or mortar, and these mud-stripes been whitewashed some time or another; round-log kitchen, with a big broad, open but roofed passage joining it to the house; log smoke-house back of the kitchen; three little log nigger-cabins in a row t'other side the smoke-house; one little hut all by itself away down against the back fence, and some outbuildings down a piece the other side; ash-hopper and big kettle to bile soap in by the little hut; bench by the kitchen door, with bucket of water and a gourd; hound asleep there in the sun; more hounds asleep round about; about three shade trees away off in a corner; some currant bushes and gooseberry bushes in one place by the fence; outside of the fence a garden and a watermelon patch; then the cotton fields begins, and after the fields the woods. i went around and clumb over the back stile by the ash-hopper, and started for the kitchen. when i got a little ways i heard the dim hum of a spinning-wheel wailing along up and sinking along down again; and then i knowed for certain i wished i was dead--for that is the lonesomest sound in the whole world. i went right along, not fixing up any particular plan, but just trusting to providence to put the right words in my mouth when the time come; for i'd noticed that providence always did put the right words in my mouth if i left it alone. when i got half-way, first one hound and then another got up and went for me, and of course i stopped and faced them, and kept still. and such another powwow as they made! in a quarter of a minute i was a kind of a hub of a wheel, as you may say--spokes made out of dogs--circle of fifteen of them packed together around me, with their necks and noses stretched up towards me, a-barking and howling; and more a-coming; you could see them sailing over fences and around corners from everywheres. a nigger woman come tearing out of the kitchen with a rolling-pin in her hand, singing out, "begone you tige! you spot! begone sah!" and she fetched first one and then another of them a clip and sent them howling, and then the rest followed; and the next second half of them come back, wagging their tails around me, and making friends with me. there ain't no harm in a hound, nohow. and behind the woman comes a little nigger girl and two little nigger boys without anything on but tow-linen shirts, and they hung on to their mother's gown, and peeped out from behind her at me, bashful, the way they always do. and here comes the white woman running from the house, about forty-five or fifty year old, bareheaded, and her spinning-stick in her hand; and behind her comes her little white children, acting the same way the little niggers was going. she was smiling all over so she could hardly stand--and says: "it's you, at last!--ain't it?" i out with a "yes'm" before i thought. she grabbed me and hugged me tight; and then gripped me by both hands and shook and shook; and the tears come in her eyes, and run down over; and she couldn't seem to hug and shake enough, and kept saying, "you don't look as much like your mother as i reckoned you would; but law sakes, i don't care for that, i'm so glad to see you! dear, dear, it does seem like i could eat you up! children, it's your cousin tom!--tell him howdy." but they ducked their heads, and put their fingers in their mouths, and hid behind her. so she run on: "lize, hurry up and get him a hot breakfast right away--or did you get your breakfast on the boat?" i said i had got it on the boat. so then she started for the house, leading me by the hand, and the children tagging after. when we got there she set me down in a split-bottomed chair, and set herself down on a little low stool in front of me, holding both of my hands, and says: "now i can have a good look at you; and, laws-a-me, i've been hungry for it a many and a many a time, all these long years, and it's come at last! we been expecting you a couple of days and more. what kep' you?--boat get aground?" "yes'm--she--" "don't say yes'm--say aunt sally. where'd she get aground?" i didn't rightly know what to say, because i didn't know whether the boat would be coming up the river or down. but i go a good deal on instinct; and my instinct said she would be coming up--from down towards orleans. that didn't help me much, though; for i didn't know the names of bars down that way. i see i'd got to invent a bar, or forget the name of the one we got aground on--or--now i struck an idea, and fetched it out: "it warn't the grounding--that didn't keep us back but a little. we blowed out a cylinder-head." "good gracious! anybody hurt?" "no'm. killed a nigger." "well, it's lucky; because sometimes people do get hurt. two years ago last christmas your uncle silas was coming up from newrleans on the old lally rook, and she blowed out a cylinder-head and crippled a man. and i think he died afterwards. he was a baptist. your uncle silas knowed a family in baton rouge that knowed his people very well. yes, i remember now, he did die. mortification set in, and they had to amputate him. but it didn't save him. yes, it was mortification--that was it. he turned blue all over, and died in the hope of a glorious resurrection. they say he was a sight to look at. your uncle's been up to the town every day to fetch you. and he's gone again, not more'n an hour ago; he'll be back any minute now. you must a met him on the road, didn't you?--oldish man, with a--" "no, i didn't see nobody, aunt sally. the boat landed just at daylight, and i left my baggage on the wharf-boat and went looking around the town and out a piece in the country, to put in the time and not get here too soon; and so i come down the back way." "who'd you give the baggage to?" "nobody." "why, child, it 'll be stole!" "not where i hid it i reckon it won't," i says. "how'd you get your breakfast so early on the boat?" it was kinder thin ice, but i says: "the captain see me standing around, and told me i better have something to eat before i went ashore; so he took me in the texas to the officers' lunch, and give me all i wanted." i was getting so uneasy i couldn't listen good. i had my mind on the children all the time; i wanted to get them out to one side and pump them a little, and find out who i was. but i couldn't get no show, mrs. phelps kept it up and run on so. pretty soon she made the cold chills streak all down my back, because she says: "but here we're a-running on this way, and you hain't told me a word about sis, nor any of them. now i'll rest my works a little, and you start up yourn; just tell me everything--tell me all about 'm all every one of 'm; and how they are, and what they're doing, and what they told you to tell me; and every last thing you can think of." well, i see i was up a stump--and up it good. providence had stood by me this fur all right, but i was hard and tight aground now. i see it warn't a bit of use to try to go ahead--i'd got to throw up my hand. so i says to myself, here's another place where i got to resk the truth. i opened my mouth to begin; but she grabbed me and hustled me in behind the bed, and says: "here he comes! stick your head down lower--there, that'll do; you can't be seen now. don't you let on you're here. i'll play a joke on him. children, don't you say a word." i see i was in a fix now. but it warn't no use to worry; there warn't nothing to do but just hold still, and try and be ready to stand from under when the lightning struck. i had just one little glimpse of the old gentleman when he come in; then the bed hid him. mrs. phelps she jumps for him, and says: "has he come?" "no," says her husband. "good-ness gracious!" she says, "what in the warld can have become of him?" "i can't imagine," says the old gentleman; "and i must say it makes me dreadful uneasy." "uneasy!" she says; "i'm ready to go distracted! he must a come; and you've missed him along the road. i know it's so--something tells me so." "why, sally, i couldn't miss him along the road--you know that." "but oh, dear, dear, what will sis say! he must a come! you must a missed him. he--" "oh, don't distress me any more'n i'm already distressed. i don't know what in the world to make of it. i'm at my wit's end, and i don't mind acknowledging 't i'm right down scared. but there's no hope that he's come; for he couldn't come and me miss him. sally, it's terrible--just terrible--something's happened to the boat, sure!" "why, silas! look yonder!--up the road!--ain't that somebody coming?" he sprung to the window at the head of the bed, and that give mrs. phelps the chance she wanted. she stooped down quick at the foot of the bed and give me a pull, and out i come; and when he turned back from the window there she stood, a-beaming and a-smiling like a house afire, and i standing pretty meek and sweaty alongside. the old gentleman stared, and says: "why, who's that?" "who do you reckon 't is?" "i hain't no idea. who is it?" "it's tom sawyer!" by jings, i most slumped through the floor! but there warn't no time to swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on shaking; and all the time how the woman did dance around and laugh and cry; and then how they both did fire off questions about sid, and mary, and the rest of the tribe. but if they was joyful, it warn't nothing to what i was; for it was like being born again, i was so glad to find out who i was. well, they froze to me for two hours; and at last, when my chin was so tired it couldn't hardly go any more, i had told them more about my family--i mean the sawyer family--than ever happened to any six sawyer families. and i explained all about how we blowed out a cylinder-head at the mouth of white river, and it took us three days to fix it. which was all right, and worked first-rate; because they didn't know but what it would take three days to fix it. if i'd a called it a bolthead it would a done just as well. now i was feeling pretty comfortable all down one side, and pretty uncomfortable all up the other. being tom sawyer was easy and comfortable, and it stayed easy and comfortable till by and by i hear a steamboat coughing along down the river. then i says to myself, s'pose tom sawyer comes down on that boat? and s'pose he steps in here any minute, and sings out my name before i can throw him a wink to keep quiet? well, i couldn't have it that way; it wouldn't do at all. i must go up the road and waylay him. so i told the folks i reckoned i would go up to the town and fetch down my baggage. the old gentleman was for going along with me, but i said no, i could drive the horse myself, and i druther he wouldn't take no trouble about me. chapter xxxiii. so i started for town in the wagon, and when i was half-way i see a wagon coming, and sure enough it was tom sawyer, and i stopped and waited till he come along. i says "hold on!" and it stopped alongside, and his mouth opened up like a trunk, and stayed so; and he swallowed two or three times like a person that's got a dry throat, and then says: "i hain't ever done you no harm. you know that. so, then, what you want to come back and ha'nt me for?" i says: "i hain't come back--i hain't been gone." when he heard my voice it righted him up some, but he warn't quite satisfied yet. he says: "don't you play nothing on me, because i wouldn't on you. honest injun, you ain't a ghost?" "honest injun, i ain't," i says. "well--i--i--well, that ought to settle it, of course; but i can't somehow seem to understand it no way. looky here, warn't you ever murdered at all?" "no. i warn't ever murdered at all--i played it on them. you come in here and feel of me if you don't believe me." so he done it; and it satisfied him; and he was that glad to see me again he didn't know what to do. and he wanted to know all about it right off, because it was a grand adventure, and mysterious, and so it hit him where he lived. but i said, leave it alone till by and by; and told his driver to wait, and we drove off a little piece, and i told him the kind of a fix i was in, and what did he reckon we better do? he said, let him alone a minute, and don't disturb him. so he thought and thought, and pretty soon he says: "it's all right; i've got it. take my trunk in your wagon, and let on it's your'n; and you turn back and fool along slow, so as to get to the house about the time you ought to; and i'll go towards town a piece, and take a fresh start, and get there a quarter or a half an hour after you; and you needn't let on to know me at first." i says: "all right; but wait a minute. there's one more thing--a thing that nobody don't know but me. and that is, there's a nigger here that i'm a-trying to steal out of slavery, and his name is jim--old miss watson's jim." he says: "what! why, jim is--" he stopped and went to studying. i says: "i know what you'll say. you'll say it's dirty, low-down business; but what if it is? i'm low down; and i'm a-going to steal him, and i want you keep mum and not let on. will you?" his eye lit up, and he says: "i'll help you steal him!" well, i let go all holts then, like i was shot. it was the most astonishing speech i ever heard--and i'm bound to say tom sawyer fell considerable in my estimation. only i couldn't believe it. tom sawyer a nigger-stealer! "oh, shucks!" i says; "you're joking." "i ain't joking, either." "well, then," i says, "joking or no joking, if you hear anything said about a runaway nigger, don't forget to remember that you don't know nothing about him, and i don't know nothing about him." then we took the trunk and put it in my wagon, and he drove off his way and i drove mine. but of course i forgot all about driving slow on accounts of being glad and full of thinking; so i got home a heap too quick for that length of a trip. the old gentleman was at the door, and he says: "why, this is wonderful! whoever would a thought it was in that mare to do it? i wish we'd a timed her. and she hain't sweated a hair--not a hair. it's wonderful. why, i wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that horse now--i wouldn't, honest; and yet i'd a sold her for fifteen before, and thought 'twas all she was worth." that's all he said. he was the innocentest, best old soul i ever see. but it warn't surprising; because he warn't only just a farmer, he was a preacher, too, and had a little one-horse log church down back of the plantation, which he built it himself at his own expense, for a church and schoolhouse, and never charged nothing for his preaching, and it was worth it, too. there was plenty other farmer-preachers like that, and done the same way, down south. in about half an hour tom's wagon drove up to the front stile, and aunt sally she see it through the window, because it was only about fifty yards, and says: "why, there's somebody come! i wonder who 'tis? why, i do believe it's a stranger. jimmy" (that's one of the children) "run and tell lize to put on another plate for dinner." everybody made a rush for the front door, because, of course, a stranger don't come every year, and so he lays over the yaller-fever, for interest, when he does come. tom was over the stile and starting for the house; the wagon was spinning up the road for the village, and we was all bunched in the front door. tom had his store clothes on, and an audience--and that was always nuts for tom sawyer. in them circumstances it warn't no trouble to him to throw in an amount of style that was suitable. he warn't a boy to meeky along up that yard like a sheep; no, he come ca'm and important, like the ram. when he got a-front of us he lifts his hat ever so gracious and dainty, like it was the lid of a box that had butterflies asleep in it and he didn't want to disturb them, and says: "mr. archibald nichols, i presume?" "no, my boy," says the old gentleman, "i'm sorry to say 't your driver has deceived you; nichols's place is down a matter of three mile more. come in, come in." tom he took a look back over his shoulder, and says, "too late--he's out of sight." "yes, he's gone, my son, and you must come in and eat your dinner with us; and then we'll hitch up and take you down to nichols's." "oh, i can't make you so much trouble; i couldn't think of it. i'll walk --i don't mind the distance." "but we won't let you walk--it wouldn't be southern hospitality to do it. come right in." "oh, do," says aunt sally; "it ain't a bit of trouble to us, not a bit in the world. you must stay. it's a long, dusty three mile, and we can't let you walk. and, besides, i've already told 'em to put on another plate when i see you coming; so you mustn't disappoint us. come right in and make yourself at home." so tom he thanked them very hearty and handsome, and let himself be persuaded, and come in; and when he was in he said he was a stranger from hicksville, ohio, and his name was william thompson--and he made another bow. well, he run on, and on, and on, making up stuff about hicksville and everybody in it he could invent, and i getting a little nervious, and wondering how this was going to help me out of my scrape; and at last, still talking along, he reached over and kissed aunt sally right on the mouth, and then settled back again in his chair comfortable, and was going on talking; but she jumped up and wiped it off with the back of her hand, and says: "you owdacious puppy!" he looked kind of hurt, and says: "i'm surprised at you, m'am." "you're s'rp--why, what do you reckon i am? i've a good notion to take and--say, what do you mean by kissing me?" he looked kind of humble, and says: "i didn't mean nothing, m'am. i didn't mean no harm. i--i--thought you'd like it." "why, you born fool!" she took up the spinning stick, and it looked like it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it. "what made you think i'd like it?" "well, i don't know. only, they--they--told me you would." "they told you i would. whoever told you's another lunatic. i never heard the beat of it. who's they?" "why, everybody. they all said so, m'am." it was all she could do to hold in; and her eyes snapped, and her fingers worked like she wanted to scratch him; and she says: "who's 'everybody'? out with their names, or ther'll be an idiot short." he got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his hat, and says: "i'm sorry, and i warn't expecting it. they told me to. they all told me to. they all said, kiss her; and said she'd like it. they all said it--every one of them. but i'm sorry, m'am, and i won't do it no more --i won't, honest." "you won't, won't you? well, i sh'd reckon you won't!" "no'm, i'm honest about it; i won't ever do it again--till you ask me." "till i ask you! well, i never see the beat of it in my born days! i lay you'll be the methusalem-numskull of creation before ever i ask you --or the likes of you." "well," he says, "it does surprise me so. i can't make it out, somehow. they said you would, and i thought you would. but--" he stopped and looked around slow, like he wished he could run across a friendly eye somewheres, and fetched up on the old gentleman's, and says, "didn't you think she'd like me to kiss her, sir?" "why, no; i--i--well, no, i b'lieve i didn't." then he looks on around the same way to me, and says: "tom, didn't you think aunt sally 'd open out her arms and say, 'sid sawyer--'" "my land!" she says, breaking in and jumping for him, "you impudent young rascal, to fool a body so--" and was going to hug him, but he fended her off, and says: "no, not till you've asked me first." so she didn't lose no time, but asked him; and hugged him and kissed him over and over again, and then turned him over to the old man, and he took what was left. and after they got a little quiet again she says: "why, dear me, i never see such a surprise. we warn't looking for you at all, but only tom. sis never wrote to me about anybody coming but him." "it's because it warn't intended for any of us to come but tom," he says; "but i begged and begged, and at the last minute she let me come, too; so, coming down the river, me and tom thought it would be a first-rate surprise for him to come here to the house first, and for me to by and by tag along and drop in, and let on to be a stranger. but it was a mistake, aunt sally. this ain't no healthy place for a stranger to come." "no--not impudent whelps, sid. you ought to had your jaws boxed; i hain't been so put out since i don't know when. but i don't care, i don't mind the terms--i'd be willing to stand a thousand such jokes to have you here. well, to think of that performance! i don't deny it, i was most putrified with astonishment when you give me that smack." we had dinner out in that broad open passage betwixt the house and the kitchen; and there was things enough on that table for seven families --and all hot, too; none of your flabby, tough meat that's laid in a cupboard in a damp cellar all night and tastes like a hunk of old cold cannibal in the morning. uncle silas he asked a pretty long blessing over it, but it was worth it; and it didn't cool it a bit, neither, the way i've seen them kind of interruptions do lots of times. there was a considerable good deal of talk all the afternoon, and me and tom was on the lookout all the time; but it warn't no use, they didn't happen to say nothing about any runaway nigger, and we was afraid to try to work up to it. but at supper, at night, one of the little boys says: "pa, mayn't tom and sid and me go to the show?" "no," says the old man, "i reckon there ain't going to be any; and you couldn't go if there was; because the runaway nigger told burton and me all about that scandalous show, and burton said he would tell the people; so i reckon they've drove the owdacious loafers out of town before this time." so there it was!--but i couldn't help it. tom and me was to sleep in the same room and bed; so, being tired, we bid good-night and went up to bed right after supper, and clumb out of the window and down the lightning-rod, and shoved for the town; for i didn't believe anybody was going to give the king and the duke a hint, and so if i didn't hurry up and give them one they'd get into trouble sure. on the road tom he told me all about how it was reckoned i was murdered, and how pap disappeared pretty soon, and didn't come back no more, and what a stir there was when jim run away; and i told tom all about our royal nonesuch rapscallions, and as much of the raft voyage as i had time to; and as we struck into the town and up through the--here comes a raging rush of people with torches, and an awful whooping and yelling, and banging tin pans and blowing horns; and we jumped to one side to let them go by; and as they went by i see they had the king and the duke astraddle of a rail--that is, i knowed it was the king and the duke, though they was all over tar and feathers, and didn't look like nothing in the world that was human--just looked like a couple of monstrous big soldier-plumes. well, it made me sick to see it; and i was sorry for them poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like i couldn't ever feel any hardness against them any more in the world. it was a dreadful thing to see. human beings can be awful cruel to one another. we see we was too late--couldn't do no good. we asked some stragglers about it, and they said everybody went to the show looking very innocent; and laid low and kept dark till the poor old king was in the middle of his cavortings on the stage; then somebody give a signal, and the house rose up and went for them. so we poked along back home, and i warn't feeling so brash as i was before, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehow--though i hadn't done nothing. but that's always the way; it don't make no difference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't got no sense, and just goes for him anyway. if i had a yaller dog that didn't know no more than a person's conscience does i would pison him. it takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet ain't no good, nohow. tom sawyer he says the same. chapter xxxiv. we stopped talking, and got to thinking. by and by tom says: "looky here, huck, what fools we are to not think of it before! i bet i know where jim is." "no! where?" "in that hut down by the ash-hopper. why, looky here. when we was at dinner, didn't you see a nigger man go in there with some vittles?" "yes." "what did you think the vittles was for?" "for a dog." "so 'd i. well, it wasn't for a dog." "why?" "because part of it was watermelon." "so it was--i noticed it. well, it does beat all that i never thought about a dog not eating watermelon. it shows how a body can see and don't see at the same time." "well, the nigger unlocked the padlock when he went in, and he locked it again when he came out. he fetched uncle a key about the time we got up from table--same key, i bet. watermelon shows man, lock shows prisoner; and it ain't likely there's two prisoners on such a little plantation, and where the people's all so kind and good. jim's the prisoner. all right--i'm glad we found it out detective fashion; i wouldn't give shucks for any other way. now you work your mind, and study out a plan to steal jim, and i will study out one, too; and we'll take the one we like the best." what a head for just a boy to have! if i had tom sawyer's head i wouldn't trade it off to be a duke, nor mate of a steamboat, nor clown in a circus, nor nothing i can think of. i went to thinking out a plan, but only just to be doing something; i knowed very well where the right plan was going to come from. pretty soon tom says: "ready?" "yes," i says. "all right--bring it out." "my plan is this," i says. "we can easy find out if it's jim in there. then get up my canoe to-morrow night, and fetch my raft over from the island. then the first dark night that comes steal the key out of the old man's britches after he goes to bed, and shove off down the river on the raft with jim, hiding daytimes and running nights, the way me and jim used to do before. wouldn't that plan work?" "work? why, cert'nly it would work, like rats a-fighting. but it's too blame' simple; there ain't nothing to it. what's the good of a plan that ain't no more trouble than that? it's as mild as goose-milk. why, huck, it wouldn't make no more talk than breaking into a soap factory." i never said nothing, because i warn't expecting nothing different; but i knowed mighty well that whenever he got his plan ready it wouldn't have none of them objections to it. and it didn't. he told me what it was, and i see in a minute it was worth fifteen of mine for style, and would make jim just as free a man as mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides. so i was satisfied, and said we would waltz in on it. i needn't tell what it was here, because i knowed it wouldn't stay the way, it was. i knowed he would be changing it around every which way as we went along, and heaving in new bullinesses wherever he got a chance. and that is what he done. well, one thing was dead sure, and that was that tom sawyer was in earnest, and was actuly going to help steal that nigger out of slavery. that was the thing that was too many for me. here was a boy that was respectable and well brung up; and had a character to lose; and folks at home that had characters; and he was bright and not leather-headed; and knowing and not ignorant; and not mean, but kind; and yet here he was, without any more pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to stoop to this business, and make himself a shame, and his family a shame, before everybody. i couldn't understand it no way at all. it was outrageous, and i knowed i ought to just up and tell him so; and so be his true friend, and let him quit the thing right where he was and save himself. and i did start to tell him; but he shut me up, and says: "don't you reckon i know what i'm about? don't i generly know what i'm about?" "yes." "didn't i say i was going to help steal the nigger?" "yes." "well, then." that's all he said, and that's all i said. it warn't no use to say any more; because when he said he'd do a thing, he always done it. but i couldn't make out how he was willing to go into this thing; so i just let it go, and never bothered no more about it. if he was bound to have it so, i couldn't help it. when we got home the house was all dark and still; so we went on down to the hut by the ash-hopper for to examine it. we went through the yard so as to see what the hounds would do. they knowed us, and didn't make no more noise than country dogs is always doing when anything comes by in the night. when we got to the cabin we took a look at the front and the two sides; and on the side i warn't acquainted with--which was the north side--we found a square window-hole, up tolerable high, with just one stout board nailed across it. i says: "here's the ticket. this hole's big enough for jim to get through if we wrench off the board." tom says: "it's as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, and as easy as playing hooky. i should hope we can find a way that's a little more complicated than that, huck finn." "well, then," i says, "how 'll it do to saw him out, the way i done before i was murdered that time?" "that's more like," he says. "it's real mysterious, and troublesome, and good," he says; "but i bet we can find a way that's twice as long. there ain't no hurry; le's keep on looking around." betwixt the hut and the fence, on the back side, was a lean-to that joined the hut at the eaves, and was made out of plank. it was as long as the hut, but narrow--only about six foot wide. the door to it was at the south end, and was padlocked. tom he went to the soap-kettle and searched around, and fetched back the iron thing they lift the lid with; so he took it and prized out one of the staples. the chain fell down, and we opened the door and went in, and shut it, and struck a match, and see the shed was only built against a cabin and hadn't no connection with it; and there warn't no floor to the shed, nor nothing in it but some old rusty played-out hoes and spades and picks and a crippled plow. the match went out, and so did we, and shoved in the staple again, and the door was locked as good as ever. tom was joyful. he says; "now we're all right. we'll dig him out. it 'll take about a week!" then we started for the house, and i went in the back door--you only have to pull a buckskin latch-string, they don't fasten the doors--but that warn't romantical enough for tom sawyer; no way would do him but he must climb up the lightning-rod. but after he got up half way about three times, and missed fire and fell every time, and the last time most busted his brains out, he thought he'd got to give it up; but after he was rested he allowed he would give her one more turn for luck, and this time he made the trip. in the morning we was up at break of day, and down to the nigger cabins to pet the dogs and make friends with the nigger that fed jim--if it was jim that was being fed. the niggers was just getting through breakfast and starting for the fields; and jim's nigger was piling up a tin pan with bread and meat and things; and whilst the others was leaving, the key come from the house. this nigger had a good-natured, chuckle-headed face, and his wool was all tied up in little bunches with thread. that was to keep witches off. he said the witches was pestering him awful these nights, and making him see all kinds of strange things, and hear all kinds of strange words and noises, and he didn't believe he was ever witched so long before in his life. he got so worked up, and got to running on so about his troubles, he forgot all about what he'd been a-going to do. so tom says: "what's the vittles for? going to feed the dogs?" the nigger kind of smiled around gradually over his face, like when you heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says: "yes, mars sid, a dog. cur'us dog, too. does you want to go en look at 'im?" "yes." i hunched tom, and whispers: "you going, right here in the daybreak? that warn't the plan." "no, it warn't; but it's the plan now." so, drat him, we went along, but i didn't like it much. when we got in we couldn't hardly see anything, it was so dark; but jim was there, sure enough, and could see us; and he sings out: "why, huck! en good lan'! ain' dat misto tom?" i just knowed how it would be; i just expected it. i didn't know nothing to do; and if i had i couldn't a done it, because that nigger busted in and says: "why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?" we could see pretty well now. tom he looked at the nigger, steady and kind of wondering, and says: "does who know us?" "why, dis-yer runaway nigger." "i don't reckon he does; but what put that into your head?" "what put it dar? didn' he jis' dis minute sing out like he knowed you?" tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way: "well, that's mighty curious. who sung out? when did he sing out? what did he sing out?" and turns to me, perfectly ca'm, and says, "did you hear anybody sing out?" of course there warn't nothing to be said but the one thing; so i says: "no; i ain't heard nobody say nothing." then he turns to jim, and looks him over like he never see him before, and says: "did you sing out?" "no, sah," says jim; "i hain't said nothing, sah." "not a word?" "no, sah, i hain't said a word." "did you ever see us before?" "no, sah; not as i knows on." so tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and says, kind of severe: "what do you reckon's the matter with you, anyway? what made you think somebody sung out?" "oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en i wisht i was dead, i do. dey's awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos' kill me, dey sk'yers me so. please to don't tell nobody 'bout it sah, er ole mars silas he'll scole me; 'kase he say dey ain't no witches. i jis' wish to goodness he was heah now --den what would he say! i jis' bet he couldn' fine no way to git aroun' it dis time. but it's awluz jis' so; people dat's sot, stays sot; dey won't look into noth'n'en fine it out f'r deyselves, en when you fine it out en tell um 'bout it, dey doan' b'lieve you." tom give him a dime, and said we wouldn't tell nobody; and told him to buy some more thread to tie up his wool with; and then looks at jim, and says: "i wonder if uncle silas is going to hang this nigger. if i was to catch a nigger that was ungrateful enough to run away, i wouldn't give him up, i'd hang him." and whilst the nigger stepped to the door to look at the dime and bite it to see if it was good, he whispers to jim and says: "don't ever let on to know us. and if you hear any digging going on nights, it's us; we're going to set you free." jim only had time to grab us by the hand and squeeze it; then the nigger come back, and we said we'd come again some time if the nigger wanted us to; and he said he would, more particular if it was dark, because the witches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good to have folks around then. chapter xxxv. it would be most an hour yet till breakfast, so we left and struck down into the woods; because tom said we got to have some light to see how to dig by, and a lantern makes too much, and might get us into trouble; what we must have was a lot of them rotten chunks that's called fox-fire, and just makes a soft kind of a glow when you lay them in a dark place. we fetched an armful and hid it in the weeds, and set down to rest, and tom says, kind of dissatisfied: "blame it, this whole thing is just as easy and awkward as it can be. and so it makes it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult plan. there ain't no watchman to be drugged--now there ought to be a watchman. there ain't even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to. and there's jim chained by one leg, with a ten-foot chain, to the leg of his bed: why, all you got to do is to lift up the bedstead and slip off the chain. and uncle silas he trusts everybody; sends the key to the punkin-headed nigger, and don't send nobody to watch the nigger. jim could a got out of that window-hole before this, only there wouldn't be no use trying to travel with a ten-foot chain on his leg. why, drat it, huck, it's the stupidest arrangement i ever see. you got to invent all the difficulties. well, we can't help it; we got to do the best we can with the materials we've got. anyhow, there's one thing--there's more honor in getting him out through a lot of difficulties and dangers, where there warn't one of them furnished to you by the people who it was their duty to furnish them, and you had to contrive them all out of your own head. now look at just that one thing of the lantern. when you come down to the cold facts, we simply got to let on that a lantern's resky. why, we could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted to, i believe. now, whilst i think of it, we got to hunt up something to make a saw out of the first chance we get." "what do we want of a saw?" "what do we want of a saw? hain't we got to saw the leg of jim's bed off, so as to get the chain loose?" "why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain off." "well, if that ain't just like you, huck finn. you can get up the infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. why, hain't you ever read any books at all?--baron trenck, nor casanova, nor benvenuto chelleeny, nor henri iv., nor none of them heroes? who ever heard of getting a prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that? no; the way all the best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just so, and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and grease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see no sign of it's being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound. then, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip off your chain, and there you are. nothing to do but hitch your rope ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the moat --because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too short, you know--and there's your horses and your trusty vassles, and they scoop you up and fling you across a saddle, and away you go to your native langudoc, or navarre, or wherever it is. it's gaudy, huck. i wish there was a moat to this cabin. if we get time, the night of the escape, we'll dig one." i says: "what do we want of a moat when we're going to snake him out from under the cabin?" but he never heard me. he had forgot me and everything else. he had his chin in his hand, thinking. pretty soon he sighs and shakes his head; then sighs again, and says: "no, it wouldn't do--there ain't necessity enough for it." "for what?" i says. "why, to saw jim's leg off," he says. "good land!" i says; "why, there ain't no necessity for it. and what would you want to saw his leg off for, anyway?" "well, some of the best authorities has done it. they couldn't get the chain off, so they just cut their hand off and shoved. and a leg would be better still. but we got to let that go. there ain't necessity enough in this case; and, besides, jim's a nigger, and wouldn't understand the reasons for it, and how it's the custom in europe; so we'll let it go. but there's one thing--he can have a rope ladder; we can tear up our sheets and make him a rope ladder easy enough. and we can send it to him in a pie; it's mostly done that way. and i've et worse pies." "why, tom sawyer, how you talk," i says; "jim ain't got no use for a rope ladder." "he has got use for it. how you talk, you better say; you don't know nothing about it. he's got to have a rope ladder; they all do." "what in the nation can he do with it?" "do with it? he can hide it in his bed, can't he?" that's what they all do; and he's got to, too. huck, you don't ever seem to want to do anything that's regular; you want to be starting something fresh all the time. s'pose he don't do nothing with it? ain't it there in his bed, for a clew, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clews? of course they will. and you wouldn't leave them any? that would be a pretty howdy-do, wouldn't it! i never heard of such a thing." "well," i says, "if it's in the regulations, and he's got to have it, all right, let him have it; because i don't wish to go back on no regulations; but there's one thing, tom sawyer--if we go to tearing up our sheets to make jim a rope ladder, we're going to get into trouble with aunt sally, just as sure as you're born. now, the way i look at it, a hickry-bark ladder don't cost nothing, and don't waste nothing, and is just as good to load up a pie with, and hide in a straw tick, as any rag ladder you can start; and as for jim, he ain't had no experience, and so he don't care what kind of a--" "oh, shucks, huck finn, if i was as ignorant as you i'd keep still --that's what i'd do. who ever heard of a state prisoner escaping by a hickry-bark ladder? why, it's perfectly ridiculous." "well, all right, tom, fix it your own way; but if you'll take my advice, you'll let me borrow a sheet off of the clothesline." he said that would do. and that gave him another idea, and he says: "borrow a shirt, too." "what do we want of a shirt, tom?" "want it for jim to keep a journal on." "journal your granny--jim can't write." "s'pose he can't write--he can make marks on the shirt, can't he, if we make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron barrel-hoop?" "why, tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose and make him a better one; and quicker, too." "prisoners don't have geese running around the donjon-keep to pull pens out of, you muggins. they always make their pens out of the hardest, toughest, troublesomest piece of old brass candlestick or something like that they can get their hands on; and it takes them weeks and weeks and months and months to file it out, too, because they've got to do it by rubbing it on the wall. they wouldn't use a goose-quill if they had it. it ain't regular." "well, then, what'll we make him the ink out of?" "many makes it out of iron-rust and tears; but that's the common sort and women; the best authorities uses their own blood. jim can do that; and when he wants to send any little common ordinary mysterious message to let the world know where he's captivated, he can write it on the bottom of a tin plate with a fork and throw it out of the window. the iron mask always done that, and it's a blame' good way, too." "jim ain't got no tin plates. they feed him in a pan." "that ain't nothing; we can get him some." "can't nobody read his plates." "that ain't got anything to do with it, huck finn. all he's got to do is to write on the plate and throw it out. you don't have to be able to read it. why, half the time you can't read anything a prisoner writes on a tin plate, or anywhere else." "well, then, what's the sense in wasting the plates?" "why, blame it all, it ain't the prisoner's plates." "but it's somebody's plates, ain't it?" "well, spos'n it is? what does the prisoner care whose--" he broke off there, because we heard the breakfast-horn blowing. so we cleared out for the house. along during the morning i borrowed a sheet and a white shirt off of the clothes-line; and i found an old sack and put them in it, and we went down and got the fox-fire, and put that in too. i called it borrowing, because that was what pap always called it; but tom said it warn't borrowing, it was stealing. he said we was representing prisoners; and prisoners don't care how they get a thing so they get it, and nobody don't blame them for it, either. it ain't no crime in a prisoner to steal the thing he needs to get away with, tom said; it's his right; and so, as long as we was representing a prisoner, we had a perfect right to steal anything on this place we had the least use for to get ourselves out of prison with. he said if we warn't prisoners it would be a very different thing, and nobody but a mean, ornery person would steal when he warn't a prisoner. so we allowed we would steal everything there was that come handy. and yet he made a mighty fuss, one day, after that, when i stole a watermelon out of the nigger-patch and eat it; and he made me go and give the niggers a dime without telling them what it was for. tom said that what he meant was, we could steal anything we needed. well, i says, i needed the watermelon. but he said i didn't need it to get out of prison with; there's where the difference was. he said if i'd a wanted it to hide a knife in, and smuggle it to jim to kill the seneskal with, it would a been all right. so i let it go at that, though i couldn't see no advantage in my representing a prisoner if i got to set down and chaw over a lot of gold-leaf distinctions like that every time i see a chance to hog a watermelon. well, as i was saying, we waited that morning till everybody was settled down to business, and nobody in sight around the yard; then tom he carried the sack into the lean-to whilst i stood off a piece to keep watch. by and by he come out, and we went and set down on the woodpile to talk. he says: "everything's all right now except tools; and that's easy fixed." "tools?" i says. "yes." "tools for what?" "why, to dig with. we ain't a-going to gnaw him out, are we?" "ain't them old crippled picks and things in there good enough to dig a nigger out with?" i says. he turns on me, looking pitying enough to make a body cry, and says: "huck finn, did you ever hear of a prisoner having picks and shovels, and all the modern conveniences in his wardrobe to dig himself out with? now i want to ask you--if you got any reasonableness in you at all--what kind of a show would that give him to be a hero? why, they might as well lend him the key and done with it. picks and shovels--why, they wouldn't furnish 'em to a king." "well, then," i says, "if we don't want the picks and shovels, what do we want?" "a couple of case-knives." "to dig the foundations out from under that cabin with?" "yes." "confound it, it's foolish, tom." "it don't make no difference how foolish it is, it's the right way--and it's the regular way. and there ain't no other way, that ever i heard of, and i've read all the books that gives any information about these things. they always dig out with a case-knife--and not through dirt, mind you; generly it's through solid rock. and it takes them weeks and weeks and weeks, and for ever and ever. why, look at one of them prisoners in the bottom dungeon of the castle deef, in the harbor of marseilles, that dug himself out that way; how long was he at it, you reckon?" "i don't know." "well, guess." "i don't know. a month and a half." "thirty-seven year--and he come out in china. that's the kind. i wish the bottom of this fortress was solid rock." "jim don't know nobody in china." "what's that got to do with it? neither did that other fellow. but you're always a-wandering off on a side issue. why can't you stick to the main point?" "all right--i don't care where he comes out, so he comes out; and jim don't, either, i reckon. but there's one thing, anyway--jim's too old to be dug out with a case-knife. he won't last." "yes he will last, too. you don't reckon it's going to take thirty-seven years to dig out through a dirt foundation, do you?" "how long will it take, tom?" "well, we can't resk being as long as we ought to, because it mayn't take very long for uncle silas to hear from down there by new orleans. he'll hear jim ain't from there. then his next move will be to advertise jim, or something like that. so we can't resk being as long digging him out as we ought to. by rights i reckon we ought to be a couple of years; but we can't. things being so uncertain, what i recommend is this: that we really dig right in, as quick as we can; and after that, we can let on, to ourselves, that we was at it thirty-seven years. then we can snatch him out and rush him away the first time there's an alarm. yes, i reckon that 'll be the best way." "now, there's sense in that," i says. "letting on don't cost nothing; letting on ain't no trouble; and if it's any object, i don't mind letting on we was at it a hundred and fifty year. it wouldn't strain me none, after i got my hand in. so i'll mosey along now, and smouch a couple of case-knives." "smouch three," he says; "we want one to make a saw out of." "tom, if it ain't unregular and irreligious to sejest it," i says, "there's an old rusty saw-blade around yonder sticking under the weather-boarding behind the smoke-house." he looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and says: "it ain't no use to try to learn you nothing, huck. run along and smouch the knives--three of them." so i done it. huckleberry finn by mark twain part . chapter xxxvi. as soon as we reckoned everybody was asleep that night we went down the lightning-rod, and shut ourselves up in the lean-to, and got out our pile of fox-fire, and went to work. we cleared everything out of the way, about four or five foot along the middle of the bottom log. tom said we was right behind jim's bed now, and we'd dig in under it, and when we got through there couldn't nobody in the cabin ever know there was any hole there, because jim's counter-pin hung down most to the ground, and you'd have to raise it up and look under to see the hole. so we dug and dug with the case-knives till most midnight; and then we was dog-tired, and our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn't see we'd done anything hardly. at last i says: "this ain't no thirty-seven year job; this is a thirty-eight year job, tom sawyer." he never said nothing. but he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped digging, and then for a good little while i knowed that he was thinking. then he says: "it ain't no use, huck, it ain't a-going to work. if we was prisoners it would, because then we'd have as many years as we wanted, and no hurry; and we wouldn't get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while they was changing watches, and so our hands wouldn't get blistered, and we could keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right, and the way it ought to be done. but we can't fool along; we got to rush; we ain't got no time to spare. if we was to put in another night this way we'd have to knock off for a week to let our hands get well--couldn't touch a case-knife with them sooner." "well, then, what we going to do, tom?" "i'll tell you. it ain't right, and it ain't moral, and i wouldn't like it to get out; but there ain't only just the one way: we got to dig him out with the picks, and let on it's case-knives." "now you're talking!" i says; "your head gets leveler and leveler all the time, tom sawyer," i says. "picks is the thing, moral or no moral; and as for me, i don't care shucks for the morality of it, nohow. when i start in to steal a nigger, or a watermelon, or a sunday-school book, i ain't no ways particular how it's done so it's done. what i want is my nigger; or what i want is my watermelon; or what i want is my sunday-school book; and if a pick's the handiest thing, that's the thing i'm a-going to dig that nigger or that watermelon or that sunday-school book out with; and i don't give a dead rat what the authorities thinks about it nuther." "well," he says, "there's excuse for picks and letting-on in a case like this; if it warn't so, i wouldn't approve of it, nor i wouldn't stand by and see the rules broke--because right is right, and wrong is wrong, and a body ain't got no business doing wrong when he ain't ignorant and knows better. it might answer for you to dig jim out with a pick, without any letting on, because you don't know no better; but it wouldn't for me, because i do know better. gimme a case-knife." he had his own by him, but i handed him mine. he flung it down, and says: "gimme a case-knife." i didn't know just what to do--but then i thought. i scratched around amongst the old tools, and got a pickaxe and give it to him, and he took it and went to work, and never said a word. he was always just that particular. full of principle. so then i got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, and made the fur fly. we stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as long as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for it. when i got up stairs i looked out at the window and see tom doing his level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn't come it, his hands was so sore. at last he says: "it ain't no use, it can't be done. what you reckon i better do? can't you think of no way?" "yes," i says, "but i reckon it ain't regular. come up the stairs, and let on it's a lightning-rod." so he done it. next day tom stole a pewter spoon and a brass candlestick in the house, for to make some pens for jim out of, and six tallow candles; and i hung around the nigger cabins and laid for a chance, and stole three tin plates. tom says it wasn't enough; but i said nobody wouldn't ever see the plates that jim throwed out, because they'd fall in the dog-fennel and jimpson weeds under the window-hole--then we could tote them back and he could use them over again. so tom was satisfied. then he says: "now, the thing to study out is, how to get the things to jim." "take them in through the hole," i says, "when we get it done." he only just looked scornful, and said something about nobody ever heard of such an idiotic idea, and then he went to studying. by and by he said he had ciphered out two or three ways, but there warn't no need to decide on any of them yet. said we'd got to post jim first. that night we went down the lightning-rod a little after ten, and took one of the candles along, and listened under the window-hole, and heard jim snoring; so we pitched it in, and it didn't wake him. then we whirled in with the pick and shovel, and in about two hours and a half the job was done. we crept in under jim's bed and into the cabin, and pawed around and found the candle and lit it, and stood over jim awhile, and found him looking hearty and healthy, and then we woke him up gentle and gradual. he was so glad to see us he most cried; and called us honey, and all the pet names he could think of; and was for having us hunt up a cold-chisel to cut the chain off of his leg with right away, and clearing out without losing any time. but tom he showed him how unregular it would be, and set down and told him all about our plans, and how we could alter them in a minute any time there was an alarm; and not to be the least afraid, because we would see he got away, sure. so jim he said it was all right, and we set there and talked over old times awhile, and then tom asked a lot of questions, and when jim told him uncle silas come in every day or two to pray with him, and aunt sally come in to see if he was comfortable and had plenty to eat, and both of them was kind as they could be, tom says: "now i know how to fix it. we'll send you some things by them." i said, "don't do nothing of the kind; it's one of the most jackass ideas i ever struck;" but he never paid no attention to me; went right on. it was his way when he'd got his plans set. so he told jim how we'd have to smuggle in the rope-ladder pie and other large things by nat, the nigger that fed him, and he must be on the lookout, and not be surprised, and not let nat see him open them; and we would put small things in uncle's coat-pockets and he must steal them out; and we would tie things to aunt's apron-strings or put them in her apron-pocket, if we got a chance; and told him what they would be and what they was for. and told him how to keep a journal on the shirt with his blood, and all that. he told him everything. jim he couldn't see no sense in the most of it, but he allowed we was white folks and knowed better than him; so he was satisfied, and said he would do it all just as tom said. jim had plenty corn-cob pipes and tobacco; so we had a right down good sociable time; then we crawled out through the hole, and so home to bed, with hands that looked like they'd been chawed. tom was in high spirits. he said it was the best fun he ever had in his life, and the most intellectural; and said if he only could see his way to it we would keep it up all the rest of our lives and leave jim to our children to get out; for he believed jim would come to like it better and better the more he got used to it. he said that in that way it could be strung out to as much as eighty year, and would be the best time on record. and he said it would make us all celebrated that had a hand in it. in the morning we went out to the woodpile and chopped up the brass candlestick into handy sizes, and tom put them and the pewter spoon in his pocket. then we went to the nigger cabins, and while i got nat's notice off, tom shoved a piece of candlestick into the middle of a corn-pone that was in jim's pan, and we went along with nat to see how it would work, and it just worked noble; when jim bit into it it most mashed all his teeth out; and there warn't ever anything could a worked better. tom said so himself. jim he never let on but what it was only just a piece of rock or something like that that's always getting into bread, you know; but after that he never bit into nothing but what he jabbed his fork into it in three or four places first. and whilst we was a-standing there in the dimmish light, here comes a couple of the hounds bulging in from under jim's bed; and they kept on piling in till there was eleven of them, and there warn't hardly room in there to get your breath. by jings, we forgot to fasten that lean-to door! the nigger nat he only just hollered "witches" once, and keeled over on to the floor amongst the dogs, and begun to groan like he was dying. tom jerked the door open and flung out a slab of jim's meat, and the dogs went for it, and in two seconds he was out himself and back again and shut the door, and i knowed he'd fixed the other door too. then he went to work on the nigger, coaxing him and petting him, and asking him if he'd been imagining he saw something again. he raised up, and blinked his eyes around, and says: "mars sid, you'll say i's a fool, but if i didn't b'lieve i see most a million dogs, er devils, er some'n, i wisht i may die right heah in dese tracks. i did, mos' sholy. mars sid, i felt um--i felt um, sah; dey was all over me. dad fetch it, i jis' wisht i could git my han's on one er dem witches jis' wunst--on'y jis' wunst--it's all i'd ast. but mos'ly i wisht dey'd lemme 'lone, i does." tom says: "well, i tell you what i think. what makes them come here just at this runaway nigger's breakfast-time? it's because they're hungry; that's the reason. you make them a witch pie; that's the thing for you to do." "but my lan', mars sid, how's i gwyne to make 'm a witch pie? i doan' know how to make it. i hain't ever hearn er sich a thing b'fo'." "well, then, i'll have to make it myself." "will you do it, honey?--will you? i'll wusshup de groun' und' yo' foot, i will!" "all right, i'll do it, seeing it's you, and you've been good to us and showed us the runaway nigger. but you got to be mighty careful. when we come around, you turn your back; and then whatever we've put in the pan, don't you let on you see it at all. and don't you look when jim unloads the pan--something might happen, i don't know what. and above all, don't you handle the witch-things." "hannel 'm, mars sid? what is you a-talkin' 'bout? i wouldn' lay de weight er my finger on um, not f'r ten hund'd thous'n billion dollars, i wouldn't." chapter xxxvii. that was all fixed. so then we went away and went to the rubbage-pile in the back yard, where they keep the old boots, and rags, and pieces of bottles, and wore-out tin things, and all such truck, and scratched around and found an old tin washpan, and stopped up the holes as well as we could, to bake the pie in, and took it down cellar and stole it full of flour and started for breakfast, and found a couple of shingle-nails that tom said would be handy for a prisoner to scrabble his name and sorrows on the dungeon walls with, and dropped one of them in aunt sally's apron-pocket which was hanging on a chair, and t'other we stuck in the band of uncle silas's hat, which was on the bureau, because we heard the children say their pa and ma was going to the runaway nigger's house this morning, and then went to breakfast, and tom dropped the pewter spoon in uncle silas's coat-pocket, and aunt sally wasn't come yet, so we had to wait a little while. and when she come she was hot and red and cross, and couldn't hardly wait for the blessing; and then she went to sluicing out coffee with one hand and cracking the handiest child's head with her thimble with the other, and says: "i've hunted high and i've hunted low, and it does beat all what has become of your other shirt." my heart fell down amongst my lungs and livers and things, and a hard piece of corn-crust started down my throat after it and got met on the road with a cough, and was shot across the table, and took one of the children in the eye and curled him up like a fishing-worm, and let a cry out of him the size of a warwhoop, and tom he turned kinder blue around the gills, and it all amounted to a considerable state of things for about a quarter of a minute or as much as that, and i would a sold out for half price if there was a bidder. but after that we was all right again--it was the sudden surprise of it that knocked us so kind of cold. uncle silas he says: "it's most uncommon curious, i can't understand it. i know perfectly well i took it off, because--" "because you hain't got but one on. just listen at the man! i know you took it off, and know it by a better way than your wool-gethering memory, too, because it was on the clo's-line yesterday--i see it there myself. but it's gone, that's the long and the short of it, and you'll just have to change to a red flann'l one till i can get time to make a new one. and it 'll be the third i've made in two years. it just keeps a body on the jump to keep you in shirts; and whatever you do manage to do with 'm all is more'n i can make out. a body 'd think you would learn to take some sort of care of 'em at your time of life." "i know it, sally, and i do try all i can. but it oughtn't to be altogether my fault, because, you know, i don't see them nor have nothing to do with them except when they're on me; and i don't believe i've ever lost one of them off of me." "well, it ain't your fault if you haven't, silas; you'd a done it if you could, i reckon. and the shirt ain't all that's gone, nuther. ther's a spoon gone; and that ain't all. there was ten, and now ther's only nine. the calf got the shirt, i reckon, but the calf never took the spoon, that's certain." "why, what else is gone, sally?" "ther's six candles gone--that's what. the rats could a got the candles, and i reckon they did; i wonder they don't walk off with the whole place, the way you're always going to stop their holes and don't do it; and if they warn't fools they'd sleep in your hair, silas--you'd never find it out; but you can't lay the spoon on the rats, and that i know." "well, sally, i'm in fault, and i acknowledge it; i've been remiss; but i won't let to-morrow go by without stopping up them holes." "oh, i wouldn't hurry; next year 'll do. matilda angelina araminta phelps!" whack comes the thimble, and the child snatches her claws out of the sugar-bowl without fooling around any. just then the nigger woman steps on to the passage, and says: "missus, dey's a sheet gone." "a sheet gone! well, for the land's sake!" "i'll stop up them holes to-day," says uncle silas, looking sorrowful. "oh, do shet up!--s'pose the rats took the sheet? where's it gone, lize?" "clah to goodness i hain't no notion, miss' sally. she wuz on de clo'sline yistiddy, but she done gone: she ain' dah no mo' now." "i reckon the world is coming to an end. i never see the beat of it in all my born days. a shirt, and a sheet, and a spoon, and six can--" "missus," comes a young yaller wench, "dey's a brass cannelstick miss'n." "cler out from here, you hussy, er i'll take a skillet to ye!" well, she was just a-biling. i begun to lay for a chance; i reckoned i would sneak out and go for the woods till the weather moderated. she kept a-raging right along, running her insurrection all by herself, and everybody else mighty meek and quiet; and at last uncle silas, looking kind of foolish, fishes up that spoon out of his pocket. she stopped, with her mouth open and her hands up; and as for me, i wished i was in jeruslem or somewheres. but not long, because she says: "it's just as i expected. so you had it in your pocket all the time; and like as not you've got the other things there, too. how'd it get there?" "i reely don't know, sally," he says, kind of apologizing, "or you know i would tell. i was a-studying over my text in acts seventeen before breakfast, and i reckon i put it in there, not noticing, meaning to put my testament in, and it must be so, because my testament ain't in; but i'll go and see; and if the testament is where i had it, i'll know i didn't put it in, and that will show that i laid the testament down and took up the spoon, and--" "oh, for the land's sake! give a body a rest! go 'long now, the whole kit and biling of ye; and don't come nigh me again till i've got back my peace of mind." i'd a heard her if she'd a said it to herself, let alone speaking it out; and i'd a got up and obeyed her if i'd a been dead. as we was passing through the setting-room the old man he took up his hat, and the shingle-nail fell out on the floor, and he just merely picked it up and laid it on the mantel-shelf, and never said nothing, and went out. tom see him do it, and remembered about the spoon, and says: "well, it ain't no use to send things by him no more, he ain't reliable." then he says: "but he done us a good turn with the spoon, anyway, without knowing it, and so we'll go and do him one without him knowing it--stop up his rat-holes." there was a noble good lot of them down cellar, and it took us a whole hour, but we done the job tight and good and shipshape. then we heard steps on the stairs, and blowed out our light and hid; and here comes the old man, with a candle in one hand and a bundle of stuff in t'other, looking as absent-minded as year before last. he went a mooning around, first to one rat-hole and then another, till he'd been to them all. then he stood about five minutes, picking tallow-drip off of his candle and thinking. then he turns off slow and dreamy towards the stairs, saying: "well, for the life of me i can't remember when i done it. i could show her now that i warn't to blame on account of the rats. but never mind --let it go. i reckon it wouldn't do no good." and so he went on a-mumbling up stairs, and then we left. he was a mighty nice old man. and always is. tom was a good deal bothered about what to do for a spoon, but he said we'd got to have it; so he took a think. when he had ciphered it out he told me how we was to do; then we went and waited around the spoon-basket till we see aunt sally coming, and then tom went to counting the spoons and laying them out to one side, and i slid one of them up my sleeve, and tom says: "why, aunt sally, there ain't but nine spoons yet." she says: "go 'long to your play, and don't bother me. i know better, i counted 'm myself." "well, i've counted them twice, aunty, and i can't make but nine." she looked out of all patience, but of course she come to count--anybody would. "i declare to gracious ther' ain't but nine!" she says. "why, what in the world--plague take the things, i'll count 'm again." so i slipped back the one i had, and when she got done counting, she says: "hang the troublesome rubbage, ther's ten now!" and she looked huffy and bothered both. but tom says: "why, aunty, i don't think there's ten." "you numskull, didn't you see me count 'm?" "i know, but--" "well, i'll count 'm again." so i smouched one, and they come out nine, same as the other time. well, she was in a tearing way--just a-trembling all over, she was so mad. but she counted and counted till she got that addled she'd start to count in the basket for a spoon sometimes; and so, three times they come out right, and three times they come out wrong. then she grabbed up the basket and slammed it across the house and knocked the cat galley-west; and she said cle'r out and let her have some peace, and if we come bothering around her again betwixt that and dinner she'd skin us. so we had the odd spoon, and dropped it in her apron-pocket whilst she was a-giving us our sailing orders, and jim got it all right, along with her shingle nail, before noon. we was very well satisfied with this business, and tom allowed it was worth twice the trouble it took, because he said now she couldn't ever count them spoons twice alike again to save her life; and wouldn't believe she'd counted them right if she did; and said that after she'd about counted her head off for the next three days he judged she'd give it up and offer to kill anybody that wanted her to ever count them any more. so we put the sheet back on the line that night, and stole one out of her closet; and kept on putting it back and stealing it again for a couple of days till she didn't know how many sheets she had any more, and she didn't care, and warn't a-going to bullyrag the rest of her soul out about it, and wouldn't count them again not to save her life; she druther die first. so we was all right now, as to the shirt and the sheet and the spoon and the candles, by the help of the calf and the rats and the mixed-up counting; and as to the candlestick, it warn't no consequence, it would blow over by and by. but that pie was a job; we had no end of trouble with that pie. we fixed it up away down in the woods, and cooked it there; and we got it done at last, and very satisfactory, too; but not all in one day; and we had to use up three wash-pans full of flour before we got through, and we got burnt pretty much all over, in places, and eyes put out with the smoke; because, you see, we didn't want nothing but a crust, and we couldn't prop it up right, and she would always cave in. but of course we thought of the right way at last--which was to cook the ladder, too, in the pie. so then we laid in with jim the second night, and tore up the sheet all in little strings and twisted them together, and long before daylight we had a lovely rope that you could a hung a person with. we let on it took nine months to make it. and in the forenoon we took it down to the woods, but it wouldn't go into the pie. being made of a whole sheet, that way, there was rope enough for forty pies if we'd a wanted them, and plenty left over for soup, or sausage, or anything you choose. we could a had a whole dinner. but we didn't need it. all we needed was just enough for the pie, and so we throwed the rest away. we didn't cook none of the pies in the wash-pan--afraid the solder would melt; but uncle silas he had a noble brass warming-pan which he thought considerable of, because it belonged to one of his ancesters with a long wooden handle that come over from england with william the conqueror in the mayflower or one of them early ships and was hid away up garret with a lot of other old pots and things that was valuable, not on account of being any account, because they warn't, but on account of them being relicts, you know, and we snaked her out, private, and took her down there, but she failed on the first pies, because we didn't know how, but she come up smiling on the last one. we took and lined her with dough, and set her in the coals, and loaded her up with rag rope, and put on a dough roof, and shut down the lid, and put hot embers on top, and stood off five foot, with the long handle, cool and comfortable, and in fifteen minutes she turned out a pie that was a satisfaction to look at. but the person that et it would want to fetch a couple of kags of toothpicks along, for if that rope ladder wouldn't cramp him down to business i don't know nothing what i'm talking about, and lay him in enough stomach-ache to last him till next time, too. nat didn't look when we put the witch pie in jim's pan; and we put the three tin plates in the bottom of the pan under the vittles; and so jim got everything all right, and as soon as he was by himself he busted into the pie and hid the rope ladder inside of his straw tick, and scratched some marks on a tin plate and throwed it out of the window-hole. chapter xxxviii. making them pens was a distressid tough job, and so was the saw; and jim allowed the inscription was going to be the toughest of all. that's the one which the prisoner has to scrabble on the wall. but he had to have it; tom said he'd got to; there warn't no case of a state prisoner not scrabbling his inscription to leave behind, and his coat of arms. "look at lady jane grey," he says; "look at gilford dudley; look at old northumberland! why, huck, s'pose it is considerble trouble?--what you going to do?--how you going to get around it? jim's got to do his inscription and coat of arms. they all do." jim says: "why, mars tom, i hain't got no coat o' arm; i hain't got nuffn but dish yer ole shirt, en you knows i got to keep de journal on dat." "oh, you don't understand, jim; a coat of arms is very different." "well," i says, "jim's right, anyway, when he says he ain't got no coat of arms, because he hain't." "i reckon i knowed that," tom says, "but you bet he'll have one before he goes out of this--because he's going out right, and there ain't going to be no flaws in his record." so whilst me and jim filed away at the pens on a brickbat apiece, jim a-making his'n out of the brass and i making mine out of the spoon, tom set to work to think out the coat of arms. by and by he said he'd struck so many good ones he didn't hardly know which to take, but there was one which he reckoned he'd decide on. he says: "on the scutcheon we'll have a bend or in the dexter base, a saltire murrey in the fess, with a dog, couchant, for common charge, and under his foot a chain embattled, for slavery, with a chevron vert in a chief engrailed, and three invected lines on a field azure, with the nombril points rampant on a dancette indented; crest, a runaway nigger, sable, with his bundle over his shoulder on a bar sinister; and a couple of gules for supporters, which is you and me; motto, maggiore fretta, minore otto. got it out of a book--means the more haste the less speed." "geewhillikins," i says, "but what does the rest of it mean?" "we ain't got no time to bother over that," he says; "we got to dig in like all git-out." "well, anyway," i says, "what's some of it? what's a fess?" "a fess--a fess is--you don't need to know what a fess is. i'll show him how to make it when he gets to it." "shucks, tom," i says, "i think you might tell a person. what's a bar sinister?" "oh, i don't know. but he's got to have it. all the nobility does." that was just his way. if it didn't suit him to explain a thing to you, he wouldn't do it. you might pump at him a week, it wouldn't make no difference. he'd got all that coat of arms business fixed, so now he started in to finish up the rest of that part of the work, which was to plan out a mournful inscription--said jim got to have one, like they all done. he made up a lot, and wrote them out on a paper, and read them off, so: . here a captive heart busted. . here a poor prisoner, forsook by the world and friends, fretted his sorrowful life. . here a lonely heart broke, and a worn spirit went to its rest, after thirty-seven years of solitary captivity. . here, homeless and friendless, after thirty-seven years of bitter captivity, perished a noble stranger, natural son of louis xiv. tom's voice trembled whilst he was reading them, and he most broke down. when he got done he couldn't no way make up his mind which one for jim to scrabble on to the wall, they was all so good; but at last he allowed he would let him scrabble them all on. jim said it would take him a year to scrabble such a lot of truck on to the logs with a nail, and he didn't know how to make letters, besides; but tom said he would block them out for him, and then he wouldn't have nothing to do but just follow the lines. then pretty soon he says: "come to think, the logs ain't a-going to do; they don't have log walls in a dungeon: we got to dig the inscriptions into a rock. we'll fetch a rock." jim said the rock was worse than the logs; he said it would take him such a pison long time to dig them into a rock he wouldn't ever get out. but tom said he would let me help him do it. then he took a look to see how me and jim was getting along with the pens. it was most pesky tedious hard work and slow, and didn't give my hands no show to get well of the sores, and we didn't seem to make no headway, hardly; so tom says: "i know how to fix it. we got to have a rock for the coat of arms and mournful inscriptions, and we can kill two birds with that same rock. there's a gaudy big grindstone down at the mill, and we'll smouch it, and carve the things on it, and file out the pens and the saw on it, too." it warn't no slouch of an idea; and it warn't no slouch of a grindstone nuther; but we allowed we'd tackle it. it warn't quite midnight yet, so we cleared out for the mill, leaving jim at work. we smouched the grindstone, and set out to roll her home, but it was a most nation tough job. sometimes, do what we could, we couldn't keep her from falling over, and she come mighty near mashing us every time. tom said she was going to get one of us, sure, before we got through. we got her half way; and then we was plumb played out, and most drownded with sweat. we see it warn't no use; we got to go and fetch jim so he raised up his bed and slid the chain off of the bed-leg, and wrapt it round and round his neck, and we crawled out through our hole and down there, and jim and me laid into that grindstone and walked her along like nothing; and tom superintended. he could out-superintend any boy i ever see. he knowed how to do everything. our hole was pretty big, but it warn't big enough to get the grindstone through; but jim he took the pick and soon made it big enough. then tom marked out them things on it with the nail, and set jim to work on them, with the nail for a chisel and an iron bolt from the rubbage in the lean-to for a hammer, and told him to work till the rest of his candle quit on him, and then he could go to bed, and hide the grindstone under his straw tick and sleep on it. then we helped him fix his chain back on the bed-leg, and was ready for bed ourselves. but tom thought of something, and says: "you got any spiders in here, jim?" "no, sah, thanks to goodness i hain't, mars tom." "all right, we'll get you some." "but bless you, honey, i doan' want none. i's afeard un um. i jis' 's soon have rattlesnakes aroun'." tom thought a minute or two, and says: "it's a good idea. and i reckon it's been done. it must a been done; it stands to reason. yes, it's a prime good idea. where could you keep it?" "keep what, mars tom?" "why, a rattlesnake." "de goodness gracious alive, mars tom! why, if dey was a rattlesnake to come in heah i'd take en bust right out thoo dat log wall, i would, wid my head." why, jim, you wouldn't be afraid of it after a little. you could tame it." "tame it!" "yes--easy enough. every animal is grateful for kindness and petting, and they wouldn't think of hurting a person that pets them. any book will tell you that. you try--that's all i ask; just try for two or three days. why, you can get him so in a little while that he'll love you; and sleep with you; and won't stay away from you a minute; and will let you wrap him round your neck and put his head in your mouth." "please, mars tom--doan' talk so! i can't stan' it! he'd let me shove his head in my mouf--fer a favor, hain't it? i lay he'd wait a pow'ful long time 'fo' i ast him. en mo' en dat, i doan' want him to sleep wid me." "jim, don't act so foolish. a prisoner's got to have some kind of a dumb pet, and if a rattlesnake hain't ever been tried, why, there's more glory to be gained in your being the first to ever try it than any other way you could ever think of to save your life." "why, mars tom, i doan' want no sich glory. snake take 'n bite jim's chin off, den whah is de glory? no, sah, i doan' want no sich doin's." "blame it, can't you try? i only want you to try--you needn't keep it up if it don't work." "but de trouble all done ef de snake bite me while i's a tryin' him. mars tom, i's willin' to tackle mos' anything 'at ain't onreasonable, but ef you en huck fetches a rattlesnake in heah for me to tame, i's gwyne to leave, dat's shore." "well, then, let it go, let it go, if you're so bull-headed about it. we can get you some garter-snakes, and you can tie some buttons on their tails, and let on they're rattlesnakes, and i reckon that 'll have to do." "i k'n stan' dem, mars tom, but blame' 'f i couldn' get along widout um, i tell you dat. i never knowed b'fo' 't was so much bother and trouble to be a prisoner." "well, it always is when it's done right. you got any rats around here?" "no, sah, i hain't seed none." "well, we'll get you some rats." "why, mars tom, i doan' want no rats. dey's de dadblamedest creturs to 'sturb a body, en rustle roun' over 'im, en bite his feet, when he's tryin' to sleep, i ever see. no, sah, gimme g'yarter-snakes, 'f i's got to have 'm, but doan' gimme no rats; i hain' got no use f'r um, skasely." "but, jim, you got to have 'em--they all do. so don't make no more fuss about it. prisoners ain't ever without rats. there ain't no instance of it. and they train them, and pet them, and learn them tricks, and they get to be as sociable as flies. but you got to play music to them. you got anything to play music on?" "i ain' got nuffn but a coase comb en a piece o' paper, en a juice-harp; but i reck'n dey wouldn' take no stock in a juice-harp." "yes they would. they don't care what kind of music 'tis. a jews-harp's plenty good enough for a rat. all animals like music--in a prison they dote on it. specially, painful music; and you can't get no other kind out of a jews-harp. it always interests them; they come out to see what's the matter with you. yes, you're all right; you're fixed very well. you want to set on your bed nights before you go to sleep, and early in the mornings, and play your jews-harp; play 'the last link is broken'--that's the thing that 'll scoop a rat quicker 'n anything else; and when you've played about two minutes you'll see all the rats, and the snakes, and spiders, and things begin to feel worried about you, and come. and they'll just fairly swarm over you, and have a noble good time." "yes, dey will, i reck'n, mars tom, but what kine er time is jim havin'? blest if i kin see de pint. but i'll do it ef i got to. i reck'n i better keep de animals satisfied, en not have no trouble in de house." tom waited to think it over, and see if there wasn't nothing else; and pretty soon he says: "oh, there's one thing i forgot. could you raise a flower here, do you reckon?" "i doan know but maybe i could, mars tom; but it's tolable dark in heah, en i ain' got no use f'r no flower, nohow, en she'd be a pow'ful sight o' trouble." "well, you try it, anyway. some other prisoners has done it." "one er dem big cat-tail-lookin' mullen-stalks would grow in heah, mars tom, i reck'n, but she wouldn't be wuth half de trouble she'd coss." "don't you believe it. we'll fetch you a little one and you plant it in the corner over there, and raise it. and don't call it mullen, call it pitchiola--that's its right name when it's in a prison. and you want to water it with your tears." "why, i got plenty spring water, mars tom." "you don't want spring water; you want to water it with your tears. it's the way they always do." "why, mars tom, i lay i kin raise one er dem mullen-stalks twyste wid spring water whiles another man's a start'n one wid tears." "that ain't the idea. you got to do it with tears." "she'll die on my han's, mars tom, she sholy will; kase i doan' skasely ever cry." so tom was stumped. but he studied it over, and then said jim would have to worry along the best he could with an onion. he promised he would go to the nigger cabins and drop one, private, in jim's coffee-pot, in the morning. jim said he would "jis' 's soon have tobacker in his coffee;" and found so much fault with it, and with the work and bother of raising the mullen, and jews-harping the rats, and petting and flattering up the snakes and spiders and things, on top of all the other work he had to do on pens, and inscriptions, and journals, and things, which made it more trouble and worry and responsibility to be a prisoner than anything he ever undertook, that tom most lost all patience with him; and said he was just loadened down with more gaudier chances than a prisoner ever had in the world to make a name for himself, and yet he didn't know enough to appreciate them, and they was just about wasted on him. so jim he was sorry, and said he wouldn't behave so no more, and then me and tom shoved for bed. chapter xxxix. in the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and fetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour we had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we took it and put it in a safe place under aunt sally's bed. but while we was gone for spiders little thomas franklin benjamin jefferson elexander phelps found it there, and opened the door of it to see if the rats would come out, and they did; and aunt sally she come in, and when we got back she was a-standing on top of the bed raising cain, and the rats was doing what they could to keep off the dull times for her. so she took and dusted us both with the hickry, and we was as much as two hours catching another fifteen or sixteen, drat that meddlesome cub, and they warn't the likeliest, nuther, because the first haul was the pick of the flock. i never see a likelier lot of rats than what that first haul was. we got a splendid stock of sorted spiders, and bugs, and frogs, and caterpillars, and one thing or another; and we like to got a hornet's nest, but we didn't. the family was at home. we didn't give it right up, but stayed with them as long as we could; because we allowed we'd tire them out or they'd got to tire us out, and they done it. then we got allycumpain and rubbed on the places, and was pretty near all right again, but couldn't set down convenient. and so we went for the snakes, and grabbed a couple of dozen garters and house-snakes, and put them in a bag, and put it in our room, and by that time it was supper-time, and a rattling good honest day's work: and hungry?--oh, no, i reckon not! and there warn't a blessed snake up there when we went back--we didn't half tie the sack, and they worked out somehow, and left. but it didn't matter much, because they was still on the premises somewheres. so we judged we could get some of them again. no, there warn't no real scarcity of snakes about the house for a considerable spell. you'd see them dripping from the rafters and places every now and then; and they generly landed in your plate, or down the back of your neck, and most of the time where you didn't want them. well, they was handsome and striped, and there warn't no harm in a million of them; but that never made no difference to aunt sally; she despised snakes, be the breed what they might, and she couldn't stand them no way you could fix it; and every time one of them flopped down on her, it didn't make no difference what she was doing, she would just lay that work down and light out. i never see such a woman. and you could hear her whoop to jericho. you couldn't get her to take a-holt of one of them with the tongs. and if she turned over and found one in bed she would scramble out and lift a howl that you would think the house was afire. she disturbed the old man so that he said he could most wish there hadn't ever been no snakes created. why, after every last snake had been gone clear out of the house for as much as a week aunt sally warn't over it yet; she warn't near over it; when she was setting thinking about something you could touch her on the back of her neck with a feather and she would jump right out of her stockings. it was very curious. but tom said all women was just so. he said they was made that way for some reason or other. we got a licking every time one of our snakes come in her way, and she allowed these lickings warn't nothing to what she would do if we ever loaded up the place again with them. i didn't mind the lickings, because they didn't amount to nothing; but i minded the trouble we had to lay in another lot. but we got them laid in, and all the other things; and you never see a cabin as blithesome as jim's was when they'd all swarm out for music and go for him. jim didn't like the spiders, and the spiders didn't like jim; and so they'd lay for him, and make it mighty warm for him. and he said that between the rats and the snakes and the grindstone there warn't no room in bed for him, skasely; and when there was, a body couldn't sleep, it was so lively, and it was always lively, he said, because they never all slept at one time, but took turn about, so when the snakes was asleep the rats was on deck, and when the rats turned in the snakes come on watch, so he always had one gang under him, in his way, and t'other gang having a circus over him, and if he got up to hunt a new place the spiders would take a chance at him as he crossed over. he said if he ever got out this time he wouldn't ever be a prisoner again, not for a salary. well, by the end of three weeks everything was in pretty good shape. the shirt was sent in early, in a pie, and every time a rat bit jim he would get up and write a little in his journal whilst the ink was fresh; the pens was made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the grindstone; the bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust, and it give us a most amazing stomach-ache. we reckoned we was all going to die, but didn't. it was the most undigestible sawdust i ever see; and tom said the same. but as i was saying, we'd got all the work done now, at last; and we was all pretty much fagged out, too, but mainly jim. the old man had wrote a couple of times to the plantation below orleans to come and get their runaway nigger, but hadn't got no answer, because there warn't no such plantation; so he allowed he would advertise jim in the st. louis and new orleans papers; and when he mentioned the st. louis ones it give me the cold shivers, and i see we hadn't no time to lose. so tom said, now for the nonnamous letters. "what's them?" i says. "warnings to the people that something is up. sometimes it's done one way, sometimes another. but there's always somebody spying around that gives notice to the governor of the castle. when louis xvi. was going to light out of the tooleries a servant-girl done it. it's a very good way, and so is the nonnamous letters. we'll use them both. and it's usual for the prisoner's mother to change clothes with him, and she stays in, and he slides out in her clothes. we'll do that, too." "but looky here, tom, what do we want to warn anybody for that something's up? let them find it out for themselves--it's their lookout." "yes, i know; but you can't depend on them. it's the way they've acted from the very start--left us to do everything. they're so confiding and mullet-headed they don't take notice of nothing at all. so if we don't give them notice there won't be nobody nor nothing to interfere with us, and so after all our hard work and trouble this escape 'll go off perfectly flat; won't amount to nothing--won't be nothing to it." "well, as for me, tom, that's the way i'd like." "shucks!" he says, and looked disgusted. so i says: "but i ain't going to make no complaint. any way that suits you suits me. what you going to do about the servant-girl?" "you'll be her. you slide in, in the middle of the night, and hook that yaller girl's frock." "why, tom, that 'll make trouble next morning; because, of course, she prob'bly hain't got any but that one." "i know; but you don't want it but fifteen minutes, to carry the nonnamous letter and shove it under the front door." "all right, then, i'll do it; but i could carry it just as handy in my own togs." "you wouldn't look like a servant-girl then, would you?" "no, but there won't be nobody to see what i look like, anyway." "that ain't got nothing to do with it. the thing for us to do is just to do our duty, and not worry about whether anybody sees us do it or not. hain't you got no principle at all?" "all right, i ain't saying nothing; i'm the servant-girl. who's jim's mother?" "i'm his mother. i'll hook a gown from aunt sally." "well, then, you'll have to stay in the cabin when me and jim leaves." "not much. i'll stuff jim's clothes full of straw and lay it on his bed to represent his mother in disguise, and jim 'll take the nigger woman's gown off of me and wear it, and we'll all evade together. when a prisoner of style escapes it's called an evasion. it's always called so when a king escapes, f'rinstance. and the same with a king's son; it don't make no difference whether he's a natural one or an unnatural one." so tom he wrote the nonnamous letter, and i smouched the yaller wench's frock that night, and put it on, and shoved it under the front door, the way tom told me to. it said: beware. trouble is brewing. keep a sharp lookout. unknown friend. next night we stuck a picture, which tom drawed in blood, of a skull and crossbones on the front door; and next night another one of a coffin on the back door. i never see a family in such a sweat. they couldn't a been worse scared if the place had a been full of ghosts laying for them behind everything and under the beds and shivering through the air. if a door banged, aunt sally she jumped and said "ouch!" if anything fell, she jumped and said "ouch!" if you happened to touch her, when she warn't noticing, she done the same; she couldn't face noway and be satisfied, because she allowed there was something behind her every time--so she was always a-whirling around sudden, and saying "ouch," and before she'd got two-thirds around she'd whirl back again, and say it again; and she was afraid to go to bed, but she dasn't set up. so the thing was working very well, tom said; he said he never see a thing work more satisfactory. he said it showed it was done right. so he said, now for the grand bulge! so the very next morning at the streak of dawn we got another letter ready, and was wondering what we better do with it, because we heard them say at supper they was going to have a nigger on watch at both doors all night. tom he went down the lightning-rod to spy around; and the nigger at the back door was asleep, and he stuck it in the back of his neck and come back. this letter said: don't betray me, i wish to be your friend. there is a desprate gang of cut-throats from over in the indian territory going to steal your runaway nigger to-night, and they have been trying to scare you so as you will stay in the house and not bother them. i am one of the gang, but have got religgion and wish to quit it and lead an honest life again, and will betray the helish design. they will sneak down from northards, along the fence, at midnight exact, with a false key, and go in the nigger's cabin to get him. i am to be off a piece and blow a tin horn if i see any danger; but stead of that i will ba like a sheep soon as they get in and not blow at all; then whilst they are getting his chains loose, you slip there and lock them in, and can kill them at your leasure. don't do anything but just the way i am telling you; if you do they will suspicion something and raise whoop-jamboreehoo. i do not wish any reward but to know i have done the right thing. unknown friend. chapter xl. we was feeling pretty good after breakfast, and took my canoe and went over the river a-fishing, with a lunch, and had a good time, and took a look at the raft and found her all right, and got home late to supper, and found them in such a sweat and worry they didn't know which end they was standing on, and made us go right off to bed the minute we was done supper, and wouldn't tell us what the trouble was, and never let on a word about the new letter, but didn't need to, because we knowed as much about it as anybody did, and as soon as we was half up stairs and her back was turned we slid for the cellar cupboard and loaded up a good lunch and took it up to our room and went to bed, and got up about half-past eleven, and tom put on aunt sally's dress that he stole and was going to start with the lunch, but says: "where's the butter?" "i laid out a hunk of it," i says, "on a piece of a corn-pone." "well, you left it laid out, then--it ain't here." "we can get along without it," i says. "we can get along with it, too," he says; "just you slide down cellar and fetch it. and then mosey right down the lightning-rod and come along. i'll go and stuff the straw into jim's clothes to represent his mother in disguise, and be ready to ba like a sheep and shove soon as you get there." so out he went, and down cellar went i. the hunk of butter, big as a person's fist, was where i had left it, so i took up the slab of corn-pone with it on, and blowed out my light, and started up stairs very stealthy, and got up to the main floor all right, but here comes aunt sally with a candle, and i clapped the truck in my hat, and clapped my hat on my head, and the next second she see me; and she says: "you been down cellar?" "yes'm." "what you been doing down there?" "noth'n." "noth'n!" "no'm." "well, then, what possessed you to go down there this time of night?" "i don't know 'm." "you don't know? don't answer me that way. tom, i want to know what you been doing down there." "i hain't been doing a single thing, aunt sally, i hope to gracious if i have." i reckoned she'd let me go now, and as a generl thing she would; but i s'pose there was so many strange things going on she was just in a sweat about every little thing that warn't yard-stick straight; so she says, very decided: "you just march into that setting-room and stay there till i come. you been up to something you no business to, and i lay i'll find out what it is before i'm done with you." so she went away as i opened the door and walked into the setting-room. my, but there was a crowd there! fifteen farmers, and every one of them had a gun. i was most powerful sick, and slunk to a chair and set down. they was setting around, some of them talking a little, in a low voice, and all of them fidgety and uneasy, but trying to look like they warn't; but i knowed they was, because they was always taking off their hats, and putting them on, and scratching their heads, and changing their seats, and fumbling with their buttons. i warn't easy myself, but i didn't take my hat off, all the same. i did wish aunt sally would come, and get done with me, and lick me, if she wanted to, and let me get away and tell tom how we'd overdone this thing, and what a thundering hornet's-nest we'd got ourselves into, so we could stop fooling around straight off, and clear out with jim before these rips got out of patience and come for us. at last she come and begun to ask me questions, but i couldn't answer them straight, i didn't know which end of me was up; because these men was in such a fidget now that some was wanting to start right now and lay for them desperadoes, and saying it warn't but a few minutes to midnight; and others was trying to get them to hold on and wait for the sheep-signal; and here was aunty pegging away at the questions, and me a-shaking all over and ready to sink down in my tracks i was that scared; and the place getting hotter and hotter, and the butter beginning to melt and run down my neck and behind my ears; and pretty soon, when one of them says, "i'm for going and getting in the cabin first and right now, and catching them when they come," i most dropped; and a streak of butter come a-trickling down my forehead, and aunt sally she see it, and turns white as a sheet, and says: "for the land's sake, what is the matter with the child? he's got the brain-fever as shore as you're born, and they're oozing out!" and everybody runs to see, and she snatches off my hat, and out comes the bread and what was left of the butter, and she grabbed me, and hugged me, and says: "oh, what a turn you did give me! and how glad and grateful i am it ain't no worse; for luck's against us, and it never rains but it pours, and when i see that truck i thought we'd lost you, for i knowed by the color and all it was just like your brains would be if--dear, dear, whyd'nt you tell me that was what you'd been down there for, i wouldn't a cared. now cler out to bed, and don't lemme see no more of you till morning!" i was up stairs in a second, and down the lightning-rod in another one, and shinning through the dark for the lean-to. i couldn't hardly get my words out, i was so anxious; but i told tom as quick as i could we must jump for it now, and not a minute to lose--the house full of men, yonder, with guns! his eyes just blazed; and he says: "no!--is that so? ain't it bully! why, huck, if it was to do over again, i bet i could fetch two hundred! if we could put it off till--" "hurry! hurry!" i says. "where's jim?" "right at your elbow; if you reach out your arm you can touch him. he's dressed, and everything's ready. now we'll slide out and give the sheep-signal." but then we heard the tramp of men coming to the door, and heard them begin to fumble with the pad-lock, and heard a man say: "i told you we'd be too soon; they haven't come--the door is locked. here, i'll lock some of you into the cabin, and you lay for 'em in the dark and kill 'em when they come; and the rest scatter around a piece, and listen if you can hear 'em coming." so in they come, but couldn't see us in the dark, and most trod on us whilst we was hustling to get under the bed. but we got under all right, and out through the hole, swift but soft--jim first, me next, and tom last, which was according to tom's orders. now we was in the lean-to, and heard trampings close by outside. so we crept to the door, and tom stopped us there and put his eye to the crack, but couldn't make out nothing, it was so dark; and whispered and said he would listen for the steps to get further, and when he nudged us jim must glide out first, and him last. so he set his ear to the crack and listened, and listened, and listened, and the steps a-scraping around out there all the time; and at last he nudged us, and we slid out, and stooped down, not breathing, and not making the least noise, and slipped stealthy towards the fence in injun file, and got to it all right, and me and jim over it; but tom's britches catched fast on a splinter on the top rail, and then he hear the steps coming, so he had to pull loose, which snapped the splinter and made a noise; and as he dropped in our tracks and started somebody sings out: "who's that? answer, or i'll shoot!" but we didn't answer; we just unfurled our heels and shoved. then there was a rush, and a bang, bang, bang! and the bullets fairly whizzed around us! we heard them sing out: "here they are! they've broke for the river! after 'em, boys, and turn loose the dogs!" so here they come, full tilt. we could hear them because they wore boots and yelled, but we didn't wear no boots and didn't yell. we was in the path to the mill; and when they got pretty close on to us we dodged into the bush and let them go by, and then dropped in behind them. they'd had all the dogs shut up, so they wouldn't scare off the robbers; but by this time somebody had let them loose, and here they come, making powwow enough for a million; but they was our dogs; so we stopped in our tracks till they catched up; and when they see it warn't nobody but us, and no excitement to offer them, they only just said howdy, and tore right ahead towards the shouting and clattering; and then we up-steam again, and whizzed along after them till we was nearly to the mill, and then struck up through the bush to where my canoe was tied, and hopped in and pulled for dear life towards the middle of the river, but didn't make no more noise than we was obleeged to. then we struck out, easy and comfortable, for the island where my raft was; and we could hear them yelling and barking at each other all up and down the bank, till we was so far away the sounds got dim and died out. and when we stepped on to the raft i says: "now, old jim, you're a free man again, and i bet you won't ever be a slave no more." "en a mighty good job it wuz, too, huck. it 'uz planned beautiful, en it 'uz done beautiful; en dey ain't nobody kin git up a plan dat's mo' mixed-up en splendid den what dat one wuz." we was all glad as we could be, but tom was the gladdest of all because he had a bullet in the calf of his leg. when me and jim heard that we didn't feel so brash as what we did before. it was hurting him considerable, and bleeding; so we laid him in the wigwam and tore up one of the duke's shirts for to bandage him, but he says: "gimme the rags; i can do it myself. don't stop now; don't fool around here, and the evasion booming along so handsome; man the sweeps, and set her loose! boys, we done it elegant!--'deed we did. i wish we'd a had the handling of louis xvi., there wouldn't a been no 'son of saint louis, ascend to heaven!' wrote down in his biography; no, sir, we'd a whooped him over the border--that's what we'd a done with him--and done it just as slick as nothing at all, too. man the sweeps--man the sweeps!" but me and jim was consulting--and thinking. and after we'd thought a minute, i says: "say it, jim." so he says: "well, den, dis is de way it look to me, huck. ef it wuz him dat 'uz bein' sot free, en one er de boys wuz to git shot, would he say, 'go on en save me, nemmine 'bout a doctor f'r to save dis one?' is dat like mars tom sawyer? would he say dat? you bet he wouldn't! well, den, is jim gywne to say it? no, sah--i doan' budge a step out'n dis place 'dout a doctor, not if it's forty year!" i knowed he was white inside, and i reckoned he'd say what he did say--so it was all right now, and i told tom i was a-going for a doctor. he raised considerable row about it, but me and jim stuck to it and wouldn't budge; so he was for crawling out and setting the raft loose himself; but we wouldn't let him. then he give us a piece of his mind, but it didn't do no good. so when he sees me getting the canoe ready, he says: "well, then, if you re bound to go, i'll tell you the way to do when you get to the village. shut the door and blindfold the doctor tight and fast, and make him swear to be silent as the grave, and put a purse full of gold in his hand, and then take and lead him all around the back alleys and everywheres in the dark, and then fetch him here in the canoe, in a roundabout way amongst the islands, and search him and take his chalk away from him, and don't give it back to him till you get him back to the village, or else he will chalk this raft so he can find it again. it's the way they all do." so i said i would, and left, and jim was to hide in the woods when he see the doctor coming till he was gone again. chapter xli. the doctor was an old man; a very nice, kind-looking old man when i got him up. i told him me and my brother was over on spanish island hunting yesterday afternoon, and camped on a piece of a raft we found, and about midnight he must a kicked his gun in his dreams, for it went off and shot him in the leg, and we wanted him to go over there and fix it and not say nothing about it, nor let anybody know, because we wanted to come home this evening and surprise the folks. "who is your folks?" he says. "the phelpses, down yonder." "oh," he says. and after a minute, he says: "how'd you say he got shot?" "he had a dream," i says, "and it shot him." "singular dream," he says. so he lit up his lantern, and got his saddle-bags, and we started. but when he sees the canoe he didn't like the look of her--said she was big enough for one, but didn't look pretty safe for two. i says: "oh, you needn't be afeard, sir, she carried the three of us easy enough." "what three?" "why, me and sid, and--and--and the guns; that's what i mean." "oh," he says. but he put his foot on the gunnel and rocked her, and shook his head, and said he reckoned he'd look around for a bigger one. but they was all locked and chained; so he took my canoe, and said for me to wait till he come back, or i could hunt around further, or maybe i better go down home and get them ready for the surprise if i wanted to. but i said i didn't; so i told him just how to find the raft, and then he started. i struck an idea pretty soon. i says to myself, spos'n he can't fix that leg just in three shakes of a sheep's tail, as the saying is? spos'n it takes him three or four days? what are we going to do?--lay around there till he lets the cat out of the bag? no, sir; i know what i'll do. i'll wait, and when he comes back if he says he's got to go any more i'll get down there, too, if i swim; and we'll take and tie him, and keep him, and shove out down the river; and when tom's done with him we'll give him what it's worth, or all we got, and then let him get ashore. so then i crept into a lumber-pile to get some sleep; and next time i waked up the sun was away up over my head! i shot out and went for the doctor's house, but they told me he'd gone away in the night some time or other, and warn't back yet. well, thinks i, that looks powerful bad for tom, and i'll dig out for the island right off. so away i shoved, and turned the corner, and nearly rammed my head into uncle silas's stomach! he says: "why, tom! where you been all this time, you rascal?" "i hain't been nowheres," i says, "only just hunting for the runaway nigger--me and sid." "why, where ever did you go?" he says. "your aunt's been mighty uneasy." "she needn't," i says, "because we was all right. we followed the men and the dogs, but they outrun us, and we lost them; but we thought we heard them on the water, so we got a canoe and took out after them and crossed over, but couldn't find nothing of them; so we cruised along up-shore till we got kind of tired and beat out; and tied up the canoe and went to sleep, and never waked up till about an hour ago; then we paddled over here to hear the news, and sid's at the post-office to see what he can hear, and i'm a-branching out to get something to eat for us, and then we're going home." so then we went to the post-office to get "sid"; but just as i suspicioned, he warn't there; so the old man he got a letter out of the office, and we waited awhile longer, but sid didn't come; so the old man said, come along, let sid foot it home, or canoe it, when he got done fooling around--but we would ride. i couldn't get him to let me stay and wait for sid; and he said there warn't no use in it, and i must come along, and let aunt sally see we was all right. when we got home aunt sally was that glad to see me she laughed and cried both, and hugged me, and give me one of them lickings of hern that don't amount to shucks, and said she'd serve sid the same when he come. and the place was plum full of farmers and farmers' wives, to dinner; and such another clack a body never heard. old mrs. hotchkiss was the worst; her tongue was a-going all the time. she says: "well, sister phelps, i've ransacked that-air cabin over, an' i b'lieve the nigger was crazy. i says to sister damrell--didn't i, sister damrell?--s'i, he's crazy, s'i--them's the very words i said. you all hearn me: he's crazy, s'i; everything shows it, s'i. look at that-air grindstone, s'i; want to tell me't any cretur 't's in his right mind 's a goin' to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone, s'i? here sich 'n' sich a person busted his heart; 'n' here so 'n' so pegged along for thirty-seven year, 'n' all that--natcherl son o' louis somebody, 'n' sich everlast'n rubbage. he's plumb crazy, s'i; it's what i says in the fust place, it's what i says in the middle, 'n' it's what i says last 'n' all the time--the nigger's crazy--crazy 's nebokoodneezer, s'i." "an' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, sister hotchkiss," says old mrs. damrell; "what in the name o' goodness could he ever want of--" "the very words i was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to sister utterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself. sh-she, look at that-air rag ladder, sh-she; 'n' s'i, yes, look at it, s'i--what could he a-wanted of it, s'i. sh-she, sister hotchkiss, sh-she--" "but how in the nation'd they ever git that grindstone in there, anyway? 'n' who dug that-air hole? 'n' who--" "my very words, brer penrod! i was a-sayin'--pass that-air sasser o' m'lasses, won't ye?--i was a-sayin' to sister dunlap, jist this minute, how did they git that grindstone in there, s'i. without help, mind you --'thout help! that's wher 'tis. don't tell me, s'i; there wuz help, s'i; 'n' ther' wuz a plenty help, too, s'i; ther's ben a dozen a-helpin' that nigger, 'n' i lay i'd skin every last nigger on this place but i'd find out who done it, s'i; 'n' moreover, s'i--" "a dozen says you!--forty couldn't a done every thing that's been done. look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've been made; look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for six men; look at that nigger made out'n straw on the bed; and look at--" "you may well say it, brer hightower! it's jist as i was a-sayin' to brer phelps, his own self. s'e, what do you think of it, sister hotchkiss, s'e? think o' what, brer phelps, s'i? think o' that bed-leg sawed off that a way, s'e? think of it, s'i? i lay it never sawed itself off, s'i--somebody sawed it, s'i; that's my opinion, take it or leave it, it mayn't be no 'count, s'i, but sich as 't is, it's my opinion, s'i, 'n' if any body k'n start a better one, s'i, let him do it, s'i, that's all. i says to sister dunlap, s'i--" "why, dog my cats, they must a ben a house-full o' niggers in there every night for four weeks to a done all that work, sister phelps. look at that shirt--every last inch of it kivered over with secret african writ'n done with blood! must a ben a raft uv 'm at it right along, all the time, amost. why, i'd give two dollars to have it read to me; 'n' as for the niggers that wrote it, i 'low i'd take 'n' lash 'm t'll--" "people to help him, brother marples! well, i reckon you'd think so if you'd a been in this house for a while back. why, they've stole everything they could lay their hands on--and we a-watching all the time, mind you. they stole that shirt right off o' the line! and as for that sheet they made the rag ladder out of, ther' ain't no telling how many times they didn't steal that; and flour, and candles, and candlesticks, and spoons, and the old warming-pan, and most a thousand things that i disremember now, and my new calico dress; and me and silas and my sid and tom on the constant watch day and night, as i was a-telling you, and not a one of us could catch hide nor hair nor sight nor sound of them; and here at the last minute, lo and behold you, they slides right in under our noses and fools us, and not only fools us but the injun territory robbers too, and actuly gets away with that nigger safe and sound, and that with sixteen men and twenty-two dogs right on their very heels at that very time! i tell you, it just bangs anything i ever heard of. why, sperits couldn't a done better and been no smarter. and i reckon they must a been sperits--because, you know our dogs, and ther' ain't no better; well, them dogs never even got on the track of 'm once! you explain that to me if you can!--any of you!" "well, it does beat--" "laws alive, i never--" "so help me, i wouldn't a be--" "house-thieves as well as--" "goodnessgracioussakes, i'd a ben afeard to live in sich a--" "'fraid to live!--why, i was that scared i dasn't hardly go to bed, or get up, or lay down, or set down, sister ridgeway. why, they'd steal the very--why, goodness sakes, you can guess what kind of a fluster i was in by the time midnight come last night. i hope to gracious if i warn't afraid they'd steal some o' the family! i was just to that pass i didn't have no reasoning faculties no more. it looks foolish enough now, in the daytime; but i says to myself, there's my two poor boys asleep, 'way up stairs in that lonesome room, and i declare to goodness i was that uneasy 't i crep' up there and locked 'em in! i did. and anybody would. because, you know, when you get scared that way, and it keeps running on, and getting worse and worse all the time, and your wits gets to addling, and you get to doing all sorts o' wild things, and by and by you think to yourself, spos'n i was a boy, and was away up there, and the door ain't locked, and you--" she stopped, looking kind of wondering, and then she turned her head around slow, and when her eye lit on me--i got up and took a walk. says i to myself, i can explain better how we come to not be in that room this morning if i go out to one side and study over it a little. so i done it. but i dasn't go fur, or she'd a sent for me. and when it was late in the day the people all went, and then i come in and told her the noise and shooting waked up me and "sid," and the door was locked, and we wanted to see the fun, so we went down the lightning-rod, and both of us got hurt a little, and we didn't never want to try that no more. and then i went on and told her all what i told uncle silas before; and then she said she'd forgive us, and maybe it was all right enough anyway, and about what a body might expect of boys, for all boys was a pretty harum-scarum lot as fur as she could see; and so, as long as no harm hadn't come of it, she judged she better put in her time being grateful we was alive and well and she had us still, stead of fretting over what was past and done. so then she kissed me, and patted me on the head, and dropped into a kind of a brown study; and pretty soon jumps up, and says: "why, lawsamercy, it's most night, and sid not come yet! what has become of that boy?" i see my chance; so i skips up and says: "i'll run right up to town and get him," i says. "no you won't," she says. "you'll stay right wher' you are; one's enough to be lost at a time. if he ain't here to supper, your uncle 'll go." well, he warn't there to supper; so right after supper uncle went. he come back about ten a little bit uneasy; hadn't run across tom's track. aunt sally was a good deal uneasy; but uncle silas he said there warn't no occasion to be--boys will be boys, he said, and you'll see this one turn up in the morning all sound and right. so she had to be satisfied. but she said she'd set up for him a while anyway, and keep a light burning so he could see it. and then when i went up to bed she come up with me and fetched her candle, and tucked me in, and mothered me so good i felt mean, and like i couldn't look her in the face; and she set down on the bed and talked with me a long time, and said what a splendid boy sid was, and didn't seem to want to ever stop talking about him; and kept asking me every now and then if i reckoned he could a got lost, or hurt, or maybe drownded, and might be laying at this minute somewheres suffering or dead, and she not by him to help him, and so the tears would drip down silent, and i would tell her that sid was all right, and would be home in the morning, sure; and she would squeeze my hand, or maybe kiss me, and tell me to say it again, and keep on saying it, because it done her good, and she was in so much trouble. and when she was going away she looked down in my eyes so steady and gentle, and says: "the door ain't going to be locked, tom, and there's the window and the rod; but you'll be good, won't you? and you won't go? for my sake." laws knows i wanted to go bad enough to see about tom, and was all intending to go; but after that i wouldn't a went, not for kingdoms. but she was on my mind and tom was on my mind, so i slept very restless. and twice i went down the rod away in the night, and slipped around front, and see her setting there by her candle in the window with her eyes towards the road and the tears in them; and i wished i could do something for her, but i couldn't, only to swear that i wouldn't never do nothing to grieve her any more. and the third time i waked up at dawn, and slid down, and she was there yet, and her candle was most out, and her old gray head was resting on her hand, and she was asleep. chapter xlii. the old man was uptown again before breakfast, but couldn't get no track of tom; and both of them set at the table thinking, and not saying nothing, and looking mournful, and their coffee getting cold, and not eating anything. and by and by the old man says: "did i give you the letter?" "what letter?" "the one i got yesterday out of the post-office." "no, you didn't give me no letter." "well, i must a forgot it." so he rummaged his pockets, and then went off somewheres where he had laid it down, and fetched it, and give it to her. she says: "why, it's from st. petersburg--it's from sis." i allowed another walk would do me good; but i couldn't stir. but before she could break it open she dropped it and run--for she see something. and so did i. it was tom sawyer on a mattress; and that old doctor; and jim, in her calico dress, with his hands tied behind him; and a lot of people. i hid the letter behind the first thing that come handy, and rushed. she flung herself at tom, crying, and says: "oh, he's dead, he's dead, i know he's dead!" and tom he turned his head a little, and muttered something or other, which showed he warn't in his right mind; then she flung up her hands, and says: "he's alive, thank god! and that's enough!" and she snatched a kiss of him, and flew for the house to get the bed ready, and scattering orders right and left at the niggers and everybody else, as fast as her tongue could go, every jump of the way. i followed the men to see what they was going to do with jim; and the old doctor and uncle silas followed after tom into the house. the men was very huffy, and some of them wanted to hang jim for an example to all the other niggers around there, so they wouldn't be trying to run away like jim done, and making such a raft of trouble, and keeping a whole family scared most to death for days and nights. but the others said, don't do it, it wouldn't answer at all; he ain't our nigger, and his owner would turn up and make us pay for him, sure. so that cooled them down a little, because the people that's always the most anxious for to hang a nigger that hain't done just right is always the very ones that ain't the most anxious to pay for him when they've got their satisfaction out of him. they cussed jim considerble, though, and give him a cuff or two side the head once in a while, but jim never said nothing, and he never let on to know me, and they took him to the same cabin, and put his own clothes on him, and chained him again, and not to no bed-leg this time, but to a big staple drove into the bottom log, and chained his hands, too, and both legs, and said he warn't to have nothing but bread and water to eat after this till his owner come, or he was sold at auction because he didn't come in a certain length of time, and filled up our hole, and said a couple of farmers with guns must stand watch around about the cabin every night, and a bulldog tied to the door in the daytime; and about this time they was through with the job and was tapering off with a kind of generl good-bye cussing, and then the old doctor comes and takes a look, and says: "don't be no rougher on him than you're obleeged to, because he ain't a bad nigger. when i got to where i found the boy i see i couldn't cut the bullet out without some help, and he warn't in no condition for me to leave to go and get help; and he got a little worse and a little worse, and after a long time he went out of his head, and wouldn't let me come a-nigh him any more, and said if i chalked his raft he'd kill me, and no end of wild foolishness like that, and i see i couldn't do anything at all with him; so i says, i got to have help somehow; and the minute i says it out crawls this nigger from somewheres and says he'll help, and he done it, too, and done it very well. of course i judged he must be a runaway nigger, and there i was! and there i had to stick right straight along all the rest of the day and all night. it was a fix, i tell you! i had a couple of patients with the chills, and of course i'd of liked to run up to town and see them, but i dasn't, because the nigger might get away, and then i'd be to blame; and yet never a skiff come close enough for me to hail. so there i had to stick plumb until daylight this morning; and i never see a nigger that was a better nuss or faithfuller, and yet he was risking his freedom to do it, and was all tired out, too, and i see plain enough he'd been worked main hard lately. i liked the nigger for that; i tell you, gentlemen, a nigger like that is worth a thousand dollars--and kind treatment, too. i had everything i needed, and the boy was doing as well there as he would a done at home--better, maybe, because it was so quiet; but there i was, with both of 'm on my hands, and there i had to stick till about dawn this morning; then some men in a skiff come by, and as good luck would have it the nigger was setting by the pallet with his head propped on his knees sound asleep; so i motioned them in quiet, and they slipped up on him and grabbed him and tied him before he knowed what he was about, and we never had no trouble. and the boy being in a kind of a flighty sleep, too, we muffled the oars and hitched the raft on, and towed her over very nice and quiet, and the nigger never made the least row nor said a word from the start. he ain't no bad nigger, gentlemen; that's what i think about him." somebody says: "well, it sounds very good, doctor, i'm obleeged to say." then the others softened up a little, too, and i was mighty thankful to that old doctor for doing jim that good turn; and i was glad it was according to my judgment of him, too; because i thought he had a good heart in him and was a good man the first time i see him. then they all agreed that jim had acted very well, and was deserving to have some notice took of it, and reward. so every one of them promised, right out and hearty, that they wouldn't cuss him no more. then they come out and locked him up. i hoped they was going to say he could have one or two of the chains took off, because they was rotten heavy, or could have meat and greens with his bread and water; but they didn't think of it, and i reckoned it warn't best for me to mix in, but i judged i'd get the doctor's yarn to aunt sally somehow or other as soon as i'd got through the breakers that was laying just ahead of me --explanations, i mean, of how i forgot to mention about sid being shot when i was telling how him and me put in that dratted night paddling around hunting the runaway nigger. but i had plenty time. aunt sally she stuck to the sick-room all day and all night, and every time i see uncle silas mooning around i dodged him. next morning i heard tom was a good deal better, and they said aunt sally was gone to get a nap. so i slips to the sick-room, and if i found him awake i reckoned we could put up a yarn for the family that would wash. but he was sleeping, and sleeping very peaceful, too; and pale, not fire-faced the way he was when he come. so i set down and laid for him to wake. in about half an hour aunt sally comes gliding in, and there i was, up a stump again! she motioned me to be still, and set down by me, and begun to whisper, and said we could all be joyful now, because all the symptoms was first-rate, and he'd been sleeping like that for ever so long, and looking better and peacefuller all the time, and ten to one he'd wake up in his right mind. so we set there watching, and by and by he stirs a bit, and opened his eyes very natural, and takes a look, and says: "hello!--why, i'm at home! how's that? where's the raft?" "it's all right," i says. "and jim?" "the same," i says, but couldn't say it pretty brash. but he never noticed, but says: "good! splendid! now we're all right and safe! did you tell aunty?" i was going to say yes; but she chipped in and says: "about what, sid?" "why, about the way the whole thing was done." "what whole thing?" "why, the whole thing. there ain't but one; how we set the runaway nigger free--me and tom." "good land! set the run--what is the child talking about! dear, dear, out of his head again!" "no, i ain't out of my head; i know all what i'm talking about. we did set him free--me and tom. we laid out to do it, and we done it. and we done it elegant, too." he'd got a start, and she never checked him up, just set and stared and stared, and let him clip along, and i see it warn't no use for me to put in. "why, aunty, it cost us a power of work --weeks of it--hours and hours, every night, whilst you was all asleep. and we had to steal candles, and the sheet, and the shirt, and your dress, and spoons, and tin plates, and case-knives, and the warming-pan, and the grindstone, and flour, and just no end of things, and you can't think what work it was to make the saws, and pens, and inscriptions, and one thing or another, and you can't think half the fun it was. and we had to make up the pictures of coffins and things, and nonnamous letters from the robbers, and get up and down the lightning-rod, and dig the hole into the cabin, and made the rope ladder and send it in cooked up in a pie, and send in spoons and things to work with in your apron pocket--" "mercy sakes!" "--and load up the cabin with rats and snakes and so on, for company for jim; and then you kept tom here so long with the butter in his hat that you come near spiling the whole business, because the men come before we was out of the cabin, and we had to rush, and they heard us and let drive at us, and i got my share, and we dodged out of the path and let them go by, and when the dogs come they warn't interested in us, but went for the most noise, and we got our canoe, and made for the raft, and was all safe, and jim was a free man, and we done it all by ourselves, and wasn't it bully, aunty!" "well, i never heard the likes of it in all my born days! so it was you, you little rapscallions, that's been making all this trouble, and turned everybody's wits clean inside out and scared us all most to death. i've as good a notion as ever i had in my life to take it out o' you this very minute. to think, here i've been, night after night, a--you just get well once, you young scamp, and i lay i'll tan the old harry out o' both o' ye!" but tom, he was so proud and joyful, he just couldn't hold in, and his tongue just went it--she a-chipping in, and spitting fire all along, and both of them going it at once, like a cat convention; and she says: "well, you get all the enjoyment you can out of it now, for mind i tell you if i catch you meddling with him again--" "meddling with who?" tom says, dropping his smile and looking surprised. "with who? why, the runaway nigger, of course. who'd you reckon?" tom looks at me very grave, and says: "tom, didn't you just tell me he was all right? hasn't he got away?" "him?" says aunt sally; "the runaway nigger? 'deed he hasn't. they've got him back, safe and sound, and he's in that cabin again, on bread and water, and loaded down with chains, till he's claimed or sold!" tom rose square up in bed, with his eye hot, and his nostrils opening and shutting like gills, and sings out to me: "they hain't no right to shut him up! shove!--and don't you lose a minute. turn him loose! he ain't no slave; he's as free as any cretur that walks this earth!" "what does the child mean?" "i mean every word i say, aunt sally, and if somebody don't go, i'll go. i've knowed him all his life, and so has tom, there. old miss watson died two months ago, and she was ashamed she ever was going to sell him down the river, and said so; and she set him free in her will." "then what on earth did you want to set him free for, seeing he was already free?" "well, that is a question, i must say; and just like women! why, i wanted the adventure of it; and i'd a waded neck-deep in blood to --goodness alive, aunt polly!" if she warn't standing right there, just inside the door, looking as sweet and contented as an angel half full of pie, i wish i may never! aunt sally jumped for her, and most hugged the head off of her, and cried over her, and i found a good enough place for me under the bed, for it was getting pretty sultry for us, seemed to me. and i peeped out, and in a little while tom's aunt polly shook herself loose and stood there looking across at tom over her spectacles--kind of grinding him into the earth, you know. and then she says: "yes, you better turn y'r head away--i would if i was you, tom." "oh, deary me!" says aunt sally; "is he changed so? why, that ain't tom, it's sid; tom's--tom's--why, where is tom? he was here a minute ago." "you mean where's huck finn--that's what you mean! i reckon i hain't raised such a scamp as my tom all these years not to know him when i see him. that would be a pretty howdy-do. come out from under that bed, huck finn." so i done it. but not feeling brash. aunt sally she was one of the mixed-upest-looking persons i ever see --except one, and that was uncle silas, when he come in and they told it all to him. it kind of made him drunk, as you may say, and he didn't know nothing at all the rest of the day, and preached a prayer-meeting sermon that night that gave him a rattling ruputation, because the oldest man in the world couldn't a understood it. so tom's aunt polly, she told all about who i was, and what; and i had to up and tell how i was in such a tight place that when mrs. phelps took me for tom sawyer--she chipped in and says, "oh, go on and call me aunt sally, i'm used to it now, and 'tain't no need to change"--that when aunt sally took me for tom sawyer i had to stand it--there warn't no other way, and i knowed he wouldn't mind, because it would be nuts for him, being a mystery, and he'd make an adventure out of it, and be perfectly satisfied. and so it turned out, and he let on to be sid, and made things as soft as he could for me. and his aunt polly she said tom was right about old miss watson setting jim free in her will; and so, sure enough, tom sawyer had gone and took all that trouble and bother to set a free nigger free! and i couldn't ever understand before, until that minute and that talk, how he could help a body set a nigger free with his bringing-up. well, aunt polly she said that when aunt sally wrote to her that tom and sid had come all right and safe, she says to herself: "look at that, now! i might have expected it, letting him go off that way without anybody to watch him. so now i got to go and trapse all the way down the river, eleven hundred mile, and find out what that creetur's up to this time, as long as i couldn't seem to get any answer out of you about it." "why, i never heard nothing from you," says aunt sally. "well, i wonder! why, i wrote you twice to ask you what you could mean by sid being here." "well, i never got 'em, sis." aunt polly she turns around slow and severe, and says: "you, tom!" "well--what?" he says, kind of pettish. "don t you what me, you impudent thing--hand out them letters." "what letters?" "them letters. i be bound, if i have to take a-holt of you i'll--" "they're in the trunk. there, now. and they're just the same as they was when i got them out of the office. i hain't looked into them, i hain't touched them. but i knowed they'd make trouble, and i thought if you warn't in no hurry, i'd--" "well, you do need skinning, there ain't no mistake about it. and i wrote another one to tell you i was coming; and i s'pose he--" "no, it come yesterday; i hain't read it yet, but it's all right, i've got that one." i wanted to offer to bet two dollars she hadn't, but i reckoned maybe it was just as safe to not to. so i never said nothing. chapter the last the first time i catched tom private i asked him what was his idea, time of the evasion?--what it was he'd planned to do if the evasion worked all right and he managed to set a nigger free that was already free before? and he said, what he had planned in his head from the start, if we got jim out all safe, was for us to run him down the river on the raft, and have adventures plumb to the mouth of the river, and then tell him about his being free, and take him back up home on a steamboat, in style, and pay him for his lost time, and write word ahead and get out all the niggers around, and have them waltz him into town with a torchlight procession and a brass-band, and then he would be a hero, and so would we. but i reckoned it was about as well the way it was. we had jim out of the chains in no time, and when aunt polly and uncle silas and aunt sally found out how good he helped the doctor nurse tom, they made a heap of fuss over him, and fixed him up prime, and give him all he wanted to eat, and a good time, and nothing to do. and we had him up to the sick-room, and had a high talk; and tom give jim forty dollars for being prisoner for us so patient, and doing it up so good, and jim was pleased most to death, and busted out, and says: "dah, now, huck, what i tell you?--what i tell you up dah on jackson islan'? i tole you i got a hairy breas', en what's de sign un it; en i tole you i ben rich wunst, en gwineter to be rich agin; en it's come true; en heah she is! dah, now! doan' talk to me--signs is signs, mine i tell you; en i knowed jis' 's well 'at i 'uz gwineter be rich agin as i's a-stannin' heah dis minute!" and then tom he talked along and talked along, and says, le's all three slide out of here one of these nights and get an outfit, and go for howling adventures amongst the injuns, over in the territory, for a couple of weeks or two; and i says, all right, that suits me, but i ain't got no money for to buy the outfit, and i reckon i couldn't get none from home, because it's likely pap's been back before now, and got it all away from judge thatcher and drunk it up. "no, he hain't," tom says; "it's all there yet--six thousand dollars and more; and your pap hain't ever been back since. hadn't when i come away, anyhow." jim says, kind of solemn: "he ain't a-comin' back no mo', huck." i says: "why, jim?" "nemmine why, huck--but he ain't comin' back no mo." but i kept at him; so at last he says: "doan' you 'member de house dat was float'n down de river, en dey wuz a man in dah, kivered up, en i went in en unkivered him and didn' let you come in? well, den, you kin git yo' money when you wants it, kase dat wuz him." tom's most well now, and got his bullet around his neck on a watch-guard for a watch, and is always seeing what time it is, and so there ain't nothing more to write about, and i am rotten glad of it, because if i'd a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book i wouldn't a tackled it, and ain't a-going to no more. but i reckon i got to light out for the territory ahead of the rest, because aunt sally she's going to adopt me and sivilize me, and i can't stand it. i been there before. narrative of william w. brown, a fugitive slave. written by himself. ------------is there not some chosen curse, some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man who gains his fortune from the blood of souls? cowper. second edition, enlarged. boston: published at the anti-slavery office, no. cornhill. [illustration: wm. w. brown. eng.d at state st. from a dag.tp of chase r. andrews print.] entered according to act of congress, in the year , by william w. brown, in the clerk's office of the district court of massachusetts. stereotyped by george a. curtis; new england type and stereotype foundery. to wells brown, of ohio. thirteen years ago, i came to your door, a weary fugitive from chains and stripes. i was a stranger, and you took me in. i was hungry, and you fed me. naked was i, and you clothed me. even a name by which to be known among men, slavery had denied me. you bestowed upon me your own. base, indeed, should i be, if i ever forget what i owe to you, or do anything to disgrace that honored name! as a slight testimony of my gratitude to my earliest benefactor, i take the liberty to inscribe to you this little narrative of the sufferings from which i was fleeing when you had compassion upon me. in the multitude that you have succored, it is very possible that you may not remember me; but until i forget god and myself, i can never forget you. your grateful friend, william wells brown. note to the second edition. the first edition, of three thousand copies, of this little work was sold in less than six months from the time of its publication. encouraged by the rapid sale of the first, and by a demand for a second, edition, the author has been led to enlarge the work by the addition of matter which, he thinks, will add materially to its value. and if it shall be instrumental in helping to undo the heavy burdens, and letting the oppressed go free, he will have accomplished the great desire of his heart in publishing this work. letter from edmund quincy, esq. dedham, july , . to william w. brown. my dear friend:--i heartily thank you for the privilege of reading the manuscript of your narrative. i have read it with deep interest and strong emotion. i am much mistaken if it be not greatly successful and eminently useful. it presents a different phase of the infernal slave-system from that portrayed in the admirable story of mr. douglass, and gives us a glimpse of its hideous cruelties in other portions of its domain. your opportunities of observing the workings of this accursed system have been singularly great. your experiences in the field, in the house, and especially on the river in the service of the slave-trader, walker, have been such as few individuals have had;--no one, certainly, who has been competent to describe them. what i have admired, and marvelled at, in your narrative, is the simplicity and calmness with which you describe scenes and actions which might well "move the very stones to rise and mutiny" against the national institution which makes them possible. you will perceive that i have made very sparing use of your flattering permission to alter what you had written. to correct a few errors, which appeared to be merely clerical ones, committed in the hurry of composition under unfavorable circumstances, and to suggest a few curtailments, is all that i have ventured to do. i should be a bold man, as well as a vain one, if i should attempt to improve your descriptions of what you have seen and suffered. some of the scenes are not unworthy of de foe himself. i trust and believe that your narrative will have a wide circulation. i am sure it deserves it. at least, a man must be differently constituted from me, who can rise from the perusal of your narrative without feeling that he understands slavery better, and hates it worse, than he ever did before. i am, very faithfully and respectfully, your friend, edmund quincy. preface. the friends of freedom may well congratulate each other on the appearance of the following narrative. it adds another volume to the rapidly increasing anti-slavery literature of the age. it has been remarked by a close observer of human nature, "let me make the songs of a nation, and i care not who makes its laws;" and it may with equal truth be said, that, among a reading people like our own, their books will at least give character to their laws. it is an influence which goes forth noiselessly upon its mission, but fails not to find its way to many a warm heart, to kindle on the altar thereof the fires of freedom, which will one day break forth in a living flame to consume oppression. this little book is a voice from the prison-house, unfolding the deeds of darkness which are there perpetrated. our cause has received efficient aid from this source. the names of those who have come from thence, and battled manfully for the right, need not to be recorded here. the works of some of them are an enduring monument of praise, and their perpetual record shall be found in the grateful hearts of the redeemed bondman. few persons have had greater facilities for becoming acquainted with slavery, in all its horrible aspects, than william w. brown. he has been behind the curtain. he has visited its secret chambers. its iron has entered his own soul. the dearest ties of nature have been riven in his own person. a mother has been cruelly scourged before his own eyes. a father--alas! slaves have no father. a brother has been made the subject of its tender mercies. a sister has been given up to the irresponsible control of the pale-faced oppressor. this nation looks on approvingly. the american union sanctions the deed. the constitution shields the criminals. american religion sanctifies the crime. but the tide is turning. already, a mighty under-current is sweeping onward. the voice of warning, of remonstrance, of rebuke, of entreaty, has gone forth. hand is linked in hand, and heart mingles with heart, in this great work of the slave's deliverance. the convulsive throes of the monster, even now, give evidence of deep wounds. the writer of this narrative was hired by his master to a "_soul-driver_," and has witnessed all the horrors of the traffic, from the buying up of human cattle in the slave-breeding states, which produced a constant scene of separating the victims from all those whom they loved, to their final sale in the southern market, to be worked up in seven years, or given over to minister to the lust of southern _christians_. many harrowing scenes are graphically portrayed; and yet with that simplicity and ingenuousness which carries with it a conviction of the truthfulness of the picture. this book will do much to unmask those who have "clothed themselves in the livery of the court of heaven" to cover up the enormity of their deeds. during the past three years, the author has devoted his entire energies to the anti-slavery cause. laboring under all the disabilities and disadvantages growing out of his education in slavery--subjected, as he had been from his birth, to all the wrongs and deprivations incident to his condition--he yet went forth, impelled to the work by a love of liberty--stimulated by the remembrance of his own sufferings--urged on by the consideration that a mother, brothers, and sister, were still grinding in the prison-house of bondage, in common with three millions of our father's children--sustained by an unfaltering faith in the omnipotence of truth and the final triumph of justice--to plead the cause of the slave; and by the eloquence of earnestness carried conviction to many minds, and enlisted the sympathy and secured the coöperation of many to the cause. his labors have been chiefly confined to western new york, where he has secured many warm friends, by his untiring zeal, persevering energy, continued fidelity, and universal kindness. reader, are you an abolitionist? what have you done for the slave? what are you doing in his behalf? what do you purpose to do? there is a great work before us! who will be an idler now? this is the great humanitary movement of the age, swallowing up, for the time being, all other questions, comparatively speaking. the course of human events, in obedience to the unchangeable laws of our being, is fast hastening the final crisis, and "have ye chosen, o my people, on whose party ye shall stand, ere the doom from its worn sandal shakes the dust against our land?" are you a christian? this is the carrying out of practical christianity; and there is no other. christianity is _practical_ in its very nature and essence. it is a life, springing out of a soul imbued with its spirit. are you a friend of the missionary cause? this is the greatest missionary enterprise of the day. three millions of _christian_, law-manufactured heathen are longing for the glad tidings of the gospel of freedom. are you a friend of the bible? come, then, and help us to restore to these millions, whose eyes have been bored out by slavery, their sight, that they may see to read the bible. do you love god whom you have not seen? then manifest that love, by restoring to your brother whom you have seen his rightful inheritance, of which he has been so long and so cruelly deprived. it is not for a single generation alone, numbering three millions--sublime as would be that effort--that we are working. it is for humanity, the wide world over, not only now, but for all coming time, and all future generations:-- "for he who settles freedom's principles, writes the death-warrant of all tyranny." it is a vast work--a glorious enterprise--worthy the unswerving devotion of the entire life-time of the great and the good. slaveholding and slaveholders must be rendered disreputable and odious. they must be stripped of their respectability and christian reputation. they must be treated as "men-stealers--guilty of the highest kind of theft, and sinners of the first rank." their more guilty accomplices in the persons of _northern apologists_, both in church and state, must be placed in the same category. honest men must be made to look upon their crimes with the same abhorrence and loathing with which they regard the less guilty robber and assassin, until "the common damned shun their society, and look upon themselves as fiends less foul." when a just estimate is placed upon the crime of slave-holding, the work will have been accomplished, and the glorious day ushered in-- "when man nor woman in all our wide domain, shall buy, or sell, or hold, or be a slave." j. c. hathaway. _farmington, n. y., ._ [illustration: the author caught by the bloodhounds. (see p. .)] narrative. chapter i. i was born in lexington, ky. the man who stole me as soon as i was born, recorded the births of all the infants which he claimed to be born his property, in a book which he kept for that purpose. my mother's name was elizabeth. she had seven children, viz.: solomon, leander, benjamin, joseph, millford, elizabeth, and myself. no two of us were children of the same father. my father's name, as i learned from my mother, was george higgins. he was a white man, a relative of my master, and connected with some of the first families in kentucky. my master owned about forty slaves, twenty-five of whom were field hands. he removed from kentucky to missouri when i was quite young, and settled thirty or forty miles above st. charles, on the missouri, where, in addition to his practice as a physician, he carried on milling, merchandizing and farming. he had a large farm, the principal productions of which were tobacco and hemp. the slave cabins were situated on the back part of the farm, with the house of the overseer, whose name was grove cook, in their midst. he had the entire charge of the farm, and having no family, was allowed a woman to keep house for him, whose business it was to deal out the provisions for the hands. a woman was also kept at the quarters to do the cooking for the field hands, who were summoned to their unrequited toil every morning at four o'clock, by the ringing of a bell, hung on a post near the house of the overseer. they were allowed half an hour to eat their breakfast, and get to the field. at half past four a horn was blown by the overseer, which was the signal to commence work; and every one that was not on the spot at the time, had to receive ten lashes from the negro-whip, with which the overseer always went armed. the handle was about three feet long, with the butt-end filled with lead, and the lash, six or seven feet in length, made of cow-hide, with platted wire on the end of it. this whip was put in requisition very frequently and freely, and a small offence on the part of a slave furnished an occasion for its use. during the time that mr. cook was overseer, i was a house servant--a situation preferable to that of a field hand, as i was better fed, better clothed, and not obliged to rise at the ringing of the bell, but about half an hour after. i have often laid and heard the crack of the whip, and the screams of the slave. my mother was a field hand, and one morning was ten or fifteen minutes behind the others in getting into the field. as soon as she reached the spot where they were at work, the overseer commenced whipping her. she cried, "oh! pray--oh! pray--oh! pray"--these are generally the words of slaves, when imploring mercy at the hands of their oppressors. i heard her voice, and knew it, and jumped out of my bunk, and went to the door. though the field was some distance from the house, i could hear every crack of the whip, and every groan and cry of my poor mother. i remained at the door, not daring to venture any further. the cold chills ran over me, and i wept aloud. after giving her ten lashes, the sound of the whip ceased, and i returned to my bed, and found no consolation but in my tears. experience has taught me that nothing can be more heart-rending than for one to see a dear and beloved mother or sister tortured, and to hear their cries, and not be able to render them assistance. but such is the position which an american slave occupies. my master, being a politician, soon found those who were ready to put him into office, for the favors he could render them; and a few years after his arrival in missouri he was elected to a seat in the legislature. in his absence from home everything was left in charge of mr. cook, the overseer, and he soon became more tyrannical and cruel. among the slaves on the plantation was one by the name of randall. he was a man about six feet high, and well-proportioned, and known as a man of great strength and power. he was considered the most valuable and able-bodied slave on the plantation; but no matter how good or useful a slave may be, he seldom escapes the lash. but it was not so with randall. he had been on the plantation since my earliest recollection, and i had never known of his being flogged. no thanks were due to the master or overseer for this. i have often heard him declare that no white man should ever whip him--that he would die first. cook, from the time that he came upon the plantation, had frequently declared that he could and would flog any nigger that was put into the field to work under him. my master had repeatedly told him not to attempt to whip randall, but he was determined to try it. as soon as he was left sole dictator, he thought the time had come to put his threats into execution. he soon began to find fault with randall, and threatened to whip him if he did not do better. one day he gave him a very hard task--more than he could possibly do; and at night, the task not being performed, he told randall that he should remember him the next morning. on the following morning, after the hands had taken breakfast, cook called out to randall, and told him that he intended to whip him, and ordered him to cross his hands and be tied. randall asked why he wished to whip him. he answered, because he had not finished his task the day before. randall said that the task was too great, or he should have done it. cook said it made no difference--he should whip him. randall stood silent for a moment, and then said, "mr. cook, i have always tried to please you since you have been on the plantation, and i find you are determined not to be satisfied with my work, let me do as well as i may. no man has laid hands on me, to whip me, for the last ten years, and i have long since come to the conclusion not to be whipped by any man living." cook, finding by randall's determined look and gestures, that he would resist, called three of the hands from their work, and commanded them to seize randall, and tie him. the hands stood still;--they knew randall--and they also knew him to be a powerful man, and were afraid to grapple with him. as soon as cook had ordered the men to seize him, randall turned to them, and said--"boys, you all know me; you know that i can handle any three of you, and the man that lays hands on me shall die. this white man can't whip me himself, and therefore he has called you to help him." the overseer was unable to prevail upon them to seize and secure randall, and finally ordered them all to go to their work together. nothing was said to randall by the overseer for more than a week. one morning, however, while the hands were at work in the field, he came into it, accompanied by three friends of his, thompson, woodbridge and jones. they came up to where randall was at work, and cook ordered him to leave his work, and go with them to the barn. he refused to go; whereupon he was attacked by the overseer and his companions, when he turned upon them, and laid them, one after another, prostrate on the ground. woodbridge drew out his pistol, and fired at him, and brought him to the ground by a pistol ball. the others rushed upon him with their clubs, and beat him over the head and face, until they succeeded in tying him. he was then taken to the barn, and tied to a beam. cook gave him over one hundred lashes with a heavy cow-hide, had him washed with salt and water, and left him tied during the day. the next day he was untied, and taken to a blacksmith's shop, and had a ball and chain attached to his leg. he was compelled to labor in the field, and perform the same amount of work that the other hands did. when his master returned home, he was much pleased to find that randall had been subdued in his absence. chapter ii. soon afterwards, my master removed to the city of st. louis, and purchased a farm four miles from there, which he placed under the charge of an overseer by the name of friend haskell. he was a regular yankee from new england. the yankees are noted for making the most cruel overseers. my mother was hired out in the city, and i was also hired out there to major freeland, who kept a public house. he was formerly from virginia, and was a horse-racer, cock-fighter, gambler, and withal an inveterate drunkard. there were ten or twelve servants in the house, and when he was present, it was cut and slash--knock down and drag out. in his fits of anger, he would take up a chair, and throw it at a servant; and in his more rational moments, when he wished to chastise one, he would tie them up in the smoke-house, and whip them; after which, he would cause a fire to be made of tobacco stems, and smoke them. this he called "_virginia play_." i complained to my master of the treatment which i received from major freeland; but it made no difference. he cared nothing about it, so long as he received the money for my labor. after living with major freeland five or six months, i ran away, and went into the woods back of the city; and when night came on, i made my way to my master's farm, but was afraid to be seen, knowing that if mr. haskell, the overseer, should discover me, i should be again carried back to major freeland; so i kept in the woods. one day, while in the woods, i heard the barking and howling of dogs, and in a short time they came so near that i knew them to be the bloodhounds of major benjamin o'fallon. he kept five or six, to hunt runaway slaves with. as soon as i was convinced that it was them, i knew there was no chance of escape. i took refuge in the top of a tree, and the hounds were soon at its base, and there remained until the hunters came up in a half or three quarters of an hour afterwards. there were two men with the dogs, who, as soon as they came up, ordered me to descend. i came down, was tied, and taken to st. louis jail. major freeland soon made his appearance, and took me out, and ordered me to follow him, which i did. after we returned home. i was tied up in the smoke-house, and was very severely whipped. after the major had flogged me to his satisfaction, he sent out his son robert, a young man eighteen or twenty years of age, to see that i was well smoked. he made a fire of tobacco stems, which soon set me to coughing and sneezing. this, robert told me, was the way his father used to do to his slaves in virginia. after giving me what they conceived to be a decent smoking, i was untied and again set to work. robert freeland was a "chip of the old block." though quite young, it was not unfrequently that he came home in a state of intoxication. he is now, i believe, a popular commander of a steamboat on the mississippi river. major freeland soon after failed in business, and i was put on board the steamboat missouri, which plied between st. louis and galena. the commander of the boat was william b. culver. i remained on her during the sailing season, which was the most pleasant time for me that i had ever experienced. at the close of navigation i was hired to mr. john colburn, keeper of the missouri hotel. he was from one of the free states; but a more inveterate hater of the negro i do not believe ever walked god's green earth. this hotel was at that time one of the largest in the city, and there were employed in it twenty or thirty servants, mostly slaves. mr. colburn was very abusive, not only to the servants, but to his wife also, who was an excellent woman, and one from whom i never knew a servant to receive a harsh word; but never did i know a kind one to a servant from her husband. among the slaves employed in the hotel was one by the name of aaron, who belonged to mr. john f. darby, a lawyer. aaron was the knife-cleaner. one day, one of the knives was put on the table, not as clean as it might have been. mr. colburn, for this offence, tied aaron up in the wood-house, and gave him over fifty lashes on the bare back with a cow-hide, after which, he made me wash him down with rum. this seemed to put him into more agony than the whipping. after being untied he went home to his master, and complained of the treatment which he had received. mr. darby would give no heed to anything he had to say, but sent him directly back. colburn, learning that he had been to his master with complaints, tied him up again, and gave him a more severe whipping than before. the poor fellow's back was literally cut to pieces; so much so, that he was not able to work for ten or twelve days. there was, also, among the servants, a girl whose master resided in the country. her name was patsey. mr. colburn tied her up one evening, and whipped her until several of the boarders came out and begged him to desist. the reason for whipping her was this. she was engaged to be married to a man belonging to major william christy, who resided four or five miles north of the city. mr. colburn had forbid her to see john christy. the reason of this was said to be the regard which he himself had for patsey. she went to meeting that evening, and john returned home with her. mr. colburn had intended to flog john, if he came within the inclosure; but john knew too well the temper of his rival, and kept at a safe distance:--so he took vengeance on the poor girl. if all the slave-drivers had been called together, i do not think a more cruel man than john colburn--and he too a northern man--could have been found among them. while living at the missouri hotel, a circumstance occurred which caused me great unhappiness. my master sold my mother, and all her children, except myself. they were sold to different persons in the city of st. louis. chapter iii. i was soon after taken from mr. colburn's, and hired to elijah p. lovejoy, who was at that time publisher and editor of the "st. louis times." my work, while with him, was mainly in the printing office, waiting on the hands, working the press, &c. mr. lovejoy was a very good man, and decidedly the best master that i had ever had. i am chiefly indebted to him, and to my employment in the printing office, for what little learning i obtained while in slavery. though slavery is thought, by some, to be mild in missouri, when compared with the cotton, sugar and rice growing states, yet no part of our slave-holding country is more noted for the barbarity of its inhabitants than st. louis. it was here that col. harney, a united states officer, whipped a slave woman to death. it was here that francis mcintosh, a free colored man from pittsburg, was taken from the steamboat flora and burned at the stake. during a residence of eight years in this city, numerous cases of extreme cruelty came under my own observation;--to record them all would occupy more space than could possibly be allowed in this little volume. i shall, therefore, give but a few more in addition to what i have already related. capt. j. b. brant, who resided near my master, had a slave named john. he was his body servant, carriage driver, &c. on one occasion, while driving his master through the city--the streets being very muddy, and the horses going at a rapid rate--some mud spattered upon a gentleman by the name of robert more. more was determined to be revenged. some three or four months after this occurrence, he purchased john, for the express purpose, as he said, "to tame the d----d nigger." after the purchase he took him to a blacksmith's shop, and had a ball and chain fastened to his leg, and then put him to driving a yoke of oxen, and kept him at hard labor, until the iron around his leg was so worn into the flesh, that it was thought mortification would ensue. in addition to this, john told me that his master whipped him regularly three times a week for the first two months:--and all this to "_tame him_." a more noble-looking man than he was not to be found in all st. louis, before he fell into the hands of more; and a more degraded and spirit-crushed looking being was never seen on a southern plantation, after he had been subjected to this "_taming_" process for three months. the last time that i saw him, he had nearly lost the entire use of his limbs. while living with mr. lovejoy, i was often sent on errands to the office of the "missouri republican," published by mr. edward charless. once, while returning to the office with type, i was attacked by several large boys, sons of slave-holders, who pelted me with snow-balls. having the heavy form of type in my hands, i could not make my escape by running; so i laid down the type and gave them battle. they gathered around me, pelting me with stones and sticks, until they overpowered me, and would have captured me, if i had not resorted to my heels. upon my retreat they took possession of the type; and what to do to regain it i could not devise. knowing mr. lovejoy to be a very humane man, i went to the office and laid the case before him. he told me to remain in the office. he took one of the apprentices with him and went after the type, and soon returned with it; but on his return informed me that samuel mckinney had told him he would whip me, because i had hurt his boy. soon after, mckinney was seen making his way to the office by one of the printers, who informed me of the fact, and i made my escape through the back door. mckinney not being able to find me on his arrival, left the office in a great rage, swearing that he would whip me to death. a few days after, as i was walking along main street, he seized me by the collar, and struck me over the head five or six times with a large cane, which caused the blood to gush from my nose and ears in such a manner that my clothes were completely saturated with blood. after beating me to his satisfaction he let me go, and i returned to the office so weak from the loss of blood that mr. lovejoy sent me home to my master. it was five weeks before i was able to walk again. during this time it was necessary to have some one to supply my place at the office, and i lost the situation. after my recovery, i was hired to capt. otis reynolds, as a waiter on board the steamboat enterprise, owned by messrs. john and edward walsh, commission merchants at st. louis. this boat was then running on the upper mississippi. my employment on board was to wait on gentlemen, and the captain being a good man, the situation was a pleasant one to me;--but in passing from place to place, and seeing new faces every day, and knowing that they could go where they pleased, i soon became unhappy, and several times thought of leaving the boat at some landing-place, and trying to make my escape to canada, which i had heard much about as a place where the slave might live, be free, and be protected. but whenever such thoughts would come into my mind, my resolution would soon be shaken by the remembrance that my dear mother was a slave in st. louis, and i could not bear the idea of leaving her in that condition. she had often taken me upon her knee, and told me how she had carried me upon her back to the field when i was an infant--how often she had been whipped for leaving her work to nurse me--and how happy i would appear when she would take me into her arms. when these thoughts came over me, i would resolve never to leave the land of slavery without my mother. i thought that to leave her in slavery, after she had undergone and suffered, so much for me, would be proving recreant to the duty which i owed to her. besides this, i had three brothers and a sister there--two of my brothers having died. my mother, my brothers joseph and millford, and my sister elizabeth, belonged to mr. isaac mansfield, formerly from one of the free states, (massachusetts, i believe.) he was a tinner by trade, and carried on a large manufacturing establishment. of all my relatives, mother was first, and sister next. one evening, while visiting them, i made some allusion to a proposed journey to canada, and sister took her seat by my side, and taking my hand in hers, said, with tears in her eyes-- "brother, you are not going to leave mother and your dear sister here without a friend, are you?" i looked into her face, as the tears coursed swiftly down her cheeks, and bursting into tears myself, said-- "no, i will never desert you and mother!" she clasped my hand in hers, and said-- "brother, you have often declared that you would not end your days in slavery. i see no possible way in which you can escape with us; and now, brother, you are on a steamboat where there is some chance for you to escape to a land of liberty. i beseech you not to let us hinder you. if we cannot get our liberty, we do not wish to be the means of keeping you from a land of freedom." i could restrain my feelings no longer, and an outburst of my own feelings caused her to cease speaking upon that subject. in opposition to their wishes, i pledged myself not to leave them in the hand of the oppressor. i took leave of them, and returned to the boat, and laid down in my bunk; but "sleep departed from mine eyes, and slumber from mine eyelids." a few weeks after, on our downward passage, the boat took on board, at hannibal, a drove of slaves, bound for the new orleans market. they numbered from fifty to sixty, consisting of men and women from eighteen to forty years of age. a drove of slaves on a southern steamboat, bound for the cotton or sugar regions, is an occurrence so common, that no one, not even the passengers, appear to notice it, though they clank their chains at every step. there was, however, one in this gang that attracted the attention of the passengers and crew. it was a beautiful girl, apparently about twenty years of age, perfectly white, with straight light hair and blue eyes. but it was not the whiteness of her skin that created such a sensation among those who gazed upon her--it was her almost unparalleled beauty. she had been on the boat but a short time, before the attention of all the passengers, including the ladies, had been called to her, and the common topic of conversation was about the beautiful slave-girl. she was not in chains. the man who claimed this article of human merchandise was a mr. walker--a well known slave-trader, residing in st. louis. there was a general anxiety among the passengers and crew to learn the history of the girl. her master kept close by her side, and it would have been considered impudent for any of the passengers to have spoken to her, and the crew were not allowed to have any conversation with them. when we reached st. louis, the slaves were removed to a boat bound for new orleans, and the history of the beautiful slave-girl remained a mystery. i remained on the boat during the season, and it was not an unfrequent occurrence to have on board gangs of slaves on their way to the cotton, sugar and rice plantations of the south. toward the latter part of the summer captain reynolds left the boat, and i was sent home. i was then placed on the farm, under mr. haskell, the overseer. as i had been some time out of the field, and not accustomed to work in the burning sun, it was very hard; but i was compelled to keep up with the best of the hands. i found a great difference between the work in a steamboat cabin and that in a corn-field. my master, who was then living in the city, soon after removed to the farm, when i was taken out of the field to work in the house as a waiter. though his wife was very peevish, and hard to please, i much preferred to be under her control than the overseer's. they brought with them mr. sloane, a presbyterian minister; miss martha tulley, a niece of theirs from kentucky; and their nephew william. the latter had been in the family a number of years, but the others were all newcomers. mr. sloane was a young minister, who had been at the south but a short time, and it seemed as if his whole aim was to please the slaveholders, especially my master and mistress. he was intending to make a visit during the winter, and he not only tried to please them, but i think he succeeded admirably. when they wanted singing, he sung; when they wanted praying, he prayed; when they wanted a story told, he told a story. instead of his teaching my master theology, my master taught theology to him. while i was with captain reynolds my master "got religion," and new laws were made on the plantation. formerly we had the privilege of hunting, fishing, making splint brooms, baskets, &c., on sunday; but this was all stopped. every sunday we were all compelled to attend meeting. master was so religious that he induced some others to join him in hiring a preacher to preach to the slaves. chapter iv. my master had family worship, night and morning. at night the slaves were called in to attend; but in the mornings they had to be at their work, and master did all the praying. my master and mistress were great lovers of mint julep, and every morning, a pitcher-full was made, of which they all partook freely, not excepting little master william. after drinking freely all round, they would have family worship, and then breakfast. i cannot say but i loved the julep as well as any of them, and during prayer was always careful to seat myself close to the table where it stood, so as to help myself when they were all busily engaged in their devotions. by the time prayer was over, i was about as happy as any of them. a sad accident happened one morning. in helping myself, and at the same time keeping an eye on my old mistress, i accidentally let the pitcher fall upon the floor, breaking it in pieces, and spilling the contents. this was a bad affair for me; for as soon as prayer was over, i was taken and severely chastised. my master's family consisted of himself, his wife, and their nephew, william moore. he was taken into the family when only a few weeks of age. his name being that of my own, mine was changed for the purpose of giving precedence to his, though i was his senior by ten or twelve years. the plantation being four miles from the city, i had to drive the family to church. i always dreaded the approach of the sabbath; for, during service, i was obliged to stand by the horses in the hot, broiling sun, or in the rain, just as it happened. one sabbath, as we were driving past the house of d. d. page, a gentleman who owned a large baking establishment, as i was sitting upon the box of the carriage, which was very much elevated, i saw mr. page pursuing a slave around the yard with a long whip, cutting him at every jump. the man soon escaped from the yard, and was followed by mr. page. they came running past us, and the slave, perceiving that he would be overtaken, stopped suddenly, and page stumbled over him, and falling on the stone pavement, fractured one of his legs, which crippled him for life. the same gentleman, but a short time previous, tied up a woman of his, by the name of delphia, and whipped her nearly to death; yet he was a deacon in the baptist church, in good and regular standing. poor delphia! i was well acquainted with her, and called to see her while upon her sick bed; and i shall never forget her appearance. she was a member of the same church with her master. soon after this, i was hired out to mr. walker, the same man whom i have mentioned as having carried a gang of slaves down the river on the steamboat enterprise. seeing me in the capacity of a steward on the boat, and thinking that i would make a good hand to take care of slaves, he determined to have me for that purpose; and finding that my master would not sell me, he hired me for the term of one year. when i learned the fact of my having been hired to a negro speculator, or a "soul driver," as they are generally called among slaves, no one can tell my emotions. mr. walker had offered a high price for me, as i afterwards learned, but i suppose my master was restrained from selling me by the fact that i was a near relative of his. on entering the service of mr. walker, i found that my opportunity of getting to a land of liberty was gone, at least for the time being. he had a gang of slaves in readiness to start for new orleans, and in a few days we were on our journey. i am at a loss for language to express my feelings on that occasion. although my master had told me that he had not sold me, and mr. walker had told me that he had not purchased me, i did not believe them; and not until i had been to new orleans, and was on my return, did i believe that i was not sold. there was on the boat a large room on the lower deck, in which the slaves were kept, men and women, promiscuously--all chained two and two, and a strict watch kept that they did not get loose; for cases have occurred in which slaves have got off their chains, and made their escape at landing-places, while the boats were taking in wood;--and with all our care, we lost one woman who had been taken from her husband and children, and having no desire to live without them, in the agony of her soul jumped overboard, and drowned herself. she was not chained. it was almost impossible to keep that part of the boat clean. on landing at natchez, the slaves were all carried to the slave-pen, and there kept one week, during which time several of them were sold. mr. walker fed his slaves well. we took on board at st. louis several hundred pounds of bacon (smoked meat) and corn-meal, and his slaves were better fed than slaves generally were in natchez, so far as my observation extended. at the end of a week, we left for new orleans, the place of our final destination, which we reached in two days. here the slaves were placed in a negro-pen, where those who wished to purchase could call and examine them. the negro-pen is a small yard, surrounded by buildings, from fifteen to twenty feet wide, with the exception of a large gate with iron bars. the slaves are kept in the buildings during the night, and turned out into the yard during the day. after the best of the stock was sold at private sale at the pen, the balance were taken to the exchange coffee-house auction rooms, kept by isaac l. mccoy, and sold at public auction. after the sale of this lot of slaves, we left new orleans for st. louis. chapter v. on our arrival at st. louis i went to dr. young, and told him that i did not wish to live with mr. walker any longer. i was heart-sick at seeing my fellow-creatures bought and sold. but the dr. had hired me for the year, and stay i must. mr. walker again commenced purchasing another gang of slaves. he bought a man of colonel john o'fallon, who resided in the suburbs of the city. this man had a wife and three children. as soon as the purchase was made, he was put in jail for safe keeping, until we should be ready to start for new orleans. his wife visited him while there, several times, and several times when she went for that purpose was refused admittance. in the course of eight or nine weeks mr. walker had his cargo of human flesh made up. there was in this lot a number of old men and women, some of them with gray locks. we left st. louis in the steamboat carlton, captain swan, bound for new orleans. on our way down, and before we reached rodney, the place where we made our first stop, i had to prepare the old slaves for market. i was ordered to have the old men's whiskers shaved off, and the grey hairs plucked out where they were not too numerous, in which case he had a preparation of blacking to color it, and with a blacking brush we would put it on. this was new business to me, and was performed in a room where the passengers could not see us. these slaves were also taught how old they were by mr. walker, and after going through the blacking process they looked ten or fifteen years younger; and i am sure that some of those who purchased slaves of mr. walker were dreadfully cheated, especially in the ages of the slaves which they bought. we landed at rodney, and the slaves were driven to the pen in the back part of the village. several were sold at this place, during our stay of four or five days, when we proceeded to natchez. there we landed at night, and the gang were put in the warehouse until morning, when they were driven to the pen. as soon as the slaves are put in these pens, swarms of planters may be seen in and about them. they knew when walker was expected, as he always had the time advertised beforehand when he would be in rodney, natchez, and new orleans. these were the principal places where he offered his slaves for sale. when at natchez the second time, i saw a slave very cruelly whipped. he belonged to a mr. broadwell, a merchant who kept a store on the wharf. the slave's name was lewis. i had known him several years, as he was formerly from st. louis. we were expecting a steamboat down the river, in which we were to take passage for new orleans. mr. walker sent me to the landing to watch for the boat, ordering me to inform him on its arrival. while there i went into the store to see lewis. i saw a slave in the store, and asked him where lewis was. said he, "they have got lewis hanging between the heavens and the earth." i asked him what he meant by that. he told me to go into the warehouse and see. i went in, and found lewis there. he was tied up to a beam, with his toes just touching the floor. as there was no one in the warehouse but himself, i inquired the reason of his being in that situation. he said mr. broadwell had sold his wife to a planter six miles from the city, and that he had been to visit her--that he went in the night, expecting to return before daylight, and went without his master's permission. the patrol had taken him up before he reached his wife. he was put in jail, and his master had to pay for his catching and keeping, and that was what he was tied up for. just as he finished his story, mr. broadwell came in, and inquired what i was doing there. i knew not what to say, and while i was thinking what reply to make he struck me over the head with the cowhide, the end of which struck me over my right eye, sinking deep into the flesh, leaving a scar which i carry to this day. before i visited lewis he had received fifty lashes. mr. broadwell gave him fifty lashes more after i came out, as i was afterwards informed by lewis himself. the next day we proceeded to new orleans, and put the gang in the same negro-pen which we occupied before. in a short time the planters came flocking to the pen to purchase slaves. before the slaves were exhibited for sale, they were dressed and driven out into the yard. some were set to dancing, some to jumping, some to singing, and some to playing cards. this was done to make them appear cheerful and happy. my business was to see that they were placed in those situations before the arrival of the purchasers, and i have often set them to dancing when their cheeks were wet with tears. as slaves were in good demand at that time, they were all soon disposed of, and we again set out for st. louis. on our arrival, mr. walker purchased a farm five or six miles from the city. he had no family, but made a housekeeper of one of his female slaves. poor cynthia! i knew her well. she was a quadroon, and one of the most beautiful women i ever saw. she was a native of st. louis, and bore an irreproachable character for virtue and propriety of conduct. mr. walker bought her for the new orleans market, and took her down with him on one of the trips that i made with him. never shall i forget the circumstances of that voyage! on the first night that we were on board the steamboat, he directed me to put her into a state-room he had provided for her, apart from the other slaves. i had seen too much of the workings of slavery not to know what this meant. i accordingly watched him into the state-room, and listened to hear what passed between them. i heard him make his base offers, and her reject them. he told her that if she would accept his vile proposals, he would take her back with him to st. louis, and establish her as his housekeeper on his farm. but if she persisted in rejecting them, he would sell her as a field hand on the worst plantation on the river. neither threats nor bribes prevailed, however, and he retired, disappointed of his prey. the next morning poor cynthia told me what had passed, and bewailed her sad fate with floods of tears. i comforted and encouraged her all i could; but i foresaw but too well what the result must be. without entering into any further particulars, suffice it to say that walker performed his part of the contract at that time. he took her back to st. louis, established her as his mistress and housekeeper at his farm, and before i left, he had two children by her. but, mark the end! since i have been at the north, i have been credibly informed that walker has been married, and, as a previous measure, sold poor cynthia and her four children (she having had two more since i came away) into hopeless bondage! he soon commenced purchasing to make up the third gang. we took steamboat, and went to jefferson city, a town on the missouri river. here we landed, and took stage for the interior of the state. he bought a number of slaves as he passed the different farms and villages. after getting twenty-two or twenty-three men and women, we arrived at st. charles, a village on the banks of the missouri. here he purchased a woman who had a child in her arms, appearing to be four or five weeks old. we had been travelling by land for some days, and were in hopes to have found a boat at this place for st. louis, but were disappointed. as no boat was expected for some days, we started for st. louis by land. mr. walker had purchased two horses. he rode one, and i the other. the slaves were chained together, and we took up our line of march, mr. walker taking the lead, and i bringing up the rear. though the distance was not more than twenty miles, we did not reach it the first day. the road was worse than any that i have ever travelled. [illustration: the slave-trader walker and the author driving a gang of slaves to the southern market.] soon after we left st. charles the young child grew very cross, and kept up a noise during the greater part of the day. mr. walker complained of its crying several times, and told the mother to stop the child's d----d noise, or he would. the woman tried to keep the child from crying, but could not. we put up at night with an acquaintance of mr. walker, and in the morning, just as we were about to start, the child again commenced crying. walker stepped up to her, and told her to give the child to him. the mother tremblingly obeyed. he took the child by one arm, as you would a cat by the leg, walked into the house, and said to the lady, "madam, i will make you a present of this little nigger; it keeps such a noise that i can't bear it." "thank you, sir," said the lady. the mother, as soon as she saw that her child was to be left, ran up to mr. walker, and falling upon her knees, begged him to let her have her child; she clung around his legs, and cried, "oh, my child! my child! master, do let me have my child! oh, do, do, do! i will stop its crying if you will only let me have it again. "when i saw this woman crying for her child so piteously, a shudder--a feeling akin to horror--shot through my frame. i have often since in imagination heard her crying for her child:-- "o, master, let me stay to catch my baby's sobbing breath, his little glassy eye to watch, and smooth his limbs in death, and cover him with grass and leaf, beneath the large oak tree: it is not sullenness, but grief-- o, master, pity me! the morn was chill--i spoke no word, but feared my babe might die, and heard all day, or thought i heard, my little baby cry. at noon, oh, how i ran and took my baby to my breast! i lingered--and the long lash broke my sleeping infant's rest. i worked till night--till darkest night, in torture and disgrace; went home and watched till morning light, to see my baby's face. then give me but one little hour-- o! do not lash me so! one little hour--one little hour-- and gratefully i'll go." mr. walker commanded her to return into the ranks with the other slaves. women who had children were not chained, but those that had none were. as soon as her child was disposed of she was chained in the gang. the following song i have often heard the slaves sing, when about to be carried to the far south. it is said to have been composed by a slave. "see these poor souls from africa transported to america; we are stolen, and sold to georgia-- will you go along with me? we are stolen, and sold to georgia-- come sound the jubilee! see wives and husbands sold apart, their children's screams will break my heart;-- there's a better day a coming-- will you go along with me? there's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee! o, gracious lord! when shall it be, that we poor souls shall all be free? lord, break them slavery powers-- will you go along with me? lord, break them slavery powers, go sound the jubilee! dear lord, dear lord, when slavery'll cease, then we poor souls will have our peace;-- there's a better day a coming-- will you go along with me? there's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee!" we finally arrived at mr. walker's farm. he had a house built during our absence to put slaves in. it was a kind of domestic jail. the slaves were put in the jail at night, and worked on the farm during the day. they were kept here until the gang was completed, when we again started for new orleans, on board the steamboat north america, capt. alexander scott. we had a large number of slaves in this gang. one, by the name of joe, mr. walker was training up to take my place, as my time was nearly out, and glad was i. we made our first stop at vicksburg, where we remained one week and sold several slaves. mr. walker, though not a good master, had not flogged a slave since i had been with him, though he had threatened me. the slaves were kept in the pen, and he always put up at the best hotel, and kept his wines in his room, for the accommodation of those who called to negotiate with him for the purchase of slaves. one day, while we were at vicksburg, several gentlemen came to see him for that purpose, and as usual the wine was called for. i took the tray and started around with it, and having accidentally filled some of the glasses too full, the gentlemen spilled the wine on their clothes as they went to drink. mr. walker apologized to them for my carelessness, but looked at me as though he would see me again on this subject. after the gentlemen had left the room, he asked me what i meant by my carelessness, and said that he would attend to me. the next morning he gave me a note to carry to the jailer, and a dollar in money to give to him. i suspected that all was not right, so i went down near the landing, where i met with a sailor, and, walking up to him, asked him if he would be so kind as to read the note for me. he read it over, and then looked at me. i asked him to tell me what was in it. said he, "they are going to give you hell." "why?" said i. he said, "this is a note to have you whipped, and says that you have a dollar to pay for it." he handed me back the note, and off i started. i knew not what to do, but was determined not to be whipped. i went up to the jail--took a look at it, and walked off again. as mr. walker was acquainted with the jailer, i feared that i should be found out if i did not go, and be treated in consequence of it still worse. while i was meditating on the subject, i saw a colored man about my size walk up, and the thought struck me in a moment to send him with my note. i walked up to him, and asked him who he belonged to. he said he was a free man, and had been in the city but a short time. i told him i had a note to go into the jail, and get a trunk to carry to one of the steamboats; but was so busily engaged that i could not do it, although i had a dollar to pay for it. he asked me if i would not give him the job. i handed him the note and the dollar, and off he started for the jail. i watched to see that he went in, and as soon as i saw the door close behind him, i walked around the corner, and took my station, intending to see how my friend looked when he came out. i had been there but a short time, when a colored man came around the corner, and said to another colored man with whom he was acquainted-- "they are giving a nigger scissors in the jail." "what for?" said the other. the man continued, "a nigger came into the jail, and asked for the jailer. the jailer came out, and he handed him a note, and said he wanted to get a trunk. the jailer told him to go with him, and he would give him the trunk. so he took him into the room, and told the nigger to give up the dollar. he said a man had given him the dollar to pay for getting the trunk. but that lie would not answer. so they made him strip himself, and then they tied him down, and are now whipping him." i stood by all the while listening to their talk, and soon found out that the person alluded to was my customer. i went into the street opposite the jail, and concealed myself in such a manner that i could not be seen by any one coming out. i had been there but a short time, when the young man made his appearance, and looked around for me. i, unobserved, came forth from my hiding-place, behind a pile of brick, and he pretty soon saw me, and came up to me complaining bitterly, saying that i had played a trick upon him. i denied any knowledge of what the note contained, and asked him what they had done to him. he told me in substance what i heard the man tell who had come out of the jail. "yes," said he, "they whipped me and took my dollar, and gave me this note." he showed me the note which the jailer had given him, telling him to give it to his master. i told him i would give him fifty cents for it--that being all the money i had. he gave it to me and took his money. he had received twenty lashes on his bare back, with the negro-whip. i took the note and started for the hotel where i had left mr. walker. upon reaching the hotel, i handed it to a stranger whom i had not seen before, and requested him to read it to me. as near as i can recollect, it was as follows:-- "dear sir:--by your direction, i have given your boy twenty lashes. he is a very saucy boy, and tried to make me believe that he did not belong to you, and i put it on to him well for lying to me. "i remain "your obedient servant." it is true that in most of the slave-holding cities, when a gentleman wishes his servants whipped, he can send him to the jail and have it done. before i went in where mr. walker was, i wet my cheeks a little, as though i had been crying. he looked at me, and inquired what was the matter. i told him that i had never had such a whipping in my life, and handed him the note. he looked at it and laughed;--"and so you told him that you did not belong to me?" "yes, sir," said i. "i did not know that there was any harm in that." he told me i must behave myself, if i did not want to be whipped again. this incident shows how it is that slavery makes its victims lying and mean; for which vices it afterwards reproaches them, and uses them as arguments to prove that they deserve no better fate. had i entertained the same views of right and wrong which i now do, i am sure i should never have practised the deception upon that poor fellow which i did. i know of no act committed by me while in slavery which i have regretted more than that; and i heartily desire that it may be at some time or other in my power to make him amends for his vicarious sufferings in my behalf. chapter vi. in a few days we reached new orleans, and arriving there in the night, remained on board until morning. while at new orleans this time, i saw a slave killed; an account of which has been published by theodore d. weld, in his book entitled "slavery as it is." the circumstances were as follows. in the evening, between seven and eight o'clock, a slave came running down the levee, followed by several men and boys. the whites were crying out, "stop that nigger! stop that nigger!" while the poor panting slave, in almost breathless accents, was repeating, "i did not steal the meat--i did not steal the meat." the poor man at last took refuge in the river. the whites who were in pursuit of him, run on board of one of the boats to see if they could discover him. they finally espied him under the bow of the steamboat trenton. they got a pike-pole, and tried to drive him from his hiding place. when they would strike at him he would dive under the water. the water was so cold, that it soon became evident that he must come out or be drowned. while they were trying to drive him from under the bow of the boat or drown him, he would in broken and imploring accents say, "i did not steal the meat; i did not steal the meat. my master lives up the river. i want to see my master. i did not steal the meat. do let me go home to master." after punching him, and striking him over the head for some time, he at last sunk in the water, to rise no more alive. on the end of the pike-pole with which they were striking him was a hook, which caught in his clothing, and they hauled him up on the bow of the boat. some said he was dead; others said he was "_playing possum_;" while others kicked him to make him get up; but it was of no use--he was dead. as soon as they became satisfied of this, they commenced leaving, one after another. one of the hands on the boat informed the captain that they had killed the man, and that the dead body was lying on the deck. the captain came on deck, and said to those who were remaining, "you have killed this nigger; now take him off of my boat." the captain's name was hart. the dead body was dragged on shore and left there. i went on board of the boat where our gang of slaves were, and during the whole night my mind was occupied with what i had seen. early in the morning i went on shore to see if the dead body remained there. i found it in the same position that it was left the night before. i watched to see what they would do with it. it was left there until between eight and nine o'clock, when a cart, which takes up the trash out of the streets, came along, and the body was thrown in, and in a few minutes more was covered over with dirt which they were removing from the streets. during the whole time, i did not see more than six or seven persons around it, who, from their manner, evidently regarded it as no uncommon occurrence. during our stay in the city i met with a young white man with whom i was well acquainted in st. louis. he had been sold into slavery, under the following circumstances. his father was a drunkard, and very poor, with a family of five or six children. the father died, and left the mother to take care of and provide for the children as best she might. the eldest was a boy, named burrill, about thirteen years of age, who did chores in a store kept by mr. riley, to assist his mother in procuring a living for the family. after working with him two years, mr. riley took him to new orleans to wait on him while in that city on a visit, and when he returned to st. louis, he told the mother of the boy that he had died with the yellow fever. nothing more was heard from him, no one supposing him to be alive. i was much astonished when burrill told me his story. though i sympathized with him i could not assist him. we were both slaves. he was poor, uneducated, and without friends; and, if living, is, i presume, still held as a slave. after selling out this cargo of human flesh, we returned to st. louis, and my time was up with mr. walker. i had served him one year, and it was the longest year i ever lived. chapter vii. i was sent home, and was glad enough to leave the service of one who was tearing the husband from the wife, the child from the mother, and the sister from the brother--but a trial more severe and heart-rending than any which i had yet met with awaited me. my dear sister had been sold to a man who was going to natchez, and was lying in jail awaiting the hour of his departure. she had expressed her determination to die, rather than go to the far south, and she was put in jail for safekeeping. i went to the jail the same day that i arrived, but as the jailer was not in i could not see her. i went home to my master, in the country, and the first day after my return he came where i was at work, and spoke to me very politely. i knew from his appearance that something was the matter. after talking to me about my several journeys to new orleans with mr. walker, he told me that he was hard pressed for money, and as he had sold my mother and all her children except me, he thought it would be better to sell me than any other one, and that as i had been used to living in the city, he thought it probable that i would prefer it to a country life. i raised up my head, and looked him full in the face. when my eyes caught his he immediately looked to the ground. after a short pause, i said, "master, mother has often told me that you are a near relative of mine, and i have often heard you admit the fact; and after you have hired me out, and received, as i once heard you say, nine hundred dollars for my services--after receiving this large sum, will you sell me to be carried to new orleans or some other place?" "no," said he, "i do not intend to sell you to a negro trader. if i had wished to have done that, i might have sold you to mr. walker for a large sum, but i would not sell you to a negro trader. you may go to the city, and find you a good master." "but," said i, "i cannot find a good master in the whole city of st. louis." "why?" said he. "because there are no good masters in the state." "do you not call me a good master?" "if you were you would not sell me." "now i will give you one week to find a master in, and surely you can do it in that time." the price set by my evangelical master upon my soul and body was the trifling sum of five hundred dollars. i tried to enter into some arrangement by which i might purchase my freedom; but he would enter into no such arrangement. i set out for the city with the understanding that i was to return in a week with some one to become my new master. soon after reaching the city, i went to the jail, to learn if i could once more see my sister; but could not gain admission. i then went to mother, and learned from her that the owner of my sister intended to start for natchez in a few days. i went to the jail again the next day, and mr. simonds, the keeper, allowed me to see my sister for the last time. i cannot give a just description of the scene at that parting interview. never, never can be erased from my heart the occurrences of that day! when i entered the room where she was, she was seated in one corner, alone. there were four other women in the same room, belonging to the same man. he had purchased them, he said, for his own use. she was seated with her face towards the door where i entered, yet she did not look up until i walked up to her. as soon as she observed me she sprung up, threw her arms around my neck, leaned her head upon my breast, and, without uttering a word, burst into tears. as soon as she recovered herself sufficiently to speak, she advised me to take mother, and try to get out of slavery. she said there was no hope for herself--that she must live and die a slave. after giving her some advice, and taking from my finger a ring and placing it upon hers, i bade her farewell forever, and returned to my mother, and then and there made up my mind to leave for canada as soon as possible. i had been in the city nearly two days, and as i was to be absent only a week, i thought best to get on my journey as soon as possible. in conversing with mother, i found her unwilling to make the attempt to reach a land of liberty, but she counselled me to get my liberty if i could. she said, as all her children were in slavery, she did not wish to leave them. i could not bear the idea of leaving her among those pirates, when there was a prospect of being able to get away from them. after much persuasion i succeeded in inducing her to make the attempt to get away. the time fixed for our departure was the next night. i had with me a little money that i had received, from time to time, from gentlemen for whom i had done errands. i took my scanty means and purchased some dried beef, crackers and cheese, which i carried to mother, who had provided herself with a bag to carry it in. i occasionally thought of my old master, and of my mission to the city to find a new one. i waited with the most intense anxiety for the appointed time to leave the land of slavery, in search of a land of liberty. the time at length arrived, and we left the city just as the clock struck nine. we proceeded to the upper part of the city, where i had been two or three times during the day, and selected a skiff to carry us across the river. the boat was not mine, nor did i know to whom it did belong; neither did i care. the boat was fastened with a small pole, which, with the aid of a rail, i soon loosened from its moorings. after hunting round and finding a board to use as an oar, i turned to the city, and bidding it a long farewell, pushed off my boat. the current running very swift, we had not reached the middle of the stream before we were directly opposite the city. we were soon upon the illinois shore, and, leaping from the boat, turned it adrift, and the last i saw of it it was going down the river at good speed. we took the main road to alton, and passed through just at daylight, when we made for the woods, where we remained during the day. our reason for going into the woods was, that we expected that mr. mansfield (the man who owned my mother) would start in pursuit of her as soon as he discovered that she was missing. he also knew that i had been in the city looking for a new master, and we thought probably he would go out to my masters to see if he could find my mother, and in so doing, dr. young might be led to suspect that i had gone to canada to find a purchaser. we remained in the woods during the day, and as soon as darkness overshadowed the earth, we started again on our gloomy way, having no guide but the north star. we continued to travel by night, and secrete ourselves in the woods by day; and every night, before emerging from our hiding-place, we would anxiously look for our friend and leader--the north star. and in the language of pierpont we might have exclaimed, "star of the north! while blazing day pours round me its full tide of light, and hides thy pale but faithful ray, i, too, lie hid, and long for night. for night;--i dare not walk at noon, nor dare i trust the faithless moon, nor faithless man, whose burning lust for gold hath riveted my chain; no other leader can i trust but thee, of even the starry train; for, all the host around thee burning, like faithless man, keep turning, turning. in the dark top of southern pines i nestled, when the driver's horn called to the field, in lengthening lines, my fellows, at the break of morn. and there i lay, till thy sweet face looked in upon my 'hiding place,' star of the north! thy light, that no poor slave deceiveth, shall set me free." chapter viii. as we travelled towards a land of liberty, my heart would at times leap for joy. at other times, being, as i was, almost constantly on my feet, i felt as though i could travel no further. but when i thought of slavery, with its democratic whips--its republican chains--its evangelical blood-hounds, and its religious slave-holders--when i thought of all this paraphernalia of american democracy and religion behind me, and the prospect of liberty before me, i was encouraged to press forward, my heart was strengthened, and i forgot that i was tired or hungry. on the eighth day of our journey, we had a very heavy rain, and in a few hours after it commenced we had not a dry thread upon our bodies. this made our journey still more unpleasant. on the tenth day, we found ourselves entirely destitute of provisions, and how to obtain any we could not tell. we finally resolved to stop at some farm-house, and try to get something to eat. we had no sooner determined to do this, than we went to a house, and asked them for some food. we were treated with great kindness, and they not only gave us something to eat, but gave us provisions to carry with us. they advised us to travel by day and lie by at night. finding ourselves about one hundred and fifty miles from st. louis, we concluded that it would be safe to travel by daylight, and did not leave the house until the next morning. we travelled on that day through a thickly settled country, and through one small village. though we were fleeing from a land of oppression, our hearts were still there. my dear sister and two beloved brothers were behind us, and the idea of giving them up, and leaving them forever, made us feel sad. but with all this depression of heart, the thought that i should one day be free, and call my body my own, buoyed me up, and made my heart leap for joy. i had just been telling my mother how i should try to get employment as soon as we reached canada, and how i intended to purchase us a little farm, and how i would earn money enough to buy sister and brothers, and how happy we would be in our own free home--when three men came up on horseback, and ordered us to stop. i turned to the one who appeared to be the principal man, and asked him what he wanted. he said he had a warrant to take us up. the three immediately dismounted, and one took from his pocket a handbill, advertising us as runaways, and offering a reward of two hundred dollars for our apprehension and delivery in the city of st. louis. the advertisement had been put out by isaac mansfield and john young. while they were reading the advertisement, mother looked me in the face, and burst into tears. a cold chill ran over me, and such a sensation i never experienced before, and i hope never to again. they took out a rope and tied me, and we were taken back about six miles, to the house of the individual who appeared to be the leader. we reached there about seven o'clock in the evening, had supper, and were separated for the night. two men remained in the room during the night. before the family retired to rest, they were all called together to attend prayers. the man who but a few hours before had bound my hands together with a strong cord, read a chapter from the bible, and then offered up prayer, just as though god had sanctioned the act he had just committed upon a poor, panting, fugitive slave. [illustration: the author and his mother arrested and carried back into slavery.] the next morning a blacksmith came in, and put a pair of handcuffs on me, and we started on our journey back to the land of whips, chains and bibles. mother was not tied, but was closely watched at night. we were carried back in a wagon, and after four days' travel, we came in sight of st. louis. i cannot describe my feelings upon approaching the city. as we were crossing the ferry, mr. wiggins, the owner of the ferry, came up to me, and inquired what i had been doing that i was in chains. he had not heard that i had run away. in a few minutes we were on the missouri side, and were taken directly to the jail. on the way thither, i saw several of my friends, who gave me a nod of recognition as i passed them. after reaching the jail, we were locked up in different apartments. chapter ix. i had been in jail but a short time when i heard that my master was sick, and nothing brought more joy to my heart than that intelligence. i prayed fervently for him--not for his recovery, but for his death. i knew he would be exasperated at having to pay for my apprehension, and knowing his cruelty, i feared him. while in jail, i learned that my sister elizabeth, who was in prison when we left the city, had been carried off four days before our arrival. i had been in jail but a few hours when three negro-traders, learning that i was secured thus for running away, came to my prison-house and looked at me, expecting that i would be offered for sale. mr. mansfield, the man who owned mother, came into the jail as soon as mr. jones, the man who arrested us, informed him that he had brought her back. he told her that he would not whip her, but would sell her to a negro-trader, or take her to new orleans himself. after being in jail about one week, master sent a man to take me out of jail, and send me home. i was taken out and carried home, and the old man was well enough to sit up. he had me brought into the room where he was, and as i entered, he asked me where i had been? i told him i had acted according to his orders. he had told me to look for a master, and i had been to look for one. he answered that he did not tell me to go to canada to look for a master. i told him that as i had served him faithfully, and had been the means of putting a number of hundreds of dollars into his pocket, i thought i had a right to my liberty. he said he had promised my father that i should not be sold to supply the new orleans market, or he would sell me to a negro-trader. i was ordered to go into the field to work, and was closely watched by the overseer during the day, and locked up at night. the overseer gave me a severe whipping on the second day that i was in the field. i had been at home but a short time, when master was able to ride to the city; and on his return he informed me that he had sold me to samuel willi, a merchant tailor. i knew mr. willi. i had lived with him three or four months some years before, when he hired me of my master. mr. willi was not considered by his servants as a very bad man, nor was he the best of masters. i went to my new home, and found my new mistress very glad to see me. mr. willi owned two servants before he purchased me--robert and charlotte. robert was an excellent white-washer, and hired his time from his master, paying him one dollar per day, besides taking care of himself. he was known in the city by the name of bob music. charlotte was an old woman, who attended to the cooking, washing, &c. mr. willi was not a wealthy man, and did not feel able to keep many servants around his house; so he soon decided to hire me out, and as i had been accustomed to service in steamboats, he gave me the privilege of finding such employment. i soon secured a situation on board the steamer otto, capt. j. b. hill, which sailed from st. louis to independence, missouri. my former master, dr. young, did not let mr. willi know that i had run away, or he would not have permitted me to go on board a steamboat. the boat was not quite ready to commence running, and therefore i had to remain with mr. willi. but during this time, i had to undergo a trial for which i was entirely unprepared. my mother, who had been in jail since her return until the present time, was now about being carried to new orleans, to die on a cotton, sugar, or rice plantation! i had been several times to the jail, but could obtain no interview with her. i ascertained, however, the time the boat in which she was to embark would sail, and as i had not seen mother since her being thrown into prison, i felt anxious for the hour of sailing to come. at last, the day arrived when i was to see her for the first time after our painful separation, and, for aught that i knew, for the last time in this world! at about ten o'clock in the morning i went on board of the boat, and found her there in company with fifty or sixty other slaves. she was chained to another woman. on seeing me, she immediately dropped her head upon her heaving bosom. she moved not, neither did she weep. her emotions were too deep for tears. i approached, threw my arms around her neck, kissed her, and fell upon my knees, begging her forgiveness, for i thought myself to blame for her sad condition; for if i had not persuaded her to accompany me, she would not then have been in chains. she finally raised her head, looked me in the face, (and such a look none but an angel can give!) and said, "_my dear son, you are not to blame for my being here. you have done nothing more nor less than your duty. do not, i pray you, weep for me. i cannot last long upon a cotton plantation. i feel that my heavenly master will soon call me home, and then i shall be out of the hands of the slave-holders!_" i could bear no more--my heart struggled to free itself from the human form. in a moment she saw mr. mansfield coming toward that part of the boat, and she whispered into my ear, "_my child, we must soon part to meet no more this side of the grave. you have ever said that you would not die a slave; that you would be a freeman. now try to get your liberty! you will soon have no one to look after but yourself!_" and just as she whispered the last sentence into my ear, mansfield came up to me, and with an oath, said, "leave here this instant; you have been the means of my losing one hundred dollars to get this wench back"--at the same time kicking me with a heavy pair of boots. as i left her, she gave one shriek, saying, "god be with you!" it was the last time that i saw her, and the last word i heard her utter. i walked on shore. the bell was tolling. the boat was about to start. i stood with a heavy heart, waiting to see her leave the wharf. as i thought of my mother, i could but feel that i had lost "------the glory of my life, my blessing and my pride! i half forgot the name of slave, when she was by my side." the love of liberty that had been burning in my bosom had well-nigh gone out. i felt as though i was ready to die. the boat moved gently from the wharf, and while she glided down the river, i realized that my mother was indeed "gone--gone--sold and gone, to the rice swamp, dank and lone!" after the boat was out of sight i returned home; but my thoughts were so absorbed in what i had witnessed, that i knew not what i was about half of the time. night came, but it brought no sleep to my eyes. in a few days, the boat upon which i was to work being ready, i went on board to commence. this employment suited me better than living in the city, and i remained until the close of navigation; though it proved anything but pleasant. the captain was a drunken, profligate, hardhearted creature, not knowing how to treat himself, or any other person. the boat, on its second trip, brought down mr. walker, the man of whom i have spoken in a previous chapter, as hiring my time. he had between one and two hundred slaves, chained and manacled. among them was a man that formerly belonged to my old master's brother, aaron young. his name was solomon. he was a preacher, and belonged to the same church with his master. i was glad to see the old man. he wept like a child when he told me how he had been sold from his wife and children. the boat carried down, while i remained on board, four or five gangs of slaves. missouri, though a comparatively new state, is very much engaged in raising slaves to supply the southern market. in a former chapter, i have mentioned that i was once in the employ of a slave-trader, or driver, as he is called at the south. for fear that some may think that i have misrepresented a slave-driver, i will here give an extract from a paper published in a slave-holding state, tennessee, called the "millennial trumpeter." "droves of negroes, chained together in dozens and scores, and hand-cuffed, have been driven through our country in numbers far surpassing any previous year, and these vile slave-drivers and dealers are swarming like buzzards around a carrion. through this county, you cannot pass a few miles in the great roads without having every feeling of humanity insulted and lacerated by this spectacle, nor can you go into any county or any neighborhood, scarcely, without seeing or hearing of some of these despicable creatures, called negro-drivers. "who is a negro-driver? one whose eyes dwell with delight on lacerated bodies of helpless men, women and children; whose soul feels diabolical raptures at the chains, and hand-cuffs, and cart-whips, for inflicting tortures on weeping mothers torn from helpless babes, and on husbands and wives torn asunder forever!" dark and revolting as is the picture here drawn, it is from the pen of one living in the midst of slavery. but though these men may cant about negro-drivers, and tell what despicable creatures they are, who is it, i ask, that supplies them with the human beings that they are tearing asunder? i answer, as far as i have any knowledge of the state where i came from, that those who raise slaves for the market are to be found among all classes, from thomas h. benton down to the lowest political demagogue who may be able to purchase a woman for the purpose of raising stock, and from the doctor of divinity down to the most humble lay member in the church. it was not uncommon in st. louis to pass by an auction-stand, and behold a woman upon the auction-block, and hear the seller crying out, "_how much is offered for this woman? she is a good cook, good washer, a good obedient servant. she has got religion!_" why should this man tell the purchasers that she has religion? i answer, because in missouri, and as far as i have any knowledge of slavery in the other states, the religious teaching consists in teaching the slave that he must never strike a white man; that god made him for a slave; and that, when whipped, he must not find fault--for the bible says, "he that knoweth his master's will and doeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes!" and slaveholders find such religion very profitable to them. after leaving the steamer otto, i resided at home, in mr. willi's family, and again began to lay my plans for making my escape from slavery. the anxiety to be a freeman would not let me rest day or night. i would think of the northern cities that i had heard so much about;--of canada, where so many of my acquaintances had found a refuge. i would dream at night that i was in canada, a freeman, and on waking in the morning, weep to find myself so sadly mistaken. "i would think of victoria's domain, and in a moment i seemed to be there! but the fear of being taken again, soon hurried me back to despair." mr. willi treated me better than dr. young ever had; but instead of making me contented and happy, it only rendered me the more miserable, for it enabled me better to appreciate liberty. mr. willi was a man who loved money as most men do, and without looking for an opportunity to sell me, he found one in the offer of captain enoch price, a steamboat owner and commission merchant, living in the city of st. louis. captain price tendered seven hundred dollars, which was two hundred more than mr. willi had paid. he therefore thought best to accept the offer. i was wanted for a carriage driver, and mrs. price was very much pleased with the captain's bargain. his family consisted besides of one child. he had three servants besides myself--one man and two women. mrs. price was very proud of her servants, always keeping them well dressed, and as soon as i had been purchased, she resolved to have a new carriage. and soon one was procured, and all preparations were made for a turn-out in grand style, i being the driver. one of the female servants was a girl some eighteen or twenty years of age, named maria. mrs. price was very soon determined to have us united, if she could so arrange matters. she would often urge upon me the necessity of having a wife, saying that it would be so pleasant for me to take one in the same family! but getting married, while in slavery, was the last of my thoughts; and had i been ever so inclined, i should not have married maria, as my love had already gone in another quarter. mrs. price soon found out that her efforts at this match-making between maria and myself would not prove successful. she also discovered (or thought she had) that i was rather partial to a girl named eliza, who was owned by dr. mills. this induced her at once to endeavor the purchase of eliza, so great was her desire to get me a wife! before making the attempt, however, she deemed it best to talk to me a little upon the subject of love, courtship, and marriage. accordingly, one afternoon she called me into her room--telling me to take a chair and sit down. i did so, thinking it rather strange, for servants are not very often asked thus to sit down in the same room with the master or mistress. she said that she had found out that i did not care enough about maria to marry her. i told her that was true. she then asked me if there was not a girl in the city that i loved. well, now, this was coming into too close quarters with me! people, generally, don't like to tell their love stories to everybody that may think fit to ask about them, and it was so with me. but, after blushing a while and recovering myself, i told her that i did not want a wife. she then asked me if i did not think something of eliza. i told her that i did. she then said that if i wished to marry eliza, she would purchase her if she could. i gave but little encouragement to this proposition, as i was determined to make another trial to get my liberty, and i knew that if i should have a wife, i should not be willing to leave her behind; and if i should attempt to bring her with me, the chances would be difficult for success. however, eliza was purchased, and brought into the family. chapter x. but the more i thought of the trap laid by mrs. price to make me satisfied with my new home, by getting me a wife, the more i determined never to marry any woman on earth until i should get my liberty. but this secret i was compelled to keep to myself, which placed me in a very critical position. i must keep upon good terms with mrs. price and eliza. i therefore promised mrs. price that i would marry eliza; but said that i was not then ready. and i had to keep upon good terms with eliza, for fear that mrs. price would find out that i did not intend to get married. i have here spoken of marriage, and it is very common among slaves themselves to talk of it. and it is common for slaves to be married; or at least to have the marriage ceremony performed. but there is no such thing as slaves being lawfully married. there has never yet a case occurred where a slave has been tried for bigamy. the man may have as many women as he wishes, and the women as many men; and the law takes no cognizance of such acts among slaves. and in fact some masters, when they have sold the husband from the wife, compel her to take another. there lived opposite captain price's, doctor farrar, well known in st. louis. he sold a man named ben, to one of the traders. he also owned ben's wife, and in a few days he compelled sally (that was her name) to marry peter, another man belonging to him. i asked sally "why she married peter so soon after ben was sold." she said, "because master made her do it." mr. john calvert, who resided near our place, had a woman named lavinia. she was quite young, and a man to whom she was about to be married was sold, and carried into the country near st. charles, about twenty miles from st. louis. mr. calvert wanted her to get a husband; but she had resolved not to marry any other man, and she refused. mr. calvert whipped her in such a manner that it was thought she would die. some of the citizens had him arrested, but it was soon hushed up. and that was the last of it. the woman did not die, but it would have been the same if she had. captain price purchased me in the month of october, and i remained with him until december, when the family made a voyage to new orleans, in a boat owned by himself, and named the "chester." i served on board as one of the stewards. on arriving at new orleans, about the middle of the month, the boat took in freight for cincinnati; and it was decided that the family should go up the river in her, and what was of more interest to me, i was to accompany them. the long looked for opportunity to make my escape from slavery was near at hand. captain price had some fears as to the propriety of taking me near a free state, or a place where it was likely i could run away, with a prospect of liberty. he asked me if i had ever been in a free state. "oh yes," said i, "i have been in ohio; my master carried me into that state once, but i never liked a free state." it was soon decided that it would be safe to take me with them, and what made it more safe, eliza was on the boat with us, and mrs. price, to try me, asked if i thought as much as ever of eliza. i told her that eliza was very dear to me indeed, and that nothing but death should part us. it was the same as if we were married. this had the desired effect. the boat left new orleans, and proceeded up the river. i had at different times obtained little sums of money, which i had reserved for a "rainy day." i procured some cotton cloth, and made me a bag to carry provisions in. the trials of the past were all lost in hopes for the future. the love of liberty, that had been burning in my bosom for years, and had been well-nigh extinguished, was now resuscitated. at night, when all around was peaceful, i would walk the decks, meditating upon my happy prospects. i should have stated, that, before leaving st. louis, i went to an old man named frank, a slave, owned by a mr. sarpee. this old man was very distinguished (not only among the slave population, but also the whites) as a fortune-teller. he was about seventy years of age, something over six feet high, and very slender. indeed, he was so small around his body, that it looked as though it was not strong enough to hold up his head. uncle frank was a very great favorite with the young ladies, who would go to him in great numbers to get their fortunes told. and it was generally believed that he could really penetrate into the mysteries of futurity. whether true or not, he had the _name_, and that is about half of what one needs in this gullible age. i found uncle frank seated in the chimney corner, about ten o'clock at night. as soon as i entered, the old man left his seat. i watched his movement as well as i could by the dim light of the fire. he soon lit a lamp, and coming up, looked me full in the face, saying, "well, my son, you have come to get uncle to tell your fortune, have you?" "yes," said i. but how the old man should know what i came for, i could not tell. however, i paid the fee of twenty-five cents, and he commenced by looking into a gourd, filled with water. whether the old man was a prophet, or the son of a prophet, i cannot say; but there is one thing certain, many of his predictions were verified. i am no believer in soothsaying; yet i am sometimes at a loss to know how uncle frank could tell so accurately what would occur in the future. among the many things he told was one which was enough to pay me for all the trouble of hunting him up. it was that i _should be free_! he further said, that in trying to get my liberty i would meet with many severe trials. i thought to myself any fool could tell me that! the first place in which we landed in a free state was cairo, a small village at the mouth of the ohio river. we remained here but a few hours, when we proceeded to louisville. after unloading some of the cargo, the boat started on her upward trip. the next day was the first of january. i had looked forward to new year's day as the commencement of a new era in the history of my life. i had decided upon leaving the peculiar institution that day. during the last night that i served in slavery i did not close my eyes a single moment. when not thinking of the future, my mind dwelt on the past. the love of a dear mother, a dear sister, and three dear brothers, yet living, caused me to shed many tears. if i could only have been assured of their being dead, i should have felt satisfied; but i imagined i saw my dear mother in the cotton-field, followed by a merciless taskmaster, and no one to speak a consoling word to her! i beheld my dear sister in the hands of a slave-driver, and compelled to submit to his cruelty! none but one placed in such a situation can for a moment imagine the intense agony to which these reflections subjected me. chapter xi. at last the time for action arrived. the boat landed at a point which appeared to me the place of all others to start from. i found that it would be impossible to carry anything with me but what was upon my person. i had some provisions, and a single suit of clothes, about half worn. when the boat was discharging her cargo, and the passengers engaged carrying their baggage on and off shore, i improved the opportunity to convey myself with my little effects on land. taking up a trunk, i went up the wharf, and was soon out of the crowd. i made directly for the woods, where i remained until night, knowing well that i could not travel, even in the state of ohio, during the day, without danger of being arrested. i had long since made up my mind that i would not trust myself in the hands of any man, white or colored. the slave is brought up to look upon every white man as an enemy to him and his race; and twenty-one years in slavery had taught me that there were traitors, even among colored people. after dark, i emerged from the woods into a narrow path, which led me into the main travelled road. but i knew not which way to go. i did not know north from south, east from west. i looked in vain for the north star; a heavy cloud hid it from my view. i walked up and down the road until near midnight, when the clouds disappeared, and i welcomed the sight of my friend--truly the slave's friend--the north star! as soon as i saw it, i knew my course, and before daylight i travelled twenty or twenty-five miles. it being in the winter, i suffered intensely from the cold; being without an overcoat, and my other clothes rather thin for the season. i was provided with a tinder-box, so that i could make up a fire when necessary. and but for this, i should certainly have frozen to death; for i was determined not to go to any house for shelter. i knew of a man belonging to gen. ashly, of st. louis, who had run away near cincinnati, on the way to washington, but had been caught and carried back into slavery; and i felt that a similar fate awaited me, should i be seen by any one. i travelled at night, and lay by during the day. on the fourth day my provisions gave out, and then what to do i could not tell. have something to eat i must; but how to get it was the question! on the first night after my food was gone, i went to a barn on the road-side and there found some ears of corn. i took ten or twelve of them, and kept on my journey. during the next day, while in the woods, i roasted my corn and feasted upon it, thanking god that i was so well provided for. my escape to a land of freedom now appeared certain, and the prospects of the future occupied a great part of my thoughts. what should be my occupation, was a subject of much anxiety to me; and the next thing what should be my name? i have before stated that my old master, dr. young, had no children of his own, but had with him a nephew, the son of his brother, benjamin young. when this boy was brought to dr. young, his name being william, the same as mine, my mother was ordered to change mine to something else. this, at the time, i thought to be one of the most cruel acts that could be committed upon my rights; and i received several very severe whippings for telling people that my name was william, after orders were given to change it. though young, i was old enough to place a high appreciation upon my name. it was decided, however, to call me "sandford," and this name i was known by, not only upon my master's plantation, but up to the time that i made my escape. i was sold under the name of sandford. but as soon as the subject came to my mind, i resolved on adopting my old name of william, and let sandford go by the board, for i always hated it. not because there was anything peculiar in the name; but because it had been forced upon me. it is sometimes common, at the south, for slaves to take the name of their masters. some have a legitimate right to do so. but i always detested the idea of being called by the name of either of my masters. and as for my father, i would rather have adopted the name of "friday," and been known as the servant of some robinson crusoe, than to have taken his name. so i was not only hunting for my liberty, but also hunting for a name; though i regarded the latter as of little consequence, if i could but gain the former. travelling along the road, i would sometimes speak to myself, sounding my name over, by way of getting used to it, before i should arrive among civilized human beings. on the fifth or six day, it rained very fast, and froze about as fast as it fell, so that my clothes were one glare of ice. i travelled on at night until i became so chilled and benumbed--the wind blowing into my face--that i found it impossible to go any further, and accordingly took shelter in a barn, where i was obliged to walk about to keep from freezing. i have ever looked upon that night as the most eventful part of my escape from slavery. nothing but the providence of god, and that old barn, saved me from freezing to death. i received a very severe cold, which settled upon my lungs, and from time to time my feet had been frostbitten, so that it was with difficulty i could walk. in this situation i travelled two days, when i found that i must seek shelter somewhere, or die. the thought of death was nothing frightful to me, compared with that of being caught, and again carried back into slavery. nothing but the prospect of enjoying liberty could have induced me to undergo such trials, for "behind i left the whips and chains, before me were sweet freedom's plains!" this, and this alone, cheered me onward. but i at last resolved to seek protection from the inclemency of the weather, and therefore i secured myself behind some logs and brush, intending to wait there until some one should pass by; for i thought it probable that i might see some colored person, or, if not, some one who was not a slaveholder; for i had an idea that i should know a slaveholder as far as i could see him. the first person that passed was a man in a buggy-wagon. he looked too genteel for me to hail him. very soon another passed by on horseback. i attempted to speak to him, but fear made my voice fail me. as he passed, i left my hiding-place, and was approaching the road, when i observed an old man walking towards me, leading a white horse. he had on a broad-brimmed hat and a very long coat, and was evidently walking for exercise. as soon as i saw him, and observed his dress, i thought to myself, "you are the man that i have been looking for!" nor was i mistaken. he was the very man! on approaching me, he asked me, "if i was not a slave." i looked at him some time, and then asked him "if he knew of any one who would help me, as i was sick." he answered that he would; but again asked, if i was not a slave. i told him i was. he then said that i was in a very pro-slavery neighborhood, and if i would wait until he went home, he would get a covered wagon for me. i promised to remain. he mounted his horse, and was soon out of sight. after he was gone, i meditated whether to wait or not; being apprehensive that he had gone for some one to arrest me. but i finally concluded to remain until he should return; removing some few rods to watch his movements. after a suspense of an hour and a half or more, he returned with a two-horse covered wagon, such as are usually seen under the shed of a quaker meeting-house on sundays and thursdays; for the old man proved to be a quaker of the george fox stamp. he took me to his house, but it was some time before i could be induced to enter it; not until the old lady came out, did i venture into the house. i thought i saw something in the old lady's cap that told me i was not only safe, but welcome, in her house. i was not, however, prepared to receive their hospitalities. the only fault i found with them was their being too kind. i had never had a white man to treat me as an equal, and the idea of a white lady waiting on me at the table was still worse! though the table was loaded with the good things of this life, i could not eat. i thought if i could only be allowed the privilege of eating in the kitchen i should be more than satisfied! finding that i could not eat, the old lady, who was a "thompsonian," made me a cup of "composition," or "number six;" but it was so strong and hot, that i called it "_number seven_!" however, i soon found myself at home in this family. on different occasions, when telling these facts, i have been asked how i felt upon finding myself regarded as a man by a white family; especially just having run away from one. i cannot say that i have ever answered the question yet. the fact that i was in all probability a freeman, sounded in my ears like a charm. i am satisfied that none but a slave could place such an appreciation upon liberty as i did at that time. i wanted to see mother and sister, that i might tell them "i was free!" i wanted to see my fellow-slaves in st. louis, and let them know that the chains were no longer upon my limbs. i wanted to see captain price, and let him learn from my own lips that i was no more a chattel, but a man! i was anxious, too, thus to inform mrs. price that she must get another coachman. and i wanted to see eliza more than i did either mr. or mrs. price! the fact that i was a freeman--could walk, talk, eat and sleep, as a man, and no one to stand over me with the blood-clotted cow-hide--all this made me feel that i was not myself. the kind friend that had taken me in was named wells brown. he was a devoted friend of the slave; but was very old, and not in the enjoyment of good health. after being by the fire awhile, i found that my feet had been very much frozen. i was seized with a fever, which threatened to confine me to my bed. but my thompsonian friends soon raised me, treating me as kindly as if i had been one of their own children. i remained with them twelve or fifteen days, during which time they made me some clothing, and the old gentleman purchased me a pair of boots. i found that i was about fifty or sixty miles from dayton, in the state of ohio, and between one and two hundred miles from cleaveland, on lake erie, a place i was desirous of reaching on my way to canada. this i know will sound strangely to the ears of people in foreign lands, but it is nevertheless true. an american citizen was fleeing from a democratic, republican, christian government, to receive protection under the monarchy of great britain. while the people of the united states boast of their freedom, they at the same time keep three millions of their own citizens in chains; and while i am seated here in sight of bunker hill monument, writing this narrative, i am a slave, and no law, not even in massachusetts, can protect me from the hands of the slaveholder! before leaving this good quaker friend, he inquired what my name was besides william. i told him that i had no other name. "well," said he, "thee must have another name. since thee has got out of slavery, thee has become a man, and men always have two names." i told him that he was the first man to extend the hand of friendship to me, and i would give him the privilege of naming me. "if i name thee," said he, "i shall call thee wells brown, after myself." "but," said i, "i am not willing to lose my name of william. as it was taken from me once against my will, i am not willing to part with it again upon any terms." "then," said he, "i will call thee william wells brown." "so be it," said i; and i have been known by that name ever since i left the house of my first white friend, wells brown. after giving me some little change, i again started for canada. in four days i reached a public house, and went in to warm myself. i there learned that some fugitive slaves had just passed through the place. the men in the bar-room were talking about it, and i thought that it must have been myself they referred to, and i was therefore afraid to start, fearing they would seize me; but i finally mustered courage enough, and took my leave. as soon as i was out of sight, i went into the woods, and remained there until night, when i again regained the road, and travelled on until next day. not having had any food for nearly two days, i was faint with hunger, and was in a dilemma what to do, as the little cash supplied me by my adopted father, and which had contributed to my comfort, was now all gone. i however concluded to go to a farm-house, and, ask for something to eat. on approaching the door of the first one presenting itself, i knocked, and was soon met by a man who asked me what i wanted. i told him that i would like something to eat. he asked me where i was from, and where i was going. i replied that i had come some way, and was going to cleaveland. after hesitating a moment or two, he told me that he could give me nothing to eat, adding, "that if i would work, i could get something to eat." i felt bad, being thus refused something to sustain nature, but did not dare tell him that i was a slave. just as i was leaving the door, with a heavy heart, a woman, who proved to be the wife of this gentleman, came to the door, and asked her husband what i wanted. he did not seem inclined to inform her. she therefore asked me herself. i told her that i had asked for something to eat. after a few other questions, she told me to come in, and that she would give me something to eat. i walked up to the door, but the husband remained in the passage, as if unwilling to let me enter. she asked him two or three times to get out of the way, and let me in. but as he did not move, she pushed him on one side, bidding me walk in! i was never before so glad to see a woman push a man aside! ever since that act; i have been in favor of "woman's rights!" after giving me as much food as i could eat, she presented me with ten cents, all the money then at her disposal, accompanied with a note to a friend, a few miles further on the road. thanking this angel of mercy from an overflowing heart, i pushed on my way, and in three days arrived at cleaveland, ohio. being an entire stranger in this place, it was difficult for me to find where to stop. i had no money, and the lake being frozen, i saw that i must remain until the opening of the navigation, or go to canada by way of buffalo. but believing myself to be somewhat out of danger, i secured an engagement at the mansion house, as a table waiter, in payment for my board. the proprietor, however, whose name was e. m. segur, in a short time, hired me for twelve dollars a month; on which terms i remained until spring, when i found good employment on board a lake steamboat. i purchased some books, and at leisure moments perused them with considerable advantage to myself. while at cleaveland, i saw, for the first time, an anti-slavery newspaper. it was the "_genius of universal emancipation_," published by benjamin lundy; and though i had no home, i subscribed for the paper. it was my great desire, being out of slavery myself, to do what i could for the emancipation of my brethren yet in chains, and while on lake erie, i found many opportunities of "helping their cause along." it is well known that a great number of fugitives make their escape to canada, by way of cleaveland; and while on the lakes, i always made arrangement to carry them on the boat to buffalo or detroit, and thus effect their escape to the "promised land." the friends of the slave, knowing that i would transport them without charge, never failed to have a delegation when the boat arrived at cleaveland. i have sometimes had four or five on board at one time. in the year , i conveyed, from the first of may to the first of december, sixty-nine fugitives over lake erie to canada. in , i visited malden, in upper canada, and counted seventeen in that small village, whom i had assisted in reaching canada. soon after coming north i subscribed for the liberator, edited by that champion of freedom, william lloyd garrison. i had heard nothing of the anti-slavery movement while in slavery, and as soon as i found that my enslaved countrymen had friends who were laboring for their liberation, i felt anxious to join them, and give what aid i could to the cause. i early embraced the temperance cause, and found that a temperance reformation was needed among my colored brethren. in company with a few friends, i commenced a temperance reformation among the colored people in the city of buffalo, and labored three years, in which time a society was built up, numbering over five hundred out of a population of less than seven hundred. in the autumn, , impressed with the importance of spreading anti-slavery truth, as a means to bring about the abolition of slavery, i commenced lecturing as an agent of the western new york anti-slavery society, and have ever since devoted my time to the cause of my enslaved countrymen. from the liberty bell of . the american slave-trade. by william wells brown. of the many features which american slavery presents, the most cruel is that of the slave-trade. a traffic in the bodies and souls of native-born americans is carried on in the slave-holding states to an extent little dreamed of by the great mass of the people in the non-slave-holding states. the precise number of slaves carried from the slave-raising to the slave-consuming states we have no means of knowing. but it must be very great, as forty thousand were sold and carried out of the state of virginia in one single year! this heart-rending and cruel traffic is not confined to any particular class of persons. no person forfeits his or her character or standing in society by being engaged in raising and selling slaves to supply the cotton, sugar, and rice plantations of the south. few persons who have visited the slave states have not, on their return, told of the gangs of slaves they had seen on their way to the southern market. this trade presents some of the most revolting and atrocious scenes which can be imagined. slave-prisons, slave-auctions, hand-cuffs, whips, chains, bloodhounds, and other instruments of cruelty, are part of the furniture which belongs to the american slave-trade. it is enough to make humanity bleed at every pore, to see these implements of torture. known to god only is the amount of human agony and suffering which sends its cry from these slave-prisons, unheard or unheeded by man, up to his ear; mothers weeping for their children--breaking the night-silence with the shrieks of their breaking hearts. we wish no human being to experience emotions of needless pain, but we do wish that every man, woman, and child in new england, could visit a southern slave-prison and auction-stand. i shall never forget a scene which took place in the city of st. louis, while i was in slavery. a man and his wife, both slaves, were brought from the country to the city, for sale. they were taken to the rooms of austin & savage, auctioneers. several slave-speculators, who are always to be found at auctions where slaves are to be sold, were present. the man was first put up, and sold to the highest bidder. the wife was next ordered to ascend the platform. i was present. she slowly obeyed the order. the auctioneer commenced, and soon several hundred dollars were bid. my eyes were intensely fixed on the face of the woman, whose cheeks were wet with tears. but a conversation between the slave and his new master attracted my attention. i drew near them to listen. the slave was begging his new master to purchase his wife. said he, "master, if you will only buy fanny, i know you will get the worth of your money. she is a good cook, a good washer, and her last mistress liked her very much. if you will only buy her how happy i shall be." the new master replied that he did not want her, but if she sold cheap he would purchase her. i watched the countenance of the man while the different persons were bidding on his wife. when his new master bid on his wife you could see the smile upon his countenance, and the tears stop; but as soon as another would bid, you could see the countenance change and the tears start afresh. from this change of countenance one could see the workings of the inmost soul. but this suspense did not last long; the wife was struck off to the highest bidder, who proved not to be the owner of her husband. as soon as they became aware that they were to be separated, they both burst into tears; and as she descended from the auction-stand, the husband, walking up to her and taking her by the hand, said, "well, fanny, we are to part forever, on earth; you have been a good wife to me. i did all that i could to get my new master to buy you; but he did not want you, and all i have to say is, i hope you will try to meet me in heaven. i shall try to meet you there." the wife made no reply, but her sobs and cries told, too well, her own feelings. i saw the countenances of a number of whites who were present, and whose eyes were dim with tears at hearing the man bid his wife farewell. such are but common occurrences in the slave states. at these auction-stands, bones, muscles, sinews, blood and nerves, of human beings, are sold with as much indifference as a farmer in the north sells a horse or sheep. and this great american nation is, at the present time, engaged in the slave-trade. i have before me now the washington "union," the organ of the government, in which i find an advertisement of several slaves to be sold for the benefit of the government. they will, in all human probability, find homes among the rice-swamps of georgia, or the cane-brakes of mississippi. with every disposition on the part of those who are engaged in it to veil the truth, certain facts have, from time to time, transpired, sufficient to show, if not the full amount of the evil, at least that it is one of prodigious magnitude. and what is more to be wondered at, is the fact that the greatest slave-market is to be found at the capital of the country! the american slave-trader marches by the capitol with his "coffle-gang,"--the stars and stripes waving over their heads, and the constitution of the united states in his pocket! the alexandria gazette, speaking of the slave-trade at the capital, says, "here you may behold fathers and brothers leaving behind them the dearest objects of affection, and moving slowly along in the mute agony of despair; there, the young mother, sobbing over the infant whose innocent smile seems but to increase her misery. from some you will hear the burst of bitter lamentation, while from others, the loud hysteric laugh breaks forth, denoting still deeper agony. such is but a faint picture of the american slave-trade." _boston, massachusetts._ the blind slave boy. by mrs. bailey. come back to me mother! why linger away from thy poor little blind boy the long weary day! i mark every footstep, i list to each tone, and wonder my mother should leave me alone! there are voices of sorrow, and voices of glee, but there's no one to joy or to sorrow with me; for each hath of pleasure and trouble his share, and none for the poor little blind boy will care. my mother, come back to me! close to thy breast once more let thy poor little blind boy be pressed; once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek, and hear thee in accents of tenderness speak. o mother! i've no one to love me--no heart can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part, no hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind, oh! none like a mother can cherish the blind! poor blind one! no mother thy wailing can hear, no mother can hasten to banish thy fear; for the slave-owner drives her o'er mountain and wild, and for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child; ah, who can in language of mortals reveal the anguish that none but a mother can feel. when man in his vile lust of mammon hath trod on her child, who is stricken or smitten of god! blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone, she hears in her anguish his piteous moan; as he eagerly listens--but listens in vain-- to catch the loved tones of his mother again! the curse of the broken in spirit shall fall on the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall, and his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy, who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy! appendix. in giving a history of my own sufferings in slavery, as well as the sufferings of others with which i was acquainted, or which came under my immediate observation, i have spoken harshly of slaveholders, in church and state. nor am i inclined to apologize for anything which i have said. there are exceptions among slaveholders, as well as among other sinners; and the fact that a slaveholder feeds his slaves better, clothes them better, than another, does not alter the case; he is a slaveholder. i do not ask the slaveholder to feed, clothe, or to treat his victim better as a slave. i am not waging a warfare against the collateral evils, or what are sometimes called the abuses, of slavery. i wage a war against slavery itself, because it takes man down from the lofty position which god intended he should occupy, and places him upon a level with the beasts of the field. it decrees that the slave shall not worship god according to the dictates of his own conscience; it denies him the word of god; it makes him a chattel, and sells him in the market to the highest bidder; it decrees that he shall not protect the wife of his bosom; it takes from him every right which god gave him. clothing and food are as nothing compared with liberty. what care i for clothing or food, while i am the slave of another? you may take me and put cloth upon my back, boots upon my feet, a hat upon my head, and cram a beef-steak down my throat, and all of this will not satisfy me as long as i know that you have the power to tear me from my dearest relatives. all i ask of the slaveholder is to give the slave his liberty. it is freedom i ask for the _slave_. and that the american slave will eventually get his freedom, no one can doubt. you cannot keep the human mind forever locked up in darkness. a ray of light, a spark from freedom's altar, the idea of inherent right, each, all, will become fixed in the soul; and that moment his "limbs swell beyond the measure of his chains," that moment he is free; then it is that the slave dies to become a freeman; then it is felt that one hour of virtuous liberty is worth an eternity of bondage; then it is, in the madness and fury of his blood, that the excited soul exclaims, "from life without freedom, oh! who would not fly; for one day of freedom, oh! who would not die?" the rising of the slaves in southampton, virginia, in , has not been forgotten by the american people. nat turner, a slave for life,--a baptist minister,--entertained the idea that he was another moses, whose duty it was to lead his people out of bondage. his soul was fired with the love of liberty, and he declared to his fellow-slaves that the time had arrived, and that "they who would be free, themselves must strike the blow." he knew that it would be "liberty or death" with his little band of patriots, numbering less than three hundred. he commenced the struggle for liberty; he knew his cause was just, and he loved liberty more than he feared death. he did not wish to take the lives of the whites; he only demanded that himself and brethren might be free. the slaveholders found that men whose souls were burning for liberty, however small their numbers, could not be put down at their pleasure; that something more than water was wanted to extinguish the flame. they trembled at the idea of meeting men in open combat, whose backs they had lacerated, whose wives and daughters they had torn from their bosoms, whose hearts were bleeding from the wounds inflicted by them. they appealed to the united states government for assistance. a company of united states troops was sent into virginia to put down men whose only offence was, that they wanted to be free. yes! northern men, men born and brought up in the free states, at the demand of slavery, marched to its rescue. they succeeded in reducing the poor slave again to his chains; but they did not succeed in crushing his spirit. not the combined powers of the american union, not the slaveholders, with all their northern allies, can extinguish that burning desire of freedom in the slave's soul! northern men may stand by as the body-guard of slaveholders. they may succeed for the time being in keeping the slave in his chains; but unless the slaveholders liberate their victims, and that, too, speedily, some modern hannibal will make his appearance in the southern states, who will trouble the slaveholders as the noble carthaginian did the romans. abolitionists deprecate the shedding of blood; they have warned the slaveholders again and again. yet they will not give heed, but still persist in robbing the slave of liberty. "but for the fear of northern bayonets, pledged for the master's protection, the slaves would long since have wrung a peaceful emancipation from the fears of their oppressors, or sealed their own redemption in blood." to the shame of the northern people, the slaveholders confess that to them they are "indebted for a permanent safe-guard against insurrection;" that "a million of their slaves stand ready to strike for liberty at the first tap of the drum;" and but for the aid of the north they would be too weak to keep them in their chains. i ask in the language of the slave's poet, "what! shall ye guard your neighbor still, while woman shrieks beneath his rod, and while he tramples down at will the image of a common god? shall watch and ward be 'round him set, of northern nerve and bayonet?" the countenance of the people at the north has quieted the fears of the slaveholders, especially the countenance which they receive from northern churches. "but for the countenance of the northern church, the southern conscience would have long since awakened to its guilt: and the impious sight of a church made up of slaveholders, and called the church of christ, been scouted from the world." so says a distinguished writer. slaveholders hide themselves behind the church. a more praying, preaching, psalm-singing people cannot be found than the slaveholders at the south. the religion of the south is referred to every day, to prove that slaveholders are good, pious men. but with all their pretensions, and all the aid which they get from the northern church, they cannot succeed in deceiving the christian portion of the world. their child-robbing, man-stealing, woman-whipping, chain-forging, marriage-destroying, slave-manufacturing, man-slaying religion, will not be received as genuine; and the people of the free states cannot expect to live in union with slaveholders, without becoming contaminated with slavery. they are looked upon as one people; they _are_ one people; the people in the free and slave states form the "american union." slavery is a national institution. the nation licenses men to traffic in the bodies and souls of men; it supplies them with public buildings at the capital of the country to keep their victims in. for a paltry sum it gives the auctioneer a license to sell american men, women, and children, upon the auction-stand. the american slave-trader, with the constitution in his hat and his license in his pocket, marches his gang of chained men and women under the very eaves of the nation's capitol. and this, too, in a country professing to be the freest nation in the world. they profess to be democrats, republicans, and to believe in the natural equality of men; that they are "all created with certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." they call themselves a christian nation; they rob three millions of their countrymen of their liberties, and then talk of their piety, their democracy, and their love of liberty; and, in the language of shakspeare, say, "and thus i clothe my naked villany, and seem a saint when most i play the devil." the people of the united states, with all their high professions, are forging chains for unborn millions, in their wars for slavery. with all their democracy, there is not a foot of land over which the "stars and stripes" fly, upon which the american slave can stand and claim protection. wherever the united states constitution has jurisdiction, and the american flag is seen flying, they point out the slave as a chattel, a thing, a piece of property. but i thank god there is one spot in america upon which the slave can stand and be a man. no matter whether the claimant be a united states president, or a doctor of divinity; no matter with what solemnities some american court may have pronounced him a slave; the moment he makes his escape from under the "stars and stripes," and sets foot upon the soil of canada, "the altar and the god sink together in the dust; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from around him; and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of universal emancipation." but slavery must and will be banished from the united states soil: "let tyrants scorn, while tyrants dare, the shrieks and writhings of despair; the end will come, it will not wait, bonds, yokes, and scourges have their date; slavery itself must pass away, and be a tale of yesterday." but i will now stop, and let the slaveholders speak for themselves. i shall here present some evidences of the treatment which slaves receive from their masters; after which i will present a few of the slave-laws. and it has been said, and i believe truly, that no people were ever found to be better than their laws. and, as an american slave,--as one who is identified with the slaves of the south by the scars which i carry on my back,--as one identified with them by the tenderest ties of nature,--as one whose highest aspirations are to serve the cause of truth and freedom,--i beg of the reader not to lay this book down until he or she has read every page it contains. i ask it not for my own sake, but for the sake of three millions who cannot speak for themselves. from the livingston county (alabama) whig of nov. , . "negro dogs.--the undersigned having bought the entire pack of negro dogs, (of the hays & allen stock,) he now proposesto catch runaway negroes. his charge will be three dollars per day for hunting, and fifteen dollars for catching a runaway. he resides three and a half miles north of livingston, near the lower jones' bluff road. "william gambrel. "nov. , ." the wilmington [north carolina] advertiser of july , , contains the following advertisement: "ranaway, my negro man richard. a reward of $ will be paid for his apprehension, dead or alive. satisfactory proof will only be required of his being killed. he has with him, in all probability, his wife eliza, who ran away from col. thompson, now a resident of alabama, about the time he commenced his journey to that state. "d. h. rhodes." the st. louis gazette says-- "a wealthy man here had a boy named reuben, almost white, whom he caused to be branded in the face with the words 'a slave for life.'" from the n. c. standard, july , . "twenty dollars reward.--ranaway from the subscriber, a negro woman and two children; the woman is tall and black, and _a few days before she went off_ i burnt her on the left side of her face: i tried to make the letter m, _and she kept a cloth over her head and face, and a fly bonnet over her head, so as to cover the burn_; her children are both boys, the oldest is in his seventh year; he is a _mulatto_ and has blue eyes; the youngest is a black, and is in his fifth year. "micajah ricks, nash county." "one of my neighbors sold to a speculator a negro boy, about years old. it was more than his poor mother could bear. her reason fled, and she became a perfect _maniac_, and had to be kept in close confinement. she would occasionally get out and run off to the neighbors. on one of these occasions she came to my house. with tears rolling down her cheeks, and her frame shaking with agony, she would cry out, '_don't you hear him--they are whipping him now, and he is calling for me!_' this neighbor of mine, who tore the boy away from his poor mother, and thus broke her heart, was a _member of the presbyterian church_."--_rev. francis hawley, baptist minister, colebrook, ct._ a colored man in the city of st. louis was taken by a mob, and burnt alive at the stake. a bystander gives the following account of the scene:-- "after the flames had surrounded their prey, and when his clothes were in a blaze all over him, his eyes burnt out of his head, and his mouth seemingly parched to a cinder, some one in the _crowd_, more compassionate than the rest, proposed to put an end to his misery by shooting him, when it was replied, that it would be of no use, since he was already out of his pain. 'no,' said the wretch, 'i am not, i am suffering as much as ever,--shoot me, shoot me.' 'no, no,' said one of the fiends, who was standing about the sacrifice they were roasting, 'he shall not be shot; i would sooner slacken the fire, if that would increase his misery;' and the man who said this was, we understand, an _officer of justice_."--_alton telegraph._ "we have been informed that the slave william, who murdered his master (huskey) some weeks since, was taken by a party a few days since _from the sheriff_ of hot spring, and _burned alive_! yes, tied up to the limb of a tree and a fire built under him, and consumed in a slow lingering torture."--_arkansas gazette, oct. , ._ _the natchez free trader_, th june, , gives a horrible account of the execution of the negro joseph on the th of that month for murder. "the body," says that paper, "was taken and chained to a tree immediately on the bank of the mississippi, on what is called union point. the torches were lighted and placed in the pile. he watched unmoved the curling flame as it grew, until it began to entwine itself around and feed upon his body; then he sent forth cries of agony painful to the ear, begging some one to blow his brains out; at the same time surging with almost superhuman strength, until the staple with which the chain was fastened to the tree, not being well secured, drew out, and he leaped from the burning pile. at that moment the sharp ring of several rifles was heard, and the body of the negro fell a corpse to the ground. he was picked up by two or three, and again thrown into the fire and consumed." "another negro burned.--we learn from the clerk of the highlander, that, while wooding a short distance below the mouth of red river, they were _invited to stop a short time and see another negro burned_."--_new orleans bulletin._ "we can assure the bostonians, one and all, who have embarked in the nefarious scheme of abolishing slavery at the south, that lashes will hereafter be spared the backs of their emissaries. let them send out their men to louisiana; they will never return to tell their sufferings, but they shall expiate the crime of interfering in our domestic institutions by being burned at the stake."--_new orleans true american._ "the cry of the whole south should be death, instant death, to the abolitionist, wherever he is caught."--_augusta (geo.) chronicle._ "let us declare through the public journals of our country, that the question of slavery is not and shall not be open for discussion: that the system is too deep-rooted among us, and must remain forever; that the very moment any private individual attempts to lecture us upon its evils and immorality, and the necessity of putting means in operation to secure us from them, in the same moment his tongue shall be cut out and cast upon the dunghill."--_columbia (s. c.) telescope._ from the st. louis republican. "on friday last the coroner held an inquest at the house of judge dunica, a few miles south of the city, over the body of a negro girl, about years of age, belonging to mr. cordell. the body exhibited evidence of the most cruel whipping and beating we have ever heard of. the flesh on the back and limbs was beaten to a jelly--one shoulder-bone was laid bare--there were several cuts, apparently from a club, on the head--and around the neck was the indentation of a cord, by which it is supposed she had been confined to a tree. she had been hired by a man by the name of tanner, residing in the neighborhood, and was sent home in this condition. after coming home, her constant request, until her death, was for bread, by which it would seem that she had been starved as well as unmercifully whipped. the jury returned a verdict that she came to her death by the blows inflicted by some persons unknown whilst she was in the employ of mr. tanner. mrs. tanner has been tried and acquitted." a correspondent of the n. y. herald writes from st. louis, oct. : "i yesterday visited the cell of cornelia, the slave charged with being the accomplice of mrs. ann tanner (recently acquitted) in the murder of a little negro girl, by whipping and starvation. she admits her participancy, but says she was compelled to take the part she did in the affair. on one occasion she says the child was tied to a tree from monday morning till friday night, exposed by day to the scorching rays of the sun, and by night to the stinging of myriads of musquitoes; and that during all this time the child had nothing to eat, but was whipped daily. the child told the same story to dr. mcdowell." from the carroll county mississippian, may th, . "committed to jail in this place, on the th of april last, a runaway slave named creesy, and says she belongs to william barrow, of carroll county, mississippi. said woman is stout built, five feet four inches high, and appears to be about twenty years of age; she has a band of iron on each ankle, and a trace chain around her neck, fastened with a common padlock. "j. n. spencer, jailer. "may , ." the savannah, ga., republican of the th of march, , contains an advertisement, one item of which is as follows:-- "also, at the same time and place, the following negro slaves, to wit: charles, peggy, antonnett, davy, september, maria, jenny, and isaac--levied on as the property of henry t. hall, to satisfy a mortgage fi. fia. issued out of mcintosh superior court, in favor of the board of directors of the _theological seminary of the synod of south carolina and georgia_, vs. said henry t. hall. conditions, cash. "c. o'neal, deputy sheriff, m. c." in the "macon (georgia) telegraph," may , is the following: "about the first of march last, the negro man ransom left me, without the least provocation whatever. i will give a reward of $ dollars for said negro, if taken dead or alive,--and if killed in any attempt an advance of $ will be paid. "bryant johnson. "crawford co., ga." from the apalachicola gazette, may . "one hundred and fifty dollars reward.--ranaway from my plantation on the th inst., three negro men, all of dark complexion. "bill is about five feet four inches high, aged about twenty-six, _a scar on his upper lip_, also _one on his shoulder_, and has been _badly cut on his arm_; speaks quick and broken, and a venomous look. "daniel is about the same height, chunky and well set, broad, flat mouth, with a pleasing countenance, rather inclined to show his teeth when talking, no particular marks recollected, aged about twenty-three. "noah is about six feet three or four inches high, twenty-eight years old, with rather a down, impudent look, insolent in his discourse, with a large mark on his breast, _a good many large scars_, caused by the whip, on his back--_has been shot in the back of his arm_ with small shot. the above reward will be paid to any one who will kill the three, or fifty for either one, or twenty dollars apiece for them delivered to me at my plantation alive, on chattahoochie, early county. "j. mcdonald." from the alabama beacon, june , . "ranaway, on the th of may, from me, a negro woman named fanny. said woman is twenty years old; is rather tall, can read and write, and so forge passes for herself. carried away with her a pair of ear-rings, a bible with a red cover, is very pious. she prays a great deal, and was, as supposed, contented and happy. she is as white as most white women, with straight light hair, and blue eyes, and can pass herself for a white woman. i will give five hundred dollars for her apprehension and delivery to me. she is very intelligent. "john balch. "tuscaloosa, may, , ." from the n. o. commercial bulletin, sept. . "ten dollars reward.--ranaway from the subscribers, on the th of last month, the negro man charles, about years of age, feet inches high; red complexion, has had the _upper lid of his right eye torn_, and _a scar on his forehead_; speaks english only, and stutters when spoken to; he had on when he left, _an iron collar, the prongs of which he broke off before absconding_. the above reward will be paid for the arrest of said slave. w. e. & r. murphy, " old raisin." from the n. o. bee, oct. . "ranaway from the residence of messrs. f. duncom & co., the negro francois, aged from to years, about feet inch in height; the _upper front teeth are missing_; he had _chains on both of his legs_, dressed with a kind of blouse made of sackcloth. a proportionate reward will be given to whoever will bring him back to the bakery, no. , bourbon street." from the n. o. picayune of sunday, dec. . "cock-pit.--_benefit of fire company no. , lafayette._--a cock-fight will take place on sunday, the th inst., at the well-known house of the subscriber. as the entire proceeds are for the benefit of the fire company, a full attendance is respectfully solicited. adam israng. "_corner of josephine and tchoupitolas streets, lafayette._" from the n. o. picayune. "turkey shooting.--this day, dec. , from o'clock, a. m., until o'clock, p. m., and the following sundays, at m'donoughville, opposite the second municipality ferry." the next is an advertisement from the new orleans bee, an equally popular paper. "a bull fight, between a ferocious bull and a number of dogs, will take place on sunday next, at ¼ o'clock, p. m., on the other side of the river, at algiers, opposite canal street. after the bull fight, a fight will take place between a bear and some dogs. the whole to conclude by a combatbetween an ass and several dogs. "amateurs bringing dogs to participate in the fight will be admitted gratis. admittance--boxes, cts.; pit, cts. the spectacle will be repeated every sunday, weather permitting. "pepe llulla." extracts from the american slave code. the following are mostly abridged selections from the statutes of the slave status and of the united states. they give but a faint view of the cruel oppression to which the slaves are subject, but a strong one enough, it is thought, to fill every honest heart with a deep abhorrence of the atrocious system. most of the important provisions here cited, though placed under the name of only one state, prevail in nearly all the states, with slight variations in language, and some diversity in the penalties. the extracts have been made in part from stroud's sketch of the slave laws, but chiefly from authorized editions of the statute books referred to, found in the philadelphia law library. as the compiler has not had access to many of the later enactments of the several states, nearly all he has cited are acts of an earlier date than that of the present anti-slavery movement, so that their severity cannot be ascribed to its influence. the cardinal principle of slavery, that the slave is not to be ranked among _sentient beings_, but among things--is an article of property, a chattel personal--obtains as undoubted law in all the slave states.[ ]--_stroud's sketch_, p. . the dominion of the master is as unlimited as is that which is tolerated by the laws of any civilized country in relation to brute animals--to _quadrupeds_; to use the words of the civil law.--_ib._ . slaves cannot even contract matrimony.[ ]--_ib._ . louisiana.--a slave is one who is in the power of his master, to whom he belongs. the master may sell him, dispose of his person, his industry and his labor; he can do nothing, possess nothing, nor acquire anything, but what must belong to his master.--_civil code_, art. . slaves are incapable of inheriting or transmitting property.--_civil code_, art. ; also art. , and _code of practice_, art. . _martin's digest_, act of june , .--slaves shall always be reputed and considered real estate; shall be as such subject to be mortgaged, according to the rules prescribed by law, and they shall be seized and sold as real estate.--_vol. i._, p. . _dig. stat._ sec .--no owner of slaves shall hire his slaves to themselves, under a penalty of twenty-five dollars for each offence.--_vol. i._, p. . sec. .--no slave can possess anything in his own right, or dispose of the produce of his own industry, without the consent of his master.--p. . sec. .--no slave can be party in a civil suit, or witness in a civil or criminal matter, against any white person.--p. . _see also civil code_, art. , p. . sec. .--a slave's subordination to his master is susceptible of no restriction, (except in what incites to crime,) and he owes to him and all his family, respect without bounds, and absolute obedience.--p. . sec. .--every slave found on horseback, without a written permission from his master, shall receive twenty-five lashes.--p. . sec. .--any freeholder may seize and correct any slave found absent from his usual place of work or residence, without some white person, and if the slave resist or try to escape, he may use arms, and if the slave _assault_[ ] and strike him, he may _kill_ the slave.--p. . sec. .--it is lawful to fire upon runaway negroes who are armed, and upon those who, when pursued, refuse to surrender.--p. . sec. .--no slave may buy, sell, or exchange any kind of goods, or hold any boat, or bring up for his own use any horses or cattle, under a penalty of forfeiting the whole.--p. . sec. .--slaves or free colored persons are punished with _death_, for wilfully burning or destroying any stack of produce or any building.--p. . sec. .--the punishment of a slave for striking a white person, shall be for the first and second offences at the discretion of the court,[ ] but not extending to life or limb, and for the third offence _death_; but for grievously wounding or mutilating a white person, _death_ for the first offence; provided, if the blow or wound is given in defence of the person or _property of his master_, or the person having charge of him, he is entirely justified. _act of feb. , _, sec. .--a slave for wilfully striking his master or mistress, or the child of either, or his white overseer, so as to cause a bruise or shedding of blood, _shall be punished with death_.--p. . _act of march , ._--any person cutting or breaking any iron chain or collar used to prevent the escape of slaves, shall be fined not less than two hundred dollars, nor more than one thousand dollars, and be imprisoned not more than two years nor less than six months.--p. of the session. _law of january , _, sec. .--all slaves sentenced to death or perpetual imprisonment, in virtue of existing laws, shall be paid for out of the public treasury, provided the sum paid shall not exceed $ for each slave. _law of march , _, sec. .--the state treasurer shall pay the owners the value of all slaves whose punishment has been commuted from that of death to that of imprisonment for life, &c. if any slave shall _happen_ to be slain for refusing to surrender him or herself, contrary to law, or in unlawfully resisting any officer or _other person_, who shall apprehend, or endeavor to apprehend, such slave or slaves, &c., such officer or _other person so killing such slave as aforesaid_, making resistance, shall be, and he is by this act, _indemnified_, from any prosecution for such killing aforesaid, &c.--_maryland laws, act of , chap_ xiv., § . and by the negro act of , of south carolina, it is declared: if any slave, who shall be out of the house or plantation where such slave shall live, or shall be usually employed, or without some white person in company with such slave, shall _refuse to submit_ to undergo the examination of _any white_ person, it shall be lawful for such white person to pursue, apprehend, and moderately correct such slave and if such slave shall assault and strike such white person, such slave may be _lawfully killed_!!--_ brevard's digest_, . mississippi. _chapt._ , sec. .--penalty for any slave or free colored person exercising the functions of a minister of the gospel, thirty-nine lashes; but any master may permit his slave to preach on his own premises, no slaves but his own being permitted to assemble.--_digest of stat._, p. . _act of june , _, sec. .--no negro or mulatto can be a witness in any case, except against negroes or mulattoes.--p. . _new code_, . sec. .--any master licensing his slave to go at large and trade as a freeman, shall forfeit fifty dollars to the state for the literary fund. penalty for teaching a slave to read, imprisonment one year. for using language having a _tendency_ to promote discontent among free colored people, or insubordination among slaves, imprisonment at _hard labor_, not less than three, nor more than twenty-one years, or death, at the discretion of the court.--_l. m. child's appeal_, p. . sec. .--it is _lawful_ for _any_ person, and the duty of every sheriff, deputy-sheriff, coroner and constable to apprehend any slave going at large, or hired out by him, or herself, and take him or her before a justice of the peace, who shall impose a penalty of not less than twenty dollars, nor more than fifty dollars, on the owner, who has permitted such slave to do so. sec. .--any negro or mulatto, for using abusive language, or lifting his hand in opposition to any white person, (except in self-defence against a wanton assault,) shall, on proof of the offence by oath of such person, receive such punishment as a justice of the peace may order, not exceeding thirty-nine lashes. sec. --forbids the holding of cattle, sheep or hogs by slaves, even with consent of the master, under penalty of forfeiture, half to the county, and half to the _informer_. sec. --forbids a slave keeping a dog, under a penalty of twenty-five stripes; and requires any master who permits it to pay a fine of five dollars, and make good all damages done by such dog. sec. --forbids slaves cultivating cotton for their own use, and imposes a fine of fifty dollars on the master or overseer who permits it. _revised code._--every negro or mulatto found in the state, not able to show himself entitled to freedom, may be sold as a slave.--p. . the owner of any plantation, on which a slave comes without written leave from his master, and not on lawful business, may inflict ten lashes for every such offence.--p. . alabama.--_aiken's digest._ tit. _slaves, &c._, sec. .--for _attempting_ to teach any free colored person, or slave, to spell, read or write, a fine of not less than two hundred and fifty dollars, nor more than five hundred dollars!--p. . sec. and .--any free colored person found with slaves in a kitchen, outhouse or negro quarter, without a written permission from the master or overseer of said slaves, and any slave found without such permission with a free negro on his premises, shall receive fifteen lashes for the first offence, and thirty-nine for each subsequent offence; to be inflicted by master, overseer, or member of any patrol company.--p. . _toulmin's digest._--no slave can be emancipated but by a _special_ act of the legislature.--p. . act jan. st, --authorizes an agent to be appointed by the governor of the state, _to sell for the benefit of the state_ all persons of color brought into the united states and within the jurisdiction of alabama, _contrary to the laws of congress prohibiting the slave trade_.--p. . georgia.--_prince's digest._ act dec. , .--penalty for any free person of color (except regularly articled seamen) coming into the state, a fine of one hundred dollars, and on failure of payment to be sold as a slave.--p. . penalty for permitting a slave to labor or do business for himself, except on his master's premises, thirty dollars per week.--p. . no slave can be a party to any suit against a white man, except on claim of his freedom, _and every colored person is presumed to be a slave, unless he can prove himself free_.--p. . act dec. , --forbids the assembling of negroes under pretence of divine worship, contrary to the act regulating patrols, p. . this act provides that any justice of the peace may disperse any assembly of slaves which _may_ endanger the peace; and every slave found at such meeting shall receive, _without trial_, twenty-five stripes!--p. . any person who sees more than seven men slaves without any white person, in a high road, may whip each slave _twenty_ lashes.--p. . any slave who harbors a runaway, may suffer punishment to _any extent_, not affecting life or limb.--p. . south carolina.--_brevard's digest._--slaves shall be deemed sold, taken, reputed, and adjudged in law to be _chattels personal_ in the hands of their owners and possessors, and their executors, administrators, and assigns, _to all intents, constructions and purposes whatever_.--vol. ii., p. . act of , in the preamble, states that "_many_ owners of slaves and others that have the management of them do confine them _so closely to hard labor_, that they have _not sufficient time for natural rest_," and enacts that no slave shall be compelled to labor more than _fifteen_ hours in the twenty-four, from march th to sept. th, or _fourteen_ in the twenty-four for the rest of the year. penalty from £ to £ .--vol. ii., p. . [yet, in several of the slave states, the time of work for _criminals_ whose _punishment_ is hard labor, is eight hours a day for three months, nine hours for two months, and ten for the rest of the year.] a slave endeavoring to entice another slave to run away, if provision be prepared for the purpose of aiding or abetting such endeavor, shall suffer _death_.--pp. and . penalty for cruelly scalding or burning a slave, cutting out his tongue, putting out his eye, or depriving him of any limb, a fine of £ . for beating with a _horse_-whip, cow-skin, switch or small stick, or putting irons on, or imprisoning a slave, _no penalty or prohibition_.--p. . any person who, not having lawful authority to do so, shall beat a slave, so as to disable him from _working_, shall pay fifteen shillings a day _to the owner_, for the slave's lost time, and the charge of his cure.--pp. and . a slave claiming his freedom may sue for it by some friend who will act as guardian, but if the action be judged groundless, said guardian shall pay _double_ costs of suit, and such damages to the owner as the court may decide.--p. . any assembly of slaves or free colored persons, in a secret or confined place, for mental instruction, (even if white persons _are_ present,) is an unlawful meeting, and magistrates must disperse it, breaking doors if necessary, and may inflict _twenty lashes_ upon each slave or colored person present.--pp. and . meetings for religious worship, before sunrise, or after o'clock, p. m., unless a majority are white persons, are forbidden; and magistrates are required to disperse them.--p. . a slave who lets loose any boat from the place where the owner has fastened it, for the first _offence shall receive thirty-nine lashes, and for the second shall have one ear cut off_.--p. . _james' digest._--penalty for _killing_ a slave, on _sudden heat of passion_, or by _undue correction_, a fine of $ and imprisonment not over six months.--p. . north carolina.--_haywood's manual._--act of , sec. , enacts, that the killing of a slave shall be punished like that of a free man; _except_ in the case of a slave _out-lawed_,[ ] or a slave _offering to resist_ his master, or a slave _dying under moderate correction_.--p. . act of .--any slave set free, except for meritorious services, to be adjudged of by the county court, may be seized by any freeholder, committed to jail, _and sold to the highest bidder_.[ ]--p. . patrols are not liable to the master for punishing his slave, unless their conduct clearly shows malice _against the master_.--_hawk's reps._, vol. i., p. . tennessee.--_stat. law_, chap. , sec. .--penalty on master for hiring to any slave his own time, a fine of not less than one dollar nor more than two dollars a day, _half_ to the informer.--p. . chap. , sec. .--no slave can be emancipated but on condition of immediately removing from the state, and the person emancipating shall give bond, in a sum equal to the slave's value, to have him removed.--p. . _laws of ._ chap. .--in the trial of slaves, the sheriff chooses the court, which must consist of three justices and twelve _slaveholders_ to serve as jurors. arkansas.--_rev. stat._, sec. , requires the patrol to visit all places suspected of unlawful assemblages of slaves; and sec. provides that any slave found at such assembly, or strolling about without a pass, _shall receive_ any number of _lashes_, at the discretion of the patrol, not exceeding twenty.--p. . missouri.--_laws, i._--any master may commit to jail, there to remain, at _his pleasure_, any slave who refuses to obey him or his overseer.--p. . whether a slave claiming freedom may even commence a suit for it, may depend on the decision of a single judge.--_stroud's sketch_, p. , note which refers to missouri laws, i., . kentucky.--_dig. of stat._, act feb. , , sec. .--no colored person may _keep_ or _carry_ gun, powder, shot, _club_ or _other weapon_, on penalty of _thirty-nine lashes_, and forfeiting the weapon, which any person is authorized to take. virginia.--_rev. code._--any emancipated slave remaining in the state more than a year, may be sold by the overseers of the _poor_, for the benefit of the _literary fund_!--vol. i., p. . any slave or free colored person found at any school for teaching reading or writing, by day or night, may be whipped, at the discretion of a justice, not exceeding twenty lashes.--p. . _suppl. rev. code._--any white person assembling with slaves, for the _purpose_ of teaching them to read or write, shall be fined, not less than dollars, nor more than dollars; or with free colored persons, shall be fined not more than fifty dollars, and imprisoned not more than two months.--p. . by the revised code, _seventy-one_ offences are punished with _death_ when committed by slaves, and by nothing more than imprisonment when by the whites.--_stroud's sketch_, p. . _rev. code._--in the trial of slaves, the court consists of five justices without juries, even in capital cases.--i., p. . maryland.--_stat. law_, sec. .--any slave, for rambling in the night, or riding horses by day without leave, or running away, may be punished by whipping, cropping, or branding in the cheek, or otherwise, not rendering him unfit for labor.--p. . any slave convicted of petty treason, murder, or _wilful burning of dwelling houses_, may be sentenced _to have the right hand cut off, to be hanged in the usual manner, the head severed from the body, the body divided into four quarters, and the head and quarters set up in the most public place in the country where such fact was committed_!!--p. . act , chap. , sec. --provides that any free colored person marrying a slave, becomes a slave for life, except mulattoes born of white women. delaware.--_laws._--more than six men slaves, meeting together, not belonging to one master, unless on lawful business of their owners, may be whipped to the extent of twenty-one lashes each.--p. . united states.--_constitution._--the chief pro-slavery provisions of the constitution, as is generally known, are, st, that by virtue of which the slave states are represented in congress for three-fifths of their slaves;[ ] nd, that requiring the giving up of any runaway slaves to their masters; rd, that pledging the physical force of the whole country to suppress insurrections, i. e., attempts to gain freedom by such means as the framers of the instrument themselves used. act of feb. , --provides that any master or his agent may seize any person whom he claims as a "fugitive from service," and take him before a judge of the u. s. court, or magistrate of the city or county where he is taken, and the magistrate, on proof, in support of the claim, to his satisfaction, must give the claimant a certificate authorizing the removal of such fugitive to the state he fled from.[ ] district of columbia.--the act of congress incorporating washington city, gives the corporation power to prescribe the terms and conditions on which free negroes and mulattoes may reside in the city. _city laws_, and . by this authority, the city in enacted that any free colored person coming there to reside, should give the mayor satisfactory evidence of his freedom, and enter into bond with two freehold sureties, in the sum of five hundred dollars, for his good conduct, to be renewed each year for three years; or failing to do so, must leave the city, or be committed to the workhouse, for not more than one year, and if he still refuse to go, may be again committed for the same period, and so on.--_ib._ . colored persons residing in the city, who cannot prove their title to freedom, shall be imprisoned as absconding slaves.--_ib._ . colored persons found without free papers may be arrested as runaway slaves, and after two months' notice, if no claimant appears, must be advertised ten days, and sold to pay their jail fees.[ ]--_stroud_, , note. the city of washington grants a license to _trade in slaves_, for profit, as agent, or otherwise, for four hundred dollars.--_city laws_, p. . reader, you uphold these laws _while you do nothing for their repeal_. you _can do_ much. you can take and read the anti-slavery journals. they will give you an impartial history of the cause, and arguments with which to convert its enemies. you can countenance and aid those who are laboring for its promotion. you can petition against slavery; you can refuse to vote for slaveholders or pro-slavery men, constitutions and compacts; can abstain from products of slave labor; and can use your social influence to spread right principles and awaken a right feeling. be as earnest for freedom as its foes are for slavery, and you can diffuse an anti-slavery sentiment through your whole neighborhood, and merit "the blessing of them that are ready to perish." the following is from the old colonial law of north carolina: notice of the commitment of runaways--viz., , c. , § . "an act concerning servants and slaves." copy of notice containing a full description of such runaway and his clothing.--the sheriff is to "cause a copy of such notice to be sent to the clerk or reader of each church or chapel within his county, who are hereby required to make publication thereof by setting up the same in some open and convenient place, near the said church or chapel, on every lord's day, during the space of two months from the date thereof." , c. , § .--"which proclamation shall be published on a sabbath day at the door of every church or chapel, or, for want of such, at the place where divine service shall be performed in the said county, by the parish clerk or reader, immediately after divine service; and if any slave or slaves, against whom proclamation hath been thus issued, stay out and do not immediately return home, it shall be lawful for any person or persons whatsoever to kill and destroy such slave or slaves by such way or means as he or she shall think fit, without accusation or impeachment of any crime for the same." it is well known that slavery makes labor disreputable in the slave states. laboring men of the north, hear how contemptibly slaveholders speak of you. mr. robert wickliffe of kentucky, in a speech published in the louisville advertiser, in opposition to those who were averse to the importation of slaves from the states, thus discourseth: "gentlemen wanted to drive out the black population that they may obtain white negroes in their place. white negroes have this advantage over black negroes, they can be converted into voters; and the men who live upon the sweat of their brow, and pay them but a dependent and scanty subsistence, can, if able to keep ten thousand of them in employment, come up to the polls and change the destiny of the country. "how improved will be our condition when we have such white negroes as perform the servile labors of europe, of old england, and he would add now of _new england_, when our body servants and our cart drivers, and our street sweepers, are _white negroes_ instead of black. where will be the independence, the proud spirit, and chivalry of the kentuckians then?" "we believe the servitude which prevails in the south far preferable to that of the _north_, or in europe. slavery will exist in all communities. there is a class which may be nominally free, but they will be virtually _slaves_."--_mississippian, july th, ._ "those who depend on their daily labor for their daily subsistence can never enter into political affairs, they never do, never will, never can."--_b. w. leigh in virginia convention, ._ "all society settles down into a classification of capitalists and laborers. the former will _own_ the latter, either collectively through the government, or individually in a state of domestic servitude as exists in the southern states of this confederacy. if laborers ever obtain the political power of a country, it is in fact in a state of revolution. the capitalists north of mason and dixon's line have precisely the same interest in the labor of the country that the capitalists of england have in their labor. hence it is, that they must have a strong federal government (!) _to control_ the labor of the nation. but it is precisely the reverse with us. we have already not only a right to the proceeds of our laborers, but we own a _class of laborers_ themselves. but let me say to gentlemen who represent the great class of capitalists in the north, beware that you do not drive us into a separate system, for if you do, as certain as the decrees of heaven, you will be compelled to _appeal to the sword to maintain yourselves at home_. it may not come in your day; but your children's children will be covered with the blood of domestic factions, and _a plundering mob contending for power and conquest_."--_mr. pickens, of south carolina, in congress, st jan., ._ "in the very nature of things there must be classes of persons to discharge all the different offices of society from the highest to the lowest. some of these offices are regarded as _degraded_, although they must and will be performed. hence those manifest forms of dependent servitude which produce a sense of superiority in the masters or employers, and of inferiority on the part of the servants. where these offices are performed by _members of the political community_, a dangerous element is obviously introduced into the body politic. hence the alarming tendency to violate the rights of property by agrarian legislation which is beginning to be manifest in the older states where universal suffrage _prevails without_ domestic slavery. "in a word, the institution of domestic slavery supersedes the _necessity_ of an order of nobility and all the other appendages of a hereditary system of government."--_gov. m'duffie's message to the south carolina legislature, ._ "we of the south have cause now, and shall soon have greater, to congratulate ourselves on the existence of a population among us which excludes the populace which in effect rules some of our northern neighbors, and is rapidly gaining strength wherever slavery does not exist--a populace made up of the dregs of europe, and the most worthless portion of the native population."--_richmond whig, ._ "would you do a benefit to the horse or the ox by giving him a cultivated understanding, a fine feeling! so far as the mere laborer has the pride, the knowledge or the aspiration of a freeman, he is unfitted for his situation. if there are sordid, servile, _laborious_ offices to be performed, is it not better that there should be sordid, servile, laborious beings to perform them? "odium has been cast upon our legislation on account of its forbidding the elements of education being communicated to slaves. but in truth what injury is done them by this? _he who works during the day with his hands_, does not read in the intervals of leisure for his amusement or the improvement of his mind, or the exception is so very rare as scarcely to need the being provided for."--_chancellor harper, of south carolina._--_southern lit. messenger._ "our slave population is decidedly preferable, as an orderly and laboring class, to a northern laboring class, that have just learning enough to make them wondrous wise, and make them the most dangerous class to well regulated liberty under the sun."--_richmond (virginia) enquirer._ footnotes: [ ] in accordance with this doctrine, an act of maryland, , enumerates among articles of property, "_slaves, working beasts, animals of any kind, stock, furniture, plate, and so forth_."--_ib._ . [ ] a slave is not admonished for incontinence, punished for adultery, nor prosecuted for bigamy.--_attorney general of maryland, md. rep. vol. i._ . [ ] the legal meaning of assault is to _offer_ to do personal violence. [ ] a court for the trial of slaves consists of one justice of the peace, and three freeholders, and the justice and one freeholder, i. e., _one half the court, may convict, though the other two are for acquittal_.--_martin's dig., i._ . [ ] a slave may be out-lawed when he runs away, conceals himself, and, to sustain life, kills a hog, or any animal of the cattle kind.--_haywood's manual_, p. . [ ] in south carolina, _any_ person may seize such freed man and keep him as his property. [ ] by the operation of this provision, twelve slaveholding states, whose white population only equals that of new york and ohio, send to congress senators and representatives, while these two states only send senators and representatives. [ ] thus it may be seen that a _man_ may be doomed to slavery by an authority not considered sufficient to settle a claim of _twenty dollars_. [ ] the prisons of the district, built with the money of the nation, are used as store-houses of the slaveholder's human merchandize. "from the statement of the keeper of a jail at washington, it appears that in five years, upwards of colored persons were committed to the national prison in that city, for safekeeping, i. e., until they could be disposed of in the course of the _slave trade_, besides nearly who had been taken up as runaways."--_miner's speech in h. rep._, . proofreading team. anti-slavery tracts. no. . new series. the duty of disobedience to the fugitive slave act: an appeal to the legislators of massachusetts, by l. maria child. "thou shalt _not_ deliver unto his master the servant which is escaped from his master unto thee."--deut. : . boston: published by the american anti-slavery society. . appeal to the legislators of massachusetts. i feel there is no need of apologizing to the legislature of massachusetts because a woman addresses them. sir walter scott says: "the truth of heaven was never committed to a tongue, however feeble, but it gave a right to that tongue to announce mercy, while it declared judgment." and in view of all that women have done, and are doing, intellectually and morally, for the advancement of the world, i presume no enlightened legislator will be disposed to deny that the "truth of heaven" _is_ often committed to them, and that they sometimes utter it with a degree of power that greatly influences the age in which they live. i therefore offer no excuses on that score. but i do feel as if it required some apology to attempt to convince men of ordinary humanity and common sense that the fugitive slave bill is utterly wicked, and consequently ought never to be obeyed. yet massachusetts consents to that law! some shadow of justice she grants, inasmuch as her legislature have passed what is called a personal liberty bill, securing trial by jury to those claimed as slaves. certainly it is _something_ gained, especially for those who may get brown by working in the sunshine, to prevent our southern masters from taking any of us, at a moment's notice, and dragging us off into perpetual bondage. it is _something_ gained to require legal proof that a man is a slave, before he is given up to arbitrary torture and unrecompensed toil. but is _that_ the measure of justice becoming the character of a free commonwealth? "_prove_ that the man is property, according _your_ laws, and i will drive him into your cattle-pen with sword and bayonet," is what massachusetts practically says to southern tyrants. "show me a bill of sale from the almighty!" is what she _ought_ to say. no other proof should be considered valid in a christian country. one thousand five hundred years ago, gregory, a bishop in asia minor, preached a sermon in which he rebuked the sin of slaveholding. indignantly he asked, "who can be the possessor of human beings save god? those men that you say belong to you, did not god create them free? command the brute creation; that is well. bend the beasts of the field beneath your yoke. but are your fellow-men to be bought and sold, like herds of cattle? who can pay the value of a being created in the image of god? the whole world itself bears no proportion to the value of a soul, on which the most high has set the seal his likeness. this world will perish, but the soul of man is immortal. show me, then, your titles of possession. tell me whence you derive this strange claim. is not your own nature the same with that of those you call your slaves? have they not the same origin with yourselves? are they not born to the same immortal destinies?" thus spake a good old bishop, in the early years of christianity. since then, thousands and thousands of noble souls have given their bodies to the gibbet and the stake, to help onward the slow progress of truth and freedom; a great unknown continent has been opened as a new, free starting point for the human race; printing has been invented, and the command, "whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them," has been sent abroad in all the languages of the earth. and here, in the noon-day light the nineteenth century, in a nation claiming to be the freest and most enlightened on the face of the globe, a portion the population of fifteen states have thus agreed among themselves: "other men shall work for us, without wages while we smoke, and drink, and gamble, and race horses, and fight. we will have their wives and daughters for concubines, and sell their children in the market with horses and pigs. if they make any objection to this arrangement, we will break them into subjection with the cow-hide and the bucking-paddle. they shall not be permitted to read or write, because that would be likely to 'produce dissatisfaction in their minds.' if they attempt to run away from us, our blood-hounds shall tear the flesh from their bones, and any man who sees them may shoot them down like mad dogs. if they succeed in getting beyond our frontier, into states where it is the custom to pay men for their work, and to protect their wives and children from outrage, we will compel the people of those states to drive them back into the jaws of our blood-hounds." and what do the people of the other eighteen states of that enlightened country answer to this monstrous demand? what says massachusetts, with the free blood of the puritans coursing in her veins, and with the sword uplifted in her right hand, to procure "peaceful repose under liberty"? massachusetts answers: "o yes. we will be your blood-hounds, and pay our own expenses. only prove to our satisfaction that the stranger who has taken refuge among us is one of the men you have agreed among yourselves to whip into working without wages, and we will hunt him back for you. only prove to us that this woman, who has run away from your harem, was bought for a concubine, that you might get more drinking-money by the sale of the children she bears you, and our soldiers will hunt her back with alacrity." shame on my native state! everlasting shame! blot out the escutcheon of the brave old commonwealth! instead of the sword uplifted to protect liberty, let the slave-driver's whip be suspended over a blood-hound, and take for your motto, obedience to tyrants is the highest law. legislators of massachusetts, can it be that you really understand what slavery _is_, and yet consent that a fugitive slave, who seeks protection here, shall be driven back to that dismal house of bondage? for sweet charity's sake, i must suppose that you have been too busy with your farms and your merchandise ever to have imagined yourself in the situation of a slave. let me suppose a case for you; one of a class of cases occurring by hundreds every year. suppose your father was governor of carolina and your mother was a slave. the governor's wife hates your mother, and is ingenious in inventing occasions to have you whipped. _you_ don't know the reason why, poor child! but your mother knows full well. if they would only allow her to go away and work for wages, she would gladly toil and earn money to buy you. but that your father will not allow. his laws have settled it that she is his property, "for all purposes whatsoever," and he will keep her as long as suits his convenience. the mistress continually insists upon her being sold far away south; and after a while, she has her will. your poor mother clings to you convulsively; but the slave-driver gives you both a cut of his whip, and tells you to stop your squalling. they drive her off with the gang, and you never hear of her again; but, for a long time afterward, it makes you very sad to remember the farewell look of those large, loving eyes. your poor mother had handsome eyes; and that was one reason her mistress hated her. you also are your father's property; and when he dies, you will be the property of your whiter brother. you black his shoes, tend upon him at table, and sleep on the floor in his room, to give him water if he is thirsty in the night. you see him learning to read, and you hear your father read wonderful things from the newspapers. very naturally, you want to read, too. you ask your brother to teach you the letters. he gives you a kick, calls you a "damned nig," and informs his father, who orders you to be flogged for insolence. alone on the hard floor at night, still smarting from your blows, you ponder over the great mystery of knowledge and wonder why it would do _you_ any more harm than it does your brother. henceforth, all scraps of newspapers you can find are carefully laid by. helplessly you pore over them, at stolen moments, as if you expected some miracle would reveal the meaning of those printed signs. cunning comes to your aid. it is the only weapon of the weak against the strong. when you see white boys playing in the street, you trace a letter in the sand, and say, "my young master calls that b." "that ain't b, you dammed nigger. that's a"! they shout. now you know what shape is a; and diligently you hunt it out wherever it is to be found on your scraps of newspaper. by slow degrees you toil on, in similar ways, through all the alphabet. no student of greek or hebrew ever deserved so much praise for ingenuity and diligence. but the years pass on, and still you cannot read. your master-brother now and then gives you a copper. you hoard them, and buy a primer; screening yourself from suspicion, by telling the bookseller that your master wants it for his sister's little boy. you find the picture of a cat, with three letters by its side; and now you know how cat is spelt. elated with your wonderful discovery, you are eager to catch a minute to study your primer. too eager, alas! for your mistress catches you absorbed in it, and your little book is promptly burned. you are sent to be flogged, and your lacerated back is washed with brine to make it heal quickly. but in spite of all their efforts, your intelligent mind is too cunning for them. before twenty years have passed, you have stumbled along into the bible; alone in the dark, over a rugged road of vowels and consonants. you keep the precious volume concealed under a board in the floor, and read it at snatches, by the light of a pine knot. you read that god has created of one blood all the nations of the earth; and that his commandment is, to do unto others as we would that they should do unto us. you think of your weeping mother, torn from your tender arms by the cruel slave-trader; of the interdicted light of knowledge; of the bible kept as a sealed book from all whose skins have a tinge of black, or brown, or yellow; of how those brown and yellow complexions came to be so common; of yourself, the son of the governor, yet obliged to read the bible by stealth, under the penalty of a bleeding back washed with brine. these and many other things revolve in your active mind, and your unwritten inferences are worth whole folios of theological commentaries. as youth ripens into manhood, life bears for you, as it does for others, its brightest, sweetest flower. you love young amy, with rippling black hair, and large dark eyes, with long, silky fringes. you inherit from your father, the governor, a taste for beauty warmly-tinted, like cleopatra's. you and amy are of rank to make a suitable match; for you are the son of a southern governor, and she is the daughter of a united states senator, from the north, who often shared her master's hospitality; her handsome mother being a portion of that hospitality, and he being large-minded enough to "conquer prejudices." you have good sympathy in other respects also, for your mothers were both slaves; and as it is conveniently and profitably arranged for the masters that "the child shall follow the condition of the _mother_," you are consequently both of you slaves. but there are some compensations for your hard lot. amy's simple admiration flatters your vanity. she considers you a prodigy of learning because you can read the bible, and she has not the faintest idea how such skill can be acquired. she gives you her whole heart, full of the blind confidence of a first love. the divine spark, which kindles aspirations for freedom in the human soul, has been glowing more and more brightly since you have emerged from boyhood, and now her glances kindle it into a flame. for her dear sake, you long to be a free man, with power to protect her from the degrading incidents of a slave-girl's life. wages acquire new value in your eyes, from a wish to supply her with comforts, and enhance her beauty by becoming dress. for her sake, you are ambitious to acquire skill in the carpenter's trade, to which your, master-brother has applied you as the best investment of his human capital. it is true, he takes all your wages; but then, by acquiring uncommon facility, you hope to accomplish your daily tasks in shorter time, and thus obtain some extra hours to do jobs for yourself. these you can eke out by working late into the night, and rising when the day dawns. thus you calculate to be able in time to buy the use of your own limbs. poor fellow! your intelligence and industry prove a misfortune. they charge twice as much for the machine of your body on account of the soul-power which moves it. your master-brother tells you that you would bring eighteen hundred dollars in the market. it is a large sum. almost hopeless seems the prospect of earning it, at such odd hours as you can catch when the hard day's task is done. but you look at amy, and are inspired with faith to remove mountains. your master-brother graciously consents to receive payment by instalments. these prove a convenient addition to the whole of your wages. they will enable him to buy a new race horse, and increase his stock of choice wines. while he sleeps off drunkenness, you are toiling for him, with the blessed prospect of freedom far ahead, but burning brightly in the distance, like a drummond light, guiding the watchful mariner over a midnight sea. when you have paid five hundred dollars of the required sum, your lonely heart so longs for the comforts of a home, that you can wait no longer. you marry amy, with the resolution of buying her also, and removing to those free states, about which you have often talked together, as invalids discourse of heaven. amy is a member of the church, and it is a great point with her to be married by a minister. her master and mistress make no objection, knowing that after the ceremony, she will remain an article of property, the same as ever. now come happy months, during which you almost forget that you are a slave, and that it must be a weary long while before you can earn enough to buy yourself and your dear one, in addition to supporting your dissipated master. but you toil bravely on, and soon pay another hundred dollars toward your ransom. the drummond light of freedom burns brighter in the diminished distance. alas! in an unlucky hour, your tipsy master-brother sees your gentle amy, and becomes enamored of her large dark eyes, and the rich golden tint of her complexion. your earnings and your ransom-money make him flush of cash. in spite of all your efforts to prevent it, she becomes his property. he threatens to cowhide you, if you ever speak to her again. you remind him that she is your wife; that you were married by a minister. "married, you damned nigger!" he exclaims; "what does a slave's marriage amount to? if you give me any more of your insolence, you'll get a taste of the cowhide." anxious days and desolate nights pass. there is such a heavy pain at your heart, it is a mystery to yourself that you do not die. at last, amy contrives to meet you, pale and wretched as yourself. she has a mournful story to tell of degrading propositions, and terrible threats. she promises to love you always, and be faithful to you till death, come what may. poor amy! when she said that, she did not realize how powerless is the slave, in the hands of an unprincipled master. your interview was watched, and while you were sobbing in each other's arms, you were seized and ordered to receive a hundred lashes. while you are lying in jail, stiff with your wounds, your master-brother comes to tell you he has sold you to a trader from arkansas. you remind him of the receipt he has given you for six hundred dollars, and ask him to return the money. he laughs in your face, and tells you his receipt is worth no more than so much brown paper; that no contracts with a slave are binding. he coolly adds, "besides, it has taken all my spare money to buy amy." perhaps you would have killed him in that moment of desperation, even with the certainty of being burnt to cinders for the deed, but you are too horribly wounded by the lash to be able to spring upon him. in that helpless condition, you are manacled and carried off by the slave-trader. never again will amy's gentle eyes look into yours. what she suffers you will never know. she is suddenly wrenched from your youth, as your mother was from your childhood. the pall of silence falls over all her future. she cannot read or write; and the post-office was not instituted for slaves. looking back on that dark period of desolation and despair, you marvel how you lived through it. but the nature of youth is elastic. you have learned that law offers colored men nothing but its _penalties_; that white men engross all its _protection_; still you are tempted to make another bargain for your freedom. your new master seems easy and good-natured, and you trust he will prove more honorable than your brother has been. perhaps he would; but unfortunately, he is fond of cards; and when you have paid him two hundred dollars, he stakes them, and you also, at the gaming-table, and loses. the winner is a hard man, noted for severity to his slaves. now you resolve to take the risk of running away, with all its horrible chances. you hide in a neighboring swamp, where you are bitten by a venomous snake, and your swollen limb becomes almost incapable of motion. in great anguish, you drag it along, through the midnight darkness, to the hut of a poor plantation-slave, who binds on a poultice of ashes, but dares not, for fear of his life, shelter you after day has dawned. he helps you to a deep gully, and there you remain till evening, half-famished for food. a man in the neighborhood keeps blood-hounds, well trained to hunt runaways. they get on your track, and tear flesh from the leg which the snake had spared. to escape them, you leap into the river. the sharp ring of rifles meets your ear. you plunge under water. when you come up to take breath, a rifle ball lodges in your shoulder and you plunge again. suddenly, thick clouds throw their friendly veil over the moon. you swim for your life, with balls whizzing round you. thanks to the darkness and the water, you baffle the hounds, both animal and human. weary and wounded, you travel through the forests, your eye fixed hopefully on the north star, which seems ever beckoning you onward to freedom, with its bright glances through the foliage. in the day-time, you lie in the deep holes of swamps, concealed by rank weeds and tangled vines, taking such rest as can be obtained among swarms of mosquitoes and snakes. through incredible perils and fatigues, footsore and emaciated, you arrive at last in the states called free. you allow yourself little time to rest, so eager are you to press on further north. you have heard the masters swear with peculiar violence about massachusetts, and you draw the inference that it is a refuge for the oppressed. within the borders of that old commonwealth, you breathe more freely than you have ever done. you resolve to rest awhile, at least, before you go to canada. you find friends, and begin to hope that you may be allowed to remain and work, if you prove yourself industrious and well behaved. suddenly, you find yourself arrested and chained. soldiers escort you through the streets of boston, and put you on board a southern ship, to be sent back to your master. when you arrive, he orders you to be flogged so unmercifully, that the doctor says you will die if they strike another blow. the philanthropic city of boston hears the bloody tidings, and one of her men in authority says to the public: "fugitive slaves are a class of foreigners, with whose rights massachusetts has nothing to do. it is enough for _us_, that they have no right to be _here_."[ ] and the merchants of boston cry, amen. [footnote : said by the u.s. commissioner, george ticknor curtis, at a union meeting, in the old cradle of liberty.] legislators of massachusetts! if _you_ had been thus continually robbed of your rights by the hand of violence, what would _you_ think of the compact between north and south to perpetuate your wrongs, and transmit them to your posterity? would you not regard it as a league between highwaymen, who had "no rights that you were bound to respect"? i put the question plainly and directly to your consciences and your common sense, and they will not allow you to answer, no. are you, then, doing right to sustain the validity of a law for _others_, which you would vehemently reject for _yourselves_ in the name of outraged justice and humanity? the incidents i have supposed might happen to yourselves if you were slaves, are not an imaginary accumulation of horrors. the things i have described are happening in this country every day. i have talked with many "fugitives from injustice," and i could not, within the limits of these pages, even hint at a tithe of the sufferings and wrongs they have described. i have also talked with several slaveholders, who had emancipated themselves from the hateful system. being at a safe distance from lynching neighbors, they could venture to tell the truth; and their statements fully confirm all that i have heard from the lips of slaves. if you read southern laws, you will need very small knowledge of human nature to be convinced that the practical results must inevitably be utter barbarism. in view of those _laws_, i have always wondered how sensible people could be so slow in believing the actual state of things in slaveholding communities. there are no incidents in history, or romance, more thrilling than the sufferings, perils, and hair-breadth escapes of american slaves. no puritan pilgrim, or hero of ' , has manifested more courage and perseverance in the cause of freedom, than has been evinced, in thousands of instances, by this persecuted race. in future ages, popular ballads will be sung to commemorate their heroic achievements, and children more enlightened than ours will marvel at the tyranny of their white ancestors. all of you have doubtless read some accounts of what these unhappy men and women have dared and endured. did you never put yourselves in their stead, and imagine how _you_ would feel, under similar circumstances? not long ago, a young man escaped from slavery by clinging night and day to the under part of a steamboat, drenched by water, and suffering for food. he was discovered and sent back. if the constitution of the united states sanctioned such an outrage upon _you_, what would _you_ think of those who answered your entreaties and remonstrances by saying, "our fathers made an agreement with the man who robs you of your wages and your freedom. it is law; and it is your duty to submit to [transcriber's note: word cut off] patiently"? i think you would _then_ perceive the necessity of having the constitution forthwith amended; and if it were not done very promptly, i apprehend you would appeal vociferously to a higher law. a respectable lady, who removed with her family from virginia to new york, some years ago, had occasion to visit the cook's cabin, to prepare suitable nourishment for a sick child, during the voyage. this is the story she tells: "the steward kindly assisted me in making the toast, and added a cracker and a cup of tea. with these on a small waiter, i was returning to the cabin, when, in passing the freight, which consisted of boxes, bags, &c., a little tawny, famished-looking hand was thrust out between the packages. the skeleton fingers, agitated by a convulsive movement, were evidently reached forth to obtain the food. shocked, but not alarmed by the apparition, i laid the cracker on the hand, which was immediately withdrawn. no one observed the transaction, and i went swiftly to the cabin. in the afternoon, i went to the steward again, in behalf of the little invalid. finding he was a father, i gave him presents for his children, and so ingratiated myself into his favor, that i had free access to the larder. whatever i could procure, i divided with the famished hand, which had become to me a precious charge. as all was tranquil on board, it was evident that i alone was aware of the presence of the fugitive. i humbly returned thanks to god for the privilege of ministering to the wants of this his outcast, despised and persecuted image. that the unfortunate being was a slave, i doubted not. i knew the laws and usages in such cases. i knew the poor creature had nothing to expect from the captain or crew; and again and again i asked myself the agonizing question whether there would be any way of escape. i hoped we should arrive in the night, that the fugitive might go on shore unseen, under favor of the darkness. i determined to watch and assist the creature thus providentially committed to my charge. we had a long passage. on the sixth day, i found that the goods were being moved to come at something which was wanted. my heart seemed to die within me; for the safety of the sufferer had become dear to me. when we sat down to dinner, the dishes swam before my eyes. the tumbling of the freight had not ceased. i felt that a discovery must take place. at length, i heard sudden, hallo! presently, the steward came and whispered the captain, who laid down his knife and fork, and went on deck. one of the passengers followed him, but soon returned in a laughing manner, he told us that a small mulatto boy; who said he belonged to mr. ----, of norfolk, had been found among the freight. he had been concealed among the lumber on wharves for two weeks, and had secreted himself in the schooner the night before we sailed. he was going to new york, to find his father, who had escaped two years before. 'he is starved to a skeleton,' said he, 'and is hardly worth taking back.' many jokes were passed as to the manner of his being renovated, when he should fall into the hands of his master. "the unfortunate child was brought on deck, and we all left the cabin to look at him. i stood some time in the companion-way before i could gain strength to move forward. as soon as he discovered me, a bright gleam passed over his countenance, and he instantly held out to me that famished hand. my feelings could no longer be controlled. there stood before me a child, not more than eleven or twelve years of age, of yellow complexion, and a sad countenance. he was nearly naked; his back was _seared with scars_, and his flesh was wasted to the bone. i burst into tears, and the jeers of others were for a moment changed into sympathies. it began, however, to be suspected that i had brought the boy away; and in that case, the vessel must put back, in order to give me up also. but i related the circumstances, and all seemed satisfied with the truth of my statement. "i asked to be allowed to feed the boy, and the request was granted. he ate voraciously, and, as i stood beside him, he looked into my face at every mouthful. there was something confiding in his look. when he had finished his meal, as i took the plate, he rubbed his fingers softly on my hand, and leaned his head toward me, like a weary child. o that i could have offered him a place of rest! that i could have comforted and protected him! a helpless _child_! a feeble, emaciated, suffering, innocent _child_, reserved for bondage and torture! "the captain informed us that the vessel had been forbidden to enter the port with a fugitive slave on board. he must discharge her cargo where she lay, and return, with all possible dispatch, to norfolk. accordingly, we came to anchor below the city, and the passengers were sent up in a boat, i said to the captain, 'there is a great ado about a poor helpless child.' he replied, 'the laws must be obeyed.' i could not help exclaiming, 'is this the land of boasted freedom?' here was an innocent child treated like a felon; manacled, and sent back to slavery and the lash; deprived of the fostering care which even the brute is allowed to exercise toward its young. the slender boy was seeking the protection of a father. did humanity aid him? no. humanity was prevented by the law, which consigns one portion of the people to the control and brutality of the other. humanity can only look on and weep. 'the laws must be obeyed.'" legislators of massachusetts! suppose for one moment that poor abused boy was your own little johnny or charley, what would you say of the law _then_? truly, if we have no feeling for the children of _others_, we deserve to have our own children reserved for such a fate; and i sometimes think it is the only lesson that will teach the north to respect justice and humanity. it is not long ago, since a free colored man in baltimore was betrothed to a young slave of eighteen, nearly white, and very beautiful. if they married, their children would be slaves, and he would have no power to protect his handsome wife from any outrages an unprincipled master, or his sons, might choose to perpetrate. therefore, he wisely resolved to marry in a land of freedom. he placed her in a box, with a few holes in it, small enough not to attract attention. with tender care, he packed hay around her, that she might not be bruised when thrown from the cars with other luggage. the anxiety of the lover was dreadful. still more terrible was it, when waiting for her in philadelphia, he found that the precious box had not arrived. they had happened to have an unusual quantity of freight, and the baggage-master, after turning the box over, in rough, railroad fashion had concluded to leave it till the next train. the poor girl was thrown into a most uneasy position, without the power of changing it. she was nearly suffocated for want of air; the hay-seed fell into her eyes and nostrils, and it required almost superhuman efforts to refrain from sneezing or choking. added to this was terror lest her absence be discovered, and the heavy box examined. in that state of mind and body, she remained more than two hours, in the hot sun on the railroad platform. at last, the box arrived in philadelphia, and the lover and his friends conveyed it to a place of safety as speedily as possible. those who were present at the opening, say it was the most impressive scene they ever witnessed. silently, almost breathlessly, they drew out the nails, expecting to find a corpse. when the cover was lifted, she smiled faintly in the anxious face of her lover. "o god, she is alive!" he exclaimed, and broke down in a paroxysm of sobs. she had a terrible brain fever, and when she recovered from it, her glossy hair was sprinkled with gray, and the weight of ten years was added to her youthful face. thanks to the vigilance and secrecy of friends, the hounds of the united states, who use the constitution for their kennel, did not get a chance to lap the blood of this poor trembling hare. legislators of massachusetts! suppose this innocent girl had been your own mary or emma, would you not straightway demand amendment of the constitution, in no very measured terms? and if it could not be obtained right speedily, would you not ride over the constitution roughshod? if you would not, you do not deserve to have such blessings as lovely and innocent daughters. you have all heard of margaret garner, who escaped from kentucky to ohio, with her father and mother, her husband and four children. the cincinnati papers described her as "a dark mulatto, twenty-three years of age, of an interesting appearance, considerable intelligence, and a good address." her husband was described as "about twenty-two years old, of a very lithe, active form, and rather a mild, pleasant countenance." these fugitives were sheltered by a colored friend in ohio. there the hounds in pay of the united states, to which "price of blood" you and i and all of us contribute, ferreted them out, and commanded them to surrender. when they refused to do so, they burst open the door, and assailed the inmates of the house with cudgels and pistols. they defended themselves bravely, but were overpowered by numbers and disarmed. when margaret perceived that there was no help for her and her little ones, she seized a knife and cut the throat of her most beautiful child. she was about to do the same by the others, when her arm was arrested. the child killed was nearly white, and exceedingly pretty. the others were mulattoes, and pretty also. what history lay behind this difference of complexion, the world will probably never know. but i have talked confidentially with too many fugitive women not to know that very sad histories do lie behind such facts. margaret garner knew very well what fate awaited her handsome little daughter, and that nerved her arm to strike the death-blow. it was an act that deserves to take its place in history by the side of the roman virginius. the man who claimed this unfortunate family as chattels acknowledged that they had always been faithful servants. on their part, they complained of cruel treatment from their master, as the cause of their attempt to escape. they were carried to the united states court, under a strong guard, and there was not manhood enough in cincinnati to rescue them. what was called law decided that they were property, and they were sent back to the dark dungeon of interminable bondage. the mother could not be induced to express any regret for the death of her child,--her "pretty bird," as she called her. with tears streaming from her eyes, she told of her own toils and sufferings, and said, "it was better they should be killed at once, and end their misery, than to be taken back to slavery, to be murdered by inches." to a preacher, who asked her, "why did you not trust in god? why didn't you wait and hope?" she answered, "we did wait; and when there seemed to be no hope for us, we run away. god did not appear to help us, and i did the best i could." these poor wretches were escorted through the streets by a national guard, the chivalry of the united states. there was not manhood enough in the queen city of the west to attempt a rescue; though they are very fond of quoting for _themselves_, "give me liberty, or give me death!" men satisfied themselves by saying it was all done according to _law_. a powerful plea, truly, for a people who boast so much of making their own laws! these slaves were soon after sent down the mississippi to be sold in arkansas. the boat came in collision with another boat, and many were drowned. the shock threw margaret overboard, with a baby in her arms. she was too valuable a piece of property to lose, and they drew her out of the water; but the baby was gone. she evinced no emotion but joy, still saying it was better for her children to die than to be slaves. the man who could not afford to let this heroic woman own her little ones, was very liberal in supporting the gospel, and his wife was a member of the church. do you think that mother had a murderer's heart? nay, verily. exceeding love for her children impelled her to the dreadful deed. the murder was committed by those human hounds, who drove her to that fearful extremity, where she was compelled to choose between slavery or death for her innocent offspring. again i ask, what would be your judgment of this law, if your _own_ daughter and infant grand-daughter had been its victims? you know very well, that had it been your _own_ case, such despotism, calling itself law, would be swept away in a whirlwind of indignation, and men who strove to enforce it would be obliged to flee the country. ----"they are slaves most base, whose love of right is for _themselves_, and not for all the race." i was lately talking with friend whittier, whose poetry so stirs the hearts of the people in favor of freedom and humanity. he told me he thought the greatest pain he ever suffered was in witnessing the arrest of a fugitive slave in philadelphia. the man had lived there many years; he bore a good character, and was thriving by his industry. he had married a pennsylvania woman, and they had a fine family of children. in the midst of his prosperity and happiness, the blood-hounds of the united states tracked him out. he was seized and hurried into court. friend whittier was present, and heard the agonized entreaties of his wife and children. he saw them clinging to the half frantic husband and father, when the minions of a wicked law tore him away from them for ever. that intelligent, worthy, industrious man was ruthlessly plunged into the deep, dark grave of slavery, where tens of thousands perish yearly, and leave no record of their wrongs. "a german emigrant, who witnessed the scene, poured out such a tornado of curses as i never before heard," said whittier; "and i could not blame the man. he came here supposing america to be a free country, and he was bitterly disappointed. pity for that poor slave and his bereaved family agonized my heart; and my cheeks burned with shame that my country deserved the red-hot curses of that honest german; but stronger than either of those feelings was overpowering indignation that people of the free states were compelled by law to witness such barbarities." many of you have heard of william and ellen crafts, a pious and intelligent couple, who escaped from bondage some years ago. she disguised herself in male attire, and passed for a white gentleman, taking her darker colored husband with her as a servant. when the fugitive slave act went into operation, they received warning that the hounds were on their track. they sought temporary refuge in the house of my noble-hearted friend, ellis gray loring, who then resided in the vicinity of boston. he and his family were absent for some days; but a lady in the house invited mr. crafts to come in and stay till they returned. "no, i thank you," he replied. "there is a heavy fine for sheltering fugitives; and it would not be right to subject mr. loring to it without his consent." "but you know he is a true friend to the slaves," urged the lady. "if he were at home, i am sure he would not hesitate to incur the penalty." "because he is such a good friend to my oppressed race, there is all the more reason why i should not implicate him in my affairs, without his knowledge," replied this nobleman of nature. his wife had slept but little the previous night, having been frightened by dreams of daniel webster chasing her husband, pistol in hand. the evening was stormy, and she asked him if they could not remain there till morning. "it would not be right, ellen," he replied; and with tears in her eyes, they went forth into the darkness and rain. was _that_ a man to be treated like a chattel? how many white gentlemen are there, who, in circumstances as perilous, would have manifested such nicety of moral perception, such genuine delicacy of feeling? england has kindly received that worthy and persecuted couple. all who set foot on _her_ soil are free. would to god it were so in massachusetts! it is well known that southerners have repeatedly declared they do not demand fugitives merely to recover articles of property, or for the sake of making an example of them, to inspire terror in other runaways; that they have a still stronger motive, which is, to humiliate the north; to make them feel that no latitude limits their mastership. have we no honest pride, that we so tamely submit to this? what lethargic disease has fallen on northern souls, that they dare not be as bold for freedom as tyrants are for slavery? it was not thus with our fathers, whose sepulchres we whiten. if old ben franklin had stood as near boston court house as his statue does, do you believe _he_ would have remained passive, while sims, the intelligent mechanic, was manacled and driven through the streets, guiltless of any crime, save that of wishing to be free? _my_ belief is that the brave old printer of ' would have drawn down the lightning out of heaven upon that procession, with a vengeance. what satisfactory reasons can be alleged for submitting to this degradation? what good excuse can be offered? shall we resort to the old testament argument, that anodyne for the consciences of "south-side" divines? suppose the descendants of ham were ordained to be slaves to the end of time, for an offence committed thousands of years ago, by a progenitor they never heard of. still, the greatest amount of theological research leaves it very uncertain who the descendants of ham are, and where they are. i presume you would not consider the title even to one acre of land satisfactorily settled by evidence of such extremely dubious character; how much less, then, a man's ownership of himself! then, again, if we admit that africans are descendants of ham, what is to be said of thousands of slaves, advertised in southern newspapers as "passing themselves for white men, or white women"? runaways with "blue eyes, light hair, and rosy complexions"? are these sons and daughters of our presidents, our governors, our senators, our generals, and our commodores, descendants of ham? are _they_ africans? if you turn to the favorite new testament argument, you will find that paul requested philemon to receive onesimus, "no longer as a servant, but as a brother beloved." is _that_ the way southern masters receive the "fugitives from injustice" whom we drive back to them? is it the way we _expect_ they will be received? in , the intelligent young mechanic, named thomas sims, escaped from a hard master, who gave him many blows and no wages. by his own courage and energy, he succeeded in reaching our commonwealth, where mechanics are not compelled by law to work without wages. but the authorities of boston decreed that this man was "bound to such service or labor." so they ordered out their troops and sent him back to his master, who caused him to be tied up and flogged, till the doctor said, "if you strike another blow, you will kill him." "let him die," replied the master. he did nearly die in prison, but recovered to be sold farther south. was _this_ being received as "a brother beloved"? before we send back any more onesimuses, it is necessary to have a different set of philemons to deal with. the scripture is clearly not obeyed, under present circumstances. if you resort to the alleged legal obligation to return fugitives, it has more plausibility, but has it in reality any firm foundation? americans boast of making their own laws, and of amending them whenever circumstances render it necessary. how, then, can they excuse themselves, or expect the civilized world to excuse them, for making, or sustaining, unjust and cruel laws? the fugitive slave act has none of the attributes of law. if two highwaymen agreed between themselves to stand by each other in robbing helpless men, women and children, should we not find it hard work to "conquer our prejudices" so far as to dignify their bargain with the name of _law_? that is the light in which the compact between north and south presents itself to the minds of intelligent slaves, and we should view it in the same way, if we were in their position. law was established to maintain justice between man and man; and this act clearly maintains injustice. law was instituted to protect the weak from the strong; this act delivers the weak completely into the arbitrary power of the strong, "law is a rule of conduct, prescribed by the supreme power, commanding what is right, and forbidding what is wrong." this is the commonly received definition of law, and obviously, none more correct could be substituted for it. the application of it would at once annul the fugitive slave act, and abolish slavery. that act reverses the maxim. it commands what is wrong, and forbids what is right. it commands us to trample on the weak and defenceless, to persecute the oppressed, to be accomplices in defrauding honest laborers of their wages. it forbids us to shelter the homeless, to protect abused innocence, to feed the hungry, to "hide the outcast." let theological casuists argue as they will, christian hearts _will_ shrink from thinking of jesus as surrendering a fugitive slave; or of any of his apostles, unless it be judas. political casuists may exercise their skill in making the worse appear the better reason, still all honest minds have an intuitive perception that no human enactment which violates god's laws is worthy of respect. by what law of god can we justify the treatment of margaret garner? the surrender of sims and burns? the pitiless persecution of that poor little "famished hand"? there is another consideration, which ought alone to have sufficient weight with us to deter us from attempting to carry out this tyrannical enactment. all history, and all experience, show it to be an immutable law of god, that whosoever injures another, injures himself in the process. these frequent scuffles between despotism and freedom, with despotism shielded by law, cannot otherwise than demoralize our people. they unsettle the popular mind concerning eternal principles of justice. they harden the heart by familiarity with violence. they accustom people to the idea that it is right for capital to own labor; and thus the reverence for liberty, which we inherited from our fathers, will gradually die out in the souls of our children. we are compelled to disobey our own consciences, and repress all our humane feelings, or else to disobey the law. it is a grievous wrong done to the people to place them between these alternatives. the inevitable result is to destroy the sanctity of law. the doctrine that "might makes right," which our rulers consent to teach the people, in order to pacify slaveholders, will come out in unexpected forms to disturb our own peace and safety. there is "even-handed justice" in the fact that men cannot aid in enslaving others, and themselves remain free; that they cannot assist in robbing others, without endangering their own security. moreover, there is wrong done, even to the humblest individual, when he is compelled to be ashamed of his country. when the judge passed under chains into boston court house, and when anthony burns was sent back into slavery, i wept for my native state, as a daughter weeps for the crimes of a beloved mother. it seemed to me that i would gladly have died to have saved massachusetts from that sin and that shame. the tears of a secluded woman, who has no vote to give, may appear to you of little consequence. but assuredly it is not well with any commonwealth, when her daughters weep over her degeneracy and disgrace. in the name of oppressed humanity, of violated religion, of desecrated law, of tarnished honor, of our own freedom endangered, of the moral sense of our people degraded by these evil influences, i respectfully, but most urgently, entreat you to annul this infamous enactment, so far as the jurisdiction of massachusetts extends. our old commonwealth has been first and foremost in many good works; let her lead in this also. and deem it not presumptuous, if i ask it likewise for my own sake. i am a humble member of the community; but i am deeply interested in the welfare and reputation of my native state, and that gives me some claim to be heard. i am growing old; and on this great question of equal rights i have toiled for years, sometimes with a heart sickened by "hope deferred." i beseech you to let me die on free soil! grant me the satisfaction of saying, ere i go hence-- "slaves cannot breathe among us. if their lungs receive _our_ air, that moment they are free! they touch _our_ country, and their shackles fall!" if you cannot be induced to reform this great wickedness, for the sake of outraged justice and humanity, then do it for the honor of the state, for the political welfare of our own people, for the moral character of our posterity. for, as sure as there is a righteous ruler in the heavens, if you continue to be accomplices in violence and fraud, god will _not_ "save the commonwealth of massachusetts." l. maria child. appeal to the constitutionality of the fugitive slave act. the hon. robert rantoul, hon. horace mann, hon. charles sumner, and other able men, have argued against the constitutionality of the fugitive slave bill, proving it to be not only contrary to the _spirit_ and _meaning_ of the constitution, but also to be unauthorized by the _letter_ of that document. that this nefarious bill is contrary to the _spirit_ and _intention_ of the constitution is shown by the published opinions of those who framed it; by the debates at the time of its adoption; and by its preamble, which sets forth that it was ordained to "establish _justice_, ensure domestic _tranquillity_, promote the _general welfare_, and secure the blessings of _liberty_." the arguments adduced to prove that this bill is unauthorized by the _letter_ of the constitution, i will endeavor to compress into a few words. article of the amendments to the constitution expressly provides that "_powers not delegated to the united states by the constitution_, nor prohibited by it to the states, _are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people_." article of the constitution contains four compacts. the first is: "full faith and credit shall be given in each of the states to the public acts, records, and judicial proceedings of every other state. and the _congress may, by general laws, prescribe the manner in which such acts, records and proceedings shall be proved, and the effect thereof_." here, _power is expressly delegated by the constitution to the united states_. the second compact is: "the citizens of each state shall be entitled to all privileges and immunities of citizens in the several states." under this provision, an attempt was made to obtain some action of congress for the protection of colored seamen in slaveholding ports; but it was decided that congress had no power to act on the subject, because _the constitution had not delegated any power to the united states_ in the clause referred to. slaveholders are very strict in adherence to the constitution, whenever any question of _protection_ to colored people is involved in their decisions; but for purposes of _oppression_, they have no scruples. they reverse the principle of common law, that "in any question under the constitution, _every word is to be construed in favor of liberty_." the third compact is: "a person charged in any state with treason, felony, or other crime, who shall flee from justice, or be found in another state, shall, on demand of the executive authority of the state from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the state having jurisdiction of the crime." it has never been pretended that congress has any power to act in such cases. there is no clause _delegating any power to the united states_; consequently, all proceedings on the subject have been left to the several states. the fourth compact is: "no person held to service or labor in one state, under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be due." if the framers of the constitution had meant that congress should have power to pass a law for delivering up fugitives "held to service or labor," they would have inserted a clause _delegating such power_, as they did in the compact concerning "public acts and records." the constitution does _not_ delegate any such power to the united states. consequently, congress had no constitutional right to pass the fugitive slave bill, and the states are under no constitutional obligation to obey it. the hon. horace mann, one of massachusetts' most honored sons, in his able speech on this subject in congress, , said:--"in view of the great principles of civil liberty, out of which the constitution grew, and which it was designed to secure, my own opinion is that this law cannot be fairly and legitimately supported on constitutional grounds. having formed this opinion with careful deliberation, i am bound to speak from it and to act from it. i have read every argument and every article in defence of the law, from whatever source emanating. nay, i have been more anxious to read the arguments made in its favor, than the arguments against it; and i think i have seen a sound legal answer to all the former." * * * "it is a law that might be held constitutional by a bench of slaveholders, whose _pecuniary interests_ connect them directly with slavery; or by those who have surrendered themselves to a pro-slavery policy from _political hopes_. but if we gather the opinions of unbiassed and disinterested men, of those who have no _money_ to make, and no _office_ to hope for, through the triumph of this law, then i think the preponderance of opinion is decidedly against its constitutionality. it is a fact universally known, that gentlemen who have occupied and adorned the highest judicial stations in their respective states, together with many of the ablest lawyers in the whole country, have expressed opinions against the constitutionality of this law." * * * "when i am called upon to support such a law as this, while it lasts, or to desist from opposing it in all constitutional ways, my response is, repeal the law! that i may no longer be called upon to support it. i demand it, because it is a law which conflicts with the constitution of the country, and with all the judicial interpretations of that constitution, wherever they have been applied to the white race. because it is a law abhorrent to the moral and religious sentiments of a vast majority of the community called upon to enforce it. because it is a law which, if executed in the free states, divests them of the character of free states, and makes them voluntary participators in the guilt of slaveholding. because it is a law which disgraces our country in the eyes of the whole civilized world, and gives plausible occasion to the votaries of despotic power to decry republican institutions. because it is a law which forbids us to do unto others as we would have them do unto us, and which makes it a crime to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, and to visit and succor the sick and imprisoned. because it is a law which renders the precepts of the gospel and the teachings of jesus christ seditious; and were the savior and his band of disciples now on earth, there is but one of them who would escape its penalties by pretending to 'conquer his prejudices.'" * * * "suppose the whole body of the white population should be as much endangered by this law, as the colored people now are, would the existence of the law be tolerated for an hour? would there not be a simultaneous and universal uprising of the people against it, and such a yell of execration as never before burst from mortal lips?" the hon. charles sumner, always true to the right, as the needle to the pole, in his learned and able speech in congress, , said:--"the true principles of our political system, the history of the national convention, the natural interpretation of the constitution, all teach that this act is a usurpation by congress of powers that do not belong to it, and an infraction of rights secured to the states. it is a sword, whose handle is at the national capital, and whose point is every where in the states. a weapon so terrible to personal liberty the nation has no power to grasp." * * * "in the name of the constitution, which it violates; of my country, which it dishonors; of humanity, which it degrades; of christianity, which it offends, i arraign this enactment, and now hold it up to the judgment of the senate and the world." * * * * "the slave act violates the constitution, and shocks the public conscience. with modesty, and yet with firmness, let me add, it offends against the divine law. no such enactment can be entitled to support. as the throne of god is above every earthly throne, so are his laws and statutes above all the laws and statutes of man. to question these, is to question god himself. but to assume that human laws are above question, is to claim for their fallible authors infallibility. to assume that they are always in conformity with those of god, is presumptuously and impiously to exalt man to an equality with god. clearly, human laws are _not_ always in such conformity; nor can they ever be beyond question from each individual. where the conflict is open, as if congress should demand the perpetration of murder, the office of conscience, as final arbiter, is undisputed. but in every conflict, the same queenly office is hers. by no earthly power can she be dethroned. each person, after anxious examination, without haste, without passion, solemnly for himself must decide this great controversy. any other rule attributes infallibility to human laws, places them beyond question, and degrades all men to an unthinking, passive obedience. the mandates of an earthly power are to be discussed; those of heaven must at once be performed; nor can any agreement constrain us against god. such is the rule of morals. and now the rule is commended to us. the good citizen, as he thinks of the shivering fugitive, guilty of no crime, pursued, hunted down like a beast, while praying for christian help and deliverance, and as he reads the requirements of this act, is filled with horror. here is a despotic mandate, 'to aid and assist in the prompt and efficient execution of this law.' let me speak frankly. not rashly would i set myself against any provision of law. this grave responsibility i would not lightly assume. but here the path of duty is clear. by the supreme law, which commands me to do no injustice; by the comprehensive christian law of brotherhood; by the constitution, which i have sworn to support, i am bound to disobey this act. never, in any capacity, can i render voluntary aid in its execution. pains and penalties i will endure; but this great wrong i will not do." * * * "for the sake of peace and tranquillity, cease to shock the public conscience! for the sake of the constitution, cease to exercise a power which is nowhere granted, and which violates inviolable rights expressly secured. repeal this enactment! let its terrors no longer rage through the land. mindful of the lowly, whom it pursues; mindful of the good men perplexed by its requirements; in the name of charity, in the name of the constitution, repeal this enactment, totally, and without delay! be admonished by these words of oriental piety: 'beware of the groans of the wounded souls. oppress not to the utmost a single heart; for a solitary sigh has power to overset a whole world.'" robert rantoul, jr., whose large heart was so true to democratic _principles_, that the _party_ wanted to expel him from their ranks, (as parties are prone to do with honest men,) opposed the fugitive slave bill with all the power of his strong intellect. in a speech delivered in , he said: "i am as devotedly attached as any other man to the union of these states, and the constitution of our government; but i admire and love them for that which they secure to us. the constitution is good, and great, and valuable, and to be held for ever sacred, because it secures to us what was the _object_ of the constitution. i love the union and the constitution, not for _themselves_, but for the great _end_ for which they were created--to secure and perpetuate _liberty_; not the liberty of a _class_, superimposed upon the thraldom of groaning multitudes: not the liberty of a _ruling race_, cemented by the tears and blood of subject races, but _human_ liberty, _perfect_ liberty, common to the whole people of the united states and to their posterity. it is because i believe all this, that i love the union and the constitution. if it were not for that, the union would be valueless, and the constitution not worth the parchment on which it is written. god-given liberty is above the union, and above the constitution, and above all the works of man." * * * * * testimonies against the fugitive slave act. the hon. josiah quincy, senior, whose integrity, noble intellect, and long experience in public life, give great weight to his opinions, made a speech at a whig convention in boston, , from which i extract the following:--"the circumstances in which the people of massachusetts are placed are undeniably insupportable. what has been seen, what has been felt, by every man, woman and child in this metropolis, and in this community? and virtually by every man, woman and child in massachusetts? we have seen our court house in chains, two battalions of dragoons, eight regiments of artillery, twelve companies of infantry, the whole constabulary force of the city police, the entire disposable marine of the united states, with its artillery loaded for action, all marching in support of a praetorian band, consisting of one hundred and twenty friends and associates of the u.s. marshal, with loaded pistols and drawn swords, and in military costume and array; and for what purpose? _to escort and conduct a poor trembling slave from a boston court house to the fetters and lash of his master!_ "this scene, thus awful, thus detestable, every inhabitant of this metropolis, nay, every inhabitant of this commonwealth, may be compelled again to witness, at any time, and every day in the year, at the will or the whim of the meanest and basest slaveholder of the south. is there a man in massachusetts with a spirit so low, so debased, so corrupted by his fears, or his fortune, that he is prepared to say this is a condition of things to be endured in perpetuity by us? and that this is an inheritance to be transmitted by us to our children, for all generations? for so long as the fugitive-slave clause remains in the constitution, unobliterated, it is an obligation perpetual upon them, as well as upon us. "the obligation incumbent upon the free states _must be obliterated from the constitution, at every hazard_. i believe that, in the nature of things, by the law of god, and the laws of man, _that clause is at this moment abrogated, so far as respects common obligation_. in , the free states agreed to be field-drivers and pound-keepers for the slaveholding states, within the limits, and according to the fences, of the old united states. but between that year and this a.d. , the slaveholders have broken down the old boundaries, and opened new fields, of an unknown and indefinite extent.[ ] they have multiplied their slaves by millions, and are every day increasing their numbers, and extending their field into the wilderness. under these circumstances, are we bound to be their field-drivers and pound-keepers any longer? answer me, people of massachusetts! are you the sons of the men of ? or do you 'lack gall, to make oppression bitter?' [footnote : the hon. josiah quincy, while in congress, always opposed the annexation of foreign territory to the united states, on the ground of its unconstitutionality.] "i have pointed out your burden. i have shown you that it is insupportable. i shall be asked how we are to get rid of it. it is not for a private individual to point the path which a state is to pursue, to cast off an insupportable burden; it belongs to the constituted authorities of that state. but this i will say, that if the people of massachusetts solemnly adopt, as one man, in the spirit of their fathers, the resolve that they will no longer submit to this burden, and will call upon the free states to concur in this resolution, and carry it into effect, the burden will be cast off; the fugitive-slave clause will be obliterated, not only without the dissolution of the union, but with a newly-acquired strength to the union.". in the spring of , there was a debate on this subject in the legislature of new york. in the course of it, mr. smith, of chatauqua, said:--"how _came_ slavery in this country? it came here without law; in violation of all law. it came here by force and violence; by the force of might over right; and it remains here to-day by no better title. and now we are called upon, by the ruling power at washington, not merely to tolerate it, but to legalize it all over the united states! by the fugitive slave bill, we are forbidden to shelter or assist the forlornest stranger who ever appealed for sympathy or aid. we are required by absolute law to shut out every feeling of compassion for suffering humanity. fines and imprisonment impend over us, for exercising one of the holiest charities of our religion. virtue and humanity are legislated into crime. let us meet the issue like men! let us assert our utter abhorrence of all human laws, that compel us to violate the common law of humanity and justice; and by so acting assert the broad principles of the declaration of american independence, and the letter and spirit of the constitution. if the north was as devoted to the cause of freedom as the south is to slavery, our national troubles would vanish like darkness before the sun. our country would then become what it _should_ be,--free, happy, prosperous, and respected by all the world. then we could say, truthfully, that she is the home of the free, the land of the brave, the asylum of the oppressed." in the same debate, mr. maxson, of allegheny, said:--"all laws, whether constitutions or statutes, that invade human rights, are null. a community has no more power to strike down the rights of man by constitutions, than by any other means. do those who give us awfully solemn lessons about the inviolability of compacts, mean that one man is bound to rob another because he has _agreed_ to? in this age of schools, of churches and of bibles, do they mean to teach us that an agreement to rob men of their rights, in whatever solemn form that agreement may be written out, is binding? has the morality of the nineteenth century culminated in _this_, that a mere compact can convert vice into virtue? these advocates of the rightfulness of robbery, because it has been _agreed_, to, and that agreement has been _written down_, have come too late upon the stage, by more than two hundred years. where does the proud empire state wish to be recorded in that great history, which is being so rapidly filled out with the records of this "irrepressible conflict"? for myself, a humble citizen of the state, i ask no prouder record for her than that, in the year , she enacted that _the moment a man sets foot on her soil, he is free, against the world_!" wendell phillips, one of earth's bravest and best, made a speech at worcester, , from which i make the following extract:--"mr. mann, mr. giddings, and other leaders of the free soil party, are ready to go to the death against the fugitive slave law. it never should be enforced, they say. it robs men of the jury trial, it robs them of _habeas corpus_, and forty other things. this is a very good position. but how much comfort would it have been to ellen crafts, if she had been sent back to macon, to know that it had been done with a scrupulous observance of all the forms of _habeas corpus_ and jury trial? when she got back, some excellent friend might have said to her, 'my dear ellen, you had the blessed privilege of _habeas corpus_ and jury trial. what are you grieving about? you were sent back according to law and the constitution. what could you want more?' from the statements of our free soil friends, you would suppose that the _habeas corpus_ was the great safeguard of a slave's freedom; that it covered him as with an angel's wing. but suppose _habeas corpus_ and jury trial granted, what then? is any man to be even _so_ surrendered, with our consent? no slave shall be sent back--except by _habeas corpus_. stop half short of that! no slave shall be sent back!" rev. a.d. mayo, of albany, is one of those clergymen who believe that a religious teacher has something to do with questions affecting public morality; and his preaching is eloquent, because he is fearlessly obedient to his own convictions. in a sermon on the fugitive slave bill, he said:--"remember that despotism has no natural rights on earth that any man is bound to respect. i know there is no political party, no christian sect, no northern state, as a whole, yet fully up to this. but the christian sentiment of the country will finally bring us all to the same conclusion." no slave hunt in our borders! what asks the old dominion? if now her sons have proved false to their fathers' memory, false to the faith they loved; if _she_ can scoff at freedom, and its great charter spurn, must _we_ of massachusetts from truth and duty turn? _we_ hunt your bondmen, flying from slavery's hateful hell? _our_ voices, at your bidding, take up the blood-hound's yell? _we_ gather, at your summons, above our fathers' graves, from freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your wretched slaves? thank god! not yet so vilely can massachusetts bow, the spirit of her early time is with her even now. dream not, because her pilgrim blood moves slow, and calm, and cool, she thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's slave and tool! for ourselves and for our children, the vow which we have given for freedom and humanity, is registered in heaven. no slave-hunt in _our_ borders! no pirate on _our_ strand! no fetters in the bay state! no slave upon _our_ land! j.g. whittier. the higher law. man was not made for forms, but forms for man; and there are times when law itself must bend to that clear spirit, that hath still outran the speed of human justice. in the end, potentates, not humanity, must fall. water will find its level; fire will burn; the winds must blow around this earthly ball; this earthly ball by day and night must turn. freedom is typed in every element. man _must_ be free! if not _through_ law, why then _above_ the law! until its force be spent, and justice brings a better. when, o, when, father of light! shall the great reckoning come, to lift the weak, and strike the oppressor dumb? c.p. cranch. on the surrender of a fugitive slave. look on who will in apathy, and stifle, they who _can_, the sympathies, the hopes, the words, that make man truly man; let those whose hearts are dungeoned up, with interest or with ease, consent to hear, with quiet pulse, of loathsome deeds like these. i first drew in new england's air, and from her hardy breast sucked in the tyrant-hating milk, that will not let me rest; and if my words seem treason to the dullard and the tame, 'tis but my bay state dialect--our fathers spake the same. shame on the costly mockery of piling stone on stone to those who won _our_ liberty! the heroes dead and gone! while we look coldly on and see law-shielded ruffians slay the men who fain would win their _own_! the heroes of _to-day_! are we pledged to craven silence? o, fling it to the wind, the parchment wall that bars us from the least of human kind! that makes us cringe, and temporize, and dumbly stand at rest, while pity's burning flood of words is red-hot in the breast! we owe allegiance to the state; but deeper, truer, more, to the sympathies that god hath set within our spirit's core. our country claims our fealty; we grant it so; but then before man made us _citizens_, great nature made us _men_! though we break our fathers' promise, we have nobler duties first, the traitor to _humanity_ is the traitor most accurst. _man_ is more than _constitutions_. better rot beneath the sod, than be true to _church_ and _state_, while we are doubly false to god! james russell lowell. stanzas for the times. shall tongues be mute, when deeds are wrought which well might shame extremest hell? shall freemen lock the indignant thought? shall pity's bosom cease to swell? shall honor bleed? shall truth succumb? shall pen, and press, and soul be dumb? what! shall we guard our neighbor still. while woman shrieks beneath his rod, and while he tramples down, at will, the image of a common god? shall watch and ward be round him set of northern nerve and bayonet? and shall we know, and share with him, the danger and the growing shame? and see our freedom's light grow dim, which should have filled the world with flame? and, writhing, feel, where'er we turn, a world's reproach around us burn? no! by each spot of haunted ground, where freedom weeps her children's fall; by plymouth's rock, and bunker's mound; by griswold's stained and shattered wall; by warren's ghost; by langdon's shade; by all the memories of our dead; by their enlarging souls, which burst the bands and fetters round them set; by the free pilgrim spirit, nursed within our bosoms yet; by all above, around, below, be ours the indignant answer--no! j.g. whittier. vermont personal liberty law. an act to secure freedom to all persons within this state. _it is hereby enacted, &c.:_ sec. . no person within this state shall be considered as property, or subject, as such, to sale, purchase, or delivery; nor shall any person, within the limits of this state, at this time, be deprived of liberty or property without due process of law. sec. . due process of law, mentioned in the preceding section of this act shall, in all cases, be defined to mean the usual process and forms in force by the laws of this state, and issued by the courts thereof; and under such process, such person shall be entitled to a trial by jury. sec. . whenever any person in this state shall be deprived of liberty, arrested, or detained, on the ground that such person owes service or labor to another person, not an inhabitant of this state, either party may claim a trial by jury; and, in such case, challenges shall be allowed to the defendant agreeably to sections four and five of chapter one hundred and eleven of the compiled statutes. sec. . every person who shall deprive or attempt to deprive any other person of his or her liberty, contrary to the preceding sections of this act, shall, on conviction thereof, forfeit and pay a fine not exceeding two thousand dollars nor less than five hundred dollars, or be punished by imprisonment in the state prison for a term not exceeding ten years: _provided_, that nothing in said preceding sections shall apply to, or affect the right to arrest or imprison under existing laws for contempt of court. sec. . neither descent near or remote from an african, whether such african is or may have been a slave or not, nor color of skin or complexion, shall disqualify any person from being, or prevent any person from becoming, a citizen of this state, nor deprive such person of the rights and privileges thereof. sec. . every person who may have been held as a slave, who shall come, or be brought, or be in this state, with or without the consent of his or her master or mistress, or who shall come, or be brought, or be, involuntarily or in any way in this state, shall be free. sec. . every person who shall hold, or attempt to hold, in this state, in slavery, or as a slave, any person mentioned as a slave in the sixth section of this act, or any free person, in any form, or for any time, however short, under pretence that such person is or has been a slave, shall, on conviction thereof, be imprisoned in the state prison for a term not less than one year, nor more than fifteen years, and be fined not exceeding two thousand dollars. sec. . all acts and parts of acts inconsistent with the provisions of this act are hereby repealed. sec. . this act shall take effect from its passage. approved november , . proofreaders isaac t. hopper a true life by l. maria child [illustration: isaac t. hopper] thine was a soul with sympathy imbued, broad as the earth, and as the heavens sublime; thy godlike object, steadfastly pursued, to save thy race from misery and crime. garrison. to hannah attmore hopper, widow of the late isaac t. hopper, this volume is respectfully and affectionately inscribed, by her grateful and attached friend, l. maria child. preface. this biography differs from most works of the kind, in embracing fragments of so many lives. friend hopper lived almost entirely for others; and it is a striking illustration of the fact, that i have found it impossible to write his biography without having it consist largely of the adventures of other people. i have not recounted his many good deeds for the mere purpose of eulogizing an honored friend. i have taken pleasure in preserving them in this form, because i cherish a hope that they may fall like good seed into many hearts, and bring forth future harvests in the great field of humanity. most of the strictly personal anecdotes fell from his lips in familiar and playful conversation with his sister, or his grand-children, or his intimate friends, and i noted them down at the time, without his knowledge. in this way i caught them in a much more fresh and natural form, than i could have done if he had been conscious of the process. the narratives and anecdotes of fugitive slaves, which form such a prominent portion of the book, were originally written by friend hopper himself, and published in newspapers, under the title of "tales of oppression." i have re-modelled them all; partly because i wished to present them in a more concise form, and partly because the principal actor could be spoken of more freely by a third person, than he could speak of himself. moreover, he had a more dramatic way of _telling_ a story than he had of _writing_ it; and i have tried to embody his unwritten style as nearly as i could remember it. where-ever incidents or expressions have been added to the published narratives, i have done it from recollection. the facts, which were continually occurring within friend hopper's personal knowledge, corroborate the pictures of slavery drawn by mrs. stowe. her descriptions are no more fictitious, than the narratives written by friend hopper. she has taken living characters and facts of every-day occurrence, and combined them in a connected story, radiant with the light of genius, and warm with the glow of feeling. but is a landscape any the less real, because there is sunshine on it, to bring out every tint, and make every dew-drop sparkle? who that reads the account here given of daniel benson, and william anderson, can doubt that slaves are capable of as high moral excellence, as has ever been ascribed to them in any work of fiction? who that reads zeke, and the quick witted slave, can pronounce them a stupid race, unfit for freedom? who that reads the adventures of the slave mother, and of poor manuel, a perpetual mourner for his enslaved children, can say that the bonds of nature are less strong with them, than with their more fortunate white brethren? who can question the horrible tyranny under which they suffer, after reading the tender mercies of a slaveholder, and the suicide of romaine? friend hopper labored zealously for many, many years; and thousands have applied their best energies of head and heart to the same great work; yet the slave-power in this country is as strong as ever--nay, stronger. its car rolls on in triumph, and priests and politicians outdo each other in zeal to draw it along, over its prostrate victims. but, lo! from under its crushing wheels, up rises the bleeding spectre of uncle tom, and all the world turns to look at him! verily, the slave-power is strong; but god and truth are stronger. contents. general index. allusions to his parents. anecdotes of childhood. allusions to sarah his wife. allusions to joseph whitall. anecdotes of apprenticeship. his religious experience. tales of oppression and anecdotes of colored people. anecdotes of prisoners and of vicious characters in philadelphia. his love of fun. allusions to his private life and domestic character. anecdotes connected with quakers. schism in the society of friends. anecdotes connected with his visit to england and ireland. anti-slavery experiences in new-york. his attachment to the principles and usages of friends. disowned by the society of friends in new-york. his connection with the prison association of new-york. his illness, death, and funeral. particular index. his birth. anecdote of his grandmother's courage. his childish roguery. his contest with british soldiers. his violent temper. conscientiousness in boyhood. tricks at school. going to mill. going to market. anecdote of general washington. pelting the swallows. anecdote of the squirrel and her young ones. the pet squirrel. the pet crow. encounter with a black snake. old mingo the african. boyish love for sarah tatum. his mother's parting advice when he leaves home. mischievous trick at the cider barrel. he nearly harpoons his uncle. he nearly kills a fellow apprentice. adventure with a young woman. his first slave case. his youthful love for sarah tatum. nicholas waln. mary ridgeway. william savery. his early religious experience. letter from joseph whitall. he marries sarah tatum. his interest in colored people. charles webster. ben jackson. thomas cooper. a child kidnapped. wagelma. james poovey. romaine. david lea. the slave hunter. william bachelor. levin smith. etienne lamaire. samuel johnson. pierce butler's ben. daniel benson. the quick-witted slave. james davis. mary holliday. thomas harrison. james lawler. william anderson. sarah roach. zeke. poor amy. manuel. slaveholders mollified. the united states bond. the tender mercies of a slaveholder. the foreign slave. the new-jersey slave. a slave hunter defeated. mary morris. the slave mother. colonel ridgeley's slave. stop thief! the disguised slaveholder. the slave of dr. rich. his knowledge of law. mutual confidence between him and the colored people. mercy to kidnappers. richard allen, the colored bishop. the colored guests at his table. kane the colored man fined for blasphemy. john mcgrier. levi butler. the musical boy. mary norris. the magdalen. the uncomplimentary invitation. theft from necessity. patrick m'keever. the umbrella girl. the two young offenders. his courageous intercourse with violent prisoners. not thoroughly baptized. the puzzled dutchman. hint to an untidy neighbor. resemblance to napoleon. the dress, manners, and character of sarah, his wife. the devil's lane. jacob lindley's anecdotes. singular clairvoyance of arthur howell, a quaker preacher. prophetic presentiment of his mother. the aged bondman emancipated. a presentiment of treachery. the quaker who purchased a stolen horse. elias hicks and the schism in the society of friends. pecuniary difficulties. death of his wife. death of his son isaac. journey to maryland, and testimony against slavery. his marriage with hannah attmore. removes to new-york. matthew carey's facetious letter of introduction. anecdotes of his visit to england and ireland. anecdote of the diseased horse. visit to william penn's grave. the storm at sea. profane language rebuked. the clergyman and his books. his book-store in new-york. the mob in pearl-street. judge chinn's slave. one of his sons mobbed at the south. his letter to the mayor of savannah. his phrenological character. his unconsciousness of distinctions in society. the darg case. letter from dr. moore. mrs. burke's slave. becomes agent in the anti-slavery office. his youthful appearance. anecdotes showing his love of fun. his sense of justice. his remarkable memory. his costume and personal habits. his library. his theology. his adherence to quaker usages. capital punishment. rights of women. expressions of gratitude from colored people. his fund of anecdotes and his public speaking. remarks of judge edmonds thereon. his separation from the society of friends in new-york. visit to his birth-place. norristown convention. visit from his sister sarah. visit to boston. visit to bucks county. prison association in new-york. correspondence with governor young. preaching in sing sing chapel. anecdotes of dr. william rogers. interesting cases of reformed convicts. letter from dr. walter channing. anecdotes of william savery and james lindley at the south. sonnet by william l. garrison. his sympathy with colored people turned out of the cars. a methodist preacher from the south. his disobedience to the fugitive slave law. his domestic character. he attracts children. his garden described in a letter to l.m. child. likenesses of him. letter concerning joseph whitall. letters concerning sarah his wife. letter to his daughter on his th birth-day. allusions to hannah, his wife. letter resigning the agency of the prison association. his last illness. his death. letter from a reformed convict. resolutions passed by the prison association. resolutions passed by the anti-slavery society. his funeral. lucretia mott. public notices and private letters of condolence. his epitaph. i was a father to the poor: and the cause which i knew not i searched out. when the ear heard me, then it blessed me: and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me: because i delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. the blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me: and i caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. job xxix. , , , . life of isaac t. hopper isaac tatem hopper was born in deptford township, near woodbury, west new-jersey, in the year , on the third day of december, which quakers call the twelfth month. his grandfather belonged to that denomination of christians, but forfeited membership in the society by choosing a wife from another sect. his son levi, the father of isaac, always attended their meetings, but never became a member. a family of rigid presbyterians, by the name of tatem, resided in the neighborhood. while their house was being built, they took shelter for a few days, in a meeting-house that was little used, and dug a pit for a temporary cellar, according to the custom of new settlers in the forest. the country at that time was much infested with marauders; but mrs. tatem was an amazon in physical strength and courage. one night, when her husband was absent, and she was alone in the depths of the woods with three small children, she heard a noise, and looking out saw a band of thieves stealing provisions from the cellar. they entered the meeting-house soon after, and she had the presence of mind to call out, "hallo, jack! call joe, and harry, and jim! here's somebody coming." the robbers, supposing she had a number of stout defenders at hand, thought it prudent to escape as quickly as possible. the next day, her husband being still absent, she resolved to move into the unfinished house, for greater security. the door had neither lock nor latch, but she contrived to fasten it in some fashion. at midnight, three men came and tried to force it open; but every time they partially succeeded, she struck at them with a broad axe. this mode of defence was kept up so vigorously, that at last they were compelled to retreat. she had a daughter, who was often at play with neighbor hopper's children; and when levi was quite a small boy, it used to be said playfully that little rachel tatem would be his wife, and they would live together up by the great white oak; a remarkable tree at some distance from the homestead. the children grew up much attached to each other, and when levi was twenty-two years old, the prophecy was fulfilled. the young man had only his own strong hands and five or six hundred acres of wild woodland. he grubbed up the trees and underbrush near the big white oak, removed his father's hen-house to the cleared spot, fitted it up comfortably for a temporary dwelling, and dug a cellar in the declivity of a hill near by. to this humble abode he conducted his young bride, and there his two first children were born. the second was named isaac tatem hopper, and is the subject of this memoir. rachel inherited her mother's energy and courage, and having married a diligent and prudent man, their worldly circumstances gradually improved, though their family rapidly increased, and they had nothing but land and labor to rely upon. when isaac was one year and a half old, the family removed to a new log-house with three rooms on a floor, neatly whitewashed. to these the bridal hen-house was appended for a kitchen. isaac was early remarked as a very precocious child. he was always peeping into everything, and inquiring about everything. he was only eighteen months old, when the new log-house was built; but when he saw them laying the foundation, his busy little mind began to query whether the grass would grow under it; and straightway he ran to see whether grass grew under the floor of the hen-house where he was born. he was put to work on the farm as soon as he could handle a hoe; but though he labored hard, he had plenty of time and strength left for all manner of roguery. while he was a small fellow in petticoats, he ran into a duck-pond to explore its depth. his mother pulled him out, and said, "isaac, if you ever go there again, i will make you come out faster than you went in." he thought to himself, "now i will prove mother to be in the wrong; for i will go in as fast as i can, and surely i can't come out any faster." so into the pond he went, as soon as the words were out of her mouth. a girl by the name of polly assisted about the housework. she was considered one of the family, and always ate at the same table, according to the kindly custom of those primitive times. she always called her mistress "mammy," and served her until the day of her death; a period of forty years. the children were much attached to this faithful domestic; but nevertheless, isaac could not forbear playing tricks upon her whenever he had opportunity.--when he was five or six years old, he went out one night to see her milk the cow. he had observed that the animal kicked upon slight provocation; and when the pail was nearly full, he broke a switch from a tree near by, slipped round to the other side of the cow, and tickled her bag. she instantly raised her heels, and over went polly, milk-pail, stool, and all. isaac ran into the house, laughing with all his might, to tell how the cow had kicked over polly and the pail of milk. his mother went out immediately to ascertain whether the girl was seriously injured.--"oh, mammy, that little rogue tickled the cow, and made her do it," exclaimed polly. whereupon, isaac had a spanking, and was sent to bed without his supper. but so great was his love of fun, that as he lay there, wakeful and hungry, he shouted with laughter all alone by himself, to think how droll polly looked when she rolled over with the pail of milk after her. when he was seven or eight years old, his uncle's wife came one day to the house on horseback. she was a fat, clumsy woman, and got on and off her horse with difficulty. isaac knew that all the family were absent; but when he saw her come ambling along the road, he took a freak not to tell her of it. he let down the bars for her; she rode up to the horse-block with which every farm-house was then furnished, rolled off her horse, and went into the house. she then discovered, for the first time, that there was no one at home. after resting awhile, she mounted to depart. but isaac, as full of mischief as puck, put the bars up, so that she could not ride out. in vain she coaxed, scolded, and threatened. finding it was all to no purpose, she rode up to the block and rolled off from her horse again.--isaac, having the fear of her whip before his eyes, ran and hid himself. she let down the bars for herself, but before she could remount, the mischievous urchin had put the bars up again and run away.--this was repeated several times; and the exasperated visitor could never succeed in catching her tormentor. his parents came home in the midst of the frolic, and he had a sound whipping. he had calculated upon this result all the time, and the uneasy feeling had done much to mar his sport; but on the whole, he concluded such rare fun was well worth a flogging. the boys at school were apt to neglect their lessons while they were munching apples. in order to break up this disorderly habit, the master made it a rule to take away every apple found upon them.--he placed such forfeited articles upon his desk, with the agreement that any boy might have them, who could succeed in abstracting them without being observed by him. one day, when a large rosy-cheeked apple stood temptingly on the desk, isaac stepped up to have his pen mended. he stood very demurely at first, but soon began to gaze earnestly out of the window, behind the desk. the master inquired what he was looking at. he replied, "i am watching a flock of ducks trying to swim on the ice. how queerly they waddle and slide about!" "ducks swim on ice!" exclaimed the schoolmaster; and he turned to observe such an unusual spectacle. it was only for an instant; but the apple meanwhile was transferred to the pocket of his cunning pupil. he smiled as he gave him his pen, and said, "ah, you rogue, you are always full of mischief!" the teacher was accustomed to cheer the monotony of his labors by a race with the boys during play hours. there was a fine sloping lawn in front of the school-house, terminating in a brook fringed with willows. the declivity gave an impetus to the runners, and as they came among the trees, their heads swiftly parted the long branches. isaac tied a brick-bat to one of the pendant boughs, and then invited the master to run with him. he accepted the invitation, and got the start in the race. as he darted through the trees, the brick merely grazed his hair. if it had hit him, it might have cost him his life; though his mischievous pupil had not reflected upon the possibility of such a result. there was a bridge across the brook consisting of a single rail. one day, isaac sawed this nearly in two; and while the master was at play with the boys, he took the opportunity to say something very impertinent, for which he knew he should be chased. he ran toward the brook, crossed the rail in safety, and instantly turned it over, so that his pursuer would step upon it when the cut side was downward. it immediately snapped under his pressure, and precipitated him into the stream, while the young rogue stood by almost killing himself with laughter. but this joke also came very near having a melancholy termination; for the master was floated down several rods into deep water, and with difficulty saved himself from drowning. there was a creek not far from his father's house, where it was customary to load sloops with wood. upon one of these occasions, he persuaded a party of boys to pry up a pile of wood and tip it into a sloop, in a confused heap. of course, it must all be taken out and reloaded. when he saw how much labor this foolish trick had caused, he felt some compunction; but the next temptation found the spirit of mischief too strong to be resisted. coming home from his uncle's one evening, he stopped to amuse himself with taking a gate off its hinges. when an old quaker came out to see who was meddling with his gate, isaac fired a gun over his head, and made him run into the house, as if an evil spirit were after him. it was his delight to tie the boughs of trees together in narrow paths, that people travelling in the dark, might hit their heads against them; and to lay stones in the ruts of the road, when he knew that farmers were going to market with eggs, in the darkness of morning twilight. if any mischief was done for miles round, it was sure to be attributed to isaac hopper. there was no malice in his fun; but he had such superabounding life within him, that it _would_ overflow, even when he knew that he must suffer for it. his boyish activity, strength, and agility were proverbial. long after he left his native village, the neighbors used to tell with what astonishing rapidity he would descend high trees, head foremost, clinging to the trunk with his feet. the fearlessness and firmness of character, which he inherited from both father and mother, manifested itself in many ways. he had a lamb, whose horns were crooked, and had a tendency to turn in. his father had given it to him for his own, on condition that he should keep the horns carefully filed, so that they should not hurt the animal. he had a small file on purpose, and took such excellent care of his pet, that it soon became very much attached to him, and trotted about after him like a dog. when he was about five or six years old, british soldiers came into the neighborhood to seize provisions for the army, according to their custom during our revolutionary war. they tied the feet of the tame lamb, and threw it into the cart with other sheep and lambs. isaac came up to them in season to witness this operation, and his heart swelled with indignation. he sprang into the cart, exclaiming, "that's _my_ lamb, and you shan't have it!" the men tried to push him aside; but he pulled out a rusty jack-knife, which he had bought of a pedlar for two-pence, and cut the rope that bound the poor lamb. a british officer rode up, and seeing a little boy struggling so resolutely with the soldiers, he inquired what was the matter. "they've stolen my lamb!" exclaimed isaac; "and they shan't have it. it's _my_ lamb!" "_is_ it your lamb, my brave little fellow?" said the officer. "well, they shan't have it. you'll make a fine soldier one of these days." so isaac lifted his lamb from the cart, and trudged off victorious. he had always been a whig; and after this adventure, he became more decided than ever in his politics. he often used to boast that he would rather have a paper continental dollar, than a golden english guinea. the family amused themselves by exciting his zeal, and polly made him believe he was such a famous whig, that the british would certainly carry him off to prison. he generally thought he was fully capable of defending himself; but when he saw four soldiers approaching the house one day, he concluded the force was rather too strong for him, and hastened to hide himself in the woods. his temper partook of the general strength and vehemence of his character. having put a small quantity of gunpowder on the stove of the school-house, it exploded, and did some injury to the master. one of the boys, who was afraid of being suspected of the mischief, in order to screen himself, cried out, "isaac hopper did it!"--and isaac was punished accordingly. going home from school, he seized the informer as they were passing through a wood, tied him up to a tree, and gave him a tremendous thrashing. the boy threatened to tell of it; but he assured him that he would certainly kill him if he did; so he never ventured to disclose it. in general, his conscience reproved him as soon as he had done anything wrong, and he hastened to make atonement. a poor boy, who attended the same school, usually brought a very scanty dinner. one day, the spirit of mischief led isaac to spoil the poor child's provisions by filling his little pail with sand. when the boy opened it, all eagerness to eat his dinner, the tears came into his eyes; for he was very hungry. this touched isaac's heart instantly. "oh, never mind, billy," said he. "i did it for fun; but i'm sorry i did it.. come, you shall have half of my dinner." it proved a lucky joke for billy; for from that day henceforth, isaac always helped him plentifully from his own stock of provisions. isaac and his elder brother were accustomed to set traps in the woods to catch partridges. one day, when he was about six years old, he went to look at the traps early in the morning, and finding his empty, he took a plump partridge from his brother's trap, put it in his own, and carried it home as his. when his brother examined the traps, he said he was sure _he_ caught the bird, because there were feathers sticking to his trap; but isaac maintained that there were feathers sticking to his also. after he went to bed, his conscience scorched him for what he had done. as soon as he rose in the morning, he went to his mother and said, "what shall i do? i have told a lie, and i feel dreadfully about it. that _was_ sam's partridge. i said i took it from my trap; and so i did; but i put it in there first." "my son, it is a wicked thing to tell a lie," replied his mother. "you must go to sam and confess, and give him the bird." accordingly, he went to his brother, and said, "sam, here's your partridge. i did take it out of my trap; but i put it in there first." his brother gave him a talking, and then forgave him. being a very bright, manly boy, he was intrusted to carry grain several miles to mill, when he was only eight years old. on one of these occasions, he arrived just as another boy, who preceded him, had alighted to open the gate. "just let me drive in before you shut it," said isaac, "and then i shall have no need to get down from my wagon." the boy patiently held the gate for him to pass through; but, isaac, without stopping to thank him, whipped up his horse, arrived at the mill post haste, and claimed the right to be first served, because he was the first comer. when the other boy found he was compelled to wait, he looked very much dissatisfied, but said nothing. isaac chuckled over his victory at first, but his natural sense of justice soon suggested better thoughts. he asked himself whether he had done right thus to take advantage of that obliging boy? the longer he reflected upon it, the more uncomfortable he felt. at last, he went up to the stranger and said frankly, "i did wrong to drive up to the mill so fast, and get my corn ground, when you were the one who arrived first; especially as you were so obliging as to hold the gate open for me to pass through. i was thinking of nothing but fun when i did it. here's sixpence to make up for it." the boy was well pleased with the amend thus honorably offered, and they parted right good friends. at nine years old, he began to drive a wagon to philadelphia, to sell vegetables and other articles from his father's farm; which he did very satisfactorily, with the assistance of a neighbor, who occupied the next stall in the market. according to the fashion of the times, he wore a broad-brimmed hat, and small-clothes with long stockings. being something of a dandy, he prided himself upon having his shoes very clean, and his white dimity small clothes without spot or blemish. he caught rabbits, and sold them, till he obtained money enough to purchase brass buckles for his knees, and for the straps of his shoes. the first time he made his appearance in the city with this new finery, he felt his ambition concerning personal decoration completely satisfied. the neatness of his dress, and his manly way of proceeding, attracted attention, and induced his customers to call him "the little governor." for several years, he was universally known in the market by that title. fortunately, his father had no wish to obtain undue advantage in the sale of his produce; for had it been otherwise, his straight-forward little son would have proved a poor agent in transacting his affairs. one day, when a citizen inquired the price of a pair of chickens, he answered, with the utmost simplicity, "my father told me to sell them for fifty cents if i could; and if not, to take forty." "well done, my honest little fellow!" said the gentleman, smiling, "i will give you whatever is the current price. i shall look out for you in the market; and whenever i see you, i shall always try to trade with you." and he kept his word. when quite a small boy, he was sent some distance of an errand, and arrived just as the family were about to sit down to supper. there were several pies on the table, and they invited him to partake. the long walk had whetted his appetite, and the pies looked exceedingly tempting; but the shyness of childhood led him to say, "no, i thank you." when he had delivered his message, he lingered, and lingered, hoping they would ask him again. but the family were quakers, and they understood yea to mean yea, and nay to mean nay. they would have considered it a mere worldly compliment to repeat the invitation; so they were silent. isaac started for home, much repenting of his bashfulness, and went nearly half of the way revolving the subject in his mind. he then walked back to the house, marched boldly into the supper-room, and said, "i told a lie when i was here. i did want a piece of pie; but i thought to be sure you would ask me again." this explicit avowal made them all smile, and he was served with as much pie as he wished to eat. the steadfastness of his whig principles led him to take a lively interest in anecdotes concerning revolutionary heroes. his mother had a brother in philadelphia, who lived in a house formerly occupied by william penn, at the corner of second street and norris alley. this uncle frequently cut and made garments for general washington, benjamin franklin, and other distinguished men. nothing pleased isaac better than a visit to this city relative; and when there, his boyish mind was much occupied with watching for the famous men, of whom he had heard so much talk. once, when general washington came there to order some garments, he followed him a long distance from the shop. the general had observed his wonder and veneration, and was amused by it. coming to a corner of the street, he turned round suddenly, touched his hat, and made a very low bow. this playful condescension so completely confused his juvenile admirer, that he stood blushing and bewildered for an instant, then walked hastily away, without remembering to return the salutation. the tenderness of spirit often manifested by him, was very remarkable in such a resolute and mischievous boy. there was an old unoccupied barn in the neighborhood, a favorite resort of swallows in the spring-time. when he was about ten years old, he invited a number of boys to meet him the next sunday morning, to go and pelt the swallows. they set off on this expedition with anticipations of a fine frolic; but before they had gone far, isaac began to feel a strong conviction that he was doing wrong. he told his companions he thought it was very cruel sport to torment and kill poor little innocent birds; especially as they might destroy mothers, and then the little ones would be left to starve. there was a quaker meeting-house about a mile and a half distant, and he proposed that they should all go there, and leave the swallows in peace. but the boys only laughed at him, and ran off shouting, "come on! come on!" he looked after them sorrowfully for some minutes, reproaching himself for the suffering he had caused the poor birds. he then walked off to meeting alone; and his faithfulness to the light within him was followed by a sweet peacefulness and serenity of soul. the impression made by this incident, and the state of mind he enjoyed while in meeting, was one of the earliest influences that drew him into the society of friends.--when he returned home, he heard that one of the boys had broken his arm while stoning the swallows, and had been writhing with pain, while he had been enjoying the consolations of an approving conscience. at an early age, he was noted for being a sure shot, with bow and arrow, or with gun. a pair of king-birds built in his father's orchard, and it was desirable to get rid of them, because they destroy honey-bees. isaac watched for an opportunity, and one day when the birds flew away in quest of food for their young, he transfixed them both at once with his arrow. at first, he was much delighted with this exploit; but his compassionate heart soon became troubled about the orphan little ones, whom he pictured to himself as anxiously expecting the parents that would never return to feed them again. this feeling gained such strength within him, that he early relinquished the practice of shooting, though he found keen excitement in the pursuit, and was not a little proud of his skill. once, when he had entrapped a pair of partridges, he put them in a box, intending to keep them there. but he soon began to query with himself whether creatures accustomed to fly must not necessarily be very miserable shut up in such a limited space. he accordingly opened the door. one of the partridges immediately walked out, but soon returned to prison to invite his less ventursome mate. the box was removed a few days after, but the birds remained about the garden for months, often coming to the door-step to pick up crumbs that were thrown to them. when the mating-season returned the next year, they retired to the woods. from earliest childhood he evinced great fondness for animals, and watched with lively interest all the little creatures of the woods and fields. he was familiar with all their haunts, and they gave names to the localities of his neighborhood. there was turkey causeway, where wild turkies abounded; and rabbit swamp, where troops of timid little rabbits had their hiding places; and squirrel grove, where many squirrels laid in their harvest of acorns for the winter; and panther bridge, where his grandfather had killed a panther. once, when his father and the workmen had been cutting down a quantity of timber, isaac discovered a squirrel's nest in a hole of one of the trees that had fallen. it contained four new-born little ones, their eyes not yet opened. he was greatly tempted to carry them home, but they were so young that they needed their mother's milk. so after examining them, he put them back in the nest, and with his usual busy helpfulness went to assist in stripping bark from the trees. when he went home from his work, toward evening, he felt curious to see how the mother squirrel would behave when she returned and found her home was gone. he accordingly hid himself in a bush to watch her proceedings. about dusk, she came running along the stone wall with a nut in her mouth, and went with all speed to the old familiar tree. finding nothing but a stump remaining there, she dropped the nut and looked around in evident dismay. she went smelling all about the ground, then mounted the stump to take a survey of the country. she raised herself on her hind legs and snuffed the air, with an appearance of great perplexity and distress. she ran round the stump several times, occasionally raising herself on her hind legs, and peering about in every direction, to discover what had become of her young family. at last, she jumped on the prostrate trunk of the tree, and ran along till she came to the hole where her babies were concealed. what the manner of their meeting was nobody can tell; but doubtless the mother's heart beat violently when she discovered her lost treasures all safe on the warm little bed of moss she had so carefully prepared for them. after staying a few minutes to give them their supper, she came out, and scampered off through the bushes. in about fifteen minutes, she returned and took one of the young ones in her mouth, and carried it quickly to a hole in another tree, three or four hundred yards off, and then came back and took the others, one by one, till she had conveyed them all to their new home. the intelligent instinct manifested by this little quadruped excited great interest in isaac's observing mind. when he drove the cows to pasture, he always went by that tree, to see how the young family were getting along. in a short time, they were running all over the tree with their careful mother, eating acorns under the shady boughs, entirely unconscious of the perils through which they had passed in infancy. some time after, isaac traded with another boy for a squirrel taken from the nest before its eyes were open. he made a bed of moss for it, and fed it very tenderly. at first, he was afraid it would not live; but it seemed healthy, though it never grew so large as other squirrels. he did not put it in a cage; for he said to himself that a creature made to frisk about in the green woods could not be happy shut up in a box. this pretty little animal became so much attached to her kind-hearted protector, that she would run about after him, and come like a kitten whenever he called her. while he was gone to school, she frequently ran off to the woods and played with wild squirrels on a tree that grew near his path homeward. sometimes she took a nap in a large knot-hole, or, if the weather was very warm, made a cool bed of leaves across a crotch of the boughs, and slept there. when isaac passed under the tree, on his way from school, he used to call "bun! bun! bun!" if she was there, she would come to him immediately, run up on his shoulder, and so ride home to get her supper. it seemed as if animals were in some way aware of his kindly feelings, and disposed to return his confidence; for on several occasions they formed singular intimacies with him. when he was six or seven years old, he spied a crow's nest in a high tree, and, according to his usual custom, he climbed up to make discoveries. he found that it contained two eggs, and he watched the crow's movements until her young ones were hatched and ready to fly. then he took them home. one was accidentally killed a few days after, but he reared the other, and named it cupid. the bird became so very tame, that it would feed from his hand, perch on his shoulder, or his hat, and go everywhere with him. it frequently followed him for miles, when he went to mill or market. he was never put into a cage, but flew in and out of the house, just as he pleased. if isaac called "cu! cu!" he would hear him, even if he were up in the highest tree, would croak a friendly answer, and come down directly. if isaac winked one eye, the crow would do the same. if he winked his other eye, the crow also winked with his other eye. once when cupid was on his shoulder, he pointed to a snake lying in the road, and said "cu! cu!"--the sagacious bird pounced on the head of the snake and killed him instantly; then flew back to his friend's shoulder, cawing with all his might, as if delighted with his exploit. if a stranger tried to take him, he would fly away, screaming with terror. sometimes isaac covered him with a handkerchief and placed him on a stranger's shoulder; but as soon as he discovered where he was, he seemed frightened almost to death. he usually chose to sleep on the roof of a shed, directly under isaac's bed-room window. one night he heard him cawing very loud, and the next morning he said to his father, "i heard cupid talking in his sleep last night." his father inquired whether he had seen him since; and when isaac answered, "no," he said, "then i am afraid the owls have taken him." the poor bird did not make his appearance again; and a few days after, his bones and feathers were found on a stump, not far from the house. this was a great sorrow for isaac. it tried his young heart almost like the loss of a brother. his intimacy with animals was of a very pleasant nature, except on one occasion, when he thrust his arm into a hollow tree, in search of squirrels, and pulled out a large black snake. he was so terrified, that he tumbled headlong from the tree, and it was difficult to tell which ran away fastest, he or the snake. this incident inspired the bold boy with fear, which he vainly tried to overcome during the remainder of his life. there was a thicket of underbrush between his father's farm and the village of woodbury. once, when he was sent of an errand to the village, he was seized with such a dread of snakes, that before entering among the bushes, he placed his basket on an old rail, knelt down and prayed earnestly that he might pass through without encountering a snake. when he rose up and attempted to take his basket, he perceived a large black snake lying close beside the rail. it may well be believed that he went through the thicket too fast to allow any grass to grow under his feet. when he drove the cows to and from pasture, he often met an old colored man named mingo. his sympathizing heart was attracted toward him, because he had heard the neighbors say he was stolen from africa when he was a little boy. one day, he asked mingo what part of the world he came from; and the poor old man told how he was playing with other children among the bushes, on the coast of africa, when white men pounced upon them suddenly and dragged them off to a ship. he held fast hold of the thorny bushes, which tore his hands dreadfully in the struggle. the old man wept like a child, when he told how he was frightened and distressed at being thus hurried away from father, mother, brothers and sisters, and sold into slavery, in a distant land, where he could never see or hear from them again. this painful story made a very deep impression upon isaac's mind; and, though he was then only nine years old, he made a solemn vow to himself that he would be the friend of oppressed africans during his whole life. he was as precocious in love, as in other matters. not far from his home, lived a prosperous and highly respectable quaker family, named tatum. there were several sons, but only one daughter; a handsome child, with clear, fair complexion, blue eyes, and a profusion of brown curly hair. she was isaac's cousin, twice removed; for their great-grandfathers were half-brothers. when he was only eight years old, and she was not yet five, he made up his mind that little sarah tatum was his wife. he used to walk a mile and a half every day, on purpose to escort her to school. when they rambled through the woods, in search of berries, it was his delight to sit beside her on some old stump, and twist her glossy brown ringlets over his fingers. a lovely picture they must have made in the green, leafy frame-work of the woods--that fair, blue-eyed girl, and the handsome, vigorous boy! when he was fourteen years old, he wrote to her his first love-letter. the village schoolmaster taught for very low wages, and was not remarkably well-qualified for his task; as was generally the case at that early period. isaac's labor was needed on the farm all the summer; consequently, he was able to attend school only three months during the winter. he was, therefore, so little acquainted with the forms of letter-writing, that he put sarah's name inside the letter, and his own on the outside. she, being an only daughter, and a great pet in her family, had better opportunities for education. she told her young lover that was not the correct way to write a letter, and instructed him how to proceed in future. from that time, they corresponded constantly. isaac likewise formed a very strong friendship with his cousin joseph whitall, who was his schoolmate, and about his own age. they shared together all their joys and troubles, and were companions in all boyish enterprises. thus was a happy though laborious childhood passed in the seclusion of the woods, in the midst of home influences and rustic occupations. his parents had no leisure to bestow on intellectual culture; for they had a numerous family of children, and it required about all their time to feed and clothe them respectably. but they were worthy, kind-hearted people, whose moral precepts were sustained by their upright example. his father was a quiet man, but exceedingly firm and energetic. when he had made up his mind to do a thing, no earthly power could turn him from his purpose; especially if any question of conscience were involved therein. during the revolutionary war, he faithfully maintained his testimony against the shedding of blood, and suffered considerably for refusing to pay military taxes. isaac's mother was noted for her fearless character, and blunt directness of speech. she was educated in the presbyterian faith, and this was a source of some discordant feeling between her and her husband. the preaching of her favorite ministers seemed to him harsh and rigid, while she regarded quaker exhortations as insipid and formal. but as time passed on, her religious views assimilated more and more with his; and about twenty-four years after their marriage, she joined the society of friends, and frequently spoke at their meetings. she was a spiritual minded woman, always ready to sympathise with the afflicted, and peculiarly kind to animals. they were both extremely hospitable and benevolent to the poor. on sunday evenings, they convened all the family to listen to the scriptures and other religious books.--in his journal isaac alludes to this custom, and says: "my mind was often solemnized by these opportunities, and i resolved to live more consistently with the principles of christian sobriety." when he was sixteen years old, it became a question to what business he should devote himself.--there was a prospect of obtaining a situation for him in a store at philadelphia; and for that purpose it was deemed expedient that he should take up his abode for a while with his maternal uncle, whose house he had been so fond of visiting in early boyhood. he did not succeed in obtaining the situation he expected, but remained in the city on the look-out for some suitable employment. meanwhile, he was very helpful to his uncle, who, finding him diligent and skillful, tried to induce him to learn his trade.--it was an occupation ill-adapted to his vigorous body and active mind; but he was not of a temperament to fold his hands and wait till something "turned up;" and as his uncle was doing a prosperous business, he concluded to accept his proposition. about the same time, his beloved cousin, joseph whitall, was sent to trenton to study law. this was rather a severe trial to isaac's feelings. not that he envied his superior advantages; but he had sad forebodings that separation would interrupt their friendship, and that such a different career would be very likely to prevent its renewal. they parted with mutual regret, and did not meet again for several years. when isaac bade adieu to the paternal roof, his mother looked after him thoughtfully, and remarked to one of his sisters, "isaac is no common boy.--he will do something great, either for good or evil." she called him back and said, "my son, you are now going forth to make your own way in the world. always remember that you are as good as any other person; but remember also that you are no better." with this farewell injunction, he departed for philadelphia, where he soon acquired the character of a faithful and industrious apprentice. but his boyish love of fun was still strong within him, and he was the torment of all his fellow apprentices. one of them, named william roberts, proposed that they should go together into the cellar to steal a pitcher of cider. isaac pulled the spile, and while william was drawing the liquor, he took an unobserved opportunity to hide it. when the pitcher was full, he pretended to look all around for it, without being able to find it. at last, he told his unsuspecting comrade that he must thrust his finger into the hole and keep it there, while he went to get another spile. william waited and waited for him to return, but when an hour or more had elapsed, his patience was exhausted, and he began to halloo!--the noise, instead of bringing isaac to his assistance, brought the mistress of the house, who caught the culprit at the cider-barrel, and gave him a severe scolding, to the infinite gratification of his mischievous companion. once, when the family were all going away, his uncle left the house in charge of him and another apprentice, telling them to defend themselves if any robbers came. having a mind to try the courage of the lads, he returned soon after, and attempted to force a window in the back part of the house, which opened upon a narrow alley inclosed by a high fence. as soon as isaac heard the noise, he seized an old harpoon that was about the premises, and told his companion to open the window the instant he gave the signal. his orders were obeyed, and he flung the harpoon with such force, that it passed through his uncle's vest and coat, and nailed him tight to the fence. when he told the story, he used to say he never afterward deemed it necessary to advise isaac to defend himself. among the apprentices was one much older and stouter than the others. he was very proud of his physical strength, and delighted to play the tyrant over those who were younger and weaker than himself. when isaac saw him knocking them about, he felt an almost irresistible temptation to fight; but his uncle was a severe man, likely to be much incensed by quarrels among his apprentices. he knew, moreover, that a battle between him and samson would be very unequal; so he restrained his indignation as well as he could. but one day, when the big bully knocked him down, without the slightest provocation, he exclaimed, in great wrath, "if you ever do that again, i'll kill you. mind what i say. i tell you i'll kill you." samson snapped his fingers and laughed, and the next day he knocked him down again. isaac armed himself with a heavy window-bar, and when the apprentices were summoned to breakfast, he laid wait behind a door, and levelled a blow at the tyrant, as he passed through. he fell, without uttering a single cry. when the family sat down to breakfast, mr. tatem said, "where is samson?" his nephew coolly replied, "i've killed him." "killed him!" exclaimed the uncle. "what do you mean?" "i told him i would kill him if he ever knocked me down again," rejoined isaac; "and i _have_ killed him." they rushed out in the utmost consternation, and found the young man entirely senseless. a physician was summoned, and for some time they feared he was really dead. the means employed to restore him were at last successful; but it was long before he recovered from the effects of the blow. when isaac saw him so pale and helpless, a terrible remorse filled his soul. he shuddered to think how nearly he had committed murder, in one rash moment of unbridled rage. this awful incident made such a solemn and deep impression on him, that from that time he began to make strong and earnest efforts to control the natural impetuosity of his temper; and he finally attained to a remarkable degree of self-control. weary hours of debility brought wiser thoughts to samson also; and when he recovered his strength, he never again misused it by abusing his companions. in those days, isaac did not profess to be a quaker. he used the customary language of the world, and liked to display his well-proportioned figure in neat and fashionable clothing. the young women of his acquaintance, it is said, looked upon him with rather favorable eyes; but his thoughts never wandered from sarah tatum for a single day. once, when he had a new suit of clothes, and stylish boots, the tops turned down with red, a young man of his acquaintance invited him to go home with him on saturday evening and spend sunday. he accepted the invitation, and set out well pleased with the expedition. the young man had a sister, who took it into her head that the visit was intended as an especial compliment to herself. the brother was called out somewhere in the neighborhood, and as soon as she found herself alone with their guest, she began to specify, in rather significant terms, what she should require of a man who wished to marry her.--her remarks made isaac rather fidgetty; but he replied, in general terms, that he thought her ideas on the subject were very correct. "i suppose you think my father will give me considerable money," said she; "but that is a mistake. whoever takes me must take me for myself alone." the young man tried to stammer out that he did not come on any such errand; but his wits were bewildered by this unexpected siege, and he could not frame a suitable reply. she mistook his confusion for the natural timidity of love, and went on to express the high opinion she entertained of him. isaac looked wistfully at the door, in hopes her brother would come to his rescue. but no relief came from that quarter, and fearing he should find himself engaged to be married without his own consent, he caught up his hat and rushed out. it was raining fast, but he splashed through mud and water, without stopping to choose his steps. crossing the yard in this desperate haste, he encountered the brother, who called out, "where are you going?" "i'm going home," he replied. "going home!" exclaimed his astonished friend, "why it is raining hard; and you came to stay all night. what does possess you, isaac? come back! come back, i say!" "i won't come back!" shouted isaac, from the distance. "i'm going home." and home he went.--his new clothes were well spattered, and his red-top boots loaded with mud; but though he prided himself on keeping his apparel in neat condition, he thought he had got off cheaply on this occasion. soon after he went to reside in philadelphia, a sea captain by the name of cox came to his uncle's on a visit. as the captain was one day passing through norris alley, he met a young colored man, named joe, whose master he had known in bermuda. he at once accused him of being a runaway slave, and ordered him to go to the house with him. joe called him his old friend, and seemed much pleased at the meeting. he said he had been sent from bermuda to new-york in a vessel, which he named; he had obtained permission to go a few miles into the country, to see his sister, and while he was gone, the vessel unfortunately sailed; he called upon the consignee and asked what he had better do under the circumstances, and he told him that his captain had left directions for him to go to philadelphia and take passage home by the first vessel. captain cox was entirely satisfied with this account. he said there was a vessel then in port, which would sail for bermuda in a few days, and told joe he had better go and stay with him at mr. tatem's house, while he made inquiries about it. when isaac entered the kitchen that evening, he found joe sitting there, in a very disconsolate attitude; and watching him closely he observed tears now and then trickling down his dark cheeks. he thought of poor old mingo, whose pitiful story had so much interested him in boyhood, and caused him to form a resolution to be the friend of africans.--the more he pondered on the subject, the more he doubted whether joe was so much pleased to meet his "old friend," as he had pretended to be. he took him aside and said, "tell me truly how the case stands with you. i will be your friend; and come what will, you may feel certain that i will never betray you." joe gave him an earnest look of distress and scrutiny, which his young benefactor never forgot. again he assured him, most solemnly, that he might trust him. then joe ventured to acknowledge that he was a fugitive slave, and had great dread of being returned into bondage. he said his master let him out to work on board a ship going to new-york. he had a great desire for freedom, and when the vessel arrived at its destined port, he made his escape, and travelled to philadelphia, in hopes of finding some one willing to protect him. unluckily, the very day he entered the city of brotherly love he met his old acquaintance captain cox; and on the spur of the moment he had invented the best story he could. isaac was then a mere lad, and he had been in philadelphia too short a time to form many acquaintances; but he imagined what his own feelings would be if he were in poor joe's situation, and he determined to contrive some way or other to assist him. he consulted with a prudent and benevolent neighbor, who told him that a quaker by the name of john stapler, in buck's county, was a good friend to colored people, and the fugitive had better be sent to him. accordingly, a letter was written to friend stapler, and given to joe, with instructions how to proceed. meanwhile, captain cox brought tidings that he had secured a passage to bermuda. joe thanked him, and went on board the vessel, as he was ordered. but a day or two after, he obtained permission to go to mr. tatem's house to procure some clothes he had left there. it was nearly sunset when he left the ship and started on the route, which isaac had very distinctly explained to him. when the sun disappeared, the bright moon came forth.--by her friendly light, he travelled on with a hopeful heart until the dawn of day, when he arrived at friend stapler's house and delivered the letter. he was received with great kindness, and a situation was procured for him in the neighborhood, where he spent the remainder of his life comfortably, with "none to molest or make him afraid." this was the first opportunity isaac had of carrying into effect his early resolution to befriend the oppressed africans. while the experiences of life were thus deepening and strengthening his character, the fair child, sarah tatum, was emerging into womanhood. she was a great belle in her neighborhood, admired by the young men for her comely person, and by the old for her good sense and discreet manners. he had many competitors for her favor. once, when he went to invite her to ride to quarterly meeting, he found three quaker beaux already there, with horses and sleighs for the same purpose. but though some of her admirers abounded in worldly goods, her mind never swerved from the love of her childhood. the bright affectionate school-boy, who delighted to sit with her under the shady trees, and twist her shining curls over his fingers, retained his hold upon her heart as long as its pulses throbbed. her father at first felt some uneasiness, lest his daughter should marry out of the society of friends. but isaac had been for some time seriously impressed with the principles they professed, and when he assured the good old gentleman that he would never take sarah out of the society, of which she was born a member, he was perfectly satisfied to receive him as a son-in-law. at that period, there were several remarkable individuals among quaker preachers in that part of the country, and their meetings were unusually lively and spirit-stirring. one of them, named nicholas waln, was educated in the society of friends, but in early life seems to have cared little about their principles. he was then an ambitious, money-loving man, remarkably successful in worldly affairs. but the principles inculcated in childhood probably remained latent within him; for when he was rapidly acquiring wealth and distinction by the practice of law, he suddenly relinquished it, from conscientious motives. this change of feeling is said to have been owing to the following incident. he had charge of an important case, where a large amount of property was at stake. in the progress of the cause, he became more and more aware that right was not on the side of his client; but to desert him in the midst was incompatible with his ideas of honor as a lawyer. this produced a conflict within him, which he could not immediately settle to his own satisfaction. a friend, who met him after the case was decided, inquired what was the result. he replied, "i did the best i could for my client. i have gained the cause for him, and have thereby defrauded an honest man of his just dues." he seemed sad and thoughtful, and would never after plead a cause at the bar. he dismissed his students, and returned to his clients all the money he had received for unfinished cases. for some time afterward, he appeared to take no interest in anything but his own religious state of feeling. he eventually became a preacher, very popular among friends, and much admired by others.--his sermons were usually short, and very impressive. a contemporary thus describes the effect of his preaching: "the whole assembly seemed to be baptized together, and so covered with solemnity, that when the meeting broke up, no one wished to enter into conversation with another." he was particularly zealous against a paid ministry, and not unfrequently quoted the text, "put me in the priest's office, i pray thee, that i may eat a piece of bread." one of his most memorable discourses began with these words: "the lawyers, the priests, and the doctors, these are the deceivers of men." he was so highly esteemed, that when he entered the court-house, as he occasionally did, to aid the poor or the oppressed in some way, it was not uncommon for judges and lawyers to rise spontaneously in token of respect.--isaac had great veneration for his character, and was much edified by his ministry. mary ridgeway, a small, plain, uneducated woman, was likewise remarkably persuasive and penetrating in her style of preaching, which appeared to isaac like pure inspiration. her exhortations took deep hold of his youthful feelings, and strongly influenced him to a religious life. but more powerful than all other agencies was the preaching of william savery. he was a tanner by trade; remarked by all who knew him as a man who "walked humbly with his god." one night, a quantity of hides were stolen from his tannery, and he had reason to believe that the thief was a quarrelsome, drunken neighbor, whom i will call john smith. the next week, the following advertisement appeared in the county newspaper: "whoever stole a lot of hides on the fifth of the present month, is hereby informed that the owner has a sincere wish to be his friend. if poverty tempted him to this false step, the owner will keep the whole transaction secret, and will gladly put him in the way of obtaining money by means more likely to bring him peace of mind." this singular advertisement attracted considerable attention; but the culprit alone knew whence the benevolent offer came. when he read it, his heart melted within him, and he was filled with contrition for what he had done. a few nights afterward, as the tanner's family were about retiring to rest, they heard a timid knock, and when the door was opened, there stood john smith with a load of hides on his shoulder. without looking up, he said, "i have brought these back, mr. savery. where shall i put them?" "wait till i can light a lantern, and i will go to the barn with thee," he replied.--"then perhaps thou wilt come in and tell me how this happened. we will see what can be done for thee." as soon as they were gone out, his wife prepared some hot coffee, and placed pies and meat on the table. when they returned from the barn, she said "neighbor smith, i thought some hot supper would be good for thee." he turned his back toward her and did not speak. after leaning against the fire-place in silence for a moment, he said, in a choked voice, "it is the first time i ever stole anything, and i have felt very bad about it. i don't know how it is. i am sure i didn't think once that i should ever come to be what i am. but i took to drinking, and then to quarrelling. since i began to go down hill, everybody gives me a kick. you are the first man who has ever offered me a helping hand. my wife is sickly, and my children are starving. you have sent them many a meal, god bless you! and yet i stole the hides from you, meaning to sell them the first chance i could get. but i tell you the truth when i say it is the first time i was ever a thief." "let it be the last, my friend," replied william savery. "the secret shall remain between ourselves. thou art still young, and it is in thy power to make up for lost time. promise me that thou wilt not drink any intoxicating liquor for a year, and i will employ thee to-morrow at good wages. perhaps we may find some employment for thy family also. the little boy can at least pick up stones.--but eat a bit now, and drink some hot coffee. perhaps it will keep thee from craving anything stronger to-night. doubtless, thou wilt find it hard to abstain at first; but keep up a brave heart, for the sake of thy wife and children, and it will soon become easy. when thou hast need of coffee, tell mary, and she will always give it to thee." the poor fellow tried to eat and drink, but the food seemed to choke him. after an ineffectual effort to compose his excited feelings, he bowed his head on the table, and wept like a child. after a while, he ate and drank with good appetite; and his host parted with him for the night with this kindly exhortation; "try to do well, john; and thou wilt always find a friend in me." he entered into his employ the next day, and remained with him many years, a sober, honest, and faithful man. the secret of the theft was kept between them; but after john's death, william savery sometimes told the story, to prove that evil might be overcome with good. this practical preacher of righteousness was likewise a great preacher orally; if greatness is to be measured by the effect produced on the souls of others. through his ministry, the celebrated mrs. fry was first excited to a lively interest in religion. when he visited england in , she was elizabeth gurney, a lively girl of eighteen, rather fond of dress and company. her sister, alluding to the first sermon they heard from william savery, writes thus: "his voice and manner were arresting, and we all liked the sound. elizabeth became a good deal agitated, and i saw her begin to weep. the next morning, when she took breakfast with him at her uncle's, he preached to her after breakfast, and prophesied of the high and important calling she would be led into." elizabeth herself made the following record of it in her journal; "in hearing william savery preach, he seemed to me to overflow with true religion; to be humble, and yet a man of great abilities. having been gay and disbelieving, only a few years ago, makes him better acquainted with the heart of one in the same condition. we had much serious conversation. what he said, and what i felt was like a refreshing shower falling upon earth that had been dried up for ages." this good and gifted man often preached in philadelphia; not only at stated seasons, on the first and fifth day of the week, but at evening meetings also, where the spirit is said to have descended upon him and his hearers in such copious measure that they were reminded of the gathering of the apostles on the day of pentecost. isaac was at an impressible age, and on those occasions his thirsty soul drank eagerly from the fountain of living water. he never forgot those refreshing meetings. to the end of his days, whenever anything reminded him of william savery, he would utter a warm eulogium on his deep spirituality, his tender benevolence, his cheerful, genial temper, and the simple dignity of his deportment. isaac was about twenty-two years old, when he was received as a member of the society of friends. it was probably the pleasantest period of his existence. love and religion, the two deepest and brightest experiences of human life, met together, and flowed into his earnest soul in one full stream. he felt perfectly satisfied that he had found the one true religion. the plain mode of worship suited the simplicity of his character, while the principles inculcated were peculiarly well calculated to curb the violence of his temper, and to place his strong will under the restraint of conscience. duties toward god and his fellow men stood forth plainly revealed to him in the light that shone so clearly in his awakened soul. late in life, he often used to refer to this early religious experience as a sweet season of peace and joy. he said it seemed as if the very air were fragrant, and the sunlight more glorious than it had ever been before. the plain quaker meeting-house in the quiet fields of woodbury was to him indeed a house of prayer, though its silent worship was often undisturbed by a single uttered word. blended with those spiritual experiences was the fair vision of his beloved sarah, who always attended meeting, serene in her maiden beauty. the joy of renovated friendship also awaited him there, in that quaint old gathering place of simple worshippers. when he parted from his dear cousin, joseph whitall, they were both young men of good moral characters, but not seriously thoughtful concerning religion. years elapsed, and each knew not whither the other was travelling in spiritual experiences. but one day, when isaac went to meeting as usual, and was tying his horse in the shed, a young man in the plain costume of the friends came to tie his horse also. a glance showed that it was joseph whitall, the companion of his boyhood and youth. for an instant, they stood surprised and silent, looking at each other's dress; for until then neither of them was aware that the other had become a quaker. tears started to their eyes, and they embraced each other. they had long and precious interviews afterward, in which they talked over the circumstances that had inclined them to reflect on serious subjects, and the reasons which induced them to consider the society of friends as the best existing representative of christianity. the gravity of their characters at this period, may be inferred from the following letter, written in : "dear isaac,-- "while i sat in retirement this evening, thou wert brought fresh into my remembrance, with a warm desire for thy welfare and preservation. wherefore, be encouraged to press forward and persevere in the high and holy way wherein thou hast measurably, through mercy, begun to tread. from our childhood i have had an affectionate regard for thee, which hath been abundantly increased; and, in the covenant of life i have felt thee near. may we, my beloved friend, now in the spring time of life, in the morning of our days, with full purpose of heart cleave unto the lord. may we seek him for our portion and our inheritance; that he may be pleased, in his wonderful loving kindness, to be our counsellor and director; that, in times of trouble and commotion, we may have a safe hiding-place, an unfailing refuge. i often feel the want of a greater dependance, a more steadfast leaning, upon that divine arm of power, which ever hath been, and still is, the true support of the righteous. yet, i am sometimes favored to hope that in the lord's time an advancement will be known, and a more full establishment in the most holy faith. 'for then shall we know, if we follow on to know the lord, that his going forth is prepared as the morning, and he will come unto us as the rain, as the latter and the former rain upon the earth.' may we, from time to time, be favored to feel his animating presence, to comfort and strengthen our enfeebled minds, that so we may patiently abide in our allotments, and look forward with a cheering hope, that, whatever trials and besetments may await us, they may tend to our further refinement, and more close union in the heavenly covenant. and when the end comes, may we be found among those who through many tribulations have washed their garments white in the blood of the lamb, and be found worthy to stand with him upon mount zion. "so wisheth and prayeth thy affectionate friend, "joseph whitall." the letters which passed between him and his betrothed partake of the same sedate character; but through the unimpassioned quaker style gleams the steady warmth of sincere affection. there is something pleasant in the simplicity with which he usually closed his epistles to her: "i am, dear sally, thy real friend, isaac." they were married on the eighteenth of the ninth month, [september,] ; he being nearly twenty-four years of age, and she about three years younger. the worldly comforts which a kind providence bestowed on isaac and his bride, were freely imparted to others. the resolution formed after listening to the history of old mingo's wrongs was pretty severely tested by a residence in philadelphia. there were numerous kidnappers prowling about the city, and many outrages were committed, which would not have been tolerated for a moment toward any but a despised race. pennsylvania being on the frontier of the slave states, runaways were often passing through; and the laws on that subject were little understood, and less attended to. if a colored man was arrested as a fugitive slave, and discharged for want of proof, the magistrate received no fee; but if he was adjudged a slave, and surrendered to his claimant, the magistrate received from five to twenty dollars for his trouble; of course, there was a natural tendency to make the most of evidence in favor of slavery. under these circumstances, the pennsylvania abolition society was frequently called upon to protect the rights of colored people. isaac t. hopper became an active and leading member of this association. he was likewise one of the overseers of a school for colored children, established by anthony benezet; and it was his constant practice, for several years, to teach two or three nights every week, in a school for colored adults, established by a society of young men. in process of time, he became known to everybody in philadelphia as the friend and legal adviser of colored people upon all emergencies. the shrewdness, courage, and zeal, with which he fulfilled this mission will be seen in the course of the following narratives, which i have selected from a vast number of similar character, in which he was the principal agent. charles webster. in , a wealthy gentleman from virginia went to spend the winter in philadelphia, accompanied by his wife and daughter. he had a slave named charles webster, whom he took with him as coachman and waiter. when they had been in the city a few weeks, charles called upon isaac t. hopper, and inquired whether he had become free in consequence of his master's bringing him into pennsylvania. it was explained to him, that if he remained there six months, with his master's knowledge and consent, he would then be a free man, according to the laws of pennsylvania. the slave was quite disheartened by this information; for he supposed his owner was well acquainted with the law, and would therefore be careful to take him home before that term expired. "i am resolved never to return to virginia," said he. "where can i go to be safe?" friend hopper told him his master might be ignorant of the law, or forgetful of it. he advised him to remain with the family until he saw them making preparations to return. if the prescribed six months expired meanwhile, he would be a free man. if not, there would be time enough to consult what had better be done. "it is desirable to obtain thy liberty in a legal way, if possible," said he; "for otherwise thou wilt be constantly liable to be arrested, and may never again have such a good opportunity to escape from bondage." charles hesitated, but finally concluded to accept this prudent advice. the time seemed very long to the poor fellow; for he was in a continual panic lest his master should take him back to virginia; but he did his appointed tasks faithfully, and none of the family suspected what was passing in his mind. the long-counted six months expired at last; and that very day, his master said, "charles, grease the carriage-wheels, and have all things in readiness; for i intend to start for home to-morrow." the servant appeared to be well pleased with this prospect, and put the carriage and harness in good order. as soon as that job was completed, he went to friend hopper and told him the news. when assured that he was now a free man, according to law, he could hardly be made to believe it. he was all of a tremor with anxiety, and it seemed almost impossible to convince him that he was out of danger. he was instructed to return to his master till next morning, and to send word by one of the hotel servants in case he should be arrested meanwhile. the next morning, he again called upon friend hopper, who accompanied him to the office of william lewis, a highly respectable lawyer, who would never take any fee for his services on such occasions. when mr. lewis heard the particulars of the case, he wrote a polite note to the virginian, informing him that his former slave was now free, according to the laws of pennsylvania; and cautioning him against any attempt to take him away, contrary to his own inclination. the lawyer advised friend hopper to call upon the master and have some preparatory conversation with him, before charles was sent to deliver the note. he was then, only twenty-six years of age, and he felt somewhat embarrassed at the idea of calling upon a wealthy and distinguished stranger, who was said to be rather imperious and irritable. however, after a little reflection, he concluded it was his duty, and accordingly he did it. when the southerner was informed that his servant was free, and that a lawyer had been consulted on the subject, he was extremely angry, and used very contemptuous language concerning people who tampered with gentlemen's servants. the young quaker replied, "if thy son were a slave in algiers, thou wouldst thank me for tampering with _him_ to procure his liberty. but in the present case, i am not obnoxious to the charge thou hast brought; for thy servant came of his own accord to consult me, i merely made him acquainted with his legal rights; and i intend to see that he is protected in them." when charles delivered the lawyers note, and his master saw that he no longer had any legal power over him, he proposed to hire him to drive the carriage home. but charles was very well aware that virginia would be a very dangerous place for him, and he positively refused. the incensed southerner then claimed his servant's clothes as his property, and ordered him to strip instantly. charles did as he was ordered, and proceeded to walk out of the room naked. astonished to find him willing to leave the house in that condition, he seized him violently, thrust him back into the room, and ordered him to dress himself. when he had assumed his garments, he walked off; and the master and servant never met again. charles was shrewd and intelligent, and conducted himself in such a manner as to gain respect. he married an industrious, economical woman, who served in the family of chief justice tilghman. in process of time, he built a neat two-story house, where they brought up reputably a family of fourteen children, who obtained quite a good education at the school established by anthony benezet. ben jackson. ben was born a slave in virginia. when he was about sixteen years old, his mind became excited on the subject of slavery. he could not reconcile it with the justice and goodness of the creator, that one man should be born to toil for another without wages, to be driven about, and treated like a beast of the field. the older he grew, the more heavily did these considerations press upon him. at last, when he was about twenty-five years old, he resolved to gain his liberty, if possible. he left his master, and after encountering many difficulties, arrived in philadelphia, where he let himself on board a vessel and went several voyages. when he was thirty years of age, he married, and was employed as a coachman by dr. benjamin rush, one of the signers of the declaration of independence. he lived with him two years; and when he left, dr. rush gave him a paper certifying that he was a free man, honest, sober, and capable. in , his master came to philadelphia, and arrested him as his fugitive slave. ben had an extraordinary degree of intelligence and tact. when his master brought him before a magistrate, and demanded the usual certificate to authorize him to take his human chattel back to virginia, ben neither admitted nor denied that he was a slave. he merely showed the certificate of dr. rush, and requested that isaac t. hopper might be informed of his situation. joseph bird, the justice before whom the case was brought, detested slavery, and was a sincere friend to the colored people. he committed ben to prison until morning, and despatched a note to isaac t. hopper informing him of the circumstance, and requesting him to call upon dr. rush. when the doctor was questioned, he said he knew nothing about ben's early history; he lived with him two years, and was _then_ a free man. when friend hopper went to the prison, he found ben in a state of great anxiety and distress. he admitted that he was the slave of the man who claimed him, and that he saw no way of escape open for him. his friend told him not to be discouraged, and promised to exert himself to the utmost in his behalf. the constable who had arrested him, sympathized with the poor victim of oppression, and promised to do what he could for him. finding him in such a humane mood, friend hopper urged him to bring ben to the magistrate's office a short time _before_ the hour appointed for the trial. he did so, and found friend hopper already there, watching the clock. the moment the hand pointed to nine, he remarked that the hour, of which the claimant had been apprized, had already arrived; no evidence had been brought that the man was a slave; on the contrary, dr. rush's certificate was strong presumptive evidence of his being a freeman; he therefore demanded that the prisoner should be discharged. justice bird, having no desire to throw obstacles in the way, promptly told ben he was at liberty, and he lost no time in profiting by the information. just as he passed out of the door, he saw his master coming, and ran full speed. he had sufficient presence of mind to take a zigzag course, and running through a house occupied by colored people, he succeeded in eluding pursuit. when friend hopper went home, he found him at his house. he tried to impress upon his mind the peril he would incur by remaining in philadelphia, and advised him by all means to go to sea. but his wife was strongly attached to him, and so unwilling to consent to this plan, that he concluded to run the risk of staying with her. he remained concealed about a week, and then returned to the house he had previously occupied. they lived in the second story, and there was a shed under their bed-room window. ben placed a ladder under the window, to be ready for escape; but it was so short, that it did not reach the roof of the shed by five or six feet. his wife was an industrious, orderly woman, and kept their rooms as neat as a bee-hive. the only thing which marred their happiness was the continual dread that man-hunters might pounce upon them, in some unguarded hour, and separate them forever. about a fortnight after his arrest, they were sitting together in the dusk of the evening, when the door was suddenly burst open, and his master rushed in with a constable. ben sprang out of the window, down the ladder, and made his escape. his master and the constable followed; but as soon as they were on the ladder, ben's wife cut the cord that held it, and they tumbled heels over head upon the shed. this bruised them some, and frightened them still more. they scrambled upon their feet, cursing at a round rate. ben arrived safely at the house of isaac t. hopper, who induced him to quit the city immediately, and go to sea. his first voyage was to the east indies. while he was gone, friend hopper negotiated with the master, who, finding there was little chance of regaining his slave, agreed to manumit him for one hundred and fifty dollars. as soon as ben returned, he repaid from his wages the sum which had been advanced for his ransom. his wife's health was greatly impaired by the fear and anxiety she had endured on his account. she became a prey to melancholy, and never recovered her former cheerfulness. thomas cooper. the person who assumed this name was called notly, when he was a slave in maryland. he was compelled to labor very hard, was scantily supplied with food and clothing, and lodged in a little ricketty hut, through which the cold winds of winter whistled freely. he was of a very religious turn of mind, and often, when alone in his little cabin at midnight, he prayed earnestly to god to release him from his sufferings. in the year , he found a favorable opportunity to escape from his unfeeling master, and made his way to philadelphia, where he procured employment in a lumber-yard, under the name of john smith. he was so diligent and faithful, that he soon gained the good-will and confidence of his employers. he married a worthy, industrious woman, with whom he lived happily. by their united earnings they were enabled to purchase a small house, where they enjoyed more comfort than many wealthy people, and were much respected by neighbors and acquaintances. unfortunately, he confided his story to a colored man, who, for the sake of reward, informed his master where he was to be found. accordingly, he came to philadelphia, arrested him, and carried him before a magistrate. having brought forward satisfactory evidence that he was a slave, an order was granted to carry him back to maryland. isaac t. hopper was present at this decision, and was afflicted by it beyond measure. john's employers pitied his condition, and sympathized with his afflicted wife and children. they offered to pay a large sum for his ransom; but his savage master refused to release him on any terms. this sober, industrious man, guiltless of any crime, was hand-cuffed and had his arms tied behind him with a rope, to which another rope was appended, for his master to hold. while they were fastening his fetters, he spoke a few affectionate words to his weeping wife. "take good care of the children," said he; "and don't let them forget their poor father. if you are industrious and frugal, i hope you will be enabled to keep them at school, till they are old enough to be placed at service in respectable families. never allow them to be idle; for that will lead them into bad ways. and now don't forget my advice; for it is most likely you will never see me again." then addressing his children, he said, "you will have no father to take care of you now. mind what your mother tells you, and be very careful not to do anything to grieve her. be industrious and faithful in whatever you are set about; and never play in the streets with naughty children." they all wept bitterly while he thus talked to them; but he restrained his sobs, though it was evident his heart was well nigh breaking. isaac t. hopper was present at this distressing scene, and suffered almost as acutely as the poor slave himself. in the midst of his parting words, his master seized the rope, mounted his horse, snapped his whip, and set off, driving poor john before him. this was done in a christian country, and there was no law to protect the victim. john was conveyed to washington and offered for sale to speculators, who were buying up gangs for the southern market. the sight of dejected and brutified slaves, chained together in coffles, was too common at the seat of our republican government to attract attention; but the barbarity of john's master was so conspicuous, that even there he was rebuked for his excessive cruelty. these expressions of sympathy were quite unexpected to the poor slave, and they kindled a faint hope of escape, which had been smouldering in his breast. manacled as he was, he contrived to trip up his master, and leaving him prostrate on the ground, he ran for the woods. he was soon beyond the reach of his tyrant, and might have escaped easily if a company had not immediately formed to pursue him. they chased him from the shelter of the bushes to a swamp, where he was hunted like a fox, till night with friendly darkness overshadowed him. while his enemies were sleeping, he cautiously made his way by the light of the stars, to the house of an old acquaintance, who hastened to take off his fetters, and give him a good supper. thus refreshed, he hastened to bid his colored friend farewell, and with fear and trembling set off for philadelphia. he had several rivers to cross, and he thought likely men would be stationed on the bridges to arrest him. therefore, he hid himself in the deepest recesses of the woods in the day-time, and travelled only in the night. he suffered much with hunger and fatigue, but arrived home at last, to the great astonishment and joy of his family. he well knew that these precious moments of affectionate greeting were highly dangerous; for his own roof could afford no shelter from pursuers armed with the power of a wicked law. he accordingly hastened to isaac t. hopper for advice and assistance. the yellow fever was then raging in philadelphia, and the children had all been carried into the country by their mother. business made it necessary for friend hopper to be in the city during the day-time, and a colored domestic remained with him to take charge of the house. this woman was alone when the fugitive arrived; but she showed him to an upper chamber secured by a strong fastening. he had been there but a short time, when his master came with two constables and proceeded to search the house. when they found a room with the door bolted, they demanded entrance; and receiving no answer, they began to consult together how to gain admittance. at this crisis, the master of the house came home, and received information of what was going on up-stairs. he hastened thither, and ordered the intruders to quit his house instantly. one of the constables said, "this gentleman's slave is here; and if you don't deliver him up immediately, we will get a warrant to search the house." "quit my premises," replied friend hopper. "the mayor dare not grant a warrant to search my house." the men withdrew in no very good humor, and a message soon came from the mayor requesting to see isaac t. hopper. he obeyed the summons, and the magistrate said to him, "this gentleman informs me that his slave is in your house. is it so?" the wary friend replied, "thou hast just told me that this man _says_ he is. dost thou not believe him?" "but i wish to know from yourself whether he is in your house or not," rejoined the magistrate. "if the mayor reflects a little, i think he will see that he has no right to ask such a question; and that i am not bound to answer it," replied friend hopper. "if he is in my house, and if this man can prove it, i am liable to a heavy penalty; and no man is bound to inform against himself. these people have not behaved so civilly, that i feel myself under any especial obligations of courtesy toward them. hast thou any further business with me?" "did you say i dared not grant a warrant to search your house?" asked the mayor. he answered, "indeed i did say so; and i now repeat it. i mean no disrespect to anybody in authority; but neither thou nor any other magistrate would dare to grant a warrant to search my house. i am a man of established reputation. i am not a suspicious character." the mayor smiled, as he replied, "i don't know about that, mr. hopper. in the present case, i am inclined to think you are a _very_ suspicious character." and so they parted. the master resorted to various stratagems to recapture his victim. he dressed himself in quaker costume and went to his house. the once happy home was desolate now; and the anxious wife sat weeping, with her little ones clinging to her in childish sympathy. the visitor professed to be very friendly to her husband, and desirous to ascertain where he could be found, in order to render him advice and assistance in eluding the vigilance of his master. the wife prudently declined giving any information, but referred him to isaac t. hopper, as the most suitable person to consult in the case. finding that he could not gain his object by deception, he forgot to sustain the quiet character he had assumed, but gave vent to his anger in a great deal of violent and profane language. he went off, finally, swearing that in spite of them all he would have his slave again, if he was to be found on the face of the earth. john smith remained under the protection of friend isaac about a week. spies were seen lurking round the house for several days; but they disappeared at last. supposing this was only a trick to put them off their guard, a colored man was employed to run out of the house after dark. the enemies who were lying in ambush, rushed out and laid violent hands upon him. they released him as soon as they discovered their mistake; but the next day friend hopper had them arrested, and compelled them to enter into bonds for their good behavior. on the following evening the same man was employed to run out again; and this time he was not interrupted. the third evening, john smith himself ventured forth from his hiding-place, and arrived safely in new-jersey. he let himself to a worthy farmer, and soon gained the confidence and good will of all the family. he ate at the same table with them, and sat with them on sunday afternoons, listening to their reading of the scriptures and other religious books. this system of equality did not diminish the modesty of his deportment, but rather tended to increase his habitual humility. he remained there several months, during which time he never dared to visit his family, though only eight miles distant from them. this was a great source of unhappiness; for he was naturally affectionate, and was strongly attached to his wife and children. at length, he ventured to hire a small house in a very secluded situation, not far from the village of haddonfield: and once more he gathered his family around him. but his domestic comfort was constantly disturbed by fear of men-stealers. while at his work in the day-time, he sometimes started at the mere rustling of a leaf; and in the night time, he often woke up in agony from terrifying dreams. the false friend, who betrayed him to his cruel master, likewise suffered greatly from fear. when he heard that john had again escaped, he was exceedingly alarmed for his own safety. he dreamed that his abused friend came with a knife in one hand and a torch in the other, threatening to murder him and burn the house. these ideas took such hold of his imagination, that he often started up in bed and screamed aloud. but john was too sincerely religious to cherish a revengeful spirit. the wrong done to him was as great as one mortal could inflict upon another; but he had learned the divine precept not to render evil for evil. the event proved that john's uneasiness was too well founded. a few months after his family rejoined him, isaac t. hopper heard that his master had arrived in philadelphia, and was going to new-jersey to arrest him. he immediately apprised him of his danger; and the tidings were received with feelings of desperation amounting to phrensy. he loaded his gun and determined to defend himself. very early the next morning, he saw his master with two men coming up the narrow lane that led to his house. he stationed himself in the door-way, leveled his gun, and called out, "i will shoot the first man that crosses that fence!" they were alarmed, and turned back to procure assistance. john seized that opportunity to quit his retreat. he hastened to philadelphia, and informed isaac t. hopper what had happened. his friend represented to him the unchristian character of such violent measures, and advised him not to bring remorse on his soul by the shedding of blood. the poor hunted fugitive seemed to be convinced, though it was a hard lesson to learn in his circumstances. again he resolved to fly for safety; and his friend advised him to go to boston. a vessel from that place was then lying in the delaware, and the merchant who had charge of her, pitying his forlorn situation, offered him a passage free of expense. kindness bestowed on him was always like good seed dropped into a rich soil. he was so obliging and diligent during the voyage, that he more than compensated the captain for his passage. he arrived safely in boston, where his certificates of good character soon enabled him to procure employment. not long after, he sent for his wife, who sold what little property they had in philadelphia, and took her children to their new home. when john left new-jersey, he assumed the name of thomas cooper, by which he was ever afterward known. he had early in life manifested a religious turn of mind; and this was probably increased by his continual perils and narrow escapes. he mourned over every indication of dishonesty, profanity, or dissipation, among people of his own color; and this feeling grew upon him, until he felt as if it were a duty to devote his life to missionary labors. he became a popular preacher among the methodists, and visited some of the west india islands in that capacity. his christian example and fervid exhortations, warm from the heart, are said to have produced a powerful effect on his untutored hearers. after his return, he concluded to go to africa as a missionary. for that purpose, he took shipping with his family for london, where he was received with much kindness by many persons to whom he took letters of introduction. his children were placed at a good school by a benevolent member of the society of friends; and from various quarters he received the most gratifying testimonials of respect and sympathy. but what was of more value than all else to the poor harassed fugitive, was the fact that he now, for the first time in his life, felt entirely safe from the fangs of the oppressor. he remained in london about a year and a half. during that time he compiled a hymn book which his friends published with his portrait in front. he preached with great acceptance to large congregations: several thousand persons assembled to hear his farewell sermon on the eve of his departure for africa. he sailed for sierra leone, in the latter part of , and was greeted there with much cordiality; for his fame had preceded him. all classes flocked to hear him preach, and his labors were highly useful. after several years spent in the discharge of religious duties, he died of the fever which so often proves fatal to strangers in africa. his wife returned with her children to end her days in philadelphia. a child kidnapped. in the year , a captain dana engaged passage in a philadelphia schooner bound to charleston, south carolina. the day he expected to sail, he called at the house of a colored woman, and told her he had a good suit of clothes, too small for his own son, but about the right size for her little boy. he proposed to take the child home to try the garments, and if they fitted him he would make him a present of them. the mother was much gratified by these friendly professions, and dressed the boy up as well as she could to accompany the captain, who gave him a piece of gingerbread, took him by the hand, and led him away. instead of going to his lodgings, as he had promised, he proceeded directly to the schooner, and left the boy in care of the captain: saying that he himself would come on board while the vessel was on the way down the river. as they were about to sail, a sudden storm came on. the wind raged so violently, that the ship dragged her anchor, and they were obliged to haul to at a wharf in the district of southwark. a respectable man, who lived in the neighborhood, was standing on the wharf at the time, and hearing a child crying very bitterly on board the vessel, he asked the colored cook whose child that was, and why he was in such distress. he replied that a passenger by the name of dana brought him on board, and that the boy said he stole him from his mother. a note was immediately despatched to isaac t. hopper, who, being away from home, did not receive it till ten o'clock at night. the moment he read it, he called for a constable, and proceeded directly to the schooner. in answer to his inquiries, the captain declared that all the hands had gone on shore, and that he was entirely alone in the vessel. friend hopper called for a light, and asked him to open the forecastle, that they might ascertain whether any person were there. he peremptorily refused; saying that his word ought to be sufficient to satisfy them. friend hopper took up an axe that was lying on the deck, and declared that he would break the door, unless it was opened immediately. in this dilemma, the captain, with great reluctance, unlocked the forecastle; and there they found the cook and the boy. the constable took them all in custody, and they proceeded to the mayor's. the rain fell in torrents, and it was extremely dark; for in those days, there were no lamps in that part of the city. they went stumbling over cellar doors, and wading through gutters, till they arrived in front street, where mr. inskeep, the mayor, lived. it was past midnight, but when a servant informed him that isaac t. hopper had been ringing at the door, and wished to see him, he ordered him to be shown up into his chamber. after apologizing for the unseasonableness of the hour, he briefly stated the urgency of the case, and asked for a verbal order to put the captain and cook in prison to await their trial the next morning. the magistrate replied, "it is a matter of too much importance to be disposed of in that way. i will come down and hear the case." a large hickory log, which had been covered with ashes in the parlor fire-place, was raked open, and they soon had a blazing fire to dry their wet garments, and take off the chill of a cold march storm. the magistrate was surprised to find that the captain was an old acquaintance; and he expressed much regret at meeting him under such unpleasant circumstances. after some investigation into the affair, he was required to appear for trial the next morning, under penalty of forfeiting three thousand dollars. the cook was committed to prison, as a witness; and the colored boy was sent home with isaac t. hopper, who agreed to produce him at the time appointed. very early the next morning, he sent a messenger to inform the mother that her child was in safety; but she was off in search of him, and was not to be found. on the way to the mayor's office, they met her in the street, half distracted. as soon as she perceived her child, she cried out, "my son! my son!" threw her arms round him, and sobbed aloud. she kissed him again and again, saying, "oh my child, i thought i had lost you forever." when they all arrived at the mayor's office, at the hour appointed for trial, the captain protested that he had no knowledge of anything wrong in the business, having merely taken care of the boy at the request of a passenger. when he was required to appear at the next court to answer to the charge of kidnapping, he became alarmed, and told where captain dana could be arrested. his directions were followed, and the delinquent was seized and taken to isaac t. hopper's house. he was in a towering passion, protesting his innocence, and threatening vengeance against everybody who should attempt to detain him. badly as friend hopper thought of the man, he almost wished he had escaped, when he discovered that he had a wife and children to suffer for his misdoings. his tender heart would not allow him to be present at the trial, lest his wife should be there in distress. she did not appear, however, and captain dana made a full confession, alleging poverty as an excuse. he was an educated man, and had previously sustained a fair reputation. he was liberated on bail for fifteen hundred dollars, which was forfeited; but the judgments were never enforced against his securities. wagelma. wagelma was a lively intelligent colored boy of ten years old, whom his mother had bound as an apprentice to a frenchman in philadelphia. this man being about to take his family to baltimore, in the summer of , with the intention of going thence to france, put his apprentice on board a newcastle packet bound to baltimore, without having the consent of the boy or his mother, as the laws of pennsylvania required. the mother did not even know of his intended departure, till she heard that her child was on board the ship. fears that he might be sold into slavery, either in baltimore or the west indies, seized upon her mind; and even if that dreadful fate did not await him, there was great probability that she would never see him again. in her distress she called upon isaac t. hopper, immediately after sunrise. he hastened to the wharf, where the newcastle packet generally lay, but had the mortification to find that she had already started, and that a gentle breeze was wafting her down the stream. he mounted a fleet horse, and in twenty minutes arrived at gloucester point, three miles below the city. the ferry at that place was kept by a highly respectable widow, with whom he had been long acquainted. he briefly stated the case to her, and she at once ordered one of her ferrymen to put him on board the newcastle packet, which was in sight, and near the jersey shore. they made all speed, for there was not a moment to lose. when they came along-side the packet, the captain, supposing him to be a passenger for baltimore, ordered the sailors to assist him on board. when his business was made known, he was told that the frenchman was in the cabin. he sought him out, and stated that the laws of pennsylvania did not allow apprentices to be carried out of the state without certain preliminaries, to which he had not attended. the frenchman had six or eight friends with him, and as he was going out of the country, he put the laws at defiance. meanwhile, the vessel was gliding down the river, carrying friend hopper to newcastle. he summoned the captain, and requested him to put the colored boy into the ferry-boat, which was alongside ready to receive him. he was not disposed to interfere; but when friend hopper drew a volume from his pocket and read to him the laws applicable to the case, he became alarmed, and said the boy must be given up. whereupon, friend hopper directed the child to go on deck, which he was ready enough to do; and the ferryman soon helped him on board the boat. the frenchman and his friends were very noisy and violent. they attempted to throw friend hopper overboard; and there were so many of them, that they seemed likely to succeed in their efforts. but he seized one of them fast by the coat; resolved to have company in the water, if he were compelled to take a plunge. they struck his hand with their canes, and pulled the coat from his grasp. then he seized hold of another; and so the struggle continued for some minutes. the ferryman, who was watching the conflict, contrived to bring his boat into a favorable position; and friend hopper suddenly let go the frenchman's coat, and tumbled in. when he returned to philadelphia with the boy, he found the mother waiting at his house, in a state of intense anxiety. the meeting between mother and son was joyful indeed; and wagelma made them all laugh by his animated description of his friend's encounter with the frenchmen, accompanied by a lively imitation of their gesticulations. in witnessing the happiness he had imparted, their benefactor found more than sufficient compensation for all the difficulties he had encountered. james poovey. slavery having been abolished by a gradual process in pennsylvania, there were many individuals who still remained in bondage at the period of which i write. among them was james poovey, slave to a blacksmith in pennsylvania. he had learned his master's trade, and being an athletic man, was very valuable. during several winters, he attended an evening school for the free instruction of colored people. he made very slow progress in learning, but by means of unremitting industry and application, he was at last able to accomplish the desire of his heart, which was to read the new testament for himself. the fact that colored men born a few years later than himself were free, by the act of gradual emancipation, while he was compelled to remain in bondage, had long been a source of uneasiness; and increase of knowledge by no means increased his contentment. having come to the conclusion that slavery was utterly unjust, he resolved not to submit to it any longer. in the year , when he was about thirty-three years of age, he took occasion to inform his master that he could read the new testament. when he observed that he was glad to hear it, james replied, "but in the course of my reading i have discovered that it would be a sin for me to serve you as a slave any longer". "aye?" said his master. "pray tell me how you made that discovery." "why, the new testament says we must do as we would be done by," replied james. "now if i submit to let you do by _me_, as you would not be willing i should do by _you_, i am as bad as you are. if you will give me a paper that will secure my freedom at the end of seven years, i will serve you faithfully during that time; but i cannot consent to be a slave any longer." his master refused to consent to this proposition. james then asked permission to go to sea till he could earn money enough to buy his freedom; but this proposal was likewise promptly rejected. "you will get nothing by trying to keep me in slavery," said james; "for i am determined to be free. i shall never make you another offer." he walked off, and his master applied for a warrant to arrest him, and commit him to prison, as a disobedient and refractory slave. when he had been in jail a month, he called to see him, and inquired whether he were ready to return home and go to work. "i _am_ at home," replied james. "i expect to end my days here. i never will serve you again as a slave, or pay you one single cent. what do you come here for? there is no use in your coming." the master was greatly provoked by this conduct, and requested the inspectors to have him put in the cells and kept on short allowance, till he learned to submit. isaac t. hopper was one of the board; and as the question was concerning a colored man, they referred it to him. accordingly, the blacksmith sought an interview with him, and said, "jim has been a faithful industrious fellow; but of late he has taken it into his head that he ought to be free. he strolled off and refused to work, and i had him put in prison. when i called to see him he insulted me grossly, and positively refused to return to his business. i have been referred to you to obtain an order to confine him to the cells on short allowance, till he submits." friend hopper replied, "i have been long acquainted with jim. i was one of his teachers; and i have often admired his punctuality in attending school, and his patient industry in trying to learn." "it has done him no good to learn to read," rejoined the master. "on the contrary, it has made him worse." "it has made him wiser," replied isaac; "but i think it has not made him worse. i have scruples about ordering him to be punished; for he professes to be conscientious about submitting to serve as a slave. i have myself suffered because i could not conscientiously comply with military requisitions. the society of friends have suffered much in england on account of ecclesiastical demands. i have thus some cause to know how hateful are persecutors, in the sight of god and of men. i cannot therefore be active in persecuting james, or any other man, on account of conscientious scruples." "it is your duty to have him punished," rejoined the blacksmith. "i am the best judge of that," answered friend hopper; "and i do not feel justified in compelling him to submit to slavery." the blacksmith was greatly exasperated, and went off, saying, "i hope to mercy your daughter will marry a negro." at the expiration of the term of imprisonment allowed by law, james still refused to return to service, and he was committed for another thirty days. his master called to see him again, and told him if he would return home, and behave well, he should have a new suit of clothes and a methodist hat. "i don't want your new clothes, nor your methodist hat," replied james. "i tell you i never will serve you nor any other man as a slave. i had rather end my days in jail." his master finding him so intractable, gave up the case as hopeless. when his second term of imprisonment expired, he was discharged, and no one attempted to molest him. he earned a comfortable living, and looked happy and respectable; but his personal appearance was not improved by leaving his beard unshaved. one day, when friend hopper met him in the street, he said, "jim, why dost thou wear that long beard? it looks very ugly." "i suppose it does," he replied, "but i wear it as a memorial of the lord's goodness in setting me free; for it was him that done it." romaine. a frenchman by the name of anthony salignac removed from st. domingo to new-jersey, and brought with him several slaves; among whom was romaine. after remaining in new-jersey several years, he concluded in , to send romaine and his wife and child back to the west indies. finding him extremely reluctant to go, he put them in prison some days previous, lest they should make an attempt to escape. from prison they were put into a carriage to be conveyed to newcastle, under the custody of a frenchman and a constable. they started from trenton late in the evening, and arrived in philadelphia about four o'clock in the morning. people at the inn where they stopped remarked that romaine and his wife appeared deeply dejected. when food was offered they refused to eat. his wife made some excuse to go out, and though sought for immediately after, she was not to be found. romaine was ordered to get into the carriage. the frenchman was on one side of him and the constable on the other. "_must_ i go?" cried he, in accents of despair. they told him he must. "and alone?" said he. "yes, you must," was the stern reply. the carriage was open to receive him, and they would have pushed him in, but he suddenly took a pruning knife from his pocket, and drew it three times across his throat with such force that it severed the jugular vein instantly, and he fell dead on the pavement. as the party had travelled all night, seemed in great haste, and watched their colored companions so closely some persons belonging to the prison where they stopped suspected they might have nefarious business on hand; accordingly, a message was sent to isaac t. hopper, as the man most likely to right all the wrongs of the oppressed. he obeyed the summons immediately; but when he arrived, he found the body of poor romaine weltering in blood on the pavement. speaking of this scene forty years later, he said, "my whole soul was filled with horror, as i stood viewing the corpse. reflecting on that awful spectacle, i exclaimed within myself, how long, o lord, how long shall this abominable system of slavery be permitted to curse the land! my mind was introduced into sympathy with the sufferer. i thought of the agony he must have endured before he could have resolved upon that desperate deed. he knew what he had to expect, from what he had experienced in the west indies before, and he was determined not to submit to the same misery and degradation again. by his sufferings he was driven to desperation; and he preferred launching into the unknown regions of eternity to an endurance of slavery." an inquest was summoned, and after a brief consultation, the coroner brought in the following verdict: "suicide occasioned by the dread of slavery, to which the deceased knew himself devoted." romaine and his wife were very good looking. they gave indications of considerable intelligence, and had the character of having been very faithful servants. his violent death produced a good deal of excitement among the people generally, and much sympathy was manifested for the wife and child, who had escaped. the master had procured a certificate from the mayor of trenton authorizing him to remove his slaves to the west indies; but the jury of inquest, and many others, were of opinion that his proceedings were not fully sanctioned by law. accordingly, friend hopper, and two other members of the abolition society, caused him to be arrested and brought before a magistrate; not so much with the view of punishing him, as with the hope of procuring manumission for the wife and child. in the course of the investigation, the friends of the frenchman were somewhat violent in his defence. upon one occasion, several of them took friend hopper up and put him out of the house by main force; while at the same time they let their friend out of a back door to avoid him. however, friend hopper met him a few minutes after in the street and seized him by the button. alarmed by the popular excitement, and by the perseverance with which he was followed up, he exclaimed in agitated tones, "mon dieu! what is it you do want? i will do anything you do want." "i want thee to bestow freedom on that unfortunate woman and her child," replied friend hopper. he promised that he would do so; and he soon after made out papers to that effect, which were duly recorded. the slave hunter. in july, , a man by the name of david lea, went to philadelphia to hunt up runaway slaves for their southern masters. a few days after his arrival, he arrested a colored man, whom he claimed as the property of nathan peacock of maryland. the man had lived several years in philadelphia, had taken a lot of ground in the northern liberties, and erected a small house on it. in the course of the investigation, the poor fellow, seeing no chance of escape, acknowledged that he was mr. peacock's slave, and had run away from him because he wanted to be free. his friends, being unwilling to see him torn from his wife and children, made an effort to purchase his freedom. after much intreaty, the master named a very large sum as his ransom; and the slave was committed to prison until the affair was settled. david lea was a filthy looking man, apparently addicted to intemperance. friend hopper asked him if he had any business in philadelphia. he answered, "no." he inquired whether he had any money, and he answered, "_no_." friend hopper then said to the magistrate, "here is a stranger without money, who admits that he has no regular means of obtaining a livelihood. judging from his appearance, there is reason to conclude that he may be a dangerous man. i would suggest whether it be proper that he should be permitted to go at large." the magistrate interrogated the suspicious looking stranger concerning his business in philadelphia; and he, being ashamed to acknowledge himself a slave-catcher, returned very evasive and unsatisfactory answers. he was accordingly committed to prison, to answer at the next court of sessions. it was customary to examine prisoners before they were locked up, and take whatever was in their pockets, to be restored to them whenever they were discharged. david lea strongly objected to this proceeding; and when they searched him they found more than fifty advertisements for runaway slaves; a fact which made the nature of his business sufficiently obvious. friend hopper, had a serious conversation with him in prison, during which he stated that he was to have received forty-five dollars for restoring the slave to his master. friend hopper told him if he would give an order upon mr. peacock for that amount, to go toward buying the slave's freedom, he should be released from confinement, on condition of leaving the city forthwith. he agreed to do so, and the money was paid. but the slave was found to be in debt more than his small house was worth, and the price for his ransom was so exorbitantly high, that it was impossible to raise it. under these circumstances, friend hopper thought it right to return the forty-five dollars to david lea; but he declined receiving it. he would take only three dollars, to defray his expenses home; and gave the following written document concerning the remainder: "i request isaac t. hopper to pay the money received from the order, which i gave him upon nathan peacock, to the managers of the pennsylvania hospital, or to any other charitable institution he may judge proper." his david x lea. mark. he was discharged from prison, and the money paid to the pennsylvania hospital. next year, the following item was published in their accounts: "received of david lea, a noted negro-catcher, by the hands of isaac t. hopper, forty-two dollars; he having received forty-five dollars for taking up a runaway slave, of which he afterward repented, and directed the sum to be paid to the pennsylvania hospital, after deducting three dollars to pay his expenses home." the slave was carried back to the south, but escaped again. after encountering many difficulties, he was at last bought for a sum so small, that it was merely nominal; and he afterward lived in philadelphia unmolested. william bachelor. it was a common thing for speculators in slaves to purchase runaways for much less than their original value, and take the risk of not being able to catch them. in the language of the trade, this was called buying them running. in april, , joseph ennells and captain frazer, of maryland, dealers in slaves, purchased a number in this way, and came to philadelphia in search of them. there they arrested, and claimed as their property, william bachelor, a free colored man, about sixty years old. a colored man, whom the slave-dealers brought with them, swore before a magistrate that william bachelor once belonged to a gang of slaves, of which he was overseer; that he had changed his name, but he knew him perfectly well. william affirmed in the most earnest manner, that he was a free man; but mr. ennells and captain frazer appeared to be such respectable men, and the colored witness swore so positively, that the magistrate granted a certificate authorizing them to take him to maryland. as they left the office, they were met by dr. kinley, who knew william bachelor well, and had a great regard for him. finding that his protestations had no effect with the marylanders, he ran with all speed to isaac t. hopper, and entering his door almost out of breath, exclaimed, "they've got old william bachelor, and are taking him to the south, as a slave. i know him to be a free man. many years ago, he was a slave to my father, and he manumitted him. he used to carry me in his arms when i was an infant. he was a most faithful servant." friend hopper inquired which way the party had gone, and was informed that they went toward "gray's ferry." he immediately started in pursuit, and overtook them half a mile from the schuylkill. he accosted mr. ennells politely, and told him he had made a mistake in capturing william bachelor; for he was a free man. ennells drew a pistol from his pocket, and said, "we have had him before a magistrate, and proved to his satisfaction that the fellow is my slave. i have got his certificate, and that is all that is required to authorize me to take him home. i will blow your brains out if you say another word on the subject, or make any attempt to molest me." "if thou wert not a coward, thou wouldst not try to intimidate me with a pistol," replied isaac. "i do not believe thou hast the least intention of using it in any other way; but thou art much agitated, and may fire it accidentally; therefore i request thee not to point it toward me, but to turn it the other way. it is in vain for thee to think of taking this old man to maryland. if thou wilt not return to the city voluntarily, i will certainly have thee stopped at the bridge, where thou wilt be likely to be handled much more roughly than i am disposed to do." while this controversy was going on, poor william bachelor was in the greatest anxiety of mind. "oh, master hopper," he exclaimed, "don't let them take me! i am not a slave. all the people in philadelphia know i am a free man. i never was in maryland in my life." ennells, hearing the name, said, "so your name is hopper, is it? i have heard of you. it's time the world was rid of you. you have done too much mischief already." when friend hopper inquired what mischief he had done, he replied, "you have robbed many people of their slaves." "thou art mistaken," rejoined the quaker. "i only prevent southern marauders from robbing people of their liberty." after much altercation, it was agreed to return to the city; and william was again brought before the alderman, who had so hastily surrendered him. dr. kinley, and so many other respectable citizens, attended as witnesses, that even ennells himself was convinced that his captive was a free man. he was accordingly set at liberty. it was, however, generally believed that mr. ennells knew he was not a slave when he arrested him. it was therefore concluded to prosecute him for attempting to take forcibly a free man out of the state and carry him into slavery. when friend hopper went to his lodgings with a warrant and two constables, for this purpose, he found him writing, with a pistol on each side of him. the moment they entered, he seized a pistol and ordered them to withdraw, or he would shoot them. friend hopper replied, "these men are officers, and have a warrant to arrest thee for attempting to carry off a free man into slavery. i advise thee to lay down thy pistol and go with us. if not, a sufficient force will soon be brought to compel thee. remember thou art in the heart of philadelphia. it is both foolish and imprudent to attempt to resist the law. a pistol is a very unnecessary article here, whatever it may be elsewhere. according to appearances, thou dost not attempt to use it for any other purpose than to frighten people; and thou hast not succeeded in doing that." rage could do nothing in the presence of such imperturbable calmness; and ennells consented to go with them to the magistrate. on the way, he quarrelled with one of the constables, and gave him a severe blow on the face with his cane. the officer knocked him down, and would have repeated the blow, if friend hopper had not interfered. assisting ennells to rise, he said, "thou hadst better take my arm and walk with me. i think we can agree better." when the transaction had been investigated before a magistrate, mr. ennells was bound over to appear at the next mayor's court and answer to the charge against him. the proprietor of the hotel where he lodged became his bail. meanwhile, numerous letters came from people of the first respectability in maryland and virginia, testifying to his good character. his lawyer showed these letters to friend hopper, and proposed that the prosecution should be abandoned. he replied that he had no authority to act in the matter himself; but he knew the abolition society had commenced the prosecution from no vindictive feelings, but merely with the view of teaching people to be careful how they infringed on the rights of free men. the committee of that society met the same evening, and agreed to dismiss the suit, mr. ennells paying the costs; to which he readily assented. levin smith. levin was a slave in maryland. he married a free woman and had several children. in , his master sold him to a speculator, who was in the habit of buying slaves for the southern market. his purchaser took him to his farm in delaware, and kept him at work till he could get a profitable chance to sell him. his new master was a desperate fellow, and levin was uneasy with the constant liability of being sold to the far south. he opened his heart to a neighbor, who advised him to escape, and gave him a letter to isaac t. hopper. his wife and children had removed to philadelphia, and there he rejoined them. she took in washing, and he supported himself by sawing wood. he had been there little more than a month, when his master heard where he was, and bargained with the captain of a small sloop to catch him and bring him back to delaware. the plan was to seize levin in his bed, hurry him on board the sloop, and start off immediately, before his family could have time to give the alarm. they would probably have succeeded in this project, if the captain had not drank a little too freely the evening previous, and so forgotten to get some goods on board, as he had promised. levin was seized and carried off; but the sloop was obliged to wait for the goods, and in the meantime messengers were sent to isaac t. hopper. he was in bed, but sprang up the instant he heard a violent knocking at the door. in his haste, he thrust on an old rough coat and hat, which he was accustomed to wear to fires; for, in addition to his various other employments, he belonged to a fire-company. he hurried to the scene of action as quickly as possible, and found that the slave had been conveyed to a small tavern near the wharf where the sloop lay. when the landlord was questioned where the men were who had him in custody, he refused to give any information. but there was a crowd of men and boys; and one of them said, "they are up-stairs in the back room." the landlord stood in the door-way, and tried to prevent friend hopper from passing in; but he pushed him aside, and went up to the chamber, where he found levin with his hands tied, and guarded by five or six men. "what are you going to do with this man?" said he. the words were scarcely out of his mouth, before they seized him violently and pitched him out of the chamber window. he fell upon empty casks, and his mind was so excited, that he was not aware of being hurt. there was no time to be lost; for unless there was an immediate rescue, the man would be forced on board the sloop and carried off. as soon as he could get upon his feet, he went round again to the front door and ascended the stairs; but the door of the chamber was locked. he then returned to the back yard, mounted upon the pent-house, by means of a high board fence, and clambered into the window of a chamber, that opened into the room where the slave was. he entered with an open penknife in his hand, exclaiming, "let us see if you will get me out so soon again!" speaking thus, he instantly cut the cords that bound the slave, and called out, "follow me!" he rushed down stairs as fast as he could go, and the slave after him. the guard were utterly astonished at seeing the man return, whom they had just tossed out of an upper window, and the whole thing was done so suddenly, that friend hopper and the liberated captive were in the street before they had time to recover their wits. a rowdy looking crowd of men and boys followed the fugitive and his protector, shouting, "stop thief! stop thief!" until they came to the office of a justice of the peace, half a mile from where they started. the astonished magistrate exclaimed, "good heavens, mr. hopper, what brings you here this time of the morning, in such a trim, and with such a rabble at your heels!" when the circumstances were briefly explained, he laughed heartily, and said, "i don't think they would have treated you so roughly, if they had known who you were." he was informed that levin was a slave in maryland, but had been living in delaware with a man who bought him, and had thus become legally free. measures were taken to protect him from further aggression, and he was never after molested. friend hopper went home to a late breakfast; and when he attempted to rise from the table, he was seized with violent pains in the back, in consequence of his fall. he never after entirely recovered from the effects of it. etienne lamaire. this man was a slave to a frenchman of the same name, in the island of guadaloupe. in consideration of faithful services, his master gave him his freedom, and he opened a barber's shop on his own account. some time after, he was appointed an officer in the french army, against victor hughes. he had command of a fort, and remained in the army until the close of the war. after that period, there were symptoms of insurrection among the colored people, because the french government revoked the decree abolishing slavery in their west india islands. etienne was a man of talent, and had acquired considerable influence, particularly among people of his own color. he exerted this influence on the side of mercy, and was the means of saving the lives of several white people who had rendered themselves obnoxious by their efforts to restore slavery. affairs were so unsettled in guadaloupe, that etienne determined to seek refuge in the united states; and an old friend of his master procured a passport for him. a man by the name of anslong, then at guadaloupe, had two slaves, whom he was about to send to the care of dennis cottineau, of philadelphia, with directions to place them on a farm he owned, near princeton, new-jersey. when it was proposed that etienne should take passage in the same vessel, anslong manifested much interest in his behalf. he promised that he should have his passage free, for services that he might render on board; and he took charge of his passport, saying that he would give it to the captain for safe keeping. when the vessel arrived at philadelphia, in march, , etienne was astonished to find that anslong had paid his passage, and claimed him as his slave. dennis cottineau showed the receipts for the passage money, and written directions to forward the _three_ slaves to new-jersey. in this dilemma, he asked counsel of a colored man, whom he had formerly known in guadaloupe; and he immediately conducted him to isaac t. hopper. he related the particulars of his case very circumstantially, and the two colored men, who were really the slaves of anslong, confirmed his statement. when friend hopper had cautiously examined them, and cross-examined them, he became perfectly satisfied that etienne was free. he advised him not to leave the city, and told him to let him know in case dennis cottineau attempted to compel him to do so. he accordingly waited upon that gentleman and told him he had resolved not to submit to his orders to go to new-jersey. whereupon cottineau took possession of his trunk, containing his papers and clothing, and caused him to be committed to prison. a writ of _habeas corpus_ was procured, and the case was brought before judge inskeep, of the court of common pleas. it was found to be involved in considerable difficulty. for while several witnesses swore that they knew etienne in guadaloupe, as a free man, in business for himself, others testified that they had known him as the slave of anslong. it was finally referred to the supreme court, and etienne was detained in prison several months to await his trial. eminent counsel were employed on both sides; jared ingersoll for the claimant, and joseph hopkinson for the defendant. a certificate was produced from the municipality of guadaloupe, showing that etienne had been an officer in the french army for several years, and had filled the station in a manner to command respect. the national decree abolishing slavery in that island was also read; but mr. ingersoll contended that when the decree was revoked, etienne again became a slave. in his charge, judge shippen said that the evidence for and against freedom was about equally balanced; and in that case, it was always a duty to decide in favor of liberty. the jury accordingly brought in a unanimous verdict that etienne was free. the court ordered him to refund the twenty dollars, which anslong had paid for his passage; and he was discharged. he was a dark mulatto, tall, well-proportioned, and stylish-looking. his handsome countenance had a remarkably bright, frank expression, and there was a degree of courteous dignity in his manner, probably acquired by companionship with military officers. but he belonged to a caste which society has forbidden to develop the faculties bestowed by nature. such a man might have performed some higher use than cutting hair, if he had lived in a wisely organized state of society. however, he made the best of such advantages as he had. he opened a barber's shop in philadelphia, and attracted many of the most highly respectable citizens by his perfect politeness and punctuality. the colored people had various benevolent societies in that city, for the relief of the poor, the sick, and the aged, of their own complexion. etienne lamaire was appointed treasurer of several of these societies, and discharged his trust with scrupulous integrity. isaac t. hopper had been very active and vigilant in assisting him to regain his freedom; and afterward, when he became involved in some difficulty on account of stolen goods left on his premises without his knowledge, he readily became bail for him. his confidence had not been misplaced; for when the affair had been fully investigated, the recorder declared that mr. lamaire had acted like an honest and prudent man, throughout the whole transaction. his gratitude to friend hopper was unbounded, and he missed no opportunity to manifest it. to the day of his death, some fourteen or fifteen years ago, he never would charge a cent for shaving, or cutting the hair of any of the family, children, or grand-children; and on new year's day, he frequently sent a box of figs, or raisins, or bon-bons, in token of grateful remembrance. samuel johnson. samuel johnson was a free colored man in the state of delaware. he married a woman who was slave to george black. they had several children, and when they became old enough to be of some value as property, their parents were continually anxious lest mr. black should sell them to some georgia speculator, to relieve himself from pecuniary embarrassment; an expedient which was very often resorted to under such circumstances. when johnson visited his wife, they often talked together on the subject; and at last they concluded to escape to a free state. they went to philadelphia and hired a small house. he sawed wood, and she took in washing. being industrious and frugal, they managed to live very comfortably, except the continual dread of being discovered. in december, , when they had been thus situated about two years, her master obtained some tidings of them, and immediately went in pursuit. a friend happened to become aware of the fact, and hastened to inform them that mr. black was in the city. samuel forthwith sent his wife and children to a place of safety; but he remained at home, not supposing that he could be in any danger. the master arrived shortly after, with two constables, and was greatly exasperated when he found that his property had absconded. they arrested the husband, and vowed they would hold him as a hostage, till he informed them where they could find his wife and children. when he refused to accompany them, they beat him severely, and swore they would carry him to the south and sell him. he told them they might carry him into slavery, or murder him, if they pleased, but no torture they could inflict would ever induce him to betray his family. finding they could not break his resolution, they tied his hands behind his back, and dragged him to a tavern kept by peter fritz, in sassafras-street. there they left him, guarded by the landlord and several men, while they went in search of the fugitives. some of johnson's colored neighbors informed isaac t. hopper of these proceedings; and he went to the tavern, accompanied by a friend. they attempted to enter the room occupied by samuel and his guard, but found the door fastened, and the landlord refused to unlock it. when they inquired by what authority he made his tavern a prison, he replied that the man was placed in his custody by two constables, and should not be released till they came for him. "open the door!" said friend hopper; "or we will soon have it opened in a way that will cost something to repair it. thou hast already made thyself liable to an action for false imprisonment. if thou art not very careful, thou wilt find thyself involved in trouble for this business." the landlord swore a good deal, but finding them so resolute, he concluded it was best to open the door. after obtaining the particulars of the case from johnson himself, friend hopper cut the cord that bound his hands, and said, "follow me!" the men on guard poured forth a volley of threats and curses. one of them sprang forward in great fury, seized johnson by the collar, and swore by his maker that he should not leave the room till the constables arrived. friend hopper stepped up to him, and said, "release that man immediately! or thou wilt be made to repent of thy conduct." the ruffian quailed under the influence of that calm bold manner, and after some slight altercation let go his grasp. johnson followed his protector in a state of intense anxiety concerning his wife and children. but they had been conveyed to a place of safety, and the man-hunters never afterward discovered their retreat. pierce butler's ben. in august, , a colored man about thirty-six years old waited upon the committee of the abolition society, and stated that he was born a slave to pierce butler, esq., of south carolina, and had always lived in his family. during the last eleven years, he had resided most of the time in pennsylvania. mr. butler now proposed taking him to georgia; but he was very unwilling to leave his wife, she being in delicate health and needing his support. after mature consideration of the case, the committee, believing ben was legally entitled to freedom, agreed to apply to judge inskeep for a writ of _habeas corpus;_ and isaac t. hopper was sent to serve it upon pierce butler, esq., at his house in chestnut-street. being told that mr. butler was at dinner, he said he would wait in the hall until it suited his convenience to attend to him. mr. butler was a tall, lordly looking man, somewhat imperious in his manners, as slaveholders are wont to be. when he came into the hall after dinner, friend hopper gave him a nod of recognition, and said, "how art thou, pierce butler? i have here a writ of _habeas corpus_ for thy ben." mr. butler glanced over the paper, and exclaimed, "get out of my house, you scoundrel!" feigning not to hear him, friend hopper looked round at the pictures and rich furniture, and said with a smile, "why, thou livest like a nabob here!" "get out of my house, i say!" repeated mr. butler, stamping violently. "this paper on the walls is the handsomest i ever saw," continued isaac. "is it french, or english? it surely cannot have been manufactured in this country." talking thus, and looking leisurely about him as he went, he moved deliberately toward the door; the slaveholder railing at him furiously all the while. "i am a citizen of south carolina," said he. "the laws of pennsylvania have nothing to do with me. may the devil take all those who come between masters and their slaves; interfering with what is none of their business." supposing that his troublesome guest was deaf, he put his head close to his ear, and roared out his maledictions in stentorian tones. friend hopper appeared unconscious of all this. when he reached the threshold, he turned round and said, "farewell. we shall expect to see thee at judge inskeep's." this imperturbable manner irritated the hot-blooded slave-holder beyond endurance. he repeated more vociferously than ever, "get out of my house, you scoundrel! if you don't, i'll kick you out." the quaker walked quietly away, as if he didn't hear a word. at the appointed time, mr. butler waited upon the judge, where he found friend hopper in attendance. the sight of him renewed his wrath. he cursed those who interfered with his property; and taking up the bible, said he was willing to swear upon that book that he would not take fifteen hundred dollars for ben. friend hopper charged him with injustice in wishing to deprive the man of his legal right to freedom. mr. butler maintained that he was as benevolent as any other man. "thou benevolent!" exclaimed friend hopper. "why, thou art not even just. thou hast already sent back into bondage two men, who were legally entitled to freedom by staying in philadelphia during the term prescribed by law. if thou hadst a proper sense of justice, thou wouldst bring those men back, and let them take the liberty that rightfully belongs to them." "if you were in a different walk of life, i would treat your insult as it deserves," replied the haughty southerner. "what dost thou mean by that? asked isaac. wouldst thou shoot me, as burr did hamilton? i assure thee i should consider it no honor to be killed by a member of congress; and surely there would be neither honor nor comfort in killing thee; for in thy present state of mind thou art not fit to die." mr. butler told the judge he believed that man was either deaf or crazy when he served the writ of _habeas corpus_; for he did not take the slightest notice of anything that was said to him. judge inskeep smiled as he answered, "you don't know mr. hopper as well as we do." a lawyer was procured for ben; but mr. butler chose to manage his own cause. he maintained that he was only a sojourner in pennsylvania; that ben had never resided six months at any one time in that state, except while he was a member of congress; and in that case, the law allowed him to keep his slave in pennsylvania as long as he pleased. the case was deemed an important one, and was twice adjourned for further investigation. in the course of the argument, mr. butler admitted that he returned from congress to philadelphia, with ben, on the second of january, , and had remained there with him until the writ of _habeas corpus_ was served, on the third of august, the same year. the lawyers gave it as their opinion that ben's legal right to freedom was too plain to admit of any doubt. they said the law to which mr. butler had alluded was made for the convenience of southern gentlemen, who might need the attendance of their personal slaves, when congress met in philadelphia; but since the seat of government was removed, it by no means authorized members to come into pennsylvania with their slaves, and keep them there as long as they chose. after much debate, the judge gave an order discharging ben from all restraint, and he walked off rejoicing. his master was very indignant at the decision, and complained loudly that a pennsylvania court should presume to discharge a carolinian slave. when ben was set at liberty, he let himself to isaac w. morris, then living at his country seat called cedar grove, three miles from philadelphia. being sent to the city soon after, on some business for his employer, he was attached by the marshall of the united states, on a writ _de homine replegiando_, at the suit of mr. butler, and two thousand dollars were demanded for bail. the idea was probably entertained that so large an amount could not be procured, and thus ben would again come into his master's possession. but isaac t. hopper and thomas harrison signed the bail-bond, and ben was again set at liberty, to await his trial before the circuit court of the united states. bushrod washington, himself a slaveholder, presided in that court, and mr. butler was sanguine that he should succeed in having judge inskeep's decision reversed. the case was brought in october, , before judges bushrod washington and richard peters. it was ably argued by counsel on both sides. the court discharged ben, and he enjoyed his liberty thenceforth without interruption. daniel benson. daniel and his mother were slaves to perry boots, of delaware. his master was in the habit of letting him out to neighboring farmers and receiving the wages himself. daniel had married a free woman, and they had several children, mostly supported by her industry. his mother was old and helpless; and the master, finding it rather burdensome to support her, told daniel that if he would take charge of her, and pay him forty dollars a year, he might go where he pleased. the offer was gladly accepted; and in he removed to philadelphia, with his mother and family. he sawed wood for a living, and soon established such a character for industry and honesty, that many of the citizens were in the habit of employing him to purchase their wood and prepare it for the winter. upon one occasion, when he brought in a bill to alderman todd, that gentleman asked if he had not charged rather high. daniel excused himself by saying he had an aged mother to support, in addition to his own family; and that he punctually paid his master twenty dollars every six months, according to an agreement he had made with him. when the alderman heard the particulars, his sympathy was excited, and he wrote a note to isaac t. hopper, requesting him to examine into the case; stating his own opinion that daniel had a legal right to freedom. the wood-sawyer started off with the note with great alacrity, and delivered it to friend hopper, saying in very animated tones, "squire todd thinks i am free!" he was in a state of great agitation between hope and fear. when he had told his story, he was sent home to get receipts for all the money he had paid his master since his arrival in philadelphia. it was easy to prove from these that he had been a resident in pennsylvania, with his owner's consent, a much longer time than the law required to make him a free man. when friend hopper gave him this information, he was overjoyed. he could hardly believe it. the tidings seemed too good to be true. when assured that he was certainly free, beyond all dispute, and that he need not pay any more of his hard earnings to a master, the tears came to his eyes, and he started off to bring his wife, that she also might hear the glad news. when friend hopper was an old man, he often used to remark how well he remembered their beaming countenances on that occasion, and their warm expressions of gratitude to god. soon after this interview, a letter was addressed to perry boots, informing him that his slave was legally free, and that he need not expect to receive any more of his wages. he came to philadelphia immediately, to answer the letter in person. his first salutation was, "where can i find that ungrateful villain dan? i will take him home in irons." friend hopper replied, "thou wilt find thyself relieved from such an unpleasant task; for i can easily convince thee that the law sustains thy slave in taking his freedom." reading the law did not satisfy him. he said he would consult a lawyer, and call again. when he returned, he found daniel waiting to see him; and he immediately began to upbraid him for being so ungrateful. daniel replied, "master perry, it was not _justice_ that made me your slave. it was the _law_; and you took advantage of it. now, the law makes me free; and ought you to blame me for taking the advantage which it offers me? but suppose i were not free, what would you be willing to take to manumit me?" his master, somewhat softened, said, "why, dan, i always intended to set you free some time or other." "i am nearly forty years old," rejoined his bondsman, "and if i am ever to be free, i think it is high time now. what would you be willing to take for a deed of manumission?" mr. boots answered, "why i think you ought to give me a hundred dollars." "would that satisfy you, master perry? well, i can pay you a hundred dollars," said daniel. here friend hopper interfered, and observed there was nothing rightfully due to the master; that if justice were done in the case, he ought to pay daniel for his labor ever since he was twenty-one years old. the colored man replied, "i was a slave to master perry's father; and he was kind to me. master perry and i are about the same age. we were brought up more like two brothers, than like master and slave. i can better afford to give him a hundred dollars, than he can afford to do without it. i will go home and get the money, if you will make out the necessary papers while i am gone." surprised and gratified by the nobility of soul manifested in these words, friend hopper said no more to dissuade him from his generous purpose. he brought one hundred silver dollars, and perry boots signed a receipt for it, accompanied by a deed of manumission. he wished to have it inserted in the deed that he was not to be responsible for the support of the old woman. but daniel objected; saying, "such an agreement would imply that i would not voluntarily support my poor old mother." when the business was concluded, he invited his former master and friend hopper to dine with him; saying, "we are going to have a pretty good dinner, in honor of the day." mr. boots accepted the invitation; but friend hopper excused himself, on account of an engagement that would detain him till after dinner. when he called, he found they had not yet risen from the table, on which were the remains of a roasted turkey, a variety of vegetables, and a decanter of wine. friend hopper smiled when daniel remarked, "i know master perry loves a little brandy; but i did not like to get brandy; so i bought a quart of mr. morris' best wine, and thought perhaps that would do instead. i never drink anything but water myself." soon after daniel benson became a free man, he gave up sawing wood, and opened a shop for the sale of second-hand clothing. he was successful in business, brought up his family very reputably, and supported his mother comfortably to the end of her days. for many years, he was class-leader in a methodist church for colored people, and his correct deportment gained the respect of all who knew him. if slavery were _ever_ justifiable, under _any_ circumstances, which of these two characters ought to have been the master, and which the slave? the quick-witted slave. about the year , a colored man, who belonged to colonel hopper, of maryland, escaped with his wife and children, who were also slaves. he went to philadelphia and hired a small house in green's court, where he lived several months before his master discovered his retreat. as soon as he obtained tidings of him, he went to philadelphia, and applied to richard hunt, a constable who was much employed as a slave hunter. having procured a warrant, they went together, in search of the fugitives. it was about dusk, and the poor man just returned from daily toil, was sitting peacefully with his wife and children, when in rushed his old master, accompanied by the constable. with extraordinary presence of mind, the colored man sprang up, and throwing his arms round his master's neck, exclaimed, "o, my dear master, how glad i am to see you! i _thought_ i should like to be free; but i had a great deal rather be a slave. i can't get work, and we have almost starved. i would have returned home, but i was afraid you would sell me to the georgia men. i beg your pardon a thousand times. if you will only forgive me, i will go back with you, and never leave you again." the master was very agreeably surprised by this reception, and readily promised forgiveness. he was about to dismiss the constable, but the slave urged him to stay a few minutes. "i have earned a little money to-day, for a rarity," said he; "and i want to go out and buy something to drink; for i suppose old master must be tired." he stepped out, and soon returned with a quantity of gin, with which he liberally supplied his guests. he knew full well that they were both men of intemperate habits; so he talked gaily about affairs in maryland, making various inquiries concerning what had happened since he left; and ever and anon he replenished their glasses with gin. it was not long before they were completely insensible to all that was going on around them. the colored man and his family then made speedy preparations for departure. while colonel hopper and the constable lay in the profound stupor of intoxication, they were on the way to new jersey, with all their household goods, where they found a safe place of refuge before the rising of the sun. when consciousness returned to the sleepers, they were astonished to find themselves alone in the house; and as soon as they could rally their wits, they set off in search of the fugitives. after spending several days without finding any track of them, the master called upon isaac t. hopper. he complained bitterly of his servant's ingratitude in absconding from him, and of the trick he had played to deceive him. he said he and his family had always been extremely comfortable in maryland, and it was a great piece of folly in them to have quitted such a happy condition. he concluded by asking for assistance in tracing them; promising to treat them as kindly as if they were his own children, if they would return to him. friend hopper replied, "if the man were as happy with thee as thou hast represented, he will doubtless return voluntarily, and my assistance will be quite unnecessary. i do not justify falsehood and deception; but i am by no means surprised at them in one who has always been a slave, and had before him the example of slaveholders. why thou shouldst accuse him of ingratitude, is more than i can comprehend. it seems to me that he owes thee nothing. on the contrary, i should suppose that thou wert indebted to him; for i understand that he has served thee more than thirty years without wages. so far from helping thee to hunt the poor fugitives, i will, with all my heart, do my utmost to keep them out of thy grasp." "have you seen my man?" inquired the slaveholder. "he came to me when he left his own house in green's court," replied friend hopper; "and i gave him such advice on that occasion, as i thought proper. thou art the first slaveholder i ever met with bearing my name. perhaps thou hast assumed it, as a means of gaining the confidence of colored people, to aid thee in recapturing the objects of thy avarice." the colonel replied that it was really his name, and departed without having gained much satisfaction from the interview. he remained in philadelphia a week or ten days, where he was seized with _mania a potu_. he was carried home in a straight jacket, where he soon after died. a few months after these transactions, the slave called to see friend hopper. he laughed till he could hardly stand, while he described the method he had taken to elude his old master, and the comical scene that followed with him and the constable. "i knew his weak side," said he. "i knew where to touch him." friend hopper inquired whether he was not aware that it was wrong to tell falsehoods, and to get men drunk. "i suppose it _was_ wrong," he replied. "but liberty is sweet; and none of us know what we would do to secure it, till we are tried." he afterward returned to philadelphia, where he supported his family comfortably, and remained unmolested. james davis. in , james escaped from bondage in maryland, and went to philadelphia, where he soon after married. he remained undisturbed for ten years, during which time he supported himself and family comfortably by sawing wood. but one day, in the year , his master called to see him, accompanied by two other men, who were city constables. he appeared to be very friendly, asked james how he was getting along, and said he was glad to see him doing so well. at last, he remarked, "as you left my service without leave, i think you ought to make me some compensation for your time. autumn is now coming on, and as that is always a busy season for wood-sawyers, perhaps you can make me a small payment at that time." this insidious conversation threw james completely off his guard, and he promised to make an effort to raise some money for his master. as soon as he had said enough to prove that he was his bondsman, the slaveholder threw off the mask of kindness, and ordered the constables to seize and hand-cuff him. his wife and children shrieked aloud, and isaac t. hopper, who happened to be walking through the street at the time, hastened to ascertain the cause of such alarming sounds. entering the house, he found the colored man hand-cuffed, and his wife and children making the loud lamentations, which had arrested his attention. the poor woman told how her husband had been duped by friendly words, and now he was to be torn from his family and carried off into slavery. friend hopper's feelings were deeply affected at witnessing such a heartrending scene, and he exerted his utmost eloquence to turn the master from his cruel purpose. the wife and children wept and entreated also; but it was all in vain. he replied to their expostulations by ridicule, and proceeded to hurry his victim off to prison. the children clung round friend hopper's knees, crying and sobbing, and begging that he would not let those men take away their father. but the fact that the poor fellow had acknowledged himself a slave rendered resistance hopeless. he was taken before a magistrate, and thence to prison. friend hopper was with him when his master came the next day to carry him away. with a countenance expressive of deepest anguish, the unhappy creature begged to speak a word in private, before his master entered. when friend hopper took him into an adjoining room, he exclaimed in an imploring tone, "can't you give me some advice?" agitated by most painful sympathy, the friend knew not what to answer. after a moment's hesitation, he said, "don't try to run away till thou art sure thou hast a good chance." this was all he could do for the poor fellow. he was obliged to submit to seeing him bound with cords, put into a carriage, and driven off like a sheep to the slaughter-house. he was conveyed to maryland and lodged in jail. several weeks after, he was taken thence and sold to a speculator, who was making up a coffle of slaves for the far south. after crossing the susquehanna, they stopped at a miserable tavern, where the speculator and his companions drank pretty freely, and then began to amuse themselves by shooting at a mark. they placed the slave by the tavern door, where they could see him. while he sat there, thinking of his wife and children, feeling sad and forlorn beyond description, he noticed that a fisherman drew near the shore with a small boat, to which was fastened a rope and a heavy stone, to supply the place of an anchor. when he saw the man step out of the boat and throw the stone on the ground, friend hopper's parting advice instantly flashed through his mind. hardship, scanty food, and above all, continual distress of mind, had considerably reduced his flesh. he looked at his emaciated hands, and thought it might be possible to slip them through his iron cuffs. he proceeded cautiously, and when he saw that his guard were too busy loading their pistols to watch him, he released himself from his irons by a violent effort, ran to the river, threw the stone anchor into the boat, jumped in, and pushed for the opposite shore. the noise attracted the attention of his guard, who threatened him with instant death if he did not return. they loaded their pistols as quickly as possible, and fired after him, but luckily missed their aim. james succeeded in reaching the opposite side of the river, where he set the boat adrift, lest some one should take it back and enable them to pursue him. he bent his course toward philadelphia, and on arriving there, went directly to friend hopper's house. he had become so haggard and emaciated, that his friend could hardly believe it was james davis who stood before him. he said he dared not go near his old home, and begged that some place might be provided where he could meet his wife and children in safety. this was accomplished, and friend hopper was present when the poor harassed fugitive was restored to his family. he described the scene as affecting beyond description. the children, some of whom were very small, twined their little arms round him, eagerly inquiring, "where have you been? how did you get away?" and his wife sobbed aloud, while she hugged the lost one to her heart. the next morning he was sent to bucks county in a market wagon. some friends there procured a small house for him, and his family soon joined him. he was enabled to earn a comfortable living, and his place of retreat was never afterward discovered by enemies of the human family. mary holliday. a very light mulatto girl, named fanny, was slave to the widow of john sears, in maryland. when about twenty-four years old, she escaped to philadelphia, and lived in the family of isaac w. morris, where she was known by the assumed name of mary holliday. she was honest, prudent, and industrious, and the family became much attached to her. she had not been there many months when her mistress obtained tidings of her, and went to philadelphia, accompanied by a man named dutton. she was arrested on the seventh of june, , and taken before matthew lawler, who was then mayor. isaac w. morris immediately waited on isaac t. hopper to inform him of the circumstance, and they proceeded together to the mayor's office. dutton, being examined as a witness, testified that he knew a mulatto named fanny, who belonged to mrs. sears, and he believed the woman present, called mary holliday, was that person. mary denied that she was the slave of the claimant, or that her name was fanny; but her agitation was very evident, though she tried hard to conceal it. friend hopper remarked to the mayor, "this case requires testimony as strong as if the woman were on trial for her life, which is of less value than liberty. i object to the testimony as insufficient; for the witness cannot say positively that he _knows_ she is the same person, but only that he _believes_ so. wouldst thou consider such evidence satisfactory in the case of a white person?" the mayor who was not friendly to colored people, replied, "i should not; but i consider it sufficient in such cases as these." "how dark must the complexion be, to justify thee in receiving such uncertain evidence?" inquired friend hopper. the mayor pointed to the prisoner and said, "as dark as that woman." "what wouldst thou think of such testimony in case of thy own daughter?" rejoined friend hopper. "there is very little difference between her complexion and that of the woman now standing before thee." he made no reply, but over-ruled the objection to the evidence. he consented, however, to postpone the case three days, to give time to procure testimony in her favor. isaac w. morris soon after called upon friend hopper and said, "mary has acknowledged to us that her name is fanny, and that she belongs to mrs. sears. my family are all very much attached to her, and they cannot bear the thought of her being carried away into slavery. i will advance three hundred dollars, if thou wilt obtain her freedom." friend hopper accordingly called upon mrs. sears, and after stipulating that nothing said on either side should be made use of in the trial, he offered two hundred dollars for a deed of manumission. the offer was promptly rejected. after considerable discussion, three hundred and fifty dollars were offered; for it was very desirable to have the case settled without being obliged to resort to an expensive and uncertain process of law. mrs. sears replied, "it is in vain to treat with me on the subject; for i am determined not to sell the woman on any terms. i will take her back to maryland, and make an example of her." "i hope thou wilt find thyself disappointed," rejoined friend hopper. the slaveholder merely answered with a malicious smile, as if perfectly sure of her triumph. finding himself disappointed in his attempts to purchase the woman, friend hopper resolved to carry the case to a higher court, and accumulate as many legal obstructions as possible. for that purpose, he obtained a writ _de homine replegiando_, and when the suitable occasion arrived, he accompanied mary holliday to the mayor's office, with a deputy sheriff to serve the writ. when the trial came on, he again urged the insufficiency of proof brought by the claimant. the mayor replied, in a tone somewhat peremptory, "i have already decided that matter. i shall deliver the slave to her mistress." friend hopper gave the sheriff a signal to serve the writ. he was a novice in the business, but in obedience to the instructions given him, he laid his hand on mary's shoulder, and said, "by virtue of this writ, i replevin this woman, and deliver her to mr. hopper." her protector immediately said to her, "thou canst now go home with me." but her mistress seized her by the arm, and said she should _not_ go. the mayor was little acquainted with legal forms, beyond the usual routine of city business. he seemed much surprised, and inquired what the writ was. "it is a _homine replegiando_," replied friend hopper. "i don't understand what that means," said the mayor. "it is none the less powerful on that account," rejoined friend hopper. "it has taken the woman out of thy power, and delivered her to another tribunal." during this conversation, the mistress kept her grasp upon mary. friend hopper appealed to the mayor, again repeating that the girl was now to await the decision of another court. he accordingly told mrs. sears it was necessary to let her go. she asked what was to be done in such a case. the mayor, completely puzzled, and somewhat vexed, replied impatiently, "i don't know. you must ask mr. hopper. his laws are above mine. i thought i knew something about the business; but it seems i don't." mary went home with her protector, and mrs. sears employed alexander j. dallas as counsel. the case was kept pending in the supreme court a long time; for no man understood better than friend hopper how to multiply difficulties. mrs. sears frequently attended, bringing witnesses with her from maryland; which of course involved much trouble and expense. after several years, the trial came on; but it was found she had left some of her principal witnesses at home. most of the forenoon was spent in disputes about points of law, and the admissibility of certain evidence. the court then adjourned to three in the afternoon. mrs. sears was informed that even if the court adjudged mary to be her slave, friend hopper would doubtless fail to produce her, and they would be compelled to go through another process to recover from him the penalty of the bond. she had become exceedingly weary of the law, the trouble and expense of which had far exceeded her expectations. she therefore instructed her lawyer to try to effect a compromise. friend hopper, being consulted for this purpose, offered to pay two hundred and fifty dollars for mary if the claimant would pay the costs. she accepted the terms, well pleased to escape from further litigation. when the court met in the afternoon, they were informed that the matter was settled; and the jury with consent of parties, rendered a verdict that mary was free. by her own earnings, and donations from sympathizing friends, she gradually repaid isaac w. morris three hundred dollars toward the sum he had advanced for the expenses of her trial. in his efforts to protect the rights and redress the wrongs of colored people, friend hopper had a zealous and faithful ally in thomas harrison, also a member of the society of friends. when recounting the adventures they had together, he used to say, "that name excites pleasant emotions whenever it occurs to me. i shall always reverence his memory. he was my precursor in philadelphia, as the friend of the slave, and my coadjutor in scores of cases for their relief. his soul was always alive to the sufferings of his fellow creatures, and dipped into sympathy with the oppressed; not that idle sympathy that can be satisfied with lamenting their condition, and make no exertions for their relief; but sympathy, like the apostle's faith, manifesting itself in works, and extending its influence to all within its reach." thomas harrison was a lively, bustling man, with a roguish twinkle in his eye, and a humorous style of talking. some friends, of more quiet temperaments than himself, thought he had more activity than was consistent with dignity. they reminded him that mary sat still at the feet of jesus, while martha was "troubled about many things." "all that is very well," replied thomas; "but mary would have had a late breakfast, after all, if it had not been for martha." from among various anecdotes in which friend harrison's name occurs, i select the following: james lawler. james was a slave to mr. mccalmont of delaware. in , when he was about thirty years old, he escaped to new jersey and let himself out to a farmer. after he had been there a few months, several runaway slaves in his neighborhood were arrested and carried back to the south. this alarmed him, and he became very anxious that some person should advance a sum of money sufficient to redeem him from bondage, which he would bind himself to repay by labor. finding that his employer abhorred slavery, and was very friendly to colored people, he ventured to open his heart to him; and isaac t. hopper was consulted on the subject. the first step was to write to mr. mccalmont to ascertain what were the lowest terms on which he would manumit his slave. the master soon came in person, accompanied by a philadelphia merchant, who testified that his friend mccalmont was a highly respectable man, and treated his slaves with great kindness. he said james would be much happier with his master than he could be in any other situation, and strongly urged friend hopper to tell where he might be found. he replied, "it does not appear that james _thought_ himself so happy, or he would not have left his service. even if i had no objection to slavery, i should still be bound by every principle of honor not to betray the confidence reposed in me. but feeling as it is well known i do on that subject, i am surprised thou shouldst make such a proposition to me." they then called upon thomas harrison, and tried to enlist him in their favor by repeating how well james had been treated, and how happy he was in slavery. friend harrison replied, in his ironical way, "o, i know very well that slaves sleep on feather beds, while their master's children sleep on straw; that they eat white bread, and their master's children eat brown. but enclose ten acres with a high wall, plant it with lombardy poplars and the most beautiful shrubbery, build a magnificent castle in the midst of it, give thee pen, ink, and paper, to write about the political elections in which thou art so much interested, load thee with the best of everything thy heart could desire, still i think thou wouldst want to get out beyond the wall." the master, being unable to ascertain where his slave could be found, finally informed friend hopper that he would manumit him on the receipt of one hundred and fifty dollars. mr. john hart, a druggist, generously advanced the sum, and james was indentured to him for the term of five years. before the contract was concluded, somebody remarked that perhaps he would repeat his old trick of running away. "i am not afraid of that," replied mr. hart. "i will tie him by the teeth;" meaning he would feed him well. in fact, james now appeared quite satisfied. his new master and mistress were kind to him, and he was faithful and diligent in their service. when a year or two had elapsed, he asked permission to visit his old master and fellow servants. mr. hart kept a carriage, which he seldom used in the winter, and he told james he might take one of the horses. this suited his taste exactly. he mounted a noble looking animal, with handsome saddle and bridle, and trotted off to delaware. when he arrived, he tied the horse and went into the kitchen. mr. mccalmont coming home soon after, and observing a very fine horse in his yard, supposed he must have some distinguished visitor. upon inquiry, he was informed that jim rode the horse there, and was then in the kitchen. he went out and spoke very pleasantly to his former slave, and said he was glad to see him. being informed that the horse belonged to his new master, mr. hart, who had kindly permitted him to use it, he ordered the animal to be taken to the stable and supplied with hay and oats. james was treated kindly by all the family, and spent two days very agreeably. when about to take leave, mr. mccalmont said to him, "well, jim, i am glad to find that you have a good master, and are happy. but i had rather you would not come here again in the style you now have; for it will make my people dissatisfied." james returned much pleased with his excursion, and soon went to give friend hopper an account of it. he served out his time faithfully, and remained afterward in the same family, as a hired servant. william anderson. william was a slave in virginia. when about twenty-five years old, he left his master and went to philadelphia with two of his fellow slaves; giving as a reason that he wanted to try whether he couldn't do something for himself. when they had been absent a few months, their master "sold them running" to mr. joseph ennells, a speculator in slaves, who procured a warrant and constable, and repaired to philadelphia in search of his newly acquired property. they arrived on saturday, a day when many people congregated at the horse-market. ennells soon espied the three fugitives among the crowd, and made an attempt to pounce upon them. luckily, they saw the movement, and dodging quickly among the multitude, they escaped. after spending some days in search of them, ennells called upon isaac t. hopper and thomas harrison, and offered to sell them very cheap if they would hunt them up. friend hopper immediately recognized him as the man who had threatened to blow out his brains, when he went to the rescue of old william bachelor; and he thus addressed him: "i would advise thee to go home and obtain thy living in some more honorable way; for the trade in which thou art engaged is a most odious one. on a former occasion _thou_ wert treated with leniency; and i recommend a similar course to thee with regard to these poor fugitives." the speculator finally agreed to sell the three men for two hundred and fifty dollars. the money was paid, and he returned home. in the course of a few days william anderson called upon isaac t. hopper for advice. he informed him that thomas harrison had bought him and his companions, and told him he had better find the other two, and go and make a bargain with friend harrison concerning the payment. he called accordingly, and offered to bind himself as a servant until he had earned enough to repay the money that had been advanced; but he said he had searched in vain for the two companions of his flight. they had left the city abruptly, and he could not ascertain where they had gone. thomas harrison said to him, "perhaps thou art not aware that thou hast a legal claim to thy freedom already; for i am a citizen of pennsylvania, and the laws here do not allow any man to hold a slave." william replied, "i am too grateful for the kindness you have shown me, to feel any disposition to take advantage of that circumstance. if i live, you shall never lose a single cent on my account." he was soon after indentured to mr. jacob downing a respectable merchant of philadelphia, who agreed to pay one hundred and twenty-five dollars for his services. this was half of the money advanced for all of them. william served the stipulated time faithfully. his master said he never had a more honest and useful servant; and he on his part always spoke of the family with great respect and affection. when the time of his indenture had expired, he called upon his old benefactor, thomas harrison. after renewing his grateful acknowledgments for the service rendered to him in extremity, he inquired whether anything had ever been heard from the two other fugitives. being answered in the negative, he replied, "well, mr. harrison, you paid two hundred and fifty dollars for us, and you have not been able to find my companions. you have received only one hundred and twenty-five dollars. it is not right that you should lose by your kindness to us. i am willing you should bind me again to make up the balance." "honest fellow! honest fellow!" exclaimed thomas harrison. "go about thy business. thou hast paid thy share, and i have no further claim upon thee. conduct as well as thou hast done since i have known thee, and thou wilt surely prosper." friend hopper happened to be present at this interview; and he used to say, many years afterward, that he should never forget how it made his heart glow to witness such honorable and disinterested conduct. the two other fugitives were never heard of, and friend harrison of course lost one hundred and twenty-five dollars. william frequently called upon his benefactors, and always conducted in the most exemplary manner. sarah roach. sarah roach, a light mulatto, was sold by her master in maryland to a man residing in delaware. the laws of delaware prohibit the introduction of slaves, unless brought into the state by persons intending to reside there permanently. if brought under other circumstances they become free. sarah remained with her new master several years before she was made aware of this fact. meanwhile, she gave birth to a daughter, who was of course free, if the mother was free at the time she was born. at last, some one informed the bondwoman that her master had no legal claim to her services. she then left him and went to philadelphia. but she remained ignorant of the fact that her daughter was free, in consequence of the universal maxim of slave law, that "the child follows the condition of the mother." when the girl was about sixteen years old, she absconded from delaware, and went to her mother, who inquired of isaac t. hopper what was the best method of eluding the vigilance of her master. after ascertaining the circumstances, he told her that her daughter was legally free, and instructed her to inform him in case any person attempted to arrest her. her claimant soon discovered her place of abode, and in the summer of went in pursuit of her. being aware that his claim had no foundation in law, he did not attempt to establish it before any magistrate, but seized the girl and hurried her on board a sloop, that lay near spruce-street wharf, unloading staves. fearing she would be wrested from him by the city authorities, he removed the vessel from the wharf and anchored near an island between philadelphia and new-jersey. a boat was placed alongside the sloop, into which the cargo was unloaded and carried to the wharf they had left. the mother went to isaac t. hopper in great distress, and informed him of the transaction. he immediately made application to an alderman, who issued a process to have the girl brought before him. guided by two colored men, who had followed her when she was carried off, he immediately proceeded to the sloop, accompanied by an officer. when the claimant saw them approaching, he went into the cabin for his gun, and threatened them with instant death if they came near his vessel. friend hopper quietly told the men to go ahead and pay no attention to his threats. when they moored their boat alongside of the one into which they were unloading staves, he became very vociferous, and pointing his gun at friend hopper's breast, swore he should not enter the vessel. he replied, "i have an officer with me, and i have authority from a magistrate to bring before him a girl now in thy vessel. i think we are prepared to show that she is free." the man still kept his gun pointed, and told them to beware how they attempted to come on board. "if thou shouldst injure any person, it would be impossible for thee to escape," replied friend hopper; "for thou art a hundred and twenty miles from the capes, with hundreds of people on the wharf to witness thy deed." while speaking thus, he advanced toward him until he came near enough to seize hold of the gun and turn it aside. the man made a violent jerk to wrest the weapon from him, and still clinging fast hold of it he was pulled on board. in the scuffle to regain possession of his gun, the man trod upon a roller on the deck, lost his balance, and fell sprawling on his back. friend hopper seized that opportunity to throw the gun overboard. whereupon, a sailor near by seized an axe and came toward him in a great rage. even if the courageous quaker had wished to escape, there was no chance to do so. he advanced to meet the sailor, and looking him full in the face said, "thou foolish fellow, dost thou think to frighten me with that axe, when thy companion could not do it with his gun? put the axe down. thou art resisting legal authority, and liable to suffer severely for thy conduct." in a short time they became more moderate, but denied that the girl was on board. the vessel was nearly emptied of her cargo, and friend hopper peeping into the hold found her stowed away in a remote part of it. he brought her on deck and took her with him into the boat, of which his companions, including the constable, had retained possession. the girl was uncommonly handsome, with straight hair and regular european features. no one could have guessed from her countenance that any of her remote ancestors were africans. the claimant did not make his appearance at the alderman's office. a warrant was obtained charging him and the sailor with having resisted an officer in the discharge of his duty. isaac t. hopper returned to the sloop with a constable and brought the two men before a magistrate to answer to this charge. they did not attempt to deny the truth of it, but tried to excuse themselves on the plea that they resisted an attempt to take away their property. of course, this was of no avail, and they were obliged to enter into bonds for their appearance at court. being strangers in the city, it was difficult to obtain bail, and there seemed to be no alternative but a prison. however, as there must unavoidably be considerable trouble and delay in procuring all the necessary evidence concerning the birth of the alleged slave, her friends agreed to dismiss them, if they would pay all expenses, give each of the officers five dollars, and manumit the girl. under existing circumstances, they were glad to avail themselves of the offer; and so the affair was settled. zeke. a man by the name of daniel godwin, in the lower part of delaware, made a business of buying slaves running; taking the risk of losing the small sums paid for them under such circumstances. in the year , he purchased in this way a slave named ezekiel, familiarly called zeke. he went to philadelphia, and called on isaac t. hopper; thinking if he knew where the man was, he would be glad to have his freedom secured on moderate terms. while they were talking together, a black man happened to walk in, and leaning on the counter looked up in mr. godwin's face all the time he was telling the story of his bargain. when he had done speaking, he said, "how do you do, mr. godwin? don't you know me?" the speculator answered that he did not. "then you don't remember a man that lived with your neighbor, mr.----?" continued he. mr. godwin was at first puzzled to recollect whom he meant; but when he had specified the time, and various other particulars, he said he did remember such a person. "well," answered the black man, "i am he; and i am zeke's brother." the speculator inquired whether he knew where he was. he replied, "o yes, mr. godwin, i know where he is, well enough. but i'm sorry you've bought zeke. you'll never make anything out of him. a bad speculation, mr. godwin." "why, what's the matter with zeke?" asked the trader. "o, these blacks come to philadelphia and they get into bad company," replied he. "they are afraid to be seen in the day-time, and so they go prowling about in the night. i'm very sorry you've bought zeke. he'll never do you one cent's worth of good. a bad speculation, mr. godwin." the prospect seemed rather discouraging, and the trader said, "come now, suppose you buy zeke yourself? i'll sell him low." "if i bought him, i should only have to maintain him into the bargain," replied the black man. "he's my brother, to be sure; but then he'll never be good for anything." "perhaps he would behave better if he was free," urged mr. godwin. "that's the only chance there is of his ever doing any better," responded the colored man. "but i'm very doubtful about it. if i should make up my mind to give him a chance, what would you be willing to sell him for?" the speculator named one hundred and fifty dollars. "poh! poh!" exclaimed the other. "i tell you zeke will never be worth a cent to you or anybody else. a hundred and fifty dollars, indeed!" the parley continued some time longer, and the case seemed such a hopeless one, that mr. godwin finally agreed to take sixty dollars. the colored man went off, and soon returned with the required sum. isaac t. hopper drew up a deed of manumission, in which the purchaser requested him to insert that zeke was now commonly called samuel johnson. the money was paid, and the deed signed with all necessary formalities. when the business was entirely completed, the colored man said, "zeke is now free, is he?" when mr. godwin answered, "yes," he turned to friend hopper and repeated the question: "zeke is free, and nobody can take him; can they, mr. hopper? if he was here, he would be in no danger; would he?" friend hopper replied, "wherever zeke may now be, i assure thee he is free." being thus assured, the black man made a low bow, and with a droll expression of countenance said, "i hope you are very well, mr. godwin. i am happy to see you, sir. i am zeke!" the speculator, finding himself thus outwitted, flew into a violent rage. he seized zeke by the collar, and began to threaten and abuse him. but the colored man shook his fist at him, and said, "if you don't let me go, mr. godwin, i'll knock you down. i'm a free citizen of these united states; and i won't be insulted in this way by anybody." friend hopper interfered between them, and mr. godwin agreed to go before a magistrate to have the case examined. when the particulars had been recounted, the magistrate answered, "you have been outwitted, sir. zeke is now as free as any man in this room." there was something so exhilarating in the consciousness of being his own man, that zeke began to "feel his oats," as the saying is. he said to the magistrate, "may it please your honor to grant me a warrant against mr. godwin? he violently seized me by the collar; thus committing assault and battery on a free citizen of these united states." friend hopper told him he had better be satisfied with that day's work, and let mr. godwin go home. he yielded to this expostulation, though he might have made considerable trouble by insisting upon retaliation. poor amy. a frenchman named m. bouilla resided in spring garden, philadelphia, in the year . he and a woman, who had lived with him some time, had in their employ a mulatto girl of nine years old, called amy. dreadful stories were in circulation concerning their cruel treatment to this child; and compassionate neighbors had frequently solicited friend hopper's interference. after a while, he heard they were about to send her into the country; and fearing she might be sold into slavery, he called upon m. bouilla to inquire whither she was going. as soon as he made known his business, the door was unceremoniously slammed in his face and locked. a note was then sent to the frenchman, asking for a friendly interview; but he returned a verbal answer. "tell mr. hopper to mind his own business." considering it his business to protect an abused child, he applied to a magistrate for a warrant, and proceeded to the house, accompanied by his friend thomas harrison and a constable. as soon as they entered the door, m. bouilla ran up-stairs, and arming himself with a gun, threatened to shoot whoever advanced toward him. being blind, however, he could only point the gun at random in the direction of their voices, or of any noise which might reach his ear. the officer refused to attempt his arrest under such peril; saying, he was under no obligation to risk his life. friend hopper expostulated with the frenchman, explained the nature of their errand, and urged him to come down and have the matter inquired into in an amicable way. but he would not listen, and persisted in swearing he would shoot the first person who attempted to come near him. at last, friend hopper took off his shoes, stepped up-stairs very softly and quickly, and just as the frenchman became aware of his near approach, he seized the gun and held it over his shoulder. it discharged instantly, and shattered the plastering of the stairway, making it fly in all directions. there arose a loud cry, "mr. hopper's killed! mr. hopper's killed!" the gun being thus rendered harmless, the frenchman was soon arrested, and they all proceeded to the magistrate's office, accompanied by several of the neighbors. there was abundant evidence that the child had been half starved, unmercifully beaten, and tortured in various ways. indeed, she was such a poor, emaciated, miserable looking object, that her appearance was of itself enough to prove the cruel treatment she had received. when the case had been fully investigated, the magistrate ordered her to be consigned to the care of isaac t. hopper, who hastened home with her, being anxious lest his wife should accidentally hear the rumor that he had been shot. he afterwards ascertained that amy was daughter of the white woman who had aided in thus shamefully abusing her. he kept her in his family till she became well and strong, and then bound her to one of his friends in the country to serve till she was eighteen. she grew up a very pretty girl, and deported herself to the entire satisfaction of the family. when her period of service had expired, she returned to philadelphia, where her conduct continued very exemplary. she frequently called to see friend hopper, and often expressed gratitude to him for having rescued her from such a miserable condition. manuel. manuel was an active, intelligent slave in north carolina. his master, mr. joseph spear, a tar manufacturer, employed him to transport tar, and other produce of the place, down tar river to tarborough. after laboring several years for another's benefit, manuel began to feel anxious to derive some advantage from his own earnings. he had children, and it troubled him to think that they must live and die in slavery. he was acquainted with a colored man in the neighborhood, named samuel curtis, who had a certificate of freedom drawn up by the clerk of the county, and duly authenticated, with the county seal attached to it. manuel thought he could easily pass for samuel curtis, and make his way to philadelphia, if he could only obtain possession of this valuable paper. he accordingly made him a confidant of his plans, and he bought the certificate for two dollars. the next time manuel was sent to tarborough, he delivered the cargo as usual, then left the boat and started for the north. he arrived safely in philadelphia, where he assumed the name of samuel curtis, and earned a living by sweeping chimneys. in a short time, he had several boys in his employ, and laid by money. when he had been going on thus for about two years, he was suddenly met in the street by one of the neighbors of his old master, who immediately arrested him as a fugitive from slavery. he was taken before robert wharton, then mayor. the stranger declared that the colored man he had seized was a slave, belonging to one of his near neighbors in north carolina. samuel denied that he was a slave, and showed his certificate of freedom. the stranger admitted that the document was authentic, but he insisted that the real name of the person who had possession of the paper was manuel. he said he knew him perfectly well, and also knew samuel curtis, who was a free colored man in his neighborhood. the mayor decided that he could not receive parole evidence in contradiction to a public record; and samuel curtis was set at liberty. to the honor of this worthy magistrate be it recorded that during forty years whilst he was alderman in philadelphia, and twenty years that he was mayor, he never once surrendered a fugitive slave to his claimant, though frequently called upon to do so. he used to tell friend hopper that he could not conscientiously do it; that he would rather resign his office. he often remarked that the declaration, "all men are created equal; they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights; among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness;" appeared to him based on a sacred principle, paramount to all law. when samuel curtis was discharged, he deemed it expedient to go to boston; thinking he might be safer there than in philadelphia. but he had not been there many days, before he met the same man who had previously arrested him; and he by no means felt sure that the mayor of that city would prove as friendly to the colored people as was robert wharton. to add to his troubles, some villain broke open his trunk while he was absent from his lodgings, and stole a hundred and fifty dollars of his hard earnings. the poor fugitive began to think there was no safe resting-place for him on the face of the earth. he returned to philadelphia disconsolate and anxious. he was extremely diligent and frugal, and every year he contrived to save some money, which he put out at interest in safe hands. at last, he was able to purchase a small lot in powell-street, on which he built a good three-story brick house, where he lived with his apprentices, and let some of the rooms at a good profit. in , he called upon friend hopper and told him that his eagerness to make money had chiefly arisen from a strong desire to redeem his children from bondage. but being a slave himself, he said it was impossible for him to go in search of them, unless his own manumission could be obtained. it happened that a friend of isaac t. hopper was going to north carolina. he agreed to see the master and ascertain what could be done. mr. spear never expected to hear from his slave again, and the proposition to buy him after so many years had elapsed, seemed like finding a sum of money. he readily agreed to make out a bill of sale for one hundred dollars, which was immediately paid. the first use samuel curtis made of the freedom he had purchased was to set off for the south in search of his children. to protect himself as much as possible from the perils of such an undertaking, he obtained a certificate of good character, signed by the mayor of philadelphia, and several of the most respectable citizens. they also gave him "a pass" stating the object of his journey, and commending him to the protecting kindness of those among whom he might find it necessary to travel. with these he carefully packed his deed of manumission, and set forth on his errand of paternal love. when he went to take leave of friend hopper, he was much agitated. he clasped his hand fervently, and the tears flowed fast down his weather-beaten cheeks. "i know i am going into the midst of danger," said he. "perhaps i may be seized and sold into slavery. but i am willing to hazard everything, even my own liberty, if i can only secure the freedom of my children. i have been a slave myself, and i know what slaves suffer. farewell! farewell, my good friend. may god bless you, and may he restore to me my children. then i shall be a happy man." he started on his journey, and went directly to his former master to obtain information. he did not at first recognize his old servant. but when he became convinced that the person before him was the identical manuel, who had formerly been his slave, he seemed pleased to see him, entertained him kindly, and inquired how he had managed to get money enough to buy his children. the real samuel curtis, who sold him the certificate of freedom, was dead; and since he could no longer be endangered by a statement of particulars, the spurious samuel related the whole story of his escape, and of his subsequent struggles; concluding the whole by expressing an earnest wish to find his children. mr. spear had sold them, some years before, to a man in south carolina; and thither the father went in search of them. on arriving at the designated place, he found they had been sold into georgia. he went to georgia, and was told they had been sold to a man in tennessee. he followed them into tennessee, but there he lost all track of them. after the most patient and diligent search, he was compelled to return home without further tidings of them. as soon as he arrived in philadelphia, he went to isaac t. hopper to tell how the cherished plan of his life had been frustrated. he seemed greatly dejected, and wept bitterly. "i have deprived myself of almost every comfort," said he; "that i might save money to buy my poor children. but now they are not to be found, and my money gives me no satisfaction. the only consolation i have is the hope that they are all dead." the bereaved old man never afterward seemed to take comfort in anything. he sunk, into a settled melancholy, and did not long survive his disappointment. slaveholders mollified. in the winter of , several virginia planters went to philadelphia to search for eleven slaves, who had absconded. most of these colored people had been there several years, and some of them had acquired a little property. their masters had ascertained where they lived, and one evening, when they returned from their accustomed labors, unconscious of danger impending over them, they were pounced upon suddenly and conveyed to prison. it was late at night when this took place, and friend hopper did not hear of it till the next morning. he had risen very early, according to his usual custom, and upon opening his front door he found a letter slipped under it, addressed to him. this anonymous epistle informed him that eleven slaves had been arrested, and were to be tried before alderman douglass that morning; that the owners were gentlemen of wealth and high standing, and could produce the most satisfactory evidence that the persons arrested were their slaves; consequently friend hopper's attendance could be of no possible benefit to them. it went on to say that the magistrate understood his business, and could do justice without his assistance; but if, notwithstanding this warning, he did attend at the magistrate's office, for the purpose of wresting from these gentlemen their property, his house would be burned while himself and family were asleep in it, and his life would certainly be taken. the writer invoked the most awful imprecations upon himself if he did not carry these threats into execution. friend hopper was too much accustomed to such epistles to be disturbed by them. he put it in his pocket, and said nothing about it, lest his wife should be alarmed. a few minutes afterward, he received a message from some colored people begging him to go to the assistance of the fugitives; and when the trial came on, he was at the alderman's office, of course. richard rush was counsel for the claimants. the colored prisoners had no lawyer. this examination was carried on with much earnestness and excitement. one of the virginians failed in proof as to the identity of the person he claimed. in the case of several others, the power of attorney was pronounced informal by the magistrate. after a long protracted controversy, during which friend hopper threw as many difficulties in the way as possible, it was decided that four of the persons in custody were proved to be slaves, and the other seven were discharged. this decision greatly exasperated the southerners, and they vented their anger in very violent expressions. the constables employed were unprincipled men, ready for any low business, provided it were profitable. the man-hunters had engaged to give them fifty dollars for each slave they were enabled to take back to virginia; but they were to receive nothing for those who were discharged. hence, their extreme anxiety to avoid friend hopper's interference. when they found that more than half of their destined prey had slipped through their fingers, they were furious. one of them especially raved like a madman. he had written the anonymous letter, and was truly "a lewd fellow of the baser sort." friend hopper's feelings were too much interested for those who had been decreed slaves, to think anything of the abuse bestowed on himself. all of them, three men and one woman, were married to free persons; and it was heart-breaking to hear their lamentations at the prospect of being separated forever. there was a general manifestation of sympathy, and even the slaveholders were moved to compassion. friend hopper opened a negotiation with them in behalf of the abolition society, and they finally consented to manumit them all for seven hundred dollars. the money was advanced by a friend named thomas phipps, and the poor slaves returned to their humble homes rejoicing. they repaid every farthing of the money, and ever after manifested the liveliest gratitude to their benefactors. when the anger of the southerners had somewhat cooled, friend hopper invited them to come and see him. they called, and spent the evening in discussing the subject of slavery. when they parted from the veteran abolitionist, it was with mutual courtesy and kindliness. they said they respected him for acting so consistently with his own principles; and if they held the same opinions, they should doubtless pursue the same course. this was a polite concession, but it was based on a false foundation; for it assumed that it was a mere matter of _opinion_ whether slavery were right or wrong; whereas it is a palpable violation of immutable principles of justice. they might as well have made the same remark about murder or robbery, if they had lived where a selfish majority were strong enough to get those crimes sanctioned by law and custom. the bedouin considers himself no robber because he forcibly takes as much toll as he pleases from all who pass through the desert. his ancestors established the custom, and he is not one whit the less an arab gentleman, because he perpetuates their peculiar institution. perhaps he also would say that if he held the same opinions as more honest mahometans, he would do as they do. in former days, custom made it honorable to steal a neighbor's cattle, on the scottish border; as many americans now deem it respectable to take children from poor defenceless neighbors, and sell them like sheep in the market. sir walter scott says playfully, "i have my quarters and emblazonments free of all stain but border theft and high treason, which i hope are _gentlemanlike crimes_" yet the stealing of cattle does not now seem a very noble achievement in the eyes of honorable scotchmen how will the stealing of children, within bounds prescribed by law and custom, appear to future generations of americans? the united states bond. a planter in virginia, being pressed for money, sold one of his bondwomen, of sixteen years old, to a speculator who was buying up slaves for the markets of the south and south-west. the girl was uncommonly handsome, with smooth hair, and a complexion as light as most white people. her new owner, allured by her beauty, treated her with great kindness, and made many flattering promises. she understood his motives, and wished to escape from the degradation of such a destiny as he had in store for her. in order to conciliate her good will, he imposed few restraints upon her. the liberty thus allowed gave her a favorable opportunity to abscond, which she did not fail to improve. she travelled to philadelphia without encountering any difficulties on the road; for her features and complexion excited no suspicion of her being a fugitive slave. she maintained herself very comfortably by her own industry, and after a time married a light mulatto, who was a very sober industrious man. he was for many years employed by joshua humphreys, a ship-carpenter of great respectability in the district of southwark. by united industry and frugality they were enabled to build a small house on a lot they had taken on ground rent. the furniture was simple, but extremely neat, and all the floors were carpeted. every thing indicated good management and domestic comfort. she had been in philadelphia thirteen years, and was the mother of a promising family, when in she was arrested by her last master, as a fugitive slave. the virginian who sold her, and two other persons from the south, attended as witnesses. isaac t. hopper also attended, with his trusty friend thomas harrison. when the witnesses were examined, her case appeared utterly hopeless; and in private conversation with friend hopper she admitted that she was a slave to the man who claimed her. mr. humphreys, pitying the distress of his honest, industrious workman, offered to advance one hundred dollars toward purchasing her freedom. but when isaac t. hopper and thomas harrison attempted to negotiate with the claimant for that purpose, he treated all their offers with the rudest contempt. they tried to work upon his feelings, by representing the misery he would inflict on her worthy husband and innocent children; but he turned a deaf ear to all their entreaties. they finally offered to pay him four hundred dollars for a deed of manumission, which at that time was considered a very high price; but he stopped all further discussion by declaring, with a violent oath, that he would not sell her on _any_ terms. of course, there was nothing to be done, but to await the issue of the trial. when the magistrate asked the woman whether she were a slave, friend hopper promptly objected to her answering that question, unless he would agree to receive as evidence _all_ she might say. he declined doing that. friend hopper then made some remarks, in the course of which he said, "the most honest witnesses are often mistaken as to the identity of persons. it surprises me that the witnesses in this case should be so very positive, when the woman was but sixteen years old at the time they say she eloped, and such a long period has since elapsed. "the question at stake is as important as life itself to this woman, to her honest husband, and to her poor little innocent children. for my own part, i conscientiously believe she has a _just_ claim to her freedom." all this time, the woman stood holding her little girl and boy by the hand. she was deeply dejected, but her manners were as calm and dignified, as if she had been one of the best educated ladies in the land. the children were too young to understand the terrible doom that threatened their mother, but they perceived that their parents were in some great trouble, and the little creatures wept in sympathy. when friend hopper described this scene forty years afterward, he used to say, "i shall never forget the anguish expressed in her handsome countenance, as she looked down upon her children. i see it as plainly as if it all happened yesterday." at the time, it was almost too much for his sympathizing heart to endure. he felt like moving heaven and earth to rescue her. the trial came on in the afternoon, and it happened that the presiding magistrate was accustomed to drink rather freely of wine after dinner. friend hopper perceived that his mental faculties were slightly confused, and that the claimant was a heavy, stupid-looking fellow. with these thoughts there suddenly flashed through his brain the plan of eluding an iniquitous law, in order to sustain a higher law of justice and humanity. he asked to have the case adjourned till the next day, that there might be further opportunity to inquire into it; adding, "thomas harrison and myself will be responsible to the united states for this woman's appearance to-morrow. in case of forfeiture, we will agree to pay any sum that may be deemed reasonable." the claimant felt perfectly sure of his prey, and made no objection to the proposed arrangement. it was accordingly entered on the docket that thomas harrison and isaac t. hopper were bound to the united states, in the sum of one thousand dollars, to produce the woman for further trial at nine o'clock the next morning. when friend hopper had obtained a copy of the recognizance, signed by the magistrate, he chuckled inwardly and marched out of the office. if there was a flaw in anything, thomas harrison had a jocose way of saying, "there is a hole in the ballad." as they went into the street together, his friend said, "thomas, there's a hole in the ballad. the recognizance we have just signed is good for nothing. the united states have not the slightest claim upon that woman." the next morning, at nine o'clock all parties, except the woman, were at the mayor's office. after waiting for her about an hour, the magistrate said, "well gentlemen, the woman does not make her appearance, and i shall be obliged to forfeit your recognizance." "a thousand dollars is a large sum to lose," rejoined friend hopper. "but if it comes to the worst, i suppose we must make up our minds to pay the united states all the claim they have upon us." "the united states! the united states!" exclaimed the magistrate quickly. he turned to look at his docket, and after a slight pause he said to the claimant, "there is difficulty here. you had better employ counsel." thomas ross, a respectable lawyer, who lived a few doors above, was summoned, and soon made his appearance. having heard the particulars of the case briefly stated, he also examined the docket; then turning to isaac t. hopper, with a comical gesture and tone, he exclaimed, "eh!" to the claimant he said, "you must catch your slave again if you can; for you can do nothing with these securities." of course, the master was very angry, and so was the magistrate, who had inadvertently written the recognizance just as it was dictated to him. they charged friend hopper with playing a trick upon them, and threatened to prosecute him. he told them he had no fears concerning a prosecution; and if he _had_ played a trick, he thought it was better than to see a helpless woman torn from husband and children and sent into slavery. the magistrate asked, "how could you say you believed the woman had a right to her freedom? you have brought forward no evidence whatever to prove your assertion." he replied, "i did not say i believed she had a _legal_ right to her freedom. that she had a _just_ right to it, i did believe; for i think every human being has a just claim to freedom, unless guilty of some crime. the system of slavery is founded on the grossest and most manifest injustice." "it is sanctioned by the law of the land," answered the claimant; "and you have no right to fly in the face of the laws." friend hopper contented himself with saying, "if i have broken any law, i stand ready to meet the consequences. but no law can make wrong right." the speculator spent several days in fruitless search after the fugitive. when he had relinquished all hopes of finding her, he called on isaac t. hopper and offered to manumit her for four hundred dollars. he replied, "at one time, we would gladly have given that sum; but now the circumstances of the case are greatly changed, and we cannot consent to give half that amount." after considerable controversy he finally agreed to take one hundred and fifty dollars. the money was paid, and the deed of manumission made out in due form. at parting, the claimant said, with a very bitter smile, "i hope i may live to see you south of the potomac some day." friend hopper replied, "thou hadst better go home and repent of sins already committed, instead of meditating the commission of more." when telling this story in after years, he was wont to say, "i am aware that some will disapprove of the part i acted in that case; because they will regard it as inconsistent with the candor which men ought always to practice toward each other. i can only say that my own conscience has never condemned me for it. i could devise no other means to save the poor victim." before we decide to blame friend hopper more than he blamed himself in this matter, it would be well to imagine how we ourselves should have felt, if we had been witnesses of the painful scene, instead of reading it in cool blood, after a lapse of years. if a handsome and modest woman stood before us with her weeping little ones, asking permission to lead a quiet and virtuous life, and a pitiless law was about to tear her from husband and children and consign her to the licentious tyrant from whom she had escaped, should we not be strongly tempted to evade such a law by any means that offered at the moment? it would be wiser to expend our moral indignation on statesmen who sanction and sustain laws so wicked, that just and kind-hearted citizens are compelled either to elude them, or to violate their own honest convictions and the best emotions of their hearts. the tender mercies of a slaveholder. in the year of a southerner arrested a fugitive slave in philadelphia and committed him to prison. when he called for him, with authority to take him back to the south, the poor fellow seemed dreadfully distressed. he told the keeper that his master was very severe, and he knew that terrible sufferings awaited him if he was again placed in his power. he hesitated long before he followed the keeper to the iron gate, through which he was to pass out of prison. when he saw his oppressor standing there with fetters in his hand, ready to take him away, he stopped and pleaded in the most piteous tones for permission to find a purchaser in philadelphia. his owner took not the slightest notice of these humble entreaties, but in a peremptory manner ordered him to come out. the slave trembled all over, and said in the fainting accents of despair, "master, i _can't_ go with you!" "come out, you black rascal!" exclaimed the inexorable tyrant. "come out immediately!" the poor wretch advanced timidly a few steps, then turned back suddenly, as if overcome with mortal fear. the master became very impatient, and in angry vociferous tones commanded the keeper to bring him out by force. all this time, the keeper had stood with his hand on the key of the iron door, very reluctant to open it. but at last he unlocked it, and told the poor terrified creature that he must go. he rushed to the door in the frenzy of desperation, gazed in his master's face for an instant, then flew back, took a sharp knife, which he had concealed about him, and drew it across his throat with such force, that he fell senseless near his master's feet, spattering his garments with blood. all those who witnessed this awful scene, supposed the man was dead. dr. church, physician of the prison, examined the wound, and said there was scarcely a possibility that he could survive, though the wind-pipe was not entirely separated. but even the terrible admonition of that ghastly spectacle produced no relenting feelings in the hard heart of the slaveholder. he still demanded to have his victim delivered up to him. when the keeper declined doing it, and urged the reason that the physician said he could not be moved without imminent danger to his life, the brutal tyrant exclaimed, "damn him! he's my property; and i _will_ have him, dead or alive. if he dies, it's nobody's loss but mine." as he had the mayor's warrant for taking him, the keeper dared not incur the responsibility of disobeying his requisitions. he convened the inspectors for consultation; and they all agreed that any attempt to remove the wounded man would render them accessory to his death. they laid the case before the mayor, who ordered that the prisoner should remain undisturbed till the physician pronounced him out of danger. when the master was informed of this, he swore that nobody had any right to interfere between him and his property. he cursed the mayor, threatened to prosecute the keeper, and was in a furious rage with every body. meanwhile, the sympathy of isaac t. hopper was strongly excited in the case, and he obtained a promise from the physician that he would let him know if there was any chance that the slave would recover. contrary to all expectation, he lingered along day after day; and in about a week, the humane physician signified to friend hopper, and joseph price, one of the inspectors, that a favorable result might now be anticipated. of course, none of them considered it a duty to inform the master of their hopes. they undertook to negotiate for the purchase of the prisoner, and obtained him for a moderate price. the owner was fully impressed with the belief that he would die before long, and therefore regarded the purchase of him as a mere freak of humanity, by which he was willing enough to profit. when he heard soon afterward that the doctor pronounced him out of danger, he was greatly enraged. but his suffering victim was beyond the reach of his fury, which vented itself in harmless execrations. the colored man lived many years, to enjoy the liberty for which he had been willing to sacrifice his life. he was a sober, honest, simple-hearted person, and always conducted in a manner entirely satisfactory to those who had befriended him in his hour of utmost need. the foreign slave. early in the year of , a frenchman arrived in philadelphia from one of the west india islands, bringing with him a slave, whom he took before one of the aldermen, and had him bound to serve him seven years in virginia. when the indenture was executed, he committed his bondman to prison, for safe-keeping, until he was ready to leave the city. one of the keepers informed isaac t. hopper of the circumstance, and told him the slave was to be carried south the next morning. congress had passed an act prohibiting the importation of slaves, which was to begin to take effect at the commencement of the year . it immediately occurred to friend hopper that the present case came within the act; and if so, the colored man was of course legally entitled to freedom. in order to detain him till he could examine the law, and take advice on the subject, he procured a warrant for debt and lodged it at the prison, telling the keeper not to let the colored man go till he had paid his demand of a hundred dollars. when the frenchman called for his slave next morning, they refused to discharge him; and he obtained a writ of _habeas corpus_, to bring the case before the mayor's court. friend hopper was informed that the slave was on trial, that the recorder did not think it necessary to notify him, and had made very severe remarks concerning the fictitious debt assumed for the occasion. he proceeded directly to the court, which was thronged with people, who watched him with lively curiosity, and made a lane for him to pass through. mahlon dickinson, the recorder, was in the act of giving his decision on the case, and he closed his remarks by saying, "the conduct of mr. hopper has been highly reprehensible. the man is not his debtor; and the pretence that he was so could have been made for no other reason but to cause unnecessary delay, vexation, and expense." the lawyers smiled at each other, and seemed not a little pleased at hearing him so roughly rebuked; for many of them had been more or less annoyed by his skill and ready wit in tangling their skein, in cases where questions of freedom were involved. friend hopper stood before the recorder, looking him steadfastly in the face, while he was making animadversions on his conduct; and when he had finished, he respectfully asked leave to address the court for a few minutes. "well, mr. hopper," said the recorder, "what have you to say in justification of your very extraordinary proceedings?" he replied, "it is true the man is not my debtor; but the court has greatly erred in supposing that the step i have taken was merely intended to produce unnecessary delay and expense. the recorder will doubtless recollect that congress has passed an act prohibiting the introduction of foreign slaves into this country. it is my belief that the case now before the court is embraced within the provisions of that act. but i needed time to ascertain the point; and i assumed that the man was my debtor merely to detain him until the act of congress could be examined." jared ingersoll, an old and highly respectable lawyer, rose to say, "may it please your honors, i believe mr. hopper is correct in his opinion. a national intelligencer containing the act of congress is at my office, and i will send for it if you wish." the paper was soon brought, and friend hopper read aloud the section which mr. ingersoll pointed out; placing strong emphasis on such portions as bore upon the case then pending. when he had concluded, he observed, "i presume the court must now be convinced that the censures so liberally bestowed on my conduct are altogether unmerited." the counsel for the claimant said a newspaper was not legal evidence of the existence of a law. friend hopper replied, "the court is well aware that i am no lawyer. but i have heard lawyers talk about _prima facie_ evidence; and i should suppose the national intelligencer amounted at least to that sort of evidence, for it is the acknowledged organ of government, in which the laws are published for the information of citizens. but if that is not satisfactory, i presume the court will detain the man until an authenticated copy of the law can be obtained." after some discussion, the court ordered a copy of the law to be procured; but the attorney abandoned the case, and the slave was set at liberty. as soon as this decision was announced, the throng of spectators, white and colored, began to shout, "hurra for mr. hopper!" the populace were so accustomed to see him come off victorious from such contests, that they began to consider his judgment infallible. many years afterward, when friend hopper met mahlon dickinson on board a steam-boat, he inquired whether he recollected the scolding he gave him on a certain occasion. he replied pleasantly, "indeed i do. i thought i _had_ you that time, and i intended to give it to you; but you slipped through my fingers, as usual." the new-jersey slave. in the year , a gentleman from east new-jersey visited philadelphia, and brought a young slave to wait upon him. when they had been in that city four or five months, the lad called upon isaac t. hopper to inquire whether his residence in philadelphia had made him free. he was informed that he would not have a legal claim to freedom till he had been there six months. just as the term expired, somebody told the master that the laws of pennsylvania conferred freedom on slaves under such circumstances. he had been ignorant of the fact, or had forgotten it, and as soon as he received the information he became alarmed lest he should lose his locomotive property. he sent for a constable, who came to his door with a carriage. the lad had just come up from the cellar with an armful of wood. when he entered the parlor, the constable ordered him to put it down and go with him. he threw the wood directly at the legs of the officer, and ran down cellar full speed, slamming the door after him. as soon as the constable could recover from the blow he had received, he followed the lad into the cellar; but he had escaped by another door, and gone to isaac t. hopper. it was snowing fast, and when he arrived there in his shirt sleeves, his black wool plentifully powdered with snow, he was a laughable object to look upon. but his countenance showed that he was too thoroughly frightened and distressed to be a subject of mirth to any compassionate heart. friend hopper tried to comfort him by promising that he would protect him, and assuring him that he was now legally free. his agitation subsided in a short time, and he began to laugh heartily to think how he had upset the constable. the master soon came to friend hopper's house, described the lad's dress and appearance, and inquired whether he had seen him. he admitted that he had, but declined telling where he was. the master made some severe remarks about the meanness of tampering with gentlemen's servants, and went away. in about half an hour he returned with the constable and said alderman kepler desired his respects to isaac t. hopper, and wished to see him at his office. he replied, "i think it likely that alderman kepler has not much more respect for me than i have for him. if he has more _business_ with me than i have with him, i am at home, and can be spoken with." the master went away, but soon returned with two constables and a lawyer, who was very clamorous in his threats of what would be the consequences if the slave was not at once surrendered to the gentleman. one of the officers said he had a warrant to search the house. "very well," replied friend hopper, "execute it." "i have great respect for you," rejoined the officer. "i should be sorry to search your house by virtue of the warrant. i hope you will consent to my doing so without." "there is no need of delicacy on this occasion," replied friend hopper. "thou hadst better proceed to the extent of thy authority." "you give your consent, do you?" inquired the officer. he answered, "no, i do not. if thou hast a warrant, of course my consent is not necessary. proceed to the full extent of thy authority. but if thou goest one inch beyond, thou wilt have reason to repent of it." the party left the house utterly discomfited. he afterward learned that they had applied for a search-warrant, but could not procure one. the first step in the process of securing the lad's freedom was to obtain proof that he had been in philadelphia six months. the landlord of the hotel where the master lodged, refused to say anything on the subject, being unwilling to offend his lodger. but the servants were under no such prudential restraint; and from them friend hopper obtained testimony sufficient for his purpose. he then wrote a note to the alderman that he would be at his office with the lad at nine o'clock next morning, and requesting him to inform the claimant. in the mean time, he procured a writ of _habeas corpus_, to have it in readiness in case circumstances required it. the claimant made his appearance at the appointed hour, and stated how he had come to philadelphia on a visit, and brought a slave to attend upon him. he descanted quite largely upon the courtesy due from citizens of one state to those of another state. friend hopper was about to reply, when the magistrate interrupted him by saying, "i shall not interfere with the citizens of other states. i shall surrender the boy to his master. if he thinks he has a legal claim to his freedom, let him prosecute it in new-jersey." friend hopper said nothing, but gave a signal to have the writ served. the magistrate was highly offended, and asked in an angry tone, "what was your object in procuring a writ of _habeas corpus_?" friend hopper replied, "from my knowledge of thee, i anticipated the result that has just occurred; and i determined to remove the case to a tribunal where i had confidence that justice would be done in the premises." the court of common pleas was then in session. the case was brought before it the next day, and after the examination of two or three witnesses, the lad was declared free. a slave hunter defeated. in , a slave escaped from virginia to philadelphia. in a few months, his master heard where he was, and caused him to be arrested. he was a fine looking young man, apparently about thirty years old. when he was brought before alderman shoemaker, that magistrate's sympathy was so much excited, that he refused to try the case unless some one was present to defend the slave. isaac t. hopper was accordingly sent for. when he had heard a statement of the case, he asked the agent of the slaveholder to let him examine the power of attorney by which he had been authorized to arrest a "fugitive from labor," and carry him to virginia. the agent denied his right to interfere, but alderman shoemaker informed him that mr. hopper was a member of the emancipation society, and had a right to be satisfied. the power of attorney was correctly drawn, and had been acknowledged in washington, before bushrod washington, one of the judges of the supreme court of the united states. friend hopper's keen eye could detect no available flaw in it. when the agent had been sworn to answer truly all questions relating to the case, he inquired whether the fugitive he was in search of had been advertised; if so, he wished to see the advertisement. it was handed to him, and he instantly noticed that it was headed "sixty dollars reward." "art thou to receive sixty dollars for apprehending the man mentioned in this advertisement?" said he. the agent replied, "i am to receive that sum provided i take him home to virginia." "how canst thou prove that the man thou hast arrested is the one here advertised?" inquired he. the agent answered that he could swear to the fact. "that may be," rejoined friend hopper; "but in philadelphia we do not allow any person, especially a stranger, to swear sixty dollars into his own pocket. unless there is better evidence than thy oath, the man must be set at liberty." the agent became extremely irritated, and said indignantly, "do you think i would swear to a lie?" "thou art a stranger to me," replied friend hopper. "i don't know whether thou wouldst swear falsely or not. but there is one thing i do know; and that is, i am not willing to trust thee." the agent reiterated, "i know the man standing there as well as i know any man living. i am perfectly sure he is the slave described in the advertisement. i was overseer for the gentleman who owns him. if you examine his back, you will find scars of the whip." "and perhaps thou art the man who made the scars, if he has any," rejoined the friend. without replying to this suggestion, the slave-hunter ordered the colored man to strip, that his back might be examined by the court. friend hopper objected to such a proceeding. "thou hast produced no evidence that the man thou hast arrested is a slave," said he. "thou and he are on the same footing before this court. we have as good a right to examine thy back, as are have to examine his." he added, with a very significant tone, "in some places, they whip for kidnapping." this remark put the slave-hunter in a violent rage. the magistrate decided that his evidence was not admissible, on the ground that he was interested. he then proposed to summon two witnesses from a virginian vessel lying at one of the wharves. "of course thou art at liberty to go for witnesses," replied friend hopper. "but i appeal to the magistrate to discharge this man. under present circumstances, he ought not to be detained a single moment." the alderman needed no urging on that point. he very promptly discharged the prisoner. as soon as he left the office, the slave-hunter seized hold of him, and swore he would keep him till witnesses were brought. but friend hopper walked up to him, and said in his resolute way, "let go thy hold! or i will take such measures as will make thee repent of thy rashness. how darest thou lay a finger upon the man after the magistrate has discharged him?" thus admonished, he reluctantly relinquished his grasp, and went off swearing vengeance against "the meddlesome quaker." friend hopper hastened home with the colored man, and wrote a brief letter to his friend william reeve, in new-jersey, concluding with these words: "verily i say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." this letter was given to the fugitive with directions how to proceed. his friend accompanied him to the ferry, saw him safely across the river, and then returned home. in an hour or two the slave-hunter came to the house, accompanied by a constable and two witnesses from virginia. "the slave i arrested was seen to come here," said he. "where is he? produce him." friend hopper replied very quietly, "the man has been here; but he is gone now." this answer made the agent perfectly furious. after discharging a volley of oaths, he said he had a search warrant, and swore he would have the house searched from garret to cellar. "very well," replied friend hopper, "thou art at liberty to proceed according to law; but be careful not to overstep that boundary. if thou dost, it will be at thy peril." after the slave-hunter had vented his rage in a torrent of abuse, the constable proposed to speak a few words in private. with many friendly professions, he acknowledged that they had no search-warrant. "the gentleman was about to obtain one from the mayor," said he; "but i wished to save your feelings. i told him you were well acquainted with me, and i had no doubt you would permit me to search your house without any legal process." friend hopper listened patiently, perfectly well aware that the whole statement was a sham. when the constable paused for a reply, he opened the door, and said very concisely, "thou art at liberty to go about thy business." they spent several days searching for the fugitive, but their efforts were unavailing. mary morris. a woman, who was born too early to derive benefit from the gradual emancipation law of pennsylvania, escaped from bondage in lancaster county to philadelphia. there she married a free colored man by the name of abraham morris. they lived together very comfortably for several years, and seemed to enjoy life as much as many of their more wealthy neighbors. but in the year , it unfortunately happened that mary's master ascertained where she lived, and sent a man to arrest her, with directions either to sell her, or bring her back to him. abraham morris was a very intelligent, industrious man, and had laid up some money. he offered one hundred and fifty dollars of his earnings to purchase the freedom of his wife. the sum was accepted, and the parties applied to daniel bussier, a magistrate in the district of southwark, to draw up a deed of manumission. the money was paid, and the deed given; but the agent employed to sell the woman absconded with the money. the master, after waiting several months and not hearing from him, sent to philadelphia and caused mary morris to be arrested again. she was taken to the office of daniel bussier, and notwithstanding he had witnessed her deed of manumission a few months before, he committed her to prison as a fugitive slave. when her husband called upon isaac t. hopper and related all the circumstances, he thought there must be some mistake; for he could not believe that any magistrate would be so unjust and arbitrary, as to commit a woman to prison as a fugitive, when he had seen the money paid for her ransom, and the deed of manumission given. he went to mr. bussier immediately, and very civilly told him that he had called to make inquiry concerning a colored woman committed to prison as a fugitive slave on the evening previous. "go out of my office!" said the undignified magistrate. "i want nothing to do with you." he replied, "i come here as the friend and adviser of the woman's husband. my request is reasonable, and i trust thou wilt not refuse it." in answer to this appeal, mr. bussier merely repeated, "go out of my office!" friend hopper offered him half a dollar, saying, "i want an extract from thy docket. here is the lawful fee." all this time, mr. bussier had been under the hands of a barber, who was cutting his hair. he became extremely irritated, and said, "if you won't leave this office, i will put you out, as soon as i have taken the seat of justice." "i wish thou wouldst take the seat of justice," replied friend hopper; "for then i should obtain what i want; but if thou dost, i apprehend it will be for the first time." mr. bussier sprang hastily from his chair, and seated himself at the magisterial desk, which was raised about a foot from the floor, and surrounded by a railing. conceiving himself now armed with the thunders of the law, he called out, in tones of authority, "mr. hopper, i command you to quit this office!" the impassive quaker stood perfectly still, and pointing to abraham morris, he again tendered the half dollar, saying, "i want an extract from thy docket, in the case of this man's wife. here is the lawful fee for it. please give it to me." this quiet perseverance deprived the excited magistrate of what little patience he had left. he took the importunate petitioner by the shoulders, pushed him into the street, and shut the door. friend hopper then applied to jacob rush, president of the court of common pleas for a writ of _habeas corpus._ the woman was brought before him, and when he had heard the particulars of the case, and examined her deed of manumission, he immediately discharged her, to the great joy of herself and husband. friend hopper thought it might be a useful lesson for mr. bussier to learn that his "little brief authority" had boundaries which could not be passed with impunity. he accordingly had him indicted for assault and battery. he and his political friends were a good deal ashamed of his conduct, and finally, after many delays in bringing on the trial, and various attempts to hush up the matter, mr. bussier called upon friend hopper to say that he deeply regretted the course he had pursued. his apology was readily accepted, and the case dismissed; he agreeing to pay the costs. the slave mother. gassy was slave to a merchant in baltimore, by the name of claggett. she had reason to believe that her master was about to sell her to a speculator, who was making up a coffle for the markets of the far south. the terror felt in view of such a prospect can be understood by slaves only. she resolved to escape; and watching a favorable opportunity, she succeeded in reaching the neighborhood of haddonfield, new jersey. there she obtained service in a very respectable family. she was honest, steady, and industrious, and made many friends by her cheerful, obliging manners. but her heart was never at rest; for she had left in baltimore a babe little more than a year old. she had not belonged to an unusually severe master; but she had experienced quite enough of the sufferings of slavery to dread it for her child. her thoughts dwelt so much on this painful subject, that her naturally cheerful character became extremely saddened. she at last determined to make a bold effort to save her little one from the liability of being sold, like a calf or pig in the shambles. she went to see isaac t. hopper and communicated to him her plan. he tried to dissuade her; for he considered the project extremely dangerous, and well nigh hopeless. but the mother's heart yearned for her babe, and the incessant longing stimulated her courage to incur all hazards. to baltimore she went; her pulses throbbing hard and fast, with the double excitement of hope and fear. she arrived safely, and went directly to the house of a colored family, old friends of hers, in whom she could confide with perfect safety. to her great joy, she found that they approved her plan, and were ready to assist her. arrangements were soon made to convey the child to a place about twenty miles from baltimore, where it would be well taken care of, till the mother could find a safe opportunity to remove it to new jersey. before she had time to take all the steps necessary to insure success in this undertaking, her master was informed of her being in the city, and sent constables in pursuit of her. luckily, her friends were apprized of this in season to give her warning; and her own courage and ingenuity proved adequate to the emergency. she disguised herself in sailor's clothes, and walked boldly to the philadelphia boat. there she walked up and down the deck, with her arms folded, smoking a cigar, and occasionally passing and repassing the constables who had been sent on board in search of her. these men, having watched till the last moment for the arrival of a colored woman answering to her description, took their departure. the boat started, and brought the courageous mother safely to philadelphia, where friend hopper and others rejoiced over the history of her hair-breadth escape. a few weeks after, she went to the place where her child had been left, and succeeded in bringing it safely away. for a short time, her happiness seemed to be complete; but when the first flush of joy and thankfulness had subsided, she began to be harassed with continual fears lest she and her child should be arrested in some evil hour, and carried back into slavery. by unremitting industry, and very strict economy, she strove to lay by money enough to purchase their freedom. she had made friends by her good conduct and obliging ways, while her maternal affection and enterprising character excited a good deal of interest among those acquainted with her history. donations were occasionally added to her earnings, and a sum was soon raised sufficient to accomplish her favorite project. isaac t. hopper entered into negotiation with her master, and succeeded in obtaining manumission for her and her child. colonel ridgeley's slave. a slave escaped from colonel ridgeley, who resided in the southern part of virginia. he went to philadelphia, and remained there undiscovered for several years. but he was never quite free from anxiety, lest in some unlucky hour, he should be arrested and carried back to bondage. when he had laid up some money, he called upon isaac t. hopper to assist him in buying the free use of his own limbs. a negotiation was opened with col. ridgeley, who agreed to take two hundred dollars for the fugitive, and appointed a time to come to philadelphia to arrange the business. but instead of keeping his agreement honorably, he went to that city several weeks before the specified time, watched for his bondman, seized him, and conveyed him to friend hopper's office. when the promised two hundred dollars were offered, he refused to accept them. "why, that is the sum thou hast agreed upon," said friend hopper. "i know that," replied the colonel; "but i won't take it now. he was the best servant i ever had. i can sell him for one thousand dollars in virginia. under present circumstances, i will take five hundred dollars for him, and not one cent less." after considerable discussion, friend hopper urged him to allow his bondman until ten o'clock next morning, to see what could be done among his friends; and he himself gave a written obligation that the man should be delivered up to him at that hour, in case he could not procure five hundred dollars to purchase his freedom. when the master was gone, friend hopper said to the alarmed fugitive, "there now remains but one way for thee to obtain thy freedom. as to raising five hundred dollars, that is out of the question. but if thou wilt be prompt and resolute, and do precisely as i tell thee, i think thou canst get off safely." "i will do anything for freedom," replied the bondman; "for i have made up my mind, come what may, that i never will go back into slavery." "very well then," rejoined his friend. "don't get frightened when the right moment comes to act; but keep thy wits about thee, and do as i tell thee. thy master will come here to-morrow at ten o'clock, according to appointment. i must deliver thee up to him, and receive back the obligation for one thousand dollars, which i have given him. do thou stand with thy back against the door, which opens from this room into the parlor. when he has returned the paper to me, open the door quickly, lock it on the inside, and run through the parlor into the back-yard. there is a wall there eight feet high, with spikes at the top. thou wilt find a clothes-horse leaning against it, to help thee up. when thou hast mounted, kick the clothes-horse down behind thee, drop on the other side of the wall, and be off." the premises were then shown to him, and he received minute directions through what alleys and streets he had better pass, and at what house he could find a temporary refuge. col. ridgeley came the next morning, at the appointed hour, and brought a friend to stand sentinel at the street door, lest the slave should attempt to rush out. it did not occur to him that there was any danger of his running _in_. "we have not been able to raise the five hundred dollars," said friend hopper; "and here is thy man, according to agreement." the colonel gave back his obligation for one thousand dollars; and the instant it left his hand, the fugitive passed into the parlor. the master sprang over the counter after him, but found the door locked. before he could get to the back yard by another door, the wall was scaled, the clothes-horse thrown down, and the fugitive was beyond his reach. of course, he returned very much disappointed and enraged; declaring his firm belief that a trick had been played upon him purposely. after he had given vent to his anger some little time, friend hopper asked for a private interview with him. when they were alone together in the parlor, he said, "i admit this was an intentional trick; but i had what seemed to me good reasons for resorting to it. in the first place, thou didst not keep the agreement made with me, but sought to gain an unfair advantage. in the next place, i knew that man was thy own son; and i think any person who is so unfeeling as to make traffic of his own flesh and blood, deserves to be tricked out of the chance to do it." "what if he is my son?" rejoined the virginian. "i've as good a right to sell my own flesh and blood as that of any other person. if i choose to do it, it is none of your business." he opened the door, and beckoning to his friend, who was in waiting, he said, "hopper admits this was all a trick to set the slave free." then turning to friend hopper, he added, "you admit it was a trick, don't you?" "thou and i will talk that matter over by ourselves," he replied. "the presence of a third person is not always convenient." the colonel went off in a violent passion, and forgetting that he was not in virginia, he rushed into the houses of several colored people, knocked them about, overturned their beds, and broke their furniture, in search of the fugitive. being unable to obtain any information concerning him, he cooled down considerably, and went to inform friend hopper that he would give a deed of manumission for two hundred dollars; but his offer was rejected. "why that was your own proposal!" vociferated the colonel. "very true," he replied; "and i offered thee the money; but thou refused to take it." after storming awhile, the master went off to obtain legal advice from the hon. john sergeant. meanwhile, several of the colored people had entered a complaint against him for personal abuse, and damage done to their furniture. he was obliged to give bonds for his appearance at the next court, to answer their accusations. this was a grievous humiliation for a proud virginian, who had been educated to think that colored people had no civil rights. in this unpleasant dilemma, his lawyer advised him to give a deed of manumission for one hundred and fifty dollars; promising to exert his influence to have the mortifying suits withdrawn. the proposed terms were accepted, and the money promptly paid by the slave from his own earnings. but when mr. sergeant proposed that the suits for assault and battery should be withdrawn, friend hopper replied, "i have no authority to dismiss them." "they will be dismissed if you advise it," rejoined the lawyer; "and if you will promise to do it, i shall be perfectly satisfied." "these colored people have been very badly treated," answered friend hopper. "if the aggressor wants to settle the affair, he had better go to them and offer some equivalent for the trouble he has given." the lawyer replied, "when he agreed to manumit the man for one hundred and fifty dollars, he expected these suits would be dismissed, of course, as a part of the bargain. what sum do you think these people will take to withdraw them?" friend hopper said he thought they would do it for one hundred and fifty dollars. "i will pay it," replied mr. sergeant; "for colonel ridgeley is very anxious to return home." thus the money paid for the deed of manumission was returned. forty dollars were distributed among the colored people, to repay the damage done to their property. after some trifling incidental expenses had been deducted, the remainder was returned to the emancipated slave; who thus obtained his freedom for about fifty dollars, instead of the sum originally offered. stop thief! about the year , a marylander, by the name of solomon low, arrested a fugitive slave in philadelphia, and took him to the office of an alderman to obtain the necessary authority for carrying him back into bondage. finding the magistrate gone to dinner, they placed the colored man in the entry, while mr. low and his companions guarded the door. some of the colored people soon informed isaac t. hopper of these circumstances, and he hastened to the office. observing the state of things there, he concluded it would be no difficult matter to give the colored man a chance to escape. he stepped up to the men at the door, and demanded in a peremptory manner by what authority they were holding that man in duress. mr. low replied, "he is my slave." "this is strange conduct," rejoined friend hopper. "who can tell whether he is thy slave or not? what proof is there that you are not a band of kidnappers? dost thou suppose the laws of pennsylvania tolerate such proceedings?" these charges arrested the attention of mr. low and his companions, who turned round to answer the speaker. the slave, seeing their backs toward him for an instant, seized that opportunity to rush out; and he had run two or three rods before they missed him. they immediately raised the cry of "stop thief! stop thief!" an irishman, who joined in the pursuit, arrested the fugitive and brought him back to his master. friend hopper remonstrated with him; saying, "the man is not a thief. they claim him for a slave, and he was running for liberty. how wouldst thou like to be made a slave?" the kind-hearted hibernian replied, "then they lied; for they said he was a thief. if he is a slave, i'm sorry i stopped him. however, i will put him in as good a condition as i found him." so saying, he went near the man who had the fugitive in custody, and seized him by the collar with a sudden jerk, that threw him on the pavement. the slave instantly started, and ran at his utmost speed, again followed by the cry of "stop thief!" having run some distance, and being nearly out of breath, he darted into the shop of a watch-maker, named samuel mason, who immediately closed and fastened his door, so that the crowd could not follow him. the fugitive passed out of the back door, and was never afterward recaptured. the disappointed master brought an action against samuel mason for rescuing his slave. charles j. ingersoll and his brother joseph, two accomplished lawyers of philadelphia, conducted the trial for him, with zeal and ingenuity worthy of a better cause. isaac t. hopper was summoned as a witness, and in the course of examination he was asked what course members of the society of friends adopted when a fugitive slave came to them. he replied, "i am not willing to answer for any one but myself." "well," said mr. ingersoll, "what would _you_ do in such a case? would you deliver him to his master? "indeed i would not!" answered the friend. "my conscience would not permit me to do it. it would be a great crime; because it would be disobedience to my own dearest convictions of right. i should never expect to enjoy an hour of peace afterward. i would do for a fugitive slave whatever i should like to have done for myself, under similar circumstances. if he asked my protection, i would extend it to him to the utmost of my power. if he was hungry, i would feed him. if he was naked, i would clothe him. if he needed advice, i would give such as i thought would be most beneficial to him." the cause was tried before judge bushrod washington, nephew of general washington. though a slaveholder himself, he manifested no partiality during the trial, which continued several days, with able arguments on both sides. the counsel for the claimant maintained that samuel mason prevented the master from regaining his slave, by shutting his door, and refusing to open it. the counsel for the defendant replied that there was much valuable and brittle property in the watchmaker's shop, which would have been liable to robbery and destruction, if a promiscuous mob had been allowed to rush in. judge washington summed up the evidence very clearly to the jury, who after retiring for deliberation a considerable time, returned into court, declaring that they could not agree upon a verdict, and probably never should agree. they were ordered out again, and kept together till the court adjourned, when they were dismissed. at the succeeding term, the case was tried again, with renewed energy and zeal. but the jury, after being kept together ten days, were discharged without being able to agree upon a verdict. some, who were originally in favor of the defendant, became weary of their long confinement, and consented to go over to the slaveholder's side; but one of them, named benjamin thaw, declared that he would eat his christmas dinner in the jury-room, before he would consent to such a flagrant act of injustice. his patience held out till the court adjourned. consequently a third trial became necessary; and the third jury brought in a verdict in favor of the watchmaker. the expenses of these suits were estimated at seventeen hundred dollars. solomon low was in limited circumstances; and this expenditure in prosecuting an innocent man was said to have caused his failure soon after. the disguised slaveholder. a colored woman and her son were slaves to a man in east jersey. she had two sons in philadelphia, who had been free several years, and her present master was unacquainted with them. in , she and her younger son escaped, and went to live in philadelphia. her owner, knowing she had free sons in that city, concluded as a matter of course that she had sought their protection. a few weeks after her flight, he followed her, and having assumed quaker costume, went to the house of one of her sons. he expressed great interest for the woman, and said he wished to obtain an interview with her for her benefit. his friendly garb and kind language completely deceived her son, and he told him that his mother was then staying at his brother's house, which was not far off. having obtained this information, the slaveholder procured a constable and immediately went to the place described. fortunately, the son was at home, and it being warm weather he sat near the open door. the mother was seated at a chamber window, and saw a constable approaching the house, with a gentleman in quaker costume, whom she at once recognized as her master. she gave the alarm to her son, who instantly shut the door and fastened it. the master, being refused admittance, placed a guard there, while he went to procure a search-warrant. these proceedings attracted the attention of colored neighbors, and a crowd soon gathered about the house. they seized the man who guarded the door, and held him fast, while the woman and her fugitive son rushed out. it was dusk, and the uncertain light favored their escape. they ran about a mile, and took refuge with a colored family in locust-street. the watchman soon got released from the colored people who held him, and succeeded in tracing the woman to her new retreat, where he again mounted guard. the master returned meanwhile, and having learned the circumstances, went to the magistrate to obtain another warrant to search the house in locust-street. at this stage of the affair, friend hopper was summoned, and immediately went to the rescue, accompanied by one of his sons, about sixteen years old. he found the woman and her son stowed away in a closet, exceedingly terrified. he assured them they would be quite as safe on the mantel-piece, as they would be in that closet; that their being found concealed would be regarded as the best evidence that they were the persons sought for. knowing it was dangerous for them to remain in that house, he told them of a plan he had formed, on the spur of the moment. after giving them careful instructions how to proceed, he left them and requested that the street door might be opened for him. a crowd immediately rushed in, as he had foreseen would be the case. he affected to be greatly displeased, and ordered the men of the house to turn all the intruders out. they obeyed him; and among the number turned out were the two fugitives. it was dark, and in the confusion, the watchman on guard could not distinguish them among the multitude. friend hopper had hastily consigned them to his son, with instructions to take them to his house; and the watchman, seeing that he himself remained about the premises, took it for granted that the fugitives had not escaped. as soon as it was practicable, friend hopper returned home, where he found the woman and her son in a state of great agitation. he immediately sent her to a place of greater safety, and gave the son a letter to a farmer thirty miles up in the country. he went directly to the river schuylkill, but was afraid to cross the bridge, lest some person should be stationed there to arrest him. he accordingly walked along the margin of the river till he found a small boat, in which he crossed the stream. following the directions he had received, he arrived at the farmer's house, where he had a kindly welcome, and obtained employment. the master being unable to recapture his slaves, called upon isaac t. hopper to inquire if he knew anything about them. he coolly replied, "i believe they are doing very well. from what i hear, i judge it will not be necessary to give thyself any further trouble on their account." "there is no use in trying to capture a runaway slave in philadelphia," rejoined the master. "i believe the devil himself could not catch them when they once get here." "that is very likely," answered friend hopper. "but i think he would have less difficulty in catching the masters; being so much more familiar with them." sixty dollars had already been expended in vain; and the slave-holder, having relinquished all hope of tracing the fugitives, finally agreed to manumit the woman for fifty dollars, and her son for seventy-five dollars. these sums were advanced by two citizens friendly to the colored people, and the emancipated slaves repaid them by faithful service. the slave of dr. rich. in the autumn of , dr. rich of maryland came to philadelphia with his wife, who was the daughter of an episcopal clergyman in that city, by the name of wiltbank. she brought a slave to wait upon her, intending to remain at her father's until after the birth of her child, which was soon expected to take place. when they had been there a few months, the slave was informed by some colored acquaintance that she was free in consequence of being brought to philadelphia. she called to consult with isaac t. hopper, and seemed very much disappointed to hear that a residence of six months was necessary to entitle her to freedom; that her master was doubtless aware of that circumstance, and would probably guard against it. after some minutes of anxious reflection, she said, "then there is nothing left for me to do but to run away; for i am determined never to go back to maryland." friend hopper inquired whether she thought it would be right to leave her mistress without any one to attend upon her, in the situation she then was. she replied that she felt no scruples on that point, for her master was wealthy, and could hire as many servants as he pleased. finding her mind entirely made up on the subject, he gave her such instructions as seemed suited to the occasion. the next morning she was not to be found; and dr. rich went in search of her, with his father-in-law, mr. wiltbank. having frightened some ignorant colored people where she visited, by threats of prosecuting them for harboring a runaway, they confessed that she had gone from their house to isaac t. hopper. mr. wiltbank accordingly waited upon him, and after relating the circumstances of the case, inquired whether he had seen the fugitive. in reply, he made a frank statement of the interview he had with her, and of her fixed determination to obtain her freedom. the clergyman reproached her with ingratitude, and said she had always been treated with great kindness. "the woman herself gives a very different account of her treatment," replied friend hopper; "but be that as it may, i cannot blame her for wishing to obtain her liberty." he asked if friend hopper knew where she then was; and he answered that he did not. "could you find her, if you tried?" inquired he. "i presume i could do it very easily," rejoined the quaker. "the colored people never wish to secrete themselves from me; for they know i am their true friend." mr. wiltbank then said, "if you will cause her to be brought to your house, dr. rich and myself will come here at eight o'clock this evening. you will then hear her ask her master's pardon, acknowledge the kindness with which she has always been treated, and express her readiness to go home with him." friend hopper indignantly replied, "i have no doubt that fear might induce her to profess all thou hast said. but what trait hast thou discovered in my character, that leads thee to suppose i would be such a hypocrite as to betray the confidence this poor woman has reposed in me, by placing her in the power of her master, in the way thou hast proposed?" mr. wiltbank then requested that a message might be conveyed to the woman, exhorting her to return, and promising that no notice whatever would be taken of her offence. "she shall be informed of thy message, if that will be any satisfaction to thee," replied friend hopper; "but i am perfectly sure she will never voluntarily return into slavery." dr. rich and mr. wiltbank called in the evening, and were told the message had been delivered to the woman, but she refused to return. "she is in your house now," exclaimed dr. rich. "i can prove it; and if you don't let me see her, i will commence a suit against you to-morrow, for harboring my slave." "i believe solomon low resides in thy neighborhood," said friend hopper. "art thou acquainted with him?" being answered in the affirmative, he said, "solomon low brought three such suits as thou hast threatened. they cost him seventeen hundred dollars, which i heard he was unable to pay. but perhaps thou hast seventeen hundred dollars to spare?" dr. rich answered that he could well afford to lose that sum. "very well," rejoined his opponent. "there are lawyers enough who need it, and still more who would be glad to have it." finding it alike impossible to coax or intimidate the resolute quaker, they withdrew. about eleven o'clock at night, some of the family informed friend hopper that there was a man continually walking back and forth in front of the house. he went out and accosted him thus: "friend, art thou watching my house?" when the stranger replied that he was, he said, "it is very kind in thee; but i really do not think there is any occasion for thy services. i am quite satisfied with the watchmen employed by the public." the man answered gruffly, "i have taken my stand, and i intend to keep it." friend hopper told him he had no objection; and he was about to re-enter the house, when he observed dr. rich, who was so wrapped up in a large cloak, that at first he did not recognize him. he exclaimed, "why doctor, art thou here! is it possible thou art parading the streets so late in the night, at this cold season of the year? now, from motives of kindness, i do assure thee thy slave is not in my house. to save thee from exposing thy health by watching at this inclement season, i will give thee leave to search the house." the doctor replied, "i shall obtain a warrant in the morning, and search it with the proper officer." "there appear to be several on the watch," said friend hopper; "and it surely is not necessary for all of them to be out in the cold at the same time. if thou wilt be responsible that nothing shall be stolen, thou art welcome to use my parlor as a watch-house." this offer was declined with freezing civility, and friend hopper returned to his dwelling. passing through the kitchen, he observed two colored domestics talking together in an under tone, apparently planning something which made them very merry. judging from some words he overheard, that they had a mischievous scheme on foot, he resolved to watch their movements without letting them know that he noticed them. one of them put on an old cloak and bonnet, opened the front door cautiously, looked up the street and down the street, but saw nobody. the watchers had seen the dark face the moment it peeped out, and they were lying in ambush to observe her closely. after a minute of apparent hesitation, she rushed into the street and ran with all speed. they joined in hot pursuit, and soon overtook her. she pretended to be greatly alarmed, and called aloud for a watchman. the offenders were arrested and brought back to the house with the girl. friend hopper explained that these men had been watching his house, supposing a fugitive slave to be secreted there; and that they had mistaken one of his domestics for the person they were in search of. after laughing a little at the joke practised upon them, he proposed that they should be set at liberty; and they were accordingly released. the next morning, as soon as it was light, he invited the watchers to come in and warm themselves, but they declined. after sunrise, they all dispersed, except two. when breakfast was ready, he urged them to come in and partake; telling them that one could keep guard while the other was eating. but they replied that dr. rich had ordered them to hold no communication with him. being firmly persuaded that the slave was in the house, they kept sentry several days and nights. for fear she might escape by the back way, a messenger was sent to mr. warrence, who occupied a building in the rear, offering to pay him for his trouble if he would watch the premises in that direction. his wife happened to overhear the conversation; and having a pitcher of scalding water in her hand, she ran out saying, "do you propose to hire my husband to watch neighbor hopper's premises for a runaway slave? go about your business! or i will throw this in your face." when dr. rich called again, he was received politely, and the first inquiry was how he had succeeded in his efforts to procure a search-warrant. he replied, "the magistrate refused to grant one." "perhaps joseph reed, the recorder, would oblige thee in that matter," said friend hopper. the answer was, "i have been to him, and he declines to interfere." it was then suggested that it might be well to retain a lawyer with a portion of the seventeen hundred dollars he said he had to spare. "i have been to mr. broome," rejoined the doctor. "he tells me that you understand the law in such cases as well as he does; and he advises me to let the matter alone." "i will give thee permission to search my house," said friend hopper; "and i have more authority in that matter than any magistrate, judge, or lawyer, in the city." "that is very gentlemanly," replied the doctor; "but i infer from it that the woman is not in your house." he was again assured that she was not; and they fell into some general discourse on the subject of slavery. "suppose you came to maryland and lost your horse," said the doctor. "if you called upon me, and i told you that i knew where he was, but would not inform you, would you consider yourself treated kindly?" "in such a case, i should not consider myself well treated," replied friend hopper. "but in this part of the country, we make a distinction between horses and men. we believe that human beings have souls." "that makes no difference," rejoined the doctor. "you confess that you could find my slave if you were so disposed; and i consider it your duty to tell me where she is." "i will do it when i am of the same opinion," replied friend hopper; "but till then thou must excuse me." the fugitive was protected by a colored man named hill, who soon obtained a situation for her as servant in a respectable country family, where she was kindly treated. in the course of a year or two, she returned to philadelphia, married a steady industrious man, and lived very comfortably. mr. hill had a very revengeful temper. one of his colored neighbors brought suits against him for criminal conduct, and recovered heavy damages. from that time he seemed to hate people of his own complexion, and omitted no opportunity to injure them. the woman he befriended, when he was in a better state of mind, had been married nine or ten years, and had long ceased to think of danger, when he formed the wicked project of making a little money by betraying her to her master. accordingly he sought her residence accompanied by one of those wretches who make a business of capturing slaves. when he entered her humble abode, he found her busy at the wash-tub. rejoiced to see the man who had rendered her such essential service in time of need, she threw her arms about his neck, exclaiming, "o, uncle hill, how glad i am to see you!" she hastily set aside her tub, wiped up the floor, and thinking there was nothing in the house good enough for her benefactor, she went out to purchase some little luxuries. hill recommended a particular shop, and proposed to accompany her. the slave-hunter, who had been left in the street, received a private signal, and the moment she entered the shop, he pounced upon her. before her situation could be made known to isaac t. hopper, she was removed to baltimore. the last he ever heard of her she was in prison there, awaiting her day of sale, when she was to be transported to new-orleans. he used to say he did not know which was the most difficult for his mind to conceive of, the cruel depravity manifested by the ignorant colored man, or the unscrupulous selfishness of the slaveholder, a man of education, a husband and a father, who could consent to use such a tool for such a purpose. many more narratives of similar character might be added; for i think he estimated at more than one thousand the number of cases in which he had been employed for fugitives, in one way or another, during his forty years' residence in philadelphia. but enough have been told to illustrate the active benevolence, uncompromising boldness, and ready wit, which characterized this friend of humanity. his accurate knowledge of all laws connected with slavery was so proverbial, that magistrates and lawyers were generally averse to any collision with him on such subjects. in , benjamin donahue of delaware applied to mr. barker, mayor of philadelphia, to assist him in recovering a fugitive, with whose place of residence he was perfectly sure isaac t. hopper was acquainted. after a brief correspondence with friend hopper, the mayor said to mr. donahue, "we had better drop this business, like a hot potato; for mr. hopper knows more law in such cases as this, than you and i put together." he would often resort to the most unexpected expedients. upon one occasion, a slave case was brought before judge rush, brother of dr. benjamin rush. it seemed likely to terminate in favor of the slaveholder; but friend hopper thought he observed that the judge wavered a little. he seized that moment to inquire, "hast thou not recently published a legal opinion, in which it is distinctly stated that thou wouldst never seek to sustain a human law, if thou wert convinced that it conflicted with any law in the bible?" "i did publish such a statement," replied judge rush; "and i am ready to abide by it; for in all cases, i consider the divine law above the human." friend hopper drew from his pocket a small bible, which he had brought into court for the express purpose, and read in loud distinct tones the following verses: "thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant which is escaped from his master unto thee: he shall dwell with thee, even among you, in that place which he shall choose, in one of thy gates, where it liketh him best: thou shalt not oppress him." deut. : , . the slaveholder smiled; supposing, this appeal to old hebrew law would be considered as little applicable to modern times, as the command to stone a man to death for picking up sticks on the sabbath. but when the judge asked for the book, read the sentence for himself, seemed impressed by it, and adjourned the decision of the case, he walked out of the court-house muttering, "i believe in my soul the old fool _will_ let him off on that ground." and sure enough, the slave was discharged. friend hopper's quickness in slipping through loop-holes, and dodging round corners, rendered him exceedingly troublesome and provoking to slaveholders. he often kept cases pending in court three or four years, till the claimants were completely wearied out, and ready to settle on any terms. his acute perception of the slightest flaw in a document, or imperfection in evidence, always attracted notice in the courts he attended. judges and lawyers often remarked to him, "mr. hopper, it is a great pity you were not educated for the legal profession. you have such a judicial mind." mr. william lewis, an eminent lawyer, offered him every facility for studying the profession. "come to my office and use my library whenever you please," said he; "or i will obtain a clerkship in the courts for you, if you prefer that. your mind is peculiarly adapted to legal investigation, and if you would devote yourself to it, you might become a judge before long." but friend hopper could never overcome his scruples about entering on a career of worldly ambition. he thought he had better keep humble, and resist temptations that might lead him out of the plainness and simplicity of the religious society to which he belonged. as for the colored people of philadelphia, they believed in his infallibility, as devout catholics believe in the pope. they trusted him, and he trusted them; and it is remarkable in how few instances he found his confidence misplaced. the following anecdote will illustrate the nature of the relation existing between him and that much abused race. prince hopkins, a wood-sawyer of philadelphia, was claimed as a fugitive slave by john kinsmore of baltimore. when friend hopper went to the magistrate's office to inquire into the affair, he found the poor fellow in tears. he asked for a private interview, and the alderman gave his consent. when they were alone, prince confessed that he was the slave in question. in the course of his narrative, it appeared that he had been sent into pennsylvania by his mistress, and had resided there with a relative of hers two years. friend hopper told him to dry up his tears, for it was in his power to protect him. when he returned to the office, he informed the magistrate that prince hopkins was a free man; having resided in pennsylvania, with the consent of his mistress, a much longer time than the law required. mr. kinsmore was irritated, and demanded that the colored man should be imprisoned till he could obtain legal advice. "let him go and finish the wood he was sawing," said friend hopper. "i will be responsible for his appearance whenever he is wanted. if the magistrate will give me a commitment, prince will call at my house after he has finished sawing his wood, and i will send him to jail with it. he can remain there, until the facts i have stated are clearly proved." the slave-holder and his lawyer seemed to regard this proposition as an insult. they railed at friend hopper for his "impertinent interference," and for the absurd idea of trusting "that nigger" under such circumstances. he replied, "i would rather trust 'that nigger,' as you call him, than either of you." so saying, he marched off with the magistrate's mittimus in his pocket. when prince hopkins had finished his job of sawing, he called for the commitment, and carried it to the jailor, who locked him up. satisfactory evidence of his freedom was soon obtained, and he was discharged. the colored people appeared to better advantage with their undoubted friend, than they possibly could have done where a barrier of prejudice existed. they were not afraid to tell him their experiences in their own way, with natural pathos, here and there dashed with fun. a fine-looking, athletic fugitive, telling him his story one day, said, "when i first run away, i met some people who were dreadful afraid i couldn't take care of myself. but thinks i to myself i took care of master and myself too for a long spell; and i guess i can make out." with a roguish expression laughing all over his face, he added, "i don't look as if i was suffering for a master; do i, mr. hopper?" though slaveholders had abundant reason to dread isaac t. hopper, as they would a blister of spanish flies, yet he had no hardness of feeling toward them, or even toward kidnappers; hateful as he deemed the system, which produced them both. in , a sober industrious family of free colored people, living in pennsylvania on the borders of maryland, were attacked in the night by a band of kidnappers. the parents were aged, and needed the services of their children for support. knowing that the object of the marauders was to carry them off and sell them to slave speculators, the old father defended them to the utmost of his power. in the struggle, he was wounded by a pistol, and one of his daughters received a shot, which caused her death. one of the sons, who was very ill in bed, was beaten and bruised till he was covered with blood. but mangled and crippled as he was, he contrived to drag himself to a neighboring barn, and hide himself under the straw. if such lawless violence had been practised upon any white citizens, the executive of pennsylvania would have immediately offered a high reward for the apprehension of the aggressors; but the victims belonged to a despised caste, and nothing was done to repair their wrongs. friend hopper felt the blood boil in his veins when he heard of this cruel outrage, and his first wish was to have the offenders punished; but as soon as he had time to reflect, he said, "i cannot find it in my heart to urge this subject upon the notice of the executive; for death would be the penalty if those wretches were convicted." there were many highly respectable individuals among the colored people of philadelphia. richard allen, who had been a slave, purchased freedom with the proceeds of his own industry. he married, and established himself as a shoemaker in that city, where he acquired considerable property, and built a three-story brick house. he was the principal agent in organizing the first congregation of colored people in philadelphia, and was their pastor to the day of his death, without asking or receiving any compensation. during the latter part of his life, he was bishop of their methodist episcopal church. absalom jones, a much respected colored man, was his colleague. in , when the yellow fever was raging, it was extremely difficult to procure attendants for the sick on any terms; and the few who would consent to render service, demanded exorbitant prices. but bishop allen and rev. mr. jones never hesitated to go wherever they could be useful; and with them, the compensation was always a secondary consideration. when the pestilence had abated, the mayor sent them a certificate expressing his approbation of their conduct. but even these men, whose worth commanded respect, were not safe from the legalized curse that rests upon their hunted race. a southern speculator arrested bishop allen, and claimed him as a fugitive slave, whom he had bought running. the constable employed to serve the warrant was ashamed to drag the good man through the streets; and he merely said, in a respectful tone, "mr. allen, you will soon come down to alderman todd's office, will you?" the fugitive, whom they were seeking, had absconded only four years previous; and everybody in philadelphia, knew that richard allen had been living there more than twenty years. yet the speculator and his sons swore unblushingly that he was the identical slave they had purchased. mr. allen thought he ought to have some redress for this outrage; "for," said he, "if it had not been for the kindness of the officer, i might have been dragged through the streets like a felon." isaac t. hopper was consulted, and a civil suit commenced. eight hundred dollars bail was demanded, and the speculator, being unable to procure it, was lodged in the debtor's prison. when he had been there three months, mr. allen caused him to be discharged; saying he did not wish to persecute the man, but merely to teach him not to take up free people again, for the purpose of carrying them into slavery. the numerous instances of respectability among the colored people were doubtless to be attributed in part to the protecting influence extended over them by the quakers. but even in those days, the society of friends were by no means all free from prejudice against color; and in later times, i think they have not proved themselves at all superior to other sects in their feelings and practice on this subject. friend hopper, joseph carpenter, and the few who resemble them in this respect, are _exceptions_ to the general character of modern quakers, not the _rule._ the following very characteristic anecdote shows how completely isaac was free from prejudice on account of complexion. it is an unusual thing to see a colored quaker; for the african temperament is fervid and impressible, and requires more exciting forms of religion. david maps and his wife, a very worthy couple, were the only colored members of the yearly meeting to which isaac t. hopper belonged. on the occasion of the annual gathering in philadelphia, they came with other members of the society to share the hospitality of his house. a question arose in the family whether friends of white complexion would object to eating with them. "leave that to me," said the master of the household. accordingly when the time arrived, he announced it thus: "friends, dinner is now ready. david maps and his wife will come with me; and as i like to have all accommodated, those who object to dining with them can wait till they have done." the guests smiled, and all seated themselves at the table. the conscientiousness so observable in several anecdotes of isaac's boyhood was strikingly manifested in his treatment of a colored printer, named kane. this man was noted for his profane swearing. friend hopper had expostulated with him concerning this bad habit, without producing the least effect. one day, he encountered him in the street, pouring forth a volley of terrible oaths, enough to make one shudder. believing him incurable by gentler means, he took him before a magistrate, who fined him for blasphemy. he did not see the man again for a long time; but twenty years afterward, when he was standing at his door, kane passed by. the friend's heart was touched by his appearance; for he looked old, feeble, and poor. he stepped out, shook hands with him, and said in kindly tones, "dost thou remember me, and how i caused thee to be fined for swearing?" "yes, indeed i do," he replied. "i remember how many dollars i paid, as well as if it were but yesterday." "did it do thee any good;" inquired friend hopper. "never a bit," answered he. "it only made me mad to have my money taken from me." the poor man was invited to walk into the house. the interest was calculated on the fine, and every cent repaid to him. "i meant it for thy good," said the benevolent quaker; "and i am sorry that i only provoked thee." kane's countenance changed at once, and tears began to flow. he took the money with many thanks, and was never again heard to swear. friend hopper's benevolence was by no means confined to colored people. wherever there was good to be done, his heart and hand were ready. from various anecdotes in proof of this, i select the following. john mcgrier. john was an irish orphan, whose parents died of yellow fever, when he was very young. he obtained a scanty living by doing errands for cartmen. in the year , when he was about fourteen years old, there was a long period during which he could obtain scarcely any employment. being without friends, and in a state of extreme destitution, he was tempted to enter a shop and steal two dollars from the drawer. he was pursued and taken. isaac t. hopper, who was one of the inspectors of the prison at that time, saw a crowd gathered, and went to inquire the cause. the poor boy's history was soon told. friend hopper liked the expression of his countenance, and pitied his forlorn condition. when he was brought up for trial, he accompanied him, and pleaded with the judge in his favor. he urged that the poor child's education had been entirely neglected, and consequently he was more to be pitied than blamed. if sent to prison, he would in all probability become hardened, if not utterly ruined. he said if the judge would allow him to take charge of the lad, he would promise to place him in good hands, where he would be out of the way of temptation. the judge granted his request, and john was placed in prison merely for a few days, till friend hopper could provide for him. he proposed to his father to have the boy bound to him. the old gentleman hesitated at first, on account of his neglected education and wild way of living; but pity for the orphan overcame his scruples, and he agreed to take him. john lived with him till he was twenty-one years of age, and was remarkably faithful and industrious. but about two years after, a neighbor came one night to arrest him for stealing a horse. old mr. hopper assured him it was not possible john had done such a thing; that during all the time he had lived in his family he had proved himself entirely honest and trustworthy. the neighbor replied that his horse had been taken to philadelphia and sold; and the ferryman from woodbury was ready to swear that the animal was brought over by hopper's john, as he was generally called. john was in bed, but was called up to answer the accusation. he did not attempt to deny it, but gave up the money at once, and kept repeating that he did know what made him do it. he was dreadfully ashamed and distressed. he begged that friend isaac would not come to see him in prison, for he could not look him the face. his anguish of mind was so great, that when the trial came on, he was emaciated almost to a skeleton. old mr. hopper went into court and stated the adverse circumstances of his early life, and his exemplary conduct during nine years that he had lived in his family. he begged that he might be fined instead of imprisoned, and offered to pay the fine himself. the proposition was accepted, and the kind old man took the culprit home. this lenient treatment completely subdued the last vestige of evil habits acquired in childhood. he was humble and grateful in the extreme, and always steady and industrious. he conducted with great propriety ever afterward, and established such a character for honesty, that the neighbors far and wide trusted him to carry their produce to market, receiving a small commission for his trouble. eventually, he came to own a small house and farm, where he lived in much comfort and respectability. he always looked up to isaac as the friend who had early raised him from a downward and slippery path; and he was never weary of manifesting gratitude by every little attention he could devise. levi butler. some one having told friend hopper of an apprentice who was cruelly treated, he caused investigation to be made, and took the lad under his own protection. as he was much bent upon going to sea, he was placed in a respectable boarding-house for sailors, till a fitting opportunity could be found to gratify his inclination. one day, a man in the employ of this boarding-house brought a bill to be paid for the lad. he was very ragged, but his manners were those of a gentleman, and his conversation showed that he had been well educated. his appearance excited interest in friend hopper's mind, and he inquired into his history. he said his name was levi butler; that he was of german extraction, and had been a wealthy merchant in baltimore, of the firm of butler and magruder. he married a widow, who had considerable property, and several children. after her death, he failed in business, and gave up all his own property, but took the precaution to secure all her property to her children. his creditors were angry, and tried various ways to compel him to pay them with his wife's money. he was imprisoned a long time. he petitioned the legislature for release, and the committee before whom the case was brought made a report in his favor, highly applauding his integrity in not involving his own affairs with the property belonging to his wife's children, who had been intrusted to his care. poverty and persecution had broken down his spirits, and when he was discharged from prison he left baltimore and tried to obtain a situation as clerk in philadelphia. he did not succeed in procuring employment. his clothes became thread-bare, and he had no money to purchase a new suit. in this situation, some people to whom he applied for employment treated him as if he were an impostor. in a state of despair he went one day to drown himself. but when he had put some heavy stones in his pocket to make him sink rapidly, he seemed to hear a voice calling to him to forbear; and looking up, he saw a man watching him. he hurried away to avoid questions, and passing by a sailor's boarding-house, he went in and offered to wait upon the boarders for his food. they took him upon those terms; and the gentleman who had been accustomed to ride in his own carriage, and be waited upon by servants, now roasted oysters and went of errands for common seamen. he was in this forlorn situation, when accident introduced him to friend hopper's notice. he immediately furnished him with a suit of warm clothes; for the weather was cold, and his garments thin. he employed him to post up his account-books, and finding that he did it in a very perfect manner, he induced several of his friends to employ him in a similar way. a brighter day was dawning for the unfortunate man, and perhaps he might have attained to comfortable independence, if his health had not failed. but he had taken severe colds by thin clothing and exposure to inclement weather. a rapid consumption came on, and he was soon entirely unable to work. under these circumstances, the best friend hopper could do for him was to secure peculiar privileges at the alms-house, and surround him with, all the little comforts that help to alleviate illness. he visited him very often, until the day of his death, and his sympathy and kind attentions were always received with heartfelt gratitude. the musical boy. one day when friend hopper visited the prison, he found a dark-eyed lad with a very bright expressive countenance his right side was palsied, so that the arm hung down useless. attracted by his intelligent face, he entered into conversation with him, and found that he had been palsied from infancy. he had been sent forth friendless into the world from an alms-house in maryland. in philadelphia, he had been committed to prison as a vagrant, because he drew crowds about him in the street by his wonderful talent of imitating a hand-organ, merely by whistling tunes through his fingers. friend hopper, who had imbibed the quaker idea that music was a useless and frivolous pursuit, said to the boy, "didst thou not know it was wrong to spend thy time in that idle manner?" with ready frankness the young prisoner replied, "no, i did not; and i should like to hear how _you_ can prove it to be wrong. god has given you sound limbs. half of my body is paralyzed, and it is impossible for me to work as others do. it has pleased god to give me a talent for music. i do no harm with it. it gives pleasure to myself and others, and enables me to gain a few coppers to buy my bread. i should like to have you show me wherein it is wrong." without attempting to do so, friend hopper suggested that perhaps he had been committed to prison on account of producing noise and confusion in the streets. "i make no riot," rejoined the youth. "i try to please people by my tunes; and if the crowd around me begin to be noisy, i quietly walk off." struck with the good sense and sincerity of these answers, friend hopper said to the jailor, "thou mayest set this lad at liberty. i will be responsible for it." the jailer relying on his well-known character, and his intimacy with robert wharton, the mayor, did not hesitate to comply with his request. at that moment, the mayor himself came in sight, and friend hopper said to the lad, "step into the next room, and play some of thy best tunes till i come." "what's this?" said mr. wharton. "have you got a hand-organ here!" "yes," replied friend hopper; "and i will show it to thee. it is quite curious." at first, the mayor could not believe that the sounds he had heard were produced by a lad merely whistling through his fingers. he thought them highly agreeable, and asked to have the tunes repeated. "the lad was committed to prison for no other offence than making that noise, which seems to thee so pleasant," said friend hopper. "i dare say thou wouldst like to make it thyself, if thou couldst. i have taken the liberty to discharge him." "very well," rejoined the mayor, with a smile. "you have done quite right, friend isaac. you may go, my lad. i shall not trouble you. but try not to collect crowds about the streets." "that i cannot help," replied the youth. "the crowds _will_ come, when i whistle for them; and i get coppers by collecting crowds. but i promise you i will try to avoid their making any riot or confusion." mary norris. a stout healthy woman, named mary norris was continually taken up as a vagrant, or committed for petty larceny. as soon as she was discharged from the penalty of one misdemeanor, she was committed for another. one day, friend hopper, who was then inspector, said to her, "well, mary, thy time is out next week. dost thou think thou shalt come back again?" "yes," she replied sullenly. "dost thou _like_ to come back?" inquired he. "no, to be sure i don't," rejoined the prisoner. "but i've no doubt i _shall_ come back before the month is out." "why dost thou not make a resolution to behave better?" said the kindly inspector. "what use would it be?" she replied. "you wouldn't take me into your family. the doctor wouldn't take me into his family. no respectable person would have anything to do with me. my associates _must_ be such acquaintances as i make here. if they steal, i am taken up for it; no matter whether i am guilty or not. i am an old convict, and nobody believes what i say. o, yes, i shall come back again. to be sure i shall come back," she repeated bitterly. her voice and manner excited friend hopper's compassion, and he thus addressed her: "if i will get a place for thee in some respectable family where they will be kind to thee, wilt thou give me thy word that thou wilt be honest and steady, and try to do thy duty." her countenance brightened, and she eagerly answered, "yes i _will_! and thank god and you too, the longest day i have to live." he exerted his influence in her behalf, and procured a situation for her as head-nurse at the alms-house. she was well contented there, and behaved with great propriety. seventeen years afterward, when friend hopper had not seen her for a long time, he called to inquire about her, and was informed that during all those years, she had been an honest, sober, and useful woman. she was rejoiced to see him again, and expressed lively gratitude, for the quiet and comfortable life she enjoyed through his agency. the magdalen. upon one occasion, friend hopper entered a complaint against an old woman, who had presided over an infamous house for many years. she was tried, and sentenced to several months imprisonment. he went to see her several times, and talked very seriously with her concerning the errors of her life. finding that his expostulations made some impression, he asked if she felt willing to amend her ways. "oh, i should be thankful to do it!" she exclaimed. "but who would trust me? what can i do to earn an honest living? everybody curses me, or makes game of me. how _can_ i be a better woman, if i try ever so hard?" "i will give thee a chance to amend thy life," he replied; "and if thou dost not, it shall be thy own fault." he went round among the wealthy quakers, and by dint of great persuasion he induced one to let her a small tenement at very low rent. a few others agreed to purchase some humble furniture, and a quantity of thread, needles, tape, and buttons, to furnish a small shop. the poor old creature's heart overflowed with gratitude, and it was her pride to keep everything very neat and orderly. there she lived contented and comfortable the remainder of her days, and became much respected in the neighborhood. the tears often came to her eyes when she saw friend hopper. "god bless that good man!" she would say. "he has been the salvation of me." the uncomplimentary invitation. a preacher of the society of friends felt impressed with the duty of calling a meeting for vicious people; and isaac t. hopper was appointed to collect an audience. in the course of this mission, he knocked at the door of a very infamous house. a gentleman who was acquainted with him was passing by, and he stopped to say, "friend hopper, you have mistaken the house." "no, i have not," he replied. "but that is a house of notorious ill fame," said the gentleman. "i know it," rejoined he; "but nevertheless i have business here." his acquaintance looked surprised, but passed on without further query. a colored girl came to the door. to the inquiry whether her mistress was within, she answered in the affirmative. "tell her i wish to see her," said friend hopper. the girl was evidently astonished at a visitor in quaker costume, and of such grave demeanor; but she went and did the errand. a message was returned that her mistress was engaged and could not see any one. "where is she?" he inquired. the girl replied that she was up-stairs. "i will go to her," said the importunate messenger. the mistress of the house heard him, and leaning over the balustrade of the stairs, she screamed out, "what do you want with me, sir?" in very loud tones he answered, "james simpson, a minister of the society of friends, has appointed a meeting to be held this afternoon, in penrose store, almond-street. it is intended for publicans, sinners, and harlots. i want thee to be there, and bring thy whole household with thee. wilt thou come?" she promised that she would; and he afterward saw her at the meeting melted into tears by the direct and affectionate preaching. theft from necessity. one day, when the family were in the midst of washing, a man called at isaac t. hopper's house to buy soap fat, and was informed they had none to sell. a minute after he had passed out, the domestic came running in to say that he had stolen some of the children's clothes from the line. friend hopper followed him quickly, and called out, "dost thou want to buy some soap-fat? come back if thou dost." when the man had returned to the kitchen, he said, "now give up the clothes thou hast stolen." the culprit was extremely confused, but denied that he had stolen anything. "give them up at once, without any more words. it will be much better for thee," said friend hopper, in his firm way. thus urged, the stranger drew from his bosom some small shirts and flannel petticoats. "my wife is very sick," said he. "she has a babe two weeks old, wrapped up in an old rag; and when i saw this comfortable clothing on the line, i was tempted to take it for the poor little creature. we have no fuel except a little tan. a herring is the last mouthful of food we have in the house; and when i came away, it was broiling on the hot tan." his story excited pity; but fearing it might be made up for the occasion, friend hopper took him to a magistrate and said, "please give me a commitment for this man. if he tells a true story, i will tear it up. i will go and see for myself." when he arrived at the wretched abode, he found a scene of misery that pained him to the heart. the room was cold, and the wife was in bed, pale and suffering. her babe had no clothing, except a coarse rag torn from the skirt of an old coat. of course he destroyed the commitment immediately. his next step was to call upon the rich quakers of his acquaintance, and obtain from them contributions of wood, flour, rice, bread, and warm garments. employment was soon after procured for the man, and he was enabled to support his family comfortably. he never passed friend hopper in the street without making a low bow, and often took occasion to express his grateful acknowledgments. patrick mckeever. patrick was a poor irishman in philadelphia. he and another man were arrested on a charge of burglary, convicted and sentenced to be hung. i am ignorant of the details of his crime, or why the sentence was not carried into execution. there were probably some palliating circumstances in his case; for though he was carried to the gallows, seated on his coffin, he was spared for some reason, and his companion was hung. he was afterward sentenced to ten years imprisonment, and this was eventually shortened one year. during the last three years of his term, friend hopper was one of the inspectors, and frequently talked with him in a gentle, fatherly manner. the convict was a man of few words, and hope seemed almost dead within him; but though he made no large promises, his heart was evidently touched by the voice of kindness. as soon as he was released, he went immediately to work at his trade of tanning leather, and conducted himself in the most exemplary manner. being remarkable for capability, and the amount of work he could accomplish, he soon had plenty of employment. he passed friend hopper's house every day, as he went to his work, and often received from him words of friendly encouragement. things were going on thus satisfactorily, when his friend heard that constables were in pursuit of him, on account of a robbery committed the night before. he went straight to the mayor, and inquired why orders had been given to arrest patrick mckeever. "because there has been a robbery committed in his neighborhood," replied the magistrate. he inquired what proof there was that patrick had been concerned in it. "none at all," rejoined the mayor. "but he is an old convict, and that is enough to condemn him." "it is _not_ enough, by any means," answered friend hopper. "thou hast no right to arrest any citizen without a shadow of proof against him. in this, case, i advise thee by all means to proceed with humane caution. this man has severely atoned for the crime he did commit; and since he wishes to reform, his past history ought never to be mentioned against him. he has been perfectly honest, sober, and industrious, since he came out of prison. i think i know his state of mind; and i am willing to take the responsibility of saying that he is guiltless in this matter." the mayor commended friend hopper's benevolence, but remained unconvinced. to all arguments he replied, "he is an old convict, and that is enough." patrick's kind friend watched for him as he passed to his daily labors, and told him that he would probably be arrested for the robbery that had been committed in his neighborhood. the poor fellow bowed down his head, the light vanished from his countenance, and hope seemed to have forsaken him utterly. "well," said he, with a deep sigh, "i suppose i must make up my mind to spend the remainder of my days in prison." "thou wert not concerned in this robbery, wert thou?" inquired friend hopper, looking earnestly in his face. "no, indeed i was not," he replied. "god be my witness, i want to lead an honest life, and be at peace with all men. but what good will _that_ do me? everybody will say, he has been in the state prison, and that is enough." his friend did not ask him twice; for he felt assured that he had spoken truly. he advised him to go directly to the mayor, deliver himself up, and declare his innocence. this wholesome advice was received with deep dejection. he had lost faith in his fellow-men; for they had been to him as enemies. "i know what will come of it," said he. "they will put me in prison whether there is any proof against me, or not. they won't let me out without somebody will be security for me; and who will be security for an old convict?" "keep up a good heart," replied friend hopper. "go to the mayor and speak as i have advised thee. if they talk of putting thee in prison, send for me." patrick acted in obedience to this advice, and was treated just as he had expected. though there was not a shadow of proof against him, his being an old convict was deemed sufficient reason for sending him to jail. friend hopper appeared in his behalf. "i am ready to affirm that i believe this man to be innocent," said he. "it will be a very serious injury for him to be taken from his business and detained in prison until this can be proved. moreover, the effect upon his mind may be completely discouraging. i will be security for his appearance when called for; and i know very well that he will not think of giving me the slip." the gratitude of the poor fellow was overwhelming. he sobbed till his strong frame shook like a leaf in the wind. the real culprits were soon after discovered. for thirty years after and to the day of his death, patrick continued to lead a virtuous and useful life; for which he always thanked friend hopper, as the instrument of divine providence. the umbrella girl. a young girl, the only daughter of a poor widow, removed from the country to philadelphia to earn her living by covering umbrellas. she was very handsome; with glossy black hair, large beaming eyes, and "lips like wet coral." she was just at that susceptible age when youth is ripening into womanhood, when the soul begins to be pervaded by "that restless principle, which impels poor humans to seek perfection in union." at a hotel near the store for which she worked an english traveller, called lord henry stuart, had taken lodgings. he was a strikingly handsome man, and of princely carriage. as this distinguished stranger passed to and from his hotel, he encountered the umbrella girl, and was attracted by her uncommon beauty. he easily traced her to the store, where he soon after went to purchase an umbrella. this was followed up by presents of flowers, chats by the wayside, and invitations to walk or ride; all of which were gratefully accepted by the unsuspecting rustic; for she was as ignorant of the dangers of a city as were the squirrels of her native fields. he was merely playing a game for temporary excitement. she, with a head full of romance, and a heart melting under the influence of love, was unconsciously endangering the happiness of her whole life. lord henry invited her to visit the public gardens on the fourth of july. in the simplicity of her heart, she believed all his flattering professions, and considered herself his bride elect; she therefore accepted the invitation with innocent frankness. but she had no dress fit to appear in on such a public occasion, with a gentleman of high rank, whom she verily supposed to be her destined husband. while these thoughts revolved in her mind, her eye was unfortunately attracted by a beautiful piece of silk, belonging to her employer. could she not take it, without being seen, and pay for it secretly, when she had earned money enough? the temptation conquered her in a moment of weakness. she concealed the silk, and conveyed it to her lodgings. it was the first thing she had ever stolen, and her remorse was painful. she would have carried it back, but she dreaded discovery. she was not sure that her repentance would be met in a spirit of forgiveness. on the eventful fourth of july, she came out in her new dress. lord henry complimented her upon her elegant appearance, but she was not happy. on their way to the gardens, he talked to her in a manner which she did not comprehend. perceiving this, he spoke more explicitly. the guileless young creature stopped, looked in his face with mournful reproach, and burst into tears. the nobleman took her hand kindly, and said, "my dear, are you an innocent girl?" "i am, i am," she replied, with convulsive sobs. "oh, what have i ever done, or said, that you should ask me such a question?" the evident sincerity of her words stirred the deep fountains of his better nature. "if you are innocent," said he, "god forbid that i should make you otherwise. but you accepted my invitations and presents so readily, that i supposed you understood me." "what _could_ i understand," said she, "except that you intended to make me your wife?" though reared amid the proudest distinctions of rank, he felt no inclination to smile. he blushed and was silent. the heartless conventionalities of the world stood rebuked in the presence of affectionate simplicity. he conveyed her to her humble home, and bade her farewell, with a thankful consciousness that he had done no irretrievable injury to her future prospects. the remembrance of her would soon be to him as the recollection of last year's butterflies. with her, the wound was deep. in the solitude of her chamber she wept in bitterness of heart over her ruined air-castles. and that dress, which she had stolen to make an appearance befitting his bride! oh, what if she should be discovered? and would not the heart of her poor widowed mother break, if she should ever know that her child was a thief? alas, her wretched forebodings proved too true. the silk was traced to her; she was arrested on her way to the store and dragged to prison. there she refused all nourishment, and wept incessantly. on the fourth day, the keeper called upon isaac t. hopper, and informed him that there was a young girl in prison, who appeared to be utterly friendless, and determined to die by starvation. the kind-hearted friend immediately went to her assistance. he found her lying on the floor of her cell, with her face buried in her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break. he tried to comfort her, but could obtain no answer. "leave us alone," said he to the keeper. "perhaps she will speak to me, if there is no one to hear." when they were alone together, he put back the hair from her temples, laid his hand kindly on her beautiful head, and said in soothing tones, "my child, consider me as thy father. tell me all thou hast done. if thou hast taken this silk, let me know all about it. i will do for thee as i would for my own daughter; and i doubt not that i can help thee out of this difficulty." after a long time spent in affectionate entreaty, she leaned her young head on his friendly shoulder, and sobbed out, "oh, i wish i was dead. what will my poor mother say when she knows of my disgrace?" "perhaps we can manage that she never shall know it," replied he. alluring her by this hope, he gradually obtained from her the whole story of her acquaintance with the nobleman. he bade her be comforted, and take nourishment; for he would see that the silk was paid for, and the prosecution withdrawn. he went immediately to her employer, and told him the story. "this is her first offence," said he. "the girl is young, and she is the only child of a poor widow. give her a chance to retrieve this one false step, and she may be restored to society, a useful and honored woman. i will see that thou art paid for the silk." the man readily agreed to withdraw the prosecution, and said he would have dealt otherwise by the girl, if he had known all the circumstances. "thou shouldst have inquired into the merits of the case," replied friend hopper. "by this kind of thoughtlessness, many a young creature is driven into the downward path, who might easily have been saved." the kind-hearted man next proceeded to the hotel, and with quaker simplicity of speech inquired for henry stuart. the servant said his lordship had not yet risen. "tell him my business is of importance," said friend hopper. the servant soon returned and conducted him to the chamber. the nobleman appeared surprised that a stranger, in the plain quaker costume, should thus intrude upon his luxurious privacy. when he heard his errand, he blushed deeply, and frankly admitted the truth of the girl's statement. his benevolent visitor took the opportunity to "bear a testimony" against the selfishness and sin of profligacy. he did it in such a kind and fatherly manner, that the young man's heart was touched. he excused himself, by saying that he would not have tampered with the girl, if he had known her to be virtuous. "i have done many wrong things," said he, "but thank god, no betrayal of confiding innocence weighs on my conscience. i have always esteemed it the basest act of which man is capable." the imprisonment of the poor girl, and the forlorn situation in which she had been found, distressed him greatly. when friend hopper represented that the silk had been stolen for _his_ sake, that the girl had thereby lost profitable employment, and was obliged to return to her distant home, to avoid the danger of exposure, he took out a fifty dollar note, and offered it to pay her expenses. "nay," said isaac. "thou art a very rich man, i presume. i see in thy hand a large roll of such notes. she is the daughter of a poor widow, and thou hast been the means of doing her great injury. give me another." lord henry handed him another fifty dollar note, and smiled as he said, "you understand your business well. but you have acted nobly, and i reverence you for it. if you ever visit england, come to see me. i will give you a cordial welcome, and treat you like a nobleman." "farewell, friend," replied the quaker. "though much to blame in this affair, thou too hast behaved nobly. mayst thou be blessed in domestic life, and trifle no more with the feelings of poor girls; not even with those whom others have betrayed and deserted." when the girl was arrested, she had sufficient presence of mind to assume a false name, and by that means, her true name had been kept out of the newspapers. "i did this," said she, "for my poor mother's sake." with the money given by lord stuart, the silk was paid for, and she was sent home to her mother well provided with clothing. her name and place of residence forever remained a secret in the breast of her benefactor. years after these events transpired, a lady called at friend hopper's house, and asked to see him. when he entered the room, he found a handsomely dressed young matron, with a blooming boy of five or six years old. she rose quickly to meet him, and her voice choked as she said, "friend hopper, do you know me?" he replied that he did not. she fixed her tearful eyes earnestly upon him, and said, "you once helped me when in great distress." but the good missionary of humanity had helped too many in distress, to be able to recollect her without more precise information. with a tremulous voice, she bade her son go into the next room for a few minutes; then dropping on her knees, she hid her face in his lap, and sobbed out, "i am the girl who stole the silk. oh, where should i now be, if it had not been for you!" when her emotion was somewhat calmed, she told him that she had married a highly respectable man, a senator of his native state. being on a visit in friend hopper's vicinity, she had again and again passed his dwelling, looking wistfully at the windows to catch a sight of him; but when she attempted to enter her courage failed. "but i must return home to-morrow," said she, "and i could not go away without once more seeing and thanking him who saved me from ruin." she recalled her little boy, and said to him, "look at that gentleman, and remember him well; for he was the best friend your mother ever had." with an earnest invitation to visit her happy home, and a fervent "god bless you!" she bade her benefactor farewell. the two young offenders. in the neighborhood of carlisle, pennsylvania, there lived a man whose temper was vindictive and badly governed. having become deeply offended with one of his neighbors, he induced his two sons to swear falsely that he had committed an infamous crime. one of the lads was about fifteen years old, and the other about seventeen. the alleged offence was of so gross a nature, and was so at variance with the fair character of the person accused that the witnesses were subjected to a very careful and shrewd examination. they became embarrassed, and the flaws in their evidence were very obvious. they were indicted for conspiracy against an innocent man; and being taken by surprise, they were thrown into confusion, acknowledged their guilt, and declined the offer of a trial. they were sentenced to two years' imprisonment at hard labor in the penitentiary of philadelphia. isaac t. hopper, who was at that time one of the inspectors, happened to be at the prison when they arrived at dusk, hand-cuffed and chained together, in custody of the sheriff. their youth and desolate appearance excited his compassion. "keep up a good heart, my poor lads," said he. "you can retrieve this one false step, if you will but make the effort. it is still in your power to become respectable and useful men. i will help you all i can." he gave particular directions that they should be placed in a room by themselves, apart from the contagion of more hardened offenders. to prevent unprofitable conversation, they were constantly employed in the noisy occupation of heading nails. from time to time, the humane inspector spoke soothing and encouraging words to them, and commended their good behavior. when the board of inspectors met, he proposed that the lads should be recommended to the governor for pardon. not succeeding in this effort, he wrote an article on the impropriety of confining juvenile offenders with old hardened convicts. he published this in the daily papers, and it produced considerable effect. when the board again met, isaac t. hopper and thomas dobson were appointed to wait on the governor, to obtain a pardon for the lads if possible. after considerable hesitation, the request was granted on condition that worthy men could be found, who would take them as apprentices. friend hopper agreed to find such persons; and he kept his word. one of them was bound to a tanner, the other to a carpenter. but their excellent friend did not lose sight of them. he reminded them that they were now going among strangers, and their success and happiness would mainly depend on their own conduct. he begged of them, if they should ever get entangled with unprofitable company, or become involved in difficulty of any kind, to come to him, as they would to a considerate father. he invited them to spend all their leisure evenings at his house. for a long time, it was their constant practice to take tea with him every sunday, and join the family in reading the bible and other serious books. at the end of a year, they expressed a strong desire to visit their father. some fears were entertained lest his influence over them should prove injurious; and that being once freed from restraint, they would not willingly return to constant industry and regular habits. they, however, promised faithfully that they would, and friend hopper thought it might have a good effect upon them to know that they were trusted. he accordingly entered into bonds for them; thinking this additional claim on their gratitude would strengthen his influence over them, and help to confirm their good resolutions. they returned punctually at the day and hour they had promised, and their exemplary conduct continued to give entire satisfaction to their employers. a short time after the oldest had fulfilled the term of his indenture, the tanner with whom he worked bought a farm, and sold his stock and tools to his former apprentice. friend hopper took him to the governor's house, dressed in his new suit of freedom clothes, and introduced him as one of the lads whom he had pardoned several years before; testifying that he had been a faithful apprentice, and much respected by his master. the governor was well pleased to see him, shook hands with him very cordially, and told him that he who was resolute enough to turn back from vicious ways, into the paths of virtue and usefulness, deserved even more respect than one who had never been tempted. he afterward married a worthy young woman with a small property, which enabled him to build a neat two-story brick house. he always remained sober and industrious, and they lived in great comfort and respectability. the younger brother likewise passed through his apprenticeship in a manner very satisfactory to his friends; and at twenty-one years of age, he also was introduced to the governor with testimonials of his good conduct. he was united to a very respectable young woman, but died a few years after his marriage. both these young men always cherished warm gratitude and strong attachment for isaac t. hopper. they both regularly attended the meetings of the society of friends, which had become pleasantly associated in their minds with the good influences they had received from their benefactor. friend hopper was a strict disciplinarian while he was inspector, and it was extremely difficult for the prisoners to deceive him by any artful devices, or hypocritical pretences. but he was always in the habit of talking with them in friendly style, inquiring into their history and plans, sympathizing with their troubles and temptations, encouraging them to reform, and promising to assist them if they would try to help themselves. it was his custom to take a ramble in the country with his children every saturday afternoon. all who were old enough to walk joined the troop. they always stopped at the prison, and were well pleased to deliver to the poor inmates, with their own small hands, such little comforts as their father had provided for the purpose. he was accustomed to say that there was not one among the convicts, however desperate they might be, with whom he should be afraid to trust himself alone at midnight with large sums of money in his pocket. an acquaintance once cautioned him against a prisoner, whose temper was extremely violent and revengeful, and who had been heard to swear that he would take the life of some of the keepers. soon after this warning, friend hopper summoned the desperate fellow, and told him he was wanted to pile a quantity of lumber in the cellar. he went down with him to hold the light, and they remained more than an hour alone together, out of hearing of everybody. when he told this to the man who had cautioned him, he replied, "well, i confess you have good courage. i wouldn't have done it for the price of the prison and all the ground it stands upon; for i do assure you he is a terrible fellow." "i don't doubt he is," rejoined the courageous inspector; "but i knew he wouldn't kill _me_. i have always been a friend to him, and he is aware of it. what motive could he have for harming me?" one of the prisoners, who had been convicted of man-slaughter, became furious, in consequence of being threatened with a whipping. when they attempted to bring him out of his dungeon to receive punishment, he seized a knife and a club, rushed back again, and swore he would kill the first person who came near him. being a very strong man, and in a state of madness, no one dared to approach him. they tried to starve him into submission; but finding he was not to be subdued in that way, they sent for friend hopper, as they were accustomed to do in all such difficult emergencies. he went boldly into the cell, looked the desperado calmly in the face, and said, "it is foolish for thee to contend with the authorities. thou wilt be compelled to yield at last. i will inquire into thy case. if thou hast been unjustly dealt by, i promise thee it shall be remedied." this kind and sensible remonstrance had the desired effect. from that time forward, he had great influence over the ferocious fellow, who was always willing to be guided by his advice, and finally became one of the most reasonable and orderly inmates of the prison. i have heard friend hopper say that while he was inspector he aided and encouraged about fifty young convicts, as nearly as he could recollect; and all, except two, conducted in such a manner as to satisfy the respectable citizens whom he had induced to employ them. he was a shrewd observer of the countenances and manners of men, and doubtless that was one reason why he was not often disappointed in those he trusted. the humor which characterized his boyhood, remained with him in maturer years, and often effervesced on the surface of his acquired gravity; as will appear in the following anecdotes. upon a certain occasion, a man called on him with a due bill for twenty dollars against an estate he had been employed to settle. friend hopper put it away, saying he would examine it and attend to it as soon as he had leisure. the man called again a short time after, and stated that he had need of six dollars, and was willing to give a receipt for the whole if that sum were advanced. this proposition excited suspicion, and the administrator decided in his own mind that he would pay nothing till he had examined the papers of the deceased. searching carefully among these, he found a receipt for the money, mentioning the identical items, date, and circumstances of the transaction; stating that a due-bill had been given and lost, and was to be restored by the creditor when found. when the man called again for payment, isaac said to him, in a quiet way, "friend jones, i understand thou hast become pious lately." he replied in a solemn tone, "yes, thanks to the lord jesus, i have found out the way of salvation." "and thou hast been dipped i hear," continued the quaker. "dost thou know james hunter?" mr. jones answered in the affirmative. "well, he also was dipped some time ago," rejoined friend hopper; "but his neighbors say they didn't get the crown of his head under water. the devil crept into the unbaptized part, and has been busy within him ever since. i am afraid they didn't get _thee_ quite under water. i think thou hadst better be dipped again." as he spoke, he held up the receipt for twenty dollars. the countenance of the professedly pious man became scarlet, and he disappeared instantly. a dutchman once called upon friend hopper, and said, "a tief have stole mine goots. they tell me you can help me, may be." upon inquiring the when and the where, friend hopper concluded that the articles had been stolen by a man whom he happened to know the police had taken up a few hours previous. but being disposed to amuse himself, he inquired very seriously, "what time of the moon was it, when thy goods were stolen?" having received information concerning that particular, he took a slate and began to cipher diligently. after a while, he looked up, and pronounced in a very oracular manner, "thou wilt find thy goods." "shall i find mine goots?" exclaimed the delighted dutchman; "and where is de tief?" "art thou quite sure about the age of the moon?" inquired the pretended magician. being assured there was no mistake on that point, he ciphered again for a few minutes, and then answered, "thou wilt find the thief in the hands of the police." the dutchman went away, evidently inspired with profound reverence. having found his goods and the thief, according to prediction, he returned and asked for a private interview. "tell me dat secret," said he, "and i will pay you a heap of money." "what secret?" inquired friend hopper. "tell me how you know i will find mine goots, and where i will find de tief?" rejoined he. "the plain truth is, i guessed it," was the reply; "because i had heard there was a thief at the police office, with such goods as thou described." "but what for you ask about de moon?" inquired the dutchman. "you make figures, and den you say, you will find your goots. you make figures again, den you tell me where is de tief. i go, and find mine goots and de tief, just as you say. tell me how you do dat, and i will pay you a heap of money." though repeatedly assured that it was done only for a joke, he went away unsatisfied: and to the day of his death, he fully believed that the facetious quaker was a conjuror. when friend hopper hired one of two houses where the back yards were not separated, he found himself considerably incommoded by the disorderly habits of his next neighbor. the dust and dirt daily swept into the yard were allowed to accumulate there in a heap, which the wind often scattered over the neater premises adjoining. the mistress of the house was said to be of an irritable temper, likely to take offence if asked to adopt a different system. he accordingly resolved upon a course, which he thought might cure the evil without provoking a dispute. one day, when he saw his neighbor in her kitchen, he called his own domestic to come out into the yard. pointing to the heap of dirt, he exclaimed, loud enough to be heard in the next house, "betsy, art thou not ashamed to sweep dust and litter into such a heap. see how it is blowing about our neighbor's yard! art thou not ashamed of thyself?" "i didn't sweep any dirt there," replied the girl. "they did it themselves." "pshaw! pshaw! don't tell me that," rejoined he. "our neighbor wouldn't do such an untidy thing. i wonder she hasn't complained of thee before now. be more careful in future; for i should be very sorry to give her any occasion to say she couldn't keep the yard clean on our account." the domestic read his meaning in the roguish expression of his eye, and she remained silent. the lesson took effect. the heap of dirt was soon removed, and never appeared afterward. such a character as isaac t. hopper was of course well known throughout the city where he lived. every school-boy had heard something of his doings, and as he walked the street, everybody recognized him, from the chief justice to the chimney-sweep. his personal appearance was calculated to attract attention, independent of other circumstances. joseph bonaparte, who then resided at bordentown, was attracted toward him the first moment he saw him, on account of a strong resemblance to his brother napoleon. they often met in the steamboat going down the delaware, and on such occasions, the ex-king frequently pointed him out as the most remarkable likeness of the emperor, that he had ever met in europe or america. he expressed the opinion that with napoleon's uniform on, he might be mistaken for him, even by his own household; and if he were to appear thus in paris, nothing could be easier than for him to excite a revolution. but the imperial throne, even if it had been directly offered to him, would have proved no temptation to a soul like his. in some respects, his character, as well as his person, strongly resembled napoleon. but his powerful will was remarkably under the control of conscience, and his energy was tempered by an unusual share of benevolence. if the other elements of his character had not been balanced by these two qualities, he also might have been a skilful diplomatist, and a successful leader of armies. fortunately for himself and others, he had a nobler ambition than that of making widows and orphans by wholesale slaughter. the preceding anecdotes show how warmly he sympathized with the poor, the oppressed, and the erring, without limitation of country, creed, or complexion; and how diligently he labored in their behalf. but from the great amount of public service that he rendered, it must not be inferred that he neglected private duties. perhaps no man was ever more devotedly attached to wife and children than he was. his sarah, as he was wont to call her, was endowed with qualities well calculated to retain a strong hold on the affections of a sensible and conscientious man. her kindly disposition, and the regular, simple habits of her life, were favorable to the preservation of that beauty, which had won his boyish admiration. her wavy brown hair was softly shaded by the delicate transparent muslin of her quaker cap; her face had a tender and benign expression; and her complexion was so clear, that an old gentleman, who belonged to the society of friends, and who was of course not much addicted to poetic comparisons, used to say he could never look at her without thinking of the clear pink and white of a beautiful conch-shell. she was scrupulously neat, and had something of that chastened coquetry in dress, which is apt to characterize the handsome women of her orderly sect. her drab-colored gown, not high in the neck, was bordered by a plain narrow tucker of fine muslin, visible under her snow-white neckerchief. a white under-sleeve came just below the elbow, where it terminated in a very narrow band, nicely stitched, and fastened with two small silver buttons, connected by a chain. she was a very industrious woman, and remarkably systematic in her household affairs; thus she contrived to find time for everything, though burdened with the care of a large and increasing family. the apprentices always sat at table with them, and she maintained a perfect equality between them and her own children. she said it was her wish to treat them precisely as she would like to have _her_ boys treated, if _they_ should become apprentices. on sunday evenings, which they called first day evenings, the whole family assembled to hear friend hopper read portions of scripture, or writings of the early friends. on such occasions, the mother often gave religious exhortations to the children and apprentices, suited to the occurrences of the week, and the temptations to which they were peculiarly subject. during the last eight years of her life, she was a recommended minister of the society of friends, and often preached at their meetings. her manners were affable, and her conversation peculiarly agreeable to young people. but she knew when silence was seemly, and always restrained her discourse within the limits of discretion. when any of her children talked more than was useful, she was accustomed to administer this concise caution: "my dear, it is a nice thing to say nothing, when thou hast nothing to say." her husband was proud of her, and always manifested great deference for her opinion. she suffered much anxiety on account of the perils to which he was often exposed in his contests with slaveholders and kidnappers; and for many years, the thought was familiar to her mind that she might one day see him brought home a corpse. while the yellow fever raged in philadelphia, she had the same anxiety concerning his fearless devotion to the victims of that terrible disease, who were dying by hundreds around them. but she had a large and sympathizing heart, and she never sought to dissuade him from what he considered the path of duty. when one of his brothers was stricken with the fever, and the family with whom he resided were afraid to shelter him, she proposed to have him brought under their own roof, where he was carefully nursed till he died. she was more reluctant to listen to his urgent entreaties that she would retire into the country with the children, and remain with them beyond the reach of contagion; for her heart was divided between the husband of her youth and the nurslings of her bosom. but his anxiety concerning their children was so great, that she finally consented to pursue the course most conducive to his peace of mind; and he was left in the city with a colored domestic to superintend his household affairs. through this terrible ordeal of pestilence he passed unscathed, though his ever ready sympathy brought him into frequent contact with the dying and the dead. besides this public calamity, which darkened the whole city for a time, friend hopper shared the common lot of humanity in the sad experiences of private life. several of his children died at that attractive age, when the bud of infancy is blooming into childhood. relatives and friends crossed the dark river to the unknown shore. on new year's day, , his mother departed from this world at fifty-six years old. in , his father died at seventy-five years of age. his physical vigor was remarkable. when he had weathered seventy winters, he went to visit his eldest son, and being disappointed in meeting the stage to return, as he expected, he walked home, a distance of twenty-eight miles. at that advanced age, he could rest one hand on his cane and the other on a fence, and leap over as easily as a boy. he had long flowing black hair, which fell in ringlets on his shoulders; and when he died, it was merely sprinkled with gray. when his private accounts were examined after his decease, they revealed the fact that he had secretly expended hundreds of dollars in paying the debts of poor people, or redeeming their furniture when it was attached. but though many dear ones dropped away from his side, as friend isaac moved onward in his pilgrimage, many remained to sustain and cheer him. among his wife's brothers, his especial friend was john tatum, who lived in the vicinity of his native village. this worthy man had great sympathy with the colored people, and often sheltered the fugitives whom his brother-in-law had rescued. he was remarkable for his love of peace; always preferring to suffer wrong rather than dispute. the influence of this pacific disposition upon others was strikingly illustrated in the case of two of his neighbors. they were respectable people, in easy circumstances, and the families found much pleasure in frequent intercourse with each other. but after a few years, one of the men deemed that an intentional affront had been offered him by the other. instead of good-natured frankness on the occasion, he behaved in a sullen manner, which provoked the other, and the result was that eventually neither of them would speak when they met. their fields joined, and when they were on friendly terms, the boundary was marked by a fence, which they alternately repaired. but when there was feud between them, neither of them was willing to mend the other's fence. so each one built a fence for himself, leaving a very narrow strip of land between, which in process of time came to be generally known by the name of devil's lane, in allusion to the bad temper that produced it. a brook formed another portion of the boundary between their farms, and was useful to both of them. but after they became enemies, if a freshet occurred, each watched an opportunity to turn the water on the other's land, by which much damage was mutually done. they were so much occupied with injuring each other in every possible way, that they neglected their farms and grew poorer and poorer. one of them became intemperate; and everything about their premises began to wear an aspect of desolation and decay. at last, one of the farms was sold to pay a mortgage, and john tatum, who was then about to be married, concluded to purchase it. many people warned him of the trouble he would have with a quarrelsome and intemperate neighbor. but, after mature reflection, he concluded to trust to the influence of a peaceful and kind example, and accordingly purchased the farm. soon after he removed thither, he proposed to do away the devil's lane by building a new fence on the boundary, entirely at his own expense. his neighbor acceded to the proposition in a very surly manner, and for a considerable time seemed determined to find, or make some occasion for quarrel. but the young quaker met all his provocations with forbearance, and never missed an opportunity to oblige him. good finally overcame evil. the turbulent spirit, having nothing to excite it, gradually subsided into calmness. in process of time, he evinced a disposition to be kind and obliging also. habits of temperance and industry returned, and during the last years of his life he was considered a remarkably good neighbor. friend hopper's attachment to the religious society he had joined in early life was quite as strong, perhaps even stronger, than his love of kindred. the yearly meeting of friends at philadelphia was a season of great satisfaction, and he delighted to have his house full of guests, even to overflowing. on these occasions, he obeyed the impulses of his generous nature by seeking out the least wealthy and distinguished, who would be less likely than others to receive many invitations. in addition to these, who were often personal strangers to him, he had his own familiar and cherished friends. a day seldom passed without a visit from nicholas wain, who had great respect and affection for him and his wife, and delighted in their society. he cordially approved of their consistency in carrying out their conscientious convictions into the practices of daily life. some of isaac's relatives and friends thought he devoted rather too much time and attention to philanthropic missions, but nicholas wain always stood by him, a warm and faithful friend to the last. he was a true gentleman, of courtly, pleasing manners, and amusing conversation. notwithstanding his weight of character, he was so playful with the children, that his visits were always hailed by them, as delightful opportunities for fun and frolic. he looked beneath the surface of society, and had learned to estimate men and things according to their real value, not by a conventional standard. his wife did not regard the pomps and vanities of the world with precisely the same degree of indifference that he did. she thought it would be suitable to their wealth and station to have a footman behind her carriage. this wish being frequently expressed, her husband at last promised to comply with it. accordingly, the next time the carriage was ordered, for the purpose of making a stylish call, she was gratified to see a footman mounted. when she arrived at her place of destination, the door of her carriage was opened, and the steps let down in a very obsequious manner, by the new servant; and great was her surprise and confusion, to recognize in him her own husband! jacob lindley, of chester county, was another frequent visitor at friend hopper's house; and many were the lively conversations they had together. he was a preacher in the society of friends, and missed no opportunity, either in public or private, to protest earnestly against the sin of slavery. he often cautioned friends against laying too much stress on their own peculiar forms, while they professed to abjure forms. he said he himself had once received a lesson on this subject, which did him much good. once, when he was seated in meeting, an influential friend walked in, dressed in a coat with large metal buttons, which he had borrowed in consequence of a drenching rain! he seated himself opposite to jacob lindley, who was so much disturbed by the glittering buttons, that "his meeting did him no good." when the congregation rose to depart, he felt constrained to go up to the friend who had so much troubled him, and inquire why he had so grievously departed from the simplicity enjoined upon members of their society. the good man looked down upon his garments, and quietly replied, "i borrowed the coat because my own was wet; and indeed, jacob, i did not notice what buttons were on it." jacob shook his hand warmly, and said, "thou art a better christian than i am, and i will learn of thee." he often used to inculcate the same moral by relating another incident, which happened in old times, when quakers were accustomed to wear cocked hats turned up at the sides. a friend bought a hat of this description, without observing that it was looped up with a button. as he sat in meeting with his hat on, as usual, he observed many eyes directed toward him, and some with a very sorrowful expression. he could not conjecture a reason for this, till he happened to take off his hat and lay it beside him. as soon as he noticed the button, he rose and said, "friends, if religion consists in a button, i wouldn't give a button for it." having delivered this short and pithy sermon, he seated himself, and resumed the offending hat with the utmost composure. once, when jacob lindley was dining with friend hopper, the conversation turned upon his religious experiences, and he related a circumstance to which he said he very seldom alluded, and never without feelings of solemnity and awe. being seized with sudden and severe illness, his soul left the body for several hours, during which time he saw visions of heavenly glory, not to be described. when consciousness began to return, he felt grieved that he was obliged to come back to this state of being, and he was never after able to feel the same interest in terrestrial things, that he had felt before he obtained this glimpse of the spiritual world. arthur howell was another intimate acquaintance of friend hopper. he was a currier in philadelphia, a preacher in the society of friends, characterized by kindly feelings, and a very tender conscience. upon one occasion, he purchased from the captain of a vessel a quantity of oil, which he afterward sold at an advanced price. under these circumstances, he thought the captain had not received so much as he ought to have; and he gave him an additional dollar on every barrel. this man was remarkable for spiritual-mindedness and the gift of prophecy. it was no uncommon thing for him to relate occurrences which were happening at the moment many miles distant, and to foretell the arrival of people, or events, when there appeared to be no external reasons on which to ground such expectations. one sunday morning, he was suddenly impelled to proceed to germantown in haste. as he approached the village, he met a funeral procession. he had no knowledge whatever of the deceased; but it was suddenly revealed to him that the occupant of the coffin before him was a woman whose life had been saddened by the suspicion of a crime, which she never committed. the impression became very strong on his mind that she wished him to make certain statements at her funeral. accordingly, he followed the procession, and when they arrived at the meeting-house, he entered and listened to the prayer delivered by her pastor. when the customary services were finished, arthur howell rose, and asked permission to speak. "i did not know the deceased, even by name," said he. "but it is given me to say, that she suffered much and unjustly. her neighbors generally suspected her of a crime, which she did not commit; and in a few weeks from this time, it will be made clearly manifest to the world that she was innocent. a few hours before her death, she talked on this subject with the clergyman who attended upon her, and who is now present; and it is given me to declare the communication she made to him upon that occasion." he then proceeded to relate the particulars of the interview; to which the clergyman listened with evident astonishment. when the communication was finished, he said, "i don't know who this man is, or how he has obtained information on this subject; but certain it is, he has repeated, word for word, a conversation which i supposed was known only to myself and the deceased." the woman in question had gone out in the fields one day, with her infant in her arms, and she returned without it. she said she had laid it down on a heap of dry leaves, while she went to pick a few flowers; and when she returned, the baby was gone. the fields and woods were searched in vain, and neighbors began to whisper that she had committed infanticide. then rumors arose that she was dissatisfied with her marriage; that her heart remained with a young man to whom she was previously engaged; and that her brain was affected by this secret unhappiness. she was never publicly accused; partly because there was no evidence against her, and partly because it was supposed that if she did commit the crime, it must have been owing to aberration of mind. but she became aware of the whisperings against her, and the consciousness of being an object of suspicion, combined with the mysterious disappearance of her child, cast a heavy cloud over her life, and made her appear more and more unlike her former self. this she confided to her clergyman, in the interview shortly preceding her death; and she likewise told him that the young man, to whom she had been engaged, had never forgiven her for not marrying him. a few weeks after her decease, this young man confessed that he had stolen the babe. he had followed the mother, unobserved by her, and had seen her lay the sleeping infant on its bed of leaves. as he gazed upon it, a mingled feeling of jealousy and revenge took possession of his soul. in obedience to a sudden impulse, he seized the babe, and carried it off hastily. he subsequently conveyed it to a distant village, and placed it out to nurse, under an assumed name and history. the child was found alive and well, at the place he indicated. thus the mother's innocence was made clearly manifest to the world, as the quaker preacher had predicted at her funeral. i often heard friend hopper relate this anecdote, and he always said that he could vouch for the truth of it; and for several other similar things in connection with the ministry of his friend arthur. a singular case of inward perception likewise occurred in the experience of his own mother. in her diary, which is still preserved in the family, she describes a visit to some of her children in philadelphia, and adds: "soon after this, the lord showed me that i should lose a son. it was often told me, though without sound of words. nothing could be more intelligible than this still, small voice. it said, thou wilt lose a son; and he is a pleasant child." her son james resided with relatives in philadelphia, and often went to bathe in the delaware. on one of these occasions, soon after his mother's visit, a friend who went with him sank in the water, and james lost his own life by efforts to save him. a messenger was sent to inform his parents, who lived at the distance of eight miles. while he staid in the house, reluctant to do his mournful errand, the mother was seized with sudden dread, and heard the inward voice saying, "james is drowned." she said abruptly to the messenger, "thou hast come to tell me that my son james is drowned. oh, how did it happen?" he was much surprised, and asked why she thought so. she could give no explanation of it, except that it had been suddenly revealed to her mind. i have heard and read many such stories of quakers, which seem too well authenticated to admit of doubt. they themselves refer all such cases to "the inward light;" and that phrase, as they understand it, conveys a satisfactory explanation to their minds. i leave psychologists to settle the question as they can. those who are well acquainted with quaker views, are aware that by "the inward light," they signify something higher and more comprehensive than conscience. they regard it as the voice of god in the soul, which will always guard man from evil, and guide him into truth, if reverently listened to, in stillness of the passions, and obedience of the will. these strong impressions on individual minds constitute their only call and consecration to the ministry, and have directed' them in the application of moral principles to a variety of subjects, such as intemperance, war, and slavery. men and women were impelled by the interior monitor to go about preaching on these topics, until their individual views became what are called "leading testimonies" in the society. the abjuration of slavery was one of their earliest "testimonies." there was much preaching against it in their public meetings, and many committees were appointed to expostulate in private with those who held slaves. at an early period, it became an established rule of discipline for the society to disown any member, who refused to manumit his bondmen. friend hopper used to tell an interesting anecdote in connection with these committees. in the course of their visits, they concluded to pass by one of their members, who held only one slave, and he was very old. he was too infirm to earn his own living, and as he was very kindly treated, they supposed he would have no wish for freedom. but isaac jackson, one of the committee, a very benevolent and conscientious man, had a strong impression on his mind that duty required him not to omit this case. he accordingly went alone to the master, and stated how the subject appeared to him, in the inward light of his own soul. the friend was not easily convinced. he brought forward many reasons for not emancipating his slave; and one of the strongest was that the man was too feeble to labor for his own support, and therefore freedom would be of no value to him. isaac jackson replied, "he labored for thee without wages, while he had strength, and it is thy duty to support him now. whether he would value freedom or not, is a question he alone is competent to decide." these friendly remonstrances produced such effect, that the master agreed to manumit his bondman, and give a written obligation that he should be comfortably supported during the remainder of his life, by him or his heirs. when the papers were prepared the slave was called into the parlor, and isaac jackson inquired, "would'st thou like to be free?" he promptly answered that he should. the friend suggested that he was now too feeble to labor much, and inquired how he would manage to obtain a living. the old man meekly replied, "providence has been kind to me thus far; and i am willing to trust him the rest of my life." isaac jackson then held up the papers and said, "thou art a free man. thy master has manumitted thee, and promised to maintain thee as long as thou mayest live." this was so unexpected, that the aged bondman was completely overcome. for a few moments, he remained in profound silence; then, with a sudden impulse, he fell on his knees, and poured forth a short and fervent prayer of thanksgiving to his heavenly father, for prolonging his life till he had the happiness to feel himself a free man. the master and his adviser were both surprised and affected by this eloquent outburst of grateful feeling. the poor old servant had seemed so comfortable and contented, that no one supposed freedom was of great importance to him. but, as honest isaac jackson observed, _he_ alone was competent to decide _that_ question. quakers consider "the inward light" as a guide not merely in cases involving moral principles, but also in the regulation of external affairs; and in the annals of their society, are some remarkable instances of dangers avoided by the help of this internal monitor. friend hopper used to mention a case where a strong impression had been made on his own mind, without his being able to assign any adequate reason for it. a young man, descended from a highly respectable quaker family in new-jersey, went to south carolina and entered into business. he married there, and as his wife did not belong to the society of friends, he was of course disowned. after some years of commercial success, he failed, and went to philadelphia, where friend hopper became acquainted with him, and formed an opinion not unfavorable. when he had been in that city some time, he mentioned that his wife owned land in carolina, which he was very desirous to cultivate, but was prevented by conscientious scruples concerning slave-labor. he said if he could induce some colored people from philadelphia to go there and work for him as free laborers, it would be an advantage to him, and a benefit to them. he urged friend hopper to exert his influence over them to convince them that such precautions could be taken, as would prevent any danger of their being reduced to slavery; saying that if he would consent to do so, he doubtless could obtain as many laborers as he wanted. the plan appeared feasible, and friend hopper was inclined to assist him in carrying it into execution. soon after, two colored men called upon him, and said they were ready to go, provided he thought well of the project. nothing had occurred to change his opinion of the man, or to excite distrust concerning his agricultural scheme. but an impression came upon his mind that the laborers had better not go; an impression so strong, that he thought it right to be influenced by it. he accordingly told them he had thought well of the plan, but his views had changed, and he advised them to remain where they were. this greatly surprised the man who wished to employ them, and he called to expostulate on the subject; repeating his statement concerning the great advantage they would derive from entering into his service. "there is no use in arguing the matter," replied friend hopper. "i have no cause whatever to suspect thee of any dishonest or dishonorable intentions; but there is on my mind an impression of danger, so powerful that i cannot conscientiously have any agency in inducing colored laborers to go with thee." not succeeding in his project, the bankrupt merchant went to new-jersey for a time, to reside with his father, who was a worthy and influential member of the society of friends. an innocent, good natured old colored man, a fugitive from virginia, had for some time been employed to work on the farm, and the family had become much attached to him. the son who had returned from carolina was very friendly with this simple-hearted old servant, and easily gained his confidence. when he had learned his story, he offered to write to his master, and enable him to purchase his freedom for a sum which he could gradually repay by labor. the fugitive was exceedingly grateful, and put himself completely in his power by a full statement of all particulars. the false-hearted man did indeed write to the master; and the poor old slave was soon after arrested and carried to philadelphia in irons. friend hopper was sent for, and went to see him in prison. with groans and sobs, the captive told how wickedly he had been deceived. "i thought he was a quaker, and so i trusted him," said he. "but i saw my master's agent pay him fifty dollars for betraying me." friend hopper assured him that the deceiver was not a quaker; and that he did not believe any quaker on the face of the earth would do such an unjust and cruel deed. he could devise no means to rescue the sufferer; and with an aching heart he was compelled to see him carried off into slavery, without being able to offer any other solace than an affectionate farewell. the conduct of this base hypocrite proved that the warning presentiment against him had not been without foundation. grieved and indignant at the wrong he had done to a helpless and unoffending fellow-creature, friend hopper wrote to him as follows: "yesterday, i visited the poor old man in prison, whom thou hast so perfidiously betrayed. gloomy and hopeless as his case is, i would prefer it to thine. thou hast received fifty dollars as the reward of thy treachery; but what good can it do thee? canst thou lay down thy head at night, without feeling the sharp goadings of a guilty conscience? canst thou ask forgiveness of thy sins of our heavenly father, whom thou hast so grievously insulted by thy hypocrisy? judas betrayed his master for thirty pieces of silver, and afterward hung himself. thou hast betrayed thy brother for fifty; and if thy conscience is not seared, as with hot iron, thy compunction must be great. i feel no disposition to upbraid thee. i have no doubt thy own heart does that sufficiently; for our beneficent creator will not suffer any to be at ease in their sins. thy friend, i.t.h." the worthy old quaker in new-jersey was not aware of his son's villainous conduct until some time after. when the circumstances were made known to the family they were exceedingly mortified and afflicted. friend hopper used to tell another story, which forms a beautiful contrast to the foregoing painful narrative. i repeat it, because it illustrates the tenderness of spirit, which has so peculiarly characterized the society of friends, and because i hope it may fall like dew on hearts parched by vindictive feelings. charles carey lived near philadelphia, in a comfortable house with a few acres of pasture adjoining. a young horse, apparently healthy, though lean, was one day offered him in the market for fifty dollars. the cheapness tempted him to purchase; for he thought the clover of his pastures would soon put the animal in good condition, and enable him to sell him at an advanced price. he was too poor to command the required sum himself, but he borrowed it of a friend. the horse, being well fed and lightly worked, soon became a noble looking animal, and was taken to the city for sale. but scarcely had he entered the market, when a stranger stepped up and claimed him as his property, recently stolen. charles carey's son, who had charge of the animal, was taken before a magistrate. isaac t. hopper was sent for, and easily proved that the character of the young man and his father was above all suspicion. but the stranger produced satisfactory evidence that he was the rightful owner of the horse, which was accordingly delivered up to him. when charles carey heard the unwelcome news, he quietly remarked, "it is hard for me to lose the money; but i am glad the man has recovered his property." about a year afterward, having occasion to go to a tavern in philadelphia, he saw a man in the bar-room, whom he at once recognized as the person who had sold him the horse. he walked up to him, and inquired whether he remembered the transaction. being answered in the affirmative, he said, "i am the man who bought that horse. didst thou know he was stolen?" with a stupified manner and a faltering voice, the stranger answered, "yes." "come along with me, then," said charles; "and i will put thee where thou wilt not steal another horse very soon." the thief resigned himself to his fate with a sort of hopeless indifference. but before they reached the magistrate's office, the voice within began to plead gently with the quaker, and turned him from the sternness of his purpose. "i am a poor man," said he, "and thou hast greatly injured me. i cannot afford to lose fifty dollars; but to prosecute thee will not compensate me for the loss. go thy way, and conduct thyself honestly in future." the man seemed amazed. he stood for a moment, hesitating and confused; then walked slowly away. but after taking a few steps, he turned back and said, "where can i find you, if i should ever be able to make restitution for the wrong i have done?" charles replied, "i trust thou dost not intend to jest with me, after all the trouble thou hast caused me?" "no, indeed i do not," answered the stranger. "i hope to repay you, some time or other." "very well," rejoined the friend, "if thou ever hast anything for me, thou canst leave it with isaac t. hopper, at the corner of walnut and dock-streets." thus they parted, and never met again. about a year after, friend hopper found a letter on his desk, addressed to charles carey. when it was delivered to him, he was surprised to find that it came from the man who had stolen the horse, and contained twenty dollars. a few months later, another letter containing the same sum, was left in the same way. not long after, a third letter arrived, enclosing twenty dollars; the whole forming a sum sufficient to repay both principal and interest of the money which the kind-hearted quaker had lost by his dishonesty. this last letter stated that the writer had no thoughts of stealing the horse ten minutes before he did it. after he had sold him, he was so haunted by remorse and fear of detection, that life became a burthen to him, and he cared not what became of him. but when he was arrested, and so unexpectedly set at liberty, the crushing weight was taken from him. he felt inspired by fresh courage, and sustained by the hope of making some atonement for what he had done. he made strenuous efforts to improve his condition, and succeeded. he was then teaching school, was assessor of the township where he resided, and no one suspected that he had ever committed a dishonest action. the good man, to whom this epistle was addressed, read it with moistened eyes, and felt that the reward of righteousness is peace. for many years after isaac t. hopper joined the society of friends, a spirit of peace and of kindly communion prevailed among them. no sect has ever arisen which so nearly approached the character of primitive christianity, in all relations with each other and with their fellow men. but as soon as the early christians were relieved from persecution, they began to persecute each other; and so it was with the quakers. having become established and respected by the world, the humble and self-denying spirit which at the outset renounced and contended with the world gradually departed. many of them were rich, and not unfrequently their fortunes were acquired by trading with slave-holders. such men were well satisfied to have the testimonies of their spiritual forefathers against slavery read over among themselves, at stated seasons; but they felt little sympathy with those of their cotemporaries, who considered it a duty to remonstrate publicly and freely with all who were connected with the iniquitous system. a strong and earnest preacher, by the name of elias hicks, made himself more offensive than others in this respect. he appears to have been a very just and conscientious man, with great reverence for god, and exceedingly little for human authority. everywhere, in public and in private, he lifted up his voice against the sin of slavery. he would eat no sugar that was made by slaves, and wear no garment which he supposed to have been produced by unpaid labor. in a remarkable manner, he showed this "ruling passion strong in death." a few hours before he departed from this world, his friends, seeing him shiver, placed a comfortable over him. he felt of it with his feeble hands, and made a strong effort to push it away. when they again drew it up over his shoulders, he manifested the same symptoms of abhorrence. one of them, who began to conjecture the cause, inquired, "dost thou dislike it because it is made of cotton?" he was too far gone to speak, but he moved his head in token of assent. when they removed the article of slave produce, and substituted a woolen blanket, he remained quiet, and passed away in peace. he was accustomed to say, "it takes _live_ fish to swim _up_ stream;" and unquestionably he and his friend isaac t. hopper were both very much alive. the quiet boldness of this man was altogether unmanageable. in virginia or carolina, he preached more earnestly and directly against slavery, than he did in new-york or pennsylvania; for the simple reason that it seemed to be more needed there. upon one of these occasions, a slaveholder who went to hear him from curiosity, left the meeting in great wrath, swearing he would blow out that fellow's brains if he ventured near his plantation. when the preacher heard of this threat, he put on his hat and proceeded straightway to the forbidden place. in answer to his inquiries, a slave informed him that his master was then at dinner, but would see him in a short time. he seated himself and waited patiently until the planter entered the room. with a calm and dignified manner, he thus addressed him: "i understand thou hast threatened to blow out the brains of elias hicks, if he comes upon thy plantation. i am elias hicks." the virginian acknowledged that he did make such a threat, and said he considered it perfectly justifiable to do such a deed, when a man came to preach rebellion to his slaves. "i came to preach the gospel, which inculcates forgiveness of injuries upon slaves as well as upon other men," replied the quaker. "but tell me, if thou canst, how this gospel can be _truly_ preached, without showing the slaves that they _are_ injured, and thus making a man of thy sentiments feel as if they were encouraged in rebellion." this led to a long argument, maintained in the most friendly spirit. at parting, the slaveholder shook hands with the preacher, and invited him to come again. his visits were renewed, and six months after, the virginian emancipated all his slaves. when preaching in the free states, he earnestly called upon all to abstain from slave-produce, and thus in a measure wash their own hands from participation in a system of abominable wickedness and cruelty. his zeal on this subject annoyed some of his brethren, but they could not make him amenable to discipline for it; for these views were in accordance with the earliest and strongest testimonies of the society of friends; moreover, it would have been discreditable to acknowledge _such_ a ground of offence. but the secret dissatisfaction showed itself in a disposition to find fault with him. charges were brought against his doctrines. he was accused of denying the authority of scripture, and the divinity of christ. it was a departure from the original basis of the society to assume any standard whatsoever concerning creeds. it is true that the early quakers wrote volumes of controversy against many of the prevailing opinions of their day; such as the doctrine of predestination, and of salvation depending upon faith, rather than upon works. all the customary external observances, such as holy days, baptism, and the lord's supper, they considered as belonging to a less spiritual age, and that the time had come for them to be done away. concerning the trinity, there appears to have been difference of opinion among them from the earliest time. when george fox expressed a fear that william penn had gone too far in defending "the true unity of god," penn replied that he had never heard any one speak more plainly concerning the manhood of christ, than george fox himself. penn was imprisoned in the tower for "rejecting the mystery of the trinity," in a book called "the sandy foundation shaken." he afterward wrote "innocency with her open face," regarded by some as a compromise, which procured his release. but though various popular doctrines naturally came in their way, and challenged discussion, while they were endeavoring to introduce a new order of things, the characteristic feature of their movement was attention to practical righteousness rather than theological tenets. they did not require their members to profess faith in any creed. they had but one single bond of union; and that was the belief that every man ought to be guided in his actions, and in the interpretation of scripture, by the light within his own soul. their history shows that they mainly used this light to guide them in the application of moral principles. upon the priesthood, in every form, they made unsparing warfare; believing that the gifts of the spirit ought never to be paid with money. they appointed committees to visit the sick, the afflicted, and the destitute, and to superintend marriages and funerals. the farmer, the shoemaker, the physician, or the merchant, followed his vocation diligently, and whenever the spirit moved him to exhort his brethren, he did so. the "first, and fifth day" of the week, called by other denominations sunday and thursday, were set apart by them for religious meetings. women were placed on an equality with men, by being admitted to this free gospel ministry, and appointed on committees with men, to regulate the affairs of the society. they abjured war under all circumstances, and suffered great persecution rather than pay military taxes. they early discouraged the distillation or use of spirituous liquors, and disowned any of their members who distilled them from grain. protests against slavery were among their most earnest testimonies, and it was early made a rule of discipline that no member of the society should hold slaves. when the quakers first arose, it was a custom in england, as it still is on the continent of europe, to say _thou_ to an inferior, or equal, and _you_ to a superior. they saw in this custom an infringement of the great law of human brotherhood; and because they would "call no man master," they said _thou_ to every person, without distinction of rank. to the conservatives of their day, this spiritual democracy seemed like deliberate contempt of authority; and as such, deserving of severe punishment. more strenuously than all other things, they denied the right of any set of men to prescribe a creed for others. the only authority they recognized was "the light within;" and for freedom to follow this, they were always ready to suffer or to die. on all these subjects, there could be no doubt that elias hicks was a quaker of the old genuine stamp. but he differed from many others in some of his theological views. he considered christ as "the only son of the most high god;" but he denied that "the _outward person_," which suffered on calvary was properly the son of god. he attached less importance to miracles, than did many of his brethren. he said he had learned more of his own soul, and had clearer revelations of god and duty, while following his plough, than from all the books he had ever read. he reverenced the bible as a record of divine power and goodness, but did not consider a knowledge of it essential to salvation; for he supposed that a hindoo or an african, who never heard of the scriptures, or of christ, might become truly a child of god, if he humbly and sincerely followed the divine light within, given to every human soul, according to the measure of its faithfulness. many of his brethren, whose views assimilated more with orthodox opinions, accused him of having departed from the principles of early friends. but his predecessors had been guided only by the light within; and he followed the same guide, without deciding beforehand precisely how far it might lead him. this principle, if sincerely adopted and consistently applied, would obviously lead to large and liberal results, sufficient for the progressive growth of all coming ages. it was so generally admitted to be the one definite bond of union among early friends, that the right of elias hicks to utter his own convictions, whether they were in accordance with others or not, would probably never have been questioned, if some influential members of the society had not assumed more power than was delegated to them; thereby constituting themselves a kind of ecclesiastical tribunal. it is the nature of such authority to seek enlargement of its boundaries, by encroaching more and more on individual freedom. the friends of elias hicks did not adopt his views or the views of any other man as a standard of opinion. on the subject of the trinity, for instance, there were various shadings of opinion among them. the probability seems to be that the influence of unitarian sects, and of orthodox sects had, in the course of years, gradually glided in among the quakers, and more or less fashioned their theological opinions, though themselves were unconscious of it; as we all are of the surrounding air we are constantly inhaling. but it was not the unitarianism of elias hicks that his adherents fought for, or considered it necessary to adopt. they simply contended for his right to express his own convictions, and denied the authority of any man, or body of men, to judge his preaching by the assumed standard of any creed. therefore, the real ground of the struggle seems to have been resistance to ecclesiastical power; though theological opinions unavoidably became intertwisted with it. it was a new form of the old battle, perpetually renewed ever since the world began, between authority and individual freedom. the agitation, which had for some time been heaving under the surface, is said to have been brought into open manifestation by a sermon which elias hicks preached against the use of slave produce, in . a bitter warfare followed. those who refused to denounce his opinions were accused of being infidels and separatists; and they called their accusers bigoted and intolerant. with regard to disputed doctrines, both claimed to find sufficient authority in the writings of early friends; and each side charged the other with mutilating and misrepresenting those writings. as usual in theological controversies, the skein became more and more entangled, till there was no way left but to cut it in two. in and , a separation took place in the yearly meetings of philadelphia, new-york, and several other places. thenceforth, the members were divided into two distinct sects. in some places the friends of elias hicks were far the more numerous. in others, his opponents had a majority. each party claimed to be the genuine society of friends, and denied the other's right to retain the title. the opponents of elias hicks called themselves "orthodox friends," and named his adherents "hicksites." the latter repudiated the title, because they did not acknowledge him as their standard of belief, though they loved and reverenced his character, and stood by him as the representative of liberty of conscience. they called themselves "friends," and the others "the orthodox." the question which was the genuine society of friends was more important than it would seem to a mere looker on; for large pecuniary interests were involved therein. it is well known that quakers form a sort of commonwealth by themselves, within the civil commonwealth by which they are governed. they pay the public school-tax, and in addition build their own school-houses, and employ teachers of their own society. they support their own poor, while they pay the same pauper tax as other citizens. they have burying grounds apart from others, because they have conscientious scruples concerning monuments and epitaphs. of course, the question which of the two contending parties was the true society of friends involved the question who owned the meeting-houses, the burying grounds, and the school funds. the friends of elias hicks offered to divide the property, according to the relative numbers of each party; but those called orthodox refused to accept the proposition. lawsuits were brought in various parts of the country. what a bitter state of animosity existed may be conjectured from the fact that the "orthodox" in philadelphia refused to allow "hicksites" to bury their dead in the ground belonging to the undivided society of friends. on the occasion of funerals, they refused to deliver up the key; and after their opponents had remonstrated in vain, they forced the lock. i believe in almost every instance, where the "hicksites" were a majority, and thus had a claim to the larger share of property, they offered to divide in proportion to the relative numbers of the two parties. after the separation in new-york, they renewed this offer, which had once been rejected; and the "orthodox" finally agreed to accept a stipulated sum for their interest in the property. the friends called "hicksites" numbered in the whole more than seventy thousand. quakers in england generally took part against elias hicks and his friends. some, who were styled "the evangelical party," went much beyond their brethren in conformity with the prevailing denominations of christians called orthodox. many of them considered a knowledge of the letter of scripture essential to salvation; and some even approved of baptism by water; a singular departure from the total abrogation of external rites, which characterized quakerism from the beginning. william and mary howitt, the well known and highly popular english writers, were born members of this religious society. in an article concerning the hicksite controversy, written for the london christian advocate, the former says: "my opinion is, that friends will see cause to repent the excision of that great portion of their own body, on the plea of heretical opinions. by sanctioning it, they are bound, if they act impartially and consistently, to expel others also for heterodox opinions. this comes of violating the sacred liberty of conscience; of allowing ourselves to be infected with the leaven of a blind zeal, instead of the broad philanthropy of christ. is there no better alternative? yes. to adopt the principle of william penn; to allow freedom of opinion; and while we permit the evangelical party to hold _their_ favorite notions, so long as they consent to conform to our system of public worship, to confess that we have acted harshly to the hicksites, and open our arms to all who are sincere in their faith, and orderly in their conduct." as the adherents of elias hicks at that time represented freedom of conscience, of course isaac t. hopper belonged to that party, and advocated it with characteristic zeal. in fact, he seems to have been the napoleon of the battle. it was not in his nature intentionally to misrepresent any man; and even when the controversy was raging most furiously, i believe there never was a time when he would not willingly have acknowledged a mistake the moment he perceived it. but his temperament was such, that wherever he deemed a principle of truth, justice, or freedom was at stake, he could never quit an adversary till he had demolished him completely, and _convinced_ him that he was demolished; though he often felt great personal kindness toward the individual thus prostrated, and was always willing to render him any friendly service. he used to say that his resistance in this controversy was principally roused by the disposition which he saw manifested "to crush worthy, innocent friends, for mere difference of opinion;" and no one, who knew him well, could doubt that on this subject, as on others, he was impelled by a sincere love of truth and justice. but neither he nor any other person ever entered the lists of theological controversy without paying dearly for the encounter. perpetual strife grieved and disturbed his own spirit, while his energy, perseverance, and bluntness of speech, gained him many enemies. wherever this unfortunate sectarian schism was introduced, it divided families, and burst asunder the bonds of friendship. for a long time, they seemed to be a society of enemies, instead of a society of friends. in this respect, no one suffered more acutely than isaac t. hopper. it was his nature to form very strong friendships; and at this painful juncture, many whom he had long loved and trusted, parted from him. among them was his cousin joseph whitall, who had embraced quakerism at the same period of life, who had been the friend of his boyhood, and the cherished companion of later years. they had no personal altercation, but their intimacy gradually cooled off, and they became as strangers. he had encountered other difficulties also, at a former period of his life, the shadows of which still lay across his path. about twelve or fifteen years after his marriage, his health began to fail. his vigorous frame pined away to a mere shadow, and he was supposed to be in a consumption. at the same time, he found himself involved in pecuniary difficulties, the burden of which weighed very heavily upon him, for many reasons. his strong sense of justice made it painful for him to owe debts he could not pay. he had an exceeding love of imparting to others, and these pecuniary impediments tied down his large soul with a thousand lilliputian cords. he had an honest pride of independence, which chafed under any obligation that could be avoided. his strong attachment to the society of friends rendered him sensitive to their opinion; and at that period their rules were exceedingly strict concerning any of their members, who contracted debts they were unable to pay. people are always ready to censure a man who is unprosperous in worldly affairs; and if his character is such as to render him prominent, he is all the more likely to be handled harshly. of these trials friend hopper had a large share, and they disturbed him exceedingly; but the consciousness of upright intentions kept him from sinking under the weight that pressed upon him. he was always a very industrious man, and whatever he did was well done. but the fact was, the claims upon his time and attention were too numerous to be met by any one mortal man. he had a large family to support, and during many years his house was a home for poor quakers, and others, from far and near. he had much business to transact in the society of friends, of which he was then an influential and highly respected member. he was one of the founders and secretary of a society for the employment of the poor; overseer of the benezet school for colored children; teacher, without recompense, in a free school for colored adults; inspector of the prison, without a salary; member of a fire-company; guardian of abused apprentices; the lawyer and protector of slaves and colored people, upon all occasions. when pestilence was raging, he was devoted to the sick. the poor were continually calling upon him to plead with importunate landlords and creditors. he was not unfrequently employed to settle estates involved in difficulties, which others were afraid to undertake. he had occasional applications to exert influence over the insane, for which he had peculiar tact. when he heard of a man beginning to form habits likely to prove injurious to himself or his family, he would go to him, whether his rank were high or low, and have private conversations with him. he would tell him some story, or suppose some case, and finally make him feel, "thou art the man." he had a great gift in that way, and the exertion of it sometimes seasonably recalled those who were sliding into dangerous paths. when one reflects upon the time that must have been bestowed on all these avocations, do his pecuniary embarrassments require any further explanation? a member of his own society summed up the case very justly in few words. hearing him censured by certain individuals, she replied, "the whole amount of it is this:--the bible requires us to love our neighbor as well as ourselves; and friend isaac has loved them better." these straitened circumstances continued during the remainder of his residence in philadelphia; and his family stood by him nobly through the trial. household expenses were reduced within the smallest possible limits. his wife opened a tea-store, as an available means of increasing their income. the simple dignity of her manners, and her pleasing way of talking, attracted many ladies, even among the fashionable, who liked to chat with the handsome quaker matron, while they were purchasing household stores. the elder daughters taught school, and took upon themselves double duty in the charge of a large family of younger children. how much they loved and honored their father, was indicated by their zealous efforts to assist and sustain him. i have heard him tell, with much emotion, how one of them slipped some of her earnings into his pocket, while he slept in his arm-chair. she was anxious to save him from the pain of being unable to meet necessary expenses, and at the same time to keep him ignorant of the source whence relief came. his spirit of independence never bent under the pressure of misfortune. he was willing to deprive himself of everything, except the simplest necessaries of life; but he struggled manfully against incurring obligations. there was a quaker fund for the gratuitous education of children; but when he was urged to avail himself of it, he declined, because he thought such funds ought to be reserved for those whose necessities were greater than his own. the government added its exactions to other pecuniary annoyances; but it had no power to warp the inflexibility of his principles. he had always refused to pay the militia tax, because, in common with all conscientious quakers, he considered it wrong to do anything for the support of war. it seems no more than just that a sect, who pay a double school-tax, and a double pauper-tax, and who almost never occasion the state any expense by their crimes, should be excused for believing themselves bound to obey the injunction of jesus, to return good for evil; but politicians have decided that practical christianity is not always consistent with the duty of citizens. accordingly, when friend hopper refused to pay for guns and swords, to shoot and stab his fellow men, they seized his goods to pay the tax. the articles chosen were often of much greater value than their demand, and were sacrificed by a hurried and careless sale. his wife had received a handsome outfit from her father, at the time of her marriage; but she was destined to see one article of furniture after another seized to pay the military fines, which were alike abhorrent to her heart and her conscience. among these articles, was a looking glass, of an unusually large and clear plate, which was valuable as property, and dear to her as a bridal gift from her parents. she could not see it carried off by the officer, to meet the expenses of military reviews, without a sigh--perhaps a tear. but she was not a woman ever to imply a wish to have her husband compromise his principles. thus bearing up bravely against the pelting storms of life, he went on, hand in hand with his beloved sarah. but at last, he was called to part with the steady friend and pleasant companion of his brightest and his darkest hours. she passed from him into the spiritual world on the eighteenth of the sixth month, (june,) , in the forty-seventh year of her age. she suffered much from the wasting pains of severe dyspepsia; but religious hope and faith enabled her to endure all her trials with resignation, and to view the approach of death with cheerful serenity of soul. toward the close of her life, the freshness of her complexion was injured by continual suffering; but though pale, she remained a handsome woman to the last. during her long illness, she received innumerable marks of respect and affection from friends and neighbors; for she was beloved by all who knew her. a short time before her death, she offered the following prayer for the dear ones she was so soon to leave; "o lord, permit me to ask thy blessing for this family. thy favor is better than all the world can give. for want of keeping close to thy counsel, my soul has often been pierced with sorrow. pity my weakness. look thou from heaven, and forgive. enable me, i beseech thee, to renew my covenant, and so to live under the influence of thy holy spirit, as to keep it. preserve me in the hour of temptation. thou alone knowest how prone i am to err on the right side and on the left. bless the children! o lord, visit and re-visit their tender minds. lead them in the paths of uprightness, for thy name's sake. i ask not riches nor honor for them; but an inheritance in thy ever-blessed truth." she left nine children, the youngest but six years old, to mourn the loss of a most tender careful and self-sacrificing mother. while her bereaved husband was still under the shadow of this great grief, he was called to part with his son isaac, who in little more than a year, followed his mother, at the early age of fifteen. he was a sedate gentle lad, and had always been a very pleasant child to his parents. his father cherished his memory with great tenderness, and seldom spoke of him without expressing his conviction that if he had lived he would have become a highly acceptable minister in the society of friends; a destiny which would have been more agreeable to his parental feelings, than having a son president of the united states. soon after this melancholy event, friend hopper went to maryland, to visit two sisters who resided there. he was accompanied in this journey by his wife's brother, david tatum. at an inn where they stopped for refreshment, the following characteristic incident occurred: a colored girl brought in a pitcher of water. "art thou a slave?" said friend hopper. when she answered in the affirmative, he started up and exclaimed, "it is against my principles to be waited upon by a slave." his more timid brother-in-law inquired, in a low tone of voice, whether he were aware that the mistress was within hearing. "to be sure i am," answered isaac aloud. "what would be the use of saying it, if she were _not_ within hearing?" he then emptied the pitcher of water, and went out to the well to re-fill it for himself. seeing the landlady stare at these proceedings, he explained to her that he thought it wrong to avail himself of unpaid labor. in reply, she complained of the ingratitude of slaves, and the hard condition of their masters. "it is very inconvenient to live so near a free state," said she. "i had sixteen slaves; but ten of them have run away, and i expect the rest will soon go." "i hope they will," said isaac. "i am sure i would run away, if i were a slave." at first, she was disposed to be offended; but he reasoned the matter with her, in a quiet and friendly manner, and they parted on very civil terms. david tatum often used to tell this anecdote, after they returned home; and he generally added, "i never again will travel in a southern state with brother isaac; for i am sure it would be at the risk of my life." time soothes all afflictions; and those who have dearly loved their first companion are sometimes more likely than others to form a second connexion; for the simple reason that they cannot learn to do without the happiness to which they have been accustomed. there was an intimate friend of the family, a member of the same religious society, named hannah attmore. she was a gentle and quiet person, of an innocent and very pleasing countenance. her father, a worthy and tender spirited man, had been an intimate friend of isaac t. hopper, and always sympathized with his efforts for the oppressed. a strong attachment had likewise existed between her and friend hopper's wife; and during her frequent visits to the house, it was her pleasure to volunteer assistance in the numerous household cares. the fact that his sarah had great esteem for her, was doubtless a strong attraction to the widower. his suit was favorably received, and they were married on the fourth of the second month, (february) . she was considerably younger than her bridegroom; but vigorous health and elastic spirits had preserved his youthful appearance, while her sober dress and grave deportment, made her seem older than she really was. she became the mother of four children, two of whom died in early childhood. little thomas, who ended his brief career in three years and a half, was always remembered by his parents, and other members of the family, as a remarkably bright, precocious child, beautiful as an infant angel. it has been already stated that the schism in the society of friends introduced much controversy concerning the theological opinions of its founders. there was consequently an increased demand for their writings, and the branch called "hicksites" felt the need of a bookstore. friend hopper's business had never been congenial to his character, and of late years it had become less profitable. a large number of his wealthiest customers were "orthodox;" and when he took part with elias hicks, they ceased to patronize him. he was perfectly aware that such would be the result; but whenever it was necessary to choose between his principles and prosperity, he invariably followed what he believed to be the truth. he was considered a suitable person to superintend the proposed bookstore, and as the state of his financial affairs rendered a change desirable, he concluded to accede to the proposition of his friends. for that purpose, he removed to the city of new-york in . in the autumn of the following year, some disputed claims, which his wife had on the estate of her maternal grandfather in ireland, made it necessary for him to visit that country. experience had painfully convinced him that theological controversy sometimes leads to personal animosity; and that few people were so open and direct in their mode of expressing hostility, as he himself was. therefore, before going abroad, he took the precaution to ask letters from citizens of various classes and sects in philadelphia; and he found no difficulty in obtaining them from the most respectable and distinguished. matthew carey, the well known philanthropist wrote as follows: "as you are about to visit my native country, and have applied to me for a testimonial concerning your character, i cheerfully comply with your request. i have been well acquainted with you for about thirty-five years, and i can testify that, during the whole of that time, you have been a perfect pest to our southern neighbors. a southern gentleman could scarcely visit this city, without having his slave taken from him by your instrumentality; so that they dread you, as they do the devil." after enjoying a mutual laugh over this epistle, another was written for the public, certifying that he had known isaac t. hopper for many years as "a useful and respectable citizen of the fairest character." when friend hopper arrived in ireland, he found many of the quakers prejudiced against him, and many untrue stories in circulation, as he had expected. sometimes, when he visited public places, he would overhear people saying to each other, in a low voice, "that's isaac t. hopper, who has given friends so much trouble in america." a private letter from an "orthodox" quaker in philadelphia was copied and circulated in all directions, greatly to his disadvantage. it represented him as a man of sanctified appearance, but wholly unworthy of credit; that business of a pecuniary nature was a mere pretence to cover artful designs; his real object being to spread heretical doctrines in ireland, and thus sow dissension among friends. in his journal of this visit to a foreign land, friend hopper says: "it is astonishing what strange ideas some of them have concerning me. they have been informed that i can find stolen goods, and am often applied to on such occasions. i think it would be no hard matter to make them believe me a wizard." this was probably a serious version of his pleasantry with the dutchman about finding his goods by calculating the age of the moon. many of the irish friends had formed from hearsay the most extravagant misconceptions concerning the friends called "hicksites." they supposed them to be outright infidels, and that the grossest immoralities were tolerated among them; that they pointed loaded pistols at the "orthodox" brethren, and drove them out of their own meeting-houses by main force. one of them expressed great surprise when friend hopper informed him that they were in the constant habit of reading the scriptures in their families, and maintained among themselves the same discipline that had always been used in the society. sometimes when he attended quaker meetings during the early portion of his visit, the ministers preached at him, by cautioning young people to beware of the adversary, who was now going about like a cunning serpent, in which form he was far more dangerous, than when he assumed the appearance of a roaring lion. but after a while, this tendency was rebuked by other preachers, who inculcated forbearance in judging others; reminding their hearers that the spirit of the gospel always breathed peace and good will toward men. as for isaac himself, he behaved with characteristic openness. when a stranger, in quaker costume, introduced himself, and invited him to go home and dine with him, he replied, "i am represented by some people as a very bad man; and i do not wish to impose myself upon the hospitality of strangers, without letting them know who i am." the stranger assured him that he knew very well who he was, and cared not a straw what opinions they accused him of; that he was going to have a company of friends at dinner, who wished to converse with him. he went accordingly, and was received with true irish hospitality and kindness. upon another occasion, a quaker lady, who did not know he was a "hicksite," observed to him, "i suppose the society of friends are very much thinned in america, since so many have gone off from them." he replied, "it is always best to be candid. i belong to the party called hicksites, deists, and schismatics; and i suppose they are the ones to whom thou hast alluded as having gone off from the society. i should like to talk with thee concerning the separation in america; for we have been greatly misrepresented. but i came to this country solely on business, and i have no wish to say or do anything that can unsettle the mind, or wound the feelings of any friend." she seemed very much surprised, and for a minute or two covered her face with her hands. but when the company broke up, some hours after, she followed him into the entry, and cordially invited him to visit her. "what! canst thou tolerate the company of a heretic?" he exclaimed. she replied with a smile, "yes, such a one as thou art." in fact, wherever he had a chance to make himself known, prejudices melted away under the influence of his frank and kindly manners. some people of other sects, as well of his own, took an interest in him for the very reasons that caused distrust and dislike in others; viz: because they had heard of him as the champion of perfect liberty of conscience, who considered it unnecessary to bind men by any creed whatsoever. among these, he mentions in his journal, professor stokes of dublin, who relinquished a salary of two thousand eight hundred pounds a year, because he could not conscientiously subscribe to the doctrine of the trinity. it was proposed to dismiss him from the college altogether; but he demanded a hearing before the trustees and students. this privilege could not be denied, without infringing the laws of the institution; and deeming that such a discussion might prove injurious, they concluded to retain him, on a salary of eight hundred pounds. friend hopper describes him thus: "he is an intelligent and liberal-minded man, and has a faculty of exposing the errors and absurdities of the athanasian creed to much purpose. he was of a good spirit, and i was much gratified with his company. he insisted upon accompanying me home in the evening, and though i remonstrated against it, on account of his advanced age, he attended me to the door of my lodgings." during this visit to ireland, friend hopper was treated with great hospitality and respect by many who were wealthy, and many who were not wealthy; by members of the society of friends, and of various other religious sects. he formed a high estimate of the irish character, and to the day of his death, always spoke with warm affection of the friends he found there. in his journal, he often alludes with pleasure to the children he met with, in families where he visited; for he was always extremely partial to the young. speaking of a visit to a gentleman in the environs of dublin, by the name of wilson, he says: "i rose early in the morning, and the eldest daughter, about ten or eleven years old, very politely invited me to walk with her. we rambled about in the pastures, and through beautiful groves of oak, beech and holly. the little creature tried her very best to amuse me. she told me about the birds and the hares, and other inhabitants of the woods. she inquired whether i did not want very much to see my wife and children; and exclaimed, 'how i should like to see you meet them! it would give you so much pleasure!'" he speaks of a little girl in another family, who seemed very much attracted toward him, and finally whispered to her father, "i want to go and speak to that friend." she was introduced accordingly, and they had much pleasant chat together. in one of the families where he visited, they told him an instructive story concerning a quaker who resided in dublin, by the name of joseph torrey. one day when he was passing through the streets, he saw a man leading a horse, which was evidently much diseased. his compassionate heart was pained by the sight, and he asked the man where he was going. he replied, "the horse has the staggers, and i am going to sell him to the carrion-butchers." "wilt thou sell him to me for a crown!" inquired joseph. the man readily assented, and the poor animal was led to the stable of his new friend, where he was most kindly tended. suitable remedies and careful treatment soon restored him to health and beauty. one day, when friend torrey was riding him in phoenix park, a gentleman looked very earnestly at the horse, and at last inquired whether his owner would be willing to sell him. "perhaps i would," replied joseph, "if i could get a very good master for him." "he so strongly resembles a favorite horse i once had, that i should think he was the same, if i didn't know he was dead," rejoined the stranger. "did he die in thy stable?" inquired joseph. the gentleman replied, "no. he had the staggers very badly, and i sent him to the carrion-butchers." "i should be sorry to sell an animal to any man, who would send him to the carrion-butchers because he was diseased," answered joseph. "if thou wert ill, how wouldst thou like to have thy throat cut, instead of being kindly nursed?" with some surprise, the gentleman inquired whether he intended to compare him to a horse. "no," replied joseph; "but animals have feelings, as well as human beings; and when they are afflicted with disease, they ought to be carefully attended. if i consent to sell thee this horse, i shall exact a promise that thou wilt have him kindly nursed when he is sick, and not send him to have his throat cut." the gentleman readily promised all that was required, and said he should consider himself very fortunate to obtain a horse that so much resembled his old favorite. when he called the next day, to complete the bargain, he inquired whether forty guineas would be a satisfactory price. the conscientious quaker answered, "i have good reason to believe the horse was once thine; and i am willing to restore him to thee on the conditions i have mentioned. i have saved him from the carrion-butchers, but i will charge thee merely what i have expended for his food and medicine. let it be a lesson to thee to treat animals kindly, when they are diseased. never again send to the butchers a faithful servant, that cannot plead for himself, and may, with proper attention, again become useful to thee." how little friend hopper was inclined to minister to aristocratic prejudices, may be inferred from the following anecdote. one day, while he was visiting a wealthy family in dublin, a note was handed to him, inviting him to dine the next day. when he read it aloud, his host remarked, "those people are very respectable, but not of the first circles. they belong to our church, but not exactly to our set. their father was a mechanic." "well i am a mechanic myself," said isaac. "perhaps if thou hadst known that fact, thou wouldst not have invited _me_?" "is it possible," exclaimed his host, "that a man of your information and appearance can be a mechanic!" "i followed the business of a tailor for many years," rejoined his guest. "look at my hands! dost thou not see marks of the shears? some of the mayors of philadelphia have been tailors. when i lived there, i often walked the streets with the chief justice. it never occurred to me that it was any honor, and i don't think it did to him." upon one occasion, friend hopper went into the court of chancery in dublin, and kept his hat on, according to quaker custom. while he was listening to the pleading, he noticed that a person who sat near the chancellor fixed his eyes upon him with a very stern expression. this attracted the attention of lawyers and spectators, who also began to look at him, presently an officer tapped him on the shoulder, and said, "your hat, sir!" "what's the matter with my hat?" he inquired. "take it off?" rejoined the officer. "you are in his majesty court of chancery." "that is an honor i reserve for his majesty's master," he replied. "perhaps it is my shoes thou meanest?" the officer seemed embarrassed, but said no more; and when the friend had stayed as long as he felt inclined, he quietly withdrew. one day, when he was walking with a lawyer in dublin, they passed the lord lieutenant's castle. he expressed a wish to see the council chamber, but was informed that it was not open to strangers. "i have a mind to go and try," said he to his companion. "wilt thou go with me?" "no indeed," he replied; "and i would advise you not to go." he marched in, however, with his broad beaver on, and found the lord lieutenant surrounded by a number of gentleman. "i am an american," said he. "i have heard a great deal about the lord lieutenant's castle, and if it will give no offence, i should like very much to see it." his lordship seemed surprised by this unceremonious introduction, but he smiled, and said to a servant, "show this american whatever he wishes to see." he was conducted into various apartments, where he saw pictures, statues, ancient armor, antique coins, and many other curious articles. at parting, the master of the mansion was extremely polite, and gave him much interesting information on a variety of topics. when he rejoined his companion, who had agreed to wait for him at some appointed place, he was met with the inquiry, "well, what luck?" "o, the best luck in the world," he replied, "i was treated with great politeness." "well certainly, mr. hopper, you are an extraordinary man," responded the lawyer. "i wouldn't have ventured to try such an experiment." at the expiration of four months, having completed the business which rendered his presence in ireland necessary, he made a short visit to england, on his way home. there also his hat was objected to on several occasions. while in bristol, he asked permission to look at the interior of the cathedral. he had been walking about some little time, when a rough-looking man said to him, in a very surly tone, "take off your hat, sir!" he replied very courteously, "i have asked permission to enter here to gratify my curiosity as a stranger. i hope it is no offence." "take off your hat!" rejoined the rude man. "if you don't, i'll take it off for you." friend hopper leaned on his cane, looked him full in the face, and answered very coolly, "if thou dost, i hope thou wilt send it to my lodgings; for i shall have need of it this afternoon. i lodge at no. , lower crescent, clifton." the place designated was about a mile from the cathedral. the man stared at him, as if puzzled to decide whether he were talking to an insane person, or not. when the imperturbable quaker had seen all he cared to see, he deliberately walked away. at westminster abbey he paid the customary fee of two shillings sixpence for admission. the door-keeper followed him, saying, "you must uncover yourself, sir." "uncover myself!" exclaimed the friend, with an affectation of ignorant simplicity. "what dost thou mean? must i take off my coat?" "your coat!" responded the man, smiling. "no indeed. i mean your hat." "and what should i take off my hat for?" he inquired. "because you are in a church, sir," answered the door-keeper. "i see no church here," rejoined the quaker. "perhaps thou meanest the house where the church assembles. i suppose thou art aware that it is the _people_, not the _building_, that constitutes a church?" the idea seemed new to the man, but he merely repeated, "you must take off your hat, sir." but the friend again inquired, "what for? on account of these images? thou knowest scripture commands us not to worship graven images." the man persisted in saying that no person could be permitted to pass through the church without uncovering his head. "well friend," rejoined isaac, "i have some conscientious scruples on that subject; so give me back my money, and i will go out." the reverential habits of the door-keeper were not quite strong enough to compel him to that sacrifice; and he walked away, without saying anything more on the subject. when friend hopper visited the house of lords, he asked the sergeant-at-arms if he might sit upon the throne. he replied, "no, sir. no one but his majesty sits there." "wherein does his majesty differ from other men?" inquired he. "if his head were cut off, wouldn't he die?" "certainly he would," replied the officer. "so would an american," rejoined friend hopper. as he spoke, he stepped up to the gilded railing that surrounded the throne, and tried to open the gate. the officer told him it was locked. "well won't the same key that locked it unlock it?" inquired he. "is this the key hanging here?" being informed that it was, he took it down and unlocked the gate. he removed the satin covering from the throne, carefully dusted the railing with his handkerchief, before he hung the satin over it, and then seated himself in the royal chair. "well," said he, "do i look anything like his majesty?" the man seemed embarrassed, but smiled as he answered, "why, sir, you certainly fill the throne very respectably." there were several noblemen in the room, who seemed to be extremely amused by these unusual proceedings. at a place called jordans, about twenty-two miles from london, he visited the grave of william penn. in his journal, he says: "the ground is surrounded by a neat hedge, and is kept in good order. i picked some grass and moss from the graves of william penn, thomas ellwood, and isaac pennington; and some ivy and holly from the hedge; which i intend to take with me to america, as a memorial of my visit. i entered the meeting-house, and sat on the benches which had been occupied by george fox, william penn, and george whitehead, in years long since passed away. it brought those old friends so distinctly before the view of my mind, that my heart was ready to exclaim, 'surely this is no other than the house of god, and this is the gate of heaven.' i cannot describe my feelings. the manly and majestic features of george fox, and the mournful yet benevolent countenance of isaac pennington, seemed to rise before me. but this is human weakness. those men bore the burthen and heat of their own day; they faithfully used the talents committed to their trust; and i doubt not they are now reaping the reward given to faithful servants. it is permitted us to love their memories, but not to idolize them. they could deliver neither son or daughter by their righteousness; but only their own souls." "in the great city of london everything tended to satisfy me that the state of our religious society is generally very low. a light was once kindled there, that illuminated distant lands. as i walked the streets, i remembered the labors, the sufferings, and the final triumph of those illustrious sons of the morning, george fox, george whitehead, william penn, and a host of others; men who loved not their lives in comparison with the holy cause of truth and righteousness, in which they were called to labor. these worthies have been succeeded by a generation, who seem disposed to garnish the sepulchres of their fathers, and live upon the fruit of their labors, without submitting to the power of that cross, which made them what they were. there appears to me to be much formality and dryness among them; though there are a few who mourn, almost without hope, over the desolation that has been made by the world, the flesh, and the devil." there were many poor emigrants on board the merchant ship, in which friend hopper returned home. he soon established friendly communication with them, and entered with sympathy into all their troubles. he made frequent visits to the steerage during the long voyage, and always had something comforting and cheering to say to the poor souls. there was a clergyman on board, who also wished to benefit them, but he approached them in an official way, to which they did not so readily respond. one day, when he invited the emigrants to join him in prayer, an old irish woman replied, "i'd rather play a game o' cards, than hear you prache and pray." she pointed to friend hopper, and added, "_he_ comes and stays among us, and always spakes a word o' comfort, and does us some good. but _you_ come and prache and pray, and then you are gone. one look from that quaker gintleman is worth all the praching and praying that be in you." the vessel encountered a dense fog, and ran on a sand bank as they approached the jersey shore. a tremendous sea was rolling, and dashed against the ship with such force, that she seemed every moment in danger of being shattered into fragments. if there had been a violent gale of wind, all must have been inevitably lost. the passengers were generally in a state of extreme terror. screams and groans were heard in every direction. but friend hopper's mind was preserved in a state of great equanimity. he entreated the people to be quiet, and try to keep possession of their faculties, that they might be ready to do whatever was best, in case of emergency. seeing him so calm, they gathered closely round him, as if they thought he had some power to save them. there was a naval officer on board, whose frenzied state of feeling vented itself in blasphemous language. friend hopper, who was always disturbed by irreverent use of the name of deity, was peculiarly shocked by it under these solemn circumstances. he walked up to the officer, put his hand on his shoulder, and looking him in the face, said, "from what i have heard of thy military exploits, i supposed thou wert a brave man; but here thou art pouring forth blasphemies, to keep up the appearance of courage, while thy pale face and quivering lips show that thou art in mortal fear. i am ashamed of thee. if thou hast no reverence for deity thyself, thou shouldst show some regard for the feelings of those who have." the officer ceased swearing, and treated his adviser with marked respect. a friendship was formed between them, which continued as long as the captain lived. the clergyman on board afterward said to friend hopper, "if any other person had talked to him in that manner, he would have knocked him down." in about two hours, the vessel floated off the sandbar and went safely into the harbor of new-york. at the custom-house, the clergyman was in some perplexity about a large quantity of books he had brought with him, on which it was proposed to charge high duties. "perhaps i can get them through for thee," said friend hopper. "i will try." he went up to the officer, and said, "isn't it a rule of the custom-house not to charge a man for the tools of his trade?" he replied that it was. "then thou art bound to let this priest's books pass free," rejoined the friend. "preaching is the trade he gets his living by; and these books are the tools he must use." the clergyman being aware of quaker views with regard to a paid ministry, seemed doubtful whether to be pleased or not, with _such_ a mode of helping him out of difficulty. however, he took the joke as good naturedly as it was offered, and the books passed free, on the assurance that they were all for his own library. friend hopper's bookstore in new-york was a place of great resort for members of his own sect. his animated style of conversation, his thousand and one anecdotes of runaway slaves, his descriptions of keen encounters with the "orthodox," in the process of separation, attracted many listeners. his intelligence and well-known conscientiousness commanded respect, and he was held in high estimation by his own branch of the society, though the opposite party naturally entertained a less favorable opinion of the "hicksite" champion. such a character as he was must necessarily always be a man of mark, with warm friends and bitter enemies. his resemblance to bonaparte attracted attention in new-york, as it had done in philadelphia. not long after he removed to that city, there was a dramatic representation at the park theatre, in which placide personated the french emperor. while this play was attracting public attention, the manager happened to meet friend hopper in the street. as soon as he saw him, he exclaimed, "here is napoleon himself come back again!" he remarked to some of his acquaintance that he would gladly give that quaker gentleman one hundred dollars a night, if he would consent to appear on the stage in the costume of bonaparte. about this period northern hostility to slavery took a new form, more bold and uncompromising than the old abolition societies. it demanded the immediate and unconditional emancipation of every slave, in a voice which has not yet been silenced, and never will be, while the oppressive system continues to disgrace our country. of course, friend hopper could not otherwise than sympathize with any movement for the abolition of slavery, based on pacific principles. pictures and pamphlets, published by the anti-slavery society were offered for sale in his book-store. during the popular excitement on this subject, in , he was told that his store was about to be attacked by an infuriated rabble, and he had better remove all such publications from the window. "dost thou think i am such a coward as to forsake my principles, or conceal them, at the bidding of a mob?" said he. presently, another messenger came to announce that the mob were already in progress, at the distance of a few streets. he was earnestly advised at least to put up the shutters, that their attention might not be attracted by the pictures. "i shall do no such thing," he replied. the excited throng soon came pouring down the street, with loud and discordant yells. friend hopper walked out and stood on the steps. the mob stopped in front of his store. he looked calmly and firmly at them, and they looked irresolutely at him, like a wild animal spell-bound by the fixed gaze of a human eye. after a brief pause, they renewed their yells, and some of their leaders called out, "go on, to rose-street!" they obeyed these orders, and in the absent of lewis tappan, a well-known abolitionist, they burst open his house, and destroyed his furniture. in , judge chinn, of mississippi, visited new-york, and brought with him a slave, said to have cost the large sum of fifteen hundred dollars. a few days after their arrival in the city, the slave eloped, and a reward of five hundred dollars was offered for his apprehension. friend hopper knew nothing about him; but some mischievous person wrote a note to judge chinn, stating that the fugitive was concealed at his store, in pearl-street. a warrant was procured and put into the hands of a constable frequently employed in that base business. at that season of the year, many southerners were in the city to purchase goods. a number of them accompanied the judge to pearl-street, and distributed themselves at short distances, in order to arrest the slave, in case he attempted to escape. they preferred to search the store in the absence of friend hopper, and watched nearly an hour for a favorable opportunity. meanwhile, he was entirely unconscious of their proceedings; and having occasion to call at a house a few doors below, he left the store for a short time in charge of one of his sons. as soon as he was gone, four or five men rushed in. not finding the object of their pursuit, they jumped out of a back window, and began to search some buildings in the rear. when people complained of such unceremonious intrusion upon their premises, the constable excused himself by saying they were trying to apprehend a felon. friend hopper's son called out that it was a slave, not a felon, they were in search of; for he heard them say so. this made the constable very angry; for, like most slave-catchers, he was eager for the reward, but rather ashamed of the services by which he sought to obtain it. he swore roundly, and one of his party gave the young man a blow on his face. friend hopper, being sent for, returned immediately; and for some time after, he observed a respectable looking person occasionally peeping into the store, and skulking out of sight as soon as he thought himself observed. at last, he went to the door, and said, "my friend, if thou hast business with me, come in and let me know what it is; but don't be prying about my premises in that way." he walked off, and joined a group of people, who seemed to be much excited. friend hopper followed, and found they were the men who had been recently searching his store. he said to their leader, "art thou the impertinent fellow who has been intruding upon my premises, in my absence?" the constable replied that he had a warrant, and was determined to execute it. though a stranger to his countenance, friend hopper was well aware that he was noted for hunting slaves, and being unable to disguise his abhorrence of the odious business, he said, "judas betrayed his master for thirty pieces of silver; and for a like sum, i suppose thou wouldst seize thy brother by the throat, and send him into interminable bondage. if thy conscience were as susceptible of conviction as his was, thou wouldst do as he did; and thus rid the community of an intolerable nuisance." one of the southerners repeated the word "brother!" in a very sneering tone. "yes," rejoined friend hopper, "i said brother." he returned to his store, but was soon summoned into the street again, by a complaint that the constable and his troop of slaveholders were very roughly handling a colored man, saying he had no business to keep in their vicinity. when friend hopper interfered, to prevent further abuse, several of the southerners pointed bowie-knives and pistols at him. he told the constable it was his duty, as a police-officer, to arrest those men for carrying deadly weapons and making such a turmoil in the street; and he threatened to complain of him if he did not do it. he complied very reluctantly, and of course the culprits escaped before they reached the police-office. a few days after, as young mr. hopper was walking up chatham-street, on his way home in the evening, some unknown person came behind him, knocked him down, and beat him in a most savage manner, so that he was unable to leave his room for many days. no doubt was entertained that this brutal attack was by one of the company who were on the search for judge chinn's slave. it was afterward rumored that the fugitive had arrived safely in canada. i never heard that he returned to the happy condition of slavery; though his master predicted that he would do so, and said he never would have been so foolish as to leave it, if it had not been for the false representations of abolitionists. in , the hatred which southerners bore to friend hopper's name was manifested in a cruel and altogether unprovoked outrage on his son, which caused the young man a great deal of suffering, and well nigh cost him his life. john hopper, esq., now a lawyer in the city of new-york, had occasion to go to the south on business. he remained in charleston about two months, during which time he was treated with courtesy in his business relations, and received many kind attentions in the intercourse of social life. one little incident that occurred during his visit illustrates the tenacious attachment of friends to their own mode of worship. when he left home, his father had exhorted him to attend friends' meeting while he was in charleston. he told him that a meeting had been established there many years ago, but he supposed there were not half a dozen members remaining, and probably they had no ministry; for the original settlers had died, or left carolina on account of their testimony against slavery. but as quakers believe that silent worship is often more blessed to the soul, than the most eloquent preaching, he had a strong desire that his son should attend the meeting constantly, even if he found but two or three to unite with him. the young man promised that he would do so. accordingly, when he arrived in charleston, he inquired for the meeting-house, and was informed that it was well nigh deserted. on the first day of the week, he went to the place designated, and found a venerable, kind-looking friend seated under the preachers' gallery. in obedience to a signal from him, he took a seat by his side, and they remained there in silence nearly two hours. then the old man turned and shook hands with him, as an indication that the meeting was concluded, according to the custom of the society of friends. when he found that he was talking to the son of isaac t. hopper, and that he had promised to attend meeting there, during his stay in charleston, he was so much affected, that his eyes filled with tears. "oh, i shall be glad of thy company," said he; "for most of the time, this winter, i am here all alone. my old friends and companions have all died, or moved away. i come here twice on first days, and once on fifth day, and sit all, all alone, till i feel it right to leave the house and go home." this lonely old worshipper once had an intimate friend, who for a long time was his only companion in the silent meeting. at the close, they shook hands and walked off together, enjoying a kindly chat on their way home. unfortunately, some difficulty afterward occurred between them, which completely estranged them from each other. both still clung to their old place of worship. they took their accustomed seats, and remained silent for a couple of hours; but they parted without shaking hands, or speaking a single word. this alienation almost broke the old man's heart. after awhile, he lost even, this shadow of companionship, and there remained only "the voice within," and echoes of memory from the empty benches. while mr. hopper remained in charleston, he went to the quaker meeting-house every sunday, and rarely found any one there except the persevering old friend, who often invited him to go home with him. he seemed to take great satisfaction in talking with him about his father, and listening to what he had heard him say concerning the society of friends. when the farewell hour came, he was much affected; for he felt it not likely they would ever meet again; and the conversation of the young stranger had formed a link between him and the quakerism he loved so well. the old man continued to sit alone under the preacher's gallery till the house took fire and was burned to the ground. he died soon after that event, at a very advanced age. another incident, which occurred during mr. hopper's stay in charleston, seemed exceedingly trivial at the time, but came very near producing fatal consequences. one day, when a clergyman whom he visited was showing him his library, he mentioned that his father had quite an antiquarian taste for old documents connected with the society of friends. at parting, the clergyman gave him several pamphlets for his father, and among them happened to be a tract published by friends in philadelphia, describing the colony at sierra leone, and giving an account of the slave trade on the coast of africa. he put the pamphlets in his trunk, and started for savannah, where he arrived on the twenty-eighth of january. at the city hotel, he unfortunately encountered a marshal of the city of new-york, who was much employed in catching runaway slaves, and of course sympathized with slaveholders. he pointed the young stranger out, as a son of isaac t. hopper, the notorious abolitionist. this information kindled a flame immediately, and they began to discuss plans of vengeance. the traveller, not dreaming of danger, retired to his room soon after supper. in a few minutes, his door was forced open by a gang of intoxicated men, escorted by the new-york marshal. they assailed him with a volley of blasphemous language, struck him, kicked him, and spit in his face. they broke open and rifled his trunk, and searched his pockets for abolition documents. when they found the harmless little quaker tract about the colony at sierra leone, they screamed with exultation. they shouted, "here is what we wanted! here is proof of abolitionism!" some of them rushed out and told the mob, who crowded the bar-room and entries, that they had found a trunk full of abolition tracts. others seized mr. hopper violently, telling him to say his last prayers, and go with them. the proprietor of the city hotel was very naturally alarmed for the safety of the building. he was in a great passion, and conjured them to carry their victim down forthwith; saying he could do nothing with the mob below, who were getting very impatient waiting for him. turning to mr. hopper, he said, "young man, you are in a very unfortunate situation. you ought never to have left your home. but it is your own doing; and you deserve your fate." when appealed to for protection, he exclaimed, "good god! you must not appeal to me. this is a damned delicate business. i shall not be able to protect my own property. but i will go for the mayor." one of the bar-keeper's confidential friends sent him a slip of paper, on which was written, "his only mode of escape is by the window;" and the bar-keeper, who had previously shown himself decidedly unfriendly, urged him again and again to profit by this advice. he occupied the third story, and the street below his window was thronged with an infuriated mob, thirsting and clamoring for his blood. in view of these facts, it seems not very uncharitable to suppose that the advice was given to make sure of his death, apparently by his own act, and thus save the city of savannah from the disgrace of the deed. of the two terrible alternatives, he preferred going down-stairs into the midst of the angry mob, who were getting more and more maddened by liquor, having taken forcible possession of the bar. he considered his fate inevitable, and had made up his mind to die. but at the foot of the stairs, he was met by the mayor and several aldermen, whose timely arrival saved his life. after asking some questions, and receiving the assurance that he came to savannah solely on commercial business, the magistrates accompanied mr. hopper to his room, and briefly examined his books and papers. the mayor then went down and addressed the mob, assuring them that he should be kept in custody during the night; that strict investigation should be made, and if there was the slightest evidence of his being an abolitionist, he should not be suffered to go at large. the mayor and a large body of civil officers accompanied the prisoner to the guard-house, and a number of citizens volunteered their services, to strengthen the escort; but all their efforts scarcely sufficed to keep him from the grasp of the infuriated multitude. he was placed in a noisome cell, to await his trial, and the customary guard was increased for his protection. portions of the mob continued howling round the prison all night, and the mayor was sent for several times to prevent their bursting in. a gallows was erected, with a barrel of feathers and a tub of tar in readiness under it, that they might amuse themselves with their victim before they murdered him. next morning, at five o'clock, the prisoner was brought before the mayor for further examination. many of the mob followed him to the door of the office to await the issue. the evidence was satisfactory that he belonged to no anti-slavery society, and that his business in savannah had no connection whatever with that subject. as for the pamphlet about sierra leone, the mayor said he considered that evidence in his favor; because it was written in support of colonization. before the examination closed, there came a driving rain, which dispersed the mob lying in wait round the building. aided by this lucky storm their destined victim passed out without being observed. at parting, the mayor said to him, "young man, you may consider it a miracle that you have escaped with your life." he took refuge on board the ship angelique, bound for new-york, and was received with much kindness and sympathy by captain nichols, the commander. there was likewise a sailor on board, who happened to be one of the many that owed a debt of gratitude to friend hopper; and he swore he would shoot anybody that attempted to harm his son. in a short time, a messenger came from the mayor to announce that the populace had discovered where mr. hopper was secreted, and would probably attack the vessel. in this emergency, the captain behaved nobly toward his hunted fellow-citizen. he requested him to lie down flat in the bottom of a boat, which he himself entered and conducted to a brig bound for providence. the captain was a new-england man, but having been long engaged in southern trade, his principles on the subject of slavery were adapted to his interest. he gave the persecuted young traveller a most ungracious reception, and said if he thought he was an abolitionist he would send him directly back to savannah. however, the representations of captain nichols induced him to consent that he should be put on board. they had a tedious passage of thirty-five days, during which there was a long and violent storm, that seemed likely to wreck the vessel. the mob had robbed mr. hopper of his money and clothing. he had no comfortable garments to shield him from the severe cold, and his hands and feet were frozen. at last, he arrived at providence, and went on board the steamer benjamin franklin, bound for new-york. there he had the good fortune to meet with a colored waiter, whose father had been redeemed from slavery by friend hopper's exertions. he was assiduously devoted to the son of his benefactor, and did everything in his power to alleviate his distressed condition. when the traveller arrived at his home, he was so haggard and worn down with danger and fatigue, that his family scarcely recognized him. his father was much excited and deeply affected, when he heard what perils he had gone through merely on account of his name. he soon after addressed the following letter to the mayor of savannah: "new-york, th month, th, . "friend, "my object in addressing thee is to express my heartfelt gratitude for thy exertions in saving the life of my son, which i have cause to believe was in imminent peril, from the violence of unreasonable men, while in your city a few weeks ago. i am informed that very soon after his arrival in savannah, the fact became known to a marshal of this city, who was then there, and who, by his misrepresentations, excited the rabble to a determination to perpetrate the most inhuman outrage upon him, and in all probability to take his life; and that preparations were made, which, if carried into effect, would doubtless have produced that result. "tar and feathers, as a mode of punishment, i am inclined to think is rather of modern invention; and i am doubtful whether they will be more efficient than whipping, cutting off ears, the rack, the halter, and the stake. superstition and intolerance have long ago called in all these to their aid, in suppressing reformation in religion; but they were unable to accomplish the end designed; and if i am not greatly mistaken, they would prove entirely insufficient to stop the progress of emancipation. "if it is the determination of the people of savannah to deliver up to a lawless and blood-thirsty mob every person coming among them whose sentiments are opposed to slavery, i apprehend there are very few at the north who would not be obnoxious to their hostility. for i believe they all view slavery as an evil that must be abolished at no very distant day. would it not be well for the people of the south to reflect upon the tendency of their conduct? where such aggressions upon humanity are committed, the slaves will naturally inquire into the cause; and when they are informed that it is in consequence of their oppressed and degraded condition, and that the persons thus persecuted are charged with being their friends, they cannot feel indifferent. one such scene as was witnessed in the case of my son would tend more to excite a spirit of insurrection and insubordination among them, than ten thousand 'incendiary pamphlets,' not one word of which any of them could read. my son went to savannah solely on his own private business, without any intention of interfering with the slaves, or with the subject of slavery in any way. but even supposing the charge to have been true, do not your laws award sufficient punishment? how could you stand silently by, and witness proceedings that would put to blush the arab, or the untutored inhabitant of the wilderness in our own country? the negroes, whom you affect to despise so much, would set an example of benevolence and humanity, when on their own soil, if a stranger came among them, which you cannot be prepared to imitate, till you have made great improvements in civilization. "the people of savannah profess christianity; but what avails profession, where latitude is given to the vilest and most depraved passions of the human heart? suppose the mob had murdered my son; a young man who went among you in the ordinary course of his business, and who, even according to _your_ understanding of the term, had done no evil; a young man of fair reputation, with numerous near relatives and friends to mourn over the barbarous deed; would you have been guiltless? i think the just witness in your consciences would answer no. "i have long deplored the evils of slavery, and my sympathy has often been much excited for the master, as well as the slave. i am aware of the difficulties attending the system, and i should rejoice if i could aid in devising some mode of relief, that would satisfy the claims of justice and humanity, and at the same time be acceptable to the inhabitants of the south. "it is certainly cause of deep regret that the southern people suffer their angry passions to become so highly excited on this subject, which, of all others, ought to be calmly considered. for it remains a truth that 'the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of god,' neither can it open his eyes to see in what his best interest consists. o, that your ears may be open to the voice of wisdom before it is too late! the language of an eminent statesman, who was a slaveholder, often occurs to me: 'i tremble for my country when i reflect that god is just, and that his justice will not sleep forever.' surely we have high authority for believing that 'for the crying of the poor, and the sighing of the needy, god will arise.' i hope i shall not be suspected of entertaining hostile or unkind feelings toward the people of the south, when i say that i believe slavery must and will be abolished. as sure as god is merciful and good, it is an evil that cannot endure forever. "an inspired apostle says, that our gracious creator 'hath made of one blood all nations of men;' and our saviour gave this commandment: 'as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.' if we believe these declarations, and i hope none doubt their authority, i should think reasoning unnecessary to convince us that to oppress and enslave our fellow men cannot be pleasing to him, who is just and equal in all his ways. "my concern for the welfare of my fellow men is not confined to color, or circumscribed by geographical lines. i can never see human suffering without feeling compassion, and i would always gladly alleviate it, if i had it in my power. i remember that we are all, without distinction of color or locality, children of the same universal parent, who delights to see the human family dwell together in peace and harmony. i am strongly inclined to the opinion that the proceedings of that portion of the inhabitants of the north who are called abolitionists, would not produce so much agitation and excitement at the south, if the people there felt entirely satisfied that slavery was justifiable in the sight of infinite purity and justice. an eminent minister of the gospel, about the middle of the seventeenth century, often urged upon the attention of people this emphatic injunction: 'mind the light!' 'all things that are reproved are made manifest by the light; for whatsoever doth make manifest is light.' now, if this light, or spirit of truth, 'a manifestation of which is given to every man to profit withal,' should be found testifying in your consciences against injustice and oppression, regard its admonitions! it will let none remain at ease in their sins. it will justify for well doing; but to those who rebel against it, and disregard its reproofs, it will become the 'worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched.' "i am aware that complaints are often made, because obstacles are thrown in the way of southerners reclaiming their fugitive slaves. but bring the matter home to yourselves. suppose a white man resided among you, who, for a series of years, had conducted with sobriety, industry, and probity, and had given frequent evidence of the kindness of his heart, by a disposition to oblige whenever opportunity offered; suppose he had a wife and children dependent upon him, and supported them comfortably and respectably; could you see that man dragged from his bed, and from the bosom of his family, in the dead time of night, manacled, and hurried away into a distant part of the country, where his family could never see him again, and where they knew he must linger out a miserable existence, more intolerable than death, amid the horrors of slavery? i ask whether you could witness all this, without the most poignant grief? this is no picture of the fancy. it is a sober reality. the only difference is, the men thus treated are black. but in my view, this does not diminish the horrors of such cruel deeds. can it be expected then, that the citizens of this state, or indeed of any other, would witness all this, without instituting the severest scrutiny into the legality of the proceedings? more especially, when it is known that the persons employed in this nefarious business of hunting up fugitive slaves are men destitute of principle, whose hearts are callous as flint, and who would send a free man into bondage with as little compunction as they would a slave, if they could do it with impunity. "of latter time, we hear much said about a dissolution of the union. far better, in my view, that this should take place, if it can be effected without violence, than to remain as we are; when a peaceable citizen cannot enter your territory on his own lawful business, without the risk of being murdered by a ruthless mob. "with reverent thankfulness to him, who numbers the hairs of our heads, without whose notice not even a sparrow falls to the ground, and to whose providence i consider myself indebted for the redemption of my beloved son from the hands of barbarians, permit me again to say that i feel sincerely grateful to thee and others, who kindly lent aid, though late, in rescuing him from the violence of unreasonable and wicked men, who sought his life without a cause. i may never have it in my power to do either of you personally a kindness; but some other member of the great family of mankind may need assistance in a way that i can relieve him. if this should be the case, i hope i shall not fail to embrace the opportunity. "with fervent desires that the beneficent creator and father of the universe may open the eyes of all to see that 'the fast which he hath chosen is to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke.' "i am thy sincere friend, "isaac t. hopper." soon after the circumstances above related, the mayor of new-york revoked the warrant of the marshal, who had been so conspicuous in the outrage. this step was taken in consequence of his own admissions concerning his conduct. in , a little incident occurred, which may be interesting to those who are curious concerning phrenology. at a small social party in new-york, a discussion arose on that subject; and, as usual, some were disposed to believe and others to ridicule. at last the disputants proposed to test the question by careful experiment. friend hopper was one of the party, and they asked him to have his head examined by the well-known o.s. fowler. having a good-natured willingness to gratify their curiosity, he consented. it was agreed that he should not speak during the operation, lest the tones of his voice might serve as an index of his character. it was further stipulated that no person in the room should give any indication by which the phrenologist might be enabled to judge whether he was supposed to be speaking correctly or not. the next day, mr. fowler was introduced blindfolded into a room, where isaac t. hopper was seated with the party of the preceding evening. having passed his hands over the strongly developed head, he made the following statement, which was taken down by a rapid writer, as the words fell from his lips. "the first and strongest manifestation of this character is efficiency. not one man in a thousand is capable of accomplishing so much. the strong points are very strong; the weak points are weak; so that he is an eccentric and peculiar character. "the pole-star of his character is moral courage. "he has very little reverence, and stands in no awe of the powers that be. he pays no regard to forms or ceremonies, or established customs, in church or state. he renders no homage to great names, such as d.d.; l.l.d.; or excellency. he treats his fellow men with kindness and affection, but not with sufficient respect and courtesy. "he is emphatically republican in feeling and character. he makes himself free and familiar with every one. he often lets himself down too much. this constitutes a radical defect in his character. "he will assert and maintain human rights and liberty at every hazard. in this cause, he will stake anything, or suffer anything. this constitutes the leading feature of his character. every other element is blended into this. "i should consider him a very cautious man in fact, though in appearance he is very imprudent; especially in remarks on moral subjects. "he is too apt to denounce those whom he considers in error; to apply opprobrious epithets and censure in the strongest terms, and the boldest manner. "i have seldom, if ever, met with a larger organ of conscientiousness. "nothing so much delights him as to advocate and propagate moral principles; no matter how unpopular the principles may be. "he has very little credulity. "he is one of the closest observers of men and things anywhere to be found. he sees, as it were by intuition everything that passes around him, and understands just when and where to take men and things; just how and where to say things with effect; and in all he says, he speaks directly to the point. "he says and does a great many severe and cutting things. if anybody else said and did such things, they would at once get into hot water; but he says and does them in such a manner, that even his enemies, and those against whom his censures are aimed, cannot be offended with him. he is always on the verge of difficulty, but never _in_ difficulty. "he is hated mainly by those not personally acquainted with him. a personal interview, even with his greatest enemies, generally removes enmity; because of the smoothness and easiness of his manners. "he has at command a great amount of well-digested information on almost every subject, and makes admirable use of his knowledge. he has a great many facts, and always brings them in their right place. his general memory of particulars, incidents, places, and words, is really wonderful. "but he has a weak memory concerning names, dates, numbers, and colors. he never recognizes persons by their dress, or by the color of anything pertaining to them. "he tells a story admirably, and acts it out to the life. he makes a great deal of fun, and keeps others in a roar of laughter, while he is sober himself. for his fun, he is as much indebted to the manner as to the matter. he makes his jokes mainly by happy comparisons, striking illustrations, and the imitative power with which he expresses them. "he possesses a great amount of native talent, but it is so admirably distributed, that he appears to have more than he actually possesses. "his attachment to his friends is remarkably strong and ardent. but he will associate with none except those whose moral characters are unimpeachable. "he expects and anticipates a great deal; enters largely into things; takes hold of every measure with spirit; and is always overwhelmed with business. move where he will, he cannot be otherwise than a distinguished man." that this description was remarkably accurate in most particulars will be obvious to those who have read the preceding anecdotes. it is not true, however, that he was enthusiastic in character, or that he had the appearance of being so. he was far too practical and self-possessed, to have the reputation of being "half crazy," even among those who are prone to regard everything as insane that is out of the common course. neither do i think he was accustomed to "let himself down too much;" for according to my radical ideas, a man _cannot_ "let himself down," who "associates only with those whose moral characters are unimpeachable." it is true that he was pleasant and playful in conversation with all classes of people; but he was remarkably free from any tinge of vulgarity. it is true, also, that he was totally and entirely unconscious of any such thing as distinctions of rank. i have been acquainted with many theoretical democrats, and with not a few who tried to be democratic, from kind feelings-and principles of justice; but friend hopper and francis jackson of boston are the only two men i ever met, who were born democrats; who could not help it, if they tried; and who would not know _how_ to try; so completely did they, by nature, ignore all artificial distinctions. of course, i do not use the word democrat in its limited party sense, but to express their perfect unconsciousness that any man was considered to be above them, or any man beneath them. if friend hopper encountered his wood-sawyer, after a considerable absence, he would shake hands warmly, and give him a cordial welcome. if the english prince had called upon him, he would have met with the same friendly reception, and would probably have been accosted something after this fashion: "how art thou, friend albert? they tell me thou art amiable and kindly disposed toward the people; and i am glad to see thee." those who observe the parting advice given by isaac's mother, when he went to serve his apprenticeship in philadelphia, will easily infer that this peculiarity was hereditary. some men, who rise above their original position, either in character or fortune, endeavor to conceal their early history. others obtrude it upon all occasions, in order to magnify themselves by a contrast between what they have been and what they are. but he did neither the one nor the other. the subject did not occupy his thoughts. he spoke of having been a tailor, whenever it came naturally in his way, but never for the sake of doing so. his having been born in a hen-house was a mere external accident in his eyes; and in the same light he regarded the fact that victoria was born in a palace. what was the spiritual condition of the two at any given age, was the only thing that seemed to him of real importance. his steadfastness in maintaining moral principles, "however unpopular those principles might be," was severely tried in the autumn of . at a late hour in the night, two colored men came to his house, and one introduced the other as a stranger in the city, who had need of a lodging. friend hopper of course conjectured that he might be a fugitive slave; and this conjecture was confirmed the next morning. the stranger was a mulatto, about twenty-two years old, and called himself thomas hughes. according to his own account, he was the son of a wealthy planter in virginia, who sold his mother with himself and his twin sister when they were eleven months old. his mother and sister were subsequently sold, but he could never ascertain where they were sent. when he was about thirteen, he was purchased by the son of his first master. being hardly dealt with by this relative, he one day remonstrated with him for treating his own brother with so much severity. this was, of course, deemed a great piece of insolence in a bondman, and he was punished by being sold to a speculator, carried off hand-cuffed, with his feet tied under the horse's belly, and finally shipped for louisiana with a coffle of five hundred slaves. he was bought by a gambler, who took him to louisville, kentucky. when he had lived there three years, his master, having lost large sums of money, told him he should be obliged to sell him. thomas had meanwhile ascertained that his father had removed to kentucky, and was still a very wealthy man. he obtained permission to go and see him, with the hope that he would purchase him and set him free. accordingly, he called upon him, and told him that he was thomas, the son of his slave rachel, who had always assured him that he was his father. the rich planter did not deny poor rachel's assertion, but in answer to her son's inquiries, he plainly manifested that he neither knew nor cared who had bought her, or to what part of the country she had been sent. thomas represented his own miserable condition, in being sold from one to another, and subject to the will of whoever happened to be his owner. he intreated his father to purchase him, with a view to manumission; but himself and his proposition were both treated with supreme contempt. thus rejected by his father, and unable to discover any traces of his mother, he returned disheartened to louisville, and was soon after sent to new-orleans to be sold. mr. john p. darg, a speculator in slaves, bought him; and he soon after married a girl named mary, who belonged to his new master. mr. darg went to new-york, to visit some relatives, and took thomas with him. it was only a few days after their arrival in the city, that the slave left him, and went to isaac t. hopper to ask a lodging. when he acknowledged that he was a fugitive, intending to take refuge in canada, it was deemed imprudent for him to remain under the roof of a person so widely known as an abolitionist; but a very benevolent and intelligent quaker lady, near eighty years old, named margaret shoemaker, gladly gave him shelter. when friend hopper went to his place of business, after parting with the colored stranger, he saw an advertisement in a newspaper called the sun, offering one thousand dollars reward for the apprehension and return of a mulatto man, who had stolen seven or eight thousand dollars from a house in varick-street. a proportionate reward was offered for the recovery of any part of the money. though no names were mentioned, he had reason to conjecture that thomas hughes might be the mulatto in question. he accordingly sought him out, read the advertisement to him, and inquired whether he had stolen anything from his master. he denied having committed any theft, and said the pretence that he had done so was a mere trick, often resorted to by slaveholders, when they wanted to catch a runaway slave. that this remark was true, friend hopper knew very well by his own experience; he therefore concluded it was likely that thomas was not guilty. he expressed this conviction in conversation on the subject with barney corse, a benevolent member of the society of friends, who was kindly disposed toward the colored people. in compliance with friend hopper's request, that gentleman waited upon the editor of the sun, accompanied by a lawyer, and was assured that a large amount of money really had been stolen from mr. darg, and that if he could recover it, he was willing to give a pledge for the manumission of the slave, beside paying the promised reward to whoever would enable him to get possession of the money. barney corse called upon mr. darg, who promptly confirmed the statement made by the editor in his name. the friend then promised that he, and others who were interested for the slave, would do their utmost to obtain tidings of the money, and see it safely restored, on those conditions; but he expressly stipulated that he could not do it otherwise, because he had conscientious scruples, which would prevent him, in all cases, from helping to return a fugitive slave to his master. it is to be observed that the promise of manumission was given as the highest bribe that could be offered to induce the slave to refund the money he had taken; for though in argument slaveholders generally maintain that their slaves have no desire for freedom, they are never known to _act_ upon that supposition. in this case, the offer served a double purpose; for it stimulated the benevolent zeal of friend hopper and barney corse, and induced the fugitive to confess what he had done. he still denied that he had any intention of stealing, but declared that he took the money merely to obtain power over his master, hoping that the promise to restore it would secure his manumission. it is impossible to tell whether he spoke truth or not; for poor thomas had been educated in a bad school of morals. sold by his father, abused by his brother, and for years compelled to do the bidding of gamblers and slave-speculators, how could he be expected to have very clear perceptions of right and wrong? the circumstances of the case, however, seem to render it rather probable that he really was impelled by the motive which he assigned for his conduct. mr. darg declared that he had previously considered him an honest and faithful servant; that he was in the habit of trusting him with the key of his trunk, and frequently sent him to it for money. the bank-bills he had purloined were placed in the hands of two colored men in new-york, because, as he said, he could not return them himself, but must necessarily employ somebody to do it for him, in the intended process of negotiating for his freedom. friend hopper, his son-in-law james s. gibbons, and barney corse, were very earnest to recover the money, for the best of reasons. in the first place, they greatly desired to secure the manumission of the slave. in the second place, the honesty of their characters led them to wish that the master should recover what was his own. in both instances, they wished to restore stolen property to the rightful owner; to thomas hughes the free use of his own faculties and limbs, which had been stolen from him, and to mr. darg the money that had been purloined from him. it is not likely that the southerner would have ever regained any portion of the amount stolen, had it not been for their exertions. but, by careful and judicious management, they soon recovered nearly six thousand dollars, which was immediately placed in one of the principal banks of the city, with a full statement of the circumstances of the case to the cashier. over one thousand more was heard of as having been deposited with a colored man in albany. friend hopper proposed that barney corse should go in pursuit of it, accompanied by the colored man who sent it there. he agreed to do so; but he deemed it prudent to have a previous interview with mr. darg, to obtain his written promise to manumit thomas, to pay the necessary expenses of the journey, and to exonerate from criminal prosecution any person or persons connected with the robbery, provided that assurance proved necessary in order to get possession of the money. all this being satisfactorily accomplished, he went to albany and brought back the sum said to have been deposited there. ten or fourteen hundred dollars were still wanting to complete the amount, which mr. darg said he had lost; but they had hopes of obtaining that also, by confronting various individuals, who had become involved with this complicated affair. meanwhile, barney corse and james s. gibbons called upon mr. darg to inform him of the amount recovered and safely deposited in the bank, and to pay him the sum brought from albany. instead of giving the deed of manumission, which had been his own voluntary offer at the outset, and which he knew had been the impelling motive to exertion, mr. darg had two police-officers in an adjoining room to arrest barney corse for having stolen money in his possession. he was of course astonished at such an ungrateful return for his services, but at once expressed his readiness to go before any magistrate that might be named. it would not be easy to give an adequate idea of the storm of persecution that followed. popular prejudice against abolitionists was then raging with uncommon fury; and police-officers and editors availed themselves of it to the utmost to excite hostility against individuals, who had been actuated by a kind motive, and who had proceeded with perfect openness throughout the whole affair. the newspapers of the city were pro-slavery, almost without exception. the idea of sending abolitionists to the state prison was a glorious prospect, over which they exulted mightily. they represented that thomas had been enticed from his master by these pretended philanthropists, who had advised him to steal the money, as a cunning mode of obtaining manumission. as for the accused, all they asked was a speedy and thorough investigation of their conduct. the case was however postponed from week to week, and offers were made meanwhile to compromise the matter, if barney corse would pay the balance of the lost money. he had wealthy connexions, and perhaps the prosecutors hoped to extort money from them, to avoid the disgrace of a trial. but barney corse was far from wishing to avoid a trial. at this juncture of affairs, friend hopper took a step, which raised a great clamor among his enemies, and puzzled some of his friends at the time, because they did not understand his motives. he sued mr. darg for the promised reward of one thousand dollars. he had several reasons for this proceeding. in the first place, the newspapers continually pointed him out as a man over whose head a criminal prosecution was pending; while he had at the same time had good reason to believe that his accusers would never venture to meet him before a court of justice; and a proper regard for his own character made him resolved to obtain a legal investigation of his conduct by some process. in the second place, mr. darg had subjected barney corse to a great deal of trouble and expense; and friend hopper thought it no more than fair that expenses caused by his own treachery should be paid from his own pocket. in the third place, david ruggles, a worthy colored man, no way implicated in the transaction, had been arrested, and was likely to be involved in expense. in the fourth place, the police officers, who advised the arrest of barney corse, made themselves very conspicuous in the persecution. he believed they had been actuated by a desire to obtain the reward for themselves; and as they had no just claim to it, he determined to defeat them in this attempt. he therefore sued for the reward himself, though he never intended to use a dollar of it. this was manifested at the time, by a declaration in the newspapers, that if he recovered the reward, he would give all over the expenses to some benevolent society. it was frequently intimated to him that there should be no further proceedings against him, if he would withdraw this suit; but he constantly replied that a trial was what he wanted. finding all overtures rejected, a complaint was laid before the grand jury; and such was the state of popular prejudice, that twelve out of nineteen of that body concurred in finding a bill against men of excellent moral character, without any real evidence to sustain the charge. barney corse had never taken measures to prevent the arrest of thomas hughes. he simply declined to render any assistance. he believed that he was under no legal obligation to do otherwise; and he knew for a certainty that he was under no moral obligation; because conscience would not allow him to aid in returning a runaway slave to his master. nevertheless, he and isaac t. hopper, and james s. gibbons, were indicted for "feloniously receiving, harboring, aiding and maintaining said thomas, in order that he might escape from arrest, and avoid conviction and punishment." friend hopper was advised that he might avail himself of some technical defects in the indictment; but he declined doing it; always insisting that a public investigation was what he wanted. the trial was carried on in the same spirit that characterized the previous proceedings. a colored man, known to have had dishonest possession of a portion of the lost money, was admitted to testify, on two successive trials, against barney corse, who had always sustained a fair character. the district attorney talked to the jury of "the necessity of appeasing the south." as if convicting an honest and kind-hearted quaker of being accomplice in a felony could do anything toward settling the questions that divided north and south on the subject of slavery! one of the jury declared that he never would acquit an abolitionist. mr. darg testified of himself during the trial, that he never intended to manumit thomas, and had made the promise merely as a means of obtaining his money. the newspapers spoke as if the guilt of the accused was not to be doubted, and informed the jury that the public expected them to convict these men. in fact, the storm lowered so darkly, that some friends of the persecuted individuals began to feel uneasy. but friend hopper's mind was perfectly undisturbed. highly respectable lawyers offered to conduct the cause for him; but he gratefully declined, saying he preferred to manage it for himself. he informed the court that he presumed they understood the law, and he was quite sure that he understood the facts; therefore, he saw no need of a lawyer between them. the court of sessions was held every month, and he appeared before it at almost every term, to demand a trial. at last, in january , when the hearing had been delayed fifteen months, he gave notice that unless he was tried during that term, he should appear on the last day of it, and request that a _nolle prosequi_ should be ordered. the trial not coming on, he appeared accordingly, and made a very animated speech, in which he dwelt with deserved severity on the evils of the police system, and on the efforts of a corrupt press to pervert the public mind. he said he did not make these remarks to excite sympathy. he was not there to ask for mercy, but to demand justice. "and i would have you all to understand distinctly," continued the brave old man, "that i have no wish to evade the charge against me for being an abolitionist. i _am_ an abolitionist. in that, i am charged truly. i have been an abolitionist from my early years, and i always expect to remain so. for this, i am prosecuted and persecuted. i most sincerely believe that slavery is the greatest sin the lord almighty ever suffered to exist upon this earth. as sure as god is good and just, he will put an end to it; and all opposition will be in vain. as regards myself, i can only say, that having lived three-score and nearly ten years, with a character that placed me above suspicion in such matters as have been urged against me, i cannot now forego the principles which have always influenced my conduct in relation to slavery. neither force on the one hand, nor persuasion on the other, will ever alter my course of action." one of the new-york papers, commenting on this speech, at the time, states that "the old gentleman was listened to very attentively. he was composed, dignified, and clear in his manner, and evidently had much effect on the court and a large number of spectators. he certainly needed no counsel to aid him." the court ordered a _nolle prosequi_ to be entered, and the defendants were all discharged. the suit for the reward proceeded no further. david ruggles had been early discharged, and the whole case had been completely before the public in pamphlet form; therefore the principal objects for urging it no longer existed. though the friends of human freedom made reasonable allowance for a man brought up under such demoralizing influences as thomas hughes had been, they of course felt less confidence in him, than they would have done had he sought to obtain liberty by some more commendable process. being aware of this, he returned to his master, not long after he acknowledged the theft. at one time, it was proposed to send him back to the south; but he swore that he would cut his throat rather than return into slavery. the best lawyers declared their opinion that he was legally entitled to freedom, in consequence of his master's written promise to manumit him if the money were restored; consequently some difficulties would have attended any attempt to coerce him. he was tried on an indictment for grand larceny, convicted, and sentenced to the state prison for two years; the shortest term allowed for the offence charged against him. through the whole course of the affair, he proved himself to be a very irresolute and unreliable character. at one time, he said that: his master was a notorious gambler; then he denied that he ever said so; then he affirmed that his first statement was true, though he had been frightened into contradicting it. when his time was out at sing sing, he expressed to friend hopper and others his determination to remain at the north; but after an interview with mr. darg, he consented to return to the south with him. although he was thus wavering in character, he could never be persuaded to say that any abolitionist advised him to take his master's money. he always declared that no white man knew anything about it, until after he had placed it out of his own hands; and that the friends who were willing to aid him in procuring his manumission had always expressed their regret that he had committed such a wrong action. he deserved praise for his consistency on this point; for he had the offer of being exempted from prosecution himself, and used as a witness, if he would say they advised him to steal the money. when thomas hughes consented to return to the south with mr. darg, it was with the full understanding that he went as a free man, consenting to be his servant. this he expressed during his last interview with friend hopper, in mr. darg's presence. but the newspapers represented that he had voluntarily gone back into slavery; and such was their exultation over his supposed choice, that a person unacquainted with the history of our republic might have inferred that the heroes of the revolution fought and died mainly for the purpose of convincing their posterity of the superior advantages of slavery over freedom. however, it was not long before thomas returned to new-york, and told the following story: "a short time before my release from prison, mr. darg brought my wife to see me, and told me we should both be free and enjoy each other's society as long as we lived, if i would go with him. he said i should suffer here at the north; for the abolitionists would do nothing for me. i went with him solely with the hope of living with mary. i thought if he attempted to hold me as a slave, we would both run away, the first opportunity. he told me we should meet mary in washington; but when we arrived in baltimore, he shut me up in jail, and told me mary was sold, and carried off south. i cannot describe how i felt. i never expect to see her again. he asked me if i consented to come with him on mary's account, or on his own account. i thought it would make it better for me to say on his account; and i said so. i hope the lord will forgive me for telling a falsehood. when i had been in jail some time, he called to see me, and said that as i did not come with him on account of my wife, he would not sell me; that i should be free, and he would try to buy mary for me." thomas said he was informed that certain people in new-york wrote to mr. darg, advising him not to sell him, because the abolitionists predicted that he would do so; and he thought that was the reason why he was not sold. if this supposition was correct, it is a great pity that his master was not induced by some better motive to avoid an evil action. thomas uniformly spoke of mrs. darg with respect and gratitude. he said, "she was always very kind to me and mary. i know she did not want to have me sold, or to have mary sold; for i believe she loved her. i feel very sorry that i could not live with her and be free; but i had rather live in the state prison all my life than to be a slave." i never heard what became of thomas. friend shoemaker used to tell me, years afterward, how she secreted him, and rejoiced in the deed. i heard the good lady, when more than ninety years old, just before her death, talk the matter over; and her kindly, intelligent countenance smiled all over, as she recounted how she had contrived to dodge the police, and avoid being a witness in the case. the fugitive slave law would be of no avail to tyrants, if all the women at the north had as much moral courage, and were as benevolent and quick-witted as she was. those who were most active in persecuting friend hopper and barney corse convinced the public, by their subsequent disreputable career, that they were not men whose word could be relied upon. dr. r.w. moore, of philadelphia, in a letter to friend hopper concerning this troublesome case, says: "i am aware thou hast passed through many trials in the prosecution of this matter. condemned by the world, censured by some of thy friends, and discouraged by the weak, thou hast had much to bear. but thou hast been able to foil thy enemies, and to pass through the flames without the smell of fire on thy garments. thy christian firmness is an example to us all. it reminds one of those ancient quakers, who, knowing themselves in the right, suffered wrongs rather than compromise their principles. for the sake of mankind, i am sorry there are not more such characters among us. they would do more to exalt our principles, than a host of the professors of the present day." a year or two later, another incident occurred, which excited similar exultation among new-york editors, that a human being had been so wise as to prefer slavery to freedom; and there was about as much cause for such exultation as there had been in the case of thomas hughes. mrs. burke of new-orleans went to new-york to visit a relative by the name of morgan. she brought a slave to attend upon her, and took great care to prevent her becoming acquainted with the colored people. i don't know how city editors would account for this extreme caution, consistently with their ideas of the blessedness of slavery. they might argue that there was danger free colored people would be so attracted by her charming pictures of bondage, that they would emigrate to the south in larger numbers than would supply the slave-markets, and thus occasion some depression in an honorable branch of trade in this republic. however they might please to explain it, the simple fact was, mrs. burke did not allow her slave to go into the street. of course, she must have had some other motive than the idea that _freedom_ could be attractive to her. the colored people became aware of the careful constraint imposed upon the woman, and they informed the abolitionists. thinking it right that slaves should be made aware of their legal claim to freedom, when brought or sent into the free states, with knowledge and consent of their masters, they applied to judge oakley for a writ of _habeas corpus,_ by virtue of which the girl was brought before him. while she was in waiting, friend hopper heard of the circumstance, and immediately proceeded to the court-room. there he found mr. morgan and one of his southern friends talking busily with the slave. the woman appeared frightened and undecided, as is often the case, under such circumstances. those who wished her to return to the south plied her with fair promises. they represented abolitionists as a set of kidnappers, who seized colored strangers under friendly pretences, and nobody could tell what became of them afterward. it was urged that her condition would be most miserable with the "free niggers" of the north, even if the abolitionists did not sell her, or spirit her away to some unknown region. on the other hand, the colored people, who had assembled about the court-room, were very eager to rescue her from slavery. she did not understand their motives, or those of the abolitionists; for they had been diligently misrepresented to her. "what do they want to do it _for_?" she asked, with a perplexed air. "what will they do with me?" she was afraid there was some selfish motive concealed. she dared not trust the professions of strangers, whose characters had been so unfavorably represented. friend hopper found her in this confused state of mind. the southerner was very willing to speak _for_ her. he gave assurance that she did not want her freedom; that she desired to return to the south; and that she had been in no respect distrained of her liberty in the city of new-york. "thou art a very respectable looking man," said friend hopper; "but i have known slaveholders, of even more genteel appearance than thou art, tell gross falsehoods where a slave was in question. i tell thee plainly, that i have no confidence in slaveholders, in any such case. i have had too much acquaintance with them. i know their game too well." the southerner said something about its being both mean and wrong to come between master and servant. "such may be thy opinion," replied friend hopper; "but my views of duty differ from thine in this matter." then turning to the woman, he said, "by the laws here, thou art free. no man has a right to make thee a slave again. thou mayest stay at the north, or go back to new-orleans, just as thou choosest." the southerner here interposed to say, "mind what that old gentleman says. you can go back to new-orleans, to your husband, if you prefer to go." "but let me tell thee," said friend hopper to the woman, "that if thou stayest here, thou wilt be free; but if they carry thee back, they may sell thee away from thy husband. dost thou wish to be free?" the tears gushed from her eyes in full flood, and she replied earnestly, "i do want to be free. to be _sure i_ do want to be free; but then i want to go to my husband." mr. morgan and his southern friend grew excited. with an angry glance at the old gentleman, the latter exclaimed, "i only wish we had you in new-orleans! we'd hang you up in twenty-four hours." "then you are a set of savages," replied friend hopper. "_you_ are a set of thieves," retorted he. "well, savages may be thieves also," rejoined the abolitionist, with a significant smile. "you are no gentleman," responded the other, in an irritated tone. "i don't profess to be a gentleman," answered the impassive quaker. "but i am an honest old man; and perhaps that will do as well." this remark occasioned a general smile. indeed it was pleasant to observe, throughout this scene in the court-room, that popular sympathy was altogether on the side of freedom. it was a strange blind instinct on the part of the people, considering how diligently they had been instructed otherwise by pulpit and press; but so it was. when the slave was summoned into the judge's room, friend hopper followed; being extremely desirous to have her understand her position clearly. he found mr. morgan and his southern friend in close and earnest conversation with her. when he attempted to approach her, he was unceremoniously shoved aside, with the remark, "don't push me away!" "i did not push thee," said friend hopper; "and see that thou dost not push _me_!" he then inquired of the woman if he had rightly understood that her husband was free. she replied in the affirmative. "then let me tell thee," said the kind-hearted old gentleman, "that we will send for him, and obtain employment for him here, if it is thy choice to remain." again she wept, and repeated, "i do want to be free." but she was evidently bewildered and distrustful, and did not know how to understand the opposite professions that were made to her. on representation of the claimant's friends, judge oakley adjourned the case till the next morning; telling the woman she was at liberty to go with whom she pleased. the colored people had assembled in considerable numbers, and were a good deal excited. experience led them to suppose that she would either be cajoled into consenting to return to slavery, or else secretly packed off to new-orleans, if she were left in southern hands. they accordingly made haste to hustle her away. but their well-intended zeal terrified the poor bewildered creature, and she escaped from them, and went back to her mistress. the pro-slavery papers chuckled, as they always do, when some poor ignorant victim is deceived by false representation, alarmed by an excitement that she does not comprehend, afraid that strangers are not telling her the truth, or that they have not the power to protect her; and in continual terror of future punishment, if she should attempt to take her freedom, and yet be unable to maintain it. great is the triumph of republicans, when, under such trying circumstances, _one_ poor bewildered wretch goes back to slavery; but of the _hundreds_, who every month take their freedom, through fire and flood, and all manner of deadly perils, they are as silent as the grave. in the spring of , i went to new-york to edit the anti-slavery standard, and took up my abode with the family of isaac t. hopper. the zealous theological controversy among friends naturally subsided after the separation between the opposing parties had become an old and settled fact. consequently the demand for quaker books diminished more and more. the anti-slavery society, at that time, needed a treasurer and book-agent; and friend hopper was proposed as a suitable person for that office. as only a small portion of his time was occupied with the sale of books he had on hand, he concluded to accept the proposition. he was then nearly seventy years old; but he appeared at least twenty years younger, in person and manners. his firm, elastic step seemed like a vigorous man of fifty. he would spring from the bowery cars, while they were in motion, with as much agility as a lad of fourteen. his hair was not even sprinkled with gray. it looked so black and glossy, that a young lady, who was introduced to him, said she thought he wore a wig unnaturally dark for his age. it was a favorite joke of his to make strangers believe he wore a wig; and they were not easily satisfied that he spoke in jest, until they examined his head. the roguery of his boyhood had subsided into a love of little mischievous tricks; and the playful tone of humor, that rippled through his conversation, frequently reminded me of the cheeryble brothers, so admirably described by dickens. if some one rang at the door, and inquired for mr. hopper, he always answered, "there is no such person lives here." if the stranger urged that he had been directed by a man who said he knew mr. hopper, he would persevere in saying, "there must be some mistake. no such person lives here." at last, when the disappointed visitor turned to go away, he would call out, "perhaps thou means isaac t. hopper? that is _my_ name." being called upon to give a receipt to a catholic priest for some money deposited in his hands, he simply wrote "received of john smith." when the priest had read it, he handed it back and said, "i am disbursing other people's money, and shall be obliged to show this receipt; therefore, i should like to have you write my name, the reverend john smith." "i have conscientious scruples about using titles," replied friend hopper. "however, i will try to oblige thee." he took another slip of paper, and wrote, "received of john smith, who _calls_ himself the reverend." the priest smiled, and accepted the compromise; being well aware that the pleasantry originated in no personal or sectarian prejudice. he always had something facetious to say to the people with whom he traded. the oyster-men, the coal-men, and the women at the fruit-stalls in his neighborhood, all knew him as a pleasant old gentleman, always ready for a joke. one day, when he was buying some peaches, he said to the woman, "a serious accident happened at our house last night. i killed two robbers." "dear me!" she exclaimed. "were they young men, or old convicts? had they ever been in sing sing?" "i don't know about that," replied he. "i should think they might have been by the noise they made. but i despatched them before they had stolen much. the walls are quite bloody." "has a coroner's inquest been called?" inquired the woman. when he answered, "no," she lifted her hands in astonishment, and exclaimed, "well now, i do declare! if anybody else had done it, there would have been a great fuss made about it; but you are a privileged man, mr. hopper." when he was about to walk away, he turned round and said, "i did not mention to thee that the robbers i killed were two mosquitoes." the woman had a good laugh, and he came home as pleased as a boy, to think how completely his serious manner had deceived her. one day he went to a hosiery store, and said to the man, "i bought a pair of stockings here yesterday. they looked very nice; but when i got home, i found two large holes in them; and i have come for another pair. the man summoned his wife, and informed her of what the gentleman had said. "bless me! is it possible, sir?" she exclaimed. "yes," replied friend hopper, i found they had holes as large as my hand." "it is very strange," rejoined she; "for i am sure they were new. but if you have brought them back, of course we will change them." "o," said he, "upon examination, i concluded that the big holes were made to put the feet in; and i liked the stockings so well, that i have come to buy another pair." at another time, he entered a crockery shop, where a young girl was tending. he made up a very sorrowful face, and in whining tones, told her that he was in trouble and needed help. she asked him to wait till the gentleman came; but he continued to beseech that she would take compassion on him. the girl began to be frightened by his importunity, and looked anxiously toward the door. at last, the man of the shop came in; and friend hopper said, "this young woman thinks she cannot help me out of my trouble; but i think she can. the fact is, we are going to have company, and so many of our tumblers are broken, that i came to ask if she would sell me a few." one day, when he was walking quickly up the bowery, his foot slipped on a piece of orange-peel, and he fell prostrate on the sidewalk. he started up instantly, and turning to a young man behind him, he said, "couldst thou have done that any better?" he very often mingled with affairs in the street, as he passed along. one day, when he saw a man beating his horse brutally, he stepped up to him and said, very seriously, "dost thou know that some people think men change into animals when they die?" the stranger's attention was arrested by such an unexpected question, and he answered that he never was acquainted with anybody who had that belief. "but some people do believe it," rejoined friend hopper; "and they also believe that animals may become men. now i am thinking if thou shouldst ever be a horse, and that horse should ever be a man, with such a temper as thine, the chance is thou wilt get some cruel beatings." having thus changed the current of his angry mood, he proceeded to expostulate with him in a friendly way; and the poor beast was reprieved, for that time, at least. he could imitate the irish brogue very perfectly; and it was a standing jest with him to make every irish stranger believe he was a countryman. during his visit to ireland, he had become so well acquainted with various localities, that i believe he never in any instance failed to deceive them, when he said, "och! and sure i came from old ireland meself." after amusing himself in this way for a while, he would tell them, "it is true i did come from ireland; but, to confess the truth, i went there first." once, when he saw two irishmen fighting, he seized one of them by the arm, and said, "i'm from ould ireland. if thou _must_ fight, i'm the man for thee. thou hadst better let that poor fellow alone. i'm a dale stouter than he is; and sure it would be braver to fight me." the man thus accosted looked at him with surprise, for an instant, then burst out laughing, threw his coat across his arm, and walked off. another time, when he found two irishmen quarrelling, he stepped up and inquired what was the matter. "he's got my prayer-book," exclaimed one of them; "and i'll give him a bating for it; by st. patrick, i will." "let me give thee a piece of advice," said friend hopper. "it's a very hot day, and bating is warm work. i'm thinking thou had'st better put it off till the cool o' the morning." the men, of course, became cooler before they had done listening to this playful remonstrance. once, when he was travelling in the stage, they passed a number of irishmen with cart-loads of stones, to mend the road. friend hopper suggested to the driver that he had better ask them to remove a very large stone, which lay directly in the way and seemed dangerous. "it will be of no use if i do," replied the driver. "they'll only curse me, and tell me to go round the old road, over the hill; for the fact is, this road is not fairly opened to the public yet." friend hopper jumped out, and asked if they would turn that big stone aside. "and sure ye've no business here at all," they replied. "ye may jist go round by the ould road." "och!" said friend hopper, "and is this the way i'm trated by my coontryman? i'm from ireland meself; and sure i did'nt expect to be trated so by my coontrymen in a strange coontry." "and are ye from ould ireland?" inquired they. "indade i am," he replied. "and what part may ye be from?" said they. "from mount mellick, queen's county," rejoined he; and he began to talk familiarly about the priest and the doctor there, till he got the laborers into a real good humor, and they removed the stone with the utmost alacrity. the passengers in the stage listened to this conversation, and supposed that he was in reality an irish quaker. when he returned to them and explained the joke, they had a hearty laugh over his powers of mimicry. his tricks with children were innumerable. they would often be lying in wait for him in the street; and if he passed without noticing them, they would sometimes pull at the skirts of his coat, to obtain the customary attention. occasionally, he would observe a little troop staring at him, attracted by the singularity of his costume. then, he would stop, face about, stretch out his leg, and say, "come now, boys! come, and take a good look!" it was his delight to steal up behind them, and tickle their necks, while he made a loud squealing noise. the children, supposing some animal had set upon them, would jump as if they had been shot. and how he would laugh! when he met a boy with dirty face or hands, he would stop him, and inquire if he ever studied chemistry. the boy, with a wondering stare, would answer, "no." "well then, i will teach thee how to perform a curious chemical experiment," said friend hopper. "go home, take a piece of soap, put it in water, and rub it briskly on thy hands and face. thou hast no idea what a beautiful froth it will make, and how much whiter thy skin will be. that's a chemical experiment. i advise thee to try it." the character of his wife was extremely modest and reserved; and he took mischievous pleasure in telling strangers the story of their courtship in a way that made her blush. "dost thou know what hannah answered, when i asked if she would marry me?" said he. "i will tell thee how it was. i was walking home with her one evening, soon after the death of her mother, and i mentioned to her that as she was alone now, i supposed she intended to make some change in her mode of living. when she said yes, i told her i had been thinking it would be very pleasant to have her come and live with me. 'that would suit me exactly,' said she. this prompt reply made me suppose she might not have understood my meaning; and i explained that i wanted to have her become a member of my family; but she replied again, 'there is nothing i should like better.'" the real fact was, the quiet and timid hannah attmore was not dreaming of such a thing as a proposal of marriage. she supposed he spoke of receiving her as a boarder in his family. when she at last perceived his meaning, she slipped her arm out of his very quickly, and was too much confused to utter a word. but it amused him to represent that she seized the opportunity the moment it was offered. there was one of the anti-slavery agents who did everything in a dashing, wholesale style, and was very apt to give peremptory orders. one day he wrote a letter on business, to which the following postscript was appended: "give the hands at your office a tremendous blowing up. they need it." friend hopper briefly replied: "according to thy orders, i have given the hands at our office a tremendous blowing up. they want to know what it is for. please inform me by return of mail." when the prison association of new-york petitioned to be incorporated, he went to albany on business therewith connected. he was then a stranger at the seat of government, though they afterward came to know him well. when he was seated in the senate-chamber, a man came to him and told him to take off his hat. he replied, "i had rather not. i am accustomed to keep it on." "but it is contrary to the rules," rejoined the officer. "i am ordered to turn out any man who refuses to uncover his head." the quaker quietly responded, "very well, friend, obey thy orders." "then, will you please to walk out, sir?" said the officer. "no," replied friend hopper. "didst thou not tell me thou wert ordered to turn me out? dost thou suppose i am going to do thy duty for thee?" the officer looked embarrassed, and said, half smiling, "but how am i to get you out?" "carry me out, to be sure," rejoined friend hopper. "i see no other way." the officer went and whispered to the speaker, who glanced at the noble-looking old gentleman, and advised that he should be let alone. sometimes his jests conveyed cutting sarcasms. one day, when he was riding in an omnibus, he opened a port-monnaie lined with red. a man with very flaming visage, who was somewhat intoxicated, and therefore very much inclined to be talkative, said, "ah, that is a very gay pocket-book for a quaker to carry." "yes, it is very red," replied friend hopper; "but is not so red as thy nose." the passengers all smiled, and the man seized the first opportunity to make his escape. a poor woman once entered an omnibus, which was nearly full, and stood waiting for some one to make room. a proud-looking lady sat near friend hopper, and he asked her to move a little, to accommodate the new comer. but she looked very glum, and remained motionless. after examining her countenance for an instant, he said, "if thy face often looks so, i shouldn't like to have thee for a neighbor." the passengers exchanged smiles at this rebuke, and the lady frowned still more deeply. one of the jury in the darg case was "a son of abraham," rather conspicuous for his prejudice against colored people. some time after the proceedings were dropped, friend hopper happened to meet him, and entered into conversation on the subject. the jew was very bitter against "that rascally thief, tom hughes." "it does not become _thee_ to be so very severe," said friend hopper; "for thy ancestors were slaves in egypt, and went off with the gold and silver jewels they borrowed of their masters." one day he met several of the society of friends, whom he had not seen for some time. among them was an orthodox friend, who was rather stiff in his manners. the others shook hands with isaac; but when he approached "the orthodox," he merely held out his finger. "why dost thou offer me thy finger?" said he. "i don't allow people of certain principles to get very deep hold of _me_," was the cold reply. "thou needest have no uneasiness on that score," rejoined friend hopper; "for there never was anything deep in thee to get hold of." the sense of justice, so conspicuous in boyhood, always remained a distinguishing trait in his character. once, after riding half a mile, he perceived that he had got into the wrong omnibus. when he jumped out, the driver called for pay; but he answered, "i don't owe thee anything. i've been carried the wrong way." this troubled him afterward, when he considered that he had used the carriage and horses, and that the mistake was his own fault. he kept on the look-out for the driver, but did not happen to see him again, until several weeks afterward. he called to him to stop, and paid the sixpence. "why, you refused to pay me, when i asked you," said the driver. "i know i did," he replied; "but i repented of it afterward. i was in a hurry then, and i did not reflect that the mistake was my fault, not thine; and that i ought to pay for riding half a mile with thy horses, though they did carry me the wrong way." the man laughed, and said he didn't often meet with such conscientious passengers. the tenacity of the old gentleman's memory was truly remarkable. he often repeated letters, which he had written or received twenty years before on some memorable occasion; and if opportunity occurred to compare them with the originals, it would be found that he had scarcely varied a word. he always maintained that he could distinctly remember some things, which happened before he was two years old. one day, when his parents were absent, and polly was busy about her work, he sat bolstered up in his cradle, when a sudden gust of wind blew a large piece of paper through the entry. to his uneducated senses, it seemed to be a living creature, and he screamed violently. it was several hours before he recovered from his extreme terror. when his parents returned, he tried to make them understand how a strange thing had come into the house, and run, and jumped, and made a noise. but his lisping language was so very imperfect, that they were unable to conjecture what had so frightened him. for a long time after, he would break out into sudden screams, whenever the remembrance came over him. at seventy-five years old, he told me he remembered exactly how the paper then appeared to him, and what sensations of terror it excited in his infant breast. he had a large old-fashioned cow-bell, which was always rung to summon the family to their meals. he resisted having one of more modern construction, because he said that pleasantly reminded him of the time when he was a boy, and used to drive the cows to pasture. sometimes, he rang it much longer than was necessary to summon the household. on such occasions, i often observed him smiling while he stood shaking the bell; and he would say, "i am thinking how polly looked, when the cow kicked her over; milk-pail and all. i can see it just as if it happened yesterday. o, what fun it was!" he often spoke of the first slave whose escape he managed, in the days of his apprenticeship. he was wont to exclaim, "how well i remember the anxious, imploring, look that poor fellow gave me, when i told him i would be his friend! it rises up before me now. if i were a painter, i could show it to thee." but clearly above all other things, did he remember every look and tone of his beloved sarah; even in the days when they trudged to school together, hand in hand. the recollection of this first love, closely intertwined with his first religious impressions, was the only flowery spot of romance in the old gentleman's very practical character. when he was seventy years of age, he showed me a piece of writing she had copied for him, when she was a girl of fourteen. it was preserved in the self-same envelope, in which she sent it, and pinned with the same pin, long since blackened by age. i said, "be careful not to lose that pin." "lose it!" he exclaimed. "no money could tempt me to part with it. i loved the very ground she trod upon." he was never weary of eulogizing her comely looks, beautiful manners, sound principles, and sensible conversation. the worthy companion of his later life never seemed troubled by such remarks. she not only "listened to a sister's praises with unwounded ear," but often added a heartfelt tribute to the virtues of her departed friend. it is very common for old people to grow careless about their personal appearance, and their style of conversation; but friend hopper was remarkably free from such faults. he was exceedingly pure in his mind, and in his personal habits. he never alluded to any subject that was unclean, never made any indelicate remark, or used any unseemly expression. there was never the slightest occasion for young people to feel uneasy concerning what he might say. however lively his mood might be, his fun was always sure to be restrained by the nicest sense of natural propriety. he shaved, and took a cold plunge-bath every day. not a particle of mud or dust was allowed to remain upon his garments. he always insisted on blacking his own shoes; for it was one of his principles not to be waited upon, while he was well enough to wait upon himself. they were always as polished as japan; and every saturday night, his silver buckles were made as bright as a new dollar, in readiness to go to meeting the next day. his dress was precisely like that worn by william penn. at the time i knew him, i believe he was the only quaker in the country, who had not departed from that model in the slightest degree. it was in fact the dress of all english gentlemen, in king charles's time; and the only peculiarity of william penn was, that he wore it without embroidery or ornament of any kind, for the purpose of protesting against the extravagance of the fashionable world. therefore, the _spirit_ of his intention and that of other early friends, would be preserved by wearing dress cut according to the prevailing mode, but of plain materials, and entirely unornamented. however, friend hopper was attached to the ancient costume from early association, and he could not quite banish the idea that any change in it would be a degree of conformity to the fashions of the world. the long stockings, and small clothes buckled at the knee, were well adapted to his finely formed limbs; and certainly he and his lady-like hannah, in their quaint garb of the olden time, formed a very agreeable picture. he had no peculiarities with regard to eating or drinking. he always followed the old-fashioned substantial mode of living, to which he had been accustomed in youth, and of which moderation in all things was the rule. for luxuries he had no taste. he thought very little about his food; but when it was before him, he ate with the vigorous appetite natural to strong health and very active habits. when his health failed for a time in philadelphia, and he seemed wasting away to a shadow, his physician recommended tobacco. he found great benefit from it, and in consequence of the habit then formed he became an inveterate smoker, and continued so till he was past seventy years old. being out of health for a short time, at that period, the doctor told him he thought smoking was not good for his complaint. he accordingly discontinued the practice, and formed a resolution not to renew it. when he recovered, it cost him a good deal of physical annoyance to conquer the long-settled habit; but he had sufficient strength of mind to persevere in the difficult task, and he never again used tobacco in any form. speaking of this to his son edward, he said, "the fact is, whoever cures himself of any selfish indulgence, becomes a better man. it may seem strange that i should set out to improve at my age; but better late than never." he was eminently domestic in his character. perhaps no man ever lived, who better enjoyed staying at home. he loved to invite his grand-children, and write them pleasant little notes about the squirrel-pie, or some other rarity, which he had in preparation for them. he seldom went out of his own family circle, except on urgent business, or to attend to some call of humanity. he was always very attentive in waiting upon his wife to meeting, or elsewhere, and spent a large portion of his evenings in reading to her from the newspapers, or some book of travels, or the writings of early friends. no man in the country had such a complete quaker library. he contrived to pick up every rare old volume connected with the history of his sect. he had a wonderful fondness and reverence for many of those books. they seemed to stand to him in the place of old religious friends, who had parted from his side in the journey of life. there, at least, he found quakerism that had not degenerated; that breathed the same spirit as of yore. i presume that his religious opinions resembled those of elias hicks. but i judged so mainly from incidental remarks; for he regarded doctrines as of small importance, and considered theology an unprofitable topic of conversation. practical righteousness, manifested in the daily affairs of life, was in his view the sum and substance of religion. the doctrine of the atonement never commended itself to his reason, and his sense of justice was disturbed by the idea of the innocent suffering for the guilty. he moreover thought it had a pernicious tendency for men to rely on an abstract article of faith, to save them from their sins. with the stern and gloomy sects, who are peculiarly attracted by the character of deity as delineated in the old testament, he had no sympathy. the infinite one was ever present to his mind, as a loving father to all his children, whether they happened to call him by the name of brama, jehovah, god, or allah. he was strongly attached to the forms of quakerism, as well as to the principles. it troubled him, when some of his children changed their mode of dress, and ceased to say _thee_ and _thou_. he groaned when one of his daughters appeared before him with a black velvet bonnet, though it was exceedingly simple in construction, and unornamented by feather or ribbon. she was prepared for this reception, and tried to reconcile him to the innovation by representing that a white or drab-colored silk bonnet showed every stain, and was therefore very uneconomical for a person of active habits. "thy good mother was a very energetic woman," he replied; "but she found no difficulty in keeping her white bonnet as nice as a new pin." his daughter urged that it required a great deal of trouble to keep it so; and that she did not think dress was worth so much trouble. but his groan was only softened into a sigh. the fashion of the bonnet his sarah had worn, in that beloved old meeting-house at woodbury, was consecrated in his memory; and to his mind, the outward type also stood for an inward principle. i used to tell him that i found something truly grand in the original motive for saying _thee_ and _thou_; but it seemed to me that it had degenerated into a mere hereditary habit, since the custom of applying _you_ exclusively to superiors had vanished from the english language. he admitted the force of this argument; but he deprecated a departure from their old forms, because he considered it useful, especially to the young, to carry the cross of being marked and set apart from the world. but though he was thus strict in what he required of those who had been educated as quakers, he placed no barrier between himself and people of other sects. he loved a righteous man, and sympathized with an unfortunate one, without reference to his denomination. in fact, many of his warmest and dearest friends were not members of his own religious society. early in life he formed an unfavorable opinion of the effect of capital punishment. his uncle tatum considered it a useful moral lesson to take all his apprentices to hear the tragedy of george barnwell, and to witness public executions. on one of these occasions, he saw five men hung at once. his habits of shrewd observation soon led him to conclude that such spectacles generally had a very hardening and bad influence on those who witnessed them, or heard them much talked about. in riper years, his mind was deeply interested in the subject, and he read and reflected upon it a great deal. the result of his investigations was a settled conviction that executions did not tend to diminish crime, but rather to increase it, by their demoralizing effect on the community. he regarded them with abhorrence, as a barbarous custom, entirely out of place in a civilized country and a christian age. concerning the rights of women, he scarcely needed any new light from modern theories; for, as a quaker, he had been early accustomed to practical equality between men and women in all the affairs of the society. he had always been in the habit of listening to them as preachers, and of meeting them on committees with men, for education, for the care of the poor, for missions to the indians, and for financial regulations. therefore, it never occurred to him that there was anything unseemly in a woman's using any gift with which god had endowed her, or transacting any business, which she had the ability to do well. after his removal to new-york, incidents now and then occurred, which formed pleasant links with his previous life in philadelphia. sometimes slaves, whom he had rescued many years before, or convicts, whom he had encouraged to lead a better life, called to see him and express their gratitude. sometimes their children came to bless him. there was one old colored woman, who never could meet him without embracing him. although these demonstrations were not always convenient, and did not partake of the quiet character of quaker discipline, he would never say anything to repress the overflowings of her warm old heart. as one of his sons passed through bond-street, he saw an old colored man rubbing his knees, and making the most lively gesticulations of delight. being asked what was the matter, he pointed across the street, and exclaimed, "o, if i was only sure that was friend hopper of philadelphia! if i was only _sure_!" when told that he was not mistaken, he rushed up to the old gentleman, threw his arms about his neck, and hugged him. when i told him of julia pell, a colored methodist preacher, whose fervid untutored eloquence had produced an exciting effect on my mind, he invited her to come and take tea with him. in the course of conversation, he discovered that she was the daughter of zeke, the slave who outwitted his purchaser; as described in the preceding narratives. it was quite an interesting event in her life to meet with the man who had written her father's manumission papers, while she was in her infancy. when the parting hour came, she said she felt moved to pray; and dropping on her knees, she poured forth a brief but very earnest prayer, at the close of which she said: "o lord, i beseech thee to shower down blessings on that good old man, whom thou hast raised up to do such a blessed work for my down-trodden people." friend hopper's fund of anecdotes, especially with regard to colored people, was almost inexhaustible. he related them with so much animation, that he was constantly called upon to repeat them, both at public meetings and in private conversation; and they never failed to excite lively interest. every stranger, who was introduced to him, tried to draw him out; and it was an easy matter; for he loved to oblige people, and it is always pleasant for an old soldier to fight his battles over again. in this readiness to recount his own exploits, there was nothing that seemed like silly or obtrusive vanity. it often reminded me of the following just remark in the westminster review, applied to jeremy bentham: "the very egotism in which he occasionally indulged was a manifestation of a _want_ of self-thought. this unpopular failing is, after all, one of the characteristics of a natural and simple mind. it requires much _thought_ about one's self to _avoid_ speaking of one's self." it has been already mentioned that friend hopper passed through a fiery trial in his own religious society, during the progress of the schism produced by the preaching of elias hicks. fourteen years had elapsed since the separation. the "hicksite" branch had become an established and respectable sect. in cities, many of them were largely engaged in southern trade. i have heard it stated that millions of money were thus invested. they retained sympathy with the theological opinions of elias hicks, but his rousing remonstrances against slavery would have been generally very unwelcome to their ears. they cherished the names of anthony benezet, john woolman, and a host of other departed worthies, whose labors in behalf of the colored people reflected honor on their society. but where was the need of being so active in the cause, as isaac t. hopper was, and always had been? "the way did not open" for _them_ to be so active; and why should _his_ zeal rebuke _their_ listlessness? was it friendly, was it respectful in him, to do more than his religious society thought it necessary to do? it is astonishing how troublesome a living soul proves to be, when they try to shut it up within the narrow limits of a drowsy sect! i had a friend in boston, whose wealthy and aristocratic parents brought him up according to the most approved model of genteel religion. he learned the story of the good samaritan, and was early accustomed to hear eulogies pronounced on the holy jesus, who loved the poor, and associated with the despised. when the boy became a man he joined the anti-slavery society, and openly avowed that he regarded africans as brethren of the great human family. his relatives were grieved to see him pursuing such an injudicious and disrespectable course. whereupon, a witty reformer remarked, "they took most commendable pains to present jesus and the good samaritan as models of character, but they were surprised to find that he had taken them at their word." the case was somewhat similar with isaac t. hopper. he had imbibed anti-slavery principles in full flood at the fountain of quakerism. their best and greatest men were conspicuous as advocates of those principles. children were taught to revere those men, and their testimonies were laid up in honorable preservation, to be quoted with solemn formality on safe occasions. friend hopper acted as if these professions were in good earnest; and thereby he disturbed his sect, as my boston friend troubled his family, when he made practical use of their religious teaching. that many of the modern quakers should be blinded by bales of cotton, heaped up between their souls and the divine light, is not remarkable; for cotton is an impervious material. but it is a strange anomaly in their history that any one among them should have considered himself guided by the spirit to undertake the especial mission of discouraging sympathy with the enslaved. a minister belonging to that branch of the society called "hicksites," who usually preached in rose-street meeting, new-york, had imbibed very strong prejudices against all modern reforms: and he manifested his aversion with a degree of excitement, in language, tone, and gesture, very unusual in that quiet sect. those who labored in the cause of temperance, anti-slavery, or non-resistance, he was wont to stigmatize as "hireling lecturers," "hireling book-agents," and "emissaries of satan." soon after thomas hughes consented to return to the south, in consequence of the fair professions of mr. darg, this preacher chimed in with the exulting tones of the pro-slavery press, by alluding to it in one of his public discourses as follows. after speaking of the tendency of affliction to produce humility, he went on to say, "as a slave, who had suffered the effects of his criminal conduct, and been thus led to calm reflection, recently chose to go back with this master into slavery, and endure all the evils of that condition, notwithstanding his former experience of them, rather than stay with those hypocritical workers of popular righteousness who had interfered in his behalf. for my own part, i commend his choice. i had a thousand times rather be a slave, and spend my days with slaveholders, than to dwell in companionship with abolitionists." the state of things among quakers in the city of new-york may be inferred from the fact that this minister was exceedingly popular, and his style of preaching cordially approved by a majority of them. one of the editors of the anti-slavery standard, at that time, wrote a severe, though by no means abusive article on the subject, headed "rare specimen of a quaker preacher." this gave great offence, and isaac t. hopper was very much blamed for it. he, and his son-in-law james s. gibbons, and his friend charles marriott, then belonged to the executive committee of the anti-slavery society; and it was assumed to be their duty to have prevented the publication of the sarcastic article. charles harriot was absent from the city when it was published, and friend hopper did not see it till after it was in print. when they urged these facts, and stated, moreover, that they had no right to dictate to the editor what he should say, or what he should not say, they were told that they ought to exculpate themselves by a public expression of their disapprobation. but as they did not believe the editorial article contained any mis-statement of facts, they could not conscientiously say any thing that would satisfy the friends of the preacher. it would be tedious to relate the difficulties that followed. there were visits from overseers, and prolonged sessions of committees; a great deal of talking _with_ the accused, and still more talking _about_ them. a strong disposition was manifested to make capital against them out of the darg case. robert h. morris, who was presiding judge while that case was pending, and afterward mayor of new-york, had long known friend hopper, and held him in much respect. when he was told that some sought to cast imputations on his character, he was greatly surprised, and offered to give favorable testimony in any form that might be desired. j.r. whiting, the district attorney, expressed the same readiness; and private misrepresentations were silenced by a published certificate from them, testifying that throughout the affair friend hopper had merely "exhibited a desire to procure the money for the master, and the manumission of the slave." the principal argument brought by friends, against their members uniting with anti-slavery societies, was that they were thus led to mix indiscriminately with people of other denominations, and brought into contact with hireling clergymen. there seemed some inconsistency in this objection, coming from the mouths of men who belonged to rail road corporations, and bank stock companies, and who mingled constantly with slaveholders in southern trade; for the early testimonies of the society were quite as explicit against slavery, as against a paid ministry. however, those of their members who were abolitionists were willing to obviate this objection, if possible. they accordingly formed an association among themselves, "for the relief of those held in slavery, and the improvement of the free people of color." but when this benevolent association asked for the use of rose-street meeting-house, their request was not only refused, but condemned as disorderly. affairs were certainly in a very singular position. both branches of the society of friends were entirely inert on the subject of slavery. both expressed pity for the slave, but both agreed that "the way did not open" for them to _do_ anything. if individual members were thus driven to unite in action with other sects upon a subject which seemed to them very important, they were called disorganizers. when they tried to conciliate by forming an association composed of quakers only, they were told that "as the society of friends saw no way to move forward in this concern, such associations appeared to reflect upon _them_;" implying that they failed in discharging their duty as a religious body. what could an earnest, direct character, like isaac t. hopper, do in the midst of a sect thus situated? he proceeded as he always did. he walked straight forward in what seemed to him the path of duty, and snapped all the lilliputian cords with which they tried to bind him. being unable to obtain any apology from their offending members, the society proceeded to administer its discipline. a complaint was laid before the monthly meeting of new-york, in which isaac t. hopper, james s. gibbons, and charles marriott, were accused of "being concerned in the publication and support of a paper calculated to excite discord and disunity among friends." friend hopper published a statement, characterised by his usual boldness, and disturbed his mind very little about the result of their proceedings. april, , he wrote thus, to his daughter, sarah h. palmer, of philadelphia: "during my late indisposition, i was induced to enter into a close examination of my own heart; and i could not find that i stood condemned there for the part i have taken in the anti-slavery cause, which has brought upon me so much censure from those 'who know not god, nor his son jesus christ. they profess that they know god, but in works they deny him.' i have not yet given up our society as lost. i still live in the faith that it will see better days. i often remember the testimony borne by that devoted and dignified servant of the lord, mary ridgeway; which was to this import: 'the lord, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, has gathered this society to be a people, and has placed his name among them; and he has given them noble testimonies to hold up to the nations; but if they prove unfaithful, those testimonies will be given unto others, who may be compared to the stones of the street; and _they_ will wear the crowns that were intended for this people, who will be cast out, as salt that has lost its savor.' we may plume ourselves upon being the _children_ of abraham, but in the days of solemn inquisition, which surely will come, it will only add to our condemnation, because we have not done the _works_ of abraham." "the yearly meeting will soon be upon us, when we shall have a final decision in our cases. i feel perfectly resigned to the result, be it what it may. indeed, i have sometimes thought i should be happier _out_ of the society than _in_ it. i should feel more at liberty to 'cry aloud and spare not, to lift up my voice like a trumpet, and show the people their transgressions, and the house of jacob their sins.' i believe no greater benefit could be conferred on the society. there are yet many in it who see and deplore its departure from primitive uprightness, but who are afraid to come out as they ought against the evils that prevail in it." an aged and very worthy friend in philadelphia, named robert moore, who deeply sympathized with the wrongs of colored people, wrote to friend hopper as follows: "from to , we had many interesting conversations in thy little front room, respecting the distracted state of our society, and the efforts made to sustain our much beloved brother elias hicks, against those who were anxious for his downfall and excommunication. this great excitement grew hotter till the separation in ; we not being able to endure any longer the intolerance of the party in power. well, it appears that the persecuted have now, in their turn, become persecutors; and those who went through the fire aforetime are devoted to pass through it again. but, my dear friend, i hope thou and all who are doomed to suffer for conscience sake, will stand firm, and not deviate one inch from what you believe to be your duty. they may cast you out of the synagogue, which i fear has become so corrupt that a seat among them has ceased to be an honor, or in any way desirable; but you will pass through the furnace unscathed. not a hair of your heads will be singed." the ecclesiastical proceedings in this case were kept pending more than a year, i think; being carried from the monthly meeting to the quarterly, and thence to the yearly meeting. thirty-six friends were appointed a committee in the yearly meeting. they had six sessions, and finally reported that, after patient deliberation, they found eighteen of their number in favor of confirming the decision of the quarterly meeting; fifteen for reversing it; and three who declined giving any judgment in the case. upon this report, the yearly meeting confirmed the decision of the inferior tribunals; and isaac t. hopper, james s. gibbons, and charles marriott were excommunicated; in quaker phrase, disowned. i thus expressed myself at the time; and the lapse of ten years has not changed my view of the case: excommunication for _such_ causes will cut off from the society their truest, purest, and tenderest spirits. there is isaac t. hopper, whose life has been one long chapter of benevolence, an unblotted record of fair integrity. a man so exclusive in his religious attachments that the principles of his society are to his mind identical with christianity, and its minutest forms sacred from innovation. a man whose name is first mentioned wherever quakerism is praised, or benevolence to the slave approved. there is charles marriott, likewise widely known, and of high standing in the society; mild as a lamb, and tender-hearted as a child; one to whom conflict with others is peculiarly painful, but who nevertheless, when principles are at stake, can say, with the bold-hearted luther, "god help me! i cannot otherwise." there is james s. gibbons, a young man, and therefore less known; but wherever known, prized for his extreme kindness of heart, his steadfast honesty of purpose, his undisguised sincerity, and his unflinching adherence to his own convictions of duty. a society has need to be very rich in moral excellence, that can afford to throw away three such members. protests and disclaimers against the disownment of these worthy men came from several parts of the country, signed by friends of high character; and many private letters were addressed to them, expressive of sympathy and approbation. friend hopper was always grateful for such marks of respect and friendship; but his own conscience would have sustained him without such aid. he had long felt a deep sadness whenever he was reminded of the _spiritual_ separation between him and the religious society, whose preachers had exerted such salutary influence on his youthful character; but the _external_ separation was of no consequence. he attended meeting constantly, as he had ever done, and took his seat on the bench under the preachers' gallery, facing the audience, where he had always been accustomed to sit, when he was an honored member of the society. charles marriott, who was by temperament a much meeker man, said to him one day, "the overseers have called upon me, to represent the propriety of my taking another seat, under existing circumstances. i expect they will call upon thee, to give the same advice." "i expect they _won't_," was isaac's laconic reply; and they never did. his daughter, abby h. gibbons, soon after resigned membership in the monthly meeting of new-york for herself and her children; and his sons josiah and john did the same. the grounds stated were that "the meeting had manifestly departed from the original principles and testimonies of the society of friends; that the plainest principles of civil and religious freedom had been violated in the whole proceedings in relation to their father; and that the overseers had prepared an official document calculated to produce false impressions with regard to him; accusing him of 'grossly reproachful conduct' in the well known darg case; whereas there was abundant evidence before the public that his proceedings in that case were influenced by the purest and most disinterested motives." the philadelphia ledger, after stating that the society of friends in new-york had disowned some of their prominent members for being connected, directly or indirectly, with an abolition journal, added the following remark: "this seems rather singular; for we had supposed that friends were favorably inclined toward the abolition of slavery. but many of their members are highly respectable merchants, extensively engaged in southern trade. we are informed that they are determined to discountenance all pragmatic interference with the legal and constitutional rights of their brethren at the south. the quakers have always been distinguished for minding their own business, and permitting others to attend to theirs. they would be the last people to meddle with the rights of _property_." the boston times quoted the paragraph from the philadelphia ledger, with the additional remark, "there is no logician like money." whether friends in new-york felt flattered by these eulogiums, i know not; but they appear to have been well deserved. in and the year following, friend hopper travelled more than usual. in august ' , he visited his native place, after an absence of twenty years. he and his wife were accompanied from philadelphia by his son edward and his daughter sarah h. palmer. of course, the haunts of his boyhood had undergone many changes. panther's bridge had disappeared, and rabbit swamp and turkey causeway no longer looked like the same places. he visited his father's house, then occupied by strangers, and found the ruins of his great-grandfather's dwelling. down by the pleasant old creek, shaded with large walnut trees and cedars, stood the tombs of many of his relatives; and at woodbury were the graves of his father and mother, and the parents of his wife. every spot had something interesting to say of the past. his eyes brightened, and his tongue became voluble with a thousand memories. had i been present to listen to him then, i should doubtless have been enabled to add considerably to my stock of early anecdotes. he seemed to have brought away from this visit a peculiarly vivid recollection of "poor crazy joe gibson." this demented being was sometimes easily controlled, and willing to be useful; at other times, he was perfectly furious and ungovernable. few people knew how to manage him; but isaac's parents acquired great influence over him by their uniform system of forbearance and tenderness; their own good sense and benevolence having suggested the ideas which regulate the treatment of insanity at the present period. the day spent in woodbury and its vicinity was a bright spot in friend hopper's life, to which he always reverted with a kind of saddened pleasure. the heat of the season had been tempered by floating clouds, and when they returned to philadelphia, there was a faint rainbow in the east. he looked lovingly upon it, and said, "these clouds seem to have followed us all day, on purpose to make everything more pleasant." in the course of the same month he accepted an invitation to attend the anti-slavery convention at norristown, pennsylvania. his appearance there was quite an event. many friends of the cause, who were strangers to him, were curious to obtain a sight of him, and to hear him address the meeting. charles c. burleigh, in an eloquent letter to the convention, says: "i am glad to hear that isaac t. hopper is to be present. that tried old veteran, with his eye undimmed, his natural strength unabated, his resolute look, and calm determined manner, before which the blustering kidnapper, and the self-important oppressor have so often quailed! with the scars of a hundred battles, and the wreaths of an hundred victories in this glorious warfare. with his example of half a century's active service in this holy cause, and his still faithful adherence to it, through evil as well as good report, and in the face of opposition as bitter as sectarian bigotry can stir up. persecution cannot bow the head, which seventy winters could not blanch, nor the terrors of excommunication chill the heart, in which age could not freeze the kindly flow of warm philanthropy." i think it was not long after this excursion that his sister sarah came from maryland to visit him. she was a pleasant, sensible matron, much respected by all who knew her. i noted down at the time several anecdotes of childhood and youth, which bubbled up in the course of conversations between her and her brother. in her character the hereditary trait of benevolence was manifested in a form somewhat different from his. she had no children of her own, but she brought up, on her husband's farm, nineteen poor boys and girls, and gave most of them a trade. nearly all of them turned out well. in the winters of and ' , friend hopper complied with urgent invitations to visit the anti-slavery fair, in boston; and seldom has a warmer welcome been given to any man. as soon as he appeared in amory hall, he was always surrounded by a circle of lively girls attracted by his frank manners, his thousand little pleasantries, and his keen enjoyment of young society. a friend of mine used to say that when she saw them clustering round him, in furs and feathered bonnets, listening to his words so attentively, she often thought it would make as fine a picture as william penn explaining his treaty to the indians. ellis gray loring in a letter to me, says: "we greatly enjoyed friend hopper's visit. you cannot conceive how everybody was delighted with him; particularly all our gay young set; james russell lowell, william w. story, and the like. the old gentleman seemed very happy; receiving from all hands evidence of the true respect in which he is held." mrs. loring, writing to his son john, says: "we have had a most delightful visit from your father. our respect, wonder, and love for him increased daily. i am sure he must have received some pleasure, he bestowed so much. we feel his friendship to be a great acquisition." samuel j. may wrote to me: "i cannot tell you how much i was charmed by my interview with friend hopper. to me, it was worth more than all the fair beside. give my most affectionate respects to him. he very kindly invited me to make his house my home when i next come to new-york; and i am impatient for the time to arrive, that i may accept his invitation." edmund quincy, writing to friend hopper's daughter, mrs. gibbons, says: "you cannot think how glad we were to see the dear old man. he spent a night with me, to my great contentment, and that of my wife; and to the no small edification of our little boy, to whom breeches and buckles were a great curiosity. my irish gardener looked at them with reverence; having probably seen nothing so aristocratic, since he left the old country. i love those relics of past time. the quakers were not so much out, when they censured their members for turning _sans culottes_. think of isaac t. hopper in a pair of pantaloons strapped under his feet! there is heresy in the very idea. but, costume apart, we were as glad to see father hopper, as if he had been our real father in the flesh. i hope he had a right good time. if he had not, i am sure it was not for want of being made much of. i trust his visits to boston will grow into one of our domestic institutions." in the old gentleman's account of his visit to the fair, he says: "i was struck with the extreme propriety with which everything was conducted, and with the universal harmony and good-will that prevailed among the numerous friends of the cause, who had collected from all parts of the old commonwealth, on this interesting occasion. many of the most distinguished citizens were purchasers, and appeared highly gratified, though not connected with the anti-slavery cause. lord morpeth, late lord lieutenant of ireland, attended frequently, made some presents to the fair, and purchased several articles. i would call him by his christian name, if i knew it; for it is plain enough that he was not baptized, 'lord'. his manners were extremely friendly and agreeable, and he expressed himself highly pleased with the exhibition. i had an interesting conversation with him on the subject of slavery; particularly in relation to the amistad captives, and the case of the creole." "i had an opportunity to make a valuable addition to my collection of the works of ancient friends. on the book-table, i found that rare old volume, 'the way cast up,' written by george keith, while in unity with the society. i took it home with me to my chamber; and as i glanced over it, my mind was moved to a painful retrospect of the society of friends in its original state, when its members were at liberty to follow the light, as manifested to them in the silence and secrecy of their own souls. i seemed to see them entering places appointed for worship by various professors, and there testifying against idolatry, superstition, and a mercenary priesthood. i saw them entering the courts, calling upon judges and lawyers to do justice. i saw them receive contumely and abuse, as a reward for these acts of dedication. my imagination followed them to loathsome dungeons, where many of them died a lingering death. i saw the blood trickling from the lacerated backs of innocent men and women. i saw william robinson, marmaduke stevenson, mary dyer, and william leddra, pass through the streets of boston, pinioned, and with halters about their necks, on the way to execution; yet rejoicing that they were found worthy to suffer, even unto death, for their fidelity to christ; sustained through those last bitter moments by an approving conscience and the favor of god. "i now see the inhabitants of that same city surpassed by none on the globe, for liberality, candor, and benevolence. i see them taking the lead of very many of the descendants of the martyrs referred to, in many things, and at an immeasurable distance. i compared the state of the society of friends in the olden time with what it now is. in some sections of the country, they, in their turn, have become persecutors. not with dungeons, halter, and fire; for those modes of punishment have gone by; but by ejecting their members from religious fellowship, and defaming their characters for doing that which they conscientiously believe is required at their hands; casting out their names as evil-doers for honestly endeavoring to support one of the most dignified testimonies ever given to the society of friends to hold up before a sinful world. these reflections pained me deeply; for all the convictions of my soul, and all my early religious recollections, bind me fast to the principles of friends; and i cannot but mourn to see how the world has shorn them of their strength. i spent nearly a sleepless night, and was baptized with my tears." "in the morning, my mind was in some degree reassured with the hope that there are yet left, throughout the land, 'seven thousand in israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto baal, and every mouth which has not kissed him;' and that among these shall yet 'arise judges, as at the first, and counsellors, and lawgivers, as in the beginning.' my soul longeth for the coming of that day, more than for the increase of corn, and wine, and oil." in the spring of , friend hopper visited rhode island, and bucks county, in pennsylvania, to address the people in behalf of the enslaved. he was accompanied by lucinda wilmarth, a very intelligent and kind-hearted young person, who sometimes spoke on the same subject. after she returned to her home in massachusetts, she wrote as follows, to the venerable companion of her mission; "dear father hopper, i see by the papers that samuel johnson has gone home. i well remember our call upon him, on the second sunday morning of our sojourn in that land of roses. i also remember his radiant and peaceful countenance, which told of a life well spent, and of calm and hopeful anticipations of the future. i love to dwell upon my visit to pennsylvania. i never saw happier or more lovely homes. never visited dwellings where those little household divinities, goodness, order, and cheerfulness, held more universal sway. i was enabled to view men and things from an entirely new point of view. i had previously seen nothing of quakerism, except in a narrow orthodox form, with which i had no sympathy. i was much pleased with the apparent freedom and philanthropy of the friends i met there. i know not whether it was their peculiar _ism_, that made them so comparatively free and liberal. perhaps i unconsciously assigned to their quakerism what merely belonged to their manhood. but the fact is, they came nearer to realizing the ideal of quakerism, associated in my mind with fox and penn, than any people i have ever seen. "i stopped at providence on my way home. as soon as i entered isaac hale's door, little alice began to skip with joy, as she did that day when we returned so unexpectedly to dine; but the next moment, she looked down the stair-case, and exclaimed in a most anxious tone, 'why _did'nt_ grandfather hopper come? what _did_ you come alone for? what _shall_ i do?' on my arrival home, the first noisy greetings of my little brothers and sisters had scarcely subsided, before they began to inquire, 'why did'nt your _other_ father come, too?' they complained that you had not written a single 'tale of oppression' for the standard since you were here. but a week after, my little sister came running with an open newspaper in her hand, exclaiming, 'father hopper has made another story!' she has named her doll for your little grand-daughter, lucy gibbons, because you used to talk about her; and every day she reads the book you gave her." friend hopper found great satisfaction in the perusal of the above letter, not only on account of his great regard for the writer, but because many of the friends in bucks county were the delight of his heart. he was always telling me that if i wanted to see the best farms, the best quakers, and the most comfortable homes in the world, i must go to bucks county. in his descriptions, it was a blooming land of peace and plenty, approaching as near to an earthly paradise, as could be reasonably expected. at the commencement of , the american anti-slavery society made some changes in their office at new-york, by which the duties of editor and treasurer, were performed by the same person; consequently friend hopper's services were no longer needed. when he retired from the office he had held during four years, the society unanimously voted him thanks for the fidelity with which he had discharged the duties entrusted to him. at that time, several intelligent and benevolent gentlemen in the city of new-york were much interested in the condition of criminals discharged from prisons, without money, without friends, and with a character so blasted, that it was exceedingly difficult to procure employment. however sincerely desirous such persons might be to lead a better life, it seemed almost impossible for them to carry their good resolutions into practice. the inconsiderate harshness of society forced them back into dishonest courses, even when it was contrary to their own inclinations. that this was a fruitful source of crime, and consequently a great increase of expense to the state, no one could doubt who candidly examined the subject. to meet the wants of this class of sufferers, it was proposed to form a prison association, whose business it should be to inquire into individual cases, and extend such sympathy and assistance as circumstances required. this subject had occupied friend hopper's mind almost as early as the wrongs of the slave. he attended the meetings, and felt a lively interest in the discussions, in which he often took part. the editor of the new-york evening mirror, alluding to one of these occasions, says: "when mr. hopper rose to offer some remarks, we thought the burst of applause which greeted the quaint old man, (in the very costume of franklin) was a spontaneous homage to goodness; and we thanked god and took courage for poor human nature." his well-known benevolence, his peculiar tact in managing wayward characters, his undoubted integrity, and his long experience in such matters, naturally suggested the idea that he was more suitable than any other person to be agent of the association. it was a situation extremely well-adapted to his character, and if his limited circumstances would have permitted, he would have been right glad to have discharged its duties gratuitously. he named three hundred dollars a year, as sufficient addition to his income, and the duties were performed with as much diligence and zeal, as if the recompence had been thousands. although he was then seventy-four years old, his hand-writing was firm and even, and very legible. he kept a diary of every day's transactions, and a register of all the discharged convicts who applied for assistance; with a monthly record of such information as could be obtained of their character and condition, from time to time. the neat and accurate manner in which these books were kept was really surprising in so old a man. the amount of walking he did, to attend to the business of the association, was likewise remarkable. not one in ten thousand, who had lived so many years, could have endured so much fatigue. in his labors in behalf of this class of unfortunate people he was essentially aided by abby h. gibbons, who resided nearer to him than his other daughters, and who had the same affectionate zeal to sustain him, that she had manifested by secretly slipping a portion of her earnings into his pocket, in the days of her girlhood. she was as vigilant and active in behalf of the women discharged from prison, as her father was in behalf of the men. through the exertions of herself and other benevolent women, an asylum for these poor outcasts, called the home, was established and sustained. friend hopper took a deep interest in that institution, and frequently went there on sunday evening, with his wife and daughters, to talk with the inmates in a manner most likely to soothe and encourage them. they were accustomed to call him "father hopper," and always came to him for advice when they were in trouble. when the prison association petitioned to be incorporated, it encountered a great deal of opposition, on the ground that it would be likely to interfere with the authority of the state over prisons. during two winters, friend hopper went to albany frequently to sustain the measure. he commanded respect and attention, by the good sense of his remarks, his dignified manner, and readiness of utterance. the legislature were more inclined to have confidence in him, because he was known to be a benevolent, conscientious quaker, entirely unconnected with party politics. in fact, the measure was carried mainly by the exertion of his personal influence. he sustained the petition of the association in a speech before the legislature, which excited much attention, and made a deep impression on those who heard it. judge edmonds, who was one of the speakers on the same occasion, often alluded to it as a remarkable address. he said, "it elicited more applause, and did more to carry the end in view, than anything that was said by more practised public speakers. his eloquence was simple and direct, but most effective. if he was humorous, his audience were full of laughter; if solemn, a deathlike stillness reigned; if pathetic, tears flowed all around him. he seemed unconscious of his power in this respect, but i have heard him many times before large assemblies at our anniversaries, and in the chapel of the state prison, and i have been struck, over and over again, with the remarkable sway he had over the minds of those whom he addressed." the business of the association made it necessary for friend hopper to visit that city many times afterward. he came to be so well known there, and was held in such high respect, that whenever he made his appearance in the halls of legislation, the speaker sent a messenger to invite him to take a seat near his own. he often applied to the governor to exert his pardoning power, where he thought there were mitigating circumstances attending the commission of a crime; or where the mind and health of a prisoner seemed breaking down; or where a long course of good conduct seemed deserving of reward. when governor young had become sufficiently acquainted with him to form a just estimate of his character, he said to him, "friend hopper, i will pardon any convict, whom you say you conscientiously believe i ought to pardon. if i err at all, i prefer that it should be on the side of mercy. but so many cases press upon my attention, and it is so difficult to examine them all thoroughly, that it is a great relief to find a man in whose judgment and integrity i have such perfect confidence, as i have in yours." on the occasion of one of these applications for mercy, the following quaint correspondence passed between him and the governor: "esteemed friend, "john young: "you mayst think this mode of address rather too familiar; but as it is the spontaneous effusion of my heart, and entirely congenial with my feelings, i hope thou wilt hold me excused. permit me to embrace this opportunity to congratulate thee upon thy accession to the office of chief magistrate of the state. i have confidence its duties will be faithfully performed. i rejoice that thou hast had independence enough to restore to liberty, and to their families, those infatuated men called anti-renters. some, who live under the old dispensation, that demanded 'an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,' will doubtless censure this act of justice and mercy. but another class will be glad; those who have embraced the christian faith, and live under the benign influence of its spirit, which enjoins forgiveness of injuries. the approbation of such, accompanied with an approving conscience, will, i trust, more than counterbalance any censure that may arise on the occasion. "the object i particularly have in view in addressing thee now, is, to call thy attention to the case of allen lee, who was sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment for horse-stealing, in westchester county. he has served for eleven years and two months of that time. it is his first offence, and he has conducted well during his confinement. his health is much impaired, and he has several times had a slight haemorrhage of the lungs. allen's father was a regular teamster in the army during all the revolutionary war. though poor, he has always sustained a fair reputation. he is now ninety years old, and he is extremely anxious to behold the face of his son. permit me, most respectfully, but earnestly, to ask thy early attention to this case. the old man is confined to his bed, and so low, that he cannot continue many weeks. unless allen is very soon released, there is no probability that he will ever see him. i have no self-interested motives in this matter, but am influenced solely by considerations of humanity. with sincere desires for thy health and happiness, i am very respectfully thy friend, "isaac t. hopper." governor young promptly replied as follows. "my worthy friend, isaac t. hopper, "i have often thought of thee since we last met. i have received thy letter; and because thou hast written to me, and because i know that what thou writest is always truth, and that the old man, before he lays him down to die, may behold the face of his son, i will restore allen to his kindred. when thou comest to albany, i pray thee to come and see me. very respectfully thy friend, john young." the monitor within frequently impelled friend hopper to address the assembled convicts at sing sing, on sunday. the officers of the establishment were very willing to open the way for him; for according to the testimony of mr. harman eldridge, the warden, "with all his kindness, and the encouragement he was always ready to give, he was guarded and cautious in the extreme, that nothing should be said to conflict with the discipline of the prison." his exhortations rendered the prisoners more docile, and stimulated them to exertion by keeping hope alive in their hearts. on such occasions, i have been told that a large portion of his unhappy audience were frequently moved to tears; and the warmth of their grateful feelings was often manifested by eagerly pressing forward to shake hands with him, whenever they received permission to do so. the friendly counsel he gave on such occasions sometimes produced a permanent effect on their characters. in a letter to his daughter susan, he says: "one of these poor fellows attacked the life of the keeper, and i soon after had a private interview with him. he received what i said kindly, but declared that he could not govern his temper. he said he had no ill-will toward the keeper; that what he did was done in a gust of passion, and he could not help it. i tried to convince him that he had power to control his temper, if he would only exercise it. a year and a half afterward, on first day, after meeting, he asked permission to speak to me. he then told me he was convinced that what i had said to him was true; for he had not given way to anger since i talked to him on the subject. he showed me many certificates from the keepers, all testifying to his good conduct. i hardly ever saw a man more changed than he is." i often heard my good old friend describe these scenes in the prison chapel, with much emotion. he used to say, the feeling of confidence and safety which prevailed, was sometimes presented to his mind in forcible contrast with the state of things in philadelphia, in , as related by his worthy friend, dr. william rogers, who was on the committee of the first society formed in this country "for relieving the miseries of public prisons." that kind-hearted and conscientious clergyman proposed to address some religious exhortation to the prisoners, on sunday. but the keeper was so unfriendly to the exertion of such influence, that he assured him his life would be in peril, and the prisoners would doubtless escape, to rob and murder the citizens. when an order was granted by the sheriff for the performance of religious services, he obeyed it very reluctantly; and he actually had a loaded cannon mounted near the clergyman, and a man standing ready with a lighted match all the time he was preaching. his audience were arranged in a solid column, directly in front of the cannon's mouth. this is supposed to have been the first sermon addressed to the assembled inmates of a state prison in this country. notwithstanding friend hopper's extreme benevolence, he was rarely imposed upon. he made it a rule to give very little money to discharged convicts. he paid their board till employment could be obtained, and when they wished to go to their families, in distant places, he procured free passage for them in steamboats or cars; which his influence with captains and conductors enabled him to do very easily. if they wanted to work at a trade, he purchased tools, and hired a shop, when circumstances seemed to warrant such expenditure. after they became well established in business, they were expected to repay these loans, for the benefit of others in the same unfortunate condition they had been. of course, some who expected to receive money whenever they told a pitiful story, were disappointed and vexed by these prudential regulations. among the old gentleman's letters, i find one containing these expressions: "when i heard you talk in the prison chapel, i thought there was something for the man that had once left the path of honesty to hope for from his fellow-men; but i find that i was greatly mistaken. you are men of words. you can do the wind-work first rate. but when a man wants a little assistance to get work, and get an honest living, you are not there. now i wish to know where your philanthropy is." but such instances were exceptions. as a general rule, gratitude was manifested for the assistance rendered in time of need; though it was always limited to the urgent necessities of the case. one day, the following letter, enclosing a dollar bill for the association, was addressed to isaac t. hopper: "should the humble mite here enclosed be the means of doing one-sixteenth part the good to any poor convict that the sixteenth of a dollar has done for me, which i received through your hands more than once, when i was destitute of money or friends, then i shall have my heart's desire. with the blessing of god, i remain your most humble debtor." from the numerous cases under friend hopper's care, while agent of the prison association, i will select a few; but i shall disguise the names, because the individuals are living, and i should be sorry to wound their feelings by any unnecessary exposure of past delinquences. c.r. about twenty-nine years old, called at the office, and said he had been lately released from moyamensing prison; having been sentenced for two years, on account of selling stolen goods. when friend hopper inquired whether it was his first offence, he frankly answered, "no. i have been in sing sing prison twice for grand larceny. i served five years each time." "thou art still very young," rejoined friend hopper; "and it seems a large portion of thy life has been spent in prison. i am afraid thou art a bad man. but i hope thou seest the error of thy ways, and art now determined to do better. hast thou any friends?" he replied, "i have a mother; a poor hard-working woman, who sells fruit and candies in the streets. if you will give me a start, i will try to lead an honest life henceforth; for i want to be a comfort and support to her. i have no other friend in the world, and nobody to help me. when i left prison, i was advised to come to you. i am a shoemaker; and if i had money to buy a set of tools, i would work at my trade, and take care of my mother." necessary tools were procured for him, and he seemed very grateful; saying it was the first time in his life that he had found any one willing to help him to be honest, when he came out of prison. great doubts were entertained of the success of this case; because the man had been so many times convicted. but he occasionally called at the office, and always appeared sober and respectable. a few months after his first introduction, he sent friend hopper a letter from oswego, enclosing seven dollars for his mother. he immediately delivered it, and returned with a cheerful heart to enter it on his record; adding, "the poor old woman was much pleased that her son remembered her, and said she believed he was now going to do well." after that, c.r. frequently sent five or ten dollars to his mother, through the same channel, and paid her rent punctually. he refunded all the money the association had lent him, and made some small donations, in token of gratitude. having behaved in a very exemplary manner during four years and a half, friend hopper, at his earnest request, applied to the governor to have all the rights of citizenship restored to him. this was readily obtained by a full and candid statement of the case. it is entered on the record, with this remark: "c.r. has experienced a wonderful change for the better since he first called upon us. he said he should always remember the kindness that had been extended to him, and hoped he should never do anything to make us regret it." he afterward opened a store, with a partner, and up to this present time, is doing well, both in a moral and worldly point of view. five years and a half after he began to reform, dr. russ, of new-york, sent a discharged prisoner to him, in search of work. he wrote in reply, as follows: "i have obtained good employment for the bearer of your note; and it gives me much pleasure at my heart to do something for him that wishes to do well. so leave him to me; and i trust you will be gratified to know the end of charity from a discharged convict." a week elapsed before the man could enter on his new employment; and c.r. paid his board during that time. a person, whom i will call michael stanley, was sentenced to sing sing for two years; being convicted of grand larceny when he was about twenty-two years old. when his term expired, he called upon the prison association, and obtained assistance in procuring employment. he endeavored to establish a good character, and was so fortunate as to gain the affections of a very orderly, industrious young woman, whom he soon after married. in his register, friend hopper thus describes a visit to them, little more than a year after he was discharged from prison: "i called yesterday to visit m.s. he lives in the upper part of a brick house, nearly new. his wife is a neat, likely-looking woman, and appears to be a nice housekeeper. everything about the premises indicates frugality, industry, and comfort. they have plain, substantial furniture, and a good carpet on the floor. before their door is a grass-plot, and the margin of the fence is lined with a variety of plants in bloom. he and his wife, and her mother, manifested much gratification at my visit." in little more than two years after he began to retrieve the early mistakes of his life, m.s. established a provision shop on his own account, in the city of new-york, and was successful. he and his tidy little wife called on friend hopper, from time to time, and always cheered his heart by their respectable appearance, and the sincere gratitude they manifested. the following record stands in the register: "m.s. called at my house, and spent an hour with me. he is a member of the society of methodists, and i really believe he is a reformed man. it is now more than four years and a half since he was released from sing sing; and his conduct has ever since been unexceptionable." another young man, whom i will call hans overton, was the son of very respectable parents, but unfortunately he formed acquaintance with unprincipled men when he was too young and inexperienced to be a judge of character. being corrupted by their influence, he forged a check on a bank in albany. he was detected, and sentenced to the state prison for two years. when he was released, at twenty-two years of age, he did the best he could to efface the blot on his reputation. but after having obtained respectable employment, he was discharged because his employer was told he had been in prison. he procured another situation, and the same thing again occurred. he began to think there was no use in trying to redeem his lost character. in this discouraged state of mind, he applied to the prison association for assistance. inquiries were made of the two gentlemen in whose employ he had been more than a year. they said they had found him capable, industrious, and faithful; and their distrust of him was founded solely on the fact of his being a discharged convict. for some time, he obtained only temporary employment, now and then; and the association lent him small sums of money whenever his necessities required. at one time, he was charged with being an accomplice in a larceny; but upon investigation, it was ascertained that he had become mixed up with an affair, which made him appear to disadvantage, though he had no dishonest intentions in relation to it. finally, through the influence of the association he obtained a situation, in a drug store. his employer was fully informed concerning his previous history, but was willing to take him on trial. he remained there five years, and conducted in the most exemplary manner. having married meanwhile, he was desirous to avail himself of an opportunity to obtain a higher salary; and the druggist very willingly testified that his conduct had been entirely satisfactory during the time he had been with him. but in about eight months, his new employer discovered that he had been in prison, and he immediately told him he had better procure some other situation; though he acknowledged that he had no fault to find with him. friend hopper sought an interview with this gentleman and represented the youthfulness of h.o. at the time he committed the misdemeanor, which had so much injured the prospects of his life. he urged his subsequent good conduct, and the apparent sincerity of his efforts to build up a reputation for honesty. he finally put the case home to him, by asking how he would like to have others conduct toward a son of his own, under similar circumstances. it was a point of view from which the gentleman had never before considered the question, and his mind was somewhat impressed by it; but his prejudices were not easily overcome. meanwhile, the druggist was very willing to receive the young man back again; and he returned. it seems as if it would have been almost impossible for him to have avoided sinking into the depths of discouragement and desperation, if he had not received timely assistance from the prison association. how highly he appreciated their aid may be inferred from the following letter to isaac t. hopper: "my dear friend, as business prevents me from seeing you in the day-time, i take this method to express my thanks for the noble and generous mention made of me in your remarks before the association; which remarks were as pleasant and exciting to me, as they were unexpected. i need scarcely assure you, my kind and generous friend, (generous not only to so humble an individual as myself, but to all your fellow creatures,) that it is out of my power to find words to thank you adequately, or to express my feelings on that occasion. i was the more gratified because my dear wife was present with me, and also my brother-in-law. oh, what a noble work the society is engaged in. my most fervent prayer is that your name may remain on its list for many years to come. then indeed should i have no fears for those poor unfortunates, whose first unthinking error places them unconditionally within the miasma of vice and crime. that you may enjoy a very merry christmas, and many happy new-years, is the sincere desire of my wife and myself." t.b., who has been for several years in the employ of the association, was raised by their aid from the lowest depths of intemperance, and has become a highly respectable and useful citizen. j.m., who was in sing sing prison four years, for grand larceny, was aided by the association at various times, and always repaid the money precisely at the appointed day. his industry and skilful management excited envy and jealousy in some, who had less faculty for business. they taunted him with having been a convict, and threw all manner of obstacles in the way of his making an honest living. among other persecutions, a suit at law was instituted against him, which cost him seventy-five dollars. the charge was entirely without foundation, and when brought before the court, was promptly dismissed. it is now about six years since j.m. resolved to retrieve his character, and he still perseveres in the right course. ann w. was an illegitimate child, and early left an orphan. she went to live with an aunt, who kept a boarding-house in albany. according to her own account, she was harshly treated, and frequently taunted with the circumstances of her birth. at the early age of fourteen, one of the boarders offered to marry her, and induced her to leave the house with him. she lived with him some time, always urging the fulfilment of his promise; and at last he pacified her by going to a person, who performed the marriage-ceremony. she was strongly attached to him, and being a capable, industrious girl, she kept everything nice and bright about their lodgings. he pretended to have a great deal of business in new-york; but in fact his frequent visits to that city were for purposes of gambling. on one of those occasions, when he had been absent much longer than usual, she followed him, and found him living with another woman. he very coolly informed her that the marriage-ceremony between them was a mere sham; the person who performed it not having been invested with any legal authority. thus betrayed, deserted, and friendless, the poor young creature became almost frantic. in that desperate state of mind, she was decoyed by a woman, who kept a disreputable house. a short career of reckless frivolity and vice ended, as usual, in the hospital on blackwell's island. when she was discharged, she tried to drown her sorrow and remorse in intemperance, and went on ever from bad to worse, till she became a denizen of five points. in her brief intervals of sobriety, she was thoroughly disgusted with herself, and earnestly desired to lead a better life. being turned into the street one night, in a state of intoxication, she went to the prison called the tombs, because its architecture is in imitation of the ancient sepulchral halls of egypt. she humbly asked permission to enter this gloomy abode, in hopes that some of the ladies connected with the prison association would visit her, and find some decent employment for her. her case being represented to friend hopper, he induced his wife to take her into the family, as a domestic. as soon as she entered the house, she said, "i don't want to deceive you. i will tell you everything." and she told all the particulars of her history, without attempting to veil any of its deformity. she was very industrious, and remarkably tidy in her habits. she kept the kitchen extremely neat, and loved to decorate it with little ornaments, especially with flowers. poor shattered soul! who can tell into what blossom of poetry that little germ might have expanded, if it had been kindly nurtured under gentle and refining influences? she behaved very well for several months, and often expressed gratitude that she could now feel as if she had a home. friend hopper took great interest in her, and had strong hopes that she would become a respectable woman. before a year expired, she relapsed into intemperate habits for a time; but he overlooked it, and encouraged her to forget it. as she often expressed a great desire to see her cousins in albany, he called upon them, and told the story of her reformation. they sent some little presents, accompanied with friendly messages, and after a while invited her to visit them. for a time, it seemed as if the excursion had done her good, both physically and mentally; but the sight of respectable relatives, with husbands and children, made her realize more fully the utter loneliness of her own position. she used opium in large quantities, and had dreadful fits in consequence. sometimes, she stole out of the house in the evening, and was taken up by the police in a state of intoxication. when she recovered her senses, she would be very humble, and during an interval of weeks, or months, would make an effort to behave extremely well. i forget how often friend hopper received her back, after she had spent the night in the station house; but it was many, many times. his patience held out long after everybody else was completely weary. she finally became so violent and ungovernable, and endangered the household so much in her frantic fits, that even he felt the necessity of placing her under the restraining influences of some public institution. the magdalen asylum at philadelphia consented to receive her, and after much exhortation, she was persuaded to go. while she was there, his daughters in that city called on her occasionally, at his request, and he and his wife made her a visit. he wrote to her frequently, in the kindest and most encouraging manner. in one of these epistles, he says: "i make frequent inquiries concerning thee, and am generally told thou art getting along _pretty_ well. now i want to hear a different tale from that. i want thy friends at the asylum to be able to say, 'she is doing _exceedingly_ well. her health is good, she is satisfied with her condition, and we are all much gratified to find that she submits to the advice of her friends.' when they can speak thus of thee, i shall begin to think about changing thy situation. the woman who fills thy place in my family does very well. every day, she puts on the table the mug thou gavest me, and she keeps it as bright as silver. our little garden looks beautiful. the morning glories, thou used to take so much pleasure in, have grown finely. all the family desire kind remembrances. farewell. may peace and comfort be with thee." in another letter, he says: "thy heavenly father has been kind, and waited long for thee; and he has now provided a way for thy redemption from the bondage under which thou hast suffered so much. i hope thou wilt not think of leaving the asylum for some time to come. thou canst not be so firmly established yet, as not to be under great temptation elsewhere. what a sorrowful circumstance it would be, if thou shouldst again return to the filthy and wicked habit of stupifying thyself with that pernicious drug! i am glad thou hast determined to take my advice. if thou wilt do so, i will never forsake thee. i will do all i can for thee; and thou shalt never be without a home." again he writes: "thy letter occasioned joy and sorrow. sorrow to find thou hast not always treated the matron as thou oughtest to have done. i am sure that excellent person is every way worthy of thy regard; and i hope my ears will never again be pained by hearing that thou hast treated her unkindly or disrespectfully. i did hope that after a year's discipline, thou hadst learned to control thy temper. until thou canst do so, thou must be aware that thou art not qualified to render thyself useful or agreeable in any family. but after all, i am glad to find that thou art sensible of thy error, and hast a disposition to improve. when thou liest down at night, i want thee to examine the deeds of the past day. if thou hast made a hasty reply, or spoken impertinently, or done wrong in any other way, be careful to acknowledge thy fault. ask thy heavenly father to forgive thee, and be careful to do so no more. i feel a great regard for thee; and i trust thou wilt never give me cause to regret thy relapse into vice. i hope better things for thee, and i always shall." but his hopefulness and patience proved of no avail in this instance. the wreck was too complete to admit of repair. the poor creature occasionally struggled hard to do better; but her constitution was destroyed by vice and hardship; her feelings were blunted by suffering, and her naturally bright faculties were stupified by opium. after she left the asylum, she lived with a family in the country for awhile; but the old habits returned, and destroyed what little strength she had left. the last i knew of her she was on blackwell's island; and she will probably never leave it, till she goes where the weary are at rest. an uncommon degree of interest was excited in friend hopper's mind by the sufferings of another individual, whom i will call julia peters. she was born of respectable parents, and was carefully tended in her early years. her mother was a prudent, religious-minded woman; but she died when julia was twelve years old. the father soon after took to drinking and gambling, and spent all the property he possessed. his daughter was thus brought into the midst of profligate associates, at an age when impulses are strong, and the principles unformed. she led a vicious life for several years, and during a fit of intoxication married a worthless, dissipated fellow. when she was eighteen years old, she was imprisoned for perjury. the case appeared doubtful at the time, and from circumstances, which afterward came to light, it is supposed that she was not guilty of the alleged crime. the jury could not agree on the first trial, and she remained in jail two years, awaiting a decision of her case. she was at last pronounced guilty; and feeling that injustice was done her, she made use of violent and disrespectful language to the court. this probably increased the prejudice against her; for she was sentenced to sing sing prison for the long term of fourteen years. she was naturally intelligent, active and energetic; and the limitations of a prison had a worse effect upon her, than they would have had on a more stolid temperament. in the course of a year or two, her mind began to sink under the pressure, and finally exhibited signs of melancholy insanity. friend hopper had an interview with her soon after she was conveyed to sing sing, and found her in a state of deep dejection. she afterward became completely deranged, and was removed to the lunatic asylum at bloomingdale. he and his wife visited her there, and found her in a state of temporary rationality. her manners were quiet and pleasing, and she appeared exceedingly gratified to see them. the superintendent granted permission to take her with them in a walk through the grounds, and she enjoyed this little excursion very highly. but when one of the company remarked that it was a very pleasant place, she sighed deeply, and replied, "yes, it is a pleasant place to those who can leave it. but chains are chains, though they are made of gold; and mine grow heavier every day." her temperament peculiarly required freedom, and chafed and fretted under restraint. insanity returned upon her with redoubled force, soon after. she used blasphemous and indecent language, and cut up her blankets to make pantaloons. she picked the lock of her room, and tried various plans of escape. when friend hopper went to see her again, some weeks later, he found her in the masculine attire, which she had manufactured. she tried to hide herself, but when he called her back in a gentle, but firm tone, she came immediately. he took her kindly by the hand, and said, "julia, what does all this mean?" "it is military costume," she replied. "i am an officer of state." "i am sorry thou art not more decently clad," said he. "i intended to have thee take a walk with me; but i should be ashamed to go with thee in that condition." she earnestly entreated to go, and promised to change her dress immediately. he accordingly waited till she was ready, and then spent more than an hour walking round the grounds with her. she told him the history of her life, and wept bitterly over the retrospect of her erroneous course. it seemed a great relief to have some one to whom she could open her over-burdened heart. she was occasionally incoherent, but the fresh air invigorated her, and the quiet talk soothed her perturbed feelings. at parting, she said, "i thank you. i thought i hadn't a friend in the world. i was afraid everybody had forgotten me." "i am thy sincere friend," he replied; "and i promise that i will never forget thee." i make the following extract from a letter, which he wrote to her soon after: "now, julia, listen to me, and mind what i say; for thou knowest i am thy friend. i want thee, at all times, and upon all occasions, to be very careful of thy conduct. never suffer thyself to use vulgar or profane language. it would grieve me, and i am sure thou dost not wish to do that. besides, it is very degrading, and very wicked. be discreet, sober, and modest. be kind, courteous, and obliging to all. thou wilt make many friends by so doing, and wilt feel more cheerful and happy thyself. do be a lady. i know thou canst, if thou wilt. more than all, i want thee to be a christian. i sympathize with thee, and intend to come and see thee soon." dr. earle, physician of the asylum, said the letter had a salutary effect upon her. friend hopper went out to see her frequently, and was often accompanied by his wife, or daughters. her bodily and mental health continued to improve; and in the course of five or six months, the doctor allowed her to accompany her kind old friend to the city, and spend a day and night at his house. this change of scene was found so beneficial, that the visit was repeated a few weeks after. before winter set in, she was so far restored that she spent several days in his family, and conducted with the greatest propriety. he soon after applied to the governor for a pardon, which was promptly granted. his next step was to procure a suitable home for her; and a worthy quaker family in pennsylvania, who were acquainted with all the circumstances, agreed to employ her as chambermaid and seamstress. when it was all arranged, friend hopper went out to the asylum to carry the news. but fearful of exciting her too much, he talked upon indifferent subjects for a few minutes, and then asked if she would like to go into the city again to spend a fortnight with his family. she replied, "indeed i would." he promised to take her with him, and added, "perhaps thou wilt stay longer than two weeks." at last, he said, "it may be that thou wilt not have to return here again." she sprang up instantly, and looking in his face with intense anxiety, exclaimed, "am i pardoned? _am_ i pardoned?" "yes, thou art pardoned," he replied; "and i have come to take thee home." she fell back into her seat, covered her face with her hands, and wept aloud. friend hopper, describing this interview in a letter to a friend, says: "it was the most affecting scene i ever witnessed. nothing could exceed the joy i felt at seeing this child of sorrow relieved from her sufferings, and restored to liberty. i had seen this young and comely looking woman, who was endowed with more than common good sense, driven to the depths of despair by the intensity of her sufferings. i had seen her a raving maniac. now, i saw her 'sitting and clothed in her right mind.' i was a thousand times more than compensated for all the pains i had taken. i had sympathized deeply with her sufferings, and i now partook largely of her joy." as her nerves were in a very excitable state, it was thought best that she should remain a few weeks under the superintendence of his daughter, mrs. gibbons, before she went to the home provided for her. she was slightly unsettled at times, but was disposed to be industrious and cheerful. having earned a little money by her needle, the first use she made of it, was to buy a pair of vases for friend hopper; and proud and pleased she was, when she brought them home and presented them! he always kept them on the parlor mantel-piece, and often told their history to people who called upon him. when she had become perfectly calm and settled, he and his wife accompanied her to pennsylvania, and saw her established among her new friends, who received her in the kindest manner. a week after his return, he wrote to assure her that his interest in her had not abated. in the course of the letter, he says: "i need not tell thee how anxious i am that thou shouldst conduct so as to be a credit to thyself, and to those who have interested themselves in thy behalf. i felt keenly at parting with thee, but i was comforted by the reflection that i had left thee with kind friends. confide in them upon all occasions, and do nothing without their advice. thy future happiness will depend very much upon thyself. never suffer thy mind to become excited. remember that kind friends were raised up for thee in the midst of all thy sorrows, and that they will always continue to be thy friends, if thou wilt be guided by their counsels. thou wert with us so long, that we feel toward thee like one of the family. all join me in love to thee." in her reply, she says: "your letter was to me what a glass of cold water would be when fainting. i have pored over it so much, that i have got it by heart. friend hopper, you first saw me in prison and visited me. you followed me to the asylum. you did not forsake me. you have changed a bed of straw to a bed of down. may heaven bless and reward you for it. no tongue can express the gratitude i feel. many are the hearts you have made glad. suppose all you have dragged out of one place and another were to stand before you at once! i think you would have more than you could shake hands with in a month; and i know you would shake hands with them all." for a few months, she behaved in a very satisfactory manner, though occasionally unsettled and depressed. she wrote that the worthy woman with whom she lived was 'both mother and friend to her.' but the country was gloomy in the winter, and the spirit of unrest took possession of her. she went to philadelphia and plunged into scenes of vice for a week or two; but she quickly repented, and was rescued by her friends. i have seldom seen friend hopper so deeply pained as he was by this retrograde step in one whom he had rejoiced over, "as a brand plucked from the burning." after awhile, he addressed a letter to her, in which he says: "i should have written to thee before, but i have been at a loss what to say. i have cared for thee, as if thou hadst been my own child. little did i think thou wouldst ever disgrace thyself, and distress me, by associating with the most vile. thou wert wonderfully snatched from a sink of pollution. i hoped thou wouldst appreciate the favor, and take a fresh start in life, determined to do well. better, far better, for thee to have lingered out a wretched existence in bloomingdale asylum, than to continue in such a course as that thou entered upon in philadelphia. my heart is pained while i write. indeed, thou art seldom out of my mind. most earnestly, and affectionately, i beseech thee to change thy course. restrain evil thoughts and banish them from thee. try to keep thy mind quiet, and stayed upon thy heavenly father. he has done much for thee. he has followed thee in all thy wanderings. ask him to forgive thy iniquity, and he will have mercy on thee. thou mayest yet be happy thyself, and make those happy who have taken a deep interest in thy welfare. but if thou art determined to pursue evil courses, after all that has been done for thee, let me tell thee thy days will be brief and full of trouble; and i doubt not thou wilt end them within the walls of a prison. i hope better things of thee. if thou doest well, it will afford encouragement to assist others; but if thy conduct is bad, it may be the means of prolonging the sufferings of many others. i am still thy friend, and disposed to do all i can for thee." in her answer, she says: "oh, frail woman! no steps can be recalled. it is all in the future to make amends for the past. after all the good counsel some receive, they return to habits of vice. they repent when it is too late. how true it is that virtue has its reward, and vice its punishment. i know that the way of transgressors is hard. if i only had a few years of my life to live over again, how different would i live! for the many blessings providence has bestowed on me, may i be grateful. in all my troubles, he has raised me up a friend. i believe he never forsakes me; so there is hope for me. don't be discouraged that you befriended me; for, with god's blessing, you shall have no reason to repent of it." he wrote thus to her, a short time after: "i very often think of thee, and i yet hope that i shall one day see thee a happy and respectable woman. i have lately had a good deal of conversation with the governor concerning 'my friends,' as he calls those whom he has pardoned at my request. i did not tell him thou hadst behaved incorrectly. i hope i shall never be obliged to do so. i have had pleasant accounts concerning thee lately, and i do not wish to remember that thou hast ever grieved me. as i passed down the river yesterday, from albany, i saw bloomingdale asylum. i remembered how i used to walk with thee about the grounds; and my mind was for a time depressed with melancholy reflections. i had deeply sympathized in thy sufferings; and i had rarely, if ever, experienced greater pleasure than when i was the happy messenger of thy redemption from the grievous thraldom, under which thou wert suffering. thou art blessed with more than common good sense, and thou knowest how to make thyself agreeable. i earnestly advise thee to guard well thy thoughts. never allow thyself to use an immodest word, or to be guilty of an unbecoming action. on all occasions, show thyself worthy of the regard of those who feel an interest in thy welfare. 'there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance.' with ardent solicitude for thy welfare, i remain thy sincere friend." about two years afterward, friend hopper made the following record in his register: "j.p. continues to conduct very satisfactorily. she makes a very respectable appearance, is modest and discreet in her deportment, and industrious in her habits. as a mark of gratitude for the attentions, which at different times i have extended to her, she has sent me a pair of handsome gloves, and a bandana handkerchief. taking into consideration all the circumstances attending this case, this small present affords me much more gratification than ten times the value from any other person." six months later, he made this record: "the friend, with whom j.p. lives, called upon me to say that she sent a world of love to isaac t. hopper, whose kindness she holds in grateful remembrance." the same friend afterward wrote, "she is all that i could wish her to be." many more instances might be quoted; but enough has been told to illustrate his patience and forbearance, and his judicious mode of dealing with such characters. dr. russ, one of the most active and benevolent members of the prison association, thinks it is a fair statement to say that at least three-fourths of those for whom he interested himself eventually turned out well; though in several cases, it was after a few backslidings. the fullness of his sympathy was probably one great reason why he obtained such influence over them, and made them so willing to open their hearts to him. he naturally, and without effort, put _his_ soul in _their_ soul's stead. this rendered it easy for him to disregard his own interests, and set aside his own opinions, for the benefit of others. in several instances, he procured another place for a healthy, good-looking domestic, with whose services he was well satisfied, merely because some poor creature applied for work, who was too lame, or ill-favored, to obtain employment elsewhere. when an insane girl, from sing sing, was brought to his house to wait for an opportunity to return to her parents in canada, he sent for the catholic bishop to come and minister to her spiritual wants, because he found she was very unhappy without religious consolation in the form to which she had been accustomed in childhood. the peculiar adaptation of his character to this mission of humanity was not only felt by his fellow laborers in the new-york association, but was acknowledged wherever he was known. dr. walter channing, brother of the late dr. william ellery charming wrote to him as follows, when the boston prison association was about being formed; "i was rejoiced to learn that you would stay to help at our meetings in behalf of criminals. the demand which this class of brothers has upon us is felt by every man, who examines his own heart, and his own life. how great is every man's need of the kindness and love of his brethren! here is the deep-laid cause of sympathy. here is the secret spring of that wide effort, which the whole world is now making for the happiness and good of the race. i thank you for what you have done in this noble work. i had heard with the sincerest pleasure, of your labors for the down-trodden and the poor. god bless you for these labors of love! truly shall i thank you for the light you can so abundantly give, and which will make the path of duty plain before me." incessant demands were made upon his time and attention. a great many people, if they happened to have their feelings touched by some scene of distress, seemed to think they had fulfilled their whole duty by sending the sufferer to isaac t. hopper. few can imagine what an arduous task it is to be such a thorough philanthropist as he was. whoever wishes for a crown like his, must earn it by carrying the martyr's cross through life. they must make up their minds to relinquish their whole time to such pursuits; they must be prepared to encounter envy and dislike; to be misrepresented and blamed, where their intentions have been most praiseworthy; to be often disheartened by the delinquencies, or ingratitude, of those they have expended their time and strength to serve; above all, they must be willing to live and die poor. though attention to prisoners was the mission to which friend hopper peculiarly devoted the last years of his life, his sympathy for the slaves never abated. and though his own early efforts had been made in co-operation with the gradual emancipation society, established by franklin, rush, and others, he rejoiced in the bolder movement, known as modern anti-slavery. of course, he did not endorse everything that was said and done by all sorts of temperaments engaged in that cause, or in any other cause. but no man understood better than he did the fallacy of the argument that modern abolitionists had put back the cause of emancipation in the south. he often used to speak of the spirit manifested toward william savery, when he went to the south to preach, as early as . writing from augusta, georgia, that tender-hearted minister of christ says: "they can scarcely tolerate us, on account of our abhorrence of slavery. this was truly a trying place to lodge in another night." at savannah the landlord of a tavern where they lodged, ordered a cruel flogging to be administered to one of his slaves, who had fallen asleep through weariness, before his daily task was accomplished. william savery says: "when we went to supper, this unfeeling wretch craved a blessing; which i considered equally abhorrent to the divine being, as his curses." in the morning, when the humane preacher heard sounds of the lash, accompanied by piteous cries for mercy, he had the boldness to step in between the driver and the slave; and he stopped any further infliction of punishment, for that time. he says: "this landlord was the most abominably wicked man that i ever met with; full of horrid execrations, and threatenings of all northern people. but i did not spare him; which occasioned a bystander to express, with an oath, that i should be 'popped over.' we left them distressed in mind; and having a lonesome wood of twelve miles to pass through, we were in full expectation of their waylaying, or coming after us, to put their wicked threats in execution." as early as , james lindley, of pennsylvania, had a large piece of iron hurled at him, as he was passing through the streets, at havre de grace, maryland. three of his ribs were broken, and several teeth knocked out, and he was beaten till he was supposed to be dead. all this was done merely because they mistook him for jacob lindley, the quaker preacher, who was well known as a friend to fugitives from slavery. in view of these, and other similar facts, friend hopper was never disposed to blame abolitionists for excitements at the south, as many of the quakers were inclined to do. he had a sincere respect for the integrity and conscientious boldness of william lloyd garrison; as all have, who know him well enough to appreciate his character. for many years, he was always an invited and welcome guest on the occasion of the annual meeting of the anti-slavery society in new-york. mr. garrison's feelings toward him are manifested in the following answer to one of his letters: "as there is no one in the world for whom i entertain more veneration and esteem than for yourself, and as there is no place in new-york, that is so much like home to me, as your own hospitable dwelling, be assured it will give me the utmost pleasure to accept your friendly invitation to remain under your roof during the approaching anniversary week." it was on one of these occasions, that garrison addressed to him the following sonnet: "thou kind and venerable friend of man, in heart and spirit young, though old in years! the tyrant trembles when thy name he hears, and the slave joys thy honest face to scan. a friend more true and brave, since time began, humanity has never found: her fears by thee have been dispelled, and wiped the tears adown her sorrow-stricken cheeks that ran. if like napoleon's appears thy face, thy soul to his bears no similitude. he came to curse, but thou to bless our race. thy hands are pure; in blood were his imbrued. his memory shall be covered with disgrace, but thine embalmed among the truly great and good." until the last few years of his life, friend hopper usually walked to and from his office twice a day, making about five miles in the whole; to which he sometimes added a walk in the evening, to visit children or friends, or transact some necessary business. when the weather was very unpleasant, he availed himself of the harlem cars. upon one of these occasions, it chanced that the long, ponderous vehicle was nearly empty. they had not proceeded far, when a very respectable-looking young woman beckoned for the car to stop. it did so; but when she set her foot on the step, the conductor, somewhat rudely pushed her back; and she turned away, evidently much mortified. friend hopper started up and inquired, "why didst thou push that woman away?" "she's colored," was the laconic reply. "art thou instructed by the managers of the rail-road to proceed in this manner on such occasions?" inquired friend hopper. the man answered, "yes." "then let me get out," rejoined the genuine republican. "it disturbs my conscience to ride in a public conveyance, where any decently behaved person is refused admittance." and though it was raining very fast, and his home was a mile off, the old veteran of seventy-five years marched through mud and wet, at a pace somewhat brisker than his usual energetic step; for indignation warmed his honest and kindly heart, and set the blood in motion. the next day, he called at the rail-road office, and very civilly inquired of one of the managers whether conductors were instructed to exclude passengers merely on account of complexion. "certainly not," was the prompt reply. "they have discretionary power to reject any person who is drunk, or offensively unclean, or indecent, or quarrelsome." friend hopper then related how a young woman of modest appearance, and respectable dress, was pushed from the step, though the car was nearly empty, and she was seeking shelter from a violent rain. "that was wrong," replied the manager. "we have no reason to complain of colored people as passengers. they obtrude upon no one, and always have sixpences in readiness to pay; whereas fashionably dressed white people frequently offer a ten dollar bill, which they know we cannot change, and thus cheat us out of our rightful dues. who was the conductor, that behaved in the manner you have described? we will turn him away, if he doesn't know better how to use the discretionary power with which he is entrusted." friend hopper replied, "i had rather thou wouldst not turn him out of thy employ, unless he repeats the offence, after being properly instructed. i have no wish to injure the man. he has become infected with the unjust prejudices of the community without duly reflecting upon the subject. friendly conversation with him may suggest wiser thoughts. all i ask of thee is to instruct him that the rights of the meanest citizen are to be respected. i thank thee for having listened to my complaint in such a candid and courteous manner." "and i thank you for having come to inform us of the circumstance," replied the manager. they parted mutually well pleased; and a few days after, the same conductor admitted a colored woman into the cars without making any objection. this improved state of things continued several weeks. but the old tyrannical system was restored, owing to counteracting influence from some unknown quarter. i often met colored people coming from the country in the harlem cars; but i never afterward knew one to enter from the streets of the city. many colored people die every year, and vast numbers have their health permanently impaired, on account of inclement weather, to which they are exposed by exclusion from public conveyances. and this merely on account of complexion! what a tornado of popular eloquence would come from our public halls, if austria or russia were guilty of any despotism half as mean! yet the great heart of the people is moved by kind and sincere feelings in its outbursts against foreign tyranny. but in addition to this honorable sympathy for the oppressed in other countries, it would be well for them to look at home, and consider whether it is just that any well-behaved people should be excluded from the common privileges of public conveyances. if a hundred citizens in new-york would act as friend hopper did, the evil would soon be remedied. it is the almost universal failure in individual duty, which so accumulates errors and iniquities in society, that the ultra-theories, and extra efforts of reformers become absolutely necessary to prevent the balance of things from being destroyed; as thunder and lightning are required to purify a polluted atmosphere. godwin, in some of his writings, asks, "what is it that enables a thousand errors to keep their station in the world? it is cowardice. it is because the majority of men, who see that things are not altogether right, yet see in so frigid a way, and have so little courage to express their views. if every man to-day would tell all the truth he knows, three years hence, there would scarcely be a falsehood of any magnitude remaining in the civilized world." in the summer of , friend hopper met with a methodist preacher from mississippi, who came with his family to new-york, to attend a general conference. being introduced as a zealous abolitionist, the conversation immediately turned upon slavery. one of the preacher's daughters said, "i could'nt possibly get along without slaves, mr. hopper. why i never dressed or undressed myself, till i came to the north. i wanted very much to bring a slave with me." "i wish thou hadst," rejoined friend hopper. "and what would you have done, if you had seen her?" she inquired. he replied, "i would have told her that she was a free woman while she remained here; but if she went back to the south, she would be liable to be sold, like a pig or a sheep." they laughed at this frank avowal, and when he invited them to come to his house with their father, to take tea, they gladly accepted the invitation. again the conversation turned toward that subject, which is never forgotten when north and south meet. in answer to some remark from friend hopper, the preacher said, "do you think i am not a christian?" "i certainly do not regard thee as one," he replied. "and i suppose you think i cannot get to heaven?" rejoined the slaveholder. "i will not say that," replied the friend. "to thy own master thou must stand or fall. but slavery is a great abomination, and no one who is guilty of it can be a christian, or christ-like. i would not exclude thee from the kingdom of heaven; but if thou dost enter there, it must be because thou art ignorant of the fact that thou art living in sin." after a prolonged conversation, mostly on the same topic, the guests rose to depart. the methodist said, "well, mr. hopper, i have never been treated better by any man, than i have been by you. i should be very glad to have you visit us." "ah! and thou wouldst lynch me; or at least, thy friends would," he replied, smiling. "oh no, we would treat you very well," rejoined the southerner. "but how would you talk about slavery if you were there?" "just as i do here, to be sure," answered the quaker. "i would advise the slaves to be honest, industrious, and obedient, and never try to run away from a good master, unless they were pretty sure of escaping; because if they were caught, they would fare worse than before. but if they had a safe opportunity, i should advise them to be off as soon as possible." in a more serious tone, he added, "and to thee, who claimest to be a minister of christ, i would say that thy master requires thee to give deliverance to the captive, and let the oppressed go free. my friend, hast thou a conscience void of offence? when thou liest down at night, is thy mind always at ease on this subject? after pouring out thy soul in prayer to thy heavenly father, dost thou not feel the outraged sense of right, like a perpetual motion, restless within thy breast? dost thou not hear a voice telling thee it is wrong to hold thy fellow men in slavery, with their wives and their little ones?" the preacher manifested some emotion at this earnest appeal, and confessed that he sometimes had doubts on the subject; though, on the whole, he had concluded that it was right to hold slaves. one of his daughters, who was a widow, seemed to be more deeply touched. she took friend hopper's hand, at parting, and said, "i am thankful for the privilege of having seen you. i never talked with an abolitionist before. you have convinced me that slave-holding is sinful in the sight of god. my husband left me several slaves, and i have held them for five years; but when i return, i am resolved to hold a slave no longer." friend hopper cherished some hope that this preaching and praying slaveholder would eventually manumit his bondmen; but i had listened to his conversation, and i thought otherwise. his conscience seemed to me to be asleep under a seven-fold shield of self-satisfied piety; and i have observed that such consciences rarely waken. at the time of the christians riots, in , when the slave-power seemed to overshadow everything, and none but the boldest ventured to speak against it, friend hopper wrote an article for the tribune, and signed it with his name, in which he maintained that the colored people, "who defended themselves and their firesides against the lawless assaults of an armed party of negro-hunters from maryland," ought not to be regarded as traitors or murderers "by men who set a just value on liberty, and who had no conscientious scruples with regard to war." the first runaway, who was endangered by the passage of the fugitive slave law in , happened to be placed under his protection. a very good-looking colored man, who escaped from bondage, resided some years in worcester, massachusetts, and acquired several thousand dollars by hair-dressing. he went to new-york to be married, and it chanced that his master arrived in worcester in search of him, the very day that he started for that city. some person friendly to the colored man sent information to new-york by telegraph; but the gentleman to whom it was addressed was out of the city. one of the operators at the telegraph office said, "isaac t. hopper ought to know of this message;" and he carried it himself. friend hopper was then eighty years old, but he sprang out of bed at midnight, and went off with all speed to hunt up the fugitive. he found him, warned him of his danger, and offered to secrete him. the colored man hesitated. he feared it might be a trick to decoy him into his master's power. but the young wife gazed very earnestly at friend hopper, and said, "i would trust the countenance of that quaker gentleman anywhere. let us go with him." they spent the remainder of the night at his house, and after being concealed elsewhere for a few days, they went to canada. this slave was the son of his master, who estimated his market-value at two thousand five hundred dollars. six months imprisonment, and a fine of one thousand dollars was the legal penalty for aiding him. but friend hopper always said, "i have never sought to make any slave discontented with his situation, because i do not consider it either wise or kind to do so; but so long as my life is spared, i will always assist any one, who is trying to escape from slavery, be the laws what they may." a black man, who had fled from bondage, married a mulatto woman in philadelphia, and became the father of six children. he owned a small house in the neighborhood of that city, and had lived there comfortably several years, when that abominable law was passed, by which the northern states rendered their free soil a great hunting-ground for the rich and powerful to run down the poor and weak. in rushed the slaveholders from all quarters, to seize their helpless prey! at dead of night, the black man, sleeping quietly in the humble home he had earned by unremitting industry, was roused up to receive information that his master was in pursuit of him. his eldest daughter was out at service in the neighborhood, and there was no time to give her notice. they hastily packed such articles as they could take, caught the little ones from their beds, and escaped before the morning dawned. a gentleman, who saw them next day on board a steamboat, observed their uneasiness, and suspected they were "fugitives from injustice." when he remarked this to a companion, he replied, "they have too much luggage to be slaves." nevertheless, he thought it could do no harm to inform them that isaac t. hopper of new-york was the best adviser of fugitives. accordingly, a few hours afterward, the whole colored colony was established in his house; where the genteel-looking mother, and her bright, pretty little children excited a very lively interest in all hearts. they made their way to canada as soon as possible, and the daughter who was left in philadelphia, was soon after sent to them. friend hopper's resolute resistance to oppression, in every form, never produced any harshness in his manners, or diminished his love of quiet domestic life. he habitually surrendered himself to pleasant influences, even from events that troubled him at the time, he generally extracted some agreeable incident and soon forgot those of opposite character. it was quite observable how little he thought of the instances of ingratitude he had met with. he seldom, if ever, alluded to them, unless reminded by some direct question; but the unfortunate beings who had persevered in reformation, and manifested gratitude, were always uppermost in his thoughts. though always pleased to hear that his children were free from pecuniary anxiety, he never desired wealth for them. the idea of money never seemed to occur to him in connection with their marriages. it was a cherished wish of his heart to have them united to members of the society of friends; yet he easily yielded, even on that point, as soon as he saw their happiness was at stake. when one of his sons married into a family educated under influences totally foreign to quaker principles, he was somewhat disturbed. but he at once adopted the bride as a beloved daughter of his heart; and she ever after proved a lovely and thornless rose in the pathway of his life. great was his satisfaction when he discovered that she was grandchild of dr. william rogers, professor of english and oratory in the university of pennsylvania, who, sixty years before, had preached the first sermon to inmates of the state prison, in philadelphia. that good and gifted clergyman was associated with his earliest recollections; for when he was on one of his pleasant visits to his uncle tatem, at six years old, he went to meeting with him for the first time, and was seated on a stool between his knees. the proceedings were a great novelty to him; for dr. rogers was the first minister he ever saw in a pulpit. he never forgot the text of that sermon. i often heard him repeat it, during the last years of his life. the remembrance of these incidents, and the great respect he had for the character of the prison missionary, at once established in his mind a claim of old relationship between him and the new inmate of his household. he had the custom of sitting with his wife on the front-door-step during the summer twilight, to catch the breeze, that always refreshes the city of new-york, after a sultry day. on such occasions, the children of the neighborhood soon began to gather round him. one of the most intelligent and interesting pupils of the deaf and dumb institution had married mr. gallaudet, professor in that institution, and resided in the next house. she had a bright lively little daughter, who very early learned to imitate her rapid and graceful way of conversing by signs. this child was greatly attracted toward friend hopper. the moment she saw him, she would clap her tiny hands with delight, and toddle toward him, exclaiming, "opper! opper!" when he talked to her, she would make her little fingers fly, in the prettiest fashion, interpreting by signs to her mute mother all that "opper" had been saying. her quick intelligence and animated gestures were a perpetual source of amusement to him. when he went down to his office in the morning, all the nurses in the neighborhood were accustomed to stop in his path, that he might have some playful conversation with the little ones in their charge. he had a pleasant nick-name for them all; such as "blue-bird," or "yellow-bird," according to their dress. they would run up to him as he approached home, calling out, "here's your little blue-bird!" his garden was another source of great satisfaction to him. it was not bigger than a very small bed-room, and only half of it received the sunshine. but he called the minnikin grass-plot his meadow, and talked very largely about mowing his hay. he covered the walls and fences with flowering vines, and suspended them between the pillars of his little piazza. even in this employment he revealed the tendencies of his character. one day, when i was helping him train a woodbine, he said, "fasten it in that direction, maria; for i want it to go over into our neighbor's yard, that it may make their wall look pleasant." in the summer of , when i was staying in the country, not far from new-york, i received the following letter from him: "dear friend, the days have not yet come, in which i can say i have no pleasure in them. notwithstanding the stubs against which i hit my toes, the briars and thorns that sometimes annoy me, and the muddy sloughs i am sometimes obliged to wade through, yet, after all, the days have _not_ come in which i have no enjoyment. in the course of my journey, i find here and there a green spot, by which i can sit down and rest, and pleasant streams, where i sometimes drink, mostly in secret, and am refreshed. i often remember the saying of a beloved friend, long since translated from this scene of mutation to a state of eternal beatitude: 'i wear my sackcloth on my loins; i don't wish to afflict others by carrying a sorrowful countenance.' a wise conclusion. i love to diffuse happiness over all with whom i come in contact. but all this is a kind of accident. i took up my pen to tell thee about our garden. i never saw it half so handsome as it is now. morning glories are on both sides of the yard, extending nearly to the second story windows; and they exhibit their glories every morning, in beautiful style. there are cypress vines, twelve feet high, running up on the pillar before the kitchen window, and spreading out each way. they blossom most profusely. the wooden wall is entirely covered with madeira vines, and the stone wall with woodbine. the grass-plot is very thrifty, and our borders are beautified with a variety of flowers. how thou wouldst like to look at them!" i replied as follows: "my dear and honored friend: your kind, cheerful epistle came into my room as pleasantly as would the vines and flowers you describe. i am very glad the spirit moved you to write; for, to use the words of the apostle, i thank my god for every remembrance of you.' i do not make many professions of friendship, because neither you nor i are much given to professions; but there is no one in the world for whom i have a higher respect than yourself, and very few for whom i cherish a more cordial affection. you say the time has not _yet_ come when you have no pleasure. i think, my friend, that it will _never_ come. to an evergreen heart, like yours, so full of kindly sympathies, the little children will always prattle, the birds will always sing, and the flowers will always offer incense. _this_ reward of the honest and kindly heart is one of those, which 'the world can neither give nor take away.' "i should love to see your garden now. there is a peculiar satisfaction in having a very _little_ patch all blooming into beauty. i had such an one in my humble home in boston, some years ago. it used to make me think of mary howitt's very pleasant poetry: "'yes, in the poor man's garden grow far more than herbs and flowers; kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, and joy for weary hours.' "i have one enjoyment this summer, which you cannot have in your city premises. the birds! not only their sweet songs, but all their little cunning manoeuvres in courting, building their nests, and rearing their young. i watched for hours a little phoebe-bird, who brought out her brood to teach them to fly. they used to stop to rest themselves on the naked branch of a dead pear-tree. there they sat so quietly, all in a row, in their sober russet suit of feathers, just as if they were quakers at meeting. the birds are very tame here; thanks to friend joseph's tender heart. the bob-o-links pick seed from the dandelions, at my very feet. may you sleep like a child when his friends are with him, as the orientals say. and so farewell." interesting strangers occasionally called to see friend hopper, attracted by his reputation. frederika bremer was peculiarly delighted by her interviews with him, and made a fine sketch of him in her collection of american likenesses. william page, the well-known artist, made for me an admirable drawing of him, when he was a little past seventy years old. eight years after, salathiel ellis, of new-york, at the suggestion of some friends, executed an uncommonly fine medallion likeness. a reduced copy of this was made in bronze at the request of some members of the prison association. the reverse side represents him raising a prisoner from the ground, and bears the appropriate inscription, "to seek and to save that which was lost." young people often sent him pretty little testimonials of the interest he had excited in their minds. intelligent irish girls, with whom he had formed acquaintance in their native land, never during his life ceased to write to him, and occasionally sent some tasteful souvenir of their friendship. the fashionable custom of new-year's and christmas offerings was not in his line. but though he always dined on humble fare at christmas, as a testimony against the observance of holy days, he secretly sent turkeys to poor families, who viewed the subject in a different light; and it was only by accidental circumstances that they at last discovered to whom they owed the annual gift. [illustration] members of the society of friends often came to see him; and for many of them he cherished high respect, and a very warm friendship. but his character grew larger, and his views more liberal, after the bonds which bound him to a sect were cut asunder. friends occasionally said to him, "we miss thy services in the society, isaac. hadst thou not better ask to be re-admitted? the way is open for thee, whenever thou hast an inclination to return." he replied, "i thank thee. but in the present state of the society, i don't think i could be of any service to them, or they to me." but he could never relinquish the hope that the primitive character of quakerism would be restored, and that the society would again hold up the standard of righteousness to the nations, as it had in days gone by. nearly every man, who forms strong religious attachments in early life, cherishes similar anticipations for his sect, whose glory declines, in the natural order of things. but such hopes are never realized. the spirit has a resurrection, but not the form. "soul never dies. matter dies off it, and it lives elsewhere." thus it is with truth. the noble principles maintained by quakers, through suffering and peril, have taken root in other sects, and been an incalculable help to individual seekers after light, throughout the christian world. like winged seed scattered in far-off soils, they will produce a forest-growth in the future, long after the original stock is dead, and its dust dispersed to the winds. in friend hopper's last years, memory, as usual with the old, was busily employed in reproducing the past; and in his mind the pictures she presented were uncommonly vivid. in a letter to his daughter, sarah palmer, he writes: "i was deeply affected on being informed of the death of joseph whitall. we loved one another when we were children; and i never lost my love for him. i think it will not be extravagant if i say that my soul was knit with his soul, as jonathan's was to david's. i have a letter, which i received from him in . i have not language to express my feelings. oh, that separation! that cruel separation! how it divided very friends!" in a letter to his daughter susan, we again find him looking fondly backward. he says: "i often, very often remember the example of thy dear mother, with feelings that no language can portray. she was neat and tasteful in her appearance. her dress was elegant, but plain, as became her christian profession. she loved sincere friends, faithfully maintained all their testimonies, and was a diligent attender of meetings. she was kind and affectionate to all. in short, she was a bright example in her family, and to all about her, and finally laid down her head in peace. may her children imitate her virtues." writing to his daughter sarah in , he thus returns to the same beloved theme: "i lately happened to open the memoirs of sarah harrison. it seemed to place me among my old friends, with whom i walked in sweet unity and christian fellowship, in days that are gone forever. i there saw the names, and read the letters, of william savery, thomas scattergood, and a host of others, who have long since gone to their everlasting rest. i hope, however unworthy, to join them at some day, not very distant." "next day after to-morrow, it will be fifty years since i was married to thy dear mother. how fresh many of the scenes of that day are brought before me! it almost seems as if they transpired yesterday. these reminiscences afford me a melancholy pleasure, and i love to indulge in them. no man has experienced more exquisite pleasure, or deeper sorrows than i have." perhaps the reader will say that i have spoken little of his sorrows; and it is true. but who does not know that all the sternest conflicts of life can never be recorded! every human soul must walk alone through the darkest and most dangerous paths of its spiritual pilgrimage; absolutely alone with god! much, from which we suffer most acutely, could never be revealed to others; still more could never be understood, if it were revealed; and still more ought never to be repeated, if it could be understood. therefore, the frankest and fullest biography must necessarily be superficial. the old gentleman was not prone to talk of his troubles. they never made him irritable, but rather increased his tenderness and thoughtfulness toward others. his naturally violent temper was brought under almost complete subjection. during the nine years that i lived with him, i never saw him lose his balance but twice; and then it was only for a moment, and under very provoking circumstances. the much-quoted line, "none knew him but to love him, none named him but to praise," was probably never true of any man; certainly not of any one with a strong character. many were hostile to friend hopper, and some were bitter in their enmity. of course, it could not be otherwise with a man who battled with oppression, selfishness, and bigotry, wherever he encountered them, and whose rebukes were too direct and explicit to be evaded. moreover, no person in this world is allowed to be peculiar and independent with impunity. there are always men who wish to compel such characters to submit, by the pressure of circumstances. this kind of spiritual thumb-screw was often, and in various ways, tried upon friend hopper; but though it sometimes occasioned temporary inconvenience, it never induced him to change his course. though few old men enjoyed life so much as he did, he always thought and spoke of death with cheerful serenity. on the third of december, , he wrote thus to his youngest daughter, mary: "this day completes my eightieth year. 'my eye is not dim, nor my natural force abated.' my head is well covered with hair, which still retains its usual glossy dark color, with but few gray hairs sprinkled about, hardly noticed by a casual observer. my life has been prolonged beyond most, and has been truly 'a chequered scene.' i often take a retrospect of it, and it fills me with awe. it is marvellous how many dangers and hair-breadth escapes i have experienced. if i may say it without presumption, i desire not to live until i am unable to take care of myself, and become a burden to those about me. if i had my life to live over again, the experience i have had might caution me to avoid many mistakes, and perhaps i might make a more useful citizen; but i don't know that i should greatly improve it. mercy and kindness have followed me thus far, and i have faith that they will continue with me to the end." but the bravest and strongest pilgrim, when he is travelling toward the sunset, cannot but perceive that the shadows are lengthening around him. he did not, like most old people, watch the gathering gloom; but during the last two or three years of his life, he seemed to have an increasing feeling of spiritual loneliness. he had survived all his cotemporaries; he had outlived the society of friends, as it was when it took possession of his youthful soul; and though he sympathized with the present generation remarkably for so old a man, still he was _among_ them, and not _of_ them. he quieted this feeling by the best of all methods. he worked continually, and he worked for others. in this way, he brought upon himself his last illness. a shop had been built very far up in the city, for a discharged convict, and the association had incurred considerable expense on his account. he was remarkably skilful at his trade, but after awhile he manifested slight symptoms of derangement. friend hopper became extremely anxious about him, and frequently travelled back and forth to examine into the state of his affairs. this was in the severe winter of , and he was past eighty years old. he took heavy colds, which produced inflammation of the lungs, and the inflammation subsequently extended to his stomach. in february of that year, declining health made it necessary to resign his office in the prison association. his letter to that effect was answered by the following resolutions, unanimously passed at a meeting of the executive committee: "this association has received, with undissembled sorrow, the resignation of isaac t. hopper, as their agent for the relief of discharged convicts. "he was actively engaged in the organization of the society, and has ever since been its most active member. "his kindness of heart, and his active zeal in behalf of the fallen and erring, whom he has so often befriended, have given to this society a lofty character for goodness, which, being a reflection of his own, will endure with the remembrance of him. "his forbearance and patience, combined with his great energy of mind, have given to its action an impetus and a direction, which, it is to be earnestly hoped, will continue long after it shall have ceased to enjoy his participation in its active business. "his gentleness and propriety of deportment toward us, his associates, have given him a hold upon our affections, which adds poignancy to our grief at parting with him. "and while we mourn his loss to us, our recollection of the cause of it awakens within us the belief that the good he has done will smooth his departure from among us, and gives strength to the cheering hope that the recollection of a life well spent may add even to the happiness that is in store for him hereafter." he sent the following reply, which i believe was the last letter he ever wrote: "dear friends:--i received through your committee, accompanied by dr. russ, your resolutions of the th of february, , commendatory of my course while agent for discharged convicts. my bodily indisposition has prevented an earlier acknowledgment. "the kind, friendly, and affectionate manner in which you have been pleased to express yourselves on this occasion, excited emotions which i found it difficult to repress. the approbation of those with whom i have long labored in a deeply interesting and arduous concern, i value next to the testimony of a good conscience. multiplied years and debility of body admonish me to retire from active life as much as may be, but my interest in the work has not abated. much has been done, and much remains to be done. "in taking a retrospect of my intercourse with you, i am rejoiced to see that the great principles of humanity and christian benevolence have risen above and overspread sectarian prejudice, that bane of christianity, and while each has been allowed to enjoy his own religious opinions without interference from his fellows, we have labored harmoniously together for the promotion of the great object of our association. "may he who clothes the lilies, feeds the ravens, and provides for the sparrows, and without whose providential regard, all our endeavors must be vain, bless your labors, and stimulate and encourage you to persevere, so that having, through his aid, fulfilled all your relative and social duties, you may in the end receive the welcome, 'come, ye blessed of my father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for i was an hungered, and ye gave me meat; i was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; i was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me; i was sick, and ye visited me; i was in prison, and ye came unto me.' "that this may be our happy experience, is the fervent desire of your sincere and affectionate friend, "isaac t. hopper. "new-york, th mo. , ." early in the spring, he was conveyed to the house of his daughter, mrs. gibbons, in the upper part of the city; it being supposed that change of air and scene might prove beneficial. it was afterward deemed imprudent to remove him. his illness was attended with a good deal of physical suffering; but he was uniformly patient and cheerful. he often observed, "there is no cloud. there is nothing in my way. nothing troubles me." his daughters left all other duties, and devoted themselves exclusively to him. never were the declining hours of an old man watched over with more devoted affection. writing to his daughter mary, he says: "i have the best nurses in new-york, thy mother and sisters. i have every comfort that industry and ingenuity can supply." among the quakers who manifested kindness and sympathy, several belonged to the branch called orthodox; for a sincere respect and friendship had grown up between him and individuals of that society, in new-york, after the dust of controversy had subsided. he was always glad to see them; for his heart warmed toward the plain dress and the plain language. but i think nothing during his illness gave him more unalloyed satisfaction than a visit from william and deborah wharton, friends from philadelphia. he loved this worthy couple for their truly christian character; and they were, moreover, endeared to him by many tender and pleasant associations. they stood by him generously during his severe pecuniary struggles; they had been devoted to his beloved sarah, whose long illness was cheered by their unremitting attentions, and she, for many years, had received from hannah fisher, deborah's mother, the most uniform kindness. william's father, a wealthy merchant, had been to him an early and constant friend; and his uncle, the excellent mayor of philadelphia, had sustained him by his influence and hearty co-operation, in many a fugitive slave case, that occurred in years long past. it was, therefore, altogether pleasant to clasp hands with these tried and trusty friends, before life and all its reminiscences faded away. his physician, dr. john c. beales, was very assiduous in his attentions, and his visits were always interesting to the invalid, who generally made them an occasion for pleasant and animated conversation; often leading the doctor off the professional track, by some playful account of his symptoms, however painful they might be. he had been his medical adviser for many years, and as a mark of respect for his disinterested services to his fellow-men, he uniformly declined to receive any compensation. neighbors and acquaintances of recent date, likewise manifested their respect for the invalid by all manner of attentions. gentlemen sent choice wines, and ladies offered fruit and flowers. market people, who knew him in the way of business, brought delicacies of various kinds for his acceptance. he was gratified by such tokens of regard, and manifested it in many pleasant little ways. one of his sons had presented him a silver goblet, with the word "father" inscribed upon it; and whenever he was about to take nourishment, he would say, "give it to me in john's cup." when his little grand-daughter brought flowers from the garden, he was careful to have them placed by the bedside, where he could see them continually. after he was unable to rise to take his meals, he asked to have two cups and plates brought to him, if it were not too much trouble; for he said it would seem pleasant, and like old times, to have hannah's company. so his wife ate with him, as long as he was able to partake of food. a china bird, which a ransomed slave had given to his daughter, when she was a little girl, was placed on the mantel-piece, because he liked to look at it. a visitor, to whom he made this remark one day, replied, "it must be very pleasant to you now to remember how many unfortunate beings you have helped." he looked up, and answered with frank simplicity, "yes, it _is_ pleasant." he made continual efforts to conceal that he was in pain. when they asked why he was so often singing to himself, he replied, "if i didn't sing, i should groan." even as late as the day before he died, he indulged in some little "cheeryble" pleasantries, evidently intended to enliven those who were nearly exhausted by their long attendance on him. at this period, his son-in-law, james s. gibbons, wrote to me thus: "considering his long bodily weakness, now ten weeks, he is in an extraordinary state of mental strength and clearness. reminiscences are continually falling from his lips, like leaves in autumn from an old forest tree; not indeed green, but rich in the colors that are of the tree, and characteristic. thou hast known him in the extraordinary vigor and freshness of his old age; cheating time even out of turning his hair gray. but thou shouldst see him now; when, to use his own words, he feels that 'the messenger has come.' all his thoughts have tended to, and reached this point. the only question with him now is of a few more days. though prostrate in body, his mind is like a sturdy old oak, that don't care which way the wind blows. as i sat by his bedside, last evening, i thought i never had seen so beautiful a close to a good man's life." he had no need to make a will; for he died, as he had lived, without property. but he disposed of his little keepsakes with as much cheerfulness as if he had been making new-year's presents. he seemed to remember everybody in the distribution. his quaker library was left in the care of his children, with directions that it should be kept where members of the society of friends or others interested could have ready access to it. to his daughter sarah he entrusted the paper written by her mother, at fourteen years of age; still fastened by the pin she had placed in it, which her dear hand had invested with more value than a diamond, in his eyes. he earnestly recommended his wife to the affectionate care of his children; reminding them that she had been a kind and faithful companion to him during many years. he also gave general directions concerning his funeral. "don't take the trouble to make a shroud," said he. "one of my night-shirts will do as well. i should prefer to be buried in a white pine coffin; but that might be painful to my family; and i should not like to afflict them in _any_ way. it may, therefore, be of dark wood; but be sure to have it entirely plain, without varnish or inscription. have it made by some poor neighbor, and pay him the usual price of a handsome one; for i merely wish to leave a testimony against vain show on such occasions." he appeared to be rather indifferent where he was buried; but when he was informed that his son and daughter had purchased a lot at greenwood cemetery, it seemed pleasant to him to think of having them and their families gathered round him, and he consented to be laid there. i was summoned to his death-bed, and arrived two days before his departure. i found his mind perfectly bright and clear. he told over again some of his old reminiscences, and indulged in a few of his customary pleasantries. he spoke of rejoining his beloved sarah, and his ancient friends william savery, nicholas waln, thomas scattergood, and others, with as much certainty and pleasure as if he had been anticipating a visit to pennsylvania. sometimes, when he was much exhausted with physical pain, he would sigh forth, "oh, for rest in the kingdom of heaven!" but nothing that approached nearer to complaint or impatience escaped his lips. on the last day, he repeated to me, what he had previously said to others, that he sometimes seemed to hear voices singing, "we have come to take thee home." once, when no one else happened to be near him, he said to me in a low, confidential tone, "maria, is there anything peculiar in this room?" i replied, "no. why do you ask that question?" "because," said he, "you all look so beautiful; and the covering on the bed has such glorious colors, as i never saw. but perhaps i had better not have said anything about it." the natural world was transfigured to his dying senses; perhaps by an influx of light from the spiritual; and i suppose he thought i should understand it as a sign that the time of his departure drew nigh. it was a scene to remind one of jeremy taylor's eloquent words: "when a good man dies, one that hath lived innocently, then the joys break forth through the clouds of sickness, and the conscience stands upright, and confesses the glories of god: and owns so much integrity, that it can hope for pardon, and obtain it too. then the sorrows of sickness do but untie the soul from its chain, and let it go forth, first into liberty, and then into glory." a few hours before he breathed his last, he rallied from a state of drowsiness, and asked for a box containing his private papers. he washed to find one, which he thought ought to be destroyed, lest it should do some injury. he put on his spectacles, and looked at the papers which were handed him; but the old man's eyes were dimmed with death, and he could not see the writing. after two or three feeble and ineffectual attempts, he took off his spectacles, with a trembling hand, and gave them to his beloved daughter, sarah, saying, "take them, my child, and keep them. they were thy dear mother's. i can never use them more." the scene was inexpressibly affecting; and we all wept to see this untiring friend of mankind compelled at last to acknowledge that he could work no longer. of his sixteen children, ten were living; and all but two of them were able to be with him in these last days. he addressed affectionate exhortations to them at various times; and a few hours before he died, he called them, one by one, to his bedside, to receive his farewell benediction. at last, he whispered my name; and as i knelt to kiss his hand, he said in broken accents, and at long intervals, "maria, tell them i loved them--though i felt called to resist--some who claimed to be rulers in israel--i never meant--." his strength was nearly exhausted; but after a pause, he pressed my hand, and added, "tell them i love them _all_." i had previously asked and obtained permission to write his biography; and from these broken sentences, i understood that he wished me to convey in it a message to the society of friends; including the "orthodox" branch, with whom he had been brought into painful collision, in years gone by. after several hours of restlessness and suffering, he fell into a tranquil slumber, which lasted a long time. the serene expression of his countenance remained unchanged, and there was no motion of limb or muscle, when the spirit passed away. this was between eight and nine o'clock in the evening, on the seventh of may, . after a long interval of silent weeping, his widow laid her head on the shoulder of one of his sons, and said, "forty-seven years ago this very day, my good father died; and from that day to this, he has been the best friend i ever had." no public buildings were hung with crape, when news went forth that the good samaritan had gone. but prisoners, and poor creatures in dark and desolate corners, wept when they heard the tidings. ann w. with whose waywardness he had borne so patiently, escaped from confinement, several miles distant, and with sobs implored "to see that good old man once more." michael stanley sent the following letter to the committee of the prison association: "when i read the account of the venerable friend hopper's death, i could not help weeping. it touched a tender chord in my heart, when i came to the account of his being the prisoner's friend. my soul responded to that; for i had realized it. about six years ago, i was one of those who got good advice from 'the old man.' i carried it out, and met with great success. i was fatherless, motherless, and friendless, with no home, nobody to take me by the hand. i felt, as the poet has it, "'a pilgrim stranger here i roam, from place to place i'm driven; my friends are gone, and i'm in gloom; this earth is all a lonely tomb; i have no home but heaven.' "go on in the work of humanity and love, till the good master shall say, 'it is enough. come up higher.'" nearly all the domestics in friend hopper's neighborhood attended the funeral solemnities. one of these said with tears, "i am an orphan; but while he lived, i always felt as if i had a father. he always had something pleasant to say to me, but now everything seems gone." a very poor man, who had been an object of his charity, and whom he had employed in many little services, could not rest till he had earned enough to buy a small arbor-vitae, (tree of life,) to plant upon his grave. the executive committee of the prison association met, and passed the following resolutions: "_resolved:_--that the combination of virtues which distinguished and adorned the character of our lamented friend, eminently qualified him for the accomplishment of those benevolent and philanthropic objects to which he unremittingly devoted _a life_ far more extended than ordinarily falls to man's inheritance. "that in our intimate associations with him for many years, he has uniformly displayed a character remarkable for its disinterestedness, energy, fearlessness, and christian principle, in every good word and work. "that we tender to the family and friends of the deceased our sincere condolence and sympathy in their sore bereavement, but whilst sensible that words, however truly uttered, cannot compensate for the loss of such a husband, father, and guide, we do find both for ourselves and for them, consolation in the belief that his peaceful end was but the prelude to the bliss of heaven. "that in the death of isaac t. hopper, the community is called to part with a citizen of transcendent worth and excellence; the prisoner, with an unwearied and well-tried friend; the poor and the homeless, with a father and a protector; the church of christ, with a brother whose works ever bore unfailing testimony to his faith; and the world at large, with a philanthropist of the purest and most uncompromising integrity, whose good deeds were circumscribed by no sect, party, condition or clime." the american anti-slavery society received the tidings while they were in session at rochester. mr. garrison, after a brief but eloquent tribute to the memory of the deceased, offered the following resolution: "_resolved:_--that it is with emotions too profound for utterance, that this society receives the intelligence of the decease of the venerable isaac t. hopper, on tuesday evening last, in the city of new-york; the friend of the friendless--boundless in his compassion--exhaustless in his benevolence--untiring in his labors--the most intrepid of philanthropists, who never feared the face of man, nor omitted to bear a faithful testimony against injustice and oppression--the early, steadfast, heroic advocate and protector of the hunted fugitive slave, to whose sleepless vigilance and timely aid multitudes have been indebted for their deliverance from the southern house of bondage;--in whom were equally blended the gentleness of the lamb with the strength of the lion--the wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness of the dove; and who, when the ear heard him, then it blessed him, when the eye saw him, it gave witness to him, because he delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. the blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him, and he caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. he put on righteousness, and it clothed him; his judgment was as a robe and a diadem. he was eyes to the blind, and feet was he to the lame. the cause which he knew not he searched out, and he broke the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of its teeth." he moved that a copy of this resolution be forwarded in an official form to the estimable partner of his life, and the children of his love, accompanied by an assurance of our deepest sympathy, in view of their great bereavement. several spoke in support of the resolution, which was unanimously and cordially adopted. the committee of the prison association desired to have public funeral solemnities, and the family complied with their wishes. churches of various denominations were immediately offered for the purpose, including the meeting-houses of both branches of the society of friends. the tabernacle was accepted. judge edmonds, who had been an efficient co-laborer, and for whom friend hopper had a strong personal affection, offered a feeling tribute to the virtues and abilities of his departed friend. he was followed by lucretia mott, a widely known and highly respected minister among friends. in her appropriate and interesting communication, she dwelt principally upon his efforts in behalf of the colored people; for whose sake she also had encountered obloquy. the society of friends in hester-street, to which he had formerly belonged, offered the use of their burying-ground. it was kindly meant; but his children deeply felt the injustice of their father's expulsion from that society, for no other offence than following the dictates of his own conscience. as his soul had been too much alive for them, when it was in the body, their unity with the lifeless form was felt to avail but little. the body was conveyed to greenwood cemetery, followed only by the family, and a very few intimate friends. thomas mcclintock, a minister in the society of friends, addressed some words of consolation to the bereaved family, as they stood around the open grave. lucretia mott affectionately commended the widow to the care of the children. in the course of her remarks, she said, "i have no unity with these costly monuments around me, by which the pride and vanity of man strive to extend themselves beyond the grave. but i like the idea of burial grounds where people of all creeds repose together. it is pleasant to leave the body of our friend here, amid the verdant beauty of nature, and the sweet singing of birds. as he was a fruitful bough, that overhung the wall, it is fitting that he should not be buried within the walls of any sectarian enclosure." three poor little motherless german boys stood hand in hand beside the grave. before the earth was thrown in, the eldest stepped forward and dropped a small bouquet on the coffin of his benefactor. he had gathered a few early spring flowers from the little garden plot, which his kind old friend used to cultivate with so much care, and with childish love and reverence he dropped them in his grave. soon after the funeral lucretia mott called a meeting of the colored people in philadelphia, and delivered an address upon the life and services of their friend and protector. there was a very large audience; and among them were several old people, who well remembered him during his residence in that city. at the yearly meeting also she paid a tribute to his virtues; it being the custom of friends, on such occasions, to make tender allusion to the worthies who have passed from among them in the course of the year. the family received many letters of sympathy and condolence, from which i will make a few brief extracts. mrs. marianne c.d. silsbee, of salem, massachusetts, thus speaks of him, in a letter to his son john: "i have thought much of you all, since your great loss. how you must miss his grand, constant example of cheerful trust, untiring energy, and love to all! what a joy to have had such a father! to be the son of such a man is ground for honest pride. the pleasure of having known him, the honor of having been in social relations with him, will always give a charm to my life. i cherish among my most precious recollections the pleasant words he has so often spoken to me. i can see him while i write, as vividly as though he were with me now; and never can his benign and beautiful countenance lose its brightness in my memory. dear old friend! we cannot emulate your ceaseless good works; but we can follow, and we can love and remember." mrs. mary e. stearns, of medford, massachusetts, wrote as follows to rosalie hopper: "the telegraph has announced that the precious life you were all so anxiously watching has 'passed on,' and that mysterious change we call death has taken it from your midst forever. it is such a beautiful day! the air is so soft, the grass so green, and the birds singing so joyously! the day and the event have become so interwoven with each other, that i cannot separate them. i think of his placid face, sleeping its last still sleep; and through the open window, i see the springing grass and the bursting buds. my ears are filled with bird-music, and all other sounds are hushed in this sabbath stillness. all i see and hear seems to be hallowed by his departed spirit. ah, it is good to think of his death in the spring time! it is good that his soul, so fresh, so young and hopeful, should burst into a higher and more glorious life, as if in sympathy with the ever beautiful, ever wonderful resurrection of nature. dear, blessed old man! i shall never see his face again; but his memory will be as green as this springing grass, and we shall always think and talk of our little experience with him, as one of the golden things that can never pass away." dr. russ, his beloved co-laborer in the prison association, wrote thus in a note to mrs. gibbons: "i have found it for my comfort to change the furniture of the office, that it might not appear so lonely without your dear, venerable father. i felt for him the warmest and most enduring friendship. i esteemed him for his thousand virtues, and delighted in his social intercourse. i am sure no one out of his own immediate family, felt his loss more keenly than myself." james h. titus, of new-york, thus expresses himself in a letter to james s. gibbons: "i have ever considered it one of the happiest and most fortunate events of my life, to have had the privilege of an acquaintance with friend hopper. i shall always recur to his memory with pleasure, and i trust with that moral advantage, which the recollection of his christian virtues is so eminently calculated to produce. how insignificant the reputation of riches, how unsatisfactory the renown of victory in war, how transient political fame, when compared with the history of a long life spent in services rendered to the afflicted and the unfortunate!" ellis gray loring, of boston, in a letter to john hopper, says: "we heard of your father's death while we were in rome. i could not restrain a few tears, and yet god knows there is no room for tears about the life or death of such a man. in both, he was a blessing and encouragement to all of us. he really lived out all the life that was given him; filling it up to such an age with the beauty of goodness, and consecrating to the divinest purposes that wonderful energy of intellect and character. in a society full of selfishness and pretension, it is a great thing to have practical proof that a life and character like his are possible." edmund l. benzon, of boston, writing to the same, says; "you will imagine, better than i can write, with what deep sympathy i learned the death of your good father, whom i have always esteemed one of the best of men. i cannot say i am sorry for his death. my only regret is that more of us cannot live and die as he has done. i feel with regard to all good men departed, whom i have personally known, that there is now another witness in the spirit, before whose searching eyes my inmost soul lies open. i shall never forget him; not even if such a green old age as his should be my own portion. if in the future life i can only be as near him as i was on this earth, i shall deem myself blest." from the numerous notices in papers of all parties and sects, i will merely quote the following: the new-york observer thus announces his death: "the venerable isaac t. hopper, whose placid benevolent face has so long irradiated almost every public meeting for doing good, and whose name, influence, and labors have been devoted with an apostolic simplicity and constancy to humanity, died on friday last, at an advanced age. he was a quaker of that early sort illustrated by such philanthropists as anthony benezet, thomas clarkson, mrs. fry, and the like. "he was a most self-denying, patient, loving friend of the poor, and the suffering of every kind; and his life was an unbroken history of beneficence. thousands of hearts will feel a touch of grief at the news of his death; for few men have so large a wealth in the blessings of the poor, and the grateful remembrance of kindness and benevolence, as he." the new-york sunday times contained the following: "most of our readers will call to mind in connection with the name of isaac t. hopper, the compact, well-knit figure of a quaker gentleman, apparently about sixty years of age, dressed in drab or brown clothes of the plainest cut, and bearing on his handsome, manly face the impress of that benevolence with which his whole heart was filled. "he was twenty years older than he seemed. the fountain of benevolence within, freshened his old age with its continuous flow. the step of the octogenarian, was elastic as that of a boy, his form erect as the mountain pine. "his whole _physique_ was a splendid sample of nature's handiwork. we see him now with our 'mind's eye'--but with the eye of flesh we shall see him no more. void of intentional offence to god or man, his spirit has joined its happy kindred in a world where there is neither sorrow nor perplexity." i sent the following communication to the new-york tribune: "in this world of shadows, few things strengthen the soul like seeing the calm and cheerful exit of a truly good man; and this has been my privilege by the bedside of isaac t. hopper. "he was a man of remarkable endowments, both of head and heart. his clear discrimination, his unconquerable will, his total unconsciousness of fear, his extraordinary tact in circumventing plans he wished to frustrate, would have made him illustrious as the general of an army; and these qualities might have become faults, if they had not been balanced by an unusual degree of conscientiousness and benevolence. he battled courageously, not from ambition, but from an inborn love of truth. he circumvented as adroitly as the most practised politician; but it was always to defeat the plans of those who oppressed god's poor; never to advance his own self-interest. "few men have been more strongly attached to any religious society than he was to the society of friends, which he joined in the days of its purity, impelled by his own religious convictions. but when the time came that he must either be faithless to duty in the cause of his enslaved brethren, or part company with the society to which he was bound by the strong and sacred ties of early religious feeling, this sacrifice he also calmly laid on the altar of humanity. "during nine years that i lived in his household, my respect and affection for him continually increased. never have i seen a man who so completely fulfilled the scripture injunction, to forgive an erring brother 'not only seven times, but seventy times seven.' i have witnessed relapse after relapse into vice, under circumstances which seemed like the most heartless ingratitude to him; but he joyfully hailed the first symptom of repentance, and was always ready to grant a new probation. "farewell, thou brave and kind old friend! the prayers of ransomed ones ascended to heaven for thee, and a glorious company have welcomed thee to the eternal city." on a plain block of granite at greenwood cemetery, is inscribed: isaac t. hopper, born, december d, , ended his pilgrimage, may th, . "thou henceforth shalt have a good man's calm, a great man's happiness; thy zeal shall find repose at length, firm friend of human kind." cudjo's cave. by j. t. trowbridge author of "neighbor jackwood," "the drummer boy," etc. boston: j. e. tilton and company. . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by j. t. trowbridge, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts. electrotyped and printed by the boston stereotype foundry, spring lane. contents. i. the schoolmaster in trouble ii. penn and the ruffians iii. the secret cellar iv. the search for the missing v. carl and his friends vi. a strange coat for a quaker vii. the two guests viii. the rover ix. toby's patient has a caller x. the widow's green chest xi. southern hospitality xii. chivalrous proceedings xiii. the old clergyman's nightgown has an adventure xiv. a man's story xv. an anti-slavery document on black parchment xvi. in the cave and on the mountain xvii. penn's foot knocks down a musket xviii. condemned to death xix. the escape xx. under the bridge xxi. the return into danger xxii. stackridge's coat and hat get arrested xxiii. the flight of the prisoners xxiv. the dead rebel's musket xxv. black and white xxvi. why augustus did not propose xxvii. the men with the dark lantern xxviii. beauty and the beast xxix. in the burning woods xxx. refuge xxxi. lysander takes possession xxxii. toby's reward xxxiii. carl makes an engagement xxxiv. captain lysander's joke xxxv. the moonlight expedition xxxvi. carl finds a geological specimen xxxvii. carl keeps his engagement xxxviii. love in the wilderness xxxix. a council of war xl. the wonders of the cave xli. prometheus bound xlii. prometheus unbound xliii. the combat xliv. how augustus finally proposed xlv. master and slave change places xlvi. the traitor xlvii. bread on the waters xlviii. conclusion l'envoy cudjo's cave. i. _the schoolmaster in trouble._ carl crept stealthily up the bank, and, peering through the window, saw the master writing at his desk. in his neat quaker garb, his slender form bent over his task, his calm young face dimly seen in profile, there he sat. the room was growing dark; the glow of a march sunset was fading fast from the paper on which the swift pen traced these words:-- "tennessee is getting too hot for me. my school is nearly broken up, and my farther stay here is becoming not only useless, but dangerous. there are many loyal men in the neighborhood, but they are overawed by the reckless violence of the secessionists. mobs sanctioned by self-styled vigilance committees override all law and order. as i write, i can hear the yells of a drunken rabble before my school-house door. i am an especial object of hatred to them on account of my northern birth and principles. they have warned me to leave the state, they have threatened me with southern vengeance, but thus far i have escaped injury. how long this reign of terror is to last, or what is to be the end----" a rap on the window drew the writer's attention, and, looking up, he saw, against the twilight sky, the broad german face of the boy carl darkening the pane. he stepped to raise the sash. "what is it, carl?" the lad glanced quickly around, first over one shoulder, then the other, and said, in a hoarse whisper,-- "shpeak wery low!" "was it you that rapped before?" "i have rapped tree times, not loud, pecause i vas afraid the men would hear." "what men are they?" "the wigilance committee's men! they have some tar in a kettle. they have made a fire unter it, and i hear some of 'em say, 'run, boys, and pring some fedders.'" "tar and feathers!" the young man grew pale. "they have threatened it, but they will not dare!" "they vill dare do anything; but you shall prewent 'em! see vat i have prought you!" carl opened his jacket, and showed the handle of a revolver. "stackridge sent it." "hide it! hide it!" said the master, quickly. "he offered it to me himself. i told him i could not take it." "he said, may be when you smell tar and see fedders, you vill change your mind," answered carl. the schoolmaster smiled. the pallor of fear which had surprised him for an instant, had vanished. "i believe in a different creed from mr. stackridge's, honest man as he is. i shall not resist evil, but overcome evil with good, if i can; if i cannot, i shall suffer it." "you show you vill shoot some of 'em, and they vill let you go," said carl, not understanding the nobler doctrine. "shooting vill do some of them willains some good!" his placid blue eyes kindling, as if he would like to do a little of the shooting. "you take it?" "no," said the young man, firmly. "such weapons are not for me." "wery vell!" carl buttoned his jacket over the revolver. "then you come mit me, if you please. get out of the vinder and run. that is pest, i suppose." "no, no, my lad. i may as well meet these men first as last." "then i vill go and pring help!" suddenly exclaimed, the boy; and away he scampered across the fields, leaving the young man alone in the darkening school-room. it was not a very pleasant situation to be in, you may well believe. as he closed the sash, a faint odor of tar was wafted in on the evening breeze. the voices of the ruffians at the door grew louder and more menacing. he knew they were only waiting for the tar to heat, for the shadows of night to thicken, and for him to make his appearance. he returned to his desk, but it was now too dark to write. he could barely see to sign his name and superscribe the envelope. this done, he buttoned his straight-fitting brown coat, put on his modest hat, and stood pondering in his mind what he should do. a young man scarcely twenty years old, reared in the quiet atmosphere of a community of friends, and as unaccustomed, hitherto, to scenes of strife and violence as the most innocent child,--such was penn hapgood, teacher of the "academy" (as the school was proudly named) in curryville. this was the first great trial of his faith and courage. he had not taken carl's advice, and run, because he did not believe that he could escape the danger in that way. and as for fighting, that was not in his heart any more than it was in his creed. but to say he did not dread to meet his foes at the door, that he felt no fear, would be speaking falsely. he was afraid. his entire nature, delicate body and still more delicate soul, shrank from the ordeal. he went to the outer door, and laid his hand on the bolt, but could not, for a long time, summon resolution to open it. as he hesitated, there came a loud thump on one of the panels which nearly crushed it in, and filled the hollow building with ominous echoes. "make ready in thar, you hound of a abolitionist!" shouted a brutal voice; "we're about ready fur ye!" penn's hand drew back. i dare say it trembled, i dare say his face turned white again, as he felt the danger so near. how could he confront, with his sensitive spirit, those merciless, coarse men? "i'll wait a little," he thought within himself. "perhaps carl _will_ bring help." there were good sturdy unionists in the place, men who, unlike the pennsylvania schoolmaster, believed in opposing evil with evil, force by force. only last night, one of them entered this very school-room, bolted the door carefully, and sat down to unfold to the young master a scheme for resisting the plans of the secessionists. it was a league for circumventing treason; for keeping tennessee in the union; for preserving their homes and families from the horrors of the impending civil war. the conspirators had arms concealed; they met in secret places; they were watching for the hour to strike. would the schoolmaster join them? strange to say, they believed in him as a man who had abilities as a leader, "an undeveloped fighting man"--he, penn hapgood, the quaker! penn smiled, as he declined the farmer's offer of a commission in the secret militia, and refused to accept the weapon of self-defence which the same earnest unionist had proffered him again, through carl, the german boy, this night. penn thought of these men now, and hoped that carl would haste and bring them to the rescue. then immediately he blushed at his own cowardly inconsistency; for something in his heart said that he ought not to wish others to do for him what he had conscientious scruples against doing for himself. "i'll go out!" he said, sternly, to his trembling heart. but he would first make a reconnoissance through the keyhole. he looked, and saw one ruffian stirring the fire under the tar kettle, another displaying a rope, and two others alternately drinking from a bottle. he started back, as the thundering on the panel was repeated, and the same voice roared out, "you kin be takin' off them clo'es of yourn; the tar is about het!" "i'll wait a few minutes longer for carl!" said penn to himself, with a long breath. unfortunately, carl was not just now in a situation to render much assistance. although he had arrived unseen at the window, he did not retire undiscovered. he had run but a short distance when a gruff voice ordered him to stop. he had a way, however, of misunderstanding english when he chose, and interpreted the command to mean, run faster. receiving it in that sense, he obeyed. somebody behind him began to run too. in short, it was a chase; and carl, glancing backwards, saw long-legged silas ropes, one of the ringleaders of the mob, taking appalling strides after him, across the open field. there were some woods about a quarter of a mile away, and carl made for them, trusting to their shelter and the shades of night to favor his escape. he was fifteen years old, strong, and an excellent runner. he did not again look behind to see if silas was gaining on him, but attended strictly to his own business, which was, to get into the thickets as soon as possible. his success seemed almost certain; a few rods more, and the undergrowth would be reached; and he was congratulating himself on having thus led away from the schoolmaster one of his most desperate enemies, when he rushed suddenly almost into the arms of two men,--or rather, into a feather-bed, which they were fetching by the corner of the wood lot. "ketch that dutchman!" roared silas. and they "ketched" him. "what's the dutchman done?" said one of the men, throwing himself lazily on the feather-bed, while his companion held carl for his pursuer. "i don't know," said carl, opening his eyes with placid wonder. "i tought he vas vanting to run a race mit me." "a race, you fool!" said silas, seizing and shaking him. "didn't you hear me tell ye to stop?" "did you say _shtop_?" asked carl, with a broad smile. "it ish wery queer! ven it sounded so much as if you said _shtep_! so i _shtepped_ just as fast as i could." "what was you thar at the winder fur?" "vot vinder?" said carl. "of the academy," said silas. "o! to pe sure! i vas there," said carl. "pecause i left my books in there last week, and i vas going to get 'em. but i saw somebody in the house, and i vas afraid." "wasn't it the schoolmaster?" "i shouldn't be wery much surprised if it vas the schoolmaster," said carl, with blooming simplicity. "you lying rascal! what did you say to him through the winder?" carl looked all around with an expression of mild wonder, as if expecting somebody else to answer. "why don't you speak?" and silas gave his arm a fierce wrench. "vat did you say?" "i said, you lying rascal!----" "that is not my name," said carl, "and i tought you vas shpeaking to somebody else. i tought you vas conwersing mit this man," pointing at the fellow on the bed. "dan pepperill!" said silas, turning angrily on the recumbent figure, "what are you stretching your lazy bones thar fur? we're waiting fur them feathers, and you'll git a coat yourself, if you don't show a little more of the sperrit of a gentleman! you don't act as if your heart was in this yer act of dooty we're performin', any more'n as if you was a northern mudsill yourself!" "wal, the truth is," said dan pepperill, reluctantly getting up from the bed, and preparing to shoulder it, "the schoolmaster has allus treated me well, and though i hate his principles,----" "you don't hate his principles, neither! you're more'n half a abolitionist yourself! and i swear to gosh," said silas, "if you don't do your part now----" "i will! i'm a-going to!" said dan, with something like a groan. "though, as i said, he has allus used me well----" "shet up!" silas administered a kick, which dan adroitly caught in the bed. mr. ropes got his foot embarrassed in the feathers, lost his balance, and fell. dan, either by mistake or design, fell also, tumbling the bed in a smothering mass over the screaming mouth and coarse red nose of the prostrate silas. the third man, who was guarding carl, began to laugh. carl laughed too, as if it was the greatest joke in the world; to enhance the fun of which, he gave his man a sudden push forwards, tripped him as he went, and so flung him headlong upon the struggling heap. this pleasant feat accomplished, he turned to run; but changed his mind almost instantly; and, instead of plunging into the undergrowth, threw himself upon the accumulating pile. there he scrambled, and kicked, with his heels in the air, and rolled over the topmost man, who rolled over mr. pepperill, who rolled over the feather-bed, which rolled again over mr. ropes, in a most lively and edifying manner. at this interesting juncture carl's reason for changing his mind and remaining, became manifest. two more of the chivalry from the tar kettle came rushing to the spot, and would speedily have seized him had he attempted to get off. so he staid, thinking he might be helping the master in this way as well as any other. and now the miscellaneous heap of legs and feathers began to resolve itself into its original elements. first carl was pulled off by one of the new comers; then dan and the man carl had sent to comfort him fell to blows, clinched each other, and rolled upon the earth; and lastly, mr. silas ropes arose, choked with passion and feathers, from under the rent and bursting bed. the two squabbling men were also quickly on their feet, mr. pepperill proving too much for his antagonist. "what did you pitch into me fur?" demanded silas, threatening his friend dan. "what did gad pitch into me fur?" said the irate dan, shaking his fist at gad. "what did you push and jump on to me fur?" said gad, clutching carl, who was still laughing. thus the wrath of the whole party was turned against the boy. "pless me!" said he, staring innocently, "i tought it vas all for shport!" the furious mr. ropes was about to convince him, by some violent act, of his mistake, when cries from the direction of the school-house called his attention. "see what's there, boys!" said silas. "durn me," said mr. pepperill, looking across the field as he brushed the feathers from his clothes, "if it ain't the master himself!" in fact, penn had by this time summoned courage to slip back the bolt, throw open the school-house door, and come out. the gentlemen who were heating the tar and drinking from the bottle were taken by surprise. they had not expected that the fellow would come out at all, but wait to be dragged out. their natural conclusion was, that he was armed; for he appeared with as calm and determined a front as if he had been perfectly safe from injury himself, while it was in his power to do them some fatal mischief. they could not understand how the mere consciousness of his own uprightness, and a sense of reliance on the arm of eternal justice, could inspire a man with courage to face so many. "my friends," said penn, as they beset him with threats and blasphemy, "i have never injured one of you, and you will not harm me." and as if some deity held an invisible shield above him, he passed by; and they, in their astonishment, durst not even lay their hands upon him. "i've hearn tell he was a quaker, and wouldn't fight," muttered one; "but i see a revolver under his coat!" "where's sile? where's sile ropes?" cried others, who, though themselves unwilling to assume the responsibility of seizing the young master, would have been glad to see silas attempt it. great was the joy of carl when he saw mr. hapgood walking through the guard of ruffians untouched. but, a moment after, he uttered an involuntary groan of despair. it was penn's custom to cross the fields in going from the academy to the house where he boarded, and his path wound by the edge of the woods, where silas and his accomplices were at this moment gathering up the spilt feathers. "all right!" said mr. ropes, crouching down in order to remain concealed from penn's view. "this is as comf'table a place to do our dooty by him as any to be found. keep dark, boys, and let him come!" ii. _penn and the ruffians_. penn traversed the field, followed by the gang from the school-house. as he approached the woods, silas and his friends rose up before him. he was thus surrounded. "thought you'd come and meet us half way, did ye?" said mr. ropes, striding across his path. "very accommodating in you, to be shore!" and he laughed a brutal laugh, which was echoed by all his friends except dan. "i have not come to meet you," replied penn, "but i am going about my own private business, and wish to pass on." "wal, you can't pass on till we've settled a small account with you that's been standing a little too long a'ready. bring that tar, some on ye! come, pepperill! show your sperrit!" this pepperill was a ragged, lank, starved-looking man, whose appearance was on this occasion rendered ludicrous by the feathers sticking all over him, and by an expression of dejection which _would_ draw down the corners of his miserable mouth and roll up his piteous eyes, notwithstanding his efforts to appear, what silas termed, "sperrited." "you, too, among my enemies, daniel!" said penn, reproachfully. it was a look of grief, not of anger, which he turned on the wretched man. poor pepperill could not stand it. "i own, i own," he stammered forth, a picture of mingled fear and contrition, "you've allus used me well, mr. hapgood,--but," he hastened to add, with a scared glance at silas, "i hate your principles!" "look here, dan pepperill!" remarked mr. ropes, with grim significance, "you better shet your yaup, and be a bringin' that ar kittle!" dan groaned, and departed. penn smiled bitterly. "i have always used him well; and this is the return i get!" he thought of another evening, but little more than a week since, when, passing by this very path, he heard a deeper groan than that which the wretch had just uttered. he turned aside into the edge of the woods, and there beheld an object to excite at once his laughter and compassion. what he saw was this. dan pepperill, astride a rail; his hands tied together above it, and his feet similarly bound beneath. the rail had been taken from a fence a mile away, and he had been carried all that distance on the shoulders of some of these very men. they had taken turns with him, and when, tired at last, had placed the rail in the crotches of two convenient saplings, and there left him. the crotch in front was considerably higher than that behind, which circumstance gave him the appearance of clinging to the back of an animal in the act of rearing frightfully, and exposed a delicate part of his apparel that had been sadly rent by contact with splinters. and there the wretch was clinging and groaning when penn came up. "for the love of the lord!" said dan, "take me down!" "why, what is the matter? how came you here?" "i'm a dead man; that's the matter! i've been wipped to death, and then rode on a rail; that's the way i come here!" "whipped! what for?" said penn, losing no time in cutting the sufferer's bonds. "ye see," said dan, when taken down and laid upon the ground, "the patrolmen found combs's boy pete out t'other night without a pass, and took him and tied him to a tree, and licked him." the "boy pete" was a negro man upwards of fifty years old, owned by the said combs. "wal, ye see, jest cause i found him, and took him home with me, and washed his back fur him, and bound cotton on to it, and kep' him over night, and gin him a good breakfast, and a drink o' suthin' strong in the morning, and then went home with him, and talked with his master so'st he wouldn't git another licking,--just for that, sile ropes and his gang took me and served me wus'n ever they served him!" and the broken-spirited man cried like a child at the recollection of his injuries. he was one of the "white trash" of the south, whom even the negroes belonging to good families look down upon; a weak, degraded, kind-hearted man, whose offence was not simply that he had shown mercy to the "boy pete," after his flogging, but that he associated on familiar terms with such negroes as were not too proud to cultivate his acquaintance, and secretly sold them whiskey. after repeated warnings, he had been flogged, and treated to a ride on a three-cornered rail, and hung up to reflect upon his ungentlemanly conduct and its sad consequences. at sight of him, penn, who knew nothing of his selling whiskey to the blacks, or of any other offence against the laws or prejudices of the community, than that of befriending a beaten and bleeding slave, felt his indignation roused and his sympathies excited. "it's a dreadful state of society in which such outrages are tolerated!" he exclaimed. "_i_ say, dreadful!" sobbed mr. pepperill. "the good samaritan himself would be in danger of a beating here!" said penn. "i don't know what good smart 'un you mean," replied the weeping dan, whose knowledge of scripture was extremely limited, "but i bet he'd git some, ef he didn't keep his eyes peeled!" and he wiped his nose with his sleeve. penn smiled at the man's ignorance, and said, as he lifted him up,-- "friend daniel, do you know that it is partly your own fault that this deplorable state of things exists?" "how's it my fault, i'd like to know?" whimpered daniel. "come, i'll help thee home, and tell thee what i mean, by the way," said penn, using the idiom of his sect, into which familiar manner of speech he naturally fell when talking confidentially with any one. "i am stiff as any old spavined hoss!" whined the poor fellow, straightening his legs, and attempting to walk. penn helped him home as he promised, and comforted him, and said to him many things, which he little supposed were destined to be brought against him so soon, and by this very daniel pepperill. this was the way of it. when it was known that penn had befriended the friend of the blacks, silas ropes paid dan a second visit, and by threats of vengeance, on the one hand, and promises of forgiveness and treatment "like a gentleman," on the other, extorted from him a confession of all penn had said and done. "now, dan," said mr. ropes, patronizingly, "i'll tell ye what you do. you jine with us, and show yourself a man of sperrit, a payin' off this yer abolitionist for his outrageous interference in our affairs." "sile," interrupted dan, earnestly, "what 'ge mean i'm to do? turn agin' him?" "exactly," replied mr. ropes. "sile," said dan, excitedly, "i be durned if i do!" "then, i swear to gosh!" said sile, spitting a great stream of tobacco juice across mrs. pepperill's not very clean floor, "you'll have a dose yourself before another sun, which like as not'll be your last!" this terrible menace produced its desired effect; and the unwilling dan was here, this night, one of penn's persecutors, in consequence. it was not enough that he had shown his "sperrit" by fetching the victim's own bed from his boarding-house, telling his landlady, the worthy mrs. sprowl, that sile said she must "charge it to her abolition boarder." he must now show still more "sperrit" by bringing the tar. a well-worn broom had been borrowed of mrs. pepperill, by those who knew best how the tar in such cases should be applied: the handle of this was thrust by one of the men, named griffin, through the bail of the kettle, and dan was ordered to "ketch holt o' t'other eend," and help carry. dan "ketched holt" accordingly. but never was kettle so heavy as that; its miserable weight made him groan at every step. suddenly the broom-handle slipped from his hand, and down it went. no doubt his laudable object was to spill the tar, in order to gain time for his benefactor, and perhaps postpone the tarring and feathering altogether. but griffin grasped the kettle in time to prevent its upsetting, and the next instant flourished the club over dan's head. "i didn't mean tu! it slipped!" shrieked the terrified wretch. after which he durst no more attempt to thwart the chivalrous designs of his friends, but carried the tar like a gentleman. "this way!" said silas, getting the escaped feathers into a pile with his foot. "thar! set it down. now, sir," throwing away his own coat, "peel off them clo'es o' yourn, mr. schoolmaster, mighty quick, if you don't want 'em peeled off fur ye!" penn gave no sign of compliance, but fixed his eye steadfastly upon mr. ropes. "i insist," said he,--for he had already made the request while the men were bringing the tar,--"on knowing what i have done to merit this treatment." "wal, that i don't mind tellin' ye," said silas, "for we've all night for this yer little job before us. dan pepperill, stand up here!" dan came forward, appearing extremely low-spirited and weak in the knees. "is it you, daniel, who are to bear witness against me?" said penn, in a voice of singular gentleness, which chimed in like a sweet and solemn bell after the harsh clangor of silas's ruffian tones. dan rolled up his eyes, hugged his tattered elbows, and gave a dismal groan. "come!" said silas, bestowing a slap on his back which nearly knocked him down, "straighten them knees o' yourn, and be a man. yes, mr. schoolmaster, dan is a-going to bear witness agin' you. he has turned from the error of his ways, and now his noble southern heart is a-burnin' to take vengeance on all the enemies of his beloved country. ain't it, dan?--say yes," he hissed in his ear, giving him a second slap, "or else--you know!" "o lord, yes!" ejaculated dan, with a start of terror. "what mr. ropes says is perfectly--perfectly--jes' so!" "your heart is a-burnin', ain't it?" said silas. "ye--yes! i be durned if it ain't!" said dan. "this man," continued ropes, who prided himself on being a great orator, with power to "fire the southern heart," and never neglected an occasion to show himself off in that capacity,--"this individgle ye see afore ye, gentlemen,"--once more hitting dan, this time with the toe of his boot, gently, to indicate the subject of his remarks,--"was lately as low-minded a peep as ever you see. he had no more conscience than to 'sociate with niggers, and sell 'em liquor, and even give 'em liquor when they couldn't pay fur't; and you all know how he degraded himself by takin' combs's pete into his house and doin' for him arter he'd been very properly licked by the patrol. all which, i am happy to say, the deluded man sincerely repents of, and promises to behave more like a gentleman in futur'. don't you, dan?" as dan, attempting to speak, only gasped, ropes administered a sharp poke in his ribs, whispering fiercely,-- "say you do, mighty quick, or i'll----!" "o! i repents! i--i be durned if i don't!" said dan. "and now, as to you!" silas turned on the schoolmaster. "your offence in gineral is bein' a northern abolitionist. besides which, your offences in partic'ler is these. not contented with teachin' the academy, which was well enough, since it is necessary that a few should have larnin', so the may know how to govern the rest,--not contented with that, you must run the thing into the ground, by settin' up a evenin' school, and offerin' to larn readin', writin', and 'rithmetic, free gratis, to whosomever wanted to 'tend. which is contrary to the sperrit of our institootions, as you have been warned more 'n oncet. that's charge number two. charge number three is, that you stand up for the old rotten union, and tell folks, every chance you git, that secession, that noble right of southerners, is a villanous scheme, that'll ruin the south, if persisted in, and plunge the whole nation into war. your very words, i believe. can you deny it?" "certainly, i have said something very much like that, and it is my honest conviction," replied penn, firmly. "gentlemen, take notice!" said mr. ropes. "we will now pass on to charge number four, and be brief, for the tar is a-coolin'. suthin' like eight days ago, when the afore-mentioned dan pepperill was in the waller of his degradation, some noble-souled sons of the sunny south"--the orator smiled with pleasant significance--"lifted him up, and hung him up to air, in the crotches of two trees, jest by the edge of the woods here, and went home to supper, intending to come back and finish the purifying process begun with him later in the evenin'. but what did you do, mr. schoolmaster, but come along and take him down, prematoorely, and go to corruptin' him agin with your vile northern principles! didn't he, dan?" "i--i dun know" faltered dan. "yes, you do know, too! didn't he corrupt you?" these words being accompanied by a severe hint from sile's boot, mr. pepperill remembered that penn _did_ corrupt him. "and if i hadn't took ye in season, you'd have returned to your base-born mire, wouldn't you?" "i suppose i would," the miserable dan admitted. "wal! now!"--sile spread his palm over the tar to see if it retained its temperature,--"hurry up, dan, and tell us all this northern agitator said to you that night." "o lord!" groaned pepperill, "my memory is so short!" "bring that rope, boys! and give him suthin' to stretch it!" said silas, growing impatient. dan, knowing that stretching his memory in the manner threatened, implied that his neck was to be stretched along with it, made haste to remember. "my friends," said penn, interrupting the poor man's forced and disconnected testimony, "let me spare him the pain of bearing witness against me. i recall perfectly well every thing i said to him that night. i said it was a shame that such outrages as had been committed on him should be tolerated in a civilized society. i told him it was partly his own fault that such a state of things existed. i said, 'it is owing to the ignorance and degradation of you poor whites that a barbarous system is allowed to flourish and tyrannize over you.' i said----" but here penn was interrupted by a violent outcry, the majority of the persons present coming under the head of "poor whites." "let him go on! let him perceed!" said silas. "what did you mean by 'barbarous system'?" "i meant," replied penn, all fear vanishing in the glow of righteous indignation which filled him,--"i meant the system which makes it a crime to teach a man to read--a punishable offence to befriend the poor and down-trodden, or to bind up wounds. a system which makes it dangerous for one to utter his honest opinions, even in private, to a person towards whom he is at the same time showing the mercy which others have denied him." he looked at dan, who groaned. "a system----" "wal, i reckon that'll do fur one spell," broke in silas ropes. "you've said more 'n enough to convict you, and to earn a halter 'stead of a mild coat of tar and feathers." "i am well aware," said penn, "that i can expect no mercy at your hands; so i thought i might as well be plain with you." "and plain enough you've been, i swear to gosh!" said silas. "boys, strip him!" "wait a moment!" said penn, putting them off with a gesture which they mistook for an appeal to some deadly weapon in his pocket. "what i have said has been to free my mind, and to save daniel trouble. now, allow me to speak a few words in my own defence. i have committed no crime against your laws; if i have, why not let the laws punish me?" "we take the laws into our hands sech times as these," said the man called gad. "you're an abolitionist, and that's enough," said another. "if i do not believe slavery to be a good thing, it is not my fault; i cannot help my belief. but one thing i will declare. i have never interfered with your institution in any way at all dangerous to you, or injurious to your slaves. i have not rendered them discontented, but, whenever i have had occasion, i have counselled them to be patient and faithful to their masters. i came among you a very peaceable man, a simple schoolmaster, and i have tried to do good to everybody, and harm to no one. with this motive i opened an evening school for poor whites. how many men here have any education? how many can read and write? not many, i am sure." "what's the odds, so long as they're men of the true sperrit?" interrupted silas ropes. "i can read for one; and as for the rest, what good would it do 'em to be edecated? 'twould only make 'em jes' sech low, sneakin', thievin' white slaves, like the greasy mechanics at the north." "the white slaves are not at the north," said penn. "education alone makes free men. if you, who threaten me with violence here to-night, had the common school education of the north, you would not be engaged in such business; you would be ashamed of assaulting a peaceable man on account of his opinions; you would know that the man who comes to teach you is your best friend. if you were not ignorant men, you, who do not own slaves, would know that slavery is the worst enemy of your prosperity, and you would not be made its willing tools." the firm dignity of the youth, assisted by the illusion that prevailed concerning a revolver in his pocket, had kept his foes at bay, and gained him a hearing. he now attempted to pass on, when the man gad, stepping behind him, raised the broom-handle, and dealt him a stunning blow on the back of the head. "down with him!" "strip him!" "give him a thrashing first!" "hang him!" and the ruffians threw themselves furiously upon the fallen man. "whar's that dutch boy?" cried silas. "i meant he should help dan lay on the tar." but carl was nowhere to be seen, having taken advantage of the confusion and darkness to escape into the woods. iii. _the secret cellar._ no sooner did the lad feel himself safe from pursuit, than he made his way out of the woods again, and ran with all speed to mr. stackridge's house. to his dismay he learned that that stanch unionist was absent from home. "is he in the willage?" said the breathless carl. "i reckon he is," said the farmer's wife; adding in a whisper,--for she guessed the nature of carl's business,--"inquire for him down to barber jim's." and she told him what to say to the barber. barber jim was a colored man, who had demonstrated the ability of the african to take care of himself, by purchasing first his own freedom of his mistress, buying his wife and children afterwards, and then accumulating a property as much more valuable than all silas ropes and his poor white minions possessed, as his mind was superior to their combined intelligence. jim had accomplished this by uniting with industrious habits a natural shrewdness, which enabled him to make the most of his labor and of his means. he owned the most flourishing barber-shop in the place, and kept in connection with it (i am sorry to say) a bar, at which he dealt out to his customers some very bad liquors at very good prices. had jim been a white man, he would not, of course, have stooped to make money by any such low business as rum-selling--o, no! but being only a "nigger," what else could you expect of him? well, on this very evening jim's place began to be thronged almost before it was dark. a few came in to be shaved, while many more passed through the shop into the little bar-room beyond. what was curious, some went in who appeared never to come out again; mr. stackridge among the number. it was not to get shaved, nor yet to get tipsy, that this man visited jim's premises. the moment they were alone together in the bar-room, he gave the proprietor a knowing wink. "many there?" "i reckon about a dozen," said jim. "go in?" stackridge nodded; and with a grin jim opened a private door communicating with some back stairs, down which his visitor went groping his way in the dark. customers came and went; now and then one disappeared similarly down the back stairs; many remained in the barber's shop to smoke, and discuss in loud tones the exciting question of the day--secession; when, lastly, a boy of fifteen came rushing in. his face was flushed with running, and he was quite out of breath. "what's wanting, carl?" said the barber. "a shave?" this was one of jim's jokes, at which his customers laughed, to the boy's confusion, for his cheeks were as smooth as a peach. "i vants to find mishter stackridge," said the lad. "he ain't here," said jim, looking around the room. "it is something wery partic'lar. one of his pigs have got choked mit a cob, and he must go home and unchoke him." this was what carl had been directed by the farmer's wife to say to the barber, in case he should profess ignorance concerning her husband. "pity about the pig," said jim. "mabby stackridge'll be in bime-by. any thing else i can do for ye?" carl stepped up to the barber, and said in a hoarse whisper, loud enough to be heard by every body,-- "a mug of peer, if you pleashe." "i got some that'll make a dutchman's head hum!" said jim, leading the way into the little grog room. "that's villars's dutch boy," said one of the smokers in the barber-shop. "beats all nater, how these dutch will swill down any thing in the shape of beer!" this elegant observation may have had a grain of truth in it, as we who have teutonic friends may have reason to know. however, the man had mistaken the boy this time. "it is not the peer i vants, it is mr. stackridge," whispered carl, when alone with the proprietor. jim regarded him doubtfully a moment, then said, "i reckon i shall have to open a cask in the suller. you jest tend bar for me while i am gone." he descended the stairs, closing the door after him. carl, who thought of the schoolmaster in the hands of the mob, felt his heart swell and burn with anxiety at each moment's delay. jim did not keep him long waiting. "this way, carl, if you want some of the right sort," said the negro from the stairs. carl went down in the darkness, jim taking his hand to guide him. they entered a cellar, crowded with casks and boxes, where there was a dim lamp burning; but no human being was visible, until suddenly out of a low, dark passage, between some barrels, a stooping figure emerged, giving carl a momentary start of alarm. "what's the trouble, carl?" "o! mishter stackridge! is it you?" said carl, as the figure stood erect in the dim light,--sallow, bony, grim, attired in coarse clothes. "the schoolmaster--that is the trouble!" and he hastily related what he had seen. "wouldn't take the pistol? the fool!" muttered the farmer. "but i'll see what i can do for him." he grasped the boy's collar, and said in a suppressed but terribly earnest voice, "swear never to breathe a word of what i'm going to show you!" "i shwear!" said carl. "come!" stackridge took him by the wrist, and drew him after him into the passage. it was utterly dark, and carl had to stoop in order to avoid hitting his head. as they approached the end of it, he could distinguish the sound of voices,--one louder than the rest giving the word of command. "_order--arms!_" the farmer knocked on the head of a cask, which rolled aside, and opened the way into a cellar beyond, under an old storehouse, which was likewise a part of barber jim's property. the second cellar was much larger and better lighted than the first, and rendered picturesque by heavy festoons of cobwebs hanging from the dark beams above. the rays of the lamps flashed upon gun-barrels, and cast against the damp and mouldy walls gigantic shadows of groups of men. some were conversing, others were practising the soldiers' drill. "neighbors!" said stackridge, in a voice which commanded instant attention, and drew around him and carl an eager group. "it's just as i told you,--ropes and his gang are lynching hapgood!" "it's the fellow's own fault," said a stern, dark man, the same who had been drilling the men. "he should have taken care of himself." "young hapgood's a decent sort of cuss," said another whom carl knew,--a farmer named withers,--"and i like him. i believe he means well; but he ain't one of us." "i've been deceived in him," said a third. "he always minded his own business, and kept so quiet about our institutions, i never suspected he was anti-slavery till i talked with him t'other day about joining us--then he out with it." "he thinks we're all wrong," said a bigoted pro-slavery man named deslow. "he says slavery's the cause of the war, and it's absurd in us to go in for the union and slavery too!" for these men, though loyal to the government, and bitterly opposed to secession, were nearly all slaveholders or believers in slavery. "may be the fellow ain't far wrong there," said he who had been drilling his comrades. "i think myself slavery's the cause of the war, and that's what puts us in such a hard place. the time may come when we will have to take a different stand--go the whole figure with the free north, or drift with the cotton states. but that time hain't come yet." "but the time _has_ come," said stackridge, impatiently, "to do something for hapgood, if we intend to help him at all. while we are talking, he may be hanging." "and what can we do?" retorted the other. "we can't make a move for him without showing our hand, and it ain't time for that yet." "true enough, captain grudd," said stackridge. "but three or four of us, with our revolvers, can happen that way, and take him out of the hands of ropes and his cowardly crew without much difficulty. i, for one, am going." "hapgood don't even believe in fighting!" observed deslow, with immense disgust; "and blast me if i am going to fight _for_ him!" carl was almost driven to despair by the indifference of these men and the time wasted in discussion. he could have hugged the grim and bony stackridge when he saw him make a decided move at last. three others volunteered to accompany them. the cask was once more rolled away from the entrance, and one by one they crept quickly through the passage into the first cellar. stackridge preceded the rest, to see that the way was clear. there was no one at the bar; the door leading into the shop was closed; and carl, following the four men, passed out by a long entry communicating with the street, the door of which was thrown open to the public on occasions when there was a great rush to jim's bar, but which was fastened this night by a latch that could be lifted only from the inside. iv. _a search for the missing._ the academy was situated in a retired spot, half a mile out of the village. stackridge and his party were soon pushing rapidly towards it along the dark, unfrequented road. carl ran on before, leading the way to the scene of the lynching. the place was deserted and silent. only the cold wind swept the bleak wood-side, making melancholy moans among the trees. overhead shone the stars, lighting dimly the desolation of the ground. "now, where's yer tar-and-feathering party?" said stackridge. "see here, dutchy! ye hain't been foolin' us, have ye?" "i vish it vas notting but fooling!" said carl, full of distress, fearing the worst. "we have come too late. the willains have took him off." "feathers, men!" muttered stackridge, picking up something from beneath his feet. "the boy's right! now, which way have they gone?--that's the question." "hark!" said carl. "i see a man!" indeed, just then a dim figure arose from the earth, and appeared slowly and painfully moving away. "hold on there!" cried stackridge. "needn't be afeared of us. we're your friends." the figure stopped, uttering a deep groan. "is it you, hapgood?" "no," answered the most miserable voice in the world. "it's me." "who's _me_?" "pepperill--dan pepperill; ye know me, don't ye, stackridge?" "you? you scoundrel!" said the farmer. "what have ye been doing to the schoolmaster? answer me this minute, or i'll----" "o, don't, don't!" implored the wretch. "i'll answer, i'll tell every thing, only give me a chance!" "be quick, then, and tell no lies!" the poor man looked around at his captors in the starlight, stooping dejectedly, and rubbing his bent knees. "i ain't to blame--i'll tell ye that to begin with. i've been jest knocked about, from post to pillar, and from pillar to post, till i don't know who's my friends and who ain't. i reckon more ain't than is!" added he, dismally. "that's neither here nor there!" said stackridge. "where's hapgood? that's what i want to know." "ye see," said dan, endeavoring to collect his wits (you would have thought they were in his kneepans, and he was industriously rubbing them up), "ropes sent me to tote the kittle home, and when i got back here, i be durned if they wasn't all gone, schoolmaster and all." "but what had they done to him?" "i don't know, i'm shore! that's what i was a comin' back fur to see. he let me down when i was hung up on the rail, and helped me home; and so i says to myself, says i, 'why shouldn't i do as much by him?' so i come back, and found him gone." "what was in the kittle?" stackridge took him by the throat. "o, don't go fur to layin' it to me, and i'll tell ye! thar'd been tar in the kittle! it had been used to give him a coat. that's the fact, durn me if it ain't! they put it on with the broom--my broom--they made me bring my own broom, that's the everlastin' truth! made me do it myself, and spile my wife's best broom into the bargain!" and pepperill sobbed. "you put on the tar?" "don't kill me, and i'll own up! i did put on some on't, that's a fact. ropes would a' killed me if i hadn't, and now you kill me fur doin' of it. he did knock me down, 'cause he said i didn't rub it on hard enough; and arter that he rubbed it himself." "what next, you scoundrel?" "next, they rolled him in the feathers, and sent me, as i told ye, to tote the kittle home. now don't, don't go fur to hang me, mr. stackridge! help me, men! help me, withers,--devit! for he means to be the death of me, i'm shore!" indeed, stackridge was in a tremendous passion, and would, no doubt, have done the man some serious injury but for the timely interposition of carl. "o, you're a good boy, carl!" cried dan, in an exstasy of terror and gratitude. "you know they druv me to it, don't ye? you know i wouldn't have gone fur to do it no how, if 't hadn't been to save my life. and as fur rubbing on the tar, i know'd they'd rub harder 'n i did; so i took holt, if only to do it more soft and gentle-like." carl testified to dan's apparent unwillingness to participate in the outrage; and stackridge, finding that nothing more could be got out of the terror-stricken wretch, flung him off in great rage and disgust. "we must find what they have done with hapgood," he said. "we're losing time here. we'll go to his boarding-place first." as pepperill fell backwards upon some stones, and lay there helplessly, carl ran to him to learn if he was hurt. "wal, i be hurt some," murmured dan; "a good deal in my back, and a durned sight more in my feelin's. as if i wan't sufferin' a'ready the pangs of death--wus'n death!--a thinkin' about the master, and what's been done to him, arter he'd been so kind to me--and thinkin' he'd think i'm the ongratefulest cuss out of the bad place!--and then to have it all laid on to me by stackridge and the rest! that's the stun that hurts me wust of any!" carl thought, if that was all, he could not assist him much; and he ran on after the men, leaving pepperill snivelling like a whipped schoolboy on the stones. penn's landlady, the worthy mrs. sprowl, lived in a lonesome house that stood far back in the fields, at least a dozen rods from the road. she was a widow, whose daughters were either married or dead, and whose only son was a rover, having been guilty of some crime that rendered it unsafe for him to visit his bereaved parent. penn had chosen her house for his home, partly because she needed some such assistance in gaining a living, but chiefly, i think, because she did not own slaves. the other inmates of her solitary abode were two large, ferocious dogs, which she kept for the sake of their company and protection. but this night the house looked as if forsaken even by these. it was utterly dark and silent. when stackridge shook the door, however, the illusion was dispelled by two fierce growls that resounded within. "hello! mrs. sprowl!" shouted the farmer, shaking the door again, and knocking violently. "let me in!" at that the growling broke into savage barks, which made stackridge lay his hand on the revolver carl had returned to him. a window was then cautiously opened, and a bit of night-cap exposed. "if it's you agin," said a shrill feminine voice, "i warn you to be gone! if you think i can't set the dogs on to you, because you've slep' in my house so long, you're very much mistaken. they'll tear you as they would a pa'tridge! go away, go away, i tell ye; you've been the ruin of me, and i ain't a-going to resk my life a-harboring of you any longer." "mrs. sprowl!" answered the stern voice of the farmer. "dear me! ain't it the schoolmaster?" cried the astonished lady. "i thought it was him come back agin to force his way into my house, after i've twice forbid him!" "why forbid him?" "is it you, mr. stackridge? then i'll be free, and tell ye. i've been informed he's a dangerous man. i've been warned to shet my doors agin' him, if i wouldn't have my house pulled down on to my head." "who warned you?" "silas ropes, this very night. he come to me, and says, says he, 'we've gin your abolition boarder a coat, which you must charge to his account;' for you see," added the head at the window, pathetically, "they took the bed he has slep' on, right out of my house, and i don't s'pose i shall see ary feather of that bed ever agin! live goose's feathers they was too! and a poor lone widder that could ill afford it!" "where is the master?" "wal, after ropes and his friends was gone, he comes too, an awful lookin' object as ever you see! 'mrs. sprowl,' says he, 'don't be scared; it's only me; won't ye let me in?' for ye see, i'd shet the house agin' him in season, detarmined so dangerous a character should never darken my doors agin." "and he was naked!" "i 'spose he was, all but the feathers, and suthin' or other he seemed to have flung over him." "such a night as this!" exclaimed stackridge. "you're a heartless jade, mrs. sprowl!--i don't wonder the fellow hates slavery," he muttered to himself, "when it makes ruffians of the men and monsters even of the women!--which way did he go?" "that's more'n i can tell!" answered the lady, sharply. "it's none o' my business where he goes, if he don't come here! that i won't have, call me what names you please!" and she shut the window. "hang the critter! after all hapgood has done for her!" said the indignant stackridge,--for it was well-known that she was indebted to the gentle and generous penn for many benefits. "but it's no use to stand here. we'll go to my house, men,--may be he's there." v. _carl and his friends._ carl minnevich was the son of a german, who, in company with a brother, had come to america a few years before, and settled in tennessee. there the minneviches purchased a farm, and were beginning to prosper in their new home, when carl's father suddenly died. the boy had lost his mother on the voyage to america. he was now an orphan, destined to experience all the humiliation, dependence, and wrong, which ever an orphan knew. immediately the sole proprietorship of the farm, which had been bought by both, was assumed by the surviving brother. this man had a selfish, ill-tempered wife, and a family of great boys. minnevich himself was naturally a good, honest man; but frau minnevich wanted the entire property for her own children, hated carl because he was in the way, and treated him with cruelty. his big cousins followed their mother's example, and bullied him. how to obtain protection or redress he knew not. he was a stranger, speaking a strange tongue, in the land of his father's adoption. ah, how often then did he think of the happy fatherland, before that luckless voyage was undertaken, when he still had his mother, and his friends, and all his little playfellows, whom he could never see more! so matters went on for a year or two, until the boy's grievances grew intolerable, and he one day took it into his head to please frau minnevich for once in his life, if never again. in the night time he made up a little bundle of his clothes, threw it out of the window, got out himself after it, climbed down upon the roof of the shed, jumped to the ground, and trudged away in the early morning starlight, a wanderer. it has been necessary to touch upon this point in carl's history, in order to explain why it was he ever afterwards felt such deep gratitude towards those who befriended him in the hour of his need. for many days and nights he wandered among the hills of tennessee, looking in vain for work, and begging his bread. sometimes he almost wished himself a slave-boy, for then he would have had a home at least, if only a wretched cabin, and friends, if only negroes,--those oppressed, beaten, bought-and-sold, yet patient and cheerful people, whose lot seemed, after all, so much happier than his own. carl had a large, warm heart, and he longed with infinite longing for somebody to love him and treat him kindly. at last, as he was sitting one cold evening by the road-side, weary, hungry, despondent, not knowing where he was to find his supper, and seeing nothing else for him to do but to lie down under some bush, there to shiver and starve till morning, a voice of unwonted kindness accosted him. "my poor boy, you seem to be in trouble; can i help you?" poor carl burst into tears. it was the voice of penn hapgood; and in its tones were sympathy, comfort, hope. penn took him by the arm, and lifted him up, and carried his bundle for him, talking to him all the time so like a gentle and loving brother, that carl said in the depths of his soul that he would some day repay him, if he lived; and he prayed god secretly that he might live, and be able some day to repay him for those sweet and gracious words. penn never quitted him until he had found him a home; neither after that did he forget him. he took him into his school, gave him his tuition, and befriended him in a hundred little ways beside. and now the time had arrived when penn himself stood in need of friends. the evening came, and carl was missing from his new home. "whar's dat ar boy took hisself to, i'd like to know!" scolded old toby. "i'll clar away de table, and he'll lose his supper, if he stays anoder minute! debil take me, if i don't!" he had made the same threat a dozen times, and still he kept carl's potatoes hot for him, and the table waiting. for the old negro, though he loved dearly to show his importance by making a good deal of bluster about his work, had really one of the kindest hearts in the world, and was as devoted to the boy he scolded as any indulgent old grandmother. "the 'debil' will take you, sure enough, i'm afraid, toby, if you appeal to him so often," said a mildly reproving voice. it was mr. villars, the old worn-out clergyman; a man of seventy winters, pale, white-haired, blind, feeble of body, yet strong and serene of soul. he came softly, groping his way into the kitchen, in order to put his feet to toby's fire. "laws, massa," said old toby, grinning, "debil knows i ain't in 'arnest! he knows better'n to take me at my word, for i speaks his name widout no kind o' respec', allus, i does. hyar's yer ol' easy char fur ye, mass' villars. now you jes' make yerself comf'table." and he cleared a place on the stove-hearth for the old man's feet. "thank you, toby." with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his hands folded thoughtfully before his breast, and his beautiful old face smiling the kindness which his blind eyes could not _look_, mr. villars sat by the fire. "where is carl to-night, toby?" "dat ar's de question; dat's de pint, massa. mos' i can say is, he ain't whar he ought to be, a eatin' ob his supper. chocolate's all a bilin' away to nuffin! ketch dis chile tryin' to keep tings hot for his supper anoder time!" and toby added, in a whisper expressive of great astonishment at himself, "what i eber took dat ar boy to keep fur's one ob de mysteries!" for toby, though only a servant (indeed, he had formerly been a slave in the family), had had his own way so long in every thing that concerned the management of the household, that he had come to believe himself the proprietor, not only of the house and land, and poultry and pigs, but of the family itself. he owned "ol' mass villars," and an exceedingly precious piece of property he considered him, especially since he had become blind. he was likewise (in his own exalted imagination) sole inheritor and guardian-in-chief of "miss jinny," mr. villars's youngest daughter, child of his old age, of whom mrs. villars said, on her death-bed, "take always good care of my darling, dear toby!"--an injunction which the negro regarded as a sort of last will and testament bequeathing the girl to him beyond mortal question. there was, in fact, but one member of the household he did not exclusively claim. this was the married daughter, salina, whose life had been embittered by a truant husband,--no other, in fact, than the erring son of the worthy mrs. sprowl. the day when the infatuated girl made a marriage so much beneath the family dignity, toby, in great grief and indignation, gave her up. "i washes my hands ob her! she ain't no more a chile ob mine!" said the old servant, passionately weeping, as if the washing of his hands was to be literal, and no other fluid would serve his dark purpose but tears. and when, after sprowl's desertion of her, she returned, humiliated and disgraced, to her father's house,--that is to say, toby's house,--toby had compassion on her, and took her in, but never set up any claim to her again. "where is carl? hasn't carl come yet?" asked a sweet but very anxious voice. and virginia, the youngest daughter, stood in the kitchen door. "he hain't come yet, miss jinny; dat ar a fact!" said toby. "'pears like somefin's hap'en'd to dat ar boy. i neber knowed him stay out so, when dar's any eatin' gwine on,--for he's a master hand for his supper, dat boy ar! laws, i hain't forgot how he laid in de vittles de fust night massa penn fetched him hyar! he was right hungry, he was, and he took holt powerful! 'i neber can keep dat ar boy in de world,' says i; 'he'll eat me clar out o' house an' home!' says i. but, arter all, it done my ol' heart good to see him put in, ebery ting 'peared to taste so d'effle good to him!" and toby chuckled at the reminiscence. "my daughter," said mr. villars, softly. she was already standing behind his chair, and her trembling little hands were smoothing his brow, and her earnest face was looking pale and abstracted over him. he could not see her face, but he knew by her touch that the tender act was done some how mechanically to-night, and that she was thinking of other things. she started as he spoke, and, bending over him, kissed his white forehead. "i suspect," he went on, "that you know more of carl than we do. has he gone on some errand of yours?" "i will tell you, father!" it seemed as if her feelings had been long repressed, and it was a relief for her to speak at last. "carl came to me, and said there was some mischief intended towards penn. this was long before dark. and he asked permission to go and see what it was. i said, 'go, but come right back, if there is no danger.' he went, and i have not seen him since." "is this so? why didn't you tell me before?" "because, father, i did not wish to make you anxious. but now, if you will let toby go----" "i'll go myself!" said the old man, starting up. "my staff, toby! when i was out, i heard voices in the direction of the school-house,--i felt then a presentiment that something was happening to penn. i can control the mob,--i can save him, if it is not too late." he grasped the staff toby put into his hand. "o, father!" said the agitated girl; "are you able?" "able, child? you shall see how strong i am when our friend is in danger." "let me go, then, and guide you!" she exclaimed, glad he was so resolved, yet unwilling to trust him out of her sight. "no, daughter. toby will be eyes for me. yet i scarcely need even him. i can find my way as well as he can in the dark." the negro opened the door, and was leading out the blind old minister, when the light from within fell upon a singular object approaching the house. it started back again, like some guilty thing; but toby had seen it. toby uttered a shriek. "de debil! de debil hisself, massa!" and he pulled the old man back hurriedly into the house. "the devil, toby? what do you mean?" demanded mr. villars. "o, laws, bress ye, massa, ye hain't got no eyes, and ye can't see!" said toby, shutting the door in his fright, and rolling his eyes wildly. "it's de bery debil! he's come for dis niggah dis time, sartin'. cos i, cos i 'pealed to him, as you said, massa! cos i's got de habit ob speakin' his name widout no kind o' respec'!" and he stood bracing himself, with his back against the door, as if determined that not even that powerful individual himself should get in. "you poor old simpleton!" said mr. villars, "there is no fiend except in your own imagination. open the door!" "no, no, massa! he's dar! he's dar! he'll cotch old toby, shore!" and the terrified black held the latch and pushed with all his might. "what did he see, virginia?" "i don't know, father! there was certainly somebody, or something,--i could not distinguish what." "it's what i tell ye!" gibbered toby. "i seed de great coarse har on his speckled legs, and de wings on his back, and a right smart bag in his hand to put dis niggah in!" "it might have been carl," said virginia. "no, no! carl don't hab sech legs as dem ar! carl don't hab sech great big large ears as dem ar! o good lord! good lord!" the negro's voice sank to a terrified whisper, "he's a-knockin' for me now!" "it's a very gentle rap for the devil," said mr. villars, who could not but be amused, notwithstanding the strange interruption of his purpose, and toby's vexatious obstinacy in holding the door. "it's some stranger; let him in!" "no, no, no!" gasped the negro. "i won't say nuffin, and you tell him i ain't to home! say i'se clar'd out, lef', gone you do'no' whar!" "toby!" was called from without. "dat's his voice! dat ar's his voice!" said toby. and in his desperate pushing, he pushed his feet from under him, and fell at full length along the floor. "it's the voice of penn hapgood!" exclaimed the old minister. "arise, quick, toby, and open!" toby rubbed his head and looked bewildered. "are ye sartin ob dat, massa? bress me, i breeve you're right, for oncet! it _ar_ mass' penn's voice, shore enough!" he opened the door, but started back again with another shriek, convinced for an instant that it was, after all, the devil, who had artfully borrowed penn's voice to deceive him. but no! it was penn himself, his hat and clothes in his hand, smeared with black tar and covered with feathers from head to foot; not even his features spared, nor yet his hair; on his cheeks great clumps of gray goose plumes, suggestive of diabolical ears, and with no other covering but this to shield him from the night wind, save the emptied bed-tick, which he had drawn over his shoulders, and which toby had mistaken for satanic wings. vi. _a strange coat for a quaker._ now, virginia villars was the very last person by whom penn would have wished to be seen. he was well aware how utterly grotesque and ludicrous he must appear. but he was not in a condition to be very fastidious on this point. stunned by blows, stripped of his clothing (which could not be put on again, for reasons), cruelly suffering from the violence done him, exposed to the cold, excluded from mrs. sprowl's virtuous abode, he had no choice but to seek the protection of those whom he believed to be his truest friends. in the little sitting-room of the blind old minister he had always been gladly welcomed. such minds as his were rare in curryville. his purity of thought, his christian charity, his ardent love of justice, and (quite as much as any thing) his delight in the free and friendly discussion of principles, whether moral, political, or theological, made him a great favorite with the lonely old man. his coming made the winter evenings bloom. then the aged clergyman, deprived of sight, bereft of the companionship of books, and of the varied consolations of an active life, felt his heart warmed and his brain enlivened by the wine of conversation. he and penn, to be sure, did not always agree. especially on the subject of _non-resistance_ they had many warm and well-contested arguments; the young quaker manifesting, by his zeal in the controversy, that he had an abundance of "fight" in him without knowing it. nor to mr. villars alone did penn's visits bring pleasure. they delighted equally young carl and old toby. and virginia? why, being altogether devoted to her blind parent, for whose happiness she could never do enough, she was, of course, enchanted with the attentions she saw penn pay _him_. that was all; at least, the dear girl thought that was all. as for salina, forsaken spouse of the gay lysander sprowl, she too, after sulkily brooding over her misfortunes all day, was glad enough to have any intelligent person come in and break the monotony of her sad life in the evening. such were penn's relations with the family to whom alone he durst apply for refuge in his distress. others might indeed have ventured to shelter him; but they, like stackridge, were hated unionists, and any mercy shown to him would have brought evil upon themselves. mr. villars, however, blind and venerated old man, had sufficient influence over the people, penn believed, to serve as a protection to his household even with him in it. so hither he came--how unwillingly let the proud and sensitive judge. for penn, though belonging to the meekest of sects, was of a soul by nature aspiring and proud. he had the good sense to know that the outrage committed on him was in reality no disgrace, except to those guilty of perpetrating it. yet no one likes to appear ridiculous. and the man of elevated spirit instinctively shrinks from making known his misfortunes even to his best friends; he is ashamed of that for which he is in no sense to blame, and he would rather suffer heroically in secret, than become an object of pity. most of all, as i have said, penn dreaded the pure virginia's eyes. mr. villars could not see him, and for salina he did not care much--singularly enough, for she alone was of an acrid and sarcastic temper. what he devoutly desired was, to creep quietly to the kitchen door, call out carl if he was there, or secretly make known his condition to old toby, and thus obtain admission to the house, seclusion, and assistance, without letting virginia, or her father even, know of his presence. how this honest wish was thwarted we have seen. when the door was first opened, he had turned to fly. but that was cowardly; so he returned, and knocked, and called the negro by name, to reassure him. and the door was once more opened, and virginia saw him--recognized him--knew in an instant what brutal deed had been done, and covered her eyes instinctively to shut out the hideous sight. but it was no time to indulge in feelings of false modesty, if she felt any. it was no time to be weak, or foolish, or frightened, or ashamed. "it is penn!" she exclaimed in a burst of indignation and grief. "toby! toby! you great stupid----! what are you staring for? take him in! why don't you? o, father!" and she threw herself on the old man's bosom, and hid her face. "what has happened to penn?" asked the old man. "i have been tarred-and-feathered," answered penn, entering, and closing the door behind him. "and i have been shut out of mrs. sprowl's house. this is my excuse for coming here. i must go somewhere, you know!" "and where but here?" answered the old man. he had suppressed an outburst of feeling, and now stood calm, compassionating, extending his hands,--his staff fallen upon the floor. "i feared it might come to this! terrible times are upon us, and you are only one of the first to suffer. you did well to come to us. are you hurt?" "i hardly know," replied penn. "i beg of you, don't be alarmed or troubled. i hope you will excuse me. i know i am a fearful object to look at, and did not intend to be seen." he stood holding the bed-tick over him, and his clothes before him, to conceal as much as possible his hideous guise, suffering, in that moment of pause, unutterable things. was ever a hero of romance in such a dismal plight? surely no writer of fiction would venture to show his hero in so ridiculous and damaging an aspect. but this is not altogether a romance, and i must relate facts as they occurred. "do not be sorry that i have seen you," said virginia, lifting her face again, flashing with tears. "i see in this shameful disguise only the shame of those who have so cruelly treated you! toby will help you. and there is carl at last!" she retreated from the room by one door just as carl and stackridge entered by the other. poor penn! gentle and shrinking penn! it was painful enough for him to meet even these coarser eyes, friendly though they were. the shock upon his system had been terrible; and now, his strength and resolution giving way, his bewildered senses began to reel, and he swooned in the farmer's arms. vii. _the two guests._ virginia entered the sitting-room--the same where so many happy evenings had been enjoyed by the little family, in the society of him who now lay bruised, disfigured, and insensible in toby's kitchen. she walked to and fro, she gazed from the windows out into the darkness, she threw herself on the lounge, scarce able to control the feelings of pity and indignation that agitated her. for almost the first time in her life she was fired with vindictiveness; she burned to see some swift and terrible retribution overtake the perpetrators of this atrocious deed. mr. villars soon came out to her. she hastened to lead him to a seat. "how is he?--much injured?" she asked. "he has been brutally used," said the old man. "but he is now in good hands. where is salina?" "i don't know. i had been to look for her, when i came and found you in the kitchen. i think she must have gone out." "gone out, to-night? that is very strange!" the old man mused. "she will have to be told that penn is in the house. but i think the knowledge of the fact ought to go no farther. mr. stackridge is of the same opinion. now that they have begun to persecute him, they will never cease, so long as he remains alive within their reach." "and we must conceal him?" "yes, until this storm blows over, or he can be safely got out of the state." "there is salina now!" exclaimed the girl, hearing footsteps approach the piazza. "if it is, she is not alone," said the old man, whose blindness had rendered his hearing acute. "it is a man's step. don't be agitated, my child. much depends on our calmness and self-possession now. if it is a visitor, you must admit him, and appear as hospitable as usual." it was a visitor, and he came alone--a young fellow of dashy appearance, handsome black hair and whiskers, and very black eyes. "mr. bythewood, father," said virginia, showing him immediately into the sitting-room. "i entreat you, do not rise!" said mr. bythewood, with exceeding affability, hastening to prevent that act of politeness on the part of the blind old man. "did you not bring my daughter with you?" asked mr. villars. "your daughter is here, sir;" and he of the handsome whiskers gave virginia a most captivating bow and smile. "he means my sister," said virginia. "she has gone out, and we are feeling somewhat anxious about her." she thought it best to say thus much, in order that, should the visitor perceive any strangeness or abstraction on her part, he might think it was caused by solicitude for the absent salina. "nothing can have happened to her, certainly," remarked mr. bythewood, seating himself in an attitude of luxurious ease, approaching almost to indolent recklessness. "we are the most chivalrous people in the world. there is no people, i think, on the face of the globe, among whom the innocent and defenceless are so perfectly secure." virginia thought of the hapless victim of the mob in the kitchen yonder, and smiled politely. "i have no very great fears for her safety," said the old man. "yet i have felt some anxiety to know the meaning of the noises i heard in the direction of the academy, an hour ago." bythewood laughed, and stroked his glossy mustache. "i don't know, sir. i reckon, however, that the yankee schoolmaster has been favored with a little demonstration of southern sentiment." "how! not mobbed?" "call it what you please, sir," said bythewood, with an air of pleasantry. "i think our people have been roused at last; and if so, they have probably given him a lesson he will never forget." "what do you mean by 'our people'?" the old man gravely inquired. "he means," said virginia, with quiet but cutting irony, "the most chivalrous people in the world! among whom the innocent and defenceless are more secure than any where else on the globe!" "precisely," said mr. bythewood, with a placid smile. "but among whom obnoxious persons, dangerous to our institutions, cannot be tolerated. as for this affair,"--carelessly, as if what had happened to penn was of no particular consequence to anybody present, least of all to him,--"i don't know anything about it. of course, i would never go near a popular demonstration of the kind. i don't say i approve of it, and i don't say i disapprove of it. these are no ordinary times, mr. villars. the south is already plunged into a revolution." "indeed, i fear so!" "fear so? i glory that it is so! we are about to build up the most magnificent empire on which the sun has ever shone!" "cemented with the blood of our own brethren!" said the old man, solemnly. "there may be a little bloodshed, but not much. the yankees won't fight. they are not a military people. their armies will scatter before us like chaff before the wind. i know you don't think as i do. i respect the lingering attachment you feel for the old union--it is very natural," said bythewood, indulgently. the old man smiled. his eyes were closed, and his hands were folded before him near his breast, in his favorite attitude. and he answered,-- "you are very tolerant towards me, my young friend. it is because you consider me old, and helpless, and perhaps a little childish, no doubt. but hear my words. you are going to build up a magnificent empire, founded on--slavery. but i tell you, the ruin and desolation of our dear country--that will be your empire. and as for the institution you mean to perpetuate and strengthen, it will be crushed to atoms between the upper and nether millstones of the war you are bringing upon the nation." he spoke with the power of deep and earnest conviction, and the complacent bythewood was for a moment abashed. "i was well aware of your opinions," he remarked, rallying presently. "it is useless for us to argue the point. and virginia, i conceive, does not like politics. will you favor us with a song, virginia?" "with pleasure, if you wish it," said virginia, with perfect civility, although a close observer might have seen how repulsive to her was the presence of this handsome, but selfish and unprincipled man. he was their guest; and she had been bred to habits of generous and self-sacrificing hospitality. however detested a visitor, he must be politely entertained. on this occasion, she led the way to the parlor, where the piano was,--all the more readily, perhaps, because it was still farther removed from the kitchen. bythewood followed, supporting, with an ostentatious show of solicitude, the steps of the feeble old man. bythewood named the pieces he wished her to sing, and bent graciously over the piano to turn the music-leaves for her, and applauded with enthusiasm. and so she entertained him. and all the while were passing around them scenes so very different! there was penn, heroically stifling the groans of a wounded spirit, within sound of her sweet voice, and bythewood so utterly ignorant of his presence there! a little farther off, and just outside the house, a young woman was even then parting, with whispers and mystery, from an adventurous rover. still a little farther, in barber jim's back room, silas ropes was treating his accomplices; and while these drank and blasphemed, close by, in the secret cellar, stackridge's companions were practising the soldier's drill. salina parted from the rover, and came into the house while virginia was singing, throwing her bonnet negligently back, as she sat down. "why, salina! where have you been?" said virginia, finishing a strain, and turning eagerly on the piano stool. "we have been wondering what had become of you!" "you need never wonder about me," said salina, coldly. "i must go out and walk, even if i don't have time till after dark." she drummed upon the carpet with her foot, while her upper lip twitched nervously. it was a rather short lip, and she had an unconscious habit of hitching up one corner of it, still more closely, with a spiteful and impatient expression. aside from this labial peculiarity (and perhaps the disproportionate prominence of a very large white forehead), her features were pretty enough, although they lacked the charming freshness of her younger sister's. virginia knew well that the pretence of not getting time for her walk till after dark was absurd, but, perceiving the unhappy mood she was in, forbore to say so. and she resumed her task of entertaining bythewood. viii. _the rover._ meanwhile the nocturnal acquaintance from whom salina had parted took a last look at the house, and shook his envious head darkly at the room where the light and the music were; then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, with a swaggering air, went plodding on his lonely way across the fields, in the starlight. the direction he took was that from which penn had arrived; and in the course of twenty minutes he approached the door of the solitary house with the dark windows and the dogs within. he walked all around, and seeing no light, nor any indication of life, drew near, and rapped softly on a pane. the dogs were roused in an instant, and barked furiously. nothing daunted, he waited for a lull in the storm he had raised, and rapped again. "who's there?" creaked the stridulous voice of good mrs. sprowl. "_you know!_" said the rover, in a suppressed, confidential tone. "one who has a right." now, the excellent relict of the late lamented sprowl reflected, naturally, that, if anybody had a right there, it was he who paid her for his board in advance. "you, agin, after all, is it!" she exclaimed, angrily. "couldn't you find nowhere else to go to? but if you imagine i've thought better on't, and will let you in, you're grandly mistaken! go away this instant, or i'll let the dogs out!" "let 'em out, and be----!" no matter about the last word of the rover's defiant answer. it was a very irritating word to the temper of the good mrs. sprowl. this was the first time (she thought) she had ever heard the mild and benignant schoolmaster swear; but she was not much surprised, believing that it was scarcely in the power of man to endure what he had that night endured, and not swear. "look out for yourself then, you sir! for i shall take you at your word!" and there was a sound of slipping bolts, followed by the careful opening of the door. out bounced the dogs, and leaped upon the intruder; but, instead of tearing him to pieces, they fell to caressing him in the most vivacious and triumphant manner. "down, brag! off, grip! curse you!" and he kicked them till they yelped, for their too fond welcome. "how dare you, sir, use my dogs so!" screamed the lady within, enraged to think they had permitted that miserable schoolmaster to get the better of them. "i'll kick them, and you too, for this trick!" muttered the man. "i'll learn ye to shut me out, and make a row, when i'm coming to see you at the risk of my----" she cut him short, with a cry of amazement. "lysander! is it you!" "hold your noise!" said lysander, pressing into the house. "call my name again, and i'll choke you! where's your schoolmaster? won't he hear?" "dear me! if it don't beat everything!" said mrs. sprowl in palpitating accents. "don't you know i took you for the master!" "no, i didn't know it. this looks more like a welcome, though!" lysander began to be mollified. "there, there! don't smother a fellow! one kiss is as good as fifty. the master is out, then? anybody in the house?" "no, i'm so thankful! it seems quite providential! o, dearie, dearie, sonny dearie! i'm so glad to see you agin!" "come! none of your sonny dearies! it makes me sick! strike a light, and get me some supper, can't you?" "yes, my boy, with all my heart! this is the happiest day i've seen----" "ah, what's happened to-day?" said lysander, treating with levity his mother's blissful confession. "i mean, this night! to have you back again! how could i mistake you for that dreadful schoolmaster!" here her trembling fingers struck a match. "draw the curtains," said lysander, hastily executing his own order, as the blue sputter kindled up into a flame that lighted the room. "it ain't quite time for me to be seen here yet." "where did you come from? what are you here for? o, my dear, dear lysie!" (she gazed at him affectionately), "you ain't in no great danger, be you?" "that depends. soon as tennessee secedes, i shall be safe enough. i'm going to have a commission in the confederate army, and that'll be protection from anything that might happen on account of old scores. i'm going to raise a company in this very place, and let the law touch me if it can!" he tossed his cap into a corner, and sprawled upon a chair before the stove, at which his devoted mother was already blowing her breath away in the endeavor to kindle a blaze. she stopped blowing to gape at his good news, turning up at him her low, skinny forehead, narrow nose, and close-set, winking eyes. "there! i declare!" said she. "i knowed my boy would come back to me some day a gentleman!" "a gentleman? i'm bound to be that!" said the man, with a braggart laugh and swagger. "i tell ye, mar, we're going to have the greatest confederacy ever was!" "do tell if we be!" said the edified "mar." "six months from now, you'll see the yankees grovelling at our feet, begging for admission along with us. we'll have washington, and all of the north we want, and defy the world!" "i want to know now!" said mrs. sprowl, overcome with admiration. "the slave-trade will be reopened, yankee ships will bring us cargoes of splendid niggers, not a man in the south but'll be able to own three or four, they'll be so cheap, and we'll be so rich, you see," said lysander. "you don't say, re'lly!" "that's the programme, mar! you'll see it all with your own eyes in six months." "why, then, why _shouldn't_ the south secede!" replied "mar," hastening to put on the tea-kettle, and then to mix up a corn dodger for her son's supper. "i'm sure, we ought all on us to have our servants, and live without work; and i knowed all the time there was another side to what penn hapgood preaches (for he's dead set agin' secession), though i couldn't answer him as _you_ could, lysie dear!" "wal, never mind all that, but hurry up the grub!" said "lysie dear," putting sticks in the stove. "i hain't had a mouthful since breakfast." "you hain't seen _her_, of course," observed mrs. sprowl, mysteriously. "her? who?" "salina!" in a whisper, as if to be overheard by a mouse in the wall would have been fatal. "wal, i have seen _her_, i reckon! not an hour ago. by appointment. i wrote her i was coming, got a woman to direct the letter, and had a long talk with her to-night. what i want just now is, a little money, and she's got to raise it for me, and what she can't raise i shall look to you for." "o dear me! don't say money to me!" exclaimed the widow, alarmed. "partic'larly now i've lost my best feather-bed and my boarder!" "what is it about your boarder? out with it, and stop this hinting around!" thus prompted, mrs. sprowl, who had indeed been waiting for the opportunity, related all she knew of what had happened to penn. lysander kindled up with interest as she proceeded, and finally broke forth with a startling oath. "and i can tell you where he has gone!" he said. "he's gone to the house i can't get into for love nor money! she refused me admission to-night--refused me money! but he is taken in, and their money will be lavished on him!" "but how do you know, my son,----" "how do i know he's there? because, when i was with her in the orchard, we saw an object--she said it was some old nigger to see toby--go into the kitchen. then in a little while a man--it must have been stackridge, if you say he was looking for him--went in with carl, and didn't come out again, as i could see. i staid till the light from the kitchen went up into the bedroom, in the corner of the house this way. there's yer boarder, mar, i'll bet my life! but he won't be there long, i can tell ye!" laughed lysander, maliciously. ix. _toby's patient has a caller._ mr. bythewood had now taken his departure; salina had been intrusted with the secret; and penn had been put to bed (as the rover correctly surmised) in the corner bedchamber. he had been diligently plucked; as much of the tar had been removed as could be easily taken off by methods known to stackridge and toby, and his wounds had been dressed. and there he lay, at last, in the soothing linen, exhausted and suffering, yet somehow happy, thinking with gratitude of the friends god had given him in his sore need. "bress your heart, dear young massa!" said old toby, standing by the bed (for he would not sit down), and regarding him with an unlimited variety of winks, and nods, and grins, expressive of satisfaction with his work; "ye're jest as comf'table now as am possible under de sarcumstances. if dar's anyting in dis yer world ye wants now, say de word, and ol' toby'll jump at de chance to fetch 'em fur ye." "there is nothing i want now, good toby, but that you and carl should rest. you have done everything you can--and far more than i deserve. i will try to thank you when i am stronger." "can't tink ob quittin' ye dis yer night, nohow, massa! mr. stackridge he's gone; carl he can go to bed,--he ain't no 'count here, no way. but i'se took de job o' gitt'n you well, mass' penn, and i'se gwine to put it frew 'pon honor,--do it up han'some!" and notwithstanding penn's remonstrances, the faithful black absolutely refused to leave him. indeed, the most he could be prevailed upon to do for his own comfort, was to bring his blanket into the room, and promise that he would lie down upon it when he felt sleepy. whether he kept his word or not, i cannot say; but there was no time during the night when, if penn happened to stir uneasily, he did not see the earnest, tender, cheerful black face at his pillow in an instant, and hear the affectionate voice softly inquire,-- "what can i do fur ye, massa? ain't dar nuffin ol' toby can be a doin' fur ye, jes' to pass away de time?" sometimes it was water penn wanted; but it did him really more good to witness the delight it gave toby to wait upon him, than to drink the coolest and most delicious draught fresh from the well. at length penn began to feel hot and stifled. "what have you hung over the window, toby?" "dat ar? 'pears like dat ar's my blanket, sar. ye see, 'twouldn't do, nohow, to let nary a chink o' light be seen from tudder side, 'cause dat 'ud make folks s'pec' sumfin', dis yer time o' night. so i jes' sticks up my ol' blanket--'pears like i can sleep a heap better on de bar floor!" "but i must have some fresh air, you dear old hypocrite!" said penn, deeply touched, for he knew that the african had deprived himself of his blanket because he did not wish to disturb him by leaving the room for another. "i'll fix him! ill fix him!" said toby. and he seemed raised to the very summit of happiness on discovering that there was something, requiring the exercise of his ingenuity, still to be done for his patient. after that penn slept a little. "tank de good lord," said the old negro the next morning, "you're lookin' as chirk as can be! i'se a right smart hand fur to be nussin' ob de sick; and sakes! how i likes it! i'se gwine to hab you well, sar, 'fore eber a soul knows you'se in de house." yet toby's words expressed a great deal more confidence than he felt; for, though he had little apprehension of penn's retreat being discovered, he saw how weak and feverish he was, and feared the necessity of sending for a doctor. penn now insisted strongly that the old servant should not neglect his other duties for him. "now you jes' be easy in yer mind on dat pint! dar's carl, tends to out-door 'rangements, and i'se got him larnt so's't he's bery good, bery good indeed, to look arter my cow, and my pigs, and sech like chores, when i'se got more 'portant tings on hand myself. and dar's miss jinny, she's glad enough to git de breakfust herself dis mornin'; only jes' i kind o' keeps an eye on her, so she shan't do nuffin wrong. she an' massa villars come to 'quire bery partic'lar 'bout you, 'fore you was awake, sar." these simple words seemed to flood penn's heart with gratitude. toby withdrew, but presently returned, bringing a salver. "nuffin but a little broff, massa. and a toasted cracker." "o, you are too kind, toby! really, i can't eat this morning." "can't eat, sar? i declar, now!" (in a whisper), "how disappinted she'll be!" "who will be disappointed?" "who? miss jinny, to be sure! she made de broff wid her own hands. under my d'rections, ob course! but she would make 'em herself, and took a heap ob pains to hab 'em good, and put in de salt wid her own purty fingers, and looked as rosy a stirrin' and toastin' ober de fire as eber you see an angel, sar!" for some reason penn began to think better of the broth, and, to toby's infinite satisfaction, he consented to eat a little. toby soon had him bolstered up in bed, and held the salver before him, and looked a perfect picture of epicurean enjoyment, just from seeing his patient eat. "it is delicious!" said penn; at which brief eulogium the whole rich, exuberant, tropical soul of the unselfish african seemed to expand and blossom forth with joy. "i shall be sure to get well and strong soon, under such treatment. you must let carl go to mrs. sprowl's and fetch my clothes; i shall want some of them when i get up." "bress you, sar! you forgets nobody ain't to know whar you be! mass' villars he say so. you jes' lef' de clo'es alone, yit awhile. wouldn't hab dat ar widder sprowl find out you'se in dis yer house, not if you'd gib me----" rap, rap, at the chamber door; two light, hurried knocks. "miss jinny herself!" said old toby, forgetting mrs. sprowl in an instant. and setting down the salver, he ran to the door. penn heard quick whispers of consultation; then toby came back, his eyes rolling and his ivory shining with a ludicrous expression of wrath and amazement. "it's de bery ol' hag herself! speak de debil's name and he's allus at de door!" "who? mrs. sprowl?" "yes, sar! and i wish she was furder, sar! she's a 'quirin' fur you,--says she knows you'se in de house, and it's bery 'portant she must see ye. but, tank de lord, massa!" chuckled the old negro, "carl's forgot his english, and don't know nuffin what she wants! he, he, he! or if she makes him und'stan' one ting, den he talks dutch, and _she_ don't und'stan.' and so dey'se habin' it, fust one, den tudder, while miss jinny she hears 'em and comes fur to let us know. but how de ol' critter eber found you out, dat am one ob de mysteries!" "she merely guesses i am here," said penn. "i'm only afraid carl will overdo his part, and confirm her suspicions." "'sh!" hissed toby in sudden alarm. "she's a comin! she's a comin' right up to dis yer door!" and he flew to fasten it. he had scarcely done so when a hand tried the latch, and a voice called,-- "come! ye needn't, none of ye, try to impose on me! i know you're in this very room, penn hapgood, and you'll let me in, old friends so, i'm shore! i've bothered long enough with that stupid dutch boy, and now virginny wants to keep me, and talk with me; but i've nothing to do with nobody in this house but _you_!" mrs. sprowl had not been on amicable terms with her daughter-in-law's family since salina and her husband separated; and this last declaration she made loud enough for all in the house to hear. penn motioned for toby to open the door, believing it the better way to admit the lady and conciliate her. but toby shook his head--and his fist with grim defiance. "wal!" said mrs. sprowl, "you can do as you please about lettin' a body in; but i'll give ye to understand one thing--i don't stir a foot from this door till it's opened. and if you want it kept secret that you're here, it'll be a great deal better for you, penn hapgood, to let me in, than to keep me standin' or settin' all day on the stairs." the idea of a long siege struck toby with dismay. he hesitated; but penn spoke. "i am very weak, and very ill, madam. but i have learned what it is to be driven from a door that should be opened to welcome me; and i am not willing, under any circumstances, to treat another as you last night treated me." this was spoken to the lady's face; for toby, seeing that concealment was at an end, had slipped the bolt, and she had come in. "wal! now! mr. hapgood!" she began, with a simper, which betrayed a little contrition and a good deal of crafty selfishness,--"you mustn't go to bein' too hard on me for that. consider that i'm a poor widder, and my life war threatened, and i _had_ to do as i did." "well, well," said penn, "i certainly forgive you. give her a chair, toby." toby placed the chair, and widow sprowl sat down. "i couldn't be easy--old friends so--till i had come over to see how you be," she said, folding her hands, and regarding penn with a solemn pucker of solicitude. "i know, 'twas a dreadful thing; but it's some comfort to think it's nothing i'm any ways to blame fur. it's hard enough for me to lose a boarder, jest at this time,--say nothing about a friend that's been jest like one of my own family, and that i've cooked, and washed, and ironed fur, as if he war my own son!" and mrs. sprowl wiped her eyes, while she carefully watched the effect of her words. "i acknowledge, you have cooked, washed, and ironed for me very faithfully," said penn. "and i thought," said she,--"old friends so,--may be you wouldn't mind making me a present of the trifle you've paid over and above what's due for your board; for i'm a poor widder, as you know, and my only son is a wanderer on the face of the 'arth." penn readily consented to make the present--perhaps reflecting that it would be equally impossible for him ever to board it out, or get her to return the money. "then there's that old cloak of yourn," said mrs. sprowl, sympathizingly. "i believe you partly promised it to me, didn't you? i can manage to get me a cape out on't." "yes, yes," said penn, "you can have the cloak;" while toby glared with rage behind her chair. "and i considered 'twouldn't be no more'n fair that you should pay for the----i don't see how in the world i can afford to lose it, bein' a poor widder, and live geeses' feathers at that, and my only son----" she hid her face in her apron, overcome with emotion. "what am i to pay for?" asked penn. "fur, you know," she said, "i never would have parted with it fur any money, and it will take at least ten dollars to replace it, which is hard, bein' a poor widder, and as strong a linen tick as ever you see, that i made myself, and that my blessed husband died on, and helped me pick the geese with his own hands; and i never thought, when i took you to board, that ever _that_ bed would be sacrificed by it,--for 'twas on your account, you are ware, it was took last night and done for." "and you think i ought to pay for the bed!" said penn, as much astonished as if silas ropes had sent in his bill, "to coat tar and feathers, $ . ." "they said i must look to you," whined the visitor; "and if you don't pay fur't, i don't know who will, i'm shore! for none of them have sot at my board, and drinked of my coffee, and e't of my good corn dodgers, and slep' in my best bed, all for four dollars fifty a week, washing and ironing throwed in, and a poor widder at that!" "mrs. sprowl," said penn, laughing, ill as he was, "have the kindness not to tell any one that i am here, and as soon as i am able to do so, i will pay you for your excellent feather-bed." "thank you,--very good in you, i'm shore!" said the worthy creature, brightening. "and if there's anything else among your things you can spare." "i'll see! i'll see!" said penn, wearily. "leave me now, do!" "but if you had a few dollars, this morning, towards the bed," she insisted, "for my son----" she almost betrayed herself; being about to say that lysander had arrived, and must have money; but she coughed, and added, in a changed voice, "is a wanderer on the face of the 'arth." penn, however, reflecting that she would have more encouragement to keep his secret if he held the reward in reserve, replied, that he could not possibly spare any money before collecting what was due him from the trustees of the academy. her countenance fell on hearing this; and, reluctantly abandoning the object of her mission, she took her leave, and went home to her hopeful son. x. _the widow's green chest._ mr. villars had spoken truly when he said penn's persecutors would not rest here. in fact, mr. ropes, and three of his accomplices, were even now on the way to mrs. sprowl's abode, to make inquiries concerning the schoolmaster. that lone creature had scarcely reached her own door when she saw them coming. now, though penn was not in the house, her son was. great, therefore, was her trepidation at the sight of visitors; and she evinced such eagerness to assure them that the object of their pursuit was not there, and appeared altogether so frightened and guilty, that ropes winked knowingly at his companions, and said,-- "he's here, boys, safe enough." so they forced their way into the house; her increased tremor and confusion serving only to confirm them in their suspicions. "not that we doubt your word in the least, mrs. sprowl,"--ropes smiled sarcastically. "but of course you can't object to our searching the premises, for we're in the performance of a solemn dooty. any whiskey in the house, widder?" the obliging lady went to find a bottle. she was gone so long, however, that the visitors became impatient. ropes accordingly stationed two of his men at the doors, and with the third went in pursuit of mrs. sprowl, whom they met coming down stairs. "keep your liquor up there, do ye?" said ropes, significantly. "i--i thought--" mrs. sprowl gasped for breath before she could proceed--"the master had some in his room. but i can't find it. you are at liberty to--to look in his room, if you wants to." "wal, it's our dooty to, i suppose. meantime, you can be bringing the whiskey. give some to the boys outside, then bring the bottle up to us. that's the way, gad," said silas, as she unwillingly obeyed; "allus be perlite to the sex, ye know." "sartin! allus!" said gad. it was evident these men fancied themselves polite. "but he ain't here," said silas, just glancing into penn's room, "or else she wouldn't have been so willing for us to search. le's begin at the top of the house, and look along down." they entered a low-roofed, empty garret. "as we can't perceed without the whiskey, we'll wait here. meantime, i'll tell you what you wanted to know." they sat down on a little old green chest, and ropes, producing a plug of tobacco, gave his friend a bite, and took a bite himself. "what i'm going to say is in perfect confidence, between friends;" chewing and crossing his legs. gad chewed, and crossed his legs, and said, "o, of course! in perfect confidence!" "wal, then, i'll tell ye whar the money fur our job comes from. it comes from gus bythewood." "sho!" said gad, looking surprised at silas. "fact!" said silas, looking wise at gad. "but what's he so dead set agin' the master fur?" "i'll tell ye, gad." and mr. ropes rested a finger confidingly on his friend's knee. "fur as i kin jedge, gus has a sneakin' notion arter that youngest villars gal; virginny, ye know." "don't blame him!" chuckled gad. "but ye see, thar's that hapgood; he's a great favoryte with the villarses, and gus nat'rally wants to git him out of the way. it won't do, though, for him to have it known he has any thing to do with our operations. he pays us, and backs us up with plenty of cash if we get into trouble; but he keeps dark, you understand." "the master ought to be hung for his abolitionism!" said gad, by way of self-excuse for being made a jealous man's tool. "that ar's jest my sentiment," replied silas. "but then he's allus been a peaceable sort of chap, and held his tongue; so he might have been let alone some time yet, if it hadn't been for----what in time!" ropes started, and changed color, glancing first at gad, then down at the chest. "he's in it!" whispered gad. both jumped up, and, facing about, looked at the green lid, and at each other. the chest was so small it had not occurred to them that a man could get into it. lysander had got into it, however, and there he lay, so cramped, and stifled, and compressed, that he could not endure the torture without an effort to ease it by moving a little. he had stirred; then all was still again. "think he's heerd us?" said silas. "must have heerd something," said gad. "then he's as good as a dead man!" silas drew his pistol, resolved to sacrifice the schoolmaster on the altar of secrecy. but as he was about to fire into the chest at a venture (for your cowardly assassin does not like to face his victim), the lid flew open, the chivalry stepped hastily back, and up rose out of the chest--not the schoolmaster, but--lysander sprowl. silas had struck his head against a rafter, and was quite bewildered for a moment by the shock, the multitude of meteors that rushed across his firmament, and the sudden apparition. gad, at the same time, stood ready to take a plunge down the stairs in case the schoolmaster should show fight. "gentlemen," said the "wanderer on the face of the 'arth," straightening his limbs, and saluting with a reckless air, "i hope i see ye well. never mind about shooting an old friend, sile ropes. i reckon we're about even; and i'll keep your secret, if you'll keep mine." "that's fair," said ropes, recovering from the falling stars, and putting up his weapon. "lysander, how are ye? good joke, ain't it?" and they shook hands all around. "but whar's the schoolmaster?" and silas rubbed his head. "i know all about the schoolmaster," said lysander, stepping out of the chest; "he ain't in this house, but i know just where he is. and i reckon 'twill be for the interest of me and gus bythewood if we can have a little talk together, tell him. if he's got money to spare, that'll be to my advantage; and what i know will be to his advantage." so saying, lysander closed the chest, and coolly invited the chivalry to resume their seats. they did so, much to the amazement of mrs. sprowl, who came up stairs with the whiskey, and found the "wanderer on the face of the 'arth" conversing in the most amicable manner with gad and silas. xi. _southern hospitality._ if what silas ropes had said of his patron, augustus bythewood, was true, great must have been the chagrin of that chivalrous young gentleman when an interview was brought about between him and lysander, and he learned that penn, instead of being driven from the state, had found refuge in the family of mr. villars--that he was there even at the moment when he made his delightful little evening call, and was entertained so charmingly by virginia. bythewood gave sprowl money, and sprowl gave bythewood information and advice. it was in accordance with the programme decided upon by these two worthies, that mr. ropes at the head of his gang presented himself the next night at mr. villars's door. virginia, by her father's direction, admitted them. they crowded into the sitting-room, where the old man rose to receive them, with his usual urbanity. "virginia, have chairs brought for all our friends. i cannot see to recognize them individually, but i salute them all." "no matter about the cheers," said silas. "we can do our business standing. sorry to trouble you with it, sir, but it's jest this. we understand you're harboring a yankee abolitionist, and we've called to remind you that sech things can't be allowed in a well-regulated community." the old man, holding himself still erect with punctilious politeness,--for his guests were not seated,--and smiling with grand and venerable aspect, made reply in tones full of dignity and sweetness: "my friends, i am an old man; i am a native of virginia, and a citizen of tennessee; and all my life long i have been accustomed to regard the laws of hospitality as sacred." "my sentiments exactly. i won't hear a word said agin' southern horsepitality, or southern perliteness." mr. ropes illustrated his remark by spitting copious tobacco-juice on the floor. "horsepitality i look upon as one of the stable institootions of our country." "no doubt it is so," said mr. villars, smiling at the unintentional pun. "that's one thing," added silas; "but harboring a abolitionist is another. that's the question we've jest took the liberty to call and have a little quiet talk about, to-night." "sit down, dear father, do!" entreated virginia, remaining at his side in spite of her dread and abhorrence of these men. holding his hand, and regarding him with pale and anxious looks, she endeavored with gentle force to get him into his chair. "my father is very feeble," she said, appealing to silas, "and i beg you will have some consideration for him." "sartin, sartin," said silas. "keep yer settin', keep yer settin', mr. villars." but the old man still remained upon his feet,--his tall, spare form, bent with age, his long, thin locks of white hair, and his wan, sightless, calm, and beautiful countenance presenting a wonderful contrast to the blooming figure at his side. it was a picture which might well command the respectful attention of silas and his compeers. "my friends," he said, with a grave smile, "we men of the south are rather boastful of our hospitality. but true hospitality consists in something besides eating and drinking with those whose companionship is a sufficient recompense for all that we do for them. it clothes the naked, feeds the hungry, shelters the distressed. with the arabs, even an enemy is sacred who happens to be a guest. shall an old virginian think less of the honor of his house than an arab?" silas looked abashed, silenced for a moment by these noble words, and the venerable and majestic mien of the blind old clergyman. it would not do, however, to give up his mission so; and after coughing, turning his quid, and spitting again, he replied,-- "that'll do very well to talk, mr. villars. but come to the pint. you've got a yankee abolitionist in your house--that you won't deny." "i have in my house," said the old man, "a person whose life is in danger from injuries received at your hands last night. he came to us in a condition which, i should have thought, would excite the pity of the hardest heart. whether or not he is a yankee abolitionist, i never inquired. it was enough for me that he was a fellow-creature in distress. he is well known in this community, where he has never been guilty of wrong towards any one; and, even if he were a dangerous person, he is not now in a condition to do mischief. gentlemen, my guest is very ill with a fever." "can't help that; you must git red of him," said silas. "i'm a talking now for your own good as much as any body's, mr. villars. you're a man we all respect; but already you've made yourself a object of suspicion, by standing up fur the old rotten union." "when i can no longer befriend my guests, or stand up for my country, then i shall have lived long enough!" said the old man, with impressive earnestness. "the old union," said gad, coming to the aid of silas, "is played out. we couldn't have our rights, and so we secede." "what rights couldn't you have under the government left to us by washington?" "that had become corrupted," said mr. ropes. "how corrupted, my friend?" "by the infernal anti-slavery element!" "you forget," said mr. villars, "that washington, jefferson, and indeed all the wisest and best men who assisted to frame the government under which we have been so prospered, were anti-slavery men." "wal, i know, some on 'em hadn't got enlightened on the subject," mr. ropes admitted. "and do you know that if a stranger, endowed with all the virtues of those patriots, should come among you and preach the political doctrines of washington and jefferson, you would serve him as you served penn hapgood last night?" "shouldn't wonder the least mite if we should!" silas grinned. "but that's nothing to the purpose. we claim the right to carry our slaves into the territories, and lincoln's party is pledged to keep 'em out, and that's cause enough for secession." "how many slaves do you own, mr. ropes?" mr. villars, still leaning on his daughter's arm, smiled as he put this mild question. "i--wal--truth is, i don't own nary slave myself--wish i did!" said silas. "how many friends have you with you?" "'lev'n," said gad, rapidly counting his companions. "well, of the eleven, how many own slaves?" "i do!" "i do!" spoke up two eager voices. "how many slaves do you own?" "i've got as right smart a little nigger boy as there is anywheres in tennessee!" said the first, proudly. "how old is he?" "he'll be nine year' old next grass, i reckon." "well, how many negroes has your friend?" "i've got one old woman, sir." "how old is she?" "wal, plaguy nigh a hunderd,--old bess, you know her." "yes, i know old bess; and an excellent creature she is. so it seems that you eleven men own two slaves. and these you wish to take into some of the territories, i suppose." the men looked foolish, and were obliged to own that they had never dreamed of conveying either the nine-year-old lad or the female centenarian out of the state of tennessee. "then what is the grievance you complain of?" asked the old man. they could not name any. "o, now, my friends, look you here! i believe in the right of revolution when a government oppresses a people beyond endurance. but in this case it appears, by your own showing, that not one of you has suffered any wrong, and that this is not a revolution in behalf of the poor and oppressed. if anybody is to be benefited by it, it is a few rich owners of slaves, who are prosperous enough already, and have really no cause of complaint. it is a revolution precipitated by political leaders, who wish to be rulers; and what grieves me at the heart is, that the poor and ignorant are thus permitting themselves to be made the tools of this tyranny, which will soon prove more despotic than it was possible for the dear old government ever to become. god bless my country! god bless my poor distracted country!" as he finished speaking, the old man sank down overcome with emotion upon his chair, clasping his daughter's hand, while tears ran down his cheeks. his argument was so unanswerable that nothing was left for silas but to get angry. "i see you're not only a unionist, but more'n half a yankee abolitionist yourself! we didn't come here to listen to any sech incendiary talk. kick out the schoolmaster, if you wouldn't git into trouble,--i warn you! that's the business we've come to see to, and you must tend to't." "pity him--spare him!" cried virginia, shielding her aged father as ropes approached him. "he cannot turn a sick man out of his house, you know he cannot!" "you're partic'larly interested in the young man, hey?" said ropes, grinning insolently. "i am interested that no harm comes either to my father or to his guests," said the girl. "go, i implore you! as soon as mr. hapgood is able to leave us, he will do so,--he will have no wish to stay,--this i promise you." "i'll give him three days to quit the country," said silas. "only three days. he'd better be dead than found here at the end of that time. gentlemen, we've performed this yer painful dooty; now le's adjourn to barber jim's and take a drink." with these words mr. ropes retired. while, however, he was treating his men to whiskey and cigars with augustus bythewood's money, advanced for the purpose, one of the eleven, separating himself from the rest, hurried back to the minister's house. he had taken part in the patriotic proceedings of his friends with great reluctance, as appeared from the manner in which he shrank from view in corners and behind the backs of his comrades, and drew down his woe-begone mouth, and rolled up his dismal eyes, during the entire interview. and he had returned now, at the risk of his life, to do penn a service. he crept to the kitchen door, and knocked softly. carl opened it. there stood the wretched figure, terrified, panting for breath. "vat is it?" said carl. "i've come fur to tell ye!" said the man, glancing timidly around into the darkness to see if he was followed. "they mean to kill him! they told you they'd give him three days, but they won't. i heard them saying so among themselves. they may be back this very night, for they'll all git drunk, and nothing will stop 'em then." carl stared, as these hoarsely whispered words were poured forth rapidly by the frightened man at the door. "come in, and shpeak to mishter willars." "no, no! i'll be killed if i'm found here!" but carl, sturdy and resolute, had no idea of permitting him to deliver so hasty and alarming a message without subjecting him to a cross-examination. he had already got him by the collar, and now he dragged him into the house, the man not daring to resist for fear of outcry and exposure. "what is it?" asked mr. villars. "a wisitor!" said carl. and he repeated dan's statement, while dan was recovering his breath. "is this true, mr. pepperill?" asked the old man, deeply concerned. "yes, i be durned if it ain't!" said dan. virginia clung to her father's chair, white with apprehension. toby was also present, having left his patient an instant to run down stairs, and learn what was the cause of this fresh disturbance. "he's a lyin' to ye, mass' villars; he's a lyin' to ye! white trash can't tell de troof if dey tries! don't ye breeve a word he says, massa." yet it was evident from the consternation the old negro's face betrayed that he believed dan's story,--or at least feared it would prove true if he did not make haste and deny it stoutly; for toby, like many persons with whiter skins, always felt on such occasions a vague faith that if he could get the bad news sufficiently denounced and discredited in season, all would be well. as if simply setting our minds against the truth would defeat it! "but they spoke of fittin' yer neck to a noose too!" "mine? ah, if nobody but myself was in danger, i should be well content! what do you think we ought to do, mr. pepperill?" "the master has done me a good turn, and i'll do him one, if i swing fur't!" said dan, straightening himself with sudden courage. "get him out 'fore they suspect what you're at, and i'll take him to my house and hide him, i be durned if i won't!" "it is a kind offer, and i thank you," said the old man. "but how can i resolve to send a guest from my house in this way? not to save my own life would i do it!" "but to save his, father!" "it is only of him i am thinking, my child. would it be safe to move him, toby?" "safe to move massa penn!" ejaculated the old negro, choking with wrath and grief. "neber tink o' sech a ting, massa! he'd die, shore, widout i should go 'long wid him, and tote him in my ol' arms on a fedder-bed jes' like i would a leetle baby, and den stay and nuss him arter i got him dar. for dem 'ar white trash, what ye s'pose day knows 'bout takin' keer ob a sick gemman like him? it's a bery 'tic'lar case. he's got de delirimum a comin' on him now, and i can't be away from him a minute. i mus' go back to him dis bery minute!" and toby departed, having suddenly conceived an idea of his own for hiding penn in the barn until the danger was over. he had been absent from the room but a moment, however, when those remaining in it heard a wild outcry, and presently the old negro reappeared, inspired with superstitious terror, his eyes starting from their sockets, his tongue paralyzed. "what's the matter, toby?" cried virginia, perceiving that something really alarming had happened. the negro tried to speak, but his throat only gurgled incoherently, while the whites of his eyes kept rolling up like saucers. "penn--has anything happened to penn?" said mr. villars. "o, debil, debil, lord bress us!" gibbered toby. "dead?" cried virginia. "gone! gone, missis!" struck with consternation, but refusing to believe the words of the bewildered black, virginia flew to the sick man's chamber. then she understood the full meaning of toby's words. penn was not in his bed, nor in the room, nor anywhere in the house. he had disappeared suddenly, strangely, totally. xii. _chivalrous proceedings._ thus the question of what should be done with his guest, which mr. villars knew not how to decide, had been decided for him. great was the mystery. there was the bed precisely as penn had left it a minute since. there was the candle dimly burning. the medicines remained just where toby had placed them, on the table under the mirror. but the patient had vanished. what had become of him? it was believed that he was too ill to leave his bed without assistance. and, even though he had been strong, it was by no means probable that one so uniformly discreet in his conduct, and ever so regardful of the feelings of others, would have quitted the house in this abrupt and inexplicable manner. in vain the premises were searched. not a trace of him could be anywhere discovered. neither were there any indications of a struggle. yet it was toby's firm conviction that the ruffians had entered the house, and seized him; that pepperill was in the plot, the object of whose visit was merely a diversion, while ropes and the rest accomplished the abduction. this could not, of course, have been done without the aid of magic and the devil; but toby believed in magic and the devil. the fact that dan had taken advantage of the confusion to escape, appeared to the ethiopian mind conclusive. nor was the negro alone in his bewilderment. carl was utterly confounded. the old clergyman, usually so calm, was deeply troubled; while virginia herself, pierced with the keenest solicitude, could scarce keep her mind free from horrible and superstitious doubts. the doors between the sitting-room and back stairs were all wide open, and it seemed impossible that any one could have come in or gone out that way without being observed. on the other hand, to have reached the front stairs penn must have passed through salina's room. but salina, who was in her room at the time, averred that she had not been disturbed, even by a sound. "he has got out the vinder," said carl. but the window was fifteen feet from the ground. thus all reasonable conjecture failed, and it seemed necessary to accept toby's theory of the ruffians, magic, and the devil. only one thing was certain: penn was gone. and, as if to add to the extreme and painful perplexity of his friends, the clothes, which had been stripped from him by the lynchers, which he had brought away in his hands, and which had been hung up in his room by toby, were left hanging there still, untouched. the family had not recovered from the dismay his disappearance occasioned, when they had cause to rejoice that he was gone. ropes and his crew returned, as pepperill had predicted. they were intoxicated and bloodthirsty. they had brought a rope, with which to hang their victim before the old clergyman's door. they were furious on finding he had eluded them, and searched the house with oaths and uproar. virginia, on her knees, clung to her father, praying that he might not be harmed, and that penn, whom all had been so anxious just now to find, might be safe from discovery. exasperated by their unsuccessful search, the villains hesitated about laying violent hands on the blind old man, and concluded to wreak their vengeance on toby. that he was a freed negro, was alone a sufficient offence in their eyes to merit a whipping. but he had done more; he had been devoted to the schoolmaster, and they believed he had concealed him. so they seized him, dragged him from the house, bared his back, and tied him to a tree. as long as the mob had confined itself to searching the premises, mr. villars had held his peace. but the moment his faithful old servant was in danger, he roused himself. he rushed to the door, bareheaded, his white hair flowing, his staff in his hand. both his children accompanied him,--salina, who was really not void of affection, appearing scarcely less anxious and indignant than her sister. there, in the light of a wood-pile to which fire had been set, stood the old negro, naked to the waist, lashed fast to the trunk, writhing with pain and terror; his brutal tormentors grouped around him in the glare of the flames, preparing, with laughter, oaths, and much loose, leisurely swaggering, to flay his flesh with rods. "my friends!" cried the old clergyman, with an energy that startled them, "what are you about to do?" "we're gwine to sarve this nigger," said the man gad, "jest as every free nigger'll git sarved that's found in the state three months from now." "free niggers is a nuisance," added ropes, now very drunk, and very much inclined to make a speech on a barrel which his friends rolled out for him. "a nuisance!" he repeated, with a hiccough, steadying himself on his rostrum by holding a branch of the tree. "and let me say to you, feller-patriots, that one of the glorious fruits of secession is, that every free nigger in the state will either be sold for a slave, or druv out, or hung up. i tell you, gentlemen, we're a goin' to have our own way in these matters, spite of all the ministers in creation!" the men cheered, and one of them struck toby a couple of preliminary blows, just to try his hand, and to add the poor old negro's howls to the chorus. "no doubt,"--the old clergyman's voice rose above the tumult,--"you will have your way for a season. you will commit injustice with a high hand. you will glut your cruelty upon the defenceless and oppressed. but, as there is a god in heaven,"--he lifted up his blind white face, and with his trembling hands shook his staff on high, like a prophet foretelling woe,--"as there is a god of justice and mercy who beholds this wickedness,--just so sure the hour of your retribution will come! so sure the treason you are breathing, and the despotism you are inaugurating, will prove a snare and a destruction to yourselves! unbind that man! leave my house in peace! go home, and learn to practise a little of the mercy of which you will yourselves soon stand in need." his venerable aspect, and the power and authority of his words, awed even that drunken crew. but silas, vain of his oratorical powers, was enraged that anybody should dispute his influence with the crowd. holding the branch with one hand, and gesticulating violently with the other, he exclaimed,-- "who is boss here? who ye goin' to mind? that old traitor, or me? i say, lick the nigger! we're a goin' to have our way now, and we're a goin' to have our way to the end of the 'arth, sure as i am a gentleman standing on this yer barrel!" to emphasize his declaration, he stamped with his foot; the head of the cask flew in, and down went orator, cask, and all, in a fashion rendered all the more ridiculous by the climax of oratory it illustrated. "just so sure will your hollow and inhuman schemes fail from under your feet!" exclaimed mr. villars, as soon as he learned what had happened. "so surely and so suddenly will you fall." this incident occurred as toby's flogging was about to begin in earnest. virginia had instinctively covered her eyes to shut out the terrible sight, her ears to shut out the sounds of the beating and the poor old fellow's groans. luckily, silas had fallen partly in the barrel, and partly across the sharp edge of it, and being too tipsy to help himself, had been seriously hurt, and was now helpless. the ruffians hastened to extricate him, and raise him up. carl, who, with an open knife concealed in his sleeve, had been waiting for an opportunity, darted at the tree, cut the negro's bonds in a twinkling, and set him free. both took to their heels without an instant's delay. but the trick was discovered. they were pursued immediately. carl was lively on his legs, as we know; but poor old toby, never a good runner, and now stiff and decrepit with age, was no match even for the slowest of their pursuers. they ran straight into the orchard, hoping to lose themselves among the shadows. the glare of the burning wood-pile flickered but faintly and unsteadily among the trees. carl might easily have escaped; but he thought only of toby, and kept faithfully at his side, assisting him, urging him. a fence was near--if they could only reach that! but toby was wheezing terribly, and the hand of the foremost ruffian was already extended to seize him. "jump the vence over!" was carl's parting injunction to the old negro, who made a last desperate effort to accomplish the feat; while carl, turning sharp about, tripped the foot of him of the extended hand, and sent him headlong. the second pursuer he grappled, and both rolled upon the ground together. favored by this diversion, toby reached the fence, climbed it, and without looking how, he leaped, jumped down upon--a human figure, stretched there upon the ground! notwithstanding his own danger, toby thought of his patient, and stopped. "is it you, massa?" the man rose slowly to his feet. it was not penn; it was, on the contrary, the worst of penn's enemies, who had stationed himself here, in order to observe, unseen, and from a safe distance, the operations of silas ropes and his band of patriots. "o, massa bythewood!" ejaculated toby, inspired with sudden joy and hope; "help a poor old niggah! help! de villarses will remember it ob ye de longest day you live, if you on'y will." "why, what's the matter, toby?" said augustus, full of rage at having been thus discovered, yet assuming a gracious and patronizing manner. toby did not make a very coherent reply; but probably the young gentleman was already sufficiently aware of what was going on. he had no especial regard for toby, yet his credit with virginia and her father was to be sustained. and so toby was saved. augustus met and rebuked his pursuers, released carl, who was suffering at the hands of his antagonist, and led the way back to the house. there he expressed to mr. villars and his daughters the utmost regret and indignation for what had occurred, and took mr. ropes aside to remonstrate with him for such violent proceedings. his influence over that fallen orator was extraordinary. ropes excused himself on the plea of his patriotic zeal, and called off his men. "how fortunate," said augustus, conducting the old man, with an excessive show of deference and politeness, back into the sitting-room,--"how extremely fortunate that i happened to be walking this way! i trust no serious harm has been done, my dear virginia?" bythewood no doubt thought himself entitled to use this affectionate term, after the service he had rendered the family. after he was gone, toby, having recovered from his fright and the fatigue of running, and got his clothes on again, rushed into the presence of his master and the young ladies. "i've seed mass' penn!" he said. "arter bythewood done got up from under de fence whar i jumped on him, i seed anoder man a crawlin' away on his hands and knees jest a little ways off. 'twas mass' penn! i know 'twas mass' penn." but toby was mistaken. the second figure he had seen was mr. lysander sprowl, now the confidential adviser and secret companion of augustus. xiii. _the old clergyman's nightgown has an adventure._ where, then, all this time, was penn? he was himself almost as profoundly ignorant on that subject as anybody. for two or three hours he had been lost to himself no less than to his friends. when he recovered his consciousness he found that he was lying on the ground, in the open air, in what seemed a barren field, covered with rocks and stunted shrubs. how he came there he did not know. he had nothing on but his night-dress,--a loan from the old clergyman,--besides a blanket wrapped about him. his feet were bare, and he now perceived that they were painfully aching. almost too weak to lift a hand to his head, he yet tried to sit up and look around him. all was darkness; not a sign of human habitation, not a twinkling light was visible. the cold night wind swept over him, sighing drearily among the leafless bushes. chilled, shivering, his temples throbbing, his brain sick and giddy, he sat down again upon the rocks, so ill and suffering that he could scarcely feel astonishment at his situation, or care whether he lived or died. where had he been during those hours of oblivion? he seemed to have slept, and to have had terrible dreams. could he have remembered these dreams, it seemed to him that the whole mystery of his removal to this desolate spot would be explained. and he knew that it required but an effort of his will to remember them. but his soul was too weak: he could not make the effort. to get upon his feet and walk was impossible. what, then, was left him but to perish here, alone, uncared for, unconsoled by a word of love from any human being? death he would have welcomed as a relief from his sufferings. yet when he thought of his home far away, in the peaceful community of friends, of his parents and sisters now anxiously expecting his return,--and again when he remembered the hospitable roof under which he lay, so tenderly nursed, but a little while ago, and thought of the blind old clergyman, of virginia fresh as a rose, of kind-hearted carl, and the affectionate old negro,--he was stung with the desire to live, and he called feebly,-- "toby! toby!" was his cry heard? surely, there were footsteps on the rocks! and was not that a human form moving dimly between him and the sky? it passed on, and was lost in the shadows of the pines. was it some animal, or only a phantom of his feverish brain? "toby!" he called again, exerting all his force. but only the wailing wind answered him, and, overcome by the effort, he sunk into a swoon. in that swoon it seemed to him that toby had heard his voice, and that he came to him. hands, gentle human hands, groped on him, felt the blanket, felt his bare feet, and his head, pillowed on stones. then there seemed to be two tobys, one good and the other evil, holding a strange consultation over him, which he heard as in a dream. "we can't leave him dying here!" said the good toby. "what dat to me, if him die, or whar him die?" said the other toby. "straight har!" he seemed to be feeling penn's locks, in order to ascertain to which race he belonged. "dat's nuff fur me! lef him be, i tell ye, and come 'long!" "straight hair or curly, it's all the same," said toby the good. "take hold here; we must save him!" "hyah-yah! ye don't cotch dis niggah!" chuckled toby the bad, maliciously. "nuff more ob his kind, in all conscience! reckon we kin spar' much as one! hyah-yah!" something like a quarrel ensued, the result of which was, that toby the good finally prevailed upon toby the malevolent to assist him. then penn was dreamily aware of being lifted in the strong arms of this double individual, and borne away, over rocks, and among thickets, along the mountain side; until even this misty ray of consciousness deserted him, and he fell into a stupor like death. and what was this he saw on awaking? had he really died, and was this unearthly place a vestibule of the infernal regions? days and nights of anguish, burning, and delirium, relieved at intervals by the same death-like stupor, had passed over him; and here he lay at length, exhausted, the terrible fever conquered, and his soul looking feebly forth and taking note of things. and strange enough things appeared to him! he was in an apartment of prodigious and uncouth architecture, dimly lighted from one side by some opening invisible to him, and by a blazing fire in a little fireplace built on the broad stone floor. the fireplace was without chimney, but a steady draught of air, from the side where the opening seemed to be, swept the smoke away into sombre recesses, where it mingled with the shadows of the place, and was lost in gloom which even the glare of the flames failed to illumine. such a cavernous room penn seemed to have seen in his dreams. the same irregular, rocky roof started up from the wall by his bed, and stretched away into vague and obscure distance. all was familiar to him, but all was somehow mixed up with frightful fantasies which had vanished with the fever that had so recently left him. the awful shapes, the struggles of demoniac men, the processions of strange and beautiful forms, which had visited him in his delirious visions,--all these were airy nothings; but the cave was real. here he lay, on a rude bed constructed of four logs, forming the ends and sides, with canvas stretched across them, and secured with nails. under him was a mattress of moss, over him a blanket like that which he remembered to have had wrapped about him last night in the field. last night! poor penn was deeply perplexed when he endeavored to remember whether his mysterious awaking in the open air occurred last night, or many nights ago. he moved his head feebly to look for toby. which toby? for all through his sufferings the same two tobys, one good and the other evil, who had taken him from the field, had appeared still to attend him, and he now more than half expected to see the faithful old negro duplicated, and waiting upon him with two bodies and four hands. but neither the better nor even the worse half of that double being was near him now. penn was alone, in that subterranean solitude. there burned the fire, the shadows flickered, the smoke floated away into the depths of the dark cavern, in such loneliness and silence as he had never experienced before. he would have thought himself in some grotto of the gnomes, or some awful cell of enchantment, whose supernatural fire never went out, and whose smoke rolled away into darkness the same perpetually,--but for the sound of the crackling flames, and the sight of piles of wood on the floor, so strongly suggestive of human agency. on one side was what appeared to be an artificial chamber built of stones, its door open towards the fire. ranged about the cave, in something like regular order, were several massy blocks of different sizes, like the stools of a family of giants. but where were the giants? ah, here came toby at last, or, at any rate, the twin of him. he approached from the side where the daylight shone, bearing an armful of sticks, and whistling a low tune. with his broad back turned towards penn, he crouched before the fire, which he poked and scolded with malicious energy, his grotesque and gigantic shadow projected on the wall of the cave. "burn, ye debil! k-r-r-r! sputter! snap! git mad, why don't ye?" then throwing himself back upon a heap of skins, with his heels at the fire, and his long arms swinging over his head, in a savage and picturesque attitude, he burst into a shout, like the cry of a wild beast. this he repeated several times, appearing to take delight in hearing the echoes resound through the cavern. then he began to sing, keeping time with his feet, and pausing after each strain of his wild melody to hear it die away in the hollow depths of the cave. "de glory ob de lord, it am comin', it am comin', de glory ob de lord, let it come! de angel ob de lord, hear his trumpet, hear his trumpet, de angel ob de lord, he ar come!" at the last words, "_he ar come!_" a shadow darkened the entrance, and penn looked, almost expecting to see a literal fulfilment of the prophecy. a form of imposing stature appeared. it was that of a negro upwards of six feet in height, magnificently proportioned, straight as a pillar, and black as ebony. he wore a dress of skins, carried a gun in his hand, and had an opossum slung over his shoulder. "hush your noise!" he said to the singer, in a tone of authority. "haven't i told you not to _wake him_?" "no fear o' dat!" chuckled the other. "him's past dat! ki! how fat he ar!" seizing the opossum, and beginning to dress him on the spot. "past waking! i tell you he's asleep, and every thing depends on his waking up right. but you set up a howl that would disturb the dead!" "howl! dat's what ye call singin'; me singin', pomp." "well, keep your singing to yourself till he is able to stand it, you unfeeling, ungrateful fellow!" "what dat ye call dis nigger?" cried the singer, jumping up in a passion, with his blood-stained knife in his hand. "ongrateful! say dat ar agin, will ye?" "yes, cudjo, as often as you please," said pomp, calmly placing his gun in the artificial chamber. "you are an unfeeling, ungrateful fellow." he turned, and stood regarding him with a proud, lofty, compassionating smile. cudjo's anger cooled at once. penn had already recognized in them the twin tobys of his dreams. and what a contrast between the two! there was toby the good, otherwise called pomp, dignified, erect, of noble features; while before him cringed and grimaced toby the malign, alias cudjo, ugly, deformed, with immensely long arms, short bow legs resembling a parenthesis, a body like a frog's, and the countenance of an ape. "you know," said pomp, "you would have left this man to die there on the rocks, if it hadn't been for me." "gorry! why not?" said cudjo. "what's use ob all dis trouble on his 'count?" "he has had trouble enough on our account," said pomp. "on our 'count? hiyah-yah!" laughed cudjo, getting down on his knees over the opossum; "how ye make dat out, by?" "pay attention, cudjo, while i tell ye," said pomp, stooping, and laying his finger on the deformed shoulder. cudjo looked up, with his hands and knife still in the opossum's flesh. "this is the way of it, as i heard last night from pepperill himself, who got into trouble, as you know, by befriending old pete after his licking. and you know, don't you, how pete came by his licking?" "bein' out nights, totin' our meal and taters to de mountains,--dough i reckon de patrol didn't know nuffin' 'bout dat ar, or him wouldn't got off so easy!" said cudjo. "well, it was by befriending pepperill, who had befriended pete, who brings us meal and potatoes, that this man got the ill will of those villains. do you understand?" "say 'em over agin, pomp. how, now? lef me see! dat ar's old pete," sticking up a finger to represent him. "dat ar's pepperill," sticking up a thumb. "now, yonder is dis yer man, and here am we. now, how is it, pomp?" pomp repeated his statement, and cudjo, pointing to his long, black finger when pete was alluded to, and tapping his thumb when pepperill was mentioned, succeeded in understanding that it was indirectly in consequence of kindness shown to himself that penn had come to grief. "dat so, pomp?" he said, seriously, in a changed voice. "den 'pears like dar's two white men me don't wish dead as dis yer possom! pepperills one, and him's tudder." pomp, having made this explanation, walked softly to the bedside. he had not before perceived that penn, lying so still there, was awake. his features lighted up with intelligence and sympathy on making the discovery, and finding him free from feverish symptoms. "well, how are you getting on, sir?" he said, feeling penn's pulse, and seating himself on one of the giant's stools near the bedstead. "where am i?" was penn's first anxious question. "i fancy you don't know very well where you are, sir," said the negro, with a smile; "and you don't know me either, do you?" "i think--you are my preserver--are you not?" "that's a subject we will not talk about just now, sir; for you must keep very quiet." "i know," said penn, not to be put off so, "i owe my life to you!" "dat's so! dat ar am a fac'!" cried cudjo, approaching, and wrapping the warm opossum skin about his naked arm as he spoke. "gorry! me sech a brute, me war for leavin' ye dar in de lot. but, pomp, him wouldn't; so we toted you hyar, and him's doctored you right smart eber sence. he ar a great doctor, pomp ar! yah!" and cudjo laughed, showing two tremendous rows of ivory glittering from ear to ear; capering, swinging the opossum skin over his head, and, on the whole, looking far more like a demon of the cave than a human being. "go about your business, cudjo!" said pomp. "you mustn't mind his freaks, sir," turning to penn. "you are a great deal better; and now, if you will only remain quiet and easy in your mind, there's no doubt but you will get along." many questions concerning himself and his friends came crowding to penn's lips; but the negro, with firm and gentle authority, silenced him. "by and by, sir, i will tell you everything you wish to know. but you must rest now, while i see to making you a suitable broth." and nothing was left for penn but to obey. xiv. _a man's story._ three days longer penn lay there on his rude bed in the cave, helpless still, and still in ignorance. pomp repeatedly assured him that all was well, and that he had no cause for anxiety, but refused to enlighten him. the negro's demeanor was well calculated to inspire calmness and trust. there was something truly grand and majestic, not only in his person, but in his character also. he was a superb man. penn was never weary of watching him. he thought him the most perfect specimen of a gentleman he had ever seen; always cheerful, always courteous, always comporting himself with the ease of an equal in the presence of his guest. his strength was enormous. he lifted penn in his arms as if he had been an infant. but his grace was no less than his vigor. he was, in short, a lion of a man. cudjo was more like an ape. his gibberings, his grimaces, his antics, his delight in mischief, excited in the mind of the convalescent almost as much surprise as the other's princely deportment. for hours together he would lie watching those two wonderfully contrasted beings. petulant and malicious as cudjo appeared, he was completely under the control of his noble companion, who would often stand looking down at his tricks and deformity, with composedly folded arms and an air of patient indulgence and compassion beautiful to witness. meanwhile penn gradually regained his strength, so that on the fourth day pomp permitted him to talk a little. "tell me first about my friends," said penn. "are they well? do they know where i am?" "i hope not, sir," said the negro, with a significant smile, seating himself on the giant's stool. "i trust that no one knows where you are." "what, then, must they think?" said penn. "how did i leave them?" "that is what they are very much perplexed to find out, sir." "you have heard from them, then?" "o, yes; we have a way of getting news of people down there. toby has nearly gone distracted on your account. he is positive that you are dead, for he believes you could never have got well out of his hands." "and miss--mr. villars----?" "they have been so much disturbed about you, that i would have been glad to inform them of your safety, if i could. but not even they must know of this place." "where am i, then?" "you are, as you perceive, in a cave. but i suppose you know so little how you came here that you would find some difficulty in tracing your way to us again?" this was spoken interrogatively, with an intelligent smile. "i am so ignorant of the place," said penn, "that it may be in the planet mars, for aught i know." "that is well! now, sir," continued the negro, "since you have several times expressed your obligations to us for preserving your life, i wish to ask one favor in return. it is this. you are welcome to remain here as long as you find your stay beneficial; but when you conclude to go, we desire the privilege of conducting you away. that is not an unreasonable request?" "far from it. and i pledge you my word to make no movement without your sanction, and to keep your secret sacredly. but tell me--will you not?--how you came to inhabit this dreadful place?" "dreadful? there are worse places, my friend, than this. is it gloomy? the house of bondage is gloomier. is it damp? it is not with the cruel sweat and blood of the slave's brow and back. is it cold? the hearts of our tyrants are colder." "i understand you," said penn, whose suspicion was thus confirmed that these men were fugitives. "and i am deeply interested in you. how long have you lived here?" "would you like to hear something of my story?" said the negro, the expression of his eyes growing deep and stern,--his black, closely curling beard stirring with a proud smile that curved his lips. "perhaps it will amuse you." "amuse me? no!" said penn. "i know by your looks that it will not amuse: it will absorb me!" "well, then," said pomp, bearing his head upon his massy and flexible neck of polished ebony like a king, yet speaking in tones very gentle and low,--and he had a most mellow, musical, deep voice,--"you are talking with one who was born a slave." "you know what i think of that!" said penn. "even such a birth could not debase the manhood of one like you." "it might have done so under different circumstances. but i was so fortunate as to be brought up by a young master who was only too kind and indulgent to me, considering my station. we were playmates when children; and we were scarcely less intimate when we had both grown up to be men. he went to paris to study medicine, and took me with him. i passed for his body servant, but i was rather his friend. he never took any important step in life without consulting me; and i am happy to know," added pomp, with grand simplicity, "that my counsel was always good. he acknowledged as much on his death-bed. 'if i had taken your advice oftener,' said he, 'it would have been better for me. i always meant to reward you. you are to have your freedom--your freedom, my dear boy!'" the negro knitted his brows, his breath came thick, and there was a strange moisture in his eye. "i loved my master," he continued, with simple pathos. "and when i saw him troubled on my account, when he ought to have been thinking of his own soul, i begged him not to let a thought of me give him any uneasiness. my free papers had not been made out, and he was for sending at once for a notary. but his younger brother was with him--he who was to be his heir. 'don't vex yourself about pomp, edwin,' said he. 'i will see that justice is done him.' "'ah, thank you, brother!' said edwin. 'you will set him free, and give him a few hundred dollars to begin life with. promise that, and i will rest in peace.' for you must know edwin had neither wife nor child, and i was the only person dependent on his bounty. he was not rich; he had spent a good part of his fortune abroad, and had but recently established himself in a successful practice in montgomery. yet he left enough so that his brother could have well afforded to give me my freedom, and a thousand dollars." "and did he not promise to do so?" "he promised readily enough. and so my master died, and was buried, and i--had another master. for a few days nothing was said about free papers; and i had been too much absorbed in grief for the only man i loved to think much about them. but when the estate was settled up, and my new master was preparing to return to his home here in tennessee, i grew uneasy. "'master,' said i, taking off my hat to him one morning, 'there is nothing more i can do for him who is gone; so i am thinking i would like to be for myself now, if you please.' "'for yourself, you black rascal?' said my new master, laughing in my face. "i wasn't used to being spoken to in that way, and it cut. but i kept down that which swelled up in here"--pomp laid his hand on his heart--"and reminded him, respectfully as i could, of the doctor's last words about me, and of his promise. "'you fool!' said he, 'do you think i was in earnest?' "'if you were not,' said i, 'the doctor was.' "'and do you think,' said he, 'that i am to be bound by the last words of a man too far gone to know his own mind in the matter?' "'he always meant i should have my freedom,' i answered him, 'and always said so.' "'then why didn't he give it to you before, instead of requiring me to make such a sacrifice? come, come, pomp!' he patted my shoulder; 'you are altogether too valuable a nigger to throw away. why, people say you know almost as much about medicine as my brother did. you'll be an invaluable fellow to have on a plantation; you can doctor the field hands, and, may be, if you behave yourself, get a chance to prescribe for the family. come, my boy, you musn't get foolish ideas of freedom into your head; they're what spoil a nigger, and they'll have to be whipped out of you, which would be too bad for a fine, handsome darkey like you.' "he patted my shoulder again, and looked as pleasant and flattering as if i had been a child to be coaxed,--i, as much a man, every bit, as he!" said pomp, with a gleam of pride. "i could have torn him like a tiger for his insolence, his heartless injustice. but i repressed myself; i knew nothing was to be gained by violence. "'master,' said i, 'what you say is no doubt very flattering. but i want what my master gave me--what you promised that i should have--i shall be contented with nothing else.' "'what! you persist?' he said, kindling up. 'let me tell you now, pomp, once for all, you'll have to be contented with a good deal less; and never mention the word "freedom" to me again if you would keep that precious hide of yours whole!' "i saw he meant it, and that there was no help for me. despair and fury were in me. then, for the only time in my life, i felt what it was to wish to murder a man. i could have smitten the life out of that smiling, handsome face of his! thank god i was kept from that. i concealed what was burning within. then first i learned to pray,--i learned to trust in god. and so better thoughts came to me; and i said, 'if he uses me well, i will serve him; if not, i will run for my life.' "well, he brought me here to tennessee. here he was managing his aunt's estate, which she, soon dying, bequeathed to him. up to this time i had got on very well; but he never liked me; he often said i knew too much, and was too proud. he was determined to humiliate me; so one day he said to me, 'pomp, that nance has been acting ugly of late, and you permit her.' i was a sort of overseer, you see. 'now i'll tell you what i am going to have done. nance is going to be whipped, and you are the fellow that's going to whip her.' "'pardon, master,' said i, 'that's what i never did--to whip a woman.' "'then it's time for you to begin. i've had enough of your fine manners, pomp, and now you have got to come down a little.' "'i will do any thing you please to serve your interests, sir,' said i. 'but whip a woman i never can, and never will. that's so, master.' "'you villain!' he shouted, seizing a riding whip, 'i'll teach you to defy my authority to my face!' and he sprang at me, furious with rage. "'take care, sir!' i said, stepping back. ''twill be better for both of us for you not to strike me!' "'what! you threaten, you villain?' "'i do not threaten, sir; but i say what i say. it will be better for both of us. you will never strike me twice. i tell you that.' "i reckon he saw something dangerous in me, as i said this, for, instead of striking, he immediately called for help. 'sam! harry! nap! bind this devil! be quick!' "'they won't do it!' said i. 'woe to the man that lays a finger on me, be he master or be he slave!' "'i'll see about that!' said he, running into the house. he came out again in a minute with his rifle. i was standing there still, the boys all keeping a safe distance, not one daring to touch me. "'master,' said i, 'hear one word. i am perfectly willing to die. long enough you have robbed me of my liberty, and now you are welcome to what is less precious--my poor life. but for your own sake, for your dead brother's sake, let me warn you to beware what you do.' "i suppose the allusion to his injustice towards me maddened him. he levelled his piece, and pulled the trigger. luckily the percussion was damp,--or else i should not be talking with you now. his aim was straight at my head. i did not give him time for a second attempt. i was on him in an instant. i beat him down, i trampled him with rage. i snatched his gun from him, and lifted it to smash his skull. just then a voice cried, 'don't, pomp! don't kill master!' "it was nance, pleading for the man who would have had her whipped. i couldn't stand that. her mercy made me merciful. 'good by, boys!' i said. they were all standing around, motionless with terror. 'good by, nance! i am off; live or die, i quit this man's service forever!' "so i left him," said pomp, "and ran for the woods. i was soon ranging these mountains, free, a wild man whom not even their blood-hounds could catch. i took the gun with me--a good one: here it is." he removed the rifle from its crevice in the rocks. "do you know that name? it is that of its former owner--the man who called himself my master. do you think it was taking too much from one who would have robbed me of my soul?" he held the stock over the bed, so that penn could make out the lettering. delicately engraved on a surface of inlaid silver, was the well-known name,-- "_augustus bythewood._" xv. _an anti-slavery document on black parchment._ penn was not surprised at this discovery. he had already recognized in pomp the hero of a story which he had heard before. "but all this happened before i came to tennessee, did it not? have you lived in this cave ever since?" "it is three years since i took to the mountains. but i have spent but a little of that time here. sometimes, for weeks together, i am away, tramping the hills, exploring the forests, sleeping on the ground in the open air, living on fish, game, and fruits. that is in the summer time. winters i burrow here." "if you are so independent in your movements, why have you never escaped to the north?" "would i be any better off there? does not the color of a negro's skin, even in your free states, render him an object of suspicion and hatred? what chance is there for a man like me?" "little--very true!" said penn, sadly, contemplating the form of the powerful and intelligent black, and thinking with indignation and shame of the prejudice which excludes men of his race from the privileges of free men, even in the free north. "these crags," said the african, "do not look scornfully upon me because of the color of my skin. the watercourses sing for me their gladdest songs, black as i am. and the serious trees seem to love me, even as i love them. it is a savage, lonely, but not unhappy life i lead--far better for a man like me than servitude here, or degradation at the north. i have one faithful human friend at least. cudjo, cunning and capricious as he seems, is capable of genuine devotion." "have you two been together long?" "one day, a few weeks after i took to the mountains, i was watching for an animal which i heard rustling the foliage of a tree that grows up out of a chasm. i held my gun ready to fire, when i perceived that my animal was something human. it climbed the tree, ran out on one of the branches, leaped, like a squirrel, to some bushes that grew in the wall of the chasm, and soon pulled itself up to the top. then i saw that it was a man--and a black man. he came towards the spot where i was concealed, sauntering along, chewing now and then a leaf, and muttering to himself; appearing as happy as a savage in his native woods, and perfectly unconscious of being observed. suddenly i rose up, levelling my gun. he uttered a yell of terror, and started to cast himself again into the chasm. but with a threat i prevented him, and he threw himself at my feet, begging me to grant him his life, and not to take him back to his master. "'who is your master?' said i. "'job coombs was my master,' said he, 'but i left him.' "'you are cudjo, then!' said i,--for i had heard of him. he ran away from a tolerably good master on account of unmercifully cruel treatment from the overseer. but as he had been frightfully cut up the night before he disappeared, it was generally believed he had crawled into a hole in the rocks somewhere, and died, and been eaten by buzzards. but it seems that he had been concealed and cured by an old slave on the plantation named pete." "coombs's pete!" exclaimed penn. "you have good cause to remember the name!" said pomp. "as soon as cudjo was well enough to tramp, he took to the mountains. it was a couple of years afterwards that i met him. we soon came to an understanding, and he conducted me to his cave. here he lived. he has always kept up a communication with some of his friends--especially with old pete, who often brings us provisions to a certain place, and supplies us with ammunition. we give him game and skins, which he disposes of when he can, generally to such men as pepperill. he was going to pepperill's house, after meeting cudjo, that night when the patrolmen discovered and whipped him. that led to pepperill's punishment, and that led to your being here." "does old pete visit you since?" "no, but he has sent us a message, and i have seen pepperill." "not here!" "nobody ever comes here, sir. we have a place where we meet our friends; and as for pepperill, i went to his house." "that was bold in you!" "bold?" the negro smiled. "what will you say then when i tell you i have been in bythewood's house, since i left him? i wanted my medicine-case, and the bullet-moulds that belong with the rifle. i entered his room, where he was asleep. i stood for a long time and looked at him by the moonlight. it was well for him he didn't wake!" said pomp, with a dancing light in his eye. "he did not; he slept well! having got what i wanted, i came away; but i had changed knives with him, and left mine sticking in the bedstead over his head, so that he might know i had been there, and not accuse any one else of the theft." "the sight of that knife must have given him a shudder, when he woke, and saw who had been there, and remembered his wrongs towards you!" said penn. "well it might!" said pomp. "come here, cudjo." cudjo had just entered the cave, bringing some partridges which he had caught in traps. "it's allus 'cudjo! cudjo do dis! cudjo do dat!' what ye want o' cudjo?" pomp paid no heed to the ill-natured response, but said calmly, addressing penn,-- "i have told you my reasons for escaping out of slavery: now i will show you cudjo's." the back of the deformed was stripped bare. penn uttered a groan of horror at the sight. "dem's what ye call lickins!" said cudjo, with a hideous grin over his shoulder. "dat ar am de oberseer's work." "good heaven!" said penn, sick at the sight of the scars. "i can't endure it! take him away!" "don't be 'fraid!" said cudjo. "feel of 'em, sar!" and taking penn's hand, he seemed to experience a vindictive joy in passing it over his lash-furrowed flesh. "not much skin dar, hey? rough streaks along dar, hey? needn't pull your hand away dat fashion, and shet yer eyes, and look so white! it's all ober now. what if you'd seen dat back when 'twas fust cut up? or de mornin' arter? shouldn't blame ye, if 't had made ye sick den!" "but what had you done to merit such cruelty?" exclaimed penn, relieved when the back was covered. "what me done? de oberseer didn't hap'm to like me; dat's what me done. but he did hap'm to like my gal; dat's more what me done! so he cut me up wid his own hand,--said me sassy, and wouldn't work. coombs, him's a good man 'nuff,--neber found no fault 'long wid him; but debil take dat ar silas ropes!" "silas ropes!" "him was coombs's oberseer dem times," said cudjo. "him gi' me de lickins; him got my gal--me owe him for dat!" and, with a ferocious grimace, clinching his hands together as if he felt his enemy's throat, he gave a yell of rage which resounded through the cavern. "go about your work, cudjo," said pomp. "what do you think of that back, sir?" "it is the most powerful anti-slavery document i ever saw!" said penn. "he is a native african," said pomp. "he was brought to this country a young barbarian; and he has barely got civilized--hardly got christianized yet! i will make him tell you more of his history some day. then you will no longer wonder that his lessons in christian love have not made a saint of him! now you must rest, while i help him get dinner." the manner of cooking practised in the cave was exceedingly primitive. the partridges broiled over the fire, the potatoes roasted in the ashes, and the corn-cake baked in a kettle, the meal was prepared. the artificial chamber was cudjo's pantry. one of the giant's stools, having a broad, flat surface, served as a table. on this were placed two or three pewter plates, and as many odd cups and saucers. cudjo had an old coffee-pot, in which he made strong black coffee. he could afford, however, neither sugar nor milk. penn's wants were first attended to. he picked the bones of a partridge lying in bed, and thought he had never tasted sweeter meat. "with how few things men can live, and be comfortable! and what simple fare suffices for a healthy appetite!" he said to himself, watching pomp and cudjo at their dinner. pomp did not even drink coffee, but quenched his thirst with cold water dipped from a pool in the cave. xvi. _in the cave and on the mountain._ that afternoon, as penn was alone, the mystery of his removal from mr. villars's house was suddenly revealed to him. "i remember it very distinctly now," he said to pomp, who presently came in and sat by his bed. "ropes and his crew had been to the house for me. sick and delirious as i was, i knew the danger to my friends, and it seemed to me that i _must_ leave the house. so i watched my opportunity, and when toby left me for a minute, i darted through his room over the kitchen, climbed down from the window to the roof of the shed, and from there descended by an apple tree to the ground. this is the dream i have been trying to recall. it is all clear to me now. but i do not remember any thing more. the delirium must have given me preternatural strength, if i walked all the distance to the spot where you found me." "that you did walk it, your bruised and bleeding feet were a sufficient evidence," said the negro. "you had just such delirious attacks afterwards, when it was as much as cudjo and i wanted to do to hold you." "and the blanket--it is toby's blanket, which i caught up as i fled," added penn. he now became extremely anxious to communicate with his friends, to explain his conduct to them, and let them know of his safety. besides, he was now getting sufficiently strong to sit up a little, and other clothing was necessary than the old minister's nightgown and toby's blanket. "i have been thinking it all over," said pomp, "and have concluded to pay your friends a visit." "no, no, my dear sir!" exclaimed penn, with gratitude. "i can't let you incur any such danger on my account. i can never repay you for half you have done for me already!" and he pressed the negro's hand as no white man had ever pressed it since the death of his good master, dr. bythewood. pomp was deeply affected. his great chest heaved, and his powerful features were charged with emotion. "the risk will not be great," said he. "i will take cudjo with me, and between us we will manage to bring off your clothes." at night the two blacks departed, leaving penn alone in the fire-lit cave, waiting for their return, picturing to himself all the difficulties of their adventure, and thinking with warm gratitude and admiration of pomp, whose noble nature not even slavery could corrupt, whose benevolent heart not even wrong could embitter. it was late in the evening when the two messengers arrived at mr. villars's house. all was dark and still about the premises. but one light was visible, and that was in the room over the kitchen. "that is toby's room," said pomp. "stay here, cudjo, while i give him a call." "stay yuself," said cudjo, "and lef dis chil' go. me know toby; you don't." so pomp remained on the watch while cudjo climbed the tree by which penn had descended, scrambled up over the shed-roof, reached the window, opened it, and thrust in his head. toby, who was just going to bed, heard the movement, saw the frightful apparition, and with a shriek dove under the bed-clothes, where he lay in an agony of fear, completely hidden from sight, while cudjo, grinning maliciously, climbed into the room. "see hyar, ye fool! none ob dat! none ob your playin' possum wid me!" said the visitor, rolling toby over, while toby held the clothes tighter and tighter, as if to show a lock of wool or the tip of an ear would have been fatal. "me's cudjo! don't ye know cudjo? me come for de gemman's clo'es!" "hey? dat you, cudjo?" said toby, venturing at length to peep out. "wha--wha--what de debil you want hyar?" "de gemman sent me. dis yer letter's for your massy." "de gemman?" cried toby, jumping up. "not mass' penn? not mass' hapgood?" immense was his astonishment on being assured that penn was alive, recovering, and in need of garments. carl, who had been awakened in the next room by the noise, now came in to see what was the matter. he recognized penn's handwriting on the note, and immediately hastened with it to virginia's room. a minute after she was reading it to her father at his bedside. it was written with a pencil on a leaf torn from a little blank book in which pomp kept a sort of diary; but never had gilt-edged or perfumed billet afforded the blind old minister and his daughter such unalloyed delight. it was long past midnight when pomp and cudjo returned to the cave, bringing with them not only penn's garments, but a goodly stock of provisions, which cudjo had hinted to toby would be acceptable, and, more precious still, a letter from mr. villars, written by his daughter's own hand. penn now began to sit up a little every day. gloomy as the cave was, it was not an unwholesome abode even for an invalid. the atmosphere was pure, cool, and bracing; the temperature uniform. nor did penn suffer inconvenience from dampness; though often, in the deep stillness of the night, he could hear the far-off, faint, and melancholy murmur of dropping water in the hollow recesses of the cavern beyond. one day, as soon as he was well enough for the undertaking, pomp ordered cudjo to light torches and show them the hidden wonders of his habitation. cudjo was delighted with the honor. he ran on before, waving the flaring pine knots over his head, and shouting. penn's astonishment was profound. keen as had been his curiosity as to what was beyond the shadowy walls the fire dimly revealed, he had formed no conception of the extent and sublimity of the various galleries, chambers, glittering vaults, and falling waters, embosomed there in the mountain. "dis yer all my own house!" cudjo kept repeating, with fantastic grimaces of satisfaction. "me found him all my own self. nobody war eber hyar afore me; pomp am de next; and you's de on'y white man eber seen dis yer cave." it grew light as they proceeded, cudjo's torch paled, and the waters of a subterranean stream they were following caught gleams of the struggling day from another opening beyond. climbing over fragments of huge tumbled rocks, and up an earthy bank, penn found himself in the bottom of an immense chasm. it had apparently been formed by the sinking down of the roof of the cave, with a tremendous superincumbent weight of forest trees. there, on an island, so to speak, in the midst of the subterranean darkness, they were growing still, their lofty tops barely reaching the level of the mountain above. "it was out of this sink i saw the wild beast climbing, that turned out to be cudjo," said pomp. "dat ar am de tree," said cudjo. "no oder way but dat ar to get up out ob dis yer hole." "what a terrible place!" said penn, little thinking at the time how much more terrible it was soon to become as a scene of deadly human conflict. beyond the chasm the stream flowed on into still more remote parts of the cave. but penn had seen enough for one day, and the torch-bearing cudjo guided them back to the spot from which they had started. penn had now completely won the confidence of the blacks, who no longer placed any restrictions on his movements. it had been their original purpose never to suffer him to leave the cave without being blindfolded. but now, having shown him one opening, they freely permitted him to pass out by the other. this was that by which he had been brought in, and which was used by the blacks themselves on all ordinary occasions. it was a mere fissure in the mountain, hidden from external view by thickets. above rose steep ledges of rocks, thickly covered with earth and bushes. below yawned an immense ravine, far down in the cool, dark depths of which a little streamlet flowed. pomp piloted his guest through the thickets, and along a narrow shelf, from which the ascent to the barren ledges was easy. upon these they sat down. it was a beautiful april day. this was penn's first visit to the upper world since he was brought to the cave. the scene filled him with rapture; the loveliness of earth and sky intoxicated him. here he was among the rugged ranges of the cumberland mountains, in the heart of tennessee. on either hand they rolled away in tremendous billows of forest-crowned rocks. the ravines in their sides opened into little valleys, and these spread out into a broad and magnificent intervale, checkered with farms, streaked with roads, and dotted with dwellings. spring seemed to have come in a night. it was chill march weather when penn left the world, which was now warm with sweet south winds, and green with april verdure. "how beautiful, how beautiful!" said he, receiving, with the susceptibility of a convalescent, the exquisite impression made upon the senses by every sight and sound and odor. "o! and to think that all this divine loveliness is marred by the passions of men! up here, what glory, what peace! down yonder, what hatred, violence, and sin! no wonder, pomp, you love the mountains so!" "it is doubtful if they leave the mountains in peace much longer," said pomp. he had heard the night before that fighting had begun at charleston, and the news had stirred his soul. "the country is all alive with excitement, and the waves of its fury will reach us here before long. take this glass, sir: you can see soldiers marching through the streets." "they are marching past my school-house!" said penn. he became very thoughtful. he knew that they were soldiers recruited in the cause of rebellion, although tennessee had not yet seceded,--although the people had voted in february against secession: a dishonest governor, and a dishonest legislature, aided by reckless demagogues everywhere, being resolved upon precipitating the state into revolution, by fraud and force,--if not with the consent of the people, then without it. "i had hoped the storm would soon blow over, and that it would be safe for me to go peaceably about my business." "the storm," said pomp, his soul dilating, his features kindling with a wild joy, "is hardly begun yet! the great problem of this age, in this country, is going to be solved in blood! this continent is going to shake with such a convulsion as was never before. it is going to shake till the last chain of the slave is shaken off, and the sin is punished, and god says, 'it is enough!'" he spoke with such thrilling earnestness that penn regarded him in astonishment. "what makes you think so, pomp?" "that i can't tell. the feeling rises up here,"--the negro laid his hand upon his massive chest,--"and that is all i know. it is strong as my life--it fills and burns me like fire! the day of deliverance for my race is at hand. that is the meaning of those soldiers down there, arming for they know not what." xvii. _penn's foot knocks down a musket._ weeks passed. but now every day brought to penn increasing anxiety of mind with regard to his situation. his abhorrence of war was as strong as ever; and his great principle of non-resistance had scarcely been shaken. but how was he to avoid participating in scenes of violence if he remained in tennessee? and how was his escape from the state to be effected? "you are welcome to a home with us as long as you will stay," said pomp. "i shall miss you--even cudjo will hate to see you go." penn thanked him, fully appreciating their kindness; but his heart was yearning for other things. day after day he lingered still, however. the difficulties in the way of escape thickened, instead of diminishing. in february, as i have said, the people had voted against secession. not content with this, the governor called an extra session of the legislature, which proceeded to carry the state out of the union by fraud. on the sixth of may an ordinance of separation was passed, to be submitted to the vote of the people on the eighth of june. but without waiting for the will of the people to be made manifest, the authors of this treason went on to act precisely as if the state had seceded. a league was formed with the confederate states, the control of all the troops raised in tennessee was given to davis, and troops from the cotton states were rushed in to make good the work thus begun. the june election, which took place under this reign of terror, resulted as was to have been expected. rebel soldiers guarded the polls. few dared to vote openly the union ticket; while those who deposited a close ticket were "spotted." thus timid men were frightened from the ballot-box; while soldiers from the cotton states voted in their places. then, as it was charged, there were the grossest frauds in counting the votes. and so tennessee "seceded." the state authorities had also achieved a politic stroke by disarming the people. every owner of a gun was compelled to deliver it up, or pay a heavy fine. the arms thus secured went to equip the troops raised for the confederacy; while the union cause was left crippled and defenceless. many firelocks were of course kept concealed: some were taken to pieces, and the pieces scattered,--the barrel here, the stock there, and the lock in still another place,--to come together again only at the will of the owner: but, as a general thing, the loyalists could not be said to have arms. it was in those times that the precaution of stackridge and his fellow-patriots was justified. the secrecy with which they had conducted their night-meetings and drills, though seemingly unnecessary at first, saved them from much inconvenience when the full tide of persecution set in. they were suspected indeed, and it was believed they had arms; but they still met in safety, and the place where their arms were deposited remained undiscovered. all this time, penn had no money with which to defray the expenses of travel. when his school was broken up, several hundred dollars were due him for his services. this sum the trustees of the academy placed to his credit in the curryville bank; but, in consequence of a recent enactment, designed to rob and annoy loyal men, he could not draw the money without appearing personally, and first taking the oath of allegiance to the confederate government. this, of course, was out of the question. meanwhile he learned to rough it on the mountain with the fugitives. pomp taught him the use of the rifle, and he was soon able to shoot, dress, and cook his own dinner. he grew robust with the exercise and exposure. but every day his longing eyes turned towards the valley where the friends were whom he loved, and whom he resolved at all hazards to visit again, if for the last time. at length, one morning at breakfast, he informed pomp and cudjo of his intention to leave them,--to return secretly to the village, place himself under the protection of certain unionists he knew, and attempt, with their assistance, to make his way out of the state. "why go down there at all?" said pomp. "if you are determined to leave us, let me be your guide. i will take you over the mountains into kentucky, where you will be safe. it will be a long, hard journey; but you are strong now; we will take it leisurely, killing our game by the way." "you are very kind--and----" penn blushed and stammered. the truth was, he was willing to risk his life to see virginia once more; and the thought of quitting the state without bidding her good by was intolerable to him. "and what?" said pomp, smiling intelligently. "and i may possibly be glad to accept your proposal. but i am determined to try the other way first." both pomp and cudjo endeavored to dissuade him from the undertaking, but in vain. that evening he took his departure. the blacks accompanied him to the foot of the mountain. notwithstanding the friendship and gratitude he had all along felt towards them, he had not foreseen how painful would be the separation from them. "i never quitted friends more reluctantly!" he said, choked with his emotion. "never, never shall i forget you--never shall i forget those rambles on the mountains, those days and nights in the cave! let me hope we shall meet again, when i can make you some return for your kindness." "we may meet again, and sooner than you suppose," said pomp. "if you find escape too difficult, be sure and come back to us. ah, i seem to foresee that you will come back!" with this prediction ringing in his ears, and filling him with vague forebodings, penn went his way; while the negroes, having shaken hands with him in sorrowful silence, returned to their savage mountain home, which had never looked so lonely to them as now, since their beloved and gentle guest had departed. the night was not dark, and penn, having been guided to a bridle-path that led to the town, experienced no difficulty in finding his way on alone. he approached the minister's house from the fields. although late in the evening, the windows were still lighted. he was surprised to see men walking to and fro by the house, and to hear their footsteps on the piazza floor. he drew near enough to discern that they carried muskets. then the truth flashed upon him: they were soldiers guarding the house. whether they were there to protect the venerable unionist from mob-violence, or to prevent his escape, penn could only conjecture. in either case it would have been extremely indiscreet for him to enter the house. bitter disappointment filled him, mingled with apprehensions for the safety of his friends, and remorse at the thought that he himself had, although unintentionally, been instrumental in drawing down upon them the vengeance of the secessionists. penn next thought of stackridge. it was indeed upon that sturdy patriot that he relied chiefly for aid in leaving the state. he took a last, lingering look at the minister's house,--the windows whose cheerful light had so often greeted him on his way thither, in those delightful winter evenings which were gone, never to return,--the soldiers on the piazza, symbolizing the reign of terror that had commenced,--and with a deep inward prayer that god would shield with his all-powerful hand the beleaguered family, he once more crossed the fields. by a circuitous route he came in sight of stackridge's house. there were lights there also, although it must have been now near midnight. and as penn discerned them, he became aware of loud voices engaged in angry altercation around the farmer's door. it was no time for him to approach. he stole away as noiselessly as he had come. in the still, quiet night he paused, asking himself what he should do. the academy was not far off. he remembered that he had left there, among other things, a pocket bible, a gift from his sister, which he wished to preserve. perhaps it was there still; perhaps he could get in and recover it. at all events, he had plenty of leisure on his hands, and could afford to make the trial. he heard the mounted patrol pass by, and waited for the sound of hoofs to die in the distance. then cautiously he drew near the gloomy and silent school-house. not doubting but the door was locked,--for he still had the key with him which he had turned for the last time when he walked out in defiance of the lynchers,--he resolved not to unlock it, but to keep in the rear of the building, and enter, if possible, by a window. the window was unfastened, as it had ever remained since he had opened it, on that memorable occasion, to communicate with carl. softly he raised the sash, and softly he crept in. his foot, however, struck an object on the desk, and swept it down. it fell with a loud, rattling sound upon the floor. it was a musket; the owner of which bounded up on the instant from a bench where he was lying, and seized penn by the leg. the school-house had been turned into a barrack-room for recruits, and the late master found that he had descended upon a squad of confederate soldiers. lights were struck, and the sleepy sentinels, rubbing their eyes open, recognized, struggling in the arms of their companion, the unfortunate young quaker. "i knowed 'twas him! i knowed 'twas him!" cried his overjoyed captor, who proved to be no other than silas ropes's worthy friend gad. "i heern him gittin' inter the winder, but i kept dark till he knocked my gun down; then i grabbed him! he's a traitor, and this time will meet a traitor's doom!" "my friends," said penn, recovering from the agitation of his first surprise and struggle, "i am in your power. it is perhaps the best thing that could happen to me; for i have committed no crime, and i cannot doubt but that i shall receive justice all the sooner for this accident. you need not take the trouble to bind me; i shall not attempt to escape." his captors, however, among whom he recognized with some uneasiness more than one of those who had been engaged in lynching him, persisted in binding him upon a bench, in no very comfortable position, and then set a guard over him for the remainder of the night. xviii. _condemned to death._ early the next morning virginia villars overheard the soldiers conversing on the piazza. the mention of a certain name arrested her attention. she listened: what they said terrified her. penn hapgood had been apprehended during the night, and his trial by drum-head court-martial was at that moment proceeding. "mr. pepperill!" she called, in a scarcely audible whisper; and, looking around, daniel saw her alarmed face at the window. daniel was one of the soldiers who had been detailed to guard the house. strongly against his will, he had been compelled to enlist, in order to avoid the persecutions of his secession neighbors. such was already becoming the fate of many whose hearts were not in the cause, whose sympathies were all with the government against which they were forced to rebel. "what, marm?" said pepperill, meekly. "is it true what that man is saying?" "about the schoolmaster? i--i'm afeard it ar true! they've cotched him, marm, and there's men that's swore the death of him, marm." virginia flew to inform her father. the old man rose up instantly, forgetting his blindness, forgetting his own feebleness, and the danger into which he would have rushed, to go and plead penn's cause. fortunately, perhaps, for him, the guard crossed their muskets before him, refusing to let him pass. their orders were, not only to defend the house, but also to prevent his leaving it. "then i will go alone!" said carl, who was to have been his guide. and scarcely waiting to receive instructions from virginia and her father, he ran out, slipping between the soldiers, who had no orders to detain any person but the minister, and ran to the academy. the mockery of a trial was over. the prisoner had been condemned. the penalty pronounced against him was death. already the noose was dangling from a tree, and some soldiers were bringing from the school-house a table to serve as a scaffold. silas ropes, who had a feather stuck in his cap, and wore an old rusty scabbard at his side, and flourished a sword, enjoying the title of "lieutenant," obtained for him through bythewood's influence; lysander sprowl, who had been honored with a captaincy from the same source, and who, though a forger, and late a fugitive from justice, now boldly defied the power of the civil authorities to arrest him, trusting to that atrocious policy of the confederate government which virtually proclaimed to the robber and murderer, "become, now, a traitor to your country, and all other crimes shall be forgiven you;"--these, and other persons of like character, appeared chiefly active in penn's case. that they had no right whatever to constitute themselves a court-martial, and bring him to trial, they knew perfectly well. they had not waited even for a shadow of authority from their commanding officer. what they were about to do was nothing more nor less than murder. penn, with his hands tied behind him, and surrounded by a violent rabble, some armed, and others unarmed, was already mounted upon the table, when carl arrived, and attempted to force his way through the crowd. "feller-citizens and soldiers!" cried lieutenant ropes, standing on a chair beside the scaffold, "this here man has jest been proved to be a traitor and a spy, and he is about to expatiate his guilt on the gallus." two men then mounted the table, passed the noose over penn's neck, drew it close, and leaped down again. "now," said ropes, "if you've got any confession to make 'fore the table is jerked out from under ye, you can ease your mind. only le' me suggest, if you don't mean to confess, you'd better hold yer tongue." penn, pale, but perfectly self-possessed, expecting no mercy, no reprieve, made answer in a clear, strong voice,-- "i can't confess, for i am not guilty. i die an innocent man. i appeal to heaven, before whose bar we must all appear, for the justice you deny me." in his shirt sleeves, his head uncovered, his feet bare, his naked throat enclosed by the murderous cord, his hands bound behind him, he stood awaiting his fate. carl in the mean time struggled in vain to break through the ring of soldiers that surrounded the extemporized scaffold,--screamed in vain to obtain a hearing. "let him go, and you may hang me in his place!" the soldiers answered with a brutal laugh,--as if there would be any satisfaction in hanging him! but the offer of self-sacrifice on the part of the devoted carl touched one heart, at least. penn, who had maintained a firm demeanor up to this time, was almost unmanned by it. "god bless you, dear carl! remember that i loved you. be always honest and upright; then, if you die the victim of wrong, it will be your oppressors, not you, who will be most unhappy. good by, dear carl. bear my farewell to those we love. don't stay and see me die, i entreat you!" yet carl staid, sobbing with grief and rage. "why don't you hurry up this business?" cried lysander sprowl, angrily, coming out of the school-house. "somebody tie a handkerchief over his eyes, and get through some time to-day." "all right, cap'm," said ropes. "make ready now, boys, and take away this table in a hurry, when i give the word." "hold on, there! what's going on?" cried an unexpected voice, and a recruiting officer from the village made his appearance, riding up on a white horse. the summary proceedings were stayed, and the case explained. the man listened with an air of grim official importance, his coarse red countenance betraying not a gleam of sympathy with the prisoner. yet being the superior in rank to any officer present (silas called him "kunnel"), besides being the only one of them all who had been regularly commissioned by the confederate government, this man held penn's fate in his hands. "hanging's too good for such scoundrels!" he said, frowning at the prisoner. "as for this particular case, there's only one thing to be said: his life shall be spared on only one condition." carl's heart almost stood still, in his eagerness to listen. even penn felt a faint--a very faint--pulse of hope in his breast. the "kunnel" went on. "let him take his choice--either to hang, or enlist. what do you say, youngster? which do you prefer--the death of a traitor, or the glorious career of a soldier in the confederate army?" "it is impossible for me, sir," said penn, in a voice of deep feeling and unalterable conviction--"it is impossible for me to bear arms against my country!" "but the confederate states shall be your country, and a country to be proud of!" said the man. "i am a citizen of the united states; to the united states i owe allegiance," said penn. "so far from being a traitor, i am willing to die rather than appear one." "then you won't enlist?" "no, sir." "not even to save your life?" "not even to save my life!" "then," growled the man, turning away, "if you will be such a fool, i've nothing more to say." so it only remained for penn to submit quietly to his fate. the executioners laid hold of the table, and waited for the order to remove it. but just then carl, breaking through the crowd, threw himself before the officer's horse. "o, colonel derring! hear me--von vord!" "von vord!" repeated the officer, with a coarse laugh, mocking him. "what's that, you dutchman?" "you vill let him go, and i shall wolunteer in his place!" said carl. "you!" the officer regarded him critically. carl, though so young, was very sturdy. "you offer yourself as a substitute, eh, if i will spare his life?" "carl!" cried penn, "i forbid you! you shall not commit that sin for me! better a thousand times that i should die than that you should be a rebel in arms against your country." "i have no country," answered carl, ingeniously excusing himself. "i am vot this man says, a tuchman. i vill enlisht mit him, and he vill shpare your life." "boy, it's a bargain," said colonel derring, whose passion for obtaining recruits overruled every other consideration. "cut that fellow's cords, lieutenant, and let him go. come along with me, dutchy." ropes obeyed, and penn, bewildered, almost stunned, by the sudden change in his destiny, saw himself released, and beheld, as in a dream, poor carl marching off as his substitute to the recruiting station. "now let me give you one word of advice," said captain sprowl in his ear. "don't let another night find you within twenty miles of that halter there, if you wouldn't have your neck in it again." "will you give me a safe conduct?" said penn, who thought the advice excellent, and would have been only too glad to act upon it. "i've no authority," said sprowl. "you must take care of yourself." penn looked around upon the ferocious, disappointed faces watching him, and felt that he might about as well have been despatched in the first place, as to be let loose in the midst of such a pack of wolves thirsting for his blood. he did not despair, however, but, putting on his clothes, determined to make one final and desperate effort to escape. xix. _the escape._ walking off quickly across the field towards mrs. sprowl's house, he turned suddenly aside from the path and plunged into the woods. he soon perceived that he was followed. a man--only one--came through the undergrowth. penn stopped. "god forgive me!" he said within himself; "but this is more than human nature can bear!" he had been, as it were, smitten on one cheek and on the other also: it was time to smite back. he picked up a club: his nerves became like steel as he grasped it: his eyes flashed fire. the man advanced; he was unarmed. suddenly penn dropped his club, and uttered a cry of joy. it was his friend stackridge. "what! the quaker will fight?" said the farmer, with a grim smile. "that shows," said penn, bursting into tears as he wrung the farmer's hand, "that i have been driven nearly insane!" "it shows that some of the insanity has been driven out of you!" replied stackridge, beginning to have hopes of him. "if you had taken my pistol and used it freely in the first place, or at least shown a good will to use it, you'd have proved yourself a good deal more of a man in my estimation, and been quite as well off." "perhaps," murmured penn, convinced that this passive submission to martyrdom was but a sorry part to play. "but now to business," said stackridge. "you must get away as quickly and secretly as possible, unless you mean to stay and fight it out. i am here to help you. i have a horse in the woods here, at your disposal. i thought there might be such a thing as your slipping through their hands, and so i took this precaution. i will show you a bridle-road that will take you to the house of a friend of mine, who is a hearty unionist. you can leave my horse with him. he will help you on to the house of some friend of his, who will do the same, and so you will manage to get out of the state. i advise you to travel by night, as a general thing; but just now it seems necessary that you should see a little hard riding by daylight. you'll find some luncheon in the saddlebags. when you get into some pretty thick woods, leave the road, and find a good place to tie up till night; then go on cautiously to my friend's house. i'll give you full directions, while we're finding the horse." they made haste to the spot where the animal was tied. "he has been well fed," said the farmer. "you will water him at the first brook you cross, and let him browse when you stop. now just trade that coat for one that will make you look a little less like a quaker schoolmaster." he had brought one of his own coats, which he made penn put on, and then exchanged hats with him. penn was admirably disguised. brief, then, were the thanks he uttered from his overflowing heart, short the leave-takings. he was mounted. stackridge led the horse through the bushes to the bridle-path. "now, don't let the grass grow under your feet till you are at least five miles away. if you meet anybody, get along without words if you can; if you can't, let words come to blows as quick as you please, and then put faith in dobbin's heels." again, for the last time, he made penn the offer of a pistol. there was no leisure for idle arguments on the subject. the weapon was accepted. the two wrung each other's hands in silence: there were tears in the eyes of both. then stackridge gave dobbin a resounding slap, and the horse bounded away, bearing his rider swiftly out of sight in the woods. all this had passed so rapidly that penn had scarcely time to think of any thing but the necessity of immediate flight. but during that solitary ride through the forest he had ample leisure for reflection. he thought of the mountain cave, whose gloomy but quiet shelter, whose dark but nevertheless humane and hospitable inmates he seemed to have quitted weeks ago, so crowded with experiences had been the few hours since last he shook pomp and cudjo by the hand. he thought of virginia and her father, to visit whom for perhaps the last time he had incurred the risk of descending into the valley; whom now he felt, with a strangely swelling heart, that he might never see again. and he thought with grief, pity, and remorse of carl, a rebel now for his sake. these things, and many more, agitated him as he spurred the farmer's horse along the narrow, shaded, lonesome path. he met an old man on horseback, with a bright-faced girl riding behind him on the crupper, who bade him a pleasant good morning, and pursued their way. next came some boys driving mules laden with sacks of corn. at last penn saw two men in butternut suits with muskets on their shoulders. he knew by their looks that they were secessionists hastening to join their friends in town. they regarded him suspiciously as he came galloping up. penn perceived that some off-hand word was necessary in passing them. "hurry on with those guns!" he cried; "they are wanted!" and he dashed away, as if his sole business was to hurry up guns for the confederate cause. he met with no other adventure that day. he followed stackridge's directions implicitly, and at evening, leaving his horse tied in the woods, approached on foot the house to which he had been sent. he was cordially received by the same old man whom he had seen riding to town in the morning with a bright-faced girl clinging behind him. at a hint from stackridge the man had hastily ridden home again, passing penn at noon while he lay hidden in the woods; and here he was, honest, friendly, vigilant, to receive and protect his guest. "you did well," he said, "to turn off up the mountain; for i am not the only man that passed you there. you have been pursued. three persons have gone on after you. i met them as i was going into town; they inquired of me if i had seen you, and when i got home i found they had passed here in search of you. they have not yet gone back." this was unpleasant news. yet penn was soon convinced that he had been extremely fortunate in thus throwing his pursuers off his track. it was far better that they should have gone on before him, than that they should be following close upon his heels. he staid with the farmer all night, and departed with him early the next morning to pursue his journey. it was not safe for him to keep the road, for he might at any moment meet his pursuers returning; accordingly, the old man showed him a circuitous route along the base of the mountains, which could be travelled only on foot, and by daylight. "here i leave you," said his kind old guide, when they had reached the banks of a mountain stream. "follow this run, and it will take you around to the road, about a mile this side of my brother's house. there's a bridge near which you can wait, when you get to it. if your pursuers go back past my house, then i will harness up and drive on to the bridge, and water my horse there. you will see me, and get in to ride, and i will take you to my brother's, and make some arrangement for helping you on still farther to night." so they parted; the lonely fugitive feeling that the kindness of a few such men, scattered like salt through the state, was enough to redeem it from the fate of sodom, which otherwise, by its barbarism and injustice, it would have seemed to deserve. following the stream in its windings through a wilderness of thickets and rocks, he reached the bridge about the middle of the afternoon. his progress had been leisurely. the day was warm, bright, and tranquil. the stream poured over ledges, or gushed among mossy stones, or tumbled down jagged rocks in flashing cascades. its music filled him with memories of home, with love that swelled his heart to tears, with longings for peace and rest. its coolness and beauty made a little sabbath in his soul, a pause of holy calm, in the midst of the fear and tumult that lay before and behind him. during that long, solitary ramble he had pondered much the great question which had of late agitated his mind--the question which, in peaceful days, he had thought settled with his own conscience forever. but days of stern experience play sad havoc with theories not founded in experience. in all the ordinary emergencies of life penn had found the doctrine of non-resistance to evil, of overcoming evil with good, beautiful and sublime. but had he not the morning before given way to a natural impulse, when he seized a club, firmly resolved to oppose force with force? the recollection of that incident had led him into a singular train of reasoning. "i know," he said, "that it is still the highest doctrine. but am i equal to it? can i, under all circumstances, live up to it? i have seen something of the power and recklessness of the faction that would destroy my country. would i wish to see my country submit? never! such submission would be the most unchristian thing it could do. it would be the abandonment of the cause of liberty; it would be to deliver up the whole land to the blighting despotism of slavery; it would postpone the millennium i hope for thousands of years. i see no other way than that the nation must resist; and what i would have the nation do i should be prepared, if called upon, to do myself. if this government were a christian government i would have it use only christian weapons, and no doubt those would be effectual for its preservation. but there never was a christian government yet, and probably there will not be for an age or two. governments are all founded on human policy, selfishness, and force. or if _i_ was entirely a christian, then _i_ would have no temptation, and no right, to use any but spiritual weapons. but until i attain to these, may i not use such weapons as i have?" these thoughts revolved slowly and somewhat confusedly in the young man's mind, when an incident occurred to bring form, sharply and suddenly, out of that chaos. he had reached the bridge. he looked up and down the road, and saw no human being. it was hardly time to expect the farmer yet; so he climbed down upon some dry stones in the bed of the stream, where he could watch for his coming, and be at the same time hidden from view and sheltered from the sun. he had not been long in that situation when he heard the sounds of hoofs. it was not his white-haired farmer whom he saw approaching, but two men on horseback. they were coming from the same direction in which he was looking for the old man. as they drew near, he discovered that one was a negro. the face of the other he recognized shortly afterwards. it was that of mr. augustus bythewood, who was evidently taking advantage of the fine weather to make a little journey, accompanied by a black servant. penn's heart contracted within him as he thought of his friend pomp, and of the wrongs he had suffered at this man's hands. he thought of his own safety too, and crept under the bridge. he had time, however, before he disappeared, to catch a glimpse of three other horsemen coming from the north. his heart beat fast, for he knew in an instant that these were his pursuers returning. he had already prepared for himself a good hiding-place, in a cavity between the two logs that supported the bridge. upon the butment, close under the trembling planks, he lay, when bythewood and his man rode over. the dust rattled upon him through the cracks, and sifted down into the stream. the thundering and shaking of the planks ceased, but he listened in vain to hear the hoofs of the two horses clattering off in the distance. to his alarm he perceived that bythewood and his man had halted on the other side of the bridge, and were going to water their horses in the bed of the stream. clashing and rattling down the steep, stony banks, and plashing into the water, came the foam-streaked animals. the negro rode one, and led the other by the bridle. there he sat in the saddle, watching the eager drinking of the thirsty beasts, and pulling up their heads occasionally to prevent them from swallowing too fast or too much; all in full sight of the concealed schoolmaster. bythewood, after dismounting, also walked down to the edge of the stream in full view. such was the situation when the three horsemen from the north arrived. they all rode their animals down the bank into the water. penn had not been mistaken as to their character and business. two of them were the men who had adjusted the noose to his neck the day before. the third was no less a personage than captain lysander sprowl. penn lay breathless and trembling in his hiding-place; for those men were but a few yards from him, and all in such plain view that it seemed inevitable but they must discover him. "what luck?" said bythewood, carelessly, seating himself on a rock and lighting a cigar. "the rascal has given us the slip," said lysander, from his horse. "i believe we have passed him, and so, on our way back, we'll search the house of every man suspected of union sentiments. he started off with stackridge's horse, and we tracked him easy at first, but to-day we haven't once heard of him." "it's my opinion he don't intend to leave the state," said bythewood, coolly smoking. "sam, walk those horses up and down the road till i call you: i want a little private talk with the captain." the captain's attendants likewise took the hint, reined their horses up out of the water, rode over the shaking bridge and penn's head under it, and proceeded to search the next house for him, while sprowl was conversing with augustus. "let's go over the other side," said bythewood, "where we can be in the shade. the sun is powerful hot." they accordingly walked over penn's head a moment later, climbed down the same rocks he had descended, picked their way along the dry stones to the bridge, and took their seats in its shadow beneath him, and so near that he could easily have reached over and taken the captain's cap from his head! xx. _under the bridge._ "the colonel wasn't aware of your sentiments," said sprowl, "or he wouldn't have let him off for fifty substitutes." "or if you and ropes," retorted bythewood, "had only put through the job with the celerity i had a right to expect of you, he would have been strung up before the colonel had a chance to interfere." and he puffed impatiently a cloud of smoke, whose fragrance was wafted to the nostrils of the listener under the planks. "well," said lysander, accepting a cigar from his friend, "if he gets out of the state,"--biting off the end of it,--"and never shows himself here again,"--rubbing a match on the stones,--"you ought to be satisfied. if he stays, or comes back,"--smoking,--"then we'll just finish the little job we begun." penn lay still as death. what his thoughts were i will not attempt to say; but it must have given him a curious sensation to hear the question of his life or death thus coolly discussed by his would-be assassins over their cigars. "where are you bound?" asked lysander. "o, a little pleasure excursion," said bythewood. "there's to be some lively work at home this evening, and i thought i'd better be away." "what's going on?" "the colonel is going to make some arrests. about fifteen or twenty union-shriekers will find themselves snapped up before they think of it. stackridge among the first. 'twas he, confound him! that helped the schoolmaster off." "has the colonel orders to make the arrests?" "no, but he takes the responsibility. it's a military necessity, and the government will bear him out in it. every man that has been known to drill in the union club, and has refused to deliver up his arms, must be secured. there's no other way of putting down these dangerous fellows," said augustus, running his jewelled fingers through his curls. "but why do you prefer to be away when the fun is going on?" "there may be somebody's name in the list on whose behalf i might be expected to intercede." "not old villars!" exclaimed lysander. "yes, old villars!" laughed augustus,--"if by that lively epithet you mean to designate your venerable father-in-law." "by george, though, gus! ain't it almost too bad? what will folks say?" "little care i! old and blind as he is, he is really one of the most dangerous enemies to our cause. his influence is great with a certain class, and he never misses an opportunity to denounce secession. that he openly talks treason, and harbors and encourages traitors arming against the confederate government, is cause sufficient for arresting him with the others." "really," said sprowl, chuckling as he thought of it, "'twill be better for our plans to have him out of the way." "yes," said bythewood; "the girls will need protectors, and your wife will welcome you back again." "and virginia," added sprowl, "will perhaps look a little more favorably on a rich, handsome, influential fellow like you! i see! i see!" there was another who saw too,--a sudden flash of light, as it were, revealing to penn all the heartless, scheming villany of the friendly-seeming augustus. he grasped the stackridge pistol; his eyes, glaring in the dark, were fixed in righteous fury on the elegant curly head. "if i am discovered, i will surely shoot him!" he said within himself. "the old man," suggested sprowl, "won't live long in jail." "very well," said bythewood. "if the girls come to terms, why, we will secure their everlasting gratitude by helping him out. if they won't, we will merely promise to do everything we can for him--and do nothing." "and the property?" said lysander, somewhat anxiously. "you shall have what you can get of it,--i don't care for the property!" replied bythewood, with haughty contempt. "i believe the old man, foreseeing these troubles, has been converting his available means into ohio railroad stock. if so, there won't be much for you to lay hold of until we have whipped the north." "that we'll do fast enough," said lysander, confidently. "well, i must be travelling," said augustus. "and i must be looking for that miserable schoolmaster." so saying the young men arose from their cool seats on the stones,--lysander placing his hand, to steady himself, on the edge of the butment within an inch of penn's leg. darkness, however, favored the fugitive; and they passed out from the shadow of the bridge without suspecting that they had held confidential discourse within arms' length of the man they were seeking to destroy. they ascended the bank, mounted their horses, and took leave of each other,--bythewood and his black man riding north, while sprowl hastened to rejoin his companions in the search for the schoolmaster. xxi. _the return into danger._ trembling with excitement penn got down from the butment, and peering over the bank, saw his enemies in the distance. what was to be done? had he thought only of his own safety, his way would have been clear. but could he abandon his friends? forsake virginia and her father when the toils of villany were tightening around them? leave stackridge and his compatriots to their fate, when it might be in his power to forewarn and save them? how he, alone, suspected, pursued, and sorely in need of assistance himself, was to render assistance to others, he did not know. he did not pause to consider. he put his faith in the overruling providence of god. "with god's aid," he said, "i will save them or sacrifice myself." as for fighting, should fighting prove necessary, his mind was made up. the conversation of the villains under the bridge had settled that question. instead, therefore, of waiting for the friend who was to help him on his journey, he leaped up from under the bridge, and set out at a fast walk to follow his pursuers back to town. he had travelled but a mile or two when he saw the farmer driving towards him in a wagon. "are you lost? are you crazy?" cried the astonished old man. "you are going in the wrong direction! the men have been to my house, searched it, and passed on. get in! get in!" "i will," said penn; "but, mr. ellerton, you must turn back." he briefly related his adventure under the bridge. the old man listened with increasing amazement. "you are right! you are right!" he said. "we must get word to stackridge, somehow!" and turning his wagon about, he drove back over the road as fast as his horse could carry them. it was sunset when they reached his house. there they unharnessed his horse and saddled him. the old man mounted. "i'll do my best," he said, "to see stackridge, or some of them, in season. if i fail, may be you will succeed. but you'd better keep in the woods till dark." ellerton rode off at a fast trot. penn hastened to the woods, where stackridge's horse was still concealed. the animal had been recently fed and watered, and was ready for a hard ride. the bridle was soon on his head, and penn on his back, and he was making his way through the woods again towards home. as soon as it was dark, penn came out into the open road; nor did he turn aside into the bridle-path when he reached it, because he wished to avoid travelling in company with ellerton, who was to take that route. he also supposed that sprowl's party would be returning that way. in this he was mistaken. riding at a gallop through the darkness, his heart beating anxiously as the first twinkling lights of the town began to appear, he suddenly became aware of three horsemen riding but a short distance before him. they had evidently been drinking something stronger than water at the house of some good secessionist on the road, perhaps to console themselves for the loss of the schoolmaster,--for these were the excellent friends who were so eager to meet with him again! they were merry and talkative, and penn, not ambitious of cultivating their acquaintance, checked his horse. it was too late. they had already perceived his approach, and hailed him. what should he do? to wheel about and flee would certainly excite their suspicions; they would be sure to pursue him; and though he might escape, his arrival in town would be thus perhaps fatally delayed. the arrests might be even at that moment taking place. he reflected, "there are but three of them; i may fight my way through, if it comes to that." accordingly he rode boldly up to the assassins, and in a counterfeit voice, answered their hail. he was but little known to either of them, and there was a chance that, in the darkness, they might fail to recognize him. "where you from?" demanded sprowl. "from a little this side of bald mountain," said penn,--which was true enough. "where bound?" "can't you see for yourself?" said penn, assuming a reckless, independent air. "i am following my horse's nose, and that is going pretty straight into curryville." "glad of your company," said sprowl, riding gayly alongside. "what's your business in town, stranger?" "well," replied penn, "i don't mind telling you that my business is to see if i and my horse can find something to do for old tennessee." "ah! cavalry?" suggested lysander, well pleased. "i should prefer cavalry service to any other," answered penn. "there's where you right," said sprowl; and he proceeded to enlighten penn on the prospects of raising a cavalry company in curryville. "did you meet any person on the road, travelling north?" "what sort of a person?" "a young feller, rather slim, brown hair, blue eyes, with a half-hung look, a perfect specimen of a sneaking abolition schoolmaster." "i--i don't remember meeting any such a person," said penn, as if consulting his memory. "i met _two_ men, though, this side of old bald. one of them was a rather gentlemanly-looking fellow; but i think his hair was black and curly." "the schoolmaster's har is wavy, and purty dark, i call it," said one of sprowl's companions. "he must have been the man!" said lysander, suddenly stopping his horse. "what sort of a chap was with him? did he look like a union-shrieker?" "now i think of it," said penn, "if that man wasn't a unionist at heart, i am greatly mistaken. his sympathies are with the lincolnites, i know by his looks!" he neglected to add, however, that the man was black. sprowl was excited. "it was some tory, piloting the schoolmaster! boys, we must wheel about! it never'll do for us to go home as long as we can hear of him alive in the state. remember the pay promised, if we catch him." "luck to you!" cried penn, riding on, while sprowl turned back in ludicrous pursuit of his own worthy friend, mr. augustus bythewood, and his negro man sam. penn lost no time laughing at the joke. his heart was too full of trouble for that. it had seemed to him, at each moment of delay, that the blind old minister was even then being torn from his home--that he could hear virginia's sobs of distress and cries for help. he urged his horse into a gallop once more, and struck into a path across the fields. he rode to the edge of the orchard, dismounted, tied the horse, and hastened on foot to the house. the guard was gone from the piazza, and all seemed quiet about the premises. the kitchen was dark. he advanced quickly, but noiselessly, to the door. it was open. he went in. "toby!" no answer. "carl! carl!" he called in a louder voice. no carl replied. then he remembered--what it seemed so strange that he could even for an instant forget--that carl was in the rebel ranks, for his sake. he had seen a light in the sitting-room. he found the door, and knocked. no answer came. he opened it softly, and entered. there burned the lamp on the table--there stood the vacant chairs--he was alone in the deserted room. "virginia!" he started at his own voice, which sounded, in the hollow apartment, like the whisper of a ghost. he was proceeding still farther, wondering at the stillness, terrified by his own forebodings, feeling in his appalled heart the contrast between this night, and this strange, furtive visit, and the happy nights, and the many happy visits, he had made to his dear friends there only a few short months before,--pausing to assure himself that he was not walking in a dream,--when he heard a footstep, a flutter, and saw, spring towards him through the door, pale as an apparition, virginia. speechless with emotion, she could not utter his name, but she testified the joy with which she welcomed him by throwing herself, not into his arms, but upon them, as he extended his hands to greet her. "what has happened?" said penn. "o, my father!" said the girl. and she bowed her face upon his arm, clinging to him as if he were her brother, her only support. "where is he?" asked penn, alarmed, and trembling with sympathy for that delicate, agitated, fair young creature, whom sorrow had so changed since he saw her last. "they have taken him--the soldiers!" she said. and by these words penn knew that he had come too late. xxii. _stackridge's coat and hat get arrested._ the outrage had been committed not more than twenty minutes before. toby had followed his old master, to see what was to be done with him, and virginia and her sister were in the street before the house, awaiting the negro's return, when penn arrived. "you could have done no good, even if you had come sooner," said virginia. "there is but one man who could have prevented this cruelty." "why not send for him?" "alas! he left town this very day. he is a secessionist; but he has great influence, and appears very friendly to us." penn started, and looked at her keenly. "his name?" "augustus bythewood." penn recoiled. "what's the matter?" "virginia, that man is thy worst enemy? i did not tell thee how i learned that the arrests were to be made. but i will!" and he told her all. "o," said she, "if i had only believed what my heart has always said of that man, and trusted less to my eyes and ears, he would never have deceived me! if he, then, is an enemy, what hope is there? o, my father!" "do not despair!" answered penn, as cheerfully as he could. "something may be done. stackridge and his friends may have escaped. i will go and see if i can hear any thing of them. have faith in our heavenly father, my poor girl! be patient! be strong! all, i am sure, will yet be well." "but you too are in danger! you must not go!" she exclaimed, instinctively detaining him. "i am in greater danger here, perhaps, than elsewhere." "true, true! go to your negro friends in the mountain--there is yet time! go!" and she hurriedly pushed him from her. "when i find that nothing can be done for thy father, then i will return to pomp and cudjo--not before." and he glided out of the back door just as salina entered from the street. he left the horse where he had tied him, and hastened on foot to stackridge's house. he approached with great caution. there was a light burning in the house, as on other summer evenings at that hour. the negroes--for stackridge was a slaveholder--had retired to their quarters. there were no indications of any disturbance having taken place. penn reconnoitred carefully, and, perceiving no one astir about the premises, advanced towards the door. "halt!" shouted a voice of authority. and immediately two men jumped out from the well-curb, within which they had been concealed. others at the same time rushed to the spot from dark corners, where they had lain in wait. almost in an instant, and before he could recover from his astonishment, penn found himself surrounded. "you are our prisoner, mr. stackridge!" and half a dozen bayonets converged at the focus of his breast. the young man comprehended the situation in a moment. stackridge had not been arrested; he was absent from home; these ambushed soldiers had been awaiting his return; and they had mistaken the schoolmaster for the farmer. the night was just light enough to enable them to recognize the coat and hat which had been stackridge's, and which penn still wore as a disguise. features they could not discern so easily. the prisoner made no resistance, for that would have been useless; no outcry, for that would have revealed to them their mistake. he submitted without a word; and they marched him away, just as his supposed wife and children flew to the door, calling frantically, "father! father!" and lamenting his misfortune. by proclaiming his own identity, the prisoner would have gained nothing, probably, but a halter on the spot. on the other hand, by accepting the part forced upon him, he was at least gaining time. it might be, too, that he was rendering an important service to the real stackridge by thus withdrawing the soldiers from their ambush, and giving him an opportunity to reach home and learn the danger he had escaped. these considerations passed rapidly through his mind. he slouched his hat over his eyes, and marched with sullen, stubborn mien. in this manner he was taken to the village, and conducted to an old storehouse, which had lately been turned into a guard-house by the confederate authorities. there was a great crowd around the dimly-lighted door, and other prisoners, similarly escorted, were going in. amid the press and hurry, penn passed the sentinels still unrecognized. he immediately found himself wedged in between the wall and a number of tennessee union men, some terrified into silence, others enraged and defiant, but all captives like himself. in the farther end of the room, at a desk behind the counter, with candles at each side, sat the confederate colonel to whom penn owed his life. he seemed to be receiving the reports of those who had conducted the arrests, and to be examining the prisoners. beside him sat his aids and clerks. before him penn knew that he must soon appear. he was in darkness and disguise as yet, but he could not long avoid facing the light and the eyes of those who knew him well. what, then, would be his fate? would he be retained a prisoner, like the rest, or delivered over to the mob that sought his life? he had time to decide upon a course which he hoped might gain him some favor. taking advantage of the shadow and confusion in which he was, he slipped off his disguise, and, elbowing his way through the crowd of prisoners, appeared, hat in hand and coat on arm, before the interior guard, and demanded to speak with the commanding officer. "sir, who are you?" said the colonel, failing, at first, to recognize him. upon which mr. ropes, who was at his side, swore a great oath that it was the schoolmaster himself. "but i have had no report of his arrest," cried the colonel. "how came you here, sir?" "i wish to place myself under your protection," said penn. "you received a substitute in my place, and ordered me to be set at liberty. but your commands have been disregarded; i have been hunted for two days; and men, calling themselves confederate soldiers, are still pursuing me. under these circumstances i have thought it best to appeal to you, relying upon your honor as a gentleman and an officer." "but how came you here? who brought in this fellow?" nobody could answer that question, although the leader of the party that had brought him in was at the very moment on the spot, waiting to make his report of stackridge's arrest. as soon, therefore, as penn could gain a hearing, he continued. "i came in, sir, with a crowd of soldiers and prisoners, none of whom recognized me. the sentinels no doubt supposed i was arrested, and so let me pass." "well, sir, you have done a bold thing, and perhaps the best thing for you. since you have voluntarily delivered yourself up, i shall feel bound to protect you. but i have only one of two alternatives to offer you--the same i offer to each of these worthy gentlemen here, giving them their choice. take the oath of allegiance to the confederate government, and volunteer; that is one condition." "i am a northern man," replied penn, "and owe allegiance to the united states; so that condition it is impossible for me to accept." "very well; i'll give you time to think of it. in the mean while, my only means of affording the protection you demand will be to retain you a prisoner. guard, take this man below." not another word was said; and, indeed, penn had already gained more than he hoped for, with the eyes of lieutenant ropes glaring on him so murderously. he was conducted to a stairway that led to the cellar, and ordered to descend. he obeyed, marching down between two soldiers on guard at the door, and two more at the foot of the stairs. it was a lugubrious subterranean apartment, lighted by a single lantern suspended from a beam. by its dim rays he discovered the figures of half a dozen fellow-prisoners; and, in the midst of the group, he recognized one, the sight of whom caused him to forget all his own misfortunes in an instant. "my dear mr. villars! i have found you at last!" he exclaimed, grasping the old clergyman's hand. "penn, is it you?" said the blind old man. he was seated on a dry goods box. trembling and feeble, he arose to greet his young friend, with a noble courtesy very beautiful and touching under the circumstances. "i cannot tell thee," said penn, in a choked voice, "how grieved i am to see thee here!" "and grieved am i that you should see me here!" mr. villars replied. "i hoped you were a hundred miles away. i was never sorry to have your company till now! how does it happen?" penn made him sit down again, giving him stackridge's coat for a cushion, and related briefly his adventures. "it is very singular," said the old man, thoughtfully. "it seems almost providential that you are here." "i think it is so," said penn. "i think i am here because i may be of service to you." "ah!" replied the old man, with a tender smile, "my life is of but little value compared with yours. i am a worn-out servant; my day of usefulness is past; i am ready to go home. i do not speak repiningly," he added. "if i can serve my country or my god by suffering--if nothing remains for me but that--then i will cheerfully suffer. our heavenly father orders all things; and i am content. all will be well with us, if we are obedient children; all will yet be well with our poor country, if it is true to itself and to him." "o, do not say thy day of usefulness is past, as long as thou canst speak such words!" said penn, deeply moved. "thank god, i have faith! even in this darkest hour of my life and of my country, i think i have more faith than ever. and i have love, too--love even for those violent men who have thrown us into this dungeon. they know not what they do. they act in ignorance and passion. they seek to destroy our dear old government; but they will only destroy what they are striving so madly to build up." "yes," said one of the prisoners, "the institution will be ruined by those very men! they are worse than the abolitionists themselves; and i hate 'em worse!" "hate their errors, captain grudd, hate their crimes, but hate no man," mr. villars softly replied. "and you would have us submit to them?" "submit, when you can do no better. but even for their sakes, even for the love of them, my friend, resist their crimes when you can. no man will stand by and see a maniac murder his wife and children. it will be better for the poor maddened wretch himself to prevent him; don't you think so, penn?" "i do," said penn, who knew that the argument was meant for himself, not for the rest. "i am thoroughly convinced. you were always right on that subject; and i was always wrong." "i perceive," said the old man, "that you have had experience. it is not i that have convinced you; it is the logic of events." one by one, the prisoners from above followed penn down the dismal stairs. only now and then a fainthearted unionist consented to regain his liberty by taking the oath of allegiance, and "volunteering." at length the room above was cleared, and no more prisoners arrived. penn, who had kept anxious watch for his friend stackridge, was congratulating himself upon the perfect success of his stratagem, when the corporal who had brought him in came rushing down the stairs, accompanied by lieutenant ropes. "stackridge!" he called, searching among the prisoners; "is medad stackridge here?" no man had seen him. "then i tell you," said the corporal to silas, "he is hid somewhere up stairs, or else he has escaped; for i can swear i arrested him." "i can swear you was drunk," said silas, much disgusted. "you have let the wust man of the lot slip through your fingers; for it's certain he ain't here." penn trembled for a minute. but both ropes and the corporal passed him without a suspicion of what was agitating him; and he felt immensely relieved when they returned up the stairs, and the mystery remained unexplained. the prisoners in the cellar were about twelve in number. nearly all were sturdy, earnest men. penn noticed that they were not cast down by their misfortunes, but that they whispered among themselves, exchanging glances of intelligence and defiance. at length captain grudd came to him, and taking him aside, said,-- "well, professor, what do you think of the situation?" "we seem to be at the mercy of the villains," replied penn. "not so much at their mercy either, if we choose to be men! what we want to know is, will you join us? and if there should be a little fighting to do, will you help do it?" penn grasped his hand. "show me that we have any chance of escape, and i am with you!" "i thought you would come to it at last!" grudd smiled grimly. "what we want, to begin with, is a few handy weapons. but we have all been disarmed. have you anything? i noticed they did not search you, probably because you came voluntarily and gave yourself up." "i have stackridge's pistol. it is in the coat mr. villars is sitting on." grudd's eyes lighted up at this unexpected good news. "it will come in play! we must shoot or strangle these fellows, and have their guns,"--with a glance at the soldiers on guard. "but the room up stairs is full of soldiers, and there is a strong guard posted outside, probably surrounding the building." "we will have as little to do with them as possible. young man, i have a secret for you. do you know whose property this is?" "barber jim's, i believe." "and do you know there's a secret passage from this cellar into the cellar under jim's shop? it was dug by jim himself, as a hiding-place for his wife and children. he had bought them, but the heirs of their former owner had set up a claim to them. after that matter was settled, he showed stackridge the place; and that's the way we came to make use of it. we stored our guns in the passage, and came through into this cellar at night to consult and drill. the store being shut, and the windows all fastened and boarded up, made a quiet place of it. as good luck would have it, the night before the military took possession, jim warned us, and we carefully put back every stone in the wall, and left. but some of our guns are still in the passage, if they have not been discovered. we have only to open the wall again to get at them. but before that can be done, the guard must be disposed of." penn, who had listened with intense interest to this recital, drew a long breath. "is the passage behind the spot where mr. villars is sitting?" "within three feet of the box." "then i fear it is discovered. i heard a noise behind that wall not ten minutes ago." grudd started. "are you sure?" "quite sure." "it must be jim himself; or else we have been betrayed." "was the secret known to many?" "to all our club, and one besides," said grudd, frowning anxiously. "stackridge made a mistake; i told him so!" "how?" "we were drilling here that night when dutch carl came to tell us you were in danger. stackridge said he knew the boy, and would trust him. so he brought him in here. and carl is now a rebel volunteer." "with him your secret is safe!" penn hastened to assure the captain. "stackridge was right. carl----" he paused suddenly, looking at the stairs. even while the boy's name was on his lips, the boy himself was entering the cellar. he carried a musket. he wore the confederate uniform. he was accompanied by gad and an officer. they had come to relieve the guard. the men who had previously been on duty at the foot of the stairs retired with the officer, and gad and carl remained in their place. penn at the sight was filled with painful solicitude. to have seen his young friend and pupil shoulder a confederate musket, knowing that it was the love of him that made him a rebel, would alone have been grief enough. how much worse, then, to see him placed here in a position where it might be necessary, in grudd's opinion, to "shoot or strangle" him! but having once exchanged glances with the boy, penn's mind was set at rest. "he has kept your secret," he said to grudd. "he is very shrewd; and if we need help, he will help us." but the noise penn had heard behind the wall was troubling the captain. they retired to that part of the cellar. they had been there but a short time when a very distinct knock was heard on the stones. it sounded like a signal. grudd responded, striking the wall with his heel as he leaned his back against it. then followed a low whistle in the passage. the captain's dark features lighted up. "we are safe!" he whispered in penn's ear. "it is stackridge himself!" xxiii. _the flight of the prisoners._ then commenced strategy. the prisoners gathered in a group before the closed passage, and talked loud, while grudd established a communication with stackridge. in the course of an hour a single stone in the wall had been removed. through the aperture thus formed a bottle was introduced. this grudd pretended afterwards to take from his pocket; and having (apparently) drank, he offered it to his friends. all drank, or appeared to drink, in a manner that provoked gad's thirst. he vowed that it was too bad that anything good should moisten the lips of tory prisoners while a soldier like him went thirsty. "i never saw the time, gad," said the captain, "when i wouldn't share a bottle with you, and i will now." gad held his gun with one hand and grasped the bottle with the other. penn seized the moment when his eyes were directed upwards at the cobweb festoons that adorned the cellar, and the sound of gurgling was in his throat, to whisper in carl's ear,-- "appear to drink, and by and by pass the bottle up stairs." carl understood the game in an instant. "here, you fish!" he said, in the midst of gad's potation. "leafe a little trop for me, vill you?" it was some time before the torrent in gad's throat ceased its murmuring, and he removed his eyes from the cobwebs. then, smacking his lips, and remarking that it was the right sort of stuff, he passed the bottle to carl. "who's the fish this time?" said he, enviously, after carl had made believe swallow for a few seconds. he snatched the bottle, and was drinking as before, when the guard above, hearing what passed, called for a taste. "you shust vait a minute till gad trinks it all up, then you shall pe velcome to vot ish left," said carl. and, possessing himself of the bottle, he handed it up to his comrades. all the soldiers above were asleep except the sentinels. they drank freely, and returned the bottle to gad. he had not finished it before he began to be overcome by drowsiness, its contents having been drugged for the occasion. he sat down on the stairs, and soon slid off upon the ground. carl, who had not in reality swallowed a drop, followed his example. their guns were then taken from them. penn stole softly up the stairs, and reconnoitred while grudd and his companions opened the passage in the wall. "all asleep!" penn whispered, descending. "carl!" carl opened one eye, with a droll expression. "are you asleep?" "wery!" said carl. "will you stay here, or go with us?" "you vill take me prisoner?" "if you wish it." "say you vill plow my brains out if i say vun vord, or make vun noise." "come, come! there's no time for fooling, carl!" "it ish no vooling!" and carl insisted on penn's making the threat. "veil, then, i vill vake up and go 'long mit you." mr. villars had been for some time sleeping soundly; for it was now long past midnight, and weariness had overcome him. penn awoke him; but the old man refused to escape. "go without me. i shall be too great a burden for you." but not one of his fellow-prisoners would consent to leave him behind; and, listening to their expostulations, he at length arose to accompany them. stackridge was in the passage, with the old man ellerton, whom penn had sent to warn him. they had brought a supply of ammunition for the guns, which they had loaded and placed ready for use. penn, supporting and guiding the old minister, was the first to pass through into the cellar under jim's shop. stackridge, preceding them with a lantern, greeted their escape with silent and grim exultation. carl came next. then, one by one, the others followed, each grasping his gun; the rays of the lantern lighting up their determined faces, as they emerged from the low passage, and stood erect, an eager, whispering group, around stackridge. brief the consultation. their plans were soon formed. leaving gad asleep in the cellar behind them; the guard asleep, the soldiers all asleep, in the room above; the sentinels outside the old storehouse keeping watch, pacing to and fro around the cellar, in which not a prisoner remained,--stackridge and his companions filed out noiselessly through jim's closed and silent shop, upon the other street, and took their way swiftly through the town. having appointed a place of meeting with his friends, penn left them, and hastened alone to mr. villars's house. the lights had long been out. but the sisters were awake; virginia had not even gone to bed. she was sitting by her window, gazing out on the hushed, gloomy, breathless summer night,--waiting, waiting, she scarce knew for what,--when she was aware of a figure approaching, and knew penn's light, quick tap at the door. she ran down to admit him. his story was quickly told. toby was roused up; blankets were rolled together, and all the available provisions that could be carried were thrust into baskets. "how shall we get news to you? you will want to hear from your father." penn hastily thought of a plan. "send toby to the round rock,--he knows where it is,--on the side of the mountain. between nine and ten o'clock to-morrow night. i will try to communicate with him there." and penn, bidding the young girl be of good cheer, departed as suddenly as he had arrived. the old negro accompanied him, assisting to carry the burdens. they found stackridge's horse where he had been fastened. penn made toby mount, take a basket in each hand, and hold the blankets before him on the neck of the horse; then, seizing the bridle, and running by his side, he trotted the beast away across the field in a manner that shook the old negro up in lively style. "o, massa penn! i can't stan' dis yere! i's gwine all to pieces! i shall drap some o' dese yer tings, shore!" "you must stand it! hold on to them!" said penn. "and now keep still, for we are near the road." the party had halted at the rendezvous. mr. villars, quite exhausted by his unusual exertions, was seated on the ground when penn came up with toby and the horse. toby dismounted; the old minister mounted in his place, and the negro was sent back. all this passed swiftly and silently; the fugitives were once more on the march, penn walking by the old man's side. scarce a word was spoken; the tramp of feet and the sound of the horse's hoofs alone broke the silence of the night. suddenly a voice hailed them:-- "who goes there?" and they discovered some horsemen drawn up before them beside the road. it was the night-patrol. "friends," answered stackridge, marching straight on. "halt, and give an account of yourselves!" shouted the patrol. "we are peaceable citizens, if let alone," said stackridge. "you'd better not meddle with us." the horsemen waited for them to pass, then, firing their pistols at the fugitives, put spurs to their horses, and galloped away towards the village. "don't fire!" cried stackridge, as half a dozen pieces were levelled in the darkness. "we've no ammunition to throw away, and no time to lose. they'll give the alarm. take straight to the mountains!" nobody had been hit. turning aside from the road, they took their way across the broad pasture lands that sloped upwards to the rocky hills. the dark valley spread beneath them; on the other side rose the dim outlines of the shadowy mountain range; over all spread a still, cloudless sky, thick-strewn with glittering star-dust. in the village, the ringing of bells startled the night with a wild clamor. stackridge laughed. "they'll make noise enough now to wake gad himself! but noise won't hurt anybody. hear the drums!" "they are coming this way," said penn. "fools, to set out in pursuit of us with drums beating!" said captain grudd. "very kind in them to give us notice! they should bring lighted torches, too." "once in the mountains," said stackridge, "we are safe. there we can defend ourselves against a hundred. other union men will join us, or bring us supplies. we ought to have made this move before; and i'm glad we've been forced to it at last. if every union man in the south had made a bold stand in the beginning, this cursed rebellion never would have got such a start." suddenly bells and drums were silent. "the less noise the more danger," said stackridge. the way was growing difficult for the horse's feet. the cow-paths, which it had been easy to follow at first, disappeared among the thickets. at length, on the crest of a hill, the party halted to rest. "daylight!" said stackridge, turning his face to the east. the sky was brightening; the shadows in the valley melted slowly away; far off the cocks crew. "hark!" said the captain. "do you hear anything?" "i heard a woice!" said carl. "hist!" said penn. "look yonder! there they come! around those bushes at the foot of the oak!" "sure as fate, there they are!" said the captain. the fugitives crowded to his side, eager, grasping their gunstocks, and peering with intent eyes through the darkness in the direction in which he pointed. "take the horse," said stackridge to penn, "and lead him up through that gap out of the reach of the bullets. we'll stay and give these rascals a lesson. go along with him, carl, if you don't want to fight your friends." there were not guns enough for all; and grudd had stackridge's revolver. there was nothing better, then, for penn and carl to do than to consent to this arrangement. penn went before, leading the horse up the dry bed of a brook. carl followed, urging the animal from behind. mr. villars rode with the baggage, which had been lashed to the saddle. only the clashing of the iron hoofs on the stones broke the stillness of the morning in that mountain solitude. stackridge and his compatriots had suddenly become invisible, crouching among bushes and behind rocks. the retreat of penn and his companions was discovered by the pursuing party, who mistook it for a general flight of the fugitives. they rushed forward with a shout. they had a rugged and barren hill to ascend. half way up the slope they saw flashes of fire burst from the rocks above, heard the rapid "crack--crackle--crack!" of a dozen pieces, and retreated in confusion down the hill again. stackridge and his companions coolly proceeded to reload their guns. "they didn't know we had arms," said the farmer, with a grim smile. "they'll be more cautious now." "we've done for two or three of 'em!" said captain grudd. "there they lie; one is crawling off." "let him crawl!" said stackridge. "sorry to kill any of 'em; but it's about time for 'em to know we're in 'arnest." "they've gone to cover in the laurels," said grudd. "let's shift our ground, and watch their movements." penn and carl in the mean time made haste to get the horse and his burden beyond the reach of bullets. they toiled up the bed of the brook until it was no longer passable. huge bowlders lay jammed and crowded in clefts of the mountain before them. penn remembered the spot. he had been there in spring, when down over the rocks, now covered with lichens and dry scum, poured an impetuous torrent. "now i know where i am," he said. "i don't believe it is possible to get the horse any farther. we will wait here for our friends. mr. villars, if you will dismount, we will try to get you up on the bank." "i pity you, my children," said the old man. "you should never have encumbered yourselves with such a burden as i am. i can neither fight nor run. is it sunrise yet?" "it is sunrise, and a beautiful morning! the fresh rays come to us here, sifted through the dewy trees. sit down on this rock. find the luncheon, carl. ah, carl!"--penn regarded the boy affectionately,--"i am glad to have you with me again, but i can't forget that you are a rebel! and a deserter!" "i a deserter? you mishtake," said carl. "i am a prisoner." "you disobeyed me, carl! i told you not to enlist. you did wrong." "now shust listen," said carl, "and i vill tell you. i did right. cause vy. you are alive and vell now, ain't you?" penn smilingly admitted the fact. "and that is petter as being hung?" "i am not so very certain of that, carl!" "vell, i am certain for you. hanging ish no goot. hunderts of vellers that don't like the rebels no more as you do, wolunteer rather than to be hung. shows their goot sense." "but you have taken an oath--you are under a solemn engagement, carl, to fight against the government." "you mishtake unce more--two times. i make a pargain. i say to that man, 'you let mishter hapgoot go free, and not let him be hurt, and i vill be a rebel.' vell, he agrees. but he don't keep his vord. he lets 'em go for to hang you vunce more. now, if he preaks his part of the pargain, vy shouldn't i preak mine?" "well, carl," said penn, laughing, while his eyes glistened, "i trust thy conscience is clear in the matter. i can only say that, though i don't approve of thy being a rebel, i love thee all the better for it. what do you think, mr. villars?" "sometimes people do wrong from a motive so pure and disinterested that it sanctifies the action. this is carl's case, i think." "hello!" cried carl, jumping up from the bank on which they were seated. "guns! they are at it again! i vill go see!" the boy disappeared, scrambling down the dry bed of the torrent. the firing continued at irregular intervals for half an hour. carl did not return. penn grew anxious. he stood, intently listening, when he heard a noise behind him, and, turning quickly, saw the glimmer of musket-barrels over the rocks. "fire!" said a voice. and penn threw himself down under the bank just in time to avoid the discharge of half a dozen pieces aimed at his head. "what is the trouble?" asked the old man, who was lying on some blankets spread for him there in the shade. before penn could reply, silas ropes and six men came rushing down upon them. stackridge had been out-generalled. whilst he and his men were being diverted by a feigned attack in front, two different parties had been despatched by circuitous routes to get in his rear. in executing the part of the plan intrusted to him, ropes had unexpectedly come upon the schoolmaster and his companion. a minute later both were seized and dragged up from the bed of the torrent. "ye don't escape me this time!" said silas, with brutal exultation. "tie him up to the tree thar; serve the old one the same. we can't be bothered with prisoners." "what are you going to do to that helpless, blind old man?" cried penn. "do what you please with me; i expect no mercy,--i ask none. but i entreat you, respect his gray hair!" the appeal seemed to have some effect even on the savage-hearted silas. he glanced at his men: they were evidently of the opinion that the slaughter of the old clergyman was uncalled for. "wal, tie the old ranter, and leave him. quick work, boys. got the schoolmaster fast?" "all right," said the men. "wal, now stand back here, and les' have a little bayonet practice." penn knew very well what that meant. his clothes were stripped from him, in order to present a fair mark for the murderous steel; and he was bound to a tree. "one at a time," said silas. "try your hand, griffin. _charge--bayonet!_" in vain the old minister endeavored to make himself heard in his friend's behalf. he could only pray for him. penn saw the ferocious soldier springing towards him, the deadly bayonet thrust straight at his heart. in an instant the murder would have been done. but when within two paces of his victim, the steel almost touching his breast, griffin uttered a yell, dropped his gun, flung up his hands, and fell dead at penn's feet. at the same moment a light curl of smoke was wafted from the heaped bowlders in the chasm above, and the echoes of a rifle-crack reverberated among the rocks. the assassins were terror-struck. they looked all around; not a human being was in sight. distant firing proclaimed that stackridge and his men were still engaged. the death that struck down griffin seemed to have fallen from heaven. they waited but a moment, then fled precipitately, leaving penn still bound, but uninjured, with the dead rebel at his feet. then two figures came gliding swiftly down over the rocks. penn uttered a cry of joy. it was pomp and cudjo. xxiv. _the dead rebel's musket._ pomp came reloading his rifle, while cudjo, knife in hand, flew at the cords that confined the schoolmaster. in his gratitude to heaven and his deliverers, penn could have hugged that grotesque, half-savage creature to his heart. but no time was to be lost. snatching the knife, he hastened to release the bewildered clergyman. "pomp, my noble fellow!" the negro turned from looking after the retreating rebels, with a gleam of triumph on his proud and lofty features: penn wrung his hand. "you have twice saved my life--now let me ask one more favor of you! take mr. villars to your cave--do for him what you have done for me. he is a much better christian, and far more deserving of your kindness, than i ever was." "and you?" said pomp, quietly. "i will take my chance with the others." and penn in few words explained the occurrences of the night and morning. pomp shrugged his shoulders frowningly. the time was at hand when he and cudjo could no longer enjoy in freedom their wild mountain life; even they must soon be drawn into the great deadly struggle. this he foresaw, and his soul was darkened for a moment. "cudjo! shall we take this old man to our den?" "no, no! don't ye take nobody dar! on'y massa hapgood." "but he is blind!" said penn. "others will come after who are not blind," said pomp, his brow still stern and thoughtful. "my friends," interposed the old clergyman, mildly, "do nothing for me that will bring danger to yourselves, i entreat you!" these unselfish words, spoken with serious and benignant aspect, touched the generous chords in pomp's breast. "why should we blacks have anything to do with this quarrel?" he said with earnest feeling. "your friends down there"--meaning stackridge and his party--"are all slaveholders or pro-slavery men. why should we care which side destroys the other?" "there is a god," answered mr. villars, with a beaming light in his unterrified countenance, "who is not prejudiced against color; who loves equally his black and his white children; and who, by means of this war that seems so needless and so cruel, is working out the redemption, not of the misguided white masters only, but also of the slave. whether you will or not, this war concerns the black man, and he cannot long keep out of it. then will you side with your avowed enemies, or with those who are already fighting in your cause without knowing it?" these words probed the deep convictions of pomp's breast. he had from the first believed that the war meant death to slavery; although of late the persistent and almost universal cry of union men for the "union as it was,"--the union with the injustice of slavery at its core,--had somewhat wearied his patience and weakened his faith. "here, cudjo! help get this horse up--we can find a path for him." reluctantly cudjo obeyed; and almost by main strength the two athletic blacks lifted and pulled the animal up the bank, and out of the chasm. penn assisted his old friend to remount, then took leave of him. "i will be with you again soon!" he cried, hopefully, as the negroes urged the horse forward into the thickets. then the young quaker, left alone, turned to look at the dead rebel. for a moment horrible nausea and faintness made him lean against the tree for support. it was the first violent death of which he had ever been an eye-witness. he had known this man,--who was indeed the same griffin, who had assisted the unwilling pepperill to bring the tar-kettle to the wood-side on a certain memorable evening; ignorant, intemperate, too proud to work in a region where slavery made industry a disgrace, and yet a fierce champion of the system which was his greatest curse. now there he lay, in his dirt, and rags, and blood, his neck shot through; the same expression of ferocious hate with which he had rushed to bayonet the schoolmaster still distorting his visage;--an object of horror and loathing. was it not assuming a terrible responsibility to send this rampant sinner to his long account? yet the choice was between his life and penn's; and had not pomp done well? still penn could not help feeling remorse and commiseration for the wretch. "poor griffin! i have no murderous hatred for such as you! but if you come in the way of my country's safety, or of the welfare of my friends, you must take the penalty!" he picked up the musket that had fallen at his feet where he stood bound. then, stifling his disgust, he felt in the dead man's pockets for ammunition. cartridges there were none; but in their place he found some bullets and a powder-flask. then putting in practice the lessons he had learned of pomp when they hunted together on the mountain, he loaded the gun, resolutely setting his teeth and drawing his breath hard when he thought of the different kind of game it might now be his duty to shoot. while thus occupied he heard footsteps that gave him a sudden start. he turned quickly, catching up the gun. to his immense relief he saw pomp, approaching with a smile. "i thought you were with mr. villars!" "cudjo has gone with him. i am going with you." "o pomp!" cried penn, with a joyful sense of reliance upon his powerful and sagacious black friend. "but is mr. villars safe?" "cudjo is faithful," said pomp. "he believes the old man is your friend, and a friend of the slave. besides, i promised, if he would take him to the cave, that my next shot, if i have a chance, should be at his old acquaintance, sile ropes." pomp took the lead, guiding penn through hollows and among thickets to a ledge crowned with shrubs of savin, whose summit commanded a view of all that mountain-side. they crept among the bushes to the edge of the cliff. there they paused. neither friend nor foe was in sight. no sound of fire-arms was heard,--only the birds were singing. penn never forgot that scene. how fresh, and beautiful, and still the morning was! the sunlight flushed the craggy and wooded slopes. far off, dim with early mist, lay the lovely hills and valleys of east tennessee. on the north the peaks of the mountain range soared away, purple, rosy, glorious, in soft suffusing light. in the south-west other peaks receded, billowy and blue. and god's pure, deep sky was over all. touched by the divine beauty of the day, penn lay thinking with shame of the scenes of human folly and violence with which it had been desecrated, when the negro drew him softly by the sleeve. "look yonder! down in the edge of that little grove!" peering through an opening in the savins through which pomp had thrust his rifle, penn saw, stealing cautiously out of the grove, a man. "it is stackridge! he is reconnoitring." "it is a retreat," said pomp. "see, there they all come!" "carl with the rest, showing them the way!" added penn. he was watching with intense interest the movements of his friends, and rejoicing that no foe was in sight, when suddenly pomp uttered a warning whisper. "where? what?" said penn, eagerly looking in the direction in which the negro pointed. down at their left was a long line of dark thickets which marked the edge of a ravine; out of which he now saw emerging, one by one, a file of armed men. they climbed up a narrow and difficult pass, and halted on the skirts of the thicket. ten--twelve--fifteen, penn counted. it was the other party that had been sent out simultaneously with that under lieutenant ropes, to get in the rear of the fugitives. and they had succeeded. only a bushy ridge concealed them from stackridge's men, who were coming up under the shelter of the same ridge on the other side. penn trembled with excitement as he saw the rebels cross swiftly forward, skulking among the bushes, to the summit of the ridge. the negro's eyes blazed, but he was perfectly cool. on one knee, his left foot advanced,--holding his rifle with one hand, and parting the bushes with the other,--he smiled as he observed the situation. "here," said he to penn, "rest your gun in this little crotch. now can you see to take aim?" "yes," said penn, with his heart in his throat. "calm your nerves! everything depends on our first shot. wait till i give the word. see! they have discovered stackridge!" "we might shout, and warn him," said penn, whose nature still shrank from using any more deadly means of saving his friends. "and so discover ourselves! that never'll do. have you sighted your man?" "yes--the one lying on his belly behind that cedar." "very well! i'll take the fellow next him. the moment you have fired, keep perfectly still, only draw your gun back and load. now--fire!" just then stackridge and his men, in full view of their hidden friends on the ledge, were appearing to the fifteen ambushed rebels also. suddenly the loud bang of a musket, followed instantly by the sharp crack of a rifle, echoed down the mountain side. the rebel behind the cedar sprang to his feet, dropping his gun, and throwing up his hands, and rushed back down the ridge, screaming, "i'm hit! i'm hit!" while the man next him also attempted to rise, but fell again, pomp having discreetly aimed at an exposed leg. "i'm glad we've only wounded them!" whispered penn, very pale, his lips compressed, his eyes gleaming. "it has the effect!" said pomp. "your friends have discovered the ambush, thanks to that coward's uproar; and now the rascals are panic-struck! fire again as they go into the ravine--powder alone will do now--a little noise will send them tumbling!" they accordingly fired blank discharges; at the same time stackridge and his friends, recovering from their momentary astonishment, charged after the retreating rebels, who had barely time to carry off their wounded and escape into the ravine, when their pursuers scaled the ridge. "i'm off!" said pomp, creeping back through the savins. "these men are not my friends, though they are yours. i'll go and look after cudjo." and bounding down into a hollow, he was quickly out of sight. xxv. _black and white._ penn attached his handkerchief to the end of the musket, and standing upon the ledge, waved it over the bushes. carl, recognizing him, was the first to scramble up the height. the whole party followed, each sturdy patriot wringing the schoolmaster's hand with hearty congratulations when they learned what use he had made of the rebel musket. "but the whole credit of the manoeuvre belongs not to me, but to the negro pomp!" and he related the story of his own rescue and theirs. the patriots looked grave. "where is the fellow?" asked stackridge. "being a fugitive slave, he feared lest he should find little favor in the eyes of his master's neighbors," said penn. "that's where he was right!" said deslow, with a bigoted and unforgiving expression. "nothing under the sun shall make me give encouragement to a nigger's running away." two or three others nodded grim assent to this first principle of the slaveholder's discipline. penn was fired with exasperation and scorn, and would have separated himself from these narrow-minded patriots on the spot, had not stackridge jumped up from the ground upon which he had thrown himself, and, striking his gun barrel fiercely, exclaimed,-- "now, that's what i call cursed foolishness, deslow! and every man that holds to that way of thinking had better go over to t'other side to oncet! if we can't make up our minds to sacrifice our property, and, what's more to some folks, our prejudices, in the cause we're fighting for, we may as well stop before we stir a step further. i'm a slaveholder, and always have been; but i swear, i can't say as i ever felt it was such a divine institution as some try to make it out, and i don't believe there's a man here that thinks in his heart that it's just right. and as for the niggers running away, my private sentiment is, that i don't blame 'em a mite. you or i, deslow, would run in their place; you know you would." and stackridge wiped his brow savagely. "and as for this particular case," said captain grudd, with a gleam of light in his lean and swarthy countenance, "don't le's be blind to our own interests; don't le's be downright fools. i've said from the first that slavery and the rebellion was brother and sister,--they go together; and i've made up my mind to stand by my country and the old flag, whatever comes of the institution." all, except the conservative deslow, applauded this resolution. "then consider," added the captain, his deliberate, impressive manner proving quite as effective as stackridge's more excited and fiery style,--"here we are fighting for our very lives and liberties; and if, as i say, slavery's the cause of this war, then we're fighting against slavery, the best we can fix it. how monstrous absurd 'twill be, then, for us to refuse the assistance of any nigger that has it to give! bythewood, pomp's owner, is one of the hottest secessionists i know; and d'ye think i want pomp sent back to him, to help that side, when he has shown that he can be of such mighty good service to us? i move that we send the professor to make a treaty with him. what do you say, mr. hapgood?" "i say," replied penn with enthusiasm, "that he and cudjo are in a condition to do infinitely more for us than we can do for them; and if their alliance can be secured, i say that we ought by all means to secure it." "that depends," said grudd, "upon what we intend to do. are we going to make a stand here, and see if the loyal part of old tennessee will rise up and sustain us? or are we going to fight our way over the mountains, and never come back till a union army comes with us to set things a little to rights here?" "wa'al," said withers, who concealed a hardy courage and earnest patriotism under a phlegmatic and droll exterior, "while we're discussin' that question, i reckon we may as well have breakfast. this is as good a place as any,--we can take turns keeping a lookout from that ledge." he proceeded to kindle a fire in the hollow. the fugitives, in passing a field of corn, had thrust into their pockets a plentiful supply of green ears, which they now husked and roasted. there was a spring in the rocks near by, from which they drank lying on their faces, and dipping in their beards. this was their breakfast; during which penn's mission to the blacks was fully discussed, and finally decided upon. the meal concluded, the refugees resumed their march, and entered an immense thick wood farther up the mountain. in a cool and shadowy spot they halted once more; and here penn took leave of them, setting out on his visit to the cave. he had a mile to travel over a rough, wild region, where the fires that had formerly devastated it had left the only visible marks of a near civilization. in a tranquil little dell that had grown up to wild grass, he came suddenly upon a horse feeding. it was stackridge's useful nag, which looked up from his lofty grove-shaded pasture with a low whinny of recognition as penn patted his neck and passed along. a furlong or two farther on the well-known ravine opened,--dark, silent, profound, with its shaggy sides, one in shadow and the other in the sun, and its little embowered brook trickling far down there amid mossy stones;--as lonesome, wild, and solitary as if no human eye had ever beheld it before. penn glided over the ledges, and descended along the narrow shelf of rock, behind the thickets that screened the entrance to the cave. sunlight, and mountain wind, and summer heat he left behind, and entered the cool, still, gloomy abode. cudjo ran to the mouth of the cave to meet him. "lef me frow dis yer blanket ober your shoulders, while ye cool off; cotch yer de'f cold, if ye don't. de ol' man's a 'speckin' ye." penn was relieved to learn that mr. villars had arrived in safety, and gratified to find him lying comfortably on the bed conversing with pomp. "by the blessing of god, i am very well indeed, my dear penn. these excellent fellow-christians have taken the best of care of me. the atmosphere of the cave, which i thought at first chilly, i now find deliciously pure and refreshing. and its gloom, you know, don't trouble me," added the blind old man with a smile. "have you had any more trouble since pomp left you?" "no," said penn; "thanks to him. pomp, our friends want to see you and thank you, and they have sent me to bring you to them." the negro merely shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. "what good der tanks do to we?" cried cudjo. "ain't one ob dem ar men but what would been glad to hab us cotched and licked for runnin' away, fur de 'xample to de tudder niggers." "if that was true of them once, it is not now," said penn. "yet, pomp, if you feel that there is the least danger in going to them, do not go." "danger?" the negro's proud and lofty look showed what he thought of that. "cudjo, make mr. hapgood a cup of coffee; he looks tired. you have had a hard time, i reckon, since you left us." "him stay wid us now till he chirk up again," said cudjo, running to his coffee-box. "him and de ol' gemman stay--nobody else." while the coffee was making, penn, sitting on one of the stone blocks which he had named giant's stools, repeated such parts of the late breakfast talk of stackridge and his friends as he thought would interest pomp and win his confidence. then he drank the strong, black beverage in silence, leaving the negro to his own reflections. "are you going again?" said pomp. "yes; i promised them i would return." "take some coffee and a kettle to boil it in; they will be glad of it, i should think." "o pomp! you know how to do good even to your enemies! what shall i say to them for you?" "what i have to say to them i will say myself," said pomp, taking his rifle in one hand, and the kettle in the other, to cudjo's great wrath and disgust. he set out with penn immediately. they found the patriots reposing themselves about the roots of the forest trees, on the banks of a stream that came gurgling and plashing down the mountain side. above them spread the beautiful green tops of maples, tinted with sunshine and softly rustling in the breeze. the curving banks formed here a little natural amphitheatre, carpeted with moss and old leaves, on which they sat or reclined, with their hats off and their guns at their sides. a sentry posted on the edge of the forest brought in penn and his companion. there was a stir of interest among the patriots, and some of them rose to their feet. stackridge, grudd, and two or three others cordially offered the negro their hands, and pledged him their gratitude and friendship. pomp accepted these tokens of esteem in silence,--his countenance maintaining a somewhat haughty expression, his lips firm, his eyes kindling with a strange light. penn took the kettle, and proceeded, with carl's help, to make a fire and prepare coffee for the company, intently listening the while to all that was said. jutting from one bank of the stream, which washed its base, was a huge, square block covered with dark-green moss. upon this pomp stepped, and rested his rifle upon it, and bared his massive and splendid head, and stood facing his auditors with a placid smile, under the canopy of leaves. there was not among them all so noble a figure of a man as he who stood upon the rock; and he seemed to have chosen this somewhat theatrical attitude in order to illustrate, by his own imposing personal presence, the words that rose to his lips. "you will excuse me, gentlemen, if i cannot forget that i am talking with those who buy and sell men like me!" men like him! the suggestion seemed for a moment to strike the slave-owning patriots dumb with surprise and embarrassment. "no, no, pomp," cried stackridge, "not men like you--there are few like you anywhere." "i wish there was more like him, and that i owned a good gang of 'em!" muttered the man deslow. "i don't," replied withers, with a drawl which had a deep meaning in it; "twould be too much like sleeping on a row of powder barrels, with lighted candles stuck in the bung holes. dangerous, them big knowin' niggers be." pomp did not answer for a minute, but stood as if gathering power into himself, with one long, deep breath inflating his chest, and casting a glance upward through the sun-lit summer foliage. "you buy and sell men, and women, and children of my race. if i am not like them, it is because circumstances have lifted me out of the wretched condition in which it is your constant policy and endeavor to keep us. by your laws--the laws you make and uphold--i am this day claimed as a slave; by your laws i am hunted as a slave;--yes, some of you here have joined your neighbor in the hunt for me, as if i was no more than a wild beast to be hounded and shot down if i could not be caught. now tell me what union or concord there can be between you and me!" "i own," said deslow,--for pomp's gleaming eyes had darted significant lightnings at him,--"i did once come up here with bythewood to see if we could find you. not that i had anything against you, pomp,--not a thing; and as for your quarrel with your master, i ain't sure but you had the right on't; but you know as well as we do that we can't countenance a nigger's running away, under any circumstances." "no!" said pomp, with sparkling sarcasm. "your secessionist neighbors revolt against the mildest government in the world, and resort to bloodshed on account of some fancied wrongs. you revolt against them because you prefer the old government to theirs. your forefathers went to war with the mother country on account of a few taxes. but a negro must not revolt, he must not even attempt to run away, although he feels the relentless heel of oppression grinding into the dust all his rights, all that is dear to him, all that he loves! a white man may take up arms to defend a bit of property; but a black man has no right to rise up and defend either his wife, or his child, or his liberty, or even his own life, against his master!" only the narrow-minded deslow had the confidence to meet this stunning argument, enforced as it was by the speaker's powerful manner, superb physical manhood, and superior intelligence. "you know, pomp, that your condition, to begin with, is very different from that of any white man. your relation to your master is not that of a man to his neighbor, or of a citizen to the government; it is that of property to its owner." "property!" there was something almost wicked in the wild, bright glance with which the negro repeated this word. "how came we property, sir?" "our laws make you so, and you have been acquired as property," said deslow, not unkindly, but in his bigoted, obstinate way. "so, really, pomp, you can't blame us for the view we take of it, though it does conflict a little with your choice in the matter." "but suppose i can show you that you are wrong, and that even by your own laws we are not, and cannot be, property?" said pomp, with a princely courtesy, looking down from the rock upon deslow, so evidently in every way his inferior. "i will admit your title to a lot of land you may purchase, or reclaim from nature; or to an animal you have captured, or bought, or raised. but a man's natural, original owner is--himself. now, i never sold myself. my father never sold himself. my father was stolen by pirates on the coast of africa, and brought to this country, and sold. the man who bought him bought what had been stolen. by your own laws you cannot hold stolen property. though it is bought and sold a thousand times, let the original owner appear, and it is his,--nobody else has the shadow of a claim. my father was stolen property, if he was property at all. he was his own rightful owner. though he had been robbed of himself, that made no difference with the justice of the case. it was so with my mother. it is so with me. it is the same with every black man on this continent. not one ever sold himself, or can be sold, or can be owned. for to say that what a man steals or takes by force is his, to dispose of as he chooses, is to go back to barbarism: it is not the law of any christian land. so much," added pomp, blowing the words from him, as if all the false arguments in favor of slavery were no more to the man's soul, and its eternal, god-given rights, than the breath he blew contemptuously forth into those mountain woods,--"so much for the claim of property!" penn was so delighted with this triumphant declaration of principles that he could have flung his hat into the maple boughs and shouted "bravo!" he deemed it discreet, however, to confine the expression of his enthusiasm to a tight grasp on carl's sympathetic hand, and to watch the effect of the speech on the rest. "deslow," laughed stackridge, himself not ill pleased with pomp's arguments, "what do you say to that?" "wal," said deslow, "i never thought on't in just that light before; and i own he makes out a pooty good show of a case. but yet--" he hesitated, scratching for an idea among the stiff black hair that grew on his low, wrinkled forehead. "but yet, but yet, but yet!" said pomp, ironically. "it's so hard, when our selfish interests are at stake, to confess our injustice or give up a bad cause! but i did not come here to argue my right to my own manhood. i take it without arguing. neither did i come to ask anything for myself. you can do nothing for me but get me into trouble. yet i believe in the cause in which you have taken up arms. i have served you this morning without being asked by you to do it; and i may assist you again when the time comes. in the mean while, if you want anything that i have, it is yours; for i recognize that we are brothers, though you do not. but i will not join you, for i am neither slave nor inferior, and i have no wish to be acknowledged an equal." and pomp stepped off the rock with an air that seemed to say, "_i_ know who is the equal of the best of you; and that is enough." if this man had any fault more prominent than another, it was pride; yet that haughty self-assertion which would have been offensive in a white man, was vastly becoming to the haughty and powerful black. "i, for one," said the impulsive stackridge, again grasping his hand, "honor the position you take. what i wanted was to thank you for what you have done, and to promise that you are safe from danger as far as regards us. i'm glad you've got your liberty. i hope you will keep it. you deserve it. every slave deserves the same that has the manliness to strike a blow for the good old government----" "that has kept him a slave," added pomp, with a bitter smile. "yes; and so much the more noble in him to fight for it!" said stackridge. "now, if you don't want to let us into the secrets of your way of life, i can't say i blame ye. we're glad to get the coffee; and if you've any game or potatoes on hand, that you can spare, we'll take 'em, and pay ye when we have a chance to forage for ourselves, which won't be long first." "i have some salted bear's meat that you'll be welcome to; and may be cudjo can spare a little meal." his eye rested on carl, whose fidelity he knew. "let that boy come with us! we will send the provisions by him." carl was delighted with the honor, for penn was likewise going back to mr. villars with the negro. xxvi. _why augustus did not propose._ the valiant confederates, returning from the pursuit of the escaped prisoners, proved themselves possessed of at least one important qualification for serving the rebel cause. they were able to give a marvellously good account of themselves. whatever the military authorities may have thought of it, the people believed that the little band of union men had been nearly annihilated. in the midst of the excitement, mr. augustus bythewood returned home, and went in the evening to call upon, counsel, and console the daughters of the old man villars. "o, massa bythewood!" cried toby, in great joy at sight of him, "dey been killin' ol' massa up on de mountain; and de young ladies--o, massa bythewood! ye must do sumfin' for de young ladies and ol' massa!" mr. augustus flattered himself that he had arrived at just the right time. "my dear virginia! you cannot conceive of my astonishment and grief on hearing what has happened to your family! i have but just this hour returned to town, or i should have hastened before to assure you that all i can do for you i will most gladly undertake. my very dear young lady, be comforted, i conjure you; for it grieves me to the heart to see how pale, how very pale and distressed, you look!" thus the amiable, the chivalrous, the friendly gus overflowed with eloquent sympathy and protestation, pressing affectionately the hand of the "very pale and distressed" fair one, and bowing low his dark, aristocratic southern curls over it; appearing, in short, the very courteous, noble, and devoted gentleman he wasn't. virginia breathed hard, compressed her lips, white with indignation as well as with suffering, and let him act his part. and the confident lover did not dream that those eyes, red with grief and surrounded by dark circles, saw through all his hypocritical professions, or that the cold, passive little hand, abandoned through the apathy of despair to his caresses, would have been thrust into the fire, before ever he would have been allowed to win it. "surely," she managed to say in a voice scarce above a whisper, "if ever we needed a true, disinterested friend, it is now. sit down; and be so kind as to excuse me a moment. i will call my sister." so she withdrew. and augustus smiled. "now is my time!" he said complacently to himself, resolved to make an offer of that valuable hand of his that very night: forlorn, friendless, wretched, was it possible that she could refuse such a prize? so he sat, and fondled his curls, and practised sweet smiles, and sympathized with salina when she came, and waited for virginia,--little knowing what was to happen to her, and to him, and to all, before ever he saw that vanished face again. for virginia had business on her hands that night. she remembered the hurried directions penn had given for communicating with her father, and she was already preparing to send off toby to the round rock. "gracious, missis!" said the old negro, returning hastily to the kitchen door where she stood watching his departure, "dar's a man out dar, a waitin'! did ye see him, missis?" she had indeed seen a human figure advance in the darkness, as if with intent to intercept or follow him. perplexed and indignant at the discovery, she suffered the old servant to return into the house, and remained herself to see what became of the figure. it moved off a little way in the darkness, and disappeared. "wha' sh'll we do?" toby rolled up his eyes in consternation. "do jes' speak to mr. bythewood, miss jinny; he's de bestist friend--he'll tell what to do." "no, no, toby!" said virginia, collecting herself, and speaking with decision. "he is the last person i would consult. toby, you must try again; for either you or i must be at the rock before ten o'clock." "you, miss jinny? who eber heern o' sich a ting!" "go yourself, then, good toby!" and she earnestly reminded him of the necessity. "o, yes, yes! i'll go! massa can't lib widout ol' toby, dat's a fac'!" but looking out again in the dark, his zeal was suddenly damped. "dey cotch me, dey sarve me wus 'n dey sarved ol' pete, shore! can't help tinkin' ob dat!" virginia saw what serious cause there was to dread such a catastrophe. but her resolution was unshaken. "toby, listen. that man out there is a spy. his object is to see if any of our friends come to the house, or if we send to them. he won't molest you; but he may follow to see where you go. if he does, then make a wide circuit, and return home, and i will find some other means of communication." thus encouraged, the negro set out a second time. virginia followed him at a distance. she saw, as she anticipated, the figure start up again, and move off in the direction he was going. toby accordingly commenced making a large detour through the fields, and both he and the shadow dogging him were soon out of sight. then virginia lost no time in executing the other plan at which she had hinted. instead of returning, to give up the undertaking in despair, and listen to matrimonial proposals from gus bythewood, she took a long breath, gathered up her skirts, and set out for the mountain. there was a new moon, but it was hidden by clouds. still the evening was not very dark. the long twilight of the summer day still lingered in the valley. here and there she could distinguish landmarks,--a knoll, a rock, or a tree,--which gave her confidence. i will not say that she feared nothing. she was by nature timid, imaginative, and she feared many things. her own footsteps were a terror to her. the moving of a bush in the wind, the starting of a rabbit from her path, caused her flesh to thrill. at sight of an object slowly and noiselessly emerging from the darkness and standing before her, motionless and spectral, she almost fainted, until she discovered that it was an old acquaintance, a tall pine stump. but all these childish terrors she resolutely overcame. her heart never faltered in its purpose. affection for her father, anxiety for his welfare, and, it may be, some little solicitude for her father's friend, who had appointed the tryst at the rock,--not with herself, indeed, but with toby,--kept her firm and unwavering in her course. and beneath all, deep in her soul, was a strong religious sense, a faith in a divine guidance and protection. what most she feared was neither ghost nor wild beast of the mountains. she felt that, if she could avoid encountering the brutal soldiers of secession, keeping watch along the mountain-side, she would willingly risk everything else. with the utmost caution, with breathless tread, she drew near the road she was to cross. her footsteps were less loud than her heart-beats. dogs barked in the distance. in a pool near by, some happy frogs were singing. the shrill cry of a katydid came from a poplar tree by the road--"katy did! katy didn't!" with vehement iteration and contradiction. no other sounds; she waited and listened long; then glided across the road. she had come far from the village in order to avoid meeting any one. her course now lay directly up the mountain-side. the round rock was a famous bowlder known to picnic parties that frequented the spot in summer to enjoy a view from its summit, and a luncheon under its shadow. she had been there a dozen times; but could she find it in the night? in vain, as she toiled upwards, she strained her eyes to see the huge dim stone jutting out from the shadowy rocks and bushes. at length a sudden light, faint and silvery, streamed down upon her. she looked and saw the clouds parted, and below them the crescent moon setting, like a cimeter of white flame withdrawn by an invisible hand behind the vast shadowy summit of the mountain. almost at the same moment she discovered the object she sought. the rock was close before her; and close upon her right was the grove which she herself had so often helped to fill with singing and laughter. how little she felt like either singing or laughing now! she remembered--indeed, had she not remembered all the way?--that the last time she visited the spot it was in company with penn. now she had come to meet him again--how unmaidenly the act! in darkness, in loneliness, far from the village and its twinkling lights, to meet an attractive and a very good looking young man! what would the world say? virginia did not care what the world would say. but now she began to question within herself, "what would penn think?" and almost to shrink from meeting him. strong, however, in her own conscious purity of heart, strong also in her confidence in him, she put behind her every unworthy thought, and sought the shelter of the rock. and there, after all her labors and fears, scratches in her flesh and rents in her clothes,--there she was alone. penn had not come. perhaps he would not come. it was by this time ten o'clock. what should she do? remain, hoping that he would yet fulfil his promise? or return the way she came, unsatisfied, disheartened, weary, her heart and strength sustained by no word of comfort from him, by no tidings from her father? she waited. it was not long before her eager ear caught the sound of footsteps. an active figure was coming along the edge of the grove. how joyously her heart bounded! in order that penn might not be too suddenly surprised at finding her in toby's place, she stepped out from the shadow of the bowlder, and advanced to meet him. she shrank back again as suddenly, fear curdling her blood. the comer was not penn. he wore the confederate uniform: this was what terrified her. she crouched down under the rock; but perceiving that the man did not pass by,--that he walked straight up to her,--she started forth again, in the vain hope to escape by flight. almost at the first step she tripped and fell; and the hand of the confederate soldier was on her arm. xxvii. _the men with the dark lantern._ the moon had now set, and it was dark. the frightened girl could not distinguish the features of him who bent over her; but through the trance of horror that was upon her, she recognized a voice. "wirginie! i tought it vas you! don't you know me, wirginie?" no voice had ever before brought such joy to her soul. "o carl! why didn't i know you?" "vy not? pecause maybe you vas looking for somepody else. mishter hapgoot came part vay mit me, but he vas so used up i made him shtop till i came to pring toby up vere he is." then virginia, recovering from her agitation, had a score of questions to ask about her father, about the fight, and about penn. "if you vill only go up, he vill tell you so much more as i can. then you vill go and see your fahder. that vill be petter as going back to-night, vere there is no goot shtout fellow in the house to prewail on them willains to keep their dishtance." even at the outset of her adventurous journey virginia had felt a vague hope that she should visit her father before she returned. what the boy said inspired her with courage to proceed. she would go up as far as where penn was waiting, at all events: then she would be guided by his advice. the two set out, carl leading her by the hand, and assisting her. it grew darker and darker. the stars were hidden: the sky was almost completely overcast by black clouds. slowly and with great difficulty they made their way among trees and bushes, through abrupt hollows, and over rocks. virginia felt that she could have done nothing without carl; and the thought of returning alone, in such darkness, down the mountain, made her shudder. but at length even carl began to sweat with something besides the physical exertion required in making the ascent. his mind had grown exceedingly perturbed, and virginia perceived that his course was wavering and uncertain. he stopped, blowing and wiping his face. "dish ish de all confoundedesht, meanesht, mosht dishgusting road for a dark night the prince of darkness himself ever inwented!" he exclaimed, speaking unusually thick in his heat and excitement. "i shouldn't be wery much surprised if i vas a leetle out of the right vay. you shtay right here till i look." she sat down and waited. intense darkness surrounded her; not a star was visible; she could not see her own hand. for a little while carl's footsteps could be heard feeling for more familiar ground; and then, occasionally, the crackling of a dry twig, as he trod upon it, showed that he was not far off. then he whistled; then he softly called, "hello!" in the woods; moving all the time farther and farther away. carl believed that penn could not be far distant, and, in order to get an answering signal, he kept whistling and calling louder and louder. at length came a response--a low warning whistle. so he plodded on, and had nearly reached the spot where he was confident penn was searching for him, when there came a rush of feet, and he was suddenly and violently seized by invisible assailants. "got him?" "yes! all right!" "hang on to him! it's the dutchman, ain't it? i thought i knew the brogue!" the last speaker was lieutenant silas ropes; and carl perceived that he had fallen into the hands of a squad of confederate soldiers. that he was vastly astonished and altogether disconcerted at first, we may well suppose. but carl was not a lad to remain long bereft of his wits when they were so necessary to him. "ho! vot for you choke a fellow so?" he indignantly demanded. "i vas treated petter as that ven i vas a prisoner." "what do you mean, you d--d deserter?" "haven't i just got avay from stackridge? and vasn't i running to find you as vast as ever a vellow could? and now you call me a deserter!" retorted carl, aggrieved. "running to find _us_!" "to be sure! didn't i say, 'is it you?' for they said you vas on the mountain. though i did not think i should find you so easy!" which was indeed the truth. carl persisted so earnestly in regarding the affair from this point of view, that his captors began to think it worth while to question him. "vun of them vellows just says to me, he says, 'shpeak vun vord, or make vun noise, and i vill plow your prains out!' i vasn't wery much in favor to have my prains plowed out, so i complied mit his wery urgent request. that's the vay they took me prisoner." "wal," remarked silas, "what he says may be true, but i don't believe nary word on't. got his hands tied? now lock arms with him, and bring him along." carl was in despair at this mode of treatment, for it rendered escape impossible,--and what would become of virginia? his anxiety for her safety became absolute terror when he discovered the errand on which these men were bound. by the light of a dark lantern they led him through the grove, across a brook that came tumbling down out of a wild black gorge, and up the mountain slope into the edge of the great forest above. here they stopped. "this yer's a good place, boys, to begin. kick the leaves together. that's the talk." they were in a leafy hollow of the dry woods. a blaze was soon kindled, which shot up in the darkness, and threw its ruddy glare upon the trunks and overhanging canopy of foliage, and upon the malignant, gleaming faces of the soldiers. little effort was needed to insure the spreading of the flames. they ran over the ground, licking up the dry leaves, crackling the twigs, catching at the bark of trees, and filling the forest, late so silent and black, with their glow and roar. "that's to smoke out your d--d union friends!" said silas to carl, with a hideous grin. yes, carl understood that well enough. in this same forest, on the banks of the brook above where it fell into the gorge, the patriots were encamped. and virginia? still believing that the worst that could happen to her would be to fall into the hands of these ruffians, the lad sweated in silent agony over the secret he was bound to keep. "what makes ye look so down-in-the-mouth, dutchy? 'fraid your friends will get scorched?" "i vas thinking the fire vill be apt to scorch us as much as it vill them. and i have my hands tied so i can't run." "don't be afraid; we'll look out for you. i swear, boys! the fire looks as though 'twas dying down! get out o' this yer holler and there ain't no leaves to feed it; and i be hanged if the wind ain't gitting contrary!" carl witnessed these effects with a gleam of hope. the soldiers fell to gathering bark and sticks, which they piled at the roots of trees. the lad was left almost alone. had his hands been free, he would have run. a soldier passed near him, dragging a dead bush. "dan pepperill! cut the cord!" dan shook his head, with a look of terror. "drop your knife, then!" "o lord!" said dan. "they'd hang me! i be durned if they wouldn't!" "dan, you must! i don't care vun cent for myself. but wirginie willars--she is just beyond vere you took me. vill you leave her to die? and mishter hapgoot is just a little vay up the mountain, and there is nopody to let him know!" a look of ghastly intelligence came into dan's face as he stopped to listen to this explanation. he seemed half inclined to set the boy's limbs free, and risk the consequences. but just then ropes shouted at him,-- "what ye at thar, pepperill? why don't ye bring along that ar brush?" so the brief conference ended, and the cords remained uncut. and a great, dangerous fire was kindling in the woods. and now carl's only hope for virginia was, that she would take advantage of its light to make good her retreat from the mountain. xxviii. _beauty and the beast._ unfortunately the poor girl had no suspicion of the mischance that had overtaken her guide. she heard voices, and believed that he had fallen in with some friends. thus she waited, expecting momently that he would return to her. she saw a single gleam of light that vanished in the darkness. then the voices grew fainter and fainter, and at length died in the distance. and she was once more utterly alone. fearful doubt and uncertainty agitated her. in a moment of despair, yielding to the terrors of her situation, she wrung her hands and called on carl imploringly not to abandon her, but to come back--"o, dear, dear carl, come back!" suddenly she checked herself. why was she sitting there, wasting the time in tears and reproaches? "poor carl never meant to desert me in this way, i know. if i ever see him again, he will make me sorry that i have blamed him. no doubt he has done his best. but, whatever has become of him, i am sure he cannot find his way back to me now. i'll follow him; perhaps i may find him, or penn, or some of their friends." she arose accordingly, and groped her way in the direction in which she had seen the light and heard the voices. and soon another and very different light gladdened her eyes--a faint glow, far off, as of a fire kindled among the forest trees. it was the camp of the patriots, she thought. she came to the brook, which, invisible, mysterious, murmuring, rolled along in the midnight blackness, and seemed too formidable for her to ford. she felt the cold rush of the hurrying water, the slippery slime of the mossy and treacherous stones, and withdrew her appalled hands. to find a shallow place to cross, she followed up the bank; and as the light was still before her, higher on the mountain, she kept on, groping among trees, climbing over logs and rocks, falling often, but always resolutely rising again, until, to her dismay, the glow began to disappear. she had, without knowing it, followed the stream up into the deep gorge through which it poured; and now the precipitous wood-crowned wall, rising beside her, overhanging her, shut out the last glimpse of the fire. she was by this time exceedingly fatigued. it seemed useless to advance farther; she felt certain that she was only getting deeper and deeper into the entangling difficulties of that unknown, horrible place. neither had she the courage or strength to retrace her steps. nothing then remained for her but to pass the remainder of the night where she was, and wait patiently for the morning. little knowing that the light she had seen was the glare of the kindled forest, she endeavored to convince herself that she had nothing to fear. at all events, she knew that trembling and tears could avail her nothing. she had not ventured to call very loudly for help, fearing lest her voice might bring foe instead of friend. and now it occurred to her that perhaps carl had been taken by the soldiers: yes, it must be so: she explained it all to herself, and wondered why she had not thought of it before. it would therefore be folly in her now to scream for aid. comfortless, yet calm, she explored the ground for a resting-place. she cleared the twigs away from the roots of a tree, and laid herself down there on the moss and old leaves. everything seemed dank with the never-failing dews of the deep and sheltered gorge; but she did not mind the dampness of her couch. a strong wind was rising, and the great trees above her swayed and moaned. she was vexed by mosquitoes that bit as if they then for the first time tasted blood, and never expected to taste it again; but she was too weary to care much for them either. she rested her arm on the mossy root; she rested her head on her arm; she drew her handkerchief over her face; she shut out from her soul all the miseries and dangers of her situation, and quietly said her prayers. there is nothing that calms the perturbations of the mind like that inward looking for the light of god's peace which descends upon us when in silence and sweet trust we pray to him. a delicious sense of repose ensued, and her thoughts floated off in dreams. she dreamed she was flying with her father from the fury of armed men. she led him into a wilderness; and it was night; and great rocks rose up suddenly before them in the gloom, and awful chasms yawned. then she was wandering alone; she had lost her father, and was seeking him up and down. then it seemed that penn was by her side; and when she asked for her father he smilingly pointed upward at a wondrously beautiful light that shone from the summit of a hill. she sought to go up thither, but grew weary, and sat down to rest in a deep grove, with an ice-cold mountain stream dashing at her feet. then the light on the hill became a lake of fire, and it poured its waves into the stream, and the stream flowed past her a roaring river of flame. lightnings crackled in the air above her. thunderbolts fell. the heat was intolerable. the river had overflowed, and set the world on fire. and she could not fly, for terror chained her limbs. she struggled, screamed, awoke. she started up. her dream was a reality. either the fire set by the soldiers had spread, driven by the wind over the dry leaves, into the grove below her, or else they had fired the grove itself on their retreat. her eyes opened upon a vision of appalling brightness. for a moment she stood utterly dazzled and bewildered, not knowing where she was. memory and reason were paralyzed: she could not remember, she could not think: amazement and terror possessed her. instinctively shielding her eyes, she looked down. the ground where she had lain, the log, the sticks, the moss, and her handkerchief fallen upon it, were illumined with a glare brighter than noonday. at sight of the handkerchief came recollection. her terrible adventure, the glow she had seen in the woods, her bed on the earth,--she remembered everything. and now the actual perils of her position became apparent to her returning faculties. where all was blackness when she lay down, now all was preternatural light. every bush and jutting rock of the wild overhanging cliffs stood out in fearful distinctness. the saplings and trees on their summits, fifty feet above her head, seemed huddling together, and leaning forward terror-stricken, in an atmosphere of whirling flame and smoke. climb those cliffs she could not, though she were to die. she must then flee farther up into the deep and narrow gorge, or endeavor to escape by the way she had come. but the way she had come was fire. the conflagration already enveloped the mouth of the gorge, shutting her in. the trunks of near trees stood like the bars of a stupendous cage, through which she looked at the raging demons beyond. burning limbs fell, shooting through the air with trails of flame. every tree was a pillar of fire. here a bough, still untouched, hung, dark and impassive, against the lurid, surging chaos. then the whirlwind of heated air struck it, and you could see it writhe and twist, until its darkness burst into flame. there stood what was late a lordly maple, but now,--trunk, and limb, and branch,--a tree of living coal. and down under this gulf of fire flowed the brook, into which showers of sparks fell hissing, while over all, fearfully illumined clouds of smoke and cinders and leaves went rolling up into the sky. virginia approached near enough to be impressed with the dreadful certainty that there was no outlet whatever, for any mortal foot, in that direction. tortured by the heat, and pursued by lighted twigs, that fell like fiery darts around her, she fled back into the gorge. the conflagration was still spreading rapidly. the timber along both sides of the gorge, at its opening, began to burn upwards towards the summits of the cliffs. soon the very spot where she had slept, and where she now paused once more in her terrible perplexity and fear, would be an abyss of flame. again she took to flight, hasting along the edge of the stream, up into the heart of the gorge. over roots of trees, over old decaying trunks, over barricades of dead limbs brought down by freshets and left lodged, she climbed, she sprang, she ran. all too brightly her way was lighted now. a ghastly yellow radiance was on every object. the waters sparkled and gleamed as they poured over the dark brown stones. every slender, delicate fern, every poor little startled wild flower nestled in cool, dim nooks, was glaringly revealed. little the frightened girl heeded these darlings of the forest now. all the way she looked eagerly for some slant or cleft in the mountain walls where she might hope to ascend. here, over the accumulated soil of centuries, fastened by interwoven roots to the base of the cliff, she might have climbed a dozen feet or more. yonder, by the aid of shrubs and boughs, she might have drawn herself up a few feet farther. but, wherever her eye ranged along the ledges above, she beheld them dizzy-steep and unscalable. and so she kept on until even the way before her was closed up. on the brink of a rock-rimmed, flashing basin she stopped. down into this, from a shelf twenty feet in height, fell the brook in a bright, fire-tinted cascade. fear-inspired as she was, she could not but pause and wonder at the strange beauty of the scene,--the plashy pool before her, the flame-color on the veil of silver foam dropped from the brow of the ledge, and--for a wild background to the picture--the wooded, fire-lit, shadowy gorge, opening on a higher level above. during the moment that she stood there, a great bird, like an owl, that had probably been driven from his hollow tree or fissure in the rocks by the conflagration, flapped past her face, almost touching her with his wings, and dashed blindly against the waterfall. he was swept down into the pool. after some violent fluttering and floundering in the water, he extricated himself, perched on a stone at its edge, shook out his wet feathers, and stared at her with large cat-like eyes, without fear. she was near enough to reach him with her hand; but either he was so dazzled and stunned that he took no notice of her, or else the greater terror had rendered him tame to human approach. she believed the latter was the case, and saw something exceedingly awful in the incident. when even the wild winged creatures of the forest were stricken down with fear, what cause had she to apprehend danger to herself! on reaching the waterfall she had felt for a moment that all was over--that certain death awaited her. then, out of her very despair, came a gleam of hope. she might creep under the cascade, or behind it, and that would protect her. but when she looked up, and saw, around and above her, the forest trees with the frightful and ever-increasing glow upon them, and knew that they too soon must kindle, and thought of firebrands rained down upon her, and falling columns of fire filling the gorge with burning rubbish,--then her soul sickened: what protection would a little sheet of water prove against such furnace heat? no: she must escape, or perish. beside the cascade there was a broken angle of the rocks, by which, if she could reach it, she might at least, she thought, climb to the upper part of the gorge. but the nearest foothold she could discover was ten feet above the basin, in sheer ascent. the ledge was dank and slippery with the dashing spray. gain the top of it, however, she must. she ran up the embankment under the cliff. here a sapling gave her support; she clung to a crevice or projection there; a drooping bough saved her from falling when the soft earth slid from beneath her feet farther on. so she climbed along the side of the precipice, until the broken corner of the cliff was hardly two yards off before her. yes, a secure foothold was there, and above it rose irregular pointed stairs, leading steeply to the top of the cascade. o, to reach that shattered ledge! a space of perpendicular wall intervened. no shrub, no drooping bough, was there. here was only a slight projection, just enough to rest the edge of a foot upon. she placed her foot upon it. she found a crevice above, and thrust her fingers into it as if there was no such thing as pain. she clung, she took a step--she was half a yard nearer the angle. but what next could she do? she was hanging in the air above the basin, into which the slightest slip would precipitate her. to change hands--relieve the one advanced and insert the fingers of the other in its place,--was a perilous undertaking. but she did it. then she reached forward again with hand and foot, found another spot to cling to, and took another step. she was thankful for the great light that lighted the rocks before her. close by now was the fractured angle of the cliff: one more step, and she could set her foot upon the nethermost stair. her strength was almost gone; her hands, though insensible to pain, were conscious of slipping. to fall would be to lose all she had gained, and all the strength she had exhausted in the effort. her feet now--or rather one of them--had a tolerably secure hold on the rib of the ledge. she made one last effort with her hands, and, just as she was falling, gave a spring. she knew that all was staked upon that one dizzy instant of time. but for that knowledge she could never have accomplished what she did. she fell forwards towards the angle, caught a point of the rock with her hands, and clung there until she had safely placed her feet. this done, it was absolutely necessary to stop a moment to rest. she looked downwards and behind her, to see what she had done. the sight made her dizzy--it seemed such a miracle that she could ever have scaled that wall! nearer and louder roared the conflagration, and she had little time to delay. her labor was not ended, neither was the danger past. she cast a hurried glance upwards over the ridge she was to climb, and advanced cautiously, step by step. her soul kept saying within her, "i will not fall; i will not fall;" but she dared not look backwards again, lest even then she should grow giddy and miss her hold. as she ascended, the ridge inclined nearer and nearer to the side of the cascade, until she found the stones slimy and dripping. this was an unforeseen peril. still she resolutely advanced, taking the utmost precaution at each step against slipping. at length she was at the top of the waterfall. she could look up into the upper gorge, and see the water come rushing down. there was space beside the brook for her to continue her flight; and the sides of the gorge above were far less steep and rugged than below. she was thrilled with hope. she had but one steep, high stair to surmount. she was getting her knee upon it, when a crashing sound in the underbrush arrested her attention. the crashing was followed by a commotion in the water, and she saw a huge black object plunge into the stream, and come sweeping down towards her. on it came, straight at the rock on which she clung, and from which a motion, a touch, might suffice to hurl her back into the lower gorge. she saw what it was; and for a moment she was frozen with terror. she was directly in its path: it would not stop for her. the sight of the blazing woods below, however, brought it to a sudden halt. and there, close by the brink of the waterfall, facing her, not a yard distant, in the full glare of the fire, it rose slowly on its hind feet to look--a monster of the forest, an immense black bear. and now, but for the nightmare of horror that was upon her, virginia might have perceived that the forest _above_ the cascade was likewise wrapped in flames. the bear had been driven by the terror of them down the stream; and here, between the two fires, on the verge of the waterfall, the slight young girl and the great shaggy wild beast had met. she would have shrieked, but she had no voice. the bear also was silent; with his huge hairy bulk reared up before her, his paws pendant, and his jaws half open in a sort of stupid amazement, he stood and gazed, uttering never a growl. xxix. _in the burning woods._ the incessant excitement and fatigue of the past few days had caused penn to fall asleep almost immediately after carl left him. the rude ground on which he stretched himself proved a blissful couch of repose. virginia climbed the mountain to meet him, and no fine intuitive sense of her approach thrilled him with wakeful expectancy. carl was captured, and still he slept. the lost young girl wandered within fifty yards of where he lay steeped in forgetfulness, dreaming, perhaps, of her; and all the time they were as unconscious of each other's presence as were evangeline and her lover when they passed each other at night on the great river. penn was the first to wake; and still his stupid heart whispered to him no syllable of the strange secret of the beautiful sleeper whom he might have looked down upon from the edge of the cliff so near. the grove had been but recently fired, and it would have been easy enough then for him to rush into the gorge and rescue her. from what terrors, from what perils would she have been saved! but he wasted the precious moments in staring amazement; then, thinking of his own safety, he commenced running _away_ from her,--his escape lighted by the same fatal flames that were enclosing her within the gorge. she never knew whether, on awaking, she cried for help or remained dumb; nor did it matter much then: he was already too far off to hear. the glow on the clouds lighted all the broad mountain side. under the ruddy canopy he ran,--now through dimly illumined woods, and now over bare rocks faintly flushed by the glare of the sky. as he drew near the cave, he saw, on a rock high above him, a wild human figure making fantastic gestures, and prostrating itself towards the burning forests. he ran up to it, and, all out of breath, stood on the ledge. "cudjo! cudjo! what are you doing here?" the negro made no reply, but, folding his arms above his head, spread them forth towards the fire, bowing himself again and again, until his forehead touched the stone. penn shuddered with awe. for the first time in his life he found himself in the presence of an idolater. cudjo belonged to a tribe of african fire-worshippers, from whom he had been stolen in his youth; and, although the sentiment of the old barbarous religion had smouldered for years forgotten in his breast, this night it had burst forth again, kindled by the terrible splendors of the burning mountain. penn waited for him to rise, then grasped his arm. the negro, startled into a consciousness of his presence, stared at him wildly. "that is not god, cudjo!" "no, no, not your god, massa! my god!" and the african smote his breast. "me mos' forgit him; now me 'members! him comin' fur burn up de white folks, and set de brack man free!" penn stood silent, thinking the negro might not be altogether wrong. no doubt the dim, dark soul of him saw vaguely, with that prophetic sense which is in all races of men, a great truth. a fire was indeed coming--was already kindled--which was to set the bondman free: and god was in the fire. but of that mightier conflagration, the combustion of the forests was but a feeble type. penn turned from cudjo to watch the burning, and became aware of its threatening and rapidly increasing magnitude. the woods had been set in several places, but the different fires were fast growing into one, swept by a strong wind diagonally across and up the mountain. it seemed then as if nothing could prevent all the forest growths that lay to the southward and westward along the range from being consumed. as he gazed, he became extremely alarmed for the safety of stackridge and his friends: and where all this time was carl? in vain he questioned cudjo. he turned, and was hastening to the cave when he met pomp coming towards him. tall, majestic, naked to the waist, wearing a garment of panther-skins, with the red gleam of the fire on his dusky face and limbs, the negro looked like a native monarch of the hills. "o pomp! what a fire that is!" "what a fire it is going to be!" answered pomp, with a lurid smile. "our new neighbors have brought us bad luck. all those woods are gone. the fire is sweeping up directly towards us--it will pass over all the mountain--nothing will be left." yet he spoke with a lofty calmness that astonished penn. "and our friends!--carl!--have you heard from them?" "i have not seen carl since he left the cave with you, nor any of stackridge's people to-night." "then they are in the woods yet!" "yes; unless they have been wise enough to get out of them! i was just starting out to look for them.--who comes there?"--poising his rifle. "it's carl!" exclaimed penn, recognizing the confederate coat. but in an instant he saw his mistake. "it is one of ropes's men!" said pomp. "he has discovered us--he shall die for setting my mountains on fire!" "hold!" penn grasped his arm. "he is beckoning and calling!" pomp frowned as he lowered his rifle, and waited for the soldier to come up. "what! is it you? i didn't know you in that dress, and came near shooting you, as you deserve, for wearing it!" and pomp turned scornfully away. the comer was dan pepperill, breathless with haste, horror-struck, haggard. it was some time before he could reply to penn's impetuous demand--what had brought him up thither? "carl!" he gasped. "what has happened to carl?" "ben tuck! durned if he hain't! but that ar ain't the wust!" "what, then, is the worst?" for that seemed bad enough. "virginny--miss villars!" "virginia! what of her?" "she's down thar! in the fire!" "virginia in the fire!" "she ar,--durned if she ain't! carl said she war on the mountain, and wanted me to hurry up and help her or find you; and i'd a done it, but i couldn't git off till we was runnin' from the fires we'd sot; then i kinder got scattered a puppus; t'other ones hung on to carl, though, so i had to come alone." penn interrupted the loose and confused narrative--virginia: had he _seen_ her? "wal, i reckon i hev! ye see i war huntin' fur her thar, above the round rock; fur carl said,----" a short, sharp groan broke from the lips of penn. at first the idea of virginia being on the mountain had appeared to him incredible. but at the mention of the place of rendezvous the truth smote him: she had come up there with toby, or in his stead. with spasmodic grip he wrung pepperill's arm as if he would have wrung the truth out of him that way. "you saw her!--where?" his hoarse voice, his terrible look, bewildered the poor man more and more. "i war a tellin' ye! don't break my arm, and don't look so durned f'erce at me, and i'll out with the hull story. ye see, i warn't to blame, now, no how. they sot the fires; they sot the grove on our way back; and if i helped any, 'twas cause i had ter. but about _her_. wal, i begun to the big rock, and war a-huntin' up along, till the grove got all in a blaze, and the red limbs begun ter fall, and i see 'twas high time for me to put. says i ter myself, 'she hain't hyar; she ar off the mountain and safe ter hum afore this time, shore!' but jest then i heern a screech; it sounded right inter the grove, and i run up as clust ter the fire's i could, and looked, and thar i seen right in the middle on't, amongst the burnin' trees, a woman's gownd, and then a face: 'twas her face, i knowed it, fur she hadn't nary bunnit on, and the fire shone on it bright as lightnin'! but thar war half a acre o' blazin' timber atween her and me; and besides, i was so struck up all of a heap, i couldn't do nary thing fur nigh about a minute--i couldn't even holler ter let her know i war thar. and 'fore i knowed what i war about, durned if she hadn't gone!" penn afterwards understood that dan had actually had a glimpse of virginia when she ran out to the entrance of the gorge, and stood there a moment in the terrible heat and glare. "where--show me where!" he exclaimed with fierce vehemence, dragging pepperill after him down the rocks. "it war a considerable piece this side the round rock, nigh the upper eend o' the grove," said dan, in a jarred voice, clattering after him, as fast as he could. "i reckon i kin find it, if 'tain't too late." too late? it must not be too late! penn leaps down the ledges, and rushes through the thickets, as if he would overtake time itself. they reach the burning grove. pepperill points out as nearly as he can the spot where he stood when he saw virginia. great god! if she was in there, what a frightful end was hers! "daniel! are you sure?"--for penn cannot, will not believe--it is too terrible! daniel is very sure; and he withdraws from the insufferable heat, to which his companion appears insensible. "there is a gorge just above there; perhaps she escaped into the gorge. o, if i had known!" groans the half-distracted youth, thinking how near he must have been to her when the fire awoke him. he still hopes that dan's vision of her in the fire was but the hallucination of a bewildered brain. yet no effort will he spare, no danger will he shun. the entrance to the gorge is all a gulf of flame; and the woods are blazing upwards along the cliffs, and all the forest beyond is turning to a sea of fire. yet the gorge must be reached. back again up the steep slope they climb. penn flies to the verge of the cliff. he looks down: the chasm is all a glare of light. there runs the red-gleaming brook. he sees the logs, the stones, the mosses, all the wild entanglement, deep below. but no virginia. he runs almost into the crackling flames, in order to peer farther down the gorge. then he darts away in the opposite direction, along the very brink of the precipice, among the fire-lit trees,--pepperill stupidly following. he seizes hold of a sapling, and, with his foot braced against its root, swings his body forward over the chasm, the better to gaze into its depths. from that position he casts his eye up the gorge. he sees the cascade falling over the ledge in a sheet of ruddy foam. he discovers the upper gorge; sees a monster of the forest come plunging and plashing down to the fall, and there lift himself on his haunches to look;--and what is that other object, half hidden by a drooping bough? it is virginia clinging to the rocks. a moment before, had penn made the discovery of the young girl still unharmed by fire, his happiness would have been supreme. but now joy was checked by an appalling fear. the bear might seize her, or with a stroke of his paw hurl her from his path. penn caught hold of the bough that impeded his view, and saw how precarious was her hold. he dared not so much as call to her, or shout to frighten the monster away, lest, her attention being for an instant distracted, she might turn her head, lose her balance, and fall backwards from the rocks. "durned if she ain't thar!" said dan, excitedly. "but she's got a powerful slim chance with the bar!" "come with me!" said penn. he ran to the upper gorge, showed himself on the bank above the cascade, and shouted. the bear, as he anticipated, turned and looked up at him. virginia at the same time saw her deliverer. "hold on! i'll be with you in a minute!" he cried in a voice heard above the noise of the waterfall and the roar of the conflagration. she clung fast, hope and gladness thrilling her soul, and giving her new strength. to reach her, penn had a precipitous descent of near thirty feet to make. he did not pause to consider the difficulty of getting up again, or the peril of encountering the bear. he jumped down over a perpendicular ledge upon a projection ten feet below. beyond that was a rapid slope covered with moss and thin patches of soil, with here and there a shrub, and here and there a tree. striking his heels into the soil, and catching at whatever branch or stem presented itself, he took the plunge. clinging, sliding, falling, he arrived at the bottom. in a posture half sitting, half standing, and considerably jarred, he found himself face to face with bruin. the animal had settled down on all fours, and now, with his surly, depressed head turned sullenly to one side, he looked at penn, and growled. penn looked at him, and said nothing. he had heard of staring wild beasts out of countenance--an experiment that could be conducted strictly on peace principles, if the bear would only prove as good a quaker as himself. he resolved to try it: indeed, all unarmed as he was, what else could he do? he might at least, by diverting the brute's attention, give virginia time to get into a position of safety. so he stood up, and fixed his eyes on the red-blinking eyes of the ferocious beast. something bruin did not like: it might have been the youth's company and valiant bearing, but more probably his observation of the fire had satisfied him that he was out of his place. with another growl, that seemed to say, "all i ask is to be let alone," he seceded,--turning his head still more, twisting his body around, after it, and retreating up the gorge. in an instant penn was at the young girl's side: his hand clasped hers; he drew her up over the rock. not a word was uttered. he was too agitated to speak; and she, after the terror and the strain to which her nerves had been subjected so long, felt all her strength give way. but as he lifted her in his arms, a faint smile of happiness flitted over her white face, and her lips moved with a whisper of gratitude he did not hear. in spite of all the dangers behind them, and of the dangers still before, both felt, in that moment, a shock of mutual bliss. neither had ever known till then how dear the other was. pepperill had by this time leaped down upon the bulge of the bank. there he waited for them, shouting,-- "hurry up! the bar'll meet the fire up thar, and be comin' down agin!" penn required no spur to his exertions: he knew too well the necessity of getting speedily beyond the reach, not of the bear only, but also of the fire, which threatened them now on three sides--below, above, and on the farther bank of the gorge. clasping the burden more precious to him than life, resolved in his soul to part with it only with life, he toiled heavily up the bank, down which he had descended with such tremendous swiftness a few minutes before. but it was not in virginia's nature to remain long a helpless encumbrance. seeing the labor and peril still before them, her will returned, and with it her strength. she grasped a branch by which he was trying in vain with one hand, holding her with the other, to draw them both up a steep place. her prompt action enabled him to seize the trunk of a young tree: she assisted still, and slipping from his hands, clung to it until he had reached the next tree above. he pulled her up after him, and then pushed her on still farther, until pepperill could reach her from where he stood. a minute later the three were together on the summit of the slope. but now they had above them the ten feet of sheer perpendicularity down which dan had indiscreetly jumped, following penn's lead. a single hand above them would now be worth several hands below. "what a fool i war! durned if i warn't!" said dan, endeavoring unsuccessfully to find a place by which he could reascend. "get on my shoulders!" and penn braced himself against the ledge. dan made the attempt, but fell, and rolled down the bank. just then a grinning black face appeared above. "gib me de gal! gib me de gal!" and a prodigiously long arm reached down. "o cudjo! you are an angel!" cried penn, "daniel! here!" pepperill was up the bank again in a minute, at penn's side. they lifted virginia above their heads. holding on by a sapling with one hand, the negro extended the other far down over the ledge. those miraculous arms of his seemed to have been made expressly for this service. he grasped a wrist of the girl; with the other hand she clung to his arm until he had drawn her up to the sapling; this she seized, and helped herself out. then once more penn gave daniel his shoulder, while cudjo gave him a hand from above; and daniel was safe. last of all, penn remained. "cotch holt hyar!" said cudjo, extending towards him the end of a branch he had broken from a tree. to this penn held fast, assisting himself with his feet against the ledge, while cudjo and dan hauled him up. "good cudjo! how came you here?" "me see you and pepperill a gwine inter de fire. so me foller." "this is the old man's daughter, cudjo." cudjo regarded the beautiful young girl with a look of vague wonder and admiration. "he remembers me," said virginia. "i saw him the night he climbed in at toby's window." she gave him her hand; it trembled with emotion. "i thank you, cudjo, for what you have done for my father--and for me." "now, cudjo! show us the nearest and easiest path. we must take her to the cave--there is no other way." "you must be right spry, den!" said cudjo. "de fire am a runnin' ober dat way powerful!" indeed, it had already crossed the upper end of the gorge, where the forest brook fell into it; and, getting into some beds of leaves, and thence into dense and inflammable thickets, it was now blazing directly across their line of retreat. penn would have carried virginia in his arms, but she would not suffer him. "i can go where you can!" she cried, once more full of spirit and daring. "just give me your hand--you shall see!" penn took one of her hands, pepperill the other, and with their aid, supporting her, lifting her, she sprang lightly up the ledges, and from rock to rock. cudjo, carrying dan's gun, ran on before, leading the way through hollows and among bushes, by a route known only to himself. so they reached a piece of woods, by the thin skirts of which he hoped to head off the fire. too late--it was there before them. it ran swiftly among the fallen leaves and twigs, and spread far into the woods. the negro turned back. there was a wild grimace in his face, and a glitter in his eyes, as he threw up his hand, by way of signal that their flight in that direction was cut off. "cudjo! what is to be done!" and penn drew virginia towards him with a look that showed his fears were all for her. "we can't git off down the mountain, nuther!" said dan. "it's gittin' into the woods down thar. it'll be all around us in no time!" "you let cudjo do what him pleases?" said the black. "i can trust you! can you, virginia?" "he should know what is best. yes, i will trust him." "take dat 'ar!" pepperill received his gun. "now you look out fur youselves. me tote de gal." and catching up virginia, before penn could stop him, or question him, he rushed with her into the fire. penn ran after him, perceiving at once the meaning of this bold act. the woods were not yet fairly kindled; only now and then the loose bark of a dry trunk was beginning to blaze. cudjo leaped over the line of flame that was running along the ground, and bore virginia high above it to the other side. penn followed, and dan came close behind. they then had before them a tract of blackened ground which the flames had swept, leaving here and there a dead limb or mat of leaves still burning. these little fires were easily avoided. but they soon came to another line of flame raging on the upper side of the burnt tract. they were almost out of the woods: only that red, crackling hedge fenced them in; but that they could not pass: the underbrush all along the forest edge was burning. and there they were, brought to a halt, half-stifled with smoke, in the midst of woods kindling and blazing all around them. "may as well pull up hyar, and take a bref," remarked cudjo, grimly, placing virginia on a log too dank with decay and moss to catch fire easily. "den we's try 'em agin." a horrible suspicion crossed penn's mind; the fanatical fire-worshipper had brought them there to destroy them--to sacrifice them to his god! "virginia!"--eagerly laying hold of her arm,--"we must retreat! it will soon be too late! we can get out of the woods where we came in, if we go at once!" "beg pardon, sar," said cudjo, stamping out fire in the leaves by the end of the log,--and he looked up through the smoke at penn, with the old malignant grin on his apish face. "what do you mean, cudjo?" said penn, in an agony of doubt. "can't get back dat way, sar!" "then you have led us here to destroy us!" "you's no longer trust cudjo!" was the negro's only reply. "didn't we trust you? haven't we come through fire, following you? o cudjo! more than once you have helped to save my life! you have helped to save this life, dearer than mine! why do you desert us now?" "'sert you? cudjo no 'sert you." but the negro spoke sullenly, and there was still a sparkle of malignancy in his look. "then why do you stop here?" "hugh! tink we's go trough dat fire like we done trough tudder?" "what then are we to do?" "you's no longer trust cudjo!" was once more the sullen response. virginia, with her quick perceptions, saw at once what penn was either too dull or too much excited to see. cudjo felt himself aggrieved; but he was not unfaithful. "_i_ trust you, cudjo!"--and she laid her hand frankly and confidingly on his shoulder. "did i tremble, did i shrink when you carried me through the fire? i shall never forget how brave, how good you are! he trusts you too,--only he is so afraid for me! you can forgive that, cudjo." "she is right," said penn, though still in doubt. "if you know a way to save her, don't lose a moment!" "he knows; on'y let him take his time," said pepperill, whose firm faith in the negro's good will shamed penn for his distrust. and yet pepperill did not love, as penn loved, the girl whose life was in danger; and he had not seen the evidences of cudjo's fire-worshipping fanaticism which penn had seen. under the influence of virginia's gentle and soothing words, the glitter of resentment died out of the negro's face. but his aspect was still morose. "de fire take his time to burn out; so we's take our time too," said he. "you try your chance wid cudjo agin, miss?" "certainly! for i am sure you will take us safely through yet!" said virginia, without a shadow of doubt or hesitation on her face, however dark may have been the shadow on her heart. the negro was evidently well pleased. he examined carefully the line of fire in the undergrowth. and now penn discovered, what cudjo had known very well from the first, that there were barren ledges above, and that the fire was rapidly burning itself out along their base. an opening through which a courageous and active man might dash unscathed soon presented itself. then cudjo waited no longer to "take bref." he caught virginia in his arms, and bore her through the second line of fire, as he had borne her through the first, and placed her in safety on the rocks above. "cudjo, my brave, my noble fellow!" said penn, deeply affected, "i have wronged you; i confess it with shame. forgive me!" "cudjo hab nuffin to forgib," replied the negro, with a laugh of pleasure "neber mention um, massa! all right now! reckon we's better be gitt'n out o' dis yer smudge!" he showed the way, and penn and daniel helped virginia up the rocks as before. they had reached a smooth and unsheltered ledge near the ravine, a little below the mouth of the cave, when a hideous and inhuman shriek rent the air. "what dat?" cried cudjo, stopping short; and his visage in the smoky and lurid light looked wild with superstitious alarm. the sound was repeated, louder, nearer, more hideous than before, seeming to make the very atmosphere shudder above their heads. "go on, cudjo! go on!" penn commanded. the terrified black crouched and gibbered, but would not stir. then straightway a sharp clatter, as of iron hoofs flying at a furious gallop, resounded along the mountain-side. by a simultaneous impulse the little party huddled together, and turned their faces towards the fire, and saw coming down towards them a horse with the speed of the wind. "stand close!" said penn; and he threw himself before virginia, to shield her, shouting and swinging his hat to frighten the animal from his course. "stackridge's hoss!" exclaimed cudjo, recovering from his fright, leaping up, and flinging abroad his long arms in the air. "wiv some poor debil onter him's back!" it was so. the little group stood motionless, chilled with horror. the beast came thundering on, with lips of terror parted, nostrils wide and snorting, mane and tail flying in the wild air, hoofs striking fire from the rocks. a human being--a man--was lying close to his neck, and clinging fast: the face hidden by the tossing and streaming mane: a fearful ride! the mystery surrounding him, and the awful glare and smoke, enhancing the horror of it. approaching the group on the ledge, the animal veered, and shot past them like a thunderbolt; clearing rocks, hollows, bushes, with incredible bounds; nearing the ravine, but halting not; dashing into the thickets there, missing suddenly the ground beneath his feet, striking only the air and yielding boughs with frantic hoofs; then plunging down with a dull, reverberant crash,--horse and unknown rider rolling together over rocks and spiked limbs to the bottom of the ravine. then all was still again: it had passed like a vision of fear. xxx. _refuge._ for a moment the little group stood dumb and motionless on the ledge, in the flare of the vast flame-curtains. they looked at each other. penn was the first to speak. "which of us goes down into the ravine?" "wha' fur?" said cudjo. "to find him!" and penn gazed anxiously towards the thickets into which the horse and horseman had gone down. "dat no good! deader 'n de debil, shore!" "o, may be he is not!" exclaimed virginia, full of compassion for the unfortunate unknown. "do go and see, cudjo!" "fire'll be dar in less'n no time. him nuffin to cudjo. we's best be gwine." and the negro started off, doggedly, towards the cave. then penn took the resolution which he would have taken at once but for virginia. "stay with her, daniel! i will go!" virginia turned pale; she had not thought of that. but immediately she controlled her fears: she would not be selfish: if he was brave and generous enough to descend into the ravine for one he did not know, she would be equally brave and generous, and let him go. she clasped her hands together so that they should not hold him back, and forced her lips to say,-- "i will wait for you here." "no, i be durned if ye shall! hapgood, you stick to her: take this yer gun, and i'll slip down inter the holler, and see whuther the cuss's alive or dead, any how." "o, mr. pepperill, if you will!" said virginia, overjoyed. penn remonstrated,--rather feebly, it must be confessed, for the determination to part from her had cost him a struggle, and the privilege of keeping by her side till all danger was past, seemed too sweet to refuse. "i'll take her to her father, and hurry back, and meet you." "all right!" came the response from dan, already far down the rocks. "the cave is close by," said penn. "there is cudjo, waiting for us!" coming up with the black, and once more following his lead, they descended along the shelf of rocks, between the thickets and the overhanging ledge. so they came to the still dark jaws of the cavern. a grateful coolness breathed in their faces from within. but how dismal the entrance seemed to eyes lately dazzled by the blazing woods! virginia clung tightly to penn's hand, as they groped their way in. at first nothing was visible but a few smouldering embers, winking their sleepy eyes in the dark. out of these cudjo soon blew a little blaze, which he fed with sticks and bits of bark until it lighted up fitfully the dim interior and shadowy walls of his abode. penn hushed virginia with a finger on his lips, and restrained her from throwing herself forward upon the rude bed, where the blind old man was just awaking from a sound sleep. in that profound subterranean solitude the roar of the fiery breakers, dashing on the mountain side, was subdued to a faint murmur, less distinct than the dripping of water from roof to floor in the farther recesses of the cave. there, left alone, lulled by the dull, monotonous trickle,--thinking, if he heard the roar at all, that it was the mountain wind blowing among the pines,--mr. villars had slept tranquilly through all the horrors of that night. "is it you, penn? safe again!" and sitting up, he grasped the young man's hand. "what news from my dear girl?--from my two dear girls?" he added, remembering virginia was not his only child. "toby did not come to the rock," said penn, still holding virginia back. "o! did he not?" it seemed a heavy disappointment; but the patient old man rallied straightway, saying, with his accustomed cheerfulness, "no doubt something hindered him; no doubt he would have come if he could. my poor, dear girl, how i wish i could have got word to her that i am safe! but i thank you all the same; it was kind in you to give yourself all that trouble." "i believe all is for the best," said penn, his voice trembling. "no doubt, no doubt. it will be some time before i can have the consolation of my dear girl's presence again; i, who never knew till now how necessary she is to my happiness,--i may say, to my very life!" mr. villars wiped a tear he could not repress, and smiled. "yes, penn, god knows what is best for us all. his will be done!" but now virginia could restrain herself no longer; her sobs would burst forth. "father! father!"--throwing herself upon his neck. "o, my dear, dear father!" penn had feared the effect of the sudden surprise upon the old and feeble man, and had meant to break the good news to him softly. but human nature was too strong; his own emotions had baffled him, and the pious little artifice proved a complete failure. so now he could do nothing but stand by and make grim faces, struggling to keep down what was mastering him, and turning away blindly from the bed. even cudjo appeared deeply affected, staring stupidly, and winking something like a tear from the whites of his eyes at sight of the father embracing his child, and the white locks mingling with the wet, tangled curls on her cheek. he was a ludicrous, pathetic object, winking and staring thus; and penn laughed and cried too, at sight of him. "luk dar!" said cudjo, coming up to him, and pointing at the little walled chamber that served as his pantry. "she hab dat fur her dressum room. sleep dar, too, if she likes." "thank you, cudjo! it will be very acceptable, i am sure." "me clar it up fur her all scrumptious!" added the negro, with a grin. penn had thought of that. but now he had other business on his hands: he must hasten to find pepperill: nor could he keep anxious thoughts of stackridge and his friends out of his mind. and pomp--where all this time was pomp? he had hoped to find him and the patriots all safely arrived in the cave. virginia was seated on the bed by her father's side. penn threw a blanket over the dear young shoulders, to shield her from the sudden cold of the cave; then left her relating her adventures,--beckoning to cudjo, who followed him out. "cudjo!"--the black glided to his side as they emerged from the ravine,--"you must go and find pomp." cudjo laughed and shrugged. "no use't! reckon pomp take keer o' hisself heap better'n we's take keer on him!" true. pomp knew the woods. he was athletic, cautious, brave. but he had gone to extricate from peril others, in whose fate he himself might become involved. cudjo refused to take this view of the matter; and it was evident that, while he comforted himself with his deep convictions of pomp's ability to look out for his own safety, he was, to say the least, quite indifferent as to the welfare of the patriots. forgetting dan and the unknown horseman in his great solicitude for his absent friends, penn climbed the ledges, and gazed away in the direction of the camp, and beheld the forest there a raging gulf of fire. assuredly, they must have fled from it before this time; but whither had they gone? had pomp been able to find them? or might they not all have become entangled in the intricacies of the wilderness until encompassed by the fire and destroyed? penn watched in vain for their coming--in vain for some signal of their safety on the crags above the forest. had they reached the crags, he thought he might discover them somewhere with a glass, so vividly were those grim rock-foreheads of the hills lighted up beneath the red sky. he sent cudjo to find dan, ran to the cave for pomp's glass, and returned to the ledge. there he waited; there he watched; still in vain. wider and wider, spread the destroying sea; fiercer and fiercer leaped the billows of flame--the billows that did not fall again, but broke away in rent sheets, in red-rolling scrolls, and vanished upward in their own smoke. and now penn, lowering the glass, perceived what he must long since have been made aware of, had not the greater light concealed the less. it was morning; a dull and sunless dawn; the despairing daylight, filtered of all warmth and color, spreading dim and gray on the misty valleys, and on the sombre, far-off hills, under an interminable canopy of cloud. pepperill came clambering up the rocks. penn turned eagerly to meet and question him. "find him?" "wal, a piece on him." "killed?" "i reckon he ar that!" "who is it?" "durned if i kin tell! he's jammed in thar 'twixt two gre't stuns, and the hoss is piled on top, and you can't see nary featur' of his face, only the legs,--but durned if i know the legs!" "couldn't you move the horse?" "nary a bit. his neck is broke, and he lays wedged so clust, right on top o' the poor cuss, 'twould take a yoke o' oxen to drag him out." "are you sure the man is dead?" "shore? i reckon! he had one arm loose. i jest lifted it, and it drapped jest like a club when i let go; then i see 'twas broke square off jest above the elbow, about where the backbone o' the hoss comes. made me durned sick!" "what have you got in your hand?" "a boot--one o' his'n--thought i'd pull it off, his leg stuck up so kind o' handy; didn't know but some on ye might know the boot." and dan held it up for penn's inspection. "what is this on it? blood?" "it ar so! mebby it's the hoss's, and then agin mebby it's his'n; i hadn't noticed it afore." "i'll go back with you, daniel. together perhaps we can move the horse." "ye're behind time for that! the fire's thar. i hadn't only jest time to git cl'ar on't myself. the poor cuss is a br'ilin'!" "k-r-r-r! hi! don't ye har me callin'!" cudjo sprang up the ledge. "fire's a comin' to de cave! all in de brush dar! can't get in widout ye go now!" "and pomp and the rest! they will be shut out, if they are not lost already!" "pomp know well 'nuff what him 'bout, tell ye! gorry, massa! ye got to come, if cudjo hab to tote ye!" yielding to his importunity, penn quitted the ledge. on the shelf of rock cudjo paused to gnash his teeth at the flames sweeping up towards them. he had long since recovered from his fit of superstitious frenzy. he had seen the fire burning the woods that sheltered him in his mountain retreat, instead of going intelligently to work to destroy the dwellings of the whites; and he no longer regarded it as a deity worthy of his worship. "all dis yer brush be burnt up! den nuffin' to hide cudjo's house!" "don't despair, cudjo. we will trust in him who is god even of the fire." even as penn spoke, he felt a cool spatter on his hand. he looked up; sudden, plashy drops smote his face. "rain! it is coming! thank heaven for the rain!" at the same time, the wind shifted, and blew fitful gusts down the mountain. then it lulled; and the rain poured. "cudjo, your thickets are saved!" said penn, exultantly. then immediately he thought of the absent ones, for whom the rain might be too late; of the beautiful forests, whose burning not cataracts could quench; of the unknown corpse far below in the ravine there, and the swift soul gone to god. "what news?" asked the old man as he entered the cave. "it is morning, and it rains; but your friends are still away.--the man is dead," aside to virginia. "heaven grant they be safe somewhere!" said the old man. "and pomp?" "he is missing too." there was a long, deep silence. a painful suspense seemed to hold every heart still, while they listened. suddenly a strange noise was heard, as of a ghost walking. louder and louder it sounded, hollow, faint, far-off. was it on the rocks over their heads? or in caverns beneath their feet? "told ye so! told ye so!" said cudjo, laughing with wild glee. the fire had burnt low again, and he was in the act of kindling it, when a novel idea seemed to strike him, and, seizing a pan, he inverted it over the little remnant of a flame. in an instant the cave was dark. it was some seconds before the eyes of the inmates grew accustomed to the gloom, and perceived the glimmer of mingled daylight and firelight that shone in at the entrance. "luk a dar! luk a dar!" said cudjo. and turning their eyes in the opposite direction, they saw a faint golden glow in the recesses of the cave. the footsteps approached; the glow increased; then the superb dark form of pomp advanced in the light of his own torch. penn hastened to meet him, and to demand tidings of stackridge's party. pomp first saluted virginia, with somewhat lofty politeness, holding the torch above his head as he bowed. then turning to penn,-- "your friends are all safe, i believe." "all?" penn eagerly asked, his thoughts on the luckless horseman. "none missing?" "there were three absent when i reached their camp. they had gone on a foraging expedition. i found the rest waiting for them, standing their ground against the fire, which was roaring up towards them at a tremendous rate. soon the foragers came in. they brought a basket of potatoes and a bag of meal, but no meat. withers had caught a pig, but it had got away from him before he could kill it, and he lost it in the dark. the others were cursing the rascals who had set the woods afire, but withers lamented the pig. "'gentlemen,' said i, 'you have not much time to mourn either for the woods or the pork. we must take care of ourselves.' and i offered to bring them here. but just then we heard a rushing noise; it sounded like some animal coming up the course of the brook; and the next minute it was amongst us--a big black bear, frightened out of his wits, singed by the fire, and furious." "your acquaintance of the gorge, virginia!" said penn. "you will readily believe that such an unexpected supply of fresh meat, sent by providence within their reach, proved a temptation to the hungry. withers, in his hurry to make up for the loss of the pig, ran to head the fellow off, and attempted to stop him with his musket after it had missed fire. in an instant the gun was lying on the ground several yards off, and withers was sprawling. the bear had done the little business for him with a single stroke of his paw; then he passed on, directly over withers's body, which happened to be in his way, but which he minded no more than as if it had been a bundle of rags. all this time we couldn't fire a shot; there was the risk, you see, of hitting withers instead of the bear. even after he was knocked down, he seemed to think he had nothing more formidable than his stray pig to deal with, and tried to catch the bear by the tail as he ran over him." "so ye lost de bar!" cried cudjo, greatly excited. "fool, tink o' cotchin' on him by de tail!" "still we couldn't fire, for he was on his legs again in a second, chasing the bear's tail directly before our muzzles," said pomp, quietly laughing. "but luckily a stick flew up under his feet. down he went again. that gave two or three of us a chance to send some lead after the beast. he got a wound--we tracked him by his blood on the ground--we could see it plain as day by the glare of light--it led straight towards the fire that was running up through the leaves and thickets on the north. i expected that when he met that he would turn again; but he did not: we were just in time to see him plough through it, and hear him growl and snarl at the flames that maddened him, and which he was foolish enough to stop and fight. then he went on again. we followed. nobody minded the scorching. we kept him in sight till he met the fire again--for it was now all around us. this time his heart failed him; he turned back only to meet us and get a handful of bullets in his head. that finished him, and he fell dead." "poor brute!" said mr. villars; "he found his human enemies more merciless than the fire!" "that's so," said pomp, with a smile. "but we had not much time to moralize on the subject then. the fire we had leaped through had become impassable behind us. the men hurried this way and that to find an outlet. they found only the fire--it was on every side of us like a sea--the spot where we were was only an island in the midst of it--that too would soon be covered. the bear was forgotten where he lay; the men grew wild with excitement, as again and again they attempted to break through different parts of the ring that was narrowing upon us, and failed. brave men they are, but death by fire, you know, is too horrible!" "how large was this spot, this island?" asked penn. "it might have comprised perhaps twenty acres when we first found ourselves enclosed in it. but every minute it was diminishing; and the heat there was something terrific. the men were rather surprised, after trying in vain on every side to discover a break in the circle of fire, to come back and find me calm. "'gentlemen,' said i, 'keep cool. i understand this ground perhaps better than you do. don't abandon your game; you have lost your meal and potatoes, and you will have need of the bear.' "'but what is the use of roast meat, if we are to be roasted too?' said withers, who will always be droll, whatever happens. "then stackridge spoke. he proposed that they should place themselves under my command; for i knew the woods, and while they had been running to and fro in disorder, i had been carefully observing the ground, and forming my plans. i laughed within myself to see deslow alone hang back; he was unwilling to owe his life to one of my complexion--one who had been a slave. for there are men, do you know," said pomp, with a smile of mingled haughtiness and pity, "who would rather that even their country should perish than owe in any measure its salvation to the race they have always hated and wronged!" "i trust," said mr. villars, "that you had the noble satisfaction of teaching these men the lesson which our country too must learn before it can be worthy to be saved." "i showed them that even the despised black may, under god's providence, be of some use to white men, besides being their slave: i had that satisfaction!" said pomp, proudly smiling. "stackridge was right: i had observed: i saw what i could do. on one side was a chasm which you know, mr. hapgood." "yes! i had thought of it! but i knew it was in the midst of the burning forest, and never supposed you could get to it." "the fire was beyond; and it also burned a little on the side nearest to us. but the vegetation there is thin, you remember. the chasm could be reached without difficulty. "'follow me who will!' said i. 'the rest are at liberty to shirk for themselves.' "'follow--where?' said deslow. i couldn't help smiling at the man's distress. all the rest were prepared to obey my directions; and it was hard for him to separate himself from them. but it seemed harder still for him to trust in me. i was not a moses; i could not take them through that red sea. what then? "i made for the chasm. all followed, even deslow,--dragging and lugging the bear. we came to the brink. the place, i must confess, had an awful look, in the light of the trees burning all around it! deslow was not the only one who shrank back then; for though the spot was known to some of them, they had never explored it, and could not guess what it led to. it was difficult, in the first place, to descend into it; it looked still more difficult ever to get out again; and there was nothing to prevent the burning limbs above from falling into it, or the trees that grew in it from catching fire. for this is the sink, mr. villars, which you have probably heard of,--where the woods have been undermined by the action of water in the limestone rocks, and an acre or more of the mountain has fallen in, with all its trees, so that what was once the roof of an immense cavern is now a little patch of the forest growing seventy feet below the surface of the earth. the sides are precipitous and projecting. only one tree throws a strong branch upwards to the edge of the sink. "'this way, gentlemen,' said i, 'and you are safe!' "it was a trial of their faith; for i waited to explain nothing. first, i tumbled the bear off the brink. we heard him go crashing down into the abyss, and strike the bottom with a sound full of awfulness to the uninitiated. then, with my rifle swung on my back, i seized the limb, and threw myself into the tree. "'where he can go, we can!' i heard stackridge say; and he followed me. i took his gun, and handed it to him again when he was safe in the tree. he did the same for another; and so all got into the branches, and climbed down after us. the trunk has no limbs within twenty feet of the bottom, but there is a smaller tree leaning into it which we got into, and so reached the ground. "'now, gentlemen,' said i, when all were down, 'i will show you where you are.' and opening the bushes, i discovered a path leading down the rocks into the caverns, of which this cave is only a branch. then i made them all take an oath never to betray the secret of what i had shown them. then i lighted one of the torches cudjo and i keep for our convenience when we come in that way, and gave it to them; lighted another for my own use; invited them to make themselves quite at home in my absence; left them to their reflections;--and here i am." still the mystery with regard to the unknown horseman was in no wise explained. pomp, informed of what had happened, arose hastily. penn followed him from the cave. pepperill accompanied them, to show the way. it was raining steadily; but the thickets in which lay the dead horse and his rider were burning still. "as i was going to stackridge's camp," said pomp, "i thought i saw a man crawling over the rocks above where the horse was tied. i ran up to find him, but he was gone. peace to his ashes, if it was he!" "won't be much o' the cuss left but ashes!" remarked pepperill. pomp ascended the ledges, and stood, silent and stern, gazing at the destruction of his beloved woods. the winds had died. the fires had evidently ceased to spread. portions of the forest that had been kindled and not consumed were burning now with slow, sullen combustion, like brands without flame. stripped of their foliage, shorn of their boughs, and seen in the dull and smoky daylight, through the rain, they looked like a forest of skeletons, all of glowing coal, brightening, darkening, and ever crumbling away. all at once pomp seemed to rouse himself, and direct his attention more particularly at the part of the woods in which the patriots' camp had been. "come with me, pepperill, if you would help do a good job!" they started off, and were soon out of sight. as penn turned from gazing after them, he heard a voice calling from the opposite side of the ravine. he looked, but could see no one. the figure to which the voice belonged was hidden by the bushes. the bushes moved, however; the figure was descending into the ravine. it arrived at the bottom, crossed, and began to ascend the steep side towards the cave. penn concealed himself, and waited until it had nearly emerged from the thickets beneath him, and he could distinctly hear the breath of a man panting and blowing with the toil of climbing. then a well-known voice said in a hoarse whisper,-- "massa hapgood! dat you?" and peering over the bank, he saw, upturned in the rain and murky light, among the wet bushes, the black, grinning face of old toby. he responded by reaching down, grasping the negro's hand, and drawing him up. the grin on the old man's face was a ghastly one, and his eyes rolled as he stammered forth,-- "miss jinny--ye seen miss jinny?" penn did not answer immediately; he was considering whether it would be safe to conduct toby into the cave. toby grew terrified. "don't say ye hain't seen her, massa penn! ye kill ol' toby if ye do! i done lost her!" and the poor old faithful fellow sobbed out his story,--how virginia had disappeared, and how, on discovering the woods to be on fire, he had set out in search of her, and been wandering he scarcely knew where ever since. "now don't say ye don't know nuffin' about her! don't say dat!" falling on his knees, and reaching up his hands beseechingly, as if he had only to prevail on penn to _say_ that all was well with "miss jinny," and that would make it so. such faith is in simple souls. "i'll say anything you wish me to, good old toby! only give me a chance." "den say you _has_ seen her." "i _has seen her_," repeated penn. "o, bress you, massa penn! and she ar safe--say dat too!" "_she ar safe_," said penn, laughing. "bress ye for dat!" and toby, weeping with joy, kissed the young man's hand again and again. "and ye knows whar she ar?" "yes, toby! so now get up: don't be kneeling on the rocks here in the rain!" "jes' one word more! say ye got her and ol' massa villars safe stowed away, and ye'll take me to see 'em; den dis ol' nigger'll bress you and de lord and dem, and be willin' fur to die! only say dat, massa!" "ah! did i promise to say all you wished?" "yes, you did, you did so, massa penn!" cried toby, triumphantly. "then i suppose i must say that, too. so come, you dear old simpleton! cudjo!" to the proprietor of the cave, who just then put out his head to reconnoitre, "cudjo! here is your friend toby, come to pay his master and mistress a visit!" "what business he got hyar?" said cudjo, crossly. "we's hab all de wuld, and creation besides, comin' bime-by!" "cudjo! you knows ol' toby, cudjo!" said toby, in the softest and most conciliatory tone imaginable. "nose ye!" cudjo snuffed disdainfully. "yes! and wish you'd keep fudder off!" "why, cudjo! don't you 'member toby? las' time i seed you! ye 'member dat, cudjo!" "don't 'member nuffin'!" "'twan't you, den, got inter my winder, and done skeert me mos' t' def 'fore i found out 'twas my ol' 'quaintance cudjo, come fur massa penn's clo'es! dat ar wan't you, hey?" and toby's honest indignation cropped out through the thin crust of deprecating obsequiousness which he still thought it politic to maintain. penn got under the shelter of the ledge, and waited for the dispute to end. it was evident to him that cudjo was not half so ill-natured as he appeared; but, feeling himself in a position of something like official importance, he had the human weakness to wish to make the most of it. "your massa and missis bery well off. dey in my house. no room dar for you. ain't wanted hyar, nohow!" turning his back very much like a personage of lighter complexion, clad in brief authority. "ain't wanted, cudjo? you don't know what you's sayin' now. whar my ol' massa and young missis is, dar ol' toby's wanted. can't lib widout me, dey can't! ol' massa wants me to nuss him. ye don't tink--you's a nigger widout no kind ob 'sideration, cudjo." "talk o' you nussin' him when him's got pomp!" "pomp! what can pomp do? wouldn't trust him to nuss a chick sicken!" toby talked backwards in his excitement. "ki! didn't him take massa hapgood and make him well? don't ye know nuffin'?" toby seemed staggered for a moment. but he rallied quickly, and said,-- "he cure massa hapgood? he done jes' nuffin' 't all fur him. de fac's is, i had de nussin' on him for a spell at fust, and gib him a start. dar's ebery ting in a start, cudjo." "o, what a stupid nigger!" said cudjo. "hyar's massa hapgood hisself! leab it to him now!" "you are both right," said penn. "toby did nurse me, and give me a good start; for which i shall always thank him." "dar! tol' ye so, tol' ye so!" said toby. "but it was pomp who afterwards cured me," added penn. "dar! tol' you so!" cried cudjo, while toby's countenance fell. "for while toby is a capital nurse" (toby brightened), "pomp is a first-rate doctor" (cudjo grinned). "so don't dispute any more. shake hands with your old friend, cudjo, and show him into your house." cudjo was still reluctant; but just then occurred a pleasing incident, which made him feel good-natured towards everybody. pomp and pepperill arrived, bringing the bag of meal and the basket of potatoes which the bear-hunters had forsaken in the woods, and which the rain had preserved from the fire. xxxi. _lysander takes possession._ gad the "sleeper" (he had earned that title) had been himself placed under guard for drinking too much of the prisoners' liquor, and suffering them to escape. miserable, sullen, thirsty, he languished in confinement. "let 'em shoot me, and done with it, if that's the penalty," said this chivalrous son of the south; "only give a feller suthin' to drink!" but that policy of the confederates, which opened the jails of the country, and put arms in the hands of the convicts, and pardoned every felon that would fight, might be expected to find a better use for an able-bodied fellow, like gad, than to shoot him. the use they found for him was this: he had been a mighty hunter before the lord, ere he became too besotted and lazy for such sport; and he professed to know the mountains better than any other man. accordingly, on the recommendation of his friend lieutenant ropes, it was resolved to send him to spy out the position of the patriots. it was an enterprise of some danger, and, to encourage him in it, he was promised two things--pardon for his offence, and, what was of more importance to him, a bottle of old whiskey. "i'll see that you have light enough," said ropes, significantly. it was the evening of the firing of the forests. how well the lieutenant fulfilled his part of the engagement, we have seen. gad put the bottle in his pocket, and set off at dark by routes obscure and circuitous to get upon the trail of the patriots. how well _he_ succeeded will appear by and by. the burning of the forests caused a great excitement in the valley, especially among those families whose husbands and fathers were known to have taken refuge in them. who had committed the barbarous act? the confederates denounced it with virtuous indignation, charging the patriots with it, of course. there was in the village but one witness who could have disputed this charge, and he now occupied gad's place in the guard-house. it was the deserter carl. all the morning gad's return was anxiously awaited. no doubt there were good reasons why he did not come. so said his friend silas; and his friend silas was right: there were good reasons. "anyhow, i kep' my word--i giv him light enough, i reckon!" chuckled silas. that was true: gad had had light enough, and to spare. the rain continued all the morning. perhaps that was what detained the scout; for it was known that he had a great aversion to water. in the afternoon came one with tidings from the mountain. it was not gad. it was old toby. he was seized by some soldiers and taken before captain sprowl, at the school-house. "toby, you black devil, where have you been?" this was lysander's chivalrous way of addressing an inferior whom he wished to terrify. now, if there was a person in the world whom toby detested, it was this roving lysander, who had disgraced the villars family by marrying into it. however, he concealed his contempt with a politic hypocrisy worthy of a whiter skin. "please, sar," said the old negro, cap in hand, "i'se been lookin' for my ol' massa and my young missis." "well, what luck, you lying scoundrel?" "o, no luck 't all, i 'sure you, sar!" "what! couldn't you find 'em? don't you lie, you ----." (we may as well omit the captain's energetic epithets.) "o, sar!"--toby looked up earnestly with counterfeit grief in his wrinkled old face,--"dey ain't nowhars on de face ob de 'arth!" "not on the face of the earth!" "if dey is, den de fire's done burnt 'em all up. i seen, down in a big holler, a place whar somebody's been burnt, shore! dar's a man, and a hoss on top on him, and de hoss's har am all burnt off, and de man's trouse's-legs am all burnt off too, and one foot's got a fried boot onto it, and tudder han't got nuffin' on, but jes' de skin and bone all roasted to a crisp; and i 'specs dar's 'nuff sight more dead folks down in dar, on'y i didn't da's to look, it make me feel so skeerylike!" all which, and much more, toby related so circumstantially, that captain sprowl was strongly impressed with the truth of the story. great, therefore, was the joy of the captain. perhaps the patriots had been destroyed: he hoped so! still more ardently he hoped that virginia had perished with her father. for was he not the husband of salina? and the snug little villars property, did he not covet it? "can you show me that spot, toby?" "'don'o', sar: i specs i could, sar." "don't you forget about it! now, toby, go home to your mistress,--my wife's your mistress, you know,--and wait till you are wanted." "yes, sar,"--bowing, and pulling his foretop. captain sprowl did not overhear the irrepressible chuckle of satisfaction in which the old negro indulged as he retired, or he would have perceived that he had been trifled with. we are apt to be extremely credulous when listening to what we wish to believe; and lysander's delight left no room in his heart for suspicion. all he desired now was that gad should appear and confirm toby's report; for surely gad must know something about the dead horse and the dead man under him; and why did not the fellow return? as for toby, he hastened home as fast as his tired old legs could carry him, chuckling all the way over his lucky escape, and the cunning answers by which he had mystified the captain without telling a downright falsehood. "ob course, dey ain't on de face ob de 'arth, long as dey's inside on't! hi, hi, hi!" he did not greatly relish reporting himself to salina: nevertheless, he had been ordered to do so, not only by the captain, but by those whose authority he respected more. salina, though so bitter, was not without natural affection, and she had suffered much and waited anxiously ever since toby, terrified into the avowal of his belief that virginia was in the burning woods, had set out in search of her. she was not patient; she was wanting in religious trust. she had not slept. all night and all day she had tortured herself with terrible fancies. instead of calming her spirit with prayer, she had kept it irritated with spiteful thoughts against what she deemed her evil destiny. there are certain natures to which every misfortune brings a blessing; for, whatever it may take away, it is sure to leave that divine influence which comes from resignation and a deepened sense of reliance upon god. such a nature was the old clergyman's. every blow his heart had received had softened it; and a softened heart is a well of interior happiness; it is more precious to its possessor than all outward gifts of friends and fortune. such a nature, too, was virginia's. she too, through all things, kept warm in her bosom that holy instinct of faith, that blessed babe named love, ever humbly born, whose life within is a light that transfigures the world. to such, despair cannot come; for when the worst arrives, when all they cherished is gone, heaven is still left to them; and they look up and smile. to them sorrow is but a preparation for a diviner joy. all things indeed work together for their good; since, whether fair fortune comes, or ill, they possess the spiritual alchemy that transmutes it into blessing. this love, this faith, salina lacked. she fostered in their place that selfishness and discontent which sour the soul. every blow upon her heart had hardened it. every trial embittered and angered her. hence the swollen and flaming eyes, the impatient and scowling looks, with which she met the returning toby. "where is virginia?" "dat i can't bery well say, miss salina," replied toby, scratching his woolly head. he would never sacrifice his family pride so far as to call her mrs. sprowl. "how dare you come back without her?" and she heaped upon him the bitterest reproaches. it was he who, through his cowardice, had been the cause of virginia's night adventure. it was he who had ruined everything by concealing her departure until it was too late. then he might have found her, if he had so resolved. but if he could not, why had he remained absent all day? under this sharp fire of accusations toby stood with ludicrous indifference, grinning, and scratching his head. at length he scratched out of it a little roll of paper that had been confided to his wool for safe keeping, in case he should be seized and searched. it fell upon the floor. he hastily snatched it up, and gave it, with obsequious alacrity, to mrs. sprowl. she took, unrolled it, and read. it was a pencilled note in the handwriting of virginia. * * * * * "dear sister: thanks to a kind providence and to kind friends, we are safe. i was rescued last night from the most frightful dangers in the burning woods. i had come, without your knowledge, to get news of our dear father. i am now with him. he has excellent shelter, and devoted attendants; but the comforts of his home are wanting, and i have learned how much he is dependent upon us for his happiness. for this reason i shall remain with him as long as i can. to relieve your mind we send toby back to you. v." * * * * * that evening captain sprowl entered the house of the absent mr. villars with the air of one who had just come into possession of that little piece of property. he nodded with satisfaction at the walls, glanced approvingly at the furniture, curved his lip rather contemptuously at the books (as much as to say, "i'll sell off all that sort of rubbish"), and expressed decided pleasure at sight of old toby. "worth eight hundred dollars, that nigger is!" he had either forgotten that mr. villars had given toby his freedom, or he believed that, under the new order of things, in a confederacy founded on slavery, such gifts would not be held valid. "well, sallie, my girl,"--throwing himself into the old clergyman's easy chair,--"here we are at home! bring me the bootjack, toby." "i don't know about your being at home!" said salina, indignantly. and it was evident that toby did not know about bringing the bootjack. he looked as if he would have preferred to jerk the chair from beneath the sprawling lysander, and break it over him. "i suppose toby has told you the news? awful news! a fearful dispensation of providence! pepperill came in this afternoon and confirmed it. we thought he had deserted, but it appears he had only got lost in the woods. he reports some dead bodies in a ravine, and his account tallies very well with toby's. we'll wear mourning, of course, sallie." lysander stroked his chin. mrs. lysander tapped the floor with her impatient foot, gnawed her lip, and scowled. "come, my dear!" said the captain, coaxingly; "we may as well understand each other. times is changed. i tell ye, i'm going to be one of the big men under the new government. now, sal, see here. i'm your husband, and there's no getting away from it. and what's the use of getting away from it, even if we could? let's settle down, and be respectable. we've had quarrels enough, and i've got tired of 'em. toby, why don't you bring that bootjack?" lysander swung his chair around towards salina. she turned hers away from him, still knitting her brows and gnawing that disdainful lip. "now what's the use, sal? since the way is opened for us to live together again, why can't you make up your mind to it, let bygones be bygones, and begin life over again? when i was a poor devil, dodging the officers, and never daring to see you except in the dark, i couldn't blame you for feeling cross with me; for it was a cursed miserable state of things. but you're a captain's wife now. you'll be a general's wife by and by. i shall be off fighting the battles of my country, and you'll be proud to hear of my exploits." salina was touched. weary of the life she led, morbidly eager for change, she was a secessionist from the first, and had welcomed the war. moreover, strange as it may seem, she loved this worthless lysander. she hated him for the misery he had caused her; she was exceedingly bitter against him; yet love lurked under all. she was secretly proud to see him a captain. it was hard to forgive him for all the wrongs she had suffered; but her heart was lonely, and it yearned for reconciliation. her scornful lip quivered, and there was a convulsive movement in her throat. "go away!" she exclaimed, violently, as he approached to caress her. "i am as unhappy as i can be! o, if i had never seen you! why do you come to torture me now?" this passion pleased lysander: it was a sign that her spirit was breaking. he caught her in his arms, called her pet names, laughed, and kissed her. and this woman, after all, loved to be called pet names, and kissed. "toby! you devil!" roared lysander, "why don't you bring that bootjack?" the old negro stood behind the door, with the bootjack in his hand, furious, ready to hurl it at the captain's head. he hesitated a moment, then turned, discreetly, and flung it out of the kitchen window. "ain't a bootjack nowars in de house, sar!" "then come here yourself!" and the gay captain made a bootjack of the old negro. "now shut up the house and go to bed!" he said, dismissing him with a kick. after toby had retired, and salina had wiped her eyes, and lysander had got his feet comfortably installed in the old clergyman's slippers, the long-estranged couple grew affectionate and confidential. "law, sallie!" said the captain, caressingly, "we can be as happy as two pigs in clover!" and he proceeded to interpret, in plain prosaic detail, those blissful possibilities expressed by the choice poetic figure. it was evident to salina that all his domestic plans were founded on the supposition that the slippers he had on were the dead man's shoes he had been waiting for. was she shocked by this cold, atrocious spirit of calculation? at first she was; but since she had begun to pardon his faults, she could easily overlook that. she, who had lately been so spiteful and bitter, was now all charity towards this man. even the image of her blind and aged father faded from her mind; even the pure and beautiful image of her sister grew dim; and the old, revivified attachment became supreme. shall we condemn the weakness? or shall we pity it, rather? so long her affections had been thwarted! so long she had carried that lonely and hungry heart! so long, like a starved, sick child, it had fretted and cried, till now, at last, nurture and warmth made it grateful and glad! a babe is a sacred thing; and so is love. but if you starve and beat them? perhaps salina's unhappiness of temper owed its development chiefly to this cause. no wonder, then, that we find her melancholy, morbid, unreasonable, and now so ready to cling again to this wretch, this scamp, her husband, forgiving all, forgetting all (for the moment at least), in the wild flood of love and tears that drowned the past. "o, yes! i do think we can be happy!" she said--"if you will only be kind and good to me! if not here, why, then, somewhere else; for place is of no consequence; all i want is love." "ah!" said lysander, knocking the ashes from his cigar, "but i have a fancy for this place! and what should we leave it for?" "because--you know--there is no certainty--i believe father is alive yet, and well." "not unless toby lied to me!--did he?" "pshaw! you can't place any reliance on what toby says!"--evasively. "but i tell you pepperill confirms his report about the dead bodies in the ravine! now, what do you know to the contrary?" lysander appeared very much excited, and a quarrel was imminent. salina dreaded a quarrel. she broke into a laugh. "the truth is, toby did fool you. he couldn't help bragging to me about it." o toby, toby! that little innocent vanity of yours is destined to cost you, and others besides you, very dear! lysander sprang upon his feet; his eyes sparkled with rage. salina saw that it was now too late to keep the secret from him; there was no way but to tell him all. she showed virginia's note. virginia and her father alive and safe--that was what maddened lysander! but where were they? salina could not answer that question; for the most she had been able to get out of toby was only a vague hint that they were hidden somewhere in a cave. "no matter!" said lysander, with a diabolical laugh showing his clinched and tobacco-stained teeth. "i'll have the nigger licked! i'll have the truth out of him, or i'll have his life?" xxxii. _toby's reward._ filled with disgust and wrath, toby had obeyed the man who assumed to be his master, and gone to bed. but he was scarcely asleep, when he felt somebody shaking him, and awoke to see bending over him, with smiling countenance, lamp in hand, captain lysander. "what's wantin', sar?" "i want you to do an errand for me, toby," lysander kindly replied. "wal, sar, i don'o', sar," said toby, reluctant, sitting up in bed and rubbing his elbows. "you know i had a right smart tramp. i's a tuckered-out nigger, sar; dat's de troof." "yes, you had a hard time, toby. but you'll just run over to the school-house for me, i know. that's a good fellow!" toby hardly knew what to make of lysander's extraordinarily persuasive and indulgent manner. he didn't know before that a sprowl could smile so pleasantly, and behave so much like a gentleman. then, the captain had called him a good fellow, and his african soul was not above flattery. weary, sleepy as he was, he felt strongly inclined to get up out of his delicious bed, and go and do lysander's errand. "you've only to hand this note to lieutenant ropes. and i'll give you something when you come back--something you don't get every day, toby! something you've deserved, and ought to have had long ago!" and lysander, all smiles, patted the old servant's shoulder. this was too much for toby. he laughed with pleasure, got up, pulled on his clothes, took the note, and started off with alacrity, to convince the captain that he merited all the good that was said of him, and that indefinite "something" besides. what could that something be? he thought of many things by the way: a dollar; a knife; a new pair of boots with red tops, such as lysander himself wore;--which last item reminded him of the bootjack he had been used for, and the kick he had received. he stopped in the street, his wrath rising up again at the recollection. "good mind ter go back, and not do his old arrant." but then he thought of the smiles and compliments, and the promised reward. "somefin' kinder decent 'bout dat mis'ble sprowl, 'long wid a heap o' mean tings, arter all!" and he started on again. lysander's note was in these words:-- "leiutent ropes send me with the bearrer of this strappin felloes capble of doin a touhgh job." this letter was duly signed, and duly delivered, and it brought the " strappin felloes." the internal evidence it bore, that lysander had not pursued his studies at school half as earnestly as he had of late pursued the schoolmaster, made no difference with the result. the two strapping fellows returned with toby. they were raw recruits, who had travelled a long distance on foot in order to enlist in the confederate ranks. they had an unmistakable foreign air. they called themselves germans. they were brothers. "all right, toby!" said lysander, well pleased. "what are you bowing and grinning at me for? o, i was to give you something!" "if you please, sar," said toby--wretched, deceived, cajoled, devoted toby. "well, you go to the woodshed and bring the clothes line for these fellows--to make a swing for the ladies, you know--then i'll tell you what you're to have." "sartin, sar." and toby ran for the clothes line. "good old toby! now, what you have deserved so long, and what these stout dutchmen will proceed to give you, is the damnedest licking you ever had in your life!" toby almost fainted; falling upon his knees, and rolling up his eyes in consternation. sprowl smiled. the "dutchmen" grinned. just then salina darted into the room. "lysander! what are you going to do with that old man?" she put the demand sharply, her short upper lip quivering, cheeks flushed, eyes flaming. "i'm going to have him whipped." "no, you are not. you promised me you wouldn't. you told me that if he would go to the academy for you, and be respectful, you would forgive him. if i had known what you were sending for, he should never have left this house. now send those men back, and let him go." "not exactly, my lady. i am master in this house, whatever turns up. i am this nigger's master, too." "you are not; you never were. toby has his freedom. he shall not be whipped!" and with a gesture of authority, and with a stamp of her foot, salina placed herself between the kneeling old servant and the grinning brothers. alas! this woman's dream of love and happiness had been brief, as all such dreams, false in their very nature, must ever be. she loved him well enough to concede much. she was not going to quarrel with him any more. to avoid a threatened quarrel, she betrayed toby. but she was not heartless: she had a sense of justice, pride, temper, an impetuous will, not yet given over in perpetuity to the keeping of her husband. the captain laughed devilishly, and threw his arms about his wife (this time in no loving embrace), and seizing her wrists, held them, and nodded to the soldiers to begin their work. they laid hold of toby, still kneeling and pleading, bound his arms behind him with the cord, and then looked calmly at lysander for instructions. "take him to the shed," said the captain. "one of you carry this light. you can string him up to a crossbeam. if you don't understand how that's done, i'll go and show you. he's to have twenty lashes to begin with, for lying to me. then he's to be whipped till he tells where our escaped prisoners are hid in the mountains. you understand?" "ve unterstan," said the brothers, coldly. toby groaned. they took hold of him, and dragged him away. "now will you behave, my girl? a pretty row you're making! ye see it's no use. i am master. the nigger'll only get it the worse for your interference." lysander looked insolently in his wife's face. it was livid. "hey?" he said. "one of your tantrums?" he placed her on a chair. she was rigid; she did not speak; he would have thought she was in a fit but for the eyes which she never took off of him--eyes fixed with deep, unutterable, deadly, despairing hate. "i reckon you'll behave--you'd better!" he said, shaking his finger warningly at her as he retired backwards from the room. she saw the door close behind him. she did not move: her eyes were still fixed on that door: heavy and cold as stone, she sat there, and gazed, with that same look of unutterable hate. perhaps five minutes. then she heard blows and shrieks. toby's shrieks: he had no carl now to rush in and cut his bands. the twenty lashes for lying had been administered on the negro's bare back. then lysander put the question: was he prepared to tell all he knew about the fugitives and the cave? "o, pardon, sar! pardon, sar!" the old man implored; "i can't tell nuffin', dat am de troof!" "work away, boys," said lysander. was it supposed that the good old practice of applying torture to enforce confession had long since been done away with? a great mistake, my friend. driven from that ancient stronghold of conservatism, the spanish inquisition, it found refuge in this modern stronghold of conservatism, american slavery. here the records of its deeds are written on many a back. but toby was not a slave. no matter for that. for in the school of slavery, this is the lesson that soon or late is learned: not simply that there are two castes, freeman and slave; two races, white and black; but that there are two great classes, the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak, the lord and the laborer, one born to rule, and the other to be ruled. all, who are not masters, are, or ought to be, slaves: black or white, it makes no difference; and the slave has no rights. this is the first principle of human slavery. this every slave society tends directly to develop. it may be kept carefully out of sight, but there it lurks, in the hardened hearts of men, like water within rocks. it is forever gushing up in little springs of despotism. once it burst forth in a vast convulsive flood, and that was the rebellion. although lysander had never owned a slave, he had all his life breathed the atmosphere of the institution, and imbibed its spirit. he hated labor. he was ambitious. but he was poor. like a flying fish, he had forced himself out of the lower element of society, to which he naturally belonged, and had long desperately endeavored to soar. the struggle it had cost him to attain his present position rendered him all the more violent in his hatred of the inferior class, and all the more eager to enjoy the privileges of the aristocracy. do not blame this man too much. the injustice, the cruelty, the atrocious selfishness he displays, do not belong so much to the individual as to the institution. the milk of this wolf makes the child it nourishes wolfish. torture to the extent of ten lashes was applied; then once more the question was put. gashed, bleeding, strung up by his thumbs to the crossbeam; every blow of the extemporized whips extorting from him a howl of agony; no rescue at hand; lysander looking on with a merciless smile; the brothers doing their assigned work with merciless nonchalance; well might poor toby cry out, in the wild insanity of pain,-- "yes, sar! i'll tell, i'll tell, sar!" "very good," said lysander. "let him breathe a minute, boys." but in that minute toby gathered up his soul again, dismissed the traitor, cowardice, and took counsel of his fidelity. betray his good old master to these ruffians? break his promise to virginia, his oath to cudjo and pomp? no, he couldn't do that. he thought of penn, who would certainly be hung if captured; and hung through his treachery! "now, out with it," said lysander. "all about the cave. and don't ye lie, for you'll have to go and show it to us when we're ready."' "i can't tell!" said toby. "dar ain't no cave! none't i knows about--dat's shore!" this was of course a downright lie; but it was told to save from ruin those he loved; and i do not think it stands charged against his soul on the books of the recording angel. "ten more, boys," said lysander. "o, wait, wait, sar!" shrieked toby. "des guv me time to tink!" he thought of ten lashes; ten more afterwards; and still another ten; for he knew that the whipping would not cease until either he betrayed the fugitives or died; and every lash was to him an agony. "think quick," said captain sprowl. just then the door, of the kitchen opened. toby grasped wildly at that straw of hope. it broke instantly. the comer was salina. she had had the power to betray him, but not the power to save. she stood with folded arms, and smiled. "i can't help you, toby, but i can be revenged." "hello!" cried lysander, with a start. "what smoke is that?" she had left the door open, and a draught of air wafted a strange smell of burning cloth and pine wood to his nostrils. "nothing," replied salina, "only the house is afire." xxxiii. _carl makes an engagement._ lysander looked in through the doors and saw flames. she had touched the lamp to the sitting-room curtains, and they had ignited the wood-work. "your own house," he said, furiously. "what a fiend!" "it was my father's house until you took possession of it," she answered. "now it shall burn." if he had not already considered that he had an interest at stake, that gentle remark reminded him. "boys! come quick! by----! we must put out the fire!" he rushed into the kitchen. the german brothers had come to execute his commands: whether to flay a negro or extinguish a fire, was to them a matter of indifference; and they followed him, seizing pails. salina was prepared for the emergency. she held a butcher-knife concealed under her folded arms. with this she cut the cords above toby's thumbs. it was done in an instant. "now, take this and run! if they go to take you, kill them!" she thrust the handle of the knife into his hand, and pushed him from the shed. terrified, bewildered, weak, he seemed moving in a kind of nightmare. but somehow he got around the corner of the shed, and disappeared in the darkness. the brothers saw him go. they were drawing water at the well, and handing it to lysander in the house. but they had been told to hand water, not to catch the negro. so they looked placidly at each other, and said nothing. the fire was soon extinguished; and lysander, with his coat off, pail in hand, excited, turned and saw his "fiend" of a wife seated composedly in a chair, regarding him with a smile sarcastic and triumphant. he uttered a frightful oath. "any more of your tantrums, and i'll kill you!" "any more of yours," she replied, "and i'll burn you up. i can set fires faster than you can put them out. i don't care for the house any more than i care for my life, and that's precious little." by the tone in which she said these words, level, determined, distinct, with that spice which compressed fury lends, captain lysander sprowl knew perfectly well that she meant them. the brothers looked at each other intelligently. one said something in german, which we may translate by the words "incompatibility of temper;" and he smiled with dry humor. the other responded in the same tongue, and with a sleepy nod, glancing phlegmatically at sprowl. what he said may be rendered by the phrase--"caught a tartar." although lysander did not understand the idiom, he seemed to be quite of the teutonic opinion. he regarded mrs. sprowl with a sort of impotent rage. if he was reckless, she had shown herself more reckless. though he was so desperate, she had outdone him in desperation. he saw plainly that if he touched her now, that touch must be kindness, or it must be death. "have you let toby go?" "yes," replied salina. "we can catch him," said lysander. "if you do you will be sorry. i warn you in season." since she said so, lysander did not doubt but that it would be so. he concluded, therefore, not to catch toby--that night. moreover, he resolved to go back to his quarters and sleep. he was afraid of that wildcat; he dreaded the thought of trusting himself in the house with her. he durst not kill her, and he durst not go to sleep, leaving her alive. the germans, perceiving his fear, looked at each other and grunted. that grunt was the german for "mean cuss." they saw through lysander. after all were gone, salina went out and called toby. the old negro had fled for his life, and did not hear. she returned into the house, the aspect of which was rendered all the more desolate and drear by the marks of fire, the water that drenched the floor, the smoky atmosphere, and the dim and bluish lamp-light. the unhappy woman sat down in the lonely apartment, and thought of her brief dream of happiness, of this last quarrel which could never be made up, and of the hopeless, loveless, miserable future, until it seemed that the last drop of womanly blood in her veins was turned to gall. at the same hour, not many miles away, on a rude couch in a mountain cave, by her father's side, virginia was tranquilly sleeping, and dreaming of angel visits. across the entrance of the cavern, like an ogre keeping guard, cudjo was stretched on a bed of skins. the fire, which rarely went out, illumined faintly the subterranean gloom. by its light came one, and looked at the old man and his child sleeping there, so peacefully, so innocently, side by side. the face of the father was solemn, white, and calm; that of the maiden, smiling and sweet. the heart of the young man yearned within him; his eyes, as they gazed, filled with tears; and his lips murmured with pure emotion,-- "o lord, i thank thee for their sakes! o lord, preserve them and bless them!" and he moved softly away, his whole soul suffused with ineffable tenderness towards that good old man and the dear, beautiful girl. he had stolen thither to see that all was well. all was indeed well. and now he retired once more to a recess in the rock, where he and pomp had made their bed of blankets and dry moss. the footsteps on the solid floor of stone had not awakened her. and what was more remarkable, the lover's beating heart and worshipping gaze had not disturbed her slumber. but now the slightest movement on the part of her blind parent banishes sleep in an instant. "daughter, are you here?" "i am here, father!" "are you well, my child?" "o, very well! i have had such a sweet sleep! can i do anything for you?" "yes. let me feel that you are near me. that is all." she kissed him. "heaven is good to me!" he said. she watched him until he slept again. then, her soul filled with thankfulness and peace, she closed her eyes once more, and happy thoughts became happy dreams. at about that time salina threw herself despairingly upon her bed, at home, gnashing her teeth, and wishing she had never been born. and these two were sisters. and salina had the house and all its comforts left to her, while virginia had nothing of outward solace for her delicate nature but the rudest entertainment. so true it is that not place, and apparel, and pride make us happy, but piety, affection, and the disposition of the mind. the night passed, and morning dawned, and they who had slept awoke, and they who had not slept watched bitterly the quickening light which brought to them, not joy and refreshment, but only another phase of weariness and misery. captain lysander sprowl was observed to be in a savage mood that day. the cares of married life did not agree with him: they do not with some people. because salina had baffled him, and toby had escaped, his inferiors had to suffer. he was sharp even with lieutenant ropes, who came to report a fact of which he had received information. "stackridge was in the village last night!" "what's that to me?" said lysander. "the lieutenant-colonel--" whispered silas. sprowl grew attentive. by the lieutenant-colonel was meant no other person than augustus bythewood, who had received his commission the day before. well might lysander, at the mention of him to whom both these aspiring officers owed everything, bend a little and listen. ropes proceeded. "he feels a cussed sight badder now he believes the gal is in a cave somewhars with the schoolmaster, than he did when he thought she was burnt up in the woods. he entirely approves of your conduct last night, and says toby must be ketched, and the secret licked out of him. in the mean while he thinks sunthin' can be done with stackridge's family. stackridge was home last night, and of course his wife will know about the cave. the secret might be frightened out on her, or, i swear!" said silas, "i wouldn't object to using a little of the same sort of coercion you tried with toby; and bythewood wouldn't nuther. only, you understand, he musn't be supposed to know anything about it." lysander's eyes gleamed. he showed his tobacco-stained teeth in a way that boded no good to any of the name of stackridge. "good idee?" said silas, with a coarse and brutal grin. "damned good!" said lysander. indeed, it just suited his ferocious mood. "go yourself, lieutenant, and put it into execution." "there's one objection to that," replied silas, thrusting a quid into his cheek. "i know the old woman so well. it's best that none of us in authority should be supposed to have a hand in't. send somebody that don't know her, and that you can depend on to do the job up harnsome. how's them dutchmen?" "just the chaps!" said lysander, growing good-natured as the pleasant idea of whipping a woman developed itself more and more to his appreciative mind. from flogging a slave, to flogging a free negro, the step is short and easy. from the familiar and long-established usage of beating slave-women, to the novel fashion of whipping the patriotic wives of union men, the step is scarcely longer, or more difficult. even the chivalrous bythewood, who was certainly a gentleman in the common acceptation of the term, magnificently hospitable to his equals, gallant to excess among ladies worthy of his smiles,--yet who never interfered to prevent the flogging of slave-mothers on his estates,--saw nothing extraordinary or revolting in the idea of extorting a secret from a hated union woman by means of the lash. to such gross appetites for cruelty as ropes had cultivated, the thing relished hugely. the keen, malignant palate of lysander tasted the flavor of a good joke in it. the project was freely discussed, and in the hilarity of their hearts the two officers let fall certain words, like crumbs from their table, which a miserable dog chanced to pick up. that miserable dog was dan pepperill, whose heart was so much bigger than his wit. he knew that mischief was meant towards mrs. stackridge. how could he warn her? the drums were already beating for company drill, and he despaired of doing anything to save her, when by good fortune--or is there something besides good fortune in such things?--he saw one of his children approaching. the little pepperill came with a message from her mother. dan heard it unheedingly, then whispered in the girl's ear,-- "go and tell mrs. stackridge her and the childern's invited over to our house this forenoon. right away now! partic'lar reasons, tell her!" added dan, reflecting that ladies in mrs. stackridge's station did not visit those in his wife's without particular reasons. the child ran away, and pepperill fell into the ranks, only to get repeatedly and severely reprimanded by the drill-officer for his heedlessness that morning. he did everything awkwardly, if not altogether wrong. his mind was on the child and the errand on which he had sent her, and he kept wondering within himself whether she would do it correctly (children are so apt to do errands amiss!), and whether mrs. stackridge would be wise enough, or humble enough, to go quietly and give mrs. p. a call. after company drill the brothers were summoned, and lysander gave them secret orders. they were to visit stackridge's house, seize mrs. stackridge and compel her, by blows if necessary, to tell where her husband was concealed. "you understand?" said the captain. "ve unterstan," said they, dryly. scarcely had the brothers departed, when a prisoner was brought in. it was toby, who had been caught endeavoring to make his way up into the mountains. "now we've got the nigger, mabby we'd better send and call the dutchmen back," said silas ropes. "no, no!" said lysander, through his teeth. "'twon't do any harm to give the jade a good dressing down. i wish every man, woman, and child, that shrieks for the old rotten union, could be served in the same way." having set his heart on this little indulgence, sprowl could not easily be persuaded to give it up. it was absolutely necessary to his peace of mind that somebody should be flogged. the interesting affair with toby, which had been so abruptly broken off,--left, like a novelette in the newspapers, to be continued,--must be concluded in some shape: it mattered little upon whose flesh the final chapters were struck off. in the mean time the recaptured negro was taken to the guard-house. there he found a sympathizing companion. it was carl. to him he told his story, and showed his wounds, the sight of which filled the heart of the lad with rage, and pity, and grief. "vot sort of tutchmen vos they?" toby described them. carl's eyes kindled. "i shouldn't be wery much susprised," said he, "if they vos--no matter!" lieutenant ropes arrived, bringing into the guard-house a formidable cat-o'-nine-tails. "string that nigger up," said silas. ropes was not the man to await patiently the issue of the woman-whipping, while here was a chance for a little private sport. he remembered how toby had got away from him once--that he too owed him a flogging. debts of this kind, if no others, silas delighted to pay; and accordingly the negro was strung up. it was well for the lieutenant that carl had irons on his wrists. the sound of the poor old man's groans,--the sight of his gashed, oozing, and inflamed back, bared again to the whip,--was to carl unendurable. but as it was not in his power to obey the impulse of his soul, to spring for a musket and slay that monster of cruelty, ropes, on the spot,--he must try other means, perhaps equally unwise and desperate, to save toby from torture. "vait, sir, if you please, vun leetle moment," he called out to silas. "i have a vord or two to shpeak." he had as yet, however, scarcely made up his mind what to propose. a moment's reflection convinced him that only one thing could purchase toby's reprieve; and perhaps even that would fail. regardless of consequences to himself, he resolved to try it. "i know petter as he does about the cave; i vos there," he cried out, boldly. "hey? you offer yourself to be whipped in this old nigger's place?" said ropes. "not wery much," replied carl. "i can go mit you or anypody you vill send, and show vair the cave is. i remember. but if you vill have me whipped, i shouldn't be wery much surprised if that vould make me to forget. whippins," he added, significantly, "is wery pad for the memory." "you mean to say, if you are licked, then you won't tell?" "that ish the idea i vished to conwey." "we'll see about that." silas laughed. "in the mean time we'll try what can be got out of this nigger." toby, who had had a gleam of hope, now fell again into despair. just then captain sprowl came in. "hold! what are you doing with that nigger?" silas explained, and carl repeated his proposal. lysander caught eagerly at it. he remembered salina's warning, and was glad of any excuse to liberate the old negro. "you promise to take me to the cave?" carl assented. "why, then, lieutenant, that's all we want, and i order this boy to be set free." "this boy" was toby, who was accordingly let off, to his own inexpressible joy and ropes's infinite disgust. "if carl he take de responsumbility to show de cave, dat ain't my fault. 'sides, dat boy am bright, he am; de secesh can't git much de start o' him!" thus the old negro congratulated himself on his way home. at the same time carl, still in irons, was saying to himself,-- "so far so goot. if they had whipped toby, two things vould be wery pad--the whipping, for one, and he would have told, for another. but i have made vun promise. it vas a pad promise, and a pad promise is petter proken as kept. but if i preak it, they vill preak my head. vot shall i do? now let me see!" said carl. and he remained plunged in thought. xxxiv. _captain lysander's joke._ since the time when she lost her best feather-bed and her boarder, the worthy widow sprowl had suffered serious pecuniary embarrassment. she missed sadly the regular four dollars a week, and the irregular gratuities, she had received from penn. so much secession had cost her, without yielding as yet any of its promised benefits. the yankees had not stepped up with the alacrity expected of them, and thrust their servile necks into the yoke of their natural masters. the slave trade was not reopened. niggers were not yet so cheap that every poor widow could, at a trifling expense, provide herself with several, and grow rich on their labor. in the pride of seeing her son made what she called a "capting," and in the hope of enjoying some of the golden fruits of his valor, she had given him her last penny, and received up to the present time not a penny from him in return. in short, lysander was ungrateful, and the widow was a disappointed woman. so it happened that the sugar-bowl and tea-canister were often empty, and the poor widow had no legitimate means of replenishing them. in this extremity she resorted to borrowing. she borrowed of everybody, and never repaid. she borrowed even of the hated unionists in the neighborhood, and confessed with bitterness to her son that she found them more ready to lend to her than the families of secessionists. again, on the morning of the events related in the last chapter, she found herself in want of many things--tea, sugar, meal, beans, potatoes, snuff, and tobacco; for this excellent woman snuffed, "dipped," and smoked. "where shall i go and borry to-day?" said she, counting her patrons, and the number of times she had been to borrow of each, on her fingers. "thar's mis' stackridge. i hain't been to her but oncet. i'll go agin, and carry the big basket." with her basket on her arm, and an ancient brown bonnet (which had been black at the time of the demise of the late lamented sprowl,) on her head, and a multitude of excuses on her tongue, she set out, and walked to the farmer's house. this had one of those great, shed-like openings through it, so common in tennessee. a door on the left, as you entered this covered space, led to the kitchen and living-room of the family. here the widow knocked. there was no response. she knocked again, with the same result. then she pulled the latch-string--for the door even of this well-to-do farmer had a latch-string. she entered. the house was deserted. "ain't to home, none of 'em, hey?" said the widow, peering about her with a disagreeable scowl. "house wan't locked, nuther. wonder if mis' stackridge and the childern have gone to the mountains too? and whar's old aunt deb?" her first feeling was that of resentment. what right had mrs. stackridge to be absent when she came to borrow? as she explored the pantry and closets, however, and became convinced that she was absolutely alone in a well-provisioned farm-house, her countenance lighted up with a smile. "i can borry what i want jest exac'ly as well as if mis' stackridge war to home," thought the widow. and she proceeded to fill her basket. she helped herself to a pan of meal, borrowing the pan with it. "i'll fetch home the pan," said she, "when i do the meal,"--exposing her craggy teeth with a grim smile. "if i don't before, i'm a feared mis' stackridge'll haf to wait for't a considerable spell! what's in this box? coffee! may as well take box and all. bring back the box when i do the coffee. wish i could find some tobacky somewhars--wonder whar they keep their tobacky!" now, the excellent creature did not indulge in these liberties without some apprehension that mrs. stackridge might return suddenly and interrupt them. perhaps she had not followed mr. stackridge to the mountains. perhaps she had only gone into the village to buy shoes for her children, or to call on a neighbor. "if she should come back and ketch me at it,--why, then, i'll tell her i'm only jest a borryin', and see what she'll do about it. the prop'ty of these yer durned union-shriekers is all gwine to be confisticated, and i reckon i may as well take my sheer when i can git it. thar's a paper o' black pepper, and i'll take it jest as 'tis. thar's a jar o' lump butter,--wish i could tote jar and all!--have some of the lumps on a plate anyhow!" she had soon filled her basket, and was regretting she had not brought two, or a larger one, when a handsome, new tin pail, hanging in the pantry, caught her eye. "been wantin' jest sich a pail as that, this long while!" and she proceeded to fill that also. just as she was putting the cover on, she was very much startled by hearing footsteps at the door. "o, dear me! what shall i do? if it should be mr. stackridge! but it can't be him! if it's only mis' stackridge or one of the niggers, i'll face it out! they won't das' to make a fuss, for they're union-shriekers, and my son's a capting in the confederate army!" thump, thump, thump!--loud knocking at the door. "my, it's visitors! who can it be?" she set down her pail and basket. "i'll act jest as if i had a right here, anyhow!" she was hesitating, when the string was pulled, and two strangers, stout, square built, with foreign looking faces, carrying muskets, and dressed in confederate uniform, entered. "mrs. stackridge?" said they, in a heavy teutonic accent. "ye--ye--yes--" stammered the widow, trying to hide the guilty basket and pail behind her skirts. "what do you want of mis' stackridge?" one of the strangers said to the other, in german, indicating the plunder,-- "this is the woman. she is getting provisions ready to send to her husband in the mountains." "let us see what there is good to eat," said the other. mrs. sprowl, although understanding no word that was spoken, perceived that the borrowed property formed the theme of their remarks. "have some?" she hastened to say, with extreme politeness, as the germans approached the provisions. "tank ye," said they, finding some bread and cold meat. and they ate with appetite, exchanging glances, and grunting with satisfaction. "o, take all you want!" said the widow. "you're welcome to anything there is in the house, i'm shore!"--adding, within herself, "i am so glad these soldiers have come! now, whatever is missing will be laid to them." "you de lady of de house?" said the foreigners, munching. "yes, help yourselves!" smiled the hospitable widow. "you mrs. stackridge?" they inquired, more particularly. "yes; take anything you like!" replied the widow. "where your husband?" "my husband! my poor dear husband! he has been dead these----" she checked herself, remembering that the soldiers took her for mrs. stackridge. if she undeceived them, then they would know she had been stealing. "dead?" the germans shook their heads and smiled. "no! he was here last night. he was seen. you take dese tings to him up in de mountain." "would you like some cheese?" said the embarrassed widow. "tank ye. dis is better as rations." mrs. sprowl returned to the pantry, in order to replace the provisions she had so generously given away, and prepared to depart with the basket and pail; inviting the guests repeatedly to make themselves quite at home, and to take whatever they could find. "wait!" said they. each had a knee on the floor, and one hand full of bread and cheese. they looked up at her with broad, complacent, unctuous faces, smiling, yet resolute. and one, with his unoccupied hand, laid hold of the handle of the basket, while the other detained the pail. "you will tell us where is your husband," said they. "o, dear me, i don't know! i'm a poor lone woman, and where my husband is i can't consaive, i'm shore!" "you will tell us where is your husband," repeated the men; and one of them, getting upon his feet, stood before her at the door. "he's on the mountain somewhars. i don't know whar, and i don't keer," cried the widow, excited. there was something in the stolid, determined looks of the brothers she did not like. "he's a bad man, mr. stackridge is! i'm a secessionist myself. you are welcome to everything in the house--only let me go now." "you will not go," said the soldier at the door, "till you tell us. we come for dat." on entering, they had placed their muskets in the corner. the speaker took them, and handed one to his comrade. and now the widow observed that out of the muzzle of each protruded the butt-end of a small cowhide. each soldier held his gun at his side, and laying hold of the said butt-end, drew out the long taper belly and dangling lash of the whip, like a black snake by the neck. the widow screamed. "it's all a mistake. let me go! i ain't mis' stackridge" nothing so natural as that the wife of the notorious unionist should deny her identity at sight of the whips. the soldiers looked at each other, muttered something in german, smiled, and replaced their muskets in the corner. "you tell us where is your husband. or else we whip you. dat is our orders." this they said in low tones, with mild looks, and with a calmness which was frightful. the widow saw that she had to do with men who obeyed orders literally, and knew no mercy. "i hain't got no husband. i ain't mis' stackridge. i'm a poor lone widder, that jest come over here to borry a few things, and that's all." "ve unterstan. you say shust now you are mrs. stackridge. now you say not. dat make no difruns. ve know. you tell us where is your husband, or ve string you up." this speech was pronounced by both the foreigners, a sentence by each, alternately. at the conclusion one drew a strong cord from his pocket, while the other looked with satisfaction at certain hooks in the plastering overhead, designed originally for the support of a kitchen pole, but now destined for another use. "don't you dast to tech me!" screamed the false mrs. stackridge. "i'm a secessionist myself, that hates the union-shriekers wus'n you do, and i've got a son that's a capting, and a poor lone widder at that!" "dat we don't know. what we know is, you tell what we say, or we whip you. dat's captain shprowl's orders." "capting sprowl! that's my son! my own son! if he sent you, then it's all right!" "so we tink. all right." and the soldiers, seizing her, tied her thumbs as lysander had taught them, passed the cords over the hook as they had passed the clothesline over the crossbeam the night before, and drew the shrieking woman's hands above her head, precisely as they had hauled up toby's. they then turned her skirts up over her head, and fastened them. this also they had been instructed to do by lysander. it was, you will say, shameful; for this woman was free and white. had she been a slave, with a different complexion, although perhaps quite as white, would it have been any the less shameful? answer, ye believers in the divine rights of slave-masters! "now you vill tell?" said the phlegmatic teutons, measuring out their whips. "go for my son! my son is capting sprowl!" gasped the stifled and terror-stricken widow. "dat trick won't do. you shpeak, or we shtrike." "it is true, it is true! i am mrs. sprowl, and my husband is dead, and my son is capting sprowl, and a poor lone widder, that if you strike her a single blow he'll have you took and hung!" "if he is your son, den by your own son's orders we whip you. he vill not hang us for dat. you vill not tell? den we give you ten lash." blow upon blow, shriek upon shriek, followed. the soldiers counted the strokes aloud, deliberately, conscientiously, as they gave them, "vun, two, tree," &c, up to ten. there they stopped. but the screams did not stop. this punishment, which it was sport to inflict upon a faithful old negro, which it would have been such a good joke to have bestowed upon the wife of a stanch unionist, was no sport, no joke, but altogether a tragic affair to thy mother, o lysander! then she, who had so often wished that she too owned slaves, that when she was angry she might have them strung up and flogged, knew by fearful experience what it was to be strung up and flogged. then she, who sympathized with her son in his desire to see every man, woman, and child, that loved the old union, served in this fashion, felt in her own writhing and bleeding flesh the stings of that inhuman vengeance. terrible blunder, for which she had only herself to thank! robbery of her neighbor's house--the dishonest "borrowing," not of these ill-gotten goods only, but also of her neighbor's name--had brought her, by what we call fatality, to this strait. fatality is but another name for providence. the soldiers waited for a lull in the shrieks, then put once more the question. "you tell now? where is your husband? no? den you git ten lash more. always ten lash till you tell." a storm of incoherent denial, angry threats, sobs, and screams, was the response. one of the soldiers drew her skirts over her head again, and gave another pull at the cords that hauled up her thumbs, while the other stood off and measured out his whip. just then the door opened, and captain sprowl looked in. "how are you getting on, boys?" the question was accompanied by an approving smile, which seemed to say, "i see you are getting on very well." "we whip her once. we give her ten lash. she not tell." "very well. give her ten more." the widow struggled and screamed. had she recognized her son's voice? muffled as she was, he did not recognize hers. nor was it surprising that, in the unusual posture in which he found her, he did not know her from mrs. stackridge. he stood in the door and smiled while the soldier laid on. "make it a dozen," he quietly remarked. "and smart ones, to wind up with!" so it happened that, thanks to her son's presence, the screeching victim got two "smart ones" additional. "now uncover her face. ease away on her thumbs a little. i'll question her mys--good lucifer!" exclaimed the captain, finding himself face to face with his own mother. twenty-two lashes and the torture of the strung-up thumbs had proved too much even for the strong nerves of widow sprowl. she fell down in a swoon. lysander, furious, whipped out his sword, and turned upon the soldiers. they quietly stepped back, and took their guns from the corner. he would certainly have killed one of them on the spot had he not seen by the glance of their eyes that the other would, at the same instant, as certainly have killed him. "you scoundrels! you have whipped my own mother!" "captain," they calmly answered, "we opey orders." "fools!"--and lysander ground his teeth,--"you should have known!" "captain," they replied, "if you not know, how should we know? we never see dis woman pefore. we come. we find her taking prowisions from de house. we say, 'she take dem to her husband in de mountains.' we say, 'you mrs. stackridge?' she say yes to everyting. we not know she lie. we not know she steal. we not say, 'you somepody else.' we opey orders. we take and we whip her. you come in and say, 'whip more.' we whip more. now you say to us, 'scoundrels!' you say, 'fools!' we say, 'captain, it was your orders; we opey.'" having by a joint effort at sententious english pronounced this speech, the brothers stood stolidly awaiting the result; while the captain, still gnashing his teeth, bent over the prostrate form of his mother. "bring some water and throw on her! you idiots!" he yelled at them. "would you see her die?" they looked at each other. "water?" yes, that was what was wanted. they remembered their practice of the previous evening. one found a wooden pail. the other emptied upon the floor the contents of the tin pail the widow had "borrowed." they went to the well. they brought water. "to throw on her?" yes, that was what he said. and together they dashed a sudden drenching flood over the poor woman, as if the swoon were another fire to be extinguished. these fellows obeyed orders literally--a merit which lysander now failed to appreciate. he swore at them terribly. but he did not countermand his last order. accordingly they proceeded stoically to bring more water. lysander had got his mothers head on his knee, and she had just opened her eyes to look and her mouth to gasp, when there came another double ice-cold wave, blinding, stifling, drowning her. too much of water hadst thou, poor lone widow! lysander let fall the maternal head, and bounded to his feet, roaring with wrath. the brothers, imperturbable, with the empty pails at their sides, stared at him with mute wonder. "captain, dat was your orders. you say, 'pring vasser and trow on.' we pring vasser and trow on. dat is all." "but i didn't tell you to fetch pailfuls!" this sentence rushed out of lysander's soul like a rocket, culminated in a loud, explosive oath, and was followed by a shower of fiery curses falling harmless on the heads of the unmoved teutons. they waited patiently until the pyrotechnic rain ceased, then answered, speaking alternately, each a sentence, as if with one mind, but with two organs. "captain, you hear. last night vas de house afire. you say, 'pring vasser.' we pring a little. den you say to us, 'tarn you! why in hell you shtop?' and you say, 'von i tell you pring vasser, pring till i say shtop.' vun time more to-day you say, 'pring vasser,' and you never say shtop. you say, 'trow on.' we trow on. vat you say we do. you not say vat you mean, dat is mishtake for you." it is not to be supposed that lysander listened meekly to the end of this speech. he had caught the sound of voices without that interested him more; and, looking, he saw mrs. stackridge returning, with her children. the pepperill young-one had faithfully done her errand; and the farmer's wife, believing something important was meant by it, had hastened to accept the singular and urgent invitation. but, arrived at the poor man's shanty, she was astonished to find mrs. pepperill astonished to see her. they talked the matter over, questioned the child, and finally concluded that daniel had said something quite different, which the child had misunderstood. "well," said mrs. stackridge, after sitting a-while, "i reckon i may as well be going back, for i've left only old aunt deb to home, and she's scar't to death to be left alone these times; thinks the secesh soldiers'll kill her. but i tell her not to be afeared of 'em. i ain't!" so this woman, little knowing how much real cause she had to be afraid, returned home with her family. when near the house she met gaff and jake, negroes belonging to the farm, who had been in the field at work, running towards her, in great terror, declaring that they heard somebody killing aunt deb. "nonsense!" said she; and in spite of their assurances and entreaties, she marched straight towards the door through which the captain saw her coming. "clear out!" said lysander to the soldiers. "go to your quarters. i'll have your case attended to!" this was spoken very threateningly. then, as soon as they were out of hearing, he said to mrs. stackridge, "i'm sorry to say a couple of my men have been plundering your house. them dutchmen you just saw go out. worse, than that, my mother was going by, and she came in to save your stuff, and they, it seems, took her for you, and beat her. you see, they have beat her most to death," said lysander. "lordy massy!" said mrs. stackridge. "do help me! do take off my clo'es! a poor lone widder!" faintly moaned mrs. sprowl. "when i got here," added the captain, "she had fainted, and they had used her basket to pack things in, as you see, and filled this pail, which they emptied afterwards, so as to bring water and fetch her to. scoundrels! i'm glad they ain't native-born southerners!" "and where is aunt deb?" said mrs. stackridge, hastening to raise the widow up. "i dono'; i hain't seen her. o, dear, them villains!" groaned mrs. sprowl. "i was just comin' over to borry a few things, you know." "going by; she wasn't coming here," said lysander. "going by," repeated the widow. "o, shall i ever git over it! o, dear me, i'm all cut to pieces! a poor forlorn widder, and my only son--o, dear!" "her only son," cried lysander in a loud voice, "couldn't get here in time to prevent the outrage. that's what she wants to say. i leave her in your care, mrs. stackridge. she was doing a neighborly thing for you when she came in to stop the pillaging, and i'm sure you'll do as much for her." and the captain retired, his appetite for woman-whipping cloyed for the present. "where is aunt deb?" repeated mrs. stackridge. "aunt deb!" she called, "where are you? i want you this minute!" "here i is!" answered a voice from heaven, or at least from that direction. it was the voice of the old negress, who had hid herself in the chambers, and now spoke through a stove-pipe hole from which she had observed all that was passing from the time when the widow entered with her empty basket. xxxv. _the moonlight expedition._ toby had been released. mrs. stackridge had been whipped by proxy, and had kept her husband's secret. gad, the spy, was still unaccountably absent. these three sources of information were, therefore, for the time, considered closed; and it was determined to have recourse to the fourth, namely, carl. here it should, perhaps, be explained that the confederate government, informed of the position of armed resistance assumed by the little band of patriots, had immediately telegraphed orders to recapture the insurgents. among the union-loving mountaineers of east tennessee the mutterings of a threatened rebellion against the new despotism had long been heard, and it was deemed expedient to suppress at once this outbreak. "try the ringleaders by drum-head court-martial, and, if guilty, hang them on the spot," said a second despatch. these instructions were purposely made public, in order to strike terror among the unionists. they were discussed by the soldiers, and reached the ears of carl. "hang them on the spot." that meant stackridge and penn, and he knew not how many more. "and i," said carl, "have agreed to show the vay to the cave." he was sweating fearfully over the dilemma in which he had placed himself, when a sergeant and two men came to conduct him to head-quarters. "now it begins," said carl to himself, drawing a deep breath. the irons remained on his wrists. in this plight he was brought into the presence of the red-faced colonel. "i hate a damned dutchman!" said lysander, who happened to be at head-quarters. he had had experience, and his prejudice was natural. the colonel poised his cigar, and regarded carl sternly. the boy's heart throbbed anxiously, and he was afraid that he looked pale. nevertheless, he stood calmly erect on his sturdy young legs, and answered the officer's frown with an expression of placid and innocent wonder. "your name is carl," said the colonel. "i sushpect that is true," replied carl, on his guard against making inadvertent admissions. "carl what?" "minnevich." "minny-fish? that's a scaly name. and they say you are a scaly fellow. what have you got those bracelets on for?" "that is vat i should pe wery much glad to find out," said carl, affectionately regarding his handcuffs. "you are the fellow that enlisted to save the schoolmaster's neck, ain't you?" "i suppose that is true too." "suppose? don't you know?" "i thought i knowed, for you told me so; but as they vas hunting for him aftervards to hang him, i vas conwinced i vas mishtaken." this quiet reply, delivered in the lad's quaint style, with perfect deliberation, and with a countenance shining with simplicity, was in effect a keen thrust at the perfidy of the confederate officers. the colonel's face became a shade redder, if possible, and he frowningly exclaimed,-- "and so you deserted!" "that," said carl, "ish not quite so true." "what! you deny the fact?" "i peg your pardon, it ish not a fact. i vas took prisoner." "and do you maintain that you did not go willingly?" "i don't know just vat you mean by villingly. ven vun of them fellows puts his muzzle to my head and says, 'you come mit us, and make no noise or i plow out your prains,' i vas prewailed upon to go. i vas more villing to go as i vas to have my prains spilt. if that is vat you mean by villing, i vas villing." "why did they take you prisoner?" "pecause. i vill tell you. gad vas shleeping like thunder: you know vat i mean--shnoring. nothing could make him vake up; so they let him shnore. but i vake up, and they say, i suppose, they must kill me or take me off, for if i vas left pehind i vould raise the alarm too soon." "well, where did they take you?" carl was silent a moment, then looking colonel derring full in the face, he said earnestly,-- "they make me shwear i vould not tell." "minny-fish," said the colonel, "this won't do. the secret is out, and it is too late for you to try to keep it back. toby betrayed it. mrs. stackridge has been arrested, and she has confessed that her husband and his friends are hid in a cave. we sent out a scout, who has come in and corroborated both their statements. gad discovered the cave; but he has sprained his ankle. he describes the spot accurately, but he's too lame to climb the hills again. what we want is a guide to go in his place. now, minny-fish, here's a chance for you to earn a pardon, and prove your loyalty. you promised captain sprowl, did you not, that you would conduct him to the cave?" carl, overwhelmed by the colonel's confident assertions, breathed a moment, then replied,-- "i pelieve i vas making him some promise." "notwithstanding your oath that you would not tell?" said lysander, eager to cross and corner him. "to show the vay, that is not to tell," replied carl. "i shwore i vould not tell, and i shall not tell. but if you vill go mit me to the cave, i vill go mit you and take you. then i keep my promise to you and my oath to them. you see, i did not shwear not to take you," he added, with a smile. with a smile on his face, but with profound perturbations of the soul. for he saw himself sinking deeper and deeper into this miry difficulty, and how he was to extricate himself without dragging his friends down, was still a terrible enigma. "i believe the boy is honest," said derring. "sergeant, have those irons taken off. captain sprowl, you will manage the affair, and take this boy as your guide. i advise you to trust him. but until he has thoroughly proved his honesty, keep a careful eye on him, and if you become convinced that he is deceiving you, shoot him down on the spot. i say, shoot him on the spot," repeated the colonel, impressively. "you both understand that. do you, minny-fish?" "i vas never shot," said carl, "but i sushpect i know vat shooting is." and he smiled again, with trouble in his heart, that would have quite disconcerted a youth of less nerve and phlegm. "well," said captain sprowl, "if you don't, you will know, if you undertake to play any of your dutch tricks with me!" "o, sir!" said carl, humbly, "if i knowed any trick i vouldn't ever think of playing it on you, you are so wery shmart!" "how do you know i am?" said lysander, who felt flattered, and thought it would be interesting to hear the lad's reasons; for neither he, nor any one present, had perceived the craft and sarcasm concealed under that simple, earnest manner. "how do i know you are shmart? pecause," replied carl, "you have such a pig head. and such a pig nose. and such a pig mouth. that shows you are a pig man." this was said with an air of intense seriousness, which never changed amid the peals of laughter that followed. nobody suspected carl of an intentional joke; and the round-eyed innocent surprise with which he regarded the merriment added hugely to the humor of it. everybody laughed except lysander, who only grimaced a little to disguise his chagrin. this upstart officer was greatly disliked for his conceited ways, and it was not long before the "dutch boy's compliments" became the joke of the camp, and wherever lysander appeared some whisper was sure to be heard concerning either the "pig mouth," or "pig nose," of that truly "pig man." as for carl, he had something far more serious to do than to laugh. how to circumvent the designs of these men? that was the question. in the first place, it is necessary to state that his conscience acquitted him entirely of all obligations to them or their cause. he was no secessionist. he had enlisted to save his benefactor and friend. he had said, "i will give you my services if you will give that man his life." they had immediately afterwards broken the contract by seeking to kill his friend, and he felt that he no longer owed them anything. but they held _him_ by force, against which he had no weapon but his own good wit. this, therefore, he determined to use, if possible, to their discomfiture, and the salvation of those to whom he owed everything. but how? he had saved toby from torture and confession by promising what he never intended literally to perform. once more in the guard-house, retained a prisoner until wanted as a guide, he reasoned with himself thus:-- "if i do not go, then they vill make gad go, lame or no lame, and he vill not be half so lucky to show the wrong road as i can be;"--for carl never suspected that what had been said with regard to mrs. stackridge's arrest and confession, and gad's successful reconnoissance and return, was all a lie framed to induce him to undertake this very thing. "and if i did not make pelieve i vas villing to go, then they vould not give me my hands free, and some chances for myself. i think there vill be some chances. but sprowl is to watch, and be ready to shoot me down?" he shook his head dubiously, and added, "that is vat i do not like quite so vell!" he remained in a deep study until dusk. then captain sprowl appeared, and said to him,-- "come! you are to go with me." carl's heart gave a great bound; but he answered with an air of indifference,-- "to-night?" "yes. at once. stir!" "i have not quite finished my supper; but i can put some of it in my pockets, and be eating on the road." and he added to himself, "i am glad it is in the night, for that vill be a wery good excuse if i should be so misfortunate as not to find the cave!" "here," said lysander, imperiously, giving him a twist and push,--"march before me! and fast! now, not a word unless you are spoken to; and don't you dodge unless you want a shot." thus instructed, carl led the way. he did not speak, and he did not dodge. one circumstance overjoyed him. he saw no signs of a military expedition on foot. was lysander going alone with him to the mountains? "i sushpect i can find some trick for him, shmart as he is!" thought carl. they left the town behind them. they took to the fields; they entered the shadow of the mountains, the western sky above whose tops was yet silvery bright with the shining wake of the sunset. a few faint stars were visible, and just a glimmer of moonlight was becoming apparent in the still twilight gloom. "we are going to have a quiet little adwenture together!" chuckled carl. one thing was singular, however. lysander did not tamely follow his lead: on the contrary, he directed him where to go; and carl saw, to his dismay, that they were proceeding in a very direct route towards the cave. "never mind! ven ve come to some conwenient place maybe something vill happen," he said consolingly to himself. then suddenly consternation met him, as it were face to face. the enigma was solved. from the crest of a knoll over which lysander drove him like a lamb, he saw, lying on the ground in a little glen before them, the dark forms of some forty men. one of these rose to his feet and advanced to meet lysander. it was silas ropes. "all ready?" said sprowl. "ready and waiting," said silas. "well, push on," said the captain. "we'll go to the dead bodies in the ravine first. where's pepperill?" "here," replied ropes; and at a summons dan appeared. carl's heart sank within him. toby in the guard-house had told him about the dead bodies, and he knew that they were not far from the cave. he was aware, too, that pepperill knew far more than one of such shallow mental resources and feeble will, wearing that uniform, and now in the power of these men, ought to know. there in the little moonlit glen they met and exchanged glances--the sturdy, calm-faced boy, and the weak-kneed, trembling man. pepperill had not recovered from the terror with which he had been inspired, when summoned to guide a reconnoitring party to the ravine. but he had not yet lisped a syllable of what he knew concerning the cave. carl gave him a look, and turned his eyes away again indifferently. that look said, "be wery careful, dan, and leave a good deal to me." and dan, man as he was, felt somehow encouraged and strengthened by the presence of this boy. "now, pepperill," said sprowl, "can you move ahead and make no mistake?" "i kin try," answered pepperill, dismally. "but it's a heap harder to find the way in the night so; durned if 'tain't!" "none o' that, now, dan," said ropes, "or you'll git sunthin' to put sperrit inter ye!" dan made no reply, but shivered. the mountain air was chill, the prospect dreary. close by, the woods, blackened by the recent fire, lay shadowy and spectral in the moon. far above, the dim summits towards which their course lay whitened silently. there was no noise but the low murmur of these men, bent on bloody purposes. no wonder dan's teeth chattered. as for carl, he killed a mosquito on his cheek, and smiled triumphantly. "you got a shlap, you warmint!" he said, as if he had no other care on his mind than the insect's slaughter. "who told you to speak?" said lysander sharply. "vas that shpeaking?" carl scratched his cheek complacently. "i vas only making a little obserwation to the mosquito." "well, keep your observations to yourself!" "that is vat i vill try to do." the order to march was given. lysander proceeded a few paces in advance, accompanied by ropes and the two guides. the troops followed in silence, with dull, irregular tramp, filing through obscure hollows, over barren ridges crowned by a few thistles and mulleins, and by the edges of thickets which the fires had not reached. at length they came to a tract of the burned woods. the word "halt!" was whispered. the sound of tramping feet was suddenly hushed, and the slender column of troops, winding like a dark serpent up the side of the mountain, became motionless. "all right so far, pepperill?" "wal, i hain't made nary mistake yet, cap'm." pepperill recognized the woods in which, when flying to the cave with virginia, penn, and cudjo, they had found themselves surrounded by fires. "how far is it now to your ravine?" "nigh on to half a mile, i reckon." "shall we go through these woods?" "it's the nighest to go through 'em. but i s'pose we can git around if we try." "the moon sets early. we'd better take the nearest way," said the captain. "well, dutchy,"--for the first time deigning to consult carl,--"this route is taking us to the cave, too, ain't it?" "wery certain," said carl, "prowided you go far enough, and turn often enough, and never lose the vay." "that'll be your risk, dutchy. look out for the landmarks, so that when pepperill stops you can keep on." "i vill look out, but if they have all been purnt up since i vas here, how wery wexing!" this wood had been but partially consumed when the flames were checked by the rain. many trunks were still standing, naked, charred, stretching their black despairing arms to the moon. the shadows of these ghostly trees slanted along the silent field of desolation, or lay entangled with the dark logs and limbs of trees which had fallen, and from which, at short distances, they were scarcely distinguishable. here and there smouldered a heap of rubbish, its pallid smoke rising noiselessly in the bluish light. there were heaps of ashes still hot; half-burned brands sparkled in the darkness; and now and then a stump or branch emitted a still bright flame. through this scene of blackness and ruin, rendered gloomily picturesque by the moonlight, the men picked their way. not a word was spoken; but occasionally a muttered curse told that some ill-protected foot had come in contact with live cinders, or that some unlucky leg had slumped down into one of those mines of fire, formed by roots of old dead stumps, eaten slowly away to ashes under ground. carl had hoped that the woods would prove impassable, and that the party would be compelled to turn back. that would gain for him time and opportunity. but the men pushed on. "vill nothing happen?" he said to himself, in despair at seeing how directly they were travelling towards the cave. the burned tract was not extensive, and he soon saw, glimmering through the blackened columns, the clear moonlight on the slopes above. pepperill, not daring to assume the responsibility of misleading the party, knew no better than to go stumbling straight on. "i vish he would shtumple and preak his shtupid neck!" thought carl. they emerged from the burned woods, and came out upon the ledges beyond; and now the lad saw plainly where they were. on the left, the deep and quiet gulf of shadow was the ravine. they had but to follow this up, he knew not just how far, to reach the cave. and still pepperill advanced. carl's heart contracted. he knew that the critical moment of the night, for him and for his fugitive friends, was now at hand. "do you see any landmarks yet?" sprowl whispered to him. "i can almost see some," answered carl, peering earnestly over a moonlit bushy space. "ve shall pe coming to them py and py." "do you know this ravine?" "i remember some rawines. i shouldn't be wery much surprised if this vas vun of 'em." "look here," said lysander. carl looked, and saw a pistol-barrel. "understand?"--significantly. "is it for me?"' and carl extended his hand ingenuously. "for you?--yes." but instead of giving the weapon to the boy, he returned it to his pocket, with a smile the boy did not like. "ah, yes! a goot joke!" and carl smiled too, his good-humored face beaming in the moon. at the same time he said to himself, "he hates me pecause i am hapgood's friend; and he vill be much pleased to have cause to shoot me." just then dan stopped. lysander put up his hand as a signal. the troops halted. "it's somewhars down in hyar, cap'm," pepperill whispered. "it's a horrid place!" muttered sprowl. "it ar so, durned if 'tain't!" said dan, discouragingly. before them yawned the ravine, bristling with half-burned saplings, and but partially illumined by the moon. the babble of the brook flowing through its hidden depths was faintly audible. "see the bodies anywhere?" said lysander. "can't see ary thing by this light," replied dan. "but we can go down and find 'em." sprowl did not much fancy the idea of descending. "it will be a waste of time to stop here," he said to silas. "the live traitors are of more consequence than the dead ones. supposing we go to the cave first, and come back and find the bodies afterwards. have you got your bearings yet, carl?" "i am peginning," said carl, staring about him, with his hands in his pockets. "i think i vill have 'em soon." sprowl looked at him with suppressed rage. "how cussed provoking!" he muttered. "it is--wery prowoking!" said carl, looking at the moon. "aggrawating!" "well, make up your mind quick! what will you do?" then it seemed as if a bright idea occurred to carl. "i vill tell you. you go down and find the podies, and i vill be looking. ven you come up again, i shouldn't be surprised if i could see vair the cave is." "ropes," said sprowl, "take a couple of men, and go down in there with pepperill. i think it's best to stay with this boy." this arrangement did not please carl at all; but, as he could not reasonably complain of it, he said, stoically, "yes, it vill be petter so." ropes selected his two men, and left the rest concealed in the shadows of the thickets. "if i could go up on the rocks there, i suppose i could see something," said carl. "well, i'll go with you. i mean to give you a fair chance." carl felt a secret hope. once more alone with this villain, would not some interesting thing occur? "wait, though!" said sprowl; and he called a corporal to his side. "come with us. keep close to this boy. at the first sign of his giving us the slip, put your bayonet through him." "i will," said the corporal. this was discouraging again. but carl looked up at the captain and smiled--his good-humored, placid smile. "you do right. but you vill see i shall not give you the shlip. now come, and be wery still." in the mean time, pepperill, with the three rebels, descended into the ravine. the spot where the dead man and horse had been was soon found. but now no dead man was to be seen. the horse had been removed from the rocks between which his back was wedged, and rolled down lower into the ravine. a broad, shallow hole had been dug there, as if to bury him. but the work had been interrupted. there was a shovel lying on the heap of earth. near by was another spot where the soil had been recently stirred--a little mound: it was shaped like a grave. "they've buried the poor cuss hyar," said dan. "we'll see." ropes took the shovel. "they can't have put him in very deep, fur they've struck the rock in this yer t'other hole." he threw up a little dirt, then gave the shovel to one of the soldiers. the moon shone full upon the place. the man dug a few minutes, and came to something which was neither rock nor soil. he pulled it up. it was a man's arm. "you didn't guess fur from right this time, dan! scrape off a little more dirt, and we'll haul up the carcass. needn't be partic'lar 'bout scrapin' very keerful, nuther. he's a mean shoat, whoever he is; one o' them cussed union-shriekers. wish they was all planted like he is! hope we shall find five or six more. ketch holt, dan!" dan caught hold. the body was dragged from the lonely resting-place to which it had been consigned. parts of it, which had not been protected by the superincumbent bulk of the horse, were hideously burned. ropes rolled it over on the back, and kicked it, to knock off the dirt. he turned up the face in the moonlight--a frightful face! one side was roasted; and what was left of the hair and beard was full of sand. "damn him!" said ropes, giving it a wipe with the spade. the eyes were open, and they too were full of sand. but the features were still recognizable. the men started back with horror. they knew their comrade. it was the spy who had been sent out to watch the fugitives. it was "the sleeper," whom nought could waken more. it was gad. "wal, if i ain't beat!" said silas, with a ghastly look. "fool! how did he come hyar?" this question has never been satisfactorily answered. the fatal leap of the terrified horse with his rider is known; but how came gad on the horse? those who knew the character of the man account for it in this way: he had been something of a horse-thief in his day; and it is supposed that, finding stackridge's horse on the mountain, he fell once more into temptation. he was probably a little drunk at the time; and he was a man who would never walk if he could ride, especially when he was tipsy. so he mounted. but he had no sooner commenced the descent of the mountain, than the fire, which had been previously concealed from the animal by the clump of trees behind which he was hampered, burst upon his sight, and filled him with uncontrollable frenzy. dan, who had witnessed the flight and plunge, could have contributed an item towards the solution of the mystery. but he opened not his mouth. "them cussed traitors shall pay fur this!" said ropes. this was the only consolatory thought that occurred to him. having uttered it, he looked remorsefully at the spade with which he had rudely wiped the face of his dead friend. "i thought 'twas one o' them rotten scoundrels, or i--but never mind! kiver him up agin, boys! we can't take him with us, and we've no time to lose." so they laid the corpse once more in the grave, and heaped the sand upon it. xxxvi. _carl finds a geological specimen._ in the mean time carl ascended the moonlit slope, with sprowl's pistol on one side of him, and the corporal's bayonet on the other. between the two he felt that he had little chance. but he did not despair. he reasoned thus with himself:-- "these two men vill not think to take the cave alone. they must go back for reënforcements. that shall make a diwersion in my favor. if i show them some dark place, and make them think it is there, they vill not go wery near to examine." and he arrived at this conclusion: "i suppose i shall inwent a cave." they were advancing cautiously towards the summit of a bushy ridge. suddenly carl stopped. "anything?" said sprowl. carl nodded, with a pleased and confident smile. "what?" "you shall see wery soon. shtoop low." he himself crouched close to the ground. the men followed his example. "come a little more on. now you see that rock?" lysander saw it. "vell, it is not there." they crept forward a little farther. then carl stopped again, and said,-- "you see that tree?" "which?" "all alone in the moonshine." lysander perceived it. "vell," said carl, "it is not there." again they advanced, and again he paused and pointed. "you see them little saplings?" lysander distinguished them revealed against the sky. "vell," said carl, "it is not there neither." he was crawling on again, when sprowl seized his collar. "what the devil do you mean?--if i see these things!" carl turned on his side, smiled intelligently, and, beckoning the captain to bring his ear close, put his lips to it, covered them with his hand, with an air of secrecy, and whispered hoarsely,-- "landmarks!" "ah! well!" said lysander, suffering him to proceed. carl crept slowly, raising his head at every moment to observe. the bayonet came behind; the captain continued at his side. "the further i take these willains from the others, the petter," thought he. at length he came in view of the high ledge upon which penn had discovered cudjo at his idolatrous devotions, on the night of the fire. the moon was getting behind the mountain, and there were dark shadows beneath this ledge. though he should travel a mile, he might not find a more suitable spot to locate his fictitious cave. he hesitated; considered well; then gently tapped lysander's arm. "you see vair the rock comes down? and some pushes just under it? vell, the cave is pehind the pushes, ven you find it!" which was indeed true. lysander crept a few paces nearer, stealthily, flat on his belly, with his head slightly elevated, like a dark reptile gliding over the moonlit ground. "now is my time!" thought carl. his heart beat violently. he raised himself on his knees, preparing to spring. lysander was at least ten feet in advance of him, and he thought he would risk the pistol. "i run--he fires--he vill miss me--i shall get avay." but the corporal? just then he felt a piercing pressure in his side. it was the corporal, nudging him with the bayonet to make him lie down. "i vas shust going a little nearer." the corporal seemed satisfied with the explanation; but, as the boy advanced on his hands and knees, he advanced close behind him,--holding the bayoneted gun ready for a thrust. so carl succeeded only in getting a little nearer lysander, without increasing at all the distance between him and the corporal. it was a state of affairs that required serious consideration. he lay dawn again, and pretended to be anxiously looking for the mouth of the cave, whilst watching and reflecting. just then occurred a circumstance which seemed almost providentially designed to favor the boy's strategy. upon the ledge appeared two human figures, male and female, touched by the moonlight, and defined against the sky. they remained but a moment on the summit, then began to descend in the shadow of the ledge. their movements were slow, uncertain, mysterious. below the base of the rock they stood once more in the moonlight, and after appearing to consult together for a few seconds, disappeared behind the bushes where carl had placed his imaginary cave. if sprowl had any doubts on the subject before, he was now entirely satisfied. he believed the forms to be those of virginia and the schoolmaster; they had been out to enjoy solitude and sentiment in the moonlight; and now they were returning reluctantly to the cave. "wouldn't gus be edified if he was in my place!" lysander little thought that _he_ was the one to be edified,--as he would certainly have been, to an amazing degree, had he known the truth. "but we'll spoil their fun in a few minutes!" he said to himself, as he crept back towards his former position. as for carl, it was he who had been most astonished by the phenomenon. no sooner had he invented a cave, than two phantoms made their appearance, and walked into it! the illusion was so perfect, that he himself was almost deceived by it. only for an instant, however. continuing to gaze, he had another glimpse of the apparitions, when, having merely passed behind the bushes, they came out beyond them, in the direction of the real cave, and were lost once more in shadow. lysander, engaged in making his retrograde movement, did not notice this very important circumstance; and the corporal was too intently occupied in watching carl to observe anything else. the captain got behind the shelter of a cluster of thistles, and beckoned for the two to approach. "corporal," said he, "hurry back and tell ropes to bring up his men. i'll wait here." the corporal crawled off. carl heard the order, saw the movement, and felt thrilled to the heart's core with joy. he was now alone with the captain. and he was no longer unarmed. in creeping towards the thistles, he had laid his hand on a wonderful little stone. somehow, his fingers had closed upon it. it was about the size of an apple, slightly flattened, rough, and heavy. "i thought," he said afterwards, "if anything vas to happen, that stone might be waluable." and so it proved. lysander, considering that the cave was found, had become less suspicious. "these dutch are stupid, and that's all," he thought. "you vas going to shoot me," said carl, with an honest laugh at the ludicrousness of the idea. "and so i would," said sprowl, with an oath, "if you hadn't brought us to the cave." "that means," thought carl, "he vill kill me yet if he can, ven he finds out." he observed, also, that sprowl, lying on his left side, had his right hand free, and near the pocket where his pistol was. it was not yet too late for him to be shot if he attempted an escape without first attempting something else. the violent beating of his heart recommenced. he felt a strange tremor of excitement thrilling through every nerve. his hand still held the pebble, covering and concealing it as he leaned forward on the ground. he crept a little nearer lysander. "the vay they go into the cave," he said, "is wery queer." "how so?" asked the captain. they were facing each other. carl drew still a little nearer, and raised himself slightly on the hand that grasped the geological specimen. "i promised to take you in. i vill take you in on vun condition." "condition?" repeated lysander. "that is vat i said. vun leetle condition. let me whishper." carl put up his left hand as if to cover the communication he was about to breathe into lysander's ear. "the condition--is this!" as he uttered the last words, he seized lysander's wrist with his left hand, and at the same instant, with a stroke rapid as lightning, smote him on the temple with the stone. all this, being interpreted, meant, "i take you to the cave on condition that you go as my prisoner." thus carl designed to keep his promise. as he struck he sprang up, to be ready for any emergency. he had expected a struggle, an outcry. he never dreamed that he could strike a man dead with a single blow! without a shriek, without even a moan, lysander merely sunk back upon the ground, gasped, shuddered, and lay still. carl was stupefied. he looked at the prostrate man. then he cast his eye all around him on the moonlit mountain slope. no one was in sight. was this murder he had committed? he knelt down, bending over the horribly motionless form. he gazed on the ghastly-pale face, and saw issuing from the nostrils a dark stream. it was blood. was it not all a dream? he still held the stone in his hand. he looked at it, and mechanically placed it in his pocket. nothing now seemed left for him but to escape to the cave; and yet he remained fixed with horror to the spot, regarding what he had done. xxxvii. _carl keeps his engagement._ of the two forms that had been seen on the ledge, the female was not virginia, and the other was not penn. a word of explanation is necessary. filled with hatred for her husband,--filled with shame and disgust, too, on hearing how he had caused his own mother to be whipped (for the secret was out, thanks to aunt deb at the stove-pipe hole),--resolved in her soul never to forgive him, never even to see him again if she could help it, yet intolerably wretched in her loneliness,--salina had that afternoon taken toby into her counsel. "toby, what are we to do?" "dat's what i do'no' myself!" the sore old fellow confessed; even his superior wisdom, usually sufficient (in his own estimation) for the whole family, failing him now. "when it comes to lickin' white women and 'spec'able servants, ain't nobody safe. i's glad ol' massa and miss jinny's safe up dar in de cave; and i on'y wish we war safe up dar too." "toby," said salina, "we will go there. can you find the way?" "reckon i kin," said toby, delighted at the proposal. they set out early. they succeeded in reaching the woods without exciting suspicion. they kept well to the south, in order to approach the cave on the same side of the ravine from which toby had discovered it, or rather penn near the entrance of it, before. he thought he would be more sure to find it by that route. at the same time he avoided the burned woods, and, without knowing it, the soldiers. but, the best they could do, the daylight was gone when they came to the ravine; and toby could not find the place where he had previously crossed. he passed beyond it. then they crossed at random in the easiest place. once on the side where the cave was, toby decided that they were above it; and, owing to the steepness of the banks, it was necessary to go around over the rocks, at a short distance from the ravine, in order to reach the shelf behind the thickets. it was in making this movement that they had been seen to descend the ledge and pass behind the bushes at its base. "now," said toby, "you jes' wait while i makes a reckonoyster!" salina, weary, sat down in the shadow of a juniper-tree. toby made his reconnoissance, discovered nothing, and returned. she, sitting still there, had been more successful. she pointed. "what dar?" whispered toby, frightened. "there is somebody. don't you see? by those shrub-like things." "dey ain't nobody dar!"--with a shiver. "yes there is. i saw a man jump up. he is bending over something now, trying to lift it. it must be penn, or some of his friends. go softly, and see." toby, imaginative, superstitious, did not like to move. but salina urged him; and something must be done. "i--i's mos' afeard to! but dar's somebody, shore!" he advanced, with eyes strained wide and cold chills creeping over him. what was the man doing there? what was he trying to lift and drag along the ground? it was the body of another man. "who dar?" said toby. "be quiet. come here!" was the answer. "what! carl! carl! dat you? what you doin' dar? massy sakes!" said toby. "i've got a prisoner," said carl. "dead! o de debil!" said toby. "i've knocked him on the head a little, but he is not dead," said carl. "be still, for there's forty more vithin hearing!" toby, with mouth agape, and hands on knees, crouching, looked in the face of the lifeless man. that jaunty mustache, with the blood from the nostrils trickling into it, was unmistakable. "dat sprowl!" ejaculated the old negro, with horrified recoil. "he won't hurt you! take holt! i pelief ropes is coming, mit his men, now!" "le' 'm drap, den. wha' ye totin' on him fur?" carl had quite recovered from his stupefaction. his wits were clear again. why did he not leave the body? his reasons against such a course were too many to be enumerated on the spot to toby. in the first place, he had promised to take the captain to the cave; and he felt a stubborn pride in keeping his engagement. secondly, the man might die if he abandoned him. moreover, the troops arriving, and finding him, would know at once what had happened; while, on the contrary, if both carl and the captain should be missing, it would be supposed that they had gone to make observations in another quarter; they would be waited for, and thus much time would be gained. carl had all these arguments in his brain. but instead of stopping to explain anything, he once more, and alone, lifted the head and shoulders of the limp man, and recommenced bearing him along. "toby, who is that?" "dat am miss salina." carl asked no explanations. "vimmen scream sometimes. tell her she is not to scream. you get her handkersheaf. and do not say it is shprowl." "who--what is it?" salina inquired. "our carl! don't ye know?" said toby. "he's got one ob dem secesh he's knocked on de head." "has he killed him?" "part killed him, and part took him prisoner,--about six o' one and half a dozen o' tudder. he say you's specfully 'quested not to scream; and he wants your hank'cher." "what does he want of it?"--giving it. "dat he best know hisself; but if my 'pinion am axed, i should say, to wipe de fellah's nose wiv." having delivered this profound judgment, toby carried the handkerchief to carl, who spread it over the wounded man's face. "that prewents her seeing him, and prewents his seeing the vay to the cave." "who eber knowed you's sech a powerful smart chil'?" said old toby, amazed. a new perception of carl's character had burst suddenly, with a wonderful light, upon his dazzled understanding. in the terror of their first encounter, in this strange place, he had comprehended nothing of the situation. he had not even remembered that he last saw carl in the guard-house, with irons on his wrists. it was like a fragment of some dream to find him here, holding the lifeless lysander in his arms. but now he remembered; now he comprehended. carl had saved him from torture by engaging to bring this man to the cave; whom by some miracle of courage and valor, he had overcome and captured, and brought thus far over the lonely rocks. all was yet vague to the old negro's mind; but it was nevertheless strange, great, prodigious. and this lad, this carl, whom penn had brought, a sort of vagabond, a little hungry beggar, to mr. villars's house--that is to say, toby's; whom the vain, tender, pompous, affectionate old servant had had the immense satisfaction of adopting into the family, patronizing, scolding, tyrannizing over, and tenderly loving; who had always been to him "dat chil'!" "dat good-for-nuffin'!" "dat mis'ble carl!"--the same now loomed before his imagination a hero. the simple spreading of the handkerchief over the face appeared to him a master-stroke of cool sagacity. he himself, with all that stupendous wisdom of his, would not have thought of that! he actually found himself on the point of saying "massa carl!" ah, this foolish old negro is not the only person who, in these times of national trouble, has been thus astonished! carl is not the only hero who has suddenly emerged, to thrilled and wondering eyes, from the disguises of common life. how many a beloved "good-for-nothing" has gone from our streets and firesides, to reappear far off in a vision of glory! the school-fellows know not their comrade; the mother knows not her own son. the stripling, whose outgoing and incoming were so familiar to us,--impulsive, fun-loving, a little vain, a little selfish, apt to be cross when the supper was not ready, apt to come late and make you cross when the supper was ready and waiting,--who ever guessed what nobleness was in him! his country called, and he rose up a patriot. the fatigue of marches, the hardships of camp and bivouac, the hard fare, the injustice that must be submitted to, all the terrible trials of the body's strength and the soul's patient endurance,--these he bore with the superb buoyancy of spirit which denotes the hero. who was it that caught up the colors, and rushed forward with them into the thick of the battle, after the fifth man who attempted it had been shot down? not that village loafer, who used to go about the streets dressed so shabbily? yes, the same. he fell, covered with wounds and glory. the rusty, and seemingly useless instrument we saw hang so long idle on the walls of society, none dreamed to be a trumpet of sonorous note until the soul came and blew a blast. and what has become of that white-gloved, perfumed, handsome cousin of yours, devoted to his pleasures, weary even of those,--to whom life, with all its luxuries, had become a bore? he fell in the trenches at wagner. he had distinguished himself by his daring, his hardihood, his fiery love of liberty. when the nation's alarum beat, his manhood stood erect; he shook himself; all his past frivolities were no more than dust to the mane of this young lion. the war has proved useful if only in this, that it has developed the latent heroism in our young men, and taught us what is in humanity, in our fellows, in ourselves. because it has called into action all this generosity and courage, if for no other cause, let us forgive its cruelty, though the chair of the beloved one be vacant, the bed unslept in, and the hand cold that penned the letters in that sacred drawer, which cannot even now be opened without grief. as toby had never been conscious what stuff there was in carl, so he had never known how much he really loved, admired, and relied upon him. he stood staring at him there in the moonlight as if he then for the first time perceived what a little prodigy he was. "take holt, why don't you?" said carl. and this time toby obeyed: he secretly acknowledged the authority of a master. "sartin, sah!" he had checked himself when on the point of saying "massa carl;" but the respectful "sah" slipped from his tongue before he was aware of it. among the bushes, and in the shadows of the rocks, they bore the body in swiftness and silence. salina followed. in the cave the usual fire was burning; by the light of which only virginia and her father were to be seen. the sisters fell into each other's arms. salina was softened: here, after all her sufferings, was refuge at last: here, in the warmth of a father's and a sister's affection, was the only comfort she could hope for now, in the world she had found so bitter. "who is with you?" said the old man. "toby? and carl? what is the matter?" "i vants mr. hapgood, or pomp, or cudjo!" said carl, laying down his burden. "they have gone to bury the man in the rawine," said virginia. carl opened great eyes. "the man in the rawine? that's vair ropes and the soldiers have gone." "what soldiers?--who is this?" "this is their waliant captain! i am wery sorry, ladies, but i have given him a leetle nose-pleed. some vater, toby! your handkersheaf, ma'am, and wery much obliged." salina stooped to take the handkerchief. a flash of the fire shone upon the uncovered face. the eyes opened; they looked up, and met hers looking down. "lysander!" "sal, is it you? where am i, anyhow?" and the husband tried to raise himself. "carl, what's this?" "don't be wiolent!" said carl, gently laying him down again, "and i vill tell you. i vas your prisoner, and i vas showing you the cave. veil, this is the cave; but things is a little inwerted. you are my prisoner." "is that so?" said the astonished lysander. "wery much so," replied carl. "didn't somebody knock me on the head?" "i shouldn't be wastly surprised if somepody _did_ knock you on the head." "was it you?" "i rather sushpect it vas me." lysander rubbed his bruised temple feebly, looking amazed. "but how came _she_ here?" "it vas she and toby we saw going into the cave." "what's that?"--to toby, bringing a gourd. "it is vater; it vill improve your wysiognomy. you can trink a little. you feel pretty sound in your witals, don't you? i vas careful not to hurt your witals," said carl, kindly, raising sprowl's head and holding the water for him to drink. lysander, ungrateful, instead of drinking, started up with sudden fury, struck the gourd from him with one hand, and thrust the other into the pocket where his pistol was, at last accounts. "vat is vanting?" carl inquired, complacently. lysander, fumbling in vain for his weapon, muttered, "vengeance!" "wery good," said carl. "ve vill discuss the question of wengeance, if you like."' and drawing the pistol from _his_ pocket, he coolly presented it at sprowl's head. "vat for you dodge? you think, maybe, the discussion vould not be greatly to your adwantage?" lysander felt for his sword, found that gone also, and muttered again, "villain!" "did somepody say somepody is a willain?" remarked carl. "i should not be wery much surprised if that vas so. willains nowdays is cheap. i have known a great wariety since secesh times pegan. but as for your particular case, sir, i peg to give some adwice. there is some ladies present, and you must keep quiet. do you remember how i vas kept quiet ven i vas _your_ prisoner? i had pracelets on. and do you remember i vas putting some supper in my pocket ven you took me to show you the cave? veil, i make von great mishtake; instead of supper, vat i vas putting in my pocket vas them wery pracelets!" and carl produced the handcuffs. at that moment penn and cudjo arrived; and lysander, observing them, submitted to his fate with beautiful resignation. the irons were put on, and carl mounted guard over him with the pistol. xxxviii. _love in the wilderness._ cudjo was highly exasperated to find strangers in the cave. he became quickly reconciled to the presence of virginia's sister, but not to that of lysander. to pacify him, carl made him a present of the sword which he had removed from the captain's noble person on arriving. cudjo received the weapon with unbounded delight, and proceeded to adjust the belt to his own ethiopian waist. it mattered little with him that he got the scabbard on the wrong side of his body: a sword was a sword; and he wore it in awkward and ridiculous fashion, strutting up and down in the fire-lighted cave, to the envy and disgust of old toby, the rage of lysander, and the amusement of the rest. penn meanwhile related to his friends his evening's adventures. he had gone down to the ravine with the negroes to bury the horse and his dead rider. he was keeping watch while they worked; the man was interred, and they were digging a pit for the animal, when they discovered the approach of the soldiers, and retired to a hiding-place close by. there they lay concealed, whilst ropes and his men descended to the spot, exhumed the corpse with cudjo's shovel, made their comments upon it, and put it back into the ground. during this operation it had required all pomp's authority, and the restraint of his strong hand, to keep cudjo from pouncing upon his old enemy and former overseer, silas ropes. "there were three of us," said penn, "and only three of them, besides pepperill; and no doubt a struggle would have resulted in our favor. but we did not want to be troubled with prisoners; and pomp and i could not see that anything was to be gained by killing them. besides, we knew they had a strong reserve within call. so we waited patiently until they finished their work, and climbed up out of the ravine; then we climbed up after them. we thought their main object must be to find the cave, and pomp strongly suspected pepperill of treachery. we found a large number of soldiers lying under some bushes, and crept near enough to hear what they were saying. they were going to take the cave by surprise, and an order had just come for them to move farther up the mountain. they set off with scarcely any noise, reminding me of the 'forty thieves,' as they filed away in the moonlight, and disappeared among the bushes and shadows. pomp is on their trail now; he has his rifle with him, and it may be heard from if he sees them change their course and approach too near the cave." penn had come in for his musket. it was the same that had fallen from the hands of the man griffin at the moment when that unhappy rebel was in the act of charging bayonet at his breast. assuring virginia--who could not conceal her alarm at seeing him take it from its corner--that he was merely going out to reconnoitre, he left the cave. he was gone several hours. at length he and pomp returned together. the moon had long since set, but it was beautiful starlight; and, themselves unseen, they had watched carefully the movements of the soldiers. "you would have laughed to have been in my place, carl!" said penn, laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of his beloved pupil. "they besieged the ledge where your imaginary cave is for full two hours after i went out, apparently without daring to go very near it." "i suppose," replied carl, "they vas vaiting for me and the captain. it vas really too pad now for us to make them lose so much waluable time! but they vill excuse mishter shprowl; his absence is unawoidable." and lifting his brows with a commiserating expression, he gave a comical side-glance from under them at the languishing lysander. all laughed at the lad's humor except the captain himself--and salina. after besieging the imaginary cave as penn had described, several of the confederates, he said, at last ventured with extreme caution to approach it. "and found," added carl, "they had been made the wictims of von leetle stratagem!" "i suppose so," said penn; "for immediately an unusual stir took place amongst them." "in searching for the entrance," laughed pomp, leaning on his rifle, "they came close under a juniper-tree i had climbed into, and i could hear them cursing the little dutchman----" "i suppose that vas me," smiled the good-natured carl. "and the 'pig-headed captain' who had gone off with him." "the pig-headed captain is this indiwidual"--indicating sprowl. "but it is wery unjust to be cursing him, for it vas not his fault. it vas my legs and toby's that conweyed him; and he had a handkersheaf over his face for a wail." "i suspected how it was, even before i met penn and learned what had happened. i am sorry to see this fellow in this place,"--pomp turned a frowning look at the corner where lysander lay,--"but now that he is here, he must stay." carl, upon whom the only noticeable effect produced by his exciting adventure was a lively disposition to talk, quite unusual with him, entered upon a full explanation of the circumstances which had led to lysander's capture. his narrative was altogether so simple, so honest, so droll, that even the bitter salina had to smile at it, while all the rest, the old clergyman included, joined in a hearty laugh of admiring approval at its conclusion. "i don't see but that you did the best that could be done," said pomp. "at all events, the villains seem to have been completely baffled. the last i saw of them they were retreating through the burned woods, as if afraid to have daylight find them on the mountain." the daylight had now come; and penn, who went out to take an observation, could discover no trace of the vanished rebels. the eastern sky was like a sheet of diaphanous silver, faintly crimsoned above the edges of the hills with streaks of the brightening dawn. all the valley below was inundated by a lake of level mist, whose subtle wave made islands of the hills, and shining inlets of the intervales. above this sea of white silence rose the mountain ranges, inexpressibly calm and beautiful, fresh from their bath of starlight and dew, and empurpled with softest tints of the early morning. penn heard a footstep, and felt a touch on his arm. was it the beauty of the earth and sky that made him shiver with so sudden and sweet a thrill? or was it the lovely presence at his side, in whom was incarnated, for him, all the beauty, all the light, all the joy of the universe? it was virginia, who leaned so gently on his arm, that not the slight pressure of her weight, but rather the impalpable shock of bliss her very nearness brought, made him aware of her approach. toby followed, supporting her along the shelf of rock--a dark cloud in the wake of that rosy and perfumed dawn. "o, how delicious it is out here!" said the voice, which, if we were to describe it from the lover's point of view, could be likened only to the songs of birds, the musical utterance of purest flutes, or the blowing of wild winds through those grand harp-strings, the mountain pines; for there was more of poetry and passion compressed in the heart of this quiet young quaker than we shall venture to give breath to in these pages. "it is--delicious!" he quiveringly answered, in his happy confusion blending _her_ with his perception of the daybreak. she inhaled deep draughts of the mountain air. "how i love it! the breath of trees, and grass, and flowers is in it,--those dear friends of mine, that i pine for, shut up here in prison!" "do you?" said penn, vaguely, half wishing that he was a flower, a blade of grass, or a tree, so that she might pine for him. "the air of the cave," she said, "is cold; it is odorless. the cave seems to me like the great, chill hearts of some of your profound philosophers! some of those tremendous books father makes me read to him came out of such hearts, i am sure; great hollow caverns, full of mystery and darkness, and so cold and dull they make me shudder to touch them;--but don't you, for the world, tell him i said so,--for, to please him, i let him think i am ever so much edified by everything that he likes." "what sort of books _do_ you like?" "o, i like books with daylight in them! i want them to be living, upper-air, joyous books. there must be sunshine, and birds, and brooks,--human nature, life, suffering, aspiration, and----" "and love?" "of course, there should be a little love in books, since there is sometimes a little, i believe, in real life." but she touched this subject with such airy lightness,--just hovering over it for an instant, and then away, like a butterfly not to be caught,--that penn felt a jealous trouble. "how long," she added immediately, "do you imagine we shall have to stay here?" "it is impossible to say," replied penn, turning with reluctance to the more practical topic. "one would think that the government cannot leave us much longer subject to this atrocious tyranny. an army may be already marching to our relief. but it may be weeks, it may be months, and i am not sure," he added seriously, "but it may be years, before tennessee is relieved." "why, that is terrible! toby says that poor old man, mr. ellerton, who assisted you to escape, was caught and hung by some of the soldiers yesterday." "i have no doubt but it is true. although he had returned to his home, he was known to be a unionist, and probably he was suspected of having aided us; in which case not even his white hairs could save him." "but it is horrible! they have commenced woman-whipping. and toby says a negro was hung six times a couple of days ago, and afterwards cut to pieces, for saying to another negro he met, 'good news; lincoln's army is coming!' what is going to become of us, if relief doesn't arrive soon? o, to look at the beautiful world we are driven from by these wicked, wicked men!" "and are you so very weary of the cave?" penn gave her a look full of electric tenderness, which seemed to say, "have not i been with you? and am i nothing to you?" she smiled, and her voice was tremulous as she answered,-- "i wish i could go out into the sunshine again! but i have not been unhappy. indeed, i think i have been very happy." there was an indescribable pause; virginia's eyes modestly veiled, her face suffused with a blissful light, as if her soul saw some soft and exquisite dream; while penn's bosom swelled with the long undulations of hope and transport. toby still lingered in the entrance of the cave. "toby," said penn, such a radiance flashing from his brow as the negro had never seen before, "my good toby,"--and what ineffable human sympathy vibrated in his tones!--"i wish you would go in and tell our friends that the enemy has quite disappeared: will you?" "yes, massa!" said toby, a ray of that happiness penetrating even the old freedman's breast. for such is the beautiful law of our nature, that love cannot be concealed; it cannot be monopolized by one, nor yet by two; but when its divine glow is kindled in any soul, it beams forth from the eyes, it thrills in the tones of the voice, it breathes from all the invisible magnetic pores of being, and sheds sunshine and warmth on all. toby went. then an arm of manly strength, yet of all manly gentleness, stole about the waist of the girl, and drew her softly, close, closer; while something else, impalpable, ravishing, holy, drew her by a still more potent attraction; until, for the first time in her young and pure life, her mouth met another mouth with the soul's virgin kiss. her lips had kissed many times before, but her soul never. how long it lasted, that sweet perturbation, that fervent experience of a touch, neither, i suppose, ever knew; for at such times a moment is an eternity. as a lightning flash in a dark night reveals, for a dazzling instant, a world concealed before, so the electric interchange of two hearts charged with love's lightning seems to open the very doors of infinity; and it is the glory of heaven that shines upon them. not a word was spoken. then penn held virginia before him, and looked deep into her eyes, and said, with a strange tremor of lip and voice,--using the gentle speech of the friends, into which old familiar channel his thoughts flowed naturally in moments of strong feeling,-- "wherever this dear face smiles upon me, there is my sunshine. i must be very selfish; for notwithstanding all the dangers and discomforts by which i see thee and thy father surrounded, the hours we have passed together here have been the happiest of my life. yea, and suffering and privation would be never anything to me, if i could always have thee with me, virginia!" how different, meanwhile, was the scene within the cave! how chafed the fiery lysander! how spitefully salina bit her lips ever at sight of him! and these two had once been lovers, and had seen rainbows span their future also! is it love that unites such, or is it only the yearning for love? for love, the reality, fuses all qualities, and brings into harmony all clashing chords. toby entered, the gleam of others' happiness still in his countenance. "de enemy hab dis'peared; all gone down in de frog." "the frog, toby?" said mr. villars. "yes, sar; right smart frog down 'ar in de volley!" "he means, a fog in the walley," said carl. xxxix. _a council of war._ owing to the disturbances of the night the old clergyman had slept little. he now lay down on the couch, and soon sank into a profound slumber. when he awoke he heard the hum of voices. the cave was filled with armed men. "it is mr. stackridge and his friends," said virginia. "they have come to hold a council of war; and they look upon you as their grand sachem." "i have brought them here," said pomp, "at their request--all except deslow." "where is he?" "deslow, i believe, has deserted!" said stackridge. "ah! what makes you think so?" "well, i've watched him right close, and i've seen a good deal of what's been working in his mind. he's one o' them fools that believe slavery is god; and he can't get over it. pomp, here, saved our lives in the fire the other night; and deslow couldn't stand it. to owe his life to a runaway slave--that was too dreadful!" said stackridge with savage sarcasm. "he's a man that would rather be roasted alive, and see his country ruined, i suppose, than do anything that might damage in the least degree his divine institution! there's the difference 'twixt him and me. sence slavery has made war agin' the union, and turned us out of our homes, i say, by the lord! let it go down to hell, as it desarves!" "you use strong language, neighbor!" "i do; and it's time, i reckon, when strong language, and strong actions too, are called fur. you hate a man that you've befriended, and that's turned traitor agin' ye, worse'n you hate an open inemy, don't ye? wal, i've befriended slavery, and it's turned traitor agin' me, and all i hold most sacred in this world, and i'm jest getting my eyes open to it; and so i say, let it go down! i've no patience with such men as deslow, and i'm glad, on the whole, he's gone. he don't belong with us anyhow. i say, any man that loves any kind of property, or any party, or institution, better than he loves the old union"--stackridge said this with tears of passion in his eyes,--"such a man belongs with the rebels, and the sooner we sift 'em out of our ranks the better." "when did he go?" "some of us were out foraging again last night; withers and deslow with the rest. tell what he said to you, withers." the group of fugitives had gathered about the bed on which the old clergyman sat. withers was scraping his long horny nails with a huge jackknife. "he says to me, says he, 'withers, we've got inter a bad scrape.' 'how so?' says i; for i thought we war gittin' out of a right bad scrape when we got out of that temp'rary jail. 'the wust hain't happened yet,' says he. 'that's bad,' says i, 'fur it's allus good fur a feller to know the wust has happened.' and so i told him a little story. says i, 'when i was a little boy 'bout that high, i was helping my daddy one day secure some hay. wal, it looked like rain, and we put in right smart till the fust sprinkles begun to fall,--great drops, big as ox-eyes,--and they skeert me, for i war awful 'fraid of gittin' wet. so what did i do but run and git under some boards. my daddy war so busy he didn't see me, till bime-by he come that way, rolling up the hay-cocks to kill, and looked, and thar i war under the pile o' boards, curled up like a hedgehog to keep dry. 'josh,' says he, 'what ye doin' thar? why ain't ye to work?' ''fraid o' gittin' wet!' says i. 'pon that he didn't say a word, but jest come and took me by the collar, and led me to a little run close by, and jest casoused me in the water, head over heels, and then jest pulled me out agin. 'now,' says he, 'ye can go to work, and you won't be the leastest mite afeard o' gittin' wet. wal, 'twas about so. i didn't mind the rain, arter that. 'wal, deslow,' says i, 'that larnt me a lesson; and ever sence i've always thought 'twas a good thing fur us, when trouble comes, to have the wust happen, and know it's the wust, fur then we'se prepared fur't, and ain't no longer to be skeert by a little shower.' that's what i said to deslow." and withers continued scraping his nails. "very good philosophy, indeed!" said mr. villars. "and what did he reply?" "he said, when the wust happened to us, we'd find we had no home, no property, and no country left; and fur his part he had been thinking we'd better go and give ourselves up, make peace with the authorities, and take the oath of allegiance. 'lincoln won't send no army to relieve us yet a-while,' says he, 'and even if he does, you know, victory for the federals means the death of our institootions! so i see where the shoe pinched with him; and i said, 'if that continners to be your ways of thinkin', i hain't the least objections to partin' comp'ny with ye, as the house dog said to the skunk; only,' says i, 'don't ye go to betrayin' us, if you conclude to go.' soon arter that we separated, and that's the last any on us have seen of him." "they've begun to whip women, too," said stackridge. "but, by right good luck, when this scamp here--" glowering upon lysander--"sent to have my wife whipped, he got his own mother whipped in her place! he's a connection o' your family, i know, mr. villars; but i never spile a story for relation's sake." "nor need you, friend stackridge. sorry i am for that deluded young man; but he reaps what he has sown, and he has only himself to blame." "'twas a regular secesh operation, that of having his own mother strung up," said captain grudd. "they are working against their own interests and families without knowing it. when they think they are destroying the union, they are destroying their own honor and influence; for so it 'ill be sure to turn out." "it was liberty they intended to have beaten," said penn; "but they will find that it is the back of their own mother, slavery, that receives the rods." "just what i meant to say; but it took the professor to put it into the right shape. by the way, neighbors, we owe the professor an apology. some of us found fault with his views of slavery and secession; but we've all come around to 'em pretty generally, i believe, by this time. here's my hand, professor, and let me say i think you was right enough in all but one thing--your plaguy non-resistance." "he has thought better of that," said mr. villars, pleasantly. "yes, zhentlemen," said carl, anxious to exonerate his friend, "he has been conwerted." "we have found that out, to his credit," said stackridge. and, one after another, all took penn cordially by the hand. "we are all brothers in one cause, our country," said penn. nor did he stop when the hand of the last patriot was shaken; he took the hand of pomp also. "we are all men in the sight of god!" his heart was full; there was a thrill of fervent emotion in his voice. his calm young face, his firm and finely-cut features, always noticeable for a certain massiveness and strength, were singularly illumined. he went on, the light of the cave-fire throwing its ruddy flash on the group. "we are all his children. he has brought us together here for a purpose. the work to be done is for all men, for humanity: it is god's work. to that we should be willing to give everything--even our lives; even our selfish prejudices, dearer to some than their lives. i believe that upon the success of our cause depends, not the prosperity of any class of men, or of any race of men, only, but of all men, and all races. for america marches in the van of human progress, and if she falters, if she ignobly turns back, woe is to the world! perhaps you do not see this yet; but never mind. one thing we all see--a path straight before us, our duty to our country. we must put every other consideration aside, forget all minor differences, and unite in this the defence of the nation's life." an involuntary burst of applause testified how ardently the hearts of the patriots responded to these words. some wrung penn's hand again. pomp meanwhile, erect, and proud as a prince, with his arms folded upon his massive and swelling chest, smiled with deep and quiet satisfaction at the scene. there was another who smiled, too, her face suffused with love and pride ineffable, as her eyes watched the young quaker, and her soul drank in his words. "that's the sentiment!" said stackridge. "and now, what is to be done? we have been disappointed in one thing. our friends don't join us. one reason is, no doubt, they hain't got arms. but the main reason is, they look upon our cause as desperate. desperate or not, it can't be helped, as i see. with or without help, we must fight it through, or go back, like that putty-head deslow, and take the oath of allegiance to the bogus government. mr. villars, you're wise, and we want your opinion." "that, i fear, will be worth little to you!" answered the old man, bowing his head with true humility. "it seems to me that you are not to rely upon any open assistance from your friends. and sorry i am to add, i think you should not rely, either, upon any immediate aid from the government. the government has its hands full. the time is coming when you who have eyes will see the old flag once more floating on the breezes of east tennessee. but it may be long first. and in the mean time it is your duty to look out for yourselves." "that is it," said stackridge. "but how?" "it seems to me that your retreat cannot remain long concealed. therefore, this is what i advise. make your preparations to disperse at any moment. you may be compelled to hide for months in the mountains and woods, hunted continually, and never permitted to sleep in safety twice in the same place. that will be the fate of hundreds. there is but one thing better for you to do. it is this. force your way over the mountains into kentucky, join the national army, and hasten its advance." "and you?" said captain grudd. the old man smiled with beautiful serenity. "perhaps i shall have my choice, after all. you remember what that was? to remain in the hands of our enemies. i ought never to have attempted to escape. i cannot help myself; i am only a burden to you. my daughters cannot continue to be with me here in this cave; and, if i am to be separated from them, i may as well be in a confederate prison as elsewhere. if the traitors seek my life, they are welcome to it." "o, father! what do you say!" exclaimed virginia, in terror at his words. "i advise what i feel to be best. i will give myself up to the military authorities. you, and salina, if she chooses, will, i am certain, be permitted to go to your friends in ohio. but before i take this step, let all here who have strong arms to lend their country be already on their way over the mountains. penn and carl must go with them. nor do i forget pomp and cudjo. they shall go too, and you will protect them." penn turned suddenly pale. it was the soundness of the good old man's counsel that terrified him. separation from virginia! she to be left at the mercy of the confederates! this was the one thing in the world he had personally to dread. "it may be good advice," he said. "it is certainly a noble self-sacrifice, mr. villars proposes. but i do not believe there is one here who will consent to it. i say, let us keep together. if necessary, we can die together. we cannot separate, if by so doing we must leave him behind." he spoke with intense feeling, yet his words were but feebly echoed by the patriots. the truth was, they were already convinced that they ought to be making their way out of the state, and had said so among themselves; but, being unwilling to abandon the old minister, and knowing well that he could never think of undertaking the terrible journey they saw before them, hither they had come to hear what he had to suggest. "what do you think, pomp?" penn asked, in despair. "i think that what mr. villars advises these men to do is the best thing." penn was stupefied. he saw that he stood alone, opposed to the general opinion. and something within himself said that he was selfish, that he was wrong. he did not venture to glance at virginia, but bent his eyes downward with a stunned expression at the floor of the cave. "but as for himself, and us, i am not so sure. there are recesses in this cave that cannot easily be discovered. he shall remain, and we will stay and take care of him, if he will." these calm words of the negro sounded like a reprieve to penn's soul. he caught eagerly at the suggestion. "yes, if there must be a separation, pomp is right. if many go, it will be believed that all are gone, and the rest can remain in safety." "you are all too generous towards me," said the old minister. "but i have nothing more to say. i am very patient. i am willing to accept whatever god sends, and to wait his own blessed time for it. when you, penn, were sick in my house, and the ruffians were coming to kill you, and i could not determine what to do, the question was decided for me: providence decided it by taking you, by what seemed a miracle, beyond the reach of all of us. so i believe this question, which troubles us now, will be decided for us soon. something is to happen that will show us plainly what must be done." so it was: something was indeed to happen, sooner even than he supposed. xl. _the wonders of the cave._ the other inmates of the cave had breakfasted whilst the old clergyman was asleep. toby was now occupied in preparing his dish of coffee, and mr. villars invited the patriots to remain and take a cup with him. penn noticed cudjo's discontent at seeing toby usurp his function. he remembered also a rare pleasure he had been promising himself whenever he should find cudjo at leisure and circumstances favorable for his purpose. "now is our time," he whispered virginia. "will salina come too?" "what to do?" salina asked. "to explore the cave," said penn, courteously, yet trembling lest the invitation should be accepted. she excused herself: she was feeling extremely fatigued; much to penn's relief--that is to say, regret, as he hypocritically gave her to understand. she smiled: though she had declined, virginia was going, and she thought he looked consoled. "what does anybody care for me?" she said bitterly to herself. it was to save her the pain of a slight that penn, always too honest to resort to dissimulation from selfish motives, had assumed towards her a regard he did not feel. but the little artifice failed. she saw she was not wanted, and was jealous--angry with him, with virginia, with herself. for thus it is with the discontented and envious. they cannot endure to see others happy without them. they gladly make the most of a slight, pressing it like a thistle to the breast, and embracing it all the more fiercely as it pierces and wounds. but he who has humility and love in his heart says consolingly at such times, "if they can be happy without me, why, heaven be thanked! if i am neglected, then i must draw upon the infinite resources within myself. and if i am unloved, whose fault is it but my own? i will cultivate that sweetness of soul, the grace, and goodness, and affection, which shall compel love!" something like this carl found occasion to say to himself; for if you think he saw the master he loved, and her who was dear to him as ever sister was to younger brother, depart with cudjo and the torches, without longing to go with them and share their pleasure, you know not the heart of the boy. he was almost choking with tears as he saw the torches go out of sight. but just as he had arrived at this philosophical conclusion, o joy! what did he see? penn returning! yes, and hastening straight to him! "carl, why don't you come too?" there was no mistaking the sincerity of penn's frank, animated face. again the tears came into carl's eyes; but this time they were tears of gratitude. "vould you really be pleased to have me?" "certainly, carl! virginia and i both spoke of it, and wondered why we had not thought to ask you before." "then i vill get my wery goot friend the captain to excuse me. i sushpect he vill be wexed to part from me; but i shall take care that the ties that bind us shall not be proken." in pursuance of this friendly design, carl produced a good strong cord which he had found in the cave. this he attached to the handcuffs by a knot in the middle; then, carrying the two ends in opposite directions around one of the giant's stools, he fastened them securely on the side farthest from the prisoner. this done, he gave the pistol to toby, and invested him with the important and highly gratifying office of guarding "dat shprowl." "if you see him too much unhappy for my absence, and trying for some diwersion by making himself free," said carl, instructing him in the use of the weapon, "you shall shust cock it _so_,--present it at his head or stomach, vichever is conwenient--_so_,--then pull the trigger as you please, till he is vunce more quiet. that is all. now i shall say goot pie to him till i come pack." "why don't you kill and eat him?" asked withers, watching the boy's operations with humorous enjoyment. "him?" said carl, dryly. "thank ye, sir; i am not fond of weal." as pomp and the patriots remained in the cave, it was not anticipated that lysander would give any trouble. with carl at his side, penn bore the torch above his head, and plunged into the darkness, which seemed to retreat before them only to reappear behind, surrounding and pursuing their little circle of light as it advanced. a gallery, tortuous, lofty, sculptured by the gnomes into grotesque and astonishing forms, led from the inhabited vestibule to the wonders beyond. they had gone but a few rods when they saw a faint glimmer before them, which increased to a mild yellowish radiance flickering on the walls. it was the light of cudjo's torch. they found cudjo and virginia waiting for them at the entrance of a long and spacious hall, whose floor was heaped with fragments of rock, some of huge size, which had evidently fallen from the roof. "de cave whar us lives, des' like dis yer when me find um in de fust place," the negro was saying to virginia. "right smart stuns dar." "what did you do with them?" "tuk all me could tote to make your little dressum-room wiv. lef' de big 'uns fur cheers when me hab comp'ny, hiah yah! when pomp come, him help me place 'em around scrumptious like. pomp bery strong--lif' like you neber see!" climbing over the stones, they reached, at the farther end of the hall, an abrupt termination of the floor. a black abyss yawned beyond. in its invisible depths the moan of waters could be heard. virginia, who had been thrilled with wonder and fear, standing in the hall of the stones, and thinking of those crushing masses showered from the roof, now found it impossible not to yield to the terrors of her excited imagination. "i cannot go any farther!" she said, recoiling from the gulf, and drawing penn back from it. "come right 'long!" cried cudjo; "no trouble, missis!" "see, he has piled stones in here and made some very good and safe stairs. take my torch, carl, and follow; cudjo will go before with his. now, one step at a time. i will not let thee fall." thus assured, she ventured to make the descent. a strong arm was about her waist; a strong and supporting spirit was at her side; and from that moment she felt no fear. the limestone, out of which the cave was formed, lay in nearly horizontal strata; and, at the bottom of cudjo's stairs, they came upon another level floor. it was smooth and free from rubbish. a gray vault glimmered above their heads in the torchlight. the walls showed strange and grotesque forms in bas-relief, similar to those of the first gallery: here a couchant lion, so distinctly outlined that it seemed as if it must have been chiselled by human art; an indian sitting in a posture of woe, with his face buried in his hands; an arctic hunter wrestling with a polar bear; the head of a turbaned turk; and, most wonderful of all, the semblance of a vine (penn named it "jonah's gourd"), which spread its massive branches on the wall, and, climbing under the arched roof, hung its heavy fruit above their heads. close by "jonah's gourd" a little stream gushed from the side of the rock, and fell into a fathomless well. the torches were held over it, and the visitors looked down. solid darkness was below. carl took from his pocket a stone. "it is the same," he said, "that mishter sprowl pumped his head against. i thought i should find some use for it; and now let's see." he dropped it into the well. it sunk without a sound, the noise of its distant fall being lost in the solemn and profound murmur of the descending water. "what make de cave, anyhow?" asked cudjo. "the wery question i vas going to ask," said carl. "it will take but a few words to tell you all i know about it," said penn. "water containing carbonic acid gas has the quality of dissolving such rock as this part of the mountain is made of. it is limestone; and the water, working its way through it, dissolves it as it would sugar, only very slowly. do you understand?" "o, yes, massa! de carbunkum asses tote it away!" penn smiled, and continued his explanation, addressing himself to carl. "so, little by little, the interior of the rock is worn, until these great cavities are formed." "but what comes o' de rock?" cried cudjo; "dat's de question!" "what becomes of the sugar that dissolves in your coffee?" "soaks up, i reckon; so ye can't see it widout it settles." "just so with the limestone, cudjo. it _soaks up_, as you say. and see!--i will show you where a little of it has settled. notice this long white spear hanging from the roof." "dat? dat ar a stun icicle. me broke de pint off oncet, but 'pears like it growed agin. times de water draps from it right smart." "a good idea--a stone icicle! it grew as an icicle grows downward from the eaves. it was formed by the particles of lime in the water, which have collected there and hardened into what is called _stalactite_. these curious smooth white folds of stone under it, which look so much like a cushion, were formed by the water as it dropped. this is called _stalagmite_." "heap o' dem 'ar sticktights furder 'long hyar," observed cudjo, anxious to be showing the wonders. they came into a vast chamber, from the floor of which rose against the darkness columns resembling a grove of petrified forest trees. the flaming torches, raised aloft in the midst of them, revealed, supported by them, a wonderful gothic roof, with cornice, and frieze, and groined arches, like the interior of a cathedral. a very distinct fresco could also be seen, formed by mineral incrustations, on the ceiling and walls. on a cloudy background could be traced forms of men and beasts, of forests and flowers, armies, castles, and ships, not sculptured like the figures before described, but designed by the subtile pencil of some sprite, who, virginia suggested, must have been the subterranean brother of the frost. "how wonderful!" she said. "and is it not strange how nature copies herself, reproducing silently here in the dark the very same forms we find in the world above! here is a rose, perfect!" "with petals of pure white gypsum," said penn. whilst they were talking, cudjo passed on. they followed a little distance, then halted. the light of his torch had gone out in the blackness, and the sound of his footsteps had died away. carl remained with the other torch; and there they stood together, without speaking, in the midst of immense darkness ingulfing their little isle of light, and silence the most intense. suddenly they heard a voice far off, singing; then two, then three voices; then a chorus filling the heart of the mountain with a strange spiritual melody. virginia was enraptured, and carl amazed. penn, who had known what was coming, looked upon them with pride and delight. at length the music, growing faint and fainter, melted and was lost in the mysterious vaults through which it had seemed to wander and soar away. it was a minute after all was still before either spoke. "certainly," virginia exclaimed, "if i had not heard of a similar effect produced in the mammoth cave, i should never have believed that marvellous chorus was sung by a single voice!" "a single woice!" repeated carl, incredulous. "there vas more as a dozen woices!" "right, carl!" laughed penn. "the first was cudjo's; and all the rest were those, of the nymph echo and her companions." they continued their course through the halls of the echoes, and soon came to an arched passage, at the entrance of which penn paused and placed the torch in a niche. a projection of the rock prevented the light from shining before them, yet their way was softly illumined from beyond, as by a dim phosphorescence. they advanced, and in a moment their eyes, grown accustomed to the obscurity, came upon a scene of surprising and magical beauty. "the grotto of undine," said penn. it was, to all appearances, a nearly spherical concavity, some thirty yards in length, and perhaps twenty in perpendicular diameter. carl's torch was concealed in the niche, and cudjo's was nowhere visible; yet the whole interior was luminous with a dim and silvery halo. a narrow corridor ran round the sides, and resembled a dark ring swimming in nebulous light, midway between the upper and nether hemispheres of the wondrous hollow globe. within this horizontal rim, floor there was none; and they stood upon its brink; and, looking up, they saw the marvellous vault all sparkling with stars and beaming with pale, pendent, taper, crystalline flames, noiseless and still; and, looking down, beheld beneath their feet, and shining with a yet more soft and dreamy lustre, the perfect counterpart of the vault above. penn held virginia upon the verge. a bewildering ecstasy captivated her reason as she gazed. they seemed to be really in the grotto of some nymph who had fled the instant she saw her privacy invaded, or veiled the immortal mystery and loveliness of her charms in some mesh of the glimmering nimbus that baffled and entangled the sight. save one or two stifled cries of rapture from virginia and carl, not a syllable was uttered: perfect stillness prevailed, until penn said, in a whisper,-- "wouldst thou like to see the face of undine? bend forward. do not fear: i hold thee!" by gentle compulsion he induced her to comply. she bent over the brink, and looked down, when, lo! out of the hazy effulgence beneath, emerged a face looking up at her--a face dimly seen, yet full of vague wonder and surprise--a face of unrivalled sweetness and beauty, penn thought. what did virginia think?--for it was the reflection of her own. "o, penn! how it startled me!" "but isn't she a grace? isn't she loveliness itself?" "i hope you think so!" she whispered, with arch frankness, a sweet coquettish confidence ravishing to his soul. "i do!" and in the privacy of telling her so, his lips just brushed her ear. did you ever, in whispering some secret trifle, some all-important, heavenly nothing, just brush the dearest little ear in the world with your lips? or, in listening to the syllables of divine nonsense, feel the warm breath and light touch of the magnetic thrilling mouth? then you know something of what penn and virginia experienced for a brief moment in the grotto of undine. just then a duplicate glow, like a double sunrise, one part above and the other below the horizon, appeared at the farther end of the grotto. it increased, until they saw come forth from behind an upright rock an upright torch; and at the same time, from behind a suspended rock beneath, an inverted torch. immediately after two cudjoes came in sight; one standing erect on the rock above, and the other standing upside down on--or rather under--the rock below. "take your torch, carl," said penn, "and go around and meet him." the boy returned to the niche; and presently two carls, with two torches, were seen moving around the rim of the corridor, one upright above, the other walking miraculously, head downwards, below. the two carls had not reached the rock, when the two cudjoes stooped, and took up each a stone and threw them. one fell _upward_ (so to speak), as the other fell downward: they met in the centre: there was a strange clash, which echoed through the hollow halls; and in a moment the entire nether hemisphere of the enchanted grotto was shattered into numberless flashing and undulating fragments. virginia had already perceived that the appearance of a concave sphere was an illusion produced by the ceiling lighted by cudjo's hidden torch, and mirrored in a floor of glassy water. yet she was entirely unprepared for this astonishing result; and at sight of the cudjo beneath instantaneously annihilated by the plashing of a stone, she started back with a scream. fortunately, penn still held her close, no doubt in a fit of abstraction, forgetting that his arms were no longer necessary to prevent her falling, as when she leaned to look at the shadowy undine. "all those stalactites," said he, as the two torches were held towards the roof, "are of the most beautiful crystalline structure; and the spaces between are all studded with brilliant spars. the first time i was here, it was april; the mountain springs were full, and every one of these _stone icicles_ was dripping with water that percolated through the strata above. the effect was almost as surprising as what we saw before cudjo cast the stone. the surface of the pool seemed all leaping and alive with perpetual showers of dancing pearls. but now the springs are low, or the water has found another channel. yet this basin is always full." "why, so it is! i had no idea the water was so near!" and virginia, stooping, dipped her hand. the mirrored crystals were still coruscating and waving in the ripples, as they passed around the rim of rock, and followed cudjo into a scarcely less beautiful chamber beyond. here was no water; but in its place was a floor of alabaster, from which arose a great variety of pure white stalagmites, to meet each its twin stalactite pendent from above. in some cases they did actually meet and grow together in perfect pillars, reaching from floor to roof. "the stalagmites are very beautiful," said virginia; "but the stalactites are still more beautiful." "i think," said penn, "there is a moral truth symbolized by them. as the rock above gives forth its streaming life, it benefits and beautifies the rock below, while at the same time it adorns still more richly its own beautiful breast. so it always is with charity: it blesses him that receives, but it blesses far more richly him that gives." "o, must we pass on?" said virginia, casting longing eyes towards all those lovely forms. "we are to return the same way," replied penn. "but now cudjo seems to be in a hurry." "dat's de last ob de sticktights," cried the black, standing at the end of the colonnade, and waving his torch above his head. "now we's comin' to de run." "come," said penn, "and i will show thee what hood must have meant by the 'dark arch of the black flowing river.'" a stupendous cavern of seemingly endless extent opened before them. cudjo ran on ahead, shouting wildly under the hollow, reverberating dome, and waving his torch, which soon appeared far off, like a flaming star amid a night of darkness. then there were two stars, which separated, and, standing one above the other, remained stationary. "listen!" said penn. and they heard the liquid murmur of flowing water. he took the torch from carl, and advancing towards the right wall of the cavern, showed, flowing out of it, through a black, arched opening, a river of inky blackness. it rolled, with scarce a ripple, slow, and solemn, and still, out of that impenetrable mystery, and swept along between the wall on one side and a rocky bank on the other. by this bank they followed it, until they came to a natural bridge, formed by a limestone cliff, through which it had worn its channel, and under which it disappeared. on this bridge they found cudjo perched above the water with his torch. they passed the bridge without crossing,--for the farther end abutted high upon the cavern wall,--and found the river again flowing out on the lower side. few words were spoken. the vastness of the cave, the darkness, the mystery, the inky and solemn stream pursuing its noiseless course, impressed them all. suddenly virginia exclaimed,-- "light ahead!" though carl was with her, and cudjo now walked behind. it was a gray glimmer, which rapidly grew to daylight as they advanced. "it is the chasm, or sink, where the roof of the cave has fallen in," said penn. while he spoke, a muffled rustling of wings was heard above their heads. they looked up, and saw numbers of large black bats, startled by the torches, darting hither and thither under the dismal vault. birds, too, flew out from their hiding-places as they advanced, and flapped and screamed in the awful gloom. to save the torches for their return, cudjo now extinguished them. they walked in the brightening twilight along the bank of the stream, and found, to the surprise and delight of virginia, some delicate ferns and pale green shrubs growing in the crevices of the rock. vegetation increased as they proceeded, until they arrived at the sink, and saw before them steep banks covered with vines, thickets, and forest trees. the river, whose former course had evidently been stopped by the falling in of the forest, here made a curve to the right around the banks, and half disappeared in a channel it had hollowed for itself under the cliff. here they left it, and climbed to the open day. "how strangely yellow the sunshine looks!" said virginia. "it seems as though i had colored glasses on. and how sultry the air!" she looked up at the towering rocks that walled the chasm, and at the trees upon whose roots she stood, and whose tops waved in the summer breeze and sunshine, at the level of the mountain slope so far above. she could also see, on the summit of the cliffs, the charred skeletons of trees the late fire had destroyed. "it was here," said penn, "that stackridge and his friends escaped. this leaning tree with its low branches forms a sort of ladder to the limbs of that larger one; and by these it is easy to climb----" as he was speaking, all eyes were turned upwards; when suddenly cudjo uttered a warning whistle, and dropped flat upon the ground. "a man!" said carl, crouching at the foot of the tree. penn did not fall or crouch, nor did virginia scream, although, looking up through the scant leafage, they saw, standing on the cliff, and looking down straight at them, at the same time waving his hand exultantly, one whom they well knew--their enemy, silas ropes. xli. _prometheus bound._ at the wave of the lieutenant's hand, a squad of soldiers rushed to the spot. in a minute their muskets were pointed downwards, and aimed. "fly!" said penn, thrusting virginia from him. "carl, take her away!" the boy drew her back down the rocks, following cudjo, who was descending on all fours, like an ape. she turned her face in terror to look after penn. there he stood, where she had left him, intrepid, his fine head uncovered, looking steadfastly up at the men on the cliff, and waving his hat, defiantly. at once she recognized his noble self-sacrifice. it was his object to attract their fire, and so shield her from the bullets as she fled. she struggled from carl's grasp. "o, penn," she cried, extending her hands beseechingly, and starting to return to him. "fire!" shouted silas ropes. crack! went a gun, immediately succeeded by an irregular volley, like a string of exploding fire-crackers. penn, expecting death, saw first the rapid flashes, then the soldiers half concealed by the smoke of their own guns. the smoke cleared, and there he still stood, smiling--for virginia was unhurt. "your practice is very poor!" he shouted up at the soldiers; and, putting on his hat, he walked calmly away. the bullets had struck the trees and flattened on the stones all around him; but he was untouched. and before the rebels could reload their pieces, he was safe with his companions in the cavern. he found cudjo hastily relighting his torch. virginia was sitting on a stone where carl had placed her; powerless with the reaction of fear; her countenance, white as that of a snow-image in the gloom, turned upon penn as if she knew not whether it was really he, or his apparition. she did not rise to meet him. she could not speak. her eyes were as the eyes of one that beholds a miracle of god's mercy. "is no guns here?" cried carl. "de men hab all urn's guns,"' said cudjo, over his kindlings. "me gwine fotch 'em!" and, his torch lighted, he darted away. in a minute he was out of sight and hearing; only the flame he bore could be seen dancing like an ignis fatuus in the darkness of the cavern. "o, if i had only that pistol, carl!" said penn. "i could manage to defend the chasm with it until they come. but wishes won't help us. virginia, deslow has turned traitor! he must have known his friends were going this morning to visit thy father, or else he could not so well have chosen his time for betraying them." he lighted his torch, and lifted virginia to her feet. "have no fear. even if the rebels get possession here, the subterranean passages can be held by a dozen men against a hundred." "i am not afraid now; i am quite strong." "that is well. carl, take the light and go with her." "and vat shall you do?" "i will stay and watch the movements of the soldiers." "wery goot. but i have vun little obshection." "what is it?" "you know the vay petter, and you vill take her safer as i can. but my eyes is wery wigorous, and i vill engage to vatch the cusses myself." "thou art right, my carl!" said penn, who indeed felt that it was for him, and for no other, to convey virginia back to her father and safety. he crept upon the rocks, and took a last observation of the cliffs. not a soldier was in sight. but that fact did not delight him much. "they fear a possible shot or two. no doubt they are making preparations, and when all is ready they will descend. i only hope they will delay long enough! farewell, carl!" "goot pie, penn! goot pie, wirginie!" cried carl, with stout heart and cheery voice. and as he saw them depart,--penn's arm supporting her,--listened for the last murmur of their voices, and watched for the last glimmer of the torch as it was swallowed by the darkness, and he was left alone, he continued to smile grimly; but his eyes were dim. "they are wery happy together! and i susphect the time vill come ven he vill marry her; and then they vill neither of 'em care much for me. veil, i shall love 'em, and wish 'em happy all the same!" with which thought he smiled still more resolutely than before, and squeezed the tears from his eyes very tenderly, in order, probably, to keep those useful organs as "wigorous" as possible for the work before him. * * * * * handcuffed and securely bound to the rock, that modern prometheus, captain lysander sprowl, like his mythical prototype, felt the vulture's beak in his vitals. chagrin devoured his liver. an overflow of southern bile was the result, and he turned yellow to the whites of his eyes. old toby noticed the phenomenon. poor old toby, with that foolish head and large tropical heart of his, knew no better than to feel a movement of compassion. "kin uh do any ting fur ye, sar?" the unfeigned sympathy of the question gave the wily prometheus his cue. he uttered a feeble moan, and studied to look as much sicker than he was as possible. pity at the sight made the old negro forget much which a white man would have been apt to remember--the disgrace this wretch had brought upon "the family;" and the recent cruel whipping, from which his own back was still sore. "ye pooty sick, sar?" "water!" gasped lysander. the patriots had finished their coffee and taken their guns. toby ran to them. "some on ye be so good as keep an eye skinned on de prisoner, while i's gittin' him a drink!" he hastened with the gourd to a dark interior niche where a little trickling spring dripped, drop by drop, into a basin hollowed in the rocky floor. as he bore it, cool and brimming, to his captive-patient, withers said,-- "i don't keer! it's a sight to make most white folks ashamed of their christianity, to see that old nigger waiting on that rascal, 'fore his own back has done smarting!" "if, as i believe," said mr. villars, "men stand approved before god, not for their pride of intellect or of birth, but for the love that is in their hearts, who can doubt but there will be higher seats in heaven for many a poor black man than for their haughty masters?" "according to that," replied withers, "maybe some besides the haughty masters will be a little astonished if they ever git into heaven--nigger-haters that won't set in a car, or a meeting-house, or to see a theatre-play, if there's a nigger allowed the same privilege! now i never was any thing of an emancipationist; but by george! if there's anything i detest, it's this etarnal and unreasonable prejudice agin' niggers! how do you account for it, mr. villars?" "prejudice," said the old man, "is always a mark of narrowness and ignorance. you might almost, i think, decide the question of a man's christianity by his answer to this: 'what is your feeling towards the negro?' the larger his heart and mind, the more compassionate and generous will be his views. but where you find most bigotry and ignorance, there you will find the negro hated most violently. i think there are men in the free states whose sins of prejudice and blind passion against the unhappy race are greater than those of the slaveholders themselves." "our interest is in our property--that's nat'ral; but what possesses them to want to see the nigger's face held tight to the grindstone, and never let up?" said withers. "their howl now is, 'put down the rebellion! but don't tech slavery, and don't bring in the nigger!' as if, arter dogs had been killing my sheep, you should preach to me, 'save your sheep, neighbor, but don't agitate the dog question! you mustn't tech the dogs!' i say, if the dogs begin the trouble, they must take the consequences, even if my dog's one." "they maintain," said grudd, "that, no matter what slavery may have done, there is no power in the constitution to destroy it." "i am reminded of a story my daughter virginia was reading to me not long ago,--how the great polar bear is sometimes killed. the hunter has a spear, near the pointed end of which is securely fastened a strong cross-piece. the bear, you know, is aggressive; he advances, meets the levelled shaft, seizes the cross-piece with his powerful arms, and with a growl of rage hugs the spear-head into his heart. now, slavery is just such another great, stupid, ferocious monster. the constitution is the spear of liberty. the cross-piece, if you like, is the republican policy which has been nailed to it, and which has given the bear a hold upon it. he is hugging it into his heart. he is destroying himself." the story was scarcely ended when cudjo leaped into the circle, crying,-- "de sogers! de sogers!" "where?" said pomp, instinctively springing to his rifle. "in de sink! dey fire onto we and de young lady!" "any one hurt?" "no. massa hapgood cotch de bullets in him's hat!" for this was the impression the negro had brought away with him. "hull passel sogers! sile ropes,--seed him fust ob all!" it was some moments before the patriots fully comprehended this alarming intelligence. but pomp understood it instantly. "gentlemen, will you fight? your side of the house is attacked!" there was a moment's confusion. then those who had not already taken their guns, sprang to them. they had brought lanterns, which were now burning. they plunged into the gallery, following pomp. cudjo ran for his sword, drew it from the scabbard, and ran yelling after them. the sudden tumult died in the depths of the cavern; and all was still again before those left behind had recovered from their astonishment. there was one whose astonishment was largely mixed with joy. a moment since he was lying like a man near the last gasp; but now he started up, singularly forgetful of his dying condition, until reminded of it by feeling the restraint of the rope and seeing toby. lysander sank back with a groan. "'pears like you's a little more chirk," said toby. "my head! my head!" said lysander. "my skull is fractured. can't you loose the rope a little? the strain on my wrists is--" ending the sentence with a faint moan. had toby forgotten the strain on _his_ wrists, and the anguish of the thumbs, when this same cruel lysander had him strung up? "bery sorry, 'deed, sar! but i can't unloosen de rope fur ye." and, full of pity as he was, the old negro resolutely remained faithful to his charge. sprowl tried complaints, coaxing, promises, but in vain. "well, then," said he, "i have only one request to make. let me see my wife, and ask her forgiveness before i die." "dat am bery reason'ble; i'll speak to her, sar." and, without losing sight of his prisoner, toby went to cudjo's pantry, now virginia's dressing-room, into which salina had retreated, and notified her of the dying request. salina was in one of her most discontented moods. what had she fled to the mountain for? she angrily asked herself. after the first gush of grateful emotion on meeting her father and sister, she had begun quickly to see that she was not wanted there. then she looked around despairingly on the dismal accommodations of the cave. she had not that sustaining affection, that nobleness of purpose, which enabled her father and sister to endure so cheerfully all the hardships of their present situation. the rude, coarse life up there, the inconveniences, the miseries, which provoked only smiles of patience from them, filled her with disgust and spleen. but there was one sorer sight to those irritated eyes than all else they saw--her captive husband. she could not forget that he _was_ her husband; and, whether she loved or hated him, she could not bear to witness his degradation. yet she could not keep her eyes off of him; and so she had shut herself up. "he wishes to speak with me? to ask my forgiveness? well! he shall have a chance!" she went and stood over the prisoner, looking down upon him coldly, but with compressed lips. "well, what do you want of me?" sprowl made a motion for toby to retire. humbly the old negro obeyed, feeling that he ought not to intrude upon the interview; yet keeping his eye still on the prisoner, and his hand on the pistol. "sal,"--in a low voice, looking up at her, and showing his manacled hands,--"are you pleased to see me in this condition?" "i'd rather see you dead! if i were you, i'd kill myself!" "there's a knife on the table behind you. give it to me, free my hands, and you won't have to repeat your advice." she merely glanced over her shoulder at the knife, then bent her scowling looks once more on him. "a captain in the confederate army! outwitted and taken prisoner by a boy! kept a prisoner by an old negro! this, then, is the military glory you bragged of in advance! and i was going to be so proud of being your wife! well, i am proud!" there was gall in her words. they made lysander writhe. "bad luck will happen, you know. once out of this scrape, you'll see what i'll do! come, sal, now be good to me." "good to you! i've tried that, and what did i get for it?" "i own i've given you good cause to hate me. i'm sorry for it. the truth is, we never understood each other, sal. you was always quick and sharp yourself; you'll confess that. you know how easy it is to irritate me; and i'm a devil when in a passion. but all that's past. hate me, if you will--i deserve it. but you don't want to see me eternally disgraced, i know." she laughed disdainfully. "if you will disgrace yourself, how can i help it?" "the other end of the cave is attacked, and it is sure to be carried. i shall soon be in the hands of my own men. if i don't succeed in doing something for myself first, it'll be impossible for me to regain the position i've lost." "well, do something for yourself! what hinders you?" "this cursed rope! i wouldn't mind the handcuffs if the rope was away. just a touch with that knife--that's all, sal." "yes! and then what would you do?" "run." "and lose no time in sending your men to attack this end of the cave, too! o, i know you!" "i swear to you, sal! i never will take advantage of it in that way, if you will do me just this little favor. it will be worth my life to me; and it shall cost you nothing, nor your friends." "hush! i know too well what your promises amount to. how can i depend even upon your oath? there's no truth or honor in you!" "well?" said lysander, despairingly. "well, i am going to help you, for all that. only it must not appear as if i did it. and you shall keep your oath,--or one of us shall die for it! now be still!" she walked back past the block that served as a table, and, when between it and toby, quietly took the knife from it, concealing it in her sleeve. "don't come for me to hear any more dying requests," she said to the old negro, with a sneer. "your prisoner will survive. only give him a little coffee, if there is any. here is some: i will wait upon him." and, carrying the coffee, she dropped the knife at lysander's side. xlii. _prometheus unbound._ five minutes later penn and virginia arrived. penn ran eagerly for his musket. at the same time, looking about the cave, he was surprised to see only the old clergyman sitting by the fire, and prometheus reclining by his rock. "where is salina? where is toby?" "toby has just left his charge to see what discovery salina has made outside. she went out previously and thought she saw soldiers." at that moment toby came running in. "dar's some men way down by the ravine! o, sar! i's bery glad you's come, sar!" having announced the discovery, and greeted penn and virginia, he went to look at his prisoner. he had been absent from him but a minute: he found him lying as he had left him, and did not reflect, simple old soul, how much may be secretly accomplished by a desperate villain in that brief space of time. penn took pomp's glass, climbed along the rocky shelf, peered over the thickets, and saw on the bank of the ravine, where salina pointed them out to him, several men. they were some distance below gad's leap (as he named the place where the spy met his death), and seemed to be occupied in extinguishing a fire. he levelled the glass. the recent burning of the trees and undergrowth had cleared the field for its operation. his eye sparkled as he lowered it. "i recognize one of our friends in a new uniform!"--handing the glass to salina. returning to the cave, he added, in virginia's ear,-- "augustus bythewood!" the bright young brow contracted: "not coming here?" "i trust not. yet his proximity means mischief. pomp will be interested!" he took his torch and gun. there was no time for adieus. in a moment he was gone. there was one who had been waiting with anxious eyes and handcuffed hands to see him go. meanwhile mr. villars had called toby to him, and said, in a low voice,-- "is all right with your prisoner?" "o, yes; he am bery quiet, 'pears like." "you must look out for him. he is crafty. i feel that all is not right. when you were out, i thought i heard something like the sawing or tearing of a cord. look to him, toby." "o, yes, sar, i shall!" and the confident old negro approached the rock. there lay the rope about the base of it, still firmly tied on the side opposite the prisoner. and there crouched he, in the same posture of durance as before, except that now he had his legs well under him. his handcuffed hands lay on the rope. "right glad ter see ye convanescent, sar!" toby was bending over, examining his captive with a grin of satisfaction; when the latter, in a weak voice, made a humble request. "i wish you would put on my cap." "wiv all de pleasure in de wuld, sar." the cap had been thrown off purposely. unsuspecting old toby! the pistol was in his pocket. he stooped to pick up the cap and place it on sprowl's head; when, like a jumping devil in a box when the cover is touched, up leaped lysander on his legs, knocking him down with the handcuffs, and springing over him. before the old man was fully aware of what had happened, and long before he had regained his feet, lysander was in the thickets. in his hurry he thrust his wife remorselessly from the ledge before him, and flung her rudely down upon the sharp boughs and stones, as he sped by her. there toby found her, when he came too late with his pistol. her hands were cut; but she did not care for her hands. ingratitude wounds more cruelly than sharp-edged rocks. penn had judged correctly in two particulars. deslow had turned traitor. and the personage in the new uniform down by the ravine was lieutenant-colonel bythewood. deslow had gone straight to head-quarters after quitting withers the previous night, given himself up, taken the oath of allegiance to the confederacy, and engaged to join the army or provide a substitute. as if this were not enough, he had also been required to expose the secret retreat of his late companions. to this, we know not whether reluctantly, he had consented; and it was this act of treachery that had brought silas ropes to the sink, and bythewood to the ravine. advantage had been taken of the fog in the morning to march back again, up the mountain, the men who had marched down, baffled and inglorious, after the wild-goose chase carl led them the night before. bythewood commanded the expedition at his own request, being particularly interested in two persons it was designed to capture--virginia and pomp. it is supposed that he took a sinister interest in penn also. but bythewood was not anxious to deprive ropes of his laurels; and perhaps he felt himself to be too fine a gentleman to mix in a vulgar fight. he accordingly sent ropes forward to surprise the patriots at the sink, while he moved with a small force cautiously up towards gad's leap, with two objects in view. one was, to make some discovery, if possible, with regard to the missing lysander; the other, to intercept the retreat of the fugitives, should they be driven from the cave through the opening unknown to deslow, but which he believed to be in this direction. the firing on the right apprised augustus that the attack had commenced. this was the signal for him to advance boldly up from the ravine, and establish himself on an elevation commanding a view of the slopes. here he had been discovered very opportunely by salina, who was seeking some pretext for calling toby from his prisoner. in the shade of some bushes that had escaped the fire, he sat comfortably smoking his cigar on one end of a log, which was smoking on its own account at the other end. "put out that fire, some of you," said augustus. this was scarcely done, when suddenly a man came leaping down the slope, holding his hands together in a very singular manner. bythewood started to his feet. "deuce take me!" said he, "if it ain't lysander! but what's the matter with his hands, sergeant?" "looks to me as though he had bracelets on," replied the experienced sergeant. some men were despatched to meet and bring the captain in. the sergeant found a key in his pocket to unlock the handcuffs. then lysander told the story of his capture, which, though modified to suit himself, excited bythewood's derision. this stung the proud captain, who, to wash the stain from his honor, proposed to take a squad of men and surprise the cave. fired by the prospect of seeing virginia in his power, augustus had but one important order to give: "bring your prisoners to me here!" instead of proceeding directly to the cave, lysander used strategy. he knew that if his movements were observed, and their object suspected, virginia would have ample time to escape with her father and old toby into the interior caverns, where it might be extremely difficult to discover them. he accordingly started in the direction of the sink, as if with intent to reënforce the soldiers fighting there; then, dropping suddenly into a hollow, he made a short turn to the left, and advanced swiftly, under cover of rocks and bushes, towards the ledge that concealed the cave. * * * * * "how _could_ you let him go, toby!" cried virginia, filled with consternation at the prisoner's escape. for she saw all the mischievous consequences that were likely to follow in the track of that fatal error: cudjo's secret, so long faithfully kept, now in evil hour betrayed; the cave attacked and captured, and the brave men fighting at the sink, believing their retreat secure, taken suddenly in the rear; and so disaster, if not death, resulting to her father, to penn, to all. the anguish of her tones pierced the poor old negro's soul. "dunno', missis, no more'n you do! 'pears like he done gnawed off de rope wiv his teef!" for lysander, having used the knife, had hidden it under the skins on which he sat. then salina spoke, and denounced herself. after all the pains she had taken to conceal her agency in sprowl's escape,--inconsistent, impetuous, filled with rage against herself and him,--she exclaimed,-- "i did it! here is the knife i gave him!" virginia stood white and dumb, looking at her sister. toby could only tear his old white wool and groan. "salina," said her father, solemnly, "you have done a very treacherous and wicked thing! i pity you!" severest reproaches could not have stung her as these words, and the terrified look of her sister, stung the proud and sensitive salina. "i have done a damnable thing! i know it. do you ask what made me? the devil made me. i knew it was the devil at the time; but i did it." "o, what shall we do, father?" said virginia. "there is nothing you can do, my daughter, unless you can reach our friends and warn them." "o," she said, in despair, "there is not a lamp or a torch! all have been taken!" "and it is well! it would take you at least an hour to go and return; and that man--" mr. villars would never, if he could help it, speak lysander's name--"will be here again before that time, if he is coming." "he is not coming," said salina. "he swore to me that he would not take advantage of his escape to betray or injure any of you. he will keep his oath. if he does not----" she paused. there was a long, painful silence; the old man musing, virginia wringing her hands, toby keeping watch outside. "listen!" said salina. "i am a woman. but i will defend this place. i will stand there, and not a man shall enter till i am dead. as for you, jinny, take _him_, and go. you can hide somewhere in the caves. leave me and toby. i will not ask you to forgive me; but perhaps some time you will think differently of me from what you do now." "sister!" said virginia, with emotion, "i do forgive you! god will forgive you too; for he knows better than we do how unhappy you have been, and that you could not, perhaps, have done differently from what you have done." salina was touched. she threw her arms about virginia's neck. "o, i have been a bad, selfish girl! i have made both you and father very unhappy; and you have been only too kind to me always! now leave me alone--go! i hope i shall not trouble you much longer." she brushed back her hair from her large white forehead, and smiled a strange and vacant smile. virginia saw that her wish was to die. "sister," she said gently, "we will all stay together, if you stay. we must not give up this place! our friends are lost--we are lost--if we give it up! perhaps we can do something. indeed, i think we can! if we only had arms! women have used arms before now!" toby entered. "dey ain't comin' dis yer way, nohow! dey's gwine off to de norf, hull passel on 'em." "give me that pistol, toby," said salina. "you can use cudjo's axe, if we are attacked. place it where you can reach it, and then return to your lookout. don't be deceived; but warn us at once if there is danger." "my children," said the old man, "come near to me! i would i could look upon you once; for i feel that a separation is near. dear daughters!"--he took a hand of each,--"if i am to leave you, grieve not for me; but love one another. love one another. to you, salina, more especially, i say this; for though i know that deep down in your heart there is a fountain of affection, you are apt to repress your best feelings, and to cherish uncharitable thoughts. for your own good, o, do not do so any more! believe in god. be a child of god. then no misfortune can happen to you. my children, there is no great misfortune, other than this--to lose our faith in god, and our love for one another. i do not fear bodily harm, for that is comparatively nothing. for many years i have been blind; yet have i been blest with sight; for night and day i have seen god. and as there is a more precious sight than that of the eyes, so there is a more precious life than this of the body. the life of the spirit is love and faith. let me know that you have this, and i shall no longer fear for you. you will be happy, wherever you are. why is it i feel such trust that virginia will be provided for? salina, let your heart be like hers, and i shall no longer fear for you!" "i wish it was! i wish it was!" said salina, pouring out the anguish of her heart in those words. "but i cannot make it so. i cannot be good! i am--salina! is there fatality in a name?" "i know the infirmity of your natural disposition, my child. i know, too, what circumstances have done to embitter it. our heavenly father will take all that into account. yet there is no one who has not within himself faults and temptations to contend with. many have far greater than yours to combat, and yet they conquer gloriously. i cannot say more. my children, the hour has come which is to decide much for us all. remember my legacy to you,--have faith and love." they knelt before him. he laid his hands upon their heads, and in a brief and fervent prayer blessed them. both were sobbing. tears ran down his cheeks also; but his countenance was bright in its uplifted serenity, wearing a strange expression of grandeur and of joy. xliii. _the combat._ pomp, rifle in hand, bearing a torch, led the patriots on their rapid return through the caverns. "lights down!" he said, as they approached the vicinity of the sink. "we shall see them; but they must not see us." they halted at the natural bridge; the torch was extinguished, and the patriots placed their lanterns under a rock. they then advanced as swiftly as possible in the obscurity, along the bank of the stream. in the hall of the bats they met carl, who had seen their lights and come towards them. "hurry! hurry!" he said. "they are coming down the trees like the devil's monkeys! a whole carawan proke loose!" captain grudd commanded the patriots; but pomp commanded captain grudd. "quick, and make no noise! we have every advantage; the darkness is on our side--those loose rocks will shelter us." they advanced until within a hundred yards of where the shaft of daylight came down. there they could distinguish, in the shining cleft under the brow of the cavern, and above the rocky embankment, the forms of their assailants. some had already gained a footing. others were descending the tree-trunks in a dark chain, each link the body of a rebel. "we must stop that!" said pomp. the men were deployed forward rapidly, and a halt ordered, each choosing his position. "ready! aim!" at that moment, half a dozen men of the attacking party advanced, feeling their way over the rocks down which penn and his companions had been seen to escape. the leader, shielding his eyes with his hand, peered into the gloom of the cavern. coming from the light, he could see nothing distinctly. suddenly he paused: had he heard the words of command whispered? or was he impressed by the awful mystery and silence? "fire!" said captain grudd. instantly a jagged line of flashes leaped across the breast of the darkness, accompanied by a detonation truly terrible. each gun with its echoes, in those cavernous solitudes, thundered like a whole park of artillery: what, then, was the effect of the volley? the patriots were themselves appalled by it. the mountain trembled, and a gusty roar swept through its shuddering chambers, throbbing and pulsing long after the smoke of the discharge had cleared away. pomp laughed quietly, while withers exclaimed, "by the etarnal! if i didn't fancy the hull ruf of the mountain had caved in!" "load!" said captain grudd, sternly. the rebels advancing over the rocks had suddenly disappeared, having either fallen in the crevices or scrambled back up the bank while hidden from view by the smoke. the chain descending the tree had broken; those near the ground leaped down or slid, while those above seemed seized by a wild impulse to climb back with all haste to the summit of the wall. a few threw away their guns, which fell upon the heads of those below. at the same time those below might have been seen scampering to places of shelter behind rocks and trees. if ever panic were excusable, this surely was. since the patriots were terrified by their own firing, we need not wonder at the alarm of the rebels. some had seen the flashes sever the darkness, and their comrades fall; while all had felt the earthquake and the thundering. to those at the entrance it had seemed that these were the jaws and throat of a monster mountain-huge, which at their approach spat flame and bellowed. "now is our time! clear them out!" said grudd. "rush in and finish them with the bayonet!" said stackridge. six of the guns had bayonets, and his was one of them. "not yet!" said pomp. "they will fire on you from above. we must first attend to that. shall i show you? then do as i do!" instinctively they accepted his lead. loading his piece, he ran forward until, himself concealed under the brow of the cavern, he could see the rebels in the tree and on the cliff. "once more! all together!" he said, taking aim. "give the word, captain!" the men knelt among the loosely tumbled rocks, which served at once as a breastwork and as rests for their guns. the projecting roof of the cave was over them; through the obscure opening they pointed their pieces. above them, in the full light, were the frightened confederates, some on the tree, some on the cliff, some leaping from the tree to the cliff; while their comrades in the sink lurked on the side opposite that where the patriots were. "take the cusses on the top of the rocks!" said stackridge. "the rest are harmless." "it's all them in the tree can do to take keer of themselves," added withers. "reg'lar secesh! all they ax is to be let alone." grudd gave the word. flame from a dozen muzzles shot upwards from the edge of the pit. when the smoke rolled away, the cliff was cleared. not a rebel was to be seen, except those in the tree franticly scrambling to get out, and two others. one of these had fallen on the cliff: his head and one arm hung horribly over the brink. the other, in his too eager haste to escape from the tree, had slipped from the limb, and been saved from dashing to pieces on the rocks below only by a projection of the wall, to which he had caught, and where he now clung, a dozen feet from the top, and far above the river that rolled black and slow in its channel beneath the cliff. "now with your bayonets!" said pomp. "this way!" there were six bayonets before; now there were eight. "that carl is worth his weight in gold!" said the enthusiastic stackridge. while the patriots, preparing for their second volley, were getting positions among the rocks on the left, carl had crept up the embankment in front, and brought away two muskets from two dead rebels. these were they who had fallen at the first fire. both guns had bayonets. pomp took one; carl kept the other. cudjo with his sword accompanied the charging party; grudd and the rest remaining at their post, ready to pick off any rebel that should appear on the cliff. swift and stealthy as a panther, pomp crept around still farther to the left, under the projecting wall, raising his head cautiously now and then to look for the fugitives. "as i expected! they are over there, afraid to follow the stream into the cave, and hesitating whether to make a rush for the tree. all ready?" he looked around on his little force and smiled. instead of eight bayonets, there were now nine. penn had arrived. "all ready!" answered stackridge. pomp bounded upon the rocks and over them, with a yell which the rest took up as they followed, charging headlong after him. cudjo, brandishing his sword, leaped and yelled with the foremost--a figure fantastically terrible. penn, with the fiery stackridge on one side, and his beloved carl on the other, forgot that he had ever been a quaker, hating strife. not that he loved it now; but, remembering that these were the deadly foes of his country, and of those he loved, and feeling it a righteous duty to exterminate them, he went to the work, not like an apprentice, but a master,--without fear, self-possessed, impetuous, kindled with fierce excitement. the rebels in the sink, fifteen in number, had had time to rally from their panic; and they now seemed inclined to make resistance. they were behind a natural breastwork, similar to that which had sheltered the patriots on the other side. they levelled their guns hastily and fired. one of the patriots fell: it was withers. "give it to them!" shouted pomp. "every cussed scoundrel of 'em!" stackridge cried. "kill! kill! kill!" shrieked cudjo. "surrender! surrender!" thundered penn. with such cries they charged over the rocks, straight at the faces and breasts of the confederates. some turned to fly; but beyond them was the unknown darkness into which the river flowed: they recoiled aghast from that. a few stood their ground. the bayonet, which penn had first made acquaintance with when it was thrust at his own breast, he shoved through the shoulder of a rebel whose clubbed musket was descending on carl's head. three inches of the blade come out of his back; and, bearing him downwards in his irresistible onset, penn literally pinned him to the ground. cudjo slashed another hideously across the face with the sword. pomp took the first prisoner: it was dan pepperill. the rest soon followed dan's example, cried quarter, and threw down their arms. "quarter!" gasped the wretch penn had pinned. "you spoke too late--i am sorry!" said penn, with austere pity, as, placing his foot across the man's armpit to hold him while he pulled, he put forth his strength, and drew out the steel. a gush of blood followed, and, with a groan, the soldier swooned. "it is one of them wagabonds that gave you the tar and fedders!" said carl. "and assisted at my hanging afterwards!" added penn, remembering the ghastly face. thus retribution followed these men. gad and griffin he had seen dead. was it any satisfaction for him to feel that he was thus avenged? i think, not much. the devil of revenge had no place in his soul; and never for any personal wrong he had received would he have wished to see bloody violence done. the prisoners were disarmed, and ordered to remain where they were. "bring the wounded to me," said pomp, hastening back to the spot where withers had fallen. stackridge and another were lifting the fallen patriot and bearing him to the shelter of the cave. pomp assisted, skilfully and tenderly. then followed those who bore away the wounded prisoners and the guns that had been captured. pepperill had been ordered to help. he and carl carried the man whose face cudjo had slashed. this was the only rebel who had fought obstinately: he had not given up until an arm was broken, and he was blinded by his own blood. penn and devitt brought up the rear with the swooning soldier. when half way over they were fired upon by the rebels rallying to the edge of the cliff. grudd and his men responded sharply, covering their retreat. penn felt a bullet graze his shoulder. it made but a slight flesh wound there; but, passing down, it entered the heart of the wounded man, whose swoon became the swoon of death. this was the only serious result of the confederate fire. "i am glad i did not kill him!" said penn, as they laid the corpse beside the stream. then out of the mask of blood which covered the face of the stout fellow who had fought so well, there issued a voice that spoke, in a strange tongue, these words:-- "_was hat man mir gethan? wo bin ich, mutter?_" but the words were not strange to carl; neither was the voice strange. "fritz! fritz!" he answered, in the same language, "is it you?" "i am fritz minnevich; that is true. and you, i think, are my cousin carl." they laid the wounded man near the stream, where pomp was examining withers's hurt. "o, fritz!" said carl, "how came you here?" "they said the yankees were coming to take our farm. so hans and i enlisted to fight. i got in here because i was ordered. we do as we are ordered. it was we who whipped the woman. we whipped her well. i hope my good looks will not be spoiled; for that would grieve our mother." thus the soldier talked in his native tongue, while carl, in sorrow and silence, washed the blood from his face. he remembered he was his father's brother's son; a good fellow, in his way; dull, but faithful; and he had not always treated him cruelly. indeed, carl thought not of his cruelty now at all, but only of the good times they had had together, in days when they were friends, and frau minnevich had not taught her boys to be as ill-natured as herself. "what for do you do this, carl?" said fritz. "there is no cause that you should be kind to me. i did you some ill turns. you did right to run away. but our father swears you shall have your share of the property if you ever come back for it, and the yankees do not take it." "it is all lies they tell you about the yankees!" said carl. "o pomp! this is my cousin--see what you can do for him." pomp had been reluctantly convinced that he could do nothing for withers: his wound was mortal. and withers had said to him, in cheerful, feeble tones, "i feel i'm about to the eend of my tether. so don't waste yer time on me." so pomp turned his attention to the minnevich. but penn and stackridge remained with the dying patriot. "wish ye had a union flag to wrap me in when i'm dead, boys! that's what i've fit fur; that's what i meant to die fur, if 'twas so ordered. it's all right, boys! jest look arter my family a little, won't ye? and don't give up old tennessee!" these were his last words. penn and stackridge rejoined their comrades in the fight. "shoot him! shoot him! shoot him!" cried cudjo, in a frenzy of excitement, pointing at the rebel who had fallen from the tree upon the projection of the chasm wall. "him dar! dat sile ropes!" "ropes?" said penn, looking up through the opening. "that he!"--raising his gun. "but he can do no harm there; and he can't get out." "don' ye see? dey's got a rope to help him wif! gib him a shot fust! o, gib him a shot!" the projection to which the lieutenant clung was a broken shelf less than half a yard in breadth. there he cowered in abject terror betwixt two dangers, that of falling if he attempted to move, and that of being picked off if he remained stationary and in sight. to avoid both, he got upon his hands and knees, and hid his face in the angle of the ledge, leaving the posterior part of his person prominent, no doubt thinking, like an ostrich, that if his head was in a hole, he was safe. the very ludicrousness of his situation saved him. the patriots reserved him to laugh at, and fired over him at the rebels on the cliff. at each shot, silas could be seen to root his nose still more industriously into the rock. at length, however, as cudjo had declared, a rope was brought and let down to him. "take hold there!" shouted the rebels on the cliff. ropes could feel the cord dangling on his back. "tie it around your waist!" silas, without daring to look up, put out his hand, which groped awkwardly and blindly for the rope as it swung to and fro all around it. finally, he seized it, but ran imminent risk of falling as he drew it under his body. at length he seemed to have it secured; but in his hurry and trepidation he had fastened it considerably nearer his hips than his arms. the result, when the rebels above began to haul, can be imagined. hips and heels were hoisted, while arms and head hung down, causing him to resemble very strikingly a frog hooked on for bait at the end of a fish-line. the affrighted face drawn out of its hole, looked down ridiculously hideous into the rocky and bristling gulf over which he swung. "fire!" said captain grudd. the volley was aimed, not at silas, but at those who were hauling him up. cudjo shrieked with frantic joy, expecting to see his old enemy plunge head foremost among the stones on the bank of the stream. such, no doubt, would have been the result, but for one sturdy and brave fellow at the rope. the rest, struck either with bullets or terror, fell back, loosing their hold. but this man clung fast, imperturbable. alone, slowly, hand over hand, he hauled and hauled; grim, unterrified, faithful. but it was a tedious and laborious task for one, even the stoutest. the man had but a precarious foothold, and the rope rubbed hard on the edge of the cliff. cudjo shrieked again, this time with despair at seeing his former overseer about to escape. "that's a plucky fellow!" said stackridge, with stern admiration of the soldier's courage. "i like his grit; but he must stop that!" he reached for a loaded gun. he took carl's. the boy turned pale, but said never a word, setting his lips firmly as he looked up at the cliff. silas was swinging. the soldier was pulling in the rope, hitch by hitch, over the ledge. stackridge took deliberate aim, and fired. for a moment no very surprising effect was perceptible, only the man stopped hauling. then he went down on one knee, paying out several inches of the rope, and letting the suspended silas dip accordingly. it became evident that he was hit; he still grasped the rope, but it began to glide through his hands. silas set up a howl. "hold me! hold me!"--at the same time extending all his fingers to grasp the rocks. the brave fellow made one last effort, and took a turn of the rope about his wrist. it did not slip through his hands any more. but soon _he_ began to slip--forward--forward--on both knees now--his head reeling like that of a drunken man, and at last pitching heavily over the cliff. some of the cowards who had deserted their post sprang to save him; but too late: the man was gone. it was fortunate for silas that he had been let down several feet thus gradually. he was near the ledge from which he had been lifted, and had just time to grasp it again and crawl upon it, when the man fell, turning a complete somerset over him, fearful to witness! revolving slowly in his swift descent through the air; still holding with tenacious grip the rope; plunging through the boughs like a mere log tumbled from the cliff, and striking the rocks below--dead. he had taken the rope with him; and silas had been preserved from sharing his fate only by a lucky accident. the knot at his hips loosened itself as he clutched the ledge, and let the coil fly off as the man shot down. not a gun was fired: rebels and patriots seemed struck dumb with horror at the brave fellow's fate. then carl whispered,-- "that vas my other cousin! that vas hans!" "cudjo! cudjo! what are you about?" cried penn. the black did not answer. beside himself with excitement, he ran to the leaning tree and climbed it like an ape. the naked sword gleamed among the twigs. reaching the trunk of the tall tree he ascended that as nimbly, never stopping until he had reached the upper limbs. there was one that branched towards the ledge where silas clung. at a glance choosing that, cudjo ran out upon it, until it bent beneath his weight. there he tried in vain to reach his ancient enemy with the sword; the distance was too great, even for his long arms. "sile ropes! ye ol' oberseer! g'e know cudjo? me cudjo!" he yelled, slashing the end of the branch as if it had been his victim's flesh. "'member de lickins? 'member my gal ye got away? now ye git yer pay!" while he was raving thus, one of the soldiers above, sheltering himself from the fire of the patriots by lying almost flat on the ground, levelled his gun at the half-crazed negro's breast, and pulled the trigger. a flash--a report--the sword fell, and went clattering down upon the rocks. cudjo turned one wild look upward, clapping his hand to his breast. then, with a terrible grimace, he cast his eyes down again at ropes,--crept still farther out on the branch,--and leaped. silas had his nose in the angle of the ledge again, and scarcely knew what had happened until he felt the negro alight on his back and fling his arms about him. "cudjo shot! cudjo die! but you go too, sile ropes!" as he gibbered forth these words, his long hands found the lieutenant's throat, and tightened upon it. a fearfully quiet moment ensued; then living and dying rolled together from the ledge, and dropped into the chasm. they struck the body of the dead hans; that broke the fall; and cudjo was beneath his victim. ropes, stunned only, struggled to rise; but, held in that deadly embrace, he only succeeded in rolling himself down the embankment, cudjo accompanying. the stream flowed beneath, black, with scarce a murmur. silas neither saw nor heard it; but, continuing to struggle, and so continuing to roll, he reached the verge of the rocks, and fell with a splash into the current. penn ran to the spot just in time to see the two bodies disappear together; the dying cudjo and the drowning silas sinking as one, and drifting away into the cavernous darkness of the subterranean river. xliv. _how augustus finally proposed._ after this there was a lull; and penn, who had forgotten every thing else whilst the conflict was raging, remembered that he had seen bythewood at the ravine, and hastened to inform pomp of the circumstance. the death of cudjo had plunged pomp into a fit of stern, sad reverie. his surgical task performed, he stood leaning on his rifle, gazing abstractedly at the darkly gliding waves, when penn's communication roused him. "ha!" said he, with a slight start. "we must look to that! the danger here is over for the present, and two or three of us can be spared." "shall i go, too?" said carl. "it is time i vas seeing to my prisoner." "come," said pomp. and the three set out to return. having but slight anticipations of trouble from the side of the ravine, they came suddenly, wholly unprepared, upon a scene which filled them with horror and amazement. the prisoner, as we know, had fled. we left him on his way back to the cave with a squad of men. since which time, this is what had occurred. the assailants had approached so stealthily over the ledges, below which toby was stationed, looking intently for them in another direction, that he had no suspicions of their coming until they suddenly dropped upon him as from the clouds. he had no time to run for his axe; and he had scarcely given the alarm when he was overpowered, knocked down, and rolled out of the way off the rocks. the assailants then, with lysander at their head, rushed to the entrance of the cave. but there they encountered unexpected resistance: the two sisters--salina with the pistol, virginia with the axe. "hello! sal!" cried lysander, recoiling into the arms of his men; "what the devil do you mean?" "i mean to kill you, or any man that sets foot in this place! that is what i mean!" there could be no doubt about it: her eyes, her attitude, her whole form, from head to foot, looked what she said. she was flushed; a smile of wild and reckless scorn curved her mouth, and her countenance gleamed with a wicked light. by her side was virginia, with the uplifted axe, expressing no less determination by her posture and looks, though she did not speak, though there was no smile on her pale lips, and though her features were as white as death. "it's no use, gals!" said sprowl. "don't make fools of yourselves! you won't be hurt; but i'm bound to come in!"' "do not attempt it! you have broken your oath to me. but i have made an oath i shall not break!" what that oath was salina did not say; but lysander's changing color betrayed that he guessed it pretty well. "i don't care a d--n for you! virginia, drop that axe, and come out here with your father, and i pledge my sacred honor that neither of you shall receive the least harm." "your sacred honor!" sneered salina. but virginia said nothing. she stood like a clothed statue; only the eyes through which the fire of the excited spirit shone were not those of a statue; and the advanced white arm, beautiful and bare, from which the loose sleeve fell as it reared the axe, was of god's sculpture, not man's. she seemed not to hear lysander; for the promise of safety for herself was as nothing to her: she felt that she was there to defend, with her life, if needs were, the friends whom he had betrayed. only a holy and great purpose like this could have nerved that gentle nature for such work, and made those tender sinews firm as steel. there was something slightly devilish in the aspect of salina; but virginia was all the angel; yet it was the angel roused to strife. "call off your gals, mr. villars!" said sprowl. "lysander!" said the solemn voice of the old minister from within, "hear me! we are but three here, as you see: a blind and helpless old man and two girls. why do you follow to persecute us? go your way, and learn to be a man. the business you are engaged in is unworthy of a man. my daughters do right to defend this place, which you, false and ungrateful, have betrayed. attempt nothing farther; for we are not afraid to die!" "go in, boys!" shouted lysander, himself shrinking aside to let the soldiers pass. salina fired the pistol--not at the soldiers. "she has shot me!" said lysander, staggering back. "kill the fiend! kill her!" instantly two bayonets darted at her breast. one of them was struck down by virginia's axe, which half severed the soldier's wrist. but before the axe could rise and descend again, the other bayonet had done its work; and the soldiers rushed in. it was all over in a minute. the axe was seized and wrenched violently away. toby lay senseless on the rocks without. lysander was leaning dizzily, clutching at the ledge, a ghastly whiteness settling about the gay mustache, and a strange glassiness dimming his eyes. the soldiers had possession. virginia was a prisoner, and her father; but not salina. there was the body which had been hers, transfixed by the bayonet, and fallen upon the ground: that was palpable: but who shall capture the escaping soul? when penn and his companions arrived, not a living person was there; but alone, stretched upon the cold stone floor, where the gray light from the entrance fell,--pulseless, pallid, with pale hands crossed peacefully on her breast, hiding the wound, and features faintly smiling in their stony calm,--lay the corpse of her that was salina. the fair cup that had brimmed with the bitterness of life was shattered. the soul that drank thereat had fled away in haughtiness and scorn. toby, groaning on the stones outside, felt somebody shaking him, and heard the voice of carl asking how he was. "dunno'; sort o' common," said the old negro, trying to rise. he knew nothing of what had happened, except that he had been fallen upon and beaten down: for the rest, it was useless to question him: not even penn's agonies of doubt and fear could rouse his recollection. * * * * * lieutenant-colonel bythewood had committed the error of an officer green in his profession. the cave surprised, and the prisoners taken, the men retired in all haste, simply because they had received no orders to the contrary. thus no advantage whatever was taken of the very important position which had been gained. leaving the dead behind, and carrying off the wounded and the prisoners, the sergeant, upon whom the command devolved after his captain was disabled, lost no time in reporting to the lieutenant-colonel. augustus stood up to receive the report and the prisoners,--extremely pale, but appearing preternaturally courteous and composed. he bowed very low to the old clergyman (who, he forgot, could not witness and appreciate that graceful act of homage), and expressed infinite regret that "his duty had rendered it necessary," and so forth. then turning to virginia, whose look was scarcely less stony than that of her dead sister in the cave, he bowed low to her also, but without speaking, and without raising his eyes to her face. "have this old gentleman carried to his own house, and see that every attention is paid to him." "and my daughter?" said the blind old man, meekly. "she shall follow you. i will myself accompany her." "and my dead child up yonder?" "she shall be brought to you at the earliest possible moment." "and my faithful servant?" "he shall be cared for." "thank you." and mr. villars bowed his white head upon his breast. "take the captain immediately to the hospital! and you fellow with the hacked wrist, go with him." the number of men required to execute these orders (since both the old clergyman and the wounded captain had to be carried) left augustus almost alone with virginia. having previously sent off all his available force to ropes at the sink, in answer to a pressing call for reënforcements, he had now only the sergeant and two men at his beck. but perhaps this was as he wished it to be. he approached virginia, and, bowing formally, still without speaking, offered her his arm. "thank you. i can walk without assistance." like marble still, but with the same wild fire in her eyes. "the only favor i ask of you is to be permitted to leave you." bythewood made a motion to the sergeant, who removed his men farther off. "i wish to have a few words of conversation with you, miss villars. i beg you to be seated here in the shade." virginia remained standing, regarding him with features pale and firm as when she held the axe. it was evident to her that here was another struggle before her, scarcely less to be dreaded than the first. augustus looked at her, and smiled pallidly. "if eyes could kill, miss villars, i think yours would kill me!" "if polite cruelty can kill, you have killed my sister!" "o, i beg your pardon, dear miss villars, but it was not i!" "i beg no pardon, but i say it was you! and now you will murder my father--perhaps me." "o, my excellent young lady, how you have misunderstood me! by heaven, i swear!"--his voice shook with sincere emotion,--"if i have committed a fault, it has been for the love of you! such faults surely may be pardoned. virginia! will you accept my life as an atonement for all i have done amiss? you shall bear my name, possess my wealth, and, if you do not like the cause i am engaged in, i will throw up my commission to-morrow. i will take you to france--italy--switzerland--wherever you wish to go. nor do i forget your father. whatever you ask for him shall be granted. i have money--influence--position--every thing that can make you happy." there was a minute's pause, the intense glances of the girl piercing through and through that pale, polite mask to his soul. a selfish, chivalrous man; not a great villain, by any means; moved by a genuine, eager, unscrupulous passion for her--sincere at least in that; one who might be influenced to good, and made a most convenient and devoted husband: this she saw. "well, what more?" "what more? ah, you are thinking of your friends--i should say, of your friend! it is natural. i have no ill will against him. whatever you ask for him shall be granted. at a word from me, the fighting up there ceases; and he and the rest shall be permitted to go wherever they choose, unharmed." "well, and if i reject your generous offer?" augustus smiled as he answered, with a hard, inexorable purpose in his tones,-- "then, much as i love you, i can do nothing!" "nothing for my father?" "nothing!" "nor for me?" "not even for you!" "why, then, god pity us all!" said virginia, calmly. "truly you may say, god pity you! for do you know what will happen? your father will die in prison: you will never see him again. your friends will be massacred to a man. i will be frank with you: to a man they will be given to the sword. they are but a dozen; we are fifty--a hundred--a thousand, if necessary. the sink has already been taken, and a force is on its way to occupy this end of the cave. if your friends hold out, they will be starved. if they fight, they will be bayoneted and shot. if they surrender, every living man of them shall be hung. there is no help for them. lincoln's army, that has been coming so long, is a chimera; it will never come. the power is all in our hands; and not even god can help them. that sounds blasphemous, i know; but it is true. they are doomed. but i can save them--and you can save them." "and what is to become of me?" asked virginia, calmly as before. "your future is entirely in your own hands. on the one side, what i have promised. on the other----" augustus thought he heard a crackling of sticks, and looked around. "on the other,"--virginia took up the unfinished speech,--"the fate of a friendless, fatherless, union-loving woman in this chivalrous south! i know how you treat such women. i know what awaits me on that side. and i accept it. my friends can die. my father can die; and i can. all this i accept; all the rest, you and your offers, i reject. i would not be your wife to save the world. because i not only do not love you, but because i detest you. you have my answer." with swelling breast and set teeth augustus kept his eyes upon her for full a minute, then replied, in a low voice shaken by passion,-- "i hoped your decision would be different. but it is spoken. i cannot hope to change it?" "can you change these rocks under our feet with empty words?" she said, with a white smile. "all is over, then! without cause you hate me, miss villars. hitherto, in all that has happened to you and your friends, i have been blameless. if in the future i am not so, remember it is your own fault." then the fire flashed into virginia's cheeks, and indignation rang in her tones as she denounced the falsehood. "hitherto, in the wrong that has happened to me and my friends, you have not been blameless! in the future you cannot do more to injure us than you have already done, or meant to do. look at me, and listen while i prove what i say." again there was a slight noise in the thicket behind them, and he would have been glad to make that an excuse for leaving her a moment; but her spirit held him. "i listen," he said, inwardly quaking at he knew not what. "do you remember the night my father was arrested?" "i do." "and how you that day took a journey to be away from us in our trouble?" "i certainly took a short journey that day, but--" his eyes flickering with the uneasiness of guilt. "and do you remember a conversation you had with lysander under a bridge?" his face suddenly flushed purple. "the villain has betrayed me!" he thought. then he stammered, "i hope you have not been listening to any of that fellow's slanders!" "you talked with lysander under the bridge. your conversation was heard, every word of it, by a third person, who lay concealed under the planks, behind you." "a villanous spy!" articulated augustus. "no spy--but the man you two were at that moment seeking to kill: penn hapgood, the schoolmaster." it was a blow. poor bythewood, too luxurious and inert to be a great villain, was only a weak one; and, wounded in his most sensitive point, his pride, he writhed for a space with unutterable chagrin and rage. then he recovered himself. he had heard the worst; and now there was nothing left for him but to cast down and trample with his feet (so to speak) the mask that had been torn from his face. "very well! you think you know me, then!"--he seized her wrists.--"now hear me! i am not to be spurned like a dog, even by the foot of the woman i love. you reject, despise, insult me. as for me, i say this: all shall be as i have pronounced. your father, your lover,--not fate itself shall intervene to save them! and as for you----" again he heard a rustling by the ravine; this time so near that it startled him. he looked quickly around, and saw, slowly peering through the bushes, a dark human face. had it been the terrible front of the fate he had just defied, the soul of augustus bythewood could not have shrunk with a more sudden and appalling fear. it was the face of pomp. xlv. _master and slave change places._ the sergeant and his men were several rods distant: the bush through which that menacing visage peered was within as many feet. augustus reached for his revolver. "make a single move--speak a single word--and you are food for the buzzards!" came a whisper from the bush that well might chill his blood. "you know this rifle--and you know me!" and in the negro's face shone a persuasive glitter of the old, untamable, torrid ferocity of his tribe--not pleasing to augustus. "what do you want?" "give your revolver to that girl--instantly!" "i have men within call!" "so have i." through the bush, advancing noiselessly, came the straight steel barrel of a rifle that had never missed fire but once: that was when it had been aimed by augustus at the head of pomp. now it was aimed by pomp at the head of augustus; and it was hardly to be expected that it would be so obliging as to remember that one fault, and, for the sake of fairness, repeat it, now that positions were reversed. bythewood hesitated, in mortal fear. "obey me! i shall not speak again!" and there was heard in the bush another slight noise, too short, quick, and clicking, to be the crackle of a twig. neither was that pleasing to the mind of augustus. he turned, and with trembling hand made virginia a present of the revolver. "do you know how to use it?" pomp asked. she nodded, breathless. "and you will use it if necessary?" she nodded again, and held the weapon prepared. "now,"--to bythewood,--"send those men away." "what do you mean to do?" "i mean to spare their lives and yours, if you obey me. to kill you without much delay if you do not." "if you shoot,"--bythewood was beginning to regain his dignity,--"they will rush to the spot before you can escape, and avenge me well!" a superb, masterful smile mounted to the ebon visage, and the answer came from the bush,-- "look where the bowlder lies, up there by the ravine. you will see a twinkle of steel among the leaves. there are guns aimed at your men. you understand." perhaps augustus did not distinguish the guns; but he understood. at a signal, his men would be shot down. "i would prefer not to shed blood. so decide and that quickly!" said pomp. "and if i comply?" "comply readily with all i shall demand of you, and not a hair of your head shall be harmed. now i count ten. at the word ten, i send a bullet through your heart if those men are still there." he commenced, like one telling the strokes of a tolling bell: "one----two----three----four----five----" "sergeant," called augustus, "take your men and report to lieutenant ropes at the sink." "a fine time to be taken up with a love affair!" growled the sergeant, as he obeyed. "now what?" said bythewood, under an air of bravado concealing the despair of his heart. "come!" said pomp, with savage impatience,--for he knew well that, if bythewood had not yet learned of ropes's death, messengers must be on the way to him, and therefore not a moment was to be lost. he opened the bushes. augustus crept into them: virginia followed. but then suddenly the negro seemed to change his plans, the spirit and firmness of the girl inspiring him with a fresh idea. "miss villars, we are going to the cave. look down the ravine there;--you see this path is rough." "o, i can go anywhere, you know!" "but haste is necessary. you shall return the way you came. take this man with you. if you are seen by his soldiers, they will think all is well. make him go before. shoot him if he turns his head. dare you?" "i will!" said virginia. "keep near the ravine. my rifle will be there. if you have any difficulty, i will end it. now march!"--thrusting bythewood out of the thicket.--"straight on!--carry your pistol cocked, young lady!" bitterly then did the noble augustus repent him of having sent his guard away: "i ought to have died first!" but it was too late to recall them; and there was no way left him but to yield--or appear to yield--implicit obedience. what a situation for a son of the chivalrous south! he had reviled lysander for having been made prisoner by a boy; and here was he, the haughty, the proud, the ambitious, overawed by a negro's threats, and carried away captive by a girl! however, he had a hope--a desperate one, indeed. he would watch for an opportunity, wheel suddenly upon virginia, seize the pistol, and escape,--risking a shot from it, which he knew she was firmly determined to deliver in case of need (for had he not seen the soldier's gashed wrist?)--and risking also (what was more serious still) a shot from the rifle in the ravine. but when they came to the bowlder, there the resolution he had taken fell back leaden and dead upon his heart. he had, on reflection, concluded that the twinkle of guns in the leaves there was but a fiction of the wily african brain. as he passed, however, he perceived two guns peeping through. he knew not what exultant hearts were behind them,--what eager eyes beneath the boughs were watching him, led thus tamely into captivity; but he was impressed with a wholesome respect for them, and from that moment thought no more of escape. as virginia approached the cave with her prisoner, the two guns, having followed them closely all the way, came up out of the ravine. they were accompanied by penn and carl. in the gladness of that sight virginia almost forgot her dead sister and her captive father. those two dear familiar faces beamed upon her with joy and triumph. but there was one who was not so glad. this quaker schoolmaster, turned fighting man, was the last person augustus (who was unpleasantly reminded of the conversation under the bridge) would have wished to see under such embarrassing circumstances. in the cave was toby, wailing over the dead body of salina. but at sight of the living sister he rose up and was comforted. pomp had remained to cover the retreat. when all were safely arrived, he came bounding into the cave, jubilant. his bold and sagacious plans were thus far successful; and it only remained to carry them out with the same inexorable energy. "sit here." augustus took one of the giant's stools. "i have a few words to say to this man: in the mean while, one of you"--turning to penn and carl--"hasten to the sink, and ask stackridge to send me as many men as he can spare. bring a couple of the prisoners--we shall need them." "i'll go!" carl cried with alacrity. "and," added pomp, "if there are any wounded needing my assistance, have them brought here. i shall not, probably, be able to go to them." while he was giving these directions, with the air of one who felt that he had a momentous task before him, bythewood sat on the rock, his head heavy and hot, his feet like clods of ice, and his heart collapsing with intolerable suspense. the gloom of the cave, and the strangeness of all things in it; the sight of the corpse near the entrance,--of toby, at virginia's suggestion, wiping up the pools of blood,--virginia herself perfectly calm; penn carefully untying and straightening the pieces of rope that had served to bind lysander,--all this impressed him powerfully. "i suppose," said he, "i am to be treated as a prisoner of war." pomp smiled. "answer me a question. if you had caught me, would you have treated me as a prisoner of war?--yes or no; we have no time for parley." "no," said augustus, frankly. "very well! i have caught you!" fearfully significant words to the prisoner, who remembered all his injustice to this man, and the tortures he had prepared for him when he should be taken! but he had not been taken. on the contrary, he, the slave, could stand there, calm and smiling, before him, the master, and say, with peculiar and compressed emphasis, "_very well! i have caught you!_" "you promised that not a hair of my head should be injured." "the hair of your head is not the flesh of your body. no, i will not injure _the hair_!"--pomp waited for his prisoner to take in all the horrible suggestiveness of this equivocation; then resumed. "is not that what you would have said to me if you had found me in your power after making me such a promise? the black man has no rights which the white man is bound to respect! the most solemn pledges made by one of your race to one of mine are to be heeded only so long as suits your convenience. did you not promise your dying brother in your presence to give me my freedom? answer,--yes or no." "yes," faltered augustus. "and did you give it me?" "no." and augustus felt that out of his own mouth he was condemned. "well, i shall keep my promise better than you kept yours. comply with all i demand of you (this is what i said), and no part of you, neither flesh nor hair, shall be harmed." "what do you demand of me?" "this. here are pen and ink. write as i dictate." "what?" "an order to have the fighting on your side discontinued, and your forces withdrawn." augustus hesitated to take the pen. "i have no words to waste. if you do not comply readily with what i require, it is no object for me that you should comply at all." penn came and stood by pomp, looking calm and determined as he. virginia came also, and looked upon the prisoner, without a smile, without a frown, but strangely serious and still. these were the three against whom he had sinned in the days of his power and pride; and now his shame was bare before them. he took the quill, bit the feather-end of it in supreme perplexity of soul, then wrote. "very well," said pomp, reading the order. "but you have forgotten to sign it." augustus signed. "now write again. a letter to your colonel. mr. hapgood, please dictate the terms." penn understood the whole scheme; he had consulted with virginia, and he was prepared. "a safe conduct for mr. villars, his daughter and servants, beyond the confederate lines. this is all i have to insist upon." "i," said pomp, "ask more. the man who betrayed us must be sent here." "if you mean sprowl," said bythewood, "his wife has no doubt saved the trouble." "not sprowl, but deslow." bythewood was terrified. pomp had spoken with the positiveness of clear knowledge and unalterable determination. but how was it possible to comply with his demand? deslow had been promised not only pardon, but protection from the very men he betrayed! therefore he could not be given up to them without the most cowardly and shameful perfidy. "i have no influence whatever with the military authorities," the prisoner said, after taking ample time for consideration. "you forget what you boasted to sprowl, under the bridge," said penn. "you forget what you just now boasted to me," said virginia. "call it boasting," said bythewood, doggedly. "absolutely, i have not the power to effect what you require." "it is your misfortune, then," said pomp. "to have boasted so, and now to fail to perform, will simply cost you your life. will you write? or not?" the prisoner remained sullen, abject, silent, for some seconds. then, with a deep breath which shook all his frame, and an expression of the most agonizing despair on his face, he took the pen. "i will write; but i assure you it will do no good." "so much the worse for you," was the grim response. mechanically and briefly bythewood drew up a paper, signed his name, and shoved it across the table. "does that suit you?" pomp did not offer to take it. "if it suits you, well. i shall not read it. it is not the letter that interests us; it is the result." bythewood suddenly drew back the paper, pondered its contents a moment, and cast it into the fire. "i think i had better write another." "i think so too. i fear you have not done what you might to impress upon the colonel's mind the importance of these simple terms--a safe conduct for mr. villars and family, the troops withdrawn entirely from the mountains, and deslow delivered here to-night. this is plain enough; and you see the rest of us ask nothing for ourselves. i advise you to write freely. open your mind to your friend. and beware,"--pomp perceived by a strange expression which had come into the prisoner's face that this counsel was necessary,--"beware that he does not misunderstand you, and send a force to rescue you from our hands. if such a thing is attempted, this cave will be found barricaded. with what, you wonder? with those stones? with your dead body, my friend!" after that hint, it was evident augustus did not choose to write what had first entered his mind on learning that his address to the colonel was not to be examined. penn handed him a fresh sheet, and he filled it--a long and confidential letter, of which we regret that no copy now exists. before it was finished, carl returned, accompanied by four of the patriots and two of the prisoners. one of these last was pepperill. he was immediately paroled, and sent off to the sink with the order that had been previously written. the letter completed, it was folded, sealed, and despatched by the other prisoner to colonel derring's head-quarters. "do you believe deslow will be delivered up?" said stackridge, in consultation with penn in a corner of the cave; the farmer's gray eye gleaming with anticipated vengeance. "i believe the confederate authorities, as a general thing, are capable of any meanness. their policy is fraud, their whole system is one of injustice and selfishness. if derring, who is bythewood's devoted friend, can find means to give up the traitor without too gross an exposure of his perfidy, he will do it. but i regret that pomp insisted on that hard condition. he was determined, and it was useless to reason with him." "and he is right!" said stackridge. "deslow, if guilty, must pay for this day's work!" "there is no doubt of his guilt. pepperill knew of it--he whispered it to pomp at the sink." "then deslow dies the death! he was sworn to us! he was sworn to pomp; and pomp had saved his life! the blood of withers, my best friend----" the farmer's voice was lost in a throe of rage and grief. "and the blood of cudjo, whom pomp loved!" said penn. "i feel all you feel--all pomp feels. but for me, i would leave vengeance with the lord." "so would i," said pomp, standing behind him, composed and grand. "and i would be the lord's instrument, when called. i am called. deslow comes to me, or i go to him." "then the lord have mercy on his soul!" xlvi. _the traitor._ the news of the disaster at the sink, and of the loss of prisoners, had reached colonel derring, and he was preparing to forward reënforcements, when bythewood's letter arrived. of the colonel's reflections on the receipt of that singular missive little is known. he was unwontedly cross and abstracted for an hour. at the end of that time he asked for the renegade deslow. at the end of another hour deslow had been found and brought to head-quarters. the colonel, having now quite recovered his equanimity of temper, received him with the most flattering attentions. "you have done an honorable and patriotic work, mr. deslow. your friends are coming to terms. bythewood is at this moment engaged in an amicable conference with them. your example has had a most salutary effect. they all desire to give themselves up on similar terms. but they will not believe as yet that you have been pardoned and received into favor." the dark brow of the traitor brightened. "and they have no suspicions?" "none whatever. they do not imagine you had anything to do with the discovery of their retreat. now, i've been thinking you might help along matters immensely, if you would go up and join bythewood, and represent to your friends the folly of holding out any longer, and show them the advantage of following your example." deslow felt strong misgivings about undertaking this delicate business. but persuasions, flatteries, and promises prevailed upon him at last. and at sundown he set out, accompanied by the man who had brought bythewood's letter. in consequence of the messenger's long absence, it was beginning to be feared, by those who had sent him, that he had gone on a fruitless errand. evening came. there was sadness on the faces of penn and virginia, as they sat by the corpse of salina. pomp was gloomy and silent. bythewood, bound to lysander's rock, sat waiting, with feelings we will not seek to penetrate, for the answer to his letter. in that letter he had mentioned, among other things, a certain pair of horses that were in his stable. had he known that the colonel, during his hour of moroseness, had gone over to look at these horses, and that he was now driving them about the village, well satisfied with the munificent bribe, he would, no doubt, have felt easier in his mind. "you will not go to your father to-night," said penn, having looked out into the gathering darkness, and returned to virginia's side. "we have one night more together. may be it is the last." carl was comforting his wounded cousin, who had been brought and placed on some skins on the floor. the patriots were holding a consultation. suddenly the sentinel at the door announced an arrival; and to the amazement of all, the messenger entered, followed by deslow. the traitor came in, smiling in most friendly fashion upon his late companions, even offering his hand to pomp, who did not accept it. then he saw in the faces that looked upon him a stern and terrible triumph. by the rock he beheld bythewood bound. and his heart sank. the messenger brought a letter for augustus. pomp took it. "this interests us!" he said, breaking the seal. "excuse me, sir!"--to bythewood.--"i was once your servant; and i had forgotten that circumstances have slightly changed! as your hands are confined, i will read it for you." he read aloud. "dear gus: this is an awful bad scrape you have got into; but i suppose i must get you out of it. villars shall have passports, and an escort, if he likes. i'll keep the soldiers from the mountains. the hardest thing to arrange is the deslow affair. i don't care a curse for the fellow but i don't want the name of giving him up. so, if i succeed in sending him, keep mum. probably _he_ never will come away to tell a tale." "yours, etc., derring." "p. s. thank you for the horses." then pomp turned and looked upon the traitor, who had been himself betrayed. his ghastly face was of the color of grayish yellow parchment. his hat was in his hand, and his short, stiff hair stood erect with terror. if up to this moment there had been any doubt of his guilt in pomp's mind, it vanished. the wretch had not the power to proclaim his innocence, or to plead for mercy. no explanations were needed: he understood all: with that vivid perception of truth which often comes with the approach of death, he knew that he was there to die. "have you anything to confess?" pomp said to him, with the solemnity of a priest preparing a sacrifice. "if so, speak, for your time is short." deslow said nothing: indeed, his organs of speech were paralyzed. "very well: then i will tell you, we know all. we trusted you. you have betrayed us. withers is dead: you killed him. cudjo is dead: his blood is upon your soul. for this you are now to die." there was another besides deslow whom these calm and terrible words appalled. it was bythewood, who feared lest, after all he had accomplished, his turn might come next. it was some time before the fear-stricken culprit could recover the power of speech. then, in a sudden, hoarse, and scarcely articulate shriek, his voice burst forth:-- "save me! save me!" he rushed to where the patriots stood. but they thrust him back sternly. "this is pomp's business. deal with him!" "will no one save me? will no one speak for my life?" these words were ejaculated with the ghastly accent and volubility of terror. "your life is forfeited. pomp saved it once; now he takes it. it is just," said stackridge. "my god! my god! my god!" thrice the doomed man uttered that sacred name with wild despair, and with intervals of strange and silent horror between. "then i must die!" "_i_ will speak for you," said a voice of solemn compassion. and penn stepped forward. "you? you? you will?" "do not hope too much. pomp is inexorable as he is just. but i will plead for you." "o, do! do! there is something in his face--i cannot bear it--but you can move him!" pomp was leaning thoughtfully by one of the giant's stools. penn drew near to him. deslow crouched behind, his whole frame shaking visibly. "pomp, if you love me, grant me this one favor. leave this wretch to his god. what satisfaction can there be in taking the life of so degraded and abject a creature?" "there is satisfaction in justice," replied pomp, quietly smiling. "o, but the satisfaction there is in mercy is infinitely sweeter! forgiveness is a holy thing, pomp! it brings the blessing of heaven with it, and it is more effective than vengeance. this man has a wife; he has children; think of them!" these words, and many more to the same purpose, penn poured forth with all the earnestness of his soul. he pleaded; he argued; he left no means untried to melt that adamantine will. in vain all. when he finished, pomp took his hand in one of his, and laying the other kindly on his shoulder, said in his deepest, tenderest tones,-- "i have heard you because i love you. what you say is just. but another thing is just--that this man should die. ask anything but this of me, and you will see how gladly i will grant all you desire." "i have done."--penn turned sadly away.--"it is as i feared. deslow, i will not flatter you. there is no hope." then deslow, regaining somewhat of his manhood, drew himself up, and prepared to meet his fate. "soon?" he asked, more firmly than he had yet spoken. "now," said pomp. he lighted a lantern. "you must go with me. there are eyes here that would not look upon your death." he took his rifle. "go before." and he conducted his victim into the recesses in the cave. they came to the well, into the unfathomable mystery of which carl had dropped the stone. there pomp stopped. "this is your grave. would you take a look at it?" he held the lantern over the fearful place. the falling waters made in those unimaginable depths the noise of far-off thunders. half dead with fear already, the wretch looked down into the hideous pit. "must i die?" he uttered in a ghastly whisper. "you must! i will shoot you first in mercy to you; for i am not cruel. have you prayers to make? i will wait." deslow sank upon his knees. he tried to confess himself to god, to commit his soul with decency into his hands. but the words of his petition stuck in his throat: the dread of immediate death absorbed all feeling else. pomp, who had retired a short distance, supposed he had made an end. "are you ready?" he asked, placing his lantern on the rock, and poising his rifle. "i cannot pray!" said deslow. "send for a minister--for mr. villars!--i cannot die so." "it is too late," answered pomp, sorrowful, yet stern. "mr. villars has been carried away by the soldiers you sent. if you cannot pray for yourself, then there is none to pray for you." scarce had he spoken, when out of the darkness behind him came a voice, saying with solemn sweetness, as if an angel responded from the invisible profound,-- "i will pray for him!" he turned, and saw in the lantern's misty glimmer a spectral form advancing. it drew near. it was a female figure, shadowy, noiseless; the right hand raised with piteous entreaty; the countenance pale to whiteness,--its fresh and youthful beauty clothed with sadness and compassion as with a veil. it was virginia. all the way through the dismal galleries of the cave, and down cudjo's stairs, she had followed the executioner and his victim, in order to plead at the last moment for that mercy for which penn had pleaded in vain. struck with amazement, pomp gazed at her for a moment as if she had been really a spirit. "how came you here?" she laid one hand upon his arm; with the other she pointed upwards; her eyes all the while shining upon him with a wondrous brilliancy, which was of the spirit indeed, and not of the flesh. "heaven sent me to pray for him--and for you." "for me, miss villars?" "for you, pomp!"--her voice also had that strange melting quality which comes only from the soul. it was low, and full of love and sorrow. "for if you slay this man, then you will have more need of prayers than he." pomp was shaken. the touch on his arm, the tones of that voice, the electric light of those inspired eyes, moved him with a power that penetrated to his inmost soul. yet he retained his haughty firmness, and said coldly,-- "if there had been mercy for this man, penn would have obtained it. the hardest thing i ever did was to deny him. what is there to be said which he did not say?" "o, he spoke earnestly and well!" replied virginia. "i wondered how you could listen to him and not yield. but he is a man; and as a man he gave up all hope when reason failed, and he saw you so implacable. but i would never have given up. i would have clung to your knees, and pleaded with you so long as there was breath in me to ask or heart to feel. i would not have let you go till you had shown mercy to this poor man!"--(deslow had crawled to her feet: there he knelt grovelling),--"and to yourself, pomp! if he dies repenting, and you kill him unrelenting, i would rather be he than you. when we shut the gate of mercy on others we shut it on ourselves. for all that you have done for my father and friends, and for me, i am filled with gratitude and friendship. your manly traits have inspired me with an admiration that was almost hero-worship. for this reason i would save you from a great crime. o, pomp, if only for my sake, do not annihilate the noble and grand image of you which has built itself up in my heart, and leave only the memory of a strange horror and dread in its place!" pomp had turned his eyes away from hers, knowing that if he continued to be fascinated by them, he must end by yielding. he drooped his head, leaning on his rifle, and looking down upon the wretch at their feet. a strong convulsion shook his whole frame, as she ceased speaking. there was silence for some seconds. then he spoke, still without raising his eyes, in a deep, subdued voice. "this man is the hater of my race. he is of those who rob us of our labor, our lives, our wives, and children, and happiness. they enslave both body and soul. they damn us with ignorance and vice. to take from us the profits of our toil is little; but they take from us our manhood also. yet here he came, and accepted life and safety at my hands. he made an oath, and i made an oath. his oath was never to betray my poor cudjo's secret. the oath i made was to kill him as i would a dog if his should be broken. it has been broken. my poor cudjo is dead. withers is dead. your sister is dead. i see it to be just that this traitor too should now die!" again he poised his rifle. but virginia threw herself upon the victim, covering with her own pure bosom his miserable, guilty breast. pomp smiled. "do not fear. for your sake i have pardoned him." "o, this is the noblest act of your life, pomp!" she exclaimed, clasping his hand with joy and gratitude. he looked in her face. a great weight was taken from his soul. his countenance was bright and glad. "do you think it was not a bitter cup for me? you have taken it from me, and i thank you. but bythewood must not know i have relented. we have yet a work to do with him." then those who had been left behind in the cave, listening for the death-signal, heard the report of a rifle ringing through the chambers of rock. not long after pomp and virginia returned; and deslow was not with them. augustus heard--augustus saw--nor knew he any reason why the fate of deslow should not presently be his own. "is justice done?" said stackridge, with stern eyes fixed on pomp. "is justice done?" said pomp, turning to virginia. "justice is done!" she answered, in a serious, firm voice. xlvii. _bread on the waters._ the next morning a singular procession set out from the cave. stretchers had been framed of the trunks and boughs of saplings, and upon these the dead and wounded of yesterday were placed. they were borne by the prisoners of yesterday, who had been paroled for the purpose. carl walked by the side of the litter that conveyed his cousin fritz, talking cheerfully to him in their native tongue. behind them was carried the dead body of salina, followed by old toby with uncovered head. with him went pepperill, charged with the important business of seeing that all was done for the villars family which had been stipulated, and of reporting to pomp at the cave afterwards. last of all came virginia, leaning on penn's arm. he was speaking to her earnestly, in low, quivering tones: she listened with downcast countenance, full of all tender and sad emotions; for they were about to part. pepperill was intrusted with a second letter from bythewood to the colonel, couched in these terms:-- "_deslow was taken last night, and slaughtered in cold blood. the same will happen to me if all is not done as agreed. i am to be retained as a hostage until pepperill's return. for heaven's sake, help mr. villars and his family off with all convenient despatch, and oblige,_" &c. virginia was going to try her fortune with her father; but penn's lot was cast with his friends who remained at the cave. from these he could not honorably separate himself until all danger was over; and, much as he longed to accompany her, he knew well that, even if he should be permitted to do so, his presence would be productive of little good to either her or her father. moreover, it had been wisely resolved not to demand too much of the military authorities. a safe conduct could be granted with good grace to a blind old minister and his daughter, but not to men who had been in arms against the confederate government. nor was it thought best to trust or tempt too far these minions of the new slave despotism, whose recklessness of obligations which interest or revenge prompted them to evade, was so notorious. penn would have attended virginia to the base of the mountain, risking all things for the melancholy pleasure of prolonging these last moments. but this she would not permit. hard as it was to utter the word of separation,--to see him return to those solitary and dangerous rocks, not knowing that he would ever be able to leave them, or that she would ever see him again in this world;--still, her love was greater than her selfishness, and she had strength even for that. "no farther now! o, you must go no farther!" and, resolutely pausing, she called to carl,--for carl's lot too lay with his. toby and pepperill also stopped. "daniel," said penn, with impressive solemnity, "into thy hands i commit this precious charge. be faithful. good toby, i trust we shall meet again in god's good time. farewell! farewell!" and the procession went its way; only penn and carl remained gazing after it long, with hearts too full for words. when it was out of sight, and they were turning silently to retrace their steps, they saw a man come out of the woods, and beckon to them. it was a negro--it was barber jim. permitted to approach, he told his story. since the escape of the arrested unionists through his cellar, he had been an object of suspicion; and last night his house had been attacked by a mob. he had managed to escape, and was now hiding in the woods to save his life. "deslow betrayed you with the rest," said penn; "that explains it." "my wife--my two daughters: what will become of them?" said the wretched man. "and my property, that i have been all this while laying up for them!" "do not despair, my friend. your property is mostly real estate, and cannot be so easily appropriated to rebel uses, as the money deposited for me in the bank, from which i was never allowed to draw it! it will wait for you. a kind providence will care for your family, i am sure. as for you, i do not see what else you can do but share our fortunes. there is one comfort for you,--we are all about as badly off as yourself." "you shall have your pick of some muskets," said carl, gayly; "and you vill find us as jolly a set of wagabonds as ever you saw!" "have you plenty of arms?" "arms is more plenty as prowisions. vat is vanted is wittles. vat is vanted most is wegetables. bears and vild turkeys inwite themselves to be shot, but potatoes keep wery shy, and ve suffers for sour krout." barber jim mused. "i will go with you. i am glad," he added, as if to himself, "that i paid toby off as i did." what he meant by this last remark will be seen. * * * * * mr. villars had taken the precaution to invest his available funds in ohio railroad stock some time before. arrived in cincinnati, he would be able to reap the advantages of this timely forethought. but in the mean time the expenses of a long journey must be defrayed; and he found it impossible now to raise money on his house or household goods. all the ready cash he could command was barely sufficient to afford a decent burial to his daughter. he was discussing this serious difficulty with virginia, whilst preparations for salina's funeral and their own departure were going forward simultaneously, when toby came trotting in, jubilant and breathless, and laid a little dirty bag in his lap. "i's fotched 'em! dar ye got 'em, massa!" and the old negro wiped the sweat from his shining face. "what, toby! money!" (for the little bag was heavy). "where did you get it?" "gold, sar! gold, miss jinny! needn't look 'spicious! i neber got 'em by no underground means!" (he meant to say _underhand_.) "i'll jes' 'splain 'bout dat. ye see, massa villars, eber sence ye gib me my freedom, ye been payin' me right smart wages,--seben dollah a monf! dunno' how much dat ar fur a year, but i reckon it ar a heap! an' you rec'lec' you says to me, you says, 'hire it out to some honest man, toby, and ye kin draw inference on it,' you says. so what does i do but go and pay it all to barber jim fast as eber you pays me. 'pears like i neber knowed how much i was wuf, till tudder day he says to me, 'toby,' he says, 'times is so mighty skeery i's afeard to keep yer money for ye any longer; hyar 'tis fur ye, all in gold.' so he gibs it to me in dis yer little bag, an' i takes it, an' goes an' buries it 'hind de cow shed, whar 'twould keep sweet, ye know, fur de family. an' hyar it ar, shore enough, massa, jes' de ting fur dis yer 'casion!" "so you got it by _underground means_, after all!" said virginia, with mingled laughter and tears, opening the bag and pouring out the bright eagles. the old clergyman was silent for a space, overcome with emotion. "god bless you for a faithful servant, toby! and barber jim for an honest man." "dat's nuffin!" said toby, snuffing and winking ludicrously. "why shouldn't a cullud pusson hab de right to be honest, well as white folks? if you's gwine to tank anybody, ye better jes' tink and tank yersef! who gib ol' toby his freedom, an' den 'pose to pay him wages? reckon if 't hadn't been fur dat, massa, i neber should hab de bressed chance to do dis yer little ting fur de family!" "we will thank only our heavenly father, whose tender care we will never doubt, after this!" said the old minister, with deep and solemn joy. "wust on't is, jim hissef's got inter trouble now," said toby. "he hab to put fur de woods; an' his family wants to git to de norf, whar dey tinks he'll mabby be gwine to meet 'em; but dey can't seem to manage it." "o, father, i have an idea! you will have a right to take your _servants_ with you; and jim's wife and daughters might pass as servants." "i shall be rejoiced to help them in any way. go and find them, toby. thus the bread we cast on the water sometimes returns to us _before_ many days!" xlviii. _emancipation of the bondmen.--conclusion._ a week had elapsed since augustus became a captive; when, one cloudy afternoon, dan pepperill returned alone to the mountain cave. pomp met him at the entrance. "all safe?" "i be durned if they ain't!" said dan, exultant. "the ol' man, and the nigger, and the gal, and jim's wife and darters inter the bargain! went with 'em myself all the way, by stage and rail, till i seen 'em over the line inter ol' kentuck'. durned if i didn't wish i war gwine for good myself." "you shall go now if you will. i have been waiting only for you. cudjo is dead. all the rest are gone. there is nothing to keep me here. will you go back to the rebels, or make a push with us for the free states? speak quick!" pepperill only groaned. "nine more have joined since jim came. they make a strong party, all armed, and determined to fight their way through. they are already twenty miles away; but we will overtake them to-morrow. i am to guide them. i know every cave and defile. will you come?" "pomp, ye know i'd be plaguy glad ter; but 'tain't so ter be! i hain't no gre't fancy fur this secesh business, that ar' a fact. but i'm in fur't, and i reckon i sh'll haf' ter put it through;" and dan heaved a deep sigh of regret. without knowing it, he was a fatalist. being too weak or inert to resist the hand of despotism laid upon him, he yielded to its weight and accepted it as destiny. the rebel ranks have been filled with such. pomp smiled with mingled pity and derision. "good by, then! i hope this war will do something for your class as well as for mine--you need it as much! wait here, and you shall have company." he took a lantern, and entered the interior chamber of the cave. after the lapse of many minutes he returned, dragging, as from a dungeon, into the light of day, a wretch who could scarcely have expected ever to behold that blessed boon again,--he was so abject, so filled with joy and trembling. it was deslow. then turning to the corner where augustus sat confined, the negro cut his bonds and lifted him to his feet. poor bythewood, rheumatic, stiff in the joints, and terribly wasted by anxiety and chagrin, presented a scarcely less piteous spectacle than deslow; nor were his fallen spirits revived by the sight of this craven, whom he had supposed to be long since past the memory of the wrong he had done him, and the earthly passion for revenge. "my friends," said pomp, leading them to the entrance, and showing them to each other in the gray glimmer of that cloudy afternoon, "our little accounts are now closed for the present, and my business with you ends. you are at liberty to depart. deslow, do not hate too bitterly this man for betraying you into my hands. remember that you set the example of treachery, and that the cause to which you are both sworn is itself founded on treachery. as for you, mr. bythewood, i trust that you will pardon the inconvenience i have found it necessary to subject you to. i have restrained you of your liberty for some days. you restrained me of mine for nearly as many years. i have no longer any ill will towards either of you. go in peace. i emancipate you. i shall not hunt you with hounds, because i have been your master for a little while. i shall not put iron collars on your necks. i shall neither brand nor beat you. you are free! does the word sound pleasant to your ears? think then of those to whom it would sound just as sweet. has the rule of a hard master seemed grievous to you? remember those to whom it is no less grievous. if might makes right, then you have been as much my property as ever black man was yours. is there no law, no justice, but the power of the strongest? you have had a few days' experience of that power, and can judge what a life's experience of it might be. reflect upon it, my friends." he led them to the opening of the cave. then he pointed to the clouds. "you cannot see the sun; but the sun is there. you do not see god, through the troubled affairs of this world; but god is over all. he governs, although you have left him quite out of your plans. your plans are, no doubt, very great and mighty,--but see!"--passing over his knee the cord with which bythewood had been bound. "this is the chain with which you bind my brothers and sisters. it is strong. you have drawn it very tight about them. but you thought to draw it tighter still, to hold them fast forever; and look, you have broken it!" so saying, he displayed with a smile the two fragments of the rope that had snapped like a mere string in his hands. "so tyranny is made to defeat itself!"--trampling the ends under his feet. "i have said it. remember!" uttering these last words, he walked backwards slowly, resumed his rifle and lantern, and disappeared in the dark recesses of the cave. the freed prisoners then, joining pepperill, took their way slowly down the mountain, sadder if not wiser men. the reappearance of bythewood was a signal for sending immediately two full companies to capture the cave. they succeeded; but they captured nothing else. pomp, escaping through the sink, was already miles away on the trail of the refugees. * * * * * thus ends the story of cudjo's cave. other conclusion, to give it dramatic completeness, it ought, perhaps, to have; but the struggles, of which we have here witnessed the beginning, have not yet ended [nov., ]; and one can scarcely be expected to describe events before they transpire. we may add, however, that mr. villars, virginia, and toby, arrived safely at their destination,--a small town on the borders of ohio,--where they were cordially welcomed by relatives of the family. there, three weeks later, they were visited by two very suspicious looking characters,--one a bronzed and bearded young man, robust, rough, with an eye like an eagle's gleaming from under his old slouched hat, whom nobody, i am sure, would ever have taken for a quaker schoolmaster; the other a stout, ruddy, blue-eyed, laughing, ragged lad of sixteen, who certainly did not pass for a rebel deserter. strange to say, these pilgrims of the dusty roads and rocky wildernesses were welcomed (not to speak it profanely) like angels from heaven by the old man, his daughter, and toby,--their brown hands shaken, their coarse, torn clothes embraced, and their sunburnt faces kissed, with a rapture amazing to strangers of the household. they were travelling (as the younger remarked in an accent which betrayed his teutonic origin) to "pennsylwany," the home of the elder; and they had come thus far out of their way to make this angels' visit. with these two barber jim had journeyed as far as cincinnati, where he found his family comfortably provided for by persons to whose benevolence mr. villars had recommended them. the other refugees had also got safely over the mountains, after a march full of toils and dangers; and nearly all were now in the federal camps. a long history, full of deep and painful interest, might be written concerning the subsequent fortunes of these men, and of their families and neighbors left behind,--a history of hardships, of forced separations and ruined homes,--of starvation in woods and caves to which loyal citizens were driven by the rage of persecution,--and of terrible retribution. stackridge, grudd, and many of their brother refugees, had the joy of participating in those military movements of last summer, by which east tennessee was relieved; of beholding the tremendous ruin which the blind pride of their foes had pulled down upon itself; and of witnessing the jubilee of a patriotic people released from a remorseless and unsparing tyranny. a word of pomp. have you read the newspaper stories of a certain negro scout, who, by his intrepidity, intelligence, and wonderful celerity of movement, has rendered such important services to the army of the cumberland? he is the man. dan pepperill fell in the battle of stone river, fighting in a cause he never loved--the type of many such. bythewood, after losing his influence at home, and trying various fortunes, became attached to the staff of the notorious roger a. pryor, in whose disgrace he shared, when that long-haired rebel chief was reduced to the ranks for cowardice. as for carl, he is now a stalwart corporal in the --th pennsylvania regiment. he serves under a dear friend of his, known as the "fighting quaker," and distinguished for that rare combination of military and moral qualities which constitutes the true hero. i regret that i cannot brighten these prosaic last pages with the halo of a wedding. but penn had said, "our country first!" and virginia, heroic as he, had answered bravely, "go!" whether they will ever be happily united on earth, who can say? but this we know: the golden halo of the love that maketh one has crowned their united souls, and, with perfect patience and perfect trust, they wait. _l'envoy._ the foregoing pages are, as the writer sincerely believes, true to history and life in all important particulars. in order to give form and unity to the narrative, characters and incidents have been brought together within a much narrower compass, both of time and space, than they actually occupied: events have been described as occurring in the summer of , many of which did not take place till some months later; and certain other liberties have been taken with facts. two separate and distinct caves have been connected, in the story, by expanding both into one, which is for the most part imaginary, but which, i trust, will not be considered as a too improbable fiction in a region where caves and "sinks" abound. lastly, is an apology needed for the scenes of violence here depicted?--neither do i, o gentle reader, delight in them. but the book that would be a mirror of evil times, must show some repulsive features. and this book was written, not to please merely, but for a sterner purpose. for peaceful days, a peaceful and sunny literature: and may heaven hasten the time when there shall be no more strife, and no more human bondage; when under the folds of the starry flag, from the lake chain to the gulf, and from sea to sea, freedom, and peace, and righteousness shall reign; when all men shall love each other, and the nations shall know god! huckleberry finn by mark twain part . notice persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. by order of the author, per g.g., chief of ordnance. explanatory in this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the missouri negro dialect; the extremest form of the backwoods southwestern dialect; the ordinary "pike county" dialect; and four modified varieties of this last. the shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech. i make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers would suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and not succeeding. the author. huckleberry finn scene: the mississippi valley time: forty to fifty years ago chapter i. you don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of the adventures of tom sawyer; but that ain't no matter. that book was made by mr. mark twain, and he told the truth, mainly. there was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. that is nothing. i never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was aunt polly, or the widow, or maybe mary. aunt polly--tom's aunt polly, she is--and mary, and the widow douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as i said before. now the way that the book winds up is this: tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. we got six thousand dollars apiece--all gold. it was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. well, judge thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round --more than a body could tell what to do with. the widow douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when i couldn't stand it no longer i lit out. i got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. but tom sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and i might join if i would go back to the widow and be respectable. so i went back. the widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. she put me in them new clothes again, and i couldn't do nothing but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. well, then, the old thing commenced again. the widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time. when you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with them,--that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. in a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better. after supper she got out her book and learned me about moses and the bulrushers, and i was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by she let it out that moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then i didn't care no more about him, because i don't take no stock in dead people. pretty soon i wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me. but she wouldn't. she said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and i must try to not do it any more. that is just the way with some people. they get down on a thing when they don't know nothing about it. here she was a-bothering about moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody, being gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a thing that had some good in it. and she took snuff, too; of course that was all right, because she done it herself. her sister, miss watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on, had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a spelling-book. she worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then the widow made her ease up. i couldn't stood it much longer. then for an hour it was deadly dull, and i was fidgety. miss watson would say, "don't put your feet up there, huckleberry;" and "don't scrunch up like that, huckleberry--set up straight;" and pretty soon she would say, "don't gap and stretch like that, huckleberry--why don't you try to behave?" then she told me all about the bad place, and i said i wished i was there. she got mad then, but i didn't mean no harm. all i wanted was to go somewheres; all i wanted was a change, i warn't particular. she said it was wicked to say what i said; said she wouldn't say it for the whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place. well, i couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so i made up my mind i wouldn't try for it. but i never said so, because it would only make trouble, and wouldn't do no good. now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good place. she said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. so i didn't think much of it. but i never said so. i asked her if she reckoned tom sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. i was glad about that, because i wanted him and me to be together. miss watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. by and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was off to bed. i went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table. then i set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. i felt so lonesome i most wished i was dead. the stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and i heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and i couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. then away out in the woods i heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something that's on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so can't rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. i got so down-hearted and scared i did wish i had some company. pretty soon a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and i flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and before i could budge it was all shriveled up. i didn't need anybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so i was scared and most shook the clothes off of me. i got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then i tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. but i hadn't no confidence. you do that when you've lost a horseshoe that you've found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but i hadn't ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you'd killed a spider. i set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; for the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn't know. well, after a long time i heard the clock away off in the town go boom--boom--boom--twelve licks; and all still again--stiller than ever. pretty soon i heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees --something was a stirring. i set still and listened. directly i could just barely hear a "me-yow! me-yow!" down there. that was good! says i, "me-yow! me-yow!" as soft as i could, and then i put out the light and scrambled out of the window on to the shed. then i slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was tom sawyer waiting for me. chapter ii. we went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back towards the end of the widow's garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn't scrape our heads. when we was passing by the kitchen i fell over a root and made a noise. we scrouched down and laid still. miss watson's big nigger, named jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty clear, because there was a light behind him. he got up and stretched his neck out about a minute, listening. then he says: "who dah?" he listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and stood right between us; we could a touched him, nearly. well, likely it was minutes and minutes that there warn't a sound, and we all there so close together. there was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but i dasn't scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back, right between my shoulders. seemed like i'd die if i couldn't scratch. well, i've noticed that thing plenty times since. if you are with the quality, or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain't sleepy--if you are anywheres where it won't do for you to scratch, why you will itch all over in upwards of a thousand places. pretty soon jim says: "say, who is you? whar is you? dog my cats ef i didn' hear sumf'n. well, i know what i's gwyne to do: i's gwyne to set down here and listen tell i hears it agin." so he set down on the ground betwixt me and tom. he leaned his back up against a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them most touched one of mine. my nose begun to itch. it itched till the tears come into my eyes. but i dasn't scratch. then it begun to itch on the inside. next i got to itching underneath. i didn't know how i was going to set still. this miserableness went on as much as six or seven minutes; but it seemed a sight longer than that. i was itching in eleven different places now. i reckoned i couldn't stand it more'n a minute longer, but i set my teeth hard and got ready to try. just then jim begun to breathe heavy; next he begun to snore--and then i was pretty soon comfortable again. tom he made a sign to me--kind of a little noise with his mouth--and we went creeping away on our hands and knees. when we was ten foot off tom whispered to me, and wanted to tie jim to the tree for fun. but i said no; he might wake and make a disturbance, and then they'd find out i warn't in. then tom said he hadn't got candles enough, and he would slip in the kitchen and get some more. i didn't want him to try. i said jim might wake up and come. but tom wanted to resk it; so we slid in there and got three candles, and tom laid five cents on the table for pay. then we got out, and i was in a sweat to get away; but nothing would do tom but he must crawl to where jim was, on his hands and knees, and play something on him. i waited, and it seemed a good while, everything was so still and lonesome. as soon as tom was back we cut along the path, around the garden fence, and by and by fetched up on the steep top of the hill the other side of the house. tom said he slipped jim's hat off of his head and hung it on a limb right over him, and jim stirred a little, but he didn't wake. afterwards jim said the witches be witched him and put him in a trance, and rode him all over the state, and then set him under the trees again, and hung his hat on a limb to show who done it. and next time jim told it he said they rode him down to new orleans; and, after that, every time he told it he spread it more and more, till by and by he said they rode him all over the world, and tired him most to death, and his back was all over saddle-boils. jim was monstrous proud about it, and he got so he wouldn't hardly notice the other niggers. niggers would come miles to hear jim tell about it, and he was more looked up to than any nigger in that country. strange niggers would stand with their mouths open and look him all over, same as if he was a wonder. niggers is always talking about witches in the dark by the kitchen fire; but whenever one was talking and letting on to know all about such things, jim would happen in and say, "hm! what you know 'bout witches?" and that nigger was corked up and had to take a back seat. jim always kept that five-center piece round his neck with a string, and said it was a charm the devil give to him with his own hands, and told him he could cure anybody with it and fetch witches whenever he wanted to just by saying something to it; but he never told what it was he said to it. niggers would come from all around there and give jim anything they had, just for a sight of that five-center piece; but they wouldn't touch it, because the devil had had his hands on it. jim was most ruined for a servant, because he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil and been rode by witches. well, when tom and me got to the edge of the hilltop we looked away down into the village and could see three or four lights twinkling, where there was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever so fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and awful still and grand. we went down the hill and found jo harper and ben rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard. so we unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half, to the big scar on the hillside, and went ashore. we went to a clump of bushes, and tom made everybody swear to keep the secret, and then showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest part of the bushes. then we lit the candles, and crawled in on our hands and knees. we went about two hundred yards, and then the cave opened up. tom poked about amongst the passages, and pretty soon ducked under a wall where you wouldn't a noticed that there was a hole. we went along a narrow place and got into a kind of room, all damp and sweaty and cold, and there we stopped. tom says: "now, we'll start this band of robbers and call it tom sawyer's gang. everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his name in blood." everybody was willing. so tom got out a sheet of paper that he had wrote the oath on, and read it. it swore every boy to stick to the band, and never tell any of the secrets; and if anybody done anything to any boy in the band, whichever boy was ordered to kill that person and his family must do it, and he mustn't eat and he mustn't sleep till he had killed them and hacked a cross in their breasts, which was the sign of the band. and nobody that didn't belong to the band could use that mark, and if he did he must be sued; and if he done it again he must be killed. and if anybody that belonged to the band told the secrets, he must have his throat cut, and then have his carcass burnt up and the ashes scattered all around, and his name blotted off of the list with blood and never mentioned again by the gang, but have a curse put on it and be forgot forever. everybody said it was a real beautiful oath, and asked tom if he got it out of his own head. he said, some of it, but the rest was out of pirate-books and robber-books, and every gang that was high-toned had it. some thought it would be good to kill the families of boys that told the secrets. tom said it was a good idea, so he took a pencil and wrote it in. then ben rogers says: "here's huck finn, he hain't got no family; what you going to do 'bout him?" "well, hain't he got a father?" says tom sawyer. "yes, he's got a father, but you can't never find him these days. he used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain't been seen in these parts for a year or more." they talked it over, and they was going to rule me out, because they said every boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it wouldn't be fair and square for the others. well, nobody could think of anything to do--everybody was stumped, and set still. i was most ready to cry; but all at once i thought of a way, and so i offered them miss watson--they could kill her. everybody said: "oh, she'll do. that's all right. huck can come in." then they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get blood to sign with, and i made my mark on the paper. "now," says ben rogers, "what's the line of business of this gang?" "nothing only robbery and murder," tom said. "but who are we going to rob?--houses, or cattle, or--" "stuff! stealing cattle and such things ain't robbery; it's burglary," says tom sawyer. "we ain't burglars. that ain't no sort of style. we are highwaymen. we stop stages and carriages on the road, with masks on, and kill the people and take their watches and money." "must we always kill the people?" "oh, certainly. it's best. some authorities think different, but mostly it's considered best to kill them--except some that you bring to the cave here, and keep them till they're ransomed." "ransomed? what's that?" "i don't know. but that's what they do. i've seen it in books; and so of course that's what we've got to do." "but how can we do it if we don't know what it is?" "why, blame it all, we've got to do it. don't i tell you it's in the books? do you want to go to doing different from what's in the books, and get things all muddled up?" "oh, that's all very fine to say, tom sawyer, but how in the nation are these fellows going to be ransomed if we don't know how to do it to them? --that's the thing i want to get at. now, what do you reckon it is?" "well, i don't know. but per'aps if we keep them till they're ransomed, it means that we keep them till they're dead." "now, that's something like. that'll answer. why couldn't you said that before? we'll keep them till they're ransomed to death; and a bothersome lot they'll be, too--eating up everything, and always trying to get loose." "how you talk, ben rogers. how can they get loose when there's a guard over them, ready to shoot them down if they move a peg?" "a guard! well, that is good. so somebody's got to set up all night and never get any sleep, just so as to watch them. i think that's foolishness. why can't a body take a club and ransom them as soon as they get here?" "because it ain't in the books so--that's why. now, ben rogers, do you want to do things regular, or don't you?--that's the idea. don't you reckon that the people that made the books knows what's the correct thing to do? do you reckon you can learn 'em anything? not by a good deal. no, sir, we'll just go on and ransom them in the regular way." "all right. i don't mind; but i say it's a fool way, anyhow. say, do we kill the women, too?" "well, ben rogers, if i was as ignorant as you i wouldn't let on. kill the women? no; nobody ever saw anything in the books like that. you fetch them to the cave, and you're always as polite as pie to them; and by and by they fall in love with you, and never want to go home any more." "well, if that's the way i'm agreed, but i don't take no stock in it. mighty soon we'll have the cave so cluttered up with women, and fellows waiting to be ransomed, that there won't be no place for the robbers. but go ahead, i ain't got nothing to say." little tommy barnes was asleep now, and when they waked him up he was scared, and cried, and said he wanted to go home to his ma, and didn't want to be a robber any more. so they all made fun of him, and called him cry-baby, and that made him mad, and he said he would go straight and tell all the secrets. but tom give him five cents to keep quiet, and said we would all go home and meet next week, and rob somebody and kill some people. ben rogers said he couldn't get out much, only sundays, and so he wanted to begin next sunday; but all the boys said it would be wicked to do it on sunday, and that settled the thing. they agreed to get together and fix a day as soon as they could, and then we elected tom sawyer first captain and jo harper second captain of the gang, and so started home. i clumb up the shed and crept into my window just before day was breaking. my new clothes was all greased up and clayey, and i was dog-tired. chapter iii. well, i got a good going-over in the morning from old miss watson on account of my clothes; but the widow she didn't scold, but only cleaned off the grease and clay, and looked so sorry that i thought i would behave awhile if i could. then miss watson she took me in the closet and prayed, but nothing come of it. she told me to pray every day, and whatever i asked for i would get it. but it warn't so. i tried it. once i got a fish-line, but no hooks. it warn't any good to me without hooks. i tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow i couldn't make it work. by and by, one day, i asked miss watson to try for me, but she said i was a fool. she never told me why, and i couldn't make it out no way. i set down one time back in the woods, and had a long think about it. i says to myself, if a body can get anything they pray for, why don't deacon winn get back the money he lost on pork? why can't the widow get back her silver snuffbox that was stole? why can't miss watson fat up? no, says i to my self, there ain't nothing in it. i went and told the widow about it, and she said the thing a body could get by praying for it was "spiritual gifts." this was too many for me, but she told me what she meant--i must help other people, and do everything i could for other people, and look out for them all the time, and never think about myself. this was including miss watson, as i took it. i went out in the woods and turned it over in my mind a long time, but i couldn't see no advantage about it--except for the other people; so at last i reckoned i wouldn't worry about it any more, but just let it go. sometimes the widow would take me one side and talk about providence in a way to make a body's mouth water; but maybe next day miss watson would take hold and knock it all down again. i judged i could see that there was two providences, and a poor chap would stand considerable show with the widow's providence, but if miss watson's got him there warn't no help for him any more. i thought it all out, and reckoned i would belong to the widow's if he wanted me, though i couldn't make out how he was a-going to be any better off then than what he was before, seeing i was so ignorant, and so kind of low-down and ornery. pap he hadn't been seen for more than a year, and that was comfortable for me; i didn't want to see him no more. he used to always whale me when he was sober and could get his hands on me; though i used to take to the woods most of the time when he was around. well, about this time he was found in the river drownded, about twelve mile above town, so people said. they judged it was him, anyway; said this drownded man was just his size, and was ragged, and had uncommon long hair, which was all like pap; but they couldn't make nothing out of the face, because it had been in the water so long it warn't much like a face at all. they said he was floating on his back in the water. they took him and buried him on the bank. but i warn't comfortable long, because i happened to think of something. i knowed mighty well that a drownded man don't float on his back, but on his face. so i knowed, then, that this warn't pap, but a woman dressed up in a man's clothes. so i was uncomfortable again. i judged the old man would turn up again by and by, though i wished he wouldn't. we played robber now and then about a month, and then i resigned. all the boys did. we hadn't robbed nobody, hadn't killed any people, but only just pretended. we used to hop out of the woods and go charging down on hog-drivers and women in carts taking garden stuff to market, but we never hived any of them. tom sawyer called the hogs "ingots," and he called the turnips and stuff "julery," and we would go to the cave and powwow over what we had done, and how many people we had killed and marked. but i couldn't see no profit in it. one time tom sent a boy to run about town with a blazing stick, which he called a slogan (which was the sign for the gang to get together), and then he said he had got secret news by his spies that next day a whole parcel of spanish merchants and rich a-rabs was going to camp in cave hollow with two hundred elephants, and six hundred camels, and over a thousand "sumter" mules, all loaded down with di'monds, and they didn't have only a guard of four hundred soldiers, and so we would lay in ambuscade, as he called it, and kill the lot and scoop the things. he said we must slick up our swords and guns, and get ready. he never could go after even a turnip-cart but he must have the swords and guns all scoured up for it, though they was only lath and broomsticks, and you might scour at them till you rotted, and then they warn't worth a mouthful of ashes more than what they was before. i didn't believe we could lick such a crowd of spaniards and a-rabs, but i wanted to see the camels and elephants, so i was on hand next day, saturday, in the ambuscade; and when we got the word we rushed out of the woods and down the hill. but there warn't no spaniards and a-rabs, and there warn't no camels nor no elephants. it warn't anything but a sunday-school picnic, and only a primer-class at that. we busted it up, and chased the children up the hollow; but we never got anything but some doughnuts and jam, though ben rogers got a rag doll, and jo harper got a hymn-book and a tract; and then the teacher charged in, and made us drop everything and cut. i didn't see no di'monds, and i told tom sawyer so. he said there was loads of them there, anyway; and he said there was a-rabs there, too, and elephants and things. i said, why couldn't we see them, then? he said if i warn't so ignorant, but had read a book called don quixote, i would know without asking. he said it was all done by enchantment. he said there was hundreds of soldiers there, and elephants and treasure, and so on, but we had enemies which he called magicians; and they had turned the whole thing into an infant sunday-school, just out of spite. i said, all right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the magicians. tom sawyer said i was a numskull. "why," said he, "a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they would hash you up like nothing before you could say jack robinson. they are as tall as a tree and as big around as a church." "well," i says, "s'pose we got some genies to help us--can't we lick the other crowd then?" "how you going to get them?" "i don't know. how do they get them?" "why, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring, and then the genies come tearing in, with the thunder and lightning a-ripping around and the smoke a-rolling, and everything they're told to do they up and do it. they don't think nothing of pulling a shot-tower up by the roots, and belting a sunday-school superintendent over the head with it--or any other man." "who makes them tear around so?" "why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring. they belong to whoever rubs the lamp or the ring, and they've got to do whatever he says. if he tells them to build a palace forty miles long out of di'monds, and fill it full of chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor's daughter from china for you to marry, they've got to do it--and they've got to do it before sun-up next morning, too. and more: they've got to waltz that palace around over the country wherever you want it, you understand." "well," says i, "i think they are a pack of flat-heads for not keeping the palace themselves 'stead of fooling them away like that. and what's more--if i was one of them i would see a man in jericho before i would drop my business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp." "how you talk, huck finn. why, you'd have to come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to or not." "what! and i as high as a tree and as big as a church? all right, then; i would come; but i lay i'd make that man climb the highest tree there was in the country." "shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, huck finn. you don't seem to know anything, somehow--perfect saphead." i thought all this over for two or three days, and then i reckoned i would see if there was anything in it. i got an old tin lamp and an iron ring, and went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till i sweat like an injun, calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn't no use, none of the genies come. so then i judged that all that stuff was only just one of tom sawyer's lies. i reckoned he believed in the a-rabs and the elephants, but as for me i think different. it had all the marks of a sunday-school. chapter iv. well, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter now. i had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and write just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six times seven is thirty-five, and i don't reckon i could ever get any further than that if i was to live forever. i don't take no stock in mathematics, anyway. at first i hated the school, but by and by i got so i could stand it. whenever i got uncommon tired i played hookey, and the hiding i got next day done me good and cheered me up. so the longer i went to school the easier it got to be. i was getting sort of used to the widow's ways, too, and they warn't so raspy on me. living in a house and sleeping in a bed pulled on me pretty tight mostly, but before the cold weather i used to slide out and sleep in the woods sometimes, and so that was a rest to me. i liked the old ways best, but i was getting so i liked the new ones, too, a little bit. the widow said i was coming along slow but sure, and doing very satisfactory. she said she warn't ashamed of me. one morning i happened to turn over the salt-cellar at breakfast. i reached for some of it as quick as i could to throw over my left shoulder and keep off the bad luck, but miss watson was in ahead of me, and crossed me off. she says, "take your hands away, huckleberry; what a mess you are always making!" the widow put in a good word for me, but that warn't going to keep off the bad luck, i knowed that well enough. i started out, after breakfast, feeling worried and shaky, and wondering where it was going to fall on me, and what it was going to be. there is ways to keep off some kinds of bad luck, but this wasn't one of them kind; so i never tried to do anything, but just poked along low-spirited and on the watch-out. i went down to the front garden and clumb over the stile where you go through the high board fence. there was an inch of new snow on the ground, and i seen somebody's tracks. they had come up from the quarry and stood around the stile a while, and then went on around the garden fence. it was funny they hadn't come in, after standing around so. i couldn't make it out. it was very curious, somehow. i was going to follow around, but i stooped down to look at the tracks first. i didn't notice anything at first, but next i did. there was a cross in the left boot-heel made with big nails, to keep off the devil. i was up in a second and shinning down the hill. i looked over my shoulder every now and then, but i didn't see nobody. i was at judge thatcher's as quick as i could get there. he said: "why, my boy, you are all out of breath. did you come for your interest?" "no, sir," i says; "is there some for me?" "oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last night--over a hundred and fifty dollars. quite a fortune for you. you had better let me invest it along with your six thousand, because if you take it you'll spend it." "no, sir," i says, "i don't want to spend it. i don't want it at all --nor the six thousand, nuther. i want you to take it; i want to give it to you--the six thousand and all." he looked surprised. he couldn't seem to make it out. he says: "why, what can you mean, my boy?" i says, "don't you ask me no questions about it, please. you'll take it --won't you?" he says: "well, i'm puzzled. is something the matter?" "please take it," says i, "and don't ask me nothing--then i won't have to tell no lies." he studied a while, and then he says: "oho-o! i think i see. you want to sell all your property to me--not give it. that's the correct idea." then he wrote something on a paper and read it over, and says: "there; you see it says 'for a consideration.' that means i have bought it of you and paid you for it. here's a dollar for you. now you sign it." so i signed it, and left. miss watson's nigger, jim, had a hair-ball as big as your fist, which had been took out of the fourth stomach of an ox, and he used to do magic with it. he said there was a spirit inside of it, and it knowed everything. so i went to him that night and told him pap was here again, for i found his tracks in the snow. what i wanted to know was, what he was going to do, and was he going to stay? jim got out his hair-ball and said something over it, and then he held it up and dropped it on the floor. it fell pretty solid, and only rolled about an inch. jim tried it again, and then another time, and it acted just the same. jim got down on his knees, and put his ear against it and listened. but it warn't no use; he said it wouldn't talk. he said sometimes it wouldn't talk without money. i told him i had an old slick counterfeit quarter that warn't no good because the brass showed through the silver a little, and it wouldn't pass nohow, even if the brass didn't show, because it was so slick it felt greasy, and so that would tell on it every time. (i reckoned i wouldn't say nothing about the dollar i got from the judge.) i said it was pretty bad money, but maybe the hair-ball would take it, because maybe it wouldn't know the difference. jim smelt it and bit it and rubbed it, and said he would manage so the hair-ball would think it was good. he said he would split open a raw irish potato and stick the quarter in between and keep it there all night, and next morning you couldn't see no brass, and it wouldn't feel greasy no more, and so anybody in town would take it in a minute, let alone a hair-ball. well, i knowed a potato would do that before, but i had forgot it. jim put the quarter under the hair-ball, and got down and listened again. this time he said the hair-ball was all right. he said it would tell my whole fortune if i wanted it to. i says, go on. so the hair-ball talked to jim, and jim told it to me. he says: "yo' ole father doan' know yit what he's a-gwyne to do. sometimes he spec he'll go 'way, en den agin he spec he'll stay. de bes' way is to res' easy en let de ole man take his own way. dey's two angels hoverin' roun' 'bout him. one uv 'em is white en shiny, en t'other one is black. de white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail in en bust it all up. a body can't tell yit which one gwyne to fetch him at de las'. but you is all right. you gwyne to have considable trouble in yo' life, en considable joy. sometimes you gwyne to git hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you's gwyne to git well agin. dey's two gals flyin' 'bout you in yo' life. one uv 'em's light en t'other one is dark. one is rich en t'other is po'. you's gwyne to marry de po' one fust en de rich one by en by. you wants to keep 'way fum de water as much as you kin, en don't run no resk, 'kase it's down in de bills dat you's gwyne to git hung." when i lit my candle and went up to my room that night there sat pap--his own self! chapter v. i had shut the door to. then i turned around and there he was. i used to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much. i reckoned i was scared now, too; but in a minute i see i was mistaken--that is, after the first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being so unexpected; but right away after i see i warn't scared of him worth bothring about. he was most fifty, and he looked it. his hair was long and tangled and greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. it was all black, no gray; so was his long, mixed-up whiskers. there warn't no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body's flesh crawl--a tree-toad white, a fish-belly white. as for his clothes--just rags, that was all. he had one ankle resting on t'other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and two of his toes stuck through, and he worked them now and then. his hat was laying on the floor--an old black slouch with the top caved in, like a lid. i stood a-looking at him; he set there a-looking at me, with his chair tilted back a little. i set the candle down. i noticed the window was up; so he had clumb in by the shed. he kept a-looking me all over. by and by he says: "starchy clothes--very. you think you're a good deal of a big-bug, don't you?" "maybe i am, maybe i ain't," i says. "don't you give me none o' your lip," says he. "you've put on considerable many frills since i been away. i'll take you down a peg before i get done with you. you're educated, too, they say--can read and write. you think you're better'n your father, now, don't you, because he can't? i'll take it out of you. who told you you might meddle with such hifalut'n foolishness, hey?--who told you you could?" "the widow. she told me." "the widow, hey?--and who told the widow she could put in her shovel about a thing that ain't none of her business?" "nobody never told her." "well, i'll learn her how to meddle. and looky here--you drop that school, you hear? i'll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs over his own father and let on to be better'n what he is. you lemme catch you fooling around that school again, you hear? your mother couldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died. none of the family couldn't before they died. i can't; and here you're a-swelling yourself up like this. i ain't the man to stand it--you hear? say, lemme hear you read." i took up a book and begun something about general washington and the wars. when i'd read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack with his hand and knocked it across the house. he says: "it's so. you can do it. i had my doubts when you told me. now looky here; you stop that putting on frills. i won't have it. i'll lay for you, my smarty; and if i catch you about that school i'll tan you good. first you know you'll get religion, too. i never see such a son." he took up a little blue and yaller picture of some cows and a boy, and says: "what's this?" "it's something they give me for learning my lessons good." he tore it up, and says: "i'll give you something better--i'll give you a cowhide." he set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says: "ain't you a sweet-scented dandy, though? a bed; and bedclothes; and a look'n'-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floor--and your own father got to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard. i never see such a son. i bet i'll take some o' these frills out o' you before i'm done with you. why, there ain't no end to your airs--they say you're rich. hey?--how's that?" "they lie--that's how." "looky here--mind how you talk to me; i'm a-standing about all i can stand now--so don't gimme no sass. i've been in town two days, and i hain't heard nothing but about you bein' rich. i heard about it away down the river, too. that's why i come. you git me that money to-morrow--i want it." "i hain't got no money." "it's a lie. judge thatcher's got it. you git it. i want it." "i hain't got no money, i tell you. you ask judge thatcher; he'll tell you the same." "all right. i'll ask him; and i'll make him pungle, too, or i'll know the reason why. say, how much you got in your pocket? i want it." "i hain't got only a dollar, and i want that to--" "it don't make no difference what you want it for--you just shell it out." he took it and bit it to see if it was good, and then he said he was going down town to get some whisky; said he hadn't had a drink all day. when he had got out on the shed he put his head in again, and cussed me for putting on frills and trying to be better than him; and when i reckoned he was gone he come back and put his head in again, and told me to mind about that school, because he was going to lay for me and lick me if i didn't drop that. next day he was drunk, and he went to judge thatcher's and bullyragged him, and tried to make him give up the money; but he couldn't, and then he swore he'd make the law force him. the judge and the widow went to law to get the court to take me away from him and let one of them be my guardian; but it was a new judge that had just come, and he didn't know the old man; so he said courts mustn't interfere and separate families if they could help it; said he'd druther not take a child away from its father. so judge thatcher and the widow had to quit on the business. that pleased the old man till he couldn't rest. he said he'd cowhide me till i was black and blue if i didn't raise some money for him. i borrowed three dollars from judge thatcher, and pap took it and got drunk, and went a-blowing around and cussing and whooping and carrying on; and he kept it up all over town, with a tin pan, till most midnight; then they jailed him, and next day they had him before court, and jailed him again for a week. but he said he was satisfied; said he was boss of his son, and he'd make it warm for him. when he got out the new judge said he was a-going to make a man of him. so he took him to his own house, and dressed him up clean and nice, and had him to breakfast and dinner and supper with the family, and was just old pie to him, so to speak. and after supper he talked to him about temperance and such things till the old man cried, and said he'd been a fool, and fooled away his life; but now he was a-going to turn over a new leaf and be a man nobody wouldn't be ashamed of, and he hoped the judge would help him and not look down on him. the judge said he could hug him for them words; so he cried, and his wife she cried again; pap said he'd been a man that had always been misunderstood before, and the judge said he believed it. the old man said that what a man wanted that was down was sympathy, and the judge said it was so; so they cried again. and when it was bedtime the old man rose up and held out his hand, and says: "look at it, gentlemen and ladies all; take a-hold of it; shake it. there's a hand that was the hand of a hog; but it ain't so no more; it's the hand of a man that's started in on a new life, and'll die before he'll go back. you mark them words--don't forget i said them. it's a clean hand now; shake it--don't be afeard." so they shook it, one after the other, all around, and cried. the judge's wife she kissed it. then the old man he signed a pledge--made his mark. the judge said it was the holiest time on record, or something like that. then they tucked the old man into a beautiful room, which was the spare room, and in the night some time he got powerful thirsty and clumb out on to the porch-roof and slid down a stanchion and traded his new coat for a jug of forty-rod, and clumb back again and had a good old time; and towards daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, and rolled off the porch and broke his left arm in two places, and was most froze to death when somebody found him after sun-up. and when they come to look at that spare room they had to take soundings before they could navigate it. the judge he felt kind of sore. he said he reckoned a body could reform the old man with a shotgun, maybe, but he didn't know no other way.